Just Another Typical Day

All American All-Star

Summary : Falling for the club’s American striker, Bucky Barnes, was never part of the plan— especially since your father happens to own the club.

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

Warnings/tags : Football/soccer au. Bucky plays in a Premier League Club. Lots and lots of sexual tension, sexual themes and references, mentions of injury, FLUFF! You are a statistical analyst for the club, cursing. Bucky is in his early thirties, and your age is never specified (though I wrote her around mid-20s in mind.)

Word Count : 16.6k

Notes : Hi all! This fic completely self indulgent. Idk if y'all noticed but I'm currently in my forbidden romance writing phase so please allow me to sweat this out before latching on to my next trope obsession. Also, putting a bunch of Marvel Comics Characters in here was so fun. Enjoy!

James Buchanan Barnes was a curiosity.

An American—already an anomaly in the top tiers of European football—who had spent the bulk of his career bouncing between MLS clubs before making a surprise leap to English football in his early thirties. The media called him a late bloomer. A gamble. Some pundits questioned why any top flight club would take a risk on an aging striker with no prior experience in the Champions League.

Your father, the owner of one of the biggest clubs in Europe, called him an investment. And you were the one who found him.

As a statistical data analyst for your father’s club, your job was simple in theory but far more complicated in execution. You spent your days with the coaching staff analysing the numbers, predicting patterns, helping scouts identify potential transfers, and finding ways to improve the existing squad. You didn’t deal in gut feelings or media hype. You dealt in cold, hard data.

Before the season started, you’d gone through dozens of scouting reports, match footage, and advanced performance analytics when Barnes’ name kept appearing over and over again. It didn’t make sense at first— no media outlet had flagged him as extraordinary, no clubs mentioned him as a top target. And yet… the numbers told a different story.

His expected goals were absurdly high, suggesting he was consistently getting into dangerous positions but lacked the right system or teammates to convert his chances. His pressing stats were through the roof, putting him in the top percentile of forwards worldwide. His passing accuracy rivaled some of the best midfielders in Europe, which was especially great for a team begging for a versatile forward.

Besides, his fitness levels were impeccable. You saw the footage of Bucky playing full matches week in and week out, covering more ground than almost anyone in his league and rarely ever needing to get substituted out. And yet, no one saw him as someone out of the ordinary.

See, the problem wasn’t Bucky— it was the league.

The MLS, for all its growth, wasn’t built for a player like him. The tactical setups were different, the pressing structures not suited to how intense he could be at times. He thrived in high-intensity situations, in quick transitions, in teams that played with a high line and aggression. The numbers suggested that with the right system—a system like your club’s—he could finally convert on his numbers.

You took the data to your father. You built the case. You made the argument that Bucky Barnes wasn’t a gamble— he was an opportunity.

And he listened. He signed him.

July 9th — The Meeting

The first time you met Bucky Barnes in person, he was standing in the middle of the training ground, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, looking around like he was still adjusting to the fact that he was playing the top flight in European football. You could probably guess that he had been dreaming of this for years— most Americans in the sport did.

He was taller than you expected. Broader than most strikers. If you tilted your head a little, he looked more like a soldier than a footballer. His brown hair spilled under his ears, jaw dusted with scruff, and the way he stood made it clear he wasn’t here to waste time.

You didn’t let yourself stare. Not for long, anyway.

“Barnes.” Your club’s manager, Abraham Erskine, was older, a German veteran with a kind face and the mind of a genius. He extended a hand. “Welcome.”

Bucky dropped his bag and shook it. “Happy to be here, Coach.”

Typical American, calling everyone coach. To be fair, Erskine’s gotten used to the English lads like Brian Braddock in the club calling him gaffer, so this might be a welcome change.

“This is Alexei Shostakov, the assistant manager,” Erskine continued, gesturing to the towering Russian beside him. He looked intimidating, but those who knew him understood he had a soft spot for hard working players— he even had two daughters playing in Spain.

“Coach,” Bucky said again, nodding.

“And this,” Erskine gestured to the man standing off to the side with his arms crossed, “is our fitness trainer, Sam Wilson. Another American, so at least you won’t feel too out of place.”

Sam stepped forward, grinning. “You got lucky, man. They bring in a lot of South Americans who hate the weather, but a New Yorker? You’re gonna fit right in.”

Bucky smirked. “Good to know, Coach.”

That made Sam laugh. “You can just call me Sam.”

“Noted, Coach.”

The group chuckled, but you stayed quiet, watching Bucky carefully. He hadn’t looked your way yet— not properly. You wondered if he even knew who you were.

“And finally,” Erskine turned to you, “our lead data analyst.” He didn’t mention your last name, but he didn’t have to. Everyone in the club knew who you were— partly because you’re the owner’s daughter.

Bucky’s eyes landed on you. “So you’re the one who got me here.”

You lifted your chin, “No,” you insisted. “Your numbers did that.”

He hummed in approval. 

“Guess that means I owe you one,” Bucky said, shifting his bag over his shoulder. Then, he winked. Heat curled in your stomach, but you kept your expression neutral. You weren’t about to be thrown off by another cocky footballer.

“You can pay me back by scoring goals,” you replied.

He grinned. “Deal.”

And just like that, you had the feeling that Bucky Barnes was going to be a problem for you.

July 10th — The Signing

He would be officially signed the next day. 

The press conference room was packed. You counted at least 30 reporters and twice as many cameras, all flashing lights— everything you expected when your club unveiled a major signing. But when your father told Bucky he would be the one sitting next to him, he had shook his head. “No offense, sir, but I think the person who got me here should be up there with me.”

Which was how you ended up here, seated beside him, a club-branded microphone in front of you while the media buzzed like hornets.

Bucky looked relaxed. He had done this before— press conferences, interviews, the media circus— nothing was new to him. He sat with commanding confidence, hands clasped on the table, a charming smile on his frustratingly beautiful face. 

You, on the other hand, weren’t used to this. You dealt in numbers, statistics, strategy—not public scrutiny. Your father had warned you the press might have questions. Some about Bucky. Some about you.

“James,” one of the reporters started, leaning forward, “you’re thirty-two years old, making your first jump into top-tier European football. Some would say that’s past your prime—what do you say to critics who think this club is taking a gamble on you?”

Bucky didn’t even blink. “If I was worried about what critics said, I wouldn’t be here.” A small chuckle rippled through the room, but his expression remained calm. “Some players peak at 20, some at 30. I know what I can do. The coaching staff knows what I can do. She—” he looked to you, “—knows what I can do. And in a few weeks, everyone else will know too.”

He had probably been answering some version of that question for months now.

Then, the attention turned to you.

“And for you,” another reporter said, shifting their focus, “there’s been a lot of talk about your role in this signing. You’re one of the youngest analysts in the sport. But more notably, you’re the club owner’s daughter. There are some who say this opportunity—this job—wouldn’t be yours if it weren’t for your last name.”

Your heartbeat was beating out of your chest, but you kept your expression neutral. “I would say,” you replied, “that my work speaks for itself.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow, clearly fishing for a reaction. “Still, nepotism is a fair concern, isn’t it?”

Before you could answer, Bucky leaned forward, casually resting an elbow on the table. “Let me ask you this,” he said, tilting his head. “How many analysts do you think flagged me as a top signing last year?”

The room was silent.

Bucky smiled, almost smug. “None. Except her.” He jerked his chin toward you. “The scouting reports didn’t call me extraordinary. The media didn’t put me on any ‘best transfer’ lists. But she ran the numbers, she saw something no one else did, and now I’m sitting here, signing with one of the biggest clubs in the world.”

He turned to you again before he looked back at the reporters. “So, I don’t know about you,” he said easily, “but I’d say she earned her seat at this table.”

The room buzzed. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to thank him or kick him under the table. Yes, he had answered for you, but he had also defended you. Publicly.

And the way he was looking at you now, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth?

He was going to be your biggest distraction.

—

After the press conference, you needed a moment. You weren’t used to the attention, but you answered as best you could about what you saw in Bucky’s playing style, on his game intelligence. 

After, you stayed behind, letting the media shuffle out while Bucky handled the rest of the pleasantries. You weren’t sure why or how you ended up in the first team changing room—perhaps you needed somewhere empty and quiet. A place to breathe. Since it wasn’t a match day, it was practically abandoned. Apparently, you weren’t the only one who needed a moment.

Bucky was there, leaning against a wall, hands in the pockets of his new training kit. He looked at you as you stepped inside, and for the first time since you’d met him, he wasn’t playing to a crowd. No arrogant smirk. No practiced charm. Just Bucky Barnes, standing in a place that hasn’t felt like home yet.

You hesitated, then cleared your throat. “I just wanted to say… thank you.”

His brows lifted slightly. “For what?”

You gave him a seriously? look. “You know for what.”

A smile ghosted across his lips again. “Figured someone had to say it.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I could’ve handled it.”

“I know,” he said easily. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

He wasn’t just some flashy signing. He wasn’t just numbers on a spreadsheet. He was someone who knew what it was like to be underestimated, to be doubted. You had found him because of the data, but now, standing here, you realised, he understood you in a way the numbers never could.

Bucky took a step closer, his voice quieter now. “They’re always gonna have something to say. About me. About you.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean they’re right.”

Your chest tightened. You held his stare for a moment before nodding. “Guess we’ll just have to prove them wrong.”

August 10th — Pre-Season friendly

Bucky had been with the club for a month now. Training had been intense, the pressure relentless, but he was handling it—mostly. 

Pre-season was always a mixed bag. Some teams used it to experiment, to test tactics, to let their new signings settle in. Others took it more seriously, wanting to build momentum before the real game. Your club had a bit of both— Erskine was meticulous, and Alexei, well, he just wanted to win every match, no matter the stakes.

Which was why the 3-0 pre-season loss to Ajax stung.

The squad had been sluggish, the chemistry wasn't there yet, and… Bucky had struggled. He wasn’t himself. His movements were a second too slow, his pressing wasn’t as aggressive, and when he did get into good positions, he couldn’t finish them. It was a team issue as much as an individual one, but Bucky saw it as a personal failure.

So when the final whistle blew and the players trudged into the tunnel, heads down, you knew something was going to give.

After all, the assistant manager wasn’t one to sugarcoat things, and when the team walked off the pitch, Alexei let Bucky have it.

The shouting started in the dressing room, but the walls were thin enough that you heard it from the hallway. Alexei’s booming voice wasn’t hard to miss.

“You are too slow in transition! You hesitate—this is not MLS, Barnes!”

“I know that.”

“Then act like it!”

Soon, they were yelling over each other. When you finally stepped inside, you found Bucky and Alexei squared up, the rest of the squad caught between wanting to intervene and knowing better.

“Americans,” Alexei muttered, exasperated, before pointing at you. “You deal with him.”

Then he was gone.

The room was quiet. No one wanted to be here any longer than they had to be, least of all Bucky.

“Bucky…” you started, quieter now.

He let out a deep breath, running a hand through his damp hair, sweat still clinging to him from the match. He turned, forcing a small smile for you. “I… I need time. I’ll see you at training tomorrow, yeah?”

You nodded, though you weren’t convinced.

August 11th — Training Center

The next day, Bucky was pushing himself too hard.

You saw it before training even started— he was the first one out, running sprints alone while you and the rest of the coaching staff set up. He trained with the squad, but even after, when most of the team had made their way back into the facility, he stayed to do more drills, shooting practice, more sprints. And it wasn’t helping. He was overcompensating, trying to force his body to match the pace of his mind. 

You sighed, tucking your tablet under your arm.

“Wagner,” you said. You had been working with the keeper on the sidelines for the last fifteen minutes, showing him how he could make long passes more accurate. “Think about what I said. We’ll go over more footage tomorrow.”

Kurt Wagner nodded, and you turned on your heel, walking straight for Bucky, catching him before he could disappear again.

“My office,” you said firmly.

He wiped his face with the hem of his training top, squinting at you in the afternoon sun. “What?”

“Now, Barnes.”

—

Your office wasn’t anything special, just a private space tucked into the coaching room so you could work numbers without any distractions, but it was yours. Bucky stepped inside hesitantly, like he didn’t quite belong here, then leaned against the desk as you pulled up the match against Ajax on your screen. 

You didn’t say anything at first. Just loaded up the footage, clipped the moments you needed, and let him watch.

His arms crossed over his chest as he took the moments where he pressed well, the chances he did create, the runs he made that were the right decision— even if he struggled to finish. Then you pulled up the heat map, the positioning data, the sequences where he got lost in transition.

"You did good," you said simply.

Bucky snorted. “We lost 3-0.”

“Yes, but you did good,” you repeated, clicking through several paused screenshots of his movements on the pitch. “Look here. Your pressing is still in the top percentile. You forced three turnovers in dangerous areas. That’s good.”

You clicked again.

“This run?” You gestured. “This was perfect. If the midfield had spotted it, you would’ve been through on goal. You were making the right movements.”

Another screenshot.

“This, though,” you pointed at a moment in the 70th minute, “this is where you need to improve. You hesitated. You had a second to get the job done, but you tried to take the extra touch.”

Bucky sighed, leaning back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s on me.” 

“Listen,” you said. “You’re not playing bad, Bucky. You’re adjusting. This is a different pace, different tactics, different system. You’re learning.”

He let out a slow breath through his nose. “Alexei doesn’t think so.”

“Alexei wants perfection,” you argued. “He yells at everyone. Even Helmut Zemo.”

Bucky blinked. Zemo? The ice-cold, disciplined defender hailed as one of the best in the world? The same guy he was still struggling to get along with? That earned a small smile out of him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Nearly murdered him last season.”

Bucky huffed, shaking his head. “I just… I don’t want to be a mistake.”

You shook your head. "You’re not."

August 17th — Premier League, Matchday 1

It wasn’t long before the season started, and even Bucky was surprised that he made it in the first team. But making it meant Erskine had believed in him— he wasn’t going to disappoint.

The first team they played was Liverpool. Bucky has heard a lot about Anfield’s ruthless atmosphere, but this was way more intense than he could have possibly imagined. The stadium was a sea of red and the team was a far more experienced side than he was used to. 

See, Bucky had played in big matches before, but nothing like this. The intensity, the tempo, was on another level entirely.

He kept his head, though. He remembered what you told him. No extra touches. Make quicker decisions.

He remembered what Erskine drilled into the team. Exploit the space behind their fullbacks. Don’t hesitate.

So when a counterattack sparked in the 68th minute, when Wagner’s long pass reached Brian Braddock on the right flank, he spotted Bucky darting between the center-backs.

They were currently 1-0 down, but Bucky made sure the pressure didn’t get to him. He made his run.

Braddock’s pass was perfect, curling into Bucky’s path. The defender was closing in, but Bucky took one clean touch with his left, then struck with his right.

Precise. Back of the net.

1-1.

The away section erupted.

Bucky barely had time to register before his teammates crashed into him, Braddock shouting in his ear, “Fucking told you, mate!”

He even felt Zemo’s hand on his back.

But he barely heard the praise. In his mind, all he could think about was you—the analysis, the breakdown, the way you had pointed out exactly where he needed to improve. And he had.

It ended 1-1, but it was a good start. At the very least, he had made a statement. Bucky Barnes had arrived in the Premier League.

—

The dressing room was still crowded when Bucky found Erskine and your father. They weren’t disappointed, but they weren’t exactly jumping with glee, either.

“I want private sessions with her,” Bucky said, still catching his breath.

Erskine frowned. “Who?”

Bucky said your name. 

Your father raised a brow. “She works with everyone.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “But she— she pulled me aside last week and it helped. If you let me have just an hour with her the day after every match, I could— I will adjust faster.”

Your father exchanged a glance with Erskine. The German manager stroked his chin, considering his suggestion.

“It’s an unusual request,” Erskine admitted.

“I just scored, didn’t I?” Bucky said, dead serious.

That made them both think.

Your father exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Fine,” he said. “I'll add it to her schedule.”

—

When you got back to your apartment, you stared at your calendar, lips pressed together as you read the update.

Post-Match Analysis — Private Session with Barnes

The day after every match.

August 18th — Training Center, Post-Match Analysis 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when Bucky walked into your office after training, still fresh from the adrenaline of Alexei's harsh training regiment. His hair was damp from a shower, his training kit swapped for a plain hoodie and sweats.

You, on the other hand, were still buzzing from the past two meetings. 

Post-match analysis was already part of your routine. You did one with the whole team earlier today, and you just got off the coaching staff meeting. Now, you had to do it one-on-one with him. Alone.

You gestured to the chair beside your desk as he sat down, his blue eyes darting to your monitor. You already had the footage pulled up.

“Alright,” you started, keeping it professional. “Let’s start with the good.”

You clicked the play button, and the clip of his goal played on the screen. The moment the ball left his foot. The clean strike, the ripple of the net. Bucky watched it in silence.

“You saw the space,” you narrated, “You didn’t hesitate. One touch, then the shot. Perfect.”

Bucky hummed, his fingers tapping against his knee. “That’s because of what you said,” he admitted.

You blinked. “What?”

“Last week. After Ajax.” His eyes met your as he leaned forward, “You told me what to do.”

You cleared your throat. “Well, you listened.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he just shrugged. 

You shook your head and turned back to the screen, pulling up a different clip.

“Now, let’s talk about where you can improve.”

Bucky leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he focused in.

“This movement in the 32nd minute,” you said, slowing down the footage. “You were pressing well, but you ran too early here—” you paused the clip, circling an area on the screen, “—which left space behind you. Alexander-Arnold nearly exploited it.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Shit. Yeah, I see it.”

You nodded, pulling up another clip. “And here, in the second half—you almost made the right run, but you checked over your shoulder for too long. It slowed you down.”

Bucky leaned closer, studying the footage. “So what do I do?”

You tapped a few buttons, overlaying a heat map of his movements. “The system we play—Erskine wants quick transitions. You can’t second-guess yourself. If you commit to a run, commit fully. Trust your teammates.”

Bucky nodded.

You tilted your head. “Why did you hesitate?”

He hesitated, tilting his head. “I—” He exhaled. “This league… I’m... I’m not used to people playing at my speed.”

“That’s normal,” you assured him. The Premier League had a much faster tempo than the MLS, after all. And that was exactly why he fit in here. “But you’re seeing the right plays. That’s half the battle.”

You pulled up another set of stats, showing him his passing accuracy, his pressing intensity, his shot conversion rate. “You weren’t perfect,” you said. “But you were effective.”

Bucky let out a deep breath, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.

“Feels good,” he admitted. “Seeing it like this.”

“That’s the point,” you said.

After that, you could’ve sworn he looked at you a little too fondly.

August 25th — Premier League, Match day 2

You knew Arsenal would be tough. They had won their first game against a newly promoted team 5-0, and they looked formidable. Still, it was Bucky’s first game at home, and the crowd welcomed him and the other new signings like long-lost heroes— with banners raised and voices roaring. 

Then the match started.

Arsenal suffocated your midfield. The first goal came early—an incisive pass splitting your defense followed by a clean finish. You saw your defender, Lin Lie’s, frustration as he failed to get the ball. A goal for arsenal. 

1-0.

Then, in the 54th minute, Bucky found a pocket of space. He did a quick turn, a perfectly weighted through ball, and Joaquin Torres, another new signing many people saw as a Central American Wonderkid, took one touch, then another, before slotting it past the keeper. 

1-1. 

Then, disaster happened. Lin lunged in late on Arsenal’s striker inside the box. The whistle blew. There was no hesitation from the referee— it was a penalty. The keeper, Wagner, dove the wrong way.

2-1 to Arsenal.

Bucky nearly scored a goal in stoppage time, but the final whistle blew after it was saved, and that was that.

A loss.

As you walked down the tunnel, Lin Lie was already apologising, Bucky was staring at the ground. The team looked exhausted. 

Your work began tomorrow.

August 26th — Training Centre, Post-match Analysis

During the team meeting, you stood at the front of the room. The players were seated in front of you, some paying attention, others looking at the floor. 

"You all know why we’re here," you began, clicking the remote. The screen behind you showed the stats. "We had 34% possession. Arsenal completed 542 passes to our 287. They had 16 shots. We had 4. That’s not good enough."

You saw a few heads sinking— Bucky, Lin, and Wagner. Alexei was the first to speak after you. "We looked soft," he said, arms crossed. "We let them play their football. No aggression, no bite." 

Erskine took a different approach. "Structurally, our press was broken. Too many gaps. Arsenal exploited space between the lines." He pointed to the screen, where red circles highlighted defensive breakdowns. "If we don’t fix this, we’ll keep conceding."

You saw a few nods, but no one spoke. 

"Bucky," you said, turning to him. "You created and assisted our only goal, but you had six touches in the first half. Six. We didn’t get you enough of the ball."

He nodded slightly.

"Joaquin, you did well in moments, but you completed 64% of your passes. That has to improve. Lin…" You paused, seeing his jaw tighten. "The penalty was bad, but that wasn’t the only issue. You lost five duels in our defensive third."

He tilted his head, mouthing sorry. 

"Let’s fix it, then.” Erskine clapped his hands and started the training day. 

—

After shooting drills were done, Bucky had his one-on-one session with you. 

He was already in your office as you closed the door behind you, leaning against your desk.

"You know I can do more," he said before you could even speak.

"I do," you replied. "But you need the ball to do it. And right now, we’re not finding you in the right spaces."

Bucky took a deep breath. "We’re too slow in transition."

"Agreed. But you also need to demand it. You were too passive early on. We need you dictating play, not waiting for it to come to you."

He nodded. "I’ll work on it."

You could tell he hated losing. 

"Listen, you did well, all things considered," you said finally. "But you want to turn stats into results? Stop waiting for permission."

"I won't,” he promised.

September 1st — Premier League, Matchday 3

Abraham Erskine called this match the test. 

Newcastle won both their opening games. They came in confident, expecting to beat you the way Arsenal had. But today, you felt something different in the dressing room. The boys were more focused. They were hungry. 

And when the game started, you saw it.

The press was higher. The midfield was more coordinated. The movement was better. Bucky was everywhere, demanding the ball, dictating the rhythm. In the 28th minute, he made the difference. Torres crossed the ball to him in, and he managed to kick it in the bottom right corner with a left foot. 

1-0.

The stadium erupted.

The game was far from over, though. Newcastle tried counterattacking, tried to break through. Lin Lie, in a desperate attempt to redeem himself, put in the game of his life, and Zemo was a great help in the backline, too. And then, in the 78th minute, Pietro Maximoff, your box-to-box midfielder, latched onto a loose ball at the edge of the box and buried it. 2-0. Bucky tackled him in celebration. 

The final whistle blew. Your first home win of the season. Bucky’s first home win.

September 2nd — Training Center, post-match analysis

You weren’t surprised when Bucky was the first one in the building the next morning. Of course he was. Through the glass wall of the training room, you spotted him stretching, smiling like a kid who just got away with stealing sweets from a candy shop.

Later during your one-on-one session, he was grinning ear to ear the whole time. 

"You see that goal?" he asked immediately, pointing to the screen. "Perfect finish, huh?" 

You shrugged, trying not to stroke his ego. "It was decent." 

He let out a too-dramatic gasp, stepping closer. "Decent? Decent? I’m hurt, coach." 

"Stop calling me coach," you said, then held up your tablet. "You scored, yes. But you also lost four 1v1s."

His smile didn’t falter. Not even a little. “Mmm. And who won us the game?”

“You and Pietro,” you sighed.

“Me and Pietro!” He echoed.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t find it in you to be annoyed. After all, you knew he was joking around. He was still listening— you could almost see the gears in his head working, putting your suggestions in the back catalogue as he pretended to be smug and arrogant. “You’re unbearable when you win.”

“Oh, you love it.” His voice dipped dangerously low, his hand landing on your waist as he leaned in slightly.

Your brain short-circuited. That was new.

He must’ve realised it at the same time, because he immediately yanked his hand back. “Shit—I'm sorry— wait. I— that was inappropriate.”

“N-no,” you said, your voice coming out way too gentle to be fully professional. “It’s okay. You… can do that.”

Oh.

His eyes studied you, clearly shocked. Then, carefully he put his hand back, fingers splaying lightly against your waist.

Before you could even process how natural it felt—

“Ahem.”

You both snapped your heads toward the door.

Sam, ever the disciplined fitness coach, stood there, arms crossed with his brows raised. "Buck. I’m starting gym drills soon."

Bucky stepped back, his hands lingering just a little longer than necessary before he finally pulled away.

—

The team drills had gone well. Spirits were high after the win, and unsurprisingly, Bucky and Pietro had been at the center of it— running faster than anyone, joking around, even showing off a little. Pietro had even jokingly called him old man once or twice, and he responded with a lighthearted scowl.

Now, as the squad made their way to the cafeteria, Bucky grabbed his water bottle by the edge of the gym, where Sam was sitting on a bench, watching him with an annoying smirk.

"Man, you are so screwed," Sam said casually, taking a sip of his own drink.

Bucky could only blink, feigning innocence. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Sam let out a laugh. "Oh, don’t play dumb. You were all over her."

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. "I plead the fifth."

“First, that’s not how it works around here… I think.” He chuckled. "Second, I saw where your hand was.”

Bucky nearly choked on his water. "That was—okay, it was barely a touch. I was just—”

"Flirting," Sam finished for him. 

Bucky refused to look at him, struggling to push down the heat creeping up your neck. Sam grinned. "You do remember she’s the owner’s daughter, right? You know, the guy who signs our checks?"

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, fingers nervously tapping on his drink. "I know.”

Sam raised a brow before nudging him. "Relax, man. I’m just messing with you,” he said. “Kinda nice having another American around. Just don’t want you to get fired before we can plan Thanksgiving, alright?”

“I’m not getting fired,” Bucky insisted, shaking his head. "Because nothing’s happening."

Sam lifted his hands in surrender. "Sure.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "You don’t believe me."

"Not even a little bit."

Bucky sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam grinned, patting him on the back. "See you tomorrow, loverboy."

Bucky groaned. He was never going to hear the end of this.

September 17th — Training Center, post-match analysis, the day after Champions league Match Day 1

Even after coming out of a decisive 3-0 victory in the biggest stage of Bucky’s life so far, he showed up early again, already watching footage when you arrived. He wasn’t just there to train— he wanted to learn.

"You ever take a break Barnes?" you teased, setting your tablet down.

"Not when I could be getting better," he replied, eyes glued to the screen. "Look at this—my positioning here is a step too wide, right?"

You blinked. "Uh… yes."

"See?” He grinned. “I’m learning."

You were impressed. He wasn’t just playing on instinct anymore. He was analysing, adapting. But of course, that didn’t mean he stopped being… him. He was confident and annoyingly smug in the most adorable way, and over the last couple of weeks, he'd become more… flirty. Not that you were complaining.

"You like working with me, don’t you?" he said later on in that session, leaning closely as you swiped through stats on your screen.

You ignored the way your heart beat faster. "I like coaching players who listen."

December 27th — Training Center, Post-Match Analysis the day after Premier league Match Day 18

Another day, another deep dive into his game. 

Bucky had been here for almost half a season now, and he was settling in the squad well. Even Zemo, who rarely had a nice word for anyone, was warming up to him.

He had fourteen goals in fifteen matches, so yeah, he was making a mark on the league, especially for a late bloomer. Sure, there had been a few tough losses, an early cup exit, but overall, he was proving to be a hell of a signing. Even Alexei had begrudgingly admitted Bucky was becoming a key asset to the club.

Yesterday’s game had been tough, though. 

Pietro went down and got injured in the first half, forcing Bucky to shift into the central attacking midfielder role while the untested Brazilian striker, Roberto Da Costa, took the lead up front. It wasn’t Bucky’s usual position, but he made it work. Mostly. 

A 2-2 draw wasn’t the worst outcome, but today’s one-to-one session was all about analysing his game in his new role.

"You hesitated here," you pointed at the screen, freezing the frame right before his decision. "If you release the pass earlier, you create a better chance for Da Costa."

Bucky hummed, arms crossing. "Or… I fake the pass, fish the defender out, and cross it for the kid to finish."

Your brows lifted, admittedly impressed. "That… would work too."

His smile was charming, and almost annoying. "C’mon, give me some credit. I’ve got a brain and good looks."

You huffed and chuckled. "Debatable."

He turned to face you, leaning in just a little. "You sure about that?" he teased. "Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you spend a lot of time watching me."

You scoffed, arms folding over your chest. "It’s my job."

“Mmm.” He tilted his head, studying you. “Do you only watch the numbers?”

You swallowed hard. Bucky leaned in. “Or do you watch me?”

February 16th — Training Center, Post-Match Analysis the day after Premier league Match Day 25

The day after a brutal, hard-fought 4-3 win against Aston Villa, you barely had time to set your tablet down before Bucky walked into your office with two coffee cups in hand.

"You looked like you needed this," Bucky said, plopping down into the chair next to you, "Thought you were gonna pass out mid-strategy meeting."

You arched an eyebrow but accepted the coffee anyway. "So you were watching me instead of paying attention to Erskine?"

Bucky only shrugged.

You set the cup aside before clicking on the monitor. "Alright, let’s start."

He groaned. "Already? No small talk? No ‘thanks for the coffee, Bucky, you’re the best’?"

"You got a red card in the 81st minute," you pointed out, deadpanned. 

Bucky snorted, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. "That was bullshit, and you know it. The guy dived!"

"Uh-huh," you clicked your pen, pulling up his stats. "Still, a second yellow for dissent? Really?”

"He flopped like a fish and got rewarded for it," he grumbled. "What was I supposed to do, clap for him?"

"Yes. Or, hear me out—shut up and walk away."

Bucky huffed, but you could tell he knew you were right. He knew he made a mistake— a mistake that would lead him to missing the next match. "How bad do my numbers look?"

You pulled up his passing charts. "Not bad at all, actually,” you hummed, “89% completion, seven progressive passes, four key passes. No goals or assists, but you helped control possession."

His lips curled into a small smile. "Sounds like a solid game."

"Until the red card."

He groaned again, rubbing his fingers on his forehead. "You're never letting this go, are you?"

"Absolutely not,” you shook your head. “I thought you knew better than to swear at the ref."

"That was barely swearing."

"You called him a—" You checked your notes, suppressing a laugh. "—‘blind fucker with a god complex.’"

Bucky sighed. "Okay,” he admitted defeat. “Maybe I could’ve phrased it better."

You shook your head, scrolling through the stats. "Control your temper, Barnes."

A lazy grin formed on his face. "You just wanna give me a hard time, don't you?"

You mirrored his smile. "You make it so easy."

"You know," he said, leaning in slightly. "I love it when you scold me. Keeps me in line."

You tilted your head, eyes looking down to his mouth before you met his eyes again. "Bet you’d really thrive under a little extra discipline," You murmured, then continued, "Maybe behind closed doors, too, hm?”

Bucky froze, his pupils blown wide open. "Are you offering?"

You took another sip of your coffee, trying to look entirely unfazed. "Let’s see how the season ends first, shall we?"

Then, before he could respond, you spun your monitor back around and pulled up his heat maps. "Now, let’s talk about your positioning."

He blinked. You had never seen James Buchanan Barnes look so utterly shocked before.

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "Right. Positioning."

You smiled to yourself. That shut him up.

May 7th — Champions League Semi Finals, Leg 2

The first leg against Real Madrid had ended 0-0, which meant it was all to play for. 

They were European royalty. This biggest test of your season so far.

Pietro was finally back, which meant Bucky could return to his natural position up top. Bucky was relieved. You’d been forced to use him in midfield, and he’d done well, but this… this was where he thrived.

Madrid dominated possession, and your team had to defend for their lives. T’challa Udaku, usually a more aggressive right back, had to stay back the whole game to stop Vini jr. from going through. Wagner made three ridiculous saves. It was 0-0 for most of the match, and it seemed destined to stay that way.

Then, in the 89th minute, you got a corner. Brian Braddock curled it in, and Bucky, who had spent the last ten minutes fighting off Rüdiger, found the perfect pocket of space.

He had two touches: one for control and another to tap-in. 

1-0.

Bucky’s first-ever Champions League semi-final, and he had scored the winning goal against Real Madrid at their home.

Bucky sprinted to the corner flag, arms spread wide in celebration, teammates piling onto him. The entire stadium erupted. You, now stood up in the coaching area, barely registered Erskine grabbing your shoulders, shaking you with an overjoyed laugh. “You were right about him!” He exclaimed.

You let out a deep breath, shaking your head. “Of course I was.”

The final whistle blew minutes later.

Your team was in the Champions League finals.

May 8th — Training Center, Post-Match Analysis

Bucky was already in your office when you arrived. Of course he was.

He was still in his hoodie and training gear, looking ridiculously smug as he watched the highlight reel from last night’s match. The moment he saw you, he leaned back in his chair, stretching out like a sleepy cat.

“You see that goal?” he drawled. “Beautiful.”

You laughed playfully, sitting down next to him. “It was a tap-in.”

“A winning tap-in,” he corrected.

You tried to ignore him, but failed, trying to hide the smile on your face. “You did well,” you admitted. Bucky didn’t respond immediately. You turned to look at him—only to find him already watching you.

“We could’ve won it earlier, though.” You pulled up the footage, pointing at the screen. “You hesitated again, just for a second. Watch.”

His eyes studied the replay, his brows furrowing. “Yeah,” he nodded, “Should’ve gone inside instead of trying to beat him wide.”

“Exactly.” You glanced at him, catching the way he was still looking at you—not at the numbers.

Your throat went dry.

“We’ll fix it,” you said quickly, turning back to the monitor.

“I like it when you say ‘we,’” he murmured, voice low, teasing.

You swallowed, ignoring the flip in your stomach

“Bucky,” you sighed. “You’re great. But you’re still losing a lot of aerial duels.”

He blinked, as if taken aback by the shift in tone.

“I talked to Erskine,” you continued. “He wants me to go over the numbers with you, show you how to improve, okay?”

Bucky leaned forward, elbows on his knees, suddenly more focused. “Alright. Hit me.”

You swiped to another stat sheet. “Madrid won 72% of their aerial duels last night. You won 2 out of 7. Rüdiger dominated you physically. You struggled against Tchouaméni when he dropped back to cover. If we play like this in the final, we’ll have problems.”

Bucky let out a deep breath. “Damn. I knew Rüdiger was a nightmare, but I didn’t think I was that bad.”

“You weren’t bad,” you said. “You just weren’t dominant.”

“Right.” he smiled playfully. “And you need me to be dominant?”

You shot him a stern look. “Bucky.”

“What,” he said, then winked, “I just—”

“Bucky, stop,” you said sternly.

His smirk dropped instantly. “Shit,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

You sighed, pushing your chair back. 

You usually didn’t mind his flirting. Most of the time, you flirted back. But today was different.

You put your arms over yourself in an attempt of comfort. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

Oh. 

Bucky straightened his posture. His usual playfulness faded away as he carefully put a hand on your thigh, careful to not cross a boundary. 

“We’re just… we're so close to winning the Champions League,” you said quietly. “You are so close.”

He nodded in understanding, He felt the pressure, too.

“You’re my project, okay?” you admitted. “I convinced my dad to sign you. If we win—with you at the center of it—it’ll shut up all the people who said I was a nepotist hire.” You let out a breath. “Do you get that?”

Bucky was silent. You had seen him fight. You had seen him frustrated—at a bad call, at a missed chance, at himself. But this was not that,

When he spoke, his voice was quieter. “You think you have to prove yourself to them?”

You swallowed. “I think I have to prove myself to everyone.”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “God, that's ridiculous,” he said.

Your mouth parted slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You already proved yourself.” His eyes met yours, intense and steady. “You helped build this team. You made me better. I’ve talked to the boys out there, and every single one of them will say that you’ve helped, one way or another.”

Your throat tightened to close up.

“You are the reason we’re winning,” he said simply, as if it was fact. “Not me. You.”

Oh? Was that what he really thought of you?

“Look,” he continued, gentler now. “I’ll take the aerial duels more seriously. I promise.”

You nodded slowly.

Then, Bucky smiled. This time, it wasn’t smug. It was just… kind.

“You’re just so fucking smart,” he suddenly said. It came out of nowhere. “It’s annoying.”

A laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.

“See?” Bucky grinned. “There she is. Thought I lost you for a second.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

May 30th — Training Center, the day before the Champions League Final

It had been a brutal season—long, exhausting, filled with near-misses and last-minute heartbreaks. You’ve lost the Premier League, finishing third in the table. 

But this was still possible.

The Champions League Final. Win, and none of the late collapses would matter.

Which was why you and Bucky were still here, pouring over his stats one last time.

“You see the pattern?” you murmured, scrolling through the data.

Bucky, sitting beside you, leaned in. His knee brushed against yours, but neither of you made the effort to move away.

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “Last twenty minutes, my pressing drops. Feels like I’m dragging.”

You nodded, tapping the screen. “Your pressing numbers in the first half are great, but by the end, you’re winning fewer duels, completing fewer sprints. It’s not fatigue— I’ve talked to Sam about that. So it must be decision-making. You’re reacting instead of anticipating.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “So basically, I gotta stop being an idiot in the 70th minute.”

You shrugged. “That’s one way to put it.”

He turned to look at you then, and you suddenly realised how close he was to you.

You could feel the warmth of his breath, see the way his eyes reflected back at you. “Thanks,” he finally said. “For everything.”

Your throat went dry.

You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the pressure, or the fact that you had spent months dancing around each other, around whatever this was.

Now, he was watching you like he was waiting.

And—god help you—you weren’t sure you’d stop him if he tried.

He leaned in. Just slightly. Just enough.

Is this really happening?

And then the door swung open.

“Erskine sent me.”

You jolted back so fast you nearly knocked your laptop off the table.

Miguel O’Hara stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. Your defensive midfielder was one of the best in the game, and apparently, a professional mood-killer. “Said I needed to see my tackle stats.”

Bucky took a deep breath, looking away as he pushed himself up from his chair. “Great timing, O’Hara.”

Miguel chuckled. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Bucky muttered something under his breath as he grabbed his bag and made his way to the door. As he passed Miguel, the midfielder smacked him on the back—just a little too hard, but still harmless.

“Don’t stay up too late, Barnes,” he said, tone just on the edge of teasing. “Big game tomorrow.”

Bucky shot him a glare but said nothing, shoving the door open and disappearing down the hall.

Miguel chuckled before turning back to you, sliding into the seat Bucky had just left.

“So,” he said. “Barnes, huh?”

“Nope,” you said immediately, shaking your head. “Not a word.”

Miguel held up his hands in surrender. “Lips are sealed.”

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. You didn’t even know what had almost happened—if anything had almost happened. But now wasn’t the time to think about it.

All that mattered was winning tomorrow.

May 31st — Champions League Final

You stood with the coaching staff on the sidelines, heart pounding as the match against Bayern Munich stretched into extra time. Twice, you had taken the lead. Twice, Bayern had clawed their way back— first through Jamal Musiala’s quick footwork in the box, then an absolute worldie from Harry Kane.

Now, with the score stuck at 2-2, you could tell exhaustion was setting in. Bucky was still moving, still searching for the moment. As Erskine took people off to substitute, he kept Bucky there as the glue keeping the team together.

Then, it happened.

Joaquin spotted the space before anyone else did, curling a perfect cross into the box. Bucky timed his run to perfection, drifting between the center-backs. No hesitation. He jumped above the defense, and met the ball with a wonderful header.

The net rippled.

3-2.

He kept his promise. He scored a header. And this time, Bayern didn’t equalize.

The final whistle blew.

For a second, the stadium held its breath. And then, the chaos came.

The bench erupted. The players collapsed, some to their knees, others running in every direction. 

The team had done it. Champions of Europe.

But before you could even process it, Bucky was sprinting toward you, eyes wide with adrenaline. Before you could properly greet him, his arms were around you, lifting you clean off the ground, spinning you around in a dizzying circle. You gasped, holding onto him for dear life

Then, as he set you down, he pressed his forehead to yours.

His breath was short and quick, his hands still gripping your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go. His lips parted slightly, his eyes watching your mouth, then back up again. 

Fuck.

He wanted to kiss you. For a split second, you almost thought he would.

But then you looked up to the hospitality box.

Your father was watching.

Bucky must have realised it at the same time, because instead of closing the last inch between you, he just…hugged you. So tightly, so desperately, like if he held on long enough, he could say everything he wanted to without speaking at all.

“You did it,” you whispered, voice barely carrying over the chaos around you.

“No,” he said. “We did it. We all did.”

—

After the award ceremony, you ran. Instead of celebrating with the team, you sat alone in an empty conference room at Wembley, staring at your laptop screen and the match statistics in hand. You weren’t really working—you were just… distracting yourself from the noise.

From him.

The way he’d looked at you, the way he’d held you— it had been building for months.

But your father owned the club, for fuck’s sake.You were better than this.

The door creaked open, and you already knew who it was.

“You do realise we just won the Champions League, right?” Bucky asked.

You didn’t look up immediately, keeping your eyes on the screen. “That what all the screaming about?” Sarcastic, dry— your first response to being slightly uncomfortable. It worked sometimes.

Bucky let out a laugh, stepping further inside. “Hilarious.”

Finally, you looked up.

He was leaning against the doorway, medal still around his neck, shirt untucked. His hair was still damp from the match, strands falling into his face, and his palms were raw from falling down on the grass more times than he could care to count. (which was 32, by the way. You counted).

He looked ridiculously infuriating.

And so fucking good.

“Why are you here?” you asked, tilting your head. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

Bucky shrugged, stepping closer. “Was looking for you.”

You forced yourself to scoff. “And here I thought you had priorities.”

“I do.” He smirked. “Turns out you’re one of them.”

You rolled your eyes. “Save the charm for someone who’s impressed by it.”

“That would still be you,” he said.

You turned back to your laptop, pretending to ignore him, even as your heart started beating out of your chest. “Well, you’re wrong.”

Bucky pulled out the chair next to you and sat on it like he had all the time in the world. His thigh brushed yours, and you hated that you noticed.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Staying.”

“You should be celebrating,” you scolded.

“I will. When you do.”

You shot him a look. “Bucky—”

“I’m serious.” He nudged your arm. “You worked just as hard as we did. You should be out there, too.”

You took a deep breath, rubbing your temple. “I just needed a second to think.”

He chuckled. “You? Thinking too much? Shocking.”

You glared at him. “Don’t you have a party to be at?”

“Like I said—I was looking for you.”

Fuck, was he always this insistent? “Why?”

Bucky tilted his head, watching you for a second before saying, too casually, “Because you ran off before I could kiss you.”

Your breath hitched instantly.

“I didn’t.” You forced a shrug, denying the heat curling in your stomach. “And you weren’t going to kiss me.”

“You did,” he accused, “And I was.” He leaned in, voice dropping lower. “And you wanted me to.”

Your heart pounded. “My dad was right there.”

Bucky just smirked. “Yeah. And you still looked at me like you wanted me, too.”

You swallowed hard.

This was stupid.

You should shut this down.

Tell him to leave.

Remind him—remind yourself—why it would be very difficult to make this work,

But then, his voice dropped even lower. “You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” He whispered huskily, his Brooklyn accent slipping out of his words. “You walk around actin’ like you don’t feel this— like you don’t see the way I look at you every damn time I’m on that pitch.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“You drive me insane, you know that? Pretending you don’t want me when I know you do.”

You should shut this down.

Instead… you kissed him first.

Or maybe he kissed you first. You didn’t know, didn’t care. 

Bucky’s hands were on you immediately—one tilting your chin, the other holding your waist, pulling you out of your chair and into his lap like he needed to. His lips teasing, taking, testing.

And you let him.

Your hands fisted his shirt, dragging him closer as he groaned against your mouth. His tongue brushed yours, and everything felt like a perfect contradiction—messy and controlled, rough and soft, teasing and hungry.

He kissed like he played—all in. Desperate, determined, and so fucking good at it.

His hand slid lower, fingers grazing the hem of your shirt, and your breath hitched.

You wanted more. You needed more. 

Then, you heard footsteps echoing down the hall.

You shoved him away just as the door swung open.

Erskine stepped inside, eyebrows raised. “There you are. Press is looking for you, Barnes. And—” His eyes darted between the, suspicion creeping in. “Everything okay?”

It’s not like he could prove anything. You cleared your throat, smoothing out your shirt. “Yeah.”

Bucky swiped his thumb over the corner of his mouth, erasing the last of your lipstick from his lips before Erskine could see it. “Just going over some stats.”

The manager didn’t question it. “Well, hurry up.”

As soon as the door shut, Bucky turned back to you, “You almost got us caught, sweetheart.”

You scoffed. “You kissed me.”

His brow lifted. “You kissed me.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he just leaned in again, “and we’re gonna do it again.”

—

You ended up celebrating that night,

There was no way around it— not when the entire team was already half-drunk, singing Freed From Desire in the locker room, parading the trophy around the stadium like it was the Holy Grail. 

You kept your distance to bucky when your father was around, of course, but he made it hard. He kept looking at you from across the room, eyes half-lidded and smug, knowing that he got you wrapped around his fingers. Every once in a while, he’d find an excuse to brush an arm against you when no one was watching. 

You almost didn’t realise when the celebrations moved from the stadium to the hotel, but at some point, you were all piling up at the bar. And bless the bartenders, having to deal with 20 sweaty footballers asking for pints all night— you even heard your father say something about having to leave a massive tip and chuckled.

Then, Bucky leaned in close. “You’re thinking too much again.”

You shivered. “You’re being reckless.”

He grinned. “What’s the fun in being careful?”

You shot him a glare, but he only chuckled, his fingers hovering over your hip as he moved past you, making a show of not touching you in full view of your father.

Fucking menace.

You managed to keep up the charade for a few more hours, dodging questions from Sam and Miguel. You played it cool. Kept your distance.

Until you somehow ended up in Bucky’s hotel room.

In his bed.

You weren’t even sure how it happened—one moment, you were slipping out of the party early, and the next, Bucky was opening his door like he’d been waiting for you all night.

And maybe he had.

You barely had time to breathe before his hands were on you, pulling you in, crashing his lips against yours like he needed you to survive.

And fuck, maybe you needed him, too.

The kiss was desperate. It was filthy.

Bucky moaned into your mouth, walking you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed. "You drive me fucking crazy," he muttered against your lips. "Do you know that?"

You didn’t answer. You just pulled him down with you.

June 1st — The Morning After

Bucky woke to the gentle click-click of a keyboard.

What? 

He blinked groggily, muscles pleasantly sore, body still recovering from the match… and from last night.

And then he saw you.

Sitting at the desk across the room, back to him, hair a mess, bare skin glowing in the morning sun. Still naked.

He grinned sleepily, making puppy dog eyes at you. “You’re beautiful.”

You didn’t turn around, only humming in acknowledgment, eyes locked on your laptop screen. “Mm. Morning, Barnes.”

Bucky stretched, watching you lazily. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at match data,” you said simply, like it was obvious. “Your heat map was insane last night.”

Bucky groaned, flopping back against the pillows. “Doll, please.”

You finally glanced over your shoulder. “What?”

“I love stats as much as the next guy, but I just woke up, and you’re sitting there—” he waved a hand at you, exasperated, “—naked, talking about heat maps? C’mon.”

You only laughed. “You did cover a lot of ground last night.”

His eyes turned a wicked shade of blue. “I covered a lot of ground?” He pushed himself up, the sheets slipping down his torso, exposing his bare chest. “Pretty sure you were the one putting in the work, sweetheart.”

You shook your head and put a hand out, “Come here, Barnes.”

Bucky grinned, slipping out of bed, not bothering to put anything on. His hands found your shoulders, fingers skimming along your skin as he pressed lazy kisses to the back of your neck as you showed him the data,

“Doll,” he said, mouth brushing your ear, “as much as I’d love to hear about my passing accuracy, I’d rather have you back in bed.”

His hands slid lower, tracing down your arms, featherlight, teasing.

You inhaled sharply. “Bucky—”

“C’mon,” he whispered, lips dragging down the slope of your shoulder. “Forget about it for a second.”

Your fingers rattled over the keys. “This is important—”

“This,” he murmured, lips grazing your skin, “is more important.”

His hands slipped lower, wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Bucky,” you warned.

He looked like pure sin. “Yeah?”

You attempted to stay focused. “I really should—”

“Doll,” he said, tone rougher this time, fingers tracing circles on your bare thighs, “you wanna talk numbers? Fine. How about this— I can make you come in under five minutes.”

Your breath hitched.

Bucky grinned, nudging your ear with his nose. “Or, if you’re really competitive, we can see if you can last longer than that.”

Dammit.

Your laptop snapped shut.

And Bucky laughed as he scooped you up and carried you back to bed.

—

By the time you dragged yourself out of bed (far later than usual, thanks to a certain footballer who had been very, very persuasive about abandoning your laptop), you were immediately thrown into a whirlwind of interviews, team meetings, and endless obligations. The club's media team had scheduled back-to-back press conferences, interviews, and photo ops with the trophy.

Bucky, of course, handled it all like he handled everything— calmly, and a little smug. He was great at it.

A team meeting was scheduled first thing, mostly for logistics— transport back home, media obligations, the parade plans. You were there, half-listening as the club staff went over the schedule, but your mind was on him.

Bucky sat across the table, fresh from a shower, damp hair pushed back, a loose hoodie hanging off his frame. Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing at you.

After the meeting, the press conferences began. Thankfully, you didn't have to be involved in too much of this.

Erskine went first, answering questions about tactics, substitutions, and the significance of the win. Then it was Bucky and a few of the key players’ turn, sitting at the podium under the blinding lights as they answered the usual questions.

But it was different now. Winning meant Bucky was no longer bombarded with questions about being a late bloomer. Now, he wasn’t just a player trying to prove himself in a new league— he was a champion.

"What was going through your mind before you scored the winner?"

Bucky leaned into the mic. “Nothing, really. Just… get in the right position. Get my head on it. Score."

"And after?"

For a split second, he hesitated. 

"After?" He echoed, his eyes darting toward you, who was standing at the back of the room with the other staff. "Just wanted to find someone."

No one else knew what he meant. But you did.

You stayed busy throughout the day, making sure all the data from the match was logged, answering a few questions yourself from journalists who were more interested in your role as a statistical analyst than your father.

That afternoon, the victory parade wound its way through the city, an open-top bus carrying the team through the streets, fans lining the roads, chanting, cheering, throwing scarves and beer into the air.

You stood near the back of the bus with some of the coaching staff, watching as Bucky lifted the trophy for the crowd in one hand, microphone in the other as Braddock led the chants. 

By the time the parade ended, the players were drained, half-drunk, still running on fumes.

The team had plans to go out, to party until the sun came up again. But you and Bucky didn’t.

Instead, you both found yourselves in his apartment, sitting on the floor with some very expensive takeout between you.

Neither of you had planned it this way. It just… happened.

Bucky had disappeared into his bedroom for a moment, emerging in sweats and a hoodie, looking far too comfortable, far too at home for the conversation you were about to have.

You let out a deep breath you hadn’t even realised you were holding. “I should go.”

Bucky, sat back down, cross-legged on the carpet across from you. He frowned. “Why?”

“Because.” You gestured vaguely at the air, at the invisible everything wrong about this. “Because it’s late. Because I shouldn’t be here.”

He pushed off the counter, stepping closer. “You were in my hotel room last night.”

“That was different.”

“Was it?”

You forced yourself to look away. “Bucky—”

“Can we at least talk about us?” he finally said, his voice quieter this time, a little more unsure.

Your chest tightened. “I—”

“No, I get it,” he cut in before you could dig yourself into a hole too deep to climb out of. “Your dad owns the club. You work for the team. This is messy—” He shook his head, exhaling sharply. “But I can’t pretend this never happened.”

You couldn’t find the words.

His jaw ticked. “Can you?”

You should say yes. You should be logical, responsible. You should remind him—and yourself—why this was a bad idea.

But all you could think about was last night. The way he had looked at you after the final whistle. The way he had kissed you, like he didn’t care about contracts or your father’s approval.

“...No.”

Bucky sighed, tilting his head back against the couch. Then, after a beat, he opened his arms. “C’mere.”

That was all it took.

You hesitated for maybe half a second before climbing onto his lap, your knees on either side of his torso, hands resting against his chest. Bucky wrapped his arms around you like he was afraid you’d change your mind before pressing his forehead to yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. 

Then, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should say it, he did. “I think I might be falling in love with you.”

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip.

And before you could stop yourself—before logic, before fear, before professionalism could talk you out of it—you whispered, “Me too.”

His arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your temple, his voice a little rough when he murmured, “Good. That’s… really good.”

But you couldn't ignore reality pulling you back up to the surface, You exhaled slowly, grounding yourself. “But we cannot let this interfere with work,” you said, fingers fisting the fabric of his hoodie. “My job is everything to me. It’s my life.”

Bucky leaned back slightly, tilting his head at you, amused. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His lips twitched. “Just that I’ve never met someone so—what’s the word? Dedicated? No, obsessed. Yeah, that’s it. You are obsessed with your job.”

You scowled, shoving his shoulder. “I am not obsessed.”

“Oh, really?” He raised a brow. “So it wasn’t you I saw pacing outside the locker room last week saying ‘expected goals ratio is a lie, I have to recalculate the whole formula’ under your breath?”

You groaned. “It was wrong, Bucky! The data wasn’t aligning with the actual game performance!”

He grinned. “Uh-huh.”

You crossed your arms. “Excuse me for caring about my work.”

“I love that you care.” His hands smoothed over your waist, drawing small circles against your hip bone, “And this won’t interfere with anything.” he promised.

You gave him a look. “You say that now, but what happens when I have to take a call about your contract? What happens when you have a bad run and I have to be the one to tell Erskine you’re underperforming?”

Bucky’s smile didn't falter as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ears. “Then you tell them.”

Your stomach twisted into a knot. “Bucky—”

“I never want you to sugarcoat my performance,” he said firmly. “Not for me. Not for anyone. If I’m not good enough, I want to know.”

Your fingers toyed absently with the hem of his hoodie, your chest tightening. He made it sound so easy.

“I don’t want to be the reason your career suffers,” you admitted.

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I was just about to say the same thing.” he said, “But I don’t want to lose you over a technicality.”

You bit your lip, exhaling. “It's… not a technicality. It's my— our careers.”

“And we’ll figure it out,” he said simply.

He was so sure. So certain. He might’ve just convinced you.

“We… we also need to keep this a secret,” you added after a beat. “Okay?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You think the media will tear into us?”

“You kidding?” You huffed. “The public won’t care. We're probably the least exciting couple in football.” It was clear he hadn't been paying attention to the people his teammates were dating— models, actresses, singers. People whose lives were much more public than yours. “But if my dad finds out, he will have your head.”

Bucky grinned, tipping his head to the side. “Hm. That’s fair.”

“At least… for now.”

His smile softened, hands sliding down to your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he didn’t want to let go. He nodded. “For now.”

Then, with a teasing smirk, he added, “Guess that means I get to have you all to myself for a little longer, huh?”

Mid-June — Off-Season

The break between the seasons was a welcome relief. You both had a month-ish of downtime before the pre-season training would start again, which meant you had time to work, unwind, and—try as you might—keep things from getting even more complicated. 

One morning, you found yourself sitting at Bucky’s kitchen table, your laptop open in front of you. You were scouting potential transfers for the club—yet another thing you’d been buried in since the season ended. Bucky had insisted that he’d handle the coffee run, but now he was back with an American and a Cappuccino, lazily balancing a football from one leg to the other in the yard while you worked.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he walked past the window, kicking the ball up and catching it with ease. He was wearing a loose T-shirt and sweatpants, and honestly, you could hardly focus on your scouting with him out there. 

Ugh. How dare your boyfriend be this hot?

“Hey, Bucky!” you called out, trying to regain some focus. “Can you come in for a minute?”

He glanced up from his ball-throwing session and grinned, giving a mock salute before striding inside. “What’s up?”

“Can you give me your opinion on this winger?” You pointed to the stats on your screen, showing a promising young player with an impressive 89% overall performance. 

Bucky asked, “How old is this guy?”

“Nineteen.”

Bucky squinted at the stats, then at his photo, his eyes narrowing as if trying to assess him. 

“Nineteen?” He flopped onto the couch next to you, his feet up on the coffee table as he leaned over to get a better look at the screen. “Left winger, huh?”

“Yeah, I know. This could be a major long-term signing for the team,” you said, scrolling through his performance history.

Bucky scoffed. “Skip.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

“Skip him,” he repeated, dismissing the player with a flick of his hand. “Nineteen and that good? He's gonna have an ego bigger than the Ikea in Wembley. That never ends well.”

You laughed. “Bucky, this isn’t Football Manager. You can’t just skip players because you think they’re going to have an ego.”

He grinned, giving you a playful scowl. “You know I’m right.”

You would never admit it, but you just put the kid’s profile aside and labelled it sign to loan. 

—

As the week passed, you found yourself spending more nights at Bucky’s place. It was cosy— comfortably messy, with football memorabilia covering the walls, a couch that swallowed you whole, and a kitchen that always smelled like something baking or a hearty pot of soup simmering. Sometimes, he stayed at your apartment, but you preferred it here. Yours felt more like a workspace with personal touches sprinkled here and there. It wasn’t intentional, it was just that most of your personal things were still at your father’s house— childhood home.

One evening, you sat Bucky down in the living room, he glanced up from his phone.

He put his phone down, tilting his head in curiosity. He could tell you had something to say. “What’s up?”

“We need to talk about ground rules. For when we go back to work.” You took a deep breath, willing yourself to be serious for once. 

Bucky’s lips curved in amusement as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Ground rules? You mean like… no affection in public?”

You crossed your arms and nodded, fighting back a smile. “No sneaking around at work. No kisses in the hallway. No dragging me into empty offices for secret make-out sessions.”

“Aw, come on.” Bucky leaned back, draping an arm over the couch with a dramatic sigh. “What’s the fun in that?”

You raised a finger, trying not to cave to his puppy dog eyes. “And no making up dumb excuses just to see me.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “What if I actually need to talk to you?”

“Then you schedule a meeting in the calendar, like everyone else,” you said, matching his defiance, but the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

Bucky groaned, flopping against the cushions in fake defeat.

Then, almost sheepishly, you added, “Okay… maybe one office make-out session a week. But we have to be smart about it.”

His eyes lit up instantly. “Deal.” Before you could second-guess yourself, he pulled you into him, triumphant.

The rules were set, no matter how ridiculous they felt. And yet, as you nestled closer, you couldn’t help but think that maybe… just maybe, this secret was worth keeping.

After all, who could resist Bucky Barnes? Even if he was a little too cocky for his own good.

July 16th — Pre-season Training 

After a long break, the players were eager to get back into the groove, and the club was ready to push for even bigger achievements in the upcoming season. You were buried in your stats and scouting reports, more focused than ever. 

The first day back was as intense as you expected. The training ground was buzzing with activity, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart race as you entered the facility. You’d been through this routine countless times before—analysing stats, monitoring players, making sure their numbers were as perfect as possible. But this time, there was one thing you couldn’t calculate: how your relationship with Bucky would affect everything.

You stepped into the manager’s office, where Abraham Erskine was discussing strategy with Alexei. 

"Good morning," Erskine greeted you, offering a nod. "Have you had a chance to go over the data from last season?”

You nodded, adjusting your glasses. "I have it all here. Still need time to get through everything, but I’ll get it sorted out."

Erskine grinned, always trusting your analysis. "Perfect."

Alexei gave you a nod. "And if you need anything, you know where I am."

As you stepped out of the office, you saw Bucky on the pitch, running fitness drills with Sam and his team. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he dribbled the ball, his movements fluid and precise. Dare you say, a striker at his prime.

He caught your eye from across the field, and for a moment, everything else faded away. You quickly turned your attention back to your clipboard and the stats on your screen, reminding yourself that you couldn’t afford distractions.

—

The players were already out on the field, getting ready for a five-a-side training match. Alexei was yelling on behalf of Erskine from the sidelines, making sure everyone was pushing themselves to the limit. 

You joined the rest of the coaching staff, standing near the sidelines with Erskine, Alexei, and Sam, watching the players as they ran across the field trying to defend and score in a small-scale match..

"Bucky's looking good," Sam commented, watching as he received a pass, flicking it effortlessly past one of the defenders. 

"He's been working  on his stamina during the break,” you said, the words slipping out before you could think.

Thankfully, no one seemed to question how you knew, except for maybe Sam, who only raised an eyebrow.

"That’s good. He’ll need it for the new season," Erskine added. "We’re pushing the tempo this year, more focus on fast breaks."

"Speaking of fast breaks," Alexei said, "Did you see that new guy, Piotr? He’s got decent pace.”

You nodded, jotting down notes. Piotr Rasputin, the new left-back, had already made an impression during his first few sessions. His speed, strength, and ability to cover ground quickly were going to make him a key player in transitions.

"We’ll need to see how he works with T'Challa,” you said, “probably gonna be a tough adjusting period, especially with our new signings in the center."

"Right," Alexei said, glancing toward the center of the pitch. "Marko and O’Hara will need to get their communication sorted out. They’re both physical players, but Marko can be a bit… rough around the edges."

You nodded. Cain Marko, the new central defensive midfielder, had a reputation for his strength, but his discipline was something to keep an eye on. 

The match continued, and Da Costa struggled against Zemo. Thankfully, Torres was feeding him precise passes, setting him up for shots on goal.

You were going to have a good season. 

July 25th — First Pre-season Game

Another match. Another win. Another goal from Bucky.

This time, it was a home game to test out your tactics against Italian Champions Inter Milan. 

It was a textbook performance from Bucky: 89% passing accuracy, five successful take-ons, one assist, and, of course, a goal.

The moment his shot hit the back of the net, Bucky turned straight to where you stood on the sidelines, barely masking the grin pulling at his lips. 

This was for you.

July 25th — Training Center, Post-Match Analysis

You sat on the edge of your desk, laptop open, trying to keep your focus. Bucky, on the other hand? Leaning against the chair, still in his sweaty training clothes, looking way too satisfied with himself.

"Your movement in the final third was better this time," you said, scrolling through the match data.

"Mhm," Bucky hummed, distracted. His fingers traced along your thigh.

Are you even listening?"

"Of course, doll." He smiled. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was the picture of innocence. "Final third movement. You liked it."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away when his hand slid higher. Focus. Stay professional.

"Anyway," you continued, keeping your voice even, "your xG in the first half was—"

He kissed you before you could finish.

Gently, teasing, just enough to make you lose your train of thought. You sighed against his lips, fingers gripping the edge of the desk, but you didn’t stop.

"Your xG was 1.2," you managed between kisses.

"Mhm," he mumbled, mouth trailing along your jaw. "And what about my pressing stats?"

You tried to focus, but Bucky’s hands were slipping under your shirt.

"89%," you exhaled, tilting your head as his lips brushed against your neck.

"That good?" he murmured, grinning against your skin.

"Yeah," you breathed, biting back a gasp as his hands tightened around your waist. "Best in the squad."

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you, pleased. "That right?"

You nodded. He had a good game and he knew it.

"Guess we should celebrate, then."

—

It’s safe to say that you and Bucky extended your stay in your office.

By the time you had finished cleaning your office up after the mess you made, the training ground was almost empty.

Now, it was just you and Bucky, sitting on the edge of the training pitch, boots scuffing against the grass.

Your phone buzzed with a traffic report. You glanced at it and groaned. "Ugh. I’m gonna be stuck in traffic for hours before I get home."

Bucky stretched, and offered. "Come to mine."

You shook your head. "Yeah, and get stuck in the same traffic? No thanks."

You turned the screen toward him, showing the live updates— Multiple road closures. An accident on the main route out of the city. Absolute chaos.

He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "Great."

A second passed as stared at the screen, then at Bucky, then back at the screen.

You had an idea.

"Wait—come with me."

Bucky frowned as you stood abruptly. "What?"

"Just trust me."

—

Ten minutes later, you were pulling into a long, tree-lined driveway, the city chaos left behind. The road closures were the other way. Thankfully, you had keys to a place nearby. 

Bucky sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, watching as the gated house came into view.

His brows raised. "What’s this?"

You put the car in park. "My dad’s house. The house I grew up in."

Bucky blinked. "Your dad—"

"He’s not home," you clarified quickly, unbuckling your seatbelt. "He's on an overseas trip to meet with sponsors. Won’t be back for a week, I think."

Bucky turned to you, a mischief on his lips. "Oh?"

You swallowed. "Don’t get any ideas, Barnes."

—

The door clicked shut behind you. 

It was quieter than you remembered, and it felt like time had paused the moment you left, freezing everything in place, waiting for you to come back.

And yet, the air still smelled the same. Your father’s favorite room freshener clung to the walls like a memory that refused to fade. You could even still smell the polish on the hardwood floors—it was all still here, untouched. Preserved.

Bucky followed close behind, his usual confidence tempered by the fear of stepping out of line. He looked around, taking it all in. 

And then he saw them.

The trophies.

Lined up on the shelves outside of your father’s study, glimmering under the light. They stood untouched, as if time waited for you to claim them again. 

Small ones at first—junior leagues, local tournaments, academy honours. Then bigger. Regional championships, national competitions. Medals draped over plaques, certificates framed neatly.

His eyes landed on a newspaper clipping, framed like the rest. 

SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD WONDERKID: THE DEFENSIVE FUTURE OF WOMEN’S FOOTBALL

And beneath it was a photo of a younger you. 

His throat tightened. Then he saw it—the trophy that confirmed it. Under-20 Women’s World Cup Champion. 

You hadn’t just been good. You had been the best of your generation

"You wanted to play, too?" Bucky’s voice was almost careful.

You hesitated. Not because you were hiding it, but because it wasn’t something you really talked about anymore.

"Yeah," you admitted. "Center back." A ghost of a smile formed at your lips. "I was pretty good, too."

Bucky stepped closer, scanning the awards, the photographs tucked beside them—team shots, you at the center, laughing with your teammates. And then there was one—caught mid-game, celebrating a goal with a knee slide and unfiltered joy. 

His voice went lower. "What… happened?"

Your fingers trailed along the edge of one of the shelves. "Hamstring injury. It never healed right. Tried to push through, but I wasn’t the same."

Bucky could only nod. He knew injuries, knew what they did to athletes, to their futures.

"How old were you?"

"Seventeen."

His heart ached. Seventeen. Just a kid.

You shrugged, forcing indifference into your smile, as if who you were then didn’t for who you are now. "I knew I’d never go pro after that, so I chose to fall in love with this part of the game."

Bucky was silent for a moment, before finally saying. "I didn’t know that."

You met his eyes and gave him a sad smile. "Lots you still don’t know about me, Barnes."

He didn’t like that like there were parts of you he hadn’t uncovered yet, pieces of your story buried so deep even you pretended they didn’t matter anymore.

"You ever thought about it?" he asked. "What could’ve been?"

You hesitated for a second. "Sometimes," you admitted. "But not in the way you think."

Bucky tilted his head, waiting.

"I don’t regret where I am now,” you explained. “I love being the person who sees things before they happen, I really do. But…" You ran a hand through your hair. "Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve felt like. To step onto that pitch, just once. To have a chant for me, to hear my name over the speakers, to be in it, you know?”

Bucky didn’t look away. He did know. That was his life. "You miss it?" He asked, curious.

"Every now and again," you admitted. 

He didn’t say anything at first. Just reached down, plucked up one of your old medals, turning it over in his fingers. His thumb brushed over the engraving of your name.

"Then let’s play."

You blinked. "What?"

"Right now," he said, that cocky little smirk you loved so much playing on his lips. "I saw the goalposts in the garden. One v. one. Unless you’re scared?"

You rolled your eyes. "Bucky—"

"What?" He tossed the medal back onto the shelf and turned to you fully. "Can’t keep up with a pro?"

“I coach you,” You reminded him, scoffing. "I am not scared.”

He stepped back toward the door, a familiar flame in his eyes. "Prove it."

And just like that, the fire inside you came back to life.

—

Not ten minutes later, you were outside. The grass was cool and damp beneath your feet, the backyard stretching wide and open behind the house as moonlights casting shadows over the makeshift goalposts your father had set up years ago.

Bucky had found an old football in the garage, rolling it under his foot, watching you with that same infuriatingly charming face. 

"First to five?" he offered, challenging you.

You nodded.

The game started off sloppy—neither of you in match form. You were coming off years of watching from the sidelines, and of course, he was going easy on you. 

Your first touch was too heavy, shots lacking precision. But after a few minutes, instinct took over. Your muscles…  remembered. 

You faked left, then flicked the ball around him with a burst of speed that surprised you.

"Shit," he muttered, turning on his heel to chase after you.

You laughed, breathless.

This was familiar. This was intoxicating. 

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about strategy, about numbers, about your father’s expectations or the injury you suffered. 

You were just playing the game you had loved since you could walk.

Bucky caught up, nudging you with his shoulder, using his strength to knock you off balance. He stole possession with an easy touch, flicking the ball past you before slotting it into the net. 

You huffed, placing your hands on your hips. "Lucky shot."

He tilted his head, watching you. "You love this,” he said.

Not a question. A fact.

You chuckled. "I do."

His blue eyes softened, like he could see straight through you and find the kid who had once dreamed of stadium lights and roaring crowds. The kid who had to let it go.

"Don’t forget that."

You didn’t know how to answer. So you  just tackled him instead.

—

It was fast. Messy. Fun.

You scored. He scored.

4-4.

You knew he let you score at least two of your goals but you didn’t call him out on it. He was your boyfriend, after all. Your boyfriend who, mind you,  who won the Golden Boot last season. 

Bucky yelped as you knocked him off balance, the two of you tumbling into the grass. He landed on his back, you half on top of him, both of you laughing too hard to care. 

The laughter faded, but you stayed close. His hand found your cheek, fingers brushing over your skin.

His voice was softer when he spoke next.

"You would’ve been great."

The words settled. You hadn’t let yourself feel like this in a long time.

“Maybe," you whispered. 

His thumb traced over your cheekbone. "No maybe about it."

And then, there was nothing else to say he kissed you.

Slowly, His lips impossibly gentle on yours.

When you pulled back, you didn’t hesitate. You scrambled up, found the ball, and booted it straight into the net.

5-4

"I WIN!"

Bucky groaned, throwing his head back into the grass. "You were distracting me!"

You stood over him, victorious. "Sounds like a skill issue, Barnes."

—

Your childhood room felt smaller than you remembered. 

Old posters still covered the walls, though their edges were curling and yellowing slightly with age— legends of the game staring down as you both sat on the bed. 

Bucky looked amused when his eyes landed on one in particular. He let out a low whistle.

“Gerard Piqué, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, already hearing the teasing you were about to endure. “Shut up.”

Bucky grinned, leaning back on his elbows. “I get it. World-class defender, Champions League winner… and what, you had a little crush on Shakira’s ex?”

You scoffed, kicking off your shoes as you dropped onto the bed. “I admired his game.”

"Uh-huh. Sure. Nothing to do with those blue eyes?" His smirk was downright wicked now. "Kinda like mine, now that I think about it. I’m seeing a pattern here."

You crossed your arms. “I liked his defensive intelligence.”

Bucky laid beside you. “And his face?”

You smacked him with a pillow. He caught it effortlessly, laughing. 

You huffed. “He was a good defender.”

Bucky laughed. 

You grabbed another pillow, but this time, Bucky beat you to it and tucked it under his head. He was still chuckling when he said, almost sheepishly, “I, uh… didn’t really have a crush when I was younger, but—”

You raised a brow. “But?”

He sighed. “I did have a lot of Thierry Henry posters.”

You blinked. “Thierry Henry?”

It caught you off-guard. Henry and Bucky were very different strikers, after all. Thierry Henry was sleek and technically refined. Bucky was more of a physically dominant, power-based striker. 

Bucky shrugged, pretending to be indifferent, but you could see the slight pink creeping up his neck. “He was cool, alright?”

You grinned. “Are you sure you didn’t have a crush on him?”

Bucky groaned, covering his face with the pillow. “He was just so smooth. That dribbling, those finishes—he made everything look effortless.”

You laughed, nudging his arm. “This is adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“You were a little Thierry Henry fanboy.”

Bucky groaned again, but there was no real frustration in it. You tugged the pillow away, still smiling.

You traced patterns on your bedsheets. “I never would've guessed."

Bucky turned his head toward you. "And I never would've guessed Piqué was your type."

You chuckled. "He's not my type."

Bucky hummed, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "No?"

You swallowed, leaning into his touch.

"You," you insisted. "You're my type."

Bucky chuckled, hand cupping against your cheek, thumb brushing your skin.

"Good," he whispered. "Because you're mine."

You both laid there for a while, talking without any pressure, just enjoying the kind of conversation that happens when the world feels small and distant.

You asked him about life in America, about the MLS. If he missed anyone.

Bucky hesitated, staring up at the ceiling. "Not really. I mean, I had my team, my life there, but… football took me everywhere. Always moving." He sighed, a little wistful. "My sister's still there, though."

"You’re close?" you asked.

"Yeah. Used to be more, but... she's— we’re both always busy now." He paused, "But you’ll meet her someday."

You smiled. "I’d like that."

Bucky looked over at you, his expression soft. "Yeah?" he asked, as if he hadn’t quite believed you'd want to.

"Yeah."

There was a quiet moment before Bucky turned his back to the ceiling, lost in thought. "I, uh… I had a best friend in MLS."

You nudged him with your elbow. "Had?"

He smiled faintly. "He's still my best friend. He called to congratulate me on the trophy, actually. Steve Rogers. We grew up together in Brooklyn, playing football since we were kids. Ended up on the same team in MLS. He was always better, though."

You raised your eyebrows. "You literally won the Champions League last season."

Bucky chuckled softly. "Yeah, well. Steve was special. One of those players who just had it." He looked at you, his voice growling smaller. "Like you."

Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected compliment. 

Bucky kept talking, his voice almost a whisper. "A couple years ago, he got injured. It was... bad. Never really got back to the way he used to be." He sighed.

Oh. So Rogers was very much like you.

“We used to spend hours just playing in the streets, using whatever we had for goalposts"

You hummed.

"I think I miss that part of football the most,” he admitted. “Just... playing for the love of it. No expectations. No pressure."

You shifted closer, resting your head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you in. 

"I get that," you whispered.

For a long time, you didn’t speak. There was no need for words. You just laid there, wrapped up in each other.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t alone anymore.

July 26th — Your Father’s Residence

Last night had been so innocent.

Just the two of you, curled up together in your childhood bed, limbs tangled beneath the covers.

Bucky had been sweet, so sweet and surprisingly well-behaved, even going so far as to change into one of his clean training shirts before bed, despite your teasing.

And, for a few blissful hours you had peace.

When you woke up, you felt Bucky’s chest beneath your cheek, his arms loose around your waist. For a moment, you simply watched him— his sleep-mussed hair, the way his brow scrunched slightly, the way his lips parted just enough to let out a barely-there sigh.

He was so adorable like this. Nothing like the relentless striker the world saw on the pitch.

Just Bucky. Just yours.

You smiled to yourself, stretching lazily before slipping from the bed, careful not to wake him. You walked over to the other side of the room, grabbing the jug of water from your desk and taking a sip, blinking the sleep from your eyes as you turned to the window—

And froze.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

There it was. Your dad’s car. In the driveway.

OH. SHIT.

Your stomach flipped as panic jolted through your spine.

"Bucky," you hissed, spinning around. "Bucky, wake up."

He didn’t respond for a few seconds, only managing a sleepy groan, a grumble of "Mmm, five more minutes."

You stared at him in utter betrayal. A professional athlete— a man who woke up at the crack of dawn to train every single day— was suddenly a five-more-minutes kind of guy?! Unacceptable.

You shoved his shoulder. Hard. "JAMES! HE’S HOME EARLY,” you whisper-shouted.

Bucky shot up so fast he nearly fell off the bed. "Wait—who—what—"

Well, that did it.

"My dad! My dad is home early!"

For two whole seconds, Bucky just took his sweet time processing.

"Oh shit,” he blinked.

Good. His panic mode was finally activated. 

Your brain short-circuited. "Okay, okay, okay—uh—we have to sneak you out."

Bucky scrambled out of bed, moving in the most uncoordinated way you had ever seen him move. "Right. Right. Sneak out. I—I just need to get my stuff—"

"You don’t have anything!"

"Shit! Okay!" he whisper-yelled, as if that somehow made things quieter.

And then you heard footsteps from downstairs.

Your dad was awake. 

Oh god. Any second now, he’d either call up to you or worse— walk upstairs and find his club’s star striker sneaking out of his daughter’s bedroom.

You and Bucky exchanged a look.

The sheer terror shared between you was almost comical.

"Window?" Bucky whispered.

You gawked at him. "You’re a footballer, not Spider-Man. Are you insane?!"

"Back door?"

"It’s right by the kitchen! He’ll see you!"

You tiptoed to the bedroom door, cracked it open just enough to listen. You could hear the faint sizzling of something cooking.

Okay. Okay. You could work with this.

You turned back to Bucky. "We can do this. Just—just act casual."

Bucky gave you the most not-casual look ever as you both stumbled toward the hallway. "What the hell does ‘casual’ mean?"

"It means don’t act guilty!"

"Well, I am guilty!"

"Of what?! We didn’t do anything!"

"I don’t know?!" He was borderline hysterically whispering. 

Before you could argue, Bucky suddenly stiffened.

Your stomach dropped. Slowly, with dread pooling in your gut, you turned.

And there your father was.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs. Arms crossed. Watching.

Shit.

“Barnes,” he said. 

Bucky made a noise that was not human, best described as a strangled mix between a squeak and a whimper. His spine locked up so straight it was a miracle he didn’t snap in half.

Your dad looked at you. Then to Bucky. Then calmly, too calmly he asked, “You stayed over?”

Bucky opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. All of that jaw movement and still, absolute nothing came out.

You, already in full-blown panic mode, squeaked. “He—he stayed in the guest room!” A blatant, terrible lie.

Bucky nodded so fast it looked like his head might pop off. “Guest room. Yup. Uh—I was gonna go home from the training ground, but the, um—traffic!”

That wasn’t a complete lie.

“…gridlock,” you added weakly. “I had the keys here and… I, um, offered a stay. Can’t have our star boy stuck in training overnight!” You joked weakly, trying to lighten the mood. 

Your dad’s expression remained unreadable.

“That’s very nice of you,” he finally smiled, but you couldn’t tell if it was sincere or not. 

Your knees nearly gave out.

Bucky, sensing his only possible window of escape, inched toward the door like he was sneaking past a sleeping bear. “Well, uh—thank you for the hospitality, sir. I should probably—”

“Oh, nonsense! Any player of mine should stay for breakfast!”

Bucky froze.

You froze.

Your dad, already turning toward the kitchen, utterly oblivious to the horror radiating from both of you, continued, “I’m making waffles. You’re both eating.”

Bucky turned to you, pure fear in his eyes. “Why does this feel like a trap?”

You whispered, “Because it is.”

—

The kitchen had never felt so small.

You and Bucky sat at the long wooden table like criminals waiting for questioning, hands stiff on your laps. Meanwhile, your father hummed as he mixed the batter. Your father never hummed.

You were so, so screwed.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and vanilla filled the air, very deceptively warm and comforting. You should have felt cosy, sitting in the same kitchen where you’d spent countless mornings as a child, where your father had once ruffled your hair and reminded you to eat before school.

But today, was Bucky Barnes sitting beside you, his knee just barely brushing against yours under the table.

“So, Barnes.” Your father finally spoke, pouring batter into the waffle maker. “How’s training been?”

Bucky’s voice cracked. “Good, sir! Strong. Very strongly.  Uh—good preseason. Feeling… fit. Ready. Strong.”

You kicked him under the table, daring him to say strong one more time. 

Your father nodded. “Good, good.” And then, without so much as a glance, he said, “You didn’t stay in the guest room, did you?”

Bucky’s grip tightened around the edge of the table.

“When I got home and saw my daughter’s car and the football outside, I figured I’d check if anyone else was staying the night.”

Your father paused. “You weren’t there,” he narrowed his eyes, pointing a fork at Bucky. “You slept in my daughter’s room.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your father poked at the batter, checking if it was done.“So. Are you two dating?”

Bucky choked on air.

“Dad!” you yelped, heat flooding your face.

Your father only shrugged, his expression neutral, his movements impossibly calm. “What? It’s a simple question.”

Bucky, hands now frantically tapping the table, started rambling, We—uh—we’re just—”

Your father arched a brow, unamused. “It really shouldn’t be this hard to answer, Barnes.”

Bucky flinched like he’d just been tackled into the ground. After bracing himself, he blurted out, “Yes.”

Your father hummed again (seriously, the humming was unsettling) as he played the waffles.  “I’m not stupid, you know. It’s obvious. That, and Wilson’s been hinting about it for weeks.”

Fucking Sam.

Bucky blinked, though. He was surprisingly calm about this. 

“And you’re okay with that?” You asked sheepishly

“As long as Barnes keeps scoring goals and doesn’t break your heart?” He shrugged, “Sure.”

“So…” Bucky decided it was a good time for a joke. “I don’t have to run out the window?”

Your father chuckled, shaking his head. “I’d rather you not break your legs before the season starts.”

Oh. Okay. 

Your father slid a stack of golden waffles onto both of your plates, pouring syrup over them with far too much exaggeration.

“Eat your waffles, kid.”

And just like that, Bucky Barnes had officially survived meeting your father.

Not as his boss. But as his girlfriend’s dad.

(Barely).

-end.

Extra note : I’m considering doing a part two where Steve gets hired as part of the coaching staff but I don’t know if anyone will read this fic, let alone like it 😭😭😭 I feel like it’s just such a niche audience lol.

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

Red, White, and Blew em' All Away

Summary : Bucky asks John Walker to set him up with his best friend. Of course it's an unnecessarily complicated plan.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x sniper! reader (she/her), Best friend!John Walker

Warnings/tags : Thunderbolts* spoilers!!!!!!! Fluff, Cursing, brief mention of trauma. Implied sex. Brief mention of death. John has massive Ross from friends energy in this one. Mutual pining???? Everyone lives in the tower. (Please let me know if I miss anything!!!)

Word count : 5.3k

Note : This was inspired by the song Supersoaker by Kings of Leon. I’ll reply to some asks/comments soon since I’ve been short on time! If you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. I’m also closing it soon since it's getting a bit out of hand. Anyone have any suggestions on how to organise taglists better? Anyway, enjoy!

You were one of the most lethal soldiers of your generation—at least, you had been. Back in the 75th Ranger Regiment, you were very close with both John Walker and Lemar Hoskins. They were family, as far as you were concerned.

You never used to question orders. Back in the unit, that wasn’t your job. You were a sniper. You saw the world through a scope, in gradients of distance, timing, and target confirmation. You didn’t hesitate.

Lemar used to say, “You think too much after the mission.”

You’d reply with a dismissive chuckle, “That’s the only time it’s safe to think.”

But watching Lemar die changed something in you. You saw it in slow motion— the way his back hit the pillar, horrified as John’s guttural rage as you stood frozen on the spot. 

When you saw him raise the shield, you knew what he was going to do. But you didn’t stop him. Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe you didn’t want to.

Watching John—your brother in arms—bring down his shield like a guillotine on a surrendering man snapped the last thread of who you thought you were.

So you fought Sam and Bucky in Latvia, trying to explain that John was in grief. You knew what he did was wrong, but fuck— you’ve just lost Lemar, too. 

Because if he wasn’t your field partner, who the hell were you? 

You held your own for a while— until Bucky disarmed you, pressed you against a wall, breath ragged, eyes wild. You’d never admit it, but that the moment stuck with you, burned itself into your memory like a scar on skin.

After the dust settled and Karli was gone, Sam reached out. He saw something in you. He dragged you to the VA, made you talk, made you work through what you felt. 

You started climbing out of the pit. And then, she came—Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, with a promise of purpose and redemption. Just like that, you were right back at John’s side, following orders again.

—

But it was different now.

After New York, after pulling Bob out of his literal void, you had… a family. 

And you moved to Avengers tower with that family.

Bucky started noticing you more after that day. He always had, if he was being honest. From the first time you pulled the bolt on your M24 with that annoying little pretty smirk after you, John, and Lemar helped him and Sam with the Flag Smashers the first time he met you. 

You weren’t just good— you were dangerous. And that caught his attention. 

So when you both moved to live in the Avengers tower full-time, you and Bucky, ironically, clicked. Two ex-army snipers, worn out by decades of destruction, it felt like a no-brainer. You’d never admit it to anyone, but you thought he was stupidly hot even when he had a knife to your throat during training. He, likewise, thought your smile was devastating. 

You sparred. You bantered. You shot rounds together every morning now at the Avengers compound.

It was a ritual at this point. 0600 at the shooting range. You and Bucky would be shoulder to shoulder, trash-talking, competing, and trying to out-shoot each other like teenagers in basic training. The bullet holes on your targets were always nearly stacked.

“Can’t believe a relic like you still has steady hands,” you teased once.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Can’t believe you’ve got all these fancy new tech, and still can’t beat me. Back in the 40s, all I had was a good eye.”

“Whatever, old man,” You huffed, but smiled. He thought it was the best damn thing he’d ever seen.

So yeah, it’s safe to say Bucky had a crush on you.

The kind of crush that made him forget how to speak like a normal human whenever you looked at him. The kind that made him stalk around in doorways just a second too long, hoping you’d notice. The kind that had him memorising your coffee order and pretending it was just coincidence.

The only problem was that he had absolutely no idea how to ask you out.

So, naturally, he turned to the one person he thought might have some experience in that department.

John Walker—your brother in everything but blood. The man who once challenged a bouncer to arm-wrestle just because you said the guy looked strong. The man who had never, in the history of knowing you, made a subtle decision.

Bucky should have known better.

The second Bucky confessed, he regretted it.

John’s eyes went wide with shock and glee, like a kid on Christmas who just found out his new toy came with explosives. He damn near shouted, “Wait—wait. You have a crush on my best friend?!”

Bucky winced. “Keep your voice down.”

John leaned back and grinned like he just cracked the Pentagon’s launch codes. “Oh ho ho. This is gold. Don’t worry. I got you.”

“John—”

“I’ve got you, Buck,” he insisted, slapping a hand to his shoulder like he was about to make a blood oath. “I’m gonna help you win her over.”

Oh. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

—

It was so bad.

Because instead of helpful advice or moral support—or literally any of the sane things a normal person might do—John decided to be John. Unnecessary, over-complicated, convoluted John. 

He ended up setting you up on a blind date with someone from his high school.

Not just someone. Bruce Mallory, the guy everyone hated. The walking red flag. A high school quarterback who used to cheat in every test and called women “females.”

Bucky found out three hours before the date.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, cornering John by the weights like this was a hostage negotiation.

“Relax,” John said like this was all going according to plan. “It’s strategy.”

“Strategy?”

“Yeah, man. Trust me.” He leaned forward like he was about to reveal top-level clearance intelligence. “She needs a push. I know her enough to know likes you, but she thinks you’re out of her league.”

Bucky huffed. “That’s insane.”

“Exactly,” John said, like that somehow made sense. “So, I set her up with a guy I know. Total douchebag. Real fucking dickhead. She’ll hate the date. Then you swoop in afterward, say something funny, remind her what a good guy looks like. Boom. Bucky gets the girl.”

Bucky stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You’re telling me… you intentionally set her up for a bad time so I’d look better by comparison?”

John looked insulted that he even had to explain. “It’s foolproof.”

Foolproof. Right. Coming from the divorced guy. 

Bucky groaned.

Somehow, this had become his life.

“See? Bruce Mallory,” John said, showing him this guy’s old high school photo on his phone. “Used to sell oregano as weed in high school. Had three girlfriends at the same time until they all found out at prom and cornered him by the punch bowl. Absolute legend.”

Bucky stared at him. 

It sounded unhinged. Bucky should’ve shut it down then and there. 

But the truth was, he was desperate. You haunted his thoughts. He couldn’t breathe right when you were in the same room as him. He was in deep, and every time he thought about telling you, his mind conjured a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t.

So yeah. He let John run his little plan.

And then watched it implode in slow motion.

Because when you came back to Avengers Tower after the date, you weren’t angry. You weren’t disappointed or exhausted or cursing John’s name. 

You were… happy? 

Bucky’s chest tightened like a vice.

“How was it?” he managed, voice tight, his rehearsed smile barely holding.

You shrugged casually. “Really good, actually.”

Bucky blinked. “Oh?”

“Well,” you said thoughtfully, “he’s a pediatrician and goes to the same gym I used to. Volunteers in war zones sometimes for humanitarian missions and he’s currently saving up to establish a free hospital in areas of conflict.”

Bucky’s throat went dry. “Hmm?”

“Yeah. Also, he fosters dogs—he’s got this one now with three legs—and he’s been learning ASL so he can work with hearing-impaired kids.”

Bucky felt the world tilt sideways.

“He… fosters dogs?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, and it felt like getting stabbed with a butter knife— it was slow, messy, painful. “We’re going out again next week.”

“Thanks for introducing us, man,” You turned to John, whose mouth was agape from the kitchen, “You’re the best.”

John looked like someone had just told him his credit score was zero. “Uh… y-you’re welcome?”

Bucky laughed. It was a brittle, choking sound that tasted like rust in his throat. “Wow. Great. No, this is… this is great.” He turned to John, eyes cold. “Hey. John? Can we talk? Just real quick. In the hallway. Now.”

John followed him knowing he would get an earful. The second the door shut, Bucky pointed at him.

“What the hell did you do?!”

John threw his hands up. “How was I supposed to know he’d go through a redemption arc?!”

“You told me he was a human garbage fire!”

“He was! Last time I saw him he was getting dumped three times simultaneously. I didn’t know he’d become freakin’ Mother Teresa with a gym membership!”

“He volunteers in war zones, John!”

“I know!”

Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to peel off his skin. “She was supposed to hate him. I was gonna show up, make her laugh—”

John winced. “Yeah, that was the plan. But apparently, Bruce Mallory became Ghandi’s hot cousin, I know.” He paced around the room, “which means… I need to come up with a plan B.”

—

Meanwhile, you were sitting in the common room trying not to scream into a pillow.

Because Bruce Mallory was great. He was smart, kind, and selfless. But you knew exactly why you’d said yes to a second date.

Because you had to get over Bucky Barnes.

You’d been crushing on him for months. Hopelessly. Pathetically. Every glance, every half-smile had rooted deeper in your chest like a splinter you didn’t want to remove. But he was a war hero—broken and still healing, older than time yet still disgustingly handsome. He was Bucky Barnes.

There was no version of reality where someone like him would stoop so low and choose someone like you.

So when John set you up and Bruce Mallory came along, you stupidly thought, maybe if you dated someone else, it would fill that hole that Bucky left in your heart. Maybe it would help you let go of the fantasy of ever being with the former winter soldier.

So yes. You’re going on a second date, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

—

You went on the second date next week and didn’t say much after, just that it went “well” and you were “going on a third.” No dreamy smiles, but still— no complaints either.

Which, for Bucky, not knowing everything was somehow worse.

He stood in the gym, punching a bag so hard it nearly came off the chain.

Across the room, John leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him implode.

“She didn’t rave about it,” John said helpfully. “That’s something, right?”

Bucky didn’t respond and just kept punching.

“She didn’t not like it,” John added. “But you know, not every spark sets the world on fire. Maybe she’s just... being polite.”

“John,” Bucky growled, sweat dripping from his temples. “Do you have a Plan B?”

John nodded, a little too quickly. “Absolutely. We’re going on a family vacation.”

—

“Team bonding weekend!” he announced in the New Avengers group chat like it was to pile a group of super-operatives and Bob into a rented cabin in the woods for a little R&R. 

Yelena immediately called dibs on making the s’mores and threatened anyone who brought off-brand marshmallows.

Bob asked if the cabin had satellite TV.

Ava sent a thumbs-up and a gif alluding to arson.

Alexei promised “memorable Soviet campfire tales.”

And Bucky was both extremely nervous and cautiously hopeful. Maybe this was the break he needed— a moment for you to see him outside the chaos. 

Plus, John was undeterred. Because this wasn’t about s’mores or a holiday. This was about you and Bucky finally getting your heads out of your asses and realising you were cosmically meant for each other.

The centerpiece of his romantic heist was one single strategically placed bed. 

He got there early and rigged the room assignment, going so far as to fake a DO NOT USE sign on the air mattress. He removed the backup cot and hid it in the woods. 

It was all going to work. Maybe you would get a confession. Maybe a kiss under the stars.

What he didn’t account for was your complete and utter, soul-crushing obliviousness.

—

When you got to the cabin and walked into the room, you took one look at the bed, then looked at Bucky—already slightly pink in the ears—and then just shrugged.

“Two seater,” you said, tossing your duffel onto the small, barely padded couch in the corner of the bedroom. “I’ve slept on debris-filled floors. This’ll be a luxury.”

Bucky muttered a curse under his breath. “You’re sleeping on the couch?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged, “You’ve got the vibranium arm. Probably not great for furniture. Go take the bed.”

“No,” he insisted. “You take the bed. It’s final.”

You raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “You pulling rank on me, Sergeant?”

Bucky loved it when you called him that. “I’ll make it an order if I have to.”

“Oh, sir, yes sir,” you said with a playful laugh.

The flirty tension was there, for half a second. 

It was enough for Bucky to remember how soul-crushing his feelings for you were.

—

The evening passed in a haze of awkward not-quite moments.

Outside, the others drank by the firepit. Yelena was teaching Ava how to make s’mores using a knife for a stick. Alexei was yelling about surviving a Siberian winter inside a collapsed barn with only a spoon and a shield. 

When you excused yourself early—“Gonna crash”—Bucky followed too quickly. “Yeah. Same. ‘M exhausted.”

You both entered the room and settled into the roles you had clearly assigned yourselves: You on the bed, arms crossed behind your head, and Bucky on the couch, perched like it might collapse under the weight of his own emotional constipation.

And outside the window, just beyond the tree line, John Walker lurked like a raccoon, peeking through the curtains and mouthing: “DO SOMETHING.”

Bucky didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

He just sat there until the silence got too loud to ignore.

And because Bucky apparently hated himself, he asked the one question he absolutely shouldn’t have. “So… how’s Bruce Mallory?”

You looked over, surprised. “He’s good. Actually good. I was surprised. When John said ‘high school friend,’ I thought he’d be a creep. Most of the guys I’ve met from his past are… dumpster fires.”

Bucky forced a civil nod. “That’s… great. Just great.”

You tilted your head. “You okay?”

“Me? Yeah. Sure. Sounds like a nice guy.”

You’d hoped—just a little—that he’d show something. Jealousy, maybe. Some sign that maybe he cared.

But there was nothing. Just that same unreadable distant face. 

And the lack of reaction hit harder than any rejection.

You pulled the blanket tighter around you and turned your back. “Yeah, I guess… I’m gonna see him again.”

Bucky’s voice was flat. “Have fun.”

That was it.

No follow-up. No argument. No protest. 

You closed your eyes.

And across the room, Bucky stared at the ceiling like it knew he’d just let the only person he wanted walk a little further away. Again.

Outside, John peeked through the window one last time.

You were asleep on the bed.

Bucky was wide awake on the couch.

And John, crouched behind a tree with a fistful of s’mores, muttered furiously, “Goddammit.”

—

After the fourth date, you came home smiling. Nothing euphoric, nothing giddy—just… content.

Which killed Bucky inside.

So when he asked, against every warning in his head, “going on a fourth date?”—and you answered with a quiet “yeah”—he didn’t flinch.

He just smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

John, standing nearby, turned to him the second you walked out of the hallway.

“Okay. Okay,” he started, “This is it. Emergency measures. We’re moving to Plan C.”

Bucky shook his head immediately. “John, it’s over.”

“Plan C is going to work.”

“I said no.” His voice didn’t rise, but it was cold. “Leave it.”

Bucky had reached that particularly cruel stage of heartbreak—the one where everything about him turned a little too polite. He’d only smile when you made a joke. Compliment your shot grouping briefly at the range. Nod when you passed him in the hall, and then walked away before you could see the way it killed him to be near you.

And you were not better off.

Bruce Mallory was… kind. Charming. Smart. He didn’t just talk, he listened. He asked questions. Sent you little check-ins during long missions. He liked your dark humour and never looked at your scars like they were something to ignore or erase.

But still—every time Bucky walked into a room, you felt the same electric flutter in your chest, like your heart forgot what it was supposed to feel, like it didn’t care that you’d ruled him out months ago as something impossible.

Because surely, surely, Bucky didn’t want you like that.

So you told yourself Bruce was a good choice. That maybe a few more dates would silence the crush you’d spent so long burying. That maybe Bucky would stop living rent-free in your head.

But you were John Walker’s best friend.

And he knew better.

So as Plan C, John thought that if he’d whisper the truth into the right ear, it would spread like a quiet fire until you realised what had been in front of you the whole time.

He picked his weapon: Yelena.

During sparring, he said it casually. “Hey, so, if it ever comes up… maybe you could mention that Bucky’s got a thing for her. Like, plant the seed.”

Yelena snorted, blocking his punch with ease. “You want me to gossip?”

“It’s not gossip,” he said, ducking her counter. “It’s… just, well, true.”

She shrugged, unbothered. “Sure.”

The next day later, while sharpening a knife, Yelena said to Ava, “Apparently Bucky’s got a sad little sniper crush.”

During a tech debrief, Ava pointed at you when you walked past and whispered to Alexei, “Bucky’s in love with her. Isn’t that sweet?”

Alexei, profoundly misunderstanding the nuance, leaned over to Bob during lunch and declared with confidence, “Bucky is madly in love with her. They are clearly dating.”

Which is how, in the middle of an otherwise average Tuesday dinner in the Avengers compound— Bob looked up from his fifth plate and casually said, “So I heard you’re dating now. I thought you were going on with Walker’s old football friend.”

Forks froze and chewing stopped.

You looked up. “...What?”

Bob, all golden retriever-like his enthusiasm, smiled between you and Bucky. “Bucky’s in love with you, right? Alexei said so.”

Across the table, Bucky looked like he’d just taken a bullet in the chest.

He wanted to speak, to explain, to lie, to run.

But you chuckled too quickly. Too loudly.

“Oh! No—no, that’s—you probably misheard,” you said, waving a hand, forcing ease into your voice. “That’s not—I mean, Bucky doesn’t—come on. It’s Bucky Barnes.”

You said his name like it was sacred, like it belonged somewhere far above your head, up in the clouds with legends and gods.

You turned back to your food, smiling awkwardly. “He’s just nice to me because we shoot together. That’s it.”

Bucky didn’t move. Because how could he?

You’d shut it down so fast, it broke his heart into a million little pieces.

To you, shutting it down made perfect sense.

Because how could someone like Bucky — war hero, former congressman, team leader—look at you and want you?

Even if he did.

Even if every morning with you on the range made the day better. Even if your voice could pull him out of his worst spiral. Even if he'd give anything just to hear you say his name.

But he said nothing.

And across the room, John Walker sat in silence, hands limp around his fork, watching the flaming wreckage of Plan C.

After dinner, Bucky found John in the kitchen. 

“Okay, that did not go how I planned,” He said to Bucky. “Plan E. Or F. Whatever. I’ll fix it. I swear I’ll fix it.”

Behind him, Bucky sighed. “John. Stop.”

John turned, his eyes were too gentle for someone who was normally so brash.

Bucky shook his head. “You were wrong,” he said sadly, looking utterly lost in his own head. “She doesn’t like me.”

But John knew you, so by extension, he knew how wrong Bucky was. 

—

Today was the day of your fourth date. You were almost at the elevator— you had your coat on, keys in hand, and an intoxicating trace of perfume behind your ear—when John stopped you.

He just stood in the hallway to the tower’s residential floor with his arms crossed. You paused, blinking. “What do you want, man?”

He looked you dead in the eye and said, flatly, “You know Bruce Mallory lied to get Katie Jansen suspended in high school, right?”

Your brows shot up. “What?”

“Yeah,” he nodded solemnly, “Faked some emails, told the principal she was selling test answers. All because she was gonna out him for cheating on her with her sister.”

You stared. “What?”

“And he used to smoke in the cafeteria,” John added, like that was somehow worse.

“That was surely years ago, John,” you said, suspicion blooming in your chest. “Besides, why are you telling me this now? You’re the one who set me up with him.”

John held up both hands, like he wasn’t also the arsonist in this particular fire. “Look, all I’m saying is— I’m your best friend. I know you. And I don’t think you’d actually like Bruce Mallory.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why would you set me up with someone you don’t think I’d like?”

“I was trying to push you in the right direction!”

“What fucking direction, Walker?” You demanded, very confused all of a sudden. 

“Ugh, look,” John said defensively. “Last I saw him, he was trashing locker rooms and pissing behind the bleachers. I didn’t realize he’d gone and joined Doctors Without Borders and cleaned up his whole life.”

“Did you, what, set me up to fail?” You crossed your arms. The idea of that seemed impossible, but you also knew how your best friend sometimes played 4D chess with very questionable motives. 

“I’m just saying,” John muttered under his breath, “he’s not your type.”

You stepped back and raised your eyebrows. “And what exactly is my type?”

John hesitated, then shrugged like it was obvious. “Taller than you. Broody. Built like a brick wall. Shoots better than you half the time and won’t let you forget it. Has a metal arm, probably.”

Your jaw dropped, blinking slowly.

He knew of your crush? 

Of course. Of course he knew. 

“…You just described Bucky.”

John tilted his head. “Well, yeah.”

You stood there—mouth open and brain short-circuiting like a glitching circuit board. “I—okay, maybe, but that doesn’t mean anything! That’s Bucky Barnes. He’s out of my league!”

John actually groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You—you absolute dumbass.”

“Excuse me?!”

“BOB WASN’T LYING!” John shouted, shaking you by the shoulders as if it was going to knock some sense into you. 

You gulped. “What?!”

“Bucky is in love with you, you idiot!” John practically yelled, voice echoing through the hallway. “He’s been in love with you since you knocked him on his ass in training week one! Do you never notice how he paces around like a sad little Victorian widow every time you go out with that pediatrician saint?! He just thinks he’s too fucked for you, which again: Not true!”

You just… froze. For once, you had no witty comeback.

John pointed at your chest, eyes narrowed with brotherly fury. “I cannot believe I have to say this out loud: you are not out of anyone’s league. Least of all his. You are literally his exact brand of damaged.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your heart felt like it had slammed into a wall and kept beating anyway.

“…I need to find Bucky,” you finally whispered.

John nodded, satisfied, already pulling his phone out. “I’ll text Bruce Mallory. Tell him you’ve got a classified emergency. You can explain later.”

You hesitated at the elevator door. “But—”

“You’re about to go find the guy who thinks your laugh is the only thing worth surviving for.” John arched his brow.  “Mallory hasn’t even brought up ‘exclusive dating’ yet. He’ll be fine.”

—

You went downstairs and stood outside Bucky’s door.

You were really doing this, were you?

You raised your hand and knocked—quietly at first, then a bit firmer when there was no answer.

There was silence for a bit, and then a shuffle. The. Footsteps. Then you heard the sound of something—or someone—hitting the floor and a small “shit,” muffled through the door.

When it opened, Bucky stood in the doorway, shirtless, wearing those low gray sweats that should honestly be illegal on him, as if he just got back from the gym. 

And when he saw you, his breath hitched. 

His eyes trailed from your heels, up your legs, over the curve of your waist, and finally rested on your face—hair done, lips glossed and parted slightly in hesitation.

“...You look—” His voice faltered. You didn’t need any of this— Bucky loved you as is, but seeing you go through all this effort for another man hurt. “Wow. You got all dressed up for him, huh?”

He meant for it to sound casual, even teasing. But they came out almost bitter.

You swallowed. Your heart was racing, and not for Bruce Mallory.

“I—” you started, then faltered. You looked down at your hands for a second, then back up at him. “I’m not going.”

He tilted his head. “You’re not going on the date?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just looked at you like you’d said something in a language he didn’t understand.

“I was.” You stepped in a little closer. “But I couldn’t do it.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, “Why not?”

You hesitated, your voice dipping lower. “Because I realised I didn’t want to see him.”

His head lowered just slightly. “I… well. What—”

You interrupted him, and your throat felt tight. “I wanted to see you.”

You shifted your weight, arms wrapping loosely around yourself. “And… John kind of straight up told me.”

Bucky sighed. “Told you what?”

You let out a long breath, the words tumbling out in a rush. “That you liked me. That you get weird when I talk about going on dates, and that the reason you haven’t said anything is because you think you’re too messed up, or broken, or whatever Bucky Barnes excuse you’ve decided to make up this month.”

A small, crooked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “He said all that?”

“Well… not verbatim,” you chuckled. “And the thing is…” You hesitated. “I never thought I had a chance.”

His brow creased. “What?”

“I thought you were out of my league,” you said gently. “You’re… you. You’ve been through hell and survived it. You’re unfairly hot even when you’re grumpy. And I’m just me.”

He stepped toward you, pulled you in by the wrist and closed the door. Your heart started racing out at your chest.

“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” he insisted. “You’re kind. You’re stubborn. You laugh like the world isn’t on fire. You’re gorgeous, not to mention.  And you… you see me. Not the Winter Soldier. Not the Avenger. Just… me.”

You didn’t even realise you were crying until his thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching a tear.

He cupped your face, thumb trailing your cheekbone, eyes locked with yours.

“C’mere,” he whispered, barely audibly.

You didn’t hesitate. You closed the gap and kissed him.

It wasn’t desperate or frantic. It was slow and deep—like every moment of tension between you had been leading up to this. His mouth moved against yours like he already knew the rhythm of your soul. His metal hand found the small of your back, fingers wrapping possessively. The other curled gently at your chin, tilting your face so he could kiss you better

You sighed into him, hands bunching in the fabric of his sweats as he backed you against the door, never breaking the kiss. His tongue swept against yours, coaxing a low moan from your throat, and he smiled into the kiss like he’d just won a war.

When he finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, he whispered, “Tell me you’re mine now,” he whispered, “Because I don’t think I can go back to pretending I don’t want you.”

“I think…” you nodded with a whisper, “I’ve always been yours.”

He grinned that boyish grin, like the sun breaking through clouds. 

—

The next morning, the sun was barely up, the building was still quiet — too early for most of the other avengers — but not for you and Bucky.

You were standing barefoot in front of the stove, one of Bucky’s sweatshirts drowning your frame, your hair a little messy from the night before. He was behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he murmured in your ear.

“I’m gonna burn the pancakes if you keep distracting me,” you teased, half-laughing as he pressed a warm kiss to the curve of your neck.

“Worth it,” he muttered, nuzzling in like he didn’t care about breakfast at all.

You giggled and leaned into him anyway, flipping the batter one-handed while his fingers played idly with the hem of your — well, his — sweatshirt. He hadn’t stopped touching you since you woke up. A kiss to your cheek while you brushed your teeth. A gentle pull back into bed when you tried to get up. And now… this. 

Not that you were complaining.

He handed you the toast while you plated the eggs, sneaking another kiss to your temple as you reached up into the cabinet.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured.

Then came a little creak.

Both of you turned toward the hallway as a pair of socked feet appeared near the door. And there was John. Peeking around the frame like a kid in pajamas. His smile was smug enough to power the whole building.

“I did that,” he announced proudly, pointing at the two of you.

You narrowed your eyes. “You literally almost made it worse.”

“Shhh,” John put a finger to his lips. “Don’t ruin it. Let me have this.”

Bucky chuckled behind you, grabbing two mugs from the counter. “Let him gloat. It’ll keep him busy for a while.”

John leaned in toward Ava, who’d flickered into existence behind him with a cup of tea— as she often didn’t bother to control her phasing when she was still tired. “I just gotta figure out how to convince them to name their firstborn after me,” he whispered dramatically.

Ava rolled her eyes. “John, they’ve been dating for eleven hours.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, wondering how she knew the exact timestamp. “Wha—”

She raised her hand before you could ask. “You were loud,” she said, as if stating the obvious, “I’m pretty sure the whole tower knows by now.”

You turned back to the stove, trying not to let the heat creep up your cheeks as Bucky slid beside you. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Firstborn, huh?” he said against your ear.

You gave him a look. “Don’t encourage him.”

John, from the couch, said, “Middle name at least! I’m not asking for much.”

And with that, you leaned into him again, plate in one hand, his fingers in the other.

If this was how mornings were going to be now — then yeah, you could definitely get used to this.

-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 @wingstoyourdreams @lori19

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

@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt @softpia 

@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125 @buckybarneswife125

Smitten

Summary : Sam finally meets Bucky’s girlfriend, though you’re not who he thinks you are. 

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

Warnings/tags : Fluff fluff FLUFF! Joaquin and Sam are in this. Introverted! Reader. Brief mentions of violence. Cursing. 

Requested by : anon (based on this request)

Word count : 2.3k

Note : This satisfies my need to stay at home all day haha! Enjoy!

Sam had never met Bucky’s girlfriend.

But he had heard of you.

A lot about you, actually.

Nine months ago, Bucky had started mentioning you after you met at a bookshop. You were this hero, who, by all accounts, should have been the most intimidating woman on the planet. You were skilled and ruthless when necessary, even Hydra handlers would probably admire your work. Joaquin had read the files— how you tracked down an entire weapons trafficking ring by yourself, left every single one of the enemy in various states of agony, and managed to leave without any fatalities.

“Have you seen the mission reports? She’s so precise it’s actually terrifying,” Joaquin had said on the way to Bucky’s apartment, telling every legendary story he had heard about you. “I heard they took down a whole warehouse of mercenaries with a pair of batons. Not even a gun! She sounds mean.”

Sam chuckled, adjusting the bag of soda in his hands. “No way anyone is meaner than Bucky, though.”

“We’ll see, man.” Joaquin grinned. “Maybe she makes him look nice.”

Sam snorted. If that were the case, he was dying to meet you.

But the thing was, as terrifying as you apparently were on the field, Bucky talked about you like you were… fragile.

It started six months ago, when you officially became a couple.

Sam started noticing the way Bucky’s face changed when he mentioned you. He’d have a slight smile that softened the hard lines of his forehead. His voice would lose that slightly gruff tone, growing softer the more he mentioned you. 

And fuck knows he talked about you all the damn time.

Not just about how skilled you were, though Sam had gotten enough secondhand mission briefings to wonder if Bucky was keeping a shrine somewhere. No, he often talked about the little things. Like how you stole the blankets in your sleep. Or how you tried (and failed) to teach Bucky how to use a bo staff. Or how you sent Bucky the stupidest memes at 3 AM, knowing full well you’d have to explain half of them in person. 

And God help them all if you did something impressive— Bucky would pretend to be all casual about it, but then five minutes later, he’d be bringing it up again saying how proud he was of his girlfriend capturing four cops illegally dealing rifles to civilians.

“You’re not subtle,” Sam had pointed out once, after Bucky spent a debrief clearly distracted.

Bucky shrugged, though he was mentally counting down the minutes to when he’d see you again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You got that look.”

“What look?”

“The ‘I’m thinking about my girlfriend’ look.” Sam smirked. “It’s gross, by the way.”

Bucky had just scoffed something under his breath and rolled his eyes. 

So yeah, Sam had never met you. Between your missions and his, the opportunity just never aligned.

But by now, he felt like he already knew you.

And tonight, after months of hearing Bucky talk about you like a hopelessly lovesick super soldier—he and Joaquin were finally going to meet the Winter Soldier’s girlfriend.

—

They had expected you to be brutal. Brash. Maybe even a little cold, given your reputation.

Instead, when Bucky opened the door, the first words out of his mouth were, “Hey, uh—just so you guys know, my girlfriend’s a little nervous about meeting you.”

Sam paused mid-step. What?

Bucky shifted, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s, uh… not really the social type.”

Joaquin raised an eyebrow, shooting Sam a look. Sam could tell he was just as confused. “Your girlfriend?”

“Yes, my girlfriend,” Bucky deadpanned, crossing his arms.

Before Sam could respond, a small blur of white streaked past Bucky’s feet making a beeline for Joaquin, weaving between his legs and rubbing against his boots. It took a second for his brain to catch up, but then— oh. It was the kitten. Alpine. Bucky adopted her a couple weeks ago. Sam had received no less than five photos a day from Bucky over the last two weeks, each one featuring the cat in a different pose, with captions like—

"Look at her lil’ paws." "She fell asleep on my chest." "She just sneezed."

Before Sam could make a funny remark, he heard a voice come from  inside the apartment.

“Alpine, no. Come here, baby,” you said gently.

Sam blinked. That was his girlfriend?

You appeared, peeking out from the kitchen doorway. You looked… normal. Cozy, even. Dressed in comfortable clothes, eyes wide, fingers fidgeting at your sides.

The gears in Sam’s felt like they needed oiling for a second.

This was you? The you?

The same person who had infiltrated high-security facilities without breaking a sweat? The same person who single-handedly takes down crime syndicates left and right? The same woman he read about in news articles and mission reports?

You gave them both a hesitant smile and a small wave. “Um. Hi.”

Joaquin, bless him, recovered from the initial shock first. “Hey!” he said, “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Your smile widened. Your shoulders started to relax. “All good things, I hope.”

Before Sam could even wrap his head around how soft-spoken you were, Bucky stepped closer to you. Gone was the battle-hardened soldier, and in his place was a man so ridiculously in love that it almost made Sam uncomfortable to witness. But no, he was just happy that his friend was happy. In shock, but happy nonetheless.

Bucky reached for you carefully, like you were made of the most fragile glass. His hand found the small of your back, thumb rubbing soothing circles.

“Darlin’, you wanna come say hi properly?” he asked, his voice so different from the barks Sam was used to hearing in the field.

You nodded, stepping fully into view.

And then—because apparently, this wasn’t enough of a shock to Sam’s system—Bucky tucked you against his side protectively and pressed a kiss to your temple.

Oh?

Who the hell was this man, and what the hell had you done to Bucky Barnes?

—

Dinner was homemade.

More specifically, dinner was homemade by Bucky.

Sam had to find a place to sit down when you told him that. He blinked at the plate in front of him, wondering why the hell it looked so… appetising.

“Bucky can’t cook,” he whispered to himself, utterly baffled.

Joaquin shrugged.

“He can now,” you said in a small but proud voice, giving Bucky a playful nudge. “He wanted to impress me.”

Bucky huffed, but even as he rolled his eyes, his hand found your knee under the table, rubbing absentminded circles just because. “Did it work?”

You tapped your chin, pretending to think it over. “Mmmmm. Maybe.”

The usually grumpy super soldier actually grinned from ear to ear.

Sam had to rub his damn eyes.

This wasn’t real. This had to be an illusion. Maybe he’d fallen asleep on the couch, and this was some bizarre fever dream where Bucky was, for lack of a better word, domesticated.

Meanwhile, Joaquin had already taken a bite. His eyes went wide. “Damn, Buck.” He shoveled another spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and made a pleased noise. “You’ve been hiding this skill from us?”

Bucky shrugged, “Wasn’t for you.”

You turned to him. “It’s very good, my love.”

My love.

Since when was Bucky alright with pet names?

Instead of scowling or brushing it off, Bucky just squeezed your hand with his metal fingers, his thumb stroking over your knuckles.

This was Bucky Barnes. Bucky “I’m not exactly a people person” Barnes. Bucky “respect my personal space or I’ll kill you” Barnes.

And here he was, letting you call him ‘my love.’

Sam needed another minute. Maybe even a drink. Anything to help process whatever the hell was happening in front of him.

Joaquin, already on his third bite, didn’t seem as concerned. He waved his fork in the air, nodding approvingly. “I’m impressed. If this is what love does to you, maybe I need to find someone, too.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky said, “I’m sure someone, somewhere, is into birds.”

Joaquin groaned. 

You giggled, but nudged Bucky’s shoulder anyway. “Be nice.”

Bucky just grumbled under his breath as you leaned in and pressed gentle kisses to his metal knuckles.

And that was it. That was the moment Sam lost all grip on reality.

Because Bucky Barnes—the man who used to flinch at the idea of being touched—literally melted.

He let out a pleased hum as he leaned into you, eyes closing for just a second like he was soaking in the moment. And when he opened them again Sam could’ve sworn they were actual heart eyes.

—

Over dinner, Joaquin—ever the eager one—started asking about your fieldwork.

“So, that human trafficking bust you pulled off last month,” he said, buzzing with admiration. “That was insane. I mean, the level of planning—”

You flushed, ducking your head slightly. “Oh, um. It wasn’t that impressive.”

Joaquin shook his head. “Are you kidding? You dismantled their operation without any collateral damage!”

You let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh, “I just… I try my best.”

Sam set down his fork, “How many did you have to fight?”

You hesitated for a beat. “Seven,” you admitted, pulling down your sleeves as casually as you could manage. Your knuckles were still scarred, bruises blooming beneath. “It would’ve just been five, but the two younger ones—I told them to stand down but I guess they thought they could take me.”

Bet they underestimated you, Sam thought. 

“How old were they?” Sam asked.

“Probably barely out of their teens,” You shrugged. “They were involved, but… they were scared. Probably in too deep to see another way out. I had to put them down, but I pulled my punches. You know the drill.”

Sam tilted his head, knowing firsthand what it’s like. “That can’t be easy.”

You looked at him and shrugged. “It’s not.”

Joaquin, on the other hand, was still practically vibrating in his seat. “I just don’t get how you’re so effective without even being—” He gestured vaguely. “You know. Mean.”

You blinked. “Mean?”

“Yeah, like… I kinda thought you’d be scarier.”

Bucky snorted into his drink. “She is scary.”

Joaquin shot him a skeptical look. “Dude. She just apologised for taking the last bread roll.”

Bucky didn’t even hesitate. “She’s polite. That doesn’t mean she won’t put you in the ground.”

Joaquin turned to you. “Would you?”

You tilted your head, considering. “If you threatened Bucky, maybe.”

Sam let out a laugh, then shook his head. “I just don’t get it.” He said, “How do you go from that”— he made a concerning stabby gesture— “to this?”

He wasn’t wrong. Sometimes, even Bucky had to admit that the contrast was ridiculous.

You sighed, picking at your food. “Because after all that I just wanna go home.”

Joaquin raised a brow. “And do what? Train?”

“No, I wanna be a gremlin,” you said, amused. “I wanna wear my pajamas, turn off my phone, and pretend I don’t know what daylight is.”

Bucky grinned, nudging your foot under the table. “Tell ‘em about the crafts, sweetheart.”

You shot him a look, but Bucky just smirked.

Joaquin looked up. “Crafts?”

You let out a deep breath, feeling your face heat up. “I, um. I like making things.”

Sam’s brows furrowed. “Like… what?”

Sam had no idea he was about to sit through a thirty-minute lecture on yarn selection.

Strangely, he kind of enjoyed it.

—

By the end of the night, you had warmed up to them both.

Sam had never seen anything like it—you were quiet, sure, but once you got comfortable, you were easy to talk to. It felt… so at odds with the stories he’d heard about you.

And when Joaquin offhandedly mentioned that he’d always wanted to learn how to crochet, your eyes lit up.

“Oh! I could teach you,” you said, eyes jumping to your feet. “It’s actually very relaxing after sending seven human traffickers to a hospital.”

Joaquin choked on his drink, but had a delighted grin on his face. “Yeah?”

“I’ll give you the basics now.” You turned, holding out a hand. “Jamie, can you pass me the yarn?”

Sam could’ve sworn he heard the record scratch in real-time.

Jamie?

The only two people who had ever called Bucky by any variety of his first name were his therapist and Zemo, and Bucky hated both.

But when you said it, Bucky just… melted.

No grumbling. No don’t call me thats.

Just a look of hopeless adoration as he grabbed the yarn and handed it over like a man under a spell.

And so, with Alpine curled up on Bucky’s lap, you spent the next twenty minutes patiently teaching Joaquin how to crochet.

“Okay, so start by making a slipknot,” you instructed.

Joaquin followed your movements, tongue out like it would help his concentration. “Like this?”

“Just tighten it a little.”

Bucky watched with his chin propped on his fist, looking so ridiculously in love that Sam actually had to look away for a second.

“Dude,” Joaquin said, still focused on his stitches. “Your girlfriend is my new best friend.”

Bucky shrugged. “Get in line.”

Joaquin grinned at you. “Hey, if I can’t do it myself, will you make me a glove or something’?”

Before you could answer, Bucky cut in, “No.”

You looked at your boyfriend. “No?”

Bucky crossed his arms. “I had to earn my sweater. Torres doesn’t get free stuff.”

Sam stared at him. “I can’t believe you own a handmade sweater.”

Bucky shrugged. “Several, actually.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

Bucky just smiled, reaching for your hand, tracing slow circles against your palm.

“Yeah, you do.”

And Sam, watching the way Bucky looked at you, like you were the best thing to ever happen to him, had to admit—

Yeah.

He did.

-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

Extremely cracky but I am cackling at the thought of Thunderbolts endcredits(/Doomsday?) Bucky and pregnant reader hanging out with other heroes and the topic falls on everyone's hero suits and someone asks reader what she thinks of Bucky's new suit and she goes "Well, does this answer your question?" and points at her belly because he absolutey knocked her up when Bucky fucked her still wearing the fit.

If you want to make it smutty it can always include a flashback. 🤷‍♀️

in the suit?! | bucky barnes

Summary: ^^ Request

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI | Possible Thunderbolts* Spoilers | Smut | Detailed Open Door | Dirty Talk | Innuendos | Are we still saying John Walker as a warning? | Choking | Pregnant Reader | Mild Language | Alcohol Use | Suit Kink

Word Count: 965

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this. And getting to stare at clips of Bucky in the suit as references. Thank you. Ps-Gif has nothing to do with the one shot, but fuck.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

Present:

Your post-mission debrief had somehow turned into a party—beers around a bonfire, with s’mores. Yes, someone had brought s’mores. It was Bob. You half suspected that he’d googled ‘what do friends do for fun?’ on the way back to the tower.

You were sitting on a lawn chair, mocktail one hand, the other absently rested on your stomach—the baby bump very much obvious at this point. Behind you, Bucky stood with one hand on your shoulder and his vibranium hand wrapped around a beer while he looked like he wanted to re-enter the void any time anyone got too loud.

And naturally, Yelena got loud.

“Okay, here’s the real question,” she called out, waving her beer bottle around the team like a sword. “Which one of the ‘new’ Avengers has the best suit?” 

“That’s so subjective.” Ava groaned.

“Exactly my point,” Yelena replied. “Subjectively, it’s me.”

Puffing out his chest, Alexei snapped. “I will ignore this insult and remind you of this iconic design!” 

“You literally squeak when you move,” Walker said. 

“You squeak emotionally.” Ava scoffed, taking a swig of her own beer bottle.

Walker pointed toward Bob. “What about him? Dude’s got like, three different fits.”

Bob smiled politely, yet his hand visibly trembled. “Thanks… I’m molecularly unstable.” 

Then suddenly, all eyes turned to Bucky.

Including yours. 

How could they not? The matte black suit. The red star. The arms. 

After a beat of silence, someone—you think it was Ava—looked at you and said: “What do you think of Barnes’ new suit?” 

Bucky froze. His hand tightened against your shoulder. Slowly you lowered your mocktail, raising your brows toward Ava.

“Well, Miss Starr,” you gave your swollen stomach a gentle double tap. “Does this answer your question?” 

In surprise, Yelena dropped her beer into the grass. Alexei smiled, until the realisation flashed over his eyes and he clutched his chest like he’d been shot. Bob blinked rapidly in your direction, as though he was running a diagnostics. Walker let out a bark-laugh, quickly turning it into a full wheeze. 

“No. Nooo,” He shook his head, the laughter still ringing through your ears. “Are you saying—Wait—in the suit?!” 

You smirked, and shrugged your shoulders slightly. “Didn’t even take the glove off.” 

Bucky’s eyes widened. 

Three Months Ago:

The safe house door slammed behind you. You barely crossed the entryway before Bucky had you pressed against the wall. His breath was hot, his body humming with some leftover tension from the mission.

He was still in his New Avengers suit—matte black kevlar clinging to his body like a sin, his dog tags swung with every move, and his arm plates clicked together.

You barely had time to catch a breath before his mouth crashed into yours. 

“Are you going to keep the suit on?” you murmured between kisses, fingers tracing the lining of the red star embroidered into his right arm. 

His teeth pulled at your bottom lip. “Are you complaining?” 

You weren’t.

Instead, you desperately tugged on his belt.

He growled.

And before you knew it, your legs were around his waist, his arm braced under your thighs. His vibranium hand reached up to cup your cheek, trailing his lips over your jaw with a ragged breath.

“You’ve been staring at me in this thing all damn day,” he hissed against the shell of your ear. “Did you think I didn’t notice, babygirl?” 

“Maybe–Maybe I wanted you to.”

In response, he ground his hips against you—still dressed, but the feel of him had you clenching around nothing. Bucky didn’t rush. He never did. He made you feel it. He made you feel him. And every ridge of his suit, the inches of him still layered between you.

Finally, he freed himself, and you let out a sharp gasp at your underwear being shoved aside. “Don’t hold back, sergeant.” you breathed, fingers entwining in his hair, pulling the strands. 

And he didn’t.

With one hard thrust, he was buried to the hilt—dragging out a broken moan from the back of your throat. He was rough, relentless. His hips snapped into you, driving you like he was proving a point.

He let your name fall from his lips. 

The suit creaked with every movement, and his gloved right hand tightened around your thigh. His grip was bruising. His left hand found your throat—firm, grounding. Just enough to make your vision blur—not enough to lose control.

“You take me so good, baby,” he panted. “Fuck—you’re so tight, can feel you everywhere.”

Unable to form words, you gasped. High-pitched, wrecked whines of: ‘Harder—’. Pushing your chest out, you felt his dog tags swing between your breasts with every thrust.

Bucky’s fingers found your clit—still gloved, the textured leather moved over your skin toward the sensitive nub—rubbing tight, delicious circles. 

You screamed his name.

Your body shuddered against him, vision turning white at the edges as your orgasm washed over you. Bucky’s hips stuttered, groaning deep from his chest as he spilled into you. His forehead pressed to yours. 

He didn’t let you go.

Breathing hard, you clung to him.

Present:

“So, just to confirm,” Walker continued to laugh. “Bucky Barnes, the Winter freaking Soldier, turned into a thirst trap and you said ‘yes’ without any hesitation?”

“I said ‘harder’, actually,” you corrected, taking your mocktail straw between your lips.

Bucky muttered under his breath, looking up to the sky, up to the stars. “You tried to, at least.” 

Yelena collapsed into Ava’s shoulder. “I never want to see that suit again.” 

“I’ll be seeing it again, tonight,” you said sweetly, standing up to make your way toward the bathroom. Patting Bucky’s chest as you pass. “Pizza first, though. I’ll need the carbs.” 

Bob blinked. “Should–Should I get more s’mores?”

“Yes, Bob,” the New Avengers said in unison.

___

Dirty Diary

Summary: Loki is horny and decides to channel it through writing that is about you, before he pleasures himself.

[Loki x Reader, Smut, Masturbation, Possessive Loki.]

Loki’s Writing:

Is this one of the punishments the Gods above have placed upon me? To feel so much for a singular being and not have the courage to do anything about it? I ponder about her in every waking moment of my day. Every second, I imagine what it would be like for her to simply feel the same way I do for her. Does she think of me as someone she can trust with her life? Is she still deep down afraid of me? It eats away at me little by little, not knowing how she feels about me. I fear that once it consumes me whole, I’ll never be the same again.

I think today’s that day.

My self-control to not give in to my desires of pleasuring myself to oblivion over the thoughts of her has been doing fine. That is until now. My aching length, reacting to the anger and frustration of my overwhelming love for this mortal, has been incredibly pestilent. Thoughts of having her all to myself in my chambers back in Asgard, where I can keep her safe and content there, have made the issue in my pants harder to keep away from. I want her to feel how good I can make her feel. Prove to her that she only needs me and no one else.

As I’m writing, I can feel my pre-seminal fluids gushing and soaking the fabric of my mortal-designed pants I have donned. It does not look as good as the clothing made in Asgard, but it is most certainly comfortable, if I were to speak the truth. These pants, however, would be better off me now considering how my tight cock is straining against it, begging for it to be unleashed. It’s screaming for her. This is all her fault.

What a naughty little minx. Does she know the effect she has on me? What would she say if she knew? Would she want her wet slick to be penetrated by a godly sword that fits just right? Or would she think me a monster? I wouldn’t be able to handle that. I cannot lose her. She’s so dear to me, I believe it’s changing me. I’ve found myself stumbling over my words, which is completely the opposite of what it is to be silver-tongued.

Gods, am I weak? Is love a weakness that blinds even the most powerful being? Well, they wouldn’t be powerful if love truly is blinding them, isn’t it? But it means they’re happy, so perhaps nothing changes? Love is mysterious, and if I hadn’t been under that same spell, I would’ve scoffed at it. Thor got infatuated with a mortal woman, and I thought it was the most ridiculous thing on the planet. Yet now I’m met with the same fate, and I cannot think of anything else other than her.

I need her.

Oh Gods, I need her. I will face death over and over again if it means being close to her. I would kill for her. I wouldn’t believe she would want that, but if I had to do it for her sake, I will in a heartbeat.

I cannot control myself any longer, and I find my hand is slipping into my pants, trying to get any sort of contact my pulsing cock needs. One hand on the pen, one hand on my length.

Today is the day I finally admit I am in love with her, and there’s nothing that can ever make me leave her side. I am her God that she will worship one day, for all of time.

THIRD PERSON VIEW

Loki throws the pen and book away in a fit of frustration and raging lust as he quickly unzips his pants and undergarments, springing alive his massive cock. The tip was very pink and angry while pre-cum leaked out as if it were weeping. Usually, pleasuring oneself back on Asgard was never done way too often as there were always “better” ways to relieve yourself like sleeping with a handmaid or others who are willing to partake in that sort of activity with you. Pleasuring yourself was always just seen as when you have no other choice or you’re just really desperate.

He wasn’t going to hide it. He definitely was desperate. He yearns for you all the time, despite him being around you often. You’re always with him since he’s somehow the only person in the Avengers Tower you manage to become close friends with. People, especially Tony, would tell you to be cautious of him back in the beginning when they started noticing how you’re always around him. You never listened, though, continuing your friendship with Loki. The God of Mischief was a lot of things, but one thing you knew was he never would’ve hurt you.

This friendship means a lot to Loki, but he always wishes for more. He wishes for commitment. To be with you forever.

His hands start making their first movements on his veiny cock, sliding up really slowly before it goes down. He’s imagining the first scene where you’re on top of him, your pussy wet and hot for him, and you’re slowly going down on him, piercing your wet heat. You would let out a breathy moan, trying not to be too loud. Once he’s all in, you’d fall in front to meet his neck, nuzzling yourself as you adjust.

Right now his dick is practically pulsing for you, like it’s signaling your name in Morse code. Soon, he starts picking up the pace and pumps himself, using his leakage as a form of lubricant. His mouth subconsciously opens, and he lets out a breath. Oh, what he’d do to see the look on your face when he surprises you by thrusting into you from below, letting out a moan of surprise. To know you’re both safe with you in his arms, cradling you, is making him go crazy.

His other hand releases the mattress and finds its way to his balls, fondling them. Imagining it’s you below him, sucking and playing with them, is only adding to the experience as he found himself going ham on his length, his fist making a noise each time he hits his skin along with the wetness of his pre-cum. He realizes he’s lacking self-control now, unable to stop himself, so he quickly takes the imagination and goes forward towards the end, where he dreams of how things finish.

The trickster would be on top of you now, his arms sandwiched between you. Mirroring his fast paced fisting, he’d be pounding in you like a wild animal in heat, and your moans would drive him insane. It would be his turn for his head to drop down next to yours, smelling your natural scent as he leaves marks on your neck that would last for weeks. As he would do that, you’d whisper the magical three words that would change his life forever. That would consolidate the bond between you two.

“I…love you.”

“I love you, Loki.”

He imagined you’d repeat that over and over again, and on the last one…

“I love you.”

Loki’s hands were moving faster than lightning speed, and soon, white light filled his vision. He closed his eyes before spurting his seed everywhere on his stomach as he let out a loud groan. His body started shivering very slightly, which was something Loki didn’t really do often. The fact that he managed to do that just by the thought of you and his hands made him even more sure of his feelings for you. He pumped a feel more times before he relaxed and dropped his hand down.

Tears were starting to form in his eyes, and he wasn’t exactly about to cry but rather simply forming and clouding his vision. He wiped them away, not wanting it to be a big thing. He wondered if he did get to have you like this, would you sleep with him for the night? Or would you, like most people back on Asgard, rather sleep somewhere else? Or worse, you’d run to Thor and choose him over the God of Mischief and Lies. Over big, bad Loki.

No, you aren’t that cruel. He knows you. He knows you aren’t like them. Anyways, you mentioned you didn’t find Thor appealing in any shape or form, which was why it intrigued Loki. It made him happy if he was being honest. He is your God. Yours only.

He found his cock perking up again, and he sighed before going for round two, and then three and then more as he spent the entire night pumping and cumming, groaning your name repeatedly like a prayer or an incantation.

And when he wakes in the morning, he’ll be excited to see you again.

Supermarket Scare

This idea is originally from @rosenclaws and I HAD to write it. (They actually did turn it into a fic which is here) I took the idea, changed a few things (Logan is boy dad in this one I fear), and idk I guess this is what came out of it lmfao

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Tropes: MILF reader <3

Warnings: None that I know of

Other tags: Logan who is GREAT with kids, but doesn’t know it, extra dramatic backstory that may not be legally accurate bc I said so

Background: You’re raising your adopted son, Arlo, on your own. Wade, Al, and Logan live down the hall from you.

Description: While shopping at the grocery store, you don’t realize that Arlo has let go of the shopping cart. When you look down to talk to him, you realize that he’s gone. Thank god for Wade’s new roommate.

    “Can we get some of those little donuts?” Arlo asked, his small hand gripping the shopping cart as you walked down the bread aisle. He knew the rule, if he wanted to walk instead of riding in the cart, he had to hold onto the cart.

    “Sure,” you hummed, “What kind? The chocolate ones or the white powdered ones?” You asked.

    “The white ones,” he decided. “They’re yummy.”

    “White ones it is,” you nodded, stopping the cart in front of the bread you needed. Turning away, you reached up and grabbed a loaf of bread. “You wanna pick out some cereal while we’re here too?” You asked, turning back to the cart, only to find that Arlo was gone. 

    Looking down the aisle, he was nowhere to be seen.

================

    Logan stood on one side of the aisle, observing the different kinds of granola bars. Why were there so many goddamn flavors anyway? His focus was drawn away from the boxes on the shelves when he felt a tug on his pants.

    Looking down, he saw a young boy with tears falling down his cheeks.

    “Uh,” Logan froze, not sure how to interact with a child. “Hi.”

    “I can’t find my mama,” the boy cried, his tears coming down harder.

    “What does she look like?” He asked, kneeling down so he was closer to the kid’s height.

    The boy only cried in response, clearly scared and missing his mom.

    “Alright,” he replied, looking around as he stood up and tried to decide what to do. “Let’s go to the front of the store. Then they can find your mom, okay?”

    The boy nodded, letting go of Logan’s pants to hold out both arms at the man. Grabby hands. How could anyone say no to that?

    Logan sighed, debating it in his head before leaning down and scooping the boy into his arms. As he walked to the front of the store, the boy’s tears slowed until they eventually came to a stop. The boy laid his head down on Logan’s shoulder while one of his hands held an iron grip on the front of Logan’s flannel.

    “Excuse me,” Logan spoke, walking up to the customer service desk.

    “How can I help you?” The woman at the desk asked.

    “He can’t find his mom,” Logan explained, nodding towards the boy in his arms.

    “Let me make an announcement,” the worker gave the boy a sympathetic smile. She picked up a phone from the counter, putting it up to her ear and hitting a few buttons on the keypad. “Attention shoppers, we have a lost little boy at the customer service desk. If he is your child, please come pick him up.” After the announcement was made, she hung the phone up.

    “Alright, kid,” Logan said. “Now you just gotta wait for your mom to come get you.”

    “I’m Cherie,” the worker spoke softly to the boy. “You wanna stay here with me while we wait on your mom?” She offered, holding out her hands.

    Logan moved to pull the child away from him and hand him to Cherie, but Arlo began to cry again. His grip on Logan’s flannel tightened.

    “C’mon kid, you gotta let go,” Logan encouraged.

    The boy cried harder, bawling as he tried to desperately stay in Logan’s arms.

    “It’s alright, angel,” Cherie hushed. Based on her tone, Logan could tell that this woman had certainly dealt with kids before. She was definitely a better person to watch the boy temporarily, but kids want what they want.

    “Okay, okay,” Logan relented, holding the boy close to his chest again. “I’ll stay, just stop crying. You don’t have to cry.” He looked to the worker, “I’ll stay with him ‘til his mom gets here.”

    Despite being secure in Logan’s arms again, the tears didn’t stop.

    “Shhh,” Logan attempted, gently swaying with the boy in his arms. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he’d seen mothers do it with their babies before.

    The tears just kept coming.

    Logan looked around, spotting a small display of stuffed animals. He reached out with one hand, grabbing the first one he could and holding it up in front of the boy.

    “Look at this,” he redirected the boy’s attention, shaking the toy slightly.

    Sniffling a few times, the boy in his arms slowly stopped crying. He used his free hand to grab the animal, pulling it to his chest.

    “Fox,” he said simply, looking at the orange and white stuffie in his arm. “I like foxes. Thanks.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

    “Yeah, it’s a fox. You’re welcome,” Logan nodded, just happy that he had made the kid stop crying. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few dollars. “For the fox,” he commented to the worker, who just smiled and nodded.

    Logan moved to sit down on a bench in the customer service area. As expected, the boy refused to move from his lap. So, there they sat. Logan, a mutant, and on his lap, a lost kid holding a stuffed fox. Quite the pair.

================

    “Oh thank god!” You exclaimed as you walked into the customer service area. “Arlo!”

    “Mama!” Arlo exclaimed from where he sat on a man’s lap.

    “Told you she’d be here,” the man said as he helped Arlo down from his lap. He looked familiar, but you were more concerned about Arlo.

    The moment his feet hit the ground, Arlo was running towards you with his arms reaching out.

    As he reached you, you dropped to one knee so you could wrap your arms around him. Your arms held him tightly to your chest.

    “Honey, I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so worried,” you breathed out, closing your now teary eyes as you held him.

    “I’m sorry,” he said softly, beginning to cry as you held him.

    “Hey, it’s alright, sweetheart,” you assured, pulling away enough so you could see each other’s faces. “You’re not in trouble. Just promise me you won’t run off like that ever again.”

    “I promise,” he nodded, leaning back in to cling to you.

    You slowly stood, picking Arlo up as you did so.

    “Thank you so much,” you spoke to the man that had been with Arlo, who was now standing. Now that you got a good look at him, you knew why you recognized him. “Wait, you’re Wade’s roommate, aren’t you?” You asked.

    Logan gives you a strange look, so you continue talking.

    “We live down the hall,” you explained. “Arlo loves talking Wade’s ear off whenever we run into each other.”

    “Probably because they’re on the same learning level,” Logan joked. He held out a hand for you to shake as he introduced himself. “Logan.”

    You supported Arlo on your hip as you took his hand in yours. As you shook his hand, you gave him your name in return.

    “And, of course, you’ve met Arlo,” you added, letting go of his (very warm, very large) hand and squeezing the boy in your arms for emphasis.

    “Arlo,” Logan smiled slightly at the boy. He hadn’t expected the little munchkin to grow on him so quickly, yet here he was.

    “I knew you,” Arlo stated.

    “You knew it was Logan?” You asked.

    “I knew he was Wade’s friend,” he smiled proudly. “The big guy with kitty ears,” he clarified, pointing to Logan’s hair and giggling.

    “Kitty ears?” Logan asked, raising a brow. “I’ve never gotten that before.”

    “I like them,” Arlo hummed happily. “They look like fox ears too,” he observed, holding up the stuffed fox with both hands.

    Logan let out a breathy chuckle, tucking his hands in his pockets. 

    “Thank you again,” you told Logan. “I really owe you big time,” you smiled. “It’s just me and Arlo, I don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened.”

    “No need,” Logan shook his head. Now that he’d learned it was just you and Arlo, he decided to try and flirt with you. “He’s a nice kid. And he’s got a very nice mom,” Logan gave you a small grin, which came across as more of a smirk.

    You aren’t sure how to react. It wasn’t like you had guys lining up to date you. Most of them didn’t want to flirt with a single mom. You weren’t even sure if he was flirting. What could you say? You were a little out of practice.

    “At least let me make you dinner,”  you offered. You tried not to sound too hopeful, but you were almost positive that you’d failed.

    “Pretty please,” Arlo chimed in, sticking out his bottom lip and giving Logan his most convincing puppy dog eyes.

    “Well when you put it like that,” Logan smiled, reaching a hand out to ruffle Arlo’s hair, which earned him a giggle. “I’d love to.”

    “If tomorrow night works for you, we don’t have anything going on,” you suggested.

    “Sure,” Logan nodded. “I’m free.”

    After deciding on a time, you caught a glance of your watch and realized you had to get Arlo to home to make dinner tonight.

    “We should get home, gotta finish shopping and get this little gremlin fed,” you chuckled. “Arlo, tell Logan goodbye.”

    “Bye!” Arlo gave Logan a big grin. “We can play when you come over tomorrow.”

    “Sounds fun,” Logan nodded, smiling at Arlo.

    “We’ll see you tomorrow,” you smiled. “And feel free to stop by anytime,” you added as you started to walk away.

================

    “Mama! There’s someone at the door! I bet it’s Logan,” Arlo exclaimed, running into the kitchen, where you were working on finishing dinner.

    “Okay, okay,” you chuckled, making sure nothing would burn as you wiped your hands off on a towel and headed to the door with Arlo. You checked the peephole, confirming that it was Logan, before opening the door.

    You and Logan didn’t have a chance to speak before Arlo was jumping up and down.

    “Logan!” He grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. He held both hands out for Logan.

    “Hey, bub,” Logan greeted, picking Arlo up into his arms with a small ‘woosh’ sound. He then turned his attention to you, smiling softly.

    “I’m just finishing up dinner,” you hummed, stepping aside and letting Logan in. You shut the door behind him as he toed off his shoes neatly next to the door.

    “Take your time,” Logan replied, not wanting you to feel pressured.

    “That means we can go play in the living room,” Arlo giggled. “Me and Fink were just playing in there.”

    “Fink?” Logan raised a brow. What the hell was a Fink?

    “Yeah,” he nodded. “The fox you got me. His name is Fink.”

    “Oh,” Logan chuckled softly. “We can go play with Fink before dinner as long as it’s alright with your mom.”

    “Please mama,” Arlo looked at you, giving you his brightest smile. “Can me and Logan go play while you cook?”

    “You can,” you laughed softly at Arlo’s excitement. “Play nice, okay?”

    “I will!” He promised, wriggling around until Logan put him down. He grabbed the man’s hand, tugging on it. “C’mon, c’mon, I wanna show you my toys.”

    You and Logan shared an amused look before Logan let Arlo drag him off to your living room.

================

    “Hey, you two, dinner’s rea-,” you stopped mid sentence as you walked into the living room. You hadn’t expected the scene in front of you.

    Logan sat on the floor with Arlo, who’s hair was now pulled up into two tufts on top of his head.

    “Look mama!” Arlo spoke proudly. “I asked Logan to make us match! Do we look cool?”

    “You look very cool, sweetheart,” you chuckled softly. “You’re both very handsome. But even cool guys have to eat dinner.”

    “Yeah, to be big and strong,” Arlo nodded, hopping up from the floor and rushing off to the table.

    Logan stood up from the floor, groaning softly.

    “Didn’t know you were a hairdresser,” you joked as he began following you to the table as well.

    “Well when he gives me those big puppy eyes, I can’t say no,” Logan defended.

    “You’ve got me there,” you chuckled softly. “You can go sit at the table, I’ll bring in dinner.”

================

    Dinner with Logan felt good. Domestic. Arlo yapped about his current favorite show while you and Logan chuckled. As much as you loved Arlo, you did want to talk to Logan without having every other sentence be about Nubs the pooba boy from a Star Wars show Arlo was obsessed with.

    “Alright, bud, it’s time to head to bed,” you hummed to Arlo. After dinner, the three of you had stayed at the table talking, and now it was time for him to get some sleep.

    “Do I have to?” Arlo frowned. “I wanna stay up and play with Logan some more.”

    “Listen to your mom,” Logan replied before you could. “If you go to bed now, we can play another time. Deal?”

    “Deal,” Arlo nodded, accepting Logan’s offer. He climbed out of his chair and walked off in the direction of his room.

    “If you wanna wait in the living room, I’ll be back out after I get him down,” you told Logan as you stood.

    Logan gave you a nod before you walked off after Arlo to help him get ready for bed.

    “I like Logan,” Arlo stated as you stepped into his room. “He’s fun.”

    You chuckled softly, getting into Arlo’s dresser to pull out a couple pairs of his favorite pajamas. One was yellow and covered in dinosaurs, while the other was light blue with green stripes.

    “Which pajamas do you wanna wear tonight?” You asked, holding up both pairs for him to pick from.

    “Dinosaurs!” He grinned.

    “Dinosaurs it is,” you nodded, putting the other pajamas back in the drawer for another night.

    Once Arlo was changed into his pajamas, you helped him brush his teeth. The two of you went back into his room so that he could lay down.

    “Wait!” Arlo gasped before he could climb into bed. “I have to go get Fink and tell Logan goodnight.”

    Of course he had to tell Logan goodnight. What had you been thinking?

================

    “Logan!” Arlo giggled as he ran into the living room. Logan was sitting on the couch as he waited for you to come back.

    “I thought you were going to bed,” Logan chuckled at Arlo’s energy.

    “Had to come get Fink,” Arlo answered, grabbing the stuffed fox from where he’d left it on a chair before dinner. “And I wanted to tell you goodnight,” he smiled, climbing on the couch next to Logan and wrapping his arms around the man to the best of his abilities.

    Logan was surprised, to say the least. It wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence for kids to come up and hug him. After a split second of shock, he wrapped both arms around Arlo and gave him a soft squeeze.

    “G’night,” he hummed before letting go of Arlo.

    “Goodnight,” Arlo grinned, planting a kiss on Logan’s cheek before hopping up and running back to his room where you were waiting on him.

    “You ready to go to sleep now?” You asked as he hopped up on the bed.

    “Yep!” He nodded, crawling under his blankets.

    As he got settled, you leaned over and flicked on his night light. Then, tucked him into bed, smiling as he wiggled around to get comfortable.

    “Do you think we can get ice cream with Logan and Wade one day?” Arlo asked hopefully.

    “We’ll see, sweetie,” you chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

    “Goodnight, mama,” he smiled softly at you, “I love you.”

    “Night, bud. I love you,” you replied, standing from the bed and heading for the door. “Sleep tight,” you added, flicking the lightswitch and leaving his room, pulling the door closed as you did.

    Now that he was in bed, you made your way back to the living room.

    “He’s in bed,” you spoke as you entered the room. “He’ll be out in a few minutes. That kid can fall asleep anywhere,” you chuckled softly, plopping down on the couch next to Logan. You left a little bit of space between the two of you, not wanting to make things weird.

    “It must be nice,” Logan joked, an amused breath leaving his nose.

    “One time I found him asleep halfway through using the bathroom. He had his head leaned over against the toilet paper roll,” you laughed at the memory.

    “Jesus,” Logan laughed along with you. “He must keep you on your toes.”

    “You have no idea,” you chuckled, pulling one leg up onto the couch so you could face Logan as you talked. “He’s got enough energy for about a dozen kids. But when he’s out, he sleeps like the dead.”

    “He definitely has the energy,” Logan agreed. “But he seems like a good kid.”

    “He is,” you smiled proudly. “He’s a great kid. One of the sweetest kids I know. Maybe I just think that because I’m biased,” you joked.

    “I don’t think so,” Logan smiled. “He’s sweet. When he and I were playing earlier while you cooked, he was always offering to share whatever toy he had. Not a lot of kids are offering to share things.”

    “I try my best with him. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be a mom, but then Arlo came along, and I dunno, it was just, it was right,” you spoke fondly.

    “It can’t be easy being a single mother,” Logan started, “You’re doin’ great. He’s lucky to have you.”

    “Thank you,” you said softly. Nobody had ever told you anything like that before. You weren’t really sure how to react. “I hadn’t really expected to be a single mom, but I don’t have any regrets. I adopted him when he was just a baby, but that’s a story for another time.”

    “I didn’t realize,” Logan replied. “He’s even luckier to have you than I thought, then.”

    You smiled at Logan, feeling so grateful that the mishap at the supermarket had happened. You enjoyed having him around.

=================

    “Tonight was nice,” you told Logan as you walked him to the door. It was getting late, and you had to be up the next morning.

    Logan put his shoes on while you opened the door.

    “I had a good time,” Logan smiled slightly at you as he stood.

    You both stepped into the hallway, and you pulled the door most of the way around behind you.

    “Thank you again, for yesterday,” you hummed, leaning against the wall next to your door.

    “No, thank you,” he replied, “For dinner. It’s not often I get a home cooked meal.”

    “Well, feel free to come by for more anytime,” you smiled up at him, “Even if it’s just chicken nuggets and mac n cheese, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

    Logan chuckled softly, nodding at your invitation.

    “I’d say that you two are welcome to drop by Wade and I’s place, but that is not fit for children,” he joked.

    You laughed, unable to help yourself. Joking with Logan felt so natural.

    “Well,” Logan spoke again. “I should get out of your hair, but I’ll see ya around, yeah?” He tried not to sound too hopeful.

    “Yeah, I’ll see you around,” you nodded in response.

     Logan hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning in and placing a barely there kiss on your cheek.

    “I’d really like to see you again sometime. As a date,” he admitted. “I understand that dating is more difficult when you have a kid because you have to consider Arlo when you make decisions, but I’d like to see where this goes.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked someone else, and all he could do was pray he wasn’t making a fool of himself.

    “I would love that, Logan,” you grinned. He was the first man to ever consider Arlo when it came to dating you. He seemed like the type of man to know that you had to put Arlo first. “Arlo is having a sleepover at my sister’s with his cousins this weekend. Maybe we could get dinner then? Just the two of us this time.”

    “That sounds great,” Logan nodded, trying and failing to fight off a smile. He felt like a goddamn blushing school boy. “I’ll come by at seven so we can go to dinner.”

    “Perfect,” you smiled. You leaned up, placing a quick peck on his lips. “I can’t wait.”

    Logan was shocked that you’d kissed him, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a voice from inside your apartment.

    “Mama?” Arlo called out for you from his room. He must’ve had a nightmare or want a glass of water.

    “Duty calls,” you joked. “Goodnight Logan,” you hummed, stepping back into your apartment.

    “Night,” he replied, giving you a small nod as you shut the apartment door to go check on Arlo.

    After the door was shut, Logan realized he was smiling like an absolute idiot. He hadn’t been this excited for a date since…. He couldn’t actually remember.

    Turning on his heel, he headed down the hallway back to Wade’s. He couldn’t stop smiling.

    Walking into the apartment, he groaned as he saw Wade laying on the couch as if he had been waiting for Logan to get back.

    “Stop looking at me like that,” he huffed, shutting the door behind him.

    “Like what, peanut?” Wade shrugged. “I just wanna know how things went with the hot milf down the hall.”

    “Fuck off,” Logan rolled his eyes, dropping his keys on the entry table and walking off to go to bed.

    “I’ll take that as ‘It went great, Wade, you officially have a nephew now’. Is that about right?” He called after Logan.

    Logan ignored Wade, shaking his head. He had to admit, though, things had gone great with the hot milf down the hall. And it would only get better.

For Better or For Worse

pairing: Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader

warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS, angst, themes of trauma, mentions of violence, mentions of pregnancy, eventual fluff, bucky and reader working out their marriage problems

notes: so i actually first started working on this piece a month before the movie came out and wasn’t able to complete it until i actually saw the film. there will be some inaccuracies since it’s purely based off memory but i hope you guys enjoy!

summary: You want a divorce, but Bucky needs your help for one last mission. Luckily, marriage is all about compromise

The court issued papers fill Bucky with unease as the two of you sit at the dining table in silence. Neither of you has said a word since you presented the documents to him when he returned from his office, and his gaze has been glued to the petition for a painfully long amount of time. The legal jargon doesn’t catch his attention, but one word has stuck out from the rest and branded itself at the forefront of his mind.

Divorce.

These papers are meant to finalize your divorce.

“I just need your signature,” you prompt him quietly after taking a nervous swallow. You try to remain poised, but Bucky knows you well enough to detect your anxious tells- the way your leg bounces nervously under the table while your right hand absently tries to fidget with a ring that isn’t there. He sighs and allows himself to sink back further into his chair while he attempts to organize the amalgamation of thoughts swirling in his mind.

“This is what you really want?” Bucky asks gently, tone devoid of judgement or resentment and instead filled with quiet defeat.

“Are you kidding? I don’t want this at all,” you insist miserably, unable to stop yourself from reaching for his hand across the table. “I love you, Bucky. More than anything. But we haven’t been on the same page in years.”

“Of course we’re on the same page,” he stresses incredulously as if it’s ridiculous to believe otherwise. “We love each other, we’ll do whatever it takes to keep each other safe, we’re a team.”

A disappointed frown takes hold of your features as you carefully pull your hand away. Your eyes are full of sorrow and grief for your failing marriage, and Bucky doesn’t understand why his words have garnered such a reaction from you. He asked you to be his wife out of love and complete adoration for the woman who had risked everything to help him become the man he is today. Wasn’t that enough?

“When we got married, you promised me we’d retire and start our lives somewhere quiet away from all the danger. We’d do the whole white picket fence thing and grow old together, maybe start a family now that all the super hero stuff was behind us. But then Sam needed our help, and I didn’t mind suiting up again for a friend.“

“Of course you didn’t,” Bucky affirms with a faint smile, heart nearly bursting with pride at the mere thought of your selflessness. Steve had once said your compassionate heart could melt even the toughest of soldiers, and Bucky had been no exception when first meeting you.

“I thought that would be our final send off, but then came Valentina, then your congressional campaign, and now the impeachment. It never ends, Bucky,” you say emphatically, exhaustion and defeat present in your tone. Quieter now, you let your eyes fall back to the documents and swallow back your tears before continuing, “I’m starting to realize now that there never will be a house with a white picket fence.”

“Y/n, come on,” Bucky pleads earnestly, “of course there will be. Just give me some time-“

“That’s what you always say,” you point out with a smile that fails to reach your eyes. Your husband is desperate to change your mind, the panic evident in his features as he scrambles to make things right before it’s too late.

“I can change.”

“If you can honestly look me in the eyes and promise me your days of fighting are over, I’ll shred the papers myself.”

A heavy silence follows your words, and you sit expectantly as you wait for him to make a move. Bucky’s eyes wander to every corner of the room, analyze every speck of dust that lands on the table, but they’re never once able to look into your own. You know you have your answer, and Bucky knows there is no changing your mind now.

“I’ll still help you find evidence for Valentina’s impeachment,” you assure him numbly, your fingers absently fidgeting with the buttons on your shirt. “I’ll help you organize your argument and figure out the next step, but you’re on your own after that.”

“About that…” Bucky utters guiltily, looking at you like a dog caught with its tail between its legs. Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before your shoulders slump in disappointment. You know what’s coming, and you know you’re not going to like it.

“What did you do this time?”

“The evidence I’m looking for, it’s not a paper trail or the location to some facility. It’s… people,” Bucky admits with a wince, sinking further back into his chair when he notes the frustration evident in your features.

“Oh my god, Bucky!” You exclaim in exasperation. “What do you mean it’s people?!”

Bucky hates seeing you angry, especially when your anger is directed towards him, but he desperately tries to extinguish the flames before they can get worse.

“Valentina sent people to cover her tracks- contract agents.”

“And who are the agents?” you press him, annoyance clear in your tone. He winces, clearly not looking forward to admiting the truth to you.

“John Walker, Ava Star, and Yelena Belova… But y/n, I swear to you, I had no idea about her involvement when I asked for your help taking Valentina down,” Bucky insists honestly in response to the ire clear on your features, hoping you’ll understand his point of view. Of course he didn’t mean to disrespect your wishes, but it had all happened so fast he hadn’t been given an opportunity to right it.

“Natasha was my best friend, and I promised if anything happened to her I’d keep an eye on Yelena in her place,” you remind him indignantly with an irritated huff. Bucky lets his head hang in shame. “You realize you’re asking me to go back on my word by going after her, right?”

“I know… and I’m sorry. But this is important. The fate of the world could be at stake.”

“It always is,” you mutter testily. Bucky sighs.

“Look, just… before I become a divorced middle aged man, can you just go on this one last mission with me? Think of it as a final send off,” Bucky coaxes with a nervous smile. “And when all is said and done I’ll sign the papers.”

You pull your lips back into a thin line as you stare down the man sitting across from you. You’re not exactly pleased with this entire situation, but a part of you knows you’d feel horrible turning your back on him when he needed you most. Despite your impending divorce, you still loved Bucky with your entire being, and you always would have his best interests at heart no matter the case.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” you curse under your breath, more directed at yourself than at Bucky. “I know I’m going to hate myself for this, but I’ll help you.”

The relief that washes over Bucky’s face is almost rewarding, but you try not to let yourself get too caught up in the fantasy. You still aren’t an Avenger, and going on a life threatening mission isn’t going to magically fix the problems in your marriage. You’re simply doing this as a favor to the man you love, and you’re adamant about not letting yourself fall in too deep.

You only hope Bucky keeps good on his promise to you because he can’t afford to break any more.

~~~

You carefully pull the zipper of your suit closed before taking a step back to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Despite years of inactivity, it still fits you like a second skin, and you hate it. The last time you’d suited up had been to stop the Flag Smashers, and when it was over you swore to yourself you’d never put it on again. You’d shoved it towards the very back of your closet hoping to forget it existed, and yet here you stood being haunted by your past in spite of how hard you’d worked to separate yourself from your life as an Avenger.

“You look good,” Bucky compliments from behind you, figure leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest as he takes in the sight of you. He desperately wants to cross the room and pull you against him, hold you by the hips and pour all of his gratitude for your help into a kiss, but he refrains. He doesn’t want to cross any boundaries, but he isn’t exactly sure how to act around his soon-to-be ex-wife. The air is awkward with uncertainty and tense with your anger at having been dragged into this mess, but neither of you dare make note of it.

“I look like an Avenger,” you mutter dryly before pushing past him in search of your boots. “Now tell me again what the plan is.”

“Thanks to Valentina’s assistant I have their location. There’s an abandoned mechanic shop along the way, and you’re going to wait for me there while I bring them in. All I need you to do is help me keep them in line and present the evidence at the hearing.”

“Doing all the dirty work?” You muse with a raised brow. “How noble of you.”

“I know you don’t want to be here, so I’m trying to keep you out of the action as much as possible,” Bucky avows with a sigh, making a move to reach out for your hand only to quickly pull it back. If you notice his slip up you say nothing of it, only holding his gaze as he continues, “I can’t promise this won’t go sideways because it very well could, but I’ll have your back just like I always do.”

Your hard exterior softens at his confession, and you find your eyes quickly darting to the floor to avoid his burning stare. Your heart tightens in your chest with despair as you’re reminded of the fact that despite your impending divorce, you love him with your entire being. Bucky has been by your side for years, and you’re terrified of what life will be like without him as your partner, but you keep reminding yourself that it’s for the best. There isn’t a future there anymore, and you’re tired of living a life of fighting. You’re no longer compatible, and the sooner you accept it the better off you’ll be.

“You should go,” you urge, abruptly ending the tender moment he’d created. “If what Mel says is true about them escaping then they probably already have a target on their heads. You need to get to them first.”

Nodding in understanding, Bucky bids you goodbye by placing an awkward hand on your shoulder. It isn’t very subtle by any means, but the gesture has you cracking the smallest of smiles at the man. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Be careful, James,” you say quietly, a hint of vulnerability shining through your tone. Despite the front you out on, your eyes always give you away. Bucky can note the worry in them, the love you hold for the man you married all those years ago. He knows it’s naive of him to think a woman who’s always been so strong willed would ever change her mind after it’s already been made up, but he really hopes he won’t have to sign those papers when you finally get home.

“Always am for you,” he replies with a faint smile, unable to stop himself from gently brushing his knuckles against your jaw the way he knows you like. Your eyes flutter shut almost on instinct form the contact, and in spite of your better judgement you find yourself missing the feel of his touch when he pulls away and leaves you to your own devices.

As planned, you drive yourself to the mechanic shop and sit in wait for Bucky to return with the agents. You’re restless trying to find ways to keep yourself busy in his absence- stretching, unloading and reloading your gun, scrolling through the latest news articles regarding Valentina’s impeachment. You appreciate Bucky’s want to respect your wishes as much as he can in the situation you find yourselves in, but you feel useless not being part of the action. The quiet leaves you with nothing but your thoughts, and all you can focus on is your broken relationship.

Where had it gone wrong? When was the moment it finally occurred to you that you weren’t happy? Were you making a mistake?

Your agonizing rumination is interrupted by the sound of the front doors slamming open. You quickly rise from your place on the work bench and watch as the disheveled group is ushered in by your husband. Hands bound and defeat clear on their faces, you think it’s safe to say the rest of this mission should be easy enough.

“It cannot be,” a voice utters in awe, prompting you to turn your inquisitive gaze towards the man with the unkempt beard and red suit. “It is y/n Barnes! The Avenger!”

You shift awkwardly at the feeling of all eyes now focused on you and offer a meager wave of your fingers in response to the man. Bucky simply rolls his eyes and forces the group to sit before reinforcing their restraints so they can’t escape. You find your gaze subtly shifting to the blonde woman seated a few feet across from you, chest tightening at her mere presence. You don’t know her personally, but you’d heard endless stories about her from Natasha when she was still alive. She’s different from what you pictured, but there’s no doubt in your mind that this is Yelena.

“Y/n, great to see you again,” John greets with an airy grin despite currently being bound with a metal rod. You hold back a laugh when Bucky forcefully tightens the restraints in annoyance at hearing the man attempt to start a friendly rapport with you. It’s clear your husband still isn’t a fan of Walker, not that you blame him considering what you’d been through with the man.

“Wish I could say the same,” you hum with a subtle shrug. “I’m just here to help clean up Bucky’s mess.”

“And what mess would that be?” Ava prompts with a grunt after Bucky tests her restraints.

“Whatever mess I need to make to prove Valentina’s guilty,” Bucky answers for you. “You guys are the evidence, so you’re going to march into that impeachment hearing with me and tell the board everything you know.”

“No, no, see, we don’t work for Valentina anymore,” Yelena interjects despite Bucky’s skeptical glare. “We actually are working together to take her down.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” Bucky scoffs.

“She’s telling the truth, Bucky,” John interjects, and while the Winter Soldier doesn’t seem interested in what they have to say, you are.

“What’s really going on then?” You ask, inquisitive gaze meeting Yelena’s frenzied blue eyes.

“Valentina was going to incinerate us, but then we met Bob and escaped.”

“Bob?” Bucky retorts in disbelief.

“Yes, Bob! We thought he was just some weird guy, but it turns out he can fly which would have been good to know when we were stuck in that elevator and-“

“Okay, okay, enough. You can say whatever you want but it’s not going to work.”

“Bucky,” you call gently, his features immediately softening at the sound of his name falling from your lips. You shift closer to the man and lower your voice to a hushed whisper before speaking, “I don’t think they’re lying.”

“What? Of course they are!” He scoffs indignantly, prompting you to roll your eyes in response. “You expect me to believe a story about some guy named Bob?”

“I expect you to be impartial. Isn’t that kind of your thing, Mr. Congressman?” You rebuff sarcastically much to the man’s chagrin. “The least you can do is hear them out.”

“I think you should listen to her,” Alexei pipes innocently, only serving to agitate the man further. However, before he can offer a rebuttal the sound of his phone ringing interrupts your conversation. You watch your husband shoot him a warning glance before answering the call.

“Hey,” another voice calls, prompting you to shift your focus onto Yelena. “Are you really an Avenger?”

“Retired,” you correct her with a faint smile.

“But you were one,” she insists, “and if you were then… you knew my sister.”

You feel your chest tighten immediately at the mention of Natasha, the air around you suddenly becoming thick with tension as all eyes land on you. You shift uncomfortably on your feet and cross your arms defensively over your chest before offering a single nod of acknowledgement to her statement. By the look on her face you know she wants to ask you more, but your conversation is interrupted by the sound of Bucky’s exasperated voice.

“Valentina was working on something called Project Sentry?” He retorts, catching the attention of your hostages. “A guy named Bob?”

“Yes, Bob!” All four exclaim indignantly at finally being proven right. You hold back a laugh and instead give him a pointed look as he finally hangs up his phone and sighs.

“Alright, change of plans. I’m going to stop Valentina, and you guys are coming with me.”

“Wait, us?” Yelena retorts in uncertainty.

“Yeah, you,” Bucky replies with a raised brow. “Why? You got some place to be?”

“Bucky,” you interject pointedly, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him aside to create some semblance of privacy from the others. “What the hell are you doing? You said we were just gathering evidence, not risking our lives fighting against some super powered experiment.”

“That was before I learned she’d created a literal human weapon,” he rebuttals with an exasperated wave of his hands. “I told you things might get messy, but we can handle it. We always have.”

“You seem to forget that I don’t want to handle it,” you remind him pointedly. “I’m here because I care about you, because I love you too much to leave you hanging, but this isn’t my life anymore.”

“You think it doesn’t kill me to ask for your help?” Bucky prompts gently, unable to help himself from fervently taking your hands in his own. “You think throwing you into a dangerous mission at the last second isn’t gnawing at my entire conscious right now? I know what’s at stake here, and I know you don’t owe me anything, but we have to do this. You know we do.”

You pull your lips into a thin line and shift your gaze to the ground as you contemplate his words. You’d told him you were done with fighting, even decided to end your marriage because of it, but you knew he had a point. You couldn’t exactly retire if the world was left in ruins, and you also knew you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if something happened to Bucky because you chose to bail on him instead of seeing your final mission together through.

The feel of his hand gently squeezing your own brings you out of your thoughts and back to the present. You allow him to gently lift your chin with his metal hand so that he can meet your eyes, causing your heart to leap in your chest at the intimate gesture. You haven’t been this close to him since you professed your desire to end the marriage, but the man still has a way of softening your hard exterior with ease.

“You know I would never let anything happen to you,” he utters softly, “so I need you to trust me.”

Your lips pull into a slight pout as you fight within yourself to resist melting into his touch. You shouldn’t still be this attached to a man you’re about to divorce, but you love him, and that’s what makes this is all so complicated.

Finally, you let out a sigh and solemnly reply, “I trust you, and I’m going to help you see this through to the end because no matter what we’re partners.”

“Partners,” Bucky repeats fondly, chest swelling with pride at the notion. You may no longer be husband and wife, but at its core your relationship is one of teamwork and trust. Retired Avenger or not, you’ll always be there for Bucky when he needs you.

Because in spite of the legal documents sitting on your coffee table back at home, you still love him with your entire being.

And that terrifies you.

~~~

You feel the ground jostle beneath you as Bucky drives over another pothole. You’re not exactly the most comfortable stuck in the loading bed of the truck the team decided to steal, but Alexei had been so excited to ride shotgun with the Winter Soldier that you didn’t have it in you to protest. Besides, it was something you’d have to start getting used to now since ending your marriage also meant ending your passenger seat privileges.

Yelena, John, and Ava proudly boast their weaponry, but you’re too lost in thought to register any part of their conversation. Bucky had been vague when revealing the details of where Valentina’s Watchtower was located, and you knew him well enough to figure out when he was hiding something from you. You had no idea what secret he was keeping, but you had a feeling you weren’t going to like what was waiting for you at the end of this drive.

You feel a nudge against your boot and look up to find the three now staring at you expectantly. You blink in surprise before asking, “Were you saying something?”

“Are you really Bucky’s wife like John says?” Ava prompts with intrigue.

“I… technically still am, yes,” you reply with a careful nod, fingers already beginning to search for your missing ring on instinct.

“What do you mean by that?” John questions with furrowed brows. You shoot him a glare and awkwardly shift in your seat, not exactly thrilled at your personal life being put on the spot by people you’ve only known for a few hours.

“We’re getting a divorce,” you state bluntly in an attempt to simply rip the bandage right off. The man looks stunned, and the air has now suddenly become thick with awkward tension.

“Did not see that coming,” he breathes out remorsefully, clearly regretting having asked in the first place. “How could you be getting a divorce? The last time I saw you two you couldn’t spend more than five seconds away from each other.”

“It’s complicated, and no offense but I’m not about to get into my marriage problems with a truck full of strangers,” you snark defensively. He raises his hands in surrender and says nothing more, but your mood has effectively been ruined.

“I have a question,” Yelena pipes up with an innocent raise of her hand. “If you say you’re retired, then why are you helping us?”

“Because I can’t exactly retire if Valentina blows the world up with her bullshit,” you explain with a harsh exhale. Then, features softening, you utter, “and I couldn’t live with myself if I let innocent people get hurt because I chose not to help them.”

“God, you sound like an Avenger,” Ava scoffs in detestation, “so selfless and kind. How’d someone like you become the Winter Soldier’s wife?”

You smile faintly at the question, chest filling with warmth as your mind drifts back to all those years ago when you’d first met Bucky. Despite how things are now, you don’t think you’d change any of it.

You had just worked your way up to becoming an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. when Pierce pulled you aside for a ‘special’ assignment. Too naive to question why he’d want to trust a rookie with an important job, you followed orders and went to the designated coordinates full of excitement for your first job. You had no idea he was setting you up to run into the Winter Soldier so he could see your potential firsthand. You barely survived the fight, and Bucky probably would have killed you if they hadn’t called it off, but Pierce decided then that you would be his new pet project. You were sworn to secrecy after being threatened with your life, and you didn’t dare try to resist.

You trained mercilessly under the watchful guidance of the Winter Soldier, pushed to your breaking point nearly every day until you were deemed ready to join him on missions. You became his shadow, following his every move and making it your own. Eventually, you were trusted to tend to him after assignments as well- cleaning his wounds, calming him into submission, tending to whatever need he had. In a strange sort of way you were partners, and he came to respect you as an individual instead of viewing you as a subordinate. You became close, too close for Pierce’s liking, and the man decided you no longer fit into his plans.

Bucky had been ordered to kill you the next time you were sent on an assignment together, but the plan was thankfully intercepted by the arrival of Captain America and Black Widow. The entire operation had blown up thanks to their efforts, and you were freed, but your companion was nowhere to be found. The Avengers took you in as their own, and in that time you struggled to accept that the man you’d grown so close to had left you behind.

Your paths crossed once more in the wake of the Sokovia Accords, and though your reunion had initially been uncomfortably awkward, you soon were able to fall back into your old routine. Your partnership became friendship, and when you chose to stay behind with him in Wakanda it evolved into a relationship of unwavering love and support. You helped each other work through what Hydra had put you through, understood each other in a way no one else did, and promised to be by one another’s side for the rest of time.

The trio is captivated by your story, and you find yourself falling quiet as you realize such a promise can no longer be kept. Your marriage is ending, and eventually you’ll go back to being strangers once more. You sniffle, awkwardly clearing your throat as you realize you’d become more vulnerable than you intended to be with the group. Their solemn gazes burn your skin in a way that’s suffocating, and you wish they’d just move on from the topic already.

“I know it’s not my place,” John begins, filling you with trepidation and unease, “but it sounds like you’re making a mistake.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I don’t know the full story, but it’s obvious you still love him. You shouldn’t give up so easily-“

“You know what, John? You’re right,” you retort bitterly, tone dripping with sarcasm, “it’s not your place. In fact, you’re the last person I’d take marriage advice from, so why don’t we just keep our opinions to ourselves.”

The man’s features fall at your harsh comment, and while you’d normally feel remorse for snapping at someone so quickly all you feel is anger at yourself. You know his words hold some truth to them; you still love Bucky, and you want nothing more than to stay married, but neither of you can seem to reach an agreement that suits both of your needs. He can’t live a life of inaction, and you can’t give up on the picket fence dream, so what the hell are you supposed to do?

The rest of the truck ride is quiet, and no one dares to ask anymore questions about your marriage.

~~~

You understand now why Bucky seemed to be so avoidant about disclosing the location of Valentina’s new base. How was he supposed to tell you that the new building she’d acquired was the one you once called home?

Your entire body feels on edge as you squeeze into the elevator and watch the doors close as you begin to move towards the top floor. It’s been years since you stepped foot in this building, but you still know every turn and corner like the back of your hand. Memories of the past haunt you like ghosts, causing your chest to ache with nostalgia and longing for a time that had long since passed. Your days as a fresh faced recruit had been so simple and safe; you hadn’t experienced real tragedy yet, and you were protected in the little bubble you lived in as an Avenger. Everything had changed so quickly, and you still found yourself struggling to pick up the pieces.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice whispers gently, hand coming to rest comfortingly on the small of your back, “you okay?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. You feel like you’re in a daze, and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to handle being thrusted back to your past. “I never thought I’d come back here.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he murmurs sincerely. “I know I should have, but I thought it might overwhelm you.”

Too lost in anxious thought, you absently reach for his hand just as you’ve done numerous times in the past and hold on tightly to ground yourself. Though he’s surprised by the action, he’s able to respond by giving your hand a gentle squeeze back.

“I’m here,” he promises you. You swallow thickly and give him a small nod, bracing yourself as the elevator doors finally open to the top floor.

Your hand never leaves Bucky’s as you cautiously step forward and begin to scan the room. You can see that Valentina has taken the liberty of redesigning the place, but the layout is still identical. You can almost see yourself sitting on the couch watching Tony attempt to lift Thor’s hammer, having a talk with Steve on the balcony after a rough day of training, lounging at the bar counter begging Natasha to show you how to make her signature cocktail.

Some of your happiest memories are permanently embedded in this building, but that all fades away at the sight of Valentina pouring herself a glass of champagne right where you pictured Natasha to be.

“Took you guys long enough,” she jests coyly before making her way around the island counter. “What do you think? This place certainly wasn’t cheap, but I think it’ll do just fine. God, can you imagine the glorious battles that took place in this very room? I know you can, y/n.”

You tense at her observation and feel your lips curl into an irritated scowl at her blatant disrespect. It takes everything in you not to lunge at the woman, and if not for Bucky still tightly grasping your hand you’d be in the midst of throwing a right hook.

“This ends today,” Bucky warns her lowly as your group begins to surround the woman. Each and every one of you has a bone to pick with her, and you’re eager to finally bring her to justice and get this whole thing over with.

“Congressman Barnes, wow,” she greets with feigned surprise. “You know, I never really thought you’d have a promising political career, but less than half a term? Yikes.”

You take a step towards her only for Bucky to pull you back, causing the woman to let out an amused huff through her nose. Her smug demeanor and careless need to insult your husband has you fuming, but that’s exactly what she wants. Valentina knows how to get under someone’s skin, and you fair no better to her mind games than anyone else.

“Mrs. Barnes,” she greets cordially with an air of false sweetness, “I can still call you that, right? Congratulations on the impending divorce. I gotta say, I like you much better as an Avenger than a housewife.”

“Retired Avenger,” you correct her through gritted teeth. “This suit’s coming off as soon as we kick your ass.”

“You know, I never understood why you two were together, but I’m starting to see it now.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” John interrupts only for the woman to chuckle in response.

“I don’t think so, junior varsity Captain America.”

He immediately reaches for his gun, and though you’re interested to see where this will go Bucky is quick to interject and have the blond stand down. She hums, clearly unthreatened, and turns her attention to the other two women in the room.

“Oh, nice to see you, Ava. Yelena,” she pauses while looking the Widow up and down, “you look awful. Are you sure you’re really ready for that public facing role you asked me about.”

“Eat shit, Valentina,” Yelena says bluntly before taking a menacing step towards her. “Where’s Bob?”

Despite being clearly outnumbered, Valentina remains calm and sure of herself as she takes another drink from her glass of champagne. “Look at you, you all are so adorable. Just think, I send you down there to kill each other, and instead you make nice and form a team.”

The circle around her grows tighter, and you watch on edge as Bucky takes a step towards the woman with his hand aiming for her throat. However, an invisible force prevents him from moving any closer, prompting your group to look between each other unsurely.

“Oh, I’m not alone,” she explains apologetically before glancing towards the stairs. It’s then that a new face enters the room, and you watch with uncertainty as a blond man in a golden suit slowly makes his descent down the stairway.

“Bob?” Yelena calls skeptically. After everything you’d heard from the group, the man before you is certainly the last person you’d ever expect to be the Bob they’d discussed.

“His name is Sentry,” Valentina corrects, “and he’s my get out of jail free card. Once I bring him to the impeachment trial they’re sure to let me keep my job. In fact, I’ll be able to protect the American people in the way I see fit.“

“That’s never going to work,” you argue indignantly. “They’d have to be crazy to give you full control.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Valentina coos mockingly before turning to Bob. “Sentry, these people are criminals and a danger to the American public. I need you to dispose of them for me.”

You carefully rest your hand on the handle of your gun, watching intently as the man looks from your group to Valentina. You have no idea what he’s capable of or how this fight is going to turn out, but you’re ready to do whatever it takes to make sure you get to go home after all is said and done.

“I don’t want to,” Bob says uncomfortably, “they’re not a threat to me so why should I have to fight them? I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

Despite his hesitance to complete Valentina’s request and Yelena’s insistence for the group to back off, a fight soon breaks out between Sentry and your team with Alexei being the first to throw a punch. You assume that with the numbers on your side you’ll be able to defeat him with ease, but you couldn’t be more wrong. The hero is essentially indestructible, and every punch you throw or bullet you fire doesn’t so much as leave a scratch.

You barely manage to miss getting toppled over by Ava after she’s thrown across the room, rolling out of the way and landing next to Bucky who looks rightfully frazzled. You can tell he hadn’t been expecting this either, but the fact that you’re currently on the same page brings you little comfort.

“I have a plan,” you pant breathlessly while picking yourself up off the floor. “You distract him from the front and I’ll creep up from behind.”

“You really think that’s going to work?” He breathes, watching as you pull your knife from your thigh holster.

“Only one way to find out,” you reply with an easygoing shrug despite the dread that’s pooling in your stomach at the thought of this going wrong. While you’d initially joined this mission due to the fact that you couldn’t retire if the world was in danger, you’re starting to realize now that you can’t retire if you’re dead either. You just hope this works.

Bucky gives you a single nod before sprinting full speed at Bob, allowing you a window of opportunity to creep up behind him. You grip the handle of your knife tightly in your hand before lunging forward and driving the blade into his neck, but to your horror the impact causes the metal to crumple in on itself. Your knife falls to the floor with a deafening clatter, and suddenly Sentry’s focus is on you as his hardened gaze closes in on your terrified face.

His hand shoots out before you can react, fingers closing around your throat as he slowly lifts you off the ground. Your hands desperately claw at his arm while your feet try to kick him away, but he doesn’t even budge. His gaze is cold and unfeeling, as if your pathetic gasps for air are but a mere nuisance to him. You can feel the world fading around you as he tightens his grip, and you can’t help but to think how poetic it would be for you to die here in the tower.

“Let her go!” Bucky growls before pulling out his gun and relentlessly firing at the superhuman. He’s panicking. He can see the fight slowly starting to die within you, but he’s not about to let you be taken from him so easily.

“Fine,” Sentry utters unpityingly before carelessly throwing your body across the room like a rag doll. You slam into the wall behind the bar counter, bottles of liquor shattering from the impact and digging into your skin as you drop to the ground in a heap of broken glass. Bucky’s eyes widen in panic before turning sharp with unbridled rage. His chest is tight with an anger he hasn’t felt since his time as the Winter Soldier, and all he can see is red as he pulls off his jacket and tosses it to the side.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, a sharp pain shooting up your spine as someone rushes over and picks you up out of the glass. The room feels like it’s spinning and your vision is so spotty you barely register Alexei looking down at you with worry as he carries you over to the others. You reach back with a groan for Bucky, but the Red Guardian shushes you in what he hopes is a comforting manner before handing you over to John.

As you feel yourself finally starting to come to, the first thing your gaze focuses on is the sight of Sentry catching a punch Bucky has thrown with his metal arm. You watch in dismay as he slowly twists the appendage before ripping it straight off and hitting your husband upside the head. You cry out in horror as his body slides across the floor in front of you, and despite the way your own body screams in pain you forcefully drag yourself over to him. He’s barely conscious, a bruise already forming on his cheek, but the gentle touch of your hands on his face has his eyes fluttering open to meet your worried gaze.

“Y/n?” He groans, prompting you to let out a sigh of relief.

“Hey, I’m here, honey,” you assure him in a trembling voice, “I’m here.”

It’s clear there’s no winning the battle against Sentry, so your team quickly scrambles to their feet and makes a dash towards the elevator. Alexei helps you carry Bucky inside while Ava makes sure to grab hold of his discarded arm, and with a rapid push of the control panel the doors are sliding shut and sending you back to the ground floor.

Things fall apart pretty quickly after that.

Your entire team disperses despite Alexei’s insistence you stay together as the newly proclaimed Thunderbolts. Only you and Bucky are left standing in front of the tower as you try to figure out the next move, though you’re not exactly in a rush to throw yourself back into the ring with Sentry. Your body aches beyond relief and a dull throbbing sensation has settled in the back of your skull, and you’re barely able to keep yourself upright as you lean back against the building.

“It’s a good thing I never plan to wear this again,” you retort sarcastically while carefully pulling shards of glass from your suit.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks solemnly, hands gently cradling your face to get a good look at you. Thankfully your skin only sports minor cuts and scrapes that will heal over time, but this doesn’t alleviate the guilt he feels in the pit of his stomach. You’re here because of him, because he’d begged you to come in a last ditch effort to save your marriage, and as a result you’d almost been killed.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently reach up to grasp onto his wrists to ground him and pull him out of his ruminative thoughts. “Hey, I’m alright. I’ve been through worse.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” he murmurs repentantly before carefully pulling you closer to press a kiss to your forehead. You hum appreciatively at the gesture, having missed the feeling of lips against your skin and the tenderness of his touch. It’s getting harder and harder to resist falling back into old habits, but that seems to be the least of your worries now. “I thought I lost you.”

“So did I,” you admit disquietingly, troubled gaze meeting his own worried one.

“What the hell are we doing, y/n?” Bucky utters gently, the softness of his tone harshly contrasting his words.

“Attempting to save the world?” You answer unsurely only for him to shake his head.

“I mean about us, about our marriage. He almost killed you, and the thought of losing you forever terrified me,” he professes earnestly. “We were lucky enough to get out of there alive, but I never want to feel that way again. I can’t just let you walk out of my life when this is all over.”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” you beg him desperately, throat beginning to tighten with the amalgamation of emotions you hold back. “It’s just not going to work. I love you more than anything, but I want to start a family. I want something stable.”

“You’re not even willing to try?” He pleads despite the clear defeat on his features. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from crying and turn away so you don’t have to meet his gaze.

“I can’t talk about this right now,” you shudder while blinking back tears. “It’s all too much, I just-“

You’re interrupted mid sentence as the ground beneath you begins to rumble. Distant screams fill the air and Bucky quickly pulls you into his side as he scans the area for any signs of danger. Your eyes trail towards the skyline above you and you freeze, body becoming rigid as you grab onto Bucky’s arm to get his attention.

A dark shadow hovers above you, chaos surrounding him as he stares you down. Panic floods the streets of New York, and despite the excruciating pain you feel you’re quick to jump into action and assist civilians in evading falling debris and runaway cars.

It seems now you’ll just have to wait until later to discuss the future of your marriage.

~~~

You wake up somewhere cold.

You have no idea where you are, but the last thing you remember is following Yelena into the void in hopes of finding her alive. You’re alone, and your surroundings are unfamiliar as you slowly pick yourself up off the ground and begin to aimlessly wander around. Gravel crunches under your feet as you walk, the darkness slowly fading into light as you begin to hear a cluster of voices.

A door stands before you, cracked open slightly enough for light to seep through and beckon you inside. You slowly push it open and step over the threshold to find yourself in an abandoned warehouse. Across the way from you stands the silhouette of a man, his figure menacing as he hovers over a woman. Her hands tremble with the weight of the gun she holds, her heavy breathing and quiet sobs filling the air as she points the weapon towards the man bound to a chair in front of her.

“Pull the trigger,” the man utters in Russian, the familiarity of it filling your stomach with unease. A sense of dejavú washes over you, and as you come closer to the scene you start to realize that you do know where you are.

“I can’t,” she snivels, flinching as his hands come to rest upon her own and steady her grip.

“You must,” the man coaxes her, and after an agonizing pause of silence a gunshot rings through the air. You gasp, stumbling back in shock at being faced with a memory you thought had long since been pushed to the back of your mind and forgotten.

Your first kill under Hydra.

The sound causes both figures to turn, and you feel sick to your stomach as you meet the gazes of the Winter Soldier and your younger self. His eyes harden, his approach menacing as he begins to step towards you, and you quickly sprint back to the door in a desperate attempt to escape his clutches.

You slam it behind you just before he can grab you, falling back against the wood with a heaving chest as you try to catch your breath and steady yourself. Your eyes squeeze themselves shut in an effort to keep the rising tears at bay, and when you open them again you discover your surroundings have changed once more.

You’re in the training room of Avengers tower, and you’re met with the sight of yourself angrily swinging your fists against a punching bag. Your knuckles are raw and bloody from the force you use, but you remain relentless. You keep going, even as the sobs begin to wrack your body and your momentum begins to slow.

You frown, slowly walking up behind your other self and resting a comforting hand on her back. She seems to falter before collapsing against the bag and breaking down into an ugly crying fit. The sound echoes throughout the room and fills you with unease, but you continue to run soothing circles into her skin to calm her down.

“Why did he leave me?” She sobs, prompting a chill to go down your spine. You remember this point in your life, the aftermath of Pierce and the collapse of Shield. Bucky had disappeared, and though you were grateful to the Avengers for taking you in as one of their own, you couldn’t understand why he hadn’t come back for you. You knew you meant something to him, you had to after all the time you’d spent together and the fact that he’d defied his orders to kill you. You’d never felt more alone, and all you wanted was your James.

“He thought you’d be better off without him in your life,” you assure her even though she doesn’t seem to hear you. “He did it to protect you because he loves you. You’ll see him again.”

The memory resets, and soon she’s back to assaulting the punching bag with all of her pent up anger. You leave her to grieve and make your way out of the room. No matter where you go, the pattern is the same; each place holds a defining moment in your life, some more painful than others, but all of them force you to confront your past.

You’re still no closer to finding Yelena or the rest of your group, and you’re starting to become frustrated. None of this makes any sense, and you feel like a rat aimlessly running through a maze. At one point you become so fed up you break through a mirror in an attempt to land somewhere else, and you end up falling face first onto a patch of dirt. The sunlight is jarring after being stuck inside for so long, and you raise your hand to shield your face so you can survey your new surroundings.

Slowly getting back up onto your feet, you quickly put the pieces together and come to realize you’ve landed back in Wakanda. You think you’re alone at first, but as you turn around you come face to face with a pair of blue eyes. Your heart stops at the sight of him and you falter, unsure whether or not to reach out for him.

“Steve?” Your voice calls, but it isn’t your lips that his name falls out of. You quickly whip around to see yourself limping forward with a deep gash in your side that you desperately press your hand against. Your hair is shorter, features younger, and suit different from the one you wear now, but these details allow you to quickly determine what point of your life you find yourself at now.

“What happened? Where’s Bucky?” Your past self questions uneasily as she scan the area for any sign of the man. Steve looks away guilty, refusing to meet her gaze as he thinks of something to say. “Steve?”

“He’s…” the Captain starts to speak, unable to finish his sentence. Her face falls while her hand immediately rises to hover over her mouth in shock. Tears immediately well in her eyes as she slowly shakes her head in disbelief, suffocating anguish clawing at her throat as she struggles to breathe.

“No… No, he’s not. You’re lying!” She yells aggrievedly while forcing her aching body to walk towards the man. “Where’s is he?! What did you do?!”

“I couldn’t do anything to stop it,” Steve murmurs gently, eyes pleading as he begs you to understand. “He’s gone. I’m sorry, y/n.”

“You’re lying!” She screams, body finally giving out from the overexertion as she collapses onto her knees. Natasha quickly rushes over and helps your past self back onto her feet, allowing you to lean against her for support as you sob. “He’s not- he can’t be!”

You take a shuddering breath and turn away from the scene, overcome with emotion at reliving your grief and heartache. You thought you’d lost Bucky forever, and in that moment you felt your entire world had ended. He’d been taken from you, and you’d be forced to spend the next five years attempting to pick up the pieces and move on. You’ll forever regret lashing out at Steve so harshly, for taking out your anger on a man that had watched his best friend disappear into dust. He was hurting too, and you wish you could take it back.

You can’t be here anymore. It’s all becoming too much, and despite the fact that you’re starting to lose hope of ever being reunited with the others you know you have to keep trying. You push through the brush and shrubbery of the Wakandan fields in search of a way out, and after fighting tooth and nail to escape you end up stumbling into your apartment.

You feel disoriented and confused at being in your own living room, and for a moment you think you might have somehow managed to escape the Void and found your way home. Everything looks as it should, and nothing is left out of place. You take this moment to let your guard down and rest by taking a seat on the couch, allowing your aching head to fall back against the cushions while you gather your thoughts. You’re emotionally drained, and you don’t think you can keep this up for much longer. Would it be so bad to just give up and accept your fate?

“You finally made it.”

You jump at the sound of another voice in the room with you and look up to see Bucky standing over you with a weary smile. You jump onto your feet immediately and throw yourself into his arms for a hug. He catches you with ease, holding you tightly against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“Bucky, oh my god!” You exclaim before pulling away to cup his face in your hands and look him over. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, sweetheart,” he assures you before leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“How did you find me here? These rooms are supposed to be my own memories.”

“That’s the thing,” he sighs solemnly before casting a glance towards the hallway, “this is my memory too.”

You look up at him with uncertainty and confusion, but before you can question him the front door swings open. You watch as past versions of Bucky and yourself walk into the apartment, both clearly exhausted from whatever public event they’d just attended. You kick off your heels by the door and set your purse on the counter while Bucky shrugs off his suit jacket.

“I think it went well tonight,” he notes with a smile before walking past you to get himself a glass of water. You stand in silence at the island table with your head hung low and hands planted firmly on the counter as you try to gather your thoughts.

“James,” you call gently, unable to meet his questioning gaze, “we need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” He asks with a puzzled frown, clearly taken back by your sudden change in demeanor. You’d been all smiles the entire evening, so he wasn’t expecting such a drastic switch in tone.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you say in a trembling voice, finally lifting your head to look him in the eyes. Silent tears streak down your face and Bucky feels his chest tighten at the sight.

“Can’t do what anymore? What’s going on, y/n?”

“This!” You exclaim in frustration while gesturing to yourself. “The parties, the public appearances. You promised me when we got married we’d stay out of the spotlight, but not once have we ever been able to have a moment of peace just between the two of us.”

“Hey, come on, of course we have,” he tries to soothe you by gently resting a hand on your arm, but you’re quick to pull away from his touch.

“All the plans we make just keep getting pushed aside for something else. I wanted a house, but we got the apartment to stay in the city in case Sam needed us. I wanted to retire, and yet every time there’s a fight we’re there. I wanted to start a family-“

“We can still do all of those things,” he insists desperately only for you to shake your head in quiet defeat. “I love you, y/n.”

“I love you, James,” you sniffle with a watery smile that temporarily alleviates his anxieties, “but it’s clear to me that we both want different things for ourselves.”

“What are you saying?” He presses you, voice low and apprehensive as he waits for you to speak with bated breath.

“I want a divorce.”

You turn away from the scene in shame as it resets, leaving you and Bucky alone once more in the apartment. Neither of you dares to speak at first, the air thick with tension and discomfort. You don’t even know what to say.

“Hard to believe that was only a month ago,” he jokes humorlessly in an attempt to break the silence.

“I don’t want to end our marriage,” you profess remorsefully. “I just relived every moment we were pulled apart and it was hell. I can’t live without you, but I don’t know how to handle all of this.”

“No one says marriage is easy,” he reminds you, gently resting his hand upon your cheek. “And I definitely haven’t made it easy for you.”

“I just got so tired of fighting,” your murmur faintly, eyes beginning to well with tears. “I want to give it all up, but how can I? I could have said no to you when you asked me to join you on this trip, I could have gone home instead of coming with you to fight Sentry, but I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if something happened to you because I wasn’t there. Being an Avenger is all I know, and I hate that.”

“Hey, come on, you’re so much more than an Avenger,” Bucky coos sweetly while using his thumb to wipe away some of the tears that had fallen. “You’re strong, you’re brave, not to mention you have the patience of a Saint, and I would know considering how much Sam and I have tested it in the past.”

That gets a quiet laugh out of you, and Bucky’s heart swells with pride at being able to get you to smile. He’s missed sharing moments like this with you, tender moments where you keep each other from falling apart. He doesn’t want to lose that.

“What do we do? I want a life that doesn’t revolve around being a world saving hero, and you want to continue to help make the world a better place, so where do we go from here?”

Bucky falters for a moment as he contemplates his answer. You don’t think there is a right answer, and you fear that he might come to that realization. Instead, carefully grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt your head upward.

“We compromise,” he answers with furrowed brows, as if surprised at himself for not coming up with it sooner. “That’s what a good relationship is built on, isn’t it? We can have both.”

“How do we do that?” You prompt him, obvious uncertainty present on your features.

“It’s not going to be easy, but it isn’t impossible,” he assures you with a firm nod. “We can have the house and the family, and when the world needs us to suit up we will. We just have to find a balance.”

He makes it sound much simpler than it will be in practice, and though there’s a part of you that fears it’ll never work, there’s also a part of you that will regret it forever if you don’t at least try. Bucky has become a permanent fixture in your life, and you never want to face a point in your life where he isn’t by your side. You’ve been through more hardships than most married couples have, endured awful traumas and challenges, but each time you’ve managed to persevere together.

“Okay,” you breathe with finality, “let’s compromise.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders when you express your want to continue fighting for your marriage. This entire time Bucky has been dreading going home and facing the divorce papers that sit waiting on your coffee table back at the apartment, but he can now rest assured knowing those files will never be fulfilled.

He wraps his arms around you once more and pulls you in for a searing kiss. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders immediately, mouth moving in tandem with his own as you pour all of your love and heartache into your shared embrace. You’ve missed this more than anything, and now that you’re back in his arms again everything feels like it’s finally starting to fall back into place. You know you still have a job to do, but you’re more determined now than ever to save Yelena and get the hell out of the Void.

And you’re determined to do it together.

~~~

You fall back onto the hard asphalt with a groan, your limbs entangled with Bucky and Ava who lay beside you.

Despite all odds, you’d managed to help Bob overcome the Void and return yourselves and everyone else back to the real world. You were free from the nightmares of your past and safe on normal ground. You only wish he could remember everything you’d all just endured together as a team.

You look across the way to spot an apprehensive Valentina waiting for your group. Your shoulders tense in aggravation as the woman immediately begins to spew excuses for her wrongdoings, and you join the others in approaching her with a vengance. You can’t wait to bring her in and get her thrown into jail like you’d originally planned, and when all is said and done you’ll finally be able to go home with your husband.

“Now guys, let’s just talk,” she pleads anxiously before disappearing behind a green tarp. You quickly step through before you can lose her, but you soon regret it as you’re immediately bombarded by roaring applause and the flashing bulbs of cameras. You raise a hand to shield your face from the commotion and grab onto Bucky’s arm to steady yourself.

“What the hell is going on?” You groan in annoyance at being ambushed by an entire swarm of journalists. You don’t exactly look or feel camera ready right now, and the stunt only serves to agitate you further.

“How about another round of applause for our heroes!” Valentina boasts into her makeshift podium. “It is because of their selfless bravery that we are all standing here.”

Despite your disdain for the woman, you have to give her credit- she certainly knows how to put on a show. Your group mates exchange looks of uncertainty as she spews her bullshit speech to the eager reporters, unsure of what her angle is and what she’s about to rope you into.

“Today, the citizens of the United States needed protection, and thanks to my hard work, they got it. Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers.”

The crowd of spectators break out into joyous cheers of excitement and deafening applause, but none of it registers in your mind as you focus on the words that have just left the woman’s mouth. You’re stunned and unnerved at her declaration, but your stomach quickly grows heavy with anger. You feel like the name of your original team has been tarnished, and you’re fuming at the fact that she’d roped you into this without a second thought. This was not how you ever pictured your return, and you’re at a complete loss of words.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you snarl through gritted teeth, knowing that if looks could kill Valentina would be dead right now. “New Avengers? I am an Avenger.”

“I thought you were retired,” John murmurs under his breath, only fueling your anger further.

“Hold on,” Bucky assuages you, hand coming to gently rest upon your back. “I have an idea that could make this all work in our favor. Do you trust me?”

While your mind is still reeling at being thrusted into the spotlight again with a new team, your nerves begin to dwindle as you meet Bucky’s eyes. His features are sincere and understanding, and though there isn’t a single part of you that trusts Valentina, you trust Bucky with your life.

You give him a single nod before returning your gaze to the crowd. A swarm of journalists stand eagerly waiting to hear your input, dying to know what your plans for the team are as the only original Avenger. Bucky’s hand on your back keeps you calm, and you know that whatever happens next you’ll be able to handle it together.

Just like you always have.

~~~

12 Months Later

While you’d initially been resistant to joining the New Avengers under Valentina’s guidance, you have to admit that things have definitely seemed to turn out in your favor.

Yelena had made it clear to the woman that it was her who worked for you guys and not the other way around. You owned her, and if she wanted to stay out of prison then she had to meet your every demand. She especially needed you onboard considering your status as an original Avenger was the only thing that gave the team credibility, and that made it easier for you and Bucky to implement specific stipulations in your contracts.

You bought a house on the outskirts of the city where you could enjoy paid leave whenever you both saw fit, and under no circumstances was anyone to bother you during your time off. This was the compromise you and Bucky had made to ensure your marriage stayed strong. You could retreat to your quiet slice of normalcy and strengthen your relationship while still taking part in missions and saving lives. You’d finally found a balance for your individual needs, and divorce was now far from ever being on your mind.

Along with the house and paid leave, you and Bucky had also finally been able to achieve a milestone you’d wanted for years in your marriage.

“Watch your step,” he cautions, his metal arm resting on the small of your back while the other clasps your hand in his own as he helps you down the stairs.

“Relax, James,” you wave him off, “just because I gained a little weight doesn’t mean I can’t walk on my own.”

“I’m sorry, I just want to make sure nothing happens to you or the baby,” he confesses remorsefully while delicately resting his hand upon your growing stomach.

While the tower was being renovated for your team’s arrival, you and Bucky retreated to your new home to enjoy some well deserved rest. You settled in and made the place your own, and once your move in was complete Bucky took advantage of the fact that he had you all to himself free of disruptions. Thus, it was a surprise to neither of you that you eventually became pregnant. Though you were nervous about what this would mean for you both now that you were Avengers again, Bucky assured you he would do everything in his power to take care of you and your little one.

In the meantime, you did your best to stay out of the action and work behind the scenes to avoid any injuries that could threaten the health of you or the baby. You gathered intel, conducted surveillance, created strategies for missions, and piloted the jets for assignments requiring travel. You were still an active member of the team, and you took on your role as leader well. It made sense to everyone that you take the title considering your veteran status, and you had no trouble getting everyone to fall in line when needed. Your new little family was growing, and you found yourself at peace falling back into old routines.

“It’s about time you show up, we’re starving,” John calls to you both as you finally make it down the stairs and head towards the dining room where everyone is gathered.

“I’m the one eating for two here,” you remind him with a pointed look before taking your seat at the table. “What’s for dinner?”

“Special stew made by Alexei!” The Red Guardian boasts proudly while setting a bowl down in front of you. “Very good for you and little baby Avenger.”

“Thank you, Alexei,” you smile, waiting for him to turn his back before pushing the bowl towards Bucky for him to inspect. Alexei has a habit of making food that doesn’t exactly sit well with your stomach, so your husband has taken the liberty of taste testing all of his dishes for you.

“Have you thought any more about the names we’ve suggested?” Yelena prompts from her seat beside you.

“Yes, I have, and no, I’m not naming them little Yelena or Alexis.”

“What?” She exclaims with a pout, clearly taking offense to your answer. “What are you talking about? Those are great names.”

“Don’t listen to her, they are awful,” Ava agrees before digging into her stew.

“Do you have a name yet?” John prompts with intrigue. Ever since you’d announced your pregnancy he’d made it a habit to live vicariously through you and Bucky considering he hadn’t been present for his own wife and child.

You exchange a knowing look with Bucky and urge him to answer for you, smiling faintly at the proud look on your husband’s face as he thinks about the arrival of your future daughter.

“Brooklyn,” he states fondly to the surprise of your teammates. The name is an homage to the city he and Steve called home, and you couldn’t think of anything more perfect when he’d suggested it to you. Brooklyn Barnes would be arriving in four months, and you eagerly counted down the days until you could hold her in your arms.

“It’s not as good as Yelena but… not bad,” the blonde admits with a purse of her lips.

Dinner is a loud affair as always, but you enjoy spending time with the people you’ve come to call friends. Once your meal is finished, the group follows Bucky to the training room for drills while you stay behind with Bob and wash the leftover dishes. He’s still a bit reserved, but your inaction in the field has allowed you to spend more time with the man and help him open up to you. You enjoy the contrast his quiet nature brings to your chaotic surroundings.

You retire early for the night and choose to wait in your quarters for Bucky to return from training. Strangely enough, you’d been assigned the exact same room you once called your own during your time in Avengers Tower. At that point in your life you’d been alone and depressed, stranded with a group of what was essentially strangers while you waited for some sign of Bucky’s return. Now, you found yourself happily waiting for your husband to finish his workout with your hands lovingly rested on your stomach.

The doors to the room slide open to reveal a freshly showered Bucky, and he’s quick to immediately pull you into his arms as he joins you in bed.

“How’d it go?” You ask him while pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Better than usual. I think they’ll be ready for this week’s mission.”

“I have full faith in your leadership abilities,” you confidently assure him.

“Well, that would make you the only one,” he jests dryly before pressing his lips to your forehead. “Sam’s still ignoring my calls.”

Your features morph into a frown at the mention of your friend. He’d been rightfully upset when he found out what you both were up to, and despite Bucky’s attempts to explain your actions Sam wanted none of it. He iced you both out, and though the news of the baby had gotten him to soften up the slightest bit towards you, he still made it a point to cut contact with Bucky.

“He just needs some time,” you assure him empathetically. “This isn’t your first fight and it probably won’t be your last, but you guys will be okay. I’m sure of it.”

“I just want us to have a better life. I want you to be happy, and I want to make sure Brooklyn will be safe even if that means having to work under Valentina and the government.”

“She will be,” you promise him with a fond look in your eyes, “because she has us, and she has an entire team of people that care about her even if they try to say otherwise.”

Bucky can’t help the careful smile that plays upon his lips at your reassurances. You always have a way of alleviating his worries and calming his nerves. Your marriage was stronger now because of the decisions he’d made to get you here, and he just had to hope Sam would be able to understand that. The safety of his wife and new baby was all that mattered to him now, and he’d do whatever it took to protect you both.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world, you know that?” Bucky coos before pulling you in for a tender kiss that you eagerly accept.

Come what may, you have complete faith that you’ll be okay. No matter the challenge, no matter the danger, you and Bucky have always managed to overcome any obstacle you’ve faced together. The future is never promised, but you know you’ll make it to the other side as long as you have each other.

For better or for worse, you’re Avengers now, but nothing will ever come between you as husband and wife.

~~~

“But we are the Avengers. The government said so,” Yelena protests fruitlessly as you make your way to the debrief room. “How does Sam Wilson not understand that?”

“Well, he does have the shield,” Bucky points out.

“Well, I’ve got a shield too.”

“Yeah, a shield that’s still bent like a taco,” you scoff in annoyance.

“It’s a great shield!” John insists defensively.

“It’s a shitty shield.”

“A great shield, Bucky.”

“Okay, well, if he puts together a team and calls them the Avengers, then who are the real Avengers?” Yelena insists.

“Probably the ones with Captain America on their team,” you sigh despondently, grateful to have finally reached the couch. You slowly sink down onto the cushions with Bucky’s help and lean back in an attempt to alleviate the weight on your spine. The Watchtower certainly wasn’t designed with pregnant women in mind, especially not women who were eight months pregnant, but you were managing. You technically should be home with Bucky enjoying the start of your maternity leave, but an atmospheric disturbance had halted all of your plans and forced you to call an emergency meeting.

“Well, that’s the question the internet has been asking, and judging by the very nasty memes that I’ve read they don’t think that it’s us,” John says while kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“That’s not fair, we have an original Avenger on our side,” the blonde woman attests. “That means we are just as good as any team led by Captain America. Weren’t you going to talk to him, Bucky?”

“I already did,” your husband professes solemnly, guilt present in his features. “It went poorly.”

His relationship with Sam hadn’t gotten any better. If anything, the conversation had only seemed to make things worse. You felt for Bucky, but no matter what you said or did Sam was adamant in standing firm against the choices you’d made. He’d wished you well on your upcoming baby, but he made it clear that he wanted no part of the New Avengers or Valentina.

“You know he’s filed for copyright of the name,” Yelena informs your group incredulously as she finally ceases her pacing and joins you on the couch. “We’re losing credibility.”

“In which we had very little to begin with,” Ava notes with a wave of her hand. “All we have is an ‘Old Avenger’ to keep us afloat, and now she’s about to leave.”

“I can only carry you guys on my back for so long,” you retort in annoyance while defensively resting your hands on your stomach. “And for your information, just because I’ve been around longer than you all does not mean I’m an ‘Old Avenger.’”

“Yeah, you’re ‘Pregnant Avenger’ now,” John quips, earning himself a warning glare from Bucky.

“And now there’s a huge space crisis and no one’s telling us about it.”

You feel your nerves worsen at the mention of the incoming threat. The world has been off balance in a recent change of events, and though you don’t know what exactly it is, you know a threat is coming. You only have one month left until Brooklyn is born, but it seems you won’t be able to spend your last month of pregnancy at home like you’d initially hoped. Bucky tries to refrain from overwhelming you to keep your mind at ease, but he can only hide so much from you.

As Yelena speaks into her control pad to request a full threat analysis, Alexei proudly walks into the room with a new ensemble that has everyone’s heads turning in bewilderment.

“Hello, team,” he greets while boasting his new suit. “I heard about Sam Wilson. He’s dumb litigious man, but I am smart. I’m smart man, and I have smart solve.”

You watch in bemusement as he gestures to the logo on his new jumpsuit and sounds out the new spelling change of ‘Avengerz.’

“Avengers with a ‘Z.’ There is no copyright.”

“No,” Yelena immediately protests, clearly not up to entertaining her father’s antics.

“Nonsense. This suit, it is soft like baby seal. I have one for you, and you,” he says while looking from Yelena to Bucky. “Avengerz suits for everyone! I even got one for little Alexis.”

“Alexei, we’ve been over this,” you remind him gently, “her name isn’t Alexis.”

“There is still time to change mind,” he reminds you with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You let out a quiet laugh of disbelief and sneak a glance at your husband who very clearly seems fed up with this entire debacle. You should have already been on your way to the cottage by now, and instead you were here mindlessly bickering over issues that seemed trivial when compared to your upcoming due date.

“Satellite image populating,” your computer generated assistant announces while producing a visual on the screen. “Extra dimensional ship entering atmosphere.”

“Extra dimensional? What does that mean?” Alexei murmurs as your group moves closer to the screen.

“It means it’s not from here,” you answer absently, nervously grasping onto Bucky’s bicep as you get a closer look at the ship. A blue number four is etched into the side of the strange looking ship, and you watch as it grows closer to landing on earth.

“It’s a cool ship,” John notes with a meager shrug, trying to alleviate some of the tension in the room.

“So much for maternity leave,” you sigh in a weak attempt to make a joke. Bucky shifts his tense gaze towards you before slowly lowering it to your protruding stomach, his mind reeling with all of the potential dangers you could soon be facing.

Sensing his panic, you carefully take hold of his hand in your own and tightly intertwine your fingers together to bring him back to the present. Your touch grounds him, reminds him that as of now you and Brooklyn are safe beside him, and he thanks you by wordlessly giving your hand a squeeze.

You have no idea what is to come or how your team will fare in the face of this new adversity, but you know that you’ll overcome whatever you need to in order to protect your new family.

“No matter what happens, we stay together,” you tell him firmly with no room for argument. You expect him to fight you on it, to insist you go home and keep yourself far away from the danger, but instead, he raises your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles before offering you a single nod that melts away all of your trepidations.

“Together.”

Jackass

Summary : Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why. 

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

Warnings/tags : Secret wife trope. Cursing, Injury. Featuring the Thunderbolts*. Bucky kinda gaslights the entire team. Fluff!!!!

Word count : 3k

Note : The next chapter of spoils of war is almost here, but I just need to go over a couple of paragraphs! In the meantime, enjoy!

The Thunderbolts knew a few undeniable truths about Bucky Barnes.

One: He was grumpy.

Two: He was a private person.

Three: He never, ever let anyone see where he lived.

That last one bothered them the most. They’d pieced together the general area; a quiet neighborhood with old brick buildings, modern cafés, and just enough charm to make it feel… vintage. But no one had ever set foot inside his home, no one had even seen him unlock the door to his sanctuary, since he dodged every casual suggestion to hang out at his place with a variation of “I got plans” or another. And, curiously, every time they stopped for coffee in this part of town, Bucky would mysteriously slip into the tiny flower shop beneath a brick apartment building.

That was odd. No one would’ve guessed that Bucky Barnes even liked flowers.

What was even odder was that this infinitely grumpy, emotionally constipated, “I hate people” supersoldier — would be capable of flirting.

With the florist.

With you.

“Are we seeing this right?” Yelena whispered, elbowing Alexei as they peered through the shop window after Bucky made them wait outside. 

They watched as Bucky stood by the counter, leaning in ever so slightly, a charming grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you wrap a bouquet.

“He’s smiling,” Alexei muttered, horrified.

Inside, Bucky reached for the bouquet you were tying up, his gloved fingers brushing against yours. You playfully smacked his hand away, laughing. He laughed, too, and that was enough to send Yelena spiraling into an existential crisis.

Yelena squinted. “He’s flirting.”

Alexei frowned. “Bucky does not flirt.”

“I know. That’s why I’m freaking out.”

They watched as you handed him the bouquet, and in return, Bucky gave you a wink. And then he turned, walking out like he hadn’t just transformed into a different person.

That was when Yelena, utterly horrified Yelena, caught a flash of gold on your ring finger. She squinted her eyes. It was unmistakable. “Wait a second—”

As soon as he got back to them, Alexei folded his arms. “You were flirting.”

Bucky scoffed. “I was not.”

“She’s married!” Yelena accused, pointing dramatically. “She had a ring! You flirted with a married woman!”

Bucky didn’t even blink. He simply shrugged, tucking the bouquet carefully under his arm. “I didn’t see a ring.”

“She was literally wearing it—”

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky insisted, tugging absentmindedly at the chain around his neck— the one that held his dog tags, hidden under his shirt.

Yelena and Alexei exchanged a deeply disturbed look.

Bucky Barnes was flirting with a married florist.

What was the world coming to?

—

Bucky knew he’d fucked up the second he stepped back into Thunderbolts HQ. 

Alexie had just looked confused, while Yelena had been simmering the entire walk back, her arms crossed so tightly over her chest it was a miracle she hadn’t snapped a rib. 

She lasted exactly two seconds before she exploded. “You are jackass, Barnes!”

Bucky barely had time to sigh before she stomped closer.

“What’s so wrong with what I did?” he muttered, placing the bouquet of flowers in an empty vase

Yelena let out an incredulous laugh, pacing in front of him like a caged tiger ready to strike. “What’s wrong?” she echoed, her accent thickening with rage. “You flirted with a married woman! I should punch you in the face on principle!”

From the lounge, John Walker looked up from whatever government-issued nonsense he was pretending to read. His brows immediately furrowed, his eyes twisting into the signature disapproving dad look he’d perfected. “Wait, what?”

Ava, who had been drinking tea in the corner, raised an eyebrow. “This is scandalous,” she murmured, eyes brightening with intrigue.

Alexei, who was now plopped on the couch like some washed-up, Soviet-era king, said, “If a man had flirted with my wife like that, I would have hunt him down and mount his head on wall.” He crossed his arms, nodding to himself in approval. “As is tradition.”

Bucky scowled. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“Oh?” Yelena snorted, “So you were just undressing her with your eyes for fun, then?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s just how I look at people.”

Alexie shook his head. “So you look at us like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth. Then immediately shut it.

Yelena’s hands curled into fists. “Yeah. Thought so.”

John’s arms crossed over his chest in that holier-than-thou stance that he was so famous for. “Look, man, I’m married. And if someone flirted with my wife, we’d have a problem.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys are making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Nothing?” Yelena threw up her hands. “She’s married, Bucky!”

“Okay, even if I was flirting,” Bucky turned to her, exasperated— “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s hands flew to her head, fingers digging into her scalp like she was resisting the urge to rip out her own hair. “You probably chose to look away!”

John sighed like a disappointed youth pastor. “This is unbelievable.”

“No,” Bucky still insisted, “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped. “It was a thick gold band, Barnes. How could you not see it?”

Ava, who was clearly enjoying the drama more than anyone, sighed. “That is inappropriate behaviour, Barnes.”

Alexei shook his head again, “You should apologise.”

“I’m not apologising,” Bucky scoffed, “Because I did nothing wrong.”

His fingers toyed absentmindedly with the chain that led to his dog tags, and Yelena immediately locked onto the movement. Every person has a tell, a habit they did when they were nervous. And being a super spy, Yelena knew this was his.

She narrowed her eyes. “You are gaslighting us,” she muttered, pacing again like she was mentally weighing the pros and cons of strangling a super soldier.

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky repeated, his voice steady.

“You’re lying,” she snapped.

He shrugged, maddeningly casual in all of this chaos. “Guess we’ll never know.”

Ava laughed cynically. “I can’t tell if you’re a complete scumbag or if this is just really fun for you.”

Bucky just popped a beer from the fridge, flicking the cap off with his metal hand. “Why not both?”

He took a long sip of his beer, completely unbothered.

And maybe, he looked a little bit too smug.

—

Three weeks later, Bucky led Yelena and John on a mission to take down a high-scale arms dealer.

And, as always, the mission had gone sideways.

It was too late for any shops to be open, too late for anyone with a shred of common sense to be out on the streets. 

Yelena was bleeding, pressing a torn scrap of fabric against a deep gash on her arm. John had a busted lip and a slight limp. Bucky was sporting a few cuts and bruises himself, but nothing he hadn’t shaken off a thousand times before.

“Guys,” Yelena managed a grunt, shifting her grip on her makeshift bandage, “we need to get ourselves patched up before one of us drops dead.”

“We ran out of antiseptics back at HQ,” John reminded them.

Yelena groaned, throwing her head back in despair. “So what are we supposed to do?” She gritted out, “Just bleed out in the street like sad little orphans?”

John scowled. “That’s a little dramatic.”

Yelena turned and glared at him. “Your face is dramatic.”

Bucky let out a deep breath through his nose, running a hand along his damp hair. He glanced around the street, making sure they weren’t being followed before whispering to himself, “Guess we’re doing this now.”

Yelena tilted her head. “Doing what?”

Instead of answering, Bucky turned on his heel and started walking.

John and Yelena gave each other a wary look.

“I don’t like when he does that,” John said.

“No one does,” Yelena agreed, but they both followed anyway. 

It didn’t take long for them to recognise the route— ​​It was the neighbourhood where the team usually got coffee.

But Bucky wasn’t heading to the café.

They rounded the corner, and suddenly John stopped dead in his tracks.

It was a closed florist—the very one where Bucky had, allegedly, been trying to charm his way into a married woman’s bed.

To John’s absolute horror, Bucky walked right up to the door and knocked.

“Bucky.” He said, voice strangled. “What the hell is this?”

Yelena blinked. “I don’t think we need to seduce a married florist to get medical supplies.”

Bucky sighed, rubbing his temples like he was already regretting this decision. He turned to them, leveling them both with a look. “Alright, listen up,” he said through gritted teeth. "The secret’s out now, so you two gotta keep your mouths shut.”

John’s brows furrowed. “What secret?”

Before Bucky could answer, the door to the flower shop clicked open.

And there you were, standing in the doorway, wrapped in one of Bucky’s hoodies, looking exactly how he’d expected: exasperated but unsurprised. He knew you’d still be up, cataloguing the latest floral shipment for tomorrow’s arrangements.

The second your eyes landed on a bruised and bloodied Bucky, and flanked by two wounded Thunderbolts, no less—you let out a sigh.

“James,” you said knowingly, your voice laced with fond irritation. “What did you do?”

Yelena and John froze in their tracks.

James?

James?

No one called Bucky by his first name. No one. Not unless they had a death wish.

Bucky, unfazed, just stepped inside. “We ran out of antiseptics, honey.”

Yelena and John exchanged a wide-eyed look.

Honey?

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Again?”

Bucky shrugged like this was a perfectly normal Thursday night occurrence.

You muttered under your breath, “I should’ve known this would happen when I married an ex-assassin.”

Oh.

Yelena’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Married.” she repeated

John blinked rapidly. “This is why we can never go to your place?”

Bucky could only shrug. Of course it was— they would have seen the evidence of how much love in his home was carved out for just you.

John let out a wheeze.

Yelena pointed between you and Bucky, motioning erratically. “Wait. WAIT. So—so she’s your wife? She married you?”

Bucky nodded. “Yup.”

“Like—actually married?”

“Mhm.”

Yelena gasped, clutching her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. In a way, she had. “And no one knows?”

Bucky thought for a second. “Sam does.”

“And Joaquin,” you added, trying to be helpful.

Bucky nodded. “Right. Joaquin.”

“Oh, and Isaiah and Elijah Bradley.”

“Yeah, they were at the wedding.”

“A teenager knew about this,” John’s eye twitched, “—and we didn’t?”

Bucky could only nod again.

Yelena rubbed a hand down her face, “You gaslit us,” she accused, jabbing a finger at Bucky. “You let us believe you were a homewrecker for weeks—when you were married the whole time?!”

You snorted, glancing at Bucky, who had the audacity to look smug. “Yeah, that sounds like my husband.”

Yelena let out a string of very creative Russian curses.

John looked like he was about to have a stroke. 

“All secrets aside,” you said, welcoming the two disoriented Thunderbolts in and locking the door behind you, “It’s good to finally meet you both.”

John still looked like he was buffering. Yelena, on the other hand, was vibrating with adrenaline, looking like she was trying to solve a conspiracy theory in real time.

“This is—this is insane,” she muttered, pointing aggressively at Bucky, then at you, then back at Bucky. “You’re—you’re so normal.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d like to think so.”

Bucky just hummed. “She’s perfect.”

Yelena actually sputtered like an old car engine.

John made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh. This was all too much.

But there wasn’t time to let them spiral further. Bucky, gently nudged you toward the others. “Take care of them first, darling. They’ve got worse injuries.”

You frowned, wanting to protest—because, really, Bucky should always be your first priority—but your husband was nothing if not stubborn. You knew better than to argue when he had that look in his eyes— you knew that fighting him on this would only drag things out longer, and right now, time was precious.

You turned your attention to Yelena and John, motioning for them to follow you deeper into the shop. The scent of lavender, roses, and freshly cut stems—clung to the air as you led them toward the back, where your little work table stood tucked in the corner.

Years of practice had made you quick. You moved with quiet efficiency, gathering supplies from neat shelves: you cut and split an aloe vera plant for burns, grabbed bandages, and a mix of balms you’d perfected over your time tending to Bucky. It wasn’t the kind of sterile, military-grade first aid they were used to, but it would have to do for now.

You started tending to Yelena’s arm, gently dabbing the wound with fresh aloe. She hissed through her teeth before narrowing her eyes at you.

“So how long has this been a thing?” she demanded. Bucky, now leaning lazily against the counter with his arms crossed, barely spared her a glance. “A while.”

John scoffed, “A while?”

You bit back a grin as you smoothed a bandage over Yelena’s arm, “Three years.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped.

“Three—” She turned to Bucky so fast it was a miracle she didn’t give herself whiplash. “You’ve been married for three years?!”

John let out a long, defeated groan,This was simply too much to process. “Fuck’s sake.”

Yelena shook her head. “I thought you were a loner who hated people."

Bucky only shrugged, unbothered. 

You chuckled as you pressed the last piece of medical tape into place on Yelena’s arm. “Alright, you’re done.” Then, glancing at John, you motioned for him to sit. “Your turn.”

John sighed but still plopped down. You took his hand gently, turning it over to examine his bruised knuckles before moving to his busted lip.

Meanwhile, they kept peppering you with questions, barely giving you room to breathe.

“How did you meet?”

“How do you put up with Bucky’s brooding?”

“Does he ever actually smile?”

At that last one, you paused, dabbing at John’s lip carefully. “He smiles all the time.”

John let out a scoff. “No, he doesn’t.”

You glanced over at Bucky, knowing he showed that part of him to you and no one else. “Oh, he does.”

And then, finally, it was Bucky’s turn.

You turned to him, your brows knitting together as you studied the little cuts on his cheek, the dried blood near his brows. He looked a little tired, a little worn around the edges. 

Your fingers found his chin, tilting his face toward you as you inspected the damage. Your touch was so featherlight, so incredibly careful. There was no missing the way your thumb brushed over his cheekbone— how incredibly gentle it was.

“You should’ve let me do you first,” you murmured, half-scolding, half-concerned.

Bucky’s lips curved into a small smile, a flicker of mischief lighting his tired blue eyes. “That’s exactly what you said last night, sweetheart.”

John choked.

Yelena groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow from the nearest chair and hurling it at Bucky’s head. “You two are disgusting.”

Bucky caught the pillow effortlessly, giving her a smug grin before setting it aside. When his eyes found yours again, his shit-eating grin turned… lovely. The tension in his brows eased as you dabbed gently at his cut. 

For all the blood, for all the bruises, you handled him like he was glass.

And then, without thinking, you leaned in.

It was meant to be a brief kiss— a quick reassurance, a way of saying I’ve got you. But the moment your lips brushed his, you couldn’t help but linger.

Your fingers curled instinctively against his chin. His hand found your waist without hesitation, as if he needed you closer. As if the world shrank down to just the two of you. 

John and Yelena exchanged a look, the previous horror of their teammate hiding a secret wife momentarily forgotten because this was… weirdly cute.

You giggled as you pulled away, seeing Bucky looking at you like you hung the moon for him. 

“Anywhere else?” you asked, brushing your thumb over his lips.

Bucky hesitated just for a second. Then, a little sheepishly, he said, “Got a cut on my ribs.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. Of course he did. Before he could argue, you reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged.

“Off,” you said simply.

Bucky huffed but didn’t fight you. He lifted his arms, letting you strip the fabric from his skin, and goddamn.

Bucky, half-naked, was unfairly, ridiculously beautiful. Even now, even after all this time, seeing him like this still knocked the breath from your lungs. His body was a roadmap of battles fought and survived, scars carved into the expanse of his chest and ribs that told stories only he could say. 

John made a strangled sound, somewhere between “Jesus Christ” and “I need to leave the room,” but you ignored him completely. Yelena let out a dramatic sigh and whispered “they are one second away from sucking each other’s face off,” to herself.

You tuned them both out, fingers dragging carefully over Bucky’s ribs, searching for the wound. When you found a thin jagged cut just below his ribs— you sighed softer this time and reached for the aloe.

“You need to stop getting hurt, my love,” you said, smoothing the cool gel over his skin.

Bucky’s voice came quieter. “Lucky I have someone to take care of me, then.”

And that’s when Yelena finally noticed it.

The thin chain around Bucky’s neck—one she’d always assumed was just for his dog tags—held something else, too.

A ring.

A simple wedding band that matched yours, worn from years of resting against his skin.

She blinked, realisation hitting her like a freight train. Oh.

That’s why he always played with it.

Every time Bucky was nervous, every time he was uncertain, his fingers would move to that chain—not just to fiddle with his tags, but to remind himself of you.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete jackass after all.

-end.

Note: Hope this doesn't bite me in the ass when the movie comes out.

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

Pimple Patches

Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Summary: Bucky feels left out when he notices you’re wearing star pimple patches.

Warnings: mentions of insecurity about pimples/acne/skin texture

Word count: 800

A/N: so I put a few pimple patches on this morning which sparked this silly little idea, I hope you enjoy! Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

“Darling, you’ve got stars all over your face…” Bucky’s voice is croaky from sleep, but you can still hear the confusion in his tone. 

The coffee machine hums to life as you smile back at him to say “I am well aware Buck - they’re pimple patches.” 

If it were anyone but your precious boyfriend who had made that comment, you might feel slightly offended at the insinuation that you have acne all over your face, but you know from experience Bucky thinks you're the most beautiful person in the world regardless of any blemish, scar or skin texture, and this is coming purely from a place of innocence. 

Sometimes you forget that he’s actually over a hundred and can be such an old man. 

You chuckle at how bewildered his expression is, clearly still unable to grasp the reason why you have intentionally placed them on your skin. 

“Pimple patches.” He repeats back to you, his voice holds no recognition that he understands what that means, even though you think the name itself is a fairly obvious indicator. 

“They help reduce the inflammation and absorb the gunk from my acne.” Is the explanation you provide him as you saunter over to give him a good morning kiss. “Plus, more than anything they prevent me from wanting to pop them myself.” 

There’s something still bothering him as he sits at the breakfast bar while you serve the aromatic roasted coffee to him in his favourite mug. 

“But why are they in the shape of a star?” 

Bless his heart.

“Because it’s fun! Who doesn’t want colourful stars on their face to cover up their whiteheads?” 

Bucky blows on his coffee, before sipping it slowly while his eyes examine the placement of the stars around your face. He still looks unconvinced by the concept but there is still that twinkle in his eye and the small tug at the corner of his mouth that he is staring at his person. You're getting used to that stare.

“Do you feel like you’re missing out? Do you want a star too?” He seems to perk up at the question, but then gives a fake little cough and straightens his shoulders as if to give the impression he’s far too mature to want a star sticker as well.

“I don’t think I have any pimples.” Is what he says instead of giving you a straight answer to your yes or no question.

He’s right, Bucky’s skin is annoyingly perfect when your own can be such a mess, even though you’re the one splurging on high end skincare to treat acne. He’s always told you it’s the serum when you’ve previously broken down about how imperfect your own skin is compared to his.

“C’mere.” You grab his hand, which is unusually warm as he has been holding his coffee, and pull him to the bathroom.

It’s very endearing how he stands with his hands joined behind his back, waiting for you to do anything you want to his face with the giddy grin of a ten year old getting a ‘your a star!’ sticker on their homework.

Bucky watches in fascination and adoration as you carefully lift the star from the sheet and turn to face him. Being this close to him still gives you butterflies, but the warmth radiating from his broad body makes you feel safe and at home

There’s a faded, thin scar on his cheekbone, one that he got well before the serum saving Steve from a fight, that you place the blue pimple patch onto. “There, your own little star. Now we match!” 

He takes a quick look in the mirror and you determine he likes it given the smile he beams. You wish he could be forthright about his wants with you, even if it’s as silly as wanting a sticker on his face. But you’re working on it together.

“You’re my little star.” He says dotingly as he places a sweet, sloppy kiss to your cheek, in between a couple of your pimple patches.

Looking back in the mirror, he stands taller than you, but he looks proud to not have missed out on the identical patch that you now don together. He practically skips out of the bathroom and doesn’t remove his precious star until you tell him it’s time to peel them off later in the day.

The next morning, you notice Bucky has another star stuck to his cheek as he’s making you breakfast. You smile to yourself, before pointing it out to him.

He says it’s to make sure you don’t feel uncomfortable wearing them around him, which if the case is very sweet, but you have a sneaky suspicion that he might just like matching with you.

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For Better or For Worse

pairing: Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader

warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS, angst, themes of trauma, mentions of violence, mentions of pregnancy, eventual fluff, bucky and reader working out their marriage problems

notes: so i actually first started working on this piece a month before the movie came out and wasn’t able to complete it until i actually saw the film. there will be some inaccuracies since it’s purely based off memory but i hope you guys enjoy!

summary: You want a divorce, but Bucky needs your help for one last mission. Luckily, marriage is all about compromise

The court issued papers fill Bucky with unease as the two of you sit at the dining table in silence. Neither of you has said a word since you presented the documents to him when he returned from his office, and his gaze has been glued to the petition for a painfully long amount of time. The legal jargon doesn’t catch his attention, but one word has stuck out from the rest and branded itself at the forefront of his mind.

Divorce.

These papers are meant to finalize your divorce.

“I just need your signature,” you prompt him quietly after taking a nervous swallow. You try to remain poised, but Bucky knows you well enough to detect your anxious tells- the way your leg bounces nervously under the table while your right hand absently tries to fidget with a ring that isn’t there. He sighs and allows himself to sink back further into his chair while he attempts to organize the amalgamation of thoughts swirling in his mind.

“This is what you really want?” Bucky asks gently, tone devoid of judgement or resentment and instead filled with quiet defeat.

“Are you kidding? I don’t want this at all,” you insist miserably, unable to stop yourself from reaching for his hand across the table. “I love you, Bucky. More than anything. But we haven’t been on the same page in years.”

“Of course we’re on the same page,” he stresses incredulously as if it’s ridiculous to believe otherwise. “We love each other, we’ll do whatever it takes to keep each other safe, we’re a team.”

A disappointed frown takes hold of your features as you carefully pull your hand away. Your eyes are full of sorrow and grief for your failing marriage, and Bucky doesn’t understand why his words have garnered such a reaction from you. He asked you to be his wife out of love and complete adoration for the woman who had risked everything to help him become the man he is today. Wasn’t that enough?

“When we got married, you promised me we’d retire and start our lives somewhere quiet away from all the danger. We’d do the whole white picket fence thing and grow old together, maybe start a family now that all the super hero stuff was behind us. But then Sam needed our help, and I didn’t mind suiting up again for a friend.“

“Of course you didn’t,” Bucky affirms with a faint smile, heart nearly bursting with pride at the mere thought of your selflessness. Steve had once said your compassionate heart could melt even the toughest of soldiers, and Bucky had been no exception when first meeting you.

“I thought that would be our final send off, but then came Valentina, then your congressional campaign, and now the impeachment. It never ends, Bucky,” you say emphatically, exhaustion and defeat present in your tone. Quieter now, you let your eyes fall back to the documents and swallow back your tears before continuing, “I’m starting to realize now that there never will be a house with a white picket fence.”

“Y/n, come on,” Bucky pleads earnestly, “of course there will be. Just give me some time-“

“That’s what you always say,” you point out with a smile that fails to reach your eyes. Your husband is desperate to change your mind, the panic evident in his features as he scrambles to make things right before it’s too late.

“I can change.”

“If you can honestly look me in the eyes and promise me your days of fighting are over, I’ll shred the papers myself.”

A heavy silence follows your words, and you sit expectantly as you wait for him to make a move. Bucky’s eyes wander to every corner of the room, analyze every speck of dust that lands on the table, but they’re never once able to look into your own. You know you have your answer, and Bucky knows there is no changing your mind now.

“I’ll still help you find evidence for Valentina’s impeachment,” you assure him numbly, your fingers absently fidgeting with the buttons on your shirt. “I’ll help you organize your argument and figure out the next step, but you’re on your own after that.”

“About that…” Bucky utters guiltily, looking at you like a dog caught with its tail between its legs. Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before your shoulders slump in disappointment. You know what’s coming, and you know you’re not going to like it.

“What did you do this time?”

“The evidence I’m looking for, it’s not a paper trail or the location to some facility. It’s… people,” Bucky admits with a wince, sinking further back into his chair when he notes the frustration evident in your features.

“Oh my god, Bucky!” You exclaim in exasperation. “What do you mean it’s people?!”

Bucky hates seeing you angry, especially when your anger is directed towards him, but he desperately tries to extinguish the flames before they can get worse.

“Valentina sent people to cover her tracks- contract agents.”

“And who are the agents?” you press him, annoyance clear in your tone. He winces, clearly not looking forward to admiting the truth to you.

“John Walker, Ava Star, and Yelena Belova… But y/n, I swear to you, I had no idea about her involvement when I asked for your help taking Valentina down,” Bucky insists honestly in response to the ire clear on your features, hoping you’ll understand his point of view. Of course he didn’t mean to disrespect your wishes, but it had all happened so fast he hadn’t been given an opportunity to right it.

“Natasha was my best friend, and I promised if anything happened to her I’d keep an eye on Yelena in her place,” you remind him indignantly with an irritated huff. Bucky lets his head hang in shame. “You realize you’re asking me to go back on my word by going after her, right?”

“I know… and I’m sorry. But this is important. The fate of the world could be at stake.”

“It always is,” you mutter testily. Bucky sighs.

“Look, just… before I become a divorced middle aged man, can you just go on this one last mission with me? Think of it as a final send off,” Bucky coaxes with a nervous smile. “And when all is said and done I’ll sign the papers.”

You pull your lips back into a thin line as you stare down the man sitting across from you. You’re not exactly pleased with this entire situation, but a part of you knows you’d feel horrible turning your back on him when he needed you most. Despite your impending divorce, you still loved Bucky with your entire being, and you always would have his best interests at heart no matter the case.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” you curse under your breath, more directed at yourself than at Bucky. “I know I’m going to hate myself for this, but I’ll help you.”

The relief that washes over Bucky’s face is almost rewarding, but you try not to let yourself get too caught up in the fantasy. You still aren’t an Avenger, and going on a life threatening mission isn’t going to magically fix the problems in your marriage. You’re simply doing this as a favor to the man you love, and you’re adamant about not letting yourself fall in too deep.

You only hope Bucky keeps good on his promise to you because he can’t afford to break any more.

~~~

You carefully pull the zipper of your suit closed before taking a step back to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Despite years of inactivity, it still fits you like a second skin, and you hate it. The last time you’d suited up had been to stop the Flag Smashers, and when it was over you swore to yourself you’d never put it on again. You’d shoved it towards the very back of your closet hoping to forget it existed, and yet here you stood being haunted by your past in spite of how hard you’d worked to separate yourself from your life as an Avenger.

“You look good,” Bucky compliments from behind you, figure leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest as he takes in the sight of you. He desperately wants to cross the room and pull you against him, hold you by the hips and pour all of his gratitude for your help into a kiss, but he refrains. He doesn’t want to cross any boundaries, but he isn’t exactly sure how to act around his soon-to-be ex-wife. The air is awkward with uncertainty and tense with your anger at having been dragged into this mess, but neither of you dare make note of it.

“I look like an Avenger,” you mutter dryly before pushing past him in search of your boots. “Now tell me again what the plan is.”

“Thanks to Valentina’s assistant I have their location. There’s an abandoned mechanic shop along the way, and you’re going to wait for me there while I bring them in. All I need you to do is help me keep them in line and present the evidence at the hearing.”

“Doing all the dirty work?” You muse with a raised brow. “How noble of you.”

“I know you don’t want to be here, so I’m trying to keep you out of the action as much as possible,” Bucky avows with a sigh, making a move to reach out for your hand only to quickly pull it back. If you notice his slip up you say nothing of it, only holding his gaze as he continues, “I can’t promise this won’t go sideways because it very well could, but I’ll have your back just like I always do.”

Your hard exterior softens at his confession, and you find your eyes quickly darting to the floor to avoid his burning stare. Your heart tightens in your chest with despair as you’re reminded of the fact that despite your impending divorce, you love him with your entire being. Bucky has been by your side for years, and you’re terrified of what life will be like without him as your partner, but you keep reminding yourself that it’s for the best. There isn’t a future there anymore, and you’re tired of living a life of fighting. You’re no longer compatible, and the sooner you accept it the better off you’ll be.

“You should go,” you urge, abruptly ending the tender moment he’d created. “If what Mel says is true about them escaping then they probably already have a target on their heads. You need to get to them first.”

Nodding in understanding, Bucky bids you goodbye by placing an awkward hand on your shoulder. It isn’t very subtle by any means, but the gesture has you cracking the smallest of smiles at the man. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Be careful, James,” you say quietly, a hint of vulnerability shining through your tone. Despite the front you out on, your eyes always give you away. Bucky can note the worry in them, the love you hold for the man you married all those years ago. He knows it’s naive of him to think a woman who’s always been so strong willed would ever change her mind after it’s already been made up, but he really hopes he won’t have to sign those papers when you finally get home.

“Always am for you,” he replies with a faint smile, unable to stop himself from gently brushing his knuckles against your jaw the way he knows you like. Your eyes flutter shut almost on instinct form the contact, and in spite of your better judgement you find yourself missing the feel of his touch when he pulls away and leaves you to your own devices.

As planned, you drive yourself to the mechanic shop and sit in wait for Bucky to return with the agents. You’re restless trying to find ways to keep yourself busy in his absence- stretching, unloading and reloading your gun, scrolling through the latest news articles regarding Valentina’s impeachment. You appreciate Bucky’s want to respect your wishes as much as he can in the situation you find yourselves in, but you feel useless not being part of the action. The quiet leaves you with nothing but your thoughts, and all you can focus on is your broken relationship.

Where had it gone wrong? When was the moment it finally occurred to you that you weren’t happy? Were you making a mistake?

Your agonizing rumination is interrupted by the sound of the front doors slamming open. You quickly rise from your place on the work bench and watch as the disheveled group is ushered in by your husband. Hands bound and defeat clear on their faces, you think it’s safe to say the rest of this mission should be easy enough.

“It cannot be,” a voice utters in awe, prompting you to turn your inquisitive gaze towards the man with the unkempt beard and red suit. “It is y/n Barnes! The Avenger!”

You shift awkwardly at the feeling of all eyes now focused on you and offer a meager wave of your fingers in response to the man. Bucky simply rolls his eyes and forces the group to sit before reinforcing their restraints so they can’t escape. You find your gaze subtly shifting to the blonde woman seated a few feet across from you, chest tightening at her mere presence. You don’t know her personally, but you’d heard endless stories about her from Natasha when she was still alive. She’s different from what you pictured, but there’s no doubt in your mind that this is Yelena.

“Y/n, great to see you again,” John greets with an airy grin despite currently being bound with a metal rod. You hold back a laugh when Bucky forcefully tightens the restraints in annoyance at hearing the man attempt to start a friendly rapport with you. It’s clear your husband still isn’t a fan of Walker, not that you blame him considering what you’d been through with the man.

“Wish I could say the same,” you hum with a subtle shrug. “I’m just here to help clean up Bucky’s mess.”

“And what mess would that be?” Ava prompts with a grunt after Bucky tests her restraints.

“Whatever mess I need to make to prove Valentina’s guilty,” Bucky answers for you. “You guys are the evidence, so you’re going to march into that impeachment hearing with me and tell the board everything you know.”

“No, no, see, we don’t work for Valentina anymore,” Yelena interjects despite Bucky’s skeptical glare. “We actually are working together to take her down.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” Bucky scoffs.

“She’s telling the truth, Bucky,” John interjects, and while the Winter Soldier doesn’t seem interested in what they have to say, you are.

“What’s really going on then?” You ask, inquisitive gaze meeting Yelena’s frenzied blue eyes.

“Valentina was going to incinerate us, but then we met Bob and escaped.”

“Bob?” Bucky retorts in disbelief.

“Yes, Bob! We thought he was just some weird guy, but it turns out he can fly which would have been good to know when we were stuck in that elevator and-“

“Okay, okay, enough. You can say whatever you want but it’s not going to work.”

“Bucky,” you call gently, his features immediately softening at the sound of his name falling from your lips. You shift closer to the man and lower your voice to a hushed whisper before speaking, “I don’t think they’re lying.”

“What? Of course they are!” He scoffs indignantly, prompting you to roll your eyes in response. “You expect me to believe a story about some guy named Bob?”

“I expect you to be impartial. Isn’t that kind of your thing, Mr. Congressman?” You rebuff sarcastically much to the man’s chagrin. “The least you can do is hear them out.”

“I think you should listen to her,” Alexei pipes innocently, only serving to agitate the man further. However, before he can offer a rebuttal the sound of his phone ringing interrupts your conversation. You watch your husband shoot him a warning glance before answering the call.

“Hey,” another voice calls, prompting you to shift your focus onto Yelena. “Are you really an Avenger?”

“Retired,” you correct her with a faint smile.

“But you were one,” she insists, “and if you were then… you knew my sister.”

You feel your chest tighten immediately at the mention of Natasha, the air around you suddenly becoming thick with tension as all eyes land on you. You shift uncomfortably on your feet and cross your arms defensively over your chest before offering a single nod of acknowledgement to her statement. By the look on her face you know she wants to ask you more, but your conversation is interrupted by the sound of Bucky’s exasperated voice.

“Valentina was working on something called Project Sentry?” He retorts, catching the attention of your hostages. “A guy named Bob?”

“Yes, Bob!” All four exclaim indignantly at finally being proven right. You hold back a laugh and instead give him a pointed look as he finally hangs up his phone and sighs.

“Alright, change of plans. I’m going to stop Valentina, and you guys are coming with me.”

“Wait, us?” Yelena retorts in uncertainty.

“Yeah, you,” Bucky replies with a raised brow. “Why? You got some place to be?”

“Bucky,” you interject pointedly, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him aside to create some semblance of privacy from the others. “What the hell are you doing? You said we were just gathering evidence, not risking our lives fighting against some super powered experiment.”

“That was before I learned she’d created a literal human weapon,” he rebuttals with an exasperated wave of his hands. “I told you things might get messy, but we can handle it. We always have.”

“You seem to forget that I don’t want to handle it,” you remind him pointedly. “I’m here because I care about you, because I love you too much to leave you hanging, but this isn’t my life anymore.”

“You think it doesn’t kill me to ask for your help?” Bucky prompts gently, unable to help himself from fervently taking your hands in his own. “You think throwing you into a dangerous mission at the last second isn’t gnawing at my entire conscious right now? I know what’s at stake here, and I know you don’t owe me anything, but we have to do this. You know we do.”

You pull your lips into a thin line and shift your gaze to the ground as you contemplate his words. You’d told him you were done with fighting, even decided to end your marriage because of it, but you knew he had a point. You couldn’t exactly retire if the world was left in ruins, and you also knew you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if something happened to Bucky because you chose to bail on him instead of seeing your final mission together through.

The feel of his hand gently squeezing your own brings you out of your thoughts and back to the present. You allow him to gently lift your chin with his metal hand so that he can meet your eyes, causing your heart to leap in your chest at the intimate gesture. You haven’t been this close to him since you professed your desire to end the marriage, but the man still has a way of softening your hard exterior with ease.

“You know I would never let anything happen to you,” he utters softly, “so I need you to trust me.”

Your lips pull into a slight pout as you fight within yourself to resist melting into his touch. You shouldn’t still be this attached to a man you’re about to divorce, but you love him, and that’s what makes this is all so complicated.

Finally, you let out a sigh and solemnly reply, “I trust you, and I’m going to help you see this through to the end because no matter what we’re partners.”

“Partners,” Bucky repeats fondly, chest swelling with pride at the notion. You may no longer be husband and wife, but at its core your relationship is one of teamwork and trust. Retired Avenger or not, you’ll always be there for Bucky when he needs you.

Because in spite of the legal documents sitting on your coffee table back at home, you still love him with your entire being.

And that terrifies you.

~~~

You feel the ground jostle beneath you as Bucky drives over another pothole. You’re not exactly the most comfortable stuck in the loading bed of the truck the team decided to steal, but Alexei had been so excited to ride shotgun with the Winter Soldier that you didn’t have it in you to protest. Besides, it was something you’d have to start getting used to now since ending your marriage also meant ending your passenger seat privileges.

Yelena, John, and Ava proudly boast their weaponry, but you’re too lost in thought to register any part of their conversation. Bucky had been vague when revealing the details of where Valentina’s Watchtower was located, and you knew him well enough to figure out when he was hiding something from you. You had no idea what secret he was keeping, but you had a feeling you weren’t going to like what was waiting for you at the end of this drive.

You feel a nudge against your boot and look up to find the three now staring at you expectantly. You blink in surprise before asking, “Were you saying something?”

“Are you really Bucky’s wife like John says?” Ava prompts with intrigue.

“I… technically still am, yes,” you reply with a careful nod, fingers already beginning to search for your missing ring on instinct.

“What do you mean by that?” John questions with furrowed brows. You shoot him a glare and awkwardly shift in your seat, not exactly thrilled at your personal life being put on the spot by people you’ve only known for a few hours.

“We’re getting a divorce,” you state bluntly in an attempt to simply rip the bandage right off. The man looks stunned, and the air has now suddenly become thick with awkward tension.

“Did not see that coming,” he breathes out remorsefully, clearly regretting having asked in the first place. “How could you be getting a divorce? The last time I saw you two you couldn’t spend more than five seconds away from each other.”

“It’s complicated, and no offense but I’m not about to get into my marriage problems with a truck full of strangers,” you snark defensively. He raises his hands in surrender and says nothing more, but your mood has effectively been ruined.

“I have a question,” Yelena pipes up with an innocent raise of her hand. “If you say you’re retired, then why are you helping us?”

“Because I can’t exactly retire if Valentina blows the world up with her bullshit,” you explain with a harsh exhale. Then, features softening, you utter, “and I couldn’t live with myself if I let innocent people get hurt because I chose not to help them.”

“God, you sound like an Avenger,” Ava scoffs in detestation, “so selfless and kind. How’d someone like you become the Winter Soldier’s wife?”

You smile faintly at the question, chest filling with warmth as your mind drifts back to all those years ago when you’d first met Bucky. Despite how things are now, you don’t think you’d change any of it.

You had just worked your way up to becoming an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. when Pierce pulled you aside for a ‘special’ assignment. Too naive to question why he’d want to trust a rookie with an important job, you followed orders and went to the designated coordinates full of excitement for your first job. You had no idea he was setting you up to run into the Winter Soldier so he could see your potential firsthand. You barely survived the fight, and Bucky probably would have killed you if they hadn’t called it off, but Pierce decided then that you would be his new pet project. You were sworn to secrecy after being threatened with your life, and you didn’t dare try to resist.

You trained mercilessly under the watchful guidance of the Winter Soldier, pushed to your breaking point nearly every day until you were deemed ready to join him on missions. You became his shadow, following his every move and making it your own. Eventually, you were trusted to tend to him after assignments as well- cleaning his wounds, calming him into submission, tending to whatever need he had. In a strange sort of way you were partners, and he came to respect you as an individual instead of viewing you as a subordinate. You became close, too close for Pierce’s liking, and the man decided you no longer fit into his plans.

Bucky had been ordered to kill you the next time you were sent on an assignment together, but the plan was thankfully intercepted by the arrival of Captain America and Black Widow. The entire operation had blown up thanks to their efforts, and you were freed, but your companion was nowhere to be found. The Avengers took you in as their own, and in that time you struggled to accept that the man you’d grown so close to had left you behind.

Your paths crossed once more in the wake of the Sokovia Accords, and though your reunion had initially been uncomfortably awkward, you soon were able to fall back into your old routine. Your partnership became friendship, and when you chose to stay behind with him in Wakanda it evolved into a relationship of unwavering love and support. You helped each other work through what Hydra had put you through, understood each other in a way no one else did, and promised to be by one another’s side for the rest of time.

The trio is captivated by your story, and you find yourself falling quiet as you realize such a promise can no longer be kept. Your marriage is ending, and eventually you’ll go back to being strangers once more. You sniffle, awkwardly clearing your throat as you realize you’d become more vulnerable than you intended to be with the group. Their solemn gazes burn your skin in a way that’s suffocating, and you wish they’d just move on from the topic already.

“I know it’s not my place,” John begins, filling you with trepidation and unease, “but it sounds like you’re making a mistake.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I don’t know the full story, but it’s obvious you still love him. You shouldn’t give up so easily-“

“You know what, John? You’re right,” you retort bitterly, tone dripping with sarcasm, “it’s not your place. In fact, you’re the last person I’d take marriage advice from, so why don’t we just keep our opinions to ourselves.”

The man’s features fall at your harsh comment, and while you’d normally feel remorse for snapping at someone so quickly all you feel is anger at yourself. You know his words hold some truth to them; you still love Bucky, and you want nothing more than to stay married, but neither of you can seem to reach an agreement that suits both of your needs. He can’t live a life of inaction, and you can’t give up on the picket fence dream, so what the hell are you supposed to do?

The rest of the truck ride is quiet, and no one dares to ask anymore questions about your marriage.

~~~

You understand now why Bucky seemed to be so avoidant about disclosing the location of Valentina’s new base. How was he supposed to tell you that the new building she’d acquired was the one you once called home?

Your entire body feels on edge as you squeeze into the elevator and watch the doors close as you begin to move towards the top floor. It’s been years since you stepped foot in this building, but you still know every turn and corner like the back of your hand. Memories of the past haunt you like ghosts, causing your chest to ache with nostalgia and longing for a time that had long since passed. Your days as a fresh faced recruit had been so simple and safe; you hadn’t experienced real tragedy yet, and you were protected in the little bubble you lived in as an Avenger. Everything had changed so quickly, and you still found yourself struggling to pick up the pieces.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice whispers gently, hand coming to rest comfortingly on the small of your back, “you okay?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. You feel like you’re in a daze, and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to handle being thrusted back to your past. “I never thought I’d come back here.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he murmurs sincerely. “I know I should have, but I thought it might overwhelm you.”

Too lost in anxious thought, you absently reach for his hand just as you’ve done numerous times in the past and hold on tightly to ground yourself. Though he’s surprised by the action, he’s able to respond by giving your hand a gentle squeeze back.

“I’m here,” he promises you. You swallow thickly and give him a small nod, bracing yourself as the elevator doors finally open to the top floor.

Your hand never leaves Bucky’s as you cautiously step forward and begin to scan the room. You can see that Valentina has taken the liberty of redesigning the place, but the layout is still identical. You can almost see yourself sitting on the couch watching Tony attempt to lift Thor’s hammer, having a talk with Steve on the balcony after a rough day of training, lounging at the bar counter begging Natasha to show you how to make her signature cocktail.

Some of your happiest memories are permanently embedded in this building, but that all fades away at the sight of Valentina pouring herself a glass of champagne right where you pictured Natasha to be.

“Took you guys long enough,” she jests coyly before making her way around the island counter. “What do you think? This place certainly wasn’t cheap, but I think it’ll do just fine. God, can you imagine the glorious battles that took place in this very room? I know you can, y/n.”

You tense at her observation and feel your lips curl into an irritated scowl at her blatant disrespect. It takes everything in you not to lunge at the woman, and if not for Bucky still tightly grasping your hand you’d be in the midst of throwing a right hook.

“This ends today,” Bucky warns her lowly as your group begins to surround the woman. Each and every one of you has a bone to pick with her, and you’re eager to finally bring her to justice and get this whole thing over with.

“Congressman Barnes, wow,” she greets with feigned surprise. “You know, I never really thought you’d have a promising political career, but less than half a term? Yikes.”

You take a step towards her only for Bucky to pull you back, causing the woman to let out an amused huff through her nose. Her smug demeanor and careless need to insult your husband has you fuming, but that’s exactly what she wants. Valentina knows how to get under someone’s skin, and you fair no better to her mind games than anyone else.

“Mrs. Barnes,” she greets cordially with an air of false sweetness, “I can still call you that, right? Congratulations on the impending divorce. I gotta say, I like you much better as an Avenger than a housewife.”

“Retired Avenger,” you correct her through gritted teeth. “This suit’s coming off as soon as we kick your ass.”

“You know, I never understood why you two were together, but I’m starting to see it now.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” John interrupts only for the woman to chuckle in response.

“I don’t think so, junior varsity Captain America.”

He immediately reaches for his gun, and though you’re interested to see where this will go Bucky is quick to interject and have the blond stand down. She hums, clearly unthreatened, and turns her attention to the other two women in the room.

“Oh, nice to see you, Ava. Yelena,” she pauses while looking the Widow up and down, “you look awful. Are you sure you’re really ready for that public facing role you asked me about.”

“Eat shit, Valentina,” Yelena says bluntly before taking a menacing step towards her. “Where’s Bob?”

Despite being clearly outnumbered, Valentina remains calm and sure of herself as she takes another drink from her glass of champagne. “Look at you, you all are so adorable. Just think, I send you down there to kill each other, and instead you make nice and form a team.”

The circle around her grows tighter, and you watch on edge as Bucky takes a step towards the woman with his hand aiming for her throat. However, an invisible force prevents him from moving any closer, prompting your group to look between each other unsurely.

“Oh, I’m not alone,” she explains apologetically before glancing towards the stairs. It’s then that a new face enters the room, and you watch with uncertainty as a blond man in a golden suit slowly makes his descent down the stairway.

“Bob?” Yelena calls skeptically. After everything you’d heard from the group, the man before you is certainly the last person you’d ever expect to be the Bob they’d discussed.

“His name is Sentry,” Valentina corrects, “and he’s my get out of jail free card. Once I bring him to the impeachment trial they’re sure to let me keep my job. In fact, I’ll be able to protect the American people in the way I see fit.“

“That’s never going to work,” you argue indignantly. “They’d have to be crazy to give you full control.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Valentina coos mockingly before turning to Bob. “Sentry, these people are criminals and a danger to the American public. I need you to dispose of them for me.”

You carefully rest your hand on the handle of your gun, watching intently as the man looks from your group to Valentina. You have no idea what he’s capable of or how this fight is going to turn out, but you’re ready to do whatever it takes to make sure you get to go home after all is said and done.

“I don’t want to,” Bob says uncomfortably, “they’re not a threat to me so why should I have to fight them? I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

Despite his hesitance to complete Valentina’s request and Yelena’s insistence for the group to back off, a fight soon breaks out between Sentry and your team with Alexei being the first to throw a punch. You assume that with the numbers on your side you’ll be able to defeat him with ease, but you couldn’t be more wrong. The hero is essentially indestructible, and every punch you throw or bullet you fire doesn’t so much as leave a scratch.

You barely manage to miss getting toppled over by Ava after she’s thrown across the room, rolling out of the way and landing next to Bucky who looks rightfully frazzled. You can tell he hadn’t been expecting this either, but the fact that you’re currently on the same page brings you little comfort.

“I have a plan,” you pant breathlessly while picking yourself up off the floor. “You distract him from the front and I’ll creep up from behind.”

“You really think that’s going to work?” He breathes, watching as you pull your knife from your thigh holster.

“Only one way to find out,” you reply with an easygoing shrug despite the dread that’s pooling in your stomach at the thought of this going wrong. While you’d initially joined this mission due to the fact that you couldn’t retire if the world was in danger, you’re starting to realize now that you can’t retire if you’re dead either. You just hope this works.

Bucky gives you a single nod before sprinting full speed at Bob, allowing you a window of opportunity to creep up behind him. You grip the handle of your knife tightly in your hand before lunging forward and driving the blade into his neck, but to your horror the impact causes the metal to crumple in on itself. Your knife falls to the floor with a deafening clatter, and suddenly Sentry’s focus is on you as his hardened gaze closes in on your terrified face.

His hand shoots out before you can react, fingers closing around your throat as he slowly lifts you off the ground. Your hands desperately claw at his arm while your feet try to kick him away, but he doesn’t even budge. His gaze is cold and unfeeling, as if your pathetic gasps for air are but a mere nuisance to him. You can feel the world fading around you as he tightens his grip, and you can’t help but to think how poetic it would be for you to die here in the tower.

“Let her go!” Bucky growls before pulling out his gun and relentlessly firing at the superhuman. He’s panicking. He can see the fight slowly starting to die within you, but he’s not about to let you be taken from him so easily.

“Fine,” Sentry utters unpityingly before carelessly throwing your body across the room like a rag doll. You slam into the wall behind the bar counter, bottles of liquor shattering from the impact and digging into your skin as you drop to the ground in a heap of broken glass. Bucky’s eyes widen in panic before turning sharp with unbridled rage. His chest is tight with an anger he hasn’t felt since his time as the Winter Soldier, and all he can see is red as he pulls off his jacket and tosses it to the side.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, a sharp pain shooting up your spine as someone rushes over and picks you up out of the glass. The room feels like it’s spinning and your vision is so spotty you barely register Alexei looking down at you with worry as he carries you over to the others. You reach back with a groan for Bucky, but the Red Guardian shushes you in what he hopes is a comforting manner before handing you over to John.

As you feel yourself finally starting to come to, the first thing your gaze focuses on is the sight of Sentry catching a punch Bucky has thrown with his metal arm. You watch in dismay as he slowly twists the appendage before ripping it straight off and hitting your husband upside the head. You cry out in horror as his body slides across the floor in front of you, and despite the way your own body screams in pain you forcefully drag yourself over to him. He’s barely conscious, a bruise already forming on his cheek, but the gentle touch of your hands on his face has his eyes fluttering open to meet your worried gaze.

“Y/n?” He groans, prompting you to let out a sigh of relief.

“Hey, I’m here, honey,” you assure him in a trembling voice, “I’m here.”

It’s clear there’s no winning the battle against Sentry, so your team quickly scrambles to their feet and makes a dash towards the elevator. Alexei helps you carry Bucky inside while Ava makes sure to grab hold of his discarded arm, and with a rapid push of the control panel the doors are sliding shut and sending you back to the ground floor.

Things fall apart pretty quickly after that.

Your entire team disperses despite Alexei’s insistence you stay together as the newly proclaimed Thunderbolts. Only you and Bucky are left standing in front of the tower as you try to figure out the next move, though you’re not exactly in a rush to throw yourself back into the ring with Sentry. Your body aches beyond relief and a dull throbbing sensation has settled in the back of your skull, and you’re barely able to keep yourself upright as you lean back against the building.

“It’s a good thing I never plan to wear this again,” you retort sarcastically while carefully pulling shards of glass from your suit.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks solemnly, hands gently cradling your face to get a good look at you. Thankfully your skin only sports minor cuts and scrapes that will heal over time, but this doesn’t alleviate the guilt he feels in the pit of his stomach. You’re here because of him, because he’d begged you to come in a last ditch effort to save your marriage, and as a result you’d almost been killed.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently reach up to grasp onto his wrists to ground him and pull him out of his ruminative thoughts. “Hey, I’m alright. I’ve been through worse.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” he murmurs repentantly before carefully pulling you closer to press a kiss to your forehead. You hum appreciatively at the gesture, having missed the feeling of lips against your skin and the tenderness of his touch. It’s getting harder and harder to resist falling back into old habits, but that seems to be the least of your worries now. “I thought I lost you.”

“So did I,” you admit disquietingly, troubled gaze meeting his own worried one.

“What the hell are we doing, y/n?” Bucky utters gently, the softness of his tone harshly contrasting his words.

“Attempting to save the world?” You answer unsurely only for him to shake his head.

“I mean about us, about our marriage. He almost killed you, and the thought of losing you forever terrified me,” he professes earnestly. “We were lucky enough to get out of there alive, but I never want to feel that way again. I can’t just let you walk out of my life when this is all over.”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” you beg him desperately, throat beginning to tighten with the amalgamation of emotions you hold back. “It’s just not going to work. I love you more than anything, but I want to start a family. I want something stable.”

“You’re not even willing to try?” He pleads despite the clear defeat on his features. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from crying and turn away so you don’t have to meet his gaze.

“I can’t talk about this right now,” you shudder while blinking back tears. “It’s all too much, I just-“

You’re interrupted mid sentence as the ground beneath you begins to rumble. Distant screams fill the air and Bucky quickly pulls you into his side as he scans the area for any signs of danger. Your eyes trail towards the skyline above you and you freeze, body becoming rigid as you grab onto Bucky’s arm to get his attention.

A dark shadow hovers above you, chaos surrounding him as he stares you down. Panic floods the streets of New York, and despite the excruciating pain you feel you’re quick to jump into action and assist civilians in evading falling debris and runaway cars.

It seems now you’ll just have to wait until later to discuss the future of your marriage.

~~~

You wake up somewhere cold.

You have no idea where you are, but the last thing you remember is following Yelena into the void in hopes of finding her alive. You’re alone, and your surroundings are unfamiliar as you slowly pick yourself up off the ground and begin to aimlessly wander around. Gravel crunches under your feet as you walk, the darkness slowly fading into light as you begin to hear a cluster of voices.

A door stands before you, cracked open slightly enough for light to seep through and beckon you inside. You slowly push it open and step over the threshold to find yourself in an abandoned warehouse. Across the way from you stands the silhouette of a man, his figure menacing as he hovers over a woman. Her hands tremble with the weight of the gun she holds, her heavy breathing and quiet sobs filling the air as she points the weapon towards the man bound to a chair in front of her.

“Pull the trigger,” the man utters in Russian, the familiarity of it filling your stomach with unease. A sense of dejavú washes over you, and as you come closer to the scene you start to realize that you do know where you are.

“I can’t,” she snivels, flinching as his hands come to rest upon her own and steady her grip.

“You must,” the man coaxes her, and after an agonizing pause of silence a gunshot rings through the air. You gasp, stumbling back in shock at being faced with a memory you thought had long since been pushed to the back of your mind and forgotten.

Your first kill under Hydra.

The sound causes both figures to turn, and you feel sick to your stomach as you meet the gazes of the Winter Soldier and your younger self. His eyes harden, his approach menacing as he begins to step towards you, and you quickly sprint back to the door in a desperate attempt to escape his clutches.

You slam it behind you just before he can grab you, falling back against the wood with a heaving chest as you try to catch your breath and steady yourself. Your eyes squeeze themselves shut in an effort to keep the rising tears at bay, and when you open them again you discover your surroundings have changed once more.

You’re in the training room of Avengers tower, and you’re met with the sight of yourself angrily swinging your fists against a punching bag. Your knuckles are raw and bloody from the force you use, but you remain relentless. You keep going, even as the sobs begin to wrack your body and your momentum begins to slow.

You frown, slowly walking up behind your other self and resting a comforting hand on her back. She seems to falter before collapsing against the bag and breaking down into an ugly crying fit. The sound echoes throughout the room and fills you with unease, but you continue to run soothing circles into her skin to calm her down.

“Why did he leave me?” She sobs, prompting a chill to go down your spine. You remember this point in your life, the aftermath of Pierce and the collapse of Shield. Bucky had disappeared, and though you were grateful to the Avengers for taking you in as one of their own, you couldn’t understand why he hadn’t come back for you. You knew you meant something to him, you had to after all the time you’d spent together and the fact that he’d defied his orders to kill you. You’d never felt more alone, and all you wanted was your James.

“He thought you’d be better off without him in your life,” you assure her even though she doesn’t seem to hear you. “He did it to protect you because he loves you. You’ll see him again.”

The memory resets, and soon she’s back to assaulting the punching bag with all of her pent up anger. You leave her to grieve and make your way out of the room. No matter where you go, the pattern is the same; each place holds a defining moment in your life, some more painful than others, but all of them force you to confront your past.

You’re still no closer to finding Yelena or the rest of your group, and you’re starting to become frustrated. None of this makes any sense, and you feel like a rat aimlessly running through a maze. At one point you become so fed up you break through a mirror in an attempt to land somewhere else, and you end up falling face first onto a patch of dirt. The sunlight is jarring after being stuck inside for so long, and you raise your hand to shield your face so you can survey your new surroundings.

Slowly getting back up onto your feet, you quickly put the pieces together and come to realize you’ve landed back in Wakanda. You think you’re alone at first, but as you turn around you come face to face with a pair of blue eyes. Your heart stops at the sight of him and you falter, unsure whether or not to reach out for him.

“Steve?” Your voice calls, but it isn’t your lips that his name falls out of. You quickly whip around to see yourself limping forward with a deep gash in your side that you desperately press your hand against. Your hair is shorter, features younger, and suit different from the one you wear now, but these details allow you to quickly determine what point of your life you find yourself at now.

“What happened? Where’s Bucky?” Your past self questions uneasily as she scan the area for any sign of the man. Steve looks away guilty, refusing to meet her gaze as he thinks of something to say. “Steve?”

“He’s…” the Captain starts to speak, unable to finish his sentence. Her face falls while her hand immediately rises to hover over her mouth in shock. Tears immediately well in her eyes as she slowly shakes her head in disbelief, suffocating anguish clawing at her throat as she struggles to breathe.

“No… No, he’s not. You’re lying!” She yells aggrievedly while forcing her aching body to walk towards the man. “Where’s is he?! What did you do?!”

“I couldn’t do anything to stop it,” Steve murmurs gently, eyes pleading as he begs you to understand. “He’s gone. I’m sorry, y/n.”

“You’re lying!” She screams, body finally giving out from the overexertion as she collapses onto her knees. Natasha quickly rushes over and helps your past self back onto her feet, allowing you to lean against her for support as you sob. “He’s not- he can’t be!”

You take a shuddering breath and turn away from the scene, overcome with emotion at reliving your grief and heartache. You thought you’d lost Bucky forever, and in that moment you felt your entire world had ended. He’d been taken from you, and you’d be forced to spend the next five years attempting to pick up the pieces and move on. You’ll forever regret lashing out at Steve so harshly, for taking out your anger on a man that had watched his best friend disappear into dust. He was hurting too, and you wish you could take it back.

You can’t be here anymore. It’s all becoming too much, and despite the fact that you’re starting to lose hope of ever being reunited with the others you know you have to keep trying. You push through the brush and shrubbery of the Wakandan fields in search of a way out, and after fighting tooth and nail to escape you end up stumbling into your apartment.

You feel disoriented and confused at being in your own living room, and for a moment you think you might have somehow managed to escape the Void and found your way home. Everything looks as it should, and nothing is left out of place. You take this moment to let your guard down and rest by taking a seat on the couch, allowing your aching head to fall back against the cushions while you gather your thoughts. You’re emotionally drained, and you don’t think you can keep this up for much longer. Would it be so bad to just give up and accept your fate?

“You finally made it.”

You jump at the sound of another voice in the room with you and look up to see Bucky standing over you with a weary smile. You jump onto your feet immediately and throw yourself into his arms for a hug. He catches you with ease, holding you tightly against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“Bucky, oh my god!” You exclaim before pulling away to cup his face in your hands and look him over. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, sweetheart,” he assures you before leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“How did you find me here? These rooms are supposed to be my own memories.”

“That’s the thing,” he sighs solemnly before casting a glance towards the hallway, “this is my memory too.”

You look up at him with uncertainty and confusion, but before you can question him the front door swings open. You watch as past versions of Bucky and yourself walk into the apartment, both clearly exhausted from whatever public event they’d just attended. You kick off your heels by the door and set your purse on the counter while Bucky shrugs off his suit jacket.

“I think it went well tonight,” he notes with a smile before walking past you to get himself a glass of water. You stand in silence at the island table with your head hung low and hands planted firmly on the counter as you try to gather your thoughts.

“James,” you call gently, unable to meet his questioning gaze, “we need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” He asks with a puzzled frown, clearly taken back by your sudden change in demeanor. You’d been all smiles the entire evening, so he wasn’t expecting such a drastic switch in tone.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you say in a trembling voice, finally lifting your head to look him in the eyes. Silent tears streak down your face and Bucky feels his chest tighten at the sight.

“Can’t do what anymore? What’s going on, y/n?”

“This!” You exclaim in frustration while gesturing to yourself. “The parties, the public appearances. You promised me when we got married we’d stay out of the spotlight, but not once have we ever been able to have a moment of peace just between the two of us.”

“Hey, come on, of course we have,” he tries to soothe you by gently resting a hand on your arm, but you’re quick to pull away from his touch.

“All the plans we make just keep getting pushed aside for something else. I wanted a house, but we got the apartment to stay in the city in case Sam needed us. I wanted to retire, and yet every time there’s a fight we’re there. I wanted to start a family-“

“We can still do all of those things,” he insists desperately only for you to shake your head in quiet defeat. “I love you, y/n.”

“I love you, James,” you sniffle with a watery smile that temporarily alleviates his anxieties, “but it’s clear to me that we both want different things for ourselves.”

“What are you saying?” He presses you, voice low and apprehensive as he waits for you to speak with bated breath.

“I want a divorce.”

You turn away from the scene in shame as it resets, leaving you and Bucky alone once more in the apartment. Neither of you dares to speak at first, the air thick with tension and discomfort. You don’t even know what to say.

“Hard to believe that was only a month ago,” he jokes humorlessly in an attempt to break the silence.

“I don’t want to end our marriage,” you profess remorsefully. “I just relived every moment we were pulled apart and it was hell. I can’t live without you, but I don’t know how to handle all of this.”

“No one says marriage is easy,” he reminds you, gently resting his hand upon your cheek. “And I definitely haven’t made it easy for you.”

“I just got so tired of fighting,” your murmur faintly, eyes beginning to well with tears. “I want to give it all up, but how can I? I could have said no to you when you asked me to join you on this trip, I could have gone home instead of coming with you to fight Sentry, but I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if something happened to you because I wasn’t there. Being an Avenger is all I know, and I hate that.”

“Hey, come on, you’re so much more than an Avenger,” Bucky coos sweetly while using his thumb to wipe away some of the tears that had fallen. “You’re strong, you’re brave, not to mention you have the patience of a Saint, and I would know considering how much Sam and I have tested it in the past.”

That gets a quiet laugh out of you, and Bucky’s heart swells with pride at being able to get you to smile. He’s missed sharing moments like this with you, tender moments where you keep each other from falling apart. He doesn’t want to lose that.

“What do we do? I want a life that doesn’t revolve around being a world saving hero, and you want to continue to help make the world a better place, so where do we go from here?”

Bucky falters for a moment as he contemplates his answer. You don’t think there is a right answer, and you fear that he might come to that realization. Instead, carefully grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt your head upward.

“We compromise,” he answers with furrowed brows, as if surprised at himself for not coming up with it sooner. “That’s what a good relationship is built on, isn’t it? We can have both.”

“How do we do that?” You prompt him, obvious uncertainty present on your features.

“It’s not going to be easy, but it isn’t impossible,” he assures you with a firm nod. “We can have the house and the family, and when the world needs us to suit up we will. We just have to find a balance.”

He makes it sound much simpler than it will be in practice, and though there’s a part of you that fears it’ll never work, there’s also a part of you that will regret it forever if you don’t at least try. Bucky has become a permanent fixture in your life, and you never want to face a point in your life where he isn’t by your side. You’ve been through more hardships than most married couples have, endured awful traumas and challenges, but each time you’ve managed to persevere together.

“Okay,” you breathe with finality, “let’s compromise.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders when you express your want to continue fighting for your marriage. This entire time Bucky has been dreading going home and facing the divorce papers that sit waiting on your coffee table back at the apartment, but he can now rest assured knowing those files will never be fulfilled.

He wraps his arms around you once more and pulls you in for a searing kiss. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders immediately, mouth moving in tandem with his own as you pour all of your love and heartache into your shared embrace. You’ve missed this more than anything, and now that you’re back in his arms again everything feels like it’s finally starting to fall back into place. You know you still have a job to do, but you’re more determined now than ever to save Yelena and get the hell out of the Void.

And you’re determined to do it together.

~~~

You fall back onto the hard asphalt with a groan, your limbs entangled with Bucky and Ava who lay beside you.

Despite all odds, you’d managed to help Bob overcome the Void and return yourselves and everyone else back to the real world. You were free from the nightmares of your past and safe on normal ground. You only wish he could remember everything you’d all just endured together as a team.

You look across the way to spot an apprehensive Valentina waiting for your group. Your shoulders tense in aggravation as the woman immediately begins to spew excuses for her wrongdoings, and you join the others in approaching her with a vengance. You can’t wait to bring her in and get her thrown into jail like you’d originally planned, and when all is said and done you’ll finally be able to go home with your husband.

“Now guys, let’s just talk,” she pleads anxiously before disappearing behind a green tarp. You quickly step through before you can lose her, but you soon regret it as you’re immediately bombarded by roaring applause and the flashing bulbs of cameras. You raise a hand to shield your face from the commotion and grab onto Bucky’s arm to steady yourself.

“What the hell is going on?” You groan in annoyance at being ambushed by an entire swarm of journalists. You don’t exactly look or feel camera ready right now, and the stunt only serves to agitate you further.

“How about another round of applause for our heroes!” Valentina boasts into her makeshift podium. “It is because of their selfless bravery that we are all standing here.”

Despite your disdain for the woman, you have to give her credit- she certainly knows how to put on a show. Your group mates exchange looks of uncertainty as she spews her bullshit speech to the eager reporters, unsure of what her angle is and what she’s about to rope you into.

“Today, the citizens of the United States needed protection, and thanks to my hard work, they got it. Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers.”

The crowd of spectators break out into joyous cheers of excitement and deafening applause, but none of it registers in your mind as you focus on the words that have just left the woman’s mouth. You’re stunned and unnerved at her declaration, but your stomach quickly grows heavy with anger. You feel like the name of your original team has been tarnished, and you’re fuming at the fact that she’d roped you into this without a second thought. This was not how you ever pictured your return, and you’re at a complete loss of words.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you snarl through gritted teeth, knowing that if looks could kill Valentina would be dead right now. “New Avengers? I am an Avenger.”

“I thought you were retired,” John murmurs under his breath, only fueling your anger further.

“Hold on,” Bucky assuages you, hand coming to gently rest upon your back. “I have an idea that could make this all work in our favor. Do you trust me?”

While your mind is still reeling at being thrusted into the spotlight again with a new team, your nerves begin to dwindle as you meet Bucky’s eyes. His features are sincere and understanding, and though there isn’t a single part of you that trusts Valentina, you trust Bucky with your life.

You give him a single nod before returning your gaze to the crowd. A swarm of journalists stand eagerly waiting to hear your input, dying to know what your plans for the team are as the only original Avenger. Bucky’s hand on your back keeps you calm, and you know that whatever happens next you’ll be able to handle it together.

Just like you always have.

~~~

12 Months Later

While you’d initially been resistant to joining the New Avengers under Valentina’s guidance, you have to admit that things have definitely seemed to turn out in your favor.

Yelena had made it clear to the woman that it was her who worked for you guys and not the other way around. You owned her, and if she wanted to stay out of prison then she had to meet your every demand. She especially needed you onboard considering your status as an original Avenger was the only thing that gave the team credibility, and that made it easier for you and Bucky to implement specific stipulations in your contracts.

You bought a house on the outskirts of the city where you could enjoy paid leave whenever you both saw fit, and under no circumstances was anyone to bother you during your time off. This was the compromise you and Bucky had made to ensure your marriage stayed strong. You could retreat to your quiet slice of normalcy and strengthen your relationship while still taking part in missions and saving lives. You’d finally found a balance for your individual needs, and divorce was now far from ever being on your mind.

Along with the house and paid leave, you and Bucky had also finally been able to achieve a milestone you’d wanted for years in your marriage.

“Watch your step,” he cautions, his metal arm resting on the small of your back while the other clasps your hand in his own as he helps you down the stairs.

“Relax, James,” you wave him off, “just because I gained a little weight doesn’t mean I can’t walk on my own.”

“I’m sorry, I just want to make sure nothing happens to you or the baby,” he confesses remorsefully while delicately resting his hand upon your growing stomach.

While the tower was being renovated for your team’s arrival, you and Bucky retreated to your new home to enjoy some well deserved rest. You settled in and made the place your own, and once your move in was complete Bucky took advantage of the fact that he had you all to himself free of disruptions. Thus, it was a surprise to neither of you that you eventually became pregnant. Though you were nervous about what this would mean for you both now that you were Avengers again, Bucky assured you he would do everything in his power to take care of you and your little one.

In the meantime, you did your best to stay out of the action and work behind the scenes to avoid any injuries that could threaten the health of you or the baby. You gathered intel, conducted surveillance, created strategies for missions, and piloted the jets for assignments requiring travel. You were still an active member of the team, and you took on your role as leader well. It made sense to everyone that you take the title considering your veteran status, and you had no trouble getting everyone to fall in line when needed. Your new little family was growing, and you found yourself at peace falling back into old routines.

“It’s about time you show up, we’re starving,” John calls to you both as you finally make it down the stairs and head towards the dining room where everyone is gathered.

“I’m the one eating for two here,” you remind him with a pointed look before taking your seat at the table. “What’s for dinner?”

“Special stew made by Alexei!” The Red Guardian boasts proudly while setting a bowl down in front of you. “Very good for you and little baby Avenger.”

“Thank you, Alexei,” you smile, waiting for him to turn his back before pushing the bowl towards Bucky for him to inspect. Alexei has a habit of making food that doesn’t exactly sit well with your stomach, so your husband has taken the liberty of taste testing all of his dishes for you.

“Have you thought any more about the names we’ve suggested?” Yelena prompts from her seat beside you.

“Yes, I have, and no, I’m not naming them little Yelena or Alexis.”

“What?” She exclaims with a pout, clearly taking offense to your answer. “What are you talking about? Those are great names.”

“Don’t listen to her, they are awful,” Ava agrees before digging into her stew.

“Do you have a name yet?” John prompts with intrigue. Ever since you’d announced your pregnancy he’d made it a habit to live vicariously through you and Bucky considering he hadn’t been present for his own wife and child.

You exchange a knowing look with Bucky and urge him to answer for you, smiling faintly at the proud look on your husband’s face as he thinks about the arrival of your future daughter.

“Brooklyn,” he states fondly to the surprise of your teammates. The name is an homage to the city he and Steve called home, and you couldn’t think of anything more perfect when he’d suggested it to you. Brooklyn Barnes would be arriving in four months, and you eagerly counted down the days until you could hold her in your arms.

“It’s not as good as Yelena but… not bad,” the blonde admits with a purse of her lips.

Dinner is a loud affair as always, but you enjoy spending time with the people you’ve come to call friends. Once your meal is finished, the group follows Bucky to the training room for drills while you stay behind with Bob and wash the leftover dishes. He’s still a bit reserved, but your inaction in the field has allowed you to spend more time with the man and help him open up to you. You enjoy the contrast his quiet nature brings to your chaotic surroundings.

You retire early for the night and choose to wait in your quarters for Bucky to return from training. Strangely enough, you’d been assigned the exact same room you once called your own during your time in Avengers Tower. At that point in your life you’d been alone and depressed, stranded with a group of what was essentially strangers while you waited for some sign of Bucky’s return. Now, you found yourself happily waiting for your husband to finish his workout with your hands lovingly rested on your stomach.

The doors to the room slide open to reveal a freshly showered Bucky, and he’s quick to immediately pull you into his arms as he joins you in bed.

“How’d it go?” You ask him while pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Better than usual. I think they’ll be ready for this week’s mission.”

“I have full faith in your leadership abilities,” you confidently assure him.

“Well, that would make you the only one,” he jests dryly before pressing his lips to your forehead. “Sam’s still ignoring my calls.”

Your features morph into a frown at the mention of your friend. He’d been rightfully upset when he found out what you both were up to, and despite Bucky’s attempts to explain your actions Sam wanted none of it. He iced you both out, and though the news of the baby had gotten him to soften up the slightest bit towards you, he still made it a point to cut contact with Bucky.

“He just needs some time,” you assure him empathetically. “This isn’t your first fight and it probably won’t be your last, but you guys will be okay. I’m sure of it.”

“I just want us to have a better life. I want you to be happy, and I want to make sure Brooklyn will be safe even if that means having to work under Valentina and the government.”

“She will be,” you promise him with a fond look in your eyes, “because she has us, and she has an entire team of people that care about her even if they try to say otherwise.”

Bucky can’t help the careful smile that plays upon his lips at your reassurances. You always have a way of alleviating his worries and calming his nerves. Your marriage was stronger now because of the decisions he’d made to get you here, and he just had to hope Sam would be able to understand that. The safety of his wife and new baby was all that mattered to him now, and he’d do whatever it took to protect you both.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world, you know that?” Bucky coos before pulling you in for a tender kiss that you eagerly accept.

Come what may, you have complete faith that you’ll be okay. No matter the challenge, no matter the danger, you and Bucky have always managed to overcome any obstacle you’ve faced together. The future is never promised, but you know you’ll make it to the other side as long as you have each other.

For better or for worse, you’re Avengers now, but nothing will ever come between you as husband and wife.

~~~

“But we are the Avengers. The government said so,” Yelena protests fruitlessly as you make your way to the debrief room. “How does Sam Wilson not understand that?”

“Well, he does have the shield,” Bucky points out.

“Well, I’ve got a shield too.”

“Yeah, a shield that’s still bent like a taco,” you scoff in annoyance.

“It’s a great shield!” John insists defensively.

“It’s a shitty shield.”

“A great shield, Bucky.”

“Okay, well, if he puts together a team and calls them the Avengers, then who are the real Avengers?” Yelena insists.

“Probably the ones with Captain America on their team,” you sigh despondently, grateful to have finally reached the couch. You slowly sink down onto the cushions with Bucky’s help and lean back in an attempt to alleviate the weight on your spine. The Watchtower certainly wasn’t designed with pregnant women in mind, especially not women who were eight months pregnant, but you were managing. You technically should be home with Bucky enjoying the start of your maternity leave, but an atmospheric disturbance had halted all of your plans and forced you to call an emergency meeting.

“Well, that’s the question the internet has been asking, and judging by the very nasty memes that I’ve read they don’t think that it’s us,” John says while kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“That’s not fair, we have an original Avenger on our side,” the blonde woman attests. “That means we are just as good as any team led by Captain America. Weren’t you going to talk to him, Bucky?”

“I already did,” your husband professes solemnly, guilt present in his features. “It went poorly.”

His relationship with Sam hadn’t gotten any better. If anything, the conversation had only seemed to make things worse. You felt for Bucky, but no matter what you said or did Sam was adamant in standing firm against the choices you’d made. He’d wished you well on your upcoming baby, but he made it clear that he wanted no part of the New Avengers or Valentina.

“You know he’s filed for copyright of the name,” Yelena informs your group incredulously as she finally ceases her pacing and joins you on the couch. “We’re losing credibility.”

“In which we had very little to begin with,” Ava notes with a wave of her hand. “All we have is an ‘Old Avenger’ to keep us afloat, and now she’s about to leave.”

“I can only carry you guys on my back for so long,” you retort in annoyance while defensively resting your hands on your stomach. “And for your information, just because I’ve been around longer than you all does not mean I’m an ‘Old Avenger.’”

“Yeah, you’re ‘Pregnant Avenger’ now,” John quips, earning himself a warning glare from Bucky.

“And now there’s a huge space crisis and no one’s telling us about it.”

You feel your nerves worsen at the mention of the incoming threat. The world has been off balance in a recent change of events, and though you don’t know what exactly it is, you know a threat is coming. You only have one month left until Brooklyn is born, but it seems you won’t be able to spend your last month of pregnancy at home like you’d initially hoped. Bucky tries to refrain from overwhelming you to keep your mind at ease, but he can only hide so much from you.

As Yelena speaks into her control pad to request a full threat analysis, Alexei proudly walks into the room with a new ensemble that has everyone’s heads turning in bewilderment.

“Hello, team,” he greets while boasting his new suit. “I heard about Sam Wilson. He’s dumb litigious man, but I am smart. I’m smart man, and I have smart solve.”

You watch in bemusement as he gestures to the logo on his new jumpsuit and sounds out the new spelling change of ‘Avengerz.’

“Avengers with a ‘Z.’ There is no copyright.”

“No,” Yelena immediately protests, clearly not up to entertaining her father’s antics.

“Nonsense. This suit, it is soft like baby seal. I have one for you, and you,” he says while looking from Yelena to Bucky. “Avengerz suits for everyone! I even got one for little Alexis.”

“Alexei, we’ve been over this,” you remind him gently, “her name isn’t Alexis.”

“There is still time to change mind,” he reminds you with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You let out a quiet laugh of disbelief and sneak a glance at your husband who very clearly seems fed up with this entire debacle. You should have already been on your way to the cottage by now, and instead you were here mindlessly bickering over issues that seemed trivial when compared to your upcoming due date.

“Satellite image populating,” your computer generated assistant announces while producing a visual on the screen. “Extra dimensional ship entering atmosphere.”

“Extra dimensional? What does that mean?” Alexei murmurs as your group moves closer to the screen.

“It means it’s not from here,” you answer absently, nervously grasping onto Bucky’s bicep as you get a closer look at the ship. A blue number four is etched into the side of the strange looking ship, and you watch as it grows closer to landing on earth.

“It’s a cool ship,” John notes with a meager shrug, trying to alleviate some of the tension in the room.

“So much for maternity leave,” you sigh in a weak attempt to make a joke. Bucky shifts his tense gaze towards you before slowly lowering it to your protruding stomach, his mind reeling with all of the potential dangers you could soon be facing.

Sensing his panic, you carefully take hold of his hand in your own and tightly intertwine your fingers together to bring him back to the present. Your touch grounds him, reminds him that as of now you and Brooklyn are safe beside him, and he thanks you by wordlessly giving your hand a squeeze.

You have no idea what is to come or how your team will fare in the face of this new adversity, but you know that you’ll overcome whatever you need to in order to protect your new family.

“No matter what happens, we stay together,” you tell him firmly with no room for argument. You expect him to fight you on it, to insist you go home and keep yourself far away from the danger, but instead, he raises your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles before offering you a single nod that melts away all of your trepidations.

“Together.”