Bucky - Blog Posts

Decided to do Bucky for this month, feels appropriate

Designs of dresses inspired by Winter Soldier I did for my friend @oswins-muffins ^^ 

Designs by me ( Vanthica )

WARNINGS: Mentions of trying to unalive self, sh, loss of a child, ED if you squint, night terrors, angst, fluff at the end :)

female!reader x Bucky

Side note: i’m sorry this took so long to update, i didn’t know how to finish it skspshdjdjrjek thanks for reading :)

part 1 part 2

"Y/N, he needs to rest, okay?" Sam whispered softly. "I'll get you as soon as he wakes up."

"Why is he so dehydrated though? That's what I don't understand. " You whispered carefully, not wanting to wake Bucky up. "Has he not been taking care of himself?"

"Y/N..." Sam trailed off.

"Sam, please tell me. I’ll be okay. I'm not gonna break into a million pieces if you tell me. " You snorted, trying your best to sound optimistic.

"No, he hasn't.” Sam sighed finally. “He tried his best to hide it but it's so obvious. Everyone tried to help him, tried to get him to talk, but he refused. You know how stubborn he is."

"He can hear you." Bucky groaned, his voice hoarse. His eyes fluttered open and instantly made eye contact with Y/N. You looked good. Almost healthy. He quickly, ashamed. He busied himself, pretending to be interested with examining his body. There was two IV's sites that were pumping fluids into him, his chest covered with sticky pads (which were for EKG's) and a blood pressure cuff. Seeing all this made his head spin and he squeezed his eyes shut. "Fuck."

"I'll go get Bruce." Sam said quietly as he left the room.

The med bay was left in silence other than the steady beeping of Bucky's heart rate on the monitor. Bucky sniffed hard and reopened his eyes, and found Y/N sitting down in the chair beside the cot, staring at him.

"Hi." You whispered. Bucky didn't respond. He didn't know how to. "I just want to say I'm so sorry I did this to you, Bucky." Your voice shook as you spoke.

"Why didn't you want to see me?" Bucky blurted out, not able to think about anything else but that.

"It wasn't my idea. My doctors said it was for our best interest that we stayed away from each other."

"Best interest." Bucky echoed.

"Please understand I fought him on it almost every day while I was there. I wanted to see you, to tell you how sorry I was and how this wasn't your fault." You played with the frayed edges of your cardigan.

"Well I'm glad you got the help you needed." Bucky said, his eyes fixated on the ceiling. Y/N scoffed and leaned back into the chair.

"Don't play that game, Bucky. That place wasn't a fucking vacation, it was hell." You paused and licked your dry lips. "It was hell." Bucky winced at how hurt you sounded.

"I'm sorry." He lulled his head to the side, his eyes falling on you. "I just-"

"It's okay. You're allowed to be angry." You whispered as you touched his hand. He flinched at the contact. "I meant what I said, Bucky." You whispered again, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"And what's that?" He whispered back. You watched as his chest rose and fell heavily.

"That I-"

"Well look who's awake!" Bruce smiled as the door to the med bay swung open. Bucky and Y/N jumped apart. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Bucky grumbled, annoyed at the intrusion. Banner picked up some paper that was sitting on the table behind him.

"Hmmm, that's not what your labs say." Banner retorted. "You're severely dehydrated, Buck. What have you been eating and drinking?"

"When I can? Chicken broth."

"And when's the last time you ate anything?"

Bucky paused, looking at Y/N. Would it upset you if he told Bruce the truth?

"Last week." He muttered looking away.

"And how often have you been throwing up?"

"Every day, sometimes more than once." Bucky said. Y/N winced at what he was saying. Did you cause this? Was it your fault Bucky was so sick?

"I'm surprised you've been able to go on this long. I suppose that's the super solider serum doing it’s magic." Banner cleared his throat. "If you can't keep anything down, you're gonna have to come in for IV fluids once a day."

"Whatever you say, doc." Bucky snorted. Yeah, fuck that. He didn’t care.

"Don't worry Bruce, I'll make sure he's here." Y/N patted Bucky on the shoulder, winking at him.

"That's what I'm hoping for." Banner clapped his hands together. "Okay, I'll leave you two kids alone then. I'm sure there's a lot you need to talk about."

"I'm 106, Banner." Bucky called after him as he walked out the door. Y/N chuckled, covering your mouth with your hand. "Have you talked to Steve?" He asked as soon as Banner was gone.

"Yeah. He visited almost every day." You responded. Bucky felt a twinge of jealousy rise from the pit of his stomach. "I told him everything, Bucky. About how we had sex, about how I was pregnant, and how I didn't love him the same way he had loved me." Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at her words, not wanting to hear what she had to say.

“And how’d he take that?”

“He was hurt.” Y/N said simply. “I mean I was expecting him to be. We spent 6 months flirting and having sex. I just couldn’t keep it up anymore, I couldn’t keep that from him.”

“Oh.” Bucky muttered quietly. The two of you were silent, not sure what to say. Y/N took a deep breath, the air rattling in her chest as she reached out with a shaky hand to grab Buckys.

"I never meant to hurt our baby, Bucky." Y/N hiccupped back a sob, squeezing his hand tight. "I loved him more than anything and I never meant to do what I did. It just happened. I was in a state of psychosis and…” You rubbed your left forearm, as if the cut was still fresh, still bleeding. "I was going to tell you, I promise. I wanted to so bad. Wanted you there for the first ultrasound but there just was never a good time and-" She was rambling but Bucky cut her off.

"Y/N don't. I don't want to talk about it, please."

"We need to, Bucky. Please. My doctor said it would be good to talk about it with you.” She begged.

"No." He demanded.

"Bucky, I know it'll make you feel better."

"I don't-" Bucky stuttered. "I can't-" He was hyperventilating. Sitting up in the bed, he panted, "Fuck I'm gonna get sick." Y/N handed him a bedpan and Bucky quickly grabbed it, spilling out the contents of his stomach- which wasn't a lot. When he was done, he set the bed pan down and collapsed back on the pillow, dizzy again. Y/N softly smoothed back Bucky's hair that was sticking to his forehead. "I'm sorry, but I just can't. Not yet.”

"I shouldn't have pushed you." You whispered, setting your head on his shoulder. The two of you sat like that for a while, just embracing each others touch. It felt good. Your fingers played and twisted Bucky's hair and Bucky slowly ran his metal hand down your back, causing goosebumps to pop up. You inhaled sharply and looked up, finding Bucky's eyes already on you, a look of longing written across this face.

"Bucky..."

"Y/N..." Before you could even comprehend what was happening Bucky was pulling you on top of him. Your lips crashed together as your hands roamed through his hair.

Bucky's hands gripped your hips for dear life, like you would disappear at any moment. Your teeth grazed across his bottom lip, which triggered a moan to escape his lips. His hands traveled up your back, squeezing as he went, causing you to shudder. It felt so good to be in his embrace.

Y/N pulled up, panting. You stared down at him, his ice blue eyes looking back into yours. “I’ve missed you, Bucky.” You whispered, your finger tips grazing his cheek.

“I’ve missed you too.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his callused fingers tickling your jaw line. You peppered a few more kisses onto his lips before sliding off to him, and curling up at his side. Bucky wrapped a protective arm over top of you, pulling you impossibly close to him. Y/N glanced at the clock on wall. 1:35am. You were used to being in bed by 10 so you were exhausted being up this late. Just as you started to doze off, you could have sworn you heard Bucky whisper- almost inaudible, “I love you.”

Bucky stayed up most of the night, only sleep about an hour in total. He watched you sleep to make sure you wouldn’t slip away in the middle of the night and he would wake up alone, again. The morning sun was beginning to rise, casting hazy sunlight through the windows of the med bay. And in that peace, you had a night terror.

Your nails suddenly dug into Buckys skin, trying to claw at it. You’re incoherent moans and groans filling the quietness of the room. Thrashing around, Bucky caught you before you fell off the edge of the small cot.

“Y/N.” He grabbed your face, bringing you close to him, trying to stop or writhing. “Y/N wake up.” He called out.

“Killed him.” You cried out in your sleep, hands snaking down to your stomach. “Killed him!”

“Doll, honey- you’re dreaming. Wake up.” Bucky trembled, so afraid for what you were dreaming about. “Doll face wake up.” He pressed his fingers on the back of your neck, trying to soothe you.

“Killed him.” You repeated. “My fault.”

Another 10 minutes went by with you silently screaming, face contorted in pain. Bucky kept you close waiting for you to wake up so he could comfort you like he always did. He stroked your hair while murmuring “shhh” every time you jerked or called out.

Eventually, you settled down, tired eyes blinking up at Bucky. “Did I have another one?” You asked quietly, sleep thick in your voice.

“It was pretty mild, but yeah.” He whispered back. Moaning, you buried your face into Bucky’s chest. Inhaling his scent, you noticed he smelled like whiskey and cinnamon. It instantly relaxed your jittery nerves.

“You smell good.” You muttered. You heard Bucky chuckle.

“Considering this shirt hasn’t been washed in 2 weeks I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Y/N sat up and discarded your cardigan, because it was getting hot laying against Buckys warm body. His eyes traveled down to your arms, his eyebrows furrowed at the scars. They were still healing a bit, scabs were dotted across them. Bucky sighed loudly which caused you to look at him.

“I wanna show you something. C’mon.” He slowly got out of bed, his dizziness still plaguing him. You hoped down beside him and followed him outside the med bay.

“Where are we going?” You asked trailing behind him.

“The gardens.” He responded quietly. You turned some corners and were standing outside the entrance to the living room. Inside you could hear Steve talking. Bucky slowed his pace, unsure if he should go in. “We can just go around-” He started to say put Y/N pushed him forward.

“Morning.” Tony greeted nodding at them. Bucky could see visibly tense up when they came into the room. “How are you feeling, Barns?”

“Better.” He said. “Still dizzy but better.”

“Banner works some magic, doesn’t he?” Tony smiled. “Y/N, Steve made some waffles for you.”

“Your favorite.” Steve gushed, finally looking over at the two. Y/N shifted uncomfortably on her feet and nodded.

“I’ll get some after we get back from the garden. Bucky needed to show me something.” Y/N replied meekly. Bucky saw Steve roll his eyes, and anger boiled inside of him. “Come on, Buck. Let’s go.” Y/N grabbed his hand and drug him out of the living room. Bucky was still fuming, but your touch was easing him.

 Finally, you guys made it out to the gardens. It was beautiful- the sunrise was peaking over the edge of the wall of the compound cast pastel shadows over the pathways. There was morning dew sticking to the grass, which made Y/N's bare feet wet as they walked to the corner.

"What are we doing out here, Bucky?" You asked.

"I just wanted to show you." He mumbled. You stopped at a small stone that read 'Forever in Our Hearts'. "Everyone suggested that-" Bucky sniffed and looked away. "That he should be buried."

Y/N didn't know what to say. You dropped to the ground, your head grazed over the stone. "This was a nice spot."

"This is the first time I've been out here. I couldn't d-do it alone." -Bucky sat down beside you. "I'm sorry. I should have-"

"It's okay." You whispered. "I don't think I would have either." Your hand grabbed his tightly. "Do you know what I wanted to name him?"

"I hadn't even thought about that."

"I wanted to name him James. After his father." You looked up at him, eyes locking together. Tears brimmed behind his lower lashes.

"I wouldn't have been a good father." He whispered, looking down. You grabbed his cheeks softly, making him look back up at you.

"Yes you would have, Bucky." You said. He was silent for a moment.

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too."

@chipilerendi

Heroes

Captain America taught me that even if I’m a little, tiny sassy asthmatic shit, I still can be a (super)hero

Ironman taught me that doesn’t matter how deep I will be, the main thing is that I wouldn’t stay here

Black Widow taught me that I can be a bitch who fights as well as men, and yet I can still have feelings (and sometimes not under my control)

Hawkeye taught me that doesn’t matter if I’m weak or broke, what matters are my skills and inteligence

Agent Peggy Carter taught me that even if they think that I’m not good enough to do something, I’m still capable of more than I can ever imagine

James Bucky Barnes taught me that even if I did something bad in my past, it doesn’t define my future

Peter Parker taught me that everybody’s adventure is out here, waiting for all of us to find it

and finally

Stan Lee taught me all these things plus that;

My fantasy is a magical power and I shouldn’t be ashamed to use it

I’m capable of amazing things, all I have to do is to trust to myself

That to be a little weird for others means also that I have so much more joy and hapiness in my life than them.

Okay, a little “out of debate” post today but I just needed to wrote that down.

Becca Barnes

Becca Barnes: You have to learn to use pain.

Becca: not yours.

* crunches her fingers *

Becca: but the pain of others

ballet! Bucky x punk! Steve

another aesthetic here! yahooo! I tough maybe I’ll make it as aserie, because i really like the idea that soft, strong and polite ballet dancer Bucky will fall in love with sassy, angry punk rocker Steve. what d’ya think? 😉😝🤩😘😏

have a nice day my friends! and don’t forget to ship #stucky 😉😝😍😊💖

That moment when you find yourself listening to ,,piñacolada song" at 3 am and drawing this 😅😅😝 #stucky #dance #40s #dancestucky #prewarstucky #brooklyn #cute #boysinlove #piñacolada #song #bucky #stevie #lovewins #💋 #🍧 https://www.instagram.com/p/CKGnzm3l4n6/?igshid=j2vj2u1xe4ae

saw this on tiktok by @ lifeinstapieceofcake and just had to share cause I'm feeling FERAL RN

(Original from gifbuckybarnes; via feed-the-roses.)

(Original from theavengers; via feed-the-roses.)

I hope Avengers sometimes go to Strange like “I need your help” and he’s like “What’s wrong? Skrulls? Hydra?” and they’re like “I’m congested and it hurts when I swallow.”

(Original from wintersbucky; via feed-the-roses.)

this opened up a great big hole beneath me and devoured me, everything about it was perfect

Like he means it

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Bucky is a fuckboy (but he’s still a sweetheart); lots of talk about unrequited love (but is it?); mentions of sex; crying; lots of desperation; longing; heavy confessions; feels; happy ending

Author’s Note: This is written for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I had this kind of idea for a while but when I read those lyrics it somehow immediately came back to my mind and I needed to make something out of it. This is kind of inspired by your Boulevard Confessions because I loved it so much! And damn, I've already written so much about roommate!Bucky but I can’t help myself lol, I love him. Also, this got a little long, I'm sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy! ♡

Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga

Masterlist

You hear the giggling before anything else.

It’s always the giggling.

And, as always, it grates on your nerves.

It carves through the air, seeps into the walls, into the floorboards, into you. It tears its way inside and scrapes its manicured nails along the rawest and most sensitive parts of you, only to bury itself deep, where you can’t simply dig it out.

Then comes the keys.

The light, metallic jingle, so careless in its melody, but so troubling in its meaning.

Then the lock turning, the click soft and yet so irrefutable.

Then the door opening.

More giggles.

His breathy chuckles.

Then the door closing.

Shoes being kicked off, one hitting the wall.

You press the pillow harder against your ears, as if you could suffocate the sound before it reaches you, as if you could bury yourself deep enough under the covers to escape what you already know is coming. But you can’t. You never can.

Your brain usually does you the favors of drowning out the parts in the hallway, knowing it will probably make your heart stop in an instant. Today, it doesn’t do you any favors and you close your eyes, accepting the sting behind them.

And then, his bedroom door.

And if all that wasn’t torture enough, it was only the easy part.

Because now is when it really starts. It’s when your throat closes up, the breath in your lungs turns heavy, thick, impossible. Because no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how many times you laid here in your bed, still, so still, waiting for the agony to stop, pretending it doesn’t happen - it never stops hurting. It never stops breaking your heart - or whatever’s left of it.

At first, there is silence. The small period where you almost dare to believe, to hope.

But then comes the moaning.

High-pitched and breathy, hinting at a pleasure that strikes you with a hammer.

Someone else. Always someone else. Someone who is not you, someone who never had to try, someone who will never know what it means to ache for him like you do.

Then, quieter, but just as devastating, Bucky’s voice. The low sound of him unraveling. The sound of something slipping from him that you will never be able to take.

And that’s what breaks you most. That’s what turns the ache into utter misery. Madness even. It’s the inescapable proof that he has something to give - something deep, something intimate - and he is giving it away. Over and over again, but never to you.

You close your eyes, as always. It doesn’t help, as always. The sounds don’t stop anyway. The images come anyway - the touches you have imagined, the way his hands would feel against your skin, the way his mouth would shape your name if you were the one beneath him. The way he might look at you, if only he could see.

But right now, you are just the ghost in the next room, curled in on yourself, ears filled with the sound of someone else living the life you always wanted.

And in the morning, or right after, when the door will open again, when the giggling will turn to goodbyes, you will still be here, where you always are. Where you always will be. Waiting. Wanting. Breaking. Wishing you could turn it off, this feeling. This unendurable and never-ending heartbreak.

And that finally makes the tears flow.

They well up before they spill over, down the slope of your cheek, gathering in the hollow beneath your nose before falling onto the pillow and wetting it like a pool.

You squeeze your eyes shut, so tightly it should hurt, so tightly it should make them stop. But they come anyway. They come despite the barricade of your willpower, despite the way your body coils tighter in on itself. They come despite the desperate war you wage against them.

They come because you have lost. Because it’s too much.

The moaning doesn’t stop, and it’s too much. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s too much. It’s the third night in a row, and it’s too much.

Bucky’s hushed voice shatters something inside of you, you didn’t know was left intact a few seconds ago.

Your breath turns sticky, only half of it making its way up your throat. The other half stays attached to the walls of your throat like honey gone rancid. It refuses to leave completely, snagging and trapping you in the awful space between breathing and choking.

Maybe if it stopped altogether, it would be easier. Maybe suffocating would be gentler than this slow and unsparing death of heartbreak.

Your hands are shaking. You bury your face into the pillow, willing it to just take you as a whole and never let you leave again. The fabric muffles the shuddering sobs, but it cannot do anything for the way your body trembles. But you know that the sounds of pleasure in the other room will tune out the sounds of your cries. The pillow is being clutched so tightly, you might tear the fabric. But it’s your heart that’s being torn into so many pieces. So what is a pillow compared to the ruin of your heart? It’s nothing.

You are alone in your grief.

The moans stop for a second - abrupt, cut off mid-breath.

Bucky’s voice comes. He says something but you don’t catch his words.

However, you do catch the displeased groan of his girl for the night. Drawn-out and petulant. Annoyed.

Bucky speaks again. Firmer, this time. Again, it’s too quiet to catch it.

And then you hear your name. It’s muffled still, but you would hear your name coming from his lips always and forever. You know the exact cadence of it shaping his mouth.

Everything in you halts. Your breaths are suspended somewhere in your throat, caught between shock and devastation.

The girl scoffs. It’s a snappy sound. Almost whiny. You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so troubled.

The moaning resumes. But it is quieter this time. Controlled almost. A courtesy. A mercy. But not for you. Not in the way you wish.

And it makes you know.

He asked her to keep it down. For you. He must have told her he has a roommate - you - and that they need to be mindful, that you might be trying to sleep.

Somehow, in all the infinite ways he could have cared for you, this is the one he chose. Not to love you, not to want you, but to make sure his flings don’t disrupt your sleep. As if that’s the worst of it. As if the noise is what truly keeps you up at night, and not the agonizing truth of it all.

Harshly, your teeth sink into your lip, fighting to stifle the sob that trembles on the edge of you. But again, you are losing.

Because hearing your name in the middle of something so intimate, spoken in the same breath of his pleasure, is pure anguish.

Because your name should not exist there. Not like this. Not casually sneaking into a mind occupied with pleasuring someone else.

If he were to say your name in a moment like this, it should be a soft whisper against your skin, entangled in sheets, buried in kisses that steal the air from your lungs. It should be something private, something sacred.

Not an idle afterthought. A consideration. A passing thought before he loses himself in someone else’s body. You have never heard him say any girl’s name before when sleeping with them, but hell you also don’t try to listen too closely.

You won’t talk about this. You never talk about this. When the morning comes and you meet Bucky in the kitchen for breakfast, you will not mention it. Just like you never mention the other nights. Just like you never dwell on the soft apologies he offers when they got too loud. And just like always, you will brush it off, force a brittle smile, and tell him that it’s fine.

It’s not. It never has been. And you don’t think you ever manage to make it sound like you mean it. But you are gone before Bucky can push or apologize again. Or see how deep the knife has gone.

Because he might be careful to be quiet. But he will never be careful enough to stop breaking your heart.

So what is the point?

You don’t want to do another morning like this.

You can’t do another morning like this.

Not three times in a row.

Not when the night has already taken your soul and what was precious of it, barely sewn together by the time the sun fights its way through the window.

Not when you know how it will play out. Like it has the day before. And the day before that.

The door to his room will creak open, the girl already gone. You will hear the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor, the sigh as he stretches, and the yawn that usually makes it past his lips. He never tries to stifle it.

And then, him standing there and watching you.

Disheveled. Bed hair sticking up in a mess. You never let your mind wander to how her fingers might have something to do with that. His shirt would loosely hang over his frame, probably thrown on in a hurry, collar askew, revealing a sliver of skin you shouldn’t be looking at.

That lazy and slightly flustered smile. Sleep still in the corners of his eyes, his lips, his voice, when he greets you with a scratchy morning.

Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t shatter you into a thousand unfixable pieces last night. And the night before that. And now this night.

You will do your best to greet him back without sounding pained. Focusing on making coffee. The way the steam normally curls into the air, the warmth of the mug in your hands. You will have to focus on it as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And despite knowing you shouldn’t - despite hating yourself for it - you will slide a cup toward him. As you always do.

His smile would shift. Settling into something fond, something warm, something that digs its claws into your ribs and refuses to let go.

Because that’s usually the worst part. He’s always so sweet with you. Thoughtful, affectionate in ways that don’t count. In the ways that make you feel like maybe if you just hold on a little longer, if you wait just a little more, he might start feeling what you do.

But you are certain, he won’t.

Because for him, everything seems fine. For him, this will be just another morning. Another easy, comfortable start to the day. With his eyes on you and sipping his coffee, exhaling like he is finally at peace, and leaning against the counter with a lightness that always has your stomach all up in shambles.

He always makes it seem so normal. Starting conversation with you, talking to you as if nothing has changed. Like you didn’t spend the night curled in on yourself, swallowing down sobs so thick they feel like razor blades. Like you didn’t spend the night choking on the sound of him with her.

He never mentions them. Never says any of the girl’s names, not that you even know what they are. He never makes plans to see them again. Just another faceless but very loud girl. One to be forgotten.

But tomorrow night, there will be another.

Tomorrow night will be the same.

And in the morning nothing will have happened.

Only him standing there with his sleep-mussed hair and that sweet, easy smile, drinking the coffee you should have stopped making for him a long, long time ago.

You rise out of bed, not even aware of it. The cold air nips at your tear-streaked cheeks, your sheets thrown back in a mass of tangled fabric still warm from the ball your body was curled in, breaking in silence. The pillow is still wet.

Your hands move on their own, tugging on slacks, yanking a hoodie over your head as though the fabric could hide you, save you from the devastation caving a hole into your chest.

You fumble for your phone before throwing open your bedroom door.

The moans are louder again. Yanking at your resolve and laughing at the way your tears keep coming.

Your feet move faster. You don’t actually run, but it feels like running. Like fleeing. Escaping a burning building before it collapses. The living room comes into view and it’s like a cruel trick, like the universe is taunting you, because all you see are phantoms.

The coffee machine on the counter. How many times have you two stood there, still tousled with sleep, you making coffee for the both of you because Bucky burns everything. How many times did he lean on the counter, watching you with that stupid little half-smirk, pretending to judge your process but always humming in satisfaction when he took the first sip.

The bookshelf in the corner - the one you swore you could build on your own. And you tried, you really did, but the second the screwdriver slipped and you gasped out loud, Bucky was there immediately. Hands on yours, worry furrowing his brows, grumbling about your stubbornness and continuing to grumble when he passive-aggressively built it himself.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him, pretending to be annoyed but secretly savoring the way he kept glancing at you, again and again, to make sure you were okay and giving you instructions as to how it’s done but throwing you a glare when you insisted on trying again.

The carpet. The same one you both collapsed onto after a night out with your friends, too tipsy to move, giggling like teenagers as you pointed at the ceiling, pretending to find constellations in the uneven paint. He named one after you. You named one after him. You fell asleep there, side by side, and when you woke up he was so close. So close.

The couch. The one he practically melted into last week when he had a fever, whining dramatically until you caved and brought him soup. He kept pulling you back when you tried to leave, pouting like a child, demanding your attention because I’m sick, doll. Can’t ignore me when I’m sick. Until you sighed and sat down, letting his head rest in your lap. He fell asleep like that. Snoring. And you didn’t have the heart to move.

And now he is in his room, tangled in her, moaning into her skin, kissing her - like it doesn’t mean anything. Like none of it ever meant anything.

Your breath is uneven, your hands shaking as you grab your shoes. The laces blur, your vision fogs, but you can’t stop.

You throw open the door to your shared apartment, barely thinking, barely breathing, only moving. It swings back into the frame with a sharp sound echoing through the hallway, louder than you had intended. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you are sure that Bucky doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t notice. He is otherwise occupied and you are utterly drained of thinking about with what.

The air outside the apartment feels different. Lighter and cooler, but it doesn’t bring relief. It’s thin and hard to pull into your lungs properly.

Natasha’s place isn’t far. Fifteen minutes on foot. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like something to grasp on.

No more moans. Lost to silence, left in a place that feels little like home right now. Still, they resonate in your skull, haunting reminders of that pain you can’t dismiss, that hurt that hangs off you like a heavy burden.

You slow your steps on the staircase and inhale deeply. It trembles on its way out.

You hate how fragile you feel. How breakable. Hate how much this affects you. How much he affects you.

But you keep walking.

Just yesterday, you talked to Natasha and she offered you to stay with her for the night, looking at you all sharp and knowing, but in her own way sympathetic. You declined. Because you thought you’d be fine. Well, you were wrong.

It’s past midnight now, completely dark, but you don’t care.

You know, Natasha will let you in. And that will have to be enough for tonight.

The city is alive even at this hour. Neon lights glow in the distance, their reflection shimmering in rain-slicked puddles that dot the cracked pavement. Somewhere across the street, there is a group of people laughing, and disappearing around a corner. A car flies past, with headlights unlocking long shadows lengthening down the sidewalk.

You focus on those things. On the shoes thumping against the pavement. The way the crisp air is somehow refreshing as it weaves through the fabric of your hoodie and stings slightly at the tear-streaked skin of your cheeks, keeping you awake and propelling you forward. Not that you need any more motivation to leave.

You wind your arms around yourself like a shield, like a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart completely.

You don’t look back.

Somewhere above you, there is a creak of a window opening.

It makes you freeze for a small second, before tightening your arms around yourself and picking up your pace.

Your stomach spins violently because fuck, you know that sound. You know the groan of that window when it moves, just a little off its hinges, just enough to make a noise you’ve heard a hundred times before. Because it’s the window of your apartment. And it makes a noise that has never felt so much like a punch to the gut.

“Y/n?”

You close your eyes.

“Y/n!”

Your name spills from his lips, laced with confusion, infused with something that makes your fingers clench around your arms.

You could ignore him. You should ignore him. Just keep walking, keep moving, pretend you didn’t hear.

But you can’t. You never can.

With a slow, dragging breath, you turn around.

Bucky is leaning over the frame, his torso reaching out the window, bare from the shoulders down. He is bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.

His hair is messed up, brown tendrils all sticking in different directions. His brows are knitted in confusion. His lips in a frown so full of worry. And it’s just too much.

Too warm. Too intimate. Too familiar.

Your chest stutters, lurches, and swirls itself into a dozen moving shapes that hurt more than they should. Because he stands there shirtless. Shirtless. And you know why.

You swallow back your hurt, but it stays stuck in your throat and crawls right up again to make you taste it on your tongue.

You force your gaze away from staring at the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his throat, the soft lines of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles that she had her hands on just minutes ago.

“Where are you going?”

The tone highlights his concern, thick with the kind of worry that would have meant everything if it weren’t coming from him like this, not now. His voice is rough, remnants of the time already spent with that girl, but all you can hear is that damn worry in it.

As if you owe him an answer. As if he isn’t the reason your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and left to rot.

You draw in half a breath and look away - down the street, down at your shoes, the bricks of your building. Anywhere that isn’t him.

“To Nat’s.”

It’s clipped and short. You don’t want to explain, don’t want to talk, don’t want to stand here in the night air beneath the window of the apartment you share with him like some pathetic wreck while he worries about you.

“Nat’s?” You can hear the bewilderment in his voice, the way he is trying to piece it together, the way his brain is already working overtime, scrambling to make sense of this - and you can practically feel the moment he decides he won’t let it go.

“Somethin’ happen?” His voice just won’t stop to be so perplexed, so concerned. It is softer now, but you only glance up at him briefly before averting your eyes again.

Because damn Bucky, yes, something happened. Everything happened. Every night that he brings someone home, every touch that belongs to someone else, every soft moan that isn’t meant for you.

All these moments, all these memories, every feeling left unsaid that swivels and stings and grows into what it is now - a storm inside your rib cage, a hurricane of almosts and never wills and why does it have to be like this?

But of course, you can’t say that. You won’t say that.

So you just shake your head, tighten your arms around yourself, and take a step back.

“Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Because you can’t do this right now. You won’t do this right now.

Not when you are already about to break.

“I- What?”

His voice is a little raspy, puzzled, and under any other circumstance, it might have been endearing. On a normal day, if this were some cozy Sunday morning and not the breaking stretch of midnight, you might have smiled at the sight of him like this - hair in a wild mess, eyes a little heavy from the day, bare shoulders shifting in the glow of the streets.

But this is not a Sunday morning. And nothing about this feels good or cozy or right.

You are so damn exhausted. So damn drained.

“You-” he starts again, brow furrowing deeper, but before he can get another word out, hands appear - slim fingers wrapping around the thick of his bicep, tugging, pulling, trying to drag him back inside.

Bile is pooling at the base of your throat.

She’s alone with him up there, in the space that you have spent so much time making into something warm, something filled with comfort. A space where you feel home. With him. And yet, it’s that random girl in there, laying in his bed, under his covers, in his scent, in him.

“Bucky, come on.” Her voice is thin and peevish, thick with impatience. And exhaustion you believe she has no right to feel when you are the one who has spent the time suffocating under her presence.

But Bucky doesn’t move.

His hand only grips onto the windowsill tighter, muscles in his arm locking.

And his eyes stay fixed on you.

Still searching. Still confused. Still trying to understand.

And it makes your hands clammy.

The way he looks at you like he is reaching for something just beyond his grasp, something that eludes him no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He huffs out a breath that just borders on frustration when her fingers won’t stop pulling at him.

“Hold on, doll-” he calls out to you and unwinds her hands from his arm, barely sparing her a glance as he leans out the window again. There is a little something in his tone when he speaks to you again. Something like exasperation. But it’s not meant for you. “What’re you doin’ at Nat’s? Tell her it’s the middle of the goddamn night. Why would she let you walk over to her? She knows it’s not safe.”

You shake your head, already half turning away again. You just cannot do this right now.

“It’s fine. Just go back to bed, Bucky.”

“Y/n - hey. What’s wrong? What’s this about?” There it is. That softness in his voice. That concern. And it hurts. Because he doesn’t get it.

“Go. Back. To bed,” you repeat, sharper now, gritting it out between clenched teeth.

But Bucky has always been stubborn. And so infuriating. It’s like he doesn’t hear you at all.

“C’mon doll, did something happen? Talk to me,” he urges, voice gentle but he doesn’t seem to like the way you look as if you would bolt around the corner any second. His tone is coaxing in a way that makes you ache because this is what he does. This is what he has always done - pulling you in, making you feel safe, making you feel cared for, making you feel like you matter. Like he means it.

And it’s cruel. So cruel.

Because you are in love with him.

And he is standing in that window, bare-chested and rumpled from a night with another woman, while you are in slacks and a simple hoodie beneath him with your heart cracked wide open, bleeding into the pavement.

“I don’t wanna do this right now, Bucky,” you snip, voice losing patience. But you are so tired.

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration growing, seeping into his voice. “You’re killin’ me here, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s cold out, doll. You’re not even wearin’ a jacket.”

You swallow down a choked breath.

Because this is making things so much worse.

That he cares. That he is looking at you like this, like you matter, like you are his.

Like you are something he wants to figure out. And he wants to take his time with. Like he wants to fix you.

But you are not broken. You are just in love.

“Bucky,” that girl calls out again, dragging his name out, voice honey-thick and pettish. “Come on babe, let it go. Just-” She tugs at his arm again, nails skimming along his forearm. “Come back to bed.”

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even glance at her.

His mouth twitches, jaw ticking as he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking her off with a firm roll of his shoulder. “Would you quit it for a sec?” His voice is edged now, tinged with a kind of terse impatience he seldom ever lets out. “Jesus, m’tryin to talk here.”

The girl huffs, clearly displeased, but Bucky doesn’t spare her another second.

But the one second he threw his head around at her was your chance. Your feet move before you can think, before you can talk yourself into staying, because if you do, if you let him pull you in, let yourself hope-

“Woah, doll, hey. Wait, I-”

His voice is frantic, stammering over its own syllables and filled with too many things your mind is too jumbled to focus on.

But it makes you stop your body in the midst of a step. And you grind down on your teeth against the frustration burning inside you.

You should keep walking. Shouldn’t have stopped.

But Bucky is leaning even further out now, his knuckles bracing against the sill, the night air tousling his hair, eyes wide and concerned, searching. One of his arms is reaching out, down to you as if he could touch you like this.

“Hold up, yeah? I’m comin’ down.”

You whip halfway back to him, brows snapping together, heart slamming against your ribs.

“No, you-”

He’s already pulling himself back inside, shaking his head as if it should be obvious. “I’m coming down,” he repeats, more insistent, more sure. Leaving no room for argument.

Your fists squeeze the fabric of your hoodie. Your stomach churns. “Bucky-” you try again. But he has already made up his mind.

“Wait there, alright?” His voice dips lower, steadier but still urgent. Resolute, as if he would run after you if you bolted down the street. “Doll. Promise me you’ll wait.”

Something in his tone, the look he is giving you, like he’s begging, almost a sweet-talking declaration. It’s catching your breath somewhere in your throat.

You could run.

You should.

You should turn right back around, disappear into the night, and leave him standing there, shirtless and confused and worried.

But you hold his gaze for just one long and heavy beat, then exhale shakily, shoulders dropping slightly.

“Okay,” you say weakly.

Bucky nods determined and taps his fingers against the windowsill, before rushing away, leaving the window wide open.

And you stand there hating yourself for waiting.

Hating yourself for hoping.

Technically, you could just leave.

Take a different route to Nat’s apartment, slip into the dark veins of the city where his voice wouldn’t reach, and let him walk out onto an empty sidewalk with his hair still tousled from another woman’s fingers and the taste of someone else’s lips still lingering on his own.

You could make him feel just a fraction of what you feel, with something hollow pressing up against his ribs when he finds nothing but cold pavement where you used to stand.

But you don’t.

You know you won’t.

Because it wouldn’t just frustrate him. It would hurt him.

And that’s the one thing you could never bring yourself to do.

Not Bucky.

Never Bucky.

You know him. The way he chews at the inside of his cheek when he’s trying not to say something reckless. The way his brows pull just a little too tight when he’s agitated but trying to play it off like he is fine. The way he folds his arms over his chest, not because he’s closed off, but because he needs something to hold onto.

You know exactly how he would react if he stepped out here and you weren’t there.

How the slight crease between his brows would deepen. How his fingers would twitch, opening and closing, like he’d missed his chance to catch you. How his lips would open and he would stare helplessly around and call your name.

And god, as much as this pain is devouring you from the inside out, pushing its way into the light but leaving you sitting in the dark, as much as your heart feels like being torn apart with unsaid words and unmet confessions - you cannot stand the thought of hurting him.

So you stay.

With feet planted on the concrete, fists clenched so hard, that your fingers start to cramp. You lift your trembling hands to your aching cheeks to hastily scrub away the fresh wave of tears surging forth downwards, willing your body to erase any evidence of your devastation.

But the more you wipe, the more it hurts.

You believe your cheeks are red from the effort of wiping so much, eyes swollen and puffy, your body trying to rebel against all of your commands.

Inhaling shakily, you force the breath down, down, down where you can pretend it doesn’t hurt so much. You angle your face slightly away from the building, hoping the dim spill of moonlight won’t betray your inner struggles.

Because the moment Bucky steps out that door, it will be the same as always.

He’ll look at you like you are his best friend. Like you are his safe place. Like you are the person he can always count on.

And you will look at him like you aren’t falling apart.

Like your heart isn’t unraveling at the seams.

Like you aren’t drowning in a love that will never be returned.

The door swings open with a force that startles you, the sound of it hitting the frame a little too sharp against the night.

Bucky storms out onto the sidewalk like he’s got something urgent to say, like the world might stop spinning if he doesn’t get to you fast enough. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t pause. Just moves straight to you, his steps quick, closing the space before you can change your mind about standing here. He has a crumpled shirt thrown on and it hangs a little off. But it makes you want to run so hard.

His fingers wrap around your arms, not hard, not forceful but firm.

Those warm hands on you make you want to crumble.

His breath is coming fast, chest rising and falling, like he ran down the staircase to get here as fast as possible.

His eyes are so deep, deep and blue, roaming your face with so much intensity, searching and scanning and pausing.

Shadows cast over his sharp cheekbones at the way his brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted.

“What’s going on, doll? You been cryin’?” His voice comes out rough and he talks fast. Urgent, breaths spilling over themselves as he rushed through the words, almost tripping on them in his desperation to get them out. “Why’ve you been crying? What happened?”

His thumb twitches against the fabric of your hoodie.

You open your mouth, close it again. Your throat is dry from the sobs you tried to silence earlier. You shake your head, a knee-jerk reaction.

“I was just going to Nat’s, Bucky. Nothing happened.”

It’s a weak excuse, said in a weak voice.

And you hate how it makes Bucky’s expression shift. That tiny wounded something that crosses his features, something that shouldn’t be there, because you did wait for him, you didn’t leave, but it’s still not enough. You lied to him. And he knows it. And he’s hurt. And you hate yourself.

He shakes his head, his jaw going tight.

“No,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving you, voice so low. “That ain’t nothin’, doll. C’mon. You’re runnin’ off in the middle of the night, how could this be nothing?”

You look away. Because if you keep looking at him, him with his concern and confusion and hurt all interflowing in the pool of those blue eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together much longer.

You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe slowly.

The sting behind your eyes is never really leaving you.

Bucky leans in, just a little. His grip on your arms tightens, but it’s not harsh. Only insistent. Desperate for you to give him something here.

“Somethin’ up with Natasha?” His voice is gentle, like he knows this has nothing to do with her, but he has to ask anyway to go through all the possible options of what might be going on.

“No,” you croak, barely managing the word.

He softens at the sound of it, but that frown doesn’t ease.

“What’re you doing then, huh? Why’re you running off like that? S’ not safe, you know that.” His voice is soft. Almost like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. But the concern is wrapping around every word. “What’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Talk to me, yeah? Please?”

His voice takes on a desperate intensity. Like he’s begging you to just let him in. To make him understand.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, willing it not to tremble, willing your face not to crumble right in front of him, but the air is too thick for your airway, making it harder and harder to breathe.

And Bucky is looking at you, like you are breaking his goddamn heart. Like you took a shot straight for it.

He is so full of worry, it looks painful, the crease of his brow always there when he’s thinking too hard, when he’s feeling too hard. His lips are still parted, like he wants to beg for an explanation, for some string of words that will make this all click into place and turn this into something fixable.

Because Bucky Barnes fixes things.

But this might be the only thing he can’t fix.

His hands on you are a contrast to the way you feel as if you’re falling apart. You hate how much you just want to collapse into it, to let yourself lean into him, let him hold you up. Because he would. You know he would. He would pull you in without hesitation, wrap his arms around you like he has done so many times before.

But you don’t want him to hold you. Don’t want him to hold you like a friend.

You want him to hold you like he means it. Like you mean something more than the sum of all the nights you spent choking on your own silence, swallowing words you could never say.

So all you can do is stay frozen, bones locked, eyes burning, heart splitting itself open in the middle of the street where he doesn’t even know he’s killing you.

“I-”

You try. You really try.

But then the door swings open again. And the sound of it alone is enough to send a bolt of ice down your spine.

Because this time it’s her walking out.

She steps out onto the sidewalk like she has every right to be a part of this moment.

Like she hasn’t spent the first part of the night in Bucky’s bed. Like she hasn’t been touched by him, kissed by him, fucked by him, wanted by him in a way that you have only ever ached for.

Like she hasn’t taken something that was never hers to have.

But it’s not yours either.

She looks so composed, too. More put together than you would have imagined. Her hair smoothed, clothes adjusted, skin glowing in a way that tells you she wasn’t just sleeping up there - she was living in something you’ve been dying for. She probably took a moment in your bathroom to check herself, to fix her lipstick, maybe even to admire herself in the mirror while you were downstairs, breaking apart.

She had the time for that.

Meanwhile, you can barely stand.

Your body is alive with magnitudes of unspoken things, suffocating. You feel like you’ve been sanded down, like a piece of wood, leaving nothing but the ache and longing and all the words you can’t say. This destruction is slow and ruthless, it doesn’t come with an explosion, but rather a slow erasure.

Like you’re being unmade. Piece by piece.

Like you were never meant to be here in the first place.

And Bucky is still looking at you.

Not at her.

You.

And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it should mean something.

But it just puts more pressure on the knife that is already turning around in your flesh.

The girl doesn’t leave and Bucky stiffens.

“Bucky,” she drawls, almost lazy, like she’s bored with this already. “Are you coming back up, or…?”

Your stomach lurches.

You feel exposed, scraped raw, like you’ve been trampled over, flattened by something massive, left behind for everyone else to step around.

Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose. His jaw works under pressure. And then, he huffs. Annoyed. Like she’s interrupting something important.

“Go home,” he flatly tells her, his attention still on you. Not even addressing her with a name. Perhaps he doesn’t even know it.

“Seriously?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. Her eyes flick between the two of you.

Bucky exhales another breath and drops one of his arms from you to scrub it over his face, pushing through his hair. He turns toward her just a little, stance rigid.

“Yeah, seriously,” he mutters, already turning back to you. “I’ll call you a cab if you need-”

“God, you’re such a dick,” she snaps, cutting him off, rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff. “Unbelievable.”

And then she’s gone.

But so are you.

You don’t even think about it. You just move.

Your arm slips from Bucky’s loosened grip, your body already shifting, already turning, already pulling you down the sidewalk, away from him, away from this.

It’s pathetic. You know this. But you have to get away.

Your vision is a blur, the streetlights smearing into a soft, hazy glow against the wetness welling in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to breathe through it, it’s too much. Simply too much.

You’re hurting. And you need to go. Now.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Woah, whoah, hey!” His voice is quick, rushed, and then he is moving, closing the space between you. And this time, he cuts you off completely, stepping right into your path, right in front of you, blocking the way like a wall. He’s so broad in front of you, and so fucking present, making it impossible to escape.

You stop so fast it almost sends you stumbling back.

His eyes flick over you so quickly, so intensely, scanning for something he doesn’t understand but is so desperate to find.

“Alright,” he exhales, low and careful, holding his arms out as if ready to stop you again if you make a run for it.

“You want me to put you in chains to keep you still?”It’s a weak and failed attempt at humor.

And it’s not funny. Not even close.

His voice is too thin, too strained, and there is something in his eyes, something tight and aching, that makes it clear he is not even trying all that hard to make his joke work.

You don’t smile. Don’t look at him. Arms still around yourself.

Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows, as he shifts his weight, as he lets out another slow and deliberate breath. He moves so slow. As if any tiny movement of him would make you walk away from him.

“What’s going on with you, mhm?” His voice is so soft. So concerned. Brooklyn warmth and worry combined with something gentler than you can handle right now.

“What’s this - this fight-or-flight thing you got goin’ on?” he continues, tilting his head just slightly, watching you too closely, reading too much. “You’re rushing off like the damn place is on fire. The hell is that about, doll?” Still so soft. So cautious.

His eyes are on you like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s trying to solve you, like if he just looks long enough, he’ll figure it out.

But if he really understood, if he really found out, everything between you would change.

And you can’t handle that. You can’t handle anything at the moment.

“Just drop it, Bucky, alright?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Harsher. A little spit of venom that you hate yourself for the second it hits the air. He doesn’t deserve your attitude. But you can’t hold it back.

You see the way it lands. The way his brows pull in tighter, the way his lips press together, the way his chest rises and falls so measured. But it’s all not out of irritation. He just tries to figure out where that came from. What is happening. What has you react the way you do.

His voice is even and calm. But oh so careful. “I don’t think I will, doll.”

You look anywhere than at him and his troubled face.

Your throat tightens so fast, you have to swallow hard against it, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek as you blink up at the sky like maybe that keeps the tears from spilling over.

And Bucky watches all of that.

His expression stays soft, but his eyes are burning with something deep, something real, something that makes you feel like you might actually drown if you keep looking at them for too long.

“Y/n,” he almost whispers, and it sounds so pained. “Why are you crying, sweetheart.” He’s so gentle, so tender, so fucking careful like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, you’ll just break.

You shake your head, arms around yourself tightening. “I’m fine.”

Bucky makes a quiet noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, something deep and disbelieving.

“See, that’s bullshit.”

You’re about to turn again, but he anticipates and gets hold of your arms.

“Look,” he sighs, heedfully taking off a hand of you to rub it down his face. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. You wanna bite my head off cause I’m askin’? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you’re okay. Because I’ve got eyes, doll, and I can see that you’re not.”

You want him to stop.

You want him to turn around.

You want him to leave you here to fall apart in peace.

But he won’t.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

And you break.

No matter how hard you bite your lip, it doesn’t matter.

The tears slip and streak down your face before there is anything you can do. A sob follows. You can’t choke it down. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, and your face tilts towards the ground as you bring trembling hands up to wipe at your cheeks, in a futile and desperate attempt to regain composure. It’s useless.

You feel so pathetic.

Embarrassed. Ashamed that you ran off like this. That you’re standing here, crying in the middle of the night, on a sidewalk with no explanation, making a fool of yourself in front of him.

And the second your face crumbles, his does, too.

The second your breath hitches, he is moving.

Strong arms envelope you, winding tight, pulling you straight into his chest like he doesn’t even need to think about it. Not for a single second.

You let him.

Because it’s either this, or you’ll collapse down onto the asphalt.

His grip is firm, grounding, warm in a way that makes you ache even more. His hand cradles the back of your head, tucking you against him, and you feel the press of his lips there, gentle, but somehow rough.

Like your pain is his own.

“It’s okay. Shh… it’s okay,” he breathes, pained and low, the words pressed into your hair, into your skin. Making space between your ribs. “Oh, doll.” He presses you tighter to him. His hand brushes over your hair. “It’s okay.”

There is something so deep and aching in the way he talks to you, like the sound of his own voice hurts him. Like you hurt him.

His other hand moves over your back, soothingly, trying to give you some strength.

“I gotcha,” he breathes. “M’here, doll. Okay? Just breathe. Gotta breathe for me, baby. Please.”

It’s a slip. Baby. A mistake.

And it makes you cry harder.

Because it’s so soft. Gentle. Because it falls from his lips like something that’s always been there, something that’s always belonged to you.

Except it hasn’t.

It doesn’t.

Not in the way you want.

You don’t know what he calls those girls he takes home. If they get to hear him say it. Girls who have felt his hands in places you never will. Girls who have heard his voice rasp against their skin in the dark.

But you are not one of those girls.

You never will be.

And you know you will never be able to untangle that damaging wrench in your stomach.

So hearing him call you that. Baby. Like it means something. Like it’s yours. Like it hasn’t been whispered in the dim glow of your apartment, murmured against someone else’s lips, someone else’s skin, just someone else just hours ago.

It’s too hard. too cruel.

You wish it didn’t matter. You wish it didn’t rip through you the way it does, splitting you down the center, carving you open.

But it does.

Because even if it doesn’t belong to you, you still want it.

So you cry harder.

Sobs wrack through you, your chest hitching with the force of them, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, clumping it in your fists.

Bucky feels it and he hears it and he grips you tighter, pulls you closer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, voice just above a whisper, more desperate now. Like he’s drowning in your hurt right along with you.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again, voice strained, thick. His lips are in your hair. “Please talk to me. Make me understand, baby, please! Tell me what’s wrong.”

But you can’t.

Because what the hell would you even say?

That you’re in love with him?

That you’ve been in love with him?

That seeing him with her - hearing the sounds that bleed through the walls, the ones you’ll never be able to unhear - feels like being skinned alive?

That you want him in a way you shouldn’t?

That you want him in a way he will never want you back?

You won’t.

So instead, you just press yourself harder into his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him hold you like you are something precious. Like you are his. Even if you are not.

“Help me understand here, baby. Please,” he repeats with a voice so soft, that makes him seem afraid you might break apart completely if he speaks any louder.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re already in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond repair, and he just hasn’t realized it yet.

He lets you cry when you don’t answer, hand stroking up and down your back, the other soothing over your head. He whispers into your hair, words you can’t even process, just the deep cadence of him, the low rasp of his voice against your temple.

His lips move to your forehead, brushing over it. His breath is warm against your skin. You don’t have it in you to pull away, but you wish you would.

Because none of this makes it any easier.

Because his hands feel too good, too steady, too right - and it’s a lie.

Because it’s him.

And that means it hurts.

You wish he would just go and let you have your pathetic heartbreak alone.

But Bucky Barnes has never been the kind of a guy to leave things unsolved.

He pulls back just slightly after a while, just enough to get a better look at you, and when you try to duck your head, to keep him from seeing too much, he doesn’t let you.

Strong, warm fingers cradle your face, thumbs brushing over the damp skin of your cheeks, tilting your head up and forcing your gaze to his.

He looks wrecked.

His brows are drawn, lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands tremble just a little against your skin, but his grip stays firm. Solid.

“Don’t look away, doll. Eyes on me, yeah?”

You swallow hard, jaw tight. “You just ruined your good night,” you say, the words falling out bitter, self-deprecating, stiff with something that tastes like resentment but feels like heartbreak.

Bucky’s frown deepens, his lips pressing together, eyes scanning over your face like he’s searching for something, anything that’ll make this make sense.

“The hell I did,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Confused you even brought this up. “I don’t give a shit about her. Don’t even know her name, if I’m bein’ honest.” He lets out a huffed laugh.

But you don’t.

Because somehow this makes it worse.

And you hate it.

You hate that some part of you wanted her to mean something.

Because if she meant something, if she was special, then at least this ache in your chest would have a name. A reason. A shape you could hold in trembling hands and squeeze so hard that it stops hurting at one point.

Then, at least, you could maybe finally accept that there is no hope. No reason to hold on to those feelings.

But Bucky just shrugs.

It meant nothing. It never meant anything. Not with them.

Not with the girls that come and go, the ones who pass through his nights in the same easy way the hours do - fleeting, ephemeral, touched, and forgotten.

Not with anyone. Not even with you.

You have spent so long feeling this, holding onto it, trying to keep it hidden beneath layers of friendship and longing and careful restraint. You have spent so long pretending that it is fine, that it doesn’t matter, that you can live like this - on the sidelines, just the girl in the other room, in the shadows, in the spaces between what you want and what you’re allowed to have.

And he stands here and looks you in the eyes, telling you that it is nothing. That she is nothing. That they - all of them before her, and all of them after her - are nothing.

You can barely breathe past it.

You don’t say anything.

And Bucky freezes.

His hands, where they cup your face, stop their soft, absentminded strokes. His thumbs, which had been tracing reassuring circles along your cheekbones halt. His breath catches and his eyes shift.

There is something uncertain in there.

And then, his lips part. His brows go up ever so slightly. His pupils flare.

Something settles over his expression that you don’t recognize.

Like a switch has been flipped.

Like a puzzle piece has clicked into place.

Like suddenly he is seeing something in your eyes, something like an answer, something that has been there all along.

His fingers tighten, anchoring himself. Making it seem that if he lets go, if he moves even a fraction, something will break. In him, or you, you’re not sure.

He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. But he needs to see you better. Just enough to search your face for something he needs to know. His gaze locks onto yours and holds you there, testing something, making sure.

His voice is hushed when he talks. Breathless.

“Is that what this is about?”

It’s quiet, the way he says it. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he’s careful with it. There is disbelief on his face. Astonishment.

You shake your head too fast, too sharp, like if you deny it hard enough, it’ll erase the way he’s looking at you right now. That it’ll undo the meaning of his words and the way they sit between you. Something fragile on the verge of breaking.

“No,” you say, but it barely comes out, barely sounds convincing. Your voice is hoarse, scraped raw form holding back everything you don’t want to say. Your lungs refuse to work in sync with the rest of you. You swallow, eyes darting away, grasping for something to latch onto.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Doll…” It comes like a sigh. Weightless and soft. His hands don’t drop from your face, don’t loosen, don’t give you the space you’re so desperately trying to carve out between you. If anything, his grip grows more robust. Just enough to keep you there.

“Hey. Look at me.” His tone is low, carrying the kind of warmth you’d usually like to lean into, but now all you want is to get away from it. You don’t want to meet those stormy blues.

Bucky’s thumbs are sweeping, so feather-light, over the curve of your jaw, smoothing along the damp trail of your tears, and his voice dips even lower. Softer. He is so close.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Give me somethin’ here.”

It’s not fair that he gets to call you all those sweet names like he means them. Like you mean something. Like it’s not the same word he probably called her and all those others who got to have him, even if only for a night.

“I don’t-” you try, but your voice is trembling and thick with tears, and Bucky’s gaze shadows.

“Don’t what?” he coaxes, leaning in just a little, close enough that his breath skims your skin, warm and stable in a way you aren’t. His fingers slightly move against your cheeks, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

You shake your head again, your hands wrapping around his wrists - not to push him away exactly, but to have something to hold onto. You have no idea what to say.

“It’s- It’s not-” Your words trip over themselves, stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs, tangled up in everything you’ve never let yourself say.

But Bucky just watches you, unreadable things swirling in those impossibly blue eyes. Wary things. Still so damn careful.

He exhales and his hands slide down, skimming the column of your throat, settling against the curve of your neck like he’s grounding you. Holding you both together.

“Doll,” he sighs, and it’s too much.

It’s not teasing. It’s not playful. It’s not easy. Not the charming lilt he likes to throw in his tone.

It’s vulnerable. Tender. Substantial.

“You’re breakin’ my heart here.”

And that’s what has another tear slip over your lashes.

Because you’re breaking his heart?

What does that even mean?

You were the one trying to escape the heartache he caused and now he tells you it’s his heart that hurts?

“Please,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked, gravel thick in his throat. “Just tell me, doll. Tell me what I did. Tell me so I can fix it.”

His lips stay parted, trying to find air, trying to find some kind of solid ground. There is a sheen over his eyes.

“I can’t-” Your voice cracks, but you don’t look away this time. His hands won’t let you. He won’t let you.

His eyes are pleading.

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he urges, dipping closer, voice just a rasp of sound between you. His thumbs wipe away the new tears and he winces while doing it as if it actually causes him pain that they fell.

The streetlight flickers above. It casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth. His fingers flex against your face.

“Is it-” he starts, then stops, then starts again, throat bobbing and voice rough and hesitant. “Is it those girls?”

A shallow gasp slips from your lips. Fractured and tripping over something unseen. Your shoulders grow stiff.

You can’t answer. You only shake your head, not in denial, not in confirmation, but in something else, something tired and so fucking done with feeling like this.

You try to pull back, try to slip free from the heat of his palms, try to turn away. Another tear drops onto the back of his hand.

Your reaction must be answer enough.

Bucky’s head, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s whole body - everything is moving so much, keeping you from slipping away, reaching for you, not letting you go.

A breath. A pause. Like his brain needs an extra moment to process what this all could mean. His breath catches in his throat and you can feel the exact moment he gets it.

The exact moment he realizes.

“Shit,” he breathes, so quiet you almost miss it. His grip tightens. It grows distressed. Despairing. Keeping you from leaving his hold, although you don’t stop trying.

You sob and his hands press into your cheeks, thumbs smoothing away tears like he can erase this, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can go back five minutes, five months, five years, to a time before he made you feel like this.

“Shit, doll, I-” His voice breaks, gravel and regret and anguish - and something so painful - landing with every syllable.

You don’t stop trying to pull back, trying to push him away. You can’t talk. You can’t stop crying. You can’t look at him.

But Bucky is devastated. And he is desperate. And he won’t let you go.

“No, no, don’t - please, Y/n, don’t.” He runs through his words, frantically getting them out, frantically trying to make you look at him.

He reaches your face again and holds on like it’s important. Your tears won’t stop falling. A whimper falls from your lips when you realize he won’t let you leave.

Bucky panics.

His swallow seems to hurt him. Everything he does seems to hurt him.

“Oh, sweetheart - fuck, fuck, I didn’t-” He lets out a rough breath, one of his hands letting go of you to scrub over his face, pushing through his hair in frustration.

Not at you.

At himself.

“Doll, I didn’t - Jesus Christ, I didn’t know.”

It comes out hoarse, scraped down to nothing but feeling. Each word drags from his throat like sandpaper against silence. Coarse and raspy.

And then he’s shaking his head, hands sliding to your shoulders, his hold firm, his eyes darting over your face like he is trying to memorize it, searching for the right words in the curve of your lips, the glisten of your tears, the way your breathing is a single shuddering mess.

“I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean-”

He seems to hold back a scream.

Sucking in another sharp breath, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain, angry at himself, wanting to go back and rewrite everything, tear out every page where he made you feel like you were anything but his.

You wish you could believe it.

“Bucky-” you croak out.

“No, don’t-” His head doesn’t stop shaking. His jaw is clenched tight. Hands shaking against you. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?” Your voice is whisper-thin.

His breath shudders out, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are so earnest. Glossy with a sheen of tears.

“Like it’s over.”

Your throat closes around your next breath, never making it reach your lungs.

Because what is he saying? Nothing ever had the chance to be anything.

“I didn’t know, doll,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I - fuck, I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted you to feel like- I didn’t think you’d-”

He cuts himself off, voice choking.

His hands drop suddenly, like he doesn’t even deserve to hold you anymore. Like the guilt is weighing them down.

And then, unsure and hesitantly, he lifts one of them again and pauses before cupping your face, waiting for something - permission, maybe, or just a sign that you won’t pull away this time.

When you don’t, when you just keep standing there, frozen and broken and bewildered, he lets his palm settle warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down your back.

“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can,” he pleads, like he means it. Like he would do anything. “Tell me what to do, baby. Anything. I’d do anything. Just gotta tell me. Please,” he chokes out.

Cars roll past you. There are voices in the distance. A neon sign flickers. But none of it touches this.

This thing between you.

Bucky’s hand shakes against your cheek. His breath stirs against your skin so ragged and he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, his body curling toward you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just needing to be close.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps out. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Never have you seen Bucky like this. He keeps things easy, keeps things light, and shrugs off pain like it never quite reaches him. But it does now.

It consumes him.

His fingers curl at the back of your neck, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself against you. And when you continue standing there, breath shaky, tears still trembling in your lashes, his whole body sags.

His chest heaves with a breath so deep it sounds like it’s costing him something.

“I never meant for this to happen. Please, believe me.”

His forehead presses harder to yours, seemingly trying to press his words straight into you, that maybe if he gets close enough you’ll feel how much he means them.

And you do. You just don’t know what the hell is going on.

He lets out a sound that resembles a sob. And then you feel the damp heat of a tear where his face brushes against yours.

Bucky is crying.

It breaks you. You don’t know what to do with all this pain. His and yours. Don’t know how to ever let it go.

You pull back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe, to think, to process.

But Bucky’s whole body tenses, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he knew it was coming but it still pains him. Bracing himself for something he already knows is going to hurt. His hands drop to his sides.

And maybe that should give you some kind of satisfaction, a tiny sense of justice for the nights you spent lying awake, wondering if you meant anything to him while he had his hands on someone else.

But it doesn’t.

Because the way he is looking at you, when he cracks his eyes open again, when he meets your gaze with so much open ache, makes your chest hurt. It makes something inside of you quake.

“Bucky,” you start, but your own voice is so small, so lost. You shake your head, scanning his face, trying to piece it together, to make sense of something that refuses to fit. How the tables have turned. You just can’t seem to find the irony in it. “What are you even - I don’t - I don’t I understand.”

His throat bobs, thick and tight, and he pulls in a breath like it’s the last one he’s going to get.

“I love you.”

Your mind blanks. You flatline. Your knees go weak.

He says it like it’s the simplest thing to say. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But it isn’t.

Because if it was then why has he spent all those nights with those seemingly meaningless girls. Why has he let you ache for him while he touched someone else.

“I love you,” he says again, softer, trying to make sure you believe it.

But you don’t know how to.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You feel the words, heavy and warm and terrifying, but your body doesn’t know what to do with them. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to protect yourself, to build the walls back up before it’s too late, but your heart doesn’t listen.

Bucky’s hand trembles when it reaches for you, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t and he steps closer again.

His whole body thrums as if he is scared to touch you but more scared not to. He looks at you with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, so tremendously bare, holding onto your own eyes like he is drowning and you are the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Say something, doll,” he pleads, his voice so unsteady, that it guts you.

But what could you say?

Because love is not supposed to feel like this, to hurt like this. It isn’t supposed to feel like your heart has been split open and stitched back together all in the same breath.

But looking at him and at the way his eyes are just as pleading as his words, at the way he is breaking right in front of you - it makes you wonder if maybe it was hurting him all along, too.

“You-” you begin, voice barely more than a whisper. You have to stop, have to pull in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to settle, have to force your hands to stay at your sides instead of reaching for something - for him - that you don’t know if you can take. “But that-” Another inhale, sharp and broken. Your chest hurts. Your whole body hurts. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Bucky exhales, long and slow and then he drops his head. Shoulders slumping, spine curling, like something inside of him, has just given out.

Guilt.

It sits heavy in his frame, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands jerk like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he mutters, a humorless little laugh escaping, barely more than a breath. He drags a hand down his face, through his hair, before letting it fall uselessly at his side. His voice is lower when he speaks again, raspier, weighed down by something that feels an awful lot like regret. “I know.”

You watch him, waiting. Because he owes you this. Because he cracked open something you weren’t ready for, something you tried to bury, and now you need to understand.

And Bucky must feel that. Because after a beat, after a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at you again.

“I didn’t think I could have you,” he admits, voice quiet. Cautious. The words fragile in his mouth. “Didn’t think I was allowed to even want you. To this extent, anyway.”

Air enters you unevenly, shaking on the way in like a shiver made of sound. “Bucky-”

“You’re my best friend,” he pushes on, stepping in just a fraction, like he can’t help himself. His voice is getting rougher, rawer, like something in him is unwinding too fast for him to stop it. “I didn’t wanna mess that up, y’know? Didn’t wanna lose you over somethin’ I couldn’t control.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something shifts.

“So you-” you swallow, shaking your head, trying to put it together, trying to make sense of it. “So you just went around to go get yourself other girls you can fuck?”

Bucky flinches. Actually flinches.

Gaze dropping in shame, his features form a grimace. “I tried,” he croaks out, gesturing at his chest with one hand. “Tried to stop feeling like this. Tried to move on, tried to-” He exhales sharply, tilting his head side to side, something torn playing out with the movement. “It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked. Didn’t even make it easier. But I was afraid to face it. Really face it. So I just kept going.”

It hurts.

It hurts in a way you don’t know how to hold. Don’t know how to carry.

You thought, for so long, that the way you love him, ache for him, is a one-sided agony.

But he is confessing to you, eyes red and weary, voice splintering, telling you that he’s been afraid to speak it aloud too.

That he loves you, that he tried to kill it, that he thought losing himself in someone else would somehow erase you from his mind.

Bucky’s words are a fist curling around your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It should matter. It should mean something that he’s standing in front of you, breaking apart, pleading for you to understand. Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s telling you it was always you? That no one else ever came close?

But he still touched them.

Still chose them, even if only for a meaningless night.

While you sat in your room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were going insane. While you clenched your fists so tight beneath your sheets at night, biting your tongue, swallowing it down, because Bucky is your friend and friends don’t ache like this.

And yet, he is telling you, showing you, he aches too.

But instead of sitting with it, instead of letting it consume him the way it consumed you, he tried to make it disappear.

He tried to fuck it away.

And now he looks at you like you are the only thing that has ever mattered, like the ground beneath his feet, is unsteady, like he is afraid you are going to bolt at any second.

You feel like the ground beneath your feet shits a fraction of an inch, not enough to send you falling, but enough to make you question if you were ever standing solid in the first place.

“But, doll, it-” he rushes forward, watching your pain, stepping into your space until there is barely anything between you. “It never meant anything. Swear to god, none of ‘em ever meant something to me.” His hands wrap around yours, squeezing, grounding, begging. “They weren’t you. Couldn’t be you. Didn’t matter how hard I tried, how many times I told myself to stop thinking about you because you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I wanted so much more than that - it didn’t matter. Nothin’ worked.”

He is struggling to force the words out, but he does. And they leave him with a catch in his voice. Faltering.

“I thought about you, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time.” His voice turns frantic and he leans in to make it convince you. He watches your lips tremble and shakes his head quickly. “Thought about how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”

Your breath stalls.

Bucky swallows, taking a quick pause but continuing, voice growing softer. Lower. Reverent. “Tried to picture you instead. How you’d look under me, wrapped around me. So goddamn beautiful.” His voice cracks. “But it wasn’t you. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.”

He stumbles over his words, afraid of saying too much, of pushing too far, or admitting too much - but it doesn’t stop hurting.

Even if you know it might not be fair.

But the thought of him with them, the thought of his hands gripping someone else’s skin, his lips murmuring something soft against someone else’s throat - it makes you sick.

And he sees it.

You try to blink back another wave of tears.

His hands are on your face again, thumbs swiping furiously at your damp cheeks like he can rub the hurt away.

“Please tell me I didn’t ruin this.” His voice cracks through the words, the panic breaking through. Your silence seems to suffocate him, squeezing his ribs until there is no space left for air.

“I’m so sorry, baby! I wish I could take it all back. I would.” His bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it before continuing. “Tell me I can fix this. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do. Anything.”

You blink rapidly, vision swimming, breath hiccuping in your throat. You don’t know if there is anything to fix, if there was ever anything there, to begin with, but he is looking at you like there was. Like there is. Like it is still hanging in the air between you, waiting to be caught, waiting to be named.

And you want to catch it. To press it to your heart and cherish it.

But the wounds are fresh. Still bleeding. Still open.

The images you conjured up in your mind, him with all those girls. The sounds of him bringing one after the other home - the routine.

The giggling. The keys. The apartment door. More giggling. His chuckles. The hallway. His bedroom door. The goodbyes. The mornings.

But worst of all is that you can’t even blame him.

Because what was he supposed to do? Wait for something that was never promised? Hold out hope for something that was never offered?

You had no claim on him.

But still, you hate how he tried to fuck you out of his system. Hate that he couldn’t, that he’s standing here now, telling you it was all for nothing, that you were always in his head, in his bones, and that that somehow is supposed to make it better.

You don’t know if it does now. But you hope - you hope so dearly - that it will get better. If he’ll stick with you.

“No more girls.” The words choke out of you, weak and broken, barely a breath. But he jolts like you have screamed them.

“Never,” he breathes immediately, shaking his head as if to get rid of his own images, gripping you tighter, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, his eyes burning through yours. “No more, baby. No one else. Not ever.”

Your breath catches, body sways.

There is a burn behind your ribs, not quite pain, but not far from it. It is something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Too quick. Too uneven.

“Only you,” he adds, his forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, his breath warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they hold you. “It’s only ever been you.”

Heat rises up your throat, something between nausea and electricity, a burst of too much all at once.

“I got a lot to make up for.” His tone is unraveling at the seams. But it sounds firmer now. Convicted. “I know that. I know I- fuck, I screwed this up before I even knew I had a chance. And that’s on me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, because it’s too much - his voice, his touch, the way he is looking at you like you hung the damn moon when you’ve spent years feeling invisible to him in the way that mattered.

“I don’t wanna rush this, alright?”

You blink up at him. Your chest feels stretched too tight, as if the ribs themselves are holding onto something they shouldn’t, something too large, something too consuming.

“I don’t wanna mess this up more than I already have. I don’t wanna push or expect anythin’ from you - I just wanna do this right. For you.” His voice wavers on the last word, still scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of losing something he only just realized he had. “You understand me?”

You nod wordlessly. Almost feeling hypnotized by him. His eyes are so intense. So full.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this, hopin’ for this - Christ, I don’t even know how long.”

Your stomach flips, something curling in your stomach at the heaviness of his confession, at the realization that you weren’t alone in this. Maybe never have been.

“And now that it’s happenin’ - now that I have you, even if I don’t deserve it - I wanna take my time. I wanna make this good for you. Have to. I have to make this right,” he says, voice filled with something gravelly, rough like something barely holding together.

His fingers slide over your jaw, tracing along the column of your throat, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.

“And I hate-” his voice falters, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. “I hate that it’s happening like this. That I hurt you first. That I didn’t see this sooner.”

“Bucky-”

He cuts you off with his eyes and a shake of his head.

“Please I- I gotta do this. Gotta say this, baby.”

You nod.

He closes his eyes again for a moment like he wants to go back and shake his past self by the shoulders, tell him to wake the hell up and stop hurting the one girl he ever cared about.

He continues, voice hoarse. “I would do anything to make this different. Better. The way you deserve.”

Your breath is shallow, not quite catching, but hovering just short of where it should be, as if your body can’t decide whether to brace itself for collapse.

You’ve spent so long breaking for him, wanting him in ways he never seemed to want you back. But now he is pouring his heart out and asking for something he already has but isn’t sure he is worthy of.

“You don’t gotta say anythin’ right now, doll,” Bucky whispers. Afraid of scaring you off. “I know I shoulda told you sooner.” He grimaces, disgusted with himself. “I shoulda known sooner. I was so fuckin’ stupid. So fuckin’ blind.”

You don’t even notice you started leaning further into him.

Bucky stares at you for a moment. You look back.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Whispers really. He exhales shakily and you feel the breath fan along your cheeks. “But I swear to God, I will.”

You don’t weigh the hurt against the want, don’t let the war in your head talk you out of your next move.

Your hands reach up, curling into the fabric of his shirt and before he can say anything else - before he can tear himself apart further - you kiss him.

And for a split second, Bucky freezes.

Not believing this is happening, not expecting it even after everything he just told you.

But then, he exhales this soft and quivering breath against your lips, relief knocking the air out of his lungs.

One hand flies to your waist, pulling you in, the other threading into your hair. He kisses you back like he is starving, like he has been dying for this, like he can’t believe you are real and this moment is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought he’d get to have.

And he is so warm. So solid. His lips move against yours, soft and slow at first - savoring you, afraid to go too fast, to push too much. But when you let out a little sigh and your fingers tighten, Bucky melts, pressing in closer, enveloping you in his arms in a way that has you feeling he tries to make sure you never go anywhere else again.

He breathes you in like you are something holy, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. He is not forceful. He takes what he can get and he cherishes it. Like he said, he wants to take his time with you. It makes you fall in love with him even more.

It’s like he can’t believe you are even letting him have this. But he kisses you with a hope and a determination that this will not be the only time he gets to have this.

And when you pull back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more. You feel the way his chest rises and falls against your own, the way his breath shakes, the way his grip does not loosen at all.

“Jesus, doll,” he rasps, panting. “You tryna kill me?”

And the way he says it, the way he looks at you, so full of longing and desire and relief makes you realize that maybe he’s been suffering just as much as you have.

“I want you. It’s as simple as that. I’ve spent a great deal too much of my life already trying to convince myself that I can make do with less but I can’t. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not giving up. A life without you is not enough.”

- Beau Taplin

horny thoughts only

Sebastian Stan filming Captain America: Civil War.

It Happened-Chapter 5: Adventure Time

Word Count: 1818

You had spoken to Fury over the phone before leaving, letting him know that you would need to be off duty for a while due to your pregnancy. You had decided against telling him about your leaving the compound. You figured the less people that knew, the better. The hairs on your arms and the back of your neck stood on end, at the thought of one the many enemies the Avengers have faced, finding out about you carrying Captain America’s child. You shook the thought from your head, knowing you would die before you would allow anyone to harm the offspring of you and Steve.

As you headed out of your bedroom, you were slightly disappointed when you saw that Steve wasn’t there to see you off. You steeled yourself in the fact that you and he needed to think things through to make sure the baby would be raised in a safe & healthy environment. You looked around the room one last time, and a good memory swam to the front of your thoughts. Smiling to yourself over the pleasant reminder, you opened the door to leave and almost ran smack into Wanda. Your eyes darted to her hands, that were holding her own luggage. Your smile faltered as you realized that she wanted to come with you. “Wanda, I think you should stay here. The team can’t afford to have us both gone.” Wanda shook her head in disagreement, “Y/N, the next couple of months are going to be a trying time for you. Are you sure you want do it alone?” “Yes, Wanda I’m sure. I just need some time to figure everything out, I won’t be gone long. Plus I’ll check in with you often and keep our mental connection open so that you can pop in on me whenever you want.” Wanda looked at you unconvinced, “Promise?” You held out your pinky to your sister from another mister, as a sign of good faith. You both tightly clenched your pinkies together, swearing to keep in touch until your return. After sharing a tight hug, you turned away and headed for the garage. You dumped your belongings into your Black Audi TTS Coupe, hopping into the driver’s seat you started the engine as a quick reminder ran across your mind. Courtesy of ever nosy Tony Stark, every car in the compounds garage had tracking equipment placed on them, for just in case reasons per Pre-HYDRA, SHIELD protocol. You knew if you left them in, Steve or Bucky would easily be able to find you if they wanted to. You hopped out and made quick work of snatching out every tracker that you knew of in your car. You walked over and placed them on Steve’s motorcycle, you then looked down at your cell phone knowing that the one in your phone couldn’t be removed. You placed it on the bike with the other trackers and hopped back into your car. Revving the engine, you exited the garage and put the compound, your teammates, Bucky, and Steve in your rearview mirror to quickly drift away. * * * Steve, Natasha and Bucky were still seated in your and Steve’s apartment at a stalemate when FRIDAY broke the awkward silence. “Captain Rogers, your wife has exited the compound.” Steve blew out the breath he unknowingly held, “FRIDAY, can you turn on the trackers in her car and cell phone. I at least want to know where she is, in case of an emergency.” Natasha began to shake her head knowingly when FRIDAY uttered a quick response to Steve’s request. “I’m sorry Captain, but she removed the trackers before leaving, they are currently located on your bike along with Mrs. Rogers cell phone.” Bucky began to chuckle lightly, bringing Steve and Natasha’s attention to him. “What is so damn funny?” Steve said to the man, his voice unable to hide his annoyance. “You are Steve,” Buck replied with a smug grin. “…for being the amateur that you are at tracking Y/N. That’s what’s funny.” He stood and puffed out his chest slightly, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. pull up Y/N’s locket tracker.” “Yes, Sergeant Barnes.” The A.I. had a holographic screen presented, showing a blue-colored dot moving at a steady pace along the New York state outskirts. Steve stared at the man in shock, “You had a tracker put on my wife?” Bucky’s metal arm plates began to shift, annoyance clear on his face, “NO, I put a tracker into my girlfriend’s locket before you stole her from me!” The two men glared at each other across the coffee table. Natasha had, had enough of the testosterone volleying through the room. “Okay, we’ve already established that you both are very overprotective of Y/N. Can you two hash out your issues now?” Steve and Bucky looked away from each other, their faces still holding stern looks. Natasha sighed slightly at their stubbornness. “If you two don’t find some middle ground to agree on and move forward, I don’t see this ending well for everyone.” Both men looked at her in annoyance, knowing that she was right. They turned their glares back to one another. Steve huffed out a breath and spoke first. “Why Buck? Why Y/N? You could have any woman in the world, you already have one of the best.” Steve glanced briefly at Natasha, giving her a soft smile. His gaze returned to his best friend, “Why are you trying to steal my wife?” Bucky slid forward and leaned across the table, facing Steve. “I told you before, she was mine and you stole her first.” Steve scrunched his face up in disgust, “Buck, do you hear yourself right now?” As the two men began to quarrel loudly over one another, Natasha stepped in once again. “STOP!”, she yelled. The men’s discussion had ceased, but they continued to stare at one another. “You two are still arguing, instead of trying to understand one another. Let’s not go over what we already know. You two need to come to an agreement on what’s going to happen from here on out.” Natasha walked over to where Steve was sitting. She stood behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, she moved her mouth near his neck and kissed him gently there, feeling Steve’s body tense up. She looked back up at James, his eyes barely hiding their glare at his wife’s actions. She whispered into Steve’s ear, knowing James’s serum enhanced hearing would hear her message loud and clear. “Didn’t your mothers ever teach you two how to share?”, she winked at her husband. Steve looked up at Natasha with confusion spread across his face. She rolled her eyes at him and walked around to the front of his chair, taking a seat in his lap. “James, you had every intention of including Y/N in our relationship, if she had agreed to it. And we all know Steve clearly still wants to sleep with me.” She watched as his eyes searched the floor as if the answer were located there. Natasha turned her attention back to Steve “Y/N gave you permission to have sex with me.” She ran her fingers through his hair, and looked at him questioningly, “Why can’t we all just share?” Steve opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, at a loss for words. He looked over to his friend and saw that Bucky looked to be giving Natasha’s idea actual thought. As if it was only a passing thought, Bucky’s eyes quickly fell back on to his wife. “And you think that I am just going to allow you to sleep with Steve? So, he can take you from me, too?” Natasha shook her head, “James you are not allowing me to do anything, Y/N is ok with Steve and I sleeping together. You clearly aren’t going to let Y/N go, you have to be able to give and take.” “S…ss...so, we’d all be sleeping together?” Steve questioned Natasha, his cheeks turning slightly pink under her gaze. “We don’t have to make it a group thing if you don’t want to, but we can be with each other whenever we want, sort of like an open relationship, except it’s only open to the 4 of us. Think about it Steve, I know you and Y/N have some things to work out once she comes back, but do you honestly want to not be with her anymore?” Steve shook his head, he didn’t want Y/N to leave in the first place, much less to divorce the present love of his life. Now that he knew they were expecting a child, it only reinforced that for him, he had absolutely no intention of leaving his wife. He still couldn’t explain the sexual desire that pulled him to Natasha, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut instead of rambling about it to Sharon. He’d hoped that telling the woman would keep her from coming on to him while he was at her residence, but it only seemed to slightly stall the blond. Natasha could read from his eyes that he was going to go along with it, she then turned back to her husband. “So, James, are you willing to comply?” He gave a firm nod to his wife, letting her know he would allow her to sleep with Steve. Bucky got up and walked over to where she and Steve sat. He bent slightly and gave her a deep lingering kiss on the lips, as Steve looked on. Rubbing his thumb gently across the apple of her cheek, he then gave a nod of okay to Steve as he stalked out of the room. He thought back to what Natasha had mentioned earlier about “giving and taking”. He would need to give a little in order to get what he really wanted…YOU, he wouldn’t be completely ok until you were back at the compound, safe in his arms. He still loved you, as much as he loved his wife, she understood his desire for you. Natasha had still agreed to marry him, even with the knowledge that one day, it would be the three of you sharing a bed. James hadn’t accounted for Steve to interfere with his plans, but now he knew that getting you to leave Steve would be extremely difficult, if not impossible. Unless you personally made the decision yourself, he would have to accept the terms as they were. He made it to his and Natasha’s bedroom and shut the door. Taking out his phone, he pulled up your tracker, seeing that you had stopped only two hours away. He knew it was probably just a temporary stop. He decided then, not to allow Steve or his wife to be a distraction from keeping watch over you. He would bring you home if it was the last thing that he did.

Tags: @iheartsebastianstan

It Happened-Chapter 4: Huh?

Word Count: 2039

You turned around, eyes glued to the floor, you couldn’t will yourself to look Steve in the face. You tried to walk around him, but he stopped you before you could make it out of his reach.

“Y/N, don’t walk away from me. I’m not going to ask you again…are you pregnant?” His eyes were willing you to look at him.

You sighed, you weren’t in the mood to talk about this right now, you just wanted to shut yourself off from the world. “Yea, Steve, I am.”

His head dropped as he ran a hand down his face, like all the stress of the world had fallen on him. “Please tell me the baby isn’t Bucky’s?” His voice falters for a second, “It’s mines, right?”

Your head snapped up, you couldn’t believe he would think you’d hurt him on that kind of level. What kind of person did he think you were? Probably the type that Sharon said you were. Before you could reply, Bucky spoke up.

“For Christ's sake Steve, after all the crap that ditzy ass dame just spewed out of her mouth, that’s what the fuck you want to talk about?”

Steve turned and stared angrily at Bucky, “I wouldn’t have to ask my wife any of this if you would have kept your fucking paws off her.”

“She shouldn’t have been your wife in the first fucking place.” Bucky roared back.

They started to walk towards each other, both men amped up and ready to strike. Wanda, bless the darling, had enough initiative to use her powers to stop them in place before they reached each other.

Sam held his hands out on either side to both men, “Okay, you four…” he briefly eyed the two couples, “…need to have a sit-down and talk to each other, before someone gets hurt any further or worse. Do you need me to mediate?”

“No, I think we all can agree to be civil, for the baby’s sake at least.” Natasha had spoken out of nowhere, she’d been silent the whole time, save for her comment to Sharon.

Your thought to leave still nagged at you, but you knew this talk had to happen or it was never going to. You also had your own questions that you needed answered. You proceeded to walk towards your bedroom, Steve grabbed your hand as you made your way. You snatched it back, being all lovey-dovey was the furthest thing from your mind at the moment.

You sat on the bed, as Steve made his way to the chair nearest you, you watched as Bucky came and took a seat on the couch. Natasha shut the door behind her and went to sit near Bucky, but he pulled her into his lap.

Your eyebrows shot up and you snorted lightly at the gesture. These men and their possessiveness, you thought to yourself.

No one spoke for what felt like an eternity and you were getting antsy. “So, are we just going to sit here brooding, or are we going to actually talk?” you said to no one in particular.

Steve looked at you, “Is the baby mines Y/N?”

“We didn’t make love until after you knocked her up,” Bucky emphasized, contempt laced his voice.

Steve looked at him with a fire lit in his eyes, then back to you. “So, you had sex with him, even though you knew you were pregnant?”

You could hear the anger in his voice, but you had to take your medicine no matter how bitter. “Yes”, was all you could meekly get out.

Steve huffed and cracked his knuckles, “How can you say love me, and do all of this to me, to our child?”

You shook your head, willing yourself not to cry, “Steve I made a mistake, I’m sorry.”

Bucky sighed, “It wasn’t a mistake Y/N, I know you still love me. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have let it happen.” Your eyes turned to fire at his words, heat coursing through your veins, you charged up toward him.

“Why do you insist on ruining my life, you left me to be with her.” You pointed to Natasha, “What is it, huh, do you hate me that much that you can’t stand the sight of me being happy with someone else?”

Bucky’s face fell at your comment, “You think I hate you, after all of this, after what I told you that night?” He tried to reach for your hand but you stepped back.

Steve spoke up from where he was, “So, why?” Steve walked over to Bucky, stepping in front of you, his body shielding you from Bucky. “Bucky you’re my God damn best friend, why would you do this to me?”

Bucky huffed as his eyes shifted towards the ground, unable to look Steve in the face. “You think it was easy for me to watch you take my gal and marry her?” Steve looked at you from over his shoulder then back at Bucky. “You didn’t even hesitate, did you? Steve, you sit here acting like I betrayed you, but you betrayed me first. I would never date one of your girls.”

“So, because it’s me and not some guy you don’t know, that’s why you did this. You don’t hate me or her, you just don’t want us together?” Steve spoke, trying to get an understanding of what was going through Bucky’s head.

“That’s not fair, to me or Steve. Bucky, you’re making it like we were still together when Steve and I started dating. You let me go, I was free to date who I wanted.” You shifted to Steve’s side, your hand trembling, you slowly grabbed a hold of his hand to show Bucky. You feared Steve would move away from your touch.

Bucky eyes darted to your hands interlocked with Steve’s, then to Steve’s face and finally to yours, staring into your eyes like he was trying to touch your soul. “Once mine, always mine. I thought after you saw everything that happened between Natalia and me, since our finding each other again, that you’d understand that doll.” Steve’s grip tightened on your hand, it isn’t painful, but it's uncomfortable.

“Then, I overhear that she’s carrying your baby, instead of mines, Steve you had to have known that would fuck with me on the inside.”

You looked weirdly at him, you hadn’t told him until after you two had, had sex. Seeing the confused look on your face, he explained. “I heard your conversation with Dr. Cho when I was near the labs the day you found out. I knew I had to do something then, before you told Steve about the baby or I was never going to get my Y/N back.”

Hesitation showed in his demeanor, while Natasha had, had enough. “Just tell them already James, you sound like a villain laying out their master plan, before killing their enemy.”

Your eyes darted to Natasha and back to him, she was being weirdly calm about the whole situation. It irked your whole entire being. Bucky sighed, “Y/N I had planned to ask you to become my…” he looked at Natasha and then back to you. “Our girlfriend.” He gestured to him and Natasha, “I was trying to give you some time to deal with everything and let your feelings settle down, but before I could get the chance to ask you, Steve and you had started dating. I tried to wait until you two fell apart on your own, but then you,” he pointed at Steve “just had to go and marry her.”

You and Steve stood there wide-eyed and temporarily flabbergasted, though you recovered quicker than Steve. “So, hold up, let me get this straight, you thought you’d just ask me to become a threesome with you and your wife, who you cheated on me with and that I’d say yes and pop out however many babies you wanted and that it would all be fine and hunky-dory???”

Natasha came to Bucky’s side and held his hand, she rallied in his defense. “No, he loves you Y/N, we would all be equal partners, an actual polyamorous relationship, not just sex and mating.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing and from her of all people. Steve apparently had heard enough. “Natasha, you can’t be seriously condoning this?” Suddenly you remembered your questions from earlier and snatched your hand back from Steve.

“You’re worried about her condoning this, but you have yet to explain why the fuck you were at Sharon’s all week, and discussing fucking Natasha, with her.” You huffed at the end, suddenly winded from getting all that out. You stepped away and turned to face Steve, staring into his eyes. “Did you sleep with her?”

Steve scoffed, “No, God how could you think I’d do something like that to you?”

You walk up to him slowly, “You disappear for a week, without telling a soul where you’re at, turns out you’re staying at your ex’s…”

“She’s NOT my ex!” Steve yells, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

Your eyebrows shot up, “Oh, I’m sorry, I mean your “flunky". You roll your eyes, “Turns out you’re at her home this whole time, sharing deep secrets with her like you’re at summer camp.” You began to pace the floor, “Like the fact that you have a past with your best friend’s wife, that you didn’t feel obligated to share with him or me, and let’s not forget the cherry on top of this fucked up sundae-you still want to fuck her.”

“It wasn’t like that Y/N, I was just blowing off some steam.” Steve stepped back and fell into the couch.

You scoffed, crossing the short distance between you two, you looked him dead in the eyes. “Do you want to fuck Natasha?”

He stared at you silently, you didn’t have to search his eyes long to get the answer, his silence didn’t help either. You turned away shaking your head, with a small laugh. Steve was always easy to read, and it seemed to have gotten impossible for him to lie to you at all since you two had gotten married.

You muttered, “Go ahead.”

“What?” was everyone’s response, you’d forgotten that Bucky and Natasha were even in the room.

You turned to face Steve, so he wouldn’t miss hearing you a second time. “I said go ahead, fuck her. I won’t stop you.” Steve looked at you in shock, Bucky sat with his mouth gaped open like a fish and Natasha’s face held her usual look of indifference. Steve tried to speak, but you held up your hand to stop him, you softened your demeanor.

“It’s ok Steve, really, it’s only fair.” You walked up to him and touched the side of his face gently, “It seems like we both were just trying to replace someone we lost, and that isn’t love, Steve. I think we need some time apart, it would help us figure out if that’s all this is, or if our relationship is more than just that.”

Steve stood up, shaking his head in disagreement, “No Y/N, I just found out your pregnant, you can’t just leave.”

“Steve, I’m pregnant, not handicap. I’m not leaving forever, I just need to clear my head, there’s a lot going on that I’m trying to process.” You squeezed his hand to reassure him.

Natasha chimed in, “Y/N my 2 cents may not be worth much here, but being pregnant and alone doesn’t seem like the greatest idea.”

You looked at her with a smirk on your face, “Thanks Nat, but I’ll manage.” You turned to walk past Bucky to get to your room to collect your things. Bucky reached out and held onto your hand. “Doll, please don’t go.”

You snatched away from him. “STOP!” You saw him step back, sadness shown in his blue eyes. You wriggled & twisted your hands in one another, “You’ve done…” You shook your head, “We’ve done enough already.” You continued to your bedroom and locked the door behind you.

Bucky fell into the seat across from Steve, they both sat still, with looks of defeat across their faces, so Nat cleared her throat to get their attention. “So…what now fellas?”

Tags: @iheartsebastianstan

It Happened-Chapter 3: Oh Shit!?!

Word Count: 4044

You felt the presence of someone in your room even before opening your eyes. You sat up slowly and looked to the end of your bed, at the figure standing at the foot of your bed. You focused your eyes and realized it was Steve staring back at you. He didn’t make a move to come towards you, as you stared back at him, it was as if he was staring into the depths of your soul. Your staring contest continued for what felt like hours, so you tried to break the stalemate by crawling towards Steve. Steve held out his hands to stop you from coming closer, you froze in place and watched as Steve rounded the bed on the left side. He sat on the edge of the bed, with his back facing you.

You wanted to reach out to your husband so badly, but you knew he didn’t want to be touched, correction you knew he didn’t want to be touched by you. It hurt you to see him look at you like you were a stranger, unrecognizable to him. You saw his back raise up as he took in a deep breath, finally he spoke.

“Why? Why did you cheat on me?”

You looked up from your lap, taking your own deep breath as tears began to fall down your face. “I made a mistake Steve; I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Steve shook his head lightly laughing in between sniffles, “That much is obvious, but it still doesn’t explain why. I want to know why you chose to sleep with my best friend, of all people Y/N, knowing your married to me. Did I do something to make you want to do this? Are you not happy with me anymore?”

You couldn’t take it anymore, you felt awful that Steve even had the insane notion that he was the reason for your adultery. You hopped off the bed, onto the floor, and kneeled in front of Steve. Looking up into his eyes, bloodshot and tear-filled, you had to get him to see that this wasn’t at all his fault. “Steve, listen to me, you make me happy and there was nothing that you did to cause me to cheat.” You grabbed onto his hands and squeezed them, “Steve this is on me, I did wrong on my own accord.”

Steve stood up slowly from the bed and looked down on you, “Then why (Y/N)?” You looked up at Steve, unsure of what to say. How to explain that you didn’t plan to cheat on him, that it just happened. “Steve, I don’t have an explanation for why I did it, it was selfish on my part. I didn’t stop to think about how it would affect our relationship…” “MARRIAGE (Y/N),” Steve shouted to interrupt you, “Our marriage…” Steve sat back down on the bed and rubbed his hand down his face in frustration.  You kept your head down, tears were streaming down your face as you focused on your hands as they lay on your knees, unable to look Steve in the eye. You knew where this conversation was going, you and Steve were going to separate and get a divorce. This was it; the terrible repercussions of your incident were here to roost. Steve reached down and lifted your head with his hand so that he could see into your face. You looked at him, seeing the hurt and distrust in his eyes, you knew what he was trying to do but could see the difficulty he was having in saying it. You steeled yourself to do it, not wanting to drag this out any longer than it had to be. “Steve, I know we’re going to be getting a divorce, but I don’t want it to turn into a long dragged out mess.” You were surprised by the smirk that crossed his face; it wasn’t one of fun. “Who told you we were getting a divorce?” His smirk fell into a snarl, “Is that what you want? Is that why you did this, so I would leave you so you can try to be with Bucky again?” “No, that isn’t why I did it, Steve, I just figured…” you muttered cut off by Steve again. “Do you love me (Y/N)?” He began to walk around you slowly. “Yes Steve, I do love you, despite my actions.” You looked at him as he made his way to your other side. “Are you in love with him?” He asked quieter, as he began to walk back around you. “No, no I am not in love with James.” Your body trembled as you said it as if to show you were unsure of your answer. Steve bent down to your right ear and whispered, “Prove it.” You looked to him not sure of what he meant. He could tell from your eyes that you didn’t understand what he meant. “If you truly love me, and are only in love with me then prove it (Y/N), cause right now I don’t believe you.” Your mind began to race, how can you prove to him, this man that was too good for you, that you loved him and only him. “What can I do to prove it to you, Steve?” He stepped up close behind you, to the point you could feel his chest and stiff cock against your backside. He stripped your clothes off quickly, leaving you standing there naked. “Lay down.”

You climbed into bed and laid back, looking on as Steve stripped out of his clothes. He crawled up your body until his knees were on either side of your head. He grabbed himself and stroked slowly, precum beading on the end of his cock. He looked down at you, your eyes soft and shaded by your lashes. “Suck.” He said, and with that simple word you took him into your mouth. Suckling on his cock as if it were an orange and yellow, Big Stick popsicle. You moved your neck as much as you could from the angle you were in, desperately bobbing you focused your attention on the head. You massaged it, curving the flat of your tongue around the underside, then moved the tip of your tongue, into the opening in his cock that was wet with precum. Steve moaned and continued stroking himself quickly, until you felt him unload, the cum sliding down the back of your throat. He slid himself out of your mouth and looked down at you, the both of you panting and trying to catch a breath.

He shimmied down your body, resting his thighs over your hips. He leaned down and kissed you deeply, a tear rolled down your cheek. You missed this closeness and intimacy with your husband, even though you know you didn’t deserve it. He’d only been gone a week, but it felt like forever to you. Many questions were running through your head regarding his absence, though you decided that now wasn’t the time to discuss that. Equally distracted by your thoughts and his kisses, you hadn’t noticed that Steve had handcuffed your arms above your head, to the headboard. You tried to pull down on both arms, then looked back at Steve. He smirked at seeing the realization on your face and leaned down to your ear, his warm breath making you shiver. “You know you’re mine, right?” “You are my WIFE.” Steve lined his cock up with the entrance to your pussy and slowly pushed in, he began at a steady pace, not brutal but focused. “You cut me down to my core when you told me you had sex with Bucky.” You heard his breath catch and a tear drop touched your cheek, Steve rose above you, allowing you to be able to see the tears slipping from his eyes. “My best friend Y/N…” You began to cry, seeing him in distress and being the cause of that pain was crushing you. Steve wiped the tears from his eyes, then he reached down and wiped your tears away with his thumb. “We made a promise to each other, ‘til death do us part, Y/N. I have no problem fighting for what belongs to me…” Steve reached down and wrapped his right hand around your neck, he didn’t apply any pressure, but you could feel that he had a firm hold on you. “…so, I will not allow you to run, just because we’re having problems. I love you and we are going to fix this.”

Steve had a darkness in his eyes you hadn’t seen before, dominance and control rolling off him, willing you to submit to him. This wasn’t his commander air that you and the team were accustomed to seeing, this even bypassed the usual primal air he displayed in bed on occasion. This was something more…possessive. He began to pump in and out of you, making you feel every inch of him. He tried out different angles until he got the specific sound, he wanted out of you, something between a whimper and a high-pitched hiccup. He continued hitting your sweet spot, quickly bringing your orgasm out of you with a loud cry. Your eyes lids sat low as you watched Steve work for his own release, they fluttered closed as the last image you saw or rather felt, was Steve nipping and suckling your neck. A deep, peaceful sleep over took you, worn out from the emotional stress and physical activities of the night.

You awoke the next morning to a pleasant feeling, a familiar tightness building in your body. You blinked your eyes rapidly and looked down your body to see, Steve feasting on your pussy like it was his last meal. Working his tongue expertly over your clit, you felt your climax coming. You gripped on to his hair, riding out the snap as it washed over your already wrecked body. Steve came up for air after lapping at your last remaining juices, grinning like a kid on Christmas. You panted, sitting up on your elbows to stare at him wide-eyed. “Good morning kitten.” Steve said kissing you passionately. “Um...good morning, Daddy.” You looked at Steve, trying to figure out what was in the air.

Something about him was different you were sure, but couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Suddenly the urge to pee hit you, you made a move to get out of bed, but Steve reached out to stop you. “Where are you going?” You looked back at him in mock shock, “Hubby I need to pee, like yesterday!” You pulled away quickly and ran into the bathroom, sitting there and blissfully thinking that everything might be alright. While you were washing your hands, you looked up at the mirror and screamed in terror. There in your reflection was your body, littered with hickies. Steve casually walked into the bathroom and asked you what was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” you snapped. “Look at me, I look like I have some kind of skin condition.” You began to paw at your body, touching your neck and rubbing down your chest and arms. Steve stood behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. He smirked at you in the mirror, “No, you look like you belong to someone who loves you very, very much. Now come on we have to get ready for breakfast.” He moved to kiss your neck, and you dipped out of his reach. You turned to him, looking at him with worry in your eyes. “Steve, I can’t go outside our room looking like this, they’re everywhere.” Steve looked at you and tilted his head to the side, “Why would you need to cover them up? We’re married, everyone knows this, so what is there to be ashamed of?” You shook your head, not believing this was coming out of Steve’s mouth. “Or maybe…you don’t want Bucky to see them.” Your head snapped up at that remark, you looked at Steve with tears beginning to brim in your eyes. “Steve that isn’t it.”

He pulled you into a hug, “Kitten I told you we’re going to fix this, this is just the beginning.” “Now come on, we have somethings to get to after breakfast. I’ve picked out your clothes and they’re on the bed when we get out of the shower.” You heard Steve turn on the shower, and he helped you in, but your mind was far away from your current location. You knew Steve was feeling jaded, and that this current act was just his possessive way of claiming you, but you weren’t sure how to fix the situation. You dwelled on the divorce you thought was on the horizon that you hadn’t even thought about what could be done to salvage your marriage. You now had to follow his lead, and hope that there would be a light at the end of the tunnel.

You both stepped out of the shower, toweled off and went to get dressed, you put on the clothes Steve had picked out for you, something you had long since put away when you and Steve had decided to be exclusive. The type of clothes Steve felt were too revealing before, were now your go-to outfit this morning. You looked in the mirror, every mark would be visible except the ones where the sun doesn’t shine. Steve grabbed your hand, pulling you away from the mirror. “You ready kitten?” You looked at him and back towards the mirror, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

You both walked out, Steve slightly in front of you and made it to the common room floor. When you two stepped out, you heard everyone’s voices go quiet. You weren’t sure if it was shock over seeing Steve back after being MIA for a week or if it was your appearance. “Good morning,” Steve said to everyone, he sat down and pulled you down, into his lap. “Uh hey, Steve, glad to see your back,” Sam spoke up first, his eyes glued on the two of you. You could feel everyone staring at your body, trying to make sense of what exactly they were seeing. “So…um…I see you had a, ah…good vacation?”, Tony fumbled for words, you knew it looked as bad as you thought if it was making Tony Stark stutter. “Yea just needed some time to figure everything out.” That was all Steve gave everyone, he rubbed your back which pulled you out of your thoughts. “Kitten, will you fix my plate for me?” “Sure,” you replied and started piling different foods on to his plate. You then walked over towards the counter to make him a cup of coffee. Wanda approached you and touched your arm, a look of concern on her face. “Y/N, are you ok?”, you looked at her and smiled nervously. “Yea, I’m ok.” You replied with a strained smile. She leaned in closer, her voice just above a whisper, “Then why haven’t you told him about the baby yet?” You looked at her wide-eyed, snapping your mind shut to her. You weren’t upset with her, you and her having some similar mental abilities it was bound to happen on occasion that either of you would see the others thought’s clear as day, even at a distance.

“Well with everything that’s happened, I wasn’t sure if telling him would have been a good or bad thing.” Steve looked back to where the two of you were. You looked back at Wanda as you made your way towards Steve. “We can talk at the table; I won’t block you out.” This made her give you a big smile, as she made her way back to the table. As you approached you hadn’t noticed when Sharon slipped into the room, but there she was sitting in between Natasha and Pepper. Which happened to be directly across from Steve, “oh joy” you thought. As you put the coffee down at the table, you went to sit next to Steve, which would have put you across from Bucky, but your hubby pulled you into his lap again. You noticed Sharon’s lip twitch at the gesture.

Agent 13 was another female you didn’t quite care for, you knew she and Steve had, had a thing a while back before you joined the team, but the way Steve put it, they only kissed once and nothing else materialized from it. You didn’t even see the woman often enough to call her an acquaintance, but whenever she did see you, she always threw dirty looks your way. Today, she was grinning at you across the table. “Why is your ex smiling at me like that?”, you whispered into Steve’s ear. He didn’t even bother to look in Sharon’s direction. “We kissed ONE time, that doesn’t make her my ex, and I don’t know why she’s doing that, just ignore her”, Steve replied calmly. You gritted your teeth, “Well she needs to stop before I slap that stupid grin off her face.” You rolled your eyes at her and proceeded to mentally converse with Wanda, but were interrupted by Tony.

“So, I’ll bite the bullet, because my curiosity is eating me up here, and I’m sure everyone else wants to know…what’s going on with your skin Y/N?” You could see the smirk he was trying, but failing to hide. “They’re passion marks, Tony. Don’t you recognize them, or has it been that long since you’ve been allowed to give one?” That little jab got most of the table laughing except for Carter and Bucky. The latter you didn’t dare look at. Partially from fear of what you’d see in his eyes and the other part of you afraid of what Steve would do if he caught you. “We just got a little carried away last night.” “Whose we? Clint chimed in, “Steve hasn’t got a scratch on him.” “Don’t you think his healing factor is what might be preventing the evidence?” Sam said, you secretly thanked the man. As the two continued to bicker, Tony reached over towards you to try and examine your arm. “I know Steve got carried away, I’ve just never seen so many at one time, and everywhere.” Steve grabbed Tony’s arm before it could reach you. “Knock it off Tony.” He warned the man, his tone not showing an ounce of playfulness. Tony wriggled his arm away from Steve and rubbed where his own bruise was starting to form. “No need to get so possessive Steve, I’m not the one who slept with her.”

The table got quiet at that; all anyone could hear was the air running through the vents. You couldn’t take the looks of judgment or pity that probably surrounded the table, you didn’t dare look up to find out. You looked towards Steve and saw the look of murder in his eyes, as he glared at Bucky. The tick of his jaw letting you know something was about to happen. You hated how much more tense the atmosphere was now, the air so thick you felt you were suffocating. You had to get out of there, for the sake of your own sanity. You got up to leave the table, but Steve caught your arm to keep you from running.

“Let her slutty ass go Steve.” You turned back towards the table; eyes wide as you looked back at Sharon. Was this girl serious, you thought to yourself. Who in the hell did she think she was talking to? “What? You thought I didn’t know about you cheating on poor Steve?”, she continued, “I knew the moment I met you, you were no good for him. Knew you didn’t deserve him…”

Steve tried to interrupt her, “Sharon, stop.”

“No, Steve.” Sharon began to walk around the table towards you. “The bitch needs to hear this, you spent a whole week at my house pouring your heart out to me, don’t protect her.” She finally made her way to standing right in front of you at arm’s reach. You looked from her to him at the revelation, so he’d been at her house all week, ha!  You turned your attention back to Sharon as she continued her rant.

“You had no business dating him after Bucky left you, if you were a decent woman, you’d have known that.” Your blood began to boil in your veins as she went on. “Then I’m not sure what kind of mind control you used, to get him to marry you…” Coils were beginning to snap in your head. “…and you have the nerve to cheat on him? You opened your legs for Bucky just like the whore you are.” Your hair began to rise slowly, “I’m surprised Natasha hasn’t thrashed your ass already for touching her husband.” The table began to tremble, making everyone push away from it. “If it was up to me, I’d kick your ass myself, but I promised Steve I wouldn’t touch you. So how about you do something decent for once in your life and leave him be. He deserves a nice woman, not some ninny whoring herself out to his friends.”

“SHARON THAT IS ENOUGH!” Steve finally found his footing to speak. He tried to touch your arm to calm you, but your other side had a hold of the reins now. Your head whipped around to where his arm had gripped yours, you looked back up at him slowly, your eyes were glowing now. You telepathically shoved Steve away from you and snapped around before anyone could stop you and grabbed Sharon with your mind by the throat and held her body in place above you. Wanda could feel the dark energy rolling off you, she could feel it draining the life out of your body.  She had to stop you before you did something you’d regret. She knew if she tried to reach you mentally it wouldn’t work, she’d have to say it out loud.

“Y/N, STOP! YOU’RE HURTING THE BABY.”

You blinked rapidly, withdrawing from the dark part of your mind. You dropped Sharon to the floor roughly and stood there breathing heavily. Everyone was standing there in shock, either from what had just happened or from Wanda’s big reveal. Steve walked up to you, he touched your face and asked if you were alright. Sharon got up slowly, shaking as she tried to get upright. “You’re asking HER if she’s alright? That bitch tried to kill me.” Steve turned to her, staring daggers at Sharon, he’d apparently had enough of her talking. “Sharon, I need you to leave, NOW!” Sharon had a look of utter betrayal, like she’d just been kicked in the guts. “I let you lay up in my house, I feed and comfort you, and you’re asking me to leave? Ha, well this is rich.” She turned to leave but stopped before she made it to the elevator. “Oh, and here’s a little tidbit for the rest of you since Steve here is feeling so forgiving all of a fucking sudden.” “Steve and Natasha started fucking each other after the Avengers formed. They didn’t stop until Natasha and Bucky got together again. He also said that he’s going to fuck her to get back at Y/N and Bucky, but he wasn’t sure if she’d go along with it and that he really missed pounding into her.”

You looked at Bucky, his eyes snapped back and forth from Natasha and Steve. Natasha finally spoke, “Sharon your just upset that he wouldn’t fuck you. Get over it.” Sharon’s eyes narrowed at the redhead, “Oh, fuck you, Romanoff.” “Sharon you’ve embarrassed yourself enough, just GO!” Steve said to the upset blond. As she stepped into the elevator, she turned around to face the stunned room. “Steve I’ll be at home when you fucking get your senses straight and realize she isn’t right for you.” The elevator closed taking her away, yet you kept staring at the elevator like you expected her to come back for round two. You hadn’t even heard Steve walk up behind you.

“Y/N, your pregnant?”

Tags: @iheartsebastianstan

It Happened

Chapter 2: Before the Storm

Word Count: 4638

The walk to your room was worse than any walk of shame you could have ever imagined, your legs felt like lead with your stomach in knots. You had to hold on to the wall to steady yourself on the way there. When you finally made it to your destination, you closed the door and collapsed to the floor curling into a ball and crying. You hated yourself for cheating, disgracing your vows, and most of all for betraying Steve. You felt the bile rise into your throat and made a dash to the bathroom, not sure if it was pregnancy hormones or your guilt taking over but you were hugging the porcelain hard.

After 10 minutes of vomiting everything your stomach had to give, you stepped into the shower replaying everything that had happened. The thoughts eating away at your resolve brought on a new wave of tears, that then made you turn the water temperature up until it was stinging as it hit your body, vigorously you scrubbed your skin with the soap and washcloth as if that would wash away your sin. After the tears had subsided, you toweled off, brushed your teeth and crawled into bed. Steve’s scent hit your nose as you lay down on a pillow, God was it torture, bringing on another round of tears making you cry yourself to sleep. You spent the rest of that day and night periodically crying and sleeping off the headaches that followed your bouts of tears.

In between the space of being awake and asleep, you felt warm and secure in bed, snuggling backward into the arms you were enveloped in, a familiar voice whispered into your ear.

“Good morning wife”, Steve spoke, you could feel him smiling into your skin.

You turned around and sat up, you looked Steve over and touched his face, your fingertips trembling as they lightly ghosted over his lips. “It’s you Daddy.” You smiled at him teary-eyed, pouncing to grab him in a tight hug. Steve chuckled and kissed the top of your head, “Yea it’s me baby, who else would it be?” Your eyes shot up to his and your smile faltered, of course, because of your husband’s acute senses he didn’t miss a beat. “Sweets, what’s wrong?” his eyes showing you the beginning glimpses of worry. “Nothing my love, I’m just so glad your back, and I missed you.” He gazes into your eyes and cup’s your cheek, “I missed you too baby.”

You lean into to kiss him and he meets you halfway, he quickly takes over the kiss. Your tongues tangle with each other, then Steve lays you down placing passionate kisses up and down your body. You want him so badly, to taste his skin and his essence, to feel him inside, for you souls to connect on that deeper level again as if that can erase your misdeed. You know you must come clean, the longer you wait the worse it will be, but you can’t bear to tell him now. You don’t want to ruin his homecoming and the moment. Your heart settles with your mind that you will tell him soon, and then you give yourself fully to the moment. When Steve makes it back up your body, you turn him over so he lands on his back against the mattress. You kiss him deeply, and move down to his neck, placing sloppy open mouth kisses along the way. You never did bother with leaving passion marks on Steve, his super-soldier healing factor made such minor bruises disappear within minutes. He sat up and squeezed your supple breasts together with his hands, suckling each nipple and making you quiver.

You bring his chin up and kiss him again, as you lean your body into him to get him to lay back in bed. You move down his body quickly and take his cock into your hand before he can try to sit up again. You place innocent teasing kisses on to the tip and shaft. Looking up at him briefly through your lashes, you see the big beautiful grin you fell in love with smack dab on his face. Yes, you love to see that grin, but that isn’t what you're striving for here. You give him a naughty smile, and turn your attention back to his cock. Stroking it slowly as you lick the tip like a scoop of ice cream on a cone. His hips jerk upward at the feel of your warm tongue against him, and you know you’re headed in the right direction. You took him into your mouth, sucking on him as your hand went up and down his shaft. His hands tried to make their way into your hair as he pushed up into your mouth. You took the hint and went further down on his cock making your nose touch the skin at the base of his cock. Steve groaned loudly, sitting up to pull you from his cock. He rolled to his side, got up on his knees and pulled you flush against his bodied. You could feel his stiffness touching your hip, Steve whispered into your ear, “Get on your hands and knees kitten.” You giggled and kissed him before quickly moving down to the edge of the bed, arching your back with your booty propped up in the air like a bitch in heat. God did you love it when Steve took you from behind, you could feel all of him in this position and he loved the way your ass looked bouncing back after every hit from his pelvis.

Steve came up behind you, rubbing his hands up your thighs to your ass and gave both cheeks firm squeezes, he lined his cock up with your entrance and pushed in slowly. You tremble as you feel him enter you, he grips your shoulders and whispers into your ear, “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” Steve always the caring and concerned lover, always made sure you were alright every step of the way. You nod your head in response. He pulls out slightly and slams back into your cunt. A high pitched mewl escapes your mouth, matching Steve’s groan at the impact. Steve picks up the pace quickly, pounding into your wet cunt. You feel his grip tighten on your waist and shoulder, as he works out the tension he’s held from the mission on your body.

As husband and wife, having sex was always like this after each mission and you didn’t mind when Steve took you this way. It saved Tony from having to buy as many punching bag replacements and you got to see Steve’s true carnal side. No one got to see this side of him, with Steve having to carry the weight of prestige that followed being America’s Golden boy. You felt it your duty as his wife to indulge him when this side came out, it was full of raw, unbridled passion. The position, the emotions released, all of it mattered, it was your way of submitting to your husband and letting him know that you were there to help carry his burdens. You felt your orgasm coming quickly, drawing you out of your thoughts. The wave hit you making you scream his name over and over until you were gasping for air. Steve followed right behind, feeling your cunt gripping his cock, he pushed in further holding you steady as he unloaded into you. You collapsed with him catching himself on his hands above you and rolling over to his side facing you. He pulled you into his arms and kissed you deeply, then pulled back and searched your eyes to make sure you were alright. You smiled and nodded back at him, reassuring him everything was alright.

Steve fell asleep quickly, but you sat awake laying on his chest. Your short mental reprieve gone and the reality of your situation flooding your mind. You knew you would have to tell Steve about your infidelity, but you were scared. As you should be, you knew how Steve operated on the right side of things at all times. Cheating was wrong in a relationship, he’d told you that many times when comforting you after you and Bucky’s break up. Now that you and Steve were married, you knew it was going to hit ten times worse, and with it being his best friend (twenty times worse), who was also your ex (thirty times worse).

"I am so screwed", you thought to yourself.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you wake up the next morning to Steve’s sweet kisses and wet hair nuzzling into your neck.

“Good morning kitten.” Steve said as he gazed into your still sleep-filled eyes. You smiled and rubbed his hair, “Good morning Daddy.” Steve kissed you and pulled the covers back, causing you to sit up slightly and give him a curious look.

“Come on kitten we have to get up, the whole team is having breakfast together this morning to kind of unwind from the mission and we have 10 minutes to get ready.”

You got up from the bed and walked into the bathroom, turning on the shower and hopping in. Steve came in a minute later and began combing his hair in the mirror.

“Kitten did you go to the infirmary while we were gone, you look like you’re feeling a lot better than you did when we left,” Steve said.

You suddenly remembered that you had forgotten to tell Steve about the pregnancy. You decided that now wasn’t a good time, you still needed to tell Steve about you cheating on him. So, you held back the good news for now, because depending on your husband's reaction to the bad news, you weren’t entirely sure the pregnancy would be considered good news.

"Because there’s nothing worse than finding out your ex is pregnant with your child", you thought.

"Yea they said it was a stomach bug…just a little 24-hour thing.” You said nervously over the glass door, thankful that it was frosted glass, so Steve couldn’t see the frown on your face.

“Well I’m glad you’re feeling better, I didn’t even think to ask you last night before I took you,” Steve said shaking his head at his lack of oversight.

You stuck your head out of the glass door, “Steve please don’t send yourself on an undeserved guilt trip. If I wasn’t feeling well, I would have told you.” You smiled at Steve hoping to erase whatever guilt he was trying to build up.

Steve looked up at you and smiled, “Somehow I doubt you would have.”

You smiled mischievously at Steve, “Well, I can understand your doubt because Lord knows I do love it when you take me.” You winked and bit your lower lip, causing Steve’s eyes to narrow in lust. Just as you were about to step out of the shower towards Steve, he crossed the space quickly and shut the shower door.

“Hey!” you squeaked out looking at Steve in shock.

Steve smiled and shook his finger at you, “Oh no kitten, we are not about to be late to breakfast.”

You rolled your eyes and turned your back to Steve, “Fine, spoilsport. I’ll be out in 5.”

“Good girl.” Steve said, “I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

You finished washing up, then went to brush your teeth and wash your face. Looking at yourself in the mirror, your eyes darted away from your face. Unable to look at the adulterer staring back at you. You went into your bedroom and got dressed, then walked into the living room to meet Steve. You two rode the elevator down to the communal floor and walked into the open floor style kitchen hand in hand.

When the doors opened at your destination, you looked around and saw the whole team there, your eyes darted from each face giving them a smile until you laid eyes on Bucky. You saw him stare back at you, you looked away and he turned his attention back to Nat who had her legs draped across his lap.

“Ok, since the love birds are here, we can finally get started,” Tony said grinning at you and Steve.

“Sorry we're late, it was my fault everybody.” You said looking at Steve with a grin, he looked at you with a smirk of his own.

“Oh, don’t try and cover for Steve, Y/N, it def looks like it was a collaborative effort,” Sam said, glancing back and forth between the two of you with a grin.

You turned your face into Steve’s shoulder and giggled, then heard an annoyed grunt come from across the table. You looked over and noticed Bucky staring at you again, you glared back at him, your eyes darting towards Natasha and then to the table. Natasha picked up on the tenseness in your body.

“Y/N, are you alright?”, she said.

You weren’t sure where she was coming from with that comment. You no longer hated Natasha for her part in Bucky breaking your heart, but you two weren’t exactly friends either. She called your name again snapping you out of your thoughts, “Y/N?”

You looked up again at Natasha, “Oh…um, yeah I’m fine, just a little out of it today. Kind of feel like I’m all over the place.” You gave her a fake smile that she read a mile away.

“Well, that can happen to you when you let your husband sex the soul right out of you.” Sam cackled, him and Tony were having too much fun at your and Steve’s expense.

You looked at Steve as he was just about to tell them to stop when everyone heard Bucky yell at the table. “Enough!” Everyone looked at him in shock, “Can we get through one meal without all the sexual innuendos?” You didn’t dare look at Bucky but could see Steve’s face full of appreciation at what he thought was Bucky coming to his rescue yet again.

“Damn, alright Barnes, sheesh!” Sam said rolling his eyes at Bucky’s outburst.

“Oh, ho ho, what’s the matter Barnes, Nat not letting you bury your bone?” Tony replied. Sam and Clint burst out in laughter, Sam because of the challenge and Clint because he knew Nat was going to make Stark pay for his comment later.

“Usually your all for making Steve squirm when it comes to things of a sexual nature.” Sam quipped.

“Why the sudden change in heart?” Tony edged on. Everyone was now looking at Bucky, expecting more out lash.

Bucky smirked and pulled Natasha up into a deep, passionate, tongue filled kiss. You heard the wolf whistles going on around you, save for Steve, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you felt the tiniest feeling of jealousy. Your hand gripped Steve’s tighter, as you watched Bucky and Natasha make out. They finally broke apart their kiss, Bucky turning to Tony with the smirk back on his face.

“That answer your question, Stark,” Bucky replied sitting back down and wrapping his arm around Natasha’s waist.

“No, it didn’t, but thank you for the show,” Tony replied with a grin.

Everyone dissolved into their own conversations, you made up your mind to keep your attention focused on your husband, and to ignore Bucky, which didn’t go over easily. You could feel him staring at your every so often. It was unnerving, like he was toying with you to see how you would react. It was then that you felt you needed to remind him that you had a husband that you loved dearly.

"If you had done that earlier when he made a pass at you, you wouldn’t be in this position now, stupid slut." your mind lashing out at you again.

You willed your conscience to shut up, turning your body slightly towards Steve, and leaned over and whispered into his ear, all the filthy things you wanted him to do to you when you got back to your room, then you started to tease his ear with your tongue. You could see the blush rising on his skin, you then let your hand slide down to his shirt covered chest moving towards his crotch when you heard the sound of metal being crushed. You and Steve looked up to see Bucky’s metal arm gripping a part of the table causing a major indentation.

“Buck, are you okay?” Steve asked him, his voice full of concern.

Bucky blinked and looked down at the table, looking back up at Steve and replying, “Yeah I’m alright, just need to talk to you later about something.” His eyes darted towards you, seeing your eyes grow big like a deer caught in headlights.

This was it, he was going to tell Steve and ruin everything, Steve would divorce you, Natasha would be upset with Bucky. She wouldn’t leave him though, because he was the “love of her life”. Then you would be all alone, everyone would hate you for betraying Steve.

No fuck that, if I’m going out, I’m going out with a least some shred of decency.” Your mind had decided.

You whispered into Steve’s ear, “When you’re done, can we go back to our room, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” Steve looked at you with slight worry, you smiled at him hoping to quell his worries until you could drop the horrible news that would destroy the life you two were trying to build.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything kitten?” Steve asked, noticing you hadn’t put anything on your plate.

“I’m not really hungry at the moment.” You replied staring at your plate in front of you. Steve put down his utensils and grabbed your hand in his, which made you look up.

“Come on, if it’s bothering you enough not to eat, then it can’t wait!” You silently cursed your love of food, it tipped Steve off when you refused to eat.

You glanced back one last time at the table as you and Steve walked back to the room, you caught Bucky staring intently at your retreating form, knowing that he saw the single tear falling down your cheek.

As Steve shut the door, you fidgeted by the door, staring down at your feet. Steve looked at you worriedly, he’d never seen you in such a mess.

“Kitten, we’re alone now. Tell me what’s wrong?”

You sniffled, finding it difficult to let the words escape from your lips.

“Y/N, talk to me, sweets.” He shook his head, “I can’t help the situation if you don’t let me know what it is?” Steve walked over to you and pulled you closer towards the couch he’d been sitting on.

Well it’s now or never, you made your bed (Y/L/N), now it’s time to lay in it…

You looked up at Steve, memorizing his face as if it would be the last time you would ever see it again. You huffed out a breath, “Steve…I..I..slept with Bucky while you and the team were away on the mission.” You kept your gaze down at your shoes afraid to look at your husband.

“(Y/N), what did you just say?” Steve looked at you, his hand deathly still as they held your own.

You struggled to repeat what you just revealed to him. You looked up at him this time, “I had sex with Bucky while you were gone Steve, I’m so sorry, I made a mistake.” Before you could tighten your grip on his hands he stood up and walked to the end of the couch. You looked silently at him, catching his gaze at you just as he threw the end table and lamp at the nearest wall, them smashing completely into pieces. You jumped out of your seat shocked at his behavior, Steve never acted this way when he got bad news, but you willed yourself to remember the severity of the situation. This wasn’t just regular bad news, this was life-altering news.

“(Y/N) why?” The calmness in his voice, giving you a creepy feeling.

You didn’t have a reason why, you know you’re in love with Steve, but there was a part of you that still loved Bucky. You just weren’t sure why that part made you sleep with him. You remained quiet while trembling in shock, you’d never seen Steve like this, his chest heaving, anger and hurt rolling off him. You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard banging at the door.

“Steve?” Sam called out.

“Y/N?” Bucky called out.

“Are you guys alright in there?” you heard Tony’s muffled voice from behind the door, one of them twisting at the doorknob.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., block access into our room,” Steve said to the A.I. system, he stepped closer to you, as fear locked you where you stood.

“Y/N, I’m only going to ask you one more time…why?”

“Steve, I made a mistake…”

“I didn’t ask for your sorry ass apology, Y/N, I asked you…” Steve faltered back and shook his head, “Never mind, forget I asked.” He made his way towards the door, and you ran in front of it to stop him, placing your hand on his chest.

“Steve please wait, we need to talk about this, baby please don’t leave.”

Steve pushed your hands away from his body, “Don’t touch me.” He stepped forward again expecting you to step aside. "Y/N move." He stood there waiting for you to move, turning in a circle and trying to calm himself down, he raised his balled fists to his eyes, as if he was in pain.

“Y/N, MOVE!” Steve yelled. You shook your head no, knowing if you moved you wouldn’t know if or when you would see Steve again.

“Steve, please…” you begged as Steve shoved you aside, he swung the door open, not bothering to look at the startled faces near the doorway as he made his way to the elevator.

You stayed on the floor crying into your hands, shocked but not surprised at his reaction. You heard footsteps approach you, a set right near you and two sets away, probably surveying the room. Someone crouched down beside you and whispered in your ear, “Doll did he hurt you?”

You pulled back and started to laugh wildly. “Did he hurt me? You have the fucking nerve to ask me did he hurt me?” You shook your head and looked up at the ceiling, “God, I wish he had because I fucking deserve it.”

Tony and Sam looked at you in incredulity, not sure what to make of what you just said and the slight destruction of the room. By now Wanda, Pietro, Natasha and Vision had made it into the room.

“No one is allowed to hurt you, Y/N, no matter the reason,” Bucky said through gritted teeth. You scoffed and shook his arm from around your shoulders.

“Yea, you say that but it’s always you that ends up hurting me.” You stood up from beside Bucky, you had, had enough. Turning to glance at Natasha and then back down at Bucky, you decided if your ship was going down, so would there’s.

“You cheated on me with Natasha, left me for her, married her. You moved on with your life, and I didn’t interfere once. And when I finally find someone who loves me, the way I’m supposed to be loved, you have the audacity to come back and fuck it up for me again.” Your whole body was shaking, fists balled up at your sides, you felt like you were going to explode.

“Y/N I didn’t make you have sex with me.” Bucky glared at you, glancing out of his peripheral at Natasha.

You shoved your finger into his chest, not afraid of the outcome at this point. “Your right, you didn’t, but you damn sure knew what you were doing when you slow danced with me, kissed me, and made out with me while I remind you, walking me backwards towards my old bedroom. You initiated and I dumbly followed like a pig going to slaughter.”

You rubbed your hand down your face and looked back at Bucky.

“You should be glad though, you got exactly what you wanted...Steve leaving me, so now you don’t have to worry about me being with your best friend anymore.”

You looked around the room, at everyone, different looks of shock and disbelief across their faces, only one with anger.

Natasha

You walked over to her and looked into her eyes, you felt the need to be petty, rise up in you but you wanted to be the bigger woman and felt you had caused enough commotion for one day. You walked out and caught the elevator to your floor. Walking to your old room, and laid in bed for the rest of the day. Day turned into night as you shut yourself off from the rest of the team, no one came by the room, knowing there wasn’t anything that could be said to help rectify the situation. When you woke up from one of your dozing spells, you looked over to see that it was 3 am and looked over knowing Steve wasn’t there. You asked F.R.I.D.A.Y., if there had been any missions the team had been called out on, but none had been mentioned. You wondered where he was, was he just blowing off steam, or doing something worse. You then thought to ask the AI if Steve was in the building, again getting a reply of no.

Three more days passed as you started to get worried, you still hadn’t left your room. Not that the others hadn’t tried to get you to at least come out and get something to eat or drink. Even Bucky tried to get you to come out of your room, F.R.I.D.A.Y. stopping him from getting in as you instructed. You then heard when Natasha, slapped him upside the head and dragged him away from the door. You mentally said a “thank God” for the redhead, for the first time in a long while. You left dozens of messages and tried calling on day 5, but found Steve’s phone was off, sending you straight to voicemail.

After day 7 you sent a message to Tony, asking if he’d heard from Steve, hearing a no from him got you even more worried. “You don’t think he’s in trouble, do you? What if he’s hurt? Or Hydra has gotten a hold of him?” you asked Tony frantically over the phone.

Tony sighed into the phone, "Y/N I’m sure he’s fine, I can’t track him because he’s turned everything off, cell phone, comlink, trackers. He probably just needs a little time to collect himself. I’m sure he’ll be back as soon as he’s ready. Don’t worry yourself hon, ok? Now, will you please come out of your room and eat something? I’m pretty sure when he makes it back, he won’t want you to be skin and bones.”

You spoke with Tony a few more minutes, agreeing to come out of your room and eat something. When you came out of the elevator, you weren’t expecting everyone, minus Bucky and Natasha to be there. Tony had pulled one over on you, making you believe everyone was otherwise occupied. You tried to head back to the elevator but Wanda caught you before you could and steered you towards the table. You sat, too ashamed to look at anyone, you weren’t exactly in the mood to sit for the judge and jury.

Tony broke the ice saying that you were still their teammate and that you and Steve’s personal business would remain personal and wouldn’t be up for discussion. You gave him a small grateful smile and ate, you declined the invitation to watch movies and retreated to your room.

It Happened-Why now?

Chapter 1

Word Count: 4263

You opened your bleary eyes, blinking back to try and adjust them to the amount of sunlight coming in through the blinds. The twinge of a slight headache was coming just behind your eyes. After rubbing the last of sleep away from your eyes, you look around to get a bearing on your location. You know this isn’t your room, the room you and your husband share together. You smile as the thought of your 6’2, blond hair, Greek god bodied, 100-watt smile having, deepest ocean blue-eyed husband came to mind. You turned in bed to see the body next to you, “WTF???” you think to yourself, the body next to you isn’t your husband’s.

This body that ran 6’0, bodybuilder chested, with the recognizable metal limb lazily draped over your torso. The body turned in its still sleeping nature, adjusting its position, finally giving you the other half of your betrayal…your hands clasped to your mouth as you starred into the face of the other love of your life…James Buchanan Barnes. You jump back in bed and almost tumble to the floor, while trying to quiet the sobs that wrecked through your chest, as the salt stream that ran down your face the night before returned with a vengeance.

Months back when Steve arrived at the tower with James in tow, your fellow Avengers (minus Natasha who’d been on a mission for just over a week at the time) had been for the most part welcoming aside from Tony keeping his distance to an already distant man, who didn’t speak unless he deemed it necessary. But when Steve had asked for your help with erasing what Hydra did to him mentally, you ran at the chance. I mean it was obvious to you and maybe one other person that you were smitten by him at first glance.

So, you did everything in your literal power to help remove the triggers HYDRA put in place to activate James into the Winter Soldier. The more time you spent together, the more he would open up to you and Steve, and then eventually the others. The closer you, and he got he’d asked you to call him Bucky, his arm would linger a little longer after hugs, until the day you finally stopped wimping out and initiated you’re the first kiss with him. It was absolute magic, on your part, you’d been afraid that he might not be on the same level of liking you as you were to him.

Of course, all those thoughts had disappeared as Bucky whispered into your ear after your kiss, “I’ve always thought about what my name would sound like falling from your lips in, as I bury my cock inside the softest place on earth.”

When he pulled back to look into your eyes, you grabbed his hand and ran to your room. Slamming the door shut, you both attacked each other with such fervor, that was the first time you and Bucky had sex, but it wasn’t the last. There were broom closets, bathrooms, and numerous places that had seen themselves marked by you and his sexcapades. But for every one of those, there were even more stolen kisses, cuddles and I love you’s to boot. It seemed weird that this was happening so fast, you two had only known each other for 3 months and dating for 2, when it all became too good to be true. One name ruined and crumpled your whole world in just a few days.

Natasha

You, Bucky and the team were all eating breakfast in the common room when Natasha walked in from the mission she’d been on since before Bucky’s arrival. Everyone had been enthusiastic in greeting her, except your Bucky, he’d stood up and looked up at her as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Natalia?” he said in a clear Russian accent you’d only heard when he moaned Russian curse words during your lovemaking.

“Jacob?” Natasha replied with her own Russian accent, and eyes just as wide as Bucky’s were.

Everyone around the table just stared at the two in confusion, until he walked up to Natasha and pulled her body flush to his in a passionate kiss. Talk about a gut punch, you dropped the bowl you were eating out of, it hit the ground in a loud splintering fashion, the sound broke their kiss and brought everyone’s attention to you, you looked around at your teammates in embarrassment. Their looks of shock and pity were too much, you didn’t think you’d run out of a place so fast in your life.

You didn’t come out of your room for the rest of the day, even when either Bucky or Steve knocked on your door intermittently. The next morning as you opened your door you found Bucky sitting there looking up at you ashamed at what he’d done. He’d begged you to let him come in so he could explain to you why he did what he did, telling you the story of how he and Natasha met and fell in love, and when she was taken away from him, as she was arranged to marry Alexi Shostakov, a high ranking official in the KGB and that he was removed as her trainer at the Red Room. When he finished his tale he apologized to you and made passionate love to you. If only you had known that, that would be the last time you all would make truly be together.

Bucky began to withdraw from you, making excuses about being tired or needing to train. Whenever you did get a chance to catch up to him he was always with Natasha. She made no secret of her intentions, as you always found her touching him in some shape or form. You finally assumed that if he didn’t say he was breaking up with you, you two were still officially together.

So, you let him be, gave him the space he showed from his actions that he needed. You even kept the faith when he had started telling you that he would sleep in his own room instead of yours. Oh, but the final nail in the coffin came when you woke one night and couldn’t go back to sleep, so you changed into your work out gear and headed to the gym, only to find upon walking in, Bucky pinning Natasha to the wall, with her legs on his arms, pulverizing her cunt. You quietly backed out and returned to your room and cried yourself to sleep.

When Bucky came to your room that morning you were shocked and angry, he’d told you he knew that you had walked in on him and Natasha making love. That’s exactly what the fuck he called it, “making love.” If you could have ripped his tongue from his mouth at that very moment, you would have. He told you that she was his first love, and that they were getting married and that it wasn’t his intention to hurt you. You began to hyperventilate, and all you could remember was your world turning black as you passed out. You woke up alone in the dark, with pure pain in your heart.

Eventually, the rest of the team found out about the break-up, everyone mostly kept their 2 cents to themselves, not wanting to take sides. You remained in your room for a month held up in seclusion, not even coming out to eat as you lived off your stash of snacks and Gatorade. Conveniently you had missed their wedding during your self-enforced solitude.

Finally, Steve had had enough, he had Tony to disable the encryption lock on your room and came in and found you in your disheveled state. He told you how beautiful you were inside and out, and that you didn’t deserve to have what happened, happen to you, and that you shouldn’t let it stop you from living your life. He made you go take a shower and put on clean clothes, then took you out for a ride on his motorcycle. For the first time in a while you didn’t feel weighed down, you felt like you could breathe normally without any tightness in your chest.

Steve came like your knight in shining armor, whisking you away from the tower whenever possible. Trying to help you to get your mind off the pain and hurt you were feeling. It made getting over Bucky that much easier. Soon you were comfortable enough to be around your friends again, without sparing Bucky or Natasha a second glance. Steve felt he was ready to talk to Bucky about you. He’d asked his best friend if it was ok to ask you out on a date. Seeing you getting back to normal gave Steve the courage to finally ask you if you were willing to try love again, with him this time. You admitted to him you were scared and nervous, but you told him that you had been developing feelings for him and you were willing to try being in a relationship with him. He later told you that Bucky had given his blessing, but he wouldn’t tell you about the tick in Bucky’s jaw that he thought he might have imagined.

You and Steve continued to grow closer and closer, so much so that Tony and Sam would crack jokes about you two being joined at the hip, it made you both blush and everyone laugh. You two beamed at each other with his arms wrapped around your waist and your back held snuggly against his chest. You two were in LOVE and everyone knew it. Even though you made it your duty not to look into Bucky's direction at all, it allowed you to miss the unsavory look that crossed his face whenever someone mentioned you and Steve as a couple. Not to mention the rolled eyes and glares he’d shoot in your and Steve’s direction whenever you two were in plain sight.

It had been 6 months since your mental recess after your break up with Bucky and 3 months since you and Steve had started dating when you had finally been cleared to go on missions.  On your first mission back, you were obviously excited to go even though you had to be partnered with Bucky, you bounced around in your seat like a child headed to Disney World. With this mission being a HYDRA base you were his mental shield away from any trigger words that would be hauled at him, even having to be stuck with him couldn’t put a damper on your spirits. Steve even pulled you to the side before you all exited the Quinjet to tell you to get your nerves in check, and you reassured him that you were fine, giving him a quick peck on the lips and turned to walk off the jet. You hadn’t noticed the worried glance he and Bucky shared as they exited behind the rest of the team.

You’d gotten overzealous once you all were in the field, and while shielding Bucky, you hadn’t seen the HYDRA grunt that was waiting in the rafter above you two. You were shot three times once in the neck and twice in the torso, Steve was there when you woke up and told you what happened, how you’d been in a coma for over a week and had coded twice through your infirmary stay. He told you how much he loved you and how scared he was that he was going to lose you, you could see the worry in his eyes. Everyone came by after you had come out of your coma, even Bucky came by apologizing for not doing more to protect you, but you had assured him that it wasn’t his fault. You two seemed to be in an okay place now.

The day they discharged you, Steve helped you back to your room and surprised you with a proposal, telling you he didn’t want either one of you leaving this earth without being able to call each other husband and wife. You’d happily said yes, and the two of you were married two days later at Cupid’s chapel in the Lower East Side. All your teammates were there, with Bucky as the Best Man and Pepper as your maid of honor. It was the happiest moment of your lives, and yet not everyone shared your sentiment as you would soon find out.

Some 2 months later, you and Steve were still basking in your newlywed bliss, when the team was being sent on another HYDRA mission, you and Bucky were automatically excluded because of you still recovering and his vulnerability to the Winter Soldier’s trigger words. For once you were happy that you didn’t have to go on the mission, as you had been feeling weird and fatigued. You helped Steve pack his bag and you both snuggled extra tight into each other the night before the team left. The next morning you walked Steve to the ship bay and kissed him deeply telling him to come back to you safely. "I will, I love you, baby," he said as he hugged and kissed you once more. You watched him walk up the ramp into the ship, "Steve..." you called out to him. He turned around to face you. "I love you, Daddy," you waved at him. As if you thought his smile couldn't get any bigger, it did.

The first two days you chose to stay in your room secluded, but on that third day, you couldn’t take it anymore. So, you ventured out to the common area to watch tv, you hadn’t expected to run into Bucky, who was laying on one of the couches. You turned to walk back to your room, but Bucky called out to you. Asking you to stay, this was the first time you two had been alone since your stay at the infirmary. You’d asked if he ate yet to break the awkward silence, and decided to order food for the two of you when the food arrived you both ate in silence, this time Bucky spoke up first. He’d told you how sorry he was that you had been hurt in the field and that he was happy that you and Steve found each other with a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. You’d told him thank you, and that although he’d shown you what heartache was, it had made you realize what true love really was with Steve. You’d thought for a second that you’d seen hurt in his eyes after your comment, but you’d shrugged it off as your mind playing tricks on you. James apologized for hurting you, and you’d told him it was water under the bridge.

He grabbed your hand and asked you to dance with him since you didn’t have a wedding reception to dance at. You hesitated for a second but, decided to oblige him. When he asked JARVIS to play, You Belong to Me by Jo Stafford, you’d began to pull away but he’d held you in place, asking you to humor him. As the song went on he pulled you closer or was it that you came closer willingly. As the song ended you went to pull back but he had his arms around your waist, you looked up at him and there was a look in his eyes, you couldn’t describe but then he kissed you. Kissing then led to fondling, Bucky carried you to your old bedroom, tossing you on the bed. He quickly removed your shirt and ripped off your bra, planting kisses on your jaw and neck, working his way to your breasts. He released your nipples to quickly do away with his own clothes, standing there looking like an ancient coliseum fighter.

You knew it was wrong, but you didn’t stop it, you indulged in it. Every tender kiss, the gentle tug of your skin, he made you lay back, sliding your shorts off just as swiftly as he did your bra. He kissed your legs, starting from the ankle on down, from their position in the air, taking one leg in each hand and spreading them out from a “V” formation until they were spread as far as they could go. He dived in feverishly, lapping at your entrance, sliding the tip of his tug up to your clit and giving the expert tongue flicks he know you loved, knowing it would get you to a quick release. Within minutes you were coming undone, moaning loudly and biting the back of your wrist to keep from saying anything else. You looked down at him, watching him pant as he wiped off his mouth with his hand and licked the remnants of your juices off his palm. He climbed up your body slowly, kissing you deeply, as though he were trying to reach the back of your mouth.

He pulled back for air, “Baby I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you. I still love you.” You huffed, trying to steady your breath before the tears spilled over the brim of your eyes. “I love you too, I really wish I didn’t, but I do.” He looked down to where he still had you spread eagle, rubbing his throbbing cock in his flesh hand, he put it into your welcoming entrance and pushed in ever so slightly only allowing the tip in. Your breath hitched at the feeling. He looked back up at your face, “Then why did you sleep with my best friend…” he slammed into your pussy, filling you to the hilt and then slowly retreating, stopping just at the tip. Your breath hitched at the unexpected force of entry.

“Huh Y/N, why did you half to go and marry Steve?”, he slammed into your slippery pussy again, repeating his retreat again only to slam into you again.

“You could have chosen anybody else in the world? Why Stevie?” he groaned feeling the effects of his own actions against your soaking sex.

You didn’t answer him, closing your eyes and putting your middle finger on your clit, focusing on reaching your orgasm. He slapped your hand away and continued rubbing your clit while ramming his cock inside of you.

“You were mine, doll. Not his, you had no right giving him my pussy, much less taking that man’s last name.”

“You were supposed to have my last name," he said moaning and picking the pace as he pistoned in and out of you.

You glared up at him, finally deciding to reply to his ludicrous remarks with a weird calm “Well you chose your Mrs. Barnes, what does it matter that I am Mrs. Rogers?” smirking up at him. He gave you an ice-cold stare and reached the distance up your body, quickly wrapping his metal hand around your throat and slightly tightened his grip. Your eyes got wide,

Was he really doing this now? Is this how my husband is going to find me, my dead naked body strangled by his best friend?, you mentally asked yourself.

Bucky maintained his hold on you, leaning over and whispering in your ear,

“You’re right doll, it doesn’t matter if you are legally tied to him, or that I am legally tied to Natalia, it will always be my cock and lip service you think about when he is sexing you, and it will always be your sweet pussy and beautiful mouth that I dream about when I am fucking her.”

Maybe it was the possessive nature of his words that did it, but you came like never before, your pussy fluttering around his cock, brought on his own orgasm, making his cum fly into you in droves as you felt his cock twitch inside you.

He collapsed on top of you, the only sounds filling the room were the pants from both your bodies trying to get more oxygen. He rolled to your left side and pulled your limp body into his right side, kissing you on top of the head. With your head on his chest, you looked up into his eyes, and found him staring back into yours.

“You will always be mine, and I will always be yours doll.”

He gave you another deep passionate kiss, and then grabbed your leg and placed it on top of his thighs. Sleep captured you both shortly thereafter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, here you were the morning after, looking out the window and regretting how you’ve hurt your husband and his wife. Contemplating how you were going to explain your stolen moment.  

You didn’t hear Bucky get up from the bed or approach you until he startled you out of your thoughts by wrapping his arms around your waist. “It’s morning”, you said not looking back at him. “I know doll, the sun kind of confirmed that already, he turned you to face him. The chuckle at his own joke dying off as he saw the tears and worry in your face.

“Doll what’s wrong?  He searched your eyes with fear in his own.

“Bucky we just made love to each other, but we both belong to someone else, and you’re asking me what’s wrong?”

You laughed hysterically, turning your back to Bucky, “That’s what’s wrong with me…I am pregnant and violated my marriage just so you could belong to me for just one night…what type of mother am I going to be?”

Bucky crossed the short distance between you two and spun you around to face him.

“You’re pregnant (Y/N)? His eyes wide and searching yours.

“Yea I checked the health app on my phone yesterday, not realizing my cycle was late and took a home pregnancy test.” You smiled and wiped away some of your tears, “Your best friend is going to be a father, Bucky.”

“Y/N you gotta be shitting me?” Anger crossed his face.

“I made love to you for as long as we were together, I always gave you my seed and you never got pregnant. And now you’re standing here telling me my Best friend, who stole my girl, has knocked her up?”

He shook his head, a frown crossing his face,

“No doll, you have to get rid of it.”

You scoffed, “Bucky you left me remember?" "You didn’t even have the decency to break up with me before you fucked Natasha. You made love to her while we were still together.” Tears had begun to flow down your face with anger and hurt coursing through your veins. “You cheated on ME!!!”, you yelled at him. “You made her your wife, not me…I was not good enough for that position in your eyes, but Steve saw that I was, so please tell me again why I can’t give my husband the child he deserves?”

Bucky dropped to his knees in front of you, wrapping his arms around your legs, “I told you last night doll, you belong to me and I to you.”

He looked up to your face, tears dropping from his eyes, with honest to God hurt in them. “That should be my seed growing inside of you, mine Y/N.” He pulled back to look at your belly, “Not Steve’s.”

Tears began to fall from your eyes as you looked down at Bucky.

“We can still do this Y/N, after you have Steve’s baby, you can have mine”, you looked at him incredulously as he continued rambling, “It’s only right Y/N, you were mine first, you are still mine, even Steve knows it deep down inside.” “You don’t have to leave him, he will think the baby is his even though it is mine.”

You tried to pull away from Bucky, he was talking crazy. “Bucky stop, you’re being irrational, I have a husband.” You shook your head furiously, “I can’t be in your life, you gotta go home to your wife.”

He raised up off his knees, and pulled you in close, glaring at you as he spoke through gritted teeth,

“If you won’t have my child, I’ll tell Steve all about our night, sharing each other’s love.”

You looked up at Bucky shocked, your voice barely above a whisper,

“You wouldn’t? You would lose Natasha as well.”

Bucky smiled in a criminally insane fashion, “If I have to be miserable why shouldn’t, everyone else?”

You searched his eyes for resolve but couldn’t find any. You pulled away this time quickly before his grip could tighten to keep you in place.

“You’re still intent on hurting me, just like you did when you cheated on me with Natasha.”

Bucky tried to stop your rant, “Y/N I told you I…”, but you raised your hand up to cut him off,

“My love why can’t you see, how loving you is killing me…” tears dropped from your eyes again. “Bucky, baby I can’t take it anymore.”

You walked towards the door to exit, he tried to pursue, but you held up your hand again halting him.

“If you ever really cared about me, if you really love me like you say you do, then let me keep my happiness.” You walked over to him, kissing him passionately, but brief, you wiped the last remaining tears from your eyes and said,

“If you meant what you said last night, then always remember the lovely night we had and know that I am always yours, and you are always mine. You backed away leaving him there and walked out of the room.

It Happened

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Love is such a messed up thing sometimes...

A tale where Bucky and you were together but he left you for an old flame, you found love again eventually. You've moved on, but apparently, he isn't pleased with who it's with and what major moves you and your love are making. Also, he's bold enough to tell you about his displeasure...like you give a crap!!!

Warnings: Cheating, Heartbreak, Pregnancy, Betrayal, Marriage, Angst & Fluff & Smut, Daddy kink, Discussion of Abortion, Song Lyrics-Can you guess the song?, Possessive Bucky Barnes x reader, Possessive Steve Rogers x reader, Bucky Barnes x Natasha, Steve x Natasha, Wanda x Vision, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Pepper Potts x Tony Stark, Sharon Carter, Clint

A/N: I’ll add more tags as I see fit, I’m trying to not give the story away too much.

Chapter 1: Why now?

Chapter 2: Before the Storm

Chapter 3: Oh Shit!?!

Chapter 4: Huh?

Chapter 5: Adventure Time

James Buchanan Barnes "I remember all of them." *I tried.

Slowly seeing Bucky become happy again for the first time in forever is the only reason I’m alive.

He’s learning to use his arm again too, but for good and that makes me SO HECKIN HAPPY.

I mean look at this lil bean...

thanos I swear to god if you lay any of your purple eggplant ugly ass fingers on any of my children i will launch myself into space and fight you myself

blessed (｡◕‿◕｡✿)

Civil War

I was on Team Cap when I read the Civil War comics but I’m slightly confused right now..

I was against the superhuman registration act and Cap was fighting for his moral values which made me to be on his side (but honestly, Ironman also had some point on SRA. You guys also know you’ll support the act if superheroes were in real life and use their powers without ANY supervision. That would be a disaster)

However, in this movie Civil War, Captain made every heroes to fight against each other, who were very close friends in order to protect his friend Bucky, who may not be a villian but definately IS A CRIMINAL (just because he was brain washed while doing so doesn’t mean he is clean) and needs to go to prison or see justice some other way. If Captain had his moral values straight, he would have found some other way to protect his friend in court instead of causing a WAR

Of course, there will be some political issues involved but I’m worried that the Civil War movie may go too personal on Cap's instead of fighting for superhuman's rights. I'm still on Team Cap but there may be changes

Umm hello Bucky enjoyers, i present you this doodle