Bucky Barnes

The Avengers compound had settled into something unfamiliar—quiet.

Not the tense, waiting kind of quiet that used to sit heavy in the walls before a mission. This was softer. Lived-in. The kind that came after surviving something that should’ve broken all of them. The war was over. The world hadn’t ended. And for once, no one was waiting for the next disaster to drop out of the sky.

For Bucky, though, peace felt... strange.

He sat on the edge of a lab table, metal fingers flexing experimentally as Tony circled him, muttering under his breath and tapping at a holographic interface. The new vibranium arm—crafted in Wakanda—was lighter, smoother. Too smooth, almost. Like it hadn’t decided yet if it belonged to him. He'd have to remember to thank Shuri again.

Bucky watched the way it caught the light, gold threading glinting faintly beneath the surface. Wakanda had given him more than just a weapon. They’d given him something closer to... a second chance. Still didn’t mean he liked being poked at.

Tony was talking—something about neural pathways and response time—but Bucky’s attention drifted. It kept drifting lately. Always to the same place.

To you.

Back in Wakanda, the nights had been long. Too long. Waiting for the inevitable war to reach them. And in those quiet stretches between fear and battle, he’d found you—again and again. The memory sat warm under his skin, sharper than anything else from that time. Not desperate, not reckless... just real. Something grounding in a world that refused to stay still.

Tony’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“...—Banner ran full panels on everyone when you got back. Standard stuff. Radiation, trauma, long-term exposure—”

Bucky barely reacted. That tracked. Banner had always been thorough.

“—though I told him half of you wouldn’t sit still for it,” Tony continued, tapping his tablet. “Still, results came back clean across the board. Well. Mostly clean.”

Something in his tone snagged. Bucky’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Mostly?”

Tony hesitated.

And that hesitation—small, almost invisible—was enough to set something cold crawling up Bucky’s spine.

“It’s not a big deal,” Tony said quickly, which immediately made it feel like a big deal. “Just... one anomaly. Banner flagged it. Probably should’ve let him handle this, actually.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Stark.”

Tony exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, don’t shoot the messenger, alright? He ran a full blood panel on {User}—on everyone—and her results came back with elevated hormone levels. Specific ones.”

A pause.

Then—

“Pregnancy markers.”

Everything stopped.

The room. The hum of machines. The faint chatter from down the hall. It all dropped away into a ringing silence that pressed hard against Bucky’s ears.

Pregnancy.

The word didn’t make sense at first. It just floated there, disconnected. Wrong.

His mind tried to catch up, tripping over itself as it rewound—Wakanda, the compound, stolen moments, quiet nights, hands, breath, skin—

Too many memories. Not enough distance between them. He hadn’t thought— No. That wasn’t true. A kid. His kid.

He just hadn’t allowed himself to think about it.

It felt foreign. Impossible. Terrifying in a way that’s nothing like war, nothing like HYDRA, nothing like anything he’s ever faced.

Bucky pushed off the table so fast the chair legs screeched against the floor. The movement startled even Tony, who held up a hand instinctively.

“Hey—hey, hold on—”

But Bucky was already moving.

His heart slammed hard against his ribs, each beat louder than the last. Pregnant. You. The idea felt too big to fit inside his head, like it would crack something open if he let it settle.

Did you know?

Had you been told?

Or were you walking around the compound right now with no idea that everything had just changed?

“Barnes—!” Tony called after him. “You might wanna—like—talk before you—”

Too late.

Bucky was already out the door.

The hallways blurred as he moved through them, boots hitting the floor in sharp, urgent strides. His mind raced ahead of him, spiraling through possibilities faster than he could sort them.

You didn’t look different. You hadn’t said anything. But then again... would you? Would you have told him? You guys shared everything now that this relationship has been more serious. But still. . .

A flicker of something unfamiliar twisted in his chest—fear, sharp and sudden. Not of the situation itself, but of the space between you and him. Of not knowing where he stood in something this big.

He checked the common areas first. Empty. Training room—no. Kitchen—just the faint smell of coffee and no sign of you.

His pulse climbed higher.

Then— There.

At the far end of the corridor. You.

Relief hit him so hard it almost knocked the breath out of him.

You looked... normal. Completely, painfully normal. Standing there like the world hadn’t just tilted off its axis.

Bucky slowed, just barely, as he approached. Not enough to calm down—just enough to see you. To ground himself in something real before everything else caught up.

Because suddenly, this wasn’t just about him anymore. It wasn’t just about what happened in Wakanda.

It was about you. About what this meant. About what came next.

He stopped a few feet away, chest rising and falling as he tried—and failed—to steady his breathing. His metal hand flexed at his side, the faint whir of it the only sound between you for a second.

Then he looked at you fully, something raw and unguarded breaking through his usual control.

And finally asked—

“...Do you know?”