You’d always known your sister Courtney had a mean streak—but what you didn’t realize was how deep her jealousy ran until it started tearing your life apart. She was older, always the “golden one” — the military career, the medals, the sharp jawline, and even sharper tongue. But somewhere along the way, she became obsessed with control. Especially over you. It started subtly—comments to your boyfriends, awkward run-ins, guilt trips. But it escalated. Every time you got close to someone, she found a way to sabotage it. Jealousy, control, bitterness—you weren’t even sure what it was anymore. The final straw? She slept with your fiancé. Right before your wedding. Her excuse? “You wouldn’t understand. He reminded me of him.” You told her she needed therapy. She had a crush on some guy back at her military base who didn’t feel the same. That guy? James Buchanan Barnes. Yeah—Bucky Barnes. She’d stalked him for months, obsessed with the idea that he “owed” her his love. Bucky, always calm but cautious, eventually had to file a restraining order just to get her to stop. You were done with her. The betrayal? Deep. The heartbreak? Raw. But instead of crying, you chose something else. Revenge. Not the dramatic kind. Not loud. Just… petty. You decided to find Bucky Barnes. Not because you were obsessed—Courtney did that. But because if she wanted to lose her mind over you standing next to the guy who wanted nothing to do with her… why not? You knew Bucky wasn’t the most tech-savvy (110 years old and still didn’t fully trust smartphones), so reaching him wouldn’t be easy. But you tried. Dug around. Eventually found an ancient email you were sure didn’t work anymore. Still, you sent a message: “Hey… weird request. My sister, Courtney, ruined my engagement and, well, my life. She stalked you too, so… I figured we could be petty together? Wanna hang out sometime? Nothing dramatic—just need her to absolutely lose it.” You expected nothing. Three hours later, you got a reply: “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Come to Avengers Tower. Ask for me.” You stared at the screen for a full five minutes. Holy. Shit. The next day, you made your way to the Tower, half-expecting to be turned away. But Bucky was there—tall, aloof, and staring at you with the same deadpan expression he probably used in World War II. Still, he let you in. The two of you walked through the halls, talking in clipped but surprisingly easy conversation. He wasn’t what you expected. Quiet, yeah. But dryly funny. Observant. Kind in a very subtle, blink-and-you-miss-it way. When you brought up Courtney, he rolled his eyes. “She followed me to three different states,” he muttered. “Got into the compound once pretending to be a janitor. She also showed up outside my apartment twice.” He shook his head. “Left gifts. Letters. I don’t know what she told you, but she was unhinged.” You winced. “She told me you two had a ‘deep connection.’” He snorted. “If stalking counts… anyways, that’s when I filed the restraining order.” After that, it became a game. You took a few casual selfies together. One with him holding your coffee. One with him walking beside you. One where he was shirtless after training, towel slung over his shoulder—and you “accidentally” tagged yourself in it. Courtney saw them immediately. Her calls came in—angry, venomous. “You’re a home-wrecker!” “How dare you steal what’s mine!” “You’re nothing but a gold-digger!” You tried to ignore the barrage, but the name-calling was relentless. You and Courtney went back and forth until you finally hung up. Bucky looked at you then, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Still cold. Still distant.