Bucky Barnes X Reader - Blog Posts

Your wish is my command

Reader x tfatws Bucky Barnes

Summary: On Bucky and Y/N's anniversary, Bucky is needy for his mommy. Y/N helps him. ;) (this summary sucks, I know)

WARNINGS: 18+ NSFW MDNI SMUT, softdom!reader, subby!bucky, pet names (baby, doll, bubba etc.), slight mommy kink, oral m recieveing, p in v sex. I also thought this was going to be short but it turned out to be a whole slowburn.

You woke up to the feeling of Bucky's lips all over your face, leaving soft kisses everywhere. You started smiling ear-to-ear when he kissed your neck. What a way to start the day.

-Happy anniversary baby. -Bucky murmured into your neck and stayed there. His voice was still raspy from sleeping.

-Happy anniversary to you too, Buck, I can't believe it's been a year already. -You said as you played with his short brunette locks.

You started smiling even more if that's possible, when you remembered last night's events. Bucky planned a little date on the boat that Sam, him and you renovated. You cried on the spot. And no, that didn't finish there. Absolutely. Not. He made your favourite food, bought your favourite flowers. For the gift, he got you both 2 matching pairs of rings and you know he doesn't wear much jewelery but when you told him that he should wear more rings, he obeyed. He trusts you so damn much, he'd risk his life for you. The biggest gift of all, was when he reached behind his neck.

-I've wanted to give these to you for a while now. -He said as he unclasped his dogtags and handed them to you.

-James, I can't, -you said between soft sobs. -I..I can't baby this is..you need these, I can't just grab them from you. -You started babbling and sobbing even more but your emotional moment was interrupted by the feeling of Bucky's lips on yours.

-I don't fucking need them anymore..you've helped me heal, and make me 'James' again and I'm really thankful for that, -he got the tags out of the loose grip of your hands and put them on you. -They look way better on you. -You continued sobbing. -Hey, hey Y/N. -He cradled your head to his chest. -It's okay, God I love you so much. Shhh..-He grabbed the backs of your thighs and lifted you up so he could see your face properly.

-I love you even more.. -You said kissing him.

-I don't think that's possible.

-Oh but it is..

-Let me show you how much I love you.....

Y/N! You with me?

Wha- oh.. Yeah, umm what were you talking about? -Well, this is embarrasing, you thought.

-I was just telling you that since Sam and I are still 'undercover' or some shit, we can't really go out this evening. I'm so sorry. -He said and looked away from you, ashamed that you can't go out like a normal couple.

-Baby, it's okay, yesterday was enough. Also you're doing your job so I have no right to be upset, okay? -You assured him. -Now let's get up, I have something in mind-He whined at that, buried his face into your chest and tightened his grip on your waist.

-Nooo, just 2 more minitues. Please. -He murmured.

-'Kay baby boy. -You agreed. For those two minitues you were deep in thought, remembering yesterday night, the way he touched you, your core clenching around nothing...

-Time to get up. -You said, Bucky whimpered again. You lifted his face and looked at him sternly.

-Okay, okay, I'll get up. -He huffed out and stood up. You made grabby hands at him to help you up, which he gladly did. You waddled out to the bathroom with his hand in yours. He started washing his face and you admired his back muscles and biceps flexing. God you loved him so much.

-What's going on in that pretty, little head of yours, huh? -He asked.

-Nothin'.. -He looked at you seriously. -..just how much I wanna fuck you right now. -He moved closer to you, lifting your head to look at him. -But we have to get ready, c'mon. -You teased him like this really often, but he still didn't get used to it totally. You made him beg. You looked at him in the mirror and chuckled, seeing the pouty face he was giving you. You just smirked and shook your head.

You started doing your makeup, but was too distracted when he started leaving love bites on your neck.

-Behave, I have things to do. -You said under your breath as a groan left your lips when Bucky bit your neck harshly.

-But mommy...I need you..-he whispered in your ear, sending shiwers down your spine. -Please..- okay that's it, you thought. You lifted his face from your neck and smashed your lips into his and pulled back after mere seconds, fiddling with the tags on your neck.

-Y'know...-you started.. -you are naughty and don't listen to me so..I don't think you deserve it. -you said with a huge grin on your face as Bucky let a high pitched whine escape his lips.

-But, mommy..-He murmured as he kneeled down in front of you. -Please, please, please. -You chuckled at his neediness.

-Hold on, baby, hold on. Mommy's gotta brush her hair. -You said and leaned over his kneeling form to reach for your brush. You brushed through your h/c locks and grabbed his face in your palms.

-Are you going to behave for mommy? -he nodded hastily, kissing your tummy. -Use your words hun. -you teased.

-I'll be good mommy I swear, please please please! -he whined.

-Please what? Tell me. -you lived for the change in his expressions, going from pouty and whiny to being a full on tease with a smirk on his stubbled face.

-I want you to do something with me, please, it tingles.. -he murmured the last part so you asked him: -What tingles? -He just looked down, and when you saw what he was looking at, you almost moaned. He was grabbing himself through his pajama pants.

-Oh you greedy little boy..Let's see what we can do to help those so called tingles go away. -He looked at you with puppy eyes as he nodded slowly.

-Stand up for me, yeah good boy. -He didn't think it was possible to become even harder, but he eventually did at your praise, he loved being your good boy. -What should we do, hmm? -You slipped his pants down to his ankles and he kicked them off.

-Oh my, you really are stiff. -You said as you held him in your hand. He groaned loudly when you tugged at his cock a little. -You like when mommy does that huh? How about this? -You asked as you spit in your hand and started stroking him.

-Fuck yeah..S'good momma. -He moaned. -So so good. Please don't stop.. -He grabbed your head and tried to guide your head down his lenght.

-Nu-uh, mommy's in control right? -You asked as you slowed the ministrations of your hand. He just nodded with a pout. You slapped his thigh and asked again:

-Right?

-Yes, mommy. -He whined and bit slightly on his fist.

-That's my good boy. -And with that you took all of him down your throat. He was not ready for that, even if he was begging for it. He didn't think it was possible to feel more pleasure, but that thought flew out the window when you started rubbing his balls.

-Oh, y-yes, mommy! -He whined. You moved your mouth to suck on his tip only for a mere fraction of seconds and then took him down all at once, his tip kissing your throat.

-I'm gonna come, can I come mommy? -Poor baby was so spent, his voice cracked mid-sentence as tears fell down his cheeks.

-Mhmm..-You hummed in response, as soon as Bucky heard that, he realesed in the confines of your mouth, groaning and whining as pure bliss consumed him. You looked up at him through your lashes as you swallowed, he groaned at the sight. When you made sure you milked every drop from him, you released his cock from your mouth and stood up.

-Did it feel good hun? -You asked as you cupped his face in your hands.

-Yes mommy. -You kissed him so he could taste himself. He moaned into your mouth and grabbed the backs of your thighs. You could feel him getting hard again as you jumped and locked your leg around his narrow waist. You could feel a slight change in his behaviour, but you went with it. He carefully dropped you down on your bed and crawled on top of you while leaving kisses on your body every now an then. When he came face-to-face with you, he kissed you passionately while dipping his hand in the thin material of your underwear.

-Mommy enjoyed sucking me off a litlle too much don't you think? -He asked as he teased your folds with his now slick fingers.

-You don' even need any prepping do you?

-Just fuck me baby. -You moaned as he pulled your panties down. He also undid his your shirt hastily to get a look at your breasts.

-Perfect boobs mommy, can I suck 'em while I make love to you? Please? -He asked and you whined an almost unhearable 'yes' and with that he entered you fully with one thrust. You were still sore from yesterday so tears welled in your eyes quickly. Bucky noticed and slowed the movements of his hips immediately.

-You okay princess? -He asked, worrying about you.

-Y-yes, hurts a bit, don't stop. -You whimpered.

-Are you sure, I don't want to hurt you. -He slowed down completely.

-Oh for fucks sake James! -You shouted and before he could even register what you were doing, you held his waist tightly with your legs, and flipped you both over and started riding him with such power it knocked the air out of his lungs.

-Damn baby, fuck..

-Told ya not to stop, this is what you get. -You said and brought his hands up above his head and held him down. You grinded on him in figure eights slowly to tease him, knowing that he couldn't guide you since his hands were trapped in yours. After a while you got tired of his constant begging so you started mercilessly riding him.

-God, yes baby, filling me up so good. -You both moaned and it was borderline pornographic, you loved it. He leaned forward and captured one of your nipples in his mouth, licking it sloppily when his mouth opened to groan.

-I'm so close Buck, so good for mommy, aren't you. -You asked moaning at the sight of him, looking up at you through his lashes and nibbling on your nipple. He nodded quickly and whined a 'yeah' around your breast.

-Come with me, c'mon baby, I can feel you throbbing, let go.. -You said, grunting as the wave of pleasure and euphoria hit you. Seconds later you felt him coming too.

-Such a good boy for me. -You said as you realesed his hands from your grip so you could lace your fingers together. You made sure you rode your highs out and you slowed your hips, until you stilled fully. When you released Bucky's hands they were instantly on you, as he pulled you close to his body. He whined when you tried to wiggle out of his grip.

-I'm just going to the bathroom baby. We gotta clean up with something. -He whined again.

-James. -You scolded lifting his face to look at you. He whined but let go of your torso.

-Fuck..-you hissed as you got off him. You waddled out to the bathroom for a wet rag so you could clean up. When you were done you entered the bedroom to see Bucky in the same position as before but his eyes were open. You grinned at him as he made grabby hands at you. You sat down beside him and started cleaning his thighs first but when you got to his cock he hissed and whimpered.

-I know, I know.. -You cooed, pushing some of his hair that was stuck to his forehead out of his face. -You're sensitive, I know bubba.. -You soothed, voice soft. You threw the rag in the laundry and went back to him.

-I love you s'much mommy. -He mumbled to you when you moved laid down next to him on the bed.

-I love you too bubba. Ready for some cuddles? -You asked him in a voice so soft and happy, he thought he'd melt on the spot. He nodded and mumbled a small 'yes mommy' and that's all you needed to pull him close to your chest and start rubbing his upper back with one of your hands while the other played with his hair.

-Can we just stay here all day and cuddle? -He asked, voice slurred from pure exhaustion.

-Well, we have nothing else to do so I guess, yeah...I love you so much Bucky.

-I love you more Y/N.

-I doubt that.

A/N : Phew, that's long, it's cute tho, I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I did writing it.

THIRST TWEETS

SUMMARY: Sebastian and you are invited to read thirst tweets.

A/N: hey! so i really love sebastian and i wanted to write something about him, so this is what my mind created. also, english it's no my first language, so i hope this is good, let me know what you think! take care of yourself please. (not my gif)

you and Sebastian had been dating for a few months after the movie you were shooting ended.

he had been invited to Comic-Con for his role as Bucky, yet you were there as a supportive girlfriend. you two had been invited to the section to read thirst tweets. Sebastian had no idea what you two were going to do, but you had already seen some of those videos on the internet and it seemed quite funny.

"and what are we going to do?" the boy asked once you two were sitting in front of the cameras.

"the two of you are going to read thirst tweets." a girl behind cameras answered him as she handed him a blue pot.

"a what?" he asked again without understanding and took the pot in his hands.

"it will be fun, I promise you." you told him and placed a kiss on his cheek.

the cameras started recording and the signal was given for the two of you to start reading the little papers with tweets.

"hi! I'm [Y/N] and this is Sebastian." you greeted with a big smile and pointed to the boy next to you. "and today we will read yours thirst tweets."

"do you want to start? I have no idea how this works." Sebastian held out the pot for you so you could reach in and take a piece of paper out of it.

"alright." you said as soon as you took a paper between your hands. "oh my god, okay." you cleared your throat before reading.

"what?" Seb asked with great curiosity.

"i would pay a thousand dollars for [Y/N] to choke me with her thighs." you read and turned to see your boyfriend, who kept his mouth open in surprise.

"is that a thirst tweet?! oh my god, I don't want to do this anymore." he shook his head while laughing.

"stop it, it's your turn pretty boy." you snatched the container from his hands and held it out to him.

"i'm scared, I really mean it." he said when he reached into the pot. "Okay, let's see what it says." he narrowed his eyes a little so he could read better. "I want Sebastian to kiss me just like he kiss [Y/N], wish i were heather." he stop reading and looked at you with puppy eyes.

"why are you looking at me like that?" you asked.

"that means I'm a good kisser" he said with some arrogance.

"who told you that?" you asked in amusement and reached into the bowl to get another tweet.

"this person." he shook the paper that was in his hand. "if they want me to kiss them like I kiss you, it means I'm a good kisser."

"of course not." you pushed his face a little. "maybe you're a bad kisser but I'm not telling you because i love you."

"okay, you know what? I'll never kiss you anymore." he said and crossed his arms, then turned and turned his back on you.

"you do not even belive it." you put a hand on his thigh to turn it so that the two of you are looking at the camera again. "the dance that [Y/N] did in the Shawn Mendes music video plays in my head every day." you read and immediately the memories of that moment came to your head.

"i agree with that person." Sebastian spoke and then I look at you. "you looked hot in that video." confessed.

"i always look hot, what do you mean?" you asked indignantly and tossed the paper into the air, while your boyfriend pulled out another.

"Sebastian Stan, I ask you to choke me with the metal arm." he read and couldn't help laughing in the middle of the reading.

"would that be possible? I think it would kill you if I just tried for all the weight it carries." you said and put your own hand on your neck.

"i don't know, we should try it." he looked at you and raised his eyebrows playing.

"Sebastian!" you gave him a little bump on the arm. "this is family time, there are children watching us!" you said as a laugh began to escape from your mouth.

"fine." he said and rolled his eyes.

"okay, I think this is the penultimate of all." you said as soon as you touched the paper "that picture where Brie Larson and [Y/N] are kissing lives in my head for free." you read and quickly felt the gaze of your partner on you. "what?"

"you have a picture of kissing my set partner and I didn't even know it!" he sounded indignant and got up from his chair to go behind cameras. "i'm done."

you really couldn't stop laughing seeing Sebastian's reaction, however you had to fire the video without him.

"i need to see that picture. if we ever break up I'll blame Brie for being the third person in this relationship." the boy said with amusement once the cameras stopped recording.

"I'll show it to you when we get home." You assured him and they both smiled at each other.

This shit has me in the strongest chock hold

First Date

Pairing: tfatws Bucky Barnes x Single Mom! Reader

Ch. 2 of Blue is For Ben series | Masterlist | Ch. 1 | Ch. 3

Word count: 6.0k

Summary: Bucky wants to ask you out on a real first date, but what does that look like when you don’t have anyone to watch your son? 

Warnings: mild language, mentions of previous assholes reader has dated, more kide related media and games, I think that’s all it’s pretty cute

AN: Okay… I know this took forever to get out, but I started writing one idea that takes place after this and had a hard time transitioning, so I started over and wrote this chapter instead 😂 If you’re waiting for something a little spicier, stay tuned, I promise it’s coming 😉 Thanks @deceiverofgodss for helping me through this, ily 💙

“NO! It’s gonna fall!” Your son screeched from the living room. And as you continued to chop up your taco meat in the pan, you heard a heavy thump on the ground and an excited giggle from the four-year-old. 

Sometimes it was hard to believe that there was a hundred-year difference between the two of them. Ben’s developing motor skills and small size gave him a slight disadvantage as he played his favorite Bluey game, and Bucky was far too invested in how high he could get their high score. Keepy Uppy experts, they called themselves, smacking a balloon this way and that trying to keep it off of the floor. 

You weren’t sure your downstairs neighbors would be as excited about it as they were. But it was beyond adorable, and you didn’t have the heart to make them stop. 

It hadn’t taken long for Bucky Barnes to find a place for himself in your lives, and it had been far easier to get him through your door since that first night he came over for dinner. It started with dinners here and there until he was almost expected at the table each night. Ben wanting to show off his school projects had turned into after-school play dates, which then became a demanding four-year-old and a super soldier on call, ready to be at your doorstep in a moment's notice. 

One of those first few afternoons you had half a mind to apologize, to tell him he was allowed to tell Ben ‘no’ and do his own thing. But he walked in with a sweet smile and soft touches, greeting Ben with equal enthusiasm. Before you could even get it out, Bucky made sure you knew that he was exactly where he wanted to be. 

When it was just the two of you, Ben would often tell you that Bucky was his best friend. And after you put him to bed, you felt like a schoolgirl with a crush when Bucky’s nightly text messages came in. “Bedtime went okay?” translated to it’s my turn to talk to you, which never failed to bring a giddy smile to your face. 

“MAMA!” You snapped your head up in Ben’s direction, seeing the blue balloon floating across the counter that divided your kitchen and your living room. Glancing at Bucky, he gave you a wink as his eyes danced between you and the balloon. 

With both boys looking at you with anticipation, how could you deny them?

Resting your spatula against the pan, you scurried to the counter and got up on your toes, leaning across it to smack the balloon back into the living room where Ben bounced over to it. You watched them for a few moments, smiling to yourself as you watched the brick wall of a man play so sweetly with Ben, complete with goofy faces and exaggerated movements just to make him laugh. 

That shouldn’t have been all it took to make you absolutely head over heels for him. And yet you had to physically make yourself look away and focus on cooking dinner to avoid watching him with heart eyes. Logically, watching a man play well with your four-year-old shouldn’t have been the root of your affections… but it was kind of hard for it to be anything else when Ben was always with you. 

“Hey, we kept it up twenty-four times, that’s pretty good!” Bucky reasoned from the living room, alerting you to the fact that their game of Keepy Uppy had ended. 

“Let’s do it again! We’ll really beat the high score this time,” Ben said enthusiastically, and Bucky gave a deep chuckle. 

“How about you start this round without me? See how far you can get by yourself, okay? I’ll be back in a sec,” he reasoned, leaving the four-year-old to count to himself. 

Before you could process that he was coming to see you, one of Bucky’s large hands smoothed over the middle of your back. Your body instinctively leaned into his touch, and you tried to cover it up by turning to meet his gaze, finding him leaning against the counter beside you with a cocked brow. 

“Hey sugar, come here often?” He teased, but it still brought a sheepish smile to your face as his deep voice lilted in all the right places. 

“Only every day of my life,” you retorted, a boyish grin appearing on his face. 

“Can I help you with anything?” He asked gently. 

“I mean… you could stir the beans if you want. I thought you were playing with Ben?” 

“And now I’m talking to you,” he winked at you, removing his hand from your back so he could tend to the other pot simmering on the stove. You tried to ignore how much you missed the feeling. “He’ll be fine, I’ll go back out there in a few minutes.”

“Mmm, okay… so what do you want?” You shot playfully, and he gave you a confused look. “I’m smarter than that, James. You have a question you want me to answer.” He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“I- well, not because I don’t want to spend time with you,” he quickly defended himself, and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you. “It’s- c’mon, we were playing keepy uppy, you can’t expect me to turn that down,” he argued, now laughing with you. 

“But you do have a question for me?” He nodded in defeat. 

“I was just wondering… Do you have someone you trust to watch Ben?” 

Oh. 

That question. 

The one that, with men you had entertained in the past, had meant they were done playing family man, that they wanted Ben to be someone else’s problem so they could get you alone. It was always pitched to you like it was some kind of fantasy of yours, like they were doing you this big favor by giving you a reason not to be Mom. As if that was ever something you wanted to escape. 

It usually meant the end of whatever short-lived flirtationship you had allowed. They would show their true colors, turning into ugly versions of themselves when denied what they were really after. Your walls would go back up, you would keep your baby close to your chest, and you would never hear from them again. 

But Bucky was nothing like any of those men. He couldn’t be farther from them. 

“I uh… No, I don’t,” you started shyly, not very good at hiding how his question had caught you off guard. But when you watched his expression shift, it was soft, and there was no leap to a defense. He was different. “I’ve been working from home since Ben was born, and I only went back to the office because he started going to school. Other than friends here and there…” You shrugged and gave a quiet shake of your head. “Why do you ask?”

“Well…” he started, taking a deep breath before he looked back at you, still effortlessly reducing you to a puddle with one look despite his evident nerves. “I was thinking of asking you out on a date.” 

It was annoying what that one sentence did to you. 

“Figured I’d do this right, take you out to dinner and make it a real first date. Just for one night.” 

Just for one night… you’d never heard that one before. 

“I can.” What were you saying? “I can find someone. Just for a few hours, right? I’m sure there are a few sitters in the building. I can make it work.” 

What were you saying? 

It burned coming up out of your throat. Sure, Ben was four years old, he was plenty old enough to be left under someone else’s supervision. But he was all you had. And it’s not like you required much from a potential sitter, keeping him safe and happy was all you really cared about. But it was so hard to let go of him, and far easier to just reschedule things for another time. Now you were agreeing to hand your baby away because a pair of pretty blue eyes said he wanted to treat you to a night out. 

And you wanted it. 

Before you could take it back, even before the rush of mom guilt started to flood in, Bucky was already swooping in to rescue you from your spiraling thoughts.

“Hang on, don’t go pawning him off on someone you don’t trust, you’re gonna stress me out,” he assured you, his hands coming up to rub the sides of your arms soothingly, his face completely serious. “I just wanted to know if you already had someone, not for you to go find one.” 

The relief that flooded your body was more satisfying than you could have ever imagined. And somehow there was still room to be disappointed in what you lost. The idea of sitting at a table in a nice restaurant and being able to talk, really talk without the fear of what little ears could hear… 

With Bucky, it sounded wonderful. 

“I still want to take you out on a date,” he told you, bringing you out of your thoughts as if he could read them. You smiled sheepishly and shook your head. 

“And how do you think that’s gonna work, Buck?” You laughed, amused by the image of you and Bucky in a fancy dining room joined by a booster seat and a plate of chicken nuggets. “Just give me a little time to conduct interviews like a neurotic mom, I’ll find someone he’ll be okay with.”

“Nah, we’ll take him with us,” He grinned, patting your arms before he pushed off of the counter to peek out into the living room. “Psst…. Ben… c’mere.” You watched in intrigue as your son quickly abandoned the balloon he was tossing into the air to toddle over to the super soldier, launching himself into Bucky’s arms as the tall man kneeled down.  

“What do you think about me taking you and your mom to the park on Saturday?” he offered, and your son immediately lit up. 

“Is today Saturday?” You and Bucky shared a look. 

“No buddy, today is Thursday. Saturday is on the weekend when you don’t go to school.” Ben contemplated this for a moment before he replied. 

“Why?” He asked, his arms still wrapped around Bucky’s shoulders. You couldn’t help but giggle, watching Bucky try not to laugh as he recalibrated, Ben’s responses clearly not having matched the idea in his head. 

“Well… so we can all spend some time together. We’ll go get hot dogs, and I’ll take you guys to the park. And maybe I’ll treat you guys to…” Bucky hesitated, taking a quick glance at you as he considered his next words. “Maybe I’ll get us a treat afterward. How’s that sound?” 

“Good!” Ben said enthusiastically, already starting to climb around the super soldier like a jungle gym. “Bucky?” 

“Yeah, buddy?” 

“Can tomorrow be Saturday?” Bucky’s face softened as he helped Ben climb up around his back. Seeing Ben so excited, you couldn’t help your own heart melting a little bit. You could compromise. 

“Ben, honey,” you started, and Ben’s face appeared under Bucky’s bicep as he hung off of the outstretched vibranium arm like a monkey. “Why don’t you ask Bucky if he wants to go tomorrow after school?” 

You watched him struggle to climb around Bucky’s arm, the human playground as patient as ever while he watched – and helped – in amusement. And he scrunched his nose when Ben put his mouth to Bucky’s ear, much better at keeping himself from flinching away from Ben’s ticklish whispers than you were. 

And then Bucky effortlessly grabbed the child and twisted him around, giggling the whole way, to whisper his response in Ben’s ear. When he backed away, the two boys shared a look, nodding in agreement. Thick as thieves… Bucky nodded his head towards you, getting Ben to finally loop you into the plan. 

“Bucky sayed yes! He sayed it’s a date,” he relayed excitedly, and then did his best to wink with only one of his eyes. He almost had it, too. 

“Then tomorrow it is,” you said sweetly, and this time Bucky was the one shooting you a wink as he got up from his knees. 

“Keepy Uppy! Come on, let’s go!” Ben pleaded, no longer interested in dragging on these grown-up details, and pulling on Bucky’s hand with all his strength. Which, of course, didn’t make a difference. 

“Hold on, kiddo, let me finish talking to your Mama,” he laughed, and Ben groaned as he returned to the living room to play by himself. You kept yourself propped up against the counter as Bucky approached you, confident that your weakened knees needed another moment to be able to support you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to rush you into anything,” you smiled, and he shook his head. 

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for an embarrassingly long amount of time, tomorrow is perfect” he offered, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks. “I’m just glad he’s so excited.” 

“Me too,” you sighed, glancing back out into the living room to see your son laid out on the edge of the couch as he tossed his balloon into the air. “So, what treat did you change your mind about?” You asked with a grin. 

“It wasn’t so much that I changed my mind? I just didn’t think promising him ice cream ahead of time would end up working in our favor,” he explained with an exasperated expression, pulling a belly laugh out of you. 

He was different. 

…

“Alright I’ve got one,” Bucky offered from his spot on the wooden bench next to you, the two of you sitting on the perimeter of the park taking turns scooping bites from the rest of Ben’s cup of chocolate ice cream, which he’d ditched to play cafe with the other children and bring you the occasional fake ice cream. 

“Oh this should be good,” you teased, handing him the small cup as you finished your bite. After having gotten hot dogs and walked around the city, you had already crossed off the usual first date topics and found yourselves in this sort of game of twenty questions. The main difference is that you were trying to take advantage of your time without little ears. Well, not being in an enclosed space with little ears. 

“What’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?” he asked, and you contemplated your answer as you watched him scoop out his last bite – he could finish it off in one spoonful easily, but he only took half before he handed it back to you. 

“Okay, this one wasn’t exactly terrible, but just weird,” you started, and Bucky chuckled as you finished off the sweet treat and prepared to tell the story. “This guy took me out to eat at a hole-in-the-wall pizza place. Literally, it was just a window on the side of the tiniest building I’ve ever seen. 

“We end up sitting to eat it in a park close by, and I start to think that the date can finally start. But then I look over and see him picking all his toppings off.” Bucky scrunched his nose, making you laugh as you kept explaining. “After he’d polished those off, he started peeling the cheese off too, just eating it in chunks.”

“And then he just ate the whole soggy crust by itself?” he asked incredulously. When you nodded, he closed his eyes and dropped his head into one of his hands, rubbing his face in what could only be described as despair. 

“I lasted about halfway through the crust before I threw etiquette out the window, and asked him what the hell he was doing to that poor piece of pizza. He just laughed and told me he’d been eating it that way since he was a kid.” 

“Please tell me you got up and left immediately,” he groaned, pulling a deep belly laugh from you as you watched him struggle to process your story. 

You could have said that. That would be the normal thing to answer with, especially when talking about a different man on a first date. 

“That uh… that was actually Ben’s dad.” 

Or just put it all out there. That’s… that’s what you did. Way to make it awkward. 

You weren’t sure what kind of response you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for him to look at you with his brows raised as if he’d just come to some profound discovery rather than irritation, or even surprise. 

“So that’s why Ben eats pizza like that…” 

“Like a weirdo? Apparently,” you finished, and Bucky chuckled to himself as he looked back out at the playground to check on the boy in question, and you admired his features as he did. “He’s never met that man in his life, but I guess pizza preferences are genetic. He just came out of the womb ready to confuse anyone who has to see him tear into a pepperoni pizza.” 

“I’ve told you I’m from Brooklyn, right? New York?” He piped up, and you scrunched your face up in sympathy.

“I’m so sorry,” you laughed, an amused grin dancing on his face. “It probably drives you crazy, doesn’t it?” 

“A little bit of me dies inside each time I watch him do it,” he deadpanned, only encouraging more of your laughter. “You should let me teach him how to eat it like a New Yorker.” 

“Oh yeah? And which way is that?” 

“You fold it! Down at the crust, that way you can eat it with one hand and keep walking,” he explained very passionately. Part of you wondered if he was exaggerating a little bit – his New York was a few decades behind the trends – but that was exactly how you’d seen him manhandle his slices last week. 

“His hands are too small for that!” You reminded him, giggling when he looked offended. 

“So we teach him now. Fix it before it’s too late, and then when he’s older we won’t have to worry about him eating pizza like a psychopath.” 

The second the words left his lips, you felt realization hit him. 

There was still an amused grin on his face, but the implication behind his words still hung in the air, and you could tell he was weighing his options as he watched your face for any trace of a response to how many times he had said we, not to mention talk of still being around when Ben was a little older. 

“I- sorry, I know I just broke a lot of first date rules in a row,” he settled on, attempting to be humorous, so you played along. 

“Well, you fed my kid hot dogs and ice cream, and didn’t bat an eye when I brought up the baby daddy, so I think we can throw those rules out the window.” Bucky’s nose scrunched up as he let out a boyish giggle, his cheeks turning pink at your reminder, and you hoped that he couldn’t hear the way your heart sped up because of it. 

“Yeah? Just how many of those rules are we throwing out?” He asked smoothly, raising an eyebrow at you as he adjusted his spot on the bench, ending up just a little bit closer to you. 

“That depends on what you’re planning,” you retorted, unable to stop from giggling when he gave you a smug expression. 

Your innocent laughter was quick to fade when his tongue peeked out to lick his lips in a way that should not have had as much of an effect on you as it did, finding his baby blues darting down to your lips before returning your gaze. 

“You’ve got something, right here…” he husked, the arm that had been resting against the back of the park bench moving slyly to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against the corner of your lips. 

“Hmmm really? Did I get ice cream on my face?” you managed as his face inched closer to yours, scanning your expression for any sign of rebuttal. Lucky for him, you were so giddy with anticipation that you may as well have had a green light on your forehead. 

“Mhm, you did,” he chuckled deeply, the gravel of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “Let me get that for you…” 

“How kind of you,” you whispered, earning you a bright smile as the tip of his nose brushed against yours, your eyelids fluttering shut as you anticipated his next move. 

The moment Bucky’s lips met yours, you could have been easily convinced that the world around you had fallen away. You could count on one hand the number of times you’d been kissed like this in the last four years, but none of them even stood close. 

It was pure. Fucking. Bliss. 

His mouth molded onto yours like a puzzle piece, filling something inside of you that you hadn’t realized was empty, curing some secret ache in your soul. The hand cupping your cheek slipped to the back of your neck to hold you just that much closer, angling his face to kiss you again, keeping you close to him. He touched you as if you were a delicate thing to be treasured while he kissed you like you were the very thing keeping him alive. 

Bucky parted the kiss and held his lips away from yours by mere centimeters, an immediate wave of disappointment washing over you, wanting nothing more than for him to do it again. And again. And again. 

“What do you think, is this one of those rules we can ignore?” he murmured, a playful grin on his face as you caught your breath. 

“I think I’ll let it slide,” you teased right back, delighted by the huff of amusement you got from the muscular man in front of you, more than eager to let him lean back in to keep kissing you…

“MAMA!” 

Honestly, you should have seen it coming. 

Bucky’s lips had only just touched yours when Ben called for you from across the playground, and you could feel the super-soldier's wide grin spreading across his face as you scrunched your nose. 

You put on your best attentive mother face as you turned to look at your son, finding him attempting to run up to you through the wood chips of the playground, his eyes trained on the handful of leaves in his hands. 

“Yes baby?” you asked as he arrived right at your feet, finally looking up at you and Bucky. 

“I buyed you more ice cream!” Ben shoved his cupped hands up to your chin, waiting expectantly for you to relieve him of his delivery. 

“That was very sweet of you, Ben, thank you,” you sighed, doing your very best to keep the exasperation from your voice – Bucky’s chuckle telling you that you may not have succeeded – as you pretended to nibble on the leaves you’d been gifted. This was probably the fourth time you’d gone through his game of ice cream delivery, your date having received the other three. 

When you emptied his “bowl” by tossing his leaves to the side, just as you and Bucky had alternated doing for the past six handfuls, you assumed he would return back to the game of cafe so his new friends could “wash the dishes.” That was the pattern, that’s how the game was supposed to go. 

But if being a mom had taught you anything, it was that any assumption about your son’s next move would prove to be wrong. 

So of course, possibly the only time where you might have wanted him to keep playing his game and leave you to find your own entertainment on the park bench, he patted his hands on his pants and began climbing into your lap. Pushing limbs to the side, almost kicking Bucky in the abdomen, actually headbutting you in the abdomen… the whole nine yards. 

“What uh… what are you doin, bud?” you asked once he’d settled himself in the pocket of your crossed legs, grabbing for your arms as he wrapped them around him. 

“I jus’ wanted to snuggle you,” he shrugged, wiggling impossibly closer to you as he looked back out at the playground, perfectly content to watch the other children play as he sat with the two of you. You rolled your eyes for only Bucky to see, getting another laugh out of him as you squeezed your son tight. 

“Thank you, sweetheart, you know I love your cuddles,” you cooed, pressing a kiss into his soft hair. “You have awesome timing, did you know that? The absolute best.” Ben hummed in agreement to your not-so-subtle sarcasm, happy as could be while Bucky continued laughing. 

While you definitely would have enjoyed getting to kiss him just a little bit longer, getting cuddled by your son while Bucky tucked in close and wrapped an arm around your shoulders was a very close second. 

…

You shut the door to Ben’s room gently behind you, tip-toeing out into the living room where Bucky was waiting for you, leaning up against the arm of the couch with his hands resting gently in his lap. He raised his brows expectantly, silently asking how it went. 

You waved a hand across your face. “He’s out,” you whispered, making Bucky smile. 

“I thought he would be,” he said softly, nodding slowly. “I could tell he was so tired there at the end, he was getting goofy.” You laughed as you remembered Ben’s antics, climbing all over Bucky as he sat on the couch, doing anything he could to fight sleep, and laughing at just about anything that the super-soldier said to him whether it was meant to be comical or not. 

“You wore him out!” you reminded, moving closer to him as you recounted the evening. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that boy run as fast as when you joined the kids’ game of chase.” He giggled as you stepped into the space between his legs, his hands instinctively lifting off of his lap to rest comfortably on your hips. “Earned yourself a couple points with the moms out there tonight.” 

“Oh yeah?” he asked sweetly, tilting his head in intrigue as you ran your hands up and down his muscular arms. Very muscular arms… You bit your lips and nodded to answer, earning a deep hum. “Did it earn me any points with Ben’s mom?” 

Your eyes found the chain of his dog tags hanging around his neck, tucked into the soft sweater that stretched over his chest. Buying yourself time to find the right words to answer his flirtatious question, you trailed your hands up his shoulders until they found the beaded chain. Slowly you pulled them out and kept them hooked in two of your fingers, the chain taught against his neck as you finally met his gaze. 

The blue of his eyes was slowly being overtaken by his pupils as he watched you. Not completely, but just enough to be noticeable, and it gave you a surge of confidence. You still had it. 

“You earned enough points to be able to kiss me again,” you bartered, and a single dark brow arched up his forehead as you leaned closer, pressing your body up against his. 

“How soon can I cash it in?” The gravel of his voice rumbled through his body, and you felt it go directly to your core. You gave a slight tug on the chain in your hands, clueing him into your answer. 

He didn’t need telling twice. Bucky followed the pull of his dog tags and leaned in to reconnect his lips with yours, and the second they hit home you melted into his grasp. You dropped the chain and wrapped your arms around his neck, putting most of your weight in his arms as his hands slid to wrap around your hips, holding you tight. 

It was hot, full of fire and hunger. He moved against you like it was second nature, tuned into every little sign and indicator your body was giving him, rendering you practically boneless. He nipped at your bottom lip, and teased your tongue with his own as you let him in, no thoughts in your head save from letting him keep kissing you like his life depended on it. 

Before you could wrap your brain around needing to stop for air, Bucky broke the kiss. His lips were so close, and yet so far, hovering inches away from yours. You spared a glance to see why he was torturing you like this, leaning back slightly to find his eyebrows furrowed as he stood completely still, peering out of his peripheral vision to follow… whatever it was he heard. 

After a few moments of silence, he relaxed again, turning his focus back to you and donning a sheepish grin when you raised your brows in question. “Sorry, I thought I heard Ben.” 

Ben… Ben, your son, sleeping in the other room. 

You didn’t even have the brain power to remember where you were, let alone keep your motherly instincts intact. Usually, it was you who had the all-hearing ears, being able to pick up on any slight out-of-place movement your son may have made. 

This time you didn’t. But Bucky did. While making out with you. 

“Are you even real?” You gushed, earning you a deep chuckle that rumbled through him, his nose scrunched up in amusement. “I mean, it’s enough of a task trying to find a man even willing to give a single mom the time of day. But here you are, buying him ice cream on our first date and listening for him mid-makeout.” His cheeks were turning a cute shade of pink as you rattled on with your praise, shaking his head through his amusement. 

“Well, I’m glad I’m doing something right, but that’s… I don’t feel like I deserve praise for that,” he admitted modestly, his tumb rubbing a soothing circle into you back as he continued to hold you close. “I actually feel like I should be apologizing for what I said earlier, when I went on about future things, and saying ‘we’ so many times… I- I hope I didn’t freak you out.”

The longer he kept talking, the more you were convinced you were dreaming. At any moment you would wake up, and this wonderful wonderful man would be ripped away from you. 

But when the dream didn’t end, you were quick to ease his worries. “Please don’t apologize for that, it was- okay, I don’t want to freak you out, but it was actually really refreshing.” 

Bucky tilted his head in question, gesturing for you to keep talking, and you took a moment to find the right words to explain what you were trying to tell him. Words that didn’t make it sound quite as pathetic as you always thought it did. 

“The guys I’ve dated in the past… well, I’ll just say that they were less concerned about finding a sitter specifically for the first date, and more interested in finding a way to get Ben out of the equation completely.” You had more to say, but for a moment all you could do was watch him. His face changed as soon as the words left your lips, and you were momentarily fascinated by the thinly veiled discomfort that took over his expression. 

Bucky was angry. 

Was it weird that it made your knees weak? His intense care for the both of you – as a complete unit – was making your insides do somersaults, and he wasn’t even seeking a reward for it. This wasn’t a show, he wasn’t trying to get on your good side. No, he was trying to hide it, play it off as something else. 

“I’d way rather hear you talk about a possible future, about teaching him things as he gets older… it’s a nice change from having to explain why Ben’s dad hasn’t come to take him away for the weekend,” you finished earnestly, watching the internal battle dance behind his eyes. “I like having you around all the time, watching you play together. You’re really good with him, Buck.” 

That last statement seemed to ease enough of his fiery emotions to give you a shy smile. “I try,” he shrugged. “He’s a sweet boy, it’s hard to tell him no.” 

“I know,” you groaned, earning you another laugh that rumbled through his large frame. “Y’know, he likes you a lot. He tells me all the time that you’re his best friend.” Bucky’s face melted into a soft smile, and it made you gooey. 

“As much as I like to hear that, I want better for him,” he started, sparing a glance towards Ben’s room, as if he was watching him through the walls. Only a mother wouldn’t think that was crazy. “He deserves a best friend his age, not a 107-year-old war veteran.” The bluntness of his statement made you laugh, the mental image of the two of them – and all their many differences – making for a comical image in your head. “Don’t get me wrong, he is my best friend, and I have no shame admitting it.” 

“Oh really? Not any of your superhero friends?” You started, but he made a scrunchy face in distaste, and you did your best not to erupt into more giggles. “And what about me?” He dropped the goofy expression and looked back at you with his eyebrow raised. 

“I was reserving something else for you…” he said smoothly, the timber of his voice sending another shiver through your body. 

“And what would that be?” you asked innocently, the arms still wrapped around his neck trying to encourage him to lean in closer. Instead, Bucky’s grip on you tightened as he rose from the arm of the couch, his darkening eyes never leaving yours as he walked you backwards through your apartment, keeping you balanced as you did your best to keep your feet on the ground. 

“Mmm, I think you’ll just have to wait and see,” he hummed, your back hitting the wall of your entry way as his eyes bore into yours. “I think I’ve hit my quota on future-talk tonight,” Bucky whispered. 

He didn’t give you time to come up with a witty reply before he leaned in close and pressed his lips against yours ever so softly, one arms slinking around your waist to pull you flush to him as his other left you, but you couldn’t dedicate any thought to where it might have gone when you were running your hands through his hair and enjoying the pleased sounds it drew out of him. 

It didn’t last long, Bucky breaking the kiss after only a few sweet kisses – not nearly enough, in your opinion – giving you a shit eating grin. He whispered a goodnight, stepping back to admire the flustered state he was leaving you in before walking back towards your front door, coat already in hand. And with one last wink he was gone, the door clicking softly as he shut it gently behind him, conscious of the sleeping four year old inside the apartment. 

You didn’t know how long you sat there, bracing yourself against the wall just inside your apartment as you went over the events of the night, remembering each sweet gaze, tender touch, and absolutely tantalizing kiss he had given you. One thing was for sure; it was without a doubt the most romantic date you had ever been on. 

You took a deep breath and pushed yourself off of the wall, moving to go double-check on Ben before starting your own nightly routine. You stopped in your tracks when your phone vibrated in your pocket, your face quickly breaking into a smile when Bucky’s name appeared on the screen. 

If we’re still throwing out first date rules, I don’t have to wait three days to text you again, right? Great, I’m glad you agree. 

Thanks for reading!! If you’d like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛

To The Winter Soldier~ Oneshot

Summery: Y/N’s brother was one of the Winter Soldier’s victims. Years later, she finds herself writing anonymous letters to Bucky—letters he somehow receives. He writes back. Neither of them knows who the other is… until they meet.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Note: All characters except Bucky are mine!

Warnings: Smut

||Main Masterlist|| ||Oneshot Masterlist||

Flashback: Warsaw, Poland – 11:42 PM

The streets of Warsaw were quiet in the way only European cities could be in late autumn—wet stone sidewalks reflecting scattered lamplight, the fog low and heavy like a held breath. James Buchanan Barnes—at least, what was left of him—moved without a sound down a side alley off Krucza Street.

In this moment, he wasn’t James.

He was the Winter Soldier.

Emotionless. Controlled. Programmed.

His breath didn’t fog in the cold. His eyes didn’t register the beauty of the old city. His body moved like a weapon mid-flight—fluid, silent, deadly.

Objective: Terminate target. No witnesses. No deviation.

He paused just beyond a narrow gap between buildings, his dark tactical uniform melting into the night. The metal plates of his left arm were covered, but still glinted faintly beneath the sleeve as he raised a pair of thermal binoculars.

The man was exactly where the file said he’d be.

Caleb L/N. Age 27.

Hydra’s briefing had been brief. Caleb worked in cybersecurity, was flagged as a low-risk asset who had stumbled too close to a buried Hydra archive while decoding black-market data. He had passed the info to a Polish whistleblower before it could be contained.

Now, he was loose.

And loose ends were to be tied.

The Soldier didn’t question. He didn’t hesitate. He moved.

Caleb was walking alone, clutching a plastic bag with takeaway food, oblivious to the death tailing him from the rooftops. He stopped beneath a streetlamp to check his phone, brows furrowing.

One step. Another.

The Soldier dropped silently behind him, feet absorbing the impact. Caleb didn’t even turn before the strike came—a swift, brutal blow to the back that sent him to the ground gasping, the bag flying from his hands.

“Wha—” Caleb coughed, rolling onto his side, blinking through the daze. His voice cracked. “What the hell—?”

The Soldier said nothing.

He raised the silenced pistol.

Caleb’s eyes locked on his. Wide. Disbelieving. “Wait—please—don’t—”

The shot was muffled. The sound of finality.

The body crumpled.

The Soldier stared down, unmoving, watching until the chest stopped rising. Then he bent, retrieved the phone, and checked for surveillance.

No witnesses.

No mistakes.

He vanished into the shadows like he’d never been there.

The only evidence of Caleb L/N’s final moments was a slowly spreading stain on the cobblestones and a half-crushed paper container of pierogi leaking steam into the night.

Brooklyn, New York – Present Day

The dreams never changed.

Bucky woke with a start, sheets damp, body rigid as if still caught mid-mission. The image was always the same: a man’s eyes staring up at him. Not angry. Just… confused. Pleading.

Sometimes he heard the words.

“Please.”

Sometimes he saw the blood again.

He rolled out of bed before the echo could settle in his chest and paced to the window of the safe house Steve had found for him. The room was small, plain. Quiet. But not even silence could outpace ghosts.

He rubbed at his temple and sat on the edge of the couch, trying to breathe normally.

Caleb L/N.

He remembered his name now.

He remembered the moment they gave him the file, called him a threat, labeled the target. He remembered thinking—before they wiped it all clean again—that Caleb had kind eyes.

The kind of eyes that didn’t deserve a bullet.

But Bucky’s hands had delivered it anyway.

Because that was who he was made to be.

He leaned forward, face in his hands, and whispered through his teeth. “I’m sorry.”

But there was no one to hear.

Brooklyn, 3:15 AM

She wasn’t expecting the memory to hit her like this.

It was a candle. That was all it took. One stupid scent—amber and pine—flickering on her windowsill like the universe wanted to see if she was still bleeding.

She was.

It’d been four years since the government confirmed her brother’s death was the result of a Hydra mission.

Four years since she got access to the file.

And she still couldn’t sleep through the night.

She sat at her kitchen table, robe wrapped tight, eyes stinging as she stared down at a blank piece of paper. Her fingers twitched around the pen. The same pen she’d used to write to Caleb before his job took him overseas. Letters he never got to read.

Now she had something to say to the man who’d taken him away.

Y/N gritted her teeth, then finally began to write.

To the Winter Soldier,

You don’t know me. But I know you.

I’ve seen your face. I’ve watched that grainy footage more times than I want to admit. You were expressionless. Empty. You didn’t hesitate when you pulled the trigger. My brother was carrying takeout, probably worried he was going to be late to meet his friend for dinner. You ended that. You ended him.

I want to believe that you’re not that man anymore. Everyone says you were brainwashed. A puppet. A weapon.

But I’m still angry. And I don’t know where else to put it.

So I’m putting it here. With you.

She stared at it.

Then slowly signed her name.

—Y/N L/N

Three Days Later – Avengers Compound Mailroom

Bucky didn’t usually check the mail addressed to him. He never got any. Not until recently. Not until people found out he was alive. Most of it was hate. Some of it was apology. He didn’t read either.

But this envelope caught his eye.

No return address. Just his name. Carefully printed.

He opened it.

And the words hit like a blow to the ribs.

Caleb.

Takeout.

Please.

The letter fell into his lap. He stared at the name at the bottom.

Y/N L/N.

He remembered now. Her photo had been in the target’s file. Sister. Civilian. Innocent.

He hadn’t thought of her since.

But now—now he couldn’t think of anything else.

___

Y/N didn’t expect a response.

She certainly didn’t expect it to come back three days later in a matching envelope, her own handwriting on the front.

Inside, beneath her own creased letter, was a second note. Short. Clipped. Like someone who wasn’t sure how to speak anymore.

Y/N,

I remember him. I remember the street, the way he looked at me before I pulled the trigger. I remember that I hesitated for half a second. But not long enough.

There is no version of this where I deserve your forgiveness. But if writing helps, I’ll read every word.

—James Barnes

She read it again.

And again.

And this time, she cried not because she was angry.

But because somewhere in the wreckage of war and Hydra and grief, someone who should have been her enemy had chosen to listen.

Brooklyn – One Week Later

Y/N didn’t plan to write again.

She’d told herself it was a one-time thing. A single letter to scream into a void she didn’t think had ears.

But the void had answered.

And now it wasn’t a void anymore.

His words echoed in her head for days. Not because they were eloquent—far from it. But because they were honest. Unpolished. Unpracticed. Like someone who’d forgotten how to speak and was learning again, one word at a time.

There is no version of this where I deserve your forgiveness. But if writing helps, I’ll read every word.

Y/N folded the letter neatly, then unfolded it. Again. Again. Until the edges were worn and the center split like old skin.

Forgiveness wasn’t even on the table.

But if he meant what he said—if this man, this assassin, was willing to carry a piece of her grief for a while—then maybe she had more to say.

So she picked up the pen.

James,

I didn’t think you’d respond. I didn’t think you could.

I read your note a dozen times. I won’t lie—it made me sick at first. That you remember the street. That you remember him. It’s strange. You’re the last person to ever see my brother alive. You know something about his final moments I never will.

I hate that. And I hate that I’m curious.

What was he like? In those seconds, I mean. Was he scared? Was he in pain? Did he try to fight you?

Please don’t soften it for me. I think I need to know.

She didn’t sign her name this time.

She didn’t need to.

Avengers Compound – Bucky’s Quarters

Bucky didn’t touch the letter for a full day.

He left it on his desk like it was a bomb that might go off if he looked at it too long. He wasn’t sure why it rattled him so deeply—he’d killed hundreds. Thousands, if he counted the ones he couldn’t remember.

But Caleb wasn’t just a file anymore.

He had a sister.

And now her voice lived in Bucky’s mind.

He finally opened the envelope late at night, under the sterile hum of his desk lamp. He read the letter slowly, then again. He didn’t cry—he didn’t know how to anymore—but something curled in his chest. Heavy. Familiar.

Guilt had made a permanent home there.

He reached for a pen.

Not because he wanted to.

Because he owed her answers.

Y/N,

He was surprised. That’s what I remember most. Not fear—not at first. Just confusion. Like he didn’t understand why someone would hurt him.

Then came the pleading. It didn’t last long. I was trained to be quick.

No. He didn’t fight me. He looked like he wanted to talk. But I didn’t give him a chance.

I remember his eyes. They were light brown. They reminded me of my sister’s. You probably have the same ones.

I’m sorry you have to carry this. If I could take it back, I would.

—James

___

The letters continued—not daily, but often enough to become a rhythm neither of them understood. Y/N wrote when the weight of memory pressed too hard. Bucky answered with a kind of quiet reverence, never making excuses, only offering fragments of truth.

Did you ever wonder what kind of man you would’ve been if Hydra hadn’t taken you?

Every day. I think about the version of me who died in 1945. I think he might’ve had a dog. A little apartment. Maybe a record collection. I hope he liked jazz.

I grew up thinking monsters lived in closets or under the bed. Now I know they wear uniforms and follow orders. Did you feel like a monster?

No. I felt like a shadow. Like I didn’t exist at all. That was worse.

Do you believe in redemption?

Not for me. But I believe in trying.

Brooklyn – Late December

Y/N sat on the fire escape, bundled in a blanket, watching snow flurry down like ashes. The city looked peaceful in a way she rarely trusted. Caleb would’ve loved this view. He always said New York looked better in black and white.

Her phone buzzed with a new message from her friend Jenna, reminding her of the New Year’s party next week. She deleted it. She wasn’t in the mood for noise or laughter.

Instead, she reached for her notepad.

James,

I’ve stopped expecting your answers to make me feel better, but somehow they always settle me. It’s strange to feel comforted by the same hand that caused so much of this pain. Maybe it’s just because you’re the only one who knows.

I was twenty-two when Caleb died. He was twenty-seven. He used to make me pancakes every Sunday. He’d burn half of them and laugh like it was a victory. He told terrible jokes. He used to hum old movie soundtracks when he was nervous.

I don’t know why I’m telling you this.

Maybe I’m tired of hating you.

—Y/N

Avengers Compound – Midnight

Bucky held her latest letter like a relic. Each word was a heartbeat he didn’t think he deserved to hear.

He had read about forgiveness in books. About survivors reaching out to those who hurt them, about the impossible courage it took. But he had never felt it.

Now he did.

Or at least the beginning of it.

He sat at the edge of his bed, pen in hand, and wrote slower than usual.

Y/N,

He sounds like someone I wish I’d met. I’m sorry I didn’t get to.

Thank you for telling me about him. Every detail you give me is a piece of him that gets to live again—even if just in my mind.

You may never stop hating what I did. But I hope one day you stop hating yourself for surviving it.

I don’t know how to be part of something good anymore. But your letters feel like a start.

—James

By February, they were writing weekly.

By March, Y/N started to sign her name again.

By April, Bucky sent her a postcard from upstate New York, scrawled with a note:

This trail reminded me of something you said. About stillness. There’s a bench here under a pine tree. I think he would’ve liked it.

By May, she wrote back with a photograph—Caleb holding a guitar, mid-laugh.

And slowly, in the space between their words, something unfamiliar began to form.

Not peace. Not yet.

But something close.

Brooklyn – March

The photograph sat on the windowsill for three weeks before she sent it.

She almost didn’t include it. Something about handing over that moment—Caleb, mid-laugh, his guitar crooked in his lap, bare feet on a hardwood floor—felt sacrilegious. Sacred.

But she did it anyway. Because maybe grief didn’t mean hoarding memories. Maybe it meant sharing them, even with the person who had no right to them.

She didn’t expect a reply so soon.

Y/N,

Thank you. I stared at that picture for a long time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so alive. You caught him at a perfect second. I hope that’s the way you remember him most.

I keep it on my nightstand. I hope that’s okay.

Spring’s just starting here. I think you’d like the trail I found. It’s quiet, all pines and river rocks. I sat there today and thought about that bench again. I think Caleb would’ve sat there with you. Probably teased you about how serious you get when you’re thinking.

You ever smile when you’re remembering him? It’s okay if the answer’s no. It took me decades to smile about anything.

—James

Y/N folded the letter twice, pressed it to her lips for no reason she wanted to examine, then set it on her nightstand beside Caleb’s old guitar pick. She hadn’t played since he died.

That night, she picked it up.

Just a few chords. Nothing whole.

But it was a beginning.

Early April-

The rhythm of their writing changed. Not so frequent as before, but longer. More thoughtful. Less like grieving, more like two people peeling open parts of themselves one truth at a time.

Do you remember colors? I read once that trauma makes people forget brightness. When you were the Soldier, did the world feel gray?

Yes. Everything was washed out. Like a dream you can’t wake from. It’s only in the last few years I’ve started seeing color again. There’s a red door in Harlem I like. Deep, real red. Makes me stop every time I pass it.

Caleb used to call me “Firefly.” Said I always lit up rooms. I haven’t felt like that in a long time.

I don’t know you, not really. But your letters feel like light. Maybe the nickname still fits.

Do you ever feel like the pain is all you have left of the person you lost? Like letting go of it is some kind of betrayal?

I felt that way about Steve for a while. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It just means you’re making room. Room for what comes next.

I dreamed about you last night. Don’t panic—it wasn’t romantic or anything.

You were sitting across from me in a coffee shop. It was raining. We didn’t say a word. Just sat there. And it was the first time in the dream I didn’t feel angry.

Is that progress?

Yes.

Also, for the record, I panic less than I used to.

Maybe someday we actually do that. Rain and coffee and silence. I think I’d like that.

Avengers Compound – Mid April

Bucky stood at the punching bag, gloves off, sweat slicking his hair to his neck. Sam was gone, off doing recon in Tunisia. The gym was silent.

He stared at the bag, then turned his eyes to the little photo on the nearby table. Caleb. Laughing.

Y/N had written again yesterday.

This one was different.

James,

I’m thinking of traveling. Just for a few days. There’s a cabin in Vermont my brother and I used to visit in the spring.

I haven’t been back since he died. Thought maybe I’d go now. The idea scares me. But so did writing to you, and look how that turned out.

Do you ever go somewhere just to remember?

Or to forget?

—Y/N

He sat down on the gym bench, pulled the pen from his jacket, and started writing.

Vermont sounds like a good idea. Sometimes places can hold echoes. Good ones, bad ones. But they’re real. You get to decide how loud they get.

There’s a cliff on the edge of Coney Island. I go there sometimes. Not for anyone else—just me. I sit there and try to picture who I used to be. And who I could still become.

Maybe we’re all just trying to survive our memories. Some people drink. Some people run. Some people write.

You write beautifully. Even when you’re breaking.

I hope the cabin is kind to you.

—James

Vermont – Late April

The cabin hadn’t changed.

Y/N’s breath hitched the moment she stepped inside. Dust hung in golden beams of light, and the place still smelled faintly of cedar and rain. Caleb’s boots were still by the back door. His fishing rod leaned against the porch rail.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for her pen.

James,

It’s strange. I thought I’d break down the second I got here. But I didn’t. I sat on the porch, and I just breathed. The air smells like pine and ash. Like him.

I walked the old trail he used to love. I found the tree we carved our initials into. Y/N + C, with a lopsided heart. He used to say we were soulmates in sibling form. That no one understood him like I did.

Coming here didn’t make the grief go away. But it’s not strangling me anymore.

Maybe that’s all healing really is. Less choking. More room to breathe.

Thank you for helping me get here.

—Y/N

May–

The letters slowed.

Not because the connection faded—because something else was blooming.

He called her.

It wasn’t planned. He had paced for two hours with his phone in hand before pressing the call button. His palms were damp. His throat dry.

She picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

Her voice was quieter than in the letters. Softer. Like standing at the edge of something fragile.

“It’s me,” he said. “James.”

A beat of silence.

Then: “You sound exactly like I thought you would.”

A breath escaped him—half-laugh, half-relief.

“Is that a good thing?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. It is.”

They talked for thirteen minutes. Nothing deep. Weather. The noise outside her window. A coffee shop he liked.

But when they hung up, her chest felt warmer.

And he smiled, just a little, for the first time in days.

Late May-

The letters didn’t stop. But they changed.

More handwritten now. More casual. Like two people catching up, not clawing through darkness anymore.

I played guitar again yesterday. I was terrible. But it felt right.

You’re probably better than you think. I can’t play a damn thing. Tried piano once. Sam said I looked like I was trying to dismantle a bomb.

Do you ever think about meeting in person? I’m not asking. Just wondering.

Because I do. Sometimes I imagine us walking in silence. No letters. Just us. In whatever peace we’ve managed to build.

I think about it too.

Brooklyn – June

It was hot.

The kind of sticky New York summer that made people irritable and sunburned. Y/N sat on the rooftop of her building, Caleb’s guitar on her lap, pen and paper beside her.

She hadn’t written in a week—not because she didn’t want to.

Because she didn’t need to say anything new.

But she did anyway.

James,

It’s been a strange spring. But in the best way. I feel like I’ve been living in grayscale for years, and now everything’s starting to bloom.

You were part of that. Whether you meant to be or not.

I think I’m ready to meet.

I’ll be at the bench. The one you told me about. In the pines, by the river. Two weeks from today. Noon.

You don’t have to come.

But I hope you will.

—Y/N

Vermont – June

The bench waited.

It was simple, old wood and iron, nestled beneath two leaning pine trees by the river. The trail was quiet, save for the occasional wind dragging through the canopy above. Dappled light spilled across the clearing like fragments of memory.

Y/N stood a few paces back from it, her fingers wrapped around the strap of her bag.

She wasn’t early. She wasn’t late.

But he wasn’t there yet.

She sat anyway, her heart pounding in her chest like a second pulse. She wore her brother’s bracelet around one wrist—worn leather, initials carved in the metal plate: C.L.

The last time she’d sat this still with her grief, she’d been standing over a casket.

Today, the ache was quieter.

She didn’t know what she expected to feel when he arrived. Anger? Panic? Closure?

She’d rehearsed a dozen things in her head.

None of them came when she saw him.

He Appeared Like a Shadow Stepping into Light.

It started with the quiet crunch of boots on gravel. No fanfare. No sudden gust of wind.

Just footsteps.

She turned slowly.

Bucky Barnes stepped through the tree line like a ghost who had finally been given permission to live.

He wore jeans, boots, a dark green henley that matched the woods. His hair was tied back, jaw sharp with tension. His metal arm glinted once in the sun before he tucked it into his jacket pocket. As if it were still something to be ashamed of.

He stopped a few feet away.

Neither of them spoke.

The birds didn’t sing. The wind stilled. Time waited.

His eyes found hers, blue and uncertain and flooded with something deeper than guilt. Something human.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said quietly.

“I wasn’t sure I could,” he replied.

“Why did you?”

He swallowed. “Because I couldn’t not.”

She looked at the bench, then back at him. “Will you sit?”

He nodded once and took the far end, leaving a respectful gap between them.

Not a barrier.

Just… space.

___

“It’s quieter than I thought,” he said.

She glanced at the river. “He liked it for that. Said silence was where people got honest.”

“I’ve never been good at that.”

She looked at him—really looked. He didn’t flinch.

“I think you are. It just took you a while.”

A bird chirped in the distance.

He let out a breath, slow and long. “You look different than I pictured.”

She smiled faintly. “Let me guess—taller? Angrier?”

“Both. And louder.”

She laughed. It was short but real.

“I was. When I wrote that first letter, I wanted to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“But I didn’t.”

He turned to her then. “You could have. Every word you sent after that first one… It undid pieces of me I thought were set in stone.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze fell to her hands in her lap.

“I used to dream about killing you.”

Bucky didn’t flinch.

“I’d imagine what I’d say if I ever saw you. I practiced speeches in the mirror. But none of them sounded right. None of them made me feel better.”

“Do you feel better now?”

She met his eyes. “I feel something. And that’s a start.”

___

The path wound along the river, soft underfoot. Moss and pine needles coated the trail, and the world smelled like damp earth and time.

He didn’t touch her. She didn’t touch him. But they walked in step.

“How long have you been clean?” she asked gently.

He knew what she meant.

“Almost five years.”

“Does it get easier?”

He nodded once. “Some days. Others still knock me sideways.”

She paused beside a tree. “Do you remember it?”

His throat tightened. “Your brother?”

She nodded.

“Yes. More than I want to. Less than he deserves. His face comes to me sometimes… in flashes. He wasn’t afraid.”

She looked down. Her voice wavered. “He was brave.”

“He was kind.”

She looked at him in surprise.

Bucky’s gaze was steady. “He looked at me like I was still human. Even when I wasn’t.”

A silence passed between them. Heavy. Necessary.

Then: “He would’ve forgiven you.”

Bucky swallowed the burn in his throat. “Do you?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped closer and reached for his hand—the flesh one.

Warm. Rough. Human.

“I’m trying.”

He nodded. “That’s all I can ask.”

___

They talked for hours.

On the bench. On the trail. Back at the cabin porch, where she brewed him terrible instant coffee.

They didn’t talk about Hydra.

They didn’t talk about Steve.

They talked about small things—music, books, the way Bucky hated peaches and how Y/N used to sing in the car until Caleb begged her to stop.

She laughed again. Twice.

He smiled more.

When dusk settled, he stood.

“I should go.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, surprising them both.

He blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to regret not saying it.”

He nodded. “I’ll stay nearby. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah. It is.”

He hesitated, then reached into his coat and pulled out a folded envelope.

“I brought this. In case I couldn’t find the words out loud.”

She took it. “Thank you.”

He started down the porch steps, then paused.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you wrote to me.”

Her chest ached, but not the way it used to.

“I’m glad you answered.”

Later That Night-

She read the letter by lamplight.

Y/N,

There are some things I still can’t say out loud. Not yet. But I want you to have this.

When I was the Soldier, I didn’t know what I was doing. But when I came back… when I remembered… your brother’s face was the first one I saw in every nightmare.

I didn’t understand why until you wrote me. Until I realized what I took from the world when I took him.

You didn’t owe me anything. Not a letter. Not a meeting. Not kindness.

But you gave me all of it.

I can’t bring him back. But I can try to live in a way that would make someone like him proud.

Someone like you.

If that’s worth anything.

Thank you for giving me the chance to try.

—James

She didn’t cry.

Not because it didn’t hurt.

But because it did—and it was okay.

She folded the letter gently, set it beside Caleb’s old photo, and whispered into the darkness:

“I think he’d be proud too.”

Vermont – The Morning After

The rain had passed in the night.

Y/N woke to the smell of pine, coffee, and something heavier—familiar, but no longer cruel. Grief, maybe. Or memory.

The river murmured softly outside the cabin window.

She sat up slowly, blinking against the gray light filtering through the trees. Her fingers grazed the folded letter on her nightstand—James’ words from the night before still humming in her chest.

The hurt wasn’t gone. But it wasn’t alone anymore.

She made coffee.

At 7:02 a.m., she stepped out onto the porch in a sweatshirt and thick socks, expecting to be alone.

She wasn’t.

He was sitting on the stairs. Quiet. Still.

Bucky Barnes.

Wearing the same clothes from yesterday, his metal hand curled around a mug, steam rising gently in the morning air.

He looked over his shoulder when he heard her step.

“You always up this early?” he asked.

“I used to be,” she said, sitting beside him. “Not sure why today.”

“You expecting me?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “But I’m not surprised.”

He handed her a second mug.

She took it without question.

____

By noon, he’d helped fix the back step.

By afternoon, they sat at opposite ends of the couch—her reading, him silently sanding down an old chair leg he’d insisted needed smoothing. When she looked up, she caught him watching her more than once.

Neither spoke of the letters.

Or Caleb.

Not yet.

There was comfort in the silence.

And tension too—but not the volatile kind. The kind that builds like a storm behind the eyes. Quiet, patient, certain.

Later That Night –

She made grilled cheese.

Bucky chopped tomatoes for soup. It was domestic in the oddest, most surreal way.

He watched her laugh at herself for nearly burning the bread.

She watched the way he concentrated on cutting, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, metal fingers clumsy but careful.

“You’re not bad at this,” she said, a little surprised.

“Steve used to make me practice. Said if I could dismantle a Hydra bomb, I could damn well learn to slice an onion.”

She smiled into her mug.

When the food was done, they sat at the tiny kitchen table. Two bowls. Two plates.

“You always stay this long when you visit someone?” she asked gently.

“No,” he said. “But I’ve never had a reason to before.”

She didn’t push it.

He didn’t look away.

After Dinner –

“I kept thinking,” she said slowly, “that seeing you would feel like facing a monster.”

Bucky nodded once, not looking at her.

“But you’re not,” she continued. “You’re just… a man. With a lot of pain.”

“That’s the most dangerous kind,” he said.

“Only when it goes untended.”

He finally looked up.

“I don’t know how to let go of what I’ve done.”

“You don’t have to let go of it,” she said softly. “You just have to learn to live beside it.”

Bucky swallowed hard. “Is that what you’ve done?”

“I’m trying.”

Their eyes held.

It was a long, silent understanding.

___

He took the couch.

She left a blanket and pillow on the armrest without a word.

In the quiet of the night, she listened to the slow, measured sounds of his breathing. And for the first time in years, she didn’t feel alone in the dark.

The Week That Followed-

He stayed.

Not every night. Not always inside. But he didn’t leave.

They shared space. Chopped wood. Took long walks along the water. She taught him how to make tea from dried herbs in the cabinet. He taught her how to patch a leaky pipe under the sink.

They spoke about nothing and everything.

About Caleb. About Brooklyn. About nightmares and silence and the weight of too many memories.

One night, she found him on the porch, jaw clenched, breath fast.

She didn’t ask. Just sat beside him.

Eventually, he whispered, “I remembered the first time they made me kill someone. I didn’t even know their name.”

She rested her hand over his. Flesh on metal.

“You know mine now,” she said softly. “That’s a start.”

____

It happened slowly.

A touch of his hand against her back when she tripped on a root.

Her palm lingering on his shoulder as she passed him a mug.

The way he looked at her when she laughed—like he didn’t believe he was allowed to hear it, but was grateful all the same.

One morning, she woke to find him asleep at the kitchen table, a letter in front of him he never gave her.

She read it anyway.

Y/N,

Sometimes I think about the version of me who didn’t kill your brother. Who never became what they made me. And I wonder if he would’ve had the courage to talk to you like this.

Then I realize that man doesn’t exist. But I do. I exist. And I think that has to count for something.

I don’t know what this is between us. I don’t know what I deserve. But I know I want to be someone who listens when you laugh and remembers the sound.

If that’s too much, I understand. But if it’s not… I’ll be here. As long as you let me.

—J

____

It wasn’t a letter.

Just herself.

Sitting beside him when he woke. A blanket around her shoulders. Two cups of tea in her hands. No makeup. No mask.

Just her.

“You stayed,” she said softly.

“I did.”

“I think I want you to keep staying.”

Bucky blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He reached out, hesitant, and touched her hand.

She let him.

___

They sat beneath the trees where they first met. Spring had leaned into early summer. The air was warmer now, the ground dry.

Bucky lay back against the grass, hands behind his head.

Y/N stretched beside him, close enough to feel his warmth.

“You ever think we were supposed to find each other?” she asked, voice light.

“I think we weren’t supposed to survive,” he replied. “But we did. So maybe that’s something better.”

She looked up at the sky.

“Do you still have nightmares?”

“Sometimes,” he said.

“You ever see me in them?”

He turned to face her.

“Not anymore.”

____

That night, she sat at her desk and looked at the small stack of letters she’d once written in rage, grief, and aching hope.

She placed them in a box.

Not to forget.

But to begin something new.

When Bucky stepped inside, eyes tired, arms soft around her waist, she leaned into him without hesitation.

“You ever write letters now?” she asked into his chest.

He kissed the top of her head.

“Only to you. But I think I’d rather speak them.”

She leaned back, just far enough to look into his eyes. “Then speak,” she whispered.

“I want to touch you,” he said quietly, reverently. “Not just because I’m drawn to you. But because… I need to remember what it’s like to be gentle. To be wanted. If you’ll let me.”

Y/N brought her hand to his cheek, guiding his mouth back to hers in answer.

It started slow—sweet, lingering kisses that deepened as his hand slid around her back, drawing her closer. She could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying in the way he kissed her, like each brush of his mouth against hers was an apology, a promise, a plea.

She tugged his shirt up and off, breath catching at the sight of him—broad shoulders, strong chest, and skin crisscrossed with scars, memories etched into muscle. Her fingers trailed over the metal where it met flesh, her touch light but certain.

“You don’t need to hide from me,” she whispered.

He nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I don’t want to.”

She kissed the seam between metal and skin, a gesture so soft and intimate it made him shudder.

He helped her out of her sweatshirt, then her tank top, hands grazing over her ribs, reverent. His mouth followed the path of his fingers, kissing her skin like it deserved worship. When he reached her breasts, he paused—eyes locked with hers—waiting.

“Please,” she breathed.

He kissed her softly, his mouth warm and open over her nipple, tongue flicking gently, hand kneading the other breast. She arched into him, her breath catching at the careful intensity of him—so strong, so controlled, yet unraveling only for her.

“Bucky…” she sighed, fingers sliding into his hair.

He groaned into her skin, the sound low and broken with want. “You feel like something I dreamed and never thought I’d touch.”

“You’re allowed,” she whispered, pulling him back to her mouth. “You’re allowed to want. To take. Just… stay with me.”

They shed the rest of their clothes slowly, like each layer was a weight being cast aside. When they were bare, skin to skin, he paused—hovering above her, his body trembling with restraint.

“I haven’t…” he said, his voice raw, “in a long time. Not like this. Not with someone who sees me.”

Y/N brought her hand to his cheek. “I see you, James.”

He kissed her like her name was salvation.

When he entered her, it was with a groan that sounded like release and reverence all at once. She gasped, her body arching, welcoming him.

He moved slowly at first—deep, steady strokes, his eyes never leaving hers. Every thrust was a question, and her moans, her nails digging gently into his back, were answers.

Her hips rolled to meet him, her breath catching on every exhale.

“You feel—” he rasped, “God, you feel like coming home.”

Her hand slid down between them, touching herself where she needed friction most. He saw, cursed softly, and took over with his thumb, circling her clit in time with his thrusts.

“Bucky—” she cried out, her body tightening around him.

He felt her shudder beneath him, watched her fall apart with eyes wide and lips parted in ecstasy, and it undid him.

He came with her name on his lips, spilling into her with a sound that was almost a sob.

Afterward, he collapsed beside her, panting, arms wrapping tightly around her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in like he couldn’t get enough.

“I don’t deserve this,” he whispered.

“You deserve this,” she said softly, threading her fingers through his hair. “You deserve peace. And if you can’t believe it yet… stay until you do.”

They lay there, tangled and spent, the room still and silent around them. Outside, the forest rustled in the wind. Inside, nothing moved but the steady rise and fall of their chests.

She kissed the scar on his shoulder, and he held her tighter.

No more letters tonight. No more ghosts.

Only skin, breath, and the quiet place where they’d begun again.

-the end

you or nothing (fic)

bucky barnes x fem!reader | thunderbolts spoilers!!!

content warnings: mentions and descriptions of trauma and physical v!olence; implied m solo pleasure; self-loathing :(

word count: 8k. words.

blurb: when the Thunderbolts enter the void, Bucky goes missing. You take it upon yourself to find him, venturing into his deepest pockets of his shame.

“Where’s Bucky?” 

Your chest is heaving, breath catching in your throat, refusing to fill your lungs. This whole place is a mangled maze of nightmares. A psychedelic trip that you unwillingly flung yourself into, after sharing one last knowing glance with the other misfit teammates. Somehow, you’d found yourselves together, footed inside of one of Alexi’s rooms: it looks like his house, covered in filth, unkept and unhomely. He’s sitting on the sofa, eating three-day old pizza, methodically avoiding the mold spores. Every other bite is washed down with lukewarm beer. His gaze is half-focused on the television screen, illuminating the otherwise dark room with memories of his past. Memories of his glory days. The Alexi of the past sits harmless on the sofa as the four of you pant and look around in search of the missing super solider. 

“Where’s Barnes? Has anyone seen him?” your repeat, louder, more desperate. Ava shakes her head. 

“He must still be in his rooms,” Walker replies. He speaks with conviction but there’s a weariness to his eyes, telling of the horrors he relived to try and fight his way to a common ground. “We need to find Bob and Yelena, and put an end to this shitshow.”

“Not without Barnes,” you snap. You look around and take a shuddering breath. “I’ll go find him.”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Ava asks. Her British accent almost sounds sardonic. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble. You study every window, every mirror, every reflection. You need a passageway to his psyche. Shaking your head, you murmur under your breath, “come on, Bucky. Gimme a clue here.”

A raspy, Russian laugh has everyone jolting. Your head darts to the Alexi on the sofa, half-collapsed in his seat. He’s pointing at the screen, applauding seemingly himself, a chunk of pizza crust catching in his beard. The glorious Red Guardian, nothing more than a washed-up has been. The present-day Alexi cringes, head bowing slightly at the insight into his ‘secret life’. But then something glimmers. It catches your eye. You take a step forward to a framed picture. The glass almost sparkles in an inexplicable phenomenon. Somehow, something in your gut knows. Bucky. You take a breath and swallow. You know Bucky’s life is scattered with shadows. Warping, melting black holes of guilt and shame and terror. Stepping into his mind might shatter yours. But if he’s lived it and survived, you can take a pass through to find him. With that, you let your fingertips reach out to the glass. They slip through it like parting water, giving way to a portal of kinds, and your eyes slip shut as incomprehension overwhelms you. When you open them, you’re no longer in Alexi’s living room . 

It’s cold. Water drips in the background, monotonous and repetitive. Drip, drip, drip. You’re standing on concrete, damp with puddles of water, stained with what looks to be oil and something darker. Blood. Metal walls built atop of cinderblocks surround you. Grey and dying. Lifeless. Fluorescent overhead lights dangle from the ceiling, lighting the facility like a morgue. You swallow your dread as you take in the view. It’s easy to denominate where you are without looking at the emblem shining proudly on the wall, like a hunter’s buck head mounted. Hydra.

Movement behind you has you turning, startled. You suddenly miss the company of the others. Of the Alexi sat slouched on the sofa. Your eyes fall on phantoms of Hydra, men dressed in white lab coats as if pretending to be doctors, dishonoring the name of scientists. That isn’t what makes your stomach drop though. What is, is the sight of the man between them. The man whose legs are dragging limply on the floor, arms slung over their shoulders. The man whose chest is barely moving, life barely flickering in his body, soul barely alive. Bucky. But not your Bucky - not the Bucky you know now, the Bucky you have the honour to call your closest friend and deepest confidant. No, a Bucky from the past. A Bucky whose mind was splintered into fragments, forced together to form the image of a Hydra. A mind that was wired to know only one thing: compliance. 

Bucky’s sometimes shared bits from his past with you. Back when you were in Wakanda together, he’d sometimes find it therapeutic to share snippets of his nightmares that had awoken him. You’d talk over glasses of whiskey or tea, sitting before a bonfire, swatting away mosquitos, absorbed in the noises of nature. The pictures you’d paint in your mind from his stories were like stills from horror movies no director would even dream to make. You’d listen, allow him to free himself from the clutches of them by sharing the load, if only slightly. It brought the two of you closer. A friendship no longer forged out of happenstance but instead out of trust. Understanding. 

But seeing it here, before you, played out like some twisted theatre, was different. This was almost a torture of its own. 

You feel bile scratch at your throat when they force him into the chair. They’re careless with his body as though he’s nothing more than a thing. A weapon with the inconvenience of organs. And like all weapons, he needed to be cleaned. 

The headpiece whirs to life, slowly inching down towards the frontal lobes of his head, as if taunting him with what was to come. You shake your head as if that might stop what’s about to happen. When the power whizzes to life, your hand clutches desperately at your thigh, clenching the thin, form-fitting fabric of your suit in a pathetic attempt to ground you. Blood draws from how hard you bite your lip. Tears sting your wide eyes. It’s like watching a car crash: you can’t look away. The human mind frozen in shock, gluing your vision to the horrible, detailed recreation of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes being scrubbed into the Winter Solider. His cries are the worst part. You never imagined them before. Your mind wouldn’t allow you to. Everytime it tried to conjure a picture, his mouth would open with soundless cries. But here, they echo off the walls. Bounce off each hard surface, shattering your eardrums, cracking your heart. They’re guttural. Feral. Something almost inhuman, primal that one would never need to tap into. 

The words. Those Godforsaken words that held Bucky prisoner for years. The Russian sounds jagged like rocks on the soldiers tongues as they speak them. Demand them into his head, for him to comply. For him to be theirs. He’s heaving, forehead sticky with sweat, hair thick and greasy. Uncared for. Nothing more than a means to an end. The shiny silver metal of his arm is near unrecognizable. You’re so accustomed to the sleek black Vibranium one that it’s hard to recall this former appendage. The memories it held. The history. There’s a twinge of guilt when you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to witness anymore. It’s a luxury to close your mind to it - a luxury he never had. But you know Bucky. He wouldn’t want you to see this. Wouldn’t expect you to stand there and subject yourself to his torture. He was considerate like that. Sympathetic in a way you endlessly envied. 

There was a job to do. 

Bucky wasn’t here. That means he must be lost in another room. A room shrouded in shame.

Shame.

What was shameful about this memory? Maybe all memories of Hydra came with that gnawing guilt, that he was their fist for so long. But as the scene continues to play, you realise why this particular reawakening. The briefing begins once The Winter Soldier confirms his compliance to the soldiers: Two people. Murder. Make it look like an accident. Steal the serum from the vehicle. No witnesses. 

Tony Stark’s parents. 

The scene before you hazes like you blinked, and then resets. Bucky is no longer in the seat, the soldiers and so-called scientists no longer gathered around him. Instead, he’s being dragged over, hauled into the chair. There was no time to dwell, not when Bucky needed you. God knows where he is. You look around you, searching for something - anything - that might pull you into the next place. No glimmer. No reflection. Nothing. 

“Bucky!” You yell. You cup your hands around your mouth and try again. “Bucky!” 

It echoes off the walls of the base. Nobody pays you any mind. Then, Bucky’s own yells shadow your own. You whimper, clenching your eyes, turning your head away. You can’t bear to hear it again. Your hands twitch as if to go help him, but you know it’s futile. You learnt that from your own rooms. After what feels like an eternity, the cries stop, and the room falls silent. Completely silent. There’s no dripping of water, no utterance of Russian words. Nothing. Your eyes hesitantly blink open and–

It’s daylight. You’re outside. It looks like…a park? You frown, glancing around and taking in the surrounding view. Trees. Lots of trees. Bushes and shrubs and plants. A long, stretching field of grass. Some schoolboys kick a soccer ball between them, calling at each other to pass! Pass to me! There’s a couple sharing a picnic. Children playing in the playground, chasing each other from the slides to the climbing-frame, chattering as they swing side-by-side. Parents sit on the bench and observe, chatting amicably between themselves. A dog-walker here; a duck-watcher there. It’s peaceful. Serene. 

“Mommy look,” a little girl whispers. Your ears prick and you turn your attention. She’s tugging on who you assume to be her mother’s sleeve of her coat. A small finger points over at something. “Look at that man.”

You remember where you are. Bucky’s rooms, resembling his shame. Your face crumples as you reluctantly follow the line of her finger. Bucky is walking, one hand tucked into his jacket pocket, the other exposed. It’s only for a flash: he’s brushing some hair off his face. It’s cut short. It must have been from after the Battle of Thanos. The black metal of his hand catches the sunlight. It’s mesmerizing, the way the golden lines shine. You finally place where you are. Central Park. 

“Isn’t that–”

“Don’t look at him, dear,” the mother interrupts. She sounds alarmed. You clench your teeth. 

“But isn’t that–”

“Yes, dear. It is,” she hisses. She tugs the child protectively behind her legs, as if Bucky were to lunge for the child. Your patience wears thin. Bucky pauses his walk. He heard them, no doubt. He hears most things, whether he likes it that way or not. The mother gathers her daughter’s hand in hers and guides them away from the park. “That’s a dangerous man, Millie. A murderer. He should be ashamed, walking around a park near these children. There’s no damn justice left in this country.”

The mother leads them away from the park, the daughter in tow. The little girl spares one last glance at Bucky. He’s staring at his feet. His metal hand slips into his jacket pocket. You can practically feel the embarrassment radiating off him. He nearly shrinks into his frame. You begin to make your way over to him, to comfort him in the way you know best: a pat on the shoulder, to test the waters, then a hug, if that’s what he needs. Touch - gentle and caring in a way that he hasn’t known for so long. But he flashes out of sight before you can reach him. You glance around frantically. He’s reset, back to where he was before. You remember what’s happening. Remember the goal, the target, and shake your head. 

Looking around, you search for something that might lead you to the next space, but once again, nothing gives a tell. You break out running into the distance, towards the park, and the futherer you get, the sooner you realise it’s a mock-up. Walls painted like trees and people. You brace yourself, raising your arms up to your face to soften the impact, and force yourself through the walls. They shatter around you, breaking apart like drywall and paper mache, and you tumble forward. It’s reflexive, the tuck and roll you catch yourself with. You return to your feet, panting lightly, hands raised and ready for battle.

You’re inside. No, not inside, but in an object of some kind…Wind rushes through your hair, nearly knocking you off your feet. There’s something tonally different to the park, and to the Hydra base. It’s tense. Hairs prickle on the back of your neck and you scan the area for threats. Force of habit, with so many years working for Shield, and later as a vigilante. The price to pay for helping Captain America. You finally recognise where you are. It’s the helicarriers. The ones from…

Oh no. 

You know this memory. You know it well. It’s seared into your hippocampus, stained with blood, and no matter what you do to dispel it, it remains. You can understand why. It’s hard to force yourself to forget the day you nearly shook hands with death. 

It smells like jet fuel and fresh air. You frantically look around in search of the two bodies you know are here. On the thin metal bridge opposite to the one you stand on, you make out your figure. It’s strange seeing yourself, almost hard to recognise it as you. But you know it is: can tell by the hair and the suit. You’re determined, face stoic, as you race forward to the motherboard of the ship. The chip is in your upper legging pocket. You can almost feel the press of it against your skin now, as you watch. Then, your eyes land on something you never saw that day. They spot The Winter Soldier climbing up soundlessly onto the metal bridge. They spot him following you with measured footsteps, moving fast but with deadly quiet, like a fox stalking prey. You’re unaware of him, eyes focused on the target. Watching on, your throat turns dry as the Soldier retracts a knife from his belt. 

“Helicarrier two is nearly secure, Cap,” you inform the team through your earpiece. You pause to pull out the chip, and that’s when he gets you. 

The soldier loops an arm over your shoulder, tightening it around your neck. You stumble backwards, gasping out painfully as your air supply suddenly cuts off. A hand scrambles to his arm only to find hard, unmoving metal. You can still feel the pulse of dread that ran through you in that moment. You’d seen him before, fought him on the bridge with Sam and Nat and Steve. He’d done a number on Natasha and she was three-times the agent you were. He was quick, relentless, free from remorse. Your other elbow jams into his ribs and it’s just enough to have his grip loosen. You waste no time, whipping a leg around his ankle, tilting him enough off balance that you both stumble backwards. Another elbow, this time to the nose, and he grunts, falling away from you. You pivot and raise your fists, only in time to dodge his swing. You’re not as lucky the second time: he catches you on the brow. A fist-fight follows, of jabs and ducks. You land a few but they hardly affect him. It’s like he’s made of brick. Then, he sucker-punches you in the chest. The air flew out of you, winding you, and you catch yourself on the railing of the bridge with a pained gasp. He lands another to your ear and you whimper out, head falling forward. Blood trickles slowly from the lobe. You watch the scene from afar, but something shifts in you when the soldier raises the knife. 

“No!” you scream. You sprint ahead and collide with the soldier. You grab for his wrist and he looks at you. There’s pure ice in his gaze, no trace of Bucky in his eyes, and your blood runs cold. His metal hand locks around your throat and you gasp out. The ground slips away from you as he slowly lifts you. And then, you’re tossed onto the floor. Gasping for air, you scramble for purchase, desperate to stop the inevitable. You turn your face in time to see the Soldier plunge the knife into the side of your former self.

The scream she lets out has tears springing to your eyes. Her hand quivers as it hovers by the hilt of the knife, body immediately spiralling into shock. You can still remember the feel of metal piercing through skin and muscle. Tearing through the fragile casing of your organs. He twists the weapon and she cries out in agony, eyes clenched shut, drool falling from her lips. As you watch on helplessly from the floor, eyes wide in horror, you shake your head as if to plea for the Soldier to stop. But he doesn’t. He signs the death certificate as he pulls the knife from her body. Blood quickly seeps through her clothes. It pushes through her fingers as she desperately tries to force pressure on her own wound. The chip is forgotten by both you and the soldier. His mission is complete, for now: eliminate you. The soldier turns heel and strides away, ready to take down the next member of the team, to keep Hydra’s empire from falling. You rush over to the body of your former self, hands shaking as you check her over. Blood. So much fucking blood. 

“Please,” she gasps. You realise then, that she’s not looking at you. She’s looking at him. You forgot this happened. The pain mostly blacks out the memory, after he removed the knife. 

The soldier freezes. He heard you. 

Your voice sounds powerless, raspy as you struggle to intake air. “Please,” you try again, half-whimpering. “Please help me.”

He hesitates. You see it. It’s a flicker. Nothing more than a twitch of one of his metal fingers. But it’s something. A sign that he was still in there, fighting to come out, to help you. 

But he doesn’t. He has a mission. He walks away. 

The warm body in your hands vanishes. It’s as if you hallucinated her. That is, until you see her running towards you, past you, for the motherboard. It reset. 

“Oh, Bucky,” you whisper to yourself, shaking your head. Your eyes press shut, taking a beat to calm yourself. 

The two of you had discussed that moment more than enough. You’d forgiven Bucky long before he even knew who you were. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t have a choice. You never held it against him. Never blamed him for those months spent in hospital, in and out of surgery, tiring yourself out in physical therapy. And yet, it seems that despite those restless nights of talking it out, of you listening to his apologies and accepting each one without hesitation, it seems the moment still haunted him. You could understand why, the same way you understood why it still remained in your brain. It can’t be easy, letting go of the thought that he nearly ended your life. You just wished he wouldn’t blame himself for it. 

Before you open your eyes, you feel the ground beneath you change. It warps into something squishy and plush, and your knees give way slightly at the feel. Carpet. You blink your eyes open into warm, orangey lamp light. You recognise this place like an old friend. It’s your apartment. Your brows furrow. No, that doesn’t make sense. 

Bucky was your friend. Ever since Wakanda, the two of you had made some wordless pact to stick together. He understood you in a way that didn’t need verbalising. Could read you like a book from childhood, well-versed in your tells, your wants and fears. That’s what made him such a wonderful friend. You never had to perform with him. There was no need for filters, no room for embarrassment. You’d complain about your crappy dates over take-out; binge watch corny movies whilst sharing beers; try and bolster him up at bars when you went out with Sam and Jouqian for a drink; listen to him practice his speeches for his run for congress. There was no room for shame in your friendship. So…why were you here?

“You sure this ain’t too much trouble?” Bucky asks you. Your attention quickly pivots to you and Bucky. He’s hovering by the bookshelf, arms folded over his chest, dressed in sweatpants and a vest. You’re straightening a quilt over the sofa-bed that resided in your living room. 

“Would you stop whining already? You’re worse than Wilson, y’know that?”

Bucky chuckles at that, bobbing his head. You straighten, hands landing on your hips, and nod to yourself as you take in your handy-work. 

“That should be good. You want an extra pillow?”

“I think I’ll survive with three,” Bucky replies, humour evident in his voice. You roll your eyes and cross the room to him, pinching his cheek chidingly. 

“Just trying to be a good hostess,” you sing-song, walking past him and into the kitchen. Curious, your eyes remain on Bucky. He’s watching the past-version of you. A smile rests on his lips. One that you’ve never noticed before. It seems almost secretive, because the minute you turn to ask him something, it’s fading into a different kind of smile. One you now recognise. Your brows furrow at the picture. Weird. “A’right, here’s your water. You think you’ll need anything else?” 

Bucky shakes his head. He takes the glass from you  as he replies, “this is perfect, doll. Thank you.”

“Course. Me casa est su casa,” you smile, stumbling through disjointed Spanish. You cringe at your former self. Bucky chuckles, as if it might be endearing. 

“It’s es, not ‘est’,” he corrects. Then, he utters the phrase in perfect, fluent Spanish. The other you rolls her eyes mirthfully at him. 

“A’right, we get it Mister ‘I can speak twelve languages’.”

“Thirteen if you count–”

“--Hey! Keep rubbing it in my face and you can sleep in the bathtub,” you warn, pointing a finger at him. He raises his hands in surrender, laughing quietly. You then melt into a smile, easing up the act. Crossing the room to him, the you of the past tosses her arms casually over his shoulders in a warm embrace. “G’night, Buck. See you in the morning.”

You never noticed before, too caught up in the act of doing, but watching it unfold now, you realise Bucky’s reaction. He seems startled, which is strange, considering you hug him rather often. His arm slowly loops around your waist, holding you to him, and you watch that smile return. His eyes slip shut and he presses his chin gently against your shoulder. 

The moment shatters when you pull away, oblivious. You wave farewell as you leave the room, closing the door behind you. 

You stand and watch, befuddled, as Bucky finishes getting ready for bed. This is bizarre. What the hell is so shameful about crashing on his friend’s couch for the night? He does it rather often, especially when he moved back to New York. The nightmares caught up with him then, after the pocket of peace in Wakanda was sacrificed. People knew who he was. The government had burdened him with a pardon that he always felt was undeserved, and that seemed to trouble his psyche more than anything. Couple that with the ghosts of his past, from a lifetime ago before the war, back when things were more simple and familiar, and Bucky was knocking on your door with an apologetic smile. You’d always welcome him in, would never turn him away. The two of you would watch a movie or show, talking over most of it with mindless commentary, before you’d set up the sofa for him. It got to the point that you decided to invest in a sofa-bed. 

Now, watching the scene play out, you wonder if he feels ashamed for reaching out. For needing company and comfort of another’s home. You wonder if Bucky felt as though he should shoulder the burden of being alone. Men often felt shame for their mental health, so it would be wrong to assume that Bucky was different. 

The lamp remains on. You glance around the room in search of something that might be the root of the room. Maybe you left a pair of panties drying on the radiator, and he was ashamed of seeing them? That seemed rather tame compared to the other horrors embodied in this maelstrom of pain…

Bucky shifts under the sheets. Looking over to him, you watch, intrigued, realising the scene isn’t over. His eyes are shut, metal arm whirring as he brings it up towards the pillow, messing with it until it’s how he likes. He’s rather…cute. Sweet as he tries to get comfortable. An unseen side to him, human and regular, that’s weirdly endearing. You begin to smile. Then, your brows furrow slightly. He presses his nose into the pillow - your pillow - and inhales, slow and deep through his nose. He isn’t just taking a breath. He’s smelling the pillow. Your stomach twists tight, as if trying to knot itself. A small groan pushes through his closed lips, muffled into the case, and your eyes widen. Is he…

He takes another deep breath in. His eyes squeeze, lips purse, and something akin to…pleasure twitches his features. He rolls onto his back, the blanket shifting with the movement, and then you watch, alarmed, as the silhouette of his arm inches below the sheets. You can’t seem to look away from his face. His brows twitch together, teeth catching his lower lip, and then–

He hums, deep, guttural.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, quickly turning your back to him. Your hands fly up to your burning face, lips agape, eyes wide, stupefied. The sheets rustle behind you and he groans, quiet enough to go unnoticed by other you, who lays unaware in her bed. You squeak, hands flying up to your ears, mortification flooding over you like a bath of cold water as you accidentally intrude on a very private moment. 

A private moment, which happened in your living room. 

A private moment, which sparked from Bucky smelling your pillow. 

A private moment, which began from the mere smell of you. 

He rasps your name, no louder than a breath. You only just catch it. The way your name sounds on his tongue...It's hotter than sin, and you let out a startled breath. You’re ashamed at the arousal that pulses through you at the sound. Shaking your head, you straightened yourself out. You can’t listen to this any longer. It feels wrong. No, it doesn’t just feel it - it is wrong. Bucky has spent his whole life having his humanity stripped away from him, as if he didn’t deserve it, and you refuse to be another name added to that list of people who didn’t treat him like a person. You rush to the door of the living room and swing it open. You don’t look as you step forward. Rookie error. 

A scream rushes through you as you fall down, down, down. 

You nearly bounce back up when you land. It’s soft, softer than the carpet, and gives easily under your weight. A mattress. Thank God, you think to yourself, pushing up onto your knees with a huff. You look around the room, searching for the man you’ve been chasing through each twisted, turning memory. Returning to your feet, you straighten your suit. 

“Bucky?”

There’s no reply. You sigh, rubbing your forehead. Where the hell is he? Worry curls in your gut. What if something went wrong? What if his rooms were too heavy for him? What if he–

“Come on, doll. One more step.”

It’s his voice, but it isn’t him. You startle when the bedroom door opens. It’s only then that you register your surroundings. It’s his bedroom, the one from his old flat back when he lived in Brooklyn. God, that place was like a prison. He was punishing himself when he lived there. A sofa made of stiff leather sat before a flat-screen television. A kitchen barren of appliances or plants. The fridge was only filled with necessities. No art on the wall, not even a clock. The bedroom was just as desolate. A wardrobe organised with too much precision, almost display-art in its meticulousness, and a desk without any books or computer. The bed was comfortable at least, not that Bucky used it much back then. He preferred the floor. Would sleep on it in the living room with nothing more than a blanket, the hard wood cradling his body. 

You take a step back as if to make way, as Bucky and this former version of you step into the bedroom. You’re hanging onto him, nearly blackout drunk, practically dragging his sturdy frame down like a heathen. You can’t help but cringe at the sight, bringing a hand up to your forehead. It seems your legs are rather useless as you practically trip over yourself. Bucky catches you, keeps you steady. 

“Easy there,” he chuckles. 

You groan, flopping onto the bed face-first. Bucky stands, watching, hands on his hips, and laughs to himself. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” you slur into the bedsheets. You raise a finger in the air, arm wobbling as you do so, and Bucky laughs harder. He struggles to stifle them. He’s pretty when he laughs. Sounds young, carefree. It makes you smile as you watch. 

“Come on, party animal,” Bucky chuckles, grabbing your hand to help twist you onto your back. He kneels by your feet and undoes your heels, metal fingers meddling with the tiny clasps. You smile to yourself, unable to place the memory in your own mind. You couldn’t remember this moment, just the incredible hangover you were met with the next day.

Once again, the question begs: why this memory? Bucky is a perfect gentleman as he helps you get ready for bed. You can barely keep your head upright. Your body rattles with hiccups, eyes half-closed, make-up smudged under your eyes. It’s not a good look, to say the least. Bucky eases your heels off one by one, placing them neatly by the wardrobe. You watch as he hesitates, unsure whether to offer you more comfortable clothes to sleep in or leave you in your dress. He stands, glances to his wardrobe, and runs a hand over his head, fingers brushing through his hair, as he thinks. 

Your eyes catch a moving figure on the bed. You watch, mildly amazed that you even have the strength and coordination to do so, as you rise to your feet. Bucky hasn’t noticed. He’s too busy weighing up what to do next. He nearly jumps out of his skin when your hand lands on his shoulder. He turns his head quickly, body following soon after. One of his hands instinctively reaches for your waist to steady you on your feet. He’s confused and concerned, brows furrowing as his eyes scan over your squiffy features. 

“Doll, what’re you–”

Your mouth presses against his in a heated kiss. You gape at the sight, mind drawing a complete blank at the supposed moment you lived. Bucky’s hands fly up, hovering, frozen like statues, by your sides. His eyes are blown wide. Your hands cradle his face, holding him close, turning his face just-so as you kiss him with unexplained fever. Shaking your head, you watch on, mortified, as drunk-you forces Bucky into a kiss. 

And then…his eyes slip shut. One of his hands slowly lowers to rest against your waist, a shadow of a hold on your body, sinking into your skin like rocks on wet sand. He turns his head, chasing your taste, your tongue. Then, you listen as other-you sighs against his lips. That seems to flip a switch in Bucky’s head. He quickly pulls away with a gasp. His hands take you by the shoulders, holding you away from him, arms outstretched. He looks horrified, staring at you with damp lips and a heaving chest. You feel yourself wither with embarrassment and shame at the thought of forcing yourself upon him like that. Drunk or not, it was no excuse. 

But then he’s closing his eyes and shaking his head. It hangs, low, defeated, and he takes a slow, almost sad, breath. 

“Not like this, doll. I– You’re drunk and…It’s not…It ain’t how I pictured it…” he murmurs. Drunk you hardly seems to hear him. She takes a step back and melts down onto the mattress. Bucky helps you into bed with a distracted mind; guiding you under the covers and ensuring you lay on your side. Then, he heads for the door. He lingers in the doorway, finger hovering over the light switch, and watches you. A smile tries its way onto his face - that smile from before - but it is chased away by his frown. You recognise the shadow that casts over his face. You’ve seen it in the dead of night, when he’s awoken from a nightmare. You spotted it in Wakanda, when he pieced together who you were and what he did to you. You remembered it from the funeral, when Bucky realised that he’d never be able to apologise to Tony for what he did to his parents. Shame. One of his metal fingers lifts to his lips, as if he’s recalling the feel of yours on his. The room becomes engulfed in darkness. 

It’s only for a moment. You’re left alone with your thoughts, trying to organise them into some sort of coherent system. Guilt, for kissing him; embarrassment, for, well, all of it; sadness, for not even remembering it; and…longing. Was that what that was? That odd twisting feeling in your gut, reaching out like vines, clutching at your heartstrings. Sadness, maybe? You can’t make sense of it. The one thing you can make sense of is the recognition that not one part of you is angry at him. Not even remotely. If anything, you’re curious about his moment of weakness. About that brief half-minute, when he allowed himself to kiss you back. About the way he looked at you before leaving the room. Had he looked at you that way before? Did you never even notice the way he–

The light flashes on and it nearly blinds you. You groan, rubbing your face, and you can make out muffled voices down the hall. The scene is resetting. Bucky still isn’t anywhere to be found. 

It’s becoming exhausting, wading through these memories, confronting these pockets of Bucky’s conscience without him even knowing. Would he be mad at you, when you do find him? Or will he understand? There’s only one way to find out…

You slip out the bedroom door after you and Bucky make your way inside. To your surprise, instead of stepping into another memory or room, you simply enter his living room. You freeze. There’s a silhouette sitting on the floor, staring at the TV. Bucky. His knees are brought up near his chest, arms wrapped around them. Despite his large frame, body mostly muscle, he looks small. Fragile and scared, like a child trying to self-soothe. You glance around and wonder if this is another memory. But as your eyes adjust to the scene before you, you recognise his tactical suit from before you stepped into the void. His hair is longer, nothing like how it was in the memory, and his black vibranium arm glimmers in the flashing colours of the TV.  He’s watching a soccer match. Although, something tells you that he isn’t actually watching. You swallow and take a step forward. 

“Bucky? Is that you?” you tentatively ask. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He refuses to look at you, it seems. “Buck?” 

His head hangs. Relief consumes you and you let out a sigh, clearing the rest of the distance. You drop to your knees and throw your arms around him, grateful he’s in one piece. 

“Thank God you’re okay. I was so worried when you didn’t find us in Alexi’s–”

He’s stiff, still like a statue, unmoving like a corpse. Your words die on your tongue as you pull away, a hand lingering on his back. 

“Bucky?”

He swallows. His voice is hardly more than croak as he asks, “how’d you find me?”

“I uh…” You hesitate, unsure whether you should be transparent or not. It doesn’t take you long to decide. “I went through your rooms until I found you.”

His eyes press shut as if you’ve delivered news of death. His silence unsettles you. Your hand rubs his back and he leans forward, out of your touch. A pain stabs through your chest. 

“Bucky?”

“If you went through them…Then you saw it, right?”

Your lips move but no words come out. Instead, you swallow. Bucky isn’t looking at you but he must be able to catch you nodding your head in his peripheral, because his face becomes twisted with agony. 

“Oh God,” he mumbles. Balling his hand into a fist, he presses it firmly against his forehead. “I’m so fucking sorry…”

You shake your head, going to touch him again before freezing. Your fingers hover half a centimetre from his back. 

“Look, we…We need to go help the others and stop whatever the hell is going with this…thing that Bob’s become but…” He looks up at you then. Bucky’s eyes are damp with unshed tears as he holds your gaze, and you know you can’t bring yourself to look away even if you tried. “But I promise you, you don’t ever gotta see me again after that, yeah? I promise you that.”

Your stomach opens with a pit of dread. “Bucky, I–”

“--I’m so sorry, okay? You gotta believe me when I say that. I…” He gasps, trying with all his might to keep it together, “I tried so hard not to want you, I really did. I tried so fucking hard but I…I couldn’t help it…”

He clenches his eyes closed and grits his teeth, jaw going taut. He presses further into his fist, knuckles turning white. A single tear slips down his cheek. Your heart splinters and you fight the urge to wipe it away. 

“I couldn’t help it,” he whispers, as if admitting a sin to God himself.

You shake your head slightly, mouth moving uselessly. A small, shaky breath escapes you. Tears prick your waterline as everything you’ve seen hits you like a freight train. It barrels through your mind and tears your hippocampus open, flooding you with memories. A new light is shed on them. A perspective you never allowed yourself to see before. The unexplainable serenity and safety you felt in his company, despite the start of your friendship. The kind of safety that enabled you to share stories of your life with him without fear of judgement or rejection. The kind of safety that you sought out after a hard mission or a nightmare haunted you. The kind of serenity you craved when you were bored out of your mind on a mission, and Bucky’s off-handed quips were your only company through a cracked phone screen. The kind of serenity you were consumed by during the nights spent by his side, laughing as he teased you, raving over your favourite shows and sharing the theories and backstories to each storyline. Never afraid to be too much or too little. No, it was always just right. 

And now you see it. The longing glances. The tenderness in his gaze when his eyes landed on you. The extra layer of panic when you were in battle, scanning over your body to make sure you’re alright. The smile that you kept catching sight of as you ventured through his shame that was reserved just for you, when you weren’t even looking. And how couldn’t you look, because he was right there, all this time. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” you breathe. 

Bucky frowns. His brows furrow, mind struggling to parse together your words. You shake your head, slow then fast, and swallow your anxiety because this was much more important. 

“I don’t want you to leave. I don’t…I don’t care about any of that, I just…I don’t…” You can’t find the words. Every sentence is weak, sandcastles in rain, and you shake your head and grunt, annoyed. Bucky looks at you, addled, and you wipe the tears from your cheeks with an aggressive sweep of your hand.

That’s when the answer comes to you.

Pushing to your feet, you extend a hand down to him. He blinks at it, then up at you. “Do you trust me?”

It takes less than a second before he’s lifting his hand and guiding it into yours. You help ease him to his feet. Then, you turn and face the door to the bedroom. As you begin to move, Bucky holds the two of you in place. You look back at him. He’s reluctant to meet your eyes. 

“I don’t…I can’t see that again,” he admits. Your heart squeezes. You gently clench his fingers in your hold. 

“Trust me, yeah?”

He takes a shuddering breath before nodding. His feet give way as you guide the two of you to the door. You turn the knob and close your eyes, steeling yourself for what you’re about to face. 

The only room you couldn’t bring yourself to face before, instead fighting your way to Alexi’s horrors. 

The door opens to a well-lit room. It’s modern, with floor-to-ceiling length windows lining one of the walls, and a sleek, silver bartop busied with guests and party-goers. Streamers decorate the ceiling, twinkly lights looped around pillars. Music plays from speakers in every corner of the room. Classic hits that everybody knows. Some people are dancing, others tapping their feet along and drinking, good-natured. There’s sofas which are occupied by chattering groups of friends and co-workers. A pool table crowded by primarily men, likely congratulating themselves on being the masters of the universe for another year. 

“Where’re we?” Bucky asks after a beat. You take a small breath before looking at him, forcing a smile that you know he’ll tell to be fake. 

“One of my rooms.”

Bucky frowns. You slowly let his hand slip from your hold. You know this evening well. It’s a repressed memory that enjoys making a guest appearance, most often when you’re around Bucky. The evening you realised that there was something more there, something deeper under your skin, but that you refused to touch. 

Dressed in a floor-length gown, you saunter up to the bar, sadling by the side of the present-day you. There’s no need to look at Bucky to know he’s watching.

You order a drink and toy with the olive skewered on a cocktail stick, sloshing it in and out of the martini. You take another glance over for the millionth time that night, eyes landing on Bucky. Not this Bucky, but the Bucky from the party. The one dressed in a suit that was designed for him to wear it. The suit that ruined all other men for you, because nobody else could possibly make it look that good. The Bucky that was currently talking to a gorgeous, tall blonde lady, with eyes that could bewitch and thighs that could kill. The Bucky that was talking to his date for the New Year’s Eve Party. 

“I don’t…” Bucky’s words fade into the rhythm of the song currently playing. He glances at you - you see it in your peripheral - but you keep your eyes trained on the phantom of your memory as she drinks. You know there’s bigger things at stake, an entire city in peril, but this feels a thousand times more pressing and important. If you don’t have Bucky, you have nothing. It’s a terrifying but simple conclusion. So you need him to see. 

You take a sip of your martini and let out a sigh. Your head hangs and you purse your lips, and for a long while, just stand there, alone, thinking. Then, your head darts up. You toss back your drink, leaving the olives neglected in the glass, and stride back into the party, eyes set on a random former-Shield agent who has been occupying the pool table for the larger portion of the night. You watch as you shake his hand, smiling all pretty at him, before the scene flickers and resets. Bucky shakes his head, looking at you. 

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs. “What’s so shameful about that?”

“It’s not what I did,” you tell him, unable to look away from the Bucky in the distance, talking to his date. He’s smiling. You think that’s what had bothered you the most. That he wasn’t smiling at you. “It’s what I was thinking.”

“What were you thinking?”

You chuckle humourlessly, dropping your head and gaze. A moment to still yourself, then you face him. 

“That I hated your date. That I hated everything about her, and wanted to fucking gut her in the middle of the party, and rip her hair out of her head, and scratch up her face. I was thinking that I hated her because…Because I could never be her. And I wanted to be her so bad, because I realised - at that stupid New Year’s Eve party - that I wanted to be the only person you looked at like that. The only person you wanted to see. I realised I wanted to be the best thing at the party, to you. And I wasn’t…And I hated her for that and I…” You take a gasping, short breath. The words that follow are guilt-ridden, your body shrinking with shame, “I hated you for it too. But most of all, I hated myself, because I’d…I’d let myself...want you.”

Bucky stares at you. His eyes dance over your face, searching for some lie, some sign that this itself was part of the mind games you’d both been thrown into. But instead, he just saw you. Saw it plain and simple, written across your face in big, black ink. 

“Why were you ashamed, of those things? The things in your rooms?” you quietly broach. 

Bucky grunts, shaking his head. “It was wrong. You were my friend - you are my friend - and I…I let myself fucking…” He shudders at the memory. You think you know which one is playing in his mind right now. Then, his expression deepens. Sadder. “I kissed you back. You were drunk, and you trusted me, and I took advantage and I let myself kiss you back, when I knew it was wrong.”

“Only for a second,” you tell him. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies, quick, like he’s rehearsed this apology a thousand times before. You wonder if he’s thought of confessing, to clear his conscience. Wonder how long he’s let himself rot under the shame of harbouring feelings for you. Because that was what this was, right? 

“I don’t even remember that night.”

Bucky doesn’t seem to like the sound of that. His eyes close and he tries not to wince. 

“I wish I did though,” you whisper. “Cause that was the first time we kissed, I don’t even remember it.” 

He’s hesitant when he opens his eyes, as if waiting for you to take it back. But you don’t. You stand there, a shadow of a smile on your lips, and shrug. 

“I’m sorry I did that to you, but I’m not sorry I…I’m not sorry I…”

“You’re not sorry you what?” he pushes, wide eyes staring at you. It’s as if his whole world hangs on your next words. 

“I’m not sorry I have feelings for you. No matter how hard I’ve tried to be.”

Bucky gazes at you, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His hand twitches, fingers reaching out towards yours, and you meet him halfway. Loosely intertwine your digits with his. He shuffles a step forward, and his forehead slowly eases down until it rests against your own. You let out a small huff and he takes a breath in, and the two of you stand in the room of your shared past. 

“I’m not sorry I have feelings for you, too,” Bucky admits in a low rumble of his voice. 

Your hand lifts to his face, cupping his cheek in your hold, cradling his jaw. He finds your lips like ships returning home in the night, guided by the glow of a lighthouse. It’s sweet, and tender, and wistful from years of wanting. His tongue darts across your lower lip and you gladly give way, sinking into the taste of him as his hand wraps around your waist, tugging you closer, holding you near. Eventually, the two of you break apart, but you refuse to step out of his orbit. His nose nudges yours in a silent kiss, and you smile. A strand of his hair curls around your finger and he sighs, content. 

“What say we go save the world now, huh?”

“Only if you’re there too,” Bucky replies, tone lighter than you've known it to be before. 

You realise then that your absolute truth is the same for Bucky: if he didn't have you, he didn't have anything.  

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Interstate Love Song

Summary : Bucky tells the team he saw his Hydra days in The Void. You are the only one who knows him well enough to know he is lying.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Thunderbolts* spoilers below the cut!!!!!!! Best friends to lovers. Fluff,  bit of angst, reader is mentioned to be an ex-cage fighter. Reader is part of the team. Cursing, Trauma. Implied sex. The title is inspired by the song of the same name by Stone Temple Pilots.

Requested by : anon (the ask is very spoiler-y so I have not answer that yet!)

Word count : 4.6k

Note : Please keep the post-thunderbolts* requests going! If you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!

Before the Blip, you were just another number in the system. You were just another fighter in a concrete box, thrown into illegal cage matches as entertainment of the rich and corrupt. 

You weren’t there by choice. 

You’d been taken young, trained to fight, to break and survive. 

You, like many that ended up in the ring, had no family. For as long as you could remember, the only love you knew of was crowds that screamed for blood.

When Thanos snapped his fingers, half your captors turned to dust.

The door was unlocked, and for the first time, no one came to stop you.

You ran.

You later spent the next few years working in the shadows: Bounty hunting, private contracts, smuggling. 

You had no real allegiances, just a reputation: you always got the job done. 

You’ve assisted Sharon Carter with her art smuggling, helped Xu Xialing train fighters in her more ethical, opt-in cage fighting endeavours, and ironically, some of the same people you used to fight besides turned to crime when the world lost structure, so you started hunting them for cash. 

Others had taken to more righteous but extreme causes—like the Flag Smashers. You tried to keep your distance until Sam Wilson showed up at a bar you get your bounties from and dropped a name you hadn’t heard in years. And then Bucky Barnes sat down beside him and said, “We could use someone like you. Sharon Carter gave you a pretty good reference.”

The mission was to track down an old cage mate of yours who was loyal to Karli Morgenthau.

So you took the job. Then the next. And the next.

Working with Sam was easy—he had a leader’s clarity. Getting to know Bucky, however, was a bit of a slow burn. He was distrusting at first, he had little words to say for strangers.

You didn’t push, but the more you went on these missions, the more you started noticing the way he always kept you in his eyeline, the way he started covering your flank, and the way he actually laughed at one of your dry jokes on a mission in Beirut.

Over time, it stopped being just a job. You started grabbing takeout with Sam and Bucky. You stuck around their shitty motel rooms talking about music and how weird the world felt now. Joaquin started joining in, too, and somewhere along the way, you became friends. 

By the sixth joint mission with Joaquin, you and Bucky had inside jokes. By the tenth, he was texting you first when he was lonely— not Sam. 

It wasn’t that he intended to spend less time with the new Cap and more with you— but when Joaquin became his de facto second-in-command, it made sense for Bucky to seek companionship in you. 

Then came the day he told you he was thinking about running for Congress. You blinked and laughed. He shrugged, saying something about “making amends on a bigger scale.” And when you stopped laughing long enough to realise he was serious, you listened. You offered advice, telling him he’d need to hire a security team to keep his campaigns safe.  

“That’s why I want you to oversee it,” he said that day.

“Are you kidding me?” you chuckled, sipping on your beer in the bar he had chosen to hang out in, “I’m not a fucking secret service agent.”

“Exactly,” he gave you that infuriatingly charming grin— the one you were sure would win him votes. “I don’t trust those people. I trust you.”

So that’s how you became head of security for his campaign. And it wasn’t just work. Those nights often ended in long conversations. Sometimes you’d find him on his balcony after an event, and you’d just sit with him. 

By the time the campaign was over, you began working private security gigs around D.C., your apartment only ten minutes from his. You both stopped pretending it was coincidence when he started showing up with food or you’d crash on his couch after staying out too late. Somewhere along the line, you’d become his closest friend.

After everything you’d both been through, it just made sense.

—

Post-void New York, 2027.

Bob had just quite literally been dragged out of a personal hell of his own making and nobody at the table came out unscathed. Not really. Not after that.

But at least you all were alive. And starving.

Especially after Val ambushed you with that press conference. 

The five of you had decided on the dingy pizza joint. It was a miracle the place was even open considering what had happened to the city, the old red-neon “PIZZA BY THE SLICE” sign buzzed overhead like it was short-circuiting from your collective trauma.

Yelena had chosen the booth closest to the back. She claimed it was strategic—"less visibility from the windows"—but Alexei knew she just liked to sit with her back to a wall. She had a slice of extra cheese, grease dripping down her fingers as she methodically peeled off the mushrooms.

Alexei was next to her, cutting his slice with a plastic knife and fork like it was a fine steak. “I’m civilized,” he announced when Bucky raised an eyebrow.

Ava was perched on the end of the booth, chewing through two slices stacked on top of each other, sauce smeared across one cheek. Her tactical suit. had one broken buckle that kept slipping open.

John sat across from them with his boots up on the chair next to him, leaning so far back in his seat it creaked like it was about to break. He had a half-empty cup of soda and two untouched slices in front of him.

You were tucked into the booth with Bucky beside you. He hadn’t said much. Neither had you. But you kept elbowing each other every few minutes, like some kind of private Morse code. He could tell you were spiraling; you could tell he was deflecting. Classic.

The pizza in front of you was a crime scene of pepperoni and pineapple, but it was food, and no one had eaten in hours. The last time you'd all stopped was... hell, who even knew? Between the vault and New York, you probably haven’t eaten in more than half a day. 

Bob sat at the far end of the table, happily munching through the single marinara in front of him.

You tore off a piece of Bucky’s crust (because he didn’t really like the burnt bits) and popped it into your mouth. “Okay,” you said, loud enough to cut through the clatter, “Void Talk. Let’s go. Everyone cough up your horror visions.”

Everyone around you let out a chorus of groans.

“Nope,” said John, around a mouthful of dough. “Absolutely not.”

You narrowed your eyes and smacked him upside the head — not hard, just enough to remind him who was in charge of emotional vulnerability tonight.

“Ow! What the hell!”

“Johnathan,” you said, sliding into your Serious Voice. Bucky turned toward you slightly, recognising the tone immediately. “We are a family now. Families communicate. Have you learned nothing from all this shared trauma?”

“I learned you’re annoying,” John almost snapped, rubbing his head. “Also, don’t call me that. You’re not my mom.”

“You wish I was your mom,” you shot back. “You’d actually be emotionally stable.”

“And get your horrible taste in pizza?” he snapped, but kept earring anyways. “No thanks.”

“Rude,” said Yelena, pointing at the pie with righteous indignation. “This is quality dollar-slice. Best in New York. Kate Bishop said so.”

“Oh, well if Kate Bishop said so,” Ava deadpanned, finally skewering an olive. “Let me just re-evaluate my whole palate.”

“She has good taste,” Alexei defended, somehow sipping from two sodas at once.

You laughed. For once, you felt warmth in your ribs. You felt Bucky’s elbow nudging yours again, this time a little more gently. He still hadn’t really spoken, but when you glanced his way, he gave you that half-smile, the one he reserved just for you.

“Come on, then,” you said, “Trauma-sharing time.”

Bob’s smile faltered, the small in his eyes dimming in his eyes a little. “I have a feeling you all saw me in there,” he said, though he aimed it mostly at Yelena.

She didn’t answer immediately. Just reached for another garlic knot and tore it in half with more force than necessary.

Ava smiled, softer than usual, then said, “No shit.”

Yelena exhaled through her nose, like it took effort just to stay seated. “Mine was Red Room,” she said with a shrug. “All of it. The smells. The punishments. Everything.”

Alexei’s hand tightened around his soda. The can crinkled slightly.

“I saw the day I sent you and Natasha away,” he said, with a deep breath. 

Yelena glanced at him, eyes still unreadable, but her mouth curved just a little. Forgiveness, maybe. Or just understanding.

Ava poked at the toppings “Pain. Again. Thought I was over it, but apparently my brain missed the memo.”

You looked over, met her eyes. She offered a crooked smile and nudged your ankle under the table. 

John cleared his throat, rough like gravel. “Lemar,” he said, knowing everyone could put two and two with just the name. “And… my kid. You know the rest.”

You reached over and bumped your shoulder against his. This time, he didn’t flinch. 

Then the attention turned, inevitably, to you. 

You rolled your shoulders, and looked down at your grease-stained napkin on the table like it was about to reveal the location to the fountain of youth. “Cage match. My opponent was new. Couldn’t have been more than fifteen.” You picked at the crust in your hand. “I didn’t have a choice, it was kill or be killed.”

You heard murmurs of understanding around the table— sympathy, but not pity. Even John, who had the emotional bandwidth of a concrete wall most days, sighed.

No one noticed how Bucky’s eyes darted to you. No one noticed how his shoulders went just a bit tighter. 

Then Bob turned, casual and curious.

“What about you?” he asked Bucky. “You saw something, right?”

For half a second. Bucky looked like he might actually answer.

His eyes met yours briefly.

He looked away too fast for you to read it clearly and stood up from the booth abruptly. “You know what? This was fun. I’m gonna go… clean up,” he said. “Or get ice cream. Probably both. Anyone want ice cream?”

You leaned back in your seat, arms crossed. “Oh, come on, Buck.”

He shot you a look — that subtle one that said not here, not now. The one that always left you guessing.

John snorted. “We know what you saw anyway.”

Bucky froze. “Do you?”

“Hydra, right? Gotta be.” John shrugged, still a little too smug. “It’s your Greatest Hits playlist.”

“Yeah,” he said, his pinky finger twitching as he looked away. “Sure. That’s all it was. Wouldn’t want to bore anyone.”

He grabbed his jacket, eyes flicking to you one last time. You watched him go and said nothing, for now.

The team went back to eating, like the moment had passed. Jokes began to be thrown around again. Slices were being grabbed left and right. 

But you didn’t move.

No one noticed how your smile faded into a worried frown.

No one noticed the twitch in Bucky’s human pinky as he stepped out.

But you did. You always did.

—

Later that night. 

Val spared no expense—meaning she booked seven rooms in a hotel that had more broken vending machines than working elevators. Still, after dragging the entirety of New York back from the void, even a spring-poked mattress felt like luxury.

Yelena had already claimed the room with the least stained carpet. Ava was currently phasing her hand through a vending machine to get free Hot Flamin’ Cheetos. John passed out with a half-eaten bag of pistachios in his lap somewhere in the lobby. Alexei was arguing with a front desk clerk about how he clearly deserved the king suite because of his "reputation."

Bob didn’t go to his room right away. You caught him sitting in the hallway for a while, back against the wall, head down like he was trying to recover. You passed him a granola bar without a word and walked away. 

That’s what he needed. 

Not pity. 

Just a constant reminder he wasn’t alone.

You and Bucky had been given rooms side by side. Which was always interesting. 

—

You unlocked your hotel room door with a dull click, the metal groaning like it hated being disturbed. 

You kicked off your boots—one landed upright, the other flopped on its side—and shrugged your jacket off with a sigh, letting it fall haphazardly over the armchair that should’ve been retired ten years ago.

The beige ceiling loomed above you as you stared up and nothing. You did your rounds. You showered, changed, and drank a bottle of water. 

Then you heard it.

The unmistakable thud from the hotel room next door. 

He was in.

You didn’t hesitate. 

Still wearing your pajamas— plaid pants and an oversized shirt—you slipped out into the hallway. 

You knocked, once, twice. 

He didn’t answer. “Bucky,” you called, your voice just above a whisper. “Open up.”

You heard nothing, but still waited. Then knocked again, harder this time. 

This time, the door cracked open.

Bucky was in his dark shirt, the fabric clinging to his shoulders, hair damp and curling slightly at the end. He was wearing a hoodie that was zipped only halfway, and his dog tags glinted faintly beneath the fabrics.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice frayed.

You matched it with a small smile. “Hey.”

Bucky stepped aside, inviting you in.

The room was dim, washed in the amber glow of a single bedside lamp. You climbed onto his mattress, sitting cross-legged at the foot like you’d done a hundred times before. 

Bucky stayed by the window, staring out like the skyline might offer him answers to questions he didn’t even know how to ask. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his hoodie,

You picked up a pillow and lobbed it at his head.

It hit him squarely in the side of the neck, making him flinch.

He chuckled. “Seriously?”

“You were brooding too much again,” you said, already reaching for another. “I had to restore balance to the Force.”

He caught the second pillow mid-air, tossing it lightly back at you. “What balance?”

“I’m the charming one. You’re the grumpy one,” you grinned, “It's the dynamic. We have to maintain the ecosystem.”

He rolled his eyes— but the corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile that softened all of his sharp edges.

And then, for a second, it slipped—just a flicker. Something must’ve crossed in his mind, because you caught the furrow of his brows. 

“You okay?” you asked, your voice lower now.

He didn’t answer, but sank down beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. His arm brushed yours, and he didn’t pull away.

“Just tired,” he said, though it sounded like something he’d practiced saying. 

You nudged your shoulder into his. “You know I didn’t buy what you said at the pizza place, right?”

Still, he didn’t look at you. But you saw it. That twitch of his pinky finger— his right hand. 

Yeah. You knew.

“Why not?” he asked, trying to sound casual and failing. 

“Because you’re lying,” you said gently, without sounding like an accusation. 

Bucky didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know what you meant. He just leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them. He stared at the carpet like it might split open and offer an escape route underground. 

“I told you,” he said, the words slurred by exhaustion, as his finger uncontrollably moved again. “It was Hydra. Red and black nightmare sequence. All very on-brand.”

You just raised a brow. “Pinky twitch.”

“What?”

“It’s your tell. That’s how I know you’re lying.” You shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. 

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, fingers catching on stubble. “You are so fucking annoying.”

You smirked. “Says the guy who keeps inviting me in.”

“You showed up to my door in pajamas,” he said, half-laughing as he turned to face you. “And you just barged in.”

“I did not,” you insisted, shrugging, “and even if I did, you wouldn’t have stopped me.”

He shook his head but didn’t deny it. 

He let the silence fester in place before offering answers. “You really wanna know what I saw?”

You nodded.

He swallowed hard. You could see the muscles in his neck working. Still, he didn’t look at you.

“You remember that mission in Munich?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. It was a recon mission that went sideways. 

“You jumped in front of a bullet for me,” he said, like it still didn’t make sense to him. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“I…” You furrowed your eyebrows. “I didn’t know you saw that.”

“I didn’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Not at the moment. I was behind you. All I saw was you hitting the ground.” Then he looked at you, his eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, “That’s what I saw in the Void,” he said, voice shaking like a tightrope. “Over and over. I felt… useless. I– I… for a second. I thought I lost you..”

His hands clenched into fists on his knees and admitted, “I’ve never been more scared in my life.”

Your chest tightened. “That was your worst memory?” you whispered, almost in recognition. “Thinking I died?”

He flinched like the words had teeth and had sunk its fangs into his legs. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it means something,” he said, voice breaking at the edge. “And I’m not supposed to—” He cut himself off with a ragged breath, dragging a hand through his hair like it might help. “God— well you know what? Since we’re on this, what about you?” he asked. “You were lying, too.”

You gasped, only a little. “Excuse me?”

He gave a sad smile. “You don’t think I know your tell?”

You squinted. “I don’t have a tell.”

“You do.” He insisted, shifting a little closer. “You look down when you lie. You did it earlier.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but all that came out was a strangled noise of offended denial. “That is not—”

“It is,” he said, interrupting you. “So. What did you actually see?”

You looked away, then back at him again.

Because he deserved that much.

Because you didn’t want to lie anymore, either.

“Do you remember,” you said carefully, “when you got stabbed on that mission in Rabat?”

Bucky nodded. He frowned, confused.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I remember. Back alley. Guy with the gold tooth. You iced him before I even hit the pavement. Why?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice.

“That’s what I saw,” you said, barely above a whisper. “You, bleeding on the ground.”

He froze.

“The story I told—about the kid in the ring,” you added, your voice more hoarse now, “was true. All of it. It just… wasn’t what I saw in the Void.”

The air between you thickened, like the seconds had turned to diamonds and trapped you both inside them.

“I remember thinking I was too late,” you continued, words spilling before you could second-guess them. “I remember thinking I couldn’t get you to safety in time.”

Bucky didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

Because now he knew you’d both seen different sides of the same coin in there.

Your worst memory wasn’t the ring. 

His wasn’t the Hydra orders.

Once, it might have been. But not anymore. 

The worst thing—for both of you—was thinking you had lost each other.

Not cages.

Not torture.

It was each other.

You exhaled, the edges of your eyes brimming with tears. He looked back at you like he was seeing you through an entirely different lens— like something had cracked open and the sunlight was finally getting in after a century of darkness. 

He studied you for a long time —eyes narrowed slightly, lips parted like he might speak but wasn’t sure if he should. 

Then he said it. 

Like he’d just thrown a grenade in the room.

“Are you in love with me?”

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“What,” he echoed flatly, like he hadn’t even processed the question himself, as if the words had slipped out of his mouth without permission.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, heart hammering in your throat like it wanted to escape. Heat warmed up your neck, your ears, your face. “Bucky—”

He leaned back slightly, like your flustered cheeks had just confirmed everything. “You are,” he said, eyebrows lifting in disbelief. “You are, aren’t you?”

“I am not,” you snapped to quickly. Without meaning to—you looked down. 

Fuck. 

“Oh my god,” Bucky breathed. “Your eyes—”

You scowled, half in horror, half in deflection. “You’re one to talk! Why was your worst memory thinking I died, huh?”

“Yours is too, dumbass! So what? ” he shot back, arms flaring in exasperation. “You want me to say it?”

“I don’t know!” you fired back, your voice rising. “Do you want to say it?”

Silence settled again. But this time, it wasn’t brittle—

“Fine,” he finally said, a lot quieter now. “I’ve been in love with you since that stupid night in Prague when you made me carry your three-foot-tall duffel bag full of grenades and gummy worms and said, ‘Trust me, it’s all essential.’”

Your voice came out barely audible, cracked around the edges. “Oh.”

But he wasn’t finished.

“And ever since then,” Bucky went on, “I’ve been more scared of the future than the past.”

Your breath hitched. “What does that even mean?”

He leaned in slightly, his eyes locked on yours, 

“It means,” he said, like it cost him something to admit it, “that my nightmares are less about Hydra and more about losing you.”

It hurt. God, it hurt, in the way truth always does. You could feel it echoing in your chest, splitting you down the middle— because you were friends, right? And just friends weren’t supposed to have these unbearable feelings. What was this going to do to your relationship?

Because everything had changed.

And now there was no going back.

His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, like the confession had physically cost him stamina. 

And you— You couldn’t breathe.

“You…” The word barely made it out. “You’re in love with me?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

You didn’t answer.

Your body stayed frozen, your mind reeling, spinning, flipping through every moment you could’ve known. Every time he’d looked at you like you were the only thing in a world that had never betrayed him. Every time you’d ignored what was right in front of you because it was safer to pretend it wasn’t real.

“But it’s okay,” Bucky whispered, eyes dipping to the floor once again. “I know I might be wrong about what you feel, so you don’t have to say anything. I know I’m—”

Enough.

Your hands grabbed the front of his shirt, fisting the fabric, clinging on to it and bringing him ever closer 

“Shut up,” you whispered.

His breath hitched in his throat like you’d just knocked the wind out of him.

“Just—don’t say anything,” you said, your voice trembling. “Because if you do, I’m going to say something I can’t unsay, and then we’ll ruin it, and I can’t—I can’t lose you, Bucky.”

His hands rose slowly, palms open. He cupped your face, fingertips brushing along your cheekbones.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” he promised. “You can’t.”

Your forehead stayed pressed against his. You could feel his breath against your lips.

So close.

“I’m in love with you too,” you breathed out

Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed, just for a second. You felt the tremor in his body ripple through yours.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

Your voice was barely steady. “I’m in love with you, dammit,” you laughed a little. “I’ve been in love with you since Sam sent us on that mission to that cramped motel with one bed and no hot water. Since you patched me up in Munich. Since before Munich. Since always.”

Fuck. 

He didn’t wait.

He kissed you.

Not carefully.

But like hellhounds that had been caged too long had finally broken loose.

It was desperate. It was breathless. Mouths crashing, bodies colliding like you’d done this in every dream you hadn’t dared speak of. His hands slid into your hair, holding you close like he was terrified you’d vanish. And yours gripped the back of his neck, pulling him in like you were afraid you’d wake up.

By the time you pulled apart, you weren’t sure whose heart was beating faster. But you stayed close—foreheads pressed, noses brushing, sharing oxygen.

For a long moment, you didn’t move.

Then Bucky’s hands slid down from your face, fingers tracing along your jaw, your neck, and your shoulders like he needed to relearn you. Like he needed to prove to himself this was real.

“You’re shivering,” he pointed out, brushing his thumb over the hollow of your throat. 

“I’m not cold,” you said, breathless.

He chuckled. “No. You’re not.”

His lips brushed yours again, slower this time, like a promise instead of a question. And when your mouth opened under his, when your hands slid beneath his hoodie and found bare skin, the heat roared to life like it had just been waiting for permission.

The kiss deepened—a little reckless, all tangled need and pent-up frustration. His hands found your waist, your hips, pulling you flush against him, and God—you’d felt his strength before, on missions, in training, but this was different. This was personal.

This was want.

“You always smell like gunpowder and cinnamon,” he muttered against your jaw, lips brushing the spot just below your ear.

“I just smell like gunpowder,” You laughed—half-dazed. “You smell like cinnamon.”

“Hmmm,” he said, trailing kisses down your neck, “whatever.”

You sighed, tilting your head to give him more space, your fingers tugging gently at the waistband of his sweatpants.

He groaned as his hands slid under your shirt, palm flat against your lower back. You gasped at the contact and he froze, just for a second.

“You okay?” he asked. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

You looked at him—his hair was mussed, lips swollen. He had a familiar crease between his brows that said he was afraid of wanting too much.

So you kissed it.

“We’ve survived everything else together," you whispered, "Don’t you think we can survive wanting each other, too?”

He backed you toward the headboard slowly, lips never leaving yours, hands exploring like he’d been dying to touch you for two years and finally had the courage. You fell back with a breathless laugh, legs tangling instinctively around his hips.

Bucky settled over you like he belonged there—which he did. Every inch of him was familiar and new all at once.

“Still in pajamas,” he complained, grinning against your collarbone.

“What, don’t like em’?”

“Never,” he said, mouth sliding lower, “but they’re in my way.”

You gasped as his fingers hooked in the waistband of your pants, his eyes locking on yours. You nodded as he peeled them off.

This wasn’t just chemistry. It wasn’t just lust.

This was two years of friendship, late-night missions, teasing over meals, arguments that always ended in laughter—this was trust.

This was love, finally allowed to want.

-end.

​​General Bucky taglist:

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

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

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

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@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125

@buckybarneswife125 @wingstoyourdreams

My Sun, My Star

A/N: I'm so weak for Winter soldier Bucky. I cant wait to write more of him, I love this sad guilt ridden man.

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Reader

Words: 6756

Warnings: Breaking and entering, Minor violence, Injury and Blood, Winter soldier Bucky, GN reader but also Pregnant reader, mild language, I'm not sure if this is fluff or angst or both??

Summary: You wait up late for your boyfriend Bucky to return from his mission, but it isn't Bucky who finds you.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue | Bucky Masterlist

Like what I do? Consider buying me a Coffee!

________________

Your eyes blinked slowly, heavier with each passing second, yet you still managed to open them once again. Glancing at the bright white numbers of the digital clock you watched it change to 1:46 AM, causing a groan to pull from your lips. Bucky was supposed to be back tonight (yesterday technically) from his latest mission, but he still had yet to show up at your shared flat. 

You checked your phone again, the lack of notifications mocking your tired eyes. You let out one more sigh before you turned off the mindless babbling of the TV and stood up to get ready for bed. You were sure Bucky wouldn’t want you waiting up so late in your current condition anyway, he had been harping you about getting enough sleep and water and everything in between.

“I’m only four months pregnant, Bucky. I’m fully capable of staying up late” You had said to him. 

“Five months, Doll, and it’s about your cortisol levels. It’s not good for you or the baby, and it could lead to them being underweight” he said, reciting exactly what the doctor had told him during your last checkup. 

“Four and a half,” you argued as you stuck your tongue out at him, “and she was talking about getting chased by a bear kind of stress, not staying up to watch Bake Off.” 

You snorted at the memory of just earlier that week, a small smile coming to your face as you went through your nightly routine. You continued to check your phone here and there as you went, “Did you get back safe? How’d your mission go?” you had texted two hours ago, yet it still remained unread and unanswered.  

‘Maybe one more quick text wouldn’t hurt,’  you thought to yourself as you typed out the simple message and hit send. 

“Stay safe, okay? I love you.”

You sighed as you set the phone down, “it’s okay, everything is okay,” you assured yourself as you pulled one of his large hoodies over your head, enjoying the way the hem brushed against your bare thighs and the sleeves threatened to swallow your hands. “He’s a former assassin and a super soldier! Nothing is going to happen that he can’t handle,” You stated firmly to your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes remained unsure despite your voice’s conviction, but you did your best to ignore it, focusing instead on the achingly tired look they held. 

“Yes, I know. It’s finally time for bed, little one,” you mumbled sleepily as you felt your baby kick against the walls of your protruding belly, being quick to climb between the layers of blankets and lonesome sheets. “Fuck, that's cold…!” you swore quietly as your bare legs hit the icy fabric- having gone unwarmed by your personal space heater and super soldier.

Thankfully sleep came easily, the thought of waking up to Bucky’s sleepy, scruffy face only further urged your body to wind down so the moment would come sooner. 

----

Bucky’s phone buzzed again in his bag, lighting up with your smiling face as your text displayed on the screen, but nobody reached down to check it, as everyone found themselves in a far more urgent situation. 

“Keep him busy, Rodgers! I just need one more minute!” Tony yelled as he dug through the equipment in the quinjet, “For fuck’s sake, who organized this last?” 

“What do you think I’m doing…!” The blond grunted with a justified hint of frustration,” Sam? Any help??” He shouted with a pointed look, telling more than asking as he struggled to restrain his thrashing friend. A swift metal fist flew toward his already battered face, barely giving him time to duck out of the way and attempt to restrain it again. 

“Honestly? Seems like you’ve got this one,” Sam said, holding up his hands.

“SAM.” 

“I’m coming..! God, can’t either of you old men take a joke?”

No one knew exactly what happened, Bucky had gone off on his own in the Hydra base they were exploring. It was supposed to have been recently abandoned, something about the agents leaving in an urgent rush that left files upon files sitting out in the open. It was supposed to be a simple mission; everyone goes off in teams, gathers what they can, and makes sure there are no surprises. But Bucky assured them that he would be fine to go on his own, he hadn’t had a sign of relapse in over a year, and he would only be picking up what looked important. A simple job.

He should’ve listened. 

It was when he didn’t return to the jet with the rest of them that they started to get worried. 

“So, where’s the Manchurian candidate?” Tony jested, looking at his watch. They were supposed to leave maybe 10 minutes ago, not terribly late by any means, but enough to start getting worried about Bucky’s quietness over the coms.  

“Man, come on.. ” Sam sighed at Tony’s joke as he crossed his arms. 

“Bucky?” Steve tried calling over the coms, ignoring both of his teammates, but the line remained all too quiet. 

They found him finally in the basement level of the office building, old discarded computers lining the walls along with cabinets upon cabinets of old files and other equipment. He hadn’t even realized it was a trap until he stepped right into it, triggering a switch that had the computers and hidden speakers flashing images and sounds that assaulted his senses with fragmented memories long forgotten. 

He should have listened. 

Sam had found him first, on his knees in the middle of the floor with hands desperately covering his ears, trying to block out the incessant noise. Hauling his teammate to his feet, he rushed back to the jet, calling everyone off from their search before anything else could be sprung. 

At first, they thought he might be fine- quiet, but fine. He had given them a small smile and a wave of his hand as everyone tried to check in with him, taking a seat as the jet took off to go home. It had all seemed relatively normal until they were halfway back and the unseen battle inside him must have taken a turn. 

“Got it!” Tony yelled as he pulled out the dart gun, aiming quickly as he fired two shots into Bucky’s chest, readying a third as he waited and watched for the tranquilizers to finally take effect. It was slow as Bucky continued to struggle against the drug’s drain, his body and mind turning into slow-moving molasses. Low grunts emanated from his throat as the last of his strength ebbed away, leaving nothing but forced sleep in its wake. 

“Was two really necessary?” Steve asked as his shoulders finally relaxed, the strain and worry now temporarily over. 

Together they dragged the drugged-up assassin into the jet’s small quarantine area for the remainder of the trip, satisfied only when they heard the mechanical locks slide into place. It wasn’t much, and they knew that and if he really wanted to there would be no stopping him from getting out, but it was something- enough to give them a few seconds of preparation if nothing else.  

“I’m not giving a super soldier only a single dose, you two metabolize things like this way too fast and I’m not taking any chances with the Tin man over there.”

Bucky- no, the Winter Soldier, seemed to still be out of it when they finally landed, sat up and leaning against the wall, head slumped forward just as they had left him. 

“Alright, let's just get him into one of the holding rooms for the night. We’ll work on resetting him-” Tony lifted his hands as the two men glared in his direction, “- on ‘fixing him up’ as soon as he’s been secured.” 

Sam shook his head as Tony corrected himself, taking notice of the lit-up phone in Bucky’s bag, buzzing with an only recently delivered message. Sam had quickly become one of your closest friends after you were introduced to the team. He was one of the few people Bucky trusted with his life and between his sarcastic jokes, his incredibly loyal nature, and his willingness to give Bucky shit whenever he deserved it, you knew very quickly how great a friend he would be. 

But now his stomach twisted as he saw your name flash across the screen, the alert quickly minimizing itself as it joined the other messages you had sent that night. How was he gonna break this to you? The last thing you needed was a bunch of unnecessary stress on your shoulders, but it’s obvious you were beginning to worry over their late return. Sliding the phone back into its rightful place Sam told himself that he’d call you once they had things more figured out.

“Heart rate still seems to be resting. With any luck, he’ll remain knocked out until we get inside,” Tony relayed as he monitored the Soldier’s vitals and pressed the button to open the heavy quarantine doors.

The doors slid into their resting positions with a soft click. 

As soon as that click landed on sensitive ears, vibrant blue eyes shot open. Sparing not even a second, the Winter Soldier surged forward from his seat, not nearly as far gone as he left them to believe. With the element of surprise, the Soldier easily knocked past his teammates, throwing his body weight against them and knocking Sam and Steve off balance, leaving him a good headstart as he dashed out the jet’s open door.

“Fuck, Bucky- Wait!,” Steve swore as he stumbled out behind him, having to use his super soldier speed just to keep pace. But between the settled darkness of the night, and the winding alleyways the brunette stuck to, Steve was left falling behind in no time. “Shit,” Steve swore as he slowed to a stop, looking around for any sign of his compromised friend. 

However, the streets lay barren, the fluttering of moths in the streetlights the only sign of life on the entire block.

---

The heavy thud of his boots echoed against the alleyway’s pavement. He wasn't sure where exactly he was headed as his silhouette slunk between the warm light of the streetlamps, but part of him- a currently repressed part of him- knew that safety was bound to be just ahead. 

His heart beat smoothly as he kept his pace, every other step falling in time as he rounded the corner. Blindly, he let himself be led by instinct and his feet maneuvered the city’s countless paths with a mind of their own. They slowed before a little apartment building and as those emotionless eyes looked up, he knew this was it.

The lateness of the hour had almost assured that no one was around as he slipped inside, footsteps padding up the stairs before stopping at the third floor. His heavy boots left nothing but wet prints in their wake as he wandered down the hall, impossibly silent, as even the notoriously creaky boards dared not announce his presence. 

The closer he got, the more the back of his mind itched, as if something- someone- was begging him not to go any further, but he refused to listen; he knew this was where he was meant to be and where he would find what his body was so inexplicably drawn to.

With each step his head turned on a swivel, looking for the sense of safety and familiarity that the other half of him seemed to find here- and desperately wished he wouldn’t discover. Just as his foot was about to take another step he stopped. ‘No. Here.’ His gut told him, turning to the door. 

His door.

Your door.

The former assassin bypassed the lock with ease, quickly slipping in before shutting the door behind him. A dim light illuminated the living room, the little lamp you left on for him casting its orange glow over his surroundings as he surveyed them.

A few mugs stand beside the sink, framed photos dot the wall and side tables, and a veritable nest of blankets lay across the couch. It was obvious someone had been here, and recently. A deep breath pulled into his lungs, causing his head to tilt to the side in contemplation as an unfamiliar scent hit his nose, something just as earthy as it was sweet and speckled with distant notes of… him?

“Hmmph”  

His sensitive ears picked up the soft grunt from down the hall immediately. His shoulders squared and tensed as his body leaned into a defensive position. Cautious fingers pulled the knife from his boot, ready for whatever may come at him as he approached. 

The sounds of soft breaths lead him to a door left ajar. Light just slipped past the curtains into the darkened room. Badum… Badum… Badum… a heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he took a step closer, leaving the door open and letting further light fall onto the source of the noise. 

His wolfish gaze ran down your form as you lay there on your back, swallowed in the extra fabric of the old sweatshirt. Your hand rested casually over your stomach as your other one squished gently against your cheek. Your legs lay bare to the world after having kicked the overbearing sheets away, leaving just a glance of your underwear for him to take in.  

“Mmph” You grunted again as you shifted, your face now turned to him as that earthy scent of yours gripped him like a vice and refused to let go.

Your sweet sleep became interrupted though- much to his dismay- as the phone on your nightstand began to light up and buzz incessantly. Still, as a statue he watched as you groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows as you went to check what your device could possibly want at this ungodly hour. 

With one loose fist, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes away, blinking consciousness back into them until you saw Bucky’s illuminated figure before you, standing tall and quiet as he watched you intently. 

“Bucky..?” You couldn’t hide the grin that spread across your face as you saw the familiar face of your lover lit up by the bright light of your phone screen. But the longer you looked the more you noticed.

His eyes were all wrong, his gaze was devoid, that’s the only way you could put it. Devoid of meaning and humanity, it seemed every gaze- every movement- was a means to an end. Empty… save for a flicker of fear; It was probably the only thing in those eyes right now that registered as human. The fear of someone who was lost, unknowing of their purpose, and confused as to why your gaze was made his cold heart falter.

His expression was flat and stoic, save for the knit of confusion that pulled his brows together. His stance was tense and prepared, the discrete knife still glittering in his hands as he took another step forward, his head slowly shaking in response to your question. 

A gasp caught in your throat as you finally understood. Glancing at your phone you saw it was Sam who was calling, undoubtedly trying to tell you what you now already knew.

“Soldat…” You whispered, trying to hide the way his name sent shivers across your skin. Your phone went black then, as you didn’t pick up in time and you were left blind by the sudden darkness.

 You and Bucky had talked about what to do if you found him like this, “You call Sam and Steve, Okay? You find a place to hide and you stay far away, no matter what you hear. There’s no reasoning with him,” He had told you.

So much for that

Your phone lit up again with Sam’s urgent call, its revealing light sending ice down your spine as you saw the man nearly standing over you now, just a hair’s breadth away.

Your hand rose slowly, shaking as you tested a reach for your phone, stopping dead in your tracks as he let out a disapproving grunt. Your head nodded slowly as you gulped, returning your hand to your stomach as you watched his gaze finally shift away. 

With unbothered calmness, he looked toward your phone to see Sam’s face and name scrawled across your screen. Wordlessly he reached over and pressed the ‘decline call’ button, cutting the call short and leaving you two in perfect silence once more. 

Panic began to rise in your throat as his gaze turned back toward you, darkened now only by the lack of light. With slow movements the Winter Soldier reached out, putting the knife away as he crouched down, as if trying to attract a skittish animal. 

Your whole body tensed as his reach came closer, eyes screwing shut as you waited for the worst, “Please… Just don’t hurt her…” You whispered, fear and desperation rattling your voice, just as it did your anxiety-filled body. 

But the pain never came. Instead, the cool touch of metal fingers ran down your cheek, barely denting your flesh as he relished in its softness. Your eyes peeked open cautiously, as his fingers moved along the slope of your jaw, tilting your head up as he came to your chin. 

His eyes had changed, you noticed, instead of being a harsh blizzard, they had now settled into something more human, something warmer and… yearning? 

“Soldat..?” You questioned as you watched his lips part, his senses focused only on the way your body reacted to his touch. You were sure he could hear the rapid pattering of your heart beneath your ribs, its pace only increasing as his fingers moved down your neck and to the exposed collarbone in your loose neckline.

“Красивый [Beautiful]...,” was all he could reply. It came out so soft you weren’t sure you heard it at first, it’s quiet reverence meant for your ears and your ears only. “Из-за тебя он чувствует себя здесь в безопасности...? Замки дерьмовые, видимость слишком высокая, но ты… [Are you why he feels safe here…? The locks are shit, the visibility is too high, but you…]” He continued, quiet and unbothered as if he assumed you couldn’t understand him. 

“He’s been bugging me to get better locks all week…” you replied with a huff, quickly shutting up as his stare found your eyes again. Between Bucky’s ramblings in the night and Natasha’s tendency to only gossip in Russian, you had made an effort to learn it; You were still learning, and your pronunciation was shit, but your understanding had gotten far better. 

“And you have a good ear…” He spoke in English this time, the vague hint of an amused smile pulling at the assassin’s stern lips. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever done that before. If that odd little smile had been seen by anyone else- anyone still living that is.

A breath of relief left you as your lips stretched to mimic his, the tension easing out of your body a little by little.

His metallic touch continued to linger, running down your covered chest until it settled on the waistband of your underwear, the cool metal trailing across your ticklish skin. 

“Ah, wait, Sol-” You jumped at his touch, grabbing his wrist, despite knowing you wouldn’t have the strength to stop him if it’s what he wanted.

But instead of dipping his fingers lower, he simply tugged the oversized hoodie up, gathering it over your chest and exposing the firm baby bump concealed below. His head tilted to the side as he listened to the tiny heartbeat that fluttered in your belly as well as the thuds of its little movements against your skin. Slowly, still with that inkling of a smile, he turned to look at you, his hand hovering just above your vulnerable midsection as if awaiting permission. 

Heat rose to your cheeks as you hesitated. On one hand, you felt a surprising amount of calm under the assassin's touch, his need for your approval only increasing your sense of security. But on the other hand, Bucky would never be able to live with himself if something happened to you or the baby, accident or not. 

“Oh. I-” 

CRASH.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as were cut short by the loud noise. The door to your apartment slammed open, surely breaking the hinges with the sheer force of it. Over a dozen heavy boots stormed into your apartment as the lights turned on, flooding your senses and forcing the Soldier’s attention elsewhere. 

Your hand found his instantly, the heat of his calloused skin a comfort to you just the way Bucky’s was, especially as it squeezed around yours just the same. Sitting up properly now your sweatshirt swallowed your pregnant form once again and you peeked out to see just what was going on. 

Through The Winter Soldier’s defensive stance in front of you, his knife is now drawn once more, you watched a small armed group, covered in black tactical gear raid your home, all guns pointing towards you- or more accurately- the former assassin attempting to shield you. You recognized the symbols on their vests as the team’s secondary security force, having even met a few of them over the years. But where was the rest of the team? Where was Sam, and Steve, and Tony?

“Step away from the civilian!” “Put your hands in the air!” “Sir, drop the knife!” They all shouted, overlapping with each other as each of them rushed out their demands. 

“Don't shoot! It’s okay! It’s okay!” You rushed.

You tried to slip your hand from his, but he only held fast, “Soldat, please… It’s okay, just do what they say… They don’t want to hurt us. Please,” You urged, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, 

His defenses faltered as he listened to you beg him to stand down. It wasn’t the usual begging he heard in his line of work, and coming from your lips had his walls cracking in an unprecedented way. 

He shouldn’t have looked back at your eyes, wide and pleading, as they shook his walls further. Moving slowly he turned, kneeling before you despite the way the armed group yelled at him not to. You just held up your hand to them, pleading for them to be as gentle with him as he was with you. 

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” The warm flesh of his hand came up easily to cradle your face and a small smile pulled at him again as you leaned into his large palm. “Я только что нашел тебя. Я не потеряю тебя снова так быстро[I’ve only just found you. I will not lose you again so quickly]. ”

Your heart both swelled and pained for your Soldier. You looked into his eyes and saw a sense of certainty, a sense of knowing, you hadn’t seen from him earlier. “Oh… my soldier, my star,” Your fingers entwined with the hand holding your cheek, ”You can not lose me in any way that would last…” You whispered to him past the shouts, the commotion, and the tension, like you were the only two in the room. 

“Sir, put the knife down!” A young squad member called again, his voice far more concerned than his superiors. You didn’t recognize him or his number and you figured he must’ve been new. His gun trembled in his hands as he shouted again, but as the Soldier failed to move and the kid’s finger unexpectedly twitched, there came a sudden- 

BANG.

“Ah-!” Your face twisted with pain as you pulled away, “Fuck…!” Your hands instinctively grabbed your leg, clamping over the shooting pain in your calf that hit you- well- like a bullet. 

You winced again as you pulled one of your hands back, the raw skin of your leg angrily letting you know that it did not like being brushed against. Warm, wet crimson covered your fingers as you looked down, becoming slightly dizzy at how much had already covered your palm. You were thankful it only seemed to be a graze, but the burn you already felt and knowing you were losing blood had your stomach lurching in uncomfortable ways. 

Concern painted the assassin’s expression as you recoiled away from his doting touch, but as the unmistakable warm, metallic smell curled into his nose, his expression darkened dramatically. What was once kind, curious blue eyes now saw nothing but red as he caught sight of the wound slashing across your skin. His jaw set firmly, almost audibly grinding his teeth as he stood and turned to the young kid. 

You looked back at the newcomer as you tried to breathe through the pain, the horrified look on his face telling you that he knew he was a dead man walking. His face went ghost white as the super soldier stalked toward him and through even worse trembling hands he raised his gun to shoot again. 

“No…!”

A sickening thud rang out as the bullet hit the assassin square in his good shoulder, getting lodged in the muscly flesh. His shoulder jerked back at the force, but it wouldn’t stop his stride as he closed the gap. Another shot rang out, but with the solid vibranium arm now covering the barrel it did little to help this poor dumb kid. Snatching him by the neck, you watched as your assassin held him up until his feet kicked uselessly in the air. 

Every gun immediately trained on him and with their proximity you knew they wouldn’t miss a fatal shot if it came to it.

“Stop! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Soldier, put him down!” You yelled as you maneuvered towards the edge of the bed. “Please, don't shoot, I can fix this!” you continued, trying to convince yourself as much as you convinced them. Familiar voices joined in on your plea as Sam and Steve finally entered the picture, urgently trying to talk down both the Winter Soldier and the secondary security team. 

“Bucky, It’s okay... Just put the kid down, alright?” Steve tried to reason with him, “He’s new, he doesn’t know what he’s doing yet.” Steve tried his best to stay calm and patient, but the young man was beginning to change colors now. “Bucky, put him down before you do something you can’t come back from.” But Bucky’s ears were deaf to the outside pleas and the Winter soldier refused to listen.

“Ah..!” You whimpered as you tried to stand and approach the commotion. The pain in your leg reached new heights as you tried to put weight on it, causing you to tumble to your knees almost immediately. You clutched your belly, hoping the sudden jostle wouldn’t upset the baby too much as you tried to get up again. 

“Hold on, Y/n. Stay down for a minute so we can wrap your leg…” Sam asked of you, moving over to help as soon as he saw the blood on your hands, “You’re losing plenty already.”

“No, I have to…. I can’t let him get hurt,” you argued, pushing away his helpful hands as you tried to stand again. You heard the crashing thud and rushed voices as you shakily got to your feet, leaning all your weight on your good leg. As you looked up again you came eye to eye with worry-filled icy blues.

“Sol-”

“Мое солнце  [My Sun]...” He interrupted, his metal arm snaking around your waist to pull you in possessively and away from those who threatened your safety. On the other side of the room, the nervous kid now coughed and wheezed for breath, but you were just happy to see he was still alive. 

“Please just listen to them. You’re already hurt, don’t get yourself killed…” you pleaded, your hand barely brushing over his bleeding wound before pulling his hand to your rounded belly. He tried to keep his expression steady, but you saw the way his eyes widened slightly as he looked down. “She needs someone looking out for her and I can’t do this on my own. I can’t keep away all the dangers of the world…” Your forehead rested against his as you tried to shift your weight, whining as you gave up and moved back. You couldn’t deny that this part of Bucky was her father too, even if he had been hidden away for ages, she was still his too. Whether Bucky would see it the same way you weren’t sure, but right now you were just concerned with making sure he got out of this alive. 

“I can’t do this without you…” 

The silence felt deafening as he considered. He never had to think about other people relying on him, not like this. His orders had always been to leave no threats, to finish his job and move on, no matter the cost to him. But the pain in his soft, fleshy shoulder was getting harder to ignore. The way his blood-soaked shirt clung to his arm now climbed to the forefront of his mind as he watched your big eyes stare back at him, desperate to understand. He was between a rock and a hard place. 

“I’ll be right beside you the whole time..” You assured him, “We both will, but please let everyone get us some help.” 

A gentle nudge pushed against his palm as his thoughts swirled around him, snapping him back to a single line of thought and he knew then. Defeat laid heavy on his shoulders as they slumped, accepting what must be done., “Мое солнц [My Sun] …”, He said, “Если вы так хотите, то я не буду жаловаться [If it is what you wish, then I will not complain].” 

You couldn’t tell just how long you had been holding the breath you let out, your muscles relaxing as he finally held his hands up. The security squad began coming forward with an array of cuffs, but it was Sam who stopped them this time, glancing back at you for confirmation as he assured them that they could take it from here. Despite the arguing and the hesitation, they seemed to relent, shifting their focus now to their injured colleague. 

Both Sam and Steve looked tired but relieved as they turned to the two of you, bloody and pained in your current state. Though they weren’t quite better; both of them looked like they had been the unfortunate punching bag of a certain super soldier mere hours before. Sam had bruises lining his arms from where he was surely blocking blow after blow and Steve smiled a bit with his busted lip, dried blood still stuck in the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s get you two to the tower…” 

----

The journey to the tower was quiet, your soldier never letting you out of arms reach as you all boarded the armored truck, and made your way up the tower and to the lab. 

Doctors tried to treat the both of you, but as soon as anyone dared to come close your assassin was right there to growl them back. They’d hardly be able to get past his possessive hands even if they could manage to get close, his touch keeping you pulled beside him at all times.

“Soldat…” you warned him, but he was too preoccupied gathering the medical bag they had been dropped. Coming over to you, there was no warning as he scooped you up from the ground and set you on a table to get to work. 

“Oh-!” You exclaimed as you held onto his strong shoulder, quickly getting plopped back down on the corner of the cold metal table. A shiver ran down your skin as you shifted against the sleek table, watching as practiced hands scoured through the medical bag, producing everything he needed as he went about fixing up your leg wordlessly. 

You were beyond thankful for the haze of the (baby-safe) painkillers as his fingers slid over the raw flesh. Despite the gentle numbing of the painkiller your fingers still lay tangled in his hair as he worked, only tugging in discomfort as the gauze wrapped tightly around your leg.

"Thank you..” You said when he finally finished, moving back to appreciate his work before giving it a satisfactory nod. His eyes had grown distant again, bits of confusion and uncertainty swirling in the storm of his eyes, and you reached out to stroke your thumb across his cheek. His stony cool expression remained as you touched him, his mouth staying a firm line as he instinctively leaned into your palm. You watched him for a moment before you continued, knowing that his thoughts must be far away.

“It's your turn now, big guy.... your shoulder is still seeping and you can’t keep losing blood like this," You urged him just as you had on the ride to the tower. He had refused to listen then, letting nothing else occupy his mind until he knew you were fully taken care of. But now as you sit safely before him, the only looming threats being Sam and Steve who seem to haunt the hallway outside, he finally relented.

You moved to stand, needing the angle to effectively dig out the bullet still lodged in his muscles, but he held you still with a single large hand on your shoulder, "Stay," he urged you with that low rumble of his. His eyes lingered on yours, ensuring you would do as he asked before he began to move again, gathering the supplies you would need.

He slid his bloody shirt off, revealing the weeping wound beneath and the scars of many wounds past. You expected him to stand in front of you, maybe sit so you could take care of him, but that didn’t seem to be the important thing right now.

He climbed up onto the cold table where you sat, curling onto his side with his back facing the door so his wounded shoulder sat closest to you. His head lay in your lap with a look of unmatched serenity as he pressed his forehead against your rounded belly. And there he rested, quiet and unmoving as he took his quiet moment. But he was far too exposed like this, far too trusting of “threats” lurking outside, and he almost reminded you of Bucky again. Was Bucky fighting to come back…? Was the Winter Soldier trusting you to watch his back? … or was he accepting of something you weren't sure he knew yet?

"Are you sure? It's going to be harder to take the bullet out this way. I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to," you tried to explain as you pulled out the forceps.

But he simply shook his head, "I know my time here is short, my Sun..." he said with an even tone, no semblance of fear to shake his voice, "Please let me enjoy it like this…."

Your voice caught in your throat as he answered, his blunt acceptance and knowing catching you off guard. You wished beyond anything that you could soothe him, to tell him no one was going to hurt him or take him away again. But you wouldn’t lie to him, so instead you said nothing, Your words rasping as you replied, "Of course, My star…."

The room was quiet as you worked, the only noise the sweet mumblings from your boyfriend's lips as he filled your baby’s ears with loving promises. His body let out a grunt and a soft squelch as you finally tugged the crushed bullet out. Pain creased his brow but his words never faltered and neither did the nudges or kicks he got in reply.

Carefully you cleaned up the blood, packing the wound as best you could, but you were sure Tony and his team would be redoing it soon nonetheless.

A sigh escaped him as he heard you putting away your tools, "My Sun?" he asked.

"Yes?"

“Is it time…?”

You cast your eyes downward, looking into those confused and swirling blues as they watched you with unbridled hope.

You nodded, wiping away the tears that welled in your eyes, “It’s time…” you whispered.

He nodded, thinking quietly as he looked down at your belly again, his hand smoothing over the skin he’s exposed, “Will I see you two again…?” 

Your heart broke at the slight waver in his voice, “Oh, my star…” you said, resting your palm against his cheek, “It’s just like I said, ‘you can not lose me in any way that would last’. I’ll see you again and again, in this life and the next,” you assured as you leaned down to kiss his temple, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips. Tears blinked from your eyes as you continued, “I don’t know when, or for how long, but you will see us again. You can always come home to me, and I will always be there to welcome you.” You leaned, slow as not to scare him, and kissed him gently as he turned again to look at you.

 It was awkward at first, but you didn’t mind, you couldn’t imagine the last time the Winter Soldier had felt such gentleness, let alone a kiss. 

But the moment was ripped away as the door opened, Steve, Sam, and Tony all standing in the doorway. “We’re ready for him,” Tony said simply, “Let's get this started so my lab techs can go home….” 

-----

You watched behind thick glass as Tony and his team of technicians attached various wires and machinery to Bucky’s body. Sam and Steve’s hands lie on your shoulders, trying to comfort you as you watch them finish tuning and placing everything. You watched as his blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, as still as a statue as he let them do their work.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to watch this…” Steve tried to comfort you, but you only shook your head. 

“No… I promised I’d see him off,” you replied, then thought with a pause, “Despite all the warnings Bucky gave me I’m happy I got to see him face to face…” 

“Well, it helps that he wasn’t trying to beat the shit out of you…” Sam mumbled, getting an immediate nudge from you right in one of his bruises, “ Ow…okay, point taken.”

You smiled and shook your head. It was true though; despite the fear, blood, and death that dripped from his moniker, despite the pain you endured in his presence, you would do it all again. Bucky had hidden this part of him from you for so long, only ever showing you half of his face. And though you know he wouldn’t like it, you’re happy to finally see him in full light- to know and love him completely as he’s meant to be.

Tony says something that’s hard to make out through the glass, but you see him give a thumbs up to you all so he must have been ready. He moved to the switch, hesitating for a moment to let you say a quick goodbye. 

Your Soldier’s eyes found yours right away, but there was no trace of sorrow for you to see, no discomfort or fear. In fact, he seemed almost excited; excited and hopeful that when he saw you next he’d have a bundle of joy to look forward to as well. 

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” you watched him say beyond the glass.

“I’ll see you again, My stars. I’m sure of it…” You replied with a soft smile.

He had just enough time to smile softly back at you, an image now pleasantly etched in your brain before Tony flipped the switch and the reset procedure began. 

You covered your eyes quickly as Bucky’s body began to convulse, his strained grunts and shouts breaching containment despite the way he tried to hold it all back. The sounds of pain continued for minutes, but it felt far longer. Though, it wasn’t until it got quiet that you began to worry. 

“Is it done? Is it over...?” You asked the men on either side of you, afraid to peek past your hands for fear of the worst.

“Doll…?” you heard the familiar voice call, gritty and rough from its recent use but still carrying that same soft tone he used with you.

Your heart swelled, “Bucky...?”

_____________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @simpxinnie (sorry I forgot to tag!)

It's been a while since I've written for our favorite sad man, so if I've missed you/you want to be added to the taglist, DM me to let me know!

Tw: cussing, angst, choking, bruises

Part 2

Words of Command - Part 3

The lights in Stark Tower dim on a gentle cycle—cool and golden like a fading sunset. You rub your eyes as the hallway stretches quiet and long before you, socks sliding soft over polished floors.

It’s late.

And you're exhausted.

You offer a tired goodnight to Steve, who nods with a warm smile from the common room couch, book half-forgotten in his lap.

Behind you… Bucky follows.

Silently. Footsteps so soft for a man made of steel and shadows.

You glance back at him. “You don’t have to follow me now,” you murmur, voice laced with sleep.

He tilts his head.

“Protection” he says simply.

Not a question.

A statement.

You bite your lip and nod—too tired to argue, too soft-hearted to tell him no. Still, anxiety coils in your gut.

You grab your Stark Phone and speed-dial Tony.

He answers after three rings, voice groggy and annoyed. “If this is about him eating toothpaste, I swear to God—”

“Tony,” you whisper. “He’s following me. Into my room.”

Pause.

“...Okay, that’s less funny. Still not my problem. Give him a blanket or something.”

“I don’t think he knows what blankets are, let alone boundaries,” you say, glancing at the man shadowing your every move like a silent sentinel.

“Yeah, well—RoboCop's not getting his own room until you've got him fully housetrained—Congrats, Thumbelina. You’re now the proud owner of a six-foot trauma-soaked heat-seeking murder puppy. Mazel tov.”

You sigh.

He hangs up.

You push open your bedroom door and slip inside, flicking on the lamp with a soft click.

The light spills across the room in a warm wash—cream walls, soft bedding, a shelf of books you haven’t had time to finish. It’s a safe space. Your space.

The Soldier follows.

And pauses.

Like an animal entering unfamiliar territory.

You move to the dresser, trying not to act weird. “I’m just getting ready for bed. You can—um… you can sit? Over there?”

He stands by the door. Watching.

Every mirror, every shadow, every flicker of movement, he tracks it all. Head snapping slightly, expression unreadable.

And then JARVIS speaks.

“Good evening, Miss. Shall I dim the—”

CLANG.

You whip around just in time to see him move—smooth and deadly, like a switch flipped inside his skull.

Arm raised, metal hand snapping toward a wall panel like he’s going to actually rip JARVIS straight out of the drywall.

“Shit—No!” you squeak, rushing forward.

He throws a glance over his shoulder—tense, locked in—but the moment his eyes meet yours, the storm stalls. His breathing is shallow. Pupils blown wide. JARVIS had startled him.

“Room compromised,” he says, clipped.

You place a hand on his arm—his flesh arm—and slowly ease him back.

“That’s just JARVIS. He’s… he’s like a ghost that lives in the walls, okay?”

He blinks. “...Ghost?”

You smile nervously. “He won’t hurt anyone.”

Slowly… so slowly… he lowers his arm.

But his eyes never stop moving.

You set your clothes down for the morning and glance over to find him standing in the corner, half-shadowed, metal hand flexing subtly at his side. Not speaking. Not relaxing.

Just watching.

“Do you… do you want to sleep?” you offer gently. “I could make a spot—on the wee couch, or…”

He doesn’t answer. But when you climb into bed, turn off the lamp, and settle under your blanket, you hear the smallest creak of the floor.

He moves.

He sits in the corner.

Back against the wall.

Facing the door.

Soldier on guard.

Watching.

Protecting.

Sometime in the night, you wake to a strange stillness.

The room is dark, but you can feel his presence.

Eyes heavy with sleep, you lift your head and see him still there—knees drawn up, eyes open.

He hasn’t moved.

Not once.

You whisper, “You can rest, too, you know…”

He says nothing.

But for the first time, his head tilts.

The soft hum of Stark Tower fills the silence like a heartbeat in a hollow chest. The skyline glows faint behind your blackout curtains, and somewhere distant, JARVIS murmurs about internal diagnostics.

But inside your room, there’s stillness.

You’ve long since drifted off to sleep, curled beneath layers of blankets, your breathing steady and quiet.

Across the room, seated in the corner where he’s kept watch for hours, Bucky or 'Soldat' is also asleep.

Or… trying.

His back is pressed against the wall, legs drawn in tight, arms rigid across his lap. He hadn’t meant to sleep. Hadn’t wanted to.

A whimper broke the silence. Bucky's head thrashed from side to side, his long hair flicking across his face with the movement. His metal fingers twitched and clenched.

But the moment his eyes had closed, the nightmare came.

His breath hitches.

It starts in his chest like a tremor, then takes hold—harder, faster. Metal fingers twitch. His jaw tightens. In the dark, his eyes move behind closed lids.

Russian words tumbled from his lips as his movements grew more agitated. Sweat beaded on his forehead as whatever nightmare has him in its grip tightened its hold.

Restraints.

Cold.

Hands.

Falling.

Needles.

The chair.

Pain.

The voice.

Pain.

That voice.

Pain.

"missiya" mission.

He jerks upright with a sudden violent inhale, like he’s surfacing from deep underwater. For a heartbeat, he’s not in Stark Tower.

He’s not in your bedroom.

He’s back in Siberia.

You jolt awake instantly—some part of your brain registering the shift in energy before your eyes even open.

But it’s too late.

The weight of a body is over you, the cold wrap of vibranium fingers tight around your throat.

He’s straddled you before his eyes even fully focus, breath ragged and guttural like a wolf mid-attack. There’s no recognition in his face—just movement.

You can’t breathe.

Your hands claw instinctively at his wrist—not to hurt him, just to get air.

Your voice comes out as a whisper, a desperate plea.

“Soldat—!”

The grip loosens instantly.

His eyes go wide.

Recognition blooms like a bomb going off in his chest.

He scrambles backward, nearly falling off the bed as his breath hitches and catches.

You swear for a second he looks at you like he’s seen a ghost.

“Handler,” he breathes, voice hollow.

A beat.

Then—

"Awaiting instructions, doll."

Ok—that's new—what the fuc—

The endearment slipped out, seemingly without his awareness.

Wait.

His voice.

You freeze.

The accent—it’s... lessened.

Still there, still faint, but there’s a tremor of something else beneath it. Something almost American. Like muscle memory from a past self is bleeding back in.

You massaged your throat, watching him warily. "What did you just call me?" you managed, your voice raspy.

You look at him—he’s curled into himself now, pressed against the far edge of your bed like he wants to disappear into the wall.

“Cryostasis?” he mutters.

A tremor starting in his flesh hand.

You frowned, confused by the unfamiliar term. "Cryostasis? What's that?" you asked cautiously.

His eyes darted to your face, then away, as though even acknowledging the question might be a violation of protocol.

"Cold comes. Then nothing." His odd new accent stumbled over the clinical description.

You whisper, “It’s okay.”

His head shakes—once, hard. “No.”

“That is not going to happen,” you say softly.

He doesn’t answer.

You reach for him—not fast, not aggressive. Just enough to brush your fingers against his sleeve. You’re shaking. So is he.

“I shouldn’t have woken you like that,” you whisper.

His eyes flash to yours.

“You shouldn’t come near me.”

He says it like a warning. Like he’s dangerous. A loaded weapon without a safety.

The morning light leaks into Stark Tower through sleek glass panels, catching dust motes in golden slants. The smell of coffee and toast drifts from the communal kitchen as the Avengers mill around in various states of half-awake bickering.

Tony is already three steps ahead, tapping away at a holographic interface while bemoaning someone using his milk.

You step inside, shoulders pulled in, your oversized hoodie swallowing your frame. Your neck is artfully concealed—layers of makeup, your hair tucked to one side, collar tugged high. You don’t want them to see.

Behind you, Bucky moves like a shadow—soundless but ever-present. His eyes never leave you. He doesn’t acknowledge the others.

“Jesus,” Clint mutters under his breath, low enough that only Natasha hears. “He’s still glued to her.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. Her eyes are locked on Bucky. Calculating.

Steve is seated at the far end of the room, newspaper in one hand, coffee in the other—but when you walk in, his eyes lift over the rim of the mug. They soften. Then narrow.

Then shift to the Soldier.

Something is off.

Tony glances up from his projections.

“Morning, Thumbelina,” he greets, in that usual teasing voice he uses when pretending not to care too much. Then his gaze flicks to you again—and he stills.

You’re not quite fast enough with your coffee mug.

His eyes catch the edge of discoloration peeking beneath your concealer—faint, but unmistakable. A handprint, forming from throat to jaw. Not quite healed. Not quite hidden.

His expression drops.

“What the hell is that?”

You freeze mid-sip.

The room goes quiet.

Tony’s voice cuts the air like a blade. “That better not be what I think it is.”

Your throat closes. “Tony—”

“I knew it. I knew the 'silent Soviet scarecrow' routine was just a breath away from having a full-on Hulk-themed episode!”

Bucky reacts instantly.

The tension in his shoulders coils tight like a sprung trap. His jaw clenches, head snapping toward Stark like a weapon finding a target.

One step forward—fast. Direct.

“Back down.”

His voice is low, cold. His accent is faded but not gone—words flatter, more clipped. American ghosts clinging to Russian steel.

Steve’s head tilts.

Tony lifts his hands, mockingly. “Oh, look at that! RoboRambo speaks. Did they teach you that in murder school or is that the accent of a guy trying to remember who he used to be?”

Bucky’s fist tightens. Metal groaning.

Your hand shoots out, placing it on his chest.

“Doll,” he says instantly, like the word grounds him.

"Stand Down ... Please"

He nods.

But his attention doesn’t leave you.

Not for one second.

Steve stands slowly. Not threatening. Just observing.

“You hear that?” he says quietly to the room, gaze on Stark but words aimed at Bucky. “His voice. It’s… changing.”

“Changing into what?” Tony mutters, pacing slightly now. “The warm tones of someone who nearly crushed her windpipe in her sleep?”

Bucky flinches. It’s subtle—but it’s there.

“Tony, please,” you whisper. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“Oh, no, I forgot—brainwashing, programming, whatever. But forgive me if I don’t want my employees being used as a therapy animal for the man who can snap necks like breadsticks!”

Bucky stares blankly.

None of the names or faces mean anything to him.

But the tension rising in you—that registers.

He steps protectively between you and Tony.

“Neutralize the threat,” he says coldly.

“No, no—” Your hands are shaking. “Don’t do that. There’s no threat. Tony’s just… being Tony.”

“Irritating?” Clint offers, trying to diffuse the moment. “Yeah, he’s great at that.”

Steve crosses the room slowly.

“Bucky,” he tries.

The Soldier’s gaze doesn’t flicker. His expression doesn’t change.

There’s no flicker of recognition in those eyes. Only patience. Obedience. A mind made of shattered glass slowly piecing itself back together.

You guide him gently to the table. He lets you. When you move, he follows. When you speak, he listens.

But when others speak?

He blinks. No comprehension.

“Why doesn’t he know us?” Natasha asks softly. Her words are for Steve.

“I don’t know,” Steve murmurs. “But the accent fading… that’s gotta be memory. It means someone’s still in there.”

Tony crosses his arms, looking you dead in the eye. “You need to be honest with us. If you’re in danger—”

“I’m not.”

“You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” you say. Your voice is small. “And he stopped the second he realized.”

“And then went right back to calling you ‘Handler,’” Tony snaps.

This is your boyfriend, Mom? | Beefy!Bucky Barnes x f!reader.

Pairings: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Single Mom reader. Themes: Bucky getting absolutely roasted by a six and half year old baby boy. Summary: Bucky comes over and meets your very protective son for the very first time. A/N: I'm in a phase where I like Bucky interacting with kids. . .🥲

The doorbell chimes, and you pull open the door, coming face to face with a broad-shouldered figure that fills the entire doorway. Bucky’s piercing blue eyes twinkle with humor, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his posture, as if he’s unsure whether to step inside or bolt.

“You’re here!” you exclaim with a warm smile, stepping aside to let him in.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Bucky murmurs, leaning in for a brief kiss before glancing around your living room nervously. “So, where’s the little guy?”

A shuffle of small feet behind you catches your attention. You turn to see your son peeking out from behind the couch, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he sizes up the man who just entered his territory.

“There he is!” You wave your hand toward your son encouragingly. “Come say hi.”

Your son doesn’t budge, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Bucky like a miniature security guard. “So, this is your boyfriend?”

You can hear the disdain dripping from each word, and Bucky’s lips twitch into an amused smile. “I guess I am.”

“Mom,” your son deadpans, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s. “This is what you’ve been hyping up? He looks like he just rolled out of bed.”

“Hey, kid, I put in a lot of effort today.” Bucky gestures to his dark leather jacket, perfectly disheveled hair, and rugged stubble. “This is my ‘I’m totally put together but still approachable’ look.”

“Approachable?” your son snorts. “With that hair? You look like a drowned dog who’s been through a tornado and then zapped by lightning.”

Bucky blinks, surprised. He looks at you, then back at your son, and his mouth quirks up in a grin. “A drowned dog, huh? That’s original. So, what’s your excuse for your hair?”

Your son’s small hands shoot up defensively to his carefully combed locks. “My hair looks great, thank you very much. I didn’t put all this mousse in for you.”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a laugh. “Be nice,” you whisper to your son, who rolls his eyes dramatically before turning his attention back to Bucky.

“Alright, old man—”

“Old?” Bucky interjects, eyebrows lifting. “I’m still in my prime, kid. What are you, five?”

“I’m six and a half.” Your son’s voice drips with indignation, as if Bucky has committed an unforgivable crime by getting his age wrong. “And you’re still old. You probably creak when you sit down.”

Bucky shakes his head, chuckling. “I don’t creak, but your mom might tell you I’ve got a few squeaky joints, yeah.”

“Ew, don’t—don’t tell me stuff like that.” Your son makes a gagging noise and then glares up at you. “Why is he even here, Mom? You know I’m supposed to have final say.”

“You have final say?” Bucky repeats, clearly intrigued. He shifts his weight, giving the boy a once-over. “What’s your name, anyway, kid?”

“Lucas.” He squares his shoulders, a defiant lift to his chin. “Got it memorized, old man?”

Bucky nods slowly, a glint of amusement in his gaze. “Lucas, huh? Alright, Lucas, I’ll try not to forget it.”

“You better not.” Lucas looks Bucky up and down, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Mom, this guy looks like one of those 90s action figures. You know, the kind where the legs don’t bend, and they’re so top-heavy they keep falling over.”

You snort loudly, unable to hold it in, and Bucky shoots you a betrayed look.

“Kid’s got a point,” you manage to say between laughs, and Bucky shakes his head, feigning exasperation.

“Oh, really?” Bucky folds his arms across his chest, staring down at Lucas. “Well, you look like a baby duck that wandered into a windstorm. All fluffed up and ready to pick a fight, huh?”

Lucas blinks, startled for a moment before narrowing his eyes, a grin forming on his face. “Better than looking like a grumpy cat that hasn’t had its coffee yet.”

You cough to hide your laughter, and Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Grumpy cat?”

“Yeah, with all those lines between your eyebrows.” Lucas steps closer, squinting as if he’s examining a rare species. “I bet you frown at the sun, too.”

You stifle a giggle, and Bucky sighs dramatically, placing his hands on his hips. “I’m starting to think you don’t like me, Lucas.”

“Starting?” Lucas tilts his head mockingly. “I’m basically giving you a head start, ‘cause if I really didn’t like you, you’d know.”

Bucky chuckles, glancing at you. “I like him. He’s got guts.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too comfy, Gramps.” Lucas gestures to the couch with a flourish. “The only reason you’re even here is ‘cause Mom seems to think you’re ‘cute’ or whatever.”

“I am cute,” Bucky agrees seriously, causing Lucas’s mouth to drop open in disbelief.

“No. Way. You’ve got metal bits, and your beard is all scratchy, and—” Lucas cuts himself off, his gaze dropping to Bucky’s stomach. “And a jelly belly! Mom, did you know your boyfriend has a jelly belly?”

“What?” Bucky sputters, glancing down at himself with wide eyes. “I don’t have a jelly belly—Also this beard?” He strokes it like he’s pondering life’s great mysteries. “Your mom likes it.”

“Yes, you do!” Lucas insists, poking at Bucky’s midsection with a tiny finger. “Superheroes are supposed to be all muscle, but you’re hiding a squishy balloon in there.”

“Squishy balloon?” Bucky repeats, looking thoroughly betrayed as he turns to you.

“Lucas,” you chide gently, but your son’s eyes are wide and innocent. “Don’t be mean,” you add, fighting back laughter.

Bucky sighs and looks down at Lucas with a mock serious expression. “You know, I’m part super-soldier, part robot, and part… dad bod. It’s a package deal, kid.”

Lucas narrows his eyes, scrutinizing Bucky’s face. “I guess that makes you a little cooler, but you’re still a metal-armed grumpy pants.”

“Metal-armed grumpy pants?” Bucky echoes, eyebrows lifting. “Wow, we’re just racking up the nicknames today, huh?”

“Yup.” Lucas grins, then frowns again, cocking his head thoughtfully. “You’re also kinda like a… metal mop. All hair up top and a shiny stick arm.”

“A metal mop?” Bucky asks, his voice filled with mock offense as he raises his eyebrows. “You’re really on a roll.”

Lucas shrugs, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “I think it suits you.”

“Well, you’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” Bucky says with a chuckle.

Lucas scowls, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re lucky, you know.”

“Oh?” Bucky leans down, hands on his knees to get on eye level with Lucas. “And why’s that?”

“‘Cause Mom likes you,” Lucas mutters, eyes flickering to you and back to Bucky, a hint of protectiveness in his tone. “But if you hurt her, I’ll tell everyone you still sleep with a nightlight.”

Bucky’s eyes widen in shock. “What? I don’t—”

“Yeah, okay,” Lucas interrupts, holding up a finger. “But I’ll tell everyone you do. Including all the Avengers.”

Bucky’s mouth opens, and then he shuts it, clearly struggling for a response. “You wouldn’t.”

Lucas just stares at him, completely unblinking. “You wanna test me, Mr. Metal Mop?”

Bucky glances at you, looking for support, but you just raise your hands innocently. “He’s tougher than he looks.”

After a long pause, Bucky leans down, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Alright, kid, name your terms.”

Lucas pretends to think for a moment, tapping his chin. “You have to play video games with me… three times. No complaints. And no quitting when I beat you.”

Bucky looks horrified. “I—”

“Deal?” Lucas extends his tiny hand with a sly grin.

Bucky glances between you and Lucas, then sighs dramatically. “Deal.”

Lucas’s grin widens. “Oh, and one more thing—if I catch you throwing the controller in frustration, I’ll know you can’t handle losing.”

Bucky stares at him, completely lost for words.

“Just a fair warning.” Lucas pats Bucky’s arm as if he’s the one doing Bucky a favor. “Welcome to the family, Mr. Jelly Belly who’s gonna get his butt kicked at Mario Kart.”

You burst out laughing, and Bucky groans, running a hand down his face. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope.” Lucas shakes his head with a grin. “Better practice up, Grumpy Pants.”

“Practice? Against you?” Bucky scoffs, but the smile pulling at his lips betrays him. “Kid, I’m gonna wipe the floor with you.”

“Sure, Mr. Nightlight,” Lucas replies smoothly. “Sure.”

Bucky glances at you and then back at Lucas, a mischievous look in his eye. “You know, at this rate, you’re gonna start calling me Dad.”

Lucas pauses, then tilts his head with a confused look. “Why would I call you Dad?”

Bucky smirks. “Because you know I’ll beat you so bad at those video games, you’re gonna need a parental figure to console you.”

“Right, I can call you Dad,” Lucas’s eyes light up, and he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Only if you pay me twenty bucks a week, Dad.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. “Twenty bucks?!”

“Yeah,” Lucas shrugs nonchalantly. “Think of it as a ‘dad fee.’ I’m expensive. Mom’s got good taste.”

Bucky looks at you, baffled. “Did he just—?”

“Oh, and I’ll need a ride to school every morning,” Lucas continues, holding up his fingers as he lists his demands. “And ice cream. Twice a week. But no toppings. I’m not greedy.”

Bucky bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “You really thought this through, huh?”

“Business is business,” Lucas says with a serious nod. “So, what’s it gonna be, Dad?”

Bucky blinks, then leans back and sighs dramatically. “Sorry, buddy, but I think I’ll just stick with Mr. Metal Mop.”

Lucas crosses his arms, a sly grin forming on his lips. “Your loss. Could’ve been Dad. Now you’re just gonna be the guy who cried during Shrek.”

Bucky’s shoulders slump as he glances at you, utterly defeated. “I’m doomed.”

“Yup,” you say with a grin. “But hey, at least you didn’t agree to the ‘dad fee.’”

“True,” Bucky mutters, then he turns back to Lucas, raising an eyebrow. “But for the record, I did not cry during Shrek.”

“Sure, Mr. Nightlight,” Lucas deadpans. “Sure.”

Ugh I need some good fic recs of Bucky being winter soldier PLEASE!!! I am BEGGING 😭

I Wanna Be Yours❦

Part 1: Snap out of it

Part 2: Arabella - Coming soon

One stop off of heaven masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Angst, infidelity, reader is the side piece, hurt, brief mentions of childhood friend!Bucky, no happy ending (sort of), reader is used, no aftercare, all hurt no comfort, p in v, rough sex, hate sex, doggy style, hair pulling, slapping, biting, allusions to reader being infertile (can be ignored :))

Nicknames: My girl, whore, slut, Sweetheart, buttercup

WC: 4K

The Happier version: My Girl -Coming soon

A/N: This is the angstier version of the fic ‘My Girl’ and is the actually original version of the fic and more truly embodies what I was feeling when writing them both.

A/N: Ive been gone for a really long time (like almost 3 months) and I’m really sorry I’ve been extremely busy, because as a lot of you know I’m doing a PhD right now. Anyway, this is part of a series that I’ll hopefully finish when I’m not so busy. I also have a few requests to finish. Love y’all 💕

༻𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭🎀༺

You both laid in the middle of the hotel bed, your head nuzzled into Bucky’s chest as you held him tight, taking in the smell of him like it was the last time you’d ever be able to. Your mind burned as you broke down every note of his scent; Magnolia, vanilla, leather and petrichor. You chanted it like a recipe in your head, begging yourself not to forget it. Just in case you ever had to recreate it when he was gone, it was inevitable after all—It was reality, this world you had both created in this room was no longer tangible. Someone was going to find out, or they had already—and to make him keep risking it, running around with you at night. It couldn’t continue, the thought of it ending made your throat tighten and a smell similar to pva glue fill your nose. It burnt as you blinked the tears back. Even as you squeezed him tighter, closer, it felt like he drifted further and further away; you could just feel it. He was distancing himself from you mentally and now physically, to make it more bearable for you both; so that he could lessen the pain, but little did he know the more he moved away the more it hurt, the more your heart shattered into tiny, little pieces that you’d inevitably be left alone to pick up. You wondered if you’d ever be able to repair your heart, or if it had shattered so much into such minuscule pieces that trying would be futile.

You had one final night with him and here you were, spending it cuddling him trying to suppress your tears. You didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes if you shattered, if you showed how much this little love affair truly meant to you. You loved putting up the tough, emotionless bitch act but you couldn’t. Not now. Not if it meant letting him go, never feeling his rough hands trace your every curve, never having him to kiss every scar, never being able to hear his deep, silky voice. You didn’t give a shit about the sex, no matter how mind blowing it was. You just wanted him to stay, you’d become celibate if it meant he’d stay. You’d do anything. But you weren’t “his girl” no matter how many times he whispered it to you softly or made you scream it as he fucked you. You just weren’t his. Not in the eyes of the law and not in the eyes of any of your guy’s friends. She was and you hated her for it, you hated the nice girl who brought you ‘Welcome home’ cookies, who comforted you when you were crying, despite not know you were mourning your chance with her husband, the sweet, beautiful, perfect girl that would one day give Bucky the sweet, beautiful, perfect family he’d always dreamed of. You hated that you hated her, it felt immoral, this all felt immoral. But she had what you wanted; him. She had him wrapped around her tiny, wicked…pretty, well manicured finger, it was wrong of you to force him into this—Bucky had always been weak to you and you used that against him. You made him cheat, but deep down you knew a part of him liked it. He was just like you after all, he was broken and a collector—but instead of things you both collected bits and pieces of others and saved them up inside you, it’s what made you both feel whole.

His arm that had been laying flat under your head shifted, he ran his fingers through your hair, rubbing slowly circles on your scalp, caressing the base of your skull with his warm palm. His touch was too much, you didn’t deserve it. That’s what broke you. The burning in your nose got too much; tears began to stream from your eyes like water from a broken faucet and the knot straining in your throat gave way to heavy sobs as you scrunched the material of his shirt in your fingers “What’s wrong sugar?” He asked indifferently, but you couldn’t answer. The embarrassment from letting your walls finally fall in front of him and the pity you had for yourself, that you detested, jammed your throat. You tried to open you mouth to speak, to tell him it was nothing or that you’d had an awful day at work, you’d always been quite sensitive, he knew that, so the excuse of being yelled at in front of everyone at work would probably work, but no matter how much you tried to summon the words you couldn’t speak. The frustration just made it worse, the warmth from your emotional outburst and his natural heat made it hard to breathe. You pushed away from him, finally distancing yourself. But the implications of your action just intensified your blubbering, you felt like a child as you collapsed in front of him.

Bucky pulled you closer even as you tried to fight him off. You kept your face hidden behind your hair, but he started to peel it away from your damp cheeks. “There we go I can see you now.” He let out a halfhearted nervous laugh, smiling. His smile. Your chest tightened painfully, even through your drowned vision, the full intensity of his welcoming smile hit you like a pile of bricks. “What’s wrong, sugar pea? You can tell me, it’s just us.”

“I can’t- can’t tell you”

“Why not? We’ve know each other since we were kids, you can tell me anything.”

“You’re gonna- you’re gonna hate me.”

“I could never hate you. I’ve seen do a bunch of things and I’ve never once hated you.”

“I’m in love with you.” You blurted, your hands scrambled to your mouth covering it in fear of more words spilling out unchecked. The room fell silent and you heard Bucky’s breathing stop short. You’d ruined everything. Your whole chest ached as your heart beat ramped up, slamming against your rib cage, your ears ringing as the precious Eden you’d created with him began to crumble and rot. Neither of you said a word for what felt like forever, then he slowly pushed you away from him and he rose from the bed slipping on his shoes. “Wait, no don’t leave please.”

“You just had to go ruin it didn’t you? It’s like your specialty.” He turned to you sweeping his hand through the air as he spoke “ Y/N professional ruiner.” He scoffed as he returned to tying his laces “I mean God! You had one job! And it was to lay there and not talk, but you just had to open your mouth.” Every single poisonous word that fell from his tongue knived you.

You held onto his back trying to pull him back into bed “No please, please don’t leave me!” You cried, hardening your grip as he tried to stand.

“You’re so pathetically lonely, you always have been.” Bucky pushed you into the bed, holding your hands above your head as he glared down at you “You’re just like a dog you know that? A creature that can’t survive without its master. That’s what you’ve made me isn’t it? Your master. Well I can’t be anymore, the little doggy needs to realise that she can’t keep forcing people to be in her life, dragging people into her misery!” As he berated you you sobbed, trying to turn away from his scrutinising, to cover your ears. He was right, you were dragging him down into your misery. You were pathetic. You were harming him and his life by existing. “You know what? How about, as a parting gift, we do it one final time? Give the bitch what she wants? Would that make you happy? Would it finally fill that gaping hole inside of you?”

You nodded tearfully, gnawing down on your bottom lip to stop sobbing. It didn’t stop anything. In fact it just made the helpless feeling inside you fester.

He began tearing your clothes off, tugging at your shirt harshly making it catch your ear as he yanked. You resisted the urge to yelp, you didn’t want to anger him further. He tossed it carelessly and gave you a light slap on your cheek before squeezing your face in the palm of his hand. “You’re so pretty when you cry.” He let out a dark chuckle as he scrunched your face “You are pathetic aren’t you? I can’t believe it took me this long to realise just how pathetic you truly are. You can take off your skirt can’t you?” You whine out a yes and start to undo your skirt, but your eyes are drawn to Bucky undressing above you. You watch the muscle under his slightly tanned skin stretching and tensing as he removes his clothes. Once he was nude he looked down at you expectantly, catching your wander gaze with a stern scowl “Why are you still wearing clothes? I just told you to take your skirt off. Do it.” You scrambled to unzip your skirt, fiddling with the zipper. Bucky tutted, grabbing the sides of the fabric and tearing it apart “Simple.”

More tears filled your eyes as he yanked off your panties. You closed your eyes and thought back to the other times you were together in different hotels, how gentle he was as he stroked the soft flesh of your thigh and nibbled at your skin, whispering promises and praise as he approached your core. He’d stretch and tease you till you begged him for more and even then he’d be so very careful as he entered, pressing his skin against yours as much as possible just to feel even closer to you.

A searing pain shot through your scalp, making your eye shoot open, as he pulled your hair wrapped around his strong vibranium fingers “Face down, ass in the air.”

“Aren’t you going to prep me first?” You asked sheepishly, your voice not going above a whisper.

“Why the fuck- No. Just do what I told you to do. I’m hard, I want to fuck you.” He scoffed, clearly tired with your constant hesitations and questions.

Hesitantly you sat up and presented yourself to him, hoovering your face above the pillows. He pushed your head down, your heart jumped, fear blooming in your chest; for a brief moment you thought he was going to suffocate you, the reminisce of his smell on the pillows filling your lungs. He released your head, you lifted your face from the pillow slightly “Stay down.” He ordered sternly, sounding bored as his dripping tip pressed against your entrance. You did as he said, lowering your cheek back down on the cheap fabric of the pillow case; you began fiddling with the cream coloured fitted sheet, rubbing the fabric between the tips of you fingers. Waiting. Then you felt him push into you, a searing, stretching pain tingling through every fibre of your being as his thick shaft parted your walls. You weren’t as wet as usual, you weren’t as ready as usual, you were afraid of him in this moment. More afraid than you’d ever been in your life. “Fucking tight. God no wonder I keep coming back to you, it’s this pussy. It’s like silk.” He sheathed fully inside of you, ramming his weeping tip against your cervix.

“Ow! Buck, slow. P-please.” You requested timidly, stuttering out the last part fearfully, feeling a sense of uneasiness churn your insides.

He guffawed in response, leaning his head down to rest against your arched spine. Warm puffs of air made your hairs stand on end as he laughed at your request. Finally he rose back up, swiping a tear from the corner of his eye “Last time I checked whores don’t have much of a say in how their clients fuck them. Lay there and look pretty, moan for me, scream for me, but for fucksake whatever you do just don’t talk. You’re driving me crazy.” He pulled out in one Swift motion before slamming himself back inside, relishing in the cry that left your lips “I’m gonna use your little slut hole and you’re gonna thank me for it aren't you?” His voice deepened as he asked, changing his pace from long and brutal to shallow and fast. When you didn’t answer he slapped your ass harshly and clawed at your back leaving painful, searing red streaks “I said. You’re going to thank me, aren’t you.”

You choked on your tears as you answered, managing to croak out a very quiet “yes, Bucky.” Before burying your face back into the pillow in embarrassment from the sound of how ruined your own voice sounded. You took a deep breath in, taking in the lingering scent of Bucky’s cologne. Magnolia, vanilla, leather and petrichor. You chanted the list of fragrances, hoping it would carry you away to a better time. But the sound of his grunting, the sound of his skin colliding with yours and the painful, heavy sadness weighing on your head was too much for you to think back to the past. You were trapped here, under him as he ruthlessly pounded into you.

You felt his once loving cool, metal hand snake around your throat squeezing tightly, you began to choke spit flying from your mouth onto the already tear dampened white pillows “The one good thing about you is you feel so much better than her and you let me do whatever I want to you. You let me choke you.” Bucky gave your throat two strong squeezes before removing his hand to allow you to breathe “she- ah squeezing again? God I’m gonna miss this tight cunt. She’s so vanilla, only missionary, no blowjobs and I practically have to beg her to let me eat her out. But you, you’re a little whore, you'll do anything as long as I pump you full of my cock.” As he finished talking Bucky slammed his hips into your ass, watching it jiggle at the force. He craned his neck down and bit the supple flesh, grinding his teeth and licking the mark before returning to his thrusts, slapping your ass just to hear you yelp. You squeezed him even tighter every time he slapped your ass and with each moan and cry your voice sounded more and more ruined, you hated that even when he was treating you like dirt your body responded to him and he could draw this much pleasure from you.

The gradual heat that had been rising within you was becoming unbearable and the moans you have been trying to silence we’re now impossible to silence “That’s it. Scream for me.” A deep, guttural moan escaped from his open mouth, his hand on your hip growing stronger, to the point that you could feel bruises sprouting “Fuck. So close. So goddamn close, I need you to milk me with you tight hole.” Bucky’s metal hand moved away from you head and slipped underneath you, gathering your slick and fiddling with your clit with his thumb.

“Ahh! So good! So good, Buck!” His hand that was holding your hips buried itself in your hair before he yanked it at. You screamed in response to the burning in your scalp

“I said no talking you fucking whore!” You sniffled in response, feeling your release draw nearer. You pushed back against him choking out a moan as you came on his cock, your walls pulsing and squeezing around his twitching length. Bucky rammed into you a few more time with uncoordinated thrust, believing out a loud “Fuck!” As he painted your walls white. A whimper crawled from your throat as he pulled out; you could feel his seed leaking out of you. Bucky flopped down on the bed next to you pulling a few tissues from the bedside table to clean himself. An awkward silence permeated through the room. Not once after having sex with Bucky did you feel dirty, but today you did. You felt an indescribable urge to get home and scrub yourself till your skin bleed to even hope to remove the icky, gross feeling spread across your skin.

Slowly you lifted your head from the pillow and carefully laid down on your back, wincing as you reddened bottom came in contact with the quilt. You laid there staring at ceiling, tears making your vision swim. Bucky’s rough hand entwined with yours; he squeezed your hand twice and swiped the pad of his thumb across your knuckles tenderly “She’s pregnant. I thought I should tell you. She's gonna give me that family I’d always dreamed of.” The words that were crawling up your throat died, you died. Your body went rigid at the word, pregnant. Of course she was pregnant. The word made you sick, it made you jealous, it made you a crucible of contempt boiling over a bunsen flame—you were going to explode. “We'll, aren't you going to say anything? I’ve been wanting this for a long time. I thought you’d at least be happy for me.”

“Congratulations.” The voice that came out didn’t sound like you, It sounded robotic, metallic and forced. But that was all you could manage, if you said anymore you might snap and strangle him or go kill her. You hated yourself for hating her. But it didn’t make the nagging belief in the back of your mind that it should have been you. That it was destined to be you. He was yours, you were his. It was meant to be you at the altar, meant to be you telling funny stories at your wedding about how you were childhood friends that went to high school and college together, who both had brewing feelings that you both kept suppressed and when you finally both got the courage to confess you had to move for work, but destiny made it so you would both reunite and jump at the chance to confess. It was meant to be you.

“Thanks.” His tone was bitter “ I can stay a bit longer, but I’ll have to leave soon. She’s waiting for me after all.” He cuddled you close, stroking your hair, probably imagining you were her. Had he imagined you were her this whole time? Was it that painful for him to fuck you?

The amount of thoughts racing in your head made you want to step outside into the chilly night air to cool down, but now was your final chance to be with him and you weren’t going to waste it. You ran you hands across the corded muscle of his back, drawing soothing circles just like he used to do for you when you couldn’t sleep. When sleep made your eyelids heavy you barely put up a fight, you welcomed sleep with open arms, you wanted to be freed from the bleak, harsh reality and enter into a dream world where she was you. Yeah that sounded good.

“Bucky?” You called groggily. There was no reply. You crawled over to his side of the bed, it was still warm, and peered over the edge. His shoes were gone and so were his clothes. You laid back on the bed, your eyes catching sight of a torn bit of paper. You grabbed the paper and unfolded it, your hands trembling as you read it ‘I don’t want to see you anymore, please don’t bother my family. - James’ You read the words over and over praying they would change into another message, but it didn’t work. It only made the pang in your chest throb. You scrunched it in your hand as you curled up into a ball trying to disappear as you soaked up the shadow of his body heat, the memories of him that were lingering in that shadow—high school when he sat with you behind the bleachers in the rain and gave you his varsity jacket to warm you up “I’m your portable heater at this point.” He jested, letting out his signature low husky laugh that made you melt, college when he held you from behind as you cried into your pillow about your college senior boyfriend who dumped you, because he was graduating; you could still feel the phantom of Bucky’s warmth whenever you were sad thanks to that day. The day he stroked your hair and whispered into your ear that “He didn’t deserve you.” And that he’d “never make you feel like this.” Well he had so many times, he was right now. But it hurt even more now, it was over for good. You’d lost him, you were too many years too late and now you were just clutching to fleeting memories, but God if the feelings didn’t sting every time you thought about him. It was hard not to, he’d dominated every significant moment of your life. But now you were barred from his perfect little family.

Slowly you unscrunched yourself from the ball you’d folded yourself into, spreading your body out like a starfish drying out on the beach. Your throat was scratchy from crying and your eyes were heavy and swollen. Everything hurt, but simultaneously you were so numb.

You thought of showering, you thought of searching through your bag for some pain meds, you thought of driving your car off the bridge back to the city. You thought a lot, as you laid there staring at the yellowed patches on the popcorn ceiling from water damage.

You thought so much and so hard that you didn’t even notice you’d started crying, again, you were drowning in your emotions. You were huddled in a lifeboat slowly filling with water, with no sight of land. You were waiting for him to save you, but he wasn’t coming back “I wanna be yours. Just wanna be…”

A disembodied voice continued “Yours. Secrets I have held in my heart, are harder to hide than I thought.” The sweet sound of the man’s singing stops “I thought we were gonna sing together, sweetheart.” There was a soft knocking on the wall next to your head “No more crying okay? Guy was a dick anyway.”

“Who are you?” You questioned, sitting up and pressing your ear against the paper thin wall

“A person who’s also been left out to dry, a person who also needs someone to stop me from drowning. If you want some comfort I can come over; we can just lay here, Y/N.” The way he said your name brought back so many memories, you knew who he was

“Ari?” You asked hesitantly, the man who Bucky said didn’t deserve you all the way back in college was on the other side of the wall. He’d listened to everything. You wanted to evaporate.

The door knob of your room jiggled and then the door creaked open. In the doorway was Ari, droplets of rain trickling down his skin. He dipped his head down so he didn’t hit it as he entered your room, his brown hair was a bit longer than it was in college, his beard a bit fuller, he was much more muscular and his chest was more hairy; but for the most part he was the same, he even still had the same crotchety, yet solemn look on his face “Hiya, Sunshine.” His voice was low and soothing, as if you were the finest China that he was worried about shattering. He closed the door gently and walked over to the side of the bed, crouching down to try to make his bearish figure smaller and less daunting “Long time no see. didn’t think the next time I’d see you would be in a shoddy motel, but life is nothing if not unpredictable, right?”

Tag list: @alina02 @winterslove1917 @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @petesey @getwellsoontana @feyfantome @alexxavicry @ashenc-blog @floral-recs @addie5587483 @flamefoxxrecs @adoreyouusugar @teambarnes72 @wintasssoldier @gryffindorqueensworld @aerangi @taramaria @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @teddybearsgrr @raajali3 @godesslaura @alma13-blog @cevansgurl @sojuxxi @aerangi @itwillgetbetter @bean-is-reading @emi11ie @cjand10 @sweetwrathoflilith @royalwriteroftheuniverse

Monstertober Day 8

Careful what you wish for 🕯

Pairing: Incubus!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Initial Somnophilia, dub con, kind of rape, insults/degrading language, biting, scratching, marking, mentions of blood, womb tattoo/sigil, dumbification, aphrodisiac, vibrator, p in v, overstimulation, cunnilingus, demon summoning, beefy!bucky, condescending!Bucky, dark!bucky, praise, fluff

Nicknames: Angel, Doll, sweetness

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: I’m so sorry this is late, I was extremely busy on Halloween with teacher training and university work. But this concludes Monstertober, I have some exciting things planned for November.

༻𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫༺

Candles…You look around your floor surrounded by heaps of softly glowing candles, their flames waning and brightening again and again as the flame danced in the draft of your room. “Check.” you murmured, casting your eyes back to the grimoire’s aged pages; squinting in the darkness of your room trying to see the faded ink more clearly “stupidly complicated pentagram that took me multiple attempts and almost two hours to draw. Check.” You huffed glaring down at the pentagram drawn in white chalk on your floor, the edges smudged ever so slightly from where you’d repeatedly rubbed it away, only to redraw it wrong again. “An offering.” The book had not specified the offering that you had to provide for the demon, it simply said offering in intricate calligraphy “,how very helpful.” Grumbling you crouched to your knees, placing the grimoire down and scooping up your pile of “offerings” depositing them at random in a small circle inside your pentagram. Your offerings, if you could even call them that, consisted of a some loose change you’d found under and behind furniture, some candies you had lying around from halloween that the children hadn’t taken, a lock of your hair and a deeply personal item—which was the only clear instruction in the list, and you had chosen your trusty pink vibrator. Looking at the pink vibe on the floor made you want to crawl out of your skin in embarrassment, but it made the most sense since it was very deeply personal.

You picked the book back up and seated yourself in the centre of the summoning circle, you could feel your heart rate spike as you glanced down at the page for the summoning words. Your hands shook, palms growing cold and sweaty as you began “Heed my call, hear my cry may it lead you to me from your realm far away. I command you to my side so that we may make a contract.” You bite down on your finger drawing blood and swipe it across the floor “See me now and let me see you.” You blow out the candles around you and wait. You gulp as you sit cross legged in the dark, waiting. The sound of your breathing and your blood rushing makes the silence unbearable.

Nothing happens.

After sitting there for five minutes, you climb to your feet defeated. Tears on your waterline as you throw the book to the floor and flop into bed. You felt so stupid for even thinking that something like that would work, you feel the full weight of your adrenaline rush crashing to ground as curl under your covers rocking yourself to sleep s you mentally prepare for the rent payment tomorrow.

The blown out candles relight simultaneously as he steps out of the red swirling portal “You called?” He looked down expecting to see the person who summoned him, but he found the chalk pentagram staring back at him. He bends down, picking up the book you’d thrown harshly to the floor with a frown. He dusts off the grimoire, tracing the embossing in the leather cover with his blackened fingers, turning down the heat of his brimstone skin so the book doesn't burn. From the corner of his eye he catches your body shifting under the covers. He sets the grimoire gently on your chest of drawers and pads over to your bed “Wake up my little sleeping Angel.” He whispers in a gravelly tone, forming an ‘o’ with his reddened lips and blowing a stream of cold air against your ear lobe making you stir. He seats himself on the edge of your bed trailing his hand across your sleeping form “You’re wearing too much for my liking. Let me help you with that.” He threw the covers off of you and turned you more on to your back so he could peel your baggy shirt off, moving as quiet as a mouse. You were left only in a pair of panties, your comfortable pair that you wore when you knew no one would be seeing them, Bucky smiled at them thumbing the fabric adoringly. He ran his fingers across the middle of your panties till a soaking crease was visible. “Already so horny for me, naughty little human.” Bucky pulled down your panties, taking them into his hand to see the clear, sticky proof of your arousal. He tossed the panties already able to smell the thick scent of your arousal, he knew he had to taste you. He dipped his head down, running his tongue through your folds, groaning at the taste of you. He decided there and then he was going to claim you as his. He sucked on his fingers, getting them wet, before inserting them inside of you. Your walls drew him in, clamping so tightly around his fingers that he could barely move them. His hardened cock twitched as he imagined sliding into you, pounding you awake watching as your pleasured cries turned into pleas for him to stop. He had to stop a wicked grin from spreading across his lips. “You’ve been neglected for so long, Pet. Bucky’s gonna change that don’t you worry sweetheart. Who would neglect such a pretty pussy, so fucking tight.” His fingers start to glide through your spasming walls as they adjust to the thickness of his fingers. He targets the spongy spot inside you, debaucherous wet sounds filing the sleepy silence of your room. He paused as a soft mewl left your lips, your body shifting and your fisted hands tightening their hold on your pillow. He continued his ministrations even as your eyes fluttered open and you finally came to, your pleasured babbling pausing. You stared, horrified at the man sitting at the edge of your bed. Your eyes travelled up to the black horns on his head that looked like a ram's horns then down his red eyed that even in the darkness stuck out like a sore thumb, they shone like road studs in headlights stealing your attention before he opened his mouth displaying sharp, white teeth “Thanks for summoning me, Angel. I can see why you needed an incubus. You seem to be very pent up, but I can fix that for you.” His deep melodic voice made the initial stress you felt drift far away. You gaze drops downwards following the muscle of his neck down to the imposing bulk of his shoulders and arms, the rise and fall of his burly chest becoming hypnotising as his scent reaches your nostrils a mix of myrrh and musk that has your head swimming making you completely forget what he said. The feel of his rough palm cupping your cheek anchors you “I said, thank you for summoning me, Angel.”

“I didn’t summon an incubus. You- You have the wrong house.”

“No need to be coy. It’s fine to need a bit of help.”

“No, I genuinely didn’t summon an incubus. I wanted to Summon a demon that could help me. I'm working two jobs, I’m exhausted, the cost of everything is rising and I just can’t anymore. I'm running myself into the ground. I must have summoned the wrong type of demon.”

“Ah, that's Ari’s department. I’d contact him, but he’s a bit busy with a few cultists. So I guess you’re stuck with me for the time being, but I can help you in a different way, Doll.” His other hand reaches to the side of him and heat floods your cheeks as your eyes lock on the pink vibrator he has between his fingers. He pops it into his mouth like a hard candy and sucks it a little before spitting it back into his palm, pressing the button to turn it on “Nice and ready for you.” He chides, slipping his fingers out of your tight heat replacing the emptiness with the warmed, whirling vibrator. You feel your stomach constrict in pleasure as he guides the pink bullet in further with his fingers, positioning it right against your sweet spot. Shooting you a knowing smile as you sob your walls fluttering around his fingers as you convulse “Such a good girl for me, coming all over my fingers.” Bucky coos taking the vibe out from inside you bringing it to the head of his weeping cock moaning as he rubs it against his precum leaking slit, pumping his length with his other ashen hand “Time for you to take me sweetness.” You try to scramble away from him but he was much quicker than you, sensing your fear before it had even registered inside your brain. His warm rough palm seized your thigh pulling you back in position.

“It won’t fit! You’re going to tear me in two. Please can you just forget I summoned you.”

“Oh, Doll, that’s not how this works. You summoned me, I have duties to fulfill and in exchange for said duties I get your soul. I’m not leaving, this will not be forgotten. Regardless, you need to breathe; I’m not going to ‘tear you in two’ that sigil on your womb will make sure of it and make it pleasurable whilst I do. So calm down for me, I don’t like it when humans make my job more difficult than it has to be so behave and you’ll be rewarded.” His threats wrapped up in a sweet tone making it seem as if he wasn’t patronising you. Despite this you began to calm down, wrapping your legs around his hips and controlling your breathing. Your eyes drifted down his muscular torso, focusing on the intricate tattoo like patterns on his skin to relax your mind. The tattoos brought you down to the deep ‘v’ line of his pelvis and back to his veiny member which he was prodding to your entrance. You were pulled out of the trace-like state that his prominent veins had put you in, as he bottomed out in you until your walls were stretched taut around his meaty shaft. He stays still until the burn subsides, watching as your eyes gain a hazy, spaced out glaze and your mouth drops open in an inaudible moan. He pulls out and thrusts so hard into you that your bed scoots under the force, the sound of skin slapping skin echos through your small room as Bucky snaps his hips into you pushing himself deeper and deeper each time, his movements are slow yet rough making you feel every inch of him as he fucks into your tight heat. A surge of heat spread all the way from your hips to the sole of your feet and the tips of your fingers, you felt almost drunk on pleasure, every single thrust of his hips renewing the heat. Your whole body tingles as he presses the vibrator to your clit “God!” You scream as your legs wrapped around his waist begin to shake.

“Oh no sweet little Angel, God isn’t here. In this room, right now, I am your God. You worship me. I give you pleasure.” He purrs, swirling the vibe on your pulsing pearl as he angles the tip of his cock to hit your sweet spot over an over, drawing the orgasm building inside of you to the surface making you cum with a whimpering cry.

The sound of your blood rushing in your ears filled your senses as you came down from your high, even as you came back to your senses you felt much more distanced from reality; your body felt as if it was submerged in a warm bath, and slowly but surely you were sinking below the water. Your break was cut short by Bucky continuing his thrusts, his hand pressing the vibrator to your now throbbing clit didn’t budge—he instead pushed down more harshly on your clit making your legs quake uncontrollably “Hnng! Please!” Was all you could force out before your tongue became useless, lolling out of your mouth. You came again with a shout, clawing Bucky’s back with your nails as you threw your head back into the pillow, your back arching even further into the air. You came so hard you forgot how to breathe, a heavy weight crushing your chest, as you slumped back into the mattress trying your hardest to breathe Bucky finally removed the vibe from your raw little nub. His palm flattened against your stomach where the sigil was placed rubbing a slow circle that set your nerves on fire, before he brought his hand up to the bulge in your stomach and pressed harshly with his thumb tearing a whimper from your throat.

“Fuck you can see me inside of you, Angel. I’m all up in your guts rearranging them. Turning you into the perfect little cock sleeve, gonna make sure I ruin you for any other man. Oh wait, you won't be taking any other man after me. Because; You. Belong. To. Me.” Her punctuated every word with a rough thrust, bashing your cervix which would usually hurt but whatever he did gave you a supreme, otherworldly amount of pleasure “the sigil is almost full, one more orgasm and my seed should be enough to fill it. Do you think you can take it?” He questions a small smile gracing his lips as he awaits your answer, but all you can do is mumble “So fucked out that you can’t even form a sentence, your heads probably so empty right now, my little fuck doll. It’s okay, you don’t need to think, Angel, let me do that for you; can’t expect a dumb little human like you who can’t even read the pages of a very clear, simple book correctly.” His hand slithers up your body towards your neck, wrapping around your throat before he starts to apply pressure—observing as your body begins to melt into the mattress. His thrusts continued and paired with the lack of oxygen bright flashes of white flicker across your vision. All your nerves began to thrum as you felt another orgasm coming, your wall clamped around him as you got closer to the edge. You could feel his cock twitching inside you, he released your neck allowing air to flow back into your lungs as he dipped his head down to your shoulder inking his teeth into your skin. The overwhelming sensations of lightheadedness, pleasure and pain threw your senses into orbit as you came your pussy squeezing his cock as you raked your nails across his back hard enough to draw blood. Bucky gave a few more weak, uncoordinated thrusts before he painted your insides with a wanton moan gripping the pillow hard enough for it to tear. You could barely comprehend your surroundings, you felt as if you were made of air and if Bucky let go of you you’d dissipate. Your heart hammered against your rib cage, as you stared up at Bucky’s handsome face; his sweat darkened hair glued to his forehead. He let out a chuckle, his hand caressing the sigil at your womb “Happy Halloween, Angel. This is the last one you’ll ever have to spend alone. The contract has been made and now, you belong to me. Forever.”

Tag list: @alina02 @winterslove1917 @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @petesey @getwellsoontana @feyfantome @alexxavicry @ashenc-blog @floral-recs @renster05 @redbloodedgurl @shrekwreck @sweetwrathoflilith @cjand10 @flamefoxxrecs @addie5587483 @little-bunny0523 @sojuxxi @adoreyouusugar @teambarnes72 @wintasssoldier @gryffindorqueensworld @aerangi @itwillgetbetter @taramaria @anniellacinamon @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @teddybearsgrr

Thanatosis 🦋

Part 1 : Holometabolous metamorphosis🦋

thanatosis- commonly known as ‘playing dead’ or tonic immobility, is a protective behaviour of animals and insects in which all voluntary activity is ceased and posture suggesting death is assumed. it occurs when disturbed.

Pairing: soft! Mafia! Biker! Bucky x innocent! victim! reader → dark! Mean! Mafia Biker! Bucky

Warnings: Non con, Stockholm syndrome, victim blaming (reader blames themselves), crying, pleading, abandonment issues, alcohol, name calling, dark!Bucky, mean!Bucky, Beefy!Bucky, innocent!reader, manipulation, abuse, bruises (not the kinky kind), thoughts of suicide, dacryphilia, punching, slapping, mentions of blood, heavy angst, fluff (at one point then it’s downhill from there)

Nicknames: бабочка (butterfly), stupid, ugly, worthless, whore, dumb, crybaby

The relationship depicted is not healthy at all. If you are experiencing a situation similar to this, please contact an abuse hotline, womens shelter or your doctor who can get you help. Stay safe.

༻ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐬𝐤𝐬 ༺

I am where I belong. My eyes drift open. I’m not on the floor. I’m not in my apartment, my cocoon. Instead I run my hand over fresh, expensive iron coloured sheets, I smell the air. Musky magnolia wood. I tap next to me, the bed is empty. But it’s warm. I swivel my head anxiously, but I’m alone. I plant my hands either side of me and push myself up, the world around me is fuzzy and my head buzzes painfully. I’m not dead. He saved me. He loves me. I need him.

The door clicks open, and in walks Bucky holding a cup of coffee. His sculpted jaw is set in a solemn expression, but his lips pull into a smile when his eyes meet mine “бабочка you're awake.” His voice is hoarse and just above a whisper, he sounds as if he’s been crying. He cautiously steps forward, scanning his eyes over me for any movement. I throw the cover off and practically leap off the bed “please, doll, I won’t hurt you. I should have never come near you whilst I was like that, I become a completely different person.” His reasoning stops as I limp around the bed and attach myself to his leg. He places the coffee down and attempts to remove me, but my grip tightens on his thick calf and my sobs grow louder as I let out incoherent pleads for him to stay. For him to never leave me again, promises that I would be good, I would be better, I would be whatever he needs, that I was stupid, that I was forever his.

We sit there for what feels like forever, on the carpeted floor. He rocks me back and forth gently, trying to console me, trying to stop my pleas. I do stop eventually, when he strokes my hair and holds me in his arms like a small child; whispering sweet nothings to me apologising like a prayer, his salty tears dripping down on to my face joining my snot and tears that leak on to the fresh clothes he’d put me in. He tries to wipe at the damp spot, but I nuzzle further into him, body weak, tiny next to his, shaking like a tree in a hurricane holding on to him for stability “I’m going to be better to you бабочка. You didn’t deserve that, okay? It wasn’t good, it wasn’t what you deserved; you’re precious I need to protect you my beautiful, beautiful fragile little butterfly.” His butterfly…I’ve always been his butterfly he thinks I’m beautiful he wants to protect me, my fresh wings are still unfurling. I’ve been born a new from my cocoon and now my life begins with Bucky. Bucky is good, I belong to Bucky “Are you okay now бабочка?” He asked, his face full of concern as I stared helplessly up at him, my eyes puffy, full of tears and face red nodding slowly. He stoops his neck and kisses me with all the tenderness and passion that was void from last night. The coldness that had seeped into my bones from being abandoned on my glum, dingy bathroom floor began to subside as Bucky’s tongue explored my mouth with his hot tongue. His kisses had always made me breathless, but now his hypnotising effect was doubled. I craved him so intensely.

I grabbed at his grey crew neck with my small hands, rubbing the fabric between my fingers as I pulled him even closer “Bucky.” I mewled, breaking gtg kiss and buryin fly face in the crook of his neck taking in his musky scent.

“I’ll never hurt you again бабочка, I promise you.”

It had been days since I’d first woken up in his bed and now it was an everyday occurance, he’d decided he didn’t want me staying in my apartment anymore, citing the bad memories and how depressing the space was as his reason. The past few days had been the best, he had cuddled with me on the couch continuously—wrapping me in soft blankets, kissing me constantly, always touching me in some way. Always praising me. Always telling me how much he loved me. He had to go out tonight to meet with the members of the gang, he told me not to call it that; he constantly says they’re not gangsters— though the whole of Brooklyn and the people he hangs out with would say otherwise. He wants to protect me, not to scare me…so thoughtful I remark.

The front door slams shut, I hear the sound of Bucky’s keys being tossed into the bowl on the chest of draws near the door. I turn off the TV, slip out of my cocoon of blankets and head for the door to see Bucky, pure adoration in my eyes. He’s kicking off his shoes, he looks up to see me and there is none of the usual warmth in his face. Blood is dripping from his temple, he has a cut across the bridge of his nose and his hair is dark and wet with sweat. His hands are trembling. No they’re thrumming. He’s furious, his breath is ragged like an animal sizing up its prey. His flame is burning brighter, harsher, hotter than ever. The adoration slips away. “бабочка. Come here.” He commands in a growl, I’m frozen staring at him like a deer in headlights. The smell of whiskey and a blend of other alcoholic beverages reaches my noses causing it to rinkle, he’s been drinking again. He promised not to “бабочка! I said come here are you FUCKING DEAF YOU WHORE?” He bellowed as he threw his suit jacket to the wooden floor. I took off down the hall to the bathroom, the only room with a lock. He caught up with me easily, slamming my head into the door as my hands desperately shook the knob trying to get it open. The pain from the impact sent shockwaves of dull pain across my nerves and caused white dots, dripping with colour to blot my vision. The door swung open and Bucky crashed into the floor, I clung to the door. I can lock him in. I pulled the door closed, but his fingers wrapped around it trying to pry it open as I was shutting it. I smashed his fingers in the door frame and he howled in response, using all of his strength—which was much more than mine—to slam the door into the wall. I’d failed, my only chance to get away. My face heated up tears blurring my vision as my lip wobbled pathetically just like my legs. They were jelly below me.

“No Bucky. No.” I cried fighting against his tight grip on my forearm, scratching at his face. He bit down on my finger. I screamed as he pushed me to the ground.

“Bedroom or here Bitch?” He asked lacing his fingers into my hair as I pummelled at his knees “FUCKING ANSWER ME!” Bucky demanded tugging at my hair enough to tear out strands. I yelp and weep in response, digging my nails into his forearm. Clawing at him. Begging for him to let me go “Fine. We’re doing it here.” He huffed releasing my hair and shoving my head into the ground. I was laying half way between the hallway and the bathroom, I tried to crawl away. Raking my nails across the wood, the awful scratching sound drowned by the deafening thump of my blood rushing past my ears. He grabbed my legs, bending them at the knee and pushing them painfully till the ball of my heels dug into my butt. He pressed harder into my bent legs as he draped himself over me, pressing his face to my ear, the beginnings of scruff on his jaw scratching the shell of my ear. “Try to get away and I’ll snap your little legs like chopsticks.” He threatened, spitting in my face as he rose back up, tearing my shirt in half and throwing it. I began to sob as he let me lay there helplessly on the ground, splayed out like a starfish on the beach. He tore my underwear as well, tossing the torn fabric carelessly like a used rag. I choked out painful sobs, as a tangle of cries and pleas ached in my throat trying to crawl out of my open, dribbling mouth. He shoved his fingers inside me roughly, causing a burn to radiate through me. It was so dry down there. He scissored his fingers twice before giving up and spitting on his cock, pumping his hand across his length a few times. That’s when the last sparks of adrenaline kicked in. I kicked him where it hurt, he yowled in agony as my foot connected with his balls. I clumsily got to my feet, pain shooting through my legs with every floundering step. I clung to the wall limping towards the front door. It was so close. I could fly free.

The flame burnt my wings. His fist connected with my temple and I collided with the oak wood, I traced the wood grain with my finger as my thoughts faded away. It’s Hopeless, like me. He turned me over and my unfocused eyes met his intense dark glare, his eyes were verging on black as his blue iris was swallowed by his insatiable black holes of pupils. The punches began. He pounded my stomach ruthlessly, then he threw a jab at my already bruised ribs, the metallic taste of iron rose in my throat and I coughed. Blood and spit smeared on my chin. He moved up to my face, slapping it over and over with the front and back of his hand—at least he isn’t wearing rings today— is the only thing that came to mind as I wordlessly let him hit, slap and scream. He soon got bored of it, the only thing that entertained him was the silent tears that streaked down my cheeks. He lapped at them like an animal; the heat of his tongue stinging my cheeks that he’d just finished slapping. I am where I belong. I am where I belong. IAMWHEREIBELONG. I try to reassure myself, the chant in my head almost overpowered the sound of his grunts and groans as he entered me. I broke my silence letting out a high pitched wail as he sheathed himself fully inside. I still couldn’t move. My body was frozen in place, my limbs felt as if they were pinned down by sandbags as I futilely tried to lift them. He continued his thrusts “Scream for me бабочка. Cry for me бабочка. You look so pretty when you cry, my little crybaby.” He chuckled as he cooed and ran his hand across my tear stained cheek. They way he said it sounded as if he was praising me, as if he wasn’t raping me in the hallway. As if my blood wasn’t the only thing making him slick enough to thrust. As if he wasn’t burning me. He promised he wouldn’t do this again. But the cycle repeats again.

Maybe I deserve this. He cares for you. My thoughts are disturbed by a distant voice. He loves you so much, this is what love looks like. He loves our wings, he burns us so beautifully. We can’t survive without him. We need Bucky.

His moans disturb my thoughts, he’s close I feel his cock twitch inside me. I let out a stifled sob “please stop.” My begging came out in a voice so small that it could be confused with the blowing of this wind, but he heard me. How could he not? He’s been staring intently at my face waiting for me to say something, anything, whilst he splits me open. His lips twitch into a smile as he picks up the pace earning a sob from my lips. His nails dig into the scabs from before, tearing them open causing blood to leak down my sides. I begin to regain feeling and the pain is atrocious. The white hot pain from where we are connected makes me try to reach out and grab him, pins and needles stab at the muscles in my arms as I begin to flail. I want to die. The pain is excruciating. Every part of my brain screams at me to get away from him. Stupid little moth. I curse. You flew too close to the flame and now look at you, pinned beneath him being fucked like a rag doll. Stupid, ugly, worthless little moth.

Maybe this is death, this is what death feels like. Painful until it’s not. Full of sadness until it’s not. Until it’s nothing but a dark hellscape to replace this hellscape. If I am dying I want it to be now, before he cums in me, before his warmth fills me. I want to die. I want to be an insignificant, little moth living my days chasing the brightest lamp; until I can curl up on some shitty windowsill and die, body stiff and useless—thrown in the trash or out a window. Or maybe this isn’t death, maybe I’m already dead and this is limbo, my own personal train platform before I get my ticket to heaven or hell. Maybe metamorphosis really did turn my fucking brain to soup, idiotic moth.

Give in to him. The pain will go away if you give in. The voice calls again, but this time I listen, closing my aching, heavy eyelids and the world around me fades.

And now I am where I belong. I thought I had completed metamorphosis before, how naive I was. As I sit upon his lap, head empty aside from the thought of Bucky, as he absent mindedly thrusts himself into me during his meeting. I suck at his neck, soaking in his scent. Babbling his name, moaning. Now my brain is soup seasoned by thoughts of him. Only him. I’m not dying, my life has only just started. He freed me from my cocoon because he loves me, he loves my wings, I’m his pretty moth. The cycle will repeat again, but for now I know that I am where I belong, with Bucky. I am his play thing, everything he does shows me he loves me. I’m just stupid, I need him to protect me. His flame burns me so sweetly. Without him I’ll die, he keeps me warm. The bruises hurt to remind me to be good, that he knows what’s best for me because I am where I belong.

Holometabolous metamorphosis 🦋

Part 2- Thanatosis 🦋

Holometabolous metamorphosis- Also called complete metamorphosis is a form of insect development that involves four stages of life: egg, larva, pupa (cocoon) and adult.

Dark!Mean!Mafia!Biker! Bucky x innocent!victim!Reader

Warnings: absolutely non con, dark!Bucky, mean!Bucky, Beefy!Bucky, innocent!reader, name calling, manipulation, abuse, bruises (not the kinky kind), dacryphilia, punching, slapping, mentions of blood, heavy angst, reader blames themselves (if you’re getting abused it not your fault), talk of death, allusions to suicide

Nicknames: whore, stupid, dumb

Read this at you own discretion. This is actually one of the darkest things I’ve ever written. I do have a continuation of it so if I finish it I’ll link it.

༻ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐬𝐤𝐬 ༺

Surely I am dying. My head pounds as I hold the cover closer to me, hugging his pillow tighter as the rain clatters down, harsh like pebbles being thrown at a window, and the wind picks up outside, howling as gusts in all directions shake the trees. My ears prick at the sound of a branch scratching repeatedly at the window, the grating sound causes my brows to pinch together as I pull at the heavy covers, dragging them over my ear. The dark room is illuminated briefly by the blinding white of lightning. It allows me to see the dreary grey walls, lighter than the current sky which is a deep, dark never ending pit that allows for nothing to exist, the closet door is slightly ajar. It’s freezing, my teeth chatter, I ball my body up further, shrugging my shoulders till they reach the bottom of my ear and squeeze, tighter than I’ve ever squeezed before on the pillow. Bucky. The name flashes in my mind and more tears slip over my nose onto the pillow, I take a deep breath allowing his scent that still clings to the pillow to hijack my lungs- the smell of a warm bonfire, the leathery smell of his jacket, petrichor, musky magnolia wood and the oil from his motorbike. My thumb caresses the corner of the pillow and the knot in my throat grows painfully tighter, I bite on my lower lip keeping the sob that is trying to escape my chest inside. I let one of my hands drift to the impression of him that remains in my mattress, the outline of his bulky frame. It’s cold, colder than the bitter wind outside. I miss the days when the impression was filled by him, his feverish warmth and his solid, yet soft muscles. I miss the days when I could lean against his chest and hear the steady, strong rhythm of his heart. I miss the days when he’d run his calloused hands over my skin, under the covers, making the shape of stars, hearts or just random squiggles. I miss him so much, his soothing presence.

The room is illuminated again and I see blood on the pillow from my lip. I throw off the weighty covers, my naked body is kissed by the cold and my skin is pinched softly as it is littered with goosebumps. I throw my legs over the side of the bed, the floorboards groaning as I stumble out into the hallway. I cling desperately to the wall, trying my best to walk as a dull ache radiates through my calves and stinging throbs between my legs, sharp pains jab me as I shuffle like a newborn giraffe towards the glowing warm light of my bathroom. I push the door weakly and am faced with the mirror. Surely I am dying. I wish I was already dead, I want to sink to the floor. I glance over to the dead moths on the yellowed, flakey paint of my windowsill. I want to be a moth, I want the simple little life of a moth. I once thought being with him was freedom, but now I can see, true freedom is death and although I look like death, although I feel like death I am not yet dead.

The room is illuminated again and I see blood on the pillow from my lip. I throw off the weighty covers, my naked body is kissed by the cold and my skin is pinched softly as it is littered with goosebumps. I throw my legs over the side of the bed, the floorboards groaning as I stumble out into the hallway. I cling desperately to the wall, trying my best to walk as a dull ache radiates through my calves and stinging throbs between my legs, sharp pains jab me as I shuffle like a newborn giraffe towards the glowing warm light of my bathroom. I push the door weakly and am faced with the mirror. Surely I am dying. I wish I was already dead, I want to sink to the floor. I glance over to the dead moths on the yellowed, flakey paint of my windowsill. I want to be a moth, I want the simple little life of a moth. I once thought being with him was freedom, but now I can see, true freedom is death and although I look like death, although I feel like death I am not yet dead.

I run my shaking fingers over the bruise around my eye socket. Flowers of deep purples and black and sickly yellowish green buds climb along my cheek bone. I flinch away from my own touch “Stupid” I mutter to myself as I turn the handle of the tap, a metallic creak accompanies the sputter and cough of water as it forms a steady stream. I gather it in my cupped hands, relishing in the warmth, as warm as his skin. I crane my neck down and throw it at my face, rubbing at my stinging split lip with my pinky. I grab my face towel and dab my face dry, looking again in the mirror. Bruises, bushes of purple and black. Estranged petals adorn my waist from where he grabbed me harshly and held me down. A shudder runs down my spine as I feel the ghost of his hands digging into me, little bloody half moons accompany the bruises.

The sky hit its drum once again, I fell to my knees. My hands meeting the cold tiles, reddish brown stained the grout. I hadn’t cleaned it yet. I crawled straight to bed as soon as he left. I can hear his animalistic growls echo off the walls, growls as he plunged into me holding my legs open painfully wide, my hips threatening to come out of their sockets. He was like a man possessed, I’d never seen his eyes so dark and stormy before, wide and pregnant with malice ready to rain on me. I could smell the whiskey on him as he leaned down demanding I kissed him, I refused. That’s when he punched me and grabbed my jaw in a crushing grip, forcing me to kiss him— it was more than just whiskey; this time he was hammered— regardless of my sobs and incoherent pleading. I don’t know what I was pleading for. Maybe for him to stop, maybe for him to go harder, maybe for him to be kinder… I don’t know. Stupid brain, stupid idiot. ‘Stupid’ is what he called me. A ‘dumb whore’, a ‘hole to fuck’ as he snapped his hips chasing his release, unbothered if he pleased me or not. He slapped my face, his ring catching on my lip and tearing it open. He yanked my hair brutally from the root, one of his many rings scraping my scalp sending a white hot throb through my nerves. He demanded that I cry harder, the harder I cried the quicker this would go and the harder his dick would get is what he said. He was hard enough, as his thick cock tore through me slick with blood. Bucky had always been a loose cannon, but usually he directed it towards beating up men who owed him money or waging war on rival gangs. But today he wanted to take it out on me, all he wanted was sex but when I didn’t want to; he decided he was bored with me, my wings were ugly and tattered, but he wanted them, he wanted my freedom so he took it. He burnt my wings off. He raped me. He wouldn’t stop. I wish he just killed me with one of his prized knives. My winter soldier, my flame, my demise.

I hugged myself despite the pain, rocking back and forth on the tiled floor. He’s never coming back. I'm gonna die. I'm dying without him. I need him, he burns me so sweetly. Bucky Bucky Bucky. The chant of his name fills my head as I curl up on the floor like an abandoned animal, like the moth on my windowsill. Surely I am dying.

Part 2- Thanatosis

Unfinished Beefy!Bucky x Reader Drabble

Pairing: Soft Dom!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Lots of steamy kissing, Beefy!Bucky, biting, marking, mentions of blood, size difference, Bucky has tattoos, Bittersweet (reader is hella sentimental, because I was in a sappy touch starved mood whilst writing this)

Here’s another thing from my pile of unfinished things, that will probably never be finished. This was either meant to be part of a biker!bucky fic or roommates!bucky fic but at this point I don’t know so here you go, enjoy.

His strong hands hooked under your thighs pulling you impossibly closer to him as he harshly slammed you against the steamed up shower room glass. The cold glass electrified your senses causing your nipples to pebble and your whole body to be covered in goosebumps. Bucky craned his neck down to lick and suck at your throat causing blossoms of red and purple to bloom under his demanding mouth. You let out whines and moans as he sucked, you tugged at his dark wet locks. Bucky let out an animalistic groan whilst sinking his teeth into the area where your neck and shoulder met, his head suddenly rose just enough to meet yours. He leant his forehead against yours, kissing you and forcing your mouth open with the prod of his tongue. The kiss tasted metallic, like blood you peered down at where Bucky had bit and saw a faint copper tinge to the water that was running down your shoulder. He had bit you harder than you expected, but the overwhelming pleasure of being enveloped by him must have overridden the pain from his teeth sinking into your neck. He nudged your cheek with his nose, causing you to turn back to him “I’m not finished kissing you yet. You can look at my handy work later, kiss. Now.” He demanded in a hushed hoarse voice. He nibbled at your bottom lip before reconnecting your mouths. His kisses make you crazy, they make you crave more, they make you want to hold on to him and never let go, they make you never want to lose him, ever, they make you desperate, sentimental even…that doesn’t happen much. Your hands fall from his hands and begin travelling all over his body, parting the hot stream of water with your finger as you trace his tattoos. His tongue explores your mouth and tangles with your tongue. He pulls away breathless, eyebrows knitted together chest heaving. Your heart pounds against your rib cage as if it’s desperate to escape. The sight of him so utterly destroyed just for you, you both broke each other down, both of your defences were worn away and now you could see each other for the first time and you loved it, you loved him.

Bucky’s First Haircut

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader cuts Bucky’s hair.

Word Count: 891

Warning(s): “Baby”’s first hair cut?

A/N: Just another idea that came to me while listening to music. Originally it was different and shorter. But, I made it longer and easier to understand? I don’t know.

James Buchanan Barnes, the love of [Y/N]’s life. A war hero, of course a hero from another time. A time when [Y/N] wasn’t alive. She didn’t know who Bucky was before the war or before he became the Winter Soldier. She knew him after. She knew him as the man that Steve Rogers started a civil war to bring home. And for that entire time, Bucky’s hair grew longer and longer. While neither party minded his glorious mane of hair, Steve had brought up the idea to Bucky that maybe he should get it cut. It hadn’t been short in a long while. But, Bucky bucked against the idea, at one point telling Steve very plainly that he would never be the same Bucky he was before and cutting his hair wouldn’t matter.

[Y/N] had originally been on Bucky’s side as it was his hair and his choice to do with it what he pleased. Then there was a switch in Bucky’s personality. He had become cold towards the others and snapped if someone commented on it. [Y/N] was the only one to realize this was after the topic of Bucky’s self grooming was brought up. That’s when she got the brilliant idea.

“Hey Buck, why don’t you let me cut your hair?” [Y/N] was sat, leaning on the arm of the recliner she was in. “If you don’t like it, it will always grow back.”

“This again? Why does everyone has a problem with my hair?” Bucky looked towards her, frowning slightly before he ran a hand through his long locks.

“We don’t have a problem with your hair, honey. I like the long hair, but I would like to see you with short hair.”

“There are plenty of pictures of when I had short hair. Go ask Steve to see them.”

“Bucky, you and I both know that’s not the same. Why don’t we try? We can start with a trim.” [Y/N] stood, walking over to him. She plopped down beside Bucky and leaned into his side. “If you let me do this, I’ll let you do something to me.”

Bucky looked over to her, the frown still on his face. “I’ll think about it.”

[Y/N], seemingly satisfied, kissed his cheek and stood, going into her room.

Two hours had past with [Y/N] in her room reading when she heard a soft knock at her door. She stood, pulling it open to be greeted by Bucky on the other side.

“I want you to cut my hair, before I change my mind.”

[Y/N] smiled. “Go get a dining chair and put it in my bathroom. I’ll get the clippers.”

The two spilt, Bucky to get the chair and somehow get in into the bathroom in [Y/N]’s room, and [Y/N] to find said clippers. It took Bucky a short while to make it back into her room with the chair, he sat down and twiddled his thumbs as he waited for her to come back. Trying not to count the seconds before she was back as it only would make he want to change his mind. And then there she was, standing in the doorway of the bathroom with a large smile on her face.

“Ready?” She asked.

“Just hurry.” Bucky spoke softly, sitting up straight in the chair.

[Y/N] plugged in the clippers and grabbed her comb from a caddy that sat beside the sink. She took a few moments to comb through his hair and to keep him occupied, asked him stupid little questions from what his favorite color was to what day of the week he liked more. As he spoke, [Y/N] pressed a kiss to the top of his head before she started to trim away at his hair. Thankfully, this wasn’t the first time she had cut someone’s hair, as she would trim her own and had been known to cut Steve’s and Natasha’s on occasions.

A few more buzzing filled moments with the two of them talking, [Y/N] shut the clippers off and smiled before brushing some of the hair from Bucky’s shoulders.

“There you go, handsome. Check yourself out.” She took a step away from him so he could stand and turn to look in the mirror.

Bucky had his eyes closed as he faced the mirror. After a minute, he opened his eyes and looked at himself. He didn’t know he expected to see looking back at him, but it was him. Shorter hair that was similar to how his hair looked during the war. His flesh hand moved up to his hair, running his fingers through it. After another moment he looked at [Y/N] who stood beside through the mirror, a smile grew on his face as he saw the look of sheer happiness on her’s.

“So, what do you think, Buck?” She asked, rocking on her heels as she looked back at him.

“I like it.” He answered before chuckling. “What do you think, darlin’?”

“I think you look handsome.”

Bucky turned to her then, pulling her towards him. “Thank you, doll.”

“Anytime, Barnes.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

They stood there for a long moment just looking at each other, each with a smile as wide as the Cheshire Cat.

Dancing On My Own

Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader (past relationship), Male OC x Reader

Summary:  Years after Bucky’s death, [Y/N] has moved on. But, Bucky makes one last visit to make sure she’s in good hands.

Word Count: 468 - One Shot (?)

Warning(s): Death mentioned, general feels of sadness

A/N: I wrote this after listening to at song (can you guess which one?) for myself to be sad. If anyone would like I can write a longer version of this with more explanation?

To say [Y/N] was ready would be a stretch. Her husband, whom she had only been married to for a few hours before shipping off to fight in a war, was dead. He had been for years. But, she felt him with her when she did things around the house. Or when she was playing with the boys. Their boys. 1941 had been a difficult year. She moved to a city she didn't know, got a job working for one of the wealthiest people in the world, met and fell in love with a man who was way too good for her. She would have followed him to the ends of the Earth and in a way, she had.

Of course, it had been a few years. It was 1948 now, the twins were six and looking more like their father everyday. Even her new boyfriend thought so. But, she couldn't think about that. She had to get ready for  their date. They would be going dancing at the same spot she met Bucky. Oh, Bucky. He was one of the good ones. Strong, messed around with her, bought her drinks but not to a messy point. He drove her home, walked her to the door and made sure she got inside safe. But, he hadn't been there in so long. He left after a fight and [Y/N] never got to apologize. Bucky was dead before he ever got the chance to come home.

With memories of the night she met Bucky playing over in her head, [Y/N] held tightly to Frank's hand. The smell of the bar brought even more memories flooding back. Tears sprang to her eyes as Frank pulled her gently onto the dance floor, bringing her into his arms.

“[Y/NN], it's okay. It's okay.” He didn't try to stop her from crying. He just kissed her face and held her into his chest.

[Y/N] let the tears fall silently for a moment before looking up at him, a sad smile meeting his.

Across the dance floor stood a shadow of a man. He was watching the two of them, every move the man made with the woman was watched protectively by the shadow. He stepped into the light for a moment and there he was. He was pale and looked slightly dirty, his dark brow furrowed. The steel blue of his eyes softened as he saw her. Bucky Barnes stood in the corner of the room. He watched Frank kiss his wife, his...ex-wife. A tear fell down the man’s cheek.

“I just came to say goodbye.” His voice didn’t reach her. She didn’t see him. She never would. Bucky started to fade from the corner, his wife was happy and that’s all that mattered. His mission was successful.

Between Your Legs

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader (SMUT)

Summary: Making your very shy boyfriend admit his kinks turns into an unexpected series of events.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: smut, smut, smut! (minors dni) cursing, size difference, overstimulation, oral sex, dom/sub undertones

(fic is two parts but i stuffed it into one so that’s why it’s long!)

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Updated: 03/31/2021

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This blog is 18+ ONLY!!! Because I’m an old lady, I love to use bad words, and there’s just a ton of porn here. There will be an occasional dub-con or very dark fic. I do like writing fight scenes so there are going to be mentions of pretty graphic violence. I do my best to tag accordingly, and put content warnings on each of my fics but if you notice I’ve missed a warning anywhere, please DM me and I’ll fix it ASAP!!

I write reader insert fics for whatever I feel like, but it’s mostly Chris Evans, Henry Cavill, and Sebastian Stan characters. I will also probably have more wlw fics as well, so look forward to those! I’m up for anything! I do my best to keep descriptions of the reader as vague as possible to keep things inclusive, but will sometimes add descriptors of easily changed aesthetic things (i.e. tattoos, piercings, etc.). Again, if you have trouble fully immersing yourself in one of my fics due to a reader description, please let me know! I welcome constructive criticism.

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Timeless

The timeless love that Bucky had

I found it in a dusty shoe box today. 

The photograph. 

Folded corners, a little torn on the edges, and yellowed with age. Still, the image was clear enough to see your grin. boyish and crooked, the same one that made my heart skip in 1941. 

He was standing in front of the corner diner in Brooklyn, arm slung around me, your military uniform still crisp from training. my dress was too long, my hair and soft curls. You say I looked like the dames in the movies, though I never believed you. 

I sat on the floor of our apartment- our apartment, the one SHIELD helped me find after they confirmed you were alive and time folded and on itself. Because just like that, I was 19 again. Just like that, I could smell the leather of your bomber jacket and hear the way you'd say my name, like a prayer and a promise all wrapped in one. 

The war stole everything. You, Steve, entire lifetimes. 

I cried the day they said you'd fallen off the train. Not the soft, cinematic tears they show in films, but the ugly, just even kind -  the kind where grief grabs you by the throat and doesn't let go. For decades, you were a ghost I couldn't touch. A heartbeat I thought I imagined. The man I loved turned myth. 

But now you're back. 

Not the same, not entirely. There are cracks in you, deep ones, and shadows behind your eyes that weren't there before. Sometimes you flinch when I touch you. Sometimes you look at me like you are remembering, and other times like you wish you could forget. 

But then there are the other times. 

Like when we walk through Central Park and you still reach for my hand, like instinct. Or when you find old swing records and the antique shops and your face softens-  because you know that's our music. The Andrews sisters, Ella Fitzgerald, Glenn miller. You dance with me in the kitchen sometimes, when the memories aren't too loud. 

And in those moments, I know what we are. 

We’re timeless. 

We always were.  from the second I locked eyes at the USO dance and you offered me a Coca-Cola with that charming little smart. from the letters you sent me, ink smudged and pages worn, telling me you'd be home soon. From the nights I kept the porch light on, hoping. 

Even now, with silver in your hair and the world completely changed, I look at you and I know. You're always meant to come back to me. Somehow, some way. Even when time tried to erase us. 

And when we're old, if we're lucky enough to grow old, I hope someone finds that photo of us. I hope they ask about the girl with stars in her eyes and the soldier who came back from the dead. I hope they feel what I feel when I look at it: 

That this love, the story, was always something out of time.

Something not of this world. 

Something timeless. 

Last Kiss

Bucky Barnes leaves for war from her perspective.

I still remember the way the air felt that night. 

Heavy, like it knew. Like the sky itself was holding its breath. 

You didn’t say it, not really. You didn’t need to. I knew you were leaving. I knew this was the last night. And I knew the second  I saw you in that uniform, stiff, and crisp, and not you, that everything was about to change. 

You tried to act like it was fine. Like we had time. You smiled that crooked smile, the one that always made me forget how to breathe. And I laughed. I laughed at your dumb jokes, because if I didn’t, I’d cry. And I wanted- God, I wanted to be strong for you. 

We sat in our booth, like always. The waitress called you “soldier,” and you smiled at her, but I saw the flicker in your eyes, you were scared. I was too. 

When we left, you walked me home even though it was out of your way. You always did that. I think you liked pretending we lived in the same world, like you could stay in it just a little longer. 

We stood outside my building for a long time, neither of us saying anything. The city faded around us - cars, people, lights - they'll just.. disappeared. It's just you and me.

And then you kissed me. 

Slow. Careful. Like you were memorizing me. 

Like if you kissed me soft enough, maybe the war would forget your name. 

That was the last kiss. 

I didn't know what to say when you pulled away. I didn't want to cry, so I just nodded. I wanted to say "I love you,” but I didn't. I was afraid that if I did, you wouldn't leave -  and part of me was selfish enough to want that. But the rest of me knew... you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t go. 

So I let you walk away. 

You didn’t look back. 

But I did. 

I watched you turn the corner, and I whispered it then, “I love you.” Quiet. Just for me. Maybe the wind carried it to you. Maybe not. 

You came back eventually after so many decades, but I’m no longer here. 

After so many years, I would lay awake sometimes thinking about that night. About that night. About that kiss. About the boy who held my hand like it was a lifeline and kissed me like he was already gone. 

I never kissed anyone the same after that. 

But with me now gone, I wish you could with someone new. 

Love Language - Bucky Barnes

Acts of Service

He’s not good at saying what he’s feeling but he will show you with the little things. 

He randomly fixes things around your house because he saw it was broken. 

“It was bothering you, wasn’t it?” 

He would get a head start on your morning routine for you, fixing her coffee, getting coat, and bag together. 

“Here, I didn’t want you running all around in the morning.” 

Does the chores that you forgot about the day before and doesn’t even mention it. 

When he’s not on missions, he will always cook you breakfast, no matter what. 

It doesn’t matter that he had no sleep from a mission he got back on, he will be in that kitchen flipping pancakes, scrambling eggs, making coffee, or whatever he makes. 

He always makes sure your flower vase is full, always replacing them before they die. 

If you fall asleep somewhere, he will pick you up and tuck you into bed. 

When he goes on morning runs, he takes your dog with him. 

He takes responsibility for taking care of your dog.

He's a gentleman to you.

He opens your doors, holds your bags, walks on the outside of the sidewalk.

Bucky x Witch Practitioner

Learns that she’s a love witch and learns what that includes. 

He doesn’t understand the things she needs sometimes. 

“What is licorice root and why do you need it?” 

“Why do you need my birth time again?” 

“What’s that crystal next to my side of the bed?” 

He notices that she takes her time with her makeup and hair because beauty magic is important to her. 

Her whole home smells like roses. 

She always has roses in her home. 

She makes him custom herbal teas. 

She makes him a sleep sachet to place under his pillow to help with his nightmares. 

She hides little sigils on him or in his gear for protection and safety on missions. 

After he comes back from missions, she will do bath rituals for him to relax. 

He always gets her roses and pretty flowers for her “pink altar” (love altar). 

He nieces that she spray Florida water in the sheets and blankets after waking up and then spray his side with lavender spray and hers with rose. 

She tells him the lavender or chamomile will help with keeping him calm and help with sleep. 

Crystals everywhere (especially rose quartz & clear quartz the most). 

He thinks it’s really cute that you do spell work for him. 

Bucky Barnes x Latina Woman

He just sits back and observes. He doesn’t question things, he just watches because even though he has never seen or heard what you're doing, he doesn’t want to make you feel weird for what’s normal for you. 

Secretly starts learning Spanish. 

When you get pissed you start cursing in Spanish, no one understands it but him. 

You yell out a curse word in Spanish at Steve for eating your last orange, which leaves Steve confused and scared but Bucky just starts laughing so hard. 

After that, you learn he learned Spanish fluently and start having conversations together in Spanish. 

It’s funny now because he now shit talks Sam in Spanish and no one understands but you. 

Starts gossiping in Spanish with each other. 

Loves eating the food she makes. 

His new comfort food is sopita de fideo, especially on cold days. 

He can kill a whole tray of tacos by himself. 

He thinks it’s funny when she calls everyone random nicknames in Spanish.  (Wanda - mamas, Sam - pendejo, Tony - menso, Thor - cabron, Loki - nopalito, Bruce - salsa verde, Clint - pajaro, Natasha - linda, Vision - tomate) 

Loves when you call him cute nicknames in Spanish. (“mi vida” is your go to)

I NEED PART TWO OF THE MARVEL CAST FLIRTING WITH Y/N L/N!

. . . MARVEL CAST FLIRTING WITH Y/N Y/L/N FOR 10 MINUTES STRAIGHT! (part2)

You cackled to yourself after sending the message into your groupchat, quickly returning to the video and beginning to play it again, occasional bursts of giggles slipping through your lips.

Resuming your place in the video—the first clip that began playing was actually from not that long ago at all. It was You, Kat Dennings, Elizabeth Olsen and Zendaya at Taylor Swifts Eras Tour (an experience you would genuinely never forget). Taylor was playing Lover and, in the clip, Kat had your face in one hand and the other wrapped around your waist, bringing you close to her body.

“Lover, can I go where you go—“ Kat sang with Taylor, singing all the lyrics to you and grinning at you, faces inches away from each other. “—Can we always be this close.” She punctuated this lyric with giving you an eskimo kiss.

You smiled sincerely at the memory.

The next clip began up, it was you and Chris Evans doing Playground Insults with BBC Radio 1: the two of you were sat opposite each other, knees touching, Chris was grinning goofily at you, giddy laughs escaping him as you tried to remain straight faced.

“—we’re here with Chris Evans and Y/N Y/L/N.” The presenters introduced.

“And we’re about to play Playground Insults . . Now Chris and Y/N are sat opposite each other,” the camera cut to you and Chris, him smiling largely and you looking away to contain your own, “the atmosphere is very tense.”

“We’ve done this quite a few times now but im thinking.. this is the biggest movie of the year, let’s make this the biggest playground insults we’ve ever done.”

“Yep.” Chris nodded, trying not to laugh.

“Chris, hun. . you’re ugly. Like, plain ugly.” You nodded seriously, immediately setting off as you feigned a pained wince to the words. “Everyone’s been talking about it. . just, you’re so atrocious to look at. Honestly, I almost feel arse over tits in horror when I saw you.”

Chris opened his mouth to say something but then faltered and pouted, “no matter how good of an actor I am, I could never even get those words out my mouth about you and make them sound genuine. Seriously.”

The third clip started—it was Chris Hemsworth on a carpet, a bold colourful question at the bottom said ‘WHO HAS THE MOST FANS?’. Chris immediately said, “Y/n.” In that deep Australian accent of his. “Not that I blame the people from choosing her to be the people’s queen, she is truly one of a kind. You’ll only ever meet one Y/n in your lifetime, cherish it. The fans have the right idea.”

It changed to Scarlett with the same colourful question at screen and at the same carpet event: “Oh, Yeah. Y/n, one hundred percent.” She chuckled huskily. “That woman has fans upon fans and seriously, I’m one of them. She is something else.” She grinned, winking at the camera.

After Scarlett, Paul Rudd came onto your screen in the very same clip. “Oh! The legend herself, Y/N Y/L/N.” Paul answered brightly, smiling. “The amount of fans she has is unbelievable—well, it’s definitely believable for someone like her, so, not really unbelievable..”

The forth clip began—it was you all playing Family Feud with Jimmy Kimmel, on his live show. Sebastian and RDJ were currently facing off; Jimmy posed the question “what, other than the sun, are some of the hottest things to exist?”

Sebastian got to the buzzer faster than Robert managed to and didn’t even falter or hesitate as he answered straight away, “Y/N Y/L/N.”

The audience immediately screamed laughed and shrieked in delight, RDJ just nodded his head in understanding and appreciation, clapping his hands. Chris Evans, Mark and Anthony on the other side all looked amused but ultimately accepting (Chris was nodding along almost subconsciously). You were on the other team, looking heavenward with a faint exasperated grin and Scarlet wrapped her arm around your waist, Chris Hemsworth smirking at you both.

The fifth clip started up: it was a behind the scenes shot from Endgame, the big final battle. You were currently in the middle of doing your own stunt, green screen behind you and harnesses strapped to you as you dangled at a halfway point in the air. Your arms and hands were positioned in such a way to show your character manipulating her powers—the position also very much enhanced your chest, with the added help of your superhero attire. You looked hot, even you could admit.

The camera mirthfully panned to some of the rest of the cast who all stood aside while you filmed your scene—said cast being Chris Evans, Tom Holland, Gwyneth Paltrow, RDJ, Elizabeth Olsen and Tessa Thompson. All of their eyes were fixated on you, Robert was the only one grinning in amusement (and awe) while all the others stared at you as though you hung the sun yourself.

“Boobies.” Lizzie giggled faintly, her eyes stuck. The rest of the cast watching dumbly nodded while the crew cracked up behind the cameras.

And if you screenshotted their dumbfounded faces looking ip at on screen you. . well that was your business.

The clip changed. It was now Karen Gillan being interviewed on some carpet event, looking genuinely breathtaking. The interviewer was asking, “—obviously, your friend and co-star Y/N Y/L/N has been in lots of iconic movies. . what is your favourite scene of hers in The Wolf of Wall Street?”

Karen paused with a cheeky little smile, giving the interviewer a a jokingly incredulous look. “Come on.” She simply said. “It’s a bloody no brainer, I’m certain it was Leonardo’s favourite scene too. . I hope it is anyway otherwise he’s a silly, silly man.”

At the same carpet event with the same interviewer, Chris Hemsworth was being interviewed—his wife, Elsa, on his arm and looking half ready to battle off any rude interviewers (queen).

“—what is your favourite scene of hers in Ocean’s 8?”

“All of them!” Elsa answered eagerly, grinning. “Her outfits really accentuated her personality and I enjoyed them very much so. Particularly her outfit for the gala. . the amount of accentuated personality, by gosh, it had me speechless.”

Chris turned her head, obviously trying not to laugh at his wife.

“Nunca he estado más celoso y agradecido por la ropa en mi vida.” Elsa hummed.

You blinked.

The clip changed to you, Sebastian, Lizzie, Paul, Jeremy and Jimmy all on his Tonight Show playing Musical Beers. The slightly unnerving music/beat played in the background while you all stalked around the circle, Paul and Jeremy already out—leaving you, Seb, Lizzie and Jimmy.

As you were all racing around the circular table, Lizzie very obviously swatted your ass and you were impressed with your own body as you watched that impact: the audience erupted into laughs and shrieks, Jimmy playfully covering his eyes as Seb smirked. You thought that would be the end of the clip, but no.

The very disco-esk tune briefly cut out and past time you thought that meant it stopped completely and you’d already reached for the red cup in front of you and chugged it’s contents, only to pause as the music began back up.

“Spit it back! Spit it back!”

You did just that—but when the music actually stopped and Seb was left standing in front of the cup with your (let’s not go there) in it, your mouth popped open in shock. Jeremy gladly backed away from the table in hysterics, Lizzie and Jimmy equally as amused.

“Oh my god, I am—“

Sebastian quickly downed the cup with. . those contents, not even looking all that perturbed.

“So sorry.” You finished, mouth agape.

You vaguely remembered a conversation you’d had with him after the show, sincerely and repeatedly apologising and he was just very, very amused with you. He didn’t seem to mind at all—what an odd man.

“It’s all good.” Sebastian chuckled lowly, wrapping the mortified looking past you in a one armed shoulder hug and squeezing you to him. Lizzie seemed to be trying to trade a very obvious eye message with you—the audience shrieked and screamed in the background.

Another clip began: its was you and Scarlett Johansson doing a trust fall thing, you thought (correctly).

“Scarlett I swear. .” You giggled, looking over your shoulder at the woman behind you—she grinned back at you amusedly, her eyes twinkling.

“Calm down.” She laughed herself. “I’ll catch you don’t worry, gorgeous.”

Still slightly overcome with nervous giggles, you turned and let out a breath as you shut your eyes before holding at your arms and falling back.

And catch you she definitely did—although her hands didn’t exactly land in a PG-13 area, you cackled as you watched her hands grope at your chest to pull you up. In the video, you were also wheezing as were the crew and Scarlett had a cheeky little smirk as she laughed.

When you were finally standing, she gave one last squeeze before finally letting go—on screen you was breathless with giggles.

“Always wanted to do that.” She shrugged simply with a large amused smile.

The next clip began—it was Zendaya and Tom Holland on LADBible, playing that how much do you agree or not game. The statement said was ‘Y/N Y/L/N is everyone‘s celebrity crush’.

Instantly, Tom and Zendaya moved their cups to strongly agree, both of them nodding in solid agreement with the statement: presently, you awed at your friends, ego very much boosted. Well. To be fair, all of this video was massively boosting your ego.

“I mean, come on.” Zendaya made a ‘duh’ face and shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s Y/N.” Tom smiled crookedly, adding onto her comment.

“I am so happy I get to now say that she’s one of my closest friends.” Zendaya beamed genuinely. “She’s—one of those people whose beauty isn’t just an external thing, she’s so lovely man.” She pouted, in awe of you.

Watching the video, you beamed back at her.

The clip changed: Mark Ruffalo was on the Graham Norton show, next to Nicki Minaj and an actor you couldn’t place.

“Who would you say your favourite co-star has ever been, Mark?” Graham inquired.

“I—i would probably have to go with Y/N—“ The crowd instantly erupted into cheers and yells and Nicki smiled next to him, stating that she loved you under the sound of cheering. Mark grinned back at her, mumbling ‘me too’.

“Yeah, she’s a hell of an actress, that one. So easy to work with. Funny as f—hell, she’s just—an extremely genuine and kind person, and she really brings the energy on set.” Mark grinned. “..she’s also the only free pass my wife has ever given me. Which I won’t be using! Because I don’t believe in cheating, it’s scummy! Even though she’s gorgeous—anyone would be lucky!” He had to rise to a shout at the end as the audience erupted.

Nicki giggled next to him, “me personally, I would use that pass.”

You gasped in laughter as you watched the screen, screen-recording it all so you could go back and watch it. Saving it to your folder titled PISSING MY PANTS HRLP

The clip changed yet again, showing a scene from the Winter Solider BTS. You and Sebastian were filming a scene where he had to shoot your character—you watched the ‘Winter Solider’ shoot your character multiple times making you go down with an agonised yell, crawling away from him.

As soon as CUT was yelled, Sebastian’s face dropped from his stone cold (wintery) expression and he raced to you, crouching next to you. He practically tugged you into his lap on the floor, holding you.

“Oh my fuck that—that just felt so real, Y/n. You know I would never hurt you right?” He asked, blinking repeatedly before a small smirk fell on his lips. “You’re way too pretty to injure doll. Can’t ruin your perfect face.”

On screen you huffed in mock anger, hiding an amused grin as you shoved at him—he still held you close to him though, so both of you fell backwards and burst into giggles.

You literally thought ‘I ship them’ as you watched the clip of Sebastian and yourself, forgetting that was you for a moment.

Another clip started up—another behind the scenes. It was you and Tom Hiddleston in Thor : Ragnarok. In the scene Loki was tied down to the chair and your character was meant to intimidate him—you watched yourself take out your character’s daggers and lean forward into his space. One leg leaned up on top of the arm of the chair, sliding one dagger just a hair above the skin of his neck while using the over the move his chin up to be angled to you as you mockingly smiled down at him.

You said your line as your character but Tom remained silent, mouth parted and eyes widened as he gazed up at you—speech failing him. (You knew that they actually decided to include this awestruck look in the movie—the amount of fucking edits you’d seen was unreal).

Eyebrows crinkling you nudged your knee into his chest and he snapped out of it, grabbing your knee in a gentle grip. “Sorry darling, words sometimes seem to fail me in your presence.” He muttered rather hoarsely, still staring up at you.

“I don’t fucking blame him.” Tessa Thompson murmured from behind you both, and the camera moved to show her staring at you in a similar awe.

Present time, you could barely hide your smirk. Literally the biggest ego boost. Of all time.

Again, the clip changed and it was now Natalie Portman looking gorgeous on a carpet event, being interviewed—“if you could have Jane explore another romance than Thor, who would it be and why?”

“Y/N!” Natalia enthused immediately. “Well—her character, but like. Both. Either. One for me, one for Jane. That—would be great. And why? Come on! She’s an absolutely beautiful woman, inside and out. She has this outward glow that you literally cannot and don’t want to look away from and that reflects so much in her personality—once you’ve interacted with her one time, you never want to stop. Ever. I’m not kidding.” She giggled.

Another clip started up quickly—a blooper of you and Chris Evans. In this scene, your characters were meant to kiss after an angsty, angry argument. You stormed into the frame, into the bedroom, completely in character—an angry expression on and ready to go at Steve.

Before you could even let out a single syllable to begin your lines, Chris immediately surged forward and took your face in his hands, kissing the living daylights out of you.

You both pulled back after a bit and you just started at him, questioningly (that kiss was probably one of your best ever, let it be known, Chris Evans was a fantastic kisser).

“I—I thought It’d be good for the scene. .” Chris trailed off bashfully, scratching the base of his neck, literally pulling the excuse out of his arse. In actuality, he hadn’t wanted to spare a moment of the scene where he could be kissing you, well, not doing so.

“Bull!” Scarlett exclaimed as she materialised in the doorway. “He just wanted to kiss you.” She told you, pointedly looking at the man.

“Yeah—i—“ He huffed a defeated sigh, pink-cheeked. “I’ve got nothing. She’s right.”

In hindsight, you thought to yourself, you should probably stop being so shocked when the fanbase starts shipping you with your costars.

The clip changed: now it was you, Elizabeth and Aaron on a carpet event together—all being interviewed at the same time.

“So, Y/n, how does it feel to be in a Maximoff twin sandwich right now?” The interviewer giggled happily, smiling.

Before you could open you’re mouth—“we’re really enjoying it.” Lizzie and Aaron replied at the same time.

The interview gaped and you simply rolled your eyes as the two smirked at either side of you, they’d been talking in sync ever since you’d first met them at the table reading.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t why?” Aaron grinned crookedly. “A beautiful, lovely woman in between us. Honestly, love, there’s not a thought in my head besides you.” He joked, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“I completely support that.” Lizzie chirped in, “ever since I’ve met this gorgeous lady who i now acknowledge as my partner in everything—she’s taken up all of the room in my brain, and I couldn’t be happier.” She giggled, putting her arm around your waist.

In the middle of them both, with an arm over your shoulder and one around your waist—you simply sighed, sparing the giddy interviewer an exaggerated suffering expression.

Again, the clip switched—it was now another blooper of you in the Iron Man movie, the scene where you handed Tony’s arse to him in the boxing ring. Instead of acting as scripted, Gwen Paltrow got up from her seat and strode over to the boxing ring, stepping inside gracefully and planting one right on your lips.

Presently, you giggled as you thought back to this moment. Gwen was your impulsive queen. Your idol.

From the floor, RDJ squawked in shock, exclaiming about being cheated and betrayed and Gwen flung her stiletto off her foot at him without moving from your lips.

When she finally did, she simply smiled at you kindly, “you just looked so good that I couldn’t not kiss you, sweets.” She shrugged and you, on screen, laughed at her as you leaned back in to kiss her cheek.

(Unfortunately the scene was not included in the movie—but Gwen never wasted an opportunity to talk about it, and you, if the chance arose).

The clip moved onto another one—back to the Thor : Ragnarok movie, you and Heimdall were fighting together, however you missed a step in your stunt and ended up stumbling. Idris immediately caught you with a steady arm around your waist, full you to him so you could stabilise yourself.

You smiled up at him thankfully, squeezing his arm in gratitude (totally not because you’d just wanted to feel his bicep).

You watched as your on screen self get distracted again and Idris murmured to Tom who’d now appeared next to him, “I feel like it’s dishonourable how much I want her to fall so I can catch her again now.”

“Mate, trust me,” Tom laughed, “I completely understand. But she doesn’t need the rescuing.”

“That she does not.” Both men smiled fondly as they watched you.

Presently, you were actively refusing to blush.

A different clip started up—Florence Pugh was being interviewed, looking breathtaking in her green dress. “—did you take anything from set?” The interviewer was asking, smiling at Florence.

“Um—not much, just Y/n’s heart.” Florence immediately cracked up at her own joke, smiling widely. “And her underwear too.” She added.

The interviewer opened her mouth to say something more, giggling at Florence as she continued speaking: “and before you ask, no. I wouldn’t be selling, for any price. Finders keepers and all that shite—plus, she’s my girl, so. That rule applies even more so. No one else can take her heart. Or her pants.”

Watching your friend, you giggled at her cheesy smile at her words before getting distracted by your group chat, where multiple of your friends and co-starts had seen your message and were now responding. Your laughter increased tenfold as you opened the thread.

My introduction!

This account is ACTIVE!

Yes I’m taking requests!

I am MULTI-FANDOM

*IF YOU DONT LIKE ANY OF THE THINGS THAT I MAKE, PLEASE LEAVE.*

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Hi, My name is Kitty! And I’m a fanfic writer. I’m in lots of fandoms so you’ll see things from all over! Though I’ll mostly post TOKIO HOTEL fanfics.

Some fun facts about me!

• I LOVE to read!

• I love to listen to music, it’s kinda my therapy😅

• I like to draw here and there.

• I love to read, so if you have any book recommendations please send!

• How I originally got into Tokio Hotel was b/c I saw a post about Tom while doom scrolling and I thought Tom was hot. But then I started to listen to their music and actually liked Tokio Hotel b/c of their music and not only b/c of Tom.

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Fandoms I write for

Tokio Hotel

Supernatural

Marvel/MCU(every part of it)

The Boys

Arcane

The Last of Us(show + game)

Game of Thrones + The House of Dragons

Star Wars

*I will write for these fandoms on my own accord and when I get requests for them*

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Fandoms I’ll occasionally or are open to write for

Harry Potter

Invincible

Avatar: The Last Air Bender

Narcos

The Maze Runner

The Outsiders

Call of Duty

Teen Wolf

Halo

Any other fandom that you want me to write for via request

*I will occasionally write for these on my own accord. I will mostly only write for them if they’re requested*

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Things I will write or are fine with writing

Fluff

Smut+lemon

Angst

Age gap(1-6yrs. 10yrs max. I will NOT go any higher unless requested. Even then I may not do it)

Au’s

Female and gn reader, sometimes male reader(I’m a girl and I’ve still yet to experiment w/ m!reader. I may never do smut w/ m!reader though I’m super open to anything else. I just need time to get used and comfortable with m!reader.)

Reader of any sexual orientation(I’m completely find w/ it. I’m gay myself)

Reader of any race and religion

I’m fine with doing dom and sub things/undertones

Ships! I’m completely fine with writing for these(just as long as they aren’t pedophilic or incest or anything weird)

Real people/celebrities(this will only be fluff and angst. I will NOT be doing smut. I feel uncomfortable doing that type of stuff knowing some of these people have whole ass family)

Writing horror/describing gore. I’m completely fine w/ it.

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Things I will NOT write under any circumstances

Incest of any kind(siblings, step-siblings or parents, bio parents, anything like that)

R@pe/non-con(this is disgusting. If the story somehow has r@pe in it, it’ll only be mentioned and if there would be a r@pe scene, it’ll only be mentioned)

Piss or shit kinks(self explanatory. The only body fluids that will be evolved in any way in any of my fics will either be spit/saliva, or cum. That’s it.)

Innocent!reader(this means that reader is so fucking innocent that reader doesn’t even know what a orgasm is. This lowkey pisses me off. Just not my type of thing.

Big age gaps(10yrs is the max I will go. I’ll only go over if requested, even then I may not do it)

Fics that deliberately are racist, sexist, homophobic, or bring down any sort of group of people. (By this I mean if a fic is requested and it’s very clear that the base line is any of these things, I will not do it.)

Romanticizing things like r@pe/non-con, stalking, kidnapping, being drugged, any of those things. (Honestly I’m so happy that people are realizing of bad this is and how many books have this in them and the amount of authors that do it. It’s genuinely disgusting. Like would you actually want that to happen to you IRL? I don’t.)

Underage things. Under no circumstances will I ever write underage.

Proships Lima self explanatory. (If you don’t know what a proship is it’s ship that’s considered “problematic” in a fandom. The ship can consist of incest, a problematic or worrying age gap, most of the time one of the people being a minor…, things like that.)

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Requests

Whenever you wanna request anything it’s totally okay to go into detail. Honestly I kinda want you to so you’ll like the fic(:

Requests will take about 3-7 days to finish as I have many other things going on in life and I can’t fully dedicate all of my time to fics.(I’m also a major procrastonator….😬)

The Ones You Save [1]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 4,735

Warnings: Mentions of murder, death, and blood.

Summary: The one where you are given a new mission and you follow through with the orders you have found.

prologue | part 1 | part 2

“You can find your mission.”

You don’t flinch as you easily allow the barrier in your mind to fall down, immediately reaching out past yourself to delve into the mind of Alexander Pierce. It’s slightly difficult for your muddled mind to recall just exactly who he is - but the name had popped in almost without hesitation when you gave yourself the brief reminder that forgetting could result in something worse than the dreaded machine, something worse than the highly praised cryogenic chamber.

You don’t have to search far into his psychotic, masochist brain to find what you need. The man has learned by now to keep the mission on the forefront of his mind after you have been prodded to find your mission. If he doesn’t think of it while you’re searching, you’re forced to burrow deeper into his mind - and there’s no telling what disturbing things you’d find if you did that. Not that any of it would have much effect on your broken encephalon.

As you’re discovering details about your new targets, the scientists in the room move to suit you up. You weren’t wearing much when you had come in - just the pants to your suit and the sports bra that they have you wear underneath your suit. Your suit itself is a complex mess of zippers and buttons; a design purposely created with the lightweight tactical suit to remind you how much control you lack. The uniform is constructed from Kevlar fiber and Nomex thread; produced for advanced flexibility and resistance to small bullets. It’s incredibly close to the apparel that the Winter Soldier once wore - but the design has been updated to restrict you from removing the clothing yourself. There is a tight muzzle wrapped around your nose and mouth, but they have abandoned the goggles you were once forced to wear. You don’t have to worry about your hair; the ratty, rough fibers are constantly pulled back into double dutch braids that stretch down to your middle back.

You barely recognize at this point when your brain kicks in to autopilot. With all the damage that’s been inflicted on the organ, you hardly remember telling yourself to walk to the hangar. All you comprehend is that you are suddenly in a different room, that you are strikingly alone. The silence is almost welcoming to a small, quiet part of your mind - but you shove that down. You don’t like the lack of loud voices, lack of chaos - the void of screaming, crying. You are so used to screeching HYDRA agents and sobbing victims; the silence distracts you from your complete-your-mission-and-get-it-over-with attitude. It comforts you, even; it allows you to take a break from the life that you know ( incredibly deep down ) you hate.

You make your way to your designated plane. You go through the motions of buckling yourself in, placing a comm into your ear before you pull on the noise cancelling headphones. With the powers you have, the decibels given off by the plane are too much. Even the small carrier plane you are allowed to pilot is too much. You hate loud noises, but your powers make it easier for you to cancel everything out - to focus on small details that rest inside the minds of others.

If your memories hadn’t been so toyed with, you would’ve been able to reminisce over how your old partner never got the privilege of learning to fly the passenger plane. You would’ve remembered that the scientists trusted you more than him, that you always were allowed more freedoms than him. But he only comes in fragmented bits. He only shows up in your mind at random instances, bringing a mix of strong emotions that have no reason. You can’t conjure up a full mental picture of him most of the time - but you might be able to recognize him if you saw him. You two were the best duo that HYDRA had ever seen; you always had the others back, never left the other to fight alone. But, he had managed to escape without you. You would be able to understand if you could just think about how hard he tried to get you out too.

But you don’t remember any of that. You don’t even think about it. When you do, it’s not by choice - and Alexander Pierce makes sure that you forget as soon as it happens.

You’re barely off the ground before your comm ignites with static. There’s a wince that you hold back as your hands keep the plane steady. This is something that comes naturally to you, the one thing that makes you feel weightless when the blood stained on your hands gets to be too much. It’s almost like an extension of yourself; as easy to control as your actions in hand-to-hand combat.

“You have the directions and the target. Make sure that the target is dead. Don’t worry about any other casualties; you know what will happen if your compassion suddenly rears its head.” The shrieking voice of Pierce fills your ear.

You don’t answer. And you never do. That’s one of the things that they seem to like most about you. You’re obedient; you’re easy to control, you listen without complaint. They’re at the point where they no longer have to toy with your fears to make you carry out their commands, they’ve already made you believe that you cannot survive on your own. They’ve taken care of you for so long, even though it hasn’t been anywhere near what living should be like. Deep down, the person who you used to be knows that you could take care of yourself if you were given the chance. You could treat yourself better, kinder, than any of those people you work for. If you cared for yourself, if you were given the chance to disappear from HYDRA - maybe you could stop spilling so much innocent crimson.

The plane touches down with precision and shuts off a moment after. You don’t need to take time to compose yourself before you’re pulling off the headphones. There’s a multitude of weapons that you move to strap onto your body; it seems that there’s a weapon for every occasion. HYDRA wants you to be prepared. Even with your abilities.

You shut the door behind you, but make no immediate move to walk away. Now is when you need to compose yourself. You force yourself to relax and close your eyes. You envision yourself standing near the edge of the forest; you look at your surroundings through your mind, see yourself slowly fade from view. And it works. When you open your eyes, you know your body is invisible to any prying eyes.

You were created with this in mind, to be an agent of stealth - to be able to control things with your mind. When Arnim Zola found Bucky, found you - he had the perfect duo in mind. He had two different serums; one that was previously made for the highly regarded hero dubbed as Captain America, the other that he had carefully and intricately made just for you. He had it planned; the body and the mind. Bucky was the body; he had the super strength, the undeniable agility, the striking silver arm. And you, you were the brilliant mind. You had the ability to infiltrate minds, the disappearing act, the genius plans. You also had the unexpected onyx arm and the metal parts replacing the fragmented bones in your legs. Zola’s beautiful, entrancing duo had both taken falls from high distances - but it was the perfect way to take you both into their custody.

And now, decades after your personal fall, you are standing at the edge of the forest. Your Glock 17 is now loosely resting in your left hand. It’s not the perfect time to use it and you have left the safety on. In a few mere seconds, you could have the safety off and the gun positioned perfectly. Your constant, extreme training has allowed you to perfect such motions. The guns aren’t your favorite weapon; those were always reserved for the partner you can’t remember. Your favorites are the knives - the ones your brain so easily calculates the trajectory for. Knives are like another extension of yourself, the perfect weapon for the perfect brain. But knives can’t penetrate through tinted windows of armored vehicles. You know that the bullets in your gun can’t either, which is why it’s your job to get into the car and execute your target.

The comm once again ignites with an irritating voice. “The car has been spotted heading your way. Get in position.”

Your eyes dart through the dense traffic that lies a few feet in front of you. The cars are so close together, so crowded that they can’t move. You know that it’s typical of this area during this time of day to be so packed. That makes it perfect for your job. It creates less casualties, makes it easier for you to spot the right target and take care of them without hassle.

You carefully begin to weave through the mess of stopped cars. It’s not the hardest thing that you have to do, but sometimes it’s difficult to squeeze between the vehicles and avoid hitting them. You like to stay invisible and it’s hard when the people in the cars can feel you bump into them. It destroys your stealth, confuses the people in the cars, and makes you want to panic. You don’t want to mess up; HYDRA could come up with extreme consequences for any slight error in your plans.

They want you to cause chaos in the process of your mission. That’s the reason why you aren’t using a knife, why your hand is slowly tightening its grip on your gun. They want the people around you to panic, to cause a commotion. They want you to cause as much chaos as you can with your missions so they can one day introduce you as the savior the world needs; the one person alone who can stop all these random killings, who has all the means to save the world without destroying cities upon cities in the process.

And you hate the idea. You know that it is stupid, that it’s useless - but the people who control you don’t care about your opinion. They haven’t cared since they locked Arnim Zola’s mind in a bunker far below the surface of the Earth. Zola was the one person who always wanted your opinion in missions, the one person who always knew how clever you really were. You wish that you had just messed around a bit more in Pierce’s mind and convinced him to let you use a knife. Your mission would run a lot more smoothly if you had done that.

“Your tracker is nearly on top of the car. Make sure you’re paying attention.” His voice is scolding this time, trying to find fault in your actions. You know exactly where the car is; you can see it plain as day. You’re not stupid and you know that you haven’t passed it yet. “Keep it simple, yet create chaos.”

You finally let your eyes roll in response. They can’t see your eyes roll when you’re hidden, and you’re far enough away from them that you aren’t absolutely terrified to react in that manner. You swear that they get on your nerves, though you’d never admit it out loud. Their instructions are always ingrained in your brain from how much they tell you them.

You let your bionic arm bang against the passenger window of the armored vehicle. There’s a quick pause and then you hit the window again - but this time you have moved closer to the front windshield. It goes on like that as you slowly begin to circle the car; all you are doing is luring out the driver of the car. You barely make it around to the back of the car before the guy is scrambling out of the car, moving to where you are. It’s easy for you to sidestep the man and slip into the car. You slam the door shut before you press down on the lock button. You can nearly feel the panic radiating off of the passengers in the car, A small smile tugs on your lips because you know for a fact that Pierce would be proud of you. When he’s proud, no one’s allowed to punish you for small mistakes.

You feel the urge to flip the car into drive and slam on the gas, but you brush it off. You’re not looking to get hurt in the process of giving Pierce the chaos that he craves. All you want is to invoke panic and fear, which you can do by firing the gun more than once. But you wait a beat. You allow your hammering heart a moment to calm down, allow yourself to keep your cover as you move to roll down the back window.

The driver is moving towards the window as soon as he sees that it is being lowered. You can see the panic and terror written across his face. You wonder, for a split second, how long the man must have been working for SHIELD. You know that if he was HYDRA he wouldn’t have let his emotions play out across his face. SHIELD has never properly trained their agents.

You watch as the driver attempts to pull your target out of the car. You don’t act out of panic, nor do you jump at the chance to fire the gun. He tries to pull the woman out, but the seat belt proves to be an issue. You move your gun into the proper position as he pleads with her to unbuckle and let him get her out alive; which makes you want to scoff. There’s no possible way that this could go that would have her getting out alive.

But you still wait. Your eyes follow the woman as she unbuckles herself, watch as the man tries once more to pull her out of the window. You busy yourself with rolling down the other windows, making the two of them pause for a moment in their efforts. It’s almost humorous to you, to watch as they finally realize they can open the door and safely pull her out.

Then you move. You’re pulling yourself out of the window, curling your body through the small surface. Instead of hopping onto the ground, you lift your body on top of the car. It doesn’t dent under your weight and your feet don’t leave any prints, for which you’re thankful for. You squat down and watch as the driver begins to look around frantically. It’s also humorous to watch him try to see you.

The driver is telling the woman to move, to stick close to him. You let one of your fingers move to click the safety off and you raise the gun, carefully pointing it at the two of them. But you don’t shoot. Not yet. You know exactly how you want to cause a little bit of chaos.

They start moving away from the car, leaving the other two passengers to scramble out after them. You quietly drop onto the ground, taking a quick moment to observe that traffic has begun to move a bit. It’s not hard for you to begin to follow behind the four SHIELD agents; your footsteps are too light to reveal your location to them. You want to move to tap into their minds, but your comm quietly comes to life before you can.

“Now’s the time, Ghost.”

You move your gun up, easily pointing it to your main target - the woman. You take a moment to breathe before you fire, watching as the bullet lodges itself into the back of her right knee. She almost falls to the ground in slow motion. The driver moves to bend down in front of her. You take another breath before you fire again, focusing on the bullet as it passes through the woman’s neck and lodges itself in the man’s torso. It is with swift ease that you take out the other two SHIELD agents who followed them, not sparing a second to watch as their bodies collapse onto the ground.

You put the safety on before you tuck the gun into the holster around your thigh. Though you do not watch the life leave the woman’s body, you do watch as people begin to jump out of their cars - running over to the four people. You make a face as you see some of them pulling out their phones, taking pictures and videos. You have to think about how stupid the human race has gotten, how eager they are to show everything that happens to the rest of the world. Their ignorance is bliss, in your situation, and you know that it will one day be the death of them. Just like it was to those four SHIELD agents whose blood is now crawling along the blazing hot asphalt.

Your feet begin to move you away from the area, trying to get back to the small passenger plane you had been permitted to take. You know that the scene isn’t as bloody as Pierce would have liked, but you know that he will be satisfied with the end results. Four SHIELD agents dead, with more on the list for your future endeavors.

As you finally disappear into the trees, you drop your invisibility facade. You can feel the blood begin to trickle down from your noise as you suddenly cease using your powers. You easily wipe it off with your gloves. It was always a side effect that you had after using them; Zola would always chalk it up to happening because of where they originated from. You were using your brain in a way that no other human could and this was always the way that you had reacted.

You pause mid-step as you pick up on the crunching of leaves underneath someone’s boot. Your mind immediately kicks into action and you disappear from sight, quietly turning around to see if you can find the source of the noise. Unlike the stranger, you tread carefully - your boots making barely any noise as you move amidst the fallen leaves and sticks. Your hand automatically moves to turn your comm off; eliminating all chances of Pierce revealing your location to the possible enemy. You have no clue who it could be or how many of them there are, but you know how you can find out.

You lean your body against a tree, letting your head relax against the rough bark as you close your eyes. You wish for a second that you had your headphones with you, but know that the noises of the nearby traffic will have to do as your distraction. You focus on the soft hum of the cars and the sound of tires on the road, not allowing the occasional horn honk to scare you.

You travel out of your mind - your powers quietly reaching out amidst the gentle sound of the wind pulling through the trees. You act as though you are flying through the forest, spotting out any possible threat. And it doesn’t take you long to see what has made the noise. On the outer edge of the forest, you spot three people. There are two men and one woman; you easily recognize Captain America and Black Widow, two ‘high-held’ SHIELD agents. The other man, though, isn’t as easily recognizable. You know that his face and build is familiar, that you have seen him before - but you cannot place him. All you know is that this man, the one with long brown hair and matching facial hair, looks concerned. And you decide to allow your brain to connect with his, to see out of his own eyes and to hear out of his ears.

“Buck, I don’t think she’s here. Not anymore, at least.” Captain America speaks up, sending the man a frown.

“I know she’s here, Steve. I can feel her.” The deep vibrations that left ‘Buck’ seemed to send a shock of pain through your system, and you automatically fight to shove the memories down.

“I don’t necessarily think that you can feel when a person is around, Barnes.” Black Widow pitches in - you watch as Steve nods in agreement.

“It’s a long story, Romanoff. Her and I have always been connected. That’s how Zola wanted it to be. I know she’s here. She’s watching us right now.”

You quickly let go of your hold on his brain and push yourself away from the tree with a jolt, putting your comms back on.

“Take off your mask and tell us what’s going on, Ghost.” The growl that escapes Pierce’s side of the comm makes your eyes narrow. “You won’t get in trouble.”

You quietly and hesitantly peel the muzzle off of your face, pressing your flesh hand down on the comm. “Captain America and Black Widow are here with a man they called ‘Buck’ and ‘Barnes’.”

You can’t help but wince at the rough, scratchy voice that falls out of your lips.You haven’t talked in so long and it’s easy to tell that it’s been months. The thought of them punishing you for doing what you’re told sends a shock of fear through your system, but you’re more concerned with the memories that are threatening to push past your mental barrier. A part of you wants to remember who that man is, but the rest of you knows that you need to forget about him. He’s not important. The important thing is finding a way to get back to your base undetected.

Without being told to, you quickly place the mask back around your face. You know that they can’t see you, but the fear of being punished for having it off overrides that fact. You want that punishment as much as you want the memories that are fighting against your brain. You have scars across your body from the last time it was taken off, which was when you had fought to get out - and the thought of disobeying by trying to get away sets your whole body aflame. The memory that coincides with the scars is red hot; it’s setting fire to that mental barrier as it fights to get past.

You can feel it start to crumble and you’re forced to lean down, to cradle your head between your hands.The pain that comes with the memories is overwhelming, overbearing. It’s hard for you to fight through it. But you know that you have to get away from where you are, you know that you have to evacuate to a safe place - somewhere HYDRA can rescue you. The sooner that they rescue you, the sooner they can fix your crumbling mental state.

But the pain is agonizing. It’s worse than anything you’ve ever felt and you aren’t sure how you can quiet the blazing white pain pounding throughout your brain. HYDRA should have known better than sending you out in the field when you were previously so unstable, but you know that no one thought that there would be a trigger out here. None of them had planned for this man called Buck to show up, to be here. And no one would have been able to tell how big of a trigger the unkempt male would be.

You can hardly feel your knees hit the hard ground, but you can feel the dry grass pressing into your arms. The dirt is cool against your burning forehead. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze and you are fighting the urge to cry out. Everything around you sounds muffled, like you have been plunged into a giant pool of water. You strain to hear the three agents, strain to find their location in relation to you. But it’s overloading your brain - you can feel the blood begin to seep out of your nose. You know immediately that you have lost your hold on your invisibility.

“Get out of there!” You hardly manage to hear Pierce scream into the ear piece, but the panic in his voice makes your head hurt even more.

Your force yourself to get up to your feet, staggering as you take a few steps to catch your balance. The world around you is spinning relentlessly; it feels like you are stuck in a snow globe that is continuously being rolled across the floor. It’s difficult for you to stay on your feet as you move forwards. You think that you’re moving away from the three people, but your sense of direction is incredibly messed up. You feel like up is down and right is left. You aren’t sure how you can fix the mixed up directions.

You stumble forward and your stomach seems to twist more with every step. The pounding in your head only seems to get worse as memories begin to pile on top of each other. You’re seeing bits and pieces of a past that you don’t remember; you’re being overloaded with unknown events and it’s hard to keep the little bit of food you had today in your stomach. You barely make it to a tree before you’re leaning against it. Your body is bending over and you’re losing what feels like the entire contents of your stomach. The acid from your belly has scorched the entire length of your esophagus and you are left dry heaving.

You can’t keep up with your mind. There’s flashes of a man, the same man you just saw, and he’s fighting alongside you. You see bursts of doctors injecting you with serums and you see bits of agents torturing you. Then there was a man - one who you didn’t recognize, in so many different moments that you couldn’t comprehend. There he was, placing a ring gently on your finger. There’s a big smile after, then you’re sitting under the stars on a blanket. But then it seems to turn sour and suddenly he’s lying on the ground - his lifeless eyes staring up at the stars. You feel a hand grab onto your arm and you think you’re being dragged back to that cliff, the cliff that that man died on and then you’re screaming.

You’re screaming with all your might, and you feel like you’re falling. You feel like you’re tumbling towards the bottom of the cliff; you see that it’s getting closer and you don’t seem to be slowing down. You’re panicking because you know that you’re going to die, you know that this isn’t going to end well. And you wish, you wish with everything in you that you could have been better, that you could have hurt less people - that you could have caused less casualties.

And you’re closing your eyes tightly - so tight, waiting for the impact. Then you hit the ground. But you don’t hit hard. You don’t feel any bones break and you don’t feel the agony of your body bending in ways it never should have. You don’t feel flesh and muscle being torn away from your shoulder, you don’t feel your legs being shattered beyond repair.

Even though you’re terrified, though you feel like you’re frozen from shock - you slowly start to test out your appendages. You keep your eyes closed because you’re scared to see the damage, you’re afraid to see where you are. For a split second, you wonder if you have died. You lay and hope that maybe, finally, you’re free from HYDRA.

You decide, no matter what you’ll find, that you have the courage to open your eyes. You slowly pry your eyes open and the sky above you is bright blue. There’s barely any clouds littering the big expanse of cerulean. The sun is shining brightly, warming the body that you thought would be cold from the shallow lake that was sitting at the bottom of the cliff.

And there is a pair of shining blue eyes staring down at you.

tag list: @verygraphicink

The Ones You Save [Prologue]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 1,759

Summary: The one where your chaotic mind is reset.

prologue | part 1 | part 2

There is a part of you that believes you used to know what life was like before you were stuck; stuck in whatever chaotic mess this was. A mess of what you could barely recognize as an endless cycle  ― one that Alexander Pierce constantly thought of; one that involved strange, sickly liquids being pumped into your system; one that had parts of your brain constantly being erased. The endless cycle of you searching for orders in the brains of agents who were deemed superior to you, completing the orders  ― going through with horrendous actions that would leave your hands more blood-stained than before.

Your superiors don’t care about that, though. They don’t care about the amount of blood that tarnishes your hands. They don’t care about the screams and pleas that echo in your head. They don’t care about how unclean you feel; how wrong, how disgusting, how tainted. They only care that you can complete your missions, that you can pave their way in the messy world. As long as you’re a determined, dangerous tool  ― they don’t need to look into your mental state.

There’s an urge in your brain  ― an urge to dig through the mess of barriers and fragments that the electricity from the machine has left behind. But you shove the urge down; trying to hide it deep among the broken, shattered parts of what you once were able to recognize as a person with free will. There’s another urge right alongside that one. It’s telling you to escape from this room, the compound. It’s telling you to get out before the doctor can bother to mess with your mind again. It’s the again part that catches you off guard. You can’t remember another time that you were in this room  ― a cloth shoved between your clenched jaw, metal bonds holding down your arms and legs. You can’t remember anything, actually. Except in uncontrollable spurts. But the thought of trying to conjure up a past memory sends a shockwave of pain through your frontal lobes.

Your eyes focus around the room and you let go of the guard that you had yanked up on your mind. Your eyes are quick to close as every single thought in the room hits you at once. You can tell that your mind and your control have become unstable  ― everything is so loud and you can’t concentrate on a single thought. You’re only able to catch a few keywords, ones that add up to a splintered sentence: seventh time in, looming cryogenic chamber, a mess. The fragmented sentence seems to match your mind and your emotions, making you feel like you have been tossed into a never-ending vortex that happily holds you captive. It seems dead-set on tearing you down.

An extreme pain explodes throughout your head and you immediately realize that your brain is trying to push back your mental barriers. You know that a memory is trying to be brought up, one that you don’t want to recall. You thrust it back down. You thrust it as far down as you can, pretending that you are locking it away in a hidden chamber  ― chucking the key to the opposing side of a very long, very deep ocean. The memory disappears and your eyes lock with a man who is kneeling in front of you. The cold, empty look in his bright green eyes throw you off. You instantly recognize him as your primary doctor.

"Ghost, if you don't get your shit together soon ― we're tossing you in the chamber."

You know that already. You gathered that much from the mess of a sentence that your mind inherited. You’re thinking, though, that you wouldn’t mind the chamber. Your body yearns for a break. You don’t sleep much outside of it. Maybe being chucked into the cryogenic chamber would fix you, maybe it would soothe your aching mind. Maybe you could get some answers for why your mind is so mangled. But you know that it wouldn’t work in the long run. You’d be thrown back into the dreaded chair and your mind would be wrecked even further.

"We're using a different drug today." The doctor speaks again, easily catching your attention. You hadn’t noticed before but the protective barrier in your mind has been pulled back down, everything has become increasingly quiet. You barely acknowledge that you enjoy the silence.

The doctor moves and you’re focusing on his face again; observing the concentration that has sprung up on his facial features. Your eyes flicker over to the IV and you watch as the substance begins to flow down from the bag. Your gaze is forced away from the substance as your head is moved forward. You try not to tense as your head is secured with the headpieces of the chair, the pressure mainly on your frontal lobes. You settle with curling your hands into fists ― your eyes closing as the chair is slammed back. You’re not ready for the procedure to begin, but they don't care that you’re not ready.

You can almost feel the liquid moving through your body ― a freezing cold sensation taking over every inch of your being. There's a quick, fleeting memory that whirls around in your brain; reminding you of the month that you were stuck out in the Russian wilderness, a strange man accompanying you. The machine you are hooked to gives a soft whirl and pain erupts throughout your brain, yanking the memory out of your grasp.

The pain itself is unbearable. It is searing and bright; spreading quickly throughout every inch of your body. It seems to fill every nook and cranny within a split second. In response, you shove yourself up ― your body beginning to convulse against the bonds that chain you down. Your jaw is incredibly tense, tenser than it has been in a while, and you want to scream. You want to scream and cry and thrash, but you fight the urge. It will give the sick minds around here some sort of satisfaction and you refuse to give it to them.

The pain is suddenly disappearing, but it leaves behind an electric feeling. It's a muddled type of electric, though. The pain is still slightly buzzing about your body, lessened by the murky black medicine that's still sluggishly crawling around in your veins. The freezing effect of the strange drug has worn off. In your mind, it's probably due to the electricity that has just bombarded every single cell in your body. You don’t yearn for the cold, though, because the medicine has made you feel numb ― like you’re unreachable to the world around you.

You don’t feel when the needle is pulled from your skin, barely registering what is happening as you are being pulled to your feel. The numbness you feel is intoxicating and, in a way, you yearn for more of it. Your dangerously trained mind would recognize it as a danger if you were fully functioning  ― you’re too apathetic to really care.

Your instincts have kicked in to give you a helping hand. Your back is as straight as it can go and your eyes are void of emotion; like a robot waiting patiently to be programmed. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the doctor's eyes, but you are more confused by the look on his face. It is filled with humor. You are puzzled by it; if you were sobered up, you could take his tall build down without effort.

"Longing." Your eyes blankly focus on a man standing behind the doctor. His eyes seemed so dark that they were nearly back. His voice seemed to penetrate through the numbness; your skull exploding with a dull ache. You want to curl into a tight ball and press your hands tightly against your ears. You want to do whatever you could do block out his voice, to preserve the sweet numbness ― you don’t want to know what the punishment would be.

"Rusted. Furnace."

The second and third words seemed to roll off his tongue effortlessly. Your conscious mind begins to slip out of your grasp. It was becoming increasingly difficult for you to fight to hold on to your self-control. Usually, it was easier for you to cling to what broken bits of free will that you had. The drugs in your system were making it easier for them to brainwash you. Clinging to control would be an extremely hard predicament for anyone in your situation, though. It didn't matter how many cc's of the drugs were in your system when the words officially took hold. You would become dangerous.

"Daybreak. Seventeen. Benign. "

The ache in your skull seemed to be getting worse with every word that slipped out of his mouth. Your whole being seemed to be screaming at you to resist the words ― to block him out, to run far away from this place. But you couldn't. There was no way for you to resist the words.

"Nine. Homecoming."

The words had begun to echo around in your brain. It didn't matter what anyone else was saying or thinking at this point. All that mattered to you was the right words that had already been spewed out of his lips. They seemed to be booming among your skull, reverberating among the soft tissue and harsh bone. They began to take away every thought you had about the drugs in your system; instead shattering the identity that you once thought that you still had a tight hold on.

"One."

You let your eyes flutter close. The darkness you were met with was almost welcoming. It was far more easy to deal with than the agents that were in the room ― entranced by the process that the lead doctor was in the process of completing. Many of them had seen the process before, had watched the transformation that took place after your mind was scrambled like eggs. But they were repeatedly astounded by the process, almost like it was a strange fetish of theirs. Your muscles relaxed against your will, losing all the tension you had been holding on to.

"Freight car."

Your eyelids snapped open, eyes focusing on the black orbs in front of you. You recognized the glint in them, but you didn't acknowledge it. You had no reason to question the malice that the dark orbs held. 

You instead spoke, your tone matching his cold heart, "I am ready to comply."

The Ones You Save

Summary:

Your story begins in 1940; a beautiful baby born to two loving parents. 17 years later, your father’s involvement in the Howling Commandos comes back to bite you in the ass and you find yourself getting shoved off a cliff. When you wake up, you are in a strange facility with a man who wants to make you the second half of a volatile duo. You have no choice and become known as Ghost. Decades down the road, you help Winter Soldier escape and the consequences are horrendous. Can the newly rehabilitated Winter Soldier save you? Or is it your fate to stay in HYDRA’s clutches?

Chapters:

Prologue

Chapter One

Extra Scenes:

Inspired Works: