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captainrogers-thepatriot · 1 year ago

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The Forgotten Child part 1

Summary: Steve goes on a mission to find a weapon at a Hydra lab and instead discovers a boy with strange powers. The child is found malnourished and badly abused. Steve decides then to take the child home and give him a loving home. Yet things take a turn when they discover other plans had been made for the child by people who wanted to use him for there own gain.

Trigger warning: mention of abuse and neglect

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It had been a total of 60 years since Steve had went back in time to start a life with Peggy. They got married, had children and now the two of them lived together in the home they raised their kids in. Peggy was in her 80s and certainly was begining to look her age. Although Steve still believes she was still the most beautiful woman he ever laid his eyes on. Steve well he looked the same as before. Still fit and looked in his 20s, although he was far from that in years.

When Peggy and him were raising their kids, Peggy worked at shield and Steve was a stay at home dad to their children. Now Peggy had recently retired and Steve was going on missions for shield. Although only high level agents even knew he was still alive.

On a recent mission he rescued a boy. This boy was being used as a lab rat by Hydra. They had injected him with different chemicals and liquid elements hoping to create a super serum of their own. Most of these chemicals only caused the child pain and horrible side effects.

Steve entered his home holding the boy in his arms. The child clinging onto Steve as if he was a life raft. The child was extremely pale and had scars and bruises all over his body. He was extremely thin. Hel looked like he hadn't eaten a good meal in a long time. He had long blonde hair and blue eyes.

Peggy sat in the living room reading when she saw Steve and the child. She couldn't but gasp at the sight of the child. She immediately got up and rushed to them.

“What happened to him?” Peggy asked.

“Hydra. They were experimenting on him, trying to recreate the super serum.” Steve told her.

“Those heartless bastards.” Peggy exclaimed. “I knew they were bad…but this is a new level. This poor. Does he have any family to go to?”

“The mother died. I tried to save her, but she was killed as we were trying to escape.” Steve told her.

As he said that the boy began to cry silently. Peggy put out her arms and motioned for Steve to pass her the child.

She rocked the child and kissed his head.

“Your alright, dearie.” Peggy assured the child. “Your safe here. We won't let anyone hurt you.”

“The father, isn't around. The kid said he never met him.” Steve continued.

“Anyone else? An aunt or uncle.”

“I checked. There's no one else.” Steve answered. “So don't freak out, hear me out. I was thinking we could take him in and raise him. This poor kid has been through hell and the last thing he needs is more term oil. He needs love, a home and family. We can provide that for him. If we're to go into the foster system, it's likely he will get a family that wont care about him, who won't give him the attention he needs. It's a broken system. He also has abilities, ones that he can't control and I'm sure if he went into foster care, he would just be shuffled from home to home. He doesn't need that he needs stability. I know that you just retired and I know that you were looking forward to spending more time together. Especially now that the kids are out of the house. But I really think we need to help this boy. He really needs us and I think-”

“Steve, would you shut up for a second?” Peggy laughed. “Of course we can take him in. I agree he needs a good home, a good family. We can provide that for him. I don't know how many years I have left. But I know I want to continue to make a difference in people's lives until I die.”

“Your the most amazing woman to ever exist. That's a fact.” He replied.

“Aw Darling, your so sweet.” Peggy answered. “Your a good man, with a big heart. It's wonderful that you want to help him. I will be at your side to do that too.”

Peggy set down the kid onto the couch. Then Steve hugged Peggy and kissed her lips. He felt so thankful to have a wife as kind as her.

She then looked to the child with a smile.

“Hello little love, my name is Peggy Rogers.” Peggy began. “Your new friend Steve is my husband.”

The child just stared at her, nervous and unsure about this new person.

“I just made some chocolate chip cookies would you like to try some?” Peggy continued, putting out her hand to the child.

The child looked to Steve. He smiled at him and nodded.

“You can trust her.” Steve told the child. “I have trusted my life to her many times, she has never failed me once.”

The boy moved forward and then took Peggy's hand. She then lead him to the kitchen.

****

Peggy watched as she sat across from the boy and he scarfed down her cookies. It was strange especially cause she was a horrible cook. No one liked her cookies, expect steve. Whom she’d venture only said he liked them to make her happy.

She looked at the little boy up and down, he looked as if he hadn't eaten in days.

“Did they feed you at Hydra?” Peggy questioned.

“One meal a day, it was a protein bar with water.” The boy answered. “My mom would sometimes try to sneak me more food. But they would hurt her if she got caught. I didn't like seeing mommy hurt.”

“Course not.” Peggy answered with sympathy.

“Did you see what happened to your mother?” Peggy asked.

She hoped the answer would be no. This child didn't need more emotional scars.

“Me, and mommy and Mr. Steve were running out of the building. The bad guys they had guns and they shot at us. A bullet came toward me and mommy blocked it. She got hit instead of me.”

“Sounds like she's a very brave woman.” Peggy said. “I wish I could have met her.”

“She was the best. Me and her played lots of games like ‘I Spy’ and ‘Going on a Picnic’. Oh and she loved to tell me stories about heros like Hercules and Robin Hood. She knew lots of stories just from her head.”

“Wow that's really lovely.”

“Do you know any stories?” the boy asked.

“I don't know many by heart. I do have a bookshelf of stories though, that I can read to you.”

“wow that's a lot.” The child remarked.

“Do you have a name by the way?” Peggy asked.

“They called me 2342 at Hydra.”

This saddened Peggy further.

“Well we will have to change that and think of something proper to call you.” Peggy told him.

“Okay.” He answered simply. “Like what?”

“My husband and I, raised all girls. They were wonderful, strong, beautiful girl who grew into extraordinary women. Anyways Steve always said if we had a boy, he'd want to name it James after his best friend.”

“I like that name.” The boy answered.

He was silent for a moment. He appeared to be thinking.

“Are you and Steve going to me my new mommy and daddy?”

“If you want us to. We're going to take care of you. You don't have to call us mommy and daddy if you don't want to you. You can if you’d like too.”

“....Well I never had a Dad so I would like one. I ldon't know if I want a new mom, I really liked the one I had.”

“That's okay, love. I understand.” She told him. “You do what feels right to you.”

“One last thing, do you know how to take a bath? Cause honestly, my love, you stink.”

“What's a bath?” James asked.

“Your gonna find out.” Peggy answered.

Peggy then took the child to the bathroom and drew him a bath. As she took off his clothes she noticed scars on his back. She didn't want to know how or why. She was sure it was a tragic story. They were long scars as if he had been cut. On his arms were red bumps, which she had assumed were injection scars. She cleaned the child. There was layers and layers dirt on his skin, she had to scrub hard to get any of it off.

*****

Steve had been cooking lunch in the kitchen. It was a simple meal of homemade macaroni and cheese.

He had set the table with the macaroni pot in the center of the table. He also had the radio playing the latest baseball game. He loved the LA dodgers, he used to root for the dodgers when they were in Brooklyn.

Peggy then entered the kitchen holding James’s hand. James was dressed in one of Peggy’s pajama tops. It had pink and blue striped with buttons down the front. He wore matching striped pants and a pink robe over the outfit. The clothes were clearly to long for him. The sleeves consumed his arms and he had to roll up the pants legs to be able to walk.

Steve could contain his laugher at seeing the child.

“I didn't have anything in the the house that would fit him.” Peggy explained. “I tried putting him in one of your pajama sets but it was worse.”

“We will have to go into town and buy him some clothes tomorrow.” Steve replied. “For tonight, it's fine, at least he will be warm and clean.”

“Thank you for the clothes. These are comfy.” James spoke. “I like them alot. I didn't get many new clothes before.”

They then sit down and begin to eat.

“Can I ask a question.” James spoke.

“Of course, always.” Steve answered.

“Why did you save me?” he asked looking to Steve.

Steve was taken back by that question. Did he not want to be saved? Wasn't he unhappy living the way he was?

“Well because Hydra was hurting you and I wanted you to be safe and happy.”

“But you didn't even know me. Why would you care about someone you don't know?”

“people are people and they all deserve to live happy lives. They deserve to be shown love and joy. Your no different. When I see someone in trouble, I want to help, I want to help them have a better life.”

“That's really kind.” James answered.

There was silence as they continued eating.

“Also Peggy said you two had daughters. What happened to them?” James asked.

“They grew up, they are still around.” Steve told him. “They just don't live here anymore. One has a family of her own now and the other moved away to follow a job.”

“Oh. Are they nice?”

“Very. ones a school teacher and the other is working as an field agent for the government.” Steve answered. “you will meet them some day.”

“I would like to meet them.” James answered. “There your kids so I'm sure they are really nice.”

“Is there anything you want to know about us?” Steve asked.

“What do you do for work?”

“I'm retired. I used to be the director for a government organization.” Peggy answered.

“I was retired and now I'm working as a agent to a government organization. Which your going to have to keep a secret.”

“I can do that.” James answered.

****

Then suddenly Tony Stark showed up at the home. He has a key since Peggy has always been close with, ever since he was a child. she saw him as a son she never had.

“So we have a bit of a crisis going on.” Tony began. “How come neither one of you answer your phone?”

“There turned off. It's dinner time.” Peggy answered. “You could eat with us if you like, Anthony. Just grab a plate.”

“no thank you Aunt Peggy.” Tony answered. “Although I'm sure the food is great. I'm here on shield business.”

“What's wrong?” Peggy questioned.

Tony noticed the child sitting with them.

“No no no no no! What is wrong with you!?” Tony shouted.

Then he glared at Steve then pointed to him.

“Him. Are you trying to get me fired? Or are you just unwilling to follow any instructions set for you? You were supposed to retrieve him and bring hin back to shield that was what was agreed on. That was your mission.”

#trigger warning mention of abuse and neglect #steve rogers #captain america #marvel #peggy carter #mcu #bucky barnes #marvel comics #tony stark #black widow #shield #hydra #hawkeye #sam wilson #iron man #nick fury #the forgotten child #thread series the forgotten child

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marvelstoriesepic · 2 months ago

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Your Ghost Knows Me

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: On a mission to dismantle a Hydra base, Bucky’s activation codes are triggered. And what does he do without a kill order?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: mind control; non-consensual behavior (not sexual but bodily autonomy themes); possessive behavior; gun violence (implied, not graphic); threats of violence; emotional manipulation (unintentional); PTSD; trauma responses; forced proximity; mentions of Bucky’s past; Hydra

Author’s Note: I'll never get tired of a possessive Winter Soldier!! Honestly, I should write about him more often. Anyway, this absolutely iconic request is from my sweet dear!! Thank you so much, and I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

There is always something quiet about Bucky when he looks at you before the mission begins. Quiet in the way thunder is quiet just before the crack. As if he is holding something inside himself too loud for the world.

You always say his name and he would look at you like he’s afraid to blink.

You don’t think you’re supposed to notice the way he hovers at your side. You’re not supposed to feel his shadow, stitched to your steps. But you do. You always do. Because Bucky Barnes does not know how to stay subtle. Not with you. Not when he thinks you might not make it out of this alive.

Your mission is to break into an old Hydra base with heat still humming through the walls and ghosts still hanging from the rafters.

The team drops in like rain. Controlled chaos. Clint on the left flank. Sam from above. Steve on the right flank. Nat somewhere in the dark.

You are light-footed and fast and smart and alive. Bucky stays behind you. Always behind you. Watching your six. He never lets you fall.

And you get the proof of this for the thousandth time when he throws his arm out and grabs your vest to yank you back hard enough to make you gasp. Your heart stutters in your throat. You stumble, twist, spin - and crash into him.

There was a tripwire. You almost walked into it. And Bucky saw. He sees everything.

“You okay?” He breathes, voice low, not quite touching worry but brushing the edges of it.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Thanks.”

He nods. Says nothing. Keeps moving.

You press forward into the maze of concrete and metal that is the Hydra base, gun raised, heart playing the drum in your ribs.

Bucky slows.

You glance over at him. “What is it?”

He stares at a rusted door, barely ajar. A soft static pulses from within, like an old radio dying in slow motion. The sound crawls down your spine. Your skin prickles.

“Bucky,” you start, reaching for him. “Let’s move.”

But he’s already walking toward that door with narrowed eyes.

The room is dark. Cold. Frost is on the walls like a memory that won’t let go. A machine in the corner makes low noises. Wires twitch on the floor like veins ripped from a corpse. The air stinks of metal and mildew and something old. Something wrong.

And then it speaks. A voice, thick with static, seeps out of the machine. A voice you don’t understand. Not really. You can’t make out the words, but you know them. You know what they mean.

“Желание. Ржавый.”

You spin around, heart rushing up to your ears, calling his name, but it’s too late.

“Семнадцать. Рассвет.”

Bucky stands frozen.

Stone. Steel. Silence.

His face is slack. That haunted stillness takes over.

He isn’t gone. But he isn’t Bucky anymore.

“Печь.”

His eyes go distant. Flat. His face cracks into something you’ve only seen in nightmares. No fury. No fear. Just absence.

“Доброкачественный.”

“No,” you breathe. Your heart forgets how to beat. “Bucky,” you basically yell at him. Nobody even knew there were still functioning systems here. But they’d been waiting. Planning.

“Девять.”

“Bucky please snap out of this.” You know it’s useless. You don’t know why you say it.

“Возвращение на родину.“

Your hand trembles around the grip of your weapon as you force yourself to jump out of the shock your limbs are locked in. You raise your arm and aim. You pull the trigger. One.

“Один.”

Two.

“Грузовой вагон.”

Three.

Four times.

The machine sparks. Cracks. Screams. A dozen red lights blink and die like stars going out. The voice cuts out, perhaps wanting to give a command, a final breath of Russian strangled by silence. And it slams into the room like a body.

For a heartbeat, for a breath, you think it’s over.

You hope it’s over.

But his name dies on your tongue when you turn back to him.

Bucky doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe like a man. He doesn’t look at you - he tracks you, the way a sniper does. As if you’re a piece of intel.

Sam’s voice crackles over the comms. “Hey. We heard something. Everything good over there?”

You can’t answer right away.

Your voice is lost.

Because Bucky Barnes is gone.

And the Winter Soldier is standing in his place.

It takes you a minute to explain your situation and you hear the tremor in Steve’s voice when he tells you they’re on their way.

You try to breathe around the panic growing like thorns in your chest.

You whisper his name, again and again, as if it’s a spell that might pull him back. But the Winter Soldier does not know your voice.

Does not know you.

And when Steve finally rounds the corner, face pale, shield up, Bucky growls.

Low. Subhuman. A warning without words.

“Woah, woah- easy,” Steve says, holding up a hand. He looks at you. “He’s- He’s not gone. We’ll fix this. We can bring him back.”

You don’t know how promising he tries to make this sound.

But Bucky shifts his body, in front of you.

He plants himself between you and everyone else, like a wall, like a weapon.

Like a threat.

No orders. No hesitation. Just instinct.

He scans Steve’s hands. Sam’s gun. Natasha’s eyes.

Every time someone even twitches in your direction, he angles his body tighter around you, metal hand flexing. His breathing is shallow. Sharp.

He has no words. No explanations. He doesn’t seem to need them.

You try to take a step forward, away from his back. He moves with you. You stop. So does he.

“Please,” you whisper. “Bucky. Come back.”

But he doesn’t flinch.

Not for the begging in your voice. Not for the heartbreak in your eyes.

But you know he doesn’t hear you. He only hears the ghosts in his blood. The machine in his brain. The purpose Hydra seared into his bones.

“Alright, this can’t-“ The moment Sam takes a step forward, Bucky moves.

He grabs you. Not roughly, not violently, but fully. As if the air between your bodies has never existed. As if he’s made of magnets and you’re the only thing that ever pulled him north.

His metal arm anchors around your waist, his other hand at your shoulder, your spine, your hip - everywhere, all at once. He places himself between you and the others again and makes sure to keep you there as if you are a holy thing. His breath is ragged. Feral.

“Bucky,” Steve tries. There is something pained in his tone. Also something warning. “Let her go.”

But he doesn’t listen.

Because there is nothing left to listen to.

No more commands. No more codes. No more voice in his ear.

So he seems to have written a new directive into his mind and that is you.

You are the mission now. You are the purpose, the protection, the last thing left when everything else burns.

His hand is wrapped around your wrist so tightly, it makes your breath hitch. But you don’t pull away. You can’t. There is something in his eyes. Something not Bucky but not nothing either.

Not the soldier.

Not the man.

Just this animal of loyalty. Of violence. Of need.

You try.

God, you try.

You speak to him in pieces. In whispers. In words coming from trembling lips and bruised hope.

“Bucky,” you plead.

Soft. Like maybe softness will do it. Like maybe he’ll come back to the sound of your voice wrapped in love instead of command.

But he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t let anyone near you.

Not Steve, who takes one careful step and ends up with a knife lodged in the floor in front of his foot.

Not Sam, who reaches out and gets a warning growl that raises the hairs on your arms.

Not Natasha, who tries to circle behind, quiet as a whisper - and is met with the barrel of Bucky’s gun aimed clean between her eyes.

You frantically call Bucky’s name.

“Hey- easy,” she says, voice low. “Nobody wants to harm your girl, Barnes.”

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t care.

He tightens his grip on you, fingers locking around your arm like a shackle. You try to find a piece of Bucky still breathing in there.

But all you see is possession.

He steps back into the shadows, pulling you with him, shielding you with his body as if the world is trying to take you and he’s the last wall still standing.

No one sees you now.

Because he won’t let them.

He moves you behind crates. Walls. Corners. Shadows. Always putting something between you and them. Always hiding you. Not out of shame. Not out of fear.

Out of possession.

Out of protection.

Out of a command he gave himself.

You are a mission. A precious object. A singular order sculpted into the ruins of his memory.

You hear Steve’s heavy sigh. His quiet and deep voice. The pain in it. “We need to sedate him.”

The next thing you pick up is the click of a safety releasing.

Bucky’s gun is pointed and ready.

He would kill for you right now.

He would kill them.

All of them.

Within the blink of an eye.

For you.

“No,” you croak out, voice breaking. It feels wrong to call him Bucky. It feels wrong to call him Soldat. “Please don’t! Don’t do this!”

You don’t know if it’s something in your voice or something in your tense stance against his back, but he slowly lowers his gun, slowly turns his head to stare at you.

Empty.

Unreachable.

But somehow not cold.

And then his hand rises. Flesh fingers trace your jaw. So gently it nearly breaks you.

It’s not affection. It’s assessment.

He’s checking. For wounds. For weakness. For threats, you might be hiding beneath your skin.

You breathe as if forgetting how to.

You try to shift. Just a little. Just to look behind him. Just to meet Steve’s eyes, Sam’s, Natasha’s, Clint’s - who finally got his ass here as well.

But Bucky moves. Fast.

A hand around your chin. Tilting your face back toward him.

Eyes narrow. Jaw locks.

You know what it means.

He doesn’t want you to look at them.

He doesn’t want you to speak with them.

He doesn’t want you to think of them.

You are his now.

Because something in his mind burned the world down and left you standing in the wreckage, and he needs something to hold onto. Not just anything. Not just anyone. You.

You try again.

Whispers, again.

“I have to talk to them-”

He shakes his head. Once. Sharp. Final.

“No,” he growls. Not language. Not word. Just a sound scraped from somewhere too deep and too far gone.

You flinch and he feels it.

His grip grows stiff.

Your body goes still.

He doesn’t want to hurt you. But he doesn’t let you go.

You catch the glint of Steve’s shield out of the corner of your eye.

They haven’t moved in minutes.

They’re waiting.

They’re watching.

They don’t want to hurt him either. But they will if they have to.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Don’t come closer. Don’t- don’t try to talk to me, he- he doesn’t want that.”

You hear Sam lower his weapon, just a hair. “We can’t leave you like this.”

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to pull Bucky into your arms and shake him until something clicks and he remembers you. Remembers himself.

But the Winter Soldier only seems to be remembering his duty. Violence shaped into protection.

And right now, that protection looks like isolation.

You. Alone. Tucked behind crates and corners and silence and his broad shoulders.

You speak anyway. Because you have to. Because he’s in there somewhere. Because he might not hear the others, but maybe he can still hear you.

“Bucky,” you speak. Swallow. “They’re not the enemy.”

His hand twitches on your arm.

“They’re your friends.”

He tightens his grip.

“They’re my friends.”

He releases another deep and gravelly sound.

His body is tense, electric, fury held in the cage of his bones.

“Please,” you say. You hate the sound of your own voice now. You sound like you are shattering in slow motion. “You don’t have to protect me from them. You don’t- I’m not-”

You breathe out shakily.

Your lip trembles. Your eyes sting.

Because he’s looking at you as if he would kill the whole world to keep you safe. And he doesn’t even remember who you are.

You press your forehead to his chest. His body doesn’t move.

He’s breathing faster now. His pulse thrums under your cheek.

But he lets you stay there.

That has to be something.

Behind Bucky, someone whispers your name. Carefully. Cautiously. As though if they say it wrong you’ll be ripped out of this moment and Bucky will hunt them all down.

You lift your head.

Bucky sees it.

Sees the way your eyes pull toward Sam’s voice.

Sees the way you’re still trying to hold onto them. Still reaching.

He doesn’t like that.

He hates that.

His hand finds the back of your neck. He pulls you into him, hides your face in his chest. Your shoulders lock. His body shields you like a fortress of flesh and metal and confusion. As if your gaze is a window, and he is closing the shutters.

You are not theirs anymore.

And he will not let you be.

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flowersforbucky · 11 months ago

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moth to a flame

bucky barnes x reader / winter soldier x reader

"I know you. even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

word count: 4.9k

summary: bucky is triggered into the winter soldier during a mission and then goes MIA, until he seeks you out in the middle of the night.

warnings/tags: SMUT, canon divergence (bucky hasn't been successfully deprogrammed in this), kind of dub-con, language, some violence, reader is afab, no use of y/n, friends with benefits situation, angst with a happy ending, 18+ only

“You've reached Bucky. I can't answer the phone right now but leave me a mess–”

You hang up before the voicemail recording finishes. You already knew he wasn't going to answer, just as he hasn't answered any of the other thirty-something times you've dialed his number over the course of the last few days. Or read any of the two dozen text messages.

The messages had stopped delivering and the calls had started going straight to voicemail almost two days ago at this point. And yet you still got your hopes up every time you checked your phone, only to be met with gut-wrenching, nauseating disappointment.

It had now been three days of this - not to mention picking your cuticles until they bleed, flipping back and forth between every news station on your TV in hopes (and fear) of seeing his name, a few collective hours of sleep each night, and too much Red Bull.

Just when you were thinking about trying to kick your caffeine addiction, too.

Three days of feeling completely and utterly helpless.

You place the phone back down on your coffee table, staring down at the thick, white cast encasing your left leg from your foot to just under your knee.

Useless.

You knew you were doing what you physically could - the spread of laptops and tablets on the table in front of you continuously supplying data from facial recognition programs across the United States.

Realistically, you knew he could be on the other side of the world by now, but that didn't stop you from checking. It was the only thing that you felt you had any control over right now.

But it wasn't enough. Not when Steve, Sam, Natasha, Sharon, and every other currently able-bodied team member are out scouring every safehouse and known former HYDRA base in the tri-state area while you're holed up in your apartment with a fractured fibula and a brain that won't let you stop reliving the moments before he went missing.

“This is as straightforward as it gets,” Steve re-assures you both for what felt like the dozenth time that day. “You'll be in and out in no time.”

“So straight-forward that you're going to hang back here while we do all the dirty work?” You joke as you make the final adjustments to your parachute.

“We've been monitoring this base for months,” he reminds you. “This place is as abandoned as they come. Get in, get the intel from the database, and get back to the jet.”

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Bucky adds with a devious grin.

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Steve agrees.

If only things had been as simple as he had expected.

You had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach from the moment that you and Bucky landed on the ground outside of the HYDRA base. You told yourself that you were being irrational - but you couldn't shake the looming feeling that something was going to go wrong.

“See?” Bucky says after removing the USB drive from the computer. He sticks the device in the breast pocket of his tactical vest before edging you towards the desk. “Easy-peasy. You've been worried for nothing.”

“I have not been worried,” you deny, leaning against the edge of the desk. “This place is just old, and smelly, and creepy.”

Bucky takes a step closer to you so that there's no space left between you. He places his hands on the desk on either side of you, enclosing you.

“You think that I can't tell when you're nervous?” He says quietly, studying your face. You can smell a lingering hint of cool mint from his mouthwash. “That I haven't spent enough time learning your body to read you like an open book?”

Your thighs clench together and your nipples pebble at his words. You're almost embarrassed at how easily his voice, his scent, his closeness elicits a physical response from your body. Almost.

“What I think,” you murmur against his mouth. His hands come to grip your hips as he nudges your thighs open, standing between your legs. “Is you're crazy if you're thinking about trying to fuck me in an abandoned HYDRA warehouse.”

He exhales a dramatic sigh. “You can't blame me for trying.”

“I am relieved to know that you'd even want to do that here,” you say, hopping down from where you're perched on the desk. “I really think that shows you've processed your trauma–”

You're cut off by the room going completely dark. Every light, every computer, turns to black.

Bucky's flesh hand instinctively reaches to grab your wrist in the dark, tugging you to him.

“What the fuck,” he groans under his breath.

“We need to get out of–” you start to state the obvious but close your mouth when the computer that you and Bucky had retrieved the data from turns back on.

And then a computer to the right - and then across the room - and another to the right - and one to left - until every computer is on and showing the exact same screen. Bucky's hand grips yours so tightly that it borders on being painful.

Displayed on dozens of screens throughout the room is the face of a man. A man who you've never met, but recognize immediately.

“Zola,” Bucky whispers almost inaudibly.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola addresses him with a perverted smile. “Welcome home,” his voice pours from every computer speaker throughout the room and echoes off the walls.

“Steve?” You whisper urgently, clicking on the communication device hidden in your ear. “Steve, we've got a prob–”

“There's no use in that,” Zola interrupts you. “It's too late. They're almost here.”

The following sixty seconds were a jumbled blur that you were still trying to piece together in your mind.

You remember hearing the stream of words spoken in Russian.

Longing. Rusted. Seventeen.

You remember Bucky screaming at you to run, the sound of Steve's voice in your ear telling you that back-up was on the way and asking a dozen questions that you were too overwhelmed to respond to.

Daybreak. Furnace. Nine.

You remember begging Steve to hurry. You remember pleading with Bucky to come with you to try to get away; pleading with him to just look at you, just stay with you, help is coming -

Benign. Homecoming. One.

You remember the moment that Bucky went completely still as the room was infiltrated by HYDRA agents.

Freight car.

You knew that Bucky wasn't there anymore. You could sense it in his stance, in the way he wouldn't meet your eyes, in his silence.

Before you could say anything else to him, close to a dozen HYDRA agents came barreling towards you both. He charged through them, taking down one after the next with ease, until there were just a few left standing.

It was a side of Bucky you'd never seen. You thought that you had witnessed his strength, his agility, his determination, his ruthlessness working beside him in this field - but you then saw just how much he had been holding back.

He fled past the remaining few, out the door and down the hallway of the warehouse. The agents turned to follow him, forgetting about you - until you threw a knife directly into one's neck from behind.

Another agent shot at you, the blow hitting your bulletproof vest and sending you flying backwards onto hard cement.

Before you could catch your breath, there was a sharp cracking noise and a blinding pain radiating from your lower leg - but it was short lived.

The last thing you recall is the man's boot swinging towards your face.

You woke up some number of hours later, in a hospital bed with your temple throbbing and leg elevated in a cast.

“Hey,” a soft voice calls from your right. Natasha stands up from the singular chair in the room, both concern and relief evident across her features. “You're okay,” she begins to assure you. “You have a concussion and a fractured–”

“Where's Bucky?” You interrupt her, your voice scratchy. You clear your throat. “Is he okay? Did Steve find him? Did HYDRA get–”

“HYDRA didn't get him. Steve took care of the last of the agents after him,” she stops you from rambling. There's an immediate sense of relief wash over you.

“But we haven't found him yet,” she adds carefully. “Everyone is out searching for him now. You know we won't stop until–”

A gentle knock on your apartment door snaps you back to reality.

You freeze, your heart jumping to your throat. You stand as quickly as you can manage, grabbing your crutches propped up next to you on the couch.

“It's just me,” a feminine voice calls from the other side of the door. Your heart goes from your throat to your stomach. Not him.

“I'm sorry, I should have text you first,” Natasha continues. “But I brought you food. Street tacos from–”

You turn the deadbolt and unhook the chain lock before swinging the door open.

“You look–”

“Like hammered shit?” You finish for her, nodding your head towards the inside of the apartment as indication for her to come in.

“I was going to say exhausted,” she says, walking past you with a large paper sack of take-out food. Your stomach growls at the aroma - when was the last time you ate something more than a bowl of cereal or granola bar?

“Your favorite,” she tells you, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. “Extra salsa verde and lime wedges. Have you gotten any sleep recently?” Her eyes skim across the empty energy drink cans littered around the kitchen.

You maneuver yourself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen's small island, leaning your crutches on the edge of the counter.

“Yes,” you mumble. “For forty-five minutes from 2:30 to 3:15 today.”

She lets out a long groan, rolling her eyes at you.

“You're supposed to be healing from a concussion,” she reminds you, taking a seat for herself. “Which generally doesn't include sleep deprivation and excessive use of computer screens.” She stares in the direction of the array of laptops that overcrowd the limited space of your coffee table.

“Did you find anything in Connecticut? What about Sam, is he back from New Jersey?” You ask, ignoring her concerns as you unbox your food.

“Connecticut was a dead-end,” she sighs. “We're still waiting to hear back from Sam. There's a safehouse up in Vermont that Steve wants to head to tomorrow–”

“You don't think there's a chance of him letting me tag along for that, do you?” You tap the edge of your cast against the base of the island with your foot.

Her eyes soften as she looks at you. You already knew the answer.

“I know this is really hard for you,” she says delicately. “I may not know exactly what has been going on between you and Barnes these last few months, but it's obvious you care a lot for him. We all do. We are going to find him and bring him home,” she assures you.

You nod at her in agreement, not quite trusting your voice enough to speak.

Your eyes sting as you attempt to blink away the tears that threaten to spill over. You had yet to allow yourself to spend any time crying these last few days and you didn't wish to start now.

Her words remind you that no one knows exactly why you are taking Bucky's disappearance so harshly. You assume that your friends have their suspicions about your and Bucky's arrangement but the two of you had agreed to keep it between yourselves.

They didn't know it had started off being a weekly occurrence - late Sunday evenings, your apartment. Or how it had quickly escalated from once a week to twice, and then from two times a week to three - and instead of just your apartment, it would happen anywhere the two of you had a private (and sometimes public) moment - up against the wall of the communal showers at the compound's gym, in the back of the Quinjet after missions while everyone else would be sleeping on the flight back home, even during team meetings with his hand creeping between your thighs while you try to stay quiet enough to not draw any attention to yourselves.

They didn't know you were supposed to be friends with benefits but that at some point during the days and nights spent underneath one another, the line between friends and something more became blurry for you.

You had just been too chickenshit to tell him.

Natasha sits across from you as you inhale the Mexican food that she brought you. She doesn't say anything else, just keeps you company in a comfortable silence as you eat your first legitimate meal in days.

“Thank you,” you tell her as you're finishing your food. “I appreciate you. I've been going a little crazy here by myself,” you add meekly.

“Of course.” She stands back up. “I would stay longer, but I've got to prepare for Vermont. We're leaving early in the morning.”

“Be safe. All of you,” you remind her. “Let me know if you guys find anything. Just tell me if there's anything at all I can do. And please let me know when you hear from Sam–”

“You'll be the first to know when there's anything to know,” she assures you gently.

“Thanks, Nat.”

“You just try to get some rest, okay?” She requests as she walks toward the door. “Maybe drink some water, possibly consider taking a nice, long shower…”

“Goodbye, Natasha.”

She's chuckling as she closes the door behind her.

You lower your nose to your armpit as soon as the door clicks shut, inhaling.

Maybe she makes a valid point about showering.

Half an hour later, there's a heavy rain beating against the windows of your apartment when you finish bathing. You secure a towel around your chest before yanking off the garbage bag that you had wrapped around your cast well enough for you to rinse off.

Belly full and body clean, you felt somewhat better; at least physically.

You listen to the rain pound down as you sit on the edge of the bathtub, massaging lotion into your skin, and wonder where Bucky is right now - if he's safe, if it's raining wherever he's at, if he's somewhere dry -

You come to a sudden halt in the middle of brushing your teeth. It's hard to tell over the deafening roar of the rain and your bathroom fan, but you could have sworn you heard the creaking of a door or window from your living room.

I double checked the door locks after Nat left, you rationalize to yourself. This apartment is on the fourth floor, no one is going to climb the fire escapes to–

There's an unmistakable shadow visible through the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. It's gone as quickly as it appears.

Shit. You start to panic as you realize you left your cell phone in the kitchen. As quietly as you can, you look around the small room for something to defend yourself with. A hair dryer, dental floss, a few week’s worth of dirty laundry..

You hear the creaking of floorboards as footsteps seem to creep closer and closer to the bathroom door.

Crutches. You have two crutches. You can clobber them with your crutches.

“I can hear you,” you call to whoever is just beyond the door. “I know you’re out there.”

Silence. No hint of any further movement.

You place one crutch under your left armpit for support, keeping the other one ready to wield as a weapon. “You have ten seconds to get out of my apartment,” you say a bit louder, willing your voice not to waver. “I have a weapon.”

Yeah, a weapon. If you can call it that.

Ten seconds come and go, followed by another ten seconds.

You weren’t going to let someone play this game with you in your own home.

Taking one last deep breath and tightening your grip on the defense crutch, you sling the bathroom door open quickly.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim, immediately relaxing your weight against the crutches, releasing the death grip that you had on your uninjured side.

It’s dark in your bedroom save for a few pale orange string lights hung around your bed frame and the light that spills in from the bathroom, but you would recognize his broad frame anywhere.

“Thank fuck you’re okay,” you exhale, swinging yourself over to where he stands at the foot of your bed. When you’re a little over a foot away from him, you realize he’s sopping wet - his hair dripping water droplets and his skin dewy. His clothing, the same clothing that you last saw him in three days ago, clings to his body like a second skin.

He remains still as a statue, and as silent as one.

“Are you okay?” You ask him apprehensively. You give him a once over, from head to toe. You don't see any noticeable injuries, but he is trembling.

“Bucky?” You ask in a small voice.

His lips are set in a hard line. He doesn't answer, just stares at you. Stares at you like he’s trying to figure out why he’s here.

Stares at you like he’s trying to decide if he knows you or not.

The immense relief that you had felt at knowing he's alive is washed away by a sinking feeling.

His eyes trail from your face and slowly down your towel-clad body. He pauses when he gets to your foot, glancing back and forth from your cast to the crutches on either side. His brows furrow together - almost like he's in pain.

“I'm okay,” you assure him in a shaky voice. “It's just a fracture,” you explain. “I'll be healed in no time.”

You notice that his features relax a bit at your words - just enough to give you hope that Bucky, your Bucky, is in there and he's listening to you.

Do whatever you have to do to keep him here. Don't let him out of your sight. Help him remember who he is, your inner monologue screams at you. Just don't let him run away again.

“Are you cold?” You ask him. You're not necessarily expecting him to answer, you're just trying to put him at ease. “How about we get you some dry clothes?” You add, nodding towards his drenched henley.

You retreat into the bathroom, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he'd left over the last time he had stayed the night - the night before he went missing. They were at the top of the laundry basket - maybe not the cleanest, but better that the wet, dirty clothing he's in currently.

You limp your way back over to where he stands at your bed, leaning against the mattress for support. You set your crutches down and hand him the shirt and pants, which he hesitantly accepts. He makes no move to remove the wet clothes from his body, instead gently places the dry clothes onto the mattress beside him.

“Would you like some help?” you offer cautiously, terrified of doing anything that could cause him to run. You slowly reach towards the clothing that he had just placed on the bed, but he stops you before you can pick the t-shirt back up - grasping your wrist in his vibranium hand.

You can’t stop the small gasp that escapes past your lips. His hold on you is firm, but not painful. You could rip your hand from him if you wanted to - but you don’t.

Instead, you let him hold your hand as he begins to rub his metal thumb in a circular motion next to yours. You’re frozen; watching him carefully as he examines the movements his metal digit makes on your skin.

The goosebumps that appear in the wake of his touch don’t go unnoticed by him. His eyes trail from where his hand holds yours and up the expanse of your arm, until they land on your exposed neck. The towel covering your midsection has started to come loose, hanging low enough to reveal the top of your breasts.

He drops your hand, taking a step closer to you. You have to remind yourself to breathe - your Bucky is in there. Your Bucky, who is gentle, and soft, and would never do anything to cause you harm.

You have to trust that.

He brings his vibranium fingers up to the edge of the towel, trailing them across the mounds of your breasts. Your nipples harden right away, visible through the thin material of the towel.

You would let this play out however he wants it to. However he needs it to.

When his index finger stops where the towel is tucked into itself at your side, you forget how to breathe. He pauses for a split-second before unhooking the cloth and letting it fall to your feet.

He drinks in the sight of you bare before him, his jaw clenched and pupils dilated.

Dozens of times he has seen you like this, and never have you felt so completely vulnerable under his gaze.

And still there's a slickness gathering at the apex of your thighs.

He brings his flesh hand to your waist, putting the faintest bit of pressure against your skin. You close your eyes at the sensation - he's barely fucking touching you and you could melt into him.

Your name falls off of his lips - it's barely even a whisper, nearly inaudible but unmistakable. Your name. He remembers your name.

“Bucky,” your voice cracks when you whisper his own name back to him. His eyes snap up to yours, a mix of realization and hesitation brewing in them.

You bring both of your hands to the tail of his wet shirt, giving him time to pull away before you start to tug the shirt upwards. He doesn't stop you - in fact, he raises his own arms to help you tug the soaked fabric off of him. You toss the shirt in the general direction of your bathroom.

You didn't think there would ever come a time that the sight of him getting naked for you wouldn't make you want to drool.

You unsnap the button of his tactical pants, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time, hyper-analyzing his expression for any sign of reluctance.

You dip your fingers past the waistband of his boxers, his eyes fluttering closed as your hand travels lower.

He's already fully hard as you hold him, stroking him as best you can from inside the confines of his underwear and pants. You pump him in your hand and his head rolls back so that he's looking up at your ceiling.

Fuck, it takes all the restraint you possess to resist leaning forward and sucking on his neck.

Another time, you tell yourself, anxious about overwhelming him.

He curses under his breath - something in Russian that you don't recognize but the expression on his face indicates it to be a praise. There's a shift in his initially reserved, unsure demeanor when you begin to pump him faster.

His head snaps back down, his eyes raking up and down your body once more before he brings his hands to your lower back, maneuvering you against the bed.

You scoot until your back comes in contact with the cool satin of your pillows, relaxing into the bedding. At last Bucky begins to shed the layers of wet clothing covering his lower half, not taking his eyes off of your body as he removes his boots, followed by his pants and boxers.

He kneels on the mattress, crawling above where you lay. You want nothing more than to grab him by the shoulders and pull his mouth to yours, but you are going to let him call the shots.

He nudges your thighs apart with his knee, nestling himself between your legs. He grasps your breast in his vibranium hand, giving it a firm squeeze before rolling your nipple between his icy fingers.

He lowers himself so that he's belly down on your mattress, his face inches away from your pussy. He removes his hand from your breast and you let out a small whimper of disappointment at the abrupt lack of sensation. He uses that same hand to hike your uninjured leg over his shoulder, securing his head between the soft interior of your thighs.

He kisses you, starting at your belly button and working his way to your center. His lips feel like fire against your skin. You keep your hips planted firmly on the bed, fighting the urge to thrust your pussy up to his face.

“Please,” you whine. “Bucky, please.” You swear you can see the faintest trace of a smirk that looks so undeniably Bucky.

You clench your thighs around his face and he lets out a low, guttural groan as his mouth makes contact with you.

Normally, Bucky closes his eyes while he's going down on you - gets completely lost in it. Right now, his eyes are wide open - making sure he doesn't miss the way your mouth gapes when he rolls his tongue around your clit and the way your chest heaves when he nudges his tongue inside you.

You don't know which you find hotter.

You can already feel the tightening of a coil in your lower belly, making it impossible to resist rolling your hips to meet the torturous pace he's set with his tongue. You grind against his face, the thin layer of stubble that's grown across his jaw since you last saw him scratching against the sensitive flesh around your cunt.

You're approaching your climax when he pulls away, making you mewl at the loss of contact. His face glistens with your slick.

He flips you onto your side, placing you on your left side so that your injured leg rests against the mattress. You prop your head up with your hand as he slides in behind you.

His chest presses against your back, the heat of his body warming you all over. His flesh hand juts between your thighs, raising your right leg high enough for him to slap his cock against your pussy.

He strokes himself in his hand while he teases your folds - lubricating himself with your juices.

You turn your head to look at him right as he sheaths himself inside you, filling you entirely in one swift motion.

Fuck, you have to taste yourself on him. You can't handle not having his mouth on yours for another second.

You tilt your head back enough to connect your mouth to his - every worry you once had about coming on too strong and overwhelming him melts away as he opens his mouth for you, moving his lips against yours in an effortless rhythm.

He starts slow, quickly working up to a rapid pace as he repeatedly slams into your cervix from the sweetest angle. The sounds that you're making for him are pornographic - moaning into his mouth as his flesh hand comes around your front, landing on your engorged clitoris. He rubs languid circles while he continues to pound into you from behind.

You pull your lips away from his when you feel your orgasm building. “You always make me feel so good, you know that?” You ask him breathily, your mouth now right next to his ear.

“Every time you fuck me, I'm more sure that no one could ever compare to you. You've ruined me for everyone else. There’s only you for me.”

“Fuck,” he curses and groans your name again - it's the closest he's sounded to his normal self, which only spurs you on.

“I’ve become so fucking addicted to you in such a short amount of time,” you say in between moans as the head of his cock hits your sweet spot just right. “Think about you anytime you're not near me, drives me fucking crazy.”

He flips you - doesn't pull out - so that you're now underneath him. He goes right back to the same brutal pace, bringing his flesh hand to cradle your face as he stares down at you.

Clarity - you recognize it plain as day on his features.

He gives you a few more fast, hard thrusts before you're milking his cock through your orgasm. You crash your lips to his and he's coming - filling you up with his warm seed as he kisses you senseless.

He gradually stills inside you, his body going limp on top of yours as he rests his face in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around him, peppering kisses across his scarred shoulder, where flesh meets metal.

“I'm so sorry if I scared you,” he murmurs against the sweat-slicked skin of your throat after a moment. “I wasn't myself. Not even entirely sure how I ended up here - it's like I was pulled in this direction - to you,” he sighs.

You're overcome with such an immense relief at hearing him speak that you could cry. You tighten your hold around him, rubbing your hands up and down his back.

“You could never scare me, Bucky,” you assure him. He pulls out of you, rolling off of you onto the bed beside you and tugging you to his chest. Your cheek rests just over his heart.

"I know you. Even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks for reading! as always comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one-shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction

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vunblr · 5 months ago

Text

Toy Soldier (part 1)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings:Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Eventual Smut. Dark Content: Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con (both characters as victims).

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Word Count: 5.6.k.

notes: Even though this fic will include the tone I usually maintain in my stories, there will be flashbacks to unpleasant events that might be triggering. Please read the warnings carefully, and if I’ve missed any, feel free to let me know. More tags will be added in the future.

Masterlist

The cell reeked of bleach and iron, a suffocating blend of sterility and blood. She sat huddled in a corner with her knees drawn to her chest, shaking from the lingering aftershocks of what they had made her do mere hours ago. A steel table in the center of the room bore the evidence: blood-soaked rags, reinforced restraints, and instruments that glinted menacingly under the harsh light.

The door creaked open, and she flinched instinctively. Her pulse quickened as they rolled him in on a gurney, his body was impossibly broken again, but somehow, still alive. The Winter Soldier. His mask was cracked, exposing a bruised cheekbone, his metallic arm hung at an unnatural angle, wires sparking like dying fireflies. His tactic suit was shredded, revealing deep gashes that glistened with dark blood.

"Fix him," the handler barked, void of empathy. He tossed a clipboard onto the table, detailing every injury, every broken bone, every expectation to her work. "We need him ready by morning."

She didn’t move at first. She never did. But the familiar press of a gun muzzle against her temple jolted her into action. They didn’t tolerate hesitation.

Her bare feet slapped against the cold tiles as she approached the table. Soldat’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his blue eyes were half-lidded and glassy, staring past her into the abyss. She wondered, briefly, if he even felt the pain anymore, or if the agony had simply become a part of him, stitched into his body like the scars of the wounds she was forced to erase.

She laid her trembling hands over his chest, cutting the remnants of the suit and rushing her power forward like a tide, knitting sinew, mending fractures, restoring what should have been allowed to rest. His body convulsed as the healing process awakened raw nerve endings. He groaned low in his throat, a sound of both relief and torment and her eyes burned with unshed tears.

"Good pet," the handler sneered, patting her head, "Keep going."

As the minutes dragged into hours, her hands moved mechanically, weaving muscle and bone back into place. Every touch drew more from her, siphoning her strength to pour life into a body that shouldn’t be able to withstand such brutality. The process left her light-headed, and her vision started blurring at the edges, but she didn’t dare falter. They would notice. They always noticed.

As her hands pressed over a jagged wound on his side, a faint tremor ran through his body. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven, and his eyes fluttered open. Glassy and unfocused at first, they slowly, impossibly, found her. A vacant gaze, yet somehow piercing, locked onto her face as if trying to understand who she was and what she was doing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words spilling out before she could stop them. She kept her voice low, trembling, her fingers brushing the edge of the wound as she worked. “I don’t want to do this. I’m sorry.”

His gaze didn’t falter, even as she murmured the apology again, with a cracking voice. He didn’t speak -he probably couldn’t- but the weight of his stare felt like an answer. He knew. Somehow, he knew.

More time passed, and the room emptied. The guards left her alone with him, trusting her to finish her work under the ever-present cameras. The sterile silence closed in around them. She wiped the sweat from her brow and whispered again, “I’m sorry,” her voice breaking completely now. “I’m sorry for all of it.”

Soldat blinked slowly, almost as if acknowledging her words, but his body remained still. Her fingers lingered over his shoulder where fresh skin covered what had been a deep gash, and couldn’t stop herself from caressing his bloodied temple before going back to mend him.

By the time she finished, her legs felt like water, barely holding her upright. The Soldat’s breathing had evened, the jagged cuts on his skin replaced by fresh, pale scars. His metal arm still hung limp, but it wasn’t her area of expertise. He looked human again, or as close to human as Hydra would ever allow him to be. She allowed herself to caress him again as if that gentle touch could make up for what her actions on his body entailed, his endless torment.

When the door creaked open, the spell was broken. The handler barked a question she didn’t hear over the roaring in her ears. Then he stepped forward, inspecting her work with a critical eye. He tugged at Soldat’s extremities and poked his body, then he turned to her with a smile that chilled her blood.

“Well done,” he said, sickeningly sweet. “See? You’re still useful. You’ve earned yourself another day.”

The words felt like a slap, a grim reminder of her reality. She wasn’t a person to them. She was a tool, an extension of their will, just as much a prisoner as the man she had just saved. Her power was her curse, chaining her to a life of servitude. And for what? To keep the Winter Soldier standing. To ensure he could carry out their dirty work, kill their enemies, and endure whatever horrors they deemed necessary for him to endure.

The handler gestured to the guards. “Take her back. She’ll need her strength for tomorrow.”

They grabbed her arms, dragging her toward the door. Soldat's eyes shifted for a moment, trailing her as they walked her out, his gaze still glazing but faintly flickering with awareness. Then the door slammed behind her, sealing them both back into their respective hells.

----

The cryopreservation always left her disoriented, the passage of time reduced to a murky void of nothingness. Days, months, years, they blurred together into a haze she couldn’t untangle. Based on the count of the meager breakfasts slid through the cell door, it had been two days since they’d pulled her from the tube. Her body still ached from the cold, and the numbness clung stubbornly to her limbs.

When the metallic clank of the cell door jolted her from her thoughts, she instinctively tensed. Two guards stood there, gesturing sharply for her to follow.

The halls they guided her through were unfamiliar. These weren’t the sterile corridors leading to the medical bay. These walls were darker and the air was heavier, and the faint hum of machinery was replaced by an unsettling silence. Confused, she knit her brows but swallowed the urge to ask.

When they descended a narrow staircase, her stomach sank. The flickering lights cast long shadows against concrete walls. They passed rows of heavy metal doors, each marked with faint rust and grime. No cells with bars, no windows, just solid slabs of steel.

Her breath hitched when they stopped in front of a door near the end of the corridor. One guard yanked it open with a screech that set her teeth on edge. The other shoved her forward, barking a single command: “Fix it.”

The door slammed shut behind her, and the sound echoed in the cramped room. She stood frozen, since the stench hit her like a physical blow: blood, sweat, semen, and something else she couldn’t place.

Her gaze darted around the sparse room. A cot pushed against one wall. A table cluttered with ominous instruments. And in the corner, barely illuminated by the flickering overhead bulb, the Soldat.

Her breath left her in a shaky exhale as she took him in. He was curled into himself, naked, trembling despite the heat radiating from his abused flesh. Blood and cum stained his thighs, while bruises painted his skin in grotesque patterns. His wrists and ankles bore the raw marks of restraints, and burns and welts layered over old scars, turning his body into a tapestry of pain.

But it was his face that shattered her. A blank mask with hollow and distant wet eyes, haunted by whatever horrors had left him in this state.

She forced herself to move. When her shadow fell over him, his head snapped up and his vacant blue eyes locked onto hers. The movement was sharp and instinctive, but he didn’t lash out, didn’t flinch. He simply stared, as though he were looking through her rather than at her.

She paused for a moment, crouching to his level, resting her hands lightly on her knees. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice steady. “I’m here to help you.”

He didn’t respond. The haunted emptiness in his expression pierced her chest. He didn’t deserve this. “I know,” she said softly, inching closer. “I know it hurts. I’ll do what I can.”

She reached for him carefully, brushing his arm. His muscles tensed under her touch, but he didn’t pull away. Gently, she guided his arm away from where he’d been clutching his side, revealing the bruises and burns scattered across his flesh. Her stomach churned, but her hands remained steady. She had no room for hesitation, no time to falter.

As she worked, she whispered to him, not apologies this time, but reassurances. “I’m with you now, I’ll make this right, even if it’s only for now.”

As expected, he didn’t speak, didn’t move beyond the involuntary twitches of his battered body. But his eyes stayed on her, betraying a silent acknowledgment, a fragile thread of trust.

She tried to focus on the burns on his chest, the raw welts along his ribs, anything but the bruises and blood marking his inner thighs. But eventually, she had no choice. The damage there couldn’t be ignored. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she shifted closer, and her hands trembled for the first time that day.

She couldn’t comprehend it. Couldn’t understand how anyone could twist a man into this, into something pliable, stripped of will, used like a puppet for their every vile whim. The red book and the chair had shattered his mind, and then they’d wielded that power not only to carry out their heinous crimes but also to satiate their carnal perversions.

“Soldat,” she said softly as she crouched closer. “I need to see the rest.”

His chest started to rise and fall in shallow breaths. His lip was caught between his teeth, bitten hard enough to draw blood. The distant, vacant expression he’d worn before had given way to something else now, resignation, or shame.

“I know,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I know it's private -should it be-, and it hurts a lot… but I promise I’ll make it better, yes?”

Her tone was as soft as she could make it, the kind someone might use with a frightened child. For a moment, there was nothing. Then he exhaled and shifted ever so slightly, granting her access. The movement wasn’t much, but it spoke volumes. He didn’t fight her. He didn’t resist. Even now, after everything, he complied.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her hands moved carefully, brushing his battered flesh with as much gentleness as she could muster. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her focus on the healing, not on the tears threatening to spill over. Every touch she had to make felt like another betrayal of his dignity, but she couldn’t leave him like this, they wouldn’t leave him like this.

“It’s not fair,” she said under her breath “Fuck, it’s not fair.”

Every so often, her gaze flicked to his face, but he didn’t look at her this time. His eyes were closed, and his body was eerily still except for the faint shudder of his breathing.

—-

Some days, she wondered if he resented her. If he was even capable of that. She wasn’t the one inflicting the pain, wasn’t the one abusing him, but she was the one who ensured he survived it. She pieced him together, over and over, a cruel kind of mercy that prolonged his torment. Without her, they wouldn’t have been able to keep breaking him the way they did.

It haunted her.

Sometimes, it seemed like he remembered her. On the rare occasions when his body was whole and he wasn’t immediately dragged back out for another mission or another “session,” his vacant gaze would linger on her. Just a flicker of recognition in those haunted blue eyes, something that made her wonder if, somewhere beneath the chaos they’d inflicted on his mind, a part of him knew who she was.

Other times, he didn’t seem to know her at all. He would stare past her like she wasn’t even there. She didn’t know which was worse: the possibility that he hated her or the possibility that he didn’t think of her at all.

-----

Nine years had passed since her escape from their clutches. Nine years since Captain America and his team put down Pierce and dismantled Hydra’s plans, the Soldat went missing and she got away in the chaos of the fight.

In the early days, survival had been a constant struggle. She’d wandered aimlessly at first, her coarse, prison-like clothes drawing stares from strangers who gave her a wide berth. The world was unrecognizable: a kaleidoscope of flashing screens, roaring cars, and people glued to strange, glowing devices. Everything felt faster, louder, and infinitely more confusing than the world she remembered.

For a couple of days, she kept to the shadows, but the hunger and desperation eventually pushed her to the edge. One night, trembling and exhausted, she walked into a police station. The officer at the front desk glanced at her with a mixture of suspicion and concern, likely wondering if she had escaped from a mental institution. And maybe, in a way, she had. She tried to explain, spilling out her words in a garbled mess of decades-old trauma. She told them about being taken, about Hydra, about the years spent in cryo. The officer raised a skeptical eyebrow and asked her to sit while he "sorted things out."

She knew they didn’t believe her. Not until one of the younger officers, fresh off patrol, walked in with a nasty road burn on his arm. She didn’t think, just acted. In seconds, the wound knitted itself back together under her glowing hands. The room fell silent, every set of eyes fixed on her in a mix of fear and awe.

From there, things moved quickly. The police dug into her story, and to everyone’s shock, her name and photo flagged a cold case from October 1962, a missing person report filed by her family. A woman who had disappeared without a trace, and presumed dead after two years of fruitless searching.

But what the police uncovered was too big for them to handle alone. They passed her case to federal authorities, and soon, she found herself in the hands of people who promised her a fresh start, though she quickly learned that nothing came without strings attached.

The feds helped her establish a new identity, gave her a place to live, and taught her how to navigate the modern world. In exchange, she worked for them using her mutant powers to heal injuries, aid covert operations, and clean up the messes no one else could.

Still, the past lingered in her mind, haunting her in the quiet moments. She often wondered what had become of the Winter Soldier, since freedom, she realized, was not the same as peace.

In the years that followed, she began piecing the fragments of her past into the puzzle of the present. The world had changed in ways she struggled to comprehend, yet she adapted, carving out a relatively ‘normal’ existence.

Then, one day, she heard his name.

James Buchanan Barnes.

She learned about him in bits and pieces from news reports and whispered conversations among the people she worked with. Steve Rogers' best friend. The Winter Soldier.

The details unfolded like a tragic epic: framed in a terrorist attack, slipping under the radar, fighting in Wakanda, only to vanish in the Blip. And then, five years later, he returned. His face, no longer the blank mask of the Soldat, appeared on screens everywhere as the government pardoned him under strict conditions: mandatory therapy and restricted accommodations, a leash that kept him just shy of true freedom.

She watched every news segment, every interview. He wasn’t the weapon she remembered. There was something different in his eyes. Half-masked pain, certainly, but also humanity. He was trying, struggling to reclaim himself, to exist in a world that only knew him as a ghost or a monster.

It wasn’t an obsession. At least, that’s what she told herself. It was curiosity, concern, a connection she couldn’t sever no matter how hard she tried. Because no one else could understand what they’d been through. No one else had seen the depths of his torment, or felt the same chains biting into their skin.

She hadn’t planned to ever contact him. The idea terrified her. For all she knew, his fractured mind might not even remember her. Worse, maybe he did and resented her for the role she’d played, for the way she’d prolonged his torment under Hydra’s commands. Those thoughts were enough to keep her at a distance, safely watching from the shadows of her new life.

But life and destiny had their ways of unraveling carefully laid plans.

-----

Her work with Sam Wilson had started as another government assignment, one of many designed to keep her powers useful and her secrets buried. Yet, somewhere along the way, it had turned into something more. A friendship. He didn’t know about her past -no one did, actually-. He only knew the version of her life the government had scripted, a fabricated identity polished to perfection.

Leaving that aside, she liked him. He had a way of making her feel less like a displaced ghost and more like a person. Sometimes, they hung out after missions, sharing laughs over beers or stories about the ridiculous situations they found themselves in. And when he came back from a mission bruised or limping, she always tried to help.

That friendship had led her here, to a bustling backyard party, with warm laughter and music filling the air. Sam’s birthday celebration. She had accepted his invitation without thinking much of it, expecting a relaxed evening with a few familiar faces. What she hadn’t expected was to see him.

Standing at the drinks table, not the Winter Soldier, not the cold, empty Soldat she remembered, but James. His shoulders were relaxed, his hair shorter, and his blue eyes clearer than she’d ever seen them. He looked... alive in a way that left her breathless. For a moment, she froze, and her stomach twisted into knots. But there was no turning back now.

Not when he lifted his face after grabbing a glass of soda, only to find her mere inches away, rooted in place and staring at him like a rabbit in the middle of the road.

Her breath caught, and the world around them seemed to fade into a blur of laughter and music as his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The faintest flicker of something -recognition? confusion?- crossed his face. The glass in her hand suddenly felt heavy, and she tightened her grip around it as her heart raced.

“H-hi,” she managed to mutter, almost lost beneath the hum of the party.

He tilted his head slightly, deliberately, as if weighing her. For a long, agonizing moment, he simply looked at her with an unreadable expression. Then his lips parted, and a single word escaped from them, low and hoarse.

“You.”

Her stomach dropped while her mind scrambled for a response. Did he remember her? Or was it just the way her face stirred a distant and fractured memory?

“I-” she started, but the words tangled in her throat.

His gaze darted over her, taking her in: the way she clutched the glass like a lifeline, the way her shoulders tensed, the way she made one step back as though retreating was an option.

Sam’s voice cut through the moment, cheerful and oblivious. “Hey, Buck! Flirting already with one of my girls?”

Bucky flinched, the spell breaking as he snapped his gaze toward Sam, stiffening his posture. “I’m not f-”

“Don’t be a dick with her,” Sam interrupted, grinning as if he were the greatest matchmaker alive. “She’s good people. Y/n, this is Bucky, a pain in the ass but a good friend. Bucky, this is Y/n.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his expression still unreadable as his eyes flicked back to her. He didn’t speak, didn’t offer a hand or a smile, just narrowed his eyes slightly, like he was trying to solve a riddle only he could see.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her instincts screamed at her to move, to flee, to escape his scrutiny before his fractured memories pieced her together.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and forced her lips into what she hoped was a polite and not-too-awkward smile. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice much steadier than she felt.

Bucky studied her for a moment longer. Finally, he gave a slight nod, stepping back as though he’d decided she wasn’t worth the effort of figuring out. “Yeah. Same,” he muttered before turning to leave.

As he moved away, she exhaled, a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her grip on the glass trembled, the adrenaline coursing through her leaving her both relieved and strangely disappointed.

“Don’t take it personally,” Sam intervened, leaning in with a knowing smirk. “He specializes in a heterogeneous game of staring, brooding, and groaning. Dry comments here and there, too.”

She let out a soft, nervous laugh, grateful for the break in tension. “Good to know,” she murmured, still gripping the glass tightly.

Sam patted her shoulder with the easy camaraderie of someone who had no idea the weight of the moment that had just passed. “He’s not so bad once you get past all the walls. Might take a while to crack that nut, but hey, who knows?”

-----

Two months later, Sam called her for a job.

“It’s a simple mission,” he’d explained. “Poland. The higher-ups want you to stay at the safehouse most of the time in case something goes wrong, but if we need someone to move unnoticed -play tourist, fetch intel- they figured you’re our best bet.”

She hesitated for a beat, her instincts screaming at her to say no this time. But she had never ditched a mission before and Sam will be there, so she agreed.

When she climbed aboard the military plane early the next morning, with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she almost turned around and fled.

Bucky was already sitting there, strapped into his seat, with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was as closed off as ever, and his gaze was fixed somewhere on the cabin wall. Her stomach dropped, and before her brain could process what she was doing, she turned sharply on her heel and headed straight for the cockpit.

The pilots greeted her with raised brows, clearly surprised to see her there before takeoff. She forced a nervous smile, chatting with them about flight logistics, weather conditions, anything to stretch the time and delay the inevitable.

“Shouldn’t you be back in the cabin?” one of them asked eventually, glancing at her curiously.

“Just thought I’d keep you company,” she replied, slightly strained.

The hum of the plane’s engines growing louder reminded her she couldn’t hide forever. She exhaled deeply, gripping the doorframe. Maybe, she could slip into some corner, unnoticed once the plane was in the air.

But life wasn’t so kind.

“Sam’s voice came loud and clear, calling her. “C’mon, you’re holding us up!”

Bucky’s head turned, locking his sharp gaze onto her the moment she entered. His expression didn’t shift -no frown, no surprise- but what she saw in those blue eyes made her knees threaten to buckle.

She forced herself to take a steadying breath. “Hi,” she greeted the two men quickly, her voice barely above a murmur, before moving to the furthest seat she could find.

Her hands fumbled as she pulled a book from her bag, flipping it open without even checking the page. She pretended to read, scanning the same line over and over as if the words might somehow shield her from the weight of Bucky’s stare.

Sam furrowed his brows, glancing between them with a mix of confusion and curiosity. He’d been prepared for the usual brooding and disagreements from Bucky -his default settings on most missions- but he’d expected her to be more engaged. She’d always been sharp and chatty, quick to offer solutions or crack a joke, but now she seemed... distant.

He leaned toward Bucky, “Did you scare her off already before I got here?”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed sidelong glance. “I didn’t say a word.”

Sam, determined to break the awkward silence, leaned back in his seat and raised his voice. “Alright, we’re stuck in this tin can for the next few hours. Someone better start talking, or I’m gonna make us all play twenty questions.”

She forced a small smile, though her eyes remained glued to the book. “You win. I’m reading.”

He huffed dramatically, shaking his head. “Tough crowd.” Then he turned back to Bucky. “Guess it’s just you and me, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t respond, his gaze flicking toward her briefly before settling on the wall ahead. His expression remained impassive, but his metal fingers tapped against his thigh, the only sign of some internal debate.

-----

After a while, Sam, ever persistent, leaned forward, and turned to her “So,” he started, casually but probing, “you ever been to Poland in other mission before? Got any recommendations for pierogi spots or are we flying blind here?”

She hesitated, tightening slightly her fingers on the edge of her book. Avoiding interaction had been her plan, but the pointed look Sam sent her way made it clear he wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

Finally, she closed the book with a soft sigh, forcing herself to meet his expectant gaze. “No, never been,” she replied, cautious. “Though I think I read somewhere Kraków’s old town is nice.”

Sam grinned, seizing the opportunity. “Kraków, huh? I’ll take that as a vote to play tourist if we get the chance. “Maybe you can even guide us, seeing as you’re good at blending in.”

“I doubt we’ll have time, Sammy,” she said quickly, trying to deflect.

“Oh, come on,” Sam teased, leaning back in his seat with an exaggerated grin. “You’re one of the friendliest people I know. You’ll probably charm us into some exclusive spots. Earn your keep!”

She let out a soft, nervous laugh, shaking her head. “I think you’ve mistaken ‘friendly’ for ‘quiet enough not to get in trouble.’”

Sam smirked, undeterred. “Nah, you’ve got that vibe. People trust you, and open up to you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you walk away with more intel than anyone else.”

Her fingers tensed slightly on the edge of her book, but she forced herself to smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment... I think.”

“It is,” Sam replied, his tone warm and easy. “And I’m just saying, if we do get downtime, we’re counting on you to find the good spots.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she managed to say, though her stomach churned under Bucky’s relentless stare.

He hadn’t said a word, but the weight of his gaze made every exchange feel heavier like he was dissecting her responses, searching for cracks in her calm facade. She refused to look at him, focusing instead on Sam’s cheerful grin.

Sam clapped his hands together. “That’s the spirit. See, Buck? She’s already proving more useful than you.”

Bucky huffed, the barest flicker of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before disappearing. “Yeah, well, let’s see if she’s still useful when things go south.”

Her stomach tightened at his words, though she kept her face carefully neutral. It wasn’t outright hostility, but the skepticism in his tone felt like a challenge, a warning wrapped in a dry comment.

Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Man, you’ve gotta work on your people skills. Not everyone you meet is gonna double-cross you, you know.”

Bucky didn’t respond and bit his lower lip as he looked away, clearly done with the conversation.

She forced a small smile, trying to defuse the tension. “I think he’s just saying I should prove myself first.”

Sam shot her an encouraging look. “You don’t need to prove anything to him. Trust me, you’re good-”

“Sam,” Bucky intervened almost dryly. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. This isn’t sightseeing. It’s a mission. If she’s not-”

“I can handle myself,” she interrupted, managing to keep her voice steady despite the sudden rush of heat to her face.

The fact that she addressed directly to him got Bucky’s attention. He turned, locking his gaze onto hers, and for a moment, the silence between them felt heavier than the thrum of the plane’s engines.

“Guess we’ll find out,” he murmured, leaning back slightly in his seat. He kept staring at her sharply and unyielding. After a beat of silence, he added, “And, actually, what exactly do you do?”

Fuck.

The question wasn’t casual, she could see it in the way his eyes stayed fixed on her, a glint of something just beneath the surface. He knew. He was waiting for her to say it, to confirm what he already remembered but was pretending not to.

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking between them. “Bucky, come on. She’s solid, alright? I wouldn’t bring her along if she wasn’t.”

Bucky didn’t even glance at him. His attention stayed locked on her. “I didn’t say she wasn’t solid. Just curious what her... specialty is.”

She forced herself to take a steadying breath. If he wanted to play coy, fine. Two could play that game.

“I’m good at staying unnoticed,” she said, feigning a casual tone “Recon, blending in, getting intel…” She shrugged lightly, as though explaining her skill set was just a routine part of the job.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in faint amusement. “That it?”

She gave him a polite smile, curling her fingers around the edge of the book on her lap. “Well, I’ve been told I’m handy in a pinch. Let’s just say I’ve got a knack for fixing things.”

His lips quirked, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fixing things, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied smoothly, ignoring the way her heart raced under his scrutiny. “Little cuts, scrapes, that kind of thing. Nothing too fancy.”

Sam, oblivious to the subtle tension between them, chuckled. “Don’t let her undersell it. She devours. Saved my ass more than once, you wouldn’t believe the absolute carnage I've seen her mend.”

“Good to know,” Bucky commented, with his gaze still locked on her. There was something in his eyes -something sharp-, almost daring her to break first, but she didn’t flinch.

“Just doing my job.” She added, her eyes still glued to the unreadable baby blues.

Bucky leaned back, the corner of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to say more but decided against it.

Sam glanced between them. “It's pretty early for a staring contest.”

She didn’t answer; she just smiled at him and returned her focus to the book. He remembered, she was sure of it.

Still, if he wanted her to confirm it outright, he’d have to try harder. For now, she’d play his game, and she was determined to win.

-----

The safehouse was a two-bedroom apartment in an old building that groaned with every step. It was cramped but functional, the kind of place that wouldn’t draw attention. As they settled in, Sam tossed his bag onto one of the worn couches and stretched like a cat.

“Alright,” he said, grinning at her. “Do us all a favor and work your magic in the kitchen. I haven’t had a proper meal in weeks, and I can’t survive on takeout and those protein bars Bucky packs.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. Cooking would give her something to focus on, and it was the perfect excuse to isolate for a couple of hours.

“Fine, let’s see what I can do,” she muttered, scurrying inside the kitchen.

“You’re the best!” Sam called, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll be back soon, gotta meet a contact nearby. You two... play nice.”

The sound of the door closing made her grimace. She exhaled slowly, tying an old apron on her waist as she dug through the sparse pantry and fridge. Within minutes, she was chopping some potatoes, humming Animals while she was at it, because fuck it all.

She felt the weight of his gaze pressed against her back like a physical thing before she heard him. He stood in the kitchen doorway, quiet and unmoving, a presence impossible to ignore.

Her grip on the knife tightened, but she didn’t turn around. “Need something?”

“No.” The simple word carried so much weight that it made her pause mid-cut.

She exhaled slowly and resumed her task. “Then why are you standing there?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretched until it became almost unbearable.

“You’re good at it.”

Her hand froze. “At what?”

“Pretending.”

She forced herself to keep chopping, while her pulse hammered in her ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” His tone didn’t carry malice, but the words felt heavier than any accusation. He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. “I remember you.”

Her chest tightened, and the room suddenly felt smaller. “You’re mistaken,” she said flatly.

“I’m not.” He took another step forward. His tone was soft, but the words were unrelenting. “You were there. Hydra.”

Next Chapter ->

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alisonwritesimagines · 1 month ago

Text

Delicate ~Bucky Barnes Imagine~

Summary: You first meet The Winter Soldier persona that Bucky worked so hard to hide.

Author’s Note: This is more of a prequel to this imagine.

Part Two | Part Three

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings/Tags: mentions of mind control, grumpy x sunshine trope, i used google translation so if it's bad, you know why, reader is not from New York, reader is used as a test subject but nothing bad really happens to her tbh

Do not repost this anywhere!

Bucky could trust Steve ever since he began to remember him. That's why he went to him four months after leaving Hydra.

But during the time he's been with the Avengers, the hold that Hydra had on him continued to linger. Throughout the time he's been with the Avengers, trying to get better, there were a few slip ups when he would revert to The Winter Soldier persona.

That was until he met you.

Tony had brought you after meeting you when you saved his life with your special weapon that impressed him. Your dice that affects your opponents based on what the number it landed on. One could either blind people enough for you to take them down or six that can send people flying back and cause the room to burst into flames.

Not to mention you were an excellent fighter and held a bachelors and Masters in computer science and information science. Along with a minor in physics. So Tony brought you in.

That was three months ago. Three months since you've joined the Avengers. Three months since you've met Bucky and became close to him. Three months since Bucky did everything he can to make sure he didn't show up again.

~~~~~

It was your free week after a mission. A week to recover. And you wanted to get your favorite pasties as a reward for being able to get the mission done sooner than estimated.

"Are you sure you have to have these pastries?" Bucky asked you as you were getting ready to head out.

"Yes. I've been wanting them all week and I am going to get them. You can come with me if you'd like," you offered.

"We were comfortable on the couch," Bucky tells you with a small pout.

"It's just a fifteen minute walk. I will be back soon," you smiled at him.

You got into the elevator before pressing the button.

"What do you want by the way?" You asked him.

"Surprise me," Bucky tells you with a soft smile.

"Ooh! Okay," you say excitedly as the doors closed.

You had been gone for an hour. No texts from you, no calls. Nothing. Bucky grew worried. And then he appeared.

"Где она? (Where is she?)" Steve heard. Steve quickly turned around to see Bucky standing behind him. Sam looked up from his phone as he noticed the sudden change in Bucky.

"Friday, alert everyone and let them know we have a Code Snow," Tony says calmly to prevent The Winter Soldier from being provoked.

Everyone looked at The Winter Soldier as they got ready to fight him just in case. No one knew what triggered him.

"Bucky. You're okay. It's me," Steve says. The Winter Solider stared at him with a dark look.

"Hey guys! I'm back! Sorry it took so long. Line was super long and my phone died while I played Candy Crush," you say, walking out of the elevator with the to go bag from the bakery shop.

"Y/n! Stay back!" You heard. You looked over to see everyone in a defensive position.

"What's wrong?" You asked confused. You looked over at Bucky who stared intensely at you. As if he was on a mission to protect you.

"Bucky? Is everything okay?" You asked, taking a step closer to him.

"Y/n, I wouldn't do that," Steve advised, stopping you in your tracks.

"What? Why?" You asked confused, looking over at Steve.

"He's back to his Winter Soldier mindset," Steve said.

"His what?" You asked confused. Your eyebrows furrowed, not understanding what he just said.

"Did Bucky not tell you about when he was under control by Hydra?" Steve asked you.

"He was part of Hydra?" You asked confused and in shock.

"Did you not read the files I gave you?" Tony questioned. A mixture of upset, annoyed, and confusion mixed in his tone.

"I... may have just skimmed through them," you admitted, looking away so you didn't have to look at him in the eye.

"Just come here," Tony said before grabbing your wrist.

Before Tony could pull you back to everyone else, Bucky quickly grabbed Tony's arm. Bucky pulled you back to him before throwing Tony back. Luckily, Steve quickly caught Tony.

"Bucky! No!" You yell, grabbing his right arm. He looked back at you before cupping your face.

"Ты в порядке? (Are you okay?)" The Winter Soldier asked you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I don't speak Russian," you tell him.

"Are you okay?" The Winter Soldier asked you again in English.

"I'm fine. But you shouldn't have done that! Tony could've gotten seriously hurt!" You yelled at him.

"He grabbed your wrist," The Winter Soldier pointed out, remaining calm as if nothing had happened.

"But he didn't hurt me," you tell him. "Please. Don't fight them. Let us help you get back to normal."

You stared up at The Winter Soldier with a look. The Winter Soldier stared at you before giving you a nod. He stood behind you as you looked at everyone else.

"What do I do now?" You asked nervously.

"Huh. That's new," Sam said.

"Y/n, can you lead him to the lab? We need to see something," Bruce asked you.

"Okay. Um, Bucky?"

"I'm not him," The Winter Soldier tells you.

"Okay. Um what do I call you?" You asked.

"Солдат. (Soldier)"

"I'm sorry. What?" You asked.

"Soldat," The Winter Soldier corrected. But this time, he said it slower and in a way you could understand.

"Soldat. Follow me," you tell him as you followed Bruce to the lab.

You stayed next to Bucky as he sat down for Bruce to look over at him.

"Interesting," Bruce says.

"What?" You asked.

"He seems more calm when it comes to you. Before you got here, his levels were high. But now, he seems more stable around you," Bruce tells you.

"Oh. That's good?"

"I would like to try something out if that's okay?" Bruce says.

"Okay."

"Go to the training room," Bruce says.

"Do I need to change?" You asked.

"No. But just know, this is a test," Bruce tells you.

"Okay," you nervously say.

You and Bucky walked into the training room while Steve, Tony, Sam, and Bruce watched from the side.

"Y/n, remember. This is a test," Bruce tells you.

You looked at him in confusion before seeing one of Tony's training bots walk over with a knife.

"Target acquired," the robot said as it walked over to you with a knife.

It tried to attack you but you quickly dodged it. The Winter Soldier quickly grabbed the bot but it's head with his mental arm before crushing it with his hand. You looked at The Winter Soldier as he looked over at the four. He began to walk over to them, ready to attack them.

"Soldat! Stand down!" You yelled.

The Winter Soldier stopped as you rushed over to him. He looked down at you, making sure you were okay.

"I'm okay," you tell him.

"Okay. Y/n, stand here with us and Steve, you go in," Bruce tells you both.

You walked over to Bruce and Tony as you watched Steve and the Winter Soldier stand in the middle of the room. Another bot attacked Steve but The Winter Soldier didn't do anything, he stood near you, as if he was protecting you. Tony controlled the bot to come towards you but The Winter Soldier quickly stopped it. Crushing it as he did with the one before.

"Okay. It's clear to say that he's only going to protect Y/n."

"What do I do now? When will Bucky be back?" You questioned.

"Usually we keep him contained until Bucky reverts back. But if he's not letting anything or anyone hurt you, then there is a chance he could be okay to roam around as long as you're with him," Bruce says.

"Is that a good idea?" Sam asked.

"We can give it a shot. And if something goes wrong, we'll keep hm contained until he reverts back to Bucky," Steve said.

"I'm willing to try it," you tell the boys.

"Are you sure? You saw what he can do to my bots," Tony asked.

"I'll be okay. And if something goes wrong, I'll call you guys," you tell them.

"Keep this with you," Tony said, handing you a small remote with one button on it. "If he starts to hurt you, just click it and we'll rush to you."

"Okay. Thank you," you say. You looked back at the Winter Soldier who stayed nearby, staring at you.

"I am feeling hungry so come on. I'm gonna make some lunch," you tell The Winter Soldier. He nodded as he followed you out.

Throughout the day, The Winter Soldier stayed close to you. While everyone kept their distance (mostly in fear that The Winter Solider would attack them if they got too close to you), you seemed to be fine with The Winter Soldier lingering near you.

"I'm going to bed. Goodnight everyone," you say as you walked over to your room. You noticed The Winter Soldier stand by your door as you grabbed your pajamas.

"Oh right. Soldat, you can go to your room. I'm just gonna shower and sleep," you tell him.

"Я должен остаться здесь на случай, если у тебя возникнут проблемы. (I must stay here in case you are in trouble)," he tells you.

"English please. I don't speak Russian," you remind him.

"I must stay here in case you are in trouble," he tells you.

"Um okay. I'm just gonna shower and change really quickly," you tell him before walking into your bathroom. You closed the door and locked it before turning on the shower.

After the shower, you changed into your pajamas before blow drying your hair. You walked out of the shower to see The Winter Soldier sitting on your bed.

"Do you need to shower or change into your clothes as well?" You asked.

"I don't need to."

"If you're gonna stay here you're gonna shower. Come on," you tell him before walking out of your room. You led him to his room which was as bare as when you joined the Avengers. You took out his spare clothes before handing them to The Winter Soldier.

"Go shower. If you want, I'll stay out here until you finish," you tell the Winter Soldier. Bucky nodded before walking in the bathroom. You lied on his bed, feeling yourself grow comfortable.

The Winter Soldier walked out of the bathroom in his new clothes to see you asleep on his bed. He turned off the lights for you before sitting on a chair, watching you sleep.

You could feel him watching you, making you slightly wake up.

"You know, that's really creepy," you yawned. "Just come into the bed. You're gonna give me nightmares.

The Winter Soldier sat on the bed, staring at the door, waiting for anyone to come in. You pulled in down onto the bed, making him lie down. The Winter Soldier looked at you as you slept soundly, facing him. He moved his hand, placing it on top of yours.

~~~~~

Bucky had been avoiding you ever since you both woke up in his bed after he reverted back from the Winter Soldier. No matter how hard you tried to talk to him, he was good at hiding away.

"Did I do something wrong?" You asked Wanda and Natasha.

"What do you mean?" Natasha asked.

"Bucky has been ignoring me for the past couple of days. I've tried talking to him but he keeps avoiding me," you pouted.

"You didn't do anything wrong. I think Bucky's embarrassed. I'm surprised he didn't tell you about The Winter Soldier," Wanda said.

"Is it cause I'm new?" You asked.

"You can't be that clueless," Natasha tells you.

"Clearly I am because I don't know what you're talking about," you continued to pout.

"He didn't want you to know because he likes you."

"What? What do you mean?" You asked, sitting up.

"Come on. Ever since you've joined, Bucky has been by your side. If he's not with Steve or Sam, he's with you. And even on missions, he's by your side or close nearby," Natasha says.

"He could just be friendly. Last time I thought someone liked me, they were just being nice and I felt embarrassed and never showed my face to them again," you admitted.

"Bucky is different. He likes you and it's easy for us to see that but you," Wanda says.

"But do you like him?" Natasha asked.

"Yes. He's tall, handsome, he's nice to me and I will admit, it was kinda hot seeing him all protective," you admitted.

"Go talk to him. He should be done with training by now," Natasha tells you. You nodded before getting up to find Bucky.

You found him walking to his room which you quickly caught up to him.

"Bucky. Can we please talk," you asked.

"I have to shower," Bucky says, still trying to avoid you.

"Fine then. I'll make it quick. I like you. And I don't care if you're still struggling with dealing what Hydra put you through. I want to help you anyway that I can. Because that's how much I like you. I like you for who you are. And you're just gonna have to deal with that," you tell him.

Bucky stared at you, surprised at your confession, as you stared at him.

"And now I am going to go because building up that confidence was a lot of energy and if you don't like me back, then that's fine. I just wanted you to know that I like you," you tell him before quickly turning around to leave.

~~~~~

You sat alone up on the roof as you stared out at the city. This was a long way from home but at least the view was nice to look at. You heard someone clear their throat, turning your attention over to them. You found Bucky standing nearby with a pastry box that had a slice of your favorite flavored cake.

"What's that for?" You asked.

"It's an apology cake slice. I'm sorry I've been ignoring you the past couple of days," Bucky said, handing you the cake.

"Thank you for the cake. Please be honest, did I do something wrong?" You asked him, putting the cake next to you.

"You did nothing wrong. It's mostly me," Bucky says as he sat down with you. "To be honest, I really like you too. But I was afraid you would get hurt by The Winter Soldier. Then when I woke up and you were in bed with me, I was afraid he or I took advantage of you.

"Well just to be clear, you didn't. And if you want, we can start things off slowly. I really do like you Bucky," you offered.

"I'd like that. I really do like you too, Y/n and I don't want to ruin anything between us. Believe it or not, you're the only other person I'm comfortable here with," Bucky tells you. You smiled at him.

"I'm comfortable with you too," you tell him.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?" Bucky asked.

"Not really. Why?" You asked.

"Well, I was thinking, would you want to go on a date? We can go to Coney Island and grab some dinner. Or we can just take a stroll around Central Park," Bucky suggested.

"I like any of those. I've never fully experienced Central Park and I haven't been to Coney Island yet so surprise me," you tell Bucky.

"Alright. Will do," Bucky smiled.

"Do you want to stay here with me and stare out the city? It's one hell of a view," you say.

"I'd like that," Bucky says.

You scooted closer to Bucky before leaning your head on his shoulder. Bucky put his arm around you as you both stared out at the city.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #the winter soldier #the winter solider x reader #the winter soldier imagine #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #alisonwritesimagines

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veltana · 9 months ago

Text

Breaking point

✦ Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~2,5k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Dub-con (proceed with caution if this might trigger you), pwp, smut and a bit of fluff at the end, possessive/protective!bucky, degredation (slut, fuck doll, cum-bucket), grinding, choking, spitting, pussy slapping, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, pet name (sweetheart).

✦ Summary: Bucky is done with you going out with losers.

✦ Note: This used to be called I will kill them if they touch you but I never liked that title so I renamed it! Also, you guys didn't know what you were voting for, but it was the banner for this story! Please reblog and comment! Asks are always welcome 💚

Masterlist | AO3

"Please don't scare this one away as you did last time," you beg and look at Bucky's reflection in the bathroom mirror. He makes a face where he's leaning against the door frame behind you and then sighs when you give him a look. "He wasn't worth shit if he didn't wanna fight for you," he points out.

Now it's your turn to sigh and you cross your arms, glaring at him. "He isn't supposed to fight for me on a first date. We're supposed to have a good time and hopefully fuck." Bucky's mouth hardens, and he looks away. He doesn’t like that, at all.

Ever since you became roommates he's been very protective of you, helping you with the smallest things, driving you everywhere you need to go, even if you can drive yourself. Sometimes it's overbearing but most of the time it's nice to have someone care for you like that.

Unfortunately, recently he's picked up a habit of intimidating the people you go on dates with. He stands behind you when they come to pick you up, and his large frame and cold stare make many of them cower. A few have turned around right away, others have asked if that's your boyfriend or something, thinking it was some type of open relationship/cuckold situation.

"Don't say shit like that," Bucky says through gritted teeth. "I don't wanna think about you fucking other people." You can't help the teasing smile that cracks your face. "Makes you jealous?" With a huff, Bucky pushes off and leaves you to continue.

Two hours later your makeup is done and your hair fixed to perfection. You sit on the couch in shorts and a t-shirt, with a glass of wine, waiting until the last minute to put on the skin-tight dress. While scrolling on your phone, Bucky sits beside you with a beer. "So where's the loser taking you?" "Don't care,” you shrug. “Honestly, my priority tonight is to get laid. The previous ones were a little too… bland. But he seems promising." "What do you mean, bland?"

Putting your phone down you look at him, "You don't wanna hear this anyway, you'll just get mad," you point out. "I don't get mad," he defends. "Pfff, you're such a liar, I can see it in your eyes whenever I mention another guy." "Because you deserve the best and all I've seen is trash."

Irritated, you put your glass down too. "Why don't you pick for me then? Who would James Bucky Barnes deem worthy of fucking me?"

The grip on his beer is so hard his knuckles whiten and his lips are a thin line. When he doesn't answer you lean back and start to count people off.

"Well, Steve seems a bit too sweet for my taste but I mean I would not mind trying a slice of that all-American beefcake," you muse. "Sam is so charming and funny! That quick tongue would probably work wonders, if you know what I mean," you wink and watch as Bucky's eye twitch, his jaw clenched hard.

"Tony," you continue. "Well, he seems a little self-absorbed but maybe he's a really selfless lover. Won't hurt to check!" "Loki is so handsome," you bite your lip. "I would surrender my body to him in a heartbeat! But I've heard that he leaves people high and dry and that would be awful."

Tilting your head, you say, "Do you think Thor and Jane would be up for a threesome? I can just imagine eating her out while he fucks me from behind and then we could-"

With a slam he puts the bottle on the table and grabs your face with his hand forcefully, silencing your tirade of words and squeezing your cheeks so that your lips pucker.

The grip is close to bruising and it's an instant pull in your lower stomach. His eyes are black with anger, something you've never seen directed at you before. "No one," he hisses. "Not one of them is fucking you, I will kill them if they touch you."

His hand releases you and grabs your neck instead. You're shocked, and instantly so horny it hurts. Opening your mouth to speak he squeezes harder, making a wheezing sound come out.

"I'll give you a chance to stop this. Tell me right now you don't want this and we'll act as if nothing happened. Otherwise, I'm fucking you into this couch until you can't remember your goddamn name." When he finishes his grip lightens. The rush of blood makes you euphoric and boneless. You want to give yourself to him, let him do whatever he wants. "Fuck me," you whisper.

The kiss is more teeth than lips and the hold around your throat hardens again. You try to keep up with him but it's impossible as he pushes his tongue into your mouth, claiming every inch, making you lightheaded with the lack of oxygen. You gasp for air as he pulls away, releasing you. His gaze is brimming with lust and want now, all signs of anger gone. Then he pushes you down onto the couch.

"You're a kinky little slut, aren't you sweetheart?" he mocks and leans in over you, spreading your legs with his. All you can do is nod and try to wiggle close so you can press your center against his clothed cock. It's clearly outlined in his sweatpants and you hope it's as big as it seems. "If I put my hand down your pants, are you gonna be wet for me?" "Yes Bucky," you whine.

The throbbing is almost unbearable and his smirk is downright sinful. "Come on, rub yourself on me, show me how much you want it." With another whine, you brace yourself against the couch and lift your hips. He doesn't move a muscle to help as you struggle to find the right position.

"That's disappointing," Bucky smacks his lips and frowns. "Thought you wanted this." "I do Bucky, I do, please I'm trying," you tell him desperately. With effort, you get into a good enough position to grind your cunt on his cock through the layers of clothing. It's not nearly enough to curb the ache.

"Useless," Bucky sighs and grabs your legs. "Do I have to do everything?" He pushes your knees up towards your chest, folding you in half and pushing his cock right into your core.

"Sorry," you moan. His mean words have only made you needier and you move yourself against him with abandon. Bucky is motionless above you, not making a sound or saying a word, just staring at you chasing your high. Your movements turn unsteady when you start to come close.

If you were of sound mind you would notice the glint in his eyes but instead, you’re barreling towards your climax. Until he suddenly moves away.

Gawking you stare at him and he just smiles wickedly in return. "Take off your clothes, spread your legs" he instructs and you quickly pull your pants off and discard your t-shirt and underwear, spreading your legs as best you can on the couch. Bucky takes in your bare body, moving his hands slowly down your thighs until his palms frame your pussy.

"Fucking shaved for him too,” he notes with a snarl. You're not sure why that upset him. "Sorry!" you say, just to be safe.

"I don't need your hair curled, your make-up done or your whole body shaved. I will fuck you anyway, sweetheart, no matter what you look like because you belong to me," he growls before he spits on your cunt, sending a rush through you, making you moan and spread your legs even more.

For the first time, he touches you properly, letting his fingers spread the spit all over your pussy before shoving two of them into your soaked core. He pistons them in and out, putting his thumb against your clit and making colors burst before you.

"You want to come on my fingers, you fucking slut?" When you nod frantically he instructs, "Open your mouth, stick out your tongue." A second after you do spit lands on your tongue and droplets on your face. It nearly tips you over.

"Swallow it," he orders and watches you as you do, some form of approval shining in his eyes for the first time. "Who do you belong to?"

The question is too complicated to understand, you can't focus on what he wants. "I don't…" is all that comes out.

"Wrong answer," he says and removes his fingers, making you shout in disappointment. Sharp slaps land on your wet cunt and you instinctively try to move away from it, but he grabs your legs, pulling you back. "Don't you fucking run from me."

"I'm sorry," you cry, looking pleadingly at him. "I'm- I'm yours James, yours to do what you want with. Please, please, please let me come!"

With a huff he pushes his fingers back in, pressing the tips into your g-spot and getting his thumb back on your clit. His unbothered state makes you feel so small and insignificant, heightening the pleasure coursing through you.

As it climbs, your body shakes, your legs trembling from being held open. "I'm- I'm- don't stop!" you beg. Closing your eyes you focus on the feeling of him, his other hand still gripping your thigh hard. You hope it bruises.

"I can feel you, slut!" Bucky's voice is the cherry on top of everything. "Come on my fingers, do it, come for me!" he commands and of course, you do as he wants. With a scream you convulse, almost pushing him out with the sensation flooding you. Bucky is talking above you but you're not sure what he's saying because all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears.

A hard tap against your cheek makes you open your eyes. "Don't pass out on me, I'm not done with you yet." "Wouldn't dream of it," you smile dumbly, and it earns you a smile in return. But it quickly passes as he pulls off his tank top and pushes down his pants. The cock is just as big as you hoped.

He rubs the head against your soaked center, sending overwhelming sparks through you, making you twitch. When he notches the head of his dick at your opening your blood freezes. "C-condom?" you stutter.

Cocking his head he asks. "Do you really want that? Doesn't a slut like you want to be filled up with cum?" "Y-yes, but, Bucky…" you gnaw your lip.

"I want to fuck my little cum-bucket raw, make sure you feel me running out of you for days," he gives a light thrust, almost pushing inside, giving you a taste of heaven. For a second you look at each other and Bucky presses in just a little bit more. It decides it for you. "Please fill me with your cum Bucky, I need it so bad!" you whine and he chuckles before shoving his fat cock into you without mercy.

Quickly you wrap your legs around his hips, meeting his hard thrusts that are sending your body into overdrive. "Feel so fucking good sweetheart, your cunt was made for me, wasn't it?" he groans. "Yes it was," you answer breathlessly.

He grabs your face. "Those other losers are never going to satisfy you." "No, Bucky, only you!" "That's right, you're my fuckdoll now, sweetheart," he says before he leans down to kiss you. It's much sweeter this time and you grab his head, carding your fingers through his hair, feeling your chest fill with another type of warmth.

When he pulls back he says, "Beg me not to come in you." Your cunt clenches and your second orgasm is suddenly a lot closer. "Bucky, please don't… I can't get pregnant," you make your voice small and frail.

In response his laugh is cruel. "Yes you will, your purpose in life is to be bred. I'm going to cum in you every day til it sticks and then everyone will know who you belong to." "Please, pull out," you beg and reach down to rub your clit, feeling the climax shimmering underneath your skin.

"Such a bad liar, sweetheart," he chuckles. "Are you going to come on my cock? Are you gonna claim me just as I claim you?" "Yes! I just need- harder!" you pant. "Fucking hell," Bucky grunts and does as you demand.

The climax rips through you with little regard for your sanity. The sound leaving your throat makes it raw and a second later Bucky moans your name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. It's almost good enough to feel him finish inside you that you come again, but you’re too spent to do more than shudder.

Then he kisses you again, sweetly, caringly, and pushes his arms in under your body to hug you close to him. "So perfect," he whispers against your mouth. The cums start to trickle out onto the couch but neither of you care, too caught up in each other's lips.

"How are you doing sweetheart?" he asks when he comes up for a breath. "I feel a little high," you confess. "Haven't been fucked that good in a long time."

There is something in his gaze that shifts and he leans his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry. I just… I couldn't take it anymore… I like you so much." "Lucky for you I get off on that stuff," you smile. "And if I had said stop I trust you would have."

He hugs you so hard you can hardly breathe. "Of course, I fucking would." "You can make it up to me by going tender the next time," you smile. "Next time?" "As many times as you’ll have me." He laughs into your skin. "I don't think you're ready for that!"

Suddenly the sound of the doorbell jerks the two of you apart. You stare at Bucky with wide eyes. "My date," you whisper, horrified.

With a smirk, he raises himself on his arms. "I should make you go on that date with my cum running out of you, maybe even let him get as far as spreading your legs just to see that you’re already claimed."

With a groan, you cover your face with your hands. "Don't tempt me," you tell him before wiggling out from under him, finding your clothes, and hastily pulling them on.

Opening the door just a crack, you understand you look a mess by the way your date eyes you. "Sorry," your voice is small. "I wasn't feeling great and then I fell asleep on the couch." "Yeah, you look terrible," the guy notes before handing you one of the ugliest bouquets you've ever seen. Quickly stepping away he says, "I'll call you." but you know he won't. "Great, I'll see you around," you respond before closing the door.

Bucky takes the flowers from you and shoves them in the trash before grabbing you around the waist and kissing you again. "Didn't you say he was promising?" "I have no clue what you're talking about," you answer with a completely straight face but then start to giggle as he swoops you up and carries you to his bedroom.

#veltana writes #bucky barnes #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #posessive!bucky barnes #bucky x reader #possessive!bucky #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fic #bucky fanfic

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archivingkal · 3 months ago

Text

last updated: 25/05/2025

note: unless otherwise stated everything on this list is completed

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

THE WAY BACK BY @/suhnshinehaos (SMAU)

fans reminisce on your relationship with seungcheol

THE LYRICS BY @seuonji (SMAU)

in which fans find out yn’s lyrics are about someone they know. not even her fellow members knew this but anyways, now their concern is, who’s the lyrics about?

🆕 WITHERING FOR YOU BY @joonsytip

When you are arranged married to the man, who's heart you had broken years ago, even dreaming about mending things seems next to impossible when he has been holding grudge for all these only to return it to you tenfold.

the complete series can be found here: series link — please note PART TWO is 18+ MDNI (this link is Sam's masterlist which - when you see the. other new additions on this list - I highly recommend her writing)

🆕 YOU'RE SAFE WITH ME BY @joshujihan23

the mafia scene was something that isn’t unfamiliar to you since your boyfriend is THE mafia boss, so is it surprising that you got involved as well? (please take heed of the trigger warning listed)

🆕 I LOVE YOU, I'M SORRY BY @serejae

in which youre unsatisfied with the way you treated seungcheol throughout your relationship, but destiny will always bring you back….right? (or in which you messed up your relationship with him and the 4 times you tried to fix it and the 1 time it worked out)

🆕 SOUND OF VENGEANCE BY @thedensworld

after happily living an arranged marriage, he found out that his charismatic, flawless, and admirable wife has a secret hiding from him.

YOON JEONGHAN

FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT BY @bitterie-sweetie

Your Valentine’s date with Jeonghan is coming up and yet the only thing on your mind is how to break up with him. Of course breaking up with someone is difficult, but you’d argue that what’s more difficult is breaking up with someone you never even dated.

DAISIES BY @viastro

the best type of revenge is to hurt the person that means the most to them. aka, in which jeonghan is in charge of making you fall in love with him, just to break your heart.

🆕 FALLING OVER YOU BY @minniesfiles

Loving you wasn’t something he’d ever need to be convinced to do. It was as easy as breathing.

🆕 THE SELFISH DILEMMA BY @/joonsytip

It was love at first sight ever since you laid eyes on Jeonghan. To him, you are the annoying co-worker who keeps asking him out. No one is new to your courting agenda which only pisses off Jeonghan but what happens when you stop, all at once....

the sequel instalment: PART TWO + the epilogue instalment: EPILOGUE (18+ MDNI)

JOSHUA HONG

STAY UP BY @/bitterie-sweetie

He calls you his favourite person, yet you have no idea he's hosting a party until you get the invite in the mail. Joshua Hong confuses the hell out of you and perhaps now is the time to finally figure him out.

🆕 ANONYMOUSLY YOURS BY @/joonsytip

After an accidental text message turns into a digital friendship, you and Joshua start crushing on each other without realizing you both see each other frequently in real life.

Notable Mention: You both hate each other's guts....

🆕 LOVE ON THE AIR BY @suhnshinehaos (SMAU)

joshua hong wants you to know how he feels about you, but god forbid he actually say it out loud. instead, he settles on the next best thing : dedicating a song to you every week on the campus radio. too bad you’re too dense to actually figure out it’s all for you.

WEN JUNHUI

1 PLUS 1 BY @/bitterie-sweetie

While looking for an outfit for the party, you can't help but notice all the couples' BOGO sales going on. What better way to get free stuff than to pretend you're dating your best friend?

WORTH IT BY @/xinganhao (SMAU)

junhui works on healing a heart he did not break. inspired by jun's 值得 (Worth It) cover.

KWON SOONYOUNG

LOVE HARD BY @/wondernus (SMAU)

kwon soonyoung loves too hard and falls in love too quickly, accidentally building a (very false!!!) fuckboy image that he can’t seem to get rid of. when his friends talk him out of proposing to a girl he went on 2 dates with, he finally realizes he has a big problem with love. signing up to appear on his university’s most popular youtube talk show to unload his baggage and fix his image? what could possibly go wrong?

TOO MUCH COMMUNICATION BY @/xinganhao (SMAU)

(svt x reverse tropes, soonyoung's miscommunication expansion)

JEON WONWOO

POSER BY @/himewonu (SMAU)

it's hard pretending to be good at video games when it's so obvious you have no skills. too bad the guy you're trying to impress is the only one who tells you you're trash at the game.

GAM3 BO1 BY @/horangboosadan (SMAU)

wonwoo tries his best to talk his noisy neighbor into being a little quieter. it just doesn't go exactly how he expected it.

🆕 RAISING US BY @vernonverse (SMAU - ongoing)

On the night of your eighteenth birthday, you and Wonwoo made a pact to lose your virginities together. Ten years later you're co-parenting your unexpected child while figuring out where you stand with each other.

LEE JIHOON

NOW PLAYING : ABOUT NOW BY @flickerchans (SMAU)

a global pandemic paired with months of lockdown; you're pretty sure you're going stir-crazy. when you come across a viral chat-app, you don't even hesitate to join it. thus begin the chaos of meeting 14 random strangers and how they become a bigger part of your life than you thought they would.

SMARTER, AND YOURS BY @vitaminkyeom

Jihoon, school's no. 1 (or no. 2), was nothing but a pain in the ass for you. Sure he was better than you in some subjects but so were you. The two of you were equally good enough for the first place so to increase the competition, he decided to suggest the most scandalous thing you had heard: the two of you tutor each other.

Or, in which, you were the rich kid with your family's dignity on the line and he was the poor kid with his family's sacrifices on the line.

🆕 BLACK CARD ISSUE BY @/thedensworld (18+ MDNI)

after a fight, Jihoon didn't expect to receive notifications for a revenge. However, he's not complaining.

🆕 SOMETHING ABOUT YOU BY @/joonsytip (18+ MDNI)

When your boyfriend loses all memories of you after an accident, you go through hell of a time trying to bring back the memories. But in the process of convincing him what you both had was real, it makes you question if what you both had was ever real.

LEE SEOKMIN

SET IT UP BY @/bitterie-sweetie

You have absolutely no idea how to get closer to your crush, but perhaps asking his best friend for some advice is the way to go.

CHAN, YOUR BROTHER'S HOT BY @mingkist (SMAU)

(it's honestly just a fun little smau but so sweet and cute - it's one of my favourite quick reads when I need a pick me up - who doesn't like best friend chan's older brother seokmin and falling in love through teasing chan)

TRIPLE-DOG DARE BY @eoieopda (18+ MDNI)

when you're left off the guest list to seokmin's parent's thirtieth anniversary party, you're content to keep your questions to yourself and stay home. seokmin, on the other hand, is not content. in fact, he pulls the one card he knows will always win.

READY, GET SET, GO GET IT, GO BY @chheolie

(i am so deeply in love with seokmin in this - read:always - and it's such a pleasant read about seokmin being a total fanboy and getting to live his true fanboy dreams)

HINT. HINT. HINT!!! BY @nerdycheol

(seokmin is supremely oblivious but cute all at the same time because of course he is - I adore him)

🆕 BREAK YOUR HEART RIGHT BACK BY @kyeomszone (18+ MDNI)

when your boyfriend decides it's a good idea to fuck you over, you decided to do the prettiest thing you could think of and if it ends up landing you a boyfriend? Well, you aren't complaining.

🆕 ULTIMATE BOYFRIEND MATERIAL BY @fairyhaos

which you bring your boyfriend seokmin to yours and soonyoung's monthly dinners, and it ends up going way better than anyone had expected.

🆕 DO I WANNA KNOW BY @xurengu0 (18+ MDNI)

you get paired with your ex in a dangerous heist. things started to heat up in the getaway car.

🆕 WE GOT MARRIED BY @bratzkoo

WE GOT MARRIED is back. Seokmin and you pair up to shoot 10 episodes for a special. Turns out, there are more things happenings off-camera than what meets the eye.

🆕 EYES OFF OF YOU BY @seokmn (SMAU - ongoing)

Seokmin was desperate to find the perfect model to pair up with his friend for his upcoming project, and he found you.

KIM MINGYU

BOYFRIEND PRIVILEGES BY @idyllic-ghost

The ten times Mingyu has shown off his "boyfriend privileges"

HARD CARRY BY @/studioeisa

your math major soulmate is the only reason you’re surviving college, but how long can you rely on him for help?

NOT FOR SALE BY @xinganhao (SMAU)

a four-part series featuring celebrity!mingyu and small business owner!reader

🆕 UNTITLED BY @wonwoonlight

when mingyu is much too extroverted for you but it's okay because he's your battery anyway

🆕 KEEPING SCORE BY @studioeisa

hating mingyu is easy. seeing him in any other light takes work, and you’re tired of trying to figure that out.

XU MINGHAO

HOW TO LOSE THE GIRL BY @nevernonline

minghao was feeling tired of shallow relationships. his friends, noticing his frustration, challenge him to pursue a girl and then push her away within ten days. intrigued by the idea, he reluctantly accepts the bet as a fun challenge.

BE MY MUSE BY @yyawnjun (SMAU)

how does it feel to be unexpectedly for one day the muse of your biggest crush since middle school? and what if it became harder than you thought ignoring those feelings?

🆕 THE LETTER BY @toruro

in which you’re jun's little sister and have been pining for a man so close yet so out of reach for ages. now, years later, when you see minghao all grown up, famous, and still making your heart flutter, you're not so sure what to do about your not-so-little crush.

🆕 PERSPECTIVE BY @tomodachiii

Xu Minghao hates you. You've been sure of it ever since you met him. And when you find yourself working alongside him as a teaching assistant for your painting professor, you think you might hate him too. But one late night, two semesters, and three exhibits later, you find your perspective beginning to shift.

BOO SEUNGKWAN

YOU SAY THE STUPIDEST (SWEETEST) THINGS BY @savventeen

you say stupid shit on the best of days, so when seungkwan comes over when you're having a bad bout of insomnia, the last thing he expects to hear from you is an accidental love confession

MISSION POSSIBLE BY @/thepixelelf

One of Mr Boo's students sees his brand new engagement ring.

HANSOL VERNON CHWE

FLEEING FEELINGS BY @diamonddaze01

so you might have told vernon you loved him while drunk – now all you have to do is avoid him. forever.

EXPOSED BY @gamerwoo (SMAU)

“Have you discovered anything?” “Yup.” “Great! What is it?” “I love Vernon, sir lmao” (journalist reader, subject vernon - what chaos could possibly ensue?)

ON THE CLOCK BY @sailorsoons (FAKE DATING AU - 18+ MDNI)

Modern problems call for modern solutions, including naming a random stranger in the book store as your boyfriend to avoid an embarrassing encounter with your ex. The problem? The stranger is Vernon and he’s not supposed to be a stranger at all - he’s your coworker, and now everyone at the office - including your ex - thinks you’re dating.

CATCH YOU WHEN I CAN BY @/xinganhao (SMAU)

a five-part series charting vernon's relationship with you, an international rockstar. (this is where my love affair with kae started and I've not looked back since - great decision on my part)

🆕 COMPLIMENTARY WAVELENGTHS BY @chanranghaeys

Wouldn’t falling in love with your research partner compromise the integrity of the research study? You had no idea. But if that were the case, then you were in for some major trouble.

🆕 BUT I THINK THEY CALL THIS LOVE BY @/serejae (SMAU)

IN WHICH…even when vernon is on tour, he always squeezes you in his schedule

ALSO BY @/serejae:

🆕 WHO ARE WE TO FIGHT THE ALCHEMY (SMAU)

IN WHICH…vernon tries to deny his feelings for you, but the universe seems to insist

🆕 THEY DON'T KNOW ABOUT US

being the only person able to read vernon is a strange concept to others, i guess your relationship is unique (in which, your the only person able to read vernons expressions

LEE CHAN

ROCK WITH YOU BY @horangboosadan (SMAU)

after the release of your most recent drama, the world decides that you and your co-star/best friend would be the perfect couple. the influx of positive reactions are great for your career, his career, and the drama. however, it tears at you to lie to your fans and appear dishonest towards your boyfriend. being a k-pop idol, revealing your relationship can come with unforeseen consequences. how do you tackle the onslaught of people who want the inside scoop of you and your co-star, and your boyfriend in denial about his jealousy without compromising either relationship?

THE FIANCE BY @wondernus (SMAU)

a mysterious pink fishing vest. a fiancé who wakes up in the middle of nowhere. and an upcoming wedding on the line. there's only so much you can take before you let your perfect future crumble before your eyes.

PANG! BY @kkumawrites (SMAU)

You'd consider yourself a simple college student, a freshman who just wants to survive their first year - but things get complicated when you're suddenly falling for someone you definitely shouldn't be, especially since he has a girlfriend already.

THE WAY OF THE WORK HUSBAND BY @/studioeisa

going back to work after the holidays sucks, but at least you've got your 'work husband' lee chan to get you through it.

OPERATION DISPATCH BY @/xinganhao (SMAU)

chan has been trying his hardest to get the two of you into dating rumors. it's not really working the way he wants it to.

OT13

SEVENTEEN MED BY @welcometomyoasis

When the previous director of Seventeen Medical Center retired, his grandson, Lee Jihoon, was promoted as his successor. Jihoon made many changes to the hospital, but the most important change of all? He hired 11 new medical staff members and 1 medical student, all of whom he knew from his days as a medical student. As these new changes occur, you bet chaos (and 13 different romance stories) ensue.

YOU'RE THE MAN BY @princessleechan

After your university cut your soccer team to prioritize the men’s team, it’s natural you have a falling out with your then soccer-star-player boyfriend and impersonate your twin brother at the rival university to play on their men’s team. Wait, it’s not? Oh well

XINGANHAO MASTERLIST + STUDIOEISA MASTERLIST BY KAE

(literally everything on both of kae's masterlists are worth reading so i implore you to go do that - i've already mentioned a couple faves in the list above)

🆕 WAVES WILL TAKE US FAR AWAY BY @ode2cheol

(95s Medical AU - in a connected universe)

ALSO BY @/ode2cheol:

🆕 THOUGHTS??? (SMAU)

one shot smau’s about svt being horrifically down abysmal in chronological order

🆕 WEIGHT OF WORDS BY @amyzworldds

After a week of relentless online hate branding her a "pick-me" and "immature," Y/N, Seventeen’s wild, beloved maknae, overhears her members suggest she "tone it down" and "act her age," shattering her spirit.

the sequel instalment: PART TWO - After a wave of online hate and a painful misunderstanding with Seventeen, Y/N locks herself in her vibrant apartment, leaving the 13 boys anxious and restless.

more to come...

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krikeymate · 2 years ago

Text

Last Christmas

Happy Christmas friends, have a good holiday.

2010

Christmas is quiet.

It used to be the one time of the year everyone would be together, and here. The one time when they felt like a real family, cracks wrapped in tinsel and smoothed over with smiles and sweets and pretty decorations.

The knowledge that they’ll never be whole again, that Sam had been the one to dig her fingers into the hole and pull and pull and pull, until it became a fissure – unignorable, unnavigable, damage that runs from the very top of their home, their family, and right down to the very foundations – leaves her bedbound.

Sam’s been lying here for days, crying until she’s hoarse and empty, unable to leave the safety of the nest she’s made, hidden away in the dark.

She wants to be left alone to rot. To be buried under an endless Winter. She can’t bear to face the world anymore; her mother, the truth. The knowledge of who she is, something rancid, something destructive, just like- just like… her father. It leaves her paralysed, desperate to disappear. To fall asleep and never wake up.

The thought shocks her. Like the crack of light that still slips past the door, like the small arms that still wind their way around her waist.

That thought is the first time Sam ever remembers being scared of herself.

It doesn’t get better from there.

2011

There’s a part of Tara that expected – hoped – that things could go back to normal. As close to normal as they could get.

Sam could see it in her eyes.

She had no idea yet just how broken everything was. She hadn’t learned just how cold and empty the world really was.

Sam couldn’t bear to be the one to extinguish that light in her baby sister’s eyes, so she closed the door instead.

Shut it in her face and walked away, disappeared into the night so she didn’t have to be the one to teach her that lesson.

Let her learn it on her own, where no one has to see her break.

It’s for the best.

She chants it to herself like a mantra.

She tells herself that Tara will be thankful for it one day.

Thankful that the devil turned away, broke her so she could come back stronger.

You can’t rely on anyone in this world. Not mothers, or fathers… or sisters.

Sam wanders, shoulders hunched and hood down, ignoring the suspicious stares from the passersby.

There’s a part of her that fears that they know, that they suspect.

She’s not entirely wrong.

Everyone’s a suspect these days, ever since… well.

If one fame-hungry youth can don a mask, why not another? Why not the blood of the one who started it all?

She can’t bear to be out here, to be acknowledged. She can’t bear to be at home, her mother’s knowing eyes, her sister’s tears.

She can’t- she just can’t.

So she stumbles down streets that grow dimmer and dimmer the further she walks, until she’s the other side of town and staring down salvation. It shimmers up at her from the bottom of a bottle.

She realises that night that she’s just like her mother, under a sticky tongue and warm hands around her waist.

She hopes that it means she can’t be like her father.

She hopes it means Tara will be like hers, and run, run far away from her, and never return.

2012

Tara’s finally starting to get the message.

Of course Sam goes and fucks up all that progress. She just couldn’t help herself. It’s what she does now, make everything harder.

She’d been thinking about it since school started up again. Mom had forgotten to pay for the bus, so now they had to walk.

Sam doesn’t care. The longer the journey takes, the longer she’s out of that house. But Tara… It’s impossible to ignore the wheezing and laboured breaths.

Tara’s not made for long walks, and while Sam pretends not to notice, she agonises inside.

She hadn’t thought there was more of her to break. Yet she does; watching her suffer, and the way Tara keeps it to herself, knowing she can’t rely on her big sister to help her anymore.

Sam hates herself for it.

So when she sees the bike dumped on the side of the road, a ‘free to a good home’ sign taped to the handlebars, how could she do anything but take it?

As she hoses down the grimy thing, pale pink peeking out from beneath mud and dust and dirt, Sam realises that she’ll always be a big sister, that she’ll never be able to stop looking out for Tara.

The thought is unsettling.

She kneels down to scrub at the rusty chain anyway. She just can’t help herself.

2013

Sam spends Christmas in a jail cell.

It’s not the first time she’s been arrested. It’s not the first time she’s had to swallow down guilt at Hicks’ disappointed and tired face.

It’s the first time she’s looked so angry through.

Sam doesn’t remember what she’d taken at that party, but she knows she wishes she’d taken more of it.

It hadn’t been enough to drown out the thoughts, the feelings.

It was supposed to drown out the feelings. They’d promised.

The anger at her mother. The guilt at every sad face. The longing to hold her sister. The fear, the ever-rising fear, of who she’s becoming.

She just wants it to stop.

She’d do anything to make it stop.

2014

The year kind of passes in a blur. Sam doesn’t really remember much of it.

She wakes up in a hospital on Christmas morning, her stomach freshly pumped, and her mother’s furious face in the doorway.

It’s been a while since she’s seen her, a few months at least. She’d kind of been hoping she was dead.

Christina screams at her.

She’d said that part out loud. Oops.

While her mother rages, Sam realises there’s a part of her that just doesn’t care anymore. It feels a bit like a victory, until the moment she mentions Tara.

The win sours.

2015

Tara turns 13 quietly, as she did when she turned 12, and 11, and 10. And every year before that.

Sam stares at the stars, a heaving duffle bag at her feet, and thinks back to the time she wished Tara would be the one to run away.

How selfish of her.

That’s what people say. Selfish Sam. Always causing trouble, ruining everything.

This is her sister’s birthday gift. Sam leaves tonight. She’ll never have to spend another Christmas wishing Sam was there, because she’ll never be there again.

She won’t string Tara along any longer. Sam makes that decision tonight, to cut the cord that binds them together. Let it never be stained red, let Sam never pull Tara to her doom.

With one last lingering look at the Woodsboro sky, Sam turns away. She’ll see those stars again, but it’ll never be the same.

One day she might see her sister again, but it’ll never be the same.

2016

Sam hasn’t spent a Christmas at home in forever, but this year is the first that feels that way. It hits her, that December 14th, just how far away she truly is.

Music thumps around her like a heartbeat, like a womb, encasing her, surrounding her. Suffocating her.

She should be with her family, but Sam has no family.

Only strangers.

Just like her, with nowhere else to be, no one else to be with.

Broken people congregating together.

Sam doesn’t know who she is anymore, doesn’t recognise the girl staring back at her.

When she’s offered a little something – to forget – how could she say no?

It makes the world a little brighter. She forgets herself for a little while, forgets the sister she left behind, forgets the date, forgets who she is.

And when it fades in the morning, she goes back for more.

2017

Today’s party is just one of many. She only learns the day when she’s shoved into a huddle and a shot glass slipped into her hand.

Oh, so that’s what they’d been celebrating.

Not that it matters.

Christmas means nothing to her anymore. Just bitter memories to match the taste on her tongue. She takes another drink.

Fuck Christmas.

Fuck families and presents and- and… and little angels who make the world worth living.

That’s not Sam’s world, not anymore. Maybe it never was.

The garden of Eden is no place for a snake.

Sam takes another drink.

Fuck Christmas.

2018

Sam lies on a dirty mattress, blood alight in her body, and dreams wide awake of a better life. She smiles as she thinks of the life she was going to have.

One far away from here, with no needle in her arm or in a room full of squatters. A big house, a pretty tree with presents underneath, her sister grinning up at her. They’d never be hungry or cold or want for anything.

Sam closes her eyes and hopes she never wakes up.

2019

She finds herself endlessly shivering. She doesn’t bother trying to turn on the heat, it wouldn’t make a difference, except to her wallet.

Let her freeze to death, maybe that’s her fate. Maybe that’s what she deserves.

Let her suffer. She bought this upon herself.

Sam doesn’t know why she’s trying to get sober. To really get sober, to clean herself up. She has nothing to live for, nothing to look forward to.

There’s just her, alone, with the voices in her head. The monster that’s clung to her dirty soul and taken root.

Sam wants it to stop.

But the drugs don’t help anymore, and the drink numbs not a thing.

So now she’s trying something new.

She’s asking for help.

She wishes she’d asked for help sooner, before she’d lost everything she lived for.

2020

It’s quiet.

It’s been so long since things have been quiet.

New medication sits heavily in her stomach, anxiety making it churn. Her head has been silent so far, the only voice her own since she started taking them, but the fear never leaves her.

There’s a part of her that knows it’s only temporary.

It all feels temporary.

The apartment, the job, the sparkling water she chugs every time she longs for a drink.

How could it last? Nothing good ever does.

She watches the snow fall from the window ledge, and waits for the world to fall apart all over again, waits for the inevitable fuck up to come and throw her from her feet once again.

But until that moment, she’ll rest her head on the glass and remember bright brown eyes and rosy cheeks, and laughter that lives in her soul.

If she closes her eyes, she can pretend she’s still there.

She wishes she was still there.

2021

Sam sits in a dark apartment, Christmas movies playing on the tv.

She’s long since tuned it out, the speakers nothing but background noise to her aching heart.

She feels so much older than 24. It feels so much longer than 5 years since she’s seen her sister.

She feels so tired.

Tired of waiting for things to change. She doesn’t even know what she’s waiting for anymore. A sign, perhaps. That she’s not who she fears she is, that she hasn’t ruined her life. That Tara might still want her.

Her phone shakes in her hand, her eternally-baby sister’s angelic face lighting up the screen.

Every year Tara calls.

Every year, Sam can’t bring herself to answer.

She doesn’t have the strength to deny herself. She’s an addict. If she gives in, she’ll never stop.

If she answers, she’ll go home.

If she goes home, Tara dies.

The phone falls silent once again.

2022

It should have been impossible to miss Christmas, to forget about it, yet somehow, she – they – do.

Sam really doesn’t know how it happened.

The decorations, the music, the advertisements everywhere. She misses it all, doesn’t pay it a lick of attention.

Her entire focus is on her healing sister, the world around them nothing but a blur.

She’s shocked when Martha drops by with a dinner for the both of them, and cookies to boot. It’s how she gets the jump on her, and Sam feels the love of a mother for the first time since she was a child, warm arms wrapping around her and whispering sweet words of praise.

Sam blames the tears that form on the cold winter air.

For a moment Sam feels over a decade younger, her exhausted bones untouched by the horrors of the world.

When Tara hobbles downstairs and goes straight for the cookies, the world beings to feel right once more.

2023

Sam had seven hours.

That was long enough, right? Right?

It had to be.

It was T-minus less than two weeks till Christmas, and Tara still hadn’t said a thing. Sam had been waiting, waiting for her to bring it up - to mention gifts, to suggest decorating, to- to complain about the Christmas music everywhere! Anything. She’d been waiting for any sort of acknowledgement at all.

It hadn’t happened.

Even the twins had been avoiding the subject, oddly tentative with more consideration than they usually held. Well, Mindy anyway. The closest reference to Christmas had been Chad carefully mentioning last week that they had planned to go home, for the break, if we had wanted to join them.

While Sam had been holding her breath, Tara had barely blinked, not lifting her eyes from her paper and continuing with her essay, mumbling I’m good thanks back at him.

That’s when Sam realised that nothing was going to happen if she didn’t make it happen.

So here she was, making it happen.

She’d sent Tara off to her final exam of the year with a “happy birthday, love,” a homemade lunch, and a kiss on the cheek. And the twins off with a secret mission of keep Tara busy and celebrate her birthday.

They were going to celebrate Christmas for the first time in over a decade even if it killed her.

And with how hard it was to get the tree up all those stairs, it may still kill her yet.

Sam faces the Christmas markets with the countenance of a freshly-uniformed soldier going to war, but she does it for love, and returns victorious with a bounty of decorations in every colour. More decorations than they could ever need, given their tiny apartment, but no less than Tara deserves.

Sam has so much to make up for.

The lost years sit heavy in her chest.

The guilt.

She swallows it all away, tongue fizzing beneath the sparkling water.

Her therapist says she needs to let go of the past, to look forward, to focus on the present.

It’s easy when Tara is by her side, how could Sam fall apart with her near? But every time she leaves, it’s like a part of Sam goes with her.

But Tara will be back in- Shit. Presents. She’s still got to sort out presents.

Buying gifts is the easiest – and the hardest – thing in the world.

Chad and Mindy are easy to buy for, video games and true crime novels and horror movies are aplenty, and worth it, even if it means she’ll have to listen to them talk her ear off about them later.

And Tara, Tara’s so easy to buy for. Well, she’s hard to buy for, but Sam would buy her anything. Give her anything. Anything, everything.

Ok, so buying a gift for Tara was a little harder than she expected. After all, she’d already bought her everything she’s ever shown the slightest interest in.

Shit, why does Sam always make things harder for herself?

Sam’s close to tears by the time she gets a on our way back text from Chad. She’d returned home empty handed an hour ago and frantically scoured the internet, turned the house upside down, considered texting their mother. All for a single idea.

Then her hand smacks against a diary.

Sam’s diary.

And she knows she has the perfect gift.

Sometimes – often – Sam forgets where she is when she wakes. Years of sleeping on stranger’s couches and in cars, motels and in doorways; she never really knew where she would wake up, whether it was safe.

She’d learnt to assess the situation before her memories kicked in, before she was truly awake.

It’s not a habit easily broken.

For a moment, Sam forgets where she is, and who she is, and when she is.

She feels the cold nose on her neck and heartbeat against hers, Christmas music on the radio and chilly toes escaping the covers, and briefly wonders whether mom is going to make pancakes or waffles for breakfast, prepares herself for dad to barge in in that stupid santa suit.

Then she remembers.

She has no father, no mother. Those days are long since gone.

But Tara is still here.

Sam can’t help but smile.

She could lose everything, but so long as she still has her sister, that’s all she needs.

“Tara!” Sam nudges her sister off her, rolling them over. “Tara, wake up!”

The girl groans, arm flopping over her eyes. “Saaammm,” she whines. “It’s too early.”

Sam can’t help but bounce a little as she pushes at Tara’s shoulders. “It’s Christmas! Wake up!”

The scowl that her sister sends her only makes her smile grow. She recalls all the years of small knees digging into her stomach at 6am, pouting lips and desperate enthusiasm, begging her to get up so she can open her presents.

For the first time in so long, Sam feels young again.

“Taaarrraaa,” she whines back, collapsing onto the smaller girl. “Get up and make waffles with me!”

Tara’s hand slaps down gently on the back of Sam’s head. “You’re a nightmare,” she mumbles with a small smile. “Can’t believe you woke me up at-” she glances to the side, “7.30. Eugh.”

“It’s Christmas,” Sam says, looking up with a grin.

“It’s Christmas,” Tara agrees, grinning back.

Sam’s eyes soften. “Merry Christmas Tara,” she whispers, dropping a kiss to her neck.

Small arms wrap around her waist. “Merry Christmas Sam.”

#/mp #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #my writing tag #trigger warning -> mentions of addiction

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di-loves-coffee · 23 days ago

Text

See, if I shove my bad thoughts on fictional characters then they can’t hurt me.

[Trigger Warning!! — suicide mentions and thoughts, me-normal cursing, DP-normal angst, and probably Bat-normal grit]

•—•~•DPxDC Roof Talks•~•—•

Danny was never really the same after the portal, being halfway dead was… isolating, to say the least. Not many people to relate to when one of the biggest parts of your identity is being dead.

Of course the other ghosts understood being dead, but then again they were fully dead and didn’t understand the ties that he still had to his life. And he was pretty attached to his life.

Sure his friends and family in Amity Park could understand at least part of his life, but then again, he moved out of town at nineteen to get away from his parents. He used college as an excuse.

Gotham was…. Fine– he supposed. Sure it wasn’t Amity. But the powerful feelings that always hung around the city gave it the ambient ecto his core needed to survive. And the Rogue attacks reminded him of how the ghosts used to attack back in Amity, but he didn’t really have anyone he could be truly honest with.

He couldn’t talk about being half-dead or technically the king of all realms or even about being Phantom with the people at his favorite restaurant or his neighbors. In fact, Danny was sure that if he even broached the topic they’d send him to Arkham for fear of him becoming a rogue.

On nights when he felt a bit too isolated, Danny found himself drifting to the roof of his apartment complex, unconsciously reaching for the stars even in his mortal form. His core instinctively reaching for home.

He would stay on the roof for hours sometimes, trying to see any sort of constellation or planet through the smog and pollution. The air burning in his lungs and throat as he pondered.

Tonight? One of those nights. His job had been treating him like hell all month, he couldn’t call Sam because she was busy with her fancy plant nursery, and Tucker was busy with his fancy programming gig so he was out of the question. Jazz wouldn’t do anything but fuss over him if he called her. So it was just him and his thoughts for the night.

Probably a bad thing.

Danny’s eyes drifted down from the smoggy skies and down to the alley below the edge he was sitting on. His beat up sneakers idly kicked as he sat.

For just a moment, Danny considered a nasty thought. Nasty, but tempting.

For a moment Danny wondered what would happen if he fell. If he jumped even.

Would anyone he cared for realize if one day he just– stopped. If he stopped coming to his frequented restaurants, if he stopped chatting with his neighbors. If he didn't go home, or if he didn’t call his friends or family.

He wondered if anyone would notice his body if he jumped. He wondered if his skinny form would be found and put in the news if it would at least be given a grave or if it would rot away in the alley below his feet, getting chewed apart by rats.

He wondered if anyone would care.

And he realized that he wasn’t sure.

Danny wondered if he should test his theory. If he should jump and find out.

The rubber soles of his shoes braced on the wall of the building, preparing to push himself off.

Then a hand on his shoulder startled him out of his spiral.

A startle jumped through him and he snapped his head behind him. Having previously thought that he was alone.

His eyes met the red helmet of the Red Hood. The mechanical wonder of a piece of machinery glaring into his soul as a distinctly robotic voice faintly spoke to him.

His core however recognized something distinctly like the Realms. It trilled and waved in his gut, feeling nearly like butterflies.

“-kid? Kid?” Danny’s hearing finally caught up to his brain and he realized at once that the vigilante had been speaking to him.

“Kid what the fuck are you doing up here?” The robotic voice filtered through the red helmet and Danny internally bristled at being called a kid. He was twenty-four thank you. Not a kid.

“Not a kid.” The Halfa brushed off the vigilante’s concern with well-deserved defense. —Well-deserved in his mind at least.

“Fine, not a kid.” Danny could almost see the eye roll through the augmented voice. “You still can’t just be on rooftops.”

“So? You bats do it. And this is my apartment building, so don’t give me any ‘private property’ bull” The halfa defended his [Lack-thereof] honor against the crime lord.

“Sure, it’s your apartment complex, just don’t sit on the ledge. You could fall and accidentally kill yourself.” Danny almost scoffed at that; Accidentally? He practically killed himself anytime he goes ghost. He thinks he’s beyond accidentally killing himself at this point.

The halfa still inches away from the ledge despite him not believing it necessary. It seemed to calm the vigilante down— at least from what he could tell from the untensing of the veins in his neck.

Red Hood slowly stepped closer— not unlike as if he were a wild animal— crouching and sitting down with a grunt. His large and beefy form sitting only a couple feet away.

“Mind telling me what you’re doing up here on these roofs?” The vigilante asked, voice gruff and distorted from his mask. But Danny swore there was concern woven in his tone.

“Thinkin’,” The halfa found himself deflecting the question. Even though his inner-monologue hissed about how he was being a self-sabotauging idiot in his sister’s voice.

“Yeah? Most people don’t sit on roofs just to think.” Danny could almost see the raised brow beneath the red helmet.

“Most people don't dress up to fight bad guys in the middle of the night,” The halfa pointed out in return, glancing back at the vigilante.

“Har har.” The sarcastic laugh sounded odd and out of place with the audio disruptor. But it was strangely comforting as the vigilante’s form approached, made clear by Danny’s core and the echo of boots on the rooftop.

Danny felt a firm, gloved hand on his shoulder. “Come on kid, let me buy you Batburger, I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Alright,” Danny huffed a small— if still half-hearted— chuckle and stood up, stepping away from the ledge and following the hero into the apartment building and down the emergency stairs.

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leascorner · 11 months ago

Text

j.b.b. | Been dreaming about you

Summary: "I had a dream about her..." Steve only frowned even more - how was that a bad thing? "y'know," Bucky added with a tilt of his head, trying to accentuate what he meant. He didn’t want to say it out loud; it was already as embarrassing as it was.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, miscommunication (or no communication at all), Bucky depreciating himself, mention of war injuries, mention of physical attraction, mention of nudity and sexual act

Word Count: 2.7k

Masterlist

Bucky stopped at the doorstep as Y/N’s laugh made its way to his ears.

His eyes immediately found her, sat down at the kitchen’s bar, a box of cereal in her hand. She was heartily speaking with Sam, and like any time she was talking about something she was passionate about she was speaking with her hands. Bucky couldn’t make out what they were discussing, something about milk and cereals that seemed to leave Steve, sat with them, totally unbothered.

While he really needed a cup of coffee before Tony’s briefing, he hesitated to go in. He wasn’t really in the mood for small talk - truth was, these days, he wasn’t in the mood to talk at all, especially to Y/N. Eyeing the coffee machine Y/N’s had her back turned to, he decided she was way too into her conversation to even notice him. He could just go in, take his coffee and leave.

Yeah, it was a solid plan.

Though it was without counting on Sam calling after him, as soon as he put a foot in the kitchen. Y/N turned to him right away, her face lighting up.

“Hi!” She greeted him, a big smile on her lips that Bucky tried very hard not to look at all.

Bucky only responded by a sharp nod and nearly run to the coffee machine. Her smile faltered slightly at his cold attitude. She watched him get himself a cup of coffee for a second more before she looked back to her own cereal bowl.

Steve frowned to the exchange; he was used to Bucky and Y/N being quite friendly towards each over. Ever since Bucky had been back in the country, Y/N had been part of his rehabilitation protocol. While Tony and Bruce were working on reversing his trigger words, Y/N was working with Bucky as a physical therapist, to try and fix his chronic right shoulder pain. She had been an army physical therapist, serving one tour in Afghanistan, and was specialized on injuries that led to limb amputation.

While the beginning had been complicated - especially due to how unstable Bucky was at the beginning, Y/N had succeeded on getting Bucky to open up to her. The last months, Steve had even found out Bucky was more eager than before going to his PT session. Whenever Y/N was around, Bucky - who normally wouldn’t stay in the common room and much preferred to stay in the quiet of his own room - would linger a little bit longer with them. Despite whatever Bucky would say, Steve just knew his friend had a crush on Y/N (by judging how red his face turned that one time Steve asked him, it was a pretty good crush).

The blond watched as Bucky left rapidly after he got his coffee. Y/N too had watched him, Steve realized when he turned to her. Her face was wearing a small frown, and her eyes were fixed on the last place Bucky could have been seen.

“You alright?” he asked.

As always, Y/N looked back to him and smiled. She didn’t fool him though. Steve didn’t know what was wrong and clearly, she didn’t know either.

Over the next week or so, Steve found himself with a lot of déjà-vu.

Y/N would enter in a room Bucky was in and he would magically disappear. Bucky would find whatever good excuses not to do his physical therapy session - volunteering for missions he didn’t even have anything to do with in the first place. He even wouldn’t put a foot on the twenty-six floor - where Y/N had her office - if he knew she was most likely to be there - that was to say, basically every hour of every week day (Yes, Y/N had a slight work addiction).

It was clear for Steve now, Bucky was avoiding Y/N for whatever reason. Even Tony had asked if everything was alright between the two and he wasn’t the one to notice a lot of things about his own relationship - let alone other people’s relationship.

That morning, Steve had finally decided he would clear the air and talk to Bucky. He had asked him to join him in the kitchen for a coffee and this was of course at this exact same moment, Y/N had decided to get out of her office for some well-deserved break.

When she entered the room, Bucky looked like a deer caught in the headlights and stayed frozen in his seat, he didn’t have time to flee this time. Though he had been avoiding her, Y/N still seemed to be happy to see him.

“Hi!” she greeted them with a smile on her face. She picked her favorite cup from the cupboard and put the kettle on. She turned to Bucky naturally while she waited for the water to be ready. “How is your arm?”

“Well, actually.” Steve had barely heard Bucky as he mumbled.

“No pain whatsoever?”

“Nope.”

“Cool then!”

Y/N smiled as Bucky turned his attention back to his cup of coffee. She rolled on her feet, probably searching for a topic to continue the discussion - this was the most words they had exchanged in the last two weeks. She seemed to search and search again, but nothing came to her mind.

The sharp sound of the electric kettle stopping seemed to bring her back on earth. She looked at Steve and then back to Bucky, who was looking at everything but her. Again, Steve saw the way her smile faltered from his friend’s attitude and as her heart seemed to drop further in her chest. She was hurt he was pushing her away.

“Let me know if you need anything.” And without yet another glance at Bucky, she left. Totally forgetting about the cup of tea she was making.

Steve watched her go and then turned to Bucky, eyebrows furrowed. "What's going on between you two?"

Bucky looked up, eyebrows raised as if he was surprised Steve even asked about it. He didn’t even try to explain everything was fine and the blond didn’t know if it was because to him, everything was actually right, or because he was even surprised anyone had noticed his attitude.

“Don’t look at me like that. I know you were lying. It still hurts you.”

“’M fine,” Bucky muttered, eyes going back to his cup of coffee.

"Every time she is around lately, you just... disappear."

Bucky swallowed, hard. So it was that obvious. He really thought he was being subtle. He was such a nobody at the compound that making himself even smaller that usually, nobody noticed. Of course not.

"I had a dream about her..." Steve only frowned even more - how was that a bad thing? "y'know," Bucky added with a tilt of his head, trying to accentuate what he meant. He didn’t want to say it out loud; it was already as embarrassing as it was.

Oh! Steve seemed to understand.

"What's wrong about that?"

His friend gave him a knowing look. What was wrong with that? What was wrong with THAT? He had imagined kissing her, touching her, caressing her. He had seen what he imagined she looked like without her clothes on. It had felt real, so -so- real.

It had been a little bit more than two weeks now and he still remembered every little details. No matter how busy he was keeping his self, he still had flashes of it at the most random times of the day. At night, he couldn’t close his eyes without reliving the scene, feeling her hands on his body and so he lived of no sleep and a lot of black coffee. He couldn’t concentrate on anything, it was driving him crazy.

Now, he couldn’t look at her without thinking about this. He tried his best not to be in the same room as her or not speak to her. The simple thought of being near her was overwhelming, let alone to have her touching him during one of his physical therapy sessions.

"Bucky, that's fine. She is one of the nicest person I know. She will tell you if that makes her uncomfortable, you'll talk about it and that will be fine."

Bucky groaned. There was no way he would admit this to her; this was already as embarrassing as it was to discuss this with Steve. He had been used to the other way around. In his past life, he had been the one giving Steve advices on how to act with the ladies, even setting him up on blind dates. Somehow, he felt like he was this thirteen-year-old looking at pinup posters in New York streets again.

"And you never know, she might be interested after all."

"How could she?” Bucky huffed, disgusted with himself. “Have you looked at me recently?"

When Bucky finished his cup and turned to Steve, his body language was indicating he was done with this discussion. Steve looked at him with one of his signature sympathetic glances. To Bucky, it felt more like pity than anything else. Steve was pitying him, old poor brainwashed Bucky, who had been kidnapped and forced to do horrible things. Hydra had made him a living time bomb and he felt it more than ever now.

"Come on Bucky, you know that's not true!"

Too late, Bucky was long gone.

Bucky felt like he was cursed.

He had been trying to avoid Y/N. Just for a little bit longer, just for as long as he couldn’t forget about their dreamed intimate moment. Yet, he continuously found himself in situations where she was too. Like when Tony invited her to their weekly catch-up on how they were planning to remove his trigger words from his head. Like when Sam invited her to the team dinner.

Or like today, when he found himself in the elevator... Alone with Y/N.

They stayed silent for most of the ride. After the last few weeks of she couldn’t get Bucky to talk to her despite her best effort, Y/N seemed to be out of subjects to discuss and preferred looking at her hands. A minute before they arrived on the first floor though, she couldn’t help turn to him and ask the question that was burning her lips for a few days now:

"Did I do something wrong?"

Bucky looked up from his own feet to frown at Y/N, a couple of steps from him. He had purposely left a lot of space between them when she boarded the elevator, but even from where he was, he could still smell her perfume and somehow feel her skin touching his.

He frowned at her, as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. Y/N looked frustrated, even angry at little bit, and she had every right to be. They went from seeing each other twice a week for physical therapy session and sharing a few moments on every occasion they got to nothing at all.

She had replayed the events in her head, trying to find what she could have done wrong, and she just couldn’t make out what had happened.

"Your arm, it's bothering you, I can see," she pointed out. Even if he didn’t want to talk to - and even look at - her, she continued to watch out for him. "Why don’t you just come to me?"

"It's fine," Bucky sharply answered. A little too harshly.

The look of hurt on Y/N’s face made Bucky’s heart break. He knew he was unfair to her, yet he couldn’t admit what was going on. She was a too good person to be around him, a poor fuck-up man and a world known assassin.

Despite everything he was putting her through, Y/N didn't want to admit defeat and after the initial shock of the ton he had used to talk to her, she was ready to speak again.

“Please, just don't,” Bucky spoke more softly this time just at the same time as the elevator doors opened.

“Bucky, I-”

But he was gone before she could say anything more.

Y/N was now avoiding him like the plague.

At first, Bucky had been relieved. Now, his heart only sunk when they shared a look and Y/N was quick to look away. He was longing to see her yet whenever he would go up to her office, she wasn’t there. She didn’t venture to the compound’s kitchen any longer; and he knew it because a small coat of dust had started to cover her favourite cup. He had even tried to ask Steve how she was doing, but the only answer he got was always a “why don’t you ask her yourself?” - after the way he had talked to her, Bucky couldn’t bring himself to do it.

As usual, Bucky would be having his last coffee of the day during his afternoon break, just before he would go meet the team for a strength training session at the compound gym. Steve and his reusable water bottle stomped into the room and huffed finding Bucky here. He continued his way to the water dispenser to fill it. Bucky watched, frowning, as he pushed the button so hard it nearly felt off. His annoyance was irradiating all around him and Bucky didn’t remember to have seen him so… sulking before.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked his friend’s back.

Steve’s shoulder dropped as he seemed to take a breath in. He turned slowly, a shadow on his face. His water bottle was very close to being overfilled and his hand also very close to crush it.

“Y/N has resigned,” his voice was a bit deeper than usual, “effective immediately.”

“I don’t understand-”

“She is leaving, Bucky.”

The information seemed to get to Bucky’s brain in an instant. He immediately got up, literally throwing the stool he was sat on away. He run to the elevator and when it didn’t come quick enough, he decided he would run up the stairs to the level Y/N’s office was on. He ran up the corridor and nearly took the door of his office off the hinges while opening it.

Y/N was there, putting the last books she had on her shelves in a box. She stopped in her tracks from the surprise of the brutal intrusion and gave him a dirty look.

“I really don’t have time for this.”

Her voice was cold and sharp, and Bucky wondered if that was how he had talked to her. It hurt him so much to see only anger in her eyes and to know that everything they had shared was lost. All because of him.

And that was probably why he spoke without thinking:

“I’m attracted to you.”

Y/N dropped the book she had in her hand. She looked at him - he looked at her – and Bucky didn’t let any time for her to open her mouth to speak. He didn’t want to lose the courage he had gather to open up his shell.

“I’ve been attracted to you for… well, since being back, but I only realized this wasn’t just a crush – Peter told me that word – until very recently.” He breathed shakily. “I didn’t know how to handle. This (he gestured between the two of them) is much more than just physical attraction. I have feelings for you and I shouldn’t be feeling that.”

“Bucky…” Y/N sighed, getting around her desk to approach him.

“You and I know, I can’t be feeling like that,” Bucky repeated while Y/N shook her head. “And I am so sorry. I know this doesn’t change how badly I have acted towards you, but I hope with time that I can earn your trust again.”

“I am pretty sure we had this conversation before,” Y/N told him, putting away a string of his hair. She was now in front of him, so close to what they had never been in the last few months. “You can’t decide what other people can think or feel. I know it’s easier to push people away when things get tough, but we need you to tell us what is going on in this brain of yours. Okay?”

Tears in his eyes, Bucky nodded. Y/N smiled at him sweetly and all of his problem suddenly seemed to have disappeared.

“I understand this can be a very difficult thing to hear, but you are a good person, Bucky. Whatever happened to you doesn’t define you.” She hugged him, so hard, as if they were reunited after a long time away. “And for the record, I also have a crush on you.”

#jbb #lea's writing #bucky x f!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #mcu imagine #mcu oneshot #bucky barnes one shot #marvel one shot #marvel imagine

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golbrocklovely · 3 months ago

Text

only a dream // sam and colby

A/N: i haven't written a fic since october of 2024..... so i might be just a twinge rusty lol but hopefully you enjoy this one. at least i'm coming back to you with some smut. also fun fact, this actually came to me in a dream, and i just had to write it bc it was too good. lmk what you think and hope you enjoy ;)

prompt: you, sam, and colby decide to investigate an old haunted hotel, famous for its fourth floor incubus. you were nervous to sleep over, but knowing sam and colby would be with you made you feel safe. or at least, that's what you thought. || sam and colby x fem!reader

trigger warning: SMUT (but no actual sex), thigh riding, cursing, no solby, talks of demons/incubus so be weary of that if that isn't your thing, haunted location, mentions of: baby, good girl, sexual language, little bit of angst, not a happy ending (but not a bad ending either??)

word count: 3785

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

"I cannot believe you guys persuaded me to sleep here tonight." I grumbled, throwing my bag down on the bed.

Sam laughed, "Well, at least you don't have the room Colby's staying in. The Haunted Prostitute's room."

"Hey now," Colby interjected, scrunching his face. "Her name is Lady Mandy and she was really cool when we did the Este's Method in her room."

I smirked, side-eyeing Sam, "He's just upset she asked for $20 from him but only $10 from you to stay the night."

Sam deadpanned. "That's because she knows he's easy."

"Or that you're not a good lay." Colby quipped.

Sam looked at him smugly. "I've never had any complaints."

"Can you two stop bickering and tell me what's up with this room..." I glanced around it quickly, "Other than it being old and a bit dusty?"

"This whole floor is known for having a sexual demon on it, an incubus possibly, that likes touching female guests. This room has had multiple female guests say they’ve been touched or scratched." Sam stated.

I sighed, "Awesome. Love that for me."

"Well, we have been on this floor all night, and nothing has happened to you physically. The only thing was those words said to you during the Este’s Method." Sam mentioned.

I shrugged, "Yeah, other than feeling like I had eyes on me. And nothing was said to me in the last EVP session we did either. But still... I don't like being on this floor by myself."

Colby gathered his bag, chiming in. "We are both gonna be upstairs. Just one to two flights away. If you get scared, I'm in room 505 and he's in room 610. You have our spare keys, right?"

I confirmed, "Yep. And you have mine?"

They both nodded. Sam continued, "Okay, let's head up. And remember to set up the time lapse camera once you're in for the night."

I gave a thumbs up lazily. "Gotcha."

Sam and Colby waved goodbye, Colby being the last to leave. "Hey, are you sure you don't mind being here by yourself? If you can't do it, we'll understand."

"No. I'll be okay. But if not, you'll be seeing me." I remarked, only semi-jokingly.

He inhaled. "Okay. I will probably be up for a while, so let me know if you need anything."

"I will. Thanks, Colby." I half-heartedly smiled.

He grinned, his dimples appearing, "Don't mention it."

He closed the door softly. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my beating heart.

I wasn't sure if it was beating because of the anxiety of sleeping in a possibly haunted room or the fact that Colby smiled at me like that.

It was a weird feeling, having a crush on both your friends. I had known them for years, seen them go through deep relationships and random hook ups. And now was the first time we were all single together.

There was never a time that my feelings for them weren’t here; always just under the surface. I pushed them to the side often because I would rather keep our friendship, that I held so close to my heart, alive and well than fuck it up with a relationship. My past dating history showed I wasn't ready for a new one, so pining for them from afar was my only choice. The safest choice.

But this also meant that because I liked them so much, I would do almost anything for them. Including going to haunted locations that I should not be in whatsoever.

I exhaled dramatically, flopping down onto the bed.

All things considered, this room wasn't the worst. Neither was this hotel for that matter.

I had seen the places Sam and Colby had gone to over the years. And there were much scarier places than this. The lore for this hotel was intriguing; especially this apparent incubus that the owner raved about, but nothing ever showed it besides a few choice words during the Estes Method. The lack of activity in this place is why the boys thought about doing time lapse cameras in our rooms to see if anything is captured while we slept. A cool idea, but not one I was looking forward to.

If anything shows up on that camera in the morning, I'm going to drop dead. Or at least shit my pants.

I pulled out my pjs from my suitcase, along with my carrying case of bathroom essentials. I trudged into the bathroom, flipped on the dull fluorescent light, and began to get ready for bed.

It was nerve wracking knowing that we were the only ones in the hotel, minus a stray two or three other guests all the way down on the first floor. The owners of this small hotel gave us an all-access pass during their off season to come in and investigate, which led to us having the whole place basically to ourselves. That was great in a way because it meant no one was going to interrupt our investigation.

But being in a hotel and not seeing anyone around felt like a liminal space. It also didn't help that the rooms we were staying in clearly hadn't had guests in them for months. The owners saved them just for us.

I finished brushing my teeth and washing my face, quickly changing into my clothes for bed; a big shirt and comfy sleep shorts. The room wasn't too cold or hot, thank God, so sleeping in these would be just fine.

I laid in bed for a while, scrolling through every app on my phone. I was nervous to sleep, unsure of what was to happen during the night. I prayed that nothing would, even if that meant Sam and Colby's video would be boring for fans.

Once I could feel sleep creeping up on me, I got out of bed begrudgingly and set up the time lapse camera. I crawled into bed, turned out the light, and stared at the ceiling. In the corner of the room, I could see the tiny red light of the camera, letting me know it was filming me. I turned over onto my side, closed my eyes, and somehow dozed off.

Because of how silent my room was, the littlest bit of noise was going to wake me. However, I didn't imagine I would hear my door opening and closing.

I popped my eyes open, my heart thrumming nervously. My body was cold with fear as I laid frozen.

"Y/N... you awake?" I heard a voice whisper.

I peaked out of the corner of my eye. Two figures stood at the end of my bed. I reached for the light next to me, flicking it on.

It was Sam and Colby, staring at me with semi-worried and tired expressions. I exhaled deeply, shaking my head.

"Holy shit guys. You almost gave me a heart attack!" I whisper-yelled.

"Sorry. We didn't mean to scare you. But... we gotta sleep in here tonight." Sam blurted out, coming around to one side of my bed.

"What why?" I mumbled, putting my head back down on the pillow, annoyed.

"There was some freaky stuff happening in both our rooms. Neither one of us can sleep, so we figured that we would just sleep in here with you." He explained, getting into bed behind me.

"Are the both of you sharing this bed with me?" I questioned sleepily.

"Yeah, if you don't mind." Colby replied, getting in on the other side of me; the boys sandwiching me in.

I yawned, "Whatever. You're lucky it's a king size bed."

Colby turned out the light, placing his head down on the pillow. "Night." He whispered. Sam followed suit, mumbling a 'goodnight'.

I hummed, falling asleep immediately.

I wasn't sure how long I slept, but I felt comfortable and safe squished between Sam and Colby. No dreams came, but when I stirred awake, I didn't feel all that rested. My body was warm, heat radiating from my cheeks and face.

I felt a light fan of air hit my face, a body very close to mine. A leg was tangled in between my own, a knee brushing my lower thigh. Behind me, another body was pressed against me, our backs touching.

"Y/N..." A voice murmured lowly.

I squinted one eye open, my vision adjusting to the darkness of the room; the only light coming from the moon peeking through the curtains. My eyes fluttered, and once they opened fully, I was face-to-face with Colby.

"Colby?" I said groggily.

"Were you having a nightmare? You were making some... weird noises in your sleep." He asked.

I muttered, "No. Wasn't really dreaming."

He shook his head, moving on, "Even though we didn't get that much evidence, this place does feel odd."

I agreed, "Yeah."

His eyes softened. "How does this room make you feel?"

"Um..." I cleared my throat, waking up a bit more. "Not as bad as the other rooms, I guess."

"That's good. You know, you had me worried there. After the Estes Method." He admitted, moving an inch closer.

I furrowed my brow, "Really? Why?"

"When you and Sam were talking about the words that were coming through, that lined up with sex demon... you looked really scared." Colby informed, his eyes meeting mine.

I was surprised, "I did? Hmm... I mean, it was creepy to hear my own name come through."

"What were the words that concerned you again?" He queried.

As I went to say them, Sam turned over in his sleep, his arm draping over my hip lazily. He exhaled deeply, a light snore leaving his lips. "It was my name, 'desire', 'tonight', and 'pleasure'."

"That's right. That is creepy." Colby frowned.

I snickered, "Right? No thanks."

He smirked, "Well you don't have to worry. Me and Sam are here to protect you."

I bit my lip, my eyes fluttering at his words. "That's sweet of you to say."

"We always want to make you happy, just like you make us." He responded, his tone sincere.

"You do. You both mean so much to me. Our friendship is everything to me." I answered candidly.

Colby grew quiet for a moment, the air suddenly feeling thick. I was growing dreary again, the silence lulling me back to sleep.

"Is that why you pretend to not have feelings for us?"

My breath hitched in my throat, my heart skipping a beat. I popped my eyes open, gazing directly into Colby's.

"W-What?" I stammered.

"You like me, and Sam... Don't you?" He raised an eyebrow, leaning towards me.

I shifted under his stare, my body growing hot instantly. My throat felt dry, mouth unable to form words.

Colby continued, "It's okay. You don't have to say anything. We already both know."

My face dropped as I studied his own. He was so calm about this, meanwhile my heart was about ready to burst through my chest. I swallowed hard, exhaling and ignoring Colby’s gaze. “How long have you known… that I-I’ve liked… you?”

"A while. Sam pointed it out to me once and then it just became noticeable. You’re not as slick as you think." He laughed quietly.

My mind was reeling, unable to process everything at once. I became acutely aware of everything around me. Sam was almost draped over me, Colby’s leg was pressed in between my own. I could feel their breaths hitting me simultaneously. My heart banged against my ribs, pulsing in my ears.

"Don’t be so nervous, Y/N," Sam murmured suddenly, his voice low and husky from sleep. "It’s okay if you like us."

I shuttered, "B-but our friendship-"

"Can still exist. Even if you like us." He commented, cutting me off.

"Especially if... we like you too." Colby added.

My eyes flickered to Colby’s face, widening. His expression was almost unreadable. But his words sounded simple, like what he said was fact.

"W-what?" I stuttered, my breath shallow.

"Is it weird if I say I thought you looked beautiful during the investigation? When we were reading the history of this place to the camera, and you were just watching us, it was so hard to keep my eyes off of you." Colby changed the subject, confessing and scooting closer to me in bed, our noses almost touching.

Sam hummed, his voice raising the hairs on my neck. "I liked the way you felt in my arms when you jumped into them when the R.E.M pod went off. I always wanted to protect you."

Colby agreed, "Sometimes we argue with each other when the other gets to touch you too much."

My eyes fluttered, my chest heaving with ragged breaths. “Are you guys joking right now?”

"We would never joke about this. You mean so much to us, Y/N." Sam spoke, quietly but firm.

"Can I kiss you?" Colby asked, pulling my attention back to him.

"Yes." I replied, shocked by my own voice. The desperation, the breathy word sounding foreign to my own ears.

Colby smiled, leaning in and kissing me tenderly. It was gentle, but I could feel his passion being held back by him. I breathed in the kiss, a whimper falling from my lips.

Sam’s hand snaked around me, up my chest and cupped my throat. He held me, pulling me away from Colby. “My turn, please.”

My head turned with Sam’s help, our lips locking instantly. He pressed his body closer to mine, his hips pushing against my ass as his tongue teased my mouth.

Colby’s leg moved up, separating my legs apart more, pressing into my core. My wet panties rubbed against my aching center, suddenly making me aware how turned on I had become by their words.

I gasped, ripping my mouth away from Sam. "W-what are you doing?"

"Just trying to make you feel good. Do you want me to stop? Whatever you want, I’ll do." Colby’s eyes narrowed, darkening with lust.

Sam’s mouth connected with my earlobe, nibbling softly. "Tell him what you want."

"Should we do this?" I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to reset my brain. It was hard to think with both of them so close to me. "If we cross this boundary, we can’t go back."

"If it’s what you want, then let’s do it. We just want to make you feel good, baby. Please let us." Colby pleaded lowly, his lips brushing against mine.

"Please, Y/N. We want it just as much as you do. Can you feel that?" Sam whispered, his crotch grinding against my ass lazily. I felt his growing hardness press into me, my mouth falling open in a silent gasp. Colby cupped my wrist, dragging my hand down his abs, stopping just above his bulge. I could feel it, clothed and erect, brushing up against my fingers.

Colby began to pull his leg away, his hold on my hand loosening. I gripped his forearm, shuddering a breath. "Don’t stop."

Colby smirked, a seductive laugh came from Sam. "Good girl."

He nudged his leg back up, his lower thigh pushing against my aching middle. I whined, feeling my body grind down against his thigh.

Sam's voice came out in a husky purr, "That's it baby, ride his thigh. Get yourself nice and wet for us."

"She's already wet. I can feel her through her shorts. She soaked through." Colby chuckled darkly.

"Really, Y/N? We barely did anything to you, and you're already this wet." Sam's lips tickled my ear as he whispered, "You're so desperate, huh?"

I nodded mindlessly, bucking my hips slowly on Colby's thigh. I couldn't believe this was happening. And I couldn't stop myself from enjoying the sensations.

Colby leaned forward, kissing me again. As he did, Sam's mouth found my neck, sucking and biting the sensitive areas. Hands found my breasts, making me moan into the kiss. Colby's tongue snaked in, my body growing hotter by the second.

"Fuck! Keep grinding against me, baby. That feels so good." Sam grunted, his clothed cock pressed firmly against my ass as I moved back and forth on Colby's thigh.

"Touch me, Y/N. Give me some relief, please sweetheart." Colby huffed, grabbing my hand and lowering it to his erection. I cupped him softly, rubbing my hand in circular motions. He sighed, his lips finding mine again.

I melted into the kiss, letting my body go on autopilot. I could feel myself getting closer to an orgasm, each thrust against Colby's thigh causing the pleasure to grow and grow.

Colby let out a guttural breath, pushing his dick harder into my hand. "We should have done this sooner. I can't believe we waited until now."

"I wanted you both for so long." I confessed, whimpering mindlessly.

"And now you can have us. Whenever you want." Sam hissed, his voice dripping with need.

I gasped, my hips bucking faster. I could feel a light layer of sweat form on my skin, my clothes sticking to me.

"You close, Y/N? Are you gonna come for us?" Colby's eyes locked with mine intensely.

I nodded, unable to form words, not trusting my voice.

"We barely touched you and you're gonna come. Imagine how good it will feel when we're inside you..." Sam smirked against my skin, breathing heavy.

I swallowed hard, "F-Fuck, I'm so close."

"Grind harder, baby. Ride my thigh like it's my dick." Colby demanded, his tone depraved.

I whined, panting as I sped up my hips. I gripped onto Sam's arm and Colby's shirt with my hands, needing to steady myself. I locked eyes with Colby, struggling to keep from rolling mine in pleasure.

"That's it, Y/N. Be a good girl for us." Sam leaned in, his lips pressed against my ear, "Come."

Colby narrowed his eyes lustfully, "Do it, baby. Come now."

Ecstasy exploded throughout my body, my orgasm hitting me deeply. I writhed in pleasure, bucking my hips with abandonment. I squeezed my eyes shut, silent cries falling from my mouth. My grip on the boys loosened as the pleasure slowed down. I mewled in a low tone, my body becoming heavy with sleep. My breathing steadied, the afterglow of my orgasm coursing through my body and lulling me unconscious.

When I woke, it was bright outside, the light cascading through the blinds and shining in my room. I was alone, my bed looking almost undisturbed.

I took in my surroundings, confused. A wave of sadness hit me for a moment. Did both of them really leave me in the middle of night? After everything we did last night, I hoped they would have stayed so we could talk.

My eyes widened as the camera came into view. Fuck! I forgot that was on last night. I stumbled out of bed, walking over to it awkwardly. I turned it off, saving the footage to the camera's storage. I waited for it to load back up so I could watch. I wasn't sure how much it would have caught last night, silently hoping the footage was suspiciously gone.

I began watching the footage, speeding through it as quickly as I could. I waited for Sam and Colby to appear, wondering what time they left too. I slowed the film down, my eyes taking in the events that unfolded. The door to my bedroom never opened, but I sat up in bed, turning the light on. I could see myself talking to something, flopping back down asleep. The light turned off on its own, no one getting into bed beside me. In horror I watched as my body twisted in pleasure, mimicking the movements I was making against Sam and Colby last night.

Or... what I thought was Sam and Colby.

That was all a dream. They never came into my room. They never confessed to knowing about my feelings or having feelings for me. They were never here!

The incubus...

I chucked the camera on the bed, a chill running up my spine. I raced over to my phone, texting Sam and Colby to come to my room ASAP.

They arrived a couple minutes later, confused as to my panic. I showed them the footage, watching them stare at the small screen in bewilderment.

"What were you dreaming about? Your body is moving... an awful lot in the video." Colby asked, looking up at me from the camera.

I blush, not sure what to say. Thank God there is no audio on the time lapse cameras. "Um... let's just say it was a NSFW type of dream."

"Oh...." He paused, then cocked his head, "Wait. Do you think it was...?"

"The incubus?" I suggested. Their eyes shifted away from me as I nodded, "...Yeah. At least, it’s possibility."

Sam gaped down at the camera, "Wow, that's crazy! This footage is unbelievable."

Colby snickered, trying to lighten the mood. "Who did you have sex with in your dream?"

My eyes ignored their gaze, "Uh... no one in particular. Or I-uh, couldn't place the face."

"Even weirder. I'm gonna take this back to my room and save it onto my laptop. I do not want this footage to get corrupted or accidentally deleted." Sam responded, leaving my room quickly with the camera in hand.

Colby stood in my room, studying me as I sat awkwardly on the bed. I bit my lip, doing my best to not meet his stare.

He stepped towards me, "Are you okay? I can't imagine what's going through your head."

I exhaled tiredly, "I've been better. I just can't believe that dream last night wasn't real. It just felt so..."

"Real?" He replied, biting back a cheeky smile.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that." I jokingly glared, rolling my eyes at him. But then I sighed, my shoulders slumping. "I should have known better though."

"About what?" He questioned.

"That something like that wouldn't happen." I whispered, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice.

He furrowed his brow, "Something like what? A man having sex with you?"

"The person... people, in question. They wouldn't have sex with me." I commented, standing up.

"Oh? There were multiple? Kinky." He remarked sarcastically.

I continued, "I confessed something to them, and they confessed back. I should have known that would never happen."

"Hey, you never know." Colby cupped my arm gently, "You are an amazing person, and anyone would be lucky to be with you, Y/N. Don't sell yourself short."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." I hugged him tightly, pulling him as close as I could.

"That's what friends are for." He stated, rubbing my back sweetly.

I tried not to wince at his words, nodding my head. "Yep... friends."

#sam and colby #sam and colby fanfiction #sam and colby fanfic #sam and colby fic #sam and colby smut #sam golbach fanfiction #sam golbach fanfic #sam golbach smut #sam golbach fic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fic #colby brock smut #sam and colby x reader #sam golbach #colby brock

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dubina-dawkins · 7 months ago

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WINCHESTER'S PICKUP, INJURIES AND CLUMSY KISSES

~1k words

>you get hurt while hunting with your uncle, John Winchester and his son. Dean can't help but help.

pairing:teen! dean winchester x teen! reader

warnings/notes: basically a really tooth rotting fluff, first love and first kiss trope, vague descriptions of reader's past (like death of their family), few but subtle descriptions of injuries, john winchester mentioned (and i mean he's a real trigger so that's important), gn reader, no usage of y/n

REPOSTS WILL BE APPRECIATED

Minnesota. A werewolf hunt. Ordinary case-- boring, in a way. Just had to catch the bastard and shoot it through the heart with silver.

It seemed normal even to you, even though you weren't even an adult yet. Had to grow up early, huh? God, you hated that phrase. It sounded like you were feeling sorry for yourself. And self-pity is weak, very weak! At least that's what your uncle, the hunter who raised you since your family died in a vampire attack taught you.

And besides, you and your uncle weren't alone on this case, but with "family friends" - the Winchesters. Were they considered family friends if every time John needed help hunting and Dean was busy, your youngest son, Sam, was left at your and your uncle's house? Hell if I know! But at least you got a good memory of that family. And the older son's face, his cocky grin, his brilliant green eyes, his perfect nose and distinct freckles...it was all getting to your throat.

But damn it, it had to be some old, abandoned house. Protruding nails, scattered things, wood that left splinters in fingers - it would be dangerous here, even in daylight, without the risk of having your heart eaten...and when there was that risk, every step was tense.

Especially when the "hunted object" - you tried not to think of them as people, or else it became too hard to hunt - had run right into your path. The rumble of falling things, the pop of missed shots. This werewolf was physically strong and dexterous, so it was hard.

Like when he threw you into the wall and some protruding, crooked, rusty nail pierced your shoulder. It's okay, we've been through worse injuries, you'd think. Until Dean ran up to you, completely ignoring his father's scolding.

"Hey, are you okay? Ooh..." He seemed to swear, but it was quiet, a whisper he didn't want his father to hear. Dean sharply threw your arm, whose shoulder wasn't injured, over his neck and lifted you up, not listening to any of your complaints about not needing help.

"Dad's gonna kill you- sshhiit..." You hissed as he pressed his shirt, previously hanging over his black T-shirt, against your shoulder, treating the wound. The fabric was soaked with whiskey.

Hearing your sounds of pain, Dean lifts his emerald eyes from your wound to your face. His gaze is piteous, concerned, and his thick lashes glisten in the moonlight.

He was too handsome. Objectively, of course.

"Like the first time I'm going to get a punch from him... All right?" He squeezes your healthy shoulder in the palm of his hand, then puts his hand on the collar of your t-shirt, and...stops. "I... Can you slip your arm out of your sleeve?"

All his arrogance evaporated, there wasn't a particle of it in the air. And it was cute.

"You want me to take my clothes off? Pervert," you laugh, but your face immediately frowns as you raise your arm. Dean doesn't waste a second and starts helping you.

And God, the touch of his somehow warm fingers - there was a cool breeze outside, by the way - send shivers down your spine, making you dizzy. But you don't think about it. At least you're trying.

A low whimper escaped your lips as he tightened a piece of cloth, torn from your shirt and soaked in alcohol, on your wound. Maybe it wasn't unusual, but it still hurt.

"You're gonna stay here, you hear me? There's no way in hell you're going to go fight that big guy again right now. I won't let you," Dean said, glancing outside his dad's pickup window. His dad and your uncle were still in the house with a werewolf, apparently. You two could have been alone...for a little while. But of course that didn't excite you at all. You and Dean were just friends, right? Hunting bros. Nothing more.

And the fact that your gaze fell to his lips, then to his cheeks, covered with freckles, sharp cheekbones, ash-black long lashes, brilliant green eyes.... It meant nothing. At all.

"Whatever you say, sir," you quipped, rubbing the wound under the piece of cloth with your hand. Dean just gently pulled your hand away, "Don't make it worse for yourself, buddy." And oh, his tone is so gravelly. You're absolutely done.

But he won't let go of your hand. And you don't want to pull away.

His green eyes came up to your face, and he suddenly just froze, as if he couldn't look away. Dean stared at you as if you were the most brilliant and expensive gem, as if you were a living angel he hadn't believed in for a long time.... Like something unearthly. It would be foolish not to admit that you looked at him the same way.

Dean squeezed your hand lightly, and slowly - yes, very unusual for Dean Winchester to do something slowly - moved closer, but in a friendly way for now. In the same second, however, he remembered who he was, and his hand went up to your neck - still tentatively, of course... "Listen, buddy-..."

"Dean, please..."

And that did it. Dean's one word was enough for him to press his lips lightly against yours. He wasn't pushy, he wasn't rough, he didn't even let himself try to deepen the kiss. His lips only phantomly touched yours, guiding you, somehow even mentoring you, gently (still unusual for Dean Winchester himself!). His lips were matte, a little dry, but damn it, you liked it better than the sweetest meals of your life.

He pulls back, takes a deep breath and leans into you again. You're so cooked.

Dean can't help but marvel at your ineptitude at kissing- God, he could have sworn it made it the best kiss of his life. His lips move hotter, feistier, more needy, but still tentative, dipping down a little to leave a few quick nibbles on your chin and on your jaw--

Until you start hearing John and your uncle's voices outside. Oh, God, not now!

"Sorry, baby, sorry-" the nickname slides off his tongue so tenderly, lovingly, as he quickly pulls moves away from you.

Because after today, the chance of Winchester allowing you to see Dean earlier than after few months was close to zero.

a/n: i needed to think about little dean that haven't experienced hell already (on s4 currently yaaay). young jensen on header only because i can't think of teen dean looking as original cast actor for this role. and because i love young jensen. like really much. think im starting to get a lil' bit too much obsessed with dean

#supernatural #spn #supernatural x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural fluff #writers on tumblr

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buckysthunderbolts · 5 days ago

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Maternal Instincts

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After avoiding Bucky for far too long, you're forced to come to him and ask him to help you walk through memories you don't believe are real. Only this time, it involves two people that look suspiciously like you and Bucky.

Warnings: Eventual 18+ content, canon-typical violence, knives, injuries, drugging

Word Count: 3.5k+

Author's Note: I'm baaaaaaaack (for now at least)! I got inspired to write this after seeing thunderbolts* a few weeks ago. I originally posted this on my AO3 lokislaufeysons. Hopefully my fanfic skills aren't rusty, I've been out of practice for way too long. Anyway, please let me know what you think by leaving comments! Ta ta for now!!

Chapter 1: Little Viper

NOW

Even after all this time, I still don’t trust my memories. I can’t talk to the two people who would know what was real and was not real. Steve is gone. I’m too ashamed to go to Bucky. He’s healthy. He’s moved on. He doesn’t need me. I just remind him of his past and mine. He’s too busy now. He’s gotten the hero’s treatment he’s always deserved and earned. The gaps in my memory are my punishment, a reminder of every bad thing I’ve done.

Bucky calls and leaves messages. His voice is earnest and full of concern, gentle. His tone reaches to the back of my mind, bringing back memories I don’t know are real and I am too afraid to ask him if they are. Flashes of soft laughter, gentle touches, and lingering kisses. If I told him the nightmares I have and the flashes of memories that I don’t know are real or not, I know he would tell me the truth. I don’t know if I could handle the answer.

Instead, I bury myself in liquor and work. It dulls the pain and loneliness I feel. The ache in my chest, the emptiness I feel, the void in my life. There’s something missing and I can’t figure out what. It only comes in flashes in my dreams and nightmares.

Sam tries his best to be there for me, but I think I’ve pushed him away too many times for him to keep trying. He reminds me too much of Steve and it hurts too much. He hasn’t given up on me, no matter how many times I tell him there is no point. He’s patient and doesn’t say much and doesn’t mention Bucky.

It’s one of the reasons I now have a court mandated therapist. It’s part of my own journey to make amends with everything I’ve done and everyone I’ve hurt, even if I didn’t have a choice. I don’t think I’m worthy of forgiveness or redemption, not in the same way Bucky is. I just have to carry it with me every day and move forward, without burdening Bucky and holding him back from moving on and healing.

“You know, pushing away the people that care about you the most tends to have the exact opposite effect you want it to,” Yelena murmurs, leaning against the balcony, looking down at the party beside me.

I scoff and roll my eyes, taking a long drink of my champagne. “Now that you’re an Avenger, you’re therapizing me?” I asked. “Once upon a time you did the exact same thing.”

Yelena hums and nods in agreement. “I know I did. It just made me feel worse. You should just talk to him. You’ve said you don’t trust your memories. Talking to Bucky about it will give you clarity. He can tell you what was real and what was not.”

I swallow hard, my eyes following Bucky’s every move below. His hair is slicked back, and he’s dressed in a tux that does nothing to hide his strength. He’s surrounded by politicians and other powerful people. I haven’t told anyone about the flashes of memories I get when they’re triggered.

“That’s what scares me.”

“Gregor is entering the building,” Sam’s voice breaks our conversation through the earpiece, and I look towards the main entrance.

Dr. Gregor Markov enters the massive ballroom flanked by his private security team. He’s dressed in a maroon suit. His silver hair is perfectly combed and beard neatly trimmed. I’m responsible for intercepting him. Dr. Markov is responsible for selling unsanctioned biological weapons and has avoided capture for many years. He helped finance the Black Widow program and has never been held responsible for his crimes. He hides behind philanthropic efforts and his deep pockets. Familiarity gnaws at me as I look at him and it twists my stomach. Dread fills me.

“On it,” I replied, turning from the balcony and hurrying down the grand staircase, pushing down the warnings I feel stir inside me.

“Remember, you need to get him alone. We need to quickly and quietly subdue him. An exit is just beyond his private study. Joaquin and I are just outside. Yelena and Bucky are inside if there are any problems. Once you get him alone, you have five minutes to exit.”

I walk around and through the ball room, weaving through the thrones of people. My gaze never leaves Markov’s frame. I watch him smile and shake hands with guests. He moves closer to the bar, and I lean against an empty chair. His eyes catch mine and he drinks me in.

I’m dressed in a long, dark blue gown with a plunging neckline and open back and high slit that ends near the top of my thigh. The top of my dress is tight against my chest and hugs my body in all the right places. He smiles and breaks away from his group and comes up to me. I smile coyly and let him take my hand. He brings it up to his mouth and kisses the back of my hand. It itches something in the back of my head, but I push the feeling down.

“What would you like to drink, Ms.…” Markov asks, trailing and waiting for my name.

“Ana,” I replied, the fake name slipping easily off my tongue. The wig I have on itches my scalp. “Martini, as dirty as they can make it.”

He grins, nodding towards the bartender. “Two extra dirty martinis please.”

The bartender works quickly and pushes them on the counter towards us. He takes them both in his hands before handing one of the glasses to me. We cheers silently and I take a long, hard drink.

“Would you like to dance?”

I smile again and take another long sip before nodding. He takes my hand and guides me to the middle of the ballroom. His security team lingers at the edge of the dance floor. He spins me around settles a hand on my waist and the other inside my hand. I rest my free hand on his shoulder.

The sound of violins and other string instruments fill the speakers. We move gently to the music and my eyes flicker over to Bucky. He’s standing by a table surrounded by rich philanthropists and world leaders. He has a drink in his hand and listens and observes quietly. I watch him turn towards the dance floor and he finds me. He follows my moves and I can’t read the emotion on his face.

“What brings you here to my home?” Markov’s thick Austrian accent breaks my focus, and my eyes find his again. The hand on my waist slides down and he greedily cops a feel of my ass. I resist the urge to twist his hand and grit my teeth.

“Professional curiosity. What made you open your home and host this gala? Rumor has it that you enjoy your reputation as a recluse. Why change that?”

He laughs in my ear and hums in reply. “To stroke my ego, I suppose. Are you really a philanthropist if you don’t host a fundraising gala in your honor?”

I laugh and creep my hand towards the back of his neck, twirling a piece of hair between my fingers. “I guess not. It’s for a good cause, so why not celebrate all your efforts? You’re making a difference.”

“I like you. You know exactly what to say to make me want to sneak away and take what I want from you in my study.”

“So why don’t you?”

“My age doesn’t put you off? I’m at least 30 years older than you.”

Too bad you don’t know I’m technically over 100 years old. I’m old enough to be your mother.

“Not at all. You’re still very attractive. You’re philanthropic and filthy rich. Does me being younger than you put you off?” I asked, throwing the question back at him with a sly grin.

Markov grins again and shakes his head. “Touche.”

We part briefly before he grabs my hand again. We walk towards the grand staircase and his security detail follows closely behind. He turns and leans into the ear of the largest man on his detail and whispers something. The men back off and Markov turns to look at me again. He guides me up the stairs, down the hall past a set of guards towards his private office and the closest exit.

My heart races and I swallow hard as he opens the door to his study. The room is massive. His desk is backed up against a massive bookcase. Picture frames are on the desk and piles of paper are neatly organized in front of the chair. A couch sits on the far wall across from the windows. The curtains are drawn, but the moon light leaks in. The door clicks quietly behind me, and Markov’s fingers reach out and touch my bare spine. I have to act quickly and strategically. If I’m not out of this room dragging Markov’s unconscious body behind me within the next five minutes, Yelena and Bucky will come storming in. I need to act fast.

I can’t help but shiver. I turn and reach for him, my hands brushing up his chest towards his shoulders before I grip his shirt between my fingers and pull him towards me. His mouth finds mine and we kiss aggressively. He turns around and pushes me against the door. I smile against his mouth and rest my hands on his chest, slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt. His hand finds my waist and pulls my leg up, brushing his fingers up and down my bare thigh.

I carefully reach down my other leg for the syringe strapped to my thigh. I’m seconds away from plunging it into the side of his neck when he pulls away from me. I fix my dress quickly and watch him wipe his mouth. He laughs and shakes his head.

“You’ve lost your touch, malen'kaya gadyuka,” Markov hummed. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize me. Hydra and I did a good job erasing your memories and turning you into a monster. Has Barnes tried to jog your memory or are you too ashamed to ask him?”

Little Viper. I haven’t heard that name in so long. Dread fills me, and my brows pinch together. I stare at Markov for a long, silent moment. Instead of his silver hair, it’s a curly dark brown. Glasses appear on the bridge of his nose. His full cheeks thin out and his straight, narrow nose moves slightly off center, like it had been broken one too many times.

“Anton Bierhal,” I murmur in disbelief. He grins and claps like I’ve just won a prize. I could hardly recognize him. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

I shot him dead when I escaped the mountainside compound in Russia just before Bucky was transferred to D.C. to take out Nick Fury. I wanted to take him with me, but he was too fresh from coming out of the cryogenic chamber to remember who I was and what I meant to him.

“It’s amazing what technology can do to save lives.”

Something clicks near his desk and two people enter from a hidden door from behind the bookcase. It takes my attention away from my target briefly, but it’s too late. Bierhal blows a powdered substance in my face. It startles me and I try to bat it away from my face. I’m running out of time.

I reach for the syringe on my thigh and stalk towards him. I pull my arm back and push down until the needle is just inches from the side of his neck. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t push it any further. Bierhal grins and slaps the needle out of my hand.

“Even after all this time, I still control you. Who knew such a small substance could have all this power over someone? You can’t touch me. It overwhelms your sympathetic nervous system to the point you can’t even speak. You’re fully aware of what you are doing but can’t do anything to stop it. Your enemies become your allies. Your allies become your enemies. It’s amazing how easy it is to overwhelm and confuse the sympathetic nervous system with the right combination of drugs. You’re so overwhelmed you can’t speak. You have no control.”

I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Bierhal laughs again and circles around to his desk and sits down. He buttons up his shirt. The two individuals that came in through the bookcase entrance flank his side before walking towards me. I brace myself and square my shoulders.

My eyes flicker between the two and familiarity hits me in the chest. The man looks like Bucky did when he was drafted for the war. It felt like entering a time machine the longer I stared at him. Looking at the woman felt like looking in a mirror. She looks like how I did when the war started. Deep down, I knew them somehow, and that whatever I did to them would be the thing I regretted the most.

Flashes of being held in captivity and training them break through. My inability to show emotion and care when I would beat them until they broke. More memories pass by, one different than the rest. This time, I’m crying and reaching towards something, desperate sobs rip through my chest. A team of doctors ignore my pleas. I’m exhausted and broken.

They both pull knives from their suits and charge at me. I dodge and move defensively. I can’t attack. Every time I try to respond to protect myself, one of them easily blocks it. It’s like they know every move I make before I make it myself.

The man jabs me in the side with his fist, and I stumble into a side table. The woman throws the knife in her hand towards my head, and it scrapes my forehead. My head hits the floor and pain blossoms. Blood slides down my face and I struggle to my feet.

The man kicks my stomach, and I fall to the ground again with a loud gasp. He’s knocked the wind out of me, and I struggle to breathe. He pins me to the floor and holds a knife to my throat. His eyes find mine and I can’t help but feel like I’m looking at someone I should know. I feel the blade slowly slice my skin open just enough for it to burn.

The door to the study breaks open and Yelena and Bucky burst through the door. They both have guns trained on them and Bierhal cackles, standing up from his chair and clapping. The man loosens his grip on the knife against my throat and stands up.

I scramble to my feet. Yelena turns and moves the gun away from Bierhal onto the woman nearest him. Bucky’s grip on his gun hesitates and he quickly looks over to me. I can’t help what I do next. I can’t speak, I can’t tell them I have no control over what I’m doing, that whatever Bierhal gave me makes them into my targets instead of my allies.

I turn away and lunge towards Yelena. She stumbles back into Bucky and her eyes widen and fill with betrayal. I can’t apologize. I can’t tell her I didn’t have a choice. Instead, I swipe a blade from a holster on her thigh and swipe at her. She quickly dodges the knife and the pair exchange hits against Bucky.

Yelena yells my name, but I can’t hear her. I side swipe her and kick her to the ground. She back flips and kicks me in the stomach. I fly back against the far wall with a crack. I’m disoriented and dizzy. I watch with horror as Yelena reaches for her gun and aims it at the woman, her attention and energy focused on Bucky. Yelena’s finger sits on the trigger.

I don’t know what to do without hurting anyone. I scream loudly and reach for the fallen blade. All eyes are on me and Bucky reaches for me, but it’s too late. Time moves slowly as I plunge the knife into my gut and fall to my knees. He catches me and Yelena runs to my side. I still try to hurt them by reaching for the knife inside me. Yelena pins my arm to the floor. Tears blur my vision and I struggle against their bodies.

“Well, I certainly did not expect that,” Bierhal laughed. “How noble of you. I guess even if you don’t remember your own children, the maternal instincts are still there, deep down.”

“What did you do to her? Why is she trying to kill us and not you? Why can’t she speak?” Yelena asked, pressing her hand against the wound. Another scream rips through me and it makes me dizzy with pain.

He shrugs and grabs his jacket from behind the chair where he sat. “All I did was remind her nervous system who she was. She just forgot who was in control.” He disappears through the bookcase with the pair and Bucky gently caresses my face. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out and I’m struggling to breathe.

“Slow breaths, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured quietly, lifting me in his arms. Yelena is hot on his heels and kicks the exit door open.

“Prepare the med-vac!” Yelena yelled as my vision went dark as we climbed into the jet.

….

THEN

“If we had kids, what would you want their names to be?” Bucky asked out of the blue the weekend he received his draft card and uniform. His head laid in my lap as we sat on a blanket in Central Park. I stop twirling his hair between my fingers and my eyes meet his.

“Kids?” I asked in disbelief. “How are you thinking about having kids right now? You’re leaving in three days to who knows where and I’m going to England right after. Not to mention, we’re both poor and unmarried. I think both our ma’s would kill you if you got me pregnant before marriage.”

Bucky must see the distress in my face and sits up. The soft smile on his face disappears and he reaches for my hands. He squeezes them gently and kisses the back of my hand. “I’m not. I just want to picture our future when things are tough, and I forget why I’m forced to fight in the first place. When I’m cold, dirty, and missing you wherever I am, I want to be able to look at the picture of you I have tucked against my chest and picture what our lives will look like when this is all over. I want to picture our children and marriage and what our lives will look like after the war.”

Tears threaten to spill over my cheeks, and I turn my back to him. The last thing he needs to see is me crying. He’s been drafted and is leaving New York in a few days to join the war. He’s been nothing but strong and stable, and here I am crying like a baby.

Bucky pulls me against his chest and I hold his arm against mine. My shoulders shake as I cry quietly in his lap, and he lets me. He rests his chin on top of my head and kisses my hair. “You’re too good to me,” I sniff, hugging his arm. “How did I get so lucky?”

I feel him smile against my head and his mouth lingers against my ear. “Nonsense, sweetheart. I’m the lucky one.” He kisses my temple.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while. The sounds of children playing fill the air with the summer breeze. The warm sun flickers through the trees and on to my skin. My fingers play with his.

“Alice Margaret for a girl,” I answer after a while. Bucky’s free hand stills in my hair. “Peter Steven for a boy.”

He grins against my skin. “Those are beautiful names. How long have you had those names picked out?” he asked teasingly.

I scoff and playfully elbow him. “Junior year of high school. What about you, hmm? I’m sure you’ve thought of names since you were the one who asked me about names for our future children.”

He hums. “Hmm…. I like the sound of that…. Our children. Faith or Grace for a girl. Steven or William for a boy.”

I grin and turn my head so our eyes meet. I brush my nose against his and press my mouth against his. Bucky smiles against my lips and returns the kiss eagerly, his hand holding the side of my face.

“I like those names,” I mumbled against his lips. “We’ll just have to put all those names in a hat and draw the names of our children.”

Bucky laughs again and my lips kiss his teeth.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky fanfic #bucky x you

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