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helplessautomaton · 4 days ago

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siren’s song [one-shot]

avengers!bucky x avengers!reader

summary: bucky hears music through the vents of his room every single night, but the team refuses to tell him for his own protection. after all, they know the music is coming from you- a secret member of the team, who happens to be able to control minds.

warnings: 18+, mdni, no use of y/n, language, alternating pov’s, the avengers don’t like you/are scared of you, bucky is your biggest and loudest defender, steve is a meanie but he’s bucky’s biggest and loudest defender,, reader is a lil insecure and depressed but eh she’s a tortured™️ artist so what did we expect, reader knows sign language and is expressed in bold text throughout the fic

word count: 10.9k

a/n: apologies in advance for any inaccurate to semi-accurate music descriptions T_T i am a washed singer/musician that hasn’t done music since i switched over to the healthcare industry </3

masterlist

Everyone treats him as if he is something breakable. Fragile. That one wrong move, one wrong word– one wrong breath is enough to shatter him.

In all honesty, Bucky can’t blame them completely. It took him a long time to get to where he is right now, and he still has to lie to himself to say that he’s doing okay. He still hopes that the lie will somehow manifest itself into truth if he tries hard enough.

Either way, it’s pissing him off.

The team acts as if they can’t hear the music that comes through the vents during random points of the day. Sometimes, it’s piano. Bucky can’t tell the difference between a violin or a viola, but he hears one of the two as well. There’s a low thrum of a cello every once in a while. He hears an acoustic guitar in the early mornings when the sun is barely breaking through the horizons.

Sometimes the melodies strike through his skin and grip his bones, never letting him go. Other times he’s soothed to sleep as if a gentle hand is caressing his head, lulling him to bed with each pluck of the string. He can’t deny that he’s enraptured by wherever this music is coming from.

At first, he thought Tony had F.R.I.D.A.Y playing music through the halls. He asked Tony about it– wondered why the music was played at such odd times without any rhyme or reason. Tony denied having any mood music and joked about him going crazy in the head. Bucky walked out of the lab without giving him another response.

Then, Bucky realized it was strongest in his own room, and got softer as he walked towards the common areas. He realized that the music was connected directly towards his vent. His next realization was that there was a person that had to be playing each one of those instruments.

Bucky dragged Steve into his room to show him the music next time it happened, demanding to know what was going on– to know where the music was filtering through from.

“What music, Buck?” Steve asked him, a polite look on his face. Bucky never wanted to punch him more– more than that day on those fucking hellicarriers when Steve was just a mission to him.

“Are you serious?” Bucky replied, eyebrows shooting towards the ceiling. “You don’t– you don’t hear that? The fucking– That’s Liebestraum No.3.”

Steve stared at Bucky, blinking at him like they didn’t speak the same language. Bucky let out a deep breath, frustration coursing through his veins as he did his best to not shout at the man that he considered his oldest, bestest friend.

“You don’t know who Franz Liszt is?” Bucky asked, trying to keep his voice even and calm. He was trying to practice the art of patience, but he was failing horribly with every passing second.

“How do you know who Franz Liszt is?” Steve retorted, almost looking worried.

“I had to do musical therapy as one of my– never mind. You seriously can’t hear the piano?” Bucky quickly said.

“Buck… Have you been sleeping well? Should we move your room somewhere else? Stark did mention that you asked him about music the other day, too.”

Bucky hated that tone of voice. Condescending. Borderline patronizing. As if Steve was talking to a child. Like he was fragile.

“Steve, no!” Bucky exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “You know what– fuck. Never mind. Forget I mentioned anything.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. They lock eyes, Bucky frowning at him.

“What, Steve?” he grunted.

“Trust me– you’re better off not knowing.”

The music stopped coming through the vents for some time after Steve lied blatantly to Bucky’s face– Bucky knew they were all lying to him.

It was the same way they lied to him about the extra set of plates and cups that he noticed in the cupboards of the kitchen that no one claimed– but showed obvious wear of use. When Bucky asked who used those, they all just shrugged at him and changed the topic.

Bucky noticed mangoes in the fridge once. No one on the team ate mangoes, but there was always a fresh stock of mangoes that got brought in with each produce delivery. He noticed that the supply in the fridge dwindled down every few days until there was nothing left. He saw the peels in the trash. Nobody on the team smelled of mangoes.

When it was Wanda’s turn to cook, she would put a serving of food to the side before calling for everyone else to eat. No one would touch it. Bucky noticed that it would be eaten and gone the next day. He asked Sam one time who ate it, and got brushed off like he was insane for asking the question.

They were doing the same shit they were doing when they first brought him onto the team and he hated it.

Bucky knew that they were doing it to protect him. That this was supposed to be for him, and they only meant well, but fuck– he was getting tired of it. He would’ve thought that they trusted him by now. If anything, they were doing more damage to him than good by handling him with gloves. He didn’t even know what they were protecting him from. Someone else? Another person? He couldn’t voice this to any of them, not when he was already struggling to express himself.

Soon enough, the music returned through the vents again. Softer this time. As if whoever was playing was afraid to take up space.

Bucky laid in bed, eyes falling shut as he let out a breath. The notes blanketed over him like a warm hug, wrapping around him and soothing his aches and pains.

He was grateful that the lullabies were back.

Bucky could return to his dreamless sleeps.

“Nice work today,” Fury complimented as you washed your hands.

You watched as the sink turned from crimson to pink to clear. You used the brush from the sterile packet to scrub under your nails, removing any traces of dirt, blood, and other bodily fluids that you could have picked up from your interrogation. You shake your hands off in the sink, glancing through the mirror to look behind you. Fury's standing there, with a towel in hand for you.

“Thanks,” you muttered quietly in return, shutting the faucet off before turning around to take the cloth. He pulls it away from you for a second, and your eyes go to his face.

“That would have gone a lot faster if you had just used your ability on him first,” he told you, then lowered the towel into your wet hands. “Wouldn’t have to resort to all the mess.”

“It's a mess either way, Nick,” you replied with a sigh, drying your hands off. You throw the towel into the hamper of the locker room when you’re done.

“Have you made any progress with the team?” he asked, hands clasping behind his back as you followed him out into the hall.

“You’re funny,” you said, scoffing.

“I would like to deploy you on missions with them, you know,” he clicked his tongue on you.

“And yet, when you have me do interrogations, you have me in a soundproof room and have all other agents clear the floor,” you pointed out, shaking your head. “You also have me several feet underground. Don’t even get me started on the fact that my comms channels are cleared on my field missions.”

“It’s a safety precaution, agent.”

“You’re scared, Nick. That’s okay. They are, too,” you said, your voice soft. “I don’t blame you or them. I wouldn't trust me either."

Fury stopped walking, leaving you a few more steps ahead of him. You let out a deep sigh as you stop in your place, turning around to look at him. You’re so tired. You want nothing more than to return back to the main compound. You want to shower off the interrogation, cry, and maybe listen to Erik Satie to pretend like you’re not a weapon.

“You don’t make it easy for us to not be scared of you,” Fury said, looking you in the eyes.

“I’m just thankful that you talk to me,” you said, giving him a small smile.

Fury lets out a sigh, shaking his head. “You said that you have control over it. You have given me no reason to not trust that you won’t mess with my head the same way that you do with our enemies. Does it scare the hell out of me when I see what you can do? Sure it does. And I thank my lucky stars that I recruited you for our side. Trust is a two way street, agent. You need to start building your side of the bridge, too.”

He started walking once more, leaving you in the hall by yourself. You watched as his figure turned the hall, listened to his footsteps retreat and disappear into the air before you decided to do the same.

You took the same route that you always do– the same back hallway and stairs that you knew the other members of the team didn’t take.

It makes you laugh when you address them like that in your head. The team. As if you’re part of them. You were introduced to them a long time ago. Said maybe one, two– three full sentences to them before you saw the full distrust and distress on the faces of the original six members.

You really looked up to them. You heard stories of them during your time in captivity as a weapon. You daydreamed of them saving you from your lab, bringing you in, making you one of them. You thought about doing good for the world and rectifying the wrongs that you were forced to do under the hands of the captors that held you by the throat.

It wasn’t them that saved you. There was no fanfare. There was nothing special about the way you were saved.

Your lab was hijacked by a smaller, less elite group of agents. Fury was the one that came to you. Read your file, saw that you were enhanced, and asked if you would like to be part of something better.

That ‘something better’ stared at you with disgust.

It shattered your world.

You kept to yourself after that. They didn’t mistreat you by any means. Tony gave you your own floor in the compound once you all moved from the tower, and they left you alone. They ordered you mangoes and whatever else you asked for as long as you put the order in with F.R.I.D.A.Y..

You couldn’t blame them.

This was a team of people that held secrets. People that had been pulled apart from years of pain, mistrust, and horrors that you hadn’t been around to experience yourself. It was only natural that they wouldn’t trust you once they found out what you could do.

So, you worked alone. Your skillset was better for interrogations, and for solo missions. You were off field most of the time, but Fury still sent you out every once in a while. If there were some more time sensitive matters that needed to be fulfilled that were overlapping with the main team’s missions that couldn’t be handled by regular agents, he would deploy you.

If nothing else, Fury trusted you to do the job.

You shut the water to the shower off, running a hand down your face as you shook the thoughts away. Fury’s words got to you today. You normally didn’t think about this anymore. It had been too long. New members of the Avengers had joined. Nothing has changed. Well– Wanda gives you food when she cooks.

You once asked her why.

She told you- “Even monsters need to eat.”

It was the only time you spoke to her.

You pad through the open concept of your floor. You press a key of your piano, listening to the note bounce off the walls as you continue to walk. Your guitar is resting on the carpet beneath your unmade bed. Your cello and violin are neatly put to the side against the wall on their stands– and you vaguely think about the fact you need to clean your brass instruments soon. Your drum set remains neglected– you once received a noise complaint through F.R.I.D.A.Y and haven’t found the courage to pick up the sticks since.

You go towards the mini fridge, pulling it open, and pause.

“Shit,” you muttered, pulling in a lip between your teeth. It was empty.

It slipped your mind to have F.R.I.D.A.Y. bring a new delivery of snacks directly to your floor. You know you don’t have anything in the cupboards either. You’re a few days off from the end of the month. You check the time.

It’s barely one in the morning.

With the location of the compound, you won’t get any luck by going into the city to get food and come back. You have another interrogation scheduled first thing in the morning. You have training sessions with a few agents that aren’t aware of your abilities all afternoon, and then another interrogation in the evening if the Avengers complete their early morning mission and bring back their target as per scheduled. If you leave the compound right now, you won’t get enough time to sleep and be okay enough for the amount of shit you’ll have to deal with tomorrow.

Plus, your hands are itching to touch some strings tonight or you might go crazy.

You could forgo the meal. You really could.

The thought is immediately thrown out the window by a sharp pain in your stomach followed by a deep grumbling that you’re sure could wake up everyone in the compound.

You groan to yourself, reaching for a hoodie. You’ll have to head towards the common floors.

As you board the elevator, you really hope all of the team members are sleeping. You’re not in the mood to run into any of them today. Usually, you only come up here when you know that they’re on a mission or away from the compound celebrating or just out having a good time together– without you. They should be sleeping.

And yet– there he was.

The main person that you were warned to steer clear of.

Stormy eyes landed on you– you, who stood there with damp hair, a zip up hoodie and a tank top with cotton shorts and slippers. Shit.

You watched as the man bristled. He held a half eaten plum in his vibranium hand, all muscles tensed under the black shirt that he wore. The dog tags around his neck glistened under the kitchen lights as his body turned, his back straightening as he moved to square his shoulders to size you up. He was taller than you thought, but you had only seen him from afar. He had also cut his hair short– it was nice. His beard was also reduced to stubble now. You wondered if he did it himself or had someone else do it for him.

You swallowed, and took a few steps.

This was your place of work, too. You lived here, too.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, his voice almost in a low growl.

You didn’t dare answer him. You were almost afraid to. Not that you would use your power on him by accident– but that Steve or someone else would throw you out of the one place that you could call home, even if this place made you feel like you were walking on glass.

You opened the fridge like you did a hundred times before, eyes scanning the shelves until your eyes landed on the fruit. There were two left.

You could feel his eyes burning holes into the back of your head. One wrong move, and you were certain that he would act on command. This was his home, too. For all he knew, you were a stranger. And from what you knew– he knew nothing of you.

You were slow in your movements as you went for the cutting board and the drawer, grabbing a dull knife to cut open the mangoes. You saw him flinch out of the corner of your eye when you brandished the knife, and slowed your movements down even more. You really weren’t trying to die tonight.

You just wanted some fucking mangoes.

Once you were finished, you reached into the cupboards to grab your bowl and placed your fruit inside, dropping your used utensils into the sink. You turned around, locking eyes with the soldier. His breath hitched as you did, and you stared at him for a few moments.

“I asked you a question,” he whispered.

He sounded scared.

You held your breath for a few moments before releasing it. Then, you gave him a sad smile. You shook your head at him. No. He was better off not knowing.

You tried to ignore the look on Bucky’s face before you turned away.

You were warned. Steve warned you twice.

Before Bucky was brought to the compound, Steve visited your floor. Told you to never show yourself before Bucky. Said that he didn’t need you to mess with his head– that Bucky had already gone through hell enough and didn’t need it to happen again.

He came again, a couple weeks back. He told you that your music was loud. And it broke your heart. He told you to quiet down– that Bucky was asking questions. You felt as if your voice had been ripped from you all over again. You felt like you had been back in that lab.

That night, you played Prelude in E minor until your fingers cramped, and your tear ducts dried up.

Bucky had gone through several wars. His body had been modified without his consent over and over again. He was frozen, defrosted, then frozen again countless times. Lies had been shoved down his throat that he was forced to digest. He watched as his body and mind was broken and beaten, and he used to hold no regard for the state that he found himself in because he was trained not to care.

Bucky cared now. He cared a lot.

And he was losing his fucking mind.

“Where do the targets go after we bring them back?” Bucky asked, removing his vest. He was dropping it off at Tony’s lab for inspection— something about Stark wanting to make some upgrades to everyone’s uniforms.

“They go to interrogation,” Steve responded, putting his shield down on an empty table.

“Who interrogates them?” Bucky pressed.

“Fury, I guess,” Sam shrugged, but didn’t meet Bucky’s eyes. He frowned.

“Since when the hell does Fury get his own hands dirty when he has an entire army of agents at his disposal?” he demanded.

“Exactly. Fury just delegates the task to someone, Buck,” Sam sighed, taking redwing off his back to inspect the damn thing. “What’s it matter to you anyway? We just handle the mission— do you want to do extra work or something?”

No. It was simply driving him crazy to be left in the dark.

Bucky didn’t respond, not when he knew that all answers would just lead him back into a circle. He left the lab, aware of how his teammates' shoulders sagged in relief at his departure. It was subtle, but he noticed. He always did.

All of them were hiding something from him. None of them would say a single word. They were great at skirting the issue, deflecting, or simply just changing the topic.

There was one person he hadn’t tried though. One more person that he was certain wouldn’t give him any bullshit, but would definitely never let him live it down. He knew that she would definitely tell the others if word got out, too.

He sucked in a breath and changed courses for the armory. She always spent time down there after a mission to look over her guns, make sure nothing was damaged or jammed. Bucky stood at the threshold of the door for a long time, staring at her back. He didn’t know what to say, or how to say it.

Thankfully, she broke the uncomfortable silence first.

“I deleted the footage from this morning,” Natasha said, putting the safety back on her gun.

“The footage?” Bucky echoed.

“Of you seeing our siren come out of her little cove to get her mangoes,” she clarified.

His eyes narrowed. Siren? Cove?

“Explain.”

Natasha let out a breath. She put away the last of her gadgets and weapons in the case, locking them safely away before turning around. She leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her chest.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Are you going to lie to my face like everyone else in this damn building?” he shot back.

“It’s for your own good, Barnes,” she sighed.

“Isn’t up to me to decide that?”

They stared at each other for what seemed like hours before she finally shook her head, relenting. She gestured towards the bench, moving to take a seat. Bucky sat down as well. Natasha said a name he’d never heard before– your name.

“We all collectively decided that we would keep her away from you,” she said, looking down at her hands. “Her abilities… let’s just say she wouldn’t need any fancy H.Y.D.R.A. machines to put your brain through a blender, Barnes.”

His spine straightened as his pulse quickened. He let out a slow breath, eyebrows furrowing.

“She’s enhanced– you called her a siren,” he said, the pieces coming together in his head.

“Whatever words come from her mouth– you can’t help but listen,” Natasha nodded slowly. “If she tells you to run, you run until your body gives out. If she tells you to scream, you’ll scream until your vocal chords are fried. If she tells your brain to explode in your head… well. She’ll be the last thing you ever see again.”

Bucky’s heart was pounding in his chest.

“Does she– she has control over it, right?” he managed to force out.

“Fury says that she does,” Natasha breathed out slowly. “Do I trust it? No. None of us do. She’s… part of the team, which is why she has clearance to the common areas. Fury wants her to be able to be deployed on missions with us, but none of us are comfortable with the idea of her using the ability with us on the field. She does solo work and interrogations, but otherwise I’m not really sure what she does here. I know Stark gave her an entire floor to herself. I think she blasts really fucking loud music. I think your vents are connected.”

Loud wasn’t the right word for it. Calming was a better word.

Even when the music you played was sad or melancholic, he felt peace that he hadn’t been able to know in so long. Even if you were doing a simple scale to warm up your cold fingertips, you were able to pull him out of the depths of his own mind. You brought him ease that he had forgotten he knew how to feel.

“Where’s her floor?”

You didn’t hear the elevator doors open, not with your headphones secured over your head. You had a day off today, and you decided to take yourself down to the city to pick out your first electric guitar. You spent a lot of time with the clerk at the shop, going back and forth between different brands of guitar, amps, and other things.

You even learned how to be able to connect the electric guitar to headphones so you wouldn’t get another noise complaint from your resident fossil, Captain America.

You sat on the floor, back against your bed, guitar on your lap with your laptop in front of you. You had your notebook beside it, ready to jot down anything that you felt was worthy of remembering for a later time.

Your fingers danced away at the strings, a smile fitting along your face as you closed your eyes. You were chasing the ghost of your past– the sound of your father’s amp crackling to life in the garage on a Saturday morning to wake you up. You, racing down the steps of the stairs as each note reverberated through your skeleton, screaming for you as you got closer and closer, distorting your reality as you–

You felt a weight in the room, breaking your immersion. You ripped the headphones off your skull, turning quickly, one hand reaching under your bed to where you knew you had a weapon.

Bucky’s hands went up in immediate surrender.

“I just want to talk,” he said, swallowing thickly.

Your breaths were still erratic, your eyebrows furrowed. Talk? What the hell would this man want to talk to you about?

He was truthful though. Nothing about his body language screamed that he was on guard. His eyes were on you– more on the fact that your hand was still under your bed. You forced your breathing to even out and slowly dragged your hand back to where he could see it, and watched as his hands lowered back to his sides as well.

You watched as his eyes went from you to your room. His eyes rested on your bed– the sheets still not tucked in properly because you never cared to fix them after waking up. The carpet under your bed so your feet didn’t have to touch the cold tile of the floor first thing in the morning.

Across from your bed were two couches facing each other with throw blankets strewn about, with a coffee table in the middle, and a TV mounted on the wall. On the table were music sheets that you had forgotten to organize and put away.

Right beside your 'living room' was your music area. You had several different instruments here, along with a full set up of production material for you to even record if you wanted to– because you did, sometimes. Only if you were in the mood for it. Not that you released anything. You were just bored by yourself, and you had the ability to do it.

And Bucky was standing in the middle of your makeshift dining-room-slash-kitchen. It was just a round table with a small fridge, half counter with a partial induction stove, and half sink area. You had a microwave to use, and some cupboards that you filled with snacks, plates, and utensils.

Suddenly, you felt self conscious over the fact of how lived in everything looked. You never had your area so closely examined the way he was looking at everything. Then again, you weren’t expecting any guests.

“Do you talk?” he suddenly asked.

You blinked. Your lips parted– and closed. You nodded in response after a few moments. Bucky’s eyes narrowed at you.

“Will you talk to me?” he asked, changing his question.

You shook your head immediately. Bucky let out a sigh, placing his hands on his hips. You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure out what else to say to you.

“Is it because of your ability?”

You didn’t hide the shock on your face. You don’t know who’s more stupid– the person who told him, or him himself. Why would he come here if he knew what you are? What you could do to him?

Either way, you nodded to him.

“This is gonna get really annoying very fast– Can you do sign language?” he asked, surprising you again. He must've read the surprise on your face and quickly added, “I can read sign language.”

“How do you know sign language?” you asked him, tilting your head.

“I'm 110 years old. A spy. Assassin. I think I need to know a lot of things,” he dismissed. “Are you the one that plays that music every night?”

“I am,” you replied.

“You always play like you have something to say.”

“I believe music transcends all forms of language. We don’t need to be from the same country to be able to understand each other,” you quickly signed at him.

Bucky stares at you, eyebrows furrowed. Almost as if he’s trying to process your words. You frowned, letting out a deep sigh.

“Are you here to tell me that it’s too loud? I’ll stop if it is. I’m sorry.”

“What? No! I’m just asking,” he spoke so fast it surprised you. The next words that came out were so soft that it almost didn’t reach your ears. “I– It helps me sleep. Don’t stop. I find comfort in your songs.”

Bucky wasn’t looking at you anymore. His eyes were trained on the floor, staring at the plush of your carpet. Your lips were parted, but your heart was beating fast. You almost felt like crying. You wanted to cry.

A shuddering breath fell from his lips, disrupting the air in the room.

“I’ll sit here quietly. Can you play something?” he whispered, lifting his eyes to look at you again. “Anything. I don’t care what.”

Slowly, you rose from your place on the ground, pushing the guitar off your lap. You pulled a chair from the dining table for Bucky to sit at as you went for your piano, opening the cover. You could hear him take a seat, feel his eyes on you as you straighten your back. Your fingers ghosted over the ivory keys for just a moment as you contemplated what piece to play for him, your mind shuffling through everything you learned as a child– none of them fit this moment.

You played Bucky original pieces from that point forward. Whatever came to mind, you played for him.

You lost count of the amount of times that Bucky came down to your floor. Sometimes he would bring you your mangoes, along with some of his plums. Sometimes there would be new fruits for you to try before you would go and start your performance for him.

“Have you ever tried calamansi?” he asked one day as he walked through the door. You had barely had a chance to look up from your music score. You were sitting on the floor, pen in hand, crouched over the coffee table.

"A what?" you asked, eyes narrowing at him.

“Calamansi,” he repeated, putting down the orangey-yellow drink down in front of you on the coffee table, but not before putting a coaster under the glass. “It’s a fruit from the Philippines- we had a mission there, and I just got back. This is good. Drink it.”

You looked up at him as he took a seat on your couch. He crossed an ankle over his knee, a hand draping over the back of the cushion as he took a sip of his own calamansi drink, eyes still on you. Expectant. Waiting.

You reached for the drink yourself, a bit weary.

He must’ve sensed your hesitation, or at least seen it.

Bucky took the glass in your hand, swapping it with the one that he had already drank from. He drank that one, as well. You let out a small breath, giving him a smile. He returned it– he had no judgement on his face.

His smile only widened as surprise took your features with the first sip of the juice.

“See?” he said, pointing at the glass. “It’s good, right?

You could only nod in agreement before you both continued to finish off your drinks.

Bucky would often come at random points of the day. It was never at any set time. There had been times where he was already in your room, waiting for you to come back from an interrogation or a mission. Other times when you had been off from the day, and you had run into him in your backway hall, already heading down to your door. He would give you a nod at these times, and walk with you the rest of the way.

You had even grown used to waking up and finding him sitting at the dining table, scrolling through his phone or looking through files while waiting for you to wake up– sometimes you didn’t even play for him on these mornings.

“Did you even sleep last night?” you asked him, exiting the bathroom after washing up.

“No, but I slept well after listening to you play. It wasn’t classical last night. Guitar, right?”

“I heard it on the radio the other day,” you sign with a shrug.

“I liked it. Can you add it to the playlist?” he asked, handing you his phone.

Another private, personal moment shared between you two. You don’t remember who started it. You two had several playlists shared.

You taught him how to make playlists. He sent you a playlist of songs that he liked, and you listened to each song religiously. You made him a playlist of music that you listened to and would continue to add songs that you played for him. There was a third playlist that you both would add songs to whenever you both felt like it.

“Any plans today?” you asked after handing his phone back to him.

“I’m hiding here, if that’s okay with you. Steve wants to run to the city and back. I don’t want to. He managed to get Sam to agree, but I think that’s fucking crazy,” he muttered.

You don’t hide the smile on your face as you nod at him, going through your cupboards to pull out instant oatmeal for the two of you to eat. He gratefully accepts, and you two start your morning off slow. He talks at you, and he will patiently wait for you to put down your spoon so you can sign at him.

You notice the way he pays attention to both your face and your hands to make sure he captures the entirety of the emotion behind the words you’re trying to convey to him.

You notice that he does the same exact thing when you play your music.

You could feel his eyes on your face when you’re playing, and you know it’s not just his ears that are listening to you. You can feel his heart opening with each note that you hit with your fingers, with each string that is strung. You can see the weight of the world being lifted off his shoulders in a way that you never thought was possible.

At some point, he abandoned the chair at the dining table and would sit beside you at the piano bench, his body keeping you warm. You didn’t mind it. In fact– you were the one that closed the distance, no longer satisfied with only your knees brushing against each other’s. Your thighs were fully pressed together now, and he could feel your muscles move as you pressed the pedal of the piano when you needed to.

“Your fingers don’t get tired after playing for so long?” Bucky asked you one night, his voice soft, afraid he would talk over the notes.

You smiled, glancing over to him. You met his eyes, shaking your head.

“You don’t even need to look at the keys to play either?” he asked, just as astounded. He sounded a bit breathless, in awe of you.

You let out a small laugh. This time, you shook your head in disbelief. You thought he was cute, but you couldn’t say that even if you wanted to tell him.

The piano’s final note faded on your fingertips, light and airy– you don’t remember the last time you played something in a more sorrow sounding tone. Though, Bucky does seem to enjoy your minor chorded music. He once told you that it evoked something deeper inside of him.

“What was that one called?” he asked you as you pulled on the piano cover.

“Another random piece from my mind,” you signed to him.

“Were you a prodigy before all this happened to you?”

You paused, your hands freezing. Bucky caught it, his eyes widening. His hands quickly clasped over yours, warming yours up– comforting you.

“You don’t have to answer that. I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized, awkward. “I fuckin’- shit. I was just talking without thinking. It was the music still in my head, doll.”

Your lips parted for a brief moment. You could see the panic in his eyes– the true regret he felt. He was scared you would pull away from him, maybe shut him out after all the time you had spent together.

You swallowed, giving him a smile as you gently took your hands from his.

“I was accepted by Julliard as an opera singer,” you signed. “My mother was a pianist. My father was a cellist. Music ran in my family. My brother was a scientist. He was the only one that didn’t do music… and he got involved with some bad people. People that–”

Your hands clenched into fists mid-air. You sucked in a trembling breath, looking everywhere but him.

And Bucky waited. Patiently. Like he always did. His attention never diverted from you.

You knew he knew. You were still scared. You knew what was done to his mind, but saying it to his face… You were afraid he would run from you.

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself. You know you're about to sign like a madwoman, maybe too fast for him to even understand you. That's okay. You just need to get it all out, even if it's sloppy or messy. It's how you feel, and you hope it's enough for him to understand.

“They took my voice from me and weaponized it. It took me years to learn how to talk without hurting someone. I could hurt you, Bucky. I could do worse things to you than H.Y.D.R.A. ever did. I don’t know why you keep coming to see me. I’m not saying that I would ever do anything to hurt you. That is the last thing that I would ever do! I really like you, Bucky. I wouldn’t play all these songs for you if I didn’t like you so much, but you need to know that I am the last person on Earth that you should be spending all this time with when I am the one that could hurt you the most–”

Your hands are being forced down, and you feel the cool touch of his vibranium hand cradling your face with so much care you could almost cry. You didn’t have the time to– not when the soft, plush of his lips were against yours. Not when his fingers were intertwining with yours, squeezing your hand as if he were trying to tell you that it was okay. That he understood you.

Your body reacted to him, allowing him to lead you in a dance to music that only the two of you could hear. Your heart was beating in time with his, feeling the trembling of his fingers against your face as if he was afraid of breaking you. This felt less of a kiss and more like a confession. You kissed him back all the same, feeling the fear that he felt too.

When your lips finally parted from each other, your eyes opened, and the song ended, you watched each other for a few moments.

“I don’t think you could do anything to ever hurt me, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours.

You tried to pull your hand away from his, to reply, but he didn’t let you. He held on firmer, but not hard enough to hurt. Your eyes widened as your lips parted. You were helpless.

Bucky pulled his forehead away from you, to be able to look at your face completely. His eyes scanned your face, every single part of you was bare under his eyes. He was waiting, and your heart was pounding. He wanted you to speak to him.

You pulled your bottom lip into your teeth for a moment as you steeled your resolve.

“I don’t trust myself to not hurt you,” you whispered, meeting his eyes.

You watched as his face shifted– pure adoration. You felt warm under his gaze, unable to tear yourself away from his watchful eyes. The look on his face is unguarded. Soft. Reverent and absolutely beautiful. You didn’t know it was possible for him to look at you like this– for anyone to look at you like this. You were glad it was Bucky. You never want Bucky to ever lay his eyes on anyone else the way he’s looking at you at this moment.

Your heart only seemed to clamber even louder in your chest, ringing even louder in your ears. You don’t even remember hearing applause this loud at your most successful concert.

Bucky collects your face in both hands, and his lips peppered all over your skin. Your eyes, your cheeks, your nose. The stubble of his beard brushed against your skin, and you could only let out a soft laugh, hooking your hands around his wrists as he continued to kiss your face all over before he finally stopped at your lips.

“You sound like heaven, doll,” he whispered against your mouth.

“I was made to sound this way,” you murmured back.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. He pressed another kiss to your lips before wrapping his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin.

“I trust you.”

The words are etched into your bones, digging into your soul and burying themselves into the depths of your heart as tears begin to spring to your eyes. Bucky holds you tighter, swaying side to side slowly as his hands rub your back gently, soothing you.

You melt into his chest, into the comfort he gives you, ear pressed above his beating heart. This is your favorite song, you think. Right next to the sound of his laughter.

Music is played between kisses now.

Your hands will be resting above his hands on the ivory keys, slowly guiding his to glide over the notes, only to hit the wrong ones as he turns to distract you with his lips.

Other times, you'll be sitting in bed together. His back will rest against the headboard, your back against his chest. Bucky's head will lean against yours as you strum along to your guitar, filling the space around you with romance, when his hand will come up and cup your face to demand your attention, guiding you to turn to him for a kiss.

Sometimes, your songs are completely disrupted with Bucky pulling you away from your instrument. He’ll replace your live talent with a song playing from the phone in his back pocket as he pulls you into his arms, taking one hand in his, while his other hand goes around your back.

“Dance with me, doll?” he grinned at you.

“Are you trying to relive your glory days, Sergeant?” you teased, hand hooking around his shoulder to press your body closer to his.

“What do you mean?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Music’s playing, there’s a pretty dame in front of me– it would be criminal not to dance right now.”

You could only laugh as he spins you around before returning you back into the security of his arms, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. You only pretend to give him a hard time, and he knows it. You love these soft moments of intimacy, where he reaches for you first.

“You would think after a month or two of dancing with me, you’d be less stiff, sweetheart,” he hummed in your ear.

“I’m sorry, not everyone was born in a time period where dance halls were the main source of entertainment,” you scoffed in response.

Bucky laughed, squeezing you tighter to him. “I had a seventy year break. You have no excuses.”

“Fuckin’ old man,” you grumbled, only to let out a shriek as he pinched your side in retaliation.

“You should respect your elders,” he clicked his tongue at you.

“I’m going to put you in a nursing home,” you threatened, but there’s no real heat to your voice, obviously.

He rolled his eyes in response. “I’ll be what? Almost 200 by the time that comes around? We’ll be in the nursing home together, baby.”

“You think we’ll still be together by then? Alive?” you asked.

“As long as I have a say in it, yes,” he nodded.

“You sound so sure,” you frowned at him.

“And you’re pessimistic. That’s my thing. Get a new hobby.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. You can’t hide the smile on your face. “I bet you liked it better when I didn’t talk.”

“No,” he quickly denied, taking your face in his hands. The swaying stops, and you’re forced to look at him. “Keep talking. I like hearing your voice, even if you say stupid shit.”

“Me being scared for the future is stupid shit?” you raise an eyebrow at him.

“… Maybe not that, but I’ll still disprove you,” he dismissed. “You make me look forward to the future, sweetheart. So I need you here. I’m kinda planning my future around you. Can’t have you gone.”

“That sounds like a lot of pressure, Buck,” you whispered.

“Good. Feel pressured,” he chuckled. “I need you to know you’re wanted. The songs you played before I came to you were so sad.”

You cringe a little. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he hummed, thumbs brushing over your cheeks gently. “Because I get it. I understand.”

“… I know,” you nodded. Because you do.

You’ve spent many nights away from the music since the confession, since your hearts started beating in unison, just laying in your bed and whispering to each other.

He told you how he laid awake and listened to the music through the vents. How your songs managed to get him to sleep and calmed him down when nightmares plagued him. How you managed to comfort him in his darkest moments, when he felt worthless.

And he thanked you for it all.

Bucky only chuckled at you when you burst into tears. You apologized to him— saying it was so stupid to cry when he was the one that was hurting, but he was grateful you were crying for him.

During your quiet moments together, he would tell you how your music made him feel whole. That you would piece him together slowly, as if you were performing a reprise to his soul like he was a song that had butchered by the wrong conductor.

You told him he was getting cheesy with his analogies, but he would ask you if you thought he was charming. You would grin and tell him that if he kept it up, you might dedicate a whole concerto to him.

Just like that night, Bucky had a smile on his face as he leaned closer to you, as he angled your head upwards to meet his lips in a kiss. Your eyes are fluttering shut in anticipation, waiting to feel the soft pressure of his lips—

“Did you do something to him?”

You pulled away at the booming voice that echoed off the walls of your floor, your breath catching in your throat. You look past Bucky at the same time he turns around, and he pushes you behind him, to shield you from the people that just walked into your sanctuary.

“I asked you a question, agent. You better answer,” Steve demanded, his voice low.

“She didn’t do anything,” Bucky said, reaching for your hand behind him. He squeezed it.

“That’s what you would say if she did something,” Steve dismissed.

“Steve,” Bucky said, exasperated. “She didn’t do anything!”

“How are we supposed to trust that? To trust her?!” Sam demanded, pointing at you.

Dread filled your gut as you looked down.

“I trust her!” Bucky shouted back. “She didn’t do anything fucking wrong! Why are you treating her like some sort of criminal?!”

“Bucky, are you even aware of what she can do? Do to your brain?” Steve asked. Then, he continued, voice accusatory, “She’s worse than H.Y.D.R.A. combined if she wanted to be!”

“But she’s not, Steve! She’s never been!” Bucky said, his voice pleading and desperate.

Your heart was breaking. You couldn’t take this. You couldn’t listen to this anymore. Not just for your own sake, but for his, too.

These were Bucky’s friends. People that he trusted, people that he cared about. He told you that he cared about them— even though he was frustrated with the way they were handling him. You didn’t want him to argue with them. Not over you. Especially not over you.

“Bucky,” you whispered, watching his shoulders tense. His head whipped towards you. “It’s fine.”

“What? No, it’s not.”

“They’re not gonna listen either way. Just go,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. “I’m not worth the fight.”

His eyebrows furrowed, and he almost looked offended over your words. You watched as his lips parted, about to say something to refute your words, but you slipped your hand out of his.

The second you did, Steve was crossing the room, a hand on his shoulder to guide him out. You can see Steve muttering something to Bucky that you can’t hear, but you tear your eyes away. Sam is staring at you, gaze hardened.

“We’ll have someone come and take your toys away by the end of the day,” he said, jaw clenched. “We’ve been getting noise complaints.”

You don’t bother responding, and he doesn’t bother waiting for a response. You’re left alone in the silence of your floor, feeling colder than before.

Bucky’s head is getting scanned, even though he doesn’t fucking want to put his head in this machine. Everyone was pressing him to at least run through with it once, to at least be able to compare his scan with the brain scan results from your other victims.

He hates the way they phrased it.

“I’m not a fucking victim. I was there on purpose,” Bucky grunted, clenching his hands into fists.

“Terminator, why would you go visit the siren on purpose? Are you trying to die?” Tony asked, clicking away on the holographic keyboard.

On the other side of the glass, Steve and Sam are grilling Natasha. Bucky has no doubt they’re yelling at her for telling him about the truth. Natasha’s face is steeled, and she’s not saying a single word in response. She's just letting the two men yell at her.

Finally, the cap on his head ascends and Bucky gets the hell out of the chair. He exits the examination room, and goes into the fray.

“— irresponsible it is to expose him to that?” Steve demanded. “Answer me, Natasha!”

“Barnes is a grown adult who can make his own decisions,” Natasha said, her voice even. “And I told him the truth eight months ago. So clearly, he’s been seeing her of his own volition.”

“Or he’s been having his brain fucking scrambled for eight months, Nat!” Sam said, dragging a hand down his face.

“She used sign language with me for half of those months,” Bucky cut in, everyone turning to look at him. “She didn’t speak a fucking word to me.”

“What?” Steve asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“I made her talk to me,” Bucky said, voice rising. “I forced her.”

“This is for your own good,” Steve said, clenching his jaw. “She can—“

“She’s done nothing wrong! She can what, Steve? Hurt me? Guess what? I can hurt you. I have hurt you!”

Tension began to settle right over the room like a thick blanket. You could hear the slow breaths of everyone in the room.

“Scans in,” Tony said, opening the door behind Bucky and cutting the silence in half. “Surprisingly— uh… His brain is completely clear. No sign of siren song or anything.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched as he released a deep sigh from his nostrils. He turned on his heel, heading towards the exit.

“Where are you going, Buck?” Sam called out to him.

“To go comfort my girlfriend,” he grunted, fists clenched at his side.

The lab doors slid open before he reached them, Fury and Clint walking in a second later.

“No can do Barnes. Go buy her some flowers and chocolates later,” Fury said, dropping a file on the nearest table. “I need all of you on the field ASAP."

His eyebrow furrowed. “What?”

“Satellite feed shows movement in the abandoned mine shaft that Stark took care of a handful of years back in Arizona,” Clint said, sighing deeply. “We’re not sure if someone’s back in the lab down there or if it’s just a fluke, but we gotta go check it out either way. Can’t send a regular team since the tech down there’s pretty dangerous if it’s what we think it is.”

Bucky wants nothing more than to crawl into your bed and hold you in his arms, but that will have to wait. He, along with the others, moves to get suited up. Issues aside, there’s problems that need to be dealt with— problems that are definitely not a fluke.

This underground sight was a hotspot for seismic activity and every two fucking seconds their eardrums would start exploding in their skulls. Steve and Bucky were especially affected, with their heightened sound due to the serum pumping in their veins.

Comms were especially ineffective, with the fact the frequency kept jamming the channel they were using.

It was jarring. It fucking hurt. Bucky found himself on his knees, hands pulled over his ears with teeth gritted in pain before a fist would connect with his jaw that he didn’t expect while he was down.

Bucky could faintly hear for Steve to shout at Tony over broken comms to find out where the machine was that created the sound waves and to break it, but Bucky was certain that Stark’s suit was having issues against the sonic cannon.

Bucky couldn't tell how much time had passed as he was getting thrown around, beaten up by hands that he couldn't even open his eyes to see. He couldn't even rip his own hands away from his ears to try and guard his head. There was no room to think.

Silence suddenly splashed over him like a bucket of water.

He can hear his own breaths.

Bucky lowers his hands, confusion rushing through his body as he locks eyes with Steve. Both soldiers have pure adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Then, they notice a new presence. You.

Their eyes turned towards you, finding that you’re squatting down in front of an enemy, the poor man’s face held in your hand in a crushing grip. He was holding a gun weakly in his hands, trying to raise it to use against you, but it was really no use.

You’re in your tactical gear— and it’s the first time Bucky’s ever seen you in it. A hood is pulled over your head, and a mask is pulled over your nose and mouth. All he can see is your eyes. You wear fingerless gloves, and there are holsters on your thighs with guns and daggers ready to use.

“Stop breathing,” you whispered, your voice like a charm. The air shifted, vibrated with your words- not like the sonic cannon that was used to disarm them moments ago. It made you irresistible. They cannot help but fall into your trap, unable to fight against your command.

But you’re not speaking to Bucky or Steve.

Your eyes are glowing, swirling blue like the ocean— pulling in your victims into your song. You watched as his lips went from pink to blue, then you let him go. His body fell limp to the floor with a hard thud.

Both Bucky and Steve look around— all their assailants have stopped breathing. It’s only the two of them that are alive in this room.

You stand up tall, staring at the body for a few moments before turning towards Bucky, pulling both your hood and your mask off of your face. Concern is all over your features.

“You look like shit,” you breathed, holding his face in your hands.

“Well. That’s what happens when you can’t fight back,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as he leaned into your touch. “Why are you here?”

“Fury said he lost contact with you guys hours ago,” you quickly said, helping him to his feet. “I already extracted the others— they’re outside already. It’s just you two left.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked. He’s looking you over as if he can see through your gear.

“Do I look like I’m hurt?” you asked, frowning at him.

Bucky’s about to reply, to say something smart to make you smile. He doesn’t get the chance.

“You can control it,” Steve suddenly spoke, both of you turning to look at him. He looks conflicted. Angry. Not with you. With himself. “You— You weren’t just speaking to that one agent.”

“… I wasn’t,” you nodded, then turned away from him. “Come on. With the amount of vibrations that just happened, there’s no telling when this mine shaft will collapse.”

Bucky and Steve support each other’s weight as you lead them out. Stray agents try to come at the three of you, but crumble to their feet with a single word from your lips.

Kneel.

Stop.

Enough.

Die.

It’s silent in the quintet when you’re all secured. The mine shaft fully collapsed with just enough time to spare, destroying everything and the remaining agents left inside.

The entire team is staring at you both. No one has said a word since the jet took to the sky, and you definitely aren’t going to be the one to speak first.

So, you decide to keep yourself busy. You’re sitting beside Bucky, a med kit opened up on your lap. Bucky has his head leaned back against the jet wall, eyes closed as he lets you do whatever you want— which is taking care of him.

“You would make a great dog trainer,” Tony suddenly said.

“Stark,” Bucky warned, eyes opening to glare at the man.

“I’m just saying. Does your ability work on just humans? Or all beings with a soul?”

“Um. I haven’t tried… animals,” you said softly, cautiously. You put down the bloodied gauze to switch out for a new one.

“You do talk normally! I thought you could only talk with sparkles and vibrations like sirens from folktales!” Tony exclaimed. You made a small face, frowning slightly as you cleaned the cut above Bucky’s eyebrow.

“Is he always this annoying?” you whispered to Bucky.

“I would say you get used to it, but I just ignore him, sweetheart. He doesn’t get any better,” Bucky whispered back.

You let out a soft snort, a smile fixing over your face. Bucky couldn’t help but mirror it as you placed the bandage on his face before moving over to his next wound.

“She smiled. Did you see that?” Clint murmured.

“I’m more floored by the fact Barnes smiled,” Natasha replied.

“Jesus,” Bucky grunted, the grin on his face disappearing.

“What happened to ignoring them?” you chuckled.

“I have a headache,” he replied to you. “A pounding one. None of these fucking idiots are making it any better.”

“Does tylenol work on super soldiers?” you murmured, rifling through the med kit. “Ibuprofen, maybe?”

“Probably not,” he sighed, looking at you. “I’ll try it though. Maybe a placebo effect will happen because I like you.”

You smacked his arm in his response, and he watched as a warmth crept up from your neck to your cheeks.

Bucky ignored the bug-eyed looks from everyone else in the jet as he took the gel capsules pill from your hand, and swallowed it down without complaint. He settled back into his seat to allow you to finish poking and prodding at his face until you were satisfied— even though he knew he would be fully healed by the time the jet landed.

Bucky would still kiss you later, and tell you he healed fast because you took care of him. You would believe him just because he said so.

“Debrief right away,” Steve ordered as the jet landed. Everyone grumbled as they got up, but they knew this was coming. The mission was a shitshow. You were fully prepared to go slink back into your corner of the compound when Steve’s eyes fell on you. “You, too.”

You paused, head whipping to Bucky a second later. He gave you a single nod.

You didn’t say a word during the debrief. You were stressed, even though all they were doing was arguing with each other over who took down the most agents before you came onto the field.

You didn’t realize debriefs were so laid back. The team laughed with each other. They were all still in their gear, still battered and bruised, but they were happy they were together. Happy to come back home, to be able to sit around at this table and be able to banter like this.

A bitter feeling was creeping up in your chest that you didn’t know how to stop.

You kept your gaze on the table, unable to make eye contact with anyone. You hoped they would all forget that you existed. You hoped to blend into the wall.

You felt Bucky’s pinky brush against yours under the table. In the corner of your eye, you saw him. He wasn’t looking at you, but his body was leaning towards you. Slowly, his pinky hooked into yours, comfort rushing through your body in waves.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys— but I am starved. Meeting over yet?” Sam asked, clapping his hands together.

“Sounds good,” Steve nodded.

That was all you needed to sprint out of your chair, the furniture clattering behind you abruptly as you raced for the exit. You could feel the weight of their eyes on you as you ripped the door open, running out.

You heard Bucky call out your name, heard him stand, heard his footsteps rush behind you.

You kept rushing down the hall, away from the conference room. You needed to put as much space between yourself and the rest of the team before you broke down.

Bucky finally caught you by the arm, turning you to face him.

“Doll,” he whispered, hands on your shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” you echoed his words in a breathless whisper, trembling in his hands. You were so close to breaking, to falling apart. “What’s going on is that I hate your fucking friends. And I hate myself for admitting it out loud to you because I love you so much and I know you love them.”

Bucky’s lips parted, eyes searching your face as his hands slid down your arms slowly. You watch as he a slow breath escapes his lips as he nods.

“That’s okay. You can hate them,” he whispered back to you.

“What?” you demanded, shocked. “They’re your friends, Bucky! How can you say—”

“I hate the way they treat you,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “You don’t think I’m pissed off? They find out that you’re useful, so they invite you to a debrief and expect you to just be okay with the neglect and silent bullshit they’ve been putting you through this entire time? I’m livid, too.”

“I don’t want you to fight with them because of me,” you murmured, swallowing thickly. “They only hid things from you to protect you.”

“And I’m choosing to argue with them to protect you.” Bucky replied, cupping your face in his hands. “Not because you need a white knight or because you’re weak, but because I love you. And I love you for you— not due to the fact that you made me or that you charmed me into it.”

“I would never charm you into loving me,” you quickly said, horrified as you grabbed onto his waist, desperate for him to know you were being truthful.

“I know,” he said, chuckling. His eyes were soft as his thumbs grazed the tops of your cheeks. “I told you. I trust you, sweetheart. I’ve always trusted you, even if others don’t.”

You let out a shaking breath, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Now what?” you whispered to him. “What do we do from here?”

“I’ll join you on your solo missions,” he shrugged. “Not that you need my help. I watched you take down an entire room by yourself, but I don’t really feel like going on any missions with those asshoeles any time soon.”

“I don’t go on missions often, baby,” you said, frowning at him. “I usually do interrogations. I rarely use my ability.”

“Oh, so you do dirty work? I can do that, too. Is that why your hands are always scrubbed raw? You’re washing them too much? Let me do it for you,” he said, a grin finding its way on his face.

“Buck,” you said, a soft giggle escaping your lips.

“I’m serious, doll,” he said, humming. “Let me just move my shit to your room, too. I already spend most of my day with you, anyway.”

“Not like I can stop you.” You shook your head even though you were smiling.

Bucky’s lips quirked up just a bit more before he leaned in, finishing the kiss that he wasn’t able to give you earlier. You sighed into him, relaxing into his touch. Bucky held you closer to him, tenderly. Gently. Just as he always did.

“I’ll harass Sam to give back your instruments,” he whispered against your lips, making you laugh again. “Heard he took them away— fucking bitch. Doesn’t he know I need that shit to sleep?”

“I don’t think he does, baby,” you hummed, wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him again.

“I’m telling you,” he muttered, between kisses, “they’re all stupid. I’ll just keep you to myself at this point. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

“You’re going to share me, Sergeant?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him as you pulled away from his touch briefly.

Bucky paused for a moment, thinking over his words. Then, he tugs you back into him, lips meeting yours once more as your feet are lifted off the ground. He’s carrying you towards the back halls to your floor.

“No. I’m not. Keep hating them, sweetheart. You’re mine,” he murmured against your lips, a smile on his face.

masterlist

a/n: there was no smut in this fic bc it didn’t feel right given the characterizations i gave bucky and reader. if i write a second part to this, the smut would end up being super super soft and vulnerable bc the two of them are very very gentle with each other

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @ifuckwithyouanyday @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @aekzla @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx let me know if you would like to be added/removed to my general bucky taglist :)

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helplessautomaton · 4 days ago

Text

It Will Come Back (Fae!Stucky x Reader)

Alright besties, I wrote this because I'm selfish and wanted fae!stucky content. This is an x reader with no use of y/n. Reader is referred to as Sunny, Sunshine, Solynshka, and Mo Ghra and Ghrian. Yes I dove into the irish-fae vibes, especially because of my first gen irish boy, Steve Rogers... ANYWAY, ENJOY!

Word Count: 9.6k.... Anything is a oneshot if you try hard enough ahahaha.

PG-13, minors DNI (pls, just, don't).

It Will Come Back

The first time you spot the carefully constructed formation of rocks is on your morning walk around the campus’ lake. It’s a two mile walkway surrounded half by woods and the other half bordering some of the University buildings (namely the science building and greenhouse), littered with benches, signs explaining local flora and fauna, and sculptures donated by Art alumni. It’s your favorite part of the day before going into work because nobody is around. It’s quiet and peaceful, and thoughts of dissertation writing are far from your brain when the sun is just beginning to illuminate the calm waters of the lake. Going into your third year of a five year program, being a newly upgraded doctoral candidate, was no joke. Between teaching, conferences, writing your dissertation and publishing research… These morning walks have become sacred, full of fresh air and cool dew that soaks your socks if you’re not careful when walking in the grass. But that circular formation, so perfect, and albeit made with some pretty dope looking rocks (you’re a sucker for a pretty rock, call it your little crow brain), makes the warning bells sound in your brain, memories of sitting at your Irish grandfather’s knee hearing tales of the fae folk floating to the surface.

In all those stories, fairy circles were something you used to obsess over as a child. Sure you loved Greek mythos, thought Egyptian gods were cool, but you fell for Celtic mythology. Your grandfather gifted you a book of Irish mythos at ten years old, and you had read it front to back the entire 8 hour drive home from thanksgiving that year. As an adult, your trips to Ireland only cemented your belief in the magic discussed in the books and the fae. It was during your time in Wicklow National Forest that tales of fae portals became belief as one very intricately woven doorway nearly stole you away. You don’t remember how long you stood before that doorway before a fellow hiker jogged you out of the trance. You had been staring into what you still couldn’t vocalize into concrete terms; but one thing for sure was it was real and it was magical. Images of intense gazes, seductive smiles, and voices calling to you to join them, to let them take care of you… It still pops into your head, especially on those late nights where sleep would evade you.

SO needless to say, your ass was not stepping foot in that circle. But it was odd to see the circle in the first place, especially after three years of walking the same trail over and over again. Shrugging you stepped around it and kept going down the trail, smiling up towards the rising sun as it warmed your skin.

What you didn’t catch in that moment were the eyes fixed upon you lurking in the shadows of the forest, smirking at the way you had warily studied their trap and quickly side stepped around it. Such a clever creature.

Walking into your office suite with both headphones still in, and blasting Florence + The Machine, you noticed some of your colleagues were… fangirling? Over something? Popping out an earbud you cough to catch their attention. “Well hey y’all, where’s the fire?” The joke is lighthearted but also intentional in finding out what was going on. “We were just reading the announcement of the two new professors in the department, and girrrrl, they are FINE!” One of your colleagues, and fellow doctoral cohort member, named Shayna is flushed and giggly. But that’s also how she looked after seeing anything Pedro Pascal related so you weren’t too surprised. “Okaaay? Spill their names!” Walking over to her desktop, you looked at the screen and felt your heart skip a beat.

“Announcing the appointments of Dr. James Buchanan Barnes and Dr. Steven Grant Rogers to the Communication and Digital Media Department.“

Their headshots were fucking gorgeous. Two gazes of blue, so piercing, it felt as if they were looking directly at you through the screen. It made a shiver crawl up your spine. Their eyes… they were so familiar, and those smiles! Goosebumps erupted across your arms. Shaking yourself from the weird feeling in your stomach, you simply shrugged to your colleagues and went to your own office to unlock and get prepared for the day. You had a 9:30 am Public Speaking course and a 12:30 pm Intro to Oral Interpretation course; leaving you time in between to work on the newest comments on your dissertation draft (aka commenting with your main advisor to help you find some damn definitions for something that seemingly has never been defined before academically). As you set your desk up, slipping your headphones back on, you didn’t hear your cohort greeting the men you’d just seen on the screen. So engrossed in the music and routine, you didn’t hear the knock on your cracked door either.

It was the electric warmth that shot through you at a butterfly touch on your shoulder that had you twisting in shock at the person, headphones falling off and backward onto your desk, as you saw the intruder in your space. Your throat tightened at the man, creature, in front of you. Tall, handsome, inhuman. Pointed ears, teeth too sharp, eyes with an unnatural glow to them. He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him. Blinking, thinking you must’ve read too much fae romance in the last few weeks (your escape from revisions and conference planning; and a guilty pleasure after your time in the Wicklow National Forest), you thought the visage would disappear…

It didn’t.

Swallowing hard, trying to stay calm, you smiled apprehensively. “Uh, hi, sorry I didn’t hear you knock.” You said, trying to stay as calm as possible as you believed you were surely losing your mind. He blinked at you, too, cocking his head slightly to the side as if a predator glancing confused at the behavior of its prey. He smoothly and quickly recovered, and when you blinked next, his visage nearly melted away into something more normal— but those glowing eyes didn’t disappear, simply dimmed. He smiled softly at you, and offered his hand to shake. “No worries, you were fairly engrossed in your task. I’m Dr. Rogers.” Your heart stuttered a bit. This was Dr. Rogers? Holy fuck. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m sorry I’d shake your hand but I literally just worked out and my hands are so gross.” You weren’t fully lying, your hands were sweating and you were still in your workout gear; your duffle in the corner holding your jumpsuit and the back of your door held your blazer; but the truth is you didn’t want to touch him or accept anything from him. He’s not human. The little voice inside your mind whispered.

He smoothly placed his hand in his pocket, still smiling, albeit sharper now; and seemed to be staring at you. Waiting. For what? “Well uh, I have to get ready for the day… it’s good to meet you.” You offered a small tight smile. “Of course, I was just hoping I’d learn your name?” He responded. Never give them your name, if you give them your name you give them power over you. You swallowed harshly, trying to find a loophole or escape, and it came in the form of Shayna as she called your name. “Ope, I see you’ve already met our sunshine!” She said, fully opening the door to see Dr. Rogers and you looking at one another. “Sunshine?” Another voice piped up, and looking for Dr. Roger’s shoulder, you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from gasping. Same pointed ears, same sharp teeth; but those eyes… blue with a ring of gold glowing as they looked at you. And you knew he knew you could see through it… the glamour. It wasn’t working on you.

Why the fuck wasn’t it working on you?

When you blinked, the visage melted just like Dr. Roger’s had, but the golden shine remained, making your stomach flip. “Yeah, the first time we all met as a cohort, she came bounding in dressed in a gorgeous yellow maxi skirt and,” “My Hadestown T-shirt on, looking like a ray of sunshine.” You both finished together, shaking your head with mirth at the reminder. “And the nickname was cemented. Especially the day I went frolicking in the rain.” You added, grin gracing your features. The two men, fae, stared at you in a moment of awe and hunger. Yes, they’d come here partly to see if they could tempt one of the only humans who had managed to escape their trance back in Wicklow, but they weren’t expecting this. You could see them despite the glamour…

Bucky and Steve had always known they were meant to be together, but in the last century they had begun to feel an ache. A missing piece. One no other fae could fill, and so they began visiting the human realm, they studied in the universities, worked on and off again, attained high degrees and titles all while searching for the one to ease their ache. Despite it all, they couldn’t find their missing piece… but in Wicklow as they and other fae folk, would try to lure in new toys… there you had stood; denying temptation and fighting that seductive pull so many would succumb to in seconds flat. And now, away from that portal and sacred ground, you stood before them and saw them as they were, and you knew exactly what they were… and the flash of defiance in your eyes told them you were doing just that here, too.

After short pleasantries, with you reiterating your name to them (Because surely just stating your name wouldn’t get you whisked away to fairyland after someone had already said your name), they greeted you properly, by name…And Jesus, your name sounded so good coming from their lips. Fighting back the blush that was surely gracing your cheeks, you smiled kindly at them. “You’ll often hear me referred to as sunshine or sunny, feel free to do so as well.” Before they could respond, your phone buzzed; it was 8:30. You needed to get dressed and get your lesson plan organized for the day. “Well, welcome to the department, as much as I’d love to keep the convo going, I have to prepare for class. Good morning to you both, Dr. Rogers, Dr. Barnes.” You nodded to each as Shayna ushered them out and away, quickly but calmly closing the door after them. You clicked the lock, backing up to your desk and gripping the edge of it as your heart raced in your chest.

The new fucking professors were Fae. How the fuck was that real? God you felt like you might throw up. Thank goodness for the distraction that was your teaching schedule.

Bucky and Steve lingered for a moment outside of your office, listening as your breathing quickened and as you began moving around. Smiling, they looked at each other with mischief twinkling in their eyes, before catching up with their tour guide, Shayna, to meet the rest of the faculty.

You were able to go the rest of the day successfully avoiding both of the new doctors in the department, deciding that instead of working on your dissertation after your 12:30 course, you’d head to your favorite coffee spot instead to put space between yourself and campus; away from them. Sitting in a corner booth, sipping your usual, you gleaned through web page after web page of Celtic mythos. Any mention of Fae or Fairy was control-f-searched and read through. So far you learned the difference between the seelie and unseelie, what gentry fae were, and the conspiracy that Hozier and Florence Welch were unseelie and seelie fae, respectively. Nothing about being able to see past a fae’s glamour— lots ON what glamour was, and on the do-and-do-nots you already knew, but nothing helpful for this situation. You were half tempted to hop on Reddit and be like “hey r/fae what happens if, hypothetically, a human can immediately see through a fae’s glamour?”… but you weren’t that desperate.

Yet.

Sighing and finishing your coffee, you shut the laptop and rolled your neck. You’d initially been working on the revision comments on your third chapter of the dissertation, but the thoughts of those two men kept invading your thoughts… It became clear that until you researched what was pulling at the edges of your brain, then you’d get work done. Sighing, you check your phone for texts from the cohort before you leave to get ready, making sure karaoke is still on. Every Friday night since the first year was karaoke night for the cohort at your local haunt, and after a day like today? You were treating yourself to a Jameson Whiskey, Ginger, and Lime. Maybe two. Walking out to your car, an old but reliable blue sedan that used to be your parent’s, your steps faltered. Stuck under one of your windshield wipers was a small bouquet of flowers. But not just any flowers— purple tulips.

When you were in Ireland, specifically when you were in Cork, your tour guide had explained the battle between the fae folk that had happened; and that wherever you might see tulips or daffodils was where the grave of a fairy was. You remember seeing various patches of such flowers in Wicklow Forest… and those purple tulips, so rich and vibrant it made your head kinda hurt to look at, had only been spotted deep in the Forest. You’d seen them near the fae portal, the one you nearly walk through in every dream since visiting. But you also knew the meaning of purple tulips thanks to a book in the language of flowers you’d picked up at a thrift store during your travels in London; those flowers on your windshield represented nobility and royalty, luxury, new beginnings… and admiration.

Swallowing hard, you glanced around, searching for the source but finding the street empty. Don’t pick them up, don’t even touch them, it’ll come across as acceptance. Fae folk are tricky like that, just use the wipers to get them off. Your inner voice warned, sounding so much like your departed grandfather…and it hadn’t let you down yet. You knew there were so many loopholes in which a fae could claim their intended target, and you refused to be caught in one. You fought too damn hard to be here, a doctoral candidate, so close to the PhD you could taste it, to let some supernatural bullshit steal it all away now.

Your wipers sent the flowers flying, and throwing your car into drive, you drove forward and off toward your apartment complex, the wind carrying the rest of the flowers away.

Bucky picked up the discarded flowers with a sigh, not disappointed but wistful. “She’s smart.” Steve said, twirling a discarded flower between his finger tips. “She’s done her research, that’s for sure.” Bucky agreed, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist as they walked back to the coffee shop. “It’ll make the end of the chase so satisfying, though, won’t it buck?” Steve teased, pressing a kiss to his mate’s cheek. “Oh, absolutely Stevie. And I heard from a little bird that there’s karaoke tonight…” Bucky grinned deviously. They’d have a blast teasing you tonight, testing your knowledge and pushing the bounds.

“Sunny! You made it!” Quinn, one of the third year doctoral students, shouted with joy as you walked into the bar. “Jesus, Quinn, I think the whole of town knows I made it now!” You teased, winking at him. “We’re getting the set list together, any song requests?” If you hadn’t done Careless Whisper for the fifth time in a row the previous week, you’d go with it, but seeing as things were getting flipped upside down in your life, you decided a little Billy Joel was in order. “Key up Movin’ Out for me, and maybe a Chappell Roan for round two— not Pink Pony Club! I think I almost blew my vocal cords last time I attempted it.” You called, before sauntering over to the bar.

Laying down your debit card and ID, you pointed to the bottle of Jameson on the top shelf. “I’d like a whiskey ginger lime with Jameson; and go ahead and open a tab for me.” You requested with a smile. The bartender checked your ID, then handed it back and nodded. You waited patiently, leaning your back against the bar to watch the entrance. Slowly your cohort, and the ones under yours (it was the third year; how the hell did y’all become the ‘elders’ of these students already?) trickled in and waved. Shayna, obviously having pre-gamed, waves enthusiastically before skipping to Quinn. “Here you are, enjoy.” You turned and took the drink, thanking the bartender and moving to join your friends.

Bucky and Steve slipped into the bar while a group of students sang ‘Its My Life’, quickly clocking where you sat sipping on a cocktail and cheering on your friends. As your nickname suggested, you looked as radiant as the sun in a beautiful yellow dress that was the shade of the last rays of light before dusk, golden. Ordering two whiskeys and sitting in a corner booth, they watched as you joked, giggled, and drank while your friends sang on the stage. When you neared the end of your drink, Bucky approached the bartender with a disarming smile. “You see that gal over there? She’s a doll ain’t she? Well we work together, and I saw her drink was running low, go ahead and make her another on me.” He winked, the bartender near swooning as they nodded and got to making the drink on Bucky’s tab.

Let the new challenge begin.

“Alrighty sunshine! Are you ready to grace us with some Billy Joel?” Shayna teased, and you groaned before nodding and finishing your drink. You’d need it. Grabbing the mic from her, you watched the screen as the familiar intro played, but felt the hairs on your arms stand up as the weight of someone’s eyes settled on you. It wasn’t until you were halfway through the song that you looked out past your friends and saw those glowing blue eyes from the morning gazing intently at you.

“You should never argue with a crazy mimimimind; you ought to know by now! You can thank Uncle Sam with the overtime; is that all you get for your money?”

You sang, shifting your gaze away as quickly as you could, focusing back on your friends. Fae be fucking damned, you told yourself mentally, even as you felt a warmth come over you- obviously just the alcohol hitting your system, right? Not attraction. After wrapping up, you happily handed the mic off to the next person and approached your table, where a new whiskey ginger lime waited for you. “I didn’t order another,” you said looking at Shayna puzzled. “Oh yeah the bartender said that someone bought you a drink!” A cold feeling hit you, and you looked up towards where you saw them, and narrowed your eyes as they raised a glass to you. Fuck their fae trap, you weren’t dumb.

To Steve there was nothing sexier than the way you came striding over, your hips swaying as you did, a look of determination and annoyance clear in your features. “Well hello, sunshine. How are you this fine evening?” He greeted, mischief in his eyes as he smirked at you. “I’m just dandy, Dr. Rogers, Dr. Barnes.” You greeted curtly. “Oh please, mo ghra, leave the formalities for work! You can just call us Steve and Bucky.” There was a flash of recognition at the pet name, it sounded familiar, but you pushed the thought down and stored it in your mind for later. Right now you need to set these two on track. Placing the drink down before them, you crossed your arms and looked down at them.

Bucky cocked an eyebrow, looking at you with faux confusion. “Is the drink not to your liking?” You snorted and rolled your eyes. “Oh I’m sure it is if you had the bartender make exactly what I ordered, but you both surely know I’m not that naive.” “And, pray tell, mo ghra, why would we think you’re naive?” Steve asked, that mocking tone of concern in his voice. Bucky’s lips slightly turned upwards at the way you clenched your fists. “Gentlemen, let’s cut to the chase;” you leant down, hands resting on the table of the booth, as they leaned towards you as well. “I know what you are, you know that I know; and you know that I know the rules. Save your trickery for someone who wants it.” You whispered, before straightening with a smile. “Now, y’all enjoy your evening, I’m sure I’ll see you around on Monday.” And with that you turned on your heel and marched back to your friends. Bucky watched as you retreated, letting out a low whistle. “Goddamn I love a feisty woman.” Steve nodded, plucking the drink up and taking a swig. “Oh god,” he groaned at the taste. “She drinks Jameson. We’re keeping her forever, Buck.” Bucky laughed, deep and melodic, making you turn towards the sound whether you meant to or not. He winked at you, and you quickly looked back to your friends, a warm feeling settling in your stomach. Goddamn hot fae.

The weekend was blessedly calm, and the next school week started just as calm. The fairy circle from the previous walk was gone, allowing you to relax and simply listen to your music as you disassociated on what you planned to do with the remaining revisions you had left for your dissertation draft. Monday had passed clear of any issues, same for Tuesday and Wednesday.

Thursday? Well… That was another story. The morning began as usual, you ate breakfast at the bar in your apartment, fed your lizard (Stella, shout out to Tennessee Williams), and made your way to the campus lake walking trail. Headphones in, blasting Kendrick Lamar (squabbling to warm up, amiright?), everything felt just right. The mourning doves were twittering about and the sun was cresting up; it was peaceful—until the sound of jogging and a musical voice broke you out of your thoughts, calling—“On your left, sunshine!” Looking back, your eyes widened at the sight before you. Dr. Rogers, shirtless, jogging up to you. God how did he get that six pack? Did he lift fucking trains instead of traditional weights?

“Good morning, mo ghra.” You blinked, when did he get right beside you? Oh god you’d been staring off into his fucking abs. God smite you now. Swallowing thickly you looked away, a flush on your cheeks. “G-good morning, Dr. Rogers.” You replied, suddenly finding the lake much more interesting to look at than him. Steve made a tutting sound, and suddenly a warm hand was guiding your chin back to look at him. His touch felt like electricity and it shot all the way down into your toes. “Now, now, Miss Sunshine, what did I ask you to call me?” His eyes were fucking hypnotic and goddamn it all you could drown in them. “Sunshine?” His hand was cupping your chin now, thumb stroking your jaw, waiting patiently for an answer. “S-Steve. Good morning, Steve.” You stuttered, trying to get your breathing to calm down. His gaze softened at the sound of his name on your lips, his thumb lifting to brush your bottom lip, a soft smile on his face. “Good girl.” Your knees felt shaky, and you quickly pulled away, clearing your throat and looking away, feeling your face turn at least five shades redder. “Well, uh, this was fun for a minute, hehe, but I’ve got to finish my workout.” You said, deciding the best course of action would to be to turn your ass around, power walk back to the beginning of the trail where your car waited, and say fuck it to making the full loop around the lake.

The blue eyed and blonde fae had other plans for you, as he grasped your wrist in his hand. Instinct made you jerk, refusing to be caught, but instead of letting go he simply spun you back around to face him, then let your wrist drop. “Walk with me, I need to cool down anyways.” He said, and you knew it wasn’t a question of ‘if’ you would but whether you’d try to run off (yeah, fuck that) or just bite the bullet and walk with him. “Fine, let’s walk then.” You huffed, walking past him to continue forward. He fell in step with you, letting you set the pace. The music you’d been playing could faintly be heard from the headphones, your favorite music the only sounds other than the birds, bugs, and your breathing. The silence wasn’t half bad, to be honest, it was kind of nice. Just walking, feeling the sun warm your skin and the breeze cool your still flushed face. As the end of the trail came up, and the view of your car parked by the lake got closer and closer, you felt a sense of relief sag through your shoulders. As you came to a stop at the trailhead, you opened your mouth to say goodbye (so you could run) but before you could, Steve had placed his hands on your shoulders. That warmth from before came shooting through you, causing you to shiver. “Your shoulders sure are tense, sunshine. Let me help with that.” His eyes twinkled, and before you could say no thanks, he was turning you around.

And holy fuck did he have magic hands. You didn’t mean to, but the audible groan of satisfaction that rolled out of your lips, made you blush as he gently kneaded your shoulders. You swore you could hear his smirk as he continued to massage the tensions from your muscles. Time felt like it slowed, but in all reality, Steve only massaged for around five minutes…maybe 7? Your brain was a little fuzzy. “Feel better, mo ghra?” You shivered, pulling away from his grasp and turning to face him. Without the glamour, his hair seemed to have a shine of its own; true golden strands mixing with light blonde; and his eyes… The blue seemed to match the color of the sky, but darkened as you gazed at his face. Blinking, you shook your head and took a step back. “Y-yes. Th-uh, you didn’t have to do that.” You responded, glancing away, not being able to bear the weight of his gaze, cursing yourself for almost fucking up and thanking him. You couldn’t say thank you, manners be damned, as it would be too easy for him to twist and whisk you off. He stepped toward you, and in startled stepping backwards, hit a bench you didn’t know was there, resulting in you involuntarily sitting. He smiled, a bright and dazzling smile holding no malice but maybe a twinge of mischief, as his hands rested on either side of the bench’s back beside you. Effectively caging you in.

Despite working out he smelled good- how the fuck did that work? He smelled of crisp apples and cinnamon; and petrichor, the smell of the rain. It was intoxicating. God help me I think I’m gonna sin. You thought, biting your bottom lip as he leaned in. You swore he was going to kiss you, but instead he rested his forehead against yours. “If you keep looking at me like that, mo ghra, I won’t be responsible for my actions in the future.” Your breath hitched as his eyes became stormy, the blue swirling like a sea churning. What does it mean?” Your voice was soft, as if speaking the words any louder would make him disappear. Pulling back slightly and tilting his head with a furrowed brow, he asked “What does what mean, sunshine?” You closed your eyes, stealing your courage. “That word, the mo ghra, you keep calling me. What does it mean?” He chuckled, shaking his head amused. “For a gal who loves Celtic mythos and Jameson, you don’t know much Gaelic do you?” The question made the hair on your neck stand up and you felt defensive. “I know ‘mo’ means ‘my’, but alas writing a dissertation has resulted in my Gaelic getting rusty.” You sassed, crossing your arms as you stared defiantly at him. Now he laughed, a real genuine laugh that made butterflies erupt in your stomach. It was beautiful, and held such joyful emotion it felt near infectious. But you wanted an answer, so you needed to focus. “Oh darling sunshine,” he finished his laughter, leaning in close again. For a moment you thought he might really kiss you, and you wondered if that’d be such a bad thing as your eyes fluttered closed, but instead you felt his breath on your neck and his lips by your ear. “It means ‘my love’, mo ghra.” Now it was your turn to laugh, shocked, leaning back and away from him. “Haha, very funny, Steve.” You said, expecting to see a mischievous, or hell a cruel smile, waiting for you.

Instead his face held nothing of the sort. It was open, serious, and genuine. “Why? Why call me that?” You breathed, not quite a demand but also not quite just a question. Certainly not a question you’d be okay not getting the answer to. Steve leant back toward you, and your heart skipped a beat. Swallowing harshly, you stared back at him, refusing to look away, to be weak or scared despite the way your body was trembling. His breath was warm as it fanned across your face, and your heart rate picked up as his face got close to yours. “The real question sunshine is why you don’t think you’d be worthy to be my love, when you’re the only one to see past my glamour on the first glance.” Your breath caught in your throat. The only one? “There’s no way, surely there’s been others?” He laughed without humor now, his eyes closing briefly, before opening them back up to show the glowing hues of blue dancing in his irises. “Oh sweet sunshine, how wrong you are. There is no one that is like you.” His voice deepened, damn near coming out like a growl as his forehead rested against yours.

Your hands came up to his shoulders, not knowing whether to push him away or pull him close. The tension between the two of you could be cut with a butter knife. The sound of your phone ringing broke you two apart, and you gulped in the air you didn’t know you hadn’t been breathing. It was Shayna. And it was 20 minutes before your colloquium class. “I, I have to go.” Thankfully Steve had stepped back, the glamour firmly put back in place but his eyes no less haunting than before. “Of course,” he nodded, before grasping your free hand in his to help you stand up. Instead of letting go, though, he brought your hand to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. “See you around, mo ghra.” You bit your cheek hard, his lips felt like fire on your skin, and if you didn’t know any better you’d probably throw yourself into his arms and kiss the daylights outta him. But you did know better— and you knew that the fae were tricky. Pulling your hand away, you gave him a nod before walking away. The minute you left his eyesight, you sprinted to your car, threw your buckle on and tore ass out of the parking area.

The rest of that week had been spent finishing revisions and grading elevator-pitch speeches, and avoiding the new faculty like the plague. Luckily no one had questioned you, thanks to being a freshly made doctoral candidate, so you were able to get work done and push the lingering feeling of warmth from where Steve had kissed your hand. But then, that next weekend, you found a new fairy circle. One made of mushrooms, on the outskirts of the forest line by your apartment. It was an area you liked to go sit in and write when you couldn’t look at screens or take the sounds of your apartment complex anymore. You’d almost stepped into it, but the deep red of the toadstools caught you off guard, making you back up. Inside the circle looked to be a note. Try not to study too hard, solynshka. — B. You looked up and around, startled. How the fuck did they know where you lived? And how did they know you liked to sit there? You, again, side stepped and moved back towards the apartment complex, deciding that maybe the study rooms provided by your apartment would be safest right now.

Oh how wrong you were. Sure there were no portals to accidentally step into, but then the dreams started up. It started as the other dreams had, with that memory of standing in the Wicklow National Forest.

You barely felt the chill of the cool spring air on your face as you stared intently into the doorway, familiar blue eyes with a ring of gold around the pupils, glowing like that of a wolf’s, giving you the impression that they were studying you just as intently as you were them. You knew those eyes…You swore you knew those eyes but you couldn’t put your finger on how. The woods around you were alive with the soft sounds of rustling, bugs chirping, and the breeze through the leaves above you. Then you’d feel hands on your arms, and suddenly you weren’t in your layered hiking clothes anymore, but the yellow maxi skirt and tank top you’d worn to the New Faculty Potluck the week after Dr. Barnes and Dr. Rogers had arrived. You blinked in confusion, your head feeling fuzzy at the sudden change. Calloused hands rubbed up and down your bare arms, and the heat of their palms made you feel almost delirious. Their touch, and the gaze in the doorway that seemed to twinkle with delight, created such warmth inside you, you felt tipsy. “Bheith linne, mo ghrian.” Lips caressed the shell of your ear, and you sighed dreamily as the Irish Gaelic washed over you. “Let us take care of you, solynshka..” Another voice, from the doorway, purred. “Please.” You whispered, and felt yourself stumbling, reaching for the portal.

You shot up, heart racing, sweat down your back… and panties wet. Surely this was just a… weird wet dream induced by all the books you’d been reading and the stress of two fae appearing suddenly in your life.

But that wasn’t a one-off dream. And soon those eyes and touches began to drive you slightly batty. Every dream began the same, and ended with you inches closer to stepping through the damn doorway before you would shoot up in bed, or the alarm would sound.

Four weeks to the day that they arrived, you were finally able to find a spot, sans fairy circle, with a good night's rest thanks to melatonin and the sleepy girl mocktail, to enjoy a little picnic while reading over your first fully-completed draft of your dissertation. You were playing the jazz playlist you made in year two to help with focus, enjoying the trumpet of Moonlight Serenade by Glen Miller floating around you. Chewing on the last of a bunch of green grapes, you closed your eyes and tilted your head up to the sun shining on your cheeks, relishing in it. A rustle of leaves made your eyes snap open and the sight before you had you nearly choking on said grape. James “Bucky” Barnes was walking toward you with a grin on his face, a book tucked under his arm and a thermos in hand. “Fancy to see you here, solynshka.” He greeted, plopping down in front of you and making himself comfortable on your picnic blanket, despite no invitation to join you. His glamour was just as beautiful as his real form, but definitely not as stark as his true form. His eyes still shone with a slight golden glow around his irises, but they made you feel more… safe. At ease. “I could say the same, Dr. Barnes, not many know about this spot.” You trailed off, looking back down at your writing, hoping he’d get the hint.

He didn’t, of course, instead you quickly found your dissertation out of your hands and in those of the man across from you. “Hey!” You said, reaching across the cloth to grab it back, but your other hand, which you’d put out to steady you as you reached, didn’t quite make contact with solid ground, causing you to fall right into him. Somehow you landed with your head in his lap, looking up as he studied what you’d been reading. “Dr. Barnes,” you moved to get up, but his free arm came to rest on your abdomen, hand warm and steadying, keeping you in position. “Shh, shh, solynshka, I’m reading. And you know what to call me, don’t you?” He glanced down at you, the golden ring around those steel blue eyes glowing as he looked at you. Your breath hitched, but just as quick as he looked you in the eyes, he looked back at your paper. You lay there for a few minutes, listening as the jazz music from your phone continued floating around you both, the sounds of him turning the pages…

Finally, you decided to say fuck it and just give him what he wanted. “...Bucky?” He hummed, looking down at you with a smile that made you feel dazzled. “Yes, solynshka?” “Why did you come out here?” He smiled, putting your dissertation to the side so he could trace your features. His fingertips ghosted over your forehead, the bridge of your nose, the bow of your lips, down to your jawline and back up to your hairline. “Because of you, solynshka… You’ve been avoiding us, doll.” I bit my lip, closing my eyes. “I needed to finish my work.” You mumbled, argument weak even to you. “Mmm, yes I know, doll. You’ve been working so hard, won’t you let us help you relax?”

Bucky smirked as a blush settled across your cheeks and you shook your head. He allowed you to sit up when you moved his hand from your abdomens and rolled to the side. “You know I can’t let that happen.” You said, scooting back to where you originally sat. The more distance you put between this magnetic motherfucker the better. “Mmm, yes you do see hell bent on not accepting anything we have to offer.” His tone was teasing, but the look in his eyes told a different story. Those baby blues looked like a storm, and the emotions you struggled to decipher except for one; frustration. You clenched your jaw, he had no right to be frustrated at you! If anyone had a right to frustration it was you. “Because I know the rules, Bucky. And I’ve worked too fucking hard to get to the point I’m at to be whisked away by, by…” You looked away, catching yourself before you said something you’d regret. By fae? By two hot men? By chance?

“By fate?” Your head snapped to look at him. His gaze darkened as he drank in the way your shoulders tensed, your eyes wide, your mouth dropping to say something but stopping before you did. “That’s what this is, solynshka. Fate. Why else would you have seen past all of this,” with a wave of his hand, the glamour dissipated, and all that remained was the raw, beautiful, true form of the fae before you. The gold in his eyes seemed to hold you hostage as he inched closer to you, your stomach doing flips and heart rate picking up. “With nothing but a glance?” You opened your mouth to argue, to, say something! But in a blink, he was kneeling in front of your criss-cross form, hands cradling your face and tilting it upwards to look at him. Your breathing was shallow, heart racing as his thumbs stroked your cheeks, and the heat of his skin settled into your bones. “Oh my little sun; my solynshka…” he leant down, pressing his forehead to yours, a minick of what Steve had done a few weeks back. His eyes remained on yours, and you could not bring yourself to blink.

His lips were close to yours now, you could feel his breath against them, and you felt that familiar heat sink into you as you thought about what it would be like to press upward just a little, and feel those lips on yours. He seemed to read your thoughts, as his thumbs gently caressed your jaw, his eyes reflecting a longing that nearly took your breath away. “We just want to adore you, doll.” He whispered, face dipping so his lips could brush against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to catch your breath and not let the feeling of his stubble against your skin make you melt. “I can’t, we can’t, I-I have to finish what I started.” You whispered, opening your eyes to look at him. Your hands grasped his wrists, gently squeezing, begging him to let go before you did something irrevocable.

He let go of your face, but caught your hands in his, stroking the back of them with his thumbs. “I suppose you do… but so do we, solynshka.” Lifting your hands to his lips, he pressed a kiss to each, before letting go, standing, and picking up his book from your picnic blanket, and the thermos. “Until later, sunny.” He winked. And then… he was gone. You quickly gathered your items and made your way back to your apartment, but not before freezing. “What the fuck did he mean but ‘so do we’?!”

From there on you did your best to try and avoid the two fae.

Key word, try.

The dreams had somewhat let up, but that seemed to be due to them somehow becoming embedded into your schedule. Bucky took a keen interest in your dissertation, and much to your chagrin, your advisor agreed to let him help you. And, frustratingly so, he was good at helping! Whenever you found yourself in a writer’s block—or thought that your eyes would melt if you stared at a screen trying to define “performative communication” for one more fucking second—he would swoop in and save the day with outside perspective, a fantastic source, or a simple walk to take a break. A walk you made sure was in the building and not anywhere you could accidentally walk into a fucking fae circle.

And then there was Steve, fucking Steve, who was somehow always sliding observations and suggestions for your classroom and lessons, under your office door every other day. You knew he wasn’t going into your office, but somehow the papers ended up on your desk, with new ideas and options to enhance your curricula and teaching. At first you had ignored it, feeling offended that somehow your teaching wasn’t up to his standards… but then it seemed Shayna, Quinn, and even some of the first year PhDs were receiving similar tips and tricks… to wonderful consequences. When you began implementing some of the suggestions in your public speaking class, you found your students more engaged than before… Therefore you begrudgingly left a plate of your famous cookies outside his office door one day; not as a thank you… but a peace offering.

By the time the end of October rolled around, it was time for your annual semester teaching observation. Somehow, someway, Steve was “assigned” to be your observer to provide feedback on your teaching. You nearly spat your coffee out in front of all the freshmen in your public speaking class when you caught sight of him at the back of the lecture hall. You’d known you were being observed that day, but assumed it’d be the usual colleague, John, to watch as he had the previous fall semesters.

Fucking wrong.

You recovered as well as you could, forcing yourself to lock-in on the students and the material, and avoid looking at Steve at all costs. Your students didn’t seem to find anything off, and some of them were distracted by Steve himself (he was incredibly attractive), so with ten minutes left in the class you decided to let the kids go early. A treat for getting all their topics for persuasive speeches approved, and outlines roughly drafted. As you gathered your items, you expected to see a somewhat cocky Dr. Steve Rogers when you looked up, but instead the classroom was empty. You frowned, a little disappointed at missing trading jabs with him, when your phone buzzed. Clicking the notification, your email app popped open, and your inbox lit up with one new message from Dr. Steven Rogers.

Let's chat about my observations from your class tomorrow morning. Campus lake trailhead, don’t be late. —S.G.R

Your eyebrows furrowed. You didn’t work on campus on Thursdays, and therefore had gotten into the habit of hanging out inside; especially as the weather began to grow cooler. Not only that, you’d taken refuge inside your apartment, barely leaving unless for appointments or to grocery shop. Basically to go to any space where you didn’t have to worry about accidentally stepping in a fucking fae circle! Part of you wanted to tell him to shove it (politely of course, he was still her superior, technically) whereas the other part was curious as to why he couldn’t stick around and chat seeing as how you had the minutes left in the class time slot that y’all could have talked; therefore you wanted to go.

Stealing your nerves, and expecting for there to be a level of professionalism that should transcend the weird game of cat and mouse y’all had going on, you responded with a simple “Okay, see you then”.

That night you tossed and turned, trying to (but failing) to fall asleep. Every time you grew close to falling over the edge of sleep, something would wake you up. Sometimes it was a feather light touch, or a whisper of something you couldn’t understand but a voice you knew. Finally, at five a.m, you sat up and swung your legs over the side of your bed, pressing them into the floor while you bent over and cradled your head in your hands. Might as well start the day, you thought ruefully, stumbling to the bathroom and turning on the shower. All you had to do was get dressed, meet with Steve, and then you could come back to the apartment and collapse for a nap. A long, well deserved, fucking nap.

It was around 7:30 a.m. when you arrived at Campus Lake. Dressed in your favorite fall fit (and boots, an emphasis to show you were here to chat not work out) you begrudgingly got out of the warmth of your car, immediately tucking your chin down further into your scarf. It wasn’t alarmingly cold (yet) but the chill of autumn was quickly being chased by the freezing cold of winter. Tucking a small notepad and pen into your jacket pocket, and rubbing your gloved hands together, you made your way toward the trailhead of the lake. The sooner this meeting was done, the better.

“Good morning, mo ghra.” You’d been staring out at the water, at how a fine mist had begun moving across the surface, reminding you of scenes from Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Turning, you bit back a gasp of surprise, as the glamour you had gotten so used to seeing was dropped, and there stood Steve Rogers in all his fae glory. His lips were curled into a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat, his stormy gaze full of tenderness. “G-good morning, Steve. I, uh, guess we should get this show on the road.” You murmured, rubbing your hands together, trying to bring warmth to your fingers (damn cheap gloves). Steve held out a hand toward you and, when you paused, tilted his head almost…predatorily as a small smirk replaced his smile. “I won’t bite, sunshine, I promise.” He teased, and taking a breath you slipped your hand into his.

His hand radiated warmth through the fabric of your glove, and you swallowed the sigh of comfort that threatened to escape. You simply let him lead the way, the effects of not sleeping well (or at all), kept you preoccupied (you really didn’t want to fall asleep while talking to him, so you focused on forcing any yawns down). So lost in your own world, you hadn’t noticed him leading you off the trail and into the woods, not until he came to a stop. “Good morning, solynshka.” Bucky purred, standing up from his position on the blanket. You blinked, hazy, confused, at what was before you. A veritable breakfast feast laid out on a very soft looking green blanket, with fruits shining and the aroma of fresh bread wafting in the air mixing with a variety of breakfast meats. Swallowing hard, you looked to Steve, then Bucky, then Steve again before settling on Bucky with confusion in your eyes. “Uh, good morning, Bucky… I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand what’s going on.” You fought back a yawn at the end of your sentence, using your free hand to gently pinch the bridge of your nose. Steve and Bucky looked at each other and smiled softly before nodding. Steve gently tugged you closer to the blanket, rubbing his thumb over the back of your knuckles. “You’ve been working so hard recently, we wanted to surprise you. Of course I do want to discuss observations from yesterday but… Well, we’d much rather take care of you, mo ghra.” You glanced up at Steve, and inhaled sharply when you felt an arm snake around your waist. Bucky pressed his lips to the crown of your head, the touch warming you from the inside out. Their scents surrounded you—the spice of patchouli and the freshness of crisp apples wrapping around you—made a soft whimper fall from your lips. Your brain felt fuzzy, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up on the soft looking picnic blanket and be taken care of.

“Come now, solynshka, let's sit down.” Steve let go of your hand to let Bucky guide you onto the blanket. Bucky grinned when you gasped in surprise as he pulled you into his lap, settling you between his legs so you could lean back against him. “B-Bucky I can sit on my own.” You argued, trying to be firm and pull yourself out of the haze you were in. You tried to squirm out of his lap, but an arm around your middle kept you firmly against him. “I know sunny, you’re capable of anything you put your mind to, so let us take care of you.” He whispered in your ear, and you shivered at the feeling of his breath fanning across your neck and shell of your ear. Steve smiled, a bright smile that could make the sun jealous, as he sat across from you with a cup filled with something steaming that smelled delicious. Your throat felt so dry suddenly, and when he offered the cup to you, you took it. Your mouth watered as you raised it to your lips, and you paused, looking at Steve. He smiled encouragingly, his eyes still full of that tenderness you glimpsed earlier, and you thought what the hell. Tipping the cup back, you sipped the warm liquid. Flavors burst across your tastebuds and you groaned, earning a chuckle from both men. Warmth spread down your throat, throughout your chest, and you swore you felt it down to the soles of your feet.

“What is this?” You asked, passing the now empty cup back to Steve. “It’s cider, made from an old recipe from home.” He replied, in which you hummed in acknowledgment as he refilled your cup before handing it back. Then he gave Bucky one before pouring himself a cup as well. “A toast, to new beginnings.” He grinned, and Bucky grinned at him over your head as you gently clinked the cup with Steve and Bucky’s, the meaning flying over your head. The cider made you hum with delight, your body feeling warm and almost floaty. When you finished your second cup, Bucky suggested trying the fresh bread with homemade jam, which at the indication of your growling stomach you agreed enthusiastically. Then Steve offered you a couple pieces of bacon that looked better than any you’d ever cooked, which you gratefully ate. As the three of you ate quietly, you felt an odd sensation come over you. “Feeling better, mo ghra?” Steve’s voice was like honey, dripping down your spine. “Mhmm.” You hummed, leaning back against Bucky’s chest. “Told you we would finish what we started, solynshka.” Bucky murmured, lips caressing your temple.

A moment of clarity hit you like a freight train, the sound of your grandfather’s voice echoed in your mind as you felt your heart rate speed up. If you eat their food, or drink their drinks, then wave goodbye to the mortal plane- because you’ll be off to a new realm… The lack of sleep combined with the voices (their voices) waking you up on the cusp of slumber, images of their eyes when you closed yours, the feather light touches that sent you shooting up in bed… it was all them. And this had been one big ploy to get you. “You gave me fae food.” You whispered, looking into Steve’s eyes. The glamour had long been dropped, and his eyes seemed to glow brighter than they ever had before. “Yes, we did, mo ghra.” He was closer now, hand caressing your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned into his touch, his palm warm against your cool skin.

“Why?” Steve caught the tear that rolled down your cheek, and sighed, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead. “I think you know the reason, mo ghra.” You shook your head, pulling from his touch, scrambling out of Bucky’s lap to put distance between yourself and the two. You rubbed a hand down your face, trying desperately to wake yourself up, to bring yourself to your senses as the magic in the food began sinking into your bones. Why would they do this now? Why get so close in the first place? “We just want to take care of you, sunshine.” Your eyes snapped open, eyes glancing to Bucky and his golden and blue eyes, then to Steve who smiled in pride. You had met them before, damn it, and it had taken you so fucking long to realize from where. God, you felt like such an idiot. “Wicklow. It was you two in that portal in Wicklow, last spring when I was visiting Ireland.” Your breaths came out sharper now. “Yes, Wicklow, sunshine.” Steve affirmed. Red hot anger shot through you as your eyes watered, and you stood to your feet as you glared at them. “So this is for what? Because I escaped? Because I didn’t fall for your trap? Why integrate yourselves in my life, why act like you care, especially now?”

“Because you're ours, solynshka.” Bucky growled, standing up and stepping towards you. You stepped back, partly in shock, partly in fear of his anger. “Only a mate can see past the glamour of another fae.” Steve said, and your eyes snapped toward him, looking into his stormy gaze. “Mate?” Your eyebrows furrowed. “Yes sweet girl, mate, our missing piece.” Bucky was standing before you now, moving faster than you could have thought, and resting his hands on your hips. You inhaled sharply, swallowing harshly as what felt like electricity shot through you. Steve stood up as well, and Bucky spun you around to face him, keeping his arms wrapped around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. Everything was moving so fast, and yet the world fell away as Steve spoke. “We’ve been searching for you for centuries, mo ghra. You have no idea how much you make us feel.” Steve’s voice was husky, his hand cupping your jaw and tilting your chin upward to look into your eyes. “Then show me.” You challenged inhibitions falling away. Steve’s grin was nearly feral as both of his hands cupped your cheeks before capturing your lips, and breath, in a fierce kiss.

It felt like sparks.

Bucky let go of you as you wrapped your arms around Steve’s neck, his hands quickly pulling you to his chest, pressing you as close to him as possible, gasping when he nipped your bottom lip and licked into your mouth. You forced yourself to pull back so you could catch your breath, feeling light headed, your body flush and wanting more. “My turn, punk.” Bucky’s voice was light and teasing as you were suddenly spun around, Bucky’s hands cradling your face. The rings of gold around his baby blues held you captivated. “My little sun.” He grinned, before gently pressing his lips to yours. You tilted your chin up to deepen the kiss, gladly opening when he licked the seam of your lips. You held on to the lapels of his jacket as he claimed your mouth, tongue caressing yours and pulling moans from your throat. “I think we better take this home, don’t you, Buck?” Your eyes were dilated, your body feeling both light as a feather but suddenly heavy as lead. “I couldn’t agree more, Stevie. Our little sun needs to rest before tonight’s activities.” Steve grinned and swept you into his arms, bridal style. You squeaked and grabbed onto him so as not to fall. You felt so sleepy all of a sudden, and couldn’t help but yawn as you rested your head against Steve’s shoulder. He hummed in content, nodding to Bucky. In the blink of an eye, the blanket and picnic were gone… All that was left was a careful circular formation of stones.

“Let’s go home, mo ghra.”

Should I write more? IDK, have fun y'all.

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helplessautomaton · 5 days ago

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Could you do platonic yandere Bucky barnes x teen reader who is a super soilder. The reader is like 13-14 and was apart of Hydra like him but escaped. After the avengers and bucky find reader, bucky takes them under is wing after the reader escaped hydra

「 LITTLE SOLDIER 」

Synopsis; Trapped in the darkness of his obsession, desperately seeks to reclaim a child lost in his past. After discovering that someone else has taken him in, his broken and twisted mind drives him to commit an unimaginable act of violence. Is it salvation, or a curse? In Bucky's mind, everything makes sense. But who is the true monster here?

Pairing ── James 'Bucky' Barnes x Super Soldier! Teen! Reader. (Platonic!)

Content. MDNI ⚠︎ ── Dark themes, violence/death, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, kidnapping?, delusion, Angst, murdering, child abuse, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.

A/N ── English is not my first language — Spanish — Ahhh, it took me forever to post this, I know . I’m so sorry! I got so caught up in other things that I completely forgot about how the Winter Soldier was… and now that I’ve seen him again, what a nostalgia hit! It’s like time hasn’t passed, but at the same time, everything feels so different. Like every time you see him, you discover something new about him, you know?

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... observed the way your eyes filled with terror as you saw him, a mix of fear and confusion, like a creature trapped in a cage, unsure how to escape. Hydra had molded you, but it had also stripped you of your essence. Like many before you, you were a piece of a gear, meant to be used, controlled, and destroyed when no longer needed. You didn’t understand why you had been chosen for the experiments or how you had ended up here, you only knew you were fragile and that nothing in Hydra was truly "safe."

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... approached you with calculated coldness, like a shadow crawling in the dark. His gaze, initially empty due to the lobotomy, seemed to fixate on you now, as if a spark of humanity had reignited in his mind. His eyes didn’t shine with empathy, but with a dangerous curiosity. "Little one... how did you survive?" he murmured, more to himself than to you. The idea that someone so fragile could endure Hydra’s tortures, the serum, the constant pressure, intrigued him. But that curiosity soon turned into obsession. The protection he felt for you wasn’t a natural instinct, but one imposed by Hydra, who had ordered him to watch over you, keep you alive, but also keep you under control. You didn’t know that control would become your worst nightmare.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... watched as you were subjected to more and more experiments. The nights of training were long, endless, filled with violence and blood. But the worst part wasn’t Hydra’s violence, but the way Bucky treated you. Sometimes, his low and calm voice filtered through the screams of others, speaking to you in a tone that seemed meant to be reassuring, but deep down, it chilled your blood. "Don't worry, you'll do fine. Everything will be fine, you just have to follow my orders." What else could you do but obey? Desperation, the feeling of being trapped in an endless cycle of pain and humiliation, enveloped you like a cloak. And he... he was there, always watching, always waiting. But Sometimes, when your eyes met his, you saw something else, something that made you shudder: the echo of the darkness that once was Bucky, the shadow that could no longer be erased

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... began following you with palpable obsession, as if you were his property, an object he had to protect at all costs. He no longer confined himself to Hydra’s orders. He found you in every corner of the facility, his presence a constant shadow behind you. "Don’t stray from me, do you hear?" His voice was colder, sharper. Every time you tried to escape, even in your thoughts, the fear of facing him became a constant threat. But something in his gaze had changed, and it wasn’t concern for your well-being. It was control. It was possession. And you had become just another pawn in his game, as captive to him as you were to Hydra.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... mistreated you in ways you couldn’t comprehend, and the worst part was that after every hit, every cruel order, he would always return to you with a vacant smile, repeating the same words: "I do this for your own good." Why did he do it? Was that his way of showing you there was still some humanity left in him? Or perhaps, he could no longer distinguish between his own identity and Hydra’s orders. Every time he hit you, every time he left you marked, you could feel the confusion in his gaze, as if it wasn’t him acting, but something bigger, darker, that had taken his place.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... after the last failed mission, when you faced an enemy stronger than you could handle, Bucky took you to his side, pressing you against his chest, soaking you in his blood and yours. "Don’t worry, I won’t let them hurt you," he whispered, his voice rough and full of desperation. The obsession he had felt for you, growing over the years, exploded in a scream. He wanted you to know that you, you alone, belonged to him. And though he feared you, that obsession had replaced everything else. Hydra had turned Bucky into a machine, but now he only wanted to have you under his control, beyond what he understood or wanted to admit.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... was no longer just a Hydra soldier. He was a monster created by the shadows of the past, and your presence in his life was the only thing that kept him tied to something human, something he could never control. He looked at you with blind madness, he needed you, but worst of all: he feared you. And while he kept you captive with his cold hands and broken mind, what was left of his humanity slowly faded, leaving only a sick need that not even he could comprehend.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... saw you fade into the shadows, like a whisper in the dark, escaping from his reach. Panic struck him like a torrent, but not in the way one might expect. It wasn’t just the fear of losing you, but the feeling that something had been taken from him, something he could not recover. You had escaped, and it was his fault. Hydra wasn’t going to let him go so easily. With a roar of fury, he ran through the hallways, his heart pounding. "Come back here! Don’t you dare run from me!" he would shout, but his voice only echoed in the empty corners, with no answer. He knew it was too late, that you had already escaped, and something inside him began to break, a part of his mind crumbling under the weight of his own guilt.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... felt Hydra drag him back into their control, like a shadow that devoured him slowly. The anxiety of losing you wasn’t just a worry, but a madness that ate away at him from the inside. His superiors, with their cold and commanding voices, ordered him not to pursue you, to let you go. "You are nothing but a tool for us, Soldier. If she escapes, it doesn’t matter. You must complete your mission." But Bucky didn’t listen. He couldn’t listen. All he could hear was the sound of your breath, your distress, and how your figure faded from his reach. All he wanted was to see you again, to take your hand, and never let you go. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t escape Hydra’s grasp.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... was once again subjected to Hydra’s yoke, as if he were a machine with no right to feel. Every attempt to escape their control was useless. Every attempt to rebel against what was expected of him only led to deeper torture. Physical pain, mental pain, it didn’t matter. He felt nothing anymore, only the constant sting of despair over your loss. Hydra had broken him once again, but this time, the feeling of losing you consumed him in a far worse way. You were gone, and he was to blame. How could he have allowed you to escape? How could he have failed to protect you?

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... in his desperation, sank into madness. He became a wandering specter within Hydra’s facility, every dark corner becoming more torturous than the last. Every second, his mind fragmented, the images of your face, your frightened eyes, repeating over and over like an echo he couldn’t silence. "You’ll come back, right? You’ll come back to me..." he whispered alone, but there was no answer. And when Hydra finally decided to send him on a mission against the heroes, his mind was on the edge of collapse. It was yet another sacrifice by the same machinery that had created him.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... when the Avengers found him and freed him from their control, reality hit him hard. The internal war between his desire for redemption and his madness over losing you exploded in his chest, like an emptiness so deep it seemed to swallow everything. There, in the midst of battle, the truth crushed him: “I let you escape… I failed you...” Panic enveloped him, and his teammates, while helping clear his mind of Hydra’s shadows, didn’t know the truth behind his suffering. They knew Bucky had been manipulated, but they never understood that for him, the true enemy had been guilt. The guilt of letting you slip away, the guilt of not keeping you under his control, of not protecting you when it was his only mission.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... had spent so long, years, fighting to find something that would redeem him, something that would pull him out of the abyss Hydra had thrown him into. The Avengers had accepted him, and little by little, the darkness that once dominated his mind began to fade. He had reconciled with Steve Rogers, his old friend, his brother. The wounds of the past began to heal, and at last, Bucky could feel something close to peace. He had found a purpose fighting alongside the heroes, protecting the innocent, trying to make right all the destruction he had caused in his life. But though his soul seemed to find some calm, his heart was still a battlefield. The obsession with you never disappeared. It was something that stayed hidden in the depths of his mind, where guilt and despair never completely abandoned him. Every time someone mentioned a child or a young person with traits or abilities similar to yours, a shiver ran down his spine. What if it was you? What if he found you again? That was always his broken hope, his private demon that never stopped haunting him.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... walked through the city on a regular day, like any other, without expecting something so deep and disturbing to happen. The air was fresh, and the city thrummed with the normality of everyday life. Children played in the park, adults walked calmly, unaware that something sinister lurked in the shadows. It was then that he saw him. A teenager, about 13 or 14 years old, with his hair falling messily over his forehead. But it was something more that made Bucky freeze in his place: that small mark on his arm, almost faded, but unmistakable. The same Hydra mark that had been etched into your skin, the symbol that had marked him too, that had made him its own. The mark he would never forget.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... felt like the world was crumbling beneath his feet. His heart began to race, his breathing erratic. It couldn’t be... It couldn’t be that after all this time, after all the suffering, after the guilt he had carried for years, he would find you like this, so close, yet so far. His legs trembled, his fingers clenched into fists, trying to hold on to any semblance of sanity while the emotion drowned him. The teenager didn’t look at him, distracted by his own thoughts, but Bucky couldn’t stop staring at him, observing every small detail. Everything about him screamed that it was you. "It’s... It’s my child." He thought, but his mind was so fragmented that he didn’t know what to do with the feeling overtaking him. Terror and hope mixed like poison in his veins.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... began to walk slowly, as if approaching a specter, as if he feared that by getting closer, the dream would vanish. The elderly couple didn’t notice him, and the teenager remained as oblivious to his presence as if everything were in place. But Bucky knew something had changed, that this was the opportunity he had been waiting for, even though his mind was so confused he didn’t know if it was a dream or a nightmare. Each step he took toward you made him feel more and more desperate, more anxious, as if an abyss were opening beneath his feet. "Should I do it? Should I get closer? Would he want to see me?" he thought, his hands trembling with uncertainty and guilt. Time had passed, but for him, the child he had lost was still the same, and his madness made him think that maybe he could still fix it, repair what he had destroyed, as if he could take your hand again and tell you everything would be fine.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... finally crossed the threshold of doubt. With each step toward you, his mind emptied of logic, and the only thing he felt was a wild urgency, a deep desire for everything to return to how it was before. He only thought of the child he had let go, the child who had been marked by Hydra, the child who was now here, in front of him, unaware that his savior was also his jailer. With his heart pounding, a mixture of fear and hope, Bucky took the last step and stood before you, his gaze filled with twisted and anxious devotion, while his lips whispered almost breathlessly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "It’s you... it’s really you, right?"

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... watched as your face, upon noticing his presence, transformed from a calm expression to one of pure panic. The eyes of that teenager widened as if he had seen a ghost, his body instinctively recoiling, a visceral reaction to seeing him. The fear reflected in your gaze was like a dagger stabbed into his chest. His fractured and obsessed mind didn’t understand what was happening at that very moment. He couldn’t comprehend how, after everything he had done, after the life he had stolen from you, you could still be so afraid of him.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... felt something twist inside him. It was pain, but also anxiety, a sensation that suffocated him when he saw you take a step back, trembling all over. And then, to his horror, something he hadn’t anticipated: you started to cry. Tears began to stream from your eyes, as if your body couldn’t contain the fear any longer, and Bucky froze at that moment. How could it be that he caused you so much pain, even now? "No... I didn’t want to scare you," he thought, but his thoughts couldn’t reach you. The horror in your face was a warning that you never, ever wanted to see that monster you once were again.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... watched as you turned and began to run, your figure quickly disappearing into the crowd. Anguish enveloped him, the fear of losing you again made him react in desperation. He tried to reach you, to shout at you, but his legs seemed incapable of moving quickly enough. "Wait, please!" he screamed in his mind, but the words didn’t leave his lips, they were trapped in a sea of madness. You were gone. And Bucky, with a broken heart, stood there frozen as your figure vanished before him, like an illusion he couldn’t hold onto.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t let the tragedy repeat itself. Using his sharp tracking skills, he delved into Stark and SHIELD’s technology, recovering all available resources to follow you, to know who you were now. The Avengers helped him, yes, but what he needed most was to find an answer, a solution, something that would lead him to you. Every second that passed without knowing about you was driving him crazy, feeding his need for possession, his urgency to have you, to protect you, to reclaim you.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... for days, Bucky unearthed information, tracked records, and dove into the Stark and SHIELD databases. Nothing stopped him. He knew your Hydra mark would give you away, that even if the scar was almost erased, someone, somewhere, would know something. And so, it was how he finally uncovered the truth: you had been adopted by a local family in the city. In fact, they lived in a quiet neighborhood, far from everything that could have been your past. A loving family, seemingly, who had given you a home and a life he could never offer. The revelation overwhelmed him. They had forgotten you, but to him, you were no ordinary child. You would always be his child, the one he had left behind and now could not let go.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... felt a growing rage inside him as he clung to the new information. How could someone else take his place? How could he allow it? The people who had adopted you, those strangers who treated you as their son, didn’t know what was behind you. They didn’t know what Hydra had done to you, what he had done, what he had promised you. And in Bucky’s mind, that only meant one thing: he wasn’t going to let them go on with their peaceful life. You belonged to him, and although the idea of being a father terrified and disgusted him, to Bucky, all of that boiled down to an unhealthy obsession with possessing what he had lost. Reconciliation with his own past didn’t matter because, at that moment, only you mattered.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... couldn’t stop thinking about how, after everything that had happened, you could be happy with a life he hadn’t been able to give you. But the guilt consumed him. Every time he thought about the family that had adopted you, his mind filled with dark shadows, disturbing thoughts about what he could do to "protect" you from them. He knew his obsession was becoming more dangerous, darker, but he could no longer stop. He couldn’t lose you again.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... couldn’t bear the fact that someone else had you, someone who didn’t know your pain, your suffering, or your true story. When he found the house where you lived, his mind twisted even more. Steve’s warning still echoed in his ears, his friend insisting: "Bucky, don’t do this. You can’t go on with this madness." But the warning was useless. To him, there was no turning back. Steve’s words no longer had power over him, fear, guilt, or remorse faded into the darkness. The only thing left was the sick desire to have you back, to "save" you from those people who were "usurping" you.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... infiltrated the house, getting rid of any security or surveillance as if they were mere obstacles in his way. No one in the house knew what was about to happen. The darkness of the night enveloped him as his footsteps echoed silently down the hallway. He moved with the precision of a predator, his breathing calm and cold, knowing exactly what he was going to do. The first victim was the adoptive father, a man who never saw the danger coming, a lethal shadow that pounced on him, and before he could react, Bucky had already silenced him brutally. With a precise blow, the blood spilled mercilessly, staining the floor and walls as Bucky continued his mission without a hint of emotion on his face.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... killed the adoptive mother with the same efficiency. It didn’t matter who they were, whether they were young or old, if they had raised the child with love, their presence in the life of his child was the only thing that mattered. As his knife sank in again and again, the blood flowing from the victims formed a river of chaos and death. The rooms of the other adopted siblings became a massacre without remorse, their bodies fallen in silence, as if their lives had no value in the face of his obsession with you. The metallic shine of the blood on the walls, the way the lights reflected on the surfaces of the house, only fueled his euphoria. No one in the house survived, they all fell to his unstoppable violence.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... finally ascended the stairs, his mind shadowed by what he had just done, but without remorse. He reached your room and stopped at the door. You could hear his breathing, heavy but calm, as if everything was under his control. And then, he saw something that made him smile, that twisted and macabre smile only he could show: you. You were asleep, unaware of the chaos that had just unfolded downstairs. There was no way you could hear the screams, the sounds of blood being spilled. You were just there, resting as if nothing had happened.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... approached your bed, his hand trembling slightly as he watched you. The horror of what he had done no longer mattered. The only concern in his mind was seeing you, the child he had lost, again. You belonged to him. Madness enveloped him as he looked at your innocent face. He leaned down to you, and in a soft voice, he whispered through subtle laughs, his warm breath on your ear: "I’m so happy to see you, little soldier. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. No one will hurt you again." The softness of his words completely contradicted the sea of blood he had left behind, but to him, it all made sense. He had brought you back. Finally, after so much suffering and pain, he had claimed you.

The floor was covered in blood, the echoes of the massacre ringing in his mind, but all he could focus on was you. You, his lost child, his little soldier. He watched you while you slept, completely unaware of what had just happened around you. And despite the violence, despite how horrible everything had been, he was happy. He knew that from now on, everything he touched, everything he desired, he would steal for himself. And finally, Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, felt that his life had regained something he could never have: control.

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helplessautomaton · 5 days ago

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snooze|a.u

bucky barnes!winter soldier x reader

summary: you can’t seem to get a good’s nights rest, at-least not with the thought a certain someone has found you.

warnings: light swearing, a bit of violence(not to reader), delusion? grammar errors :/

notes: gotta be honest, the only bus i’ve ever taken is to school when i was in middle school. so if the bus time frame is off(probably is lmao) give me grace. also this is a small town, not some big city. reader is super reserved, doesn’t leave the house much and keeps to themselves most of the time. she only really knows her co-workers, because they work together. first post so i’m open to feedback. :)

Tossing and turning all night, Y/N couldn’t find a bit of peace. The day had been just like all the others. Wake up, get dressed, eat the same breakfast, catch the same 8 a.m. bus, clock in, clock out, ride the same seat on the way home, eat dinner, watch whatever show until you couldn’t keep your eyes open. You stuck to the plan. No eye contact, no lingering conversations, no openings for anyone to get curious. That’s just how it had to be. The fewer connections you had, the fewer risks. If no one knew really knew you, he couldn’t possibly find you. And yet… something was off. Chills through your body ever so often. Small movement in the corner of your room. You get up to move your portable fan away from them curtains to keep them from blowing but, but your body is still filled with paranoia. It was probably nothing. Hopefully nothing. But sleep still wouldn’t come.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!

Sitting up in the bed with sleep very much still present in your eyes, you let out a big sigh as you hit snooze on the alarm clock. Maybe just a few more minutes of sleep. You think as you lay back down, pulling your eye mask back down.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!

You spring up cutting your head to the clock. 8:00 a.m. The instant feeling of panic was enough to make you practically fly to the bathroom, you manage to brush your teeth, style your hair, and at least moisturize your face and body because god knows time isn’t on your side to do your usual skin routine. You may not look as put together as you usually do but it’ll have to do, just like getting breakfast and lunch at work today as you realize you didn’t even step foot into your kitchen this morning. You really need this job, and ALL 8 hours for your check to be the same. So your shoe giving out as you run to the next bus stop really helps there be one more thing you have to pay for.

Fury’s Firm, 8:55 a.m

You make it just in time to clock in and grab a banana and water before heading to your desk. You can’t help but beat yourself up about almost being late today. What has gotten into you? Were you getting comfortable in this little town to where the plan that you vowed to stick to become less important? I mean, you have been here for 11 months, your one-year anniversary at this local business firm is coming u-

Y/N? You usually one of the first here, what happened? Couldn’t get any sleep?

Sam was nice. He’s a bit of a teaser, and you don’t really know how to react to the type of banter he’s into. When in conversation, he can talk the entire time without you saying much and still think it was a productive talk with you. He’s invited you to hangout with the co-workers every weekend, despite you turning them down every time. He wanted to make sure your felt included. You liked that. Now that you think about, your co-workers aren’t bad at all. Maybe you could hang out with them…just this once.

You smile at Sam, and then this turns into a light giggle, you actually want to tell Sam about the morning you’ve had. Before words could come out, your giggle turns into a frantic laugh. You absolutely could not believe it yourself.

Sam slides over to you and rest his hand on your shoulder, letting out a soft laugh to mask his discomfort, not wanting to leave you out to dry in front of your peers. Now that he thinks about it, he’s never really seen you like this before.

Are you alright, Y/N? Was it a rough morning?

Yes it was. You responded. You managed to pull yourself together and put a tight lipped smile for him. I just overslept, and everything went down hill after that. I realize now that I didn’t even step foot into my kitchen, because I was flying out of the door trying not to be late. I missed my usual bus, my shoe BROKE as I was running to the next one. And now I have to buy lunch since I didn’t bring mine.

A bit of silence was in the air, and you started to regret choosing to vent to your co-workers but a little chuckle erupted from Sam and everyone else, causing you even more anxiety. Were they making fun of you?

Oh Y/N, can’t you see a good thing when it’s right in front of you…you can finally come out of that shell of yours—you hermit, and join us for lunch. And maybe even drinks after work *wink wink*

You know what, hell yeah. You’ve never actually ate inside any of the local diners around, just ordered takeout and waiting 5 minutes over the estimated time they gave you in order to make sure you could just grab it and go. Little to no small talk.

You end up going for burgers with the group and finished your meals fast enough to play a bit of pool before it was time to clock back into work. You were a total pool shark. Acting all innocent and helpless, like you didn’t know the first think about pool but absolutely obliterating anyone who played against you. At least that’s what Sam said.

You didn’t end up going for drinks with them after work, but they all appreciated you engaging with them outside of the job. You were cool in their eyes.

Sylvie’s Threads, 6 p.m

Now that you think about it, you were going to have to get a new pair soon. You wore these pair damn near every day. You think about your bus that usually comes at 6:15 as you browse through the new selections Sylvie has put out. You don’t know how she does it…making so many custom shoes and clothes as quick as she does. You manage to find a nice sweater and two new pairs of shoes to checkout. Just as Sylvie comes out to ring you up, the bell goes off as someone comes into the store.

Welcome in! Let me know if you need any help.

You don’t quite recall looking back to see who it was, you had so much tunnel vision trying to make it to the bus stop in time.

The walk to your normal bus stop was brisk, you thought about how much you deviated from your normal plan today and gave yourself a mental reprimand to never do it again. But it was fun going out with your co-workers and experiencing eat in a diner. You can’t remember the last time you’ve done that. Music playing with communal chatter. It’s been a long time since you felt normal. Although you don’t love your shoes giving out, you got a cute sweater and two new pairs of shoes out of it. Could relaxing a bit really be that bad?

027 Rambeau’s Residence Apartments, 8 p.m

As you kick up your feet eating what was suppose to be your lunch today, you can’t help be feel just a tad fulfilled. You actually did something other than work. You actually interacted with other people for most of the day. You can’t help be think of that word again. Normal. You try not to dwell too much on your past but normal used to look very similar to today. Hanging out with people you could call friends, eating out even if it’s by yourself, and browsing for clothing even if it’s window shopping. That of course ended when you met him.

You were in college back then. He never spoke too much about himself, and his english wasn’t great but you expect that assuming he was a foreign exchange student. He looked a bit old to be a traditional college student but you didn’t judge. After all there’s no age limit on getting a degree. Russia seemed to be where he was from and in your opinion, it couldn’t have been an overall great experience. Things started to take a turn when you realized that he was always available to hang out when you had time between classes but he never had to be anywhere. Never. It’s sad how you lacked the awareness of how strange he was. His movements almost robotic. You just never had anyone show interest in you like he did. You always wonder was he using you to have a place to crash, a free meal here and there, and stolen kisses whenever he managed to slink into bed with you at night. It never went any further than that which you were grateful for because you weren’t sure if you were ready for any of that. Believe it or not, two decades into your life, the thought of romance happening to you seemed like a joke. You were scared that he’d disappear after you gave him yourself. But he actually became more and more glued to your being. Jealous seemed to rise in him when he couldn’t have you to himself. You couldn’t believe he could alienate you from your friends and wrap you into the consequences of his actions. He was expelled for beating Steve so bad over the simple fact he showed a bit of drunken interest in you and wrapped his arms around you. As quick as it was for you to feel warmth in his arms, it was just as quick to feel the lack-thereof in mere seconds. Loud gasps turn into screams once they realized the punches weren’t stopping. And to make matters worse it was with his prosthetic arm that he chose continuously pound Steve’s face with. Security managed to pull him off and out of the the bar, and you hoped that this scandal would only last a week tops. It lasted the rest of the Spring semester, which was incredibly slow for you as your friends cut you off for keeping him around. But what could you do? You told him you didn’t want to see him anymore. You told your friends this but you seem like a liar with him popping up wherever you managed to sneak off to. Having no one to talk to tainted your made you fall into this dark hole you couldn’t seem to get out of until you received a letter from the school. You were put on academic probation for failing all your courses that semester. This plummeted your GPA, resulting in all your scholarships being revoked. The only thing you could do was crawl into your bed and cry. You only had a week to figure out what you were going to do before you had to be out of your dorm. You had a bit of savings to put down a deposit for a nearby apartment but you asked yourself do you really want to stay in the town were you were the hot topic of gossip and probably would forever be.

So you chose to move a couple towns over to start a new. You just needed to find a job to start saving for school again. Your life was almost semi normal before he found you again. This time he’s on your hip every chance he gets. What irked you about yourself was that you let him in. You liked how he was calm, and whispered sweet nothings into your ear whenever you lounged together. You just didn’t want to be alone. But the cycle repeats its self and you found yourself uprooting with almost nothing into another state. You couldn’t let him blow up your life again. So he couldn’t find you this time. And he hasn’t for 11 months.

You toss and turn in your bed for the second night in a row. You groan out I just want to sleep, as you squeeze your eyes shut.

тогда позволь мне обнять тебя, моя любовь…

(then let me hold you, my love…)

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helplessautomaton · 5 days ago

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it will come back.

"i warn you, baby, each night, as sure as you're born, you'll hear me howling at your door..." - hozier, it will come back

pairing: yandere!bucky barnes x reader c.w.: dark!bucky (he definitely does some questionable things, but nothing graphic)

a.n. - it's official, i've become addicted to lower case fics. they're just so much fun. they've got a vibe, you know? anyway, this is my first attempt at a darker bucky, so i hope you enjoy!

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

this is your fault. it’s all your fault.

you know better, or at least, you should have known better.

what else could you expect from a man like him? a man robbed of his humanity for so long. a man so close to ferality. that's who he is in all matters of you, a man more beast than human, no better than an animal when it came to you.

that’s how you should’ve treated him. as a beast. prowling back and forth in their confinement. poised to devour any unlucky soul that got too close. so long as he was caged, you were safe.

you didn’t though. you didn’t treat him like the beast he became the moment he saw you.

maybe in another life, he could've loved you in a normal, sane way. in another life, he could give you the sweetness you deserved. in a life where he wasn't so twisted and tormented, he would have done just that. the flowers. the chocolates. the romance.

but this is love, he tells himself.

this raw, deranged, twisted, obsession.

this is his love.

he loves you.

he swears he does.

in this life, this is the only way he can show you just how much he loves you. just how far he's wiling to go to love you.

something happened to him the moment he set his sights on you. perhaps something broke. perhaps something mended. but maybe this was always who he'd been. all he knows is that heaven is not fit to house the love he has for you.

it didn't matter. the moment he set his sights upon you, you were doomed.

he wanted to scream, to bellow a warning to stay as far away from him as possible.

he stayed silent during that first meeting. his jaw tense, spine straight as an arrow, fists clenched so tight he was sure there would be indents in the metal of his vibranium palm.

"it was nice to meet you, sergeant barnes." you made a point to place yourself in his line of sight, forcing him to look at you in those bright, wide eyes. "i look forward to working with you."

that was your first mistake. he had the strength to stay away. to resist the feeling creeping up his spine. but you just kept rattling his cage. calling out to him with your siren song.

"bucky," you rest your hand on his shoulder. you're trying to soothe him. you don't realize it's a kindness neither you nor him could afford. "it's alright."

he stiffens, that's the first time you've ever touched him. it's the first time he's ever heard his name fall from your lips. not sergeant, not sir, but his name.

his chest heaves, rising and falling as he tries to control himself. you think it's just the adrenaline of the mission. you don't have any idea how overwhelmed he is by your presence.

it's your own kindness that was your undoing, that was his unraveling. years of discipline, years of training, years of strength gone with a touch.

if he didn't love you so much, he'd hate you.

from that moment on, it all spiraled. he spiraled.

he wasn't a patient man, not by any stretch of the imagination. but for you, he'd wait. for you, he'd bide his time.

first, he watches. he watches and look for ways to insert himself into your life. it was almost too easy. for a shield agent, you were careless. doors unlocked. blissfully unaware of your surroundings on long, morning runs. you barely realized how he'd slithered his way onto your missions.

it helped you were vying for his approval, for his adoration. you didn't know that you had it from the moment he saw you. he started slow. inserting himself into your daily routine. a simple good morning. a good night. passing by you in the corridor, always offering a quick grin. he listened to you. to your ideas. your wants. your little anecdotes.

soon, you were close enough to invite him into your apartment. if only you knew that he'd seen it before.

"bucky, we're friends, right?"

he gritted his teeth. friends. no. you weren't friends. you were the love of his life. you were everything he had ever wanted, everything he would ever want. you were the center of his universe. he couldn't tell you that. not yet. "yeah. why do you ask?"

"i just wanted your opinion on this guy."

"a guy?" his voice is so clipped, so gruff, he's shocked you can't hear his teeth grinding together. his fists clench. can't you feel the rage rolling off of him?

"yeah, this agent," you sigh. "he keeps asking me out. i keep trying to let him down easy, but he's not taking the hint."

"oh."

your eyebrows furrow. he almost smiles to himself. you're so aware of him, of what he does or doesn't do. you're worried you upset him. you're worried you shouldn't have told him. he likes that you're this concerned about what he thinks. "should i - i'm sorry i shouldn't have said that to you."

he places his hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. "no, i'm glad you told me."

it was too easy for him to swipe your phone when you weren't looking. too easy for him to find out which agent dared to try to take you from him.

and it was even easier to get the agent paired with bucky on a field mission. just the two of them. overseas in an unfamiliar country. there were just so many things that could go wrong.

he was respected in the avenger's compound. and in this moment, he's glad he put in the work to earn that respect. he didn't think they'd respect him so much if they knew how easy it was for him to sabotage that agent. he couldn't kill the guy, but if a gun shot to the leg wasn't enough of a warning, there were other ways to get him off your back.

all of this was your fault. you opened the cage, whether you knew it or not. you pushed him to this. you showed him the warmth of your doorways.

you could've left him alone. left him to the land. left him to the cold that he knows from the depth of his bones. you should never have let him taste your warmth. you shouldn't have uttered a single word to him, not when he's sat in silence for so long, not when the sound of your honey sweet voice in enough to feed his hungry soul.

you can't show warmth to someone stone cold.

you can't feed someone starved for decades.

you can't show mercy to someone used to the harsh, unyielding world.

you should never have let him in unless you planned on keeping him.

or he'll come back.

"bucky," you pant, running to bucky's room after hearing about his disastrous mission. "i heard - i heard things went wrong on that mission. i thought you were -"

"i'm okay. don't worry." he tries to bite back the smile at the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. you were worried about him.

your words come out in short bursts. "i just - the guy - he's the one i told you about - i heard he was shot - and - and that you were on the mission with him-"

"that was the guy who wouldn't leave you alone?" there's an intentional lilt to his voice. of course he knew. but he didn't want to give away just how much he knew. you weren't ready for that. "he's okay, if that's what you're worried about."

"i was worried about you." your eyes lift to his, shining with tears, with admiration. you were so close to putting the final nail in your coffin. "i was so worried about you."

he should tell you to run. the lion should never live with the lamb. if only you'd left him to the land.

"i'm okay. i promise."

run, he silently warns you.

run.

"i just- " your frantic eyes find his again. you don't say another word. you lunge forward, planting your warm hand on the side of his face. your lips meet his in a frenzy.

too late.

it was far, far too late. it was too easy for him to become addicted to your presence. how easy you are for him to need. how easy you are for him to crave.

he'll always come back for more. he'll never be satisfied. he lived deprived for so long.

you should've know the reason they locked him away and threw away the key. he's a greedy beast.

and he's decided, he can't live with a taste. not anymore.

"i just want to talk to you," the agent pleads with you. he follows you down the hallway, still limping on his leg after that gun shot. "just hear me out."

"look," you sigh, stopping for a moment out of pity. "i'm sorry you got hurt, but i've already told you, i'm not interested."

"you're not interested in me, but you're interested in the maniac that had me shot?"

your eyes widen at the accusation. "you're lying. and don't - don't talk about bucky like that."

"i just thought you should know what kind of man you're falling into bed with."

"you're just jealous." you're about to turn on your heels when he grips your bicep forcing you back around. he squeezes tightly, forcing you to stay in place. you look down at the white knuckled grip, "you're hurting me."

"he told me that i should be more careful next time. that next time it wouldn't be in the leg. you should ask him about it."

you wrench your arm from his hold. "stay away the hell from me."

you felt guilty about your reaction. even guiltier when he turned up dead just days later. the details of that assignment were so fuzzy. even an entire investigation turned up nothing.

"i can't believe he's gone," you softly cry into bucky's shoulder. "we were friends for so long, you know?"

"i'm so sorry, that can't be easy for you," bucky coos at you.

"i don't what happened. he was acting so strange the last few months and then we got into that fight. i said terrible things to him."

"you got into a fight?"

"he said some things. about you. about us."

"about me?"

"yeah." you nod, tears still stinging your eyes, but offering no other details of that argument. you didn't want to upset bucky with those strange accusations. "these last few months, he was like a different person. he wasn't the friend i knew. i'm sorry, i know i'm rambling at you. i just - i don't know how to feel."

"you don't have to be sorry," bucky promises, he strokes your back up and down, following the curve of your spine. "i understand."

"thank you." you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. "you're being so sweet to me."

"i would do anything for you."

you're not sure what it is. the inflection of his voice. the way the words fall from his lips without pause. or the intensity with which they ring in your ears. you freeze, peeling yourself out of his embrace. your heart hammers against your chest, the blood pumping faster and faster.

you look up and, for the first time, you get a glimpse of it. those blue eyes are almost unrecognizable. that vibrant blue is gone, replaced by something much darker. almost lupine. feral.

it was the first time you ever flinched away from him. you stumbled back, afraid of him.

if you didn't know better then, you certainly did now.

but it's too late for you. he's supposed to unlearn the warmth of your skin, the taste of your lips? he's supposed to let you go? just like that?

no. not a chance in hell.

he doesn't know why you can't see it. can't you see that blood that stained his hand was for you? that agent will never lay another hand on you. you'll never wince under his grip again. he'll never plant seeds of doubt in your head ever again. you're safe. here. in his arms.

you sent him away that night. but he doesn't care. it doesn't matter. he'll always find his way back to you.

he'll always come back.

can’t you hear him just outside your door?

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

a.n. this is my first attempt at writing a yandere fic, so let me know what you think! reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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helplessautomaton · 5 days ago

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YANDERE BUCKY BARNES // GENERAL HEADCANONS

ROMANTIC

He hesitates to get closer to you when you strike his interest. He’s afraid to hurt you like he did many times before to countless people, but his obsession doesn’t let him be away from you for so long.

Bucky is a very touch starved lover, he wants affection all the time, wants to feel your arms around him, your lips on his face or lips, if you can comfort him with warm physical contact, he’s very into it and wants it frequently.

He doesn’t really call you by your name, he mostly calls you Doll, Baby, and you know, cheesy nicknames. But trust me, Doll is still in his vocabulary.

We cannot forget that this man here has been a highly trained assassin for 75 years, he knows endless methods to end someone’s life in seconds so you better watch out or maybe in the next day some friends of yours disappear.

Bucky wants someone who doesn’t judge him by his past actions as the Winter Soldier. He also wants someone who is kind, a bit shy but who’s always gonna be on his side no matter what.

PLATONIC

As a platonic yandere, there are only two visions in my mind: Him being an adoptive father and the other one as your best friend.

Being a father or being your best friend, he’s going to be very protective towards you, it’s like you’re made of glass and a simple slip will make you shatter in pieces.

You also need to be very careful about what you say around him, either complaining about school/college/work, someone being a dick towards you, or whatever it happens, because he will threaten anyone who dares to hurt you or to ruin your life.

You can forget romance because Bucky will be heavily against it, no one deserves such an angel like you and in the end you will get hurt so he won’t let anyone take you away from him.

You are his precious darling, so please, be good to him and he will make sure that you will have your best life with him at his side.

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helplessautomaton · 5 days ago

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HELLO!

i hope ur doing ok today:] if it’s alright can i req something for yandere bucky being clingy with a gender neutral reader? <3

Hi! Thank you for the request! I hope you're doing okay, too!

Warnings: Yandere themes, depictions of clingy behavior, talk of guilting and social isolation near the end.

I definitely agree with the idea that Bucky would be very clingy with his obsession once he's yandere.

The dude's been through a lot. HYDRA had been the only thing he'd known for seventy years, so now that he's out and has something that he loves deeply and makes him feel nice, Bucky wants to keep that.

Just because he's clingy doesn't mean he's going to kidnap you, though. He knows what it's like to be held against his will, so doing the same to the person he claims to adore is the last thing he would do.

Bucky is more the type to be around you far more than any normal other person would be.

All of a sudden he's your new best friend. He always asks to hang out, he shows up at your work to talk, and after a few months, he's practically living at your place with how often he's around.

Bucky absolutely adores having movie nights with you where he catches up on everything he missed. He will ask for recommendations constantly, and would really like to know/watch your favorite stuff.

He will also do this with literally everything else. Books, TV shows, music, etc. Bucky's all up in your business, but you find it hard to set boundaries when he always tells you how hard adjusting to the modern world is.

Also huge into physical touch. Even small touches from you make his heart soar and want to go in for more. Nine times out of ten he will go in for more no matter the situation.

In the few times that he's not around you, Bucky's texting you, which is one of the few reasons he actually got and still uses his iPhone.

If you call him out on his weird and clingy behavior, Bucky is not above using his mental health to guilt you into excusing it all.

He's very sly about it. By the time he's in a relationship with you, anyone who would try to knock some sense into you has already been cut off or has 'mysteriously' disappeared, and you're already so used to or reliant on him that all it takes is a bit of reassurance from him for you to excuse all of this.

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helplessautomaton · 5 days ago

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Not sure what to title this, but it's dark/yandere Bucky and a hint of pervert!Bucky. The ending is super rushed and as always this is super self indulgent and not well written <3 readers gender is not specified

Trigger warnings: Stalking, violence (not towards reader), killing, male masturbation, Buckys filthy thoughts, stealing, mention of reader masturbating, implied noncon at the end - if I missed anything please let me know

I am not responsible for the media you consume, read the warnings, minors dni

Want to read more of my work? Check out my Masterlist

Word count: 1378

. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ . * ✯. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ .

Bucky, who's still getting used to the new world, the Winter Soldier progamming not quite gone yet, lost in this unfamiliar world until he meets you. He doesn't really understand social norms, so when he feels a need to protect you and be around you, he does just that.

He follows you around, not really trying to hide it, and stares at you openly from across the room.

He convinced Tony to put your room next to his (or changed rooms so he could be next to you idk) so he could always listen to you and make sure you're okay. He learns your schedule and follows it, always trailing behind you like your shadow.

In the morning he would let himself into your room. If you were still asleep he would sit and watch you, when you awoke and asked what the hell he was doing, he would just stare, saying nothing. After the first few times this happened you started locking your door at night, which did nothing because he would just break the lock. Though he stopped after Steve told him off for it, so now he just stands outside your door waiting for you. He'd wait for you to get ready before following walking with you to breakfast. When you sit down to eat he makes sure he's sitting next to you, kicking someone out of their seat if need be, and also makes sure no one else is sitting on the other side of you. When eating he still stares at you, only ever glancing away, almost as if you would disappear at any moment. He follows you around the rest of the day, joining you in the gym, following you when you go out to eat. He's always there, always watching.

When you go to your room, he leaves you be. Steve told him that you needed some privacy and alone time, so when you shut the door in his face he goes to his room next door. He's not too worried about you getting hurt since he can hear everything you're doing in there. If someone were to come over to your room, he would first lean against his door, listening to your conversation with them, holding his trusty gun ready to attack if they tried to hurt you. When they left he would calm down and open his door to check up on you, once he knows you're okay he'll go back into his room. However if you were to invite them into your room, he wouldn't allow that, immediately storming out of his room and into yours, ready to tell the other person to get the fuck out. You see he doesn't like leaving you alone, let alone leaving you alone with another person, he has to be next to you or at least have you in his sight. You can convince him to let them stay, as long as you also let him stay in your room to watch over you, but if you don't say anything he will demand they leave and will make it physical if he has to.

He doesn't like it when other people touch you or gets too close to you. After so long with Hydra he doesn't understand that touches can be friendly, anytime someone touches you he thinks they're out to hurt you. If anyone tries to touch you Bucky will stand between you two and glare at them until they either leave or back off. If someone does put their hand on you, even if it's just a friendly pat on the back, he'll almost break their wrist while getting them off of you.

Bucky does give you some personal space depending on where you are. If you're in a room that's not very crowded then he'll be further away, but if you're at a party or something else where there's a lot of people, he'll stand really close to you. Your back will be pressed against his chest and you can feel him breathing down your neck, you might as well be sitting in his lap because he's so close.

He doesn't talk much, either. Or at all actually. If he does speak it's probably to tell someone to go away or stop touching you. But he likes listening to you. Anything you say to him, or just say in general, he'll remember even if it seems like he's not listening.

He almost thinks of you as his handler. Like you own him or control him, or like he has some sort of duty to protect you and follow your commands. If you mention that someone was annoying you today, that night while you're sleeping he'll go and kill them for you. Bucky won't follow out every command you give him, there's stuff he won't budge on when it comes to your safety. Such as he won't stop following you, and he won't let anyone touch you. You could trick him to leave you alone if you tell him to wait somewhere and then make a run for it, but after a few minutes he'll start to worry that you're in danger and go find you. And he will find you, he's trained to track people down so you won't be away from him for long. Your safety comes above everything for him, including your word, so he won't let people touch you. No matter what you say. If someone tries to touch you, you can talk him out of hurting them or killing them, by just telling him to leave it be but he still won't let them lay a hand on you.

He's not completely honest with you. There's some stuff you don't know about, like how he kills anyone he deems a threat, and how he comes into your room at night, picks the lock if he has to, just to watch you sleep, and hear you breathe. There's something about how peaceful you look, how unaware you are when you sleep that he can't get enough of. Maybe it's just that he likes seeing you safe and comfortable, maybe he just likes the idea of him having your life in his hands, the choice of whether to be your protector or your abuser. Maybe he's just happy that he found a reason to live now, a person to take care of. Either way he sits and watches you sleep, like a loyal guard dog.

You also don't know how much of a pervert Bucky is. How he lets himself into your room when you're not there, lays on your bed, getting lost in your scent. He can't help but touch himself, to grind against the mattress imagining it was you underneath him, you he was thrusting his cock into, cuming on your sheets leaving a sticky residue. He pokes around and steals a few things to add to his collection, finding your underwear drawer and jerking off again with a pair pressed against his nose before stealing a few to use later. He's so horny for you whenever he's alone he can't stop thinking about your body, he cums at least five times a day now because of you. When he wakes up he immediately rubs one out, in the shower, when he goes to bed, anytime he's alone. Remember how I said he can hear everything you do when you're in your room? He can hear you masturbate, and touches himself to the sound of you, talking to you as if you could hear him. It takes all of his will power not to just take you whenever he pleases, he thinks about it though. When he watches you while you're asleep he thinks about just having a little taste, wondering if you'd wake up if he were to slip his cock into you. When you're in the gym he thinks about pulling down your workout pants and fucking you, doesn't matter if anyone else is there. When you eat breakfast he imagines fucking your face. He's just so horny for you.

Eventually he snaps, kidnapping you and locking you away in a cabin far into the woods, finally able to act out all of his desires and keep you safe by his side <3

. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ . * ✯. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ .

Reblog to give me motivation to write more shit <33

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helplessautomaton · 5 days ago

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Because He Always Knows

Summary: You're close friends with Bucky Barnes, trusting his quiet, protective nature. What you don’t know is that Bucky is secretly obsessed with you. Watching you, tracking your every move, and quietly eliminating anyone who gets too close. And he’ll do anything to keep you safe, close…and his. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Bucky Barnes. Stalking. Tracking reader (location, cameras, etc.) Some implied violence toward others. Yandere themes.

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: Not going to lie, I have not seen many Yandere Bucky fics. Maybe I’m not looking hard enough. I think it’d be cool to turn this into a series though, depends if other people like it or not. You are responsible for the media you consume. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.

Main Masterlist

You’d known Bucky Barnes for a while now. Ever since you joined the Avengers on the intel and support side, he’d somehow gravitated toward you. Quiet and subtle. He never talked much unless spoken to, and whenever he did, it was always calm and short. But around you, he softened a little. He offered small, quiet smiles, sat beside you even when there were empty seats elsewhere. And he always seemed to know when you needed help. It was comforting. Familiar. You thought of him as a good friend, someone who didn’t push or pry.

What you didn’t know was that Bucky knew your schedule better than you did. He knew what time you got your coffee, which café down the block you preferred, and even which music you played in your room when you were winding down.

He never broke your trust. At least, not in any obvious way. But he was always watching. From rooftops. From darkened hallways. Even from shadows in the compound when you thought you were alone. He wasn’t trying to be creepy, not in his mind. He just needed to make sure you were safe. That no one got too close. That you didn’t drift away from him.

When you talked about a new friend one afternoon, some guy from the tech department who made you laugh, Bucky’s smile faltered for only a second. You didn’t notice it, but it was there, a flicker of cold calculation beneath the warmth. He nodded, asked a few harmless questions about him, and then let the topic drop. Later that day, the tech guy mysteriously fell down a flight of stairs. Nothing serious, but just enough to keep him out of work for a few weeks. Bucky never said anything. He simply showed up at your door like any other day with soup this time and a quiet, “Need company?”

You welcomed him in. Why wouldn’t you? He was always so gentle with you, always so present. His gloved hands carried your groceries, fixed your lock when it jammed, even installed extra security on your windows “just in case.” You never questioned how he knew you’d been anxious after that strange man on the subway followed you home. You never told anyone about it, but Bucky acted before you even had to.

Sometimes, you’d catch him watching you a second too long. His gaze intense, unreadable. He’d look away quickly, but the feeling would linger. You chalked it up to Bucky just being… Bucky. A little odd, a little broken, but ultimately good.

You didn’t see the way his jaw tensed when someone touched your arm. You didn’t notice the thin notebooks he kept tucked away, filled with observations about you. What you wore, what you said, who you talked to. Every page was a soft obsession written in ink, filled with the belief that you were his. Not in a romantic, normal way. In a quiet, inevitable, belonging sort of way. You were his peace, his reason, and he would burn the world down before letting someone else take you.

To you, he was just a friend. A good one. Steady. Loyal. Maybe a little protective.

To Bucky, you were everything. And he was never more than a few feet behind you; watching, guarding, and waiting. Always waiting.

One evening, you stayed late in the compound’s tech lab. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Just a backlog of reports and an excuse to avoid your empty apartment, then you heard the door open. Bucky stopped by with two coffees, one black, one exactly the way you liked yours. He didn’t ask if you wanted one. Come to think of it, he never did. Somehow, he just knew.

You smiled and thanked him as he sat nearby, silent as ever, occasionally glancing at your screen. It was quiet, comfortable even, until you laughed at something on your phone.

“Who’s that?” Bucky asked, and you glanced up. His tone was calm, but you noticed the way his shoulders tightened.

“Just a guy I matched with,” You said, smiling without much thought. You didn’t think he would know or understand what dating apps are in the modern day. “We’ve been texting a little. He’s funny.”

You missed it, but Bucky’s knuckles whitened around his cup. “You gonna meet him?”

“Maybe,” You shrugged. “We’ll see.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just stared at the floor for a beat too long. You assumed it was one of his quiet spells again: those moments where the past clawed at him and left him speechless. You reached over and gently squeezed his arm.

“Hey. You okay?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

You didn’t ask what about. You’d learned not to push him. You knew he would talk if he needed to. But behind his still eyes, something shifted.

That night, he followed you home like he always did. He was quiet as a shadow, footsteps masked by the hum of the city and his experience as the Winter Soldier. You made it home safely, texted him a “thank you for the coffee,” and turned in for the night. Bucky stayed outside your building for hours, hidden across the street. He didn’t move for a while, didn’t blink. Just waited.

The next day, your date canceled. No explanation. Just a sudden, awkward message and a block. You frowned at your phone, confused and disappointed.

“He didn’t deserve your time anyway,” Bucky tried to comfort you later when you vented about it. The way he looked at you, soft smile and worried eyes, you found yourself agreeing. Though, you weren’t sure why.

Days passed. The missed connections started to pile up. Plans you made with others were mysteriously interrupted. It was always something: car issues, sudden emergencies, sick coworkers. Yet Bucky was always around, always the one to stay and offer, “Want to grab food instead?” or say “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.” You welcomed the company. He was stable, kind and he cared.

But something started to gnaw at you. The feeling of being watched never quite left. Doors you were sure you locked felt slightly ajar. Items shifted. Your phone sometimes buzzed with strange glitches. You mentioned it in passing to Bucky. But he reassured you softly like he always did, “You’re safe. I promise.” His voice was low, almost reverent.

And you believed him, because no one protected you like Bucky did. No one was as constant, as present. Besides, you were probably overthinking it anyways.

What you didn’t see were the cameras tucked in the corners of your ceiling, hidden well behind the smoke detector and air vents. You didn’t know some tracking program had been installed on your phone nor the way Bucky’s fingers traced your location like a map he’d memorized.

To you, he was just Bucky. A little rough around the edges. A quiet and stead friend who was always there for you.

To him, you were the reason he hadn’t fallen apart completely. You were everything. His home. His anchor. And if you ever tried to leave him, if you ever even thought of running, he’d know. But he knows you wouldn’t do such a thing, you don’t even suspect a thing. Perhaps you never will. It’s better for you this way. But if you did, he would catch on immediately. Because he always knows.

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helplessautomaton · 5 days ago

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Just Rest ★ Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky X Engineer!Reader

Summary: The Soldat's metal arm is damaged during sparring.

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: Mention of knives and violence.

Authors Note: Based off The Soldier's Keeper, but an engineer/mechanic instead of a doctor. Idk, just trying to get out of my writing rut.

Masterlist Soldier's Keeper Masterlist.

The door slams shut behind you, the sound of metal echoing through the chamber. You stumble forward, your dazed gaze stuck on the writhing bodies in the center of the room.

“Idiot jammed his knife into the dog's gears, go check on him.” A soldier says from behind you.

You nod instinct, but when your eyes find his, your stomach drops.

The Soldat stands in the center of the room, his breathing ragged as he clutches his metal arm. His jaw is locked shut in that familiar black mask, the neck of it buckled into the rest of his uniform.

Cold blue eyes find yours before he lowers his head in shame.

Your teeth ache as you clench, swallowing your own dread. You approach the man carefully, your bag of supplies hanging heavy at your side. You step over defeated soldiers, dodging their grumpy limbs.

“Hey, can I see that arm?” You mutter, looking up at the sweaty man.

He huffs quietly against his muzzle, struggling to catch his breath. Contrary to popular belief among his keepers, the Soldat does get tired. He feels pain, he feels exhaustion, and he slows down.

But they still use him as their training dummy. They still think of him as the iron soldier who never waivers, perfect for beating their rookies into shape.

But he gets tired.

And he feels pain.

The Soldat lowers his gloved hand, exposing the knife jammed between the plates in his shoulder, the blade pointed towards his collarbone.

You grimace. “Any pain?”

He tilts his head at you, his brows twitching together.

You shake your head. “Sorry- I mean in your shoulder-” you gather his whole body must ache from the constant beating he’s been receiving. “I need to know if the blade got down to the bone.”

He shakes his head slowly, subconsciously leaning forward, his body sagging with exhaustion.

“Okay, that’s good.” You whisper, offering him a sad smile. “I’m gonna take that out now, sound good?” He nods, his gaze slowly drifting to your hands. You grab hold of the handle and carefully pry it from between the mechanics.

The man makes a quiet sound in his throat, but he stays still for you.

You dig through your satchel and pull out your tools. “I still don’t get why they make you do this with real knives…” You mutter, peeling off the scraped panel to see the mechanics beneath. “Seems like pointless blood spilt…”

The large man just tilts his head at you, watching you- not your hands. He didn’t often get the chance to speak with you. You were rarely left alone. But he aways listened.

Because you were the only person who spoke to him like he was still human.

You pick through faded wires and loose bolts, but find no notable damage- or so you think.

You use a thin metal tool to lift another interior panel- the Soldat flinches hard. You freeze. “Did that hurt?” You frown.

He nods mechanically. “Mm…”

“Okay, just bear with me then,” you mutter, shifting the panel carefully. You shine your light between the metal and see faint red staining the cool steel. “Looks like he did knick something…” You sigh and turn back to the man guarding the door. “I need to take him to the lab, looks like there's some damage.”

The soldier visibly groans, then mutters something into his radio. “Alright, go on.”

“Come on,” you turn to the Soldat. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

His lashes flutter in a slow blink. He nods slowly and steps into your space before you even start moving. You smile and slowly take his hand. His gloved fingers are still in yours as you lead him into the hall.

The walk to the lab is a short one, but you’ve memorized it by now.

You’ve been with Hydra for over a year, and no matter how much you may have hated it at first, you quickly accepted your circumstances. They needed you to do a job, so you did it. In return, you got to live.

You spent most of your time in the lab, waiting, or working. The rest you spent in your small room.

“Sit on the table please.” You release the man's hand and tug off your satchel. He obeys without a thought, like always. When you finally sit down at his side, you take a quick look back at the doors. You’re alone.

So you slowly cupped his metal jaw and tilt his head up. Blue eyes latch onto yours. You slide your hands back into his hair and unbuckle his muzzle. The clast comes loose after you struggle with it, then you finally pull it free.

“Since we’re alone,” you whisper, smiling up at him.

The Soldat shifts his jaw carefully, working the locked up muscles. “Thank you.”

You pat his knee. “Now let’s get that arm fixed, huh?” You pull your tray of tools closer.

While you work, the Soldat watches you, his body swaying every time he blinks too long. You wonder how long he’s been running drills today. How many other men he had to fight, for the sake of training. But you don’t ask, because you just want to let him rest. Besides, his time with you was usually the only relaxed moments he got.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You mutter, twisting wires back into shape.

His head jolts up from where he’d been dozing off. “What?” His deep voice questions close to you.

“There isn’t much damage, I knew you’d be fine.” You glance up at him. “But I wanted to get you in here, so I lied.”

His soft frown makes him look confused. “You did?” He glances at his shoulder.

“Mhm,” you nod. “Just wanted to make sure they gave you a moment to rest.”

“Oh,” he huffs, his shoulders sagging as he sighs.

“If I gave you the all good, they would have had you jump right back into sparring.” You mutter, sealing over chipped metal.

“Yeah…” he whispers. “Thank you…” He licks over his dry lips.

“Shush, just catch your breath.” You adjust your light to see deeper.

He obeys, taking your words literally as he goes quiet. You smile to yourself and continue working.

There isn’t much blood, thankfully. The tip of the knife must have just barely sunken into the muscle fused to metal. But it was enough that moving those internal plates stung. So you’re careful.

You’re always careful with the Soldat.

And he knows it. So he lets his tired eyes fall shut. He lets his body sag a little further, until his head is dropping heavily onto your shoulder.

You stiffen, but you don’t wake him. You just continue to work, until you're sealing the exterior plate back in place. And when you do, you stay put, allowing him to rest.

You sit there, his metal hand resting in your lap. Your frown curls deeper as you feel his soft breath flutter against your exposed skin.

You wish there were more quiet moments like this. You wish he was allowed such a pleasure. “It’s okay,” you whisper, your fingers carefully raking through his long hair. “Just rest…”

A/N: Can you tell I kinda miss the Hydra era of the soldier's keeper...

Taglist:

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helplessautomaton · 5 days ago

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Meet Cute || Logan x Reader x Bucky Barnes

summary: You're waiting for Logan when someone else decides to swoop in and save you from being alone at a bar. F!Reader

wc: 816

a/n: I thought this would be fun and cute so fuck it I wrote it. Don't come for me this is my first time writing bucky ever and idk if i did it right and honestly this is more Logan x Reader with a side of bucky but its fineee I'm a Logan writer mainly anyways

The bar is in full swing as the music echoes through the dance hall. It's not often you find time to enjoy yourself in a war like this but tonight was one of those rare nights full of fun and alcohol. Your foot tapped to the beat as you sipped your drink at the bar. The band was in full swing and you saw a few of the men try their luck at flirting.

The clock on the wall reads 8 o'clock sharp. He's late. He promised you he would be on time tonight, but when had he ever been.

You smile as one of your favorite songs starts to play. The mood shifting to something slower as people start to pair up.

"I always liked this song." You look over to see a handsome man slide in right next to you.

He's all dressed up in his uniform. It's sharp and crisp, probably ironed out. He's cute. Soft blue eyes and nice hair. He looks you over, eyes resting a second longer on your chest. He's oddly familiar. You run into a lot of men these days, patching up their injuries as you move from base to base so maybe he's one of those?

No you would have remembered those eyes. Suddenly it clicks. Those damn posters all over the walls and those pictures at the theater should have given it away instantly.

"I know you, You're Captain America's friend." You tease.

"You got a sharp eye. Sergeant James Barnes at your service., but you can call me Bucky if you like." He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles lightly. A playful glint in his eyes as he winks.

"You're quite famous around here, The Howling Commandos. Who came up with that name? Was it Cap himself?" You take a sip of your drink as James chuckles.

"You've got quite the fire in you don't you doll." He flirts as leans against the counter.

"That a problem Sergeant Barnes?"

"Not at all. Now tell me, what's a pretty dame like you doing here all by yourself?"

"She's not alone bub, now beat it." A hand wraps around your waist and pulls you back just a little.

"Logan, be nice. This nice man was keeping me company because someone was late." You gently push Logan's hand off your waist as you turn to face both of them.

"Got held up but I'm here now sweetheart." Logan grumbles as you flash a smile at James.

Logan takes one look at James and crosses his arms, a sharp look as he recognizes the boy who had the gall to flirt with his girl. Bucky's eyes dart from you to Logan and back to you.

"He always this intense?" He asks as he meets Logan's gaze.

"Always." You confirm as you slip your hand into Logan's.

"Don't you have another poster to pose for?" Logan asks gruffly.

Yeah he knows who this is. Captain America was everything much to Logan's dismay but the two of them had a common goal so he's tolerable for now. He ain't a fan of the red white and blue costume though. Bucky laughs as he takes a sip of his own drink.

"Alright, put the claws away honey." Logan tenses but Bucky doesn't seem to catch your little joke.

"It was nice to meet you James, Maybe we'll see each other again some day after this is all over." You say as you lean into Logan's side. His hand wrapping around your waist on instinct.

"It was nice meeting you doll, let me know if you ever get tired of this one over here." Bucky smiles as Logan narrows his eyes.

"Maybe you'll even see me on a poster." He says while looking at Logan. He dips his head to you and smirks at Logan as he walks off, disappearing into the sea of people.

"He was nice." You hum as Logan pulls you off to the side.

His grip is a little tighter than normal and you can't help but smile. The game you play with Logan is odd for sure but you've been together for over 50 years now, sometimes you both like to have a little fun.

"Yeah real nice, too bad all he gets to do is look." He growls as he slips his hand under your dress. Everyone's too busy dancing or drinking to notice.

"You're even sexier when you're jealous." You hum as you play with the collar of his shirt. Logan kisses your fiercely, showing no shame as his hands wander where ever they please.

"Forget this place, there's no one back on base right now and I know a few moves of my own I can show you." Logan purrs.

"So cheesy." You tug on his dog tags as you lead him out of the dance hall.

"Only for you sweetheart, only for you."

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helplessautomaton · 5 days ago

Text

★ ⎯charming boy out of time

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader. Bucky x SHIELD!reader. Bucky x Avenger!reader. Bucky x fem!reader.

Tags: REQUESTED. no HYDRA!au. Bucky never falls off the train. Flirty Bucky never lost his charm. Fluff. Co-workers to lovers.

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes never fell off that train, instead, he joined Steve Rogers in his attempt to take down HYDRA. They both emerged seventy years later, in the 2010s. The tale of the two times Bucky failed to charm you, and the one time he almost succeeded.

Warnings: possible grammar and spelling mistakes. Not proofread. No use of y/n. Canon divergencies. Mentions of knives, blood, and injuries.

I do not consent for my work to be uploaded onto other platforms or translated. Reblog to support. comment to be added to the taglist

1945; Steven Grant Rogers, more commonly known as Captain America and his sidekick, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, die heroes. The sacrifice of America’s greatest heroes signal the end of the war. Exactly that, was what every single newspaper printed on the United States read the morning after the accident.

Monuments were built in memoriam of the fallen Captain and Sergeant—unbeknownst about the actual fate of the two friends. The ice had managed to keep the pair alive for seventy long years, only waking up after having been found by Nick Fury in the Arctic.

And though the transition was hard, having one another sure made things a lot easier.’’Till the end of the line’, they had said—a promise that stuck despite adversities. The modern world was surprising, to say the least. Technology had advanced to unbelievable levels, the man had reached the moon, a concept Bucky had only dared fantasize about as a kid. The Hobbit had got a sequel and a movie adaptation he had been intrigued to see.

One further thing that had shocked Bucky, was the ineffectiveness of his charm. Back in the day, all he had to do was put on a smile, and throw a few jokes for at least three different girls in the dancing saloon to be lined up to talk to him.

That, however, did not seem to be working.

No matter how many times he told you how good you looked, nor how many not-so-subtle glances he shot your way, you never seemed to budge. You were an Avenger, a high-ranking SHIELD member, that was what they had told him. Remarkably good at your job, despite your lack of charisma.

“Good luck, pal.” Had said Steve, patting his arm as he rubbed the spot on his face where you had managed to land a punch on earlier that day during sparring sessions. He was well-aware of his friend’s constant pursuit of the agent, and it only amused him to see him get indirectly rejected.

He walked around the tower, taking it all in. No matter how many months had passed since he had woken up, the technology never ceased to amaze him. He had once walked through Stark Expo, wide eyes as he saw the car that floated on his own—no wonder why Tony had managed all the advancements he had.

—

He found you in a quieter corner, sharpening your knives, deep in focus. An effortless movement that carried years of training and practice. “You know, I hadn’t seen anyone land a hit like that on Steve since he took that serum,” Bucky pointed out, leaning against the wall and attempting to gain your attention.

You raised your head, uninterested eyes meeting his. A slight nod from your end was the only reply he got. “What are you doing?” he inquired, tilting his head to the side and running his tongue over his lips. “Sharpening my knives,” you replied matter-of-factly, with an expression that questioned the purposes of such an obvious question.

He stood in silence for almost a minute, waiting for you to say anything else, to add something that would maybe spark some hope in him. And when you didn’t, he took it upon himself to finish the conversation. “Y’know, when someone asks a question like that, is because they want to spark a conversation.”

“Oh, I know,” you almost smirked. There was something almost amusing about watching the man take on all kind of endeavours to win you over, and only be met with a futile end. “I don’t usually engage in conversations,” you added. “I’ve noticed,” he grinned, making you roll your eyes. Though not a gesture from contentment, it was the most he had got out of you.

“How’d you get those daggers, anyway? They look like the real deal, rusted and old—way older than me, even.” Bucky walked closer, taking a seat next to you, “don’t think you’re ready for the sob story yet.” A chuckle of surrender was all you needed to know he had understood the message.

“Okay, maybe not.”

—

You cursed under your breath as your blood-stained fingers fixed the bandages that were wrapped around your stomach. A sharp jolt of pain cursing through you with every breath you took. It had all been one foolish mistake, a wrong move pulled.

The mission was going great until that bullet. Seems you had overestimated your own abilities this time. The rest of the team knew better than to talk to you after a mission failure and an injury. Though they all attempted to coax you out of the self-loathing spiral, it never seemed to bring much.

Bucky, however, cared not about this rule. Maybe it was because he had not yet spent enough time around the team to pick up those unspoken rules, or maybe he simply didn’t care. He gently knocked on the glass door of the med-bay area. When your head lifted to meet his, he allowed himself in.

“Knew I’d find you here,” he grinned. “Quite the moves you pulled out there, I’m fairly impressed.” He reached out and pulled a chair to sit on. “Yes, until you had to step in and ruin my plan,” you deadpanned, clenching your teeth when alcohol met your wound.

“Now, doll, don’t go blaming all your mistakes on me,” he raised both hands, feigning innocence. Despite the probably out of place comments, you could not bring yourself to be angry. Besides, he didn’t intend for you to take his remarks seriously, anyway.

“Is it really that bad?” he cast an eyebrow as he observed your struggle to re-wrap the gauze. “Worse than I thought,” you sighed out. Bucky raised to his feet, walking over to the cot you were sitting on, eyes discreetly scanning over the wound. “You don’t gotta do this alone, you know.”

His offer was quick to be met with a quick gaze of reluctance. “I won’t tell anyone. I’d hate to ruin your brooding persona.” And just then, a small amused huff, a laugh, almost, escaped your rosy lips. “I’m not that brooding.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” his hands approached your stomach, fingers twitching, then, he stopped. “I’ll hold up the gauze roll for you, and you do the rest,” he reassured, steel-blue eyes meeting yours for a fraction of a second. “May I?” he waited for permission before leaning closer to fix a patch you were not quite able to reach.

“Who would have though, Barnes, you’re actually decent at this.” You offered him a mock-surprised raise of your eyebrows, your hands on your hips as you supported your own weight. “What can I say, one learns things as a soldier.”

—

The rain poured outside—no, not poured, it deluged. Loud against the compound’s windows, the lights of the city reflecting against the drops. Those goddamn city lights. Bucky had once believed New York was bright and loud, but nothing compared to this. 1940s New York was a small town compared to the millions of people and cars that roamed the streets these days.

Roughly, it seemed the same, but it was the ghost of the place he had once loved. Brooklyn, too, had completely changed. The local diner where he and Steve used to spend the warm summer afternoons was gone, a parking lot had taken its place. And the dance hall where he had once enjoyed taking ladies to, was now a Starbucks.

Bucky had never felt more like a stranger in his own city than now. He was curled up on the couch, hugging himself, his fingers pulling at the jacket Sam had bought for him at a so-called ‘thrift store’. The thing was from 1955, but he appreciated the effort. Besides, it was likely the closest thing to a clothing piece from his time he’d get.

He could still see her eyes—or rather, what he thought he had seen. She looked just like her. A girl with brown waves, dark blue eyes, and a nose just like his. She was laughing with her friends, and for a moment, Bucky had Rebecca right across the street from him.

He walked straight to the compound afterwards, not minding the rain that was starting to pour. He could call Steve with this new phone Tony had given him, but quite honestly, he didn’t want to speak to anybody.

So he sat, in silence, basking in the absence of a future. He would never get to see his siblings again, he would never get to see his Ma again. He didn’t mind having to adapt to a new world, what truly pained him was that his family had mourned him, and suffered thinking their boy was dead.

The couch shifted under somebody’s weight, and soon he felt a warm presence next to him. His eyes lifted, carefully meeting yours. He looked away instinctively, he had never liked when people saw his vulnerable moments. He hadn’t even allowed to see a hint of a twitch in his grin when he got his orders.

“It really is raining, huh,” you remarked with a tone of obviousness. “Guess so,” he muttered inwardly, being uncharacteristically quiet. “Feeling under the weather, are we—pun intended, by the way.” You tried to joke gently, make him lift his head up.

“Sorry,” he sighed, leaning his head against the backrest of the couch, staring into the ceiling. “Don’t be. Despite myself, I’m here to try to cheer you up. You're acting deflected and not charming and it’s making me uneasy.”

“Look, Bucky, despite what I usually say, I don’t think you’re all that bad. You’re a flirt, sure, but I can really see there’s something inside you. I think you got what it takes to be a hero.” You smiled, and for a second, he almost mimicked you.

“I miss my sister,” he admitted finally. “What was her name?” you asked, resting your head the same he was doing, his eyes moving to meet yours. “Rebecca,” and he can’t help the way his lips curl upward at the memory.

“I know it’s not the same—and I hate that I’m saying this—but if you ever need someone, I’m here, and so is the team. We’re all a little messed up, and most of the times we don’t agree, but we’re a family, in a way.”

“I’d sure like to be with you, dollface.” And just like that, his spark was back.

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helplessautomaton · 5 days ago

Text

Yandere winter solider

Possessive

He doesn't let anyone look at you let alone touch you

He probably meet you through hydra

Maybe you were a hydra employ or you were a hostage when he saw you

He thought you were in need of protection.

Hydra couldn't ignore his odd obsession with you he wouldn't let them

A Hydra man was harassing you one day and he broke out of his restraints to kill them man then sat held you as close as he could while glaring at everyone else in the room. When someone tried taking you from him they ended up dead or extremely injured. That night was the first time you slept with him and it was only for the solo fact that no one could get you away from him

When he fell asleep some hydra soldiers came into his cell and was able to get you out with out waking him

It was a very bad choice on there part because when he woke to an empty bed he busted down his cell door and killed everyone he saw till he found you and when he did he just took you back to bed to cuddle.

Hydra knew it would be best to just lock you up with him no matter how muched you begged them not too

You thought he might hurt you but he never did

He loved to curl up in a corner with you on his lap and just sit there for hours on end petting your head

Sometimes he would kiss your cheek or head

He didn't talk much but when he did speak to you he was trying to comfort you with broken sentences.

The weirdest part about his obsession is it didn't matter how many times hydra try to wipe his mind clean of you his obsession never went away

His memories would be wiped but you were always his. He needed to protect you no matter what.

When he starts to come back to his senses as in being more bucky he'll break out of Hydra with you.

He'll convince himself that if he doesn't force you to stay you'll run and Hydra will get you. Bucky tries very hard to make living together easy but he still fights the winter soldier a lot.

Fight against bucky get face with the winter soldier. Of course he wouldn't hurt you it just like when you were with Hydra, he'll find a corner of your apartment and hold you in his lap to restan you.

Winter soldier will rest his chin on your head give a serious look waiting for you to calm down.

After times like that even after the situation has calmed down bucky wouldn't be back for a good while.

Winter soldier may be quite but he's not an idiot, so I'll know he'll have to take care of you like baths and food.

At first he would wash you because he didn't know if you could but quickly realized you can so he'll just sit on floor by the tub incase you hurt yourself.

Taking care of you helps him learn to be gentle and help come back to his senses.

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helplessautomaton · 5 days ago

Note

hello. I'm here to request if you don't mind. So, I rewatched Ghostrider yesterday, which makes me think that if this ghostrider(male reader) meets the thunderbolts*. I wanted to request Bob Reynolds x male reader. So it's quite like this, a fight happened in some area or perhaps building, and after the ghostrider! reader finished dealing with the opponent, and he wanted to leave before he heard a movement behind a counter just to see terrified Bob behind the counter. Perhaps he got lost when Thunderbolt* went to do a mission. Reader turned back to his default setting, and Bob looked at him in either getting lovestruck or still in shock and terrified. He only responds when the reader asks his name, where he lives, and can he get up, Bob doesn't answer the last one due to still in shock. In thunderbolts* place, or HQ? The door suddenly flies across the room when someone kicks it. All of them got into alert mode when a sight of man with carrying a chains and Bob in other hand. I think Bucky will tell the reader to let Bob go. The problem is he can't because Bob keeps clinging on him. No one believes it until he removes the hand that holds Bob, Bob just clings on him. They have talked in Bob's room about something(it's your part to choose the topic), and Bob feeling uncomfortable with this skeleton-shapeshift-into-human man. He looks at the reader like a sad puppy. The reader was told to stay for a while, and Bob again seemed to follow him around, near him every time and look at him with the exact same look as yesterday. The other surely watching them, gossiping about what just happened, who this man and why Bob seem to like him. I think Yelena will tolerate the reader because Bob seems comfortable around him.

Chance Encounter

Robert Reynolds x Male Reader

Summary: An unexpected and chance encounter after taking down a target, left you more vulnerable then you'd been in years.

A/N: First request since I took a small break and um...yeah I had a huge brain fart while writing it and uh made this slop. I apologize and uh feel free to flame me over this in the comments.

TW: Angst - Yearning - Happy ending - Ghost Rider reader

The notion of striking a bargain with the devil had never once, not even in the darkest corners of your mind, truly taken root. There had been no gnawing emptiness, no desperate void that necessitated the selling of your very soul, the bartering of your essence for some fleeting gain. Or so you remembered, a phantom echo of a life that felt impossibly distant now. You remembered the warmth of a life bathed in sun-drenched innocence, the soft murmur of your mother's voice, the way her eyes, deep pools of limitless affection, would crinkle at the corners when she smiled at you. In her gaze, you were more than just a child; you were her entire cosmos, the singular architect of the stars that dusted the velvet canvas of the night sky.

You had chosen, deliberately, to forget the swift, brutal descent of her health. Refused to recall how quickly the vibrant bloom of her spirit withered, how a relentless illness, swift and cruel as a winter storm, ravaged her in the span of a single year. You buried the memory of her lost, vacant stare, those once-knowing eyes now devoid of recognition, as if you were a stranger, not the boy she had cradled, not the very center of her world. You pushed down the gnawing ache of the night nurses, their grim faces etched with a weary sympathy, as they wrestled with her, a frail bird trapped in a cage of delirium. She didn't know you, screamed at your touch, recoiled in terror from the face that had once been her comfort. A piece of your soul, raw and bleeding, tore away that night. And for the first time, a dark, insidious whisper snaked through your despair: the devil would take your soul if you offered it.

And take it he did. Not just your soul, but everything. Your innocence, a fragile butterfly, was crushed beneath his heel. Your defiance, once a burning ember, was extinguished. Every defiant spark within you, every shred of who you were, was meticulously peeled away, leaving only a hollow shell. "A small price to pay for a moment of recognition," he had purred, his voice a silken caress against your raw wounds, eyes like twin shards of obsidian, sharp and ancient, boring into the cavernous emptiness he had carved within you.

But this wasn't the bargain you had envisioned, the one whispered in the fevered delirium of your darkest hour. Your mother was supposed to get better. She was supposed to open her eyes and see you, truly see you, her baby boy, before she took her final, rattling breaths in that sterile hospital bed. This was not the recognition you had craved. This was a cruel, twisted parody, a mockery of your desperate plea.

Hellfire had never burned with such savage intensity as it did the night you became the Ghost Rider. The sheer, unadulterated anguish that ripped through your being, a primal scream trapped within your bones, burned hotter than the fiercest sun, hotter than any mundane flame could ever hope to achieve. Each nerve ending sang with a torment that dwarfed all earthly pain, forging you in an inferno of despair and rage.

But that was then, in the nascent days of your transformation, when every fiber of your being screamed in revulsion at what you had become, at the monstrous acts you were compelled to commit. This was now. Now, you had embraced the inferno, the chilling emptiness, the insatiable hunger for justice. You had found a twisted kind of solace in the flames, a brutal purpose in the damnation.

A low, guttural growl rumbled from deep within your chest, reverberating through the exposed ribs that gleamed like polished bone beneath your tattered, worn leather jacket. The fire that consumed your skull, a breathtakingly dangerous blue, pulsed with an otherworldly light. Your eye sockets, twin abysses of spectral flame, narrowed, focusing on the man cowering before you, bruised and bloody, his eyes wide with animalistic terror. One bone-white finger, tipped with flickering azure, pointed at him, a silent, deadly accusation. "Your soul is tainted," you hissed, the words a low, unforgiving rasp that scraped against the very air.

The man trembled violently, his knees threatening to buckle. "You're a fucking freak!" he shrieked, his voice cracking, as his trembling hand lifted a shaky gun, aiming it wildly at your skeletal form. The gun spat fire, but the bullet, a pitiful fleck of lead, turned to ash the instant it touched the infernal flames that danced around your body, a futile offering to an unholy power.

A low chuckle, devoid of warmth or humor, rattled from your throat. Your hand, claw-like and wreathed in blue fire, gripped the heavy chain wrapped around your torso, the metal sizzling and burning under your touch. "Naughty," you hummed, the word a cruel whisper.

With a swift, brutal flick of your wrist, you snapped the chain outward, sending it coiling through the air like a deadly serpent. It wrapped itself around the man's ankle with a sickening thud, searing his flesh. The raw, guttural scream that tore from his lungs sent a cold, mocking laugh bubbling up from the deepest recesses of your being. You dragged him closer, his body flailing uselessly. With surprising speed, you seized his head in your fiery hands, forcing his gaze to meet the searing void of your eye sockets. "Look into my eyes," you growled, your voice a symphony of damnation. "Feel the pain you've caused others. Suffer as they have."

The man shrieked, a high, thin sound of pure agony, clawing desperately at the scorched leather of your jacket. His eyes, once wide with fear, turned obsidian black, mirroring the void within your own. His mouth hung open in a silent scream as his body went limp, a puppet with severed strings, in your grasp. You tossed him aside, a discarded rag doll, and the infernal flames that enveloped you dimmed to a soft, pulsating amber.

A sudden, unexpected noise pierced the heavy silence, drawing your attention. Your head snapped in the direction of the sound, bones rattling with a dry, hollow click as you stalked closer. You shoved aside a rotting wooden crate, revealing a pair of wide, terrified eyes staring up at you.

You saw nothing. No vibrant hues of sin or virtue, no intricate tapestry of a life lived. Only a blurry, indistinct soul, fragmented into countless pieces that you couldn't quite decipher, couldn't touch, couldn't judge. A sigh, heavy with an unfamiliar weariness, escaped your lips. The flames that consumed you flickered, then extinguished, giving way to the familiar, if scarred, landscape of muscle and flesh. Weary eyes, too ancient for your young face, met the man's. "Who are you?" you whispered, your voice hoarse, unaccustomed to such gentle sounds.

He barely looked up, his body trembling, eyes painfully wide, reflecting the flickering building lights. "Bob… it's Bob," he whispered, his voice a barely audible tremor.

You couldn't quite pinpoint the expression in his eyes. Was it fear, a lingering shock, or perhaps, something akin to awe, even admiration? You weren't sure, but something about him, something so painfully, achingly innocent, pricked at a long-dormant part of you. "Where do you live? I can take you home."

Bob mumbled something incoherent under his breath, words lost in the rush of the night air. Eventually, he managed to stammer out an address, a faint, breathless whisper.

"Can you move?" you questioned, your gaze softening, a flicker of concern in your now human eyes.

Bob didn't answer, he simply gazed up at you, like some love-struck fool mesmerized by a god reincarnated, his eyes wide and unblinking.

A surprised gasp tore from Bob's throat as you gripped his hand, hauling him effortlessly to his feet as if he weighed nothing. The second Bob's hand touched yours, he saw it. He saw everything you had chosen to bury deep within the forgotten archives of your memory, every ache, every searing pain. He saw the gentle curve of your mother's smile, the boundless love in her eyes as she looked at you. He saw the hot, cleansing tears streaming down your face in the reflective sheen of the bathroom mirror the night she had forgotten you, the fiery red mark her hand had left on your cheek, a brutal testament to her fear. Bob saw it all, every excruciating detail. He even saw the single, crimson drop of your blood hitting the ancient parchment of the contract you had made with the devil, the moment your soul was irrevocably forfeit.

Bob hadn't even realized you were both outside until the deep, throaty roar of a motorcycle engine pierced the night. You looked at him, your hand patting the spot behind you on the seat, a silent invitation, as if he were a loyal dog you had just taught a special command.

He climbed onto the motorcycle behind you, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, his face buried against your back. The intoxicating scent of worn leather, sweet jasmine, and the lingering aroma of a campfire filled his lungs, a potent, earthy combination he could easily get used to.

Your back straightened imperceptibly. No one had ever held onto you like this, so close, so trusting. You had never allowed anyone to get so near, to breach the carefully constructed fortress around your heart. But gods, the way he had looked at you just moments before, the way his arms now held you, just right, a comforting weight. You wanted to hate it, to push him away, to embrace the familiar coldness, but you couldn't.

"Hold on," you whispered, glancing back at him over your shoulder, your voice a low rumble against the throbbing engine.

With a guttural roar, the motorcycle surged forward, a phantom beast unleashed upon the urban landscape. The blurred lights of the building you’d just left melted into the streaking tapestry of New York City, a symphony of neon and noise. Bob clung to you, a desperate anchor, his face still pressed against your back, the rushing wind a wild hand ruffling his hair. The cacophony of busy streets – the insistent blare of horns, the distant wail of sirens, the ceaseless hum of a city that never slept – was a muffled thrum against his ears, a strange lullaby in his terrified world.

You only eased the throttle when the familiar brick facade of his building loomed into view, a stark silhouette against the bruised purple of the city sky. Your eyes, now human and weary, looked over your shoulder. "Go," you commanded, your voice low and rough, demanding obedience. But he wouldn't. Not without you. Bob remained a limpet, his grip unyielding as you guided him into the building, the familiar scent of old carpet and stale air filling your nostrils. He clung to you the entire journey to the floor he’d mumbled earlier, even when the elevator doors hissed open to reveal the stark, undeniable glint of a gun barrel pointed directly at your face.

You raised your hands, a gesture of mock surrender, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips. They couldn’t harm you. Couldn’t kill what was already dead, already owned, irrevocably claimed by the devil himself. "Let him go," a gruff voice commanded, the words echoing in the confined space.

Bucky Barnes. The name materialized in your mind, unbidden, as your eyes met his. You saw the sin in his soul, a dark, churning vortex of past mistakes and present burdens. You felt the insidious way it gnawed at him, eating him alive. Your fist clenched, the familiar burn of the Penance Stare marching up your spine, a hungry beast stirring within your core. But you held back, actively defying the very thing that consumed you, the primal urge for vengeance a silent battle within your spirit.

Bob, still a shadow at your back, tightened his grip, one hand snaking around the cold metal of your chains, the other fisted in the worn leather of your jacket. "Wait," he whispered, his voice surprisingly firm, his eyes locking onto a blonde woman standing slightly behind Barnes. "I trust him."

It was as if his words were a messianic decree, a truth spoken by an oracle that demanded immediate acceptance. The gun in Bucky’s hand dropped to his side, a muted clatter against his leg. His eyes flickered between you and Bob, a silent question passing between them. Then, with a gruff nod, he escorted you inside.

"What are you?" Bucky whispered, his voice rough, laced with a mixture of suspicion and grudging curiosity.

What are you? The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswerable. You were no longer someone’s son, no longer fully human, no longer truly you. The old self had burned away, leaving only ash and the chilling echo of a pact made in desperation. "I’m the Ghost Rider," you murmured, the words a raw confession, because in truth, that was all you knew, all you considered yourself anymore.

Bob had convinced you to stay. Perhaps it was that look in his eyes, a mirroring of the way your mother used to gaze upon you – as if you alone had hung the stars in the night sky, as if you were the single best thing that had ever graced her world. Gods, it hurt. The small, withered part of you that remained, the last vestiges of the boy you once were, ached with a profound, almost unbearable intensity to see that same yearning, that same unconditional adoration reflected in Bob's gaze, the very thing you had yearned for since the moment you'd sold your soul.

Bob sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes, wide and unwavering, were trained on you, as if he feared you would vanish into thin air if he dared to look away. "I saw everything," he whispered, his voice soft, almost fragile. "Those deepest memories you tucked away." He spoke as if to an injured child, and perhaps, in that moment, you were.

You leaned against his desk, arms crossed over your chest, the familiar leather creaking softly. "You weren't meant to see those things," you sighed, the words carrying a weariness that went beyond mortal fatigue.

Bob offered a small, knowing smile, his hands clasped in his lap. He didn't need to speak. His eyes, full of a quiet understanding, said it all. They conveyed a silent message: I've been in that headspace before, where I let it eat me alive. But you can get help.

You felt the familiar, searing creep of flame engulf your body, a primal response to the unsettling intimacy of his gaze. Your eye sockets narrowed, twin pits of infernal blue light fixed on Bob. "Stop looking at me like that," you growled, the words a low, guttural warning.

Bob didn't flinch. He didn't avert his gaze. He simply saw you, truly saw you, beneath the scarred flesh, the burning skull, and the years of torment. "I can't help myself," he whispered, his voice unwavering.

The words caught in your throat, a tangled knot of unfamiliar emotion. And just as quickly as the flames had consumed your body, they vanished, leaving you human once more, vulnerable and exposed. "Fuck you," you whispered, the words laced with a raw, unexpected pain.

In the hallway outside, Bucky Barnes and Yelena Belova had been listening to every whispered word, every charged silence. Yelena looked at Bucky, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "Give him a chance," she hummed, her voice light, yet firm.

After that night, you became a constant, an undeniable, if unconventional, part of a family as messed up and fractured as you were. And Bob, Bob had somehow, inexplicably, dulled that vengeful flame that had consumed you for all these years. It was in those quiet looks he gave you, those gazes that spoke of a burgeoning affection, like he loved you. And perhaps, just perhaps, he did.

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helplessautomaton · 6 days ago

Text

asset protocol

bucky barnes 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – dark themes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes x Scientist!Reader, Soft Possession, Obsession Not Protection, minor mentions of violence and gore, angst

word count: 3k

Summary: You are a biomedical engineer under Hydra’s control, tasked with maintaining the Winter Soldier’s titanium prosthetic. One day, a man touches you—and the Soldier reacts with chilling precision, maiming him. It isn’t protection. It’s possession.

notes – not proofread. just wanted to write something for winter soldier era while i prep a multiverse story w him

— reblogs comments & likes are appreciated.

You’ve stopped keeping track of the days. Mostly. But sometimes it creeps in anyway—like rust along a seam. You think this one is 214.

The titanium arm is due for another recalibration.

You slip your badge into the door’s reader, ignoring the way your hands tremble. You’ve learned to control it well. No one here rewards nerves.

Inside, the air is always cold. Too sterile. Too quiet.

He’s already there, seated in the maintenance chair.

The Asset.

Codename: Winter Soldier. Subject to recall phrases. Subject to triggers. Subject to no one, if the wrong variable shifts.

He doesn’t look at you. He never does. Not until the diagnostics begin.

You don’t speak. You learned that early—first week. The one tech who tried small talk wound up with a fractured orbital and seven missing teeth. It wasn’t even during a mission-ready phase.

Just a moment of curiosity. That’s all it takes here to get hurt.

You move around the lab quietly. Pull up the thermal signature logs. The servo integrity file. You take the data pad and approach.

He lifts the arm without being asked.

Not for you. For the routine.

You slot the brace under his forearm, start the neuro-feedback scan. Titanium alloy, Soviet design—years behind what you could do if they let you touch the code instead of the hardware. But they don’t want better. They want loyal. Efficient. Lethal.

His fingers twitch once as you patch in.

You see the spike in neural activity on the screen. Reflexive, not aggressive. But still—you go still too. Just in case.

Then his gaze flicks to you.

A glance.

Your heart rate stutters.

He doesn’t look away.

You’ve learned to keep your head down, 500 days into your captivity.

Hydra doesn’t care if you speak. They only care if you work—clean welds, diagnostic reports, synthetic fiber integration, and the goddamn titanium core that keeps overheating when the Soldier exerts himself past mission protocol.

He never speaks to you. Even after all this time. Just sits in the chair when they order him to, muscle coiled, breathing even. You work in silence. Sometimes you wonder if he even sees you as a person.

Until today.

His name is Lenkov. You’ve seen him once or twice before—always lurking just outside the lab perimeter, clipboard in hand, smug in the way that men are when they think power makes them untouchable.

Today, he steps into your workspace like he owns it. Doesn’t even glance at the man in the chair.

You’re reviewing the motor feedback data. You don’t speak. You know better.

Lenkov makes some joke you don’t catch. You don’t respond.

He circles your workstation like a hyena in dress shoes.

Then—

He reaches out. Not rough. Not aggressive. Just… entitled. His fingers brush your shoulder. Then slide down your arm.

You freeze.

Not because you fear him. But because you can feel it. The shift.

Across from you, the Soldier’s body doesn’t move.

But his eyes lift.

And lock.

Right on the hand that’s touching you.

It’s quiet for a breath too long.

Then it happens. Fast.

The soft whistle of air moving faster than thought. Then the crack of metal through flesh and bone and desk.

Lenkov’s scream is delayed. You watch the knife tremble where it’s pinned him down—his hand splayed like a dissected frog, two fingers already turning dark from severed vessels.

You don’t scream. You just look at him.

The Soldier.

Still seated. Calm. He lifts his flesh hand and places it flat on the armrest. Deliberate. Grounding.

The titanium fingers flex once.

The meaning is clear.

He is not under command. He is not waiting for orders.

He chose this.

Chose to react.

Chose you.

Guards rush in. But they hesitate—guns drawn, but no one willing to make the first move. Not with him sitting there. Not with that look on his face. Not at you. Not at Lenkov. At everyone.

A warning.

The room stinks of blood and antiseptic. You reach for the edge of your desk to steady yourself, heart pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it.

His gaze flicks to your hand. Your fingers stop moving. It’s then you realize—

It wasn’t about helping you.

It was about the line someone crossed.

And in his mind, you’re not a person. You’re a variable.

A variable that belongs to him.

You don’t know where they’re taking you.

Not at first. They come after midnight—two men in black fatigues with unreadable patches, neither offering explanation or eye contact. One takes your elbow too tightly. The other gestures for you to leave everything behind, even your lab badge. Especially your badge.

You don’t fight. You just walk.

It’s cold. Your socks are thin. You don’t know if you’re being punished or reassigned—or if the knife that severed flesh and tendon was somehow your fault.

You didn’t ask him to do it. You didn’t even look scared. You’d frozen.

But the Soldier had moved.

And Hydra doesn’t like variables.

They move you to sub-level five. Medical overflow turned containment-adjacent workspace. One cot. No terminals. No clock. No window.

You spend the first three hours staring at the rivets on the far wall, counting the flicker of the overhead light like it might mean something.

By hour eight, you stop counting.

You hear rumors through the vents. Someone down the corridor has a cracked rib. Another has nerve damage in their hand. There’s blood on a reprocessing table that wasn’t there before.

They say the Soldier is noncompliant.

Not verbally. Not violently.

Worse—he’s still.

Still in that terrible, silent way that means his programming isn’t working. Still like a loaded gun no one knows how to disarm. They try resets. Conditioning. Repetitions. Nothing takes. He doesn’t move for recalibration anymore. He doesn’t sit when ordered.

They send in five separate techs to work on his arm. He doesn’t react to a single one. But the minute a gloved hand nears the shoulder port where your fingers used to rest—he closes his metal hand around the technician’s wrist, crushes it, and waits.

They all get the message.

No one touches the arm.

Not unless it’s you.

You get sick.

Two weeks in isolation with no proper rest or food and a poorly sanitized air system finally catches up with you. You try to hide the cough at first, pressing your sleeve to your mouth, but it grows sharp and wet, and by the third day it’s coated in red.

They move you to quarantine for observation. Lock you behind a two-way mirror. You sleep on a stretcher while a machine breathes beside you, fluid crackling in your lungs like rain on tin.

You think maybe this is it. Maybe you’ll die nameless in a lab three floors underground, with no one to notice or care.

You’re wrong.

Meanwhile—

Six levels above, the Soldier’s screen flickers. His diagnostics queue hasn’t been cleared in days. But the vitals display still runs.

You.

Heart rate: elevated. Blood oxygen: critically low. Blood pressure: fluctuating. He watches your chart the way others watch mission targets. He doesn’t know why he watches it.

Only that he does.

That when it spikes—he can feel something squeeze inside his ribs. Not physical. Not metal. Something wrong.

He doesn’t sleep that night. (He rarely sleeps.) But this is different. He sits on the platform with his hand still slotted into the interface dock, and doesn’t blink for four hours.

The next morning, a technician comments on the smell of something burning. Another finds the data feed to your vitals manually looped onto his monitor, despite three firewalls.

No one knows how he did it.

No one knows why.

No one asks.

You survive.

Barely. It takes a saline drip, a round of antibiotics, and the quiet whisper of something inside you that wants to live—even if no one’s looking.

On day nineteen, you wake up to find your badge reinstated. A guard is waiting. “You’ve been cleared,” he says flatly. “The Soldier’s interface has locked out all alternate access. Command wants it fixed.”

You don’t ask what happened to the last person who tried.

You already know.

They bring you back under full escort. Two guards on either side. A medic trailing behind. One supervisor holding a handheld trigger with the kill-code primed, just in case the Soldier reacts… unpredictably. You’re thinner than before. Paler. Hollow-eyed, skin still tight over fever-burnt cheeks. You’ve been cleared for duty, but not recovered.

The doors to the main diagnostics lab hiss open.

He’s already there.

The Soldier sits in the chair with his arm docked into the maintenance platform, head bowed slightly. Still. Too still. You feel it in your bones—the quiet held tension. The kind of silence that belongs to cages, not men.

Your workstation’s been stripped down. All your scripts removed. You’re given a new terminal and a warning: minimal interaction. No unnecessary speech. No deviation.

They lock your wrist to the metal table rail with a padded cuff. You don’t protest. It’s not about safety. It’s about control.

You sit. Open the interface. He doesn’t look at you. Not at first.

You begin diagnostics. Cautious. Every motion deliberate.

Click. Scroll. Analyze. Adjust.

And then—he lifts his head.

Not all the way.

Just enough.

You glance up, caught off guard by the sudden awareness in his eyes. Not the blank focus of protocol. Not the dead stare of an Asset on standby. Something else.

He looks at you.

You don’t speak.

The titanium fingers twitch.

Just once.

You continue working, trying not to shake. It takes you five full minutes to realize something’s wrong. The interface is… responsive. Not just to your commands, but to your patterns. It’s preloading diagnostics you haven’t entered. Adapting to your algorithms in real time. Its calibration cycle skips errors the way only you would skip them—compensating for field abrasion you haven’t logged in this build.

It’s behaving like it remembers you.

Like he does.

You check the control log. The arm has rejected every other technician. It shouldn’t be possible unless the system’s coded for one user.

Unless the Soldier wanted it that way.

You don’t say a word but that’s the day you start wearing gloves in the lab. Just in case he’s still watching your hands.

(He is.)

Your shift ends late. You leave through the auxiliary corridor—quieter, faster. It’s one of the few places in this compound that doesn’t echo with boots or screams. You make it halfway to your quarters before you hear them.

Footsteps.

Not in rhythm. Not patrol.

You turn, slow.

Too slow.

A man grabs your arm. Civilian clothes. Unregistered badge. One of the ones they think you don’t notice—someone who works on things beneath your clearance. The kind that smells like vodka and ambition.

“You think he protects you?” he slurs, breath hot against your cheek. “Think he cares? He’d rip you in half if I asked nicely.”

You try to wrench away. He grabs harder. Drags you toward the shadows at the edge of the hallway. You scream.

The echo is sharp, raw.

And then—

“Stop.”

It’s not a shout. It’s a word. One word.

Ragged. Hoarse. Human.

It hits the walls like a grenade and the hallway lights explode into red. Alarms blare. Doors slam shut. You fall to your knees as the man releases you—screaming now, but in pain. Somewhere beyond the strobing red, you hear bones breaking.

A metal hand meeting a soft throat.

Then nothing.

You wake up in medical again. Your lip is split. Your ribs ache. You’re bandaged and tethered to a pulse monitor. When you ask who brought you in, no one answers.

You already know.

Six floors below, in one of the reinforced isolation cells, the Soldier sits on the ground with blood on his knuckles and a black eye he didn’t have before.

He hasn’t spoken since. He won’t respond to commands. He won’t look at anyone. But he said something once.

To you.

And it wasn’t a code.

It wasn’t protocol.

It was a choice.

Something’s changed. Not just in the Asset.

In the facility.

You notice it first in the way people stop looking at you. At first, you think you imagined it. But then it becomes unmistakable. You enter the cafeteria. Four guards seated. A technician you recognize from interface prep. None of them meet your eyes. One of them stands and leaves the tray behind.

You pass a comms officer in the corridor. He steps aside too quickly. Even your supervisor—a thin, miserable man with a habit of condescension—now says nothing unless absolutely necessary. His fingers shake when he hands you your daily task file. They don’t touch you anymore.

No one does.

You sit alone now. In the far corner. Tray untouched. Gloves on. Head down. The cameras follow you like they always have—but now you feel it.

Like the whole place is watching.

Like they’re waiting.

He watches too. Every day they walk him through the diagnostics bay. Always under guard. Hands unclenched but close to fists. Eyes forward. Blank. Until he passes the cafeteria. There’s a small glass viewport, high on the wall. Most wouldn’t notice it.

But you do.

So does he.

Every day at 1300, you feel it: the scrape of a stare against your skin. Your hand stills over your tray. You lift your head.

He’s there.

Watching.

Not like a man.

Like a scope sighting a target.

Only he never blinks.

Just waits.

And still—some part of you… doesn’t feel afraid.

That might scare you most of all.

They’re testing new reset procedures. Sensory deprivation. Total silence. White void chambers. They want to reboot his protocol responses by starving him of context. If he can’t rely on sight, sound, memory—maybe they can isolate the code. They don’t tell you what’s happening. You only find out because they need your clearance to stabilize the interface mid-session.

You’re behind glass again, in an auxiliary control room, overseeing the calibration remotely. You can’t see him. He can’t see anything. His vitals are elevated. Heart rate: 92 bpm. Respiratory rhythm shallow.

He’s agitated—but not reactive.

A tech mutters, “Subject is stable but erratic. Looks like he’s disassociating again.”

You flinch. Something about that word makes your teeth ache. The comms glitch. A hard feedback squeal echoes through the system. You lunge forward, hands flying over the console to reroute the channel. “Override echo path,” you mutter. “Loop external—”

And then, without thinking, you lean toward the mic and whisper, “I’m here.”

Just two words. The first time you’ve ever used your voice directed towards him. Soft. Like you’d say to a scared animal. Like it means something.

Silence.

Then—

He moves.

The chair scrapes. Someone gasps. A guard fumbles for the kill code. “Asset—stand down—”

But the Soldier turns his head toward you.

You’re behind six inches of glass.

You haven’t said your name to him, or anything real. You haven’t really even been introduced. You are in white sterile clothing like every other lab worker here.

And he finds you.

Eyes blind. Comms down. Systems scrambled.

He finds you.

And breathes—

“…You.”

Just that.

Rough. Soft. Almost… reverent.

A whisper in a throat not used to sound.

You don’t move.

You can’t.

Because in that moment—across glass, across protocol, across every chain they’ve ever welded into his mind—

He doesn’t just recognize your voice.

He recognizes you.

It starts with fire.

One of the side labs goes dark at 0314. A power loss. Contained. Suppressed within six minutes. No cause listed.

But you feel it. The buzz in the walls. The tremble beneath your feet. The sudden absence of sound—as if the compound itself holds its breath.

When you arrive at your workstation, the guards are tighter. The hallways are half-empty. Your supervisor doesn’t make eye contact when he hands you the day’s file.

Inside the folder?

No diagnostics. No calibration. No lab notes.

Just your name.

Your clearance.

And the word: “TERMINATE.”

They want you gone. No explanation. No trial. Just erased like data.

You aren’t special. You aren’t vital. You were a variable—and you’ve reached the end of utility. Interfered too much with their precious asset.

Worse? They don’t even want to kill you.

They want to scrub you. Mind wiped. Identity dismantled. Memories fragmented until your name sounds like static. A ghost with a heartbeat.

You laugh—high, too sharp.

Because the only thing worse than being remembered is being forgotten.

He’s the one they send to do it in some sort of sick punishment for both of you.

The Soldier.

They walk him into the memory suite under sedation protocol, guards on all sides. He’s silent. Blank-eyed. They strap you down in the chair next to the sync console. You try to fight. Scream. Beg. But you already know they won’t listen. Your hands are trembling. Your mouth won’t move.

And then he looks at you. No weapons. No commands. No external stimuli. And something shatters. Because he doesn’t raise his hand. Doesn’t move toward the sync port.

He just stares.

Something behind his eyes catching—

Catching and holding—

Like he knows.

“Asset,” someone says, voice clipped. “Begin procedure.”

He doesn’t move.

“Execute memory override.”

Still nothing.

His fingers twitch.

They try the first-level command sequence. You see it flash in his eyes. The flicker of pain. The internal override colliding with the thing inside him that won’t obey. They scream the Russian code words.

And he falls.

Not down. Not out. Just freezes. Back straight. Eyes open. Limbs locked.

The failsafe.

Not a kill switch.

But worse.

Paralyzed. Conscious. Trapped.

You scream for him then. You scream until your throat breaks open, until blood and spit coat your teeth.

He can’t look away.

He can’t move.

He watches you cry. Watches them wheel the neural cleanse device closer. The red diode pulses against your temple.

He can’t stop it.

But he tries.

God, you can see it—his body trembling inside its own cage.

The last thing you see before your memory goes under? His eyes. Wide and shining and human.

You’re found three weeks later. Abandoned on the border of two collapsed territories. No records. No ID. Blank-eyed. Calm.

No memories.

You say your name is “No One.” You don’t know why. They think you’re just another escapee.

You’re not.

You’re just a ghost.

He never recovers. They reset him twelve times. Every mission, every kill, every system ping returns clean. Except for one thing. Every time they drop him into cryo, he says it. Soft. Slurred. Almost like a prayer.

“Where is she?”

They never ask who.

And he never forgets.

Even after you do.

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