loverstrings - Tumblr blog

loverstrings · 21 days ago

Text

Their Spindle - Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

A haunting look into Y/N’s past as Hydra’s Spindle—crafted from silence, shadows, and stolen time.

a.n - i saw this tiktok this morning and it lit a fire inside me to write our girl's time as spindle. this imo is haunting and angst filled, i hope you guys enjoy this! i do wanna say there are no spoliers for the main series. it's just what HYDRA did to her when she was their spindle, its stuff she already knows once we hit the series :3

the tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8MCXNDq/

| can be read as a standalone or apart of project spindle |

——

They woke her like they always did—with a needle to the spine and light too bright for eyes that hadn’t seen the sun in months.

She sat up slowly. Her body obeyed on instinct, every movement seamless despite the time loss. A woman shaped by silence, by rewrites, by whatever version of time Hydra fed her between assignments.

Subject 8-A. ‘Spindle’ They called her

She never disobeyed, just listened and followed the codes and orders. She knew what it was like to disobey, and she promised she'd never do it again.

The barred door creaked open. Walking into the bright room she blinked against the sterile white hall. Her handler nodded. The Asset was waiting down the corridor, already dressed in black.

He didn’t speak. He rarely did. But sometimes he looked at her too long. But she knew what it meant when he was there.

Whatever they did will be untraceable. She was the mind. He was the muscle.

The target was a political dissenter—a man too loud, too connected. They sent her first. Dressed in green. Smiling. The kind of smile that big men trusted.

He let her in. Of course he did.

She poured him wine, ran fingers down his collar, whispered in his ear. And when his mind was open—unguarded by greed and power—she went in.

There was no scream, just terror in his eyes. He dropped before the glass left his hands. She left him breathing, but barely.

The report said cardiac failure. Stress-induced.

The report didn’t say she carved out his memories one by one until only fear remained.

The Asset picked her up on the roof. They left the city like ghosts.

——

The worst missions weren’t the loud ones. They were the silences in between.

She learned to wipe herself. Hydra taught her that.

After each kill, each rewrite, she’d sit in a chair beneath flickering fluorescent lights. Breathing hard, magic still buzzing in her veins.

First came the report. Always the report.

Her voice, cold and factual, describing the target, the execution, the outcome. No emotion. No variation. When it was done, she’d close her eyes. Summon the glow into her fingers. And reach inside her own mind.

No machines. No handlers. No electrodes.

Just her.

She learned which threads to pull. Which memories to bury. Which moments to excise like rot. The power curled against her temples, soft at first, then sharp—searing through the synapses until nothing was left but silence.

She did it because she had to. Because forgetting made her easier to control.

And Hydra liked control.

Sometimes she went too deep—forgot what her own voice sounded like. Forgot the feeling of rain. Forgot why her hands trembled after every wipe. She’d stare at the wall, heart still racing, and not remember what she'd done to make it beat like that.

The pain lingered, even when the memory didn’t.

Though, she would dream about a mission where the Asset slipped. Just once.

He’d taken a bullet to the shoulder. She'd stitched it up, her fingers steady. When she handed him the bandage, his voice cracked the quiet.

“Thanks, doll.”

They didn’t speak of it after. But, she didn’t wipe it from him. Didn’t wipe it from herself either.

It was a mistake, but it was human.

She barely remembered the gaps. Time that doesn’t make sense. Trainings, she doesn't recall starting or ending. Her world built of flickering lights, blood on her gloves, and voices over intercoms.

There were no clocks. No dates. Only the routine: wake up, complete the mission, report. Then sleep again. Deep, heavy sleep.

Until they called her in once more.

But this time, HYDRA gained two new “volunteers.” Twins. Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. Sokovian. Angry. Desperate.

She was the first to meet them. Awoken to surroundings that were different—no sterile white walls or blinding lights. It was darker. Gloomier.

They didn’t shackle her this time. They gave her a task.

Train the twins. Make them perfect. Precise. Deadly. Make them like her.

She worked with Pietro first. His speed was chaos incarnate—erratic, overwhelming. She taught him how to move with intention, how to let instinct guide without letting it consume him. How to listen to the silence between heartbeats and strike in that exact breath. Not just fast. Precise.

But HYDRA had her work closely with Wanda—teaching her how to slip into minds, how to hunt for fears, how to strike with just a wisp of magic and disappear before anyone noticed. They practiced in silence, laughed once in secret. Wanda asked if magic could glow just because it was pretty. So she made it glow—soft and harmless. For a moment, they felt human.

HYDRA didn’t tolerate that so they reset her. Like the Asset, she had command words—long forgotten, buried somewhere deep. But that day, they used them as a reminder.

Dragged their Spindle back to the chair in the flickering room. Gave the order:

Wipe yourself and wipe the girl.

She doesn’t remember the word they used. Only the silence that followed. Only the echo of her own voice saying Wanda’s name, and the way Wanda’s eyes went blank.

She felt the same. They made her reset both of them. She gave her report.

Then she wiped Wanda. Then she wiped herself.

——

She didn’t wait for the walls to crumble. Didn’t wait to see the end.

The second Baron Strucker fell, and the sirens began to scream through the Sokovian dusk, she ran.

No orders. No handlers.

Just the raw instinct of a thing unchained.

The twins had stood in the hallway behind her, wide eyed. Shellshocked. Waiting to be useful. Waiting to make the wreckage mean something.

But she was older than them. Not just in years—but in scars. In silence. She turned her back and vanished before Wanda could say her name.

They found her anyway. A week later. Wandering Sokovia, in an abandoned villa that still smelled of lavender and smoke. The kind of place meant to be forgotten. Wanda approached first. The same crimson shimmer in her hands. The same look in her eyes: like she was trying to understand, to connect.

“You were part of us,” Pietro said, arms folded like armor. “We could use you. Ultron is building something—”

But she was already moving.

Her fingers brushed Wanda’s temple gently. Carefully.

Wanda stiffened.

A red flicker met soft pink glow—and then her memories rewrote themselves, neat and quiet.

“You never found me,” Y/N whispered.

And just like that—

They didn’t.

For weeks she stayed on the move. No powers. No contact. Just miles under her feet and a hunger she couldn’t name.

She slept in empty barns. On rooftops and crumbled buildings. Under stars. She dyed her hair. Cut it once in the reflection of a muddy stream.

She didn’t want to be a weapon. Or a ghost.

But she didn’t know how to be a person either.

Not anymore.

It was Natasha who found her first.

A crumbled building in Prague. Rain falling sideways. Her hands trembling again.

“You can’t outrun it forever,” Nat had said, umbrella clenched in one hand, a coat she’d never wear in the other.

Y/N didn’t answer.

But two days later, Steve Rogers knocked on the wall of the crumbled building she’d just barely started calling “hers.”

He didn’t wear the suit. Just stood in what looks like the door with coffee and tired eyes.

“I’m not going back,” she told him, hand holding a can of beans.

He nodded like he already knew.

“I just—” she hesitated, staring at her feet. “The only way I knew how to stop hurting people and myself was to disappear.”

He didn’t buy it. Not even a little.

He came back again. And again. Sometimes just with files. Sometimes just to sit. Sometimes just to remind her she wasn’t what they made her into.

Nat gave her a key to an apartment nearby and said there was food waiting for her, that beans can’t have good nutrients in them. She also started bringing her documents, leaving them by her mailbox or tucked between the door and frame.

Old photos. Fractured reports. Logs Hydra tried to delete.

One day, a file with a name printed across the top in faded ink:

Y/N.

Not Spindle. Not “Subject 8.” Just her.

Y/N stared at it for a long time. She traced the curve of that name with her fingertip. It didn’t feel like hers yet—but it might.

Yet there were more. Months after Steve convinced her to be closer, to live in the States with them, close to Wanda, a walk from the Tower they resigned in. She agreed, with the condition that she wouldn’t join them. She was only there for Wanda.

But after that move, a few blocks from the Tower, came more files. One was heavier than it looked. Cream-colored folder. Unmarked, except for a single black stamp on the corner:

"SUBJECT 8-A ‘SPINDLE’: PRIMARY SUBJECT RECORDS"

Natasha slid it across the small table, her fingers lingering.

“This one’s worse,” she warned. “We weren’t sure if you’d want to read it alone.”

Y/N didn’t say anything. Just stared at it. She could feel something—like a cold hand around her throat—just from being near it.

“Steve said he’d come by later,” Nat added. “If you want.”

Y/N nodded, once.

When Steve came by they read it together. In silence, mostly. Steve sat on the couch beside her, shoulders tense. Like he was bracing for each new page.

Y/N didn’t flinch. Not when she saw her name. Not even when she saw her birth year.

1946.

Not 1982. Not even close.

She was older than she thought. Older than she’d ever felt.

They had kept her in stasis between missions—used cryo to pause her aging the same way they had with him. She had decades missing, blackouts that were never explained. Every time she’d woken up thinking only a few weeks had passed… they had lied.

Hydra had fed her just enough false memories to keep her compliant. “Accidents” in childhood. “Military training.”

All fabricated. She hadn’t volunteered. She hadn’t signed up. She was stolen, taken to be tested and built.

Page after page detailed the serum trials, the energy compatibility tests, the neurological rewrites, and the psychic conditioning. There were notes on sedation thresholds. Notes on pain tolerance. Notes on obedience resets.

Steve turned one of the pages and stopped. Y/N recognized the photo before he said it.

Her and the Winter Soldier—The Asset (Bucky as Steve called him)—standing outside a bunker in Siberia.

Mission Date: 1974

She looked the same as now. He looked the same too. Unchanged. Unaged. Both of their eyes blank.

There was a short report stapled underneath.

"Spindle and Asset completed Objective 03 in under six minutes. Minimal casualties. Subject 8-A Spindle engaged in neural override of Target A, while Asset neutralized remaining opposition. Spindle initiated memory wipe sequence of Asset upon extraction. Notably: Spindle did not execute her own scheduled reset. Monitor for irregular sentiment development."

Steve glanced at her, quiet. “You knew him.”

She nodded, once. “I barely remember him.”

He waited. She swallowed hard. The words tasted like iron.

“We didn’t talk much. They didn’t want us to. He was colder. But… he was never cruel.”

She closed her eyes, remembering dim corridors and silent footsteps.

“The first time we worked together, I was told to stay behind him. Let him lead the assault. I was the insurance plan. If he got caught—my job was to erase the witnesses. Or him.”

Steve’s jaw tightened.

“But he never got caught,” she added. “Not when I was with him.”

She turned the page again.

There was a note scribbled in pen.

"Asset referred to Spindle as doll on extraction. Unprompted."

No punishment. No reprimand. Just observation.

She stared at it like it was a wound.

“I never wiped that from him,” she whispered. “They think I did. That was the first lie I told them.”

Steve’s voice came gently. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said, barely breathing. “I think… I needed something human. And maybe… maybe he did too.”

——

a.n. - give my girl a BREAKKKKKKK (i say as i continue writing these damned oneshots) i do have some on the way, some fluffy ones hehehe

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel fanfic #marvel masterlist #marvel #james buchanan barnes #thunderbolts #winter solider x reader #winter solider fanfiction #winter solider x y/n

50 notes · View notes

loverstrings · 23 days ago

Text

Project Spindle (Chapter Eight) - Established Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

After destroying the Hydra facility Verma-12, the team returns quieter than usual, tension crackling beneath the surface. Something happened. Something Y/N saw, or remembered, or was shown and it’s shaken her to her core.

a.n - if you notice edits in the other chapters, no you didnt... nah but i've been writing summaries for each chapter now! instead of it being the intro summary. BUT here it is!! chapter eight, i hope you guys enjoy it! it made me tear up a bit. also also, i have some drabbles ready and heheheh it got me kicking my feet

| masterlist |

——

The building had given them its secrets—and now it would fall. The quinjet hummed with life, ramp down, engines heating the dry earth beneath. Outside, the wind picked up, catching fragments of scorched leaves and abandoned tech that once belonged to something monstrous.

The team sprinted from the building’s entrance in staggered waves—Yelena and Ava first, flanking Wanda protectively. Steve and Sam followed, with Alexei and Walker in the rear. Bucky had Y/N’s hand in his as they ran, both moving fast but steady, silent communication in every step.

Joaquin stood at the top of the ramp, watching intently. “That’s everyone. You’re clear!”

The moment the last boot hit the quinjet floor, Steve’s voice came through, calm but resolute.

“Detonate.”

The explosion ripped through the air in a deep roar. The ancient structure of Verma-12 cracked and crumbled in on itself, fire licking through the windows and the earth splitting from the concussive force. The walls that once held Y/N’s history—her trauma, her origins—collapsed into dust and glowing embers.

Inside the quinjet, silence pressed in like fog. Then—

“Excuse me—sorry—coming through—”

Bob.

He weaved past the others, his usual calm replaced by restless urgency. His eyes locked onto Y/N at the back—still standing, hand in Bucky’s, face pale and unreadable. He stopped a few feet away, shifting awkwardly on his feet, voice rushing out.

“Okay. Uh. Are you okay? Do you need anything? Water? Food? A snack? Blanket? I’ve got gum—maybe not gum, your jaw looks tense—wait, are you cold?”

Y/N blinked. Overwhelmed, Y/N let go of Bucky’s hand and stepped forward, offering Bob a brief, steady hug.

“Oh okay, this is nice,” he said, leaning into her.

Once he stepped back, Bucky slid forward and guided her toward one of the seats. “Here, sit down,” he said softly.

Y/N sank down, still a little shaky.

Bob nodded and despite her not responding to his offers, said, “I’m gonna grab you some water and a blanket anyway. Can’t hurt.”

He moved off to get them, leaving Bucky to quietly watch over Y/N as she settled.

At the front of the quinjet, the rest of the team remained quiet—watching from a distance. No teasing. No snark. Just silence, reverent and soft. Not yet. Yelena leaned subtly into Ava’s side, her voice low. ��We’ll tease them later, yeah?”

Ava gave a small nod. “Relentlessly.”

“But that?” Yelena gestured with her chin toward the trio—Y/N sitting while Bob goes to find something and Bucky watches her. “That’s not for teasing. They’re cute, mini family to our loud and dysfunctional one.”

Alexei, arms crossed tightly, sniffled a little too loudly. “I am not crying. It is the jet. Very dusty.”

The quinjet landed without ceremony, its doors hissing open to a silent hangar. No one spoke as they walked in. Just boots against metal, the hum of residual adrenaline still coiling in their bodies.

No orders were given. Everyone just followed on instinct when Steve moved through the familiar halls, his expression unreadable until he reached the old briefing room.

Everything was dusty but intact, like time had stopped here. Faded S.H.I.E.L.D. and Avengers emblems, forgotten files, scratched furniture. The room had held years of weight and leadership. Now it made space for something heavier: grief.

They filed in without a word, finding seats in loose clusters. Y/N sat with Wanda and Joaquin close beside her, Sam not far off. Across the table, Ava, Walker, and Bob spoke in low voices. Yelena dropped into a seat as Alexei settled beside her with a dramatic huff. Steve and Bucky stood near the front—silent, watchful.

“You are not hurt, right?” Alexei muttered after a beat. “No bruises? Burns? Scratches?”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “You’re being pushy. Stop hovering.”

“I don’t hover.”

“You’re hovering.” She smacked his shoulder lightly. He smiled a little, relieved.

The room had been filled with murmurs for a while, the soft sound of exhausted voices drifting through the air.

Then Walker cracked. “What the hell just happened?”

Everyone’s gaze snapped to him. His face was twisted with confusion—real, raw confusion, not his usual defensiveness. He wasn’t trying to argue. He looked scared, like he didn’t know what to make of any of it.

“I mean, seriously. Being trapped? That Specter guy? And the sunset looking thing? Everything just went to shit after that. What did you two see?” His eyes flicked between Wanda and Y/N. “What was that?”

His tone wasn’t hostile. Just lost.

Bucky looked across the table at Y/N gently, as if silently saying: You don’t have to explain it now. Only if you want to.

Y/N took a breath. “I saw what they did to me,” she said quietly. Her voice barely rose above a whisper, but it echoed in the silence. Everyone stilled.

“They built me before her,” she continued, nodding slightly toward Wanda. “Before the Maximoffs. Before any of it went public. I was their prototype. Their proof of concept. Project Spindle’s first successful mind breaker.”

Wanda moved beside her now, closer for their arms to brush.

“They didn’t just hurt us,” Wanda added gently. “They used us—on each other. We were forced to wipe memories, plant suggestions. And then they erased that too.”

Y/N’s hands clenched. “They made me do things. Made me us it on Bucky.” Her voice cracked, eyes on the floor. “I didn’t know it until today. I hurt people—I hurt him. And I never even knew.”

A beat passed. Bucky’s jaw tightened, shoulders going still. Steve glanced at him, catching the slight shift. The way Bucky’s fingers twitched, like he was holding something in.

Then Wanda hesitated, voice barely audible. “But we don’t know if it was real. That Specter—he could’ve twisted it. He knew what he was doing. It might’ve been part memory, part illusion. Just enough to feel real.”

From the far side of the table, Joaquin nodded in agreement, eyes serious. “She’s right. His power signature—it’s similar to yours. To Wanda’s too. We’ve seen him manipulate memory echoes before. He could’ve embedded false impressions inside the truth.”

Y/N shook her head instantly. “No. It was real.” Her voice was raw now, unflinching. “I felt it. The way he talked about me—he wasn’t lying. I was the original. I was the blueprint. And I was used. Again and again.”

The room went still.

“I think I remembered everything,” Y/N whispered. “The targets. The control. What they made me do. What they made me forget.” Her voice was tight with restraint. “They didn’t want weapons—they wanted obedience. Perfect little ghost they could puppeteer.”

Walker had gone completely quiet. Even he knew this wasn’t something to argue with.

But Wanda shifted beside her, speaking up carefully. “We don’t know for sure if it was real. That Specter… he could’ve manipulated it. It might’ve been a mix of truth and illusion.”

Joaquin nodded in agreement from across the table. “Yeah. The glow he gave off, the way everything felt… it’s close to what you both can do. Memory manipulation, emotional projection—he might’ve planted something. Warped what was already there.”

But Y/N shook her head, firm. “No. It was real. I know it was real.” Her eyes didn’t waver. “That wasn’t just fear. It was familiarity. I didn’t just see what they did—I felt it. I remembered.”

Everyone fell silent again.

Finally, Steve’s voice broke through the stillness. “That’s why we came back here. So we could feel it. Sit with it. Together.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with understanding.

Then he took a breath and straightened. “Alright. Mission reports start now—before we forget what happened today. I want your perspectives documented while they’re still fresh. Dismissed.”

Bucky cleared his throat, his voice low but steady. “We’re not going anywhere for a few days.” He glanced around at everyone. “We all need time to feel like people again.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, from her spot leaning against the wall, Yelena smirked. “Good. We rest. And tomorrow, I destroy everyone in Mario Kart.”

That earned a few tired chuckles.

Alexei, who had been slouched in his chair looking like a statue, suddenly stood and raised a finger like he was about to make a speech. “No! No games!” he declared loudly, with full theatrical emphasis. “What we need… is a feast! A family meal. Long table. No one eats in silence. We sit. We eat. We talk. We drink. We cry. Maybe fight a little—but with joy!”

More laughter followed—quiet, but real. A small flicker of life returning to the room. The team slowly began filing out, some casting backward glances, some just moving forward, heads full of thoughts.

But as Y/N and Wanda stood to leave, Steve raised a hand, stopping them. “You two—stay a minute.”

When the room was empty, he turned to them, his voice lower, more careful. “Talk to Sam. One at a time. He can help with this. With… all of it. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He stepped toward Wanda first, wrapping her in a fatherly hug and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You did good.”

Then he turned to Y/N. She tensed slightly before he pulled her into a firmer, briefer hug—steadier, grounding. “You too,” he said quietly, holding her just long enough for the weight to settle between them.

He stepped back, gave them a small, knowing nod, and quietly left the room leaving them in the stillness, the hum of grief and clarity lingering like dust in the air.

A few hours later, the base had quieted. The heavy noise of boots, low voices, the hiss of doors had long since faded into a gentler hush. Lights were dimmer now, footsteps more scattered. The team had dispersed, finding corners to breathe, change, regroup.

Y/N sat curled in an old armchair outside the debriefing hall, legs tucked beneath her, arms folded tight across her stomach. The worn fabric scratched faintly against her skin something grounding in the texture, in how solid it felt beneath her.

The stillness pressed in, quieter now. Her fingers drummed restlessly against her arm.

Then, the door at the end of the corridor creaked open.

Wanda stepped out. Her face looked drawn, but calm—the kind of calm that only came after something raw. Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy, a quiet testament to whatever had passed behind that door. When they met Y/N’s, she gave a small, understanding nod.

Without thinking, Y/N stood and stepped forward, pulling her into a hug. Wanda didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around her and held her close, a hand brushing gently over Y/N’s back solid, soothing, familiar.

“I know,” Y/N whispered. “You don’t have to say everything at once.”

“Okay,” Wanda murmured, voice rough but sure.

They pulled apart, and Wanda gave her a tired but reassuring look before turning and walking away, her steps slow but steady.

Before Y/N could head inside, Bucky appeared at the corner of the hallway. His eyes met hers immediately, reading the panic she couldn’t quite mask.

“Hey,” he said quietly, walking up. “You don’t have to rush talking to him.”

“I know,” she said. “But I need to.”

She looked up at him, searching his face for something maybe reassurance, maybe an anchor. “What if what I saw was just the start? What if there's more buried in there? What if it wasn’t real at all, and I still felt all of it like it was?”

Bucky stepped closer, brushing his hand down her arm. “Then you talk it out. One step at a time. That’s all you’ve gotta do.”

Her breath shook. “I used it on you. I saw it. I hurt you, and I didn’t even know.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t flinch, but his voice softened. “You didn’t know. They used you, the same way they used me.” He held her gaze. “That wasn’t your choice.”

She nodded, her throat tight.

“You’ll be right outside?” she asked.

“Always.”

Y/N gave him a small, grateful smile, then turned and walked into the room.

Sam looked up from his laptop as she approached, offering a calm smile. “Hey.”

Y/N gave a small nod. “Hey.”

“Take your time,” he said, setting the laptop aside.

She sat on the couch, fingers twisting in her lap. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Wherever it feels true,” Sam said gently. “We’re not rushing this.”

Y/N stared at the floor, fingers digging into the cushion.

“I saw everything. Or I think I did. What they did to me. How they built me. It felt like my memories were twisting—like they weren’t mine anymore, but also… they were. And the worst part is, even if they were fake, they still hurt like hell.”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

“Felt like a storm,” she whispered. “Inside my head, inside my chest. Like something trying to break out of me and pull me under at the same time.”

Without warning, a soft glow sparked at her fingertips—bright pink, flickering like heat lightning. She gave the smallest laugh, shaky and sad. Then—barely audible “I used it on Buck.”

Sam’s expression shifted, not shocked but… still. Steady. The kind of stillness that said he was absorbing the weight of it, not running from it.

“You didn’t know,” he said after a moment. “Whatever they made you do… it wasn’t you, not really.”

Tears clung to her lashes. “Doesn’t feel like that matters.”

“It does,” he said gently. “To us, it does. To Bucky, I promise you—it does.”

He waited a beat, watching the light pulse brighter from her hands. Then his voice dropped even softer. “You’re glowing a little. Want me to go grab Alpine for you?”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, blinking quickly as the glow dimmed. “Yeah,” she said, almost a whisper. “Please.”

“Alright,” he said, already rising. “She’s probably judging me from under your bed, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

Y/N managed a small laugh through her tears. She brought her knees up to her chest, curling in slightly, as the door opened again and a moment later, Bucky stepped in, white furball in his arms.

Alpine let out a disgruntled meow before immediately nestling into Y/N’s lap. Bucky crouched in front of her and brushed her hair back gently before kissing her temple.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered.

Y/N nodded, her eyes glassy. “Thanks for coming back.”

“Always,” he said.

He gave her one more squeeze, then quietly stepped back out just as Sam returned, shaking his head with a smirk. “The damned cat wouldn’t come to me.”

“She’s got a type,” Y/N said, her voice still hoarse but slightly steadier.

Sam chuckled as he returned to his seat. “Clearly.”

He glanced at her and then at Alpine, who was now purring like a tiny engine in Y/N’s arms.

“You’re good at this, you know,” she murmured.

“Well,” Sam said with a shrug, “it was my job.”

He let that sit a moment, then leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “Do you wanna break? We can step away from this for a bit, if you need. If you want to go clear your head with Buck, I can make that happen. Gave Wanda the same out earlier.”

Y/N shook her head slowly, eyes still fixed on Alpine’s soft white fur. “No. He could come back.” Her voice was steadier now, but the tremble lingered underneath. “After I let that blast out… he was just gone. Like he vanished. I don’t think it killed him. I think he left.”

She paused, fingers curling gently into Alpine’s side as the cat settled deeper in her lap.

“I’m sorry about that. The blast, I mean.”

Sam shook his head, calm and easy. “You don’t need to be. You were overwhelmed. You didn’t choose it, it just happened. There’s a difference.”

Y/N nodded slowly, silent for a beat. The warmth of Alpine’s tiny body seemed to help; her power flickered less now, the glow retreating with each pass of her fingers through fur.

“I didn’t know I could still lose control like that,” she said. “Thought I was all good after... well everything. It felt like every nerve just lit up. All that pain rushing in at once—I couldn’t breathe through it.”

“We didn’t come this far to leave you behind." Sam said gently. “That’s why Buck's here. Why I'm here. Why we all are.”

She looked at him, eyes rimmed in red but soft with understanding. “Thanks, Sam.”

He gave her a small smile. “Anytime. And hey—if she ever retires from being Bucky’s emotional support animal, looks like she’s already picked up a second client.”

Alpine rested on Y/N’s lap as she sat quietly on the couch. Sam leaned casually against the desk nearby, a warm smile on his face.

Without a word, he motioned her over with a small nod. She stood, setting Alpine on the cushion, and walked over to him. He opened his arms, and she leaned in, hugging him tightly, grateful and grounding.

Pulling back slightly, her voice small and trembling, she smiled softly as tears slipped down her cheeks. “Thank you… for being both a brother and a therapist."

Sam gave a small nod, quiet and steady, a flicker of emotion in his eyes. He didn’t say anything at first, just let the moment breathe. Then Alpine jumped lightly to the floor, padding toward him and rubbing against his leg like she’d been listening the whole time.

Y/N wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweater and sniffed. “Didn’t know she likes you now. Thought you were on her ‘tolerated’ list.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe she’s warming up to me 'cause I helped her mom breathe again.”

Alpine let out a tiny meow right on cue, still winding around his leg.

“See?” Sam added, glancing down. “That’s gratitude.”

Y/N shook her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she moved toward the door, Alpine trotting after her.

“You might actually win her over.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Sam called after her lightly.

——

find more spindle related things here!! Taglist is open if you want to be added to it :)

series taglist:

@rafesgurl, @seventeen-x, @moompie, @starstruckfirecat, @torntaltos, @rlphunter, @shootingstars-stuff

29 notes · View notes

loverstrings · 24 days ago

Text

Just a night in - Bucky Barnes x F!Reader | Platonic!Sam Wilson x F!Reader | Platonic!Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Post-TFATWS, Bucky and Y/N show up to Sam’s D.C. apartment for a night in with him and Joaquin. Just a quiet night with family, and the kind of peace that still feels a little new.

a.n - guys im alive!! im currently working on the edits for chapter eight and a lil sum extra hehehe so that should be up sometime this weekend or next week. i hope you guys enjoy this, wrote this in the car. so lmk if there are any grammar errors.

| can be read as a standalone or apart of project spindle |

——

They show up late. Again.

Bucky knocks like he’s not sure he’s welcome, which is stupid, because the second the door swings open, Joaquin beams and immediately hugs Y/N, then pulls Bucky into a back patting, manly slap on the shoulder kind of thing that makes both of them chuckle.

“You’re late,” Sam calls from the kitchen.

“Forty-seven minutes late,” Joaquin adds, grinning. “Not that anyone was counting. Except me. I was absolutely counting.”

Y/N smirks. “There was traffic.”

Sam snorts. “The drive is only ten minutes away.”

“Lot of red lights,” Bucky mutters, deadpan.

Joaquin raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh. And what color were the lights in your hotel room?”

“We don’t have to dignify that with a response,” Y/N says, immediately dignifying it by running a hand through her hair.

And that’s how the night begins.

They sit on Sam’s couch with mismatched mugs, half empty takeout containers, and a charcuterie board that’s been partially devoured. Music hums low from the Bluetooth speaker, a playlist that Joaquin made that none of them brave enough to change.

The conversation winds like it always does. Casual, then serious, then ridiculous again.

They talk about how hot D.C. is. How Brooklyn’s been quieter lately. Y/N wants a cat—a white one, she insists, something soft and bossy. Bucky pretends to protest, but it’s clear he’s already on board.

“What would you name it?” Joaquin asks, lounging sideways across the armchair.

“Something cute,” Y/N says. “Like Pearl. Or, I dunno. Banana.”

“Alpine,” Bucky offers without looking up from his drink.

Joaquin wheezes. “Banana the cat?”

The laughter fades eventually, softening into quieter talk. Joaquin leans back, fiddling with his drink.

“So, what was it like?” he asks. “Working with Steve. And Natasha.”

There’s a pause. Not an uncomfortable one. Just… weighty.

Bucky sets his cup down. “Steve was all heart. And all conviction. He’d throw himself off anything if he thought it was right.”

Y/N nods. “Nat… she knew things. Always one step ahead. But she made you feel like she saw you. Like, really saw you.”

“I wish I’d met them,” Joaquin says.

“You’d have liked Nat,” Sam says. “She’d have terrified you, but you’d have liked her.”

“What about Steve?” Joaquin asks.

“He’s around,” Sam says, more gently now. “Came back quiet. Keeps out of the spotlight. Mostly helps Wanda when she needs it.”

They all nod—briefly, solemnly.

“Have you seen her?” Joaquin asks Sam.

“Just once. After Westview.”

“Is it true she—”

“It’s true,” Sam says simply. “But she’s trying.”

Y/N’s quiet, jaw ticking. “She deserved a chance to grieve. They never gave her that.”

Eventually the night sways back into lighter things. Movies. Bad mission food. How Buck still can’t make coffee right (“That’s a war crime,” Y/N declares after one sip).

Joaquin starts dozing off, fully asleep halfway through a documentary, feet hanging off the couch at an awkward angle.

Y/N grabs a blanket from the armchair and tosses it over him with a practiced flick of her wrist.

“Mother instincts kicking in?” Bucky murmurs, amused.

She smirks. “He’ll thank me in the morning.”

Bucky chuckles under his breath, watching her walk off toward the kitchen.

She helps clear the dishes while Sam tidies the charcuterie tray.

Then, Y/N leans her hip against the counter. “Hey, Sam?”

He glances over, already expecting something lighthearted. “What, you finally gonna admit Bucky was right about the wine?”

She smiles faintly. “No. I meant… you doing okay?”

He tilts his head. “Tonight? Yeah, it’s good seeing you guys.”

She shakes her head. “No. I mean—being Cap. Being here. In D.C.”

Sam goes quiet for a moment, the weight of the question settling in.

He exhales, drying his hands on a dish towel. “It’s heavier than I thought. Some days…” He pauses, eyes distant for a moment. “Some days I wonder if I’m still earning it. Other days, I feel like I already did. It’s not just the shield. It’s what people see when I hold it. What they expect to see. And what they don’t.”

Y/N doesn’t interrupt. Just watches him, letting the silence stretch as long as he needs.

“You’re doing more than okay,” she says gently. “You’re making them see it. That matters.”

Sam nods once, grateful.

Back in the living room, Bucky’s sitting quietly, rubbing a thumb along a groove in his glass. Y/N returns to him, drops onto the couch, legs over his lap like she’s claiming territory.

He glances over, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Mission status?”

“Report filed,” she replies, mock formal. “Captain’s stable. Morale’s high. Whiskey stocks running low.”

Sam’s voice calls from the kitchen, dry as ever: “You forget to mention your field name, Sparkle Fingers.”

“Excuse you,” Y/N fires back. “It’s Agent Sparkle Fingers.”

“She’s got the pink glowy magic hands,” Sam adds, stepping into view with a grin. “I don’t make the rules.”

“She makes her own,” Bucky mutters, letting his hand rest lightly on her shin.

Y/N shoots Sam a smug look. “Good thing I’m the one writing Bucky’s post mission evaluation.”

Bucky raises a brow. “Am I passing?”

“Hm.” She pretends to consider it, then smirks. “Still under review. Might need another field test.”

He leans back with a soft laugh. “Terrifying.”

“Effective,” she says sweetly.

Sam walks to the bathroom, shaking his head. “God help us if she ever runs the briefing room.”

Y/N shrugs, raising her voice just enough for Sam to hear—but not enough to wake Joaquin. “Admit it, Wilson. You’d miss me if I didn’t.”

They stay like that for a while. Talking about nothing. Letting the night breathe around them.

Eventually Bucky says, “We should come visit more often.”

“Mm,” Y/N agrees, settling her head on his shoulder. “Next time I’ll bring Alpine.”

“We don’t have a cat yet.”

“Not yet,” she says sleepily. “But we will.”

——

keep up with project spindle and some other drabbles! masterlist

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel masterlist #marvel #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes fluff

186 notes · View notes

loverstrings · 24 days ago

Text

Project Spindle (Chapter One) - Established Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

She’s always known about her powers, but the truth of where they come from could shatter everything.

a.n - the first chapter! this concept truly came from a dream.

spoiler warning for thunderbolts* | masterlist

The team filed into the common room of the Avengers Tower, their exhaustion hanging heavy in the air. Mission gear was dumped by the door without a second thought—boots kicked off, jackets slung over chairs, weapons clinking as they hit the floor.

Bucky was the first to make a beeline for the kitchen, muttering under his breath, “If someone ate my last yogurt, I’m leaving this team.”

Yelena threw herself onto the couch with a groan, her legs dangling over the armrest. “Relax, grump. No one wants your weird protein yogurt.”

“I do,” Ava added, flopping down beside her. “Just not enough to suffer the guilt trip afterward.”

From behind them, Walker rolled his eyes. “You two ever get tired of being annoying?”

Ava didn’t even turn around. “Do you ever get tired of being so sensitive?”

“I’m just saying—”

“Shh,” Yelena cut in, holding up a hand. “The couch doesn’t argue with background noise.”

Walker scoffed and stalked off toward the kitchen, muttering something about how no one respected proper debriefings.

Alexei wandered in next, already sipping from a bottle that definitely wasn’t water. “Ahh! A successful mission. You know, when I was Red Guardian, we used to fight for forty-eight hours straight. No rest, no drones. Just fists. And grit. And vodka.”

“You also say you once took down a Hydra unit during a ballet recital,” Y/N said, curled up on the big bean bag in the corner, a steaming mug cradled in her hands.

Alexei lit up. “Yes! With the ballerina who hid knives in her tutu! A real artist. You should’ve seen the blood on the stage. Beautiful!”

Bob let out a sleepy whine and leaned harder into Y/N’s side, practically glued to her. His arms were loosely wrapped around a pillow, but his head rested against her shoulder like a clingy child.

“You smell like wet socks and smoke,” he murmured, barely audible.

“Accurate,” Y/N replied softly, running her fingers through his hair.

Bucky returned with his precious yogurt, eyeing the scene before settling behind Y/N. He lowered himself to the floor, resting his back against the beanbag and placing a steady hand on her leg.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, just for her.

She gave a tired nod. “Yeah. Just drained. I almost threw Walker into traffic today.”

“I would’ve caught him,” Bucky said, deadpan.

“I know,” she smiled. “That’s why I didn’t.”

Yelena sat up slightly, glancing around. “Hands up if you listened to a single word of Walker’s lecture in the Quinjet.”

Not a single hand went up. Bob groaned. Ava fake slept. Even Alexei raised his bottle in protest.

“There was a lecture?” Bucky said flatly.

“I heard that!” Walker yelled from the kitchen.

Yelena leaned back with a grin. “Then maybe there’s hope for your listening skills after all.”

The room burst into light laughter, warm and easy. Mission chaos faded into background noise. This was their peace: bruised knuckles, aching muscles, found family—and a whole lot of sarcasm.

Before the conversation could settle, Bucky’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then answered the call, but his eyes stayed on Y/N as he listened.

“Yeah,” he said into the phone, voice growing quieter. “She’s here. One sec.”

He held the phone out to her. “It’s Sam. He found something... about Hydra. Related to you.”

She blinked, surprised. “Me?”

“Yeah. He said it’s important.”

Y/N took the phone with a puzzled frown and got up, Bob whining softly at her absence. She padded down the hall and slipped into one of the empty private rooms, closing the door behind her.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Hey,” came his voice. “Didn’t want to text this, but Torres and I found something. Something big.”

“Okay…” she said slowly, sitting on the edge of a desk.

Joaquin’s voice joined the call. “We were going through old Hydra files—stuff that SHIELD never decrypted.”

“And?”

“We found you,” Sam said. “In the records. Before the Maximoffs.”

She went very still. “What?”

“You weren’t just another Hydra experiment,” Sam said. “You were the first step. The origin test for what created Wanda’s powers.”

Joaquin continued, “They didn’t use the Mind Stone until after they studied what was already in you.”

Y/N’s throat went dry. “You’re saying… I was the prototype?”

“More than that,” Sam said. “Look at this.”

There was a beep, and a screen share lit up on her end. A scan analysis of her energy signature appeared beside Wanda’s chaos magic profile.

“The energy match,” she said, heart pounding. “Wanda’s is red. Mine’s pink—but the wave structure is almost identical.”

“Like a diluted copy,” Joaquin added.

“That would mean they used your abilities as a model,” Sam said grimly.

“Or as proof of concept,” Y/N said, her voice low. “That what I was born with could be replicated—and made stronger.”

They were quiet a moment.

“Why me?” she whispered.

“We’re gonna find out,” Sam promised. “But this changes everything.”

Y/N stared at the screen, at the glowing signatures dancing in sync like a mirrored storm.

“I think,” she said softly, “I’ve always known I wasn’t just an accident.”

“Not an accident,” Sam agreed. “A foundation.”

He paused. “I just sent you the full file—figured you’d want to look at it alone first.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“We’re here if you need us.”

She nodded to herself. “I know.”

The line went dead.

Y/N sat in silence for a long moment. Then she turned toward the nearby Stark terminal, fingers shaking slightly as she pulled up the file Sam had sent.

FILE NAME: PROJECT SPINDLE – SUB: PROTOTYPE ALPHA [SUBJECT 8-A]

Her own face stared back at her in a grainy still from surveillance footage. Younger. Barely twenty. Shackled to a chair. Her eyes glowing.

Y/N swallowed thickly and hit play.

A voice filled the room. Male. German accent. Calm. Detached.

“Subject 8-A continues to show unstable potential. We believe the mutation is tied to dormant DNA influenced by cosmic radiation exposure during fetal development—possibly from early experiments conducted in Sokovia pre-dating our involvement.”

Another clip. She was screaming. Surrounded by chaos—energy flaring, violent and pink. Not red. Hers.

“Unlike the Maximoff twins, Subject 8-A did not require the Mind Stone. Her power appears to be innate… possibly the origin point for what became the Maximoff enhancement process.”

Her breath caught. She wasn’t a byproduct.

She was the blueprint.

Leaving the room, she caught Bucky’s glance from across the hallway. He froze, taking one look at her eyes—and he knew. She had figured something out. Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

He threw his yogurt away and excused himself from the common room, trailing her quietly.

“You found something,” he said, catching up with her halfway down the corridor. “I can tell by your face.”

Y/N nodded, already turning. “Follow me. Please.”

She paced quickly back to the private room, waiting until he stepped in before closing the door behind them.

Still facing the door, Bucky exhaled. “Damn. You never run this fast during training.”

He turned to her, breath slowing—then froze when he saw it. The faint crackle of pink static around her fingers. The files still open on the terminal screen.

His chest rose and fell as he walked slowly toward her, placing a steady hand on her shoulder while his eyes scanned the display—the same haunting footage she had just watched alone.

“They studied me,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, “to make Wanda.”

—

The lights were low in their shared quarters. The city was still sleeping, and so was most of the Tower.

Y/N sat cross legged on their bed, staring blankly at the soft pink energy gently flickering between her fingers. Bucky leaned against the dresser, arms folded, watching her in silence.

Neither of them had slept much.

“Should we tell them in the morning?” she finally asked, voice raw with uncertainty. “I mean… everything?”

Bucky exhaled, stepping forward slowly to sit at the edge of the bed. “We probably should. But we don’t have to throw it all at them at once.”

“They deserve to know,” she whispered. “Especially after everything we’ve been through together.”

His hand found hers, fingers intertwining. “Yeah. But none of this is your fault.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “Feels like it, though. I mean… Wanda, everything Hydra did, the fact that I was part of a foundation—”

Bucky interrupted gently. “They used you. You didn’t give them permission.”

A beat of silence passed. Then she leaned her head on his shoulder. “How do you always know what to say?”

“I don’t,” he replied honestly, brushing his lips over her hair. “I’m just really good at sounding calm while panicking.”

She smiled faintly, eyes slipping shut “You think this changes everything?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. Instead, he brushed her hair gently back from her face, eyes soft with something that felt like both fury and affection.

“It doesn’t change you,” he said. “And that’s what matters.”

She gave a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “Okay,” she said finally. “After training. I’ll tell them.”

He kissed her temple again, grounding her like he always did. “We’ve got your back. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I do.”

------

series taglist:

@seventeen-x, @rafesgurl

203 notes · View notes

loverstrings · 24 days ago

Text

A warm night in Wakanda - Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

At the end credits of Civil War, where Bucky gets offered rehabilitation in Wakanda. Y/N decides to tag along—not just to keep Steve company, but out of curiosity about Wakandan culture… and maybe a little curiosity about Bucky, too. She never realized peace like this could exist for people like her and Bucky.

a.n - I PROMISE IM ALIVE!!! I've been packed with work and my summer classes atm so project spindle updates will be a little slow this week, so take this little drabble :3

| can be read as a standalone or apart of project spindle |

The sun was setting, a wash of gold spilling across the treetops as silence settled over the outer edges of the compound. The air buzzed faintly with the hum of distant tech and the rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze—but down by the water, it was quiet.

Y/N sat cross-legged on a flat rock, tracing a smooth stone across her knuckles like a nervous habit. She didn’t look up when she heard footsteps behind her—didn’t need to.

“You’re late,” she said, voice soft but teasing.

“Sorry,” Steve replied, stepping up beside her. “He wanted some air. They’re still getting everything ready.”

Y/N finally glanced over—and there he was.

Bucky Barnes.

The infamous Winter Soldier. The ghost in the machine. Steve’s best friend.

And, for a long time, just a name in a classified file. One she’d seen back when she was still running missions for Strucker. Before Sokovia. Before Wanda and Pietro had thrown in with Ultron. They’d tried to find her back then. The twins had come looking, eyes wide with fury, asking why she wasn’t standing with them.

But Y/N had already made her decision. “I’m done,” she’d told them.

And when that wasn’t enough, when she saw the betrayal starting to bloom behind Wanda’s eyes, she’d used her power—just once more. A swirl of nightmare-fog, soft as sleep, sharp as sorrow. By the time it cleared, they’d forgotten she was ever there.

Steve found her a week later. Hiding in the skeleton of a crumbling Sokovian outpost, eating canned beans cold. He offered her a blanket, and a second chance.

They’d fought side-by-side ever since.

Now, she saw the man who’d nearly torn the world in half—haunted and cautious as he lingered behind Steve, arms crossed, body still like a coiled spring. But his eyes weren’t cold. They were… tired.

“Hey,” she said simply, nodding once.

Bucky didn’t speak right away. He just looked at her, brow slightly furrowed, like he was trying to place her.

“You’re the one with the pink magic,” he said at last.

She smirked. “You’re the one with the metal arm.” A flicker of guilt tugged at her smile. “I mean—were. Sorry.”

Then, like a flicker of something long dormant, Bucky’s lips twitched—just barely. “It’s fine. I’ll grow a new one.”

Steve stepped away without a word, letting the moment settle between them.

Y/N patted the stone beside her. “You can sit. I won’t bite.”

Bucky hesitated… then slowly lowered himself beside her, posture stiff.

The silence felt loud, so Y/N leaned back on her hands, tipping her head toward the sky. “Y’know, when I first got pulled into all this… I don’t really remember much. Just… pieces. Flashes. I knew I was being used, but I didn’t know how to stop it. Didn’t know how to live without someone barking orders at me.”

Bucky let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

She turned her head to watch him. “Steve ever tell you how he found me?”

“He said you left Strucker before things fell apart. That he and Nat tracked you down. Gave you a shot.”

Y/N nodded. “I wasn’t ready to be saved. Thought the only way to stop hurting people was to disappear. Steve didn’t buy it. Kept showing up, talking like I was more than what I’d done.” Her voice softened. “Eventually, I started believing him.”

Bucky looked down at the running water. “Guess he’s doing the same for me.”

“Shows he has a type.”

That earned a quiet huff of laughter.

The silence stretched again—this time, easier. The kind that says I see you, without needing to explain it.

“You stayed with Steve during the airport fight,” Bucky said, his voice low.

“Course I did,” she said, tossing the stone into the river. “He gave me a second chance. Figured I’d return the favor.”

He looked back at the water.

They sat like that for a long while. No grand speeches. No apologies. Just quiet understanding.

The sun dipped below the horizon. The first stars appeared.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Bucky didn’t feel like a weapon.

He felt… almost human. And sitting next to Y/N, he wasn’t so sure that was a bad thing.

99 notes · View notes

loverstrings · 1 month ago

Text

Project Spindle

MASTERLIST - Established Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

She’s always known about her powers, but the truth of where they come from could shatter everything.

a.n - my first series! i've been writing this for a while and i'm excited for you guys to read this.

spoiler warning for thunderbolts*

------

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

more to come!!

------

series drabbles (can also be read as standalones):

A warm night in Wakanda

Something Like Home

190 notes · View notes

loverstrings · 1 month ago

Text

Something Like Home - Bucky Barnes x F!Reader | Platonic!Sam Wilson x F!Reader

In the sun-soaked calm of Delacroix, Louisiana, the world slows down for once—giving Sam, Bucky, and Y/N a moment to breathe. As Sam trains with the shield that now bears the weight of legacy, Y/N brings levity and light, her telekinetic powers flickering like fireflies in the Southern dusk. Between laughter, shield tossing, and quiet porch conversations, bonds are strengthened and love quietly blooms.

a.n - i was at work thinking about writing this LMAOOO but im happy with how it turned out. its so cute and fluff that it physical makes my heart melt. ooo project spindle edits have been made and will get posted tomorrow!! im so excited for you guys to read the next chapter!

| can be read as a standalone or apart of project spindle |

The shield gleamed in the golden light of Louisiana.

It had been days since the confrontation. Days since John Walker had been stripped of the title and the weight of it passed—finally, rightfully—to Sam.

Now, it rested against a weathered wooden railing on the Wilson family dock, catching bits of light off the water. Sam stood beside it, sweat on his brow, muscles taut from training. Y/N sat cross-legged on an overturned cooler, sipping from a bottle of water and watching with a grin that only grew each time he missed a catch.

“I think the shield’s mad at you,” she said with a lazy smirk.

“Oh yeah?” Sam caught it mid-flight this time, turning with practiced grace. “Think you could do better?”

“I know I could.”

He arched a brow, playful challenge blooming across his face. “One rule,” he said, holding up a finger. “No powers. You use that pink sparkle magic, you're disqualified.”

Y/N stood, rolling her shoulders with exaggerated drama. “Fine. No powers. Just raw talent and pent-up aggression.”

Bucky snorted from where he leaned against the railing, arms crossed and clearly enjoying himself. “This should be good.”

Sam stepped aside, holding the shield out to her like an offering. “Go on, then. Impress me.”

She took it, feeling the surprising weight, letting it settle in her grip. “Okay,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “Easy. Death frisbee. Nothing fancy.” Bucky said with a grin.

Y/N inhaled, planted her feet, and with one clean movement, flung it. The shield arced through the air perfectly—slicing across the open yard, hitting a tree trunk with a satisfying clang, and bouncing back cleanly.

She caught it on reflex, though the impact nearly knocked her on her ass. “Holy shit,” Y/N breathed, eyes wide.

Sam blinked. “...What the hell.”

“Told you,” Y/N said, panting a little, a smug grin stretching across her face.

“You cheated.”

“Did not.” She held out her hands dramatically. “Not a flicker.”

Bucky tilted his head. “I’ve never seen Sam look so betrayed.”

Sam was already walking toward her, mock horror written all over his face. “Alright, alright—new rule: No secret assassin training while I wasn’t looking.”

She giggled, clutching the shield to her chest. “I didn’t train. I’m just better than you.”

“You’re infuriating,” he said, taking it back from her, trying not to smile.

“You love it.”

Sam gave her a look, then passed the shield to Bucky. “Okay, Barnes. Your turn. Let’s see if you can beat Sparkle Fingers.”

Y/N groaned. “That’s not going to stick.”

“It absolutely is,” Bucky said, already winding up for a throw. “You just made it worse.”

They stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon—laughing, ribbing each other, tossing the shield around like it hadn’t just been a symbol of war and loss. For once, it felt like something else. Something hopeful.

The next morning came slow and warm.

By the time the sun was high again over Delacroix, the air had thickened with bayou heat, the kind that made the wood of the Wilson family boat steam where it met the water. Mornings bled into afternoons with the steady thud of tools—hammers tapping, wrenches clanking, old rusted bolts groaning their last under Sam’s determined grip.

And laughter. It was always louder with her around.

Y/N stood near the stern of the boat, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back messily, a streak of oil on her cheek. She was attempting—badly—to loosen a corroded panel, muttering curses under her breath when Sarah walked up behind her with a grin.

“You planning to sweet talk that thing loose or what?” Sarah teased.

Y/N jumped, then grinned back. “Hey, I was just about to get it.”

“Oh, I bet,” Sarah said, arms crossed. “You’re cute with all that fake confidence. Come on—I need backup. The vendor brought the wrong parts again and I need someone with a terrifying death glare.”

“I’m honored,” Y/N deadpanned, mock bowing.

She wiped her hands, tossed a wink over her shoulder at the boys, and let Sarah drag her down the dock. Sam raised an eyebrow as he watched them go.

“She likes her,” Bucky said, nudging a loose nail with the toe of his boot.

Sam squinted at him. “Sarah?”

“Y/N.”

“Oh, I know Y/N likes Sarah. But the real question is—” He dropped the wrench and leaned back against the hull of the boat, arms folded. “What’s your deal?”

Bucky blinked.

Sam smirked. “You and Y/N. Are we pretending you’re not already halfway in love with her? ‘Cause I’ve seen the way you look at her like she might vanish if you blink too long.”

Bucky paused for a beat, eyes fixed somewhere distant, toward the path Y/N had just taken.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said finally. “But yeah. I think I’m ready to try. With her.”

Sam tilted his head. “And does she know that?”

“She will.” Bucky scratched the back of his neck. “Just need to make sure I’m... not dragging her into something broken.”

“She already knows you’re broken,” Sam said. “We all are, man. But she keeps showing up. She’s not afraid of the mess.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said quietly. “She never was.”

They worked in silence for a few more minutes, the creak of the dock and the slap of water against the shore filling the space. Then:

“I’ll say this,” Sam added. “She’s been through enough. If you’re gonna be serious, be serious. She deserves that.”

Bucky nodded. “She’s getting all of me.”

“Good,” Sam said, handing him a wrench. “Because if you screw this up, Sarah’s the least of your worries.”

Just then, laughter rang out again—Y/N and Sarah returning, carrying a toolbox and a sack of parts. Sarah was smirking. Y/N had that telltale pink shimmer on her fingertips, barely noticeable.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Did you use your powers to get a discount?”

“Depends,” Y/N said, hopping up onto the dock. “You want the good news or the illegal news?”

Bucky grinned, catching her hand as she passed by him. She smiled at the contact—fingers brushing for just a moment too long.

And Sam? He just shook his head and muttered, “Lord help me, they’re so in love.”

That night, the Wilson household was alive with the soft chaos of dinner—dishes being passed, glasses clinking, laughter cutting through stories. The air smelled like spice and salt, like gumbo simmering in the kitchen and the marsh breeze rolling in through open windows.

“Okay, okay—but wait,” AJ interrupted, halfway standing in his chair. “Uncle Sam says you can fly, but I didn’t see any wings. Do you have wings like him?”

Y/N chuckled, resting her elbow on the table and leaning her chin into her palm. “No wings, kiddo. That’s all Sam. I’m a little more… glowy.”

“Glowy?” Cass piped up, wide eyed. “Like, sparkles?”

“Like fireflies?” AJ asked, visibly vibrating with excitement.

“Like this,” she said, and lifted her hand.

It started slow—a soft, warm pink mist gathering in her palm, coalescing into threads of light that danced upward like tiny ribbons. They shimmered gently in the air, humming with something ancient yet tender, until they formed a swirling little sphere that floated above the table, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Both boys gasped. Sarah froze mid-sip of sweet tea, her expression somewhere between impressed and “oh lord, not at the table.”

“It’s not dangerous,” Y/N said quickly, giving Sarah a sheepish grin. “Just... pretty.”

“Can I touch it?” Cass whispered.

“It won’t hurt,” she said, guiding the orb closer. Cass reached out, and it brushed against his fingertips like warm velvet before vanishing into a burst of glittery sparks.

“WHOA!” the boys shouted in unison.

Bucky leaned back in his chair with a lazy grin. “She didn’t show me that until, like, our fifth mission.”

“Fifth?” Sam scoffed from the head of the table. “You mean after she threw a Hydra agent through a cement wall.”

“Oh, don’t tell the kids that,” Sarah scolded.

Y/N smirked. “Fine, I’ll keep it PG. Only sparkles and floating fruit.”

As if to prove her point, she flicked her fingers and made a single grape rise from the bowl near Sam, floating it across the table like a tiny UFO before gently landing it in AJ’s mouth.

He cheered. “Best. Dinner. EVER.”

Cass was already halfway out of his chair again. “Do you do that when you fight bad guys? Do you make them eat fruit?”

Bucky nearly choked on his cornbread.

“She does a lot more than that,” he said, laughing. “But only if they’re really bad.”

“Are you two superheroes?” Cass asked suddenly, his gaze flitting between them with something like awe.

Y/N’s smile softened. “We try to be good people. That’s what matters most.”

Later, as the dishes were cleared and the sky darkened to a soft velvet, the porch swing creaked gently under Y/N and Bucky. The boys were still wide awake inside, retelling the “sparkle magic” story for the fifth time while Sarah rolled her eyes and quietly smiled.

“You’re good with them,” Bucky murmured, watching her face under the porch light.

“I like them,” she said, pulling her knees up and resting her head on his shoulder. “They’re loud, but honest. You can’t fake it with kids.”

He reached for her hand, gently rubbing his thumb across the inside of her wrist where that pink glow still lingered.

“You scared of them seeing who you really are?” he asked.

“I used to be,” she admitted. “But tonight felt... right.”

He was quiet for a second. Then he pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered, “You are magic, sweetheart. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

She smiled, her eyes already on him.

“You ever think about it?” he asked.

Y/N tilted her head. “Think about what?”

“Settling down,” he said. His voice wasn’t unsure, but there was a vulnerability in it—one that only surfaced when the world was quiet and his defenses slipped. “Stopping the running, the missions, the war.”

She let out a quiet breath, her fingers brushing along the edge of the swing’s armrest. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “I never used to. I didn’t think I’d get the chance. But now... maybe. With the right person.”

She turned, looking him fully in the face now. Her eyes, glowing faintly from the residual energy of her powers, locked with his.

“What about you?” she asked. “Will you ever settle?”

Bucky didn’t hesitate. Not this time.

“With you,” he said, his voice steady and low. “’Till the end of the line.”

Her breath hitched.

That phrase—so simple, so familiar—held the weight of decades. Of loss, survival, and choosing someone, again and again.

Y/N reached for his hand, interlocking their fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was. The porch light above flickered once, like even the house was holding its breath for them.

“Guess that makes two of us,” she whispered.

132 notes · View notes

loverstrings · 1 month ago

Text

Project Spindle (Chapter Seven) - Established Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

A mission takes a dark and unexpected turn when the team uncovers more than they bargained for. Old traumas resurface, powers spiral out of control, and buried truths begin clawing their way to the surface.

a.n - we are so back guys hehehehehe!! nothing much to say about this chapter :3 really happy with how it turned out and i hope you guys enjoyed it too! lmk if i made any mistakes :)

| masterlist |

——

Joaquin’s voice crackled back through the comms, low and steady. “He was just a number to them,” bitterness and sorrow tangled in his voice. “We searched everything. No real name. Barely a backstory. Just the codename, Specter.”

Bob leaned in, voice flat but tense. “But he did show up a few years after Sokovia. After Y/N and Wanda were already gone. It looks like he was just a teenager when Hydra started sending him on missions. Deep cover. Controlled. Weaponized.”

“He’s the closest they ever got to replicating what Y/N and Wanda could do,” Joaquin added. “Not as strong, but close enough. Energy signature glows orange—mind manipulation. He can surface memories, make people relive them… not like the Void. Sorry, Bob. It’s not a trap—it’s more like—”

“He plays your life back to you, one frame at a time.,” Bob said grimly. “Some of it happened. Some didn’t. But your brain doesn’t know the difference. And when he remembered what they did to him… they tried shutting him down.”

Bob sighed. “Didn’t work. So he went rogue. Been off their radar ever since. Fully disappeared after the Void went up in New York.”

Alexei, arms folded and leaning against the wall, let out a small huff. “Figures. Void breaks open, and suddenly ghosts start crawling out.” He nodded to himself, almost amused. “Specter. Hah. Fitting name, no?” A chorus of groans followed. Yelena rolled her eyes. Walker muttered something under his breath. Even Bob raised a brow like he was debating whether to dignify it with a response.

But before anyone could throw a follow-up jab, the feed shifted again. Back in the hall, silence ruled.

The man’s breath fogged in the frigid air, curling in front of his face. His back remained pinned to the wall, held there by twin forces of raw power.

Y/N’s hands trembled slightly, pink energy pulsing like a heartbeat through her fingertips. Wanda’s eyes burned a deeper red, her stance unflinching as the crackling current between them formed a psychic bind.

The corridor flickered with light—pink and red spirals twisting through shadow like ribbons in a storm, wrapping around the man’s limbs and anchoring him in place. The cold metal walls groaned beneath the pressure, but he didn’t struggle.

Then, in a blink, he moved.

With a sudden surge of his own power—orange and volatile, flickering like flame—he flung his hands forward. In an instant, Y/N and Wanda were thrown backward, slammed against opposite columns by an invisible force. Shackles of glowing orange clamped around their wrists and ankles, locking them in place.

Y/N gasped, struggling against the restraints, her powers flaring erratically in bursts of pink. “What the fuck is this?”

“You’ve talked enough,” the man said, voice low and unnervingly calm. “I’m tired of you not believing me. I did all the fucking work—and none of you remember.”

He stepped closer, orange sparks crackling along his arms, casting a harsh glow against the cold metal. “Specter. That’s what they called me. Like I was never real. Like all I was good for was cleaning up your disasters.”

Wanda’s lip curled as she fought against the binds. “Let us go. Please, we can talk.”

But the man didn’t move. His voice echoed through the building, picked up by the hallway cameras. Cold. Controlled. Fractured.

“Not before she sees everything, all the things they’ve done to her to make me.”

Static crackled through Redwing, the Specter’s words bleeding in clear. Steve stiffened, eyes narrowing. “Everyone, get ready,” he said sharply, cutting through the rising chaos of overlapping voices. “Joaquin, that door—are we good?”

Yelena’s arms flared out in frustration, eyes locked on the screen. She took a step back, chest rising sharply as she watched the scene unfold through Redwing’s feed. “Rogers, how long are we waiting?” she demanded, voice shaking more with fear than anger. “It’s fucking Y/N and Wanda out there.”

In the hallway, Y/N’s eyes glowed, her pink aura seeping once more through the restraints. It flickered with barely restrained panic—but she held still, forcing herself to suppress the swell rising in her chest.

The man looked between her and Wanda. For the first time, his voice carried a flicker of sorrow. “You already know the gist of it—blah blah, you were taken and used,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “They tore you apart. All the known facts.”

Then his gaze turned sharp, focused. “But what you don’t know—what they burned when you left,” he said, eyes locked on Y/N, “is what you did. And how you did it. Impressive, actually. Hydra’s second best, running just behind big-shot Winter Soldier.”

He turned to Wanda. “You, though… You were good. A cleaner version of her. But we all knew who was the best.”

Wanda’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t speak.

“They kept going after you left,” he went on, returning to Y/N. “They made more. They made me.” His tone was low, bitter. “But you were always the root. Always the best. No matter how hard I tried to please them, they still missed you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

“I need you to remember what happened,” he said simply. “I need you to know what you were… before they made you forget.”

The restraints pulsed tighter. Orange energy hissed and coiled as he raised his hands, fingers moving with meticulous precision, weaving magic into the cold air. The bindings around Y/N and Wanda flared—a sickly fusion of orange, red, and pink.

“Let me show you,” he whispered. “Let me show you both… what they did.”

Wanda’s eyes narrowed. “No—”

But it was too late. The spell had already taken hold. Light exploded behind their eyes.

FLASHES—

A dim, cold room. Metal tables. Needles. Screams.

Y/N—younger. Crying. Clawing at restraints.

Men in Hydra uniforms. The room reverberating with language designed to strip her name away.

“Erase her.” “Not a person. A weapon.” “The Winter Soldier was destruction. But we need more than that.” “We need manipulation.”

Searing pink energy flooded the room. A blur of faces. A flash of recognition, then gone. The sharp, painful sound of memories being torn away. A mask over her face. Orders barked. She obeyed. Cold, detached. Her hands trembled, but then they steadied.

Target after target. Eyes vacant, power precise—she was nothing but a weapon. She didn’t remember, not until now. She hadn’t been born this way. She’d been made into it.

Then—Wanda’s memories twisted into the mix. The red haze of Sokovia. The experiments with the Mind Stone. But beneath it all, echoes. Glimpses. A feeling of something already shaped, something already set in motion before her.

Y/N.

The name flickered, familiar yet distant. An imprint buried deep within her mind, tangled in the aftermath of experiments, the same shadowy hand that had created them both.

The comms had gone eerily quiet. Not static. Not broken. Just… nothing. Joaquin stared at the monitor, eyes wide. “You guys seeing this? The cam looks frozen—stuck. Are you hearing anything from your end?”

Sam was pacing, tension rising. “Nothing. We’re getting the same feed you are, Joaquin.”

“Yeah, but Y/N’s vitals just spiked,” Joaquin said quickly. “Her heat signature is off the charts. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Steve stepped forward, jaw tight, brows knit. “Okay—everyone get ready. Joaquin, when you see the moment, open that damn door.”

And then it happened. Y/N screamed. The sound didn’t come from her mouth—it came from within her. A guttural, tearing noise that pulsed through the stone, through the air, through the world. The pink glow exploded outward in a wave of unrestrained telekinetic force.

Specter barely raised a shield before he was hurled backward into the far wall, shattering stone and bone alike. Wanda hit the ground hard, skidding across the floor but recovering quickly, red magic flaring as she shielded herself from the tail end of the blast.

The wave hit everyone.

Steve, Bucky, and Sam were thrown off their feet as the shockwave tore through the structure. Walker hit the ground with a grunt, groaning, “Jesus—what the hell was that?!”

Alexei shouted something sharp in Russian as he staggered up. Ava yanked Yelena behind a support beam, shielding them both as cracks split across the walls, dust and energy surging through the air like a pulse.

In the Quinjet, Bob shot out of his chair, panic flashing behind his eyes. “Y/N!” he shouted, already moving. “She’s not okay—we have to get to her!”

Joaquin intercepted him, wrapping both arms around his middle, holding firm. “Bob—no! She’s alive. But if you run in there now, you’ll make it worse.”

Bob didn’t fight. His chest heaved, tears welling but unshed, voice tight with restrained panic. “I felt it. Not just the blast—her. She’s in pain. She was screaming. Inside.”

For a beat, everything fell still. Then Joaquin’s voice cracked over the comms, distorted by static but edged with urgency. “Her powers aren’t stable anymore. That wasn’t just a surge… it was a backlash.”

Steve was coughing, checking on Bucky. “Everyone check in. Is anyone hurt?”

“I think my spleen shifted,” Sam groaned.

Wanda blocked the worst of the blast. She was already running, reaching the open doorway, her eyes scanning the wreckage.“She’s conscious. But she’s not okay.”

Y/N was on her knees, trembling, pink energy rolling off her in raw, grief-tinged waves. Debris floated and crumbled around her. He was gone—vanished or shattered—no trace left behind. Wanda moved slowly, carefully.

Y/N’s eyes were blank with devastation. Dust was still settling. The static shimmered faintly in the air, casting an eerie glow over the broken stone. The chamber was bruised—cracked by what had just happened—but quiet now.

She knelt in the center of it all, trembling with the weight of what had returned to her. The last of the blast energy sizzled at her fingertips, the glow dimming into her skin like a sunset swallowed whole.

Footsteps echoed — soft, deliberate. Wanda knelt beside her, her own hands scraped and still faintly lit with red. "Y/N." Her voice was gentle, low. Like a tether. Y/N blinked, her eyes vacant for a moment, then she looked up. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

Wanda touched her shoulder gently. “Was it real?” Y/N whispered. “Did they make us do it—all of that?”

Wanda’s throat tightened. “I don’t know.” Y/N swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice.

Wanda continued “They made us go into minds. Show people what they feared. What they loved. But what if he did the same to us? What if what he showed us was… mixed with false memories?”

Y/N’s voice came out hollow. “They used me on you. Then made me erase it. Again and again. And you—” Her lip trembled. “You did the same to me.”

Wanda’s shoulders sank, the red glow in her hands dimming to nothing. “I know.”

For a moment, there was silence—until Wanda’s voice returned, softer now, dazed. “Still… he could’ve planted things. Twisted pieces. Just enough to break us. That’s what he does, isn’t it?”

Y/N hesitated, then shook her head slightly, like she was trying to wake herself from a nightmare. Her breath hitched. Her eyes welled, wide and horrified. “They made me use it on Buck.”

The name cracked something deep inside her. She shook her head again, trying to steady her breath, but the effort was useless. Tears slipped down her face, unchecked. “He trusted me. And I… I don’t even know what I showed him. What I took.”

A long silence settled between them—thick, mournful. Something ancient and violated had risen to the surface, something that lived in the marrow of their bones. They weren’t just victims. They had been weaponized—turned on each other like ghosts puppeteered by a war they never chose.

Wanda’s eyes glistened. “It could be fake,” she said quietly. “A false memory he planted. Twisted just enough to feel real.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. Her voice was tight, almost breaking. “But what if it’s not? What if we… what if I really did those things?”

Wanda shook her head slowly, not in denial—but in defiance. “That’s not who we are. And we’ll find out what’s real. If it happened, or if it didn’t. Somewhere, somehow—we’ll know. Okay?”

Y/N blinked back some tears, but didn’t answer. Not yet. But she nodded. The air still shimmered with heat, the aftershock of Y/N’s power pulsing faintly like a heartbeat in the walls. The two women stood close, the silence between them thick with understanding—shared damage, shared survival.

The sound of hurried boots echoed from the far end of the corridor. Yelena was the first through the broken archway, Ava just behind her with a blade half-drawn. Steve and Sam weren’t far behind, followed by Alexei and Walker, both visibly rattled and unsure where to look.

Then—Bucky.

He burst through the archway, breath tight, eyes sweeping the wreckage until they landed on her. The moment he saw Y/N—kneeling but upright, glowing faintly, alive—his whole body shifted. The tension in his stance didn’t vanish, but it changed—coiled now around concern, not panic.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low but steady, eyes scanning her quickly. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just lifted her head, slow and deliberate, until their eyes met. Tears streaked silently down her cheeks, and glass shimmered behind her gaze. Exhaustion clung to every line of her face.

She opened her mouth, voice hoarse. “We have to—” But the words caught, swallowed by the weight of everything she’d seen, everything she couldn’t yet say.

He pressed his comm button, jaw set, his voice steady but sharp. “Joaquin. Bob. Get the quinjet ready. Everyone’s pulling out—now.”

“Copy,” came Joaquin’s voice instantly. “Bob’s on it already. We’ll have the ramp down in under two minutes.”

Bucky turned to the others, his expression hardening, the weight of leadership settling in his posture. “Everyone, start moving. Stick to your exit paths. On your way out, prep the charges we placed during the sweep. Don’t detonate until we’re all clear and airborne.”

Yelena gave Wanda a glance, checking her over wordlessly. Wanda nodded once, eyes still tracking Y/N’s every breath. No one spoke. No one really knew what to say. The team began to back out quietly, Steve and Sam leading the way as they started to rig the charges.

Bucky stayed behind, moving forward slowly until he knelt beside Y/N. He didn’t touch her right away—just waited, his gaze soft yet full of intent as he watched her expression. “You with me, sweetheart?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Yeah.” Bucky’s hand finally reached out, gently covering hers. “We’re getting out of here.”

—— series taglist:

@rafesgurl, @seventeen-x, @moompie, @starstruckfirecat, @torntaltos, @rlphunter, @shootingstars-stuff

39 notes · View notes