#Civil war ocs

[mckinleygirl98]

frustrated cap

From a few scenes before he lands in the war hospital

[pome-seed]

All The Way დ Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A late night with Bucky ends with him getting you to try something new. Aka, riding Bucky's face (w/ stubble)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: 18+ Minors Do Not Interact. Riding Bucky's face. Oral sex (f receiving.)

Authors Note: Thank you to the Anon that requested this! (I have no idea what I'm doing, I don't write smut often, but I wanted to try out this request.) Minors and accounts with ageless bios will be blocked if you comment.

You giggle quietly against Bucky’s lips. His hands drag slowly down your back, curling under your knees. You yelp when he hauls you up, your legs instinctively locking around his hips. 

“Bucky-” You pant, his tongue swiping over your lip. 

“I gotcha, baby,” he groans, carrying you through the dimly lit apartment. Your heels make a soft clattering sound as they fall in the hallway. 

You make clumsy work of tugging up your dress. Bucky’s stubble drags roughly against your throat as he kisses down your neck. The bedroom door thuds quietly as Bucky shoves it open. 

Bucky drops you back onto the bed, then makes quick work of yanking off his shirt. You groan dramatically, sliding off the bed as you tug open his belt. “Jesus-” Bucky’s breath hitches in his chest, his stomach tensing as you lick a stripe down his abs.

He curls his palm around the back of your head as you press open mouth kisses along his thighs. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he whispers. 

You drop your forehead against his hip, your lashes fluttering shut. He slowly steps out of his pants and pulls you back up to your feet. Bucky’s wandering hands slip your dress over your head. 

“Cmere,” you whisper, tugging him back on the bed.

He falls onto you with a laugh. “Someone’s excited,” he teases, crawling over you. His knees push between yours, spreading your legs to make room for himself.

You drag your palms along his sides, appreciating each dip and curve. “Shut it,” you glare playfully as you tilt your head up for a kiss. 

Bucky smiles against your lips, his facial hair tickling your cheeks. He hums softly, then slips his hands around your back. His warm fingers slip beneath your underwear and slid them down.

You wiggle your hips to help him get rid of the thin barrier. You expected him to slip off his boxers too, but he just crawls back over you. He nips gently at your stomach on the way back up to you. He ghosts his lips over yours.

You giggle to yourself as he flips you over, dragging you on top of him. You sit up in his lap, teasing your lip between your teeth in thought. 

“I wanna try something,” Bucky whispers, his cold metal fingers dancing a path up your thigh. 

From the look in his eye, you know exactly what he was thinking of. Something hot and nervous coils in your stomach.

“Buck, I don’t know-” You huff, your nails gently scratching down his chest.

He rolls his eyes playfully as he urges you to continue scooting up his lap. His hands gently guide you up his body, his intentions clear. A soft blush heats your cheeks as you move, now hovering over him, knees on either side of his head. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses to your inner thigh.

“Are you sure?” You swallow awkwardly, a timid feeling curling in your gut.

His teeth scrape the tender flesh of your thigh. “Yes, I’m sure. Let me take care of you.” He gently stroked his rough palms down your hips. 

You scoot up a little further. “I’ve never done this before.”

“It’s okay, baby, I’ll guide you.” His warm breath tickles your sensitive skin. “I’ll go slow.” You nod hesitantly. His large hands firmly grip your waist and slowly guide you down. You gasp as he presses a soft kiss to your cunt. 

Bucky’s slick tongue strokes slow and careful against your folds. Your hips twitch above him, but his strong arms lock around your thighs and keeps you seated. Bucky hums against you, the quiet vibrations sending a shock through your body. 

Your thighs shake as you struggle to not clamp your legs around his head. Your trembling hands slide against the headboard as you try to keep yourself up. Bucky makes a displeased sound from between your legs. 

His lips make a wet sound as he pulls back. “All the way, sweetheart,” the soft pinch in his brow makes your stomach twist. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” you pant, timid about resting your full weight against him. 

Bucky chuckles softly, his warm breath tickling your core. He looks up at you with a reassuring smile. “You won’t hurt me, baby.” He gently bit the tender flesh of your inner thigh. “So please, doll, just sit on my fuckin’ face.”

You groan, a sweaty hand slapping down your face. “Jesus, Buck-” You gasp, trying to catch your breath. “Okay- but if it’s too much, you’ll tap me to let me know?”

He softens beneath you, his thumb stroking you gently. “If it’s too much, I’ll move you, okay? Now stop stalling and sit down, before I pull you down myself.”

His strong hands press firmly into your hips as you finally lower yourself, resting your full weight on him. Bucky releases a deep, satisfied moan against you, his arms sliding to lock back around your thighs.

His jaw works slowly as his slick tongue strokes your clit. You gasp, rocking into him slightly. His rough stubble drags deliciously against your core, burning and tingling.

Bucky suppresses a smile as you start grinding down onto him. He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking gently. He hums again, and you almost topple over. The slick sounds of your core mix with the depraved groans slipping from Bucky’s throat as he devours you. Hungry, like a man starved.

His slick tongue dips into your soaked cunt, his stubble burning against your center. You moan softly, your palms sliding down the wall. Your eyes snap open when his fingers slip around your wrists, guiding your hands into his hair. 

Your lashes flutter and your stomach tenses. His jaw opened wider as he tilted his head into you, his nose pressing firmly against your clit. 

“Fuck-” You gasp, yanking at dark strands of hair. 

Bucky’s metal fingers gently tap your hip, reminding you to keep your eyes open. You whine softly looking down at him as his tongue pushes inside you.

He groans quietly, each delicious drag of his lips and tongue making you shudder. He holds you down on him, face buried in your pussy. He sucks gently on your clit, then circles it with his tongue, only to trail down and flutter it against your throbbing cunt.

You gasp, back arching as you roll your hips. Your stomach coils and your thighs tense. Bucky groans softly as you ride his face, grinding and dragging your cunt over his tongue. He grips your hips tightly and guides your motion, controlling your pace.

You whine and tug at his hair, making his lashes flutter. You shudder, nearly sobbing as he latches onto your clit and sucks, with maintained pressure. 

Over your own senseless moans, you hear him. Grunting and teetering on the edge, sucking in staggering breath as he worships you. He’s almost as lost as you are as he presses his face deeper. 

You sob, rolling your hips against him. Your back arches, you fist his hair, your breath hitches in your chest. Bucky dutifully maintains his rhythm, dragging his tongue through your folds, then circling your clit with the flat of his tongue. 

Your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, peaking and sweeping you beneath the current of pleasure. You roll your hips against his face as he moans against you, the vibrations wracking you with tremors. 

“Fuck-” you gasp. “Bucky,” you pant, staring down at him.

Your thighs tremble, but he doesn’t seem finished with you. You feel the shift as this becomes less about you and more about him. About him needing to worship you. 

He moans against you, his slick tongue dipping back inside you. 

“Buck- fuck, I can’t,” you whine, your hips stuttering. 

His strong arms keep you locked in place as he drags you into blissful overstimulation. Your head rolls back, your thighs helplessly clenching against him. He hums quietly, pressing wet kisses to your core. 

“Please- fuck-” You whimper, your fingers raking back strands of dark hair. 

He relents with a sigh, his firm grip on you loosening. He trails soft kisses from your center, down your inner thighs, his stubble dragging deliciously against your flesh. 

You’re trembling above him, legs weak from straining. Bucky makes a pleased noise and lifts you off of him. He presses you gently into the mattress, then captures your lips in a wet kiss.

You moan weakly, tasting yourself on his tongue. The thought seems to turn him on. He pants into your mouth, his metal hand stroking soothingly along your side. 

“Did so good, baby,” he whispers, peppering soft, slick kisses down your throat. You push your hand into his hair, tickling his nape with your nails. 

“Fuck, Bucky,” you whisper, your eyes falling shut as he quietly showers you in his devotion. You feel him smile against your shoulder.

“Taste so good,” he mutters, snickering when you smack his arm. He glances up at you, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You’re so pretty for me.”

You groan, tugging him back in for a heated kiss. “Shut up.”

“Never.”

A/N: Minors do not interact. Ageless and empty bios WILL BE BLOCKED IF YOU INTERACT.

Thank you! (Aka, I will get uncomfy if someone comments and their bio doesn't make it clear they're an adult.)

[moonlitdesertdreams]

The Beach

A/N: Shirtless Bucky? Shameless fondling? I think so Relationship: Bucky Barnes | Winter Soldier x Reader (implied/established relationship) Tags: bucky barnes x reader, bucky barnes x y/n, The Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes, James Buchanan Barnes, Winter Soldier!Bucky, fluff WARNINGS: consensual petting, FLUFF Summary: Post CATWS, you and Bucky have found temporary refuge somewhere warm and tropical. Now, you both enjoy an early morning on the beach.

Word Count: 1.1k+

You’ve decided you like the beach. 

Ten months after escaping HYDRA, you find the warmth of the sand and the sound of the ocean therapeutic. Your worries ebb and flow with the tide, peaking at night in your dreams and subsiding as the sun rises. Skin, previously pale and dry from captivity, is now sun-kissed and glowing. You even changed your hair, allowing it to grow in a way HYDRA never would. The little shop down the street sells hair dye, and you might purchase some when it feels right. 

Even Bucky, impenetrably serious and ever-vigilant, seems to share your sentiment. 

You wake in a haze of orange light, sun creeping over the mountainous horizon. Rays of light slink into your tiny bungalow from the sliding door, and the smell of coffee rouses you from your sleep. The bed- one you shared to keep each other from waking up screaming - is empty, second pillow cool to the touch. It’s been strange, waking up without a name or past in a place so beautiful, but you’ve kept each other motivated with shreds of memories. The bond you shared was deep, hardened by the torture you’d been subjected to together and solidified by blood. 

In the kitchenette you find a mug of coffee on the tiny counter, a note placed underneath that simply says ‘beach’ in sloped cursive. You try to sip the coffee, only to find it cool and bitter. It ends up running down the drain while you rinse the mug, deciding instead to follow the note outside. You change into a light blue sundress, stepping out of the sliding door to make your way to the water with journal in hand.

It’s warm already despite the early hour, and you trail your fingers across bright green trees and fauna on your way to the sandy beach. Crystal clear water greets you, a lone figure bobbing in and out of the waves. You sit cross-legged in the sand, content to watch him get his morning exercise in. A practiced hand makes note of the date and time, recording everything from the cold coffee to the creamy smell of ripe coconuts on the wind. You lose yourself in the words, adding tens more to the journal already bent from furious scribbling. 

Bucky either decides to keep up his laps or doesn’t notice you, paddling back and forth through rolling waves. You’ve close the journal and set it to the side, purposely slapping the cover shut to catch his attention. He must have been oblivious to your arrival, as he changes his course to immediately swim towards shore. You pad across the sand to meet the Winter Soldier- Bucky- soft hands coming to rest on his mismatched shoulders. He’s shirtless, wearing a teal and gray pair of boardshorts. 

A mischievous look crosses his face for a brief moment, and you just barely choke out a protest before he tries to tug you into his sopping wet body. 

“No!” You backpedal playfully, stepping out of his reach. “My clothes are dry.”

Bucky steps closer, coy smirk turning the corners of his lips. “Clothes can be changed.”

You scowl with no heart, growling his name in warning. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s to no avail.You’ve spent countless hours sparring with Bucky - with The Winter Soldier- and predict his pounce before he leaves the ground. Leaping out of his way is easy, but you forget the speed his titanium arm possesses. It strikes like a cobra, wrapping around your ankle and pulling you down into the sand. You catch yourself with your hands and roll, using your other foot to send a jab to his abdomen. It’s not hard enough to do any damage, but enough to release his grip on you. 

“That was good.” Bucky compliments, climbing to his feet and dusting sand away from his damp torso. He stands with his back to the water, casting a shadow where you’re still sitting in the sand. A hand reaches down to you, offering help up. 

You reach up to meet him, realizing too late that he had you beat in the wits category this morning. As soon as your fingers wrap around cold metal digits his hand pulls back and lifts. You’re scooped into his arms, and he takes off at a run into the waves. 

“Bucky, don’t you-” You’re cut off when both of you plunge into the drink, your clothes soaked beyond help. 

The water is shallow enough to stand, and you find your footing while soft waves rock your body about. Bucky is laughing when you surface, hair wild and plastered to your face. Your dress is in a similar state, every curve and contour of your body highlighted. You do your best to put on a serious face even though nothing but affection is moving through your brain. 

“You are in trouble.” You poke a finger into his chest, and he uses it to draw you into the embrace he searched for just a minute earlier. 

This time, you allow it. Sunshine warms the surface of his prosthesis, glinting into your face and twinkling through drops of water. His body is a familiar comfort, slotting into your arms with the ease of a final puzzle piece. A flesh and bone hand combs through the ends of your wet hair where it brushes the surface of the water. Bucky nuzzles his way down from your crown, nose nudging sweetly against your forehead before plush lips press against yours. 

He tastes like salt and fruit, the sweet tang of pineapple nipping at your tongue when his own traces your bottom lip. A moan escapes you, lost in his mouth as he pulls you in with an iron grip. Your hands creep up his chest, one sliding up to tug not-so-gently on the hair at his nape. His teeth nip at your bottom lip in response, hard enough to draw a whine. 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?” He murmurs to you, lips leaving yours to trail down the side of your neck. A series of love bites are engraved into your skin, the pain morphing into pleasure as he soothes each spot with his tongue. 

“I could say the same to you.” You purred, nails scraping along his good shoulder. 

A fistful of his hair is locked in your grip when his teeth tweak a pert nipple through the fabric of your dress. 

“Buck…” You turn to look for any stray people walking down the beach, unwilling to be found by any government due to getting carried away with each other in public. 

He chuffs his displeasure with your warning, hot air dancing across the already sensitive skin on your neck. Bucky’s teeth graze by each of the love bites again, and his prosthetic hand squeezes the round of your ass. 

“Let me take you back inside, then.” He kisses your lips in between words. “Show you how beautiful I think you are.” 

Strong hands glide down your curves and squeeze, brushing by the most sensitive parts of your body. 

So, yeah. 

You’ve decided you like the beach. 

-

Thank you for reading, much love ❤

Masterlist

[captainzigo]

[shortnspidey]

CHAPTER FIVE: SANCTUARY

Bucky Barnes X Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 6.2K

SUMMARY: Bucky Barnes, caught in a political storm and haunted by his past as the Winter Soldier, battles internal guilt and fragmented memories while finding solace in someone who sees beyond his trauma, intensifying his struggle between seeking connection and fearing the harm he might cause.

WARNINGS: Hurt-Comfort, Fluff, HYDRA trauma, sad Bucky, one-sided miscommunication, idiots in love, angsty with a happy ending!

A/N: I am WAY too single to be writing this! The chapter you've all been waiting for is finally here!! I hope you guys enjoy, I made sure to make it a long one for making you guys wait!! <3

➩ previous chapter || next chapter

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

A FEW YEARS LATER …

“Would you stop it!”

“Doll, I told you I can do it myself.”

"And I told you, I'd help. You should know it’s pointless arguing with me.”

Who would have thought that the infamous Winter Soldier, the ghost in the shadows, the weapon of whispered nightmares, the man who’d carried the weight of too many battles, too much loss, and an ocean of guilt would cower so easily under a simple act of kindness. The kind that made his hand twitch ever so slightly, as if they weren’t sure what to do when they weren’t clenched into fists.

The kind that made his breath hitch each time your fingers grazed his skin, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to enjoy it. It was the kind of vulnerability that came not from weakness, but from too many years spent braced for pain, never comfort. He flinched, not away from you, but inward unsure of what to make of the gentleness you offered so freely. You smiled then, a quiet, knowing smile, recognizing the delicate war waging behind his eyes.

Not the kind fought with bullets and blades, but instead the kind fought in silence, in stillness. The kind fought when no one was looking. As you continued to brush through the strands of his hair, now only slightly less tangled, you could feel the smallest shift in him. It was in the way his shoulders, always so stiff, began to lose their edge. It was in the way his head tilted just slightly into your hand, clearly unintentional but telling.

There was something achingly human about it. Something that made your heart ache for the boy underneath all that steel and sorrow. "That's what I thought." You muttered softly, teasing, your voice like a thread weaving into the silence between you. He responded with a barely-there pout, the ghost of irritation crossing his face, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he stilled, letting you work the brush gently through the stubborn knots.

Then, for a moment, he went silent in that way he did when he was thinking too loud. You could feel it in the subtle tension that returned to his shoulders, in the way his jaw tightened just a bit. He was caught again in the habit of bracing, bracing for rejection, for consequence, for history to repeat itself. The part of him that had survived everything told him to pull away, to not rely on anyone but himself. That had always been safer. But slowly, ever so slowly, there was a softening, a hint of surrender.

Ever since being brought out of cryo, he’d been like this, cautious, quiet, constantly re-learning the world like a man waking from a lifetime-long sleep. You’d watched him rebuild himself piece by piece, and never once had you rushed him. "You're incredibly stubborn, you know that right?" He grunted, but you caught the way his lips quirked, just barely at the corners. A reluctant, almost boyish smile. As you set the hairbrush down and pulled the hair tie off your wrist, you saw him watching you, not with suspicion anymore, but with something closer to curiosity.

“Sure, I’m stubborn,” You scoffed, the corners of your mouth curling up as you gathered his long, unruly hair and began to pull it back. His hair, still damp from his shower, slipped easily through your fingers, soft, surprisingly so. “There we go,” You muttered more to yourself than to him, securing it with practiced ease, then stepping back to take in the sight before you. “Handsome as ever.” The words escaped before you could stop them, but they were nothing but honest.

That’s when you saw it. The flush rising on his cheeks, a soft red blooming just beneath the surface. He dropped his gaze for a moment, almost shyly. "Thank you." He whispered, so quiet you might have missed it if you weren’t standing so close, if you hadn’t learned how to listen for the things he didn’t say out loud. You shook your head gently, smiling. "You don't have to thank me, Bucky. I don't mind helping you with your hair." But he looked up again, his blue eyes locking onto yours with a startling intensity.

“No doll,” He muttered, voice a silent breath. “I mean… thank you for everything.” You didn’t need him to explain. You knew what he meant. “You don’t have to thank me. I didn’t do it because I had to, Bucky. I did it because I wanted to.” His breath hitched, just barely, like he wasn’t used to hearing those words. His eyes, stormy and sharp, softened as he looked at you, something breaking and mending all at once in the silence between you. He blinked, slow and deliberate, as if afraid that if he looked away, the moment might vanish.

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, he let himself believe it.

"Afternoon," Shuri's voice broke the silence. You both flinched, subtly, but enough. Damn Shuri and her timing. She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed and a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her voice was light, casual, but her eyes missed nothing. She was always three steps ahead, and right now you despised her for it. “Sergeant Barnes,” She acknowledged with a slight nod. Bucky straightened instinctively, a faint flush clinging to the tops of his ears.

“Bucky.” He corrected, the word slightly stiff, but not unkind. His voice had the same gravelly edge it always did, but there was a flicker of something else, faint embarrassment, maybe, or the echo of the intimacy that had just been interrupted. Shuri turned her gaze to you next, raising a single brow in that way she did when she already knew everything. “Y/N,” She greeted simply, but the way she said your name carried a teasing lilt, like she was holding back a smirk. You offered a half-smile in return, trying to suppress the heat rising in your cheeks.

She looked between the two of you again, drawing out the silence. Both you and Bucky were suddenly very interested in anything but each other’s eyes, as if refusing to acknowledge the moment would somehow erase the tension hanging in the air. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.” She coaxed innocently, though her voice was dripping with amusement. Her arms crossed loosely over her chest, and the corners of her mouth twitched as she struggled to hold back the smirk threatening to break free.

Bucky responded first, but far too quickly. “No,” He declared, a bit too sharply, and then cleared his throat, like the word had leapt out of him before he could smooth it over. His gaze slowly snapped up to meet Shuri’s, doing his best to appear unbothered, even though the tips of his ears had gone slightly more pink. “Just getting my hair done.” You could have laughed, but you bit the inside of your cheek instead, trying not to give Shuri any more ammunition.

“Mhm,” Shuri mused, arms folded, her lips twitching in a way that said she was enjoying this far too much. “How very domestic.” You rolled your eyes, exhaling a short breath through your nose, amused despite yourself. Still, you squared your shoulders, stepping slightly forward, not confrontational, but certainly protective. “Was there something you needed, Princess?” You asked, arching a brow at her, the sarcasm gently woven into your voice. Shuri, unbothered as ever, turned her attention back to Bucky with a sudden shift in energy.

“Actually, yes,” Her eyes sharpened with focus, and just like that, the mood in the room shifted again. Whatever she’d come to say, it wasn’t casual. “Ayo is waiting for you.” At those words, Bucky tensed. It was subtle, but you saw it. The way his shoulders tightened beneath the fabric of his shirt, the way his jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. His breath caught in his chest for a moment too long, and his eyes flickered, distant, as if the name alone had triggered a door in his mind that he wasn’t ready to walk through again. You knew what that meant.

Another session.

Ever since he had been taken out of cryo, those sessions with Ayo had been a brutal, intimate unraveling of everything Hydra had built inside him. They weren’t just about erasing the code, they were about confronting the man he’d been forced to become, syllable by syllable. You’d seen the aftermath more than once. The way he came back shaken, silent. Like something had been exorcised from him and he didn’t know what to fill the space with yet. So the moment Shuri spoke those words, you instinctively stepped forward.

You were already halfway to him, your hand twitching at your side, ready to go with him. To sit a safe distance away. To be whatever he needed you to be when it was over. But Bucky caught the shift in you before you even spoke. His eyes, those soft, cerulean-blue eyes met yours, steady and firm. “Doll,” He coxed, voice low and gentle, “Stay. Here.” It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t rejection. You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him he didn’t have to go through it alone, but then you saw the look on his face. That subtle furrow in his brow, the way his lips parted like he was about to say more but didn’t.

He didn’t need to explain. You saw it in his expression. This was something he needed to do alone. Not because he didn’t trust you, but because he needed to trust himself. Your throat tightened, but you swallowed down the instinct to argue. “Okay,” You surrendered softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Bucky gave you a small nod, as if in gratitude, and turned to follow Shuri. You watched him go, the sound of his boots growing fainter with each step, your heart aching in the space he left behind.

Almost as if it were muscle memory, Bucky walked deep into the secluded clearing in Wakanda, his steps silent on the well-worn path. He hesitated for half a second, the breath catching in his throat before forcing himself forward. It was beautiful there, peaceful even, but peace was something that still felt foreign to him. “James.” Ayo’s voice broke through the stillness, low and respectful, but firm as ever. A grounding presence. He nodded in return, a tight, curt motion, swallowing against the dryness building in his throat.

“I’m ready.” He muttered quietly, though the words sat like stones on his tongue. A lie told often enough it started to sound like truth. Part of him was always ready. The rest of him never would be. Ayo didn’t respond, she never tried to convince him. She simply turned and gestured toward the familiar mat beneath the shade of the tree. A place that had seen him at his most vulnerable. His most afraid. His most human. Bucky lowered himself slowly, every joint stiff like his body was bracing for impact.

He crossed his legs, spine rigid despite the soft give of the earth beneath him. His hands rested on his knees, knuckles already pale from the pressure he unconsciously applied. “You sure about this?” He asked his voice a rough whisper. The anxiety was creeping up the back of his neck.“I won’t let you hurt anyone.” Ayo reassured softly, with the same certainty she had every time. But no matter how often she said it, a part of him never quite believed it.

Then, she began. Her voice shifted, deliberate, controlled. The cadence of a ritual neither of them liked but both knew was necessary.

“Longing.”

The word struck like a stone skipping across the surface of his mind. A flicker of something he couldn’t place. A heartbeat too loud in his ears.

“Rusted.”

His left shoulder twitched. He swallowed hard, the pressure in his chest building.

“Seventeen.”

Memories flickered behind his eyes, gunmetal halls, blood on his hands, screams muffled by orders he never asked for. “It’s not gonna work,” Bucky insisted, his voice cracking as he closed his fists tighter, fingernails digging into the flesh of his right palm.

“Daybreak.”

A flash, sunlight reflecting off a rifle barrel. The weight of it in his hands.

“Furnace.”

Heat. Burning. Not from fire, but from the look in someone’s eyes just before they died. Eyes that always came back to him in his sleep.

“Nine.”

His breathing picked up. The air around him felt thinner now, like it was being sucked from the space between his ribs.

“Benign.”

His jaw clenched so hard it ached.

“Homecoming.”

He was trembling now, just slightly. He could see his victims faces blurred but unmistakably real, flashing through his mind like a slide projector of his sins.

“One.”

A tight gasp escaped him. The weight of the past was suffocating. Still, he stayed. Still, he fought.

“Freight Car.”

He saw it. He heard it. The grinding of metal, the roar of the train, the voice of Zola echoing down sterile corridors. He wanted to scream. To run. But instead he sat there, fists clenched, shoulders locked, trying to remember who he was now. Then suddenly it all stopped. Ayo’s voice was softer now, almost a whisper. “You are free.” The words lingered in the silence that followed. Bucky didn’t move. Not at first.

His body felt like it had been hollowed out, like every word had scraped something out of him and left it bleeding beneath the surface. He stared down at his hand still clenched, still trembling, and slowly, he forced them open. There were crescent-shaped indentations in his palms where his nails had bitten into skin. His right hand throbbed with a dull, grounding ache. He didn’t feel free. Not really. But he hadn’t answered the words. He hadn’t become the Winter Soldier.

And for today, that was enough.

A hollow chuckle escaped before he could stop it, rough and unexpected. His eyes remained shut, the breath he exhaled trembling as it left him. The relief of not breaking. He sat unmoving on the mat, head bowed, letting the silence press in around him like a weighted blanket. Not heavy, just grounding. At some point, the sky had darkened, stars blinked into life overhead, soft and indifferent, casting faint silver light across the earth. And then, crunch. The sound was quiet, but sharp.

His eyes opened, slow and instinctual, every muscle tensing for just a beat before recognizing the rhythm of the footsteps. He knew it like he knew his own heartbeat. You. He didn’t turn immediately. He didn’t need to. Your presence filled the space before you even reached him. It was in the way the wind shifted, the way the tension in his shoulders softened, just slightly. You always found him, somehow, in the aftermath. “You weren’t supposed to follow me.” He murmured, voice hoarse and quiet.

“I didn’t,” You replied softly. “Technically I waited. Like you asked.” Another step. And then another. He finally looked over his shoulder. You stood a few feet away, arms loosely crossed, your expression unreadable in the dim starlight. After a beat of silence, you called out his name softly, your heart aching upon seeing his red-rimmed eyes. "Sweetheart?" The pet name escaped your lips before you could stop it. "Are you okay?" You asked, the words barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure if you wanted an answer. You just needed him to know someone was here.

"They did it." He breathed out, voice cracking under the weight of the words. “Ayo… she said the words. All of them. And they didn’t work.” The disbelief in his voice was tangible almost as if he was still trying to convince himself it was real. That he was finally free. Before he could say anything else, you closed the last of the distance. Your arms wrapped around him, slow and steady, pulling him into a gentle yet full-bodied embrace. You felt the rigid tension in his muscles at first, the hesitation conditioned into him by years of touch meaning pain, or command, or loss.

But then, almost imperceptibly, he let go. His body melted into yours like snow against warm skin. You felt it in the way his flesh arm eventually came around you, the way his forehead pressed gently to your shoulder, the way his breathing grew slower, less like a man preparing to fight and more like someone remembering how to rest. It was the first time you’d held him like this. You were always careful. Always waiting for him to guide the pace. And yet now, as his frame curled slightly inward, pressing against yours with something close to desperation, you realized he needed this more than he’d ever said.

More than he knew. Your hand absentmindedly found the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair with soft, grounding strokes. “I’m proud of you, Bucky,” You whispered into the space between you. “So proud.” He didn’t speak, not at first. But you felt the way he held on tighter. How his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go. “I was so scared, doll, scared it would still be there, that I’d never really get out of my head.”

He finally murmured against your shoulder. “You’re here. You’re free.” Something in him crumbled then, and he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing grounding him. Your foreheads met, breath mingling. In that fragile space between heartache and comfort, between memory and healing, Bucky let himself be held. Let himself be seen. And for the first time in longer than he could remember, he finally felt safe. That's when it hit him.

You were there in Germany, when the world had turned against him, branding him a monster instead of an innocent man who was framed. While others hunted him, you’d risked everything to keep him safe, even your already crumbling relationship with your father. You had been there from the beginning, long before most dared to trust him. Long before you knew his side of the story. Then, in Wakanda. You were there the moment he’d opened his eyes in cryo, shivering and disoriented.

You’d held his gaze then, steady and calm, anchoring him when everything else seemed to be spinning. You didn’t just see him, you saw through him. Past the programming. Past the years of silence and pain. Past the blood on his hands. You saw the man who was trying, really trying to put the shattered pieces back together. And somehow, impossibly, that had been enough for you. That’s when the realization took root in his chest, slow and undeniable. James Buchanan Barnes had fallen in love with Y/N Stark.

All those emotions, although true were completely overwhelming. He blinked hard, trying to hold the sting behind his eyes, his jaw tightening with the effort of holding everything in. His heart thundered in his chest, uneven and raw, like it didn’t know whether to burst or break. And somewhere in the middle of it all, you were still there beside him, grounding him, completely unaware of the way his world had just subconsciously tilted irrevocably toward you.

Before he could overthink, before the spiral of doubt and self-loathing could creep back in something shifted inside him. For the first time in years, maybe longer, he felt like himself. Not a weapon. Not a mission. Just Bucky, a man who was finally feeling something he wanted to reach for instead of run from. So he did. Tentatively, he leaned forward. There was a beat of stillness between you as his nose brushed yours, the softest collision of skin and breath.

His eyes fluttered shut, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. He didn’t rush it. And then he tentatively closed the space. His lips met yours in a slow, aching kiss, almost as if he was afraid he might break the moment by wanting it too much. It wasn’t demanding, it was careful. Gentle. The way a starving man might savor his first taste of something warm and real. But almost instantly, he knew something was wrong. You hadn’t moved. Your lips hadn’t pressed back. You were still. Completely still.

It took only a second, maybe less for the realization to hit him. But that second stretched into eternity in his mind, echoing louder than any trigger word ever had. It was like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his entire body. Cold. Jarring. Shattering. He recoiled, quick, sharp, breath hitching like he’d been physically struck. His eyes flew open, panic lancing through his chest, and he pulled away so fast it was almost as if you had burned him. “I—” He stammered, voice ragged, shame already flooding every inch of him.

His hand hovered in the space between you, unsure of where to go, what to do, trembling with restraint. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—God, I shouldn’t have done that.” His chest was heaving now, breath caught in the wreckage of the moment, and all at once he felt stupid. Reckless. Wrong. Of course you hadn’t kissed him back. Why would you? His mind spiraled, too fast, too loud. All the moments he thought meant something. All the times you’d held him, comforted him, looked at him like he was worth saving, he’d misunderstood it.

He’d twisted it into something else. Something selfish. He stepped back, shaking his head, jaw clenched tight enough to ache. “Forget it. That was—just forget it.” He shook his head, eyes screwed shut, in that moment he couldn’t bear to face you. His heart couldn’t take the look of disgust that probably decorated your face. "Bucky-" You called out, trying to reach him but he was already too far gone. "I have to go." With those last words, he was gone before you could even begin to process what had just happened.

TWO DAYS LATER ...

It was safe to say Bucky was avoiding you. The realization settled in like a weight you couldn’t shake, heavy and inescapable. Ever since that night, when he had kissed you, just hours after being freed from Hydra’s grip he had all but vanished. Not physically, of course. He was still in Wakanda, but the Bucky you knew, the one who used to sit beside you in quiet companionship, sharing soft glances and unspoken comfort, was suddenly nowhere to be found.

Gone were the moments of calm intimacy: the gentle brush of his arm against yours during late dinners, the shared warmth of a sun-drenched afternoon, the way he used to drift into your presence like it was the most natural thing in the world. Now, there was only absence. A deliberate, aching distance. You absolutely hated it. Every time you searched for him, he seemed to already know, simply vanishing into thin air.

The shift between you hadn’t gone unnoticed. Shuri had stopped cracking her usual teasing jokes about the two of you. Ayo had given you a knowing glance but said nothing. Even Okoye, normally composed and unreadable, had furrowed her brow when she saw you sitting alone at breakfast, eyes fixed on your untouched food. The absence of the super soldier at your side spoke louder than any words.

You wanted to confront him, you ached to, but something in your gut told you that forcing the moment would only push him deeper into that place he retreated to when things got too real. You could feel his panic like a ripple in the air, his instincts warring between fight and flight, except the scale had tipped hard toward the latter. And so, you waited. Not because you were patient, but because you were scared, too scared that if you pushed, he’d run so far, and you’d never find him again. Because it wasn’t rejection you’d felt that night. It was shock.

Overwhelming, bone-deep shock. You hadn’t expected him to kiss you, not when he was so careful with his space, his emotions, you. And your stillness hadn’t been hesitation, it had been disbelief that he wanted you the way you’d wanted him all along. You didn’t know when, but your feelings had suddenly grown past platonic and protective, you had probably just been stuck in your own head to notice he felt the exact same way. But that night, you hadn’t had a chance to explain. And now he was gone.

And it hurt. More than you cared to admit. Which is how you found yourself on the edge of the same clearing where it had all happened. The mat beneath the tree was gone, rolled up and stored away. But the ghosts of that night still lingered in the air like smoke. You didn’t know if he’d come back here. But something in you hoped he would. Needed him to. So you did the one thing you absolutely dreaded. You waited. Only for him, you’d happily wait an eternity.

After the hour mark, you had been moments away from calling it a day, ready to respect his space, as painful as that was. But something about the Wakandan night sky made you linger. Above you stretched an endless tapestry of stars, glimmering and undisturbed by the weight of the world. Constellations you had only seen in books revealed themselves here with ease, unobscured by the dull gray haze that choked the New York skyline. It was peaceful, achingly beautiful, and so unlike the chaos you both came from.

You were still lost in the sky when you felt it—him. That subtle shift in the air. The quiet way he always moved, like he didn’t want to take up space. You didn’t need to look behind you to know it was Bucky. After a silence that stretched too long, you found your voice. “You know you can’t keep avoiding me,” You whispered quietly, arms crossing over your chest in a futile attempt to steady yourself. “Like you said… I’m stubborn.”Your voice was soft, but it cut through the dark like a beacon, a small light in the storm you both were caught in.

“It was getting late,” He muttered, finally breaking the silence. “You hadn’t come back.” The admission struck something in you. He’d noticed, of course he had. You swallowed, your fingers instinctively reaching for the arc reactor pendant that hung around your neck. Another nervous habit. You turned slowly, cautiously. And there he was. He looked… wrecked. The kind of tired that sleep didn’t fix. Shadows clung beneath his eyes, like he hadn’t rested in days. You wanted nothing more than to run to him, to fall into his arms and wrap yourself around him.

But you didn’t. Not yet. Instead, you said the only thing that had been echoing in your mind since that night. “You left.” Two words. A truth so sharp it made him flinch, like they’d cut through skin and bone. His jaw clenched. You could see the shame behind his eyes even before he looked down. You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to hold yourself together. “You left before I could kiss you back.” Your voice cracked at the end, raw and honest. The silence that followed was deafening. You watched the way his face twisted, surprise, disbelief, fear.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words caught somewhere between his ribs. “You—” He began, then faltered. “Yes, Bucky,” You insisted softly, but firmly. “I feel the exact same way you do. These past couple of years with you… they’ve been the happiest I’ve felt in a long time. I didn’t think I was capable of feeling something this strong after everything, I’ve been through. But you changed that.” Your voice trembled, but you pressed on. “You make me better. You see parts of me no one else does and you never flinch. You challenge me. You stand toe-to-toe with my stubbornness, and I love that about you.”

Bucky stood frozen. Like if he moved, the moment would vanish. “That night you walked away,” You continued, your eyes stinging, “It broke my heart. Because I saw it in your face, the belief that you don’t deserve anything good. That you’ll always be the broken man Hydra made you into. But I see you, Bucky. Not the Winter Soldier. Not the asset. Not the man you were from the 40s. You.” A tear slipped down your cheek before you even realized you were crying.

“I’m not leaving you when it gets hard,” You whispered. “I’m not going anywhere. And… I think, no, I know I’m falling in love with you.” The words settled between you like something sacred. Like something fragile, yet desperately needed. He stared at you, lips parted, shoulders stiff with disbelief. Then he spoke, and his voice nearly shattered you. “Why would you want me?” He asked, brokenly. “After everything I’ve done. I hurt people, Y/N. Your own family. How can you even so much as look at me after that?”

You took a step closer, but he backed away like he didn’t trust himself not to fall apart if you touched him. “I’m a monster,” He whimpered. “There’s blood on my hands. You’ve seen it. You’ve seen me. You should hate me, not want me.” His voice cracked under the weight of guilt, his spiraling thoughts speeding toward a cliff. You could see it happening, his breath quickening, his body trembling like he was ready to flee again. He was unraveling right in front of you.

So you did the only thing you could think of. You closed the distance and touched him. Your hand slid gently up to cup his cheek. You felt him stiffen beneath your fingers, then go utterly still.“No,” You shook your head, voice shaking. “You are not a monster. You’re a man who’s been used, hurt, and manipulated, but you’re not beyond love or broken. You never were. I see every scar, every crack, and guess what, I’d still choose you.”

His eyes burned with something you couldn’t name, grief, love, longing and they filled with tears he didn’t try to hide. And when he finally leaned into your hand, exhaling like he hadn’t breathed in years, you knew. He was still afraid. But for the first time, he wasn’t running. This time it was you who surged forward before you could psych yourself out capturing his lips in a kiss. And this time, there was no hesitation. The kiss started soft, so soft, as though neither of you wanted to break the fragile thing blooming between you. But it didn’t stay that way for long.

Because the moment your lips truly met, something inside both of you snapped. Bucky let out a quiet, shattered sound against your mouth. Relief, disbelief, want, all of it tangled into that one breath. His hand, which was trembling slightly, framed your face with such gentleness. He held you like you were something precious, something breakable. Something his. You moved into him with equal urgency, fingers curling into the hair on the back of his neck, pulling him closer like proximity alone could make up for lost time.

The kiss deepened, slow but aching, like you were both pouring every unsaid word, every missed opportunity, every silent prayer into it. He tasted faintly of mint and something distinctly him, and it made your knees weak. There was something raw in the way he kissed you, like he was still afraid he might wake up and find it was all just another dream. But when you made a soft noise, a whimper caught between vulnerability and longing, he responded instinctively pressing in, molding his body to yours, thumb brushing your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And God, the way he kissed. Not polished or practiced, it was raw and honest. Every single movement told a story. Of cold Wakandan mornings. Of lonely nights. Of watching you from across rooms and never daring to hope. Until now. When you finally broke apart, it wasn’t because you wanted to. It was because you had to breathe because unlike him, there was no serum running through your veins.

Foreheads resting together, your breaths mingled, fast, shallow, heavy with emotion. Bucky’s eyes were still closed, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at you yet. Or maybe he didn’t want the moment to end. “Fuck doll, I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He whispered, voice wrecked. You let out a breathless laugh, forehead bumping lightly against his. “You’re not the only one.” He opened his eyes then, blue and unguarded, the way he looked at you made your heart ache in the most beautiful way.

Almost as if he was seeing light for the first time after years in the dark. “I thought I lost you that night,” He confessed. “I thought I had ruined everything. I was so afraid I’d lost the one person who truly understood me.” You shook your head, not trusting your voice for a moment, then reached for him, pulling him into your arms like he was something sacred you were terrified to let go of. You clutched at the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in his presence, in the way he trembled just slightly beneath your touch.

“You didn’t,” You breathed against his shoulder. “You couldn’t. You mean too much to me.” You tilted your head back just enough to meet his eyes again, brushing your thumb along the edge of his jaw, where stubble met skin. He closed his eyes at the contact, leaning into your hand like a man starved for affection, for something real. And maybe he was. Maybe this was the first warmth he’d allowed himself to feel in months, maybe even years. A soft smile tugged at his lips, tender, vulnerable.

The kind of smile that told you he was starting to believe it. Starting to believe you. “Just promise me one thing,” You whispered, your grip tightening slightly as if he might slip away again if you didn’t hold on just a little harder. He didn’t hesitate. “Anything, doll.” You could feel the sincerity in his voice, the way his body instinctively pressed closer to yours like he needed the contact to stay grounded.

“No more running,” You murmured, forehead resting against his. “These last two days were absolute torture without you.” He let out a low breath, something between a sigh and a laugh, and leaned down to press a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. His mouth lingered, not out of passion, but like he was still in awe that you were here. That you wanted him. “You love me that much, huh?” He teased gently, pulling back just enough to smirk at you with that crooked, boyish grin that still managed to undo you.

You rolled your eyes, but the laugh that slipped from you was warm and breathless, bubbling straight from your chest before you could stop it. The sound mingled with the soft night air, light and unguarded, as if it had been waiting for this moment to be released. Even as you laughed, your heart thundered wildly against your ribcage, each beat a desperate reminder of just how much you felt for the man in front of you. “Don’t make me take it back, James,” You scoffed, playfully smacking his chest.

Your palm met solid muscle, familiar and grounding, but there was no resistance. No armor. Just warmth. He smiled at the sound of his full name on your lips, soft and reverent, like it meant more to him than you could possibly know. His arm curled tighter around your waist, fingers pressing gently into your back, like he was anchoring himself there, holding on not just to your body, but to the belief that this was real. That he could have something good. “Not a chance, sweetheart,” He murmured, voice roughened by emotion as he dipped his head and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

His breath was warm against your skin, and his words, “Now that I know what it’s like to hold onto you like this, I’m never letting go.” Were muffled but pierced straight through you. You felt him exhale, like he’d been holding in something heavy for days. Maybe years. “I love you too much to be away from you that long again.” He added, almost like a vow whispered only for you to hear. And this time, you believed him. The old Bucky, the one who disappeared when the world pressed too close, who had only known how to run or fight, was gone.

The man holding you now wasn’t a weapon or a ghost. He wasn’t some broken shard of who he used to be. He was present. Real. And finally, finally choosing you. You leaned back just enough to look at him. His eyes were wide open and locked on yours, crinkled at the corners from the smile spreading across his face. You didn’t even realize you were matching it until your cheeks started to hurt. You both leaned in again at the same time, instinctively, magnetized by something more than gravity.

Your foreheads brushed first, then your noses, the air between you soft and charged. The kiss that followed wasn’t rushed or desperate, it was slow, certain, like a promise sealed between two people who had spent far too long denying themselves this happiness. And for the first time, you weren’t kissing a man lost in his past. Because the man in your arms wasn’t the Winter Soldier. He was James Bucky Barnes. And for the first time, he wasn’t running. He was home. And he was choosing to stay.

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!

[snapewife-divorce-lawyer]

Friendly advice from a stranger; I think you should remove the silver horse shoe from Prickly Pears hoof, no reason. Do it.

[hana-bobo-finch]

i love making low effort shitposts instead of properly explaining my oc’s lore 🥰🥰

[ambroziadelphine]

Marvel Universe

The Author of all these stories, was previously known as CWEEMSODA-chan on Wattpad. I will link a second Masterlist for all my Wattpad stories, even the ones put up for adoption.

Content Warnings Abbreviations:

H.E ---- Heavily Explicit (MDNI)

D ---- Drug mention

E ----Explicit (MDNI)

M.A ---- Mention of Abuse

V ---- Violence

M.H ---- Mental Health Struggle

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Forgotten (Bucky Barnes x Reader) V+M.A+M.H

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Patience and Time (Bucky Barnes x Reader) V+M.A+M.H

1 2 3 4 5

Mother Nature's child (Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes) V+M.A+E

1 2 3 4 5 6

Frustration of a Fangirl (Bucky Barnes x Reader) V+E

1 2 3 4 5

Captain's Snowflake (Steve Rogers x Reader) M.H+V

1 2 3 4 5

Birdy's Call (Bucky Barnes x Reader) M.A+V+E+M.H

1 2 3 4 5

What a Strange Woman (Bucky Barnes x Reader) M.H+E

1 2 3 4 5

[coquitokisses]

Trusting Again | Bucky Barnes - Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!oc

Summary: Catalina starts having some newfound feelings towards a certain super soldier and Bucky finally finds that person who brings him peace. Both of them learning to leave their pasts behind, learning to trust again..

Warnings/Tags: 18+, strong language, sexual scenes, topics about mental and/or psychological health and PTSD.

A/n: Each chapter, depending on its content, will have their own warnings

A/n #2: Updates can depend on my mood/motivation to write! I try not to take too long, but you never know when a writer’s block can get to you lol so be patient pls <3

introduction (a brief summary and some clarifications)

playlist • moodboards • files

prologue (must read first!)

chapter 001 • chapter 002 • chapter 003 • chapter 004 • chapter 005 • chapter 006 • chapter 007 • chapter 008 • chapter 009 • chapter 010 • chapter 011 • chapter 012 • chapter 013 • chapter 014 • chapter 015 • chapter 016 • chapter 017 • chapter 018 • chapter 019 •

main masterlist

[ravelsquadespresso]

Chaos WIP --- what day is it now?

Xavier Calcazar IS MEAN for 350ish words straight. How dare you not choose violence?

**********************************************************************

“You should have finished them off,” Calcazar said, voice ragged from the fumes. “Chorda. Doloroso. While you had a chance.”

Amanar did not look up. She was crouched beside van Calox, slowly tracing his bloodless face, breath faint but still there. The nullification bomb had torn through him like frost through marrow. Kibellah felt the faint echo of the null field remnants flowing off him, bathing the room in oppressive grays and browns.

No, she told herself. I am not a psyker to feel that. It’s just fatigue. Just priors playing tricks on exhausted brain.

“Now they’ll retreat. Regroup. Preach. You’ve made them martyrs who lived,” Calcazar went on, pushing past a cough.

“There will be a war, Amanar. A long one. With burning fleets and blockades and Exterminatus writs. With your name in the litanies.”

“It was them dead or you alive,” Amanar snapped. “I made a choice”.

Calcazar’s eyes narrowed.

“You chose your retainers. Your high priestess. Your witch. Your man. Over your sworn duty to the Throne. Over your oath as Rogue Trader.”

Amanar stood in one fluid, predatory motion. “I owe the Imperium no lives,” she spat.

Calcazar stared, lip curled. “You don’t owe the Imperium?” he echoed, barely above a whisper. “You wear its seal over your heart. You swore—before your officers. Before my people. Van Calox was there, both times. I gave you your life back when the easier choice was to end it and salt the ash.”

He stepped closer, just beyond Kibellah’s threshold of murder. Her body tensed. One step more and she'd draw. Silent Verdict was cold under her palm, comforting.

Calcazar smirked, noticing, giving her an appraising look. You would not dare, it said.

“I spent weeks trying to defang them,” he continued, quieter now. “You had them in your sights. You let them live. And now they’ll start a fratricidal crusade.”

He looked from Amanar to van Calox.

“You’ll be killing people who should have died fighting the Eldar at your side.”

He paused.

“You think you saved the ones you love. But what you really did was buy their deaths—in daily installments.”

************************************************************************

Sending some astropathic communiques: we need some reinforcements here, or Chorda is going to eat our brains @halfelvened @avalost @fourraccoonsinacoat @just-another-pigeon @swordbisexual @nadas-dirthalen @nusaran

Pretty much anyone, consider this your tag :)

[mckinleygirl98]

Capppppp

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 37

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: In the past few weeks, the weather had started to shift. So during the calm of your stay in Wakanda, you enjoy a night in the rain.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Fluff. Self Regulation Problems. Little bit of panic.

18+ blog, Minors Do Not Interact.

Authors Note: My broken laptop decided to work for me for a little!!! ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

The region you resided in had two seasons. Wet and dry. Always hot. You hadn’t been in Wakanda for long, but you were told the weather was currently in its shifting period from wet to dry.

The grass grew green and the air misted with dew. To prepare for the coming rain, you were taught that you needed to add extra straw lining to the roof of your hut. 

Bucky did almost all the labor without you asking. He carried a heavy barrel of straw as you walked the carved path back to your huts. You glanced up at the sky, at the gathering clouds. 

“Do you like the rain?”

Bucky shifted the thick dry straw under his arm. “It’s fine.”

You glanced at the man, his gaze sweeping over the valley around you. It had been a few days since you watched the sunset together, and since then, you were only more sure of how you felt. You were thankful for the peace of nature.

The peace of solitude, outside the city, outside the world. 

As a scientist born and raised in a big city, you never thought you would say that. But you meant it. You liked the simplicity of things. You liked the safety. 

“You haven’t seen much rain, have you?” You stepped over an overgrown tree root. 

“Nope,” Bucky rolled his neck, glancing at you. “Snow, yes. A lot of snow.”

You suppressed a smile and nodded. “Mm, snow. I doubt we’ll see much of that here.” 

“Perfect,” he muttered. “Add that to the list.”

“The list?” You squinted up at him.

“List of things I like about this place,” he looked a little abashed at the minor confession. You waited for him to continue, listening silently. “Like the quiet, and the food, and-” he shrugged. “It’s just nice.”

“I like the security.” You smiled, reaching down to itch where the tall grass tickled your leg. “It’s safe here. Safer than I think anywhere else on the planet.” You chuckled.

Bucky smiled to himself, agreeing beyond words. It was always hard for him to articulate himself, like words were lost on him, but he wanted to share his thoughts. He wanted to express how secure he found your little slice of the earth, hidden in a valley. 

He liked the solitude. Beside the children that visited from the nearest village homestead, and Shuri, you both were left alone. He liked it that way. 

He would never admit it, but he liked it.

He missed Steve, with every small notice from the outside world, but he didn’t feel the need to leave. He felt safe. He felt free, in a way he never had before. 

Wakanda was proving to be the place where Bucky felt most himself, and he was slowly beginning to accept that.

When you arrived back at your little home, Bucky set to work with relaying the dry straw. You watched him with a fond grin as he worked, that strong frown gracing his lips. 

By the second hour, a few of the village children came by with baskets of corn and paint. You sat on the rocks with them as they taught you how to paint their faces with earthy colors.

You hadn’t learned as much of the Wakandan language as Bucky, but you could tell they were teasing you.

You hadn’t noticed, but at some point Bucky finished his work, and was watching you. He chewed at his thumbnail and suppressed a smile when one of the children scolded you for using the wrong color. 

One of the boys looked over your shoulder and started shouting at Bucky, using the fond nickname they coined for him. He stiffened slightly, still not used to the comfortable way the children flocked around him.

You snickered at the wide eyed look he had when a young boy started hopping up into his space.

You never thought Bucky would be so good with children, with his aloof and distant nature. But he was always so kind to them, allowing them to poke at his metal arm and paint shapes and lines over the steel. You could see the way he marveled at their kind nature. 

How they weren’t afraid of him.

Rice popped in the smooth pan, sizzling as Bucky added tomato paste. The bonfire crackled against the stones holding it together, dry twigs reduced to ash as the flames raged. You glanced up at Bucky over the fire, the light casting him in a soft glow.

Over the past few days, you and Bucky joined each other by the pond in making dinner. It was nothing fancy, usually just simple proteins and rice, but it was delicious. While Bucky stirred the rice, you peeled the plantains, then tossed them in the pan. 

The soft vegetables turned a slight yellow color under the heat. Bucky picked a fallen leaf out of the pan of rice with his metal fingers. “How’s your treatment going?” 

Bucky stiffened, then forced himself to relax. “Shuri’s good at what she does.” He shook the pan, spreading the rice. “They have this room-” he cocked his jaw, picking his words carefully. “They’ve been hooking me up to all these wires and sitting me in there for hours. It’s like when I’m in there, nothing can get to me.”

Bucky spoke with gentle caution, picking through the darkest trials of his treatments.

You listened carefully, dishing out portions of food onto smooth wooden plates. 

“She used a combination of vibranium-based tech and biochemical blockers - something that dampens the synaptic response to the trigger words. Like…retraining my brain not to obey.” He took the plate from you, avoiding your kind gaze as he spoke. 

“Do you think it’s working?” You passed him utensils. 

He shrugged, mashing the plantains on his plate. “Not a damn clue.” He swallowed. “I hope it is.”

“You’re gonna have to test it eventually, right?” You pushed carefully.

He nodded, pushing the rice around on his place. “Yeah.”

“Do you think you’re ready for that?”

He looked up at you now, the flames flickering in the bright blue of his eyes. “I don’t know. But I don’t really have a choice.”

“Yeah,” You muttered, watching as he took his first bite. “Or you could just stay here forever, live off the land. Never worry about it again.” You joked, shoving a bite in your mouth.

Bucky lifted a brow as he chewed. “Great plan.” He muttered sarcastically.

You watched him clear his plate easily, then go back for a second. Usually you had fish with dinner, but after laying extra straw all afternoon, Bucky forgot to catch one.

You tried to imagine what that life would look like for Bucky. Disappearing from the world, staying hidden in the great expanse of nature. Bathing in the pond. Picking his own food. Learning beading techniques from the village children. 

Peaceful. Quiet. 

“You like it here,” your lips quirked in a smile. 

Bucky stirred his plate and nodded. “I do.” He shrugged. “Out here…there's no missions, no expectations, no threats. Just-” He turned his face away from the heat of the fire. He swallowed the words just us. “Just the goats.”

You scraped at your plate, listening quietly. “Just the bucks.”

He rolled his eyes at you, pointing his spoon in your direction. “Don’t start that.”

“You don’t want to talk about un-castrated goats?” You tilted your head.

He grimaced, setting his spoon on his plate. “Why do you even know that?”

“One of the wonders of being born in the past few decades is the internet. You haven’t used it much- and probably shouldn’t- but you can learn a lot on there.” You set your plate on the floor by your feet. 

“And you chose to look into goats?” He squinted at you. You shrugged. 

“You fall down rabbit holes.” You paused. “Maybe we should go into the city and you can get on a computer or something. Then you’ll get it.”

He cringed and shook his head. “I think I’m good on goat castration.”

“That’s not-” You choked on a laugh, slapping a hand over your face. “You can look into other things, Bucky.” 

But you doubted he wanted to. He didn’t want to go into the city. He wanted to stay right where he was, with you.

A sizzling sound fizzled by the fire as slow drops of water dripped into the pan between you. You turned your head to the sky, holding your hands out. A gentle breeze shook the trees. A ticklish cold drop stained your palm as rain began to descend from the sky. 

Bucky copied you and held his hands out, feeling the drops against his skin. As the minute stretched, the rain grew heavier, dampening the firepit until only wet smoke remained. You grinned and rose from the grass. 

Bucky’s instinct was to move into his hut and hide from the weather, but he stayed to watch you. Sitting with his legs crossed on the dirt, his gaze tracked you. 

The scattered droplets decorated the pond's surface with echoing ringlets. The sound had you closing your eyes to listen closer. The shoulders of your shirt began to stick to your skin as you stood there, feeling the water seep through your clothes. 

A shiver wracked your body as a gentle breeze blew through the valley. You nearly jumped when a warm hand swept down your spine. Your eyes snapped open to see Bucky at your side, his face tipped up towards the sky.

He usually moved with steady silence, but tonight the rain helped him surprise you. “We’ll get sick if we stay out, won’t we?” He asked, his voice low and quiet beneath the rhythmic pattern of the rain. 

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your lips as you looked at him, long dark hair sticking to his skin, eyes squinted narrowly against the water that gathered in his eyelashes. 

“No, we’re fine.” He glanced down at you. You tracked the drop of water that slid down the bridge of his nose. “Only if we stay out for long. Being cold lowers your immune system and makes you more vulnerable to sickness, but only if we’re out for long.” You rambled, your gaze stuck on the way Bucky wiped water from his lips.

“Ah,” he nodded, looking back up at the sky. You shivered again, and his hand pet your lower back slowly- like an instinct.

“I like the rain,” you raised your voice over the chatter of the droplets on the pond. “I think it’s pretty.”

“Yeah?” He let his eyes slide closed, the cold mist sprinkling his skin. 

“Yeah.” You stared at him in thought, fond memories and images of him burned into your mind. “Wanna try something?”

He glanced back at you, wiping a hand down his face. “Like what?”

“Wanna go for a swim?”

“That sounds exactly like it would lower your temperature.” Water dripped from his eyelashes. 

“You only live once.”

He stared at you for a long moment, under the flickering light of the sun as it disappeared between clouds and the horizon. He watched a drop of water gather in the corner of your lips, then slide down your chin. 

“Fine.”

You grinned and stepped out of his space, already tugging your shirt up. “Then c’mon.” 

You were in the water before Bucky could catch his breath, your pants sticking to the soil by his feet, where you threw them. You gasped when the cold water hit your waist, rising over the tender flesh of your stomach.

“Fuck- that’s much colder in the rain,” you laughed. 

There was a splash behind you, and then you felt the warmth radiating from his chest. “You’re supposed to be a scientist, remember.” 

You turned around, sending a splash his way. “Don’t get smart with me.” You tried to sound exasperated, but the tone died in your throat as you looked at him. 

The last rays of daylight washed over his naked skin like the first glow of a dying star. Rain dripped and slid down the column of his throat, gathering in the dips of muscle on the way down his chest. He raked his dark hair back, metal fingers contrasting sharply with the wet strands. 

“‘M not trying to,” he grinned. “But a scientist should know cold is cold.”

You sent another splash his way, making him shiver. A gentle breeze rustled through the damp grass, making your bare skin break out in goosebumps. Your bra clung to your skin like wet on water, now your only cover. 

You should have thought this plan through, you realize, as Bucky’s wandering gaze tracked your shiver. You took a few more steps back into the pond, until cool blue water tickled the underside of your breasts. 

“It’s not nice to be so snarky, you know,” you finally replied, dipping your head back to let the cold flush your hair.

Bucky pressed his lips together, smothering his light smile into something dopey. He watched the length of your hair spread out across the surface as you dipped your head under. He tracked your distorted form.

He hissed when you pinched the top of his foot, making him stumble back. You caught his foot and yanked, and then he was falling back. His large form made bubbles spread underwater from his impact. 

You popped your head up with a gasp, wiping your eyes- useless, as water rained from the sky. You snickered at Bucky’s dark head of hair, distorted by ripples. 

You let the cold rain seep into your bones, spreading and chilling you. You didn’t care. 

Bucky’s long limbs spread out beneath the surface, your brows pinched together. “What are you doing-?” You barely finished the sentence in time for a thick arm to slide around your waist. 

You yelped as you were pulled from the water weightlessly. “Buck-” He shifted you, tucking you under his arm- like you were another barrel of straw. 

You could barely scold him through wheezing laughter, squirming as his palm spread out across your stomach. “Stop moving,” Bucky snickered, carrying you back until the water reached his knees. You shivered as rain tickled your back. 

“Bucky, I swear-” You laughed. 

Bucky slid his arms around you, hauling you into the air. He promptly tossed you with measured strength. You shrieked as your body went airborne, wind and rain mixing until all you could feel was water. You landed with a heavy splash, several yards from the shore.

You finally broke the surface with a gasp. The first thing you heard was thick, unfiltered laughter. You blinked away drops until you could see him, hand smacked over his chest, as if he was trying to physically hold himself together. 

“Ass!” You laughed, kicking your feet gently to stay afloat. 

“That's a donkey, we only want goats, remember?” He shouted, swimming towards you. You rolled your eyes, turning to swim in the opposite direction. 

Bucky caught your ankle and dragged you back to him. He could still stand at that distance, you realized. Sometimes you forgot just how big the man was. 

“It rains once and now you’re full of jokes.” You panted, squinting at him through the rain.

Bucky held his metal arm out wordlessly, allowing you to use it to hold yourself up, so your legs didn’t grow tired. “Your ideas don’t always go the way you want.” He swallowed, his chest rising quickly as he caught his breath. 

“I’m never going swimming with you again,” you muttered, your voice almost too low to hear over the rain crashing against the pond. 

“Hm?” Bucky tilted his head, leaning close to hear you. 

Your breath hitched. Your lips brushed his ear. “I’m never taking you swimming again.” 

He chuckled quietly, his teeth chattering from the cold. “You made the first move,” he leaned back, his gaze dropping to your lips again, to track your words. “Can’t get mad when I play your game.”

“I didn’t throw you.”

“You couldn’t if you tried.” His teeth nipped at his lip, trying to suppress a smile. 

You tried to think of something quick-witted to say, but your words failed you. Reality dawned on you slowly as you met his gaze, his dark lashes sharp against soft blue. You knew where you were. How you both were dressed. 

You knew that your relationship was born out of fear and pain, but it bloomed into something all of your own efforts.

Something warm and safe and kind. 

Something beautiful. The kind that made it easy to strip to your underwear and go swimming in the rain. 

“Hey Buck?” You panted, glancing up at him. 

“Hm?” He tilted his head at you, his flesh hand sliding to your waist. He told himself it was to help you stay afloat. He knew it didn’t matter. He just wanted to feel you beneath his touch. 

“Have you ever done this before?” Your voice died on you, growing meek as you spoke. Droplets of rain slid down your nose, falling to the water between you. 

He heard you easily, close enough to feel your breath if you gasped deep enough. His throat bobbed as he swallowed your words, his mind working overtime to analyze your meaning. Truth was, it didn’t matter what you were referring to.

Nothing he did with you was familiar ground.

“No,” He spoke tenderly, blinking at you through mist. “I’ve-” He caught himself, his curious gaze scattering over your features. “Never.”

“Me neither,” you smiled, timid. You dipped your chin, catching your wavering reflection between you- before the heavy rain scattered the image. Bucky’s metal arm pulled from beneath the water. You caught yourself on his shoulders, fingers pressing to muscle for support. 

Cold steel slid across your cheek, dragging your gaze up to meet his. You swallowed heavily. 

His lips quirked in a nervous smile as he pushed soaking strands of hair from your face. “You only live once, right?” He echoed your words, his metal fingers sliding down the bend of your neck. 

You nodded, huffing out a choked laugh. A shiver trembled down your spine, making your teeth clatter together. 

Bucky frowned to himself, his thumb pressing into your stomach from where he held your waist. “We should go before you get sick,” he muttered. You stared up at him, instinctively leaning closer as he pulled away- even just a fraction. 

“I don’t want to go yet.” You felt breathless. Why were you so breathless?

His brows pinched together gently, in that familiar, thoughtful way. “Not yet,” he echoed your words, his gaze tracking your lips as they formed words. 

“Bucky,” you whispered. He wouldn’t hear it if he wasn’t watching. But he was, he was always watching you. 

Your name fell from his tongue like a prayer. You’d never heard him sound like that. But he said it again, his metal palm sliding heavily across the side of your head, pushing back hair as the rain made it slide free. 

Your foreheads knocked together. 

What were you doing? 

You could feel his eyelashes flutter shut against your eyebrow. You could feel how cold his skin was. Your face slid against his, your temples touching as you leaned into one another. His heated breath fanned against your cheek.

His strong nose dragged against your cheekbone as he turned into your face.

He repeated your name again, soft and weak.

“Bucky…” You didn’t know what you wanted to say. You didn’t know what you were doing.

You just knew you didn’t want to stop. 

His lips brushed the corner of your mouth.

A gasp trembled in your chest. Your fingers nearly slipped from his shoulder. 

His tongue grazed your skin as he licked his lips. 

Thunder rumbled in the sky, trembling and rocking the earth.

His eyes flew open, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. Metal fingers tugged gently at the hair on the base of your neck. You rocked your face into his, where his mouth dragged against your cheek. Rough stubble scratched your skin raw. 

A soft, broken noise hitched in his throat. 

You slid a hand up the back of his neck, pushing into his hair. You turned into him, pushing your forehead to his. You dragged your nails against his scalp. 

A trembling sigh fell against your lips. 

“Bucky,” you called, gently petting his skin. Lightning slashed in the sky, sharp and blinding. Like a trance broken, the bruising grip on your body released. He gasped wetly into the space between you. His arm slid around your waist, and then you weren’t holding yourself up at all. 

Bucky held your body against his, tremors wracking his muscles beneath the water. His head dropped to your shoulder as he sucked in a sharp breath.

Your dazed hand slipped down the nape of his neck as you caught your breath. 

“I-” Bucky’s voice crackled against your neck, quiet and careful. He shook his head. “I’m s-” He swallowed, droplets of water spilling over his lips. He swayed with the water, almost wishing he had something to lean on- something to hold his weight while he held yours.

“We should head back,” you whispered beneath the roar of the weather.

He dipped his chin to his chest, staring at his distorted reflection between you. He nodded helplessly. “Yeah.” He whispered, barely audible. 

Thunder rumbled again. A breeze shook leaves from the trees. You squeezed your eyes shut against the rain, trying desperately to catch your breath, from whatever that was.

You felt the need to run, to hide, to play pretend. 

But there was no hiding from Bucky. 

There was no lying to him, or smothering whatever this was that took up space in your chest. 

And as his touch trailed down your naked back, memorizing, you knew he understood the same thing. 

By the time you made it to shore, you were trembling so hard you could barely stand. But that didn’t matter, because Bucky was there to hold you up. He was silent the whole swim back, his steady hands the only evidence he was still there.

You gathered your clothes from where they stuck to mud, your fist shaking with your tight grip. Bucky’s hand slid down your naked waist, his brows pinched in concern as you trembled. Though, when you met his gaze, he almost recoiled. Embarrassment- vulnerability- flashed behind those familiar blue eyes. 

He tugged his lip between his teeth. His hand slid away from your waist. You followed his distant gaze as he glanced at his hut. You could imagine the escape he was working out in his head. 

But he couldn't run from you. Not really. “Buck,” you called his name. He almost didn’t hear it over the rain. “Bucky,” you called out, his gaze snapped to yours. Your heart thundered in your chest with the force of the sky, beating in time with the scattered rain. His throat bobbed visibly. 

Your soaking clothes slid from your hand. 

His cheek twitched with the frail restraint that held him together. That kept him in one piece.

But you didn’t want to see the mask. The shotty glue that kept his pieces slotted together in what resembled the man he should be. 

You didn’t want that Bucky.

You wanted your Bucky.

Your freezing hands slid up the expanse of his chest, your smooth palm cradling his jaw. His spine gave in as he leaned into you, heavy and barely breathing. 

“Fuck-” his voice trembled into the space between you as he collapsed into your body. You sucked in a sharp breath as he tugged you into him, his strong arms curling around you.

His calloused fingers slid into your hair and yanked you close. 

His lips dragged against your cheek. 

Through all the pain and loss you’d endured, you often thought nothing mattered. You thought you’d lost everything, and your life was doomed to fade into the shadows. 

You thought darkness had overtaken everything you ever cared about.

But now, standing in the rain, soaking wet, cradled by Bucky, you realized how wrong you were. 

As Bucky’s lips pressed to yours in a bruising kiss, you realized how worth it it all was.

You gasped into his mouth, his tongue filling the gap. His hand trembled against your jaw, where he cradled you close. He groaned softly, the sound spreading over your tongue as you tasted him.

A fiery, swelling longing spread through your chest, melting the ice that coated your flesh. You held the back of his head with barely there control, your nails dragging down his scalp. 

You could feel him whine against your lips, his metal arm winding around your back. He hiked you up against him, your toes barely grazing the floor.

You dragged your lips against his in a heated, tender kiss. Plush and bruising and wet. The words you both felt helpless to say burned into each other's skin with each touch. Your tongue dragged over his, soft and careful between brushes of lips. 

His teeth nipped at your lip, his body begging to bring you closer- closer than physically possible. 

Your feet left the ground as he straightened. His steel fingers slid over the curve of your ass, dragging your thigh up to wrap around him. You panted against his tongue, curling your body around him. You brushed his hair back from where it stuck to your cheeks. 

Bucky let out a choked off sound when your ankles locked around his hips. You swallowed the taste of him. 

You were moving, you realized, as he ducked below the short entry to his hut. The lack of rain hit you instantly, making you shiver against him. He dragged his scarred palm down your throat in a soothing touch. 

His stubble scraped your face raw as he pressed closer, begging to consume you. He groaned into your mouth as your hands wandered, your slick skin sliding together. 

The slow friction made him pant, warmth and tender touch tearing down his walls. His knees nearly buckled when your tongue stroked over his, your palm dragging over his Adam's apple. 

It was like a spell was cast over you both, or like one was broken. Like all the control and restraint and bottled emotions broke free. Like all the fear and care and longing was too much.

His skin felt raw and ablaze beneath your touch, shaken with tremors and terrified. 

Terrified, but oh so free. 

Bucky gently pressed your body into his mattress, his large body blanketing yours. You felt suffocated and safe all at once. Like the air around you was new and sacred, but fizzling thinner by the second. 

Bucky muttered your name against your lips, pressing and nipping and worshiping. You nearly sobbed when he gently sucked on your tongue. 

His palms dragged down your waist, pinning you steady. But it wasn’t you who was shaking, it was him.

It was him who was falling apart, piece by piece, wrecked and broken and whole all at once. The tender vulnerability he carried around you was cracked raw in a whole new way, and it was like that soft core inside of him was bleeding.

He was bleeding and he couldn’t breathe. He was falling and he couldn’t catch himself. With each drag of his tongue, and each plush press of his lips, he was breaking.

Breaking apart and open, never to be sealed again. 

He groaned into your mouth, pressing his weight onto you, smothering you with his overwhelming presence. You gasped, barely catching shallow breaths between his achingly raw kisses.

“B- Mm-” You sucked gently at his bottom lip, pulling a wrecked sound from his chest. He let out a noise- one so deeply close to a sob- against your tongue. 

You slid your cold hands along his jaw, thumbs swiping droplets of water from his cheeks. His heavy breath felt warm against your flesh. You stroked his cheek, petting him. 

“Bucky…” You whispered, your other hand pressing gently against his nape. “Bucky,” you called, allowing him to clumsily nip at your jaw. 

With each scattered breath, you stroked down his spine, chanting his name like a prayer. His body was wracked with tremors, emotions bubbling hot and high. 

You called his name again as his tongue swept over the hinge of your jaw. His breath hitched. His strong hands pressed into your hips. He swallowed hard, his nose tracing a line along your throat. He couldn’t catch his breath. 

“Breathe,” you whispered. You slowly wrapped your fingers around his scarred wrist, then dragged it to the narrow space between you. You slid his palm against your breastbone, pressing his touch over your heart. “Breathe.”

He swallowed, his body sagging further into yours. His lips pressed to your pulse point, feeling the steady beat. You felt the trembling puffs of breath against your skin. 

You slowly inhaled, your racing heart struggling to slow. You tried to pretend you were grounded, but god was it hard- with him, like this.

Bucky’s bionic arm made a clicking noise as plates shifted. His fingers gently released the bruising grip. 

You held him close, stroking his wet hair back as he pressed close. You didn’t want him to pull away. You didn’t want this to end. But he needed to catch his breath. 

He made a soft noise against your throat. You pressed a tender kiss to the crown of his head. He sighed against you. His cold metal palm dragged down the outside of your thigh in a comforting motion. 

Bucky’s fingers twitched against your chest, pressing closer. He took slow breaths in time with yours, his eyes closed as he listened. Rain crashed gently against the fresh straw of the hut, trailing off and pooling in the grass outside. 

You trailed a hand down Bucky’s back, petting his cold skin. He trembled, whether from the weather, or from his own panic, you didn’t know. You never really knew what was going on in his head.

And neither did he, as he pressed you into the mattress, cradling you close. He couldn’t make sense of himself. Of what you’d done. Of what he felt.

He knew he felt something. Something foreign and warm and achingly tender. Something reserved just for you. 

He knew when he saw you, he felt he could breathe easier. He knew the feeling of your touch trailing over his skin felt like electricity. He knew the sound of your voice made him feel safe. 

That you made him feel safe. In a way nothing ever had. 

He knew he didn’t want to lose you. He didn’t want to break you. Break this. 

He pressed his wet lips to your throat, his eyes squeezed shut against his racing mind. You shushed him quietly, pressing your cheek to the crown of his head. 

You wouldn’t let him retreat. You wouldn’t let him run. 

So he sank into you and sighed shakily against your skin. The tension rippling down his spine eased, just a fraction.

You swallowed your words and did what you knew how to do best; be there.

A/N: It happened!!!!! I hope you guys like how it worked out. I originally wasn't intending on having them kiss yet, but it just felt right. It felt safe, and ready. Comment your thoughts! 18+ MDNI

Wanna add again, that if you are a minor or have an empty/ageless bio, please no not interact. Thank you.

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[moonlitdesertdreams]

Shake the Frost

A/N: I have no comment other than thank you to the Thunderbolts trailer for putting me back into a Bucky Barnes phase.

Relationship: Bucky Barnes | Winter Soldier x Reader

Tags: bucky barnes x reader, bucky barnes x y/n, The Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes, James Buchanan Barnes, Winter Soldier!Bucky, hurt/comfort, fluff

WARNINGS: mentions of flashbacks, PTSD, brainwashing

Summary: Inspired by the song 'Shake the Frost' by Tyler Childers. After a year on the run with Bucky, you think he might finally be opening up to you. All it took was a little honesty. And a healthy dose of yelling.

Word Count: 1.5k+

You’d spent an entire year on the lam, hiding a brainwashed assassin who could barely remember his name. 

And after a year, the Winter Soldier- Bucky- still turned a cold shoulder to you when the memories became too much to bear. One minute he would sit with you on the couch in your little cabin to watch a movie, and the next he’d be trudging through the Montana snowfall, wandering the remote mountain ridge in an apathetic search for clarity. 

It had been the tune of your relationship since the beginning, though the past couple of months had seen some improvement. Bucky was more human, seeking you out for comfort after nightmares and flashbacks or even requesting different food items when you deemed it necessary to run into town for groceries. You weren't sure if it was him actively looking for help or just trying to tamp down on the mounting frustration caused by his constant cold-shoulder. 

Tonight, he had surprised you by grabbing the TV remote while you flipped aimlessly through a limited supply of channels. The cabin, tucked deep into the Montana Rockies, belonged to your maternal grandparents and had the barest of cable packages.

“Wait, wait.” His sudden movement had scared you half to death, metal fingers gently encircling yours on the remote. “Can you go back?”

You balanced a half-eaten plate of rehydrated mashed potatoes on your knee and nodded. “Uh, yeah. Can I have my hand back?”

Your comfort level with him had been fairly steady, as you weren’t in fear of him killing you in your sleep anymore. With that said, any sudden contact still made you wary. You knew what he was capable of when provoked, and didn’t wish to bring it on yourself, even if it was an accident 

“Sorry.” He released you at once, the prosthetic whirring as your wrist was freed. 

Bucky’s keen gaze turned back to the old TV as you clicked back a couple of channels, stopping on an old rerun of M*A*S*H. His head tilted at the uniforms, eyes hardening as he discerned the setting. You swallowed a forkful of potatoes, not sure if this was the best thing for a recovering super-soldier assassin prone to PTSD to be watching. The rest of the food was nudged around your plate nervously before you pressed the button to go to the next channel, twangy country music flooding the room instead.

“Bucky, I don’t know if M*A*S*H is the best-”

He stood abruptly from the couch, walking towards the front door. Nothing of note had happened before you switched the show off, but this was how he worked. Some unknown, unseen trigger would send him spiraling into silence, and you’d be left with no explanation. A year had little effect on his habits.

This time, you weren’t having it. “Hey!”

Ditching your plate on the couch, you chased him to the entryway where his boots were already on. Bucky wouldn’t meet your eyes, focused solely on getting out the door. You grabbed his hand just as he had minutes ago, soft flesh meeting titanium on the doorknob. He shook you off and pulled the door open, tossing a Russian command over his shoulder in your direction. 

“Bucky, wait!” You jammed your feet into the closest shoes and grabbed your coat, hustling out into the blizzard without a thought. 

Soft light emanated from a lantern on the porch, highlighting the figure standing only a couple feet from the bottom step. Powdery snow climbed halfway up his shins, evidently acting as a barrier between him and his usual route. You walked up behind him slowly, stopping on the last stair.

You were normally patient with his traumatic past and memory issues, but it was mounting into frustration as time passed by. “Bucky.”

He didn’t answer. 

“Bucky, what’s wrong?”

The Winter Soldier remained motionless. You grit your teeth, anger rising. 

“Soldat.” You intoned in the same manner you’d heard his handlers speak. “Otvechat [Answer].”

Painfully slow, he turned back towards you. You gulped, steeling yourself for a blow or outburst of anger. Instead, his face was blank. Blue eyes bore into nothing, haunted and cold. You ducked your head to meet his vacant stare, hoping the commands hadn’t forced him into some sort of fugue state. 

“Talk to me.” You said, almost pleading. “For once, tell me what’s going on.” 

A stream of Russian followed, growing more desperate the longer he talked. The extent of your Russian was the few simple commands barked out by HYDRA guards and nothing more, and you were lost after the first two words. His switch between languages wasn’t uncommon, but came frequently with stress.

 You held up your hands, shushing him. Bit back your frustration in order to get an answer. “Bucky, I don’t speak- I need English, please.”

He stopped, chest rising and falling erratically. Blue eyes focused on your face, cheeks already tinged red from the cold. 

 “The p-program made me remember something, but I don’t know what it was. It was there and then it was gone.” Another hitched breath interrupted his words. “It was gone so fast. Like a dream.”

Dreams had been a constant for him, to the point you’d went out of your way to buy him a journal and pen to write them down as soon as he woke up. 

“Well, maybe you’ll have to keep your journal-” 

“I don’t want to rely on a book!” He cried out, “You tell me to write down dreams, but how am I supposed to remember things that happen so fast? I can’t pull out a journal and write it down!”

Though it was angry and loud, you stood your ground. Any sort of real emotion was preferable to the stoic Winter Soldier who’d shown up beaten and bruised in your hotel room so long ago.

“Maybe I’d have an answer if you ever talked to me! These things happen and you always disappear!” You steadied your voice, trying not to fly completely off the handle. “I don’t know how you’re supposed to pin down a memory if you’re too busy trying to run away everytime it comes up. I want to help you, Bucky.”

“I just…” A shiver wracked his body. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Frustration fizzled away into sympathy. “You’ve never…”

“And I would never know until it’s too late.” He growled, sounding more like the Soldier than Bucky. “They controlled me with words. What if I remember them too clearly and I hurt you? You’re the only person who’s ever helped me.”

“You won’t.” You reached out with a tentative hand, setting it on his right shoulder. “You’re in control. You can keep working on your memories, but you can’t do it alone. So let me help you. Please.”

Face angled towards the ground, he nodded. “I’m sorry for taking off again.”

You shook your head. “Don’t be sorry. Just come inside, where it’s warm. We can talk there.”

Once inside, you fought to shuck off your boots, one lace knotted in a manner that prevented escape. You bent down to fix it, cussing until the damn thing came loose. Upon standing, you came face-to-chest with a nervous-looking Bucky. Mellow guitar notes floated to your ears from the abandoned television.

“Oh. Hi.” You said awkwardly, craning your neck to make eye contact. “Everything okay?”

Bright blue eyes, full of pent-up emotion, shined with what you thought might be tears. He chewed on his lip, a nervous tick you had spotted only when he thought you weren’t looking. It was a vulnerability that the Winter Soldier half of him couldn’t allow. 

“Yeah. Thank you.” His mouth opened and closed a few times. “I think… I think I’d like to talk more. If you’ll listen. I don’t want to hide things from you.”

The admission was frank, full of honesty. It was the sort of thing you’d been expecting when he’d woke you up in the middle of the night, only to be met with silence and the unspoken request for company.

“We can talk, Bucky, whenever you want.” You grabbed his flesh hand, squeezing calloused fingers. “I’ll always listen.”

There was a beat of stillness before you were yanked forward into his chest by the same hand. It took a minute to process the movement, but your arms encircled his torso. Warm air rushed past your ear, his exhale heavy on your scalp. It was the most physical he’d ever been, outside of the random protective stances he’d taken in situations perceived as dangerous. Your own body melted into the embrace, unable to resist the primal desire for touch and closeness that it had lacked for months. Even pinned against him by a metal arm, the embrace was comforting. You ran your nails up and down the length of his spine, trying to stave off the tremors that plagued him. Wintertime did Bucky no favors, especially with a cybernetic appendage that conducted the cold straight into his bones.

Eventually, you felt his mouth move against your hair. He spoke so low it could barely be called a whisper.

“Thank you.”

From the living room, music continued softly.

-

‘So if it'd make you stay-

I wouldn't act so angry all the time-

I wouldn't keep it all inside-

And I'd let you know how much I loved you every day-

So darlin' will you stay right here and shake this frost off of my bones?’

-

Thank you for reading, much love ❤

Masterlist

[captainzigo]

in the poll, you guys voted that you wanted me to draw came out wrong boygirl twilight clone. so here she is. she is a clone of twilight made by evil scientists. he is joined by freako funtime icecream surprise. a surviving pinkiepie clone from the mirror pool. you can look at the tags if you want to know more. the AU that he’s a part of is alicorn experiments or equestria civil war and freako funtime icecream surprise is tagged by name. i’ve made a lot more about that, and there’s a bunch of art other people have done for it in there too

[shortnspidey]

CHAPTER THREE: FRACTURED BONDS

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 7.5K

SUMMARY: Bucky Barnes, caught in a political storm and haunted by his past as the Winter Soldier, battles internal guilt and fragmented memories while finding solace in someone who sees beyond his trauma, intensifying his struggle between seeking connection and fearing the harm he might cause.

WARNINGS: Mentions of character death(s), graphic violence, protective Bucky, Zemo, talk of past trauma

A/N: Figured I'd made you guys wait long enough... so here's another chapter! Make sure you hold on for this one, this chapter is really angsty!! I apologize in advance. 🥺

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The Quinjet was silent, the kind of silence that pressed in on you, thick and heavy, broken only by the low hum of the engine reverberating through the walls and the steady, rhythmic breaths of the two super-soldiers beside you. The cold metal floor felt unnervingly hard beneath your boots as you stared out the window, the blurry landscape passing by below, but your mind wasn’t on the scenery.

Bucky’s voice broke through the stillness, raw and edged with something you couldn’t quite place, but you could feel the weight of it in your chest. "What’s gonna happen to your friends?" His words were simple, yet the question lingered in the air. You found yourself wondering the same thing, a gnawing sense of uncertainty crawling under your skin. The mission had been successful, but at what cost? The stakes were higher now, the consequences more far-reaching than any of you had expected.

Your gaze shifted to Steve, who was staring ahead, his jaw clenched in that familiar way when he was deep in thought. He’d been quieter than usual, almost distant, and it seemed like this particular question was one he wasn’t sure how to answer. His eyes flickered to Bucky for a split second before he exhaled slowly, as if trying to release something heavy from his chest. “Whatever it is,” Steve started, his voice low but firm, "I’ll deal with it."

It wasn’t the answer you’d hoped for. It wasn’t comforting, but it was Steve, and that was the best you were going to get. His tone made it clear that whatever came next, he’d face it head-on, as he always did. But you could see it in his eyes a flicker of doubt, of weariness. The silence stretched on again, suffocating, until Bucky’s voice, almost a whisper, cut through it like a blade. "I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve." His words were jagged, raw, and the weight of them hit you like a punch to the gut.

There was pain there, deep and unspoken. You could feel it in every syllable, every breath he took. His haunted eyes, the way his shoulders were slightly hunched, as though he was carrying a weight too heavy for anyone to bear, it all spoke volumes about the internal battle he was fighting. It made your heart ache, the sheer vulnerability of it. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what it felt like for Bucky, years of being trapped, manipulated, erased and rebuilt, time and time again, into something that wasn’t entirely him.

You could see the guilt in his eyes, a constant, suffocating presence that refused to let him go. And you hated it. Hated that he didn’t see himself the way you saw him: strong, loyal, brave. But more than anything, you hated that no matter how many times Steve reassured him, how many times the team rallied around him, Bucky still couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t worth saving. Your chest tightened as the words echoed in your mind. You wanted to say something, anything to ease his pain, but the words seemed to die on your tongue.

Your own anxieties and insecurities resurfaced like a tidal wave, crashing over you as you replayed the events of the last forty-eight hours in your mind. Before you could spiral too far, Steve’s voice broke through the fog of your thoughts. He said exactly what you were thinking. "What you did all those years, it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice." Bucky breathed out, but his voice still carried the heavy burden of guilt and unresolved pain. "I know," There was a long pause, the tension thick in the air.

"But I did it." He added quietly, the words hanging in the silence like a confession that he wasn’t sure he was ready to forgive himself for. As Steve's gaze flickered over to you, he saw the absence in your eyes. You were curled up in the corner, facing the window, your expression completely void of any emotion. It was as though you had shut yourself off from the world entirely. Your body present, but your mind was somewhere far away, lost in a quiet place where nothing felt real anymore. Steve’s concern softened his features as he spoke, his voice gentle but laced with sorrow.

“I’m so sorry you had to get involved in this, Y/N.” You stared at the horizon outside the window, avoiding his gaze. As you spoke with a bitterness that tasted like years of pent-up frustration. "It’s okay, Steve. It’s not like I wasn’t already disowned." The words hit the air like a cold wind, and Bucky immediately turned toward Steve, his expression forming into one of genuine concern. His brow furrowed, and his lips parted to say something, but he hesitated. “Don’t say that, Y/N, it’s not true” Steve coaxed softly.

“But it is true," You insisted quietly, your voice soft, but the heaviness in it was unmistakable. "Just before Clint arrived at my apartment, my father and I were fighting," You continued, your words stumbling out in between shaky breaths. "What's new, we’ve always fought.” Your mind flashed back to the endless arguments, the moments where you felt more like a stranger to him than a daughter. “Dropping out of MIT and siding with you on this whole accords fiasco…" You trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper, "That was just the tip of the goddamn iceberg."

You scoffed bitterly, the anger bubbling up again like an old wound reopening. “You dropped out of MIT?” Your father’s voice was filled with disbelief like he believed you made the biggest mistake ever. Yet somehow, when Steve repeated those same words, you didn’t hear the disappointment in his tone. Instead you were met with a quiet concern, an emotion you hadn’t been able to recognize from your father in years. You shrugged, the motion as cold and indifferent as the walls you had built around yourself. "I never wanted to go to MIT... he practically made the decision for me when I graduated high school,"

You muttered, the words slipping out almost as an afterthought. Your fingers twitched, memories of lectures, crowded hallways, and a life you had never chosen clashing with the one you were desperately trying to carve for yourself. "But after last semester," You continued, your voice firmer now, as you dared to speak your truth. "After finding out people only wanted to befriend me because of my last name, and what they thought I could get them access to, I decided I was done," The bitterness in your mouth was sharp. "Done living in his shadow." As those words left your mouth, Bucky quickly realized just how much you both had in common.

His chest tightened, and a sudden wave of guilt hit him with the force of a storm. He had barely known you, and yet, when he first saw you at the airport in Germany and learned who you were, something inside him recoiled. Y/N Stark, the daughter of Tony Stark, of all people, was actually trying to help him. It didn’t make sense. His walls had grown higher the moment he saw you, his instincts shouting that he couldn’t trust anyone. Yet, in a strange, subtle way, there was a shift in him. He hated to admit it, but when you looked at him like a human being, with real warmth in your eyes, your voice so soft as you muttered his name it was different.

You didn’t call him The Winter Soldier. You didn’t see him as the weapon they’d turned him into. You saw him as a person, and for the briefest of moments, those walls he’d so carefully constructed started to crumble. But still, his guard remained, firmly in place, a fortress he couldn’t afford to let go of completely. Now, hearing your confession the pain and raw emotion in your words, something was different. And he detested it. The lively spark he’d seen in you before was gone, replaced by something quieter, something he wasn’t used to.

Watching you interact with your father so brief, yet so tense it had made his stomach churn. The way your shoulders tensed, how your hands fidgeted at your sides, and the barely controlled panic that flickered in your eyes as he saw you fight to hold it together it was like you were a completely different person. Now, as he looked at you, there was a hollow look in your eyes, a void of emotion. You looked smaller, more fragile, as though whatever had been left of your strength was slowly slipping away. This was the real you, the one you hid so well beneath layers of strength and purpose and sarcasm.

Bucky couldn’t help but feel a gnawing sense of protectiveness, the kind he didn’t know he was capable of anymore. Yet he couldn’t act on it and that frustrated him more. He’d spent so long locked in a world of darkness, of not knowing who he was or what he was capable of, but here, with you, something was stirring. Something… human. But what could he do? Nothing, because he didn’t even understand it himself. Before he could dwell further on his thoughts, Steve’s voice broke through the tension, calm but filled with purpose.

“We’re getting close,” He muttered, his grip firm on the controls as the jet’s engines hummed. “I’ll have to make a quick descent.” He was preparing to land the jet at the HYDRA facility Zemo was surely heading to, and as the reality of the mission settled in, the air inside the jet grew thick with a shared intensity. The energy shift in the air was immediate. Without even realizing it, Bucky found his muscles tensing in anticipation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you. Your movements were fluid, calm, but there was something in the way you moved, in the way your gaze flicked toward him, that made him aware of how much he was paying attention.

You opened a side compartment in the jet with practiced ease, grabbing a spare gun you had secured in your back holster. For a split second, he wondered if you had sensed his gaze. The brief moment of shared eye contact spoke volumes, a silent understanding passing between you two. You stepped aside just slightly, enough to offer him a weapon, no words necessary. Bucky didn’t hesitate. His hand shot out and grabbed the M249 SAW with a familiarity that surprised even him. The weight of the weapon felt natural, and it almost grounded him in the chaos of the situation.

The doors of the jet were still locked in place, but Steve was preparing to open them at any moment. He could feel the tension building in the air, the kind of pressure that made his chest tighten. Something about this mission felt different, more nerve-wracking than anything else, even more than when he faced down your father in Germany. Trying to ease the mounting tension, Steve broke the silence turning to Bucky. “You remember that one time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?” His voice was casual, but there was a lightness to it.

Bucky’s lips twitched upward. “Was that the time you used our train money to buy hotdogs?” He teased, the familiar tone creeping into his voice despite the situation. Steve didn’t miss a beat. “You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead.” Bucky’s laugh was a low, almost wistful sound. You had to do a double-take to make sure you weren’t imagining it. Damn, was it a nice smile. “What was her name again?” He asked, his voice softer than usual, but there was still amusement in it. That was enough to snap you out of your thoughts about the brooding super-soldier.

Now was certainly not the time nor place.

“Dolores,” Steve answered, grinning. “You called her Dot.” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned against the side of the jet. “She’s gotta be a hundred years old right now.” Steve shrugged, unfazed. “So are we, pal.” As the jet door opened, a rush of frigid air blasted into the cabin, sending a shiver down your spine. The stark, white landscape outside stretched endlessly, broken only by the dark silhouette of the HYDRA facility in the distance. Your heart rate picked up, your instincts sharpening as you surveyed the terrain.

You knew that what lay ahead could very well be your last fight, but there was no turning back now. You barely had time to gather your thoughts before Bucky’s voice cut through the tension. “Stay close.” He coaxed, his tone surprisingly gentle despite the gravity of the situation. He had seen the subtle shift in your demeanor, the way your body went rigid as the cold began to gnaw at you, and his protective instinct kicked in. You could feel the weight of his words. His presence beside you, reassuring, steady. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was scanning the horizon, preparing for the worst. You didn’t have time to reply, not with the threat of danger so close.

Bucky and Steve moved as one, stepping into the snowy abyss, their boots crunching in the snow as they carefully checked their surroundings. Every movement was calculated, deliberate. The sound of the wind howling across the barren landscape was the only thing that cut through the otherwise oppressive silence. The bitter cold stung at your skin, but you could feel the heat of your adrenaline pushing back against it, fueling your focus. You watched them, both men taking point, their bodies tense and alert as they scanned the area for any signs of movement.

After a brief but intense moment of silent communication, Bucky nodded toward you, an unspoken command to follow. You didn’t hesitate. You moved quickly to join them, matching their pace, your eyes flicking over the terrain as you stepped into the snow. Steve paused a few feet before the entrance of the facility, his breath visible in the cold air as he took in the sight of the door that was slightly ajar. His brows furrowed, and he inhaled sharply, analyzing the situation. “He can’t have been here more than a few hours,” Steve muttered, his voice low but filled with certainty. Your gaze shifted to Bucky, and you saw his jaw tighten, the muscle in his cheek pulsing as he processed the information.

“Long enough to wake them up,” He muttered, barely above a whisper. His grip on his gun tightened instinctively, his flesh knuckles whitening as he prepared for whatever came next. That was all the confirmation Steve needed. Without another word, he stepped forward, moving with the quiet precision of someone who had done this countless times before. “Watch your step.” Bucky warned, his voice low, but there was a trace of urgency. As you stepped inside, the smell of damp air and something else, something metallic immediately hit you. It was suffocating, making your throat itch.

The shadows inside seemed to stretch, hiding secrets in every corner. Every step you took echoed unnervingly in the vast, empty space, but the facility, despite its eerie stillness, felt anything but abandoned. The feeling of being watched crawled over your skin. Bucky didn’t speak, but you could feel him shifting subtly, positioning himself just slightly in front of you. Steve, on the other hand, moved with fluid confidence, his senses on high alert as the three of you ventured deeper into the facility. Both super soldiers took turns sweeping the area, their movements instinctively synchronized, checking each shadow, each flicker of light.

The elevator creaked as it descended, groaning under the weight of the past. You could hear the scrape of metal against metal, the shudder of old machinery struggling to keep up. It felt as though the whole place might collapse on itself at any moment. Your boots clicked against the rusted floor as you followed them deeper into the belly of the facility, your hand gripping your gun tighter, your senses sharp, aware of every creak, every shift in the air. And then it came, a sudden, loud noise. The sharp scrape of something against concrete, too close, too fast. Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky and Steve moved as one.

Bucky’s steel-like arm was already around your waist, guiding you back behind him as Steve instinctively dropped into a defensive stance, his shield raised in a fluid motion. "Seriously?" You hissed, voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to stay calm. The frustration in your chest surged. "Haven’t we established that I’m more than capable of defending myself?" But neither of them acknowledged you. They were laser-focused, eyes trained on the door ahead, watching for any movement. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as the air seemed to vibrate with the weight of their readiness. They were calm, but there was an edge in the way their muscles tensed.

You hated that feeling, the helplessness, the quiet knowledge that they were ready to jump into danger before you even had a chance to react. You wanted to protest, wanted to remind them that you weren’t a fragile civilian, but at that moment the words felt stuck in your throat. "You ready?" Steve's voice was steady, but there was a hint of tension beneath the calm exterior, the kind of tension you could feel even before the words left his lips. His eyes never wavered from the door, and you could sense him preparing for whatever was about to come through. The screeching noises from the other side of the door intensified, a jagged sound that scraped at your nerves and made your pulse quicken.

"Yeah." Bucky’s response came immediately, his voice low but filled with the unwavering confidence you’d come to expect from him. He had his gun raised, his grip firm. The cold, calculating look in his eyes told you he was ready for anything, but there was no mistaking the tension in his body as he braced for whatever, or whoever was on the other side. You held your breath, watching the door as it slowly creaked open, the harsh, metallic sound echoing through the empty space. Each inch it moved felt like an eternity. Your mind raced, preparing for a fight, for danger, for anything that could come charging through that door.

But nothing could have prepared you for what you saw. Your heart stopped in your chest. For a moment, the world seemed to stop, and the ground beneath you felt as though it had shifted. Standing there, just a few feet away, was your dad. Encased in the gleaming, intimidating armor of the Iron Man suit. Even with his face shielded, you were certain that his eyes were locked with yours. The shock was instantaneous. Yet before you could even form the words, your body reacted before your brain could catch up. Adrenaline surged through you, sharp and immediate.

Without thinking, you pushed past Bucky and Steve, slipping between them as they tried to stop you, their hands reaching for your arms, but you were already moving. You didn’t even notice the way Bucky’s grip tightened or how Steve’s voice called out in protest, a low warning that you couldn’t hear over the pounding of your heart. Everything seemed to slow as you took those steps forward, stopping just a few feet in front of your dad. Your hand instinctively gripped the weapon at your side, but it was less about preparing for a fight and more about standing your ground. This was your father. Nevertheless, if he wanted to get to Bucky and Steve, he would have to go through you first.

Your breath was shallow, chest rising and falling with the quick rhythm of your racing heart. "You don’t have to do this." You found yourself saying, the words coming out before you could stop them, your voice a mix of desperation and defiance. You watched in silence as the nanotechnology plates of the suit parted with a smooth, almost mechanical grace, revealing his face. "You seem a little defensive." His tone was casual, almost playful, but there was an edge to it that didn’t quite match the tension in the air. Out of all the things you expected him to say, that was the last.

You opened your mouth, ready to fire back, but before you could, Steve’s voice cut through the charged silence. "Yeah, well, it's been a long day." You shifted slightly, catching the movement out of the corner of your eye. Steve, ever the protector, was approaching cautiously, his shield still raised between him and Tony, eyes flicking back and forth between you and your father. He was ready for anything, but there was something about his movements that felt restrained, as if he was waiting for permission, waiting for you to show him how to handle this situation. "At ease, soldier," Tony’s voice rang out, a touch of irony in the words, though his eyes lingered on Bucky.

You watched as the two men exchanged a brief, silent moment of tension. Bucky hadn’t shifted an inch. His stance was as firm as steel, eyes narrowed and unyielding. It was clear: he wasn’t lowering his guard for anyone. Your pulse quickened. What the hell was happening? You managed to find your voice again, though it was strained with the weight of the moment. "Then why are you here?" You narrowed your eyes, staring hard at your father, the man who had just walked into this situation like it was any other. He looked at you for a beat, and for a brief moment, it seemed like he might speak, maybe apologize, maybe explain.

But instead, he shrugged, that cocky, familiar smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "Could be your story's not so crazy." The words hung in the air like a confession. He was acknowledging the truth of what Steve had said, but the casualness with which he delivered it only added more weight to the conversation. His gaze shifted to Steve, and you could see the flicker of something unreadable between them, an unspoken understanding. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as Tony leaned against the doorframe, eyes never leaving Steve’s. "Ross has no idea I’m here," He continued, the humor fading from his voice. He sounded more serious now. "I'd like to keep it that way,”

“Otherwise, I'd have to arrest myself." He let out a huff, but even the sound was lacking its usual bite. Steve’s lips quirked into a half-smile at the comment, but his eyes were still sharp, his focus unwavering. “Well, that sounds like a lot of paperwork.” He replied, a lightness to his tone, though it couldn’t quite lift the heaviness that lingered in the room. At Steve’s words, you heard your father let out a small chuckle. It was a sound you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever. But there it was, allowing himself the rare gift of a real laugh. It caught you off guard, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, there was still a trace of the man he used to be beneath the armor of cynicism and sarcasm.

You watched, transfixed, as Steve’s guarded expression softened, the familiar shield he always carried with him seeming to fall away. In its place was something that looked like relief, or perhaps acceptance. He stood a little straighter, his posture no longer rigid but open. “It’s good to see you, Tony,” Steve muttered, the words sincere. Your father’s gaze softened, just slightly, as he replied, his voice tinged with something almost nostalgic. “You too, Cap.” For a fleeting second, it felt like everything was right in the world. "Hey, Manchurian Candidate, you're killing me. There's a truce here." Your father’s voice broke the tension with his signature sarcasm, and you couldn’t help but scoff.

Hearing that familiar tone that always seemed to be half-joking, half-threatening. That was the real Tony Stark, you thought to yourself, the one who never missed a beat, even in the thick of it all. But it didn’t quite land. Not with Bucky standing there, tense and poised, eyes flicking to Steve for permission to lower his weapon. You felt your father’s gaze on you again, heavier this time. It was like a weight pressing down, challenging you to acknowledge it, to react, but you couldn’t afford to. His eyes burned through you, a mixture of concern, frustration, and maybe something else you weren’t ready to face. Not quite yet.

The silence hung in the air like a storm cloud, and despite yourself, your walls cracked slightly, just for a split second. But you didn't let it show. You straightened your back, keeping your expression neutral. After a long, pregnant pause, the tension in the room gnawed at you, suffocating. You had enough. Without waiting for anyone else to speak, you walked forward, your boots clicking sharply against the cold, cement floor of the abandoned facility. You held your gun firmly in hand, scanning the dark corners, the narrow hallways, every shadow that seemed to hold something dangerous just out of sight.

"Stay behind us," Your father’s voice called out, sharp and commanding, like it always was when he felt the need to protect. His words were laced with a sense of authority, but you could hear the undercurrent of something else too, his belief that you weren’t quite ready, that you weren’t quite capable. It was always the same. "You do know there's a psychopath on the loose, right?" The way he phrased it made your jaw tighten, the old sting of his overprotectiveness rising in your chest. It was like he thought you couldn’t handle it. Like you didn’t belong there.

You didn’t even stop to glance at him, but you could practically feel his eyes on your back as you continued walking. Your grip on your weapon tightened, not out of fear, but frustration. You hated the way he undermined you, even now. With each step you took, you could feel the weight of his disapproval pressing on your shoulders, but you wouldn’t let it break you. You couldn’t. “You do know," You started, your voice cold but steady, not looking back, but letting your words hit him anyway, "I was trained by one of the deadliest Red Room assassins and I can perfectly handle myself, right?"

You let the words hang in the air between you, knowing they would get to him. You let the silence follow, letting your point sit heavy in the air, hoping it would sink in once and for all. You watched him, waiting for the reaction you knew was coming, yet to your surprise, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he walked past you, his eyes scanning the room, his focus sharp. “I’ve got heat signatures,” He muttered, breaking the stillness, his voice low, tense. “How many?” Steve asked. There was a long pause, a beat too long, before he answered, “Uh, one.” A chill ran down your spine at his reply.

You exchanged a glance with Steve, then followed him cautiously into what seemed to be the facility’s main chamber. As the four of you stepped inside, the room seemed to pulse with an unsettling energy. The hum of machinery filled the air, sharp and static. The flickering lights above barely gave you a moment to prepare before they blinked on fully, casting an unnatural brightness across the room. The sight in front of you sent a jolt of horror through your chest. The room was lined with cryo-chambers, the transparent, frost-covered capsules housing the bodies of the super soldiers.

Soldiers who had been preserved, frozen in time, until now. Their faces were twisted in expressions of agony, frozen in the instant of their deaths. It wasn’t just death. It was execution. Before you could process the horror before you, the voice pierced the quiet, unsettlingly calm. “If it’s any comfort, they died in their sleep.” The words were coated with an eerie detachment, a venomous hatred. "Did you really think I wanted more of you?" Zemo’s voice continued, dripping with disdain. You felt a chill settle deeper into your bones, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

Bucky, standing next to you, muttered under his breath, his voice low but laced with disbelief. "What the hell." You could see the disbelief in his eyes, but there was no time to process the chaos. It hit harder than you expected, the sting of his words making you wonder if this was all part of his twisted plan. "I'm grateful for them though," Zemo added, his tone shifting. “They brought you here.” Slowly, almost theatrically, Zemo revealed himself, his presence calm but undeniably sinister. Your instincts kicked in, and without a second thought, you raised your weapon, aiming it directly at him. The metal of the gun felt cold against your palm, your finger hovering over the trigger.

But Steve was faster. He flung his shield with lethal precision, a blur of motion as it sliced through the air toward Zemo. Only, Zemo was smarter. He didn't flinch. He didn’t even break his cold gaze. “Please, Captain,” He mocked, watching as Steve’s shield veer off course and deflect with a metallic clang. “The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 rockets.” Of course this bastard had time to think of everything. “I’m betting I can beat that.” Your father’s voice cut through the tension, fist raised in a challenge. “Oh, I’m sure you could, Mister Stark," Zemo replied, his voice smooth like velvet, but carrying a bite of mockery. "Given time, but then you’d never know why you came.”

You could feel the anger rising in your chest, anxiety skyrocketing. "You killed innocent people in Vienna," You spat, your voice razor-sharp, laced with accusation and fury. "Accused an innocent man of murder, just to bring us here." Zemo’s gaze shifted toward you, a glint of twisted amusement flickering in his cold eyes. A sadistic smile spread across his face, a smile that made your skin crawl. This was what he wanted. This was the game he’d been playing. “Ah, Miss Stark,” He purred, his voice smooth, almost mocking, “It's lovely to finally meet you. Your reputation truly precedes you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sheer contempt in his words, but before you could respond, Steve immediately stepped forward. His body language was defensive. He stood just a few feet away, his broad frame blocking your view of Zemo, shielding you from his scrutinizing gaze. That subtle shift in the air, the way Zemo’s attention immediately turned to Steve, did not go unnoticed. “I’ve thought about nothing else for over a year. I studied you. I followed you. But now that you're standing here, I just realized, there’s a bit of green in the blue of your eyes.” He chuckled darkly, the humor in his voice hollow.

Yet Steve didn’t falter. He stood his ground, his eyes unblinking. “How nice to find a flaw.” For a moment, Zemo was silent, his eyes narrowed, taking in Steve’s every movement as if weighing him. Steve’s face hardened as he pressed on. “You’re Sokovian,” He denounced, piecing together the remnants of what he had come to understand about this man’s vendetta. “Is that what this is about?” Zemo’s lips curled into a thin, bitter smile, but there was no humor in it. “Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell. I’m here because I made a promise,” His words were sharp, like daggers thrown without care. “You lost someone.” You spoke once more, putting the pieces together.

Zemo’s face tightened, his eyes darkened with an almost palpable bitterness. “I lost everyone, and so will you.” Without warning, Zemo reached for a control panel nearby, his movements fluid, almost rehearsed. A moment later, a screen flickered to life. The soft hum of machinery filled the room, followed by the sudden glow of the monitor. You stepped closer to the screen, your heart racing. Something felt wrong, but you couldn’t quite place it. As your eyes moved over the image displayed before you, you heard your father’s voice quiet, almost to himself cut through the tension.

“I know that road.” His words, full of recognition, broke you out of your thoughts. Your eyes darted to his face, catching a shift in his expression. His breath hitched as he focused on the date labeled on the cassette tape: December 16, 1991. A chill ran through you. Why did that date sound so familiar? “What is this?” Your father seethed, his voice full of barely contained rage as his eyes never left the monitor. You glanced toward Zemo, whose face was locked onto your father, an almost predatory interest glinting in his gaze, as if he were watching the last piece of his game fall into place. You could feel your hands grow clammy on your gun, your pulse pounding in your ears as the image on the screen shifted, and a car came into view.

Then, it happened.

The car crashed. You barely had time to process it before a figure on a motorcycle approached the wreckage, and in that instant, everything clicked. This was the night your grandparents were murdered. “Sergeant Barnes,” You heard your grandfather’s voice on the recording, his voice filled with disbelief. You felt your heart stop in your chest as you saw him, saw Bucky no, The Winter Soldier, emerge from the shadows, his face cold and unreadable. Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped your lips. You could hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears, drowning out everything around you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your father’s gaze lock with Bucky’s. But you couldn’t look away from the screen. The video zoomed in, and you watched, paralyzed, as Bucky struck your grandfather twice in the face, sending him collapsing into the wreckage of the car. The silence in the room was deafening as you struggled to breathe, the weight of the reality crashing down on you. You didn’t even realize the tears were falling until the salt stung your lips. The screen before you only grew darker, more horrific as The Winter Soldier continued his mission.

You watched in absolute horror as he staged your grandfather’s body at the steering wheel, as if to make it look like a tragic accident. Then, Bucky moved to your grandmother’s side of the car. Your eyes burned with tears as you watched his hand wrap around her neck, squeezing the life out of her with a coldness you couldn’t fathom. You could see it in his face, no emotion, just the mechanical efficiency of a soldier who had been stripped of his humanity. You could hardly breathe as you saw him let go, stepping away from her lifeless body. But it didn’t end there. Bucky then made his way around the car and, without hesitation, fired a shot at the camera, erasing all evidence of his actions.

The world felt like it was spinning, and you couldn’t quite understand what you’d just witnessed. It was like your entire life had just been shattered in front of you. You didn’t know where to put your grief, your fury, your disbelief. Before you had time to fully process what you’d just seen, your father lunged at Bucky, his rage exploding outward. “No!” You wanted to scream, but the sound barely left your throat. Steve was quicker, grabbing your father with surprising force, holding him back.

“Tony, Tony!” Steve’s voice was frantic, coaxing, trying to calm him. The chaos around you intensified, and it was as if everything froze for a split second. Your bloodshot eyes met Bucky’s, and in that moment, it was as though the room had gone silent again. The weight of the truth was unbearable, suffocating. “Did you know?” Your father’s voice cracked, breaking with something raw, something you’d never heard from him in your twenty-four years of life. He was breaking. His eyes were wide, desperate, as he looked at Steve. “I didn’t know it was him,” Steve replied, his grip on your father’s suit tight, as if trying to hold him together in that moment.

But it was too late. “Don’t bullshit me, Rogers,” Your father spat, his face twisted with grief and rage. His voice was full of a rawness that made your heart ache for him. “Did you know?” You held your breath as you watched Steve’s face, torn between truth and loyalty. Then, with a steady gaze, Steve said the one word that shattered everything: “Yes.” For a long moment, you didn’t know what to do. You could feel your whole world crumbling around you. And then, you saw it, your father’s face harden. His gaze darkened with fury, the weight of everything crashing down on him.

Without warning, with a force you didn’t even know he had, your father’s fist shot out, metallic palm connecting with Steve’s face in a brutal backhand. “Dad!” You screamed, but it was too late. Steve went down hard, hitting the pavement with a sickening thud. The sound of nanotechnology whirring to life reached your ears before you had time to react. You stepped forward, panic flooding your veins, knowing what was about to happen if you didn’t intervene. “Dad, listen to me!” You shouted, desperate, heart racing. “He was brainwashed by HYDRA, it wasn’t him! He had no control over his actions, you can’t blame him for what happened!” You stood between your father and Bucky.

But your father’s eyes were wild, filled with the kind of rage you’d never seen before. His voice was broken but fierce. “He still killed my mom.” In an instant, you were shoved aside, your body crashing to the ground with the force of your father’s fury. You barely had time to register the pain as your wrist hit the pavement. You gasped, a sharp ache spreading through your arm as you struggled to regain your footing. Your father was blinded by rage. And you were standing in his way. You watched in horror, your breath catching in your throat, as your father, a man you’d always known as controlled and calculating, moved with terrifying speed and ferocity.

He immediately headed towards Bucky, his movements fluid and deadly. With a brutal efficiency that sent a shiver down your spine, he disarmed Bucky, the clatter of metal echoing through the fractured space. He then stepped on Bucky’s metal arm, before aiming one of his Repulsors directly at his face, the glowing aperture a stark, menacing eye. Only then did Steve, battered and bruised, manage to rise, intercepting the blast with a powerful, desperate throw of his shield, the impact resonating with a metallic clang. Seeing your father momentarily distracted, Bucky, his eyes flashing with a desperate determination, lunged forward, attempting to knock your father off balance.

The attempt was futile, a desperate gamble against a force driven by pure, unadulterated vengeance. Once again, your father, his movements precise and relentless, aimed one of his Repulsors at Bucky, the blue energy pulsing ominously. But the super soldier, his instincts honed by decades of combat, used his metal arm as a makeshift shield, the powerful limb absorbing the blast and then, with a brutal twist, shattering the repulsor emitter. You should have known your father would be prepared for such a contingency. He immediately transitioned, his movements seamless and deadly, attempting to launch a short-range missile at Bucky.

But Bucky, his senses sharpened by the adrenaline and the threat of imminent death, anticipated the move. With a swift, twist of his metal arm, he redirected the missile, sending it hurtling towards what appeared to be the facility's generators. You held your breath, your heart pounding against your ribs, watching in slow-motion as a catastrophic chain reaction erupted. A plume of smoke and fire billowed from the damaged chamber, the air thick with the acrid smell of burning metal and ozone. Debris rained down, and one of the support pillars, weakened by the explosion, began to tilt, heading straight towards you.

You froze, your muscles locked in a paralysis of fear, your eyes widening in terror. You closed them, bracing for the inevitable impact. Only before the pillar could crush you, Bucky managed to break free from your father's relentless attacks. He lunged forward, his movements a blur of desperate speed, pulling you away from the collapsing structure. “Go, I’m okay,” You reassured him, your voice trembling, but firm. Only instead of heeding your words, his eyes remained glued to your face, his gaze searching, almost desperate. "Bucky," You called his name softly, your voice barely a whisper, snapping him out of his reverie.

"He's not going to stop, go!" You needed him to focus on survival, not on you. You watched as he gave you one last, lingering look, a silent promise etched in his eyes, before sprinting towards the opposite end of the chamber, where Steve and your father were locked in a brutal, desperate struggle. The sound of their grunts and the clash of fists, echoed in the vast, dimly lit room. Time seemed to slow, each movement of their bodies, each swing of their arms, a blur of chaos. You wanted to move, to help, but your body betrayed you. The agonizing throb in your injured arm was a constant, cruel reminder of your limitations. You could do nothing about the fight.

You knew that. Your best bet was to get out of there was to reach the jet. That was your only hope in case the situation spiraled further out of control. With every step you took, the pain in your arm felt like a fire, consuming you from the inside out, but you couldn’t afford to stop. You gritted your teeth, forcing your legs to carry you, each stumble a testament to your desperation. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of limping, you reached the darkened corridor. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of dust and burning debris. And then, just as you thought you might catch your breath, a loud, deafening crash echoed through the chamber, and more debris fell from above.

The ground shook beneath you, sending vibrations up your spine, and you had to brace yourself against the wall to avoid being knocked over. That was your first mistake. You’d let your guard down. For just a fraction of a second, you’d been so fixated on the fight in front of you, that you didn’t sense the presence creeping up behind you. You didn’t hear the footsteps, the faint shuffle of movement in the shadows, until it was too late. Before you could even react, a strong hand shot out, gripping your arm with a vice-like hold. You barely had time to gasp before you were yanked back, your body crashing into the cold, unforgiving stone of the wall as you were pulled deeper into the darkness of the corridor.

The air grew colder here, the shadows longer, and for a moment, you couldn't see a thing. "Innocent?" The voice, sharp and unmistakable, hissed in your ear. Zemo. "After what you saw, do you still think that monster is innocent?" You swallowed hard, fear crawling up your throat. Your pulse quickened, but your mind raced, searching for something, anything to use against him. But all you could feel was the pounding in your head and the throbbing ache in your arm. You reached for your gun, but the world was spinning. Everything felt blurry, disorienting. The metallic taste of blood was in your mouth, and your body screamed at you to give in. Your fingers brushed the handle of your gun, but before you could even draw it, Zemo's hand was there, quicker than you could react.

With a brutal twist, he wrenched your gun from its holster, his grip unforgiving as he shoved you further into the shadows. "You don't have to do this." Zemo’s laugh was cold, cruel. "Oh, but I do," He shoved the barrel of your gun into your side digging into your injury. "I made a promise. And I intend to keep it." His words were final, spoken with a venomous certainty that made your heart lurch. And then, before you could do anything more, before you could beg or reason or fight back, there was a sudden, searing pain in the back of your head. The world tilted, spun wildly, and everything around you went dark.

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[freddiemcn]

just finished a fourth chapter of a tfatws bucky x oc fic... im highkey obsessed... anyone wanna read?