#and the compounded agonies....

[bottomschlatt]

the most crucial aspect of charactizing docm77 is that every day he suffers so much for girlish whimsy

[raposabranca]

Hi I'm sorry I disappeared. I'm dealing with A Bit right now and hit a block. The thought of doing art is averse to me at the moment, and I'm struggling because I love art. Trying to find a way out. Love you, thank you for your continued support through the harder and the easier times.

[iinryer]

what did he dooooo??? (eddie’s no good very bad decision for the wip game pls!)

answering both of these at once because I don’t have much more than the outline for this one (@gayeddieagenda asking as if they weren’t around for the dramatic inception of it gjfhdhf). this is the one i have also referred to as “the evil fic”… NO ONE IS EVIL IN IT, ITS JUST ME WHO IS EVIL.

the basic concept is what if eddie blows up his life because he wants to be happy, fighting era 2.0 where he’s still self destructing but he thinks he’s being more responsible about it bc he’s physically safer :’) unfortunately, he is still emotionally hurting himself :’) i feel like I need to reiterate that i started working on this before the kim plot gfjdfhdh eddie will blow up his life in every universe <3

i don’t want to give away too much bc im still working it out myself, but it will involve muay thai bc i will always be self indulgent about combat sports.

eddie is chasing happiness that he feels like is Always out of his reach and, unfortunately, misdirects that frustration/wanting…

—

Eddie’s afraid to see disgust or rage on Tommy’s face. He doesn’t let himself look away, though, prepared to accept what punishment he’s given—but all he sees is shock. Shock that bleeds inch by inch into awful, heartbreaking devastation.

“Eddie,” there’s a tremor in his name. Eddie’s never heard Tommy sound anything less than perfectly composed. But his voice is wrecked, and it cracks as he continues lowly, “I think you need to leave,”

—

ask me about me wips!

[marc--chilton]

still losing my mind at the way houses relationship with john would have fucked up the way he sees being an omega. just,,, teen house, young and confused, experiencing these absoloutely brutal heats. not understanding why they are so bad and hard when theyre supposed to be a time where an omega feels good. already feeling broken and wrong, and then having to face john's anger and disappointment over him being an omega

like i can only imagine how it would affect him in heat, a time where he would be less able to think coherently. and constantly remembering how traumatic and horrible his heats as a teen were, the memory making him feel bad and in turn making him feel physically worse. just like,,, a constant feedback loop of remembering and feeling bad -> feeling physically worse in turn -> reminding himself even more of his childhood and feeling worse

i feel like after having to deal with his first few heats without a strong family net to acclimate to the changes, once house is outta there and doing his own thing he tries to never deal with his heats alone. he marks his cycle religiously, makes deals with alphas in med school to help him through them, or even finds street suppressants if he's especially desperate.

man. you just know john has put him outside for some of his heats, too. nothing to nest with, no scent blocking patches, just left him in the yard like a sacrificial lamb. it goes without saying how dangerous that is.

hell, once he's employed i wouldn't be surprised if he stole something from the hospital to bring home in case a heat comes up that he can't deal with, something that'll knock him out for the worst of it.

[ardentpoop]

sam winchester is the type of character to make you go “augh……ouagh………sam……” every time you remember anything abt him

[kaijumilf]

all i know is that today my tummy hurts so bad

[carriehobbs]

.

[winterarmyy]

He Hates Me, Doesn't He?

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: You hurt Bucky's girl, and now he hates you.

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Words: 6.7k++

Warnings: angstyyyyyyyyy, but with happy ending because I cannot live in agony. miscommunication galore. 'I want to strangle bucky's girlfriend.' soft reader, cold/mean bucky. bucky should've grovel more. horrible attempt of writing verbal arguments. nothing much but pain.

Inspiration: I remember reading a bucky fic years ago and I like the pain that it caused me to feel. Idk why the pain suddenly came back to me lately. So, this is my take on the same idea. I haven't able to find it. But when I do, I'll reblog it in my another acc!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

y/n had always been a steady presence in the Avengers, known for her gentle demeanour and unwavering support. Her relationship with Bucky Barnes had blossomed from a quiet friendship into something deeper. When they first met, Bucky was reserved and hesitant, still grappling with his past as the Winter Soldier. y/n, with her gentle nature and patient understanding, slowly helped him come out of his shell.

She remembered the sleepless nights they spent together when they were on the run with Steve and Sam. They'd share stories, and sometimes just sit in silence, her quiet company offering solace to Bucky's restless mind. The unspoken bond growing stronger with each passing day. Bucky looked up to her, finding comfort in her presence, and in turn, he became fiercely protective of her. They'd watch each other's backs during missions, their synergy on the battlefield a testament to their deep connection. 

And somewhere along the line, she fell for him. She had fallen for Bucky's resilience and vulnerability, though she never expected more, knowing that a relationship was not what he needed right now. At least, that's what she thought. Little did she know, Bucky had always loved her; ever since the day she offered him tea the first night they were on the run to Wakanda. Maybe she was just simply aloof, or maybe Bucky’s flirting skills weren’t translated the way he wanted, but they never crossed the line between friendship and ‘something more’.

Then when Jen came into the picture, it felt like things started to change. Jen was bold and confident, and it wasn't long before she caught Bucky's eye. Their relationship seemed to spring up overnight, and y/n, though hurt, tried to be happy for Bucky. Jen was supportive and caring, or so it seemed, and Bucky deserved happiness.

Now, as planned the team was instructed to moved into the Avenger compound for a few months to train new recruits. It had only been the first month but surely it was jam packed with endless of rigorous training sessions. The original team—y/n, Sam, Bucky, Jen, Clint, and his mentee Kate Bishop—were all assigned to train the new recruits, with additional of few agents from different branches coming in to help out.

y/n was heading to the training room; she knew it was way too early but she thought that if she didn’t get out of bed now, she might not even get up at all. To her surprise, she was not the first one. She saw a few new trainees were already on the way to the training room; some of them greeted her a good morning. She simply smiled at their enthusiasm. 

The moment she entered the area, she overheard voices coming from the corner of the room. She paused, recognizing Jen's voice, which was raised and laced with contempt. Curiosity piqued, y/n stepped closer, staying just out of sight behind the white board. In hindsight, it might seem weird that she was sneaking around to eavesdrop on Jen, but she couldn't help it.

Initially, y/n liked Jen. She tried to welcome her into their tight-knit group and even supported her relationship with Bucky. However, as time went on, Jen began acting strange. The things she said about Bucky sometimes sounded condescending. She would make comments like, "It's amazing how well he's adjusted, considering his past," or, "It's great that he's trying so hard to be normal." The way she acted often differed from her words, with Jen giving Bucky disapproving glances or sighing heavily whenever he mentioned something from his troubled past.

She had noticed these discrepancies and started to feel uneasy around Jen. She couldn't shake the feeling that Jen’s support was just a facade. Now, standing behind the whiteboard, she strained to hear the conversation.

"…and honestly, I don’t understand how anyone can trust him," Jen was saying. "I mean, sure, he's got that whole 'reformed hero' thing going on now, but let’s be real. He was Hydra’s pet assassin for decades. The things he’s done? It’s unforgivable."

Her friend, another agent from a different branch, nodded hesitantly. "But you’re dating him, aren’t you? Doesn’t that mean you trust him?"

Jen laughed, a cold, humourless sound. "Dating him? Please. I’m in it for the fame and the perks. Have you seen the way people look at us? Besides, he’s hot, I’ll give him that. But trust him? Never. People like him don’t change. They’re broken. He's a monster, and he always will be. It’s only a matter of time before he snaps again."

y/n felt a surge of anger rise within her. How dare Jen talk about Bucky like that? 

Memories flooded her mind, flashing back to Bucky’s nightmare-plagued nights. She remembered the prominent dark circles under his eyes, the haunted look that never quite left his face. The silent pain he endured, adjusting to a modern world where he felt like an outsider, magnified when Steve left. She could still see the wary, suspicious glances people cast in his direction, the whispers behind his back when they first ventured out. Before the fame he acquired as he regained his reputation after the Flag-Smasher incident.

She had witnessed his hardships firsthand—the nightmares that woke him in a cold sweat, the moments of crippling doubt and self-loathing. But she had also seen his triumphs, the small victories that slowly built his confidence. The first time he laughed freely in her presence, the genuine smile that lit up his face when he finally allowed himself to relax. She cherished those moments, the sunshine that broke through the clouds of his tortured past.

All of this came rushing back, breaking the chains on the Pandora's box inside of her. The fury she felt wasn't just for the disrespect to Bucky; it was for every ounce of pain he had suffered, every moment of joy he had fought so hard to reclaim. Her eyes hardened with resolve as she stepped forward, her voice steady but cold. "Take that back," she demanded, her presence startling both Jen and her friend.

Jen turned slowly, a smirk spreading across her face as she saw y/n. She knew from the beginning about the cute little crush y/n had on Bucky. To be frank, everybody sort of knew about it, except for Bucky somehow. 

"Or else what, y/n?" she replied with a mocking tone. "You’re quite pathetic aren’t you? You think that I can’t see how you’ve been eye-fucking my boyfriend all this time? Come on, now. Backing him up would not give you a leeway into his pants, y/n."

y/n’s face went through a range of emotions—shock, embarrassment, and then seething anger. Jen’s words were like poison, each one landing like a punch to the gut.

Jen continued, confidence oozing out of her cocky demeanor, "Besides, we all know that I can easily beat you in a fight, doll" 

The use of doll—a nickname Bucky had given y/n from day one, when Steve had quite literally kidnapped Bucky from the government—made y/n blood boil. Hearing it from Jen felt like a personal attack, a deliberate attempt to undermine everything she shared with Bucky.

And it was true that Jen had graduated top of her batch from the Avengers program and had countless successful missions under her belt, but y/n knew this wasn't about accolades or abilities. This was about something deeper, something more personal.

y/n clenched her fists, taking a step closer. "You think this is about who can fight better?" she said, her voice shaking with restrained fury. "This is about respect. You don’t get to talk about Bucky like that."

Jen scoffed, a cruel smile on her lips. "Respect? For that monster? You’re delusional. He’s a ticking time bomb, a liability to the team. And deep down, everyone knows it."

y/n’s patience snapped. In one swift motion, she slapped Jen hard across the face, the sound echoing through the room. Jen stumbled and fell to the ground, shock and anger flashing across her features.

She stalks forward like a predator cornering its prey, "I’m just done with your lies and your insults. Bucky deserves better than you." Jen instinctively crawled backwards towards the centre of the room. Seeing that she got the attention of the few new recruits she regained her composure, smirked again, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. "You’re pathetic, y/n," she taunted. "Defending a lost cause." her voice was loud enough for y/n to hear but quiet enough that the others might not be able to decipher her words.

At that moment, Bucky and Sam burst into the room, followed closely behind by a new recruit who alerted them of the incident. Bucky’s eyes widened as he took in the scene—Jen on the ground, y/n standing over her, shaking with rage. "What’s going on here?" His demand was completely ignored as y/n’s mind was hyper-focused on the wrath bubbling within her. 

"Get up," y/n demanded, her voice shaking with wrath. Bucky’s momentarily froze as he watched the confrontation escalate before him. y/n, usually so composed, was now a whirlwind of rage, her eyes blazing as she stood over a trembling Jen. Bucky had always known her to be fierce in battle, but this was different—this was raw, unbridled anger. "I'm going to make you regret every word you said. So get on your fucking feet before I rip it off you.." 

Jen, still on the ground, looked up at y/n with wide, teary eyes, playing the role of the victim to perfection. "Please, I didn't– I don’t know what you're…," she whimpered, casting a fearful glance at Bucky and Sam, who had just arrived on the scene.

Bucky's mind raced. Why was she doing this? He stepped forward, trying to diffuse the situation. "y/n, hey!" he shouted, his voice a mix of confusion and anger. "What are you doing?"

Completely ignoring him, "Get up," y/n snarled, her eyes blazing with intensity. "Get up and fight me. I’ll show you who the real monster is." Jen looked up, her hand on her cheek, disbelief mingling with her fury. "You’re crazy," she spat, scrambling to her feet.

Her response was only a furious shout. "I said, get up!"

"y/n, are you crazy?!" Bucky yelled, moving quickly to intervene. He grabbed her wrist, his grip tight and unforgiving.

She turned her fierce gaze towards Bucky; her expression momentarily faltering at the hurt in his eyes. "Bucky, you don’t understand, she--" she began, but the words caught in her throat as she saw Jen's smirk flicker for just a second.

"There's nothing to understand," Bucky snapped. "You’re acting insane."

y/n looked at him, her eyes filled with hurt and frustration. "Bucky, you have to listen—"

But he cut her off, his expression hard. "I don’t care! You hurt her, y/n. You think I don’t see that bruise on her cheek?!" Bucky shouted, his face contorted with anger. His eyes, usually filled with a gentle warmth when he looked at y/n, were now blazing with fury. "This isn’t like you, y/n. I’ve noticed that you’ve never liked Jen, and I don’t know why. But this? This is just immature and reckless." His metal grip on y/n's wrist was tighter than he intended. She winced, her eyes watering not just from the pain but from the sting of his words. 

y/n had never seen Bucky like this. His anger was palpable, radiating off him in waves. It was like being hit with a physical force, and she felt her heart breaking under the weight of it. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away, her anger flaring even hotter. "Bucky, you don’t understand," she tried to explain, but the words caught in her throat.

Bucky’s expression remained hard, the force on her wrist tightening painfully. "You need to grow up, y/n," he seethed, his disappointment evident in his tone. "You're always causing drama lately, and it needs to stop. Jen’s been there for me in ways you haven’t, and I won’t tolerate you attacking her like this."

The words cut through her like a knife. Her heart shattered at his harshness, at the realization that Bucky thought so little of her. She yanked her wrist free, feeling the sting of his grip lingering. "Fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Believe what you want."

Without another word, she turned and stormed out, leaving Bucky standing there, torn between confusion and guilt.

A gnawing sense of remorse tugging at him, but he couldn't shake the confusion and anger clouding his mind. "Jen, are you okay?" he asked, helping her to her feet.

Jen, tucking herself to his side, managed to summon a few tears, looking up at Bucky with a feigned innocence. "I don’t know why she hates me so much," she murmured, playing her part perfectly.

Bucky fingers softly traces on her wounded cheek before his gaze switched to y/n’s retreating form, a knot tightening in his chest. He wasn’t sure why those mean words had spouted out of his lips. Was it because he saw Jen injured on the ground and his protective instincts kicked in? Or was it because Jen had been whispering doubts in his ear about y/n’s loyalty, making him question his longtime friend? 

The truth was, Bucky had always relied on y/n’s unwavering support. She had been his rock through the toughest times, and seeing her so furious, so hurt, shook him to his core. Yet, in the heat of the moment, he had lashed out, unable to reconcile the image of Jen crying with the fierce anger that radiated from y/n.

As Bucky comforted Jen, his mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He couldn't shake the image of hurt on her face, nor could he ignore the nagging feeling that he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

On the side, Sam was only able to watch the scene play out silently, a frown creasing his brow. He had a feeling there was more to this story, and he intended to get to the bottom of it.

As weeks passed, the rift between Bucky and y/n deepened, fueled by Jen's cunning manipulation. In a private conversation, Jen planted seeds of doubt in Bucky's mind, suggesting that y/n harboured hidden resentments and intentions.

"I hate to say it, Bucky, but maybe she's not who we thought she was," Jen insinuated, her voice dripping with false concern. "Maybe she's been hiding her true feelings all along, waiting for the right moment to strike." 

Bucky, already vulnerable and confused after the incident in the training room, absorbed Jen's words like poison, allowing them to fester and take root in his mind. He began to view y/n through a new lens, one tainted by suspicion and distrust. This single conversation, filled with subtle manipulations and insidious suggestions, was all it took to fracture the bond between Bucky and y/n, leaving Bucky cold and distant towards the one person who had always stood by his side.

Most days he would avoid eye contact with her during team meetings, barely acknowledging her presence when they were forced to interact. In training sessions, his instructions to her were curt and clipped, lacking the warmth and camaraderie they once shared. y/n felt each of these interactions like a stab to the heart.

She couldn't understand how quickly Bucky had turned against her, how easily he had accepted Jen's version of events without even giving her a chance to explain. The hurt festered inside her, eating away at her sense of self-worth.

Then one night, as y/n sat alone on the rooftop, staring out into the darkness, Sam found her there. He knew this was where she retreated when she needed space to think, to process her emotions. He approached her cautiously, sitting down beside her without a word.

"Why aren't you at dinner, y/n?" Sam finally asked, breaking the silence. He could see the emptiness in her eyes, the weight of her sorrow pressing down on her.

She shook her head, her voice hollow. "Lost my appetite," she muttered, her gaze still fixed on the horizon.

Sam gently prodded, knowing there was more to her withdrawal than just a lack of hunger. "Is it because of what happened the other day at the training room?" he asked softly.

Instantly, her demeanor shifted. Anger flared in her eyes, directed not just at Jen and Bucky, but at the entire situation. "I don't want to talk about it, Sam," she snapped, her frustration bubbling to the surface. But Sam wasn't one to give up easily, especially when he knew how much y/n was hurting. "Come on, y/n," he urged, his voice gentle but insistent. "You can't keep bottling this up. Talk to me."

Her expression softened slightly at Sam's persistence, but the pain still lingered in her eyes. "Seriously, Sam, please just drop it," she pleaded, her voice wavering with emotion.

Sam could see the cracks forming in her facade, the vulnerability seeping through the tough exterior she usually projected. Without a word, he pulled her into a comforting embrace, letting her bury her face against his shoulder.

As she clung to him, her facade finally crumbled. Her lips trembled, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "He hates me, doesn't he?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbreak. "Bucky hates me."

Sam held her tighter, offering silent comfort as she grappled with the weight of her sorrow. He knew there were no easy answers, no quick fixes to mend the shattered pieces of y/n's heart. But in that moment, all he could do was be there for her, a steady anchor in the storm of her emotions.

The dim glow of the kitchen's overhead light provided a faint sense of solace in the otherwise silent darkness of the compound. Bucky sat at the wooden table, his tired eyes staring blankly at the cup of untouched tea before him. It was a nightly ritual lately, this dance with sleeplessness and the haunting memories that lurked in the shadows of his mind yet again.

Footsteps broke the stillness, and Bucky's gaze shifted to the entrance of the kitchen. y/n stood hesitantly in the doorway, her presence casting a tentative aura over the room. There was a palpable tension between them, an unspoken weight that hung heavy in the air.

She cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence. "Mind if I join you?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She was expecting Bucky to ignore her completely but he didn’t; Bucky simply shrugged nonchalantly, his guard seemed to flatter. "Suit yourself," he muttered.

As she quietly took a seat opposite him, a heavy silence settled between them. Bucky's thoughts churned with a whirlwind of emotions, each one vying for dominance over the others. His guard seemed to falter in the presence of her tentative yet comforting aura. The weight of his own vulnerability loomed large in his mind, drowning out the anger he had harboured towards her.

As the silence stretched between them, she felt a surge of compassion wash over her. She knew why he was awake at this time. She knew that the tea he brewed was to help him sleep. She was the one who planted that habit to him after all.

And despite everything that had transpired between them, she couldn't bear to see Bucky suffer alone. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she decided to reach out to him, to offer what little comfort she could.

Without a word, y/n rose from her seat and moved to stand behind Bucky's chair. He stiffened at her touch, his muscles tense with apprehension. But as her gentle hands began to massage the tension from his neck, a wave of unexpected relief washed over him.

Her touch was soft and comforting, a stark contrast to the coldness he had grown accustomed to due to Jen’s unwillingness to acknowledge this side of him. She ran her fingers through his hair, coaxing him to relax, to let go of the burdens that weighed heavily on his shoulders. For a brief moment, Bucky allowed himself to forget the walls he had built around his heart. In her presence, her voice, and her touch; he felt a glimmer of hope, a flicker of warmth that he had long since forgotten.

But then, like a sudden gust of wind extinguishing a fragile flame, the weight of Jen's words came crashing back down upon him. Anger flared within him, hot and fierce, directed not only at y/n but at himself for allowing his heart to yearn for her.

He pushed himself away from the table, his movements sharp and abrupt. "I don't need your pity, y/n," he spat, his words laced with bitterness. "Just leave me alone."

With that, he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving y/n alone in the suffocating silence.The disbelief that clouded her thoughts gave way to a searing agony that twisted in her chest. How could he say such things? How could he push her away so callously, after everything they had shared?

y/n buried her face in her hands, her body trembling with the force of her sobs. The weight of her shattered dreams pressed down on her, crushing her spirit beneath its merciless grip. She had never felt so alone, so utterly abandoned by the one person she had trusted above all others.

The pain of losing Bucky, of losing the love that had sustained her through the darkest of times, threatened to consume her whole. Each breath felt like a struggle, each heartbeat a painful reminder of the emptiness that now filled her soul.

In that moment of crushing despair, she couldn't help but believe that Bucky truly hated her. The thought tore through her like a knife, leaving behind a raw, gaping wound that no amount of time or distance could ever hope to heal.

As she sat alone in the suffocating silence of the kitchen, y/n felt the full weight of her heartbreak descend upon her like a tidal wave. She was lost in a sea of pain and sorrow, drowning in the agony of losing someone she had loved so deeply, so completely. And in that moment, she couldn't help but wonder if she would ever find her way back to the surface again.

Unbeknownst to her, Bucky lingered just out of sight, his heart heavy with guilt. He wanted to go back, to take back his harsh words and hold her close, to chase away the tears that stained her cheeks. But the poison in his mind was too strong, clouding his judgement and trapping him in a cycle of self-destructive despair. And so, with a heavy heart, he turned and walked away, leaving y/n to cry alone in the darkness.

The mission had already been tense enough, but as y/n found herself face to face with Jen in a location she wasn't supposed to be, the atmosphere crackled with an added layer of hostility. It was as if fate had conspired to place them in this confrontation, and her jaw clenched involuntarily as she braced herself for what was to come.

Jen's presence in that spot was no coincidence, and she knew it. Her suspicions were confirmed as Jen turned to face her, a smirk playing on her lips, a gleam of malice in her eyes. y/n's grip tightened on her weapon, her pulse quickening as she prepared for the verbal assault she knew was coming.

"How does it feel, knowing that Bucky hates you now?" Jen's words sliced through the air like a knife, each syllable carrying the weight of y/n’s deepest fears. It was a direct hit, striking at the core of her insecurities, and for a moment, she felt as though the ground had been ripped out from beneath her feet.

But she refused to let Jen see her falter. With a steely resolve, she squared her shoulders and met Jen's gaze head-on, her expression a mask of defiance. She may have been shaken by Jen's words, but she refused to let them break her.

Ignoring the taunts, she focused on the mission at hand, determined to prove her worth despite Jen's attempts to undermine her. But with each passing moment, the weight of Jen's words hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over y/n’s every move.

It was a battle on two fronts – against the enemy they faced together, and against the doubts that threatened to consume her from within. But she refused to back down, drawing strength from the knowledge that she fought not just for herself, but for the team she believed in with all her heart.

But Jen's relentless barrage of insults made it difficult to concentrate, her words like daggers slicing through y/n’s defenses.

"Aww come on y/n, bet you’re reeling in the loss right now, aren’t you." Jen continued, her voice ice cold. "The Asset’s little lapdog, clinging to him like a lost puppy."

y/n’s temper flared at the insult, her grip tightening on her weapon as she fought to keep her emotions in check. But Jen's mocking laughter only fueled the fire burning within her, pushing her to the brink of her patience. "Shut your mouth, Jen," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "Or I swear to God, I'll make sure that the team finds your body disassembled in one of these rooms."

Jen simply rolled her eyes, unfazed by her threat. "You love him that much, huh?" y/n had no intention to deny that fact; she does love him, "More than you ever could." her voice was firm and true. Jen’s smirk fell as she scoffed. "Ain't that cute, the Winter Soldier and his little psycho sweetheart."

Before y/n could respond, a voice cut through the tension like a knife, freezing her in place. It was Bucky, his expression dark and stormy as he stepped into view. "What's going on here?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he took in the scene before him.

y/n’s heart sank as she realized that Bucky might have heard everything. She turned around to meet his eyes and his face confirmed her suspicion; he heard it.  Bucky had heard everything – every taunt, every insult, every word exchanged between her and Jen; even the confession of her true feelings. She met his gaze; searching for some sign of understanding of his emotions and the little that she saw was: disappointment, betrayal and guilt, mirrored back at her in the depths of his stormy blue eyes. 

In that moment, all she wanted to do was pull him into her arms, to pull him away from all the painful memories and hurtful words; so far away that he would forget he had ever been taunted, betrayed, or made to feel less than he was.

Before she could utter a word, let alone take a step towards him, Jen's voice broke through, but it lacked the usual confidence. "Bucky, it's not what you think," she stammered, her eyes darting nervously between Bucky and y/n. "I-I was just..."

y/n’s clenched her jaw, her patience wearing thin as Jen stumbled over her words, unable to come up with a coherent explanation. She could see the confusion and hurt in Bucky's eyes, a reflection of the turmoil raging within her own heart.

"I-I mean," Jen continued, her voice faltering. "I was...um...just trying to...uh..."

But her feeble attempts to justify her actions only served to further incense Bucky. His brow furrowed in anger, his fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to make sense of the situation.

"Enough," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't want to hear any more lies."

y/n’s heart ached as she watched Bucky's expression darken with anger and disappointment. She wanted to explain, to tell him the truth about Jen's betrayal and her own misguided attempt to defend him. But the words caught in her throat, choked by the weight of her guilt and regret.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky turned away, his shoulders slumped with defeat. "Let's just finish the mission," he muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "We'll deal with this later."

As he was about to walk away, y/n noticed a red dot on his chest, the unmistakable mark of a sniper's laser sight. Without thinking twice, she leaped towards him, her body acting as a human shield. Time seemed to slow down as she collided with Bucky, pushing him out of the way.

"y/n, no!" Bucky shouted, his voice filled with panic as her body slumped against his chest.

In the chaos, Jen was nowhere to be seen. She had slipped away, taking shelter and ultimately fleeing the area as she heard multiple footsteps approaching.

Bucky tried to pull up his gun, but it was too late. An array of bullets rained down on them. He felt the searing pain of a few shots piercing his own flesh, but it was nothing compared to the sight of y/n’s body being riddled with bullets. She was hit in the shoulder, wrist, thighs, and other places Bucky couldn't even register.

Rage surged through Bucky like an inferno, obliterating any semblance of restraint. He moved with a deadly precision, his eyes blazing with fury as he unleashed a storm of bullets on the enemy. His movements were swift and unforgiving, every shot finding its mark with brutal accuracy. The enemy fell one by one, their bodies collapsing in lifeless heaps. The air was filled with the deafening sound of gunfire and the acrid smell of gunpowder, but Bucky's focus was unyielding.

Within moments, the room was cleared, the enemies wiped out in a flurry of rage-fueled vengeance.

The adrenaline ebbed away, leaving Bucky standing amidst the carnage, his chest heaving. He turned, and his eyes fell on y/n's crumpled form. The sight of her lying in a pool of her own blood shattered his rage, replacing it with a crushing wave of worry and panic.

"Hang in there. Please," Bucky hastily spoke, his voice trembling. He activated his com line, desperation seeping into his tone. "Guys, we need help. y/n... she's... she's been shot. We need to get out of here right now!" Panic coursed through him as he turned his attention back to y/n, frantically trying to stop the bleeding on her stomach. "y/n, doll…please" he pleaded, watching her hazy gaze. "Don't you dare give up on me now. Come on."

"babydoll, stay with me!" Bucky cried, his voice breaking as he cradled her in his arms. Blood soaked through her clothes, staining his hands. "Please, hang on, you can’t leave yet. I haven't told you... I haven't—" 

Her eyes fluttered open, her breathing shallow and ragged. "It's okay, Bucky," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the chaos. "It's okay. Don't cry." Her shaking hands struggled to move, and with great effort, she managed to cup Bucky's cheek. The gesture was weak but filled with tenderness. "It's okay," she repeated, her fingers trembling against his skin.

"Don't talk like that," Bucky choked out, his own tears mingling with the blood on his face. "You can't.. I haven't told you...please doll..." His voice wavered with the weight of unspoken words and unconfessed feelings. He hadn't told her how much he truly cared for her, how every moment spent away from her felt like an eternity. He hadn't begged for forgiveness for his coldness, his mistakes, and for letting Jen's poison taint his actions. The guilt gnawed at him, each heartbeat a reminder of the words he hadn't said, the emotions he hadn't expressed. 

He pressed her hand harder against his cheek, feeling the warmth of her touch anchoring him in the moment.Her hand weakly brushing against his cheek. "I know, sweetheart," she murmured. "I know."

Bucky's heart shattered as he clung to her, feeling her life slipping away. "No, no, no," he muttered desperately. "You can't leave me. Please, y/n. Please."

She smiled faintly, her eyes closing. "I'm here, Bucky. I'm right here."

With a final, shuddering breath, y/n’s consciousness slipped away. Bucky felt a surge of panic, but he knew he had to move. He lifted her limp body, cradling her against his chest as he ran towards the quinjet. Each step was agony, his own injuries slowing him down, but he didn't care. All that mattered was getting y/n to safety.

"Hang on, y/n," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Hang on. I won't let you go."

In the sterile environment of the medical bay, y/n lay unconscious, her body hooked up to various machines that monitored her vital signs. Bucky sat by her bedside, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. Every beep of the monitor seemed to echo through the silence, a haunting reminder of her fragile state. He held her hand, his thumb gently caressing her bandaged wrist.

Memories of their time together flooded Bucky's mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of the connection they shared. He remembered the laughter they had shared, the late-night conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning. He remembered the gentle touch of her hand, the warmth of her smile that never failed to chase away the darkness.

But amidst the memories, there was also pain – the pain of their last conversation, the words left unsaid and the choices left unmade. Bucky's throat tightened as he recalled the day he had walked away from Jen, the air thick with tension and unspoken truths.

His voice was cold and final. "You almost got her killed, Jen," he had said, his eyes blazing with anger. "Stay away from us. Stay away from me."

Jen's eyes had flashed with anger, her words cutting like knives as she lashed out in frustration. "And what, you think you'll find someone better than me?" she had spat, her voice dripping with venom. "Good luck with that, Bucky. You'll never find anyone who would put up with your baggage."

But Bucky had remained resolute, his decision fueled by a sense of longing and regret that threatened to consume him whole. "Maybe not," he had admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'd rather be alone than with someone who doesn't truly care about me."

Now, as Bucky sat by y/n’s bedside, the weight of his decision bore down on him like a crushing weight. Tears welled in his eyes as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers trembling with emotion.

"I'm so sorry, babydoll," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I never meant for any of this to happen. So, please, wake up. I need you."

But y/n remained unconscious, her breathing shallow and weak as she lay before him. And as Bucky watched over her, his heart heavy with worry and regret, he vowed to do whatever it took to bring her back to him, to keep her safe from harm for all eternity.

For in that moment, Bucky realized that he couldn't bear to lose her – not now, not ever. She was his rock, his anchor in a world of uncertainty and pain. And as he held her hand tightly in his own, he prayed with all his heart that she would find her way back to him, to the love and light that had always guided them through the darkness.

The soft hum of machines filled the air as y/n stirred awake, her senses slowly coming back to her. She blinked, disoriented at first, until her gaze fell upon Bucky, who was sleeping soundly in the chair beside her bed. His hands were clasped tightly around hers, his face peaceful in slumber, but she couldn't help but notice the tear stains on his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, the worry lines etched into his forehead.

"How long has it been since?" she wondered to herself, her heart aching at the sight of Bucky's exhausted form. She carefully sat up, trying not to disturb him as she lovingly examined his sleeping face. She couldn't help but smile as she gently ran her fingers through his hair, the soft strands slipping through her fingertips.

Bucky groaned as his sleep was interrupted, muttering something about Sam needs to leave him be; before he abruptly sat up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Hi there," y/n greeted softly, her eyes sparkling with affection as she watched Bucky's reaction.

For a moment, Bucky seemed unable to comprehend that she was finally awake. His eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape. But then the realization hit him, and he threw himself at her, wrapping her in a tight embrace as if she were the most precious thing in the world .Despite the pain that shot through her body, she managed to let out a soft chuckle, returning his embrace with equal fervor. The warmth of his embrace chased away the lingering chill of unconsciousness, and for a moment, everything felt right.

"y/n..." Bucky breathed into her neck, his voice trembling with emotion. She hummed in response, her heart swelling for him. "Hmmm?"

Not wanting to let go of her, Bucky called her name once again, his voice wavering with uncertainty. "y/n-..." She paused, her lips curving into a tender smile as she whispered in his ear, "Yes, Bucky?"

Bucky tightened his grip, his breath hitching in his throat as he buried his face in her shoulder. y/n gently rubbed his back, her touch soothing and comforting as she reassured him, "I'm here, sweetheart." The scent of her hair, the feel of her warmth against him—it all felt overwhelming. Emotions churned inside him like a tempest. Relief, guilt, love, and fear battled for dominance, leaving him raw and exposed.

She gently rubbed his back, her touch soothing and comforting as she reassured him, "Bucky, I'm not going anywhere.

Bucky's mind raced, images of the past few weeks flashing before his eyes. He remembered the coldness with which he'd treated her, the cruel words that had slipped from his lips, fueled by Jen's poison. He thought of the sleepless nights, the nightmares that had gripped him, and the aching void he'd felt every time he saw y/n’s hurt expression.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "For everything. For not believing you. For pushing you away."

Reluctantly, she pulled away, but not before wiping the tears from Bucky's cheeks and fighting the urge to place a tender kiss on his forehead. As she looked into his eyes, she could see the depth of his love and the pain he had endured for her sake. And in that moment, she knew that she had found her home in his arms. Bucky took her hands in his own, his eyes closed as he pressed a kiss to her wounded wrists. "This will never happen again. Ever," he vowed, his voice filled with determination.

Moved by his words, y/n felt her heart flutter with emotion. She realized in that moment that she could never stay angry at him, no matter what had transpired between them. She understood now that they were both at fault, both victims of circumstance and misunderstanding.

With a surge of courage, she reached out and pulled Bucky into a kiss. Her lips met his in a slow, passionate embrace, pouring all of her love and forgiveness into the tender gesture. It was a moment of connection, of healing, of reaffirming their bond despite the trials they had faced.

The taste of Bucky's lips was like a soothing salve to her soul; it was intoxicating. It felt as if the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of them entwined in each other's arms. When they finally broke apart, Bucky whispered those three words that y/n had longed to hear, "I love you."

Her heart soared with joy, and she couldn't help but tease him, "Took you long enough." her teasing words met with a cheeky grin from Bucky.  "I love you too, Bucky" she blinked slowly. As he whispered softly under his breath, "Come here," he pulled her back into the kiss, their lips meeting in a tender embrace that spoke volumes of their unspoken love. And in that moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty of their world, they found solace in each other's arms, knowing that together, they could weather any storm.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: I just needed to let this out lmao. It's been stuck in my head for several weeks. Thank you for spending your time reading this crap... honestly. Love you so much 🤍

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Mercy Kill | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello! This was the fic that got the most votes in the poll I ran recently, so here it is. I'm glad yall picked this one, cause I was really excited to write it!

Also, there is something wrong and I cannot tag people properly right now for some reason. So, if you are on my tallest and happen upon this fic, I'm sorry! I don't know what the fuck is going on 😭

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings: PTSD, Hydra, blood, violence, minor reader injury, Bucky injury, angsty shit

“But if I could talk to him, if I could just see him-” you pled, “just for a minute! Please, he needs me and-”

But Bucky’s doctor remained steadfast. He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to move out of your way. Behind him sat the door to Bucky’s room, the door you hadn’t been allowed to enter for hours now. Bucky was only feet away, but you couldn’t get to him. Couldn’t check on him. Couldn’t hold his hand. 

Anxiety rendered your hands completely numb. The urgent need to see him, to take care of him, to reassure him vibrated inside your chest. Every second that passed, every second that Bucky sat alone in his room in the medbay filled you with dread. Bucky needed you. You always swore you’d be there for him no matter what. But no amount of begging could get you through that door. 

The mental image of him lying in his hospital bed all by himself threatened to make your throat close. Bucky didn’t like the medbay; his PTSD reared its ugly head each time he stepped foot in the white, sterile environment. He just couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom, of pain and suffering and agony. And he didn’t like doctors, didn’t trust them. Not after he suffered so severely at the hands of Hydra’s “medical” team. 

Every time he required treatment after a mission, he refused. He fought and clawed against the gloved hands that tried to guide him onto a gurney. And only when you calmly and kindly begged him to allow the doctors to take a look at him did he relent. But he held you tight as a vice grip the entire time. The sensation of your hand in his was the only thing that kept him grounded, kept him from spiraling. With you there by his side, he found a sliver of safety amongst the white coats that poked and prodded him. 

Today, however, was different. 

Things didn’t go as smoothly as you or Bucky had hoped. And your many calls for backup went unanswered. It looked like this would be the last mission for you and Bucky. Like you’d return home in matching body bags.

But just as he was overwhelmed by Hydra operatives, completely swarmed and swallowed by their agents- the backup team arrived. Hope bloomed anew as you heard their leader’s voice in your comm, announcing that they’d breach the door in the next few seconds. And they did. They helped you take down every last Hydra agent, freeing Bucky from their clutches. 

But before you could rush to his bloodied side, a few members of the backup team whisked him away. They loaded Bucky onto their jet and set off toward the compound, leaving you and the rest of their team behind. No one listened to your pleas, your desperate insistence. They assured you that Bucky would be fine, that they’d get him the medical care he needed. But he needed you, too. He needed you to sit with him, to hold his hand. 

No such luck. 

As you boarded the jet that brought you and Bucky to the mission site, you kicked yourself for not demanding that you accompany him. It felt like you failed him, like you couldn’t keep your word. He deserved better from you. He deserved to have his anchor there by his side when the flashbacks gripped him by the throat. But you swore to yourself that you’d visit him in the medbay as soon as you landed. That you’d sit by his bedside and hold his hand.

But you didn’t- you couldn’t.

“Our new policy says no visitors,” Bucky’s doctor said. 

“I’ll do whatever I have to do,” you insisted. “I’ll sign forms, I’ll wear a visitor’s badge, I’ll-”

“No exceptions.”

Even if Bucky’s hearing hadn’t gotten a boost from the serum, you were certain he ‘d be able to hear you fighting with his doctor.  

“This is ridiculous- since when?”  Passersby gave you judgmental sideways looks, but you paid them no mind. “Every doctor and nurse here knows that he needs me. That he isn’t comfortable around doctors- he has PTSD. Please, I always sit with him-”

“Not anymore.” The doctor nodded at a security guard who took you gruffly by the arm and escorted you out. 

It didn’t make any sense. Every hospital allowed visitors. And even though the medbay wasn’t exactly your standard general hospital, they operated by most of the same rules. The always allowed visitors- sometimes two at a time. Their patients needed to see family and friends- needed a support system. And you were Bucky’s. But they stole you from his side for something as insignificant as a policy change.

With your hopes of being there for Bucky dashed, you pulled out your phone; the screen blurred as tears welled in your eyes. Bucky’s number sat the very top of your ‘favorites’ list, just as it had since you became friends. With a shaking hand, you pressed ‘call’ and held the phone to your ear. It rang. And rang and rang and rang. Until finally, Bucky’s voicemail answered. 

“You’ve reached James Barnes. Leave a message.”

“Hey, Buck,” you sniffled. “I guess you might be sleeping. Um, I had it out with your doctor in the hall, but he wouldn’t let me see you. Something about a-” you rolled your eyes, “a policy change or something. So, just… just let them take care of you, okay? I know how you feel about doctors, I know you’re probably scared- but you need to let them treat you. You’re safe. I promise you, you’re safe here. And you can call or text me any time- we can facetime. Whatever you need. I’ll see you when you get out, okay? Call me.”

But he didn’t. 

Without Bucky around, your world didn’t fall into place the way it was supposed to. Everything around you felt off kilter. Disjointed. Like you’d been dropped into a universe in which you didn’t belong. Part of you was used to this feeling by now. Every time Bucky went off on a mission that didn’t include you, you found yourself in this same, fragmented reality.

But this version was far worse. Because Bucky wasn’t away, he was here; he was only a few floors away from you. But you couldn’t see him. And you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, just how uncomfortable he was. How scared and alone and miserable. He was hurt- he needed rest. But you were certain he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep in the medbay. Not with his near-pathological fear of medical treatment. 

Two days passed without you taking notice. Meetings came and went without your attendance. You missed training sessions and team dinners. None of it mattered, not without Bucky. He was all you thought about. All you cared about. Every absent thought, every passing notion revolved around him. He was in good hands in the medbay, you knew he was. But you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying about him. From spiraling.

Was he getting enough sleep? Was he allowing the doctors and nurses to care for him? Was he eating? Was he having panic attacks? You found yourself afflicted by the not knowing. By the unanswered questions. On any normal day, you knew about everything going on in Bucky’s life, every thought populating his mind. But now, you were adrift in a dark see of uncertainty. 

It didn’t help that your every attempt at contact with Bucky came up empty. Hundreds of texts went unanswered. A myriad of voicemails garnered no response. He was radio silent; it made you nauseous. He should’ve been able to text back, right? To, at the very least, give your messages a thumbs up or a heart? It was out of character- completelyunheard of- for him to not answer you. 

What if he was worse off than you thought? Was he physically incapable of even using his phone? Was he comatose? Was he dying? The possibilities were endless. Nauseating. Horrifying. Each scenario you imagined was far worse than the last. Far scarier. Far deadlier. And calls to the medbay offered no insight. You urged them to give you an update on his condition, to provide you with proof of life. But they refused.

You supposed that went against their new policy, too.

The anxiety, the worry, kept you wide awake. But even if you could sleep, you wouldn’t dare. Closing your eyes brought with it the possibility that you could miss correspondence from Bucky. Or his doctor. And you weren’t going to risk it. Hell, you even brought your phone with you into the shower. Just in case. It had been two days since you last saw Bucky. Since you last heard his voice. You wouldn’t dream of missing a call from him. 

Twice a day, you cleaned and redressed the stitches holding your side closed and appraised the butterfly stitches above your brow. Everything inside of you ached to trade places with Bucky. To swap your minor injuries for his.

He’d gotten the large brunt of the onslaught when the ambush descended on the two of you. He’d drowned in a sea of Hydra operatives as they stole his weapons and beat him within an inch of his life. He was strong, yes, but he was still only one man. And taking on throngs of Hydra’s mercenaries without a single weapon was difficult- even for him. You did your best to provide support from the sidelines, to take out as many of his attackers as you could. But it wasn’t enough. Not until the backup team arrived did the horde of Hydra agents fall.

 And now, Bucky was lying in a hospital bed. Without you. 

He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to hurt anymore. To bleed. He didn’t deserve to be in this line of work. Every other week, his assignments involved Hydra. And every other week, he was forced to retraumatize himself. Forced to see things he never wanted to see again. Forced to come face to face with people who hurt him, tortured him, treated him like an object.

For him, you wished nothing but ease. Warmth. A soft, slow life filled with love and gentle hands and safety. He never should’ve been forced to continue this kind of work. To put himself in harm’s way. To sacrifice his mental health over and over again. Hadn’t he given enough? Hadn’t he suffered enough? He did everything he could to build back his body and mind. To recover from the horrors he endured. And yet, here he was, being forced to risk his progress and peace of mind, all for a world that hated him.

On the third day of Bucky’s absence, your body begged for sleep. For a respite from the worry. For a meal that didn’t consist of Doritos and Gatorade. But you didn’t have the energy or the attention required to assemble a decent lunch. When Bucky got out of the medbay, you told yourself, the two of you would have a nice dinner together. You’d share his bed with him as you often did. And you’d both find solace in the arms of the other.

“I’m guessing we’re not going to spin class?” 

Nat’s voice yanked you out of your spiral, scaring you half to death. She leaned against the wall nearest your bed, her arms crossed over her chest. How long had she been standing there?

Nat took in the scene before her. You laid sprawled out on your bed, resembling roadkill. Your head rested where your feet should’ve been, and your feet leaned against the headboard. Your arms were stretched wide against the bedspread like a dead starfish. And your gaze rested firmly on your phone, as though you were waiting for a call.

“What?” You eyed her for a moment before dropping your head back to your mattress. “I forgot about that. Sorry.”

“You need to get out of this room,” Nat gave your shoulder a gentle shake. “And you need to stop moping. Your life can’t come to a screeching halt because Bucky’s hurt.”

“I know…” But Bucky was your life- or at least, a very, very big part of it. 

She was right, though. You knew she was right. 

But it wasn’t just that he was hurt. It wasn’t just that he was alone. Of course, those were both massive, contributing factors. But it was the missing him. It was the not seeing him, the not talking to him. The not knowing if he was scared and panicked and lonely. The two of you were inseparable; being without him felt like losing a part of yourself. Like half of your heart was missing. 

An unsettling cold seemed to worm its way under your skin without Bucky around. The world was a darker, utterly freezing place. No number of sweatshirts or blankets could keep the chill from biting at your skin. No heating pad could stop the frequent shivers. Somehow, your insides fell to subzero, Siberian temperatures. But after a while, you didn’t care anymore. You stopped trying to rid your body of the piercing, bitter cold. Only Bucky could do that. And he wasn’t coming back to you any time soon.

“It just sucks,” you groaned. A small shiver rocketed up your spine.

“I know. But it’s not like he’s dead.”

“I’m talking about the whole policy change thing in the medbay. It’s bullshit. Bucky needs me,” you let out a frustrated huff. “I mean, when did they put that in place? And why? It doesn’t even make sense.”

Nat furrowed her brow, “policy change?”

“Yeah, the new rule that doesn’t allow any visitors,” 

“Oh. Right. That.” Nat threw her gaze to the window. Cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t know why they’d do that. But yeah, it sucks. Anyway,” she took a seat on your bed, “if you get changed, we can still make it to cycle. Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”

You shook your head against the mattress. “You should go without me. I haven’t slept at all the last few nights- I barely have the energy to breathe. I can’t even fathom taking a spin class right now.” 

It was the truth. You didn’t have it in you to spend an hour burning calories you desperately needed. To waste your limited energy on something so trivial. But if you were completely honest with Nat, you’d tell her that the class would force you to focus on something other than your phone. And if you missed a call or text from Bucky because of something as stupid as a workout class, you’d lose your mind.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Nat sighed. “We can-”

“Hey!” Hill leaned against your doorframe, dressed in her workout clothes. “Are you guys ready for class?”

Nat stood and took a few steps in maria’s direction. “Well, I am. But she’s not coming with us.”

A frown pulled Maria’s features downward, “What? Why not?”

“She wants to stay here and wallow about Barnes,” Nat told her. 

“They’re not letting me visit him in the medbay,” you groaned in Maria’s direction. “And I haven’t heard from him at all. So, I’m just-”

Confusion pulled Maria’s brows together. “But he got out of the medbay,” she said. “Yesterday.”

The energy you claimed not to have sprung forth all at once. In a matter of seconds, you were standing upright and crossing the room toward Maria; the quick nature of it all made you a little dizzy. 

“What do you mean he got out?”

She was shocked by your intensity, “Um, I mean, he was released-”

“Released to where?” you demanded. “Like, they transferred him to another hospital? Or-”

“No, released as in discharged,” she said. “They let him leave around six-thirty last night.”

Last night? If Bucky was released last night, why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he sent you a text or dropped by your room? Was he that depleted? That worse for wear? The suffocating worry rushed back in full force. But you didn’t care about the crushing weight on your chest or the restriction of your windpipe. Bucky was back. He was healed enough to be released. And he was right down the hall.

Before Nat and Maria could stop you, you took off like a bat out of hell. Clumsy steps carried you down the hall and sent you careening into passersby every few feet. They mumbled curses under their breath and told you watch where you were going, but you didn’t have it in you to care. Stopping wasn’t an option, not when Bucky was finally within reach once again.

As you screeched to a halt outside his door, you raised your fist to knock frantically against the wood. But before your knuckles could strike the door’s surface, you recoiled. There was a very substantial possibility that he was sleeping. He was hurt, after all. And he needed his rest. Instead of a boisterous, borderline-obnoxious knock, you opted to lightly tap the wood with your knuckles. If Bucky was awake, he’d hear it. 

But no answer came. After a few moments, you gave the door another gentle knock. Again, nothing. If he was asleep, there was no telling when you’d see him. He could be asleep for half the day, and you’d have to wait as long to reunite with him. Would it be too pushy to just let yourself in? Bucky was used to it by now- you both were. If one of you was already asleep, the other would often let themselves in and crawl into bed. It was just what you did; it was commonplace within your friendship. 

And though you didn’t want to disturb him, your selfish side won out. Your hand found the doorknob and gave it a slow turn- but it didn’t fully give way. It stopped after twisting only a few millimeters. Locked. 

“He needs to rest,” Nat called from down the hall. “I don’t think you should bother him- just let him sleep it off.”

Again, she was right.  

And so, with slumped shoulders and shattered hopes, you dragged yourself back to your room. Once you’d collapsed onto your bed, you snagged your phone from its resting place and fired off a few quick messages to Bucky.

“Hey, Hill said they released you from the medbay!”

“I just dropped by your room but got no answer. Call me when you wake up :)”

“I don’t wanna disturb you or anything, but I miss you, Buck.”

The hours inched by with no response from Bucky. You did your best to avoid staring at your phone, reminding yourself that a watched pot never boils. But you couldn’t help yourself. Every few seconds, you had to sneak a peek at the screen in search of Bucky’s name. And every time, you found yourself disappointed. Broken-hearted, really. 

Of course, this wasn’t the longest you’d ever gone without seeing Bucky. Many past missions stole him from your side for weeks at a time- sometimes even months. But the complete and utter lack of communication was new. No matter how dangerous a mission got, not matter how risky it was- you both still found a way to contact the other. Whether it was a short “I’m okay” text or a seconds-long phone call, a quick correspondence from the battlefield provided a reassurance that was desperately, desperately needed.

Sitting at home while your best friend faced life-threatening danger was never easy. When Bucky was away, you tore off every fingernail, biting them down until they bled. And anytime it was you on the frontlines while Bucky rode the bench, he started climbing the walls; he didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, until you got home. 

The two of you simply weren’t meant to be apart.

Without those reassuring texts, you felt yourself losing your mind. You did your best to hook your nails in, to fight and claw to retain your grip on your sanity. But you didn’t have it in you. And so, your nails fell by the wayside. In only a matter of minutes, your fingers were reduced to a bloody horror scene. Every cuticle was in tatters, every quick exposed. Your hands throbbed and stung, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter. 

Four more days passed without word from Bucky. You texted. You knocked on his door. You called. You even slipped a note or two under his door. And still, nothing.

The worry slowly devoured you, one piece at a time. With your sanity long gone and your optimism dashed, nothing remained but pure, undiluted panic. And though you already decimated your nails, you gnawed at them anyway, digging your teeth into any free piece of flesh you could find. You wondered if this was how things were going to be forever. Would Bucky ever return to you? Or would you always feel this empty, aching void? 

On the seventh night without Bucky, you didn’t have it in you to even lay on your bed. You knew it would take what little life you had left to heave yourself up onto the mattress. And the effort simply wasn’t worth it. Had there ever before been anyone this pathetic? This broken and utterly hopeless? 

“What are you doing?” Nat loomed over you, taking in the scene. She found you lying face down on your bedroom floor, utterly despondent. “You didn’t want to lay in your bed? It’s almost midnight, you should-”

“I still haven’t heard from him,” you muttered into the carpet. “Why haven’t I heard from him?’

Nat knelt down next to you and gave your shoulder a tug, rolling you onto your back. 

“Hi,” she gave you a wave.

“Hi.” You didn’t wave back- you didn’t have the energy.

Nat gave you a long look. She noted your messy hair, your limp body, the dark circles under your eyes. “I’m not trying to be a dick here, but you don’t look so good.” 

“I don’t feel so good, either,” you shrugged. “I think I might be dying.”

Nat eyed you with pity. She knew how deeply you cared about Bucky. How much he meant to you. And she knew just how hard you were taking his injury and subsequent absence. For the past week, she hadn’t seen you eat anything other than a few chips here and there. She knew for certain you hadn’t gotten even a wink of sleep. And the bloody splotches where your nails used to be sent up a litany of red flags. 

“I’m so… I’m so worried about him, Nat,” tears trailed down your face. “This is so unlike him- we never go this long without speaking.”

Nat stoked your arm a bit, “I know.”

“What if he’s not okay? He could be dying, and we wouldn’t have any idea.”

She gave your hand a squeeze, “Come on, don’t think like that. I’m sure he’s alright-”

You shook your head, “I keep calling down to the medbay. I keep telling them that there’s something wrong- that they need to check on Bucky. But his doctor is…” you gave a frustrated huff. “He’s being weird. It’s like he’s being evasive, or something. I don’t know why he isn’t more worried- I don’t have any idea what’s going on.”

Nat let out a long, heavy sigh. She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose for a long moment. This was the moment she’d hoped to avoid, the moment she dreaded all week. 

“Alright, um, I wasn’t supposed to say anything- I wasn’t supposed to tell you this. But…” She gave you another long, sympathetic look. “You’re very obviously not okay. And I think that, if I don’t tell you the truth, you might actually die-”

Suddenly, you bolted upright. “Tell me what?”

“Bucky’s fine.”

Your shoulder’s slumped forward and you ran a hand down your face. Nat had no proof to back up her claim. No evidence. “But how do you know-”

“Because I’ve gone to see him,” Nat said, just above a whisper. “Multiple times.”

The world came to a screeching halt. Nat was allowed to see him? But you weren’t? Of course, Nat and Bucky were friends. But they weren’t nearly as close and you and Bucky- hell, you didn’t think anyone had ever been as close as you and Bucky.  

Nat continued. “He’s a little banged up, but he’s alright. He’s just been hanging out in his room. Reading. Watching tv. That kind of stuff.”

The confirmation that Bucky was, in fact, okay helped you breathe a little easier. The pounding headache pulsating behind your eyes relented a bit, the knots in your stomach loosened ever so slightly. But you didn’t find ease. Not yet. 

“But why didn’t he-”

Nat didn’t want to say it. She didn’t wanna tear you apart and burn your world. She didn’t want to be your personal messenger of destruction. But one look at you and your pitiful, heartbroken form gave her the resolve to be honest. You deserved honesty. 

“Because he’s mad at you.”

It was the most preposterous thing Nat could’ve said. Not once over the course of your entire friendship had Bucky ever been mad at you. Sure, he pretended to be mad when you snuck a bite of his dessert or beat him at cards. But he never got mad at you for real. 

But, you told yourself, there’s a first time for everything. 

You knew you were capable of fucking up. Of committing transgressions against others. But for the life of you, you couldn’t think of a single thing that would make Bucky angry enough to completely ignore you like this. You racked your brain, shaking loose its contents in search of anything that might warrant the coldest shoulder you’d ever experienced. But you found nothing. 

It didn’t matter, though. If Bucky felt slighted, if he felt like you hurt him in some way- who were you to say that you hadn’t? Who were you to claim innocence?

“What? Why?” You looked to Nat for help. “What did I do?”

“Something about a broken promise,” Nat shrugged. “But that’s all I’ll say. This isn’t any of my business. And I-”

A long silence filled the room as you thought about this new revelation. Nat’s words allowed you to look back on the past week with a new perspective. You saw things in a new light, a new context.

“So, there wasn’t a policy change-”

Nat gave a somber shake of her head. “He just… he didn’t want to see you.”

And just like that, Nat gutted you. You could’ve sworn she ripped out your still-beating heart with her bare hands and splattered the carpet with your blood. 

He didn’t want to see you.

He didn’t want to see you.

The words reverberated inside your inside your skull. Their razor-sharp edges sliced into you time and time again, leaving you breathless and aching. Over the course of the last week, you thought you’d reached the deepest pit of despair, the darkest possible recesses of agony. But you were wrong. There were deeper and darker, more excruciating places- and you found yourself in the depths of the most miserable, agonizing one of all.

“I was able to visit him in the medbay. So was Sam,” she told you. “He wasn’t all alone like you thought. He had us there with him to make sure he was doing okay. I mean he still struggled- you’re definitely better at giving him peace of mind than I am- but…” 

Nat gave a shake of her head, clearing from her mind the image of Bucky having a massive panic attack in the medbay. His raspy inhales, his shaking hands, his wide, vacant eyes. Flashbacks plagued him each and every day down in the medbay. Medication didn’t touch his violent, soul-crushing episodes of PTSD. And Sam and Nat found themselves at a loss. 

They did their best to be there for him, to help him find ease and comfort. But there was something missing. And that something was you. Nat even suggested to Sam that they sneak you into Bucky’s room. She proposed that, just maybe, Bucky’s need for your reassurances would outweigh his anger. And maybe upon seeing you, he’d drop his grievances and allow you to help him wade through the dark, choppy waters. 

But super soldier senses be damned, Bucky overheard her idea; he vetoed it immediately.

“And his doctor seemed so unconcerned on the phone because he knows that Bucky’s fine- he checks on Bucky every day.” Nat let out a sigh of relief, as though she’d been holding her breath for days. “So, at the very least, you know Bucky’s okay. And now, you kind of know what’s going on. Do you want me to-”

Nat didn’t get to finish her sentence. Or maybe she did. You weren’t sure. Because before she could get the rest of the words out, you were gone. The panic coursing through your veins reinvigorated your depleted body, carrying you frantically in the direction of Bucky’s room. 

Your knuckles struck his door before your feet came to a stop. 

“Buck. Buck, it’s me-” you pounded on his door. “Can we please talk? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Silence. 

Your knuckles stung against the wood, but you paid them no mind. “Please! I just want to- please, let me apologize.” 

No answer. 

“Buck, I’m…” Tears flowed freely down your cheeks. Your lungs burned from lack of oxygen. A crushing ache settled into every fiber of your being. And your strong knocks deflated into weak, pitiful pats. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so…”

He wasn’t going to answer. You knew he wasn’t. But some part of you didn’t want to accept it. Didn’t want to acknowledge that you’d lost Bucky- possibly forever. A tidal wave of weakness launched itself at you, robbing your body of the faux strength granted by the adrenaline. 

Your hands found purchase against the opposite wall and guided you clumsily to the floor. With your back propped against the wall and your knees tucked into your chest, you stared at Bucky’s door. Waiting. He couldn’t stay in his room forever. Eventually, he’d have to return to work or visit the kitchen. And when he did, you’d be ready.

Because no matter how grim it all seemed-no matter how soul-crushingly hopeless your situation- you had to try. Bucky was worth it. Your friendship was worth it. Of course, if he told you to fuck off and never speak to him again, it would hurt. It would destroy you. But at least you’d never have to wonder. If you didn’t try, the not-knowing, the what-ifs wouldn’t haunt you in the middle of the night. 

You didn’t care if the odds were egregiously stacked against you. If there was any chance at reconciliation, you were going to do everything in your power to make it happen. 

It didn’t matter if you had to wait hours, days, weeks- you’d be there. You’d sleep in the hall, eat in the hall. Whatever it took. You’d wait a lifetime. 

Lucky for you, a lifetime wasn’t required. Because after only four and a half hours, Bucky’s door opened. And for the first time in a week, you caught a glimpse of your best friend.

He was unshaven, his facial hair a little longer than normal. The gash on his forehead was almost completely healed. And the bruises that used to stain his cheek and jaw were nowhere to be seen. The knuckles of his right hand, though, retained their dark purples and inky blues. And the skin under his eyes matched; you knew instantly he hadn’t been sleeping. 

But he looked so good, so beautiful. They way his hair fell in his eyes. The worn sweatshirt- the sweatshirt you gave him. Had he always been this perfect? This breathtaking? Of course, he had. It was stupid of you to even ask.

Seeing him again was like being saved from drowning. Like the first gulp of air after being swept away by a rogue riptide. Your lungs filled to capacity for the first time in a week. Your muscles released their hardened knots. And the ever-encroaching sense of biting cold vanished. In its place grew the warmest, most comforting summer. 

Somehow, he didn’t even notice you sitting across hall. You knew he must’ve thought he’d waited you out. That you were long gone by now. But he clearly underestimated your stubbornness. Your determination. Your love for him. 

The door was only open wide enough to allow him to place a tray of used dishes on the floor. And in the few seconds it took for him to do so, you launched into action.

“Hey!”

Bucky’s head snapped up. He locked eyes with you for a moment. And in that moment, you could’ve sworn he looked happy to see you. Relieved to see you. 

His momentary pause gave you just enough time to rush to his door. You placed your hand along the frame, curling your fingers inside the jamb. If Bucky wanted to slam the door and shut you out, he’d have to crush your hand in the process. And no matter how angry he was with you, he’d never hurt you. 

He let out an exasperated huff at the site of your strategically place hand. This was exactly the kind of thing he used to applaud you for. The quick wit and sharp thinking that he so admired about you. 

“Buck, can we please talk?” you pled. “Whatever I did, whatever promise I broke-”

A sigh deflated his chest, “You talked to Nat.”

“I’m sorry, Buck. I’m so sorry,” the words fell frantically, wildly out of your mouth. “I’ve never been sorrier in my life. I’d never, ever want to hurt you-”

“That’s the problem.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, as though it made perfect sense. As though it made any sense at all.

You wiped a few stray tears from your cheek, “What does that mean?”

With a huff, Bucky encircled your wrist with his fingers and pulled you inside. He didn’t like the looks the passersby shot your direction. The way they ogled and whispered as though witnessing a car wreck on the highway. 

Finally, after the longest week of your life, Bucky granted you entry to your favorite place. He did so begrudgingly, but you didn’t care. This room felt more like home than anywhere else in the world. It wasn’t the furnishings or the design that you loved so much; both were rather sparse. It was the memories. The countless nights spent watching movies in Bucky’s bed. The laughter, the tears, the deep heart to heart talks. 

When Bucky first moved in, he didn’t leave this room for quite some time- not even for meals. And that was how you first got him to trust you. Every day, you gently knocked on his door and delivered breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, and snacks. It was your way of welcoming him to the building, of making him feel comfortable in a new place with new people. And of course, you couldn’t let the soft-spoken man with the kind blue eyes starve to death.

It took him weeks- maybe months- to finally invite you in. And once he finally did, all bets were off. The two of you became inseparable from that moment on, spending nearly every night in this room, seeking the comforts of one another.

But this moment was nothing like those of the past. This was awkward. Cold. Quiet. The tension hanging in the air grew so thick, so heavy that you wondered if your lungs might actually collapse.  You waited for Bucky to speak first. And waited. And waited. And waited. But he didn’t say a word. He simply leaned against the wall, avoiding your eyeline. 

Finally, the uncomfortable, permeating silence pushed you to speak.

“I’m- I don’t understand what’s going on. I just know that I fucked up somehow. And I know-” you rolled your eyes at yourself. “I know I said this a million times already, but I’m sorry. Whatever I can do to fix this and make it up to you, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

Bucky considered your words for a while, letting the silence drag on as he mulled over your sentiment. He knew you were serious, knew you meant what you said. But it was too late.

“You made me a promise,” he said. “And you broke it.” 

Truth be told, you’d made him a lot of promises over the course of your friendship. Promises to give him the pickle spear that came with your sandwich at the deli. To watch all of Game of Thrones with him without spoiling anything. To listen, to be open-minded, to never judge him for his past. You promised to always be there when the nightmares tore him to shreds and to be honest with him when he needed to hear the truth. You promised to be kind to him, to protect him. To remind him of his goodness when his demons called him a monster.

And above all else, you promised to never, ever hurt him. You took these promises upon yourself without Bucky even asking. And as far as you knew, you’d kept them all. 

“Which promise? I don’t-”

“What’s my worst fear?” Bucky asked. His tone calm, like he was asking you trivia questions about himself.  “The thing that scares me more than anything else? The thing that keeps me up at night and makes me sick to my stomach every time I think about it?”

And without skipping a beat, you answered, “Being taken by Hydra again.”

Your eyes opened wide. It was then that the puzzle pieces fell into place. 

A guttural sound burst from your lips. It was haunted and broken, like a wounded animal’s final cry of pain before surrender. It ripped through the room and echoed off the walls; Bucky flinched as the sound barreled into him. Your nose burned, warning you of oncoming tears. Both of your hands clapped firmly over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sounds of sorrow and shame. The attempt was unsuccessful.

And the deepest, darkest pit of guilt opened inside your stomach. 

The promise. That promise.

“When I told you about that fear- my greatest fear,” Bucky continued. “I asked you to make me a promise. Do you-” his voice wavered ever so slightly. He did his damnedest to fight it, to build a blockade against the oncoming emotion. But his eyes grew glassy with tears, anyway. “Do you remember what that promise was?” 

Even with his enhanced senses, Bucky struggled to hear your thin, hollow whisper.

“That I’d kill you…” you rasped. “If you were ever at risk of being taken by Hydra again, I’d kill you.”

The memory of your latest mission with Bucky barreled into you like a train. 

He was overwhelmed- buried- by the deluge of Hydra operatives. They came at him from every possible angle, swarming him before he even had a chance to react. Even with his super-human strength, he was no match for the volume, the sheer barrage of assailants. Seconds after they descended upon him, his weapons were lost, ripped from his hands and thrown far out of reach. He didn’t have enough room to breathe, let alone fight. Knives plunged into his flesh, setting loose a river of crimson. And heavy batons pummeled his face and head, leaving him dizzy. No matter how hard he tried to resist, he felt them pulling him, dragging him toward a doorway. Toward an unknown, and certainly horrific, fate. But through it all, he managed to call to you- to scream to you- one phrase. 

“Do it!” he begged. “Do it! DO IT!” 

The pain, the sheer terror in his voice, sent a flurry of goosebumps rushing over your skin. The head trauma you received only moments before left you dazed, and the knife wound in your side made breathing almost impossible. Blood oozed down the side of your face and painted your vision red. But you found the wherewithal to aim and shoot- at everyone except Bucky.

“Oh, Buck, I’m…” you stumbled back a few paces, the sheer weight of your guilt knocking you off balance. Your back crashed against the nearest wall with a thud. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Hot bile rose in the back of your throat, saliva coated the inside of your mouth. You forced greedy inhales through your nose, hoping to stave off the nausea. “I don’t know what to say…”

Bucky didn’t say a word. He didn’t move. You wondered if he was even breathing. He just stood there with a broken, tormented look on his face. He didn’t allow himself to blink, didn’t allow the tears gathering along his lash line to fall. He simply curled his metal fingers into a tight fist before spreading them wide again. Over and over and over again. It was a subconscious act, an anxious tendency he often displayed when his mind grew dark and uninhabitable. And, more often than not, it was your cue to step in. To rush to his side and save him from the torment. 

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were the last person he wanted to see- he’d made that abundantly clear. And even if he wanted to you hold his hand as you always did, you couldn’t move. The guilt weighed you down, turning your feet into blocks of cement.

“I know- I know I said that I’d do it, but I…” A fresh wave of tears crested over your lash line and flooded your cheeks. “I couldn’t.”

“You promised,” Bucky’s voice was so anguished, so despondent. “You swore to me that you could- that you would.”

“The backup team was in my ear,” your words dripped with deperation. “I heard them in my comm- I knew they were there, I knew they were only a few feet away-”

“But I didn’t!” he erupted. “My comm fell out- I had no idea they were there! I thought-” His voice splintered; his rage shattered, setting free a tsunami of despair. “I thought I was going back!” 

And finally, his tears broke through. They saturated his skin in seconds as they rolled down his cheeks and dripped into his beard. Shivers rippled up and down his body. Goosebumps covered his skin. The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. Just the thought of being dragged back to Hydra doused him in a cold sweat.

His shaking hand swiped at the tear tracks dripping down his cheeks. He would’ve given anything for a hug from you. For your reassuring, comforting words. But he couldn’t find it in him to ask. Couldn’t find it in him to allow you so close. And so, he forced the tightness in his chest to relent, to accept the voracious inhales he pulled into his lungs. He couldn’t surrender to the panic attack looming on the horizon- not yet.

It was confusing, his need to touch you. His craving for your comforts. You’d betrayed him, hadn’t you? You’d broken your promise to him and almost fed him to Hydra’s meat grinder. But it wasn’t that black and white- he wasn’t sure it ever was. No, this situation lived deep in a gray area, never giving Bucky a cut and dry solution. And deep down, he knew it. He knew you never would have allowed him to be taken. He knew you had your reasons for leaving him alive. But anger was easier. Betrayal was easier. 

“I’m sorry, Buck. I know- I know for sure it’s not enough”, the shame dragged your eyes down to the floor. “But I’m so sorry.” 

What could you do, what could you possibly say to fix this? Nothing could ever make it okay. Nothing could ever heal what you did- or didn’t do.

“It was… it was selfish of me,” you admitted. “I just hoped you could hang on for a few more seconds until backup came in. Cause I- I wanted you to come home with me. That’s all I could think about. Just getting you home safe. I didn’t even consider k-” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word. “Doing that to you. But it’s- I was wrong. I made you a promise. And I broke it. And if you ended up back at Hydra,” you took a deep breath. The truth was ugly, hard to swallow. It poked at your throat like a mouthful of push pins. “If you ended up back at Hydra, it would be my fault.”

Only silence followed. 

Bucky hated the heartbreak in your voice, the tears streaming down your face. He hated seeing you in pain. The urge to wrap you in a bearhug yanked at his muscles, desperately trying to drag him in your direction. But he couldn’t, could he? He was mad at you- he was supposed to be mad at you. Once again, the strange, conflicting emotions needled at him. All week long, he forced the gray area behind a wall and chose, instead, to live in the black and white. To lean into anger. To side with the demons calling you a traitor and a liar. 

But now that you were finally here, standing in front of him, the voices quieted. It was just the two of you, together. You weren’t the villain he’d painted you to be. You weren’t heartless. You weren’t evil. Hell, this whole thing would’ve been a lot easier if you were. And jus like that, Bucky found himself smack dab in the middle of the gray area he tried so desperately to fight.

“I understand why you’re mad, Buck. It’s-”

“I’m not. I- I was mad. Now, I’m just,,,” he gave a shake of his head. “I don’t know. There’s a lot going on inside my head.”

“I get it. And if you don’t,” you cleared your throat, fighting against the words that tasted so vile. “If you don’t want to be friends anymore, I get that, too. This was a- a really major breach of your trust. We always say that we have each other’s backs, but I didn’t…” You used the collar of your sweatshirt to wipe the tears running down your neck. “I didn’t have yours. So, if you want to be done with me after this, I-”

Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat. “No, that’s not what I want. I don’t want to cut you out of my life. I’m-” He gave a frustrated huff. “I’m just- I’m confused. Cause I genuinely wanted you to shoot me in the head back there. I wanted you to mercy kill me.” 

The words tore through you.

“But now,” Bucky raked a hand through his hair, “I’m glad you didn’t. Because everything turned out okay. And I’m here. With you. But I…” He dragged a shaky breath into his lungs. “I almost wasn’t. I was almost there. With them. Again.”

All you could do was nod. What were you supposed to say to that? Nothing you had to offer could assuage his deep-seated, stomach-turning terror. You could never understand what he went through. Could never imagine the horrors. And it never even crossed your mind to put a contingency plan in place for yourself. To ask your closest friend to kill you in order to save you. You’d never understand that level of desperation. 

“I don’t care about dying,” he shrugged. “I’m not scared of death anymore. I wished for- I prayed for death when I was-” he cleared his throat. “When I was there. I would’ve welcomed it.”

The mental image nearly brought you to your knees.

“I’m just scared of being their prisoner again. I’m scared of the torture, and the blood, and the-the…” His breathing grew shallow and erratic. His voice faltered. “The way they fucked with my mind.” Anxious tremors rendered his hands unsteady. And his attempts to wipe away the tears fell short. “And the killing, and the pain, and the-”

He was losing his battle against the fear. Against the spiral. It grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him downward, plunging him the darkest, most hopeless recesses of his mind. He found himself lost, adrift in the deepest, most sinister sea. The ice-cold waves crested over him endlessly, nearly drowning him with each thin breath he took.

But the sensation of your hand in his dragged him to shore. With the warmth of your touch, he found his way back. He returned to his body. He always knew you were his saving grace, his life preserver. 

But holding Bucky’s hand didn’t feel quite right. Not after what you did. Especially because, deep down, you knew this was partly selfish. Knew that you enjoyed the feeling of his fingers braided with yours. But who were you to relish in it? Who were you to make this about you, and your needs? 

And so, when he finally found his way back to the present, when he finally breathed evenly, you freed his hand from yours and gave him his space. 

“Thanks for that…” he ran a hand down his face, still recovering from his trip to hell. Still needing you. 

“Yeah. Of course- anytime.” You already missed his touch. But you refused to reach for him again- not unless he needed it. You pulled your sleeves over your hands and balled them into fists.

“I just- I’m never going back there. I can’t,” he said after a while. “And I get it- you didn’t want to kill me. I wouldn’t want to kill you, either. But I’d choose a bullet between the eyes over being their chew toy. Every single time. Cause it’s…” he absentmindedly let his hand drift to his face, to the scar the sat atop his cheek bone. The scar left behind by the device they used to wipe his mind over and over and over. “It’s worse than death.”

The vitriol burning in your chest smoldered and scalded your soul. You’d never hated anyone- never detested anyone- as much as you hated yourself. You were supposed to protect Bucky. You were supposed to be there for him. You were supposed to be the person he could trust no matter what. But you failed him. He was completely terrified. Retraumatized. All because of you.

Bucky rubbed at a hard, tense knot in his shoulder, “But you’re my best friend, and-”

“Exactly,” you scoffed. “You should be able to trust me. But you can’t. Cause I’m selfish.”

“I do trust you,” he said, almost immediately. There was something in his voice- offense, maybe? Like he took your self-flagellation personally. “You’re smart. You- you knew back up was down the hall. You knew I’d be okay. And now that I’m home, I know you made the right call. I was-” He pulled his vibranium hand into a right fist. “I was just really scared, you know?”

He flashed back to the moment the Hydra agents descended. To the moment the encapsulated him completely. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Bodies swarmed his vision. Voices deafened him. And the coppery smell of blood- his blood- filled his nostrils. He felt his boots sliding across the concrete floor. And deep down, he knew they planned to drag him out. To make him theirs once again. 

He shook his head, clearing the image from his mind.

“Um, what I was going to say,” he continued, “is that you’re my best friend, and I shouldn’t have iced you out. I shouldn’t have lied to you- I shouldn’t have made Nat lie to you.” He gave a heavy, remorseful sigh, “I should’ve talked to you. You deserved better from me.”

“No- no, you deserved better from me.” You couldn’t believe his ridiculous sentiment. “You shouldn’t be apologizing- you honestly should’ve kicked my ass for this.” 

If he’d wanted to hurt you, to make you bleed, to show you even a fraction of the pain Hydra put him through, you’d let him. He deserved some revenge, some retribution, against you. And if he wanted to act on it, you wouldn’t fight back. You’d sit perfectly still and quiet, allowing him to beat you black and blue. To drag a knife through your flesh. To break your bones and steal your will to live. 

But you knew he’d never do anything like that- and he’d never want to. He wouldn’t even slam your fingers in the door.

“I never want you to be scared like that ever again, Buck. I never want you to go through something like that- I should’ve…” Saying it didn’t seem right. The words had razor sharp edges that carved into your throat as you spoke. “I should’ve done what you asked. And if this ever happens again,” You paused, banishing the oncoming flood of emotion. “I’ll do- I’ll do what you asked me to do. What I promised you I’d do.”

The words kicked the floodgates wide open. Another wounded, rasping sound escaped from your throat. And the sheer volume of tears threatened to drown you. Promising to end Bucky’s life was hard, but something about this second round was worse. More painful, somehow. A weak, wobbling sensation made your knees unsteady. And your face fell into your hands. 

But Bucky was at your side in the blink of an eye. He rested his hands on your shoulder, unsure of how much physical contact to make after a week of silence and hurt. He let his thumbs sweep over your clavicles every few seconds, waiting for the storm to pass. And when the clouds finally parted, he gently pulled your palms from your face. 

He cradled one of your hands in both of his, ensuring that you couldn’t slip away this time. “I’m not asking that of you anymore- I can’t ask that of you.” He freed one of his hands for only a moment, and only to angle your chin upward. He needed your eyes to meet his, needed you to know that he was serious. “It’s not fair for me to put you in that position.”

“No, Buck, it’s- it’s fine,” your voice wavered. “I can-”

“I’ve been thinking a lot over the last week,” he shrugged, “cause I- I haven’t been sleeping…”

Of course, he hadn’t been sleeping. Of course, the nightmares returned in full force. He’d worked so hard to correct his sleep schedule, to find a way to get the rest he needed. It just so happened that the cure-all to his sleep-related woes was you. He trusted you. Knew he was safe with you. He felt at home with you. Sleep came easy with you by his side. 

But his recent assault by Hydra’s forces left him almost irreparably shaken. And his misguided anger pushed you from his side. Together, it was a recipe for sleepless, tormented nights full of flashbacks and panic attacks.

“I realized that I never should’ve put that on you- I never should’ve asked you to make me that stupid promise.” Bucky wanted to go back in time and throttle his past self. “And I shouldn’t have been mad at you. But I- I had a lot going on, you know?” He squeezed your hand tighter, as though searching for an anchor. “All of my old wounds were ripped open again and I was so fucking miserable and scared and…” He wasn’t proud of how he’d treated you. Wasn’t proud of the way he handled things. And though he was working hard in his therapy sessions, his coping mechanisms were still scant. “I needed to feel something other than fear. So, I chose anger. And I directed it at you.”  

“And that’s perfectly fine.” You tried to take a step in the opposite direction, to put some space between the two of you. You didn’t deserve to have him so close, to hold his hand. But he held firm. He wasn’t going to release your hand- not now, maybe not ever. “You asked me to make a promise- a big, important promise- and I broke it. You’re allowed to be upset with me-”

“But it wasn’t fair to you- none of this was fair to you.” He kicked himself for ever asking you for something so heavy. So burdensome. “I can’t imagine what it was like for you to make that promise. The way it must’ve hung over your head. If you asked that of me, I’d…” He squeezed your hand a little tighter, “It would eat me alive.”

And he was right- it had. 

Promising to kill him, in turn, killed you. It devoured you from the inside out, feasting on every moment of joy, every restful Sunday, every waking moment. Your promise to him came with sharp, jagged teeth that dug into your soul day in and day out. And while Bucky found peace in knowing that you may end his life one day, it brought you nothing but pain. Torture. Endless heartache. The darkest, heaviest storm clouds sat just above your head, shielding you from all sunlight, all warmth. 

While Bucky slept soundly next to you each night, you laid awake, wondering when it would happen. If it would happen. How it would happen. Your appetite vanished. Your stomach tied itself into knots. And on more than one occasion, your doctor had to increase the dosage of your anxiety medication. Because no matter how many pills you popped, the weight of your promise sat on your chest like lead.

Each time you and Bucky boarded the jet for a mission, you wondered if it would be the last time you ever saw him alive. If you’d be forced to kill him in only a few hours. 

And you knew, deep down, that if it was your bullet that sent Bucky to his grave, you’d never be able to live with yourself. That your very next bullet would find a home in your chest. 

This dark, heartbreaking promise directly contradicted the first- and most important promise- you’d ever made him. Late one night, back when the two of you first started spending time together, Bucky found himself at the bottom of a pit. His PTSD snatched the reigns and nearly drove him off a cliff.

Flashback after violent flashback rocked his mind and stripped his body of all strength. He was weak, hollow, completely spent. And just as you tried to smooth the hair out of his red-rimmed eyes, he flinched. He yanked himself backward, hoping to avoid whatever blow he thought you might strike against him. He forced his shoulders into a corner and tucked his face to the side, hiding from the pain he so often anticipated. And it broke you. It was then that you promised- that you swore to him- you’d never hurt him under any circumstance. 

And killing him seemed to you like a violation of that promise.

“It makes sense, though,” you said, pushing back against his all too generous rationalizations. “It makes sense that you’d ask me to- to do that. And I don’t want you going back there, either. So, I guess if I…” A sharp pain twisted through your stomach. “If I knew that we were alone. And there was no back up. And you only had two options: Hydra’s prisoner or death- I guess I’d…” Hot tears streaked down your cheeks, “If it meant saving you from them, I’d choose death for you.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that, okay?” He wiped a stray tear from your chin. “I’m not holding you to that anymore. And I’m talking to Rhodes tomorrow. I’m gonna see if we can do away doing these two-person missions,” he said. “Cause they’re pretty impractical and risky, if you ask me. It’s safer when there’s a group of us, you know?”

You gave him a small nod, still too overcome by the anguish coursing through your veins.

Finally- mercifully- Bucky wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tight against his body. In an instant, your arms snaked their way around his back and pulled him ever closer. You’d missed him so intensely- so severely- it was like experiencing withdrawal. You could practically feel your body breaking down without him by your side. And he felt that same emptiness, that same aching void. He was convinced that he was never supposed to exist without you next to him. That he didn’t really live until he met you. The two of you were a package deal, two halves of a whole. 

After witnessing Bucky’s attempted abduction by Hydra, spending a week without him was a living hell. You needed to see him, speak to him, touch him. You needed to know that he was there. That he was okay. That he was home. You needed the confirmation that he made it out alive. But he’d disappeared from your life. And part of you wondered if he really was safe and sound in his room down the hall. Or if your mind made it all up just to save you the pain of losing him.

Time seemed to stand still as the two of you held each other. This was what Bucky needed all week. You were what he needed. The residual fear and torment brought on by his latest Hydra encounter seemed to fizzle out as you buried your face in his chest. It didn’t vanish completely- he feared it never would- but you put it on mute. You helped him breathe easy again. 

After was felt like half an hour, you unwillingly unwound yourself from Bucky’s battered body. 

“It’s late. I should get out of your hair,” you couldn’t mask your disappointment. “I know you said you haven’t been sleeping. But you’re still healing. So, you should probably try and get some rest-”

He nodded, but didn’t even attempt to hide just how much he hated the idea of your absence. 

And though you knew you should leave, you couldn’t find the will to move toward the door. Nor did Bucky try to show you out. The two of you just stood there, staring at each other. Leaving soft touches against the other’s skin. Relishing in the reunion.

“Um, you could stay,” Bucky finally said. “If you want.”

You hadn’t even considered it. He was going to need time to deal with everything. To sit with what happened to him. And you felt that your presence would only make it more difficult. Sure, he wasn’t mad at you. But did he really want you sleeping in his bed like you used to?

“Oh, okay. Yeah. Would it-” you pulled at the hem of your sweatshirt as uncertainty got the better of you. “Would that be okay?”

Bucky gave a fervent nod. “I want you to. So, if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me.” He cupped your cheek in his massive hand, examining the dark circles under your tired eyes. “Plus, Nat said you haven’t slept all week. So, I thought we could both get some rest. Together.”

He took your hand and led you to his bed, the bed you’d shared with him so many times before. The bed you’d curled up in almost every night. The bed in which you’d watched countless black and white movies. The bed you’d tossed and turned in every night after promising to end Bucky’s life. But with the offending promise lifted from your tired shoulders, you crawled under the familiar covers and breathed a sigh of relief. Bucky took you in his arms, molding his body around yours as he so often did. And with him lying safely next to you, you thanked your lucky stars that you didn’t keep your promise.

[hidden-poet]

The Nurse

1/1

summary: Coriolanus never forgets about the nurse who treated his snakebite, and he is determined to not let her forget him.

Warnings: unrequited love, graphic wounds, stalking, coryo being de lu lu, non-con, pretty tame for me to be honest.

Word Count: 12, 250

Thank you all for you patience and kind words!

Coriolanus was sure he was going to die. He could feel the poison traveling up his arm, and through the rest of his body. 

He never should have trusted Lucy-gray. Love made him stupid. 

Now just as he was getting his life back, it was being slowly sucked from his body. 

Betrayed by someone that owed him her life. She would have died in the Hunger games if not for him. He sacrificed everything for her, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted his final breath. 

She couldn’t have it. Not now that everything he had fought his whole life for was within his reach. His fathers compass agrees. It points him in the direction of help. 

Through blurry eyes, he could see the gates of the compound. There they could fix him and send him onward to officer training. There he could live up to his name.

Coriolanus struggles to put one foot in front of the other. His body felt like it was on fire. Sweat poured from him, the snake's poison, and his long journey back in the sun teamed up to exhaust him. 

The ringing ears indicated that Coriolanus was done. He could no longer place where he was. Was the gate in front of him, or has he spun in a completely different direction?

The weight of the compass falls from his hands, unable to help him. The world felt as if it was spinning him around. His vision was blurry and limited to two feet in front of him.

“Sir, are you alright?”, a low yell was heard over his ringing ears.

He swiped his hand to see if he could touch them, but it shoosh’s through the air. It used all the energy he had left. No longer with the energy to stand, he crumbles to his knees.He feels the hard rocks dig into him, so he knew he was on the path to the compound. 

After everything, this is how he dies. He regrets trying to make it back. It would have been better if his body was lost in the woods. Less humiliating than being found trying to crawl back like a coward. 

“You’re okay”, the sweet voice spoke, closer.

He looks to see eyes staring at him. In a panic, he pushes away from them, certain it was Lucy-Gray coming to finish the job. The action pushes the side of his body into the road's gravel, scraping his skin, and leaving smaller rocks wedged in his side. 

“I want to help. I just want to help. It’s okay”, the voice spoke. Not Lucy-Gray. Not a threat. 

He could feel his body being hoisted up. You tucked your small shoulders under his arm, and wrapped your arm around his waist. 

“You’re going to be okay”, you spoke again. 

He tried to assist you in walking him forward. All his weight was lent on you, but you  were determined not to drop him. 

You yell for the guarding peacekeepers to come help, as they shuffle forward. 

He stumbles, nearly taking you to the ground with him, but you are quick to steady the weight again. You move forward again, slower this time to allow for Coriolanus to balance himself without his senses. 

You scream a name that he recognised from training, but couldn’t place a face to.

It was lucky that you was friendlier than he was. The gate swung wide at the name. No formal checks of identity that should have been done according to protocol were made. 

Your name was called back, but Coriolanus screamed in pain over it. His arm began to pound in agony. He tried to move it up to his chest, but his arm had lost all movement. 

You ordered the men to abandon their post to take him to the medical camp. He was surprised when they did it without a fight. 

The weight of him is lifted off you as he is lifted off the ground by two officers. With one carrying his legs, and one lifting him under his arms, Coriolaus is jogged to the medical tent. 

It didn’t matter. It was too late. Coriolanus Snow would die in district 12 like his father. Rebels would end the great Snow line. 

He could hear you as you led the men. All sight was lost, his consciousness slipping in and out as he heard curtains being drawn, and a hasty search for something. 

Coriolanus is placed on a hard bed, and something tight is wrapped around his arm.  

The last thing he felt was a soothing hand sweeping over his head. A kind last touch, he thought. 

He woke from heat. His whole body felt as if he was in a furnace. 

A cool rag was wiped over his head, and he opened his eyes enough to see you staring back. His eyesight had returned but he had to fight to keep his eyes open. 

He was laying on his uninjured arm. He raises it slightly to catch your small wrist in his hand as you go to dab his sweat again. You remain calm, waiting for him to fall back asleep. 

His hand drops to the bed with your wrist.His cheek presses up against your fingers, the wet rage soaks the bedding beneath. Still you leave it there until he is back asleep before you continue your work. 

The next time he woke up, he was alone with a pounding headache. 

His sight was back, but his arm still ached, and he could feel the sweat on his head from his temperature. 

The medical facility was large, rows and rows of beds stretched out. Most were filled with men of various ailments. 

Across the large space was a wall that separated the patients from the rest of the medical facility. A large glass window showed the nurses den. 

Two nurses sat behind it talking. Their uniform was light blue like the peacekeepers uniform. Only the uniform was fashioned into half length sleeves which were cuffed at their elbows and a form fitting skirt. Despite efforts of the design, it was manly. 

The collars seemed too large for womens neck, the pockets on each side were too big across their chests. Coriolanus realized that they were old peacekeeper uniforms repurposed for the nurses. 

Coriolaus looked up to see the railings of the curtain that could be pulled for privacy but he was too weak to rise. 

He layed in disbelief that he had survived. A second chance was given to him. Nothing would stand in his way now. No longer will he be swayed by his emotions. His only focus would be rising to the top. How he got there no longer mattered. He had tried hard work, and moral reasoning, and it left him dead in the forest. 

Coriolanus looked down at his bite, it was covered in a white wrap, but he could see the discolouration of his skin, and feel the liquid as it oozed out of the bite. 

He hoped it would leave a scar. A reminder of a hard lesson learnt. 

A doctor interrupted his thoughts to check his vitals. He was an older doctor, with gray, thin hair, and wrinkled skin. But he wore no glasses, and walked tall, and  straight. 

“You were lucky, Mr Snow. You were found just in time. Even two minutes later, and you would have been dead”, he said, writing down on his clipboard. 

Coriolanus huffs. After everything he was owed a bit of luck. 

He remembers the girl who found him. Her soft touch, and beautiful eyes. The same women who had attended to him with the cool rag.

“Who found me?”, he asks the doctor. 

“One of the nurses here. Very lucky indeed, Mr Snow. One of my favorite nurses, Nurse Y/n. She took good care of you. You owe her your life”. 

It felt as if he had been bitten again.  He didn’t want to owe anybody anything. 

“I would like to thank her”. 

He remembers how you struggled to keep his weight up right. You could have left him. Had him be someone else's problem, but you didn’t. You were still learning that goodness would not come back to you. 

“You’ll get your chance. She’s on night shift tonight”. 

He felt eager to see you. Someone in this world yet to learn it was dog eat dog. 

The doctor said you were his favorite. That could only mean that you were kind, and beautiful. Coriolanus expected nothing less from you. 

Coriolanus waits while the others sleep. The shifts had still not been switched yet. He grew inpatient. He wanted to thank you, and go to sleep. 

But the same nurse who delivered his dinner sat there flipping through a magazine behind the glass.

Hours passed, he thought about abandoning the idea, and going to sleep. The hospital was small, and inadequately staffed. He was sure to run into you at a later date. Yet he made no move to sleep. Part of him wanted to see you tonight. 

Finally, he did. The shifts were changed, and the nurse he had grown to detest was putting down her magazine to greet you. 

He recognized you instantly as you entered the nurses den.You put down your coat and bag, as you talk to the nurse on duty. For a late night shift you seemed in good spirits. 

You look out from the window, and for some reason Coriolanus pretended to be asleep. He didn’t want you to think he was a stalker, waiting up for you. 

Only one nurse was on duty overnight due to staff shortage, and Coriolanus felt relieved when the other nurse returned back to the nurses quarters. He wanted to be alone with you. 

He waits patiently until you come out to check on the men. 

You pulled blankets over them like they were children, put their limbs back onto their small beds. You made sure every man's vitals were where they were supposed to be. More work than the other nurse did her entire shift. 

You are slow getting to him, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoyed watching you as you worked. 

It was dark, and you were so focused on your task, you didn’t see him staring at you until you reached his bed. 

“Hello” he greets. 

“Mr Snow”, you address, “You should be asleep”. 

“I was waiting for you. I hear it is you that I have to thank for saving my life”.

“Hardly. I just assisted”. 

You were bashful about saving a man's life. 

“Well thank you for assisting to save my life, and for carrying me to the gates. I wouldn’t have got there if you hadn’t arrived”. 

The blush on your cheeks was heavenly. A small smile teased your lips, and you looked shyly down. It wasn’t often you got praised, he guessed, he would try to do it as often as possible. 

“It was no problem”, you mutter. 

Your eyes suddenly shoot down to him, and your posture straightens. 

“Is your arm giving you pain?”, you ask him. 

It was, but he didn’t want anymore drugs making him hazy so he denies the throbbing sensation. 

“No. I feel fine”. 

“Can I get you an extra blanket or pillow?”. 

His heart twists at your words. He very rarely hears ‘what can i do for you’, instead of ‘what can i take from you’. It was a nice change. 

“No, thank you”. 

“If you change your mind, let me know. I have rounds to do. Any problem, push your call button” you point to a yellow light clicker next to him, “try to get some sleep. Rest is important in your recovery”. 

He almost begged you to stay, but it was a childish need. 

“Thank you, nurse Y/n”, he returns. 

You leave him with a smile, “of course”. 

Over the next couple of days of bed rest Coriolanus grew restless to see you. It felt like torture, waiting hours to sometimes only catch a glimpse of you as you pottered in the staffs den, or made your rounds on the other side of the hospital. 

He mostly hated Tuesdays, and Fridays, as they were your days off. 

He felt jealous when he saw you attend to other patients. He knew it was silly, it was your job, but he didn’t like being attended to by anyone else, and he didn’t like you attending to anyone else. He didn’t like that you had a job at all. Let alone one this taxing. 

But it did mean that he got to see you. 

He liked to think that he was your favorite, but you gave no indication that it was true. 

You were kind to everyone. Had repours with nearly all of the men in your wards. Some even called you by your first name only. Coriolanus felt it was disrespectful and too familiar for his likening. 

The man next to him had a leg blown off in an explosive test gone wrong. Sometimes it felt as if he was your favorite.  You would spend more time at his bed, than Coriolanus’s. And you always called him by his name, Francies, but always called Coriolanus, Mr snow. 

Still you found his compass for him, polished and delivered it straight to him, that was a sign that you favorited him. You only performed within your job requirements for Francies, you went beyond for him.

 He began to worry that love had made him stupid again. Like Lucy-Gray, you consumed his thoughts. 

Except here, you held the power. He could only see you when you decided to visit him, where he could visit Lucy-Gray in her enclosure anytime he wished. You fed him, he fed Lucy-Gray. He hated being on the other side of the power imbalance. He promised himself that he would only be on top from now on. 

It was stupid after everything to fall so quickly back into his obsessive nature. He thought he would never love again. Never give someone that much power over him again. He would marry for power, and to someone who had no sway over him at all.  

Yet when he saw you eating soup for the millionth time in the nurses den, he wished for nothing more than to give you every luxury life had to offer. You saved his life. You were kind to him, when all he had ever known was being of use to someone. 

He would get back to the Capitol, Hoff had promised him that district 2 was still on the cards. All he had to do was get better, and he could complete officer training, get back to the Capitol, and send for you there. 

Without school in the way, he could get a good job. Plinth had managed to get Coriolanus’ academy diploma.  That still had use, even with his time as a peacekeeper. 

He would get the Snow apartment back. It might be crowded, and run down, but he would slowly fix that. He figured you wouldn’t mind so long as he was working towards a better future. 

He would daydream of a better future for you both, while he waited to see you. Not only was he given another chance, he was given motivation to take it. 

Why would you want a low Peacekeeper for a husband? You were surrounded by them all day. What good were they to you? How would they take care of you, and provide all that you need. 

Even on an officer's wage, it would be a struggle. He still had to send home money. Even as an officer he would be no good to you. He had to get home, and rise to the top. 

But, he was going to miss you in doing so. He faked being hurt just a little bit longer than necessary. He would have to go soon, but two extra weeks of your attention wouldn’t derail his plans too much. 

You worked mostly night shifts which distributed Coriolanus sleep. But it worked in his favor too. Rarely was anyone else awake. It could just be the two of you

He thought you liked it too. You would smile when you saw him awake. 

He found himself smiling back on reflex. 

“Do you sleep, Mr Snow?” you tease him. 

“Not when you’re around”, he admits.

His words still you. It’s clear you feel uncomfortable that he said it. Coriolanus wished he could disappear. 

“Is your arm giving you pain again?” you ask. He takes the opportunity for the dismissal. 

“Ah-Yes”, he deflects. 

You turn up his pain relief, and unwrap his bandage to take a look. 

Coriolanus set his record for two wrong things said in a row. He was always cool, and calculated. You had to be to survive in the Capitol. Honey-tongued he was called, but now he was acting like a fool. 

He didn’t want the extra pain relief that would make him tired, and he definitely didn’t want you to look at his wound that was yellow and pusy. 

It didn’t irk you like he suspected that it would have, but still he tried to yank his arm away and hide it under the blanket. 

You catch his hand with yours to keep his arm still as you inspect it. He suddenly felt very hot as you held his hand on the bed, while you looked put together and focused like always. 

“Yellow bellies have the most painful bite of any snake in the district. I am surprised you complain so little”. 

You jerk your hand from his, causing his fingers to curl. He keeps his fingers tight against his palm which aggravates the sore muscles on his bitten arm. 

Taking a bottle from his nightstand, and dapping it into a medical cloth, you turn your focus back on him. 

“I am just going to clean it. It might hurt a little”. 

The first dap felt like acid on his arm. He grits his teeth from the pain. 

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself. How long have you been a peacekeeper for?”. 

You were trying to distract him. He picked up on it easily. He should have felt like a child, but he felt thrilled at the opportunity to talk to you about something other than his arm. 

“Not long. I am going to Officer training in two, and then I’ll make my way back to the Capitol”. 

“Oh the Capitol? You aren’t a transfer from another district”, you observe as you tap his yellow, and flaky skin with your rag.

“Do you know the Campbells?”, you ask. 

He did. He was surprised that you did. 

“We were neighbors, before the war” you explain.

“You’re from the Capitol?” he asks. 

“I was. The war took both my parents. After that there was nothing left for me there”. 

There was no emotion as you said it. No hidden anguish at all you had lost.

“I am sorry that happened to you”, he offered. 

“Don’t be. Plenty of orphans due to the war. I am grateful that the medic school took me.  But the Campbells had this little white dog that I used to love. I always wondered if it survived”. 

Coriolanus knew that the dog was long gone. The Campbells had eaten it when supplies were cut off to the Capitol. They tried to sell its fur to Grandma’am.

He didn’t want to disappoint you with the news, so a lie fell off his tongue. 

“Yes, it did. Mrs Campbell carries it everywhere with her”. 

You smile and he is glad he chose to lie. 

“My parents died in the war too. I have my grandmother, and cousin waiting for me to get back to the Capitol’’. 

“I hope you get there, Mr Snow”, you say as you wrap his arm back up. 

“Would you come with me?”, he asks.

Your pause made him worry that you were going to laugh at him, but instead you looked shyly up and smiled. 

“This is my home. I am happy here’, you state. 

“The Capitol would be better than here. I could give you the life you deserve”. 

“The Capitol is not for me”, you deflect. 

He felt angry at your resistance. Did you not think he could look after you? Did you not trust that he would not remain a peacekeeper all his days. 

“So that’s a no. You wouldn’t come with me”, he determines. 

It should have been disheartening. He should have left the idea alone there, but if anything it was a challenge. A call for action. Motivation to leave the hospital and become the man you would leave the district for. 

“That’s a no,” you agree, “But when you get to the Capitol, I want you to give Mrs Campbell's dog a pat for me.”

The dog is dead, he wanted to say. You had hurt him, so he wanted to hurt you, but cool, and calculated is how he survived, and it’s how he would get everything he is after. 

“I’ll do it for a kiss,” he barters. 

You look surprised he said it. Unsure at first, before your lips turned into a sly smile. 

Bending down, he thinks you are about to accept his offer. He parts his lips slightly for you, bringing his head towards yours slowly. 

His heart pounds in his chest. If his arm wasn’t so sore he would reach out for your face. 

He remembers the anticipation of Lucy-grays first kiss. It was a dizzing feeling that he hated. 

He swears he feels your lips graze his but you duck your head away and kiss both his cheeks quickly. 

“You can tell Mrs Campbell I said hi too”, you giggle. 

“Was that amusing for you?”, he asks. 

You nod your head with a grin across your face. 

“Goodnight, Mr Snow. I’ll see you for breakfast”. 

Wasting no more time with him, you continue your work with other patients. 

“Goodnight, nurse y/n.” 

Coriolanus rests his head on the pillow as you disappear into the other side of the hospital. 

He must have been a child the last time he couldn’t help but smile. All that had happened seemed like a lifetime ago, and not only a couple of weeks. He was a new person. Lucy-Gray had killed the boy, and raised the man. 

Wouldn’t come to the Capitol with him? He would be the final decider of that. He smiled thinking about the future ahead of him. 

The news of his discharge did not bring him the pleasure he was expecting. 

Who knew how long officer training would take. It could be years before he got back to the Capitol and that was only when his journey began. He was sure he would not forget you, but would time cause you to forget him.  

His fellow Peacekeepers wished him well as he packed his truck up. Commander Hoff had signed him out this morning, but you weren’t there to say goodbye. 

He couldn’t let you forget him.

He owed you his life, he had a debt to pay.

Everyone told him how happy he should be. To get out of 12, but you were in 12. Surrounded by young men with little brains but big muscles. 

How lonely could he expect you to get before you found warmth in the arms of a soldier. 

He tosses in his uncomfortable bed. In the morning he would be sent

miles away. Could he trust you to assume his love? No. He had to tell you. Had to assure you that he was coming back. 

Tonight you did night shift. He had to tell you to wait for him. 

He leaps out of his bunk, pulling on his cardigan before sneaking out of the bunks. 

If a commanding officer caught him outside after lights out, the punishment was a night in the compound jail. He wouldn’t be released until late morning and would miss his train. 

He is quick as he moves through the darkness. Only stopping to hide when night staff were approaching. He made it safely to the nurses door.

It was late. Night guard focused on the boundaries so Coriolanus felt safe to approach the door to the nurses den despite the light illuminating the door. 

He knocks on the entry, and you open it shortly after. Unsuspecting, and untroubled. 

“Mr Snow,” you smile at him, causing him to unknowingly smile back. 

“Is something wrong?”, you step aside to allow him in out of the cold. He closes the door behind him, and feels secure being trapped in the room with you. 

“Yes-No”, he wasn’t sure where to begin. 

“Your arm?” you guessed. 

“I am going to officer training tomorrow”, he states. 

You smile wide at him again, but this time no smile on his lips curled back. He could tell you had not realized your stake in this.

“Congratulations.’’ you move past him to place a clip bored back on the shelf behind him, “I am happy for you.”

“Are you?” he asks. 

“Of course. I remember you telling me your plans to reach the Capitol. Officer training is a good stepping stone”. 

He grabs your arm to turn you towards him. 

“I don’t want you to forget me”. 

You looked unsettled, but made no attempt to break away. 

“Of course not”, you answer. 

“I don’t want you to think I’ll forget you either. I’ll send for you as soon as I can”. 

Your face twists, and you slightly attempt to raise your arm out of his hold. 

“Mr Snow, I am afraid you are confused. Maybe you should go back to your bunk”. 

He uses his grip on your arm to shake you slightly.

“Don’t speak to me like that”, he requests. He wasn’t one of your patients. 

“I told you, I have no interest in returning to the Capitol”. Your voice had changed from your usual sweet tone. It carried a hint of irritation, and strong determination. 

You try to tug your arm back from him but it was too tight,

“I have an interest in you returning to the Capitol”.

You look past him to the door. It causes great irritation for Coriolanus. Who wanted all of your focus. 

With his hold on your arm he pushes you back into the wall and kisses you. His lips are hard against yours. His eyes are closed but yours remain open from the shock. 

You struggle against his kiss, but his grip was tight on your jaw and his lips pressed unmercifully against yours. 

He was the one to break the kiss, leaving you breathless and shrunk against the wall. 

“I need you to tell me you’ll wait for me”, he demands. 

“Mr Snow, I-”.

He brings you forward to slam you back into the wall as punishment for your hesitation. 

“Say it”. 

Your hands come up in defense between you. 

“I am sorry if I misled you”. 

“Misled me? You saved my life”

“It’s normal for patients to feel this way after a traumatic experience. Your body has been through a lot of shock, wait for it to heal”.

“Say it. Say the words, Coriolanus Snow, I am yours, and I’ll wait for you”. 

You look out the window to the sleeping patients. Even if one woke and saw you, most of them were too sick to even get out of bed. 

“Don’t look at them. Look at me”, he demands. The hands that held you in place moved up to your neck

“Okay” you agreed quickly before he started to apply pressure. 

“Say it”, he declared. 

“I’ll wait for you”. You say but it doesn’t satisfy him. 

“The whole thing”, he directs. 

“Coriolanus, I am yours and I’ll wait, okay?”.

With his hands still on your neck he kisses you once more. You make no attempt to stop him as you place your hands on arms. 

He pulls back with a boyish smile on his lips. 

“I love you”, he states. 

You pull his hands away from your throat and keep them still between your hands. 

“You must go back to bed now. You have a big day ahead of you. You need your rest for it”,  you push him away slightly as you spoke, hoping it would be enough to redirect him. 

He removes his hands from you completely with a smile. 

He knew you were right. He needed to arrive his best tomorrow. Show district 2 that he wouldn’t be there for very long.

“I’ll send for you as soon as I can”, he promised. 

You nod your head enthusiastically, pushing firmly on his arm to the exit. 

His feet shuffle on the floor as he slowly walks to the door. 

He stops just as his foot hits the cold air from the open door. It felt like you had run into a brick wall as you knocked against him. 

“I promise y/n, I’ll take care of you”, he vows.

He comes in for a kiss again. His hand found its way to the side of your face to pull you in, and his lips pressed hard against yours. 

You yank yourself away and push on him to retreat back to his bunk. 

“Go” you whisper and he does.

You watch as he runs back into the buildings and under cover of the darkness.  

Your shaky hands turn the lock of the door as he disappears from sight. 

The next morning,as soon as he wakes he heads to the medical facility to say goodbye to you. He skips breakfast to do so. 

You weren’t there, and he had no clue where the nurse quarters were kept. He had no time to find out, his train would leave soon. 

He arrived at the train station disheartened that he couldn’t see you one last time. You must have been greatly upset at his departure. A goodbye must have been too much. 

He pictured you crying in your bed, and his heart pulled to think of you in such a state because of him. He would write as soon as he landed in district 2, never mind the cost. 

It was a delight when Commander Hoff spoke of a change of plans. Dr Gaul had requested your presence, Hoff said. 

His luck had finally turned. He was back in the Capitol. Back where he was supposed to be in a high position of power and money to burn. 

It was too soon to bring you back. The ground beneath him could still turn to quick sand under his feet. He thought of you often, every second that he had spare. He worried that you were angry with him. It had been too long since he had talked to you. He has been so busy settling in, and flaunting his new success that he didn’t have time to sit down to write. The few times he tried to squeeze in on the car ride, or while waiting for a meeting, his hands would shake too much. 

He felt stupid. A simple letter should not make his hands shake. On the way back from the lake, he had promised himself that he would never allow love to make him weak again. Now he is worried about your feelings towards him. 

Finally he decided that enough was enough. He rises from his bed after tossing nearly the whole night through, and enters his study. 

The pen felt heavy in his hand as he sat. He wasn’t sure what to say, or where to start. 

He shakes the pen in his hand. Enough was enough. He would be careful how much you swayed his emotions. 

‘Dear Nurse Y/n, 

I hope this letter finds you in good health. ‘

He strikes his pen through the words, before crumpling up the paper and throwing it away. So formal. 

‘Dear Y/n, 

My plans to reach the Capitol have been expedited. I am now working under Dr Gaul in the war department. We have plans to run for senate. 

I have not forgotten my promise that I would send for you. ‘

His pen stills. With everything going on, he wasn’t sure that now was the best time to bring you. Tigres had limited contact. He was working until late at night. Nearly all his money went to the run for senate.

Once he wins things would be different. He would send for you then. Until then, he wanted you to have a piece of him. A token of his promise. 

He picks up his old peacekeeper dog tags from his desk drawer. It felt like a collar in his hands. 

He tosses them into the envelope and continues writing his letter to you. 

‘I have enclosed my dog days. I wish for you to wear them while I am away. A symbol of my love. We will not be parted for too long. Take care of yourself. 

Yours, 

C.Snow’

Coriolanus writes to you every evening before bed, but no letter is ever returned. He didn’t mind, he was sure that it was because you missed him too much. Writing would cause you pain, and that’s the last thing he wanted to cause, even if a reply was all he wanted. 

He would write mundane things. What he did that day, how much he missed you, how his election for senator was going. 

It was going well. He won voters easily. But the run kept him busy, with little time and energy left to write to you. He worried that you would be upset with him. Sometimes all he could manage to write was, ‘I love you. I am tired.’

The gifts he would send were returned. Every letter he would assure you that he was working towards bringing you here. Begged you not to be mad at him. 

But you would not accept his telephone calls and your presents piled at his feet. 

It had been nearly six months since he left district 12. Six months of not seeing you. Not hearing from you. It drove him mad. 

He called you a spiteful woman in one of his late night letters after a fundraising gala. 

The next letter that arrived the same day apologized. You were not a spiteful woman. He was a stupid man. You had every right to be angry with him. He is taking too long. He begged for your forgiveness and reminded you of his love. 

You threw the letters in the bin and clocked on for your shift. The days were longer now that you don’t talk to the patients. 

Coriolanus sits in his office after a long day. He wanted nothing more than to go home and have you there. Ready to care for him like you did at the hospital. 

He twirls the pen between his fingers. The other hand played with the coins he planned to give you. 

He wished you would reply to him. A single sentence would be enough to quench his thirst. 

Begging for a letter would seem desperate. With a beginning in mind he set his pen to paper. 

‘Dear Y/n, 

I hope to hear from you that you have been well. ‘

Yes, good. Set the expectation of a reply. 

‘Please, let me know if there is anything I can do to ease any discomfort. I have been well.  Apologies for the delay in writing to you. I have been busy preparing to run for senator. With the support I have managed to gather I believe victory is set. You’ll be a senator's wife upon returning to the Capitol. As soon as I win, and it is safe, I will send for you. I haven’t forgotten you. 

I have missed you terribly, and think of you often. 

I hope to be reunited soon. 

Yours, 

C.Snow.’

Nothing but the money he sent was returned. 

It sent him into a fit of rage. Papers were thrown off his desk. Decorative ornaments were thrown across the room and into walls. 

He decided that no more letters were going to be sent unless he could tell you the news you have been waiting for. 

He worked harder than ever. No longer playing fair. He cut corners where he could. Relied on money, rather than charm. He used to be opposed to the use of poison. Told Dr Gaul that he would win the senate seat through his wit, but time was passing too quickly. Coriolanus grew impatient. A nasty rumor about what he was doing spread around the Capitol, but he quickly shut it down.  

It paid off with a landslide victory. He hadn’t just won his entry to the presidency. He had won you. 

Surely, you could no longer be mad at him with such an impressive victory. He had his assistant organize a train out of district 12 for you. 

With it in his hand he sat in his office chair and penned you a letter still dressed in his uncomfortable formal attire. 

‘Dearest, 

You may of heard the news of my win last night. 

I have attached a train ticket out of 12. It leaves next monday at noon. Don’t miss it. 

Forever yours, 

C.Snow. ‘

With no reply back, Coriolanus was hopeful that he would see you on the train. He arrived too early to collect you, and spent the hour waiting by pacing the platform with the dying rose. 

When it finally pulled up, he could hardly hide his excitement. It had felt like years without seeing you. He sent you beautiful green luggage set to back what you wanted, and a new dress to arrive in. 

He waits for you to arrive out of the first class carriage but it emptied without sight of you. He continued down, weaving through the people down to the luggage carriage. Maybe you had gotten off the train while he was distracted.

The green set of luggage he had sent you was being carried off the train. He rushed to the carriage to greet you, but only a working man was there. 

“Where’s the girl who owns this luggage?”, he demanded. 

“No girl, sir. Only the luggage and the ticket”, replied the man. 

The rose dropped from his hand. It felt as if the venom from the snake had begun to pulse through his body again. 

He rushes back to his office where he hastily grabs a piece of paper, and pen.

His pen digs a hole into the paper from where he pressed down, but through his anger no words could be formed. 

After everything you would not come. You were stubborn like Lucy-gray. Didn’t know when to quit. He would have to change that about you when you became a senate's wife. 

He crumples up the letter and throws it in the bin. There would be no warning for you. 

The next week he arrived back in district 12. It was a surprise to the district which meant it was a surprise to you. 

A trip as a new senate leader to ensure the medical facilities were up to standard, he had told the Commander. 

The new Commander of district 12 was chuffed with a visit from the Capitol. It proved difficult to be left alone at the hospital. Coriolanus’s eyes the small hospital he managed to push his way too. 

The Commander was too loud. He would take the element of surprise away. It would give you a chance to escape, and Coriolanus would spend hours searching the compound for you. 

He wanted to wrap his hands around the new Commander's throat. Coriolanus despised Hoff during his peacekeeper days. But at least Hoff knew the importance of composure. This man nearly leaped into Coriolanus' arms. 

A lie of a headache landed Coriolanus in the doctor's den. It was a bigger, self-contained room than the nurses' den. It was situated at the very back of the hospital, away from the noise and eyes of others. It made it a perfect place to bring you. 

“There was a nurse”, Coriolanus spoke as he took a seat at the table, “back in my old peacekeeping days. Nurse Y/N, I think? Could you send for her? I’d like to see a familiar face”. 

“Of course, Senator Snow. I’ll send her, and a doctor right along”. The Commander turns to leave. Panic and annoyance rises through Coriolanus. 

“Just her”, Coriolanus said, a little too sharply. He takes a breath to regain himself before directing the Commander once more. 

“And Commander, take two of my peacekeepers to escort her back. You’re a busy man, and they will want to do their security measures anyway”.

The Commander nods back before leaving the room.

Coriolanus lets out a shaky breath, running his fingers through his hair to smooth the curls back. After all this time he was going to see you again. He would be able to hold you, he was sure. 

How would you greet him? Should he wait for you to set the tone? See your reaction and base his off that. He wasn’t sure he would be able to stop himself from touching you if you were within arms distance. 

He sat back down behind the table. It would give him an excuse so you would be forced to make first contact. 

His finger locks with his curls. He should have got his hair professionally done, but he was in such a hurry to get here to you. Instead he focuses on straightening his suit. It was expensive and well made. It should impress you, but not if it was crumpled. 

His pocket bore a hole with the present he had brought for you. A lovely pair of diamond dangle earrings. 

He twisted the box around in his fingers, and took another deep breath. He hoped that upon seeing him your anger would disappear. 

Maybe it was all a test. You wanted him to come back. To put on a show for your friends here. The prince took the princess away to live happily ever after. 

The prince brought a nice pair of earrings with him. Surely, you could forgive him for his delay. He couldn’t bear your anger. 

His anxiety was matched with the ticking of his wrist watch. What could be taking so long? He wonders. Were you also readying yourself for him? Didn’t you know that you were the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on? It didn’t matter to him if your face was dirty, or your eyes carried sleep. Your heart blinded him to mere appearances. It was your soul he loved, and your soul he would have. 

“Hello, dearest” he greets with a soft smile.  

You slam the door closed behind you, shutting the Peacekeepers out. 

“What are you doing here?” you seeth. 

Coriolanus pockets the box once more. He would give it to you when you would appreciate them more. 

“Would you like a cup of tea?”, he pours the pot that was given to him into the single teacup provided. 

“I have work to do. What do you want?”, you state. 

“I just want to talk. Sit please”. He gets up to show his full height. Sometimes he swore you forgot the noticeable size difference when you talked. 

He gestures to the chair across the small table. He places the cup in front of you as you sit, before returning to his seat across from you. 

“How have you been?”, he asks casually.

“You want to talk about my health?”, you spat back at him. 

“You never responded to my letters”. 

“I told you to stop sending them to me”. 

“No”, Coriolanus rejects, “I never heard anything from you”. 

It was a sore point for him that swelled a lot of the emotions he had pushed down. 

“If I didn’t have tabs on you, I would have thought you were dead”, he let slip. 

His eyes closed in frustration as he said it. Just your presence made him lose his composure. At least with you, he knew his secrets were safe. 

“You were keeping tabs on me?”, you muttered in disbelief. 

“As I said, I thought you could be dead. I was just making sure you were safe. I wasn’t sure my letters or presents were even reaching you”, he reasons. He leans his hand across the table, wanting so badly to touch you. 

“What are you doing here?”, you ask again. 

“I’ve come to take you home. Back to the Capitol”. 

You did not look joyed at the news like you should have. 

“District 12 is my home”, you accounce. 

He pulls himself back from across the table. A harsher approach would be needed, so he squares his shoulders, and sits up as tall as he can. His face hardenings, and he feels a scowl edge across his face.

“You are happy here?”. 

Flashes of the forest cross his mind. The endless wandering. The dull ache of thinking that he had failed his father. The betrayal. 

“Yes”, you answer. 

Coriolaus trains his eyes on the teapot, no longer able to look at you with such hate. 

“That’s a shame”, he states. 

“Shame?” You question. 

“I didn’t come here to leave without you”. 

“Mr snow-“

He sighs deeply, leaning on the table 

“Coriolaus, please”, he begs. 

You suddenly stand up, your chair falling back at movement. 

“Coriolanus, get out. Keep your letters to yourself, and never bother me again”. 

Coriolaus doesn’t move, just stares at you from his chair as if you were the crazy one. 

“Get out!” you scream at him.

His puzzled expression turns back to a neutral stare as he rises from his chair.  

“Forgive me, nurse Y/N. I wasn’t aware of your indifference”. 

His shoulders brush yours as he passes you to the door. 

He had a plan B. He always had a plan B. 

The next morning you were assigned to blood donation. A overhanging tent was placed near the front of the gates where districts, and fellow peacekeepers could donate for a few dollars. 

You assisted a doctor in drawing, categorizing and storing the blood for use. You knew Coriolanus was still in the Compound. The Commander drove him around, showing him new additions since he was a peacekeeper. Coriolanus could care less, but he caught two glimpses of you as the car passed. 

You were always busy working like he remembered. The tent quieted as it reached late afternoon. By 4 o’clock, it was just you and one other doctor attending the tent. 

You still had three districts in chairs as the blood was pumped out of them. Coriolanus waited behind a building until he could see only one district left. 

The doctor looks to be packing up while you talk to the man in the chair. Coriolanus hated that you were speaking to him. He was nothing. Less than nothing; he was district. He didn’t deserve to be talking to you. 

Coriolanus made his way over with a calm demeanor, despite how he was feeling. 

The doctor noticed him before you did. 

“Mr Snow. Can we help you, sir?”, the doctor asked. 

“I’d like to donate blood for the cause”, he answered. He made a point not to look at you. 

“Mr Snow, that’s quite generous, but unnecessary”, the man replied. 

“Please, I insist”. Coriolanus rolled up the sleeve of his left arm to prepare himself for the chair.

The Doctor looks to you, before accepting Coriolanus’s request. 

“Very well. If you follow me I’ll just check your levels, and then I’ll send you to my nurse”. 

Coriolanus could hear your protest leaving your lips, so he spoke loud and clear over them. 

“Excellent”, he exclaimed. 

He follows the Doctor to a small metal table with two fold out chairs opposite each other. He could partially see you from where he sat. You were still attending to the man in the chair but the talking had stopped. 

Coriolanus engages the doctor in idle small talk so you couldn’t ask to be excused. He could see that the district had grown uncomfortable in Coriolanus’s presence, and kept asking how long he had left. 

By the time Coriolanus had his blood pressure taken, and a sample of his blood taken, the district was being sent away from the tent with a coin, and a loaf of bread you had given him. Just in time for Coriolanus' time in the chair. 

You ignore him, talking only to the doctor. 

“Sir-I”, you begin but Coriolanus started his sentence in the middle of yours. 

“I admit I have other motives aside from my patriotism. Nurse, would you mind answering a few questions I have? I want to hear every voice before I implement new changes”.

After hearing the Doctors complaints about the resources and pay, Coriolanus knew that the promise of change was his way in. 

“Yes! yes, of course. You must hear all sides” the Doctor boasts. 

“Doctor, would you mind leaving us? I find people speak easier truths without an audience”. 

“Of course. She’ll tell you. It’s like working in a shooting range with limited bullets”, the Doctor turns to walk away, causing you to call out for him, taking his coat in your hands to tug him back. 

He yanks it away from your grip. “Tell him”, he demands, “You won’t be in trouble he wants to know”. 

Coriolanus gently touches your elbow, taking it in his hand, but releasing it as the Doctor becomes more focused on you. 

“I’ll be back in half-an-hour. Don’t take anymore patients, I want to be packed up before it gets dark”. 

The Doctor walks away from the tent, and the half-an-hour time frame begins to tick. 

You looked sour, and slightly worried. He hated to see it, especially by cause of him. 

You don’t move as he shuffles past you. He wanted to ease you so you could speak like you did when you visited his bedside. It was easy conversation, and for maybe the first time in his life, he felt seen by somebody. He wanted it back, but first he had to regain his familiar status with you. 

“We’re in broad daylight, surrounded by Peacekeepers who like you more than me. What could I do?”, Coriolanus states as he takes his seat in the chair. 

“You are unbelievable”, you scold, but move to swap his pressure point with disinfectant. 

“I am sorry. Truely”. It had been so long since you were so close. Mere inches between you and him. It felt so right, could you feel it too? He thought. 

“I never meant to offend you. My actions never held any ill intent”, he consoles.

The needle dug harshly into his arm, but he showed no effect of it. 

“Sending me gifts, keeping tabs on me. You think I have forgotten that night in the nurses den?”. You pull back away from him once the needle begins drawing blood. He hated to let you, but plan B involved good terms. 

“I am sorry for all of it. I misinterpreted, and fed delusion from my own fantasies. I never meant you harm”, he shouted his words across the tent hoping no other person was listening. 

“I hope you can forgive me, Y/N. You saved my life”.

He could see your common sense fighting with your mercy. Your hands fidgeted, and your eyes kept bouncing from what you were doing to Coriolanus. 

“Let’s just forget it”, you mutter. 

“What?” he calls, despite hearing fine. 

His plan works and you move back over to him to speak again. 

“I forgive you. Bridge over water” you offer. 

The saying was ‘water over the bridge’, but he didn’t want to correct you. If you said it was bridge over water, he would accept it. 

“Thank you”, he gushed. “Why don’t you sit beside me like old times? I really do want to hear your opinions on reform”. 

To his delight you do take a seat and discuss the issues with the Compound hospital. The Doctor focused on the long hours, disproportionate pay to Capitol doctors, and few resources. 

You were more patient focused. You talked about rehabilitative care outside of the hospital. The food offered to recovering patients was poor which he could attest to. Beds were too hard, you wanted patients to be able to reach home and talk to their families more, resources were an issue for you too but in a patient care angle rather than a hindrance to your innate ability to save the injured. 

You spoke passionately. It was wonderful to listen to you, Coriolanus almost felt bad that he had pushed the call button to his head peacekeeper nearly five minutes ago. He would have let you talk for as long as you liked. Sat happily without a word so long as you were speaking to him, but the Doctor would be back soon, plan B had to be set into action. 

Coriolanus could see the Commander, and a string of Peacekeepers with guns as they came from across the field. It was impressive timing given that the file would have been put in the Commanders hands only a few minutes ago.

He tried to focus on you as you talked. Revell in your attention, and joy before it was ripped away. 

You turn as you hear the marching

“What is going on?” Coriolanus questioned with fake outrage.

“Senator Snow, it is with great displeasure that I must announce that we have been harboring a traitor to Panem”.

“Traitor?” you gasp.

The Commander throws the fabricated file on the desk for all to see. 

You take a look at a picture that had been manipulated to look as if you were talking to a man in the forest. Others show you talking to the same man in the middle of town, and rooms you had never seen before. Copies of notes in your handwriting passed Compound information along, and spoke of recruiting injured patients. 

“Victorn layman. A known rebel who has been successful in many of his attacks, no doubt thanks to you”, the Commander accuses. 

“I have never seen that man before, I swear”, you turn to Coriolanus with pleading eyes

“The evidence doesn’t lie”, the Commander screeched, “Cuff her, and throw her in the gaol”.

“Wait” you implore as the heavy cuffs are secured around your wrists, “I am not a traitor”. 

“Commander, please. There must be a mistake”, Coriolanus felt compelled to speak on your behalf. 

“If there is, Mr Snow, the committee of justice will reach the bottom of it”, the Commander promises. If Coriolanus didn’t hold control over the situation, it would have worried him. The committee of justice was very rarely, if ever, interested in justice. 

Two Peacekeepers take each of your arms to push you forward. Coriolanus has to clench his fist to stop himself from tearing you free from them. 

You call for him to do something as they lead you to the jail, but he watches with the needle still in his arm. The Doctor returns to see you being taken away by the Peacekeepers. 

Coriolanus rips the needle from his arm, leaving it dangling as he walks away from the Doctor full of questions. 

Plan B would drive you into his arms, or the grave. 

He lets your brew in the compound jail for a week as the committee of justice overlooks your case. 

The day they declare you guilty and sentence you to death by hanging. He knew you were ready for the picking. 

That night he visits you, sure that you would now see the light. 

He enters the compound jail, and saw you on the floor in the furthest corner.  

The jail cell was bare, apart from a toilet. 

A long stretch of bars that enclosed a dirty, concrete floor. You were alone, per his request, but not even a blanket was given to you. 

You look up at him as he enters. His hands were in the pocket of his coat. His shoulders were square, and his hair was neatly pushed back into small curls. 

“Nurse Y/n. I hate to see you like this”. 

You scramble up from the floor towards him as you speak. 

“Senator Snow, I didn’t do it. I am not a traitor”, you explain. 

“The evidence would suggest otherwise”

“It’s not true” you shake your head, the tears fall off your cheek, “I swear. I swear I have no idea what is going on.”

Seeing you like this felt right. He was back in the position of power. Like Lucy-Gray you were trapped where he could always find you. You depended on him for food and water. 

He holds tightly onto the iron bars, and presses his face as close as he could, 

“I could get you out’’. 

Your face seemed hopeful. He hated to crush it moments later. 

“If you reconsider my offer of the Capital”. 

You rub your face with your hands. Your tears were yet to stop spilling. 

“Why are you doing this?”, you sob. 

“I don’t want to”. He pushes his whole body as close as he could to the bars, but you remain five feet away. 

“I owe you my life. I just want to help.”

“I didn’t do it!”, you exclaim.

“Y/n, they are going to hang you for treason If you don’t accept my offer. Please. I just want to help”.

“I don’t-’ a sharp breath interrupts your sentence, “I have never- I don’t know that man.”

“It doesn’t matter. Come noon tomorrow, you’ll hang”.

“Please, don’t let them.”

You move to the other side of the bars from him. Your hand curled under the same bars, just under his hand.

“I won’t. You just have to say it”, he speaks softly and slowly, peering down at you, “Coriolanus Snow, I am yours”.

“You said I saved your life. It would make us even”. 

Coriolanus shakes his head

‘’I can protect you only if you are mine. Say it’’, he demands. 

You’re silent for a moment causing Coriolanus to worry that you would not accept his offer. Was he so bad that you would choose the noose over him? 

“I don’t want to die”, you admit finally. 

He reaches through the bars to your waist, pulling you as far as he could to him.  You keep your hands tight around the metal.

“You saved my life, let me save yours. I just need to hear those five little words”.

“I’ll go back to the Capitol?”, you asked. 

“Yes, with me. Far from the noose”.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and your hands tighten around the bars, but you nod your head.

“Coriolanus Snow”, he begins for you. 

You take a big breath but finally say the words he had been longing to hear. 

“Coriolanus Snow, I am yours”. You repeat. 

He smiles, moving his hands from your waist up to your face so he could wipe away the tears.

He brings your face as close as he could to the bars and kisses you. The bars hindered his passion. His lips would only barely press against yours. 

When he pulls away he keeps your face in his hands as he speaks. 

“You’ll be okay. Peacekeepers will come get you early tomorrow morning, and take you to the train. I’ll meet you there, and we’ll leave, okay? We’ll go back to the Capitol to live the life we were supposed to live”, he promises. 

“Tomorrow?”, you question, “no, you said you could get me out”. 

You pull back out of his hold and he returns his hands to the bars. 

“I can. But if I whisk you away under the cover of night, how will that look? Like a guilty person laying down for the right man? Tomorrow it will look like they are taking you back to the Capitol for further investigation. In the Capitol I can clear your name.’’ 

You go further away from him, centering yourself in your cell. He wanted to reach out and pull you back but you were too far out of his grasp. 

“This is my home. These people are my family” you say softly. 

“And look how quickly they have turned on you. If it wasn’t for me, they would watch you hang tomorrow.”

Your eyes fill up with tears again. He had hit a sore spot. 

“Hey, I am sorry. Come here”. 

His hands stretch through the bars for you but you don’t move from your spot. 

The tears turn into a scolding look causing him to retract himself from the bars, feeling foolish once more. 

He turns to leave, but being alone in the dark cell panicked you. 

“Wait”, you call out. He turns to see you reaching through the bars for him, “Don’t leave me here. Please.”

Coriolanus returns back to the cage, taking your hands in his, and kissing them. 

“You stayed by my bed. I’ll stay by your cell”.

“Coriolanus. Get me out please”, you beg. You couldn’t stand one more night in the cold cell. 

“Tomorrow, my love”, he comforts. 

Your hands felt like ice in his hold. He should have come the first night to make sure that you at least had a blanket and pillow. He hadn’t meant for such poor conditions. What if you got sick from the damp, cold cell. 

He reaches out to your shoulders. They were cold to touch. His poor sweet girl was cold and hungry. Tomorrow neither of you would be ever again. 

He takes off his jacket and passes it through the bars, over your shoulders. 

“Lay down”, he requests “When you wake all of this will just be a bad dream”. 

You do lie down on the ground, and Coriolanus follows.

He lays down outside of the cell, but puts his hand through to hold yours through the bar. 

With his spare hand he rubs your back to provide warmth and comfort until you fall asleep. 

He shivers on the floor without his jacket. But it mattered little to him. 

You would go back to the Capitol with him tomorrow. From there he would rise from senator to President. 

You slept easy next to him. The bars separating your body from his touch. He wanted to hold you. Not only for his own gratification, but to keep you warm through the night. You had become the object of his worry. He had thought that his school-boy anxiety left as he hardened into a man, but he had instead just focused it entirely on you. 

He worried that you would get hypothermia from your week in jail. Then his worry took him to your teeth. When was the last time you had got them checked? It was doubtful that there was an adequate dentist at base. He had never heard of one. What about your iron, and calcium levels? Being part of the Capitol charge surely they would ensure you were fed properly. He remembered being amazed at the food given to the Peacekeepers but that was a low bar.

He would get you checked over by his doctor once you got home. Then he would take you out for something nice to eat. Maybe, you would want to watch a show,  even if you wanted to go home and lay in bed with him that would be fine too. 

He was so close to it all. After this feat, there was nothing stopping his way to the top. He would be president after a term as a senator. You would be first lady. Spend your days shopping, and organizing dinners. 

He would pay you back for your kindness at his deathbed. He laughs quietly thinking that it was Lucy-Gray who showed him the path to you. 

When you woke the next morning, Coriolanus and his jacket were gone. Instead, a Peacekeeper greeted you by yanking you up from the floor by your arm. 

You stumbled as he cuffed you and pushed you forward out of the cell. 

It was early morning, but most people were already up to see you being manhandled into a Peacekeeper van. 

You had no way of blocking your face to hide your shame. The van had a thin fabric roof, and doors that shut waist height.

People stared as you passed them in the van. People who had known you since you were a little girl stood as you were whisked away as a traitor. 

The Peacekeeper took you to the train station as promised where you were taken out of the van by a Capitol Peacekeeper who led you to the right carriage. 

Coriolanus stood by the door waiting for you. His shoulders sagged upon seeing your tears. The Peacekeeper hands Coriolanus the keys to your cuffs, stating it was his decision to release you or not. 

As soon as the Peacekeeper leaves, he rushes over to you to undo the cuffs. 

“Just for appearances” he comments. 

“They all looked at me like I was a traitor”, you sobbed. 

“When we reach the Capitol we will clear your name”, He promises, coming back to stand in front of you. 

“But i’ll never see them again to tell them the truth”. 

He brings you into his shoulder to cease the sound of your wailing. He couldn’t see why it mattered so much if they thought you were a traitor. You were right, you would never see them again. 

“It’s alright”, he comforts. 

You wrap your arms around the back of his shoulders as you cry. After a minute or two Coriolanus could no longer take it. He hated the sound of you crying. He thought he could be a fierce husband, but now he was sure to fold every time you wanted something. 

You had slowed enough that he could pull away slightly to look at you. Your eyes were swollen, your cheeks and nose were red. The way you sounded, your nose was blocked from your tears. 

“They will know the truth. I’ll ensure it”, he vows. “But until then you’ll just have to settle for me knowing the truth”. 

He takes another step away from you, reaching for the bedroom door. 

“Me, and him”, he teases. 

As the door opens a small, white puppy with a large pink bow around its neck bounces out. 

You gasp as you bend down to pat the dog. It jumped up at you, running in circles and then jumping up to place its paws on your knees. 

“He’s yours”, Coriolanus says, “You’ll have to name him”.

You wipe away your tears, but your smile is still sad. He would have to work harder to please you. 

“He’s beautiful. Thank you”, your voice is small, and hoarse from the crying. 

“And there’s a whole wardrobe, and jewelry for you if you want to take a shower”, he offers.  

Another misstep from a man so calculated. You rise from the floor with an angry expression. 

“I am lucky you were expecting me”, you mocked. 

“If I hadn’t been you would be looking at the noose”, Coriolanus spat back. 

It was too late to turn back now. 

His comment silenced you, and Coriolanus took the opportunity to take your hand and lead you through the bedroom to the bathroom door. 

“Come on. You’ll feel better after a shower. Take your time. I’ll wait out in the common area”, he said. 

You don’t answer him as you enter the bathroom. 

You take a long time to join him in the common room. He had ordered morning tea, and coffee. He felt too uneasy to eat the biscuits, and small sandwiches offered so they were still available for you, but the coffee had long gone cold before you re-entered his presence. 

Your hair was dripping down the dress you had put on. There were no shoes on your feet, or jewelry hanging off you. He was glad you were comfortable, but you looked uncared for. Which was not the case. 

Your little dog barked upon seeing you which made you smile and say hello. Coriolanus was glad that he decided against passing the dog to the attendants. At least the dog offered an ice breaker. 

“Feel better?”, he asks. He stands as you move to sit in the booth. 

“Yes, thank you”.

 As you sit Coriolanus moves with you. Wedging you between him and the wall. 

“Your hair is still wet”, he comments.

A thick napkin is used by him to press the water out the ends of your hair. 

“I had no energy to dry it”, you admit. 

“Yes, I am sure this has been a lot for you”, he agrees, “but it’s almost over. As soon as we reach the Capitol that’s the end of it”. 

He moves the napkin to rub it against the top to absorb moisture. It leaves your hair messy, and frizzy. He tries to fix it, gently clawing his fingernails through to soothe the uncooperative hairs. 

“There” he says, “good as new”. 

The dog barks as he runs around the room, exploring. Coriolanus wanted to kick it out but he knew it would upset you. 

 “Are you hungry?”, he asks. 

You shake your head ‘no’, and turn from him to look out the window. 

He allows you your peace. The dog is too loud. He would have to get it trained, but for now it filled the awkward silence. 

Looking for something to do, he straightens the table fixtures. Making sure everything was perfectly in its place. 

You lean against the glass instead of on him, which annoyed Coriolanus. 

The only time you broke stature was when Coriolanus picked up the dog and placed him in between the seat. He didn’t like it there after he got bored with you and whined to be put down. 

Besides that you sat and stared out the window until it became night. He couldn’t get you to eat anything. You had drunk some water which made him worry less, but you wouldn’t speak to him, and he didn’t want to come across needy by constantly talking to you with no response. 

He had a speech to write for an upcoming bill proposal which engaged him throughout the day, but night fell and he was ready to connect with you. 

He didn’t ask as he tugged you from your seat, and back to the bedroom. You didn’t fight him as he led. Coriolanus kicks the door shut on the yapping dog, hoping it would go to sleep. 

You turn to open the door to the dog, but he catches your arms to continue the way into the bedroom closest. 

“Given that there are not too many leisurely trips to the districts there is only one suitable bed, so we’ll have to share”, he encourages. 

He passes you a nice pair of pajamas to change into which you accept. 

‘And when we reach the Capitol. What will be your excuse then?”. 

He couldn’t tell if you meant it in a criticizing way. Your voice was light as if it was a joke, but even toned enough to make him consider it as a genuine question. 

He tried to appease both possible situations with a humorous answer. 

“Bed bugs”. 

It earns a scoff in a light hearted manner. His school-boy smile returned to his face like it did when you used to sit by his bed and talk during the night. 

You hum before you disappear into the bathroom to change. The smile is still on Coriolanus’s face as he dresses for bed. 

He had his joy back after it being ripped from his hands since the dark days. 

When you come back out you are silent once more. Your expression had changed to one of deep and unpleasant contemplation. 

“Are you okay?”, he asks.

You brush past him without an answer to the door. You find it’s locked but you try and force it open. The force of the door causes the dog to begin his nonsense again. 

“What are you doing?” he questions.

You looked dazed as he neared you. He gently takes your elbow and leads you back to the bed. 

He lets go of you to toss the pillows around but speaks to keep you focused. 

“You nearly died today. You must be feeling all sorts of emotions”.

He remembered how it felt to knock on death's door. He almost feels his scar burn under your watchful gaze.  

“It was you, wasn’t it?”, you whisper. 

“Pardon?”. He almost coaks upon hearing it. He knew you would figure it out with some distance, but he had planned for you to already be in love. Maybe with a child or two. 

“It was you. Who planted that evidence to get me to come with you”, you state it this time round as a fact instead of a question. It made Coriolanus sweat. 

“How dare you” he acts astonished, “ After everything I have done for you. How could you suggest that?”.

Something in you registers. You take a look around at the train that raced you to the Capitol. A place you became a stranger to long ago, and a place where he held all the power. There was no getting off this train. Your fate had been sealed.

You smile at him lightly, “I don’t know. I am sorry. Forget it”, you brush off, “Bridge over water”.

He pulls back the covers as he repeats your sentiment “Bridge over water”. 

[ms0milk]

racked with summer somethings

iguro x fem reader [cw] body image struggles. reader fights with insecurity post-injury and iguro wants a kiss so badly he'll let some students die. 1.9k

three huge cheers for @serendipitous-soul and their generosity and patience in waiting for this piece to be published! thank you so much for trusting me with your @ficsforgaza request. I hope a slightly stubborn and overtly obsessed Iguro brightens your day <3

“No, Iguro wait–” Pushing him back is agony. Not because you crave the gentle kisses, not because you’re still clammy with afternoon sweat, but because he is so persistent the pushing has become a less than playful beating, “Down, boy!”

He leans closer the farther away you turn until you’re practically underneath him, one hand pressed over his face in your attempt to keep him off. His bandage seams lift in the gentle roughhouse. “Y/n,” his voice is firm. Let me kiss you. Let me see you. It is firm with his usual requests, sitting just unspoken at the edge of your name.

“M’gross–”

“Take that back,” he grunts, this time slipping a hand under your arm to cup your chin. He will have you. “What’s wrong?”

“Something has to be wrong to stay ungroped for the afternoon?”

Iguro folds himself around you like paper and presses you both into the swollen wall of his wooden greenhouse. It hosts aphids in the winter to feed crickets to feed birds to feed Kaburamaru and on summer days like this, groans like it’d rather collapse than endure its master’s appetite. “Oi, Igu–wait!”

You try to force another wait out before the Hashira's breath on your throat makes your voice crack but certainly too slowly to keep him from running his hands up your thighs and unfastening your scabbard belt with one hand. It’s Hashira training week, and no doubt the corps members assigned to him are begging for mercy somewhere their supervisor doesn’t have to hear. Your fingers dig between the folds of his increasingly disheveled bandages, he dips into you again, he shivers at your fingertips hot on his jaw, he does not care your other hand is pulling his hair and thwapping the top of his head repeatedly.

“You’re kissing me through bandages! You’re in such a rush you’re not even– NO don’t take them off, there’s no time to wrap you back up again!”

“No one will see,” he begs like a child negotiating for candy.

“Yeah cos they’re all dying– as we– Iguro!”

He is at your mercy, always, you are the head of his household more than his wife, his general, and today his general feels like shit. Training leaves you breathless and sweaty and makes him glow. Humid summer days fray the hairstyles you so carefully construct and melt makeup and soak fabric and make your husband shine with life, a delicate pink on the highest point of his cheeks. Your recent injury compounds pain with frustration: day after day in the Butterfly Mansion testing the strength of your healing knee and it taking two tiny nurses just to hold you up.

Iguro moves with every strong and graceful movement of a serpent. He doesn’t bump into tables, chairs, soldiers, or door frames or worry about the way his clothes fall over the curves of his body. Watching him is like sneaking into the opera. His noh would stop hearts.

“Your injury,” he startles and you return to the shade of the greenhouse where your husband wants to hold you. He drops his hands from where they’ve made a home under your top and in the pleats of your hakama and quickly leans away to see you better. “I wasn’t thinking.”

The fabric on your back clings to splinters in the greenhouse wall. Sweat collects where your thighs touch and under his gaze you can’t hide imperfection. “That’s not,” you start, but his eyes are filling with worry faster than you can prepare sarcasm. “I’m not hurting,” you murmur instead to stamp out budding concern.

“Then what’s wrong?”

The indignation is almost comical, like you’ve committed some horrible crime in withholding kisses. “It’s hot, Iguro, I haven’t rinsed off.”

“I don’t care if you’re sweaty.”

“I care if I’m sweaty,” you bite like he won’t bite back.

“Why would you care about what I want to taste? Does imagining my undersalted lunch put you in a shitty mood too?” You should have expected this; he’s such an instigating shit. “Y/n,” he presses, his voice matches the weight his palms bear on your waist even as you prickle, “what’s wrong?”

“The list is getting longer.”

“My love.”

If frustration could kill you’re not sure which one of you it would take in the muggy summer shade of your home. My love, Darling, Master, summer thunderstorms, winter nests, gifts brought back from distant villages to decorate this body and meant to suit someone so much different than you. Terms of affection meant for eastern goddesses and tiny little wives in their birdbone kimonos.

Your knee shifts without permission as it’s recently begun to do when it’s in use for too long. “Let’s change your bandage,” Iguro offers patiently instead of letting flares of worry show in his voice, “wrap you up tighter.” But he knows he’s the last person you want to see the wound there. Hunger shaped, a slice out of your body like a bite from bread, stitches swimming in the knotted scar from a spar with a demon that just couldn’t die quietly.

“Go save your students,” you admonish with a fond push. He leans into you instead of away and your fingers spread, your palms shift flat on the chest of the man you love.

“If they couldn’t last this long they’re dead already.”

“Obanai Iguro.”

“Obanai Y/n,” he replies without delay. In the sweltering shade, he draws his hands from your hips, up your waist and soft onto the clefts of your face. His palms cup your jaw. “What are you thinking about?” You roll your eyes and bring your own hands up to settle his someplace the sweat wont pool immediately, but he holds you steadfast. His students really might die if you leave them much longer.

His greengold stare is completely disarming and you know better than to let it hold you for too long, but the thoughts truly come faster than you can keep up with them. Training week is a logistical nightmare every year and besides feeding the swaths of corps members, keeping them alive in Serpent Manor, and their uniforms unpissed in, is the larger struggle. Watching the shapes they make under your husband’s instruction stings familiarly. You don’t look like that when you fight. Your hips fill your hakama with curves no one here has and in a field that requires uniformity, it hurts how much you stand out– how easily your skin scars, marks, bruises, and stretches– how much more room you take up. It’s always easier when the house is empty.

Iguro’s thumb catches your lip and rolls over the oil you use to gloss them. The one he loves to taste and that dots his white uniform with shiny little spots now, in all the places you tried to deter him with a bite. “Well?”

“I don't like training week.”

His cheeks pinch under his eyes with a soft smile, “I know.” And he tickles the notch of your jaw with delicate fingers. He traces the curls of your ears. It aches. “Your knee will heal. You’ll fight again.” What can you do but close your eyes? His will burn holes in you, then what good will you be? His graceful fingers tuck away your loose hairs. Does he like it when you make yourself smaller like this? He’s never once liked it, but is today the day he changes his mind? Does he wish you looked like the other slayers? Slim and featherlight– the thought hasn't left you in days– the idea you might not have been injured so badly if you weren't such a big target.

Iguro breathes once deeply and covers your ears with flat palms.

A warm breeze teases you both around the ankles to remind everyone that summer won’t end anytime soon. You think too much, you’re sure he drawls before the world goes silent.

“Hey,” you warn and try to pull his hands down but he shakes his head– your voice grates inside your own. It’s too hot to stand so close but you don’t quite pull back, even as August damp makes your tunic uncomfortable. He tilts your head in his hands every time you look at something other than him, “Iguro.”

The crepemyrtles rustle at a distance in purples and pinks, he draws you back to him, swallows dive for wasps in the begonias, he draws you back to him, nothing makes a sound past his strong calloused hands. It’s finally quiet. Your fingertips find purchase in the fabric of his haori. His knuckles vibrate with all the things he says that you cannot hear.

You murmur his name. He vibrates again. Your husband picks favorites; you, his general, his wife, his master, and he is never subtle. Subtlety kills devotion. Iguro’s sharp eyes trace adoration into summer air while he keeps noisy humid thoughts from haunting you. His chest rumbles with speech you can’t make out in this peace you can’t find on your own.

What about you makes him so soft? His rumpled bandages tighten against his lips as he speaks and all it takes is one finger to pull them away. You tug once gently, hands rising like smoke from their home on his chest as he makes a shelter for you behind the shade of the greenhouse.

You, his soft lips mouth, Y/n. His own scars crawl along his perfect cheeks and tighten when you trace them in the quiet of his love. Your love is the first night he let you see them, fireworks on a cemetery hill and hiding as best you could, the rush of an overfilled heart. He doesn’t hide from you, even when it makes his well-trained fingers shake. He doesn’t stop speaking when you touch the part of himself he hates so much.

I want you. Iguro’s lips make the shape of every syllable so slowly you couldn’t misread them if you tried, the three words you feed to him on bad days like medicine. Y/n. I want you.

The realization comes with slightly more embarrassment than you’d like for such a hot day. Warmth rises in your cheeks and the heat threatens to make tears. How much more similar could you two possibly be? How many more signs do you need to believe that he was made just for you? When you kiss him you are gentle and his hold over your ears falters so that he can hold you properly.

“I want you, Y/n.”

“I heard you.”

“Scars and all.”

“Have me.”

“I won’t have you any differently. I won’t have you smaller, weaker. You wouldn’t be my wife that way.”

“Kiss me then, chatterbox.”

Iguro finally relaxes against you in the unbearable summer air, inescapable by shade, swim, or fan. He cradles the back of your neck like looking away from him would even be possible in the closeness of your kiss. In the minutes before battered corps members begin limping back to the top of your mountain home, you don’t need to think about dinner or dressing wounds or keeping your bandages hidden. You don’t spare a thought for the breakable nurses at the Butterfly Mansion or how predictably tsuguko marvel at the strength behind your kicks. Easier than training, than putting out fires, easier than smoothing balm on your scars, easier than nursing hips bruised from doorways or learning to sew your hakama just right, is letting Iguro soothe your worry with stolen kisses in the sticky shade of the greenhouse. Scars and all, the predictable pair of you.

(divider by @cafekitsune!)

[iatemyboyfriend3]

wc: 1.1k

simon "ghost" riley x reader

warnings: 18+. angst angst angst, death (yours), description of depression in simon riley fashion. i was very sad at 3am

The mission ended, but for Simon Riley, time had stopped the moment your heart did. The others had to pull him away, prying your lifeless body from his grip as he sat there in the blood-soaked dirt. He didn’t resist; he didn’t say a word. The weight of your death hung over him like a suffocating shroud, pressing down on his chest until he could barely breathe. The Ghost that had once been unbreakable was shattered, and Simon Riley was all that remained—a man haunted by the failure that would never stop gnawing at his soul.

Back at the base, Simon moved like a ghost himself—silent, distant, his every action mechanical. He avoided everyone, even Soap, who had been his closest confidant. The jokes, the camaraderie—they were gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness that echoed with the memory of your final moments. The few who dared to approach him found themselves met with cold silence or a dismissive nod. He didn’t want their pity; he didn’t deserve their comfort.

Your dog tags never left his possession. He couldn’t bring himself to put them down, to let them go. They were a constant reminder of his failure, the metal biting into his skin every time he clenched them in his fist, a physical pain that was nothing compared to the agony tearing through his mind. At night, he would lay awake in the dark, turning them over and over in his hands, the engraved name hidden beneath the pads of his fingers, as if refusing to acknowledge it would somehow keep you alive.

Sleep became a rare visitor, and when it came, it brought no peace. Nightmares plagued him, vivid and relentless. In them, he was back in that compound, watching you bleed out over and over again, helpless to do anything but scream your name. He would wake up drenched in sweat, his heart racing, your voice echoing in his ears—“It’s not your fault, si.” But no matter how many times he heard those words, they offered no solace. He knew the truth: it was his fault. He should have protected you, should have been faster, should have done something to save you. But he didn’t, and now you were gone.

The anger that simmered beneath his skin never had a chance to surface. Simon was too numb, too broken to feel anything but the crushing weight of his guilt. He pushed himself harder in training, in missions, throwing himself into the fray with reckless abandon. He took on the most dangerous assignments, the ones no one else wanted, as if he were daring death to take him too. But death was cruel, and it never came for him, leaving him to wallow in the purgatory of his own making.

Simon’s quarters became a shrine to the life you had shared—a life that was now nothing but memories. Your belongings were still there, untouched, as if you might walk through the door at any moment. He couldn’t bring himself to pack them away, couldn’t bear the thought of erasing the last traces of your existence. He would sit there for hours, staring at your things, the silence pressing in on him until he thought he might go mad. The scent of you lingered in the air, a painful reminder of what he had lost, what he had failed to protect.

Every mission after your death was a reminder of your absence. The space beside him felt unbearably empty, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should have been the one lying in the ground, not you. Every bullet he fired, every enemy he took down, brought no satisfaction, only a hollow ache that echoed in the void you had left behind.

Soap tried to reach out, tried to pull him back from the edge, but Simon pushed him away. He didn’t deserve their benevolence, their loyalty. He was a failure, a man who couldn’t even protect the one person who mattered most to him. The others began to give him a wide berth, sensing the darkness that clung to him like a second skin. He became a ghost in every sense of the word—there but not really present, a hollow shell of the man he once was.

Weeks turned into months, and the pain didn’t lessen. If anything, it grew worse, festering inside him, poisoning everything it touched. The world around him became a blur, meaningless without you in it. The missions were the only thing that kept him going, the only thing that made him feel even remotely alive. But each one was just another opportunity for failure, another chance for the guilt to deepen, for the shadows to grow darker.

On the rare occasions when Simon allowed himself a moment of weakness, when he was alone in the dead of night, he would whisper your name, hoping for some sign that you were still with him. But the only answer was silence, and it was in that silence that he felt the full weight of his loss. He would sit there, your dog tags clutched in his hand, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. He had cried for you once, in those first terrible hours after your death, but he had sworn it would be the last time. Simon Riley didn’t deserve the release of tears. He deserved the pain, the guilt, the unending torment.

And so he endured, carrying the weight of your death with him everywhere he went. To the outside world, he was still Ghost, the unflinching soldier, the man who always got the job done. But inside, he was Simon Riley, a man who had lost everything, a man who would never forgive himself for the day he let you die.

In the years that followed, Simon would visit your grave whenever he could, always alone, always in the dead of night, a black hoodie and surgical mask hiding the permanent scowl on his face. He would stand there in silence, the wind biting at his skin, the cold seeping into his bones, but it was nothing compared to the chill that had settled in his heart. He would place your dog tags on the headstone, just for a moment, before tucking them back into his pocket where they belonged. Then he would turn and walk away, leaving behind the only place where he felt any semblance of peace.

But the peace never lasted. The nightmares always returned, the guilt always resurfaced, and Simon Riley was left to carry the burden of your death for the rest of his life. Because no matter how many battles he fought, no matter how many enemies he took down, he could never win the war against his own heart.

And so Ghost lived on, a man shaped by loss, defined by the pain he carried with him, a man who would never be whole again. But it was Simon Riley who truly suffered, haunted by the memory of you, the one person he could never protect.

[galamalion]

˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ sanji taking care of you on your period﹕

sanji is heartbroken when you're on your period.

he'd sell his soul if it meant your pain would disappear, but he'll have to settle for waiting on you hand and foot. you get a silver bell to carry around at all times, and with a single ring he's by your side to tend to your needs.

as a chef, sanji is ready to cook whatever you're craving, no matter the difficulty. he's also prepared to substitute ingredients for your dietary needs. dairy makes your cramps worse? he's whipping up dairy-free ice cream. salt leaving you in agony? he's creating a new elemental compound to make up for it.

if you're feeling sore, sanji will massage every nook and cranny of your body until your muscles feel like butter. he'll fetch warm towels for your stomach, running back and forth constantly to ensure you never have a cold one.

he's distraught when you need alone time, but he's willing to give it to you (after a few tears are shed). sanji uses this time to help you out with little things, like doing your laundry and warming up some more blankets for you.

the last thing sanji wants is for you to suffer, and he'll do everything in his power to alleviate your pain.

[bucknastysbabe]

Hi hello I had brain rot and popped this out! Idk if it’s an incoherent horny ramble or not but SKIDIBOP MM DADA BOOM💥💥🤯🤯🤯

Rating: Explicit

Tags: A/B/O, Alpha!bucky, omega!reader, reader is inhuman and former hydra asset, confessions of love, mating cycles, TW//non-descript sexual assault, horrible self talk, hydra trash party tendencies, Sweet fluffy big boy Buck, breeding kink, marathon sex, pnv!sex, kinda feral ass behavior, scenting n marking

@lovelykhaleesiii @godrakin @borikenlove @ilikeitbetterangsty @connorsui I think I got my Bucky slores all counted out ;)

Feral. - B. Barnes

Bucky was panicking, sour pheromones leaking from his pores. He was an alpha, technically, but would be entering his first rut after years of chemical castration by Hydra. Rendered him beta. Now it was coming up on him, soon— you could smell that much.

Being one of the few omegas around that offered to help him out, your own powers would ease the inevitable roughness of a feral Alpha. Bucky chose you due to your close friendship, both Hydra superpowered assets. You guys could relate to each other. Although you never had to miss a heat, your handler taking full advantage of your needy state.

Bastard.

Bucky had all the signs of rut coming up; aggression, hypersensitivity, appetite, and smelling up the entire room. Stark had banned Buck to his apartment citing, “It fucking stinks, go wear him out for the love of God.” You had grabbed your clothes and favorite nesting blankets to join the brunette soon after.

Subtle cramps made you shift, the fuckers scent alone would send you into a synced heat. He smelled good, like a woodsy smell, a winter’s day, all that sappy nonsense. Bucky grunted, “What if I hurt you? Like bite your mating gland without meaning it?”

You tapped your neck, nail clicking on an invisible collar. Bucky stopped in his tracks, brows furrowing. “They have guards for that. You can lick and scent all you want but no bitesies Barnes.” He groaned, “Thank god for the future, I guess.” Another cramp hit you, hissing involuntarily at the pain.

Blue eyes flicked to you, him coming close to you. He asked gently, “What’s wrong?” You clenched your teeth and gritted out, “You. Going to send me into heat soon so stop fighting it and worrying.” Bucky’s eyes widened and he gulped, coming to terms with the reality of the situation. Fucking his good friend, you, who he had intensely mooned over for a while now.

The brunette nodded and gestured, “Do you need to nest first? I’m just going to, uh, eat a little more.” You rolled your eyes at his obvious stress eating. He was cutely fluffy now from the transition of Romania to the Avengers compound, trying to adjust. Cramp, ow. Grabbing the blankets you mounded and moulded them to your own liking. Bucky’s scent only made it better, you taking a deep inhale.

You cried out as the first real pang of heat hit you, slick gushing forth, sending you into the nest face first— drooling and whining for Bucky. Usually you used suppressants, hating how submissive and fucking stupid you got, the intense emotions brought up old memories. But not this cycle, waiting for Bucky had you back to stupidtown.

Bucky almost snarled in concern, swallowing down his protein bar and crawling onto the bed. You clawed at your clothes, ripping off the top easily. “Buuuck, help, leggings, stupid!,” you managed. The brunette yanked down your legging and underwear, growling, “Don’t call yourself that— fucking hell!”

Oh. There it was. He’d finally hit it. 

Bucky groaned deeply, taking off his clothes haphazardly, you could hear the ripping and tossing while drooling on a blanket, biting down in agony. You whined, “C’mon Alpha, knot, need it, fill my pussy up!” The normal you cringed on in the inside, but Bucky nodded along. He rasped, “Fuck yes, yes, gonna fill my pretty ‘mega up.”

You could almost purr at Barnes referring you as ‘his’.

Buck’s mismatched hands gripped your hips, sliding an impossibly fat cock between your weeping folds. A shiver wracked your spine, mewing and crying his name at the feeling. He rumbled in that Alpha timbre, “Be a good omega and just take it, make it look easy, please.” By the end of the sentence your sweet Bucky had leaked out some. Turning around to gaze at him he slid in your cunt with a grunt, fangs bared and eyes blazing.

Swollen and fucking hot he speared you fully, stretching and overfilling underused pussy. It had been so long since you’d fucked someone and damn you were glad it was him. Your pussy ached and widened around him, gushing profuse slick. Buck groaned and snapped his hips forward, dragging along everything. He let out a strangled moan, “Fuck, dolly, so goddamn tight. Gonna bl-blow fast.”

“Hurry up and fuck me then!”

A rough smack to your ass had you shutting up with a whimper. Bucky jackhammered your pussy, grunting and gasping, poor thing’s dick probably hurting. His hips smacked into your own, a metal hand pushing at the small of your back for a different angle. You wailed, Bucky cursed and pressed his soft belly to your back, chomping and nosing eagerly at the protected mating gland.

He couldn’t get enough of it, moaning and lapping like a baby alpha fucking his first rut toy. Big hands explored your body, one coming down to toy with your oversensitive clit, making you gush further. The closeness and angle had you whimpering, need forcing you to whine, “Oh, Buck, kiss me, please!”

He blinked dumbly at you, lips swollen from mauling your scent glands. You whimpered, emotions immediately jumping to: oh he hates you, used up omega. The alpha frowned and seized forward clumsily, noses mashing together as he kissed you. He still fucked you raggedly, cock swelling and pulling at your walls.

A pink tongue darted out to claim you, Bucky getting the point and tilting his head for better access to your mouth. He moaned desperately, lips driving across yours wet and messy. You threw back an arm to cradle silky-soft brown hair, fucking back onto that thick cock. “Fuuuck, knot me up baby, need it.” Bucky rasped back, “Yeah?”

“Want it, wan’ your knot, feel s’good,” came the resounding whimper.

Bucky kissed you harder, moaning into your mouth as he fucked deeper, more shallow thrusts than anything now, thick fingers pulling at your clit. He growled, “Omega, so tight— mine.” He shoved your hips flush to him, groaning chest deep and guttural as his knot popped and blew inside. You wailed and scrambled around him, that hot cum painting your insides.

Bucky whined deep in his chest, gasping against you, holding squirming hips still as he filled you up. The Alpha lapped and scented you further, murmuring dazedly, “Won’t be able to smell like another alpha again. Never.” His fingers dug into the softness of your hips, locked in now. You panted and shoved your face into the blankets, overwhelmed.

“Jus’ move to the side,” you said quietly. He gently, so very gently, eased the pair of you to the side. The knot pulled a bit, making both of you hiss. Now spooned in the fucked up nest, Bucky seemed to be dozing off, nose shoved into your mating gland, puffing softly. He slung an arm around you, making sure his entire body was plastered to your own.

Some alphas were clingy like that. Not many. Heat abated by Bucky’s knot— your mind inevitably cleared up. Emotions and old thoughts swirled in your brain. Sometimes you’d have to go through heat with a random elite of the world, them getting a present with the inhuman omega. Once you’d been through the humiliation of being used they’d dump you off with your handler, Sitwell.

He made sure to let you know you were nothing but a whore for Hydra. Used to the point where you were nothing but an easy fuck. “No self-respecting alpha would mate you,” he’d tut while inside you. Your chest clenched up, stupid stupid stupid emotions making your eyes burn.

In the same horrid voice as Jasper your mind hissed. Bucky wouldn’t want you. He knew you were easy and used to ruts. You couldn’t wash off the years of filth and scars on your nape. The great Bucky Barnes would get through this first rut and go find a more demure, self-respecting omega. Hot tears pricked at your eyes, chest beginning to heave.

Bucky’s hand came up quickly, cupping your cheek to get a look. His thick brows furrowed at your likely pitiful expression. “What’s wrong sweetheart? Woke me up when ya’ soured, you hurting?” His concerned expression made you cry harder— chest aching for this to never end. The alpha tightened himself to you, a big thumb wiping your tears. His sculpted lips pulled into a frown.

“I-it’s stupid, been a long time for me too, sorry,” you apologized.

He didn’t seem phased, concern wafting off him in waves. The former assassin practically cooed, “Hey now, seriously, what’s wrong? Spit it out baby, I know you better than that.” You stared into dead serious eyes, knowing deep down Buck would win this contest. Mouth gaping in horror you had no clue how to respond.

“C’mon ‘mega, breaking a man’s heart,” he begged soft and sweet.

Turning away from his gaze, Buck’s hand gently pulled you back with a huff. Taking a deep breath you rambled manically, “I stopped my heats after getting out of Hydra. It brings back…stuff. But I wanted to be there for you and I know I’m an easy option and all, I mean being the pass around for whatever need obviously I know how to handle Alphas.” A titanium thumb in your mouth had you rendered mute with a sudden squeak.

His face softened, pheromones swelling and making you feel woozy. Strong fucking Alpha. The anxiety in your chest abated from the scent. He asked, “Do you really think I’d care about your past?” You shrugged lightly, unsure. Blue eyes turned hard, “Give me a list and if they ain’t dead I’ll personally go castrate them.” Bucky took a deep inhale of you again, relaxing some.

“Look at me.”

You peeped nervously.

“When you offered to help I thought my dreams were coming true,” he pecked your temple, “You’re the only one I want, was gonna tough it out if the only girl I care about didn’t volunteer.” You smacked a big shoulder in shock, squeaking, “No- no you’re lying- this is a joke.” Bucky shoved his knot a fraction deeper inside of you, still swollen to hell.

He deadpanned, “Does this seem like a joke to you? I wish the damn thing would deflate so I can fuck your pretty self already. Been lovin’ you for awhile now.”

Whimpering in desire you clenched down involuntarily, Bucky’s eyes rolling back with a groan. He kissed you again, breathlessly laughing, “I thought you’d think I’m too crazy, overweight, and a load of baggage.” Smooching him back you shook your head to declare, “No, no, you’re perfect as is. This is perfect. Don’t want it to end. Love you too.”

“It doesn’t have to, babydoll,” he cooed into your lips.

After confessing one’s feelings, fucking your official Alpha was much more intense. You’d talked it out with him waiting on the knot to deflate, both of you self-conscious balls of anxiety causing the miscommunication. In full, fuck Hydra with a fiery sword.

You’d grown more heat dazed first, losing any touch to speak normally, writhing around. Buck played with your clit until you’d cum two times, chanting his name like a litany. He was goading you on with a smirk the entire time, cocky as hell now, “Yeah, that’s it, squirt for your fuckin’ Alpha.” Or he’d groan in your ear, “Good girlll, yeah, smell so sweet.”

His knot finally went down and now half crazed you rutted back on Bucky’s cock with hoarse shouts, biting into a blanket. He met you eagerly, slapping your ass and talking non-stop. The brunette moaned, “Goddamn baby, fucking ah, sh-shit!” He nudged thick thighs inside your own, using strong hands to pull you onto him. The whole place smelled of sex pheromones.

“Gonna be my big Alpha and breed me up?,” you teased deliriously, not even sure where this came from.

Bucky rumbled deep in his chest, one of those possessive hands pulling you upright to lock around a slim throat. He rasped in your ear, hot breath puffing, “I’ll fuckin’ give you some pups, s’that what you want?” His hips stuttered, cock beginning to swell again as you wailed. Please please please.

“Make you mine for good,” he nipped at the covered mating gland again, “I’d kill anyone who’d take my precious omega away from me, killing anyone who hurt you, mhm.” You turned your head to kiss his swollen lips, hand digging into his hair as the Alpha dug into you. His soft belly fit perfectly into the arch of your back, hips clapping against your slickened cunt and ass. Your brain purred about how big and perfect he was, a good protector.

Bucky begged suddenly, thrusts sloppy and stilted, “Rip th-that collar off, lemme bite, c’mon love— only one I want, make you a mama.” His lips insistently kissed, hands almost frantically grasping you. A bolt of heady arousal spiked up your belly, the need to be claimed and mated taking over. Bucky as yours sealed with his pretty white teeth, you dripped more at the thought.

Pressing the release on the collar you rocketed into a perfect, quiet, blank euphoria at the feeling of Bucky’s teeth piercing your skin. Things felt complete. You sighed in relief, the held on disgust and shame floating away. Coming back to within seconds you snarled and locked onto his pulsing neck, sealing the bite with a lap. Bucky gutturally groaned, knot popping once again, him following you down to the bed.

The pair of you didn’t speak for what felt like an eternity, hoarsely catching breath, living in the moment. Bucky nosed at the now swollen patch on your neck, commenting dopily, “Wonder what Tony’s gonna say when you pop back out with this.” You hummed and squeezed the big arm around your waist.

“He’ll probably stutter for a minute and then act like he knew all along. Steve won’t be surprised.”

Bucky laughed, “He never is.”

His hand splayed out against your stomach, murmuring, “I know you’re on the pill but I meant what I said. Wanna make the ‘mega I love bred up.” You possibly couldn’t get another orgasm out but his gravelly tone and words made you clench. Touching the bond mark you replied, “Wanna make the alpha I love a daddy.”

He groaned, blues rolling up, “Fuck, yes.”

[imtryingbuck]

Timeless Love part two

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky and Y/n’s life after he finds her in the base.

Word count: 2,037

Warnings: angst (nightmares). fluff. medical inaccuracy (probably, most definitely). pregnancy.

Part 1

Masterlist

“I made a promise didn’t I?”

~~~

True to his word - nearly eighty years later - Bucky got down on one knee by the lake near the tower and asked her to marry him and of course she said yes.

Six months after he proposed, a year after she woke up, Tony had the large room that was normally used for his luxurious parties transformed into a magical, picture perfect wedding venue.

Bucky’s eyes welled up with tears as he watched the love of his long life walk down the aisle towards him, Steve and Sam stood next to him with soft smiles on their lips, Nat and Wanda standing on opposite sides of them with the same expression on their faces, Tony’s arm was wrapped around hers as they walked closer to her happiness.

Their hearts beating as one once they were announced as man and wife, both had tears running down their faces as they shared a passionate kiss.

In the year they’ve been married everything was perfect by day, full of laughter, happiness and love but by night as the compound grows completely silent Bucky would flinch as her cries would wake him up, he knew better than to touch her when she’s having a nightmare since the first time - and only time - he did, she had him pinned faced down on his stomach and his right arm put behind him painfully, his heart had pounded violently against his chest not because he was scared of her but for her, his calming soft voice finally managed to wake her up; for the rest of the night she clung on to him as her tears wet his naked chest.

That night was no different.

He watched in agony as she tossed and turned from her side of the bed, her eyes moving frantically behind her closed eyelids, mumbling quietly but what he could pick up was ‘no’, ‘I’ve been good’, ‘please stop’.

“Doll, sweetheart. Doll come back to me, you’re safe I promise.” He said softly. “Come on my love, wake up.” After over five minutes of him trying to coax her back awake it worked.

“B-Bucky?”

“I’m here darling, you’re okay I promise.” He sat there watching as she came to her senses, hearing her heart beat settle he knew she realised where she was and that she was safe. “C-Can I hold you?”

She doesn’t answer verbally, instead she crawls over towards him and climbs on to his lap and into his welcoming embrace. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry doll?”

“I… I woke you up didn’t I?”

“It’s okay.” Running his fingers up and down her naked back feeling the scars as he does, Bucky places kisses to her forehead and hairline. “Do you want to try and get some more sleep?”

“Can I stay here?”

“Of course my love.” He shifts them both whilst he pulled up the pillows to be behind his back, then grabbing the covers and pulling it over her. “Goodnight doll, I love you.”

“I love you too Buck, please don’t forget that.”

Having a medical degree really came in handy when someone was injured on a mission. Sam had just been shot down out of the sky landing hard on the ground, as Nat and Steve covered Y/n she cut Sam’s suit to get to his side where she made a hole to drain the blood that was filling his lungs. “Steve we need to get him back to the tower and quickly.”

“Let’s move him.”

“Y/n… are-are you carrying me?” Sam’s voice stuttered with a slur.

“I am.”

“I’m never going to live this down.” Nat couldn’t help but laugh and nod in agreement. “Y/n?”

“Yeah?” She replied as she laid him gently on the table in the jet.

“P-please don’t let me die.”

“You’re not going anywhere, I promise.”

Y/n let Steve carry Sam out once they landed back at home just so no one teased him about being carried by a woman who was smaller than him. But it was too late Tony and Bucky teased him the second they were allowed to see him.

“If Y/n didn’t do what she did Sam wouldn’t be here right now.” Helen Cho stated once she had finished giving the team an update on Sam’s condition. “Y/n can I speak to you privately?”

Once they were in an empty room, Y/n grew anxious thinking she did something wrong and that Helen was going to tell Fury which meant Fury would kick her off the team and she would be send to the Raft and she would never see Bucky again and he would move on and forget all about her and she would be alone an-and-

“Y/n breath! Deep breath in, slowly exhale.”

“I-I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to hurt him-“

“You saved his life. You did an amazing job and that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I want to offer you a job in the medical bay.”

“Bu-but will Fury allow that?”

“I don’t see what the problem will be, I’ll speak with him but whatever he says just know the offer is still there.”

“I’ll do it, unless he says no.”

When she told Bucky that she was potentially going to be a nurse again he beamed with pride, picking her up and spinning them around, telling her how proud he was of her. Two days later Fury called her into the office he had at the tower to discuss how she would split her time between missions and working in medical bay. Bucky didn’t think it was fair that she would still have to go on missions but she didn’t care, she was just happy she could be a nurse again and help people.

For six months she had been separating her time between missions and working in the medical bay Bucky had to admit that he was missing his wife and he understood that she was busy, but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss her nonetheless.

He had gone down to the med bay to see if he could grab lunch with her, Helen shook her head at him and told him that Y/n had gone up to their apartment, the place he was now standing outside of. Slowly opening the door - just as he and the team did in order not to scare her and send her into a panic attack - he stood leaning against the doorframe and it felt like he had been transported back in time at seeing her sitting at her small desk hunched over it with paperwork in front of her, he couldn’t help but smile.

“I can feel your eyes on me” her whispered voice snapped him out of his memory.

“Are you alright doll?”

“I’m okay just tired, how are- what’s wrong?”

“Stand up.”

“What?” Crossing over to where she was sat he took her hands in his and helped her stand, his eyes squinting as he looked her up and down. “Buck? What… are you doing?”

He gets down on his knees and presses his ear against her stomach, a soft gasp falling from his lips, one hand on her waist the other holding the back of her thigh. A chuckle falls from his lips as he pushes his ear further into her stomach.

“Buck?”

“Doll” he looks up at her with tears glistening his eyes making the blue even brighter. “Baby you’re pregnant.”

“What? I-I can’t- are you sure?”

“There’s a heartbeat! I can hear it! Strong, a very strong heartbeat, doll.”

“We’re… are we having a baby?” Bucky looked up seeing tears fall from her eyes, he nodded with a huge smile on his lips before he goes back to listening to the heartbeat of their unborn baby.

When Helen confirmed that there was indeed a baby in Y/n’s stomach Bucky wrapped his arms around the love of his life and all but took the air out of her lungs by kissing her and telling her how much he loves her.

“I have some more news for you.” Helen’s voice made them pull apart.

“What? Is it okay? Is something wrong?” The panic in Bucky’s voice was clear as his eyes bounced from Y/n’s stomach to Helen.

“Everything is fine, they are both healthy.” She smiles.

“B-Both? As in-“

“Twins?”

“Congratulations James and Y/n, you’re having twins.”

Bucky passed out.

As the months passed by the bigger Y/n’s stomach grew, at seven months pregnant she looked like she was carrying five babies - as she put it. Bucky loved it though. Watching as her belly swelled with not one but two of his babies did something to him, he was already protective of her as it was but now it increased a thousand times over. And now he never let her do anything for herself, if she needed food? He got it, needed a drink? He got it, hell even if she needed to go to the bathroom? He took her.

And when Bucky wasn’t there and on a mission he had someone else running around for her.

“Hey doll, I’m just finishing off my run and I’ll be right home. How are you?“ He panted lightly down the phone, rolling his eyes at Sam as he runs around him in circles.

“I’m okay, my waters broke, how are you?”

“I’m good- wait, what did you just say?” Bucky’s eyes widen hearing her words.

“I’m o-“

“No not that bit, doll did you just say your waters broke?”

“Oh yeah, I’m on my way to Helen now.”

Bucky ran as fast as his legs would carry him back to the compound with Steve and Sam right behind him. His heart was pounding in his chest the closer he got to his world.

“I’m here! They aren’t here yet are they?” He panted as he got around the corner.

“No Buck, not yet.” Sighing a breath of relief that he hadn’t missed the birth of his children, he leaned his head against her shoulder.

Seven hours after her waters broke she was gripping onto Bucky’s and Steve’s - they had asked him to be there after they announced to the team that she was pregnant, Steve cried whilst saying ‘yes’ - hands for dear life as she pushed the first baby out, followed a few minutes by the second baby.

“Boys. Two healthy boys.” Helen beamed as she handed the crying babies to their momma.

*four years later*

Tony had surprised the married couple with giving them their own floor in the tower, it was quickly transformed into a perfect family home for the four of them. Bucky was currently walking through the door that led him to his family, a smile instantly lighting up his face as he heard the excited squeals coming from the twins, no doubt causing chaos.

“Dada!”

“Hey little man.” Picking up his son, placing a kiss on his forehead. “Been good for momma?”

“Yes!” Liar he thought to himself.

“Buck?”

“I’m here doll.” He smiled at hearing his other trouble maker come running towards him.

With his two sons in each arm he walked towards the kitchen where his better half was cooking dinner, his eyes never leaving her form even when the twins wiggled to get out of his arms.

“I can feel your eyes on me.”

“I’m just admiring my view.” Wrapping his arms around her, his hands going straight to her deflated bump - which he missed so much - he places a kiss to her neck. “Where’s my little princess?”

“She’s asleep, but she needs to wake up now so she can sleep through the night.”

“I’ll go and wake up our little grumpy pants.”

As he walks out of the bedroom, he stands in the doorway watching as Y/n gets the boys into their chairs, both of their attention focused on the food in front of them, he smiles softly. His family was completed by the newest addition which he currently had in his arms, their three month old baby girl.

He made a promise so many years ago, a promise he made sure he kept to.

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

[12bucksundpommes]

There's a problem

Bucky x yn

Summary: y/n and bucky get captured by hydra and bucky is forced to watch them use the trigger words on y/n.

A/n: part 2 is now available, but idk how to put the link for it on this one, so you guys can access it easier.

-------------------------------------------------------

Bucky sat on the cold, hard floor of his cell, staring helplessly through the transparent barrier that separated him from y/n. The sterile, clinical environment of the Hydra facility made everything feel more oppressive. He tugged futilely at his restraints, frustration and fear gnawing at him. y/n was in the cell opposite his, her eyes wide with terror as she tried to process their dire situation.

"Stay strong, y/n" he whispered, knowing she couldn't hear him but hoping his presence might offer some comfort.

The door to y/n's cell slid open, and two Hydra agents walked in, dragging her to the center. Bucky's heart pounded in his chest as he watched them prepare to use the trigger words.

"No," he muttered, his voice shaking. "Not again. Please, not her."

One of the agents stepped forward and began to recite the words with cruel precision: "Longing. Rusted. Furnace. Daybreak. Seventeen. Benign. Nine. Homecoming. One. Freight car."

With each word, y/n's face twisted in agony, her body convulsing as she fought against the control. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she clenched her fists, trying to resist the programming. Bucky felt his own tears welling up, his soul shattering as he watched the love of his life endure the same torment he had known all too well.

"y/n, fight it!" he screamed, his voice raw with desperation. "Don't let them do this to you!"

But when the final word was spoken, y/n's expression went blank, her eyes devoid of emotion. The agents stepped back, satisfied with their work, and released her from the cell. She stood there, motionless, waiting for orders.

At that moment, the facility's alarms blared, signaling the arrival of the Avengers. Steve, Natasha, and Tony burst into the room, ready to rescue their friends. They paused, shocked to see y/n standing free, her face an empty mask.

"y/n?" Steve called out, lowering his shield slightly. "What are you doing?"

y/n didn't respond. Instead, she launched into an attack, her movements swift and precise. The Avengers were taken aback, trying to defend themselves without hurting her.

Tony turned to see Bucky in his cell, a look of anguish on his face. "What's going on?" he shouted over the chaos.

"They've got her under control," Bucky choked out, his voice breaking. "She's been triggered, just like they did to me."

Realizing the gravity of the situation, the Avengers shifted their approach. "We need to get Bucky out of there," Steve commanded. "Tony, get the door open."

Tony quickly hacked the cell controls, and the door to Bucky's cell slid open. Bucky rushed out, his focus solely on y/n. "We can't break the control," he said, his voice filled with sorrow. "We have to knock her out."

Steve nodded grimly. "Natasha, you handle it."

Natasha moved with precision, using her skills to subdue y/n without causing serious harm. With a swift, calculated move, she knocked y/n unconscious. Bucky caught her before she hit the ground, cradling her gently in his arms.

"It's okay, y/n" he whispered. "I've got you. We're getting you out of here."

They secured y/n in chains, ensuring she wouldn't hurt anyone if she woke up before they could help her. The team moved swiftly, making their escape from the facility. Bucky never let go of y/n, his resolve stronger than ever.

Back at the compound, they placed y/n in a secure room, surrounded by the best medical and psychological support the Avengers could offer. Bucky sat by her side, holding her hand, refusing to leave her alone.

"We'll find a way to break this," he vowed, looking at his teammates with determination. "We saved me. We can save her too."

Steve put a reassuring hand on Bucky's shoulder. "We'll do whatever it takes, Buck. We're in this together."

As the team set to work, Bucky stayed by y/n's side, whispering words of love and encouragement, determined to help her reclaim her freedom from Hydra's grasp.