#bucky/ofc

[butterflylotussys]

@casdean-jenmish @sunday-bug It’s done and posted!!

Provider

Bucky Barnes/Original Female Character

Friends with Benefits, accidental “I love you”, songfic inspired by Sleep Token

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65553235

[msilverstar]

Author: @sevensneakyfoxes Date: 20 May 2015 Chapters: 1/1 (8525 words)  Fandom: Captain America (Movies) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/USO Tour Dancers, James "Bucky" Barnes/USO Tour Dancers Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Peggy Carter, USO Tour Dancers (Marvel), Howard Stark Additional Tags: au where the uso girls are the howling commandos, AU, Threesome - F/F/M, not canon compliant in some significant ways, Awesome Ladies, idk the uso girls are just badass in this, it legit bums me out that the howling commandos aren't girls now, oh peggy is also one of the HC, BECAUSE THAT'S THE WAY IT SHOULD BE Summary:

The newsreels hit the US a few weeks later.

CAPTAIN AMERICA AND HIS HOWLING COMMANDOS CAPTURE ANOTHER NAZI STRONGHOLD NEAR TURIN! AMERICAN BEAUTY MEETS NAZI-KILLING BRAWN AS THE COMMANDOS TAKE DOWN NEARLY A HUNDRED MEN.

Every few weeks, they send a news crew out to film them when they come back to camp, muddied and bruised, but always victorious. Phillips seems to loathe it even more than the Howling Commandos do, surly as he stomps around their outpost, muttering under his breath that, the front ain’t Gone with the fucking Wind.

“That’s real nice,” the slimy director tells them later that afternoon, looking over the list of shots they’ve taken today. “But I’d like to see the old uniform. The boys need a little something to look at. You know, get excited over?”

Margot’s perfectly shaped eyebrows don’t raise a single inch as she says, “Well, I guess we can see if Kitty kept Steve’s old skintight red, white and blue number,” and Bucky laughs and laughs and laughs until he cries.

--

The USO girls are Steve's Howling Commandos. Bucky's died and gone to Heaven.

Bookmarker's Notes:

Purely delightful wish-fulfillment AU

[adhd-winterfalcon]

young sam wilson having a crush on james “bucky” barnes of the howling commandos during his WWII unit in school vs adult sam wilson dating and eventually marrying bucky barnes wilson…

do you see my vision

[insidekatmind]

Mission- Bucky Barnes

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

The jet lands with a jolt on the deserted runway of a private island. Outside the window, palm trees sway in the breeze, and a pink sunset paints the horizon. There’s no time to appreciate it, though. You’re here for a mission, and it’s already off to a bad start.

“I can’t believe I have to do this with you,” scoffs Bucky Barnes, throwing you a look of pure disgust.

“The feeling is mutual,old man,” you reply through gritted teeth. Your name, Y/N, is printed on the fake passport you’re holding, but your real task is far more complicated than maintaining a false identity. The mission requires you and Bucky to pose as a happily married couple to infiltrate an exclusive gala hosted by an international arms dealer.

“Wasn’t there literally anyone else available?” he asks, shaking his head.

“We’re not here for sympathy, Barnes. You’re the only one with a shady enough past to avoid suspicion.”

He laughs, but without a shred of humor. “And you’re the only one who speaks enough languages to keep up with a crooked diplomat. Just don’t expect me to pretend I enjoy being here.”

“And don’t expect a hug from me,” you reply with an icy smile.

---

The villa assigned to the two of you is luxurious: white marble, designer furniture, and an ocean view that takes your breath away. Too bad the tension in the room is heavy enough to crush any promise of relaxation.

“There’s only one bed,” you say, pointing to the massive king-sized bed in the middle of the room.

“Perfect,” Bucky replies, dropping his bag on the armchair nearby. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Not a chance. I need proper sleep for tomorrow night’s gala.”

“Don’t worry, princess,” he says with a smirk. “I wouldn’t come near you even by accident.”

You finally decided to share a bed. You were wearing shorts and a tank top as you stared at the ceiling.

Bucky lies next to you, tense and unmoving. Even without looking at him, you can feel the distance between you both, like a chasm that can’t be crossed. Your eyes wander to the ceiling, tracing the pattern of shadows in the dim light. Finally, he breaks the silence.“Do you expect me to believe that you actually need sleep?” he mutters under his breath.

"What?" You ask, turning to him.Bucky doesn't turn to you, but his voice is still laced with sarcasm. "You heard me. I know you're used to pulling all-nighters for missions. You don't exactly act like the type to need a full eight hours to feel refreshed."

You look at him with a twinkle of sarcasm. "Well this time it's different, I'm on a mission with you and I have to put up with you, so I need sleep".

Bucky rolls over onto his side, finally facing you. “Oh, so I’m such a pain that I keep you awake now?” he says with a smirk. “Is this how you treat all the people you’ve ever worked with?”

"not just old men who think they are better than others" you reply looking at him.“Old man?” He repeats, sitting up on the bed. “You’re really calling me an old man? Aren’t you supposed to flatter your partner on these missions? Or is that just reserved for the men you actually like?” he jokes.

You roll your eyes ignoring him.Bucky doesn’t get ignored easily, though. He scoots his way towards you in the bed, his prosthetic arm brushing against your arm. “What, no smartass reply? I can’t believe I’ve finally managed to shut you up,” he teases, his voice low and quiet.

“Keep your hands or I'll turn your other arm into vibranium too,” you threaten.

Bucky holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Easy, sweetheart. I’m just trying to get a reaction out of you.” He scoots even closer, so that you can feel the heat of his body next to you. “And I think I’ve succeeded.”

“Very funny arm wrestling,” you say sarcastically.“You got plenty of jokes, huh?” Bucky replies, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He leans in a little closer, the distance between you almost vanishing. “You know, I can think of a better way to occupy that smart mouth of yours, princess.”

You turn and find yourself a little too close to him. "Oh really?" you say sarcastically.Bucky takes advantage of your proximity, invading your personal space even further. His face is inches from yours now, his breath dancing across your skin. “You’d be surprised,” he murmurs, a hint of danger in his voice. “I’ve got some ideas….”

Bucky’s fingertips graze your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. “I wonder if you’d be this sarcastic if I took away that smart mouth of yours.”He shifts his weight on the bed, pinning you against the sheets as he leans over you. He’s so close now that you can feel the heat of his breath on your face.

"What the hell are you doing?" You murmur, looking at him above you.Bucky smirks, relishing your surprise. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks, his voice a low growl. His head dips down, his lips brushing against your neck. “I’m testing a theory….”

Bucky's hands roam over your body, the metal one surprisingly gentle. “Tell me your theory,” you manage to gasp as his fingers tease the edge of your tank top.Bucky's lips find your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “My theory is that your smart-ass mouth isn’t as tough as you think it is,” he whispers, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “And I bet I could find a more entertaining use for it.”

“Your theory is wrong old men” you say.Bucky laughs at that, his chest rumbling against yours. “Oh, we’ll see about that,” he says, his hand sneaking under the hem of your shirt. “I’ve yet to see you speechless. I bet I could make you speechless. I bet I could make you forget every smartass comment you’ve ever thought and make you begging for more.”

“get your hands off me” you say looking at him.Bucky's hand stills, pressed flat against your stomach. “Is that what you really want?” he asks, his voice a low murmur. “Or are you just saying that because you’re too stubborn to admit you like my hands on you?”

"Why would I like it, hm?" You murmur, looking at him.Bucky grins above you, his eyes flicking down to your lips. “Oh, I think you do. I think you like me this close to you. I think you like the way my hand feels on your skin….”

His prosthetic hand travels up, pushing under your top until you can feel the cool metal against the skin of your stomach. “I think you’re just too stubborn to admit it,” he says, his voice a sultry whisper.

His fingers trace the edge of your bra through your shirt, a light touch that sends a shiver down your spine. “I think you’re struggling to keep hold of all those smartass comments, aren’t you?” he murmurs. “I think you’re about to lose your words completely.”

“fuck you” you blurt out looking at him.Bucky laughs, his voice a deep rumble. “Now that’s exactly the kind of dirty talk I like to hear,” he replies, enjoying your reaction. His hand slips down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “You know, you really should watch that mouth of yours, princess.”

You could feel his hardness touching you and you looked up at him. "You like this kinky game, yes?" you murmur.

Bucky’s smirk turns into a grin, his eyes darkening with want. “I like anything that gets a reaction out of you,” he replies, his hand roaming across your hip and up your thigh. “And you’ve been giving me quite the reaction.”

His hand slips under your top, his fingers splaying across your back. He pulls you closer to him, his hips grinding against yours. “But I have a feeling we could both have some more fun…”

You hold back a moan feeling his hardness more towards you.Bucky’s smirk only widens as he hears your stifled moan. “That’s more like it,” he says, his hand moving to the back of your neck. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to make a noise for me.”

"you won't get anything from me" he murmured not with the same certainty that characterizes you.Bucky laughs, his breath hot against your skin. “Oh, princess, I think you underestimate me,” he replies. “I’ll get you to make all sorts of pretty noises for me before the night is over.”

His lips find your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin. “And you can’t fool me,” he murmurs. “I can feel you shivering, I can hear your breathing getting rougher. You like this, don’t you? You like the way I’m touching you….”

His hand is roaming over your body, pushing your shirt higher over your stomach and your chest. “Go on,” he urges, his voice husky. “Say it. Tell me you like it when I touch you like this….”

“No, I don’t,” you say even as your sighs grow heavy.

Bucky laughs at your stubbornness, but there’s an edge to it. “Oh, princess, you’re a terrible liar,” he says, his hand moving to your waist. “I know you want this. I can feel it in the way you arch your back when I touch you. And I’m not going to stop until you stop pretending.”

His mouth is on your neck now, his teeth scraping against your skin. “Stop playing games, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Tell me you want me. Tell me you need me.”

You moan at the contact. “no, I don’t” you say in a tense voice.

Bucky’s smirk widens, his hand sliding up your leg. “Your moans don’t seem to agree with your words,” he murmurs. “I know you can’t resist me. I know you’re just as much of a mess under my touch as I am under yours….”

His hand moves farther north, slipping under the hem of your shorts. “Give in, princess,” he whispers, his voice a low growl. “Just say the words and I’m all yours….”

You closed your eyes trying not to give in but you could feel Bucky's hand playing with your thong.Bucky lets out a low chuckle as he feels you react to his touch. “There you go,” he murmurs, his fingers playing with the lace of your lingerie. “I know you’re close to breaking, isn’t that right? I know you’re just moments away from giving in…”

His thumb brushes against your most sensitive spot through the thin fabric, drawing a gasp from your lips. “Come on, princess, I want to hear you say it,” he says, his voice dripping with want. “I want to hear you admit that you want this as badly as I do…”

You moan at the touch and arch. “I hate you so much” you murmur.Bucky laughs huskily, feeling your body respond to his touch. “No, you don’t,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “You don’t hate me at all. You hate how much you want me…. How much you need me….”

His fingers toy with the waistband of your shorts, his hand edging them down your hips. “Admit it, princess,” he whispers, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “Admit that you want me as badly as I want you….” His hand moves to your inner thigh, his touch light and teasing. “Say the words,” he urges, his voice low and rough. “Say you want me, princess. Say you need me just as badly as I need you….”

You bit your lip to keep from giving in but it was very difficult, you were wavering and you just wanted him to give you pleasure.Bucky lets out a low curse as he feels you resist him. “You’re such a stubborn little thing,” he grumbles, his hand tightening on your thigh. “But I won’t let you keep up this act, princess. I’ll break you, it’s only a matter of time…. Just say the words, sweetheart….”

His fingers slide further up your thigh, edging up under your shorts. “Just a few words, princess,” he urges, his voice rough with want. “Just tell me you want me, and then I’ll give you what you need…”

You moan again but you don't want to give in. "No".Bucky curses again, his fingers tightening on your thigh. “You’re so damn stubborn, princess,” he mutters, his voice tight with want. “But you’re also lying to yourself….”

Bucky finally leans down and kisses you passionately and hungrily.The kiss is almost violent, a clash of need and desperation. Bucky’s lips are hot against yours, his tongue seeking yours as he presses you into the sheets. He bites at your bottom lip, then leans back, his eyes dark with desire. “Say it, princess,” he growls, his hand still on your thigh. “Just say you want me….”

You moan and kiss him. Bucky laughs huskily, his hand moving up your body. “There we go, princess,” he murmurs against your lips. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for…”His lips move down to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there and causing you to gasp again. “Say it, princess,” he repeats, his hand finally moving up to cup your core. “Just tell me you want me….”

You moan at his words and surrender to him. "I want you".Bucky lets out a low growl of satisfaction as he hears your words. “That’s what I thought,” he mutters, his fingers trailing against your skin. “I knew you couldn’t resist me for long.”

He takes your wrists in his hand, pinning them above your head. His body presses against yours, his weight holding you in place. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it, princess?” he whispers in your ear, his breath hot and heavy.His hand slides down your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “But now that you’ve given in, I’m going to have some fun with you…” he murmurs, his voice dark with promise. “I’m going to make you scream for me…”

He kissed you again and put two fingers inside your panties and into your core making you moan into the kiss.Bucky lets out a low chuckle as he feels you arch against him. “That’s it, princess,” he murmurs against your lips. “Let it out. Let me hear how good I make you feel…”He moves his fingers slowly, finding a rhythm that makes you moan again. “I knew you’d feel good,” he whispers, his eyes dark with want. “

His fingers move a little faster, the pressure inside of you increasing. “But I bet I could make you feel even better…” he murmurs, his mouth moving down to your neck. “I bet I could make you scream for me".

“Bucky” you moan and arch once more.Bucky’s smirk is almost feral as he hears you moan his name. “There it is,” he mutters, his fingers working faster as they press deeper into you. “I knew you’d sound like that when you finally let yourself go…”

He bites at your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin. “And I know I can make you moan louder, sweetheart… if you beg me right…”

His fingers move again, finding a place inside you that makes you gasp. “Beg me, princess,” he murmurs, his voice rough with lust. “Beg me to make you feel good. Beg me to give you what you need…”

You felt his fingers go faster and faster inside you and you could feel yourself getting close. “Please Bucky,” you murmur.Bucky grins at your words, his fingers moving even faster. “Please, what, princess?” he murmurs, his mouth moving to your ear. “Say it. Tell me what you want me to do…”

“let me come please” You murmur moving your hips on his fingers.

Bucky grins at your pleading tone, his fingers finally getting the reaction he wanted. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “You sound so pretty when you beg for me like that… so pretty when you ask for what you want…”

His fingers move a little faster, going deeper. “You’re so close, princess,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “I can feel it. I can feel your body tensing up… begging for release…"

He moves his mouth back to your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin as he presses his forehead against yours. “But you have to ask me nicely if you want it…” he mutters, his voice raw with need. “You have to beg me for what you need, princess…”

You whimper at his words. “please Bucky, I’m so close” you murmur.Bucky’s grin widens at your words, his fingers finally giving you what you’ve been craving. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he mutters, his touch rough yet still gentle with you. “You like it when I make you beg for it…”

“please” you murmur moaning feeling yourself getting closer and closer.Bucky’s fingers move a little faster at your words, his touch more insistent as he moves against you. “Almost there, princess, you’re so close,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. “But I need you to say those magic words. I need you to beg me one more time…”

"Bucky please" you scream.Bucky grins at your scream, his fingers moving faster than ever inside you. “There it is, princess,” he mutters, breathing hard. “You sound so pretty when you scream my name… now let go for me, sweetheart."

You moan at his words and come on his fingers. “fuck” you murmur, closing your eyes in pleasure.Bucky let out a low growl as he feels you come on his fingers. “That’s it,” he mutters, his voice rough with satisfaction. “That’s my good girl…”

He withdraws his fingers and brings them to his mouth, licking them clean. “You taste so sweet,” he murmurs, his eyes dark with lust. “I knew you’d be sweet"

Bucky leans down, his body pressing against yours. “But I’m not done with you yet, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. “Not even close…”

You look at him knowing you were in for a long night.

[themessyaofmind]

rewatching CABNW for that one second of Sam riding a missile + him slicing the plane's wing with his wings (mind you, my cap is so fucking hot!),

also for that Bucky cameo (the hug! the I love you buddy!),

and all those moments of Joaquin being the nation little brother (when he played game in that ancient phone and saying Sam used to play that old ass game all the time? that's so little brother of him!)

[jaderabbitt]

Echoes of You

Bucky x Deceased(?)Wife!Reader

Bucky’s been hearing a voice for a long time. It began as the Soldat, and lingers even now. You’re his Angel—the voice in his head that he sometimes hallucinates into the form of a woman. Remnants of Hydra seizing his brain for so long—consequences of repeated head trauma, he assumes. He’s never told anyone about you, and he intended to keep it that way.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Descriptions of Violence, Mild Descriptions of Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Thoughts of Suicide, Mentions of Death, jaderabbitt's esoteric writing style, not beta-read so if you find spelling mistakes, i WILL game-end myself Tags: Angst, Angst with Fluff, Did I Mention Angst, Canon Divergence, Reader Insert, Unreliable Narrator, References to Mythology, Angst with Happy Ending (?), Author will not spoil story in Tags, Author cannot remember the 8 pages she wrote in 9 hours, gomen.

Note: Reader is given an EXTREMELY loose description involving longer hair at some point, but it is VERY relevant to the story. You will need to read to see why!

—

“Enemy. Eight o’clock, Soldat.”

Immediately, his head swung, and his pistol was shoved in the crevice of a metal bicep, firing before the agent had even realized that he was spotted. The body dropped, a gaping hole left in between the eyes.

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he held to begin with. It was as if he had been the one shot, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. The world felt all-consuming.

He knew that voice. It hadn’t come through the device in his ear.

He didn’t know exactly how he knew the woman’s voice, nor why he heard her. Every time she spoke, it was as if she were talking directly into his ear, no matter the noise level around him.

Her voice had been the only constant in his fleeting moments of clarity. 

His Ангел. His Angel.

He began to call the voice that when she would warn him during missions. It was as if she acted as a sixth sense, being able to see things even his heightened perceptions couldn’t. She wasn’t always there—her presence faded in and out without notice. But, she was always there when he needed her.

When they put him in that gods forsaken chair to rewire his brain, it was her voice that kept him stable. When they put him inside the Iron Maiden of a cryochamber, it was her voice that kept him warm. When he sat in the dark corner of the empty concrete cell, it was her voice that kept him company.

He figured that all of Hydra’s torture created a tear in his psyche, manifesting in the voice of a woman he’d heard in passing. It would make sense, given that the human mind craves the comfort of others. Hydra didn’t exactly allow him relations besides his handlers, so his mind had to create someone to fulfill the space beyond pain and emptiness.

He kept his Angel a secret. Something that wholly belonged to him, the only part of himself that he could have control over. He would never allow them to take you.

“You are showing abnormal readings in brain functioning, Soldat. Status report.”

The grating voice of his handler was made even worse by the static in the communications channel. It succeeded in bringing him out of his trance, carefully observing the carnage around him.

“Mission complete. Targets eliminated. No witnesses.”

He stepped over the disemboweled body of an agent, retrieving his knife; he wiped the remaining viscera and gore from the blade on the deceased agent’s suit. It didn’t take long for him to receive word of his extraction point and means.

Back into the gaping maw of the Lernaean Serpent he headed, unable to resist its call.

He trekked through miles of uneven terrain, as Hydra was nothing but thorough when it came to ensuring their involvement within the world’s dealings stayed hidden. His extraction points were always far enough away from the target’s area of engagement to ensure that he could lose any tails he might encounter. It was an arduous process, one that he would despise if he could bring himself to feel such wealth of emotion. They had taken that from him too.

“They can never take your heart, my Soldier.”

No. They couldn’t. Not while he had you.

– – –

The first time his mind had conjured up a vision of you, he nearly punched a hole into the concrete of his holding cell. He had felt a presence within the dark room suddenly, and when he turned his head, there was the visage of a woman. Her features were too hazy to make out in the dark of the room, or perhaps his mind couldn’t remember a woman’s face to place onto the hallucination. Either way, the lifelike projection of a faceless woman should have been disturbing–even to someone who had seen under the epidermis of a human face before. Oddly, he couldn’t bring himself to think of you as such. 

No, the feeling he got when he looked at you was one he could no longer name. It had been forgotten under the force of an electric current.

“Not forgotten. Stolen.”

Your saccharine voice still sounded as loud as ever within his head, despite the distance between his physical body and your imaginary one. Oh, how he yearned to close that distance, to hold you within his arms–his coveted Angel, who he selfishly stole from the gods’ grasp to ease his troubled mind here, on Earth. He found his arm, the one made from Gaia’s own metals, outstretching towards you without thinking. His palm splayed out, he watched with bated breath as you mimicked his own movement. He knew that he would never have been able to feel you to begin with, but he allowed himself a simple indulgence in believing that it was due to the lack of nerve endings, and not because you were never here to begin with.

“I’m always with you, my Soldier.”

For once, he allowed himself to believe that.

– – –

He was incapable of dreaming while under the freeze of stasis. He simply went under, and woke up whenever they decided to thaw him. Sometimes, cryo-freeze was the only respite he got–and he was thankful for not being needed. And yet, he still fought his handlers to prevent the chill of the iron coffin. Being unable to dream and made forcibly unconscious meant that he was unable to hear the gentle lilt of your voice, unable to watch as your form took shape. His heart would ache, as if it were missing the synchronicity of yours marching along with it.

It was a fool’s hope to wish for every freeze to be his last–whether that meant he never went under again, or his heart finally left this mortal coil and froze over for good, he couldn’t decide. So, when he woke with a start to the remains of biting frost against his skin, he felt rage bubbling hot in his veins.

“Have a nice nap, Sleeping Beauty?” You giggled. Your form danced along the peripherals of his still hazy vision, taking spot where there was a gap between white coats. They were checking his vitals, making sure he would be combat ready for the mission they no doubt awoke him for.

He’d roll his eyes if he had full function of his muscles.

You huffed a laugh at that, reaching out a hand to caress his cheek. Of course, he couldn’t feel it–but he let himself believe it was because his skin was still defrosting.

“I missed you.”

He missed you, too. He always did. Even when you were present in his mind, or a vision being projected by his psyche, he missed you. He couldn’t explain it. How could he miss a part of himself? He didn’t dwell on the logistics too long. If he thought about you too hard, his head began to hurt, like it was protecting itself.

The pinpricks of melting ice gave way to freeze-burns, ones that were already beginning to heal from his forced genetic mutation. His left arm had been gently defrosted, as to not disrupt any of the machinery within. They held the Fist of Hydra to a higher regard than the rest of his body, apparently. You snorted at that thought. It was such a beautifully normal sound amongst the noise of beeping monitors and the scrambling of doctors, scientists, and engineers. He involuntarily let a half-smirk rise on his face, to the horror of the poor doctor checking his vitals. The medical professional couldn’t imagine what would make The Asset happy other than the thought of the impending carnage he would soon wreak upon unknowing targets. It was better he thought that, anyway. He’d get put in the chair for showing a sliver of unconditioned programming otherwise. 

He blinked the remaining frost from his eyelashes, looking back over at your dizzying presence. Your hair floated about you as if you were underwater, but your skin was still the same pitch black and featureless void that it had been the first time he let his mind give you physical form. It was confusing; he had seen plenty of women since you first began appearing before him, and yet his mind never allowed any of their features to replace your lack thereof. It just didn’t seem right, he supposed.

He must’ve really been under for a long time if it was taking his psyche this long to will you away and fall back in line with his programming. Even as he was being transported to the roads of Long Island, New York, you had continued to hover over him.

You had stood at the car wreckage with a curious turn of your head as he let the motorcycle fall upon its kickstand. It was only when the man in the driver’s seat stumbled out of the remains that you reacted to the sight in front of you.

“No…” You gasped, but the Soldier crept on towards his target.

“Sergeant Barnes..?” Croaked the dying man, and you watched along with bated breath, waiting for some kind of reaction. The only one you’d get would be the Soldier’s fist colliding with flesh and bone. The cries of a woman mourning her husband were cut off by a thick hand around her throat, effectively compressing her airway closed. The Soldier didn’t even look at the woman he was finishing off. No, his eyes were trained on you.

His face remained stoic as white streaks glistened down the black of your cheeks. This was his way of compartmentalizing, he supposed. You wept for the man who could not. 

When he turned after shooting out the camera, you had disappeared. 

– – –

The next time he heard your voice, it was in Romania. He had been here for quite some time, trying to piece together who he was, exactly. The quiet, traditionalist country was perfect for someone who preferred to stay hidden. He spoke the language fluently, resembled the people, and kept to himself. The locals didn’t ask questions, simply trusted he wouldn’t cause trouble. He couldn’t help but be wary–it was drilled into his head, near literally. He had started to grow paranoid at the peaceful life he was being allowed, as if it too would be stolen from him at any moment.

The lively morning market of Bucharest had settled his nerves somewhat; it was a familiar place with familiar faces. He settled for the fresh fruit stall, instantly gravitating towards the plums. His gloved metal hand palmed the assortment of velvety fruit, feeling the weight of them as a test. If they didn’t push against his thumb’s pressure and he was able to feel the weight upon the metal, he knew they were too early. He asked the stall manager, for good measure, about their ripeness, finally selecting a few for his apartment.

It felt normal. He felt normal.

“You know, I heard these were good for memory.”

He almost gave himself whiplash when he saw you standing across the street. His feet almost moved before his brain processed the oncoming traffic.

It wasn’t just that this was the first time he heard your voice in his head in years. No, it was that he was seeing you.

Your hair, set in the way you always favored. Your eyes, shining in the light of the morning sun. Your nose, set above your cupid’s bow as if it were carved from marble. And oh, your lips, how he yearned to pull you close and press them against his own. The distance was so unbearable, he almost intentionally walked into the oncoming cars. If it meant he would reach you before this hallucination ended, it would be worth it in his mind.

Your gaze faltered, and as you looked upon him with such sadness, he could have sworn he heard his heart shattering against the sidewalk.

“It isn’t safe anymore, James. I’m sorry.”

He wanted to scream in reply, ask what you meant–why you were sorry.

You were gone at the next pass of a bus.

He would come to figure out what you meant pretty quickly. You always did warn him of impending danger, like his own personal oracle. Or maybe it was his instincts reminding himself–he wasn’t paranoid without reason to be. He had already been shaken by seeing his dead wife from 75 years prior, but to see his supposed-to-be-dead-too best friend standing in his apartment had really raised his heart rate. He knew what followed, what always followed. He was never going to be free–not until he was dead.

At least in death, he would see you again. He may get cast down to the deepest circles of Hell–specially reserved–but he could still hope to be reunited with you once more.

– – –

Living at the Compound had felt like another prison–just fancier and with nicer amenities. A condition to his pardon; along with many other things, like atonement by way of taking down Hydra cells across the globe. Having finally been deprogramed, his activation words no longer functioning as his shackles to the serpentine organization, the government saw fit to use his training for their own gain. The fight never stops. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place. Receive a pardon, get ball and chained to a different corruption.

At least he didn’t have to do it all alone.

Of course, several other Avengers were given their own conditions after the amendments to the Accords. He had become unlikely friends with Wanda, both having trauma bonded with each other. Bucky saw her as a little sister, despite her being a grown ass woman. In fairness, he was over a century old; almost everyone seemed too young to him.

The highlight of his extended imprisonment-vacation was remembering you, however. He was slowly but surely recovering his memories, and he probed Steve now and again to confirm what he was remembering. Bucky never let him outright say what he remembered, wanting to recall it all on his own. You were his wife, not Steve’s best-friend’s wife. Being acquainted with Wanda also helped in this department. She would help him through still-locked memories; sometimes, they needed someone else to unblock the dam in order for the flood to start.

He would have called himself mentally on-the-way-to well, if it weren’t for one detail–he still hallucinated you. He refused to tell his therapist, or any of the other Avengers for that matter. It would simply get him labelled as clinically insane, and a clinically insane Winter Soldier was possibly the greatest threat to America, besides the next alien or robot invasion. He hadn’t even told Steve, fearing that even he might think less of him for it.

He supposed it was okay to keep this one thing to himself. He was allowed to be selfish for once in his life.

Bucky wasn’t even sure you would accept the man he’d become, if you were alive. He didn’t think he could take that pain. Maybe this was how his mind coped with that. Created a version of you who still loved him–no matter if he wasn’t the same man he was when you married him. He didn’t think he could ever be him again, despite how much everyone else wanted him to be.

So, he watched you, with a freshly poured mug of coffee in his hands and a small grin on his face, as you shifted between the clothing styles of the decades he missed. You hummed a tune from the movie he had watched last night, the soft notes sounding as if you were directly next to his ear. While the kitchen area was currently empty, if anyone walked in, he could just say he was reminiscing.

“How did anyone get anything done in these?” You laughed, the tight bell-bottom jeans clinging to your skin, with a tight halter top to match. “I know we didn’t wear pants much in the 40’s, but I think I might suffocate!”

Bucky let out a chuckle, scanning the room for anybody else flesh and blood. When he found none, he answered lowly.

“Can’t exactly suffocate when you don’t breathe, doll.”

“It’s about principle, Buck! You know what I mean,” you pouted, opting to shift into the silk slip dress that he remembers very much, cerca 75 years prior.

He hissed, turning his eyes away from you. You, of course, being ever so the manifestation of the woman he remembers, instantly placed yourself back in his gaze. You had that sly smirk on your face that always meant you were up to no good, but he’d be damned if he got himself aroused with a vivid hallucination of his dead wife. Saved by the bell he was, as the ring of the elevator chimed to notify that someone was stopping on this floor. He let out a small huff, knowing he’d have to will himself to act like you weren’t there.

Wanda and Vision stepped out into the kitchen area, spotting Bucky standing behind the island. Vision had been working on travelling like a normal human recently, opting to only phase through things in cases of emergency.

“Hello Bucky-”

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.”

They both greeted, but Wanda had cut herself off in confusion. Bucky tilted his head, but returned the greetings.

“Bucky, who’s that?”

Bucky’s heart sank all the way down to Atlantis, and the coffee he had been drinking threatened to burn back up his esophagus. He followed the direction that Wanda’s finger pointed– She could see you.

She was seeing you.

“Wanda, I do believe that would be the Sergeant’s wife. She was labelled as deceased after–”

“Yes, Vision, I know who she looks like, so who is that?”

“I’m afraid I do not know.”

Bucky was damn near hyperventilating at this point. They could see you. Someone, or something, invaded his mind and pretended to be his wife. Or, could they see ghosts? Was his dead wife haunting him? They could see youohmygodtheycouldseeyou–

“James,” you hissed, “quiet your thoughts! I can’t focus when you’re panicking!”

…What?

Your hands immediately cradled your head, looking as if you had gotten slapped across the face with the worst migraine of your life. Wanda’s hands had sparked to life, thrumming with scarlet energy. A scream tore through your throat, ringing in Bucky’s psyche. He had clapped his hands over his ears, shutting his eyes, and feeling for the first time ever like the sound was an intrusion–like your voice didn’t belong only within his mind. He grit his teeth together to prevent his own yells from joining the chorus.

Your image flickered like someone was slashing through shadows with a ray of light–flashing between the you he knew and the form null of your distinct features.

There was a distinct crack! that reverberated in his ears.

He was almost scared to open his eyes, believing the sound to be the snap of bone that he was all too familiar with.

When he did gather the courage, he no longer recognized his whereabouts. They had been transported to a dark and dreary place, multiple large wires hanging overhead. The room was mostly unlit, a singular source of violet light extended their sight enough to at least see where they were standing. Wanda looked all over immediately, before her own panic set in. “Vis?!”

“He’s fine. So are you both. You aren’t physically here. He’s currently watching over your bodies.”

Bucky’s head immediately turned, because hearing your voice come out from not inside his head was not pleasant for him right now. And quite frankly, he was freaking the fuck out. There you stood, once again returned to the featureless form he remembered as the Soldier. Only, this time, your hair was much longer, and sat still. While you didn’t have eyes, your head tilted up to look at something behind him. Wanda’s mouth hung open as she, too, followed your gaze.

Behind him, as he found out, was where the only source of light stood tall in the room. It looked like a large tube, violet light streaming in from LEDs sitting at the bottom, pointing up. The structure was filled with some kind of liquid–too viscous to be water, but too thin to be unmoving.

Within that liquid lay something that would become engraved into their minds.

It was you.

There was your physical body, suspended in animation. It wasn’t the you that Bucky married; rather, it was the you that first appeared within his mind’s eye. Your hair floated wildly around your featureless face, and your noir skin reflected the purple of the ultraviolet lights. It was as if your body had gotten cemented into a singular position, your head tilted back and your back arched as if you had been struck and permanently falling.

Bucky couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away, wanting desperately to use the weapon they had attached to his body to shatter the glass in front of him. He finally looked back over to the you stood next to him, and you could see the pain written so plainly on his face. It broke your heart to watch the synapses of his neurons fire on all cylinders, to see the realization seize his body.

“Oh, don’t look at me so, my love. I’m not in any pain,” you reassured, though you were sure that had only answered a singular question he was itching to ask.

Wanda suddenly felt very uncomfortable being a bystander to all of this, but knew she was integral to this projection.

“How long?” Were the words that finally croaked out of his mouth.

You grimaced, knowing that this was the question that would devastate him the most.

“For as long as you had been the Winter Soldier.”

- - -

Teehee. That's all, folks! (for now.) (I've already begun part 2) Like, reblog, and comment! I'd really love to hear what you guys think, as this is the first time I'm uploading a longer type of fic. ;w;

For those waiting on Incidents, that will get worked on in tandem to this! Echoes will most likely only end up being a two parter, with maybe some drabbles of in-universe situations if people are interested. My asks are also open~

[atlas-on-earth]

my american patriotism extends to only five things:

the fallout games, brokeback mountain, the great gatsby, lana del rey, and stucky

[shegatsby]

Silent Obsession

Summary; After he became a civilian Bucky's mind, body and soul was trying to adapt to his new life. He swore to himself that he was going to live the rest of his life alone, until he saw her. His distroted mind and broken soul ached to be with her, to be around her all the time. Could he manage it or ruin it for both of them?

A/N: Hey guys! I love writing this so much! Let me know what you think.

This is the playlist I made for the series;

TAG LIST IS OPEN!

Words: 2.387K

Warnings: Stalking, mention of abuse (slight)

Chapter Three

Bucky was as if someone hammered him on the spot where he left his bike before he walked into the store, it was open for 24/7 so she must be on the night shift, was this her daily routine? During the day she was at the flower shop and at night she was at the store, his dark mind was going to places he couldn’t hinder, ‘’Was she sent by the HYDRA?’’ this couldn’t be a coincidence or was it just fate?

The world was getting smaller and smaller these days, as his mind was screaming at him his body was like a marble statue, unmoving. He was leaning on his bike, the treat he got for Alpine in his leather jacket’s pocket. ‘’Why does she have two jobs?’’ he asked himself, was she paying a debt or she had mouths to feed back at home? He could understand that because he was the eldest of 4 siblings, he had to quit school and start working, his father George Barnes had died and he became the man of the house real quick and then he enlisted in the army when the war broke out. ‘’Was she married? No, too young, plus no wedding ring.’’ As he dwelled on these thoughts he watched people go in, buy things and leave the store. From where he was he could see her standing, smiling at every customer, ‘’Does she have to smile to everyone?’’ a whisper behind his ear, ‘’James! Get a grip, she is no one to you, get back home!’’ another whisper. The next thing he knew he stood there, leaning on his bike till dawn, watching her greeting morning worker and giving him the uniform and then leaving with weary shoulders. Her hands in her jacket’s pockets, her brown bag tucked on her shoulder, she was walking, Bucky’s feet started to move, stealth in his steps, his feet had its own mind apparently. She was across him on the other sidewalk so she didn’t notice a thing, one could hear people waking up and the city becoming alive once again with the first lights of the day. Buses were on duty, people were heading to their jobs, life as normal as it could get. She was a strange creature to him, so calm mannered and focused on her jobs, Bucky could sense that she was a hard-working woman and he liked it but also detest it at the same time. She deserved to lay back and take it easy but she must be in a situation where she had to hustle, Bucky bet that she had side hustles as well.  She wasn’t taking any buses or heading to the subway, she was determined to walk back home and so was Bucky. He wanted to see her building, was it a safe place? As they walked the streets he could see that it wasn’t safe, he hated that. He hated that she wasn’t in a safe environment, he hated that she didn’t have someone to look after her. She reached to a building after 20 minutes of non-stop walking, on their separate walks Bucky noticed few things, how she never looked at any shop windows or street food carts, she must be starving but her head was low, was she ignoring the delicious smells or shiny objects on purpose so that she wouldn’t have to buy or dare to want. Bucky knew how scary to dare to want something because it meant hope, and hope was a dangerous thing . Without even looking around her she walked inside through the brown doors of the building, it was similar to Bucky’s building but shabbier, he waited outside for two minutes and then walked in behind her. He was just going to check her mailbox or maybe find out which floor and door belonged to her, was it crazy? He didn’t answer that question and it hung in his mind, screaming at him.

The inside mailboxes were on the wall, just like any other apartment complex, he found her name and

‘’Y/N Y/L/N’’

Her mailbox was empty, he figured that she must be doing everything online and no one sends letters these days other than important governmental forms. He sighed, he wondered which floor and the door was hers, the elevator was out of order so if it was at the top she must be climbing the stairs still, Bucky stopped before the stairs which were covered with a dirty carpet, one couldn’t tell the color anymore. He sighed again and started to climb the stairs, the building had 5 floors, he quickly climbed the stairs, as he reached the 4th floor he heard and saw a door closing, was it hers? His heart was beating wild, what would have happened if she were to just take the trash out and saw him standing there? He slowly approached the door and saw the number, it was 8.

He wasn’t sure if it belonged to her and he was about to leave and he heard sounds, ‘’Where were you?’’ a man said with a gruff voice, he heard some glasses being moved on the floor, ‘’I was at the night shift.’’ And it was her soft voice but this time she sounded more cautious and alert. ‘’You should’ve told me that you got a second job Y/N!’’ the man said clearly unhappy and he sounded young, couldn’t be her father for sure. His hands were in fists, ‘’I’m going to make breakfast.’’ She replied, and then no sound followed. She must be in a relationship and living together in a shitty apartment. His ears were ringing and he  could feel his blood boiling, Bucky waltzed out of that building, not looking back, if he looked back he knew that he would break down the door and ask why was her wrist bruised.

Y/N’s hands were shaking as she made breakfast, bacon and eggs for Leo and cereals for her, she didn’t have appetite lately. She made coffee and poured orange juice as well for him, he was in the shower, as she looked around she saw empty beer bottles on the small living room, he was invading her space for sure. She picked up the empty bottles and threw them in trash, opened the curtains and windows for fresh air to come and cleans her space, ‘’When did we turn into this?’’ she asked herself, a drunk gambler and his bread winner girlfriend. Leo was in debt and it was a lot, in order to hide he came to live with her but she was telling Melanie that Leo was in love with her and moved in with her. What was she suppose to say? That their love died years ago and she was the only escape he could use? She wasn’t exactly getting young and Leo was the only one she had for years…. She sighed in grief of their deceased love and got back to the kitchen which was connected to the living room, it was a small one bedroom apartment. She was almost finished with her cereal when he came out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he was handsome still with his blonde hair and beard, she used to get butterflies seeing him, she used to forget to breath when she saw him and now all she could think about was the bruise on her wrist. Leo wasn’t like this before, they met in high school, he was the bad boy and she was the nice girl, everyone wondered why Leo was with her, she was getting good grades, respectable young girl… when her parents died Leo was the one who helped her, so she never forgot that, during hard times he was with her but now… things have changed completely. ‘’Huh?’’ Leo’s voice brought back to the reality of her situation, ‘’Nothing, I just zoned out.’’ She replied and smiled but it was a dead one. Leo was too occupied with his bacon and eggs to notice it.

On the other hand, Bucky didn’t remember how he walked back to his bike and rode back home. The ringing in his ear didn’t stop till he reached home and picked up Alpine to calm himself, in chaotic situations or if he ever got triggered he would always pet Alpine, her purring calmed him all the time. ‘’Here Alpine.’’ He said as he got the treat out of his jacket’s pocket and opened the metal can with one quick move, Alpine happily ate the treat and Bucky watched her. ‘’Fuck..’’ he sighed, ‘’She has someone Alpine.’’ He spoke to his cat as usual. ‘’I should stop, shouldn’t I?’’ the cat was eating her delicious treat so he was left with his thoughts on his couch, covered in white fur. He huffed and laid his head back, closed his azure eyes but that didn’t help, he saw Y/N, her smile, her pure face, it was just too much and the fact that he didn’t get any sleep made him feel uneasy, he never slept too much but he needed at least 4-5 hours of it to function properly. Bucky got up, took of his jacket and threw it on the wooden floor and laid on his couch, his flesh arm covering his eyes he tried to get some sleep.

Y/N took a shower, didn’t forget to lock the door. She didn’t want to be disturbed and she knew Leo, no respect for privacy. His presence made her take a quick shower, she used to love getting a shower for a long time but now her body kept rushing her, after shower she wore the clothes she brought in the bathroom, an oversized shirt, baggy shorts, she brushed her hair and dried it. She didn’t have much skincare routine because the products were expensive and she didn’t have a budget to spare right now.. or ever. As she looked at her blurry reflection on the steamed bathroom mirror her mind went back to last night when she saw him. The ‘’Rose Guy’’ it was a nickname Melanie came up with, she chuckled and closed her mouth with her hand immediately, why did she chuckled? ‘’What a coincidence.’’ She said and applied her one and only moisturizer on her face. She wasn’t being honest with herself, ever since she saw him she kept thinking about him, the dark haired and blue eyed stranger looked fascinating to her. He wasn’t a talker unlike her other customers who loved to make small talk with her or Melanie, they loved to tell who were they buying the flowers for or what was the occasion etc. but not him. Something in her hoped to see him again next Monday for roses, when her mind wandered to a place where she was questioning who was the roses for she stopped herself and  got out of the shower, she wanted to sleep before going to the flower shop. Juggling two jobs wasn’t easy and it took a tool on her.

Bucky on the other hand slept for about 2-3 hours and then lifted himself from his couch, Alpine was on the coffee table, watching him, ‘’Hey.’’ He greeted with a rough voice, petted her head and got up, he hit the shower, a quick one and then got dressed, he got his dirty clothes and headed downstairs of the building where the washing machines kept, as he was doing laundry he read a book, he had so many books to catch up and he was reading the Hunger Games, he promised Sam to read the books first and then watch the movies. He was halfway through it and he enjoyed it very much, a messed up society where tributes have to fight to death to win a prize, it sounded very interesting to him. As he was reading he imagined Katniss as Y/N, they were both strong women who have to be tough and get by. He huffed and placed the book aside when his laundry was clean and dry, he got his clothes back and headed upstairs. On his way he saw Mr. Nakajima, ‘’James! Lunch?’’ the old man asked, ‘’Sure Mr. Nakajima, let me put these and I’ll meet you there.’’ The old man nodded and reached for the elevator, he remembered the time where he first met, the elevator wasn’t working and no one was doing nothing about it so he took the liberty and fixed it himself. He was handy with anything, of course he didn’t tell anyone that he fixed it himself and over the months when the washing machines made a problem he tended them, the only good thing came out of HYDRA was his knowledge of fixing things and it came in handy these days.

As he got dressed he headed out, to meet with Mr. Nakajima and eat lunch at their favorite Japanese place which he visited yesterday. Leah was there, talking to him and he entered the place. ‘’Here is your buddy.’’ She announced which made the old man look over his shoulder, ‘’Great! I’m starving.’’ The man said and Bucky sat next to him. They didn’t have to order because Leah knew their classic lunch order so they decided to catch up and the topic came to Bucky being alone. ‘’You should be with someone,’’ Mr. Nakajima said, ‘’Everyone needs someone James.’’ Bucky knew the old man had no ill intentions and just saying this opinions and he was right, the problem was to trust and let your guard down and that wasn’t something he could imagine himself doing and the fact that he was the Winter Soldier and committed number of violent crimes including Mr. Nakajima’s son’s death.. Bucky was intent on being single. He didn’t want anyone to crumble under the burden of his petrifying past. ‘’Don’t you find anyone attractive, boy?!’’ Mr. Nakajima protested and Bucky’s weary head immediately pulled up an image of her, Y/N…

‘’What if I do?’’ he found himself asking which made the old man smile, ‘’Who? Is it Leah?’’ he was excited, one could see. Bucky shook his head as no because Leah just brought their lunch and left with a smile. ‘’Then who?’’

‘’You don’t know her.. to be honest neither do I…’’

Tag List: @pao-prazz

Chapter Four

[stardustedseas]

i love the idea of tormenting my faves and one of my fave things to think about is being all curled up on bed for the night with bucky, its been a long day for him and all he wants to do is finally get some rest with the love of his life. hes only in a pair of boxers and laying on his back so you can be comfortably snuggled up against his side with your pretty little head on his bare chest. he's got one arm wrapped around your soft waist and is already half asleep despite the quiet audio coming from your phone, which you have been playing on for the past half hour.

mindlessly scrolling videos with your phone resting on the opposite side of buckys chest from where youre comfortable is one of your favorite ways to get ready for bed. honestly he doesn't mind either, he likes when you show him something you think is funny or cute, and you always keep the audio and brightest low enough that you can still see/hear but not so much that it hinders bucky from sleeping, and he adores the little giggles you try to hide to not disturb him. that being said, he knows its not good for you to be on your phone so much before sleeping and always makes sure youre off it by 10. its not quite the time that you two would usually shut everything down and sleep, but bucky can feel his consciousness slipping away far faster than normal.

you must not have noticed your lover already being half asleep because you dont hesitate to tilt your phone so the older man can see, and not very quietly ask, "Bucky, which one of these medieval inspired kitchens would you let me give you backshots on?"

silence, bucky doesnt even open his eyes, you think maybe he has fallen asleep before,

"Doll, please go to sleep."

[mentalmeles]

Memory of a Kiss

Pairing: Stucky (Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes)

Word count: 2.5k

......We all knew it was a matter of time before I did this.

I can't write multi chapter stuff, but I can write small one shots, so!! Have this short one shot of Bucky regaining a memory while recovering under Steve's care.

When does this take place? Who's to say? I don't know and it doesn't matter. Regardless, please enjoy my silly lil thoughts about these two old men uwu

--------------------------------------------------------

“We…” Bucky begins, his brows knitted in concentration. “We used to k-k-k-kiss.”

He doesn’t say it like a question, but Bucky’s eyes are big and curious. Suddenly, there’s a lump in Steve’s throat and he has to blink several times to stop the burning sensation building in his eyes. Taking a shaky breath, he nods.

“Y-Yeah. Yeah, Buck. We did.”

Bucky had recently began to regain some of his memories from before. It’s still slow going, but Steve can see him fighting so hard every day for the chance to remember something—anything from the years Hydra took from him. Most days it’s hard, leaving Bucky even more disoriented and confused than usual at best or screaming his throat raw for hours and hours at worst. And this is all on top of everything else he has to deal with.

He can’t talk much, his sentences short and decorated with a stutter that simply refuses to leave. He has tremors, trouble sleeping and eating, and is extremely paranoid. Steve still doesn’t know how he does it, but he swears that Bucky always has at least one or two knives on his person at all times. And, of course, there was also that time last week when Bucky suddenly had a seizure when they tried to watch a movie together. Despite everything he’s seen and done up till now, Steve had never been so scared in his entire life.

Thankfully, however, this memory recall seems to be anything but bad. Bucky’s eyes are clear and lucid. His posture is open and he looks calm, if not a bit timid. Still, Steve had somehow never braced himself for Bucky remembering...well. Them.

Clearing his throat, he tries his best to explain. “We, uh… We first started doing stuff like that when we were kids. It was nice for a while, but you ended up calling it off. There was some...unwanted attention and you didn’t want to put me at risk like that. Then, when the war came, we started it back up. Neither of us really talked about it. It just kind of happened. We never got around to giving what we had a name, though. We got close, but...” Steve pauses then, memories of the unforgiving cold and the sound of a train suddenly flashing through his mind. “...We got close.”

Bucky seems to consider this, his eyes focusing on the dresser just behind Steve. Both of them stay like that for a moment, memories of their past lives quietly replaying between them. The quiet is then broken when Bucky looks back at Steve.

“Can we… Can we kiss now?”

Steve lightly gasps at that, his heart skipping a beat or two. Despite how long it’s been since Steve took Bucky in, they haven’t done anything like that yet. It’d be their first kiss since the war.

Since the day Bucky fell.

Steve is unable to stop the tears from gathering in his eyes this time as he nods. “Yeah. Sure we can.”

Bucky nods, setting his jaw and becoming mission focused. Steve remains where he is, letting Bucky take the lead. Slowly, Bucky closes the gap between them. He reaches out, brushing his fingers along Steve’s forearm uncertainly. His eyes flicker up to meet Steve’s, as if asking for permission. Steve nods and takes Bucky’s hand into his own, rubbing gentle circles into the back of it. Soon enough, they’re so close that their chests are nearly touching. Steve’s breath quickens, matching the pounding of his heart. If it beat any harder, he was certain it would burst. Bucky’s breathing becomes faster as well and he almost seems like he’s going to change his mind about the whole thing, before he closes his eyes and meets Steve’s lips with his.

The kiss is slow and careful, Bucky’s lips barely brushing against Steve’s before he quickly pulls away. Steve remains still and silent, watching as a conflict flickers upon Bucky’s face. After a short moment, the light in Bucky’s eyes dims and his expression becomes vacant. Vaguely, Steve wonders if Bucky is going to lash out, but he immediately scolds himself for it. If the Soldier wants to make an appearance, Steve will handle it. But, until that happens, he’s going to put his trust in Bucky.

So, he patiently waits. Bucky continues to stare at him, his body as rigid as a statue, before he suddenly turns on his heel and goes straight to the window. Without a word, he opens it and crawls right out, leaving Steve standing in the middle of his bedroom alone. Unexpectedly, the sight of it brings forth another memory. 

Bucky had shown up one night while Steve’s ma was working, waking him up by knocking on his window from the fire escape. Once he’d turned on the light and let him inside, it didn’t take Steve long to realize that Bucky was drunk. It was a while before he got the story out of him, but Bucky finally told Steve that he got stood up by his date. So, his seventeen year old mind had told him the solution to his wounded feelings was to simply drink them away. At least, that was before he realized that his mother would kill him for coming home in such a state.

“Just until the morning, Stevie. Let me sleep this off and then I’ll get outta your hair.”

“Sure, Buck. But you’re drinking some water first.”

As Steve got him a glass, Bucky all but fell onto his bed and began to mumble things the blond couldn’t make out. By the time he’d returned to Bucky, he found him with his arm draped over his eyes, as if he was trying to block everything out. He gently nudged his arm with the glass.

“Here, ace. This’ll help.”

Instead of taking the water, however, Bucky just kept on mumbling his thoughts out loud. “I just don’t get it,” he slurred. “I try and I try and yet I can’t get it right. Can’t get nothin’ right. ‘M not good at this, Stevie. ‘M not good at any of this.”

Steve felt his lips form a line. He’d never heard Bucky talking about himself like that before. His friend had always seemed so confident and carefree. He was every Brooklyn girl’s dream guy, after all, and there was no mystery as to why that was. Bucky was kind, polite, and treated every girl he went out with like they were worth a million bucks. So, when Steve heard him say that he wasn’t good at any of it, it threw him for a bit of a loop.

“C’mon, Buck. Don’t talk like that. It’s just one bad date, that’s all.”

Steve then spared a moment to think how funny it was that he was the one giving dating advice. As if he had any idea what he was talking about. Oh, sure, he’d been on dates before, but none of them had ended well. For one thing, they were all double dates that Bucky had set up, so Steve always ended up being an unfortunate surprise to the second girl. He was a poor consolation prize in comparison to Bucky and everyone knew it. And then there was the fact that he hadn’t liked any of those girls himself. 

For, despite all of his attempts, Steve had always had eyes for one person in his life…

Steve’s thoughts were then interrupted by Bucky shaking his head fitfully. “Not jus’ one. None of ‘em were right. Felt so wrong, every single one.”

Now that was just crazy talk. Bucky always gushed to Steve about how well his dates went. The alcohol must’ve been getting to him more than Steve realized.

“I think you’re getting your thoughts mixed up, pal.”

But Bucky had simply shook his head again. “No, ‘m not. Those dames don’t compare…don’t compare to you.”

That was when Steve had immediately froze. For a moment, he’d been sure his heart had stopped. Of all the things he’d expected Bucky to say, that hadn’t been one of them. He opened his mouth to speak, but it felt like his tongue had been replaced with cotton.

“What?” He heard himself say.

Bucky then removed his arm from his eyes and stared at Steve. Despite the flush of his cheeks and his slurred speech, his eyes seemed clear and focused.

“Said none of em compare to you. You always…” Bucky then trailed off, seemingly losing his words. Instead, he slowly sat up and took one of Steve’s hands into his own. Steve said nothing and allowed it to happen.

“You always making me lose my damn mind,” Bucky finished, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the back of Steve’s hand all the while.

“You—“ Steve swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “You mean it?”

“Want me to prove it?”

Bucky’s voice had dropped a bit and Steve suddenly realized that his friend’s eyes were drifting down to his lips. Steve licked them and tried to remember how to breathe. Before he could chicken out, he’d simply nodded.

“Yeah.”

Then, like a dream, Bucky raised his hand and tenderly cupped the side of Steve’s face. Steve had felt his heart beating hard in his chest as it roared in his ears. His eyes kept flicking down to Bucky’s lips as they drew closer and closer. And then finally, wonderfully, they kissed.

In that moment, the stars could’ve fallen from the sky and shattered Brooklyn to bits and it wouldn’t have mattered. To Steve, that moment was more precious than anyone or anything else in the world, let alone the stars. It was gentle and sweet and his insides felt like warm honey. Bucky’s strong arms had moved to wrap around him fully and Steve had never felt more secure.

“Buck…” Steve gasped once they stopped to breathe.

Bucky was smiling so big he was nearly squinting, his cheeks dusted with a rosy color. “Wanted to do that for so long…” He laughed.

They kissed again and again, laughing and smiling all the while. It was like a little piece of heaven had been created, right there in Steve’s tiny bedroom. Although he’d never drank in his life, he figured this is what it must’ve felt like to get drunk. He’d have to ask Bucky when he sobered up, he vaguely thought.

The glorious moment was then shattered by the sound of the front door being unlocked. Steve’s heart had instantly plummeted to his stomach. 

His ma. 

Whipping his head back to Bucky, he saw his own panic mirrored on his face. Immediately, the two had scrambled away from each other. Bucky then made a beeline for the window and, without sparing a glance back towards Steve, crawled right out onto the fire escape. Steve managed to shut it just as his ma walked in.

“Steven?” She called softly, surely noticing that his light was still on. “You still awake, love?”

Desperately trying his best to seem as normal as possible, Steve had stepped out into the living room to greet her. She looked tired, like she always did at the end of a long shift, but she didn’t seem to notice anything different about him. Instead, she closed the distance between them and, after brushing his hair away from his face, gave him a kiss on his forehead in greeting, just like always.

“What are you doing up? Are you feeling alright?” She asked gently, placing the back of her hand on both cheeks.

“I’m fine, ma. Just couldn’t sleep, is all.” He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

She then gave him one of her signature looks. The one that lovingly said ‘what am I going to do with you?’ “You better try,” she said. “It’s late. I don’t want you to get sick again.”

Steve nodded, grateful for the opportunity to slip away.

As he laid awake in bed that night, Steve kept replaying that moment he and Bucky had shared over and over again in his mind. Part of him vaguely wondered if it had been a dream. It certainly felt like a dream, one that had been plucked from his own mind and given life. He tentatively ran his fingertips over his lips, still tasting the remnants of alcohol and Bucky on them. No, it certainly hadn’t been a dream.

Before he finally drifted off, Steve suddenly couldn’t help but chuckle. Confident and carefree Bucky Barnes must’ve been really spooked to have escaped out Steve’s window the way he did. He should’ve known better than anyone that, after all these years, Steve’s ma wouldn’t have suspected a thing about him being over that late.

The memory is what probably stops Steve from feeling rejected or upset at Bucky’s sudden departure. If anything, it does the opposite. His face is warm and he can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face.

After that night so many years ago, it had taken Bucky a day or two to show his face to Steve again. As Steve had suspected, he’d been so embarrassed that his ma had walked in, but he’d also been scared. He said that he’d been worried their kiss would turn out to be nothing but a figment of his drunken mind.

Now, Bucky has a lot more to worry about than having one too many drinks when it comes to memory displacement. He’s not sure when Bucky will return, but he’s certain that he will. So, Steve decides to wait for him.

It turns out he doesn’t have to wait very long.

Bucky returns that very night, crawling through the same window he left through and just as silent. The sight of him makes Steve immediately put away the book he was reading.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greets, sitting up.

Bucky says nothing, but gives a small nod.

“You feeling okay?”

“Y-Y-Y-Yes,” he says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to leave like that.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, no. It’s okay. I understand.”

Bucky nods again and silence befalls the pair once more. A short moment passes before Steve shuffles a bit so that there’s room on the bed beside him. He gently pats the space, inviting Bucky to sit with him. For a bit it seems like Bucky is going to decline, but then he wordlessly walks over to the bed and joins him. They sit together for a few minutes, the silence still present, but companionable.

“Was it...okay?” Bucky whispers.

“Yes,” Steve answers quickly. “It was definitely okay. Did you like it? How did it make you feel?”

“M-M-Made me feel...good. I liked it.”

Steve swells with warmth at that and he feels his smile creeping back upon his lips. “That’s great, Buck.” He pauses before continuing. “But you know you don’t have to push yourself just for my sake. I’m okay with taking things slow.”

Bucky inhales and exhales softly. “I know. Just… Want to remember. Want to f-f-f-feel good again.”

“I know,” Steve says, feeling so unbearably fond. “And you will.”

“Promise?” Bucky whispers and Steve is surprised to feel his fingers lightly brush against his.

He smiles fully then and gently interlocks his pinky with Bucky’s. Bucky looks down at them, looking a little surprised. He doesn’t pull away though, instead looking up at Steve with that curious flicker in his eyes. There’s something else in his eyes too and, with a sense of joy, Steve realizes it’s love. Tentative and small, but there.

“I promise,” Steve whispers back.

[somuchforahobby]

somuchforahobby masterlist

Hello! Thank you so much for stopping by, hereby you’ll find my work divided by characters. You must know I always write female reader but there are none (i think!) body descriptions nor sex descriptive scenes. I am also not comfortable writing smut yet so this is mostly fluff, comfort & angst.

Requests are open btw (though they might take a while!)

Hope you enjoy! :) updated on June 20, 2025

Obi-wan Kenobi

interrupted, part 2, part 3, part 4 , part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

I don’t have to guess

que lo malo sea bueno e lo impuro bendecío

I volunteer (drabble)

absolute-kriffing-diva (drabble-request)

something of mine

James Bucky Barnes

Misunderstanding, part 2

coping mechanisms

Loki

you´d make me fall from heaven

Doctor Strange

A real life doctor: - wise hands - bargain - scorpio sun

Cure your disease

Nikolai Lantsov

how many secrets can you keep?

whiskey on ice, sunset and vine

International relations

Aaron Hotchner

invisible string

what didn't stay in vegas

playing dangerous (not on tumblr yet)

Spencer Reid

do you still think love is a laserquest?

[risrambles]

unfortunately if we do get the whole “sentry using everyone’s greatest fears against them” in thunderbolts i fear hes going to have a FIELD DAY with bucky

[thewinterdrafts]

07 - Disobedience | Frostbite Series | The Winter Soldier

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x Original Female Character (1st Person)

Word count: 5,192

Summary: A tense confrontation forces Yulia and the Soldier into a battle of instinct versus reality. As control unravels, buried truths surface, leaving them both facing something neither is prepared to understand—but can no longer deny.

Disclaimer: This series is extremely dark, touching on graphic violence, psychological torment, and human suffering in all its forms. If you choose to read, proceed with caution.

Warnings: strictly 18+, Graphic medical procedures & surgical descriptions

A/N: i worked 12 hours and fried my brain bringing this to you guys. i hope you'll like it, happy reading!! (hopefully)

❄️ Frostbite Chapters: Part 01 - Severance Part 02 - Incision Part 03 - Containment Part 04 - Recognition Part 05 - Trigger Part 06 - Submission Part 07 - Disobedience - you are currently here Note: The Frostbite series has officially migrated to bigger platforms! Check out the rest on AO3 and Wattpad ♡

📍Masterlist

Note: This chapter is written in third person, and all dialogue takes place in Russian, but it has been presented in English for readability.

Yulia’s breath catches in her lungs as she stares at her hands in shock. It's full of blood. Elena’s blood. She looks down at the her like she can't believe her own eyes. She in unconscious. She is dying. They are trapped in here.

She presses down harder on the wound, her own hands shaking so badly she can barely keep them steady. "Come on," she whispers. "Come on, please—"

A sound drags her attention upward—not even a sound. A breath, that could belong to any wild animal.

The Soldier.

His eyes are locked onto Elena’s limp form. His chest rises and falls so fast, he might pass out any minute. Yulia quickly wipes her tears to take a better look at him, but she wishes she didn't, because he's visibly panicking. She's never seen him panic before. The thought should terrify her, but it doesn’t—not in the way it should. Because this isn’t a weapon malfunctioning.

This is a man falling apart.

"I—" His voice is rough, like he's never talked before. The metal cuffs keep him locked down, his pinned arms are yanking against them as he tries to move, tries to reach.

But he can’t, and it's driving him mad.

"No."

Upon hearing the strong Russian word, Yulia flinches so hard she nearly drops the fabric she’s pressing against Elena’s side. "I did everything." Her voice is hoarse. "I don’t—I don’t know what else to do, she needs to—She has to tell me."

His breathing is louder and louder. Everything about him is wrong. The tension in his jaw, the way his body strains against the restraints, the desperation in his eyes. Weapons shouldn't break down. So what's happening with him?

"She’s—" He stops, the frustration flickers over his face. His fingers twitch like he wants to tear through the chains, like he doesn’t understand why he can’t. "She is—"

His voice fails. He doesn’t have the words, because they never gave him the words for this.

Yulia swallows hard. "She’s dying."

The Soldier’s entire body seizes. His throat bobs as he tries to speak, but nothing comes out. Yulia, kneeling on the cold floor, watches with terror as his breath hitches. There's a heavy silence between them, before—

"No."

It wasn't a refusal. It was an order.

His arms pull against the restraints once again with a force so strong, Yulia feels the floor move. He is trying to get to her, but the chains weren't designed to break easily, and his metal arm is still useless. He looks up, pools of desperation in his eyes, as he realizes that he won't be able to break free. 

Yulia grips Elena tighter, pressing down against the wound, trying everything to stop the bleeding. "I—I don’t—She'll die on me."

His jaw clenches. His fingers curl into fists. He's struggling, searching. His head tilts slightly as his gaze rakes over Elena’s still form. He's assessing, like he would on a mission. Like she is just another part that needs to be put back together.

"Repair—" He stops. The word doesn’t feel right.

He tries again. "Put—" Another sharp inhale. His eyes flicker, frustration bleeding through the cracks. "Make it—no, her. Make her—"

He exhales sharply through his nose with his teeth clenching, muscles in his jaw twitching. Nothing sounds right.

"Fix," he finally says. "Fix her."

Yulia’s freezes. He just gave an order to her. She doesn’t dare speak or move. She’s too stunned, too horrified by what’s happening—because this is wrong. The Soldier doesn’t give orders. The Soldier doesn’t act on his own.

But then his voice comes again, this time, with urgency.

"Pressure. Stop—" He exhales sharply, his head jerking slightly like he is trying to shake something loose. The words. They won’t come out right. "Bleeding must stop."

"I know that!" Yulia's voice cracks as she snaps. "It won’t stop! It’s too deep!"

The Soldier’s fingers dig into his palms. His eyes flicker across Elena’s body, taking in the damage, the irregularity of her breathing. It's too slow and too weak.

"Cut."

Yulia’s breath stutters. "I—I don’t—"

"Now." His voice drops lower, ragged, barely holding together. "You must."

"She’s lost too much—she’s not responding—"

The metal clangs violently as the Soldier jerks against his restraints. "No. No failure. No stopping."

"I don’t—I can’t lose her," Yulia whispers.

"You will do it."

Yulia swallows down a whimper. She wants to run. Every survival instinct inside her is screaming at her to get away, to shut the Soldier out, but Elena is still bleeding, still getting colder, and she cannot lose her. Not like this.

She swallows back the lump in her throat. "Okay. Okay, I’m doing it. Just—just tell me how."

His hands flex, straining against the cuffs as his frustration is mounting. He cannot reach her, he cannot fix it himself, and the thought of it alone makes him crazy.

"Cut. Close. Repair—no, stabilize." His voice is cracking now, each word more unsteady than the last. He is grasping for control, and failing.

Yulia presses a hand to her mouth, trying to swallow the fear rising in her chest. Then, she looks down at Elena, who's becoming more and more pale with every passing second. She forces herself to breathe. 

She is not a doctor. She is barely a nurse. But she is all Elena has right now.

"H-her rib—" Yulia swallows. "I—I think one is still out of place—"

"Yes." His voice is cold, but not cruel. It's measured and precise. "Cut."

Yulia freezes. "No. No, I can’t—I can’t do that."

The Soldier jerks against his restraints. "You will."

Yulia shakes her head violently. "She’s barely stable—I can’t just—!"

"Now." His voice is like ice, but the desperation is visibly peaking through the rigid mask.

Yulia swallows thickly as her pulse hammers against her throat. She can’t do this. She isn’t strong enough. She isn’t trained enough. Elena would know what to do.

But Elena is unconscious.

"No, no, no—if I do this wrong—"

The Soldier’s restraints creak violently. "Now."

Yulia jumps in fear, gasping, her heart pounding in her ears. 

She grips the scalpel. Her hands are trembling so hard she can barely hold it straight. She's about to cut into a person. Into Elena. She bites her lip as her vision blurs to the thought. This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong. But if she doesn’t do it, Elena will die.

She presses the blade to Elena’s skin. Her hands shake harder. She can’t do it. She can’t do it. Yet, she moves.

Yulia gasps as she presses down, slicing into Elena’s flesh. She doesn’t breathe. Neither does he. The room is suffocating, like a tomb with no oxygen.

Elena doesn’t react—she is too far gone to react. Yulia is crying now, tears spilling down her face, onto Elena's exposed skin. She isn’t strong enough for this. But the Soldier watches her every movement with his breath sharp, and his shoulders locked so tightly they tremble.

The skin splits. Yulia gags. She wants to vomit. She wants to stop.

"Deeper."

Tears slip down Yulia’s cheeks, but she listens. The incision deepens and the muscle gives way. Blood wells up, hot and dark.

Yulia’s hands shake violently, her vision swimming. "I—"

"Locate the break."

Yulia’s breath shudders violently. "I—I can’t—"

"You will."

She squeezes her eyes shut as she presses her trembling fingers inside. The moment she feels the jagged shift of bone, she nearly collapses. The Soldier inhales sharply.

"Move—move the bone—align it."

Yulia gags, nausea clawing at her throat. "I don’t—I can’t—"

"You must."

Yulia sobs. She doesn’t know if it’s from the horror of what she’s doing or from the terror of knowing that if she fails, Elena will die. With a shaking breath, she adjusts her grip, and moves the rib. A sickening pop reverberates under her fingers.

She gasps violently as her entire body jerks away from the wound. She did it. Yulia slaps a hand over her own mouth, rocking back on her heels as the nausea is crashing through her. She did it, but at what cost?

The Soldier releases a slow, measured breath. He has been holding it.

"More."

Yulia blinks with her vision swimming in hot tears. "What?"

The Soldier breathes harder as his fingers curl into fists. "Not enough. Check... check lung."

Yulia’s stomach lurches. "I—I don’t know how."

"You do." His voice is barely above a whisper, but it is absolute. "She must breathe."

Yulia hesitates, her breath coming in gasps. She doesn’t want to touch Elena anymore. She doesn’t want to make it worse.

"Now."

The order is softer now, but no less urgent.

Yulia swallows her nausea and moves, pressing a trembling hand to Elena’s ribs.

There. Another break beneath her fingers. A sharp displacement where there shouldn’t be one.

"It—it’s bad. If I move it, I could—"

"Fix."

"I don’t—"

"Fix."

Her hands shake harder. "I—I’m not a doctor!"

The Soldier’s breath is ragged. "Now."

She wants to scream. She wants to run. But instead, she presses her palms against Elena’s ribs and shifts the break back into place. The sound it makes—a horrible pop—makes her whole body lurch.

"She—she’s not waking up," Yulia stammers.

The Soldier is breathing hard now, his whole body shaking against the restraints. "Breathe."

"She’s not—"

"Breathe."

Yulia’s hands move on their own, pressing against Elena’s chest desperately.

A beat. Another beat. Then—a gasp. Elena’s body jerks as her breath catches sharply.

Yulia sobs in relief. In terror. In exhaustion.

The Soldier breathes with her.

"Close it."

Yulia hesitates as her pulse is still thrumming in her ears. Her fingers feel foreign and useless, but she forces them to move. She doesn't have time to break.

She grabs the sutures, but her hands are slick— there's too much blood.

"Clean."

She does. She wipes them on the ragged edge of her sleeve, the blood is smearing across the fabric. Her breaths are shallow and unsteady, but she focuses. The stress is so consuming now, that she barely feels like herself anymore.

The first stitch is slow and clumsy. Her fingers tremble, but she forces the needle through flesh, tying off the first suture with a shaky knot. The Soldier watches. Each stitch is a battle against the panic crawling up her throat, against the nausea rolling in her stomach.

Elena still doesn’t move.

The last suture pulls tight. She ties it off. It’s done.

Silence.

Yulia collapses back onto her heels. She barely has any time to ground herself, before the Soldier speaks again.

"Not enough." His voice comes in sharp. "She will freeze."

Yulia blinks, still gasping for breath. "What? No—she’s stable—"

"Cold." The Soldier pulls against the restraints. His movements are jerky and panicked. "She cannot be cold."

Yulia swallows as her heart hammers in her chest. She knows immediately. He is afraid of her freezing.

"She’s—she’s not that cold—" Yulia tries to reason, but the Soldier won't have it.

"Move her."

Yulia frowns. "What?"

"On me." The Soldier’s voice cracks. "Put—put her here." His chest rises sharply. "Now."

Yulia stares at him. He cannot be serious. But oh, he is.

"You—you want me to—"

"Yes."

Yulia flinches. The desperation in his voice—it isn’t like before. This isn’t a command made from force. This is something else entirely, but her mind is too cloudy to figure it out just yet.

She glances at Elena’s still form, then back at the Soldier. He is watching her with his breathing shallow and erratic. His body is shaking. He lost control.

"Too far," he forces out, but his voice is barely a whisper. "Move her."

Yulia’s throat tightens.

"I— I can’t lift her alone," she stammers. "She’s too heavy."

The Soldier jerks so violently against the cuffs that the metal is biting into his skin. "Move her."

Yulia jumps as her trembling hands clench. He is coming apart at the seams. His breath is too uneven, like he’s barely keeping himself from screaming.

"She will freeze. She will freeze." His fingers flex, tugging hard against the chains, but they do not budge. His eyes are locked onto Elena. "Fix it."

Yulia swallows back her own panic and she steps closer. She has never been this close to him—not like this. She can clearly see everything in his eyes, how much he wants to do, but is unable to. She swallows thickly as she watches the Soldier unravel. She needs to do this. Otherwise, he will break.

Her hands shake as she grips Elena’s shoulders. Her muscles are screaming in protest as she tries to lift her. Elena is dead weight. Too heavy.

"I can’t— I can’t just throw her on top of you," Yulia gasps with her arms buckling under Elena’s weight. "I need help!"

The Soldier’s body jerks again. "I cannot." His voice is so raw and broken. "I cannot. I cannot. You must."

Yulia grits her teeth. She has to move. She has to do it. She shifts her grip, her breath hitching as Elena’s body slides limply. She drags her higher as she feels her muscles burning from the effort. The Soldier watches with wide eyes while he is trembling with urgency.

Yulia snarls through gritted teeth, sweat dripping down her face. Elena is slipping.

"No, no, no—" The Soldier thrashes again, and Yulia has never heard that kind of desperation before.

Her breath stutters. "I’m trying, I’m trying—" Her voice cracks as she struggles to lift Elena higher, with her arms shaking uncontrollably.

"Slow. Do not twist."

Yulia nods frantically, adjusting her grip. With the last of her strength, she pulls Elena up and over, pressing her against the Soldier’s chest. The second Elena’s body settles against his, the Soldier shudders violently.

Yulia stumbles back, panting, her lungs burning as she tries to get in as much air as possible. Her whole body shakes in exhaustion. The Soldier's muscles, once locked in unbearable tension, finally relax. His flesh hand moves as much as the restraints allow, finding Elena’s wrist immediately. He grips it gently, pressing two fingers against her pulse.

Once. Again. And again.

Checking. Rechecking. Grounding himself.

Yulia watches, pressing a hand to her chest, still gasping for breath. "You—you okay now?"

The Soldier does not answer. He is not listening to her.

His fingers remain pressed against Elena’s wrist with a light but unrelenting grip. Counting. Checking. Again and again.

His breath still comes sharp, but the urgency has changed. It's no longer the erratic panic from before—now, it is something deeper. His eyes drag over her form, over the way her chest barely rises, how her skin is still too cool against his. Not warm enough.

"Check again," he murmurs. It is not a request.

Yulia hesitates. "I already—"

"Again."

She exhales sharply but obeys. Her fingers press against Elena’s neck, her jaw tightening as she counts under her breath. "Still stable. Pulse is steady. She’s holding on."

The Soldier’s eyes do not leave Elena. His hand tightens slightly over her wrist, as if he's testing the pulse for himself, ensuring Yulia is not lying to him.

She is warm. But not warm enough.

His jaw clenches. Something is wrong. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe it is him.

His free hand, the metal one, remains still at his side, restrained and useless. He cannot assess her properly. Cannot fix it himself.

"Breathe." His voice is low, but commanding.

Yulia’s brows knit together. "She is breathing."

"Louder."

Yulia hesitates, then leans in slightly, listening closer. The sound is faint—too faint—but present.

"It’s there," she says softly. "She’s breathing."

Yulia sits down onto the cold tile floor. Elena is breathing. Alive. She can't take it anymore. This was too much. She needs a moment to stomach the things she's done.

The Soldier exhales, but it is not relief. It is calculation.

He moves slightly—or tries to. The weight of Elena against his chest keeps him grounded with her bare skin pressed against his, the heat of her body barely seeping into his own.

His breath stutters. It's suddenly too much contact. Too much bare skin. He doesn’t understand.

His mind races as he's trying to categorize, to define what is happening. This should be function. Warmth. Stabilization. But it feels like something else, something unknown. He flexes his fingers against her pulse again. Still there. Still steady.

"This is correct," he murmurs to himself. "Positioned correctly. Heat exchange. Circulation."

His voice is almost robotic. Almost.

"Stable. Not cold."

So why isn’t it enough?

His breathing doesn’t slow. His chest feels tight. His muscles coil like something is wrong. There is no threat. No failure. But he cannot let go. He stares at her face and watches the slow, shallow breaths move through her.

"She must not freeze."

The words feel heavier now. He flexes his fingers again. The heat of her wrist against his palm feels fragile. 

His breathing is wrong. He can feel it—the irregularity, the imbalance. His body reacts to something it shouldn’t. Why? He presses his head back against the cold metal of the chair while his fingers are twitching against Elena’s pulse point. Too much heat. Too much sensation. Too much.

But she is still cold. Still too cold.

He shifts slightly beneath her, his restrained arms straining as if to adjust her—to hold her properly. He cannot wrap his arms around her, and the thought unsettles him more than it should. His fingers slide down to her forearm, feeling the soft skin, the fine texture of it. This is different. This is not combat.

"Not necessary," he whispers under his breath. But he does not pull away.

His brow furrows. He has felt human skin before, in training, in kill missions. But never like this. Never… never like something fragile. He forces his breath to steady, listening for hers, counting each shallow rise of her chest. The rhythm is wrong. But it is there.

He does not understand why he keeps counting.

"Alive," he says, his voice hoarse. "Warm."

Then why does it still feel like something is wrong?

His jaw tightens, his fingers twitc as he grips her wrist. He is supposed to let go now. She is stabilized. The task is complete.

But he doesn’t.

His breath shudders as he listens to her heartbeat through his fingertips, the steady rhythm against his palm. It is steady. It is real.

"Alive" he murmurs again.

Meanwhile, Yulia shifts on her feet, exhaling shakily as she wipes her bloodstained hands on her torn uniform. Her heartbeat finally died down from her ears as she grounded herself to reality. Elena is stable now. They did it.

"Alright," Yulia mutters, forcing her exhausted body to move. "We need to get her off of you. She’ll rest better somewhere else."

She reaches forward to lift Elena—and stops.

The Soldier doesn’t let go.

Yulia frowns. "Hey—"

His grip on Elena’s wrist tightens.

She blinks. "She’s fine now. She doesn’t need to be here anymore."

No response.

Yulia places her hands under Elena’s shoulders and tries to shift her weight—barely a fraction of movement—the Soldier jerks. A sharp inhale, a twitch of his metal arm against the restraints—his entire body tenses as if she had just ripped something away from him.

Yulia pulls back, startled. What the hell?

She tries again, slower this time. "She’ll be more comfortable—"

"No."

The single word is hoarse.

Yulia’s stomach twists. She stares at him. "No?"

The Soldier doesn’t even look at her, his focus is entirely on Elena. His flesh fingers remain curled around her wrist, while his metal arm is straining against the cuffs like he’s trying to reach—trying to hold her tighter but can’t.

Yulia swallows as a sudden uneasy feeling flods right through her. What is this?

"She needs to rest," Yulia tries again. "She’ll be safer—"

"Stays."

The sharpness in his tone makes her flinch. She stares at him. "She stays?"

His grip flexes, just slightly.

"You’re… holding onto her," Yulia says, almost to herself. A chill runs down her spine. "She’s not going anywhere. She’s stable now. You don’t have to—"

"Stays."

The exact same word. The exact same tone. Yulia’s heartbeat stutters. This isn’t normal, this isn’t anything she has ever seen from him before. She watches his stiff, unreadable face, as she tries to figure the reason out. This is no longer function. He should let go. Why doesn't he?

She tries to move Elena again, just slightly. The Soldier tenses. Every muscle locks, his breathing turns harsh. Yulia lets go immediately, raising her hands in surrender. 

"Okay. Okay, relax. I’m not—"

He doesn’t relax.

His fingers tighten around Elena’s wrist, as much as his restraint allows, and Yulia swears she sees his jaw tremble.

"Why won’t you let her go?" she whispers.

The Soldier says nothing, but his grip says everything. He's breathing hard now, visibly shaking, with his chest rising and falling too fast. He looks like he is being torn apart.

"Stays," he grits out, and this time, his voice is almost broken.

Then, he does something that makes Yulia startle. 

His fingers, still locked around Elena’s wrist, shift just slightly—just enough for his thumb to move, and he strokes the inside of her wrist. It's soft and subtle, an unconscious movement. She stares at his hand, watching as his thumb moves again in slow, instinctual motions.

She almost thinks she is hallucinating, but then he does it again. A trembling motion—not once, but twice, three times—his fingers brushing over Elena’s pulse in a pattern, like he’s memorizing it. Yulia's breath catches. She looks up at his face, expecting calculation and focus, but instead, she finds him watching Elena. Not as an asset or a mission.

Her mind stumbles over itself as soon as she's hit with the realization.

Oh.

Oh.

"You feel for her."

The words barely leave Yulia’s lips before the Soldier reacts.

His entire body jolts as his muscles lock so tight that it looks downright painful. He panics as hand tightens around Elena’s wrist too hard, almost bruising it.

"No."

The response is immediate. Automatic.

Yulia blinks, startled. "What—"

"No," he repeats, his voice cold. "Not allowed."

She understands it instantly—the panic laced into his sharp breaths, the tension in his shoulders. He’s not just denying it. He’s terrified.

Yulia studies him. "Not allowed?"

The Soldier nods. "It is not permitted."

She exhales. This is his programming speaking. She recognizes it now, the instinct to reject anything that suggests he could be more than a weapon. 

"I understand. You’re not supposed to feel," she says softly.

His fingers twitch. "Weapon does not feel. Weapon does not defy. Weapon does not—"

Yulia claps back immediately. "Okay, then let me move Elena—"

"No!"

The word tears out of him loudly and desperately. His fingers clamp down hard, pulling Elena toward him, protecting her, shielding her. His metal arm strains violently against the cuffs, the metal groaning under the pressure.

Yulia looks at him knowingly. That was pure instinct, just like she predicted. The Soldier stares at her in disbelief, like it is her fault that he reacted in any way. Then, just as fast, panic spreads across his face as he turns his head towards Elena.

"Compromised," he whispers, voice cracking slightly. "I am compromised."

Yulia’s heart clenches. God.

"No," she says firmly. "That’s not what this is."

His chest rises in sharp, quick inhales. "Compromised. Malfunctioning. Error."

"No." Yulia’s voice is steady for once. "That’s not being compromised. That’s being human."

His eyes snap up to her then, wide, dark, terrified. "No."

It comes out as a plea. As if the word was a curse in itself.

"They told you this was weakness, didn’t they?" Yulia presses, taking a careful step closer.

His fingers twitch. He doesn’t blink.

"That if you ever felt anything, you were compromised. That it made you defective and useless."

His throat bobs as he swallows hard as his entire body vibrates with tension. This is the first time he’s ever been forced to confront it, and it's confusing him.

"You’re not defective," she says gently. Then, she looks down to Elena. "Just like she said."

She was right all along.

The weight of the realization settles over Yulia like a heavy, inescapable avalanche. He feels.

She stands there, frozen, as the truth coils itself around her thoughts, forcing her to accept something she never thought possible. The Winter Soldier—HYDRA’s perfect machine—is not a machine at all. And worse, he feels for Elena.

Her chest tightens, and for a brief, ugly moment, something sharp twists inside of her. 

It should have been her.

Yulia clenches her jaw, shoving the thought down before it can take root. No. No, that’s not fair.

She watches him, the way he still clings to Elena’s wrist, the way his forehead remains pressed lightly against the side of her head, as if that single point of contact is keeping him steady and grounded.

Elena always knew. She always believed. And she doubted her.

Yulia swallows hard as her shame is creeping in alongside the jealousy. Of course, it’s Elena. Of course, it’s the woman who never stops fighting, who never stops believing, who stares down monsters and sees the broken pieces inside them. And now, here he is—a man who doesn’t even know what he is feeling, but still holding on like he’ll shatter if he lets go.

Yulia exhales slowly. "She cares about you, you know."

The Soldier doesn’t move but he listens. Yulia can see it in the subtle tilt of his head, in the stillness of his shoulders. He is absorbing her words.

"She’s been fighting for you this whole time," Yulia continues, her voice less guarded now. "Even when it didn’t make sense. Even when everyone—when I—thought she was insane for it."

The Soldier’s fingers twitch against Elena’s wrist, as if he recognizes something in Yulia’s words but doesn’t know what.

She laughs, short and bitter. "I didn’t believe her. I thought she was delusional. And now—"

She doesn't finish. The Soldier’s breathing is slow and measured. Too measured. Like he’s forcing himself to stay still, to take in what she’s saying without breaking apart. Yulia hesitates before taking another step forward. She shouldn’t say this. But she does anyway.

"She wasn’t wrong."

The Soldier finally lifts his gaze from Elena, meeting Yulia’s eyes for the first time. There is something lost in them. Searching.

Yulia watches him carefully now, the sharp edges of her emotions dulling into something softer, almost painful. "You don’t know why you feel, do you?"

The Soldier blinks slowly with his breath unsteady. Like a child hearing a new word for the first time.

"I don’t think you ever had the chance to understand it."

His jaw shifts, his grip still tight on Elena’s wrist, as if he’s holding onto the only thing that makes sense. Yulia looks back up at him, at the way his fingers still ghost over Elena’s pulse; like he’s terrified it will disappear, like she is his only tether to anything real.

And Yulia finally understands. Not just him and Elena. She understands why she was jealous. Not because she wanted what Elena had. But because she wanted to be what Elena was. 

Someone worth holding onto.

She exhales shakily and takes a step back, her voice softer now. "She deserves to know."

The Soldier jerks as if he was struck; his body instantly locking tight as his breathing turns sharp erratic. His fingers clamp down on Elena’s wrist too hard and sudden, while his metal arm strains against the restraints, the sound of groaning metal filling the silence.

"No." The word rips from his throat.

Yulia blinks, startled by the sheer force of his reaction. "She has a right to know—"

"No." Harsher this time. His grip tightens, his body coiling like a live wire ready to snap. "Not allowed. Not permitted."

He speaks like a man reciting something beaten into him. 

Yulia studies him, watching the way his chest heaves, the way his metal arm trembles despite its strength.

Fear.

"She won’t be angry at you," Yulia tries. "She would never—"

"No." His voice fractures, splintering at the edges. "No—no—" He shakes his head sharply, as if he's trying to rid himself of something crawling under his skin. "She—she—Punishment. No."

Realization slams into Yulia like ice.

He doesn’t care about himself. He’s afraid for Elena. 

"The operative will know," she presses gently. "That’s what you’re afraid of."

There's a flicker in his gaze—panic, understanding. His hands shake where they hold Elena, and that's the only movement he makes. He doesn’t confirm it. He doesn’t have to.

"You’re protecting her," Yulia murmurs.

The Soldier doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink. But everything is written in the way he holds her, the way he shields her even now, like he is waiting for someone to rip her away from him.

Slowly, carefully, Yulia reaches out.

Her fingers touch his cold, rigid metal wrist. Just barely, a light press. A reassurance. She doesn’t pull, doesn’t push. Just lets him feel that she is here, that she understands.

"Okay," Yulia says quietly. "I won’t tell."

His breath shudders in relief.

Yulia gives him a moment, then carefully, gently, tries again. "Let me take her now."

His fingers don’t move. He stays locked and frozen, watching Elena.

She waits, not forcing or rushing him. She's letting him decide, just like Elena would. There's a long beat of silence before—finally—his fingers relax. Not much, just enough so Yulia can take her. She doesn’t waste time. She lifts Elena as carefully as possible, pulling her weight off of him. 

The Soldier stays completely still. His hands remain open and empty, like something important has been taken from him. But he doesn’t stop her. His breathing remains ragged as he stares at his own hands, as if they weren't even his.

Meanwhile, Yulia moves, supporting Elena’s weight as best she can, carrying her to the small cot in the corner of the operating room. She lays her down gently, adjusting her so she’s as comfortable as possible in such a place. Safe. Or as safe as she can be.

The moment Elena is settled, Yulia straightens. Her movements are slower now. Heavy. The weight of what just happened still pressing into her ribs.

She turns back to the Soldier.

He hasn’t moved. He sits there, shackled and silent, his hands open, empty, and lost. His gaze remains fixed on Elena, watching, searching—ready to jump.

Yulia hesitates, then steps closer.

"She won’t know. When she wakes up, she’ll never know. I promise."

But the Soldier knows. And as he stares at Elena, he wonders if feeling something is worse than feeling nothing at all.

[twistedteatime]

Howling Witch Teaser 1

A/N: I'm at 82k and not done yet, but I feel like sharing a smidge. So I thought I'd give a teaser just over the first 1% of what I have so far. Keep in mind it's not really edited and subject to revision. (Also: if you notice a word that doesn't fit, like a he where a the should be or something like that: It's my keyboard. It's not the best. Let me know if you find any and I'll fix it.)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (3rd person POV)

Word Count: 861

Warnings: Talk of canon violent events? Nothing else that I can really think of. Not yet at least.

Masterlist (You'll find the main info post link there)

Cedar. No, not quite. The conifers of the Timber were far too tall to be cedar, but their scent was closer to it than the massive redwoods they resembled. At least at the bottom. Their tufts at the top more closely resembled the dense firs of what had once been home.

They cast a comfortable shade over the forest floor covered in a thick carpet of moss and fern. Their limbs and branches blocked out the sun enough she didn’t need the sunglasses perched on top of her head pulled down over her eyes, but not so much that the ferns couldn’t grow. Just enough.

Birds nested and flittered about in the branches overhead. Their songs distant due to the height they resided in. Deer meandered through the ferns, looking at her warily as they chewed vegetation. They knew she was a predator, but they also knew she wasn’t hunting them.

She wasn’t there for that.

She was wasn’t there to hunt or to chase. She never was with this patch of Timber. Others, yes, but this one…no. This one was special.

The atmosphere weighed differently. It had a comfortable heaviness to it. The same kind an understanding mother’s hug had when it came close to crushing with care, warmth, and safety. Knowing it was needed.

It made the memories rattle against their bars in her mind. She was tempted to let them out. Yet the crunching of footsteps far too heavy to be a deer and the scent of another predator approaching stopped her.

“What is it Tanis?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at the tall, well-built, and muscular male that stood before her.

He was calm yet tense. At the ready. Bright amber eyes serious instead of playful as was their usual.

“We just got word. They’re bringing him out.”

“Where?”

“The States. DC.”

“When?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“Where’s Ruun?” she asked, locking the cages tighter.

“He’s in a conference call with Leadership. Your presence is requested. They’re expecting potential problems.” He answered and continued, “Maggie says she’s got something in The Eye about Insight, too. This could be it.”

“Rogers?”

“He’s the expected problem.”

She nodded and turned to start walking out, “Tell Ruun to triple my fees then get packed. Full. Tac, two suits, whole kit.”

“Alright. Other orders?” he asked and she nodded.

“I may regret it but tell Maggie to do the same. Ruun will stay in my stead.” She added and he nodded with a shrug of his brows.

“I really hope you don’t mean to put me at the mercy of Maggie flying something.” He said and she looked at him.

“I don’t mean to, but we’ll need her.”

“Anyone else?”

“Light detail, just you two with me. Heavier detail in reserve. We’ll need it for the aftermath…however it goes.” She answered and he nodded, listening as she detailed what to expect as they left the calm comfort of the Timber, lowering her sunglasses onto her face to block out the stinging of the sun.

It was time for her to hunt.

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

“I know who killed Fury.”

That one sentence had stopped Steve long enough to listen. The Winter Soldier. An assassin with over two dozen credited hits over the past 50 years. A ghost story, yet what she said next made something in him squirm.

More than he already was.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from trying to track him down…it’s that whenever he appears…she follows soon after.” Natasha said and Steve looked at her, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“She?”

“Like I said…he’s a ghost story, but her…she’s something different. Something the intelligence community doesn’t want to acknowledge. Him? Most don’t believe he exists. Her? They don’t want to.” Natasha continued, glancing out the door before continued, “They call her The Howling Witch. She’s not human, Steve…not anymore. Rumors are that she used to be but she isn’t now. Some say she’s been active longer than he has, that her focus was on wiping out entire facilities but that it all changed around the same time he started cropping up. Some intelligence exists about her…but when I found it…it was wiped before I could even get through most of it.”

“That sounds like she’s important.” Steve said and Natasha nodded, “Does she show up to finish what he starts or to stop it?”

“Bit of both from what I saw…but if you ask me…I think she’s hunting him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. All I got to see on those files was her codename, hit count, a huge block of black in the abilities and powers section, and a lot of fill in the blank descriptions of her encounters with him.” Natasha answered as she looked at Steve, “She’s definitely got sniper training…but as good of a shot as they say she is…she’s never shot at him to take him out. The reports always said she shot down those he was with…and they said she always shows up when he does…and she’s always gone when he is.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not but maybe we can get some answers by finding out what The Winter Soldier wants.”

*******

Masterlist (You'll find the main info post link there)

[mercurial-chuckles]

Permanence

| Part 01: Echoes of Reverie

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC x Bucky Barnes | Stucky x OFC (I referred to her as she/her, as requested, to help with connection, and only used her name where it felt relevant) Warnings: Fluff | Angst | Slight Pining | Angry Bucky | Poly relation | Eventual Smut Galore | Eventual Fluff Galore | ~4.5k | Canon divergent | Named OFC: Lienna Nightingale | Happy ending (it's me!) | Kept the warnings basic 'coz I don't wanna reveal a lot | Unbeta'd | Lemme know if I'm missing anything. A/N: This is my first-ever OFC, so forgive any indiscretions. 😅 I'm super nervous, TBH! I have a lot of people to thank. Firstly, thank you for trusting my writing enough to send in this beautiful ask @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog You know how much I adore this story, and I hope I do it justice. I'm truly sorry for how long I sat on this one--I know it's special to you, just as it is to me. I really hope I deliver. Thank you for bearing with me for so long, dear. And thanks to @stellar-solar-flare , @buck-star , @late-to-the-party-81 Every teeny suggestion helps! You guys are the absolute best! 🩷 This is also my submission for Stucky Bingo | Prompt: Adrenaline | @stuckybingo Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner and Divider made by me. Picture credits to the internet! Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

New York City, 2011

Steve felt a little queasy. Maybe skipping breakfast wasn't the best idea. But he was too excited to care. Watching the game with Bucky and her, especially from the incredible seats Mr. Barnes had scored for them, was more than enough to keep his spirits high.

Curveball. High and outside for ball one.

It was a pleasant day. The bright blue summer sky gleamed, cloudless, and Steve was so happy, that he was practically floating on cloud nine. He felt strange though, like he'd lived through this memory countless times, and yet, he didn't want it to end.

"Hey, give 'em to me, punk. You gonna eat it all?" Bucky's voice rang loud and warm in his ear, right as he yanked the fries out of Steve's hand.

"Let him eat, Buck," She grumbled. She reached over, snatched the fries back from Bucky's grip, and handed it to Steve, her fingers brushing his. Then, the little menace she was, she dipped into the fries Steve had been cradling and stole a few for herself.

"Hey, now. I said I'd buy extra," Steve teased, holding the fries behind him far from her reach with a smirk that made her squint at him in mock irritation.

"Guess you'll have to make that run anyway, punk," Bucky laughed, nudging him. She and Bucky both doubled over, cackling. Steve turned only to find a little kid who'd wandered over and taken a fistful of his fries, grinning up at him. Steve chuckled and gave him the rest.

"Sharing your food? You might be the kindest man I've ever met," she said, with that beautiful smile that revealed a tiny dimple on her left cheek and never failed to make his heart flutter. Bucky caught his gaze and winked, grinning like a devil. Steve felt his face flush, heat creeping up his neck.

"Shut up," Steve muttered turning his focus to the field, but his mind was on the two people beside him.

Steve leaned back into the warmth beside him, Bucky's shoulder solid against him. She clutched his other arm, her delicate fingers laced with his own, eyes fixed on the game. This was home. The game in the background, the cheer of the crowd, and the two people he loved on either side. Perfect.

But there was that queasy sensation again. Steve shifted, and for a moment, he thought he felt something soft pressing against his head.

Suddenly, he was no longer in the Ebbet's field.

.

.

She sat beside him on the windowsill of his apartment, squeezing his shoulder lightly, assuring.

"You've got me, Steve. Bucky will be fine," she said, but he could sense she didn't believe that either, but he held onto her hand tightly. She leaned her head onto his shoulder as they stared at the Hudson, watching boats float by.

Something felt off.

Was he dreaming?

.

.

His surroundings shifted to that dreadful afternoon when he received the letter with a small pocket watch and a tiny feather. She left him. She left him. He cried unbothered as he read the letter sitting on that wobbly chair in Chicago's USO tour. Steve felt his world close in.

It all faded again, and then he was somewhere else. Bucky beside him in his uniform. A bar. 'Listen to me, Steve. Once this is over, we're gonna find her,' Steve could only nod at the conviction in Bucky's voice as he stared at Bucky's raging blues.

"Steve," Bucky's voice became more muffled this time. What's that noise? A train? He was on the train.

"STEVE."

"BUCKY…Buck...hold on."

Bucky looked up at him silently, fearfully. He lost the grip on the bar and Steve couldn't reach him in time.

Bucky fell, and Steve jumped after him.

~

Steve's eyes flickered open. He blinked a few times; the pale white ceiling came into focus. He frowned. He was in a room. Everything came to him at light speed. The memory of him crashing into the water, thoughts of Bucky and her before he felt the cold seep through, lulling him unconscious.

So, the Dodgers are tied, 4-4.

But he was there at the game. Then why was it being broadcast? Something wasn't right.

And the crowd well knows that with one swing of his bat, this fellow's capable of making it a brand-new game again.

Steve remembered Bucky and him assuring her that the game would turn.

Just an absolutely gorgeous day here at Ebbets Field.

It was. Steve knew that. He remembered filling pages and pages of memories from that day. She looked exceptionally pretty. She wore a white dress, with faded prints of lilacs and poppy flowers, spattered across her dress. Bucky wore a much darker shade of blue shirt than him. He looked so young and handsome.

Steve felt the softness of the bed, the light sifting through the window too bright as his focus shifted to the room around. It looked like a hospital room, the fancier kind. The radio looked familiar, and the flowers smelled fresh, too.

The Phillies have managed to tie it up at 4-4. But the Dodgers have three men on.

The memory of crashing into the arctic water rushed into the forefront of his mind, and he mentally scanned his body, but the pain was the last thing he felt.

Pearson beaned Resiser in Philadelphia last month.

Steve vividly remembered the day. Dodgers win. Bucky, Lienna and he had gone to the little Italian place two blocks from Ebbets Field after the game. His memory was sharp, and it was that game, the day that remained one of his most treasured memories.

Something was terribly off. Where was he? Did he die? Was this some afterlife thing? Would he find Bucky like he thought? Would she be here?

Wouldn't the youngster like a hit here to return the favor? Pete leans in. Here's the pitch.

Steve's enhanced hearing picked up noises from outside the room. Kids playing, some buzzing, cars running, two people talking outside.

'What are you doing here, agent?'

'Vitals?'

'Agent.' Steve picked up from the conversation. Was this Hydra?

Steve turned back to see the potential exits. The window seemed possible, but something was wrong. He could see the people in the building, but they were blurred and moving in a loop.

Swung on. A line to the right. And it gets past Rizzo.

'Stay alert,' he heard from outside the door. Footsteps approached the door, and Steve's heart picked up.

Three runs will score. Reiser heads to third. Durocher's going to wave him in. Here comes the relay, but they won't get him.

The door opened, and a woman entered.

"Good morning," she smiled, closing the door and standing near it, blocking. "Or should I say afternoon?" Steve gathered she was an American. Was this the agent?

"Where am I?" He asked, his throat felt rough, unused. He needed water.

"You're in a recovery room in New York City," she said.

The Dodgers take the lead, 8-4. Oh, Dodgers!

Steve heard a distant whistle and turned to look through the window again, nothing had changed.

Everyone is on their feet! What a game we have here today, folks! What a game, indeed.

The woman was lying clearly.

"Where am I really?" Steve asked again, listening intently to the conversation outside. He could hear men talking, walking closer.

"I'm afraid I don't understand." She said.

"The game. It's from May 1941. I know, 'coz I was there." Steve told her firmly. "Now, I'm gonna ask you again. Where am I?" Steve could sense her fear, and he noticed her hand flicking to something behind. Was it a weapon? He could jump out of the windows, but those windows didn't seem right to him. The door was the only option.

"Captain Rogers…"

Steve heard more footsteps and hurried voices.

"Who are you?" Steve yelled.

The door opened, and two men entered, and Steve punched them right through the door before they approached. They went flying and fell into the hallway, cracking open the whole space.

The room was a setup. Where the hell was he?

Was it Hydra? But how could that be possible? Did they find him?

Doors burst open as he charged through level after level of the mysterious, clinical-looking facility.

Something was terribly wrong. Where was he? Was this Hydra? Did they capture him after all? He most definitely didn't feel this was an afterlife.

'All agents, code 13!' He heard through the speakers. He dashed through the double doors and there were more men in suits. He saw two armed men on the end, and Steve took off through the other end of the hallway and out through the exit.

Shit. Shit.

He ran as fast as he could, but his steps faltered as he took in his surroundings.

His mind exploded. Lights in broad daylight. Massive screens. Towering buildings. Crowds. Noise.

Steve stood frozen. This was wrong.

His breathing quickened. A thousand questions flooded his mind, memories clashing with the overwhelming reality before him. Too many people. Crowd. Loud. Honking.

What were those? Cars? They looked different.

"At ease, Soldier," he heard. A man with an eye patch approached. Steve's thoughts went berserk. Who was he? Should he punch the other eye and run for it?

"Look. I'm sorry about the little show back there, but," the man started speaking, sighing before he continued, "We thought it best to break it to you slowly." He said.

"Break what?" Steve asked, confused out of his wits.

"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost 70 years," he said.

Steve felt his ground shift.

No.

No.

No.

When he took down the jet, Steve felt an eerie kind of peace. In his final moments, he let himself believe he'd saved her, along with the countless others who'd never known him. It was poetic, really. He'd taken the serum for her, after all. For a chance at a future they were never granted, and maybe--just maybe--he'd see Bucky again if there was an afterlife.

Fate, however, deemed he needed to simply suffer.

"You gonna be okay?" The man asked.

Steve said nothing as melancholy settled thickly in his mind.

What would he do in a world without Bucky and her?

Skovheim, Norway, 2011

It was bitterly cold. She draped the throw blanket from the couch, hoping to keep herself warm. She hated the cold. It reminded her of terrible times, times of loss.

She'd pushed those thoughts away and went to check on the cake. Plum. His absolute favorite. She turned off the oven and set the cake on the tray to let it cool.

The clock ticked past seven, and the branches of the birch tree outside rattled on the kitchen window. The wind picked up. It had been raining since morning, which was rare for this time of year.

Bucky was never late.

Fear mounted her by the second.

She turned off the light in the kitchen to get a glimpse down the winding road.

The sensors had stopped working and needed to be replaced. Bucky had installed several of them, starting from the point where the hidden road to their cottage began, down at the base of the hill.

The cottage was located up the steep hill, hidden by luscious trees, with a patch of birch trees between the thick coverage. It was beautiful, to say the least, but most importantly, it was strategic. One side was shielded by the edge of the mountain, which overlooked the sea, and there was only one way of entry and no residences nearby.

She told herself the roads were probably flooded--or maybe there were fallen trees. Bucky was a supersoldier; moving a tree or two would be nothing for him. Still, unease coiled tight in her chest. She could sense him, just like she had always known he was alive--even back when the world grieved Sgt. Barnes' heroic death in World War II. She knew Bucky was alive. But she worried. She was, after all, more human. Moments like this made her wish she had the power to teleport.

She didn't want him to go in the first place, but they were running low on groceries, and Bucky was fretting about replacing the sensors and security system. Usually, night was a safer time to avoid interaction with the townsfolk. Also, Arne, their trusted contact, was to meet with Bucky in the town to deliver the equipment, monitors, transponders, sensors, and a few others. She hated that she couldn't convince Bucky to let her join. James Buchanan Barnes was a stubborn man, alright.

She heard a distant roar and ran toward the window; she could barely make the lights--one brighter than the other--of their pickup truck in the foggy downpour. She ran and waited by the door. Her nerves wouldn't settle until she saw him.

She stood by the door. 'Come on. Come on,' she chanted. After a few minutes, she heard the shuffling behind the door.

Then came the creak of the door--a groan against the frame that made her freeze.

Silence.

Then, two knocks. Two seconds apart.

Her body moved before she could breathe in relief, hand on the knob, waiting.

He'd drilled it into her head: Never open unless you hear the knock.

She unlatched the door and let it swing open against the push of the wind.

Bucky stepped inside, closing the door behind him, with more force than necessary. Water dripped from the hem of his coat, pooling on the wood floor. The cap was soaked, plastered to his head, shadowing his eyes.

He didn't greet her with the usual, 'I'm here, I'm okay.' in that gentle tone like he usually assured her every time he returned.

She searched his eyes, worry wrecking her gut.

"I'm fine," Bucky muttered after a few seconds, eyes flicking to her face.

She let out a sigh of relief. He seemed off but she didn't think much about it, more worried that he was soaked to the bones.

"You're drenched," she said, worried.

"It's pouring," he offered with a faint, bitter chuckle, trying to toe off his boots, but they were sloppy wet, squelching with the slightest movement.

"You don't say," she chuckled, trying to tug the boot off as he shifted his weight.

"I got it," he hissed sharply.

She stilled immediately, retrieving her hand and standing up. Bucky rarely got this way. Touch used to bother him a few years ago. But for the last couple of years, it seemed like he was past that. Now, her mind was back to worrying.

"Are you okay?" She asked softly. Bucky stiffened. Her focus shifted to his right hand, fisted tightly around the box in his hand. He seemed to notice as he flexed his palm, and he dropped the box beside the door, along with two other bags, wordlessly.

She dragged the old chair from the dining table, the legs scraping softly across the wood.

He lowered himself into the chair, broad shoulders hunched, clothes clinging to his body and accentuating his form. Bucky didn't meet her eyes, removing his shoes, almost tearing them off his feet.

She reached for his cap and gently tugged it off his head. He finally looked at her, and she was pretty sure he looked miffed.

"You'll get sick," she muttered.

"I don't get sick," he quipped.

She tutted, his mood firing up her frustration further, but she knew nothing would yield when he was in a mood. She'd wait to ask questions later, once he showered and ate.

"Hang up your things. I'll make you some tea. Don't take long in the shower." She said.

She noticed the stiffness in his shoulder as he walked to the bathroom at the far end of the living room. That shoulder must be acting up again. The cold always made it worse. She wondered if he'd let her ease the pain in peace or if she'd have to coax him into it.

By the time Bucky returned from the shower and changed into his joggers and Henley, she had mopped the floor and unpacked the groceries from the waterproof bags.

His hair was still wet, droplets falling. It was fricking cold, and this man didn't flinch. It bothered her how blatantly reckless he was with his health. It bothered her how much he affected her, all while looking infuriatingly gorgeous. She'd rather not delve into those waters. It was a dangerous realm.

So, she ignored the trickling water droplets down the expanse of his neck and internally berated herself. She handed him the cup of tea and turned to fetch a dry towel. Bucky's gaze followed her as she walked to get another dry towel.

She noticed him eyeing the cake when she returned with a towel. "You're not getting a single piece if you don't dry your hair right now," She said, pushing the towel toward him.

"Is that so," he sniggered, looking down at her, and she caught the sly twitch of his pink lips before he turned to sit on the couch.

Bucky wasn't the man she remembered from the 40s--the playful, flirty, sassy, nerdy boy from Brooklyn. Hydra had changed him immensely so. It had been almost a decade since he escaped their clutches, a decade since she found him. He was healing slowly but surely. She'd like to believe that. They'd been through a lot, collectively as well as individually. So, the little glimpses of the lost man always rejoiced her.

Eventually, he'd get there. He had to.

"Stop it, you'll hurt your neck," She chastised when she noticed him vigorously moving his head against the towel. She pulled the towel from his grasp, at least tried. Initially, Bucky didn't budge but he reluctantly let go. She smiled, victorious, as he slumped into the couch and sighed, letting her gently towel off his hair.

She knew he hadn't slept well last night. He'd almost finished reading the book he had started--she noticed the bookmark.

Every time he had to go into the town, he got tense. Bucky wouldn't tell her, but she knew it. They'd been living and navigating through this life for a few years now. Though she was grateful he'd come a long way, Bucky still had a long winding road ahead to fully heal.

"That's how you do it, Sgt Barnes," She jested, pulling his hair back into a small bun. He let out a satisfied hum, which made her stomach flip.

"Hand me that scrunchie," she asked.

He leaned over, tugging her gently along the couch as she held his hair up. That's when she noticed him flinching.

"Bucky?" She quickly tied his hair and moved around to sit beside him on the couch. She tried to reach for his hand, but he pulled away.

"Bucky," she prompted, this time pleading.

He sighed, pulling the sleeve of his right arm up his veiny forearm, and the long gash of red and blue bruise marred on his skin. If his serum didn't already heal, it only meant the bruise was worse, to begin with.

"What happened?" She asked, worried and angry that he hadn't told her about it.

"It's nothing," he dismissed, "Got a flat, had to change the tire in the nasty weather. Hurt myself," he finished, already pulling away, but she held onto it with all her strength, fighting him. He didn't look guilty, unlike the other times when he hid his injuries or sufferings. He looked unapologetic.

"Bucky."

"Anna," he murmured.

"Shut up and stay put," She hissed, livid. This wasn't the first time, and she knew it wasn't going to be the last. Bucky loved to suffer, and he thought he was reaping all the consequences of his actions. She'd fight this war with him until she won despite losing the battles every now and then.

She cupped her palm over his bruise and closed her eyes, feeling the warmth emanate. She felt the faint, dizzying sensation. When she opened her eyes, the bruise faded, and the skin on his warm forearm looked normal, with no sign of the gash anymore.

Bucky's silence was telling, the sharp tick of the jaw and the crease between his brows, and she waited for a long moment, but he said nothing.

"What?" She asked, not being able to bear his silence anymore.

"Nothing." He bit out rather harshly.

"I can't see you hurt," those words hurtled before she could stop. In an attempt to belie her vulnerability--her love, she got up from there, hoping to fade her emotional turmoil. She blinked back the tears threatening to spill and made her way to the kitchen, willing her thoughts to quiet as she focused on heating up dinner.

"Bucky, dinner's ready," she called out, surprised to see him already near his bedroom door.

He paused, hand resting on the doorknob. "I'm not hungry," he muttered.

"I made your favorite cake," she said softly, trying to coax him. She hated it when he went without eating. He hadn't skipped a meal in a long time, not since the early days after escaping Hydra, when nausea haunted him daily. She knew too well that when the mind is in chaos, the appetite is usually the first thing to go.

"Not hungry," he repeated, more bitterly this time, before disappearing into his room and closing the door behind him.

~

She couldn't sleep--not until she knew he was. She got up to get a glass of water when she heard him cry out.

"NO. PLEASE. NO."

Bucky was sobbing, groaning.

She dropped the bottle, heart pounding, and ran to his room. The door was open, thankfully. But he wasn't in bed. She switched on the table lamp and found him curled on the floor.

"Buck. Hey, hey…it's okay," she called, crouching and reaching for his face.

"No… not you," he cried, grabbing her wrist in a panic.

"It's a dream, Bucky. Wake up."

He jolted awake, eyes red and glassy, staring at her.

"It was just a dream," she soothed, wiping his face. He grasped her hands, pressing her palms to his cheeks. Bucky pulled her into his lap.

"You're hurt, Anna," he gasped, frantically inspecting her neck and arms and turning her hands over.

"Bucky, I'm alright. Just a bad dream," she whispered, eyes stinging.

"Breathe. You're okay. I'm okay."

"I…" he choked, then pulled her into a tight hug, sobbing into her shoulder. She held him just as tightly, tears falling freely now.

"I'll get you some water," she whispered after a moment. But he wouldn't let go.

"Okay… okay… just lie down with me. I'm not going anywhere," she murmured, gently easing him back on the bed and snuggling into his warmth.

~

In an attempt to calm him, she talked about random things--from constellations to the book she'd been reading, which she thought was horrible, and why. He let out a throaty chuckle when she told him they should seriously reconsider the situation with Gollum, the alpine hare they'd named, who visited their humble garden now and then and caused a ruckus.

Eventually, she convinced him to let her make some tea. He followed her to the kitchen without a word.

"Buck…" she started, unsure.

She slid the mug toward him. He leaned onto the counter and slowly sipped. She studied him for a long moment and then asked softly, "What happened out there?" She was pretty sure something was bothering him.

He didn't answer immediately. Bucky took a few slow sips.

"I saw Hagen," Bucky said finally, eyes fully focused on her.

She stilled. Her eyes widened as things clicked into place. The subtle hostility when he'd returned home that evening. The nightmare that followed. It all made sense now.

She had chalked it all up to the rain--he was soaked through when he walked in. She should've guessed that his silence was more telling than his words.

She didn't expect this.

The odds of that encounter were next to none tonight. That's what she'd counted on. Exactly five days ago, when Bucky made the trip to the city to place an order with Arne, their electronics guy, she'd ventured alone into town. She'd broken his most sacred rule--never go anywhere without me.

But they lived in a far corner of nowhere, surrounded by mountains and mist, and the town was safe even if Bucky thought otherwise.

Mr. and Mrs. Hagen, who owned the small bookstore they frequented, were kind people. That day, she'd noticed how worn Mr. Hagen looked, how his eyes sagged with worry. When she gently asked about it, he told her Mrs. Hagen's health was failing. And when he asked if she wanted to see Mrs. Hagen, she agreed.

Mrs. Hagen was a lovely lady. She and Bucky visited the store every now and then, hoarding books as they both enjoyed reading, and Mrs. Hagen often added a couple of books onto the pile for free. 'You can never have enough books.'

"He thinks it was a miracle," Bucky said flatly. "Said you visited," Bucky bit out loud.

When she said nothing, he snapped, "Anna."

Bucky stared at her. His jaw tightened. "It fucking makes sense why you looked off that day. You know the price of using your gift."

"She was dying, Buck," She said quietly, not turning around. "I couldn't walk away."

"And what about…you?" His voice dropped lower. "What happens when someone gets a whiff?" He gritted out.

She looked at him. The shadow above him from the kitchen light cut sharp lines across his face, making him look like a sculpted god. Albeit an angry-looking god.

"She was suffering." She said, moving her gaze onto the foggy kitchen window.

"That doesn't matter," he growled.

Bucky stepped forward, his right hand finding her elbow as he tugged her toward him. She didn't resist.

"Look at me." Bucky gritted out, frustration marring his features.

Her gaze rose slowly to meet his, guilty.

"What were you thinking?" he asked sharply. She could see the pain in him.

"I was thinking she would've died."

"And I'm thinking I can't lose you too," he thundered, like the sky outside. His arm slipped around her back, his grip tightening as he pulled her closer.

She wanted to argue. She wanted to remind him that she was strong, more than human. That she'd lived in the harsh world alone for decades, that she went into the clutches of Hydra's lair to find him, that she wasn't the one people should be afraid of. But her mother's words rang loudly in her head, 'Sweetheart, sometimes what makes you powerful is exactly what makes you vulnerable…hunted.'

Her shoulders dropped. She felt utterly helpless. She couldn't see people suffer. She carried a lot of regrets herself. The fact that she didn't find Bucky soon enough after he fell off the train, the fact that she should've stopped Steve from getting the serum. If Steve hadn't, he would not have sacrificed his life. So, she couldn't help but alleviate Mr. and Mrs. Hagen's suffering.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, burying her face into his chest.

He sighed into her hair, kissing her tenderly.

"I need you to resist helping people," he pleaded.

"I don't know how Buck," she whispered, holding him tightly.

Bucky dreaded love more than he ever feared Hydra. While he mourned the love he had lost--Steve--he also mourned not being the kind of man she deserved.  

The way she saved him persistently, and resurrected him after Hydra, with years and years of patience. It was beyond his understanding. Gosh! She could totally beat Steve when it came to being stubborn.

He watched her, relaxed in his arms, deep in sleep. His little angel! Sometimes, it was hard to believe that she was by his side. His fingers traced her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.

He knew he was a selfish man because he'd never said he loved her out loud, afraid he'd cause an imbalance in the perfect ecosystem. Because he knew she loved him. And even if she never explicitly worded her love, she defined it in every little action. It pained him how deeply she loved him despite what he'd done.

In the late hours of the night, when he curled up beside her--nightmares as an excuse--he'd usually think of a better tomorrow. One where he'd repented the doings of a man in his mind who he'd been unwillingly sharing space with. Where he could love her the way she deserved. Where Steve was still alive, and they all lived in a world where freedom wouldn't be weighed by norms.

But fate couldn't be that forgiving, right?

Bucky still hoped and prayed for forgiveness--for the actions he had unwittingly committed. He tried to be a better man every day.

Bucky was protective of her--territorial might befit. But the fact was, she protected him every day. From himself. From his nightmares. She was his salvation.

She shifted, turning more into his side, still deep asleep, slipping her hand around his waist. Bucky chuckled softly, clutching the oversized T-shirt on the little of her back, and pulled her closer.

God! She was divine. So far out of his league. Did she even know that?

He could literally kill for her. And he was close to committing that heinous act that very evening.

He'd gone to the bookstore to buy the book she'd been waiting for, only to overhear Hagen talking about her and 'miracle' in the same breath. The fear hit him instantly. For a moment, he stood frozen, staring at the wrinkled man. A sinister thought crawled into his mind: kill Hagen and his wife. Make it look like a robbery.

Then, Bucky thought of her and felt utterly disgusted with himself for even thinking of it. He wasn't that person, and he'd never be him again. He fled from there as fast as he could, terrified of himself.

He wondered if he could ever truly be the man she deserved. He highly doubted it. But the fact was, he couldn't let her go. He'd already lost Steve. He couldn't fathom losing her, too.

Bucky loved her. With every tiny, broken piece of himself--he loved her.

He moved closer, admiring her peaceful face and enveloping himself in her intoxicating scent.

She looked so goddamn delicate. So mesmerizingly pretty.

She'd be up in a few hours. She hadn't eaten because he hadn't.

And he'd been a fucking prick all evening. She'd even baked him his favorite cake, but he'd been too cooped up in his head, too angry at her for being so reckless. Didn't she understand he couldn't live without her?

He leaned in and placed a small kiss on her forehead.

He'd make her favorite breakfast and apologize. Maybe she'd kiss him on the cheek like she had yesterday. That little kiss where she'd rise on her toes and tug him down gently always made him feel alive.

Next:

The phone rang three times before it was picked up. "Pepper Potts speaking." "Hi... um, hi, Pepper. This is Lienna Nightingale," she said, her voice a little shaky, "I need to cash in that favor."

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[mochie85]

Just For Tonight - 11:00PM

Just For Tonight Masterlist Complete Masterlist

Summary: Things start to speed up as you let Bucky, Sam, and Loki get a peek into your life. Pairing: Loki x Reader/OFC Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Fluff, language, kissing, tattoos, needles.

“Me?” You stood in the middle of the road like a deer caught in the headlights. A blank expression on your face as you processed what Loki just said to you. “I don’t understand,” you muttered. “Why were you looking to compare someone to me?”

“You’re right. You don’t understand,” Loki chuckled. “I wanted to find someone like you. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Even if it was just for tonight. But then I realized it wouldn’t matter because, in the end, they wouldn’t be you.”

“And…you want it to be me?” you asked as you exhaled in disbelief.

“Ayo! Are you guys gonna get off the street or what? I’m starving and something in there smells good!” Sam pointed toward Delia’s front door. Loki gave you a closed-lip smile as he passed you. Not once taking his eyes off you.

An explosion of warmth and energy exploded within you as your eyes met. Your mind thought of a million different questions- a million different objections- to what  Loki just said. You were excited and giddy. A juxtaposition to what your body was currently doing. Which was stunned into disbelief in the middle of the road; frozen like a deer caught in the headlights. He wanted it to be me?! Wha- who-

His cold hands gripped yours, “Come on.” Loki smiled, trying to get you off the street. I must’ve inhaled too much nitrous back there. This has to be a dream. He pulled you along, smiling, as you both entered Delia’s, hand in hand.

The bell on the door jingled as you passed through. You relaxed as the familiar sound of the coil gun buzzing hit your ears. The smell of burgers and fresh-cut tomatoes wafted through your senses. You were home.

A curtain to one of the private tattoo booths slid open at the sound of the bell. Addie’s head popped out with her bright red curls in a messy bun atop her head.  “Well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in!” Addie bellowed, opening the curtain further. She had been working on a customer. His entire right arm was sleeved with ink. Making it hard to distinguish what Addie was working on. “Or should I say car? I saw the videos circulating, girl. You whooped their asses!” Addie wiped the arm of her customer, revealing beautiful linework in geometric patterns.

“Oh my God, there’s a video? Shit, are we on it?!” Sam asked worriedly, fiddling with his phone.

“Hey, Addie!” You laughed, ignoring Sam’s questions and running over to give her the tightest hug.

“You come bearing trophies, I see.” She said sizing up the three men behind you. “What did you have to do to win them? And I assume it’s one for each of us, right?” She said winking to Sam.

“Cute. Addie,” rolling your eyes. “You can harass my friends later. I’ll introduce you when you give me my winning tally. Is Laney here?”

“Oh ya. She’s next door cooking up your favorite.”

“Thanks. I’m starving.” You kissed her on the cheek and told the others to follow you.

In the same building, separated by a curtain of beads, was a fifties-era diner. Complete with bright pink vinyl booths and bright neon clocks. If Addie’s tattoo parlor was an art gallery, then Laney’s diner was a museum. A collection of old Hollywood memorabilia and nostalgia from a time when men smoked cigars and women matched their lip color to their nails.

“Oh God, it smells amazing in here! Better than that nacho cheese, ey Laufeyson?” Barnes asked, hitting Loki’s torso. The four of you walked further into the restaurant. The few customers that were there were the quiet types who had night shift jobs or the drunk club-goers who needed a place to eat before they set off to their next destination.

“Order up!” a flowery voice from the kitchen yelled out onto the floor. Laney’s head popped out through the kitchen window, setting down plates of food with a mountain of fries each. “Hey! My sister from another mister! I was wondering if I’d see you tonight. I saw your victory.” Laney stepped out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron and giving you a tight hug.

“I need to see this video!” Sam grunted walking toward an empty booth.

Laney looked like Rosie the Riveter with her hair up in a high ponytail kept in place by a handkerchief. “Go on. Have a seat. I made your favorite. Burgers all around?” She asked pointing to your friends.

“Yes, please. I’m starving!” Bucky said.

“Good. Cuz I’m not making you anything else.” She laughed making her way back into the kitchen.

The four of you sat in a booth in the corner. You noticed how quickly Sam and Bucky were to pair with each other, leaving you to sit with Loki. His arm settled on top of the booth behind you as you sat down.

“So, what is this place?” Bucky asked you looking around and smiling. You could see a small twinkle in his eyes. As if he was remembering something from a bygone era.

“Delia’s is home. It’s a juxtaposition of my two favorite women. My best friend, Delaney, and her eccentric mom Adelaide. Addie is my tattoo artist. The only one I would trust with my body. She was the mom I never had growing up. She worked odd jobs and moved around a lot till Laney, over there, decided to put her foot down and demand to stay in one place. That’s when they met me and my dad. Delaney and I became best friends.” That’s when you started laughing. “We even set a parent trap between my dad and Addie. But it never took. When my dad passed, Addie continued to watch over me. They opened up Delia’s as a compromise between the two of them.”

“Very unique if you ask me. You don’t see many tattoo parlors behind a diner.” Bucky noted.

“Ah hah! Found it!” Sam yelled pointing to his phone. Everyone gathered close to the tiny screen to watch snippets of your race on TikTok. “There you are starting. There's you turning on your nitrous. There's you winning. Aaand…there’s no me! HA! I ain’t gettin’ caught!” Sam joyously commentated.

“Congratulations, Sam” you laughed sarcastically.

“All right,” Laney said coming over to your table. You looked up and found that Loki had already been staring at you. His eyes lingered on yours for only a second before he smiled and looked up at Laney. “Four cheeseburgers. Four fries. And one stack of onion rings.” Laney placed the plates down in front of you all, earning an appreciative tummy growl from each of you. “You better eat fast! I can only hold my mother at bay for so long before she barges in here to start asking you questions.” She said looking at you decidedly. And then at your three companions with a suggestive smirk.

All four of you ate in delicious silence. An occasional moan of approval or praise would come out of Bucky or Sam’s mouth.

“So, Devin was in here earlier,” Addie said surprising you from the booth behind you.

“Mom!” Laney yelled from across the counter.

“What?!” Addie yelled back. “He watched a live feed of your race here. That’s how we found out you won.” You nodded your head, your mouth full, unable to respond back.

“Did he… say… anything?” you asked cautiously, picking up a fry. Your eyes darted quickly to Loki to see his reaction.

“Well, he came in with a crew. His arm was around another girl and I thought that was weird cuz you had a date with him tonight, right?”

“MOTHER!” Laney scolded from the kitchen.

“What?! She has a right to know that the guy she’s dating is a scumbag.”

“Yes, but not in front of the others!” Their argument faded into the background of your thoughts.

You had missed your chance with Devin. You knew he wouldn’t have waited for you. He incessantly kept asking you out and each time you said no. You told him that you were too busy with work. Being part of the team that got to work closely with the Avengers was your dream job and it meant that you kept odd working hours. So, when you finally decided to get over your crush on Loki and try dating, you didn’t hesitate to say yes when Devin asked you last time.

Not that you had any feelings for Devin. He was a distraction from what you really wanted.

“Was this the guy you had a date with tonight, Wheelz?” Sam asked, stuffing his mouth with the last morsel of his burger.

“Ya,” you answered swirling your fries in ketchup.

“You want us to pay him a visit?” Bucky asked in the most uncharacteristic mafia nod you’d ever see him do.

“We’re sorry, Wheelz,” Sam said.

“That’s ok. I wasn’t interested in him anyway.”

“Ya, he wasn’t who she really wanted.” Addie teased.

“So, you do want someone!?” Sam asked, his eyes growing big like saucers. Probably to catch all the tea he wanted you to spill. You missed it when he turned those eyes to look decidedly at Loki, a small grin forming on his face.

“Mom, isn’t it time you give Wheelz her tally? You know, right now! This very instant.” Laney said ushering Addie and you out of the booth.

“Thank you,” you whispered to Laney.

“Go!” She whispered back. “Or she’ll just come back here and harass your friends even more.” You nodded, wiping your hands on a napkin, and excused yourself from your friends. You hesitated and turned back.

“Go! I’ll take care of them!” Laney laughed.

“What tally?” Bucky asked Laney.

“Every time she wins, she gets a mark on her shoulder to mark her win. She doesn’t race often. Especially now that she has that goody-two-shoes-uppity job with y’all. But when she does, she likes to win. And she likes to remember that win,” Laney explained.

Curiosity spread through Loki’s mind like fire in dry weather. The more he knew about you the more questions he had. The more intrigued he felt. It wasn’t even a couple of hours ago that he found out about your tattoos and now he wants to know how many you have. What do they look like? And where are they placed on your delicate body?

Loki looked up and watched as you disappeared behind the beaded curtain. Before he realized what he was doing, he stood up and followed you across the diner back to the parlor.

Loki was about to part the beaded curtain when Addie quickly strode through and almost bumped into him. “I apologize,” Loki charmed as he stepped to the side.

“No worries, handsome.” Addie smiled as she patted his muscular arm. “I ran out of black and need to head into the back for supplies,” she added. “Do you think you can let our girl know while I get some?”

“Absolutely.” Loki smiled. Addie scurried away with a smirk on her face winking at Laney. Laney was watching the whole scene ready to step in if her mother got out of hand. She rolled her eyes and turned back around, giving her attention to Barnes and Wilson, enjoying her hard work.

Loki walked in quietly, wanting to tell you that Addie would be just a moment, but his steps faltered. He took a deep breath as he watched you straddle the chair and disrobe your shirt. You leaned forward with your arms crossed and relaxed waiting for Addie to get started on your tattoo.

Loki was mesmerized. The luster of your skin hailed him closer and closer. A smooth canvas with small works of art depicted on your spine. The different phases of the moon were embellished with dark ink lines and stars all intricately drawn down the length of your back. There was a small tally on your left shoulder and a script or font on your right that Loki couldn’t make out.

You heard footsteps walk back in. “Addie, I think this would mark my tenth win. I don’t know…”

“Addie isn’t here,” he swallowed. “She had to search for more ink in the back.” You turned your head at the sound of his voice, clutching your shirt tight. “I apologize. She sent me to inform you,” he smiled.

You were caught in a compromising position with your top half exposed. You didn’t know what to do but stare at his beautiful face drinking all of you in. The way he looked at you. The way his eyes glinted as they roamed your body. The way he swallowed his words before he spoke. You had never felt more beautiful…more seen…as you do now.

“I-I can leave. If it makes you uncomfortable,” Loki offered.

“No. You can stay,” you murmured back. You turned around, unable to look into his adoration any further. You heard his heavy footsteps come closer and around you.

“They’re beautiful.” He said standing behind you. Admiring you like you were a work of art. By now, goosebumps had formed all over your skin, making you shiver. Addie wouldn’t like that.

“Thank you.”

“May I?” he asked reaching his hand forward. You turned your head slightly to see what he meant. “Can I touch you?” he clarified. You nodded your head once. A pink blush climbs your neck up to your cheeks. Surely, he sees the way he’s affecting you.

His finger traces the name on your right shoulder. You felt his gentle touch with each letter. Each stroke. As if you were being branded. A signature you had Addie replicate in your dad’s handwriting. “My dear Carri. Love, Dad,” he read aloud. “Whose Carri, darling?”

“I’m Carri. It’s my name. Well, it was my dad’s nickname for me.  My full name is Carrisa,” you smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Carrisa.” He said coming closer to you, bending down, and gently kissing your name on your shoulder. You sat upright, shocked.

“I’m sorry. Did I startle you?”

“Ya. Um, it’s ok,” you said looking down, as your body prickled with heat. His lips left a sear on your shoulder that spread throughout your body, making your heart beat wilder and your breathing shallow. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

“I fear that you have caught me in a daze, my dear Hnöss. What exactly did I say earlier?” His fingers traced the moon phases down your spine. You remembered when Addie drew those on your back. It was one of the most painful experiences you’ve ever had. But the electricity from his touch replaced the bittersweet memory with a new feeling.

“What you said about looking for someone like me- because you couldn’t stop thinking about me.” He circled you. His fingers lingered at your waist, trailed across your bunched skirt, and onto your right thigh. Facing you, he opened his hand to palm your thigh and stroked it with his thumb.

“Is that what I said?” he asked, transfixed by the Ouroboros on your thigh.

“Loki.” You tried to sound exasperated and annoyed. But you feared you sounded breathy and needy instead. His eyes looked at you through his long lashes. While his attention was still consumed by your tattoo.

“Why was I looking for someone like you?” He posed and inhaled, preparing for his explanation. “Perhaps the same reason why you picked Barnes to be your spotter instead of me. The same reason why you went on a date tonight with David-”

“Devin,” you corrected.

“I could care less what his name is, darling. Because you wanted to forget about your supposed unrequited crush.” He held his hands to his chest and moved closer to you. His height was even more impressive when you were sitting down and looking up at him. He leaned down to your flushed face and whispered, “The same reason why you agreed to go on this circus of a date, with the three of us. Just so you can spend more time with that unrequited crush. With me.” He smirked. Like a predator who had caught his prey, flashing his teeth through his grin.

An electrifying kiss followed. You took a quick intake of breath as his mouth caressed yours. His lips were cool and smooth. You closed your eyes and leaned further into the kiss. His hand squeezed tighter moving ever so carefully up your thigh.

“I finally got the ink! I hope you’re ready. And I’m not interrupting some romantic kissing session.” Addie’s voice sang through the beaded curtain. You both pulled away from each other in shock.

Loki smiled as he backed away to give Addie space in between you. “Look at you. Why do you have goosebumps? Good thing I’m doing your shoulder.” She set the ink down and turned on the gun. The familiar buzzing helped calm your nerves and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“I think I convinced your other friends to get a tattoo as well,” she said as she snapped her gloves on. “

“Addie…”

“What? They can keep their shirts on…” She rubbed your shoulder with a small alcohol pad and began. Your eyes strayed towards Loki and he hasn’t stopped smiling.

The needle was quick and sharp. A short line and another wipe from her pad and you were all set. Addie covered your shoulder with second skin and smiled at Loki knowingly. No sooner had you put your shirt on that Sam and Bucky walked in with prying curiosity.

“Is everyone decent?” Bucky yelled before parting the curtain and made his way through. “Are you done, Wheelz?”

“Sweet, can we see it?” Sam asked. You pulled your shirt collar down and showed them the small tally mark on your shoulder counting to eleven.

“Nothing fancy.” You remarked.

“You know, I always wanted a tattoo,” Bucky’s voice sounded wistful.

“Scared of needles?” Sam teased.

“No…well…not really, no.” Bucky rubbed his face, uncomfortable where the dialogue was going.

“I can’t believe that the same Winter Soldier who can step in front of a speeding car at eighty miles per hour and stop it dead in its tracks…is scared of needles!”

“It’s not the needle…not only the needle.” Bucky’s voice got quiet. “The needle, the chair…it’s all just too…” Bucky’s eyes went vacant. His mind took him to a memory long forgotten and suppressed. Memories of him being revived and activated. A lab chair with restraints and a scientist with a needle on standby.

Loki placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, returning him to this reality. He could recognize trauma when he sees it. The horrors of war and abuse weigh heavily on the eyes.  And right now, Bucky’s eyes were at their heaviest.

“Hey, you know what I think we should go next on our little date?” You tried to lighten the mood. The three men looked at you expectantly. It was your night after all. You called the shots. “Karaoke!”

⬅️ 9:00PM | 12:00 Midnight Coming Soon ➡️

Hnoss - daughter of Freyja and Óðr. Hnoss is the Aesir goddess of beauty and desire. She is associated with love and lust as well as temptation. Her name means "jewel" or "treasure"

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