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#falcon x y/n
super-marvel-dc · 1 year
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Y/N: I’m gonna die alone.
Sam: Y/N, you’re not gonna die alone.
Y/N: Tony, was my safety net, okay? He got married and now I have to get a snake.
Sam, dialing Bucky: Uh-huh. Why is that?
Y/N: If I’m gonna be an old lonely person, I’m gonna need a thing, you know? A hook. Like that guy in the subway who eats his own face.
Y/N: So I figured I’ll be “Crazy Person With A Snake”, you know? Crazy snake person.
Y/N: Then I’ll get more snakes, call them my babies. Kids won’t walk past my place, they will run! RUN AWAY FROM CRAZY SNAKE PERSON!
Sam, on the phone with Bucky: Uh, I'm gonna need you to bring the straight jacket-
Y/N: *Still ranting*
Sam: Now would be great.
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okay-j-hannah · 1 year
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They’re Jealous Of You
Preference
Characters: Druig, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker
Warnings: Peter’s has a spoiler from No Way Home - but I hope you all have seen that by now 🥰
Request: “I can't see your new character list so tell me if you don't write about someone here, okay? 😁 Druig, Sam Wilson and Peter Parker being jealous of their girlfriends preference, please?” Anon
~~~
Druig
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Druig landed in front of her townhouse, knowing full well that she was at work and wouldn’t be home for hours. He knew where the spare key was, hidden in the flowerpot beside the porch swing.
He let himself in, taking a second to lean against the door and take in his surroundings. (Y/N) left the blinds open, warming the place with pretty sunlight. His eyes wandered from the cozy living room to the bookshelf of classics to the dining table bedecked with flowers to the kitchen that still smelled of coffee and buttered toast.
The tinkle of a bell preceded the soft steps of the housecat. Smoky gray and spying with bright blue eyes, the cat went right up to Druig and nudged his leg.
He finally smiled, complying to scratch him behind the ears, “Fancy a day together?”
And for hours Druig lived like those he spent millennia watching over. He feigned a human life.
He went to the bedroom to find the sweats and graphic t shirts that (Y/N) bought and kept for him. He went to the kitchen to make a sandwich, ensuring that the cat got a couple bites of turkey. He stood on the back porch, waving at the neighbors and deciding to water the plants with the hose.
He ended up snuggled on the couch with a thick blanket wrapped around him. The cat curled up in his lap and one of his favorite classics in hand.
He soaked up the feeling of being in a home and doing mundane human things. Because after so long he was ready to admit that he was jealous. He was jealous of his girlfriend and her simple life, void of powers and celestials and eternity.
Time seemed to go by quicker when he just lived the day. He was on the verge of a catnap when there was jangle of keys at the door and (Y/N) came walking in.
“Druig?” she called, “You left the door unlocked – scared me for a second.”
He waited for her to come into the living room as she kicked off her shoes and hung her coat. “I came to check the cat.”
She eyed the breadbasket and empty plate in the kitchen and the book resting on the ottoman – the bookmark was nearly halfway through the novel.
“Right,” she smirked, “Just popped in for a visit.”
He smiled, sweet and simple, “Come here, please.”
She obliged, crawling onto the couch and beneath the blanket he tucked around them. “You look sleepy.”
“I am,” he said gruffly, “It’s exhausting being human.”
“Is that what you’re doing here?” she asked curiously, snuggling into him.
He held her close, nudging her shoulder much like the cat that was trying to get comfortable between them.
“Shh…” he mumbled, nuzzling into her neck, “Just a couple more hours.”
Sam
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“What the hell is that?” Sam said to himself, “What in the hell is that?”
He was pressed against the wide glass windows of the Avengers compound, hands cupped above his eyes to keep the sun from blocking his view.
Someone was up in the sky, suited with what looked like his falcon wings. They were doing spectacular aerials, moving the metallic wings as if they’d practiced the flight pattern before.
Anger was bubbling inside him, starting in his core and flooding out to his limbs. They pushed him to move. He darted down the hallway, not bothering with the elevator as he barged into the stairwell.
Who had the balls to steal his flight suit and practice in the backyard?
It shouldn’t have been a surprise when he realized that the answer was his girlfriend.
His face was contorted with clear astonishment, watching (Y/N) pull risky moves in the air. She was maneuvering the suit so expertly that even Sam doubted he could match the skill.
He stood beneath her, hands on his hips and feeling that anger ebb away into something more subtle but all the more upsetting.
He was jealous of her skill. Embarrassed of the fact she probably kept it from him to spare his feelings.
It took a minute for her to notice him, but when she did, she cursed under her breath. She had been caught.
She humbly landed on the ground beside him.
Sam raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to get closer, “Damn, (Y/N).” He was trying to stifle the jealous pit in his stomach, “Why didn’t you tell me you were such a good flyer?”
“Well, I didn’t want to bug you with it,” She rested the red tinted glasses on her flyaway hair, “And knowing S.H.I.E.L.D. they would probably try to recruit me into some covert operation.”
“Or the Avengers,” Sam said, an edge to his voice.
She noticed, “Exactly. And you know I’m more of a homebase tech guy.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you couldn’t have told me.”
She shrugged, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s because you know you’re better than me, isn’t it.”
Her eyes flew wide, mouth floundering for a reply, “I… you… well…”
Sam gapped, “Oh my god, you really think you’re better with the suit!”
“I didn’t say that!” she finally gushed, “No, I don’t think that!” She was red-faced but realized what was fueling his outburst, “There’s no need to be jealous of how I fly.”
“I’m not,” Sam retorted, biting his tongue instead of being his usual chatty self.
She gave him a shy look, “There are plenty of things you can do in the suit that I can’t. I’ve been jealous of that before.”
He paused, extinguished by her words, “Really?”
“Maybe I’ve been practicing because I just want to be as good as you.”
He refrained from smiling, “I see what you’re doing.”
“Oh?”
“Thank you for trying to make me feel better.”
She sighed, relieved, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he went to kiss her, “My girlfriend is a badass.”
Peter
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Outside the bathroom door he could hear the party raging on. Not the sophisticated college affair he was expecting among biomechanical engineers, but a borderline rave.
He thought this was the opportunity for him to meet (Y/N)’s friends and classmates – wanting to impress them and show that he could be an accepted part of their group.
What he hadn’t expected when entering the apartment was bass music making the floor buzz, UV lights hanging precariously from the ceiling, vibrant glowing paints decorating every surface, and a countertop displaying various punch bowls themed a different alcoholic concoction.
(Y/N) immediately threw her hands in the air, declaring her entrance with a rave worthy shout. Her friends and colleagues welcomed her, grabbing at her with neon colored hands and loose, drunken arms.
Peter was left in the doorway, wide eyed and looking like a pair of headlights were barreling towards him. He knew his girlfriend was more carefree for majoring as a biomechanical engineer – it was one of the things he loved about her – but it would’ve been nice to know that when she said, ‘a college party with her classmates’ she meant ‘a college party where you’re meant to bust an eardrum and forget the whole night to intoxicated bliss.’
He was shuffling out of the bathroom now, dodging a pair of giggling girls. He searched for (Y/N) in the crowd, letting his mind sink further into how disappointed he was. He really wanted to impress her tonight.
And now she was throwing her head around, waving her arms, and letting her friends press against her on the dance floor.
Peter felt that flicker of love trail up his chest at seeing her, but there was something else brewing in his stomach. (Y/N) was dancing to the anthem of the room, not a care in the world and leaning on her friends like they’d done it a thousand times. It was a loyalty that only came from a group of students that shared the struggles of class and then supported one another in safely detoxing over the weekend.
Peter didn’t have that.
How could he be carefree when he’d seen true villainy. How could he be loyal to friends when they’d all forgotten who he was.
He was jealous.
“Peter?”
He looked up to see (Y/N), speckled with paint and holding two drinks. He gave a weak smile.
“Are you okay?”
He shrugged. “Your friends love you.”
Her face dipped, flushed and now ashamed of allowing her friends to drag her away from her boyfriend.
“I probably should’ve warned you,” she said loudly over the music.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not wanting to hurt her feelings, “This just isn’t my scene.”
She nodded, putting the cups on the nearest table, “Well, I’ve said hi to everyone, now we can get out of here.”
Peter immediately fumbled, “No, no – I didn’t mean we had to leave. You should keep…”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him flush to her chest, head pressed against his so she could mumble something quietly in his ear.
“I want to spend the night with you. Just me and you. Let’s get some takeout and take a shower at your apartment.”
Pajamas and snacks and movies and cuddles. It was making Peter smile again, made him feel not so alone anymore, “I love you.”
~~~
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Kinktober Day 22- Phone Sex
Sam Wilson x fem!reader (no use of y/n)
Word Count- 929
Warnings- smut (18+ only), masturbation, feelings, established relationship
Notes- I always tend to lean towards soft sex with Sam, but he deserves all the love!! List provided by the lovely @the-purity-pen​!
To say up to date on when I post, follow my update blog too and turn on post notifications @flightlessangelwings-updates​​. Reblogs highly appreciated!
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~
“Hello?” you answered your phone the moment it rang. Even in the middle of getting ready for bed, you were always quick to your phone whenever Sam was away. You were so worried about missing his call that you kept it glued to your side, “Sam?”
“Hey baby,” Sam’s soothing voice on the other end of the line made you drop your shoulders in relief.
You glanced over at the clock, “Isn’t it the middle of the night for you?”
Sam sighed as he ran his hand across his face, “Yeah,” his voice dropped, “But I missed you baby… I just had to hear your voice.”
“I miss you too, Sam,” you breathed into the phone as you sat down on your bed, “It’s lonely here without you,” you grabbed your pillow, “The bed feels cold when I’m by myself.”
“So I’m just a bed warmer for you?” he laughed as he joked with you.
All you could do was moan softly at the sound of his laugh, “Why else would you call me in the middle of the night, Sam?” your tone dropped.
“You got me there, baby,” Sam’s tone matched yours as he made himself comfortable on his bed, “Maybe I missed more than just your speaking voice.”
You bit your lip to stifle another moan, “So it’s that kind of call then?” you positioned your pillow between your legs as you settled onto your knees on the mattress, “So I can pretend this pillow I have here is you…”
“Fuck baby,” Sam groaned as he wrapped his hands around his cock and stroked it lazily, “In that case I can imagine it’s your hand on my cock instead of mine.”
“Oh fuck,” you moaned as you slowly rocked your hips across the pillow, “I wish I had you here with me right now, Sam,” you breathed heavily, “Wish I could make you feel good, baby.”
Sam pumped his cock faster at your words, “You already are making me feel good baby,” he groaned, “Just hearing you right now is everything I need.”
“Sam…” you breathed as you rolled your head back and rocked yourself against the pillow, desperate for more friction. 
“That’s it, baby,” he purred as he worked himself more, “Let me hear how pretty you sound for me.”
Through yours and Sam’s moans, you heard the slick sound of his cock in his hand, and it made a rush of arousal jolt through you. It drove you wild to imagine what he looked like in that moment, laid out on whatever bed he was on with his cock in his hand. Was he alone in the room, or did he risk getting caught while on his heated phone call with you? Truthfully, you weren’t sure which turned you on more.
“Sam…” you moaned his name as you rubbed yourself against the pillow harder, “Want this to be you I’m riding, not a pillow.”
“Cause I’m harder than a pillow?” he chuckled lowly into the phone. But the thought of you riding your pillow and pretending it was him drove Sam wild, and it made his cock leak with precum.
“Yes,” you let out a soft laugh.
“Let me hear you cum, baby,” Sam groaned your name, “I need to hear you cum,” he pumped himself harder and faster to the sounds of your moans.
“Oh fuck… Sam…” the sounds of the fabric rustling harmonized with your moans as you rocked against the pillow faster. You bunched up the fabric to create extra friction with the folds of the pillowcase. 
The extra bumps in the fabric along with Sam’s encouraging words was just enough to send you over the edge and with his name on your lips you fell apart. Your body trembled as waves of heat crashed through you as you imagined it was Sam below you.
“That’s it, baby,” Sam purred as his own climax quickly built as he stroked himself, “That’s my girl. You sound so beautiful, baby.”
“Sam…”
With the sound of his name in your blissed out voice, Same came hard. He groaned your name as his release splashed into his hand. His mind swam as he listened to the sound of your heavy breaths on the other end of the line as he rode out his climax on his hand and imagined it was yours instead.
“Fuck, baby,” Sam exhaled deeply once he rode out his climax.
“Sam…” you pleaded his name as you laid down onto the bed and held the pillow close, pretending it was him you held.
“I know, baby,” Sam blinked his eyes open and almost forgot that he was actually alone, “I shouldn’t be gone too much longer… Then I can make it up to you. We won’t leave our bed for days.”
You smiled brightly, “I’d like that,” you sighed dreamily, “You just make it back home to me, alright?”
“You know I always do, baby,” Sam grinned, “Promise.”
“I love you, Sam Wilson,” you almost sounded sad, but it was just because you missed him so much. You had to admit though, when the two of you started your late night dirty phone calls, it did help. But the pang of being alone after it was finished still stung. You just had to hold onto the promise that he’d be back soon.
“I love you too baby,” Sam’s feelings reflected your own, “I’ll see you soon, I promise.” Nothing would keep him from you, especially when he knew what you had in store for him when he made it back to you.
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thornsnvultures · 2 years
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earned it ♤
Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader
summary: mean!Sam taking what he deserves
warnings: SMUT (p in v), choking, light daddy kink, unprotected sex, pet name (babygirl), degradation kink
words: ~350
a/n: this is for @samwilsonsbabymama 💕 you didn't ask for this but your post about mean!Sam inspired me lol hope you like it!
a/n pt2: this is unedited stream of consciousness so if you see any errors, no you didn't :)
18+ BLOG, MINORS DNI. IF YOU INTERACT AND YOU DON’T HAVE YOUR AGE VISIBLE ON YOUR BLOG YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. 18+ BLOG, MINORS DNI.
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(straight into smut under the cut)
"Filthy lil slut. Taking this cock so well. You were made to take cock, huh princess?"
Sam's hands squeeze tighter around your hips in a punishing grip with every thrust. You can barely breathe with your face pressed into the mattress like this but you don't give a fuck. He can pound out every last breath from your lungs and you'd still say thank you.
Your hands curl in the sheets below you in an imitation of reaching out for him. Desperate to touch any inch of his sweats slick skin. But he'd never allow it.
"You wanna get pounded like a whore? Whores don't get to touch. You're gonna bend over and take Daddy's fat cock. Now."
God only knows if he's kept you on your knees like this for minutes or hours or days. You've come around his cock so many times you lost count. But Sam doesn't care. He's taking what's his. What you were so fucking desperate to give him.
And it's still not enough. You're begging for his release inside you. Begging for the cream he's been churning up just for you in his heavy sac that beats a cruel rhythm against your clit.
"You want me to fill this cunt up, babygirl? You think you deserve Daddy's load in this hot little pussy?"
He pulls you up to his chest by your throat as you scream that yes, yes you deserve it. You want it so bad you're crying for it, your tears running down your face as proof.
"That's it," his hips stutter in eagerness when he sees those pretty little tears. He growls low in your ear and pounds harder. His other hand falls from your hip to work two fingers furiously over your clit. Giving you all he's got and then some as he pumps his hot load deep, coating your walls as you fall with him, the feeling of his release pushing you over the edge one last time.
He lays both of you down, curling his arms around you in a tight embrace.
"Did such a good job, babygirl. My perfect little girl."
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tarithenurse · 1 year
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A favour
Fandom: MCU Pairing/starring: Sam Wilson x fem!reader Content: Pining, worrying, fake dating, brief one-bed-trope, friends to lovers, and a suspiciously meddling/insightful grandmother. A/N: Takes places before Civil War. Thanks to @tantefrutsel-creativenurse for betaing! A lot of this was writtten while I had covid, so sorry for any weirdness.
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A favour
...  Reader   ...
“Oh, c’mon!” Sam had pleaded. “It’s just one night.”
And it really did just start out that way: you accompanied him, your best friend, to one of Tony Stark’s parties of the year and you even had a blast being introduced to the Avengers, you spent the time drinking and dancing with Sam until all you could do was sit curled up in the couch as you listened to the group of heroes have fun down memory lane. Eventually Sam had taken you home, even made sure you were tucked in nicely before he crashed on your couch.
Secretly, you had been more than happy to go with him. Not because you’d get to meet his other friends the heroes (they were actually the reason you were hesitant) but because you liked to hang out with Sam.
It wasn’t just “liking” it, really. Sam was fun and charming and you’d be lying if you claimed you didn’t have a crush on him. More than a crush, maybe. You’d been pining for the guy for more than a year and been too afraid to do anything about it for fear of losing him completely instead.
...  Sam   ...
She’s pretty. No, that was the wrong place to start and Sam knew it. First of all she was so much more than just her looks and secondly it was an inadequate term to use: she was gorgeous at the very least. And in the tabloid magazines and online, the image of her arm in arm with him were rather nice even though it hadn’t been part of the plan that the press should notice her. [Y/N]’s presence at the party had done wonders to Sam’s confidence although it hadn’t been enough that night for him to ask her outright
But yes, there was the thing with the press which gave his plan a beating the other way because after that night, suddenly people had started to ask him things that he wanted to announce and he had to denounce it all which broke his heart.
“Have you been hiding things from me, Samuel?” Nan’s voice had cut sharply through the phone and before waiting for an answer she’d talked herself into a frenzy about wanting to see “her babies” all settled and happy and how dare he hide anything like that from the family now that she was practically on her death-bed. She was not dying. Sam knew it. She knew it. And Sam was just about to complain when he realized that could be his way into [Y/N]’s heart, seeing as he was clearly too coward to go for the big question right away.
...  Reader   ...
“Wait,” you sputter, “so you want me to pretend that we’re dating? Just because you can’t tell your gran the truth?”
Now Sam’s standing in your living room and begging you to play pretend for a weekend. He lets the words bounce around in his head for a moment, clearly considering the ups and downs to the plan.
“Yeah.”
You’d met his family once or twice before and found the matriarch delightful although slightly dementia-prone. Going along with her idea of the world might indeed be simpler than correcting it but you don’t like the idea of lying to an old woman.
“Sam...” you sigh.
Half of your mind is throwing a tantrum, trying to caution you of the risks of getting hurt here...but the other half (backed by your heart) is leaping with joy at the prospect of a taste of what a relationship with Sam would be like. Even if it’s just play-pretend.
“[Y/N]...please?”
“Ugh, how can I say no when you’re pouting?!”
Not only is he pouting, he’s sporting the prettiest puppy eyes too. “So that’s a yes?”
“Yeah, it’s a yes,” you groan.
Sam hugs you tight. “You’re the best!”
“Don’t you forget.”
For a moment he pulls back and looks you straight in the eyes. “Never,” he answers with an air of seriousness that takes you aback.
...
He picks you up Friday morning a week and a half later and you’ve made sure to pack a backpack with all that you need for the weekend.
The trip south is easy and comfortable. You’re used to spending hours together with Sam and you’ve been on road trips with him before. This time there’s a flight involved but that doesn’t deter you from the endeavour – no, the problem is still that you’re expected to lie to his grandma.
She might have forgotten what it’s all about in the meantime. You doubt it though.
Now, nearing the house in the rented car, the chattiness has faded and dumped you both into a pensive silence. Glancing over at your friend, you see that he too is deep in thoughts – there’s a furrow between his brows and he’s gently biting onto his lip.
“What are we gonna say?” you ask him, breaking his reverie and making him glance towards you.
“That we finally saw the light,” he answers with an ease that makes you envy him.
For you, this is hard. You wish it was real and not just pretend. Can I get over this? Should I have said no? But you can’t deny Sam anything...least of all something you yearn for in secret. And now you’re here on the way to spend a weekend with the little bit of family he has...and to get your heart broken from the knowledge that it’s all a lie.
...  Sam   ...
It’s so close to happening. So close to being real.
Glancing over at [Y/N], he sees the sign of concern on her brow because naturally the goodness of her heart is telling her to do the right thing. But what is the right thing now? Make an old woman happy? Help out a friend? Or absolutely having to tell the truth? Sam knows what he prefers (hence the plan) but regardless, he’s happy that she’s there with him and he promises himself that this weekend will lead to more: I need to tell her how I feel.
...  Reader   ...
You arrive in the late afternoon and of course Sam’s greeted with big hugs from everyone while you hang back a bit. It isn’t until he waves you over that you are subjected to the same treatment...almost as if the few times you’ve met the family has made you one of them. Or maybe it’s your new title. Girlfriend. Sam straight up beams when he says it. And so does his grandma.
“Oh, it’s so good the two of you have finally come to your senses,” she proclaims.
Excuse me? You know this fits perfectly with the plan, but even so. Has she just been waiting for it or would she have said that to anyone supposedly dating her grandchild? Unsure of how to respond, you just smile at the old woman and allow her to pull you indoors.
Before she can drag you onto the couch, though, Sam intercepts: “Let me take your bag upstairs, babe.”
But then leaves you in the claws of the woman who pats the seat next to her on the couch meaningfully.
“I’ve brought a few old scrapbooks,” she divulges with a smirk as she pulls them out from a tote bag, “from when my little Sammy was a baby.”
A few minutes pass and you’re already a few pages in, looking at a chubby baby with sparkling eyes when Sam returns.
“Nan! What are you doing?” he exclaims in realization.
“Giving her an idea of what your babies are gonna look like,” the old woman answers dryly, “gorgeous!”
As Sam’s about to protest, Sarah comes and drags him away to help in the kitchen.
...
You’ve seen every single baby picture of Sam by the time Sarah distracts the grandmother with the announcement of dinner and although your so-called boyfriend was adorable as a kid, you still prefer the adult version of him...to take some of the heat.
“How long have you been together now?” the grandmother asks.
Sam smiles disarmingly before reverting his attention to the food. “Just a few weeks. Not long at all.”
The old woman squints through the thick glasses at the two of you. “Hrm...why’d it take so long before you got to your senses?” You both pause, having prepared a lot of excuses and explanations but not that. But she saves you the trouble of thinking of something as she continues on the same breath: “Because young people nowadays are too busy, that’s why! A perfectly good match right before your noses!”
“Nan,” Sarah pleads on your behalf, “just be happy they finally did find each other.”
“They’ve known each other for years!” She turns her attention back to Sam again. “How long have you known each other?”
“Uhm...12 years give or take?”
“Plenty of time! I got married after knowing George for a year. Had a child by the second year!”
“Nan,” Sam protests, “things aren’t like that nowadays.”
“I dare say...we actually kissed in public but you two haven’t even held hands...”
You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks and you aren’t sure it’s because of what you secretly want or if it’s due to the scrutinizing glare of the old woman that is staring into your soul.
Sam wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as he laughs at his grandmother’s words. “Why rub it in the faces of everyone?” But even Sarah looks unconvinced. “Anyways, what’s...how are you guys?”
You’re thankful for the change of subject but you can see on the other women that they’re on to you.
...
You and Sam volunteer to do the dishes, hoping it will grant you a moment to chat before returning to the others.
“They’re not believing it, Sam,” you worry in a whisper, “we might as well come clean.”
“I would prefer not to let down Nan,” he mutters, taking a dripping plate from you, “she’s so old and she’s been bugging me for years.”
You glance at him, noticing how the stark light above the counter highlights the specks in his dark eyes. Perfect eyes. “Well who’s this for? Her or you?”
Leaning in for a new plate, the man smiles. “Both? She’s off my back because she’s happy.”
“Well she’s not very happy right now, I can tell that much,” you mutter, knowing that the matriarch probably is watching you like a hawk.
“I know,” Sam admits quietly, “she’s even patrolling to keep an eye on us.”
Lapsing into silence, a moment passes and true enough: Nan passes by the door, tottering carefully towards the bookcase as if interested in one of the volumes there. A little while later and she returns with a book in hand. This is the second time she’s made the trip.
“I got an idea,” you admit.
“Me too but I’m not sure you’ll find it weird or something.”
Plonking the last of the pots in the warm water, you pause to let it soak while you straighten your back. “You first, then.”
Sam rubs his neck, a crooked smile playing on his lips. “Don’t hit me, ‘kay?”
Why would I-? Your train of thought is derailed as he leans in to kiss you gently on the mouth. He tastes a bit of chili from the dinner but mostly he tastes like you’d imagined. It’s warm and soft and a little bit shaky and you gather that he’s more nervous than you had realized.
“Finally,” you hear a mutter from the other room as he pulls back, leaving you stunned for a second.
You finish the dishes in silence, the occasional shoulder bump enough to keep the jittery excitement in your guts going, before rejoining the others for some cozy chatting about everything and nothing.
...
Sitting in the couch, leaned up against Sam’s heat for the millionth time in your life, you find yourself tiring out after today’s trip and the stress of keeping up pretenses.
“[Y/N],” he whispers against the top of your head, “you’re falling asleep?”
You shake your head to clear your mind of the fog. “I think I am...sorry, guys”
Sarah looks over at their grandmother who’s nodding off in the chair. “No worries, I’m gonna drive Nan home and you guys just go to bed.”
You bid your host and the old woman goodnight, surprising the latter with how late it has become, and then make your way up the stairs following Sam.
He leads you into the guest room where your bag is already waiting by the end of the double bed.
Well, almost a double bed because in reality it’s more like a 1½ man. It’s gonna be tight. You’ve fallen asleep up against each other before, on the couch if a movie was boring or (in Sam’s case) if he was too tired after a mission to keep his eyes open. But this is different: actually getting in to a bed with the man seems like an almost impossible hurdle now that you’re facing it.
Sam doesn’t seem bothered. Moving the luggage to the floor, he whips the covers aside and then begins to strip down to his boxers. Flustered, you turn around. You’ve seen him shirtless before (and liked what you’ve seen) and you’re tempted to sneak a peek under the pretense of needing your PJ from your luggage...wait...you do need it and you have to find a way to change right there too. I can change in the bathroom. But Sam’s nephews are there, also getting ready to sleep. No, you have to change in here.
Brushing past Sam as he straightens from pulling off the jeans, you manage to keep your eyes on the target and find your sleepwear (not really a PJ but some old booty shorts and a t-shirt) before angling yourself to have your back to Sam again. Switching shirts is quick and effortless, peeling off the bra under the t-shirt goes easily too. It’s when you get to the point of shedding your jeans that your begin to hesitate, unwilling to reveal the black thong you’re wearing.
“I think the boys are done. Just gonna brush my teeth,” Sam mumbles and leaves the room.
It gives you the needed chance to finish changing clothes before you too grab your toothbrush.
About 10 minutes later you’re lying awkwardly next to Sam in the narrow bed. Arms and shoulders flush against each other, you can feel his heat and you’re certain he can hear your rapid heartbeat. Especially when he interlaces his fingers with yours and squeezes you hand.
“Hey, [Y/N]...thank you,” he mumbles, the usual bravado gone from his voice.
“You’re welcome,” you mumble back and almost mean it because never have you been so unsure of yourself or a situation.
As if picking up on your insecurity, Sam turns his head to look over, worry creasing his brow. “Y’know...I...it’s...” He can’t seem to find the words and just ends up sighing, leaning his forehead on your shoulder instead.
It takes a moment before you realize that he’s pressed his lips to your skin and goosebumps start racing along your limbs at the understanding of what he’s doing.
“Sam...”
“Sorry.”
He stops, beginning to pull away but you follow along until you’re lying on your side, pressed against him even more and looking down at the man you know you love but just don’t know how to tell it to.
“Don’t apologize...in the kitchen earlier...” How can I say this?
“You didn’t mind?”
There is hope in those obsidian-speckled eyes. Hope that lights up like stars when you you whisper that no, you didn’t mind it at all.
Softly, gingerly, he lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head and pull you closer. Gently, giving you time to refuse if that’s something you’d even be capable of considering. It’s not. Instead you follow, as if giving in to gravity and your lips meet for the second time.
This time it’s not a display for the sake of others and you can sense that it makes a world of difference because Sam takes his time to explore your lips before probing with his tongue. You love the way he tastes. Love the way he allows you to have control although he’s the one calling the shots right this moment. It isn’t until he giggles into your mouth that you realize that your hand has been wandering across his abdomen and along his side.
“That tickles,” he smiles at you.
“Sorry...didn’t mean to stop you.”
“No?”
“M-m,” you shake your head.
Sam smiles, “Then come here, babe.”
With strong arms, he pulls you up to straddle him and you immediately decide that it’s your new favourite place to be especially as he pulls you flush to his chest so you can snuggle up close, your nose buried in the crook of his neck. Yeah, I can get used to this.
“Hey...is it okay if it’s not play pretend anymore when we say we’re dating?” you hear Sam rumble.
“Very okay,” is your answer.
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komotionlessqueenmm · 2 years
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Imagine # 1,013
Gif NOT mine.
If this gif is yours (or you know who's it is) please let me, so I can give you/them credit.
Gif credit goes to - @kpfun (Unless told otherwise.)
Year posted - 2022
*Seriously he looks amazing! 😍
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urdepressedslut · 9 months
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Just Like That
♡ Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
♡ Summary: While you two were supposed to be repairing Sam’s boat, you end up giving Bucky head instead.
♡ Warnings: SMUT, blowjobs, deepthroating/face fucking, slight praise kink, literally no plot just filth
main masterlist
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | 18+
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He couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting into your lips, the way your tongue ran on the underside of his dick— tracing the bulging vein.
“Doll… oh my… fuckkk.” He moaned out, his flesh hand tangling their fingers into your hair.
You hummed, sending vibrations into his dick. The action had him gripping your hair tight, the slight pain from your scalp shooting straight to your core. The throb had you whining around his length.
“Making me feel s’ good baby.” He praised breathlessly, easing his grip on your hair— petting it down soothingly.
You flattened your palms on his thighs, pushing forward until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat.
His hips bucked instinctively, almost crying out at the way your throat was squeezing him. He grabbed the doorway of the boat, the wood splintering in his metal grip.
You pulled all the way off of him, before swallowing his entire length again— gagging as his head hit deeper in the back of your throat.
“S’ fucking good baby…” He whimpered, his head tilted back in ecstasy.
You snuck a hand down, playing with his balls, letting your other hand pump his length. You glanced up at him— spit leaking from your lips. You watched with lust filled eyes as he panted and whined.
“James… you’re so hard,” You purred, his head snapping down at you, “Bet you’re close, huh?”
He let out a pathetic whine as you squeezed his balls—his face contorted in pain.
“Words baby.” You demanded, leaning forward to swirl your tongue around his head.
His hips twitched slightly, the sensation of your tongue massaging around his tip heavenly. He let out a deep moan, feeling your tongue lick over his slit.
“S’ close doll— just like that.” He praised, letting his fingers comb through your hair.
There was something about you kneeling before him, eyes glossed over with lust, as the tears trailed down your cheeks— that made him absolutely feral. The position was so submissive, yet you held all the power. He was melting at your touch— his body putty at your hands.
You pumped his achingly hard length, giving his tip kitten licks. With your free hand caressing his thigh, you could feel the muscle twitch under your palm.
“Gonna cum James?” You asked hoarsely, his hazed over eyes meeting with yours.
You captured his length again, deepthroating him until your nose was buried into the hairs at the base of his cock. You gagged again, the convulsion from your throat making him growl in pleasure.
“Oh… that— keep doing that baby fuck…” He begged, his hips having a mind of their own, rocking into your face.
You whined around him, trying to breathe through your nose as he began to fuck your throat.
You reached around, grabbing handfuls of his ass— kneading the flesh. The action only made his thrusts deeper, his moans needier.
His thrusts were harsher, his needs a priority and if he had to use your face to chase his high— so be it. You on the other hand, we’re dripping. Your pussy was throbbing, him manhandling you making your entire body tingle— ache with desire.
He was nearly crying, his pants mixed with whines, getting impossibly close to the edge. You whimpered around him, his sounds only edging you on.
“Fuck baby… yes— you’re fucking mine,” He growled, his length growing impossibly harder at the image of you crying around him, “All mine.”
Your nails dug into the skin on his ass, your face drenched in tears, salvia leaking out of your mouth and down your chin. You gagged again, spurring him on further, his thrusts quicker. He grabbed your head, fucking your face with such force and suddenly he was pushing impossibly deeper in your throat, your jaw aching.
With an animalistic groan, he was spilling his seed down your throat. His breathing slowing, the waves of euphoria flowing throughout him. He stayed like that for a moment, relishing the feel of your throat around him.
At last, he released his death grip on your head. Slipping his cock from your throat with a hiss, his head sensitive. You gasped, panting in attempts to fill your lungs with the needed air.
With hooded eyes, Bucky gazed down at you with pleasure hazed eyes. His cock twitched at your flushed face, the tears tracks mixing with your spit— and his cum that had snuck out. Your eyes were slightly bloodshot, but as you gazed up at him— you were looking at him with such desire. You looked as if you were just getting started, and you wanted to devour him again.
“Such a good girl.” He whispered, voice hoarse.
He cradled your face, caressing your clammy cheek. He gently pulled you up, helping support your swaying state. You leaned into his palm, holding his gaze with adoration.
“I love you James.” You spoke into his palm, placing a kiss on his rough skin.
“I love you more baby.” He told you, wrapping his metal arm around your lower back, pulling you flush to him. “Now, let me return the favor.”
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vigilante-3073 · 2 months
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Apology Flowers
Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Bucky buys you flowers.
TW: Fluff, nervous Bucky, pre-established relationship, lovesick Bucky.
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Bucky stood in front of the flower stand, bright blue eyes running over all the colorful options. He knew that every flower had meaning, but seeing the sheer variety had him lost.
"Can I help you find something, Sir?" The elderly salesperson asked.
Bucky sighed, "Yeah, I could definitely use some help. I'm looking to buy flowers for my girl, but I'm feeling a little lost," He confessed with a small smile.
"Well, what's her favorite color, dear?" The woman asked.
"She really likes pink," Bucky said.
"Then we have a place to start. Is there a special occasion at all?" She asked.
"No, not really. I had to go out of town for a few days on short notice and didn't get to say goodbye before I left," Bucky said.
It wasn't necessarily a lie, he did have to leave town on short notice. The poor woman didn't need to know that he had been traveling the world with Sam Wilson to stop a terrorist group.
"That's very sweet, there's not many men like you around anymore," She mused, scanning the options.
"Don't I know it," Bucky muttered.
"Ah," She said suddenly, locating what she had been looking for.
The woman gathered multiple pink and white flowers together, tilting the top of the assorted bouquet towards Bucky.
"How's that, dear?" She asked, Bucky smiled.
"It's perfect," He said.
....
Bucky made his way down the hallway towards the small apartment that he shared with Y/N.
He took a deep breath as he tucked a hand into his pocket to pull out his keys.
She would be pissed and he knew that he deserved it. Bucky had practically disappeared, no calls or texts to explain anything.
He had only sent one: 'With Sam. Be home soon'
Then his phone died. And that was a few days ago.
Bucky slid his key into the lock before opening the door and stepping into the apartment.
"Doll, you home?" He called.
Y/N appeared around the corner quickly, rushing over to meet him.
"Where the hell have you been? I was worried sick," She said, pressing herself against his chest as she hugged him tightly.
Bucky wrapped his arms around her, careful not to crush the bouquet.
He felt like he could finally relax for the first time in days. Bucky hadn't realized how much he missed her until she was in his arms again.
"I'm so sorry, doll. Sam and I got caught up in something big and I couldn't just leave him," Bucky said.
She pulled away, cupping his cheeks and inspecting the bruises and cuts littering his skin. He had hoped they would heal more before seeing her again.
"I'm gonna kill him," Y/N muttered.
"I'm okay," Bucky assured, thumb brushing across her hip gently.
Her shoulders relaxed as she exhaled, "Bucky, what happened? Why didn't you call me?" She asked.
"My phone died," Bucky stated.
She huffed, "You are so lucky that I love you as much as I do," Y/N said.
"I brought you flowers... I know it doesn't make up for what I did, but I'm really sorry" He said, holding the bouquet up for her to see.
She took the bundle from his hand, smiling softly as she sniffed the petals, "Thank you, Bucky," Y/N said.
She rose up onto her toes, pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss.
Bucky leaned forward, chasing her lips as she pulled away. He slid his arms around her waist, "Kiss me like you missed me?" He asked.
Y/N's smile widened, hand resting on the side of his neck with her thumb resting along the curve of his jaw as she brought his lips to her's.
Bucky moved his lips against her's, his hands sliding under the material of her t-shirt to rest against her bare skin.
Bucky thanked his lucky stars for whatever he had done right in his life to deserve someone as amazing as her.
He hoped that the small velvet ring box hidden away in the back of his drawer would show just how much he loved her, but that's a story for another time.
Y/N pulled away, "I need to put these flowers in some water. Why don't you hop in the shower and I will meet you there?" She proposed.
"I love you so damn much," He mumbled.
"I love you too. Now go before I change my mind," She smiled.
Bucky pressed another quick kiss to her lips before he released her, making his way down the hallway in the direction of their bedroom.
Bucky Barnes loved his woman.
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kaynothanks · 22 days
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On His Collar | B.B.
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Wilson!Reader
Warnings: bucky’s one jealous boi, lil bit of violence, no smut which (for me) really is surprising, smooching, being caught
Summary: Bucky can't keep his hands off you and your brother notices
Word-Count: 12.3K
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With a nervous gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you were only half-aware of your leg's relentless fidgeting. Your eyes remained affixed to the world beyond the car window, the landscape blurring as the vehicle, courtesy of Zemo's orchestration, sped on. Vague details of the city drawing closer had filtered through to you via documents and whispers; the scant knowledge of its shadowy dealings enough to stir an unsettling churn within your chest. From a distance, Madripoor was breathtaking, its myriad lights flickering through the rain's swift descent, captured momentarily on the glass before you.
This fleeting illumination conjured memories of a night several months prior, when a call in the deep, silent hours had pierced your tranquility. Urged by his voice, laced with an unspoken desperation, you hadn't hesitated. Your car had cut through the sleeping city of New York, a beacon in the dark, drawn to alleviate his turmoil. The lights of that night, though bearing a resemblance to the ones now stretched before you, held a beauty tinged with a personal touch, perhaps making them appear even more enchanting.
You released a breath tinged with anxiety, your fingers idly tracing the edge of the scant dress that, for reasons unknown, Zemo had at his disposal. The material, with its thinness and the overlay of silver glitter, chafed against your skin, a constant reminder of its presence. However, the knowledge of Zemo's opulent wealth lent you the perspective that this barely-there garment might indeed possess a value surpassing the collective worth of your entire wardrobe.
"You good?" came your brother's voice, close enough to stir the air by your ear, pulling your attention sharply towards him.
For a fleeting moment, you found yourself studying him, ensnared in your own whirlpool of anxiety. The furrow of worry etching deep between his brows sent a sharp pang through your heart. Witnessing this, a desperate plea bubbled within you, a silent yearning for him to cease his endless vigil over you—to halt his attempts at shielding you from every conceivable harm, to stop viewing you through the lens of perpetual childhood, to simply cease the worry that seemed to etch itself into his very being. The thought of being the source of such profound distress, such tangible sorrow for him, was more than you could bear. Heaven knows, the troubles you'd landed yourself in, the predicaments from which he'd extricated you time and again, were countless, far beyond what your fingers could tally.
Sam was the epitome of the brother everyone should be blessed with. From the tender years of your childhood, he had been the figure you looked up to, the beacon that guided many of the choices that had shaped your life. And in the wake of your father's passing, his protective instincts didn't just increase; they surged, enveloping you in a steadfast, unwavering care. He was your rock, your constant, in a world that seemed all too ready to shift beneath your feet. Always there, without fail.
Your decisions often found themselves at odds with his views, sparking debates that seemed as endless as they were passionate. A vivid memory that stood out was when you announced your intention to follow in his footsteps and join the Marines. What ensued was a marathon two-hour discourse, laden with reasons he believed painted a vivid picture of why the military was a mismatch for someone like you. You had absorbed every word, every concern, yet your resolve had remained unshaken. In hindsight, the wisdom woven into his admonitions might have merited deeper consideration, a realization that dawned on you with greater clarity once you found yourself deployed to the turbulent south.
It was there, amidst the chaos and the distance from home, that you began to truly comprehend the depth of Sam's anxiety for your well-being—a sentiment that became reciprocal as concern for your family gnawed at you. Sarah, battling to keep the family business afloat while nurturing two young boys in Sam's absence, became a focal point of your worries. Meanwhile, Sam's life, veiled in the secrecy of countless missions, left a chasm between your shared experiences. Often, he returned with stories he couldn't share, silences that spoke louder than words, deepening your understanding of the burdens he carried and the protective shield he tried to extend over you from miles away.
Had you heeded his words, the tapestry of your life might have been woven with different threads, perhaps even brighter hues. Imagine a reality where you had chosen to stand by Sarah's side, absorbing the tranquility of domestic life rather than the chaos of battle. In that alternate existence, your path would never have intersected with the harrowing battlefield against Thanos. Your presence in the thick of that fight was nothing short of serendipitous, a stark coincidence born from a casual visit to him just as the alarm bells of invasion clanged their ominous toll.
The details of your unexpected journey to Wakanda are shrouded in the mists of adrenaline-fueled urgency, a memory blurred at the edges by the sheer intensity of facing an extraterrestrial threat for the first time. It was an initiation by fire into a reality far removed from anything you had ever known or imagined.
Yet, amidst the whirlwind of chaos and the blur of combat, one memory stands etched with crystal clarity—the visceral sensation of teetering on the brink of oblivion. The cold brush with death is an experience that lingers, a stark reminder of mortality that paints every moment with a sharper contrast, a memory that forever shapes your understanding of life, resilience, and the fragility of existence.
You had weathered the storms of human conflict, battles steeped in the folly and hubris of mankind, but never before had you faced a legion from beyond the stars, intent on culling half of all life in the universe. In the shadow of such an unfathomable threat, your own mortality had seemed inconsequential, dwarfed by the incalculable lives teetering on the edge of annihilation. Driven by a newfound recklessness, a fiery resolve to make a difference, you had abandoned the post Sam had painstakingly chosen for you. You had forsaken safety, charging headlong towards Thanos, the architect of doom.
To him, you were but a speck, a mere human too insignificant to warrant attention, and he had dismissed you with the ease of one swatting away an irritating fly. Yet, with your firearm spent, desperation had lent you audacity. You had launched yourself onto his colossal frame, a knife clutched in your fist, the last vestige of your defiance. You were acutely aware of the invincibility that his skin professed, an armor no earthly might had pierced with lasting effect. But ambition—or perhaps the raw edge of survival—drove you to attempt the impossible: to excise one of the gleaming Infinity Stones from its gauntlet perch.
And in that breathless moment, as your blade kissed the surface of the gauntlet, Thanos's fingers curled into a fateful snap.
The universe hung in the balance, suspended on the cusp of his action and your audacious defiance. Time itself seemed to stand still, awaiting the outcome of a confrontation that had spiraled far beyond the realms of imagination.
When consciousness reclaimed you, five years had vanished into the ether, and you awoke to a world that had moved on without you. The sight that greeted you was your own veins, pulsating with an uncanny luminescence, casting a ghostly glow over the skin they webbed. Your body, once a familiar vessel, now refused the basic command to rise, leaving you sprawled and powerless on the ground. If only you had heeded Sam's directive, you mused bitterly, you might have remained untouched by this curse, spared the constant, gnawing anxiety that now made a den in your heart. Fear had become your unwelcome shadow, looming over you with endless "what ifs." The thought of unintentionally unleashing harm, of your very essence becoming a cataclysmic force capable of leveling cities, was a nightmare that played on an endless loop in your mind.
Through it all, Sam had been your anchor in the tempest, steadfast even as you spiraled into a mire of self-distrust. For three agonizing months, he had nursed you through the turmoil of accepting this altered existence, an existence marked by an estrangement from your own being. Comfort in your own skin had become a foreign concept, an elusive state that you feared might elude you indefinitely. Nowadays, every flicker of your fingers was accompanied by a torrent of anxiety, a silent battle waged between mind and heart. With each throb of your pulse, a cacophony of fears whispered the possibility of harming the one constant in your life—your brother. This new reality was a labyrinth with no visible exit, a path you tread with trepidation, haunted by the potential havoc you could wreak with a mere gesture, a thought, a slip of control.
You took a deep breath, your fingers nervously adjusting the sleek black leather gloves that now served as a barrier between your touch and the world, a precaution against the inadvertent destruction your mere contact could cause. For a fleeting moment, your gaze drifted to him, taking in the precise way his ebony locks were coifed, a style so meticulously arranged atop his head. The shortness of his hair, a detail so starkly different from before, still felt alien to your eyes. Catching his gaze already fixed on you, a silent exchange that spoke volumes, you redirected your attention back to your brother, mustering a smile tinged with awkwardness. "Of course. Stop worrying," you whispered, attempting to lace your voice with reassurance, even as your heart wrestled with its own tempest of concerns.
"I'm your big brother," he reminded you, his tone carrying a hint of playfulness as if introducing a fact that might have somehow slipped your mind. "That's my job," he added, a declaration of his unwavering role in your life.
Gotta be a real thankless job, you mused silently, the thought echoing wryly within the confines of your mind. "How haven't I fired you yet?" you quipped back, a teasing lilt in your voice as you nudged him gently with your elbow, inviting a moment of light-hearted banter between the gravity of your shared experiences.
His response was an exaggerated gasp, a playful act that drew a slight, amused smile across your face. Without missing a beat, he turned to the conspicuously silent super-soldier beside him. "Ey, Bucky," he called out, seemingly plucking his next words from thin air with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Did I tell you about that one time, when Y/n was seven and she peed—"
"Oh my god, Sam, stop!" The words flew from your lips as you reached out to silence him, your hand slapping his shoulder before trying to cover his mouth, a futile attempt to stem the flow of embarrassing tales. Your cheeks flushed with a warmth that radiated from the deep-seated embarrassment of the memory, vivid as if it had happened just yesterday, rather than years ago.
"I apologize for interrupting your camaraderie," Zemo's voice, laced with a hint of formality, cut through the air from the front seat. His eyes found yours in the rearview mirror, carrying a mix of apology and inevitability. "Unfortunately, my driver can proceed no further."
Zemo was the first to emerge from the vehicle, setting the tone for a swift exit. Sam was quick on his heels, nearly leaping from the car at the sight of Bucky preparing to disembark. The super-soldier merely rolled his eyes at the urgency, a silent testament to his annoyance, before he too followed suit, stepping into the open air.
Left alone for a brief moment, you lingered in the cocoon of the car's interior, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. The unease knotted in your stomach, a familiar harbinger of doom, seemed to grip tighter with each passing second. Yet, as you prepared to step out into the uncertain world beyond the car's confines, a flicker of hope dared to whisper through your thoughts. Perhaps, just this once, the ominous premonition that twisted your insides would prove false. Maybe, after a stretch of relentless storms, a moment of calm awaited you. With that fragile hope cradled in your chest, you ventured forth, ready to face whatever lay ahead.
Navigating the bustling streets of the city, your senses were on high alert, eyes darting left and right in a mix of wariness and awe. Every sound, every blur of movement was cataloged, an overwhelming flood of stimuli as you endeavored to absorb the essence of the place. Ahead of you, the three men moved with a purposeful stride, seemingly indifferent to the sensory overload that ensnared you. Or so it appeared, until a momentary glance to the side caught Bucky mid-observation, his head subtly angled in your direction. The instant he realized he'd been noticed, his gaze snapped forward, a silent admission of his watchfulness.
A small, knowing smile played on your lips as you continued your exploration, your attention now on the eclectic mix of individuals that populated the streets. Their attire was a vivid tapestry of the city's culture and complexity, each person a unique thread woven into the larger fabric. In this context, Zemo's insistence on changing your clothing became crystal clear. Clad in your usual cargo pants and top, you would have stood out starkly, a beacon of foreignness in this richly diverse crowd. It would have been akin to parading around with a neon sign branded "idiot," announcing your outsider status to every discerning eye. His foresight, though begrudgingly acknowledged, spared you that unwitting declaration of naivety.
In the mosaic of your life, Bucky Barnes occupied a space that was both vivid and complex, interwoven with threads of intimacy and shared secrets, away from the prying eyes of your overprotective brother, Sam. Your connection with Bucky had evolved, nurtured by the clandestine moments and deep conversations that unfolded in the quiet corners of New York's bustling cityscape.
It began with chance encounters, two souls adrift in the vastness of the city, finding solace in the understanding gaze of the other. These meetings grew in frequency and depth, transitioning from fleeting to intentional, as you both sought the comfort and understanding that seemed to elude you elsewhere. The shared experience of navigating a world that often felt too constricting, too demanding, became the foundation of your bond.
Your relationship with Bucky was a tapestry of silent understandings and whispered confidences. There were evenings spent in his modest apartment, where the glow of the city lights barely filtered through the curtains, casting the room in a soft luminescence. Here, amidst the shadows, you shared parts of yourselves that had been carefully guarded from the rest of the world. Bucky, with his guarded heart and weary eyes, found in you a kindred spirit, someone who could see beyond the Winter Soldier to the man who was still standing beneath.
These moments of vulnerability were your secret, a world built for two, where words were often unnecessary. You had memorized the layout of his apartment, the contents of each cupboard and drawer, not through any explicit intention but through the natural intimacy that comes from shared spaces and shared silences. It was in the way you could wordlessly hand him a glass of water from his kitchen without having to ask where he kept his glasses, or how the two of you could sit in comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts yet together.
Yet, this closeness was kept hidden, a chapter of your life unread by Sam. Not out of deceit but from a desire to protect this fragile connection from external judgments or expectations. With Sam's protective instincts, your relationship with Bucky was a delicate balance, a treasure trove of moments and memories that you both guarded fiercely.
The complexity of your relationship with Bucky was not defined by labels or expectations but by the depth of connection and mutual understanding. It was a testament to the fact that sometimes, the most profound relationships are those that exist in the spaces between words, in the comfort of silence, and in the shared experiences of two souls navigating the world side by side.
The inexplicable flutter in your heart whenever Bucky was near often left you questioning your own sanity, yet there was something undeniably captivating about the way he made you feel. The warmth that crept into your cheeks as you reminisced about a lazy afternoon spent in the park was a testament to this. It was a simple moment, really—Bucky's admission of his aversion to text messaging because he preferred the sound of your voice had somehow managed to send your heart into a delightful somersault. In that instant, you understood the unspoken pact between you two: to keep the depth of your connection hidden from your brother.
This secret camaraderie you shared with Bucky was treasured quietly, a series of moments and feelings kept just between the two of you. Bucky, too, found solace in your presence. The way you looked at him, with eyes filled with genuine affection and understanding, offered him a tranquility he had long thought was beyond his grasp. Your smile was like a beacon to him, urging him to open up about his past, his fears, and his dreams, despite the darkness that shadowed much of his history. Yet, of all the things that drew him closer, it was your laughter that he cherished most.
Your laughter wasn't restrained or demure; it was the kind that bubbled up from deep within, unfiltered and infectious. Those moments when you would laugh so heartily, throwing your head back without a care in the world, were the ones that Bucky held dear. It was in these bursts of genuine joy that he saw the lightness of being, a stark contrast to the battles and burdens he carried. Your laughter, free and unabashed, symbolized a purity of happiness that Bucky admired. It reminded him that amidst the complexities of life, there existed simple, unguarded moments of joy worth cherishing.
In the twilight of Bucky's life, where happiness seemed more a memory than a possibility, the moments he shared with you illuminated his world with an unexpected joy. Time and again, he teetered on the brink of asking you to intertwine your lives officially, to step beyond the unspoken boundaries of your secret affinity and declare it openly. Yet, each time the words perched on the edge of his tongue, ready to leap into the abyss of possibilities, the thought of Sam cast a long shadow over his resolve.
Sam, the steadfast pillar of your family, was a friend to Bucky in every sense except in name, for their camaraderie was too complex and layered for simple labels. Bucky was acutely aware of the fierce love Sam harbored for you, a protective and encompassing love that was both admirable and intimidating. He knew of the cherished photograph Sam carried in his wallet—a tangible reminder of the bond shared between you, your sister, and his beloved nephews, a snapshot of the life Sam fought so valiantly to protect.
And it was the thought of Sam, with his unwavering loyalty and brotherly love, that stayed Bucky's confession. He was painfully aware of the turmoil that would ensue should Sam discover the depth of his feelings for you. Bucky could almost feel the weight of Sam's betrayal and anger, for in his heart, he knew that his affection for you crossed lines that Sam might never forgive. This tension, this fear of fracturing the fragile truce they had built, kept Bucky silent, trapped in a limbo of longing and loyalty, where his desire to claim your heart battled with his respect for the brother who would view such a confession as the ultimate treachery.
As Zemo led the way, weaving through a throng of onlookers whose eyes darted with a mix of curiosity and caution, the air buzzed with hushed whispers that all seemed to echo the same question: "Is that the Winter Soldier?" Yet, if only they could see beyond the infamy and the scars of war, they'd find Bucky. This was the same Bucky who had once called you in a panic, deep into the night, baffled by the modern conundrum of ordering a television online. The same Bucky who shared with you his playlist of favorite songs, tunes you never expected to enjoy, yet found yourself playing on repeat. And this was the Bucky who, in an earnest attempt to teach you to dance, ended up with you standing on his feet, both of you moving in a clumsy but heartwarming harmony across the floor.
Arriving at the bar, you edged closer to Zemo and Bucky, the latter noticing your approach and subtly shifting to grant you more space. "Good evening," greeted the bartender with a nod towards Sam, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger."
The effort to suppress a grin was Herculean as the nickname filled the air. Your brother, Sam, for all his bravery and skill, was many things, but a master thespian he was not. Tonight, he was to embody Conrad Mack, or "Smiling Tiger," a persona draped in notoriety and whispered about in the darkest corners of the criminal underworld. Knowing Sam's theatrical limits, the anticipation of watching him navigate the guise of an African gangster tinged your apprehension with a thread of amusement, painting the night ahead with the promise of unforgettable moments.
"Plans have shifted," Zemo interjected smoothly, answering on behalf of Sam, who tightened his lips in an attempt at solemnity. The sight was almost comical; Sam's expression ventured into the realms of absurdity. "We have business with Selby tonight."
A cloak of skepticism draped over the bartender's demeanor, his eyes—a mix of inquiry and caution—peered from behind the substantial frames of his glasses. His visage, half-obscured by a beard, seemed out of place in this den of shadows and whispered secrets. One could easily mistake him for a tech wizard from the polished corridors of Stark Industries rather than a keeper of this clandestine establishment.
"The usual, then?" the bartender queried. Sam, lips still tightly sealed, offered a single, determined nod, his posture shifting slightly with unease. With practiced ease, the bartender turned to retrieve a jar housing a deceased equatorial spitting cobra, laying it out with a certain reverence on the cutting board before you. He wielded a knife, expertly slicing the serpent open to extract its heart. This he placed in a shot glass, to which he added a dash of Triple sec, a measure of gin, and a squeeze of finger lime, concocting a drink that teetered on the edge of the exotic and the macabre. Sliding the glass towards Sam, the air was momentarily thick with anticipation.
"Ahh," Zemo exhaled, a chuckle threatening to breach his composure. "The Smiling Tiger, your favorite." The room hung in a momentary suspense, the bizarre ritual highlighting the lengths to which one might go to blend into the shadows of this underworld.
As you reluctantly redirected your attention away from the unsavory scene, your eyes found solace in Bucky's gaze. The moment of eye contact with the super-soldier was like a silent pact, conveying volumes in the briefest exchange. “I think the next part’s worth watching.” His suggestion was delivered in a hush, his voice a soft, enticing caress against the delicate skin of your neck, sparking a cascade of warmth that pooled in the pit of your stomach. You darted a quick look around, half-expecting the assembled throng to notice this intimate exchange. Yet, their attention remained steadfastly on the notorious figure of the Winter Soldier, allowing you a sliver of privacy in the crowded space.
Turning back towards your brother, you endeavored to steady your racing heart, to cloak the fluttering butterflies that Bucky's nearness had unfurled within you. But it was akin to trying to calm a storm with whispered words; Bucky's heat enveloped you, a comforting yet unnerving presence. Then, almost imperceptibly, he edged closer, a mere shift that breached the scant distance between you. His chest hovered just shy of touching your back, a whisper of contact that electrified your senses.
Your body responded before your mind could catch up, muscles tensing, heart thundering against your ribcage as if seeking escape. The air seemed to thicken, each breath a labor through the heightened tension that his proximity wrought. The warmth from his body seeped through the fabric of your clothes, branding your skin with a heat that was both foreign and intoxicating. A shiver coursed through you, unbidden, as you fought the urge to lean back into him, to seek solace in the strength of his embrace. His presence, so close and yet so restrained, left you teetering on the edge of something profound, a precipice overlooking a maelstrom of uncharted emotions and desires.
The atmosphere in the dimly lit, cramped space was charged with an uneasy anticipation as Sam steeled himself to down the concoction before him – the alcohol mingling with the snake's heart in a display of grit and resolve. Standing beside him, you could almost taste the bile rising in your own throat at the thought, empathy for Sam's predicament tangling with your own visceral reaction. It was in this moment of vicarious revulsion that you felt it—a touch so light, so fleeting on your arm that it could have been mistaken for a trick of the air, save for the deep, intrinsic knowledge that it was Bucky. His touch, though minimal, carried with it a warmth and a reassurance that seemed to cut through the tension of the moment, grounding you.
This gentle caress, lost to anyone else's perception, was like a beacon to your heightened senses, which seemed to come alive with a fervor that only Bucky's presence could ignite. It was a silent communication, a shared moment amidst the chaos, confirming that his attention was riveted not on the grotesque spectacle unfolding with your brother but on you. And then, without need for visual confirmation, you sensed the subtle shift in his posture, the lean of his body just close enough for you to catch the light inhale as he discreetly breathed in the scent of your hair. The intimacy of the action, hidden in plain sight, had your eyelids fluttering close, teetering on the edge of surrender to the sensation.
But the moment was shattered by the intrusion of a new, deep voice, unfamiliar and brusque, pulling Bucky's gaze away from you for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The voice belonged to a tattooed biker who had sidled up beside Zemo, breaking the spell that had cocooned you and Bucky in your private world. Yet, even as Bucky's eyes momentarily flicked to the newcomer, assessing and then dismissing him as a threat, his hand lingered on your arm, a silent vow of protection and an unwillingness to completely sever the thread of connection between you.
When the biker had disappeared back into the throng of the bar's patrons, Bucky's voice, low and resonant, brushed your cheek, "A Power Broker, really?" His breath was a warm caress, a contrast to the cool air of the bar and the cold reality of their mission.
Zemo's response was a shrug, nonchalant yet laden with the weight of their precarious position within this den of intrigue and danger. "Every kingdom needs its king. Let's just pray we stay under his radar." The words were a stark reminder of the peril that shadowed their every step, yet, for a fleeting moment, the only truth that seemed to matter was the connection between you and Bucky, a silent acknowledgment of a bond that thrived even in the heart of danger.
As your brother subtly leaned in, distancing himself from the ears of the surrounding strangers, his voice carried a note of quiet inquiry, "Do you know him?" His gaze was sharp, the weight of leadership and concern pressing upon his features, a look you knew all too well.
Zemo, ever the enigmatic figure, glanced briefly over his shoulder, his gaze sweeping across the teeming masses of Madripoor's underworld. "Only by reputation," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of wariness. He continued, his tone lowering to match the gravity of his words, "He is judge, jury, and executioner in Madripoor." The way Zemo articulated the roles imbued them with a sense of dread, painting a picture of a figure wielding absolute power over life and death in this lawless land.
As Sam prepared to step back, blending once more into the crowded backdrop of the bar, his gaze inadvertently fell upon Bucky's hand, a subtle yet intimate gesture resting gently on your arm. The silent question was evident in the arch of his brow, a wordless probe into the nature of the connection he had just witnessed. Despite the many shared battles and secrets between you, this particular nuance of your relationship with Bucky remained veiled from Sam's knowledge. He knew of the camaraderie, the shared jokes, and the mutual respect; what he had yet to grasp was the depth that lay beneath those surface interactions.
Caught under the weight of your brother's scrutiny, you felt a compelling urge to divert, to shield the budding complexity of your relationship with Bucky from any further inquiry. With a practiced nonchalance, you reached for the glass that had mysteriously found its way before you—its contents unknown but suddenly invaluable as a means of distraction. The glass felt cool against your fingertips, a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through your chest, fueled by Bucky's proximity and the intensity of your brother's gaze.
Without granting Sam the acknowledgment he sought, you lifted the glass, the liquid inside catching the dim light of the bar in a fleeting dance of shadows. With a resolve born of necessity, you downed the contents in one swift motion, the liquid tracing a burning path down your throat, a physical manifestation of the turmoil swirling within. In that moment, the intricacies of your heart's desires, the silent yearnings, and the whispered dreams shared in the quiet with Bucky were drowned in the sharp bite of the drink. There was no love life to dissect, you reasoned, at least not one that could be neatly explained or openly acknowledged under the watchful eyes of your brother. This was a complexity you were not yet ready to unravel, preferring instead the sanctity of ambiguity and the solace found in the unspoken.
From the periphery of your vision, the subtle yet unmistakable shift of the crowd's focus toward your group sent a ripple of tension through the air. Zemo, breaking the mounting silence, uttered something in Russian, his voice a sharp command that instantly put Bucky, who loomed protectively behind you, on high alert. Your grasp of Russian might have been rudimentary at best, but the gravity carried by the word "attack" pierced through any language barrier, sending a shiver down your spine. Your gaze darted anxiously between Bucky and Zemo, then to the increasingly hostile encirclement of men.
In a moment driven by instinct more than thought, your hand found Bucky's arm, a silent plea for restraint, an acknowledgment of the heavy burdens he bore and the battles you wished he wouldn't have to fight again. Yet, as the hand of an adversary reached for Zemo, intent on aggression, Bucky's protective instincts overrode any hesitations. The mission's success, the preservation of your collective guise, demanded action.
With a fluidity born of countless battles, Bucky intercepted the stranger's hand, wrenching it into a grim contortion of pain before hoisting him by the collar. The air was punctuated by the thud of the man's body crashing to the ground, a clear signal to the onlookers who, rather than stepping in, recoiled to the safety of the crowd's edges. Their initial shock quickly gave way to the modern reflex of capturing chaos on their smartphones, eager to document the return of the Winter Soldier.
Another assailant lunged forward, driven either by bravado or foolishness, only to meet Bucky's calculated fury. A swift strike to the chest paired with a debilitating kick to the shin sent the man staggering, a prelude to the crushing force of Bucky's elbow against his back. But Bucky was far from done; he delivered a final, forceful kick to the assailant's stomach with such power that the man was propelled backward, colliding with another would-be attacker and sending them both sprawling to the ground.
In those tense moments, Bucky transformed the immediate vicinity into a no-man's land, a clear warning to any who still harbored thoughts of joining the fray. The message was unambiguous: the Winter Soldier, though cloaked in the guise of Bucky Barnes, remained a formidable force, his actions a blend of precision and power that left no room for doubt or defiance.
The melee unfolded with relentless ferocity, each blow landing with a chilling finality. Amidst the chaos, Zemo's unexpected touch on your waist snapped your attention sharply to him, an unwelcome distraction amidst the turmoil. His fingers were cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the skirmish that raged a mere breath away. Holding a shot glass, with another stationed invitingly before him on the bar's counter, Zemo seemed almost nonchalant, as if the violent ballet unfolding around you two was mere background noise.
You could only hope that Sam's gaze was entirely consumed by the spectacle of the fight, lest Zemo's audacity earn him a swift and severe reprimand—the kind that involved a painful reconfiguration of his hand's anatomy. And, should Sam's protective instincts flare up, your carefully maintained cover would be shattered in an instant.
"So," Zemo initiated casually, offering you the glass while securing his own. His demeanor was eerily calm, a man unfazed by the chaos, his curiosity piqued by personal intrigues rather than the potential dangers that lurked in your immediate vicinity. "How long have you and James been seeing each other?"
His question caught you off guard, a blunt intrusion that left you momentarily flustered. "Excuse you?" you retorted, the sharpness in your voice mirroring your surprise.
He downed his shot in one fluid motion, a satisfied exhale following the liquid's descent. "Oh," he dismissed with a nonchalant wave of his hand, a gesture that belied the keen observation behind his words. "Your brother might be wearing blinders, but I certainly do not. It's been quite evident that Barnes has scarcely glanced away from you all evening."
You found yourself grappling for a response, the unexpected scrutiny leaving you unsettled. "Well, uh," you stumbled over your words, grappling for composure. "It's just what he does—staring." Your gaze dropped to the shot glass cradled in your palm, its contents suddenly more appealing than the conversation. With a swift tilt of your hand, you emptied the glass, the liquid courage coursing through you. Instinctively, you braced yourself for whatever probing questions Zemo might pose next, bolstered now by a fleeting rush of boldness from the alcohol.
Zemo's attention subtly shifted behind you, a prelude to his hand sneaking once more to your waist. A wry smirk played at the corner of his lips as he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear with a whispered directive, "Get ready." Immobilized by a sudden rush of surprise, you found yourself momentarily unable to react, your mind racing to process the unwelcome proximity.
As you regained your composure, indignation fueling your resolve, your hands began to rise, intent on removing his intrusion. Yet, before you could act, a familiar and comforting warmth enveloped your back. A sharp intake of breath caught in your throat as a low, protective growl resonated from behind you, a primal sound that spoke volumes of the tension filling the air.
In the blink of an eye, Zemo's hand was forcibly removed from you, Bucky's intervention swift and silent. The warning in Bucky's eyes was unmistakable, a clear message that brooked no argument. His grip on Zemo's hand tightened, a silent demonstration of his protective instincts. The strain was evident as Zemo's face flushed, a crimson wave ascending his neck in stark contrast to his paling face, a vivid testament to the discomfort and possibly fear induced by Bucky's ironclad hold.
Observing the intensity of the moment, you placed your hand gently atop Bucky's, seeking to diffuse the tension. "It's okay," you whispered soothingly, a plea for peace. "Let him go." Your voice, though soft, carried the weight of your concern, hoping to coax Bucky back from the brink of further conflict.
With a grudging release of pressure, Bucky acquiesced to your request, albeit with a distasteful grunt. He allowed Zemo the mercy of an unbroken hand, a testament to his respect for your wishes. The moment, charged with silent confrontations and unspoken bonds, highlighted the deep connection between you and Bucky, a bond that transcended mere words, resonating with loyalty, protection, and an unyielding sense of unity.
The tension in the air was palpable, a heavy cloud that seemed to weigh down every breath, until the bartender's voice sliced through the silence with the precision of a well-honed blade. "Selby will see you now," he announced, effectively diffusing the charged atmosphere. As you were ushered down the dimly lit corridor by a group of stern-faced men, the arrangement was strategic: Zemo leading, followed by Sam, with you nestled securely in the middle, and Bucky bringing up the rear, his vigilant gaze ensuring no threat would find its way to you unnoticed.
In a fluid motion born of protective instinct, Bucky's fingers found your wrist, gently but firmly pulling you aside into the seclusion of the shadowed alcove. The dim light played across his features, casting deep shadows that sculpted his face with an intensity that was almost breathtaking. His rugged attractiveness, framed in the half-light, struck you with a force that made your heart flutter. "Are you okay?" you found yourself asking, drawn into the complexity of emotions that danced within his eyes. It was clear he was wrestling with his own turmoil, yet his proximity to you, so near that the soft flutter of your eyelashes could have brushed against his cheek, seemed to both unsettle and anchor him.
“Next time he grabs you like that—” He cut himself of, jaw clenching.
As you laid your hand against the solid warmth of his chest in a comforting gesture, a ripple of tension eased from his frame. "It's okay," your whisper broke the intimate silence between you, your gaze lifting to meet his. "I'm okay, promise. He was just trying to get under your skin."
His eyes, a mirror to his soul, roamed over your features with an intensity that felt as though he was memorizing every detail, every curve, and contour, before finally settling back into your gaze. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" His voice, soft yet filled with an emotion that resonated deep within your chest, enveloped you in a warmth that went beyond the physical closeness. In that moment, amidst the shadows and whispers of danger, a connection forged in the crucible of shared experiences and unspoken understanding deepened, transcending the chaos of the world outside.
Your smile, blossoming in response to Bucky's unexpected compliment, was abruptly cut short by Zemo's call for the Winter Soldier, reverberating ominously off the walls. A mutual sigh of resignation passed between you and Bucky. With a bite to your lip, signaling the gravity of the interruption, you took a hesitant step back, murmuring, "We should go."
Bucky's response was a tight nod, the muscles along his jawline tensing visibly as he too made the difficult choice to distance himself. The atmosphere shifted palpably as you entered Selby's domain. She was ensconced regally in an armchair, her fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm against its worn fabric, embodying the calm before the storm. "You should know, Baron," she began, her voice cool and measured, "people don’t just come into my bar and make demands."
Zemo, unfazed, countered with equal calmness, "Not a demand, an offer."
Selby's demeanor hinted at a mix of curiosity and caution as she observed the changes in her domain and the players within it. "A lot has changed since you were here last," she remarked, her gaze sliding over Bucky with undisguised interest. "By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?"
Zemo, settling himself before Selby with a nonchalance born of confidence, merely shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "People like us always find a way, don’t we? I'm sure you've already figured out what I am here for."
Selby, her attention never straying from Zemo, extended a languid finger toward your brother, her voice taking on a teasing, almost flirtatious tone. "You're taller than I'd heard, Smiling Tiger," she purred, her grin sharp as a knife's edge, before shifting her focus back to Zemo. "What's the offer?"
"Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum." Zemo's command hung in the air, heavy with implication. He rose, his movements deliberate, as he made his way to where Bucky and you stood in a silent vigil. The audacity of his next offer sliced through the tension like a cold blade. "And I give you him," Zemo gestured towards Bucky with a chilling casualness, "along with the code words that control him, of course." His fingers dared to trace a path along Bucky's jawline, a presumptuous gesture that hinted at possession. "He will do anything you want." You moved your hand to brush against his, blocking the view with your body, not wanting your cover to blow, also not wanting Bucky to blow up because of the over-the-top trade Zemo was talking about, which he hadn’t disclosed with you "Now, that’s the Zemo I remember," Selby's voice curled with a mix of admiration and threat, her lips twisting into a grin that was as dangerous as it was pleased. "I'm glad I decided not to kill you immediately." She mused aloud, nodding to herself as if affirming her own wisdom. "Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right." Zemo, with a nod acknowledging the compliment veiled as a critique, moved back to his chair, rejoining the precarious dance of conversation.
"The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor," Selby continued, her revelation hanging in the smoky air like a veiled threat. "Doctor Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank, or…" Her voice trailed off as she tilted her head, her gaze sharp, "Or condemn, depending on what side you're on."
"Is Nagel still in Madripoor?" Zemo's question cut through the tension, his inquiry pointed and loaded with unspoken implications.
Selby stood, her movement fluid as a shadow, drifting behind Zemo. She was about to divulge the answer, a secret that could tip the scales, when the moment was shattered by the unexpected vibration of a cell phone. Sam's cell phone, ingeniously hidden within the confines of your bra, the only place deemed secure given the impracticality of the suit's tiny pockets. The room froze, a tableau of anticipation and dread, as all eyes darted towards you. The vibration continued, a silent herald of impending chaos, until, with a steadiness you hardly felt, you retrieved the phone. The caller ID flashed "Mom jr." — a code name for your older sister, Sarah, that now felt like a harbinger of disaster.
"Go on," Selby's voice was a command laced with curiosity and a hint of menace, her henchman already looming ominously behind her. "Answer it. On speaker."
With a nod, terse and devoid of any option but compliance, you swiped the screen, the green circle heralding a connection fraught with risk. Clearing your throat, an attempt to mask the torrent of nerves, you answered with a voice feigning confidence, "Smiling Tiger."
"...Okay." The brief silence that followed was thick with confusion, Sarah's voice betraying her bewilderment. "Why do you have his phone? Is he there?"
"Uh, yeah, yes, he is."
"Could I speak to him? It's urgent."
"Sure." You navigated the tense atmosphere with caution, aware of the danger that lurked in every corner. Approaching Sam, you offered the phone with a discreet, "Sir."
Sam accepted the phone, his throat clearing a precursor to the conversation. "Hello?"
"Hey, uhm, we need to talk about this situation. It's been driving me nuts."
"What situation are you talking about exactly?"
"Are you high? You know the situation. It’s the only situation me and you have."
"What situation, Sarah? Say it."
"The damn boat. And watch your tone, okay? I let you slide at the bank."
Sam's scoff was almost audible, a mixture of disbelief and humor. "The bank, yeah. Laundered so much money," he chuckled. "Yeah, they'll come around."
"If that’s the case, then why'd they dog you out, Big Time?"
"Yeah, you damn right I'm Big Time. You'll see when I have that banker killed." Your gaze flickered to Bucky, dreading the potential fallout from this precarious bluff.
"Cass! What did I tell you about the Cheerios? I don’t have time for this!" Sarah's exasperated outburst was unexpected, yet somehow, it underscored the normalcy of life's chaos — even when worlds apart, Cheerios could cause turmoil. "Sam, I'm sorry, let me call you back."
"Sam?" Selby's voice, sharp with suspicion, cut through the room. "Who's Sam?" Her eyes scanned the room, landing on one of her men as she gave the lethal order, "Kill them!" No sooner had the command left her lips than a bullet from an unseen sniper found its mark, sailing through the window to claim Selby's life with unerring precision.
As Selby's men, jolted by the sudden turn of events, scrambled to retaliate, the trio leapt into action, their movements a blend of desperation and determination, ready to confront the chaos unleashed by a single, ill-timed phone call.
Sam's movements were swift and precise, his elbow connecting with the gut of the assailant beside him with a force that spoke of urgency and desperation. In a fluid motion, he seized the man's weapon, leveraging his strength to send his adversary crumbling to the floor. Nearby, Bucky confronted another threat, an opponent armed with an automatic firearm. The bullets, however, were no match for Bucky's metallic arm. With an almost serene calmness, he raised his arm, the bullets ricocheting off the vibranium and falling harmlessly to the ground, their lethal intent nullified. With a swift, decisive movement, Bucky disarmed the gunman, the heavy thud of the weapon striking the assailant's head a grim punctuation to the confrontation.
Zemo, meanwhile, exhibited a different kind of strategy. He glided to the side, a ballet of avoidance, demonstrating a preference to remain on the fringes of the physical altercation. His demeanor suggested disinterest, a calculated decision to avoid the fray, yet you knew the truth. Zemo possessed skills honed by experience, a dangerous combatant by any measure, choosing discretion over engagement.
As for yourself, standing on the precipice of engagement, you too could have dismantled any adversary with ease, mirroring Zemo's restraint. Yet, it wasn't the fear of the fight that stilled your hand, nor the dread of physical harm. It was a deeper, more insidious kind of fear that gnawed at your resolve — the fear of responsibility. Sam had seen the toll it took on you, the anxiety that came with wielding your powers. He reassured you, time and again, that it was okay to hold back, understanding the weight that came with such immense power.
You had mastered control over your abilities, a feat that was as much for those around you as it was for your peace of mind. But control was a fragile thing, a constant battle against the possibility of a catastrophic slip. The echoes of the past haunted you, a stark reminder of the chaos unleashed during the battle against Thanos. The risk you had posed to your brother's life was a memory etched in the recesses of your mind, a harrowing reminder of the potential consequences of your powers. The burden of that day weighed heavily on your shoulders, a silent vow to never relive that helplessness, that guilt, again. Control could temper the power, but it could never erase the memories, the fears, or the haunting possibility of what could happen should it ever falter.
The moment unfolded before you with a surreal clarity, as if time itself had bent to accommodate the gravity of what was about to transpire. There stood Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme, his figure exuding an aura of solemnity. With a hand stretched towards you, his voice cut through the chaos of your thoughts, delivering the harrowing message that Thanos was on the precipice of ushering in another war.
The ground beneath you felt unsteady, as if it too, shared in your tumult of emotions. Your body was a tempest of sensations, akin to being engulfed in invisible flames, an internal inferno that threatened to consume your very essence. Your hands, held out in front of you, became the focal point of your bewildered gaze. They glowed with an ethereal green luminescence, transforming your eyes into beacons of an otherworldly force. In that moment, you were a stranger even to yourself, your identity obscured by the overwhelming power that surged within you. You feared that even your brother, upon witnessing this transformation, would find himself staring at an unfamiliar figure, your familiar visage masked by an alien force.
It was during this maelstrom of confusion and fear that Stephen Strange recognized the tumultuous energy you were channeling. With a wisdom borne of his experiences with the mystic arts, he extended not just his hand but an offer of guidance and mastery over the forces that now threatened to unravel you.
Amidst this turmoil, a familiar voice pierced the veil of your disorientation. Bucky's voice, imbued with urgency and concern, reached out to you, grounding you back to reality. "We gotta go." His words, simple yet laden with an unspoken promise of safety, beckoned you. As your gaze snapped towards him, you were met with the sight of his outstretched hand, a lifeline in the chaos.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, you placed your palm against his, the warmth of his grip a stark contrast to the cold uncertainty that had gripped your heart. Led by Bucky, you began to make your way out of the building, each step away from the epicenter of your crisis a step towards reclaiming the self that had been momentarily lost in the eye of the storm.
As Zemo's directive to abandon their firearms behind echoed in your mind, a profound vulnerability washed over you, intensifying the uncertainty that already clouded your heart. The decision to venture into the unknown without the familiar weight of a weapon at your side left you feeling starkly exposed, each step on the pavement echoing your apprehension.
Amidst the chaos, the glow of countless phone screens caught your attention, their omnipresence a stark reminder of the digital eyes that followed your every move. Your grip on Bucky's hand tightened, a help in centering you amidst the swirling uncertainty, your fingers intertwined with his in a silent plea for reassurance. Bucky, feeling the tremor of your grasp, was confronted with an overwhelming pressure in his chest—a sensation so intense, it seemed as though his heart might shatter through his ribcage. The logical part of his mind suggested that releasing your trembling hand might alleviate some of his distress, disconnecting him from the tangible evidence of your fear. Yet, the thought of pulling you even closer overpowered him, a testament to the protective instinct that surged within him, despite the presence of his partner in crime at his side, equally eager to escape the impending peril and shield you from harm.
Out of the corner of your eye, a figure detached from the crowd caught your attention—a woman, standing apart with her hands mimicking the shape of a gun, playfully ‘shooting’ at your group. This macabre pantomime, juxtaposed against the sea of illuminated screens, shed light on the grim realization that you and your companions had been reduced to mere targets in a deadly game, surrounded by a multitude of unseen adversaries, each one thirsting for blood and the lure of a reward.
In the fraction of a second before you could advance another step, the air was pierced by the unmistakable sound of gunfire. An instinctive fear gripped you, catalyzing a reaction that tore you away from Bucky's grasp. You spun around, just as a barrage of bullets threatened to engulf your group in a lethal storm. Driven by a deep-seated impulse to protect, you extended your hands, your eyes instinctively closing as you tapped into a wellspring of power that had lain dormant within you for far too long. The air around you charged with anticipation, as if the very essence of your being had awakened to confront the danger head-on.
Upon daring to open your eyes, fearing the aftermath of your instinctual reaction, you were confronted with a surreal tableau: bullets suspended mid-air, frozen in time and space, an arm's length away, creating an eerie stillness in the midst of chaos. The sheer number of projectiles, hovering ominously close, sent a shiver down your spine, yet it was the sight of your own fingers, aglow with a radiant green luminance, that truly captivated you. It was a strange juxtaposition—how could something so ethereally beautiful harbor the potential for immense destruction?
Your fascination gave way to action as you turned your palm, the bullets beginning to dissolve into nothingness, disintegrating into a fine mist just before reaching your skin. The urgency to locate your assailant led your eyes to a figure, scant meters away, wielding a machine gun braced against a makeshift stand in the bustling market. With a focused gesture, you manipulated the now-liquefied metal, directing it with lethal precision towards the gunman. He recoiled, anticipating pain or perhaps even death, but instead, you targeted his weapon. The metal swarm enveloped the gun, rendering it inoperable, parts of its mechanism dissolving into oblivion.
The surrounding crowd, momentarily taken aback by the display of power, quickly regrouped, their initial shock transforming into twisted smiles as they once again raised their weapons. It was then that your brother intervened, his hand clasping yours with determined strength, pulling you back into the frenetic escape. The concept of a leisurely retreat was a luxury far removed from reality as you both dashed through the dense throngs of Madripoor, a city now teeming with adversaries drawn by the allure of a bounty. The streets, alive with danger, became a labyrinth as you navigated through the relentless pursuit, the weight of potential violence pressing against you from all sides.
“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam's grumble about his unsuitable footwear for their frenzied escape almost halted you in your tracks, the urge to chastise him for his complaint bubbling up fiercely.
"I'm wearing six-inch heels, you idiot!" you retorted, your voice slicing through the tension as you were half-dragged, half-ran, your form almost seeming to bounce off the pavement with each step.
Just then, the distinct growl of motorbikes escalated behind you, a clear sign that your pursuers were closing in with alarming speed. Instinctively, you twisted around, freeing one arm from your brother's firm grasp. A brilliant emerald glow enveloped your hand as you unleashed a force resembling a sonic boom towards your chasers. Glancing back, you witnessed the bikers caught in a surreal slow-motion, ensnared within the temporal anomaly you'd unwittingly summoned.
The urgency of your flight tapered off as your brother gradually decelerated, releasing your hand to take in the quietude that had enveloped the scene. Zemo, ever the observer, couldn't hide his admiration, stepping closer with a sly grin. "Quite impressive, if I may say so myself."
“You may not.” His commendation was met with a mutter from Bucky, barely audible yet brimming with protectiveness. Bucky positioned himself squarely between you and Zemo, effectively shielding you from the latter's view. Sam, meanwhile, appeared utterly bemused, hands perched on his hips as he oscillated his gaze between you and Bucky, bewildered by the sudden shift in dynamics.
"Okay, what—?" Sam began, only to be cut off as the moment teetered on the brink of unraveling.
"Well, isn’t this just perfect," a voice chimed from the enveloping shadows, laced with a mix of amusement and disbelief. Emerging into the dim light, a blonde woman approached with her gun poised, her stance radiating confidence and danger. Recognition flickered through your mind, delayed by the surreal context. Sharon Carter, the name finally clicked, associated with tales of Steve Rogers and his erstwhile entanglements. Sam's anecdotes, usually shared with a mix of reverence and jest, painted her in the light of a past fraught with complex allegiances, especially during the so-called Civil War—a term you found overly dramatic for what essentially amounted to a highly publicized skirmish among comrades at an airport.
"Sharon?" Bucky's voice cut through your thoughts, tinged with a blend of surprise and uncertainty. The Sharon Carter you'd heard of through scattered stories seemed far removed from the woman who now stood before you, gun in hand, in the underbelly of Madripoor. It was a reflection, perhaps, of how life's unpredictable currents could sweep anyone into unforeseen harbors.
Her gaze, sharp and unyielding, locked onto Zemo, the intensity of her scorn palpable. "You cost me everything," she accused, the words heavy with resentment. Sam attempted to interject, offering explanations that seemed to dissipate before they could reach her, lost in the void of her grievance. "I stole Steve's shield, remember?" she reminded, her resolve steel-hard, the weapon unwavering in her grasp. "I also took the wings for your ass," she directed at Sam, causing a ripple of tension to pass through you. The mention of sacrifices made—her actions for their benefit—underscored the gravity of her fall from grace. Her focus shifted momentarily to Bucky, implicating him in the web of consequences, before returning to Zemo with a disdainful flick. Finally, her eyes found you, registering your presence with a flicker of surprise. "No idea who you are," she stated, an admission that underscored the complexity of alliances and identities in this shadowy world.
With a determined stride, Bucky advanced towards Sharon, his every step a testament to his intent to defuse the tension that crackled in the air. He engaged her with words, his tone both pleading and firm, navigating through the storm of her fury. Eventually, her grip on the gun loosened, the weapon tucked away after an exasperated sigh, a silent concession to his efforts. Sharon then proposed an unexpected truce, inviting you all back to her sanctuary. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on you; moments before, the cold metal of her gun had promised anything but hospitality.
Crossing the threshold into Sharon's abode, you were immediately struck by an array of art that adorned every wall and surface. The collection was staggering, a visual feast of masterpieces that seemed too authentic, too valuable to be merely decorative. You half-joked to yourself about the possibility of the Mona Lisa being tucked away in a corner, marveling at the fortune that surrounded you, captured in oil and canvas.
The offer of a change of attire came next, with Sharon presenting an array of elegant garments that seemed to glide into the room on a valet rod. The promise of shedding your current attire, particularly the torturous heels that had been your nemesis throughout the evening, was a relief. Barefoot, you approached the selection with eagerness, only to have your enthusiasm dimmed by the realization that the options available were far removed from your comfort zone. Accustomed to the simple reliability of sneakers and boots, the sight of such finery felt daunting, alien.
Facing Sharon, a hint of disappointment lacing your expression, you ventured a request, hoping for something more aligned with your sense of style. "Don't you have anything less... that?" The words hung between you, a polite plea for normalcy amidst the opulence that defined her world.
"Like what?" Sharon's question cut through the tension in the room, her gaze drifting momentarily over Bucky and his shirtless state alongside Zemo. The moment made your skin crawl slightly, an unwelcome distraction in the midst of the unfolding scenario.
"Jeans?" you ventured hopefully, trying to steer the conversation back to a more comfortable topic, despite the circumstances.
"We are going to a club in Madripoor," Sharon pointed out, as if the venue demanded a specific dress code that was far from your preference.
"Yes?" you responded, not fully grasping why your suggested attire wouldn't be suitable, your tone a mixture of confusion and mild annoyance.
After a brief pause, during which Sharon seemed to consider her response, she chose to bypass your suggestion entirely, moving past you as if you had become part of the room's extravagant background. Your frustration evident, you rolled your eyes at her dismissive attitude and turned back to the daunting task of selecting an outfit from the array provided. Among the lavish options, you managed to find flared leather leggings and a high-neck crop top with a singular sleeve—a rebellious choice that echoed your own style while avoiding the discomfort of another glitter-infested dress. As you began the awkward dance of changing into the leather pants without first removing your current dress, a subtle commotion caught your attention.
Bucky, ever the protector, had taken it upon himself to ensure your privacy. His large hand found Zemo's neck, not harshly but with enough insistence to pivot the man's attention away from you. However, it wasn't just Zemo's attention he was diverting; his own gaze, filled with an intensity you couldn't quite decipher, kept flickering back to you. Each look seemed to linger a moment too long, filled with an emotion he seemed to struggle to define, let alone express. With a visible effort, Bucky tore his gaze away, a stern resolve setting in as he forced himself to focus on anything but you.
Your brother went to lift his whiskey glass off the table when he spotted what was inside of it. A shiver ran down his as he fished out the little snake part and stood to throw it out the window. The expression on his face made you throw your head back laughing. He raised his brow at you in question. You lifted your hands. "I didn’t do it."
"Then why are you laughing?"
"Because whoever did, is a genius." You were about to pull the top over your head when Sam pinched you in the side. "Ow, what the hell, Sam!" With furrowed brows, and the tight top stuck on your shoulders, you tried to kick him in the shin, though he moved back just in time; a broad grin rested on his face. "Too slow, sista," Sam teased, his playful nudge against your head causing your already precarious balance to falter further. With a grunt of mock indignation, you surged forward, aiming a determined chest-bump at your brother, eager to see him mirror your momentary imbalance. Your efforts were rewarded with a triumphant laugh as Sam was forced to step back, the shared moment of childish glee lighting up your features with a wide grin. This brief interlude of sibling rivalry whisked you back to those carefree days of your youth, where even the simplest acts of brotherly teasing felt like the grandest adventures. Back then, Sam could do no wrong in your eyes, the epitome of an older brother in the most magnificent form.
In the midst of your playful scuffle, you were secretly relieved that Sharon had exited the room. Her presence might have added a layer of self-consciousness to the innocent chaos. Although the antics might seem juvenile to an outsider, to you, they were a rare slice of normalcy—a cherished reminder of a life untouched by cosmic wars or Thanos' dread shadow.
As Sam busied himself with selecting an outfit, your struggle with the unyielding fabric of your top grew increasingly frustrating. The material, devoid of any give, clung stubbornly in all the wrong places. With your back to Bucky, a soft sigh of exasperation escaped you. "Buck?" The quiet call for assistance was barely above a whisper, yet it summoned his attention instantly.
"Need a hand?" His voice was close, filled with a gentle concern that made your heart flutter slightly.
"Yes, please," came your subdued reply, the momentary vulnerability feeling strangely intimate. Then, you felt it—his touch. The slight graze of Bucky's skin against yours as his fingers traced a path up your side, his touch delicate yet assured. He navigated the fabric with a tender precision, his fingers briefly pausing at the edge of your top before guiding it smoothly into place. The fleeting caress that followed lingered just long enough to ignite a shiver of anticipation, a warmth blossoming within you that craved the closeness of his embrace. His breath, a warm whisper against the nape of your neck, sent a thrilling chill down your spine.
"You look beautiful," he murmured, the compliment hanging in the air between you, charged with an unspoken emotion that seemed to draw you even closer, tethering your heart to his with an invisible thread of affection and longing.
"I absolutely agree," Zemo's voice cut through the tension, drawing an involuntary growl of annoyance from Bucky. With a gesture of mock surrender, Zemo backed away, his steps carrying him to the bar where three glasses of whiskey awaited their silent call to be savored. Bucky, feeling the palpable shift in the room's dynamics, reluctantly distanced himself from you, his departure leaving a subtle chill in the wake of his warmth. He reclaimed his seat on the sofa, a move you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment over.
Sharon chose that moment to grace the room with her presence, her arrival marked by the lively bounce of her blonde waves. She exuded a casual confidence, her tone light, yet probing. "So," she hummed, curiosity lacing her words, "How's the new Cap doing?"
Before Sam had the chance to form a response, Bucky's voice, laced with a mixture of disdain and resignation, filled the room. "Don’t get me started." His hands found each other, intertwining in an awkward dance as his gaze inadvertently met yours. Even in the simplicity of his all-black ensemble, accentuated by a blazer that lent an air of sophistication, Bucky looked effortlessly handsome, commanding the space around him with an understated elegance.
Sharon, undeterred by the tense atmosphere, pressed on, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "Oh, please. You buy into all that stars and striped bullshit." Her pointed gaze shifted to Zemo. "Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap's best friend." With a fluid motion, she sank into the space beside Bucky, a deliberate bite of her lip following her words.
The action did not go unnoticed, drawing a frown from you, a silent testament to the unfolding dynamics. Bucky, catching Sam's eye, shared a moment of mutual understanding, tinged with a hint of disbelief. "Wow," he uttered, the word heavy with implication. "She's kind of awful now." His observation, though softly spoken, resonated with a mix of humor and a poignant undercurrent of nostalgia for times and alliances past.
As you momentarily extracted yourself from the animated discussion unfurling within the living room, your attention was ensnared by the relentless buzzing of your phone, a beacon of unchecked notifications. A myriad of messages from your sister painted your screen, a digital mosaic of concern and updates. "I'll be right back," you announced, your voice threading through the dense air of conversation that was currently monopolized by debates over the Flag Smashers. The name itself, a moniker you found both laughably juvenile and misleadingly innocuous, echoed in your thoughts as you distanced yourself from the discourse, finding solace in the quietude of the hallway.
Leaning against the cool, indifferent wall, you began the arduous task of sifting through the digital deluge, your fingers scrolling with practiced ease. It was then, amidst the solitude of your temporary retreat, that the ambiance subtly shifted, heralding the approach of another. The door opened with a hushed creak, and there he was—Bucky, his presence alone commanding your undivided attention.
"Hey," he greeted, his voice a gentle intrusion, as he navigated the space around you to claim his own against the wall opposite. His casual demeanor belied the concern etched into the furrows of his brow.
"Hey," you echoed, a mirror of his own greeting, yet laden with an unspoken acknowledgment of the weight he carried in his gaze.
"You alright?" His inquiry was simple, yet laden with layers of unvoiced thoughts and concerns. There was a palpable hesitation in his words, a reluctance to tread upon the terrain of your powers—a subject he knew stirred a tempest of emotions within you. “You used your powers.”
"I did," came your affirmation, your response punctuated with a grin that sought to mask the undercurrent of apprehension that had long shadowed your relationship with your own abilities. "I'm alright, though, really." Your attempt to reassure him—and perhaps yourself—was sincere. "It felt weirdly freeing to use them. To see how well I can actually keep control. They are still kind of scary, though."
As the words tumbled from your lips, Bucky bridged the gap between you, each step he took charged with an unspoken intensity. Suddenly, the world seemed to narrow down to the space that separated you, every detail of his approach etched into your memory—the way the light danced in his eyes, the barely perceptible tension in his jaw, the silent communication of his body language that spoke volumes of his concern and his undeniable pull towards you.
The proximity between you dwindled to a mere breath, a distance so trivial yet laden with a myriad of unspoken possibilities. The air around you thickened, charged with a palpable tension that sent your heart racing, your breaths shallow. The notion of closing the distance, of yielding to the gravitational pull that seemed to draw you inexorably towards him, flickered through your mind like a tantalizing promise. It was an effort to maintain your composure, to anchor yourself to the moment without succumbing to the overwhelming urge to bridge the final vestiges of space with a kiss that threatened to unravel both of you.
Pressed against the cool, unyielding surface of the wall, the intensity of the moment had magnified as Bucky's hands found their way to your waist, his grip tightening with a hunger that sent waves of anticipation coursing through your veins. His large, calloused hands, battle-hardened yet gentle, conveyed a sense of urgency as they dug into your flesh, pulling you impossibly closer into his embrace. The strength in his touch was paradoxically comforting, each finger imprinting a promise of protection and desire onto your skin.
The world around you had faded into a distant murmur, his presence engulfing you, drowning out everything else. Bucky's body molded against yours, his chest to your chest, his hips locked with yours in a dance as old as time. The pressure of his hands on your waist was both a claim and a caress, a testament to the depth of his longing. It was as if he was trying to merge two separate existences into one, to erase any space that still lingered between you.
As his lips moved with a tender ferocity against yours, you could feel the raw power of his emotions, restrained yet palpable. The sensation of being wholly desired, of being pulled into someone's orbit with such intensity, was both exhilarating and terrifying. His touch spoke volumes, whispered of need and want that had been simmering beneath the surface, now unleashed in the privacy of this shared moment.
The hunger in his grasp was matched only by the passion of your response, your own hands exploring the expanse of his back, tracing the lines of muscle and scars that told the story of his past. Together, you were adrift in a sea of heightened sensations, every caress, every kiss, every breath amplifying the connection that had been quietly growing between you. In that moment, with Bucky's hands anchoring you to him, you weren't just touching; you were speaking a language of longing, of mutual understanding and unspoken promises made in the quietude of hearts beating in unison.
A voice unexpectedly cut through the thick haze of the moment shared between you and Bucky. The abrupt sound of Sam’s voice, laced with surprise and a hint of disbelief, acted like a cold splash of reality.
“Someone care to explain what’s going on here?” he demanded, his tone piercing the bubble that had enveloped you and Bucky. The shock of being discovered, especially by your brother, sent a jolt through you, compelling you to break the kiss.
Oh, no.
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sergeantbarnessdoll · 5 months
Text
In Trouble » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier
Pairings: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader
Summary: The reader is in trouble for talking to John Walker.
Warnings: implied Smut (18+), language, jealousy, possessive, kissing, pet names (doll, babydoll)
Written on my phone so sorry if there’s any mistakes or typos.
GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞
🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵
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Bucky’s hand tightened around the glass of whiskey as he watched John Walker approach his wife from the other side of the bar. He wanted nothing more than to beat John’s ass for even approaching you in the first place.
“Bucky?” Sam says.
“What?” Bucky says, not taking his eyes off of you.
“You ok?” He asks.
“I’m fine.” Bucky says.
Sam looked across the bar to see Bucky staring at John talking to you.
“She’s a big girl, Bucky. She can handle herself.” Sam says.
“I know. I just hate the thought of him talking to my wife, let alone being near her.” Bucky says.
Bucky’s jaw clenched when he seen John put his arm around your shoulders. That was the last straw for him. Bucky downed the rest of his whiskey before walking over to you.
“This is not gonna end well.” Sam mumbles to himself.
Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and kissed your cheek.
“Hey, doll. You miss me?” Bucky says.
“I was wondering where you were, Buck. Me and John were just talking.” You say.
“That’s nice. Thanks for keeping my wife company, Walker.” Bucky says, looking at John.
“Wife? Wait a second… you’re married to the Winter Soldier?” John says surprised.
Bucky narrowed his eyes at him.
“Of course I am!” You smiled, leaning back against Bucky’s body.
“Ok. Well, I’m gonna go. It was nice talking to you.” John says, standing up and leaving.
Bucky chuckled as John practically ran away.
“You’re in so much trouble, babydoll.” Bucky whispers in your ear.
“What did I do?” You asked with a pout.
“You were talking to Walker and I think that deserves a punishment, don’t you think?” He says, lightly kissing your neck.
You bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from moaning. You tilted your head to the side, giving him more access to your neck.
“Take me home.” You say in almost a moan.
Bucky chuckled and helped you down from the bar stool. He grabbed your hand and lead you out of the bar.
“I want you naked the second we get home.” Bucky whispers in your ear.
“Yes, sir.” You practically moaned.
🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵
-Bucky’s Doll
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super-marvel-dc · 1 year
Text
Sam: So what's the plan?
Y/N: Uh...
Sam: YOU DON'T HAVE A PLAN?!
Y/N: Hey, I'm making this up as I go!
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Text
Underworld Insomnia || 1 - B.Barnes
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Character : Bucky × Psychiatrist Female!Reader
Summary: As a ruthless contract killer, Bucky is feared in the underworld of criminals. His opponents freeze when they see him, as he is feared among them. However, they don't know that he could be warm to only one person: his pshychiatrist. The only person who could make him fall asleep.
Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , -
Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi
Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.
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In the world of secret societies for underground criminals, there's a secret place for criminals to stay, a shop for criminals to buy their weapons, basically, criminals live like normal people but they can only go to places that are built for criminals.
That's the rule.
There's also a particular psychiatrist for criminals only. Since many of the criminals have demons in their minds.
For this job, Dr. Ben is the only person the criminals could go to and ask for advice and medicine so they could go to sleep. Most of them can sleep.
But the only person who has trouble is Bucky Barnes.
His name is enough to make everyone in the underworld shiver. His eyes are enough to make his opponents freeze.
Bucky is their answer if anyone wants a job done without any mistakes.
With the money from the job he finished, he could have a comfortable life for generations. But he doesn't need it because all he wants right now is to sleep.
"I tried what you told me. Work out until I'm tired, learn something new, clean all my weapons, upgrade my car, renovate my house with bulletproofing, sex," Bucky said while he lay on the couch, looking at the ceiling.
Dr. Ben kept writing while listening to his patient.
"I even went to pottery class, baking class, painting class, and sex," Bucky counted on his fingers.
"Still. Nothing works. I still can't sleep. It's been 7 years," Bucky said.
Dr. Ben, who kept writing, replied, "Yeah, you have mentioned sex multiple times."
"White noise, pink noise. In the end, I smashed the Bluetooth speaker. None of your methods work," Bucky said as he sat up and glared at Dr. Ben.
Dr. Ben adjusted his reading glasses. He remained calm, probably one of the few people not afraid even though Bucky was angry.
He clicked his pen and put the report on the table.
"Do you want to try reading fairy tale books?" Dr. Ben asked.
Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you joking with me?"
Dr. Ben replied, "Most of you people have a shitty childhood. Have shitty parents. Perhaps deep down, your kind wants something related to fulfilling your inner child."
Bucky exclaimed, "Woah, doctor, calm down. You're brutally honest here." He sighed, because he knew this method will failed like the rest. "Fine. I'll try." Then he lay back on the couch and closed his eyes.
Dr. Ben picked a children's book and started to read, he flipped through the pages, and began to read aloud, "Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom, there lived a brave little mouse named Timothy."
"Timothy was no ordinary mouse," Dr. Ben continued, "for he possessed a heart as courageous as a lion and a determination that could move mountains."
"Stop. Stop. It's so weird listening to you. Get someone else," Bucky interrupted, feeling uncomfortable.
Dr. Ben closed the book. "I'll get my apprentice."
Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You've got a new one?" He knew that none of Dr. Ben's employees stayed that long, given the fear of criminals who kept coming for therapy.
Dr. Ben adjusted his glasses. "She could tame Bruce Banner; I think she could do the same to you."
Bucky rolled his eyes. "Fine."
Dr. Ben got up from his seat and opened his office door. "Y/N, help me for a bit," he called out.
Bucky heard a melodious voice respond, "Yes?"
The door swung open, revealing a woman with a confident stride and a calm demeanor. She had striking eyes that seemed to hold a depth of understanding, framed by a cascade of dark hair that fell gracefully around her shoulders.
Her posture exuded poise and assurance, hinting at a quiet strength within. She carried herself in professional attire with an air of authority, yet there was warmth in her expression as she met Bucky's gaze.
As you approach your boss, he suddenly puts a children's book in your hand.
You look at him, puzzled. "Huh?"
Dr. Ben pointed at Bucky and explained, "This person can't sleep for years. So I want to see if reading a children's story could make him fall asleep."
Bucky huffs in frustration. As a top assassin in the underworld, it's humiliating if he can only fall asleep with a children's book. "Just do it."
You flinch, knowing the man in front of you is dangerous.
Dr. Ben pats your shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, he's just cranky. I'll be here too. I need to see if it's working or not."
"Okay," you respond, then sit in the chair near Bucky's couch.
Before opening the book, you can't help but notice the tattoos on his neck and hands.
"Are you done staring?" Bucky asks, irritation evident in his voice.
"Oh, right, I'm sorry," you apologize quickly. "I'll start reading. Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom, there lived a brave little mouse named Timothy. Timothy was no ordinary mouse, for he possessed a heart as courageous as a lion and a determination that could move mountains."
As you continue reading, Bucky listens intently, his eyes focused on the ceiling as he tries to relax.
"Despite his small size," you continue, "Timothy dreamed of embarking on great adventures and proving himself to be the bravest mouse in all the land."
Bucky's tense expression begins to soften slightly as he listens to the soothing cadence of your voice.
"One day," you narrate, "a fierce dragon threatened the kingdom, causing panic among the inhabitants. But Timothy, undeterred by the danger, volunteered to confront the dragon and save his home."
Bucky's breathing starts to slow down as he gets engrossed in the tale, his earlier restlessness fading away.
"With unwavering courage," you go on, "Timothy faced the dragon, armed only with his wits and determination. And through his bravery and quick thinking, he managed to outsmart the fearsome beast and bring peace back to the kingdom."
As you reach the end of the story, Bucky's eyes grow heavy, and he finally begins to drift off to sleep, a sense of calm settling over him.
Dr. Ben watches silently, nodding in approval as he sees the story's effect on Bucky. It seems that, perhaps, there is power in the simplest of tales to soothe even the most troubled minds.
Bucky's eyes felt heavy. The childish story and your calm voice made him feel relaxed. Your voice seemed more effective than white noise in soothing his troubled mind. As he listened, the tension in his muscles gradually melted away, replaced by a sense of peace and tranquility.
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Then Bucky opened his eyes, only to realize he wasn't in the same place in Dr. Ben's office anymore. He found himself on a bed inside an unknown room. Panic surged through him.
Had he been kidnapped?
It would bring shame to his name as the feared killer if true.
As he processed his surroundings, Bucky's hand instinctively went for his knife, ready to defend himself. But soon, he recognized the familiar surroundings of Dr. Ben's building. Relief washed over him, though he remained on edge.
A door creaked open, causing Bucky to tense, his grip tightening on the knife. But to his surprise, it was just Dr. Ben.
"Did you have a good sleep?" Dr. Ben asked calmly.
Bucky clicked his tongue in annoyance and massaged his shoulder. "No. Your methods didn't work. I'm still tired."
"Well, that's natural since you've been asleep for three days," Dr. Ben replied matter-of-factly.
Three days?!
He can't believe it, since he has only been able to sleep for one hour each night for the past seven years. Bucky's eyes widened in disbelief as he checked his phone, seeing the date and numerous missed calls and unread messages.
"It worked?" he muttered, incredulous. He had been able to sleep and hadn't even realized it.
Bucky's amazement lingered as he realized that he had slept for three whole days without even being aware of it. It was a stark contrast to the years of insomnia he had endured, struggling to find even a moment of rest.
The tension that had plagued his body for so long began to ebb away, replaced by a newfound sense of calmness and clarity. He couldn't deny the relief that washed over him, knowing that perhaps, just perhaps, there was hope for him yet.
Then, there was a knock on the door. It was you.
"How is he, doctor? Is he still asleep?" you asked, but you gasped when Bucky's intense gaze met yours.
Was he angry? Did he blame you for making him sleep for three days?
"Y/N, is it?" Bucky inquired.
You responded groggily, "Yes?"
Bucky got on his knees, his right hand resting on his left chest and his left hand reaching for you. He looked at you earnestly and asked, "Will you work for me?"
You were taken aback, as was Dr. Ben. Bucky's unexpected gesture felt like it could lead to a significant misunderstanding, resembling a proposal rather than a job offer.
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Author Note:
Hey friends,
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whatthetumblfck · 7 months
Text
I Was Born Ready
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Summary: You're kidnapped on a mission gone wrong and it only gets worse. You eventually escape, but will Bucky and the team see you the same way?
Word Count: 6517
Warnings: swearing, some injuries, angst, whump
Content: Bucky x reader, Y/N, Avengers, whump, kidnapping. All of my fics are self-indulgent.
Please don't claim my work as your own, but feel free to reblog.
You wiped the sweat from your brow.  As far as you could tell, it had been 5, maybe 6, days since you were taken. You knew what HYDRA were doing. They were trying to break you. You adjusted your legs and shifted your weight in the dark, cramped space.  For the last several hours, you had been locked in some sort of box, just big enough to crouch or sit with crossed legs. It was hot as hell and you’d been sweating profusely, wondering how much longer you would last before passing out from dehydration or dying from heat stroke. But you tried not to worry about it. They will come for you soon. He will come for you. You just need to hang on a little while longer.
               A few more hours had passed, and the heat was suffocating. What little strength you had left was dwindling. You rested your head against the wall of the enclosure and closed your eyes, fighting the nauseating dizziness that threatened to overcome you.  The rattling of chains caught your attention. It seemed like the sound was getting closer. It was then you realized you had drifted- asleep? Unconscious? You weren’t sure, but you fought like hell to focus your attention on what was happening right outside your tiny prison. Suddenly, there was a sharp creak of metal and cool light flooded the box. You squinted your eyes, desperate to see what was going on.
“Get up!” a harsh voice demanded.
Your body shook as you tried to stand, but it was no use. You were too weak and dehydrated.
“GET UP!” they shouted angrily, as if that would provide the strength needed to undo the last several hours of torture.
Instead, your body gave up completely and you slumped inside the box. The next thing you registered was the sensation of a cool breeze on your face and the tops of your feet scraping along concrete as they dragged you by your arms back to your cell.
ONE WEEK EARLIER
“The fuck you mean it’s abandoned?” you whispered.
“I mean, I’m not picking up any heat signatures inside the building,” Sam clarified, adjusting Redwing’s controls just to be sure.
Bucky lowered his chin, smiling to himself. He knew you were always looking forward to a fight.
“All right, until we clear it, we’re going to proceed with caution,” Steve began, “Y/N and Bucky, you’re going to enter the south side of the building. Sam and I will cover the north entrance. Position Redwing on the east to detect movement from the access road. Once it’s clear, we set the charges and evacuate.”
You stole a sideways glance at Bucky and tried to hide your excited smile. You loved working with Bucky; you consider him to be your best friend. You felt like there might even be more there too. But you never pushed him. If being friends was all he wanted, then you would be happy with that.  Bucky was mostly quiet and reserved, but sometimes he would open up to you, tell you about his life before the war. Sometimes, but very rarely, he would reveal the horrors HYDRA inflicted upon him. You couldn’t respond; only listen in sickened contempt. Your hatred for them became personal because of what they put him through, but you also began to piece together how they operate, their torture methods, and their twisted thought processes. You filed away this information little by little, to use against them and one day, take them down. It became your personal mission, why you were so eager to take on HYDRA related missions, and so disappointed when they turned out to be flops.
Your thoughts were interrupted by an elbow gently nudging your arm. “You ready?” Bucky said as your eyes met his.
“I was born ready,” you replied, smugly.
Bucky smiled at your enthusiasm, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was tired of fighting, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to watch HYDRA burn to the ground. Having you fight beside him, though, was a double-edged sword. He enjoyed your company more than he let on, but he also worried for your safety.  He always asked Steve to pair you two together as much as possible on missions (so he could keep an eye on you), and he always received a knowing look in return. You were one of the best fighters Bucky had ever seen, but you could also be impulsive. Most of the time, you managed to compensate for this flaw and come out on top in the fight, but there have been quite a few close calls. Too close for Bucky’s comfort, even if you insisted you had everything under control.
“After you then,” Bucky said, gesturing to the south entrance.
“Such a gentleman,” you flirted, even though your tone was a bit condescending. You didn’t miss the fact that Bucky liked to keep an eye on you. It was obvious, the way he stuck by your side for every mission. It was sweet, but completely unnecessary.
Entering the building was uneventful. As you looked around, you took note of all the dust and debris, the result of what must have been years of no use. Maybe Sam was right, it must be abandoned. What a waste of time. You continued your sweep, clearing each derelict room.
“Second and third floors are clear,” Sam’s voice sounded in your comm.
“Well, aren’t you an over-achiever?” you responded mockingly.
“Y/N, Buck. What’s your status?” Steve asked, attempting to maintain professionalism on the mission. Captain Steve didn’t know how to have fun. Killjoy.
“First floor is clear, heading to the basement now,” Bucky reported, shooting you a ‘behave yourself’ look. You stuck your tongue out at him and ran for the stairwell.
“Y/N, wait!”
“Come on! There’s nothing here. Let’s clear this moldy-ass basement so we can blow it up and get home. I’m starving!” you announced.
Bucky caught up with you and roughly grabbed your elbow to pull you back.
“We need to be careful. This is HYDRA we’re dealing with. You need to take this seriously.”
You ripped your arm from his grasp, offended he would be so rough with you. “This isn’t HYDRA. This isn’t anything. There’s literally nothing here.”
Bucky schooled his expression. He didn’t want to be angry with you, but your recklessness could put everyone in danger. He let out a frustrated sigh, putting his hands on your shoulders and lowering his head to look into your eyes.
“Will you please be more careful? For me?”
You were momentarily stunned by the soft cadence of his voice. But quickly regathered your thoughts.
“Bucky, I am being careful. You need to lighten up.” You shrugged out of his grasp and turned back to the stairwell.
What is with everyone today? The super-soldiers are being super-serious. Even Sam seems like a stick in the mud, definitely not his usual, talkative self. Did you do something to offend them? You thought about the events of the last few days and couldn’t think of anything out of the ordinary. Definitely nothing that would explain what everyone’s problem is.
You glanced over your shoulder to see Bucky a few paces behind you as you descended the last of the stairs and reached the basement.
“Well, I didn’t think it was possible, but this looks even more abandoned than the first floor,” you said giving Bucky a pointed look.
“Just keep your eyes open for anything suspicious.” Bucky gently brushed past you to take the lead, advancing down the corridor. He had an uneasy feeling he just couldn’t shake.
“Suspicious?” you remarked sarcastically. “This whole mission is suspicious. What are we fighting here? The cobwebs? The ridiculous amount of dust?” You pushed past Bucky to take the lead again, but when you glanced back, you realized he had stopped. He was looking at you with wide eyes; his expression, one you didn’t recognize.  
“What? What is it?” you asked, concern growing in the pit of your stomach.
“You’re right. Nothing about this is right. There’s too much dust. Our source indicated there was activity here less than a year ago. It shouldn’t look like this.”
You looked around nervously. “Maybe the source was wrong.”
“Not likely…”
Unexpected static in the comms made you jump. You could hear Steve’s voice, but it kept breaking up and you couldn’t understand what he was saying until you made something out very clearly that made your blood run cold.
Pull back……’s a trap…--t out…ABORT!
Your eyes locked with Bucky’s. You froze. He was standing about 10 feet from you when you both registered a rapid clicking noise, like a sped-up clock.
“RUN!!” You heard him yell just before the explosion.
The wall behind you erupted, sending you several yards through the air until you collided with the ground. You could feel the heat and unbearable pressure on your back as you lay prone in the ruins. Dust swirled around you. After several moments of trying to remember how to breathe again and process what the hell had just happened, you remembered that Bucky was with you. You glanced over in his direction, but all you could see was a literal wall of rubble, fire, and smoke. You struggled to focus your eyes, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that were forming. Damn, that hurt.
Distantly, you could hear someone calling your name.
“Buck--,” your voice was cut off by a coughing fit as the dust invaded your lungs. “Bucky…” you tried again.
“Y/N?” he sounded closer. You could hear movement, crumbling concrete. “Are you hurt?”
It was at this point, you realized you should probably take a moment to figure out the damage.
“Y/N??” his voice sounded more concerned, more urgent. You weren’t sure how long you had taken to respond.
“Uhh…I….I think I’m okay……I can’t move. I think…ahh…there’s something on my back,” you choked out.
“You’re gonna be okay. We’re coming to get you. Just..hang on, okay? Hang on.”
Hearing this made you relax. Getting blown up was exhausting. You were certain you were going to hear about this later. About how you should have listened to Bucky, been more careful, taken the mission more seriously. You closed your eyes, trying to reserve your strength. You would need it to climb out of this burning hole in the ground.
After a few minutes, you felt the pressure on your back lessen. That was fast. You opened your eyes and tried to focus on Bucky’s face, but then you heard his voice from behind the burning wall of concrete. Confused, you concentrated your attention on the blurry figure standing before you. HYDRA. You gathered all your strength, trying to fight, but you couldn’t get a single hit in before a blow to your face rendered you unconscious.
Bucky heard footsteps and scraping rocks on the other side of the barrier. He had finally managed to make a dent in the rubble just large enough to see through. To see you being dragged away by HYDRA.
“NOOOO!” Bucky frantically slammed his metal fist into the rubble, trying to break through, but it was no use. He couldn’t get to you in time. He watched as you disappeared into the dust and smoke.
You were freezing. Another week had passed, maybe two. You weren’t sure. It was the same thing. Over and over.  Freezing to the point you couldn’t move or think. Then they would throw you in the box again until you passed out from the heat. You didn’t even know what they wanted. They didn’t ask you anything, barely said three words to you. Wouldn’t answer any of your questions. How the hell did they expect to get information out of you if they didn’t fucking ask you anything? Idiots. You’d be glad to give them as much false information as you could muster.
You were frustrated. Frustrated with this pointless torture and frustrated that no one had broken you out of this shithole yet. What was taking so long?
The next day was new. This time a man in a lab coat came into your cell. Based on the history of everything you have come to know about HYDRA, the lab coat is not a good sign.  He peered down at you where you sat against the cold, concrete wall.
“She’s ready,” he practically drooled with excitement. Disgusting.
Two oversized goons entered your cell and brought you to your feet as another ganglier looking goon wheeled in a stretcher. Your stomach dropped. Not good. This is not good. You tried not to let anxiety and fear get the best of you. You’ve endured the heat, the cold, the physical pain and the repulsive goop they fed you, but this was new, and you had no idea what they had planned.
“No. No no no. What are you doing?” You kicked and fought weakly as they strapped you down. You were unable to move.
Lab coat leaned in close to your face. You could smell the wicked stench rolling out of his mouth.
He simply answered, “Phase two.”
……..
“What do you want? You’ve been torturing me for weeks and haven’t asked me a damn thing! Do you even know how this works? No? Must have missed that day in torture 101.”
The lab coat stopped what he was doing and turned to face you. Amusement and almost pity plastered on his face.
“My dear. I haven’t been torturing you. I’ve been preparing you.”
…………
The first injection must have been a sedative and, for that, you were thankful. Your vision became blurry and all your muscles relaxed at once. You could’ve almost fallen asleep. Until the second injection. At first, it was cold, like ice running through your veins. Starting in your arm and flowing through your chest before settling in the rest of your limbs. It was enough to make you shiver and shake uncontrollably. With the last injection came the unbearable heat. It spread through you like wildfire, burning through the sedative and blistering your nerves. It coursed through your body, the agonizing flames filling your skull, threatening to split it open. It was too much. Unbearable. You thrashed your arms and legs beneath the restraints, screaming until you went hoarse. Nothing you did relieved the pain, the burning.  You were left alone in your misery, knowing nothing but the searing pain in your head, threatening to end your life. You hoped it would.
Then, it stopped. You thought maybe death had finally taken you and you felt sadness, for Bucky. For the team. But you were back in your cell. This couldn’t be death. Death isn’t this cruel.
You rolled on your side and slowly sat upright, fighting off the dizziness. You felt horrible, like you should be dead, but at least the pain had subsided. You experimentally staggered to the door of your cell and peered through the slot. It was eerily silent. Still, you waited to see if anyone approached. They almost always did when you awoke to send you for another round of torture…or wait. What did he say? They were preparing you..for what? The injections, ice and fire, the pain, all came flooding back to you. What did they do? Your breaths came faster. You had to get out of there. Fear and panic were in control now. You pushed and pulled at the door feverishly, and to your surprise, the door opened. Worried this was another trap, you stepped back, but no one came. What the fuck?
You left your cell and made your way down the hallway, searching for the exit or at the very least, a weapon. The building was completely cleaned out. They left you there, their experiment. Did they think you were dead? Or just a failure? You didn’t feel any different. Those HYDRA morons must have been bigger fucking idiots than you gave them credit for. Still, you weren’t going to stick around. When you finally made it out of the building, you realized you actually recognized the area. You weren’t that far from the compound. It made you sick to think you were only 10 or so miles from home this whole time, and still, they couldn’t find you. HYDRA could have practically walked up and rang the front doorbell, and the team would have had no idea.
It was cold outside and you were dressed only in a thin gown. You walked for hours, determined to make it home. You had no way of contacting anyone. You were surrounded by a few trees and fields of nothing. The final yards leading up to the compound were grueling. You were exhausted. Your feet bled and your legs shook with the effort.
It was early evening, you guessed, when you painfully stumbled into the common room, where Steve, Bucky and Sam all sat, attention focused on various maps and blueprints laid out before them. Steve saw you first, eyes staring and mouth hanging open. It would have been humorous had you not just been through hell and back. Bucky stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Steve’s expression and turned his head to see what Steve was staring at.
“Y/N??” Bucky couldn’t believe it. His eyes ran over your battered form, watching your whole body shake with fatigue.
You didn’t know what to say. You tried to choke back the tears that were now streaming down your face.
But this was all you could handle. You were suddenly dizzy, the room had started to spin and you dropped to your knees as Bucky ran towards you.
“Oh God! Call Dr. Cho!” Bucky ordered, but Sam was already on it.
You collapsed into Bucky’s arms and saw Steve running toward you. Bucky’s alarmed face was the last thing you saw before your eyes involuntarily closed.
When you awoke the next day, you were alone in the med bay. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, trying to force out the lingering headache. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and were about to remove your IV when Bucky walked into your room.
“Hey, you’re awake,” he said as he approached you cautiously. “How are you feeling?”
“Um..really..hungover,” you cracked a smile trying to break the tension. “How long was I out?”
Bucky looked at his watch before responding, “About 23 hours.”
“Oh shit. New record.”
Bucky looked nervous. “We looked everywhere..”
“Not everywhere,” you retorted, sounding more bitter than you intended.
“I didn’t think I was going to see you again.”
“Well…that makes two of us.” Your eyes stayed trained on the floor. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. You spent weeks dreaming about seeing him again, and now you couldn’t even look at him. Why? Were you that angry that they couldn’t find you? They were obviously looking.
Bucky sensed that maybe this wasn’t the best time to broach the subject, so he changed it.
“So..uh…they want to do a debriefing on what happened as soon as you’re feeling well enough.”
You faltered. You didn’t want to talk about it, relive it. Especially so soon. But you’d rather get it over with so you can move on with your life. Put the whole ordeal behind you.
You looked down at the IV in your arm before ripping it out, the blood beginning to trickle down to your palm.
“Doll—what are you doing?” Bucky lunged toward you, grabbing gauze off the bedside table to apply pressure to the site.
You grabbed the gauze and took over applying pressure.
“I’m about to change my clothes,” you began glancing around the room before finding some in a bag below the bed, “so unless you want to see me naked, you can turn around.”
Bucky paused, mouth opening slightly before regaining his composure and turning to face away from you. You caught him off guard, which is honestly, something you’ve never seen happen.
You were a little disappointed. Maybe you’d been reading him wrong, and he doesn’t see you that way. Or maybe he’s just being a gentleman. This isn’t exactly the best time to explore your feelings for one another. Still, it stung.
………………………..
You sat at the table, nervously glancing at all the faces in the room. Fury, Tony, Steve, and Sam all had their eyes on you. Everyone except Bucky. He stood in the corner, holding his gaze to the floor.  He looked more nervous than you felt. Weird.
They asked their usual questions, and you answered as best you could. But you didn’t feel comfortable enough to go into extensive detail. You trusted these men with your life, but it was starting to feel less like a debriefing and more like an interrogation.
“…and you’re sure that’s all you remember?” Fury asked again.
You looked around the room again, each set of eyes seeming frustrated. Expecting more information than what you’ve provided for the last 2 hours. This was exhausting. A familiar headache was building behind your eyes, and you were beyond done with this.
When you didn’t answer right away, Tony asked another question. “They just let you walk away?” You could hear the blatant skepticism.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Tears were starting to fill your eyes. Damnit! This is not how you thought this would go, but you were feeling pressured, overwhelmed. “They tortured me! For weeks! The same damn thing. Over and over and over again! And I don’t know---maybe they thought I was DEAD!” You choked on a sob; tears streaming down your face now.
“Okay! That’s enough!” Bucky interjected, seemingly ending the questioning.
You quickly stood from your seat and rushed out of the room.
They all exchanged glances and Bucky lingered there silently for a moment before following you.
When he reached your room in the compound, he knocked, but you didn’t answer.
“Doll. It’s me. Can I come in?”
Again, you didn’t answer. He could hear your quiet cries. He tried the handle, but you had locked the door.
“Can you unlock the door, please?”
“Go away, Bucky,” you said, softly. You didn’t need to yell. You knew he could hear you.
“Come on. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” With that, he could hear you moving towards the door.
You angrily flung the door open, surprising Bucky and forcing him to take a step back. Your hair was disheveled, eyes red and still wet with tears.
“Do I look fucking okay to you!?!?” Bucky looked into your eyes, not knowing what to say.
“HYDRA imprisoned me, practically in our own fucking backyard and still no one came for me!”
“Y/N, I swear to you, we never stopped looking—”
“And as soon as I fight my way back here, you all grill me for information, like it was my fucking idea to get captured?”
“Doll, no one thinks this was—”
“I waited for—aagh—” the pain in your head suddenly flared. You squeezed your eyes shut and pinched the skin between them. Your discomfort was evident.
“Hey, hey. What is it? What’s wrong?” Bucky’s worried eyes searched your face for answers.
You tried to recover, to push the pain aside.
“I waited for you—AAGH” the pain peaked. The same blistering heat threatening to end you, keeled you over.
With your shaking hands on your knees, you could feel Bucky move to your side. His arms wrapped around your waist to support you.
“Doll, what’s going on? Answer me. Please!”
But you couldn’t answer him. You were back on that stretcher. A prisoner, again. All you knew was the burning pain. Maybe this time, it would spare you the torment and claim your life.
“SOMEBODY HELP! I NEED HELP!” Bucky’s voice sounded far away.
The fire swirled in your skull and bile burned the back of your throat. You lurched forward, fell to your knees, and vomited on the floor. Everything was suddenly black, then nothing.
You awoke once more, alone, in the med bay.  Well, not completely alone. You could hear talking, whispers. Just outside your door.
There’s something she’s not telling me. But I’m not going to try to force answers out of her. She’ll come to me when she’s ready. I’m just going to be her friend. That’s what she really needs right now.
Just a friend? You felt the blanket of disappointment weigh on you again. You were pulled from your thoughts when Bucky opened the door.
You kept your eyes on him as he carefully entered the room.
“Who were you talking to?”
“Huh?”
“Who were you talking to just now?” You tried not to sound like you were accusing him, but you didn’t like being talked about behind your back.
“I wasn’t talking to anyone,” Bucky shook his head, seeming to be genuinely confused.
Great. Now Bucky was lying to you. Some friend he’s trying to be. Even with him literally by your side, you were suddenly feeling very alone. No one trusted you. They think you’re hiding something. Truth be told, you are hiding something. You never told them about the injections, how the torture was actually “preparations”. You even left out the creepy lab guy coat because you were afraid. Afraid if they found out what really happened, that you were an experiment, they wouldn’t look at you the same way. You were afraid you would lose their hard-earned respect, your place on the team. You couldn’t risk it.
“So what happened?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“The pain? Passing out?” Bucky pressed, becoming serious. This felt like an interrogation again.
“Oh…it was just a headache,” you offered. Were you honestly expecting them not to ask?
“That’s bullshit. What happened to you? What did they do?” He seemed desperate and angry and you were becoming more and more guarded.
“I thought you weren’t going to force answers out of me.” You threw his words back in his face.
“What?”
“Nothing”
“What did you say just now?”
You were out of patience and just wanted to be alone. “Nothing. Please leave.”
Bucky stared at you, disbelieving, before turning his back on you and walking out the door.
A single tear slipped down your cheek. What the hell happened? Everything was fine. You were on a mission, business as usual, and then you were captured and tortured. You miraculously make it back home and suddenly, everyone is against you? You didn’t do anything wrong. Why is everyone acting like you’re at fault?  Your thoughts are becoming louder in your head, circling frantically and building tension. You clench your teeth, trying to hold in a scream, but you can feel an energy building inside you. You pull your knees to your chest, struggling to contain it. Your clenched fists pound at your temples. You don’t know what’s happening; you feel out of control, about to spill over. Explode.
Suddenly, you lose control, letting out an ear-piercing scream, releasing a force you had never felt before. All at once, glass bottles and cabinets shatter, the reinforced windows in your room crack. Furniture is thrown chaotically. Everything is broken, in a frightening disarray, and you’re left sitting in the ruins of what once felt like a safe place.
You tried to catch your breath, eyes darting around the room, attempting to make sense of what just happened.
Oh, God. Oh, God.  What did HYDRA do to you? What have you done? You needed to get out of there. Now. You jump to your feet, grab your clothes, and run. You shove past S.H.I.E.L.D. employees in the hallways, their thoughts intruding and overlapping with your own.  It took you a moment to realize what it was, what you were doing: unintentionally hearing their thoughts. You have to get away, get out. It’s too loud. You’re still running when you hear more familiar voices, but these aren’t in your head.
You can hear Bucky, Steve and Sam talking about what they found at the base where you were kept. Empty syringes. Medical equipment. Partially encrypted files describing some kind of experiment. They know—how could they not? Have they known this whole time?
“I don’t know what they did to her. She won’t tell me, but…she’s different.” Bucky spoke quietly.
Different? Is that how he saw you now? Is that why he’d been acting so strangely since you got back?
“Look man,” Sam reasoned, “she’s been through a lot. It would be weird if she wasn’t acting differently.”
“Still, if they did do whatever this experiment is on her, we don’t know what the outcome is…If she’s still herself, or even on our side,” Steve added.
Your heart dropped. You already felt like they didn’t trust you, which was bad enough, but now they’re against you? You waited for Bucky to defend you. He knows you better than anyone, but his silence spoke volumes. You thought Bucky, of all people, would understand what you’d been through. That you would never turn on them. You really were all alone in this. You felt the fear and uncertainty pouring out of the room.
Then, an unfamiliar voice on the intercom startled you.
Code Gray- Med Room 4. Code Gray- Med Room 4.
Shit. That was your room. Then the alarm started blaring and you ran. When did you become the enemy? How did this happen? You’re not part of HYDRA. You’re the victim. You managed to get out of the compound without anyone else seeing you. But you had no idea where to go from there.
Bucky, Steve, and Sam rushed to your med room. They stood there in disbelief, taking in the scene. It looks like a bomb went off.
“What the hell happened?” Sam asked.
“We’re not sure, sir. We, uh, heard a scream and when we got here, the room was empty,” a nurse answered.
“Where is she?” Bucky asked, growing impatient.
“We don’t know, I’m sorry,” the nurse responded before quicky leaving the room.
Steve and Sam exchanged looks. Bucky ran his fingers through his hair.
“Buck….”
“No.”
“We need to consider all the facts, here.”
“No, Steve! She wouldn’t do this. She’s not HYDRA.”
“Dude, she was missing for weeks and then just waltzed through the front door? That doesn’t seem odd to you?” Sam added.
“She didn’t waltz, Sam. She could barely walk, then she collapsed,” Bucky defended.
“So you think they just let her go? When the hell has HYDRA ever just let anybody go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Her story isn’t adding up, Buck.”
“They did something to her, she’s different. I just don’t know why she’d hiding it.”
“What do you mean? What aren’t you telling us?” Steve questioned.
“I think….whatever they did to her, worked. I thought it was a coincidence, at first, but then…this,” he motioned around the room. “I think she could hear what I was thinking earlier, and I think this is part of whatever she’s going through. I think she’s enhanced.”
They all looked around the room, letting Bucky’s theory sink it.
Steve broke the silence. “We need to find her before she hurts someone.”
You were walking against the cold wind and found yourself back at the shithole. You weren’t sure what you were doing there. Looking for answers, maybe? Waiting for them to find you? Like they were supposed to do. Before the injections, before they turned on you, before you lost control. What did they think of you now? You’re certain they must think you’re HYDRA. Fear and despair surged through you, and you started to lose control again. Objects that surrounded you started to rattle and lift into the air, crashing into walls.
You saw movement from the corner of your eye, emotions flaring even further. They had found you. Tears streamed down your cheeks, wetting the front of your sweatshirt.  You had already lost everything. They may as well take you now and put you in whatever floating prison they have. They marked you as guilty the moment you walked back into the compound.
“Y/N? Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Bucky approached you slowly, motioning to Steve and Sam to hang back.
You slowly turned to face him. Finally seeing his face broke you, and you started to cry harder. The cot beside you rattled along with desks and shelves, lifting off the floor, quaking violently, erratically. Bucky held up his hands, gesturing to you that he meant you no harm. And you wanted nothing more than to believe him, to melt into his arms.
As your emotions ran wild with fear and anguish, the chaos around you swelled. You shook your head trying to empty it of the intrusive whispers. You were ready to surrender. You just wanted all this to be over, but when you looked past Bucky to see Steve and Sam in their full Avenger gear, a realization hit you. They were here to fight you. Bucky noticed the change in your demeanor. You felt the energy inside you intensifying again. The building began to tremble.
“Y/N. Y/N! Look at me! You’re going to be okay. We’re here to take you home.” Bucky tried to reason.
“No. NO! You’re here to hurt me. You don’t trust me, think I’m HYDRA!”
“That’s not true. We’re your friends. We want to help you,” Bucky insisted.
“Help me? That’s why you brought Captain America and Falcon with you?!”
You were angry now. If they wanted to take you, it would have to be by force. That’s what they wanted. You looked back over at Bucky and noticed the light reflecting off the tears that gathered in his eyes. You felt like you were about to detonate.
“Sweetheart, please,” Bucky pleaded with you; His hand stretched out towards you, beckoning you to take it.
The building shook even more violently with the release of your emotions. Once again, objects cracked and shattered all around you, but this time, the entire building threatened to come down on top of all of you.
“I can’t. I can’t control it….” You looked to Bucky, desperate for all this to end.
As dust and debris rained from the ceiling, you heard the order.
TAKE HER! NOW!
You whipped your head to the side, catching sight of Redwing; you hadn’t noticed it there before, but it was too late. Two darts struck your neck, delivering a powerful sedative. You swayed on your feet for only a moment before going down hard. All the objects flying around the room, uncontrollably, crashed to the ground at once. The building stood still once again. Whatever they hit you with was strong. You couldn’t move, but yet, you weren’t completely unconscious.  You could faintly hear distorted commotion around you and your eyes felt heavy.
“Jesus Christ, Steve!” Bucky kneeled at your side to brush your hair from your face, wiping your tears in the process.
“I’m sorry, Buck. We had to. You heard her. She couldn’t control it.”
Bucky gently picked you up and held you close to his chest. You could tell he was walking, but your vision was starting to blur even more. Then you felt his breath on your ear as he whispered that you would be okay. You were safe now. They were going to fix this. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to sink into the darkness.
THREE WEEKS LATER
“I don’t want to be a prisoner anymore, Bucky.”
“You’re not a prisoner.”
“Well, I can’t leave. That is the definition of prisoner, right?”
“Bruce thinks he’s close to a cure. He just needs a little more time.”
“You’ve been saying that for 3 weeks.”
Bucky offered you a half-hearted smile, but it was tainted with regret.
You were beginning to doubt their ability to fix you. Where would they even begin? You were just the result of another fucked-up half-assed HYDRA experiment.  They couldn’t cure you any more than they could cure Bucky or Steve of being super-soldiers. You know it. They know it. You just wish they’d stop blowing smoke up your ass.
Just then, Bruce appeared behind the reinforced glass doors, pressing his palm to the scanner to gain access to your room.
He approached your bed with the same half-hearted smile Bucky imparted.
“Hello, Y/N. How are you feeling today?” Bruce began, like he always did when starting his examinations.
“Fine. Normal. How’s the cure coming along?”
He hesitated for a moment, ignoring your question before continuing with his own.
“Any more headaches?”
“No. Not really.”
“Good, good. That’s good.” More hesitation.
“Just spit it out, Bruce.”
“Well, uh..” he fiddled with his clipboard, pretending to review his findings. “We did some genetic profiling and it looks like the experiment has altered your DNA in ways we’ve never seen before. Your brain scans are phenomenal.”
“That’s not exactly comforting….” You knew where this was going, even though you didn’t completely understand the science of it all.
“What does that mean?” Bucky leaned forward in his seat, prompting Dr. Banner to elaborate.
“Well, I’m afraid it means we can’t cure you.”
Bucky leaned back in his chair; the atmosphere in the room deflated. He didn’t even look at you. You knew this was coming but hearing it out loud and seeing Bucky’s dejected reaction only solidified your fears. There is no hope.
Dr. Banner continued, “The good news is that you seem to be adapting and stabilizing well.”
“Yeah, yeah…” You didn’t want to hear anything else. You weren’t even listening. All you can think about is how you’re no longer an Avenger and how Bucky won’t even look at you now. You lost him; your best friend, maybe more. Where do you go from here?
“I just have a few more questions for you,” Dr. Banner began again, “Are you still able to hear the thoughts of others?”
“Yes. But I can mostly block it out. It’s gotten easier.”
Dr. Banner smiled. “And there haven’t been any more incidents….” He held up his pen. “Can you move this towards you, please?”
You looked up from your lap and focused on the pen, gently floating it above the bed until it reached your grasp.
“Amazing…”
You wished Dr. Banner would be a little less enthusiastic. Your life, as you know it, is over and you’re not in the mood for this.
“Okay. I’m releasing you from my care.”
“Wait. What? When?” You stared at him in awe. Is he joking?
“Right now.” He gathered his notes and left the room, door unlocked.
You felt Bucky grasp your hand. His smile was bright as he waited for your thoughts to catch up.
“Come on. We have a mission,” he coaxed.
“I-I don’t understand,” you hesitated. “I didn’t think you wanted---I didn’t think anyone trusted me.”
“Sweetheart, we do trust you…and I’ll always want you. No matter what.” He squeezed your hand a little tighter. “We found the shitbags that took you…you ready to kick some ass?”
Your eyes lit up with excitement and determination. “I was born ready.”
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@chucksax you inspired me 😉
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lokiswifeduh · 1 month
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can’t help but drown
pairings: Bucky x fem!reader
summary: the past few months you think you have a handle on your anxiety. but after a silent panic attack in the bathtub, Bucky is there to pull you out.
warnings: panic attack, anxiety, feeling helpless, feelings of suffocation, ANGST!!!
The water moved in soft ruffles around you. Not quite making waves, however, moving from how your anxious legs swayed the water.
Shallow breaths and water hitting the porcelain tub softly were all you could hear. Your body was too overheated, your mind was racing and you could feel your heartbeat in your hands.
You didn't know where this sudden burst of anxiety and panic had risen from. Just that you couldn't get out of the water. Something was keeping you down. Making your body drown.
"Doll?" A sudden tap on the door knocked you out of your trance. You swallowed, your throat feeling like sandpaper against your tongue. "Y-yeah?" Your voice cracked, and you silently cursed knowing Bucky would notice. That super soldier hearing never lets you live anything down.
"You've been in there for a while." You heard him lean against the door, "Is everything alright?" You nodded, remembering as much as Bucky could hear you better than most, he definitely can't see through walls.
"Y-yes. I'm alright, just...uh." You tried to think. Any excuse would work. Bucky might not believe you but he would let the topic go. "Just needed some extra alone time tonight."
"Oh," Bucky mumbled through the door. "Okay, doll." You could feel the hurt in his voice. You didn't need alone time from him. You didn't need to be alone at all right now but he couldn't see you like this.
A sweaty, anxious, mess.
You didn't know how much time had passed. Your nails attempt to dig into the porcelain of the tub, but to no avail, you're only yourself in the process. "Sweetheart?" Bucky taps on the door once more, "Please talk to me." You try to speak, but only a mumble comes out. The bubbles in the bath are gone. Only leaving a white film on top of the now room-temperature water.
"Doll, I'm coming in." You attempt to refuse but nothing comes out as Bucky breaks the lock on the door, softly opening it. You can't look at him. You won't.
You keep your head forward, staring into the wall as you feel Bucky kneel beside you.
He can see how hard your nails are clutching onto the side of the tub, softly lifting your hand as you ball your fist. Your nails now digging into the skin of your palm; drawing blood.
"Hey, hey." Bucky unclenches your fist, letting your nails hurt his metal hand instead.
Using his flesh hand, he softly places a palm on your cheek, bringing your eyes to his. "Doll, what's going on? Talk to me." You shake your head, eyes falling closed as more tears adorn your already-flushed cheeks.
"Okay, that's okay." Bucky whispers, "But I need to get you out of this tub sweetheart." He doesn't need to feel the water to know you've been in the bath for far too long.
"Can I get you out, doll?" You slowly nod, your chin shaking with the sobs you so badly don't want to release.
Bucky mumbles an alright. Moving one of his arms under your legs, the other holding your back as you clutch onto his shirt.
He lifts you up, the water rolling off of your body and soaking his once-dry clothes. "I'm so sorry." You mumble, repeating it over and over as your body starts to shiver from the temperature difference. "Shhh, you're okay, sweetheart."
Bucky wraps a towel around the exposed side of your body, attempting to keep you warm as he brings you into your shared bedroom. "I'm gonna lay you down, doll."
You shake your head violently, clutching onto his henley even harder. "Please, please don't leave me."
Bucky sits down with you still in his arms on the bed, your legs now lying over his as he holds you. "I won't. I promise, sweetheart I'm not leaving."
You both sit there for a moment, tears falling from your eyes, him rocking you back and forth as an old record played from the living room.
You start to feel a weight lift off your chest, your heartbeat calming slightly at the touch of Bucky's arms on yours. You start to speak, wanting to explain yourself when Bucky shushes you. "You don't have to explain sweetheart." He kisses the crown of your head, your hair still wet. "You can talk when you're ready." You nod, continuously wondering how you found someone so caring and endearing. "I just..." You looked up at Bucky, his blue eyes shining down at you with such love. "I felt like I was drowning." He nods, "Sometimes we can't help but drown, doll."
Kissing your forehead once again, he squeezes your body tighter to his. "But I'll be there every time to pull you from the water.
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preciousbarnes · 9 months
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Here When I Wake
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 2.3k
Tags: Winter Soldier-ish!Bucky, Memory Loss, mentions of violence, comfort, fluff, Sam being a good friend
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There’s a gentle breeze flowing into your small Brooklyn apartment from the open windows. The sun is setting in the west, illuminating the sky in shades of pinks and purples. The fading sunlight matches the dim vibe within the apartment, only illuminated by a couple lamps and some candles placed strategically on shelves, where Alpine couldn’t knock them down.
The light sound of an old jazz record from Bucky’s collection plays softly as you sway in the living room to the melodic tunes. It’s a peaceful evening; just you and Alpine together in the kitchen, as she always loved keeping you company when you were cooking.
You lose yourself in the repetition of cooking your favorite dish, before being interrupted by the sound of your cellphone ringing and vibrating on the kitchen counter. You pick up your phone and are surprised to see who is calling, Bucky’s partner, Sam.
“Sam?” You ask, confusion clear in your voice upon greeting him.
“Hey, listen, where are you?” Sam inquires urgently over the phone, out of breath and sounding uncharacteristically nervous.
“Um, home? In Buck and I’s apartment? Why?” You question, becoming more confused as you also feel concern creeping up on you. Why was Sam calling? He never called you.
“Something happened on the mission. Bucky experienced a head injury, and was triggered somehow. He’s not himself right now. We lost track of him outside of Manhattan. Stay where you are. I’m on my way to you now. We’re hoping maybe you can help us.” He explains quickly. You hear the sound of a car roaring to life before the line quickly drops off.
Your phone falls from you hand, hitting the floor. He wasn’t himself, which could only mean one thing. He wasn’t him. The winter soldier was back, and there’s no telling what he’s after, or what danger he’s getting himself into. You make quick work of finishing the dinner dish you had planned to share with Bucky, moving it to a storage container to save since having lost your appetite. There was no way you could eat right now when your stomach is a ball of nerves.
You’re washing up the dishes as a welcomed distraction when you suddenly get the feeling of eyes on you. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, and your hands slightly tremble. Bucky always warned you about closing those damn windows that led to the fire escape.
You gently place the pan you were scrubbing back into the water, opting to grab the large kitchen knife out of the water before taking a deep breath and abruptly turning around.
You gasp, surprised at who is here. It’s Bucky, sitting in the shadows of your apartment, having blown out the candles and now his figure was barely lit by the one lamp on the stand next to your loveseat he was sat on. His eyes appraise you, glancing at the knife held tightly in your hand.
“You’re my mission” he says, his voice with a slight Russian accent you are not used to.
“Bucky? What’s going on?” You ask him, hesitantly after hearing him utter the word ‘mission’.
Bucky cocks his head to the side, his eyes taking in how you’ve relaxed since seeing him.
“Who is Bucky?” His voice huskily asks.
You swallow dryly, unsure of what to say or how to proceed. You set the knife back down into the dish water, grabbing a dish towel to dry your damp hands. His eyes never leave you, watching your every move. You don’t feel in danger of the man, knowing that if he wanted you dead in this state he could have killed you without you seeing it coming.
You turn back and slowly approach Bucky, before asking to sit next to him. He looks confused at your request.
“I’m an asset, why are you asking me?” He asks you, voice soft but showing his confusion.
“Here you always have choices. You can say no. Your comfort matters.” You explain to him, swallowing down emotions as you think of the times Bucky was tortured and treated horribly, given no choices or options.
He looks skeptical, but nods regardless, motioning for you to sit down with him. You sit down next to him gently, leaving a comfortable space between you both. As you take in his tense form, you notice blood on his dark pants, saturating one leg fully. You let out a gasp, reaching for him.
“What happened to your leg?” You ask quickly, moving to assess an injury before Bucky moves to the side out of your reach.
“Not my blood,” he explains, voice taking on a dark tone.
You look at his stony expression and dark eyes, nervous to ask but knowing you need to.
“Whose blood, then?” You ask softly, nerves tilting your voice.
“The targets. They were coming here for you. Had to stop them. They have been eliminated.” He explains, voice steely and darkened.
“You said I’m your mission. What do you mean?” You ask softly.
“Must protect you at all costs,” he explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Why?” you probe, trying to understand.
“I don’t know. All I remember is fighting, getting a bad hit to the head, and then these men mentioned this address and your name. I knew I had to get here. I had to keep you safe.” Bucky tells you, openly.
You give Bucky a small smile, getting ready to thank him, before Bucky is jumping to his feet and grabbing your hands to pull you into a standing position. He begins to shove you down the hall quickly and into your shared bedroom.
“Huh? Bucky? What’s going on?” Questions fall from your lips as you don’t understand his sudden and urgent movements.
“Someone’s coming, you must hide,” he explains in a hushed voice, as he motions for you to get into your closet so he can shut you in to hide you.
You hear the front door open, and Sam’s voice echoing through the apartment, calling your name. Bucky grabs a knife from his holder and begins stalking his way towards his next target before you quickly grab his arm, trying to pull him back.
“Sam, it’s okay!” You call out, earning a betrayed look from bucky.
“Bucky, Sam is a good guy. On your side. He’s not a threat. He’s a friendly,” you explain softly, hoping he will trust you.
“Sometimes bad people appear good, маленький кролик” he tells you, unsure of Sam and still trying to gently push you back into the closet.
You reach out and grab Bucky’s hand, and reach up with your other hand to gently rest your hand on his jaw. He’s clearly taken by surprise, his eyes wide as they look to your face and then down to the hand gently holding his metal one. It confuses him. No one has ever in his memory regarded him with such softness, and had never volunteered to touch the weapon that is his metal arm.
“I would never lie to you, I promise Sam means no harm. I trust him with my life, and I trust him with yours almost every month when you guys are out on missions together,” your voice is gentle and honest as you hope Bucky will listen and trust you.
As he continues to look at you with an unreadable expression, the door to the bedroom slowly opens, revealing a surprised looking Sam.
Sam slowly steps into the room, holding his hands up to show Bucky he isn’t armed. Bucky quickly turns from you, hiding you effectively behind his back and broad shoulders, shielding you from any potential danger his mind thinks Sam may pose.
“Hey, man. What’s going on?” Sam asks, voice low but calm despite his worried expression as his eyes flicker to yours peeking around Bucky’s expansive frame.
“You were fighting by my side,” Bucky recalls out loud.
“Yes, yes I was. We’re on the same team.” Sam explains, lowering his outstretched hands to rest at his side.
“I’m missing time. I know I am. There are pictures here. Me and her, but I don’t remember. I knew I needed to keep her safe, but I don’t know why. Is it an order?” Bucky asks, sounding confused as his hand not holding the knife reaches up to rub his forehead.
“Is your head hurting?” You softly ask him, reaching up to rub his shoulder gently. Bucky welcomes the touch, surprising himself. He nods in answer to your question, despite himself.
“No, man. You don’t take orders anymore, you make them. We aren’t with hydra. We got you away. You were pardoned for the crimes those people forced you to commit. You help people now. You keep people safe..” Sam explains to Bucky.
“Okay, if all that’s true, it still doesn’t explain her?” Bucky says, moving away from his position of shielding you, instead turning so the three of you can look to each other.
“We’re together, Buck. We have been for a couple years now. We live here in this apartment, together, freely. You’re safe here. You’re safe with us. You’re safe with me,” you tell him, eyes wide as you look to him, longing to pull him into your arms and take away his confusion.
“Why am I missing time? All I remember is hydra. Working for them. The machines they used on me. I don’t remember any of this that you tell me. I remember my head hurting, and fighting next to you, and then knowing I had to get here and protect her.” Bucky questions, eyebrows furrowed and body still tense.
“This has happened in the past before, before you met her. We thought it was a one time thing. We’re now guessing if you take a hit to the head just right, right spot and right force, and this happens. It’ll work itself out after a good nights sleep while you heal. We already have some great scientists who want to help you working on a way to prevent this from happening again, so you don’t keep going through this,” Sam says to you both.
Bucky takes in what Sam said, nodding to himself and looking to you.
“Okay. I don’t know why, but I trust you both. I just need to sleep this off basically?” Bucky questions.
You and Sam both nod.
“Yeah, man. Just sleep it off. I’m going to stay here on the couch in the living room, just in case you need something.” Sam states, looking to you for your approval. You nod your head, reaching to your bed to grab an extra pillow and a blanket for him. Handing these to him, Sam nods in thanks and excuses himself to the living room.
“Well, let’s get you cleaned up” you find yourself saying. Moving to the closet and grabbing out Bucky’s most comfy pair of sweats and a soft t-shirt for him. You grab him a pair of boxers from the dresser quickly and turn back to lead him to the bathroom connected to your bedroom. He silently follows you. During this interaction you notice how purposefully loud in movement Bucky must normally be around you, as the dissociated soldier with you moves with a natural silence to a point it’s almost eerie. But, you think to yourself, that is a necessary part of the job he was tasked with for decades.
You wait in the bedroom after showing Bucky the bathroom and where the towels were. You find yourself lost in thought, once again hating what Bucky has gone through, and how a hit to the head sent him right back, at least partly. Bucky here wasn’t fully the winter soldier, but he wasn’t your Bucky either. Instead he was an odd mixture of the two.
After some minute pass, the bathroom door opens to reveal Bucky, looking cozy as ever in the large sweatpants and stretched out t-shirt you had given him. Even in such basic clothing, he still takes your breath away.
“Where do I sleep?” His husky voice softly questions.
“Here in the bed, I’ll sleep in the guest room sweetheart,” the endearment slips past your lips before you can stop it, making you look away and feel blood rising to your neck and cheeks in embarrassment.
“Please, don’t be embarrassed, маленький кролик. It’s nice, someone being kind to me. And you can sleep, with me, if you’d like. I understand that’s what we normally do, I don’t want you uncomfortable,” Bucky says, voice soft and beginning to become sleepy.
“Okay, if you’re sure that’s alright?” You ask, as you take off your oversized sweater to just leave yourself in your sleep shorts and one of Bucky’s baggy t-shirts.
“It’s fine doll,” a soft smile takes over his features as he walks closer to the bed.
You flip the covers over, climbing in and patting the empty side next to you, motioning for him to join you.
He walks over and sits on the bed next to you, pulling the covers over you both as you reach over and turn the bedside lamp off, leaving you both to get settled in the darkness. A few moments pass in silence as you both get comfortable under the covers
“Can I ask something?” He asks.
“Yeah, Buck?” You ask, turning to him. His features are lit by the moonlight pouring in through the windows.
“Will you be here? When I wake up? Normally when I go to sleep, I lose everything,” he asks you, your heart breaking at the uncertainty on his face.
You reach over and gently stroke his jaw, moving closer to rest your head on his shoulder.
“Of course. I’ll always be here, Buck.” You convey to him with absolute certainty in your voice, calming his fears.
As you find yourself drifting off to sleep, you feel a soft kiss pressed to your forehead.
“Thank you, маленький кролик”
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Translations: маленький кролик - little bunny
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