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#falcon x you
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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multiversefanfics · 8 months
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Don’t Forget To Look Up.
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Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader
Warning: Mention of death and sadness
Summary: The reader left a note before she died
A/N: I wrote something similar with a different character but lost the entire blog and fic, this is a very sad one. life isn’t all sugar, unicorns, and rainbows. Anything bold is the note Y/B/N: Your baby’s name
Dear Sam,
It was a beautiful sunny morning, you, Sam and your little bundle of joy are on your way to Tony’s for a cookout, you and Sam were belting out one of your favorite songs, laughing and just being goofy. You looked over at Sam in awe, you couldn’t believe that you got to spend the rest of your life with this man, he was everything to you. You smiled wide and watched him sing to you “I love you so much, Sam.” He looked over at you for a split second then back to the road “I love you too, Y/N.” You both went back to singing, hearing your daughter’s little voice try to sing along with you, even though it was mainly babble. That’s when it happened. Bang. Everything went black.
Remember that trip we took to Hawaii, I remember you didn’t even want to go because you were afraid the baby was going to be a problem on the plane but you calmed her down with your atrocious but adorable singing, I know how nervous you were, hell so was I. Neither of us knew what we were doing but I think we did a pretty good job with her, she’s got your sense of humor along with that gorgeous smile you have.
You woke up in a hospital bed with many wires coming out of everywhere, you looked around and saw Sam, Nat, Tony and Steve. You strained to talk but ultimately regretted it, your throat was so sore and dry you couldn’t even mutter a word. Sam jumped up and rushed to your side which startled everyone else “Y/N, Baby” He helped you sit up but not too fast, you put your hand to your throat signaling that you needed water he grabbed the cup on your table and bended the straw so you could drink it, the cool water hit your throat instantly giving you relief and you were able to talk. “What happened?” You muttered leaning your head back against the pillow, Sam rubbed his thumb over your forehead “We were in a car accident baby.” Your heart started to race, you looked around breathing heavy “Where’s Y/B/N??” Sam calmed you down by rubbing your hand “She’s okay, she’s with Sarah.”
You are an amazing father I am so happy that you got me pregnant, I know you’re going to laugh at that, well I hope you do. I know this won’t be easy, but you gotta do this for our baby girl, for me. I hope you aren’t crying right now, you know i wouldn’t want that. I want nothing but happiness for you baby, you have to stay strong for Y/B/N she needs you more than ever, you need to break down? wait until she’s asleep I know that sounds harsh but I don’t want her to see her daddy so sad
A couple days went by and you overheard the doctors say that you’re not doing good, but you feel great you were confused why they would say that, you held Y/B/N playing as much as you could, kissing her, reading to her and even taking a nap. You didn’t understand why the doctors were saying you weren’t doing good, you shook it off and focused on your family, Nat sat by your side making sure you were comfortable, warm and hydrated enough. “How are you feeling?” You’ve never heard Tony speak so softly before it took you by surprise “I feel great, I hope to get out of here soon and back to reality.” Tony frowned turning to look at Steve, who was whispering something to Sam about what the doctors said. Sam Sat down beside you taking your hand in his. “Baby, I need you to listen to me. You’re not doing so good, the doctors said you have some internal bleeding they can’t fix, I want to prepare you.” You looked into his eyes confused “Sam I feel fine, great even.” He sighed and kissed your hand “Baby, they said this is normal you get a surge of energy before you pass, your organs are failing and there is nothing they can do.” As he finished a tear rolled down his cheek, you lifted your hand to wipe it away. “It’s not true! I’m fine!” He leaned into your hand kissing your palm.
Oh, I am extremely in love with you, words can’t describe the feeling I get when I’m with you, even when I think about you, promise me that you will tell our daughter all the amazing adventures we went on, remind her that you’re actually funny no matter how much uncle Bucky and Uncle Tony say how corny you are. please baby, find love you deserve the entire world and i need you to find someone to give it to you.
When you finally calmed down, you gave your daughter a kiss, and told her you’d see her later, Sam picked her up looking down at you “I will be right back.” He kissed your forehead and took her back to Sarah’s so he could spend the night with you. Bucky stayed by your side as you both waited for Sam to come back, he held your hand while you silently cried “Bucky, I don’t want to die, there so much I’m going to miss out on, so much life to live.” He kissed your hand rubbing the top of it after he pulled back. “Y/N, just relax. Maybe the doctors are wrong.” He tried his best to calm you down but it wasn’t working. Soon you heard rapid beeping and Bucky calling your name before everything went dark you panicked, Sam wasn’t back yet, you didn’t get to say goodbye, you didn’t get one last kiss, you didn’t get a chance to tell him how much you love him, just like that you were gone.
And Sam, Don’t forget to look up.
Sam Wilson Masterlist - Main Masterlist
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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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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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Marvel: The Old Master List
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Steve Rogers
Dancing Together (07/10/22)
Whole Heart (06/06/23)
Kintober Series- Day Six (10/06/23)
Christmas Stories- Day Fourteen (12/14/23)
Bucky Barnes
Nightly Gains (09/14/22)
Kintober Series- Day Twenty-Two (10/22/23)
Christmas Stories- Day Nineteen (12/19/23)
Sam Wilson
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The Old-
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marvelandimagine · 2 years
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Sam Wilson Masterlist
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Make Me Smile - [Request] The reader has to shave her head for upcoming neurosurgery and feels like shit about herself. Ensuing comfort from one of the single men on the Avengers team. 
Drabbles
Wish
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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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littleredwolf · 1 year
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The Sleepover
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Words: 1,740
Summary: Bucky and Y/N have been dating for a while but he is yet to spend the night at her place. After breaking down barriers and allowing himself to drop his guard, Bucky soon decides it’s finally time to take the next step. 
Warnings: Mentions of Bucky’s PTSD/recovery 
A/N: This was inspired by the scene in TFATWS that shows Bucky waking up on his apartment floor. It’s such a visceral moment that sheds light on just how much trauma he carries with him, and I wanted to bring some lightness to that in the form of Y/N. Long story short, I just wanted our favourite super soldier to receive the comfort he so desperately needs and deserves.
--
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Your heart skipped a beat as you heard the unmistakable roar of Bucky’s motorcycle pulling up outside, and you launched yourself off the couch to greet him. The two of you had been dating for a little over four months now but tonight was the first time he was staying over and you were practically vibrating with excitement. 
You had met a year ago when you’d been paired together on a scouting mission in Bucharest, spending an intensive four weeks trailing a suspected arms dealer. After spending the better half of a month shacked up together in a dingy apartment, it was inevitable you'd open up to one another eventually. After months of skirting around your feelings and your friends encouraging you both to speak up, the two of you had eventually plucked up the courage to confess your feelings and the rest, as the saying goes, was history. 
Bucky had been a true gentleman from the very beginning and had confessed early on that he'd wanted to take things slow - it had been a long time since he'd courted a woman and thanks to his coloured past he'd all but given up on the prospect of love, so the concept of a relationship was one he still sometimes struggled to get his head around. 
You understood completely and had made every effort not to overwhelm him. You were fully aware of his trauma and the suffering he'd endured and endeavoured to provide him with a calm, safe space that allowed him to let his guard down in a way he was comfortable with.
Over the last few months he'd gotten much better with touch and now it was at a point where he practically craved it. Whether he was holding your hand, laying his head in your lap while you watched TV or wrapping his arms around you from behind while you were cooking dinner, Bucky loved touch and would always find an excuse to be near you or touching you in some way. You were more than happy to indulge his needs and fussed over him at every opportunity, joking that he was like an overgrown puppy when it came to affection.
You could have cried with how sweet he’d been when he’d kissed you for the first time - he was so careful as he’d tenderly pressed his lips to yours, as though expecting to break you, and in that moment it had dawned on you that he probably wasn’t used to being so gentle towards another human being. 
It was so fulfilling witnessing this once broken man rebuilding and flourishing in his new life, and you felt truly honoured that he wanted you to be a part of it. 
At the sound of a knock at the door your excitement grew to an almost immeasurable amount, and you took a moment to gather yourself before answering. 
You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d gone to bed alone after spending an evening with Bucky, aching for him to be beside you, and although you understood and respected his reasons for not staying you couldn’t help the sting of loneliness that crawled in whenever he left at the end of an evening.
The sight of him standing in your doorway with an overnight bag slung over his shoulder was one you’d never dared to believe you’d witness, yet here he was, casually leaning against the doorframe as he waited for you to answer the door. 
“Hey Buck,” you grinned, stepping forward to greet him with a kiss which he eagerly welcomed. Wrapping his arms around you, he guided you backwards into your apartment, dropping his bag and kicking the door to a close behind him. You were breathless when he pulled away, staring up at him in awe.  
“Wow, that was…just, wow,” you marvelled, completely lost for words. 
“I could hear your heartbeat so I thought I’d ease some of your nerves,” he smirked, and your cheeks reddened at his confession. 
“Dammit Barnes, I told you not to use your super hearing on me. What if I was in the bathroom!?”
“You think I haven’t heard you pee before?” His laughter - one of your favourite sounds - echoed around the room as you shot him a horrified glare, and he quickly pulled you into his embrace to ease your embarrassment. 
“I’m reconsidering this sleepover already,” you grumbled into his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist, breathing in his leathery scent. He chuckled and kissed the top of your head. 
“Come on doll, why don't you show me where I’ll be sleeping.”
You immediately perked up at his words - which you suspected was his plan - and with a grin you grabbed his bag and led him to the bedroom to unpack.
The evening passed like any other - you cooked dinner, played some board games, and ended the night cuddled up on the couch with a movie - but instead of falling asleep in Bucky's arms like you usually did, you felt wide awake. 
Bucky switched off the TV as you began to tidy away your empty glasses and snacks, and an awkward silence hovered over the room as you both pondered how to navigate the rest of the evening. 
"So, sweetheart…what do you usually do at this point?" Bucky broke the silence as he came to lean against the counter beside you.    
"Well, usually, once you've left I go to bed," you replied, realising that the suggestion of going to bed may be misinterpreted and quickly adding, "but we don't have to do that yet if you're not tired." 
Bucky's hand came to rest on your arm and you looked up to find him smiling reassuringly. 
"It's okay, doll. I'm happy to go to bed," he murmured, trailing his hand down to entwine his fingers with yours and leading you to your room. 
You were already in your pyjamas so you slipped straight under the covers while Bucky walked round to the other side of the bed and began undressing down to his boxers. You couldn't resist a sneaky peek while his back was turned, and as soon as you gave in to your temptation you regretted it immediately - Bucky's chiselled body was truly a sight to behold and one you were sad to have to tear your eyes away from. 
"Would you like me to strike a pose?" Your boyfriend's playful voice broke your train of thought and you snapped your eyes to his, finding him smirking at you with his hands on his hips. 
You'd been caught red handed, and red faced! Your cheeks were blazing and you pulled the covers up to hide your face as Bucky crawled in next to you. The embarrassment quickly dissolved once he was laying next to you, your mind suddenly too preoccupied to care, and you turned to face him with a grin. 
"You're here," you said gleefully, melting into his open arms. 
"I'm here," he echoed, his smile mirroring yours.
With a tender kiss he pulled you closer, tucking you under his chin in a firm but gentle embrace, and soon you found the tendrils of slumber pulling you into the sleepy abyss. 
– 
A few hours later you were awoken by a cold breeze at your back, and you reached your hand out in the darkness, heart sinking when an empty bed greeted you. 
Had Bucky left? Had he changed his mind about spending the night? Had you imagined the whole thing? 
Your thoughts teetered on a downward spiral as you sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, but your insecurity quickly turned to confusion when you looked to your side and found that not only was Bucky missing from your bed, but his pillow was too. 
Eyebrows knitting together, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and got up to try and solve the mystery, but you didn't get very far before your foot bumped into something solid. 
Bucky. 
The super soldier sat bolt upright at your touch, wide eyes staring straight ahead, and for a moment you feared he'd forgotten where he was altogether. He soon came to his senses, however, shaking off any remnants of sleep and looking up at you with a sheepish expression. 
"I, uh…sometimes find it hard to sleep," he offered, fidgeting with the blanket he must have grabbed from the couch. "Sorry, I'm still kinda getting used to the idea of a comfortable bed." 
He chuckled dryly and your chest tightened at his doleful expression - here was this brave, strong man who had been through hell, and he was apologising!? 
That just would not do. 
"Oh, Buck," you cooed, sinking to your knees in front of him and holding his face in your hands. "You don't need to apologise for anything." 
His eyes met yours and you hoped he could see the love and sincerity in them. The guards he worked so hard to keep up slipped just a tiny bit, and he gave you a tearful smile as he rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. Kissing the top of his head, you turned and reached up to grab your pillow off the bed, setting it on the floor beside his before reaching back again for the covers. 
"You don't have to do this, doll. You won't be comfortable," he protested once he realised you were intending to join him, but you simply waved a hand to quiet him.
"We're in this together now baby," you softly reassured, adjusting the blanket so it covered the both of you. "I'm right here with you every step of the way." 
You kissed him deeply and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down with him as he laid back on the hardwood floor. By no means was it comfortable and you knew in the morning your back would be aching, but none of that mattered while you were at Bucky's side. 
He'd been fighting his demons for so long, and he'd likely be fighting them for a long time to come, but there was no way you were going to let him continue fighting them alone. 
Tucked tightly into Bucky's side, your head on his chest and the sound of his heart beating in your ears, you fell back to sleep with surprising ease, and neither you, nor Bucky, woke again until morning. 
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super-marvel-dc · 1 year
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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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multiversefanfics · 9 months
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Hey, Pretty Girl
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Summary: You've known Sam all your life but when you two were younger, your parents moved you halfway across the country. You wrote, texted, facetimed, everything just to keep in touch but once he joined the Avengers he got busier and busier, and soon there was no time for you.. until now. Part 2 of Hi Sammy
Warning: light cussing, fluffy
You agreed to go on a date with Sam, I mean come on you've had a crush on him since you were kids. It was 12pm and he wasn't picking you up until 7, but you couldn't help it, you were super excited to finally go on a date with Sam, you went through your entire suitcase trying to find something to wear you groaned and walked down the stairs greeting your mom "Hey, mom will you go shopping with me?" You slowly bit your lip hoping she wouldn't ask why you need to go shopping even though you couldn't contain your excitement. "Of course, dear. What's the special occasion?" You smiled wide "Sam, asked me on a date" She smiled just a wide and you did grabbing her purse "I wanna buy the outfit for you." You knew it would just be easier to go along with it rather than argue with her, you'd lose. You and your mom got in the car and drove to the mall, you were never a mall person but your mom had a plan, and once she is zoned in on her plan there's no stopping her. Finally, you got to the mall you both get out of the car and walk inside. Your mom was showing you several dresses even though you're not a dress person but this is special you want to look your best after about 3 other stores your mom holds up a dark sparkly purple dress, and she told you to go try it on. You looked at yourself in the mirror, the dress came to your thighs you were amazed by how good you looked in the dress. You walked out of the dressing room to show your mom, she looked at you mouth wide open, she wiped a few fake tears away, and walked toward you getting a better look "You look, amazing." You smiled and looked down at yourself "This is the one, I love it." Your mom flashed you one last smile before you walked into the dressing room to put your other clothes back on, you checked out and began your journey home.
It was 6:45pm your mom was helping you get ready, you couldn't contain your excitement any longer, you sat on the porch waiting for him to show up. An hour went by and it was almost 8pm you nervously tapped your fingers on the back of your phone at least expecting a text message and just then your phone vibrated
Sam: Y/N I am so sorry, some Avengers stuff popped up I won't be able to make it tonight, raincheck?
Y/N: No worries, next time.
You admit you were very upset, but what more could you do the Avengers and saving the world were more important. You sighed and walked back inside and up the stairs to take off your dress and makeup. "Honey, you okay?" Your mom whispered as she slowly walked into your room "Yeah, Sam had some Avengers stuff to handle so we took a raincheck." You didn't want your mom to see you upset so you smiled sweetly at her while you wiped the makeup from your face "Well, the night is still young why don't we go out somewhere." She looked at you trying to make you feel better with the invitation "It's okay, I think I'm gonna go for a walk then come home, take a hot bath and go to sleep." You peeled your dress off, putting on sweatpants and a sweater it got a little chilly since the sun went down. She nodded and kissed your forehead leaving you to finish getting ready for your walk. You grabbed your headphones and played your "walking" playlist, it was a special playlist that you only listened to when you were in Louisiana or you were homesick. The lake was always your safe spot, even though you didn't know how to swim the lapping of the waves and the breeze relaxed you. You tried not to let tonight's events upset you all over again you sighed and slouched down on the park bench. "Hey" You heard from behind you, you jumped and looked over your shoulder it was Bucky "Oh, hey" You scooted over letting him know he could sit next to you. "I saw you walk down here and I couldn't go back to Sam's without knowing that you were safe." You nodded and looked back at the lake "I'm okay, just needed some fresh air." He rubbed the back of his neck and sat beside you "I also know that you can't swim and I admit I was a little scared." He chuckled and followed your eye line "It is beautiful though." You sighed and looked over at Bucky continuing the conversation for maybe an hour, you patted your legs looking back at Bucky "So, it's been a real pleasure meeting you, but by this time tomorrow, I will be back in New York." Bucky's head snapped your way "What do you mean you're leaving tomorrow, I thought you still had a couple of days." You shook your head taking a deep breath. "Nope, I go home tomorrow, which is why I was really looking forward to my date with Sam tonight but he's busy." You shrugged your shoulders and stood up "Thank you for coming down and making sure I was okay. Do you need help back to Sam's?" He shook his head standing up as well "I think I've mastered my ways around here. It was really great meeting you, Doll. I hope to see you again" You held your hand out to shake Bucky's which is something you never did "Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable." You nodded your head and gripped his hand shaking it. "I hope to see you again too." You smiled once more before parting ways. You finally reached your parents' house and began packing your things, you did have a few days left but honestly, it was best if you went home, back to reality, back to work, back to the fast pace life that you craved although you craved Sam so much more. You sighed and crawled into bed slowly drifting to sleep.
It was the next morning, and your dad helped you put your bags in your trunk "Are you sure you can't stay a few more days, what about Sam?" You sighed and looked at your mom "I promise I will be back I just need to get a few things in order." She pulled you into a tight hug never wanting to let you go, your dad joined in the hug "I love you both, I will let you know when I land" You smiled and got in the car pulling out of the driveway. Sam was gathering his things "Okay, wallet, keys, flowers, her favorite snack. okay good." He started out the door when he came face to face with Bucky "Come on, man out of my way I need to go see Y/N" Bucky sighed and looked back at him “Y/N is going home.” Sam’s whole body tensed up “No, no that can’t be true, she said she wasn’t leaving until Thursday.” Bucky shook his head, laying his flesh hand on Sam’s shoulder “She told me last night she was going home today” Sam shook Bucky’s hand off his shoulder and began running towards your parents’ house, still with respect he knocked lightly on their door. Your mom opened the door, frowning when she saw Sam standing there out of breath “Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me she’s still here.” Your mom shook her head “Last night after you asked for a raincheck for your date, she went on a walk to clear her head and when she came back she said she wanted to go home. I couldn’t stop her, her mind was made up.” Sam’s shoulder slumped as he looked around “Maybe I can bring her back, Maybe-“ Your mom put her hand on Sam’s shoulder “She will be back next month, just give her some space, I promise this will all work out.” She offered him a small smile and he nodded he handed your mom the flowers he still had in his hand along with your favorite snack “At least one beautiful woman will receive these flowers.” He smiled back and turned around walking back to his house. Defeated. You finally landed in New York, you grabbed your bag from the luggage claim and made your way to the car that you parked in the parking garage before you left for Louisiana, you texted your parents before pulling out of the car park. You don't remember the drive home but you got there safely and just plopped on the bed, falling asleep instantly.
~Time skip bc i'm lazy~
It's been a month since you've been back home, no text from Sam, no phone calls, nothing. but Bucky has been in contact with you to make sure you're okay, he even came to see you when he was in the city. It felt weird because Sam didn't do any of those things and he was supposed to be your best friend. You were pulling into your parents' driveway just like a month ago but this time you weren't as happy. You got out of the car meeting your dad at the front of the house "Hey, sweetheart." He pulled you into a hug, then took your bag off your shoulder, before walking inside "So, I have a surprise for you guys, where's mom?" He set your bag down on the couch "Oh, she's outback, let's go get her." You smiled wide and followed your dad out back, you could hear her laughing at talking to someone but you didn't know who it was, as you walked closer and closer you saw Sam and Bucky. Bucky looked your way smiling wide "There she is." His smile turned into a smirk as you glared at him knowing that he told Sam you were coming back today. Sam turned to look at you slowly walking over "Can we talk for a minute?" You looked at Bucky who nodded along with your parents, you nodded and followed Sam a couple feet from where your parents were standing. "Y/N, that night I made the biggest mistake of my life, I once again chose the Avengers over you. I never want to do that again, please forgive me." You giggled lightly at the look on his face "Sam, yes I was upset but I know saving the world is important, I understand." He took your hands in his staring deeply into your eyes "You are my world." You blushed trying to hide your face until you felt his finger loop under your chin making you look at him. "Don't hide your beautiful face from me." You smiled up at him, leaning up and placing a small peck on his cheek "Does the black falcon have a crush on me?" He chuckled and threw his head back "Oh you got jokes now." He bit his lip while nodding his head "Yes, I do have a crush on you." You smiled wide, looking deep into his eyes "I have a crush on you too." You booped his nose giggling as he scrunched his face. "About damn time, you know you two are exhausting. 'I love Sam' 'I love Y/N' like damn finally!" Bucky ranted as he threw his hands in the air. You both laughed and hugged once more. "Alright, alright, let's eat!" Your dad shouted while carrying a plate piled with corn on the cob on it. You smiled while everyone walked over to the table almost forgetting your surprise "Oh, I almost forgot." Everyone stopped and looked at you "So, I have a surprise for everyone." You took a deep breath and looked back at everyone "Spit it out, Y/N!" Bucky rushed you tapping his fingers on his elbow you smiled "I'm moving back home!" Sam ran up to you hugging and spinning you around "That's amazing Y/N, this is perfect!" Sam slowly put you down staring into your eyes "Well, isn't this a lovely reunion." You heard a sarcastic voice behind you, you all looked to see who it was. Everyone was shocked.
A/N: I had another way of ending this, I also was gonna add some spicy things in it but I think I'm going to save that for part 3 :)
Part 3
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romanoffshouse · 5 months
Text
Bucky: How do I make a date really romantic?
Sam: Be mysterious
Bucky: okay!
[later, while on a date with Steve]
Steve: So, where are we going?
Bucky: None of your fucking business
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kaynothanks · 23 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
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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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Sambucky as Text Posts 1/?
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