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sergeantbarnessdoll · 3 months ago

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hiii! can i request a bucky fanfic that takes place in civil war? specifically, the scene where zemo activated the winter solider and he starts attacking the avengers. and the soldier notices reader but for some reason spares her. maybe the reader is also an avenger, and has an established relationship with bucky? thank youuuu, have a good day! <33

Sparing You » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America and the Avengers

Summary: Bucky spares you when he’s in Winter Soldier mode.

Warnings: Fluff, tiny bit of Angst, language, established relationship, boyfriend!Bucky/girlfriend!reader, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request @timmytimberdrake 🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

As you watched the camera footage of the room Bucky is in with Zemo, you could tell that something wasn’t right about Zemo. You didn’t need to be in the same room as him to know that.

“Something doesn’t seem right with that Zemo guy.” You say.

Steve nods as he continues to watch the footage. You stood up from your seat and walked over to Steve, standing next to him to get a better look at the screen. As you guys continued watching it, the power went out, confusing everyone. You, Steve, and Sam exchanged looks before making your way to where Bucky is. Bucky wasn’t in the metal pod or anywhere in the room when you guys got in there. Zemo wasn’t on the floor. Steve grabbed him by his jacket and slammed him against the wall.

“What the hell did you do to him?” You asked Zemo.

“You’ll find out in a moment, Miss. Y/L/N.” Zemo says, smirking evilly.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

How the hell does he know your name?

That’s when Bucky came out of nowhere and started attacking Steve and Sam. He threw Sam against the pod and shoved Steve against the elevator doors hard enough to make him fall through them. Your eyes went wide. That was enough to tell you that Bucky is in Winter Soldier mode. Bucky turned around, accidentally bumping into you. You stumbled backwards, but didn’t fall. You stared up at him, waiting for him to attack you, but he didn’t. He just stared down at you for a few seconds before walking away. Now, you’re confused.

Why didn’t he attack you like he did to Steve and Sam just seconds ago?

You followed him through the building, making sure he didn’t notice you. You hid along the wall that led to a seating area with some tables. You poked your head out to see Bucky attacking the rest of the Avengers.

“Is Barnes in there?” Tony asks from behind you.

“Yes.” You replied.

Tony got his blaster ready and aimed it at Bucky, blasting him. Your eyes went wide when he did that. You watched Bucky approach Tony with a gun.

“Uh oh.” You mumbled to yourself.

You felt like you should do something. You ran out to the seating area before Bucky could shoot Tony. You managed to get the gun out of Bucky’s strong grip. You unloaded the bullets from it and threw it as far as you could. Bucky just stared at you. You gulped, thinking he was going to attack you this time, but he didn’t. He gently moved you to the side before attacking Tony.

“Why didn’t Barnes attack you?” T’Challa asks.

“I-I don’t know.” You replied.

You didn’t let Bucky out of your sight even when after he went after T’Challa. You followed him, keeping your distance. Following him led both of you to the roof of the building. You watched Bucky get on the helicopter and started it. Steve opened the door, entering the roof. You watched Steve run towards the helicopter and grabbed onto it so Bucky couldn’t fly away. He used all of his strength to pull it down. He wanted to stop his best friend before things got worse.

———

Steve managed to get Bucky to an abandoned factory. Bucky was unconscious at the moment. You stared at Bucky while biting your nails as you thought to yourself. You were curious to know why Bucky didn’t attack you when he was in Winter Soldier mode. That’s when it hit you. You and Bucky met during your trip to Romania last Summer. You and him hung out and got to know each other. You two made it official before leaving to go back home. You guys kept yours and his relationship a secret. You hate that you kept this from your friends, especially Steve.

“Y/N, are you ok? Did he hurt?” Steve asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Hmm? Yea, I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.” You say.

Steve stared at you, studying your body language. He could tell that you were keeping something from him and he’s going to find out what it is.

“Cap, he’s waking up.” Sam says.

You, Steve, and Sam enter the area Bucky is in. Bucky groans as he wakes up. He furrows his eyebrows when he notices that his metal arm is wedged in some kind of machine.

“Steve…” Bucky says, his voice raspy from waking up.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asks.

“Your mom’s name is Sarah and you used to wear newspaper in your shoes.” Bucky says.

“Can’t read that in a museum.” Steve says.

“And now, we’re supposed to be cool?” Sam says.

“What did I do?” Bucky asks, looking at Sam.

“Nothing.” You say softly.

Bucky turns his attention to you, smiling when he seen you. Steve looks from Bucky to you, sensing something between the two of you.

“What’s going on between you two?” Steve asks you and Bucky.

You looked at Bucky. He nodded, letting you know it’s ok to tell Steve about yours and his relationship.

“Remember when I went on a trip to Europe last Summer?” You asked.

Steve and Sam nodded.

“Well, I went to Romania for the remainder of my trip and I met Bucky when I was there. Him and I hung out and got to know each other. We made our relationship official before I came home. Him and I kept it a secret.” You explained.

“How long have you two been together?” Steve asks.

“Almost a year.” You tell him.

“A year?! Why didn’t you tell me?!” Steve says.

“Don’t get mad at her. I’m the one who said to keep our relationship a secret.” Bucky says.

Steve sighs and puts his hands on his hips, trying to process the fact that you kept your relationship with Bucky a secret for almost a year.

“Can I ask you something?” Sam ask Bucky.

Bucky looks at Sam and nods.

“Why didn’t you attack Y/N when you were in Winter Soldier mode?” He asks curiously.

“I wanted to spare her. Even though all of the programming, I still somehow knew who she is.” Bucky says.

You smiled and walked over to Bucky, giving him a hug.

“I would’ve forgiven you even if you did attack me.” You say softly, gazing in his blue eyes.

Bucky stared in your eyes. He loves how loving you are. He also loves how you can see past his mistakes he made over the years. That’s his favorite things about you. Bucky’s right hand cups your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin. He kisses you softly and sweetly. As Steve looks at the two of you and watches the cute moment unfold in front of him, he then realizes that Bucky most likely asked you to keep yours and his relationship a secret to protect you so nothing bad happened to you.

“You guys kept your relationship a secret to protect her, didn’t you?” Steve asks.

“Yes.” Bucky answers softly.

“I didn’t mean to get mad at you guys. It would’ve been nice to know. Just don’t keep anymore secrets from us, ok?” Steve says.

You and Bucky nodded. Now, that you guys talked everything out and got it out of the way, you guys can move forward on the plan.

“I know a guy.” Sam says.

Steve nods, letting Sam know to call him.

“I’ll protect you.” You say softly to Bucky.

“You’re so sweet, doll.” Bucky smiles. “I love you.” He almost whispers, kissing your lips softly.

“I love you too, sweetie.” You whispered back.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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buckyseternaldoll · 22 days ago

Text

Five Seconds, Five Years (Part I)

header from: pinterest

✮⋆˙ Part II | Part III

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes proposed just days before the world ended — afraid he might never get another chance. Then he vanished in Wakanda. Five years later, he’s at your door — unchanged, while your whole life has moved on. Some love survives time. But what happens when life doesn’t wait?

Disclaimer: Heavy emotional angst, pre-Blip tension, mentions of impending war, proposal made under fear of death, sudden character disappearance (Blip), ambiguous loss, spiraling grief, trauma resurfacing, no body or closure, emotional collapse, breakdown depicted in detail, survivor’s guilt, mentions of Steve Rogers relaying death news. **This story stretches between several timelines in MCU (only loosely, not to be strictly following the year gaps)

Word Count: 4,543

The morning started with a light shower of rain.

You watched the droplets race each other down the windowpane, your breath fogging the glass as you leaned against the frame. Then—two soft knocks. You didn’t need to look. You already knew.

“Hi, doll,” Bucky said, voice low and warm with something close to reverence.

His hair was slightly damp from the spring rain, curling around his ears in a way that always made your fingers twitch to brush it back. His hoodie was soft and old, the sleeves bunched around his forearms—one solid and familiar, the other sleeve empty, folded and pinned neatly at the elbow. He looked tired—not in the physical sense, but in the bone-deep way someone looks after wading through ghosts every day. But he smiled for you. A small, worn smile that still made something in your chest ache with love.

You stepped aside without a word, letting him in, and he walked in with the quiet of someone who knew exactly where he was going. The apartment hadn’t changed. Same lamp with the crooked shade. Same couch where you both had fallen asleep watching movies at 2AM. Same coffee table with the scratch he’d accidentally left with the blunt corner of his missing arm that first night you kissed.

He dropped his overnight bag beside the door, exhaled slowly, then turned to you.

“Still like chamomile?” he asked softly.

“Still need it to sleep,” you replied.

And just like that, like every visit before this, he melted into the space like he belonged. Because he did.

—

He never stayed long.

A few days at most—just long enough to fold himself back into the quiet corners of your life, like he’d never left. Just long enough to remind you what peace felt like in the shape of his hands.

Wakanda was still healing him—carefully, gently, methodically. Shuri had done the impossible, reworking HYDRA’s programming strand by strand. But even she said: healing isn’t a machine you can fix. It’s something you relearn, every day.

So he came back to New York when the shadows got too loud. When he needed something no vibranium tech could replicate. You.

He told you once, on one of those nights when he curled into your sheets like a man too big for peace, that he didn’t remember what love felt like before you. Only that with you, it was quiet. Safe.

“You don’t pull me out of the dark,” he said. “You just sit with me in it.”

You had no idea how much that would come to mean.

—

The night he proposed, there was fear in the sky.

You tasted it in the wind, felt it in his kiss—like the world was holding its breath, and he was holding you in case it collapsed.

He held you longer that night. Kissed you slower. Touched you like he was tracing every line of a goodbye letter he hadn’t written yet. You were half-asleep on the couch, your leg draped over his, one of his hands resting gently on your thigh while the city pulsed beyond the window. Everything felt like static—like something just out of reach was about to break.

Then he pulled a small velvet box from the pocket of his hoodie.

“I know this isn’t perfect,” he said. “It’s not candlelight or champagne. But I’ve spent so much of my life losing time—and I won’t risk losing this moment.”

He slid down to one knee, right there in the living room, ring in one hand, his other hand cupping your cheek.

“If I go… and I don’t make it back… I need to know I at least asked.”

“Marry me,” he said. “Let me go into whatever’s coming knowing I finally did something for me. For us.”

Your tears soaked his collar as you nodded yes and whispered, “Come back to me. I’ll be here. For you—always.”

—

You stood on the fire escape with your back to his chest, the city humming below.

It felt like a goodbye disguised as a promise. And you let yourself believe there’d be another hello.

He didn’t say much that morning. Just pressed his lips against your shoulder. Just held your hand like it was the only thing keeping him together.

Before he left, he turned to you one last time, eyes impossibly soft.

“After this… if there’s still a world left—let’s get out of here,” he murmured, his voice low, steady. “Seoul, maybe. You always said you wanted to see the Han River.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “You remember that?”

He nodded, smiling softly. “You used to watch those Korean dramas in bed. Said you loved the way it looked—couples walking under cherry blossoms by the river, taking the KTX cross-country like it was something sacred. You said the peace there felt… quiet. Not empty.”

Your heart clenched. “I was learning the language. Thought if I really wanted to understand it all—the place, the people—I’d have to go live it. Not just dream it.”

“Then let’s live it,” he whispered. “I want peace. But more than that… I want you in peace.”

You kissed him once more.

You didn’t know it would be the last.

—

You didn’t see him disappear.

You weren’t even awake when it happened. The sun had barely risen over New York when your phone buzzed—once. Then again. Then relentlessly. The group chat with Sam. News alerts. A voicemail from Nat with no words, just labored breathing and distant shouting.

You sat up slowly, still in his hoodie, the ring box on your nightstand untouched from the night before.

Then came the knock.

Three times. Firm, deliberate.

You already knew.

You opened the door and found Steve standing there. Still in his suit. Mud on his boots. A small tear in the shoulder of his uniform. His shield wasn’t with him. His eyes were red-rimmed, jaw clenched so hard it ticked like a clock.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly.

You stepped back.

He moved like someone walking through wet cement—slow, deliberate, as though every step hurt. He looked around your apartment like it was sacred ground, his gaze falling on the framed photo of you and Bucky laughing in Central Park. He swallowed hard and finally sat on the edge of the armchair.

And then he said it.

“He’s gone.”

The words hit you like a blunt object. Not a stab—there was no blood. Just the absence of breath. Like your lungs forgot how to work.

“It was fast. Dust,” Steve said. “Just… dust.”

You didn’t respond. You just stared. Not at him. Not at anything.

Steve rubbed a hand over his face. “Before the battle… he pulled me aside. Gave me this.”

From his pocket, Steve pulled out a small, worn notebook. You recognized it immediately. Bucky’s.

“He told me… if anything happened to him, if he didn’t come back… I was to find you. He wrote your name on the first page. Your number. Said, ‘She’s the only thing that ever made me feel like a man again. Please tell her I didn’t walk away.’”

Your knees buckled.

Steve caught you, arms strong and shaking all at once, pulling you gently to the floor.

“I’m so sorry.”

You weren’t crying. Not yet. You were too numb. The room spun in tight, slow circles.

“I need to see it,” you whispered.

Steve hesitated—then nodded.

He opened the notebook to the first page.

There, scrawled in Bucky’s neat, all-caps handwriting:

IF I DON’T MAKE IT BACK—CALL HER. TELL HER I WAS THINKING OF HER. TELL HER I DIDN’T RUN. TELL HER I LOVE HER.

Beneath it—your name. Your number. A little drawing. A tiny heart.

That’s when the screaming started.

—

You didn’t remember hitting the floor, but you remembered the sound of your scream.

Not human. Not you. Something primal, something that ripped through your throat and shattered into the walls around you. Your voice cracked. Broke. The notebook hit the floor. The ring box fell from the nightstand and landed with a hollow, damning thud.

You barely heard Steve calling your name. Felt his hands on your shoulders, grounding you, holding you like Bucky once did. You clawed at the couch cushions, the carpet, your own skin.

You begged. Pleaded. Not for God. Not for mercy. Just for one more second.

But there was no body.

No goodbye.

No grave.

Just dust on the wind and the weight of a love that had no ending.

You didn’t dream for weeks after that.

You couldn’t.

Because in every dream, he came back.

And in every one, he left again.

—

The first three days, you didn’t move from the couch.

The world around you buzzed in static—television left on, reports playing on loop. People screaming in airports. Planes crashing. Children disappearing from classrooms mid-laugh. It didn’t feel real. Nothing did.

You watched the news like a zombie. Not for information—you already knew the only part that mattered. But some stubborn part of you hoped someone, somewhere, would say his name. Would tell you they made a mistake. That he wasn’t among the dead.

But the screen stayed silent. And you did too.

—

By the fourth day, the calls started.

Steve again. Sam. Natasha. Even Bruce. You didn’t answer any of them. Not because you were angry—because the thought of speaking felt unbearable. Like it would make it real.

You didn’t want reality.

You wanted Bucky’s half-finished mug on the counter. You wanted the hoodie he left draped on the kitchen chair to still smell like him. You wanted his voice—gruff and low and quiet when he called you doll—to echo in the hallway again.

You slept on the floor.

It was cold there, under the window, but you didn’t care. The bed still had the dent where he last lay. The sheets still smelled like the skin between his neck and collarbone. You couldn’t touch it. You couldn’t bear to lie there and know you’d wake up alone.

You left the lights off. You didn’t eat. You stopped checking the time.

—

Your body broke before your mind did.

On Day Six, you collapsed in the hallway—halfway between the kitchen and the bathroom. Hunger, dehydration, grief. You woke up with the side of your face pressed to the tile and vomit dried in your hair.

You didn’t bother showering.

—

The ring box sat on the coffee table like a tombstone.

You couldn’t look at it.

Sometimes you swore it moved. That the air around it bent a little—like the force of your grief made it magnetic. But maybe that was just the fever setting in.

By Day Ten, the plants in the apartment had all died. You hadn’t watered them. Hadn’t opened the windows. You couldn’t stand the idea of fresh air. What was the point of anything growing if he wasn’t around to see it?

—

The fridge smelled like something rotting. You ignored it.

Instead, you sat on the kitchen floor in the same clothes from the week before. A loose shirt that smelled like Bucky and a pair of sweats with a hole in the knee. You held his dog tags in your fist so tightly, they left deep red grooves in your palm.

You thought about drinking.

The bottle of whiskey in the cabinet had dust on it—he’d been the one to stop you from spiraling back in those first months together. Always said he didn’t want to erase pain anymore. Just learn how to hold it.

You opened the cap. Brought it to your lips.

And stopped.

Not because you had willpower.

Because you knew it wouldn’t work.

There was no numbness strong enough to kill what was eating you.

—

The world outside moved on.

People rioted. Protested. Some fell into religion. Some into madness.

You fell into silence.

Your voice, when you finally spoke again, was raw. Dry. You tested it in the mirror one night like it was a broken instrument.

“Bucky.”

It cracked in half.

—

You didn’t leave the apartment for three weeks.

When you finally did—just to get milk, just to do something normal—you ended up on your knees in the middle of the sidewalk three blocks away. Some man passed you and smiled the way Bucky used to. And that was all it took.

You screamed. Sobbed. Clutched the concrete like it would split open and deliver him back to you.

A woman called 911. You told the paramedic you didn’t need a hospital.

You just needed him.

—

You stopped wearing your engagement ring. But you didn’t take it off either.

Instead, you threaded it through your necklace and wore it under your shirt. It dug into your chest when you lay down. Bruised your skin. But you kept it there.

Because pain, at least, reminded you that you hadn’t died with him.

Not completely.

—

You weren’t even sure how you got there.

One moment, you were standing in your kitchen, clutching a mug you hadn’t touched in days. The next, you were staring at a blank clipboard in a community center basement that smelled like old coffee and damp carpet.

Someone must have signed you up.

Sam, maybe. Steve.

You didn’t ask.

You just sat in a plastic chair at the far end of the circle, your hoodie drawn up, sleeves long enough to hide your shaking hands. The metal folding chair felt cold through your clothes. You hadn’t spoken to anyone in almost a week.

The room was too bright. Too quiet. You hated it.

—

A woman with kind eyes and a voice like a lullaby welcomed the group. She said her name was Jess. She offered tissues before anyone even spoke. As if she already knew.

Around you, strangers began to talk.

A man with graying temples spoke first. He lost his husband. Just vanished while brushing his teeth.

A mother next. Her little boy turned to ash in a park sandbox.

A teenager. His twin sister. Gone mid-laugh.

You couldn’t listen.

Because everything sounded like static.

Because all you could hear—all your brain let you hear—was him.

—

��You chew your pen when you’re anxious.”

Your lips curled slightly. Not in a smile—just recognition. You looked down.

You were chewing your pen. The same way Bucky used to tease you about.

Your hands trembled. You slid the pen across the floor, out of reach.

“Let me do the dishes. You cooked.”

You closed your eyes. Your throat ached.

You could still hear him humming while he cleaned. That stupid 1940s jazz that you pretended to hate.

You remembered standing in the kitchen doorway watching him wash the plates—one-armed, stubborn, slow—until you came up behind him, wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed the center of his back.

He always laughed when you did that. Said it tickled.

“I like this one on you,” he murmured once, thumbing the hem of your sweater.

It was the sweater you were wearing now.

You curled your fists into it. Pulled the sleeves over your palms like armor.

—

You hadn’t realized tears were spilling down your cheeks until someone passed you a tissue.

You didn’t look at them. You just nodded, quietly, and held the tissue in your lap like it was glass.

—

You still hadn’t spoken.

And you wouldn’t. Not that day.

But someone sat beside you.

Not close enough to crowd you. Not far enough to feel like pity.

A man. Taller than most in the room. Wide shoulders. He said nothing. He didn’t stare. He didn’t fidget.

He just… sat.

His presence felt like a dim light in a locked room. Not enough to see by. But enough to remind you the dark wouldn’t last forever.

You caught his name once—said soft during introductions, almost like he hated saying it aloud.

You didn’t remember the name.

But you remembered his eyes.

They didn’t flinch when he saw your pain.

And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel invisible.

—

You didn’t plan to come back.

After that first session, you walked out into the gray drizzle of early fall and told yourself, That was it. Enough pretending. Enough people watching me fall apart.

But the next Thursday, you were there again.

Same plastic chair. Same empty hands. Same hollow ache under your ribs.

And so was he.

He never spoke first. Never leaned in. He was just… there.

Somehow, that was enough.

His name, you learned slowly, was Dean. He used to be a museum archivist. Lost his wife in the Snap—said it casually, like someone talking about bad weather. But you noticed the way his voice dipped when he said her name. Like he was still trying to hold onto it without cracking.

He never asked about Bucky. Not even once.

But when the others spoke of their losses, he never looked away from you. Like he knew yours ran deeper than words could reach.

—

Week three, he brought two mugs of chamomile tea into the session.

One slid toward you on the table without a word.

You stared at it for almost five minutes before lifting it with trembling hands.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Your first words in the group.

His only reply was a soft nod, like your voice was a fragile thing he didn’t want to scare away.

—

Your flashbacks to Bucky changed, slowly.

They used to come all at once—bright, vivid, crushing. The way his stubble felt against your neck. The way he’d lean his head against your shoulder without speaking, just breathing you in. The little notes he used to leave on post-its: Got groceries. Love you. Don’t forget your umbrella.

Now, the memories drifted in more quietly.

Softer.

You still heard his voice sometimes. Still caught the scent of his cologne on strangers in passing. Still reached for your phone on bad nights, forgetting—for just a second—that he couldn’t answer anymore.

But it hurt less.

And the guilt of that hurt in a whole new way.

—

One Thursday, weeks later, the group had to shift to a smaller room.

You ended up sitting closer to Dean than usual. Shoulder to shoulder.

You could feel the warmth of his arm through your sleeve. He didn’t move. Neither did you.

That night, walking home, your brain played a memory of Bucky helping you carry groceries—laughing as a bag ripped and apples rolled down the sidewalk.

You smiled, faintly.

Then you realized you hadn’t cried that day.

And you sat on the edge of your bathtub later that night, shaking.

Not because you missed Bucky.

But because you were starting to feel okay again—and that felt like betrayal.

—

A month passed. Then two.

Dean started walking you to the Metro. You didn’t ask him to.

One day, it rained.

You stopped under a shared umbrella, both of you damp and breathless from laughing—the first real laugh you’d had in months.

You looked up and caught Dean watching you, his expression unreadable.

Not romantic.

Not pitying.

Just… present.

Present in a way you hadn’t let yourself be for a very long time.

—

One night, after a particularly raw session, he spoke first.

“You know… when she vanished, I didn’t want to survive it.”

You turned to him, startled by the honesty.

He shrugged. “But then I realized… she’d kill me if I didn’t try.”

Your throat clenched. You looked at your lap.

“He used to say the same thing,” you whispered. “About me.”

Dean didn’t press.

Just walked a little closer that night.

—

By the time winter came, you could walk through your apartment without flinching.

You still had Bucky’s things.

You still wore his ring on a necklace.

But you didn’t collapse every time you looked at the spot where he used to sit.

Sometimes, you even caught yourself humming in the kitchen again.

You found yourself craving chamomile tea.

Not because it reminded you of him—but because it reminded you of you.

—

It wasn’t dramatic. There were no rose petals, no hidden photographers, no gasping onlookers.

It was quiet. Barely even romantic.

It happened on a Sunday.

You were walking back from the flower stall near the corner café—the one that had slowly become “yours.” Dean had picked up your favorite blend from the tiny tea shop on 12th. You had daisies in one hand, his in the other, and the sky had that late-spring haze that made everything feel softer than it really was.

It wasn’t a special day.

But it was a peaceful one.

And that was rare enough to feel sacred.

—

He stopped walking.

You turned when you noticed the gentle tug on your fingers.

Dean’s expression was unreadable—not nervous, not trembling. Just… full. Full of something warm and earnest.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Can I ask you something?”

You blinked. “Of course.”

“Not because I expect anything. Not because I need an answer right now. But just because I’ve been thinking about it.”

Your heart started to flutter. You knew. You knew what this was.

He reached into his coat pocket. Pulled out a box—small, worn, simple.

But you didn’t open it.

You stepped back.

Just an inch.

The shift in your eyes told him everything.

“Dean,” you said, voice tight, “there are still memories of him. Bucky. They’re everywhere. In my apartment. In my closet. In my head.”

You looked down, fidgeting with the necklace around your neck. The one with the first ring. His ring.

“Some days I still hear his voice. Some mornings I wake up reaching for him before I remember he’s not there.”

Your throat caught. You didn’t even notice the tears starting to gather.

“I don’t know if I can give you… a clean slate.”

Dean didn’t flinch.

He nodded, slowly, with something like relief in his eyes.

“I know,” he said. “I never expected you to.”

He stepped closer, took your hands again, and gently turned them over in his.

“You’re not letting him go. Just like I haven’t let her go, either.”

You looked up sharply.

Dean gave a soft smile. Not sad. Just real.

“She’s still here sometimes. When I make coffee in the French press. When I take the long way home past the bookstore she loved.”

“Grief doesn’t end,” he said. “It just… softens. Changes shape. We don’t bury them. We carry them. That’s what love does.”

You stood in silence for a long moment.

You thought about Bucky. The first time he’d told you he loved you. The way his laugh shook his shoulders. The promise of Seoul.

You thought about Dean, sitting beside you in silence every Thursday. Making space for your pain. Never trying to fix you. Just being there.

“You’re not a replacement,” you whispered.

“And you’re not broken,” he replied.

Then he held the box up.

“No pressure. No timeline. Just… maybe this could be our next chapter. One that we write slowly. With room for everything that came before.”

You opened the box.

Inside—a ring of pale gold, delicate, nothing flashy.

But there was a tiny engraving inside.

“Still here.”

Your lip trembled.

You nodded.

He didn’t slip the ring on your finger yet. He let you take it.

You slid it on, next to the weight of the one around your neck.

Two loves. Two lives.

And somehow, still, yours.

—

It happened in a blink.

One second, Bucky was in Wakanda—the dirt thick under his boots, the scent of fire and blood hanging in the air. He’d just raised his rifle. Just started to call out to Steve.

And then—the wind shifted.

The trees looked different. Taller. Lusher. Greener. The sky above was brighter, fuller. The battlefield was… gone.

There were birds singing.

Not screams. Not gunfire.

Just birdsong.

He spun around.

The spear Okoye had thrown was rusting in the grass. The ship that hovered above had long since vanished. There was no dust on his fingers. No ash on his coat. He checked his arm—the new vibranium still intact, just like it had been before he vanished.

But the world had changed.

He felt it.

Like walking into a memory too old to trust.

“Steve?” he called, breath shaky. “Sam?”

No one answered.

He didn’t waste time.

He got back to New York the fastest way he could—everything was a blur of panic and fire beneath his ribs. There was no time to understand. Not yet.

He had to find you.

He had to come home.

—

The sun had already begun to set when he reached your building.

That familiar stoop. The cracked step on the left. The faded welcome mat with the crooked “O.” It was all the same.

He climbed the stairs two at a time. His boots felt too loud. His heartbeat louder.

Then he stood at your door.

His hand trembled.

He knocked—twice. Just like always.

—

Inside, you were plating the steak.

The pan still sizzled on the stove. Garlic, rosemary, butter—the smell rich and comforting, spreading through the apartment like a warm blanket. Dean was rinsing the salad in the kitchen sink, humming softly under his breath.

It had been a good day.

You wore his hoodie. Your hair was up in that casual way Bucky used to love—but now Dean did, too. It was domestic. It was safe. It was… yours.

The knock made your head lift.

Two knocks.

You froze.

It couldn’t be. That rhythm—it was etched into your bones.

You stepped toward the door.

Dean looked over, still smiling. “Expecting someone?”

“No,” you said softly. “I… I don’t know.”

You opened the door.

—

And there he stood.

Bucky Barnes.

Same shoulders. Same eyes. Same hair—curling at the ends, messy from the wind.

He was breathing like he’d run the whole way.

Your mouth parted but no words came out. The hallway felt too narrow. Too real.

“Doll,” he whispered, voice rough and broken. “It’s you. It’s really—”

Then he stopped.

Because Dean appeared behind you.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, kissed your shoulder casually, unaware of the hurricane that stood outside.

“Hey, babe—who’s—?”

His voice trailed off as he looked up.

Saw the man in the doorway.

Saw your face.

“Bucky,” you said.

A whisper. A gasp. A prayer.

—

The world tilted.

Bucky’s eyes dropped to Dean’s hands around your waist. To the ring on your finger. To your body, five years older.

He stumbled back a step.

You reached out instinctively—and stopped yourself.

He looked like he’d been gutted.

“You’re… older,” he said quietly. “How long—?”

“Five years,” you said, voice trembling. “It’s been five years.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“It was five seconds for me.”

His voice cracked down the middle.

Dean slowly, gently let go of your waist. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The pain on Bucky’s face said everything.

“I came back for you,” Bucky said. “I came home.”

Then he shook his head.

“But someone already did.”

You couldn’t speak.

Your hands were shaking.

Bucky took another step back.

“I thought… I thought I’d walk in, and you’d be waiting.”

A faint, broken laugh escaped his throat. It wasn’t humor. It was disbelief. It was the kind of laugh you make when the world plays its cruelest card.

“I was just a few seconds too late,” he whispered.

And then he turned.

And walked away.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #જ⁀➴ by elle #post-blip bucky #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #bucky barnes fan fiction

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imyourbratzdoll · 4 months ago

Text

𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒘𝒂𝒏

🕊️a whore's fairytale masterlist🕊️

summary - you come to find out that the man you grew up alongside isn't the same after the royal ball.

warning - smut, dub-con, death, violence, creampie, kidnapping, slight stockholm syndrome, swearing, obsession.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Y/n-Odette and Steve had known each other since she was a baby. Upon Steve meeting her when she was born, their parents had been planning Steve’s marriage to Y/n-Odette. Over the years as the two grew, they despised each other, causing their parents to worry which they would then be forced to be together every summer.

You had been dreading today. You wished to stay home but your father would not allow it. You sat in the carriage, staring out at the scenery, hoping you could distract your mind from having to see Steve again.

Steve squirmed impatiently, thinking of anything that wasn’t you. A stupid, silly girl. Steve groaned quietly as he went to meet you in the ballroom until he stopped, his heart began to thump. Your smile made him feel weak in the knees. You had the same face, hair and eyes as Y/n-Odette but seemed to be someone quite different.

“Hello, Steve.” You speak, smiling softly.

Steve couldn’t speak, he wondered if you were the same girl he had grown up with. He returned your smile, holding out his arm for you to take. He felt his heart skip as you accepted, taking his arm and together you walked onto the dance floor as the music began to play. Steve felt so happy, like he was dancing on air.

After that night, you and Steve had spent the rest of the summer together. Steve dreamed of you, he awoke each morning eager to see you. When he was with you he felt overjoyed, but he was also tongue-tied and could not tell you how he felt. Steve couldn’t imagine living without you, it was almost like an obsession had begun to grow within him.

The summer had come to an end and it was your time to leave. You and Steve decided to dance all night at the royal ball, love burned so bright that the whole ballroom could practically feel it. You smiled up at the handsome prince but inside you could feel a tug of sadness. You couldn’t bear to leave him, he had given you so much love over the summer but he had never declared it. You hoped he would finally tell you how he felt tonight.

As the music came to a stop, so did you and Steve. You both shared a long glance, waiting, searching, hoping.

Steve suddenly turned to the guests with a giant grin. “Arrange the wedding!”

The noise around you suddenly stopped, everyone was speechless.

“Wait!” You called out.

“What is it?” Steve pleaded, “You’re all I ever wanted. You’re beautiful!”

“Thank you,” You replied, “But… What else?” You knew deep down in your soul that Steve loved you as much as you loved him, so surely he wanted you more than your beauty? You just needed him to say it.

Steve stared blankly, he really had no clue. “What else?”

Your heart dropped. “Is beauty all that matters to you?” You asked, your father and his mother stood dumbfounded, they were so close.

Steve swallowed hard. “I… Er… What else is there?” He asked.

Your heart sank even further. You had been wrong, Steve did not love you at all. You turned and swiftly exited the ballroom, taking the hopes of two kingdoms with you.

You and Steve barely said goodbye as you left. He watched as you departed with shock and bitter disappointment.

Steve sits as Lord Rogers paces the royal sitting room. “What else is there?” He mockingly spoke. “She says, ‘Is beauty all that matters?’ and you say, “What else is there?!”

“It was dumb, I know.” Steve replies, hanging his head as he tries to think.

The weather outside was not helping his mood. It seemed to match the sadness he felt deep within.

“You should write a book.” Rogers continued. “How to Offend Women in Five Syllables or Less.” Rogers leans forward, flicking Steve’s forehead. “Think!” He urged. “You must see something other than Y/n-Odette’s beauty!”

“Of course I do, Rogers!” Steve begins to stumble as he thinks. “She’s… Well, you know. And then, well… Er…”

Lord Rogers rolled his eyes.

“Oh, I just don’t know how to say it!” Steve finally blurted out, and then he added. “I know, I’ll prove it to her. I’ll prove my love!” He nods to himself before muttering. “I’ll make her mine. I’ll make her see how I see her.” Steve stands, swiftly exiting the room as he begins to form a plan.

Meanwhile inside the carriage, your father shakes his head sadly. “I just don’t understand.” He looks at you, watching as you continue to look out and into the forest. “What else did you want him to say?”

You bite your bottom lip softly before letting it go as you turn to look at your father. “I just need to know that he loves me.”

Suddenly the horses whined and bucked, causing the carriage to stop. “What on Earth–?” King William, your father turned the door handle and stepped out. Beyond the horses, a large man was blocking their path. Although the man stood in the shadows, King William recognised him instantly. He had watched him grow from a small child but he could feel something was off and with one look at you, he orders. “Stay inside, Y/n-Odette.” He closes the door and takes a step forward, his guards moved to encircle him, spears drawn.

“Steve, what are you doing out here so late? How did you get here?” The King had never felt this kind of fear before, it was as though something had possessed the man before him. He looks around, brows furrowed as he sees no way for Steve to have gotten there without them noticing. “You must be cold, my boy. Why don’t you hop inside our carriage and we can take you back to your mother. I am sure she’s worried.”

Steve chuckles and the sound causes The King to stumble, it sounded so dark, so chilling. “I can’t have you do that, sir.”

The Kind and Steve’s mother had always wanted the two of you together but at this moment, he didn’t know this man. At this moment, King William would do anything to protect you. He could feel strong amounts of power radiating off of Steve, darkness he had never felt before. King William steps back towards the carriage, his guards moving forward slightly, protecting him and you.

Steve’s eyes sweep over them all, causing a shiver to run through their bodies. “Why are you scared?” Steve takes a small step forward, his foot sinking into the soil beneath him.

King William clears his throat, straightening his back. “We are not scared. Why don’t you come back with us? Then we can take you back in the morning.” His head whips around as he hears you scream, his eyes widen as he sees Steve’s best friend pulling you from the carriage.

Thumps can be heard and The King whips back around only for his eyes to widen as Steve stands toe-to-toe with him and his guards lay dead around them. “I said, I can’t have you do that, sir. I want Y/n-Odette and as long as she has you, she will never fully devote herself to me.” Steve towers over the short King, making him seem as tiny as an ant. “I may have screwed up this evening but she will be mine.”

“S–Ste–” King William is cut off by Steve’s hand gripping his throat, his eyes bulged and skin begins to turn purple.

Everything had turned black after you were pulled from the carriage, unaware of what had happened with your father. You woke up surrounded by water but you felt weird causing you to look down, shock and fear shoot through you as you see white. You were no longer in your body, instead of a human body it had been replaced with that of a swans.

“Y/n–Odette.” Hope ran through you as you heard Steve’s voice, your eyes darting around until they landed on his large figure. “You’re finally awake, my little swan.” That hope that had built inside of you had come crashing down once you realised that he wasn’t there to save you. Your body moves, gliding across the water, distancing yourself away from the man you thought you had known. “Don’t let the small spell make you sad, Y/n–Odette. It doesn’t last the whole day, as soon as the moon comes up…”

Steve didn’t need to finish, creeping across the lake the moonlight touched your wing. Water began to swirl from below, your swan-like self rose upward in a shimmering golden-grey light, transforming you into your human form.

Steve grins. “That’s how it will be until you are mine, Little Swan.” He said as you landed gently on the shore. “You have to be on the lake, of course and when the moonlight touches your wings, you’re human!”

You turned away from him, betrayal blossoming within you. Your thoughts went to your father. “My father… Is he okay?”

“Define okay…”

You spun around, eyes wide and full of tears. “What did you do to him?!”

Steve merely shrugs. “I may have killed him.”

You gasp, reeling back as the tears begin to slowly fall. “Y–you…”

Steve moves closer, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek but you move your head. His brows furrow as anger seeps in but he shakes it off, allowing you this. “Killed him, yes. I had to, otherwise I couldn’t have you, Y/n-Odette.”

“You can’t have me now, Steve! You killed my father! You kidnapped me and trapped me at this lake forever!” Your eyes meet his, so many emotions swirl around behind them. “I could’ve gotten over you only liking me for my looks but this… This is too much. You’re not the man I thought you were. The man I grew to love…”

“Now, don’t speak like that, Y/n-Odette. Sooner or later you are going to cave into being mine. You’ll learn to love this version of me.” He grabs your chin, ignoring how you fight against his hold and places a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Don’t fight it, little swan. You’ll be mine soon.” And with those words, he leaves. Leaving you alone and broken, your body hits the ground as sobs break free, your pain filling the forest around you.

Days, weeks, maybe even months go by without you giving into Steve and his advances. No matter what he did, you remained silent and distant. You began to enjoy your swan form, using it as an excuse to escape your human problems.

On the other hand, Steve was slowly losing it. He began taking his anger out on everyone else, those who loved and admired him, now feared him. His mother thought that it had something to do with your disappearance and your father’s death. Only if she knew the truth would she hate the man her son became.

Steve grew impatient, he didn’t understand why you weren’t his already. Why did you have to be so stubborn? Did you not see how much he loved you? “What else do I have to do, Buck? She’s supposed to be mine.” He put his head in his hands. His best friend watched him from the doorway, arms crossed.

“I don’t think you’re being rough enough. You’re being too sweet on her, Steve. A woman like her needs rough handling, someone to dominate her.” Bucky pushes off of the wall and moves closer to his friend. “You need to stop playing Mr. Nice guy.”

Steve nods, standing and patting Buck’s shoulder with a smile. “You’re right, Buck.” His smile slowly turns into a smirk. “I guess it’s time to go get my girl.” And with that, he walks out of the castle and into the woods.

Steve reached his destination the moment moonlight shone on the lake, watching golden-grey swirls appear as your form changes from swan to human. He grins, sauntering straight towards you. “Little swan. As beautiful as ever.” He shakes off the strange feeling that appears when you brush off his words, already ignoring and moving away from him. Too bad Steve had already reached you before you could distance yourself further.

He pulls you closer to him, gripping your chin roughly as he forces you to look him in the eyes. “I don’t appreciate this attitude, Y/n-Odette. You’re mine and I am going to make you see that whether you like it or not.” You shiver under his hold as he growls. Steve pulls you over to a tree and pushes you up against it, your dress bunching up against your hips as he lifts you, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your pulse quickens and your eyes widen, you push against his shoulders with poor attempts. Deep down you wanted this, you just didn’t like the person he became. “N–no, no. Steve. You… You can’t do this. Please.”

Steve caresses your cheek, smiling almost too sweetly at you. “You don’t have to pretend anymore, Y/n-Odette. You’re mine. We’re meant to be together.” His hand moves, gripping your chin with his thumb. His eyes fall to your lips as your mouth opens slightly. “I’m going to make you my wife, my Queen, little swan. Then you will bear my children.”

You shake your head, ignoring how you throb at the thought. “I’m done waiting for you to give in, Y/n-Odette. You need to understand that you’re already mine.” Steve presses against you, feeling you throb against his clothed cock. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me, little swan.” A small whine slips through your lips. “Just give in. Let me make you feel good.” You gasp as he pulls you into a kiss, all thoughts leaving your mind as his lips begin to move, pulling you deeper into his hold. Steve nips your bottom lip, sliding his tongue inside as a moan escapes your mouth.

You barely notice as he frees himself, sliding his hardened cock between your lips. Your grip tightens on his shoulders, pulling away slightly. “S–Steve…”

His hand moves, caressing your cheek. “Shh, little swan. It’s okay.” Your mouth drops and eyes roll back as he slides into you, filling you to the brim with one thrust. “That’s my good girl, feel so good for me.” Steve grunts, pressing you into the tree harder while he holds back from roughly fucking into you. You go limp in his arms, never having felt this amount of pleasure before, not even the times when you had touched yourself.

“O–oh… Steve…”

Steve smirked to himself, “Is that all you needed, little swan? My cock? If I had known all I had to do was fuck you to get you like this, I would’ve done it along time ago.” You want to argue back, huff and disagree with him but he was right, you couldn’t think when he was inside of you. His grip on you tightens before he suddenly begins to fuck you, slowly pulling out only to roughly thrust back in. Your moans trapped in your throat and your back arches, pressing close to his.

Steve grunts, his eyes locked on your face. He felt smug that the pleasure you were feeling was caused by him. He changes the angle of his hips, his cock sliding deeper inside of you, hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. Your hands grip Steve’s back, nails clawing into any skin you can find.

Steve’s hand moves up, his thumb swiping the necklace that lay around your neck. His hips not stopping as he stares deep into your eyes. “The moment I gave you this necklace, Y/n-Odette was the moment you became mine, there was no stopping this fate. You’re stuck with me, little swan.”

Your walls clench around him as he claims you. His thrusts pick up as he begins to pound into you, chasing his release. He grips your hips and neck, pulling you into a deep kiss. The moment his lips meet yours, it feels like your mind has become cloudy, unable to think about anything other than the feeling of him inside you. You didn’t know how someone’s lips had the power to wipe your mind clean of any thoughts.

Steve shoves a hand between your legs, his fingers finding your swollen clit and immediately pressing on it. Rolling it between his fingers before stroking it while his cock continues to hit deep inside. “Cum for me, little swan. Let me feel you milk my cock.” Steve groans, pressing closer to you as he whispers against your lips.

Your head falls back against the tree, feeling your cunt pulse and throb as Steve continues to rub your swollen clit and thrust against the sweet spot deep inside you. “Go on, little swan. Cum for me.” Your eyes cross as Steve buries himself deep inside of you, your toes curl as you squeeze him. You feel your orgasm ripple through you, your moans echoing throughout the forest.

“My good little swan.” He growls out as he fucks into you before his cum shoots out, painting your walls a pretty white. As Steve softens inside of you, he pulls back to look at your face and grins almost evilly, the back of his hand stroking your cheek. “You’re going to make such a pretty Queen, little swan.”

You would learn that you may think you know someone but everyone has a little bit of darkness lurking within and you just happened to be the target.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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saiyanprincessswanie · 24 days ago

Text

Picture Perfect

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Word Count: 978

Summary: Steve draws you and your baby bump.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut, P in V

A/N: Avengers Spring Bingo. @avengers-assemble-bingo Square: Steve Draws, Card # AAS 008

A/N 2: Thank you to my beta readers @late-to-the-party-81 & @lfnr-blog-blog-blog and header creator @late-to-the-party-81

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

The sun was just filtering in the window in the early morning, and Steve was already working on his latest project. You. He had his drawing book and pencil in hand as he started to draw what he saw before him. You were quietly sleeping on your side, facing him as if you were posing just for him. The sounds of pencil on paper can be lightly heard in the bedroom as he takes in your features. He wants to capture your beauty just right, like he has in his past work.

This time though, the drawing will be different as you lie with your hand on your baby bump. The sight of you pregnant with his child makes him prouder than anything else. He can’t believe that he will be a father in the coming months. So he continues to draw every curve that your body is showing and every soft feature the sun is exposing to him.

After an hour of drawing, you begin to stir. You let out a low hum as you roll to your back and reach out for him in your sleepy state. Your hand drifts over the covers and your eyes softly flutter open. You notice the bed is cold and empty next to you but you hear that familiar sound of pencil on paper as you roll back to the other side. You see Steve smiling at you as he puts his pencil down.

“Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?” His soft voice carries to you and it’s music to your ears.

“Morning, Stevie,” you answer with a smile. “I slept well enough. The baby was very active during the night with his kicks.”

“I’m sorry that he kept you up again, love.” Steve walks over to his side of the bed and puts the drawing on a table next to him as he climbs back into bed. Rolling close to you, he places his hand on your belly and rubs gentle circles. He smiles when he feels a faint kick. “I bet he’s hungry.”

You sigh as your stomach makes a noise, confirming Steve’s guess. “That’s my cue to get up and eat before he gets cranky.”

“Let me make pancakes for you while you shower and change. That way, you can start your day off the right way.” Steve leans over and kisses your temple.

“If I wanted to start my day off the right way, I’d have you inside of me right now,” you reply with a smile on your face. You knew you had him where you wanted.

At the mention of wanting him, Steve’s cock starts to swell in his shorts. He would take you anytime, anywhere, just to hear the little noises you make when he’s balls deep inside of you. Your hand starts to drift down his abs to his harding cock. When your hand slips inside his shorts and gently wraps around him, he takes a deep shaky breath in, only exhaling when you softly stroke him.

“I need you, Steve,” you whine out as your hand continues to move.

That’s all Steve needs to hear. He rolls you onto your side away from him and hikes your leg over his. His thick fingers immediately start to play with your clit, rubbing it in soft slow circles making you whine out in pleasure. He then lets his fingers move to your wet pussy where he teases you again, letting the tips of them press gently into you. In response you rub your ass against his cock making sure to grind against him just right before he stops his teasing.

Kissing your shoulder, Steve strokes himself a few times before he enters you from behind. You mewl when he pushes into your tight cunt all the way and starts to pull back his hips. He thrusts softly into you at a slow and steady pace. Every move has you moaning his name and begging for more. Steve's arm wraps around you, his hand placed onto your stomach. He loves feeling you soft and round for him. Knowing he did this to you several months ago fills him with pride as he continues to take you apart.

Your moans get louder as Steve starts to speed up his pace. His fingers find their way back to your clit and he starts rubbing you more firmly so you can finally fall off the edge for him. In moments he feels your pussy tighten around his cock and you scream his name to the heavens above. A few more thrusts and he joins you, cumming deep inside you with a shout of your name.

You both lie together in bliss as his hips stop jerking. Steve sighs against your shoulder, kissing it once more. As you hum in contentment. Slowly, he pulls out of you and lies on his back. You roll over and cuddle him the best you can with your tummy pressed up against his side.

“Steve?”

“Yes, sweetheart.” Steve looks at you with a satisfied grin.

“Can I see what you were drawing before I woke up?”

His face lights up as he rolls over and grabs the drawing book and eagerly shows you what he had been up to. You stare at the paper and see how beautifully he has captured you sleeping and cradling the baby bump. It had to be one of his best sketches to date in your mind.

“I love it,” you say as you kiss him on the chest. “I can’t wait to see you draw our little bundle of joy soon. You’re so talented and an amazing artist.”

“Thanks, sweetheart, for always being so supportive and being my beautiful muse. Now let’s get up and shower so I can cook you both some breakfast.”

Your tummy starts to growl again and you giggle. “Yes, please.”

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