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eccentricallygothic · 1 year

Note

When I want to read dark fics, your writing just hits. One of my guilty pleasures recently has been dark!winter soldier stuff and I was hoping you could write one.

If you can, can you make it where Bucky is still the Winter Soldier and finds himself completely enamored with the reader. He stalks her briefly and decides he has to have her. So where it gets dark is mean, brooding soldier kidnaps reader and makes her his housewife. (I’d like to think that some of Bucky’s 40ness is still there along with some good old fashion 50s idealization where he basically molds her into being his perfect little housewife.)

He can still be with hydra or not but this thought has been buzzing around in my head recently and I personally am not good at writing dark fics.

Um, hell yes I can! Also, not me having almost exactly the same idea (it was in my drafts and I totally merged it with yours). Sorry for being late uni kicks my butt hard TT. Also, please note that this is a headcanon kind of situation type deal but apparently there's a limit to how many bullets you can put per post so that's why it looks the way it does! Hope you like it still. Unedited ❤️

Warning(s): Dubcon (just to be safe), stalking, kidnapping, housewife kink, stockholm syndrome, spanking, misogyny, domestic discipline, breeding kink (dash), age gap (I mean, man is over a century old). Contains mature content. Browse at your own discretion. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

You are absolutely shit faced as you stumble out the backdoor of the club with two of your girlfriends tangled around each arm.

You are all giggling, stumbling and slurring out curses, trying to shush each other as you trudge your forms to your apartment complex that is close by because driving is obviously out of question now.

Were it not for your overly intoxicated state, you would have totally noticed the dark silhouette that stills in the dark alley facing the backdoor.

The man masked in the darkness tilts his head to the side as he tries to read your party, having gotten caught off guard by the sudden bursting open of the door.

One of your friends stagger in his direction and he moves back, his labored breaths warm in his mask, watching the girl as she retches her guts out.

Silence follows the wheezes and gags of the girl.

Then there is a sound– a melody in the air.

Soldat feels something stir within himself.

Something his masters did their best to suppress.

Not that they would be doing any more of that.

They needed to be alive to do something like that ever again.

His eyebrows furrow as he scans your group for the source of the sound; you.

You are laughing.

At your friend that is throwing up.

Hands clutching your hurting sides, eyes scrunched, head thrown back, flushed and sweaty face vibrant under the bright moonlight as your hair frames it in the most perfect way possible.

A shaky breath escapes the man covered in tears and blood of his captors and oppressors.

His eyes scan your form.

Beautiful.

His metal hand clenches into a fist and he makes his resolve almost instantly;

Mine.

Soldat cannot recall much of his past except for a few things like his name.

But he knows that it has been a long, long time.

And it's time to go home.

But a home is not walls and concrete.

It is the people that live in it.

His head is a mess as he scales a wall and follows you to your building, skipping from roof to roof effortlessly with a careful eye on your form.

James had finally broken free against hydra yesterday morning while they were experimenting something more brutal.

And during the following hours, all various leaders that made the organization what it was were dead.

For what is a structure without its pillars?

He had plundered them single handedly.

And now he was a slave no more.

James would live, and he would take.

Just as had been taken from him.

You woke up the next morning, sprawled across your bed.

As you winced and sat up, you could swear you had knocked out on the couch last night.

But since you couldn't teleport, it was probably just a gap in your memory.

Right?

The second sign was the painkillers and water next to you on the bedside table.

The third was the window of your room that was open wide.

But you shook your head as you were behind on your schedule for the day and got on with your busy university student life.

You should have taken notice of the signs.

How things would always somehow work out when you were struggling with some sort of a problem.

Regardless of whatever type of an issue it was.

Your friends joked about it as Divine Providence.

And Divine it was, you lived to learn.

When it happened, it wasn't after a dramatic chase or anything.

You had simply woken up in a room you had never seen before, tucked in the bed like it had been yours for ages.

What even happened?

You had finished an assignment before heading to bed for an early class the next morning.

But now you were timidly surveying the room, more and more panic filling you by the passing second.

The house is beautiful and bright outside the dark room you had woken up in, big glass windows facing tall trees and various other type of greenery outside.

A loud gasp escaped you when you were somewhere in the middle of the living room.

You turned around to find a huge and by that you mean, giant man standing a few steps away from you.

You could swear he wasn't there a minute ago.

But now he is towering over you, head tilted to the side as if interacting with something from an outer planet, eyes scanning your form slowly.

As if he's savouring the sight of you in a…

Your blood runs cold as you look down to realize that you are dressed in a white sundress with yellow and red flowers printed on it.

Your eyes widen in horror.

Because you had been wearing your PJs last night–

Or, rather, the last time you were awake.

Before you can say anything, he extends a hand towards you invitingly, nodding sideways to what seems to be the kitchen.

Something in his hand glints in the sunlight coming from the windows.

It is when your panicked vision realizes that the hand and the whole arm is made up of metal, your body backs away.

With your mouth agape, you demand shakily.

"Who the hell are you?"

He sighs.

"What the hell is this place? Why am I here? What the fuck is going on?!"

The man's features scrunch in disapproval.

Your choice of words is much unappreciated.

"Good little wives don't ask questions."

In his angry, fried and entitled delusional mind you are as much in love with him as he is.

Otherwise, why would you just accept all the favours he did for you during all these months he was building a perfect home for the both of you and your future children?

He takes a step in your direction and you leap back.

After a short game of cat and mouse, you are trapped against the glass window.

He is too close.

There is a heavy looking vase on the table next to you.

The shock on his face is evident.

He hadn't expected you, his wife, such a small and innocent girl to disrespect her husband like this.

You whimper in horror when he doesn't budge against the decoration piece exploding against his brow bone.

James' eyes narrow as he leans in, a thick stream of blood running down the hurt side of his face.

"Bad girl" and you take off without a second thought.

Thankfully, the door is straight ahead and surprisingly unlocked.

You run without looking back.

The man is not chasing you like you expected.

But you don't want to stick around and find out why.

Though the reason is soon revealed when you race through the little garden and out of the fence door.

You are looking behind you and at the house so it is not until you are a good distance away from it do you turn your head to look ahead.

Icy horror pierces its way down your spine.

Sand and palm trees dominate your vision as far as you can see where you are and your right side.

A devastatingly vast ocean washes the shore you are running on from the left side.

That doesn't stop you until your body gives up after a few minutes.

You ran into the jungle for some cover.

Sobs and tears burst out of you as you collapse on a blanket of leaves.

Your body is weak and confused.

Many hours pass.

You wander and starve.

You hide and shake.

You tip toe and give up.

There are wild animals all around you.

You can hear them.

It's terrifying.

So terrifying that when you hear the stranger's voice some time after dusk, you are almost glad.

Are you done? His bright blue eyes that you can make out even in the dim light ask you silently.

"How'd you even find me?" You were sure you had run a good couple miles.

He refuses to respond until you place your shaking hand in his awaiting metal one.

"I can smell you" his accent is almost foreign as he pulls you up, frowning at your hurt bare feet.

It took you hours to get to where you were but it only takes James a few minutes to get you back home.

"Before I clean you up, I need to punish you." You are baffled. "Good wives don't run away from their husbands."

He doesn't listen to any of your protests and reason that day or ever.

"Little girls don't know what is right for them. Only their husbands can decide that."

He thoroughly washes you that night after giving you the worst spanking, paying no mind to your begging and crying.

You are sniffling as you sit on the bathroom counter wrapped up in a towel an hour later, your sore ass buzzing under you.

Your captor is kneeling in front of you as he tends to your hurt feet.

He tells you your rules as he does so.

"First, you are to always obey me no matter what. Second, your body belongs to me as I am your husband, so you should not try to deny me of it because it will never end well for you. Third, you will respect me or you will live to learn to do so. Four, you will do your chores like a good wife and fulfill your wifely responsibilities. Five, you are to always accept your punishments and thank me for disciplining you after I am through with you, should you choose to break a rule or misbehave. Six, you will not indulge in any activity that can potentially corrupt your little mind. Seven, you will speak with respect and never out of turn. Eight, you are to always greet me when you wake up or if I have been gone a while. Nine, you can try to run. I will never stop you. But when you return home after failing, you will take your punishment obediently. Ten, you must never touch yourself. You are mine and mine alone."

Since the spanking is still fresh on your skin you panic a little and fear forgetting them.

But you find them pasted on the fridge the following morning because he knew you were too dumb to remember them.

A few days pass before you explode about not being his wife and call him crazy.

"You weren't saying that when I did you all those favours."

Horror dawns upon you as you realize that it was him all along.

You don't give up easily, though.

You try to run more times than you can keep count.

Every direction, every plan and every map you make proves to be useless.

Because the last time you do so, you realize that you are on a fucking island.

And since there is a dock near the house with the pantry never running low on groceries, James has a means of transport hidden somewhere is no mystery.

But you don't know when he does it.

So far you haven't been able to figure out a pattern.

Either he was right about you being dumb or your captor was really good at staying one step ahead of you.

Anyways, you have no choice but to return to him crushed and sobbing as always.

He is reading something when you collapse between his legs; ready to accept your punishment as you have learnt that hiding and denying only makes it worse.

James isn't so bad if you follow his rules.

He is just a kidnapper and a misogynist with dangerous reflexes.

His face is smug as he puts the book away. You have noticed that he is not as stiff and troubled as he used to be when you first woke up here months ago at this point.

"How was it, doll?" He loves to hear you talk about it as he bruises your ass. "Any luck?"

Today, though, something different happens.

You don't know if it's resignation and surrender finally settling in or if you have actually started to like this life.

How James gives you a nod of approval and pats your head rewardingly whenever you follow all your rules without any trouble.

The way he lets you stay up past your bed time (yes you have one because good wives are healthy for their husbands) to read a book or watch a movie.

If you were extra good and talked to him (though he was a man of a few words) and helped him out with a little farming thing he had going on in the backyard/patio, he would even let you sleep in the following morning.

No stress or pulling yourself through classes and tight budgets.

Just being what he considered good and then whatever you would mention briefly would be in the house within the next few days.

When he is done punishing you, you thank him and apologize according to routine. But then you hug him.

You tell yourself it is due to the sad reality that your torment is your comfort.

Has to be.

You have no choice.

And then something unexpected happens in the course of the next few days.

While trying to make the best out of this situation, you start to notice the little things, quirks and rituals, habits and mannerisms of this man.

How he doesn't say anything if he doesn't like a certain ingredient or condiment in something you cooked but pushes it aside to use as compost later.

The way he holds you extra tight some times when he mutters a foreign language in his sleep.

How he stares at the scary metal arm after a long day while waiting for you to finish up dinner.

Or the way he struggles to hold himself back whenever you are in a close proximity to him because you cried once he crept his hand up your ass in a sexual way.

You don't get him sometimes.

His morals are as mysterious as him.

Because he kidnapped you and forced you to be his wife in a '40's way, strips you to spank and humiliate you during punishments, then bathes and comforts you in his own way of silently holding you against his chest in his arms until you calm down.

Your tears don't effect him.

But then he refuses to touch you sexually after the one time he tried.

It takes you a while to make the most peace that you can with James, but it happens eventually because you don't have a choice.

The loneliness starts to drive you mad otherwise.

You are helping him with his farming one day when you collapse.

James isn't happy to find out that you haven't had any of your daily water intake for the day.

After he is sure you are hydrated, it is punishment time because caring for yourself is also a rule you are supposed to never break.

Your ass is red and seething by the time he's done. Everything is pretty much routine except that you don't sit up to apologize and maybe hug him like usual.

Not even when he pats your ass to signal that he's done.

"H- Hubby?" You sniffle as you use the endearment.

It had been a proud discovery of yours.

James always gave in a little whenever you used it.

"Yes, little mouse?" You bite your lips as your thighs tremble.

Fuck.

"Y- You say we are husband and wife…"

"What about it?"

You bite your lip as you push your ass out and towards him, letting your legs part.

"Then why don't we act like it?" James is good at concealing his emotions and showing restraint.

But he can't help the way his cock hardens at the sight your pretty red thighs reveal to him.

Your perfect pussy is glistening with your creamy arousal, the entrance of your vagina blinking to indicate its need to be filled.

Fuck.

Though James starts off small and slow with his fingers rubbing your cunt, the night ends with him balls deep into your pussy with his length rearranging your organs.

Whatever was left of you to own for him, he does so after that night.

You cannot go on for long without having some sort of physical proximity to him.

The sex is wild and it's amazing with his stamina.

It is also instrumental in bringing you two closer than ever.

James opens up to you slowly, but only when you ask about it.

You had done so in the past as well.

But since it's genuine curiosity now, he feels comfortable telling you all about it.

It is a lot for you to take in and you almost don't believe him until he shows you some of his belongings from his time.

Things drift on as smoothly for a while as the waves outside your house.

And then comes the ultimate test.

Which decides the course of your future with him.

He is still asleep one morning when you wake up.

It isn't a usual occurrence.

But you had introduced him to comics lately and he had been obsessed with them despite claiming that they were too childish and unrealistic.

While he had a metal arm himself…

You adjust the quilt before getting ready for the day and heading out to make breakfast.

It is when you realize in panic that there aren't any apples left even though James had asked you to make a grocery list (that started when he started trusting you more) and you had assured him that you had enough apples for a while.

"I am gonna get the hairbrush today, I swear to God!" You mutter to yourself as you rush through the house like a headless chicken.

Thankfully, your garden had an apple tree so you could save yourself from a breakfast spanking at the very least.

But something standing next to the dock catches your attention before you can the apples you try to budge free from their branches.

A motorboat.

Before you can decide what you think of it, you are standing next to it on the dock.

It has fuel and a map. The key is in the ignition.

You narrow your eyes and feel your head splitting.

A lot goes through your mind.

Flashbacks play before your eyes.

It is almost a full circle moment.

And then you are standing in front of James who is seated on a stool next to the kitchen counter you use for dining.

His head is lowered as he sips on his coffee and stabs at the breakfast you prepared with a fork.

"Hubby?" Your captor freezes before he slowly looks up at you.

The blue of his eyes is troubled. He is in disbelief. As though he wasn't expecting you to be standing here.

"There is a boat outside. Do you think someone could be–"

"You didn't leave." His voice is heavy.

"What kind of a wife leaves her home?"

You two just stare at each other for a while.

No words exchanged.

Then, for the first time ever, James gets up and hurriedly closes the distance between you two, enveloping you in his arms before pushing you against the wall behind you.

"I felt so angry and wronged that I thought I could take anything because I deserved it after everything that happened to me but… I love you too much, mouse."

He has never spoken this earnestly before.

"I just realized that I do too."

James kisses you passionately before you wrap yourself around him and close your eyes blissfully.

He tightens his own arms around you gladly.

He would have hated to end up back on square one with you had you chosen to try and escape.

The boat would have blown up a small fuse that would have been loud enough for his enhanced hearing if someone– you, were to turn the keys in the ignition.

Yes, he wasn't expecting you to be back but only too soon.

It was a test and you passed.

As always, James stuck to his ways and rewarded you for being such a good wife.

By giving you a ring, a new wardrobe and a baby that was the first of many to come.

What do you think hAH-

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outoftheseine · 9 months

Text

- BUCKY BARNES FIC RECS PART 3 -

his strut, lord forgive me | some fics might have 18+ content so minors do not interact. | more will be added!

main masterlist | part 1 | part 2

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

break free • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @james-bucky (angst, violence, comfort, smut)

honey girl • dbf!bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @violentdelightsandviolentends (age gap, soulmate au, smut, angst, fluff)

taken • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @antiquarianfics (angst, violence, kidnapping)

public affair | public display • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @kaznejis

you are mine, sunshine • grumpy!bodyguard!bucky barnes x sunshine!fem!reader

↳ by @theeleggymeggy

i never thought you'd happen to me | part 2 | part 3 • bucky barnes x curvy!reader

↳ by @nickfowlerrr (slight angst, mostly fluff, smut, luv itt)

against all odds | part 2 • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @bossbtch1

ONE-SHOTS - HC'S - BLURBS

you found me • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @samthemarvelfan (slight angst, fluff)

cry baby • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @buckymorelikefuckme (smut, friends to lovers)

secret injury • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @lives-in-midgard

the collection • tfatws!bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @theeleggymeggy

better knock • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @buckysouvenir (flufff, implied smut)

suffocate me with your love • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @rocketrhap3000 (angst with happy ending, self-esteem problems)

always • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @nickfowlerrr (angst with happy ending)

contaminated • bucky barnes x agent!reader

↳ by @adrinktostopyourthirst (fluff)

finally • bucky barnes x spy!reader

↳ by @adrinktostopyourthirst (smut, fluff, angst)

curiosity killed the cat • mafia!bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @queers-gambit (angst, kidnapping, mean!bucky)

help me • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky (angst, bucky's ptsd, comfort)

his everything • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @likeahorribledream (angst, fluff and insecure bucky)

the way he loves • bucky barnes x widow!reader

↳ by @lovelybarnes (aahh so fluffy so sweet)

patience • grumpy!bucky barnes x sunshine!reader

↳ by @sageandravens

it's called: freefall • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @kikixreverie

baking for bucky • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @itsplumwriter (so fluff, i wish i can bake for bucky too)

wrapped in affection • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @aikaterini-drag (very fluffy)

the signal • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @lostgirlmuseum (angst, a misunderstanding)

first time • bucky barnes x gn!reader

↳ by @ivybucky

i was born ready • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @whatthetumblfck (angst, kidnapping, ptsd?)

babysitting duty • bucky barnes x girlfriend!fem!reader

↳ by @nicoline1998enilocin (fluff)

here's looking at you, kid • boxer!bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @cryonme (angst, violence, tw: abuse)

knight in shining motorcycle • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @queen-of-the-avengers (almost sa, slight angst, comfort)

verity • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @cosmicbucky (angst, fluff, friends to lovers)

let it be known • mob!bucky barnes x bf!fem!reader

↳ by @kinanabinks

harvest heart • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @eloquentreverie (verry fluffy)

#fic recommendation #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #fic rec #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x gn!reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier

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queers-gambit · 6 months

Text

Damage Done

prompt: The Winter Soldier is activated and Bucky's lover is unlucky enough to be in proximity.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!Widow!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 5.4k+

note: oh, wow, Cherry wrote Bucky NOT in a Mafia AU?

warnings: takes place during Civil War, absolutely no plot - author just doesn't know how to shut the fuck up. cursing, violence, established relationship, small angst, injury, blood, hurt and comfort, Winter Soldier antics, choking, abrupt ending, maybe domestic violence? it's the WS.

it's really not that bad, it's not terribly descriptive but still tread carefully if triggered by these topics.

"Keep them together," Agent Everett Ross commanded, a little man with a raging Napoleon Complex, gesturing at you and Bucky; the latter held in mobile, restrictive captivity. "He doesn't play nice if he doesn't see her, or so it's said," his eyes rolled.

"You're making a huge mistake!" You barked, struggling in the restraints they had you wrapped in.

"No, I don't think so," he sneered, approaching you as Bucky's unit kept moving. "I think the mistake was letting you out of anyone's sight. Tell me, how long have you been in cahoots with the Winter Soldier?"

"He's not the Winter Soldier anymore, you jackass, he's a person! A real, live human being! His name's James but he prefers Bucky! He likes plums," you were yanked away, still snarling, "his favorite color is blue, likes motorcycles, he has real guilt over his past transgressions, and you've got the wrong guy!"

"Oh, right, like you're the best judge of character," Ross laughed.

"Natasha! Nat! Fucking tell him!" You pleaded, struggling in the hold of the men who kept iron clad restraint on you and were starting to drag you away. "You've got the wrong guy! Bucky didn't do this! I wouldn't lie - not to you, Natasha! Tell him!"

"That's touching, really sweet," Ross mocked, rolling his eyes as you were finally overpowered and lead away.

"Hang on a second," Nat muttered, sharing a look with Tony. "Was her DNA or facial recognition anywhere at the UN? Anywhere near where the bomb was set off?"

"What's that matter - "

"Since they met, they've not parted ways," Nat spelled out. "He won't go anywhere without her - you, yourself, are keeping them together for interrogation - "

"It's just easier," Ross scoffed.

"No, you know..." She blinked in confusion, "You know, Bucky won't talk unless she's there - you know he'll be ten times as difficult if she's not in the room."

"So?"

"So, in the past two years, have you heard about him without her? Have you seen her without him?"

"Nobody's seen or heard from either of them," Ross shook his head.

"Exactly," she nodded, lungs tightening with nerves. "If you can't find evidence of her being in Vienna... Bucky might not be your guy... Besides, they're both trained to avoid cameras - "

"Mistakes are made," Ross waved off.

"Not by two highly trained assassins like them," she snapped. "Check the files, go back - look! Actually look, run her scans through facial recognition - if you don't find her, it wasn't Bucky."

"You're so sure?" Tony asked skeptically.

"I know her," Natasha nodded, "better than anyone. She's as good as my sister, she's as good as blood. I know her. I know she wouldn't run this risk - "

"Then you also know she wouldn't get caught," Ross laughed.

"Neither would Bucky."

The silence stretched, but Ross was stubborn; sneering at the Avengers and taking his leave with his own plan of action in mind. He left Tony and Natasha to deal with Sam and Steve as he went to observe the interrogation. When he got before the monitors, he watched as it took four different men to restrain you enough to hoist your locks up the wall until they were clicked in place by ultra-strength magnets.

You jostled, feeling the full extent of your containment, grunting when the pipe you were connected to shocked your entire system into submission. Everett Ross smirked at your pain; watching your tongue swipe over your teeth, arms high above your head, readjusting your weight in your feet, but otherwise, not moving.

Ross heard Bucky ask quietly, his eyes watching you carefully from inside the reinforced cell, "You okay, doll?"

"Looks like they learned from last time," you grit, the cuffs around your wrists electrified; charring your skin, making you grimace slightly in a veiled attempt to hide your pain from your lover.

"Don't fight, you'll make it worse," he advised softly, frowning, eyes glassy from restrained emotion.

"They could've at least put me in a bit more comfortable position," you sneered, glaring up at one of the cameras, shaking your head as if in disappointment.

"I don't think they want to play nice, sweetheart."

"Yeah, could've guessed that from when they arrested us," you shook your head, puckering your lips to gather the blood in your mouth; spitting it to the floor. "You good, baby?" You asked as the men who restrained you moved to plug in the power cell caging Bucky.

He nodded silently at you, bowing his head and letting his long locks curtain his face. You frowned, shifting again as you blindly felt your cuffs and designed a way to get free; watching the men stoically as they exited the room to make way for the psychologist. Your jaw clenched, the air smelling foul - alerting you that something wasn't quite right.

"Hello, Mr. Barnes," the accented man greeted casually, standing at a single table in front of Bucky, you off to the side; chains rattling as your defenses flared. The psychologist smirked and greeted you, too, assuring your real identity was known - something that Natasha released to the world about two years ago when HYDRA sent Bucky after Cap in DC. You didn't fault her, in fact, you respected her move, and after getting out of the blown-to-shit base, you had run into the Winter Soldier... Beginning your epic love story, both of you on the run from authorities and higher powers.

You smuggled Bucky out of the country, using fake aliases that had yet to see the light of day and therefor, wasn't released in the files Nat published during her takedown of the compromised S.H.I.E.L.D. agency. He was appreciative, pondering how he was meant to go forward in a world he didn't know; so, you agreed to stick around for a bit to help settle him, and that bit turned into a couple of years - the two of you inseparable.

There was an incident in London that almost exposed you, but instead, it just shined a light on your new partnership. Captain American, Nat, Sam, shit - even Tony Stark himself was unable to catch up; your trail going cold, Nat knowing your Widow training was running the show and keeping you safe. Granted, she probably could've unraveled the web you had weaved - but the truth was, she didn't want to. So, she kept quiet. Leading you all here...

"I've been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you both," the man you'd come to know as Helmut Zemo continued; playing his part very well, but not well enough to convince you of his innocence. Something about the man rubbed you the wrong way. "Do you mind if I sit?" He asked politely, feigning like you two had a choice. When he did, Zemo continued, "Your first name is James?"

He noted the way Bucky and you shared a look, both remaining silent. Zemo tried to assure, "I'm not here to judge you - either of you. I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?" Continued silence, your head subtly shaking - an act only Bucky clocked. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

"My name is Bucky," he croaked, your sigh echoing around the room.

"Hm," Zemo nodded, "I take it, she doesn't want you to talk?"

"She wants me safe," Bucky answered stiffly.

"That is admirable," the psychologist offered kindly, "a great display of love, is it not?"

"Jesus Christ," you shook your head, offering a glare, "you went through all that schooling to ask stupid fucking questions? Might wanna get your money back."

Zemo chuckled after humming, "I am merely trying to establish the connection you two share. I hear it is rare to find one without the other, that you two have become, uh, joined at the hip?"

"I protect her," Bucky offered, sharing a long look with you, "and she protects me."

"An equal partnership, would you say?"

"Yes."

"Buck," you warned, wrists twisting to hold the cuffs; being zapped, making your jaw clench and the veins in your neck to bulge.

"It's all right," his voice sounded like it was being put through a grater. "We're caught, doll, it's all right."

You huffed, eyeing Zemo as his eyes flickered between you two. He nodded, making a note in his little book, "I was warned that you would be unwilling to cooperate without her present. Why is that?"

"She keeps me safe."

Zemo hummed, "So you've said, and yet... Here you both are..." You were ready to lash out, but the doctor changed course, "Tell me, Bucky. You've seen a great deal, haven't you?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your restraints zapped you again when you jolted forward as if to physically silence Zemo, Bucky's head snapping over and his eyes drooping in sympathy. "Told you not to move, it'll only get worse," he told you softly.

"He's asking questions that will get him killed," you snarled, gritting your teeth as the electric currents seized most of your energy. But it was worth it, finding a little weak spot and letting your mind devise a specific plan.

"You fear," Zemo continued, "that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. I feel it is safe to assume, uh, your lady is privy to your past experiences? Perhaps, you two have shared a couple?"

"Just leave her out of this," Bucky pleaded.

"Don't worry," he assured you both, tapping something on his tablet before looking back at Bucky with a sick recognition. "We only have to talk about one. One mission... That I know you," he nodded at you, "were not present for."

"Kinda game you playin', Doc?" You sneered. "Think anything he says will change my opinion about him?"

"No, no, I know your relationship is too strong for that," Zemo smiled. "So, it's not so much what he will say... But what he will do..."

"The fuck does that - "

But then, the lights went out; darkening the room save for the lights individual to Bucky's holding cell. You perked up, the electric currents halting as the cuffs died with the power and gave you an opportunity to begin working on your escape. As red panic lights flickered, Bucky questioned, "What the hell is this?"

"Why don't we discuss your home?" Zemo offered. "Not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn, no," he reached into his satchel, revealing a red notebook the world thought long lost... Buried in snow... Forgotten in time. "I mean, your real home," Zemo removed his glasses as you frantically started working.

"No, no, no, no, no, hey, hey, hey, don't - fuck!" You grit, trying harder to free yourself. "Bucky - Bucky, don't listen - ah, Goddamnit!"

The man you now understood to be a fake psychologist stood with a little flashlight, opening the red notebook, and began repeating words in Russian that would activate the decommissioned Winter Soldier. Bucky had told you all about these words, begging you to provide a shield against them should they ever be uttered again; but you had prior knowledge, the Winter Soldier someone you had been debriefed on during your time with other secret agencies.

"Longing."

"No," Bucky whispered, head tilting back in panic as he felt his stomach curl in a familiar pattern.

"Bucky - don't fucking listen, please!" You begged, still working to free yourself.

"Rusted."

"Stop," Bucky pleaded, sounding in pain.

"Don't do this!" You pleaded to Zemo. "You're fucking hurting him, please, stop!"

"Seventeen."

"Stop!" Bucky barked, his vibranium hand clenching in anger and pain; the entire arm whirring from the flex of his muscle. He began to pant, a deep growl emitting above your panicked whimpers.

"Daybreak!"

"You have no idea what you're doing!" You raged, Bucky screaming in pain as his mind was forcibly sunk back into dark recesses of his past. "Don't - Bucky, baby, listen to me - don't fucking listen to him, please, please, baby, don't do this!"

He screamed, breaking free of the iron restraints that kept him seated in the reinforced, mobile cell. "Furnace!" Zemo continued, ignoring the pain and panic you and Bucky were both thrown into.

"Fucking stop, please! You don't understand!" You begged, freeing one hand and working in vain to unlatch the other. Bucky was out of his seat, anger coursing like a palpable rain over you all - him screaming as his metal arm worked to pound into the strengthened glass surrounding him.

"Nine!"

"Bucky, please, baby, please, don't do this!" You tried a new tactic, hoping you were enough to cut through the brainwashing - but how silly to imagine. Decades of trauma was washing over Bucky again and your little words couldn't cut through the barricades of his mind.

"Benign!"

"You stupid fucking little man!"

Zemo rounded around the cell, Bucky still pounding away at the glass. "Homecoming! One!"

"DON'T!"

"Freight car!"

You whimpered in fear when Bucky punched the entire door off the hinges, freeing him at last; but the words were spoken, the damage done. He crouched on the floor, Zemo pausing to take in the sight, slowly approaching Bucky as he stood upright; the jangling of your chains louder and more frantic as you tried to free your last wrist.

"Jesus Christ," you whispered, trying to divide focus between the two tasks of freeing yourself and protecting Bucky - but being terribly unsuccessful as you watched Zemo stand in front of your dead-eyed boyfriend.

What a ridiculous, mundane label to assign someone like Bucky.

In Russian, Zemo questioned, "Soldier?"

And in Russian, the man you loved answered, "Ready to comply."

Zemo demanded in English, "Mission report. December 16, 1991."

You whimpered in fear, listening to Bucky give the report that would haunt you for years to come. Just as he finished, you managed to get out of the cuffs, but the clanging of your freed restraints caught Zemo's attention - who smirked with abundant cruelty. "Don't," you warned, backing out of the room just as officers began to flood it.

It was a brutal fight, trying to stave off Bucky once in his Winter Soldier mindset. You grunted as he engaged you, men dead at your feet - the lucky ones just knocked out. You grit your teeth, trying to defend yourself as Bucky operated mechanically; doing what you could to protect yourself, but it wasn't enough.

Blows landed, punching and kicking one another in an equal match of strength and stamina.

"Seize her," Zemo demanded, and in the next moment, Bucky had you by the neck; an effort that made you wheeze and claw at his bionic hand.

"Bucky," you begged. "Baby - baby - it's me, it's me, please, don't, it's me! Don't do this, baby, please, come back to me. Come back!" You struggled in his grip, trying to pry his hand open, "Baby, please, please, come back to me," spit drooled from your lips as he squeezed tighter. "This isn't you!" You managed to squeeze out, tears surfacing. "Not anymore, don't let them win!"

"Shut her up, Solider," Zemo commanded in Russian, your eyes widening and trying to beg Bucky again before he was sending you into a wall. He marched up to you, grabbing your hair, and surging his balled up metal fist directly into the bridge of your nose, breaking it, head jolting backwards, and effectively knocking you out.

When you came back into consciousness, it was to Steve's worried face; his hands caressing your cheeks and begging, "You all right?"

"Fucking hell," you winced, reaching up to prod the tender spot on your head; revealing blood.

"Got your ass kicked, huh?" He frowned.

"Watch your language, Cap," you smirked, wincing when your face throbbed. "Shit, how bad is it?"

He looked you over, offering, "Definitely a broken nose."

"Goddamnit - where is he? Where's Bucky?"

"Help me," a voice pleaded from the next room, Zemo playing his part by splaying out on the floor like bait.

"Don't trust him, something ain't right about him, Steve," you whispered, waving him on as you sluggishly hoisted yourself up the wall to lean against it. "Kept asking about Siberia, asking about shit nobody should actually know."

"Get yourself safe," Steve told you swiftly, nodding at Sam; who was checking on the status of the other bodies around you.

"Just find him, Steve, he's lost in his own mind - a threat to himself," you panted, slowly standing.

"I know - "

"You don't know," you shook your head, wiping a trickle of blood from your temple, "but you're gonna have to do more than understand him right now, Steve."

"I've got this," he promised, watching you nod and limp away. You had just missed the action, Bucky overpowering both Sam and Steve; getting to a safety landing and running into Natasha, Tony, and Agent Sharon Carter.

"We'll hash our bullshit out later," you panted, "but for now - "

You heard a commotion behind you, flinching out of sight when Bucky made himself known and began taking down rogue agents unlucky enough to stand before the Winter Soldier.

"He have an off switch?" Nat asked.

"Not that I've found," you frowned. "Split up."

Tony tried to engage Bucky first, using a mobile Iron Man device he wore on his wrist that used sonics to disorient Bucky. It only worked to a small extent, the two exchanging a few blows, Bucky firing a bullet at Tony's face at pointblank range that was saved by his technologically advanced glasses. Bucky got the upper hand, sending Tony flying back, letting Sharon and Nat attack.

He disposed of them both easily, stumbling when you caught him off guard and wrapped your legs around him. Normally, you'd do anything to have your legs around him - but this wasn't one of those times. You exchanged several punches, blocking one another, going for disarming hits but being of equal challenge; leaving small cuts and blooming bruises on each other as if to prove the engagement. Natasha rejoined the fight, two Widows showing Bucky up on a few instances, but he was heaving her across the room as you swung onto his shoulders in an impressive acrobatic move.

You heaved your fists down in a repeated fashion on the top of his head, Bucky charging at one of the cafe tables; slamming you down and choking you again with his metal hand. Both your hands held his, legs up around his neck to try to keep him at a distance for relief on your windpipe.

Through a strangled breath, you managed, "You could at least recognize me!"

"Who said I don't?" He growled, reaching out to snap a piece of wood from a chair.

You tried to regain normal breath, wheezing, "This isn't you, baby, you are not this person anymore - you're not a psychotic, robot killer! You're a man - please!"

"You don't know a damn thing about me," he seethed.

"I know everything about you," you strangled, "and I know this isn't you. Come back to me, baby, please! Y-You can't let the demons win, Buck, please - fucking listen to me!" But he only raised the wooden shaft above his head. "BUCKY, DON'T!"

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

You cried out shrilly when he jabbed the sharp wood into your shoulder, staking you to the table just as King T'Challa rushed onto the scene and stole your brainwashed boyfriend's attention. You hissed in pain, trying to yank the wood free but being unsuccessful; resulting in blood to splatter onto the tiled floor.

Hearing someone pant your name, you caught a glimpse of red and knew it was Nat, her face worried over yours a moment later. "Where's Bucky?" You coughed and winced in pain.

"Goin' up by the looks of it," she informed, "now hang on, this is gonna hurt. Want a belt to bite?"

"No, just do it, get it done, please," you panted, bracing yourself, and suddenly, without warning, your companion heaved the piercing shaft free from your flesh. Naturally, you cried out, groaning and clenching your jaw so tight, it nearly crushed your teeth into dust.

"Hey, you seen..." Sam arrived on scene, taking in your injury, "Holy shit, you good?"

"Yeah," you grunted, stumbling to your feet as blood bloomed into a bigger, brighter blemish on your tactical shirt. "We gotta go, Sam, we should get outta here."

"Hang on," Nat paused you two, your opposite hand holding your wound; her hands occupied by a smart device, "looks like Bucky tried to highjack a helicopter. Steve stopped him, but it resulted in them all crashing in the river."

"Shit," Sam breathed. "We gotta go find them."

"We need to get outta here, you know, away from the cops and agents," your head shook. "Get somewhere safe, away from this catastrophe. We'll regroup with Steve."

"Go," Nat permitted, "I won't say a word."

"You're one of a kind, Nat," you praised, pecking her cheek. "Let's go, Sam. And grab that First Aid kit," you pointed to the wall where the white box was mounted. He agreed and you lead the way out of the facility.

Bucky groaned as he woke up, head lulling back before realizing he couldn't move his metal arm; finding it clamped in industrial weights. Sam called you both to attention, but while Steve jogged over, you remained in your place out of sheer distress.

You only vaguely listened to the conversation, hands trembling as your shoulder was bandaged to prevent further injury or infection. You did what you could to patch up any injury, and when you heard your name, you dialed in; Bucky asking, "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"You don't remember?" Sam sneered.

"No..."

"You stabbed her," the Falcon growled.

"What? N-No, I-I-I couldn't've - I wouldn't!"

"You did," Steve confirmed, pity coloring his words. "Punched her out pretty well, choked her, too. Broke her nose..."

"Please - Steve, please, tell me I didn't."

"I'm sorry, Buck."

"That why she's not here? She's in a hospital?"

"Actually, no," Sam trailed, "she's just in the other room."

"She didn't want to come here?"

Steve sighed as Sam informed, "Don't think she wants to see you right now, man."

"I didn't mean to hurt her."

"We know," Steve swiftly promised, nodding his head. "She knows it, too, you just have to give her some time."

Bucky looked utterly defeated, murmuring, "I scared her. Oh, my God, I scared her..."

"Gotta agree with you there."

"Sam," Steve reprimanded. "Look, Buck, she'll come around."

You waited until the two men left Bucky alone to regroup and stratify a new course of action. Slowly and almost sheepishly, you entered where Bucky was being kept, steps silent but he heard you anyways. His blue eyes flashed in concern as he met your gaze, mouth opening and closing as if words failed him.

"Doll," he finally breathed, "a-are you all right?"

"I'm okay."

"Don't bullshit me, how hard did I hit you? Steve said I broke your nose, I-I'm so sorry, doll, please believe me. What'd I do to your shoulder? Is that where I stabbed you?"

"Buck," you sighed, slowly squatting in front of him, "I need you to take a breath and know that I understand you were not in your right state of mind. You were forcibly triggered and sent back into that way of thinking, I know it wasn't you."

"I still hurt you, I still did it."

"Did you, though?" Your head cocked, eyes narrowing slightly, "Because I know my Bucky wouldn't hurt me, would never dare lay a hand on me - but the Winter Solider is a different story. You didn't do this, Buck, you weren't you."

"I can smell the fear on you."

"Well, yeah, it fuckin' scared me. I tried to stop that fake doctor, I tried to help, tried to save you and keep your safe. I'm sorry I was too slow, that I failed."

"You didn't fail anything, sweetheart... I-I failed you, I broke my promise to never hurt you."

"No, you didn't. The Winter Solider did all that, not my Bucky."

He frowned, repeating to ask softly, "Your Bucky?"

"My Bucky - the kind, charismatic, impossibly stubborn, kind hearted man I've loved the past couple of years who always gives me the crispiest fries, who has nightmares, who loves me unconditionally despite what I, too, have done in my past. And you know what I was doing out there while Sam and Steve talked to you?"

"What's that, doll?"

"Understanding that loving someone means loving their flaws, accepting them exactly as they are. So, while, yes, the Winter Solider scares the fuck outta me, he's still part of you and I can't authentically love you if I reject the Soldier."

His head shook "Your kindness is wasted on me."

"I think you should let me decide what's a waste and what's not when it comes to my own energy and emotion."

"I'm just gonna end up hurting you again. You're better off without me, baby, you and I both know you're better off keeping your distance. You should get out now while you still can."

"Not gonna happen. 'Cause you know what else I realized?" You reached up to caress his cheek, "I trust you beyond reasonable doubt, I trust you even if I'm afraid of the Winter Solider. I should've been faster, I should've helped you more, but I was powerless against that red notebook."

"You and I, both..."

You pet the cheek you were holding. "Buck, I know it was scary, I know how it must've felt being forced back into that mindset, but I want you to know that I'm in this for the long haul - you're not gonna scare me off. Because I love you, Bucky, and every single part of you - whether choking me out or not. Whether I earn a broken nose or not."

"I'm so sorry. I-I can't believe I did that, I'm so sorry, I hate that I hurt you. I'm so sorry, baby, I can't - I can't even put it in words how much I regret putting you in that position."

You smirked, "See? The Winter Soldier has no remorse, but my Bucky does." You gingerly reached out to curl his hair behind his ear. "My Bucky apologizes and takes accountability. There's no reason to not love that man - especially when he deserves it so much. Hey? Hear me? You deserve to be loved, too, Buck."

"And you deserve a man who doesn't run the risk of being turned into a psycho killing machine over a few measly words."

"I deserve to love my best friend, so let me do that. Say whatever you want, try to push me away - but I'm like a boomerang, baby, I'll just come right back."

"What kinda man puts his best girl in that kinda position? Who hurts the most important person in his life?"

"A man who endured decades of abuse," you laid your hands on either of his thighs, "a man who wasn't allowed control of his own mind. I can't - no, no, I won't fault you for that, Buck. Today wasn't your fault and I'll remind you of that as often as it takes. Don't you dare feel guilty because you didn't do this to me, okay? You didn't put me in any position - that fake fucking doctor did this, Agent Ross did this, special ops put us here. You, my sweet boy, didn't do anything to be at fault. You were trapped, but look at you now - freed, level headed, talking to me."

His eyes gleamed with a sheen of emotion, staring at the bloodied bandage wrapping your shoulder wound before his eyes danced over the bruising and other aftermath of your injuries. "I could've killed you," he muttered, tears filling his eyes.

"But you didn't - and surprisingly, neither did the Winter Soldier. Maybe there was a part of you still alive, wanting to refuse orders and not actually hurt me."

"Perhaps," he frowned. "I'm still so sorry, doll, I hate that I did this to you. It never should've happened."

Your head nodded, "I know, baby, and listen - I forgive you. Yeah? Hear me? I forgive you, this is in the past."

"Are you sure about me? You sure you wanna do this? Knowing I could flip a switch and hurt you - maybe even worse than today?"

"I'm sure about you, Buck," you agreed. "I don't wanna be without you, so, sign me up for whatever's to come."

"You might regret that."

"The only thing I could ever regret is abandoning you. I don't want to do this without you - I love our life together. In any world, in any lifetime, I'd still choose you. There's nothing that would make me regret you - regret being with you."

"You sure? I don't want to make you do anything out of your comfort."

"I love you, Bucky, yes, I'm sure. No matter what damage you think you might've caused, whatever damage has been done, I promise, that's not the truth. There's nothing about you that I could regret."

"Well, all that's left now is to get to Siberia, stop the other Winter Soldiers."

"And figure out a way to free your mind once and for all... It's what you deserve," you told him softly, rocking to your knees to meet his forehead with yours and caressing his cheek again. When you heard approaching footsteps, you sighed and pulled away from him to stand and turn, spying Sam and Steve. "C'mon, Cap, get him outta this. He's not gonna attack anyone," you requested, gesturing where your boyfriend was trapped.

"You sure?" Sam asked stiffly. "He did a real number on you alone. Not to mention all the other agents and cops he took out back there."

"He's good," you snapped, perking your brows at Steve, "and you two would do well not to throw what happened in his face, it wasn't his fault. So c'mon, free him, he's not a wild animal."

Steve agreed and lifted the machinery from Bucky's prosthetic, him instantly snatching it back and massaging where the joint met metal. Bucky stood with a set stare at Sam and Steve, as if anticipating them to lunge at him. His throat constricted, swelled with emotion when you stepped in front of him - posing barrier between the two Avengers and himself.

"You still got that phone on you?" Steve asked you softly.

"I do."

"Is it still unregistered?"

"You know it is. Who're we calling?"

"Reinforcements. We're gonna need help now that the Avengers will be looking for us. We gotta get to Siberia."

"Here," you agreed, unlocking the device and handing it over. "Who's first on your list?"

"Any Avenger who didn't sign the Sokovia Accords."

When he walked away with Sam again, you turned to face your lover directly; staring into swirling storms of baby blues. "You still with me?" You asked softly, reaching up to caress his hair again to push it behind his ear.

"Always. Got my six?"

"You know I do, baby," you smirked, stepping into his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. "We'll figure this out, together."

"Together," he agreed, sighing deeply and returning your embrace tightly. His flesh hand rose to hold the back of your head, bringing his lips down to lay a chaste kiss on the top of your head. His voice rattled quietly, "Thank you..."

"Hmm? For what, handsome?"

"Believing in me. It's nice to think we can end this torment."

You smiled up at him, "You deserve freedom, Bucky, and to live without this haunting fear."

"I don't know about 'deserving' it, sweetheart. Done a lot of things that would argue against that."

"Maybe against the Winter Soldier, but Bucky deserves the world. Deserves kindness, accommodation, love and understanding. Now," you smirked and sniffled, giving his waist another squeeze before releasing and pulling back, "get your head outta this pit and focus, we've got a long day ahead of us."

He agreed, letting you take his hand and lace fleshy fingers together in a tether. Sam's face remained stoic and passive, but when Steve saw you two, he couldn't help but smile. Two years he hunted for Bucky and just today, he's learned his best friend's been shacked up with you - a warmth blooming in his chest over the idea of you two finding one another and loving each other.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

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mj-102009 · 8 months

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Does anyone else get irked when an author uses "shook their head yes" instead of nodded?

Like it's a small detail that I notice EVERYWHERE and always makes me twitch in frustration.

idk tell me if im delulu

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klaus-littlestwolf · 3 months

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Smut-🔥 Fluff-🧸 Series-⚜️ Headcanon-🧨 Dark-🥀 Dd/Lg-✨

Series

•Y/n Pregnant w/Someone Else’s Baby 1🧨⚜️

•Pregnant with Buckys Baby Pt.2🧨⚜️

Oneshots

•What if You Knew all of Me🧸✨

•All of Me Loves All of You🧸✨

•The Curator CEO!Alpha Bucky🧸

•A-Z NSFW Alphabet🧨

•Buckys Girl on her Period🧨🧸

•Mafia!Buckys Girl gets Arrested🧸✨

Yandere

•Dark NSFW Alphabet🧨🥀

•Can’t Live Without You-(Therapist)🥀🔥

•A Strange Kind of Love (Mafia!Bucky x OC x Mafia!Klaus)🥀🔥🧸

Loki- Daddy Frost Giant 🧸✨

Tony- Worked to the Bone 🧸✨

Bucky Moodboards

Random Thoughts

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vallovesbuckyb · 9 months

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POV: You get a voicemail from Bucky while he's away on a mission.

Check out my Etsy store for your own voicemail personalized message or email experience ⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

The day felt longer than usual as I waited for Bucky's call. Today was the day of the week he could use the burner phone. Usually, he tries not to use it too much. But every Friday without missing a beat, a call always came from the same number - at the same time. Every creak of the floorboards or distant sound made me jump, paranoid that any noise would be my ringing phone. I missed him terribly, and the empty space next to me in our apartment only emphasized his absence.

As I anxiously checked my phone for the umpteenth time, it finally lit up with an incoming call. My heart skipped a beat, and I quickly answered, expecting to hear Bucky's voice. To my disappointment, it wasn't him but some telemarketer. Frustration welled up inside me, and I let out a sigh, wondering when I would hear from him.

As the clock ticked closer to the designated hour, my heart raced with anticipation. I clutched my phone in my hand, checking the battery repeatedly. Everything was ready - the charger plugged in, my phone positioned strategically on the table. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.

The minutes dragged on, and finally, it was time. Bucky had always been punctual, and I knew he would call any moment now. I stared at my phone, willing it to ring. But the minutes turned into an hour, and the room echoed with silence.

Concern gnawed at me as I checked my phone for the umpteenth time. No missed calls, no messages. I tried to shake off the unease, telling myself he might be caught up with the mission. Maybe something came up, and he couldn't call. But deep down, I couldn't shake the worry.

Just as I contemplated calling him, my phone buzzed, and relief washed over me. However, my joy turned to disappointment when I saw it wasn't Bucky calling. Instead, it was a notification that my phone was about to die. Panic set in as I fumbled for the charger, desperately plugging it in. The screen dimmed, and the phone powered off.

Frustration bubbled within me as I waited for it to turn back on. I cursed silently, realizing that I might have missed Bucky's call. I hoped he would understand, but doubt crept in. What if this was the only chance he had to reach out?

Eventually, my phone powered up, and I anxiously checked for missed calls. There it was – a single voicemail from Bucky. I pressed play, and his voice filled the room, warm and reassuring.

A small smile formed on my face, hearing his words. It was as if he was right there with me, despite the physical distance.

The voicemail ended, leaving me with a mix of emotions. I was grateful for his message, but a pang of guilt tugged at me for missing his call. Despite the temporary hiccup, the sound of Bucky's voice reassured me. I replayed the voicemail, savoring every word. As I gazed out the window, I imagined the moment he'd return, embracing him with all the pent-up longing. The wait felt more bearable now, knowing that our reunion was just around the corner.

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kaynothanks · 7 months

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On His Collar | B.B.

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

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.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes series #bucky x you #winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier

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deliciousangelfestival · 3 months

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The Malicious Daughter Is Back! - 9

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The silence and awkwardness were thick in the air. Jonathan looked at you and said, "Come with me."

You followed him to a private room. He leaned against the billiard table and crossed his arms. "Why are you doing this?"

He was actually impressed with you for having Bucky as your shield. But to take something from Victoria? It wasn't like you, since you usually chose to ignore her.

"Isn't it obvious?" you replied, standing your ground.

He smirked. The way he acted was not like a father talking to his daughter but more like a gangster addressing a subordinate.

"I'll see what you've got," Jonathan said, straightening his suit. He turned to leave the private room.

Before he opened the door, he heard you say, "I still don't understand what you see in her." Your voice was steady, but you didn't look at him.

Jonathan paused for a moment, his hand on the door handle.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He remembered the quiet days with Ophelia and you. It was peaceful but boring.

As a successful man, he wanted to face something that challenged his adrenaline. That's when he met Genevieve. She gave him something that he needed: excitement.

He admitted that he went out of control. That resulted in the death of his first wife. Ophelia's face was still engraved in his memory, especially since your face was a carbon copy of hers.

Ophelia was calm and patient but fragile. You used to act like her, too, and it scared the hell out of him. He wished you to be different from your mother.

Be careful what you wish for. Jonathan should have remembered that saying because you changed into something he couldn't control.

It was exhausting to keep you in place. So when you challenged him to leave the house, he accepted it. And he cut all your resources to see how long you would survive.

His calculations were wrong. You were so stubborn and chose to live with Cassandra, his mother-in-law. He hated that woman. She cursed him right to his face and blamed him for Ophelia's death.

Jonathan said, "I understand your hatred. But did you expect me to leave her?"

"Maybe. Perhaps one day you'll realize that your mistress is a Beelzebub," you replied.

"You're quite creative," he chuckled, then he left.

You turned around and stared at the closed door, clenching your fists. Every word that came out of his mouth made you hate him even more. Your jaw tightened, and you could feel your heart pounding with a mix of anger and frustration.

After the empty talk with your father, you went back to be with Bucky. He saw the lifeless look in your eyes. The lively you had gone quiet. The short talk with your dad had drained your spirit.

Bucky felt your despair as if you were drowning in darkness. He gently touched your arm. “Are you alright?”

You nodded. “I'm sorry I left you alone.” You felt something was missing, but also a sense of peace. Looking around, you noticed Genevieve was not here or your dad.

“She left,” Bucky said.

You raised your eyebrows. It seemed impossible, considering Genevieve loved to be the center of the party.

“I said something that hurt her feelings,” Bucky explained.

“Really?” you asked, surprised that Bucky had confronted Genevieve.

While you were talking with your dad, Genevieve had approached Bucky. “You're really nice for bringing her, but I wonder why you didn't bring Victoria with you? Since she's your fiancée.” She emphasized the word "fiancée."

Bucky was silent momentarily before responding, “I've already talked to Jonathan, and he's okay with it.”

Genevieve sneered, “I never thought a dignified man would act like this.”

“At least I didn’t destroy someone’s marriage,” Bucky retorted calmly.

Genevieve flinched. If someone else had mentioned this, she wouldn’t have been offended. But coming from someone like Bucky, someone more affluent and influential than her, brought back memories of when everyone had pointed fingers at her. She knew she had taken someone’s place—Ophelia, the true Madam Sinclair.

She huffed and left the party. That was when she saw her husband emerging from the private room.

You chuckled. All your life, you had called Genevieve a mistress, and she never budged. Instead, she would give you a look and say, “So what?” But with Bucky, she was so offended that she left the party.

Bucky recounted the exchange, and you laughed softly. “Pfft.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought. “All my life, I’ve called her a mistress, and she never flinched. But one word from you, and she’s out the door.”

Bucky grinned. “Sometimes, it just takes the right person to say it.”

💋💋💋💋💋

Because of your grand entrance, everyone at the party—Celestial Enterprises employees and investors—now knew of your existence.

You were exhausted, and Bucky kindly drove you back to your place.

To be exact, a new home.

Bucky's family moved fast. They weren't kidding when they said they had prepared a reward for saving Bucky.

You walked out of the car and entered the house. The house they gave you was different from your grandmother's house. Your previous home had only two bedrooms and one bathroom, while this new house had four bedrooms and three bathrooms. The incredible thing was that Bucky had provided your grandmother with a 24/7 caretaker and had prepared the best doctor for her surgery.

When you entered the house, your grandma was awake, her bedroom door still open. It seemed she couldn’t sleep because she was in a new place. But her caretaker had done a good job of keeping Cassandra calm and not confused.

Cassandra widened her eyes when she saw you. She opened her arms. “My dear Ophelia. You look so beautiful.”

You smiled and gave her a hug. The dress you wore was designed by your grandmother. She was so talented. In her eyes right now, you were Ophelia wearing the dress.

She noticed someone standing behind you. She giggled and whispered, “You said he’s just a friend. But what is he doing here late at night?”

You blushed at her comment.

“But honey, you can’t let this go on. We’re going to meet the Sinclairs next month.” Cassandra looked at you sadly.

You were taken aback. Did this mean your mom had a boyfriend before she met your father?

You looked at Cassandra, who was already yawning and starting to feel sleepy. You didn’t dare to wake her up and ask what she meant.

Did seeing you with Bucky trigger your grandma’s memory?

💋💋💋💋

The next day, inside the bedroom of a penthouse in an elite neighborhood, outfits were scattered on the floor.

“Uurgh,” Victoria groaned as she woke up with a headache. She saw her phone showing 12 p.m. Shit. She was late for the office.

She pushed away the hand, hugging her waist. “Get up.”

After the humiliation at the party, she called her friends and went wild at the club, bringing home her friend with benefits. He didn't look as good as Bucky, but at least this guy could eliminate her loneliness.

‘Ring.’

“What?” she answered the call with a raspy voice.

“Why didn’t you pick up your phone? Don’t you know we’re facing a crisis? Come to Valerie. Now!” Genevieve sounded panicked.

Victoria could feel the anxiety. Despite the painful headache, she left the bed and threw on the first outfit she saw.

What had caused her mother to be this scared?

She soon found out the answer when she arrived at the company.

You were inside her office, walking back and forth while looking at a sketchbook.

Victoria stormed into her office. “What are you doing in my office?”

You smirked, letting out a small chuckle. “Didn’t you hear? I own 40% of Valerie's shares. That gives me the freedom to go wherever I want.”

Victoria gasped. How? How could you, who had no money, worked as a teacher, and had a limited budget for your grandmother’s medicine, acquire so much money to buy 40% of the shares?

The alcohol from last night clouded her judgment. She should’ve known the answer. It was all because of Bucky.

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Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

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beefromanoff · 4 months

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edit: I did it hehehe here's the masterlist <3

GUYS — while I know that I have two currently active fics that I already love and plan to continue…I really want to start another 🫣 WAIT HEAR ME OUT — a Stucky x reader this time. okay okay, just read the teaser and let me know if I should do it.

________

“Steve, are you out of your mind? She’s a kid!” Bucky hissed.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, uncharacteristically disheveled, before jabbing a finger into his friend’s chest. “Don’t act like you haven’t had the exact same thoughts I have.”

Pausing, Bucky set his jaw and rubbed his hand along it, thinking. He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing heavily. When he opened his eyes again, something had changed, shifted inside him. His voice was low when he spoke. “She’s only twenty-five.”

“She’s still an adult. She’s made it clear what she wants.”

“We’re a little more than adults, Stevie. We knew her grandmother for fuck’s sake.” Throwing his hands in the air, Bucky stepped back, pacing around the dark living room. “We’re decades older than her.”

Steve’s eyes had a wild glint to them that Bucky wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. He didn’t blink as he replied. “It doesn’t seem to phase her. Quite the opposite, I’d argue.”

“Jesus, Steve,” He muttered, shaking his head. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one talking us out of this? The voice of reason? The morality compass?”

“I’m having a really hard time thinking of any reason I shouldn’t pick up the phone and call her right now.” Steve’s voice was calm, even.

“Okay,” Bucky dropped down next to him on the couch. “Say…you do that. You call her. Then what?”

Steve stared blankly ahead, absently reaching for the half-empty beer that was all but forgotten on the coffee table.

“She answers,” Bucky continued. “You say…?”

“I don’t know.” He sighed, seeming to break from his trance.

“I mean,” Bucky let out a deep breath, leaning back against the sofa. “I get it. Believe me, I fucking get it. The fact is…she’s twenty five. We’re…not. She’s the granddaughter of a girl we knew when we were teenagers. She’s Stark’s prized fucking pony, whatever the hell internship program he’s running.” He ran his hand along his jaw again. “As if all of that weren’t reason enough to forget this whole thing…there’s still the most glaringly obvious issue.”

“What’s that?” Steve chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose, as if in disbelief at the conversation they were having.

“There’s two of us…and one of her.”

A moment of silence hung between them.

Steve’s voice was low, cautious.

“Why does that have to be a problem?”

#stucky #stucky x reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #avengers #steve and bucky #bucky barnes x oc #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #winter soldier #sebastian stan #captain america

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beah388love · 2 months

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Beach Day took a turn…

Full Masterlist Marvel Masterlist

Summary: Beach day took a turn and you got hurt….

Warnings: Bad Language,swearing,reader gets hurt/injured, mentions of blood,cuts and plasters,ddlg!!! (please tell me if I missed any!!!)

Bucky had taken you to the beach for the first time and you loved it, he had brought you buckets and spades and a lilo,shells etc.

“Dada! Castle!” You squealed through your paci as you tapped him on the shoulder and he chuckled as he stood up from the beach towel he was laying on.

You was wearing a little frilly bikini bottoms and a hat, he picked you up under your arms and rested you on his hip.

“What’re you thinking hm? A sand castle with a water dam around it?” Bucky asked as he walked with you to grab your bucket and spades.

You squealed with a nod and Bucky couldn’t help his smile that went ear to ear.

He helped you down, and handed you the bucket and spade as he held the other and you both kneeled down and began putting the wet sand in the Bucket.

Once it was filled you sat back and watched Bucky smooth the top out and flip the bucket over, he let you pat the top and then he pulled the bucket up, revealing a perfect sand castle.

You squealed and clapped your hands cheering.

“Yay!!’ Dada!” You exclaimed before carefully pushing yourself up and running over to Bucky making him chuckle.

You did the same thing every time you made a sand castle.

“Is it good?” He grinned and you nodded as you plopped yourself onto his lap, throwing his spade away to make room for yourself making him laugh.

You held his pointer finger in each hand and played with them sitting there for a minute or two as he used his hands to dig a dam around the sand castle.

“Dada m’hot” you groaned into him and you began to get teary eyed from the burning feeling on your skin.

“It’s okay” Bucky said giving you a kiss on the forehead before picking you up into his arms again.

“C’mon let’s go put on some sunscreen yeah?” He said and you nodded putting your head onto his shoulder tiredly as he instinctively rubbed your back in circles.

After he did your sunscreen and gave you some water you got curious when you saw all the huge rocks on the side of the waves and sand…

“Dada wa’s that?” You asked Bucky as you pointed your finger to the rocks and he looked over confused as to what you were pointing at.

“The rocks?” He asked you and you nodded,

“We can go over there if you want to? C’mon…” Bucky smiled as he picked you up under your armpits and rested you once again on his hip.

He jogged over to the rocks with you in his arms and you gasped when you saw little fish and crabs in the sea.

“Dada! Look! Fishies!” You jumped in his arms making him laugh “yeah look there’s a crab” he smiled pointing to the sand area around the rocks.

You looked intently and wriggled in Bucky arms “dada, down” you mumbled as you moved around in his arms and he huffed as he placed you down on the floor where the sea met sand.

You carefully walked to the rocks and took your paci out and got a closer look at the crabs and squealed “dada! Crabs! Look!” You jumped up happily making him laugh.

“Dada up?” You asked as you held your knee up on the rocks wanting to climb them, and he looked at you for a moment and thought “okay…” he said holding your hand tightly and held your hand walking with you on the rock.

You tried to pull yourself up on the rocks but failed, so Bucky helped you by pushing your butt up and your legs.

“You got it?” He asked you and you nodded sighing heavily and dramatically wiping your forehead that had no sweat on it, making him chuckle.

“Dada” you said walking onto the rock next to the one you were on and he walked with you holding your hand tightly so he could pick you up in case you fell.

“Buck!” Steve yelled from where your things were, “Do you want-“ Steve said but Bucky couldn’t hear the rest.

“What?!” Bucky yelled back and Steve rolled his eyes.

As this was happening Bucky had loosened the grip on your hand without realising and you climbed up the next rock further.

And just your luck it was slippy.

You slipped on the mossy part and slid down, falling onto the next rock and cutting both your legs and arms and your whole side.

You screamed and cried from the pain, especially when you saw blood leaving all the cuts on your legs and arms.

As soon as Bucky heard your scream and sobs he whipped round and ran towards you, “Fuck! C’mere!” Bucky panicked as he grabbed you and held you close to his chest tightly.

“Sh sh sh it’s okay! It’s okay!” Bucky said as he held you to his chest checking your cuts, and he ran you back to where you was sitting before, “is she alright?” Steve asked Bucky worried and Bucky ignored him so he could make sure you was okay first, sitting you down onto his beach towel, you had blood all over your legs and arms, and not to mention your whole side, You was sobbing and crying.

“It’s okay! It’s okay” he said holding you and rocking you, he checked and your cuts and thankfully you didn’t need stitches. But it definitely still hurt.

“Steve I’m gonna go get plasters Kay?” Bucky said as he picked you up again after you reached out for him crying.

“Okay, we’ll catch you up by the bar yeah?” Steve said and Bucky nodded before he pulled the buggy out and chucked all his bags in the bottom and the towels, he was about to put you inside the buggy but you screamed.

“Nooo! No” you cried holding onto Bucky neck, and he felt so bad.

He held you in his arms and took the buggy up to the front of the beach, and quickly went to the market near you, to buy you some plasters.

You cried into his neck, “hurts…” you cried and he sighed “I know baby…I know…I’m sorry” he said giving you another kiss on the arm and head.

Once he finally found the plaster section there were some options, “look baby?” He said rocking you slowly, you carefully lifted your head up from Buckys neck and looked around to where he was pointing.

There was peppa pig plasters,paw patrol, Ben and holly, Disney, butterflies….

“What ones do you want hm?” He asked you looking into your eyes, giving you a kiss on the temple.

“Ben n’ holly” you murmured and he nodded as he grabbed them and hurried over to the till and bought them.

He quickly left the market and placed you on a bench and he grabbed some wipes and plasters.

“Where’s your paci?” He said looking everywhere and remembered, you had it before you fell.

“Great…” Bucky mumbled before looking through the bag and luckily found your last one.

“Here you go baby…” Bucky said placing the paci before your lips and you took it suckling on it as Bucky wiped your cuts.

He carefully wiped up all your cuts on your legs and arms and then placed plasters on them and then got started on your waist.

He had to use a couple plasters for that, “you okay?” He asked you after giving the last plaster a little kiss.

You shook your head and lent your arms out for him, he gladly picked you up and placed you into his lap, making sure not to touch your cuts and scrapes.

You sucked on your paci and laid your head on his chest tiredly.

Bucky picked you up and placed you into your buggy, handing you your favourite blankie and your bunny.

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m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s · 4 months

Text

Another day, another chronicle my friends

A short one but a good one indeed.

Enjoy :)

—

Word Count: 595 words

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, rebirth (all mentioned, but not detailed), the slightest hint of angst, major comfort and fluff

Genre: Fluff, comfort

Notes: This chronicle relates to snippet #5, so if you would like some more context, you can read that snippet first. Not required, but it’ll allow for more understanding of what’s going on. :)

—

chronicle III - mermaids

—

Bucky hated movie nights.

Or at least he thought he did.

Bucky was starting to think time went by faster in this god forsaken tower.

It was another movie night.

This time accompanied by the charm and dreamy atmosphere of Disney.

It was supposed to be a “bonding” experience.

Bucky kept trying to refer back to that as he watched the others fight over what magical movie to watch this evening.

“Everyone knows you watch Cinderella on Disney night.”

“That’s just a rule you made up, Stark.”

Bucky wondered if Nat ever grew tired of Stark. He wondered if everyone wanted to punch his lights out every few days.

Or maybe that was just a Bucky thing.

“Can we watch Winnie the Pooh? Please?”

“No Sam. No one wants to watch a bear eat honey.”

Bucky usually tuned this out, but for some reason this time around, he found it humorous in a way.

Even if Sam and Clint going back and forth about a bear eating honey was annoying.

So much for bonding.

It was a miracle they had actually picked a movie.

Some movie about a girl who was a mermaid, but wanted to become a human.

It was another miracle that everyone had already fallen asleep.

Bonding or not, Bucky was already planning his escape. He would slowly creep over Nat and Clint, making sure to miss Clint’s hand that was still reaching for the popcorn in his snoring slumber. Then, he would bypass Bruce and Stark on the couch, avoiding Steve and Sam at the end of the-

“Who’s that?”

He would have jolted.

He should have.

This time around though, she was wearing dog pajama pants.

“I’m sorry?”

“The mermaid. Who is she?”

Bucky had almost forgotten there was a movie playing.

“Oh, uh- I think her name is Ariel. She’s trying to become a human.”

She hummed, slowly creeping over to the empty spot next to Bucky.

This happened last month.

At first, he wasn’t quite sure what to think. Another person to join him in his own personal brand of hell, aka movie night. More minds to churn the idea of another month gone by in the tower.

Yet…

He was finding he didn’t mind it so much.

“She kind of looks like me.”

Bucky followed V’s finger, pointed at the cartoonish hair flowing down the mermaid’s back.

The mermaid’s was angelic, pure.

The color of innocence.

V’s was similar, save for the white streaks in the front.

V’s was darker though. Cherry red, garnet red.

Blood red.

The color of rebirth. Life anew.

“She does.”

Bucky liked V’s hair though.

“It’s pretty. The mermaid’s hair.”

He hummed in agreement.

He wasn’t looking at the cartoonish movie.

“So is yours.”

He truly hadn’t meant for it to come out.

He’d promised himself he would just leave it alone, let the past die.

Everything else had, so why couldn’t this?

But Steve hadn’t.

Neither did V.

“Oh- thank you.”

It was warm, comforting. Her smile.

The cycle of life was anew for Bucky. The past had died, corroded away, stayed in the past as it should have.

The cartoonish mermaid kept swimming on screen, dancing and singing to some silly tune.

This time around, Bucky did forget there was a movie playing all together.

Maybe movie nights weren’t really about movies with mermaids after all.

Maybe it was about sitting next to pretty girls in dog pajama pants. Who had warm smiles and mermaid-like hair.

Maybe movie nights weren’t so bad after all.

And Bucky decided he liked that idea.

—

people who think would like to see this: @hellothere-generalangsty @eyecandyeoz @monako-jinn-stories @chaoticvampirejedi @ahsokasleftbicep

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mariaxxxxx · 1 year

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Cherry (bucky barnes/winter soldier x fem!reader)

Summary: The Soldier takes care of you when your monthly blood appears suddenly. (+18)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Hurt comfort, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, virgin!reader, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, HEA, good ending, somnophille, slight degradation, duvious consent, menstrual sex, pregnancy, arranged marriage, inexperienced reader, abortion commented, unprotected sex (don't do that wrap this thing), kidnapping, aftercare, curse words.

series masterlist

A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.

Your eyes widened as you felt your period stain your panties. As if controlled by switches, the sound of conversations faded. His heart raced terribly in his chest, as his thoughts raced to find an excuse to escape from there. “Sir…um! I…I-I…Can I go to the bathroom?” You asked the head scientist, dismayed by the murmurs around you.

Suddenly awakened from the conversation, the head scientist directed his gaze towards you. His face took on a reddish hue as he crossed his legs.

“We are already finishing. You can wait." He responded as rough as sandpaper. It shouldn't be a surprise to you, the men of HYDRA hardly showed empathy, especially to someone like you.

You looked down at your hands in an attempt to hide the red that took over your face. For that to happen at that moment was embarrassing. Such was your despair, you could have sworn you felt your heart beat in your throat.

“Please…” You begged. “I really need to go to the bathroom.”

The blood began to accumulate even more between her thighs, so her cotton panties would not be able to prevent the worst from happening.

"Hang on." The chief scientist said sharply. He got angry with you to the point of piercing you hard with a thick needle.

“Please…” You begged the blood pooled even more in your legs: you always had a heavy flow. The head scientist was about to shout at you, or slap you, when he saw the blood pooling on your thighs staining not only your hospital gown, but the gurney beneath you.

"Cum! Disgusting." The scientist shouted. “That bitch is staining my office with blood.” He turned away from you as if you were the plague itself.

The other scientists went to him to see what was going on.

"What there was?" asked one of them. You didn't know any of their names; they never told you and never referred to each other by name in front of you.

“This bitch is bleeding.” The chief scientist shouted. “Get her out of here.” He screamed and his subordinates ran to you to remove the tubes and needles that held you in that horrible machine.

You were pulled abruptly from the stretcher, your feet couldn't balance in time and you fell face down on the floor. Someone chuckled in the background at your misery and someone else commented on how much of a bloody pig you looked like.

You used your hands to support yourself and lifted your torso, sitting on your knees. An absurd pain filled your abdomen, cramps, you whimpered with the pain.

“Come on, get up from there. Can't you see you're getting blood all over everything?” The chief scientist shouted in his direction. You were still on your knees and he was standing, the difference in angles made everything even more humiliating. “I should have castrated you as soon as I had the chance.”

Tears formed in her eyes.

"She's crying." Said someone behind you. “I didn’t know these freaks had the ability to cry.”

“I didn't know either. It’s something to be studied.” Another responded.

You didn’t know whether to cry because of the pain, humiliation or the possibility of being “studied” for the simple reason of crying.

“Please, I-I need…” You were about to beg for help when the room was enveloped in silence the moment the metal door opened and the Soldat walked through it.

You could see the scientists tense up at the cold look they gave you. He walked towards you in hard, long strides. You looked down trying to avoid further embarrassment; you hated that he saw you like this. His large hands grabbed your arms and pulled you up tightly, you stood up but still looked down.

The Active dragged you through the gray hallways to the room you shared; It wasn't exactly a room, it was more like a cell made up of two single beds covered in faded sheets, a dresser stocked with towels and underwear and a door that led to the bathroom. The soldier let go of his arm abruptly.

"Thanks." You told him still without looking him in the eyes. He made a sound through his mouth similar to a grunt.

His attention was taken by the discomfort running down his legs. Fighting against angry crying, you entered the bathroom, looking at yourself in full and observed the reason for your discomfort: a huge dark red stain that stretched across your entire thigh.

"I hate that!" You shouted angrily.

You threw your blood stained clothes on the floor and ran straight to the shower to clean yourself up. The cold water made your skin burn, but you didn't care, you were already used to the cold water on your skin. After washing up you wrapped yourself in a towel and marched out of the bathroom.

The Asset was sitting on your bed when you came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. His gaze was low, cold. You cleared your throat to indicate that you were present in the room. She didn't care about that as her gaze remained low.

In a hurry, you went towards the dresser, taking out a pair of panties, a change of clothes and a tampon. You turned towards the bathroom to change in privacy when the Soldier said:

"Blood." His voice came out hoarse and thick, you turned and faced him, he was looking directly at you.

"What?"

“Blood runs through your legs.” a dozen words, it was the first time he had said so much to you.

His attention was taken by the bloody tear that ran down his leg and fell onto the concrete floor. You found yourself enraged by the situation, looking at the man with a look that would intimidate anyone else.

“I know there's blood coming out of me, idiot. Just go away!” You said with a slightly altered voice, heading to the bathroom and closing the door with a thud.

You took another shower to clean off the discomfort that persisted in running down your legs. After the shower, you put on your panties with the intimate hygiene object after the cold white nightgown over your body and left the bathroom.

The man was still sitting in the same place, motionless, with an empty gaze directed at the wall. You expected him to slap you for shouting, as he did many times on orders from his superiors, to educate you correctly.

Most of the time he was cold and distant, only exclaiming sounds with his mouth when you dared to ask him something and the missions always kept him away. And when he was, he always stood still, like a marble statue just staring into space. It was irritating.

You winced as a pang hit your stomach hard, you groaned at the unpleasant pain. Tears formed in your eyes and your hands shook as you walked to your bed to lie down and wait for the pain to pass. You put your head on the pillow and closed your eyes allowing yourself to pray to whatever was in the sky to take away the pain.

"Can I help you with something?" Once again, half a dozen words directed at you for the second time that day. You opened your eyes and fixed your gaze on him.

"I don't think so." You answered sincerely. “The pain will soon go away.”

He made a sound through his mouth that resembled a mumble. You closed your eyes again trying to relax and forget that the pain was consuming your entire body.

"I can see?"

His question echoed through the room and you opened your eyes again.

“W-what?” You stuttered, maybe you were hearing wrong.

The soldier got up from the bed and walked over to you, stopping right above you.

"The blood. I can see?"

“Why do you want to see my blood?” You asked scared, but he just shrugged.

“I see blood often. This one will be new to me. I would like to know what natural blood is like, caused by nature itself.”

His mind seemed to go into circuit with the excess of information. There he was, a cold and cruel killer, right above you, asking to see his monthly blood. Truth be told, you didn't know if you were scared by the request or the fact that he was so talkative.

“I-I…” you paused as you lifted your torso against the headboard. The Asset sat very close to you. “I don’t know, it’s… it’s…w-what…”

You couldn't stop stuttering.

“I can make the pain go away.” He offered.

You looked deep into his eyes trying to find some humor, but all you found was curiosity. The offer to make the pain go away was very tempting. They, the people who always hurt you, never provided you with anything for pain, just more pain. And now, here was HYDRA's deadliest weapon giving him the opportunity to make the pain go away.

“Can you really?”

With a lot of effort the words escaped his mouth, he just nodded in affirmation. You sighed and exclaimed an affirmation at him.

His hand, the real one, pressed on his shoulder until his head was on the pillow. He crawled until he was on top of you, propped up on his elbows.

His face turns red, and you can feel tears forming in your eyes. His body shakes as he tries to process the Soldat on top of you, on top of you. As if he could feel all his insecurity, placing his right hand, the flesh one, on his scarlet face.

“Trust me, vishnya (cherry).”

The Active brought his face closer to his until their noses touched. You felt a great urge to join your lips with his.

“Soldat.”

"Yes!"

"I can kiss you?"

You could swear the shadow of a smile formed when he heard his request. He nodded his head in affirmation. And then you did. You pressed your lips to his: once, twice, three times. Soldat seemed not to be satisfied with a simple touch of lips. He wanted more. He needed more.

In one swift movement the Soldat forced his tongue into her mouth. You welcomed him happily, even though you didn't know how to properly reciprocate. He walked away and You feared he would do something wrong. Before you could ask what you had done wrong he kissed you again, this time with more truth.

The nightgown that covered his body was opened and his large breasts were exposed. He cupped her breast in his hand, and as he kissed her, he handled the satin-soft flesh with his vibraniu hand. The kiss stopped. The Active stared at her face as he played with her breast.

He gave it a gentle squeeze and then lightly ran his metal nail across her nipple, back and forth, and back and forth again, until they were hard and sensitive.

"That is good?" he asked.

“Yes” You replied.

"This is it?" He pinched her nipple, pulling it hard. Twisting it between his icy fingers. You let out a gasp of pleasure.

"It is good."

His nightshirt was removed and discarded on the floor, next to the bed. The Soldat ran his hands, the real one and the metal one, over his warm body. You arched your back at the sensation and moaned his name in adoration. The pain still kicked him in the ass, but the newfound delight made that inconvenience completely insignificant.

The hands ran over her soft skin until they reached the spot covered by the cotton panties. You closed your legs when you felt the touch on your intimate spot. The Soldat let out a groan at the refusal.

“It’s a mess down there.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Just spread your legs and stay still, I’ll do the rest.”

The Man said with such intensity that you simply obeyed. Her panties covered by the pad were discarded and thrown on the floor next to the bed. You tried to close your legs as you felt the blood pooling, but Soldat's body wouldn't allow it. His eyes closed as a long, shuddering breath left you. Shame clouded his thoughts.

"It's beautiful!" His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, his touch on your skin burning to your fragile bones.

His eyes opened to visualize The Asset staring at her pussy intently, as if it were the most precious thing in the world. His name left his lips like an incantation, shy and low, to break him out of his trance.

"What will you do?"

“Don’t worry, vishnya (cherry). I will take good care of you.”

He propelled his own body until he was on top of You again. You fought with all your might not to look away from his.

“My vishnnya (cherry)” he murmured before his mouth grabbed your left nipple. His wet tongue roamed the hard bud. His eyes always look towards his reddened face. It felt like fire was consuming her as she was bathed in pure ecstasy all at once. You moaned shamelessly as your body received his attention.

His lips moved to the valley between her breasts as he kissed lower and lower. His tongue grazed his skin, tasting the sweetness of his skin and marking it, leaving a reddish trail wherever his mouth passed.

He kept moving until he reached between her thighs. His palms roamed his thighs. For a man with such a cruel reputation, he was being kind to You.

His breath hitched when you felt his finger, from his real hand, press your clit. All your consciousness flew away as his finger played with that sensitive button. A loud moan escaped as he continued to work vigorously on her swollen clit.

He held you in place with the strong grip of his metal arm as he stimulated your clit, reducing You to a panting, wet mess.

"Still hurts?"

The question barely reached his ears; pleasure simply clouded everything around him.

“No…” You stammered. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” The pain was nothing more than an unhappy memory in his messy head filled with ecstasy.

You gasped as your hips bucked forward, towards his finger.

“Please” You begged pathetically, not knowing exactly why you were begging.

A sparkle appeared in his eyes, your heart skipped a beat in your chest as he continued to stimulate you harder and faster this time. His pussy ached as You reached a violent climax.

He moved away, sitting between his legs, taking off his shirt surrounded by pockets and combat utensils, leaving his chest covered in scars visible. You sighed at the privileged view. He lowered his pants down to his thighs exposing his hard member. Big. He was Big.

"Open your legs." He said in a deep timbre that sent shivers through her body.

You obeyed. Feeling so exposed and vulnerable, holding her legs open for him. Fear and uncertainty colored his mind as many thoughts ran through his head, anticipating the actions that awaited him. You always expect pain. However, his heart begged You to trust him. You chose to listen to feeling and leave reason aside.

His body shivered with need when you looked into those blue eyes like the sky. He pressed his lips to yours. His body stiffened beneath him as he felt a finger penetrate him. Tension washed over You as he worked with his fingers. You didn't want to get it dirty.

"Stop, please!"

"I hurt you?" He asked, his eyes shining with concern.

“I don’t want to get you dirty.”

"Don't worry about that." he kissed you to calm all his bad thoughts. You relaxed and allowed yourself to feel the good things he gave you without worrying about anything.

Your body shakes as he continues to work your slick folds. You were so wet that he found no obstacle to adding a second digit. He was so skilled with his fingers that you felt a strange wave run from the tip of your toe to his head.

His legs shook and your wet walls trembled around him as the pace quickened. He stimulated you with such mastery that a series of meaningless babbles escaped your lips. The room filled with the sound of her wet pussy being stimulated and her moans.

With one last stimulus, a sensation of absolute pleasure bathed his body in the purest ecstasy. His mouth covered You to swallow his sound. His tongue passed over his, savoring his taste. You were a post-orgasm mess as he took that swollen, hard man part that needed to be satisfied to your tight, tough pussy, which he bled his way through.

In one quick movement his fingers dug into his back, feeling the way his muscles contracted and relaxed with the movement. You clung to him tightly. His body burned with pleasure, a pleasure you never imagined you would have.

His hands spread his legs even wider and his big, thick cock sank even deeper into You. His grip on your hips seemed to tighten, pushing You against the bed. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he continued to penetrate You.

He pounded into you again, and again, and again, until the climax came to You again, even harder than the last time. He fucked You for what seemed like hours as he began to slow down as he rode for his own release, filling You with his lust, emptying himself with a deep, animalistic moan.

His lips parted panting and his hands gripped the sheets tightly as he felt his hot release fill you. He pulled out of your pussy leaving you empty. His legs shook like jelly as the rest of his release along with the monthly blood left You and fell onto the sheets below.

Soldat rolled out of bed. You closed your eyes as you let yourself appreciate the mix of sensations that surrounded you. With your enhanced ears you could tell that Soldat had gone into the bathroom to clean up the mess on his member. When he came back, he sat on the bed next to her hips.

“It still hurts, vishnnya?"He asked, sincerely.

You opened your eyes and were faced with that sapphire blue immensity. A smile formed on his lips.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you

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yikesdrama · 1 month

Text

prologue

Summary - bucky barnes, SHIELD college's resident playboy, learns the hard way that winning hearts off the field is way messier than he ever expected.

Pairings - Bucky Barnes x Y/N Romanoff, Bucky Barnes x You

Warnings - foul language, threats, major angst, Y/N Romanoff being an absolute badass (Imk if you see anything else)

Word Count - 1.2k | series masterlist | next part (07.09.24)

🔊 tag list is open, comment if you wanna be added!

POWER

It isn’t just something you have—it’s who you are. You don’t need anyone’s approval. That’s a lesson you learned long before you set foot on SHIELD College’s campus.

Approval is for the weak. For the ones who crave validation like it’s oxygen, who wither without someone patting them on the back.

Not you. Never you.

You’re cut from a different cloth, the kind that doesn’t fray or tear under pressure.

Everyone at SHIELD College knows you by name, but the real you? That’s a secret you keep under lock and key. You aren’t just another student drifting through the halls—you’re a force of nature. The kind of person who doesn’t need to shout to be heard. You walk with a purpose that makes people step aside, that makes them think twice about where they stand in your presence.

Your reputation isn’t built on gossip or drama; it’s built on sheer, unrelenting strength—on and off the field.

Field hockey is your domain.

It’s the place where you transform from the quiet, controlled person everyone knows into something else entirely—a warrior. Your game is ruthless, calculated, and above all, dominant. You don’t play to win; you play to own the field, to make it yours in every sense of the word. Opponents don’t just lose to you—they’re defeated by you, overwhelmed by a presence that can’t be matched. And when the whistle blows and the game ends, you walk off that field with your head held high, already thinking about the next challenge.

But you aren’t just some jock either. Your grades? Impeccable.

You ace every class, not because you’re a genius, but because you work for it. You earn it. Every early morning study group, every hour spent in the library buried in textbooks, every all-nighter where you push yourself to the brink—it all pays off.

People think they know you because they see you every day, see you dominate on the field, see you excel in the classroom. But that’s just the surface.

They don’t know the real you. They never will.

You keep to yourself. Sure, you’re in the limelight, but you don’t bask in it. You don’t go to parties, don’t get involved in the petty dramas that fuel the college rumor mill.

You have your tight-knit group of friends, the ones who’ve been with you since childhood, who know the real you. They’re your sanctuary, your family away from family. It’s pure luck that they ended up at SHIELD with you, but you don’t question it—you’re grateful for it. They’re the only ones who see past the tough exterior, who know that behind the strength, there’s a person who isn’t invincible, who has her doubts, her fears.

But even with them, you keep certain walls up because some things are too raw, too personal, even for them.

But there’s one thing people tend to forget about power: it’s a lonely crown to wear.

You’ve built walls so high that no one even tries to scale them. And why would they? You’re the untouchable, the unbreakable—until someone decides to try.

Bucky Barnes, SHIELD’s golden boy.

When Bucky Barnes starts showing up, you don’t know what to think. Everyone knows who he is—vice-captain of the soccer team, best friend to the captain, and the guy every girl seems to lose her mind over. He’s the resident playboy, the one with a smile that can disarm even the toughest of people. He’s always at the parties you never attend, always surrounded by a flock of girls who are more than happy to fall at his feet.

You’ve seen him around, sure, but he’s just another face in the crowd to you, another player in the game of college life that you have no interest in.

But Bucky? He has other plans. It starts small, subtle.

He isn’t like the other guys who try to get close to you—he doesn’t come on strong or act like he’s entitled to your attention. No, he’s smart about it.

He shows up at your practices, not in an obvious way, but in a way that makes it seem like he just happens to be there. He walks you home after late-night study sessions, makes it seem like it’s no big deal. He starts to make you laugh, to get under your skin with that dry humor that you find yourself looking forward to, even when you try not to.

And it isn’t just that. He knows when to back off, when to give you space. He doesn’t crowd you, doesn’t push too hard. He plays the long game, and it works. Against your better judgment, you start to let him in. Start to think that maybe, just maybe, he’s different.

That maybe he sees something in you that no one else does.

That maybe he actually cares.

But there’s always that nagging feeling in the back of your mind. That little voice that whispers that something isn’t right. You can’t shake it, can’t ignore it. Because as much as you want to believe that Bucky Barnes is different, you know better.

You know that nobody gets close to you without a reason, without an angle. And the more you think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense. Bucky warms his way into your life too easily, too smoothly. And you? You haven’t let your guard down like this in years. No one has ever gotten in this close before—so why has he?

There are the little things.

The looks between him and his teammates that you catch out of the corner of your eye, the way the vibe in the boys’ locker room shifts when you stop by. You don’t need to hear their words to know something is off. You can feel it in your gut, that sixth sense of yours that has never failed you before and isn’t about to now.

Something is wrong, and the boys' soccer team is at the center of it. You can’t put your finger on it at first, but you know.

You always know.

So, you start paying attention, start putting the pieces together. And the more you uncover, the more you realize just how deep this goes. The truth hits you like a freight train, and the betrayal? It’s like a knife to the gut.

Now, here you are, sitting in your bedroom in the apartment you share with your sister Natasha, seething with a rage you can barely contain. You hate what you’ve found out, hate how it makes you feel.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize that you aren’t stupid. You aren’t the one who should be ashamed. Because this? This isn’t on you. This is on him and them, all of them.

And now? Now he’s going to pay.

Because you might have let him in, but you sure as hell aren’t going to let him get away with it.

Bucky Barnes has made his bed, and now it’s time for him to lie in it. And if he refuses? You’ll just have to bury him in it yourself.

This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Because nobody crosses Y/N Romanoff and gets away with it.

TAGS -

@meghannnnnn @sebastians-love @bellabarnes1378 @florie1 @ozwriterchick @supertacodreamland @winterslove1917 @justab-eautifulmess @cactus-cuddler @zazz10 @blondierog @elora-k @dakotariverp

Author Notes - hi lovelies, hope y'all enjoyed the prologue. pls leave comments and your feedback, i would love to hear from you! for update on next chapter keep and eye on the series masterlist, as i have posted the dates there. lots of love, bye!

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roseyreveries · 14 days

Text

Found

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Part One <— click!

Summary: After waking up in the infirmary from your run-in with the Winter Soldier, you go to check in on Bucky despite what Fury tells you.

CW: Injury, Angst