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cas-backwards-tie · 1 year

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Chapter One: Assembly Required

The Missing Title

Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader

Summary: Enlisted to help a friend with a crisis you once specialized in, you find yourself in a foreign country getting ready for a mission in which the details you're unaware of. Reunited with a good friend, you follow his unhinged partner as you all prepare to stop more harm from being released onto the world.

Words: 5k

Warnings: Cursing, Illegal Activities, Terrorists, Politics, Bombs, Assassinations, Criminals, Secrets,

A/N: So I watched the series this summer, and while I hadn't anticipated to get hooked onto anything, a surprise appearance from Zemo had me falling in love with his character and now I'm writing this series and it'll just evolve forward into a story I've been daydreaming up these past few months. Also thank you to @imamotherfuckingstar-lord for hyping me up and encouraging me to step out of my comfort zone with the future topics of this story.

“Whatever, we just need to get inside,” Bucky dismisses Sam’s introduction to you. Truly, it’s a reintroduction, since you’d met him once or twice before, even if it was really only in passing.

From all the stories you’ve heard, you’re sure his attention was elsewhere, so you aren’t too dissuade by his stiff attitude. Sam offers you an annoyed glance in hopes that you, too, are either amused or off-put by the ex-assassin’s dour aura. With an alacrity you'd rarely seen in the past few years, his partner opens the auto shop's door and heads inside.

"What're you talking about, you wanna break Zemo outta jail?" Sam asks the man, clearly more perturbed by the incurring situation you'd stumbled into upon your good friend, Torres’, request. "Where the hell are we, Buck? Have you lost your mind?" Following both the men with the little light their flashlights emit, you listen, unsure what exactly the job Joaquin sent you to help out on entails.

"We have no leads, no moves, nothing-" Bucky answers, but Sam cuts him off.

"-Except the one I just called in, yeah. What we have is one of the most dangerous men in the world behind bars," Sam argues. Rounding the shelves of oil, dirtied gloves, tools, and mechanical parts, you try and watch your step. Albeit the darkness makes it harder than necessary to find your way without stumbling. Burner phone dug out of your pocket, you shine its faint light around your surroundings.

"And we also have eight super soldiers that are loose," Bucky reasons, his light casting downward as Sam shines it on him stepping over a rig. Despite not knowing James well, you know most people call him 'Bucky', and you know it's probably best not to interfere with the two men considering you're aware of Sam's indulgence when it comes to arguing. Hell, him and Joaquin could bicker for the rest of time. The thought elicits an amused eye roll on your behalf.

"Look, Zemo's gonna mess with our minds. Especially yours, no offense," Sam rebuttals, following suit as he steps over the rig. Suddenly his light is held still and there's a loud click before overhead lights come on all around you guys, lighting up what you can now see is a garage. Granted, the outside did have a sign indicating it was an auto-shop, you never know if it’s just a cover.

"Offense," Bucky comments, laying his flashlight aside on top one of the movable shelving carts. "Super soldiers go against everything he believes in. He is crazy, but he still has a code." Lips parting in thought, you're about to speak up when Sam beats you to it.

"Yeah, and I've been on the wrong side of that code, Buck, and so have you. He blew up the UN, he killed King T'chaka and framed you for it. Did you forget that?" Eyeing his partner with a ludicrous look in his eyes, he quickly finishes his train of thought. "You think the Wakandans forgot about it? It's a rhetorical question- they didn't. I know why this matters to you, but come on, it's pushing you off the deep end."

Despite your abhorrence for bickering, there was admittedly not much you could contribute to the conversation. Though the name ‘Zemo’ sounds familiar, you can’t pinpoint its origin. Tucking your burner phone into your back pocket, you place your hands on your hips in waiting. A big breath puffs out your cheeks as you pray they come to some sort of conclusion sooner than later.

"Sam, we don't know how they're gettin' the serum. We don't even know how many of them there are. Look, let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?" Though the topic is concerning, Bucky’s phrasing and search of consent elicit an amused smile.

"What did you do?" Sam asks accusingly, like the man’s already committed some sort of crime.

"I didn't do anything. The weakest point in a system isn't the software, or the hardware, it's the meatware. The human element. Now, in this lockup, it's nine to one, prisoners to guards. And if two prisoners start fighting, then the protocol says four guards have to respond-“ Bucky starts to explain.

“-So why would two prisoners randomly start fighting at that moment?" Sam questions.

"-Who knows? There could be many reasons. But the point is, these things escalate. Lockdown procedures would have to be initiated with all those bodies flying around left and right, it wouldn't be hard to slip down a hallway or two. And if the fire alarm got tripped while the prisoners were being separated, someone could use the chaos to their advantage." With his thorough knowledge of the protocols, it’s clear Bucky has a plan.

"I don't like how casual you're bein' about this. This is unnatural. Are you... and- where are we, man?!" Sam comes back to reality, demanding an answer as hypotheticals really won’t do much for whatever super soldier problem is going on. In the distance the metallic sound of a hinge squeaking and a click of a lock signals a door’s been opened.

Eyes flitting to its source, the three of you watch in anticipation as a blurry figure approaches, its shadow cast upon the hanging plastic curtains of the auto shop. Lifting a section of said curtain, a police officer or guard of some sort enters. Considering the lack of people around, you assume he’s here to arrest you all for trespassing. Vision shifting to the men in hopes they have a better plan than you, the two of them surprisingly don’t move.

“WHOA, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa- what’re you doin’ here?!” Sam yells, clearly upset by the man’s presence.

“No, listen. Look, I didn't wanna tell you cause I knew you wouldn't let this happen. Okay?" Bucky says calmly, a confusing juxtaposition for you, to say the least.

"What did you do?!" Sam turns his attention to Bucky.

“Nothing, according to him,” you quip. Gears turning within your mind, you’re starting to wonder if this is that ‘Zemo’ character they were just talking about. The former Winter Soldier aims a glare at you momentarily before refocusing on Sam.

“We need him,” Bucky asserts.

"You're going back to prison!" Sam declares, focus and pointer finger now targeting the dressed up guard.

"If I may,” the man speaks, lifting a finger to weigh in the conversation.

"No!" Both Sam and Bucky simultaneously yell, their similarity amusing if it weren’t a serious situation. If this is that ‘Zemo’ guy they were talking about who’s in prison… then clearly they’re in trouble.

"Apologies,” the mystery man’s accented voice elicits your attention which shifts over to him. Eyeing him up and down, you feel like he looks familiar in a strange way, but your memory is failing you in this moment. As his eyes turn in your direction, yours dart back to the two men closest to you.

"When Steve refused to sign the Sokovia Accords, you backed him. You broke the law, and you stuck your neck out for me. I'm asking you to do it again,” Bucky’s words elicit slight paranoia and anger within you. Torres didn’t mention the help you’d be giving was illegal. While you’d technically broken the law before, it’s not something you were ever hoping to do again. If something goes wrong… you aren’t sure if you’ll be able to get out of this, and going to jail is not an option. Hopefully Torres could work something out if worse comes to worst.

"I really think I'm invaluable,” mystery man speaks up again. While you’re distracted by the notion of mentally planning next steps, the comment elicits a mildly amused smirk from you.

"Shut up,” Sam commands the guard-dressed man. He spares a glance in your direction, tacitly seeking affirmation, which he’s granted. “Okay. If we do this, you don't make a move without our permission.” Sam directs the latter of his sentence toward the accented man, to which he subtly shrugs.

"Fair,” he comments, holding the black cap between his hands in front of him. It reads ‘JUSTIZ’ in white big bold capital letters across the front.

"Okay, Zemo. Where do we start?" Sam inquires, handing the reins--temporarily, knowing Sam--over to the man in uniform.

“Woah, woah! He’s the guy? The one you were talking about- the UN Bomber?!” You exclaim, hands thrown out in front of you as you gauge the two familiar men.

Sam sighs, running a hand over his face. “Why do you think we made such a big deal out of it?”

“The one and only,” Zemo—as you now know—responds all too calmly for your preference. Though what were you expecting, really? The man who supposedly (if you remember correctly) broke up the Avengers, according to the news.

“Correction: you made a big deal,” Bucky retorts, a disgruntled look sent in Sam’s direction.

“Nevertheless, first I need to grab a few items,” Zemo states, turning and walking back behind the plastic curtain in the direction he’d come from. Though the two man-children behind you begin to bicker again, you follow the criminal behind the curtain. This attracts their attention as they follow, intent on watching Zemo and making sure he doesn’t escape.

Opposite where he’d come in there’s another door. Pushing it open, you walk through; a few feet ahead Zemo confidently walks toward a black sedan-style car that looks like something out of an old Hollywood movie. “Woah,” you whisper, taking in all the little details of what’s clearly more a showroom than a garage.

“So our first move is grand theft auto?" Sam asks sarcastically, you assume based off his tone. Approaching a yellow-colored convertible car of the same antique classiness you slowly reach out and run your hand along the smooth metal, taking in the intricate detaling.

"These are mine. Collected by family over the generations,” Zemo informs, opening the trunk of the black car nearest the door you all had entered through. Though you can see him stashing equipment into a duffel bag in your peripheral vision, you follow Bucky and Sam suit as you marvel over the opulent vintage automobiles.

"I spent years hunting people HYDRA recruited to recreate the serum-" Zemo explains. Information cataloging in your mind, your heartrate accelerates slightly as your vision shifts between the men in hopes of gauging their mentality. As the known terrorist approaches the vehicle you'd just been examining, you feel yourself stiffen slightly. Surely if he'd wanted me dead he'd have killed me already, right? As he opens the right-side back door and rummages inside, it seems as though everyone's attention has returned to the one speaking. "-Because once it's out there, someone can create an army of people like the Avengers." Slow and deliberate with his word choice, you can tell that there may not be any secrets left unsaid. As the man's intense brown eyes shift over toward you, and then Bucky, your jaw clenches, and you swallow.

Uprighting himself, he continues. "I ended the Winter soldier program once before. I have no intention to leave my work unfinished." With this revelation, relief washes over you and your tension ebbs again. At least it seems, for now, that you're not on his list. Crossing your arms over your chest, you refocus on the information Zemo's relaying. "To do this we'll have to scale a ladder of lowlifes." While the terrorist walks off toward the other side of the garage, you turn and follow his figure.

"Join the party, we've already started," Sam comments, seemingly trying to piece together whatever plan Zemo is forming. Walking after him, you try to keep up considering the man seems to be taking lead.

"First stop is a woman named Selby--mid-level fence I still have a line on--from there, we climb," Zemo explains. While an eyebrow quirks in confusion at the term 'fence' you don't verbally question it. It's obvious whoever he's talking about is some kind of 'in' and while Joaquin hadn't taught you everything he knows, you can still follow along with enough context to understand what they're talking about.

--------

It'd been easy enough to get to the airport as it wasn't far, only about a twenty-minute ride in a taxi. While the men attempted to ascertain a location from Zemo, the criminal had been reluctant to indulge them, simply profiting a 'you'll know soon enough.' to keep them satisfied.

"So how was the flight here?" Sam inquires, finally turning his attention to you as the past half hour has been hectic. Sitting between Sam and Zemo, you try not to let the awkwardness of the whole situation get to you. Up front, an old man drives the taxi while Bucky had insisted on the passenger's seat. The ex-Winter Soldier stares out the windshield, yet something tells you he's eavesdropping, which you wouldn't put past anyone in this vehicle, honestly.

"It was fine. Short enough, though the constant 'we're here, now we're here, no, we're here- was somewhat annoying. Like, I just kept having to reroute and figure out how the hell I was gonna get to you when you guys couldn't keep still for even a second!" This elicits a laugh from your friend on the left, and you can't help but smile for the first time since you'd arrived.

"Kind of hard to do when you've got an agent on your ass," Sam comments, an amused smile on his lips as he leaves room for you to continue.

"Oh God, who is it this time?" Palming your face, you know that this mission is dangerous, yet you haven't been involved in this world for a while, and considering the subject matter, it's rather crucial you help them out.

"The new shield," Sam explains. He gives you a tight-lipped disapproving smile, nodding in understandance of your reaction. Eyebrows raised and lips parting in shock, you shouldn't be surprised, yet you are.

"That's why Joaquin warned me," a hum escapes your lips, "makes sense. Can't say I'm a fan, granted I don't know him."

"You don't need to know him to know he's doing something despicable," Bucky comments from the front, not bothering to even spare a glance in anyone's direction.

"Hey now-" Sam goes to start something, yet you interrupt him with a dissatisfied noise.

"So we know that whoever their supplier is, they've gotta have a lab. A professional one, one big enough to be producing the-" you glance at the driver in the rearview mirror, "stuff, and once we know where we're going I can start looking into a lead. Sound good?"

The distraction seemed to work for now as both your acquaintances respond in some form. Bucky nods up front, the two of you momentarily making eye contact in the side mirror.

"Yeah," Sam answers, arms crossing over his chest as he sits back in the seat. Luckily, the airport is already approaching in the distance.

Upon arrival all the doors are thrown open and the men evacuate the vehicle. Zemo lingers at the door as he holds it open. Unaware of the implication, you instinctively slide out on your left, following your old friend, Sam. "How much do we owe him?" You ask. As Bucky begins speaking with the driver and Sam dismisses you with a wave of his hand, you follow Zemo as he walks toward the airport's runway.

The infamous 'Avengers' follow you two suit, the both of them adorned with sunglasses, even if it's not the brightest out today. Readjusting your duffel bag on your shoulder, you aren't entirely sure what Zemo's plan is here.

"So all this time you've been rich?" Sam asks incredulously, and it's then that you realize the private jet the group of you are approaching is for you. Steps falling behind, your lips part in shock and surprise. Bucky notices your change in pace and offers a look back in your direction, a quirked brow. Small legs quickening their pace once again to catch up to the tall men, you contain your awe.

"I'm a Baron, Sam. My family was royalty until your friends destroyed my country," Zemo answers. Another revelation, another piece of information you hadn't known and hadn't anticipated. While the man may be an international terrorist and criminal, you hadn't paid the case too much attention as it was going on considering you were going through your own set of problems within your work field during that time.

"A Baron?" You echo Zemo's answer as you outwardly process this information. Though you're by no means stupid, the title is something you're not the most familiar with.

"Yes, the thirteenth, to be exact," Zemo responds, offering a look back in your direction before returning his attention to the man awaiting your group at the steps of the private jet. The puzzle only grows as Zemo greets the older gentleman in a language you don't understand. With extended arms, the well-dressed gentleman takes the Baron into his arms. Kisses placed on either cheek, you find the custom familiar. Smiles on both the men's faces, you feel taken aback. Mind reeling, you only find your curiosity toward this criminal growing. "Please," Zemo encourages you all to follow him up the steps.

Sam mumbles something to the older gentleman, and Bucky doesn't acknowledge him as he gestures with his hand for you to go up first. The older gentleman begins to take your bag off your shoulder, but your hand is quick to find its way atop his. "It's okay, I've got it. Thank you."

"Are you sure, Miss?" The elderly man asks in English. With a nod, he releases the strap of your bag and offers a polite smile. Following Sam up the steps, the other two men follow suit.

With help from the taller men to stuff your bag in one of the compartments toward the back of the jet, you find the only open seat is the one across from Zemo. It shouldn't be a surprise, despite Sam and Bucky's marriage-like bickering relationship, they're friends, teammates, and are more fond of one another than you'd guess they are of Zemo.

Before you know it, the jet is taking off and you're in the air for the second time today. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced," the Baron extends a hand in your direction, eyes roaming your face as you do the same, taking one another in.

With a quick look toward Sam, you're sure the worry in your eyes shows. Just as the Baron is about to sit back and retract his hand, you envelop his hand with your own, much smaller one. A firm shake between you two, you aren't sure what Zemo will make of your past, but surely he'll find out at some point.

"It's fine," Sam says your name, catching your attention. Even if the reassurance is small, you trust him.

With a divulgence of your full name, you offer Zemo a polite smile. "I take it you and Sam are friends? Former partners, I assume?" he questions, his head tilting slightly as he gauges both your, and Sam's reaction. The latter coughs, suddenly turning his attention out the window. You take that as your cue to answer.

"We've worked together once or twice, but... really yes, we're more friends than anything. One of his coworkers and friends is like a brother to me."

"Apologies if that's a little warm, the fridge is out-" the elderly man from earlier hands Zemo a glass of champagne, "-but I will see if there is some good food in the galley," he informs the Baron. From his attire, you've realized in the short time between boarding and taking off that the man is Zemo's butler.

Accepting the flute, the Baron responds in a language that sounds akin to Russian, you'd guess. The butler laughs, "Oh, it's good to have you back, Sir." Although you're not sure why, a small smile graces your features as you watch the butler turn to leave, though he suddenly turns back. "Can I get you anything, Miss?"

With a look between the butler and Zemo, who simply repeats his earlier indulgence of 'please', you shake your head, only to furrow your brows, rethinking. "Actually, water maybe, if you can, please?"

"Of course, Miss." The butler offers a polite smile and nod before turning to retreat into the galley toward the front.

"A friend of yours?" You question, turning back to face Zemo. Swallowing the sip of champagne he'd taken, he nods.

"Something like that," he responds with a look you can only attribute to playfulness in his eyes. "Can I ask how you've wound up on this exploit alongside us?"

Eyes shifting toward the windows beside your seats, you feel your heart beating a little faster under his gaze Zemo stares intently at you. Unwavering attention, he simply sips his drink as he waits for an answer.

"I, um... used to work for the CIA in their R and D department," you admit, swallowing the thick feeling in your throat as you contemplate explaining the whole truth.

"Which is how you met Torres," Sam comments with a smile, swiveling in his chair as he engages in the conversation.

"Yeah," you respond, meeting Sam's gaze. "though none of us knew what they were doing at first, we were just hired as scientists to test and develop certain biological elements. Our friend--" you turn your attention back to Zemo, hoping to clarify, "--Joaquin, the one who's like a brother to me, he wasn't a scientist, but we came into contact a few times and considering we grew up together we ended up in similar fields: the government."

"And how you met Sam," Zemo assumes, to an exactly correct truth.

"Yes, eventually."

"So you worked in Eugenics?" Zemo dares to ask, blatantly. Though you hadn't been expecting the boldness, you aren't surprised by the question. It was reasonable.

"In some ways... yes, though we thought at the time we were only doing it for the benefit of the people's health. Eradicating diseases, testing possible solutions and seeing how they affected the gene code," you explain. "Things... changed, toward the end, toward the snap..." trailing off, it's clear to everyone that there's a story there.

Not interested in divulging your secrets and past traumas, you don't indulge the following silence. While Sam may know a few select details of what occurred in the R and D department, he doesn't know the whole truth of what happened to your unit. Only what their cover-up was.

"You don't know what it's like to be locked in a cell," Zemo comments, his thoughts obviously having drifted from the conversation. "Oh, that's right- you do." Turning his attention to Sam, he offers him a grimace along with false cheers, sipping his warm champagne.

"Why don't you tell us about where we're going?" Sam pressures, swiftly changing topics as he doesn't wish to go down memory lane, and certainly doesn't want to entertain anymore thought of your previous life, nor the onslaught of questions, ethics, and morals he knows Zemo would cave to if he had you alone.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes with a wave of his hand before flipping another page in the small book he'd produced from his jacket a few moments ago. "I was just fascinated by this," the Baron comments. Eyeing the front of the book, you don't speak German, however, you can recognize it. 'Das Offene Nein In Der Liebe' reads the title, though you don't recognize any words besides 'nein', meaning 'no', and 'der' which you're pretty sure means 'the'. Curious as to why Zemo is suddenly avoiding Sam's questioning under the guise of reading, your eyebrows furrow.

"I don't know what to call it, but this part seems to be important. Who is Nakajima?" Zemo asks. In a sudden movement that makes you yelp and jump, Bucky has his gloved hand wrapped around Zemo's throat. Wide-eyed, you stare in shock and fear as you aren't sure what to do.

"If you touch that again, I'll kill you," the ex-Winter Soldier whispers, eyes filled with anger as he threatens the Baron. The thief quickly nods and Bucky retracts his hand, sitting back in his seat. Letting a big breath slowly filter through your lips, you try not to let the situation unsettle you. After all, from the fleeting moments you've been acquainted, Bucky's always been a wild card.

"I'm sorry," Zemo apologizes again, to your surprise. While you don't know either of the two men well, you hadn't heard them to be quite as... dramatic, as they've been the last hour. Still gathering yourself, you try not to meet anyone's gaze as your eyes travel to the flute Zemo still somehow holds in his grip. "I understand that list of names. People you've wronged as the Winter Soldier."

Your association with the man brought up, you let your gaze flit over to him, Bucky's face somewhat stoic on the outside, yet the faint view of his eyes from your position lets you see that Zemo's not wrong.

"Don't push it," the man warns, and you can't help but offer Bucky a sympathetic smile. While you don't know too much of his story or personal life, you've heard about how he's been through more than anyone could ever imagine.

"I've seen that book-" Sam speaks up, and you have no doubt he's trying to lessen the tension between the four of you. "It was Steve's when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man- he wrote it in that book. Did you hear it? What'd you think?" Sam asks, turning the conversation into something more causerie.

"I like Fortie's music, so..." Bucky responds, finally shifting his attention back to Sam as opposed to staring out the window like he'd been doing for most of the conversation since take off.

"You didn't like it?" Sam asks, obviously offended in some way. Clearly his taste seems to differ from Bucky. Steve, though, was a different man. You hadn't known him personally, though you've heard all the stories everyone did growing up and during the time he was alive.

"Fortie's music is great, so- can't say I blame you," you agree, taking Bucky's side. Is it really taking sides if you're just stating your opinion, though? Sam clearly seems to think contrarily as he gives you a glare before turning his pressuring and quizzical look on Bucky.

"I liked it," Bucky states.

"It is a masterpiece, James. Complete. Comprehensive," Zemo pipes up, gesticulating with his hands to emphasize, "it captures the African-American experience." While you're personally not familiar with whatever movie, song, book, or album they're talking about, you can't help but find yourself biting back a smile. Sam's concerned look only adds to your amusement as he shifts his attention back and forth between the two men.

"He's outta line, but he's right. It's great! Everybody loves Marvin Gaye," Sam argues, finally turning an eye on you in question, "right?"

"I like Marvin Gaye," Bucky agrees.

"I... can't say I know Marvin Gaye," you admit embarassedly as your eyes turn toward your lap for a moment.

"Steve adored Marvin Gaye. Wait- what do you mean you don't know Marvin Gaye?! Everybody knows Marvin Gaye!" Sam argues, starting to go off about how Joaquin had to have shown you and how he'll correct that, that is, until Zemo speaks up again.

"You must've really looked up to Steve. But I realized something when I met him--"

"You met him?" The words leave your mouth before you cringe, palm coming up to your face as you remember. You hadn't been involved, but you'd seen the news. You knew what happened with Zemo. "Sorry! Sorry, I-" No one addresses your misstep, as you're sure they all know, or suspect, that it wasn't really your personal business anyways, even if the entire world knew what happened to some degree or another.

"The danger with people like him--America's super soldiers--is that we put them on pedestals," Zemo continues, reciting his line of thought on the subject as he ignores what you'd said, thankfully, and blows right past it.

"Watch your step, Zemo," Sam warns, obviously defensive over one of his closest friends.

"They become symbols, icons... and then we start to forget about their flaws. From there, cities fly, innocent people die, movements are formed, wars are fought. You remember that, right?" Dark eyes turning on Bucky, Zemo clearly is bringing up what happened, what? Almost... nine, ten years ago? Silently counting on your fingers in your seat, you conclude: nine years. It's been nine years since Ultron rose and attempted to overthrow the world. Nines years since the Battle of Sokovia happened. Yes, it's all coming back now.

Zemo. Baron Zemo, royalty of Sokovia, right? There'd been something in the papers, something about how his family had tragically died and that was the reason he blew up the United Nations headquarters. That's what he's talking about. Tuning back in to the conversation, you follow his line of thought.

"As a young soldier sent to Germany to stop a mad icon. Do we want to live in a world full of people like the Red Skull?" Zemo shakes his head, and you can't help but do the same. "That is why we're going to Madripoor."

"What's up with Madripoor? You guys talk about it like it's Skull Island," Sam interjects, Zemo must have said something about it when you were zoned out.

"It's an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary in the 1800s," Bucky explains.

"It's kept its lawless ways, but we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves." The Baron turns his attention on Bucky, "James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone..." with no outward reaction, he turns to you and then Sam. "You two will have a part to play as well."

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

#baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #tfaws reader insert #the missing title series #my writing #the missing title #tmt #marvel reader insert #might evolve into bucky barnes x reader #spoilers though

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jaozendry · 2 years

Text

"You're okay now."

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (White Wolf) x Avenger!Reader

Reader: Gender Neutral, Avenger (since Loki's attack)

Type: Fluff

Warnings: trauma

OTHER CHARACTERS: Steve Rogers, Ayo

Summary: You insisted on staying with Bucky in Wakanda during his recovery, but to no evail. On the contrary, you'll be able to visit him every week. You fall into a deep depression while he is on ice. When he finally wakes up, your whole world brightens once more.

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You met him during his time as the Winter Soldier. He tried to kill you and Steve, but you were able survive his multiple attempts. Steve told you that he was his old friend in the 1900's and that he was controlled by Hydra. You felt bad for the man. Fighting for over 70 years, being controlled by a corrupt organization, you couldn't believe what kind of trauma he has been through. Your feelings developed when he saved your life. The two of you were fighting on the Helicarrier when it exploded and you fell into the sea, unconscious. He saved your life, despite being the Winter Soldier and your enemy. You just felt this obligation to repay the debt ever since.

Despite Steve's efforts to bring you back home, you just couldn't. Without Bucky, you're nothing, and he feels the same. You stood together against the authorities because you knew he was innocent about King T'chaka's murder. You were also there when Zemo revived the Winter Soldier. You tried to help him, but you were too late. Finally, you and Steve saved him from Tony, which led the three of you to Wakanda.

"Come on, Y/N! You can't stay with him!" Steve declares, leaving you and Bucky with saddened expressions. "The Wakandans already have enough of one outsider, they don't need more. They already have their hands full with Bucky's recovery." You push Steve away while he holds your arm. "We need each other, Steve. Please, I need to see him. We both do." Steve sighs, crossing his arms. "Fine, one visit per week, but that's all. I don't want the Wakandans to feel even more pressure, this is already a huge favour they're doing for us." You smile slightly and so does Bucky. "Thank you, Steve." You approach your boyfriend as you kiss his forehead. "I'll visit you every week, I promise." You wipe away the tears in his eyes. "I'll be there for you when you wake up." you say as you hug him. "I love you." he whispers in your ear, almost breaking down. "I love you too." you reply, your voice breaking. You turn towards Steve and leave to depart.

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You've visited Bucky while he is on ice for a few weeks now. You've been staying next to his frozen body, leaning your head on the glass and telling him everything that happened to you during his absence. Steve had to drag you out of the lab to prevent you from passing out next to the test tube. You miss him, terribly.

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Week five after Bucky's departure to Wakanda, you head for the lab, but to your surprise, there is nobody in the frozen tube. You have a look around to make sure you weren't dreaming. "Hey, Y/N." You turn around and see Bucky smiling at you. You run to him, tears in your eyes. "I missed you." you tell him, caressing his arm. "Me too." he replies, hugging you. "I missed you, Y/N, so very much." he whispers in your ear.

______________________________________________________________

Bucky, Ayo and you are heading for the deep plains of Wakanda. The moment of truth approaches. "You sure you'll be okay?" you ask him, holding his hand. "No." he answers while staring at the Wakandan sky blankly. "If it doesn't work, if I become the Winter Soldier again today, promise me you'll stop me." You stare at the ground and hold his hand tight. "I can't fight you, Buck. Not again. I would rather die." you explain to him with teary eyes. "Plus, Ayo is here with us. We're okay." He looks at you. "Just... promise me you'll be okay." he tells you. "I will, Buck. I always will be with you."

The three of you arrive at the campfire. You sit down next to him, but he moves away from you. "If it doesn't work, I don't want you to be hurt." Ayo speaks up: "I won't let you hurt anyone." You look at her and nod. Ayo starts to recite the words that are used to activate the Winter Soldier. "Желание, Ржавый, Семнадцать, Рассвет, Печь." Bucky shakes his head, holding back. "It's not gonna work." he declares. You hold his hand and caress his forehead. "It's okay, Buck. I got you." He looks back at you with teary eyes. The recital continues: "Девять, Добросердечный, Возвращение на Родину." You lay Bucky's head on your shoulder, going through his hair. "You're strong, Bucky. You're the strongest man I've ever met." you whisper in his ear. "Один, Товарный вагон." Ayo sighs in disbelief. "You're free." she declares. Bucky starts to sob in relief while you hold his hand. "You're okay now, Buck. I got you." you say, almost crying yourself.

"Thank you for being in my life, Y/N."

264 notes · View notes

ronearoundblindly · 2 years

Text

A Forced, Fresh Start (3/3)

Steve Rogers x Super Soldier!Reader

Dénouer (see previous or series)

Warnings: a painful/disturbing process that reads like torture but is a chosen treatment, arguments, angst, fear of the future, illusions to past Hydra abuse, and implied smut. This work is entirely 18+, sorry, kiddos. MINORS DNI for this tale! WC 4k

Summary: Autumn is deprogrammed in Wakanda.

Anticipation is part of the problem.

That’s why Bucky left you and Steve in the dark about the deprogramming process. If you knew how the Wakandans would break your conditioning, you might fight it, or rather, fight it more than your mind and body already will. You might trick yourself into thinking you’re healed. You might bury the words deeper because you are trained to protect them, to obey them, to keep them bound to you, to keep you bound to them.

But knowing an attack is coming and knowing what the moves are…those are different beasts.

“Is that really necessary,” Steve blurts while two Dora Milaje follow Ayo’s instruction to strap you down to a similar machine to the Hydra and compound chairs.

The women simply continue from your wrists to your ankles before a thick belt lashes your torso against the seat.

Steve stares at your shaking hands.

“She’s volunteering,” he reminds, heading toward Ayo who waits behind a console reading your vitals.

“Captain Rogers, you are an observer here,” she pointedly reminds, “a guest.”

Steve wouldn’t dare disrespect the warrior, Wakandan or not. This is a favor. They do not have to help you, but they are out of deference to him and your situation.

“Steve,” you call, though it wafts around like a whisper.

He’s by your side again instantly.

“Rosie, I’ll be right here the whole time.”

“Did Buck ever tell you how long this took?”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t think they went this—“ his gaze rolls over the room “—intensely with his, but we’ll get through it, ok?” He grabs the tips of your fingers around the armrest’s end. “It’ll get easier, and then you’ll be free.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but you’d be shocked if such a bad liar could manage that kind of naivety.

Ayo barks for him to move. It’s time to start.

Day one only establishes your baseline, which is good because you and Steve only landed in the quintet two hours ago after a long flight.

Ayo reads out your words, and you change. They wake you. Ayo reads all of your words but the tenth, and you signal when the crawling under your skin subsides. You still change when she recites ‘enchaîné.’ They wake you again. Even after a twenty-eight-minute gap, the word still works, so Ayo begins once more, waiting slightly longer from when the crawling stops to finish the sequence.

You don’t change. The Soldier doesn’t wake.

It’s not foolproof, however, and throughout the long afternoon of words and waiting, you have to be jolted back to yourself nearly a dozen times. You’re exhausted and practically immobile by the time Steve gets you both back to your hut, letting Maple in from her run with the goats.

“You need food,” he mutters, almost to himself, as he gathers anything edible to offer you. He says he’ll plan better tomorrow. He’ll have things ready.

For now, it’s clear that you are in no state to go out in search of a meal, and he refuses to leave your side. Steve allows you to eat so little only because he can see fatigue weighing on your shoulders. He fills numerous containers with water, setting them close to you, ready throughout the night, then helps you change for bed.

You don’t say much. You can barely speak.

Steve has to wash your face by hand, scrubbing at the crusting streaks down your cheeks from old (and new) tears.

“Ok, sweetheart, it’s time to rest.”

This is the first night you two will share a room since the incident, and as excited as you are to be near him, your whole being is a frayed, live wire. So far, you’ve had just enough caring touch to not be overwhelmed. He’s not wrong; you should rest before the scale tips you toward panic.

No chances are taken. The only way Steve feels absolutely comfortable sleeping beside you is for you to wear foam earplugs and for him to wear an actual muzzle over his face. In fact, he wears a recovered mask from Bucky’s restraints when he was the Winter Soldier. It serves its purpose. Steve can’t speak.

Without both safeties, he can’t be sure he won’t activate you again. You both know he will never forgive himself if he repeats that mistake. It’s been hard enough to convince him that having a dream is not his fault. He couldn’t control it any more than you could control your reaction.

You’re here on the other side of the planet to change that, you remind yourself. His masked face and your deprived sense are temporary. The pain of the process is temporary.

The lasting impact on your lives? Unknown.

Tonight, though. Tonight you get to sleep in Steve’s arms again.

Day two.

The least distance between each trigger word is tested.

Avant-guard, Quatre, Larmes, Mer, Vigne, Charmante, Fin, Trente, Négligeable, Enchaîné.

You are kept buzzing on the cusp of activation for sixteen hours and receive another nine jolts to wake you. You are testy, fighting not to lash out at Steve’s incessant babying.

“What can I get you? What do you need? What can I do?”

You have a restless night, fearful of the next session.

Day three.

Avant-guard, Quatre, Larmes, Mer, Vigne, Charmante, Fin, Trente, Négligeable, Enchaîné.

You’re being whittled down to bone by the repetition. Your only reward is the quiet, foggy respite of watching the room through her eyes before you’re woken again and again.

Ayo holds a conversation in front of you with General Okoye that peppers in all of your words, hundreds of extra phrases in between, and it still changes you.

Body fine but mind in tatters, you charge through the entrance of your hut fuming with no outlet.

“What can I get you? What do you need? What can I do?”

You struggle to keep down food. You fight sleep until it swallows you.

Somewhere in those few hours, you had a nightmare, Steve mentions over breakfast, one where you spoke rapid-fire Russian and didn’t respond to his or Maple’s attempts to soothe you. All you know is that 'tired' doesn’t cover the feeling inside you.

Day four.

Avant-guard, Quatre, Larmes, Mer, Vigne, Charmante, Fin, Trente, Négligeable, Enchaîné.

You cry whenever a single one of them is spoken out of context. Ayo says them out of order, but your body seizes and hums with anticipation anyway. Eventually, the hum never stops.

You’re drained and flattened, rolled out and stretched so thin the daylight peeks right through you, and yet, you keep going.

You can’t stomach food at all, already full of bile and rage and pent up annoyance. You are living the nightmares now. You are dependent on ten words. They simply threatened to control your life before; now they enslave you every waking minute of the day.

“What can I get you? What do you need? What can I do?”

Part of you wants to strangle him, but instead, you grip Steve like a vice as the big spoon for entire night, sleeping or awake.

Day five.

You are broken finally but not in a good way.

The treatment calls for the repetition of all but the last word. You stay suspended in the warning buzz of activation, your body fighting in favor of transition solely for a respite. It hurts. You feel sick, but the change can’t happen without the last word. It’s like being dangled over a cliff and left waiting for the frayed rope to snap.

If only you had a knife…but would you cut the cord, cut your restraints, or…?

There’s no room for coherent thought while your brain fights and flies at the same time. Fear collides with the empty euphoria changing brings, if only for a second. Resistance dances with prepared obedience. Every real and fake memory you have replays at once.

All day. All night.

Ayo has different people come in to say the nine words, rotating throughout the hours in shifts because Steve refuses to be part of it.

Avant-guard, Quatre, Larmes, Mer, Vigne, Charmante, Fin, Trente, Négligeable.

Repeat.

Avant-guard, Quatre, Larmes, Mer, Vigne, Charmante, Fin, Trente, Négligeable.

Repeat.

Avant-guard, Quatre, Larmes, Mer, Vigne, Charmante, Fin, Trente, Négligeable.

Steve snaps, but you still argue with him to let it happen. Something has to happen.

It gets to the point you’re begging for them to just say the last word in any language you know. You shout the last word to yourself, but it can’t work on you. In a last ditch effort, you plead with Steve.

It comes out as a hateful growl. “Say the fucking word or go!”

The Soldier should be suffering, not you. You’re trying to kill her. You want her to die. He doesn’t have the instinct to kill. He doesn’t have the balls to torture you to make it better.

With heavy, downturned brows, Steve agrees that he can’t do it and leaves.

He’s only gone for a few minutes to feed himself and Maple.

Another several hours go by, and Steve is visibly agitated. He advocates for your comfort more and more as the day drags on, escalating from gentle suggestions to fervent requests to belligerent demands. By then he insists—yelling a tirade of everything but curses directly in Ayo’s face—that you be left time to recover. You are half-grateful and half-annoyed by his attitude.

His arguing delays getting on with the bad bits so you can make real progress, and each time he laments how tired you are or how weak the treatment makes you, you believe it, too. If he doesn’t think you can take it, maybe you can’t, maybe you will never be rid of the Soldier, maybe you’ll always be haunted by the horrors of Hydra.

Ayo relents, keeping her sharp gaze on you as Steve unstraps you from the chair and guides you outside.

He’s allowed to walk you through the village square, though why they still describe it as a village is beyond you. Wakanda is an amazing mix of past, present, and future (or at least, it’s futuristic), and their local centers of commerce are no different. Steve was right to think a distraction would help.

The hustle and bustle of normal life washes over you. It grounds you in reality while lifting your soul up with hope.

One day, you’ll have this. You’ll begin again. You’ll be normal. You’ll start fresh. One day, the pain will be worth it. One day, you won’t even remember the anticipation, much less feel it race beneath every square inch of your skin. You won’t be a slave to ten simple words.

That future is hard to fathom while strapped to a chair, even voluntarily, but the man holding you—the man by your side through all this—has faith you can do this. Steve thinks you’re strong, and you believe him.

Stalls with food and fabrics line every alley. Bright colors rain down from every surface and coat every corner.

Smiling faces. Animated faces. Two-sided conversations are everywhere. They listen to each other. They’re all choosing how to spend their day, their lives. They aren’t afraid of the words being spoken. It’s wonderful. It’s downright magical compared to your cooped-up existence in the compound.

And then some children bolt across your path.

It startles you. You gasp, so focused on what else there is to see that you truly did not notice them, enhanced senses and all.

A mother steps forward to scold the kids, and Steve’s grip on you tightens.

He starts pulling you away. You don’t understand why.

“I’m ok. It’s fine. I was just caught off guard.” It’s not as if you broke someone’s nose again, and none of these children can suspend themselves from ceilings like Peter Parker can.

“We should go,” Steve replies through a tight jaw.

You glance back over your shoulder and finally get it.

The woman is pregnant, a mother in every sense, round and proud as she should be, and that’s when it dawns on you.

Steve doesn’t think you’re strong.

He assumes the mere sight of children or an expectant woman will shock you—upset you even—and doesn’t care to ask. He keeps leading you away, faster and faster until you’re shut back into the treatment room.

Heaven forbid you be far from your chair. How dare you watch the average life of a human. You don’t belong there.

“Let go of me,” you shriek, ripping your arm from Steve’s grasp. “I said I’m fine.”

“I thought—” he tries.

“I know what you thought, Steve, but I’m not going to freak out seeing a mother!”

“We’re not there yet in the—“

“They are just kids. Playing kids.”

“—we haven’t tested—“

“I am not a prototype weapon, Steve. I know what people look like versus targets.”

He raises his voice then, eyes fiery. “WE DON’T KNOW THAT,” but Steve immediately cowers to correct himself. “Not until this is finished.”

That’s it, isn’t it? He doesn’t actually know if he can trust you. He doesn’t know what the fragile, broken thing in front of him is, and he’s tired of waiting for you to show him. He’s impatient and exhausted, just like you. He doesn’t want to sleep in a muzzle anymore. He wants his own home back. You’re the one prolonging this.

Except you’re not.

“Then let me finish it,” you bite back. “Quit stopping Ayo every time she pushes me. That’s the point.”

“Rosie, you don’t have to—“

“—I DO HAVE TO. I do have to be pushed and in pain and screaming and crying and whatever it takes.”

“Not like that. You don’t need to torture yourself.”

“She has to DIE,” you burst, feeling a fire in your belly that threatens to consume you. “The Soldier has to die, Steve, and if you can’t watch it, then don’t. You don’t have to be here.”

Dejected, his arms go limp and he looks from you to the Dora Milaje waiting patiently by the chair. He looks about to argue until his eyes find your furious face and twisted features again.

“You’re right,” he admits softly. “I can’t.”

Steve leaves through the same door he rushed you through.

He’s waiting at the hut when you finally return, sitting at the foot of the bed with Maple resting against his lap.

He’s sorry.

Steve tells you to take a break and rest. What happens if you push yourself too far and stretch too thin? You don’t look well. Because you are sick. Because you need treatment and that’s what this is. He’s worried. The whole point is for this to be safe.

Maybe he only likes you because you’re fragile and dainty, but you can’t stand to be those things anymore. You don’t want to be weak. This isn’t going to work if he hopes you’ll be the same person without her in your head.

“Do you even want me to get better?”

“Of course,” Steve shifts back, offended.

A bitter taste floods your mouth. “Then stop sabotaging me.”

“You wanted me here,” he bites like a wounded puppy.

A darkness unrelated to the day’s pain follows, something deeper and disturbed. “Then maybe that was her, and she wants you. You want her. You fucked her.”

“You don’t mean that, Rosie. You know that’s not true.”

“Neither of us knows who I am without her, so if you won’t let me go through this to get rid of her, maybe she is who you want.”

“I love you,” he blurts simply, heavily.

“That’s just it. You don’t know me, Steve. Stop trying to control me like they did.”

You couldn’t hurt him more, not even with all the blades and points of your garden tools, yet you relish someone hurting other than you. There’s been so much pain forced on you. It feels good to share though it shouldn’t.

“So I just go,” he muses, leaving you unable to tell whether that was a statement or a question.

“You should be able to make your own choices…as should I.”

“Well, if my being here isn’t helpful…”

While he hesitates, you choose for him. His protection only shelters the Soldier. He should go.

You have to embrace the change coming and let go of all the rest. Right now, that includes Steve Rogers, no matter what that means for the two of you in the long run.

It hurts to hold steady to your choice, but what great burden is that drop of pain in this ocean of misery?

Your beautiful dog comes to your side, giving you strength.

“Maple stays.”

Week six.

Each moment has been a test of your free will. The tears and struggle don’t make you doubt your decision, but they stop you from reaching out.

Does he hate you? Will he be there when you return? Are you welcome in your home? Do you have a home anymore?

Being alone, picking your path forward, knowing you can do anything and go anywhere…you can’t remember the last time you felt this, or if you ever have.

“Avant-guard. Quatre. Larmes. Mer. Vigne. Charmante. Fin. Trente. Négligeable. Enchaîné.”

Spoken back-to-back—no breaks, no hesitation, all the way to the end—and nothing happens.

The emptiness is blissful. You are not banished to a corner of your own mind. The air in your lungs is yours to breathe. Your trembling hands are yours to hold.

You’ve been on the cusp of this moment for the last eight days. It’s here.

Ayo’s announcement that you are free pierces through the ecstatic rush of blood past your ears.

Today is Day One in the life of Autumn Rose Barnes, and you are alone. Free and alone.

There’s no pomp or ceremony. You take the next transport to the States, packing what little is left in your hut and ordering Maple to your side. She hates the flight, but that gives you an excuse to cling to her thick fur for the hours-long trip. You desperately try not to form expectations for seeing Steve.

All you have to show for your behavior is you, only you, and it’s bittersweet.

Are you enough?

You feel so horrible for making him go—though his absence was necessary—and apprehension swirls around your empty stomach.

It’s all a mess. You thought all this was messy because of Hydra, but it’s just…life.

You used to know that. Faintly. Somewhere, way back when, you knew, but you’ve punished yourself for being the cause anyway.

Life is just messy.

Maple thrashes during landing, ready to escape, and you can’t blame her. You feel the same.

It’s time. You’re here.

Bag over your shoulder, knuckles blanched in your death grip on the strap, you step off the ramp with your eyes glued to your feet, and instantly, boots pop into view.

Blue jeans, a black sweater, and a bright smile greet you.

“Hi, I’m Steve Rogers,” he says, sticking out a large hand for you to shake.

It takes you by surprise. He’s joining you, meeting you exactly where you are, and starting over.

You put your hand in his, riled almost to tears at the warmth and comfort of that simple contact.

“Well, that’s funny,” you begin softly. “That’s her last name.”

You tick your head to Maple who steps up on Steve’s shoe to look straight into his adoring gaze. As an afterthought, you add your name.

“What a coincidence—“ he plays along “—that’s my best friend’s last name.” Steve lets your hand slide from his. “Must be fate.”

“Must be,” you whisper back.

He’s not so sold on the act when he squats to pet Maple. She happily licks his hand and face, accepting any and all rubs and butt pats, whining when he addresses her as ‘Maymay’ (as only Steve does).

She barks excitedly when Steve rises, reaching out again.

“May I take your bag, Rosie? Um, if it’s okay to call you that…”

You look down again to hide a quivering lip and hand over the duffel. “I’d like that.”

Bucky is outside the landing pad, beaming with open arms and a cheeky line. “He’s insufferable when you’re not here. Never leave again!”

You jump to hug him, not caring to continue any game of formality.

You rumple Bucky’s hair while Steve grumbles, “jerk.”

Bucky hugs you, too, pinning you tight to his broad chest. “Punk,” he replies directly into your shoulder then mutters an additional, “I’m proud of you. Welcome back.”

Steve politely walks you to the door of your old private apartment, the one you moved out of once you two got together, the one you returned to after the incident two months ago. It feels as cold and lonely as the holding cells downstairs.

You stare at the threshold, blank, nervous, and resigned. You did prepare for this, but the reality is unbearable.

“Something wrong?”

You listen for a hopeful tone, an invitation in his words, but Steve schools his voice well.

“No, I…I…” You turn to face him, wide eyes exposing every raw bit of your soul. “I’d like to come home.”

“You are home,” he offers slowly, waiting. He’s done assuming. Steve is going to make you say it.

“That room is not my home.” You keep staring, your brain screaming so loudly you think perhaps he can hear.

He is still your home. If he’ll have you, he is the only home that matters.

While you chicken out of saying that, Maple saunters down the hall straight to Steve’s door, pawing at the entry when her parents don’t follow.

“Right,” Steve sighs with a soft smile, “can’t keep my girls waiting. You’re both probably tired.”

You kick yourself, watching ever-patient Steve walk you into his space like you have earned your place here again. He deserves to know, but the words are stuck in your throat, sharp and too impactful for their confines.

You try to open your mouth. You try to push forward.

Steve beats you to the punch.

His door shuts behind you, bag dropped on the floor, Maple off like a shot to her cozy spot on the couch, and suddenly Steve crowds you against the wall.

“Don’t ever make me go again,” he growls low, intense without aggression. “I need you. I want you. This is where I belong, Rosie, please.”

His warm hands find your waist.

Your eyes dart from his to his lips. Heat creeps up your body, a hum, a buzz, anticipation.

This time it’s welcome; it’s exquisite and crumbling the walls around you.

The tension of his movement forward soothes you, pressing your head back, loosening your tongue.

“You are my ho—“

Steve’s lips crash into yours, heavy and insistent.

It’s a blur of limbs and moans all the way to the bed. You’re on a mission, both of you, a mission to prove you are equals in your devotion. You straddle him in the same bed, in the same position as that night, but Steve is wide awake and excited. Now, you are you and ready.

He doesn’t rush or take a backseat. He savors your touch and attention. Even when you pause, there’s a rush of unsaid praise between you. Needy kisses cover hushed apologies. Passionate, intimate connection blooms in the melding of your bodies.

You and Steve, home, yourselves, safe, and happy for the first time ever, a beginning to a whole new life. Both beautiful and built from great strife, you and Steve have helped each other in unexpected ways. You are both better for it. You are both better for each other when you let go of the pasts you think define you.

You can exist in your home, with no muzzle, no earplugs, and completely free. You promise yourself you'll eat and feed him right after some much-needed rest.

Comparatively short and sweet...in the end at least. I know that a lot of times we think of Steve as perfect, and of course, I am guilty of writing him that way at times because it is comforting. For this though, I wanted to highlight how being protective and being supportive are not always the same thing. Steve is so protective of Reader that you can't grow or heal without space, and that is naturally going to be incredibly difficult for Steve Rogers.

I hope you enjoyed this tale, and as always, comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated. Happy New Year, everyone!

[Series Masterlist; Main Masterlist]

94 notes · View notes

duckybarnes1917 · 2 years

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Your Eyes Outshine The Town...Chapter 8

Bucky Barnes x Black Female Reader

18+ ONLY

Summary: Christmas fluffiness. You, Bucky, Sam, and Yelena make Christmas cookies and open gifts. Bucky's insecurities start to get the best of him.

Warnings: None.

*Tumblr is not letting me add links to the prev or next chapters. Please see the masterlist pinned to my page for the rest of the story!*

7 Days Before Christmas

“You’ve really never heard of Rudolph?” Sam asked Yelena.

“She was a child assassin, Sam. Give her a break!” Bucky bumped Yelena’s hip as he reached over her for the bag of flour.

Yelena flicked a chocolate chip at Sam’s head. “Shush, I can’t hear.”

You turned the tv up and handed Sam a beer. You both watched Yelena kneading cookie dough with her eyes glued to the tv–adorable.

“Aw, why are these reindeer such dicks, though? This is happy Christmastime entertainment?”

“That’s what I said!” Bucky took the dough from her and rolled it out onto the counter.

“For former assassins, you’re both super sensitive,” you chuckled and emptied the container of cookie cutters onto the dining table.

“This coming from the girl who cried every time we watched this as kids,” Sam smirked at you as Yelena and Bucky laughed.

As you all baked and drank, eventually, you were all misty-eyed and ready to fight anyone with anything bad to say about Rudolph and his shiny nose. With your cookies rising in the oven and the movie coming to an end, you decided it was time to give Sam and Yelena their Christmas gifts.

“Guys, Bucky has a surprise for both of you.” You turned their attention toward Bucky, who sat two Wakandan boxes in the middle of the living room.

“You first, Sam.” Bucky pushed the first box toward where Sam sat at the dining table.

Sam’s head shot up. “Are you serious right now?!” He lifted the new Captain America suit and wings out of the box. “This is dope as hell!”

“There’s one more thing; look in the bottom!” You called from your seat in the one living room chair.

Sam picked up his new Redwing. “I knew it–I knew you loved him, Buck.”

“Don’t start,” Bucky groaned. “It–I don’t mind it. It’s been helpful every now and then.”

“Thanks, man.” Sam gave Bucky a side hug before packing everything away again.

“Well, I figured if you’re gonna be Captain America, you gotta look good. Plus, the vibranium will keep you safer.”

“So sweet–my turn!” Yelena declared from her spot on the floor where you were braiding her hair.

Bucky opened the second box and placed a vest in her hands. “Shuri and I thought you might want this.”

Yelena sat up straighter, her bottom lip sticking out slightly like it might start quivering. “I always wondered what happened to it.”

You wrapped your arm around Yelena’s shoulders. “It’s okay,” you whispered just to her.

Yelena nodded and looked up at Bucky. “I gave this to her the last time I saw her–thank you.”

Bucky gave her a short nod and handed her a cold beer. “To Natasha.”

“To Natasha,” Yelena said as she clinked her bottle against Bucky’s. “I did not expect to be crying so much at Christmas.”

You laughed and wiped your own tears. “It can be an emotional holiday.”

“Well, it’s better than spending it in the Red Room, brainwashed.”

“Yeah, I’ll drink to that.” Bucky downed the rest of his beer, making Yelena chuckle.

“What are you still doing up?” You whispered as you tiptoed into the bedroom. Sam was sitting up, a lamp on while he read.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugged, “what’s up?”

You sat at the foot of the bed, careful to not disturb Yelena. “Nothing–it’s just been a while since we’ve talked. There’s so much–”

Sam sat his book down, opening his arms for you. You settled against his chest, letting his heartbeat calm you down.

“You don’t owe me an explanation for anything. Okay?”

That wasn’t true. Despite being your childhood best friend, Sam had not known anything about your secret life until very recently. You owed him a lot of explanations.

You tilted your head up. “But–”

“No buts. Nothing has changed, I love you, and I’m here for you.”

Your shoulders dropped as his words washed over you. Sam never said anything he didn’t mean. His kindness and love never wavered. “Thanks, Sam. I love you too.”

“How are you? Are you doing better with you know–Stephan?”

You shifted, tucking your chin as if to hide even more. “I’m fine.”

“Very convincing. How are things going with Bucky?”

“He’s great.” You laid back down. “We have fun, and I’m really trying to make this Christmas special for him. He’s been through so much, and I just want to give him everything he deserves, ya know?”

Sam squeezed your shoulder. “He’s lucky to have you. Just be sure you’re taking care of yourself too.”

“That’s the thing, Sam; I don’t care about myself anymore. I would do anything to see him smile, to make sure that nothing ever hurts him again.”

“Damn. Remember when you told me you didn’t think you would know when you were in love?”

You chuckled quietly, “it’s crazy, I know.”

“But it’s good. I’m so proud of you.”

“Proud?”

“For putting yourself out there, for taking a risk. I know this terrifies you.”

You hummed, snuggling deeper into his chest. “I really love him, Sam. So much that it’s overwhelming.”

“Then can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Why are you here cuddling with me for comfort when he’s laying out there alone?”

Your silence told Sam everything he needed to know. Something was wrong.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on? I mean, the Tracksuit Mafia? That’s serious.”

“Сука,” you hissed in Yelena’s direction. “I can’t believe she told you.”

“We have a bond now–come on, spill.”

“It’s the Power Broker; that’s all I know. Yelena has some contacts; she’s gonna look into it for me. I swear to God if either of you says anything to Bucky and ruin his Christmas–”

“Calm down, we’re not gonna say anything. But I can’t just sit back and let you get yourself killed.”

“Please,” you snorted. “It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than some idiots in tracksuits to kill me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna keep an eye on things just in case.”

“Okay, big bird,” you yawned. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Stubborn, I don’t know how Bucky puts up with you.”

“I make it worth his while,” you teased.

“Gross, go to sleep.” Sam pushed you off the bed as you laughed.

“Both of you go to sleep,” Yelena groaned.

“Goodnight, Sam,” you kissed his forehead. “Goodnight, snitch,” you said to Yelena with a sharp flick to her ear.

You softly closed the door, quietly making your way to the air mattress in the living room. Bucky was snoring softly, his body taking up most of the bed. you gently lifted his arm and slid underneath him. Even in his sleep, his body reacted to yours–his strong arm pulling you close. You were reminded of the first time you had slept together in your bed in Berlin. You had waited for him to make a move, but he just looked so tired. He had slept so peacefully, his body clinging to you like you were the only source of warmth in his life.

Suddenly even forever, if you were that lucky, didn’t seem like enough time with him. You wished you could take back every moment that you had pushed him away, every moment that you had let him believe you felt nothing for him. What a waste.

You turned to wake him up, not wanting to waste any time asleep. “Bucky,” you whispered, shaking his shoulder.

“Hmm? What?” He mumbled, his eyes still closed. “Doll?”

You smiled as you watched his pretty lips move. “Nothing,” you shushed him, running your fingers over his bearded chin. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

6 Days Before Christmas

"Samuel!"

Your shocked but scolding tone made Sam and Bucky jump and whip their heads in your direction—their eyes wide, knowing they had been caught.

"What the fuck are you doing?" You stepped further into the bathroom and ripped a pair of scissors out of Sam's hand.

"I was just gonna–"

"What? Ruin Bucky's hair?!" You ran your fingers through Bucky's locks, ensuring Sam hadn't done any damage.

Bucky tilted his head back to look at you. "I didn't think you would mind."

You rolled your eyes and kissed his forehead. "I don't care if you cut it, Buck. I care that you were about to let Sam cut it with goddamned kitchen scissors ."

"Gross," Yelena chimed in from the door, a bag of goldfish in her hands.

"Yeah, gross." You pushed her and Sam out of the bathroom. "I’ll take care of this. Can you please not get crumbs all over my floor?”

“It would have been fine,” Sam grumbled but followed Yelena back to the living room.

You dug through your stuff until you found a pair of haircutting shears. “Here we go, now put a towel around your shoulders.

Bucky did what you asked, holding it in place with one of your hair clips. You stood behind him, running your hands through his hair and smiling at him in the mirror. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky hummed as your nails scratched his scalp. “Are you trying to make me change my mind? Because it’s working.”

“No,” you laughed and started spritzing his hair with water. “How short do you want it?”

“Honestly, I don’t know–whatever you think will look good.”

“Good answer.” You combed through his hair, preparing a piece to cut.

“Have you done this before?”

You snorted and snipped the hair. “You were gonna let Sam do this, and you’re questioning my abilities?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Bucky mumbled.

“I was very surprised,” you teased as you continued snipping away.

When Bucky didn’t lighten up, you shifted your tone. “What brought this on?”

Bucky shifted on his stool, making you swat his arm. “Stay still.”

“It’s nothing–just wanted a change.”

You studied his face—not buying his response for one second. “Since you asked, yes, I have done this before. A woman–Miss Dotty–let me hang out in her salon after school. So, I know when someone sitting in my chair has something they need to get off their chest.”

Bucky sighed, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “I don’t want you to think something’s wrong with me–it’s just when I was out with Sam today, there was a lot more attention than I’m used to. And on top of that–” Bucky trailed off.

“What is it, Buck?” You moved in front of him so you could work on the fringe around his face.

He refused to meet your eyes until you lifted his chin. “You can tell me anything, baby.”

“I’ve just felt like something is wrong with us–like you’re pulling away from me.” Bucky’s heart pounded in his chest, his palms sweating as he waited for your response.

This could be it, the end—why did I say anything?!

You paused your actions, dropping yourself into his lap and cradling his face. “There’s nowhere else I would rather be, Bucky. No one else I would rather be with. You have to know that. I fucking adore you.”

Bucky looked deep into your eyes, searching for any hint that you were lying to make him feel better. Simply going Christmas shopping with Sam had triggered so many memories that had been dormant since he had been with you. All day, as they were swarmed by fans and press, he felt like he was sinking deeper and deeper into quicksand. The public’s opinions, his own self-hate and doubts dragged him down as he desperately tried to fight it. Sam had made a joke about cutting Bucky’s hair, and Bucky had taken him up on it, foolishly thinking getting rid of the all too familiar long hair would somehow make him feel better. As if cutting the locks off would somehow transform him into a different person with a different past.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered.

“No,” you brushed your thumb over his cheek. “Don’t apologize. I’m sorry you had a rough day, baby.”

“It’s better now,” Bucky pulled your hips closer, needing to feel you pressed against him. “So much better now.”

You let him hold you, gently rubbing his back and cursing yourself for making him feel this way. From now on, things were going to be better.

“Let me finish this, and then we can relax, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, thank you, doll.”

Bucky let you go, but you stayed in his lap as you finished his haircut, snipping and shaping and eventually drying and ruffling until his once shoulder-length locks were cut neatly into a fashionable mop of fluff.

“What do you think?” You handed Bucky a mirror and let him appraise your work.

He turned his head from side to side and ran his fingers through his hair. A small smile ghosted across his face. “I think Miss Dotty taught you well.”

“She did,” you kissed his cheek before standing up to dust him off. You watched him continue to appraise himself in the mirror, your core heating up quickly. How could a haircut be such a turn-on? You knew you were a good stylist, but you had never used your skills on someone as pretty as Bucky.

“You look damn good, maybe a little too good.” You squeezed yourself between Bucky and the counter.

“Is that so?” Bucky teased as he lifted you up.

“Are you still in the mood for cuddles or–”

“Hey, what do you guys want to–” Sam stepped back as Bucky slammed the bathroom door closed in his face. “—do for dinner,” he finished to himself. “Nevermind then! Come on, Yelena, the animals are at it again.”

“Bring me something back!” You yelled as Bucky pushed you up against the bathroom door.

No reply came, but you were too lost in Bucky to notice.

Don't forget to reblog! 😉

*Tumblr is not letting me add links to the prev or next chapters. Please see the masterlist pinned to my page for the rest of the story!*

Taglist: @delaberr @mannien @raindrcpsangel @cjand10

#bucky barnes smut #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #sub!bucky #dom!bucky #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x black female reader #tfatws #sam wilson #yelena boleva #bucky barnes fluff

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reckoningss · 6 years

Text

The Gap

Summary: A girl meets Bucky at a bar in Brooklyn and finds that they’re both pretty far from home.

Pairing: Bucky x Unnamed Character

Warnings: Mild violence, Angst

Wordcount: 5.5k

A/N: I’m reposting this for @carryonmywaywardcaptain ‘s 1500 Follower Fav Fics challenge. Congrats! Short commentary on why I love this fic at the bottom.

New York isn’t her kind of city, though she’s sure she can be persuaded to…appreciate it. With time. There’s a claustrophobia to it, a manic sort of pressing closeness, without order. The buildings loom, huddled together, roads cutting tightly between them; there’s no true structure to it, no symmetry. And not nearly enough trees. But she’s here with a purpose; there’s work to be done and she can tolerate the teeming masses and the disorder. For now.

It’s just a drink, just one tumbler of South African whiskey that swims silkily between thick blocks of ice and goes down smooth. She revels in the glow for a moment, caramel and earthy vanilla that tastes faintly like home. She sees him across the bar over a sip. It’s a dark place, classic, or so she would believe, all dark oak wood everywhere and low, round tables, and the scent of tobacco and wood smoke. Traditional, like a speakeasy or a place where soldiers would gather to swap stories of their lady loves in the old Hollywood movies. She sees him through the haze of cigar smoke that’s drifting through the air and it’s almost like viewing an old picture of him from 1942, grainy and hazy around the edges.

He’s propped up on a bar stool staring down into his drink, a lager by the looks of it, but she thinks he looks like he could use something a lot stronger. She doesn’t want to take her eyes off him, doesn’t want to lose him through the haze and the throng of people slipping through the tables. The baseball cap on his head is pulled down low, but she can tell he has a strong brow, can see the lack of sleep pooling in the shadows beneath his tired eyes and she sympathizes with him. Without knowing him, without ever having spoken to him, impossibly, she sympathizes with him.

He looks up now, feeling eyes on him, hyper-aware that he’s being watched, practiced eyes picking over the crowd subtly before they land on her. She’s rewarded with a gentle thrill, excitement running down her spine when his gaze meets hers, and she feels like he’s studying her - eyes narrowing imperceptibly as he tries to place her. Classify her. She sees him relax ever so slightly; she’s obviously not the kind of threat he should be worried about. So she raises her glass to him in acknowledgment, nearly empty, before lowering it again to her lips and taking down another mouthful. She sees a reluctant smile tip up the edges of his lips as he raises the bottle to them and swigs.

She takes it as an invitation, rising from her chair, picking up her empty tumbler, ice clinking gently against the glass. She makes her way over to the bar and settles onto a stool near to him, one seat in between them, no need to be too forward. It’s a safe distance, distance enough to chat casually, leaving room for more. More conversation, more familiarity, more intimacy.

She notes the layers of clothes - the long sleeves beneath a jacket despite the increasingly warm weather, the black gloves over large hands, and she says nothing. He takes her outstretched hand in his right one apprehensively (after taking a moment to assess it suspiciously) but shakes it firmly. She offers her name, listening to him repeat it back to her like he’s testing it, considering the weight of it on his tongue and she appreciates the sound. He offers his and she tilts her head at him because he very well could be a James, but he doesn’t look like one to her. She accepts it anyway.

He’s standoffish, and to begin with she can’t tell if it’s because he’s impolite or just unsure. It’s the latter, but it takes some time to work that out. They start off slow, testing the waters with polite small talk. Boring. Safe. But eventually she draws him out; he’s a lot lonelier than he’ll let on and she could use some company in this brimming, primitive city too. He’s an old soul, she finds, nostalgic for the old days and the old ways. A world that he could’ve made sense of, one that he could belong in. She feels that familiar sensation rising in her chest but this time it’s empathy because she too is a stranger adrift in a strange land, longing for the comforts of home.

He warms to her slowly, gradually, like winter snow caps running off the mountains, but she has the persistence to wait. She warms to him too, liking his old-fashioned manners, liking the way he speaks like an actor from the golden age of radio. By the time she’s finally rewarded with his laugh, they’re so deep into conversation that they feel like old friends. He feels like he recognizes her, he says, feels as though he’s seen her before. Something about the roundness of her face, the depth of her brown skin and eyes feels familiar, reminds him of someone he’s met. She laughs. She’s not from around here, she says, not even close. He buys her another whiskey - on the rocks - just like the first.

The hour’s not too late when he rises, ready to leave. She’s long since finished her second drink and he’s just finished nursing the beer, the last drops of it going down flat and frothy. He pushes her stool back in for her when she stands, and she smiles at the politeness of it - what a man. She follows him outside, smiles again when he holds the door open for her, the bell still tingling quietly overhead as she passes. They stop on the sidewalk, the sky gray with night and the thick smoggy haze of the city, the streetlights haloed in smoke. He tries to say goodbye to her, his voice low and, she thinks, tinged with regret. Regret to go back to a world of unfamiliarity and solitude. Her heart aches for him.

“Let me walk you home.” She says it meekly - no need to be presumptuous - not wanting to scare him off.

He pauses, taken aback for a second. Smiles wryly at her. “I think I should be offering to walk you home.”

She shrugs. “I’m in a hotel just up the street.” His eyes follow the path indicated by her back-turned thumb over her shoulder. “You have a longer walk than me.” She grins. “And I didn’t think we were done talking yet.”

So they walk, her boot-clad feet scuffing lazily against the cement. He’s not a great talker, not like he used to be, but he’s found himself rather animated with her. And she’s found herself enthralled with him. She likes to hear him speak, the rise and fall of his voice, the cadence lost to time. She likes to listen to his stories. Stories of a friend and of travel and a lifetime long past. She can see the far-off look he gets when he reminisces, hear the wistful lilt in his voice and she wants to make it better. To dust off the relics of a life he used to know and restore him to his former glory, but she doesn’t think she can.

She stops at the steps leading into his flat to say goodbye, looking up at him from the sidewalk, and he’s looking down at her and she doesn’t want to go but she has to.

“Have a good night, James. It was nice to meet you.” She offers her left hand to shake and for a moment he looks as though he’ll raise his, but he doesn’t. He’s staring down at her hand like it will bite him - like her touch will set him ablaze, so she switches to her right. He takes it, an air of relief settling around him as his large hand surrounds hers and holds.

“Do you want to come inside?” There’s apprehension in his voice when he asks and an unsure fidget in his posture and she wants to end his unease so she accepts with a smile.

He leads her inside and up the stairs to the second floor and down the hall toward the last door on the left. She stands behind him as he unlocks it, gloved hand reaching into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sparsely populated key ring. He unlocks the door and holds it open, shuffling out of the way so she can step inside and for a moment she’s cloaked in darkness before she hears him follow after her and the door closes softly and the deadbolt slides home and he flips the switch and the front hallway is flooded with light.

It’s a minimal apartment - bare walls, no pictures, little furniture. No plants, she notes. She can see a low, grey couch in the living room across from a humble television set sitting atop a small TV stand. It’s not much but at least the colors tie together, she thinks, and it almost feels like a home. She follows him to the living room and perches upon the love seat when he offers. It’s stilted at first, he’s not used to having anyone in his space, not in a long time. Certainly not in Romania. In Bucharest, he was just beginning to taste freedom again, but it was false. Freedom that required that he always look over his shoulder, that he hide himself away; there was no room for another person. No space on the mattress on the floor or in the small kitchen. A guest would’ve meant one too many obstacles between himself and his mode of escape. Too many contingencies.

But now she’s in his living room in New York and she feels huge. It’s as if she’s taking up all the space in the room, sucking up all the air, the crown of her head brushing the ceiling. But he doesn’t hate the feeling. He offers her a beer because he doesn’t know what else to do, and she happily accepts. The re-formed ice is weak; they break it easily, conversation beginning to flow again. Picking up where they left off. They talk for hours, her asking questions and him answering them. He’d forgotten how good it felt, to converse, to laugh. To feel…normal again. Human again.

He is a perfect gentleman, maintaining a respectful distance on the couch, careful not to brush his hand against hers as he hands her the bottle, eyes forever on her face, and she’s glad for it, but she hates the waiting and guessing. So she has to make a move.

She catches him in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, leaning against the frame as he bends to retrieve her second beer from the fridge. He kicks the door shut as he backs away and when he turns he’s inches from her. Stock still. He wants to say something, but the words die on his lips and all he can do it stare down at her, her big brown eyes staring up at him. He thinks he stops breathing when she places a hand on his bicep and leans in, rocking up onto her toes so she can press her lips to his. Her forehead tipping the bill of his cap back until it topples off of his head and tumbles down his back and hits the floor.

For a moment he does nothing, just stares in wide-eyed shock at her face so close to his, eyes closed, and then he feels it, and his eyes close too and he’s kissing her back. Her arms snake around his neck and she sighs, ever so slightly, and sags into him. He’d almost forgotten what it was like, to be held. To be kissed. He remembers that he likes it. His right hand finds the small of her back and pulls her closer, the left still at his side, unsure. Unused. So she reaches out, never taking her lips off his and takes a hold of the strong wrist, guiding it to her waist. He hesitates for a moment, fingers hovering over her, before giving in, his hand forming to the dip of her waist. She stifles a shiver; his fingers are cold through the fabric of the glove. Cold on the strip of skin where her shirt has lifted away from the waistband of her jeans.

She’s smiling when she pulls back and he can’t quite place the warmth in his chest, but he’s pretty sure he’s smiling too. He resists the urge to pull her in again; that would be forward. She presses a cheek to his chest and listens to his even breath rush in and out and waits as his arms surround her, halting, but inevitable. He lowers his chin to the top of her head. Her hair smells like cocoa and amber.

It’s late now, late or early, and he’d rather if she didn’t walk home, and his conscience won’t let him put her in a cab alone at this hour so he takes a chance. He asks her to stay. She’s not scandalized like he feared she might be and relief washes over him when she accepts. She laughs when he offers to sleep on the couch, knowing that its length won’t accommodate his height. But she’s touched by his traditional sensibilities and his concern for her comfort.

“We’re both adults here. I think we can share a bed responsibly.” He looks unconvinced, an expression creeping onto his face that suggests that she might scandalize him instead. She grins. “I’ll stay on my side if you’ll stay on yours.”

In the bedroom, he offers her a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. She accepts and watches him leave the room so she can change. She breathes deeply as she pulls the tee over her head, pressing the fabric to her face. Leather and a subtle, powdery floral. The scent is intoxicating and overwhelming and for a second, maybe longer, she’s lost in it until he knocks, the door opening just a crack he sticks his head in, eyes down-turned modestly. He asks if she’s ok and she wrestles the shirt over her head quickly, thankful that her deep brown skin hides the evidence of her embarrassment.

She picks at the cotton hem and calls him in. He gives her a quick once over as he shuts the door behind himself, noting how the shorts fall past her knees and the shirt hangs to her hips. She perches on the edge of the bed as he rummages through a drawer, watching the muscles of his back move beneath the fabric of his shirt. The door shuts quietly as he retreats to the bathroom to change and she listens as she piles her braids into a bun the top of her head to the sounds of cabinets opening and closing and water running and after a while she slips under the covers and lies back.

The room is just as minimal as the rest of the house but the bed is comfortable. There’s not a lot identifying it as someone’s place of dwelling, somewhere safe they can return to at the end of the day, but there’s room for improvement. Room to grow into it. He emerges from the bathroom in a pair of shorts and a long sleeve dri-fit, the thin material hugging the slope of his shoulders and the curves of his arms, that same black glove on his left hand.

His clothes are discarded in a simple hamper and then he lowers himself into the bed, slowly. Deliberately. She imagines that she can hear his bones creaking like old wood and she laughs.

“You’re such an old man.”

He peers back at her over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised and a smirk tugging at his lips. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

He reaches over and flicks off the lamp on the crate that serves as a nightstand and they’re plunged into darkness. She can hear the mattress whine as he lowers himself all the way down and fidgets to get comfortable, sighing when he finds just the right position.

For a moment they lie in silence, side by side, their breathing falling in time. Once again there’s a respectful amount of space between them and once again she makes the first move, reaching out in the darkness, her hand searching blindly for his until her reaching fingers meet the fabric of a glove and she intertwines them. He stiffens beneath her touch, silence stretching taut between them before he breaks it.

“That’s…my bad hand. It won’t be comfortable.”

She waits for a moment, considering, before turning onto her side to face him. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

And he doesn’t. He tightens his grip, glad for the first time in a long time to have a hand to hold. His hand is hard in hers and she doesn’t say anything but before he turned the light out she could see the faintest metallic glint beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

He sleeps fitfully beside her, tossing and tangling himself in the thin sheets well into the night. Anguished murmurs punctuate his unconscious panting, words too low and unintelligible to decipher. Occasionally she wakes, places a hand on his arm and listens to his labored mutters until his breathing evens again. In the faint glow of a streetlight that filters in through the curtain she can see the curve of his brow and how it furrows, deep lines of worry and despair working their way into his face when he dreams, and she watches until they disappear fading into nothingness when he stills and peace returns to him. She keeps her hand on him and after a while he stills, slipping into more restful sleep.

She wakes in the morning before the light has even had a chance to slant through the shuddered blinds. Her back is to him but she can hear his easy, whistling breath coming in the rhythm of sleep. She turns toward him, curling in until her face is only millimeters from his. He doesn’t stir. So she leans in closer, tucking a tendril of brown hair behind his ear so she can whisper into it.

“Kulala ngokujulile, ingcuka emhlophe.” The xhosa is familiar on her tongue as she chants the practiced words, low and soothing like a lullaby. He sighs, the shroud of sleep tightening around his well-conditioned brain.

She goes to work, sitting up on the edge of the bed, every movement silent and careful so as not to wake him. She brings her foot up onto the mattress, pulling off the bracelet that hangs snugly around her ankle, the magnetic force that holds it together responding to her ministrations. A small bead comes off the end, only a few millimeters in diameter, and then the bracelet goes around her wrist as she slips from the room.

In the hall, she presses on the bead and it gives a mechanical click, collapsing and separating into a series of translucent, faintly iridescent disks. Thin. Nearly invisible. Absolutely untraceable. She presses a disk to the wall just outside his door, right above the baseboard, where it blends into the paint as though it had never even been there. Then she stretches up on her toes, using the door frame for leverage, as she pushes one into the wall where it meets the ceiling. A blue grid of light tracks down the wall as the disks sync before blinking out - armed. She continues.

She places disks in the kitchen and living room, presses them to the corners of the glass of the windows, each perfectly hidden and immediately functional. She’s quick, efficient and careful, mindful not to step on the sections of floor that she noticed prone to creak the night before and light on her bare feet.

It’s in the front hall, as she’s stretched up onto her toes again to place a disk near the ceiling that a metal fist goes flying past, mere inches from her face. She feels the rush of air as it rockets by and buries itself in the wall by her head in an explosion of dust and drywall. She throws herself away from it, reflexes rebounding quickly from the shock of being ambushed. Her back collides with the wall and he’s on her immediately, crowding her, the tight sleeve of his dri-fit shirt ripped away from his bionic arm. His human hand is on her shoulder, gripping like a vice and she could probably fight her way out of this, could probably get away alive, but she didn’t come here to fight.

There’s rage in his blue eyes, pure and unadulterated, nostrils flaring, his chest heaving with it. She ignores that, turning her head to look at the hole in the wall where he buried his arm up to the elbow yawning wide.

“You probably shouldn’t have done that.”

He practically growls, rage mounting at her flippant tone, at the audacity, and his metal hand flies to her neck, fingers clasping around her throat and shoving. Her head contacts the wall with a little too much force and probably leaves a dent in the drywall. Her vision swims, only for a moment, but she already feels annoyance rising in her spine when she touches back down again. She has to hold back.

“Who are you? Who do you work for?”

She can hear the rising panic in his voice, mingled with the anger and she knows it’s a dangerous combination. So she tries to calm him.

“Bucky-”

His brows knit together at the sound of his nickname, a name he never told her. He pulls her forward by her throat, bringing her face only millimeters from his and she can feel the heat radiating off of him before he shoves her back, her tall frame leaving an imprint in the wall with the force of it and it hurts this time. His grip tightens on her throat and he lifts, her whole body coming off the ground, feet flexing as her toes search for purchase on the floorboards where there is none.

“Who. Are. You.”

His hold on her is starting to hurt now and she raises her hands to the cool metal of his arm, for the first time alarm beginning to rise in the back of her constricted throat.

“Bucky, pleas-”

She chokes the words out, hisses them, all the while his hold tightens, the metal slats of his arm working together to constrict with every exhalation. Like some mechanical python, the pieces ratcheting to squeeze every last breath out of her as she speaks. Her eyes are going to roll back into her head, she can see darkness beginning to creep in around the edges of her vision but she forces herself to keep her gaze steady on him.

“I can’t…talk with your…hand around my throat.”

He releases her, her body dropping back to the ground, feet contacting the hardwood like coming home and she gulps lungfuls of sweet air. She almost wants to be sick. But she won’t.

He says a name, the one she had told him, the false one. He spits it back at her like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. She doesn’t blame him. So she straightens and tells him her real name, all pretense falling away, the syllables rolling off her tongue naturally, her accent thick as she crosses her arms over her chest in the Wakandan salute, right over left. He turns away from her, angry and relieved and unsure how to feel.

“I am a member of the Dora Milage,” she calls after him.

The pieces are falling into place in his head; he’s seen her before. The memory is sparse. Full of holes and whirling wildly with color and light but he remembers. He sees himself pinned to the ground in a Wakandan field, the tall grass waving around him like the sea. An outrider sits on his chest, three of its clawed hands grasping his arm, his bad arm. Its snarling maw leering in his face, rank breath washing over him. There’s pain from where the metal meets his skin, rending pain like being torn apart and he just knows he’s going to lose his arm again. But then there’s a flash of red and the alien chokes on a shriek as a spear pierces its thick hide. It tumbles off of him and he looks up to see his savior. A Wakandan warrior, nameless, nearly faceless but for a moment before she’s gone and he’s fighting again too.

He turns back to her as the memory falls away from him, eyes searching out her face and registering the familiar features. The roundness of her face, the fullness of her mouth. The braids are new but, then again, it has been months. Then anger pushes out his gratitude and she sees it passing over his face like a storm cloud, leaving gloom in its wake.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is low and tight and she knows better than to set him off again. He paces away from her as he speaks, anger bubbling up in his voice. “Who sent you? T’Challa?”

“Shuri.”

He turns at the name, remembering the girl, the princess. A scientist smarter and more capable than anyone he’d ever known. The woman who’d silenced the echoes of Hydra’s programming rattling around in his head.

“The princess. Why?”

“To check on you.”

He bristles, remembering the night spent laughing and the cold empty bed that followed.

“To spy on me!” He grabs her hand, raises it so they can both see the remainder of the disassembled bead, the disks fanned out in between her forefinger and thumb. “What are these?”

She looks down when he lets go, hand falling back to her side. Feels as though she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“They’re biometric scanners.”

He looks confused so she explains.

“They pick up vocal patterns, heart rate, brain waves. Body chemistry. To make sure-”

“That I’m in my right mind.” He glares at her from beneath a heavy brow, blue eyes full of hurt.

“They just test for triggers. To keep you safe!”

He scoffs. “And everyone else. Can’t have me killing another world leader can we?” He turns away, pushing past her to stalk out of the hallway and into the living room and she follows.

“I know you didn’t kill T’Chaka.” He stops in the middle of the room, some of the defensiveness leaving his posture. A good sign. “In any case, we both know how dangerous you could be in the event of a relapse.”

“Gotta keep me contained.” He keeps his back to her, hiding the hurt. Holding it compactly in his center.

“No.” She can’t help the frustration that’s beginning to color her tone; his refusal to trust her is expected, but no less disappointing. “The entire point - the only point - of this is to protect you!”

“Then why not just talk to me?”

“Shuri didn’t think you would like the idea of being surveilled, even for your own protection.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

She clasps her hands together to keep her temper at bay. “Well, what were we supposed to do? We lost contact with you months ago! You left Wakanda before you had a chance to fully complete your rehabilitation.”

He sighs, tired of the arguing and the going in circles. He runs a hand over his face. Tries to calm himself down. There’s no use in fighting when help is being offered. “You could’ve just said something last night.”

She moves into the room finally, coming to a stop beside him. “That wasn’t part of the mission.”

His mood dips again at the word ‘mission.’ It’s clinical, a dehumanizing distance to it and if there’s anything he hates, it’s feeling like a thing. A test subject. An objective. A mission.

“A what exactly is the mission?”

For a moment she debates whether or not she should tell him. But by now she’s well past the point of discretion so she does anyway.

“Confirm visual contact, infiltrate, place the biometric scanners and confirm operation.”

He scowls. “So all of that small talk and the flirting was just a nice touch. You could’ve just climbed in through the window, done your business and left when I wasn’t home so why the act?”

For the second time she’s grateful that her deep complexion hides her self-conscious blush. She reaches out to him, her palm contacting the cool metal of his arm. “It wasn’t an act.”

He scoffs again, jerking away from her but she follows.

“I mean it.” She can see him building up a wall again - putting space between them again - distrust pushing her back beyond his defenses once more. “I saw you…In Wakanda. You were the first person I ever saw from the outside. Face to face. And even then it was indirect. I only caught glimpses of you. Only ever heard stories. And then we fought side by side against Thanos and I just –“

She stops herself, feeling too many things at once, wanting too badly to explain herself. Ashamed at having been reduced to a scrambling girl by a virtual stranger.

“Everyone at home knows the stories of the white wolf. I just wanted to meet you.”

“So I’m just another story for you to tell.”

“Bucky. I’ve never left Wakanda before. I didn’t just volunteer for this mission for a cheap story. I wanted to see the world.” She takes a chance, reaching out to cup his cheek, raising his head so that the shoulder length brown hair falls away from his face and he’s looking at her. “And I wanted to see you.”

He doesn’t pull away from her touch and she strokes his stubbled cheek with her thumb. He sighs, softening ever so slightly in her hand. She knows he doesn’t trust her but perhaps there are more important things to worry about.

“So I’m not fixed yet?” There’s no hiding the disappointment, thick in his tone, apparent on his face.

“You’re not broken.” She taps the tip of her index finger against his temple gently. “We just want to ensure that you’re the only one banging around in there.”

He drops himself onto the couch, all of the fight leaving him, defeat taking its place. It’s moments like this when he can feel just how long his life has been, can feel all 101 years clinging to his bones and he just wants to give up. He barely remembers his life before anymore, the fragments of it, just the good ones, hazy in his muddled brain like some childhood home that one barely recalls but remembers fondly. Romanticizes. It’s been so long since he’s lived without fear of Hydra’s conditioning knocking around in his head. He’d just begun to hope he could be free of it, hope that in Wakanda the last vestiges of the rusted machinery Hydra had implanted in his brain had been extracted with thorough care. But now… Now, who knows? From the corner of his eye, the shape of a hand can already be seen purpling around her throat and the sight terrifies him. He can almost feel the Winter Soldier breathing down his neck again, feel the invasive presence working its way back into the spokes and cogs and circuits of his metal arm. His fist clenches almost of its own accord.

She’s watching him and she can see the worry and despair festering behind his eyes. She reads them on his face as he thinks and blanches and grits his teeth; he’s warring within himself, fledgling optimism no match for years of crushing hopelessness. She hates herself for hurting him. Curses herself for not being more alert, for feeling the need to meet him and speak to him. To kiss him. It’s her fault. She’s managed to revive decades of fear and oppression - dumped all of his nearly forgotten problems at his feet - and now he’s drowning in them. The Bucky she drew out last night, the one who laughs and kisses like he’s been waiting for years, is losing the battle to the Bucky who hides and locks himself away behind stone and she doesn’t know if she can shift the tide.

She kneels between his knees and takes his face in her hands. “Look at me.” She says it with a lot more authority than she feels but he complies, anguished eyes meeting hers through the fray of conflicting emotions. “You’re not a prisoner anymore; this body is yours. This,” she takes his clenched bionic hand in both of hers, “is yours. No one owns you. Not anymore.”

Eyes shut. His metal fist unfurls, just a bit, and he can breathe again. A deep intake of air and when he lets it out he exhales a demon, one of many.

“You’re going to be who you want to be again, white wolf.”

When he opens his eyes, when those blue eyes meet hers, he looks like he wants to believe her. And it’s enough.

She doesn’t know what she’ll do when it’s time to go back to Wakanda. She doesn’t know how she’ll explain away her stupid fumbling of the mission objectives, but she knows she wants to help him. There’s still hurt in his eyes - pain at having been lied to and she can still feel the suspicion radiating off of him. She’s painfully aware of the space her actions have put between them - so many steps taken back in this new friendship - and she doesn’t know if she can bridge the gap this time.

But she’ll try.

This was the first piece of fanfic that I ever wrote. I just really enjoyed briefly exploring the idea of Bucky being flung or ripped out of time and homesick for a life he didn’t get to live for, relatively, very long. After seeing Black Panther I was really taken with the Idea of Bucky having found peace in Wakanda for the first time in decades, but I felt like - at the time that I wrote The Gap - there weren’t as many Bucky x Wakandan character/reader fics floating around as I would’ve liked to see so I decided to contribute.

Congrats on 1,500!

#CapsFollowerFav1500 #repost #Bucky x reader #Black panther #Dora milaje #Buck x Wakandan!reader #Bucky x you #James buchanan barnes #Bucky Barnes #My writing

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cjsinkythoughts · 3 years

Text

The Conversation

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 7661 (Don’t come at me - you guys asked for it)

Warnings: !FATWS Spoilers!, Cursing, Fluff, Feelings, I Dunno What Else, This One’s Pretty Chill, Except The Ending, But You’ll See When You Get There

A/N: Here it is! I was hesitant about posting it because that means we’re getting closer to the end and I’m such a nostalgic bitch! I’m definitely gonna cry next week when the last episode comes out! Anyways, I’ve got a few things to talk about:

I think this is one of the most important chapters I’ve written and I’m excited to see your reactions to it. It is longer, but you guys asked for that, so you got it! Also, I’m loving the Asks, Comments, and Reblogs. I try to respond to all of them. I have work in a little bit, so I won’t be able to until after, but I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Ask me anything; about my series, the show, any of the movies, personal stuff, I really don’t care. If you’re not comfortable, that’s totally fine! Every like means so much to me!

I know it’s not the end yet - we’ve got one more episode and a list of One Shots to get through - but there’s a definite feeling of this series coming to an end, and I just want to thank you all for the support and love you’ve been giving it! I’ve really enjoyed writing these characters and this story! It’s very, very special to me and I’m glad I’ve been able to share it with you lovely people!

On that note, be kind to yourselves and others! Thank you again for reading! Excuse any mistakes - this isn’t beta’d! Enjoy and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT! (Sorry for the gifs I just love them so much and he’s so pretty and this part is technically two parts so...you get four!)

“Louisiana.” Bucky hummed, looking around the airport.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not gonna find anything interesting about Louisiana in here, doofus. Let’s call an Uber.”

“An Ooper? What the hell is an Ooper?”

You giggled, shaking your head and grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the luggage carousel. “Uber. It’s like…a taxi service. But there’s an app on your phone to get a driver instead of waiting for one on the street.”

“Oh.” He blinked, tilting his head. “That’s…helpful.”

You laughed again, stopping in front of Carousel 3, where your flight from New York was assigned. You went back to New York to grab a bag with clean clothes and other necessities, along with taking a real shower for once. It was nice to be back in the States, as much as you loved traveling. It’d been a crazy few weeks and you were ready to just relax.

“Do you think there were any problems with Sammy’s present?”

Bucky shook his head. “Nah. Especially considering they know who we are.”

You snickered at his slight grumble. They had had…problems at the other two airports - first the one in Sokovia then JFK in New York - considering Bucky’s entire arm was metal. It’d taken a full hour before they actually let you go, and by that time they had to give you a new plane because yours had left.

“Seriously. Who else has a fucking metal arm and has 1917 listed as their birth year on their Driver’s License?” You giggled again. That was also true. They thought he was messing with them. It wasn’t until you stepped in a few minutes after they asked Bucky to step to the side, seeing Bucky get frustrated, that they realized Bucky wasn’t pulling their legs.

“Well, we’re here now and that’s all that matters.”

He nodded in agreement, watching for your bags, his hand finding yours when he realized how many people there were. “Do you know where he lives? I didn’t even think about it.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. He invited me over once. I declined, but I saved the address.”

“He…invited you over?” Bucky frowned.

You gave him a look. “I’m sure he invited you, too. You just never checked his texts.”

He licked his lips, tilting his head. “Yeah, no, I know, but I mean…why didn’t you go? Weren’t you two just talking about how you wanted to meet his nephews the other day?”

“Yeah, but I had gotten a tip on Wanda at the time and I didn’t want to miss the chance that she was there. He told me it was fine. I still felt really bad. I could tell he was a bit disappointed. I think it was one of the boys’ birthdays. Or something. I don’t remember. Is that bad? Yeah, probably. I really should remember. Maybe I should keep track of birthdays on my calendar or something.”

“Doll.” You looked up to find him giving you a magnificent smile, teeth and all. “You’re rambling.”

“Oh. Am I? Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

He shook his head quickly, squeezing your hand. “Don’t apologize. It’s cute. I’m just not used to you talking so much. You kinda did on the phone sometimes.”

You shrugged, pushing down the heat crawling up your neck at his words. “I rambled a lot to Steve.”

“Oh.”

His face fell, making you scrunch your eyebrows up in confusion, nudging him slightly to grin at him. “It’s nice to have someone to ramble to again, though.” There was that smile again. You were stopped from saying anything more when you noticed some kids pointing and chattering excitedly at a gleaming silver box coming around the corner on the conveyor belt. “There it is.”

He looked over his shoulder, dropping your hand and stepping over to grab it, lifting it effortlessly. You didn’t know what was in it or how heavy it was, but you were sure it felt like a feather to him.

“Alright. Got our bag, sweetheart?” You lifted up the duffle in answer and he jerked his head towards the doors. “Let’s get outta here, then. Call that Booper or whatever.”

“U-B-E-R! Ub-er!” You threw your hands up, following him as he started walking towards the exit. “What’s so hard about it?!”

He just gave you a little smirk over his shoulder.

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

Bucky kept asking the Uber driver questions about his job. The guy was super nice and patient the whole time, a thick southern accent lacing his answers. Southern hospitality was no joke and apparently had no limit as Bucky asked about his experiences, listening intently and telling him his own stories of taxi drivers in NYC.

When you got to Sam’s sister’s house, Bucky, being Bucky, tipped the driver half of what you paid for the ride, thanking him for his time and energy, before getting out.

“You’re so adorable, you know that?” You teased him as you stepped up the porch stairs and knocked on the door.

He rolled his eyes, a tint of pink dusting across his cheeks. “He was nice.”

You hummed at his defense, the smile never leaving your features. After a moment, Bucky raised his fist to knock again. “Jesus Christ! Don’t fucking knock their door down!” You grabbed his wrist and lowered it.

“Sorry. I forget sometimes.” Bucky informed you absentmindedly, tilting his head to peek in the window. “I don’t think anyone’s home.”

“They’re probably at the docks, then.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “The docks?”

You nodded, gesturing for him to follow you. “Yeah. They have a boat, remember? He talked about it last week.”

“Oh right. The one he’s trying to convince his sister not to sell.”

“Yeah.” You confirmed. “I’m pretty sure it’s that way. I don’t know how far, but we can call the Uber back-”

Bucky scrunched up his face and shook his head. “Nah. I don’t wanna bother him again. We can walk.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “It’s literally his job to drive people around.”

“Well, yeah, but what if he’s got other people to drive?”

You lifted his metal knuckles to your lips. “Trust me, Buck, I’m sure he’d rather drive you than anyone else.”

“Thank you?”

Swinging your now linked hands, you gave a firm nod, letting him know it was, in fact, a compliment. “You are so very welcome.”

The walk was a lot longer than you thought it was, and you ended up on Bucky’s back after he kept complaining about how you “shouldn’t be walking this long” and you were “injured” and you “needed rest’”. You’re not sure how a shoulder wound affected your ability to walk, but you relented and let him carry you the rest of the way to stop his whining.

“You forget, you did pull your thigh.”

“That was, like, three weeks ago! Yeesh!��

You finally got to the docks, which were bustling with people. Bucky set you down and raised an eyebrow which you shrugged in reply to, before heading over to where you spotted Sam with a few other older men.

“How do we get it off the truck?” You heard Sam ask, pointing to a large boat engine part in the bed of a beaten up truck. Scoffing as Bucky lifted it up without breaking a sweat, you leaned against the truck. Bucky grunted and set it down, looking at Sam.

“You’re welcome.” What a punk. “Just dropping this off.” Bucky lifted the case and set it where the engine was previously, Sam coming to stand on the opposite side of the truck as you. “You can sign for it and I’ll go.” You snorted, shaking your head, making Bucky shove your shoulder - the uninjured one - playfully. “I called in a favor from the Wakandans.”

Sam looked at you curiously. You shrugged and shook your head. “Don’t look at me, Sammy. He wouldn’t tell me what it is. He’s all hushy hushy about it until you say so.”

Before Sam could reply, there was a squeak and hissing over at the boat where steam was coming from a few pipes.

“Sam!” You knew that was Sarah from pictures Sam showed you. You stayed up by the truck, pulling yourself onto the bed while Sam tried fixing the pipe, Bucky butting in to show him how to do it properly.

“Why didn’t you use the metal arm?”

You saw Bucky lift up said metallic limb. “Well…I don’t always think of it immediately. I’m-I’m right handed.” Letting out a laugh, Bucky turned around and scowled teasingly at you. “And what’re you laughing at?!”

“Nothing!”

“Well then get your ass over here!”

You rolled your eyes, hopping down from the truck as Bucky asked if Sam wanted help with the boat. You leaned against a wooden post, grinning when Sam looked at you.

“I don’t have any plans.”

Sam gave a small smile, jerking his head back. “Yeah.”

You jumped down onto the boat to follow him, looking over your shoulder and stopping with an amused eyebrow raised as Bucky introduced himself to Sarah. “I’m Bucky.”

“Ah…Sarah.”

“Sarah.” Bucky repeated her name, before walking towards you, a grin still on his lips.

“Careful, Barnes. That playboy Steve warned me about is coming out.” You nudged him with a smirk, ignoring the feeling of your stomach dropping.

He rolled his eyes, kissing your head as he passed you and Sam to go where Sam was gesturing. “Don’t worry, Y/N. You’re still my doll.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, falling into step besides you and lowering his voice. “Conversation?”

“Hasn’t happened.” You informed him through clenched teeth as he groaned.

Sam gave you a list of chores that needed to be done to clean up the boat, giving you a quick tour and letting you know where all the tools needed where. You set to work immediately.

Sanding down, replacing old parts, cleaning, polishing and painting over the things that didn’t need replacing. They didn’t let you do any heavy lifting because of your stupid shoulder, but you were still able to help.

Sam had turned on some music for you to listen to, so you danced around the boat while cleaning. Turning your head when you felt a pair of eyes on you, you smiled when Bucky snapped his head back down to the wood he was sanding down.

“Gonna dance, Barnes?”

He looked back over, shaking his head. “Nah. I’m good watching you.”

Rolling your eyes, you got back to work, continuing to bop to the music, fully aware that he was watching you now.

A little while later, you were repainting the edges of the boat orange, when you looked over and noticed Bucky playing around with a paint scraper…sitting right on the edge that you had just finished repainting a few minutes ago.

“Buck!”

He looked over, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back your mischievous grin. Shaking your head, you waved dismissively. “Never mind!”

He gave you a confused sort of pout, before shrugging and continuing to fidget with the tool. It wasn’t until later when he got up to help Sam tear the metal plating off the edge that it came to light with Sam chuckling and raising an eyebrow.

“Sit in something there, Barnes?”

“What?”

Bucky craned his neck back, eyes widening when he saw the orange paint on his ass, contrasting with his jeans. You let out a cackle and he whipped towards you, pointing at you accusingly, although the small uptick of his lips let you know he wasn’t really mad.

“Y/N!”

“No, no, no!” You laughed, sprinting across the deck, shrieking when he grabbed your waist and spun you around. You gasped when he grabbed a paint brush and painted an orange stripe right down the front of your shirt. “James!”

“Justice, sweetheart.” He breathed in your ear with a chuckle.

You shook your head, wiggling out of his hold. “This is a nice shirt!”

“You should’ve thought about that before.” He smirked, crossing his arms. Your eyes caught sight of Sam behind him, who raised an eyebrow and the bucket of paint he was holding. You nodded with a little giggle, making Bucky’s eyes narrow. “What’s so funny over there, do - holy shit!

You guffawed as orange paint dripped down his head, Sam standing innocently behind him with the now empty bucket behind his back. “Samuel!”

“Oops?”

“I’m gonna kill you!”

“Try me old man!”

“Fuck!

“Doll!”

“Oh my God!”

Paint, orange and white since those were the only cans they had out, flew across the deck, paint brushes being used like fencing swords.

You found out too late that wet paint was a little bit slippery and you slid on a huge puddle, sending you, not onto the ground below, but over the side of the edge into the water.

“Doll!”

“Cher, you good?!”

The three of you looked at each other, stunned for a moment, before bursting into fits of laughter and you nodded. “I’m good!”

The boys helped you get back up onto the dock, Sarah appearing with towels she conjured up out of thin air. “Let’s get you into dry clothes. Do you have-?”

“We’ve got some. We got a bag.” You told her with a grin, facing the guys. “You two should clean up some, too. Sammy, you’ve got a little something right there.” You pointed to your cheek, his own having a giant white splotch from his temple to his jaw. “And Buck?” You sniggered, gesturing to the whole of him. “You’ve got a lotta something right there.”

“Ha. Ha.” He looked down. His top was practically tiger print, drenched in orange with white here and there, and his ass still orange as well. His hair, which had been plastered to his forehead, was starting to dry now, and it only made you laugh some more thinking about what a pain it’d be to get it out. For him, at least.

“God. Can’t even have a relaxing day on the boat with you two.” Sam jested once you finished up and joined him and Bucky, who had just finished dumping out some water buckets. Bucky had changed his shirt and it looked like they tried wiping their faces, but Sam still had small lines of white down his face. “How ‘bout a couple of drinks? Surely you can’t ruin that too.”

“Ruin?” You gasped in mock offence. “Sammy! I just made the day more…interesting.”

Sam chuckled, ruffling Bucky’s hair, which still had orange streaks in it. “Let’s go get some beers.”

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

You chatted for a bit, mainly you and Sam with you asking how Sarah and the boys were while Bucky with your legs in his lap, just listening to you two and sipping at his bottle. You had his hand in your own lap, wiping it down with a rag due to the paint that got on it.

“You’re lucky this is vibranium, you know.” You commented off handedly. “If it was your other one, it’d definitely get stained.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Bucky shot back with a teasing grin.

“Sammy’s.”

Sam spluttered. “Wh-what?! You started it!” You laughed, shaking your head.

Falling into a comfortable silence with just the water and birds chirping as your soundtrack, you downed the rest of your drink, which Bucky took as finished. “Well,” you moved your legs to let him stand up. He leaned forwards to clink his bottle against Sam’s and you stood up and stretched. “Gotta catch our flight tomorrow. Get a hotel room for the night.” Sam gave you a look to which you rolled your eyes at as Bucky set down his bottle and grabbed his jacket. “Crash, you know?”

“So you’re just gonna set me up like that, huh?”

“Well I don’t wanna make it weird for your family.”

“Just stay here.” You laughed as Sam babbled on about how nice the people were here, grabbing the jacket Bucky handed to you. It was getting a bit chilly from the breeze on the water and the sun going down. Plus, that water was cold.

“But don’t flirt with my sister.”

You cackled at Bucky’s face, that turned serious, his head shaking. “No.”

“‘Cause if you do I’ll have Carlos cut you up and feed you to the fish.”

“Can’t hold back the dog, Wilson. It’s been stuck in a kennel too long.”

Bucky turned to you, grabbing your jaw and squishing your cheeks together. “You know what? You need to shush. You’ve been snippy all day.”

You just smiled as innocently as you could with your lips being held by his metal fingers. “You’re too fun to mess with.”

He pecked your nose. “As long as I’m the only one you’re messing with. I’ll be right back.” He let you go and spun around, maneuvering around the boat in a way only a trained assassin could do.

“Oh my God, please! Please just put me out of my fucking misery! You’re killing me, cher.”

“What?” You gaped at him.

“Don’t act innocent!” Sam huffed, giving you a pointed look. “If I have to watch you two make googly eyes at you one more fucking day with neither of you doing anything about it-”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh come on, Sammy-”

“Don’t ‘come on, Sammy’ me! And don’t come at me with that ‘he doesn’t like me back’ bullshit. If you think for a second that boy wouldn’t follow you to the depths of the fucking ocean, you’re blind as a bat, woman.”

You shrugged, pushing up the sleeves of Bucky’s too big jacket. “It just…hasn’t come up.”

He deadpanned, shaking his head and standing up. “That’s it. I’m done. You two are driving me insane. I’m gonna lock you in a room until you have the conversation that needs to be had the next time either of you does something stupid.”

“Yikes. That’s gonna be quick.” At his look, your smile dropped and you nodded. “Okay, okay. I’ll…I’ll bring it up later.”

“Tomorrow or nothing.”

“Sam-”

Sam tilted his head, brow creasing. “Is it still Steve? Is that what this is still about? Because he’s gone, and he’s been gone and you need to get over it-”

“No. It’s not…” You sighed. “It clicked the other day. When we were hanging out. Steve left and, yeah, I might always love him, but Bucky…God…I love Bucky, Sam.”

The man grinned proudly. “I’m glad to finally hear you admit it. So what’s the problem?”

“It’s still complicated, right? I mean…he’s his best friend and I’ve never dealt with stuff like this before and-”

Sam’s smile dropped and he groaned again. “Imma head out. I can’t take this. Dumbass and dumberass. I swear to God.” You sniggered a bit as he grumbled, walking towards the ramp to climb off the boat, just as Bucky reappeared.

“Hey-”

“Nope! Not right now, Barnes! I can’t handle it! I can’t!”

Bucky gave you a weird look. “What’d you do?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Nothing.”

“Well, c’mon, doll. Sarah said she’s gonna make gumbo for us, whatever that is.” He held out his hand as you walked over.

“You’re such a city boy.” You teased lightly, taking his hand and letting him help you pull you onto the dock. You shoved the sleeves of his jackets up again since they slipped from the first time. “Let’s go get some dinner. I’m starving.”

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

“We have the couch and a mattress we can pull out, I just have to make Sam get it from the attic-”

“That’s alright. The couch is fine.” Bucky waved dismissively while you nodded in agreement.

Sarah raised an eyebrow at you two. “For both of you?”

You blinked, exchanging a look with Bucky, before shrugging and turning back to her. “Yeah.”

“Don’t fight it, Sarah.” Sam peeked out from the hall. “They’ve got a weird relationship.” You stuck your tongue out at the man while Bucky rolled his eyes, dropping your duffle bag by the couch. “How mature, Y/N.” Sam mimicked your action.

“Uhm…okay. Let me set up the couch for you then.”

Once everything was set up, you and Bucky thanking her for dinner - delicious and you’d never seen Bucky smile so much, the boys having kept him highly entertained throughout the meal - and for letting you crash, Sam and Sarah headed to their rooms, the boys already having been tucked in for the night.

“Are you gonna sleep on the floor?” You asked quietly, sitting down on the couch and doing the things for your night routine you didn’t already do in the bathroom.

“I think I’ll be okay.” He sat besides you. “I’ve been doing fine the past week or so.”

You smiled at him. “That’s good. Alright.” You stood up and stretched. “Let me just make sure everything’s in the bag and ready-”

You yelped when his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest, shifting down to lay against the couch’s arm. “Do it in the morning.” He yawned, looking up at you tiredly. “I wanna go to sleep.”

“Then go to sleep, Buck. I’ll be right back.” He shook his head, his hold tightening as he sunk deeper into the couch.

“No. I fall asleep better with you.”

You rolled your eyes but grinned, settling down with your legs between his, your chin resting on his sternum so you could still look at him. He beamed, but you could see the exhaustion settling in, and he grabbed the blanket Sarah left over the back of the couch and draped it across your back, over both of your legs, before his arms crossed snugly under the covers at the small of your back.

“Dinner was nice tonight. I haven’t had a meal cooked like that in ages.” You hummed.

He nodded in agreement. “I think that’s the first time I’ve sat around a table with a family since the 40′s.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah...kinda makes me wish I had my own.”

“Your own what?”

“Family.”

You bit your lip, shyly avoiding his gaze. “You’re my family, Buck.”

A light kiss was pressed to your forehead, his fingers bringing your gaze back to his. “There’s no one else I’d rather have.” The room lapsed into silence again, the clock ticking on the wall, the low sound of crickets outside.

“You have really pretty eyes.” You mumbled, tilting your head slightly as you studied them. They always held so much emotion in them, especially in contrast to when you first met him as Soldat. They matched the water you fell in, and you wouldn’t mind falling over and over into them.

“Yeah, well, you’re just really pretty inside and out, so I think you’ve got me beat, doll.” He whispered back.

“You know who else is pretty? Sarah.”

He nodded with a hum. “That’s true. But I meant what I said. You’ll always be my doll.”

“So you’re not gonna ask her out?”

He gave you a weird look as you traced his sharp jawline absentmindedly. “Nah, sweetheart. It’s just…some harmless flirting. Except on Sam’s part.”

You gave a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah…he’s gonna strangle you. It is nice to see you like that, though. Flirty. Relaxed. Happy.”

“You make me happy, sweetheart.” He hummed, nosing your temple. “The road trip helped. I’m learning everything from you. Maybe not the flirting, but the carefree part.”

You blinked at him, finger stopping for a moment as you thought. “Oh…”

You felt his fingers dance up your spine, making you shiver slightly. “What I would give to know what’s goin’ on inside that pretty lil’ head’a yours, doll.”

“I just think it’s funny you’re learning how to be carefree from me…when I just started learning how to do it myself.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nodded, your finger continuing its path down his jaw. “I think it started with the goats.”

“The goats?”

You nodded again, resting your cheek on his chest, watching your finger move up from his chin. Once you got to the end of his jaw, you lightly scratched his scruff. “In Wakanda. Our goats.” You weren’t looking at him, so you didn’t see the way he physically melted at your words, his eyes going soft, his lips turning up slightly.

“Our goats, huh?”

But your tired brain wasn’t really processing what he said, instead focusing on the features your finger was now tracing - over his lips, up his nose. “You’re pretty too, Buck. Did you know that? Inside and out.”

He craned his neck to kiss your forehead. “Go to sleep, cuddle bug.”

Nodding, you nuzzled into his chest, finger feeling over the bumps and indents on the dog tags resting near your head. You tried going to sleep, but you kept shifting, your mind not shutting off.

“Hey, sleepyhead, I’m trying to, you know, sleep.”

“Sorry.” You apologized meekly. “I just…I dunno. I can’t.”

“Are you comfortable?” He peeked open and eye to look at you questioningly. You nodded. “Is it too hot? We can take the blanket off. I know I’m a walking furnace-”

You shook your head. “No. I don’t know why. I just can’t sleep.”

He licked his lips thoughtfully, before cradling your head and guiding you back down to his chest. “Lay down, sweetheart. Relax.” He stroked your hair, moving his head down to rub circles in your back muscles, pressing down harder when he felt knots.

You hummed, your eyes closing. “That feels good.”

“Shshsh. Just go to sleep.” His lips pressed against your head once more, lingering a bit longer than they usually do, as you felt yourself drift off. You cuddled his side, throwing a leg over his waist, before nodding off, only barely hearing his words. “Attagirl. There we are.”

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

“Doll?” You felt a shift underneath you and groaned, your eyes barely cracking open. “Hey, sleepyhead…it’s okay. I’m just gonna slip out from under ya, alright? Gonna go help Sammy with somethin’.”

You raised an eyebrow, letting him move you against the cushions as he sat up on the edge of the couch. “Sammy?”

“Yeah.” He bent over and kissed your cheek. You stretched out your limbs, about to rub your eyes, when he stopped you, kissing the inside of your wrists. “No. Not you, doll. Go back to sleep.”

“Bu’...’m gonna help.” You slurred out, looking at him with confused, squinty eyes.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s okay. Rest. You can help when you wake up again. Okay?” You mumbled out an “okay”, bringing the covers up to your chin and snuggling deeper into the cushions. “There ya go, cuddle bug. Good girl.” There was another kiss, one to your temple this time, before you slipped back into unconsciousness.

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

The next time you woke up was because of a clatter in the kitchen. You yawned and sat up, stretching, eyebrows furrowing when you realized Bucky wasn’t with you. It took you a moment to remember your conversation, which you half thought you dreamt.

“Boys!”

“Sorry!”

You chuckled at the shouts, rubbing your eyes. “I am so sorry!” Sarah apologized, looking over at you from the stove. Trying to make the boys breakfast before school. Do you want anything? Eggs? Cereal? Toast?”

“Uh, cereal’s fine.” You stretched out your back again, before throwing back the covers and standing up, a little shakily.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where Sam went, would you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Uh, I think him and Bucky went to fix something on the boat. I don’t for sure, though.”

Sarah groaned. “He probably went to fix the stupid water pump which doens’t need fixing. Dumbass.”

You chuckled, padding over into the kitchen. “Yeah. I just work with him. I can’t imagine growing up with him.”

“Trust me; some days you want to throw him in a box and send him out to sea. Bowls are in that cupboard.”

You snickered, moving over to grab a bowl from the cupboard she pointed to. “That’s how I feel with Bucky. Sam is less often, but when those two get together…it’s a full zoo.”

She laughed at that, nodding as she got out the milk and a few boxes of cereal for you to choose from, handing you a spoon. “That I believe.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

You started pouring your cereal, watching in slight amusement as she got the boys ready for school. “Bus is here! Get out the door! Bye! Love you! Make sure you take those extra lunches to-!”

“Yeah, mom! We know! Love you too!”

You gave a slight smirk as she huffed, looking around the kitchen at the pans and dishes left out. “Kids, huh?”

She gave you a smile. “Yeah. They’re a handful, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything. How about you? Any thoughts of kids?”

“Me?” Your eyes widened, nearly choking on your food. “Oh God no. Not right now, at least. I don’t even have a solid house right now. My life’s too off the walls for that.”

“And Bucky?”

You raised an eyebrow as she leaned on the counter. “Bucky? What about Bucky?”

“Does he want kids?”

“Uh…I dunno.” You shrugged, clearing your throat as you remembered your talk last night. “Kinda makes me wish I had my own.” You quickly pushed his words aside. “He hasn’t told me.”

“Wait, wait. You two…aren’t together then?”

You blinked, your eyes widening again. “Together? Me and Bucky? No…why? Did Sam say something?”

Her expression morphed into one of disbelief, crossing her arms. “Sam didn’t say anything. You guys did. Are you seriously expecting me to believe you aren’t together?”

“We’re not! I mean - he was flirting with you yesterday-”

“Right, okay. Honey, that’s flirting. And it’s harmless. The way he follows you like a puppy and you look at him like he hung the stars? That’s feelings. And that’s a lot more impactful than flirting.”

You frowned in contemplation. It was really that obvious? You were really that blind? This whole time? You knew Sam knew - but you just figured that’s because he’s been there since it started. And Sharon knew for the same reason. But Sarah? The woman you just met the day prior and had barely had a conversation with?

“It’s, uh…” You chewed on your cheek, swirling your cereal around. “It’s complicated.”

Sarah didn’t look impressed. “Do you like him?”

“I’m kinda in love with him-”

She shrugged, not letting you finish your bashful statement. “Then I don’t see what’s complicated about it.”

And that was that. She turned to clean up breakfast, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You thought it was more complicated than that. I mean…you were in love with your best friend. Who left you. With the guy you had feelings for who just so happened to be your best friend/crush’s best friend. And now you were completely in love with your best friend’s best friend, but your best friend still had a piece of your heart.

But…you loved Bucky. And he was here. And Steve was not. And when you put it that way…you guess it wasn’t so complicated after all.

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

You snickered as you walked up behind Sarah, the woman berating the men for not leaving the water pump along like she asked.

“Hi, Sarah.”

Sam shot Bucky a warning look, who grinned, but you were surprised to see Sarah ignore him, sending you a knowing glance instead, before turning back to Sam. “I told you specifically that the water pump was not the problem, and yet, here you are.”

“Yep, Samuel.”

You chuckled, Bucky shooting you a wink. “Yeah, Samuel.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at you, turning to Sarah. “In our defense, you were supposed to be done long before you woke up.”

You nearly facepalmed at his “defensive” and you were trying so hard to hold back laughing as she told Sam off, sending them away.

“I don’t wanna hear a peep from you.” Sam pointed at you, but that only made your chortles come out, and you didn’t even bother hiding them. “She’s a very mean person.”

“It’s tough love.”

You giggled as they started arguing, slipping an arm around their waists, their arms instinctually coming up to your shoulders.

“Oh my God. A prowess?”

“Yes, Y/N. A prowess.”

“You know, maybe if you someone let me help-”

“Hey, woah! You were tired! I let you sleep! I was being nice!”

“Too late now. I’ll be lucky if Sarah lets me within a hundred feet of it!”

“She got you so good, Sammy!”

“I agree with Buck for once! You’re too snippy right now! And c’mon man! Stop flirting with my sister!”

“It’s my natural charm.”

“Charm? What charm?”

“Ouch, doll! That one hurt!”

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

“Okay.” You stepped out of the bathroom, walking over to the couch and setting the bag down on it. “I’ve got everything packed. We’ve got a little over an hour until we need to head out which gives you two time to go set something up for Sammy and maybe even a bit or training before we leave.”

Bucky frowned. “You’re not gonna come out?”

“I will in a bit. I just got a phone call I need to take.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Government call?”

You gave a mocking smile. “Can you guess what they want to talk about? It’s okay. I’ll survive. It’s only a phone call, so I can always hang up. Pretend I didn’t have good service. I do it all the time.”

“I’m sure you do.” Sam chuckled. “In that case, I’m gonna go grab some stuff and get the shield.” As he walked out, he made sure to mouth at you behind Bucky’s back ‘conversation’ making you swallow thickly. You were planning on talking to Bucky anyways, and with Sam’s insistence…

“Okay, so, I was thinking when we get back-”

“Can I talk to you?”

Bucky stopped digging through the bag, blinking at you in surprise at your sudden burst. “Uh…well, we already are, so yes.” He chuckled, straightening and crossing his arms.

“I wanna have the conversation.”

He was left stunned, once again, his mouth opening and closing and his weight shifting form one foot to the other. “Like…that conversation? R-right now? Are you sure?”

You winced at her nervousness. “Sorry, sorry. I know it’s kinda…I just…I need to talk about it. Now.”

“Okay, okay. No, that’s fine. Don’t apologize. I just wasn’t expecting it.” Bucky cleared his throat. “That’s all.”

“Okay…” You breathed with a small nod. You opened your mouth, but Bucky shook his head.

“I hafta say this first; I didn’t mean to hurt you by telling you about Steve. I-I dunno what I thought. That it’d give you closure or something. I dunno. But it hurt you and I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

“Buck-”

“I was jealous. And guilty. And mad. And upset. I still am. Kinda. I guess. I dunno.” Bucky shook his head, running his hand through his hair and all you could do was gape at him as he started confessing to you. “Remember when we danced? In Madripoor? Doll…I don’t wanna dance ever again if it’s not with you. I fucking love you, Y/N. And not in the way we’ve said it before. I’m in love with you. I have been for-for a while now. I just - you were Steve’s. Steve loved you and you loved Steve and that was that and I was just the broken childhood best friend. But Steve left and he told me to take care of you and I didn’t know what to do with that, because you still love Steve. I think. I dunno. And I didn’t want to break what we have because you’re all I have left of him. You and that stupid shield. You’re my family. My home. I really meant it when I told you that. And that’s why I couldn’t tell you. Because it means too much for me to break what we have because I fell in love with my best friend’s girl. You know?”

He looked at you with pleading eyes, begging you to understand, but your brain was still trying to process what he was telling you.

“Oh God…” He groaned. “And now I just told you everything and you’re looking at me like that wasn’t what you wanted to hear and now I’m thinking this wasn’t the conversation you were thinking it was going to be-”

You were moving across the room before you could stop yourself, pulling him by the teal Henley you knew was comfortable having worn it to bed before when you visited him in New York, and slanting your lips over his.

His breathing hitched and he froze, and for a hot second you thought you made everything worse, but then he was kissing you back and his hands were on your hips and he was pulling you closer and it felt so fucking good you didn’t want to pull back for air.

“Shut up.” You muttered when you finally did pull back, your forehead against his, your eyes clenched shut. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up.” You pulled back to look up at him, chests heaving against each other, your eyes prickling. “I’m not good at this. I’m not good at opening up. I only ever was good at it with Steve but Bucky…I’ve been doing it with you. This whole time and I didn’t even realize it until the conversation in the car.”

He reached up to cup your cheeks, wiping away the relieved tears that were falling from the weight you were finally getting off your chest.

“I love you. I’m in love with you. How could I not be? After all that time in Wakanda? I was never Steve’s girl, Bucky. I wanted to be. Dammit, did I wanna be, but I wasn’t. Not really. And he’s gone. But you’re not. And I don’t know why it took me so long to see that. That you’re the one in front of me. You’re the one who held me when I needed it once he left. You’re the one that would listen to my rambles that I’m just realizing was most of our phone calls. You’re not just the broken childhood friend. Don’t ever think that. I don’t pick up the phone at five in the morning after searching for a friend until two for just anyone. Even Steve’s best friend. And I’m such an idiot because I’ve been pushing away my feelings all these years for Steve and then I let them out with you at the wrong time, because I love Steve, Bucky, but I’m not in love with him. Not since I fell in love with you. And I know it doesn’t make sense, but Steve was the first one I cared about and that’s just how I feel and I can try to explain, but-”

His lips crashed onto yours again and you could taste the salty tears that were pouring down your cheeks, but you didn’t care. He was holding you and he was kissing you and it was even more perfect than you thought it’d be.

“You’re adorable when you ramble, but Jesus Christ, shuddup, doll.” He breathed. “Just tell me you love me. Tell me you love me just a fraction of how much I love you.”

You looked up into those ocean eyes, your own shining with earnest affection. “James Buchanan Barnes. I love you.”

“That’s all I need to know.” He murmured against your lips, holding your head against his, still wiping away your tears. It felt like with each one that fell, you felt lighter and lighter. Like they were taking away every fear and anxiety you held within you for the past six months.

“Alright! I was thinking we could just set up in these trees out here - holy shit! Is it done? Did you do it? Did I miss it? Has the conversation been had?”

Bucky chuckled as you giggled. “He has the worst timing.” The last two words were loud enough so Sam could hear, although the man heard the whole sentence.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes!” Sam cheered. “Halle-fucking-lujah! Finally! I was that close to locking you two in the attic.”

You shook your head at Sam’s personal celebration, drowning the rest of his words out as you looked at Bucky, who swept his thumb over your cheek catching one last tear, before pecking your lips.

“I finally get to kiss where I really want to.” He spoke softly, kissing your lips again. “Are you mine, doll?”

“I thought you said I’d always be your doll.” You answered cheekily. He grinned, kissing you again, pulling you against him by the hips.

“Okay, okay! That’s enough! We get it! You’re in love, finally, but I don’t wanna see it anymore! Now will you come help me with this shit?”

Bucky left one more lingering kiss on your lips, before you pushed him away reluctantly. “I’ll be right out.”

He nodded, moving over to help Sam carry the things he’d gathered.

You watched them put it all up from the window, gnawing on your cheek as you spun your phone in your hands. Coming to a decision, you tossed your phone in the duffle bag and walked out with it just as the boys finished.

“That was a quick phone call.” Sam raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged. “Didn’t call them. If they really need me, they’ll find me.”

Bucky grinned as you set the bag down under a tree, pecking your lips when you got close enough for him to grab by the waist to hold you against him. You rolled your eyes, shoving him playfully away and giggling as Sam let out a groan.

“Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got, Sammy.”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Bucky knew he needed the tough love talk Sam was giving him. He needed to hear it. Because, deep down, he had known it all along, he just refused to believe it. He tried doing it. Making amends. He knew he wasn’t though. And of course he knew immediately who that one person would be.

“And hey.” Bucky looked at him. “Let me tell you what. Telling my girl all that you told her? That’s a good start. I’m proud of you. Both of you. You’re already happier. I can see it in your eyes.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head as he thought of the gorgeous woman he nearly let slip through his fingers. He looked over to the house, where she was inside somewhere getting ready after suddenly deciding she needed to shower before they left. “I was stupid.”

“Yeah you were. You both were. I’m so relieved it’s over.” Sam nudged him. “Treat her right, Buck. She deserves it.”

“I know…I just hope I can.”

Sam shook his head. “Uh-uh. Don’t do that. You were just starting to use that cyborg brain of yours! She chose you. And before you say anything,” Sam cut Bucky off from speaking as he opened his mouth to object. “She chose you before Steve left. It just took her dumbass this long to realize it.”

Bucky nodded, a small smile on his face. “Yeah…okay…” Before he could say anything, the goddess herself stepped out, jogging over, looking absolutely amazing in her jeans and his t-shirt. “Good talk.”

Sam laughed at his quick ending of the conversation as she came up besides them. “Talking about me?” She asked cheekily, eyes shining. Bucky couldn’t help but take her under his arm, pecking her lips. Now that he could, he didn’t think he could stop. He was addicted to say the least.

Throwing Bucky a wink, Sam shrugged. “Just all the things that get on our nerves.”

“Ha ha.” She rolled her eyes. “We better get going.”

Bucky and Sam clapped hands. “You know Karli won’t quit.”

Bucky smiled. “Ah. You call us when you have a lead and we’ll be there.”

Y/N stepped forwards to give Sam a hug. “Anytime, Sammy.”

“Eh. Anytime between noon and midnight.” Bucky corrected. “Or noon and ten. Noon and five…you better just call at noon to be safe.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure.”

“Not necessarily as a team.” Bucky continued, grabbing the bag, getting Y/N back in her spot at his side under his arm.

“Nope!”

“We’re not that good.”

“Definitely not.”

“We’re professionals.”

“Definitely.”

“And, uh, we’re partners.”

Sam snapped, pointing at him. “Coworkers.”

“But we’re also a couple of guys with a couple mutual friends.”

“Ones now gone and you’re dating the other.”

“So we’re a couple of guys…with a badass to help out.”

“I can live with that.”

“Perfect.”

“Oh my God.” Y/N let out that laugh Bucky could never get enough of, shaking her head at the two of them. “You forgot dumbasses.”

Sam shook his head. “Nuh-uh. That’s your couple name.”

“Dumbasses?”

“Oh yeah.” The three of them came to a stop, Bucky and his girl - God he loved confirming it now - facing Sam. “Thanks for the help, guys. Meant a lot.”

Bucky patted his shoulder. “Of course.”

Y/N shot him a wink. “Until we meet again, Sammy.”

“Until then, cher.”

Bucky couldn’t stop his grin as she wrapped her arms around his waist, the two of them starting to walk to the main road where she already ordered an Uber. He looked down at her, kissing her lips for the nth time in the past hour.

“I wish I didn’t wait so long,” he told her seriously. “But I’d wait a thousands more centuries if it meant I get to call you mine.”

She giggled, shaking her head. “You’re such a sap! But…” she moved up to kiss him and his heart stuttered. He knew he had a goofy grin on when she pulled back, but he couldn’t help it. Especially when she laughed again. “I have to agree with you on that, Buckaroo.”

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

Adopting A Wakandan Child With Bucky;

Summary: there is hope for your and Bucky after you are given a harsh truth, and it is a fragile opportunity that you believe and take it rather than allow the chance to pass just like the hardships in your pasts had done

Fandom: Marvel (MCU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: mentions and after affects of sterilisation, angst, adoption, mentions of death and the snap, happy ending, brief aftermath of smut and mention of it, fluff

Word Count: 1044

Masterlist Link

This was seen as just another failure on the path to peace, a large blockade that was making his whole world crumble around him. Tears froze in his eyes as he glared up at the ceiling, still pained by the evidential verdict. He could only take lives from this universe, not bring any into it. And whilst it was something he’d have to accept and could not be reversed, he could not help but mourn his dreams and inability to create them into a reality. It was the only thing he saw when he shut his lids that wasn’t an unforgivable nightmare, and like all people in those, it was dead. Cold and unmovable, it had been planted in its spot and the roots ran deep, composing into a satiated spiral of inner agony. You understood that the fault wasn’t upon Bucky, the blame was all atop of HYDRA and their cruel intentions, and they had not only frozen the man that you loved in cryo, but they had entrapped his hopes of a family permanently, locking the possibility of carrying on the Barnes legacy forever. “I’m sorry.” Bucky whispered, his lips barely moving as he spoke. He was fragile to the point where hearing his own voice maintained a frown to forge itself between his brows, and the only language he could find himself speaking in was apologies, it was the verbal replica of going in circles. “I only wanted to give you a baby.”

Abruptly you sat up, ushering yourself closer to him so that your shoulder brushed up against his vibranium one. “Hey, there are other options. Just because we cannot have one of our own does not mean that we can’t have a family at all. I can only imagine how you’re feeling right now, but never forget that you are enough and more just the way you are, and perhaps long term there’s a good explanation why this isn’t working out in this lifetime. Maybe the next will cut us some mercy and give us a break, but exploring other possibilities surely won’t be able to hurt us any more than we already have been. So what do you say Buck?” Tentatively you stared at your partner, ready to gouge his reaction which was strictly unpredictable. Whilst you knew what you wanted, you wanted an affirmative answer first handedly from your husband because you did not desire to go down this road alone, in fact you’d refuse if his answer was not the one that you sought after. And denying yourself the role of motherhood would be a furious pain that pranged your every part, after the years of rescuing and protecting and baring your life on the line in order to stop people from getting hurt, you wanted someone to be proud to call you their mother and for there to be a person other than Bucky that you’d do literally anything for.

The silence between the two of you dragged more brutally than a tortured body, until he startled you and chose to voice his opinion. “If that’s what you want… then I want that too. I’ve always wanted a fresh start with you doll, and to put something before our jobs. They can call us when we’re needed, but tomorrow I’ll make some calls so that we can borrow the quinjet to go to Wakanda to arrange some things.” Confusion littered your face and Bucky picked up on it, not waiting a moment longer to jump in to explain his mindset. “When the battle we fought there ended, those such as your lovely self weren’t the only ones to have lost people, and not just by the snap. Thanos’ army killed some of the warriors that fought on their homeland and defended it, leaving many children I assume without parents; and whilst I don’t intend to replace a single one, if we’re doing this I want to help them. Their people have already done so much for us, me. And if we could raise them there, where they can continue to learn their true culture, that’d be-“

“Perfect.” Was your immediate reply, amazed by his mindfulness and simultaneously pleased that the pair of you would no longer have to grasp onto straws or pregnancy tests to make your combined future feel valid. And so without further intrusion of negative thought or scheduled discussion, Bucky’s plan went ahead, and T’Challa as well as his sister Shuri were delighted to see the two of you so eager to release the connotations of being avengers and become more. Parents. Even Okoye and Ayo had to smile at the progression. The king had much respect for each of you, and aided in seeing what child wanted you as their guardians. But there was no child; there were children. Four to be exact, two boys and two girls, and their names were Rukei, Matszi, Zura and D’elaa. They liked to climb on Bucky’s vibranium arm and often fought over who’d get lifted, but your husband was the one to remind them that he was more than strong enough for them all to be raised in the air at once. You’d even learnt their mother tongue to the best of your ability so that even though you had been permitted the privilege to live in Wakanda once more, they would never forget where they were from. You loved your family.

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tharros-auris-black-asimi · 3 years

Text

Warmth

Pairing: Alpha Beefy Bucky x Female Mutant Reader

Summary: Being paired off with Bucky Barnes on a mission was hard enough. Hell, the two of you being a part of Hydra a long time ago was already hard enough. But when the two of you are forced to seek shelter in an Avengers safehouse, it gets even worse.

Because there's only one freaking bed.

Will you survive the night with the grumpy Alpha by your side? Or will you rip your hair out?

Who knows. The nights are unpredictable.

What you do know is, is that Bucky Barnes is too fucking hot for his damn good.

Maybe you just might pull your hair out.

Warnings: Heavy A/B/O dynamics. Mentions of past torture from Hydra for both Bucky and the Reader. This Bucky is sort of a mix between CW!Bucky, (hence the beefy!Bucky), but also TFATWS!Bucky bc I love grumpy old man, sassy Bucky. Some angst/hurt/comfort, because I'm a hoe for angst. No heats/ruts in this lil fic, just good ole rough smut. Some biting and some mild blood too. This sex would be considered unprotected irl, but in the a/b/o verse, I don't think you'd need protection??? Who knows. Italics are for when Bucky and the Reader are talking in Russian. The Reader also has a nightmare, which ties back in with the whole mention of past torture from Hydra. If I missed any other warnings in this, let me know and I'll make sure to add them!

Additional Notes: This was written for @agentofbarnes's writing challenge! Congrats on 7k, Zee! I'm sorry this took so long. I started writing this in July, and let it marinate for far too long. But it's here now. I hope you enjoy!

All writing mistakes in this fic are mine, as usual.

Word Count: 4,602

Hell.

This was absolute pure fucking hell.

As you and the former Winter Soldier, James "Bucky" Barnes himself stared at the front door of one of the safehouses for the Avengers in case of emergencies, you couldn't help make eye contact with him.

Great. This was just great.

No one, not even Clint had told you that it would be snowing in freaking January in rural Ohio, of all places.

Then again, you had faintly remembered doing gymnastics before you had been taken by Hydra with some arrogant Alpha guy named Lance. He had been a real pain in your ass and you remembered you had made him cry once. After you had escaped from Hydra, you had bumped into him again. Funnily enough, he was still just as scared of you as he was all those years ago. Which, you know, was nice.

But what was not nice was the Alpha that was currently looking back at you. James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, Buck, White Panther, Jesus, Bionic Staring Machine- (the last three nicknames, all given to him by the Alpha Sam Wilson himself), scowled at you. His blue eyes even narrowed at you.

You wouldn't call what you and Bucky had a friendship. You two weren't even enemies. Heck, colleagues? Teammates? That was just putting it lightly, the relationship you had with the Alpha. Even when you had been captured and brainwashed into serving Hydra, the two of you had never crossed paths. It had been only after Hydra had fallen, did the two of you actually meet in person. Other than that, nothing. Nada. Nope. No with a capital N.O.

"Come on, let's go." Bucky all but grumbled. Realizing he didn't have the key to get inside, he looked at you. Like you had the key or something.

"James, I don't have the key." Bucky groaned. "Do you have a bobby pin, Omega? Something?" He asked in Russian. You plucked a bobby pin from your hair. A stray piece of hair fell. Putting the flat side in, you managed to unlock the door. You turned to look at him, giving him a toothy grin.

"Learned that from Pit Pocketing for Dummies, 101."

Bucky rolled his eyes at that. You just sniggered as you opened the door, greeted by cool air smacking against your face.

It made you shiver.

Because, unlike Bucky, you did not have any of that good ole supersoldier serum in your veins.

You were a mutant that could control water. Sometimes, you wished that you had the ability to control fire, because then, at least you could be warm in such dire situations such as these.

Taking your shoes off and putting them at the door, you surveyed the place.

It was a small house. Like a cozy little cottage. Probably only had at least two rooms at the max. It certainly gave off that vibe. There was a fireplace in the living room. A fully furnished kitchen, complete with a little wooden table with benches instead of individual chairs near the window.

Your grip on your bag of clothes became tighter as you realized that you needed to take a shower. Your stomach grumbled, alerting Bucky that you were hungry. Your comms had died. The two of you could contact no one until you charged them.

Which meant for at least tonight, or whenever the snowstorm outside stopped, you only had Bucky Barnes for company.

Well. That certainly would be pleasant.

"Go and shower first. I'll make dinner."

***

After your shower, you walked back into the kitchen, your sweet smell that reminded Bucky of deserts that his Ma used to make for him and his younger sisters back in Brooklyn drifted towards his nose. Thanks to the serum, he had already smelled it a mile away.

Cinamon rolls. Apple turnovers. Apple pies. Pumpkin pies. Bucky felt his Alpha rumble at the smell. Even Winter stirred at the familiar scent he loved so much.

When Bucky had gotten the trigger words wiped away from him due to Princess Shuri's genius, the Winter Soldier hadn't gone away from him. Rather, Winter had become a part of Bucky. Winter had been what Bucky became to survive Hydra. Winter was Bucky, only darker. More possessive. The deepest, darkest thing of him that the Wakandan Elders had helped him find again and reconcile with.

It was during times like this, making dinner in the kitchen that reminded him so much of his time back in Wakanda. Taking care of his farm and his pet goats, (that he sadly couldn't bring back with him when coming back to America), that he missed the most. It was domestic, in a way. He could almost feed into the fantasy, the thought that you were his Omega, his Bondmate, and that he was just making dinner for you.

From an outsider's perspective, it might've looked like Bucky didn't like you. That he just tolerated you. Treated you like how he treated everyone else in his life.

But it was the contrary.

He liked you.

He liked you very, very much. Other than Steve, Natalia, and heck, even the winged pigeon- you were one of the only people to truly understand him. You were probably even on the same playing field as Natalia, because you knew what it was like to be controlled by the Russian government. You held him at an arm's length at most, and you never treated him like he was some fragile, broken man. When you treated his wounds, you never fretted like other Omega's. Nor did you dottle. Ask him if he was okay every five seconds. It was disappointing in a way.

Bucky turned his head, just as you hopped yourself onto the counter, away from the conduction stove.

The smell of butter pasta was filling your nose. You watched with rapt attention as Bucky shut off the stove, grabbed the freshly grated cheese, and dumping it in. To hell with calories. Stirring quickly for a few seconds, he stopped. Turning his head to look at you, he gave you a low smirk. His scent of something sandalwood, oceany filling your nose. It made your Omega preen.

"Get some bowls, will ya doll? And forks too." Hopping off of the countertops, he heard a chirping, yet sarcastic reply.

"Yes, Sarge."

He felt his pants tighten at the thought. Hearing you grab all of the stuff, he swallowed.

Not that he would tell you that.

No.

Never.

***

"Oh, you've gotta be fucking with me."

So, as luck would have it. There weren't two bedrooms.

Nope.

There was only one.

Not only that, the entire room was fully furnished. A closet was on the left side of the door, against the wall. There was a window and just a bit to right, in the middle of the room, was a queen-sized bed, all made up with all the fluffiest blankets, comforters, and pillows imaginable.

"And you're sure this is the only room?" Bucky said. "Yeah! It's the only one, James. It's either this or the couch. And I'm not sleeping on the couch. It's too cold. Whoever built this safehouse didn't have any heaters built in either. Fuck, is this how I die? Freezing to death?" Your voice was getting higher with concern.

Bucky just rolled his eyes.

"No, doll. You're not to freeze to death. We're going to share that bed."

You turned your head towards him like he had just grown a second head. "What?" you exclaimed. "No. No, no, no. Noooo. James. Nu-uh. Uh-uh. I'm not going to sleep with you in my tank top and underwear. the least you've seen me in is a pair of short shorts and a tank top."

Bucky inhaled deeply through his nostrils.

Get yourself together Barnes.

Don't throw her over your shoulder.

Don't do that.

"You're a water mutant, doll. You're not a fire mutant. You aren't a supersoldier either. I'm not letting you freeze to death. I'll keep you warm all night. Better yet, don't sleep in your tank top and shorts. Our body heats will do just fine." Bucky snapped at you. You were still trying to collect your thoughts.

And then the realization, the reality of your situation, smacked you right across the face.

Bucky was asking you to sleep naked.

With him.

In the same frigging bed together.

Oh you were going to die. You were going to die and go up to wherever other spirits went to after they died. You weren't really all that religious nor spiritual.

But tonight though?

Yeah. Maybe you believed. Maybe a little.

Just the slightest bit.

"Okay, okay," you grumbled, "I won't wear any clothes. Better yet, I'll even give you a show. That'll even out the odds, James."

***

Warm.

He was just oh so warm.

Your back was flush against his front, feeling skin-on-skin.

You had stopped shivering about an hour ago.

Bucky had scouted the safehouse, to see if there was actually a heater, in case you had missed anything.

Nope.

There were no heaters in the safehouse.

Absolutely none.

Not to mention, all of the blankets weren't as thick. From what Bucky had observed a few hours ago after dinner while you had tackled the task of doing the dishes, was that the safe house had been abandoned for a while. It was either that, or nobody had stocked this place up for a while.

He had chosen the latter.

With his strong arms wrapped around your stomach, he pulled you close. You were asleep. Dead asleep. Bucky felt and saw your body rise up and down as you slept, your breaths all evened out.

It was nice, almost. Outside was quiet. Bucky could hear other than your breathing only the soft wind blowing due to the snowstorm outside.

For a moment, Bucky was lulled into a sense of calm. His mind was clear. His Alpha and Winter were quiet. He didn't have to fret. Or look over his shoulder. Didn't have to second guess himself or his actions anymore.

And then he heard it.

Soft whimpers coming from the sweet-smelling Omega that he was currently holding in his arms. You had begun to squirm, arms thrashing out. Your legs smacked on his knees, trying to desperately claw yourself free from his tightening grip on you.

"... I'll be good... just don't chuck me in the freezer again... please sir... I hate it there... please don't chuck me in the freezer, please..." you were sobbing in your sleep. You started to blubber, continually trying to claw yourself out of Bucky's grip. The metal plates of his Vibrainum arm shifted as his metal fingers tightened around your stomach. Bucky knew not to apply too much pressure on you- you weren't like him, Steve, or Natalia. You didn't have the serum in you.

"Doll? Hey, doll. C'mon, wake up. It's not real." Bucky tried shaking you awake to no avail. You had continued to thrash in his arms.

Sniffling loudly, your Omega was thrashing in her cage, in the confines of your mind. She was whispering, yelling at you to wake up.

"Omega. Wake up."

Bucky didn't mean to use his Tone. But you were being so hysterical, shaking, and crying to the point where it was beginning to worry him. Your sweet scent had begun to twist and turn into something more burnt. Singed. It made his eyes water.

You stopped thrashing in his grip. Your body froze up at his use of his Tone. Your Omega stopped throwing her temper tantrum too. She had paused for a second.

Her Alpha had given her a Command.

So why wouldn't she listen?

Peering from her cage in the confines of your mind, she sighed happily.

Alpha. Alpha cares about us. She whispered in your ear.

Slowly returning to consciousness, you struggled to know where you were for a second.

You had been having a nightmare.

A full-fledged nightmare.

You hadn't had one of those in a while.

"... Where am I?" Your voice was gentle but confused.

You still didn't know if you were still in that godforsaken Hydra facility or not. But you just wanted to make sure.

"Here, doll. You're here with me. We're in Ohio, remember? Sharin' one bed together cause I don't wanna be a bad Alpha and letcha freeze to death." Bucky said.

You couldn't help it. You snuggled into him, hearing a deep rumble coming from his chest. Bucky's Alpha was pleased. Very pleased. Winter was quiet. Which surprised Bucky. The little shit was usually more vocal about his own needs these days.

For a moment, it felt okay. You felt that weird fog lifting. Your brain slowly settling in your current surroundings. Your sweet, filling scent that had twisted and burnt into something smoky and burnt was slowly wearing off.

You were still a little shaken up. You could still hear your screaming echoing in your head. Your voice trembling, and because you didn't know if you were still stuck in the facility, "How long?"

"Not long."

Bucky watched as you lifted your head up, blinking once. And then twice. And then again, just to be sure.

Your body felt like it still wasn't physically here. Your body still felt like it was back in the cryo chamber, stuck in that damn freezer. Bucky watched your chest heave up and down. Taking in deep breaths.

Then you flopped right back into your previous spot, your back facing his front. Bucky pulled you back with his metal arm. You heard the metal plates in his arm readjust and move. You couldn't help it. Your vagina throbbed at the sound. Chewing on your bottom lip, you wiggled a little bit.

A deep rumble had come from Bucky.

The metal-armed Alpha had pushed a little bit of his weight down on you. Making you feel all warm and safe with the sandalwood and salty scent wrapped all around you like a cocoon.

You wiggled up against him again, trying to get comfortable. Your eyes closed.

A deep groan came from Bucky.

Was he asleep?

You stopped moving.

Another groan came from Bucky. His arms were wrapped around you. Not tightly, but still. It was kinda nice in a way. You could feel every muscle on his broad chest against your back.

Maybe Bucky had the right idea to sleep naked after all.

You shifted again. Trying to wiggle out a little out of the embrace.

A deep growl rumbled from Bucky. His grip on you tightened. You squirmed against him again.

Voice gravelly, "Stop moving."

Your eyes flew open.

He was awake.

And you had been-

Letting out a hiss, Bucky pushed his entire weight onto you and grinded his half-hard cock against your ass cheeks. Not even caring about if his entire weight would crush you, because of the serum.

He saw red.

Pure absolute red.

You choked. A needy little whimper filled the room.

Bucky's metal hand traveled down, all the way down to your pussy, his knee pushing your legs apart. You were panting in anticipation, eyes wide as saucers. His metal fingers were shoved deep, all the way to the knuckles. A pitiful whine left your lips. A needy whine too.

When he entered you, a choked sob escaped from your lips. Your hands curled into fists, eyes rolling into the back of your head as the formerly brainwashed assassin let out a growl.

"So sick and tired of you teasin' me," was what the former Winter Soldier growled under his breath, hissing at the way your cunt wrapped around him. Slick was smeared around your inner thighs, and you couldn't help but sob at the feeling of being so full.

Bucky was groaning above you, his hands nearing shaking.

Never had he ever thought he could ever get to do this again.

Because Bucky very much still liked sex. He very much so was a sexual creature. Being inside you gave him flashes of his life before Hydra. It made him remember a much skinner, smaller Steve. A much duller, war-stricken Brooklyn. It made him remember the giggles of Omegas. It made him remember his Ma's cooking growing up. Rebecca's giggles in his ears. Just like the old times.

Not for the first time in his life, he didn't feel trapped.

He felt free.

This was freeing to him.

And when he began to move, position his hips against your back, smacking roughly. Good enough to leave marks in the morning.

Wet, squishing noise echoed noisily every time he bottomed out of you. Every thrust in, filling you, completing you. It sent you gasping and crying out into the pillows. His hands- both metal and flesh, reached under you, to grab ahold of your breasts in a tight grip that only made you sob for more.

"More, more, more, please James, please-"

Something snapped in him.

Broke.

Bucky had never felt this feral before. The last time he felt this feral had been the hours when he first presented.

You whined loudly when he slid out of you, crying out at the empty feeling. Your Omega screeched in alarm.

Why had her Alpha stopped? Why?

Grabbing ahold of your legs, he lifted them up. Before he thrusted back in again, filling you up to the brim. It was deeper than last time, and his cock hit that spongy part. Hit your g-spot so good that you screamed into the pillows.

You were coming. You were coming so fast, that deep coil inside you snapping like a bomb wire being cut that you never got the chance to feel your programs. Your body jolted, spasmed. Your legs lifted off of the bed or at least tried to. Bucky's body weight was still keeping you down. So all you could do was grip the bedsheets when Bucky started to pound into you again, taking all he could.

You couldn't help yourself. You glanced back, just to take a glimpse of him.

James Buchanan Barnes looked downright feral and your pussy clenched around him deeper at the sight. as if she knew.

Every thrust made him go deeper, hitting your cervix every time. It made your second orgasm piggyback off of your first one, sobbing into the pillows. It was only when your second orgasm came, your walls clenching down onto his cock that Bucky's teeth sank into your shoulder, shattering, breaking the skin there. The taste of copper filling his mouth. Bucky let out a grunt as he came. Filling you up with so much of his jizz that he was sure it would drip from you tomorrow morning.

Bucky lifted his mouth from your shoulder.

Pants filled the room as the two of you tried to regain yourselves.

Bucky shifted, moving off of you and lying beside you. His eyes weren't black anymore. They were back to their normal blue. They reminded you of the sea in the morning on a peaceful day.

Your hand came to touch his face. Your hand faltered, trembled though. Because you were nervous.

"It's okay," his voice was deeper, huskier. It made your pussy throb. "You can touch me. It's okay."

Your hands came to touch, cup his jaw. You leaned in, pressing your lips against his. His lips were soft. Your lips moved together, his tongue slipping into your mouth. The kiss became deeper. You hadn't expected it to become deeper. You had been just going for an innocent kiss.

You swore.

Like- you really did.

You didn't expect to be fully making out with James Buchanan Barnes.

But it wasn't like you were complaining though.

Because you weren't.

Bucky was the first one to pull away. He could see how red, bruised your lips looked. He didn't recoil from your gentle touch on his face. He welcomed it. He truly did. Hands holding your hips, he looked at you.

His lips traveled down to your mating gland. He touched over it with his tongue, giving it a broad lick. His teeth sank in, piercing the skin.

Your ears popped. You cried out. His grip on your hips didn't falter.

"Yes, yes, yes," you gasped. Bucky lifted his mouth up from your gland, before sinking his teeth back in and biting again. Making his mark all that deeper.

It was only when he lifted his mouth from your gland, wiped your blood off of him with the blanket did you come at him, sinking your teeth into his gland. It made him grunt, even groan. His flesh hand came to your head, pushing your head down, making you sink your teeth even deeper into his gland.

"Yesss," hissed Bucky, his flesh hand sinking into your hair, gripping it. "Deeper, doll. Go deeper."

Winter and his Alpha completely agreed.

Theirs.

You were theirs.

After what seemed an eternity, you lifted your head up. Wiping your mouth on the blanket, you spoke.

"I missed you. What did you do to get us paired on this mission? I thought I was going with Sam," you said to your Alpha. A smirk stretched over Bucky's lips. "Ah," your Alpha said, still smirking, "I might've put something in his drink to make him vomit his guts out. He got sick."

A noise came from you.

"You gave him food poisoning? James!" You scolded him. Bucky leaned back against the headboard. "Don't worry doll, it'll wear off when we come back to the Compound. Bird Brain won't even know what hit him."

You shook your head in disbelief.

"You're unbelievable, Sasha. Did you teach Natalia that trick, too? Hmm? She and all of your Widow students?"

Bucky was still grinning ear to ear at you when he responded back.

"Well little bird, someone had to teach them. After all, I was their teacher. They all called me Yasha. Speaking of my Widow students..." he trailed off in Russian. You looked at him.

"You've contacted one of the KBG? About that leaked Russian tape with the orange man that is, unfortunately, our President?" He asked you. You nodded. "Yeah, Sasha. Everything's going as planned. Although, I think assassinating the orange man would've been a much better option. We would've gone in there and made it a done deal by now! Fuckin' Steve and his righteous self." You grumbled unhappily.

"Hmm. It would've been great as a date night. Don't you think, doll?" Bucky drawled. You gave a serious nod.

"Although... seeing him freak out on Twitter is much, much better. The tea is better when it's hot." You grinned. Bucky just let out a sigh.

"I'm restricting your phone privileges. And your TV privileges. You need to stop watching those drama channels, Mega."

A noise of deep discomfort came from you.

"Sasha!" you whined, "then what will I do while you're gone on missions?"

"Wait for me to come back?" Bucky suggested. You just sighed. Even shook your head in fondest. You happily snuggled up to your Alpha, your nose rubbing up against your Mate's gland. "I always wait for you to come back, Sasha. I wait and I worry. I love you, James."

A deep rumble came from your Mate.

"I love you too, Little Omega."

Your head peeked up.

"So, can we tell the rest of the team when I leak the tape?" You asked, your eyes glimmering with mischief.

Bucky burst out laughing.

"Yes, yes, yes. We can tell them once you've wreaked havoc, Omega."

"Good." You were nodding seriously, in complete agreement. "It'll be fun. And... also, I forgot to tell you."

The joyful expression on Bucky's face was suddenly replaced with one of worry.

"What? What is it?" He asked gently. "When you were gone for your last mission two months ago... I... I came off of my suppressants. I'm ready, James. I want a family with you."

Shock flickered over Bucky's face. And then he was shoving you back into the bed with a shriek coming from you.

"When's your pre-heat?" He demanded.

You felt it. A cramp. It made you whimper.

"N-Now, James. Now," you stammered. Your Alpha pulled your legs apart roughly before he thrusted back into you, making you gasp.

"Say it," he hissed. "Say you want it. Say you want my knot. Say you want my pups."

"I want it, James." Your voice was a low whisper, even staggering a little bit. "I want your knot. I want your pups. Please. Please, Sasha."

His hands, both metal, and flesh gripped your shoulder tight as that vein of his neck nearly popped. His eyes were black with want. Soon, his Rut would be upon him and he'd breed you. Put his pup in you. You'd carry his pup. He'd have the pack that Winter and his Alpha desperately wanted after all these years.

A whine came from you when he pulled out, only to let out a scream when he thrusted back in. Hitting that part of you that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your mouth fell open, but no words came out.

His pace was brutal, not even letting you hold onto him. Your hands were left to grip the bedsheets again. You gripped them so tight that your knuckles turned white and you thought that they were going to pop.

Bucky continued to push, continued to shove his ejaculate deeper and deeper inside of you. A mixture of your slick and his ejaculate smeared all over your thighs and trickled down your legs, and you just didn't know what was happening. Your hindbrain was telling you that this was what was needed. That your designation wanted, nay, demanded this. After all the shit you had gone through, your Omega had found her Alpha and now, now she was determined to have a family. Have the pack she desperately desired.

"Mine."

A harsh thrust made you sob.

"You're mine now. I waited for you for so long. Wanted you for so long. You're mine now. Got my Mark. Got my clothes in your nest. Gonna give you my name. Gonna give you my pups. You're mine. All mine. Say you're mine. Say it!"

You came screaming. Your orgasm making you see white. Bucky continued slamming into you, the wet, squishing noises coming from your pussy becoming louder and louder the more he pushed in. Your teeth sank into his flesh shoulder, shattering and piercing the skin there. You tasted copper in your mouth.

Bucky came with a shout. He shoved you back completely, making you shriek. And then he was leaning in again, sinking his teeth into your gland. Making another deep mark. It made you fall limp into the bed as his knot swelled, locking the two of you in place.

He lifted his head.

Being inside you... knotted inside of you... it was bliss. It was just as good as cockwarming. His cock all nestled deep inside of you whenever you two would sneak off to sleep together.

"Bite me again. Give me your mark, Omega." he panted. Slowly, your head went up, you slowly sat up, before taking in a deep breath and sinking your teeth back into his gland.

Home.

You had brought Bucky home. He held you tight, whispering in your ear how much he loved you and how much of a good Omega you were.

"I love you Omega." His voice was rough.

Lifting your head from his gland. Blood still trickling down the corners of your mouth. You offered him a smile. A genuine one. One that made his stomach all fluttery.

"I love you too, Alpha."

#agencyswritingchallenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #female reader #mutant!reader #abo dynamics #alpha bucky x omega reader

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falcqns · 3 years

Text

𝖎𝖙'𝖘 𝖆𝖑𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

☼ 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Bucky x Sam (platonic), Sam x Reader (platonic)

☼ 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Bucky has a seizure during a Disney show.

☼ 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔨𝔫𝔤𝔰: Bucky has PTSD and PTS (post traumatic seizures), seizures, angst, fluff, mentions of food and eating, Sam being protective over Bucky, like he goes full papa bear mode.

☼ 𝔞/𝔫: thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy!

Bucky's seizures weren't new to you. he'd been experiencing them since you met them, so you knew how to handle them. that doesn't mean that they were enjoyable to witness.

normally, they occurred after a nightmare. he'd gotten into the habit of waking you up right after having a nightmare, as there was usually a few minutes gap between him waking up, and the seizure starting. the seizure never lasted more than 2 minutes, and after he'd drink some water and have a small snack, he'd be back to bed, and would have little to no side affects, except maybe a small headache that was cured by some Advil.

he'd had a nightmare the night before, and he woke you up as usual, but he didn't have a seizure. the two of you waited, in silence, not wanting to wake Sam up, for over an hour, before drifting off to sleep naturally. when you woke up, all seemed fine, so Bucky rejoiced, hoping this meant that they were stopping.

that was definitely not the case.

you two were following Sarah and the boys around Hollywood Studios. your fingers were intertwined with Bucky's, and he had a huge smile on his face, the biggest one you'd seen on him.

"god, i wish this existed when i was younger." he said, looking around at all the attractions. you guys had just come out of Rock n' Rollercoaster, and were heading down Sunset Boulevard towards Commissary Lane to get some lunch before your next FastPass in an hour or so.

you had just walked past the Chinese Theatre when a thundering boom echoed throughout the park. Bucky stiffened beside you, and a whimper escaped his mouth. he squeezed his eyes together, and released a shaky breath. "'m dizzy." he said, and you stopped walking abruptly.

"okay," you said, knowing what was coming. you looked around, finding a spot for him to be able to sit and have the oncoming seizure.

Sam looked back as you led him off of the main walking path, and to a tree in a cement planter. you helped him sit down, just as Sam approached.

"Buck, what's wrong?" he asked, concerned. Bucky shook his head.

"he's about to have a seizure." you answered, and Sam swore and took off his leather jacket. Bucky's body seized up, and began to convulse. Sam laid his jacket on his lap, and helped you lower Bucky to the ground, resting his head onto the jacket and his lap, keeping his head elevated. you maneuvered his limbs into the recovery position, and you glanced at your watch to time it.

you saw tears escaping his eyes and sighed. "it's okay, baby." you said, wanting nothing more than to wrap him up in your arms until it stopped, but you knew you couldn't do that. Sam saw his distress, and ran his fingers through his hair.

Sam had gotten used to his seizures the more time he spent with Bucky, and had become much more comfortable with touching and openly comforting him. he'd witnessed Bucky have a nightmare and seizure on a mission, and spent the rest of the night with Bucky in his arms.

the convulsions slowly began to subside, and Bucky freely cried, reaching out for you. you held his hand, and helped him sit up slowly, before switching places with Sam. his head fell onto your chest, and his eyes followed Sam, who'd gotten up and walked off.

"where's Sam goin'?" he asked, his words slurring from his crying. your nails scratched against his scalp.

"he's just going to get you a drink and a snack." you assured him. he got extremely clingy to whoever helps him after a seizure, and Sam was no exception. he told you of a time when he was on a Wakandan beach with Steve when he fell asleep. he'd had a nightmare, followed by a seizure, and Steve had to carry him off the beach because he refused to be away from him.

Sam came back moments later with a water bottle and a mickey head shaped soft pretzel. Bucky took both from him, and sat up again. "thanks," he said, biting into the pretzel.

"no problem man. i'm gonna go and find an employee to see what the fuck that noise was." he said, before he was off once more.

a few more minutes on the ground, and Bucky felt much better. he stood up with help from you, and headed out onto the path to meet up with Sarah just as Sam came back, an angry look on his face, and pushing a wheelchair. he gave it to you, and Bucky sat down in it with a sigh.

"it was a fucking Star Wars show. they set off a damn cannon." he said, and Bucky flipped his head around.

"there's a cannon?" he exclaimed. "can we go see it?" he asked, giving you his puppy eyes.

"i'm gonna fucking kill someone i swear," Sam said, still pissed off. you chuckled, and rubbed Sam's back as you watched Bucky chase his nephews in the wheelchair.

"don't go all papa bear on him now," you said, and Sam scowled.

"they sent him into a damn seizure. i deserve to go all fuckin' papa bear."

#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #mcu bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #tw seizure

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grace-writes-shit · 3 years

Text

Pieces Welded in Gold (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Words: 2.6k

Warnings/Themes: Self-hate, sad!bucky, angst, fluff, comfort

Characters/Pairing: Bucky x reader, Steve, Nat and Wanda (Mentioned), Tony (Mentioned)

She was too good for him.

This is something he had in his head from the moment he had met her. She was a light in everyone’s lives, whereas he was just a pathetic excuse for an Avenger. It took her and Steve months to get him pardoned and then even more months for him to be accepted as an Avenger. Not that he blamed the people they had worked against. He has done so much damage in his unnecessarily long life.

So watching her now, laughing and smiling brightly with Natasha and Wanda, Bucky felt like some ghostly shadow that drifted solemnly down hallways, wondering if he was ever going to feel worthy of love.

The glass of champagne in his hand was set down on a passing waiter’s tray as Bucky excused himself from the group of men he stood with. They had all been talking of some heroic thing Steve had done on their latest mission. And while Bucky was extremely proud of the man Steve has become, he couldn’t help the jealously that rose in his throat. Like ichor that threatened to drown him in resentment. He wouldn’t allow it.

“Everything alright, Buck?” Steve, of course, was the first to stop the conversation and give his best friend his undivided attention.

“Yeah, pal. Just feeling a little empty, gonna go fuel up.” To others, it might sound like Bucky was just hungry, but between the two, it was a code they came up for when Bucky’s social bar was low. It was weird… it used to be Steve having to step away and Bucky making sure he was okay.

The ichor rose to the back of his mouth. Without giving Steve a chance to say anything else, Bucky paced off to the hallway where the elevators were. The grief of his old life and who he used to be hanging over him like the grim reaper.

He made it after skirting along the walls, avoiding prying eyes. Not that anyone would really look at him right now. They were all too busy celebrating something going on with Stark Industries that he had not bothered to remember.

Bucky was barely through the door of the apartment he shared in the Compound with Steve, when he began stripping out of the suffocating suit he had been required to wear. The jacket was haphazardly hung on the hook, mostly thrown at the wall it was on. The polished loafers were kicked off and left to trip anyone who walked through the door.

He entered his room with his button-up undone and his pants barely hanging on his hips. He finally discarded the rest of the clothes in a wrinkled pile in the corner. With a huff and a heavy plop, Bucky collapsed onto his bed in only his briefs. Getting up to shower and put proper clothing on felt like a mountain he didn’t want to climb right now. So he just laid there on his stomach, staring out the window and the fireworks that Tony had arranged.

He wondered if she was out there enjoying them. He knew she liked things like that. She had once told him in the dead of night in a Wakandan hut of all the things that felt otherworldly to her. Like fireworks. Or libraries. Bowling Allies after hours. Abandoned malls. Or her living room at 3am.

She promised him they’d go to places like that when he said he wished he wasn’t here. Just to disconnect for a while, to forget his problems and just feel like he was someone else. Someone that wasn’t the Soldier, or a younger version of him. Not even him right now.

It was at that moment that he knew he loved her. She was here to help him through the problems he was facing, but she also understood that sometimes he didn’t want to try. He just wanted to float away. And she helped him do that, safely.

He truly felt like he was floating when he was with her. Tied by a string to her wrist so he wouldn’t drift away. And she didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, whenever he was near her, she would always subconsciously grab his hand. Or when he sat next to her on the couch, she would always move closer until their thighs were pressed together.

In a small part of his mind that still held optimism, he hoped that she did this because she also felt that if they were apart then she would combust. Since he met her, she had always been a comfort to him, she was there when Steve had found his apartment in Bucharest. She stopped him when Zemo had activated the Soldier by using her abilities. And she was there in Wakanda.

The one thing he doesn’t know, however, is why. Why is she doing all of this for him? Why does she seem to care so much about him? Steve, he gets because they’ve been friends since diapers. But she didn’t know him before Bucharest.

She had him feeling every emotion known to man, but he couldn’t find a way to tell her any of it. He could pour his heart out about his frustrations on his past, on how he misses the 40s, on how he felt like a burden to everyone. But when it came to owning up to his feelings about her… he froze. How could he not? She was everything.

Bucky rolled over onto his back and rubbed at his eyes, trying to dry the tears that didn’t seem to stop coming. The fireworks continued like bombs on the battlefield. His gaze was fixed on a random speck on his ceiling. His mind felt sluggish now and his eyelids struggled to stay open, even as tears still fell.

He must have dozed off at some point as now his eyes flickered open at the sound of shuffling outside his door. The fireworks had stopped, and the air was still and quiet. Steve must have just gotten in. The sound of the shuffling sounded like his gait and weight.

With a groan, Bucky lifted himself onto his elbows to look at the clock on his bedside. Two in the morning. A late one for an old man like Steve. Must have been having a good time then, seeing as how Bucky left the party around 11pm.

A shower was sounding more appealing now that he had released his emotions and slept some. He rose from the bed and hobbled over to the attached bathroom. He didn’t bother looking at his appearance in the mirror; he already knew he looked like shit.

Y/n wouldn’t think so, a tiny voice said in his head. She’d probably say he looked like someone who has lived a lot. Too much, would have been his reply.

He took a lukewarm shower and spent too much time under the spray, pretending that the water running down his face was only that. Not a mix of salty tears that apparently hadn’t run out. Once he was feeling a little more like a person, he exited the walk-in shower and entered the closet.

A simple black t-shirt and some gray sweatpants would suffice. He tried to practice some self-care Y/n had suggested and combed his wet hair and applied lotion to his skin. It gave him a small sense of accomplishment.

Bucky froze in the doorway between his room and bathroom, however. When did she get here? Was she waiting for long?

Y/n sat on his bed, one of the lamps on the nightstand was on. She looked fresh and clean with her damp hair in two braids and an oversized maroon sweater swamping her. She wore cozy-looking bottoms and Star Wars-themed socks. And she looked so beautiful cuddled up in his bed.

“Sorry, I knocked but you didn’t answer. Figured I’d wait for you here.” She spoke so sweetly to him while offering him her hand. He didn’t hesitate to take it and climb into bed next to her, pressing her hand to his chest. He wondered if she could feel his heart thumping.

“It’s fine… Sorry, I left so early.” Bucky rested his head on her shoulder and her hand found its way into his drying hair.

“I get why you did, Buck. It’s okay.” Her free hand came to grab his metal one and threaded their fingers together. “To be honest, I wanted to leave as soon as I saw you walking out. But Tony, of course, demanded I showed off some illusions.” She sighed and released his hair to rub tiredly at her temple.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky sat up straight and took her face in his flesh hand as if he could take away the pain with just his touch. She smiled and shrugged. His body hummed when she nuzzled her face into his palm. Maybe…She does feel the same way as him. Why would she be here at this moment if she didn’t?

“Sort of. I’m still not used to using my abilities on so many people, and in combination with people telling me what to show them next; I got a bit of a headache now.” Her head was fully relaxed into his hand now and he couldn’t help but run his thumb over her cheek.

The question was gnawing at him, but fear of rejection was a brick wall stopping it from leaving his mouth. Would you stay with me tonight? When he was younger, that might have been something cheeky he would have said to a dame. But now it was something he felt he needed to keep himself from having a nightmare. Just someone he loves beside him.

“Hey, Buck?” He barely heard her over the debate with himself in his head. Her hand covering his own drew him from his mind. He briefly thanked God that she never read anyone’s mind without consent.

“Yeah, doll?” She smiled with her eyes still closed and her fingers running gently over his. A small quirk in her smile, however, had him nervous. She looked like she was contemplating something.

“I need to tell you something.” She finally opened her eyes and held his gaze for a few moments before looking away. Perhaps it was the dim lighting, but her face took on a darker hue. There was no mistaking the nervous lip bite she did, though. The movement has his skin feeling like it was ignited.

He adjusted his metal grip on her hand to give her a hopefully reassuring squeeze. He didn’t say anything but just waited for her to be ready on her own. That’s what she did for him. She never pushed him to talk when he wasn’t ready, just let him know that she was there.

She was silent for a while, her eyes fixed on the wall above his bed. He could practically see the cogs turning in her head. Of course, this anticipation was killing him. Was she rejecting him without him getting a chance? Was she saying that she was done helping him? Is he too much?

Before his thoughts could go any further, she finally spoke up in a quiet voice filled with anxiety.

“Before I tell you, I want you to know that it’s totally alright if you’re not ready, or you don’t… feel the same. I never want you to feel pressured or rushed, and it’s up to you to respond…” Bucky was practically on fire now. She took a deep breath, held both of his hands in hers, and looked him in the eye.

“I love you, Bucky,” she said. Her voice held no quiver of nervousness now. Her eyes shone with love and confidence in that love. The sight of it sent Bucky into orbit. The tether keeping him on the ground snapped and he felt himself floating away in pure joy.

The smile that broke over his face was wider than any she had seen before. He bounced up to sit on his knees and towered over her. He took her face into his hands, taking in every detail he could. He must be dreaming. He must have fallen asleep after he returned from the party, and this was a dream.

“Doll, I – Are you serious?” If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up. She laughed and placed her hands over his. She nodded and he swore her smile was brighter than the sun. “Lord, doll... I – I love you so much.”

His eyes dropped down to her lips as her tongue darted out. “Really?”

“Of course! How could I not be?” He ran one hand over her hair, letting it fall to rest along her jaw. “You – you’re everything to me, doll. I’d do anything if it meant that I could be by your side, even if you didn’t love me.”

Her smile wobbled and tears filled her eyes. Her hand gripped his t-shirt and tugged him closer. “Kiss me.”

Bucky didn’t need any more prompting than that. He bent over her and captured her lips in a searing kiss. Everything he hadn’t been able to express through words, he tried to convey in his kiss. His hands held her face and neck like she was the finest porcelain.

Her hands spread over his chest and trailed up around his neck. Her fingers toyed with the short hair at the base of his neck. The feeling sent chills down his spine. He remembers when she helped him cut his hair and how she had run her fingers through the shortened locks then.

The super soldier pulled away briefly, only to press his forehead against hers. Her eyes were still closed, and lips still parted. She looked divine. Her bright eyes slowly opened and met his. And it felt like he was being seen for the first time.

How could anyone so perfect actually exist. And how could they love me?

“You’re perfect for me, Buck.”

His eyes widened and he pulled away slightly. Had she -? She shook her head.

“Your expressions are sometimes enough to know what you’re thinking.” She sat up on her knees and cupped his face. She ghosted her lips over his cheeks, moving over his eyelids and down to his lips. When she pulled away she whispered against his skin.

“I have loved you since I first met you. And when I saw you I thought to myself, in the words of Etta James, at last, my love has come along.” She sang the words and it sounded like the voice of an angel. It gave Bucky the little bit of courage he needed to ask her what he’s wanted to ask her all night.

“Stay with me tonight?” She kissed him again in reply.

“I didn’t plan on going back to my apartment tonight anyway.” Bucky grinned at that and pulled her off the bed with him.

“Good, because I was only asking to be polite.” Bucky grinned slyly at her as he pulled the duvet and sheets back. He noticed she had brought her biggest and softest blanket from her bed. “You were really confident, weren’t you?”

She shrugged and grabbed the blanket from where she had deposited it on the armchair in the corner of the room. He took it and wrapped it snuggly around her shoulders. She gave a squeal when he swooped down and picked her up. He couldn’t help himself as he kissed her again before laying her down on the bed, and then again as he crawled in next to her.

“I love you, sweetheart.” Bucky could feel the cracks in his heart fusing, held together by the pure gold of her love. She cuddled closely to his side and laid her head on his chest. He brought his vibranium hand up to caress her cheek.

“I love you, too, James Buchanan Barnes.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky #Bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #Avengers #mcu #au #self hate #angst #fluff #My writing #avenger x reader #the winter soldier #winter soldier x reader

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goddessofmischief · 3 years

Note

hello! could you write a bucky x reader where john walker flirts with the reader and bucky gets upset? maybe that scene in ep 2 where everyone's sitting in the car? thanks :)

This is a fantastic request! Also, reader has female pronouns in this.

Team Up - Bucky Barnes x Reader

James Buchanan Barnes.

The Winter Soldier. A fossil. A killer.

And quite possibly, the love of your life.

At least, if he’d let you.

You and Bucky felt the same way for each other - that much had always been clear. You’d met on one of his missions, and been lucky enough to survive. Years later, you met him again - this time, as Bucky Barnes, desperately trying to claw his way back into society. You were his neighbor, back when he’d run from his troubles.

Everything had been fine, until the day Steve Rogers recruited you to help bring him in (and protect him from the Wakandans), and after that day, your life had been one with his.

And you’d begun to understand why Bucky had always kept you at arm’s length.

After the war, he’d cut all contact with you entirely. Hell, you barely spoke to Sam anymore - or, for that matter, anyone from Team Cap. Wanda was AWOL. Ant-Man was taking a break.

Which is why it surprised you so completely when you received a message from an unknown caller.

The caller, as it happened, had been one John Walker - someone who wasn’t quite as shy about asking for your help. He had his wingman. Now he needed, as he put it, his very own ‘Miss Carter.’

You didn’t bother to tell him her name was actually Agent. You sensed it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

Besides, why not? The Avengers were disbanded. Steve was gone. Bucky had abandoned you.

You didn’t owe them anything. And if this John guy wanted to make the world a better place?

Well. You weren’t about to stand in the way of it.

“What’s the plan?” you asked, securing a gun in your holster.

“We’re going after the terrorists,” said Hoskins, Walker’s second-in-command. “We’ll go in first. You need to disable the truck.”

You nodded. Walker stopped in front of you, securing the shield on his back.

“Kiss for good luck?” he asked, jokingly, and you stared at him.

“No.”

He rolled his eyes, jumping out of the helicopter and onto the truck. You followed, taking out the driver. Eventually, though, the truck became engulfed in flames, and you had to jump out, coughing. Walker helped you into a car.

“Was that...?”

“Yeah, Falcon and Bucky. They’re... helping.”

Well, speak of the devil.

You, Walker and Hoskins pulled up alongside Bucky and Sam, walking down the road. Walker honked the horn.

“So,” he said. “That didn’t go as planned, huh? All right, we gotta work together.”

“That’s not happening,” said Bucky, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling. Hoskins noticed.

“I think we stand a much better chance if we all just-”

“Just ‘cause you carry that shield,” said Sam, “It doesn’t mean you’re Captain America.”

“Look, I’ve done the work, okay?”

“You ever jump on top of a grenade?” Bucky snapped. You realized, with a twinge, that he hadn’t noticed you yet.

“Yeah, actually, I have. Four times.”

Walker looked to you, as if for approval, and you shrugged.

“Look, it’s twenty miles to the airport. Get in.”

Reluctantly, Sam and Bucky climbed in.

...And for the first time in months, you and Bucky’s eyes met.

“Hey,” he exhaled, looking throughly beaten. “What’re you-”

You gestured to Walker.

“I’m traveling with them now. He needed my help.”

“Well,” said Walker, broadly, “Couldn’t do anything without my best girl, could I?”

He put his arm around your shoulders, and you let him. Slowly, you realized this actually could be...

Fun?

Bucky deserved it, didn’t he? He was the one who’d left you.

“No,” you answered, gazing up into Walker’s eyes. “No, I guess you couldn’t.”

“So, are you two...” Bucky gestured at him. “Fondue-ing?”

"Oh, you know. Most of it’s for the cameras, but...” you shrugged. “John’s pretty good. Almost as good as the original.”

“You take that back,” said Bucky, quietly, and at that moment, Sam Wilson decided to get involved.

“So. Out of all the women in the world, you choose her to be your... your fake girlfriend? Why?”

“Well, she's...” John trailed off. “Perfect.”

“Perfect, huh? Do better.”

“She’s perfect, she’s... she’s beautiful.”

“Anything else?” asked Sam, skeptically.

John shrugged.

“What else is there?”

Oh, now he'd done it.

“What else is there?” shouted Bucky, and you could practically see steam coming from his ears. Carefully, you removed Walker’s arm from around your shoulders. “What else is there?”

"Easy, Buck,” you said, quietly, standing in front of Bucky and placing your hand on his chest. “Hey, I’m here, okay-”

“Yeah, well, we’re leaving,” said Sam, glaring at you. “Good luck with Walker, Y/N. Hope that works out for you.”

“You know this guy’s a jerk,” said Bucky, looking at you, pleadingly. “So... come on. Come with us.”

“So now that someone else needs me, you choose me? No, Bucky,” you said, shaking your head. “This is where I belong.”

...

Requests open for Bucky Barnes, Loki Laufeyson, Peter Maximoff & Ben Solo!

#bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #marvel comics #marvel studios #marvel x reader #marvel #mcu #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes imagine

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jimblejamblewritings · 2 years

Text

not a soldat | part 11.

Summary: Y/N L/N is not a superhero. No serums, no agencies. Just a civilian from a long line of family that’s served in the military. Y/N’s a history buff and bit of a spy in her own special way. This somehow lands her in trouble she never saw coming and straight into the hands of Falcon, Captain America, and Black Widow… if she doesn’t get caught in the unbreakable grasp of the Winter Soldier first.

Warning for the Series: violence, angst, slow burn

Pairing: Bucky x black!reader

Word Count: 2.0k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

W’Kabi smiled at you warmly as you took the apple from his hand to feed the rhino. T’Challa had gone to him for important business and you asked to tag along when you heard about the war rhinos. The creature was so sweet as he tickled your hand when his mouth grabbed the apple. You stayed out of the two men’s way, petting the rhino while they talked. You heard Okoye’s voice on the hologram created by T’Challa and W’Kabi’s kimoyo beads.

You were called into the throne room as well by Okoye, standing behind T’Challa’s throne while the other leaders of the various tribes sat on their respective stools. Okoye called you in because a man named Ulysses Klaue popped up onto Wakandan radar.

“He plans to sell the vibranium to an American buyer in South Korea, tomorrow night,” Okoye explained.

“Klaue has escaped our pursuits for almost thirty years. Not capturing him is, perhaps, my father’s greatest regret. I wish to bring Klaue back here to stand trial,” T’Challa said.

The leader of the Merchant Tribe shook her head.

“Wakanda does not need a warrior right now. We need a king.”

“My parents were killed when he attacked. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about what Klaue took from us. From me,” W’kabi said.

“It’s too great an opportunity to pass,” Okoye agreed. “(Y/N), can you find anything in those records about Klaue? Any non-Wakandan records as well?”

“I’ll search my databases right away and send them to you.” You quickly raced out of the throne room.

“You called me in, printesa?”

Bucky entered the lab. You directed him to your seat and covered his eyes.

“Am o supriza pentru tine.” (I have a surprise for you)

“Supriza?”

You could feel Bucky’s eyebrows raise underneath your hands. You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. Bucky felt the sudden influx of light again and looked down at your workstation to see a box with a shiny new vibranium arm— the face of a wolf carved in white on the outer bicep. He smiled as the scientist who had helped make it, Mandla, took the arm out of the box and helped fit it on Bucky.

Mandla explained how it was made to be easy for Bucky to detach if he wanted to but also the arm wouldn’t pop off randomly. Bucky ran through all the tests to make sure it worked properly. The first thing he did was pick you up and spin you in a hug, your heel coming off as he did.

“Mulțumesc.” (Thank you)

“Cu plăcere.” (You’re welcome)

Bucky’s fingers stayed a little too long on your waist before he pulled away. He bent down to help you put your shoe back on before leaving so you could finish work. You looked up to see Shuri and T’Challa— who had just come in for his new panther suit— staring at you.

“What? Oh, did you and Okoye get the file I sent on Klaue.”

T’Challa nodded.

“Are those Barnes’?” he asked, pointing at his own neck.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm,” T’Challa said before turning to his sister for his new suit.

You took the evening off while T’Challa and them went on a mission. Partly because if they needed any information from you, you wanted to be able to pull it up without any of your other work getting in the way. The other part was you just wanted to be at home. Bucky came out of his room and stared at you before blinking rapidly and rubbing at his eye. He turned around, closed the door, and then opened it again.

“What?”

“You. In something dressed down, I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it, Buck.”

“What changed?” he asked as he sat on the couch. The minute he sat down you moved to put your feet in his lap and laid down fully.

“I realized you lived with me, there’s no point in always having to be a ten in my own house. And I know you’re not judging me.”

“The sweats are cute, I’m loving the llamas on your pants.”

“Shut up.” You sat up abruptly. “Do you want to stay here? In Wakanda?”

“I didn’t really think about that.”

“Your therapy sessions are almost over and once T’Challa brings in Klaue, I don’t necessarily need to be in Wakanda for anything else he needs. I was thinking maybe it’s time for us to go home. We’ve been on the run for so long.”

“Go back to New York?”

“Only if you want to. I work from home so it doesn’t matter to me.”

“I haven’t been back in so long… okay. When my sessions are over and you feel you can leave T’Challa, let’s go back.”

“Alright,” you said as you laid back down. Bucky started tapping on your legs as you turned up the radio for you both to listen to.

You looked up from the commotion of the lab as Shuri ushered in with T'Challa, a man you recognized, Everett Ross. You got up to see what was going on. Shuri informed you of the gunshot wound and you watched them slide Ross into a chamber to take care of him.

“(Y/N)?” T’Challa called you. “Have you read my father’s journal? Was there anything about my uncle, N’Jobu?”

“N’Jobu?” you flipped through your records.

“Only that he was assigned to a War Dogs mission in Oakland and your father mourned his death. King T’Chaka said he felt gravely responsible, if he hadn’t sent N’Jobu there in the first place. That’s all I have, sorry. Maybe Zuri had whatever you’re looking for? Your father mentions him being on the trip to Oakland.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Oh, hello, Ross. You’re awake,” you said as you stepped into the lab, carrying a new box of journals— the other tribes felt comfortable giving their journals over to you after T’Challa approved, not that you were done with the War Dog or king journals yet. Ross was standing at the window admiring the technology Shuri was showing him.

He waved a ‘hi’ before you all turned your attention to the hologram of Okoye that popped up on Shuri’s beads.

“Where is T’Challa? His kimoyo beads have been switched off.”

“We aren’t joined at the hip Okoye, unlike some people we know,” Shuri joked.

“A man showed up at the border who claims to have killed Klaue.”

“What?”

“W’Kabi is transporting him, as we speak, to the palace.”

You left your desk to stand next to Shuri and see what Okoye was talking about. She sent something to Shuri to pull up on the big screen.

“An outsider?” Shuri asked.

“A Wakandan,” Okoye answered.

You and Ross both shook your heads.

“He’s not a Wakandan,” Ross said. “He’s one of ours. Erik Stevens.”

“Killmonger. He served with my brother, said he wrapped up confirmed kills like a video game,” you said.

Bucky brought you lunch so you were in the lab with him and Ross, who wasn’t allowed to leave the lab. He knew that you two had been staying there but Ross didn’t see why he had to stay in the lab while you two, Bucky more specifically, were allowed everywhere. Bucky joked that Wakanda could only have one White Wolf at a time. You were enjoying their company when Nakia ran into the lab with three blankets in her hand, looking panicked.

“The king is dead.”

That made you all stand up.

“Come with me, unless you want to join him.”

She threw you all blankets and you followed her out of the palace, grabbing the journal you had at your desk and T’Challa’s necklace sitting on Shuri’s workbench. You were suddenly glad that you had the knife on you, not knowing what was going on but sure you might have needed it.

Ramonda held up a weapon when she saw Ross step out of the bushes first but lowered it once she saw you and Bucky with Nakia. Nakia told you all to wait in the forest while she left to go somewhere. You handed Shuri her brother’s necklace, watching her tuck it away for safekeeping.

“So where are we going again?” Ross asked.

“We’re taking the Heart-Shaped Herb to Jabariland,” Naki answered.

The day had broken as you guys walked almost the whole night, only stopping for three hours of sleep. You were the only one in a short dress and the cold was starting to bite at your legs. Bucky took off the blanket he was given and wrapped it around you, shrugging when you gave him a look— super soldier serum meant he wasn’t as cold as the rest of you. Ramonda stopped you all, calling for Nakia to take the herb instead of giving it to the Jabari. You were all shushed as Jabari men surrounded you. You stepped closer to Bucky as Ramonda held tight to Shuri.

“Look down,” Ramonda told you all as the Jabari circled tightened to the point that they were almost touching you.

After meeting with M’Baku, he led you out of the throne room and into some place deeper in the mountains. You saw a large red tent and when they revealed the flap, you gasped spotting T’Challa’s face. Ramonda, Nakia, and Shuri ran to his sides while you stayed towards the flap with Bucky, M’Baku, and Ross.

“Is he breathing?” Nakia asked.

“He’s in a coma,” M’Baku answered. “Barely clinging to life.”

“Why do you have him in the snow?”

“It is the only thing keeping him from joining the ancestors.”

“We need to get him to my lab. I can heal him there,” Shuri said.

“Take him. He’ll be dead in seconds.”

“The herb.” Nakia fished it out of her pocket.

“But we have no healers here.”

Ramonda looked at the herb Nakia placed in her hand. The Jabari healers wouldn’t know how to grind up the heart-shaped herb and she was debating whether she wanted to take that risk. You shivered as you threw off both blankets in order to use your arms and flip through the journal you had been clutching since leaving the palace. You spotted the page with the picture of the herb on it, the journal was Zuri’s. T’Challa had asked you to look at it after finding out about N’Jobu.

“Queen Mother,” you said as you walked over to her.

You bent down and showed her the book. Ramonda grasped your cheeks in both of her hands uttering a thank you before taking the journal and reading it as she ground up the herb and mixed it with the correct spices.

“We are calling upon Bast, we are in a women’s prayer house now. Out, out.”

You stood up and ushered M’Baku, Ross, and Bucky out, closing the flap of the tent. M’Baku looked on at you with respect as you stood with your back to the tent, making sure no man entered. It wasn’t your religion but you called upon Bast with the women inside the tent. M’Baku stopped Ross who was going to offer you his blanket from getting closer. You were shivering as you closed your eyes with your head tilted towards the sky, mumbling words in poorly pronounced Xhosa for T’Challa’s health.

“Printesa, stay with Queen Ramonda,” Bucky said as T’Challa planned how to stop Killmonger.

“And let you go fight? Bucky, Killmonger has more confirmed kills than the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky tight-lipped. “I never said all my kills were recorded. They’ve done so much for me, I can’t let them fight without even offering help.”

“Okay, then—”

“You’re no fighter, (Y/N). Please stay with her. I want you safe.”

Ramonda placed a hand on your shoulder and you nodded. You and Ramonda followed the Jabari men when you stopped and turned back to hug Bucky. You removed your knife from the thigh strap and shoved it to his chest, his hand covering yours as he took it.

“I want you back to me, Soldat, alive.”

(Part 12)...

#bucky x reader #avengers fic #marvel fic

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unwrittenlibrary · 3 years

Text

be still my foolish heart (don’t ruin this on me)

Summary: bucky barnes doesn’t have very many people left in his life who care, but he has you... or; five times you and bucky show your love & the one time you finally say it. (bucky x fem!reader)

Words: 4.3K

Warnings: fluff & pining. no major spoilers of tfatws.

Notes: hi! i was going to try and maintain separate accounts to keep my writing organized, but i am lazy and can’t switch back and forth all the time. so! here’s to me now being a multific blog! i hope this does not upset my current followers (and maybe brings some new ones in) this was originally posted my ao3 . happy reading!

You’re the only person who calls him James. It fluctuates between Buck and James, but either way, you’re the only person allowed to call him either.

He thinks his name just sounds so pretty coming from your mouth. He doesn’t want to hear anything else. Doesn’t really want you to call him Bucky because then it won’t sound right when anybody else does.

So you’re the only person that calls him James. The only person he lets call him James.

“James.” You say softly as he falls onto your couch. He’s got a black eye and a busted lip and he knows there’s nothing he can say to quell your worry. So he settles with a smile that causes a wince that makes you let out a breathless laugh. “I told you to be more careful.”

You sit on your coffee table across from him and lean forward with the washcloth in your hand. His eyes fall to his lap and he nods. “You should see the other guy.”

You shake your head tensely as you gently wipe at the dried blood carefully to avoid the bruise still forming. “James. I’m serious. You’re not invincible.” He raises an eyebrow and you sigh. “You may be a super soldier, but you can still get hurt. I hate seeing you hurt.”

You lean back and drop the cloth onto the table next to you. “I know, doll.” You shake your head at the nickname and he smiles. You had told him you thought it was corny, but as long as you called him James, he would call you doll.

And he knew you secretly liked the nickname.

The same way you knew he secretly liked to hear his name when you said it.

“I have some vaseline in the bathroom. We can put it on your lip and then you need to get some sleep.” You pull him by his hand down your hall.

He glances out the window of your bedroom before you pull him into the bathroom. “I don’t need to sleep, the sun is still out.” He says quietly as you search through your cabinet.

You look up sharply. “You need sleep. I’ll be right here, okay?” You stand up straight and lift some vaseline with a q-tip. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” Your eyes focus in as you gently apply the vaseline to Bucky’s lip.

He has to force himself not to smile. The cut will be gone by tomorrow and this will have been all for naught as it won’t affect how it heals. He appreciates the comfort it gives him. He relishes in the warmth that came with your care and love for your friends.

You step away with a proud smile. “I think I’m supposed to do the protecting, doll.” He says quietly. He desperately wants to reach his hands out and settle them on your waist.

Feel the warmth through your worn out sweatshirt and pull you close. But he doesn’t, afraid of something but unsure of what exactly, so he smiles graciously.

“We protect each other, James. In different ways.” You say just as quietly.

It’s all Bucky needs to get a couple comfortable hours of sleep in your room.

II.

He calls you every night. Or at least he tries to when he’s not in DC. Sometimes they’re so busy he doesn’t get the chance.

Tonight was one of those nights. He stares desperately down at his phone, urging the time to change so it was earlier in the night. He couldn’t call now. Not in the middle of the night when he knew you were asleep.

“You gonna go to bed?” Sam asks quietly from his spot in the living room. He’s been sitting silently with Bucky since they returned to the hotel, but Bucky could tell he was exhausted.

Bucky nods. “I’ll sleep out here.” He says quietly and unwilling to claim a bed. He couldn’t sleep in one for a full night, he could barely nap in yours when you forced him to rest.

Sam frowns and they both know he understands Bucky’s fear of the too big and too soft bed sitting empty in the other room. But the man nods before disappearing into his room and shutting the door behind him.

Bucky rests his head against the back of the couch and begins to take deep breaths. His phone vibrates in his hand and his eyes widen when he sees your name flash across the screen.

He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Doll? What’s got you up so late?”

You laugh quietly. “Just knew you needed me.” You say after a moment of silence. “We’ve got that telepathy. I know things.”

Bucky laughs softly. “Yeah? You just knew?” He finds himself believing your words, even though he knows the more likely scenario is that you couldn’t sleep either.

You sigh into the phone and Bucky shuts his eyes again. “Sam texted me, but I was already awake. I switched shifts with the night nurse today, so I’ll be awake all night.”

“You know you don’t have to call when you’re at work.” Bucky says quietly. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

You laugh. “I have a few minutes to myself while the other nurse mans the station. Most of the kids are asleep, so I can spare some time for you. Especially when you need me.”

Bucky nods for a second before realizing you wouldn’t be able to see it. “Thank you.”

“What’s wrong, James?” You ask in a whisper. He listens for a moment as you take a sip of something, probably your water, before deciding to answer.

“This is longer than I thought I’d be gone…” He trails off. Him and Sam were originally only supposed to be in New York for a few days, a week tops, but this mission had dragged on and it had already been almost two weeks. “I…” He trails off.

He missed home. Something he’d never thought he’d think of DC as. Brooklyn had been his home and he was only a bridge away. Brooklyn had been his home. Steve. Wakanda for a short period of time.

But Steve was gone. And he was no longer recovering under the Wakandans graceful care. Brooklyn was a distant memory and DC… Well DC had you. And at some point you had become home for him.

“I know.” You say quietly, like you understand his silence. You do, he supposes. You understand almost every part of him. You understand that he missed you and home , but that he still struggles to admit his feelings. “I miss you too, James.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, but he doesn’t really have a chance to. He hears a siren in the background then you rush out, “Shit. I have to go!” Then all that’s there is a dial tone. Bucky smiles though. You’re off to be a different kind of hero.

He sits in silence and lets your words wash over him. It was new having all these people who cared about him. Decades all alone and treated as a weapon made learning to let people in again a new kind of difficult.

But it didn’t feel as hard with you there to help, he thinks

III.

He has to force himself to keep his eyes open. His nightmares had been particularly awful this week, and now he was sitting beside your heavily asleep body.

He was stuck staring at the repeating trailer on the netflix screen. Logically, he knows he could close his eyes and rest his head against yours on his shoulder.

But he was terrified a nightmare would take over and he would wake you up with a jolt, or worse hurt you if it was particularly awful.

So, he forces himself to stay awake and watches the movie trailer again. He thinks you would like the movie.

“Buck.” You mutter tiredly. His eyes snap to you and he finds your eyes open and staring up at him. “Aren’t you tired?”

He shakes his head gently, careful to not move you. You narrow your eyes and slowly sit up. “Come on, let’s go to bed. You can stay here tonight.”

Bucky hesitates as you stand. He watches as you stretch your entire body and has to force his eyes to his lap when your shirt rides up and your stomach shows.

He had never spent the night at your place. He had spent all day. Even napped at your place often when he came over in the afternoon and you forced him to rest.

He always left before you went to sleep though. So he could suffer through his dreams on his own. So he didn’t drag you down.

You look down at him with soft eyes. “Grab some water. I’ll be in my room, okay?”

“I can go home. I don’t want to intrude.” He answers. Bucky looks out your window and sees just how dark and dead the streets outside were. It wasn’t like he had anything to worry about walking home.

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish. “It’s late and you’re tired, I don’t want you getting hurt. Stay here.” The words are quiet but hold a fierceness that Bucky knows not to argue against.

He nods. “I’m gonna grab some water then.” The nerves coiling around his stomach is almost worth it when your face lights up and you nod excitedly.

The two of you split up in the hall. You moving towards your bedroom and him into the kitchen. After pouring a glass of water, he stands still for a moment and just studies the room.

Your counter is crowded. Different appliances pushed against the wall, ready to be pulled out and plugged in whenever you wanted. A utensil holder stuffed to the brim with spoons and spatulas that seemed to keep appearing. Mail piling up on the counter. A scrub top draped over the back of one of your barstools.

Your kitchen was crowded, but lived in and so very you that Bucky loved it. He loved you, he thinks almost hesitantly.

He pushes the thought to the back of his mind when you call his name out. He knew he cared about you deeply and he loved you as a friend but this feeling in his chest and the speed of his heartbeat makes him think maybe he’s started to feel more. Or maybe he always has.

He doesn’t want to ruin this though. So he pushes the thought away and makes his way towards your room. “I can sleep on the…” His words die on his tongue when he sees the small set up of blankets and pillows beside your bed.

You’re watching him nervously as you try to gauge his reaction. Bucky is stuck standing in stunned silence as he looks it over.

You’ve pulled out a thin duvet and placed it on the ground with extra pillows and blankets for him to lay on. “I remember Sam mentioning soldiers have a tough time sleeping through the night in a bed. Obviously you can sleep in the bed if you want but I just figured that…” You trail off and gesture towards the makeshift bed with a small flourish.

“This is…” He trails off. The warmth in his chest grows with each passing second and his heart races. “Thank you. This is perfect.”

A smile spreads across your face. “Good. Good. I was… I’m glad. And I’m right here if you need me. To protect you.” You say with a teasing glance as you crawl into the bed.

You lay on the side closest to where you’ve set up the floor for him. He laughs softly before moving towards his own space.

He’s still nervous to sleep in the same room. Still feels a little self conscious as he lays his head on the pillow and pulls the light blanket over him. But you don’t seem to really mind his presence as you make yourself comfortable above him.

He takes a deep breath. He definitely loved you.

And things like this gave him hope that you did, or maybe could, love him too.

Later that night he jolts awake with heavy breaths and you look down at him with worried eyes. He shakes his head when you open your mouth not wanting to talk about the dream.

It’s the same thing every time. People that he hurt who didn’t deserve it. The pain of his memories being erased. And he doesn’t want to weigh you down with his trauma anymore than he already has.

You watch him for a moment before nodding silently. Bucky thinks that’s the end of it but he’s shocked when your hand falls off the side of the bed palm open.

He glances up at you and you smile gently but say nothing. He reaches his right hand up and interlocks his fingers with yours.

It’s a little awkward and his arm tenses after a few minutes but it’s far too comforting for him to want to let go. Your hand tightens in his and Bucky finds it easier to fall asleep his hand intertwined with yours.

IV.

Bucky felt awkward in the hospital. He felt too hard and intimidating to be standing in the center of the pediatric ward waiting for you in your teddy bear scrub top and white bottoms.

“Excuse me?” He glances down when he feels a tug on his hand. There’s a young boy standing in front of him with wide eyes. “You’re friends with Captain America?”

Bucky hesitates for a moment before answering. “Yes.” He settles on saying as gently as he can.

He glances around in search of you. He had texted you when he arrived at the hospital and you had responded with a thumbs up, but he was assuming you had gotten busy in the time in between.

The boy squeals excitedly. “Is he here too? Can I meet him?”

Bucky shakes his head softly and kneels to be at eye level with the boy. “He’s home with his family.” When his eyes begin to water and his lip pouts, Bucky begins to panic. “But! I’m sure he’d love to visit soon! I can bring him! What’s your name?”

“Riley!” He looks up at the sound of your voice. A large smile spreads across your face at the sight of Bucky kneeling before the kid. You say something to the nurse beside you before rushing down the hall towards them.

“Riley.” You place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing out of bed? You’re supposed to be in bed.” You look down with imploring eyes and the young boy looks away with an embarrassed smile.

“But! It’s Bucky! He’s Captain America’s sidekick.” Bucky’s mouth falls open in shock at the boy's statement.

“Sidekick?” Bucky asks in an offended tone. “Well-“ He cuts himself off when you look at him with exasperated eyes.

“And he said he would bring Captain America in! To meet me!” The boy's excitement obviously leaves him ignorant of Bucky's offense at being called a sidekick.

“And I’m sure he will. But right now you should be in bed.” You say sternly. The boy nods dejectedly and allows you to lead him back into his room.

When you come back out a large smile spreads across your face at the sight of Bucky standing and wiping his hand against his pants.

He can’t help but reciprocate the same large smile. He drops the bag in his hand on the counter beside him and opens his arms as you slam into him with your arms around his waist.

“Thank you so much! I thought my night was ruined!” You pull away but don’t let go as you smile up at him. “We can eat in the cafeteria.”

You grab the bag before he gets the chance to. You turn to the nurse that was sitting and going through charts next to you and with a big grin say, “Page me if you need me, I’ll be in the cafeteria!”

The woman nods with a soft laugh before looking down at the computer. You take Bucky’s hand in yours and begin to pull him towards the elevator.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. I know hospitals aren’t your thing.” You say quietly as the two of you step in. You lean away and press the two button.

Bucky thinks for a moment that you’re going to let go of his hand now that you’re not leading him anywhere but you don’t. Bucky smiles at the thought of this becoming a normal occurrence.

Your hand just felt right in his.

“Anything for you, doll.” He says quietly. He glances at you quickly before looking back at the descending numbers. “You’re my best girl.”

You nudge him with your shoulder as you laugh quietly. “That sounds like a line right out of the forties.”

Heat rises to Bucky’s cheeks but he laughs along. “You can take the man out of the forties but you can't take the forties out of the man.”

The two of you look at each other before you both burst out laughing. When the elevator stops on your designated floor you pull him out with you.

“As long as I get to be on the end of all that forties charm, I don’t mind a bit.” You lean into his side and smile brightly.

Bucky looks away as his cheeks turn an even brighter red. You giggle quietly when he looks back down at you. “Yeah. It’s always you at the end of it.”

The two of you look at each other for a moment before you pull him into a crowded cafeteria. “Let’s eat before I’m paged back to my floor.”

Bucky had grown more comfortable around you the longer you knew each other, but he still struggled to be fully comfortable with his arm.

It was a different arm, Steve had said once what felt like forever ago. He had rationalized with Bucky. His other arm had been attached to him and forced on him as a weapon. This arm had been made for him with peace in mind. It was untarnished. Mostly.

But a different arm didn’t change much for him. He had still caused so much pain with it. Was it really that different at all? His arm had always and will always be looked at as a weapon.

So he still wore long sleeves and a glove most of the time. Rarely let you see his biggest shame. You usually didn’t push. Sat on his right side. Held his right hand. You rarely said anything about it, it was almost like it didn't exist.

But, curiosity won out sometimes.

“Why won’t you let me see your arm?” You ask quietly one night. He’s sitting on one of your bar stools as you mix a pasta sauce in front of him.

It had been silent most of the night. You insisted on cooking your famous (at least that’s what you called it) pasta dish after not seeing him for a few days as a welcome home.

Bucky looks up at you with shocked eyes. You had never mentioned wanting to see his arm. He had assumed you didn’t want to.

“I… I don’t know.” He says quietly. He taps his fingers, his flesh fingers, against the counter top nervously. You watch him with hopeful eyes waiting for a real answer to the question. “I guess it’s easy to pretend it’s not there when someone’s never really seen it.”

“Hm.” You mumble in response. You step away from the stovetop and move towards him. “Why would you want to pretend it doesn’t exist? It’s a part of you.”

Bucky looks down at the gloved hand in his lap. “Doll… It’s not… It’s an ugly part of me. Dark and violent. And when I’m with you I get to pretend I’m not that.”

You come to stand in front of him. “There are no ugly parts of you. There’s you. There’s dark and there’s hurt and traumatized parts, but no part of you is ugly. Because on the other end of those there’s bright and happy and healing. Growth. James Buchanan Barnes, I can’t emphasize how beautiful I think you are.”

You raise your hand to rest it against his cheek and force him to look up at you. He shuts his eyes and leans into it. “And I’d really like to see your arm. To know that part of you too, but I won’t make you show me. I want you to show me on your own time.”

Bucky lets himself relish in the softness of your hand against his cheek before leaning away. “Okay…” He takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

He begins to shrug out of his jacket when your hand comes to rest on his right shoulder. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I need you to know that.” You say quietly.

Bucky gives you a small smile. “I know… Doll, you’re the person I trust most in the world. I want you to know me. All of me.”

You smile down at him and take a step back to give him space. Bucky shrugs the jacket off quickly before he can second guess himself. The glove comes off next and Bucky feels strangely naked as your eyes trace over him.

“Buck…” You trail off. Your hand comes up before pausing. You look up at him with questioning eyes and he nods. Your hand comes to rest on his shoulder and you raise his sleeve up a tiny bit to look at the scars that litter his shoulder.

Bucky rarely looked at the scars there. Decades of the arm built by HYDRA had destroyed so much of his skin it had taken forever for Shuri to properly fix and build his new arm.

Your hand moves from his shoulder to the metal arm and your fingers trace over the plates and move through the lines of gold. You move your hand in silence. Slowly taking in the creation.

“This is beautiful.” You finally say quietly as your hand meets his. You interlock his metal fingers in yours and he pulls you closer. You look down at him with a sincere smile. “How could you ever think this is anything but beautiful?” You ask quietly.

Your other hand comes to rest on his cheek again. Bucky looks up at you and sees a flurry of emotions flicker in your eyes.

Part of him wants to pull you down and kiss you senseless. Show you how much he appreciates your never ending warmth.

But he can’t bring himself to ruin the moment. Finds that he doesn’t really want to. He enjoys being here intertwined with you.

And I.

He doesn’t hide his arm from you anymore. Finds himself shedding his jacket and gloves the second he’s inside your apartment.

You don’t really say anything, but he’s noticed the smile on your face whenever you notice him in his short sleeve shirt. He thinks one day he’ll be ready to go out without gloves on. He’ll wear short sleeves out in the summer instead of covering up with the jacket.

But now with you, it feels like progress enough.

You sit on his left most of the time now, like tonight, and hold his metal hand in yours like it’s flesh. It had taken some getting used to. He had flinched away the first time you’d done it, but now it felt almost like habit.

You didn’t seem to think leaning against his metal arm was uncomfortable at all. Never showed signs of discomfort when your head rested against his shoulder.

“I love you.” You say quietly. So quietly Bucky almost doesn’t hear it. He freezes for a moment before swallowing and nodding. He assumes you mean the words as a friend, he had heard you say them to Sam and your other friends from work.

“Me too.” He says just as quietly. He’s sure if he says the actual words you’ll see just how much he means them. How terribly in love with you he is.

But that doesn’t seem good enough because you sit up and place a gentle hand on his cheek that forces him to look you in the eyes.

“James, I love you.” You say the words with so much passion that Bucky knows without hesitation that you mean you’re in love with him. That you loved him as more than a friend.

Tears gather in his eyes as he nods. “I love you too, doll.” He laughs wetly as a smile spreads across your face. “God. I love you so fucking much it’s scary.”

You laugh too. “Good. I was so fucking scared. Buck, you’re my best friend. I… I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Bucky’s hand moves from his lap to your cheek before landing behind your neck. He pulls you in and when he kisses you and you kiss back he thinks he finally understands how much you love him.

Moments flash in his mind as you crawl onto his lap so you’re straddling him. Your constant patience with him. The gentle way you say his first name. The bright smiles and great excitement.

The ability to see the beauty in him.

You pull away with a deep breath and begin peppering kisses across his face. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” You say quietly.

Bucky shuts his eyes as he relishes in your affection. “I love you too.” He murmurs. You had become his home.

Somebody who could mend the crack caused by Steve’s departure. Different aspects of his life, yes, but you had helped him heal nonetheless.

He loved you.

And you loved him. You always had. It had just taken Bucky some time to understand how you showed it.

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