#Bucky Barnes x Female Reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thirtysomethingloser92 · 2 days ago

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Chapter 2: The Darkest Fairytale, In The Dead Of Night.

Summary: After multiple failed attempts at retirement, you keep getting pulled back into action by Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant bickering and teasing, there’s an undeniable tension between you and Bucky—something everyone else sees except the two of you.

When a new threat involving stolen Inhuman tech emerges, you reluctantly join Bucky and Sam for one more mission. As the stakes rise, your playful banter with Bucky deepens into something more, and the emotional walls you’ve both built finally begin to crumble.

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Smut.

The air crackled with tension, the ground shaking beneath your feet as you sent another of Thanos’ soldiers flying into the dirt, the impact forming a crater that mirrored the turmoil inside you. Blood trickled down the side of your face, your chest heaving with every breath, but you couldn’t stop. The battle raged on, pulling at every last reserve of strength you had left. Your body screamed for rest, but your heart kept you moving.

You felt him before you saw him.

A familiar presence, steady and unwavering, just on the edge of your awareness. You turned, and there he was—Bucky. His rifle fired off sharp, precise shots, covering you without missing a beat. For just a moment, the chaos around you faded, replaced by the overwhelming relief that he was here. Beside you. Alive.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, choking back the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. “You took your sweet ass time,” you rasped, your voice rough from the strain of fighting, but the teasing tone still slipped through.

Bucky didn’t look at you right away, his focus still on the enemies ahead as he reloaded his weapon with practiced ease. “I was busy,” he shot back, the corner of his mouth twitching in a familiar smirk.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. God, you missed this.

“Slacking off, more like it,” you quipped, forcing yourself to keep the banter going, like old times. “You always leave me to do the heavy lifting.”

Bucky shook his head, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “I mean, why else would I keep you around?” His voice was dry, but there was something softer beneath it, something you hadn’t heard in a long time, “You irritate the hell out of me.”

Then, the moment hung between you, heavier than the battle around you, heavier than the years of war and separation. Something had shifted. The banter stalled, and suddenly, words didn’t seem enough to fill the space between you anymore. The sounds of battle faded into the background, distant and unimportant for just a heartbeat.

You clenched your fists, your fingers flexing as if trying to channel the nervous energy that was now thrumming through you, but it didn’t help. Your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, you stepped forward, your hands shaking slightly as you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice cracking on the last word.

For a moment, Bucky froze. His rifle hung loosely at his side, his body rigid beneath your touch. You could feel the hesitation, the way his breath stilled like he wasn’t sure whether to pull away or hold on tighter. His metal arm hovered above your back, uncertain, as though he didn’t quite trust himself to hold you, as though he was afraid of what it might mean if he did.

But then, slowly, he moved. His arms came around you, tentative at first, almost like he was testing the weight of the moment. But once his grip tightened, it was as if something inside him broke free. He pulled you closer, his hands pressing into the small of your back, holding you like he’d been waiting for this—for you.

His breath was warm against your hair, ragged and uneven, and you could feel the tension in his muscles slowly ease as he held you. He wasn’t the same Bucky who once fought beside you—there were new scars, new ghosts in his eyes—but right now, none of that mattered. Right now, he was here, and so were you.

“I missed you too,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost like it hurt to admit it. But there was no denying the truth in his words, the rawness of it. He held you tighter, like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go.

You made your way up the long gravel driveway, the crunch of rocks beneath your boots the only sound breaking the silence. Behind you, Bucky and Sam trailed behind. The air was crisp, filled with the earthy scent of pine and damp soil, a stark contrast to the sun that hung high in the mid-morning sky, casting long shadows over the forested landscape around you

At the end of the path, nestled between towering trees, stood the safehouse. It was a modest structure, almost unassuming, camouflaged by nature and time. The house was a compact, two-story building, its weathered wooden exterior blending seamlessly with the surrounding forest. The paint had long since faded to a dull gray, chipped and peeling in places, revealing the raw wood beneath. Vines crawled up one side of the house, their green tendrils having claimed the walls as their own over the years.

It wasn’t the sort of place that would catch anyone’s eye, and that was the point. It was isolated, tucked far enough into the woods that it was nearly impossible to spot from the main road, but close enough to offer a quick escape if necessary.

As you drew closer to the house, the details that set this place apart from a typical cabin became more apparent. The front door, while appearing weathered and worn, was reinforced with thick metal bars cleverly concealed beneath layers of aged wood. The locks seemed ordinary at first glance, but you could tell they were far more advanced than they let on—high-grade security hidden in plain sight. Above the door, under the eaves, a small security camera was almost invisible, its lens blinking faintly as it tracked your approach. It was unobtrusive but sharp, recording every movement with quiet vigilance. There was likely a backup generator hidden around the back of the house, in case the power was cut. And inside, you could almost guarantee there were stashes of weapons and gear tucked behind false walls or beneath floorboards. This place was more fortress than cabin.

“Nice place,” Sam muttered, his voice tinged with sarcasm as his eyes swept over the house. He adjusted his pack, glancing at you with a mixture of amusement and skepticism. His sharp gaze, trained from too many missions in too many dangerous places, picked up on the same details you had. “Real cozy.”

You grinned, undeterred by his tone. “It’s cute. I like it,” you said simply, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder as the straps dug into your skin. The weight of it had been a constant companion for miles, but you barely noticed anymore.

Sam shot you a sidelong look, one eyebrow raised. “Of course you’d like it. It’s rustic,” he commented, his voice light but teasing. He had a way of poking fun at you that always seemed to walk the line between annoyance and affection.

You narrowed your eyes playfully and corrected him, “Homey,” you said with a nod, your tone making it clear you weren’t backing down. “Peaceful.” As you said it, your gaze drifted toward the treeline, the quiet forest stretching out in every direction. Despite the house’s fortified appearance, something about the isolation, the stillness of the woods, felt calming in a way you hadn’t expected.

Stepping up onto the porch, you paused, your eyes scanning the area. Something felt… off. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just a certain awareness, like the house was too still, too quiet. “Is someone here?” you asked, your voice low as you turned back to Sam and Bucky.

Bucky, who had been trailing slightly behind, stepped forward. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, as always. He hadn’t missed anything. “Fury said we’d be meeting someone here,” he replied, his tone measured, as if this was just another routine mission. But there was a subtle tension in the way he stood, the way his metal hand flexed at his side. He was always ready for something to go wrong. You reached for the handle, fingers curling around the cool metal as you twisted it slowly. The lock disengaged with a soft *click*, and the door creaked open, revealing the darkened interior of the safehouse. You pushed it wider, stepping over the threshold and into the entryway. The air inside was warmer than you expected, carrying the unmistakable scent of cooking—garlic, onions, and something rich simmering on a stove.

Your brow furrowed in mild confusion. This place was supposed to be empty, at least until your contact arrived. But clearly, someone was here.

You paused in the middle of the entry hall, your boots scuffing the worn wooden floor. The smell of food lingered in the air, homey in a way that felt out of place in this kind of hideout. You let your bag slide off your shoulder, the weight of it thumping heavily onto the floor. The sound seemed to echo through the quiet house, and you could feel the presence of Sam and Bucky as they stepped in behind you, equally tense, equally curious.

The three of you exchanged a quick glance, the silent communication of people who had been through enough together to know when something wasn’t right. Sam’s brow arched slightly, his expression asking the question you were all thinking: Who the hell is cooking?

“Hello?” Sam called out, his voice carrying through the house.

For a moment, there was nothing but the soft crackle of something cooking in the distance, and then—

“Hello.”

The voice was feminine, thick with a Russian accent, and casual in a way that made you instantly more alert. You turned toward the sound just as a blonde head poked around the corner from a nearby hallway. Her hair was loose, a few strands falling into her face, and her expression was relaxed, almost amused as she took in the three of you standing there like you’d stumbled into the wrong house.

“Come, make yourselves at home,” she said, her voice a lazy drawl, as if this was the most natural situation in the world. “I’m cooking lunch.”

Before any of you could respond, she disappeared back around the corner, presumably returning to the kitchen, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

You blinked, glancing first at Sam, who looked as surprised as you felt, and then at Bucky. He hadn’t moved, his body unnaturally still, but his jaw was tight, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something you hadn’t seen in him since the last time you crossed paths with someone from his past.

“Bucky?” you prompted quietly, noticing the way his metal fingers flexed unconsciously at his side.

He exhaled slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he finally spoke. “Yelena,” he said, the name falling from his mouth with a weight that made the air in the room feel heavier.

You frowned, looking between him and the corner where the woman had disappeared. “Who?”

“Yelena Belova,” Bucky answered, his voice flat, though his jaw clenched as he spoke. “She’s a Black Widow.”

The name hit you like a punch, and you immediately understood why Bucky’s entire posture had shifted. The Black Widows were notorious—ruthless assassins trained from childhood, their loyalty hard to win and difficult to understand. You knew Natasha Romanoff, of course, but this was someone different. And judging by the tension radiating off Bucky, there was a history here, one that ran deeper than what he was willing to say aloud.

“Great,” Sam muttered under his breath, crossing his arms as he glanced toward the kitchen. “Just what we needed.”

You cast another look at Bucky, but he didn’t return it. His gaze was fixed on the hallway, his mind clearly elsewhere, caught between the present and whatever memories this woman had dragged back to the surface. His silence said more than his words ever could.

You inhaled deeply, trying to ground yourself in the moment, but the unease lingered, sharp at the edges of your awareness. The comforting scent of food—rich and savory—still filled the air, but now it seemed oddly out of place. It wasn’t just the smell that felt foreign; it was the entire situation. The warmth of the kitchen, the domesticity of a meal being prepared, didn’t match the undercurrent of tension that hummed in the background. It was as if the two realities were clashing, and you couldn’t quite reconcile them.

“Friend or foe?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flickered between Bucky and Sam.

Bucky’s expression remained unreadable, his shoulders tight. He shrugged slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. “Depends on why she’s here,” he muttered under his breath, his jaw clenched as if holding back more than he was willing to say.

“Assuming she’s who Fury called?” Sam offered, his voice carrying a note of skepticism as he glanced toward the kitchen where Yelena had disappeared.

Bucky hesitated, then responded, “Mostly friend.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, your unease deepening. “Mostly?”

Before Bucky could elaborate, Yelena’s voice floated in from the kitchen, cutting through the quiet tension like a knife. “Are you coming or not?” she called out, her tone casual but laced with a hint of amusement. “Or are you just going to stand there gossiping about me?”

You exchanged a quick look with the two men—Sam’s expression was a mixture of curiosity and wariness, while Bucky’s was harder to read, his eyes still narrowed in thought. Taking a breath, you steeled yourself and made your way toward the kitchen, the weight of Bucky and Sam’s footsteps following closely behind.

As you stepped into the kitchen, you couldn’t help but pause for a moment, taking in the scene. The space was small, almost cramped, but surprisingly cozy. The walls were lined with rustic wooden cabinets, their paint chipped and worn with age. A narrow window, partially obscured by a tattered curtain, let in a soft stream of sunlight that illuminated the room in a warm, golden hue. The countertops were cluttered with mismatched pots and utensils, as if someone had been living here for a while, despite the house’s remote location.

In the center of the room was a small wooden table, just big enough for four people. Yelena stood by it, casually placing bowls down, one after the other, as though this was some kind of normal family dinner and not a meeting between wary allies. The bowls were filled with what looked like a casserole—steaming, aromatic, and far more appetizing than you’d expected from a safehouse kitchen in the middle of nowhere.

The table itself was battered, its surface scarred with years of use. A single chair sat askew, its wooden legs uneven, while the others were mismatched entirely, as if thrown together without care for aesthetics. Despite the disarray, there was something oddly welcoming about it, a strange contrast to the high-stakes tension that had settled between all of you.

Yelena placed the last bowl down with a soft clatter, looking up at you with a smirk. “Sit,” she said, motioning to the chairs with a wave of her hand, as if this was her house and you were her guests.

Awkwardly, the three of you settled in around the table. As you eased into your seat, the wooden chair creaked beneath you, the air feeling thick with unsaid words. You glanced down at your bowl, the rich aroma of the casserole rising to meet you. Tentatively, you took a bite, surprised at how delicious it was—savory, hearty, the kind of comfort food you hadn’t expected. It felt almost surreal, eating a home-cooked meal in a place like this, with the looming presence of a Russian assassin watching over you.

Sam sat beside you, his expression one of bemused curiosity as he chewed slowly, clearly trying to make sense of the situation. Across from you, Bucky leaned back in his chair, his posture stiff, his eyes never leaving Yelena. He wasn’t eating—not yet. His gaze was intense, as though he was waiting for something, his jaw still tight with unspoken history.

Yelena, on the other hand, seemed utterly unbothered by the tension in the room. She took her seat, her movements fluid, graceful in a way that only someone with her training could manage. She took a bite of her own food, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before her gaze flicked up to meet yours.

“So, you’re the back-up Fury sent?” she asked, her tone casual, but you could sense the probing curiosity behind her words.

You swallowed your mouthful of food, glancing briefly at Sam and Bucky before answering. “Apparently,” you replied, your voice steady despite the strange circumstances.

Yelena’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Interesting,” she said, leaning back slightly in her chair, her eyes sweeping over the three of you. “I knew Fury liked to keep his cards close, but this…” She gestured vaguely at the table, as if you were some kind of puzzle she was trying to piece together. “I didn’t expect the Winter Soldier and Captain America to be coming.”

Bucky's eyes darkened at the name, but he remained silent, his metal fingers tapping idly against the table. Sam smirked slightly, clearly amused by the situation, but didn’t say anything either. The weight of their shared history hung in the air, thick and heavy, and though you didn’t know the full extent of it, you could feel it pressing down on the room like a storm cloud waiting to break.

You took another bite of the casserole, the warmth of the food doing little to ease the knot of tension tightening in your chest. Each chew felt deliberate, like you were trying to ground yourself in the mundane act of eating while navigating the strange, precarious atmosphere that hung over the table. Every second stretched out, the weight of Yelena’s gaze heavy on you. Her sharp, calculating eyes missed nothing, and despite the casual air she tried to present, you could feel the undercurrent of something more simmering beneath her words. This wasn’t just small talk—this was an interrogation of sorts, a test to see what you knew, how much you understood about the situation you’d walked into.

“So,” she asked, her voice deceptively soft but with an edge that made your skin prickle, “what exactly did Fury tell you about this little operation?”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should speak, but Sam beat you to it. His voice was steady, though you could sense the same unease beneath his calm exterior. “Inhuman weapons going missing. Inhumans themselves going missing,” he stated, his words clipped, to the point.

Yelena nodded, her expression unreadable. “Yes, but I think this goes deeper than just some weapons and missing people,” she said, her tone carrying the weight of something more sinister.

A chill crawled up your spine at her words. You leaned forward slightly, your curiosity starting to eclipse the tension. “How do you mean?” you asked, trying to keep the edge of apprehension out of your voice.

Yelena shrugged, her nonchalance almost unsettling as she took another bite of food, chewing slowly like she had all the time in the world. “So while I was waiting for you three to show up, I decided to do my own thing,” she said, leaning back in her chair with the kind of casual confidence that only came from someone who was always ten steps ahead. She stood up, moving to the counter with a fluid grace that reminded you exactly who she was—a deadly assassin, a predator always watching, always calculating.

Your eyes followed her as she picked up a thick file from the bench, flipping it open briefly before walking back toward the table. There was something about her movements, the way she handled the situation, that made your pulse quicken. She was in control here, and the fact that you didn’t know what she knew gnawed at you.

“This is every Inhuman who’s gone missing that I believe is linked to this,” Yelena said, her voice cool as she slammed the file down on the table with a heavy thud.

The sound echoed in the small space, and you felt your breath hitch slightly, the weight of the file a physical manifestation of the gravity of the situation. You pulled it toward you, sliding your half-eaten bowl aside as your fingers brushed against the rough surface of the papers. The file was thick, crammed with missing posters, police reports, and data sheets, all staring back at you like silent accusations.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you flicked through the pages, the faces of the missing Inhumans blurring together in your mind. What was Yelena seeing that you weren’t? What was the pattern she had noticed that had eluded everyone else?

“What am I looking at?” you asked, frustration tinging your voice as you glanced up at her, your eyes searching her face for some kind of answer.

Yelena raised an eyebrow, her expression challenging. “You don’t notice it?” she asked, her tone almost mocking, like she was testing you, waiting for you to catch up to something she had figured out long ago.

You shook your head, flipping through the pages again, frustration building as you sifted through the documents. Reports, names, faces—nothing was standing out. “I don—” You stopped mid-sentence, your fingers freezing on the edge of one of the pages. Something clicked in your mind, a pattern starting to emerge as you stacked the papers back into a neat pile, going through them all one more time, this time with a sharper eye.

Yelena’s smirk widened slightly, her arms crossing over her chest as she watched you with a look of quiet satisfaction. “You notice it now?” she asked, her voice almost smug, like she was enjoying this little game.

You didn’t answer immediately, your heart racing as your eyes narrowed, scanning the reports again. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, and you felt your stomach twist with the weight of it. “No one noticed this?” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else, disbelief coloring your tone.

Bucky, who had been silent up until now, shifted in his seat, his metal arm resting on the table as he leaned closer. “What?” he asked, his voice low as he scooted his chair closer to you, his eyes darting between you and the file.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “There’s no men,” you said, your voice quiet but filled with a growing sense of dread. You pulled out one of the missing posters, holding it up before flicking through the rest of the stack. “None of the missing Inhumans are men. Every single one of them is a woman.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, his gaze snapping back to the papers in front of you. Sam, too, leaned in, his expression darkening as the realization dawned on him as well.

Yelena nodded, her arms still crossed, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips, though there was no real humor in it—only a hard edge of knowing. “Almost two thousand Inhumans have gone missing, and not one of them is male,” she repeated, her voice calm but carrying a darker undertone, like she was laying out a puzzle you were only just starting to piece together. “Why?”

The question hung in the air like a guillotine, sharp and heavy, slicing through the room’s tense silence. You stared down at the papers spread out in front of you, your fingers still resting on the thick stack of missing persons reports. The weight of the information pressed against your chest like a lead blanket, making it harder to breathe as the implications crashed over you, one after another. Two thousand Inhumans—two thousand—all women, all gone without a trace. The numbers alone were staggering, but the specificity of it, the fact that not one of them was male, sent a chill crawling up your spine.

Your mind raced, running in circles as you tried to make sense of it, but every question only led to more questions. Why only women? What was happening to them? And how had no one noticed this pattern until now? Fury hadn’t said a word about this when he briefed you. Were the disappearances that well-hidden, or had no one been looking closely enough? The thought made your stomach twist.

You glanced up at Yelena, pulse thudding in your ears. She was watching you carefully, her face unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—something sharp and dangerous, like she already knew just how deep this rabbit hole went. She wasn’t just showing you this to pass the time. She was waiting for you to understand, to see the gravity of what she’d uncovered. This was something bigger, something far more dangerous than any of you had anticipated when you first walked into this safehouse.

Your throat felt dry, and you swallowed hard before speaking, your voice a little rough around the edges. “So, years ago…” you began, trailing off as you gathered your thoughts. The words felt heavy on your tongue, like you weren’t sure if you should say them, but you pushed forward anyway. “Now, I might be out of line here, so bear with me.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Sam leaned forward, his attention fully on you now. Yelena stayed silent, still watching, her expression carefully neutral.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their eyes on you, but more than that, feeling the weight of what you were about to say. “Years ago, there was this theory. About Inhumans. It was mostly dismissed, just something people were throwing around, but…when there’s smoke and all that.”

The silence in the room thickened as all eyes stayed fixed on you. You could almost hear the gears turning in their minds, waiting for you to continue.

“It wasn’t official, more like rumors that started circulating online—conspiracy theories on the street that sort of thing. People were talking about the genetic differences between male and female Inhumans. The idea was that female Inhumans might have something… unique in their genetic makeup. Something that made them more powerful, more valuable. It was all just rumors, but the theory went that certain organizations, maybe even governments, were interested in… experimenting. Harvesting something from female Inhumans.”

You paused, feeling the weight of the words settle into the room like a suffocating blanket. You could see the skepticism in Sam’s eyes, but he didn’t interrupt. Bucky’s face remained impassive, though his jaw tightened slightly, the only sign that he was processing what you were saying. Yelena, for her part, remained unreadable, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes—recognition, maybe. Like she’d heard this theory before, or worse, seen it in action.

Sam finally spoke, his voice low but steady. “You’re saying someone’s targeting female Inhumans specifically because of their genetics? For experiments?” He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as the words hung in the air, doubt lacing his tone.

“We’ve dealt with crazier,” you admitted, your eyes flicking between them, “and I don’t know if that’s what this is. But two thousand women, all gone without a trace? There has to be a reason. Something about them that makes them a target.”

Bucky’s voice cut through the tension, cold and sharp. “If this theory’s even remotely true, then Fury’s right. This is planned. Coordinated.”

Yelena nodded slightly, acknowledging Bucky’s words. She stepped forward and tapped the file with her finger, her gaze hardening. “It’s no coincidence. Someone’s been doing this for a long time, slowly, methodically. Not enough to raise alarms right away, but enough that by the time anyone noticed, they were already deep into whatever they’re doing.”

Her voice was steady, but there was an edge of anger in it, the only crack in her otherwise unflappable demeanor. She wasn’t just showing you this information because she was curious—she wanted to stop it, whatever it was.

You leaned forward, your heart racing as you flipped through the missing reports again, your fingers trembling slightly. The faces of the missing women stared back at you, their eyes haunting, as if they were silently pleading for answers you didn’t have.

“But what could they be doing with them?” you asked, not really expecting anyone to have the answer, but needing to voice the question all the same.

Yelena’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes dark as they met yours. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” she said quietly. “What do they want from them?”

The room felt colder, the implications of her words sinking in. Whoever was behind this wasn’t just abducting Inhumans—they were harvesting something from them. Experimenting, maybe. And two thousand women were already gone.

Sam let out a slow breath, his expression turning grim. “If this is some kind of experiment, we’re already way behind.”

“And they’re still taking more,” Bucky added, his voice low, his eyes hard as steel. “Which means they haven’t finished.”

The silence that followed was thick with dread, the weight of the situation pressing down on all of you. The casserole in front of you, once comforting, now felt like lead in your stomach, and you pushed the bowl aside, unable to eat another bite.

Yelena crossed her arms again, her sharp gaze sweeping across the three of you, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a challenge. “Are we going to sit here and speculate, or are we going to do something about it?” she asked, her voice cutting through the room with a tone that left little room for argument. “We need to find out who’s behind this. And we need to stop them, before it’s too late.”

Her words lit a fire in your gut, but the enormity of the situation still weighed heavily on your mind. This wasn't just a few missing people—this was thousands of lives, and there was something deeply sinister behind it. You could feel it in your bones.

Sam, ever the pragmatist, leaned forward, his arms resting on the table. “First, we need to figure out what exactly female Inhumans have that males don’t,” he said, his voice steady but with an edge of urgency. “If we can understand that, we might get closer to figuring out what they’re targeting.”

All eyes turned to you. You felt the weight of their stares, the unspoken question hanging in the air. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, shrugging as you met their gazes. “I don’t know,” you admitted, frustration creeping into your voice. You had lived with these abilities, but what made female Inhumans different from males? You hadn’t the faintest idea. “They don’t exactly give you a welcome pack when we get our abilities. All I got was a dozen broken cups and a broken rib when I fell through the wall.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow, a look of mild disbelief crossing her face. “You are an Inhuman, yes?” she asked, her tone laced with a hint of impatience, as if your ignorance was an inconvenience.

You nodded, feeling the slightest bit defensive under her scrutiny. “Yeah.”

“So all we need is a male’s genetic makeup to see the differences,” Yelena said matter-of-factly, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. She spoke with that same blunt directness that people like her often had—the kind that came from years of seeing the world’s complexities as problems that just needed solving, no matter the cost. There was no room for hesitation in her mind, “We’ve already got you here to be able to get a sample from.”

You blinked, staring at her incredulously. “Is medical consent not a thing here?” you asked, unable to stop the dryness from seeping into your voice. “Plus where the hell are we going to get a male sample from? I don’t exactly have a list in my phone of people to call.”

Yelena’s smirk returned, that same knowing, almost smug expression that made you wonder if she already had this all worked out before you’d even arrived. “In the labs,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What labs?” Bucky asked, his voice low and skeptical as he crossed his arms, clearly not appreciating being left out of the loop.

Yelena let out a soft groan, rolling her eyes as if she couldn’t believe how much of the briefing had been lost on you all. “Do you not read the briefings Fury gave you?” she asked, her tone dripping with exasperation. She glanced between the three of you like you were schoolchildren who hadn’t done their homework.

You felt a flicker of embarrassment, but it was quickly overtaken by a wave of indifference. You’d seen enough in your time to know that plans never really went according to script, and scanning a few bullet points had always been enough to get the gist. “I glance over them,” you said simply, trying to keep your voice casual.

Yelena shot you a pointed look, and you could tell she wasn’t impressed. “Clearly.”

Sam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay, okay, so what are these labs?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “What are we walking into?”

Yelena leaned forward, resting her hands on the table as she spoke, her eyes sharp and focused. “There’s a facility not far from here, isolated, off the official record. It’s an old Hydra lab that was repurposed—government-run now, technically. And it just so happens they’ve been doing research on Inhuman genetics for years. Quietly.”

You felt a chill run down your spine at the mention of Hydra. Even though they were supposedly long gone, the remnants of their operations still haunted the world in ways that were both obvious and insidious. An old Hydra lab, now in the hands of the government? It sounded like a bad idea waiting to explode.

Bucky’s jaw tightened at the mention of Hydra, his metal arm flexing unconsciously. You could almost feel the memories stirring in him, the ghosts of a past he’d rather forget. “How do you know about this place?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Yelena’s smirk faltered for the briefest of moments, but only just. “Let’s just say I have my sources,” she replied cryptically. “The lab’s been under the radar, but I’ve been keeping an eye on it. If anyone’s got the genetic data we need, it’ll be there.”

“And you’re sure they won’t see us coming?” Sam asked, though you could tell by his tone he already knew the answer wasn’t going to be comforting.

Yelena shrugged, her expression indifferent. “I’m never sure of anything. But if we’re going to figure out why female Inhumans are vanishing, this is our best shot. We go in, we get what we need, and we get out before anyone knows we were there.”

You let out a slow breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on you even more. Breaking into a government-run lab, one with Hydra’s fingerprints all over it? It was risky, dangerous even. But what other choice did you have? Two thousand women were already gone, and whoever was behind it wasn’t going to stop.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he considered Yelena’s plan. “This lab… they’re not just going to let us walk through the front door.”

Yelena’s eyes gleamed with something close to excitement. “No, they won’t. But that’s half the fun, isn’t it?” You exchanged a glance with Sam, who looked just as wary as you felt. This entire situation was a gamble, a dangerous one, and you could feel the weight of it pressing on your chest like a vice. But if Yelena was right, this was the only solid lead you had. The thought of going in blind, not knowing what kind of horrors or traps you might face, sent a spike of anxiety through you. Yet, the alternative��doing nothing, letting more women vanish, letting whatever dark force was behind this continue unchecked—was far worse.

You took a steadying breath, trying to focus your thoughts and push down the unease. “Okay,” you said slowly, looking around the table. “So assuming the missing women and the stolen weapons are connected somehow… Why would they need the weapons? I mean, they already have hundreds of powerful people in their hands, right?”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, his expression grim and thoughtful. “Maybe the weapons are a way to keep them in line. You said it yourself, there’s hundreds of powerful people under their control now—Inhumans with all sorts of abilities. Could be they need the weapons as a fail-safe. Something to neutralize them if they get out of hand.”

The idea made your skin crawl. The thought of someone not just kidnapping these women but also holding onto weapons specifically designed to keep them subdued, as if they were nothing more than dangerous tools to be controlled, felt sickening. It was a possibility you hadn’t fully considered, but now that Bucky had said it, it made a horrible kind of sense.

Sam, who had been quiet for a moment, suddenly shrugged, his brow furrowed in thought. “Or maybe,” he said slowly, “they’re repurposing the weapons.”

Everyone turned to him, the silence thick with anticipation. You were the first to speak, frowning as you tried to grasp the idea. “Repurposing them? How?”

Sam leaned forward, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the table as he pieced the idea together. “Hypothetical situation here,” he started, his voice careful, as if he was still testing the theory in his own head. “They started by taking the women. Maybe they were looking for something specific. Something unique in their genetic makeup. After realizing whatever it is—whatever makes the women different from the men—they decide to use it.”

Yelena gave a small, amused shrug, her lips quirking into a smirk. “We’re already genetically superior, but go on.”

Sam shot her a look, not in the mood for her snark. “They figure out that the women’s genetics have some kind of advantage. Maybe it’s an enhancement, maybe it’s something that can be extracted or replicated. Then they start wondering: what if they can incorporate that into the weapons? Use whatever they’re harvesting from the women to make the weapons even more dangerous.”

A cold chill ran down your spine at the thought. You leaned forward, trying to wrap your mind around the terrifying implications. “So you’re saying… they’re not just taking the women for experiments or control. They’re using them. Their powers, their genetics, maybe even their blood—whatever it is, they’re weaponizing it.”

Sam nodded grimly, his expression dark. “It’s possible. Think about it—if they’ve figured out how to extract something from these women that enhances power or makes weapons more lethal, it would explain why they’re targeting them specifically. It’s not just about keeping them captive. It's about making them part of whatever twisted operation they’ve got going.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as the weight of Sam’s words settled over all of you. The idea was horrific—women being abducted, experimented on, and turned into living resources to fuel some kind of monstrous weapons program. The thought of what they must be enduring, what their captors might be doing to them, made your stomach churn.

Yelena’s smirk had faded, her expression sharp and focused now. “If that’s true, they’re not just building weapons. They’re building an army,” she said quietly. “And they’re using Inhumans to do it.”

Your heart raced as the pieces started to fall into place. The stolen weapons, the missing women, the government labs—all of it was connected. You could feel it in your gut. Whoever was behind this wasn’t just kidnapping Inhumans. They were turning them into tools, into something far worse than just captives. And if Yelena was right, this was only the beginning.

Bucky, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly spoke, his voice low and filled with a quiet fury. “If they’re using Inhumans to build weapons, then they’re planning for something big. You don’t go through all this trouble just to sit on an arsenal. They’re preparing for a war.”

The room fell into another tense silence, the truth of Bucky’s words sinking in. If this was about more than just control, more than just experimentation—if this was about war—then the stakes had just skyrocketed. And whoever was behind this wasn’t just a threat to the Inhumans. They were a threat to the entire world.

You could feel the tension building in your chest, your mind racing as you tried to figure out the next step. “So what do we do about it?” you asked, your voice quiet but determined. “If they’re building an army, if they’re using these women to power their weapons, how do we stop them?”

Yelena’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, her smirk returning, but this time it was sharper, fiercer. “We hit them where it hurts,” she said simply.

Sam frowned. “And where exactly is that?”

Yelena leaned in slightly, her voice lowering as she spoke. “The lab I told you about earlier. That’s where they’re doing the genetic research. That’s where they’re extracting whatever it is they’re using from the women.”

You nodded, feeling a surge of adrenaline starting to build. “So if we hit the lab, we cut off their supply?”

Yelena’s smirk widened. “Exactly. We go in, we get the data, and we destroy whatever they’re working on. If we can figure out what they’re using, we can stop them from making more weapons.”

Silence filled the table as you all took on the severity. “We plan today, we hit tonight,” Bucky said lowly. <><><><><><> Bucky stood in the doorway, his broad frame leaning against the wooden frame as he watched you methodically unpack your bag. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow from a single bedside lamp casting long shadows over the walls. You moved with practiced ease, laying out your weapons on the bed one by one—a few knives, a set of knuckle dusters, small items that could easily disappear into the folds of your clothing. Each item was familiar in your hands, your fingers tracing the edges of the blades with a calm precision that spoke of experience.

But Bucky knew better than anyone that the calm on the surface wasn’t the whole story.

He watched as you unsheathed a blade, testing its sharpness with a careful thumb, before sliding it back into its holster with a quiet, almost reverent movement. There was something about the way you moved—so controlled, so deliberate. It reminded him of himself in ways that made his chest tighten. He could see the tension in your shoulders, the slight stiffness in your posture that belied the storm that was no doubt raging inside you. On the outside, you looked like a well-oiled machine, a soldier preparing for the next mission. But underneath, Bucky knew your mind was racing, swirling with the weight of what lay ahead.

And it was his fault.

A pang of guilt twisted in his chest, sharp and unforgiving. He’d dragged you into this. Into something dangerous, something personal. He hadn’t wanted to—he’d tried to keep you out of it, tried to shoulder the burden alone—but you’d come anyway. You always did. And now, as you prepared yourself for the battle ahead, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had failed you. Failed to protect you from the darkness that seemed to follow him everywhere.

There was a part of him that hated seeing you like this—so focused, so hardened. It wasn’t that you couldn’t handle yourself. He knew you could. Hell, you were one of the few people he trusted to have his back. But seeing you like this, preparing for something that could very well get you hurt, or worse, because of a mission he’d pulled you into—it made something tighten painfully in his chest. You shouldn’t have to be here, shouldn’t have to fight this fight. Not for him. Not for anyone.

And yet, you were here. Just like you always were.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight as he watched you slide a knife into the sheath on your ankle. You were here because you cared. Because you didn’t want to see him go through this alone. And that, more than anything, made his guilt twist into something deeper, something more complicated. He didn’t deserve your loyalty. He didn’t deserve the way you looked out for him, the way you always seemed to know when he needed someone by his side, even if he’d never ask for it.

Bucky's gaze softened as his eyes traced the familiar lines of your face, watching the way your brow furrowed slightly as you tested the weight of the knuckle dusters in your hand. You were beautiful in a way that both calmed and terrified him. Beautiful in the way you carried yourself, in the quiet strength you exuded, in the way you faced danger head-on without flinching. But there was something else, too—something that made his heart ache every time he looked at you like this.

It was the vulnerability you hid so well, the weight of the world you carried on your shoulders even when you tried to hide it. It was the way your hands, so steady now, had once trembled when you’d told him about your own past, your own demons. Demons that, in some ways, mirrored his own. Maybe that was why he felt so protective of you, why the thought of you getting hurt in any way made his chest constrict with guilt and fear. You understood him in a way most people didn’t. You saw him—not just as the Winter Soldier or the broken man trying to make amends, but as all the pieces in between. And that scared him.

Bucky sucked in a quiet breath, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. He didn’t say anything at first, just moved closer, his presence steady and grounding as he stood next to you. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with an unspoken tension. He watched as you packed the last of the weapons into your bag, your movements deliberate, almost mechanical. He could tell you were trying to stay focused, to keep your hands busy, but he also knew that wasn’t really what was going on.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low and careful, as if testing the waters.

You glanced up at him, a familiar smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Of course,” you said, your tone light, almost casual. “Another day, another fight.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced. He could see through the bravado, through the tough exterior you always put on before missions. He’d seen it enough times to recognize it for what it was—your armor. He watched you for a moment longer, then quietly moved to the chair near the bed, settling into it with a quiet sigh. His gaze never left you, though, as you continued packing. He knew you were trying to stay busy, trying to keep your mind from wandering too far into dangerous territory. But he also knew you well enough to see the cracks in your calm exterior.

You’d been shaken since learning the details of the mission. He could see it in the way your hands moved—just a little more tense than usual, a little more deliberate. You’d done this dozens of times before, faced down impossible odds without flinching. But this time was different. The risks were more personal now, too close to home. This wasn’t just about the missing women anymore.

This was about how easily it could have been you.

Bucky leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze softening as he watched you. “But it isn’t though, is it?” he said quietly, his voice cutting through the silence like a gentle but firm nudge.

You froze for a moment, your hand hesitating over the strap of your bag. The words hung between you like a thin thread, fragile and dangerous to tug on. You straightened, turning to face him, your expression guarded. “Look,” you began, your voice sharp but not angry, more defensive than anything. “What do you want me to say? That I’m what, scared?”

The question lingered in the air, and for a moment, you let your guard down, just a fraction. The flicker of vulnerability in your eyes was brief, but Bucky caught it. He always did. You were scared.

You shrugged, pushing past the moment and forcing that smirk back onto your face. “I’m okay, Bucky. Really.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his blue eyes searching yours. He could see the lie behind your words, the way you were trying so hard to convince yourself as much as him. He’d seen this before. Hell, he’d lived it. The way you told yourself you were fine, over and over, until you started to believe it—at least on the surface. But underneath, the fear was always there, gnawing at the edges, waiting for the right moment to break through.

“I know you are,” Bucky said softly, his voice carrying a note of quiet understanding. He would play along, just like he always did. It was a game the two of you had perfected over the years—a silent agreement where you pretended you were fine, and he pretended to believe you. It was easier that way. Less messy. Neither of you had to confront the deeper feelings swirling beneath the surface. It was a dance you’d done countless times before, and like always, Bucky would be the one to keep a close eye on you, watching for the cracks in your armor, waiting for the moment when you needed someone to catch you.

You finished zipping up your bag, then turned to him, sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked under you while the other rested on the floor. You gave him a small, playful smile, trying to shift the mood. “So, on a lighter note,” you began, “during my brief stint of retirement��”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, smirking. “What time?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated but amused. “Well, considering that I’m still retired and this is just a favor—” you reminded him, your tone dripping with faux seriousness.

Bucky pulled a face of exaggerated disbelief. “Uh-huh, sure.”

You crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look. “Anyway, as I was saying, I went on a road trip to Washington. I hadn’t been there since, you know… SHIELD, helicarriers, you trying to kill me.” You waved a lazy hand like it was no big deal, but your grin betrayed the humor behind the jab.

Bucky shook his head, letting out a soft, almost regretful sigh. “I was brainwashed.”

“I had my abilities for like, two minutes,” you countered, your voice drifting off as the memory came back to you. You remembered your first encounter with him—when he was The Winter Soldier. How Steve and Natasha had dragged you into their mission, how you’d gone hand to hand with Bucky, both of you relentless, neither letting up. You could still picture the cold efficiency in his eyes as he fought, the crack of each punch, the sheer force behind every block. The fight had been brutal, violent, and terrifying. “I had no idea what I was doing.”

Bucky gave you a look, his lips quirking up slightly. “I apologized,” he pointed out, his tone just a little defensive.

You laughed, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah. Can I finish my story? You’re gonna love it, I promise.”

Bucky settled back into his chair, gesturing for you to continue with a mock-serious expression. “By all means,” he said with a smirk.

“So, like I said, I went to Washington, and I thought, ‘Man, I wonder if they’ve updated the Smithsonian since Steve ya know, ‘retired’—’”

“I thought you didn’t like history,” Bucky interrupted again, his eyebrow raised in challenge.

You shot him a dry look, one eyebrow arched. “You’re just gonna keep right on interrupting me, huh?”

Bucky lifted his hands in surrender, fighting back a grin. “Sorry, sorry.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but there was a playful glint in your gaze. “As I was saying,” you emphasized, “I went and took myself to the Smithsonian—”

At that exact moment, Sam strolled through the doorway, arms crossed casually over his chest as he leaned against the frame. His expression was all easy charm, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “What are we talking about?” he asked, his tone light, though you knew he was always looking for a chance to stir the pot.

You threw your head back in mock frustration, letting out an exaggerated groan. “How they’re about to make a Netflix series about me going postal because no one will stop interrupting me.”

Sam chuckled, clearly amused by your antics as he sauntered over to lean against the dresser, arms still folded, a smirk playing on his lips. He was enjoying this far too much. “Hey, sorry, sorry. Please, by all means, continue,” he said, the faux innocence in his tone making it obvious he wasn’t sorry at all.

You shot him a playful glare before glancing at Bucky, who was watching you with a faint smirk of his own. You took a dramatic breath, as if preparing for the biggest reveal of your life. “They’ve expanded the Howling Commandos exhibit.” You shrugged, “Looks kinda cool.”

At that, both men perked up slightly. Bucky’s brow furrowed with curiosity, the teasing air around him shifting just a little. “Oh yeah?” he asked, his voice a bit more genuine now. The mention of the Commandos always did that—brought something quieter, more thoughtful out of him.

You grinned, feeling the moment hang deliciously in the air as you let the suspense build. “Apparently, a woman named Connie donated some letters you wrote to her.” You sucked in some air through your teeth dramatically, your grin widening as you watched Bucky’s eyes narrow, clearly trying to place the name.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, an incredulous smile breaking across his face. “Whoa, hold up—Bucky was out here writing love letters? Ol’ Winter Soldier, the romantic?”

Bucky’s face immediately hardened into a defensive scowl, but the tips of his ears were turning pink, betraying him. “I didn’t—” he started, but you cut him off, enjoying every second of this.

“Oh, no, no. These weren’t just letters,” you said, your voice dripping with mock seriousness. “They were passionate letters. Full of longing. Full of ‘I fought in a war, but the real battle is in my heart’ kind of stuff.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re exhausting.” He commented shaking his head at you.

Bucky leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you closely as you bantered with Sam. He could see the way you were trying to brush off the weight of everything—using humor to mask the tension that had been building since the mission brief. It was something he understood all too well. Deflecting, joking, pretending things weren’t as heavy as they were. He did it all the time. But he also knew that underneath the teasing, you were carrying more than you let on.

Sam, oblivious or just enjoying the lighthearted moment, burst out laughing, his voice filling the room as he leaned forward on the dresser. “Man, I have to see these letters. Bucky Barnes, the romantic. Who knew?”

You grinned, shooting Sam a playful look. “Oh, trust me, we’ll go spend the day when we get back,” you said with a sly wink, relishing the little jab at Bucky. “You’re gonna love it. Reading those letters and trying to compare it to the Bucky I know now? Impossible. I mean, they’re so... heartfelt.”

Bucky gave you a half-hearted glare, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile. He was trying to play it off, but you could tell he wasn’t as mad as he pretended to be. “You two done?” he asked, his voice gruff but without any real bite behind it.

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Sam grinned, leaning back again, arms still crossed over his chest like he was settling in for a long show. “Tell us more, though. What else was in this exhibit?”

Bucky groaned, rolling his eyes but not saying anything. He was used to this by now—the endless teasing, the jabs at his past. But you could see the way he was watching you, his eyes sharp and focused, like he was waiting for you to drop the facade. He knew you too well. Knew all of this was just a way to keep the conversation light, to keep from thinking too much about what you were all walking into.

You decided to pivot, your tone suddenly serious as you fixed your gaze on Bucky. “Okay, I’ll give you credit for this—”

Sam’s eyes widened in mock surprise, immediately cutting in. “Oh, hold up. Are you about to give him a compliment? Somebody mark the date and time!”

You nodded, keeping your face serious as you glanced back at Bucky, your tone shifting ever so slightly. “Have you seen his long-distance shooting record?”

Sam blinked, a mixture of surprise and curiosity crossing his face. “Wait, what?”

You nodded again, turning fully to face Bucky now. “Not bad,” you said, your voice carrying a note of genuine respect. “There’s a whole section on it at the exhibit. They’ve got targets he hit from crazy distances. It’s impressive.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. He wasn’t used to getting compliments, especially not from you. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sam beat him to it.

“Wait, wait, wait. Back up,” Sam said, holding up a hand, his tone incredulous. “Are you telling me Bucky’s a sniper legend? I mean, I know he’s good, but legendary?”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips as you looked at Bucky. “Well, when you’re fighting Nazis, I guess you pick up a few skills.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, clearly not used to this kind of praise. “It’s not a big deal,” he muttered, his voice low. “Oh, it’s definitely a big deal,” Sam said, leaning forward with a grin that stretched ear to ear, clearly enjoying this moment far too much. “I mean, I knew you were good, but this? We’re talking about museum-worthy accuracy here, man.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a quiet chuckle under his breath, something soft and amused in the sound. “You guys are killing me with this. Really, top-notch stuff. Hilarious.”

Sam crossed his arms, his grin widening with satisfaction. “Oh, we know,” he said, his tone dripping with mock arrogance. “But back to the main event—love letters, Barnes? Seriously?”

You couldn’t help but join in, your grin playful as you chimed in. “Hey, it was wartime,” you said, glancing over at Sam with a shrug. “My grandparents always said that despite the war, it was a whole different time. People fell in love hard and fast because they might not have tomorrow.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, smirking mischievously. “So what about you?” he asked, leaning in as if he were about to uncover some scandalous secret. “You ever sweep anyone off their feet with some heartfelt letter? Maybe a little romance on the battlefield?”

You laughed, shaking your head before he could even finish the thought, already anticipating where this was headed. “Me? Please,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Could you imagine me sweeping some poor asshole off their feet? I’d probably trip them over. I’m much more of a ‘stumble into someone and hope they don’t notice I’m a mess’ kind of person.”

In the background, Bucky’s laugh broke through, warm and unguarded, the kind of laugh that came so rarely from him. “Nah, you’ve got a certain charm about you,” he teased, leaning back against the dresser with a smirk that was equal parts amused and fond. “A kind of, uh—what’s the word—chaotic energy.”

You shot him a mock glare, arms crossing over your chest in faux indignation. “Oh, thanks, Barnes. That’s exactly what every girl wants to hear—that she’s a natural disaster.”

Sam, never missing an opportunity, jumped in, clearly having the time of his life. “Hey, he’s not wrong! You’ve got that whole unpredictable, keep-‘em-on-their-toes vibe. Some people are into that, you know?”

You scoffed, grabbing a nearby pillow and chucking it at Sam, who caught it with ease. “You’re full of it, Wilson.”

Sam was still laughing, his grin never faltering. “No, no, I’m serious! It’s like... you’re the kind of person who’d accidentally knock over a bookshelf, but then somehow make it look like you did it on purpose. There’s a strategy to your chaos.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you waved him off. “Great. So I’m a charming disaster. That’s really working wonders for my confidence.”

Sam raised his hands in mock defense, his grin wide and playful. “Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it. You’ve got personality, that’s all I’m saying.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. The banter with Sam was easy—light-hearted and fun, the kind of back-and-forth that made everything feel just a little bit lighter, even with the weight of the mission hanging over all of you. It was normal for you and Sam to mess around like this, and you were comfortable in the rhythm of it, not thinking too much about it.

But what you didn't notice was the way Bucky had gone quiet.

Sam, however, wasn’t as oblivious. He picked up on it almost immediately—the subtle shift in Bucky’s demeanor. The way his easy smile faded just a little, the way his eyes lowered as he leaned back against the chair, retreating into himself. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t something that most people would catch. But Sam knew Bucky better than most. He could read him like a book, and right now, that book was telling him something was up.

Bucky’s jaw tightened ever so slightly as his eyes flicked to you, lingering longer than they should. It wasn’t just a passing glance—it was the kind of look that held more than just casual interest. There was something deeper there, something quieter. Something Bucky wasn’t saying.

And it wasn’t the first time Sam had noticed.

Since coming back from being dusted—since being thrust back into a world that had moved five years without him—Bucky had changed in ways that weren’t immediately obvious. To everyone else, he was still the same old Bucky Barnes: stoic, brooding, and reserved. But Sam had spent enough time around him to see the cracks forming beneath the surface, the subtle ways Bucky’s once hardened exterior had softened.

It was in the small moments when Sam caught Bucky watching you, his expression unguarded, like he forgot for just a second that someone might see. Back when they were first regrouping after the Blip, Sam had noticed the way Bucky’s entire posture would shift when you entered the room. At first, he thought it was just Bucky being cautious—observing, like he always did. But the more Sam watched, the more he realized it wasn’t wariness in Bucky’s eyes when he looked at you. It was something else entirely.

There was that one time, when you were all holed up in some dingy safehouse between missions. You had been pacing, frustrated about something that had gone wrong, your voice sharp with irritation as you vented to Sam. Bucky had been sitting on the other side of the room, seemingly uninterested, quietly cleaning his weapon. But Sam had noticed the way Bucky’s eyes followed you, his movements slowing as he listened to every word you said. And when you’d finally thrown yourself onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, Bucky had glanced over at you, his expression softening in a way that was almost imperceptible. Almost.

Sam had even noticed the way Bucky’s mood would shift depending on how you were feeling. If you were having a rough day, Bucky would be quieter than usual, his eyes tracking your movements like he was waiting for the right moment to step in. If you were in a good mood, cracking jokes and teasing him, Bucky’s responses would be a little sharper, his banter quicker, like he was trying to keep up. But it was when you weren’t around that Sam noticed the biggest difference. Bucky was always more withdrawn when you weren’t there—more closed off, like he was missing something essential.

It wasn’t just about attraction, either. Sam had seen that before, the way people looked at each other when they were interested. This was different. This ran deeper. It was in the way Bucky seemed to need you, the way his edges softened when you spoke to him, even in passing. The way his gaze would flick to you when he thought no one was looking, his expression quiet, contemplative, like he was memorizing every detail.

Sam hadn’t said anything, of course. Bucky wasn’t exactly the type to talk about his feelings, and Sam wasn’t about to push him. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed. It was hard not to notice when Bucky’s entire demeanor shifted around you.

It was the kind of quiet, unspoken affection that ran deep—deeper than Bucky probably even realized. The kind of feelings that had been building slowly, over time, in the small moments between missions, in the comfortable silences and the shared glances. And Sam, ever the observer, had been there to witness it all.

So when Bucky’s gaze lingered just a little too long during moments like this, Sam wasn’t surprised. He’d seen it before. He’d seen it in the way Bucky’s eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his body seemed to relax ever so slightly when you were near. It was a look Sam had seen on Bucky’s face more times than he could count now—a look filled with quiet admiration, with something unspoken and profound.

And maybe Bucky wasn’t ready to admit it to himself yet. But Sam knew. Sam had always known.

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navybrat817 · 2 days ago

Text

Knock You Down a Peg or Two

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.

You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.

He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.

“Give me his name.”

“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”

“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”

You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.

He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.

Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.

He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”

The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”

Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”

The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”

Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.

There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”

The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.

“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”

“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”

Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.

The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”

“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”

The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”

Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”

His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”

“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”

“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”

“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”

The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.

“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”

Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.

“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”

The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.

“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”

“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”

“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”

The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.

“Love you.”

His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”

He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.

But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.

Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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vesearlee · 4 days ago

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──── 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚 𝑻𝒖𝒏𝒆

Quiet mornings in the forest were the equivalent of heaven while you called that cabin home — a true bonus was when the birds would sing in the breeze, their tunes carrying in the wind to reach you. Only, this time, it wasn’t a creature, but the man you loved who sat at the foot of your home.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 1.1k 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Fluff 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐀 ── @smutconnoisseur 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 ── Too Sweet by The Macarons Project 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ── The first thing I have written in what feels like years. the biggest thank you goes to SC for holding my hand while I tried and tried to get this down. it wouldn't have happened without you, thank you for helping me get out of the shell I was.

─── 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒚 𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒔, 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 ───

The brisk breeze of the morning blew through the cabin’s open front door, chilling your skin beneath the cosy robe you wore — a beautiful garment that saw you through every cold season, from autumn to winter and back again.

It was your favourite colour, the hem and edges covered in fur as soft as Koda’s coat. That wasn’t what made it so special to you, though; a gift from the man who sat on the porch in his hand carved, wooden chair while he leaned over the body of an aged acoustic guitar.

──── 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐎𝟑

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot

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tweedcola · 4 days ago

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I'm very new to posting here but please enjoy 4.1k words of soft Bucky smut!

Do It Properly

You’re not sure what wakes you in the end. Whether it’s a creaky floorboard, a rustling of your sheets or merely the change in the air that another person brings. Whatever the reason, you open bleary eyes and squint into the darkness, reaching for your phone to check the time. You only notice another presence in your bedroom when he clears this throat and steps forward to the end of your bed.

You let out a tiny ‘eep’ of surprise before your mind registers who the shadowy shape belongs to, but you recover quickly enough to ask, “Bucky?”

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes; centenarian, former Winter Soldier and current cat-dad stands looking defeated by your feet.

“Hey,” he responds hoarsely, and you scramble for the switch on your lamp, desperate to see him properly.

The light starts low, gradually brightening the room as it warms up, bringing Bucky into visibility. He looks… well. You’ve seen him worse, definitely. He has this issue (you think it’s an issue, he doesn’t see the problem) in which he throws his whole body into fights with reckless abandon, his own well being taking a backseat when you’re not on missions to remind him that he should look after himself. That he needs to look after himself so he can come back home to you.

His right hand is bandaged which means it must have been pretty bad – they generally don’t bother wrapping up the super soldiers as most of their injuries have faded by the following morning, but it’s his face that really makes you gasp.

“Buck!” you whisper, horrified, as he shuffles forward, bashful under your gaze. “What happened?”

He shrugs off his jacket and you’re hit with the scent of gunpowder and smoke as he chucks it unceremoniously on the floor by the desk chair where Alpine is curled up. Al activates with an inquisitive puurp? arching his back in an elongated stretch to greet his daddy. Bucky turns to scritch the feline’s ears, rolling his shoulders at the same time. You take that to mean, don’t ask but you can’t ignore the angry red welts around his neck, the dark purple blooming under both eyes and Bucky’s wince when he huffs a laugh at Alpine when he kicks his back legs against his fingers as he tickles his tummy.

“Bucky…” you try again, shucking back the covers and reaching for his shoulder. You kneel on the bed and run your hand down his back soothingly, pretending that you’re not looking for further injuries. “You get your nose broken honey?”

Bucky ducks his head and looks at you through his eyelashes pitifully.

“Sam set it back already. Took the shield to the face,” he admits slowly, enjoying your touch as you ease the muscles in his shoulder and at the base of his neck with your fingers, searching out the pressure points that make him groan.

“Why, what’d you say?” you tease, gently.

Bucky huffs again, then cringes as it causes him pain, slumping close to lean on you.

“Wasn’t my fault,” he mumbles into your neck, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. His left hand comes up to play with the strap of your tank top and you shiver against the cool metal. “Steve doesn’t enunciate. He only warned me to duck after he threw the damned thing. Jerk didn’t stop laughing the whole way home.”

You press your lips together and stroke the back of his head, making sure he stays buried in your neck so he can’t see how you’re struggling to hide your amusement.

“And this? You get on Sam’s bad side too?” you stroke his neck lightly, brushing against the vicious bruising that decorates the delicate skin there. Bucky stiffens almost imperceptibly, and you realise that he can’t talk about it. Not yet anyway. You know he’ll come to you when he’s ready.

You heave a sigh and push at his shoulder until he straightens, tilting his chin up to look you in the eye. “You just let me know if I need to go kick bird-boy’s ass, yeah?” you grin, peppering kisses over his eyebrow, betting that it’s a pain-free area before pulling him close again.

“Thanks baby,” Bucky answers on a heavy sigh. You continue threading your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck, knowing the comfort of your touch is what he needs right now, rather than a dissection of his latest mission. You need the contact too, the physical reminder that he’s safe in your arms for the time being, though you make a mental note to ask the Captain why it looks like someone tried to garrotte your boyfriend. Honestly, what good is Steve if he’s not watching Bucky’s six when you’re not there?

You remain kneeling on the bed, letting Bucky use you as a crutch for as long as you can bare the weight of the 240-pound super soldier but eventually you have to push at his shoulder to get him to draw back. He harrumphs disappointedly but you know he’s not serious when his eyes drop from your face to skim along the length of your body, his right eyebrow raising appreciatively at the thin camisole and itty-bitty lace panties you’re wearing to counter the heat.

“Damn babydoll…” he begins, his hands hooking around the backs of your thighs to tug you along the bedspread, slightly closer to the edge. “You look good enough to eat.” He gives you a wolfish smile that has you admittedly a little weak in the knees and goes to duck towards your tits but you push at his forehead with a scoff.

“Uh-uh Barnes, don’t even think about it. You need a shower.” With your hands on his hips, he allows you to keep him at arm’s length while you slide from the bed and steer him towards your bathroom, his expression shifting from predatory to a dopey pleased grin as he allows you to take care of him.

“You gonna join me, sugar?” he asks, leaning against the sink as you turn the knobs and crank up the heat to a frankly dangerous degree because Bucky really doesn’t like the cold. You turn to catch him stifling a yawn into his fist, still fully dressed and you gesture at him impatiently.

“I don’t know, you gonna be able to keep your hands to yourself Sergeant?” You start unbuckling and tugging at his clothing, fighting with the supple leather that moulds to his arms as Bucky endeavours to stay awake. It’s a testament to how tired he actually is when you drop to your knees to wrestle his trousers down his legs and he doesn’t make a lewd joke, though you do see his half-hard length give a valiant twitch in his boxers before you tug those down too.

You help him into the shower, thankful that you don’t see any other bruising on his body but knowing that doesn’t mean he isn’t hurt before you go to gather his clothes up into your arms. You don’t get that far though, as the glass door slides back open behind you and you’re tugged into the near-scalding water still in your sleep clothes.

“Buck!” you squawk, pressing yourself away from the water ineffectually as the spray soaks the front of your vest anyway. He crowds you up against the tiles that are already slick with condensation, effectively ensuring that no part of you has stayed dry.

“Mmm, you said you’d join me…” he mutters into your shoulder, nuzzling against your damp skin as his hands play with the lace covering your backside.

“And you said you’d keep your hands to yourself,” you huff playfully, reaching for the bar of Imperial Leather soap because old habits die hard and for Bucky the saying is doubly true. You lather the soap between your fingers and start moving it along his shoulders and back where you’re able to reach.

“No…” he drawls, slipping his fingers beneath your panties to stroke over the skin of your hips and ass as he presses his now very interested cock against your lower stomach and rocks you against him. “I didn’t answer and you interpreted my silence as agreement,” he murmurs. “I was very careful about that.”

You draw back and are faced with his incredibly pleased smile, almost impish in his glee that he’s managed to wrangle you into the shower with him for him to do as he pleases. You don’t have the heart to shatter his illusion with the truth, that you’d follow him anywhere under any conditions.

He tickles the soft skin between your thigh and hip and you squeal. You love seeing this side of Bucky, almost child-like in his mischief, even if the activity that you’re doing is very adult.

“Hmm, very clever…” you muse, drawing the soap down his right arm before sliding it up the other, ridding his skin and left arm of two days of sweat and gunpowder before starting to work on his chest. Bucky lets you work for a few quiet moments, watching your movements with half lidded eyes. You glance up at him and snort at the expression on his face; he’s hard for you but obviously can’t decide if he’s more sleepy or horny.

“Relax Buck,” you implore, working soap over his hips and kneading the bone there before making your way down his lower back, eliciting a sinful moan when you hit a knot and the muscle releases.

Bucky mumbles something into the skin of your neck between sweet kisses and you use one hand to tilt his head to the side when you ask him to repeat himself.

“Magic hands,” he slurs, rocking himself in time with your ministrations. “Magic, angel hands. Y’so good to me darlin’.” He pulls back and busies himself with playing with the strap of your tank top. “Wanna be good to you too.” Bucky’s hands drift southward to the waistband of your underwear, dipping his fingers in and teasingly raking his nails over the sensitive skin of your pelvis.

You shudder and feel his cock jump in response. Abandoning your task, you let the soap slide from your grip, ignoring the dull clunk as it hits the porcelain of the tub and instead wrapping your hand around his length and giving him one firm stroke from root to tip.

Bucky grunts, his hips jerking forward towards you. His hand slips fully between your thighs and you let out a sigh when his clever fingers part your folds to trace over your clit gently. Your natural slick mixes with the hot water still beating down on you both creating a heavenly slide that Bucky uses to his advantage, his movements becoming slightly rougher as you pant in his ear.

“That’s it baby, that feel good?” his voice is gruff as your desire heightens and he dips his forefinger into your core up to the first knuckle just to feel you clench around him when he strokes over the top of your clit just right. “Mmm, certainly seems like it feels good.”

You just have the wherewithal to register the slightly mocking tone in your boyfriend’s voice and retaliate with another firm tug on his member, the soap suds lingering on your palm making the glide smooth and slick, cutting off the rest of his sentence when it devolves into a whine.

You continue to jerk him slowly, reveling in the stuttering mess that you’re able to reduce him to with such a simple touch.

“Mmm, so sensitive honey,” you coo into his ear, increasing your pace incrementally. Bucky is completely at your mercy, his hand slackening in your panties and the coil in his stomach tightening with your movements. He rocks upwards on a gasp before straightening and grabbing desperately at your wrist.

“Stop – stop,” he pants, squeezing the base of his dick to stave off the orgasm that had crept up unexpectedly. “Fuck, almost made me blow my load in your hand baby, shit.” Your giggle sets him off with a growl and Bucky hoists you up into his arms, shredding your underwear with a wolfish grin.

“Bastard,” you say playfully, nipping at his bottom lip as he steadies you on a convenient shelf that you’ve only needed to replace three times since Bucky moved in with you.

“You gotta learn doll, none of your underwear is safe around me.”

As if to prove his point Bucky grabs a fistful of your top at chest level and you can see the gears turn in his head as he gets ready to yank and separate the body from the straps –

“Wait!” you call, throwing out an arm to catch his. “Just gimme a minute, damn,” you mutter, peeling the offending piece of clothing from your body and letting it drop to the floor with a wet thwack. “Running out of pyjamas thank you very much, some hopped-up super soldier keeps shredding all my clothes.”

There’s no remorse on Bucky’s face as he eyes your tits hungrily and you wonder when you lost your soft, sleepy boyfriend to this sex-starved menace. Deciding to tease him just a little more, you cup your chest, stroking lightly over your nipples and watch as his pupils dilate fully.

Bucky feels barely restrained, watching as you enjoy the delicate grace of your own touch and damn near drooling, desperate to get his mouth on your tits. He’s captivated by your movements.

“You okay there, Sarge?” you question, punctuating your words with a soft gasp as you apply more pressure to the sensitive peaks of your breasts. You arch your back a touch, your chest lifting just an inch or two closer and Bucky is salivating.

“More,” he requests, the whimper in his voice dampening the order. He recognises the tone for what it is – a plea – and he’d give almost anything to have his hands on you but – god – the way you’re writhing and panting before him, the slick folds of your cunt on display when you let your thighs fall open – Bucky can’t help but think you’re a goddess. He watches you for a minute longer, his body so tense that even the slightest touch might shatter him but what’s a goddess for if not to be worshipped? And Bucky will supplicate at your feet for eternity for you to rid him of his wrongs and cleanse the days before you. He’s been the luckiest son of a bitch for over a year now and he knows he’ll find heaven within you, that you lay peace and forgiveness down before him with simple caresses and erase his guilt with your lips.

You gift him a coy smile and let your hands drop, twining your fingers with Bucky’s and drawing him close until he’s stood between the ‘v’ of your legs, sharing your breath and feeling the heat rolling off your skin.

You tilt your head up and slant your lips against his, dragging his hands up your body to replace where yours had been on the mounds of your chest, encouraging him to squeeze and play as he wishes as you hook your calves over his hips and urge him closer still.

You chance a quick glance up at his face to find that he’s completely enraptured with your chest, snorting a laugh even as he feathers his thumbs over your nipples, raising goosebumps up your arms.

A shudder runs through Bucky’s body when he feels the tip of his cock brush against the heat between your legs and he tilts his hips forward to glide his length along you, delighting in your gasp when he grinds down against your clit.

“You want this?” Bucky asks, his expression split between cocky and desperate as he rocks against you, spreading his hands over your lower back and digging his fingertips into the meat of your ass.

“Mmm,” you whine, your head lolling back to rest against the shower tile, waiting for him to start pushing forward, for that first divine stretch that feels like nothing else –

But it’s not forthcoming. You crack your eyes open and lift your head questioningly.

“Please baby,” Bucky whines, pressing his hips into yours again. You reach up to stroke his cheek and just stop yourself from frowning.

“You need me to say it, Buck?” you ask softly, still running the tips of your fingers along his stubbled jaw, enjoying the scruff that pulls at your fingers.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah –“ each breathless plea is punctuated by an eager grind against you and you bite your lip against a moan when you feel his cock throb from where it’s trapped between your bodies.

“Okay honey,” your voice is shaky with desire for your man but you fight to keep your tone clear so he knows exactly how much you want him. “Please fuck me Bucky – I want it so bad, needed it the whole time you were gone – ah!”

You’re barely through your sentence when he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt before stopping just as quickly as he’d begun.

“Fuck,” Bucky hisses. “Fuck, that’s so good.”

“Mmm,” you whine in response. “Need you to move honey.”

He raises his head and shoots you a look. It’s one that you don’t get very often but you cherish the pinched eyebrows and lip trapped between his teeth as he fights to stop himself from coming prematurely.

“Needja to be patient baby,” he gasps out, his hands clutching at your thighs bruisingly as his Brooklyn accent slips into place. You can almost see his thought process as he runs through baseball statistics and multiplication tables in his head. You’re sweating by the time the tension finally drains from Bucky’s shoulders and you can’t stop yourself from clenching down on him when he gives a couple of gentle test-thrusts.

“You’re not helping,” he grunts, as he gets a better grip on your slippery skin to hoist your legs higher, and you’re honestly not sure if he’s speaking to you or your pussy.

You don’t have time to dwell on it though, as Bucky lets you know he’s ready with a sharp snap of his hips and a grunt from deep in his chest when you dig your nails into his shoulders in surprise.

“Careful with the claws, kitten,” Bucky groans before really laying into you.

You cling to one another as his hips snap into yours orchestrating a rhythm of skin hitting skin that is only amplified by the water. The bathroom echoes with your lovemaking, even as you bite at your lip – it’s still the middle of the night and you share walls with two other apartments in this block, not to mention your poor downstairs neighbours.

It only takes a few moments for Bucky’s rough strokes to build your pleasure high enough for you to stumble and a sharp moan of his name escapes you.

“Oh god honey,” Bucky pants, uncurling his left arm from around your waist to reach out and grab the top of the shower door for stability. “That good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you pant, “S’good Buck, it’s good.” Your words escape you in a staccato, hiccoughing rhythm that he punches out of you in time with the movement of his hips. You tip your head back and Bucky takes the opportunity to litter a series of sweet kisses against your neck, whispering words of devotion in between the brushes of his lips, drinking in the ecstatic sounds that you’re making.

“Fuck sweet girl, you’re so good, s’good, don’t wanna leave, never gonna leave ya again, love you so much baby,” Bucky’s inner monologue escapes without direction as your pleasure climbs, his words encouraging your end almost as much as his movement.

“Please – please Bucky,” you stutter out, dropping your hand between the two of you to stroke at your clit, your desperation for an orgasm acute after being without him for too long.

“Me, honey, let me,” Bucky insists, leaning his upper body away from you slightly to find the best angle. His practiced fingers find you easily and you feel yourself clench involuntarily around him when his thumb massages you in just the right pattern. The moan that you let out is quiet but so desperately needy that Bucky hisses when his cock throbs in response but by that time it’s too late for you anyway.

You dive off of the precipice, arching your back and feeling your pussy pulse uncontrollably as you’re ignited from the inside. Bucky pushes in to the hilt one final time before he too lets go, whimpering quietly as he joins your bliss.

You remain entwined beneath the water for a few long moments, relishing in the feel of one another before Bucky tilts his head back to look at you, his eyes still hazy with lingering pleasure. You know he’s not able to get drunk but if you saw him like this at any other time you’d assume he was intoxicated. You snort internally and go to make fun of his pussy-drunk expression when –

“Marry me.”

You slap your hand against the shower wall, groping desperately for the button that will halt the stream of water beating against the glass because you think that you just heard your super soldier boyfriend propose to you while he’s still very much inside you.

“What, Bucky-what?!” you finally locate the off switch and shower ceases, leaving the pitter-pattering of water droplets as the only sound in the room while you and Bucky stare at one another. “Did you just – ”

“No.” His response is short and sharp, cutting over the end of your question, as though he can’t bear to hear the words leave your lips. When you blink at him, he has the gall to look guilty and his shoulders drop in defeat. “I said – I – ” he takes a moment to clear his throat twice before speaking again.

“I said marry me. I’m sorry.”

Silence reigns again while you absorb the shock of his words.

“Bucky…” you begin slowly, wriggling back slightly to bring attention to his cock still buried to the hilt and his hips still fit snuggly between your thighs. “…are you proposing to me while you’re still balls deep?”

Bucky groans and lets his head drop to your shoulder as your laughter rings out but you wrap your arms around his neck and squeeze him as close to you as you possibly can, hooking your ankles one over the other at the small of his back so he can’t escape you.

“I – I had a plan, and a ring –” he starts to explain into your neck but you silence him with a tug to his hair so that you can meet his eyes. The concern etched on his face disappears almost as soon as he sees your joyful expression and he gifts you the softest, sweetest smile in return before taking a deep breath in and you just know what’s going to come next.

So you reach up quickly and place the tops of your fingers over his mouth.

This man – this man who has been through so much more than anyone should have to, who has survived horror and death and the loss of his autonomy only to come through the other side still able to love – deserves to have exactly what he wants. He deserves to have this moment, his proposal, exactly as picture perfect as he’s always imagined. And so although you know you’ll say yes, that you’ll marry him in a heartbeat, you halt Bucky’s next words.

“Wait,” you instruct gently. “Just wait. Do your plan – give me the ring.” You don’t explain further but brush your lips against his once, twice and whisper, “I love you.”

“I love you sweetheart.” Bucky responds just as quietly, and you feel the full force of his devotion and adoration hit you when he rests his forehead against yours briefly.

The moment is ruined when he steps away from you to turn the shower back on to wash away the evidence of your lovemaking with a mumbled; “It’s a good thing you didn’t say yes, Sam woulda never let me live it down if I’d proposed like that.”

You shuffle under the warm spray and wrap your arms around Bucky’s waist to gaze innocently up at him. “Oh – I’ll definitely be telling Sam about this,” you state. “My pussy game is so good that I got a marriage proposal? Bucky, I’m telling everyone.”

Your squeal echoes off the tiles as Bucky growls and digs his fingers into your waist in retaliation, grinning wickedly, and barely able to stop himself from sprinting to his underwear drawer to recover the ring nestled at the back.

He’ll do it properly tomorrow.

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan barnes

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smoooothoperator · 4 days ago

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Die With A Smile

05: Golden

Bucky Barnes x mutant!OC (Astrid Rowan)

HYDRA victims, found family, "strangers" to lovers, emotional scars, first love

Masterlist

previous part

water

The days blurred together in a way I hadn’t expected.

I had no explanation for it, but it felt like my days began and ended with him. The connection between us was undeniable, as if our souls were linked together in a way that couldn’t be explained by logic.

Every morning, I make my way to the small house by the water where Bucky rested. The village children would call out as I passed through, and sometimes, I stopped to give them small gifts Shuri sent with me: toys for them, bright fabrics for the women and treats I picked up in the market before heading there.

Once I arrived at the small house made of stone, I stepped inside and checked on him, as if something might have changed overnight. But he was always the same: his chest raised up and down with every breath he took, his eyes still closed without any sign of opening soon.

I always sit by his side and hold his hand, feeling the warmth in his skin, that tiny reassurance that he was still alive.

The mornings often stretched into hours of silence. At the start, it felt almost heavy, making me feel anxious and uncomfortable. But I started taking Okoye’s advice, using that time to ground myself.

I sit outside by the lake and close my eyes, letting the warmth of the sun on my face ease away my worries. I focus on my breathing, reaching deep within, searching for the roots of the power that seemed to flicker just beneath my skin, waiting for the moment to finally come alive.

And mixed in that deep sea of power, I could feel the connection between me and Bucky, like a thin thread. It was quiet, soft, and yet alive, tickling my whole body whenever I tried to reach that thread.

Today, the water before me shimmered, reflecting the light of the sunrise. I sat on the edge of the dock, with my legs folded beneath me and the palms of my hands resting on my knees. My eyes were closed as I felt the sun’s rays warm on my skin, and the world around me felt distant, like I was stepping somewhere far away from this place, making me go deep into it.

Then, the whisper of laughter pulled me back to the surface. I opened my eyes, turning to see a small group of the village children standing a few feet away, watching me with those wide, curious eyes.

“Hi” I smiled, waving my hand slowly.

One of the girls stepped forward, her dark hair bouncing in tiny braids that framed her face.

“Miss Astrid” she said shyly, making me smile and nod. “Your hair… It's like the sun!”

I blinked, a little taken aback by the compliment, but they only nodded in agreement. Another child, a little boy, took a step to the front, looking at me with a wide smile.

“Yes! It’s so pretty! Like... like a golden light” his small fingers reached up as if to touch, but then he hesitated, lowering his hand bashfully. "You are like a lion! With golden hair"

Their adoration made me laugh softly. All my life, my hair has been something simple. The people from HYDRA always ordered me to tie it, making sure it wouldn't disturb me whenever I fought. But to these kids, it was something they admired.

“Can we… Can we make braids on it?” the little girl asked, her expression hopeful and bright. “I know how. My mama taught me.”

It took me a moment to process her words, but when I did, a gentle warmth filled my chest. I hadn’t expected them to want to come that close to me. Ever since part of my past had returned in fractured pieces, I felt like a stranger to myself. Part of me was worried that the kids could sense the shadows from my past, that they could see me the way I sometimes felt I truly was.

But here they are, looking at me like I was someone worthy of their time, of their trust.

Swallowing the lump that had risen in my throat, I gave them a small nod, watching how the smiles of their faces got wider, clapping excitedly and coming closer to me.

“Of course” I said, my voice soft with gratitude. “I would love that.”

They giggled, each one of them surrounding me without disturbing my meditation, sitting on the ground next to me. Gently, they began weaving small braids into my hair. I could feel their tiny fingers tugging at strands, braiding them with skill and care, and I let them do it while my focus drifted back to the previous state of peace.

I let myself sink into the quiet again, my eyes closed as I tried to clear my thoughts. The world around me faded to a soft hum and I could hear more clearly everything that surrounded me: the sound of the wind through the trees, the hypnotic dance of the waves of the water hitting against the shore, the birds and animals that live around us; and I let it guide me as I reached for that space inside myself, the one where everything used to be a storm and now looks like a peaceful sea.

And, beneath all of it, I felt something else, something deeper. It was as if I was in tune with the earth itself, with the water, with something older, deeper than I had ever understood.

I didn’t try to force it, just let it happen, flow through me and hit me like a welcoming hug.

My hands moved from my lap, now with both palms looking at the water, and with each breath, I felt the presence of it responding to me. I took a long breath, feeling a soft tingling sensation through my hands, and I allowed the connection to flow through me, imagining the lake’s coolness moving with my breath. The tingling grew stronger, and suddenly, I felt the energy of the water curling between my fingers.

I opened my eyes, and there it was: a thin stream of water, floating and swirling softly just above my palms. I barely breathed, not wanting to break the delicate thread of connection. The children paused in their work, their hands stilling in my hair as they watched in awe.

I didn’t stop. The water moved, wrapping itself around my arm like an extension of me. I felt any resilience, no effort in it. It was as if the water and I had come to an understanding, a quiet agreement. It moved as I willed it, curling and twisting with the softest of movements.

“You did it!” one of the girls whispered, awe in her voice. “Miss Astrid, you moved the water!”

The children reached out their hands, laughing as they tried to touch the floating water, their fingers brushing against it, and tiny droplets splashed over them, making them giggle even more. I guided the water to spiral around them, feeling it respond to my intention, moving like a gentle stream wrapping us all in its embrace.

fire

The night air was cool as I made my way back to the small house near the lake to be with him some minutes before going back to the place. The stars blinked above my head, their light shining across the dark sky like tiny diamonds.

I had spent the day practicing my control over the water, drawing strength from the gentle rhythm of the lake. It felt like progress, but it also left me drained, both physically and emotionally, making me feel incredibly tired and weak.

The village was alive with a soft hum of voices and laughter as I neared to go to Bucky’s house, the kind of warmth that came with the community. I expected to walk past unnoticed, as I usually did every night at this hour, but instead, I found a small group of villagers standing just beyond the central bonfire. Their faces lit up when they saw me.

“Astrid!” one of the women called, her voice warm and inviting. “Join us tonight. It’s not good to spend all your time alone.”

I blinked, shocked by her kindness. The idea of sitting down with so many people, of being welcomed into their circle, was as foreign to me as my powers had been just weeks ago. But before I could think of an excuse, the children ran towards me, grabbing my hands and pushing me toward the bonfire with relentless enthusiasm.

“Come, Astrid! You can’t say no,” one of them said, smiling ear to ear.

I gave in with a soft smile, letting them lead me. The bonfire’s warm light flickered across their eager faces as they pulled me to a seat on the ground near the fire, handing me a wooden plate piled high with food. I hesitated, my fingers tracing the edges of the plate, but their excitement was contagious. It had been so long since anyone had offered me such a simple act of kindness.

“Thank you” I murmured, looking up at the circle of faces around me.

The meal began with chatter and laughter, their stories spilling out in an easy rhythm, weaving between bites of food and sips of a sweet dizzy drink they insisted I had to try. I listened more than I spoke, their warmth filling the spaces I have been too afraid to acknowledge in myself.

It wasn’t long before the children started their antics again. One of the boys leaned forward, his eyes shining with curiosity and excitement.

“Miss Astrid” he said, his voice full of awe. “Make the fire dance, please”

“T-The fire?” I asked, caught off guard.

“Yes!” another exclaimed, bouncing on her knees. “We’ve seen you make the water dance, and Shuri told us you can control fire too!”

The others nodded eagerly, their faces alight with anticipation. I hesitated, glancing toward the adults, but they only smiled and nodded softly, some of them nudging the children playfully. It was clear that Shuri was involved in this too, and somehow I felt so grateful for that.

“I…” I mumbled, looking down at my hands.

Fire had always been the most aggressive part of me, a force that burned as much as it warmed. I was hesitant to practice, afraid of losing control and making damage impossible to reverse. And now that I don’t have the control HYDRA had over me, it wasn’t as easy as it was before.

But their faces were so full of hope, so full of encouragement. I felt something different in me, a need to try, to be the person they saw and believed I was. I set my plate aside and shifted to sit closer to the fire, the warmth licking against my skin like an old, wild friend.

“Alright” I said softly. “I’ll try.”

I looked down at my hands. They were steady now, but I remembered how they used to tremble with the power of it, with the loss of control. The fire had been the most violent part of me, and it had felt like an extension of my anger, my fear, my pain. I wasn’t that person anymore.

But maybe that was the point.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, trying to find the calm I discovered in the water. My breath filled my lungs, slow and deep, and I exhaled, releasing the weight of my fear.

The heat tickled my palms as I lifted my hands. Memories surged, flashes of flames consuming everything in their path, the rush of power that had once felt intoxicating and terrible. My fingers flexed involuntarily, and for a moment, the fire in front of me flared as if answering my call.

My heart raced. It felt wild, feral, like it could slip from my grasp and burn everything around me. Panic rose, old and familiar.

What if I couldn’t control it? What if I hurt someone? What if the fire consumed me as it had before? What if I burn this village?

I opened my eyes, focusing on the flames. They danced nervously, pulsing in response to my wavering emotions. Slowly, I steadied my breath, forcing myself to meet the fire’s energy with calm, not fear.

“It’s not anger” one of the kids that were close to me whispered, barely audible over the crackle.

I smiled weakly and softened my focus, letting the flames flow towards me. At first, it was hesitant, like a wild creature testing my intentions. Then it grew fearless, stretching out in a golden string that moved around my fingers. The heat was no longer biting or painful, it was warm, almost like a hug.

It wasn’t wild anymore. It wasn’t chaos. It was a dance indeed, and I was its partner.

The children gasped as the fire moved around my hands, spiraling up my arms in ribbons of golden light. I lifted my hands, and the flames followed, twisting and spinning like threads of molten gold. They didn’t feel wild or dangerous anymore. They felt alive, responsive, waiting for my command.

I moved my fingers, and the fire danced. It moved through the air, casting shifting shadows over the villager’s faces. The children clapped and cheered, their excitement breaking through the quiet concentration that had filled me. I smiled to myself, sensing how light the fire felt now, how it moved in harmony with me.

For the first time, I wasn’t afraid of it.

heal

The morning sunlight streamed softly through the curtains of the small house by the lake, warming the wooden floor beneath me. I sat on the floor in the center of the room, with my hands resting on my knees as I focused on my breathing. Each inhale brought calm, and each exhale allowed me to sink deeper into the sea of power, feeling closer to the elements I began to connect with.

Water vibrated gently in the bowl beside me, reflecting the soft light of the sun in rippling patterns. Fire flickered in a controlled, steady flame atop a small lantern.

This place has become my sanctuary. It was quiet here, away from the joyful life of the village. Only the steady rhythm of the lake and the chirping of the birds made me company as I meditated. And then there was him. Bucky.

I looked over the bed where he was laying, watching how his chest moved with the deep breaths he took. I wonder if he knows that I am here, that I am safe from HYDRA. Does he have the same dreams I have, remembering our missions when we were trapped?

Suddenly, a sharp scream broke the calm.

I stood up immediately, my heart pounding as the distant cries of children reached my ears. Without hesitation, I pushed open the door and stepped outside, searching with my eyes where that scream came from. A small group of children were near the trees at the edge of the lake.

“Help! Miss Astrid, please!” one of the boys yelled, waving his arms toward me.

I ran toward them, my bare feet kicking up soft earth and fallen leaves. When I reached the group, my gaze fell on Zola, one of the girls that likes to braid my hair, sitting on the ground with tears streaming down her face, looking at her dirty hands that had small cuts and at her knees covered in blood.

“What happened?” I asked, kneeling in front of her, looking at her friends.

“She fell” one of the older boys explained, his face pale with worry. “We were climbing, and she slipped.”

The wounds weren't deep,just small cuts over her hands and her knees, and the sight of it was enough to make the other children panic. I swallowed thickly and placed a gentle hand on her arm, squeezing it softly.

“It’s going to be okay” I said softly, meeting her wide, tearful eyes. “I’ll help you.”

The lake was only a few steps away, and my connection to it had grown stronger over the past weeks. I stretched out a hand toward the shore, and with a flick of my wrist, a stream of water rose from its surface, flowing toward me in a graceful stream.

The children gasped, their fear momentarily replaced by awe as I guided the water above the Zola’s wounds. Slowly, I let it move over the injury, washing away the blood and revealing the raw edges of the cuts beneath.

Then, something shifted.

As my hands moved over the wound, a warmth spread through my palms, different from the heat of fire. The water glowed faintly with a pale blue light as it settled over her knees and palms. Zola gasped, her sobs fading into quiet sniffles as the light pulsed gently.

I felt it then: a pull deep in me, an instinct I hadn’t known I possessed. My hands moved without thought, guiding the water as it began to knit the torn skin together. The glow intensified for a moment before fading, leaving behind smooth, unbroken skin where the cuts were.

The children stared in stunned silence, their mouths agape. Zola blinked down at her knees and palms, then back up at me.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore” she whispered, her voice filled with wonder.

Relief and amazement washed over me in equal measure. I healed her. Somehow, the water had become more than a tool.

“Thank you, Miss Astrid” all of the kids said, hugging me tightly before running away with giggles.

My hands trembled as I stood, my mind racing with possibilities. If I healed her, maybe I could heal him.

I turned and sprinted back towards the house, the children’s voices fading behind me. When I entered, I moved straight to his bed, his form still and quiet as ever. My chest tightened as I approached, the memory of his voice from my dreams echoing in my mind.

You know how to fix me. I’m ready.

Kneeling beside him, I placed my hands on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath my fingers. I closed my eyes and let the stillness take over, searching for that same warmth I felt by the lake. The water from the bowl on the floor came to me, responding to my call, but this time it didn’t flow. It floated, glowing faintly as I guided it toward him.

“Come back” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Please.”

The water pulsed, its light growing stronger as it floated on his chest. I focused all my energy on the connection between us, on that thread that had tied us together even when our memories had been torn apart. Minutes passed, and sweat beaded on my brow, but still, he didn’t move.

“Wake up, soldat” I begged, my voice breaking from the tiredness. “Come on”

For a moment, nothing happened. My heart sank, doubt creeping in. But then, his chest rose sharply, and his body jerked as he gasped for air. His eyes flew open, wide and wild, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, they met mine.

Blue eyes meeting blue eyes.

“Soldat?”I whispered. “B-Bucky?”

His gaze softened, confusion giving way to recognition.

“Aetheris?”

taglist

@alltoomaples @jadeofspadesxp @leptitlu @deliciousfestsalad @mendes-bae

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violetmuses · 5 days ago

Text

Bucky Barnes + Female Reader 🫂

Fandom: “Marvel” Cinematic Universe

Character: Bucky Barnes

Author's Note: Hi! Here's a request. Enjoy! - V. 💜

@yourlocalmerchgirl 🏷

Original Ask 💭

=====

Casting both eyes toward the ceiling, you held this glass of champagne when stuck through the celebration. Your own dress barely fit this evening.

And yet, someone else caught your attention right now.

This man frowned wearing the tuxedo as slightly long brown hair reached his shoulders. Even dark scruff patterned his chin.

“Bad night too?” You say.

“Maybe.” The man grumbled for just a second without really facing your direction.

“What's your name?” You've finished the glass and introduced yourself.

“Call me Bucky.” James Barnes offered his longtime nickname.

“All right.” You smiled for once, quietly laughing over the choice.

Exchanging phone numbers, you'd stay on Bucky's forever.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #sebastian stan #mcu #marvel #fanfiction #drabble #🥰🥰🥰#fluff

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buckyalpine · 6 days ago

Text

SOO much fluff with my random thoughts. We love a meet cute featuring a sweet uncle Bucky. Imagine working at a daycare, surrounded by the cutest little ones everyday. You know you shouldn't have favourites but you can't help but fall especially in love with three year old Jamie and his mop of brown hair, his sweet blue eyes absolutely stealing your heart. He'd recently been babbling and talking your ear off about getting to stay at his Uncle's house since his parents were going away on vacation.

"We have the same name" He stated proudly while mushing up some playdoh between his tiny fingers, "Mama said I gets to stay with him for two whole weeks"

"I hope you have the best time, bub" You smile at his excited ramblings, giving his hair a ruffle before making your way to cut up some fruit for snack time.

You arrived at the daycare center just in time for their lunch for the afternoon shift, setting your things down and getting to work grabbing napkins and laying them on the tables. The littles ones all lined up to wash their hands before getting their lunch boxes out, most quite self-sufficient with opening their containers without assistance.

You heard a frustrated grunt, looking over your shoulder to find a very determined Jamie with his brows knitted together attempting to open his lunch to no avail. He finally gave up, toddling over to you, the growl of his belly making a clear statement.

He was hungry.

"Can you open this please?" He holds his thermos with two hands, smiling when you take it from him, patiently waiting for you to open it. You try to unscrew the lid, frowning when it doesn't budge even when you try with all your might. You tie a rubber band around the top to give it some grip but it stays locked in place, unmoving after you ran it under hot water and ridiculing you when you tried to pry it open with a butter knife.

"What is your uncle, a super soldier?" You huffed, trying to open the little lunch thermos one more time but there was no point; it was sealed shut. "I don't think I can open this for you, bub, he closed it extra tight"

"Uncle Jamie made me mac and cheese" his little face melted into a sad pout, his belly rumbling again.

"I'm sorry baby, how about sharing half a grilled cheese with me, hm?" You cooed, toasting your own lunch in the panini press and putting it on a plate for him. "We need the avengers to open this, let's see if uncle Jamie can open this when he picks you up"

He happily nibbled on the sandwich, licking up the crumbs, putting away his thermos and making his way over to play with some blocks. When it was hometime, you got everyone ready, sending them on their way while Jamie remained, waiting patiently for his uncle to arrive while sitting on the playground, hugging onto his stuffy in the meantime.

"Ms. y/n, Uncle Jamie is here!" He jumped up in excitement hearing the rumble of a motorbike pull up outside, running to the fence, waving over to him.

"Let's see this Uncle Jamie of yours" You said with an amused expression, wondering who managed to close a lunch lid so tightly. His uncle certainly wasn't what you imagined, watching a tall, broad man parking his bike. He was dressed in all black, parking the bike and pulling his helmet off, letting it rest on one of the handle, running his hand through his short chestnut locks, a toothy grin spreading on his face.

There was no way.

"Oh my God-

"Uncle Jamie!!" The little one ran off to his uncle, jumping into his arms, hugging him with his entire body. The super soldier grinned, catching him with ease, blowing a raspberry against his cheeks making him squeal and sending him into a fit of giggles.

"Hey little man" He chuckled, cradling his nephew and giving him a few extra cuddles before setting him back down and taking his backpack from him. You'd wondered what the hell was in his little backpack which was strangely heavy, gasping when you saw him pull out a tiny leather jacket.

"Arms up, buddy" Jamie lifted his arms, letting his uncle secure the jacket on him.

"He didn't eat his lunch, we couldn't get the lid open" You handed him the thermos with an apologetic look, "He had a grilled cheese instead, I hope that's okay"

"Sorry, doll" Bucky smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "Guess I didn't realize how tightly I closed it" He took it from your hand, opening it up with ease, steam still billowing from the contained from when he'd heated it up that morning.

"He didn't tell me his Uncle was the very Sergeant James Barnes" You ignored the heat that crept up on your cheeks, an equal blush spreading across Bucky's. "He's been talking about you all week"

"He's been talking about you too" Bucky said with an edge of a flirty tone to his voice, his nephew had said just about everything there was to know about you but the little runt left out just how pretty you were. How sweet. Super cute.

Actually that was a lie, he definitely went on about how pretty you were.

It would appear he had more in common with the three year old than he thought; they both had an apparent crush on you.

Get it together Barnes, you just met her.

"He's a little rascal" Bucky chuckled, looking over his shoulder to find his nephew impatiently wiggling, waiting for a ride, "We're actually just around the block so not a long ride but he loves it" Bucky chuckled as he strapped Jamie into the sidecar, plopping a tiny helmet onto his head.

"Bye Ms. y/n!! See you tomoowo!!" Jamie waved making you smile at how adorable he was, his voice muffled in the helmet.

"Bye baby, see you tomorrow!" You waved back, your breath hitching in your throat when you met the other set of sparkling blue eyes peering at you.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Ms. y/n" Bucky said with a wink making your stomach flip, giving you a cheeky smirk before pulling the visor down.

You couldn't wait for tomorrow to come.

Okay imagine after two weeks of little parking lot interactions he obviously has to ask you out on a date. Then another. Another. Soon, little Jamie is excited to see you having sleepovers at Uncle Jamies!! He's bragging to all his friends about how he gets to see Ms. Y/n all the time.

Then you're over for Christmas! And New Years! Now you live with Uncle Jamie and it's the best thing ever! And obviously, little Jamie is the ring bearer at the wedding. A year or two later, he finds out he's going to have a baby cousin to play with.

Just an idea.

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fanfictiongirlie · 2 days ago

Text

Marvel: Unplanned Chapter Three

Parings: Bucky Barnes x Reader (First person written though)

Description:

"It says...it says it's positive doll" His voice matching mine in a quiet shaky whisper.

"Fuck... I'm pregnant?"

"Yeah doll, you're pregnant"

"Fuck" I whisper.

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: Mention of abortion, swearing.

Chapter Words: 2,069

(I have the urge for every Marvel fanfic I write to have a seperate timeline where nothing bad happens, and everyone is happy)

A week later Bucky and I made our way to the Doctor's office, we had left the compound separately, not wanting to draw attention to ourselves, Bucky had met me in his car at the end of the incredibly long drive out of the compound.

I hated the doctors, we sat in the waiting room, it was stuffy in here, full of people too, I hated it, but Bucky took my hand in his, holding it and doing that thing with his thumb, stroking the skin of my hand gently, it calmed me down. I could tell he felt nervous too, his knee was bouncing.

"Hey...everything's gonna be alright doll" He whispers to me, there was a few looks from the others in the waiting room, they knew who we were, luckily people were scared of Bucky, and would never come up to him.

"I hate the doctors" I whisper.

"I know doll, I hate 'em too" He whispers back.

Finally we were called in, I pulled Bucky's hand with me into the examination room, the Doctor I hadn't met before, but luckily she was a woman, I smiled faintly to her and she shook mine and Bucky's hand. I climbed onto the table and shut my eyes as the Doctor; Dr. Addams did her checks, once done she gave me a moment to dress. Once done, I sat nervously on the edge of the bed.

"You're definitely pregnant" Dr. Addams spoke. "I'd say around 8 weeks"

I didn't say much, but once Bucky and I could leave we did so, and got into his car. I stayed quiet on the drive home, not caring if anyone caught us getting out of the car together. Bucky followed me to my room, his hand never leaving mine as we did. Once in my room, and my door was shut I turned to him, tears falling down my cheeks again.

"So...we're pregnant" I say, leaning against the closed door of my room. Bucky stood in front of me.

"Yeah, doll...We're pregnant"

"I still don't know what to do" I whisper. Bucky lets out a shaky breath, his hand moving to take mine in his again. He looks at me, his expression a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

"Doll, I don't want to push you into anything, it's your choice in the end, but I just want you to know, that if you decide to keep it, I'm with you" He says, his voice so caring towards me. A few tears slipped from my eyes and onto my cheeks.

"Thank you Bucky" I whisper, as I step forward into his arms.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Over the next week I spent a lot of time alone, thinking over my options. And I spent a lot of time crying, I had no idea what to do... At least I think I didn't. Only one option felt right, as scary as it sounded. I sighed and left my room, I walked through the compound until I found Bucky in the kitchen, along with Steve.. I sighed and walked over to the man.

"Hey, can I talk to you?" I ask him, receiving an eyebrow raise from Steve, probably confused at the kindness in my voice. This was probably the kindest I had ever been to Bucky in front of someone. Bucky stopped his conversation with Steve and looked to me, his eyes narrowed slightly, he studies my features and stands.

"Uh, yeah...sure"

He follows me into the hallway, I walk a bit further, not wanting Steve to hear our conversation. Once alone, I stood and looked up at Bucky.

"I've made a decision" I say quietly. I watch as his face changes into a inpatient expression, his body tensed, he reached forward taking my hand in his.

"Okay...what decision did you make, doll?" He asks, his voice a bit hoarse as he responds.

"I don't feel comfortable terminating...the baby...but I also don't like the idea of giving it away, so I want to keep it" I say confidently. I watch as Bucky's breath hitches in his throat, he said nothing for a few moments, stressing me out further.

"You...you want to keep it? Raise it?"

"I think so...Only if you promise you'll be there for us"

Bucky steps closer to me, his hands coming to rest on either side of my arms, holding me. "Doll, I promise you. I'll be there for you. For you and the baby, you won't do this along, I'm in it for the long haul, I'm never going anywhere"

I smile softly as he rambles, his eyes full of excitement.

"We should probably tell the team...wanna start with Steve first?" I ask, knowing telling the team was going to be...something else. Bucky nods eagerly, he takes my hand in his and pulls me back towards the kitchen. Steve looks at us, a quizzical look on his face as he sees us. He takes a sip of his coffee, which I look at longingly.

"Oh fuck, I miss coffee" I say, off track. Bucky chuckles and nudges me slightly.

"Right, yeah...Steve we have something to tell you" I say, Steve looks at the two of us, his eyes furrowed in confusion as he notices how closely we stood together. I watch as a hint of worry flashes in Steve's eyes, he puts his coffee down on the table, his attention completely on us.

"Okay, what's up?" He asks.

"Well it might be confusing, since Bucky and I are nothing but mean to one another.." I say, my words shaky as I talk.

"Wait... don't tell me, you two...are actually getting along?" Steve asks. I chuckle nervously.

"Not only do we get along...But I'm also pregnant" I say, my voice trembling.

Steve's jaw nearly hits the floor, his eyes flicker between the two of us.

"What? You're...you're pregnant? And..Bucky's...he's the father?" Steve asks.

"Yep" I reply quietly. I watch as Steve's face goes through a range of emotions as he absorbs the information. Surprise, worry, happiness, and confusion all flicker across his features in a matter of seconds. He looks back and forth between me and Bucky several times before speaking again.

"I...I don't know what to say...I had no idea you two were even able to have a conversation without insulting one another...let alone..having a child together" Steve says, his voice a little strong and stern. I shrink a little into myself, feeling a wave of emotions.

"We...we've been sleeping together, for a little while" Bucky says, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"This is a lot to take in" Steve says, he glances at Bucky, a myriad of questions in his eyes.

"Yeah...I get that" I say, mumbling. I hear as Bucky sighs, he probably knows Steve is close to telling him off, understandable to be fair.

"Bucky, I have to ask...how long has this been going on? And more importantly, when did you two start liking each other?" Steve asks, he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, usually his perfect tidy hair.

"It happened a few months ago" I say first. I look to Bucky seeing a blush creep over his features.

"Yeah...it was...unexpected" Bucky adds.

"It was actually one of our arguments that started...this" I say smirking, fondly looking over at the kitchen counter. Bucky chuckles and nods, a small smile playing on his lips as he catches where I was staring.

"Yeah..we got into a pretty heated argument one night...and somehow, things just escalated from there..." Bucky explained.

"And now I'm pregnant" I say again, taking a deep breath "And I'm an Avenger...Oh fuck, I'm gonna have to stop Avengering"

I whined as I spoke, it hadn't dawned on me yet. I frowned looking at Bucky. I watched Steve chuckle lightly.

"Yeah...I hate to say it, but with the risk involved, it's not safe for you to continue any missions whilst pregnant" Steve explained. I groaned and glared at Bucky. Bucky winces slightly at my look, he takes a step closer to me, raising his hand to my arm.

"Hey doll, it's not my fault! Steve's right, it's too dangerous" Bucky answers.

"It is your fault! You put your penis in me" I argued back. I watched as both Steve and Bucky's cheeks flushed red at my blunt statement, Bucky's eyes widen as Steve chokes on his coffee.

"I...yeah...I can't argue with that" Bucky chuckles nervously.

"I should probably tell Tony" I say groaning. Bucky grimaces, he lets out a low sigh, unsure of what Tony's reaction would be.

"Yeah...Stark's next on the list, he'll probably have a few questions"

"Let's hope he's not mad for losing two Avengers" I say, knowing Bucky would stop missions when the baby was born. Bucky's expression softens a little, he puts his hand on my lower back and pulls me against him.

"Hey...don't worry about Stark, he'll understand" Bucky reassures me.

"Yeah..right I'll go find him" I say, moving away from Bucky, I could tell him and Steve probably needed a chat, I left the kitchen and walked through the compound knowing I'd probably find Tony in the lab, I walked in seeing him and Bruce, I smiled hopping onto one of the stools they had in the room.

"Hi boys" I grin sweetly. They both glanced up from their tablets, smiling when they saw me. Tony walked to me, leaning on the desk in front of me.

"Well, well, look who it is" Tony smirked "Long time no see, what brings you to the lab?"

"I have something to tell you Tony...though Bruce you can know too" I say nervously. Tony raises an eyebrow, a look of intrigue on his face.

"Okay, I'm all ears kiddo"

I watch Bruce put his tools now, he walks to stand next to Tony, a worried look over his face, he could sense my nerves.

"I'm pregnant"

There's a beat of silence as Tony and Bruce process my words. Tony's eyes widen, his mouth falling open slightly. Bruce looked shocked as well, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Tony was the first to speak, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"You're...you're pregnant. As in...having a baby...pregnant?" He asks. I chuckle slightly.

"Correct, that is what pregnant means" I answer, my sarcasm laced through my voice, the others would always tell me off for my British sarcasm, I couldn't help it however. I watched as Tony rolled his eyes, and Bruce scratched his chin.

"When you say you're pregnant, how far along are you? And..do we know the father?" Bruce asked.

"Uhh like 9 weeks" I say "And...yeah you... do know the father"

Tony's eyebrows shoot to the sky. He glances to Bruce and then back to me.

"I'm guessing it's not some random stranger...right? The father?" Tony asks.

"No..it's uhh...it's Bucky" I admit. The look of shock over their faces made me chuckle slightly. I almost regret keeping what Bucky and I had a secret, I had a lot of shocked looks coming in my future. Both men looked at me in utter shock, like they couldn't believe me.

"Wait..Bucky?! Bucky is the father? Barnes? That Barnes?!" Tony rambled.

"The very one"

Tony and Bruce exchanged another glance, both still in disbelief. Tony was the first to find his voice again, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally speaks.

"When...when did this happen? I thought you two couldn't stand each other"

"We've been sleeping together, for a few months...secretly" I explain, my cheeks flushing red.

"Months!" Tony near yells "You've been sleeping together for months? And now you're pregnant?"

"Basically yes" I say, smiling. It still felt weird hearing the word pregnant.

"I've gotta say, I was not expecting that, you really know how to shock us, don't ya?" Bruce chuckles.

"Yeah...sorry about that" I say quietly.

"Well congratulations" Bruce smiles at me, as he takes his glasses off, cleaning them.

"Yeah congratulations, who woulda thought, you and Bucky, together, with a baby" Tony says, his voice still dripping with disbelief.

"Yeah...thanks guys" I say smiling "Sorry about the whole not being an Avenger for a little while" I add with a sad smile, I loved going on missions.

"Don't worry kiddo, you have to look after yourself first" Tony grins.

I smile and hop off the stool, ready to go back to Bucky.

"Thanks men" I say as I turn around to leave.

(I do not consent my works to be posted anywhere else, by anyone other than myself)

Taglist:

@quinquinquincy @jaybbygrl @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @learisa @hi172826 @ravennablue @purplecolordeer

#fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #marvel smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes pregnancy fic

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holylulusworld · 3 days ago

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Every Breath you take (20)

Summary: There is a shadow following you. He doesn’t know what he got himself into.

Pairing: Stalker!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: a man out of time, secret admirer trope, “crazy” reader, fluff, domestic life, mentions of smut

A/N: You all made me do it! Here’s the series to this random idea: Stalker Bucky & Crazy Reader

Catch up here: Every Breath you take (19)

Every Breath You Take Masterlist

Around one week later, you settled in. All of your belongings found a place in your new home, and you found your place too. It’s right next to Bucky.

“You were a cute little shit,” you giggle when Bucky tries to snatch the photo album out of your hands. Steve saved a few old pictures from their past and handed the album to Bucky before he went back in time. “Handsome too.”

“Steve and I, we were good friends. No, we were like brothers,” Bucky says. His eyes are saddened when he looks at a picture of Steve. “He left to live in the past.”

“What? I—” You blink a few times. “He went back in time to live in the past.” You rub your face, unsure what to think of Bucky’s revelation. Yes, you heard about Captain America’s disappearance but didn’t know about the reasons. “Why?”

“There was this woman,” Bucky sniffs. “She was more important than anything else to him. Maybe our friendship wasn’t as important as I thought. Till the end of the line didn’t mean as much as I believed either. Steve left to live with her and maybe spend time with a better, less broken version of me.”

He shrugs when you place your hand on his thigh. “Maybe he only wanted to be with the woman he loves, Bucky. You’d go so far as to kidnap me to be with me.”

“You think so?” He dips his head to look at you.

“We both did some crazy things since we met, didn’t we? I willingly let you kidnap me, and you threw me over your shoulder to do dirty things to me.” You rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes.

He chuckles at your words, remembering your first time together. It’s been not even four days since you took the next step in your relationship.

It was all you ever dreamed of and more.

At first, Bucky was sweet and almost shy. But then he turned into a hungry wolf, devouring your body the moment you begged him for more. Bucky didn’t let you out of bed for the better part of a day. Until your legs were shaking, and you whimpered his name.

“Do you think we should buy a Christmas tree or get one from the woods?” Bucky suddenly asks. You gasp, realizing it will be your first Christmas together.

“I don’t know. Do you know if it’s allowed to get a tree from the woods around here? We can’t just go and cut a tree.”

Bucky chuckles. “Doll, the woods around here belong to my property. We can cut as many trees as we want to. Well, maybe not all of them.”

“Oh,” you hum. So far, you assume that only the house belongs to Bucky’s property. “We can cut one. That’s great.”

“Do you want to cut one with me? I’ll wear the full lumberjack outfit if you want me to.” He grins when you look at him with glassy eyes. “I assume this means yes.”

“Lumberjack, huh?” You put the photo album away to crawl on his lap. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you say, “Will you get the wood out too?”

Bucky laughs, but his cheeks turn pink. “Who would’ve thought that you’re not a sweet but a naughty doll? I get the wood out of you’re a good girl and tell me what you want for Christmas.”

You’d like to say something naughty again but decide against it. Instead, you bury your face in his neck and sigh. “I got what I want from Christmas right here. A warm and cozy home, a cute cat, and all my orchids.”

Bucky grunts when you don’t name him. “That’s all you need?”

“Well…” You kiss his neck. “Maybe there’s something else. A hot and naughty man who can both kiss me sweetly and fuck me hard.”

“Fuck?” He growls and slaps your rear. You giggle at his reaction. “I thought we made love, Y/N.”

“We did, Bucky Bear,” you coo before kissing his neck. “I like it when you get a little rough too.”

“Naughty girl,” he concludes and gropes your ass roughly. “I like that you’re sweet and naughty, Y/N…”

“Do you think people will ask questions one day? What if they find out I ran away with you?” you sniffle. The last thing you want is to get separated from Bucky. “Bucky?”

“I hope we made your disappearance believable,” he murmurs and nuzzles your cheek. “Even Sam believed me. Even though I’d like him and his sister to come around for Christmas and meet you.”

“What if we tell him one day?” You murmur. “Not right now, of course. We should find out if we can make this work for longer than a few weeks. But I’d like to get to know your friend and his sister.”

“Maybe he’ll understand that we wanted to protect our privacy. I’m still all over the news sometimes. You would’ve been in danger if anyone saw us together.”

You nod against him. “Yes, that’s perfect. One day, we will meet Sam and his sister. For now, I only want to be with you in our solitude.”

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #tw: stalking #Every Breath you take (20)

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caplanbuckybarnes · 6 days ago

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Don't Touch Me (TWS)

Summary: Bucky tries to comfort you after a nightmare, it doesn't go as well as he wanted.

WC: 539

Warnings: bucky's wearing his WS outfit after a mission.

Read on Ao3!

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights surrounding you. The only other sound was the sharp intake of your breath as you took a step back, pressing yourself against the cold, concrete wall. You could feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you stared at the man in front of you, the nightmares of the night still fresh in your mind, the ghosts of your past still haunting you. The images of the syringes and needles still fresh in your mind, even after all these months escaping from the facility.

"Don’t touch me!" you shouted, your voice trembling as you held your arms up defensively.

Bucky Barnes froze mid-step, his vibranium hand hovering in the air between you two. His expression was pained, conflicted—a mixture of regret and something much deeper, something raw. He looked down at his hand as if it betrayed him, flexing the fingers before curling them into a fist.

"I wasn’t..." he began, but his voice faltered. His steel-blue eyes flicked back to yours, filled with an unspoken apology. "I wasn’t going to hurt you."

The words didn’t make the knot in your stomach loosen. Memories of what he had done as the Winter Soldier, what he had been forced to do, burned behind your eyelids. You wanted to believe him—needed to believe him—but the scars on your soul screamed otherwise. He was the man that aided in your torture for information. You couldn't understand how he was suddenly a good guy, helping out Captain America of all people.

"You don’t get it," you said, your voice cracking. "I know it wasn’t you, but when I see you like this... It’s like I’m right back there. In that room. In that nightmare.... being hurting by your own hands, Barnes. Please, don't come closer."

Bucky took a step back, lowering his head as if your words physically struck him. He leaned against the edge of the table, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of a thousand lifetimes of guilt.

"I do get it," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "You think I don’t feel it too? Every time I look in the mirror, I see him. I hear them. The screams, the begging—it’s all still there. And now..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Now I see it in your eyes too. I know the pain I've caused, the horror and desperation. The need to get away from your own mind."

Tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. The anger, the fear, the pain—it all warred inside you. But so did something else. Something softer. You knew he wasn’t that man anymore. You knew it wasn’t his fault. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

"I just need time," you said finally, your voice barely audible.

Bucky nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. "I’ll give you as much time as you need," he said. "But I’m not giving up. Not on us. Not on you."

The conviction in his voice made your chest ache, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you both could heal.

please, please reblog if you enjoyed <3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky barnes #marvel angst

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navybrat817 · 3 days ago

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Finding the Positive

Pairing: Chop Shop Mechanic!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky didn't have the brightest outlook on life until you came along.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Established relationship, bit of backstory, fluff, reference to smut, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by a sweet nonnie ask and part of my Jaded to Joy AU, which began with Double Shift. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics and gorgeous Bucky edit by the amazing @nixakimbo. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

When you met Bucky, something slowly changed inside him. Before you came along he tried his best to stay positive for Becca, but seeing her struggles with her illness and the stress she was experiencing from medical bills still clouded his heart a little. She deserved a bright future, not a financial burden. Taking a job at the chop shop only darkened his outlook more, leaving him a bit jaded in the process.

A couple of the guys were in the same boat as him, doing what they could to get by or try to build a better life. The rest seemed to get off on taking advantage of others. It made him feel sick. And wasn’t he complicit to everything by working in a place like that? He wasn’t hurting people physically, but he worked with stolen vehicles and parts. It affected people. And he wasn’t that excited at the prospect of opening his own honest shop because why get his hopes up?

But then you showed up in his life like a blazing sun, radiating warmth and hope. You found reasons to smile on bad days, which made no sense to him. He knew you were struggling, that things in your life were far from perfect. So how did you carry yourself as if the weight of the world wasn’t weighing you down?

“I try to look for something positive every day,” you told him. “Even if it takes almost all day to find it.”

It may have sounded corny coming from others, but you said with such sincerity and conviction that he wondered why he hadn’t tried to do something similar. If Becca found reasons to smile and so did you, why couldn’t he? Why wasn’t it that simple?

“So, you don’t see the negative?”

“No, I see the negative and I allow myself to feel it because ignoring it won’t do me any good. I just don’t allow myself to dwell in it,” you explained, nudging his shoulder. “Being positive doesn’t mean I’m happy every single moment of every day. I’m still learning, still growing, and still looking for the sunshine even on the dark days.”

“And what happens one day if you can’t find the sunshine?”

You gave him one of your brightest smiles. “Then I’ll have to be my own sunshine, won’t I?”

It was inspiring. Life wasn’t easy for you, but you refused to let it get you down. Your attitude on your worst days was still better than Bucky at his best. While he would never see the world through rose-tinted glasses, your outlook made it look a little brighter. And while he allowed himself to vent or feel anger, he didn’t stay in that headspace. He took your words to heart and made sure to look for something positive.

You were in the kitchen when he got home from work and he was content to watch you at the stove with a soft smile on his face. The blend of spices made him smile more when he realized you were cooking one of his favorite meals. You were so thoughtful, so beautiful, and you saw the best in him. He’d never be able to give you a fancy house, but he’d give you a better home one day.

“Hey,” you smiled over your shoulder, his heart skipping a beat. He captured the image in his mind and tucked it away for when he’d need a reminder of the good things in his life. “How long have you been standing there?”

He strode across the room and rested his chin on your shoulder once he was close enough. Wrapping his arms around you, he turned his face and breathed in the sweet scent of your perfume. Soft yet surprisingly powerful, just like you. “Long enough to find my positive for the day.”

“Oh, yeah? Tell me about it,” you said, resting a hand over his as he began to sway you back and forth.

“Well, work sucked and I’m pretty sure one of the guys tried to steal the lunch you made me,” he told you, smiling when giggled. He kept his hand over yours when you tried to grab a cooking utensil. “But I finally got that overtime pay and it was more than what I expected.”

He didn’t like working the extra hours if it meant being away from you, but the money helped, and he wouldn’t have to do it much longer. It was for a better future, a brighter future. One that he was building with you.

“That’s great!” His heart skipped a beat again when you turned your head far enough to brush your lips against his. “That’s a huge positive.”

“It is,” he said, helping you stir. He was a decent cook, but a novice compared to you and you always managed to put together delicious meals on a budget. “I started thinking about us working at the shop together. Me working on cars and bikes, you in the office making sure things are running smoothly.”

“And sneaking into the office for a quickie?” You pressed your hips back against his, making him groan and grit his teeth when you did it again. You were the best kind of tease. “I know you, Bucky.”

As tempting as it was to put you on the counter and feast on your delicious cunt, there would be plenty of time for that after dinner. “I know you, too, and you’d welcome that,” he said, nipping between your neck and shoulder.

You gasped, shutting the stove off. “I would,” you agreed as you leaned back against him. “I think that’s my positive of the day; thinking of us working together and creating more memories.”

He shut his eyes. Having someone so loving and uplifting wanting to spend time with him blew his mind. It seemed too good to be true, but it wasn’t. This was his life.

“I’m looking forward to it, baby,” he whispered.

He was looking forward to every moment with you, even on the days where it would take longer to find the positive.

No nickname yet for this reader, but I adore them. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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thereoncewasagirlnamedjane · 6 days ago

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✩ j. bucky barnes masterlist ✩ library blog

ain’t life a peach? [flufftober special ‘24]

‣ pairing — piemaker!bucky barnes x f!reader

‣ contents — limited series, flufftober 2024, alternate universe - modern setting/small town/bakery/grocery store, mild language, tooth-rotting fluff, autumn vibes, halloween, neighbours, reader is not described but she’s pretty asian-coded

‣ summary — the quiet piemaker across the street hardly seems to notice you, and you’re about to give up hope of something more. that is, until your store is broken into one night, and your normally stoic neighbour is suddenly taking it upon himself to look out for you.

‣ word count — 10.6k ‣ status — completed

‣ notes — this was originally only published on ao3 throughout the month of october, but i thought i’d share here for my tumblr besties now that it’s complete. enjoy the straight-up cheese and pure fluff <3 also… i may or may not consider writing a version for this universe’s mechanic!steve if anyone’s interested 👀

instalments:

✩ one. ain’t life a peach? ✩ two. oh, dear gourd… ✩ three. core memories ✩ four. slice, slice, baby ✩ five. spooktacular fall ✩ six. s’more, please! ✩ seven. apple of my pie (fin.)

drabbles, asks, etc.

coming soon~ my inbox is always open! (but anon asks are turned off fyi)

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x asian!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes romance #bucky barnes series #flufftober2024 #ao3 links #ain’t life a peach?#status: complete #asks: open

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disneyismyworldforever · 8 days ago

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Jealous has been sitting in my drafts for three years. I had a title but nothing else. Now I've finally written the fanfic. Will there be chapter 2. I'll just keep you guys pondering for now.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female odinson #bucky x y/n #tell us what you think #first fanfic #fanfic writer #love the gif #ponderings #secret

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hungermakesmonsters · 8 days ago

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Devotion & Desire

Chapter Seven

Plot summary : When you, a lone omega, move in across the hall from alpha Bucky Barnes, he knows that his life is about to get a lot more complicated, but he has no idea just how much you’re going to turn his life upside down. You’re both devoted to fixing your past mistakes, but will desire for something more get the better of you?

Pairing : Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Story Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Forced claiming bites and very subtle allusions to SA (neither are graphically depicted), and some blood/injury mentions. All chapters will contain the usual omegaverse and A/B/O tropes, and explicit smut. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : 😭😭 sorry this too so long. Also sorry for being terrible about replying to comment on last chapter, work has been kicking my ass.

MASTER LIST

Chapter Seven

There was a hollow place in his chest, carved out and left to fill with rot and decay. It had been there for as long as he’d been himself again, the space that used to be occupied by the Winter Soldier, by violence and bloodshed.

Little by little, he’d been trying to fill it, trying to become whole again.

And, for a brief moment, he’d dared to think it was working.

For a few sweet minutes, he thought that hollow inside him might be filled by you and the feelings you’d caused to grow inside of him.

It played over and over in his head; the moment he’d fucked up and ruined everything.

You’d looked so - fuck, he wasn’t even sure what the look was. Hurt. Angry. Betrayed. Scared. All the things he never wanted to make you feel, all the things that made the alpha in him feel sick. He was supposed to protect you, supposed to look after you, and what had he done instead?

He’d tried to claim you without consent. He’d tried to take more than you wanted to give.

That thought caused him nothing but pain of the worst kind, forcing him to realise that Bucky was no different from the Winter Soldier. They both hurt you and neither cared.

Only, that wasn’t entirely true. Bucky did care. Of course he did. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have felt so bad. But reality came a close second to his feelings of self loathing.

Not only had he tried to claim you - wanted to claim you - he’d then abandoned you. You were suffering through your heat and he’d just walked out and left you there. God only knew how you were coping on your own.

Fuck, he hated himself, but it wasn’t enough to make him return to the apartment for another two hours.

Something felt off the moment he stepped inside.

The bathroom door was open, so was the door leading to your room, but your scent seemed weaker than it should be and, before he even reached your bed and found it empty, Bucky knew that you were gone.

You’d run.

He knew that it was all his fault.

He moved back towards the door, already knowing it was too late to try and catch your scent, but he had to try. You were gone. Almost as if you’d never even been there to begin with.

In his panic, he called Sam, and the conversation that followed was a rushed garble of words that, ultimately, resulted in Sam telling Bucky that he’d be there in ten minutes, but Bucky wasn’t prepared to wait. He was going to head back to your apartment and look for you there.

Sam met him outside, already on the phone to Torres, trying to track you down after Bucky found your apartment empty.

Bucky felt like he was crawling out of his own skin, his chest tight with worry as he tried not to think about all the terrible things that could happen to an omega in heat out in the city on their own.

“Torres says a police report was filed outside your apartment building a couple of hours ago,” Sam relayed as Torres continued to speak on the other end of the call. “A taxi driver reported seeing the omega that he’d just dropped off being forced into the back of a car. The taxi driver confirmed picking her up outside the safehouse and that she was in heat.”

“Does he know what kind of car or the direction it went - anything?” Bucky asked.

A smile quickly grew on Sam’s lips.

“Even better, Torres is going through street cameras tracking where they took her...” Sam said, his attention returned to the call, listening as Torres worked. “You’re sure? Okay, great. I owe you one.”

“Well?” Bucky asked before Sam could even end the call.

“Gravesend, Brooklyn. There’s a warehouse. Torres is going to call back with more intel,” Sam answered, already moving towards his car.

“Fuck,” Bucky said, his voice a frustrated growl. “You got the suit?”

“Yeah, it’s in the car.”

“Get the fucking suit, Sam. I’ll meet you there.”

“You sure?”

“The longer she’s with him, the more time he has to hurt her,” Bucky said, already heading for his motorbike

“Should we call it in? Get back-up?” Sam asked.

“No. Not yet. We don’t know he’ll react.”

He started the engine and paused, watching as Sam pulled on his wings, waiting to see if the other man had any further questions.

“You care about her, don’t you?” Is what Sam chose to ask, reminding Bucky of that gnawing emptiness inside of him again.

Bucky didn’t answer, he simply put in his ear piece and peeled away from the curb.

Following the speed limit, he knew the drive could take almost an hour. But Bucky wasn’t going to follow the speed limit.

It wasn’t long before he saw Sam fly overhead and, despite his best efforts, there was no way of keeping up with the wingsuit while weaving through traffic. But the journey passed in a blur - twenty minutes of splitting his attention between other vehicles on the road and how he was going to apologise to you when he saw you again.

Sam tried to make conversation through the earpiece but Bucky wasn’t interested. He was single-minded in his need to rescue you and fix what he’d broken.

By the time he reached the warehouse, as directed by Sam, Torres had managed to give them a pretty good overview of how many ex-Hydra goons were inside and what hardware they had.

It wasn’t well set up, clearly you were the only reason they were even in New York. In some ways that made it better, but also so much worse. Rumlow wasn’t going to give you up without a fight. Add to that the fact that you were still in heat and Rumlow was an alpha obsessed with you...

“Hey, are you even listening to me?”

Sam’s voice broke through Bucky’s internal panic, almost causing him to flinch.

“Where’s your head, Bucky?”

“It’s right here.”

“Oh really? Then what did I just say?”

“You’ll drop in from the roof, I’ll sneak in from the back,” Bucky answered, hoping he hadn’t missed anything.

“Getting her out is the mission,” Sam said. “Dealing with Rumlow comes after.”

“Agreed.”

Before Sam could continue, Bucky started to move, knowing that they’d already wasted more than enough time. You’d been with Rumlow for over three hours and he knew that anything could have happened in that time. More than that, he knew you; he knew you were a fighter, that you liked to get under people’s skin, and he wasn’t sure how Rumlow would deal with that.

He jumped the fence with ease, landing with a cat-like grace, barely making a sound.

The sun was already starting to set and that made things a little easier for him. Bucky channelled years of training and muscle memory, slipping behind one guard and leaving him incapacitated. If Torres’s intel was right, that left another fifteen men, including Rumlow.

“I’m inside,” Sam said through the comms. “She’s definitely here, I can, uh, smell her.”

Bucky’s stomach knotted as he tightened his grip around the throat of a second goon until he went limp in his grasp.

All he could think about was getting to you, barely noticing anything or anyone that got in his way. He forced open the door and managed to drop another one of Rumlow’s men. It felt like he was losing himself, giving himself over to the part of him that was still the Winter Soldier. He didn’t care if he hurt anyone, didn’t care if he took it too far.

“Bucky, upstairs. I’ve found her, she’s not -”

The sound of gunfire echoed through the warehouse, the element of surprise finally wearing out. Bucky took off at a run, heading towards the stairs.

“She’s what, Sam?” He asked, worry filling his tone.

A goon appeared from a doorway, only to find a vibranium fist slammed into his chest, knocking him backwards and halfway through the room he’d been leaving. His other hand was already reaching to unholster his gun.

He headed up the stairs, onto the walkway, heading towards the sounds of fighting.

When a knife flew towards him, it was instinct alone that had Bucky catching it mere inches from his face.

“Good to see you again, Soldier.”

The voice caused the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck to stand and his features twisted into an angry snarl as Rumlow stepped out onto the walkway.

“Where is she?” Bucky asked in a barely contained growl, throwing the knife to the ground.

He took in the sight of Rumlow, his heart threatening to stop at the sight of blood on his shirt.

“She’s exactly where she’s supposed to be,” he answered.

Rumlow started to step forward, closing the distance and Bucky did likewise. Bucky lifted his gun, getting off a couple of shots but, in close quarters, it was easy for Rumlow to knock the gun from his hand.

Both men quickly threw fists, both hitting their mark. Bucky staggered back, momentarily shocked by the power behind Rumlows hit.

The gauntlets. They were making him stronger.

Rumlow needed a second to recover, but both were toe to toe again in a matter of seconds.

This time Bucky feinted, swinging his fist but changing to a knee at the last second, slamming Rumlow into the railing. Then came the punch, super soldier strength, forcing Rumlow to take a step back.

Rumlow retaliated, bringing his foot down against the side of Bucky’s knee, forcing him to stagger backwards to regain his balance. But, for Bucky pain was secondary, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for getting to you. He needed to save you.

He drove forward again, landing a blow to Rumlow’s kidney before grabbing his shirt and forcing him back against the railing, managing to lift him off his feet.

That was when it hit him, the cloying and sickly scent that was all over Rumlow - it was you, but not the you that Bucky knew. There was something wrong with the scent, something unpleasant, something sour. It reminded him of distress and despair, of pain and suffering.

“What did you do to her?” Bucky demanded.

Rumlow laughed. “Nothing she didn’t deserve.”

He took advantage of Bucky’s momentary lapse in concentration as he worried about you. Rumlow kicked out again, this time wheeling Bucky around so that he was the one pressed against the railing.

“Can’t believe you came all the way here for another alpha’s omega,” Rumlow grit out, reaching for another knife and driving it into Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky let out a grunt that was more anger than pain as he let go of any sense of restraint.

“She’s not yours.”

He pushed Rumlow backward before lifting him off his feet again and slamming him into the railing, over and over, ignoring the crack of bones and the rattling sound every time Rumlow gasped for breath. The other alpha went limp in his arms and Bucky lifted him, about to drop him over the side of the railing and to the ground thirty feet below.

“Bucky!”

Sam. It was Sam.

The voice pulled Bucky from his anger.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?” Bucky dared to ask, the question catching even himself by surprise.

“I’ve got back-up on the way, they’ll take him to The Raft, he -”

“He doesn’t deserve that.” Bucky snapped, his eyes fixed on Rumlow’s face, on the blood bubbles that formed at the corners of his lips every time he tried to draw breath

“You’re right, he doesn’t,” Sam said. “But you don’t deserve to have his death on your conscience, and there’s an injured omega through there who needs you.”

It was all he needed to hear to let Rumlow go, letting him drop onto the walkway, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to move with the damage that Bucky had inflicted. In the distance he could already hear the sirens. Rumlow would pay for what he’d done, just not in the way that Bucky would have preferred.

But Bucky still didn’t know exactly what Rumlow had done, and that thought had him quickly moving past Sam, following the scent that was you but not you into a small room. Another scent soon filled his nose; the coppery tang of blood.

You looked so small, huddled in the corner of the room on a small camp bed, a bloodsoaked scrap of fabric pressed to your neck.

“Mouse?”

He was at your side in an instant, though you seemed unable to fully focus on him. Your lips parted but no words came out.

“Come on, I’m going to get you out of here,” he told you.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you and lifted you, ignoring the knife wound in his shoulder and the blood soaking through his shirt, quickly carrying you out of the room and out of the warehouse where the sirens were getting louder.

“It’s okay,” he told you, over and over, even though you’d lost consciousness at some point. “I’ve got you. I’m sorry, mouse. I’m so sorry.”

“Bucky...” you managed in little more than a soft sob.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now. You’re safe, mouse. Just hold on to me.”

You did as he asked and wrapped your arm around him as tight as you could while keeping the cloth pressed to your neck.

For the second time that day, he lost himself to the blur of it all as you were quickly loaded into an ambulance and the EMTs started to work on you. They wouldn’t let him travel to the hospital with you, but Sam quickly made sure he was pushed into the back of a second ambulance to have his stab wound dealt with.

------------

Your eyes opened and for the briefest moment, you felt nothing but relief; your heat was over and the pain in your abdomen was finally gone. But once your eyes started to focus and you realised where you were, you started to remember.

The monitor at your side started to beep wildly as you desperately tried to sit up.

Hospital.

You were in the hospital.

The cold, sterile smell filled your nose and it was almost enough to make you vomit.

There were hands on your shoulders and voices trying to settle you, but none of it got through to you. You wanted to sit up. Get up. Run.

The beeping seemed to get louder and more frantic. Your neck hurt as you tried to move and you found yourself clawing at the bandages, too panicked to remember what had happened to you. Breath caught in your chest as you struggled, desperate for freedom, desperate to escape the new hell that you’d found yourself in.

You heard someone say something about sedation and, after a few seconds, things started to get blurry and you quickly slipped into darkness.

The second time you woke the panic set in slower, your mind finally clear enough to think, to remember. You were in the hospital. You were safe.

Well, at least a little safer than you had been.

You’d never liked hospitals and the letters OEC painted on the walls did nothing to help settle you.

Months of your childhood had been lost in rooms like the one you currently found yourself, hours and days spent being made to feel weak. Broken.

When your hands dared lift to your neck again, it was gingerly and with the sort of hesitation that came from not knowing if you really wanted to know. Fingers brushed over gauze and bandaging and the slightest pressure had you wincing.

Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to fight back the memories that began to flood back. Brock had tried to claim you. He’d bitten you. Over and over, trying to force you to submit.

You wretched, only just managing to lean over the side of the bed in time, bringing up nothing but fluid. At some point someone else entered the room and there was soon a bucket held out for you until, finally, your stomach completely emptied itself.

The doctor helped you settle back in bed and quickly took your temperature.

“Your heat symptoms have finally abated,” she said, sounding quite happy about it.

“How - how long have I been here?” You asked, your voice raspy and dry.

“You were brought in two days ago,” she explained, pouring you a glass of water and handing it to you, “we had to operate immediately and, because of your heat, we had to keep you sedated yesterday to allow recovery.”

Operate? It was still so fuzzy, it was always harder to remember things that happened during your heats, but this felt like something else. It almost felt like you didn’t want to remember, like some part of you already knew that you were better off not remembering.

You took a slow drink before you spoke again, your throat feeling like it was full of sandpaper.

“What’s wrong with me?” You finally dared to ask, causing her to stop dead beside your bed. “What - what did he do to me?”

The doctor set you with an uncomfortable look which caused your stomach to coil and tie itself in knots. Bad news. It had to be bad news.

She took a breath while you tried to ignore the tears that were prickling at the corner of your eyes.

Not bad news. Awful news.

“When you were brought in, you’d suffered severe trauma after rejecting several forced claiming bites” she said slowly, gently. “There was extensive tissue damage around your throat and neck, particularly over your mating gland. The surgeons did everything they could, but they were unable to repair the damage that had been done to your gland and, ultimately, they had to remove it.”

She continued talking a little while longer but her words were nothing more than a static hiss in your ears as the memories started flooding back.

He’d tried to force a claim on you, over and over, his teeth at your neck, tearing at skin. You’d refused him, denied him. You remembered bleeding. You remembered the pain, begging him to stop.

(You remembered Bucky holding you, carrying you to safety.)

“My... gland?” You said. “It’s gone?”

“I -” she took a slight breath, “- I’m afraid so.”

“What does that - I mean, how can I -” you tried desperately to understand what you wanted to ask, to understand what had been done to you and how it was going to affect you going forward.

“There’s no easy way to put this,” again she hesitated for a beat, “without your mating gland, you will never be able to be claimed or mated.”

The words left you feeling numb, even though some part of you didn’t really understand why. You’d never wanted to be claimed, never wanted to mate. You’d always tried so hard to reject the omega side of you but, now, you felt broken.

“But,” the doctor continued, her tone perking up a little, as if she wanted you to know it wasn’t the end of the world, “you’ll still be able to have a normal life; you’ll have your heats, you’ll still be able to bear pups. Though you may find your scenting is affected...”

Again, your mind drifted away from what she was saying, watching as her lips moved but not hearing a single word. Soon enough your gaze was drifting away from her, looking at the wall, at that garish OEC sign, hating that you were there.

You hated everything in that moment, every little thing that had led you to that point in your life. It felt like everything was unravelling and you had no idea how to stop it.

Your eyes snapped back to the doctor in time to catch her question.

“The alpha who came in with you is still in the waiting room, would you like to see him?”

Still? He’d been sat out there for two days?

------------

“You don’t have to stay,” Bucky said, for at least the fiftieth time that day.

Since being patched up and checked over, Bucky had remained in the hospital waiting room, only receiving the barest of updates about you. He knew that you’d been taking into surgery straight away and that you’d been taking into recovery a few hours later, and they’d told him that you’d been kept under sedation so your heat symptoms didn’t cause complications, but that was all.

He had no idea the extent of your injuries or how effective surgery had been.

Of course, he understood that he wasn’t next of kin, that he was really nothing to you, but it frustrated him no end not knowing if you were really okay.

Sam had been home to sleep, and he’d tried to get Bucky to do the same. But there was nothing that anyone could say or do to get Bucky to leave that chair. He wouldn’t leave you, not again.

(Never again.)

“How about I stay and you go get some rest?” Sam countered. “I can call you if anything happens?”

“No,” Bucky answered, not even considering it. “I’m not leaving her.”

“You’re going to be no good to her if you make yourself ill, Bucky,” Sam answered back. “Just because you’ve got that cyborg brain doesn’t mean you don’t need to rest.”

Normally he’d roll his eyes at Sam’s dumb jokes, maybe even say something pointed in response, but Bucky was tired. More than that, he was worried.

“This is my fault, Sam. I can’t just leave her.”

“It’s not your fault, Bucky. You’re not the one who hurt her and beating yourself up over it isn’t going to help anyone, least of all her.”

Bucky shook his head. “I fucked up, Sam. I lost control. I tried to claim her when she didn’t want it and that makes me no better than Rumlow.”

In the time that they had spent in the waiting room together, Bucky had explained rather loosely what had happened between you and him, but it was clear to Sam that there was so much more to it.

“You stopped when she told you to. Rumlow didn’t,” Sam stated. “That’s a big fucking difference, Bucky.”

“I left her - she was in the middle of her heat and I -”

“You did what you thought you had to do to keep her safe.”

“But she wasn’t safe, was she? If she’d been safe, none of this would have happened.”

Bucky got to his feet and started to pace, not sure what else he could do with all of his nervous pent-up energy. Sam let out a sigh, knowing that there was nothing that he could say or do to stop Bucky from spiralling right now. He needed time to work through it, but he wasn’t going to allow himself that time until he knew for certain that you were alright.

Sam just hoped that moment would come sooner rather than later.

“They’ve finished processing Rumlow at The Raft,” he decided to change the subject. “After all the shit he’s pulled, he’s never going to see daylight again.”

“It’s still more than he deserves.”

“You still pissed I stopped you from killing him?”

“Yes,” Bucky snapped before pausing a beat. “No.” Then; “I don’t know.”

“That’s not you, Bucky. You’re not that guy.”

Not a killer. Not the Winter Soldier.

(But would the Winter Soldier have let this happen to you? No. The Winter Soldier would have kept you safe.)

“Maybe I -” Bucky started and stopped as the door to the waiting room opened and your doctor stepped inside.

Sam got to his feet, moving to stand beside Bucky.

“She’s groggy, but she’s finally awake,” she said.

“How is she?” Bucky asked.

The doctor took a breath before answering, deciding how much she was able to share.

“She’ll live. Thanks to you two,” she answered. “She’s recovering from the surgery well and there were no complications. Though she is going to have to remain under observation for at least the next couple of days.”

“Can I see her?” Bucky asked.

“She -” the doctor hesitated, “- she’s refused all visitors.”

“No, I need to see her. I need -”

“I understand your frustrations, but ultimately it’s the patient's choice, and given that she’s here because of injuries inflicted by an alpha -”

“That’s why I need to make sure she’s okay,” Bucky tried again, not even trying to hide his frustration.

“Bucky...” Sam said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You need to give her time. She’s been through a lot.”

“I just -” his eyes flitted to the doctor who didn’t look like she was doing to change his mind. “You’re right,” Bucky conceded, not wanting to think about what Rumlow might have done to you and how you must have been feeling.

It turned his stomach inside out to think that you were less than a hundred metres away and he couldn’t get to you. Bucky ached to hold you in his arms again, to apologise for fucking so much up. More than anything, he wanted to confess to you, to tell you that it had never been about biology. It had always been you. He wanted you.

The doctor took a beat, her eyes moving from Bucky to Sam and back again.

“Normally this would be the part where I call the police to report crimes committed against an omega but...” she trailed off, looking at Sam. “Is that necessary with Captain America here?”

“No,” Sam answered. “Everyone involved has already been dealt with.”

“Good, no alpha who’s capable of doing that to an omega in heat should be allowed to walk the streets,” the doctor said.

For a moment Bucky had to wonder just how much she’d seen in her time working in the OEC, and he found himself reminded of everything you’d said about being an omega. Finally, he was starting to understand what it was really like for you. And, more than anything, he wanted to change it.

“Could you tell her that I’m sorry?” Bucky asked. “Tell her that I’m sorry I fucked up.”

------------

Sorry. What part was he sorry for?

You didn’t have the heart to ask the doctor to check for you and, besides that, you were certain she had more important things to be doing than playing messenger between you and Bucky. Whatever he had meant by the comment, you were sure he wasn’t sorry about what you wanted him to be sorry for. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t.

Bucky was an alpha.

Perhaps not the most traditional alpha, but you were almost certain that he had no idea why you’d run from him.

No, he wasn’t sorry about that, wasn’t sorry about reducing you to nothing more than a good little omega. He was sorry that you’d been hurt and, really, even you understood that wasn’t Bucky’s fault.

When the doctor delivered his message, she told you that he was still in the waiting room if you changed your mind and wanted to see him.

He was there the next day too.

And the next.

On more than one occasion you found yourself in tears, still devastated and reeling over what had been done to you. You almost broke, almost asked them to let Bucky in so that he could hold you and tell you that everything was going to be alright.

(It wasn’t. You already knew that it wasn’t.)

You mourned lost opportunities and things that might never have happened - things you’d never really wanted or expected in the first place.

So many times you’d wished not to be an omega and, now, it seemed like you weren’t even that.

And the real irony was Bucky, sitting out in the waiting room, not knowing that you’d been ruined, that you’d never belong to him now. You could already picture it, the pity in his eyes if he saw you again; the poor little omega.

The more time you were given to sit with your new reality, the worse you felt about it, the numbness of shock finally giving away and leaving you to feel the full extent of your trauma. You became despondent to the point that a psychiatrist was sent to assess you.

She asked about you, about your life, and about what had happened to you and, as you always did, you gave half the story and heard all of the things you expected to hear in response; it wasn’t your fault, you shouldn’t blame yourself.

You knew she was right, but knowing it and feeling it were two different things. It felt like it had been your fault. If you hadn’t let your guard down with Bucky, you would have stayed in the safehouse, you would have been able to finish your heat with him, and then you would have been able to leave, able to avoid Rumlow.

Instead you’d let yourself believe that there was something more than biology at play, you’d let yourself hope that he cared, that he saw you as more than just an omega. You’d allowed him the perfect opportunity to hurt you without him even realising it and all because you didn’t want to be a good little omega.

On the sixth day in the hospital, you were brought a bowl of Cookie Crunch cereal, the nurse telling you that the alpha in the waiting room had told him that it was your favourite. Whatever had been holding you together in that moment finally broke and you started to sob uncontrollably, hating that Bucky could care so much without knowing it was too late, and hating even more that he’d come to know you better than anyone had in years in just a few months.

He knew you.

He cared about you, in his own way.

And that just made your heart ache more, knowing that it was too late. Even if you could get over what had happened between you, why would Bucky ever want a damaged omega like you?

Still, every day you would ask if he was in the waiting room and it wasn’t until the eighth day that you were told that he’d left and hadn’t come back.

He’d finally given up on you.

It should have come as a relief knowing that he wasn’t still out there, hoping for a future that was impossible. He’d get over it, get over wanting to claim you, have you as his good little omega. And he deserved to because, as much as you might have hated him only a few weeks ago, you knew now that Bucky was a good man. A better man than you deserved.

You decided to leave the hospital that night, checking yourself out against the doctor's advice. You had no idea where you were going to go or what you were going to do, all you knew was that you couldn’t stay there, couldn’t keep wallowing in your own trauma and self-loathing. You wanted to push it all away and bury it down, just like the first time you’d escaped from Rumlow.

Your apartment was still paid up until the end of the month so, you supposed, that would be the best place to start, even if it meant trying to dodge Bucky while you found somewhere else to live.

It was late when you got home.

His scent lingered in the hallway and caused your legs to tremble beneath you, and your heart gave an uncomfortable squeeze when you realised that your door had been repaired - someone had cared enough to make sure your apartment and your things were kept secure. It wasn’t something you expected and it made you think about what he’d told you, about how people cared.

You cast a longing glance at Bucky’s door, wondering if he was in there, if he was sleeping, if he was suffering through nightmares of finding you covered in blood. Part of you was desperate to go to him but you knew it was too late to say or do anything, too late to change anything. The time for talking had passed and none of it mattered anymore. You couldn’t be what Bucky wanted and he couldn’t give you what you needed.

If you were lucky, you’d be able to save you both the heartache of having to face each other again.

End Note : 😭 I can't believe this story is almost over. I think the next chapter will be the last. I don't know if it'll need an epilogue, but we'll see. Hopefully the next/last chapter will be up by the end of November (it should be quicker to write that this one, I'm just hella bad/slow at writing action). Also I'm really tired so so I'm sorry if any dumb typos slipped through

As always, reblogs/comments/likes/asks are always appreciated. Thanks so much for reading, hope you have a great day!

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