#Bucky Whump

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

After All This Time | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello! Who wants to have their feelings hurt?! 🙋🏻‍♀️ I love some good angst, some pain, some emotional turmoil. 

Warnings: relationship drama, references to violence, arguments, crying, ex!Bucky

“What are you doing here?” You stared at Bucky, shocked. Perplexed. He had no business at your apartment. Especially not so late at night. Especially not after what he’d done. The way he’d treated you. It took a long time- too long- to achieve some sense of normalcy after things fell apart. After he broke your heart. You weren’t over him; you feared you never would be. But you finally arrived at something that resembled stability. You were nearly okay- nearly.

But Bucky’s unexpected presence took you out at the knees. Was he always this beautiful? Or did you just miss him? His hair was a bit longer, his stubble a little scruffier. His deep blue eyes softened at the sight of you. No, he was always this beautiful. Dammit.

His expression was stern. Serious. Just like it had been when he left. He’d promised you he’d never come back. “Can I come in?” He was a liar, apparently.

“What? No.”

Bucky breezed past you anyway.

You crossed your arms over your chest, hiding the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra. Your arms hugged your body, crisscrossing over your old college shirt. Thank god you hadn’t opted to wear one of the many henleys he’d left behind. The humiliation of him seeing you in one of his old shirts would’ve been too much. You knew you shouldn’t wear them anymore, but you couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop yourself from cloaking your body in the comfort they provided. It was sad, maybe even a little pathetic. But you didn’t know how to stop.

“Hey- You can’t just barge into my apartment-”

“Shut the door.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “No. What do you- get out.”

Bucky closed and locked the door for you. His fingers twisted the key in the deadbolt and fastened the chain. He even pulled on the door once- then twice. It was secure. He positioned his body in front of it- either blocking your way out or someone else’s way in. You weren’t sure which.

“Go pack a bag. We’re leaving here in five minutes.” He checked his watch, “Sooner, if you can manage it.” He looked up from his wrist and finally let himself drink you in. Were you always this breathtaking? Or was he just happy to see you? Your skin glowed in the yellow light of your reading lamp. Your hair was shorter now- he liked it. Yeah, you were always this intoxicating. Bucky wondered how he could even question it.

“Are you out of your mind? We’re not going anywhere.” Anger was easier. Easier than sadness, than heartbreak. You let wrath wrap itself around your heart, shielding you from the pain. Bucky didn’t belong in your home anymore, no matter how badly you wished he did. He didn’t want to be here- he didn’t want you. He’d made that painfully clear.

And though part of you liked seeing him here, existing in the home you once shared, you knew it would only serve to hurt you. Your voice was quieter this time, less confident, “You need to leave.”

He let out a huff, as though he had the right to be annoyed with you. “Just trust me on this,”,

“Trust you? That’s hilarious-”

“You’re not safe here,” he said. His tone was firm, irrefutable. “Someone attacked Pepper and Morgan. Clint’s wife, Laura, and their kids. Murdock’s associate- that guy Nelson.”

A burst of worry shot through you, “Shit. Are they okay?”

“They’re fine. They’ve all been relocated.” He wondered how you could worry about others while bypassing any concern for yourself. But the distress on your face was real; you’d gotten close with the families of the team before Bucky left. They welcomed you like one of their own, and your care for them survived even after things with Bucky died.

“Sam is taking his sister and her kids somewhere- everyone’s moving their loved ones.”

Silence. You waited for Bucky to elaborate. He waited for you to put the pieces together.

“So… why are you here? What does any of that have to do with me?”

“Hydra. They’re coming after our lov-” Bucky cleared his throat, “the people in our lives.”

You shook your head, “Yeah, I get that. But I’m not in your life.”

Bucky knew you weren’t his anymore, but hearing you say it cut him to the bone.

The strong façade you wore threatened to crumble. This was too much for you- almost cruel. Back when things were good, they were really good. You planned on staying with Bucky forever. You saw yourself marrying him, spending the rest of your days together. He’d had other plans. He left you. And never looked back.

“I’m fine here,” you told him. “I don’t need you.”

Bucky struggled for words. This was harder than he thought. “Well… they- they don’t know that we...” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Hydra, I mean, they don’t know what um, what happened. We were pretty public- they might think we’re still together. So, I need to get you to a safe house. Just in case.”

“Why?” The question hung heavy in the air.

Bucky didn’t say a word.

“Since when do you care? Don’t act like I matter to you all of a sudden- don’t pretend that you’re worried about me.” You forced every ounce of emotion behind an impenetrable wall, “leave. I’m serious, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You’re in danger. And I…” He ran a hand through his hair “Just come with me. Let me protect you.”

“I’m not yours to protect.” The stinging sensation of approaching tears burned behind your eyes. “So… you can go.”

Your words gutted him. He hadn’t felt this much pain since he left, since the last time he saw you. He’d left you alone in the apartment you once shared. He’d shut the door and stood on the other side, unable to walk away. His forehead rested against the wood, and he listened to you. The sound of you sobbing- wailing- drove stakes into his chest. But he knew it was better this way.

“Yeah, I know that…” he said, his voice softer now. “But your family, your friends- they’ll be devastated if something happens to you. Don’t do that to them. Come with me. And when this blows over, I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”

You hated that he was right. To let your pride endanger your life was selfish, stupid. You could practically hear your mom telling you to go with him.

But there was a side of you would rather die at the hands of Hydra than share a safe house with Bucky. Sure, you missed him. A lot. You wished he’d never walked out that door. But spending days- or weeks- with him? Just the two of you? In a secluded location? It would tear you to pieces.

You grumbled under your breath, “fine. How long will we be gone?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, then- where are we going?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know. Coordinates will be sent to the jet once we board.”

“Okay, great. Perfect. I don’t know how much to pack. I don’t know what kind of clothes I need. Awesome. Thanks, James.” You turned on your heel and headed toward your bedroom, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

James. James. You’d never called him James. Ever. Not even in a joking sense. He was always Bucky or Buck or Barnes or baby- depending on the context. Never James. It was so impersonal, you regarding him by his government name. So cold. Distant. He knew he deserved it- deserved way worse. But it stung, nonetheless.

With you busy in the other room, Bucky drank in the warmth of your apartment. It was inviting, cozy. Just like always. You’d gotten a few new pieces of art since he left; they took up the spaces left empty by the photos you removed. The picture of the two of you from a Stark gala. A strip of the two of you laughing in a photo booth at the pier. A polaroid of him kissing your cheek at Sam’s birthday party. He wondered what you did with them. Did you still have them- somewhere? Did you hide them away in a dusty box under the bed he used to share with you?

Or did you burn them?

He missed living there. Missed waking up next to you, missed making dinner for you. Missed you.

“Hey, I’m sorry to call so late…” you said into your phone, cradling it between your ear and your shoulder. “I’m gonna have to work from, um- I have to leave town for a little while.”

Bucky heard you on the phone with your boss, doing your best to lie your way through the situation. But you didn’t give much detail, just like he’d taught you when you first started dating. He told you never to trust anyone fully- never to believe that someone is worthy of every secret. He’d been speaking about outsiders. But when he left, he proved to you that no one deserved your trust. Not even him.

“Yeah, just family stuff,” he heard you say. “My cousin has been sick and took a turn for the worst, so… I need to be there just in case.”

He was so proud.

You stuffed clothes into a bag and rounded up the necessary toiletries. Your laptop, headphones, and a few books made the cut, and you grabbed the bag’s zipper, prepared to give it a final yank. But as you tried to close it up, a piece of fabric caught your eye. You let out a deep sigh. You’d moved on instinct, grabbing things from your closet and dresser without thinking. And some of Bucky’s old clothes had found their way among your items.

A flannel, two henleys, and a sweatshirt sat nestled at the bottom of your bag. They were some of your favorite things to wear- soft, comfortable, cozy. But you couldn’t bring them with you. Not when there was a chance Bucky would see them. You quickly swapped them out with pieces that didn’t belong to him and thanked the universe you’d noticed before it was too late.

When you emerged moments later with duffel bag in hand, Bucky was waiting for you. He hadn’t moved from his spot by the door. Hadn’t taken off his jacket. He wasn’t welcome here anymore. And making himself at home wasn’t right.

“Uh, here’s this,” he outstretched a hand in your direction and offered you a phone. “We can’t be sure that your phone isn’t being tracked. So, you have to leave yours here. This is a burner- just for emergencies.”

You dropped your phone on the counter with a dramatic groan and took the burner from his hand. Not only were you to be trapped for an indeterminant amount of time with the man who ripped your heart out of your chest and eviscerated it in front of your eyes- but you also had to give up your phone. “This feels like a kidnapping.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He made a move for your bag, “I can take that for you-”

“I got it”.

With a nod, he opened the door and checked the hall for potential dangers. And when he deemed it safe, he gestured for you to join him. He watched you lock the door- and smiled to himself when he realized you still used the same key. You never changed the locks after he left.

“This is the most conspicuous thing I’ve ever seen…” A jet sat on the roof of your building, just a few feet from the stairwell. “If Hydra didn’t know where I was before, they definitely do now.”

Bucky gave an awkward laugh, paired with a quiet “yeah”, and tried to help you board. But you shied away from any attempts as assistance. You needed to prove to Bucky that you didn’t need him anymore- no matter how untrue it was.

The flight was awkward. Quiet. Tense. You couldn’t escape to the back of the jet and hide from Bucky- there was no ‘back’. It was a small aircraft. Only enough room for two. It forced you to sit next to him, watching clouds paint with windows with their condensation as the jet sliced through the sky.

“So…” Bucky said after a while, “how’ve you been?”

You quieted him with a look.

The answer to his question was complicated- you didn‘t have the emotional energy to explain. Diving into how angry and miserable and lonely you’d been since his departure would take hours. Maybe days. And he didn’t deserve the inside scoop. He wasn’t welcome to your secrets or the inner workings of your mind- not anymore.

“We’re here…” Bucky said, his voice pulling you from your light sleep. You didn’t realize you’d nodded off. But sleep was the only escape from the painfully awkward situation he’d put you in.

“Okay, so…” Bucky opened the door to the house and gestured for you to enter before him. Still such a gentleman. “I know this place is kinda small. But I’m gonna do my best to not be in your space.” He flipped on a few lights and bathed the house in a warm yellow light. “They promised that the kitchen is stocked. I think there’s firewood somewhere in case we get cold. And there should be clean sheets and towels and stuff in a closet somewhere. As for the, um…” He cleared his throat, “the sleeping arrangements. There’s only one bedroom, so it’s yours- I’m gonna take the couch.”

He threw his bag over the back of the couch and watched it bounce against the cushions. “Let me know if you need anything.”

What you needed, he couldn’t give you. He couldn’t go back in time and reverse the effects of breaking your heart. He couldn’t rid you of the agony brought on by his absence. And so, with a curt nod, you bid him goodnight.

It was nearly three in the morning by the time you made the bed and crawled beneath the covers. You curled into a ball and pulled the blankets up over your head, as though protecting yourself. This had to be a joke. A prank. The wound Bucky’s departure caused had barely scabbed over- and his return flayed it wide open. It throbbed and ached as you cried under the safety of your blankets. You didn’t know what you’d done in a past life to deserve hurt like this.

Bucky collapsed onto the couch. He slumped forward and rested his head in his hands, replaying every moment since you opened the door. The look on your face when you saw him again, the disdain in your voice, the distrust you held for him- it made his chest ache. He hated himself for throwing away the best thing he’d ever had. For hurting you. For breaking the trust you’d built together.

He didn’t sleep that night- the pain didn’t let him. He, instead, remained awake. Wired. He cleaned his guns. Double and triple checked his supply of ammo. He made sure every window was locked, every door secure. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.

The following day passed slowly. Bucky made enough breakfast for both of you, and kept your portion warm while he did the dishes and waited for you to wake. But you never joined him. You remained holed up in your room, miserable.

You didn’t care about Hydra; they couldn’t hurt you more than Bucky already had. Sure, they could beat you senseless and bleed you dry. They could torture you and hold you hostage. But it simply couldn’t compare. Physical injuries heal. They scab over and turn to scars. But the pain Bucky caused never ceased. The wound bled day and night. His mark on you could never be fixed.

Only when your hunger pangs grew painful did you leave the safety of your room.

“Hey, I made breakfast…” Bucky said when you finally emerged, “I tried to keep yours warm but- it’s in the fridge if you want it. I know it’s well past breakfast time and you probably don’t want cold spinach scramble and hashbrowns, but-”

He was being so nice;  he still remembered your favorite breakfast. You thought back on all the Sunday mornings you’d spent together, making breakfast and listening to music. Drinking coffee. Dancing in the kitchen until the food almost burned. But you banished the memories. And sent away the warm feelings brought on by Bucky cooking for you again.

You didn’t make eye contact, didn’t thank him. Instead, you rummaged through the cabinets until you found a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread. “I’ll make something for myself,” you told him.

“Oh- okay, yeah. Knives are in the drawer to your left.” Bucky felt himself hovering. He stood across the kitchen island from you like an expectant child hoping for the approval of a stern parent. He knew he’d never get it, didn’t deserve it. But he couldn’t help himself. Being so close to you felt good. Really good. And though he’d promised he wouldn’t invade your space, he found it impossible to walk away.

You, however, couldn’t get away fast enough. You hastily made a sandwich and grabbed a glass of water before retreating to you room, safe from Bucky’s gaze. With the door shut, you allowed yourself to sink down to the floor. A gnawing sense of soul-crushing sadness eclipsed any feelings of hunger. But you forced the sandwich down anyway. You swore to yourself that everything would be okay, that you’d go home soon enough and try once again to heal.  

But you didn’t believe your own words.

Bucky hated how uncomfortable you were around him. It was his fault, and he knew it, but it made him sad all the same. At one time, he’d been the person you loved most. The person you  cared for. The one you could trust. You knew, without a doubt, that you could go to him with anything. Any problem, any worry- no matter how small. And he’d find a way to make it better. And if he couldn’t fix it, he could at least make you smile. He could bring you comfort and make you feel safe. Loved. He was the only one you wanted. The only person for you. His soul and yours were forged in the same fire- just a few decades apart.

But that fire was dead- snuffed out. And Bucky no longer held the secret key to your heart. He brought you only anguish and anxiety. Torment. Agony. And he hated himself for it.

He wondered if you’d spent all your time hiding in that bedroom. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. You weren’t happy around him like you used to be- why would you subject yourself to such unpleasant feelings unless it were absolutely necessary? He resolved to give you as much space as possible, to leave the room when you made your way to the kitchen. To not hover. Anything to make you more comfortable.

And if that meant that he didn’t get to speak to you for the remainder of your time in hiding, then so be it.

That night, however, he got to speak to you again.

He didn’t rest the night of your arrival, not even for a moment. And it finally got to him. He turned in early, falling asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace. The last few embers glowed orange beneath the charred wood, but all warmth was gone. His sleeping form tossed and turned beneath a thin blanket. Droplets of sweat bloomed from his skin as heaving breaths forced their way into his chest.

A familiar sound woke you in the middle of the night. You hadn’t heard it in quite some time, but knew you’d never forget it. Bucky was having a nightmare. And before you had a moment to rethink your actions, you were up. You ditched your bedding and fled in the direction of his screams.

And he woke to the soft sound of your voice.

“Bucky, hey…” you placed your hands on his shoulders. “Hey, wake up. Bucky-”

His eyes flew open and quickly focused on your face. And though your presence brought a relief he hadn’t experienced in what felt like years, it was too late. His heart hammered against his ribs; his lungs burned. He couldn’t breathe.

“You’re okay. You’re alright. Here-” One of your hands migrated from his shoulder to his chest while the other searched for one of his. You dragged his hand upward and mirrored the placement, pressing his palm to your sternum. It was muscle memory, a deep-seeded reflex you didn’t know you still had. You used to do it every night- back when Bucky was still yours. He liked it. He said it made him feel like you were synching your heartbeat with his. And it always calmed him down.

Bucky let loose a deep sigh of relief. It seemed to come from somewhere else completely, like he’d been holding his breath since the last time he touched you. Your pulse beat strong and steady beneath his hand, thudding against his palm like his own personal metronome. And maybe it was all in his head, but he felt his own heartrate slow. He breathed easier. A smile pricked at the corners of his mouth.

But you pulled away all too soon.

Bucky sat up in pursuit of your recoiling hand, “Thank you…”

“Yeah.” You stood, hoping to make it back to your room before the tears began to fall. But Bucky’s words stopped you.

“I really- I really appreciate you waking me. And doing… that. For me.” He felt himself growing sheepish, but couldn’t let the encroaching embarrassment get the best of him. “I missed it- I missed you.”

Something in you snapped.

You turned toward him with a strange mixture of anger and pain burning behind your eyes, your breathing growing ever sharper.

“Why am I here?” Your tone was calm, measured. It was the kind of rage that turned your words to ice. To stone.

He cocked his head to the side, “um, because of Hydra. Because you’re in danger…”

“But why am I here?” You felt yourself losing control, “You heard they were going after the team’s loved ones and you thought to yourself, ‘hmm, that girl I completely destroyed, that girl whose life I ruined, that girl who I most certainly do not love, that girl I left for no reason, she’s in danger! Hydra will probably go after her, you know, since I haven’t seen her or spoken to her in almost a year!’”

Bucky didn’t know what to say.

“This makes no fucking sense, James!”

James. You’d let one or two ‘Buckys’ slip earlier- never again.

“Why did you come to my apartment? Why did you fucking kidnap me and bring me to this stupid house? Why did you put me on the same tier as Tony’s wife? As Clint’s wife? We aren’t together, I’m not in your life, and I’m certainly not a ‘loved one’- you made that painfully clear.  Why did you-”

“Because I still love you”

You rolled your tear-filled eyes, “Don’t you fucking lie to me.”

“I’m not lying…” Bucky sighed. “I swear on my life.”

An ugly scoff broke free from your throat, “I’m supposed to believe that? You once ‘swore on your life’ that you’d never hurt me. And that shit clearly wasn’t true, so-”

“I swear on Steve’s life. I swear on his grave,” Bucky’s voice wavered ever so slightly. “I still love you. I never stopped.”

It rendered you speechless.

“I never wanted to hurt you. And I didn’t want to leave. But I didn’t know what else to do.”

You stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. “You ‘didn’t know what else to do’? You left me because you ‘didn’t know what else to do’?”

Bucky shook his head. Regret pooled in his chest, and he wished to take back every stupid word. “That’s not what I meant-” he sighed. “I mean… I’m- I’m not meant for this. To be with someone. To be loved. Bad stuff- really bad stuff- follows me around. The war and the train and Hydra and Zemo and Thanos and the blip and the Flag Smashers and-”

He fought to catch his breath. “I break things. Anything I touch- it gets ruined.” He paused for a moment. Everything inside his head moved too fast. It blurred past him and fell from his lips before he had a chance to make edits. And if he was going to fix this, he needed to be in control.

“I never wanted to break you. Or put you in danger.”

“You never hurt me- physically…” you said. “You know I was never scared of you- I didn’t think I was ever in danger with you. I didn’t think you’d break me-”

“No, I know. I know.” Getting to that point had been hard for him. He shied away from you for so long, scared he’d somehow make you bleed or paint your skin with bruises. But you’d worked with him. You showed him patience and moved at his pace, working through the fear he held.

“What I mean is… I got scared because people knew about us. Our relationship was public. And I was afraid that putting you in the public eye like that would invite danger. A lot of people hate me- they want revenge. Retribution. So I thought…” he rolled his eyes at his past-self, at the version of him who let you get away. “I thought removing myself from your life would ensure your safety.” He shrugged, “no one would have reason to come after you if we weren’t together-”

“And look where we are now…” you said, “Hiding. In a safehouse. Because my life is in jeopardy.” Part of you- the soft side- wanted to show him mercy. To hold him and make him feel safe. To console him. But the side of you who wore brass knuckles and steel toed bootsa prevailed, “That was a really fucking stupid thing to do…”

Bucky gave a pained chuckle, “yeah, I- I know.” His cheeks reddened ever so slightly, and his shoulders slumped with shame. He knew he fucked up. “I’m sorry. About all of it. About leaving. About hurting you- God, I never wanted to hurt you.” The pain in his eyes could’ve made you crumble.

“And I’m sorry about putting you in harm’s way. About abducting you like this.” He took a small step in your direction; he couldn’t pretend like he wasn’t drawn to you. But he knew he had no right to exist in such close proximity to the person he hurt. And so he stopped himself, no matter how badly he wished he didn’t have to.

“But to answer your question with full honesty…” he said,  “you’re here because I love you. Because I’ll always love you. And even though you hate my guts- which you absolutely should- I care about you. And I want to keep you safe, as safe as I can. I want to protect you.” He let out a sigh, “And I know you’re not… you’re not mine to protect, but-” The words tasted like vinegar. If Bucky thought hearing them hurt, he was wrong. Saying them was far worse. “you’re here because I would rather die than let anything happen to you.”

He didn’t like the way your shoulders were yanked up near your ears, the way your arms sat crossed over your chest- like you were trying to protect yourself. But he understood. He’d hurt you- badly. Left you gutted and bleeding. He knew you’d never trust another thing he said- rightfully so.

Silent tears flowed freely down your cheeks and dripped down your neck. The weight of Bucky’s words forced you to lean against the nearest wall. Everything your friends said about him, everything your family told you- it was wrong. He wasn’t apathetic. He wasn’t inconsiderate or manipulative. He was just misguided- maybe a little stupid.

“I told myself…” you finally said, “for months, I told myself that you never loved me. That you used me to make yourself feel better.”

Bucky vehemently shook his head, “that’s not-”

“What was I supposed to do? I needed something to make me feel better…” you said. “It was easier to think that you never loved me. But you left me because you loved me? That’s- that was a terrible idea, by the way.”

“I know…”

A fresh wave of tears cascaded from your eyes and left droplets on your shirt. “I want… I want to believe you. I want to believe every nice thing you just said and pick up right where we left off. But I’m…” You pulled the sleeves of your shirt over your hands and wiped the tears from your cheeks, “I’m scared- I’m scared to trust you again. To let my guard down.”

Bucky took another small step in your direction. “That’s fine, that’s… understandable- more than understandable. Smart.”

You nodded.

“And I don’t want you to think- I’m not telling you all of this to convince you to get back together with me. Or to upset you- I never want to hurt you again. You just deserve to know the truth. So…”

He wondered how the two of you got to this point. How you went from domestic bliss to something so ugly. But he knew exactly how it happened- it was his fault. And he didn’t deserve a second chance. He deserved to be alone for the rest of his life while you moved on, found someone new- someone better. He wanted that for you. Of course, he’d rather have you all to himself. But it wasn’t right.

“It’s just- I’ve been regretting… well, everything, since the moment I left. I wish I would’ve talked to you, you know? I wish I was honest. I wish I told you what was going on inside my head.” He ran a hand through his hair, “maybe things would’ve been different.”

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to hear you say these things…” you said. “But now that you’re saying them it feels…” The floor rocked beneath your feet. You teetered to the side and reached for the arm of the couch- it was all too much. The lack of sleep, the emotional exhaustion, the weight of Bucky’s words. You needed to sit.

Bucky reached for you, desperate to help you steady yourself- but he pulled away. He didn’t have permission to touch you. Not anymore.

“Things absolutely would’ve been different,” you let out a deep sigh. Every possible outcome you came up with ended far better than the reality. “Because we would’ve worked through it together. As a team. And no one would’ve gotten hurt.”

All Bucky could do was nod.

“And maybe we’d still end up in this safe house, but we’d probably use it as a makeshift romantic getaway instead of an agonizingly awkward prison sentence.”

The thought brought a smile to Bucky’s face, to yours. It was easy to imagine the two of you camped out in the living room, reading by the fire and drinking old-fashioneds. You’d stay up late watching movies together and sleep until noon. And when the threat was eliminated, you’d almost wish for more danger- anything to keep the two of you in your own little world.

Everything went quiet. Neither of you knew what to say- or if there were any words appropriate for the situation. Was there even anything else to be said? Part of you wanted to retreat to your bedroom. To hide under your covers. But you wouldn’t allow yourself to squander this moment.

A sad smile pulled at your lips. “I don’t know where… where are we supposed to go from here?” You stared at Bucky as though he had all the answers, as though it wasn’t him who burned your world to the ground.

“I don’t think we have to go anywhere,” he said. “Nothing has to change between us- like I said, I’m not trying to change your opinion about me or make you feel bad. When this whole thing blows over, I’ll take you home. I’ll stay out of your hair.” He leaned against the wall opposite you, submitting to his future- and to his past, “I know I can’t change what I did.”

Another long silence filled the space. It pushed its way in between the two of you and rested heavy against your chest. Bucky waited for a curt ‘okay’ or a quick ‘goodnight’, but no such thing came.

“What if I don’t want that?” you said after a while.

He pushed away from the wall, as though your words pulled him upright. “What?”

“What if I want to try again?” Your heart thundered against your chest, growing faster and faster with each passing second.  You stood on the precipice, willing yourself to fall. This was your chance, the opportunity you’d hoped for. And though it sent fear coursing through your veins, you knew you had to jump.

“No matter how many times I tell myself that you hurt me for the fun of it or that you never actually loved me, I don’t believe it. I can’t- even if I want to…” you let out a sad laugh. “Because I know who you are- I know what we had was real. And I think- I know it’s worth trying again.”

A quick flash of pain and anxiety tore through you, hollowing your chest, “And yeah, maybe I’m stupid for being overly optimistic or letting myself be vulnerable with you. But I’m… I’m willing to risk getting hurt all over again.”

Bucky stood stone still, rooted in place. This was all he’d ever wanted. But now that he had it, he feared the thing his heart desired most. What if he fucked up again? What if he hurt you again? What if he squandered his  second chance?

“Are you…” Bucky took a deep breath, “are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Because you’re the only person I’ll ever want, Buck. Because I love you.”

Bucky never thought he’d hear those words again. And before he knew it, he was on the ground in front of you. He sunk to his knees, incapable of standing any longer. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. His tears dampened your skin as he let his head fall against your thighs. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you as close as he possible could. He feared you’d change your mind, that you’d take back everything you said. And if you did, he at least wanted to know that he held you. That he touched you one last time.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry- you have no idea how sorry I am”, he said between sharp breaths. “I’m gonna make it up to you. I’m gonna make it all up to you, okay? I promise. I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving to you that I love you, that I’d rather die than lose you again. And I’m-”

“Okay, hey… let’s relax a bit.” You met him on the floor and pulled his head against your chest. You ran a hand along his back, soothing him. His shaky breaths were so sharp, so ragged, that they seemed almost painful. “Breathe, Buck. I love you, okay? And I know you love me- I know. You don’t have to prove it.”

Bucky tried to deliver a rebuttal, but you wouldn’t allow it.

“Hey- it’s okay. We’re okay.” You tangled your fingers in his hair, eliciting a deep sigh from his chest. “We’re both tired. And emotional. Let’s just go to sleep, okay? It’s the middle of the night- we can talk things through in the morning.” You gently pulled his head from your chest and swiped the tears from his cheeks. Touching him again, holding him, provided the salve you needed. The wound in your chest started healing. The pain ceased. And for the first time in almost a year, you felt whole.

Your hands found Bucky’s and pulled him up right. With a gentle tug, you led him in the direction of your room.

“Come on,” you said, “let’s go to bed, baby.”

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

Tag list: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality  @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @mrsdrysdale18 @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl l @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @duchessoftheheart @seitmai @itvy5601 @hisxsoulmate @dailyreverie  @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @masteroflightningz @evangeliamerryll  @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions​ @lokisasgardianvampirequeen​ @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem@avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky​

[lostgirlmuseum]

Solitary Confinement

Prompt: Febuwhump Day 2

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (gender not specified)

Words: 462

Warnings: Mentions of death, small space, pretty much whatever solitary confinement suggests

A/N: Sorry it's so short, and lacking a lot of Bucky. I just wanted to get the ball rolling to see if I can still write lol. Lemme know if there is a specific prompt/day you'd like me to do

Prompt List Here

Decay. That was the only word you could think of. 

There were no windows in your cell. No cracks to let the light in. You were submerged in darkness. You had a small toilet right next to the thin mattress on the floor. If you needed the toilet, you had to stumble blindly to find it. The only upside to the small room was that you never had to stumble far to find what you needed. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been in there. When they had first thrown you in there, you counted the meals in order to keep track of the days. But it didn’t take you long to realize that the meals weren’t served at the same time, let alone every day. 

You were dead.

You were dead, you had to be. You were sure of it.

You were dead, and living your afterlife in this void of mildew and decay.

At first it was cold, so fucking cold, but now you didn’t even shiver. You didn’t have the energy. Rigor mortis had begun to set in, your stiff muscles chaining you to the damp concrete ground where you had laid for your entire death. 

You couldn’t feel—

You couldn’t feel.

You just stared into the black just as you had done for the entire two weeks, months—god, had it been years? 

You couldn’t even remember how you’d gotten here in the first place. 

There was no before, and there is no after. You are bones. You are ash. You are decay.

And without warning: light.

Light?

Everything was blurry, you couldn’t make out the picture in front of you. You cowered back, curling in on yourself to protect yourself from the inevitable beating. 

One rough and one cool hand met your back. They felt familiar, from a time so distant that you couldn’t believe it was real. 

A frantic voice penetrated your ears, but you couldn’t make out the words. It was just noise.

Bucky hovered over you, tears falling from his eyes as he witnessed you. He wanted to tell you that he found you, he never stopped looking, that he was going to get you home. But the only word he could form was your name, leaving his lips countless times. It was a question, it was fact, it was a prayer and a plea. 

He brushed his thumb over your cracked lips and pulled your body into his. You didn’t fight him, but you didn’t welcome him either. Did you even recognize him?

Bucky held you so close that he couldn’t see the wobble of your mouth as you tried and struggled to speak. 

Finally, your dry and fractured voice rang, “Bucky.”

[questionableratatouille00]

Basements and other HYDRA Bullshit

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: All was going well until your Boyfriend’s past comes back to haunt him.

Note: Day five of @ailesswhumptober2023! (Hostage/Kidnapping/Held at gunpoint.)

Warnings: Cursing, guns, knives, violence, blood, injuries, Winter Soldier topics. (Torture, murder, etc.)

—————————————————————————

The room felt like it was spinning as you felt warm blood drip down the side of your face. The knife slash to your temple had seemed more of a minor inconvenience at the time, but you now wished you’d stopped to at least quickly bandage it.

“So, you think you can take away the words and you’ll be free? Hm?” The accent of the man speaking was strong, and you knew he was addressing Bucky rather than you.

“The Winter Soldier is gone.” You hissed, not even sparing a glance at Bucky. You couldn’t handle it and you knew it, too.

“The words were only one way to activate HYDRA’s greatest weapon. We have others.” The man grinned devilishly, and it made your stomach flip.

“You’re gonna leave him alone.” Growling as you said this, you tried to force yourself forward. The chains around your wrists bound you to the walls of the dark, cold, and unwelcoming cell you were in.

“You are not in control here!” He rushed out the words as he barked them. He completed his sentence by raising his hand, ready to backhand you across the face. “I am!” He sounded erratic, and absolutely deranged.

“Don’t touch her.” Bucky’s voice was low, and dark.

“Or what?” The man spat, grinning. “What are you going to do about it?” He pulled a small red book from his pocket.

You couldn’t really recognize what the book was, but you knew it was significant. It matched the description of a book Bucky had told you about, the one that haunted him in his dreams and in his flashbacks.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Bucky glared at the man defiantly, and you attempted to copy his expression.

“You can try. But you are a dog, and this is your leash!” He waved the book in front of Bucky’s face, taunting him.

“Who the hell are you?” You asked finally.

“You should ask your companion this. Tell me, Soldat, do you remember her? Do you remember my daughter?” He barked.

You could feel your own heart sink, and with one glance at Bucky, you knew he was feeling the same thing. “Buck, who is this?”

“Victor Rostov.” He stated. “His daughter’s name is—“

“Was. Her name was Alina! She was eight. Eight years old, and you shot her in the head! You’re nothing but a monster! A monster!” Rostov howled as he raged.

“It wasn’t his fault!” You shouted at him. You didn’t want Bucky to have to hear any of this.

“She died at his hands!”

“HYDRA called for no survivors, right? They wouldn’t target a child.” You tried to reason. You didn’t want to think about how they totally would target a child.

“She’d be twenty eight! My daughter, my little girl, will never be able to live. And he can’t even fucking remember her?” Rostov’s voice was filled with pain, and you could tell that she meant a lot to him.

“I remember all of them.” Bucky admitted grimly.

“You deserve to die, monster. And so you shall.” He clicked a gun in his pocket, raising it to Bucky’s forehead.

“Hey! Hey, let’s talk about this.” You gasped, ready to beg. Rostov could hurt you all he wanted, but not Bucky. He couldn’t take Bucky from you.

You panted as blood dripped from your temple onto the ground, making a tiny little puddle. It made you feel sick, just seeing it.

“Why shouldn’t I—“ A loud gunshot rang out through the cell, or really the small basement you were being kept in. You shrieked, tears immediately rushing to your eyes as you screamed.

“Bucky! Bucky! Bucky, no! No!” You sobbed, as Rostov fell to the floor.

“It’s us! It’s us!” A few familiar voices shouted. Natasha, Steve, and Tony.

“It’s not me! It’s not me!” Bucky reassured you at the same time as you wailed.

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” You sobbed. “I thought you got shot. I thought you got shot.” You couldn’t seem to get enough air into your lungs, making your words, which were already mostly sobs, seem a bit breathy.

Steve and Natasha immediately rushed to the to of you, unchaining you from the walls. Tony stayed back in case anybody else was around.

“Not shot there.” Bucky tried to make you feel better, but the truth was that Rostov had shot him in the thigh before he’d died. The two of you were safe, and that was all that mattered.

—————————

“What he said..about the monster thing. It’s not true.” You said as you got to work on patching up Bucky’s thigh.

“Not so sure about that, dollface.”

“It’s not.” You glanced up at him, before looking back down at his thigh. “Promise.”

“If you say so.” He sighed, accepting defeat here. You nodded once, getting ready to bandage the wound.

“I do say so.” After a long pause, you continued. “You gonna be okay?”

“I’ve been through worse. I’ll live.”

“I didn’t ask if you’ll live. I asked if you’ll be okay.”

“I will be okay.” He laughed every so lightly, and you smiled.

He would be okay. And so would you.

[aragorn-my-love]

Amidst the hells of the Stalag camp, Bucky and Buck cling to each other for solace, never straying far from each other.

But their fragile sanctuary is shattered when a German General takes a keen liking to Bucky and forcibly takes him from Buck’s desperate arms.

Despite Bucky's struggle, he is overpowered and swiftly whisked away by General Klaus, leaving Buck behind.

Will Bucky remain strong enough for Buck to find him before it’s too late, or will the General break him?

[melles1276]

Excerpt:

Chapter 9 - Despair

"Okay." As clear as his decision has been before, Steve now feels miserable and scared as he kneels down next to Bucky. He can't make out any details in the dim light of the tunnel, so Bell has given him a headlamp to provide the necessary lighting. After a moment of deliberation, he decides on the saw, even though he has absolutely no idea what to do next. They lack pretty much everything. They have no anesthetic, no IVs to compensate for the blood loss. The disinfectant is enough either for the wound and his hands, or for the rusty saw. But definitely not for anything that is about to come into contact with Bucky's arm. “Okay,” he repeats himself again. Ignoring his own pain from the leg wound, he stands still for a moment. The stitches tug uncomfortable in this position, but he focuses his attention on the task before him.

Eerie silence arises.

“First the morphine,” he finds his voice again. Steve's heart is pounding wildly in his chest, the nervous tension causes an unpleasant ache in his stomach.

Bell presses an injector into his outstretched hand. They have four of them in total, but Steve doesn't know how long the effects will last or how strong the dosage actually is. He definitely doesn't want to overdose, so they have to try one vial first. He only manages to pull off the protective cap on his second attempt, because his hands shake so badly. He hesitates for a second, even though he knows that the needle prick is probably the least of their problems.

With a deep breath, he rams the hypodermic needle into Bucky's right thigh and pushes the trigger. “How long until the drug takes effect?” he wants to know from Bell.

“Up to 15 minutes, I think?” Bell replies doubtfully.

“We can’t wait that long,” Steve shakes his head. “You have to hold him so he doesn’t move too much.” He sits on Bucky's pelvis, but he can't block his right arm. Bell will have to take on this task.

Bell complies with the request somewhat hesitantly, appearing unsure while he places the flashlight on the floor. In the cold white light of the headlamp he looks even paler and doesn't seem particularly composed.

Steve can't blame him. But now there is no going back. He checks the fit of the belt again and places the saw on Bucky’s forearm just about 10 cm below the elbow joint. Nausea overcomes him and he stops what he’s doing. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His fingers open and close around the bow handle of the saw. Then his head jerks up. “We need something for him to bite!” he proclaims.

“The belt,” Bell replies. “It’s long enough.” He has sat down at Bucky's head, ready to press his shoulders down with both hands. With his left hand he reaches for the part of the belt that isn't wrapped around Bucky’s upper arm and nods.

Bucky's breathing shallow and there is no other movement.

Steve hopes it will stay that way, but he can't rely on it. He looks at Bell one last time, then closes his eyes briefly, takes a deep breath, starts the saw and presses the saw blade into the flesh with all his strength.

[anamelessdragon]

State of Shock | Chapter 11 | 3.2k

by NamelessDragon (@anamelessdragon)

———————————

Excerpt:

Olivia Walker could not be more happy for her husband as she waited on the field for his interview with Good Morning America, her favorite coat draped over her shoulders. The night air was perfect: not too cold, just enough of a breeze to keep things from getting muggy. The sky was crystal clear, the moon bright overhead - like the weather itself knew what an important day this was, and wanted John to succeed as much as she did.

John had made his first appearance as Captain America, but this would be his first real public interview. Thousands were about to see and react to what she saw almost every day; a man who was strong, smart, capable, kind, devoted, and worth loving.

The people who already knew that about him surrounded her in their designated spots close to the stage. Lemar was off to the side laughing with some of his army buddies, their smiles reflecting the pride she felt filling her chest to bursting.

As she scanned over their interactions, letting their joy feed into hers, the one person nearby who was not smiling caught her eye.

Bucky Barnes.

———————————

Bucky's pardon requires that he wear an artificially intelligent shock collar as a term of his release. Bucky accepts, knowing it's his only chance to get out and do some good in the world.

Unfortunately, there are plenty of people ready to severely misuse that power.

A retelling of TFATWS.

Pairings/Characters: Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, appearances by the general TFATWS cast

Warnings: Chapter 11 - trauma, angst, all from outside POV

Author’s Note: Apologies for the delay on this! I’m…pretty literally working 7 days a week minus holidays for nearly the rest of the year, trying to make up for major financial issues. I didn’t have time to flesh out or edit this chapter out as much as I would have wanted, with apologies to Olivia Walker.

Next chapter will be Bucky’s POV. Unfortunately, I’m now not quite sure when I’ll update again.

Read on AO3.

[lynlee494]

Master List

For the record, it was not the Winter Soldier who brought on the end of humanity. It was more of a group effort really.

And that clutz Murphy, a product of Hydra nepotism putting someone in a position they shouldn’t be in.

And now several years on Bucky has a lot of confusing memories, but at least the fast paced environment and literal walking nightmares means he doesn’t really have time to dwell too much on the more distant past.

In the end none of it mattered anyways.

Bucky is merely surviving, avoiding best he can the lingering human population and avoiding Empties when possible.

This task is going well, until he gets stuck with a small but fierce blonde named Steve. *Steve/Bucky ______________________________________________

**Currently tucked away while I finish the full story, heavy edits under way to improve** *WIP; *Pausing participation in events that involve long fics till complete - priority story as chapters return from editing. Bucky Barnes’s family is indebted to Alexander Pierce, a powerful man who has preyed on him and those like his family for decades. There are only a few years of service left to pay his debt, but recently Pierce's brute Rumlow has been escalating in his violence. Fearing the inevitable and with nowhere to actually go Pierce can’t reach, Bucky had begun to accept his fate.

Then Bucky’s luck turns when a persistent advertisement for an insanely affordable apartment in Bed-Stuy interrupts his browsing at a bakery, the shop close enough to pick up the free wi-fi from the Avenger’s Tower.

Maybe there is a chance.

Clint Barton has a surprise new tenant that he is pretty damn sure there had been no application for. Likely Jarvis’s idea, the AI sparing some processing to help manage Clint’s apartment building. Avenging and being a landlord takes a toll.

Not a problem except the top floor – Clint’s floor – has been left empty save him for safety reasons. Which meant the only vacancy was right next door. And it turns out the new guy is hot. And maybe kinda in trouble. Which is so his type.

So many ways this can go bad, and Clint is sure he'll find all of them. *Bucky/Clint ______________________________________________

**Stucky Reverse Bang Entry *WIP *Currently posting

The Soldier’s understanding of the world begins to unravel after he completes a mission and finds a helpless, shivering, and soaking wet kitten. Unable to leave, knowing the frail thing will die in the elements, the Soldier makes a choice...

The Soldier can not risk contact, capture, and the inevitable return to Hydra and captivity would bring. He may remember Steve Rogers, but he also remembers Captain America. Similarly enhanced, the Captain would have the advantage, the Soldier’s movement would be limited with the kitten’s safety to consider.

A surveillance approach is the safest angle to take. There had been notebooks at the museum exhibit, so there may be more memories to be dredged up if Steve Rogers still keeps journals, keepsakes, things that may stir up more memories - more pieces to fill in the expanse between Bucky and the Soldier.

He’ll seek out Steve Rogers, who seems to feature in nearly every memory with Bucky, but he’ll be cautious. Can hopefully glean from the exposure more about the time before Bucky – before he – was presumed dead in a war. From before Steve’s Bucky became Hydra’s, time stuttering by till the Soldier was born.

*Bucky/Steve ______________________________________________

“How do they do it? Boxed in like that. Back to the only open space around you? Sitting around all day. Nothing to do...” Clint’s voice is tinny through the comms. “Ooh, if you see any decent munchies, snag me a few. I missed dinner.”

“Hey, bird brain, focus. If we’re too late getting back, I can’t pick up Alpine from Kate’s till late tomorrow.” Bucky’s voice is low, while the building should be empty, they aren’t able to watch all the entrances from Clint’s angle on the opposite building. A lot of this relies on the element of surprise and stealth.

"Dude, you just walked past a break room.”

“Are you looking for stray guards, or are you looking for snacks?”

“Both, of course.” Clint scoffs on the open mic. “Wait! Nine o'clock!”

Bucky growls but reaches out and grabs a handful of caramels from a desk and puts them in the breast pocket of his tactical vest.

“You’re the best.”

“Shut up, Barton.”

*Clint/Bucky

______________________________________________

“Steve?” Bucky finally speaks, having been standing – no, shaking – in the living room entrance. The brunette says his name with such disbelief. Like they hadn’t just seen each other. Right?

“Stevie?” and he crosses the distance between them and all but picks Steve up with desperate hands, “Steve, you look...they said you’re dead Stevie.”

Bucky sinks to his knees before Steve with a sob and real panic claws at the smaller man, causes a hitch in his breathing he is glad Bucky doesn’t seem to notice. Bucky claws at him too, both hands fisting in his shirt, pulling Steve tight to him while the man’s head presses against Steve’s stomach.

As time passes lazily around Steve the growing sense that something is off nags at him when all Steve wants is to see his ma.

And find out what is suddenly wrong with Bucky. *Steve/Bucky

______________________________________________

Bucky also knows Steve’s touch, delicate and light, always too cold despite rubbing Steve’s charcoal stained fingers warm himself. It was something he found himself doing a lot in the winter when they couldn’t always afford charcoal for the whole night, so they waited until right before bed to begin heating the room. No, these weren’t those surprisingly long but skinny fingers with knobby knuckles he would lay gentle kisses onto, warming each with the heat of his mouth.

“Shit, Morita, he is burning up,” and not-Steve sounds so worried that Bucky can’t help but lean into the touch and just pretend for a moment it is his Stevie. *Steve/Bucky ______________________________________________

It wouldn’t have been so bad, Bucky could have shrugged this off easily once he caught his breath, but he found the more he pulled to free himself the worse it seemed to be. Barnes thinks he hears shouting, but it is distorted and drowned out by the pounding in his ears. Ripping further at the trap that was furthering ensnaring him he found himself snarling and just ripping at it with brute strength and panicked rage that echoed of the Asset’s frustrated rampages through Hydra personnel. *Clint/Bucky ______________________________________________

It was a fairly routine outing for the Avengers, aside from the location making Steve and Bucky uneasy, not even forty miles from where Bucky had fallen into Hydra’s control for nearly seven decades.

What was he supposed to say, ‘I know this is where I failed you, so just wondering if you wanted to sit this one out?’ or maybe, ‘This might be hard, but do you want to talk about how this is where they dragged you off from, after I left you behind, broken and bleeding?’

Instead Steve had been too in his own head at the same news that had unsettled Bucky, the train, the snow, Gabe’s face when he saw Bucky’s absence and Steve’s broken state – making it real, sealing it.

The two had both sat there in a sort of stunned silence, heartbeats passing, and then it was too late. Bucky was out the door, shoulders back and his stride long, and Steve merely followed him to the armory. *Steve/Bucky ______________________________________________

It is 1994 and James Barnes has been out of Hydra’s grasp for several months. Barnes is just trying to stay ahead of Hydra, and is at an event to take out an exposed Hydra commander to help with this.

Seeing the young Tony Stark at the event shakes Barnes's loose grip on his own mind however, and Barnes's attention is suddenly split between the past and now - and between his need to remain hidden and his desire to reclaim part of the Bucky he remembers.

Meanwhile, Tony Stark has been avoiding as many responsibilities as possible in the three years since his parents died - but tonight is the first step into entering Stark Industries as the CEO.

Instead Tony's greatest strength is dampened and he finds himself suddenly at the mercy of those around him, and to top it off he begins to worry for his sanity when he finds himself wanting to help a hallucination of Bucky Barnes. *Tony/Bucky ______________________________________________

There is no warning or retort when a punch to his side causes him to stumble, followed by a searing burn blooming from his left bicep. Clint manages to get cover behind a set of dumpsters as he makes out the distinct ping when a bullet hits where he’d been. Gunshots. He had been shot and the night air was not the least bit bothered by it. Luckily his arm seems to be nothing but a deep graze but his side would have to wait. Obscured and hindered by his uniform at least the compression suit would help in the meantime.

Hawkeye only knows one man who handles a gun that quietly, and this makes twice the fucker got the drop on him. And he is supposed to be dead. *Clint/Bucky ______________________________________________

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50552095

After a close call, Bucky Barnes finds himself alone in the Tower.

Solitude is not something that bothers Bucky, and a chance to relax and nurse his wounds wouldn't be so bad...if it wasn't also Steve and Bucky's anniversary.

It certainly doesn't help things that there may have been a mix up with Bucky's medicine. *Steve/Bucky ______________________________________________

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50520286

“Mrs....Mrs. Rogers...he looks…” a small voice sobs quietly, and Sarah was at his level immediately, her arms tight around him. Bucky let out another sob, this time muffled by her shoulder. His small body shaking against her as she can tell he tries to hold it in.

They stay like that for a few minutes and some of the tightness leaves Sarah’s chest just a little, and the trembling in the small boy calms some. Bucky sniffles and murmurs an apology. Sarah gently pulls back from Bucky and sweeps some hair out of his eyes. Stevie might be the frail one, but this poor Barnes boy had such a soft heart. *Steve/Bucky ______________________________________________

[toxiclxki]

New fic posted!

Title: Bucky Barnes Season of Whump chapter 7: lost and found and lost

Author: ToxicLxki

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Bucky&Steve

Warnings: Mild blood and gore

Word count: 4161

Bingo squares filled:

@stuckygeekevents Stucky Geek Bingo, square O4 - Blood loss

@buckybarnesbingo C1 - Whump

@buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky Bingo, August prompt 'bathtub'

[lavenderpanic]

New chapter of I Am Ash From Your Fire up now!

[buckybarnesfanfiction]

One of the best fanfics ive ever read...

Prisoner of War

Pairing: WW2!Bucky x POW!Reader

Anonymous Requested: How about one with Bucky “ you can’t even imagine all the enemies I’ve made” , but the reader is saying it. Thank u. 

Warnings: Intense Violence, Explicit Language, Gore, Death, Mentions of Torture, Suggestion of Rape, Highly Suggestive Themes, and Angst.

Word Count: 6.8k+

A/N: I just have two things to say. Holy shit. 

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Nazi Germany  |  1942

.  .  .

           Bucky let out a short cry of pain as a gloved hand gripped the dirtied locks of his hair and drug him across the blood splattered mud to a group of other Allied prisoners. He reached up weakly and clawed at the hand, only getting dropped onto his face in the mud. He pushed himself onto his knees and glanced up to only have the butt of a rifle slam into his cheekbone. 

           He grunted and collapsed at the Nazi’s feet; knocked unconscious. The Nazi held a look of disgust as he slung the rifle onto his shoulder and pushed Bucky’s limp form onto his back with a blood-smeared boot. He sniffed and spat into the mud before looking over at two other Nazis.

           “Help me get the fuckin’ American with the rest,” He snapped in German, gesturing at Bucky. 

           The two Nazis gripped their guns and trotted over, bending down to scoop one arm under Bucky’s shoulders and heave him up to hang limply between them, boots dragging as they finished bringing him over to the group of prisoners. They let him drop onto the ground and glared at the other young men crouched in a tight circle, relishing in the exhaustion and fear in their bloodshot eyes.

           The prisoners were what was left behind of the 105th and 107th Regiment. They were forced to retreat when the Nazis overwhelmed them and Bucky had twisted his ankle in the retreat, causing him to be captured with a handful of others. It was a large farm plot that the battle took place on, the grasses stamped down and the dirt churned up to only be turned into thick mud. Bodies of both sides were littered over the land and the Nazis had to post up at the abandoned farmhouse that the farm plot was on to collect the stragglers.

           “Tie them up!” The Nazi who knocked Bucky out ordered in German. He turned and disappeared up the porch steps into the farmhouse, obviously being one of the few in charge out of the sixty Nazis.

           Bucky came-to just as the German foot soldiers approached with rope and weapons drawn, their eyes filled with hatred towards the Allied prisoners. His face pounded and stung terribly, an unbearable pain flourishing in his right temple and cheek as the young man next to him nudged his rib cage. Bucky glanced over and recognized one of his comrades, but with that small relief came a deep guilt.

           “Everybody up!” A Nazi directed venomously, his accent thick.

           Bucky struggled to his feet and leaned heavily on his left, unable to walk on his twisted ankle. He clenched his jaw and forced bile down his throat as the splitting pain in his head and face brought it forward. Bucky turned with the other prisoners and limped heavily along, squinting his eyes as he tried to focus on keeping upright.

           They were put into the hayloft of the barn, hands and feet tied together tight enough to lose circulation and lined along the far wall. They had been groped to make sure none of them had any hidden weapons, but the only thing they found was a small knife on a Frenchie from the 105th.  

           It smelled of moldy hay and sweat, but it was better than being outside in the mud and choking on the stench of death and gunpowder. Bucky wiggled his tingling fingers and released a soft sigh, slumping back against the wall as he finally let his eyelids shut. He pushed past all the pain and thought of just how fucked he was. Bucky was put right in the hands of the enemy and completely at their mercy, if they decided to slaughter them all he would never return home to Brooklyn—to Steve.

           Steve.

           Bucky had let him down. He was the only person he had and now… the damn Nazis had him. God knows what the punk was doing, probably trying to enlist for the thousandth time, but Bucky was relieved that he would never get drafted. Steve was too sick and fragile to be put into a man’s war. Bucky could at least die knowing that Steve is safe at home in Brooklyn.

           “Hey!”

           Bucky jolted and blinked rapidly adjusting to the dark surroundings to see the looming figure and gleam of a gun walking over to one of the prisoners a few people to Bucky’s right. His heart pounded heavily in his chest as the Nazi used the end of the barrel of his pistol to tip up the prisoner’s chin and Bucky forced himself to look away.

            The Nazi growled, “Want to say that again?”

           “Go to hell.” The prisoner’s hissed, spitting into the German’s face.

           Bucky ducked his head and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for what was to come. He tried to block out the noise of the Nazi grabbing the prisoner by his hair and dragging him ruthlessly over the floor, the prisoner grunted and was thrown down before the Nazi crouched beside him and peered into his eyes.

               “Auf Wiedersehen, Soldat.”

           Click.

           Bucky bit down on his bottom lip and waited.

           BANG!

           Soft yelps came from the prisoners around him and they all flinched. Bucky shook his head and relaxed against the wall again, refusing to open his eyes to see the young man who just got his brains blown. The picture was already knitting itself in his mind as the Nazi grumbled disgustedly in German before shouting an order to the two Nazis that had witnessed everything. He knew in the morning that the body would be gone, but the blood would still remain.

.   .   .  

Hayloft  |  8 Hours Later

             Bucky was woken up by a Nazi throwing a piece of hard bread into his lap and he blinked blearily down at it, glancing around to see that everything was illuminated in a soft early glow so Bucky estimated it was around five in the morning. He noticed that the other prisoners weren’t the only ones just waking up, because one of the Nazi guards was sitting against a hay bale rubbing at his eyes. The thought of no one noticing the guards asleep pissed him off, but he had to give everyone the benefit of the doubt; they were just fighting for their lives yesterday.

           He lifted his right shoulder and pressed his cheek against his uniform, jerking away when it sent pain splitting across the side of his face, but with a quick glance at the fabric he was glad it wasn’t bleeding anymore. Bucky saw one of the prisoners next to him struggling to get the bread and the prisoner looked up at the Nazi, left eye swollen shut and mud caked in his short hair.

           “How are we supposed ‘t fuckin’ eat this?”

           The Nazi quipped, “Figure it out.” He took a seat beside his buddy and they shared a canteen of water. Bucky was slightly confused as to why they didn’t backhand the guy next to him—let alone kill him, but he then realized these were two new Nazis overlooking them. They looked just about as exhausted as they were.

           “I know what you’re thinking,” A soft voice whispered to his left, drawing Bucky’s attention to look at the feminine-like face of a young man. He had his head shaved and hardly had any marks on him that advised he was in battle, but the dirt streaking his skin said otherwise.

           Bucky was reluctant to reply, too scared to cause a rise from the Nazis, but the other prisoners were now quietly conversing between long pauses. He released a slow breath and he asked, “What am I thinking?”

           “Why these two switched out with the others,” The young man whispered, “After the show they put on last night they think we’re too scared to step out of line, so they let the recruits watch us.”

           Bucky examined the Nazis with raised brows, the left side of his lips tugging up as he glanced at the prisoner next to him. He said, “You’ve got a good eye. How long have you been out here?”

           “A month after the U.S joined the war, what about you? You’re a Sergeant, aren’t you?”

           Bucky nodded and shifted on his butt. “Yeah, Sergeant Barnes. I was shipped out to England three months after we entered the war.”

           “Barnes, eh?” The young man’s voice remained a whisper, “I’m Y/N.”

           Bucky furrowed his brow and turned his head to look at the prisoner. His eyes flickered to the Nazis, but they could care less as they talked quietly amongst themselves. Bucky asked, “Are you a girl?”

           Y/N shushed him and bent close into his side, muttering into his ear, “They were never going to let a woman join this war, so I shaved my head and demanded everyone call me by another name. Now, I don’t think it matters anymore. They have no real use for us and we’re as good as dead.”

           Y/N leaned away and looked down at the piece of bread in her lap, she slid her legs under her frame and the bread rolled onto her knees. Y/N expertly used her knees to grab the bread and bent her legs so she could bite into her breakfast. Bucky knew Y/N had dismissed him with that and he sighed, attempting at the same trick.

           He watched the bread skitter over his muddy pants and onto the wood floorboards, with a soft sigh of defeat he straightened his legs out in front of him again and collapsed back against the wall. Bucky flexed his numb fingers before rolling his jaw painfully and eyeing the Nazi recruits, seeing that they were busy lighting cigarettes. He would kill to take a drag from a cigarette right about now, but that would probably never happen.

           “You aren’t going to last long if you give up, Barnes.” Y/N drew his attention and bit into the chunk of remaining bread between her knees, she turned her head with the piece in her mouth and raised her brows at Bucky.

           Bucky eyed the bread then Y/N before he leaned forward and sank his teeth into the hard crust. His eyes watered at the immense pain that flourished from the action as Y/N let him have it. He shifted and let out a muffled grunt before pulling his knees up to his chest, ankles bound together, and he held the bread between his knees.

           Bucky struggled to chew the food, but he was grateful he got something into his empty stomach. He glanced at Y/N and choked down a dry bite, before he said softly, “Thanks.”

           Y/N just shrugged and slumped against the wall. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

           Bucky didn’t quite know what Y/N meant, but he was glad she was smart enough to pay attention to everything.

.   .   .

Hayloft  |  12 Hours Later

             “Get your asses up!”

           Bucky’s eyes shot open and he was met with darkness before one of the Nazi guards lit up a kerosene lantern, illuminating the hayloft in a soft light. He felt a nudge to his left and Y/N was slowly getting to her feet, somehow standing with her ankles bound. The Nazis had their guns slung over their shoulders and were watching the prisoners rise with scowls, the green uniforms looking sinister in the light.

           Bucky attempted to get up but his ankle forced him back against the wall, drawing the attention of one of the guards. The Nazi said something in German before handing the lantern over and advancing towards Bucky, who slightly recoiled as the Nazi crouched in front of him. Bucky forced the lump in his throat down and met the dark eyes glaring into his.

           “Why can’t you fuckin’ get up, American?” The German asked crudely, his accent thick.

           Bucky let the silence drag out and when the Nazi raised his brows, he forced out a reply, “T-Twisted my ankle…”

           The Nazi’s gaze dropped to where his ankles were bound and he slid a knife out of his pocket, immediately making Bucky’s breath hitch. He clenched his jaw and leaned away from the blade as the German held it in front of his face.

           “Don’t get any ideas, American. We’ll gun ya down faster than ya blink.”

           Bucky relaxed his tense shoulders when the guard gripped the ropes encasing his ankles and swiped the blade through them, snapping the strands. The Nazi slid the knife back into his pocket and stood up, stepping away to take the lantern from his buddy. Bucky had an easier time getting up and favored his left foot when he stood, his bare feet tingling painfully as they regained feeling.

           “Listen up!” The guard standing beside the one with the lantern snapped, “We’re takin’ you to the boss. He’s choosing who gets to stay here and who gets taken with us, so say your prayers and hope you don’t get left behind.”

           Bucky exchanged a look with Y/N, before the Nazis stepped forward and ordered them into single file, the lantern guard climbing down the ladder first that lead to the main ground of the barn. Y/N kept behind Bucky and made sure he didn’t fall as he limped across the hay and to the ladder. The second guard was stationed beside it, holding his knife and cutting everyone’s ropes around their wrists and ankles.

           Once they all made it down, more Nazi soldiers awaited them with guns aimed at the prisoners. Bucky kept his head down as he gimped along behind one of his comrades in the 107th. When he sensed a presence come up beside him, he tensed and anticipated what was to happen, but Y/N’s hushed whisper eased the tension.

           “Suck it up and put some weight on your foot. You don’t want to be left here to rot.”

           Bucky clenched his jaw and applied more weight onto his bad leg, sending tense pains that made his ankle weak. It worked though, because he noticed the Nazis had focused on him again with a gun trained on his form in case he took off.

           They halted in front of the farmhouse and were turned to face the porch, the white paint of the house peeling and the floorboards leading to the closed door tracked with mud. A Nazi ordered for them to raise their hands up and kneel in the mud, the prisoners slowly lowered themselves to the ground and Bucky felt gloved hands wrap around his rope-burned wrists. He grunted as the German jerked his arms behind his back and gripped his wrists in one hand, while pressing the barrel of a pistol against the back of his skull.

           Bucky dared a glance to his left and saw Y/N was in the same position, but her face was devoid of any emotion and her eyes burned with a cold rage. She stared at the door awaiting for the “boss” and Bucky returned his own gaze to the front door, before it opened and the man who had blasted Bucky in the cheek with his rifle stepped out.

           He had his gloved hands curled around his belt and his black boots were shiny, the Nazi armband no longer dirtied, and his hair was combed back. Bucky blinked and watched as the man strode down the steps and traipsed through the mud to stand a few feet in front of him. He dared not look up at the Nazi and kept his eyes trained on the man’s boots.

           “We are leaving within the hour and are only taking four of you,” He said gruffly, his accent making it hard to understand, “If you are left behind, you’ll be in the barn tied up again, and we aren’t coming back.”

           Bucky squared his shoulders and hardened his features, forcing the pounding of his pulse to ease so he didn’t look scared. This was the moment of judgement and if he wanted to see Steve or return to his regiment then he had to get that ticket with the Nazis. The guard behind him gripped the raw skin of his wrists tighter and nudged his hair with the pistol, tilting his head down completely to stare at his knees.

           He heard the Nazi Captain move to the left and approach the end of the ten prisoners, nothing but the sound of breathing and distant thunder filling the silence. Bucky swallowed thickly and heard the Nazi speak in German.

           “Töte ihn,” The Nazi waved his gloved hand and stepped to the next prisoner.

           The guard holding the first one hauled the young man to his feet and shoved him a few steps forward, making him stumble a little ways away. The guard raised his pistol as the prisoner turned and the dirtied man glanced at the Nazi Captain with horror in his bloodshot eyes.

           “I thought we were just getting tied up, you bastard!”

           The Captain looked at the prisoner and pulled out his own pistol. He fired a few shots into the chest of the young man, the bullets sinking into his chest with wet thump-like sounds before the now dead man collapsed into the mud in an awkward position. The young man’s eyes were wide and lifeless, staring blankly up at the sky with his mouth still open, but the blood seeping from his wounds and staining his undershirt was beginning to pool in the mud.

           The Nazi slid his pistol back into its place and ran his gaze over the quivering prisoners, but Y/N and Bucky held still. He simply stated, “I changed my mind. If any of you fuckin’ Americans have anything else to say do say it now.” After a brief moment, he nodded his head and stepped up to judge the second prisoner again.

           Bucky’s ears were ringing by the time the Nazi Captain stood in front of him. The shouts of the young men from his regiment and the 105th, plus the stomach churning sounds of their dead bodies hitting the ground echoed in his head. The Captain reached out and grabbed a fistful of Bucky’s mud-encrusted hair causing a strangled yelp to sound in his throat, but Bucky was tugged to his feet and forced to look the Nazi in the eyes.

           “How’d it feel when I smashed your face, American?” The Nazi growled.

           Bucky rolled his jaw painfully and tried to ignore the sensation of having his hair being yanked right out of his scalp. He remained quiet and the Nazi released him with a dark chuckle, allowing Bucky to collapse onto his knees in the mud.

           The Nazi Captain ordered, “Put him in the truck with the other two.”

           Bucky felt a wave of relief wash over him and an officer grasped his bicep and jerked him back to his feet, relentlessly tugging him over to the truck that was parked in the road leading to the farmhouse. Bucky had the guns of two soldiers standing at the back trained on him as he clambered weakly into the back. He nearly collapsed once inside the dark truck bed but he managed to plop into one of the long seats beside Y/N’s form.

           Y/N pulled her head out of her hands and looked over at Bucky’s slumped form. She reached out and straightened out his disheveled hair and Bucky welcomed her gentle touch. He had been man-handled for two days and had one too many guns pointed at his head. Y/N picked some of the mud from his hair and flicked it onto the floor, before she sat back with her shoulder brushing his.

           “I’m glad you aren’t dead yet, Barnes.” Y/N said, brushing her fingers over the raw skin encircling her wrists.

           Bucky cracked an exhausted smile and closed his eyes. “Thanks to you saving my ass.”

           “I didn’t save your ass. I just offered some advice that didn’t get you killed.”

           Bucky cast a side glance at Y/N and snorted, “Same thing.”

           “If my wrists didn’t hurt like hell I would smack you.”

           For the first time in what seemed like years, Bucky let a genuine laugh slide past his chapped lips. His face blistered with pain but he couldn’t care less because in that small moment of time in the back of a Nazi cargo truck and after seeing five other people get shot to death, he was able to laugh. Bucky felt his lip split open as he smiled and he raised a finger, pressing it to the now bleeding cut before he slightly wet his lips with his tongue.

           Y/N nudged his arm with her elbow. “Don’t hurt yourself, Barnes. I’ll probably have to kiss it better.”

           Bucky’s jaw dropped and the quiet prisoner seated across from the both of you had his eyes widen into saucers. Y/N kept a deadpanned expression as she rubbed her wrists and Bucky finally shook his head, before he scratched at the good side of his face with a finger.

           “You know,” He drew Y/N’s attention, “if we weren’t in the middle of being prisoners of war I might just do it, but some things and some people we just can’t have…”

           Bucky gazed out through the crack of the thick drapes that blocked them from seeing out of the truck bed and spotted the guard just outside step forward. The Captain looked to have hashed out the final prisoner to go with the Nazi regiment and the truck bed slightly teetered as fingers curled around the tailgate, before a prisoner was climbing through the tarp and standing in the dark.

           “Sergeant.” The young man nodded breathlessly at Bucky before stumbling over to sit beside the quiet prisoner form the 105th. Bucky ignored him and closed his eyes, waiting for the gunshots to sound. He slightly furrowed his brow when the patter of something began to echo off the truck and Bucky guessed it was raining. Bucky opened his eyes to peek out of the crack again.

           That’s when the loud echo of the last shot rang out.

.    .   .

Nazi Camp  |  4 Days Later

             Rain.

           All Bucky ever heard was his own breathing and rain.

           He had lost a sense of time ever since they took them all out of the truck and tied them with ropes again. Bucky had a little relief on his wrists and still could feel his hands, but it didn’t matter compared to the deep guilt he felt for Y/N.

           She had been awfully quiet ever since they took her out of the tent to chat with the Nazi Captain a few days ago. When she came back she willingly let the Nazi guard tie her back up and she kept her head down, but Bucky could see the swollen skin around her eyes and the way her chest quivered. Bucky couldn’t imagine how such a strong person that had kept him sane in this whole process could be broken down and crying.

           He assumed they found out who she was and just what the Nazi Captain had been doing to her for three days straight. It made Bucky livid and he couldn’t act upon anything or he would get killed and that would be the end of the line for him. The other two prisoners that accompanied Bucky and Y/N always talked about rebelling and just making a run for it, but Bucky knew damn well that if it came down to it they wouldn’t have the balls to run. Bucky wanted to stop their suffering and just go home.

           Now, it was dark and the rain pattered off the material of the tent they were cooped up in. Bucky was slowly rocking himself side-to-side with his back pressed against the cot he was tied to. He had his eyes closed and was thinking of his last moments with Steve at the Stark Expo. Bucky knew he couldn’t change the stubborn punk’s mind and he hoped Steve wasn’t alone at the apartment, sitting on the rickety chair in the small living room listening to the radio by himself. Steve was a good guy; a saint compared to Bucky, and if Bucky died out here they would never tell him.

           Bucky let a slow breath ease out of him and he whispered, “I’m sorry, Steve.”

           “Who’s Steve?”

           Bucky jerked his head up and opened his eyes, fixating his gaze on where he could just barely spot Y/N’s figure across from him. Her eyes glistened in the dark and as soon as he heard her rasping voice, he was almost leaping at the prospect of sparking up a conversation with Y/N.

           He kept his voice low so it didn’t wake the two other prisoners. “Someone from back home.”

           “I’m assuming he’s family,” She said, her voice scratchy and tired. Y/N closed her eyes and softly cleared her throat before returning to staring into Bucky’s gaze.

           “Something like that…” Bucky trailed off, dropping his head again.

           She shifted slightly and managed to extend her legs out to have her feet brush his thigh. Bucky knew it was her way of showing comfort and his chapped lips tugged into a ghost of a smile. Y/N’s expression changed into a portrayal of utter defeat, she was letting her guard down and the pain in her eyes mixed with the sad smile caused Bucky’s chest to tighten.

           Y/N’s voice barely carried over to him, “Barnes… The things they’ve made me do…I’m not—I’m not the person you think I am.”

           “What do you mean?” He furrowed his brow and slightly tilted his head.

           She looked away and her lips parted as she sighed, “Back on that field when we were fighting, I wasn’t there to kill Nazis. I was planted in the 105th by the Soviets as a spy. They kidnapped me from my original regiment and tortured me for weeks until I would do whatever they said.” Her throat pulsed as she forced herself to not breakdown. “Barnes, you can’t even imagine all the enemies I’ve made. The people I’ve killed. I have a lot of blood on my hands and it isn’t the Nazis’…”

           Bucky was frozen in a stunned silence. He allowed the patter of the rain to drown out his sporadic breathing, his eyes flickering over the floor as he tried to string together something to say to that. Bucky finally blinked and met her gaze, his voice was strong and pieced with a certainty that brought Bucky a new sense of purpose.

           “All the more reason to get the hell out of here.”

.   .   .

Nazi Camp  |  1 Week Later

           Even though Bucky could hardly walk without almost blacking out and he was twenty pounds lighter than he was since he was first captured, Bucky still held strong to the only thing that was keeping him going, and that was the certainty that they were going to escape. Him and Y/N had spent hours figuring out just how the hell they would even make it out of the tent without getting shot, but with them both being skilled military tacticians they figured something out.

           Y/N had drawn the other prisoners’ attention and asked the one closest to the opening if he could tell whether the guard was alone. He nodded and Y/N shifted to where she was facing all of them at once, her eyes trained on Bucky who had a look of determination.

           “I think we have a plan on how to get out of here,” She said.

           The soldier Bucky knew was from his regiment’s eyebrows shot up and he grinned. “Really?”

           “We can’t get too confident yet, but I think we’ve really got a shot.” Bucky didn’t want to smash the guy’s optimism, but he had to make it known that they might not be able to do it.

           Y/N asked, “You know how the guards make their rounds through the camp?” The two prisoners nodded and Bucky allowed her to do the talking; he never had been very good at it. She continued, “I get taken out of here once maybe twice a day and am walked through the camp before I reach Captain Löwe’s tent—”

           “How the fuck do ya know his name?” The guy from the 105th interrupted.

           Y/N’s eyes narrowed and Bucky snapped, “That’s none of your business.”

           “Oh, stay out of it ya fuckin’ pretty church boy. I asked the lady a question.”

           Bucky clenched his teeth and dug his fingernails into his palms, his nostrils flaring as he withheld from lunging at the man, if he took the cot with him then so be it. His gaze flickered to Y/N who simply shook her head and he almost said something before he thought better.

           Y/N replied to the man, “I know his name because I’ve overheard the guards using it, not because I’m a traitorous bitch, which I know is what you’re thinking.”

           The soldier immediately diverted his gaze and Bucky was slightly impressed by how Y/N knew what he had been thinking. She then jetted into explaining what they were going to do.

           Bucky met Y/N’s gaze as she sat across from him and he breathed, “Has it been an hour?”

           She nodded and Bucky blew out his hallowed cheeks, before he straightened up and looked at the entryway of the tent. It was only left open during the day and he could see the late morning sunlight casting the shadow of the two Nazis on guard outside.

           Bucky cleared his throat and raised his voice, “Hey, I have to take a piss!”

           The Nazi guards shifted and faced each other, exchanging a few gestures before the one on the left ducked into the tent with his gun gripped in both hands. He looked around at the four of them and gruffly questioned, “Who yelled?”

           “I did.”

           Bucky snagged his attention and the Nazi slung his gun over his shoulder and approached where he was tied up. The guard crouched beside him and slipped a knife from his side, taking Bucky’s thin wrists tightly in one hand as he sliced through the rope. Bucky winced when the Nazi grabbed his bicep and hauled him up, causing Bucky’s head to swim and he blinked rapidly to make the black dots dissipate from his eyes.

           The Nazi took him out of the tent and jutted a thumb back at the prisoners. “Sie haben sie?” The guard nodded and Bucky slightly stumbled as he was walked past a few other tents and Nazis. Bucky noted where the German soldiers were laid out, not seeing the patrol making their rounds, and he finally realized that this was really happening. They were going to get the hell out of this camp.

           Bucky was taken out to the edge of the clearing to the surrounding forest and the guard slightly shoved him forward towards the tree-line, training his gun on Bucky’s dirtied form. He snapped, “Make it quick, American.” Bucky turned away and took a step forward before whirling around and gripping the barrel of the Nazis gun, taking him by surprise and giving him possession of the weapon.

           Bucky chucked the gun aside and lunged at the Nazi, causing them both to fall to the ground with Bucky on top. He curled his fingers into a fist and grabbed the collar of his uniform, swinging with all his strength and knocking him square in the jaw. The Nazi’s head sharply snapped to the side before he went limp and Bucky released him, rubbing his now split open knuckles as he rose to his feet.

           “Suck my cock, fuckin’ Nazi,” Bucky growled, bending down to grab his arm and tug him further into the tree-line.

           He stuck him against a rock and began to strip him of the uniform, changing into the soldier’s clothes. Bucky looked down at his own bare body for a moment and ghosted his fingertips over his slightly protruding ribcage, his skin a ghostly pallor with yellowed bruising over his gut. He snapped out of it and pulled up the soldier’s pants on himself, tightening the belt. Bucky changed fairly quickly and adjusted the Nazi armband around his bicep, slightly stumbling down to the creek as he wasn’t used to the heaviness of the uniform.

           The water was cool running over his fingers and he made sure to clean his hands of all the grime, before cupping the liquid in his hands and running it over his face. Bucky felt the rough hair scratch his skin as he felt his jaw and he chuckled softly, wondering how he must appear to Y/N. It wasn’t easy walking away from that moment of peace as he picked up the Nazi’s gun and placed the dark helmet on his head, standing at the edge of the tree-line for a moment as he waited for the signal.

           Bucky’s jaw dropped and his eyes focused on a mortar whistling through the air on the other side of the clearing before it landed in the forest beyond and exploded. He swore he felt the impact deep in his chest and watched as a large plume of dark smoke rose above the trees. Bucky gripped his gun a bit better and began to jog into the camp, seeing the commotion of soldiers as they all were shouting orders and heading to the source.

           He spotted the tent they had been kept up in and the soldier stationed outside had his weapon drawn, watching as a trio of men jogged past. Bucky came up and grabbed his uniform, tackling him inside the tent and pulling out the knife he took from the Nazi. Bucky fumbled with the soldier for a moment before stabbing the knife into his neck, a stream of warm blood spurting over his fingers and immediately causing him to recoil. He stood over the Nazi with his chest heaving, staring down at the man who was clutching neck and choking. Blood bubbled out of his mouth and slid down his chin, before the Nazi stopped struggling and slumped against the ground, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water for a moment.

           “Holy shit.”

           Bucky’s head lifted and he looked at his comrade from the 107th who was gawking at the sight, his eyes glistening with horror. He snapped out of it and wiped the blood off on the pants leg of his stolen uniform, cleaning off the blade with his sleeve. Bucky stepped over the body and crouched before Y/N who was closest, reaching around her to the ropes around her wrists.

           He slightly shook his head and mumbled, “I don’t know how you do it…”

           “Löwe has more enemies than I do, Barnes.” Y/N gripped his outstretched hand and he tugged her to her feet. She patted his shoulder and walked over to the dead soldier, taking his knife and gun. Bucky moved to his comrade and helped free him before turning back to Y/N, who was quietly explaining what the man from the 105th should do.

           “We don’t have much of a window and the possibility we’re going to get shot. Either way we’re dead at this point, unless we make it to the tree-line and don’t stop,” Bucky said, picking his gun up again and checking the magazine.

           Y/N peered out the open flap of the tent and called back, “Clear.” Her demeanor immediately changed and she raised her rifle, posting up just outside and watching her surroundings like an eagle as the two weaponless men ducked out beside her quickly. Bucky came last and they all moved as a close group, immediately turning right to run between two tents and Y/N raised her hand to make them pause before they stepped out into another open path.

           “Barnes, we have two at our three o’clock, which one you calling?” Y/N asked quietly as Bucky came up beside her, looking at where she had her weapon trained.

           Bucky shook his head. “They’re heading away, we don’t want to draw attention.”

           Y/N slightly lowered her gun and glanced at him before nodding and checking if it was clear again. They all moved swiftly across the footpath and ducked between another pair of tents, but that was when Bucky’s comrade, who was jogging a few steps in front of him, snagged his foot on one of the stakes of a tent, causing him to trip. Bucky froze when he heard two German voices come from the tent.

           “Go! Go!” Bucky whispered urgently, shooing the young soldier forward. Bucky took off running after him as the German men stepped out of their tent and spotted them crossing one of the footpaths. They let out shouts of surprise and immediately ducked back into their tent to grab guns.

           Y/N shouted, “Shit! Don’t stop!”

           They all came to another footpath and turned left, heading straight for the trucks that were parked at the edge of the line of tents. Bucky flinched when he heard bullets sink into the ground behind him and he turned back to see the two soldiers chasing after them, now firing freely. The commotion began to grab other Nazis’ attention that still remained in the tents and Bucky swore this is how he was going to die.

           “Barnes, fire back!”

           Bucky obliged and turned, pulling the trigger and letting a string of bullets fly in retaliation. He managed to shoot one in the shoulder, but it didn’t stop what was going to happen next.

           They all made it to the trucks and immediately took cover weaving around the vehicles to the forest that was at least a hundred yards away. Bucky ducked out of the way just in time to have a bullet hit the frame of the truck he was just in front of, but he kept going only to come to a halt when Y/N had posted up and aimed at the Nazis in pursuit. The other men had kept running and we’re almost to the tree-line.

           “Y/N, what the hell are you doing we’re almost there!?” Bucky gasped, crouching behind the vehicle beside her before popping up and firing at the German soldiers.

           Her eyes met his briefly and her breathing was labored, but she managed to reply, “Barnes, if we all make it out they’re going to hunt us down.” They both rose and managed to take down two Nazis, before taking cover again. She continued, “Plus, I’m dying anyway so might as well go down fighting.”

           “Y/N, what do you mean?” Bucky furrowed his brow and gazed at her.

           Her lips spread into a sad smile and she said, “They poisoned me the last time they brought me to that Nazi bastard’s tent. He forced me to drink some coffee and just—Barnes, I’m going to die and I don’t need you dying too.”

           Bucky stared at Y/N for a long moment before she reached out with one hand and grabbed the collar of his uniform, yanking him to her and crashing her lips against his. He didn’t have much time to enjoy it before she was pushing him away again, tears glistening in her eyes as she begged, “Barnes, go. I’ve got you covered, just please save yourself…”

           They both rose and had a brief pocket of time as he stumbled away a few steps, his lips parted and his throat constricting as he fought the tide of emotions welling inside him. He finally choked out, “Bucky.”

           Y/N glanced back at the soldiers that had finally taken cover behind a few tents before looking back at Bucky.

           “What?”

           He began backing up quickly and gripped the gun tighter. He repeated, “My name’s Bucky!”

           She watched him as he turned his back for the last time and took off towards the tree-line, a volley of gunfire following. Y/N cursed and a new bout of rage overcame her, she relentlessly fired at the Nazis and by the time Bucky made it safely to the cover of the forest, a single gunshot sounded. That sound would stay with him for many years after that as he looked back to see Y/N get shot in the head, his breathing leaving him as she seemed to stiffen and slowly fall to the ground.

           “No…”

           Bucky ignored the urging of the other two men who were across a ditch.

           “God damn it, Sergeant! We’ve got to go now!”

           Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes from her form laying on the ground beside the truck and when he finally felt fingers wrap around his bicep, he was snapped out of his trance and looked at his comrade who shared a sympathetic expression. 

           He said quietly, “I’m sorry, man, but we’ve got to go. She’s gotten us this far.”

           Bucky swallowed down his tears and clenched his jaw, nodding. With a gentle tug, Bucky was subconsciously following after the young man and the three of them traveled deeper into the forest, eventually losing the Nazis on their tail.

           Bucky never forgot about Y/N.

Tagging: @pleasecallmecaptain, @writingbarnes, @currentlyavengerstrash, @positixe, @ltsaradharkness, @ek823, @innocent-maze, and @microscopicmonsters. (Please, tell me if you want to be added to all fics/oneshots!)

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

You Drew Stars Around My Scars | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi. This is some heavy shit, so please proceed with caution. Do not read this fic if you are made uncomfortable by any of the warnings.

Thanks <3

❌Warnings❌ Scars, blood, depression, anxiety, self-harm, suicidal ideation / attempt

“And what about this one?” Bucky asked, dragging his lips across one of your scars. It rested along your ribcage, drawing a sharp line into your skin. It wasn’t sensitive anymore, didn’t hurt like it used to. But Bucky’s lips assuaged any lingering discomfort.

You ran a finger over the raised tissue and let out a laugh.  “Oh, that was a huge misunderstanding, actually. Have you ever met that guy in the red suit? With the katanas?”

Bucky’s gaze left your scar and drifted up to your face. “Katanas? As in more than one katana?”

“Yeah! His name’s Wade… something,” you paused, struggling for the eccentric stranger’s name. “Wade Williams… or something like that. Anyway, yeah, he got me with one of his multiple katanas. But it was really just a communication issue- Hill sent me after him. SHIELD had basically no intel on the guy and it was assumed that he was a threat- but he’s on our side.”

Over the course of his life, Bucky had seen some strange things. Red Skull. Infinity Stones. A talking raccoon. But never a guy running around with a couple of katanas and bright red suit. “So, katana guy is a friend of ours?” 

“Yeah! And he’s actually pretty cool. A little weird. Very funny. Kind of a sarcastic asshole,” you laughed. “I think you’d like him.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and brushed his lips over your scar once more. “I don’t know about that- he stabbed my best girl-”

“He didn’t stab me, per se…”

Bucky made a mental note to look into this Wade guy, see if he could be trusted. 

“Okay," you said, "it's your turn…” Another round of the game began.

For almost an hour, the two of you had laid in bed, asking about the other’s scars. You never dared ask Bucky about his scars or how he got them; their origins were too terrible to describe. If he decided to open up about them one day, that was his business. And you were more than happy to give him all the time and space he needed.

But it was Bucky who started the game. After you both came down from your post-sex euphoria, you decided to stay in bed. Kissing. Touching. Talking. Bucky ran his hand along a scar near your shoulder, the one he always noticed but knew nothing about. And though he didn’t want to hear tales of you getting hurt, he still held a curiosity about your life before him. He wanted every detail, every story. And so, he’d asked about the scar. And to his relief, it didn’t come from a knife or a gun- just a childhood game of tag that got out of hand. 

But his question opened the door. He promised he didn’t mind speaking about his scars- not to you. He argued that it was only fair. He asked you about yours- why shouldn’t you be allowed to ask about his? He wanted to share every detail of his life with you. The details he could remember, anyway. And so, the two of you went back and forth, asking the other for the stories behind your scars. 

Bucky learned more about you, and you him. But you didn’t bring up the massive ridge of twisted tissue on Bucky’s left side- you knew that story. And hearing it again would’ve gutted you. 

“Hmm…" your eyes drifted over Bucky's body, "how about…” 

There were too many to choose from. You hated how many options lay scattered across Bucky’s skin; each reminder of his past life spelled trauma, pain, abuse. But a new light seemed to flash in Bucky’s eyes each time he told you a story. He’d never let anyone tour his body like this. Had never opened up about all the vile things Hydra did to him. Each story unburdened him a bit more, helped him release the pain he’d been holding on to for so long. And you were more than happy to help shoulder the weight.

Your fingers ghosted along a jagged scar near his hip, “Okay, how about this one?”

“That one- that one is…” Bucky thought for a long, quiet moment. The holes in his memory acted like a sieve, draining most of his past life from his mind. You watched as he struggled, fought to remember this exact wound. His brow furrowed as he searched through the catalogue of his trauma. He flipped through page after mental page, reliving every instant of pain. And then, the light returned to his eyes. 

“Oh- I remember now. I got shot- and one of my handlers cut the bullet out while I was still in the field. Sewed it up- albeit, poorly.” He ran a finger along the uneven line of scar tissue, “And then they sent me after my target again. If I remember right, which I probably don’t…” He gave a sad laugh, “I’m pretty sure the stitches ripped almost instantly. I mean, maybe sixty seconds after he finished. So I just kinda bled until I took down my mark.”

“Jesus, baby…” Every story he told pulled you closer to his side. You wanted to cover him, to protect him from things that already happened. Things you couldn’t help or prevent. Every mention of his misery, every recollection of the abuse made you wish you’d met him sooner. Maybe you could’ve helped. Maybe you could’ve saved him.

You rested your head against his chest, willing the thoughts of Bucky’s pain to dissipate. But they refused to comply. And Bucky, always more concerned about your pain than his, took notice.

“Hey, I’m okay now,” Bucky curled a finger under your chin and tilted your face up toward his. “Don’t get sad on me, alright?” He shot you his biggest smile, ‘I’m just fine. And I’m here- with you.”

You gave him a solemn nod. “No, I know. I’m just… you didn’t deserve it, Buck. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

He took your face in his hands and gazed into your big, sad eyes. He never thought he’d find someone like you- never thought he’d find someone, period. But you had a big heart, and you loved him with everything you had. You showed him how much you cared. Made him feel like he mattered. 

“I know that now. You helped me with that.”

A small smile pricked at the corners of your lips. You wanted to fix everything for him. Take away his pain, remedy his problems, shoulder the weight of his nightmarish past. But you couldn’t. And the helplessness it planted in you made your chest ache. But knowing you’d at least helped Bucky see himself differently eased a fraction of the pain.

“Alright, my turn!” Before you had a chance to think, Bucky was on top of you. He tickled and poked at your sides, shunning the sadness from your eyes. And when he was satisfied with your improved mood, he rested a hand on your thigh. The scar he selected rested above your knee, its border faded. “This one?”

“That’s from a burn,” you told him. “Explosion at a Hydra base- I got a lot of burns that day, actually.” As the memory of that day resurfaced, you ran a hand over where the searing pain used smolder under your skin, “All the others healed, this is the only one that scarred.”

Bucky swept his thumb over it a few times, as though trying to ease your past pain. 

You sat up, coming face to face with Bucky. The scar you had your eye on was something you wondered about often. And now that you had permission to ask, you ran you lips over the mark. “What about this one?” The long scar ran along the side of his neck, beginning a few inches above his clavicle. It traveled horizontally, nearly reaching the back of his neck. “And this one?” And identical scar rested just on the other side, the two marks mirror images of one another.

After so many rounds of this game, Bucky didn’t seem to mind telling these stories. But when your attention landed on these particular scars, he didn’t want to play anymore. He wanted you to know everything about him- just not this. But what choice did he have? He could lie to you. He could make up a story. He could refuse to tell you the truth. But whatever he decided, he knew he’d regret it. 

It wasn’t fair to keep things from you. Bucky swore from day one to always be honest with you- and you did the same. But this truth only served to hurt you. The pain in your eyes when he told you about his gunshot wound and the resulting torn stitches cut him deep. But that story was nothing compared to the source of the scars on his neck. He knew how crushed you’d be when he gave you the real story. And though he never wanted to lie to you, he found himself pulling an explanation out of thin air.

“They’re from, um…” he cleared his throat, already regretting his lie. “They’re from restraints. They put me in this, I don’t know what you’d call it- I guess a… collar-type thing. Made of metal. Really tight. It dug into my skin. They used it to, uh, to chain me to a wall.” Part of Bucky believed his own lie. He thought for a silent moment- did this really happen? Was his attempt at a fabricated story actually a buried memory? For Hydra, such a punishment sounded plausible. But after several seconds, he determined it false.

Your mind went blank, only to suddenly overflow with images of Bucky in chains. Sharp metal cutting into his skin. His blood pouring down his body and pooling on the floor. The sound of rattling chains mixed with his screams and echoed inside your skull. 

“I don’t wanna play this game anymore…” was all you could manage to say through the sudden tears and tightness in your chest. You hid your face in the crook of Bucky’s neck, your breath fanning the very scar about which you regretted inquiring. 

Bucky’s arms wrapped around you in an instant, pulling you as close as he could. Your shallow, shaky breaths rattled against his hand as he smoothed it along the length of your back. He saw the effect his lie had on you, the way it ripped chunks out of your heart. But the real story was worse- far worse- and as he held your shaking form against his chest, he swore to never tell you the truth.

“Just breathe for me, doll. Big deep breaths, okay?” He soothed you, helped free you from the crushing sadness. But when it cleared, a wave of guilt took you out at the knees. This wasn’t right. 

“Wait, no-” you pulled your face from his neck. “This is so fucked up, oh my god. I’m so sorry, Buck. You shouldn’t be comforting me- it should be the other way around. I didn’t mean to-”

How did Bucky ever find someone like you? Someone who cared for him so deeply, loved him more than he ever thought possible? He hated that he’d upset you, that he’d started this stupid game. But part of him liked knowing how much you cared. 

“Sweetheart, please don’t apologize. You’re just... you're reacting to new information. That memory is something I’ve gotten used to, it’s part of my past, so… it doesn’t bother me anymore.” Bucky knew damn well it didn’t bother him because it simply wasn’t true. The real source of his scar bit at him every day. But you didn’t have to know that. “Hey, you love me- which is unbelievable, by the way- and so hearing stories like that upsets you. Being sad about it is totally normal.”

You wiped at your eyes with the backs of your hands, “feels selfish.”

“It’s not.” A sudden laugh rumbled out of his chest, “if you weren’t upset, I think we’d have more to worry about.”

His joke was met with an eye roll and a small laugh. He wasn’t wrong. You cared so deeply for him that even imagining his past pain brought you to tears. Never had you loved someone the way you loved him. And though you dealt with your own pain and traumatic memories, you wanted more than anything to take all of Bucky’s. You wanted to steal any ounce of residual pain and every nightmare inducing memory, leaving him only with peace.

“I love you a lot,” you said. “And I’m so- I’m so sorry for everything you went through. You never should’ve suffered like that.”

Bucky’s forehead met yours in a moment of quiet. No one ever acknowledged his pain, his trauma. They talked about his kills, the blood on his hands. They talked about his pardon- the pardon that, according to you, he “never should’ve needed”. Because nothing he did as the Winter Soldier was by choice. He was a victim, a prisoner of war. But everyone conveniently left that part out. They regarded him as either “the winter soldier” or the “pardoned war criminal”, never the hero, the abused, the broken.

“Thank you,” he whispered. And he meant it.

The two of you sat there for a few long moments, reveling in the other’s presence. But Bucky’s growling stomach broke the silence. He locked eyes with you in an apologetic glance that quickly devolved into a storm of laughter.

“I’m guessing you want dinner?”

“You could say that…” Bucky shrugged. “But I made you cry, so I want you to pick.”

“Buuuuck-”

He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to listen to your protests. “From this moment on, the rule in this house is: whoever who caused the other to cry must let the crier choose dinner, and must deal with the cuisine consequences.”

“Cuisine consequences? Did you just make that up?”

Bucky gave a proud nod, “yup”. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and grabbed your laptop from the nightstand, offering it to you. “Pick a place, doll. Whatever you want.”

Nearly an hour later, the two of you sat camped out on the couch. A spread of take-out lay strewn across the coffee table, half demolished. And while it was Bucky whose hunger signaled dinner, he didn’t eat much. You’d decided on take out from your favorite barbecue place, knowing Bucky loved their brisket almost as much as he loved you. But his mood seemed to deflate as he pushed his food around his plate.

He wasn’t devouring his brisket like usual. And his side dishes went almost untouched. 

“Hey, is something wrong?” You paused the tv and turned to Bucky, “You’ve been quiet- you barely touched your food. Is everything alright?”

Bucky gave a small nod.

Guilt grabbed you by the throat. He wasn’t okay- and you knew it stemmed from the memory he recalled for you. The restraints, the collar. The thought of it made you shudder. 

“Buck, if this is about earlier- about the story you told me- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, babe. I didn’t know where the scars came from, I never would’ve asked if I…” you took a deep breath, easing the shaky quality in your voice. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no-” he set his plate on the table and turned to you, “it’s not like that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

It was just like Bucky to swear you were perfect, that you never did anything wrong. But you knew better. You knew he’d been forced to dig up some deep, soul-crushing trauma when you asked about the scars on his neck. You knew he was hurting- and it was your fault.

“Buck, if I upset you, you can tell me-”

“You didn’t. I swear.” He took your hands in his and dropped his gaze. “But I lied to you. About the scars on my neck. And I feel really bad about it.”

It certainly wasn’t what you expected. “Oh… okay.”

In a panic, Bucky dragged his eyes back to yours, “I know that we always tell each other everything, but I just didn’t-”

“Buck, that’s not a rule. You aren’t required to tell me every single thing that’s ever happened to you or every thought you’ve ever had. You’re entitled to your privacy." You gave his hand a squeeze, "I just want you to know that you can tell me everything- nothing’s off limits- but you don’t have to. I know you’ve been through a lot of really dark shit. And if you wanna tell me every detail, I’m all ears. But if you’re not ready, that’s more than okay. It’s okay if you’re never ready- you don't ever have to tell me if you don't want to. I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Oh…” Bucky took a moment to think about what you said. He liked the way you phrased it, the way you were open to everything he had to say without demanding he say anything at all. If he wanted to talk, you’d listen. And if he didn’t, you’d be there, regardless.

“Whatever happened- however you got those scars- you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It’s all your choice.”

He considered skipping out on the entire venture. He could tell you the collar was a lie without giving you the real story, and everything would be fine. You’d respect his boundaries- he knew that. But the source of those scars was such a turning point in his life, such a defining moment. And to skip out on sharing it with you felt wrong. It was a pivotal time in his life that changed his path- and inadvertently led him to you. 

“I want to tell you…” he said after a long, quiet moment. “It’s a pretty significant part of my story, and I want you to know everything about me, you know? I just- I don’t want to upset you again.”

“Buck, it’s okay-”

Bucky gave a sad shake of his head. “I made you cry earlier, doll. And that story wasn’t that bad, it wasn't even true-”

You took his face in your hands, silencing him. “If you wanna tell me, I wanna listen. I mean, I obviously hate that these things happened to you- that you suffered so much. But if it’s part of your story, I wanna know.”

Bucky let his eyes fall shut as he thought it over. Memories of the darkest time in his life rushed forward, nearly drowning him. But your touch kept him afloat. It kept him safe, warm. With you by his side, he found the strength to wade back into the depths of his memory.

“It was after I escaped…” he finally said. He took your hands from his face and held them tight, anchoring himself to the present. “I didn’t know what to do, you know? I didn’t know who or where I was. I was lost.” A faraway look left his eyes hollow, lifeless. “I had to figure out how to reclaim my mind and my body. I spent days holed up, hiding, reading about the things I’d done. And it made me sick.” He shifted in his seat. A familiar sense of dread and nausea sat like a rock in his stomach. 

“I was disgusted. I hated the serum. I hated the Winter Soldier- I hated myself. I didn’t wanna be this anymore, you know? I was given the same serum as Steve, but I wasn’t good Like Steve. I turned into a monster.” He paused. It took far too much effort to pull air into his lungs. He knew the suffocating sensation well, the feeling of choking on his own agony. 

“And for a while I thought it corrupted me, that it changed who I was. I blamed the serum. But then I had this epiphany one day…” He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to the ground. He couldn’t look at you. “The serum just amplifies who and what you are, you know? They gave it to Steve because he was a good person, because he had a good heart. And he became a hero. But I…” 

The shame threatened to eat him alive. He’d worked so hard to change the way he viewed himself. And with your help, he no longer saw a monster in the mirror. But taking a trip down memory lane reminded him of his capacity for evil. “I became a killer. And it made me think- maybe I always had that darkness in me. Maybe my soul wasn’t pure enough.”

You curled a finger under his chin and lifted his head, bringing his eyes to yours. “Baby, you were brainwashed. Tortured. They wiped your mind- all your memories. They took away your sense of self and rebuilt you in their image. The things you did weren’t because of an impure soul or deep-seeded evil. And they had nothing to do with the the serum. If the roles were reversed, Steve just as easily could’ve become the Winter Soldier.”

That sounded almost blasphemous to Bucky.

“You’re a product of circumstance, Buck.”

He wasn’t sure he could digest your words. Only a few hours ago, he would’ve known without a doubt that you were right. He would’ve agreed and easily shrugged himself out of the darkness. But sinking back into the headspace from the days after his escape left him shaken.

He pulled his eyes down to the floor once again, unblinking. Unfocused. And though he felt lost in a different time, he refused to submit to the pain. He traced the same pattern on the back of your hand over and over, searched for peace in the sound of your breathing. Anything to keep him anchored in the present.

A deep need to diffuse the situation rattled inside you. You wanted to tell him that he could stop, that the two of you could return to this conversation after he ate. Or after a good night’s sleep. Or that he could abandon the story all together and never speak about it again. But just as you decided to speak up, words tumbled out of his mouth.

“I wanted the serum out of my body.” He finally met your gaze. Something in his eyes semmed frantic, helpless. “I thought that getting rid of it would turn me back to my old self- I know that’s stupid. But I was desperate. So, I started, um…” 

He couldn’t believe he was telling you this story. It was dark, shameful. Revealing his lowest moment to the person he cared about most- the person whose opinion mattered more than anyone else’s- suddenly seemed like terrible idea. It felt like a surefire way to scare you away, to convince you that he was far more damaged than you could ever repair.

But didn’t you deserve the truth? Didn’t you deserve to know who you slept next to at night, who you committed your life to? Bucky respected you more than anyone. And keeping secrets didn’t feel right. He needed to give you his authentic self, offer himself to you without hiding his darkness. Only then could he know that you loved all of him.

He screwed his eyes shut and yanked his shoulders up to his ears as though bracing for impact. And then, he set the truth free. “I started making myself bleed- I thought I could bleed the serum out of my body.” The admission lifted a weight from his chest he didn’t know he was carrying. Air rushed into his lungs and granted him his first deep breath of the evening.

He opened his eyes slowly, fearing your reaction. But you simply nodded and allowed him to continue. You provided him with a safe place to land as he jumped off the proverbial cliff. “I started making cuts into my skin every day, but the serum was…” he sighed, “the serum healed them too quickly- they’d always vanish.”

He eyed you again, waiting for a look of disgust or disapproval. But no such look came. You just stroked your fingers over his knuckles. Gave his hand a squeeze. You gave him the time and the space he needed to breathe. To think.

“And one day- I don’t know, I got fed up. The desperation and the anxiety and the fear- it was too much. It all got to me at once. And I wanted the serum out.” His grip on your hand tightened as the flashbacks pulled him under. “I dug my knife into my neck. I ripped the skin open on both sides- I wanted to sever every blood vessel I could. I figured that the more blood I lost, the faster the serum would leave my body. The sooner I'd return to who I was before.”

You nodded. An almost violent sadness vibrated in your chest, but you wouldn’t dare set it free. Not yet anyway. You kept it caged, allowing it to tear and thrash and bite at your insides. Bucky was sure to clam up if he saw just how gutted you were. How heartbroken. And so, you kept your composure. You remained calm. This was his time. 

And when he'd said everything he needed to say and purged every dark memory of those scars, you’d let yourself fall apart. But only then.

“And then things got all fuzzy. Hazy. From the blood loss. And I collapsed. I laid on the floor, watching the red pool around me. And I realized…” He took a deep breath. Why was this so hard to admit? Why did he hesitate? He knew you wouldn’t perceive him as weak or cowardly. Would never see him as pathetic. He knew he could trust you with his heart. But showing just how much he’d struggled ripped off yet another layer of protection. It left him raw. Open. His breathing hitched.

“Realized what, baby?” you spoke as softly as you could manage, easing his words out of hiding.

“I um, I realized it was never about the serum.” He stared at you expectantly, like he wanted you to connect the dots. Wanted you to save him from saying the words. But after a long moment, he forced them out.

“I wanted to die- I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.”

You knew he survived. You knew that he was okay. Still, his words gutted you. A burning sensation tingled inside your nose- but you refused to allow the tears to form. You swallowed every ounce of emotion. Forbade your heartbreak from making an appearance. But Bucky clocked your shaking hand. The slight tremors and twitches vibrated against his vibranium palm.

Sure, you could fight the tears and keep yourself composed- but you couldn’t force your hands to steady. 

He let a sad smile pull his lips upward, “Did you know that everyone who’s attempted suicide off the Golden Gate Bridge and survived immediately regretted jumping? The instant they began falling, they realized they didn’t actually want to die…” A deep breath filled his chest, “And that’s exactly what happened to me.”

A strange relief eased through your body, coating your rigid muscles. Somehow, knowing he instantly regretted his attempt made you feel better- made you feel as though the urge didn’t still lurk in the back of his mind.

“I knew my life was fucked. I was lost, alone, confused. I was homeless. Scared.” A particular darkness overshadowed him as he reflected. He remembered the fear. The isolation. The constant, overwhelming sense of impending doom. He lived in a never-ending state of fight or flight back then, his body always prepared for death. 

But a sudden light banished the sadness, “And then I realized that I had a second chance at life, you know? I was free- from the military, from Hydra. And I told myself that if I survived, I’d figure my shit out. That I’d try to make something of my life- that I owed it to myself to make this work.”

You nodded. It didn't feel like enough of a response. You wanted to tell him you were proud of him, that you loved him. But your mind was blank, save for the image of Bucky bleeding out by his own hand.

“And I’m so glad I made it through, cause- I never imagined I’d find happiness like this. I look back on that time every now and then, and it’s… I mean, it’s horrible. It’s scary. And it’s sad. And I wish I’d never experienced any of it.” A warm, genuine smile broke out across his face. It lifted his features and cleared the storm clouds from his eyes. He stared at you like you were his salvation, “But then I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could tell myself that it gets better. That I won’t be alone forever. That one day, someone will actually care about me.”

The two of you sat in silence, staring at each other. Bucky couldn’t get the look of adoration off his face. When you entered his life, it was like he swallowed the sun. You warmed him from the inside out, filled his life with light. He looked at you, convinced you were heaven-sent.

The dam holding your tears wouldn’t last much longer- you knew it would collapse any second. But you fought to reinforce it. What if Bucky had more to say? What if he needed more time to purge the details of his darkest days? You weren’t going to let your emotions rob him of that- you couldn’t. So, you remained quiet, waiting.

“Anyway…” Bucky said when he finally spoke again. “That’s um, that's where the scars came from. Thank you for listening- I know that was probably hard to hear. And that it wasn’t what you were expecting. But I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know. Do you-”

With a guttural sob, you scrambled into his lap. You flung your arms around his neck and secured your body to his- desperate to hold him. To assure yourself that he was real. That he was there. Everything you felt over course of his story came flooding forward, destroying your hard-built dam. The heartbreak and the pain and the utter despair drained from your body in streams of tears. 

But Bucky expected this. He knew how much you loved him, how deeply you cared- not that he ever expected anyone to feel such things for him. He knew his story ripped your heart out. Hearing something so soul crushing about the love of your life- something so dark and painful and scary- broke you. It cut you open and left you bleeding. He knew he’d react the same way if the situation were reversed. 

And so, he simply held you tight and let you cry. He smoothed a hand up and down your back. Left kisses against your cheek. Whispered assurances and soothing words. He whispered your name over and over again to convince you he was alive. He was patient and sweet, giving you the time you needed to process what he’d said. He knew exactly what you needed.

“I love you…” you finally whispered against his neck. 

A quiet, contented hum left Bucky’s chest. “And I love you. I just thought you should know… But now that I’m thinking about it, maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe it was too much." The longer you cried, the more regret pooled in Bucky’s chest. It solidified and turned to concrete, sitting heavy on his heart. “I’m sorry for upsetting you-"

You pulled your tear-stained face from the crook of his neck and stared at him with a nearly frightening intensity. “No, don’t apologize. This is your life we’re talking about…” You paused for a moment, only to wipe the tears from your cheeks. 

“Everything that’s happened to you- all the good and all the bad- made you who you are. That moment-” Flashes of Bucky, bleeding and alone, swarmed your brain. The images robbed you of air and sent fresh tears trailing down your face. Bucky gave you as much time as you needed to compose yourself, to remember how to breathe.

“That moment is important. It’s part of your story. A big part. And it’s awful- it's really fucking sad. And it wasn’t easy to hear…” You forced a deep inhale and steadied your voice, “but it’s important. You chose to live. To stay. You made yourself a promise, and you’ve kept it. And I’m really- I'm so proud of you.”

Bucky pulled you back into his body. He basked in your love, in your support and your understanding. And he silently thanked the version of himself who fought to survive. He didn’t choose life all those years ago because he hoped one day he’d find love- but it certainly made his decision far more worth while.

Muffled words vibrated against Bucky’s neck, and he let out a soft laugh. “Can you say that again doll?”

With a dramatic groan, you once again pulled your head from Bucky’s neck. “I’m said… I’m glad- for a lot of reasons- that you took advantage of your second chance. The world would be a much shittier place without you in it.” You untangled your arms from around his neck and rested your palms against his stubbled cheeks. “And if I’m being selfish, I’m glad that you stuck around… cause I can’t imagine my life without you. That whole thing- all that dark shit- it brought you to me.”

Bucky’s lips met yours in an instant. He poured every ounce of his love for you into the kiss. All his devotion. He couldn’t find the words to describe how much you meant to him. How special you were. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to express feelings that strong.

The two of you laid on the couch, enveloped in one another. You held Bucky tight enough to ensure he wouldn’t spontaneously disappear. His head rested on your sternum; your hands tangled in his hair. You breathed together like one being, no seams or sutures to be found.

“I’m glad I finally told you,” he said after a while. “I wanted to get it off my chest, but I just didn’t know how. And the longer I waited, the guiltier I felt for keeping it from you.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty, baby. Not with me.” 

Things quieted again. It was so peaceful and calm that you thought Bucky might’ve fallen asleep. You couldn’t imagine the emotional toll it took to recount his darkest days- hell, you were exhausted from just listening to his story. If he needed to sleep off the turmoil, then so be it.

But a familiar sound broke the silence. Bucky’s stomach rumbled, once again disrupting a peaceful moment.

“Hungry?” you asked with a laugh.

Bucky nodded emphatically against your chest.

“I bet. You barely touched your food.” You removed your hands from his hair, freeing him, “Go heat up some leftovers, Babe.”

He hesitated. His eyes drifted from the containers of brisket, macaroni and cheese, and cornbread before returning to your face. He feared leaving your side, like he thought maybe you’d fall apart if he left you alone. You had to be fragile, still reeling from the awful things he’d said. And he needed to be there for you- his hunger could wait.

But you read his mind. “Buck, I’m okay,” you laughed, “I swear. You can make a trip to the microwave- I’ll be alright.”

With a deep kiss, Bucky leapt into action he snagged his plate off the table and piled it high with everything in sight. It was such a sharp contrast to the old days, the time he spent lost and alone without even a sliver of hope. Some days, he felt like he still sat in square one. Like he hadn’t made much progress or done enough work on himself. But it was moments like these that proved to him- and to you- just how far he’d come. Never again would he wish for death or seek to end his pain forever. He had to live- he wanted to live. For himself. For you.

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

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[buckybarnesfanfiction]

where 70 years of torture started...

[lostwhump]

Captain America: The First Avenger (2011)

[melles1276]

Chapters: 2/24 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Joaquín Torres, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Nick Fury, John Walker (Marvel), Lemar Hoskins, Alpine (Marvel), George Barnes (Marvel), Winifred Barnes Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky Barnes Whump, Alternate Universe - Military, Developing Friendships, War, Afghanistan, Loyalty, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Major Character Injury, Character Death, Bucky Barnes has a family, Blood and Injury, Injury, Whump, There's a lot of dialogue, Brothers at least, War in Afghanistan, Soldiers, Sad Ending, Uncle Bucky Barnes, Comrades, Someone is going to die, But I won’t tell you who, Friendship, Teacher!Steve, Teacher Steve Rogers, Art teacher Steve Rogers, Goats, Steve Rogers Whump, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression Summary:

Sergeant James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes is stationed in Afghanistan in 2017 and is tasked with bringing employees of an NGO, including art and sports teacher Steve Rogers, to safety from a dangerous area. What begins as a normal mission ends in a nightmare. This is a story about friendship, loyalty and solidarity in a seemingly hopeless situation. Pairings: Bucky/OC, Steve/OC *Character death*

This story was partially inspired by animarvelita's pictures which can be found at https://www.tiktok.com/@animarvelita/photo/7294703498396978438?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7378547503304377888

Excerpt:

Chapter 2 - Uncertainties

The journey in the heavily armored military vehicles is anything but comfortable. The Humvees rumble along the unpaved country roads, past jagged rock formations, and the stuffy air builds up inside the cabin.

Bucky takes advantage of the ride to let his mind wander a bit in the passenger seat. They are still on safe ground in this part of the region, so he’s able to turn his attention briefly to continuing his plans for his return home to the States. After all his time in Afghanistan, it’s still hard for him to imagine spending Christmas with his family in snowy Brooklyn.

In just under three months he will be able to spend time with his family and hold his children and his youngest nephew in his arms. He'll be able to hold the kid the first time since he only knows of him from photos and video chats. His sister, Rebecca, had become a mother for the second time four months ago, and she has taken on the task within the Barnes family of keeping him up to date on all the developments at home via Messenger. That's how he knows that his father, George, is planning a fishing trip with him ever since he found out the date of Bucky’s return. In fact, he has already packed up all the equipment for it and is just waiting for his return.

Winifred, his mom, has already drawn up a menu for the Christmas holidays and wants to spoil him with home-cooked, delicious food and all kinds of scrumptious cakes. The idea makes his mouth water.

After two hours of driving around 100 kilometers, they take a short break. His commanding officer, Master Sergeant Daniel Miller, instructs Bucky and his partner, Travis Bell, to climb a small hill and get an overview of the situation.

While both are lying on the ground, Travis searches the area with his binoculars while Bucky, trained sniper that he is, secures the surrounding area with his weapon at the ready. Sergeant First Class Tom Jackson remains below and radios in their position.

“And?” Bucky wants to know.

Travis slowly lowers the binoculars and puts his sunglasses back on. “Nothing suspicious,” he reports thoughtfully. He doesn't have much experience as a so-called spotter and the fact that he is now being asked by the sergeant to give a situation report obviously makes him nervous.

Bucky narrows his eyes thoughtfully, and scans the horizon through the scope of his rifle. So far he's been able to confirm Travis' conclusion but with every mile they advance deeper into the interior, the risk of encountering enemy tribes and coming under fire increases drastically. They are only a few kilometers away from their destination. The quicker they get to the settlement to collect the civilians, the better.

Miller’s voice comes over the radio: “We’re leaving in 15 minutes.”

[anamelessdragon]

State of Shock | Chapter 1 | 2.3k

by NamelessDragon (@anamelessdragon)

_____________________

Summary:

“The President gave the order. He gets a pardon.”

“An experimental pardon,” Val corrected. “And the President needs to look just as good as the rest of us. He’ll lean into that war hero image until the first disaster and poof! Tune changed. But guess who will get all of that blame?”

“We have very advanced technology to ensure that won’t happen,” Ross said.

“Thaddeus, Thaddeus,” she tutted. “That soldier has withstood every single torture method known to man. Chemicals, deprivation, solitary confinement. Literal brain injury! And he was barely kept in check. What do you think’s going to happen when he’s let loose? We can take bets on the number of casualties.”

Maybe she’d said that last part a little too gleefully. In any case, Ross narrowed his eyes. “Do you have a suggestion?”

----------

Bucky's pardon requires that he wear an artificially intelligent shock collar as a term of his release. Bucky accepts, knowing it's his only chance to get out and do some good in the world.

Unfortunately, there are plenty of people ready to severely misuse that power.

A retelling of TFATWS.

Pairings/Characters: Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, appearances by the general TFATWS cast

Warnings: Chapter 1 - angst, torture

Notes: Hello! Apparently, posting one Bucky whump fic is no longer enough for me. This one will run more Gen with the pairings than my previous ones. That being said, there will still be chapters with harder onscreen trigger warnings (ie non-con) but I am challenging myself to try and section them in the fic so as to be skippable. However, general torture and trauma from the collar itself will run rampant and be I ntegrated into the main story, and there may be references/implications of other abuse there as well. Use caution and/or enjoy yourself. Bucky will not be having A Good Time, and we will view his experience from several POVs.

Some of the same general plot from TFATWS will be there, but a lot of it will be majorly changed in terms of scenes/dialogue.

Next chapter will be posted June 1st.

Read on AO3.