#When people just call him 'Zemo'

[vunblr]

To Mend a Soldier

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ (Masturbation). Slight angst. Comfort. Fluff.

Summary: Pressed by a worried Sam, Bucky reluctantly agrees to try an alternative -and, if you ask him, weird- therapy program: rent-a-mom. What starts as an obligation soon turns into something far more meaningful than he ever expected.

Word Count: About 20k.

note: Yeah… it’s a long one. This has been sitting in my folder for a while, and I couldn’t figure out where to split it, so here we are. Please don’t hate me! 😅 If you enjoy it, I’d really appreciate it if you could share or leave a comment, it means so much.

After everything he’d been through -Hydra, Zemo, Thanos, Steve’s departure, and now therapy with Dr. Raynor- Bucky still couldn’t seem to find peace. The nightmares remained, the guilt festered, and every glance he got on the street reminded him of who he used to be, not who he was trying to become. Trusting people felt impossible, and his defenses were built like steel walls.

Sam, however, refused to let him slip further into isolation. Over the past few months, he’d watched him struggle silently, shrugging off every attempt to help him open up. But The Falcon wasn’t one to give up easily.

One evening, while they were returning from a brief mission on a plane, he finally brought it up again.

“You ever thought about alternative therapy?” he asked casually, pressing a cooling bag over his shoulder.

Bucky didn’t even look up from where he was unlacing his boots. “What, like yoga?” His voice was flat and unimpressed. “I don’t bend that way.”

“No, not yoga.” Sam’s tone was patient like he was explaining something to a stubborn child. “It’s something some veterans are trying. Heard about it from a guy at the VA.”

“Right.” Bucky snorted. “Modern mumbo jumbo. What is it? Journaling? Crystals? Hugging trees?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s called rent-a-mom.”

That got Bucky’s attention. His head snapped up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Rent-a-what?”

“Rent-a-mom,” Sam repeated, biting back a grin at Bucky’s incredulous expression. “It’s this service where someone -usually a nice, older lady- comes to your place for a couple of hours a week. She cooks, chats, and keeps you company. Some guys use it to feel normal again, you know? A little comfort or emotional support, whatever you need, with no judgment.”

Bucky stared at him for a beat before deadpanning, “So you’re telling me to hire a prostitute.”

Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. “What is wrong with you man? No! That’s not what this is.”

“You sure? Because whatever I need, with no judgment sounds like you’re telling me to hire someone to-”

“Stop!” Sam cut him off, pointing a finger at him. “It’s not like that, okay? She works with vets all the time. You know, people like you who don’t trust anyone and think the world’s out to get them.

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. “Sounds like a scam.”

“It’s not a scam. I know a guy who uses her services. He says it’s the only thing that keeps him grounded some weeks. And it’s not just him. A lot of vets partaking on the program swear by it.”

Bucky grumbled under his breath, something about “modern nonsense” and “people these days.”

Sam sighed, leaning forward. “Look, man, I’m not saying it’s gonna fix all your problems. But what’s the harm in trying? One session. Worst-case scenario, you don’t like it, and you never call her again.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t need some stranger poking around in my life.”

“She’s not gonna poke,” Sam insisted. “She’s just there to help. And let’s be real, you could use it. You’ve been holed up in that apartment for weeks. When’s the last time you had a real conversation with someone who wasn’t me or that Raynor bitch?”

Bucky didn’t answer, just tightened his jaw.

“Exactly,” Sam said, leaning back with a smirk. “Plus, you owe me for Redwing. That little stunt you pulled last week? Yeah, I’m still mad about that.”

“Cheap shot,” Bucky muttered, glaring at the floor.

“Call it whatever you want. You’re doing this.”

After a long, heavy pause, Bucky sighed. “Fine. One session. But if this is a waste of my time, I’m blaming you.”

Sam grinned, already pulling out his phone. “You’re gonna thank me when it works. Just wait.”

----

Bucky sat on the edge of his couch, glaring at his phone like it had personally wronged him. Sam had texted him the woman’s contact information a few hours ago, with an obnoxious winky face at the end. He couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be reassuring or not but either way, it made his skin crawl.

“Just one session,” he muttered, running his hand down his face. Sam’s words echoed in his head: “It’s not what you think, man. She’s just… good at what she does. People trust her.” Trust. Bucky scoffed. That wasn’t something he handed out easily anymore, but after the Redwing incident, Sam wasn’t going to let him live it down unless he followed through. Grimacing, he tapped out a message.

Hi. This is James Barnes. Sam Wilson gave me your contact information. He said you… help people. I’m interested in setting up a session. Let me know if you’re available.

He stared at the screen for a good minute before hitting send. The second the message left his phone, he regretted it.

What the hell am I doing?

His internal spiral was interrupted by a response. That was fast.

Hi, James! Thanks for reaching out. I’d be happy to help. How does Tuesday at 5 PM sound?

He frowned. No small talk? No questions? Just… straight to the point. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but he appreciated it.

Fine, he replied, then immediately felt like a jerk. Then he added a Thanks.

----

Thursday came too quickly. Bucky paced his apartment, tidying up out of sheer nervous energy. He wasn’t sure what to expect. What was this woman going to do? Make him tea? Lecture him on proper nutrition? Sam had called her a “mom-for-hire,” but the idea still sounded absurd.

At exactly 5 PM, there was a knock at the door. Bucky froze. For a split second, he considered pretending he wasn’t home. But he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and opened the door, noticing two things:

First, this Mom was not an older lady. Either Sam left out that critical detail, or she was some kind of evil witch who sucked the life force out of her victims to stay young.

Second, she was… nice to look at. He quickly chastised himself for the thought.

“Hi,” she said, in a warm but professional tone, like she’d done this a hundred times before. There was no hesitation in her posture, no uncertainty in her eyes. She shifted the bag on her shoulder and offered a small smile. “You must be James.”

“Bucky.” he corrected gruffly, crossing his arms and leaning slightly against the doorframe. “You’re not what I expected.”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “Let me guess. You were expecting someone older? Maybe with glasses and a knitting basket?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, not confirming but not denying either.

She lets out a soft laugh. “I get that a lot.”

The silence stretched between them, and then he realized he was just standing there, blocking the doorway like an idiot. He stepped aside, muttering a “Come in.”

She entered the apartment, glancing around the living room as she set her bag down, taking in the stark, utilitarian setup. A couch, a small TV on a stand, and little else. The dining table was non-existent, replaced by a counter with two bar stools. “This is… cozy,” she said diplomatically, gesturing at the space.

Bucky’s lips twitched in a faint smirk. “It works.”

She hummed in response, her gaze falling to the small stack of books on the coffee table. A couple of dog-eared crime novels sat next to a remote. There wasn’t much else to indicate anyone truly lived here. No photos, no clutter, just the bare essentials.

He folded his arms again, hovering near the door as if he wasn’t sure whether to close it or bolt. “Look, I don’t need the whole... whatever it is you do. Sam talked me into this, so don’t feel like you have to stick around for too long.”

She didn’t seem fazed by his awkward brusqueness. Instead, she just nodded and set the bag down on his counter. She began unpacking a few items, ingredients, it looked like.

“So,” she said, turning to him with an easy smile. “What’s on the agenda for today? You tell me what you need, and we’ll go from there.”

What he needed? Hell if he knew.

“Uh…” He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t… really know how this works.”

“That’s okay,” she reassured, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “We can start small. How about I make us something warm to eat while we talk?”

Talk. Right. He could handle that. Probably. And the food didn’t sound half bad either.

“Sure,” he said, with a softer tone now. He hesitated before adding, “Thanks.”

She smiled at him again and reached into her bag, pulling out a neatly folded apron. Without hesitation, she slipped it over her summer dress, tying the strings behind her back. The casual way she moved threw him off; she already seemed at ease in his space, which was more than he could say for himself.

“Is there anything you don’t like to eat?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen.

Bucky blinked at her like she’d just asked him if he believed in unicorns. “Anything I don’t like?” His eyebrows lifted, clearly baffled by the concept.

“Yes,” she replied with a small laugh, looking back at him as if to say she was serious.

He gave a short huff, leaning against the counter, his lips twitching with faint amusement. “Doll, I grew up in the Depression. You ate what you got and licked the plate clean.”

She froze mid-step, her hands moving to her hips as she turned to face him fully. “Okay, first of all, you don’t ‘doll’ your mother,” she said, her tone firm but with a playful edge. “So let’s make it clear: that won’t be a thing between us.”

His head tilted, his eyes narrowing slightly in mild surprise at her sudden, slightly commanding tone.

“And second,” she continued, crossing her arms as if daring him to argue, “we’re not in the Depression anymore. So, humor me and tell me if there’s anything you don’t like.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the smallest hint of a smirk appearing as he quirked an eyebrow at her. She wasn’t what he’d expected. Not even close.

“Guess I’ll have to think about it,” he muttered with the faintest trace of amusement.

She rolled her eyes, tying the apron snugly around her waist. “Well, then tell me what you do like, so I can see if I can pull it off with what we’ve got.”

He hesitated, darting away his gaze as if the question required more thought than it should. Finally, he mumbled, “Potatoes?”

Her lips twitched with amusement. “Lucky for you, I brought some with me.” She nodded toward another bag she’d left near the door.

Bucky watched as she moved around his kitchen, opening cabinets and peeking into drawers. It was strange seeing someone else handle his things like they belonged there.

She moved to his fridge next, tugging it open, and froze. For a long moment, she just stared, her head tilting slightly. “Huh.”

Bucky frowned, leaning to the side to see what had caught her attention. “What?”

She stepped back, gesturing inside with a wooden spoon she’d plucked from the counter. “The two plums are fine, but that sad, dried-out lemon is holding on by a thread, and…” Her nose wrinkled as she peered at a container shoved in the back. “I don’t even want to guess what’s in that tupperware.”

He shifted as his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s probably still good.”

“Bucky.” She turned to him, one brow arched and her tone matter-of-fact. “We’re going to have to make a shopping list if these visits are going to continue. Unless you’re planning to survive off potatoes and mystery leftovers?”

His lips twitched again, but he didn’t say anything, just shrugged.

“I’ll take that as agreement,” she said, grabbing the potatoes she’d brought with her and setting them on the counter. “For now, I’ll work some magic with these and whatever’s actually edible in here.”

He smirked faintly, leaning against the counter as he watched her sort through his kitchen again with an air of efficiency like she’d done this a thousand times before.

At some point, she straightened up and caught his gaze. “You didn’t say anything yet,” she said, leaning a little on the counter. “but I assume you have questions about what I do?”

He shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck as if buying time. “Sam told me something… about cooking and talking,” he muttered hesitantly. Then he glanced away, subtly implying that he didn’t expect much beyond that.

She didn’t rush him, waiting patiently for him to finish. When he fell silent, she let out a soft chuckle and grabbed a cutting board from the counter. “I have a proper job, you know,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “At a bookstore. This…” she continued, gesturing vaguely toward the room, “is just something I’ve been doing for a couple of years now. It started when a lady from the program came into the shop looking for books to read to her son before nap time.” She paused, her lips curving in a small, amused smile. “The thing is, this lady was, well… let’s just say she was quite old to have a little kid. She must have seen the look on my face because she told me about this initiative she was part of.”

Bucky tilted his head, curiosity tugging at his otherwise guarded expression. “And you signed up?”

“Eventually,” she admitted, peeling one of the potatoes with practiced ease. “I kept running into her, and she’d stop by the store to chat about how the reading sessions were going, how much her ‘kid’ enjoyed them.” She made air quotes with her fingers, smirking. “Turned out, her kid was a Vietnam vet. He was struggling with some things, and she was helping him feel more grounded.”

Bucky arched his brows.

“Exactly,” she said, laughing softly. “I thought it was strange at first, too, but the more I learned, the more I realized how much of a difference it can make for some people.” She paused, setting the peeler down and turning to fully face him, with a softer expression now. “There’s something about the kind of comfort a mother gives, something other roles just… don’t quite reach.”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, furrowing his brow.

“You’ve probably seen it,” she continued, “Soldiers in their last moments, calling for their moms. Or when they’re delirious with fever or pain, their minds go back to a time when they felt safe, protected, and cared for. It’s not about the specific person, it’s the feeling. That deep-rooted need to know someone’s there for you, no matter what.”

His jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before flicking back to her. She didn’t miss the shift in his expression, a flicker of recognition, a shadow of memory.

“I’m not saying I’m trying to be anyone’s mother,” she added quickly, offering him a gentle smile to lighten the mood. “But sometimes people just need a little bit of that energy in their life, you know? A chance to feel… safe.”

Bucky’s mouth pressed into a thin line, stiffening briefly before he exhaled, his relaxing his shoulders just a fraction. He didn’t say anything, but the weight of her words lingered in the air between them.

He had to admit it sounded... nice. Having someone to turn to when things got… when you couldn’t breathe. When the world felt too heavy and every corner of your mind was filled with noise you couldn’t escape. But just as that thought settled in, his defenses kicked in, sharp and automatic.

He scoffed, the sound coming out a little too rough, a little too biting. “And then what? You cuddle on the couch, singing a lullaby?”

Her hands stilled, and she turned to look at him, meeting his gaze. There was no annoyance in her expression, no judgment. Just a calmness that made him feel even more off-balance.

“If that’s what you need,” she said simply, “then yes.”

For a moment, he was stunned into silence, caught off guard. There was no sarcasm, no condescension, just a sincerity that felt almost disarming.

His eyes darted away as he shifted his weight, the corners of his mouth twitched in an effort to form a response. But for once, words failed him, leaving only the quiet hum of the kitchen and the soft clatter of her returning to the potatoes.

“There are some info sheets and forms in the bag,” she said, nodding toward her tote. “If you want to read and complete them while I do this.” She gestured as she resumed working on the potatoes.

Bucky hesitated, flicking his gaze between her and the bag. “What’s the payment?” he asked gruffly, trying to keep his voice casual. “In case… in case I might be interested.”

She paused for a beat, then glanced over her shoulder with a small smile. “I don’t charge veterans,” she said simply.

He blinked, clearly taken aback. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Finally, he managed, “Sam didn’t… didn’t tell me that.”

“Well,” she said, setting the knife down for a moment and turning fully to face him, “to be fair, Sam told me a little about you.”

At the slight stiffness that crept into his expression, she quickly added, “Just… basic things.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m already working with someone who’s… retired now, and I wasn’t sure about having two ‘sons’ in the same department, so to speak.”

She hesitated, studying his face for a moment before continuing. “But when he told me who you were… I didn’t doubt it for a second. You’re a hero, you know?”

He seemed surprised by the statement, his brows knitting together as if trying to make sense of her words. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. Finally, he grumbled, “Don’t know about that, but thanks.”

She smiled softly, “Don’t thank me, sweetheart. I’m just stating the obvious.” With that, she turned back to the cooking, leaving Bucky standing there, uncomfortably aware of the unexpected swell of gratitude threatening to creep past his defenses.

He then opened the tote bag and pulled out a neatly organized folder. Inside, there were several documents, each clipped together in its own section. He skimmed over the first page, a set of “basic rules” clearly outlined at the top.

His brow furrowed slightly as he read. Boundaries: He would only call her “Mama” or some other variant, never her name, an instruction that immediately made his stomach twist with both unease and an odd sense of reassurance. The point was clear: this wasn’t a friendship or anything else ambiguous. It was meant to define their dynamic firmly.

Further down, he saw a list of do’s and don’ts regarding acceptable forms of touching. The wording was straightforward but gentle, ensuring the rules were understood without feeling restrictive. A clause about privacy caught his attention: Everything discussed during their sessions would remain strictly confidential. Nothing said between them would be disclosed, ever.

He sighed and leaned against the counter, flipping to the next section. The forms included a series of questions: What would you expect from these sessions? What would you prefer not to happen? What are your favorite comforts? Least favorite?

The questions made him uncomfortable. What did he expect? Hell if he knew. What would he even put down for “favorite comforts”? He tapped the pen against the counter, unsure where to start.

When he finally glanced back at her, she was chopping the potatoes with practiced ease. “And what happens after I fill this out?” he asked, trying to sound neutral.

“Once the forms are completed and signed,” she said without turning around, “I’ll be in charge of the dynamic.” She paused, glancing at him over her shoulder with a small smile. “After all, Mama knows best.”

Her tone was light, teasing, but the words landed heavier than she might have realized. Bucky stared at the form again, feeling the faintest flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe trust. Maybe just exhaustion. Either way, the weight of his pen didn’t feel as heavy anymore.

“You don’t have to sign it right now,” she said, washing her hands and wiping them on a towel. Turning back to him, she added, "Maybe wait and see how this goes first?" then, she walked toward the living room and perched on the edge of the couch patting the spot next to her. “Sit. You can tell me about your week while the potatoes cook… if you want.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the couch like it might be a trap. Finally, he crossed the room, lowering himself onto the seat beside her. The couch dipped under his weight, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed a hand over his face. The silence hung between them, save for the faint sound of traffic through the window. After a moment, he started to bounce his knee.

She noticed the motion and glanced at him, her gaze drifting lower. That’s when it hit her, the long-sleeved henley and the glove on his hand. The room wasn’t exactly cold. In fact, with the oven going and the potatoes roasting, it was comfortably warm.

Her brows knitted together. “Bucky,” she started carefully, with a light tone, “you know by now that I knew who you were before I knocked on your door, right?”

He turned his head slightly, not quite meeting her eyes but acknowledging her words with a small grunt.

“So… don’t you want to change into something less... suffocating?” She gestured loosely at his shirt. “I mean, it’s hot in here.”

His knee stopped bouncing. He straightened slightly but didn’t respond right away. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw worked like he was weighing his next move.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, his voice gruff. He didn’t sound angry, just… uncertain.

“It’s not fine,” she countered gently. “You’ll overheat sitting here like that. Besides, I thought we were working on this whole... trust thing since you know… the mom thing?”

Her words hung in the air, and for a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, with a deep breath, Bucky pushed himself to his feet, heading toward the hallway. He muttered something under his breath that she didn’t catch, but the slight hunch of his shoulders told her he was uncomfortable. Still, he disappeared into the bedroom, and she heard the sound of a drawer opening.

When he returned a few minutes later, he was wearing a soft, dark gray T-shirt. He paused in the doorway, his eyes flicking to her briefly before he sat back down, this time leaning into the couch instead of perching on the edge.

“Better?” he asked, his tone dry but not harsh.

“Much better,” she replied, a smile tugging at her lips.

Bucky didn’t say anything, but his shoulders seemed to relax just a fraction. The oven timer went off in the kitchen, breaking the moment, and she stood, giving him a reassuring pat on the knee as she passed by.

As she checked the food with her back turned to him, she spoke casually, “Sam said you’ve been having a rough time lately.”

Bucky frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Sam talks too much.”

Her lips quirked in a small smile, though she didn’t turn around. “He’s worried about you.”

“He doesn’t need to be,” Bucky muttered.

“Maybe not. But he is. And from what I can tell, he’s the kind of person who acts on that worry.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m not here to pry.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed slightly, and his jaw tightened. “Then why are you here?” The question came out sharper than he intended, his voice low and clipped, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she turned off the stove, wiped her hands on a towel, and finally faced him.

“Why am I here?” she echoed with a calm tone. “One, because you texted. And two…” She crossed the room slowly, stopping a few feet from the couch. Her gaze softened, her head tilting slightly. “Sometimes, it helps to have someone around. Someone who’s not a therapist or a friend who knows too much. Just… someone.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His expression was unreadable, but she could see the gears turning in his head. She approached the couch and sat down beside him, leaving just enough space to avoid crowding him but close enough to offer her quiet support.

Bucky shifted slightly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together tightly. The silence between them stretched, but it didn’t feel heavy. It felt like an invitation for him to speak if he wanted to, no pressure, no expectations.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he said finally, almost in a grumble.

“I know.” Her reply was soft, almost instinctive. “It’s okay.”

His shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and for the first time that evening, he glanced at her directly. There was a hint of something vulnerable in his expression. Hesitation, perhaps.

“It’s just…” he started, his voice trailing off as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a lot lately. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Just where you feel like it, I’ll be here to listen. And if you don’t want to talk, that is fine too, one doesn’t tell everything to their mom, hm?” she assured gently.

The timer beeped from the kitchen again, cutting through the moment. She reached over, giving his forearm a brief, reassuring squeeze before standing. “Let me get that before the potatoes burn.” As she moved toward the kitchen, she glanced back at him with a small smile. “Think about it, Bucky. No rush.”

He watched her retreat, his chest feeling a little lighter, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

When she called from the kitchen, cheerfully announcing that dinner was almost ready, he found himself answering without thinking. “Smells good.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

He pushed himself off the couch with a grunt and crossed the short distance to the kitchen in a few long strides. Without a word, he started opening cabinets and drawers, pulling out a couple of plates and utensils to set up at the counter.

“Oh, such a good boy!” she teased warmly.

He paused, shooting her a look over his shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and embarrassment. “It’s just the right thing to do,” he muttered gruffly, his ears tinged faintly pink.

She bit back a smile as she pulled the tray of potatoes from the oven, the aroma filling the small kitchen. As she set the tray down, she reached for the fridge and produced a small bowl of creamy dip, placing it on the counter beside the potatoes.

Bucky quirked a brow with evident curiosity.

“What?” she asked playfully. “These aren’t your Depression potatoes. They’ve got a little twist.”

He snorted softly, shaking his head. “A twist, huh?”

“Just a little sour cream, and the spices are courtesy of your kitchen,” she said, ladling the potatoes onto a serving dish with practiced ease. “Trust me, they’ll still taste like home. Just… a little fancier.”

Bucky glanced at the bowl again, his lips twitching in faint amusement. “Fancy potatoes,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Hey,” she countered, setting the dish in the middle of the counter with a flourish. “Even tough guys like you deserve something nice now and then.”

He didn’t respond right away, but as he pulled out a stool at the counter and sat, there was a flicker of something lighter in his eyes. “Guess we’ll see if they live up to the hype.”

She handed him a fork, with a widening smile. “Challenge accepted.”

For the first time that evening, the atmosphere in the room felt less heavy. The clinking of utensils and the scent of roasted potatoes mingled with the faintest hum of unspoken understanding.

“Not bad,” Bucky admitted after his first bite, begrudging but carrying a hint of approval.

“Not bad?” she echoed, raising a brow. “I’ll take that as high praise.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and for a fleeting moment, it almost looked like he might smile.

They made small talk while they ate, keeping the conversation light. She asked about the crime novels on his side table, and he asked -grudgingly- what kind of twist she had planned for the next meal, implying she might want to poison him. Despite himself, Bucky found the interaction strangely… normal. He wasn’t used to normal, but he didn’t hate it.

When they finished, he stood and began gathering the dishes. She protested at first, but he waved her off. “It’s what my Ma would have expected anyway,” he said matter-of-factly.

He’d just started scrubbing the first plate when her phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at the screen, then at the clock, letting out a soft sigh. “Well, Buck, it seems our two hours are up.”

Bucky froze and his hand gripped the plate under the warm water. Then he nodded once. “I see…”

She leaned against the counter next to him, watching him carefully. “So, um… what do you want to do? Will you read the forms and consider starting this little journey together, or would you rather not see my face again?” She smiled softly. “Which I’d totally understand if that’s the case.”

He didn’t respond immediately, focusing instead on rinsing the plate and setting it on the drying rack. For a moment, the only sound was the rush of water and the faint hum of the fridge. It was as if he was battling with himself, his tension was visible in the way his shoulders hunched and his jaw clenched. Finally, he let out a long breath and turned to face her. His hand raked through his hair.

“I... I want this, I think,” he stated. Then, almost immediately, he added, “I can step out whenever I want, right?”

Her smile softened as she reached for his vibranium hand, her fingers resting lightly against the cool metal. “Yes, Bucky. You can step out whenever you want. No pressure, no expectations. This is for you, on your terms.”

He nodded slightly, his eyes flicking down to where her hand rested on his before shifting back to meet her gaze.

“Just take your time filling out the questionnaire, think the answers carefully” she continued, warmly but matter-of-fact. “and, whenever you’re ready, snap a picture and send it to me. No rush.”

“Okay,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Also…” She tilted her head. “How many days a week do you want me here?”

Bucky blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. He shifted slightly, glancing away as if considering his answer. “Uh… two, I guess?”

“Two it is,” she said with a small nod, releasing his hand and grabbing her bag from the counter. “You’re calling the shots, Buck. You just let me know if that changes.”

He didn’t respond right away, but as she slung her bag over her shoulder and made her way toward the door, he called out in a low tone. “Thanks.”

She paused, glancing back at him with a smile. “Anytime.”

As the door closed behind her, Bucky stood there for a moment, staring at the now-empty space she’d left behind.

Almost three minutes after she left, his phone buzzed on the counter, the screen lighting up with a notification. He didn’t have to check to know who it was. Sure enough, the preview of the text confirmed it: Sam. The string of emojis accompanying the message made Bucky’s scowl deepen as he stared at the screen.

🤔💪👍👵🍲

“What the hell does that even mean?” he muttered to himself, swiping the phone off the counter and locking it without reading the full message. The last thing he needed was Sam’s smug commentaries right now.

He set the phone down a little harder than necessary and decided to distract himself the only way he knew how: by scrubbing himself clean. Grabbing a towel, he headed to the bathroom, peeling off his T-shirt on the way. The promise of a hot shower sounded like the closest thing to clarity he might find tonight.

But as the water beat down on his skin, his thoughts drifted back to the folder she’d left behind. The questionnaire seemed simple on the surface, but for a man like him, answering those kinds of questions wasn’t easy.

What comforts you?

The question alone made him bristle. Comfort wasn’t something he’d thought about in decades. Comfort was… a luxury, a distraction, a weakness. At least, that’s what they always told him and he still couldn’t shake that feeling.

The thought of filling out that damn paper felt heavier than any mission he’d been assigned. He’d rather face a bullet in his leg than sit down and figure out what he wanted.

He leaned his head against the shower tiles, the warmth of the water doing little to ease the tension coiling in his chest. Maybe he’d give himself a day. Or two. Hell, maybe a week. She’d said no rush, after all.

And if he didn’t send it? Well, it wasn’t like she’d show up uninvited. He could still back out.

He turned off the water with a sharp twist, the sudden silence leaving him alone with his thoughts. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stepped out, glancing toward the closed door of his bedroom where the folder waited.

----

It had taken Bucky two weeks to fill out the forms. Two long, painstaking weeks of sitting at his couch, pen in hand, staring at questions that felt more like traps than prompts. He’d forced himself to be thorough, thinking carefully about each subject.

What makes you feel safe? What comforts you? What do you need from me?

How do you want to be called as an endearment?

He’d tried to approach it with an open mind, though the process made him cringe more than once. Admitting what he needed -or even what he was willing to permit- felt like baring himself in a way that left him raw.

But he finished. He signed the papers, scanned them with his phone, and sent the file off with an unceremonious text:

Here. Let me know if it’s fine.

Her reply had been immediate and cheerful: Got it! Looks perfect. See you Tuesday.

----

When Tuesday came, she arrived at his building, juggling a tote bag filled with what she liked to call her “comfort supplies.” A neighbor leaving the building had held the door open for her, a kind but overly trusting gesture.

Not a very safe thing to do, she thought as she stepped inside. But I’m not going to complain.

She reached his door, knuckles rapping lightly against it. “Bucky? It’s me.”

No answer.

She frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time. “Bucky, you there?”

Still nothing.

She pulled out her phone and sent him a quick message: Hey, I’m here! A moment later, her phone buzzed with the dreaded notification: Message failed to deliver.

Her frown deepened. She tried calling, but the call went straight to voicemail. A sinking feeling settled in her chest as she pressed her ear to the door, listening intently.

Nothing. No footsteps. No muffled noises. Just silence.

She sighed, leaning back against the wall. Maybe something had come up. Maybe he’d changed his mind and didn’t know how to tell her.

She checked her watch. Twenty minutes had passed, and she still hadn’t heard a peep from him. With a reluctant shake of her head, she turned and walked toward the elevator, her footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet hallway.

-----

A couple of hours later, Bucky dragged his feet through the corridor. His nose throbbed painfully, a reminder of the last few days he’d spent dealing -again- with enhanced assholes who seemed to have gotten their hands on some variant of the serum.

The faint metallic scent of dried blood clung to him, mingling with the sweat and grime of too many hours spent in the open. His brows furrowed, eyes heavy-lidded as he scanned the hallway out of habit. That’s when he spotted it, a small bag made of cloth sitting neatly at his doorstep.

He paused, taking a moment to connect the dots through the haze of exhaustion.

Fuck.

He let out a slow, frustrated exhale, running a hand over his face and wincing as the dried cut on his cheek tugged painfully. Of course, this would happen. Of course, he’d mess this up right out of the gate.

Bending down, he picked up the bag, holding it gingerly in his hands like it might scold him. The fabric was soft and patterned with small flowers, something that felt almost absurdly out of place against his bloodstained hands and the concrete walls of the hallway.

He peeked inside, and his chest tightened. A handful of sugar babies’ packages into view, the bright yellow being a jarring contrast to the dull exhaustion weighing him down.

What were your favorite sweets as a child?

The questionnaire echoed in his head, and his stomach twisted. He hadn’t even realized he’d written those down until now.

Straightening up, he glanced down the hallway toward the elevator, tightening his grip on the bag. What kind of impression was this supposed to leave? Forgetting the session entirely, not answering the door, not even leaving a message…

He groaned, leaning back against his door and glaring down at the bag like it held all the answers to his failures.

After a long moment, he nested the bag into the crook of his arm, fumbled with his keys, and let himself into the apartment.

The silence inside was deafening. He placed the bag of candies on the counter and reached for his phone, dead as expected. He plugged it into the charger with a sigh, running a hand through his hair before peeling off his ruined clothes. The bloodstained shirt landed in a heap on the floor as he pulled his knives and gun from their holsters and set them down on the counter next to the flower-patterned bag.

The juxtaposition was almost laughable. The hard edges of his weapons, worn and familiar, sat starkly against the soft, cheerful fabric of the bag.

It didn’t feel right, to see them in the same space.

But he was too tired to care for the moment.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky leaned against the counter, lingering his gaze on the bag of candies. He reached inside and pulled out one of the packages, turning it over in his fingers like it was something fragile. For a moment, he just stood there, as the weight of the past days pressed down on him.

Finally, he tore the wrapper open, popped one caramel into his mouth, and let the sugary sweetness dissolve on his tongue. It wasn’t much. But somehow, it tasted like a small piece of something he’d forgotten he needed.

-----

It was late afternoon when her phone buzzed with a message. She picked it up from the table, brushing across the screen to read it.

Just one word: Sorry.

She stared at the message for a moment, tightening her grip on the device. Well, at least it didn’t seem like he’d changed his mind entirely. That was something.

Are you okay?

The reply didn’t come right away. The minutes stretched, and she found herself glancing at the screen every few moments. Finally, the phone buzzed again, and she read his response:

I don’t know.

Her chest ached at the honesty of those three words. Biting her lip, she typed her reply carefully.

Do you want me to come over?

The dots indicating he was typing blinked, disappeared, and then reappeared. His answer came back after what felt like an eternity.

You don’t have to.

She frowned, her thumbs flew across the keyboard.

That is not what I asked, Bucky.

Another pause. This one was longer. The late afternoon sun painted her walls in streaks of orange and gold, but she barely noticed, since her attention was fixed on the phone in her hands.

Finally, he replied.

Yes.

Her shoulders relaxed as she exhaled. Without hesitation, she grabbed her bag, slid her phone into her pocket, and headed for the door.

-----

Her gaze widened when she saw Bucky’s face as he opened the door. A nasty cut marred the already purpled skin of his cheek, his nose looked bruised, his lower lip was split, and scrapes littered his flesh arm. His expression and the slump of his shoulders only added to the picture of someone who’d been through a lot.

He must have noticed her stare because the first thing out of his mouth was, “You should see the other guys.”

She clicked her tongue in exasperation, her hand motioning firmly toward him. “Move. Let me in.”

Bucky stepped aside, his expression hovered somewhere between guilt and defiance. She entered without waiting for another invitation, her sharp eyes already scanning the room. “Did you clean the wounds?”

He shrugged nonchalantly as if it weren’t worth mentioning. “I took a shower…”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, deliberate sigh. “That’s not… no. That doesn’t count. Where is your first aid kit?”

He looked at her like she’d grown another head. “Doll, all this is going away in three days, tops. Courtesy of the serum.”

Her gaze snapped to his, sharp enough to freeze hell over. “Where. Is. It. And how did you just call me?”

Bucky’s mouth opened, then shut, and he swallowed audibly. “M-ma,” he mumbled, his eyes darting to the floor like a chastised child.

“That’s what I thought.” She folded her arms, with a tone that brooked no argument. “I assume you have that thing in the bathroom.”

“I told you, it’s not neces-”

That look again. He stopped mid-sentence, his shoulders slumping as he relented. “Yes.”

“Good,” she said briskly, already heading toward the bathroom without waiting for further direction. “Stay put. I’ll handle this.”

Bucky stared after her, his mouth twitching as if he wanted to argue but thought better of it. With a quiet groan, he leaned against the counter, muttering under his breath, “You should really see the other guys…”

But even as he said it, he found himself oddly relieved that she was there.

“Sit on the chair so I can see you better”, her voice came calm but firm from his side as she gestured to the single chair against the wall.

Bucky hesitated for half a second before complying, dragging the chair forward slightly and lowering himself onto it.

She knelt slightly in front of him, brushing her fingers lightly over the bruised and battered skin of his face. “This surely must hurt,” she said softly. “You don’t have to act all rough with me.”

He didn’t answer, clenching his jaw ever so slightly. Not to brush off the pain, not to admit that it hurt. He just stayed silent, with his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her shoulder.

With gentle care, she dabbed at his cheek with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic. The sharp, chemical smell hit the air immediately, and Bucky flinched, pressing his lips into a thin line.

She paused, knitting her brows in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, but the tightness in his voice betrayed him.

Her gaze stayed patient but unyielding. “Bucky.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes flicking away from hers before returning. “I don’t like the smell,” he admitted, almost in a whisper.

She stilled, hovering her hand in midair. “Why?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze grew distant, and his expression went clouded as if he were somewhere else entirely. When he finally spoke, his voice was even quieter, tinged with something raw and broken.

“Spent a lot of years smelling that shit,” he said, with words that carried too much weight. “Couldn’t drink a glass of water without a command. Couldn’t… do anything. And that smell… it was always there. Always.”

Her heart ached at the admission, but she didn’t let it show on her face. Instead, she lowered the cotton ball, letting him see her hands move it out of the way. “Okay,” she said softly. “We’ll rinse the cuts with water instead. No more of this stuff.”

He blinked, his brows furrowing slightly as he looked at her. “You don’t have to-”

“I know I don’t,” she interrupted gently. “But I’m here to help you, honey, not to make things harder.”

He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing as he nodded. He didn’t say anything else, but the tension in his shoulders eased just a little.

By the time she finished tending to his wounds, Bucky was leaning heavily against the chair, with drooping eyelids. The tension in his frame had loosened ever so slightly, his exhaustion was clear in the way he blinked sluggishly at the floor.

She stood and began gathering the supplies, placing them neatly back into his first aid kit. “I’m going to make you something to eat,” she said firmly, already planning a quick meal to get something nutritious in him.

“Not now,” he murmured, barely lifting his head.

She turned toward him with a frown. “Bucky, you’ve probably gone days without eating anything that isn’t complete garbage. You need-”

“I just…” His words came out with difficulty, like they were being dragged out of him. He rubbed his flesh hand over his face “I just want you close.” his voice was quieter now, almost pleading.

Her expression softened instantly. Nodding, she stepped closer, reaching for his vibranium hand. She wrapped her fingers around the cool metal and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Come on. Let’s sit on the couch.”

She guided him the short distance toward the living room and he followed with slow, dragging steps. Once they reached the couch, she looked at him with patience. “What do you need?”

Bucky hesitated and his throat worked as if he were trying to swallow his pride. His eyes flicked to her, then away again, his mouth opening and closing like he was fighting himself. Finally, he let out a soft, almost defeated sigh.

“I… I want to lean my head on your lap, Mama,” he admitted almost shakily.

She smiled softly, not saying anything that might make him feel more self-conscious. She just nodded and sat at one end of the couch, patting her thighs gently to indicate he should lie down.

Bucky followed, his movements stiff and hesitant as he eased himself onto the couch. He stretched out his long torso, his head tentatively resting on her lap. He stayed tense for a moment, as if bracing for something, though even he wasn’t sure what.

She started running her fingers through his short hair, brushing the strands back in slow, rhythmic motions. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re okay.”

The tension in his shoulders began to melt, and his breathing slowed as her fingers worked through his hair with careful, deliberate strokes. He closed his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh as his body finally surrendered to a comfort he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

-----

After two months of visits, she was surprised one day to find an old oak dining table in Bucky’s apartment. It was small but sturdy, with matching chairs tucked neatly under it. The single chair he’d once had was nowhere in sight.

She stepped closer, running her hand along the smooth wood. “This is lovely,” she said, her tone genuinely appreciative.

Bucky stood nearby, with his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight slightly. He glanced at her, then at the table, mumbling, “It was time for me to have one.”

She turned to him with a smile. “Well, it makes the place look more like a home now. You know,” she added thoughtfully, “I have a tablecloth about this size at home that I don’t use. I could bring it next time, if you’d like.”

Bucky hesitated, furrowing his brows slightly as if considering her offer. “About that…” he started, a little unsure.

She waited patiently, giving him time to express what he wanted to say.

“I want to start…” He paused, searching for the right words. “making this place more... like someone is living here.”

“Like a home?” she prompted gently.

“Y-yeah.” He looked down, scratching at the back of his neck. “Besides that hut in Wakanda… it’s been a lifetime since I had a place to… a… a home.”

Her heart ached at his admission, but she didn’t push. Instead, she stepped closer and gently rested her hand on his arm. “That sounds very hard, sweetheart.”

Bucky didn’t deny or confirm her statement, just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“I was wondering…” he began, his voice steadier now. “If next time, we could schedule an earlier time to see each other. And maybe…” He hesitated, glancing at her as if bracing for her reaction. “Maybe you could come with me to help me buy some things?”

Her smile widened, her hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “That sounds great, honey.” Then, she added warmly but firmly, “Just remember, this is your home. You have to choose what you think suits you.”

Her words were a reminder of the boundaries they’d set, of the balance they were working toward. Still, they carried enough warmth to let him know she’d be there for him.

After discussing the table and his plans to make the apartment feel more like a home, she glanced around the space and tilted her head thoughtfully. “You know,” she said lightly, “a good table deserves a little cleanup around it. How about we tidy up a bit?”

Bucky frowned, sweeping his gaze over the room. “It’s not that bad.”

She gave him a pointed look, walking toward a pile of mail and random odds and ends stacked on the counter. “It’s not terrible, but a little organizing wouldn’t hurt. Come on, help me out.”

He followed her reluctantly, muttering something under his breath about bossy moms.

She smirked but didn’t rise to the bait, handing him a small stack of papers. “Sort these, bills, junk, whatever doesn’t need to be here,” she instructed, already reaching for a rag to wipe down the counter.

As they worked, the task settled into an easy rhythm. She asked him about the books he’d been reading, and he surprised her by asking if she had any recommendations. It was small talk, but it felt comfortable and natural like it had been almost since the beginning.

After the living room and kitchen looked noticeably tidier, she wiped her hands on her jeans and glanced toward the hallway leading to his bedroom. Motioning toward the door, she said, “Alright, let’s check out the bedroom next.”

Bucky froze, tightening his shoulders visibly. “Bedroom’s fine,” he said quickly, the edge of reluctance in his voice was unmistakable.

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “I’m already on a roll, Buck. Might as well see the whole place.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he reluctantly trailed behind her. “It’s not much to look at,” he muttered, more resigned than defiant.

“Then it won’t take long,” she quipped, throwing him a reassuring smile before disappearing through the doorway. Her brows furrowed at the sight before her. The bed was buried under a haphazard pile of boxes, and scattered clothes dotted the floor. The mattress didn’t even have sheets on it, and the faint layer of dust on the headboard told her it hadn’t been used in a while.

She turned to him, crossing her arms. “What’s going on here? Where do these boxes go?”

Bucky shifted awkwardly in the doorway, avoiding her gaze. “They’re fine where they are.”

“Bucky…” Her voice softened, concern creeping into her tone. “Where are you sleeping?”

He clenched his jaw, and after a long pause, he mumbled, “On the floor. In the living room.”

Her eyes widened. “The floor?

He nodded, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder.

She stepped closer, keeping her voice calm but firm. “Why?”

His lips pressed into a thin line before he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The bed’s too… soft.” He paused, struggling with the words. “It doesn’t feel safe,” he continued, with a low voice. “When I’m on the floor, I can feel the room. Hear things better. I… know what’s going on and can act in case something happens.” His gaze dropped to the pile of boxes on the bed. “And the bed… it’s just not right. Too soft, too confining. It feels like a trap.”

She nodded slowly, her expression a mix of understanding and quiet sadness. “That makes sense,” she said gently. “But, honey, that’s no way to live. I get why you feel that way, but you deserve to rest somewhere that doesn’t hurt your back.”

He gave her a faint shrug, the corner of his mouth pulling downward. “I’ve been doing this for a while. I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s good for you,” she replied, stepping closer and resting a hand lightly on his arm. “How about we start small? Let’s clear off the bed today. No pressure to use it yet, but maybe we can make it feel a little less… wrong. Less like a trap.”

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes flicking back toward the cluttered bed. She could see the hesitation in his face, the way his fingers flexed at his sides like he was fighting an internal battle.

Finally, he nodded once, almost imperceptibly. “Alright.”

Her lips curved into a gentle smile. “Good. So, where do these boxes go?”

“Closet,” he muttered, stepping forward to help her.

Together, they cleared the bed, tucking the boxes away and folding the stray clothes. She didn’t push or prod, keeping the conversation light as they worked. She mentioned ideas for making the bed more comfortable, maybe firmer pillows or a thinner mattress topper to make it feel less suffocating.

By the time they were done, the room already looked less like a storage space and more like a place where someone could rest.

“There,” she said, dusting her hands off and turning to him. “A step in the right direction.”

Bucky stood at the edge of the bed, staring at it like it was something foreign. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I guess so.”

“You don’t have to use it right away,” she gently. “But when you’re ready, it’ll be here for you.”

He nodded again, loosening his shoulders slightly.

As they returned to the main area, she expected Bucky to suggest starting dinner, but instead, he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Can we… sit for a bit? On the couch?”

“Of course,” she said with an easy smile, leading the way. She settled into her usual spot at one end, patting her thighs lightly.

Bucky sat and shifted, lying down until his head rested on her lap. When her fingers began threading gently through his hair, he let out a quiet exhale. They stayed like that for a while, the stillness of the apartment punctuated only by the soft rhythm of her fingers against his scalp and the occasional hum of traffic outside.

“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked softly, not wanting to break the moment but leaving the door open for him.

Bucky closed his eyes, his voice low and drowsy. “Not yet. Just this. This is… enough.”

After a while of lying on the couch, Bucky's body had grown heavier against her lap. His breathing became slower, and his voice was groggy when he finally spoke. “Hey… can we go shopping on Saturday instead of Friday?”

Her fingers stilled briefly in his hair before resuming their soothing rhythm. “Saturday?”

“Yeah…” He trailed off, blinking sluggishly up at the ceiling. “I’ve got some stuff to deal with on Friday. Nothing big. Just easier if it’s Saturday.”

She hummed thoughtfully, glancing down at him. “I can’t,” she said gently.

“Why not?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to meet her gaze.

“I have a date.”

The weight in the room shifted immediately and his body stiffened under her touch. “Like… with your other ‘son’?” he asked, the words tumbling out awkwardly before he could stop himself.

She blinked, then laughed softly. “No, Bucky. Like with a man. A real date.”

Her fingers resumed their lazy rhythm through his hair, but she could feel the way his shoulders tensed further, and his jaw clenched. He didn’t respond right away, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Sensing his unease, she chuckled. “Don’t worry. You won’t meet him, and you definitely won’t have to call him Dad.”

Bucky let out a faint huff, something caught between a snort and a sigh, but he didn’t relax. “Didn’t say I was worried,” he muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.

She smiled, brushing her fingers through his hair again with deliberate care. He closed his eyes again, letting her touch ground him as the weight of the day slowly ebbed away.

After a moment of silence, Bucky shifted slightly against her lap. His lips pressed together like he was trying to hold something back, but finally, the question slipped out. “Where… where did you meet this guy?”

Her fingers paused briefly in his hair before resuming their soothing rhythm. “At the bookstore,” she said lightly. “He comes in pretty often. We’ve had a few nice conversations over the past couple of months.”

Bucky frowned, his brows knitting together as he stared at the ceiling. “You’ve gone out with him before?”

She shook her head, smiling softly. “No, this will be the first time.”

He mulled that over, his gaze flickering with something unreadable before he glanced up at her. “So… what do you like about him?”

The question came out gruff, almost begrudging, but there was a flicker of genuine curiosity -or maybe hesitation- in his voice.

Her lips twitched with amusement as she considered the question. “Well,” she began, “he’s polite, for once. Always says hello and takes the time to ask how my day is going.”

Bucky huffed lightly, a soft sound of dismissal.

“And he’s thoughtful,” she continued. “One time, he brought me coffee because he noticed I was swamped with a shipment of books. Didn’t even stay to chat, just handed it to me and said he thought I might need it.”

“Sounds like a Boy Scout,” Bucky muttered, his tone laced with faint skepticism.

She chuckled softly, brushing her fingers lightly over his temple. “Maybe. But I like that he pays attention. He’s kind without expecting anything in return.”

Bucky stayed silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on some invisible point far away. Finally, he murmured, “So, you’re serious about him?”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “It’s just one date, Buck,” she said gently. “I’m not planning a wedding.” Her voice carried a reassuring warmth, softening the weight of his question. “I don’t even know if there’s anything there yet.”

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, his tone softer now, though the small frown on his face lingered. “Guess you’ll find out.”

“I guess I will,” she replied. After a pause, she added with a playful glint in her eyes, “But no matter what happens, it won’t change anything between us. You’re stuck with me, remember?”

Bucky’s lips twitched faintly, the ghost of a smile breaking through his lingering tension. “Yeah… I remember.”

Her fingers slid through his hair again with deliberate care, and the corners of his mouth relaxed, even if his eyes remained shadowed. Whatever the storm in his mind, her presence was enough to keep it at bay for now.

“Speaking of dates,” she said, lightly but curious, “you didn’t tell me how your date went with the woman from the grocery store. The one you told me about the last time we saw each other.”

Bucky shifted against her lap, suddenly looking a lot less relaxed. “I… kind of left in the middle of it,” he admitted, uncomfortable.

“Oh, you didn’t,” her eyebrows lifted in mock reproach as she tugged softly at his hair, as a playful reprimand.

He huffed, pressing his lips into a thin line. “She was… noisy,” he started, his voice tinged with frustration as he struggled to explain. “Talked too much, and it wasn’t even about anything interesting. Kept asking questions, but…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “She didn’t actually care about the answers. Just wanted to fill the silence.”

Her fingers paused briefly, then resumed their soothing rhythm through his hair. “That sounds exhausting,” she said softly, her tone full of understanding. “But that’s not the whole reason, is it?”

Bucky swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked away. “She was touchy,” he said finally. “Kept leaning in, grabbing my arm, laughing like… like it was supposed to make me feel good or something.”

“Did it?” she asked gently.

“No.” His response was firm, and his hands flexed at his sides as though the memory left him uneasy. “I wasn’t comfortable with her being so close. I don’t even think she noticed. Or cared.”

She sighed softly, her touch steady as she brushed her fingers through his hair again. “You’ll find someone who gets you. Someone who’ll respect your pace and what you need.”

His lips twitched faintly, like he wanted to smile but wasn’t quite sure how. “What if there’s not?” he muttered, his voice so quiet she almost didn’t catch it.

“There will be,” she reassured him. “You just have to be patient. And picky. Nothing wrong with that.”

For a moment, he was silent, the tension in his body softening just a little under her touch. Then, almost shyly, he murmured, “Thanks… Mama.”

She smiled warmly, leaning back into the couch as her hand continued to comb gently through his hair. “Anytime, honey.”

-----

Time had a way of slipping by, and before he knew it, Bucky found himself sitting across from another date. This one wasn’t noisy or overly touchy, and the small brewery they’d chosen wasn’t bad, either. He nursed a beer in one hand, his vibranium arm hidden beneath the sleeve of his Henley, as the woman across from him laughed at something he’d said, a low, cautious laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

Her eyes drifted to his wrist, where the dark leather bracelet he always wore peeked out from his sleeve. “I like that,” she said, nodding toward it. “The bracelet. It’s nice.”

He glanced at it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks. My mom gave it to me.”

Her expression faltered slightly, the smile on her lips growing a bit stiff. “Oh, that’s… sweet,” she said, tilting her head. “Do you, uh, live with your mom?”

Bucky furrowed his brows, looking at her like she’d just asked if the sky was purple. “No. Why?”

She shifted in her seat, her fingers toying with the edge of her glass. “Well, then you must be very… close to her. Are you the youngest son?”

“No.” His tone was sharper now, though he didn’t mean it to be. “Why?”

The woman hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around her drink. Finally, she gestured vaguely toward him, her voice dropping as though she were trying to be delicate. “Well… you’ve brought her up a lot. And, no offense, but it’s kind of… weird for a man your age. On a date, I mean.”

Bucky froze, his beer halfway to his lips. For a moment, he said nothing, his blue gaze narrowing slightly as he processed what she’d just said. Then, slowly, he set the bottle down, and his fingers tightened slightly around the glass. A familiar sense of unease churned in his chest, accompanied by the ache of frustration.

“Right,” he said finally with an even voice, though there was a subtle edge to it. “I guess that is weird.”

The woman shifted uncomfortably, her awkward smile faltering completely. “I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupted, leaning back in his chair. His expression was blank, his tone cool, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “Thanks for pointing that out.”

For the rest of the date, the conversation limped along, each attempt at salvaging it falling flat. Bucky found himself withdrawing, offering short, polite responses but little else. The spark of curiosity or connection -if there had ever been one- had fizzled out entirely.

When the check came, he paid for their drinks, refusing her offer to split it with a quiet but firm “Don’t worry about it.”

As they stepped outside, he offered a polite goodbye, but his tone was distant, and he didn’t wait for her to respond before walking off into the night.

He didn’t bring her up that much, did he? The thought came gruffly as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment, but deep down, he already knew the answer. Should’ve just stayed home.

His gaze fell to the leather bracelet again, and he sighed, slowing his footsteps.

‘Mom’ wouldn’t have made me feel like that.

He shook his head as he entered, the faint metallic clink of keys landing in the small ceramic bowl echoed through the quiet space. His lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze lingered on it. The damn bowl she picked because I couldn’t decide. He let out a low, frustrated growl, kicking off his boots near the door and running a hand through his hair.

His nose wrinkled as a faint scent clung to him, cigarettes, from his date. She must have smoked earlier, and now it lingered in his jacket, his shirt, even his hair. His brows furrowed. He didn’t like it. The realization was sharp, irritating, and only added to his foul mood as he stripped off his clothes while walking toward the bathroom.

The shower hissed to life, steam filling the room as he stepped under the hot spray, letting the water cascade over his shoulders. He rested his palms against the tile wall, hanging his head forward, dampening his hair.

The date replayed in his head in vivid detail: her awkward comments, the tight smile when she’d tried to backpedal, the judgment laced in her words. Weird for a man your age. He gritted his teeth, his knuckles whitening against the slick tiles.

She wasn’t wrong, he did bring up Mama more than he realized. But was that a crime? She was one of the few constants in his life that didn’t feel… hollow.

The thought only made the pit in his stomach grow heavier. The way she’d looked at him like he was some awkward, broken man who couldn’t function properly… it stung.

Before he knew it, his thoughts wandered to her instead. Not the woman from the date, but the one helping him put his life back together piece by piece. The one who’d picked out that damn bowl. The one who had sat on his couch, combing her fingers through his hair when he’d been too exhausted to speak.

His breathing hitched slightly as he remembered her touch, soft and unhurried, calming him in a way no one else ever had. He could almost feel the ghost of her fingers brushing through his hair, skimming over his temple with a care he didn’t deserve.

His hand slid down his chest, trailing over the wet planes of his torso, and he exhaled shakily, furrowing his brow. He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. It was wrong -so wrong- but his body didn’t seem to care.

His grip tightened on himself, and his head thunked lightly against the tile as a groan slipped past his lips. The hot water beat against his back, but it couldn’t drown out the traitorous images flooding his mind. Her smile, the warmth of her voice, the way she’d called him “honey” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his strokes becoming sharper, more desperate as if he could exorcise the feelings clawing their way to the surface. He shouldn’t be doing this, he admonished himself again. Not with Mama. Not the one person who made him feel safe.

And yet, the warmth of her imagined touch, the thought of her fingers tracing the scars on his skin or resting lightly against his jaw, was enough to push him over the edge. His release came with a choked groan, and his forehead pressed harder against the tile as his body shuddered.

For a moment, the only sound was the steady rhythm of the water and his ragged breathing.

And then the guilt hit him.

His hands clenched into fists, as his chest tightened. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he whispered harshly, his voice cracking under the weight of his self-reproach.

He braced himself against the wall, shaking his head slightly. He felt disgusting, his stomach twisted as shame crept in his mind. She trusted him -cared for him- and this was how he repaid that?

With a low, bitter laugh, he reached for the soap, scrubbing furiously at his skin as if he could wash away the evidence of what he’d just done. But no amount of scrubbing could cleanse the storm of emotions raging inside him.

It was wrong. He was wrong. And yet, deep down, a part of him couldn’t stop wanting.

Goddammit.

-----

When Sam hinted that week about needing him for a little thing in Kuala Lumpur, Bucky didn’t hesitate. It didn’t seem like something Wilson could handle solo, and besides, a mission was the perfect way to blow off some steam. Anything to quiet the thoughts that had been clawing at the back of his mind since the date -and especially- since that shower.

He sent a quick text to Mama, keeping it short and simple, their usual code for missions.

Taking a vacation this week. Won’t make Friday.

Her reply came quickly: Take care of yourself. Don’t engage in crazy fun.

Bucky huffed softly, shaking his head as he stared at the screen. Ok, Mom, he typed back, his lips twitching faintly despite himself.

Her response came almost immediately: I mean it, Jamie.

Fuck. His jaw tightened, and he locked the phone without answering. She always had a way of cutting through him, even with a couple of words. He shoved the phone into his pocket and headed to pack, grumbling under his breath.

When Sam picked him up a day later, Bucky was already in mission mode: focused, stoic, and bracing himself for whatever chaos Wilson was about to drag him into. But despite his best efforts to push her words aside, they echoed faintly in his mind.

Take care of yourself.

He’d try. For her.

-----

Things went slightly fine the first day, if you ignored the shooting, falling from a 15-story building into a trash container, and the broken shower in the safehouse. Bucky stood shirtless in front of the cracked bathroom mirror, grimacing as he splashed cold water over his chest and shoulders. The sink barely worked, sputtering like it might give up entirely, and the dingy tiles on the walls didn’t do much to make him feel clean.

“Man, this place is a dump,” Sam said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“Better than the street,” Bucky grunted, grabbing a threadbare towel to dry off.

Sam hummed noncommittally, watching as Bucky fumbled with the faucet. “So, how’s it going with her?”

Bucky froze briefly before answering. “Things are good.”

“Glad you finally listened to me.” Sam’s voice carried just a hint of smugness. “I mean, you’re still a pain in the ass, but at least your mood’s improved a lot these past months.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. You want me to thank you or something?”

“Nah,” Sam replied, grinning. “But I’ll take it as a win anyway.”

Bucky muttered something unintelligible under his breath and pushed past him, heading to the small, creaky bed in the corner of the cramped space.

That night, like most nights, sleep evaded him. He lay on his back, staring at the water-stained ceiling of the safehouse, while his mind spun with too many thoughts. Missions were supposed to clear his head, burn off the restlessness that kept him awake. But tonight, even exhaustion didn’t help.

With a frustrated sigh, he sat up and grabbed the disposable phone Sam had handed him earlier. He knew it was a bad idea, knew he should just put it away and try to rest, but his fingers moved on their own, pulling up her profile.

Her social media was usually quiet: cozy book displays from her job, pictures of the plants she was trying to keep alive, and the occasional funny meme. It was soothing, like a peek into a normal life that he could never fully touch.

But tonight, it wasn’t soothing.

His stomach dropped as he stared at the most recent photo, uploaded just a few hours ago. It was a close-up of two hands holding Sharpies, coloring a detailed mandala. One of the hands was hers, he recognized the delicate curve of her fingers, and the faint scar near her thumb. The other one was clearly male, broader and rougher.

The tags hit him like a punch to the gut:

#SoProudOfYou #AlmostAllByYourself

Bucky stared at the screen, and his chest tightened as the meaning sank in his brain.

Her other son.

It had to be him, the other veteran she worked with, the one she’d mentioned months ago. The one responsible for her being “unsure” about taking him in when Sam first approached her.

For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the floor. He could still picture the hands, the caption, the pride in her words. And it twisted in his chest, an uncomfortable, raw feeling he couldn’t shake.

He rubbed his hand over his face, groaning softly. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

It shouldn’t matter. She wasn’t his. She’d never been his, not in that way. He told himself that over and over, but the ache in his chest didn’t care. The idea of her giving someone else that same care, that same warmth, felt like a betrayal, even though he had no right to feel that way.

With a frustrated growl, Bucky tossed the phone onto the nightstand and dropped his head into his hands. For all the chaos of the mission, for all the bullets and explosions and pain, nothing had hit him harder than that damn photo.

And he hated himself for how much it hurt.

-----

The mission wrapped up in a flurry of controlled chaos. The intel had been secured, the enhanced assholes neutralized, and while Sam emerged with only a few scratches, Bucky sported a fresh bruise on his jaw and a deep gash on his forearm, not that he cared.

The flight back was quiet, the hum of the jet’s engines filling the cabin as Bucky sat slumped in one of the seats, staring a blank point in front of him. His vibranium fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest, the only outward sign of the storm brewing in his head.

Across the aisle, Sam noticed. He always noticed.

At first, he let it be, figuring Bucky’s mood would even out once they hit the ground. But as the hours dragged on, and the Winter Sulker stayed silent, Sam couldn’t help himself.

“You’re quiet,” Sam said, leaning back in his seat.

Bucky didn’t respond, his gaze kept fixed on the clouds outside.

Sam tried again, his tone a little sharper this time. “You gonna sit there brooding the whole way, or are you gonna tell me what’s eating you?”

Still, nothing.

Sam let out a sigh, shaking his head. “Alright, fine. But let me guess: You’re pissed off because someone scratched your arm? Or wait, maybe you’re mad because someone didn’t say ‘thank you sir’ after you saved their life?”

Bucky’s fingers stilled on the armrest, tightening his jaw.

That was all the opening Sam needed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, man, I’m not blind. You’ve been sulking since day one of this mission. You want to talk about it, or do I have to guess some more?”

Bucky’s head snapped toward him, his eyes narrowing. “Just drop it, Wilson.”

“See, now you’ve got me curious,” Sam said, grinning in a way that only made Bucky’s irritation spike. “What’s got the great James Buchanan Barnes in such a mood? Did Mama scold you over text?”

That did it. Bucky shot out of his seat, towering over Sam with a scowl. “I said drop it!” he barked, his voice echoed in the small cabin.

Sam didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He just stared up at Bucky. “So it is about her.”

Bucky froze, clenching his fists at his sides.

“Man, you’ve been walking around like someone kicked your dog,” Sam continued, with a softer tone. “And I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, you’ve got to get it out before it eats you alive.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before sitting back down with a heavy thud. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and muttered, “It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Sam pointed out.

“It’s fine,” Bucky snapped tiredly.

Sam watched him for a moment before sighing and leaning back. “Alright. Keep it to yourself if you want. But I’m telling you now, whatever’s got you in this mood, you better work it out before it gets worse.

Bucky didn’t answer, turning his gaze back to the blank point. The rest of the flight passed in tense silence, as the weight of Sam’s words pressed down on him more than he wanted to admit.

----

He entered his apartment, dragging his feet like every step took more effort than it should. The mission had taken more out of him than he cared to admit, though it wasn’t the physical strain, it was the weight in his chest that seemed to grow heavier every time he returned to this quiet, empty space.

He grabbed his dead phone from the counter and plugged into the charger, barely glancing at the notifications, and made his way to the bed. The mattress was thin, and the pillows hard, as she’d suggested. “A good way to transition from the floor,” she’d said, and damned if she hadn’t been right. He’d hated it at first, but now… now it felt like his.

He dropped onto it without bothering to change, his eyes closing almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. He was so tired. So fucking tired.

That night, the nightmares came back.

And the next night.

And the next.

-----

Several days later, she was pacing her living room, phone in hand, staring at the screen with her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Whatever Bucky was into, it must have been over by now. She was sure of it, or at least, she hoped so. The radio silence was starting to worry her.

He wasn’t one to check in often -God knew that- but after all these months, she’d learned his rhythms. This wasn’t like him, not entirely. Not answering her, staying quiet this long? That wasn’t just distance. That was something else.

Finally, she typed a quick, casual message:

Still at the resort, hun?

His reply came faster than she’d expected, but it was curt.

No.

Her brows furrowed. Oh, okay, she thought, frowning at the screen. Something felt off. She typed again.

Everything alright? Did you have more fun than intended?

The dots in the chat appeared, blinked, and then disappeared.

Okay, she thought, waiting. Then they blinked again. And disappeared.

Bucky, are you hurt? she finally wrote with concern.

This time, the message was read almost instantly, but no reply came.

She sighed, deepening her frown. She knew this pattern all too well. When Bucky didn’t answer, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to, it was because he didn’t know how.

“Alright, Buck,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her bag. “Time for a visit.”

This wasn’t the first time she’d done this, dropping everything to pull him out of whatever dark place he’d retreated to. He’d let her in, little by little, trusting her with parts of himself no one else saw. She’d told herself it was about helping him, being there for him in the way he needed.

But it was more than that.

The truth, the one she kept swallowing down, was that her care for him didn’t fit neatly into the boundaries of their arrangement. It wasn’t maternal, not entirely. It was something more, something deeper. She shoved the thought aside, tightening her grip on her bag. Principles, she reminded herself firmly. Getting involved with him like that would be wrong. He deserved better.

But she couldn’t stop herself from caring.

She grabbed the key off the hook by her door and headed out. Not answering the door wasn’t going to be an option this time.

Not for her.

As expected, her knocks were met with silence. She sighed with resignation and slipped the key into the lock.

The door creaked open, and she wrinkled her nose as the stale, charged air of the apartment hit her. It wasn’t the worst she’d seen it, but it was far from the neat, semi-organized space they’d worked on together. Her gaze swept the room, taking in the scattered clothes on the floor and a small pile of takeout containers on the counter.

At least he’s been eating, she thought, a small relief in the face of the mess.

The faint sound of water running led her to the source: the bathroom. The shower.

She turned her focus back to the living room, her lips pressing into a line as she slid the window open to let in some fresh air. The cool breeze offered a small reprieve from the heaviness of the space.

Spotting a roll of garbage bags near the counter, she grabbed one and started tidying up. The crumpled clothes went into a hamper, the empty takeout boxes into the bag. She wiped at the counter absently, and her mind drifted to the last time he’d gone radio silent like this.

Whatever this is, we’ll get through it, she told herself.

She was so focused on her task, that she didn’t notice when the sound of the shower stopped, or when Bucky emerged from the hallway.

He stood there, quiet and guarded, with a towel slung low around his hips. Droplets of water clung to his skin, rolling down the faint scars on his flesh arm and chest. His stare was intense and unreadable as he watched her move around his apartment as if she belonged there.

“What are you doing here?”

His voice startled her, low and edged with exhaustion. She turned sharply, the garbage bag crinkling in her hands as her eyes met his.

“Oh,” she said, recovering quickly. Her gaze flicked briefly over him before landing firmly on his face. “I knocked. You didn’t answer.” She gestured toward the bag in her hands. “Figured I’d help you out a little.”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“No,” she replied evenly, setting the bag down and crossing her arms. “But I wasn’t about to leave you stewing in here like this.”

His jaw worked as he shifted his weight. “I’m fine.”

She raised an skeptical eyebrow. “Yeah? Because this,” she gestured to the room, “doesn’t exactly scream ‘fine,’ Buck.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. “I didn’t ask for a lecture.”

“Good,” she shot back, her tone soft but firm. “Because I’m not giving you one. I’m here because I care about you, and you clearly need someone right now. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, and his guarded expression wavered slightly. Then, with a tired sigh, he stepped further into the room, slumping his shoulders. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Maybe not,” she admitted with a soft gaze. “But I’m here now. So let me help.”

He didn’t respond, but the fight seemed to drain out of him. His shoulders loosened, and he dropped into a chair near the counter, fixing his gaze somewhere on the floor.

She picked up the garbage bag again, resuming her quiet cleanup. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to coax him out of his own head, and she suspected it wouldn’t be the last. But as she moved around the room, she noticed the faintest crack in his armor, proof that he was letting her in, even if he didn’t have the words to say it yet.

“So… what’s going on?” she asked, as she picked up a wrinkled pair of boxers from one of the chairs.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to the offending garment, then back to her face. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his damp hair. He was tired, tired of pretending, tired of holding back.

“I’m… jealous.” he admitted reluctantly.

She paused, her fingers tightened around the fabric before dropping it into the laundry pile. “Jealous?” she echoed, her brows furrowing. “Of who?”

His jaw tensed, and his gaze darted away before he muttered, “I saw it. The Sharpies picture.”

Her lips parted slightly in understanding. “Oh,” she said softly. “And?”

“And…” He sighed again, the frustration etched into every line of his face. “You never did that with me.”

“Coloring?” she asked, tilting her head. “I didn’t think you’d be into it, babe.”

“Not coloring,” he said sharply, running a hand through his damp hair again. Then his voice softened, but his words carried a heavy weight. “The… the picture.”

Oh.

“Well,” she started gently, “you’re not exactly a fan of social media. And you always grump when I try to take one of us.”

“It’s not that,” he said, shaking his head. His blue eyes finally met hers, raw and vulnerable in a way that made her chest tighten. “It’s… I forget sometimes that I’m not your only son.”

Oh.

He leaned back in the chair, running his hand over his face as if to hide the emotions flickering across it. “I don’t like the idea of sharing you,” he admitted, in a low, almost bitter tone.

She swallowed hard. “Well, it happens all the time,” she said cautiously, trying to keep her tone light. “Brothers usually don’t like-”

“He’s not my brother,” Bucky interrupted firmly, snapping his gaze to hers.

The air in the room shifted. His next words came softer, but they hit like a thunderclap.

“And you… you’re not my ma.”

The room seemed to still, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge in the background.

She stared at him, her pulse thrumming in her ears. “Bucky…”

“I hate it,” he said, dropping his hands to his lap as he looked at her with a mix of anger and desperation. “I hate that I look forward to seeing you more than I’ve looked forward to anything in years. I hate that I can’t stand the thought of anyone else getting what I get. And I hate that I don’t know what the hell to do about it.”

Her heart felt like it was being squeezed as she searched for the right words. “Bucky,” she said softly, leaning toward him, “this… this doesn’t have to be something you hate.”

“I know,” he said, his voice was raw and strained. “But I can’t manage my feelings toward you.”

Her breath caught, and her heart twisted painfully as she absorbed the weight of his confession. She leaned back slightly, clenching her hands together in her lap and sighed.

“Bucky,” she started softly, “this bond we’ve built… it’s compromised. It’s not what it’s supposed to be anymore. It wouldn’t be ethical for me to continue mothering you.”

His head snapped up, his blue eyes went wide and glassy with panic. The look on his face made her chest ache. He looked utterly wrecked, his lips parted as if to argue, but no words came at first.

“No,” he finally stammered, his voice shaky and uneven. “No, please. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- I’ll stop. I’ll never bring it up again, I swear.” His breath hitched, and he shook his head as if trying to find the right words. “Just… don’t leave me, Mama.”

He reached for her hand, firmly but also trembling. His vibranium fingers brushed against her wrist, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the warmth of his touch. “I need you,” he said, his voice breaking.

Her heart shattered at the sheer desperation in his voice, in the way his thumb nervously rubbed over the back of her hand like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

With her free hand, she reached up and cupped his stubbled cheek, softly brushing her thumb over a scar near his jawline. His breath hitched again, and his eyes fluttered shut momentarily, as though her touch was calming him.

“This ordeal isn’t right, sweetheart,” she murmured. “It’s not fair to you. Or to me.”

“But-” His hand tightened around hers, his body leaned closer to her as though proximity alone could keep her from slipping away. “I’ll do better. I’ll keep it together. Just… please, don’t go. Don’t give up on me.”

“Bucky,” she whispered, tracing soothing circles on his cheek. “It’s not about giving up on you. It’s about what’s right. What’s healthy.”

“I don’t care about right,” he choked out, his voice trembling. “I just… I can’t lose you too.”

Her hand trembled slightly where it rested against his cheek, but she steadied herself with a deep breath.

“Bucky,” she began softly, tentative but growing steadier as she continued, “I also have feelings for you. I’ve been having them for a while now.”

His breath hitched, his wide eyes searching hers desperately, but before he could speak, she pushed forward.

“I was never going to act on it,” she said firmly. “Because it would mean taking advantage of you.”

His brows furrowed deeply, and he shook his head, rising his voice with frustration and disbelief. “I’m a grown man. You can’t take advantage of me.”

“You know that’s not true,” she countered gently but unyieldingly.“You trust me, Bucky. You let me in, more than anyone else. And that’s why we can’t do this dynamic anymore.”

Her words hit him like a physical blow. His grip on her hand tightened, and his shoulders hunched as his head dipped forward slightly. For a moment, he was silent, breathing heavily as he tried to process her words.

“No,” he murmured, shaking his head, his voice broke as he looked back up at her with unshed tears brightening his eyes. “No… Ma… you can’t just-”

“Bucky,” she said softly, cutting him off with a tenderness that nearly undid him. Her fingers brushed his cheek again, tracing soothing circles as her heart ached at the devastation written across his face. “The contract we made, the boundaries we agreed on, it doesn’t fit us anymore. I can’t keep pretending to be something I’m not.”

His breath hitched, the knot in his throat tightened as he struggled to find words. “But you’re not-” he started, voice trembling.

She shook her head gently, stopping him again. “I’m not your mom, Bucky. You said it yourself.” Her voice wavered just enough to betray the conflict she felt.

His lips parted, but no sound came as he searched her face, desperate for something -anything-that might keep her close.

“That being said…” she murmured after a beat, her thumb still brushing gently against his cheek. Her eyes softened as they searched for his. “We can try… dating. To see how and where this might go, because that’s something completely different.”

His mind blanked for a moment, as her words hit him. Dating?

The word echoed in his head, feeling too big and too small all at once. He blinked, his mouth opening slightly as he struggled to process what she’d just said. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out, his breath caught somewhere between confusion and longing.

Dating… her?

His heart twisted, caught in the crossfire of disbelief and a yearning he’d buried for so long it felt foreign. She wasn’t pulling back. She wasn’t brushing this off or deflecting like he’d feared. Instead, she was offering something he hadn’t dared to hope for.

Does she mean it?

For so long, he’d kept his feelings locked away, hidden in the shadows of his mind where they couldn’t hurt him -or anyone else-. But now, here she was, standing in front of him, dragging those feelings into the light with words that felt both terrifying and exhilarating.

“…What?” he finally managed, the word slipping out before he could stop it. His voice was rough, strained, tangled somewhere between confusion and desperation.

Her expression didn’t falter, but there was a faint glimmer of vulnerability in her eyes, just enough to make his chest ache. “Dating, Bucky,” she repeated. “Not as your mom. Not as anyone else. Just… as us.”

Us.

His throat tightened, and his hands flexed against hers. The knot in his chest twisted painfully, caught between fear and something that felt dangerously close to relief.

Could there even be an us?

“Bucky, you’re doing the staring thing,” she said softly, her voice tinged with amusement, though her eyes remained serious as if willing him to believe her.

The corner of his mouth twitched, a faint huff of air escaped his nose as he ducked his head slightly. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I thought it was just me. You’re… sure about me?

Her thumb brushed gently along his jaw, and a small, reassuring smile tugged at her lips. “I wouldn’t be here saying this if I wasn’t sure, Buck.”

He glanced at her lips, the desire to close the space between them was almost overwhelming, but he hesitated. “You’re not… scared?”

“Of you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “Never.” Her smile grew just a bit, as she added, “You’re not as intimidating as you think, you know.”

That earned a faint chuckle, though it was weighed down by the uncertainty still lingering in his chest. “I just… I’m not exactly easy, you know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m complicated. Messed up.”

She shook her head, squeezing his hand gently. “Bucky, all these months I’ve been coming here to be with you, you’ve opened up to me in ways I don’t think you’ve done with anyone else. You’ve trusted me with parts of yourself that I know aren’t easy to share.”

Her voice softened, her thumb brushing gently over his knuckles. “I know what I’m dealing with. And I can promise you, you’re not a mess. Not to me.”

His chest tightened at her words. He exhaled slowly, his blue eyes flicking between hers as if searching for any trace of doubt but all he saw was warmth. “Then,” he began, his tone was low but went higher as he steadied himself. “Let’s-let’s go. On a date.”

Her lips twitched, and she glanced down briefly, with a playful glint dancing in her eyes. “Well, to go right now, you should probably put some clothes on first, don’t you think?”

For a moment, he blinked, caught off guard by the shift, until her words sank in. His gaze darted down to the towel wrapped loosely around his hips, and the faintest flush crept up his neck.

“I didn’t mean right now, Ma-” He caught himself, his jaw tightened as he quickly corrected, “Doll.” The word came out gruff, almost embarrassed, as he scratched the back of his neck, his eyes flicking away for a second.

Her brow arched at the slip, but she didn’t comment, though the faint smile tugging at her lips didn’t go unnoticed.

Bucky shifted slightly, rolling his shoulders, and for once, the knowledge that she wanted this too -wanted him- settled something inside him. The usual discomfort of being caught off guard wasn’t there. Instead, he felt a spark of confidence, small but growing.

She leaned back in her chair, deciding to give him the space to take the lead. Considering his old-fashioned upbringing, it felt right to let him set the tone, not just to give him control, but to help him feel steady.

“So,” she said lightly, playful but encouraging, “pick a place and a time, and we’ll see.”

He nodded slowly, flexing his fingers against his knee before leaning back slightly in his seat. The movement shifted the towel around his hips just enough to make her painfully aware of the fact that he was still half-naked.

Her eyes traced the line of his shoulders, and the slight curve of his jaw as he glanced down in thought. Then her wandering gaze dipped against her better judgment, tracing the line of his chest, the faint curve of muscle at his stomach, and the scars she’d never quite let herself linger on before.

When her eyes flicked back up to his face, his sharp blue gaze was already on her, a flicker of amusement sparking in his expression. His lips twitched into a faint smirk, “Okay,” he said, more confident now. “I’ll… figure it out.”

Her cheeks warmed faintly, and she quickly forced a smile, hoping it would cover her flustering. “Take your time, Bucky. Just not too long.”

He tipped his head slightly, and his smirk deepened with an easy confidence in his posture that was now unmistakable. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

----

True to his word, her phone buzzed with a message a couple of days later.

Dinner? Friday at 7. That place you mentioned once, Marcellino’s.

She blinked at the screen, parting her lips in surprise. Marcellino’s? The Italian place she’d mentioned months ago, almost offhandedly, as a “bucket list” spot she’d love to visit someday? How had he even remembered?

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard before she typed back.

Seriously? I’ve been dying to go there. How’d you manage reservations so fast?

On the other side of town, Bucky stared at her message, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he reclined on his couch. It had been a pain finding a reservation on such short notice; apparently, Marcellino’s had been booked solid for weeks. But hacking into their system had been child’s play, a few keystrokes, some backdoor access, and voilà: table for two, Friday at 7.

She would never know, of course.

He typed back simply.

I’ve got my ways.

Her reply came quickly, punctuated with a laughing emoji.

Mysterious, huh? Alright, Bucky. I’ll see you on Friday.

Bucky exhaled slowly, setting his phone down and leaning back against the couch. A small, quiet sense of satisfaction settled in his chest. It wasn’t just the date, it was the effort, the planning, and the decision to put himself out there in a way he hadn’t in decades.

Friday couldn’t come fast enough.

----

When the cab pulled up to the curb, she spotted him immediately. He was standing just outside the restaurant, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark suit pants. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was distracted, fixed on something across the street.

She rarely saw him out of his usual Henleys and jeans, but God help her, he cleaned up well. The suit was perfectly tailored, the dark fabric accentuating his broad shoulders and tapering at his waist. His hair, usually left to its own devices, was slicked back neatly, the sharp lines of his jawline even more striking under the glow of the streetlights.

For a second, she forgot how to breathe.

Bucky, oblivious to her arrival, shifted his weight slightly, his vibranium fingers flexing in his pocket as his flesh hand adjusted his tie. She smiled to herself, taking the opportunity to appreciate him while his guard was down. He was so effortlessly striking, yet she knew he’d put thought into it. He really wanted this to go right.

Finally, she stepped out of the cab, and her heels clicked softly against the pavement. “Hey, handsome,” she called out.

Bucky’s head snapped toward her, his distracted expression melting into something softer. His lips parted slightly, raking his gaze over her from head to toe. “Wow,” he murmured, low and rough. “You look…” He trailed off, his mouth twitching like he couldn’t find the right word.

“Good?” she offered with a smirk, stepping closer.

“Better than good,” he corrected, “Way better.”

Her cheeks warmed under his gaze, but she managed to keep her tone casual. “You’re not looking so bad yourself, Buck. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you do this sort of thing all the time.”

He huffed a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck, though the faint pink dusting his ears didn’t go unnoticed. “Guess I clean up okay.”

“Okay?” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Try amazing.”

He ducked his head slightly, a rare but genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks,” he muttered, holding out his arm. “You ready?”

She looped her hand through his, letting him lead her toward the entrance. As they stepped inside, she couldn’t help but think this was already shaping up to be the best first date she’d ever had.

The table was in a prime spot near a window overlooking the city lights. Bucky pulled out her chair smoothly, motioning for her to sit confidently, making her heart flutter.

He settled across her with fluid movements. Despite the nerves buzzing in his chest, they were the good kind of nerves, normal ones. The kind that came with wanting to impress someone without feeling like he had to prove his worth.

He already knew her.

That made everything easier. There was no need to rack his brain for icebreakers, no awkward pauses to fill, no second-guessing every little thing he said. Instead, he could focus entirely on her: the soft curve of her smile, the way her eyes sparkled in the candlelight, the way she twisted her hands together on the table when she thought he wasn’t looking.

And, maybe, on seducing her. Not aggressively, but in the easy, intentional way he remembered from a lifetime ago. A brush of his fingers here, a lingering glance there, the kind of thing that built tension without needing words.

If he was rusty, it didn’t show.

She, on the other hand, was a wreck.

Her posture was perfect, her smile warm, but underneath the table, her knees bounced faintly, betraying the swirl of emotions coursing through her. This was -and wasn’t- her Bucky.

The man sitting across from her wasn’t the grumpy, guarded man she’d coaxed out of his shell with patience and care. This Bucky was confident, deliberate. The way his piercing gaze lingered just a second too long, the faint smirk tugging at his lips when he caught her fidgeting, he wasn’t shy about letting her know she had his full attention.

And it was overwhelming. Not in a bad way -it was thrilling- but it left her feeling completely off balance.

She wasn’t in charge anymore.

The realization sent a wave of warmth through her body, leaving her acutely aware of every little detail: the way he leaned forward slightly when she spoke, the way his hand rested on the table, close enough to brush hers if she dared to reach out.

God help her, she thought faintly, swallowing hard. If this was Bucky now, she couldn’t imagine what Sergeant Barnes of the 1940s must have been like. A menace, no doubt. A walking, talking heartbreaker wrapped in charm and good manners.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his again, and he gave her a slow, knowing smile, one that sent her pulse skittering.

She tightened her grip on the edge of her napkin, trying to will herself to relax. This was Bucky. And yet, sitting across from him like this, with the weight of his attention focused entirely on her, it felt like seeing him for the first time all over again.

When the food arrived, Bucky’s face was a masterclass of self-control. His expression remained completely neutral as the waiter arranged the plates with what could only be described as an air of reverence. He nodded politely when the man finished, even offering a quiet “thank you,” though inside he was already questioning his life choices.

Once the waiter walked away, he let his eyes shift to her, raising a brow to see if she was thinking the same thing he was.

Her lips twitched, struggling to suppress a laugh as she glanced down at her plate. The elegant presentation might have fooled someone else, but all she could see was what appeared to be a tiny portion of gnocchi, barely enough to feed a toddler.

Bucky’s plate wasn’t much better: three perfectly arranged sorrentinos, sitting proudly in the center of an artfully swirled sauce. It was the most stylish and inviting minimalist plate he’d ever seen.

He glanced back up at her, his lips twitching as her shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“This…” she started, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle a giggle, “…this is it?”

Bucky huffed, leaning back in his chair as he gave his plate a long, scrutinizing look. “Guess we’re supposed to savor it,” he said dryly.

She bit her lip, trying and failing to stifle another laugh. “It seems they’re encouraging portion control.”

He scowled. “Didn’t know I’d be eating an appetizer disguised as dinner, goddammit.”

“I’m… I’m sorry! I didn’t know… they have such great feedback!” she groaned still chuckling.

“It’s my fault,” he muttered, spearing one of the sorrentinos with his fork and eyeing it as if it had personally insulted him. “For not checking the place out better.”

He couldn’t believe he’d hacked their system for this. He’d spent nearly an hour working around firewalls and reservations, all to secure a table at this supposedly renowned spot. It hadn’t even occurred to him to scout the menu or check the portion sizes.

This wouldn’t have happened to the old me, he thought bitterly, chewing slowly on his second overpriced sorrentino. His jaw tightened as the familiar ache of inadequacy crept into his chest.

She must have noticed the subtle shift in his expression because, without a word, she reached across the table and rested her hand over his.

“Bucky,” she said softly, her voice laced with gentle authority. “Don’t you dare take a ride on the self-deprecation train.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers with surprise, before relaxing his features.

“This,” she continued, squeezing his hand lightly, “is just an anecdote. Something to laugh about later, hm? It doesn’t mean anything except that we picked a fancy place with tiny portions. That’s it.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, flexing his fingers slightly under hers. Then, reluctantly, his lips twitched into a faint smirk. “An anecdote, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling now, her thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. “Something to tell people one day, how you bravely faced off against a plate of minimalist pasta. Now finish your last bite so we can leave and find something less fancy but more substantial,” she stated with amusement.

Bucky poked at the last piece of pasta with his fork, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Even the breadbasket was sad,” he grumbled, as he signaled for the waiter to bring the bill.

The waiter approached, and with a politely confused expression, he noted their early departure. “Would you like to see the dessert menu, perhaps?” he offered, his tone gracious but hoping to redeem the situation.

“No, thank you,” Bucky replied smoothly, his voice polite but final. He slid his card across the table before she could even think about reaching for her wallet.

“Bucky-” she started, but he cut her off with a quick shake of his head.

“Don’t even try,” he said firmly but light enough to soften the refusal.

She huffed but didn’t argue further, leaning back in her chair as he settled the bill. Once it was taken care of, Bucky stood and offered her his hand, helping her up with ease.

As they made their way toward the exit, he placed a gentle hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the door he opened for her.

“Such a gentleman,” she teased, as she stepped outside into the cool night air.

“Only for you, doll” he murmured, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk as he shifted slightly to shield her from a passing breeze.

She stepped beside him, automatically taking the inner spot on the sidewalk as he steered her toward it and slipped her hand easily onto his offered arm

“So,” he said after a moment, “Any ideas where we’re finding this substantial food? Or am I winging it?”

She laughed softly, squeezing his arm. “Let’s see what’s nearby. Maybe we’ll find a place with a breadbasket that doesn’t make you sad.”

“That’s a low bar,” he muttered, earning another laugh that made his chest feel lighter than it had all night.

They ended up at a small, no-frills pizza place, tucked into the corner of a quiet street. The neon sign in the window flickered faintly, and the smell of melted cheese and fresh dough hit them the moment they stepped inside.

Sliding onto the high bar stools at a tiny plastic table, they both seemed keenly aware of how out of place they looked. Her dress shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lights, and his perfectly tailored suit drew more than a few curious glances from the other patrons, who were clad in hoodies and jeans.

Bucky sat a little stiffly at first, as he glanced around. The contrast between this place and the upscale restaurant they’d just left wasn’t lost on him, but the casual atmosphere somehow felt more... right. Still, the attention made him uneasy, and he shifted slightly, brushing his vibranium hand on the edge of the table.

But then he looked at her.

She had a slice in her hand, the cheese stretching almost comically as she took a bite. Her shoulders relaxed as she chewed, and then she closed her eyes, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips.

Bucky’s brows lifted slightly, locking his gaze on her as a faint flush crept up his neck. He watched her savor the bite, her fingers tapping lightly on the table to emphasize her approval.

In that moment, every awkward glance from the other patrons, every thought about his appearance or how ridiculous they looked, melted away.

All he could think about was her.

“Good?” he asked, unable to stop staring.

She opened her eyes, blinking like she’d momentarily forgotten where she was. “So good,” she said, curling her lips into a satisfied smile. “I needed this.”

“Glad I could deliver,” he teased, taking a bite of his slice after winking at her.

She shook her head with a small laugh, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “You know… I don’t get it. How did all your last dates go so bad, Bucky?”

He paused mid-bite, chewing slower as the thought crossed his mind. Maybe because I couldn’t stop bringing up my ‘mom’ in conversations like some kind of creep.

“Because they weren’t you.”

The answer came easily, effortlessly, but the way her eyes widened told him she hadn’t expected it.

Her lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in his voice. For once, she was the one scrambling for words, the usual balance between them tipping in a way that made her pulse quicken. “Bucky…”

He held her gaze. “I mean it.”

She blinked, the teasing light in her eyes dimming as something warmer and softer, replaced it. Slowly, her lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, fiddling her fingers with the edge of her napkin as she tried to gather herself.

“Well,” she murmured playfully, “I guess they didn’t stand a chance, huh?”

“Not even close,” he agreed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back slightly on the barstool. The suit jacket he wore pulled just enough to highlight the sharp lines of his shoulders, and for a brief moment, she found herself really looking at him. The paper napkin in his hand felt absurdly out of place against the polished, confident image he presented, but somehow, it only made him more endearing.

She reached for another slice of pizza as if that would help her steady herself. She didn’t say anything, couldn’t, because what could she possibly say to that? Instead, she glanced down quickly, busying herself with her plate and hoping he didn’t notice the sudden warmth in her cheeks.

When her eyes flicked back up, he was still watching her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. It wasn’t teasing or overconfident, just… him.

As they finished their meal, the buzz of the restaurant began to fade into the background, leaving just the two of them in their little corner of the world. Bucky leaned back, draining the last of his drink before standing and adjusting his jacket. He offered her his hand, his vibranium fingers catching the soft light. “Come on,” he said in an inviting voice.

“Where?” she asked, slipping her hand into his.

“Just… a walk,” he replied, almost tentative “Unless you’re in a hurry to call it a night.”

“Not at all.” She promptly answered as she rose to meet him.

They wandered down the sidewalk unhurriedly as the night wrapped around them. The streetlights cast long shadows, and their conversation flowed easily, punctuated by the occasional laugh or lingering glance. For a while, neither seemed to notice the passing of time. But then a cool breeze rolled in, and he felt her shiver slightly beside him.

He stopped, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Alright,” he murmured reluctantly, “I’m calling you a cab.”

She blinked, furrowing her brow . “What? Why?”

“You’re cold,” he said simply, his tone firm despite the regret in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she argued, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her words.

“Doll,” he said, shaking his head with a faint smile, “you’re shivering. I’m not letting you walk around all night freezing.”

Her lips curved into a teasing smirk. “You could just lend me your jacket, you know. Like they do in the movies. Then I’d nuzzle into it because it smells like you, the usual cliché.”

He quirked an eyebrow, and his smirk widened into something distinctly playful. “You know, if you want to smell me, you can do it whenever you want.”

Her mouth fell open slightly, her cheeks burning as her witty comeback disappeared from her brain.

He chuckled, clearly pleased with her reaction, but his expression softened as he continued. “You’re shivering,” he repeated. “I’m not about to let you freeze out here.”

She folded her arms, attempting to regain her composure. “I’m really fine.”

“Trust me,” he said, pulling out his phone, “if I gave you my jacket, I’d have to carry you home. You’d drown in it.”

She let out a small huff, quirking her lips into a reluctant smile. “Fine,” she relented. “But only because I don’t want you giving me that sad, guilty look all night.”

“Guilty?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow as he tapped at his screen.

“Yeah,” she teased, nudging him lightly. “Like you’re already blaming yourself for the weather.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he finished ordering the cab. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

-----

As they waited, he guided her toward the side of the building, resting his hand instinctively on her lower back as he steered her out of the breeze.

“Thanks for tonight, Bucky,” she said softly, leaning slightly into him, guided by the warmth of his hand.

Bucky froze for half a second, as the closeness of her body sent his heart into overdrive. She tilted her head to look up at him, and she smiled, not quite shy but not entirely bold either.

For a moment, he struggled. His old-fashioned nature tugged at him, warning him to hold back, to wait. He wasn’t sure how these things worked anymore, not when it came to her. Did he ask? Did he wait for her to make the first move?

But then her gaze dipped just for a second, to his lips.

Slowly, carefully, he leaned down, giving her time to pull away.

She didn’t, parting her lips ever so slightly, and it was all the reassurance he needed.

Their lips met, and the world seemed to still. The kiss was soft, tentative, but filled with all the emotions he hadn’t known how to put into words. His vibranium hand slid gently up her upper back, steadying her, while his flesh fingers brushed the curve of her jaw.

She leaned into him, resting her hands lightly on the lapels of his suit jacket and the kiss deepened, just enough to send a pleasant warmth humming through them both before they slowly pulled back.

Her eyes fluttered open, and a small smile played at her lips as she whispered, “Took you long enough.”

He huffed out a low laugh as his hand lingered at her back. “Guess I’m a little rusty.”

“Not bad for rusty,” she teased, curling her fingers slightly against his jacket.

He sighed as he raked a hand through his hair. “You’re good for me, you know that?”

Her smile widened, and she nudged him gently. “I try.”

He bit his lip, glancing down briefly before meeting her gaze again. “Even without trying, these past months, they’ve been…” He paused, the words catching in his throat as he searched for the right way to say it.

“Good… in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. Because of you.” He managed to finish the best he could.

Her heart swelled at the raw honesty of his voice. She leaned closer, brushing her hand lightly against his chest. “You’ve done a lot of that yourself, you know,” she said softly. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

“Maybe,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint, almost shy smile. “But you were there. That made all the difference.”

She smiled, her thumb brushing over the lapel of his jacket. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” he murmured, “Because I’m not letting you.”

They just stood there, the hum of the city fading into the background. The night was cool, but the warmth between them was enough to keep the chill at bay. Finally, he tilted his head. “Ready to go?”

“No,” she pouted softly, looping her arm through his with a playful glint in her eyes.

Bucky hesitated for a fraction of a second, dipping his gaze to her lips again before he acted on impulse. His hand slid around her waist, gently pulling her closer as he leaned in.

This kiss was different, more sure, deliberate. His lips pressed against hers with a tenderness that made her knees feel weak, and she melted into him without hesitation.

When he finally pulled back, he let his lips brush against her cheek, trailing softly upward until they rested near her temple.

“Don’t make it difficult, Ma,” he teased lowly against her skin.

She let out a soft, breathy laugh, as she leaned into him. “Not my fault you’re irresistible, sweetheart.”

His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile against her temple before he sighed softly, resting his hand lightly on her lower back. With an easy motion, he guided her toward the waiting cab at the curb.

When they reached it, he opened the door for her without a word. She stepped in, pausing briefly to glance back at him. Her lips were still curved, and her warm smile made his chest ache in the best way.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” she said softly.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, a little rough around the edges. His gaze lingered on her, flexing his fingers slightly as if reluctant to let go of the door. Finally, he shut it gently, stepping back as the cab pulled away.

For a long moment, he stood there with his hands tucked into his pockets, watching as the car merged into the traffic and disappeared into the city lights. Finally, he turned slowly heading home, the faintest trace of a smile still tugging at his lips. For once, the night didn’t weigh so heavily on him, as he carried the lingering warmth of her smile and the memory of her kiss.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[notafunkiller]

Bucky Barnes is the best super soldier

How it was subtly emphasized in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier:

He always holds back

With the Flag Smashers and even with John Walker. We could see the difference in the last 3 episodes. Sebastian Stan did an incredible job making it clear in a subtle way.

I want to mention that famous "Stay there" scene, and how it was visible Bucky was not punching as hard as he can in the fight with John.)

This is the thing about Bucky, he isn't after the kill, he just does his part. He doesn't try to show off his skills or that he is a good guy. He doesn't try to play the victim role, either. In the scene where Zemo fake-activates the Winter Soldier in Madripoor, he just makes a point. He's obviously not even trying hard.

If he wanted those in the club dead, they would be. But his self control was wow. Sebastian acted so well, his exes said everything.

*And to be honest, even when he was TWS, he could have killed everyone, but he didn't. He could have killed all of the Avengers in Civil War is they were his mission, but they weren't. This is how Natasha survived when she met him, too. It depended on what kind of mission he had (if he wasn't allowed to be seen, then the witnesses would die too, but otherwise? He didn't bother).

2. His skills

People tend to forget how smart and good at making strategies Bucky is. He's been fighting (even though he hates fighting and never wanted to be in the army) for years before he was even captured by Hydra. And this is the reason why government still want him, after all. They can use his strategies as a leader (*cough* Thunderbolts *cough*).

In the last episodes of TFATWS, we could see how he outsmarted everyone. Karli was so terrified of him.

3. Karli Morgenthau

And talking about Karli, the phone call was interesting:

She asked him if he's not tired of fighting for the wrong side, and then told him she's fighting for something bigger than herself.

"And with all the bodies you've collected, have you ever been able to say the same?"

The first thing I wanna point out is how everyone talks about the deaths Bucky caused when he was controlled by Hydra, but everyone ignores the fact that all the Avengers killed far more, but since we consider them the good side, we just don't care.

Clint, Tony, Steve, Wanda etc. They all cause(d) far more deaths than "two dozen" (known assassinations - to quote Natasha), and neither was controlled. The double standards are something else, especially for Clint. (One of the reasons why Tony was on the other side in CW was because of his guilt, after all.)

The second point is how Bucky's answer says a lot more than we might realize at first:

"You don't think I ever fought for something bigger than myself? That's all I ever tried to do, and I failed twice."

Even as TWS, Bucky had to be convinced he is on the right side, that what they do is to save the world, to give "the world the freedom it deserves".

Even brainwashed and put to sleep all the time, he had to be lied to. Bucky as TWS was a victim too. He is not a victim only because he didn't have memories or control, but also because they lied to him and used him as a toy. That milk scene is so loud. (And I am gonna talk about it in a different post). He had no rights, no choices. He was used to being tortured.

[And I wish they explored it more. We deserved and deserve a WS film - maybe with him in Romania getting back his memories, writing in his journal etc.]

"You think your cause justifies all this death, but in the end, the nightmares won't go away. You're gonna remember all the ones you killed. Trust me. Don't do this. Don't go down this path."

Despite being on opposite sides, Bucky still said this to Karli, trying to help her, to make her see the big picture, sharing how he felt and feels.

He is on "the right side". He is a hero, and Bucky being thanked by that man for saving everyone's life was touching.

4. Baron Zemo

You can see how smart, strong, and rational Bucky is when he decides to break Zemo out of jail (his plan was amazing too), risking so much (his relationship with Wakanda people and his own freedom) to get his help for the mess. He puts the cause above his own (huge) trauma. And this makes that moment in Madripoor even more disgusting (he is treated as an object, as a toy):

Zemo: Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum. And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.

The way he keeps his composure, reacts and manages the situation... absolutely incredible!

This conversation also says a lot:

Zemo: The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path.

Bucky: Maybe you're wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.

Zemo: Touché. But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?

Bucky positions himself below Steve, who's considered a good hero, a good person... like no other. But Steve never had to go through what Bucky did: from being kidnapped like that, to being tested on, to falling off the train, to being tortured, and used, and brainwashed for decades, and put to sleep when he was not needed and having n "keepers".

Also, interesting how all Steve wanted was to fight (for a good cause, but still)... and fighting still means violence, meanwhile Bucky never wanted to fight, not even before becoming TWS, in the army (and yet he is still great at fighting. And he is deadly, even when he holds back.). All he wanted was peace.

Despite not getting the "perfect serum", despite being brainwashed, put to sleep, and forced to fight for decades, he is still himself. He never gave in to the dark side for real. He fought in his own way. The first thing he did when he woke up was to choke the Hydra guy with a whole new arm!

Bucky is so underrated: from his intelligence and fighting skills, to how human he is. Being flawed, keeping his sassiness and charm from the 40s, but getting more mature and carrying his past on his shoulders... he's so relatable and real. And every day, he shows Zemo he is wrong.

The show he makes in his final scene with Zemo is absolutely fantastic. He doesn't just prove the point he isn't defined by the serum and Hydra (AND not even by Steve, thanks to Sam. His speech made him realize the important thing about himself: that he decides who he is, not others - even those who know him before becoming TWS- "And this might be a surprise, but it doesn't matter what Steve thought. You gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." parallel to "Steve believed in you. He trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason. That shield, that is… that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. He gave you that shield, and you threw it away like it was nothing. [...] So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me."), but also that he is superior.

When Zemo tells him that he decided to let him alive (probably so he can kill Karli) and basically calls him a killing machine: "programmed to kill", Bucky plays the role, lets Zemo talk him into killing Karli, and then Bucky watches him waiting for his own death.

[Also, Bucky's line: Imagine my relief is hilarious.]

The acting was incredible: the shock on Zemo's face and the amusement and somehow relief on Bucky's after he pulls the trigger and lets the bullets fall... He proved him he's THE standard of the super soldier. Because despite everything he went through, he is the best.

Zemo telling him to cross his name off felt like a fresh start (+ telling Nakajima the truth).

5. John Walker

John, on the other hand, is lucky Bucky is an understanding person. He gets what is like... the pressure, the environment, the loss, and even tries to help.

Bucky: Don't go down that road. Believe me, it doesn't end well.

John: I'm not like you!

Of course he is not like Bucky, because Bucky has control. He is not killing to get revenge in a cynical way.

"That serum doesn't exactly have a great track record."

John kept judging Bucky every time they spoke, somehow placing himself above this "broken" man.

"This is all really easy for you, isn't it? All that serum runnin' through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?"

This is so wrong on every single level, especially because Bucky didn't choose to take the serum, and he always had his friends' back. He's loyal and ready to sacrifice himself.

The "funny" part about this is John ending up taking the last super soldier serum vial. All the judgement, the disgust, the patronizing tone, just to do that. Plus, of course, to kill someone with the shield.

(John proves Zemo's point about super soldiers, and Bucky does the opposite.)

And what is it easy for Bucky anyway?

He's under government conditions (so CACW coded), he has a vibranium arm that I bet the government would try to take after he dies (HOPEFULLY WHEN HE'S 200 YEARS OLD IN HIS BED, as Sebastian wants too) if he isn't in Wakanda, he is haunted by nightmares (which also can mean he is still Hydra's TWS in another universe as we found out from Strange), and he has to learn how to live for real. He's smart, charismatic, has values and principles, and he's incredible.

We need to see his version of TWS going after everyone Hydra helped. TWS is him, a part of him, and doing that on his terms, having control over it would help him heal.

[mindswriters]

war of hearts ✮ civil war!au

pairing: stark!reader x bucky barnes (it’s slow burn! they barely talk pls don’t kll me) | + bigbrother!tony and platonicbf!steve

summary: y/n is tony stark’s younger sister, and best friend’s with steve rogers. when the sokovia accords get on table, she has to choose between the two people she loves the most. except, there’s some kind of magnetic string, called bucky barnes, making her choice pend to one side

word count: 7.8k

A/N: what a long come back isn’t it? anyways, I’m unemployed now and it brings me back to my alternative reality of creating scenarios. i also decided to re-watch all the mcu and guess what it’s bucky barnes fever all over again. watched civil war this week, thought about this one. hope you enjoy it!

important! this piece is a collaboration between me and my friend chat gpt. just so you know that i came up with the scenes, wrote it, but also used ai to improve and review the work.

════════════════════════════════════════════

The Sokovia Accords were supposed to bring order to chaos — a framework to keep the Avengers accountable. But for you, Y/n Stark, it felt like a betrayal. You understood Tony’s reasons — his guilt, his desire to control the power that had caused so much destruction — but you couldn’t accept the cost: surrendering freedom and personal judgment to governments that often failed the people they were supposed to protect. More than that, knowing Bucky’s past — the pain he endured as the Winter Soldier and the person he was beneath — made it impossible for you to side with Tony’s call for control and punishment. When the Accords split the team, you stood firmly with Steve, believing that some battles can’t be sanctioned or regulated. That decision tore you apart from Tony, your older brother, who saw your refusal as reckless and personal defiance. Now, after Berlin’s battlefield became the symbol of that fracture, you find yourself in the cold Siberian wasteland, caught between loyalty to your family and to the ideals you fight for.

When your parents died, you were just a child — too young to understand the world they left behind. Tony, as your older brother, stepped in to fill that void, becoming both protector and guardian. As he grew into the role of Iron Man, he fiercely tried to keep you away from the dangers that came with his double life. But your spirit was too strong to be confined. You found your own path, training with Steve Rogers and developing your skills and technology to stand on your own. Through Steve, you learned about Bucky Barnes — a man with a troubled past, yet someone you felt drawn to protect. Over time, you became an essential part of the Avengers family, not just by blood, but through loyalty, courage, and the fierce determination to fight for what you believe in.

After Berlin, everything was fractured. You should’ve been locked away with the others, but you weren’t. You found a way to prove that you and Steve were right — that someone was orchestrating everything from the shadows. You showed Tony the pieces: the inconsistencies, the manipulation, the name Zemo. Maybe it was the way you said it, maybe it was the last thread of trust he still had in you — but he listened. He got you out, and together, you convinced him to go to Siberia, not to fight, but to help.

But the cold in Siberia isn't just in the air — it’s in your chest, tightening with every breath as you step into the facility. The space is dim, sterile, haunted by the ghosts of what happened there. You can feel it in your bones: this is where everything changes. Zemo speaks with a calmness that unsettles you, leading the four of you deeper into the past than anyone was ready to go. Then, the footage begins — December 16, 1991. The mission. You don't want to look, but you can’t tear your eyes away. There’s the crash, the stolen serum, and then… the unmistakable brutality. Your heart sinks as you watch the man beside you — Bucky — become the weapon that killed your parents. It's a storm inside your chest: grief, disbelief, the return of a loss you thought you had buried long ago. Your eyes flicker between three people: Tony, whose hands are already curling into fists; Steve, who refuses to meet your gaze; and Bucky, frozen in silence, his jaw tight with shame. Every part of you is screaming. But you don't move. Not yet.

Silence settles like dust after the video stops, thick and suffocating. You hear Tony’s voice first — low, disbelieving.

“Did you know?”

Steve hesitates. His silence is an answer in itself.

“I didn’t know it was him,” he says finally.

Tony’s voice cracks. “Don’t bullshit me, Rogers. Did you know?”

You feel your breath hitch, a pulse pounding in your ears. Steve closes his eyes. “Yes.”

And just like that, the floor shifts beneath your feet.

You step back instinctively, watching the fury rise behind Tony’s eyes. It’s not just betrayal — it’s heartbreak, it’s twenty-five years of unanswered questions detonating all at once.

“He killed my mom,” Tony says, barely above a whisper, and you flinch.

You want to speak — to say he didn’t have a choice, to remind Tony of who Bucky is now, not who he was made to be — but the words catch in your throat.

Tony’s gaze flicks to you, just for a second, and in it you see something that breaks you more than the video: he expected you to stand with him.

And you can’t. Not against Bucky. Not like this.

Tony turns fully to you, his eyes desperate now — not with confusion, but with expectation. You saw it too, his stare seems to scream. He killed them. Say something. Do something.

You meet his gaze. And all the fire in him crashes against the ocean in your eyes. There's no anger in you — only sorrow, spilling over in silent tears that blur the edges of the room. You shake your head, barely, but it’s enough.

Tony’s chest rises with a sharp inhale, as if your silence alone had struck him.

“Y/n, don’t you dare—”

But he doesn’t finish. He lunges.

You don’t think. You move, stepping between him and Bucky like your body was built for this — like your place has always been in the middle of everything tearing itself apart. Your hands hit Tony’s chest, holding him back with more force than you knew you had.

“Stop,” you breathe. “Please.”

His eyes are blazing now. “He murdered our parents.”

“No,” you say, voice trembling. “He didn’t. That wasn’t him — that was the thing they turned him into. He didn’t have a choice, Tony.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t recognize you anymore. “Is that really what you believe? After what you just saw?”

“I felt that pain too. Every second of it. But I won’t destroy someone who’s already spent a lifetime paying for a crime he didn’t choose to commit.”

Tony laughs — a short, bitter sound. “So you’re siding with him. With the guy who killed your mother.”

Your voice cracks. “I’m not siding with anyone… I’m trying to keep us from losing what’s left.”

“You already lost me.” Tony's words felt like a twisting knife in your chest.

Tony doesn’t wait for another word. With a twist and a push, he slips past your grasp, rage propelling him straight toward Bucky.

“Tony, no!” you cry out, reaching for him, but he’s already swinging.

Bucky barely manages to deflect the first blow — the second lands squarely, sending him reeling. The sound of the impact echoes through the bunker, and something inside you folds.

You stand there, paralyzed. Torn. Watching your brother, burning with grief, throw himself against the man you’ve been fighting beside — the man who never asked for your trust, but who somehow earned it anyway.

Your heart pounds, and for a second, the weight of it all threatens to crush you.

You should stop them. You should do something. But it’s easier to run. And you hate yourself for knowing that.

Your breath hitches as you turn your head — and then you see him.

Zemo.

He lingers by the doorway, quiet and composed, with a ghost of a smile curling his lips. He watches the chaos like a man admiring his own masterpiece.

This is what he wanted.

And suddenly, the fog lifts.

He made you and Tony watch that video.

He manipulated all of you into this.

And maybe it’s cowardice, but going after him is easier than choosing between two people you love.

Fighting Zemo won’t leave scars on your family. Or so you tell yourself.

Steve notices the shift in your face — the way your tears harden into something sharper. He steps toward you cautiously, like he already knows.

You wipe your cheek roughly and meet his gaze. “You take care of them,” you murmur, voice steady despite the ache behind it. “I can’t stop Tony… but I can stop the man who caused this.”

Steve hesitates, but only for a beat. “Y/n—”

“I know,” you whisper through gritted teeth. “I know this won’t fix it.”

You glance back at the fight, at Tony — your brother — and the guilt nearly breaks you again.

You do feel like you’re betraying him. And you hate that it feels this way, but the past few days changed you. You fought beside Bucky. You saw who he really is — not the man in the video. And what’s worse… you felt something. A connection. One you didn’t expect. One you can’t ignore. And right now, you just need to get away from all of it — before your heart splits down the middle.

“Just keep them alive, both,” you say finally. “Please.”

Steve searches your eyes. And then, with a quiet nod, he lets you go.

So, you run. Not just toward vengeance — but away from the pain of choosing sides. You’re not proud of it, but it’s the only way you know how to keep breathing.

You don’t chase him right away, you watch. From the edge of the corridor, you track his figure as it fades into the white horizon—small, deliberate steps against the vast emptiness of snow and rock. He doesn’t run. Of course he doesn’t. He’s not that kind of coward. The icy wind bites at your face as you finally step out into the open. No trees. No shelter. Just you, him, and the silence of everything he shattered.

You catch up fast. Your boots scrape over rock, and before he can turn, you crash into him—shoulder first, a sharp collision that knocks him off balance. He stumbles, slides across the snow. But he recovers quickly, turning just as you strike again. He blocks. Dodges. Counters with surprising strength. He’s trained—more than you expected.

Blow after blow, you fight, fists cracking against arms, your breath ragged in the cold. It's messy, brutal, driven by instinct and pain. The silence breaks when you finally land a punch to his jaw that makes him reel back, lip bloodied.

“You destroyed my family,” you hiss. “Why?”

He spits blood into the snow, barely flinching. “Because they were false.”

You go at him again, but he ducks, sweeping your legs. You hit the ground hard, snow burning your skin, but you don’t stop. You’re already on your feet, chest heaving.

“You tore us apart,” you growl. “Steve, Tony, me, Bucky—what did you got?”

He stares at you calmly, that maddening composure still in place.

“Peace,” he says simply. “Sometimes, the world needs fire before it can rebuild.”

You lunge, slamming him back against a jagged rock. “That’s not peace. That’s ruin.”

“Ruins are honest,” he replies, almost softly.

Your fist trembles mid-air as you hold your knife. You could end it now. You want to. But there’s something behind your anger—something heavier.

“You think this was justice?” your voice cracks. “It was just vengeance.”

Zemo blinks slowly, lips parting into the faintest ghost of a smile. “Exactly.”

Your knuckles are scraped, raw. Blood from his face stains your glove, but your weapon stays raised.

He’s beneath you now—back pressed to the cold, uneven rock, breath shallow but steady. One strike. That’s all it would take. One final blow to end this. He doesn’t fight back. Doesn’t beg. He just looks at you, waiting. Accepting.

Your heart hammers in your chest, louder than the wind howling across the open field. Louder than your brother’s voice echoing in your memory. Louder than Bucky calling your name, back in that bunker before you ran away.

You tighten your grip, vision swimming. And yet, you still haven’t moved.

“Y/n Stark.”

The voice doesn’t come from Zemo. It cuts through the wind with clarity and weight, composed and firm.

You turn, startled, and see him. Prince T’Challa steps forward through the snow, posture tall, eyes calm—but burning with the same pain you carry.

“Vengeance has consumed you.” He looks at you, then to Zemo. “It is consuming them. I will not let it consume me.”

His words strike like a crack in your armor. You look back at Zemo. His face is bruised and bloodied, but his expression doesn’t change. He remains still beneath you, letting the moment stretch in silence. Your arm trembles.

“…Why?” Your voice is barely a whisper. Tired. Fractured. “Why did you do this?”

Zemo breathes in through his nose, slow and deliberate, as if the answer isn’t simple—but unavoidable.

“Sokovia.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “My family was buried beneath the rubble while your ‘heroes’ flew away, arguing about whose fault it was.”

You feel the blow of those words, dull and deep.

“I buried them with my own hands. My wife. My son. My father.” His voice falters for a second. Then steadies. “I knew I couldn’t kill them. Not all of them. But if I could make them kill each other… the empire would collapse from within.”

He finally looks away, into the white distance.

“An empire that no man should ever have the power to build.”

You close your eyes. He didn’t tried to kill your family. He made you watch them unravel.

“I can’t forgive you,” you whisper, with a hint of guilty for his family.

“I know,” he replies. “I don’t want you to.”

T’Challa steps forward, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Come. Let justice do what vengeance cannot.”

And you nod—because even if your heart is still fractured, it’s beating steady again. The wind stills, like the world itself has paused to let you breathe. You sit back on your heels, fists lowering at last. Zemo doesn’t move. Neither does T’Challa. Silence falls like snow — thick, cold, and heavy.

Then it comes. Distant at first. Muffled. The echo of metal clashing against metal, grunts of effort, blasts of repulsors cutting through stone and steel. You turn your head toward the sound — you can see it now: pulses of light flaring against the grey sky, like lightning trapped in a cage. Stark’s repulsors.

Your stomach twists. Steve. Bucky.

You rise slowly to your feet, legs unsteady, and glance at T’Challa beside you. He stands tall, hands behind his back, gaze locked on Zemo — no vengeance, only justice in his posture.

“What will you do with him?” you ask, your voice low but sure.

He meets your eyes. “He will answer for his crimes. I will hand him over to Ross.”

There’s no hesitation in his words, only principle. Then he softens, just enough.

“You still have time. Go to your fam.”

You look toward the glow on the ridge again.

A war is happening inside that mountain — a war between the two people you love most. And all you can think about is how it got this far.

But you nod, just once. Then you run. You follow the trail of light and noise, your heartbeat growing louder than the crunch of your boots against the frozen earth. The bunker looms behind you like a carcass. Ahead, only silence—and then, movement.

Steve. He steps into view, his silhouette staggering beneath the weight of the man in his arms.

Bucky.

Your breath catches. For a second, you don't move. Can't move. The light from the open structure glints off torn metal and darkened fabric. Where his arm should be—

Nothing.

You run. You don’t even feel your legs move, don’t hear the panicked sound that leaves your lips until you’re stopping in front of them.

“No—no, no, no—” You reach for Bucky’s face, his wrist, his chest. Anything.

He’s pale. Covered in soot and blood. His breathing is shallow—almost imperceptible. His eyes are closed. Your fingers shake as you press against the side of his neck.

You wait. Wait. There it is. A pulse.

“He’s alive,” Steve says gently, his voice ragged, like it’s the last bit of strength he has.

But there’s something behind it—grief, anger, guilt. Everything you feel, reflected right back at you. Your gaze lifts to meet his, his eyes are rimmed red, jaw clenched with something he can’t say out loud. And then, Steve looks at you with something heavier than sorrow. You swallow hard.

“Where's Tony?” you ask, your voice barely above a worried whisper. “He… your shield?”

Steve doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks back down at Bucky, then up at you again—like he’s choosing his words carefully.

“He’s not thinking straight,” he says. “I could stop him just for now. Maybe you still can.”

You blink, confused. Hurt. “Why would he listen to me?”

“Because you are still his little sister.” Steve’s words land like stone.

He adjusts Bucky in his arms again and balances themselves with effort.

“I’ll keep him safe,” he promises. “And I’ll talk to you as soon as I can. But right now…”

He meets your eyes, firm.

“Tony needs you.”

Steve stands steady, carrying Bucky carefully in his arms as they intend to move towards the Quinjet. The cold air bites, but your focus is entirely on Bucky’s face—bruised, bloodied, but breathing.

You step closer, gently brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. Your voice barely rises above a whisper, trembling with relief: “You’re okay.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, but the small rise and fall of his chest tells you everything you need to know. You shift your gaze to Steve, who meets your eyes with something heavier than sorrow—gratitude, trust, and a quiet admiration. Your glance holds his for a heartbeat, a silent exchange of understanding and strength.

"Thank you" that's the least you could say.

With that, you turn sharply and start running toward where you know you'd find Tony, heart pounding—not knowing what you’ll see, but knowing you have to get him.

You follow the trail of light through the snow and concrete, breath burning in your throat as your feet slam against the cold ground. The metallic echo of your steps fades beneath the hum of repulsors powering down.

Then you see him.

Tony sits on the floor near the wreckage of what used to be part of the bunker wall, helmet off, broken, elbows on his knees, staring down at his own shaking hands. The arc reactor flickers softly in the gloom. His face is torn open—split lip, brow swollen, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. He looks like a man who has finally reached the bottom of everything.

You slow your steps. “Tony…”

His head snaps up like he forgot he wasn’t alone. His eyes are bloodshot, red-rimmed, and exhausted. For a second, he doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you like he’s not sure whether to collapse into your arms or push you away again.

“I couldn't do any other way,” he finally breathes, voice cracked. “He killed our parents.”

You nod, tears brimming again. “I know.”

He looks at you for a long time—really looks. There’s a tremble in his jaw, and then, like all the anger that had held him together just burnt out, he looks away again. “And you protected him.”

The words hit you like a slap, even though they’re soft, almost whispered.

“I told you it wasn't him. And I protected you, too,” you say edged, trying hard to control your own emotions. “From doing something you’d never come back from.”

He lets out a shaky sigh—bitter and hollow. “Then why do I still feel like I lost everything?”

You kneel beside him, not touching him yet. “Because you did, and so did I. But we’re still here. And we still got each other”

There’s a long pause. You let it breathe. Ignoring the tremble in your chin, and the tears stinging your eyes. Carefully, you rest your hand over his, grounding both of you in something real.

“We gotta go home” you say.

Tony doesn’t respond right away. His fingers twitch beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away.

You lean in closer, softer now. “I know you don’t understand how I could’ve stood in your way. And maybe you won’t. But… I made a choice, Tony. And I’ll carry it. I'm not a child anymore”

Finally, he turns his hand over, wrapping his fingers around yours like he’s afraid to let go.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════

The days that followed blurred into a slow return to something resembling normal. You and Tony flew back to the compound in silence, the tension between you heavy but softened by exhaustion. Healing wasn’t immediate—some days you spoke like nothing ever happened, sharing breakfast and old jokes; other days, you couldn’t look at each other without remembering everything that had broken between you. Still, piece by piece, your bond began to mend.

Tony pulled every string he had to keep you out of prison. Unlike the others who sided with Steve, you were granted house arrest—confined to the compound, under strict surveillance, your every movement monitored. It should’ve felt like a victory, but it didn’t. The guilt gnawed at you—knowing Sam, Wanda, Clint and Scott were locked away while you walked free. That guilt became your fuel. Quietly, you slipped Steve fragments of intel, just enough to help him break into the Raft and free the others. You know the risks. So did Tony.

But he never stopped you.

He never asked where the encrypted messages went. Never questioned why you stayed up late with the comms encrypted. He didn’t even stop you from calling Steve late at night, when the silence felt too loud and your chest ached with everything unsaid.

Then came the morning you didn’t show up for breakfast.

Tony waited for a good ten minutes, which was already generous for someone like him. The toast went cold. He sighed, picked up your mug and went looking for you, grumbling something about dramatic sleeping habits and time zones.

He found your room quiet. Too quiet. When he opened the door, he froze. There, on your desk, your tracking bracelet—still blinking red—was locked tight around the abdomen of a massive ant.

“…Scott,” Tony muttered, blinking. “You absolute tiny bastard.”

He looked to the bed, where a folded note rested on your pillow. His fingers hovered over it for a moment before he picked it up, already dreading whatever sentimental nonsense you had left behind.

“Had to go on a little trip. Be kind to the ant, it has your name too. I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

Tony stared at the handwriting for a few seconds. Then he let out a single, sharp laugh, more disbelief than amusement. He dropped the note back onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Well played, Rogers. Kidnapping my sister, real subtle.” He stood there a moment longer, torn between frustration and admiration, before walking out of the room—still muttering under his breath.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════

The ship flew in silence, cutting through the night sky like a shadow. The sleek lines of Wakandan technology made almost no noise — just a soft hum filled the air, echoing the restrained breath in your chest.

Steve sat across the cabin, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the window — but you knew he wasn’t really seeing the clouds. Since boarding, few words have been exchanged. And none were really needed. He had already told you the essentials: T’Challa watched. He listened. He understood. And unlike what many would’ve done in his place, the king chose compassion. He chose to protect Bucky. And Bucky chose to trust them. This ship was another gift — or maybe a promise. A quiet gesture from someone who also knew what it was to lose, but refused to let hatred shape his next steps.

You leaned your head back and closed your eyes for a moment, but rest didn’t come. A part of you was still back there — in the frozen bunker, on the ground stained by the fury of someone you loved. The image of Tony’s face — wounded more in heart than armor — still weighed like lead in your chest.

“You okay?” — Steve’s voice came soft, almost a whisper, but clear enough to pull you back.

You nodded, eyes still shut. “I am.”

A pause. “Or at least… I will be.”

He didn’t push. Steve never did. He just looked at you with that gentle, loyal kind of expression — the same one he had when he took your hand and pulled you out of the compound in the middle of the night, promising it would be worth it.

“Will Bucky be safe?” — you asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Steve took a deep breath. “He will. They have the resources. The tech. And he wants this, Y/n. He wants peace. He wants... to be himself again.”

You didn’t reply right away. Your throat tightened, and everything inside you felt like it was rearranging — memories, loyalty, pain, love. An emotional mess carefully boxed into a floating piece of metal in the sky.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Thank you, Steve... for having our backs.”

He gave a soft smile — one of those small, sincere ones. “Always.”

The ship kept moving forward, cutting through the dark. And for a few minutes, you let the silence become a form of comfort.

You were going to see him. Bucky. And a part of you — the part that spent so long trying not to feel — finally let a small hope slip through the cracks.

The silence stretched between you for a while, peaceful and full of unspoken things. You hadn’t moved from your seat, but your fingers played absentmindedly with the hem of your sleeve — something restless stirring just beneath the surface.

Steve shifted a little, his voice breaking the quiet with gentle curiosity.

“So…” he started, a trace of a smile in his tone. “When did it happen?”

You looked up, brow furrowed. “When did what happen?”

He tilted his head, a soft grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That… invisible magnet between you and Bucky. I’ve seen it for a while now. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you.”

You exhaled through your nose, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I think it was always there. Since the day on the bridge. Like something we didn’t notice until it was too loud to ignore.”

Steve nodded, the smile fading into something softer — more earnest.

“I’m glad he found you. That he let someone in. After everything… I thought it would take a miracle.”

You met his gaze, surprised by the emotion in his voice.

“He trusted you,” he said, more quietly now. “Aside from me, you were the only person he didn’t flinch away from. The only one he willingly talked to after… everything.”

You felt your throat tighten, and your voice came out quieter than before.

“He didn’t have to explain me anything. I just… saw him. And I knew he wasn’t the monster they said he was.”

Steve smiled again, this time with a flicker of something like pride. “You believed in him when it mattered most. You never doubted.”

You shrugged, glancing toward the window. “I doubted myself more than I ever doubted him.”

There was a beat of silence, then Steve leaned back in his seat, his tone suddenly lighter — teasing.

“You know…” he said, “back in the day — I mean way back — before I got frozen, Peggy gave me a goodbye kiss. She didn’t know it would be goodbye, not really. But… she still kissed me.”

You raised an eyebrow, already catching where this was going.

Steve gave you a crooked grin.

“I’m just saying — if we went through all the trouble of breaking you out of house arrest, sneaking past Stark’s security systems, and borrowing a ship from the King of Wakanda… Bucky deserves a goodbye kiss. Don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“He’s not going anywhere.”

Steve shrugged, grinning.

“Neither was I.”

You laughed, quietly — the kind that settles into your chest and stays there, warm and a little nervous.

"I'm not giving Bucky a goodbye kiss, not when I know that I'll be seeing him again." You say, forcing yourself to sound optimistic, even when you're a little scared about Bucky's future.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════

The sun was just beginning to rise over Wakanda when the ship touched down. The soft golden light filtered through the tall grasses and sleek towers, casting the world in a warm hue — as if the land itself welcomed peace after so much war. You stepped out behind Steve, blinking against the brightness, the air different here — lighter, cleaner, but buzzing with quiet power.

Waiting for you was T’Challa, dressed in dark robes, arms calmly folded behind his back. He looked at you both not with suspicion, but with that steady regal grace — the kind of presence that made you straighten your posture without realizing it.

“Captain Rogers,” he greeted first. Then his gaze shifted to you. “Miss Stark.”

You gave a small nod, unsure if words would come out right now.

“We’re grateful,” Steve said. “More than I can express.”

T’Challa simply inclined his head. “He is safe. Healing. But the path forward will still be long.” His gaze flickered to you for a second. “For all of you.”

You didn’t respond — just swallowed and nodded again, because your chest was already tight.

“Come,” T’Challa said. “He’s waiting.”

The corridors of the Wakandan compound were impossibly quiet. Everything smelled like steel and earth and the subtle scent of something growing. It felt removed from the world — like a place outside of time. You followed Steve through a pair of sliding doors, your footsteps barely audible over the hum of the hall. The closer you got, the more your heart pounded — not in fear, but something deeper. Something ancient. Recognition.

Steve stopped just before a final door. He turned to you, like he sensed your hesitation in coming with him.

"You should go first. He might wanna talk to you alone." You offer him a concerned smile, but Steve knew you well enough to know that you were actually nervous to be seeing Bucky again.

“Wait here then.” He said simply, looking to the glass wall, where you could see through, and spot Bucky's figure on the other room.

You nodded. He gave you a small smile, then stepped inside alone.

Through the glass wall, you saw him approach Bucky — dressed in loose, simple clothes. His hair was longer now, brushed back behind his ears. He looked calm, almost still, as he turned toward Steve. You couldn’t hear what was said, but the expression that crossed Bucky’s face at the sight of his friend was unmistakable — relief and something like home.

They spoke briefly. Bucky’s body shifted, sharing a hug with Steve that made you smile to yourself. Steve kept a grip on his friend's shoulder, and as he pointed to the door, you took it as your sign to come in.

He indeed gestured toward you, lips moving around words you couldn’t quite hear — but you felt them in your bones.

"There's someone else I thought you'd like to see."

You step into the room, and for a moment, everything feels too bright. The space is open, the large windows filling it with sunlight that dances along the polished floor. But all you see is him — standing close to Steve, illuminated by the sunrays from the landscape behind them. His eyes fixed on you the second you enter.

You stop just inside the threshold, suddenly unsure of your body, your expression — of anything, really.

Bucky doesn’t move at first. Neither do you.

“Hi.” You say, breaking the silence with a soft tone, like he’s trying not to scare a wounded animal.

"Hey," Bucky responds, there's a glimpse of something heavy is his tone. Guilt. Appreciation. Relief.

He turns to you, but still hesitates on getting too close. "Wasn't you supposed to be... uhm, in prison?" He frowns, cleaning his throat.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. "Wow. That’s the first thing you say to me?"

Bucky widened his eyes and Steve chuckled under his breath.

You take a step closer, placing yourself beside Steve. “Technically, I was under house arrest. Tony pulled some strings with the government.”

Bucky's eyes narrowed. “He’s not hating you?”

“Of course not,” Steve shook his head. “She got the fancy kind of punishment. Electronic monitor, surveillance, no going outside the compound.”

You shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad. Except for the part where I couldn’t even get decent coffee.”

Steve tilted his head, that teasing glint returning to his eyes. “Which is why I may have… borrowed one of Scott’s ants.”

Bucky blinked. “One of his ants?”

You nodded, trying not to grin. “A very big one. It handled the ankle monitor part.”

“She didn’t even hesitate,” Steve added, smirking. “I said, ‘Want to leave for a trip?’ and she was already halfway out the window.”

You nudged Steve lightly with your foot. “You made it sound very heroic. I thought we were going to do something cool, not sneak onto a spaceship like teenagers past curfew.”

“Well,” Steve shrugged, grinning now, “you wouldn't have exactly say no to that.”

Bucky huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. “You two are unbelievable.”

You smiled and leaned forward, eyes fixed on him. “And yet… here we are.”

For a moment, the warmth between the three of you made the world outside the lab feel distant — just three people, trying to hold onto a piece of normal.

Steve gives the two of you a lingering glance. There’s something in his posture — a careful blend of protectiveness and quiet encouragement — before he steps toward the door.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” he says gently, and with a nod, he leaves.

The silence stretches as the door hisses shut behind him. You look at Bucky. He’s standing practically in the same position since you first saw him. His right hand gripping his waist, looking away at the full view windows, as if admiring Wakanda for the first time. His hair brushed back revealed more of his face than you’re used to seeing. There are dark circles under his eyes, but they don't take away from the clarity in them — eyes no longer haunted, just... tired.

You take a cautious step forward, and then another. “How... how have things been here?”

His voice is low, and still carries the weight of something raw. “Quiet. Safe. It’s... a strange kind of peace.”

You nod, arms crossing in front of your chest — a small shield against the emotions threatening to rise again. “And what happens now?”

Bucky shrugs, eyes finally meeting yours. “Shuri says they can help... take it all apart. The programming. The conditioning. I told them to do it. We’re trying to... unmake the Winter Soldier, I guess.”

You nod. “Sounds like something that should’ve happened a long time ago.”

He doesn’t answer that. And silence settles again — heavier this time.

You feel it hanging between you. Everything unsaid. Everything still bleeding under the surface.

Then, finally, he speaks. Quiet. Honest.

“I’m sorry.”

Your heart stumbles. He continues before you can respond.

“For your parents. For what happened with Tony. For dragging you into all of this. I... I still don’t know how you stood by me after all that.” His voice cracks at the edges, not from weakness, but from shame. Real, quiet shame.

You take a breath, step closer, letting the tip of your boots touch his feet, searching his eyes.

“I never saw the Winter Soldier, Bucky,” you say softly. “I only saw you. I stood by you. And I’m still here.”

He blinks, and for a second, his composure slips. He looks at you like he’s still not sure he can trust it — trust you — even though everything about you has been screaming that he can.

Bucky doesn’t look away this time — but there’s hesitation in his voice when he speaks.

“Why?” He swallows hard. “Why did you choose us… after everything?”

You exhale slowly, trying to find the words. “It wasn’t a choice, not really. It just… happened.”

He tilts his head slightly, searching your face.

“That thing between us,” you continue, voice softer now, “it’s always been there. Even when it shouldn’t have. Even when we barely knew each other.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to the floor for a second, like he’s hiding behind the thought before admitting it.

“I felt it too,” he says. “Like something pulling at me.”

You smile, small but real. “Invisible magnet.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Exactly.”

There’s a brief silence — not uncomfortable this time, just reflective. Like neither of you know what to do with the truth now that it’s been spoken out loud.

“I don’t know what it means,” you admit, leaning lightly against the table beside you. “And I’m not sure what to do with it either.”

Bucky glances at you again, eyes softer now.

“But it’s real,” he says.

You nod. “Yeah. It’s real.”

Neither of you move closer. Neither of you pull away. There’s no grand moment, no promise, no plan — just two people, standing in the middle of a quiet Wakandan room, holding onto something they don’t fully understand.

You glance away for a second, trying to collect your thoughts — but your eyes land on the glass door.

And there he is. Steve.

Standing just outside the lab, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in that older brother watching from a distance kind of way. You can practically feel the smugness radiating off of him.

Then — because of course he would — he lifts a hand and makes the most exaggerated “kissy face” gesture imaginable. Puckered lips. Two fingers tapping together. A little heart drawn in the air for good measure.

You freeze, widening your eyes at him.

Bucky notices the way your expression suddenly shifts — the subtle horror creeping into your face — and turns to follow your gaze.

“What is he—?”

You step in front of him so fast it’s almost comedic.

“Nothing. He’s just being Steve.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Was he… doing a thing with his hands?”

“Nope,” you say, a little too fast. “Just a… diplomatic wave. Wakandan custom. Very respectful.”

Steve, now thoroughly entertained, is biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

Before Bucky can press further — or you can come up with a better excuse for Steve’s antics — the door slides open.

Steve steps into the room like he’s been waiting for the exact right moment to ruin it. He looks between the two of you with a suspiciously innocent expression that doesn't fool either of you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, though he doesn't sound very sorry. “Shuri’s ready.”

You blink. “Already?”

He nods, a little more serious now. “Lab’s prepped. Everything’s in place.”

You feel Bucky stiffen slightly beside you, but he doesn’t look away. There’s a quiet understanding in his eyes now — something grounded. Steady. He knew this was coming.

You glance between them both, something tightening in your chest.

“How long will he be under?” you ask, your voice softer again.

Steve shrugs gently. “As long as it takes. Until he’s really free.”

Bucky takes a breath, turning toward the door, but he pauses — just long enough to glance back at you. There’s something like a silent question in his expression. Something waiting.

You offer a small nod.

And together, the three of you walk down the corridor. The lab was bathed in soft blue light, reflecting off the smooth vibranium panels and glass interfaces. At the center stood the cryogenic chamber — sleek, sterile, silent — waiting.

You lingered near the entrance, watching as Bucky stepped forward with slow, steady steps. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. This wasn’t the kind of moment that called for words.

Steve followed behind him, quieter than usual, his expression unreadable. But when Bucky turned to face him, the tension shifted.

They stood in front of each other for a long moment — no soldier and no captain. Just two men who had been through too much together, and were somehow still standing.

Steve broke the silence first.

“You sure this is the right call?” His voice was low, but steady. Honest.

Bucky nodded, his jaw tight. “I can’t trust my own mind so… that’s the best option.”

Steve glanced at the floor, then back up. “You’ve been carrying this for longer than we know. You’ll be fine”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, quick and certain. “For being here.”

“Always, pal.” Steve nods, a concerned smile adorning his face.

There was a beat, and then Bucky let out a breath — half a laugh, almost. “Just don’t do anything stupid until I get back”

Steve gave a soft huff. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupidity with you.”

The two exchanged a small, tired smile. But their eyes said everything else — the things that couldn’t be spoken: I’m sorry. I’m proud of you. I’ll be here when you wake up.

They stepped forward at the same time, and Steve pulled Bucky into a firm embrace — not brief, not forced. Just real.

You looked away, jaw clenched, forcing yourself to breathe through the lump forming in your throat. This was their goodbye. Their history. You didn’t want to intrude. But still… watching it hurt more than you expected.

When they finally pulled apart, Bucky turned — and found you waiting.

The weight of the moment returned in full.

He took a step closer, slower this time, his eyes locked on yours.

“I’ll be okay,” he said softly. “And when I wake up… maybe we’ll both know what to do with this.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Just don’t take too long.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Then — something shifted.

You felt it in the silence. In the way he lingered. In the way your heart beat just a little louder, like it knew time was running out.

Steve didn’t say a word. He just glanced from Bucky to you, then back again. One eyebrow lifted — subtle, but clear.

Now or never.

You hesitated, your breath catching. Then, slowly, you stepped forward and reached up, fingers brushing against Bucky’s jaw with barely a touch. And you kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a soft, grounding press of your lips against his — a silent promise, a thank you, a goodbye. His hand came up, gently touching your waist, as if memorizing the shape of the moment.

When you pulled back, your voice was barely a whisper. “For good luck. You return it when you wake up.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say something — maybe a hundred things — but instead, he just nodded.

“Okay.” He mirrors your shy, sensible smile.

Then he turned, stepped into the chamber, closed his eyes and let the door do the same.

You stood beside Steve as the cryo-pod sealed shut, the mist already curling around the edges. The bite on your lip held both your tears, and the feeling of missing Bucky’s lips against yours. Already.

The chamber hissed softly as it sealed, locking Bucky into a stasis of silence and frost. You stood still for a moment longer, staring through the curved glass — watching as the mist rose and softened the edges of his face until it faded completely.

A quiet breath left your lips. Not relief. Not grief. Something in between.

Steve waited beside you without rushing, giving you the time you needed. Then, gently, he turned toward the door.

You followed him out of the lab, your footsteps echoing faintly down the sleek corridor. It wasn’t until you reached the end of the hall that he finally spoke — voice low, but unmistakably smug.

“So…” He didn’t look at you. Just kept walking. “…you did kiss him goodbye.”

You narrowed your eyes, cheeks flushing instantly. “Don’t start.”

Steve raised both hands in faux innocence. “Hey, I didn’t say a word. You’re the one blushing.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

But then he looked at you — and the teasing faded just enough to let something warmer shine through.

“You did good,” he said. “For him. For yourself.”

You didn’t answer, but the way you smiled back told him you understood.

And together, once again, you walked on.

EPILOGUE

The compound was quiet when you stepped back inside. Not the tense kind of quiet from before — just late-night silence, familiar and still. You dropped your bag by the couch, rolled your shoulders, and kicked off your boots with the grace of someone who had clearly been sneaking around behind global authorities.

You made it five steps into the kitchen before his voice echoed from the other side of the island.

“Took you long enough.”

You jumped slightly. “Jesus, Tony—”

“Wrong deity,” he said, holding up a coffee mug. “But thanks for the dramatic entrance. Very spy-thriller of you.”

He looked exactly the same — hoodie, rumpled hair, tired eyes pretending not to be relieved. You hated how good he was at that.

You leaned against the counter, trying not to smile. “Did Friday tell you I was back?”

“Nope. I guessed.” He sipped his coffee. “That, or the giant mutant ant returned with a postcard.”

You snorted. “Sorry I ran off.”

He waved a hand. “Eh, I’ve been ditched for worse things than a cryogenically frozen ex-HYDRA assassin with severe emotional damage. Honestly? Kind of proud.”

You blinked. “Wait—proud?”

He held up a finger. “Don’t make it weird. I’m still mad. But also, you know...”

He hesitated just a moment too long. “You’re my favorite Stark. Don’t tell Pepper.”

A lump formed quietly in your throat, but you masked it with a smirk.

“Yeah, well… you’re not my favorite genius billionaire anymore.”

Tony squinted. “Is it because I didn’t build you a vibranium suit?”

You shrugged, walking around the counter to grab a mug. “That’s part of it.”

He watched you for a second as you poured coffee into your cup, his expression softening just a fraction.

“You okay?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded, keeping your eyes on the coffee. “I will be. Are you?”

“Same.” He didn’t press.

Instead, he reached out, hooked a finger through the handle of your mug, and pulled it closer to refill it himself.

“Well,” he said. “I already told the team you're grounded, just so you know.”

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t ground me.”

“I just did.”

You took the mug back and bumped your shoulder lightly into his.

And for a moment — just a moment — it felt like home again.

[jaderabbitt]

Incidents (2)

in which there are many incidents where people forget you are the wife of one Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Descriptions of Violence, Singular Usage of Y/N, Mentions of Racism/Segregation, Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of Death, Reader flirts with a woman jokingly but is otherwise of unspecified sexuality, jaderabbitt's esoteric writing style, not beta-read so if you find spelling mistakes, i WILL game-end myself Tags: whipped for his wife!bucky, not a John Walker friendly fic, some angst, comedy, angst with fluff, not good at tagging xo Riga, Latvia

Approaching the “safe” house that Zemo had apparently owned did little to settle your nerves regarding the entire situation. Madripoor had gone to shit, and fast, and you could not believe that they had convinced Bucky that it was a good idea to become the Soldat again.

Whole lot that did.

The two men walking in front of you knew better than to try and rope you into their conversation, though it seemed that Zemo was doing a lot of the talking. Bucky simply walked alongside you, slowing his gait to match yours as you let the events of the past twenty-four hours stew in your head. He had even wrapped his warm blooded arm around your waist, but you refused to lean into his touch–instead, you crossed your arms as you walked. 

There wasn’t much that could’ve taken you out of your current state. 

Sensing vibrational pulses that were abnormal for the surrounding climate, would.

Your pace had slowed even further as you looked around for the source of where the waves were coming from. Bucky’s arm tensed around you, as if he had also sensed what you were searching for.

“–of course not, why would you? We are here.” Zemo announced, promptly stopping in front of a door.

“We’ll meet back here. I need to talk to her alone,” Bucky blurted out, pinning you with a look that said trust me. You nearly rolled your eyes instinctively at how this man was an assassin for so long, yet couldn’t even come up with a convincing enough lie in the moment. It was no wonder why Hydra had you as the espionage asset and kept him behind the scope of a sniper.

Sam’s brows furrowed as he watched the interaction. “Y’all good?” He asked, his eyes darting back and forth between your figures.

“Yeah. We’ll see you guys in a bit.”

Sam gave you both one last suspicious look before walking into the building. You stood watch as Bucky leant down to pick up what you instantly recognized as a Kimoyo Bead. Hissing between your teeth, you ran a hand down your face; you were in for it now…

Bucky stood back up and turned, seeing you with an open and outstretched hand. He winced as he dropped it into your palm, already sensing the headache building on the forefront of his wife’s head. You snatched the bead up, beginning to massage your temple.

“Sweetheart–”

“Save it, James.”

You had already begun walking towards where you felt the next bead’s pulse, following it like a breadcrumb trail. His jaw quickly snapped shut and he nodded, at least having the wherewithal to look a little guilty.

— — —

You found yourselves in between what seemed to be an alleyway. The walls of the buildings on either side were peeling–and an eyesore yellow color to boot. The street itself, however, was immaculately clean. 

Truly, the alleys of New York could never. You half expected a rat the size of Bucky’s forearm to skitter across any second. The edges of your lips quirked up as you remembered when you both found out just how big the rats had mutated to over the decades. Time and a place, you reminded yourself.

“You dropped something,” Bucky called out, clearly trying to rouse whichever Wakandan had led you here. Something told you that you both had an idea on exactly who. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.”

You quickly turned around, coming face to face with Ayo.

The grin that creeped along your face was inescapable.

“Ayo, you finally came to visit me?” You purred, sauntering up to the Dora Milaje warrior. While she had meant to be all intimidating and serious business, the minute her eyes went from Bucky to you, there was a noticeable glimmer that came over her. You had pressed your cheeks to hers on both sides, making faux kisses in greeting. While it wasn’t one that was customary in Wakandan culture, you felt it appropriate to greet your friend.

You took a glance back at Bucky, where his eye twitched and his jaw ticked–a sign you knew meant that he was grinding his teeth.

The Wakandan warrior curled a hand under your chin, which made you let out a pleased hum in response. Her eyes quickly darted back towards your husband, and narrowed back into the expression that anyone knew meant that she wasn’t going to ask twice.

“I am here for Zemo.” She said in Xhosa, her grip on you leaving as she approached your husband. “How could you free him?”

“We need his help,” he answered plainly, and you sighed. You knew that you did need the man, but that didn’t make him less of a stain upon the earth.

Ayo had begun to prowl around the ex-assassin, chastising him. “With time, will, and the resources, the Winter Soldier programming was removed from you like a rotten fur.”

“And I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for everything you and Shuri have done–”

“Zemo murdered our King T’Chaka at the U.N. The man who chose us–” she paused, glancing down for a second before correcting herself, “who chose me to protect him.”

“I understand–”

“Very little, if anything, of our loss and our shame.”

You watched Bucky search for the words–any words, really–to respond to Ayo in a way that justified what he had done. You truthfully couldn’t find them either. It had not been you who had freed the psychopath, but…were you not one in your own right, after what you did?

You held your tongue, but it did not feel good. You swore a vow–in sickness, and in health. You trusted your husband’s decisions, even if you didn’t agree wholeheartedly with them. You would figure it out. Together.

“He’s a means to an end.”

Hearing him speak the language of the country you both had betrayed broke your glass heart into aching shards. It reminded you of your days together in the peaceful land. You had taken quickly to the people and your small community, even volunteering to assist in the childcare of the tribe. They had been weary to allow an outsider to do so, but the king’s trust in you was not taken lightly.

“Eight hours, White Wolf. Then, we come for him.”

She had held her palm open for Bucky to place the beads in, but you were quick to approach and place them in his stead. Her other hand gently enclosed over yours before you could pull away.

“Aneeka and I miss you terribly, Little Lamb.” Ayo smiled, her eyes softening as she gazed into your own. 

You couldn’t help but pout at that, sighing in defeat.

“You know I am a faithful woman, Ayo–”

“Please stop flirting with my wife.”

“I know, Little Lamb. But, if you ever change your mind…” She gave a chuckle and a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows as she began to walk away. You suddenly felt like the sun was sweltering as she winked back at you, and you bit your lower lip in return.

Bucky growled, grabbing you by your hips and pressing your backside to his front. You gasped as he bit down into the crook of your neck, effectively marking you in front of the other woman.

Hence, the name White Wolf.

– – –

“Something’s not right about Walker.”

You quirked an eyebrow at your husband as he shed his jacket on his way to the cabinets, giving his figure a once over. He caught your look as he glanced back to offer you a glass, but you shamelessly kept gazing. It was a shame you couldn’t see the angry red blush that was surely creeping along his chest as his head snapped back towards pouring a drink, almost hitting against the open cabinet door.

“You don’t say,” Sam snorted, looking back down at his phone.

“Well, I know crazy when I see one–”

“I’d be very careful with how you finish that sentence, dear.”

“–because I am crazy.”

“Nice save,” you smirked.

“Can’t argue with that.”

You plucked the decanter from Bucky’s hand, holding his right hand in your own, forcing him to pick up the glass with his metal one. He squeezed it gently as he took a sip of the whiskey, going on to argue about the shield once more with Sam.

His thumb rubbed circles into your skin, not even flinching as the door was slammed open by none other than John Walker himself. He simply sighed and made to grab the decanter again, and you knew he wished for nothing more than to regain the ability to get drunk in this moment. You shooed his hand away from the alcohol, taking a swig straight from the glass bottle when he turned his back towards you to look over at Walker.

Next thing you knew, a vibranium spear was embedded into the wall inches from Walker’s face.

You gave a low whistle, knowing that it had been a warning; the Dora Milaje don’t just miss. You smiled and gave a wave to the now weaponless warrior who had appeared. She gave an enthusiastic wave back upon recognizing you.

Bucky scowled and grabbed your hand, stopping you from distracting the ladies joining in on the fun.

He shamefully looked down as Ayo began to speak, knowing she was addressing him specifically.

“Even if he is a means to your end, time’s up.”

You tilted his chin up to look at you. The gray in his eyes always seemed to become more prominent when he was thinking negatively like this. He leaned into your touch near imperceptibly, very much aware of the situation in the room.

“Release him to us now.”

Your head snapped towards Ayo once Walker started addressing her. “Well, let’s put down the pointy sticks–”

Your husband was born during segregation and you don’t think even he would voice such a microaggression.

“...you might wanna fight Bucky and (y/n) before you tangle with the Dora Milaje,” you heard Sam say, only half paying attention to the conversation.

You watched in abject horror as John Walker went to touch Ayo. “Walker, don’t–”

The grimace that spread as you watched her lay Walker out on his ass was almost sympathetic. You were mostly just uninterested in being involved in the death of the newly appointed Captain America.

“We should do something.” Sam pointed out to you and Bucky.

The latter of which simply wrapped an arm around your shoulder to pull you against him, smirking like he was watching a cage match where his bet was winning.

“Lookin’ strong, John!” Bucky cheered sarcastically, making you snort.

“Bucky.” Sam hissed, looking to you as if he was asking you for help.

“You’ll land a hit eventually, Walker!” You added, looking Sam dead in the eyes.

You both begrudgingly conceded to stopping your affair-in-waiting-should-Bucky-fuck-up.

Watching your husband’s metal arm fall off his torso had startled you as much as it did him. You looked to Ayo, mouth agape, as she condemned him. The betrayal in his eyes as you locked gazes with him was nothing short of visceral. You quickly rushed over to pick up the fallen limb, helping him reattach it. His daze didn’t last very long; he never was one to allow himself to think instead of running on instinct alone.

“Buck, look at me.” His face locked back into an impassive expression, but his eyes couldn’t lie. Not to you. “I’m with you. ‘Till death do us part, remember?”

I’m with you ‘till the end of the line, pal. xo likes, reposts, comments appreciated <3 taglist: @seventeen-x @svtbpbts @mizz-kraziii @rafesgurl

[dameronspector]

Philophobia (Part 6)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Stark!GN!Reader

Chapter Summary: You finally talk to Happy and ask him about the two people that you miss more than you want to admit. Sam and Bucky reluctantly take you to Berlin with them, Joaquin keeps you company again and you and Joaquin get closer.

Warnings: Mentions of Death and Depression/Depressive episodes, Mentions of Panic Attacks, Isolating, Bad coping mechanisms, Some cursing, FLUFF!!, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow burn(?), Yearning, A lil suggestive, Reader is stubborn, We slowly learn about readers past and their connection to #them, Reader’s Iron Suit/Superhero name is Midnight, Reader has some phobias, Found family, Reader is slowly becoming fonder of Joaquin, that’s it I think!

AN: ooooh I love this one a lot actually ☺️

After that…interesting conversation with Walker and Bucky, the four of you made your way back to the car. Sam and Bucky were in the front, Sam driving and Joaquin was sitting in the backseat with you. The car was silent, tense after Bucky’s announcement of wanting to get Zemo’s help. A phone ringing broke the silence. You brought your phone up to read Happy’s name on the screen. Thankfully since it was dark, nobody noticed the way you froze. Or at least, you thought so, because Joaquin’s full attention was on you.

You took a few calming breaths before picking up the call, praying that it wasn’t May this time.

“Kiddo?” It was Happy, thank god.

“Hey, Haps”, you sighed in relief.

“I’m so sorry for not telling you about May. It completely slipped my mind”, he replied, his voice heavy with guilt and apology.

You swallowed before answering, “It’s- it’s alright. How is she?”, you asked hesitantly.

“She’s alright, yeah. She started her own charity, I’m sure you know by now.”

“Yep. I do”, you still followed her on socials, not having the heart to completely sever the relationship. “And...how’s everything going with you two?”

"It's going good, great even. She said you cut the call when she picked it up?"

"Happy..", you sighed and bit the inside of your cheek.

"C'mon, (Name), it's been months. What's the harm in a simple phone call?", Happy tried to convince you. Ever since him and May started dating, he wanted you to get along with her, saying that your approval meant the world to him. But you were so happy for them. They were adorable together. Happy just wanted you to talk to her normally again.

"I..I don't know. Maybe some other day. How's...", you trailed off hesitantly, picking a random thread on your jeans.

"Peter?", Happy offered and you hummed.

"He's-you know how he gets. Took everything upon him. He's been looking more and more exhausted every day. Doesn't rest, says he needs to patrol. He's become paranoid, sorta", Happy sighed in concern.

Your eyebrows furrowed in concern. Peter would always blame himself for everything that went wrong and that's why you worried about him, even now. You knew he was just as bad as you were after your dad passed away. He was inconsolable, Rhodey told you so, and that he had to physically separate Peter from Tony's body. You were so out of it, that you didn't notice all of this happening right next to you. Ever since you found out about it, you've felt guilty and worried for Peter excessively.

"Happy, please, look after him", you whispered desperately into the speaker. Joaquin looked at you with his face twisted in confusion.

"Yeah, I will. Anyways, May has sent her well wishes and love to you", Happy changed the topic, knowing how much you stressed about Peter.

You smiled sadly. May was always like a second mom to you. "Tell her I said thanks."

Happy hummed. "Why did you call me, by the way?"

You sighed and shook your head, "Oh boy, I'll tell you all about that later. I'm...working right now."

"Okay...you better not be getting into any trouble. And, does Pepper know about this work?"

You paused. "Umm...I guess? Okay, Happy, I gotta go, Bye!"

"Wait-", and you abruptly cut the call, shutting your eyes in regret. He was going rat you out to Pepper and she was going to panic about you going on a mission in a completely different country and not just helping Sam with his tech. You quickly shot a text to Rhodey, explaining the situation to him and telling him to handle Pepper and Happy and thankfully, he said he will do it.

Joaquin observed you for a while, wondering about your relationship with this woman and this guy. He decided to shove it back into his mind and tried to clear the awkward tension in the car.

"Uh- where are we going now?", Joaquin looked between Sam and Bucky. Sam scoffed and looked out of the window before glancing at Bucky.

"We’re going to a prison in Germany, to talk to the most dangerous criminal in the whole world", he announced in a fake-happy tone.

Bucky licked his lips and turned to look outside the window, a sarcastic smile on his face. You looked at Joaquin and shook your head.

"We're also coming with you, right?", you asked curiously.

"No", both Sam and Bucky replied at the same time.

"You're kidding. I don't know about flyboy, but I'm coming with you two", You asked them heatedly. First, they make you leave your house, then they convince you to join them, then they make you face an idiot like Walker and now they're telling you to go home right when they want to meet up with Zemo? Like you're supposed to be normal about this?

Joaquin speaks up then, "Hold on, yo, I'm coming with you as well. Who's gonna fly you there?", he asked with an eyebrow raised.

"You're coming with us, Torres. They are not", Sam conceded. Now, you were positively angry.

"And why is that, Samuel? Weren't you the one who asked me to join you? You think I can't handle it?", you accused him, never backing down from a challenge.

Sam took a deep breath in, "It's not that, (Name)-" "Then what is it?", you questioned him.

"It's too...personal for you", Sam tried to reason. You let out a scoff.

"Personal? Just say that you're afraid of my reaction to when I come face to face with Zemo, because you two actually wanna work with him and I'll fuck up your mission, Sam", you spit out and folded your arms across your chest.

Sam shook his head and Bucky let out a sigh, "It's not that, kid, we just wanna protect you. It's been a long time since you did this."

Your mouth fell open in offense, "Just because I was depressed for the last few months, doesn't mean I'm useless, Barnes", you responded in a hurt tone, your eyes shining with tears.

Bucky's face flashed with realization and his eyes widened, he turned around with a pained look on his face, clearly not meaning to sound like that.

"Wait, no, I didn't-" "I'll stay with them, guys. It's okay. (Name), you're coming with us", Joaquin surprised the three of you with his response. You stared at him in shock. He gave you a tentative smile before turning to look at Sam through the rearview mirror, "That's okay, right, Sam?"

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line before hesitantly nodding his head. "But, no stupid business, no doing shit solo or disappearin’ without informing us. You're gonna follow whatever Bucky and I say, that clear?", Sam asked you and you nodded tersely.

"Thank you", you addressed Sam before turning to Bucky, "and I'm sorry, Buck. I know you didn’t mean it like that. I just…", you murmured lowly. Whenever someone would treat you were some fragile thing, it made you defensive. Because your brain would convince you that you were useless and that others thought the same. Depression and you were best friends, after all.

Bucky shook his head and patted your knee, "No, I'm sorry. I should’ve known better", he replied in a soft voice.

You gave him a weak smile and turned your attention back to Joaquin, "Thank you, Joaquin", you muttered softly. Joaquin looked at you with that beautiful smile stretching on his lips and patted your hand unknowingly.

Your hand was warm from where he had kept his on top. He took it away way too soon and you were left craving for his warmth, your hand tingling. You looked at his sharp side profile longingly before turning back to look outside the window, your chest heavy with something that you didn't want to name.

-

After a long flight to Berlin, the four of you finally landed and Sam and Bucky asked you to stay back at the hotel with Joaquin. They were going to the prison to meet up with Zemo and you understood the gravity of the situation so you chose to stay back.

After they left, you and Joaquin retreated to your respective rooms to freshen up. Once you had showered and finished changing into comfortable clothes, you walked out of the room and your attention went to Joaquin's room. The door to his room was ajar and you noticed the way his desk was already littered with his things- his laptop, headphones and a few pieces of paper. You could hear the shower running from the bathroom in the hallway and decided to approach his desk out of curiosity.

Your eyes first fell on a graphic on the screen, it was a design of a jet pack, the colors being green and beige, mainly. Then you looked at the papers laying on the desk- they were drawings of mechanical wings and a suit. Your raised your eyebrows, impressed at his drawing skills and at the fact that Joaquin Torres wanted to be the Falcon and he had already designed his own suit? How sweet, you thought. He really was, Sam's number 1 fan.

"Oh—Hi, (Name)."

You jumped at his voice and turned around and regretted it immediately because he was shirtless. Your mouth fell open and your face warmed up as you raked your eyes across his body. His curls were still damp and they sat atop his head in a perfect mess, he was wearing black shorts and oh my god, he was ripped. You knew his arms were muscular but he was always dressed in either his army uniform or jackets so you couldn't really tell. He was lean, his arms toned and his physique looked nothing less than an athlete's. You stared at him in shock and snapped out of your daze when he started walking towards you.

"Hi! Sorry, I—Ididn't mean to intrude, I saw the sketches and I just-", you stuttered and halted when he stood next to you, the scent of the vanilla body wash hitting your nose, his warmth practically beckoning you closer.

"Don't apologise, it's alright. You'd give me an honest review, at least", he murmured sheepishly, his cheeks reddening because he definitely noticed you checking him out. Joaquin wanted to scream and giggle at the same time.

"Yeah! Right-uh, these are pretty cool, actually. Didn't know you were an artist, as well", you replied nervously and let out a breathy laugh, focusing on the sketches in front of you. He finally moved away from you and you closed your eyes, letting out a sigh of relief when he came back wearing a tank top (which wasn't any better because you still wanted to bite his arms. Wait, what?)

Joaquin rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and chuckled, "Yeah...since I saw Sam for the first time on the TV, I started sketching him excessively. And it slowly became a hobby. Then I turned to graphic designing and digital art.”

You made an impressed face and picked up one of the papers, observing the details.

“You didn’t tell me you wanted to be the Falcon”, you teased him lightly.

He let out a sheepish chuckle and you noticed that his lower teeth were adorably crooked.

“I mean-is that bad? Flying makes me feel free. Can you imagine how invincible those wings must make Sam feel? He looks like- like an angel when he’s up there with those”, Joaquin replied, his voice taking on a dreamy and fond tone.

You raised your eyes to look at him and gave him a sweet yet pained smile, your chest constricting as you remembered the way Peter would talk about your dad.

“Yeah, he really does look amazing when he’s wearing the wings”, you agreed with Joaquin, your eyes welling up. You cleared your throat before asking Joaquin, “You told Sam about this?”

He pursed his lips, “Yeah…he’s testing me or somethin’. Says I’m not ready yet.”

He looked like a child who didn’t get his candy and you giggled at the look on his face. His eyebrows furrowed even further.

“Why is that funny…”, he grumbled.

“You remind me of someone, that’s all”, you admitted in between giggles.

Joaquin’s face relaxed, admiring your smile with a dopey look on his face and dared to ask, “Of who?”

Your giggles receded and a fond and nostalgic look passed your face, “His name is Peter. I think you’d get along well.”

“Peter…is he your friend or..”, Joaquin tried to ask casually, like it wouldn’t crush him if you said you were dating Peter.

Your face warmed and you sputtered, “He’s- yeah, I’m- I was friends with him.”

Joaquin tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy, “Was? You guys don’t talk anymore?”

You scoffed in sarcasm, “Something like that. I had an episode a few months ago so I cut everyone off.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, (Nickname)”, Joaquin expressed sadly, not realising that he called you by your nickname.

You let out a small chuckle, “It’s alright, Jay.”

The look on Joaquin’s face was comical. He looked like he was buffering, face completely blank and eyes wide. You soon realised what you said and your eyes widened as well, your face heating up.

“I- uh”, you coughed lightly to get rid of the awkwardness, “we should order lunch”, you murmured and walked out of the room, your eyes shutting in embarrassment.

Joaquin stood there, his brain short circuiting at the fact that you just gave him a nickname and he loved it. And he wanted to hear you say it all the time.

-

“Should I tweak the green a bit or this one’s fine?”

You hummed. “Make it a lil’ darker. And go for the silver, looks good with the green.”

“Why not beige? Ooh or gold?”

“Do you wanna look like a certain God of Mischief?”

Joaquin made a face. “Yeah, nope. Silver it is.”

You smiled and took a bite from your sandwich.

“Soo…can I ask you somethin’?”, Joaquin asked, distracted, while working on his laptop.

You swallowed the bite and shrugged, “Sure.”

“So like, you can totally tell me to shut up-”

“Spit it out, flyboy.”

"Well- I've been thinking about it since Walker called you Midnight at the police station...Why'd you stop going out as that?"

You paused and swallowed nervously. Joaquin was about to back pedal when you responded, "Didn't see the point in going out to do that after...dad. Thought I'd stay alive for him and the life he fought so hard to give us, at least", you scoffed in a self-deprecating way before continuing, "Jokes on me because I was dead inside anyways. Didn't leave my room for weeks, didn't eat properly or sleep...cut off contact from everyone...Couldn't look at the suit without breaking down because it was the same thing I was wearing when he took his last breath", you sniffled and fiddled with your sandwich.

Joaquin looked at you with empathy and frowned.

"It's been lying around in my lab since then. Haven't bothered to repair it because-", your voice quieted down, "because if I change anything, then...then dad's touch will be gone."

Joaquin has experienced grief, not the kind where someone dies but the kind you experience when someone leaves your life. He doesn't know what it's like to be to be alive when the person you love the most has died- has ceased to exist. Yet, he felt his eyes well with tears and his heart break into a million pieces for you. Here you were, experiencing insurmountable amount of grief ever since you were a child and yet, you chose to be kind to people. He wanted to wrap you in his arms and protect you from everyone but for now, he settled with his shaky hand gently squeezing yours in support. You paused at the touch, electricity shooting up your arm.

"I could never imagine how you feel like. But, I just want you to know that I'm here for you. And so are Sam, Bucky and your family. You mean so much to so many people, (Name). You should be a little easy on yourself, this is your first time living life as well", he consoled you in a sweet voice and went to retract his hand before squeezing it once more, but you slowly turned yours to grasp his hand and squeezed it back, your gaze fixed on them.

Joaquin was so sure he'd stopped breathing. He subtly pressed his hand to his chest to check if his heart was still beating. You then looked up and gave him a shy smile, which he reciprocated, and both of you looked away, your faces warming up.

"Thank you, Joaquin", you whispered before slowly retracting your hand and cradling it on your lap. Joaquin flexed his hand in front him before closing it in a loose fist and rubbing his chest, "Anytime, (Name)", he responded in a quiet voice.

You cleared your throat and made an attempt to clear the tense atmosphere, "Don't think that just because I've been out of service for 6 months, means that I won’t body you during sparring."

Joaquin scoffed lightly, "Oh yeah, I'm sure you will."

You snapped your head to look at him, "What?"

"You were trained by a black widow, an archer, a god, a super soldier, a-" "Okay! Okay!", you laughed and slapped his hands. He laughed gleefully.

"You're an idiot, Jay", you jested. Joaquin just smiled dreamily and responded, "Sure", with a shrug.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from giggling at him.

-

After you and Joaquin were finished with your lunch, Joaquin received a call from Sam saying that they were going to Madripoor with Zemo. You sucked in a breath at that name because you knew how bad things are in Madripoor. You had heard all about it from Steve and Natasha and had done your own research on it. Now that they were going to be accompanied by Zemo? There’s no way you’re going to let them go on this mission without any backup.

Joaquin was supposed to stay back because of his duties and before Sam could say anything you announced, "I'm coming with you two."

Joaquin snapped his head to look at you in worry and Sam immediately interjected, “No, you’re not. You’re gonna follow our instructions. Don’t be like that. That place is-” “Dangerous. I know, Sam. I know very well how bad things are in Madripoor. That’s why, I’m joining you guys. I can be of help. And, also, are you forgetting that the most wanted criminal in the world is with you guys?!", you argued.

Joaquin put a hand on your arm and tried to reason with you, "Hey, listen to Sam. Maybe there's-" "Joaquin, I know what I'm doing. Please", you cut him off in an agitated manner. Joaquin's face flashed with hurt before he straightened up and removed his hand from your arm. He stepped to the side to let you talk to Sam and tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in stomach.

"(Name)--look, we know Zemo is probably not the best person to be trusted-" "No shit" "-but he knows what he's doing. This is right in his bag", Sam tried to make you understand.

"Sam, I'm telling you, if you don't let me join you guys, I'm gonna reach there in any way. You know that", you replied seriously. Sam knew you were stubborn enough to be reckless and follow them across the world if you wanted to. Sam groaned loudly and you could just see the way he was pinching the bridge of nose between his fingers.

"Alright! Okay, you're coming. But you're staying with me and Bucky, at all times", he instructed in his soldier voice, as if you were his subordinate. You smirked in triumph, "Yes, sir."

Sam cut the call with a request to Joaquin to drop you off at this airport that was just a few miles away from the city and to make sure your gear was functioning and had trackers in them, incase something went wrong.

Ever since the call ended, Joaquin had become too quiet, not engaging in his usual chatter. He moved around the room silently, only speaking up if you asked him anything or if he wanted you to pass him something. It made you miss his idle talks so you finally broke and asked him, "Alright, what is it?"

"What is what?", he mumbled distractedly and focused on installing a tracker on your laptop.

"You've been way too quiet, flyboy. Thought you'd stopped breathing for a second", you chuckled. You saw his shoulders go up and down with the deep breath he took in, admiring the planes and muscles on his back.

"Don't worry about it", he replied shortly in a distant and clipped tone.

The smile wiped off your face so quick at his tone, you stood there staring at his back with a grimace. "Whoa, what happened there?"

He scoffed and went back to his room to retrieve some tools. You followed him, your steps rushed, "Dude, I asked you something. You're not going to ignore me like that", your tone offended.

He turned around abruptly and you stumbled against him, your chests almost touching. It would take a single step for you to reach his lips.

"Why are you going?", brown eyes stared intently at your face, trying to grasp your reaction, his jaw muscles twitching.

You furrowed your brows and looked up at him, almost losing your balance at how close he was and how you could see every single mole on his face from this angle. "What do you mean 'Why', Joaquin? They need help. I thought I made it very clear that I'd be going with them."

Joaquin scoffed in disbelief and folded his arms across his chest, his biceps straining, "You also said that you'd listen to them. You-- you basically blackmailed Sam that you'd follow them any way if they refuse!"

Your mouth fell open, "I'm not a child. Just because I said I'd listen to them, doesn't mean I'm gonna listen to how they're willingly going to enter the lion's den. I know Madripoor. It makes sense for me to join them-" "And what about you? If something happens to you there? You don't even have your suit, (Name)", Joaquin stressed.

You grimaced, "I can still fight without the suit, Torres. And why do you care so much?", questioning him sternly.

That shut him up real quick. He clenched his hands into tight fists and looked away from your narrowed eyes, clenching his jaw to stop himself from speaking further.

"Yeah. That's what I thought. If you don't wanna drop me, that's fine. I'll go alone", you announced with finality in your tone.

As you were about to call a cab, he spoke up again, "There's no need for that. Let's go", in a low tone and made his way out of the room to help carry your bags downstairs.

You watched him leave the room, your chest hurting with something that was dangerously inching closer to longing, once again. The way he was so close to you, the way your hands fit against each other, the way he worried about you, the way he was so curious of you and your life...it was too much. You didn't deserve it. The pressure against your chest and throat wouldn't go away, so you tried clearing your throat a few times and took a couple of deep breaths in, before heading out.

-

The cab ride was silent, Joaquin and you choosing to keep your distance. The tension was so thick, that you were sure even the driver was feeling it. You finally reached the port and saw a single private jet parked on it. Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, you approached it, knowing damn well it wasn't one of your dad's. The look of confusion on Joaquin's face was an indicator that he was just as confused. "What the hell..", he muttered before the two of you noticed three figures approach the jet.

"Oh my god", you mumbled in disbelief.

Zemo was wearing an expensive fur collared coat with expensive sunglasses and Sam and Bucky were following him closely. You stared at Zemo behind your glasses in shock. You always forgot that he was a Baron, a fucking royalty himself. He greeted the aged butler with the classic European kisses before turning to look at you.

"Ah. The little Stark. It is an honor to meet you again", Zemo extended his hand and greeted you politely. Your mouth fell open and you looked at Sam and Bucky in exasperation, Joaquin pressing himself closer to you in protection, Sam and Bucky lowered their gazes in embarrassment.

"Dude, seriously?", you asked him with a shocked chuckle leaving your mouth. Zemo looked at everyone with a confused and oblivious look on his face, “What happened?”, he asked in that thick accent of his.

“Zemo, just—get inside. We’ll join you”, Bucky told Zemo in a bored manner. After Zemo boarded the plane, you turned to address Sam and Bucky.

“Wow. Hopping on our favourite criminal’s private jet like we’re going on a lovely vacation! Amazing!”, you sassed them and clapped your hands together.

Bucky let out a sigh, “Look. We don’t have any other option. His whole shtick is that he hates super soldiers. He has all these…contacts that can get to the lowest level and help us find out about the flagsmashers. We gotta do this if we don’t want to get caught up by Walker.”

“And why didn’t you ask me for help? Steve and Natasha were the ones who told me everything about madripoor, you know. Trust me, I know how bad it is. You guys will need backup”, you told them convincingly, Joaquin shifting in discomfort next to you.

Sam looked at you before letting out a sigh, “Okay. But if anything goes bad you pull back immediately, got it?”, his brown eyes staring at you in concern.

“Yes, Sam. I promise”, you reassured him sincerely. Sam nodded.

“Joaquin, you gotta report back to base and keep a track of us alongside the others. I’ll keep you updated”, Sam instructed Joaquin and patted his shoulder before boarding the jet. Bucky lingered around and smirked at you before joining Sam inside. You rolled your eyes and turned to face Joaquin, removing your sunglasses at the same time.

“See you in a minute?”, you squinted your eyes and gave him a tentative smile.

Joaquin let out a breathy chuckle and nodded his head. The way the sun was hitting his smooth skin, the chilly wind making his cheeks turn rosy, his radiant smile directed at you— all of it made your heart soar with joy and you couldn’t resist stepping closer and hugging him.

Your arms went around his back, you were slightly on your tippy toes and you settled your chin on his shoulder. You felt his body freeze, afraid that you’d pushed his boundaries you tried to pull back but his arms came around your waist and he hugged you close to him, his head leaning against your temple—you could smell the clean scent of his shampoo. You closed your eyes and let out a sigh of content, him mirroring you and you felt yourself blush.

“Take care, Quino. And don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine”, you whispered against his ear.

Joaquin was sure he was going to faint. Not only were you hugging him willingly, but you had called him Quino—so softly, at that. He was so content to just stand here and feel your warm and soft body against him. He hugged you tighter and murmured close to your ear, “Please come back safely.”

You smiled and nodded against him before pulling back slowly, none of you wanting to separate from the other. You approached the stairs and waved at Joaquin for the last time, him waving back and giving you his best smile while watching you go in.

Joaquin’s chest felt hollow now that you were away from him and he wished he could go with you and give you as many hugs as you wanted. But he left with hope blooming in his heart, because you had finally started to open up to him.

As soon as you boarded, Sam and Bucky looked at you with a knowing look in their eyes, communicating that they had witnessed the entire scene with Joaquin and your face warmed up. You averted your gaze from them and chose to sit on the seat behind Sam, choosing to keep your distance from those two (+ Zemo) and decided to put on your headphones to listen to your playlist.

As the plane took off, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest, hating the fact that you had to leave Joaquin behind and hating the fact that you craved his touch and presence more than you liked to admit.

Part 7

-

AN: i promised more Joaquin and reader content and u shall get it! Pls like and reblog! ☺️

taglist: @og-baby-ob14 @parkersjoy @littlemsramirez

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙯𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙨 | helmut zemo x reader

@radmerrmaid requested a drabble with zemo and enemies to lovers. what happened is a whole oneshot. don't ask me how.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: DUBCON SMUT, enemies to lovers/hate sex, rough sex including hair pulling, degradation and name calling, restraint, a slap, and overstimulation, touchstarved reader, unspecified age gap, very mild violence (hand-to-hand combat and a mention of a previous gunshot wound), kidnapping, soft!dark zemo?

"It must drive you crazy," he purred, wrapping his fingers carefully around the crystal glass before picking it up. "Seeing me like this."

He smirked around his sip of bourbon— at least you figured it was bourbon— as you tried to keep a poker face. You didn't like the idea of being seen as crazy at all, let alone because of him. "Like what?" you pressed instead of admitting to it.

"Free," he shrugged. "Out of that cage you worked so hard to keep me in."

"Getting you there was my job," you corrected with a frown. "If keeping you there was mine, too... you'd still be in it."

He laughed lightly, if briefly, and shook his head. "Still so prideful. You're young, and you have something to prove."

"I have nothing to prove to you," you asserted, shifting your weight on your hips— it was sort of uncomfortable to keep standing, but it felt wrong to take a seat even though he'd offered you one when you entered. It seemed like a sign of trust. Not that he should be surprised by you acting aloof, when he'd offered to meet you here without even explaining why.

"No, not to me," he agreed, setting the glass down again and taking one step closer to you. "To your friends at the CIA."

He seemed to emphasize every letter of the acronym, a playful condescension in his tone. "Friends is a funny way to say it," you rolled your eyes, "like I do what I do because I want to be popular, and not because I want to keep the world safe."

"Safe from me," he added, "the evil terrorist. Right?"

You ignored his question, not really wanting to dignify it with an answer— or start some spiel about how you don't really believe in evil people, just actions that merit punishment, bla bla bla...

"Yet, you couldn't keep yourself safe from me," he went on, raising one eyebrow as he examined you. "Or, you can't. Here you are— alone, as I asked."

Obviously, you had tried to imagine some way you could have back-up for this, even just tell someone where you were going. But this was Zemo's turf, and he had eyes and ears all over the city... he would know if you tried to turn this into a sting. Instead, you only hoped to gain some sort of information tonight that you could use to track him down when he tried to run again.

"You're more trusting than I suspected," he smirked, gaze darkening a bit. "Or, more desperate."

"Maybe the right word is 'curious'," you proposed. "Clearly, you have something to discuss with me."

"I do," he nodded. "A question to ask you-- one I feel only you can answer."

You waited for him to ask it, but even just the way he sucked in a sharp breath made you realize he was going to bore you with some preamble first— just like him, really..

"You see, after evading you so many times—"

"Narrowly," you interjected.

"Maybe some times," he shrugged, smiling, "other times, I think I had plenty of room. But that's besides the point... the point is, here I am. I've probably bested you for the last time—"

"That's not—"

"Ah ah, no interrupting, please," he scolded gently. "I know you know that if I can keep a low profile here, your organization has no hope of getting me back. I simply have too many resources, and your superiors know my risk is relatively low. No?"

Again, you refused to answer, but the way you crossed your arms tighter and glanced away seemed to serve as enough of an agreement.

"So that's it— I'm free. It should be so simple," he sighed. "So, why am I disappointed?"

You furrowed your brows, staring at him in confusion. You were waiting for him to say something to give context to that, but he didn't— he only waited for your response with an earnest look. "Why... are you asking me that?" you wondered.

"Because you're the person who knows me best."

You'd never thought of it like that, and it was such a jarring idea that you began to shake your head almost instantly. "No, that... that doesn't seem right..."

"I figured you would take pride in it," Zemo grinned. "You tracked me for years, studied me, learned my habits... I had to do the same to escape you. I must know you better than anyone else."

"That's ridiculous," you scoffed. "What are you trying to say?"

"I just hoped you could tell me why I feel this way— why I feel so wrong about never seeing you again."

Your chest tightened. You couldn't bear to meet his gaze; your stomach felt sick and strange and you just wanted to run out of there, but what good would that do? You needed him to tell you something you could use, one last chance to catch him before it was too late.

"If I didn't know you so well, and hate you so much," he went on, "I wouldn't have the energy to keep running. And me? I'm your biggest case. Sometimes you act like I'm your only case. What is it about me, that you need to win against me so badly?"

"It's not you," you insisted instantly, "it's me— it's who I am."

"Maybe that's how it started," he suggested, "but you can't spend so long hunting someone without becoming a little obsessed with them— trust me, I would know."

You grimaced at him. "You— you can't be serious."

"Who will you be without me to chase?" he pressed anyways, matching some of your anger as he stepped closer again— almost too close. "Without this... passion, between us?"

"Don't step any closer," you warned.

"Or what?" he challenged. "No weapons, no soldiers— it's just the two of us here."

He stepped up again, nearly pressed against you, and you couldn't let him get away with that... you had to prove you meant what you said. You weren't armed, and you knew he wasn't someone you wanted to go up against hand-to-hand... but at the same time, it was one thing you'd always secretly wished for. A chance to wage this war the way it should be, the way it had always been: personal.

You stepped back at the same time as you swung your fist, giving yourself just enough room to gain momentum— but you weren't quite fast enough, and he blocked you. From then on it was fast, instinctual: he was stronger but you were quicker, and on the offensive.

You never quite landed a hit, but neither did he— which felt like a good sign, until you realized he wasn't really giving it his all. Dodging and blocking, yes, but he wasn't trying to win, just keep you at bay.

"Come on!" you yelled in frustration as you finally got in a kick to his chest, forcing him to stumble back and nearly fall. "What are you doing, pitying me?"

"Hardly," he wheezed, a little affected by the hit, which made you smirk. "But I don't want to hurt you."

"Please," you rolled your eyes, putting your fists up and stabilizing your posture. "If we're going to do this, let's do it right."

He came at you, and finally, there it was... his real strength. That passion he'd been talking about, you could feel it.

Both of you were flushed and panting, exhilarated by the sport of it all. Unfortunately, right as you thought you'd found your moment— the weak spot in his form— it was a trap. When you moved in closer, he grabbed you and spun you around, holding your back against his chest so tight that you struggled to breathe.

But he didn't shove you down, didn't put you in a chokehold, didn't even threaten you or gloat about pinning you. Instead, he only held you tighter, and soothed you with a gentle 'shh' in your ear when you tried to squirm out of his grasp.

"Wh-what are you doing?" you whispered, your whole body shaking as he ran his tongue up your neck.

"If it's curiosity that brought you here," he purred in response, "I can satisfy that."

"You can't be fffucking serious," you hissed, though a moan tainted your words as one of his hands ran down your body, the other still effortlessly holding you still.

"I know you so well," he went on, a deep growl in his voice as your eyes fell shut. "I know how lonely you must be. That's one of the things we share."

His hand was heavy and warm against your leg, even through your pants— and it was moving higher, petting your inner thigh as you shivered.  Though your mind longed to resist him, your body was desperate for any affection; because he was right, you were lonely.  You couldn’t think of the last time someone had touched you like this, and yet you remembered it didn’t usually feel this good.  His touch was precise and careful and teasing— not too awkward but not too cocky.  And the heat of him wrapped around you, his hot breath on your shoulder, his wider form encompassing you… how could it feel so good?

“And I know you’ve thought about this,” he added.  “That’s something we share, too.”

He couldn’t know that— he might be rich and resourceful, but he wasn’t omniscient.  If you were any more logical in that moment, you would’ve realized he was just guessing and denied it.  But his teeth brushing over your pulse didn’t exactly provoke your critical thinking skills.  “Fuck, I— fuck,” you choked out instead, shuddering when he chuckled proudly.

“You might hate me, draga, but you need me,” he explained.  “Your mind needs me, just as much as your body does.”

Something about the way his fingers traced up your side, teasing your breast before pulling away right before getting to anything too exciting… it seemed to bring you back to reality, at least partially.  You absolutely couldn’t do this— you couldn’t let him do this.  “G-get off me,” you choked out, struggling against him again.

“That’s what you want?” he taunted.

“Get the fuck off me!” you yelped.

“Make me,” he challenged.

Bringing your foot down hard on top of his, he winced and you managed to break away, spinning around and shoving him back— he actually lost his balance that time, falling to the floor.  You were ready to deliver a firm and swift kick between his legs, but rolled over and grabbed your leg while it was up, bringing you down to the floor with him.

He laughed breathlessly, sounding a little frustrated, as you flailed for purchase against the floor— only for him to grab your wrists and pin you down, positioning himself over you with a grin.  His hair was shaken out of its style, hanging around his face which was flushed from exertion.  “You keep me on my toes, I’ll give you that,” he offered.  You tried to writhe again but he had you properly trapped now, with absolutely no way out.

“You wouldn’t,” you sneered incredulously.

“Wouldn’t what, dear?”

“You wouldn’t force yourself on me,” you completed.

He seemed a little surprised, hanging his head and shaking it.  “Oh,” he breathed, “no, I wouldn’t.”

A little relieved, you started to catch your breath.

“I don’t need to.”

He brought his lips down to yours suddenly— the collision was almost too rough, and yet it was the only thing that made sense for the two of you.  You groaned in protest yet submitted instantly, opening your mouth wide for his desperate and dominating kiss.

Your back arched up off the floor, and his weight seemed to sink down on top of you in response.  Though you hated yourself for it, you spread your legs a bit, just enough for him to rest his hips between— and fuck, you could feel it.  The hard, throbbing heat, you could feel it pressed against you and the most horrible moan was nearly lost to his lips.

He hummed back proudly, running his hands over your body, kissing you faster.

You were gasping for breath when he broke away, which only worsened when he latched onto your neck.  “God, I hate you,” you blurted out, just to remind you both that if this was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“You hate me for all those times I embarrassed you?” he assumed, hands holding your waist and starting to slide up your shirt.  “For when I eluded you, wasted your time, made a fool of you?”

“And that time you shot me.”

“I winged you,” he corrected— like that was any better.

He tugged your shirt up and you raised your arms, letting him slip it off; he spotted the scar right away, a line across your arm just under your shoulder.  He cooed for a second before kissing it softly— too gentle a moment for you to let lie.  You shoved his jacket back next, helping him slip it off his shoulders before pulling him down to kiss you again.

Your sports bra had a clasp in the front, it was a bit unique in that way, yet he had no trouble with it.  Freeing your chest, he of course had to tease you a bit more— instead of groping your waiting breasts right away, he guided your arms down from where they held onto the back of his neck, lifting you up from the floor a bit so you could slide the garment off and toss it away.  

When you laid back down, the floor was cold, but the hiss you let out was more a response to him rocking his hips against you, teasing you through these stupid remaining clothes.  “You know why I hate you?” he returned as he started to unbutton your pants, even though you’d entirely forgotten that last part of the conversation.

Before he answered the question, he yanked your pants and underwear down to your thighs— and swiftly got his own out of the way.  Your heart raced; you weren’t totally convinced this was really happening, not until he pushed into you in one painfully sudden thrust.  You cried out, yet he took no mercy on you.  He was ruthless, in fact.

Choking on your broken cries, you arched up off the floor again as he hammered into you, rage and relief and desperation evident in every movement.  He had to hold your legs tightly just to keep you from sliding across the floor, which only ensured you took every stroke as deep as it could go— which was already too fucking deep.

“Say it,” he ordered, “tell me why I hate you.”

“I caught you,” you said— but you knew that would just make him angrier.  Maybe that was kind of the idea.

Stopping just long enough to tug your pants the rest of the way off— and leaving you naked while he was still mostly dressed— he descended over you and looked right at you, far too close, with a rageful stare.

“You trapped me,” he corrected gruffly.  “You played dirty.”

Before you had a chance to retort that all’s fair in love and war, he started to pound into you… harder and meaner than ever.  You didn’t surprise yourself by crying out, considering how intense and nearly painful the feeling was, but you were a little confused that the word you said was a needy yes!

"Those years in prison," he snarled, "you could barely call it living, life in that place— you put me there. I thought every day about how you put me there."

He yanked your hair, making you whine loudly and exposing your neck for his lips and teeth to explore freely.  

Finally, a hand latched onto your chest— a hot palm encompassing your breast and skilled fingers pinching lightly at your nipple.  You couldn’t believe how composed he was through all this— in many ways, he wasn’t, but he seemed to be deliberate with every way he touched you and that was far more togetherness than you had.

You weren’t together at all, actually… something about the heat of the moment, the way your body responded to him, the way he glared at you… you could already feel tension building inside you.  It wouldn’t be long, not if he kept going like this.

“I thought about you every fucking day, draga— that you were free, and I was trapped in that cell,” he growled.  “You missed it, didn’t you?  Chasing me.”

When you didn’t answer, he struck you across the face with the back of his hand; the shock of it made your walls clench on him, or at least you could blame it on that, but you had no way to explain the way you moaned a moment later.

He moved even faster, a sickening wet sound echoing through the room which you hated to acknowledge was your own body.  “The worse I am to you, the wetter you get,” he noticed, smiling for just a moment.  “What a filthy whore you are.”

“F-fuck you,” you stammered roughly.

“Actually, why don’t you?” he offered, grabbing you by the hips and rolling both of you over until he was on his back and you were straddling him.  “Show me how bad you need it.”

As much as you wanted to not do what he told you, your hips were already moving— your body was on its own mission now, desperate for pleasure and friction and heat.  Desperate for anything he would give.  You whimpered as you grinded down on him, feeling his cock go so much deeper than you imagined was possible.  “God,” you sobbed, tossing your head back and trying not to picture the way he must have been looking at you then.

His hands moved all over you, up your thighs and over your breasts, even wrapping around your neck once though they didn’t put on enough pressure to really choke you.  “Pretty girl,” he praised darkly, making chills dance over your skin.

But when his hands settled on your hips, trying to guide you the way he wanted, you’d had enough; you grabbed him at the wrists and leaned forward, pinning his hands beside his head.  He smirked up at you at first, but when you bounced your hips up and down while hovering over him, his eyes fell shut and he let out a deep groan.  “I’m close,” you panted sharply.

“You can make yourself come like this?” he realized, sounding a little impressed.  He opened his eyes and lifted his head for a moment to get a better look at you, before almost instantly giving up again and dropping his head back to the floor with a moan.  “Fine, take it— just take what you need, draga.”

You held tighter to his wrists, mostly to keep yourself stable, and you felt his own hands ball into fists as you bounced faster.  “Oh god, oh god, oh god— yes!” you yelped, legs quivering as it struck you.  It seemed to come and go so quickly, perhaps because your strength gave out halfway through and you felt weak and paralyzed.  It had been ages since you’d felt pleasure like that… actually you weren’t sure you’d ever felt pleasure like that, at least not so much all at once.

If only he were satisfied by that.  With your grip weakened, he easily pulled his hands away to wrap his arms around you, holding you tightly and bucking his hips up into you rapidly.

“Fuck, wait, s-slow down,” you panted, whining weakly as he shook his head against the crook of your neck.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he purred.  “I won’t be able to slow down at all until you’re full of come, draga.  I want you dripping.”

You were all numb and limp now, so raw and sensitive inside— he put you on your back again and didn’t struggle at all to pull another orgasm from you.  The third, though, was a little more hard fought: he rubbed your clit with an almost painful amount of pressure, watching through dark eyes and with a sneering grin as you screamed and shivered.

“Not too loud, darling,” he warned, “the people in the streets might hear you, the window’s still open—”

“Fuck!” you shouted, high-pitched and shaky, and he covered your mouth with his other hand as he laid on you with a growl.

“Just one more, then I’ll fill you,” he promised.  “I only need to feel you come one more time.  You want a rest, don’t you?”

You nodded weakly, biting down on your shaking lip.

“Then give me what I want.”

Your final cry was stuttered and helpless, every final ounce of energy in your body being taken from you by the final forced peak of ecstasy.  But it wasn’t until you sighed out his name, barely audible under your breath, that he groaned against your neck and pumped himself deep inside you— every drop, leaving you full to the brim and then some.  

You didn’t even have the strength to hold onto him, but he held you far too tightly as if to make up for it, and didn’t let you go for quite some time.

It had only gotten darker and colder out, and the draft through the window eventually danced over your sweat-slickened skin.  When you shivered under him, Helmut lazily reached up to the couch nearby, pulling a throw blanket off of it and wrapping you both up in its soft embrace.  You sighed with relief from both the cold air and the hard floor, not even realizing you were falling asleep. 

Even when you woke up, you didn’t really notice that you’d been asleep— except that Helmut was gone, and the fireplace was going.  Sitting up as little as you could get away with to look for him— since moving at all was quite a task given how tired you were— you heard him coming around the corner and turned back to look at him.

He was in a robe now, and carrying two crystal glasses of water.  He smiled at you as he sat back down on the floor, laying beside you on the blanket and handing you your glass.  “Figured you would need this soon enough,” he explained with a soft voice as you sipped carefully at the water.  You weren’t really ready to talk to him yet, but you wanted to thank him for the water, so you just nodded and hoped that would get the point across.

The silence was probably only awkward for you— he seemed totally at peace, getting through most of his drink before setting it down on the floor and cuddling up to you again with a contented sigh.

You quietly drank the water, staring forward at the crackling fire, hardly believing where you were.  It actually sounded sort of romantic on paper: a dashing and wealthy older man, a penthouse apartment in a foreign city, a fire, a blanket, a crystal glass…

If it weren’t for the wanted terrorist, it might make for a good little fantasy.

Yet, you set your glass aside and laid back down with him.  He slipped an arm around you, holding your shoulder and petting it with his thumb, even kissing the side of your forehead sweetly.  “I don’t understand how you can… be like that,” you whispered, glancing down at his arm crossed over your chest.

“Not everyone is so afraid of their feelings as you are,” he countered, and you snorted a little.

“I’m not afraid of my feelings,” you denied half-heartedly.

“You’re afraid of me, then?” he wondered.

“Not… quite…” you murmured your answer, not even sure yourself what you felt.  “I mean, I drank the water, so—”

“I wondered if you would,” he laughed, “but I’m glad you did.”

“I mean, only half the glass, technically,” you noticed.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ve had enough,” he shrugged.

“Enough?” you chuckled.  “After that, half a glass of water is hardly enough.  I won’t be recovered until I have a protein-heavy meal and probably a couple painkillers— if I wanna, you know, sit or jog or whatever in the next few days.”

“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” he chuckled, “but I didn’t mean enough to recuperate.  I meant enough for you to sleep until we get there.”

“...what?” you asked, turning over your shoulder with knitted brows to look at him.

“If even you know where you’re going, you might find a way to get out is all,” he explained flippantly.

“What… what are you…?” you started, shaking your head— but it didn’t shake off that funny feeling, that heaviness in your head.

“You see, I did think about you every day in my cell,” he went on, “and I thought about how, someday, I would lock you away— so you’d know how it feels, to be a prisoner.”

Whimpering as realization dawned, you sat up quickly to try to fight whatever was in that water… but it only seemed to make it worse, spots forming in your vision like when you stand up too fast— except they didn’t fade, just multiplied.

“I’ll treat you much better than I was, though,” he assured, “in fact, I think you’ll be better off than you were before… you’ll be mine, draga.  No one else will ever see you again.”

You tried to speak but it wasn’t really coming together— you tried to push him away but you only limply held onto him, looking up at his eerily blank expression with your fading vision.  As it all turned to black, he caught your head before it hit the floor, cradling it rather tenderly before kissing your cheek.

“Now,” he whispered to you, though you couldn’t possibly hear it, “let’s get you cleaned up— the plane is waiting to take you to our new home.”

[holylulusworld]

A new home

Summary: He deserves love.

Pairing: Wakanda!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader (Steve's adoptive sister)

Warnings: brother’s best friend trope, fluff, kind of secret relationship

Square filled for @avengers-assemble-bingo “Bucky Barnes Birthday bingo event": Square 4: Brother’s best friend

Square filled for @buckyboybingo: Square 16: Almost caught

Square filled for @fandom-free-bingo: Half-Baked Edition: Square 7: “You are so beautiful.”

Square filled for @buckybarnesbingo: C1: Wakanda!Bucky

Card: B004

Rating: Teen

A/N: In my story, the reader is Steve’s adoptive sister, which makes the story more inclusive.

Steven Grant Rogers. Captain America. A hero. The golden boy. A fugitive now. A man on the run.

Why? Because he saved his best friend. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky to his friends.

Not only are Steve and his friends on the run. You, his adoptive sister, are on the run as well. You’re not adopted legally. Hell, his parents are long gone, and you never signed any papers.

Steve found you some years back in an abandoned Hydra base. The bastards were looking for people to experiment on, and you ended up in a cell. Steve came just in time, saving the day and you.

From that day on, he called you his little sister. Not related by blood, but a strong bond of trust, loyalty, and love.

You, along with Natasha, Sam, Wanda, Bucky, and Steve, found refuge in Wakanda. It’s not the worst place to live. The truth is, it’s so much more peaceful and advanced than the old world you were living in.

“What’s on your mind, Y/N?” Steve worriedly watches you stare in the distance. “Do you regret following me?”

“Never,” you reply without missing a beat. It’s the truth. Since the day Steve saved you, he has been nothing but good to you. He never lied or let you down. He’s, in any way, your big brother. Related by blood or not. “I just wonder what the others are doing.”

“Tony is… He gets around somehow.” He says, not convinced himself. “T’Challa checked on Rhodey’s condition for me. Clint and Lang made a deal to get out of prison. It’s not ideal, but…”

“They are free,” you end his line. “That’s good. They both have kids and all. I wouldn’t want them to end up being in prison. Our fight wasn’t their fight.”

“This fight should’ve never happened. Zemo did a good job splitting the Avengers,” Steve sighs deeply. He’s tired of saving people while hiding in the shadows.

“I understand that Tony was mad, but—” You nervously rub your face. “Bucky wasn’t himself back then. Tony should understand this. He’s a smart man.”

“One of the smartest people I ever met,” Steve says, sadness in his voice. “Maybe, one day, we can look back at that moment without anger.”

Steve walks away, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You look out of the window one last time before turning around and walking away.

He looks almost at peace when you watch him from afar. A few months ago, Shuri removed the programming controlling Bucky. No more Winter Soldier. No more being controlled by trigger words.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Bucky murmurs as you sneak inside his thatched-roof hut. He sighs because you won’t listen to him.

“I want to be here,” you reply as you sit down on the makeshift bed. “If you do not join us in the palace, I’ll stay here with you.”

“Y/N,” Bucky says as he enters the hut to sit next to you. “If Steve finds you here, he won’t like it.”

“Why?” You move a little closer to place your hand on his flesh hand. “You’re his best friend. He fought his friends to protect you.”

“You’re his sister,” Bucky softly whispers your name as he looks at you with soft eyes. “You’re so beautiful and too good for me.”

“Don’t say things like that,” you angrily reply. “Please don’t do this to yourself.”

You look at him, gently stroking his hair. It’s a little longer now; it falls past his shoulders and is slightly wavy. You press a soft kiss to his bearded cheek and giggle as his full beard tickles your skin.

Bucky softly smiles, letting you run your hands over his chest. He’s wearing a sleeveless reddish-burgundy top. The one you bought for him. Over this, he has a dark blue shawl draped loosely over his shoulders and knotted at his chest.

“I don’t deserve you.” You cup his face and lean closer to kiss him, soft and careful. Bucky is not ready yet for the next step.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. “I don’t care about your past. This wasn’t you, Bucky. I know the real Bucky, and Steve does too. Nothing else matters.”

Bucky sighs against your lips. He’d love to tell you that he feels the same, but this would only encourage you to stay with him. Deep down inside, Bucky believes that Steve would never accept your relationship and that you are too good for him.

“Stop thinking too much.” You press your forehead against Bucky’s. “Steve would be happy if he knew. He loves you like a brother.”

“Last time, we almost got caught. You shouldn’t stay here or be around me. Steve would turn his back on me, knowing you sleep here.”

“We are adults, Bucky,” you kiss his forehead. “And we didn’t do anything wrong. We slept together, nothing else. Even if we…” You giggle and hide your face in his neck. “You know… Steve couldn’t do anything against it.”

“He’d kill me if I did dirty things to you.”

“Dirty things,” you tease. “You want to do dirty things to me?” Lifting your head to meet his gaze, you smirk. “What kind of dirty things?”

His cheeks are shades of pink when you look at him. “I wouldn’t… I mean…”

“I was being a tease, Bucky.” You peck his lips, careful not to pressure Bucky. “Do you want me to stay? If not, I’ll go.”

“Stay.” He carefully touches your hand. “Please stay tonight.” He nuzzles your cheek. “I have a second pillow for you.”

You smile because he slowly opens up to you. Love is something Bucky hasn’t experienced in ages. But now that you all have found a new home in Wakanda, he has the chance to explore his feelings.

Both of you lie down. Bucky wraps his arms around you and allows you to rest your head on his chest. Your heart flutters as he holds you a little tighter and says, “I’ll ask Steve for an allowance to ask you out on a date.”

Tags in reblog.

[ivybucky]

First Time - b.b. x gn!reader

Summary: You have a habit of calling people by cute nicknames or monikers, and Bucky isn't sure why it made him feel so good.

a/n: I'm breaking my hiatus finally!!! this is just a cute lil fic somewhat based on first time by hozier without the thought-provoking underlying angst. 1.9k

Content/Warnings: tfaws!Bucky, fluff, pining, tfaws fight scenes, zemo mention, multiple Sam appearances, references to fights/violence, use of y/n, use of the nickname doll when referring to the reader, friends to lovers? (let me know if i'm forgetting anything)

Masterlist

Believe it or not, Bucky Barnes tried to not think about his past. 

Though his efforts to make amends were a work-in-progress, and his name was brought up in the press more often than he preferred, Bucky Barnes tried to think about his past as little as possible. 

The first time you called him James was the first time he had liked the way it sounded. You had smiled at him, sweet and welcoming, as Sam introduced the two of you.

“It’s nice to meet you, James.” God, did it fall off your tongue in the nicest way. “Thank you for looking after birdbrain over here.” You giggled at Sam’s distant-sounding protest.

Bucky cracked a sideways smile, not being able to stop himself. “You can call me Bucky, doll.”

Your smile morphed into a sort of smirk, cheeks warming at the nickname he gave you. “Is that what you prefer?”

He hadn’t given it much thought anymore. He knew James as the person who enlisted in the military, the person who fell from the train following Captain America into the throws of war. James was the person who was Hydra’s plaything, the assassin, the monster he was so desperate to forget. Bucky was the charmer, the best friend of Steve Rogers, the swing dancer who had a habit of punching bullies(justified obviously). 

Now, he didn’t feel like either. Going by Bucky was the easiest option, since it was the part of him he was desperate to gain back. Talking to you however, he didn’t think he cared what he was called anymore. 

He gave you a soft grin, one that may have held a bit more meaning than flirtation. “I don’t mind either, you can call me whatever you want.”

—

The first time you called him by any kind of nickname was the day they went to Madripoor.

“Sammy! Buck!” You called their names as you waved big at them from the small airport hangar. 

Bucky tried to slow his heart as the pair walked closer to you. Sam let out a chuckle next to him, a teasing smile thrown his way. “Hope you don’t mind the extra company, Buck.”

With a frown and a grumble, Bucky widened his gait, the toe of his shoe catching on Sam’s, causing him to trip up momentarily. “Don’t call me that.”

He reached you first, allowing his smile wider further than before. “Hi Y/N, what’re you doin’ here?”

You placed a gentle hand on his left shoulder, rubbing back and forth. “It’s good to see you too,” you chuckled. “Sam told me what you guys are doing with Zemo. He thought I might be able to provide some kind of help, right Sam?”

Sam walked up with somehow both a smirk and scowl on his face and pulled you into a quick hug. “That’s right, though I might’ve invited you along so that I’m not the only one putting up with his old ass.”

Bucky scoffed, trying to ignore the lack of warmth from your otherwise occupied hands. “Are you sure about this, doll? This is probably gonna end with all of us on a watch list.”

You nudged his shoulder, your own smirk gracing your features. “As if I wasn’t on one already.”

The boys both chuckled, before Sam spoke up. “Speaking of watchlists, he’s here.”

Boarding the private jet that Zemo just happened to have, Bucky tried to keep his eyes on you the whole time, even as you sat in the leather seat between him and the window. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just fascinated by this - I don’t know what to call it,” your brows furrowed at the sentence, at the faint smirk that rested on Zemo’s face. “But this part seems important. Who is Nakajima?”

Bucky was out of his seat in an instant, metal fingers gripped tightly around his throat. Zemo’s face wiped itself of any amusement. Bucky spoke into his ear low and gruff, but it could easily be heard throughout the plane cabin. “You touch that again and I’ll kill you.” 

He snatched the notebook back into his and heavily sat back down into his seat, hand wound tight around the small journal

Your fingers reached across his lap and wrapped around his clenched metal fist, thumb rubbing soothingly over the back of his hand. “Just ignore him, sweetheart. You and I both know nothing that man says is worth anything.” 

Bucky looked down at your joined hands, then glanced up at you with a small smile. He gave your hand a couple of squeezes, and tried to focus back on the words being said throughout the rest of the plane ride. 

—

The first time you called him “baby” was during their fight with John Walker. 

Madripoor and Latvia had been filled with silent stares, small smiles, and soft words . Fleeting “friendly” touches ensued as well - Bucky’s hand on your back drawing small circles, your gentle grasp of his hand or arm when he clenched his fist.

Bucky talked to you about Yori, about his too soft mattress, about his too shitty of a therapist, his want to get a cat. You told him about meeting Sam, your agency background, your agreement that he should totally get a cat. And now, you just wished you could have that again.

Walker was too strong, landing solid hits on both Sam and Bucky that could easily start slowing them down. He had lifted the shield over their bodies too many times, clearly holding on to the same psychotic fury he had when he killed the Flagsmasher.

To this point, you stood frozen in watch. You weren’t there when the fight started, and between Sam and John’s current focus on Bucky, you weren’t sure which side needed the most aid.

John had flung Bucky into a nearby metal utility pole for Christ’s sake, and a cry wretched itself from your lips. You ran to his side as he laid on the ground unconscious, metal arm cackling with untamed electricity. 

“Bucky,” you murmured as you checked his spine for any breaks. You could hear his breath, as shuddered as it was after an impact like that. You moved him to lay on his back, palm pressed to his cheek. “Bucky, honey, come on, wake up.”

You tapped his cheek a couple of times in slight panic, other hand unconsciously combing his hair back. A couple of moments passed before he groaned and huffed out a cough. “Bucky,” you sighed a breath of relief, eyes near tearing up as the tension left your body. “Are you hurt, baby?”

He sat up with a grimace, another groan leaving his lips. “What the fuck?”

“He took the serum,” your hands had yet to leave his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He looked up at you with a wincing smile, still bright enough to make your heart stutter. “I’m okay, sweetheart.” The red gracing your cheeks could be easily based on the intensity of the fight, but it was unsaid knowledge that wasn’t the case. He touched the hand holding his cheek as you swept a thumb back and forth. A grunt from the fight crashed them both back to reality. “He’s gonna kill Sam.”

You stood up, pulling him with you by his metal arm. Bucky swung his arm around to recalibrate before jogging forward. “We gotta get the shield. Be careful, don’t let him pin you.”

____

The first time you kissed him was in Louisiana. 

You giggled from the picnic table as you watched Bucky dodge Sam’s nephews, cake in hand, as they tried to tackle him for his arm, as well as when several of the children pleading to hang off of it.

He sat next to you on the bench of the table, shoulder pressing into yours as you basked in Sam and Sarah’s storytelling. Bucky shared some bittersweet stories about Steve, drawing smiles from everyone listening. Each laugh had you leaning into him a bit more, but a complaint could not be heard, especially when your hands brushed under the table.

The evening continued on like that into the early night. Bucky entertained the masses, looking a lot like the charmer he used to be. Sam reminisced with his community, taking many photos with his local family. 

You sat on the pier, leaning back against the wooden bench as the sun set over the water’s horizon. You could faintly hear laughter behind you on the dock mixed with the sound of the stereo’s music drifting over. A smile grew on your face as a presence made its way towards you, shoes scuffing against the wooden slats. A soft hand rested on your shoulder and sent warmth through your body. “Care for some company, doll?”

You flashed Bucky a smile that had him weak as you turned back to him and patted the space next to him. He sat down close, thigh pressed against yours, shoulder to shoulder yet again. 

“What’re you gonna do now, Buck? You think you’re gonna stick around?” 

He sighed, staring down at his metal hand in contempt. “I don’t know,” his hand clenched in his lap. “I’ve been following orders for a long time now. Might be good for me to work with someone, not for. Even if birdbrain has a habit of getting on my nerves.”

You reached across his lap and gently unfurled his fingers. He wished the pressure he felt against the metal was more tangible for once, more definitive. “You should do whatever makes you feel the most free, sweetheart.” You slipped both of your hands around his, rubbing small circles with your thumb. “Whether that be with Sam or doing something else. You deserve it.”

Bucky’s eyes drifted over your face and observed its features - the small smile that curled around your lips, the kindness in your eyes. “And what about you?” he spoke softly. “Will you stay?”

You looked up to him and searched his eyes with a hopeful grin. “Are you asking?” you chuckled, using one of your hands to comb his hair back behind his ear, thumb resting on his cheek. “If I’m needed, I’ll stay.”

Bucky puffed out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. “Well ya know,” he threw a bright smile in your direction. “Sam’s gonna need you here so he doesn’t lose his mind.”

You chuckled, leaning a little bit closer.  “And you? Do you need me?”

Bucky took in the space between you, the way your breaths mingled, foreheads near touching. “Yeah, baby,” he allowed himself to fully lean in. “I need you.”

You kissing him was like coming up for air, or finding water in the middle of the desert. It was salvation, it was required for him to have in order to survive. Your lips were soft, tasting faintly of the beer you had earlier. His mouth moved against yours like a magnet following them wherever they went. His hand drifted to your waist, moving you somewhat into his lap as you both smiled into the kiss. When you finally broke apart, it was only for the need for oxygen to fill your lungs. 

You giggled from above him, heads pressed together. Your hands locked themselves around his shoulders in an embrace that forced him to stay where he could feel the pant of your breath across his skin, not that he was complaining. “I guess I’ll stay then.”

Please reblog and comment! It's my first fic in *two fucking years* and i need to know that this is still good lol

[touchtheinvisiblestars]

Imagine Bucky when he realises you were right there as he put on the winter soldier persona

The entire club felt like it was being held at the edge of a knife. All eyes trained on the small group of you at the bar.

Unprepared for what just happened, your gaze flickered around, avoiding Bucky. Nervous of just how many people were watching, and the hired security that were inching their way closer, fingers ghosting over their own triggers.

Sharing a side glance with Sam, who's only assurance was a visible clench in his jaw. You stepped closer to him and warily watched Zemo.

The only person you hadn't looked at was Bucky. Still too stunned by the events of the last few minutes, even though you could feel him staring.

As he released the man he was gripping onto, the movement drew your gaze to him. He was still looking only at you, a kind of half horrified, half defeated look in his eyes.

You felt like there was no air in the room, unable to catch your breath, you startled as the man crumpled to the floor.

"I can't do this Sam."

You backed away and made a beeline for the exit. Sam failing to grab you as you rushed out.

Busting out the emergency exit of the club, the cool night air hit you.

"Y/N." Sam called, having followed you.

"I'm sorry Sam. It's too much, seeing that side of him. It just looks so easy for him to slip back into it."

"I know. I get it. But it's just for show. He's safe."

Leaning against the railing, you looked at the stairs down. Knowing you could run if you wanted to.

Letting out a big sigh, "I know. It's funny we've been working so close with him and we've shared so much. But all it took was 30 seconds and I'm back on that highway again thinking I was going to die."

"And we've done really well to get this far. Don't doubt yourself. You've come so far."

"Sam." Buckys voice started from the doorway.

"She's alright. Here. I'll go keep an eye on Zemo." Sam squeezed your shoulder affectionately, before disappearing back into the club.

You turned to look at him. He had his classic lost puppy dog expression. One you had grown to be quite fond of.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry Bucky. It just took me back a bit."

"I didn't want to do that. I need you to know that. Especially with you there. That's not who I am. Please don't think it's just waiting to come out. I was in control the whole time."

"I know you didn't. I'm sorry you had to."

"It's why I hate places like this. You just get labelled as guard dog."

Feeling the tension wash out of you. You relaxed your posture fully turning to face him.

"We know that's not who you are anymore. Please don't feel guilty."

"Come on its like you don't know me at all. I'm a walking pin cushion of guilt" He laughed.

[mandoalorian]

speak now [bucky barnes x f!reader]

horrified looks from everyone in the room but i’m only looking at you.

word count: 1,800

rating/warnings: 13+, angst, pre-established relationship with helmut zemo, hurt/comfort, happy ending (i imagined this with tfatws!bucky).

fic inspired by speak now by taylor swift ₊˚ෆ

: ̗̀➛ masterlist

The mirror felt cold beneath your fingertips.

“Are you okay?” one of your bridesmaids asked gently, fluffing the hem of your dress behind you.

You nodded, lips tugging upward into something that passed for a smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

But you weren’t thinking about vows or flower arrangements or the champagne toast.

You were thinking about Vienna.

It had rained that night. Not enough to soak the rooftop, just enough to leave the sky glistening and the air charged with the kind of electricity that makes people say things they normally wouldn’t.

It had been just the two of you — you and Bucky — standing at the edge of a building overlooking the Danube, your mission gear still clinging to your skin, both of you catching your breath from a close call in the shadows below.

He’d saved your life that night. Threw himself between you and a sniper’s bullet like it was instinct. Maybe it was.

“I told you not to run ahead,” he said, voice low, a smirk barely ghosting across his lips.

“And I told you I hate being told what to do,” you shot back, though your pulse hadn’t stopped racing.

You hadn’t thanked him.

Not with words.

Instead, you stepped closer to him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his chest, the way his shoulders tightened when you reached up to touch his jaw — a small scrape blooming red from the scuffle.

“You’re bleeding,” you said softly.

He didn’t move away.

“It’s fine,” he murmured. “You’ve seen me worse.”

Your thumb traced the edge of the wound, careful, lingering longer than necessary. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

The city lights stretched out behind him, but all you saw were his eyes. Tired. Guarded. Like he was holding in a war he didn’t trust anyone else to fight.

“I’m not going to stop worrying about you, you know,” you whispered. “No matter how many walls you put up.”

He swallowed hard. You felt it, saw it in the way his throat bobbed.

“I don’t want you to,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

You didn’t understand. Not right away. But then his hand came up — hesitating — until it hovered near your waist. Not touching. Just there.

And that’s when you felt it.

That aching, fragile almost.

He was close enough to kiss you. Close enough to ruin everything.

Your breath hitched.

“Say something,” he murmured. “Before I do something stupid.”

You stared at him.

“I can’t,” you whispered.

And he nodded. Just once. Like it was exactly what he expected.

You both stood there, in the middle of a storm that never broke, hearts full of things neither of you dared say.

Eventually, he stepped back. And that was the end of it. Or so you thought.

You never meant for it to end this way.

Not with lace trailing behind you. Not with trembling hands wrapped around a bouquet that didn’t mean anything. Not with Bucky Barnes watching you walk down an aisle meant for someone else.

But then again, you and Bucky had never done anything the way people expected.

It started simple. Late nights at the compound, sitting shoulder to shoulder in silence that felt warmer than words. Missions that turned into inside jokes. Gloved fingers brushing yours when he passed you a cup of coffee. The way his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t looking.

You should’ve said something.

You should’ve asked him what he meant, that night on the rooftop in Vienna when he’d leaned in like he might kiss you but didn’t.

Instead, you let him pull away. And eventually, so did you.

Enter Helmut Zemo — elegant, composed, intelligent in a way that made you feel like you could finally breathe. He listened. He gave you space. And he didn’t come with ghosts clinging to his back like chains.

It was easier with Zemo. Simple. Predictable.

Bucky never was.

You and Bucky never even kissed. But, you never had to. The love was there in the way he always stood slightly too close. In the way his voice softened when he said your name. In the way he always watched you like he wasn’t sure he deserved to.

But he never said it.

And when Zemo did — when he got down on one knee with a vintage ring and a calm certainty Bucky never gave you — you said yes.

Not because it felt like fate.

Because it felt like a life raft.

You didn’t invite Bucky to the wedding. You couldn’t. Not after the way he looked at you when he found out. He didn’t say anything — just nodded, smiled like it didn’t kill him, and said he was happy for you.

You should’ve known that was a lie.

Now, you’re here. The aisle stretches endlessly before you. Guests turn in their seats. The quartet plays something soft and elegant. And at the end of the aisle, Zemo waits, handsome and steady.

But it’s not his eyes you look for.

It’s the man in the last row, sitting alone, head down.

Bucky Barnes.

His hair is shorter now, especially compared to the last time you’d seen him. You remembered one night at the compound, your fingers tangled in his hair, casually making a comment about how he’d look so good if he cut it. Either way, he looked good, but he had been complaining about maintaining it. And you liked the idea of seeing his face more, instead of it being hidden by unkempt bangs.

In spite of the changes, Bucky still had that same stubble grazing his jaw. And those same ocean blue eyes and pink lips.

He shouldn’t be here. But he came anyway.

He doesn’t smile. Just watches you like you’re walking toward your own execution.

You try not to cry.

The ceremony begins.

Zemo says his vows first. They’re poetic. Controlled. Exactly what you expected. Then it’s your turn. You open your mouth, but your throat feels dry, feeling Bucky’s gaze burn into you. You say your vows distracted, your eyes glazed with unshed tears. Everything about this felt wrong. And yet here you were, standing in front of your family and friends, about to be trapped forever.

You forced yourself to change your train of thought. This wasn’t fair on the man who stood at the altar, beside you.

No, nothing about this was fair.

Zemo was nice enough. He was intelligent and passionate and a good lover. He worked hard and earned enough money to take care of the both of you, and he always fought for what was important to him. Those were traits you could value in anyone.

He was handsome too. He dressed well, albeit not to everyone’s taste. He wouldn’t have dared to be seen in tactical gear. And you supposed you could admire that.

If you were to really force yourself.

Zemo was nice, but he wasn’t Bucky.

Every instinct told him to stay away. To let you be happy, even if that happiness was in someone else’s arms. Even if it killed him.

But Bucky Barnes had never been good at doing what he should.

So here he was. In the back row of a wedding he didn’t belong at, fists clenched in his lap, jaw locked so tight it ached. Sam had begged him not to go. “Move on,” he had told his friend with convict and care. But Bucky couldn’t. He’d tried and he couldn’t, and now he was running out of chances.

You looked like a dream.

No — not a dream. A punishment. A walking reminder of everything he wanted but never dared to take.

He’d lost you a long time ago.

That night on the rooftop in Vienna had been the closest he’d ever come to telling you the truth. The air had been damp with rain, the mission barely behind you. The city was still burning beneath your feet, but all he could think about was the way you’d looked at him — like you saw something in him worth saving.

You left the rooftop that night thinking nothing had changed.

He left knowing everything had.

And still… he stayed silent.

He watched you fall for someone else. Watched you laugh at another man’s jokes. Watched you wear a ring that wasn’t his. He convinced himself he was doing the right thing — staying away, keeping his distance, letting you be happy.

But when the music swelled and you walked down that aisle, he realised something.

He wasn’t protecting you.

He was just scared.

Scared you wouldn’t choose him back.

Scared he’d never be enough.

Bucky’s chest burned. Because he was back on that rooftop, rain in the air, the heat of your hand on his skin, and the weight of almosts on his tongue. Not this time.

“If anyone objects to this union,” the officiant says, his voice cutting through the hush, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Your palms were clammy. Your ears were cold.

And then—

“I do.”

It’s like a grenade goes off in your chest.

You whip around. Guests gasp. Zemo goes rigid beside you.

Bucky rises from his seat, face unreadable, hands clenched at his sides. But there’s no mistaking the tremor in his voice.

“I object.”

The room falls into stunned silence.

And you can barely breathe.

What is this feeling? Anger? Confusion? Relief?

“I know this isn’t fair,” Bucky says, stepping into the aisle, his voice raw. “And I know I should’ve said something sooner. But I can’t let you marry him without hearing this. Without knowing that I—”

He falters, then meets your eyes with everything he’s got left.

“I love you. I always have. I was just too scared to ruin what we had. I thought… maybe if I stayed quiet, you’d be happier. Safer. He can give you a stable life, and God knows you deserve that. But if there’s even a part of you that still wonders—still feels something when I walk into a room—then don’t do this.”

You can feel every eye on you. Zemo doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. His silence speaks volumes — he already knew.

Your throat tightens.

You’d convinced yourself you were over Bucky. That the softness in your chest whenever you heard his voice would fade with time. That marrying someone safe meant you were finally moving on.

But love was never supposed to feel safe.

It was supposed to feel like this.

Like heartbreak and hope, tangled into one.

You drop the bouquet and it hits the floor with a dull thud.

Then you run — past the flowers, past the altar, past everything that should’ve been enough but wasn’t. Bucky catches you like he always does, like he was built for it. You bury your face in his shoulder, breathing him in, shaking, laughing and crying at the same time.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers.

“You never did.”

And that was the truth.

Zemo doesn’t chase you. He just watches. Dignified. Quiet. Maybe he was never meant to be the villain of your story.

Just the man who helped you realize who the hero was.

“Bucky, I’m so mad at you.” you sobbed into his chest, tears dampening the material of his black shirt. He cradled the back of your head.

“I know,” he replied softly, regretting the time he’d lost with you. “And I deserve that. But please—“

You cut him off with a kiss. Hard, passionate, in love. The kiss you had deserved since Vienna. The kiss Bucky had dreamed of. Your lips taste like heaven against his, and you know now, that this was exactly where you needed to be.

You don’t look back.

You don’t need to.

Because Bucky was never behind you.

He was always the one waiting to be chosen.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

[legalandnotease]

Dear Flying Eagles of Manwë.

Sam Stans keep on outing themselves as the most collossal narcissists imaginable.

Like excuse me? Since when did Bucky owe the Wakandans lifelong loyalty?

"but muh they saved his life...."

Actually, no, they didn't.

They helped remove his programming- and they only did THAT because T'Challa felt guilty over having tried to kill him multiple times for a crime he didn't commit.

I mean this is canon. Civil War shows this- and Bucky repaid the Wakandans by fighting for Wakanda against Thanos. By accepting a *weaponized* prosthetic that T'Challa gave him for the express purpose of fighting even though he wasn't asked if he actually *wanted* to fight.

Like he hadn't had his body weaponized against his will before but he agreed to allow that a second time because he wanted to help Wakanda. He's more than repaid their kindness by literally *fighting and dying* to protect Wakanda.

But if you're gonna say that Bucky owes lifelong loyalty to the Wakandans for that --- well ok.

Then Rhodey owes lifelong loyalty to Tony Stark for saving his life and giving him the enhancements to walk again. Rhodey also shouldn't have been allowed to act or do anything without consulting Tony and asking his permission.

oh and Tony owed lifelong loyalty to Dr Strange and Captain Marvel because they saved his ass, so he should also have consulted Carol before doing anything in Endgame.

...and Ross owes lifelong loyalty to Samuel Sterns for giving him the medication to keep him alive.

See how *fucking stupid* it is to say that because someone helped you once they basically *own* you for life? Its not just stupid though- its narcissistic. This is literally how narcissists view other people: as their posessions and property.

They are the kind who think that because they bought you stuff they have the excusive right to dictate every aspect of your life. Tell you who where you can go, who you can and cannot be friends with, associate with etc etc.

I also love how these people conveniently neglect to mention that Bucky returned Zemo to the Wakandans after a few weeks. As was always his plan. Ayo was also smart enough to let Bucky explain himself and to understand that he was using Zemo to root out a potential threat which could harm millions of innocents.

Even Shuri understood what Bucky was doing and why. She was pissed but she *understood* the necessity of protecting the innocent, even if it meant working with people you didn't like or agree with. We know this because she literally gave Bucky more time to return Zemo.

On top of that, he is actively working against Sam, who Joaquin said in CABNW got his gear as a gift for helping out Wakandans. (Where/When/How/What?)

What is this bizarre headcanon? We know exactly how and where Sam got his new gear.

BUCKY gave it to him in TFatWS. It was the "one last favor" he asked for from Ayo before she left with Zemo.

We saw him give Sam the box with his new suit in it.

There's no mystery in where Sam got that gear- we were literally shown. Torres wasn't there at the time, so he simply made a mistake when he said Sam got it for "helping out Wakanda".

Sam Stans literally tried to replace that with their headcanon. (I mean Anthony Mackie talked about going to Wakanda in an interview but his remark was *clearly a joke* probably at the expense of the interviewer who hadn't watched TFatWS and didn't notice he had the same suit in BNW).

But I guess they leave that part out because it shows that Bucky's relationship with the Wakandans was not irrevocably damaged after all. That there was no betrayal because Zemo never posed a threat to Wakanda. But narcissisim. Anyone who won't do what they want is a "traitor" in their deluded, twisted minds.

A literal CIA agent (Ross) was actively spying on the US govt for Wakanda, and calling out Valentina in Wakanda Forever.

Good grief, they don't understand the f-ing movies. Ross was approached to help deal with Namor, not spy on the American government. He called out his ex-wife Val (yes they were once *married* not so much because her actions harmed Wakandan interests but because they made the CIA and the Americans look bad. She she nearly caused a diplomatic incident by trying to kidnap a foriegn ruler on American soil and he had to fix things before it all blew up.

E. Ross was also in a position to be able to do this as a CIA operative himself. (Why no demand *he* leave his government job....hmm @elektraking) Bucky at the time BP2 is set was still on fucking parole and could do nothing against government high-ups like that.

4 years later, Bucky was essentially acting as a double-agent by spying on Val under the guise of a and we have no idea what he's doing at the time of the post-Credit scene. He may well still have been working against her.

Val... a person ..... who is an active enemy with intentions to destabilize Wakanda.

They can't even keep up with the continuity of their own movies. Black Panther 2 is set in 2024: Val was trying to destabalize Wakanda then.

Thunderbolts is set in 2027/28. By this point Val's focus has shifted because of the whole discovery of Adamantium thing which is literally meant to be the plot of Brave New World. I mean Ross outright says that Adamantium means that the world won't have to realy on "isolationist countries" anymore.

HE MEANT WAKANDA. He was literally attacking Wakanda. Sam Stans have no issue with that.

Unilaterally making decisions and deciding what’s acceptable to risk AND what lines can be crossed AND what loyalties can be suspended for what he decides is the greater good? And Wakanda and Sam must just fall in line because he, Bucky, knows best?

What is this bullshit? Bucky never asked Sam or the Wakandans to "fall into line" with anything he did in TFatWS or in Thunderbolts. Yes, he made descisions for the greater good because that's what you do when the fate of the world and billions of people is in your hands. Because what will happen if you don't make that choice will be worse than the strain on your friendships or Sam's hurt feelsies. Billions will die- including in Wakanda. Including potentially Sam.

Its literallly the same thing Sam did when he agreed to work with Ross in Brave New World. As in the same Ross who broke up the Avengers, locked Sam and the others in The Raft, tried to kill Bucky and Steve... tried to kill Bruce Banner, used his own daughter as bait.

THAT Ross.

Did Sam betray Bucky, Steve the memory of the Avengers and Bruce Banner when he agreed to reform the Avengers at Ross behest and take orders from him?

Its the same thing Steve Rogers did when he agreed to work for Nick Fury and SHIELD (a *government organization* which literally took orders from the World Council.)

Yeah.... that's the other thing. Sam Stans are trying to promote the other headcanon that the Avengers were never affliated with the government in any way shape or form.

When they were.. twice. When they were first created and then when Tony Stark signed the Accords. And they were going to be again when Sam agreed to make The President their boss. Then did *nothing* for more than a year. Literally nothing at all. No Avengers team being formed. Jack Shit.

Like where was Sam when Sentry was being created? Val wasn't even interested in Wakanda anymore because of the whole Adamatium thing... her focus shifted to creating her own superhuman.

People like that argued there were too few superhumans to "protect the world". Which is the same reasoning Ross used to create Hulk, Tony to create Ultron (which Sam also wasn't opposed to).. the list goes on.

The only way Bucky is "actively working against Sam" is doing his f-ing job for him. But no- his needs, his hurt feelsies are more imporant than the universe. The world can burn as long as Sam isn't inconvenienced by Bucky.

@buckydeservesthebest

...and because you seem to need Media Literacy lessons....

@butternuggets-blog

@lovealotgirl

@crowleythesnake

@crookedchopshopkingdom-blog

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Professional Oversight

Masterlist

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, power imbalance, blackmail, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are noticed for all the wrong reasons. (plus sized reader)

Characters: Helmut Zemo, Brock Rumlow

A note on reader characters:

For clarity,  each reader will have a defined nickname when appearing in any installment not their own. This is Scribble.

Note: real life interrupted me

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

You stare across the courtyard as you let the spoon stick out of your mouth. You hoped the spring would make the days seem less blurred, maybe bring some excitement to your dull life. You suck the last of the yogurt from the silver and scrape the side of the cup, scooping up the fruit bottom and cream. You savour the last bite, so overly sweet it makes your cheeks twitch. 

You tap the empty cup so it makes a hollow noise. You crush it in your hand and stand to toss it in the bin just across from the bench. You sit again and wipe the spoon before you tuck it away, folding it in the kleenex to sink to the bottom of your purse. You sigh and watch a long-necked goose honk at an oblivious pedestrian. 

You’re used to it. The sounds, the sights, the latent energy of the university green. You thought it would be better to eat there instead of the stuffy office break room but after a while, it’s just as boring and bleak as the old institutional walls. 

You zip up your purse and checked the slender watch on your wrist. Just a little longer before you have to drag yourself back to your shared desk to answer phones and redirect lost students. You don’t hate your job only that it’s all you have. Your life is as fruitless as the used yogurt cup you just tossed away. 

You wake up, eat, get ready for work, go to work, eat lunch by yourself amidst a sea of indifferent people, go back to your desk, then wait until it’s time for you to go home, and there, nothing. Just you and the evenings filled with lonely restlessness. You want to do something, anything, but you just can’t figure out what. 

You aren’t an interesting person. Plain, at best, with no discernible talent. Friends never flocked to you despite your effort, even as pathetic as those were. You’re always a fleeting thought to other people. You’re kept around so long as you are useful; a study buddy, a wing woman, and occasionally, a shoulder to cry on. But there was rarely any reciprocation in those roles and never anything meaningful enough to call friendship. 

You’re distracted from your existential daze by a shadow above you. You look up at the man as he smiles at you. It’s more akin to a leer. That’s odd. He’s odd. Men don’t smile at you, they barely even see you. And he surely doesn’t belong here. Too old to be a student and his jacket too casual to be a professor. 

“You mind if I sit?” he asks without greeting. His tone is brusque but unconcerned. 

You looked at the empty spot on the bench beside you. You hug your purse and sidle over. You shrug and mumble “sure,” but he's already sitting. 

He sits with his legs wide and pushes his shoulders back. He sighs as he stretches out his broad figure. He glances around nonchalantly and leans back with his elbows over the back of the bench. You look at your watch again. What’s a few minutes early? 

“You work here?” he asks before you can stand. 

You blink and furrow your brow at him then glance around at the green campus. You waver on the bench. You should just walk away but you hate to be rude.  

“Uh, yeah?” you answer awkwardly. 

“Not that you-- you don’t look young enough to be a student, you know? I had a hard time telling, which is why I asked,” he explains as he turned his palm up, “I wasn’t meaning-- heh, well, you look like a very nice lady, is all.” 

You poke your tongue out between your lips and quickly retract it. Your thoughts are racing. You should get back to work and away from this man. He gives you this creepy crawly feeling. 

“Brock,” he holds out his hand as your eyes graze the dark five o’clock shadow along his sharp jawline. 

You force out your own name and nervously shake his hand. You’re polite, perhaps overly so, but your customer service instinct can’t be repressed. His grip is firm and his hand big enough to cover yours entirely. He lets you go reluctantly and you hook your purse over your arm. 

“Sorry, I gotta get back to work--” you stand as the sirens in your head tell you to leave. His grips speckles in your hands, throbbing in the bones, tingling on your skin. 

“That’s too bad,” he says coolly, “maybe I’ll see you around.” 

You nod dumbly and step past him. You trod down the path, on your usual route, then stop as your suspicions tug at your mind. You turn back as he remains on the bench, his gaze stuck to you. 

“You work here too?” you call back. 

He shakes his head and smirks. He doesn’t say anything as you frown. He doesn’t move. He just watches. You turned back to your path and quickly stomp away. You’re unsettled by his presence alone but his assured calmness at being an intruder on campus is even more frightening. Not least of all, his interest in you; always an unexpected trait. 

🖊️

After work, you walk across campus without urgency. You fall into autopilot. Your departure trails over its usual route. There’s nothing special awaiting you at your destination; only your couch and a frozen pizza.  

Students still loiter and hop up the steps of the buildings on the way to evening classes. You envy them just as you had when you were in their shoes. You were never really one of them. You always felt like you were on the outside looking in. You didn’t find your niche, you just floated along untethered, still lost in the breeze. 

The lot you park in is mostly empty. You prefer that one even though it’s a ten minute walk from the building you work in. It’s far from the main row and so you didn’t get caught in a jam on your way out, not until you get to the roundabout near the east entrance. 

You stroll along behind the few other cars parked before yours and check your phone for the time. You don’t hear the footsteps as they approach and the dimming sky disguises his shadow. You don't notice any of it until you’re grappled from behind. You’re taken off your feet as a large hand covers your mouth. 

Your phone bounces against the tarmac and your bag is flung from your arm. You kick out and flail, whining into the calloused palm as your eyes prickle. You grasp at the thick arms as you’re spun around to face the open trunk. You kicked at the man’s feet as he bends you and shoves you headfirst into the trunk. You try to push yourself out but he’s too strong. 

The lid shuts and you roll over to beat on it as you holler. Your heart pounds in your ears and your lungs burned as your voice turns to horrible gasps. Panic drowns you as the engine turns over and the car backs out smoothly.

Oh no, no, no. This can’t be happening. 

The suddenness of it all has you dizzy. The man’s scent clings in your nose. You've smelled that before. Your eyes round in the darkness as the tires roll without stopping. No, no, no. That man! The same one on the bench. 

You didn’t forget him. You couldn’t. The abnormality, the absurdity of his introduction, was enough to stick in your head. It’s only that you didn’t let yourself believe it was anything but a strange encounter. You know who you are, you know you’re nothing special. Unlike him, you’re not interesting enough to remember. 

Or so you thought. 

You thump on the lid of the trunk, then the back, screaming. The car doesn’t stop. The man only muffles your voice with the radio. As you continue your assault on the walls of the trunk, he slams on the brakes so that you roll violently into the siding. He does the same several times until you’re quiet and stunned. 

Your adrenaline fades to fear as you can only lay in the dark and dread what comes next. The worst scenarios race through your mind but every now and then, your heartbeat spikes again. You have to get out.

Bang, bang, bang, ‘let me out!’ 

You’re shaken and exhausted but utterly and painfully awake. Whatever comes next, you can’t just put your head down and ignore it. Not like everything else in your life. This is the one thing you have to face, whether you like it or not. You can’t just brush it off, you can’t just forget. 

You wanted desperately for something to happen in your dull life but could never conjure a nightmare as real as this. 

🖊️

When the engine slows and the axle lurches to a stop, you’re not ready. How could you be ready for any of this? You don’t understand why this is happening to you. 

The car shuts off and your heart reaches its paramount. It’s beating so fast you can’t think. You can barely breathe. The car door slams shut and shakes the entire vehicle, making clear that you are overpowered. Footsteps tread over the ground towards the trunk and you steel yourself for the horror that awaits you. 

You know his face before you see it. Even as the shadows swallow up his features, you know him. He grabs you by the front of your blazer, hauling you out without a word. He handles you like a stray caught; rough and agitated. You claw helplessly at him and whine. 

“Please--” 

“Scream one more time,” he spins you and curls an arm around your neck, marching you forward with stunted steps, “and I’ll crush your throat.” 

You gurgle and clasp onto hit thick forearm. Your tears well over, though your face is already raw from the waves of terror that poured over in the black of the trunk. Lights wash over you and give some sense to the grounds around you. 

You expect an abandoned warehouse or some faraway cabin. Somewhere remote where you’ll never be found. Somewhere you’d be forgotten. Who is there to forget you? 

Instead, you make your way up a long walkway before a large mansion. At least compared to your box apartment, it seems as such. Your low heels clack shakingly as the man keeps you firmly hooked. He takes you up the front steps, between replicas of famous status, and lets himself in through the double doors, the brass knockers jiggling with his entrance. 

He doesn’t seem the type to live in a place like this. The thought is silly given your circumstance. Your sobs settle to hiccups as your mind wanders to the tedious and unimportant. Is that a genuine Rembrandt on the wall? 

“Can you walk on your own or do I keep the leash on?” He snarls. 

You gulp and try to nod against his burly muscle, “yes...” 

He lets go at the wisp of your agreement. You shudder and pull away from him, not far as you don’t want to instigate him. You cross your arms and look at him, pouting as tears roll to your chin. It is the man from the bench. You knew it but now you’re certain. 

“Up,” he points to the left branch of the double staircase. 

“Sir, please, why are you doing this--”  

“Sir?” He grimaces, “no questions. Just go.” 

You snivel and put your head down. You turn stiffly to the staircase and reach for the curled banister. You climb with dread heavy in your heels. Your shoe slips off and you stumble. He growls and lifts you under your shoulders, dragging you up the last few steps. 

“Left. Second door on your right,” he commands. 

You whimper and hug yourself again. You obey as peruse along the finely decorated walls. The details assure you that whoever’s home this is has a precise eye. There is some familiarity in the style; it reminds you of some of the offices nestled in the heart of the university. 

He reaches around you, crowding you against the door as he turns the handle. His breath scalds down your neck. Is he smelling you? 

He pushes the door open and snaps his fingers. You enter and look around for an answer. Why are you here? Who has brought you here?  

The leather chair behind the desk has its back to you. You can see a man’s dark hair above it. Like some sort of movie, he turns to face you slowly. You unwittingly step back against the other man as you’re struck by the reveal. 

“Ah, I was starting to think you got lost,” Helmut Zemo intones as his latent gaze meets your startled one. 

His soft brown hair with wisp of silver, the keen way his lips naturally curve, and his dark eyes. He's unmistakable. The vaunted dean of linguistics and language studies is the last face you expect to see.

“Dean?” You murmur dumbly and chuff out several shallow breaths. 

“Hello, darling,” he purrs as he sits forward, putting his elbows on his desk, “I trust you had a safe journey.” 

“I-- what?” You gasp. You turn to look at the man prowling behind you. “No, he--” you choke as he snarls at you.  

You face the dean again. It doesn’t make sense. Why are you here at the dean’s home? You only really know him by his likeness, pasted on every literary publication on campus and hung in the halls across his faculty. You’ve met him once at some lunch but it was that fleeting formal introduction you forget before you’ve even left the event. 

“Rumlow, I told you to be gentle with her,” he tuts and shakes his head, “allow me to apologise for my colleagues behaviour. He isn’t the type for sorries.” 

You mop your cheeks with your cuffs and sniffle. Your a shaking mess. The other man paces towards the other side of the room. He uncaps the decanter there and pours himself a glass of dark liquor. 

“Now, it is rude to serve oneself before a lady,” Zemo snips, “please, she would do well for it.” He turns to you after reproaching his associate; the man he calls Rumlow. “Sit, dear, let us speak civilly before things get... less civil.” 

You suck in a quaking breath, “I don’t understand--” 

“Sit and I shall explain,” he insists. 

You cross the large study and claim the seat across from him. The other man approaches and holds a glass of flat scotch under your nose. The roiling alcohol fumes and makes your eyes water anew. You accept it he loudly slurps his own. 

“Thank you, but I...” 

“Drink. I believe you will need it.” 

The dean’s words draw your attention back to him. You make yourself sip and scrunch up your nose at the taste. You don’t drink. It only gives you a headache. 

“Now, I’ve brought you hear because I would like to review your work,” he smirks and goosebumps raise on your skin. Rumlow looms close as Zemo’s tone puts you on edge. “I do enjoy when university staff are so eager to put their work out there.” 

You’re confused. What does he mean? You’re not a PhD, you’re no faculty spending hours writing papers on physics, you’re just a registrar’s assistant. 

“Ahem, let me just...” he pauses and unfolds a tablet on the desk. He props it up in the case and pulls his glasses down to his nose. He taps the screen and begins to read, “'You can hardly believe it’s real. That you’ve put yourself in this position. There’s no going back now. There is no escape from this man...'” he pauses and looks up at you, waiting for a reaction. Your spine tingles, “let me go on to my favourite passage,” he refocuses on the tablet, “’his rough hands grazed her soft skin, making her shiver, making her whine. He smothers her protests and her breath as he drowns her in a hungry kiss”.” 

Again he looks at you. You sink down in chair and turn your attention to the liquor. Oh no. You make yourself drink. You don’t stop until it’s empty. The other man laughs. 

“You have a way with prose,” Zemo praises. 

“Please,” you choke through the burn, “I... its just stories. They’re meant to be private. It’s...” you bite your lower lip. It still doesn’t make sense. “Why am I here?” 

Now both men laugh. You’re the joke. You look between then. Rumlow approaches and you shy away. He takes the empty glass and walks away with it. He clinks it down with his own on the oak bar. 

Zemo watches you intently. You rock in the chair. He could’ve fired you in the office, so what is all this? 

“I like your hypotheses,” he slithers, “I thought we might test them out. As is the academic way.” 

“What?” You pulses thumps in your temples, “what do you--” 

Rumlow startles you as he closes his hands around your neck from behind. He hushes you as he squeezes your yipe into a croak. He drags you up to your feet as you writhe and kick out. One of your shoes falls off in your struggle as he lurches you forward. 

“You know, fantasy can be such a good outlet for... self-discovery,” the dean stands as his chair rolls out behind him, “but it pales in comparison to the real thing.” 

“Please--” you crackle out of your throat as Rumlow squeezes your neck tighter. 

“And reality is a writer’s companion. Their work is always better when they have experience to draw on,” he comes around the desk as Rumlow brings you to face him. You can’t help but press yourself to the other man as the dean closes in. “And a creature like you, you’ve never felt desired. That much is clear. It drips from your words. These stories are a plea for more.” 

He runs his fingers up the lapel of your blazer and urges it down your shoulders and arms. You quiver as you’re trapped between the two men. You can only stare wide-eyed as you reach back weakly to claw at the bigger man’s jacket. He growls and you quickly retract. 

“Now, darling, the fear will only make it all the more... exciting,” he draws out the last word teasingly, “have you not written this one already?” 

You whimper as he unbuttons your blouse. You quake as he bares you plain white bra and you quivering stomach. The other man pushes his crotch to you, grinding with a snarl. 

“Ah, Rumlow, patience,” Zemo warns as he peels your blouse down your arms, “my colleague can be rather... impulsive.” 

Your head swells and spins. This can’t be real. You just can’t believe it. The humiliation of being found out is burned through by the fear coursing in your veins. 

“Please,” you eke out again. 

“Shhh,” he presses a finger to your lips and toys with the bottom one. “Mmm,” he turns his hand to frame your mouth, “how has no one ever noticed these pretty lips?” 

He leans in and kisses you. The other man moves a hand to the back of your neck, pinching so you squirm. Rumlow’s other hand hooks around to cover one side your chest, kneading through the unlined cup as you’re suffocated by Zemo’s mouth. 

Zemo purrs and draws back. He licks his lips and hums again. His fingertips crawl down your sides and across your stomach. You squeak and flinch as Rumlow squeezes your neck harder. 

“Darling, you can be good, can’t you? I fear you’ve been for too long,” Zemo taunts, “but can my associate let you go? Might we trust that you are to struck with lust that you cannot possibly flee?” 

You suck in air and babble. You only want the pain to stop. You nod, “yes...” 

“Yes, Dean,” he corrects and sends a look to Rumlow. 

The vice falls away from your neck, instead tugging at the hook of your bra. Zemo’s gaze falls to your tits and he purrs. He fondles you brazenly, running his thumbs over your nipples as the point through the thin fabric. 

“So plain one must appreciate the simple beauty,” he squeezes and leans in to kiss along your cleavage.  

You bra slackens and he lets go to let it slip down. Rumlow untangle it from your arm as Zemo gropes one side of your chest and seals his lips around your nipple. You moan and the air turns static at the vocal betrayal. 

Rumlow laughs and his hand spreads across the other side of your chest. He rolls your nipple harshly, tweaking as you whine. His hand falls down and he feels along your saft tummy. He growls as he slaps your ass with his other hand. You jolt and Zemo’s mouth pops off your tit. 

“Delectable,” he snarls and gives a nip to your flesh. 

Rumlow yanks down the elastic of your plain slacks. The cheap sort you order online. Your panties slip down halfway as he forces the fabric past your thighs. You reach to brace Zemo’s shoulder without thinking, feeling as if you might tip over. 

He touches your elbow as he bends to once more teethe and tease your tits. He bounces them then crushes his face between them. You stare down in shock, still paralysed in disbelief. 

Rumlow rolls your panties down your ass, your ankles bound up in the gathered wool and cotton. He shifts and lowers himself to his knees. He covers your ass with his large hands and you waver on your feet. He pulls your cheeks apart and snarls again. The man sounds like an animal. 

You yelp as he pushes his face into your ass and his tongue swipes along your tight hole. Oh god! Oh! Your muscles knot and coil and you hug Zemo’s head to keep from tipping between them. You reach one arm back as you arch your back and latch onto the other man’s shoulder. 

You drone out a startled but sultry moan. It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before. You haven’t felt this before. Another’s touch. Another’s hunger. You puff out shallow gasp as you’re caught in the storm of warring sensations. Your fear dissipates as you’re overcome by the slow build of please. 

You close your eyes as you try to pretend it’s just one of your stories. One of the many written fantasies you used to tamp down that need for desire. For this! Even alone, even your own touch, could not ease the longing that needles inside you. 

“Darling,” Zemo growls as he kneels in turn and grips your hips, doting on your stomach. He makes your imperfections feel perfect as he worships you with his mouth. 

Rumlow lets out another growl as he laps and his finger tickles up to meet his tongue. You squeal as he pokes his fingertip inside of you, the scalding intrusion tingling in your thighs. It hurts but in a way that you want more. Without a thought, you lean back, urging him deeper into your ass. 

Zemo traces along your pelvis and over the patch of curly hair. His fingers wander between your legs, nudge them apart and he toys with your clit. You quiver as he rolls over your bud, flicking and swirling as you slicken. You feel the blood swelling at his touch. 

He leans forward on the heel of one hand and tilts his head up, delving into your folds. He trails his hand down your thigh and sucks on your clit as he purrs. Rumlow pulls his finger in and out of your ass as you tighten around him, your walls pulse at their duality. 

Your stomach coils and your insides ripple. A tightness bounds you up as you puff out heavily and spasm through the sudden release of tension. You grip Zemo’s hair, forgetting the man has more than a physical hold over you, your other hand curling on Rumlow’s shoulder. You cum with a warbling yawl as you throw your head back. 

Neither man stops until you’re a shaking mess. Until your legs are so slack that you lean back on the man behind you and your whole body threatens to fold over. Rumlow slides his finger free and Zemo wipes his wet lips up your pelvis before he sits back on his heels. 

The move you as you pant loudly. You have no strength left to resist them. You’re strewn across the leather chaise that sits mirror to the desk at the other end of the room. The men circle you as your head lolls and you lay naked but for one heel still on your foot. 

They undress without a word between them. It’s clear this is planned. That they have every single second of the night calculated. You can only get through it. 

As Zemo reveals his furry chest, your cheeks raze with fire. You’re embarrassed more to see the dean like this than for him to see you. You turn your face away only as Rumlow stands even more bare.  

His chest is covered in coarse black hair that trails down to his pelvis. You gasp at the sight of his rigid length bobbing before him. His thighs are corded with thick muscle and his stomach tightens as he steps closer. 

Your turn your head again and nearly squeal at Zemo. Slighter than the other man he is no less eager to have you. As he nears, you curl into yourself. 

They don’t let you disappear or detach. Rumlow grabs you, lifting you off the leather, and takes your places across the chaise. 

Zemo guides you, something in his hand. You can’t keep up with any of it. He turns you to face the other man, nestling his chin into your shoulder as he holds himself flush with you. He sways you and he presses the shape between the top of your cheeks and squirts coolness down your ass. 

He tosses the bottle onto the chaise and it bounces to rest at the end. He rubs the lube around your hole and dips his fingers in, once, twice, three times. He nuzzles you and moves you closer to the leather bench. 

Rumlow reaches for you. Both men guide you over his prone body. You’re made to straddle him with your back to him. He grips his dick and taps the tip on your ass, sliding between your cheeks as he wets himself with the lube. Zemo grabs it and reaches around you. Another squirt adds to the wetness. 

Rumlow pushes his tip against your ring. You yelp and try to pull away. He grabs your shoulder and holds you in place, stretching you around him slowly. You shake at the deep and fervent agony that radiates up your back. 

Zemo coos at you as he strokes your cheek. He climbs up on the chaise as Rumlow drops his legs over the sides. He sits before you, coaxing you as the other man eases you onto his dick. You grit your teeth and cling to the dean’s wrists as he kisses your forehead. 

“It’s alright, darling, you’re doing good,” he praises and pets your head, “just a little more, mm?” You sink down another inch and whimper, “a little more,” he repeats. When at last you bottom out, tears spring fresh down your face. “Very good, darling.” 

“She’s tight,” Rumlow snarls and starts to rock you, “holy shit, she’s fucking--” 

“Language,” Zemo girds as he continues to stroke your face, “you hear that, darling? You are so good. Hm? He likes you.” 

“Weirdo,” Brock mutters but keeps you moving. 

Zemo runs a hand down your body. A tide rolls through you at the soft graze of flesh, and he once more finds your clit. You’re overly sensitive and so full already. He toys with you as you pout out shallow pants. He slowly lays you back as Rumlow takes you across his torso. 

Zemo dips his fingers into your cunt and out again, smearing around your slickness. As his eyes fixate on your cunt, you close your own, hiding beneath your lids. The other man continues to rock from beneath you, stretching you to your limit. 

As Zemo drags his hand from your cunt, the chaise shifts with his weight. He moves closer, draping your legs around him as he slides his tip along your entrance. He pushes along your folds, wetting himself as you quiver, then aligns himself again. He forces his tip inside, just the head, and lingers. 

He raises himself and bends over you as your muscles tug with tension. Rumlow grunts from below as Zemo bends over to kiss you and inches further inside. You nearly cough into his mouth as he gets deeper and deeper. Oh, god, you don’t know if you can take it. 

Rumlow brings his hands around to kneads your tits, his hips tilting as the other bottoms out in your cunt. They both groan as if they can fill your fullness. You throw your arms around Zemo and gnash your teeth, mewling and moaning as you sink your nails into his back. 

He kisses along your chin and cheeks as he starts to thrust. Long, languid, and calm. It has you on fire as the other man matches his tempo. A torturous teasing rhythm that has you writhing and whimpering. 

You’re crushed between them, bodies sweaty and sticking, the friction of hair and skin, of saliva and need. Your head lolls as Zemo nips and sucks as Zemo nips and sucks at your throat, a hand snaking under your ass, basking in the feel of you as nails graze tender flesh. 

A roughness from below as Rumlow bucks his hips harder, plunging deeper, breathing across your scalp as he grunts and growls. His pinches and gropes your chest as your spine curves wantingly. You succumb to your basest desires, to the fantasies you fall asleep to, the very same that you put to paper. It’s horrid but it’s oh so delightful, being used and bruised and tortured until you just can’t think. 

“That’s it, darling, you see how natural it is,” Zemo purrs as he quickens, “how you give yourself over to your purpose. You always knew you would...” he speaks between stolid groans, “those weren’t only stories...” he cradles your head and lifts it, looking deep into your eyes as he ruts into you, the man below you matching his time, “you were begging for this.” 

Your eyes roll back and you cum again. You feel something inside you snap, like a dam breaking with the pressure of a deluge, you gush out around the men, squeezing and twitching until you are hollow. Yet they don’t stop. They keep going. 

Rumlow sits up as Zemo moves with him, bringing you into his lap. The man behind grips your shoulder as his pelvis claps against your ass and the one before you sits back as you shake around him. He holds your head up as it threatens to wobble on your neck. 

You orgasm again. Your lashes flutter, your heart too. Every part of you is pulsing. Their gristling, grinding voices storm in your skull, almost maddening as their bodies sandwich yours. 

“Shittttt,” Rumlow drawls and bends his head forward, biting into your shoulder as he empties himself in you. He quakes as slows and sits back, twitching as he keeps you around him. 

Zemo sighs as you feel his own release. His hips rock subtly as he cums and holds you close, his eyes roving down to watch you tremble. When at last you’re still, the tremors do not fade. He grazes his knuckles down your stomach and you moan. 

“Shall we try that sweet mouth?” Zemo brushes long you lower lips. 

“Fuck yeah,” Rumlow growls, causing the other man’s eyes to glint.  

He might pretend to be proper but dean has proven himself just as sinister as any man; in reality or fiction alike. 

[bottombaron]

ranking the Thunderbolts characters by how likely they are Zemo in disguise

some context: a character being revealed as Zemo in disguise in a genuinely unexpected twist is somehow hilariously common for the character in the comics (if i had a nickle for each time i’d have at least four, and that's almost a whole quarter!). most notably however it’s in the very first introduction of the Thunderbolts team. the Thunderbolts are kind of synonymous with a Zemo related twist at this point. basically, with the DC not-alive-anymore-by-choice squad you can count on the team having their implanted neck-bombs and with the Thunderbolts you can count on Zemo being hidden somewhere like a murderous purple Where’s Waldo.

SO, while everyone is like “where is Zemo?” and “why isn’t Zemo in the Thunderbolts movie?”, i remain steadfast in certainty that he’s going to show up in the third act,,, despite there being literally no evidence to the contrary. also this is just for fun so don’t take it seriously unless i’m right then i told you so.

these rankings go from least to most likely

0 / 10

Ava Starr

-because Zemo knows better

——————————————————————

1 / 10

John Walker

-he would have to dress up in an American propaganda outfit

-Zemo might have to intimately deceive Walker's wife and child and that's creepy

-he has the Super Soldier Serum

-calls Bucky “Bucky”

-even Zemo wouldn't ignore Walker's crying child like that, comeon man

——————————————————————

2 / 10

Yelena Belova

+surprisingly not completely unthinkable???

+like maybe as a gag it could play?

+i think it’s because they both have that tiny stabby assassin energy

-obviously it would be super weird, confusing, and narratively unsatisfying for both characters

-Yelena and Florence deserve their spotlight and i wouldn't want anything to detract from that

——————————————————————

3 / 10

Alexei Shostakov

+only slightly above Yelena in believability simply for him being more expendable narratively (so the character not actually being himself in the movie wouldn’t be as much of a let down)

-he’s not particularly similar to Zemo in any way

-like Walker, he has the Super Soldier Serum, so it’s unlikely Zemo would disguise himself as Alexi by choice

-it seems exhausting just being Alexi for any length of time, even for Alexi

+bonus: in the trailer, Alexi b-lines for the bar the instant they exit the elevator in the former Avenger's tower. total Zemo behavior

——————————————————————

4 / 10

Taskmaster

+same height

+non-powered (if you don’t include mimicry but i think Zemo could fake it for a short amount of time)

+wears a mask and doesn’t talk much, making for easy impersonation

+scarred face is similar to Zemo’s scarred face in the comics

-their builds don't match up to a passing glance and unlike Yelena, with her more baggy clothes, Antonia is wearing a fitted outfit, making it more difficult to pass (i don't need it perfect mind you, just enough to suspend believability juuust a little)

-mostly it's just the vibes tbh

-idk man im not feeling this theory anymore and i used to be a Zemo in the Taskmaster suit truther

-maybe it's the suit redesign 🤷‍♂️

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5 / 10

Bob/Sentry/The Void

now we’re getting to the ones where i start to vibe with, but also would need a whole lot of exposition

basically, if you wanted to give a guy like Zemo brain scramblies, make him forget who he is, do some experiments (possibly à la Hydra on Wanda/Pietro? finally pulling on that dropped thread of Sokovians having a higher rate of manifesting powers -specifically Wanda’s reality warping powers- when exposed to the Mind Stone than the average human?) and try to corrupt him into an American branded superhero with a mild-mannered personality, you usually give him a three letter name. like Bob. or Jim.

turning to a comic that i can't believe more people dont talk about in relation to Zemo and the Thunderbolts: Welcome to Pleasant Hill

there's a lot in this comic that gives precedent to the twist of Zemo (and the audience) believing they're just a common, good-natured, all-American before finding out it's a lie in an elaborate supermax prison system. (this will definitely come up in almost all other thoughts and theories i have, including the character on this list that i'm most interested in. i'm kind of obsessed with this comic tbh) the story even involves Bucky, the Thunderbolts, the Cosmic Cube (which is the Space Stone in the MCU - related to the Mind Stone) and reality warping/memory altering similar to the Sentry’s own comic twist. and yes, it’s basically the plot of WandaVision before WandaVision except that the warden wasn't a grief stricken Wanda but a surprisingly Valentina Allegra de Fontaine-ish Maria Hill (put a pin in that similarity). there's also the fact that the MCU loves to merge characters into one, like the upcoming Doom-Stark combo.

so how does this work? hell if i know. Zemo could be forced to change his appearance with that Black Widow spy mask thing? maybe the only ones who see Bob as Bob are the ones who don't really know him + Walker who's easily deceived?? idk. it's a pretty big stretch (but not as big the next one on this list!) the most probable scenario of this one happening is Zemo somehow being tied to Bob’s alter, The Void. again, not probable at all unless the movie does some trippy stuff, but it’s fun to imagine the possibilities.

+the trailer seems to suggest said trippy identity/mind stuff, which you would need to pull this off

+Loki’s staff that once housed the Mind Stone in Sokovia could be a reference to Kobik/the Cosmic Cube that creates Pleasant Hill in the comics

+uhhh Bob and Joe are both three letter names??

+in the Pleasent Hill comics Zemo kind of looks Bob/Sentry like?

-a major thing that holds this theory waaaaaaay back is the fact that Steven Yeun was going to play the part of Sentry first and its highly unlikely they would Plot Twist him into a white man (or god i at least hope not)

-ultimately, there's just not a lot of places this reveal could go imo so /shrug

——————————————————————

8 / 10

Countess Valentina Allegra de Fontaine

look ok hold with me here bc we both know that when those heels started clacking outside the Senate hearing in TFATWS everyone was thinking that it was Zemo rocking them for a whole hot second. I KNOW. I REMEMBER. I WAS THERE.

does this make sense? no, not really. should comedy legend Julia Louis-Dreyfus unmask as Zemo in drag in the third act of a big, multi-million dollar franchise movie made by The Mouse?? absa-fucking-lutly.

i even think it would go over with audiences for the most part. they’d see Zemo, Zemoing about, and go, oh yeah ok that tracks.

+Bucky kind of looks like he’s playing the role of Val’s bodyguard/muscle and his demeanor reminds me so much of TFATWS when he was playing the same role for Zemo

+Bucky knowing this whole time that Val is Zemo and is reluctantly going along with his grift for whatever reason is so funny to me idk why

+Bucky saying “what's the plan” in the trailer just feels better if he is saying it to Zemo

+Bucky is wearing some of his old WS gear and who put him in that last? Zemo

+her line about there being bad guys and worse guys is very on par with Zemo’s pessimistic mentality, maybe justifying an Avengers team up as a necessary evil?

+there should only be one unpowered, tiny, bitchy, manipulative, mastermind serving cunt in a purple jacket in the MCU and Val is crowding Zemo’s throne. solution: Zemo uses Val as his public identity (you know, because of all the war crimes. Val has almost certainly done similar war crimes but they were for the U.S. government so she’s safe to masquerade as) and leads the Thunderbolts with nobody being the wiser

+this also means keeping Julia Louis-Dreyfus around and thats worth like, a hundred '+'s

+the purple. the royal titles. oh, it’s all coming together

+totally think that JLD and Daniel Brühl could pull this off i’m not even joking

+it would delight and entertain me

+Zemo would be leading the Thunderbolts team as he should be

-i fear a shadow of transphobia looming around this idea (with a female character being revealed to be a man in disguise) and that instantly sucks any fun out of it

-Zemo’s ideology would have to do a complete 180 hairpin turn or be a very elaborate plan to sabotage things from the inside, kind of making it difficult to buy into the whole thing in the first place

-its never going to happen

——————————————————————

8/10

Bucky Barnes

ohhhhhhh kkkk

here we go

here’s all that twitter stuff abt how there’s reason to believe that the person shooting at the limo isn’t Bucky at all or that he’s being brainwashed again:

personally, i don’t feel WS here but maybe that's because Seb is doing a little bit of his Judge Dredd scowl and there’s too much going on behind the eyes? it still feels like Bucky still imo, even if his actions are like, a bit extreme. it’s that whole “i had to go to work today” energy that Bucky perpetually puts out lol. basically i didn’t get the vibe that he’s Winter Soldiering, or even that he’s trying to kill the team, i just get the vibe he was tasked with rounding up and escorting the group back to Vale and he’s doing it his usual undelicate way. of course, this is only 3 seconds from a teaser so all those details could be right or wrong in the film, only time will tell.

BUT this reasonable talk is counterproductive to this crackpot theory, so…

The Zemo being brainwashed or otherwise manipulated/reality altered into believing (or pretending to be) he’s Bucky/WS theory:

+if i had a nickel for every time Zemo in the comics was brainwashed/tortured into believing he was Bucky/Bucky adjacent and/or the narrative obfuscating which one was which, i’d have at least two nickels

+and that is purposeful btw, in the comics Zemo and Bucky have a strange thematic connection. it’s not a coincidence that when Steve was still grieving Bucky, here came a guy with ties to his past (specifically the son of the man who ‘killed’ Bucky) that would have been roughly the same age as Bucky if he didn’t ‘die’. Steve then commits to saving Zemo time and again, dispite what a complete fuck-up he is. so, Zemo hating Bucky but also kind of having this deep inner desire to be him at least has thematic presence in the comics

this motherfucker literally keeps a shrine of Captain American memorabilia, including putting Bucky’s old costume in a lit glass display case

-on the other hand, MCU Zemo is almost nothing like his comic counterpart and certainly doesn’t hate Bucky or want to be him

+on the other-other hand, there’s far too many similarities to MCU Zemo and the MCU Winter Soldier to ignore and the text of the movies/show seem to continuously remind us of that in little ways

+so in this theory Zemo wouldn’t be impersonating Bucky Barnes per se, he’d be the Winter Soldier

+who, conveniently, has Sebastian Stan’s face so Daniel Brühl wouldn’t have to be on set as much nor have to do any stunt work. good for him

means, motive, and opportunity:

+Val most definitely has access to the raft (and by extension Zemo) as the head of the CIA

+we also know that Val must have access to some form of the Super Soldier Serum if the Sentry is involved, and the clutter of Sentry related branding in the trailer seems to indicate Val/OXE/the U.S. government has been trying to create their own superhero, Homelander style

+Val also has access to all sort of means of manipulating Zemo's sense of identity. chemical memory alteration, use of off-world artifacts, the old fashioned WS programming way, or even all that Stark tech that was confiscated by Damage Control…remember B.A.R.F.?

+the whole choice to use Zemo could even be out of convenience. he’s already had extensive military training, was a successful black ops commander, he literally has nothing left, not even citizenship to a country

+nobody would look for him or wonder where he is or if he’s even still alive

+even if they did, would they care? to most people, he's a super villian. even people who might object morally, like Sam or the Wakandans seem to be too busy with their own shit rn anyways

+Bucky is literally the only one left who might object and if they're using his identity to carry out clandestine missions then they have leverage. keep quiet and you have a job, prestige, perks, etc. without having to actually do any of the dirty work. don't, and we spin this like you went off WS style and there's nobody to keep you from being locked up anymore. plus Bucky hates Zemo right? why would he care if he's America’s Winter Soldier

+this also allows for a built-in deniability for Val/the government if Bucky!Zemo was ever caught on a mission. that can't be the Winter Soldier doing assassinations in Europe if you can see Bucky Barnes at a Congress meeting on public tv at the same exact moment

+as to motivation, other than all the reasons stated above, it's clear that Val doesn't want a Captain America. she said as much to Walker in TFATWS. while it might work to her advantage to have a controlled Avengers team for her public image, it helps her far more to have someone reliable to do her dirty work

+creating a black ops assassin à la the Winter Soldier, but for America, would be her goal

+and sure, she had Walker and Yelena under her payroll already (and we assume Ghost and Taskmaster as well) but they don’t have that living action figure, perfect soldier rizz. in various ways im going to assume they've disappointed her, questioned orders, or just generally was too human

+so why Bucky's identity? easy. he's already got a whole brand. i can hear the sardonic lines out of JLD mouth about how hard it is to create something new when you can just reboot it. Bucky has a legend as the Winter Soldier, one that still carries a lot of clout. she wouldn't even need to deploy him for assassin reasons, just use him for negotiations and fear tactics. the Winter Soldier is already a verified threat at an international level, you can't buy that kind of marketing. using Bucky's face and WS identity would be essential to her

+wouldn’t just brainwashing the real Bucky again be easier? well, other than the advantage of having Bucky and the WS be separated people as mentioned above…the last two times Bucky Barnes was brainwashed to be the Winter Soldier and otherwise held against his will, an empire fell (S.H.I.E.L.D./Hydra and The Avengers). so, while i’m sure Val has a fondness of the Rule of Three as much as i do, i also think she’s smarter than that

+i’m sure she’s even approached Bucky directly and has probably tried to manipulate him with a job that looks legit on the outside and gets him a nice private house. but Bucky isn’t going back to the WS role, it’s not going to happen. and he’s already side-eyeing Val pretty hard in that trailer so her perfect soldier he won't be

so Val has means, opportunity, and motivation to take Zemo and turn him into her very own super assassin. but lets take this a step further.

this post by magnitothemagnificent brings up a great theory that Bucky here could actually be Jack Monroe, more importantly brings up one of Jack's alter egos, Scourge.

this same guy from the comic page above

(for my theory, obviously, instead of Jack, it would be Zemo as a Scourge-like character)

+we know that there is a version of the serum going around to create the Sentry, and that the Sentry's #1 personality trait in the comics is his mental instability

+we know that, in the comics, Jack Monroe was driven mad specifically by the Super Serum he was given. it messed with his sense of reality and identity in big ways including making him believe he actually was Bucky, instead of just taking up his mantle

+possibly, this version of the serum is responsible for the mental instability of everyone who takes it, creating delusions and hallucinations and this is what affects the Sentry’s mental stability and warps this hypothetical Bucky!Zemo/Scourge's sense of reality

+this could even tie into Walker's story, as it seemed like he escalated in his instability after taking the serum (you know, there's actually a fairly large connection between Walker/US Agent and Monroe too hmm…)

in the comics, Monroe is being controlled (through nanites, so idk maybe Stark Tech?) by a very Zemo-type motivated guy who hates supers and even works for the Commission on Superhuman Activities (basically the same people who created the Sokovia Accords in the MCU, led by Ross and the UN). being controlled by this man, Monroe, as Scourge, is forced to attack and kill super powered people and targets the Thunderbolts. Comic Zemo is literally beheaded by him in a page that definitely tries to make the reader think that it is Bucky Barnes attacking Zemo (this was before the Winter Soldier Brubaker run that brought back Bucky Barnes, so at the time Bucky was still thought to be very dead for over 50 years)

and the Scourge suit would explain other parts of this theory, such as why is that literally Sebastian Stan’s face?

+the suit comes with a camouflage feature and image inducer so looking just like Bucky wouldn't be a problem (in the comics, previous versions of Scourge, one who i actually believe was Jake Monroe, just used latex masks, even disguising himself as a woman more than once -go Val=Zemo theory!- but the most important detail is that Scourge has always been a master of disguise, so that element is already built into the lore of the character)

how would Zemo be able to mimic the Super Soldier Serum?

+if he's not being dosed by Val with a version of the serum, the suit has various means of mimicking increased strength

but unless they really committed to amputating an arm and have a Wakandan prosthetic laying around, how would Zemo have the metal arm?

+from what i can tell, we don’t actually see Bucky’s metal arm in this scene? i believe it’s covered up with a jacket. and even if some of it shows, that could be a CGI misdirect. otherwise the Scourge suit would answer this too, specifically the metal-looking high-tech gauntlets that he wears could be made to at least look like Bucky’s arm and do the same things Bucky’s arm can do

but what about real Bucky?

+we have to first buy into the two Bucky’s theory, which i don’t actually hate. there’s Bucky trying his best in the trailer and then there’s an impersonator out there doing his best Winter Soldier. this way we don’t run into the same problems of a third act reveal like with the others (not actually following the real Bucky Barnes). we would be, hopefully with a confrontation between the two in the climax, getting almost an out of body visual of Bucky’s inner turmoil. him vs the winter soldier identity and everything that represents to him

even having Bucky wearing the Winter Soldier gear would have a cool call back to the Scourge suit:

+the suit in the comics has two gauntlets that can access various tools and weapons by simply voicing a code. they appear as if from thin air but in reality it is a clever use of pym particles

+these weapons aren't even just regular ‘ol things but rather he has a whole arsenal taken from other heroes and villains

+so a suit that carries the whole Winter Soldier arsenal, despite us having every reason to believe Bucky wouldn't have those things anymore, could be a fun way to reference that

speaking of the WS arsenal:

+I know its just a coincidence, but its worth noting that, as others have pointed out, Bucky is predominantly carrying the Škorpion vz. 61 (also known as the Sa vz. 61 Skorpion) in the trailer and in the poster. which was the gun that used to attach to the harness on the WS suit

+Zemo's paramilitary team from Sokovia, EKO Skorpion, was, at least partially, named after the Serbian Skorpion paramilitary force. the real life Serbian Skorpions named themselves after their favorite gun, you guessed it: the same Škorpion vz. 61 that is used by the WS

+additional fun(?) fact: the real life Serbian Skorpions had a secret relationship to the CIA and the CIA might have had a hand in the Yugoslav wars (shocker). if we follow this trajectory, it's possible that Val could have had connections to Sokovia and Zemo as early as the 90s/early 2000s, working as a CIA agent involved with the Sokovian Civil War

+if Hydra was involved with instigating the civil war in Sokovia (as they almost certainly were as it gained them a great advantage in establishing their base there) and Val truly is Madame Hydra, then that would establish pretty strong connective tissue between Val, Sokovia, Zemo, and the WS/Bucky

taking us to Pleasant Hill again:

i love this panel in relation to the Thunderbolts bc this is everything that Yelena is struggling with and seems to be the central theme of the movie, these broken people finding purpose in a world that they’ve been alienated by

+now the major twist in the comic wasn’t just that Zemo is really mild-mannered Jim, but rather the readers were manipulated through various means into believing that Jim was actually Bucky until the end reveal

+combining these things (the Pleasant Hill comic run and the Jack Monroe/ Scourge comic run) creates a story where the audience is led to believe Bucky is Winter Soldiering about, attacking and possibly trying to kill the Thunderbolts team

+but in reality it is actually Zemo, being manipulated and controlled by Val thru various sci-fi means to make Zemo just appear as Bucky

some other things:

+the last person to imitate the WS specifically? Zemo

+and he literally did it with just some prosthetics and theater kid energy

+their height difference is concealable with some heels and Zemo would know how to run in them

+this might even explain Bucky's bad hair:

+like ok hold with me here but Daniel Bruhl had this same exact hair cut for his role as Karl Lagerfeld

did he keep the hair during Thunderbolts filming? i have no idea. but its fun to imagine

and finally,

+the popular Bucky/WS left hand theory. while i’m not necessarily convinced just by this trailer (even tho i really like the theory and the visual importance of Bucky using his metal/left arm), this would gain added legitimacy if it’s actually Zemo impersonating the WS

+because, while Bucky may not be left handed,

+Zemo is

——————————————————————

10 / 10

this gerbil

+100% Zemo, he’s not even in disguise here that’s just Daniel Brühl on set

[dameronspector]

Philophobia (Part 10)

Pairings: Joaquin Torres x Stark!Reader, Sam Wilson x Platonic!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Platonic!Reader

Chapter Summary: You try to find information on Rhodey and call the biggest asshole for help, Karli and Zemo are a pain in the ass, all of you get a special visit from the Dora Milaje, John Walker is annoying and you hate him, Joaquin is a sweetie pie who loves you so much, you end up hurting our bird boy unwillingly.

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, FLUFF so much fluff, Tension (no smut), Revisiting Past, Mentions of Depression and Phobias, Isolation, Loneliness, Talks of a Funeral, Guns/Bullets, Injuries, Concussion, Bruises, Jealous!Joaquin, Sam and Bucky are worried dads, Joaquin loves Reader so much, Joaquin is whipped, A Special Cameo, Nicknames, This is a long one. that’s all I think!

AN: nothing really, except this one is really cute hehe

“Stark, I’m in the middle of-”

“Where’s Rhodey? And don’t say you don’t know anything about that. We both know, that you’re the only person who has eyes everywhere.”

Fury sighed heavily on the phone.

The moment Pepper told you that Rhodey was missing, your mind went straight to Nick Fury, the only person in this country who had his eyes everywhere and in everyone’s business. Especially when it came to people like Rhodey, who were government officials.

“Fine. I do know. But I can’t tell you anything right now.”

Your blood boiled, irritated with his constant state of unbothered attitude, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I can’t tell you anything right now. It’s confidential. You’re not new to this business, Stark.”

You closed your eyes in annoyance. It was never easy with this man.

“Alright, fine. But if I don’t get my uncle back safely, I’ll give you something to worry about, Fury.”

“Are you threatening me?”, Fury let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“Why? Are you scared?”, you challenged him back. He knew you could be as reckless as your dad if you wanted to be.

“Relax. He’s alive, if that makes you feel any better. Just figuring out how to bring him back. And no, I can’t elaborate on that right now. You’ll just have to wait.”

You clenched your jaw tightly, reluctantly agreeing to his terms.

“Yeah, alright. You’ll keep me updated, though?”

A beat passed.

And he finally replied, “Yes, I’ll try.”

You huffed through your nose and cut the call, pinching the bridge of your nose after. You wouldn’t be getting any sleep for a while now.

Your phone buzzed with a notification again. Harley had texted you that the suit will be arriving to your doorstep in approximately 10 seconds.

As if on cue, your watch informed that the suit was here.

You made your way over to the main doors and there it was, the sleek red and gold of the armour glinting in the light, the blue arc reactor in the middle glowing brightly, like it was never broken down.

For a minute, it felt like your dad was inside the suit. The sight of him roaming around the living room in one of the suits was a common occurrence, and the times when he wore it to help Peter out, fighting against Thanos, or save Pepper—all of the moments flashing in front of your eyes like it was a short film.

Involuntarily, your eyes filled with tears, the fact that he would never step out of one of these suits, after doing something crazy and typically Tony Stark, made your chest ache with a pain so profound.

You didn’t notice Joaquin coming up next to you in your trance. You didn’t notice how he saw your body lock up and eyes turn glassy, the emotion and pain swimming in them sending a sharp pang of hurt through his own chest.

His eyebrows scrunched up and he slowly put a hand on your shoulder, making you jump in surprise. Your teary eyes shifted to look at him, his worried face intently focused on you.

"Hey, you okay?", he asked lowly, the hand on your shoulder shifting to rest on your shoulder blades.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat before nodding, "Y-yeah. I'm good. Sorry-um. This is Mark 50, Mark 50, this is Joaquin", you sniffled and pointed at the suit, introducing it to Joaquin like it was a real person.

In a way it was, the suits and the robots were as much as a part of the Stark family as Rhodey or Happy. They were, truly, your siblings and you hated how right Sam was about that.

Joaquin noticed the shift in you and immediately switched his mood, "Damn. Lookin' good", he greeted the suit, a hand extended in front of it.

He wasn't expecting the suit to actually listen and shake his hand in return, a metal fist enclosed against Joaquin's human hand, the suit's helmet tilted to the side like it was nodding.

Joaquin looked at you with wide eyes, face lit up with excitement, "Whoa!"

That made you laugh quietly, heart fluttering in your chest by looking at the wide smile on Joaquin's face.

He was so cute.

"Yeah. Dad used to command it before, but Harley must've programed it to respond to any commands and rewired it's systems to be operated by FRIDAY", you looked at the suit with a fond smile, completely missing the sour look that passed across Joaquin's face.

"Let's go inside. And Joaquin, could you please pull up Sam and Bucky's location? I’ll just thank Harley for his help", you shifted away from the threshold, the suit and Joaquin following closely. Joaquin stared at your back like a lost puppy before reluctantly sitting down at the couch with his laptop propped up on the arm rest.

You rang Harley back, taking a seat next to Joaquin and watching his pretty hands type away on the keypad.

Pretty hands? where did that come from-

"What’s up, Buzz."

"Hi, Haz. Thank you for working on the suit in such less time", you begun sincerely.

Joaquin clenched his jaw. You noticed that and quirked an eyebrow before Harley broke your train of thought.

"You owe me a treat and a new headset", Harley replied casually, and you could hear loud cheers in the background.

"Wait a minute, headset? Didn't you get a new one last month? And where are you, boy?", you chided him.

"Uhh...I may have blasted mine accidentally while working on the suit? And I'm at a football game right now", you could just picture his stupid shrug right now.

Your eyes widened, "Harley did you destroy my lab?! I swear to god- and why are you skipping your classes-"

"Oh my gooood, your lab is fine! There might be a small hole in the wall but otherwise, it's all good! And you're welcome! Come back home and treat me to lunch and a new pair, mkay? I gotta focus on the game now, byeee!"

And he ended the call.

You stared at your phone with your mouth agape before bringing your watch up to your face, "FRIDAY, give me a status update of the lab?"

FRIDAY pulled up a small screen, a footage of your lab visible on it. The footage showed the exact moment Harley accidentally pushed the wrong button and activated the blasters, destroying his precious headset and a small chunk of your wall paneling, the gaping hole standing out against the white and gray interior.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and groaned loudly, Joaquin, who was already looking at you, decides to finally speak up.

"Who is this guy?", he blurts out and immediately regrets it, his hand clenching into a fist.

You looked up and sighed, "Just a stray that my dad picked up long ago and now he's my problem."

Joaquin looked at you in confusion. You smiled fondly.

"He's like the twin I never had, you know? Dad met him in Tennessee in 2013, during the Mandarin attacks. Harley basically saved my dad from starvation and hypothermia, let him stay in their family garage for the night. He was a smart kid, helped dad fix his suit, uncover the Extremis program, and helped track down the Mandarin in Miami."

Joaquin's eyes were wide with wonder, "Whoa."

You chuckled, "I know right? He must've been barely 11 years old. Even supported my dad during his panic attacks and PTSD. Dad was so impressed with this little guy who was practically helping him save the country, that he became a surrogate father to him. Gave him a scholarship and, later, an internship, brought him home during Christmas the next year, and that's how we became friends. I was an only child, so he was the closest thing to a brother to me", you finished with a sweet smile.

Joaquin relaxed. Harley was like a brother to you, there was nothing to be jealous of. Now that that was out of the way, he was happy and impressed with Harley and his presence in your life. He had saved your father’s life at only 11 years old and had given you a feeling of siblinghood. He knew how special a bond with a sibling could be.

Joaquin felt like he could get along with him.

His curiosity got the best of him and he asked, “That’s…really cool. He seems like a nice guy. But, why’d you call him Woody the other day?”

You let out a delightful laugh, one that made your eyes squint and crinkles appear next to them. One that made Joaquin’s heart race and cheeks red.

“We were just two Disney obsessed kids, okay? Spent half of our time watching the animated movies. Toy Story and How To Train Your Dragon stuck out because, Woody and Buzz, and Ruffnut and Tuffnut, were way too similar to us. So those were our nicknames for each other. Never grew out of them”, you finished with a nostalgic smile.

Joaquin ducked his head and smiled, happy that you had these sweet memories as a child.

“Why did you abruptly leave when I was talking to him?”

Joaquin whipped his head up, “Huh?”, nervousness bleeding through his tone and you knew you had him there.

“Why did you leave, Joaquin? You even tensed up when I was talking to him right now”, you tried again in a softer voice.

Joaquin scratched the back of his head sheepishly, eyes looking down at his laptop to avoid your observant gaze, “Uh-I…I was-”

You pursed your lips to stop the smile from spreading, “Jealous?”

And there was the word vomit that you were expecting, “No! I wasn’t jealous. I just- I didn’t know- I didn’t want to force you into anything with me, you know? So like, I thought, maybe you already had someone so- I didn’t want to—And you looked so happy—”

You stopped him from spiralling any further and covered his mouth with your hand, shutting him up effectively. His brown eyes stared at your hand in surprise before looking at you, his soft lips brushed against your palm and you almost shivered.

“It’s okay.”

His eyes widened, head tilting to the side as if he was asking you to repeat it again.

“I mean, I don’t mind that you were jealous”, you repeated quietly, swallowing to get rid of your nerves. It’s been a long time since you opened up to someone like that. You weren’t sure how Joaquin would react to it, your heart was beating out of your chest, hands were shaking and turning cold at the same time.

Before your overthinking could get worse, Joaquin wrapped a hand around your wrist and slowly tugged it down, a thumb rubbing soothing circles against your heartbeat, sparkling eyes flickering all over your face.

“Is that so?”, he asked softly, a stray curl falling apart from his neatly gelled hair and resting on his forehead.

He was so handsome, it hurt.

You nodded shyly, face heating up with nervousness and excitement, both.

He slowly leaned in, a hand coming up to cradle your cheek when there was a beeping sound coming from his laptop, the two of you jumping apart at that.

You cleared your throat while he gently removed his hand from your face, leaving a cold feeling behind. You almost sulked at that when he swooped in to press a kiss to the swell of your cheek before turning back towards the screen.

You blushed hard and thanked whatever force that was out there, for making him turn around at that moment.

“Shit. Walker and Hoskins have tracked Sam and Bucky down”, Joaquin cursed.

You snapped out of your day dream and leaned closer to him to look at the screen.

“What? How’s that possible?”, you murmured as you watched the two dots follow Sam and Bucky around.

“I got no clue. But this can’t be good. I don’t trust Walker”, he muttered, his voice scratchy.

“Yeah, that makes the two of us. I knew this was gonna happen, which is why I called in the suit”, you confessed and he looked at you in confusion, his warm breath hitting your face because of how close you were to each other.

“What? Why?”

“I’m going after them. I’ve got a bad feeling ever since they left”, you admitted and bit the inside of your cheek.

Joaquin’s face fell, “(Name), no. You’re literally recovering from a rib injury that you got a few hours ago. You’re supposed to be resting right now”, he chided you gently, face twisted in concern.

You stared at him for a moment before softening, hands framing his face carefully. Joaquin closed his in contentment.

“I have the suit for a reason, Quino. It’s got the suture spray and FRIDAY will keep you updated with my vitals, in case something goes wrong. And Sam and Bucky will be there, too. I’ll be okay, I promise”, you cooed gently.

He opened his pretty eyes and stared at you in worry, a dent appearing in between his eyebrows because of how much he was stressing them.

“You’ll let me know if anything goes south?”

“I swear.”

“And you won’t do stupid shit?”

You gave him a guilty smile, “I’ll try”, and pressed a thumb in between his brows, smoothing the dent away before squeezing his cheeks in between your palms. He grabbed your wrists in his hands.

“I’ll give you access to FRIDAY. She’s directly connected to the suit so you can talk to me, and track me through her, okay?”

He nodded, his head moving up and down in your hands.

“Anything else?”, you prompted him to open his eyes.

He looked at you for a moment and said, “Can I kiss you?”

You blushed and whispered, “Yes.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. He put his hands on your cheeks and brought you closer to him, lips pressing to yours in a gentle embrace, thumbs smoothing the skin below your eyes.

The kiss wasn’t desperate or needy, it was gentle and reassuring, as if he was trying to savour the way your soft lips felt against his but at the same time, needed comfort that you’d be okay.

He pulled away after a few moments, pressing one last kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“Go save our dads”, he murmured against your cheek and you burst out in giggles, nuzzling against his face in return.

-

You flew to the location where Sam and Bucky had gone for Mama Donya’s funeral. After commanding FRIDAY to compress the suit, it took the shape of a red and gold bracelet with blue accents that went on your wrist alongside your watch and you walked the rest of the way, not wanting to draw too much attention.

The funeral was held in a closed off factory or a community center of some sort, the building filled with large machines and huge halls, scattered with food supplies and tables full of clothes, bags, pots and other essentials. It was clearly a camp for the refugees.

It was way too quiet when you got in, and Joaquin informed you about the heat signatures a few feet ahead. You slowly made your way over to the main hall’s entrance, the view blocked by 2 rusted machines that looked like unused boilers, and a blue suit came into view—Walker.

Your expression soured as you approached him and noticed Zemo being handcuffed, Bucky standing guard in front of a door, meanwhile Walker and Lemar were pacing back and forth.

“Wow, I wasn’t told that there was gonna be a party here”, you quipped and the four of them whipped their heads up in your direction.

“What—Kid, why are you here?”, Bucky asked in concern.

“Great, we have another trigger-happy child to look after”, Walker sassed.

“The call is coming from inside the house”, Walker glared at you and opened his mouth before you waved him off, “Anyways. Buck, where’s Sam? You guys okay?”

You walked over to where Bucky was standing and leaned against the door.

“Yeah. He’s inside, trying to talk Karli down.”

You nodded in understanding, it was very much in character for Sam to do that, his natural instinct to care for people and the professional experience of being a counselor helping him out.

“And why’s this clown here?”, you murmured and gestured towards Walker.

Bucky sighed, “He thinks Sam is doing a mistake by talking to Karli. Says we should just arrest her or worse.”

You rolled your eyes in irritation before John started breathing heavily. Bucky exchanged a look with you.

“Is he high? What the hell is wrong with him?”, you asked Bucky, who chuckled.

“Ignore him. Why'd you join us? You’re supposed to be resting. Did you sneak out? Did Torres not stop you?”, Bucky rapidly asked one question after the other, his eyebrows scrunched deeply.

You narrowed your eyes, “I don’t need anybody’s permission. And relax, old man, I told him to track me and gave him access to FRIDAY. And here”, you pulled back your dad’s leather jacket’s sleeve and showed him the bracelet, “I got the suit as a backup.”

Bucky looked down at your wrist in doubt, “How?-”

“I’ll tell you later-”

“Uh-uh. No, no, no. This is a bad idea”, John spoke up and paced around in panic.

You quirked an eyebrow.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight”, Bucky drawled out in boredom.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me”, John gritted his teeth.

You stood up straight and looked him in the eye, noticing his restless body language, “Dude, you need to calm down.”

“He knows what he’s doing”, Bucky referred to Sam.

John glared at the two of you, “I’m goin’ in. This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. And you”, he looked at you with eyes, “not everybody has the privilege of living in ignorance and having a back up ready. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

You clenched your jaw, your eyes hardening in anger, “Watch it, John”, a hand moving to your bracelet before Bucky stopped you. You stared at him in disbelief.

John smirked before pushing Bucky out of the way, Lemar choosing to stay behind for now.

You watched John leave and broke your hand away from Bucky’s grip.

“Bucky, what the hell?”, you chided him, his jaw clenching tightly at that.

“I know. Just- be careful. Lay low, I'll go after him", Bucky instructed, you gave him a curt nod and ran in the opposite direction, Bucky taking off after Walker and Lemar following closely, ready to stop Bucky. Zemo was the only one left behind, and he took that opportunity to break free from his handcuffs and follow Walker and Karli himself.

-

You ducked behind the staircase, observing the scene closely before making any moves. You knew Sam would be upset to see you here, but you weren’t going to sit back and watch them get ambushed by Walker or, god forbid, the Flagsmashers.

“This is what that was?”, Karli’s upset voice rang out in the empty hall.

“No, wait—”, Sam tried to placate her, his hands held out in a peaceful gesture.

“Tricking me until help came?”

“We had enough time to talk—”, Walker stopped Sam while Lemar tried to restrict Bucky. You clenched your hands in anger.

“Nazi", Karli spit at Walker and pushed him against Sam, bringing him down with him and a few pots and pans scattering in the wake. Bucky pushed Lemar off of him and ran in the direction of Karli.

You pressed the small button on your bracelet and let the suit wrap around you, the blue screens coming to life inside the helmet, FRIDAY's voice alert and ready.

"FRIDAY, track down Karli."

"Ok, Boss."

And you blasted off, whizzing through the building. Her and Bucky jumped through the staircases, the serums running through their veins helping them run faster and scale heights. Bucky dropped down behind her, landing in a room that was filled with people drying their clothes around and meandering about, they looked at you in alarm and gasped when you swooped in behind Bucky in a blur of red and gold.

Bucky whipped his head behind as he ran, relaxing when he noticed it was just you and ran faster, matching Karli's pace with you close on his heels.

The doorway made way to a dark, brick walled space, surrounded by flights of stairs and metal railings, low light passing through the windows on the opposite wall.

Bucky ran up another series of stairs and you paused, looking around in confusion, "FRIDAY, where is she?"

"Second floor, in the boiler room. Last door at the end of the hallway."

And you took off, reaching the second floor and noticing a brown door at the end of the hallway. Flying close to the door, you turned the suit back into the bracelet by pushing on the reactor and straightened yourself before opening the door, which gave you a clear view of Karli from the railings around the platform.

Descending from the stairs, you tried to keep the noise to a minimum as you followed Karli closely, ducking behind storage shelves and large pipes.

She suddenly stopped, staring at something or someone across her, her breathing laboured. You furrowed your eyebrows.

And suddenly, a gunshot went off, a bullet ricocheting off a pipe, making a loud clang. Your eyes widened as you pressed the bracelet and let it cover your hand in a partial gauntlet, arm raised in defense as you slowly stood up and saw the perpetrator- it was Zemo.

"Fuck", you cursed under your breath. All of you had stupidly left Zemo behind.

"(Name), what are you doing?", Joaquin's urgent voice came in from your ear piece.

You closed your eyes in regret. Thankfully, you didn't give him access to video yet or else he would've not given up until you backed away.

"Joaquin-I'm okay. FRIDAY, shut off comms until further notice", you guiltily informed FRIDAY.

"Wait, no-don't do this, (Name)-", his voice called out before FRIDAY ended the connection. You would definitely regret this later but you needed to focus here, for now.

A series of gunshots went off, Zemo backing Karli into a corner while you covered yourself with a huge crate right behind Zemo, keeping your blaster trained at him.

Karli jumped over a table and used it as a cover, the contents on the table scattering on the floor and that's when you noticed.

The blue glass vials. The serums.

Zemo slowly made his way over to the table while keeping Karli on gun point. You raised up and followed him, wanting to keep him away from the vials and Karli. He fired another shot and almost missed Karli's hand, her quickly ducking behind the table and his eyes went towards the vials rolling around.

"Is this what I think it is?", he asked Karli.

"Zemo, don't!", you cried out and he whipped around, his gun still raised but lowering it when he saw you.

"Let me do this, (Name). This has nothing to do with you", he warned you lightly before turning back towards the vials. He crouched down before picking one up, Karli's distressed face popping out from behind the overturned table.

"No, no...", Karli whispered and Zemo shattered the vial in his hand, it breaking in tiny pieces, the blue liquid spilling on the stone ground, turning it damp.

"Zemo, stop it, I'm gonna blast you, I swear", you raised your arm, the gauntlet powering itself when a door opened and a man came out, Karli making her way up to escape. You forgot the serum then, knowing that they weren’t as important as Karli’s coordination with Sam and to this mission.

"Karli, wait!", you ran towards the stairs, catching up with her when she suddenly turned around, pulling your arm close before pushing you harshly.

She ran away while you lost your balance, the heel of your foot slipping off the step. Your stomach coiled in itself, that feeling of free falling engulfing you.

A sound of metal hitting something echoed in the still room but you couldn't see it as you closed your eyes tightly, waiting for the ground to hit you for the second time since yesterday.

But it never came. Instead, rough gloves and the feel of kevlar on your cheeks greeted you, hands helping you get off the stairs before making you sit on the ground, releasing you immediately and the sound of footsteps walking away hit your ears.

You heart was pounding in your ears, the brief scare of falling had shaken you up, your eyes still shut tightly. Taking a deep breath in, you opened them to see that Zemo was unconscious in front of you, Walker stood next to a pile of water bottles with his head titled, looking at something in his hands.

Had he saved you from falling?

Just as you though that, the door above opened once again, Sam and Bucky walking through it while Lemar rushed in from the other entrance behind Zemo.

You were breathing loudly, eyes meeting Sam and Bucky's from across the room, nodding to let them know that you're okay.

"What did we miss?", Sam asked John in exasperation, Bucky scowling next to him and the four men exchanged a look with each other.

-

"You okay?", Bucky asked you as you walked next to him.

"Yeah, he-"

"What are you doing here? I told you to rest. The doctor told you to rest!", Sam chided you, a frown tugging his lips.

"I know, I'm sorry-"

"Oh, now you're sorry. What if you'd been injured, or worse? What was I supposed to tell Pepper or Rhodey?", Sam stressed. In his panic, he thankfully didn't notice the way you and Bucky froze at the mention of Rhodey.

"And how did you even get the suit?"

"Yeah actually, I have the same question", Bucky chimed in, staring you down with narrowed eyes.

You shrugged casually, "I have contacts", and gave them a smirk.

Sam shook his head in disbelief and Bucky huffed out a laugh. Zemo was stumbling behind the three of you, his right temple bruised and red.

"I didn't think I'd ever say this, but maybe I need to thank John for that", you quipped and the two men next to you chuckled in agreement.

"He also saved me from falling when Karli shoved me", you confessed and they look at you in confusion.

"Who? Walker?", Bucky asked in disbelief and you nodded.

"Well, colour me surprised. They do say, a broken clock is right twice in a day", Sam joked.

You shook your head and chuckled.

"You guys go ahead. I'll join you", Bucky informed you before walking back to the building. Assuming he was most likely going to ask around for information, Sam and you made your way back to Zemo's place with a wincing Zemo in tow.

-

As soon as you entered the living area, you were greeted with a sulking Joaquin, headphones over his head that made a dent in his otherwise fluffy curls, eyes intently focusing on the screen of his laptop, lips set in a frown and hands constantly fidgeting with the keyboard. His arms strained against the tight t shirt he was wearing and you felt your breath hitch at the sight.

There was also an ache in your chest. You hated that you had shut him out like that but you didn’t do well with distractions. Not when you were trying so hard to prove yourself to Sam, that you’d be useful. But, those are just excuses, you suppose. He didn’t deserve that in anyway.

Sam made his way over to him while Zemo went into the kitchen, likely preparing a cold compress for the bruising.

Patting his back, Sam brought Joaquin’s attention back to the present and he jumped lightly before removing the headphones, wide eyes looking up at Sam in alarm.

“Oh-Hey. You’re back? Where-”

He looked around Sam and spotted you, perfectly okay, wrapped in your father’s jacket, hands playing with the bracelet nervously.

Sam took notice of this frantic behaviour from Joaquin and turned to look at you, the nervousness radiating off your body and quirked an eyebrow.

“Uh…you good, man?”, he asked Joaquin while squeezing his shoulder, Joaquin reluctantly looking away from you to answer Sam.

“Um- yeah. I’m good. How-how did it go?”

Sam sighed, “Well. Walker’s dumbass ambushed us. Karli felt betrayed and she escaped. And Zemo broke the vials of the serum.”

Joaquin looked at Zemo, noticing the way he was swaying and stumbling over his feet and let out a low whistle, “Did he get his ass kicked?”

Sam snorted, “Walker threw the damn shield at his head. Knocked him out for sometime and bruised the right side of his face.”

Joaquin breathed out a laugh in response. Sam patted his back again and sat down on the chairs lining the kitchen island to work on his laptop, leaving you and Joaquin staring at each other longingly from across the room.

Zemo came over and laid down on the couch opposite to Joaquin, a towel over his eyes and a drink in his hand.

You averted your eyes away from Joaquin before joining Sam at the island, sitting down next to him and staring at the laptop idly, lost in your own thoughts. Sam was sending a text to Sharon, warning her about Walker and asking her to keep an eye on him.

“Were you ever offered it?”, Zemo asked Sam, who looked at you in confusion.

“What?”, he asked Zemo.

“The serum.”

“No”, Sam replied and went back to his work.

“If you had been, hypothetically, that is, would you have taken it?”

You stopped fiddling with your bracelet and looked up in surprise, the loaded question from Zemo taking you off guard.

Sam turned around to look at Zemo and instantly replied, “No.”

You slowly smiled with pride. Joaquin looked at Sam with stars in his eyes.

“No hesitation. That’s impressive,” Zemo grunted and sat up, pulling away the towel from his eyes to look at Sam.

“Sam, you can’t hold out hope for Karli. No matter what you saw in her, she’s gone. And we cannot allow that she and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods amongst real people. Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

You stiffened up, his words holding some truth yet his way of tackling the issue rubbed you the wrong way.

Sam grimaced, “Isn’t that how gods talk? And if that’s how you feel, what about Bucky? Blood isn’t always the solution.”

Right after that the door opened, Bucky walking through it with irritation bleeding from his every step.

“Something’s not right about Walker”, he announced and walked around you and Sam, throwing his jacket into a chair and picking out a glass from the cabinet, pouring himself some whiskey.

“You don’t say”, Sam quipped.

“No, I agree. He was being really fucking weird. Twitchy and always on the edge…”, you added, suspecting your worse fear—Walker took the serum.

“Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy”, Bucky added in self deprecation. You pursed your lips.

“Can’t argue with that”, Sam joked and you noticed Joaquin stifle a laugh.

“Shouldn’t have given him the shield”, Bucky throws at Sam and you frown, a hand coming up to pinch your nose.

“Not this again”, you groaned and Sam turned around to look at Bucky in disbelief.

“I didn’t give it.”

“Well, Steve definitely didn’t.”

You looked up in shock, “Dude?!”

Why did have an attitude all of a sudden?

And as if the devil sensed the rising tension, the doors flung open, revealing the last person you wanted to see.

“All right. That’s it. Let’s go. I’m now ordering you to turn him over”, John’s loud mouth announced himself as he strutted in, a stupid smug smile on his face, Lemar walking next to him.

You actually preferred Lemar over John. Atleast he didn’t spew bullshit at random times.

Sam sighed in exhaustion and met John halfway.

“Hey, slow your roll. Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth. Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today. We’ll need all hands on deck for whatever’s comin’ next”, he said and pointed at Zemo who walked over to the kitchen.

Bucky leaned on the countertop meanwhile you felt a warm hand on your forearm, shifting your intense stare away from John to to look at Joaquin standing next to you, his jaw clenched.

“How do you want the rest of this conversation to go, Sam? Huh?”

Sam stared at Walker and Walker let out a breathy laugh.

"Yeah. Should I put down the shield to make it fair?", John belittled Sam and you clenched your fists, eyes hardened in anger. Sam scoffed.

Just as John went to rest his shield by one of the pillars, a spear zipped past him, lodging firmly into the pillar right next to John's head.

All of you turned around in shock to see that a Dora Milaje warrior was standing in the corner of the room. You let out a laugh and Bucky shifted. Joaquin was too starstruck to even move, Sam looked at her in shock and fear.

Two more Doras entered from the main door, the clinking of their silver jewelry and armour rippling across the room in a pleasant way, their bodies held with grace and poise, the orange and patterned traditional armour fitting them royally, unimaginable power and stealth oozing off of their shining skin. Their sharp eyes pierced through Walker and Bucky sat up uncomfortably.

A Dora clinked her spear against the ground and looked at Bucky directly, saying something in Wakandan isiXhosa that was clearly not funny as Bucky ducked his head in shame. You exchanged a serious look with Joaquin, standing up in alarm.

"Release him to us, now", the warrior demanded, her voice serious and firm in warning.

Nobody spoke, except-

"Hi. John Walker, Captain America."

Except this dumb fucking man.

You rolled your eyes and shut them in embarrassment, Joaquin's mouth agape in disbelief. Sam laughed and looked at the three of you, his face lit up with shocked happiness, like he couldn't believe his was happening.

When the Dora didn't respond, John looked around the room and ran his stupid mouth again, "Well, let's uh- put down these pointy sticks and we can talk this through, huh?", he said in a fake happy voice.

"Oh my god", you whispered lowly.

"Hey, John, take it easy. You might wanna fight with Bucky before you wanna tangle with the Dora Milaje", Sam tried to warn Walker.

"They're gonna lay you down in 2 minutes max, man”, Joaquin added. You scoffed in humour.

John looked at you two blankly before turning around and running his mouth again.

"The Dora Milaje don't have jurisdiction here-"

Your eyes were so wide you were sure they would burst, if that was possible. Joaquin let out a choked gasp next to you.

"The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction, wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be", the warrior conceded and stared down Walker with her sharp and vigilant eyes.

"I know that's fucking right", "Hell yeah", you and Joaquin muttered together.

Sam smiled and Bucky still looked constipated. You assumed it's because he was going to get his ass handed to him by the Doras as well.

Just when you thought that it was over, Walker did something even worse.

"Okay. Look, I think we got off the wrong foot", he replied smugly and tried to casually put his fucking hand on the warriors shoulder.

You and Joaquin grimaced and slapped your foreheads in unison.

"He's dead", you whispered in shock.

And he was, indeed, dead because the warrior pushed his hand off her shoulder with the spear and kicked him so hard in the stomach, that he hit the lodged spear harshly, and fell down, her partner pulling up her own spear in defense.

You gasped as John picked up his shield and the warrior spinned over him before stabbing his shield. The one who kicked John threw the third Dora her spear, who caught it mid air and attacked Lemar.

The three Doras kept hitting the two men with their spears, choking them and pinning them down, the grunts and groans and glasses shattering being the only sounds heard.

Sam backed up in shock, Bucky walked over to stand next to him smugly, his arms crossed around his chest.

Meanwhile you and Joaquin stared at the fight in wonder, awed at the fighting style of the Dora. They moved like it was a dance, not breaking any sweat or huffing and puffing, their movement precise and every attack purposeful.

Zemo sipped on his whiskey casually, like this wasn't any of his concern.

"We should do something", Sam mumbled to Bucky, who just pursed his lips and watched the scene unfold.

"Looking strong, John!", Bucky taunted as John got smacked by the spear once again and you let out a chuckle at that.

Bucky kept staring the fight smugly, his lips molded into a silly smile with his arms crossed.

Sam shook his head, "Bucky...", he called out in warning. Bucky looked at him before sighing, the warrior pinning down Walker and driving her spear straight into his face.

You let out a gasp, Joaquin holding you by the shoulders and then-

A vibranium arm shot out, stopping the spear before it hit John.

"Ayo-", Bucky twisted the spear away and Ayo, the warrior who kicked John, grunted, as she tried moving it out of Bucky's hand.

"Ayo, let's talk about this!", Bucky tried to reason but Ayo grunted once again, twisting the spear away, Bucky bringing up his flesh hand to stop her movements.

The other two Doras kicked Lemar and he dropped down in pain, one of them raising their spear before Sam rushed in to stop it, the warrior jamming in her spear's end into Sam's chest instead.

"Joaquin, we need to stop them-"

"No. Listen to me this once, please", Joaquin stopped you firmly, his hands pulling you back against him. You pouted.

The warriors kept attacking the four men, grunts and clangs echoing across the room and suddenly a spear shot out towards Walker's hands, passing through the straps and trapping the shield into the wooden table, Walker standing up with empty hands.

Ayo and Bucky's fight escalated and suddenly, she pressed a hand onto his left shoulder, where his metal arm met his flesh and-

The metal arm dropped down with a clink.

You gasped, Joaquin stared at the scene with fear and Bucky looked at Ayo with disbelief and slight betrayal, his eyes blown wide.

You walked over to Bucky, Joaquin making his way towards Sam.

You stood next to Bucky with a hand on his back, watching Ayo open the bathroom before announcing, "He is gone. Leave it."

The Dora handed the shield back to Sam and walked out just as gracefully as they had entered.

That's when you noticed that Zemo was missing. You frowned. How did you miss him slipping away?

"Did you know they could do that?", Sam asked as Joaquin helped him up, making his way towards you and Bucky.

Bucky furrowed his brows and you stared at him in worry, the vibranium arm's inner gears moving as Bucky prepared it to be fitted back into place. He inserted it into the purple grooves on the place where his armpit is supposed to be and the arm clicked, Bucky's clenched fingers making it whirr as he set it.

"No", he rasped out and moved his arm in a circle, making a clanking noise as it set.

You exchanged a worried look with Sam.

They walked over to the bathroom, leaving you behind with Joaquin. You clasped your hands in front you and Joaquin tucked his inside his pockets, both of you observing Sam and Bucky silently.

After a couple moments of awkward silence, Sam informs you that him and Bucky are going to look out for Zemo. You cursed inwardly as you realised you’ll have to be alone with Joaquin for sometime now.

You just hoped he wasn’t too mad about your little stunt.

-

You were scouring through the kitchen cabinets to find something to eat when you heard footsteps behind you.

You turned around to look at Joaquin, who had left the bedroom a while after Sam and Bucky left.

In a way, you had decided to give him some space, the dent between his eyebrows kept growing the longer he was around you. You just couldn’t gather the courage to speak up to him because what would you even say to the most patient and understanding person around you whom you just pushed away because you couldn’t multi task?

He walked around you to get a glass of water, his body language casual and unbothered, avoiding eye contact with you throughout. You sneaked a look at him and chewed on your lower lip, deciding to simply ask him what’s wrong.

“Are you upset with me?”, you mumbled loud enough for him to hear.

He paused drinking, hand hovered in the air. He gulped it down heavily after a moment, before putting the glass down. Your eyes lingered on his adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Uh-no. What made you think that?”, he murmured and cleared his throat, arms crossing around his chest and making his muscles bulge and veins strain.

You narrowed your eyes at him, putting your hands on the hips.

“You’re a horrible liar, did you know that?”

Joaquin winced and scrunched his nose. You sighed and leaned against the counter top, your arms holding your torso in comfort now.

“Look…I’m sorry, okay? I just—I get overwhelmed easily and I-I just wanted to prove to Sam and Bucky that I can be useful, that I want to help. I can’t help it”, you let out a breath.

“When you called, I couldn’t comfort you and keep an eye on the mission at the same time. It’s just how I am. Did this before when dad was around and he’d get upset at me every time”, you chuckled lowly, the memory of him scolding you for not updating him during a fight vivid. Joaquin’s lips twitched at that.

“Every time someone close to me is in some kind of danger, it’s like I have this uncontrollable impulse to jump in to protect them. And I know, I said I won’t indulge in field work before joining you guys but…they’re family. I can’t just…leave them out there to fend for themselves. Not when I can still help”, you confessed in a small voice, the vulnerability of your words weighing you down.

Joaquin’s eyes softened then, because he could perfectly understand how you feel. Everything he did, he did it to prove himself to the world, to his mom, grandma and his sister. and most importantly, to Sam. That weight crushed him almost everyday, but Sam’s endless support and strength and the inherent trait to help the ones in need kept him going.

He supposed it was, in a way, worse for you because you’d lost your family members and you couldn’t do anything to save them. That is a burden that he wished on no one. And how he wished, that someone as pure hearted and loving as you, would have never experienced this.

His heart did a little lurch after taking in your dejected and small form. He crowded your personal space, making you look up in surprise, your glossy eyes wide, eyebrows furrowed and a frown tugging your lips down.

Joaquin tilted his head like a puppy, his brown eyes looking at you with fondness and sympathy, “It’s okay, angel. I understand.”

Your mouth fell open. He forgave you? And called you angel?

“What?”, you blurted out like a loser.

Joaquin smiled gently, “It’s okay. I get what you mean. I understand you. You don’t need to apologise to me. Not now, not ever, okay?”

Your bottom lip quivered and nose tickled, a telltale sign of crying. You quickly swallowed the tears and nodded, a hand coming up to brush against your nose.

Joaquin stared at you with thinly veiled love and affection in his eyes. He was so gone for you, it was a little scary.

So he did what he did best when words failed him.

He held out an arm to grab your hand and pulled you in gently, the other arm going around your waist to bring you to his firm chest. When you were close enough, he brought both of his arms up and hugged you, a hand splayed against your back and the other one holding you close by your shoulder.

You froze for a moment before burying your face into his chest, arms going around his waist and squeezing him tightly. You breathed in the comforting scent of fresh laundry and citrus, your favourite, and closed your eyes in relaxation, nuzzling against him like a cat asking for more pets, your forehead touching the warm skin by his collarbones.

Joaquin leaned his head against yours and let out a content sigh, a hand rubbing your back soothingly and you forgot all your problems for a moment.

Both of you were happily wrapped in your little bubble, unaware of the shit that was about to unfold around you.

Chapter 11

-

AN: AAAAHHH I love this chapter so much plsssss!! Please like and reblog and let me know your thoughts! 💙

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sorry if I couldn’t tag anyone/reply if you wanna be added or removed from the taglist!

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Sweet Pumpkin Chapter 5

Summary:  Bucky is struggling with the dating world and knows that if he ever hopes to have a serious relationship, that he needs to get through his touch deprivation issues.  It’s not that he doesn’t want to touch people, or them to touch him, but after decades of pain he doesn’t know how to accept physical intimacy from others, or how to give it himself.  He hires Y/N, an intimacy coach and professional cuddler, who comes highly recommended.  Will his heart be able to distinguish between a service given versus real love?

Warnings: mentions of past violence and past sexual assault, language, physical intimacy, eventual smut

**curvy reader

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Their relationship very quickly progressed after that.  Neither of them saw any point in waiting any longer when they both felt good about themselves and where the relationship was taking them together.  Bucky moved into her apartment, not bringing much of anything with him since he loved her stuff so much.  He only went on missions every once in a while, and only ones that were more stealth or surveillance.  He was tired, both physically and mentally, and ready for a slower, cozier life to settle into.

The hardest part was getting over the fact that she had other clients that she was helping and close with.  He met most of them in passing as they came in for appointments and he would disappear into the back rooms to let her work.  The jealousy of knowing that she was physically close with others like she’d been with him was hard to stomach, but his rational brain knew better than to fixate on the idea.  That was until she shut the door hard after a fairly new client he hadn’t met one day.  

Bucky opened the bedroom door and walked through the hallway to the main living room, finding Y/N hugging herself and leaning against the front door looking unhappy.  “Pumpkin?” he said, walking up to her.  “What’s wrong?”

Y/N shook her head and then rubbed her face harshly.  “I think I’m going to have to fire my newest client,” she said tiredly.

“Why?” Bucky asked, reaching up and grasping her hands.

Y/N looked up at him worriedly.  “Because he keeps pushing the contract boundaries.”

Bucky immediately became enraged.  He had to sign a contract when he first started working with her, and the rules and boundaries were extremely clear.  Y/N was a consummate professional, never pushing the boundaries beyond what was specifically listed within the contract.  She was friendly with her clients, as she had been with Bucky, but the second he had expressed feelings toward her she had ended their working relationship, she just so happened to reciprocate his feelings.  “Who is he?  What did he do?” he asked, trying to keep the anger and bitterness in his tone at bay.

Y/N sighed, and he could see she was upset but trying to keep her emotions under control.  “Helmut Zemo.  Retired Sokovian special ops.  He’s been very pushy about getting straight to the cuddling part, and just…” she swallowed harshly.  “He keeps giving me lingering touches on intimate parts of my body.”

Bucky inhaled deeply, his hands almost shaking as they held hers.  “Where?” he whispered, looking her over.

“My face,” she blinked rapidly to keep her oncoming tears back, her voice starting to wobble.  “My lower back, close to my butt.  And…” she paused, her lips trembling as she shut her eyes tight.  “He touched my breast.  He tried to play it off as an accident but…he squeezed it,” she released Bucky’s hands and hugged herself around her chest again.  

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his frown making his brow hurt from how tense he was.  He lifted his hands and cupped Y/N’s face, making her look at him.  Her tears started to fall and he quickly swept them away with his fingers.  “You’re going to call him,” he said, keeping his voice even and quiet, “and tell him that you’re voiding his contract for inappropriate behavior and touching.  If he decides to be an ass about it, I’ll take care of it.”

“Buck, you don’t have to–”

“Believe me, pumpkin,” he leaned down and kissed her nose.  “I’d love to.”

Y/N called the client a few minutes later, gripping Bucky’s hand tightly.  “Hey beautiful,” his voice rang out through the speakerphone.  

“You can’t call me that, Zemo,” she said simply.  “I’m just calling to inform you that our contract is officially void as of this moment, and I won’t be taking you as a client anymore.”

“Excuse me?” Zemo asked, his European accented voice angry.  

“Our sessions are canceled.  I will not be working with you,” Y/N said firmly.  

“And why may I ask?” Zemo sneered.

“For inappropriate behavior and touching,” she explained.  “Goodbye.”

“Y/N–” 

She hung up the phone and blocked his number, sighing heavily.  Bucky hugged her tightly.  “Good job, pumpkin.  I’m proud of you.  If he ever even looks your way again, you tell me and I’ll handle it.”

Y/N snorted.  “My big bad super soldier boyfriend is gonna come to the rescue?”

“Always,” Bucky said, kissing the top of her head.

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess @cjand10 @railmesebstan @danzer8705

[unboundbeauty]

Daughter of Beauty Chapter 1

Pairing: Aurora Stark x Bucky Barnes

Summary: The Void brings old wounds to the surface.

Warnings: mentions of attempted sexual assault, nightmares, past trauma

Series Masterlist

Aurora lay on her side, curled against Bucky’s back, arm draped over him. He’d tucked it close to his chest and slept soundly for the next hour, until dawn. But she couldn’t sleep. The shadows receded from the walls and furniture, slowly bathed in sunlight.

The energy of Bucky’s nightmare clung to the room long after it subsided. She tried to breathe through it, but deep breathing exercises did little to ease the emotional residue. It was like they were in Wakanda again, when his nightmares were a constant.

And who was to blame for Bucky’s fresh wave of night terrors? The Void.

No sooner had they stepped into the continuum of Bob’s shadow self than Aurora felt a spike of terror, self-loathing, and guilt. She’d been torn between looking away from the Winter Soldier and consoling Bucky, reassuring him that what she was seeing wasn’t going to change her mind about him.

The Winter Soldier looked menacing, face half-concealed by a mask that only showed his eyes—emotionless, icy, void. People ran, screaming, past her. He gunned them down without mercy or remorse, choking several with his silver-metal arm. She was invisible to them, and in turn, she found solace in the fact that she couldn’t feel them.

She glanced at Bucky, who was watching her for her reaction. His mouth was turned down in a grim frown. Resigned acceptance emanated from him like a storm cloud. That she felt.

The only thing that pulled him out of his downward spiral was her shame room. In hindsight, Aurora probably should’ve told him about Zemo’s threats. It definitely would’ve lessened his shock and outrage, as he relived the experience nearly first-hand along with her.

Afterwards, at their apartment, he followed her. He refused to let her out of his sight. His fists clenched and unclenched, the whirr of his metal arm droning in her ear.

“Why didn’t you tell me he threatened to-to…”

“Because he didn’t.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Bucky shot back. “If he’d forced himself on you…”

“He didn’t,” she repeated.

“I don’t care!” His shouting rang out like a shotgun throughout the apartment. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Bucky…”

“You should’ve told me, Aurora.”

She flinched. Aurora. Not doll or baby.

“He shot you, he almost—” He couldn’t say it. “He should be dead,” he spat the last word.

“I should’ve told you.”

“Damn right, you should’ve.”

“I’m sorry…”

Her warble was like a siren’s call to his heart, softening his gaze. At the same time, his gruff Brooklyn accent tugged at her heartstrings, pooling tears in her eyes. “Come ‘ere.” He pulled her close to him, shuddering a breath into the crown of her head. “It’s not your fault. You know that, right?”

Aurora nodded against his chest.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and palpable, before his question broke the tension, holding no blame, just curiosity. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I guess… I felt ashamed. I didn’t want you to look at me differently. We were just getting our relationship back on track…”

“Doll…” Bucky sighed, his arms reflexively tightening around her small frame. “You keep telling me what HYDRA made me do wasn’t my fault. Now, I’m telling you. I would never think any less of you for something that bastard did.” She sniffed, and he gently cupped her chin to look at him. The gold flecks in her amber eyes were dim, eyelids brimmed with tears. “You’re my wife, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Bucky.”

He rubbed his metal thumb over the swell of her cheekbone. “Promise me you’ll let me in. You were there for me in Wakanda. Let me be there for you.”

“I promise,” she whispered.

Since then, the weeks were strained by nightly bad dreams and unresolved trauma.

“Bucky?” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his bare back.

“Hm?”

“I'm going to work.” She smiled into his heated skin, hearing him huff, before he rolled over. The rustle of sheets punctuated the stillness of their early morning routine. He glided his knuckle along the side of her face, blue eyes open but laden by grogginess.

“It’s Saturday,” he grumbled.

“I have a meeting with Val.” The mere mention of her caused Bucky to grumble again. Aurora chuckled softly. “I’ll be back later.”

She padded quietly across the room to the closet. Bucky had a point; it was Saturday. She grabbed a white, form-fitting hoodie and paired it with her favorite denim shorts. Her feet slipped into golden-rimmed sandals. No business, all casual. If her choice of attire offended Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, then all the better. She was a Stark; she didn’t have to follow the other woman’s rules.