#au bucky x oc

[tqlepatiia]

words we can’t take back | b. barnes

masterlist | pt.2

summary: after a mission gone wrong, bucky lashes out, leaving y/n hurt by his harsh words. now drowning in guilt, bucky must find a way to apologize before it’s too late, but y/n isn’t ready to forgive so easily. can he fix what’s been broken?

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: angst, emotional distress, heartbreak, toxic relationship dynamics, arguments, mention of mental health struggles, potential triggers related to emotional abuse, strong language, and feelings of inadequacy.

word count: 5.9k

The mission had been a disaster from the start. Tension crackled in the air, the kind that always seemed to precede trouble. Bucky Barnes felt it in his bones, a tightness that grew with every wrong turn. It had been a simple extraction, but when they walked into a trap, chaos erupted. The sounds of gunfire ricocheted around him, the explosions reverberating through his chest like a war drum, drowning out his thoughts. But when he glanced at you—his partner, his anchor—something twisted in his gut.

In the aftermath, the wreckage of what had gone wrong stretched before him. Bodies lay scattered, their lifeless forms stark against the smoky haze, and the acrid scent of burning metal stung his nostrils. You stood there, bruises marring your skin, and your eyes, once sharp and defiant, now dulled by exhaustion. Bucky had seen too much, been through too much, and the anger inside him simmered, ready to boil over. How could this have gone so wrong?

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his voice a harsh whip in the stillness. His jaw was clenched, and his glare could’ve burned holes into you. “You almost got yourself fucking killed, you know that?”

Your breath caught, heart sinking at the venom in his tone. “I was doing my job, Bucky. I thought you had my back.”

“Had your back?” He stepped closer, fists clenching at his sides, every muscle taut with pent-up fury. The adrenaline from the fight morphed into something more destructive. “You’re a goddamn liability! You keep throwing yourself into danger like you can’t be hurt. What the hell is wrong with you?”

The words hit you like a punch, each one a jagged edge cutting deeper than the last. You could feel the weight of his anger pressing down on you, suffocating. “I didn’t ask for a babysitter,” you shot back, bitterness lacing your voice. “Maybe I’m the one who should be questioning if you’re fit to be my partner!”

Bucky’s expression hardened, eyes narrowing like a predator’s. This isn’t just about the mission, he thought, grappling with the frustration of watching you walk into danger. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have to worry about saving your ass all the damn time. If I wanted to deal with this shit, I’d find someone who actually knew how to handle themselves. I’m sick of dragging you through every godforsaken fight!”

Every accusation felt like a dagger, twisting in the wound he had just opened. You could see the pain and anger simmering in his eyes, but it was all directed at you. “You think I wanted this? I’m not the one who fucked up in the field! I thought we were a team!”

His laugh was bitter, devoid of humor, echoing against the wreckage around you. “Team? That’s a joke. You don’t get to call it a team when I’m the one stuck cleaning up your shit. I’m done with it. You’re not my equal; you’re just a goddamn burden.”

The air grew thick with tension, and you fought back tears, the tremor in your hands betraying you. “Maybe I should just leave, then,” you said, voice trembling but defiant. “If I’m such a problem, why don’t you find someone who doesn’t drag you down?”

The silence that followed was deafening. You turned away, trying to keep your composure, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back—a mix of anger and something softer, more vulnerable, that he refused to acknowledge. His heart pounded as the realization hit him: I pushed her away when she needed me the most. What the hell was I thinking?

As you walked away, the weight of his words hung heavily in the air between you, suffocating. Each step felt like a fracture in your heart, the distance growing more unbearable with every inch. Bucky stood there, feeling the echoes of his harshness fill the void where your connection once thrived. The realization settled in, and he knew this wasn’t over. How the hell do I fix this?

But as the dust settled around him, all he could feel was emptiness, a tidal wave of regret crashing over him, leaving him alone in the aftermath of his own making.

Days blurred together into an indistinguishable mess. The tension between you and Bucky hung thick in the air, suffocating, wrapping around him like a vice grip. He paced the empty halls of the compound, the rhythmic echo of his boots against the cold metal floors mirrored the chaos in his mind. Each step felt heavier than the last, a relentless reminder of the moment that played on a loop in his head—the hurt in your eyes when his careless words had cut deep.

Memories flooded back: your laughter in the training room, the way you encouraged him during his darkest moments. He had crossed a line he never intended to, letting his anger spew out like poison, each word a dagger aimed straight at your heart. Guilt clawed at him, a beast gnawing at his insides, turning his stomach into knots. Every time he caught a glimpse of you, it felt like a punch to the gut, the weight of regret settling like a stone in his chest.

The silence of the compound was palpable, broken only by the distant hum of machinery. He’d find you in the training room, pouring every ounce of your energy into your workout, the fierce determination radiating off you like a fire. Your tear-streaked face haunted him, a ghost he couldn’t shake. You weren’t just a teammate; you were everything to him. The thought of losing you felt like ice water dousing his heart, leaving him gasping for air, desperate to rewind time.

“Hey, Buck,” Sam said one day, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, the faint scent of sweat and metal mingling in the air. “You good, or are you just gonna sulk like an old man all day?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky shot back, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue, his eyes averted. He could feel Sam’s scrutinizing gaze piercing through his façade.

“Seriously, man, you think I can't see through that? There’s a damn storm brewing in that head of yours,” Sam pressed, his tone a mix of concern and teasing familiarity. “You gotta talk to her. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s like watching a damn dog chase its own tail—ain’t gonna end well, and I’m not about to sit here and watch you make a mess of it.”

Bucky nodded, but the weight of his guilt felt like chains wrapped tight around his heart, squeezing the air from his lungs. What the hell could he even say? The fear of facing you loomed larger than any mission he’d ever tackled—a monster lurking in the shadows, making him feel weak and exposed. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening, as he fought against the rising tide of anxiety.

Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to scream. He remembered how you had stood by him, even when the nightmares clawed at him in the night. You deserved better than his careless words, better than the pain he had caused. The metallic scent of sweat mixed with the lingering aroma of stale coffee filled the air, reminding him of the countless nights spent together, talking and laughing. Those memories felt like a beacon, drawing him closer to the confrontation he dreaded yet craved.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, pushing off the wall, each step toward you heavy with uncertainty. His heart raced as he imagined your reaction—would you forgive him? The thought of laying his broken heart bare to you, the one person who meant everything, filled him with dread and hope.

As he approached, the distance between you felt like a chasm. He was ready to confront the mess he’d made, but the fear of your disappointment loomed over him like a dark cloud. Sam watched him go, shaking his head with a faint smile, knowing his friend was finally stepping up to make things right.

It was time to face the music, to turn back the clock on the mistakes he had made. The symbol of his guilt—the small, worn-out dog tag you had given him before a particularly tough mission—burned in his pocket, a constant reminder of the bond he desperately wanted to restore.

In that moment, he knew he had to find the courage to bridge the gap between them, to reclaim what was lost before it slipped through his fingers forever.

After what felt like a damn eternity, Bucky finally gathered the guts to knock on your door. Each knock echoed in the silence, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between you two. He stood there, heart pounding, fists clenched, feeling the weight of guilt that had settled in his chest like lead. Memories flooded his mind—your laughter during training sessions, quiet moments together in the compound, and the way your smile had once lit up even the darkest days. It all felt so far away now, a reminder of how easily he could lose it.

“Go away,” you called, your voice muffled but laced with hurt.

“Y/N,” he pleaded, desperation creeping into his tone. “I need to talk. Just… let me in, alright?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his mind racing with all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t quite grasp.

Silence hung in the air like a noose, heavy and suffocating. Each second stretched into an eternity, amplifying the tension until, finally, the door creaked open just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your face—red and puffy from tears, eyes shadowed with pain. It felt like a punch to the gut.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you said coldly, arms crossed defensively, trying to shield yourself from the storm he had caused.

“I know. I messed up,” he replied, his voice thick with regret. He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. “And I can’t—” He faltered, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “I can’t take back what I said. I was scared, and I lashed out. You mean too damn much to me for that. Just… let me explain.”

You stepped back, letting him in but hesitating, your anger and hurt crackling in the air like static electricity. Bucky could feel the tension radiating off you, could see how you trembled with barely contained rage. The faint hum of the compound’s machinery buzzed in the background, underscoring the silence between you.

“Bucky, you can’t just waltz in here and throw around apologies like they’re candy. It’s not that fucking simple,” you said, your voice shaking as emotions boiled over. “Do you even get what your words did to me? They cut deeper than you can imagine.”

The memories of your last argument flashed in his mind—how he had yelled, how his words had sliced through the fragile trust you had built. He could still hear your voice trembling, see the hurt in your eyes. It haunted him.

“I know it’s not,” he said, voice rising as frustration bubbled to the surface. “But you have to understand—I never meant to hurt you. I was scared as hell of losing you. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I took it out on you. I thought I could keep you safe, but I fucking failed, and I can’t live with that.” He avoided your gaze, staring at the floor, ashamed of the turmoil he had caused.

You turned your gaze away, fury igniting. “You think being scared gives you the right to hurt me? Those words stick with you. They don’t just disappear because you suddenly want to make things right. You shattered something in me, Bucky, and you expect me to just let it go?” The air was thick with the weight of your words, each one a dagger aimed at his heart.

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his regret. “I’m not gonna pretend this doesn’t matter. I want to make things right. You’re not just some partner in this crazy shit; you’re everything to me. I’m so damn sorry, Y/N.”

A heavy silence fell between you, thick with unprocessed emotions. Tears glistened in your eyes, anger mixed with pain as you struggled to hold back the flood. Bucky could see your fingers trembling, as if you were fighting against the urge to reach out for him, to seek comfort from the very person who had hurt you.

“You’re sorry? That’s it? Do you think that’s enough? You can’t just toss around ‘I’m sorry’ and act like everything’s fine! Do you have any idea what it feels like to have the person you love turn on you like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but the truth of your feelings hit him like a freight train. It shattered him, the realization crashing down harder than any blow he’d ever taken. “I didn’t mean to fuckin’ hurt you like that. I—”

“Didn’t mean to?” you snapped, frustration boiling over. “But you did! You meant every single word when you said I wasn’t enough! It’s like a poison, Bucky! Every time I look in the mirror, I see your words haunting me!”

“Y/N…” he pleaded, stepping closer, but you backed away, shaking your head fiercely. The space between you felt like an insurmountable chasm, filled with hurt and distrust.

“No! You don’t get to touch me. Not after what you said. I don’t want your pity. I want my trust back! I want to feel safe with you again, but how the hell can I when you’ve torn me apart like this?” The pain in your voice twisted like a knife in his gut.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he begged, desperation bleeding through his words. “I can give you space. I’ll listen—just don’t shut me out. I can’t lose you.” He reached out, almost instinctively, but stopped short, respecting your boundary. The small bracelet you used to wear, the one he had given you, lay forgotten on the table—its absence felt like a symbol of the trust now shattered between you.

“Maybe… maybe I need time,” you finally said, voice soft but resolute, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure out how to treat me with the love and respect I deserve. I can’t be your punching bag.”

“Take all the time you need,” he replied, his heart sinking deeper. “I’ll be right here, waiting for you. Just… I hope you can find it in you to forgive me.” His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears of a future without you.

You nodded slowly, the weight of the moment hanging heavily between you. Bucky turned to leave, each step dragging him down like a lead weight. The distant sounds of the compound faded as he walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He wanted to scream, to punch the walls, to erase the hurt, but he knew he had to be patient. You needed time, and he would wait, even if it felt like forever.

As he walked away, the door closing behind him, Bucky felt a hollow ache settle in his chest—a deep emptiness that screamed for your forgiveness, for your presence. But he also knew he deserved the pain, the anguish he had caused. The only thing that mattered now was making things right, even if it took an eternity.

Days turned into weeks, and Bucky kept his distance, lurking on the edges of your life like a goddamn ghost. He was always there, a shadow in the background, never truly present, waiting for the moment you’d find it in yourself to forgive him. It was a tormenting cycle for him, hanging around the periphery of your world, the weight of his own mistakes bearing down like an anchor. He often caught himself recalling the laughter you once shared, memories of late-night talks and quiet moments that now felt like a distant dream. Those memories twisted in his gut as he watched you from afar, stealing glances during training, his gaze lingering near the kitchen where you used to share coffee and laughter, searching for a connection that felt like it was slipping through his fingers. But every time he made a move, the pain in your eyes sent him retreating, a constant reminder of the hurt he’d caused and the love that now felt so fragile.

One evening, the hum of the common room enveloped you, filled with the clatter of dishes and faint laughter from the team, but all you could focus on was the ache in your heart. You were scrolling through your phone, desperately trying to distract yourself when Bucky appeared in the doorway, hesitant and guarded. Your heart clenched at the sight of him—a mix of longing and sorrow flooding you, drowning out the world around you.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and rough, as if he was still wrestling with the demons of his past.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice flat, a careful mask of strength concealing the turmoil inside. You wanted to scream, to let him know how much his presence hurt, but part of you still craved the warmth he brought.

“Can we talk?” His words hung in the air like a fragile lifeline, one you weren’t sure you could grab onto.

You nodded, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. “Make it quick,” you shot back, your tone sharper than intended, trying to keep the emotions at bay.

He stepped closer, eyes searching yours with a desperation that twisted your gut. “I need to say it again—for everything. I know it doesn’t mean much after the shit I pulled, but I swear I’m trying to fix this. I’m really working on myself.” As he spoke, he clenched his fists, fingers digging into his palms, a physical manifestation of the guilt that gnawed at him. “I just… I can’t keep running from this. I need you to know that.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the pressure of his words weighing down on you. “I’m trying to work through it, Bucky. But I can’t pretend everything’s fine just because you say you’re sorry.”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said, frustration cracking his calm facade. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unable to meet your gaze. “But you need to understand how damn much you mean to me. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I won’t let that happen.”

Your heart ached at his confession, but anger flared within you. “You hurt me, Bucky. You can’t just wipe that away with a few nice words.”

“I know, I know! I’m fucking sorry, alright?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls. “I didn’t mean it. I was scared, and I lashed out. But you’ve gotta see how much I regret it, damn it!”

“Scared?” you spat, bitterness thick in your voice. “You don’t get to use your fear as an excuse for the pain you caused me!”

“Then what the hell do you want from me?” His voice rose, desperation lacing every word. “You’re acting like I’m a goddamn ghost! I’m right here, trying to fix this!”

“Because I need to protect myself!” you yelled back, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Every time I try to forgive you, you mess it up again! I can’t trust you when you keep hurting me!”

The silence that followed felt like a chasm between you, both of you breathing heavily, emotions spiraling out of control. Bucky’s shoulders sagged, the weight of your words crushing him. He thought of the little trinket you gave him once, a small metal star—a reminder of a bond that felt irreparably broken.

“I fucking hate this,” he admitted, his voice cracking, tears shimmering in his eyes. “I hate that I hurt you. I hate that no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix this. You mean everything to me, and it feels like I’m losing you more and more every damn day.” His gaze flickered to the floor, and for a moment, he was just a man haunted by his past, the soldier who had lost so much.

Your heart shattered at the sight of him, raw vulnerability spilling out. “You don’t get to say that after everything. You’ve made me feel worthless, like my feelings don’t matter. I can’t keep letting you walk all over me and expect everything to be okay.”

“I don’t want to fucking hurt you!” he cried, frustration and anguish battling within him. “I never asked for this! I just… sometimes I don’t know how to be better, okay?” He clenched his jaw, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill.

“Then you need to figure it out!” you screamed, your voice trembling with pain. “I can’t keep waiting for you to get it right while I’m left feeling broken!”

As your words hung in the air, the truth of your reality crashed over you both. The love you once shared felt suffocated by the shadows of anger and disappointment. You were both drowning in a sea of sorrow, hearts beating in sync but desperately out of tune.

Bucky stood there, shattered, eyes glistening with unshed tears, as you turned away, the battle within you raging. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unprocessed emotions, and for the first time, the thought of walking away felt more appealing than the pain of staying. But just as you took a step, a sliver of hope flickered in your chest—a feeling that perhaps this confrontation could lead to a path forward.

“Y/N…” he started, voice thick with heartbreak, but his words got lost in the chasm of hurt between you, leaving only a haunting silence in their wake. Yet somewhere deep within, the possibility of healing lingered, waiting for the courage to break through.

Weeks dragged on in the compound, each day feeling like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. The faint hum of machinery surrounded you, a constant reminder of the tension in the air. Despite Bucky’s promises to change, shadows of his past returned, casting a gloom that enveloped you both. Memories of laughter and shared moments felt like distant echoes now, buried under the weight of unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. You tiptoed around him, hyper-aware that every little thing could set off alarms in your mind.

The moment of impact came like a bullet, unexpected and cruel. During a mission briefing, Bucky’s voice cut through the air like glass shattering.

“Why the hell can’t you just focus?” he snapped, eyes ablaze with fury that had nothing to do with you, yet somehow landed squarely on your chest. The air felt heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and metal, making it hard to breathe. “You’re not some damn rookie! You should know better than this by now!”

“Bucky, I—”

“Just shut the hell up!” he roared, the words echoing off the walls, raw and menacing. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening as he struggled to contain the storm inside. “You’re making this way harder than it needs to be!”

Each word felt like a blow, carving deeper into your heart. This wasn’t a new dance; it was an exhausting routine, and the suffocating weight of your shared history felt more unbearable than ever. You remembered the moments when he had opened up, how he had let you in, but they felt like faint memories now. “Maybe you should take a good, hard look in the mirror,” you shot back, your voice shaky with a mix of hurt and anger. “I’m not the one with the issue here.”

He glared at you, frustration boiling over, muscles tense, jaw clenched tight. You could see the flicker of his inner turmoil, the fear of losing you clawing at his composure. “You keep pulling this shit! It’s like you can’t see past your own damn feelings! Just focus on the mission for once!”

Your chest tightened, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I’m not your damn punching bag, Bucky,” you said, voice breaking under the weight of raw emotion. “You can’t keep exploding at me and expect me to take it like it’s nothing. I’m sick of this!”

“Maybe if you actually gave a damn about the mission instead of whining about your feelings, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” His words cut deeper than you thought possible, and you recoiled as if slapped. You remembered the way he used to care, how he used to fight for every person he loved, and it stung even more to see him like this.

“I care, Bucky!” you cried, tears spilling over as you fought to hold it together. “But it’s hard to keep my head in the game when I’m constantly worried about when you’ll blow up at me next! You say you’re trying, but nothing changes! It feels like I don’t even matter to you anymore!”

For a moment, his expression shifted, a flicker of regret flashing across his face, but the damage was done. “You think this is easy for me?” he shouted, voice raw and desperate, filled with unfiltered anguish. “I’m trying to be better, but you keep dragging me back into this shit!” You could see the pain behind his bravado, the memories of his past haunting him, and it broke your heart.

“Don’t act like I’m the fucking problem!” you yelled, heart racing as reality crashed down around you. “I’m not the one who can’t confront his demons! You push me away and then blame me for not being there when you do!”

Pain flickered in Bucky’s eyes, the cracks in his stoic facade deepening. “You’re right,” he admitted, voice shaking, the weight of his confession crushing him. “I don’t know how to deal with this… how to deal with you. I’m scared shitless of losing you, and honestly, I don’t know if I can fix it.” The vulnerability in his voice was a fragile thread, hanging in the air, and you felt a flicker of hope amidst the chaos.

“Then maybe you need to sort your shit out,” you replied, heart breaking as you watched his despair unfold. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out while I’m left feeling shattered.” You recalled the shared moments, the promises made, and the weight of them felt unbearable now.

Silence fell, thick with the unsaid and unresolved. You were both drowning in a sea of sorrow, love suffocating under the weight of his rage and your hurt. Bucky’s shoulders sagged as he stepped back, the chasm between you widening, feeling more insurmountable than ever.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face, anguish spilling over. “It’s killing me.” The vulnerability hung heavy between you, and for a fleeting moment, you saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

His breath hitched, and he looked like he might reach for you, but the distance remained unbridgeable, a stark reminder of everything that felt lost. Yet, beneath it all, a small part of you held onto the hope that one day, you could navigate the darkness together.

The clash felt inevitable, like a storm building for days, ready to break over the fragile space between you and Bucky. The tension in the air was suffocating, each breath heavy with unspoken anger and hurt. You stood in the middle of the training room, fists clenched, trying to hold yourself together. Across from you, Bucky stood rigid, muscles taut, his hands balled into fists. The weights he had been using moments earlier now lay forgotten on the floor, a sharp reminder of the growing chasm between you.

The silence was unbearable. Then, without warning, Bucky's voice cut through the room like a blade. “Can you just—stop fucking around? You think this is a game?” His voice cracked, but his anger was palpable, radiating from him in waves as he hurled the weights down with a force that rattled through the room, the echo reverberating like a punch to the gut.

You flinched at the sound, the weight of his words hitting you just as hard. “Maybe if you’d stop yelling for one second, you’d see I’m trying!” Your voice shook, barely holding steady under the pressure. You were trembling, the knot of frustration and hurt in your chest threatening to unravel completely.

Bucky’s eyes darkened. “Damn it, you’re not trying hard enough!” he snapped, his fists tightening at his sides, knuckles white. His voice—usually so steady—was strained now, as though he was fighting to keep control. The anger in his tone felt like a punch, but you could see the tremble in his hands, the way his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack.

The sting of his words twisted in your chest. You could feel the pressure building in your throat, choking you with the weight of unspoken feelings. “I’m trying, Bucky. But it’s never enough for you, is it?” you said, the words tasting bitter in your mouth, laced with all the exhaustion you’d tried to suppress.

His face contorted in anger, but for a brief second, you saw something deeper flicker in his eyes—something haunted. You recognized that look. It was the same one he wore when he woke up from nightmares, drenched in sweat, guilt seeping from every pore. But it vanished just as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by his fury. “Get your shit together,” he snapped, voice low and intense. “I’m not your babysitter. You really think I can hold your hand through every goddamn thing?” His voice wavered, but he squared his shoulders, hiding the vulnerability underneath. “You want to survive? Toughen the hell up or get out of my way.”

“Then maybe you should just go!” The words burst out before you could stop them, raw and jagged, cutting through the tension. You hated how sharp your voice sounded, like a part of you was shattering with every syllable.

For a split second, his expression faltered—just long enough for you to see the crack in his defenses, the fear creeping in behind the anger. But the moment passed, and his face hardened once more, the distance between you widening.

“Enough is enough, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. “I can’t keep doing this. I’m tired of forgiving you just so you can hurt me again.” Each word felt like a physical wound, reopening scars you thought had healed.

Bucky’s hands dropped to his sides, but his fists remained clenched. “You’re being dramatic,” he muttered, turning his gaze away as though refusing to face the weight of your words. “I'm pushing you because you damn well need to be better. I can't afford to lose you.”

There it was. The fear he refused to name. He was terrified of losing you, but he couldn’t say it. Not out loud. So instead, he buried it under anger, under demands that pushed you further away.

“You twist everything, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to be there for you, to understand you—but I can’t keep pretending that this is okay. I can’t be the person you take everything out on.”

His jaw tightened, but his hands trembled at his sides. “You don’t get it,” he said, voice quieter now, almost broken. “I’m trying to protect you. I just… I don’t know how to do this without pushing people away. I’m not good at this shit.”

“And what do you think you’re doing right now?” you asked, your heart aching. “You’re pushing me away, and I’m too tired to hold on.”

The silence that followed was deafening, thick with the weight of unsaid things. Bucky’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The echo of the weights hitting the ground earlier still rang in your ears, a haunting reminder of how quickly things had spiraled.

You took a deep breath, feeling the chill of the room settle into your bones, as if the air itself was colder now, heavier. “I feel invisible, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of your confession. “Like I’m just a shadow, someone to absorb your anger when things get too hard. I can’t live like this anymore.”

Bucky’s eyes widened for a moment, and his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t. His lips parted, but no words came. His shoulders slumped slightly, a tiny surrender in the face of your pain.

He opened his mouth, his voice hoarse and desperate now. “Y/N, don’t do this,” His voice cracked, but his body was still tense, like he was holding something back—something he couldn’t quite bring himself to admit. “You don’t need to make this harder than it already is.”

“I don’t want to walk away, Bucky. But I have to, for my own sanity,” you said, stepping back as if putting physical distance between you would somehow make it easier.

He reached out, his hand hovering in the air between you, unsure. “Damn it,” he rasped. “I’m trying, okay? I need you to believe me.”

“It’s too late for that,” you whispered, your heart breaking at the sight of him so vulnerable, so raw. His hand dropped, and the space between you felt like a canyon now, too wide to cross.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his gaze dropping to the floor as though he couldn’t bear to look at you anymore. He clenched his fists again, nails biting into his palms. The weight of his guilt was suffocating, and you could see it in the way his shoulders sagged, the way his eyes dimmed with the realization that he had pushed you too far.

The room felt too quiet, the air thick with the aftermath of your words. You could feel the memory of every touch, every smile, every moment of laughter between you two slipping away like sand through your fingers. There was a photo—one he had kept tucked away in his jacket—of the two of you on a day when everything had felt perfect. He had carried it with him, a reminder of what he was trying to protect. But now, it felt like just another symbol of something irreparable.

“I loved you,” you whispered, stepping back one final time, tears blurring your vision as you turned toward the door. “But I deserve better.”

“Y/N!” His voice broke, desperate, as he took a step toward you, hand outstretched. His body was trembling now, fear etched into every line of his face. “Don’t fucking walk away from me! I can change. I swear, I can be better for you!”

You hesitated, your back to him, feeling the weight of his plea. For a moment, you almost turned back. Almost. But the words he had said still hung heavy in the air between you. And you knew—deep down—that you couldn’t survive this cycle anymore.

As you walked away, the echo of his voice followed you, the pain lacing each syllable a reminder of what could have been. But you didn’t stop. The silence after you left was deafening, and it swallowed Bucky whole, leaving him alone with his regrets, the weight of his own mistakes pressing down on him like a physical force.

He watched the door close behind you, his heart sinking with the realization that he had lost you. And for the first time, he didn’t know how to fix it.

[l0standn0tf0und]

40s!Bucky Barnes ☆ fic recs

part 1.

part 2.

part 3.

♡ = smut, 18+ only

peace

drafted

set me free

empty words

it ends with us

new house and a cat

dating 40s! bucky hcs

waking up to sargent barnes...

♡can't help the crush he has on the sweet nurse...

♡40s bucky + virginity

♡homecoming

♡gift wrapped

♡damn bear

All credits and support to the original authors: @buckgasms @srgntjamesbuckybarnes @tom-holland-parker @jobean12-blog @sergeantbarnessdoll @lanabuckybarnes @buckyalpine @danikaawrites @intrepidacious

masterlist

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Rescue Me (Bucky Barnes)

Summary: you vowed to rescue Bucky. No matter what it took.

Warnings: imprisonment, angst, gun shot wounds

WC: 1k

A/N: i have a few more MCU fics to post after this one in the next few days/weeks. I do not plan on writing for MCU anymore after February 2025.

Read on ao3!

--

The night was thick with tension as you stood outside the HYDRA facility. The cold wind nipped at your skin, but your heart raced with a heat that had nothing to do with the chill. The Avengers didn’t understand. They hadn’t been there—hadn’t seen Bucky for what he truly was. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. He wasn’t their weapon.

Bucky was yours.

You had known him long before the Avengers ever did, back before HYDRA had twisted him into a killer, before they stole the man he once was. You’d met him when he was still a soldier, still human. And when he disappeared, when the world lost track of him, you never stopped looking for him.

The Avengers had their reasons for wanting to leave this to the professionals. Steve, especially, had been vocal about it—his voice tight with frustration as he tried to explain that Bucky was too dangerous. “We’re not sure what we’ll find in there, Y/N,” he’d warned you. “HYDRA’s still got control over him. We can’t risk you getting in the middle of this.”

But you knew better. You knew Bucky’s heart, his soul. He wasn’t lost. Not yet.

The facility in front of you was dark and ominous, every inch of it covered in secrets and pain, snow and icicles. It was no place for anyone, especially someone like Bucky. But you were certain. If anyone could bring him back, it was you.

The last thing you remembered was slipping inside the compound, heart pounding as you carefully avoided the guards, your movements swift and practiced. You’d been through this before. But you’d underestimated one thing—the quiet, steel-eyed agents who’d already been waiting for someone like you.

The sting of a needle in your neck was the last thing you felt before the world went black.

--

You woke in a cold, dimly lit cell, the air thick with the smell of metal and stale water. Your wrists were shackled to the wall, your head pounding from the sedative. You couldn’t believe you had been caught. You had to get out of here.

But as your mind began to clear, something else hit you: Bucky. Where was he?

You strained against your restraints, trying to focus through the haze of confusion. You couldn’t afford to panic. The team would be looking for you, but you weren’t sure if they even knew you’d come here, let alone gotten caught. They wouldn’t come for you—not without confirmation that you were in danger. But you knew that Bucky was still here. You could feel it in your bones.

And that was when you heard it—the low sound of chains scraping against the floor.

You froze.

“Bucky?” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the oppressive silence.

There was a grunt, followed by a low, rasping voice. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Your heart skipped a beat as Bucky stepped into the dim light of the cell across from you. His face was gaunt, his eyes wide and wild with a mixture of exhaustion and something far darker. The metal arm that once belonged to him seemed to weigh him down, the chains wrapped around his body like the remnants of his former self.

“Bucky…” you breathed, struggling against your restraints, not caring about the pain in your arms as you reached out for him. “I’m not leaving without you.”

He shook his head, his eyes flickering with something almost like despair. “I’m a weapon, Y/N. You shouldn’t be here.”

You swallowed hard, not breaking eye contact. “I’m here because I know you, Bucky. I’m not leaving without you, no matter what they’ve done to you.”

He stepped closer, his gaze flickering between you and the bars separating you. “They won’t stop coming for you, if you stay.” His voice was low, gravelly, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. “I’ve done things. Terrible things. You don’t deserve this.”

“You’re not that man anymore,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “You’re not him. And I’m not leaving you here to rot. We’ll get out of here together, I promise.”

For a moment, the silence was deafening. Then, with a sharp jerk of his arm, Bucky broke his chains. The sound of metal snapping echoed through the empty halls. His eyes were wild, filled with a glimmer of hope.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice almost lost.

“You don’t have to deserve me,” you said, pulling yourself toward him with everything you had left. “You never have to deserve me.”

Before he could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps filled the hall. The guards were coming.

“We don’t have much time,” Bucky said, his voice tight. He rushed to the cell door and quickly picked the lock, setting you free. “Let’s move.”

You followed him through the halls, your heart pounding in your chest. The further you went, the more the compound seemed to come alive with danger. But you weren’t worried. You had Bucky by your side, and together, you could escape.

But then, just as you thought you were in the clear, a gunshot rang out, and Bucky pushed you into the shadows.

“No!” you gasped, looking at him. His body jerked, and he winced in pain, but he didn’t fall. He didn’t stop.

“We need to go,” he gritted, pulling you deeper into the shadows. “Now.”

It wasn’t until you were nearly to the exit that the Avengers arrived. Steve’s face went pale when he saw you, but there was no time for questions. The team surrounded you both, offering protection as they fought off the remaining HYDRA agents.

“I told you I was going to get him,” you said to Steve, your voice a mix of relief and frustration.

Steve nodded, his expression softening. “I never doubted you for a second.”

But there was still work to be done. Bucky wasn’t out of the woods yet. The battle was only beginning. But for now, he was free. And so were you.

--

Please allow this to be a kind reminder that reblogs feed the author <3

[queers-gambit]

Regular Cream and Sugar

prompt: ( requested ) being cast as the opposite lead to your bane in the next hottest romcom blockbuster comes with unforeseen outcums.

pairing: actor!Bucky Barnes x female!actress!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 8.3k+

note: you know what? this is fire. i don't care for other opinions (a lie, i absolutely do).

warnings: poor references to different real shows / movies / media as pertains to acting for a living. imagination required. explicit language, angst, Lord's name in vain, hurt and comfort, dickhead behavior / depiction of verbal aggression, explicit content, NSFW, barely edited, enemies to lovers, happy ending, feelings are hard, depiction of mental health: anxiety, anxiety attacks.

featured fic movie: Anyone But You (2023) -> watch on Netflix featured fic show: Once Upon A Time (2011) -> watch on Disney+

Lights from what felt like a thousand paparazzi cameras flashed in a blinding mirage, a hundred different voices all shouting your name - begging you look this way, that way, to give a smile; show the back of your dress, now the front; to smolder, pout, wink for them. You were mostly immune to the wave of attention, but it still jostled you, even scared you sometimes; posed as more of a looming threat than anything. Yet this was the life you chose, the media you 'invited' no matter how public you were or not online and in person.

Didn't make it any less easy.

You sighed and smiled prettily for the flashing cameras on the sentimental red carpet, feeling a hand glide around your waist; leaning into the affection despite the instant nausea the appendage caused.

"James," you greeted your costar stiffly.

"Oh, back to James, are we?" He chuckled, hand splayed warmly through the material of your designer dress. "C'mon, honey, I thought we were past all that hostility?" He pointed at a group of cameras, both perfectly peacocked for them; his hand lowering to his suit pants pocket.

You cooed sweetly, "Why would you think that?"

"Just thought we were getting along pretty well, is all."

You sighed and pulled away from him, but let your hand drop into his metal prothetic to guide him along the carpet; dodging people still milling around. The two of you took new poses on the carpet markers.

"Oh, please," you smiled brightly, "that's just good acting. Don't worry, you'll recognize it one day."

Bucky chuckled, "Ooooh, someone's a bit icy today. C'mon, toots, what's got your panties in a twist? You can tell me - "

"Can we just get through the next few hours without mentioning or thinking about my panties, you horndog?" You asked him through clenched teeth, still smiling as if sharing a few inside jokes.

Bucky laughed to himself, "After you, doll."

You sighed and took his offered arm, letting Bucky lead the way up to the designated area your managers were pointing you towards. Bucky charismatically greeted the interviewer, an obvious pompous show to mask the anxiety coursing through his veins. You saddled up to where your team was stationed before the platform, kissing your publicist, Regina, on the cheek in greeting while asking, "You seriously had to fucking match us?"

"It's a good PR look, babe, and blue's both your colors. Just keep smiling," she hushed, offering her hand to help you up the two-step platform. Bucky was instantly doing the same, reaching for his hand as you smiled at the camera set up - reminding yourself it was all for the pursuit of good PR.

"Wow, you two look stunning!" The interviewer squealed slightly, gesturing at the two of you standing with your manicured hand curled around Bucky's meaty bicep. "I love a good matching set, and you two look so gorgeous - very chic, very demure!"

"You think this look is demure?" Bucky teased, picking the lapel of his blazer. "You see these diamonds?"

"Swarovski is pretty loud, draws the eye in," you purred, keeping the conversation going, desperate to step away and watch the premier of the bloody film already so you could leave the event all together. Your diamond-ringed fingers pet your neck and collarbones, bringing to attention the expensive gemstones set in a fashionable web.

"Oh, they look stunning on you!" The woman from E! complimented. "So, obviously - we have the whole matching look down pat. Is this look an homage to the film? Your characters?"

"No, no, just what was thought we looked best in, you know?" Bucky smirked, wrapping his arm around your waist and by far enjoying the forced proximity. "But you've kinda got a whole, you know," he motioned at her all black look, "monochrome look goin' for yah - it's nice! I dig it!"

"Oh, wow, th-thank you," she flushed under his baby blues that your matching fits made pop with an unbearable glimmer. "It's vintage Chanel."

"Totally gorgeous," you complimented, starting to feel the first tendrils of discomfort. "Who're we wearing?" You asked Bucky, "Do you know?"

"I'm pretty sure we're both in Louis," Bucky glanced down at himself before opening his suit to check the label. "I know the shoes are."

You smiled at the interviewer as she continued, "So, I've gotta say, I'm crazy excited for this film, it's the hottest thing anyone can talk about!" You and Bucky offered generic murmurs of thanks, her continuing, "It's all over social medias, there's even some fan edits already out using what they could from the trailers! Fans are really digging the modern-Shakespeare take and the chemistry between the cast. I wanna ask, being the two leads playing into this romantic relationship, how has the whole experience been for the two of you? You haven't worked together, since, what? Some ten years ago or so? When the two of you costarred in Once Upon A Time, right?"

You cleared your throat, "Woah, what a throwback."

"I know," Bucky mused, looking down at you. "We played a couple on that one, too, right?"

You nodded, trying to beat off the brewing chaos in your stomach by answering, "Yeah, however short lived."

"Which, can I say, always confused me - why your character was killed off!" She directed at you. "I loved Alice!"

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you explained, "Oh, I know, I remember reading all these comments after that episode aired, just about how upset fans were. I mean, it was a really quirky take on Alice in Wonderland - so it was kinda jarring to kill off Alice, right? But it was a creative decision I was really excited to undertake, it was my first reoccurring role in a show, first time I got to play a parent, and it was my first big, dramatic death scene."

"Yeah?"

You nodded, "I remember talking with the writers and asking them if we could do it big. They were very okay with it. I honestly miss that show - the cast and crew, everyone was just a pleasure to work with. I'd love to do it again."

In truth, your character, Alice, the lost lover of Bucky's Mad Hatter, was written off the show after a particularly nasty argument with Bucky had you ready to quit and walk off set that very moment. This was a common enough theme: arguments on set between you and Buck, a stark opposite to your scenes together on camera. You're not even sure how it started, just that you and Bucky could never get along after the chemistry read. He was pompous and arrogant and borderline narcissistic; all characteristics that rubbed you the wrong way, hence the inability to get along. So, after brief deliberation and considering you were the one ready to move on, you were to be written off (first).

Of course, you couldn't admit to any of this - it was a horrible look to the public. Especially since it was Bucky you couldn't get along with for the sake of a job, who you now had to convince the world that you didn't despise for the sake of this movie.

"Well," Bucky looked back at the interviewer with a smile, "never say never, we had some good times - "

"On the set of the show or movie?" She asked eagerly. You felt like you could practically smell your companion's desire to change the subject. Neither of you were keen on talking about your time on the show together, not after all the conflict and turmoil that boiled over into today's circumstances.

"Oh, for sure both," Bucky nodded, "but we got to film this movie in LA first for about a month. Then we spent three months in Australia for this movie and it was - yeah, no, it was a lot of fun. The location definitely helped romanticize things. Lot of laughs shared, good memories, fond friendships; lot of really great food, Down Under, too."

You gave a fake chuckle, stomach lurching as your mind screamed that he was lying. Filming this movie wasn't really fun by any circumstance; not when you and Buck couldn't be in a room together without some comment being hurled with malicious intent. Bucky was lying - you knew it, the pretty girl in all black knew it; surely, fans on the internet would know it the moment they saw this interview - or at least, your face.

He was lying. He was lying. He was lying, and it fucking bothered you.

You weren't bothered by the act of lying, per se, but the fact that the pair of you had to lie; the fact that even after a decade, old wounds were still festering; the fact that you knew your feelings for him to be authentic while his were feigned, forced, being effortlessly lied about.

You glanced at Regina, seeing her talking with animation to Bucky's publicist, Gale, and his manager, Toby; as well as your own manager, Darcy, who appeared enraptured with their phone. In a moment, you felt the flood of panic, unable to meet Regina's usually kind eyes; suddenly scanning around the red carpet in distraction as your ears whined a piercing noise. The lights flashed brighter, you suddenly felt hot and clammy; like anxiety's icy hand was creeping up your esophagus, stomach to throat. Your heart hammered, headache brewed, eyes glassy from a sudden wave of panic - and unknowingly, tightened your grip on Bucky's waist. He glanced down at you in concern.

"Uh, but you know, I think my favorite part of the whole experience was just, uh, you know - getting to spend time with this girl right here," Bucky answered the interviewer's question charmingly, hugging you tighter to his side. You were jolted back into reality, smiling and awh'ing at him sweetly as if listening; evident he had purposefully roped you back in. Your heart clenched at his kindness.

"What about you, Y/N?" The interviewer asked with a bright smile. "Any favorite moments from filming?"

"Oh, um, favorite? No, there's too many - well," you paused, relenting, "yeah, probably any scene I got to do with Jeremy, who plays my ex in the film. He's not entirely who you'd think fits in a romcom, so he pleasantly surprises you in this role. He was a blast to film with, just real easy going."

"Woah, hey," Bucky joked, looking offended but still petting his fleshy hand on your waist for comfort, "how could I not be your favorite part of filming?"

"Jeremy actually learned my coffee order," you reminded with a soft wince, watching Buck pause and then nod dramatically.

"No, no, she's got me there - I could never get it right," Bucky shrugged at the interviewer. "One day, though, I'll surprise her," he squeezed where he held you, his metal finger pointing into the camera, "and that's a promise."

"Oh, please," you chuckled, patting his chest. "I'd like to first see you get my breakfast order right - then we can move onto the more complicated coffee order."

"Okay, first, that's slanderous!" Bucky laughed, shifting his weight on the platform and making the woman interviewer perk up.

"Well, it seems the two of you had a great time on set, and so far from previews, it really shows! I can't wait to see it."

"Have fun tonight," you smiled, Bucky shifting towards the steps and offering both his hands to guide you down. He thanked her repeatedly as you stepped carefully in your heels, approaching Regina and Darcy the moment you were on the carpet again. "I can't - I can't fucking do this," you muttered to them inconspicuously; unaware of Bucky several yards away, listening to his team talk, but his gaze was locked worriedly on you.

"What? What? Can't do what?" Darcy asked, looking mildly alarmed; only then lowering their dinging iPhone.

"It's a lot right now, okay? I'm - I feel - there's just a lot," you tried to explain, voice warbling.

"What? You're, what, feeling anxious? Use your words."

"Yes, Darcy, fucking yes, I feel fucking anxious," you snapped, sighing through your nose; hand tight on Regina's wrist. She readjusted so you were both gripping each other's forearms. "Okay? There's a lot of fucking people and the interviews? Jesus, we're lying straight through our teeth - "

"So, just lie!"

"Darcy," Regina scolded, "let her speak."

"You two know James and I don't exactly get along. So you'll excuse me if lying about how much fun we had playing two idiots in love is giving me the fucking heebie-jeebies."

"Babe," Regina frowned when tears gathered in your eyes, fully aware of your feelings for the amputee, "just breathe, it's okay - "

"You literally lie for your job," Darcy scoffed with a shake of their head. "I don't get why now, all of a sudden, it's bothering you? You and Hugh Grant literally didn't speak a single word to each other outside of scenes when filming for Bridget Jones! Y'all went on to say you were best buds on set! But this is where the truth is gonna trip you up?"

"Oh, my fucking God."

"Yeah, 'oh, my fucking God', is right," Darcy sneered. "I need you to do at least three more interviews - then you can fuck off for all I care."

"There a reason you took extra bitchy pills this morning?" Regina scoffed, looking Darcy up and down with distain.

"No, fuck that, she's been difficult this entire film - "

"Oh, for the love of Christ, Darcy," Regina snarled, "she's not been difficult - she's human. Just because you're an emotionless cunt doesn't mean you get to shame and bully your client."

"Doubt I'm even their client after this," your head shook, finally locating a distant entrance. "Excuse me," you stepped around them and made an immediate beeline for the theater.

You heard shouts of your name, but didn't stop - instead, quickening your step to reach the theater sooner. The door was held open for you, letting you pass swiftly; ignoring the bewildered looks of employees and premier attendants as you hustled down the hall to the gender neutral restroom.

Shoving the door open, you gasped while stumbling onto the linoleum floors in towering heels and swirls of blue fabric feeling tangled around your legs. Your hands blindly and forcefully slapped to the marble countertop of the sink, holding your weight in either hand, pressure caught in your collarbones, trying to regulate your breath from the irregular pattern it developed during your hustle.

"Oh, this is - this is so stupid!" You scolded yourself, huffing and sniffling. "C'mon, girl... You're fine, this is nothing, you can handle it, you're not no bitch. Get your shit together, God, you're seriously this upset over a guy? Fuck's sake... Why?" You asked yourself in the mirror with a glare. "Huh? Why? Why're you so upset? Why're you so hung up on him? It's not like he-he-he lead you on! He's been clear from the beginning! And the sex wasn't even all that good!" But the deadpanned expression that stared back at you made you sigh and roll your eyes, "Yeah, okay, so it was mind blowing, whatever - point is, it's not worth getting this upset over."

You had to pause to take a breath, shaking your head as you continued talking to yourself in a dejected whisper, "Okay, so... You caught feelings. Big deal. You've been rejected by guys before, why is this one so different? Why does this hurt so much more?" The quake to your voice matched the tremble of your bottom lip. So, you answered yourself as a barrage of memories shot to the front of your mind and physically assaulted your brain like a bunch of bullies in an alleyway, "Because it felt real..."

You were the first on set.

Today's punctuality wasn't just good ethics but a direct result of your anxiety. You weren't worried about being late, you wanted to get there early to suss out the set, get a lay of the land, establish exit routes - or any means of privacy - should you need it, as well as privately meet with the intimacy coordinator, Maria, before anyone else got to set.

The director was next to arrive as you finished hair and make-up, wrapped in a robe with a pair of slippers warming your feet; sat beside you to go over a few ideas and logistics of the scene. It was all about being this bright, active, explosive, fiery, hot, passionate, borderline hateful cultivation of your character and Bucky's feud; where after a fight scene, you storm off to your room and he follows, the pair of you giving into your feelings and finally sleeping together.

The camera crew and lighting techs showed up next, ensuring everything was in place and ready to use.

The entire production had been rearranged due to the animosity, tension, and turmoil between you and Bucky the entire filming schedule. After months of bickering and irritation, this was the last piece of the movie puzzle, only reshoots thereafter, if necessary. Which made today all or nothing, where if you did this right, you'd only have to do it once. The resort you were shooting at provided a gigantic, gorgeously picturesque suite; which, in itself, was a blessing as it meant limited personnel in the room with you. So, after getting ready in a neighboring suite, where you were zipped into the same dress your character wore to a dramatic dinner scene, and waiting on the set-suite for Bucky to finish his primping. The techs showed you where the mics were and how the cameras would be angled.

Typically, shooting could be pretty go-go-go, but tonight was supposed to be easy, unrushed. First, you filmed the original fight scene to warm up - where Bucky chases after you and instigates the intimate scene. However, when the sun was lowering into position to sink, the director decided he wanted a couple of shots with the setting sun behind you; his artistic vision something you were meant to follow and not question.

"You good, doll?" Bucky checked as costumes were fixed and you both took your places. The idea was to meet in the middle of the sun shining into the camera; silhouettes taking form as the light was meant to disappear behind you, then reappear when you and Bucky fell into bed behind you.

"Yeah, uh, all good. You?"

"Perfect," he smirked, glancing at the crew. "We're moving at the same time, right?"

"Yep."

"Oh, so, uh, I'm thinking when we go back to the intro scene, we kinda lead into the bedroom? You know? Like, you come in, I follow, but you try to walk away and it leads us naturally towards the bed. That way, when we get to fuckin', it's a little more natural than before."

You just huffed, "You just have a way with words, don't you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you someone that prefers 'making love'?" He mocked with fluttering lashes.

"Fuck no, God, fucking gag me - that's such a cringy term," you scoffed quietly, looking towards the camera crew making their final readjustments.

Bucky eyed you for a moment, thinking those were his exact thoughts and feelings on the term, too. He sighed to himself as the director reminded, "This is just the kiss, then falling into bed - okay? - then we'll reset for the other bits. Yeah? Good? Everyone got it?"

"Good," Bucky agreed easily, you just nodding.

The director squinted to watch on his monitor as the sun hovered, calling action, and watching the two of you meet in frame from either side of the camera. You reached for each other and let your lips meet in an chaotic, highly-anticipated open-mouth kiss; his prosthetic arm curling around your waist as his fleshy one came up in view of the camera to slide from your jaw to the back of your head. Your hands fisted the front of his shirt in a show of desperation; one creeping up to hold his neck for balance as you felt his weight shift. You held on and gave a soft moan while toppling backwards onto the bed, out of frame; but held the position as Camera Two worked the angle from above. "And cut!"

When he pulled back, Bucky's eyes were alight with something you couldn't decipher; breathing the same air for several moments before he was sitting up and helping you do the same. You reset with dampening tear-away panties, tingling lips, and heavy lungs.

You did that kiss twice more to make the most of the sun's position before it was gone; using the authentic change of colors to curate a more romantic aesthetic. You and Bucky agreed the colors of the sunset was a much better look... So, you did the kiss another three times. When satisfied, the techs rest to film the whole of the scene, sending your heart catapulting from chest to throat. Bucky appeared easy, even excited, which for some unspoken reason, really irritated you.

How dare he enjoy this when he was usually an unbearable jackass that made your life more difficult for sport.

First, you were to storm into your room alone, a look of furious defeat marring your expression. Bucky's catches your door, follows you in to defend himself, "Hey! You don't get to insult my character and just walk away! What the hell's going on with you, why're you so upset? We had a deal, we agreed to act like we're together for the sake of this wedding. Now, you've been at my throat this whole time, you refuse to have a civil conversation unless in front of others - it's almost like you're repulsed by my very being here. I'm sorry if that's what's going on, but my best mate is marrying the love of his life this weekend and I'm going to stand at his side! You're going to have to find a way to be okay with that."

He stood in the foyer of your suite as you whipped around to snarl, "I'm okay with you being my brother-in-law's best man, I really am. I'm okay with us being at this wedding, I can fake getting along, being a couple, whatever, that's no problem. But I'm not the one who's been outright malicious! I'm not the one throwing thinly-veiled insults in front of your family!" You let tears fill your eyes, Bucky appearing genuinely disarmed as he took a step forward. Your character was notorious for being something akin to a shrew; but now, in this moment, proving to still be 'just a girl', who had feelings and would cry if she wanted to. "You know what? I wouldn't expect you to understand - so just - just get out of here, go back to dinner, there's nothing left to say - "

"You really piss me off, you know that?"

"Oh, my God! Did you seriously follow me back to my room to continue a fight I already walked away from?" You snarled, tossing your shoes from your feet. "Take a hint and go away. Please. You've done enough for the night."

"You know, you always do this. When shit gets real, you'd rather run away than deal with it!" He followed you closer to the living quarters of the suite, as planned.

"You don't get to say that when you don't even know me!"

"That's where you're wrong! I do know you!" Bucky barked, reaching for your arm to turn you around to face him; releasing his hold when you yanked your arm back with a brewing look of betrayal. "I know you're stubborn and insolent, defensive and reactive. I know you don't give second chances because one is enough, I know you're passionate and criminally independent, that you don't take direction too well because you have issue with authority." His voice softened an octave and the words felt all too real; like it was truly Bucky speaking, "I know you love your family and would do anything to protective them, including agreeing to be my date to this wedding just to give your sister peace of mind for her big day. I know that even when I think I've found a way to cope with admiring the hell out of a woman who despises me, I fuck up and say something I shouldn't. Which I also know, can rightfully set you off. I also know I had one of the best times on our date, before things imploded, and that I've finally met my match - if even just for this week."

"Think that means you know everything about me, then?" You breathed, locked onto his baby blues like a bear trap had hold of your soul.

"I only know one thing for certain."

"What?"

"That I really want to kiss you right now."

There was supposed to be no hesitation in your surge into his chest - so, there wasn't. Knowing you had this shot already and much was to be edited, you and Bucky rushed for one another; clashing in the middle; all teeth, tongue, and spit before toppling into bed. From there, it was a frenzy.

Clothes were ripped off - sending buttons and fabric all around the room. Mics picked up every single sound, no matter how soft or gruff. Soft linen sheets were rumpled and mused, pillows flattened. Hands slapped skin in the search for purchase, lips grazed sensitive flesh not regularly touched, hair stuck to tacky skin, and hips ground into one another like a couple of horny teens. Maria called encouragement, the two of you taking the cues to roll over so you were on top, but still in Bucky's cradle. Every position assumed, Bucky was all consuming; warm, safe, embracing, supportive, glorious.

It went on for several hours; the rutting and kissing and moaning and feigning. It was exactly what they wanted: bright, active, explosive, fiery, hot, passionate. Bucky's body was impressive and it was hard to ignore, causing your skin to flush with ecstasy, mouth to water, and fingers to linger. Your moans turned authentic. Sweat beaded from legit exertion. Everything felt magnified and doubled; legs spread to hold his bare hips against yours, breathing harsher when all you could focus on was the feel of Bucky's bulging cock rubbing into your soaking slit. You swore his own stuttered breathing and moans were as real as yours - but who could tell.

When the director called cut, Maria told you to stay put. You kept the sheet around your chest and dropped back to the pillows, Bucky sitting forward with the sheet around his lap in an attempt to give you both a little room.

"You all right?" He mumbled, shuffling over a little before leaning back himself. You tried not to notice how he didn't deflate, never relaxed; as if cautious to invade your space all of a sudden.

"Yeah, still good. You?"

"I'm good, doll," he smirked. "Kinda warm, no?"

"I'll say," you mumbled, swiping the moisture from your hairline, missing his grin - as if he had caught you in a confession. And perhaps he did, since the air conditioning was on and blasting like in most hotel suites; the pair of you heated from the obvious horniness you were flushed with.

The director wanted a few extra shots of you two in bed; naked, revealing tantalizing skin in provocative poses. You were to look soft, content, in love, docile and blissed; so, you gave it to them Goddamnit. You loathed to admit how easy it was to look at Bucky in such a manner; he was funny, making you grin and crack a few jokes in return, the camera eating it up. You spoke of past jobs and vacations while lounging against one another; discussed fears during a game of Thumb War; compared hand sizes and workout routines; then had more lighthearted familial conversations, such as holiday traditions, while you were balanced bare on top of his equally naked body.

From each position, you were encouraged to nuzzle the other; to kiss; share delicate touches that some how felt more intimate than filming any sex scene.

The director wanted two new camera angles of your intimacy after watching the playback; you and Bucky shuffling into new positions as the cameras were mounted. This provided ample view of your faces whilst rolling around in your romp; looking into one another's eyes as Bucky mimicked thrusting, your hands in his hair, of the concentrated expressions you were both to don. There were better shots of your tangled hands, of the way two individuals melded into one secular entity; of slippery lips forming varying levels and pitches of gasps, moans, and groans that the mics soaked up.

It all looked so real. It all felt so real.

For a moment, the director praised himself on his decision to hold off filming these intimate scenes until the end; watching an authentic cultivation of your real and faked hatred coming together on camera.

It was over with several hours to spare until dawn when few reshoots would begin filming, thankfully being mostly family scenes that didn't involve you and Bucky. If there were any, it was truly because it was necessary - the crew having been overly cautious about getting the scenes they needed the first time to spare everyone the annoyance of enduring another day on set with you and Bucky. The director and Maria watched the footage several times to make sure they had enough footage, granting approval that everything was in good shape and you were free to go.

While Bucky hesitated a moment, you accepted your robe from Maria and scurried to the neighboring suite you had dressed in. You were overwhelmed, confused, annoyed, and horny - so very horny that your immediate first action was to unlace your robe to use the lapels to fan yourself. You sought out the bathroom and grabbed several towels, yelping in shock when the front door slammed shut. Yanking the fluffy material closed, you called, "What is it, Maria? What do you need? What's wrong?"

"It's me," Bucky's voice answered, making your head pop out of the bathroom - only to rear back when Bucky was striding inward.

"Do they need us for something else?" You asked cautiously, holding your robe closed with tight hands.

"No. No, I just... Tell me to leave and I'll leave," he breathed, taking a slow step into your space, "but I really hope you don't because I can't stop thinking about you and tonight - tonight was exactly what I had thought would happen between us."

"Gave the writers your dream journal, did'jah?" You couldn't help but tease. His lips spread.

"More like my actual journal," he shot back, catching you off guard, "'cause I can't get you out of my head, it's fucking with me, doll."

"If you're here to charge me rent for living in your head, you've got another thing comin' 'cause that's a personal problem. Now I need a shower, why're you here, Bucky - what do you want? Use your big boy words."

"I want to fuck you."

"There it is," you seethed, reaching for his own robe to yank him closer until his lips were on yours. And his hands, they didn't know where to touch you - be it your face, arms, ribs, waist, hips, thighs, ass, he was everywhere. Bucky's cock was still hot and heavy against his stomach, snugly between you as he backed you into the counter. But you pushed him back upon feeling him trying to untie his robe, rushing, "Wait, wait, hang on a second, Buck - "

"Shit, I'm sorry," he immediately stepped back, now tugging the tie tighter, "I-I got a little, uh, y-you know..."

"It's okay," you assured, stepping into his chest, taking hold of his wrists in both hands, "hey, you're okay. I was just gonna say wait because I'm not fucking you here where anyone can interrupt us." Before he could answer, you offered, "Give me twenty minutes and meet back at my place?"

He nodded with a softer smirk, hands confidently holding your waist to keep you pressed against him. "Yeah, doll, 'course. I didn't mean to rush you."

"You didn't, Bucky, you aren't. It's okay."

Bucky smirked and kissed you sweetly, holding you by the waist with one hand, the smoothing over the back of your head. After letting you go, he watched you change into whatever you wore to set and grab your belongings, drop a wink, and head for the door. He couldn't help but call after you, "Twenty minutes, doll, I'm setting a timer!"

You laughed before the door shut.

One of the perks of filming at destination resorts was staying there, too. You took the first elevator to the lobby and dialed your best friend as you hustled towards your resident building. When they answered, you instantly unloaded instead of a standard greeting, "Bucky and I are about to fuck and I'm kinda freaking out!"

"Oh, thank fucking God, it's about time!"

"You can gloat later, help me now."

Twenty exact minutes passed in a flurry of reminders to use mouthwash now so it didn't taste like you were trying too hard, advice on what to wear (being just panties and a hotel robe), topped off with your best mate telling you their secrets to irresistible blowjobs. When Bucky knocked at the door, your friend screamed in a rush, "Good luck - have fun - put that emergency Plan B I packed for you to work - oh, oh, protect your cervix - and call me after - I want details! Remember to spit - "

You hung up and left your phone on the side table, scurrying for the door before you could overthink it; Bucky swooping in with the opening door, reaching his hands for both your cheeks to kiss you feverishly. He paused you to let the door slam and blindly set the bolt before crowding you into the wall. You never had time to let your anxiety set, Bucky was all you could comprehend - and my, oh, my - what a delicious infection to take over your mind, body, and soul.

Distracted by the tickle to your palms from dragging them down his cheeks, in shock, you gasped sharply into his mouth when his hands seized behind either thigh to hoist you up his body. You were able to bask in his strength, feeling his arms bulge from strain just as much as you felt his cock bulge from arousal in his jeans. Wet tongues slid against each other to dance a sinful tango as your hands seared into any flushed flesh you could grab, legs locked around his waist to keep balance as he walked to the bed. He playfully dropped you on the mattress, holding himself upright and eyeing the peak of material covering your cunt when your bent legs shifted. Bucky grinned and glanced down at himself, starting to work on the buttons of his shirt from top-to-bottom.

"You changed?" You smiled, sitting up to reach out and maneuver him to the bed so you could take over his state of undress.

"I thought I might take you out first," he admitted, "but then I remembered it's the middle of the night and nowhere's open."

Your heart might've thawed slightly at his endearing effort, yet choose not to comment. You revealed his abs and chest at long last, dipping down to press your mouth in a trail of wet and sloppy kisses from his neck, over his pectorals, and the ridges of his ripped stomach - relishing in the feeling of their contraction when your kisses turned more deliberate and sensual. Fingers nimbly began working on the button and zipper of his jeans, hearing his feet kick off his shoes in time for you to begin wrestling the garments down his hips.

Bucky sat up, crooning, "Hey, hey, hold on." This time, you froze, fearing you did something wrong, but his smile was soft and his hand warm on your jaw. He held you still to bring his lips to yours, controlling the tempo into something slow, easy, and delicately emotional. You matched his energy, just enjoying the feeling of kissing him without the added frenzy of the impending intimacy. He paused, lips hovering over yours, whispering, "As much as I need to fuck you, doll, we got time... I plan on taking my time with you."

It was sentimental. Raw. Pure. Unexpected and intimidating.

Fucking Bucky was nothing short of pornographic; the man built like a mountain, cut like a boulder, and hung like a horse, yet still so fluid that everything he did felt intimate and emotional. Like it was truly to the two of you finding home in the other; two lost pieces of a puzzle, reunited, fitting together to create an image of euphoria. He was dedicated to your comfort, insistent on your pleasure, adamant about your orgasms; able to take direction, but not needing it, motivated by evidence of your bodily pleasure; emboldened, driven, invigorated by any inkling of your enjoyment. It was all you wanted and exactly what you needed, encouraging the pair of you through multiple rounds, positions, and orgasms.

To your shock and astute pleasure, Bucky was the kind to engage in pillow talk. He laid on his back, hand behind his head, other idly toying with your hair or tracing patterns on your skin as he asked questions or answered yours. It was easy. It was simple. It was effortless and disarming. Arguably, it had been one of the best sessions of your life due to Bucky taking his time in discovering the way your body ticked instead of just chasing his own nut like plenty of other lovers. He seemed satisfied. Content. Even cozy in your bed. You thought you could grow accustomed the sight of his bare chest and stubbly smile from this angle, curled against his hairy leg with your mouth dangerously close access to his perpetually stiff member.

Like a fool, you thought this was a break through in your relationship - be it professional or personal, you didn't care. You just felt the tides shift, for the wind to change; something warming your heart and pleasantly churning your stomach. Dawn broke and you had dozed into a nap on your costar's chest; not due on set for your shoots until early afternoon, able to get a couple hours under your belt after not getting a wink all night. Bucky laid under you, soothingly letting his fingernails scratch into the slope of your spine, both content to just exist in your bubble for a while longer. However, when you awoke to your alarm, it was to an empty bed, chilly sheets, no note, no evidence another person had even been there.

You should've known better...

"Because it felt real," you trailed off in a broken whisper, laughing cruelly at yourself as a manicured finger lifted to swipe under your nose and remove the first traces of snot. "Because I thought it was real for him as it was me..." A scoff coughed from your lungs, "I thought we had a breakthrough of sorts, like-like-like an understanding. I thought he saw me, finally... But it was all a lie, wasn't it?" You sniffled, bending at the waist to rest your elbows on the counter and hold your face in hands.

Behind you, the door suddenly burst open, ricocheting into the wall - causing you to gasp shrilly and whip around in shock. Bucky stood there panting, looking bewildered and confused, soon wincing when he clocked your state of shock he caused. "Shit, sorry, sorry, doll, I was - I didn't mean - I-I-I was worried and thought something was wrong - "

"So, you came barging into the bathroom like a madman!?" You snapped, hand to your chest - clutching methaporicnhal pearls.

"Yeah, you know, not my best moment, but I was worried," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, I really didn't mean to frighten you, I was a little hopped up after talking to Regina - "

"Okay, okay, James! You know what? Just - for fuck's sake, please, please, can you just leave, leave me alone - can you please just go!? Get outta here, please. I'll be out in a minute, just leave me alone." You were trying too hard to stop this - to stop the way your heart fluttered and stomach sank, to stop your emotions from being real, to stop your mind from conjuring his all too perfect face at inopportune times - so, of course, the universe had to send the very bane of your existence after you during an anxiety attack.

You needed to be alone. You needed to be alone to cry it out. You needed to be alone to cry it out and breathe.

"No," Bucky answered sternly.

"'No'?"

"No. You're obviously not okay and I can't just leave knowing you're this upset. Look, hate me later, but I'm not leaving you alone right now."

Your head shook, a sardonic smile blooming brightly; giving a sort of disbelieving chuckle. "Seriously? Of all people? You? Fucking you? You don't even like me, so why're you really here, James? The fuck do you want?"

"All right, down girl, I come in peace," he couldn't help but snap; defensive that his act of valor was under such scrutiny.

"Yeah? If that's the truth, then remove yourself, please. You don't need to be here, interrupting my search for said peace."

"Why is it so hard to believe I'm here out of legitimate concern?"

"Because you don't think about anyone but yourself."

"Okay, ouch - "

"Just stop, please okay? I'm not tryna fight, James, I don't want to do this, all right?" You cried without letting any tears fall down your cheeks, beyond frazzled in that moment. "I don't want to do any of this, actually - this whole bloody premier, the interviews, all the pictures! People lying, people yelling!"

"Okay, okay, just take a breath, sweetheart, hey, hey." He took a cautious step towards you, "Why's tonight making you feel this way? Huh? What's going on? You've done premiers before, what's different about tonight?" He asked softly, seeing the tears surface again, how your hands couldn't stay still anymore. You began to pace in front of the sink; cracking, threading, unthreading, twiddling, and twirling your fingers.

"You! It's fucking you, James!"

"Bucky," he corrected stiffly with a sigh of disappointment, keeping himself still to watch you pace with words caught in your throat. He didn't push you, somewhat afraid of getting his head bitten off again.

"It's just you," you continued as if he hadn't spoke. "I honestly don't know what I did to make you hate me to this extent, but I can't stand it - especially after everything! I mean, I know, I get it, sleeping together shouldn't have meant anything - but I guess you're just a better actor than I am! There, okay? I said it, you're so much better than me because I-I can't just pretend and lie about what happened between us - not us, not this time! And I hate that it's fucking with me this bad, but it's everything right now, okay? It's the matching outfits and the touching - so much fucking touching, James, for fuck's sake! I know we're supposed to be posing for photos and playing this role of two people who actually like one another, but holy fuck, it's so much touching - so many photos, so many questions, so much recollection, all these memories, and so much lying - I fucking hate that we're lying about us - "

"Hey, hey, hey," Bucky soothed, suddenly materializing in front of you and holding both your arms, but let go when you reared back, "woah, hey, listen - listen to me, I don't hate you. It's quite the opposite, doll, but you need to take a breath, please, try to-to-to calm down, and I know you're not supposed to tell women that, but I don't know what else to say right now. Just - Just pause for me, doll. Listen, it's not lying for me, all right? It's not lying, it's me using wishful thinking as a coping mechanism 'cause it bothers me, too."

"W-What?" You put some distance between you again by stepping back into the furthest corner of where marble counter met wall. Exhaustion pitted your bones, hollowing them; adrenaline flooding your system after your anxiety made you feel defenseless. Tears fell without thought or realization. You needed to breathe.

Bucky's eyes were soft, his brows crinkled in concern, lips gently twitching before speaking, "I just, I realized how fucking rude I've been to you - I mean, it shouldn't matter that you never called, I could've! You know? Phone's work both ways, so, I just started thinking how much of a dick I've been - "

"What're you talking about?" You asked, tears slowing but still dribbling. "J-James, what're you talking about, I didn't call? Why would I have called you? You left me! You left. That was a pretty clear message to send."

His brows now hooked towards his nose in confusion, "What do you mean, I left?"

"After we slept together."

"Oh, baby, you think I skipped out on you?" He watched you nod meekly, breathing out, "Nah, nah, nah, I went to get us breakfast and coffee..." He purred, taking a slow step towards you, "But when I got back, you were already gone, on set. I thought you'd leave a note, but you didn't, so I didn't really think to linger in your hotel suite. I thought maybe you'd call or text me when you got back, but when you didn't, I figured you were busy and waited, then that you regretted us being together."

"Wait... Wait, wait, wait, what? Hold on, y-you went to get us...? Hold on, what? I'm still playing catch up."

Bucky stood in front of you, gently pulling you from the corner just to lean in the middle of the marble with his hands warm on your waist and ribs.

"Yeah," Bucky grins, "I went to get us breakfast. Toasted plain bagel with eggs - scrambled, of course - uh, extra cheese, and you prefer bacon to pork sausage, but only if it's extra crispy and if they don't offer turkey sausage. You like either maple syrup or Sriracha," Bucky's hands flexed to a sudden bruising grip, hoisting you onto the counter, "depending on your mood." You were stunned into silence, heart pounding; allowing him to hike your dress skirt over your thighs, then spread them only so he could stand between them, "And of course, you like both hot and iced mocha lattes equally with regular cream and sugar. Because you don't trust all baristas to get your portions right, you like keeping additional cream and sugar on hand in case it's not enough - which is why you think your coffee is complicated, because you go based on taste instead of color or measurement."

Your smile was genuine, curling your hand under his jaw to caress tantalizing stubble; holding around his neck and shoulders to remain close. You hushed, "I know that shouldn't impress me, but it does..."

"As long as you stop crying, baby, c'mon," he whined gently, "I can't stand the sight."

You nodded and sniffled, looking down as your foreheads met; gently fiddling with his diamond-crusted lapels. "For the record?" You whispered, noses nuzzling, "I don't regret it..."

"Good," he matched your tone, "'cause I don't either. But I do regret how I've treated you... I'm really sorry, doll. Maybe if I wasn't such a dickhead, we could've had these last 6 months together, huh?"

"Probably not, weren't you on location?" You snickered, caressing his cheek and keeping his forehead on yours as your tears dried and reality came back into hand.

"Oh, like you weren't?" He smirked. "Hey, I gotta question for you."

"Hm?"

"Can I take you to dinner? Please? You know, do this properly? We kinda skipped some steps."

You pulled back to look at him, laughing, "Could I clean the mascara off my face before you ask me out?"

"What mascara?"

"Oh, please - "

"Nah, seriously, baby, you look perfect, I promise, whatever Jessie used 's gotta be waterproof," he grinned, hand reaching up to hold your cheek sweetly, thumb sweeping away tear tracks.

"How do you know my make-up artist?"

"I might follow them on Instagram," he shrugged casually, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Now, I know this great pizza place, right?"

"Uh-huh...?"

"And I think you'll love it. C'mon, baby, lemme take you there."

"Where is it?"

"Not... That... Far..."

"What does that mean? Bucky, what're you plotting?"

"So, the pizza place, right? I found it when we were filming with Ridley - "

"Bucky."

"So, it's technically in Rome - but - "

"Oh, my God, who are you? Pete Becker? Are you binging FRIENDS, again? Hell no - "

"Hear me out!"

"We're not going to Italy!"

"Hang on, just listen to me, baby, okay?" He purred, gripping your hips in a bruising grip to drag you to the edge, "Let's get this premier done, right? And after, you and me go to the airport - I'll have my people get us tickets, Regina can grab your passport, you know? And let's just get away for a little bit - you even said you've never been to the Amalfi Coast."

You laughed sarcastically, "Yeah, okay, sure."

"You think I'm joking?"

"A little bit."

Bucky leaned forward and kissed you to suppress his own grin; lapping his tongue against yours before pulling back. "Just say yes, doll, c'mon, lemme make up for being a dickhead, huh?" He pleaded quietly.

You hummed, kissing him again, answering against his lips, "Yes, to all of it."

"Yes?"

"Yes - " You squealed in laughter when Bucky surged forward to kiss you again, this time, out of sheer relief, pure joy, and unrestricted excitement.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

[deliciousangelfestival]

We're Not Okay - 2

Character: Bucky x veterinarian!Female Reader

Summary: Two people, each carrying their own trauma, find themselves in a place where they can begin to heal their wounds and mend their hearts together.

Words Count: 3,400

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , -

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By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex Husband in Kindle. 👉 Now available on e-Kindle Amazon! << here's the link.

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

After witnessing the strangest thing last night, you struggled to sleep once you returned to your room. The morning light crept in, and despite the restless night, you felt oddly well-rested. You made your way to the dining room, where you spotted Dr. Jane Foster, the other veterinarian at the conservation.

Jane, who also owned the place, had been a scientist before falling in love with animals—thanks to the influence of her husband, Thor Odinson. Thor, the tallest man you’d ever met and full of boundless energy, traveled across the country to rescue and care for animals.

Jane smiled and waved for you to sit beside her. You joined her at the table, and she leaned in with curiosity.

“So, I heard we got a new guest,” she said, referring to your latest arrival.

“Yup,” you replied, nodding. A flicker of realization crossed your face as you remembered Bucky hadn’t shown up for breakfast.

At that moment, Mandy, the cook, appeared with your usual breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, and potato wedges with mayonnaise on the side. She set the plate down without a word.

“Thanks, Mandy,” you said warmly.

She gave you a brief nod, her face as impassive as ever. Mandy wasn’t one for talking, but her actions spoke volumes. The fact that she brought you food without waiting for you to ask made you feel appreciated. She added in her thick Russian accent, “The new kid already grabbed his food and went outside.”

You paused mid-motion, the forkful of scrambled eggs hovering just before your mouth. “Really?” Turning in your seat, you glanced toward the window. Sure enough, Bucky was sitting in front of the wolf’s cage—the same as last night.

Quickly finishing your breakfast and draining your glass of water, you stood. “Sorry, Jane, I need to talk to him.”

“Go ahead,” Jane said with an understanding smile before taking another sip of her coffee.

Grabbing your winter jacket from the coat rack, you slipped it on as you headed for the door. The chill in the air hit you instantly, and you frowned when you noticed Bucky wasn’t wearing a jacket. Didn’t he feel the cold?

The thought worried you. If anything happened to him, the conservation could lose its much-needed sponsor. As you got closer, you saw Bucky sitting cross-legged on the ground, his gaze locked with the white wolf’s. You hesitated, watching the scene unfold. The wolf, normally skittish and aggressive, seemed at peace—almost transfixed by him.

How was he doing that?

You’d been treating the wolf ever since she arrived, but no matter what you did, she remained guarded and wary. Yet here she was, calm in Bucky’s presence.

Quietly, you approached them, your boots crunching softly against the frozen ground. Without saying a word, you draped your jacket over Bucky’s shoulders. He flinched slightly at the sudden weight but didn’t turn to look at you.

“She trusts you,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

Bucky’s head dipped slightly, and his jaw tensed as though he hadn’t realized anyone was there. His first instinct seemed to be leaving—his posture stiffened, and he made a slight movement to rise.

“Wait,” you said quickly, holding up your hands in a gesture of peace. “I don’t know why you’re afraid of me. Please… stay.”

He froze, his expression guarded, but his body relaxed ever so slightly. Though he didn’t move, it was clear he was still undecided. You noticed his shoulders shift as if weighing your words, but something made him stay rooted in place.

You took a cautious step closer, keeping your tone soft. “I’ve worked with her for months, and she’s never let her guard down like this. Not for anyone… except you.”

His eyes flicked toward you briefly before returning to the wolf. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give you hope.

“It’s nice to see her looking more lively,” you said, gesturing to the wolf. “Do you want to help me feed her?”

Bucky’s expression softened, and for the first time, his eyes lit up. He nodded.

You grabbed a small bucket of food and motioned for him to follow. Together, you entered the enclosure, your boots crunching softly against the frozen ground. The wolf’s ears perked up slightly, but she stayed calm, her trust in Bucky unwavering.

As you worked, the sound of laughter carried over from a group of volunteers by the sea lion pen. Their cheerful voices and playful banter created a sharp contrast to the quiet atmosphere surrounding you and Bucky.

He glanced toward the volunteers, his steps slowing. You noticed the way his gaze lingered on them—on their laughter, their freedom. His longing was almost tangible, though he said nothing.

Pausing by the wolf, you broke the silence. “Everyone here seems so carefree,” you began, crouching down to check the wolf’s injured leg. “But we all have something in common.” You glanced at him. “Just like you.”

Bucky’s eyes shifted toward you, quiet but attentive.

You straightened and nodded toward Steve, a blonde volunteer who was currently lobbing a snowball at one of the others. “See him? He ran away from home because his father abused him.”

Then you gestured toward Natasha, the red-haired girl dodging the snowball with a grin. “And her—don’t be fooled by her friendliness. She’s trained in martial arts. She came here after breaking her ankle in a fight, which ruined her career and crushed her spirit.”

“And me,” you added quietly.

The air grew still. You hesitated, then met Bucky’s gaze.

“I’m what you’d call a bargain kid,” you said, a bitter edge in your voice. “My mom was a prostitute at the club my father owned. When I got older, I went looking for her, thinking I’d find some kind of connection. But reality doesn’t work that way. She didn’t even acknowledge me—just saw me as a way to get a green card.”

You paused, the weight of your words hanging between you. “This is why I prefer animals. Did you know a duck will adopt orphaned ducklings without a second thought?” You glanced at him with a faint smile.

Bucky’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing together. He didn’t respond, but his silence didn’t feel empty. You knew he was listening.

“How can a mother not want to meet her own daughter?” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

He remained quiet, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of understanding and something you couldn’t quite name.

You straightened and continued, your tone softening. “What I’m trying to say is… it’s not just you who’s been hurt here. All of us look okay on the outside, but we’re carrying deep wounds too.” You held his gaze. “I hope you don’t feel like an outcast. Just try—a little.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

The white wolf nudged her nose against Bucky’s hand, drawing your attention back to her. Her gentle persistence seemed to be asking for more food. Bucky obliged, reaching into the bucket and handing her another piece.

You crossed your arms and smirked. “I’m so jealous,” you said, watching the wolf’s trust in him.

Bucky glanced at you, a faint flicker of a smile ghosting across his lips before it disappeared again.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

As time passed, the sky grew darker, and everyone gathered in the dining room. The warm glow of the lights reflected a sense of comfort as you entered and spotted Thor seated beside his wife, Jane. His large presence was hard to miss, his booming laugh echoing through the space.

You approached their table, a friendly smile on your face. “Thor, Jane,” you greeted. “Did you guys bring your son with you?”

Thor grinned broadly. “Yup, we did,” he replied, then paused, glancing around. “Wait… where is he?”

Before anyone could answer, the sound of a child crying filled the room. Mandy appeared at the doorway, holding the hand of a tearful Tom. The seven-year-old’s cheeks were red, and his cries were loud enough to draw attention.

“Huwaaah!” Tom sobbed as Mandy guided him forward.

Thor’s expression softened immediately, and he stood, scooping his son up effortlessly and placing him on his broad shoulder. “What made my big man cry, huh?” he asked, gently bouncing Tom to cheer him up.

Tom sniffled, his small hands gripping Thor’s shoulder. He pouted dramatically, his lip jutting out as he glanced between you and Jane. “I got ignored,” he said, his voice wobbling.

“Who ignored you?” Jane asked, her brows furrowing slightly as she reached out to smooth Tom’s hair.

Tom pointed with a small finger in the direction of the door. “Him. When I asked if I could touch the wolf.”

Thor’s booming laugh filled the room. “Buddy, I told you the wolf was off-limits,” he said, ruffling Tom’s hair affectionately.

Before Tom could argue, the dining room door swung open, and a gust of cold air swept inside, making everyone shiver. Standing in the doorway was Bucky, his figure silhouetted against the dim light outside.

Tom’s eyes widened in recognition. “That’s him! He ignored me!” he declared, pointing at Bucky with a glare.

The three adults exchanged glances, unsure how to approach the situation. None of them dared to criticize Bucky outright, given that he was the primary sponsor of the conservation.

Bucky’s gaze shifted to Tom. He hesitated, then slowly pulled out his phone. After a moment of typing, he turned the screen toward the boy. The message read: “I’m sorry.”

You stepped in to ease the tension, crouching slightly to Tom’s level. “Tom, his name is Bucky. And he can’t speak,” you explained gently.

Tom’s face fell in realization. He blinked, unsure how to process the information. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know.”

Bucky shook his head and began typing again. When he finished, he held the phone up for Tom to see. “It’s okay. Do you want to play with the wolf tomorrow?”

Tom’s expression lit up. “I can?” he asked, his earlier tears forgotten.

Bucky nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You blinked in surprise. Bucky inviting Tom to interact with the wolf was unexpected. Then, he turned toward Thor and Jane, typing another message. He held the phone out to them: “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. But you can call me Bucky. I’m sorry for the late introduction. Nice to meet you.”

Thor’s grin widened, and he extended a hand. “Same here, Bucky. Nice to meet you!” he said, his voice booming with warmth.

Jane gave Bucky a kind smile. “It’s nice to meet you too,” she said softly.

With the formalities done, Bucky nodded politely before moving toward another table. His steps were hesitant at first, but as the volunteers murmured their quiet greetings and understanding glances, he seemed to relax.

You watched him from a distance, your heart feeling lighter. The change in Bucky’s demeanor was subtle but meaningful. It was as though the morning conversation between you had nudged him toward opening up, even if only a little.

You smiled faintly, reassured. It wasn’t just about keeping your promise to the Barnes family. Deep down, you also hoped that Bucky could heal from his pain.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

The next morning, Bucky kept his promise and brought Tom to see the white wolf. To everyone’s amazement, the wolf, usually wary and reserved, behaved almost like a domesticated dog. Her tail wagged gently, and she let Tom stroke her fur without flinching.

You stood nearby, watching in disbelief. “That’s… pretty impossible,” you muttered under your breath. “She’s a wild animal.” Yet, here she was, acting as though she’d known Bucky and Tom forever.

Tom giggled, his small hands brushing over the wolf’s soft coat. “She’s so nice! Can I name her?” he asked excitedly.

Bucky gave him a slight nod, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Before you could respond, the static buzz of your walkie-talkie interrupted the moment. A voice crackled through, tense and urgent: “We’ve got a situation. The red panda is missing.”

You let out a frustrated sigh and pressed the button. “Understood. I’m on it.”

Bucky turned his gaze to you, his eyes sharp with curiosity and concern. The subtle lift of his brow asked the question his voice couldn’t: What’s going on?

You glanced at him. “It happens more than you’d think. People try to steal exotic animals all the time,” you explained, your tone heavy with resignation.

As if on cue, Thor appeared, striding purposefully out of the building with a shotgun slung over his shoulder. His jaw was set, and his expression radiated determination. He climbed into the driver’s seat of a rugged SUV, clearly ready for action.

You turned to Bucky. “Could you take Tom back to Mandy?”

Bucky nodded without hesitation. His gaze shifted to Tom, and with a small gesture, he guided the boy toward the dining hall.

You crouched to Tom’s eye level before they left, your voice softening. “Your dad’s going to catch the bad guys so fast, you won’t even have time to miss me,” you said with a wink.

Tom nodded, wide-eyed but reassured, gripping Bucky’s hand as they walked away.

With a deep breath, you straightened and sprinted toward Thor’s vehicle. The cold morning air stung your lungs, but you didn’t slow down. Jumping into the passenger seat, you barely had time to buckle in before Thor hit the gas, the SUV roaring to life.

A sense of urgency filled the air as the vehicle sped down the dirt road. You were fully focused on the mission, driven by your love for the animals and your determination to protect them.

Meanwhile, back near the enclosure, Bucky paused. His steps slowed as he watched you disappear into the distance, your figure growing smaller as you ran toward danger without hesitation. Something about your selflessness struck him deeply.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky felt an unfamiliar spark. A desire to act—not out of obligation, but out of a need to help, to protect.

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex Husband in Kindle. 👉 Now available on e-Kindle Amazon! << here's the link.

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[vallovesbuckyb]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[imtryingbuck]

Till Death Do Us Part

~ series masterlist ~

Summary: Bucky has to marry a woman who surprises him more and more as their story goes along.

Series Warnings: warnings will be on each chapter but here's a forewarning. mentions of past child abuse, mentions of past rape. violence. mentions of nudity. mentions of infidelity. death. shootings. angst. fluff.

Word Count: 42,622

Status: completed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC!Theodora

A/N: this will mainly be focused on the marriage and the development of Bucky and his wife more than crimey things sorry.

Masterlist

fluff - ❀ angst - ❁ both - ✾

➳ Prologue - ✾

➳ “Wedding” Day - ✾

➳ Damaged - ✾

➳ The Library - ✾

➳ Painting - ✾

➳ Family Photos - ✾

➳ Nightmares and Shopping - ✾

➳ Donations and Monsters - ✾

➳ One Step Forward A Hundred Back - ✾

➳ Worthy - ✾

➳ Tabby - ✾

➳ Family Dinner - ✾

➳ Birthday Bash - ✾

➳ Making Love - ✾

➳ Help From The Least Unsuspected - ✾

➳ A Mothers Endless Love - ✾

➳ Home - ✾

➳ The Locket - ✾

➳ Wedding Day Round Two - ✾

➳ Epilogue - ❀

[marvelouslizzie]

just let me make you feel better

summary: after a long day of work, you finally come back home and rest. your period is making your day miserable but your boyfriend is here to help you.

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader 

word count: 3.2k

warnings: 18+ NSFW MINORS DNI, period comfort, established relationship, pet names, mentions of menstruation pain, a little bit of period stigma, comfort offering, sexual activity during the period, nipple play, clit play, fingering, after care, obviously blood, unrealistic portrayal of male partners, no mention of y/n.

a/n: I just wanted to write a Bucky Barnes offers to comfort you during your period story so here we are. Unfortunately, this kind of care is really rare so I’m sorry for fucking up your expectations about men. Most of them don’t even do the bare minimum. This concept would shock them but don’t settle for anything less.

Thank you @notafunkiller and @es1dit for beta-reading and helping me better this story. Love you both!

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission. 

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message me or send me a question regarding the stories I write. I would love to talk about it and no, it would never bother me.

Read more tag starts after the first paragraph of the story.

God, you can’t wait for this day to be over. It’s not the worst day of your life, you know it, but still, the freaking pain just doesn’t want to go away. At least, not completely. It finds different ways to crawl back to you and keep you suffering.

You tried a lot of stuff, starting with good old painkillers. There’s no denying that the pill is helping you, but it’s just not good enough. Your back is hurting, joints are feeling sore and there’s still a headache on the back of your head that no matter how many painkillers you take, keeps lingering and torturing you. Like bleeding isn’t enough.

Yeah, being on your period and working at the same time is no fun. It’s not even bearable. Still, you make it through the day and come back just to drop on the couch. You really want to get rid of these clothes, take a hot shower and change into something comfortable, but you just don’t have the energy. Mentally, you are already doing all this stuff, imagining how good it would feel to stand under the hot water and just let it relax your muscles. Yet your legs don't want to move. You just lay on the couch like a bag of potatoes.

As you drift between sleep and being awake, you hear the keys jingling, signaling that your boyfriend is home. Is it weird that you can already smell him while he’s standing across the room? You have no idea but you can. It just feels like something…  familiar. You have no idea how it works, but it makes you feel safe even though he did nothing but step into the apartment.

“Darling?” Bucky calls out because he isn’t used to not being greeted by you when he comes home. Usually, you are either going toward him or yelling “Welcome home, baby” from wherever you are.

You can’t find the strength to call out so you groan a little while raising your hand. God, his expression changes so quickly. He walks towards you at a trot.

“Are you alright?”

“I am.” You are just exhausted, nothing out of the ordinary. Especially not at this time of the month.

“Are you sure? You don’t look alright.”

“It’s that time of the month again.” The worried expression on his face slowly fades away when he notices you are actually alright. It makes you wonder what he thought happened to you, but you don't ask him.

“Oh, darling…” His voice is so caring. Your period completely saps you of your energy and he knows it. He knows how you suffer or what you do to make yourself feel better. “Did you take a painkiller?”

“Yes.” Of course, you did. That was the first thing you thought of.

“When?”

You stop for a second to think. “In the morning and after lunch.”

“So you can take another one now, right?” 

That’s a good question. You can take another pill, but your stomach is already protesting at that thought. You should eat something before taking it, but you don’t feel like cooking. Even the thought is exhausting.

“But first you will need food.” God, is he reading your mind or what?

“I don’t feel like–” Before you can finish your sentence, he’s already standing up and making his way to the kitchen.

“I will prepare something for you.” When your words register, he turns around and looks at you. “You don’t wanna eat anything?”

“No, no. I was going to say I don’t feel like preparing anything.” 

“Oh, that’s fine.” He turns around. “Don’t worry. I will make your favorite.”

You have yet to learn what he means by that because you have many favorites. A meal, sandwich, snack, or dessert? You find out what he means when he comes back with your favorite sandwich, a glass of water, and the painkiller you use only during your period. You love him for paying enough attention to notice that.

“Eat while I draw a bath for you. Warm water should help.”

Why didn’t you think about filling the tub and just sitting there? The thought of laying there for a while sounds so much more appealing than a quick shower. It doesn’t take long for you to finish the whole sandwich and take the pill. Your stomach isn’t protesting anymore, and neither are your taste buds. Still, the pain and that discomfort are there, lingering and making you regret being born. Men don’t have to suffer like this and it’s so unfair! You hate mankind for that privilege. While you are lost in your thoughts, Bucky comes out of the bathroom and you notice: No, you don’t hate the whole of mankind. There’s one exception. You can’t hate Bucky when he’s the most thoughtful person you've ever met.

“The bathtub is ready for you. Did you finish your sandwich?” He kind of sounds like a teacher or a parent, checking if you did everything you were supposed to.

“Yep, all done.” You gesture to the plate. “Took the painkiller, too.”

“Good job, doll.” He comes closer without taking his eyes off of you. “Wanna head to the bathroom now?”

“Yes, but I need to take some clothes with me first.”

“Don’t worry, I will take care of it. Just get in there and relax, okay?”

You just nod with a small smile on your lips. When he takes care of you like this, you feel so lucky and so seen. You never asked him to do any of this stuff for you. Occasionally, you just said “I don’t feel like cooking” thinking you would order take out or you asked for a painkiller, but he registered all that information and started to do things without you asking. Seeing how he paid attention and cared about you just makes you feel valued.

You have no idea how long you have been laying in the bathtub. It was nearly perfect with the bubbles and the scent. You expected him to show up and tell you what to do next, but that did not happen. After a while, you decide to properly clean yourself and drain the bathtub. That’s when you notice he put your towels to warm on the radiator, which instantly makes you smile. You wrap your hair with one and dry your body with the other. Thinking you might bleed around, you quickly leave the bedroom to find your clothes. 

While you are thinking if you should go for a pad or a tampon, you find your missing boyfriend in your bedroom. Your clothes are already chosen and set aside, your favorite pajamas waiting for you.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“A little better. The painkiller started to work its magic.” You walk towards your clothes to put them on as quickly as possible, still thinking about the blood.

Bucky quickly gets in your way. “No need to rush.”

“No, no, I really need to rush.” He gives you a look that makes you think he's confused. “I don’t have a tampon on. I will bleed on the floor.”

“And?” His tone is so carefree, it confuses you.

“And we will have to clean it, Bucky.” You state the obvious.

“Then we will clean it.” He makes things sound so natural, so casual. Like it’s the most normal thing on earth, but you are conditioned to think that you shouldn’t bleed around, that you should take care of any mess you make.

“You don’t wanna see that.”

“Maybe I do.” His answer comes instantly, surprising you.

“Believe me, you don’t.” You make a move in the direction of your clothes, but Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Bucky!” 

“Darling, I have been fighting for god knows how long. Do you think your period blood would disturb me?” His question sounds so genuine, you stop to think for a second. He has a point, but not really. It's a different kind of blood.

“I mean it’s not the same, is it?” 

“Yeah, it’s not.” The confirmation you expect finally comes. “I’m used to seeing blood caused by violence, not by nature.”

Wait, what?

You don’t know how to react to this. Of course, it is natural, but it is also torture and it makes a mess every time. A huge mess. Usually, your exes were disturbed by the idea, keeping a respectful distance while you were on your period, but apparently not Bucky. His fingers were already grazing your skin carefully. He looks into your eyes, asking for permission silently.

“I really don’t feel like it, Bucky.” You hate saying no to him, but the pain is still there. You are sure it will make things uncomfortable.

“I’m just asking for permission to touch you, doll. I’m not asking for anything else.” He keeps confusing you tonight. 

“What do you mean?”

“Just let me make you feel better.” His answer is simple, but not enough for you to understand his meaning. What does he mean by that?

“I think having you there now isn’t a great idea, Buck. I’m in pain and a little bit too sensitive.” You try to explain as simply as possible.

“Darling… There are other ways to make you feel better, or did you forget about those? Maybe I should remind you, huh?” Gosh, the smug smile creeping up his lips… It sends shivers down your spine. “Just lay down.” He gestures to the bed.

“I will blee–”

“Shh…” He doesn’t let you finish. “Just be a good girl and stop thinking too much.”

For fuck's sake… A good girl? He definitely knows how to shut your brain up. You slowly sit down on the bed and notice a big towel under you. He already thought about everything, so you won’t have to worry. So you can just enjoy this. If that’s what he wants, you can do that. You can shut your mind for a short while and try to enjoy yourself. 

As he lies down next to you, he turns his entire body in your direction and props himself up on his elbow. His flesh fingers start to caress your skin very lightly, making their way to the towel you wrapped around your body. 

“It is time to…” His fingers work quickly to undo the towel. “...take this off.”

He sounds somehow impatient. Maybe just to see you naked or hear the sounds you make while he touches you all the ways he knows you love. His fingers move to your nipple, fingertips grazing over carefully. As he touches you so lightly, another wave of goosebumps washes over you. It's not normal for you to be this sensitive, but your nipples are already hard. Your lips tremble as he moves closer and gives one a long lick.

“God, damn it.” You mutter and he instantly looks up.

“Should I stop?” The way he asks the question shows how concerned and focused he is.

“No, no.” You take a deep breath. “Just be gentle. I’m just…”

“Sensitive, I know.” He smiles and dives back in. His tongue swirls around your nipple over and over again until you start to cry out.

“Fuck!” That’s so unexpected. The pleasure you are feeling is foreign. Nipple play never felt like this before. “It feels so– so good.”

He moves his mouth away with a wet pop just to say: “Yes, surrender yourself to the feeling, darling.” Then he goes back to sucking your nipple, while his metal hand is massaging your other breast. It’s such an amazing change after feeling pain for hours and you can’t help but crave more. Your hips are rising unintentionally. Bucky’s flesh hand moves down to your body, sliding between your folds really carefully, but it makes you push your hips up again.

You've never felt this wet in your life. You are sure your period has a lot to do with it, but god… That’s not the only reason. The way he’s paying attention to your breasts, the way his index finger is working between your folds… It feels like magic. His fingers start rubbing on your clit and the next thing you know you're moaning his name over and over again. Whenever you moan, his tongue becomes more relentless around your nipple. The pleasure hits you suddenly, it takes your breath away.

“Buck–” Your back arches like a bow. “Oh my go–”

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even hesitate for a second. His fingers and tongue work you through your orgasm until you start to feel a little sensitive. You let a long breath out, proving how satisfied you feel.

Finally, he lets go of your nipple and looks up. Hair messed up, lips swollen and eyes glossy. “How are you feeling?”

“Great.” You breathe out again and it makes him smile widely. So fucking widely… “I feel great.” His hand rests on your pussy while his head is on your upper body. You lean down a little and he meets you in the middle in a messy kiss. God, his lips are the most delicious thing you've ever tasted. They're nearly sweet and just intoxicating.

You sigh loudly, feeling so much better than before. The pain is the last thing on your mind. You actually think about a possible second orgasm already and a little smile creeps up on your lips.

“What?” He asks wondering what you are thinking.

“I think I want a bit more.” 

“Oh, you do?” He is fully smirking now. You just nod while biting one side of your lower lip. “Would it be okay if I put my fingers inside? Would that be comfortable for you?”

“I hope so. We can try and if it’s uncomfortable, I'll tell you.”

“What a good girl you are.”

Before you can say anything in return, his fingers move a little down and he pushes one of them inside.

“Bucky!” The sudden pleasure catches you off guard.

“Sorry, sorry. I will go slow.” He moves himself a little bit up, just to be able to kiss you comfortably. You look at him and excitement is written all over his face. He’s actually enjoying this even though he isn’t getting off himself, and you love how your pleasure affects him. Licking your lips, you close the little distance between you two. 

He kisses you deeply while moving his finger in and out. He’s using just one, but dear god… you are so sensitive. It feels so good even though you aren’t completely filled. Slowly, he pushes the second finger inside, crooking them and rubbing them along a spot where you can see stars. Your mouth suddenly opens as you let out a loud moan. You are unable to kiss him back, it feels like your whole body just tensed up and your muscles stopped working.

“Yes! God, yes.” You manage to say while he keeps on working. “Just like that.”

“Don’t worry, doll.” He speeds up a little. “I won’t stop.”

He keeps working his fingers while kissing your neck. You can feel your second orgasm approaching and it feels so good, but also not enough.

“Please…” You beg without thinking. “Please…”

“Tell me what you want.” His voice sounds so deep, so full of desire.

“Faster. A little faster.” You take a deep breath. “I’m so– close.”

He doesn’t make you ask twice, just starting to move his fingers a little faster and that’s all it takes. 

“Bucky!” You scream so loudly that it surprises even you, but it’s too late to bite your lip. The overwhelming pleasure takes over, making you scream so loudly that Bucky thinks all your neighbors know what you are up to. And he doesn’t care. They should know he is the one making you feel this good. He is the one who makes you forget about your pain and mindlessly moan his name like a prayer.

When you come down from your high, you feel boneless. It’s like your whole body relaxed after the blinding pleasure. Maybe it’s the mixture of the orgasms and the painkiller you took, but you are too tired to care. 

While you stretch your arms, you notice Bucky isn’t next to you anymore. You look around to see where he went and he comes out of the bathroom with another towel in his hand.

“Looking for me?” God, his smile is so smug, but you can’t blame him. The way you just screamed his name without having his cock inside you… That must have boosted his ego. Rightfully so. His fingers are magical. And his tongue. Also his lips. The way he turns you on so much and pulls this pleasure out of you is unbelievable.

“Yes. Why did you leave me?” You know he didn’t but you like to play.

“Just got a wet towel for you.” He kneels in front of the bed, between your legs and you prop up on your elbows to see what he’s doing. He gently moves the towel on your thighs and wipes the blood he smeared while making you scream his name.

“I could clean myself. You didn’t have to.” 

“I know you can, doll. Nobody said you can’t.” He rubs the towel against your slit and you jump a little, feeling sensitive. He notices your reaction and tries to do it more carefully. “I just want to help you.” After he’s done wiping, he folds the towel and puts it away. Immediately after, he grabs your clothes and helps you get dressed: your underwear first (and no, he did not forget about the pads), then your pajamas. In a couple of seconds, you're clean and all dressed up. “Now it’s time to rest.”

You move backward and get under the covers while watching him collect the towels all over the room and put them in the dirty laundry bin. It amazes you how he doesn’t forget about anything. He doesn’t let any small detail bother or worry you. You hear him washing his hands and he comes back with a smile on his face. 

You don’t know how you got this lucky. Having a loving and caring boyfriend like him… Getting taken care of like this… You remember how your friends talk about their boyfriends and how they do absolutely nothing. You know that’s not how a relationship should be, but you also know how rare this is. Your eyes wander back to him while he is getting undressed, showing you how incredibly hard he is. Yet he didn’t even make a move to relieve himself. He didn’t ask for a hand or begged to be inside you like he does sometimes. He put you first and unfortunately that’s even rarer.

He quickly puts on his pajamas and slips right next to you in bed. His arms are already around your waist, pulling you closer. You carefully move your hand down and palm his still rock-hard erection.

“Nope.” His answer is simple yet firm.

“Let me take care of you, Bucky.” You try to say as sweetly as possible. You want to return the favor.

“Not tonight, darling.” He gently moves your hand away. “But I promise, you can do whatever you want to me when you feel better, alright?”

“Alright.” He’s right. You are feeling sleepy already, you can do this another time. 

After all, you are his and he is yours. You have all the time in the world.

He pulls you even closer, putting his head on your shoulder behind your back.

“It’s time to sleep.”

“I love you Bucky.” You say while feeling the weight on your eyelids. It’s hard to keep them open.

“I love you too, darling.”

[therealslimshakespeare]

Those Who Can || integrated Female Air Force series

Introductory part 1: Flintenweiber, or “Rifle Broads”.

Summary: The American War Effort had conceded to the enlistment and commissioning of women into the Air Force at semi-integrated status. Deemed a more reliable if not safer combat post, the going rank of officer in the Air Force was intended to secure fair treatment and combatant status for these women, as it had for their male counterparts. Like most things in war -or life if one is a woman- such recognition must be fought for.

Authors Note: this is an Au, obviously, and I intend for the de-segregation in the force to not be entirely full, in fact in some ways they would mirror that of the Tuskegee Red Tails where they were held back from many opportunities and placed at a disadvantage, to say the least. However, as this is primarily a POW fic that aspect only effects their reception into the Stalag and the timeline of their crashes.

Inspo: thanks to all of y’all who contributed with suggestions and advice on this fic. I want to say that I based a great deal of the brutal treatment and indignity heaped on these fictional OC’s on the true and horrific treatment of the Soviet Female Soldiers taken as POWs. Taking into consideration that American ties would give these OC’s some leverage, I have moderated these horrors if anything, however as I intend for these girls to be some of the first of their kind, they in many ways endure the brunt of the cruel initiation. If you’ve got any questions or suggestions about this, have at the inbox.

Warnings: 18+ for disturbing content. War, brutality, cruelty, and references to sexual violence. Specifics: a woman’s head is forcefully shaved, a woman is kicked to death, a dog turned loose, concentration camps, brief infighting between Soviet’s and Americans, past tense illusions to rape which are underplayed and may be consequently more disturbing to some. Quite angsty ok?? It’s women at war. Rampant misogyny by Nazis.

Familiar faces: Gale Cleven, Benny Demarco, John Brady, “Hambone” Hamilton

Original Characters: Lt. Maureen Kendeigh (bombardier), Lt. Colonel Ida Brady, Lt. Tallulah Smith 

If Maureen Kendeigh heard the word “degenerate” used one more time in regards to her profession, her sacrifice and skill, -she just might do something regrettable.

By this point she was ready to get off this cattle car and go back to talk with Interrogator Glasses about stupid and unnerving shit like why the clock in the mess hall at Thorpe Abbots had a broken arm. Her distressed inner monologue of “how did he know that??” at the time was preferred to this newest method of demoralization: death by aspersion and suspense.

It was nice to be back with the girls, ones she knew and ones from other squadrons. But that held a misfortune too, the fact that it was just the girls, still not a single male crew member in sight. Apparently the Gestapo and the Luftwaffe were having a spat over who got to keep them, these Flintenweiber: “Rifle Broads”.

In the meantime Maureen and her fellows got punted back and forth between the two institutions like unwanted stepchildren. First the horrible isolation but humane treatment of the Air Force interrogation cells. Then back to the prison where all bets were off and the hope of safety came from a herd-like defense of each other against the ever more erratic guards. In these holdings, if one of their members hadn’t been executed by a pistol to the temple by end of day, it was considered a successful defense by the whole. All other atrocity, indignity and assault were unbearable’s that required bearing for the time being until the Luftwaffe took them back.

And then handed them back over.

And on and on it went.

It was effective, Maureen gave them that, after each hosting by the Gestapo, the girls were softer, tenderized and more susceptible to any deal that might procure them a shred of honor and safety. Only Ida Brady, the most senior amongst them at the incomprehensible rank of Lt. Colonel, had held ranks together, spine of steel and bearing more terrifying than most men’s, she’d fought for every grueling respect of rank they had been afforded. Even if it landed them in harsher conditions, worse interrogations -anything to ensure that what happened to her girls were considered as war crimes against lawful combatants when the time came for justice.

But they’d been collecting the downed girls and holding them apart like prized anomalies while conflicting orders came in from Berlin, and while the Red Cross fussed regarding combatant status. Now they had a tidy number collected, well over twenty by the time Maureen saw Ida Brady pushed into the cell, having been downed with a significant portion of them after Munich.

But now they hadn’t seen Brady in over a day. Not since they’d been loaded on this rail car headed to god knows where by soldiers with the dreaded lightning bolts on their collars.

The SS.

With Brady missing, Maureen supposed that made her and Lieutenant Smith a leader of sorts. Most of her “leading” currently took the form of not responding to a single vile threat or taunt by the guards mingling amongst them in the ever rocking car. Ida would be proud of her emotionless detachment at one guard’s suggestion to let the dog loose and see who it chose to maul.

Lieutenant Smith -tender hearted Tallulah with the bronzed skin and knack with animals that rivaled Snow White’s- had made the cryptic observation in Maureen’s ear that she’d never known a dog could be trained away from the throat to go for the breasts instead.

As of last Sunday they now knew, and none of them were likely to forget.

“I’ll be faster next time,” Smith had mumbled in a simmering rage, “I’ll be faster. I’ll have my fist down that cur’s throat before they finish slipping the leash.”

It was a nice sentiment, would’ve been made more so if Maureen wasn’t so sure it would land dear Smith with a bullet in her head. Would be made more so if Sergeant Forsyth had lived from her injuries long enough to benefit from it. Lots of things would be made nicer by heavier coats and the presence of drinking water.

One of the new ones, a terrified little replacement who wore her ordeal on her face, made the rookie mistake of asking for a drink. She’d been given the predictable initiation of being pissed on by a guard in answer and now she bore her thirst as doggedly as the veterans.

When the train cars rolled to a halt, and the great door was hauled back, sprawling out before them appeared the most idyllic scenery one could ever hope for. A crystalline blue lake, dotted on its border with charming structures adorned with red tile roofs, a quaint church of the same, lush fields and sparkling water and deep forest for miles. Maureen did not think they would haul them so near a town only to execute them. But then what did she know?

Nothing, not even where she was.

When they had lined the girls up, some in worse shape than others and a motley collective group from various military branches, they hauled off Ida Brady to the head of the pack, her bruised face considerably more busted than when she’d been loaded on. Maureen could see her craning her neck as she was drug past, counting down her flyer girls, looking for any missing from the trip.

They were marched, four abreast and with guns at their backs, down a wide and well traversed road into town, past cottages on its outskirts with little garden plots and clothes blowing on the line. Maureen was reminded of the idyllic countryside she had landed in with her chute before being seized and hauled off. There were women and children in row boats on the lake and the path they took through the woods was more peaceful than ominous. A traitorous sort of hope began to bloom in Maureen’s heart.

That was dashed when the tree line broke and out before them stretched what seemed to be miles of wire. And beside it a sign, welcoming them to Ravensbrück -a concentration camp. A camp for civilians, a camp to never return from.

Their new guards were ready for them, smiles on their faces and whips in their hands. Among them were a few remarkable for their sex, they were women too -if women who enjoyed such craft could still be called that. And for all the horror inflicted on them by their male captors so far, there seemed to be a general presentment amongst the arriving girls that the finer arts of terror had not yet been endured.

Standing for hours in the infamous square inside the compound, roll call and registration took on a form of torture yet unheard of. Round and round it went, repetitions of ranks and serials over and over and each time they were met with two alternatives. Renounce the ranks and be admitted as civilians with no further targeted harassment. Or-

“If you insist on being special, we will be forced to make you special.” as one officer put it to Brady’s stone cold face. “Ask your Soviet compatriots, the ones who wanted to be special like you. They claimed to be officers too, and now they service officers in Buchenwald. They have not left their beds in months. Special, no?”

“I’m not ‘claiming’ a goddamn thing.” Brady would go round and round with them in turn and up and down the line was the echo of ranks and serials.

Nothing but ranks and serials.

The minute they dropped one or the other, they’d be freed from this standing purgatory, and they’d be as good as dead. They might wish it were so anyway, if the threat was carried out but they’d suffer as officers, with honor. Whatever that meant this far from home and any appreciation of it. A fresh batch of guards relieved the first and the banter continued, even through roll call of the general camp where a mass of the most miserable specters of female kind poured out of the huts and were made to await the call of their one single number.

A serial for a serial. Maureen would keep hers. By dawn she had kept it, as had all but one of her group, a navy nurse with a broken leg who’d succumbed to the allure of a chair.

Civilian status for a seat.

Maureen thought a drop of water might be her own undoing were it offered, but one look at Smith's cracked yet unmoving lips cemented her in her own determination. As did Ida Brady’s talk, straight back in front of her, trousers bloodied on the inseam but not a cringe to be discerned in her stance.

By morning roll call for the entire camp, their guards were tiring of them, or else thought a new method of persuasion more likely to bring success. Off they were marched to their new billet to “meet their Allies” and what Smith wouldn’t give to have her brass knuckles back when met with a hut full of Soviet soldiers. Females, if females could have shoulders like that. They were impressive women with murder on their faces at the intrusion of a new gang of American blowhards.

“Did you give up already?” The one with the most English taunted and for the first time since capture, Maureen saw Ida Brady’s spine bow backwards just a fraction -a pacifying gesture in the face of the Russian’s nose to nose staredown.

“Hey, we’re not here to make trouble.” she insisted, cool and stern. “Did you?”

“We’d rather die.”

Brady gave a sharp nod, “Then we’re Allies in that, too.”

“Your precious Red Cross won’t come for you here.” That likely verdict seemed to bring the woman satisfaction, and Maureen wondered how many months, weeks, hours of this grueling place it would take before she too took savage satisfaction in another’s misfortune. How long before all better impulse to be glad for others was stamped out and all that was left was crowing self preservation. “You are not the firsts. There were others, Americans, like you, they are now wearing the ink of field whores- or they are dead.”

“One might assume the same of your predecessors.” Brady pointed out mildy, and both groups shifted behind their leaders, ready and tense.

“Anyone who accepts-“ the Russian warned, “-we kill.”

With that incentive clear, a tentative peace was made, which included a few trying to fraternize, converse and share news. There was little that aligned to create any cohesive figure, despite their shared experiences and sufferings.

When night fell they were hauled out for roll call amongst the masses, and together after hours of waiting to be called upon, they answered with their ranks and serials, each in their own language. The Russian who had confronted Brady was beaten so badly she did not rise again after it. The guard left her lying there and asked Brady herself what her occupation was.

“Lt. Colonel in the United States Air Force.”

The unfortunate rookie who had so ill advisedly asked for water on the train stood beside Brady; and got a bullet to the head for her superior’s answer. What Colonel Brady thought of her judgment being given to another did not show, her face white and her lips sealed, only the speckle of blood on her profile stood in stark relief in the early morning.

“Kneel.” a very shiny Luger barrel was pressed, still smoking to Brady’s temple.

She did so, braced for the inevitable execution. A soldier's death, it’s what they’d signed up for. The Kommandant waved over one of the female guards and spoke to her in German. She took off at a run to one of the buildings with a bright smile, and Ida Brady stayed kneeling, the splattered brains of the unfortunate dripping out of her hair and into the leather of her jacket, a mockery of her own upcoming fate.

The female guard returned with scissors. “Your poor hair, so pretty. Now it is ruined.” the Kommandant bemoaned, gloved fingers sliding though Brady’s wet tresses, “See what happens to beauty when you pervert the order of things? Now it must be sacrificed. Perhaps then you will see how ugly you are become.”

Maureen felt Smith’s restraining arm before she had even registered her impulse to charge forward, caught about the middle she strained against her friend's surprising strength and in the end was forced thusly to keep ranks and watch with the rest as the Nazis fucks scalped the Colonel of her femininity with a pair of sheep shears.

Dribbling blood down her face and shaking with rage, Ida was in better shape than her Russian counterpart. When her ordeal was over, she rose again, even if she swayed dangerously upon doing so.

And when asked, she had her serial at the ready.

Crowded back into the hut, Maureen and Smith watched the Russians hopelessly fuss over their insensible leader, knowing all too well how likely it might be that they could be found doing the same tomorrow, in a week’s time, who knew. For now, Brady sank down against the wall with the rest of them, the scowl of her formidable brows deflecting any potential commiserations for her battery.

When the navy nurse was pushed into their hut next evening, a dead silence greeted her. One of the Soviets, a sniper by her markings, came up to her and unceremoniously tore open her shirt. If the girls had doubted the Russian’s warning about “wearing the ink of field whores” upon their skin as mere hyperbole, such speculation was removed. It was a dreadful tattoo, large and damning as was the reaction it elicited amongst the servicewomen.

By the end of the night there were two dead bodies on the hut floor. And it didn’t seem to matter who had killed which. One had died for honor, the other for giving it up. And in the end? Where was this ephemeral honor? Ida Brady could only find it in the tense faces of her girls, lining the room from their places along the wall, waiting for another roll call or worse.

But in war, as in peace, sometimes the dead sent favors and in this instance it came to them with screams of:“Amerikaner Soldat!” in the middle of the night. They were marched out to the square and stood to attention once more in the sweep of the spotlight, all the while were shouts of “Amerikaner Soldat!”

All they knew was the bitter waiting in the gray dawn chill and the choking anticipation of some sick, final joke, or some methodical mass execution. Maureen wished she could knock her shoulder into Ida’s one last time and tell her she’d been a rock -she was a rock- but Brady stood there in front alone, as was her privilege and her curse. Talullah Smith would not meet Maureen’s side eyed glance for a farewell. Maureen wished she had less of a roar inside her, wished she could step off calmly into whatever was on the other side but the idea was repulsive, even after all she’d endured, and she looked about in vain for some semblance of the same revolt on her fellow’s faces.

What came instead was the dreaded whistles and the order to march. They were marched right out of the gates and down the idyllic lane they’d been marched up days ago, back through town to the railway station. There the soldiers herded them back up into a cattle car that smelled more of death than livestock, and then the train pulled away, hurtling south -perhaps the only one to do so with living cargo.

There were no guards inside the car, only the cramped space to keep them docile and the lack of promise that the great door would ever grind open again.

“The hell do you think happened?” Maureen hissed to Ida, finding her superior propped up in the corner in a suspiciously casual pose that she suspected hid a limp and unfathomable fatigue.

“Haven’t got a clue, Kendeigh.”

“Maybe someone got word out.” Maureen suggested, thinking of their predecessors, thinking of the useful dead.

“Or we’re headed to a nice rural dumping ground.” was all Ida would speculate. “Or brothels.” she added after a long minute.

Maureen chewed her cheek and kept peering out the slats at the beautiful countryside flashing past. “Well, at least they’ve ensured you’ll be least wanted of the bunch at such an establishment.” she joked and watched with the careful precision of a trained bombardier as her mean joke landed and Ida Brady’s legendary eyebrow ticked up in something that might have been amused disbelief, had she any energy left for such a display.

“Pistol whipped in the mouth and still no respect for rank, Kendeigh.” Brady observed and it was so like her brother John’s flat lined humor that Mauren’s heart throbbed with something alarmingly akin to sentimentally. For John Brady -and all the other lucky souls still at Thorpe Abbots, God willing. “I’m not laying on any damn beds for them.” Brady suddenly broke the silence again in a low voice, one Maureen knew was meant between officers only.

She pitched her head closer in agreement. “Me either.”

“I don’t care if they shoot me first,” Ida went on, as if reciting it to herself, “-and I don’t care if they shoot all of you first. I’m not going to.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.” Maureen agreed again, vacillating briefly in her intent before proceeding to say, “That Sergeant -she wasn’t your fault. The nurse either.”

“I know that Lieutenant.”

“I know you know,” Maureen muttured, “but some stuff bears repeating. Places like these, we’re liable to lose our bearings without a little repetition.”

“Mm.”

Maureen shuffled beside her and wracked her brain for pleasant conversation, something besides the Soviet girls they’d abandoned and the skeletons they’d seen at Ravensbrück. “Ya know,” she remarked tiredly, “if someone in here’s hydrated enough to pee, I might be ready to drink it.”

Brady slowly turned from her view out the slats to give Maureen a blank faced stare. “Should I make an announcement or are you hoping to keep that between us?”

“Oh hell, Colonel,” Maureen grinned, mischief bubbling to the surface at the first chance, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else but you, liable to get stds from this lot.”

“Kendeigh.” Ida hissed warningly but there was that disbelieving wobble to her stern mouth, “That’s not funny -not with where we’ve come from.”

“It kinda is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is- a little. Admit it, a little.”

“It’s not.” And still her cheeks were pink with suppressed amusement, just like John’s got when Maureen pressed him on a dig about basic training.

“You sure you’re ok?” she ventured again, eyeing Brady’s extensive injuries visible above her clothes.

“Yeah?” Ida looked nonplussed, “I mean -what’re you ranking as ok, these days, Lt. Kendeigh?

“It’s just,” Maureen bit her own busted tongue briefly as a spur to get it out,

“-you’re bleeding a lot, Ida. Couldn’t help but notice.”

Ida Brady didn’t even glance down at her trousers or make a motion to feel her lacerated scalp, instead she answered in the same, almost bored way she always did, “Yeah, Candy, it’s called being a good Catholic.”

Maureen blinked. “Oh. Oh Shit.”

“You know, maybe some of you girls had the right of it,” Ida actually winced before staring back out the slats, “go off and do it ahead, in peacetime. But here I am, twenty seven and as sacrosanct as the Virgin Mary, dropping into occupied territory. What could go wrong!” To her credit, her snort was wonderfully genuine.

Maureen kept after her, “You signed up to fight, to get fought against. We all did -never this.”

“Mm, well, couldn’t choose a better gang to get put down with.” Brady smiled, begrudgingly raising an imaginary glass of her own to Maureen’s already raised one.

“To bitches who bite back.” Maureen toasted.

“To bitches who bite back.”

——————————————————-

Two cases of MIA troubled John Brady the most: Egan, who he had seen jump first after their dispute, and Maureen Kendeigh who he had learned from Blakely had jumped over Bremman. That’s two flyers who should’ve been here by now, before him even, in the case of Kendeigh, and yet they weren’t.

He went round and round the argument with Cleven and Crank and Hambone, all three downed from separate missions yet here together - proving his point. Cleven held staunchly to the belief they were being kept segregated, as befitted their ranks and sex. They could be one sector apart and not hear of them. It was the only hopeful response, it was a leader’s response. There had been women downed before Kendeigh, not many but a few of the escort fighters, and none of them had showed either. Brady wasn’t sure that was a good sign at all.

“So where’s Egan then?” he’d always hit back with, “They mistake his shoulders’ for a dame’s?”

“I dunno John.” Cleven would reply with that newly blank gaze of his somehow enhanced by the twin cuts on his cheeks.

Demarco took Brady aside when he arrived to tell him that whatever had happened to Cleven in interrogation wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t ethical. Those cheek scars weren’t both due to flack. Like a dog with a bone, Brady took this already suspected information about his stoic superior and ran with it, pointing out hotly to an uninterested Demarco, “if it’s happened to Cleven, what about them?”

“What can we do about it?” Was Cleven’s demand that always wrapped up the little circular arguments as they sat huddled in their hut. “Red Cross knows they’re not here, no colored flyers either. They know where they are. What can we do besides ask after them?”

He was right, there wasn’t anything, but still, like a presentiment hung over him, Brady found himself leaning on the wire each time a new batch was marched in, counting heads and scanning faces.

“Ida hasn’t even been shot down, John.” Crank kindly reminded again and again.

“As of two weeks ago.” John snapped.

As of two weeks, and then as of three, and then it became four and -where the hell was Kendeigh? Gale had stopped arguing when the subject came up, apparent but impotent fury slowly racking his wiry frame, face gone wane already above his grimey fleece collar. Winter wasn’t even here and they were fading.

And then it happened, what John had been waiting by the fence for, and boy was there a crush at the wire to see them marched in when they came up the muddy enclosure through the gates.

“The fuck are they bringing the women here for?”

“They don’t belong in here, bastards!”

“Ar’those Brady’s Banshees?”

“They’re not gonna hold ‘em here are they?”

Like he’d been reanimated by the presence of a cause, Major Cleven cut his way through the rabble to the front, addressing the German officer escorting them.

“Hey, hey you can’t bring them in here. They’re women, they belong in their own section.”

“If they are women,” the Commandant pointed out, not unkindly, “then perhaps your country should have recognized that before enlisting them? They belong here.”

Cleven shook his head, vehement in his conventions and rules, “It’s not right, you know it’s not.”

“Then tell your Lt. Colonel to stop fighting for combatant status.” he jerked his chin towards Ida Brady and Gale’s eyes widened at her injuries and tufted hair, “The SS had them tucked away at our most prestigious female camp. But they would not accept. They want to be men.”

“Combatants!” Gale argued the point Ida had been making since her feet touched occupied soul.

John Brady yanked his arm, whispering urgently in his ear, “She’s makin’ sign to me, torture, she says. Don’t fight it, Buck.”

Cleven searched the battered faces, some he knew like Ida, T.Smith and Maureen, and some from other squadrons, -ones who must’ve been damned unlucky to get captured considering their safer postings.

“If it can happen to you it c-“ John Brady was a bit of a pain in the ass, Cleven had found, but he had never found him to be wrong.

“Roger, loud and clear, captain.” Cleven warned him his point was made with a bite in his own tone.

“Have we come to an understanding?” The Commandant, amused by the fluster his female charges had caused, it was ample proof that women could never be fully integrated, not even by a society so pervertedly equal as the American’s. “Ja? Sehr gut. It wasn’t like you had a choice anyway, was it?

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writer’s life blood, let me hear your thoughts and screams, they mean so much to me.

We have so many prompts already thrown around for this AU, I can’t wait to explore them, and I welcome any more if you have them.

Taglist (if you’d like to be added please drop a note below):

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

@elvismylove04

@blikebarbie92

@luminouslywriting

[ghostlyfleur]

♡ modern!sugar daddy!mob!bucky barnes

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Happy Little Family" Prompt/Teaser Post:

Your heart ices over as you see him there - holding your baby. "No," you breathe.

"Look who it is!" he coos happily. He smiles at your terrified visage in the doorway and kisses June's head. "We missed you, Mommy."

"And then the knight took the princess away to his castle, and they lived happily ever after."

You're just outside the nursery when you hear his voice, and ice cold fear instantly floods your chest. You drop the laundry basket and run into the room, and there he is: seated in the chair you nurse from, reading one of the antique fairytale books that your mom gave at the shower, holding your baby.

"James," you breathe, horrified.

He's been smiling down at June, but now his face smooths out as he looks up at you. He isn't frowning or glaring, but you know him, and there's a storm behind those eyes that makes dread curl heavy in your stomach. "Hi Doll," he says quietly. "It's good to see you again."

Your heart pounds in your chest. You feel sick. One wrong move and who knows what he'll do. You take a cautious step forward, eyes searching James' body and anywhere nearby for a gun. You don't see one. You take another step. "James," you warn,

June makes a happy gurgle at seeing you, and James coos down at her, "Aw, yeah sweetie. I'm happy to see Mommy too."

Mommy. Hearing that word come out of his mouth, in a setting like this, is a nightmare you've woken from more than once. You lick your lips and hold out your arms, pleading, "James, please give her to me."

He acts like he hasn't even heard you, smiling and tapping June's body with one finger. "We were just reading a story. Little lady is gonna be a big reader one day, I bet. Gonna grow up to be real smart." His gaze slides back to you, with what you interpret as a world-of-hurt-coming-your-way look glimmering in his eyes. "A clever, tricky little kitty cat. Just like her Mommy."

📖"Daddy's Home"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Tags: dark!Bucky, mafia/mob au, evil baby daddy, evil-ex, dubcon/noncon, threats and coercion, forced pregnancy, forced domestic "bliss", yandere

Summary: You thought you'd left behind the man who turned out to be more dangerous than you'd ever imagined. But one day he walks back into your life and reminds you that, come hell or high water, you're all going to be one happy. little. family.

Story Masterlist

@cjand10, @violetwinterwidow01

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Series Masterlist

Tag List: @a-beaverhausen @ranisingsnew @ronswhoree @susannahmikaelson @skulliecadaver-blog @yeaiamme2 @nataliewalker93

Compelling Tony Stark to plan the party was surprisingly easy.

Klaus had found that Tony was an exuberant, spirited and animated person who was much too into over indulgence so when he announced a birthday party for his dog, no one was shocked. His dog was old and a loved member of their family so it worked out and the irony was not lost on Klaus, knowing that James forcing his daughter to go to a birthday party for a dog after what he had just done to her dog was a cruel and painful thing that her father wouldn’t think twice about but that she definitely would.

Waiting was the only painful part of his plan and so he distracted himself by focusing on getting Y/n away from New York. Just from listening to her talk and watching her for the last few days he knew she loved rainy/cloudy weather, preferred having privacy, and wanted to be around nature. He had found a perfect house in Washington state that he knew she would love (and knew her father would have trouble finding) that was in the woods away from other people, in a rainy place with plenty of privacy and a maid and chef already hired to work the house. Not to mention he will have an army of Hybrids to help protect his mate as soon as he finds a wolf pack to turn (which in Washington won’t be hard). He bought everything she could possibly want and everything he thought she would like, especially as his Princess had absolutely no experience in sexual situations and he would be able to teach her everything he wanted. An inexperienced Princess with Daddy issues? She would be so eager to please she would give him anything he wants.

The party came about a week after him getting shot and he stayed off to the side away from as many people as possible unless Tony was “introducing him” to one of James’ friends, thinking it would be beneficial to have them compelled to like him at the very least.

From the moment she walked in, Klaus couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. He wanted to rip that dress off of her, she was gorgeous and he found himself mesmerized, even as he felt the glare James Barnes had set on him as Klaus wasn’t exactly being subtle about him ogling his mate. James directed Y/n into one of the rooms with himself and his wife while he went to schmooze with the assholes and Klaus waited, watching his girl and watching James as both himself and his wife began drinking with Tony (as Klaus had compelled Tony to do to excess) before approaching Y/n.

She was sitting in the corner alone with the long forgotten “Birthday Boy” who was a white XL Pitbull named Ghost.

‘Mind if I join you?’ Klaus asked and her head jerked up in surprise.

‘Oh, sure, if you want. Though I’m sure you would be much more comfortable over there.’ She nodded her head over to a group of women by the bar. Parties for people like these men always have the option of women to take home, many of the men never getting married and staying “terminal bachelors” as if it makes them attractive. Klaus believes it just makes them stupid. You have everything except someone to love you and give you a family but you’re content with whores for the rest of your short life? At least Klaus had eternity to find Y/n, when you don’t have that kind of time and you waste it you are just stupid.

Y/n had noticed the girls that had been watching him for the better part of an hour with flirty faces, twirling their hair but he never gave them a second glance which Y/n noticed immediately. Growing up here, every man, even the married ones, stared at those sort of girls at every party but this attractive seemingly single guy isn’t…it struck her as odd but she brushed it off until now.

‘No, here is perfectly comfortable, thank you…I’m Klaus. It’s nice to meet you.’ He held out his hand and when Y/n moved to take it Klaus pulled her hand close and leaned down, pressing his lips to her knuckles, never taking his eyes off of hers.

‘It’s lovely to meet you Klaus. I’m Y/n Barnes, though I’m sure you knew that.’ He could instantly see that she had issue with her name when it came to meeting people.

‘I did know that, Tony told me earlier when you arrived, why are you so sure though?’

Her eyes widened and she stammered a moment. ‘B-because-Well because everyone does. People want to get on my fathers good side and they act like getting to know me first will achieve it. A little advice, just so you don’t fuck yourself on this one. My father hates men talking to me, so getting to know me first is a terrible plan, he’s going to hate you before he even meets you so you should probably just go introduce yourself to him.’

Klaus found the sad look in her eyes to be heart breaking. Her entire life she wasn’t allowed friends, boyfriends, interaction with anyone who didn’t work for her father and even at these parties, something she should enjoy if not just for the human interaction, all anyone and everyone wanted was to get to her father. Men flirted with her and made her feel desirable just to pull the rug from under her by wanting to get on her fathers good side.

‘Thank you, that was very kind advice. However I have no interest in your father, I was just hoping to sit with a lovely girl and have a drink…can I get you a drink?’ She looked stunned but shook it off before nodding her head.

‘Sure Klaus, that sounds nice.’ He moved to the bar and got her a glass of wine and him a bourbon before returning to the couch, sitting on the opposite side of the dog, wanting her to move closer at her own pace knowing it will make her feel more comfortable. ‘Thank you. Are you a new friend of Tony’s? I’ve never seen you here before, the faces here are always the same so it’s easy to spot a new one.’

‘Yes, we met a few weeks ago and he invited me to this, said he wanted me to meet some of his friends. I’m a painter you see, and Tony has bought some of my work, he knows some other men here who love art and might like my paintings.’ Y/n smiled at that, loving that he wasn’t another asshole just trying to use her.

‘Oh wow, I would love to see your work sometime. I admit I’m not much of a great judge but I enjoy seeing how people’s interpretations of art differs from others.’ Klaus couldn’t keep the smile from his face, loving her honest and intelligent answer before standing and holding out his hand for her to take and she did, following him out of the room and into the den to see the paintings that Tony had bought from Klaus as an explanation as to why he’s here. ‘My God, Klaus! These are amazing…I like seeing artwork that makes you feel something…they feel angry but in a sad way, like…like a grasping for control sort of way.’ He watched her face as she looked at his work and he loved that he could make something that could make her smile. ‘Oh God, I’ve offended you, I didn’t-‘

‘Not at all gorgeous, you’re quite right actually. Painting is a metaphor for control. Every choice is mine, the canvas, the color. As a child I had neither a sense of the world nor my place in it but art taught me that one’s vision can be achieved by sheer force of will…you have no control in your life either, do you?’ She looked back at him away from the painting and he instantly reached out to brush away the tears in her eyes, hesitating only a moment as she flinched before gently brushing her tears.

‘How long did it take? Finding your place in the world?’ She asked and he wished he could give her an answer.

‘I have no place in the world…however finding people that you love and being with them makes it all worth living with the little control that you can have-‘

‘Why can’t I have all of it? My father gets to have complete control of everything in his life, and I’m just…’ Klaus took Y/n’s hand and pulled her to sit on the desk, looking at her firmly.

‘Listen to me Princess, your fathers control is an illusion, it’s called money and it’s not real. It’s a social construct that we put way too much worth on and pretend it means we rule the world. Your father is a billionaire, right?’ She nodded. ‘And with that he has men with guns to enforce his rules and push his sense of control on everyone, but if that money was gone that control wouldn’t exist. It’s not real. I mean look at me, I have billions of dollars in money, artifacts, paintings, jewelry, but I don’t try and rule the world. I control my life and what’s important to me, that should be enough…you should be enough and if you’re not then…then he doesn’t deserve you Princess.’

Klaus was sure to leave out the part about him planning to have an army and control much like that of her father but it didn’t matter, because he would do that and still take care of and love her the way her father didn’t.

The next thing he knew Y/n had grabbed ahold of his jacket and pulled him down to press her lips against his. He couldn’t say he was surprised, or displeased, resting his hands on her waist and taking control of the needy kiss. For having no experience she was actually quite good at it and she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled her against his chest.

Just as Klaus was about to trail his hands down to her skirt they both jumped, hearing her name being shouted. ‘Hide!’ She whispered harshly.

‘Y/n-‘

‘No time for arguments, I’m not letting you get shot! Hide! Now!’ Y/n pushed him behind the desk and he sighed, crawling under it after pulling her in to kiss him one final time.

‘This isn’t over Princess, you’re mine now.’ He warned, enjoying the blush on her cheeks before she moved back around the desk to the wall where she looked back up at the painting before the door opened and Klaus could hear Steve’s voice.

‘Did you not hear me calling you?’ He questioned, exasperated.

‘No, I heard you, I just didn’t care.’ It took everything in Klaus in that moment not to laugh.

‘Y/n-‘

‘I would appreciate it if we kept all speaking to a minimum of what is absolutely necessary. Why did you come looking for me?’

‘Your parents are leaving, time to go home.’

‘Fine. Let’s go then, I want a shower and my bed.’ The door shut a moment later and Klaus moved quickly, crawling out and returning to the party before anyone suspected anything, watching the family leave.

He was happy to finally know what her lips tasted like on his own but it wasn’t enough. He would have her.

Tonight.

Klaus Mikaelson Masterlist

[iamleesi]

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐓 ☠︎

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝟑𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟. 18+.

𝐀/𝐍: 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤! 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 "𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄" 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!

-> [ 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ] [ 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟏 ] [ 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟯 ]

𝐺𝐻𝑂𝑆𝑇 𝐺𝐼𝑅𝐿: 𝐻𝑢𝑠𝘩, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝘩𝑢𝑠𝘩, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑑𝑎𝑚 𝑚𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔.

𓃠 ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ 𓃠

It had been a few days since she first crawled through the tunnel and found him. The other Bucky. He looked perfect, like he always had - messy hair, soft stubble, the kind of smile that made her stomach turn in the best way. And the world he existed in? Flawless. At least, the small parts of it she’d seen so far. Every corner felt like it had been plucked from her happiest dreams and set up just for her.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t completely drown out the nagging voice in the back of her head, the one that whispered that this couldn’t be real. Because she’d seen him dead. His lifeless body, pale and cold. She’d stood there, trembling, as his casket was lowered into the ground.

So how? How could he be here now, smiling at her like nothing had happened?

Every time she tried to bring it up, he’d hush her doubts with a touch of his hand or a soft word. “Don’t think about that.” He’d say. “It doesn’t matter how. What matters is that I’m here for you. I need you.”

She heard that last part a lot. Almost every time she crossed back into this world, every time she returned to his arms, he’d remind her that he needed her. It felt like a lifeline, something that tethered her to this impossible version of him.

Every night, after the comfort of his embrace lulled her to sleep, she’d wake up in the real world again. Alone. The emptiness of her bed in the morning was a shot through the heart, and the loss would hit her all over again. Because that world without him was unbearable. It was cold, and cruel, and hollow.

But here, in his world, she could hear his heartbeat. Feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Smell the faint scent of his cologne on the sweater she never thought she’d touch again.

So she was torn. Every time she crossed back into reality, she hated it more and more. She hated how it reminded her that he wasn’t there anymore, that he’d been ripped away from her. But there was another part of her, the part that clung to her memories of their life together, that whispered that this wasn’t right.

She tried not to listen to that part.

Because, honestly? She wanted to stay. With him. The buttons for eyes didn’t matter anymore. That was her Bucky - her stubborn but soft-hearted Bucky. And in this world, there was no Hydra, no missions, no lives at risk for other people’s fights. Their friends lived carefree in cozy little cottages scattered around the area - as Bucky said. No battles, no sacrifices, just simple dinners and lazy afternoons. Even his metal arm was gone.

Now she knelt in the dirt, her knees on a foam pad Bucky had brought her earlier, muttering something about how “his girl deserves comfort.” He’d even tied her red apron for her, the bow sitting perfectly in the small of her back. It was a silly little thing, but she’d smiled like an idiot as he adjusted the strings, his fingers lingering for just a moment too long.

Her thoughts spiraled as she dug her hands into the soil, planting some cute flowers in a neat little row outside the house. As much as she wanted to believe this was real, a flicker of doubt still simmered under her ribs, she couldn’t help it.

“Hey, doll.” A familiar voice called out, breaking her trance. She startled slightly but smiled instinctively as she looked up to see him.

Bucky stood a few feet away, holding two glasses of lemonade in one hand and brushing dirt off the apron he wore with the other. It was a cheerful shade of green, smudged with grass, and tied a little too tightly around his waist. It looked exactly like the ones they’d worn together in the real world, back when they’d baked cookies during Christmas. Back when she still had him. “You’re overthinking things again, aren’t you?” He teased, a knowing grin tugging at his lips.

She chuckled softly, brushing her hands on her matching apron. “Maybe.” She admitted as he extended a hand to help her up. His grip was firm, grounding, and when she stood, he pressed one of the cold glasses into her free hand.

“Do you know how much I love seeing you out here, planting all these flowers?” He said, gesturing to the budding garden around them. “It’s like you’re giving some life into this place. And to me.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned her attention back to the flowers. “I’m trying.”

“You are, and I love the view. Double win for me and the place.”

She laughed, shaking her head as she sprayed a little too much water on the marigolds. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned, finally looking over at her, and the warmth in his expression made her chest ache in the best way. “Impossible or not, I’m all yours.”

Her smile faltered for just a moment, and she swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump forming in her throat. He had no idea how much those words meant to her - how much she’d longed to hear them again. She blinked quickly, pushing the emotion down before it could spill over.

“Everything okay?” He asked, tilting his head as he set the shears down.

She took a sip of the lemonade, its tartness cooling her throat, and smiled faintly. “I just… I do it a lot lately - thinking, I mean. This all feels so surreal. That I’ve been given a second chance. Why me? Why not someone else?”

“Why not you?” He countered gently, his tone warm and reassuring.

“But it’s just… why does it have to be like this?” She hesitated, her voice dropping to a murmur. “It’s beautiful, but it feels like I cheated. Like I’m running away from something I’m supposed to face.”

He reached out, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “You didn’t cheat anything. You found me. This world - it only works if the person searching for it needs it more than anything. It shaped itself for you, based on what you’ve been missing, what your heart’s been crying out for.”

“What’s the price?” She asked, her voice low but steady, though the words felt like shards in her throat.

At that, he licked his lower lip, his gaze flickering with something unreadable - hesitation, maybe. As if he was weighing whether or not to tell her, whether or not she was ready to hear it. Or he was ready to say it.

“Bucky?” She pressed, her heartbeat quickening.

“It’s…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous. “It’s nothing compared to how we’d live. Come inside with me, doll. I’ll show you.”

Her stomach twisted at the vague response, and even as she nodded and followed him, a cold, nagging voice in the back of her mind reminded her that nothing good came without a price. She knew it.

She trailed behind him into the house, her hands trembling slightly as they entered the cozy living room. He motioned for her to sit, and she did so reluctantly, sinking into the couch. Her nerves refused to settle.

Bucky crouched in front of her, sitting on the coffee table with his elbows resting on his knees, his hands firm on her thighs. The warmth of his touch anchored her, and yet she couldn’t shake the unease coiling in her chest.

“I want you to consider it, at least.” He began, his tone measured, his gaze fixed on hers. “I know it sounds… bad, maybe even awful. And it could scare you off. But the choice is yours.” His thumbs moved in slow circles on her thighs, as if soothing her for what he was about to say.

Her brows furrowed, and she leaned forward slightly. “What choice?”

He sighed, pulling a small box from his apron pocket. It was plain, unassuming, but the weight of it felt suffocating even before he opened it.

“You can go back to the real world, where I’m gone. Where I’ll never come back. Where you’ll grieve, and move on, and live without me.” His voice softened as he spoke, his eyes - well, his buttons - searching hers for any sign of what she was thinking. “Or…”

He flipped open the box with a quiet snap. Inside, on a bed of soft fabric, were two small, black buttons and a delicate needle threaded with dark, glimmering string.

Her stomach dropped. “No.”

“Think about it.” His response came immediately, his voice steady and calm as if he’d anticipated her reaction. He pushed the box aside and leaned forward, taking her hands in his. She flinched slightly, trying to pull away, but his grip tightened - not enough to hurt, but enough to keep her there.

“Bucky.” She whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes flicked from his hands to the buttons and back, her mind racing. “You can’t be serious. That’s insane. I’m insane for even being here, for…”

“For wanting this?” He interrupted gently. “For wanting me?” His hands softened around hers, his touch turning tender again. “I know it’s a lot. And I know it’s not what you expected. But this is the only way, doll. The only way we can be together - really, truly together again. Like we planned. It doesn’t even hurt, it will just sting a little bit.”

“This is fucked up.” She said. “The Bucky I know, the real you, would never ask me to do this.”

“I told you I’m not him. Just another version who loves you just the same.” His lips twitched into a bittersweet smile. “The real me is gone, sweetheart. This me, the one sitting here with you, the one who’s waited for you, who needs you… I’m the Bucky you’ve been praying for, the one you begged to have back. The only one you can have. Don’t you see? You don’t have to lose me again.”

She wanted to scream, to run, to crawl back through that door and never look back. But she also wanted him - to have him, hold him, hear his voice every day for the rest of her life. Just at the thought of living her life without him was enough to consider what he was saying.

Her gaze dropped to the buttons. “I don’t know if I can.” She whispered.

“You don’t have to decide now.” He said, brushing his thumb across her knuckles. “But you will have to make the decision soon enough. This world may be perfect, but it has rules.”

After that, the day went on as usual, as if the conversation about buttons and impossible choices had never even happened. Bucky didn’t bring it up again, and she didn’t dare to.

Everything about the way he held her hand, kissed her temple, and leaned close to her when he told stories about their relationship, that of course she already knew, was so perfectly him. It felt so easy, so natural, but she couldn’t entirely silence the gnawing feeling in the back of her mind, the one that whispered about the things she was trying so hard not to think about.

The buttons. No matter how she looked at it, that was her main concern at the moment.

Would it really be so bad, she wondered, to do what he was asking? Was it really so much to give? If sewing buttons into her eyes meant she could stay in this world - with him - wasn’t it worth it? He had told her she didn’t have to decide right away, and yet she could feel the weight of the decision silently pressing her.

By the time evening rolled around, her head felt heavy with the back-and-forth debate she had been waging with herself all day. She was standing on the porch, slipping off Bucky’s boots with a scowl when the thoughts came rushing back again. The man, other Bucky or not, had a bad habit of walking through the house with muddy shoes, something that had annoyed her to no end in the real world, too.

“Perfect world, my ass.” She said quietly, kneeling to brush dirt off the porch. “After all this time, I thought you understood the phrase ‘no dirt in the house’, Barnes!” She said loud enough for him to hear.

“Sorry, baby!” His voice called from the kitchen.

“Idiot.”

She set his shoes neatly next to hers, brushing the caked remaining dirt off her hands when something in her peripheral vision caught her attention. A shadow, slight and quick, darting across the edge of the garden.

She turned her head, squinting into the fading light. It was a cat. A black cat, sitting just beyond the garden’s edge. The fur was very obviously unkempt, one ear ragged and torn like it had been in a fight. It sat there, still, its tail curling and uncurling behind it as its blue eyes were fixed on her.

It was the same black cat from the real world, she realized, the one that always seemed to prowl around her property at all hours of the day. She used to catch small glimpses of it lounging on her fence or slinking through the garden. Back then, she’d joked to herself that it probably had a thing for Alpine. And of course, it would be here. If this world was a near-perfect replica of the one she left behind, why wouldn’t it include the same stray animals?

But now that she thought about it, that was strange too. Where were the animals? She hadn’t seen so much as a bird or squirrel flitting through the trees. And Alpine - her beloved Alpine - was nowhere to be found. That absence hit her like a brick. She hadn’t even questioned Alpine’s absence. She cursed herself for it now. Bucky had consumed her thoughts so completely that she hadn’t had room for anything - or anyone - else.

“Hello there.” She said softly, stepping toward the cat. “You hungry?”

“No.”

She froze, her hand pausing mid-reach.

The voice was low and clear, but it wasn’t Bucky’s.

Straightening her back, she quickly glanced around, expecting to see someone else standing nearby. But the porch was empty, save for her and the cat. “Hello?”

“Down here.” The voice said again.

Her eyes darted back to the cat. It sat perfectly still, tail curling and uncurling lazily as it stared at her.

Her pulse quickened. “Did you… Did you just talk?”

“Yes.” The cat said, sounding almost bored. Its voice was smoother than she expected, tinged with a dry, unimpressed humor. “And no, I’m not hungry. But she is.”

Her chest tightened as she whipped around, scanning the empty garden for signs of another person - or something. “She who?”

The cat didn’t move, its eyes never leaving her. “You know who. You’re a smart human, don’t fall for this trap.” It said, the slow flick of its tail suddenly feeling less lazy and more menacing. “So leave, before she loses her patience and takes what she wants. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. This had to be some kind of sick joke. Or maybe she was losing her mind. Slowly, she turned back to the cat. “What are you talking about?” She sounded demanding, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound firm.

The cat only tilted its head, the corner of its torn ear twitching. “Tell Alpine I see the way she looks at me.”

Her jaw practically hit the floor as she watched the cat vanish into the shadows of the night, leaving her standing there dumbfounded. She stared at the empty space where it had been, her mind spinning. How the hell had her life taken this turn? A talking cat? Cryptic warnings? What was next? The Slender Man?

With a heavy huff, she turned on her heel and marched back inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. She padded into the kitchen in her pink, fluffy slippers, trying to shake off the surreal encounter. “The weirdest thing just happened, Buck.” She blurted as soon as she stepped into the room.

But then her eyes met his - well, his buttons. She froze mid-step, swallowing hard and clearing her throat. “Never mind.”

Bucky, standing by the counter with a dish towel slung over his shoulder, raised an eyebrow. “You okay?” He asked, his voice tinged with a soft laugh.

“Yeah, I think so.” She replied, walking over to him. The moment she reached him, she let her forehead rest against his shoulder with a deep sigh. Was it contentment? Was it exhaustion? She wasn’t sure anymore.

Bucky didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest. The familiar warmth of his embrace, the way his hands rested protectively on her shoulders, sent a wave of much needed comfort through her.

“Why isn’t Alpine here?” She asked softly, her voice muffled against his chest. “She’s still alive in the other world. I can bring her here tomorrow morning.”

The change in his body language was immediate. His arms stiffened ever so slightly, and she felt the pause in his breath before he answered. “No.”

She frowned, pulling back just enough to look up at him, confusion etched across her face. His tone had been quiet but firm, and it threw her completely off guard. “What do you mean, ‘no?’” She asked, her eyebrows drawing together. “It’s Alpine. Our Alpine. What’s wrong with bringing her here?”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a thin smile - one that didn’t quite reach the stitched buttons where his eyes should’ve been. “I don’t like cats.” He said simply. Sternly. As if the thought of cats disgusted him.

Her frown deepened, the words making no sense to her. “What?” She said, blinking at him. “Since when? You love cats. You’re the one who brought Alpine home in the first place!“

His hand came up to cup her cheek, the gentle gesture disarming her even as his words made her stomach twist. “Not this time, doll.” He said softly. “We don’t need anything else. It’s just us here. Cats have a tendency to ruin everything.”

The words rang in her head for a moment, refusing to fade even as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, soft and deliberate. It was the kind of kiss meant to disarm her, like he always did when he made her mad, to silence whatever questions were beginning to form on the edge of her tongue. She wanted to ask, to argue, but before she could even gather her thoughts, he was already gone. He was walking out of the kitchen muttering something about taking a quick shower.

She stayed rooted in place, staring at the empty doorway, her fingers curling instinctively around the edge of the counter. Something about the conversation, about him, felt off; she couldn’t deny that. But again, technically that wasn’t the old Bucky so maybe this version just hated cats?

She had no idea of how many red flags she was ignoring just for the sake of finding that happiness again. With him.

She shook her head sharply, trying to clear the haze. Overthinking again. She did that a lot here. It wasn’t as if the real world made any more sense (Wanda had a habit of doing weird things with her magic, lately), so why couldn’t she just… let go? Why couldn’t she accept that maybe, just maybe, this was her second chance?

Her eyes drifted to the pile of clothes near the doorway: that was gonna be her distraction from the mess in her head. Gardening with him earlier had been calming, grounding, but their clothes had the evidence of their afternoon - smudges of dirt, streaks of green from the grass. His apron was folded on top of the pile, wrinkled and stained.

With a deep breath, she made her way toward the basement door after gathering the clothes into her arms. It creaked as she pushed it open, revealing a small staircase that disappeared into the dark space below. She hesitated for a moment, her grip tightening on the clothes. Something about the basement always managed to make her uneasy, though she couldn’t explain why. Maybe she watched too many horror movies? Probably.

Even she had to admit the basement felt… off? Not creepy at all, though: no bad smells, no weird drips of water hitting the ground with a rhythm. It was just different. Cleaner, brighter, almost ominous how perfect it seemed. Oh, and that picture hanging on the wall of the staircase ? Yeah, it wasn’t the same either.

Back in the real world, that kid was crying, ice cream dripping down his hand like the worst day of his life. Here, though? The boy was smiling wide and the cone perfectly intact. It wasn’t like the rules of this place made any sense anyway. A “perfect reality,” right? So, of course, even random wall art was upgraded to match the vibe. Cool.

She forced herself to focus, dumping the gardening clothes into the washing machine and starting it up without wasting a second.

Good. Done. Get out of here before the imaginary basement monster shows up, she thought. It was a dumb fear - childish, even - but oh well. Basements always gave her the creeps. She turned toward the stairs, ready to bolt, when something caught her eye.

A splash of yellow sticking out of an old wooden chest shoved into the corner.

She froze - bad vibes coming from it. For a second, she considered ignoring it, pretending she didn’t see it at all. But curiosity always got the better of her, again. She moved closer, almost expecting a jump scare of some sort, her hand hesitating before finally grabbing the fabric and pulling it free.

It was just a raincoat.

Tiny, bright yellow, and smeared with dried mud. Her stomach twisted as she held it up, the sleeves limp in her hands. This wasn’t Bucky’s. It couldn’t be. He was built like a tank, and this thing looked like it belonged to a kid - a little kid.

Her mind raced. She hadn’t seen any children since she arrived. Not one. Just her and Bucky. And that cat, if that counted.

But there it was. The muddy raincoat of some kid who didn’t seem to exist in this perfect world. Or maybe it didn’t exist anymore? Or maybe it did at some point.

She swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the fabric. “Shit.” She muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible over the hum of the washing machine.

“Doll? Where are you?” His voice floated down from the upper floor, pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts.

Her heart skipped, panic bubbling up as she quickly shoved the raincoat back into the chest, slamming the lid down with more force than she meant to. She bolted up the stairs, her breath slightly unsteady, and nearly bumped into him as he appeared in the hallway.

“What were you doing down there?” He asked, his brow furrowed, eyes - well, still those fucking buttons - narrowing ever so slightly.

“The laundry?” She blurted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. It was true, but it came out sounding like a question.

“Ah.” His expression softened, the tension vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He smiled, bright and sweet, like he always did when she was close. “Thank you, doll. You didn’t have to, though. You know that, right? You don’t have to lift a finger around here if you don’t want to. I could’ve done it.”

“I know.” She gave a small shrug, her arms folding protectively across her chest. “I just thought… I don’t know. I don’t mind doing the laundry here.”

Her voice faltered slightly at the end, and an unwelcome thought crept into her head. You couldn’t even look at the laundry back home. Too many of his shirts still smelled like him. Too many memories. But she shook it off, forcing herself to focus on him, on the present - or whatever that world was.

Bucky tilted his head, studying her for a moment like he was waiting for her to say more, but she didn’t. Instead, she reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked, a soft chuckle escaping him, though his gaze lingered. “Every time I leave you alone, I find you all panicked. And yes, I notice.”

“No, yeah, I know. I’m fine.” She nodded quickly. “I promise. Just… zoned out for a second, I guess.”

“Alright.” He leaned in and kissed her temple, his lips warm against her skin. “You’ve been through a lot. I just don’t want you worrying about anything while you’re here. This place is for you to be happy. To rest.”

She offered him a weak smile, and he seemed satisfied enough to let it drop.

But the coat was still on her mind.

. . .

After a few hours after that, they were sprawled on the couch together, her legs stretched over his lap, her body nestled into his side. It was late - later than she normally stayed in this world. Usually, she made sure to fall asleep next to him just in time to wake up in the real one at a normal hour and feed Alpine, but tonight… tonight she let herself linger. The air felt different.

He made it too easy. The way his hand traced absentminded patterns on her arm, the low hum of his laugh when something on-screen amused him, the warmth radiating from him - it was like he’d been plucked straight from her dreams. And maybe he had been. Like it once had.

“You sure you don’t want to head to bed, doll?” He asked, his voice quiet but gentle, breaking through her haze.

“Not yet.” She murmured, her head resting against his shoulder. “I don’t want to move at the moment.”

“Alright.” He said with a smile, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re lucky I don’t mind having you here forever.”

She curled closer to him, as if the simple act could keep her from thinking too much. But, of course, it didn’t. Her gaze flicked to his hand resting on her knee, his fingers so gentle, so familiar. And then her thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to the basement. Back to the raincoat. Maybe she was being a bit exaggerated. Paranoid, even. But she was never good at keeping her mouth shut.

She bit her lip, her heart picking up speed. She didn’t want to ruin the moment, but the question was clawing at her insides. Finally, she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Bucky?” She said softly, hesitantly.

“Hmm?” His eyes stayed on the screen, his hand stilling on her arm.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”

At that, he turned to look at her, his brow furrowing slightly, though his smile stayed intact. “What’s on your mind?”

“In the basement…” Her voice wavered, and she cleared her throat to steady it. “I found a coat. A little yellow raincoat. Who does it belong to?”

The change in him was instant. His grip on her arm tightened - not enough to hurt at first, but enough to make her notice. His body stiffened against her, and though his smile didn’t immediately fade, something behind it did.

He didn’t answer. Not right away. Instead, his left hand began tapping his fingers against her leg, rhythmic and deliberate, his gaze drifting away from her and back to the television.

“Buck?” She prompted again, her voice quieter now.

Still, he said nothing. The tapping continued, a slow, unspoken signal that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Do you love me?”

She blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Do you love me?” He repeated, finally turning his head to meet her gaze. The smile was gone now, replaced by something completely different, something that made her stomach churn. “Because I’ve been wondering, doll. You keep questioning me. Questioning this.” His right hand gave her arm another squeeze, harder this time. “So tell me. Do you love me?”

“Of course I do.” She said quickly, her voice trembling. “You know I do.”

“Then why can’t you just trust me?” His tone was soft but charged, each word laced with a quiet intensity. “Why do you keep asking questions? Doubting me? Doubting us?”

“I’m not doubting you, Bucky.” Maybe she was. A little.

His grip on her arm loosened slightly, but it wasn’t the kind of relief she was hoping for. Instead, Bucky leaned back against the couch, his head tilting to one side as his hand fell to his own leg. His fingers began tapping against it.

“Mmh, mh, mh.” He murmured, shaking his head, like he was holding back laughter - or something else entirely.

She instinctively shifted a little further away from him, her back pressing into the armrest of the couch. The distance was small, but it didn’t go unnoticed. His sharp black button gaze flicked toward her, and the tapping stopped.

“Years.” He said suddenly, his voice flat but somehow seething underneath. “I’ve been waiting for years, doll. Patiently. Quietly. And you can’t even sew your eyes for the man you claim to love? It’s a tiny little thing.”

Her breath hitched, her heart skipping at the accusation, the venom in his words. “A tiny little thing? Do you have an idea of what you’re saying?”

“What kind of love is that?” He continued, ignoring her, his voice rising slightly, cutting through her attempt to interject. “You sit here, you say the words, but you don’t mean them, do you? I wonder if it was the same back in your world, too. You told him you loved him, but you never showed it.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“Fair?” He barked a humorless laugh, leaning forward now, his elbows on his knees. “Do you think this was fair for me? Sitting here for years, waiting for you, for this? Giving you everything you ever wanted, and you can’t even give me this one thing?”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her jaw tightening as she fought the wave of emotions rising in her chest. “I asked you one question.” She said firmly, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. “A stupid little question, and now you’re standing here, making me out to be the problem? Because I want to know what’s going on?”

He tilted his head at her, his fingers still tapping against his leg, the sound grating on her nerves. “It’s not about the question, doll.” He said, his tone low, almost mocking. “It’s about the pattern. Always asking. Always doubting. You’re not happy unless you’re tearing everything apart to see what’s underneath. And that bothers me to no end. I hate curious little things, you remind me of a cat.”

“I told you I’m not doubting anything.” She said, stepping further back from him, her voice sharper now. “I just wanted to understand. And you’re acting like I’ve done something wrong for that. Do you even hear yourself right now? All worked up for a simple question - I just wanted an answer.”

“Well, what’s the saying?” His grin got wider. “Curiosity killed the cat. You should learn how to mind your business.”

She crossed her arms, her posture stiff but rooted, unwilling to back down. “So that’s it? You’re just going to dodge my question with some half-assed riddle? Maybe I wasn’t in the wrong for asking.”

His grin faltered then, just slightly, and his head tipped forward. He stared at her, the light catching the shiny, smooth black of his buttons. “You want to know about the coat so badly?” He said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Fine. Let’s talk about it.”

She stayed silent, her heart pounding in her chest, but her face remained steady - which surprised her.

“It was hers.” He said, his voice suddenly calm, measured. “Coraline’s. Sweet little thing. Full of hope, just like you.”

Her brow furrowed, confusion breaking through the tension. “Who’s Coraline?”

He leaned back now, letting out a long sigh. “She was the last one to walk through that door.” He said. “Her parents gave up looking for her after barely two months, then moved. I’m thankful they did, because just a couple of years later and you arrived.”

“The missing kid.” Her stomach twisted, but her expression remained firm. “You took her.”

“Of course I did. I usually only take children, they’re… better. Easier to control, easier to fool.” He let out a sharp laugh, the sound echoing in the room. “Did you really think this world existed exclusively for you? It has different shapes, and you surely were not the first to stumble across it. Hopefully not the last.”

She shook her head slowly, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “You’re not Bucky. Any version of him.” She said, her voice low and cold. Deep down, she had always felt it. It was too good to be true. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

“Took you long enough to understand.”

She swallowed hard, her voice steady even as her heart pounded in her chest. “Then what sort of thing are you?”

He didn’t answer immediately, just watched her with a strange calmness, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his thigh - and that was starting to piss her off. “I’m what you’ve always needed.” He said softly, his voice almost tender.

Her stomach churned, but she didn’t back away, didn’t falter. “That’s just bullshit, not an answer. I needed Bucky.”

“And I gave it to you, didn’t I?” He countered, his tone sharp now. “You walked through that door willingly, all of them did. The kids, I mean.” He paused before continuing. “Did you think it opened for just anyone? It opened because you were starving for what I could give you. And I gave it freely, to you and the kids. I gave you him, and I can still give it to you for as long as you want. But you’re too stubborn for your own good, aren’t you?”

“I can be when you just said that a kid disappeared because of you. More than one.” Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to hold his gaze - or at least the empty, black gleam of the buttons where his eyes should have been. “What do you take in return? You create this illusion and for what?”

“Many reasons.” He tilted his head, studying her like she was an insect pinned to a board. “And I want nothing you weren’t already willing to give.” He said, his voice light, almost flippant. “You wanted to die, I wanted your soul.”

“Let’s not exaggerate.” She said sharply, though her voice wavered just enough to betray the panic simmering beneath her anger.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine!” She bit out, her tone sharp, defensive. “But it doesn’t mean I wanted to be trapped by some… thing wearing my Bucky’s face, for fuck’s sake!”

“And yet.” He said evenly, his voice infuriatingly calm. “You’re still sitting here.”

She pushed herself up from the couch in one swift motion, her movements stiff with anger and fear. “I’m leaving.”

He let out a soft snort, leaning back against the couch like he had all the time in the world. “You can’t.” He said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He gestured lazily around the room. “Once you walked through that little door, you became mine. Think of this…” He added, his hand sweeping in a slow arc. “as a spiderweb. You’re my insect, and I’m your predator.”

Her stomach churned at the analogy, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of showing her unease. “So sit, run, scream, do whatever you think will make you feel better.” He continued, his tone so calm it was maddening. “But it won’t matter. You can’t get out of here, doll. Not unless I let you. And I won’t.”

Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms to keep herself grounded. “You’re sick.”

“No.” He said, his lips curling into a smile that no longer belonged to anything human. It was too wide, too sharp, and too full of malice. “No, I’m starving.” He tilted his head, his gaze crawling over her like she was a feast laid out just for him - and not in the sense she usually liked. “And I’m going to sew those buttons onto your pretty little eyes, tie your soul to me, and I’m going to do it wearing this face. Poetic, don’t you think?” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I usually take my true form when I feast - it’s what scares the little ones most. But you? I like you better like this. It’s going to be so good.”

Her throat tightened, and she struggled to keep her voice steady. “Then why didn’t you just do it already? If this is your plan, why wait? Why let me stay here for days?”

“Because…” He said with an exaggerated sigh, like he was explaining something painfully simple. “when you’ve spent years waiting for your next meal, you get… lonely. Bored, even. It’s called savoring. You were just so delightful to watch - so ready to believe, so desperate to be loved. I wanted to stretch it out.” His grin widened, revealing teeth that didn’t look human anymore. “But now? Now, I’m tired of waiting.”

The weight of his words hit her like a physical blow, and her legs moved before her mind caught up. She stumbled backward, nearly tripping over her own feet, before turning and rushing out of the room.

Out of the house.

She didn’t stop moving, running as fast as her legs could carry her. Her breath came out in panicked gasps, her mind a storm of denial and realization. There was no way. It was too good to be true. It had always been too good to be true, and deep down, she’d known it. But he - or whatever that thing was - had been patient, deliberate, a master manipulator. Or maybe she was just too weak, too blinded by grief, to see the truth. Both could coexist.

The woods seemed to swallow her whole as she ran in there feeling like Snow White running from the Evil Queen. She pushed forward, deeper into the darkness, her lungs burning with every step. She wasn’t even sure if he was following her.

Eventually, her legs gave out, and she collapsed against a tree, trying to catch her breath. Her chest heaved, and her ears strained for any sound of pursuit.

And then she heard it.

A soft rustle, barely audible, coming from the bushes nearby.

Her heart leapt into her throat. She was ready to move and run again, thinking it was the Other Bucky, but it wasn’t. Not this time, at least.

“Relax, lady. You’re all in one piece, I’m glad to see it.” A familiar voice said, smooth and calm.

Her eyes darted to the source, and there it was: the fucking cryptic cat, sitting primly a few feet away as if this were all a casual stroll.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She panted, clutching her chest.

“What?” The cat tilted its head, unimpressed. “I’m a friend, in case you didn’t notice.”

“What the fuck is going on?” She demanded, her voice shaky but full of anger.

The cat blinked lazily. “If you don’t get out of here soon, she’s going to eat you. That’s what’s going on.”

“She?” The word slipped out before she could stop it. “The Other Bucky is a she?”

“That’s not even your dead human in the first place.” The cat answered. “She’s not what she seems, obviously. She’s a Beldam - a witch who eats souls, usually the sad and lonely kind. That’s her thing. She gets people - or kids, mostly - to come through the little door and then…” It mimed biting into something with a disturbingly human-like smirk.

Her stomach churned. “Why?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “How did she even know about Bucky? About everything? She knew things no one else did.”

“She’s a supernatural being, lady. She’s got eyes everywhere.” The cat said, gesturing to the woods around them with a flick of its tail. “And ears. She always manages to get everything right. She spies you, that’s part of the package when you move in the Pink Palace.”

She tensed, glancing around, half-expecting to see him - or it - emerging from the shadows.

The cat sighed, exasperated. “Not now. I’d feel it if she were here. She hates cats. Can’t stand us. And believe me, the feeling’s mutual.”

Her brow furrowed. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, no. Never said that. You’re kind of screwed.” The cat’s tone turned more serious, its blue eyes boring into hers. “But hey, you’re lucky you lasted this long. You were an easy target - grieving, lost, and desperate.” It stretched, its claws digging the ground. “She must have seen you as a feast that could last centuries.”

“She - he - whatever that is, said something about taking my soul. And my eyes. I don’t know which one is worse.” Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to ask. “But why centuries? What does sewing buttons on my eyes even do?”

The cat tilted its head. “Ties your soul to hers, you just said that. Permanently. It’ll kill you, but she gets to keep you - well, your energy, your grief. It’s what sustains her. She’s probably been starving for years, so she needs you more than ever. She’s desperate to have something. Someone.”

“He mentioned a thing or two about a certain Coraline. I saw her yellow raincoat in his basement.” She said, her voice quiet but laced with unease. “Is that really what happened to her?”

“Ah, yes, Coraline. The Beldam made her believe she escaped, but…” The cat’s ears flicked, and his voice sounded like a mix of something between disdain and melancholy. “I tried to help her as best I could. I liked that kid.” He sighed. “But I’m just a cat, and she’s the closest thing to a demon I’ve ever seen.“

“Just a cat?” She asked, incredulous. “You talk. Why do you talk?”

The cat’s blue eyes narrowed, and he started grooming himself, licking a paw with a deliberate disinterest.

“Okay, no answer. Fine. Then how come you’re in this place if he hates cats?”

He paused mid-lick, one sharp claw resting just near his mouth, then returned to his task. “A magician doesn’t reveal their tricks.” He said smoothly.

“Right.” She muttered, rolling her eyes. “So helpful. Then how do I leave? I can’t believe I’m having a conversation with an animal.” She whispered the last part. “What’s next? I’ll meet the Mad Hatter?”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.” The cat stopped grooming and looked up at her. “And to answer your question, the only way out is the way you came in. You have to crawl back through the little door-” He froze mid-sentence, his fur suddenly standing on end, every muscle in his body going rigid. His pupils narrowing to slits. “Someone’s watching us.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach. “Is it the Other Bucky?” She whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m too young to die.”

“No, it’s… definitely not the Beldam.” The cat seemed to get chill again.

“Oh, for God’s sake, you stupid c-” A woman’s voice, thankfully a familiar one, rang out, sharp and frustrated, cutting through the oppressive silence of the woods like a beacon. “Finally. I found you. Can you hear me?”

Her breath hitched, and she spun around, her eyes scanning the empty woods. “Wanda?!” She called out, her voice a mix of disbelief and desperation, as if Jesus himself had just descended.

“Who else?!” Wanda snapped, her voice laced with exasperation. “If I could, I’d slap you repeatedly for being this reckless, but unfortunately, I have to save your ass first!”

She stared at the void around her, still unable to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. “You’re yelling at me from… where? Are you in my head? What is this?”

“Does it matter?” Wanda said impatiently. “Listen. You need to get back into the house. Now.”

“Get back into the house?” She repeated incredulously, her arms crossing as though Wanda could somehow see her defiance. “Oh yeah, sure. Let me just waltz back into the murder mansion with open arms. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Yes.” Wanda said flatly, with zero hesitation. “And since I think that, you better listen to me before you really get yourself killed. That thing - whatever it is wearing Bucky’s face - knows I’m trying to pull you out. It’s going to try to stop you. Probably in the most violent, unhinged, eye-sewing way possible. Or she’s gonna manipulate you, do not give in!”

“That’s not remotely comforting!” She said, running a hand through her hair in frustration.

“Let me finish!” Wanda said, her tone sharp. “You’re going to have to hold out long enough for me to open the door. The real door. She’s locked it tight, and I have been trying to break through for days. I’m close now, but I can’t hold her back for long so I need you to crawl in there as soon as it opens. Got it?“

The cat, who had been slinking around her feet with an air of casual disinterest, suddenly let out a small snort. Or the closest thing there was to a snort since that was still a cat. “Great plan. Perfect plan. Send the human back into the monster’s den. Nothing could go wrong.”

“Who’s that?” Wanda’s voice snapped.

“The talking cat.”

“The what? You’ve been ignoring me for months and now you found a new friend?”

“Focus!” She shouted, her voice bordering on hysteria as her pulse hammered in her ears. “Okay, okay. I go back to the house. Then what? Do I just knock on the door and say, ‘Hey, I’m ready for you to eat my soul now?’”

“You’re going to stall.” Wanda said firmly, ignoring her sarcasm. “Keep it distracted. I’ll do the hard part.”

“Distract the literal demon? Sure, I’ll just tell him a joke or two.” She said, throwing up her hands.

The cat leaped onto a nearby rock and flicked its tail, looking entirely unbothered. “Might as well. She’s got no sense of humor; could confuse her long enough for Wanda to pull her little magic trick.”

“Stop talking.” She snapped at the cat.

“Are you beefing with an anim- you know what? Not the time.” Wanda’s voice broke through again, her tone softening slightly. “I know this is insane, okay? I get that you’re scared. But trust me. You can do this. Just hold on a little longer, and I’ll pull you out. I promise.”

“Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting all of you.” She said. “You included.” She looked at the cat.

“Deal.” Wanda said, her voice tinged with relief. “I have to go now, do as I said.”

The cat yawned, stretching lazily. “I give you ten minutes before you freak out and bolt. And I’m being generous.”

“No wonder you’re a stray.” She hissed, shooting the feline a glare as she turned back to walk back to the house.

“Ouch.” The animal theatrically said.

She scoffed, heading back towards the house, perhaps slower than she normally would. After only a few steps, she turned around. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I’m not suicidal.”

She bit back a string of insults. Picking a fight with a cat wasn’t exactly her biggest priority. With a tight shake of her head, she turned on her heel and kept walking.

That was gonna be a long night.

[cynic-spirit]

Chinese

In the expansive, luxurious office, Yn sat quietly in a corner, engrossed in her book. The room was filled with the low hum of negotiation as Bucky, Steve, Nick, and Sam were deep in discussion with a Chinese businessman, Mr. Zhang, and his assistant. The atmosphere was tense, with every word carrying weight.

The negotiation was conducted in English, but at one point, Mr. Zhang turned to his assistant and whispered in Chinese, “最后一刻退出，让他们蒙受损失。” (Translation: "Back out at the last moment, make them incur the loss.")

Yn's ears perked up at the words. Realizing the malicious intent behind Mr. Zhang’s statement, she couldn't let Bucky and his friends fall into such a trap. Setting her book aside, she stood up and approached the group with a calm yet determined expression.

In fluent Chinese, she addressed Mr. Zhang sternly, “你怎么能这么不诚实？你打算在最后一刻退出，让他们蒙受损失，这不是谈判的正当方式。” (Translation: "How can you be so dishonest? Planning to back out at the last moment and make them incur the loss is not a fair way to negotiate.")

Mr. Zhang and his assistant were taken aback, their faces flushing with surprise and embarrassment. The room fell silent as everyone turned to Yn, astonished by her sudden intervention.

Bucky's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and admiration evident on his face. He had no idea Yn spoke Chinese, let alone that she would step in to protect them.

Yn turned to Bucky and the others, switching to English, “Mr. Zhang just told his assistant that they plan to back out of the deal at the last moment, causing you to incur the loss. I couldn't let that happen.”

Bucky's expression hardened as he turned to Mr. Zhang. “Is this true?” he demanded, his voice icy with anger.

Caught off guard and realizing he had been exposed, Mr. Zhang stammered, “I... it was just a misunderstanding...”

Bucky didn't wait for further explanations. He stood up, towering over Mr. Zhang. “We don’t deal with dishonesty. Leave now, and don’t ever come back.”

Steve, Nick, and Sam quickly moved to escort Mr. Zhang and his assistant out of the office. The Chinese men, now thoroughly humiliated, left without another word.

As the door closed behind them, Bucky turned to Yn, his expression softening. “Yn, you just saved us several million dollars. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Yn shrugged with a small smile. “I just couldn’t sit by and let them cheat you. It was the right thing to do.”

Bucky’s admiration for Yn deepened even further. Not only was she incredibly intelligent and multilingual, but she also had a strong moral compass and the courage to act on it. He was utterly smitten.

Steve clapped Bucky on the back, grinning. “You’ve got a good one here, Buck. She’s got more than just brains and beauty.”

Bucky nodded, his gaze never leaving Yn. “Yeah, I do.” His voice was filled with genuine affection and respect. “Yn, you’re amazing.”

Yn felt a warm blush rise to her cheeks but simply nodded in response, grateful to have been able to help. The bond between her and Bucky grew stronger, rooted in mutual respect and admiration.

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! - 9

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

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

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She left,” Bucky said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💋💋💋💋💋

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

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

To be exact, a new home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blushed at her comment.

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

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

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

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

💋💋💋💋

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

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

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

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

‘Ring.’

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

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

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

What had caused her mother to be this scared?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Author Note: Hey friends,

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Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[middlingmay]

There are three events in the next chapter of That Ol' Devil Called Love that I'm very excited about. Here, have a snippet from one of them, in a phonecall between Gale and John:

“Are you free Friday?” Gale always asked him things like this like they had been rent from his body; loathe to ask and afraid of the answer. Yes was on the tip of John’s tongue to leap forth. He even got the ‘y’ out, but then he remembered. Jeannie. He sighed down the phone. “I’m sorry, Buck. I can’t. I’m visiting Jeannie on Friday.” Gale sounded cautious. “Who’s Jeannie?” John never could resist a call to mischief. “Only the prettiest girl around. Curly brown hair. Cheeky smile. Attitude for days.” “John I swear to God if you’re talking about that stray you've been feeding—" John heard his own grin. “Hell of a way to refer to a guy’s aunty, Buck.” Gale choked on something down the line and John giggled at the sounds of him hastily trying to eat his own words. “Your aunt?” “Mhm.” “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean! Aw, Jesus.”