#bucky barnes miniseries

[justkending]

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 3/7)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader

Word Count: 2100+

A/N Note: I was typing away for the next chapter to come, so chapter 4 will be posted tomorrow (it will also be longer too)! Thank you again for all the support and love you've shown me for this series :) Love all you guys!

_________________

Bucky’s POV:

Why’d I think she’d be able to handle an adult conversation as soon as I started getting serious? When will I fucking learn?

I waited until Y/N shut her door before I went back out to the living room. She drove me insane, but I decided to keep up the habit of staying up late for her. 

During one of her drunken nights at one of Tony’s galas, she had revealed that she preferred sleeping when someone else was awake. In exposing her reason why, it made me sympathize with her trauma. 

“It’s like having a night watch. If someone else is aware, I can put my guard down. Not that that even happens often enough, but I'm sure you get it,” Y/N drunkenly swayed the skirt of her silk dress from left to right as she watched the people on the dancefloor.

I knew the feeling of never being able to fully settle into sleep or relaxation because you’d seen all the horrors in the world. We knew what lurked out there and the consequences of someone getting the jump on you.

So, from the first night here, I would stay up in the living room until midnight, sometimes later. Like clockwork, soon after 11 pm, she’d startle awake from a nightmare. I could hear her breathing and heart rate thanks to my enhancements, and I may or may not have channeled them into her room, given the nightmares she’d had in the past. 

So far, there were none so bad to the point I had to go in and check on her, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tuned in to her room and checking every night in case the tides turned. 

Even on the nights she frustrated me like tonight and made me reconsider why I was about to talk to her about… this. This chemistry that was starting to feel closer to real than fake. A feeling I can’t seem to shake, and now I’m wondering if I’m imagining it. Especially when she can’t seem to turn off her annoyance for me even when I think we finally have met in the middle to some extent.

Then again, I lead on that I don’t understand her when it’s quite the opposite. Her story is not far from most of the people who are recruited into our team. A form of a hostage situation where her choices were taken, and she was conditioned to serve some sadistic asshole until she was freed by her own doing. At least her own variation of that… Anyone coming from that kind of situation tends to bond easily over the trauma. 

Not Y/N though…

I never start by being rude to someone. I mean, I’ve been told I’m intimidating and can come off as a terrifying giant assassin, but people in the same field who have seen far worse don’t tend to take that personally, considering almost everyone I work with knows my backstory and the reason behind my resting-assassin-face. 

But Y/N, for some reason, was very standoffish with me from the get-go. For the first few months of us knowing each other, she ignored me, left the room when I came in, found an excuse for another partner on missions, and a list of other things that quickly made me believe she wanted nothing to do with me. 

I may have reciprocated her behavior here and there, growing her annoyance with me even though I didn’t know where the annoyance had begun. I couldn’t help it, given the nasty looks and pure irritation that steamed off her when she looked my way.

I think the sentiment behind her feelings towards me still stands. But then her comment tonight, “I don’t hate you,” got to me.

I threw the laptop I had tried to use to distract myself again to the side. The TV was on, but all I heard was the patterned thumping in my chest starting to grow. 

“No. I want to know fucking why,” I grumbled, standing up abruptly and stomping down the hall to the master bedroom.

The door was shut, and from how she looked, she may have already tucked into bed for the night, but oh well. We were going to talk this out. I couldn’t go another day trying to decipher these feelings and confusions. 

I heard a “Jesus!” from the other side after my metal arm rapped three strong knocks in the center of the light sage-colored door. I banged again when I didn’t hear movement to follow up with it. 

“Calm down, Paul Bunyan! No need to chop the damn door down. I was seconds from sleep,” she groaned before the door flung open, and she squinted up at me with the hall light bringing brightness to her near pitch-dark room. “What? What is it?” Before I could start my sentence, she tensed and looked around me vigilantly. “Shit. Did something happen?” 

I shook my head quickly and instantly saw her shoulders go back and the grogginess return. 

“I want to talk.” 

She screwed her eyebrows up at me. “Dude. Seriously?” 

“Seriously, dude,” I replied sarcastically, pushing past her into her room, turning on the light, and hearing a protest I was too annoyed to listen to.

“It can’t wait until fucking morning when my brain isn’t at 2%?” She crossed her arms, watching me from the doorway. 

“Be real. Your brain doesn’t go below 75% even when you’re sleeping,” I answered, knowing the reality of never being able to shut off fully. Being constantly aware and on the edge of your seat, ready to pounce. 

She eyed me since it wasn’t necessarily a diss, and I could see her debating whether or not it was a compliment. 

“What do you-” 

“You say you don’t hate me, but it sure as fuck doesn’t feel like it. From day one, it has felt the very opposite of that,” I cut her off with a harsh laugh at the end, getting right to the chase. 

I’m standing at the end of her bed, arms crossed, and keeping an intense stare on her. Her stance straightens, and she shuffles her weight on her feet, arms mimicking mine. 

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” she said in a guarded tone. “What changed?” 

“I can’t go on with this if I don’t know,” I answered honestly, motioning between us. 

“I argue you have to go on with this either way.” She popped a hip, leaning against the threshold of the door frame. 

“Y/N,” I level my eyes at her, and I can see her take in the seriousness in my features. “Just tell me why.” 

She looks at me with a tilt of her head as if considering her options in how she wants to approach this conversation. 

“We just don’t- mesh well…” she says slowly as if trying to sell it, but even she knew she was lying out of her ass. 

“Bullshit. Try again,” I shook my head once and kept my eyes trained on her. 

“Bullshit? You wanted to know-”

“I wanted to know the truth. You’re selling bullshit, and not very well, might I add. Be honest. Now.” 

She huffed a laugh before blinking at me. 

“We’re the same ranking if you’ve forgotten. Therefore, I won’t be taking commands from you, especially with that tone. But since you’re so hellbent on knowing my reasoning, maybe consider how you talk to me.” She took three slow steps closer to me as she spoke. “So ask me again without being a military servant, and maybe I’ll consider staying civil with you.” 

She is one of a very select few kinds of people actually able to intimidate me. Her story was one to compete against mine. Though not many knew all the details since she was adamant about people being in the dark about it, we all knew what she was capable of. Her enhancements, although similar to mine, were not nearly as strong in most aspects. However, that didn’t deter her from being able to take a man quadruple my size down and keep them there.

I knew enough about her brain to know that it was one of the sharpest ones I had come across in my time. Everyone on the team had enough experience in this life to be able to manipulate a lot of situations, but Y/N was the queen of manipulating a situation to work out better for her and her team. It was like she was five steps ahead constantly, and it could be fierce at times- not going to lie. A strategy someone in our field would think they had down until they saw her ridiculous efficiency at work. Hence, why she was her own kind of weapon for our team.

I give a single nod in acknowledgment, knowing my intensity would be matched and not work in my favor. 

“You say you don’t hate me, and after these few weeks, I’m starting to believe you somewhat. However, our history keeps me from following that hope,” I answer. 

She seems to take something from my confession and lock it in her mind for later use. 

“Our history is complicated,” she replies, looking me up and down subtly and then moving to the side of the bed where the sheets were disturbed. 

I now notice the detail that only one side of the bed was disrupted while the other stayed perfectly made. My own detail to lock away for later. 

“But why? Who said it had to start like that?” My hands go up. She gives me a look like I should know the answer to that and I raise my eyebrows. “You think I’m to blame for our bickering and aimless fights?”

She scoffs, “I wouldn’t say aimless. There are definitely targets to be hit.” 

“Cut the shit.” 

“No shit to cut,” she counters quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed with one leg under her and shrugging. 

“I’m trying to have an adult conversation, and you’re acting like an angsty teenager.” I deadpan, attempting to keep the twitch in my eye at bay.

“And you’re acting like a crotchety old man who demands my respect,” she shouts back. “Ever think maybe that could be the reasoning behind our never-ending feuds?” 

“How could I? You don’t talk to me unless you're dissing me, fighting me, or attempting to make me look bad,” I give a large fake smile. 

“Take a fucking hint then, Grandpa,” she enunciates her curse. 

So I do. I backtrack our conversation and come to a conclusion. Maybe it's not an accurate one, but it's an idea nonetheless. 

“You think I demand respect from you? When have I ever told you that you have to have respect for me?” I asked, more confused than angry now- but definitely not low in anger either.

She stares at me, contemplating her answer. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t get into this,” she waves between us faintly, diverting her eyes to the bathroom door on the wall to the left.

“I won’t be able to sleep tonight if-”

“Not much different than most nights. Welcome to the crew,” she huffed, shifting to adjust her blankets over her in an irritated mood. 

“Why are you so against talking this out?” I growl, forgetting all sense of mental clarity and stomping to her side of the bed, aggressively throwing her blankets off her. “Stop trying to go to bed and talk to me like an adult.”

“An adult?” She takes in a high-pitched breath and stands straight in front of me. “You’re the one who just threw my blankets off like a toddler throwing a tantrum because he didn’t get a cookie after dinner! Sorry to break it to you.” Her finger jabbed into my chest. “But I owe you nothing, Barnes! I owe no explanation. I owe no respect. I owe no reason for how I choose to act around you.” 

I was pissed. Royally pissed, and yet… I couldn’t seem to see past the pure sadness in her eyes. The actual pain that she tried so hard to hide, but in her state- the state I had put her in- she was losing the battle. She was losing it and yet not breaking her eyes from mine, knowing I could see it.

My intensity shriveled slowly as seconds passed, and she didn’t try to fight the tremble on her lip. 

“What did I do?” I asked softly, my hands instinctively coming to her arms, but the touch made her break the eye contact and turn fast, making my hands drop. “Y/N, what did I do?” 

And I meant it. What had I done, and how could I change it?

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​  @srrymydood​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @xa-dia​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @morganclaire4​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @connie326​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @captain-asguard​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @mollygetssherlockcoffee​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @livstilinski @basicallylool​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @starryeyeseunbyul​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente​ @kakakatey​ @traceyaudette​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter1​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​​ @alyispunk​​ @billyseye @hallecarey1​​

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​ @stopjustlovethemcu​ @enchantedbarnes

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series:

@jackiehollanderr @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @theroyalmanatee @wintrsoldrluvr @alexakeyloveloki @learisa @bxckybxrnes24 @lillianacristina @selella @heletsmelovehim

[buckycuddles]

i am in tears. this has brought warmth to my heart and i never want to let it go. probably the best thing i've read in a while

pretty woman, this is me trying || B.B Masterlist ||

Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader 

Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic 🎄 ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers

Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

Word Count: 37,000+

This series is completed. Also read on AO3.

Warnings: This fanfiction deals with heavy and rough topics such as: consensual sex work, sexual themes and discussions, panic attacks, detailed sexual content, and past sexual and emotional abuse (caused by Hydra). This work is strictly 18+ only and is purely fanfiction. 

Author’s Note: This holiday series is a lot more serious and heavy than The Warmth of Winter, but it’s what was in my head. I literally wrote it in 3 days. Oops. I hope it’s good.

Keep reading

[reallyunluckyrunaway]

sassy zemo is best zemo.

[mintyys-blog]

BLOODIED SHIELD— slasher! steve rogers

MINI SERIES LIST;

summary: Bloodied Shield is a dark romance horror story where Steve Rogers, once a hero, has become a relentless and twisted executioner. After years of betrayal and disillusionment, he now sees the world through a warped lens of justice—purging those he deems unworthy.

As a journalist investigating a series of brutal murders marked by a bloodstained shield, you uncover the horrifying truth: Steve is alive, and he’s watching you. When you get too close to the truth, he kidnaps you, dragging you into his isolated world where his obsession with you takes a dangerous turn.

Trapped in his cabin, you’re forced to navigate the thin line between fear and the dark pull of his possessive devotion. As Steve tightens his grip, you realize that escaping him may not be possible—because to him, you were never meant to be free. You were meant to be his.

Bloodied Shield is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes. It contains dark and disturbing themes that may not be suitable for all readers, including violence, obsession, psychological manipulation, and non-consensual behavior. The story explores complex, and often unsettling, dynamics that are not meant to be taken as a reflection of healthy relationships. Due to its mature content, it is intended for mature audiences only and may be distressing or triggering for some readers. Please be advised to proceed with caution and consider your personal comfort and boundaries before reading.

WARNINGS: murder, character death, obsession, blood, guns, injury, unhealthy relationships, kidnapping.

This story contains dark and potentially triggering themes. It includes kidnapping and captivity, as the protagonist is forcibly taken and held against their will, as well as intense obsession and possessiveness exhibited by Steve Rogers. The story explores dark romance elements with a twisted captor-captive dynamic, including psychological manipulation and non-consensual physical contact. It also features violence, gore, and graphic descriptions of murder, including the death of a major character. There are moments of psychological manipulation, gaslighting, threats, and intimidation. Themes of Stockholm syndrome may also emerge as the protagonist navigates their relationship with Steve. This story is not a depiction of a healthy relationship, and readers should proceed with caution if they find any of these topics distressing.

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Watching, Waiting... 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, violence, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: There’s a man watching you. 

Character: Bucky Barnes

Note: Hello lovelies. Would love a little extra love with this one as I’m working on the third and final part still.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

It’s just after six. The door is locked, the gate is pulled down, and the shop is quiet. 

You do your usual rounds as the evening hue casts shadows through the shelves and gather under the empty tables. You put the chairs up one at a time, placing them legs up, then take your broom to sweep away the errant crumbs and debris from outside. The bristles scratch on the tile beneath the soft drone of instrumental music.

The small tea shop smells of chai and ginger, a medley of other scents underlining the rich aroma. You gather up the dirt in the pan and dump it in the bin of used napkins and wooden stir sticks. You tie up the bag and put it by the back door to toss on your way out. 

You take the misplaced cast iron kettle back to the shelves by the window and return it to sit beside the folded price card. As you do, the yellow hue of streetlights shifts through the glass and you wince, setting down the heavy vessel a bit too heavily. You squint at the silhouette watching through the window, looming just behind the thick bars of the gate.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes meet, his face sharply angled by the gloom of the New York evening. He shies away, caught, and swiftly strides down the pavement. You stare after the stranger, a tugging of recognition in the back of your mind. As little as you could make out, there is something familiar.

A sigh ripples out as you turn and go back to mark off the closing checklist. It’s not unusual for a few stragglers to get curious. Usually, they were pissing against the storefront, but something about him, about the intent of his gaze, the rigidness of his stance set you on guard. He was so casual as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.

You close up the binder of daily tasks and slide it on top of the safe and shut the cabinet door. You twist the key in the lock and hang it with the rest before closing the mounted metal case on the wall. You take your time getting your coat and purse, lingering as not to run into the odd observer.

You check your phone. Your place isn’t far from here. Just a block down, a shitty one-bedroom above a pawn shop. Only a tad seedy.

You grab the plastic waste bag and exit into the alley, the metal door clanks shut and locks on its own. You swing the trash over the top of the dumpster and dig out your earbuds as you walk down the narrow alley, the sickly smell curdling in your nose as you try not to breathe too deep. You slip your headphones in as you come out onto the Brooklyn row, your feet carrying you on habit alone.

You crank up your curated playlist, a song you don’t listen to often but don’t bother skipping. You peer into the grim facades of other shops as you pass, all locked down behind grates to keep out the nightly rabble. Your reflection walks with you like a wraith in the glass.

You stop at the light as taxis chuff by and the honking of angry drivers can be heard around the thrumming of music in your ears. You cross and turn your head, peeking out the corner of your eye as you do. An instinctual practice for any New Yorker. There’s a speck there, just behind you. A few steps back, keeping pace with you but not coming to meet you.

You don’t look back completely and take out your phone, pausing your music. You hear his steps, barely. Measured to maintain the distance between you. You veer away from your building and head into the noodle shop gleaming red and orange in the urban mosaic.

Inside, the usual cacophony of voices greets you. You take out your earbuds and let them dangle around your neck. You join the line as the door chimes behind you. You don’t glance back as you wait your turn.

You order and step to the side to await your pad thai. The man who followed you in approaches the till, his deep voice humming and hawing as he tries to decide. You keep your eyes on the menu, too afraid to look straight at him. You might be imagining it, he may just want some noodles.

When your number comes up, you take the tray and thank the cooks on the other side of the steaming woks. You find an empty table against the wall and pull your purse to rest on your lap.

You focus on the food, not hungry until the veggies glisten up at you. You unwrap the chopsticks and pull them apart, innately aware of the figure waiting at the counter. He takes his to-go bag with a gristly ‘thanks’ and his thick treads grit on the floor as he turns. You poke at your plate with the stick and peer over as he nears the door.

All you see is a set of broad shoulders clothed in a grey canvas jacket, dark hair trimmed short and jutting out on top, his gloved hand gripping the door and shoving it open as he strolls out into the street. You watch through the window as he gives a look to the paper bag in his hand, as if considering its worth. 

His straight nose and square jaw gracefully take the dim lighting, his blue eyes catching a glimmer of the shining marquee. You squint and quickly avert your gaze as he looks back at the shop. You shove a twist of noodles into your mouth and focus on your plate.

You feel him there, sense the static heat of being watched. You take another bite, biting through the dangling strands of noodle. You finish half the plate before you dare to look up. He’s gone. You think. You’ll stick around a while before you go. 

Your stomach squeezes painfully with the glut of pad thai and the anxiety of your pursuit. You sit back as the thought strikes you. Was that the same man at the shop? It’s unlikely it isn’t. The silhouette, the steady, certain gait, the ominous hovering of his presence, it’s one and the same.

You exhale and shake your head. It’s just another strange encounter in New York.

🫖

Zinnia lets out an oop before you hear the shatter. You sigh and cringe as you stand and cross the open space of your apartment. Your kitchen floor is littered with shattered glass.

"I'm so sorry–" she looks at you wide eyed and bends to pick up the large shards.

"Be careful," you warn as you go to the small closet and take out the broom, "don't cut yourself."

"I didn't mean to," she says as you fish out an empty box from your recycling and drop it down for her to put the sharp bits in.

"Really, it's fine. I got that one free from the shop," you nudge her away, "I got it."

"Is that why all my gifts are from there?" She gets up with a chortle.

"Mmm, and what about my gifts? Are they still in the mail?" You chirp back.

"Hey… I only missed your birthday once."

"Once?" You drag the broom over the floor as she grabs the pan and holds it flat for you.

"Alright, fine, and what other friends even remember your birthday?"

"Apparently not even you," you scoff as you push the glass into the pan.

She pours the rest of the glass in the box and picks it up. You point her to the counter and she puts it down as you take the pan and clip it on the broom. You leave it against the wall and go back to the couch, flopping down as you scoop up your phone.

"Well, I'm the only one who'll hang out with your boring ass," she mimics you as she taps on her cell, "so, how's work anyhow? Is tea suddenly interesting?"

"It's work," you shrug, "you're hocking dildos and giving me a hard time?"

"Hey, technically my job is to give everyone a hard time."

"Shut up," you elbow her and laugh, interrupted by a sudden rattle.

"What the fuck?" Zinnia sits up and looks over the back of the couch, the window shaking in the frame.

"Fucking fire escape, I think the ladder’s loose or something."

You get up and go to the window. The escape shakes and clatters but you can't see past your floor. You turn the lock and lift the wooden frame so it scrapes loudly. 

"You got raccoons? Or maybe it's a stray?" Zinnia suggests.

You poke your head out as a dark figure flits down the last platform and slides down the ladder. Their feet hit the pavement and stomp off, sending gravel across the alley. 

"Hey!" You call after them, pulse rampant in your tamps at the unexpected stranger. "Hey, what the shit!"

You nearly bash your head as you pull back and turn to face Zinna as she watches over the cushions, "what's up?"

"There was some asshole out there. Took off."

You tramp around the couch, too uneasy to sit down.

"Was he watching us?"

"I don't fucking know," you sniff as you chew your thumb, "you want some coffee?"

"Uh, sure, but we're not gonna do anything about the weirdo out there?"

"He's gone now," you go to the kitchen and take out the canister of grinds, "what are the police gonna do anyway?"

"I guess, but…" she sighs, "yeah, I'll have some coffee."

You focus on loading the filter as you hear her typing on her phone. Suddenly, the noise of a crowd crackles from the speaker. You shut the top of the machine and hit brew. 

You take down two cups and tap your fingers on the counter, "thanks everyone for coming…" the voice drones into the crowds buzz.

"Ugh, he's so fucking hot!" Zinnia squeals.

"Who?" You mumble as you spin to face her.

"Well, both of them, but–"

"Thanks, we couldn't have done it without the local PD," the deep voice distracts you from Zinnia's raving. You hurry forward.

"What? Who?" You demand.

"The Falcon and that Winter Soldier guy," she turns her phone out and you see the square jaw, the stubble, the brilliant blue irises as the man's brows hang darkly over his pensive eyes. "Jesus, you look like you've seen a ghost. Come on, you know who they are."

"Y-yeah, I do, it just… sounded… like someone I know."

"Oh, you seeing someone?"

"Zin."

"Well, who?"

"No one. K? You'd think I was crazy anyway."

"Crazy?" She sits forward, "now I'm interested."

"Really, it's dumb."

"Tell me," she puts her hands together, "please. You know I love drama."

"Drama, no," you throw your hands up, "really, Zin, it's just me being me."

"Alright, you gotta tell me," she hits her phone and it mutes, "do you know Bucky Barnes?"

"No, no… no," you repeat, trying to convince yourself, "it's just at the shop, the one night there was this guy outside. Watching me. It was weird. He left but when I got out, someone followed me. I stopped at Mao's to get away."

You shake your head, it can't be.

"He came in too. Ordered something then left. I heard him, I saw him. The similarity…" you exhale, "maybe I am crazy."

"Watching you? Just that one night?"

"I haven't really seen anyone around but it feels like someone's around. Every time I lock up, maybe it's just paranoia…"

"Trust your gut, girl, you want me to walk you home?"

"Nah, it's nothing."

"What if it isn't nothing."

"Zinnia," you frame your forehead as the heat rises up your neck, "really, it can't be him."

"Doesn't matter who it is," she insists, "what about whoever was out there just now? Did they look the same?"

"I didn't get a good look. And that would rule out the Avenger."

"No, this is a recording," she drops her phone on the side table, "could you imagine? Stalked by the Winter Soldier."

"I'm not being stalked and it isn't him."

"Babe, please, you're scaring me when you should be pissing your pants. There was just some dude at your window and another at your shop. That's not a coincidence."

"Zin," you plead, "stop, you're gonna give me an anxiety attack."

"Good! You needa get your stuff and come stay with me."

"I can't. It's too far from the shop."

"Fine, I'll stay here."

"It's not… that."

"You don't know that," she stands, "and I'm sure as shit not taking that chance."

"Right, stay, you'll see. It's nothing."

"For once, I don't mind being wrong," she frowns.

[kayvsworld]

Imagine that that's how Marvel confirms Bucky as bi; via a SamBucky divorce

hilarious and extremely on brand for marvel disappointments, however please consider: the only way they would ever do this in any reality is if they got divorced specifically because of how straight sam wilson is. bucky's actually an antihero because of the bisexuality <3

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the night trilogy

a/n: oops, i decided to make a oneshot i wrote a few months back into a miniseries because my brain wouldn't stop braining.... enjoy!

warnings: bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader, ex!peter parker x reader, reader’s mom is the british ambassador to france, age gap (10-15 years), forbidden romance, explicit sexual content, total word count is 10.7k

polls for the story: 1 | 2

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PART ONE: JUST FOR TONIGHT

PART TWO: NIGHT OUT

PART THREE: STAY FOR A FORTNIGHT

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[godmadeaterribleerror]

About Me!

Thea, She/Her, 20, unfortunately American. I write what I feel like, for better or worse. That usually means long (very long) series, but sometimes it means one-shots or mini-series.

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Navigation: Each charater I write for has their own masterlist, where you can find any one-shots, miniseries, or primary series I have written for them! Keep reading to find them!

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

[scoonsalicious]

A Scoonsalicious Masterlist

All fics are 18+ Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here. I exclusively write for Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader at this point in time, for maladaptive self-indulgent purposes.

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

Individual fics will contain individual warnings.

Bucky Barnes

(Fluff 💖) (Smut ❤️‍🔥) (Angst 💔) (Horror 🖤) (Violence ❤️‍🩹) (AU 💞) (1k+ Notes 🏆)

Series

⚜️ The Pocket MCU: ❤️‍🩹 A series of miniseries and one-shot prequels featuring the MC from Unwanted, integrated into the existing narratives of the MCU films. ONGOING (Updated 5/20/24)

⚜️ Unwanted: ❤️‍🔥💔🏆When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn't be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust. COMPLETED 155.4k words (Epilogue Posted 04/27/24)

⚜️ Post-Unwanted: ❤️‍🔥💔💖 A series of miniseries and one-shot sequels set between Unwanted and Unbroken. ONGOING (Updated 11/18/24)

⚜️ Unbroken: An Unwanted Sequel: ❤️‍🔥💔💖‼️ It's a secret, but doesn't that title sound ridiculous?! BRAINSTORMING

One Shots

⚜️ Like a Fairy Tale: 💔💖🏆 Dating Bucky Barnes had been like living a fairy tale, but as he distances himself from you and your relationship, you come to the realization that maybe fairy tales aren't meant to come true. 3.4k words (Posted 3/4/24)

⚜️ Your Choice: ❤️‍🔥💖💞You're minding your own business at home one evening when local police Sergeant James "Bucky" Barnes comes knocking on your door. Someone's reported a crime being committed on your property, and the sergeant can either bring you down to the station, or get you off with a warning... it's your choice. 4.3k words (Posted 3/5/24)

Series On Hiatus

⚜️ With Friends Like These...: ❤️‍🔥💔Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntyre never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You. ON HIATUS (Updated 6/17/24)

Upcoming

⚜️ Hunted ❤️‍🔥🖤❤️‍🩹 A plane crash leaves you stranded in the Canadian wilderness with the one person who can't seem to stand you: Your mission partner, Bucky Barnes. You'll have to work together and put your differences aside in order to survive and get rescued. Only, the two of you aren't alone; someone, or something, is watching you from the woods. WRITING

⚜️ Boys of Summer ❤️‍🔥💔💞 Every summer, the wealthy Barnes family escapes the heat of the city to their beach house on the New England coast, and every year for as long as you can remember, your father has been the caretaker of their property. Now your father's gone and you haven't seen Bucky Barnes since you two spent a summer night together when you were eighteen. Four years later, Bucky's returned with a slew of college friends in tow for the ultimate beach summer to celebrate his college graduation, and his recent engagement. PLANNING

[buckyismybicycle]

AAAAAAAAND we're finally done with this one!

Chapter 3/3 is live!

Written for @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer, Week 7: "Who's this?" - My Pet

Thank you to everyone for the love, support, reblogs, and screaming 💗 You are all very much appreciated!

Title: the (pineapple) contract - chapter 1/3 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes/Escort!Reader (F) Tags/Warnings: Big Dick Bucky Barnes, Top Bucky, Dom/sub Undertones, Confident Bucky Barnes, Oral Sex (by that I mean Bucky eats you out like a starved man), Praise, Pet Names, Painful Sex, Crying/Crygasm, Multiple Orgasms, Coming Until You Black Out, no beta we die like thanos Summary: Well, the contract said Personal Care Attendant and technically, the Winter Soldier wasn’t on the active roster. Yet. But the point still stands. He more or less owned you now.

You take one last deep breath before knocking on the door.

Part of the "Bucky Barnes As..." series & Hot Bucky Summer 2023

hosted by @buckybarnesevents Week 3: "Where do you want me?" Kneeling | In My Lap | Bent Over

We'll be back for Week 6 (Chapter 2) and Week 3 (Chapter 3)

>>AO3 Link<<

The cheque in your hand has far too many digits in it — you’ve never seen two commas in the number, made out to you of all people. Hell, you wouldn’t have cared what the hell the job was, you would’ve said yes anyway.

You just never imagined that trying to pick up Tony Stark on Park Avenue would be a job interview.

“Name your price,” he had said.

You probably would’ve slept with him for zero, but when you had jokingly said a million dollars, you never thought he’d actually follow through. First came the NDA, then the contract and benefits package, and now…

Now, you stood outside a dull-looking door trying to calm yourself down about the fact that you were about to whore yourself out to an Avenger.

Enclosed for your review is a copy of your job description, benefits package, and the corresponding appendices. Should you wish to accept this offer, your contract and a questionnaire are emailed for your review and return. Upon receiving your executed contract and completed questionnaire, should your answers be compatible, we will reach out to schedule your start date.

Well, the contract said Personal Care Attendant and technically, the Winter Soldier wasn’t on the active roster. Yet. But the point still stands. He more or less owned you now.

You take one last deep breath before knocking on the door.

The man that opens it is not the man from the online articles and archives. He isn’t long-haired, dead-eyed and clad in murder gear (because there really wasn’t any other word for it). No, the person that stands in front of you is seemingly flawless, the sunlight from his windows surrounding him in a glowing warmth.

He quite literally takes your breath away.

“Can I help you?” He finally asks, shifting his weight ever so slightly.

Right. You clear your throat, offering your hand as you introduce yourself.

He studies you intently, his eyes obviously tracking you from head to toe, but doesn’t say anything else as he shakes your hand firmly. “Bucky,” he responds in kind.

“I’m, um, I’m here because…” Oh god, what if he had no idea?

He quirked an eyebrow up at you.

“I’m here as a… As your personal care attendant?” As soon as you say the words, you feel silly. Your cheeks start to flush, but it’s nothing compared to what he says next.

“Then you’re late, kitten.”

(4) Your duties will include, but are not limited to (a)Providing thorough, attentive care to the client within reasonable allowance, even outside of those covered in (5). (b)Receive and follow instruction from the client within reasonable allowance, even outside of those covered in (6) (c)Commence reasonable care should the client require it at your discretion, without infringement of (8)(a), (b) or (c) (4)(c)(i)The term “care” will include, but is not limited to… (ii)Psychological care as set out in Appendix I (iii)Domestic care as set out in Appendix I (iv)Physical care as set out in Appendix I, II and III

It was very evident that he wasn’t expecting you to take care of him so much as take care of him. His apartment was spotless, though the lack of furniture and possessions might be the biggest reason.

“So. You know what this entails.” It comes like more of a statement than a question, but admittedly, that does a lot for you. You looked at him, cross-armed and leaning against the back of his couch. Tugging at the bottom of your dress, you tried to remember how to simply act normal and nod, a little less shy, slipping into your role with a little more ease.

“Yes, sir.”

There’s a look of amusement on his face, so you make a note of that.

“Hard limits?”

“None,” you answer quickly.

“I find that hard to believe,” he fires back. “Everyone has limits.”

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking about his, though he reads your expression well enough.

“I have too many to list,” he says. “Which is why I prefer to just control the situation.”

God help me. It sounded too good to be true, that maybe — just maybe — he was made for you.

Or you were made for him, at least. His pleasure.

“That sounds good to me,” you say all too brightly. “Sir.”

He smirks at that, and you’re absolutely done for.

“You don’t have to keep calling me that,” he tells you, beckoning you to follow him. “Though I do like it.”

You decided right then and there that you would do pretty much anything with him. For him.

“So, about those limits —”

“Knife Play,” you blurt out once you reach his bedroom. “That’s — that’s the only one I don’t think I can do.”

He turns and gives you a look. “Why, because I’m the Winter Soldier, you think I’m automatically into knife play?”

“OH MY GOD!” You exclaim, slapping your hands over your mouth at your blunder. “No! No, oh my god, that’s not what I meant!”

You’re about to grovel at his feet when he starts to chuckle softly.

“Relax,” he says easily, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “That’s fine. I’m not gonna throw you into the fire just yet.”

Yet. You’re not sure if that was meant as a threat but it sounds more like a promise if you’re being honest.

“I can handle more than you think,” you say, pursing your lips.

“S’that right?”

The challenge in his voice has you nearly quivering and you’ve barely even started. You give him a little shrug before nodding, trying to give as good as you got.

“C’mere here,” he coaxes softly, hand outstretched. It’s stunning, the black and gold, intricate and precise — more sophisticated than anything you’ve ever seen.

You take it and ease yourself down on his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his hands far gentler on your waist than you thought they could be. The blue of his eyes is even brighter this close up, light with mischief and wide with wonder as he looks at you, like you were something to be discovered, explored.

“Safe word still pineapple?”

Looks like he read your questionnaire after all. You nod again, the energy thrumming just under your skin as his hands slowly travel up your sides and back before ending up at your neck. He can probably feel your small shudder or your thundering pulse. At the very least, he can certainly see the goosebumps forming under his fingertips.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

With that, he claims your lips, your body, your very existence as if it was his only goal. And god, does it work.

There is no part of you that doesn’t immediately belong to Bucky at that moment. His tongue parts your lips and moves confidently as he devours you, taking you apart. Each swipe of his tongue is firm and purposeful — designed to steal your breath away as his hands map out your body.

You can’t stop the gasp that escapes against his lips or the way your body tenses in his arms, muscles coiled to try and stop yourself from just dripping all over his lap.

It takes you far too long to realize the game you’re playing — well, that Bucky’s playing. You’re simply along for the ride as he catalogs all your reactions from each shiver of your body to every moan and shaky breath you let out. Within a few minutes, you’ve already revealed all your cards without even knowing that’s what you’re doing.

You’re embarrassingly short of breath when he pulls back to survey you.

“You make such beautiful sounds,” he says, nonchalant as if your heart rate wasn’t skyrocketing.

“You’re a damned good kisser,” you respond/

He gives you a cheeky grin that would’ve made your knees buckle if you weren’t seated on him. “You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart.”

You run your hands up his chest, marveling at how firm it was. For a brief moment, you forget who he is and just touch. As your fingertips roam upward, you memorize the arch of his clavicle that leads to the dip in the hollow of his throat underneath his Adam’s apple.

You shift slightly, getting ready to slide off and sink to your knees to service him.

“Like what you see?” He asks — except this time the cocky tone has a softness to it that you're not sure he even caught. As if there was just a bit of something behind that seemingly unshakable confidence.

“Yes,” you answer simply with a smile. “I really, really do.” It’s true, after all. He wasn’t just handsome, wasn’t just pretty, there was something about him that was so alluring, you found yourself forgetting your contract almost entirely.

It’s the right answer, apparently, because he flips over to lay you down in the center of his bed, throwing your plans to kneel for him right out the window.

You’re suddenly acutely aware of just how much bigger he is than you. He’s an imposing figure, there’s no arguing that, but when he had first invited you inside, it hadn’t been your focus. Now, with the cool, soft sheets at your back and his thighs settling between yours, you feel like trapped prey to the king of the jungle.

You knew that a serum pumped through his veins that made him infinitely stronger, but your history books always said that the serum wasn’t like Captain America’s. It didn’t shoot him up nearly a foot and slap on nearly 150 pounds.

No, these are all muscles that he had to work for and train for, that he has to maintain. The very same muscles that pressed against the inside of your thighs as he settled in above you, dwarfing you.

“Okay?”

It catches you by surprise. Really, you were his property, he owned you, and could do whatever he pleased with you. That’s what you had signed up for. Ever since signing all those papers, you had braced yourself for the worst of it — after all, you’d come across plenty of people who only ever wanted to assert their power over you because of what you were and what you did.

So this? The pause, the way his eyes search yours for a truthful answer, the way he asks so tenderly? All unexpected when what you thought you would receive was something harsh, sharp, and as cold as his moniker suggests.

From here, looking up at him, though? He looks like an angel. The overhead light isn’t too bright ad the soft, warm halo of light makes him ethereal — all smooth skin and eyes like the sky.

“Very okay,” you reply, your cheeks unusually warm. You don’t get flustered anymore — or so you thought. Wrapping your hands around the back of his neck, you urge him closer, eager to kiss him again.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs as he closes in. This time, he kisses down your neck instead. His teeth softly graze against your skin every now and then as he makes his way to the centre of your chest.

That’s my girl. You don’t know if that’s just his sweet talk or if he’s finally asserting his ownership of you. Either way, it gets you all worked up, especially when his hands join his mouth in their exploration of your body, gentle but firm as he gropes at you.

By the time he reaches the hem of your dress, every inch of you is covered in goosebumps.

Expecting him to rip it off, your breath catches when he simply sits back on his haunches and runs his hands up your thighs. They disappear from sight under your dress but you can certainly feel their presence, skin hot and metal slightly cooler.

Your legs spread for him so easily it’s almost laughable.

(10) You are expected to carry out your duties with discretion, professionalism and a high level of enthusiasm. Criticism will not be tolerated.

“Pretty girl, are you already drippin’ wet for me, hm?”

You’re almost afraid to speak, knowing full well that a bunch of embarrassing noises are pent up inside you right now. Where you wish Bucky was right now.

You take a deep breath in. “Yes, sir.”

He gives you a look — a fond one that most people give their pets — and it inexplicably makes your heart race.

“You don’t mind if I have a little taste now, do you?” He asks, fingers already curling around your panties and tugging them down.

“Please,” you let slip, waiting for him to lower himself to the mattress.

Instead, you yelp when he suddenly hauls your lower half up by the hips. You figure you must look like quite the sight, tits jiggling with the movement as you find yourself nearly suspended with your legs slung over his shoulders.

You don’t even get the chance to speak before he lowers his mouth and makes your entire body come alive for the first time in ages.

“Oh!” You cry out, hands gripping the first thing they can find: his thighs.

He chuckles against your cunt, tickling you in the most intimate sense while your fingers dig into hard muscle.

Your legs automatically tense up, ankles loosely locking behind his back as he keeps working your cunt, tongue gliding up and down your folds easily. His tongue is a wicked thing, a sin all on its own, as it draws the most guttural sound out of you

Seemingly satisfied that you’re secured, he runs his hands up your thighs and slips behind to knead your ass, large hands cupping you perfectly.

“Bu…”

You lose your train of thought when he slips his thumb inside of you, tongue following closely, fucking in and out shallowly. “Oh god, fuck, fuck!”

“Sweet as honey, baby,” he purrs, licking a long stripe up to your clit and sealing his lips around it. His other arm wraps around your hips to support you through the involuntary spasms that wrack your body as he circles his tongue around you, torturously slow to draw every last breath out from your lungs.

“W-wait,” you pant out, flushed and warm all over. “This should - it’s about you —

The corners of his eyes wrinkle slightly as he smiles deviously, the coarse hairs of his scruff tickling you.. “Oh, it is, honey. I'm enjoying myself just fine.”

To prove his point, he presses his hips forward and along your back you feel a faint, long, thick heat.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, imagination already running wild with how good that’s going to feel inside you.

“Gettin’ there,” Bucky quips, returning to his task.

He’s diligent about switching between suckling you and curling that sinful tongue of his, flicking it over your clit just firm enough, just slow enough, that every drag feels like it’s breaking you open.

You feel yourself unraveling, like a runaway spool of thread and you desperately trying to hold on, hands clamoring for purchase as your body comes undone.

“Bucky!” You cry out, hands grabbing onto the arm wrapped around your waist. You’ve never whined the way you do right now, trembling in Bucky’s hold as he slows his movements, giving you just a moment of reprieve.

The look in Bucky’s eyes is predatory as he waits for you to regain your breath before giving you a final, harsh suck, teeth grazing over the sensitive nerves that nearly makes you come again just from that.

He finally lowers you to the mattress — a trembling, flushed mess — before undressing himself. It’s almost clinical, without fanfare, and that just doesn’t seem right to you when he’s unrevealing such beauty. As he strips, revealing all that gorgeous, smooth skin, you try to sit up even if you felt like your entire body was jello. You just wanted to reach out, to touch, and you were so enraptured by him, by his body, that when your eyes finally roamed south you gasped.

“Holy shit,” you blurt out. You think back to when Bucky originally asked you “like what you see?” not realizing just how much you would.

Your hand has never looked smaller than it does right now, wrapped around Bucky’s monstrous cock, hot and heavy against your palm. Subconsciously, you lick your lips as you watch precome starting to bead at his swollen tip.

You keep your grip firm as you give him a full stroke and your eyes drink in the sight before you — Bucky’s face, lax with pleasure, and the minute twitches of his muscles at your simple touch. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s been intimate with someone — if that’s why you were offered so much money to be for his personal, constant use.

“Your cock is gorgeous,” you tell him, hand getting used to the weight and length of it. “Want this inside of me, right now.”

Bucky’s face morphs into something even hungrier. He lowers his hips, cock nearly scalding against you. For the first time, his voice sounds less than perfectly in control. “I can’t catch or carry anything.”

You already knew that from the massive package of paperwork.

“And I can’t get you pregnant.”

You knew that, too, but again he sounds so clinical about it, you wonder if it bothers him at all.

“Yeah, handsome,” you nod, smiling dopily. “Rawdog me.”

Bucky makes a sound like a cut-off laugh, and you can’t help but feel victorious when a smile breaks out on his face.

“You’re somethin’ else, sugar.”

There’s a shift in the air, the both of you settling into each other like you’re not two absolute strangers as he presses his body to yours, cock sliding over your tender clit and across the slick of your folds.

You wrap your legs around him and dig your heels into his back as if to say c’mon, c’mon! Hurry up!

You thought you were ready. You’ve never had this issue before. But as Bucky starts to nudge the head of his cock in, you inhale sharply, your body immediately tensing to reject the intrusion.

He pauses to pull back and look at you.

“Sorry,” you say in a hurry, nervous and embarrassed by your reaction. You bring your hands to the side of his face trying to show him that it’s nothing he’s done. “You�� You’re just, um…”

His eyes narrow slightly, eyebrow furrowing as he goes to pull away.

“Wait!” You keep your legs firmly wrapped around him, trying to trap him even though you were no match for his strength. “It’s not you. Well, sort of. It’s just that… You’re fucking huge, Bucky. I’ve never…”

His eyes widen in surprise, evidently not expecting your answer though you don’t miss the way his cock twitches between your legs. Then his look softens and he kisses you sweetly — more tender than anyone’s ever kissed you before.

“Roll over for me,” he commands gently.

As you do so, you watch him open the nightstand and to your relief, pulls out a bottle of lube. Natural instincts take over at that point — you prop yourself up on your knees, spreading them until you’re comfortable, and keep your chest to bed, arching your back.

He makes a pleased sound behind you. “Lookit you, babydoll. Bent over and spread open for me like a good girl.”

Your toes curl slightly at his words and your whole body tightens when you feel his fingers slip into you, the lube cool against your heated cunt.

“Relax, princess,” he coos, his other hand trailing down your spine. “Be a good kitten and just let me open you up, alright?”

You’ve lost the ability to form words so you nod against the sheets instead as you will your body to relax. Soon, you forget about your mission to take Bucky’s giant cock and start to lose yourself to the feeling of Bucky's fingers inside you. They’re just as talented as his tongue, expertly navigating all your sweet spots, some of which you didn’t even know you had.

“God, you feel you so good,” you groan, fingers curling in the sheets, clinging on for dear life.

“Oh, we’re jus’ getting started, baby.” His other hand returns to your near-overworked clit and you’re dangerously close to coming again.

You turn to look over your shoulder, intending to stop him. Instead, you jolt as he gives your cheek a lovebite, beard scratching against your ass while he curls his fingers inside you and pulls the orgasm from you. Your back arches as you scream out at the unexpected whirlwind of pleasure that travels through every vein of your body.

“Shhh, sh, you’re alright, sweet thing.” His voice is low and soothing.

You want to tell him that you’re more than alright, that you’ve never been pulled apart like this, that you’ve never come just from someone’s fingers, that you’ve never seen such a fat cock in your life. But all you can do is nod frantically, panting as your body comes down from the high.

“Think you’re ready, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. You let out a breathy moan as you reach back blindly for him. “Yes, Bucky, yeah. Gimme that perfect cock of yours.”

While you can’t see his expression, you hear a soft huff from him before the head of his cock is at your eager hole again. You feel him give himself a few pumps, slicking himself up with more lube, taking the time and care not to hurt you.

This time, you’re ready for it. As he enters, you exhale, your muscles loosening to let him in.

More than just let him in — welcome him, pull him in, making yourself the perfect fucking home for his cock.

“Goddamnit, sweets,” he murmurs, lowering his chest to your back, the cold metal of his dog tags on your spine. “Y’feel like a dream.”

“You’re one to talk,” you manage to gasp out, eyes scrunched as all of your attention is focused on the delicious stretch.

He brushes your hair to one side and for a moment, all you do is look at each other in the moment.

You reach out to trail your fingers along his wrist and he goes to press a kiss to the nape of your neck.

“M’gonna move, ‘kay?”

In lieu of a response, you clench down on him and grin when he hisses at the sensation.

“Watch it…” The low rumble of his voice only spurs you on, so you do it again, this time wriggling underneath him.

“C’mon, Bucky, please won’t you fuck me?” You taunt, your voice coy. “Put that fat cock of yours to use, huh?”

There are no words this time, only a soft clicking as you watch in fascination while his arm calibrates ever so slightly. You think you hear him mutter “you asked for it” but you can’t be sure because your own cries fill the room as he pulls back a few inches and thrusts back into you.

“This what you wanted?” Bucky growls before he gives your ass a light swat.

“More,” you beg him, despite the twinge of pain as your body tries to adjust and accommodate Bucky’s girth.

Bucky must read it as a challenge because he doesn’t go easy on you — after a few long, controlled thrusts, he must deem you ready.

You’re not sure anyone could quite be ready for the ravaging storm that is Bucky.

He fucks you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to fuck anyone — determination and desperation wrapped up in superhuman stamina and strength. Without a doubt, you know you’re going to walk away with bruises — on your hips from where he grabs you, your thighs and ass from where he slams into you.

“Sh-shit,” you curse, panting into the sheets that you’ve bunched in your fists. Your hair sticks to your neck with the sweat building as your body tries to keep up with the assault. “So fucking - good, Bucky. Your cock feels so good — splitting me in half.”

Bucky makes an animalistic noise in his throat, yanking your hips back to him as he plants his hand beside your head, arm anchoring you in place.

Oh, fuck. As anticipated, he rails you within an inch of your life — you’re struggling to breath, heaving for air, and your eyes are scrunched shut to stop the tears from actually spilling.

“Okay there, sweetheart?”

Fuck him for not even sounding out of air. “Ssso goo-ood,” you slur, a litany of gasps and moans follow. “Love — that you’re — tearing me apart.”

Bucky’s voice is positively gleeful. “Yeah? You like getting fucked so hard you can’t even keep your eyes open?”

You make a conscious effort to crack an eye open and fire back. “Yeah. Fuck, you’re so deep I can feel you in my throat.”

“That can be arranged, honey,” he teases, hauling your hips up for an excruciating angle that makes you come so hard your vision turns white.

“Fucking gorgeous when you come,” he praises and you can’t formulate the words to reply.

“Ah, ah, nnngh, ah, f-fuck,” you babble, vision blurry as you tear up. It hurts but it’s beautiful, it’s brutal but controlled. It’s fucking perfect. You’d tell him just that, if had any air left in your lungs.

The last thing you hear is Bucky’s voice shushing you and telling you to rest before it all turns black.

[justkending]

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 5/7)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader (Enemies to Lovers) (Fake Marriage Trope)

A/N: I think we are staying on track for this to wrap up within two more chapters, but again, we are both in the dark if that's the case😂 Thank you guys for the love! If you are wanting to be tagged, please send me an ask. It's a lot easier for me to keep track of who's been added and who hasn't :)

_________

Y/N’s POV:

Okay, so maybe I blew up a little more than necessary, but I tried to chill out before he started chasing me, ordering that I didn’t walk away and talk to him. Let a girl try to get a hold of her emotions for a second big guy.

I’ve been anxious all day, waiting to talk to him about some deep seeded trauma, and then he comes and screws up all of it with a simple acceptance of an invitation. I know he didn’t mean harm by it, but he’s a trained professional. That was not a trained professional response. Plus, stepping out of my normal routine of being a bitch to him to keep him at a distance wasn’t just a switch I could flip.

Again, I could have handled that better, but now my brain is in mission mode, trying to reprogram what this night has set up for us. Considering the invitation was for tonight, it gave me little to no time to prepare.

“What time did she say dinner was?” I shouted from my bedroom, where I was going through our small, hidden arsenal of gadgets Tony had made for us.

“Six,” Bucky replied from his room down the hall.

Great, that was forty-five minutes from now… “Ok, I can do this.” Deciding it was best to keep some bugs on hand in case we could plant them in the house, and we would be planting them, I needed to consider sizes and placements.

“Should we bring over some wine or something?” Bucky’s voice was now in the doorway to my room, but I kept my back to him as I sifted through our tools.

“I made a pie earlier today. We can take that,” I answered absentmindedly.

“Why’d you make a pie?”

“Felt like it,” I shrugged and walked out of the closet with three small wires/ bugs in hand. When I looked up, I saw he had changed into a nicer button-up and was tightening a tie around his collar he hadn't been wearing earlier. “Why are you wearing a tie?” I examined him.

“Same reason you’re wearing a nicer dress. I want to make a good impression,” he shrugged, straightening pieces of his outfit.

“I’m wearing this because we were going to our ‘anniversary dinner,’” I made sure to put the lie in hand quotes. “I had a story that went with it, but this can pass as casual, too,” I motioned to my dress and moved toward him, placing the wires on the bed. “This looks like you’re about to give a sales pitch.”

Without thinking, I pop his collar up and loosen the tie to get rid of it. The whole time I’m focusing on untying it, I ramble about what the plan is for the night.

“I’m going to give you a wire to put wherever you see fit, and I’ll do the other two. I’ll excuse myself to use the bathroom and sneak it where it’s needed. I feel it’s important we look for cameras already in the house in case it’s a setup. We don’t need them having hard proof that we bugged their place. We want to come off as simple yet good assets if we want them to bring us on board for their work,” I struggle with a certain spot on the tie he somehow fixed in an efficient way I’d never seen. “Jesus, were you a sailor in another life? Might as well have knotted it.”

He doesn’t respond, but I get it off in the next two seconds and look at him to see he had been studying me intently as I invaded his space. I see my slip-up, push the tie into his chest, and take a step back.

“Sorry.”

“No problem,” he answers rather calmly, and I look at his eyes, seeing patience there. Always that damn patience. How did he still have it with me even with how I’ve treated him? “Listen-”

“About last night,” I say at the same time, and he seems shocked but gives a single nod to tell me to continue. “I want to say I’m sorry for being all over the place recently. From last night to thirty minutes ago.”

He seems frozen by my apology, and I became anxious enough that I start to word vomit.

“I took some time to think after last night and spent the day stressing, thinking how I was going to talk to you about it because I do want to. I want to get what I can out on the table if you’d be ok with that,” I look up through my lashes, and I see the most subtle turn of his lip as he watches me attentively.

“Are you hinting that there’s a chance I’ll get to see the side of you others are lucky enough to see?” he retorts, grin growing and taking a step closer to me.

His use of the word ‘lucky’ shortcircuits my brain, and all I can do is nod once, slowly, as my answer. He takes another step, and I match it with one back. I feel more vulnrable than I was expecting to.

“You can understand now why having our plans for the night changed made me slightly temperamental.”

“I think slightly may be an understatement.”

“I think you still should choose your words carefully,” I say, tightening my smile. However, it doesn’t shut him down like normal. Instead, he laughs under his breath, and the doorbell rings.

Both of our heads shoot toward the noise, and solemnity takes over the room.

“You don’t think that’s,” Bucky pauses as he turns back to me.

“How often am I wrong?” I take a deep breath in and smooth my dress out as I walk over, pausing beside him. “Hide the wires. I already did a sweep of the house while you were getting ready to make sure we didn’t have anything out of place. I’ll tell them you’re getting ready.”

I don’t need to open the door to know who it is, but when I do, the urge to yell, “I told you so!” in Bucky’s face is strong.

“Bethanne!” I smile kindly and immediately notice the dish in her hand. Reggie is behind her, holding two others, looking like he just got off work and had been dragged over here. “Did Beau tell me wrong? Are we not eating at y’all’s house tonight?”

She scrunches her face in a practiced motion and lifts the ceramic bowl up as she explains.

“I hate to ask this of you, but our oven is still the old rickety one. The new one had some faulty design, and we had to ship it back. Needless to say, it decided to give out on us today of all days,” she raised her shoulders. “I know we sprung the dinner on you suddenly, but would you two be willing to host if we provide the food?”

Not on the money of what I guessed, but pretty fucking close to the money if you ask me.

“Who is it, Doll?” Bucky’s voice carries from the hallway he’s now emerging from. The first three buttons on his dress shirt are undone, and he’s messing with the cuffs on the sleeves. “Hey, Bauers,” he smiles yet still holds shock in his features by the neighbor's appearance. “Did we get the time wrong?” he asks, looking at his watch before coming to my side, where I've now moved and am letting themselves in.

“No, no, no,” Bethanne shakes her head and hands off one of the pots to me as she takes one from Reggie, who looks more bothered to be here than happy. Long day human trafficking, asshole? “We had some appliance issues thanks to some of the renovations we were doing. I was just asking your wife if we can use your house as tonight's setting and possibly use your oven while here.”

Without hesitance, Bucky takes the dish from my hands and the dish Bethanne had swapped for and nods for Reggie to follow him.

“No problem at all. Let me help you ladies with that. Char," A nickname he had never used for my character before, but it seemed to work fluently. "Would you like to get some wine for the two of you while I get this organized in the kitchen?” he asks me, placing a kiss on the side of my head while his hands are full as he walks towards the other room.

I don’t know how he’s learned to play his role so well, but it’s convincing, even to me.

“Uh, yeah,” I almost stutter in my response as I motion for Bethanne to follow me to the wine cooler out in the garage. “Red or white with tonight's dish?”

"Do you have any more husbands like that in the back I can steal? What a gentleman," she coos, shoulder-bumping me.

___________

Half an hour of baking the food and getting it plated, and our conversation continued with questions strictly about us mostly, which would have been fine if not for the reason behind such invasive intentions.

They started off simple. How’d you guys meet? Who made the first move? What did we love about the town so far? What kind of hobbies and adventures did we take on before moving here? All questions we had prepared for, and if not, could easily improvise.

So far. No slip-ups. If anything, we sold the scheme far better than I’d imagined we would, even when they became more personal. And our discussion on being the ‘prude couple’ last night seemed to affect Bucky’s actions a lot more than I was expecting.

An obvious hand on my thigh under the table and an arm thrown over my seat in a slightly possessive manner seemed to catch the eye of Reg, who mimicked some of the moves as if it were a competition.

In addition, Bucky kept making small compliments about how I looked and how smart I was when they asked about my job. Dropping little comments about things I did (not my character) that he loved and appreciated.

“She’s always doing things like that. I almost never have to worry about making coffee in the morning because she has it all set up just to hit a button and go.”

“You should ask Charlotte about that. She’s the reason our house looks like a home. I’m sure she could give some advice on the kitchen backsplash.”

“She may not know how to boil an egg correctly, but her baking skills are unmatched. I've put on a few pounds now that we have a nice kitchen to spend time in."

I did my best not to act shocked every time he dropped a compliment, but the fact he could have made shit up for my character and used those details as conversation pieces, yet he went the honest way (although more convincing, of course), shocked me.

“Speaking of baking skills,” Reginald nodded his head back to the kitchen counter behind us and smiled at me. “I spied a pie on the counter. Any chance we can have that to finish off this dinner?”

I was still staring at Bucky from his last form of appreciation when I blinked out of my distraction and returned to our neighbor.

“Oh, of course! I was just about to offer,” I smiled, standing up, and Bucky quickly stood next to me, pulling my chair out. “Thank you.” I smiled at him and placed a hand on his arm as I moved around to the counter.

“How sweet. Oh, Charlotte, would you mind telling me where the bathroom is?” Bethanne asked, standing and giving her husband a look for not showing the same chivalry as Bucky.

I watched her, knowing that I would have used the same excuse to do what we planned to at their house. But I was two steps ahead of her.

“Of course! Beau, do me a favor and get some plates out for dessert. I’m going to show Beth-”

“Oh, I’m sure I can find it,” she waved off, coming around the table and moving to the hall promptly.

Yeah… Not without a chauffeur, honey.

“No problem,” I waved off, moving with her casually. “I need to grab some floss from my bathroom before dessert. I’ll show you to it.”

I can see the most subtle glaze of annoyance at my insistence, but she smiles and walks a step ahead of me.

I show her to the bathroom and make it seem I’m going into the master down the hall while she’s in there. And I do, but I keep an eye to make sure she isn’t snooping in any other room besides the one. We’ll have to survey it after they leave, but better that and the dining room than the whole house.

Once we’re back with the boys, no wandering to be done, Bucky helps me plate a slice of chocolate pie for each of us, and I offer to move the conversation to the porch. Any kind of redirection from the comfort of the inside of our home is welcome.

“I love how you’ve decorated your porch. It’s so cozy,” Bethanne notices, pointing out the colorful decorative pillows, hanging swing the size of a daybed, and loads of plants and decor that make the space more intimate. She and Reggie are sat on the two rocking chairs facing the front yard, and Bucky and I are sat close together on the swing, where he’s controlling the tempo we sway in.

“I always wanted a spot outside to escape. We didn’t really have that at our last home, and it was important for me to have this time around,” I replied.

My answer is actually very true. I loved being outside, especially when it was something as simple as sitting in the backyard or swinging on a porch. I had one requirement about this mission, one I’m not even sure Bucky knew about. But I asked Tony to supply a nice budget for the porch.

Call it cheesy, but growing up in such an unnatural and dehumanizing way, you crave a small part of that normalcy you see on the movie screens. For some reason, a porch I could escape on but still be within the comfort of my own home was a dream. And because it was, I thought I’d make this situation a little more bearable by granting that small wish I always had.

“Well, I may have to start budgeting for a new kind of renovation,” she patted Reg’s back, and he gave her a tight-lip smile. "What do you say, Reggie? Do you think we can get a swing like that one?” She smiled over at us just as Bucky pulled me into his side, his arm going around my waist and his hand resting on my hip.

“I have a feeling we might as well have built a home from scratch by the time you’re happy with the renovations we’ve taken on,” Reg answered with a nod before taking a swig from his beer. “Get that recipe for the pie from Charlotte, and I’ll consider buying you a new porch,” he winked my way and turned back to the front of our lawn.

I found Bucky’s hand tightening at the action, and his thumb started rubbing in an up-and-down pattern along my hip. When I turned to him slightly, his gaze stayed on Reg.

Before finishing cleaning up for the night, we said goodbye to our guests, and just when we thought we hadn’t made any headway in our conversation about work (mind you, we had dropped hints and notices about it all night, but neither of the two seemed to take the bait), Reg stopped on the last step to our porch and turned to Bucky.

“You mentioned working in transportation, and by the sounds of your new job up here, if you’re interested in a more innovative place, I may have some ins for you,” he shook Bucky’s hand. “I have some coworkers around the states that could use some employees like you on their route.”

“I may take you up on that offer. It all depends on how this week rolls out,” Bucky answered perfectly. The Bauers said their goodbyes, and we watched them walk home before turning to each other.

In a silent celebration, we grinned at the invitation and then sent wordless glances to tread carefully when we got in before scoping the place for bugs…

_______________

Bucky’s POV:

I’m not surprised that the blonde sole cycle instructor of a neighbor was able to get a wire in our bathroom, but neither Y/N nor I were in the mood to remove it right away and give away our knowledge of it, so we each grabbed another drink for the night and debriefed subtly on the porch where the only bugs we had to mind were the crickets chirping their music for the night.

Bethanne was right. Our porch was nicely done, and I hadn’t even noticed Y/N had hung lights out here until she plugged them in.

“I feel like this spot is more put together than the rest of the house.” I noticed the details when we were out here earlier. Now, we both have taken up spots in the rocking chairs our neighbors had vacated.

“I may have focused more of my attention on this spot than the others,” she smiled as she brought a tumbler glass up to her lips. She had drank wine while Bethanne was here, but as soon as they were gone, the whiskey I had made a glass for myself was stolen out of my hand before I could take a sip. Now, we had each of our own.

“Was what you said about the porch a real thing? I mean, we have balconies at the compound,” I looked at her as I sat my drink on the small table between us.

“Balconies and porches aren’t the same. At least in my head, they aren’t,” she nodded, taking a deep sigh and resting her glass in her lap. “Did you mean what you said when you were complimenting me all night?” She lulled her head to the side to look at me.

I had been giving quite a few compliments. It felt easier to use the ones I had picked up on than the ones I made up. Yet again, I think anyone should get the recognition they deserve when they excel in something. Y/N just tended to excel in more than I think she was aware of. And I was learning she didn’t seem to be used to people taking note of those things.

“Why lie?” I shrugged, starting to rock in a steady pattern.

“Because that’s this whole gig. A lie,” she answered, taking another pull of the hard liquor.

I considered her perspective and shook my head, looking out to the lights on the other side of the street. “I guess it gets tiring at points. Don’t really feel like doing it if the truth can be just as usable.”

She didn’t answer for a handful of seconds, and when I turned back to her, she was staring at me like she was waiting for another shoe to drop.

“How are you so patient? Seriously, is it a drug Tony made you before you had to deal with me on this mission? I don’t get it,” she laughs, but I can hear the genuine confusion in it as she sits forward and turns her body to me.

Honesty. I’m in a mood to be 100% honest.

“Want me to be real with you?” I asked, turning my own body.

“It’d be preferred,” she nods and rests both her arms on the armrest.

“I don’t know anything about your past, but I know most people have a reason for acting the way they do. It took years and a ton of patience before I felt like I was even close to who I used to be. I still struggle to come to terms with the fact I’ll never be who I was before the train incident,” I sigh and rest my head back against the chair as I look at her. “I guess I have understanding more than patience. I understand that you have a history of your own that I don’t know, and I can’t blame you for a lot of the things you do.”

“But you should. I’m an asshole to you,” she says, and the admission is kinda nice to hear, even if it is sad.

“Yeah, and I was hoping you’d be willing to share why that is,” I reply calmly.

She tenses some and sits back in her chair, pulling her legs under her to sit crisscrossed, the chair rocking with her movement and her dress overflowing past her knees.

“I guess now is as good a time as ever…” She looked at me sidelong before finding comfort in the view in front of her instead. “I didn’t really have a chance to develop a personality of my own because my time in this lifestyle,” she motions around her, “started as soon as I could walk. So I had no identity to fall back on since I had to find it after I escaped.”

I had questions, but I found it best just to listen. Clearly, what she was talking about wasn’t something she brought up lightly, and being an ear to listen was what she needed right now.

“I was left behind by whichever no-good parent gave me up, and Adonis Hummel took me as his own and decided he’d try to recreate the famous assassin, The Winter Solider, from birth practically.”

The name drop came quickly and struck home. I didn’t know her whole story, but I had enough imagination and experience to believe where she was going.

“Wait, Hummel?” I started because the name sounded familiar, but…

“He was a low-level scientist who worked for Hydra when they were still using you under Pierce. He thought he had the brains and resources to create his own version of you. A version that would be more undetectable as a woman and a version he could tweak however he wanted,” she rolled her shoulders. “Lucky for him, I didn’t have to be brainwashed since I knew nothing besides the life of abuse, experimentation, and a shit ton of conditioning... " 

"To clarify, I say that for context, not sympathy,” she straightened, and I could see her shifting back to her unbothered disposition, but the truth was shining through the cracks. She may not have wanted sympathy, but something about the vulnerability seemed to lighten the load on her shoulders.

“As for why I may have built a wall around you, an unhealthy and senile wall, I felt as though…” She gulped as if the next part was harder for her to say than the abuse of her past. “I felt as though you had been my competition my whole life, and a part of me, a young and in-need-of-therapy part of me, thought it was best to keep you as far away as possible and hold onto that anger instead of work through it. It felt easier than facing the fear that I didn’t actually equate to you in any way. So that’s another reason why I felt everything with you was to prove a point.” She lets out a short breath after using all the air in her lungs in one swift swoop.

I-

It’s a lot to take in…

She doesn’t move her head back towards me after her confession, and I can’t seem to break my stare from her.

“This is where you say something like, ‘Well, it’s your lucky day. I’m actually an asshole either way, so we can go on hating each other for completely understandable reasons!’ or I don’t know? Anything but silence would be preferred, though…”

Her hand is gripping the arm rest unconsciously like an anchor keeping her on earth.

On instinct, I reach across and pull her hand into mine, keeping my stare heavy, enticing her to look at me.

She closes her eyes at first and takes another short breath before turning.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel unworthy of being on the team.” I feel like I personally am the reason for her suffering, even if I had no correlation with her before I joined the team. "You are more than an asset to the team and are your own kind of weapon. It's incomparable."

“Ugh,” she sniffles and rubs an eye with the heel of her free hand as if to disguise a possible tear as allergies. “This would be so much easier if you were a piece of shit misogynistic asshole, but you're part of the few good ones out there. Steve, Sam, and Clint included, not Tony,” she noted.

I smiled, thinking about how I’d make a team like that even if she had me believe otherwise for so long.

“What I’m trying to get at, B, is you’re not the one I should be blaming for my past. You’re just as much a victim as I am, but I took the easy way out of making it more manageable for me, and I only made it harder for us both in the end. And for that,” she turned and stared into my eyes fully, the hand she held squeezing my own. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve an ounce of the kind of cruelness I tried to bury you in. You are the opposite of what they tried to make you, and you’re genuine in proving that to anyone who meets you. I've been envious of the strength you have, and I can say confidently that I deeply regret ever blaming you for that.”

I once again have to process yet another collection of words I’d never thought I hear. From her. Ever. A part of me believed this was a dream, but the part that Y/N had a grip on was practically pinching me into reality.

Without hesitating, I stood up, pulled her arm up with me, and yanked her into my body in a crushing hug.

She froze at first… The motion was quick and surprising, but slowly, she unhooked our hands, brought both of hers tightly around my waist, and laid into me. I rested my head on top of hers and pulled her shoulders in with my arms, wrapping both of my own tightly around her.

I wasn’t going to let go until she did, and by the looks of it… She wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

Marvel Tags:

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[burningfudge]

Black Widow, Winter Soldier, and WinterWidow reading list

I made this list for another post, but I thought I'd put it here too.

Black Widow (1999) by Devin Grayson - Natasha's first solo. It's only three issues, and it's the start of modern Black Widow. It introduces important aspects of her character, like the Red Room. Yelena is introduced for the first time.

Black Widow (2001) by Devin Grayson - Another three-issue comic, which I thought was a fun read. It's a Natasha, Yelena, and Matt team-up comic. It's a part of Marvel Knights, which told more mature and darker stories so I have a soft spot for the 1999 and 2001 runs for this reason.

Black Widow: Pale Little Spider (2002) by Greg Rucka - Another three-issue comic. While not focused on Natasha, it's a Yelena solo. It's part of the Max comics line, which was an attempt to tell adult-only stories, and it definitely shows because Yelena visits a bondage sex club. A very important comic for Yelena.

Black Widow: Homecoming (2004) by Richard K. Morgan - I think this comic was extremely influential for modern Black Widow. A lot of her mythos originated from this comic. The movie took a lot of inspiration from this comic as well, like the pheremones thing.

Black Widow: The Things They Say About Her (2005) by Richard K. Morgan - This one is decent. It's not entirely important, but I think it's worth a read. A classic Black Widow story where Natasha is on the run and doesn't know who to trust. While it's overdone at this point, I think this was the first comic to portray it. Yelena and Matt show up in this one too.

Captain America (2005) by Ed Brubaker - VERY IMPORTANT. Bucky is reintroduced as the Winter Soldier and shows up in #1. While it's long, every issue is worth it. Natasha doesn't show up until #27, but #27-#50 is peak buckynat. This run is one of my fav comics of all time.

New Avengers #48-64, Annual #3, Finale (2005) by Brian Michael Bendis - Natasha isn't super important in this, and she barely shows up, but Bucky shows up frequently. I wouldn't say it's entirely important, but it's during Bucky's time as Captain America, and when he interacts with the Avengers, so I recommend it just for that. Also, I'm a little biased because New Avengers (2005) is probably my favorite comic ever.

Black Widow (2010) by Marjorie Liu - The best Black Widow story ever written. I don't think anyone has disliked it. 10/10, I always love to reread it.

Black Widow: Deadly Origin (2010) by Paul Cornell - A miniseries about Natasha's origin. Not entirely important, but it's a solid Black Widow story. Appearances from Bucky and Wolverine.

Captain America #600-619 by Ed Brubaker - Again, it's very important for both Bucky and Natasha. It's a continuation of Captain America (2005).

Captain America & Bucky #620-624 (2011) by Ed Brubaker - Pretty important. It's a retelling of Bucky's life. #624 is all about buckynat and how they met. A lot of iconic buckynat content that the fandom gushes over is in it.

Widowmaker (2011) - Not super important and Bucky isn't in it. A fun team-up story about Clint and Natasha with Bobbi. I enjoyed reading it.

Winter Soldier (2012) by Ed Brubaker - I cannot tell you how much I love this comic. It's the best Bucky's ever been written and I don't think anyone will disagree when I say that no one has ever understood Bucky like Ed Brubaker. Extremely important for buckynat.

Winter Soldier: The Bitter March (2014) by Rick Remender - I'm not going to lie; I don't really remember much from this comic, but I know people like it.

Black Widow (2014) by Phil Noto & Nathan Edmondson - Another popular comic for Natasha. It's probably my second favorite Black Widow comic after Liu's. Another Black Widow is on the run story, but Liho is introduced in this! Bucky is in #8, 15, 17-18. A must read.

Bucky Barnes: The Winter Soldier (2014) by Ales Kot - This isn't my favorite, but the art is absolutely beautiful. I don't think it's essential. Natasha is not in this.

Black Widow (2016) by Mark Waid - I enjoyed reading this comic. I'd rank it third after Liu and Noto. Bucky is in #9-10. Essential Black Widow comic.

Tales of Suspense #100-104 by Matthew Rosenberg - A Winter Soldier and Hawkeye team-up where they look for Natasha after she was killed by Hydra Cap in Secret Empire (no need to read it; SE is trash). A fandom favorite, and I absolutely love it. Winterhawk exploded in popularity after this run.

Winter Soldier (2018) by Kyle Higgins - Natasha does not show up in this, but it's very important for Bucky. It's a short five-issue miniseries, and it's probably the best Bucky has been written since Brubaker.

Black Widow (2019) by Jen and Sylvia Soska - It's a miniseries, and it's a fairly dark one. Natasha is back from the dead, and she's PISSED. Bucky doesn't show up in this one, but Steve does, and it's after her murder at Hydra Cap's hands.

Web of Black Widow (2019) by Jody Houser - Another Natasha miniseries where she's on the run and her friends are worried about her. Bucky shows up in #2 and #5.

Falcon and Winter Soldier (2020) by Derek Landy - A fun team-up comic with Sam and Bucky. Natasha doesn't show up. Not essential.

Black Widow (2020) by Kelly Thompson - It's...not great. Many people have already talked about what they didn't like, so I won't go over it, but it has some fantastic buckynat moments. However, I will say that I really love Natasha, Yelena, Clint, and Bucky teaming up in this comic. That group together is highly entertaining. It doesn't seem like anything from this comic will be paid attention to in the future, but I would still read it.

Captain America: Sentinel of Liberty (2022) by Jackson Lanzing and Collin Kelly - Really trash. I didn’t like this at all. Bucky isn't written well, and I think Natasha shows up like twice. Skip.

Captain America: Cold War (2023) by Jackson Lanzing and Collin Kelly - Another trash event. Skip.

Thunderbolts (2023) by Jackson Lanzing and Collin Kelly - Buckynat FINALLY get back together after they broke up in Winter Soldier (2012). A boring comic otherwise.

[sleepypanda27]

Strangers In The Night (Miniseries?)

Bucky Barnes x reader AU

Summary: You meet a handsome stranger at a bar.

Words: 1,085

You went to a bar, you had frequently visited in the last few weeks. You went there not because there would be the best drinks in town, no, not even close. It was because of this one tall, mysterious, handsome stranger you had laid your eye on. You had seen him only two times before, but it was enough to fall for him.

There was something intriguing about him that pulled you to him like a magnet. He made you feel things only with his smile alone and the way he looked at you, making you wonder how else he could make you feel in different ways. You hadn’t talked to him yet, but you wanted to.

What you didn’t know was that he was interested in you too. The first time he saw you, you were there with your friends. For a second, he thought you smiled at him, but he wasn’t entirely sure you were saying goodbyes to your friends and already leaving. Since that night, he came there every friday night waiting, hoping you would show up. His usual spot at the bar and the same drink, occasionally throwing glances at the entrance, waiting for you to show up again, walking through the door, making the time around him stop.

He was convinced that you were the one he had waited for his whole life.

Tonight was his lucky day. After waiting for about two hours, he thought about leaving, but then he lifted his eyes from his almost empty glass and saw you sitting across the bar from him. How hadn’t he noticed you sooner? He couldn’t help a smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth, seeing you smile at him.

He didn’t know you, but he thought you could understand him. He had never felt like this about anyone. This was a new exciting sensation. It was scary and thrilling at the same time.

Downing the remains of his drink, he gathered all the courage he could muster and made his way to you. His heart beat in his chest like crazy.

“Hi, there.” He greeted you with a warm smile.

“Hi,” You smiled back.

“I noticed you are drinking the same poison as me. Are you copying me?” He placed his elbow on the bar counter, leaning against it.

“Maybe you are copying me?”

“Touché. Can I buy you a drink?” He asked. When you agreed, he ordered two drinks, one for you and one for himself.

“Look, I was just trying to drink here, but you are very distracting.” He smiled cheekily, taking a seat beside you on the free bar stool.

“Me? How am I distracting you?” You smiled in amusement, placing your chin on your hand, giving him your full undivided attention.

“By sitting here, all beautiful and mysterious. Driving me insane over there.” He pointed at his previous seat. “Couldn’t take it anymore, I had to come over here and talk to you.”

“How many times has this line worked for you?” You felt warmth flowing to your cheeks. The pickup lines were cheesy, but it worked for him.

“Quite a lot, actually.” He chuckled.

“Seriously?” Your brows raised in surprise at his bold answer.

“No,” He laughed. “I don’t usually do this.” He admitted, running his fingers through his short hair. You wanted to do it so badly, brush your hands through his locks, pull him close to you, and kiss until… “So, what’s your name, besides beautiful?” He asked, breaking you out of your daydream.

“Y/n.” You chuckled at the cheesy line.

“Pretty name for a pretty lady.”

“I can't believe you just said that.” You laughed, making a face. “And what's your name? Or am I supposed to call you Mr. Handsome?”

“Bucky, but you can call me whatever you like." He winked a spark of mischief crossing his stormy blue eyes. "Sorry about the bad pick-up lines.” He apologized, adorably crinkling his nose.

“They weren’t that bad.”

“Oh yeah? Then prepare for the ultimate pick-up line.“ He grinned, leaning a little closer to you. “What does a place like you do in a girl like this?” He asked, twirling his glass between his fingers.

You burst out laughing.

"Oh, no..." He realised his mistake. "I meant, what does a girl like you does in a plase like this?" He shook his head in emberesment. "There goes my chances."

“Well, that was something I haven't heard before. Drinks, mostly.” You didn’t want to confess to him straight ahead that you were there because of him.

“Hmm, mostly?” He seemed intrigued by your answer. “I have a feeling there is something more to it.”

“Haven't decided yet.” You winked playfully, hiding behind your glass as you downed your drink.

A couple of drinks in the conversation was flowing effortlessly. You talked about some usual stuff people talk about to know each other better. You found out that he only recently has returned to New York, where he had lived most of his life. He decided to move back since all his life was here, and he missed it dearly.

“I’m going to be completely honest here, I’m here only because you are here. I almost lost my last hope tonight and went home, but then you showed up.” He said, looking through his lashes.

Your heart skipped a beat from the way he was looking at you, and you accidentally knocked over your empty glass, quickly catching it before it rolled down the counter.

“Looks like someone’s quite buzzed.” He observed, offering you a paper napkin, which you took to clean your hands and the counter, wiping the few drops of liquid that spilled from the bottom of your glass.

“I’m not drunk. I’m just intoxicated by you.” You cooed, you didn’t feel drunk, you felt sober even.

At this point in the night, the bar was almost empty. The couple at the other side of the bar, on their countless drink, whispered something to one another. The bartender polished glasses, occasionally glancing over the room. Quiet music played in the background.

“I know, I’m a stranger you just met at a bar, but do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes.” You nodded, already standing up and taking your jacket from the back of the chair.

“Your place or mine?” He asked, taking your jacket from you and holding it for you to put on.

You thought about it, considering all the options. “Your place, but with one condition...”

[mintyys-blog]

BLOODIED SHIELD— slasher! steve rogers

2

The silence in the cabin is suffocating. The only sound is your ragged breathing and Hale’s weak coughs. You push yourself up, your body screaming in protest. Every inch of you aches, but there’s no time to focus on the pain.

You limp toward the doorway, gripping the frame for support as you scan the dark tree line. Nothing. No movement. No sign of Steve.

But he’s still out there.

He let you live.

Not because he failed.

Because he wanted to.

Behind you, Hale wheezes. “That was a mistake.”

You turn, still breathless. “What?”

Hale coughs again, blood speckling his lips. “He’s testing you. He could’ve killed you back there. Should’ve. But he didn’t.”

You swallow hard. “Why?”

Hale’s eyes are glassy, unfocused. “Because he wants to see what you’ll do next.”

The words send a chill down your spine.

You force yourself to think. To move. Hale isn’t in any shape to run. You don’t know where Steve is. You don’t know how much time you have before he decides to finish what he started.

One thing is clear.

Staying here is a death sentence.

You move quickly, searching the cabin. A first-aid kit in the kitchen. A rusted old revolver in a drawer—unloaded. A flashlight with barely any battery left.

Not much. But it’ll have to do.

You kneel beside Hale, pressing gauze against the wound on his neck. “Can you walk?”

Hale grimaces. “I’ll manage.”

You help him up, his weight pressing heavily against your side. Every step is slow, agonizing, but you push forward. You have to get back to town.

You reach the door. Take one last look at the tree line.

Still nothing. But you know he’s watching. And the next time you see him— You don’t think he’ll let you walk away.

The cold bites at your skin as you step outside, supporting Hale as best you can. His breathing is ragged, each step unsteady, but he pushes forward. You both know stopping isn’t an option.

The woods stretch out before you, endless and black. The cabin behind you feels like a grave waiting to be filled. You don’t look back.

You move.

Every crunch of snow beneath your boots sounds deafening in the quiet. The flashlight flickers in your hand, casting weak beams of light between the trees. You scan the darkness, pulse hammering in your ears.

Steve is out there. Somewhere.

Watching. Testing.

You swallow hard. The thought makes your skin crawl. Hale’s words echo in your head.

“He wants to see what you’ll do next.”

You’re not sure what’s worse—that he let you live, or that he’s waiting for something.

The minutes drag on. The town is miles away, and the snow makes every step feel like you’re wading through quicksand. Your shoulder throbs where the shield clipped you, but you don’t stop.

Then— A sound. Not behind you. Ahead.

You freeze. Hale tenses against your side, his breath hitching.

The wind? A branch breaking? No.

Something deliberate.

You slowly raise the flashlight, heart pounding. The beam flickers over the trees, shaky from the tremor in your hands.

For a moment, there’s nothing. Just the endless, stretching dark.

Then—A shape. Standing between the trees. Tall. Unmoving. You don’t breathe.

The flashlight flickers again, the battery dying. The shape disappears into darkness.

Your stomach twists. You grip Hale tighter.

“Keep moving,” you whisper. You don’t know if he heard you, but he stumbles forward with you, his weight heavy against your side. You don’t look back. You can’t. Because if you do, you’re afraid you’ll see him standing closer. Waiting. Smiling.

The world seems to narrow with each step, your senses heightened, every shadow turning into a threat, every snap of a twig louder than it should be. The cold is unbearable now, creeping under your skin, but it’s the fear that freezes you more than the winter night.

The trees loom like silent sentinels, their skeletal branches reaching toward you, their shadows stretching like fingers that want to drag you deeper into the woods. Hale’s weight is becoming unbearable, but you can’t afford to stop. He’s barely conscious, his breath coming in shallow gasps. You’re not sure how much longer he can keep going.

Then, another sound.

Closer this time.

A low creak—like boots pressing into wet earth.

You freeze.

This time, it’s not the wind.

It’s him.

Your hand tightens around the flashlight, but the beam flickers weakly before dying completely. The darkness closes in, thick and suffocating, but you still feel his presence—like a shadow that stretches across your spine.

You can’t hear his footsteps, but you can feel them.

You can feel him getting closer.

You try to move, but Hale stumbles, his legs giving out beneath him. You grab his arm, but his weight pulls you down. Panic surges through you as he groans, barely able to lift his head.

“You need to stand,” you hiss, trying to pull him up, but his body is like dead weight.

Then, through the fog of fear and adrenaline, you hear it again—closer this time. A whistle.

It cuts through the night like a warning.

It’s the sound of a shield cutting through the air.

Without thinking, you push Hale up and grab the revolver from your jacket. You have no idea how to use it, but you know you can’t die without a fight.

Then, from behind you, you hear him.

“Don’t run.”

His voice is low, calm, and so familiar.

But it isn’t the Steve Rogers you knew.

It’s something darker, colder—something unrecognizable.

You turn, and there he is. Steve Rogers.

But not Steve.

His eyes are dead, empty—no trace of the hero who once fought for justice. His face is streaked with blood, but it doesn’t faze him. His uniform is torn, battered, a grotesque mockery of what it used to be. And in his hands, the shield gleams in the dim moonlight—smeared with blood, jagged and stained.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, taking a slow, deliberate step forward.

You raise the revolver, your hand trembling.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you lie, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.

Steve’s lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You should be.”

Then, without warning, he lunges.

Time seems to slow. Your heart beats in your throat. You can’t think. You can’t move. The gun feels heavy, useless in your hand.

You fire.

The bullet misses.

Steve’s shield crashes into your chest before you can react, the force of the blow lifting you off your feet. Pain explodes in your chest as the air is knocked from your lungs, and you crash to the ground, vision blurring. You can barely breathe. Every muscle screams in protest.

Above you, Steve stands, shield raised, his silhouette framed by the dark trees. He doesn’t move to finish you off. Not yet. He’s savoring this.

“You think I didn’t see you?” he mutters, his voice cold. “You think I don’t know why you’re here?”

Your breath is ragged. You force yourself to look up at him, but everything is spinning. Hale is silent beside you, barely moving.

“You’re the answer, you know,” Steve says, his voice almost distant, as if talking to himself. “You’ve been asking the wrong questions. You think this is about the past? About them? No. It’s about you. What you’ll do when you see the truth. When you realize that I’m the only one who can fix it.”

You try to push yourself up, but your body won’t obey. The gun is out of reach. You’re powerless.

Steve steps closer, his boot grinding into the snow as he looms over you. The air feels thick with something heavy, something suffocating.

“Why?” you gasp.

Steve’s eyes narrow. “Because the world needs purging. You’re too weak to understand. But you will.”

And then, before you can react, he raises the shield once more, preparing to strike.

You brace for the impact, knowing that there’s no escaping it.

This time, you won’t survive.

But just as the shield swings down, something happens.

A flash of light.

A loud crack.

And then—nothing.

The shield stops mid-air.

Steve’s hand twitches as if he’s surprised, confused. For a split second, he falters, his gaze flicking to something just past you.

You struggle to push yourself up, breath rattling in your chest, the pain nearly blinding you. You glance over your shoulder, heart pounding in your throat.

There, at the edge of the woods, another figure emerges. A silhouette outlined by the dim, cold moonlight.

It’s a man, tall and broad-shouldered. He’s wearing a thick coat, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. But the way he moves is different—graceful, precise. Not like the stumbling, panicked mess of a town desperate to escape. He’s calm. Too calm.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice him at first, still focused on you, but the figure’s presence is undeniable.

You watch in stunned silence as the man steps forward, his boots crunching lightly in the snow, closer, closer to the confrontation unfolding before him.

Steve finally registers the new presence. His gaze snaps to the man, eyes narrowing into slits. A low growl rumbles from his throat.

“Stay out of this,” Steve warns, voice low and laced with venom.

The man doesn’t flinch.

“I don’t think so,” he responds, his tone quiet, but his words cutting through the tension like a blade.

Before Steve can react, the man moves. Fast. Too fast for Steve to track. He’s upon him in an instant, slamming into Steve with a force that rattles the trees around you.

The shield clatters to the snow, rolling out of reach as the two men grapple. The sound of fists meeting flesh echoes in the night, the sickening thud of bone on bone.

You try to move, try to get to your feet, but your body refuses to cooperate. The pain in your chest is excruciating, and your limbs feel like dead weight. Hale is still unconscious beside you, completely unaware of the new danger unfolding.

The fight between Steve and the man is brutal. Steve’s speed is matched only by his strength, but the other man… he’s different. His movements are controlled, precise. He doesn’t overpower Steve; he outmaneuvers him, every strike calculated, every dodge instinctive. It’s a stark contrast to the savagery Steve has shown.

Finally, with a sharp, brutal twist, the man manages to get Steve in a chokehold. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Steve struggles, but his movements grow weaker, slower. His chest heaves as he gasps for air, but the other man doesn’t let go.

And then—Steve’s body goes still.

For a moment, you can’t believe it. You watch as the man releases Steve, who collapses to the snow, gasping for breath. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t try to rise.

The man stands over him, chest heaving from the exertion, eyes scanning the scene.

“Stay down,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. Then, his gaze turns to you. His expression softens—just a little.

“You’re lucky,” he says, voice steady but laced with exhaustion. “He wasn’t finished with you yet.”

You open your mouth to speak, but the words die in your throat. You can’t breathe. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving you weak, trembling.

The man walks over to you, kneeling by your side. His eyes flick to Hale, checking for any signs of life. Then, without a word, he carefully pulls you to your feet, helping you stand despite your trembling legs.

“You need to leave,” he says quietly, his voice like gravel. “This town is no longer safe for anyone. Not even for people like you.”

You stare at him, trying to process everything. Trying to understand who he is, what he wants. Your body aches, your mind reeling. You still can’t feel your fingers properly. But in the pit of your stomach, a terrible, aching certainty settles in.

Steve isn’t dead. He’s just biding his time.

And the nightmare isn’t over yet.

The man glances at Steve one last time before turning his attention back to you.

“Do you want to survive?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, though it feels more like a reflex than a decision.

“Then you need to move. Now.”

You want to argue. You want to demand more answers. But the urgency in his voice tells you everything you need to know. You can either stay here, where Steve will find you and finish what he started, or you can run.

And you’re too damn close to dying to choose anything else.

“Get moving,” he urges, giving you a slight push.

You don’t hesitate this time. You turn, pulling Hale with you, dragging him through the snow. Your legs are shaky, your breath ragged, but you don’t stop. You can hear Steve stirring behind you, but this time, you don’t look back.

You push yourself harder, ignoring the burning in your legs, the exhaustion crawling through your veins. Hale’s weight is a constant strain on your shoulder, but you drag him forward with every ounce of strength you have left. The man behind you doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. He’s already a few paces ahead, moving like he’s done this a thousand times before, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. You don’t question him. Not anymore.

The air is freezing, biting at your exposed skin, but it feels like nothing compared to the gnawing fear in your chest. Every sound behind you, every whisper of the wind through the trees, makes your heart race. You don’t know if Steve’s still out there, if he’s already following, but you can’t afford to turn around and check. You’ve been running from him for too long.

The man leads you through the woods, taking narrow, winding paths that cut through the trees like a maze. You barely keep up, struggling to stay on your feet while keeping Hale conscious. His body feels heavier with every step, his head lolling against your side. He’s slipping in and out of consciousness, but you don’t have time to stop and check on him.

Then, after what feels like hours, the man finally stops. You barely register the sudden halt, stumbling into his back.

“We’re close,” he mutters, his voice low and steady. He glances back, assessing the distance. “We can’t afford to rest here too long. He’ll be coming.”

You don’t need him to explain who he is. You know. Steve. The monster who used to be Captain America. The monster who doesn’t stop. Who doesn’t care.

You force yourself to breathe, to stay calm, but the weight of it all is too much. You clench your fists, fighting against the wave of panic threatening to overtake you.

“Who are you?” The question escapes before you can stop it, raw and desperate.

The man doesn’t answer immediately. He looks at you for a long moment, his eyes cold but not unkind. His gaze flickers to Hale and then back to you.

“I’m someone who knows how to survive,” he finally says, his voice clipped. “And right now, surviving is all that matters.”

Before you can press for more, he turns and motions toward a small, hidden cabin nestled between two large trees. You hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he’s pointed it out, it seems almost too perfect—a safe haven hidden in plain sight.

He opens the door with a single, practiced motion and ushers you inside. The cabin is small, barely more than a shack, but it’s warm. The fire crackling in the stone fireplace feels like a blessing after the icy night air. You lower Hale onto a threadbare couch near the fire, finally allowing yourself a moment of respite.

The man stands by the door, scanning the surrounding woods through the small window. His stance is tense, alert, like he’s expecting something—or someone—any second.

You can’t help but stare at him, trying to piece together who he is. He looks like he belongs here, but there’s something more to him. The way he moves. The way he talks. Like he’s been through something similar before. You wonder how many people like Steve he’s faced.

“Who are you?” you ask again, your voice softer this time, though still laced with suspicion.

The man’s gaze flickers to you, and then he exhales, long and tired.

“Does it really matter?” he says quietly, his eyes narrowing as if he’s considering your next question. “You’re still here. And that’s the only thing that matters right now.”

You’re about to push again, to demand more answers, when a sudden noise from outside cuts through the air—a faint sound, but unmistakable.

The sound of boots crunching in the snow.

Your heart skips a beat.

The man’s hand immediately goes to the small rifle slung across his back. He moves toward the window in a fluid motion, his face hardening.

“They’re close,” he mutters. “Stay here. Do not make a sound.”

You don’t argue. You barely have time to process what’s happening before the man slips out the door, vanishing into the night with the kind of quiet precision you’ve only seen in the most experienced hunters.

You try to steady your breath, your eyes glued to the door. You can hear the sound of branches snapping in the distance, the subtle shuffle of movement as someone—or something—approaches.

It’s him.

You know it is.

Every fiber of your being tells you it’s Steve. You don’t have to see him to know that he’s coming, that he’s close, that he’s hunting.

A few moments stretch into eternity. The fire crackles behind you, the flickering shadows dancing along the cabin walls. You grip Hale’s hand, trying to stay calm, to keep your mind focused.

Then you hear it—the unmistakable sound of someone pushing through the snow, the steady thud of boots crunching closer. Your pulse quickens.

You hold your breath.

The door creaks open.

The door creaks open slowly, and for a split second, you think your heart might stop. The air is heavy, thick with the silence that seems to press in on you from every side. You don’t dare move, not even to blink. Every muscle in your body is frozen, your eyes locked on the door, waiting for the inevitable.

Then, through the gap, you see him.

Steve.

He steps into the cabin, his presence like a shadow cast over the room. His eyes scan the interior, his face an unreadable mask of rage and calculation. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t make a sound, but you can feel the weight of his gaze like a physical force.

He’s no longer the man you once knew. This version of Steve is broken, twisted. His once-pristine uniform is barely recognizable, torn and stained with blood, a grotesque parody of the hero he used to be. The shield is slung across his back, blood still fresh on its surface, a silent testament to the lives he’s taken.

You can feel your pulse hammering in your throat. Every instinct in you is screaming to run, but you’re paralyzed by the sheer terror of it all.

Steve’s eyes flick to you, and his lips curl into something that might have once been a smile, but now it’s nothing more than a sneer, full of malice.

“You’re still alive,” he says, his voice cold, flat. “I thought you’d be smarter than this.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. You force yourself to take a breath, your fingers still wrapped tightly around Hale’s hand. You want to say something—anything—but your voice feels like it’s been stolen from you.

Steve steps further into the cabin, his boots scraping against the wooden floor. His gaze shifts to the rifle by the door, then to the man who’s been helping you. The man’s shadow remains just outside, but his presence is undeniable. Steve knows he’s there, knows he’s been watching.

For a moment, everything is still, and you wonder if you’ve reached the end. If this is where it all ends.

Then, Steve takes another step, and his eyes narrow. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he says, his voice low, like he’s savoring every word. “This town is mine now. Everything in it is mine. And you—” His eyes flick back to you. “You’re just a reminder of everything that’s wrong with the world.”

His hand moves slowly to the shield on his back, fingers brushing against the cold metal. You can feel the shift in the air. The tension is unbearable.

“Leave,” the man’s voice suddenly cuts through the thick silence. It’s sharp, commanding. “This is your last warning, Rogers. Go now, and I won’t make you regret it.”

Steve’s expression falters, just for a moment. But then the sneer returns, his hand tightening around the shield’s strap.

“You think you can stop me?” Steve spits, taking a step forward, his body tense. “You’re just a ghost of a man, hiding in the shadows, trying to play hero.”

He’s not listening. He’s too far gone. The man knew it, you knew it.

And now you both know there’s no other choice.

In an instant, Steve lunges toward the man, his movements impossibly fast. The shield flies off his back, catching the light as it whips through the air, a blur of deadly intent. But the man is ready. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he’s already moving, sidestepping with practiced ease, grabbing a nearby chair and swinging it at Steve with all his strength. The shield meets the wood with a sickening crack, splintering the chair in half. The man grunts as the force of Steve’s shield rattles his arms, but he doesn’t lose his footing.

The fight that erupts between them is brutal. Fast. It’s not just a fight for survival anymore—it’s a clash of two forces, two men who understand the kind of violence that comes when you’ve lost everything. The sound of fists meeting flesh, the crack of bones, the scrape of the shield on the floor fills the cabin.

You want to look away, but you can’t. You’re transfixed. Every second, every punch, feels like it could be the one that ends it all.

Hale’s hand twitches in yours, and you jerk your gaze away from the fight, desperate to make sure he’s still breathing. His face is pale, but there’s a faint pulse beneath your fingers. He’s alive. For now.

You don’t have much time.

In the chaos, you make a split-second decision. You can’t stay here, not with Steve going insane, not with the fight spilling over and the cabin closing in on you. You know you have to get Hale out of here.

You pull him up with whatever strength you can muster, dragging him toward the door. The fight between Steve and the man rages on, but it’s clear that Steve is gaining the upper hand. The man’s movements are slowing, his breathing more labored.

You don’t know what will happen if you stay. The man—whoever he is—can only hold Steve off for so long. You can’t risk it.

As you pull Hale out the door, you hear Steve’s voice rise, a furious scream filled with pure rage. It’s almost as if he’s already sensed your escape.

“YOU WON’T GET AWAY!” he roars. “YOU’RE ALL DEAD!”

But you don’t stop. You can’t. You run, pulling Hale through the snow, feeling the sting of the cold on your face, the crunch of the snow beneath your feet. Behind you, the battle rages on, but you’re too focused on the way ahead.

You need to survive.

You need to make it out.

And as you push forward, you hear it—a faint sound that makes your blood run cold.

The sound of boots, heavy and relentless, closing in on you.

And you know, without a doubt, that Steve isn’t done yet. You can feel it in your bones—the heavy, relentless thudding of boots behind you. Steve’s voice, sharp and laced with fury, echoes through the trees. But it’s Bucky’s presence that keeps you moving, the urgency in his footsteps urging you to keep going, to escape the nightmare that’s chasing you.

Hale, still barely conscious, is a dead weight in your arms. You push through the snow, your muscles screaming in protest, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You can feel the cold biting into your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the fear gnawing at your insides.

Bucky’s voice, low and steady, cuts through the panic. “Don’t stop,” he says, his tone urgent but calm. “We’re almost there. Keep going.”

You don’t know how much longer you can run, but you can’t stop. Not now.

Behind you, Steve’s growl grows louder, a promise of retribution. The sound of his footsteps is getting closer, and with each passing second, the weight of his rage presses down harder. You glance over your shoulder, only for a split second. It’s enough to catch a glimpse of him—his bloodstained uniform, his eyes wild with fury.

He’s gaining on you.

“Move faster!” Bucky’s voice snaps through the air, and you turn forward, pushing yourself harder.

The trees around you blur as you push through them, the snow heavy beneath your feet, the cold creeping into your bones. But then, just as it feels like your legs are about to give out, you see it—a break in the forest, a clearing. The distant glow of lights in the distance. A house.

“Almost there,” Bucky murmurs, barely audible over the sound of the wind. “Don’t look back.”

You don’t. You can’t. The sound of Steve’s footsteps is getting too close. He’s too close.

But Bucky… Bucky is right. You can’t look back. You have to keep moving.

With the last burst of energy you can muster, you make it to the edge of the clearing, your heart pounding in your throat. The house is just a few feet away, but you know—Steve isn’t going to stop. Not now. Not ever.

Bucky reaches the house first, and without missing a beat, he kicks the door open, moving with a purpose, a cold determination in his eyes. You stumble inside, dragging Hale through the threshold as Bucky slams the door shut behind you.

“You’re safe here,” Bucky says, his voice barely above a whisper, though there’s a dangerous edge to it. “For now.”

You slump against the wall, gasping for air, your chest tight. The world around you feels unreal, like you’re trapped in a nightmare you can’t wake up from. You try to steady your breathing, your thoughts scattered.

Hale groans beside you, his hand twitching in yours. You can feel his pulse, faint but steady. He’s alive. Barely.

Bucky’s eyes flick to him for a moment, then back to you. “I’ll keep him safe,” he says. “But you need to listen to me. Steve’s not gonna stop. Not until he’s finished.”

You nod, but the words don’t fully register. You’re too exhausted, too overwhelmed by everything that’s happened. You want to ask questions, want to understand what’s really going on, but the words get stuck in your throat.

Bucky steps away, moving to a small table in the corner, rummaging through the drawers. You hear the click of metal, the faint sound of a weapon being loaded. He’s preparing for what’s coming.

“I’ve been tracking him for months,” Bucky says as he checks his gear. “Ever since he broke free. The government thinks they can control him. They don’t know what he’s become. They don’t want to know.”

The weight of his words settles over you, sinking into your bones.

“Why are you helping me?” you finally manage to ask, your voice hoarse. “You didn’t have to. You could’ve just left me.”

Bucky pauses, glancing over at you. For a moment, his face softens. It’s brief, fleeting, but it’s enough for you to see something in his eyes—a flicker of the man he used to be.

“I’m not the hero anymore,” he says quietly, the words heavy with regret. “But I’m still trying to fix what we broke. What he broke.”

You don’t have the strength to ask what he means, what happened between them, between Bucky and Steve. The history between them is tangled, a mess of betrayal and loss, but now, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is surviving.

Bucky finishes preparing and stands up, his posture shifting into something harder, more resolute. “I don’t know how long we have. But we need to move. Now.”

You look at Hale, still unconscious, his body a limp weight against the wall. But you can’t leave him here. You can’t leave anyone behind.

“I can’t leave him,” you say, your voice shaking. “He’s not gonna make it if we don’t get him somewhere safe.”

Bucky nods. “I know. I’ll carry him. Just get ready.”

The decision is made, and there’s no turning back now. You can feel it in your gut—the final confrontation is coming. Steve won’t stop until he has you, until he has all of you.

But with Bucky by your side, you might just have a chance.

You take a deep breath, your pulse still racing. The storm outside rages on, but the storm inside is just beginning.

The door slams open again, and you know it’s too late. Steve’s here.

The door bursts open with a deafening crash, the sound so violent that it shakes the walls of the cabin. For a split second, everything freezes. The light from the fire flickers, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

Then, Steve steps through the doorway.

He’s unrecognizable, his face twisted with a fury that goes beyond anything human. His eyes burn with a cold, empty rage, a look of madness so deep, so consuming, that it makes your blood run cold. He’s still wearing the remnants of his uniform, tattered and stained with blood. The shield is slung over his back, but his fists are clenched, and you know that the shield is just the beginning of his arsenal.

For a moment, no one moves.

Bucky stands in front of you, the rifle in his hands now a cold promise of the fight to come. His jaw is clenched, his body tense, but there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of something old, something lost.

“You shouldn’t have come back, Steve,” Bucky says, his voice low, measured. There’s no fear in it, just the weight of years of pain and betrayal. “You’re too far gone.”

Steve doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. The look on his face says everything: he doesn’t care. Not about Bucky. Not about you. Not about anyone.

Instead, he takes a step forward, the sound of his boots echoing through the cabin.

“You should’ve stayed hidden,” Steve growls, his voice a low rumble of pure malice. “You should’ve stayed out of my way.”

Bucky doesn’t move. He just raises the rifle, aiming it squarely at Steve’s chest.

“You’re not the man I knew,” Bucky says, his voice cracking with the weight of what he’s saying. “This—this isn’t you. I can stop you.”

Steve’s lips curl into something almost like a smile, but it’s cruel, savage. “You can’t stop me, Bucky,” he sneers. “You never could. And you never will.”

Without warning, Steve moves. He’s faster than you can track, faster than a man should be. In an instant, he’s across the room, knocking the rifle from Bucky’s hands and sending him crashing into the wall.

The sound of the impact is sickening, a dull thud that rings in your ears.

You jump to your feet, but your legs feel weak, your body trembling with the weight of the danger around you. Your mind is a mess of thoughts—What do I do? What do I do?—but nothing seems to make sense. You glance at Hale, still unconscious on the floor, and the helplessness is overwhelming.

Bucky struggles to regain his footing, but Steve’s already on him, pushing him back down with a brutal, calculated force. You can hear Bucky’s breath come in sharp gasps as Steve’s hand tightens around his throat, his fingers digging into the flesh with terrifying strength.

“You always stood in my way,” Steve says, his voice low and thick with rage. “Now, you’ll understand what happens to people who get in my way.”

Bucky’s face is turning red, his eyes flickering with pain, but there’s no defeat in them. Not yet.

With a feral snarl, Steve grabs the edge of Bucky’s shirt and throws him back against the wall with a force that rattles the entire cabin.

“Stop!” you shout, your voice cracking with fear. You don’t know where the strength comes from, but you rush toward Steve, not thinking, just reacting.

But Steve’s eyes snap to you in an instant, a flash of recognition and something darker. He lifts his hand, and for a split second, you think he’s going to strike you down, end it all right there.

Instead, his gaze hardens, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “You should’ve stayed hidden too,” he says, his voice cold. He looks over at Bucky, still struggling to get up, and then back to you.

And in that moment, you realize something.

Steve isn’t just here to kill. He’s here to break you. To break everyone who dares stand against him.

You take a step forward, but before you can react, there’s a sudden movement behind you—a blur of motion. Bucky’s back on his feet, faster than you expected, and with one swift motion, he tackles Steve to the ground.

The force of it shakes the cabin, the two men rolling across the floor in a brutal, violent struggle.

The shield. You spot it, lying on the ground near the fire. In the chaos, it’s all you can focus on—the only weapon in the room that can stop Steve. But it’s so far, and Steve’s rage is like a force of nature.

Bucky’s trying to hold him down, but Steve is stronger, his movements wild with fury. He punches Bucky square in the face, knocking him off, and for a moment, you think it’s over.

But Bucky’s not done yet.

He’s on his feet again, grabbing the nearest object he can find, a broken piece of wood, and he swings it at Steve with everything he has. It connects with a sickening crack, and Steve staggers back for just a second, enough for Bucky to grab the shield.

The room holds its breath.

Bucky’s grip tightens around the shield’s edge, and with one swift motion, he launches it at Steve, the metal spinning through the air with deadly precision. Steve doesn’t have time to react. The shield slams into his side, sending him crashing to the ground with a grunt.

The silence that follows is deafening.

You don’t know how long it lasts. All you hear is your own ragged breathing, the crackling of the fire, the faint sound of snow hitting the roof.

And then, from the corner of the room, you hear Steve’s voice again, a low, guttural laugh. “You think this is over? You think you can stop me?”

The rage in his voice is only growing.

And in that moment, you know—this fight isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The room is suffocating, the tension so thick it feels like the air itself is closing in. Steve’s laugh echoes in your head, a cold, twisted sound that cuts through the chaos like a knife. His hand presses against the wound where Bucky’s shield struck him, but the blood isn’t slowing him down.

He stands up slowly, almost methodically, his eyes narrowing as they lock onto Bucky. His breath is steady, controlled, like he’s barely even fazed by the impact. It’s as if the pain doesn’t even register in his mind anymore.

“You’ve always been weak, Bucky,” Steve sneers, his voice dripping with venom. “That’s why you couldn’t stop me then, and you sure as hell can’t stop me now.”

Bucky doesn’t flinch. He’s on his feet, shield in hand, but there’s no smile on his face. No victory. He’s looking at Steve like he’s already dead. You can see it in his eyes—the battle in his mind is already over. This fight was never about winning. It’s about survival.

You don’t know what to do. Fear constricts your chest. You can feel your heart racing, each beat echoing in your ears. Everything in your body is screaming at you to run, but there’s no way out. Not with Steve standing in the doorway, blocking your only escape.

Hale’s still unconscious on the floor, but you can’t focus on him. Not now. Not with Steve and Bucky locked in this twisted, violent dance, both of them fighting for something they can’t even name anymore.

Bucky throws the shield again, but Steve dodges this time, faster than you’ve ever seen him move. The shield hits the wall with a resounding clang, and Steve takes the opportunity to charge. He’s on Bucky before he can even react, tackling him to the ground with a force that leaves the cabin shaking.

You take a step forward, but your legs won’t cooperate. Your brain is screaming at you to do something, anything, to help. But you’re frozen in place, rooted to the floor by the weight of the nightmare unfolding before your eyes.

“Get up, Bucky,” you whisper, your voice shaking. But Bucky doesn’t hear you. His eyes are closed, his breath shallow. Steve’s hands are around his throat, and you can see the life draining out of him, slowly but surely.

You can’t breathe. You can’t think.

And then you remember.

The rifle.

It’s still there, the weapon Bucky had tried to use earlier, now discarded near the table. You move toward it, your legs finally working as you scramble across the floor. You’re so close—so close to something that could change the tide of this fight—but just as your fingers brush the cold metal of the rifle, you hear Steve’s voice again, low and dangerous.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growls, and you freeze, your hand still hovering above the weapon.

His eyes find you. They pierce through you, cold and calculating. For a moment, you feel like he’s looking right into your soul, and the fear is almost suffocating.

But something snaps inside you.

You’re not going to be a victim anymore. Not this time.

You grab the rifle, your hands shaking, and you aim it at Steve, your finger hovering over the trigger. He’s too focused on Bucky to notice you. He’s too wrapped up in his own rage to see the weapon in your hand.

“I’ll shoot,” you say, though your voice barely carries above the pounding of your heart. “I swear to God, I’ll shoot.”

Steve doesn’t even flinch. He keeps his grip tight around Bucky’s throat, his eyes never leaving him.

“You think that’ll stop me?” Steve laughs, a cruel, mocking sound that makes your blood run cold. “You think you can kill me? You? You don’t even know what I’ve become.”

But you do. You know enough.

With all the strength you can muster, you pull the trigger.

The shot rings out, deafening in the small cabin. The bullet strikes Steve in the shoulder, knocking him off Bucky, and he stumbles back, surprised.

For the briefest moment, you think you’ve won.

But then Steve growls, and the wound begins to heal before your eyes, his body shifting, twitching, like the bullet didn’t even faze him.

He turns back toward you, eyes burning with fury.

“You will regret that,” Steve hisses.

Before you can react, he’s moving again, faster than you can track. The rifle is ripped from your hands, thrown across the room with a force that sends it crashing into the wall. Steve grabs you by the throat, lifting you off the ground with terrifying strength.

You gasp for air, your fingers clawing at his hand, but it’s like trying to break free from a vice. His grip is unyielding, and every second feels like your lungs are about to explode.

Bucky groans on the ground, his hands shaking as he tries to get back to his feet. You can hear him, see him trying to push himself up, but Steve doesn’t even acknowledge him. His focus is entirely on you.

“This is the end for you,” Steve snarls, his face twisted in anger. “You should’ve stayed out of it.”

Your vision starts to fade, darkness closing in around the edges of your sight, but you won’t give up. You can’t.

You kick your legs, trying to break his hold, but it’s no use.

Then you remember something—something that makes your heart race.

The shield.

It’s just out of reach, but it’s the one thing that can save you.

Summoning every last ounce of strength, you twist in Steve’s grip, kicking toward the shield. Your foot brushes against it, and it’s enough.

You grab it, your fingers closing around the cold metal, and with one fluid motion, you swing it upward, aiming straight for Steve’s head.

The shield connects with a sickening thud.

Steve stumbles backward, dazed, and you hit the ground hard, gasping for air. The world spins, but you don’t care.

Bucky is there beside you, helping you to your feet.

“We’re not done yet,” he says, his voice rough but determined.

You look back at Steve, who’s shaking off the blow, his eyes burning with rage.

It’s far from over.

But you’re not going to let him win. Not now. Not ever.

Steve’s fury is palpable, like a storm that’s just waiting to unleash. He stares at you, eyes wild with rage, and you know in that instant that he’s going to kill you. It’s only a matter of when. But you won’t go down without a fight—not again.

Bucky moves beside you, his hand gripping your arm, pulling you into action. You stagger, but your feet find solid ground. Your body aches from the struggle, from the terror and exhaustion that have been building up since this nightmare began. But you keep moving, because there’s no other choice.

“Get to the back room,” Bucky says, his voice low and urgent. “Now.”

You don’t question him. You don’t have time. The cabin feels like it’s closing in on you as you race for the back room, Bucky at your side, the heavy sound of Steve’s footsteps echoing behind you like a countdown to your demise.

You reach the door just as you hear the unmistakable sound of Steve’s boots pounding against the floor. You don’t look back. Not yet. Not until you hear Bucky’s voice, hoarse and tight, coming from behind you.

“Get ready,” he mutters. “He’s close.”

You try the door. It’s locked, but you don’t have time to waste on a locked door. You turn to Bucky, your mind racing. There’s nothing else you can do but make a stand here, in the only place that offers any kind of cover.

“Stay behind me,” Bucky says, his voice firm. You see him moving toward the window, pulling the curtains aside just enough to peek through. “He’s coming.”

You watch as Bucky prepares, his eyes sharp, his body tense with anticipation. Every muscle in him is coiled, ready for the next fight. But something flickers in his gaze, something that reminds you of the man he once was. The man he’s still trying to be.

You reach for the rifle that had been discarded earlier, gripping it tightly. It feels heavy in your hands, like it’s both a weapon and a burden.

The sound of the door creaks open, and the air turns cold as a shadow falls over the room. Steve steps inside.

“Did you really think you could escape me?” he says, his voice a low growl, like a predator savoring its prey. His eyes lock onto you, and for a moment, the world tilts sideways. Everything you thought you understood about Steve Rogers, about the man who once stood for justice, crumbles into nothing.

He’s no longer that man.

And you’re not sure if the one standing before you is even human anymore.

“Stay back,” Bucky warns, raising his fist, prepared to fight.

But Steve isn’t listening. He’s never listened. He steps forward, the same steady, predatory pace as before, as though he’s hunting you, ready to snuff out any hope you still have left.

Bucky lunges at him, but Steve is quicker, too quick. He grabs Bucky’s wrist and twists, forcing him to drop the shield, the heavy metal clattering to the ground with a sound that echoes through the room.

You raise the rifle, heart hammering in your chest, hands shaking so violently you can barely keep a grip. But Steve isn’t even looking at you. His focus is on Bucky, on the man he used to call his friend, his partner.

“I was the one who kept you alive,” Steve says, his voice tinged with something dark. “I pulled you out of that hell, Bucky. You were nothing before me. You were dead before me.”

Bucky gasps, twisting in Steve’s grip, but the words are like a knife in his gut. “You made me dead, Steve. You made me what I am now.”

Steve’s face flickers with something that almost looks like regret. But before you can process it, it vanishes, replaced by the cold, unfeeling rage that’s taken hold of him.

He tosses Bucky aside with brutal strength, sending him sprawling across the floor, and turns to face you.

“Are you ready to die?” Steve asks, his voice so chillingly calm it makes your skin crawl.

You can barely breathe. It feels like your chest is being crushed, the weight of your fear almost too much to bear. But you can’t give up. Not now. Not after everything.

Bucky struggles to his feet again, and for a brief moment, it’s just you and Steve, face-to-face in the silence.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him, but it’s enough to make Steve pause.

His expression falters, just for a moment. It’s brief, but in that instant, you see it—the man buried beneath the monster.

But it’s gone in a flash. And then Steve steps forward again, faster than you can react, his hand slamming into your chest, knocking the wind out of you.

You stumble back, crashing into the wall, your vision blurring from the impact.

Bucky is on his feet again, though, moving with a new kind of desperation. He reaches for the shield.

It’s now or never.

Bucky hurls the shield at Steve with all the strength he has left, and for a moment, it feels like time itself slows down. You watch as the shield spins toward Steve, the familiar blue and red gleaming even through the bloodstains.

Steve turns just in time to raise his arm and deflect the shield, but the force knocks him back. He stumbles, and it’s enough. Enough time for Bucky to get close, enough time for you to breathe.

“Now, run!” Bucky yells, his voice raw and urgent.

You don’t need to be told twice. You spring forward, your legs finally obeying your frantic mind. You race toward the door, toward the window. You hear Bucky’s footsteps behind you, the sound of Steve’s fury still ringing in your ears.

But this time, you’re not alone.

You make it outside, the freezing air biting into your skin, but the night is your ally now. The storm covers your tracks, the thick snow cushioning your escape.

And you know one thing as you run:

You’ve survived.

For now.

But Steve Rogers is still out there. And he won’t stop.

Not until he’s finished what he started.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Watching, Waiting... 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, violence, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: There’s a man watching you.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Note: Hello lovelies. Would love a little extra love with this one as I’m working on the third and final part still.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Delilah minds the counter as you go through the bin of new arrivals. You sit on the short square stool as she rings out customers and steeps fragrant herbs at request. You rest the price cards on your leg as you write out the flavour and price per ounce in neat print. The task is mindless and calming amid the afternoon rush.

“What were we offering as samples?” Delilah asks as she goes to the shelf and shakes a large canister, “was it the apple spice?”

“Blueberry mint,” you say as you rub your brow, furrowed in concentration. “You wanna switch out?”

“No, no, keep doing what you’re doing,” she says as she grabs the right container, “it’s not too bad.” She turns back and plunks down the canister, greeting another customer as they step up. “Hello, how are you today?”

There’s a lull of consideration, “fine,” the response comes with a deep inhale, “do you have any recommendations for… sleep?”

You stiffen as you recognize the timbre. No, it isn’t. He wouldn’t. Besides, it wasn’t him. The stranger couldn’t be Bucky Barnes. You glance up and find him peeking over at you as Delilah turns to consider the shelves.

“Chamomile is always good,” she drones as he watches you. You turn and cap the marker, gathering up the bin and the stack of cards. “Lavender, we have a citrusy one you might like…”

You carry the stock around the counter and refuse to peek back. It’s definitely him, the Winter Soldier, but you’re still not convinced it’s one and the same as your mysterious shadow. The man outside the window, and outside the noodle shop, your mind could just be filling in the blanks. 

You just can’t believe an Avenger would do that. And you’re not that special. You’re not special at all.

The buzz of the shop surrounds you, easing you into your work, shifting products to set out the boxed sachets of tea alongside cups and pots. As you rearrange the measuring spoons, you sense someone beside you. 

It’s him. You act like you don’t notice as you focus on tidying the display. He turns a teapot on the shelf, examining the ombre of blue and grey as he leans in.

"You like this one?" He asks but you act like you don't hear him as you reach in the bin. "Hey, I'm asking you."

You blink and swallow as you dare to peer up at him, "sorry I… must've been off in my mind." You look at the pot, his gloved hand on the lid, "it's nice, I guess."

He hums and nods, pulling his hand away. He runs his finger along the shelf and bends his knees so he's at your level as he browses the lower levels. You place a price card in front of the row of clearance pumpkin spice chai.

"How about this one?" He takes the green pot with the humming bird stamped in gold, "you like it?"

You purse your lips. It's the same one you have in your cupboard at home. You shrug, "it's cute, but what do you like?"

He watches you and mouth twitches. You turn back to your work, an eerie ripple tickles your neck. Just stop thinking. He’s being friendly. And it’s your job to help customers, isn’t it?

"You're right," he puts the pot back, "hm," he stands and sighs, "too much to choose from."

"Uh, yeah, you could mix and match cups with a pot," you suggest as you carry on stocking.

He says nothing as he continues his perusal. Turning up cups as he considers each. His leg almost touches you and you peek up. He isn't looking at the porcelain at all. His blue eyes beam down at you without pause, even as you catch him.

You drop your chin and clear your throat. You gather up the bin and the remnants of packages. Standing is a task as your legs shake nervously, doubt and fear tingling on your cheeks. Your denial is drowned in a tide of dread.

"You recognise me, don't you?" He chuckles, "it's okay. I'm used to being gawked at."

"What?" You stammer and take a step away.

"You don't gotta pretend. Your co-worker couldn’t keep her jaw in place–"

"Oh, uh, yeah I've seen you on TV or whatever. Just wasn't sure," you admit, "anyway, I gotta go help Del."

"Sure," he says dully, "thanks for the help."

You try not to run across the store, weaving between tables with your armload and plopping it behind the counter with a puff. Del pushes down the lever of the hot water jug as she steeps a new cup for a customer. You tidy away the errant herbs across the counter, keeping your back to the shop.

Delilah rings out the customer and welcomes the next, "you again?"

"Figure I need something for the tea," the clink grinds against the counter and makes you wince as you pretend to reorganize the canisters of loose leaf.

"Oo, pretty," Delilah trills, "I like the flowers."

"Yeah, uh, I don't got much taste but my lady will like it."

"Oh my, a lady," you hear her flirty smile.

"Yeah, uh…" his voice trails off, "how much?"

She goes through the motions of checking him out, payment, do you want this wrapped? A bag? Don't wash with soap, okay?

You busy yourself with refilling the water dispenser until he's gone. Del comes up beside you and leans on the counter, elbow bent onto the laminate.

"So, the Winter Soldier likes tea? And has sleep issues?" She kids.

"Hm?" You don't look over as you click the large jug back on the warmer.

"And he has a girlfriend? I haven't heard anything about that. Maybe I should call TMZ."

"Del," you scoff.

"Joking," she huffs, "what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing, just working."

"Hiding?"

"From who?"

"I don't know," she puts her hand out, "but you're quiet."

"Compared to you."

"Well, sure," she accepts begrudgingly and pulls away at the approach of another customer, "don't forget to check the tables."

You nod and wait for her to prompt the customer before slipping into the back. You hide behind a stack of boxes and pull your phone out of your apron. Your hands are shaking, you didn't even realise.

'Hey, can you meet me after my shift?' You type out after several attempts.

'Sure, what's up?' Zinnia’s reply pops up swiftly.

'Nothing, just wanna grab dinner omw.'

You slip your phone back in your pocket and tilt your head back against the wall. You don't know why you're lying. Well, you don't believe it, that's why. You're overreacting. And he said it himself, Bucky Barnes has a girlfriend. He's not following around a tea shop assistant.

🫖

Zinnia shows up as you're rolling the gate across the front of the shop. You let her in before you lock it and slip through the front door to secure that too. She wanders around the empty shop as you go through your closing duties.

"Yall got any cannabis tea?" She asks.

"There's some behind the counter but it tastes like shit," you roll your eyes.

"Teasing."

"Sure," you finish sweeping and dump the dirt in the bin. "Just gotta toss this and we can go."

"So dinner? I walked two blocks for what exactly?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, let's go to Mao's."

You tie the top of the bag and she squints, "what happened?"

"Nothing," you lie as you haul up the bag, "will you grab my purse?"

Her brows arch and she scoops up your bag. She follows you through the back and you let her out first into the alley. You swing the bag into the dumpster and stumble back from the weight of it.

"Something happened."

You exhale and take your purse from her, "Zin, really, just… a coincidence."

"Coincidence?" She crosses her arms.

"Can we get out of this trash heap," you wave the stink away from your nose, "really, it's not a big d–"

You spin and suddenly, you're flung into the brick wall. The wind is knocked from your chest as your back slams hard and your legs fold beneath you. You wheeze as the dark figure plows through Zinnia and she hits the metal fire escape with a startling clang. Her cry is cut short by the impact.

She coughs as she crumples onto the tarmac and is once more grabbed and hurled against the dumpster. You quiver as you gulp for air, the stench curdling in your mouth and flooding to your stomach as Zinnia sprawls over the rubble and loose garbage. You get to your hands and knees, leaving your purse behind as you crawl towards her.

“You were supposed to be alone…” the gravelly tone sends shivers up your spine.

You know it’s him. You know his voice, his shadow, and his single leather glove.

Your attacker, a man you know, a man you can't mistake, the man you can no longer deny, hops up to latch onto the metal escape and lifts himself onto the platform. You squeak as each move sends a throb through your ribs and you inch towards Zinnia. Bucky disappears with echoing steps as you focus on the woman strewn on the pavement. 

Your disbelief hazes your vision as Zinnia's breathing rises in rattles. Her eyes are shut as her arm juts out at an unnatural angle. You feel along her jacket and fish out her phone, swiping to the emergency call screen. You croak as the line dials.

She was right but you didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t listen to her. It’s all your fault.

You keep your hand on Zinnia as the line picks up, your voice rattling from your throat.

“I need help…”

🫖

You sit in the sterile room, still shaking, fumbling with your phone until you have to put it down. There’s nothing to see there. Nothing to keep you distracted from the steady beep of the machine. Zinnia’s pulse plucking in the silence.

On the other side of her bed is a curtain shielding you from the next patient. They don’t seem like they’re in much better shape as the nurse comes often to check their vitals. Still, Zinnia hasn’t woken up.

You grasp the bedrail and watch her. Her face is swollen on the left side, her head wrapped in lengths of bandage, her arm set in plaster. Compared to her, you got off easy. Bruised ribs.

You don’t understand why he did it. Why her? If he’s after you, why would he hurt her like that? You cup your mouth with your other hand and hold in a sob. You can’t even help her now. She’s laying there, helpless, and you can only sit there and cry.

The police took your statement. A farce. You’re not stupid enough to think they’ll believe you but you gave a clear description of your attacker. Bucky Barnes. To a tee. Who knows what they’ll do with that? They almost seemed amused as you recounted the scene. Bunch of young girls out after dark, tut tut.

You don’t know what to do now. What does he want? Is he coming back? Is he going to hurt her again? Or you? Why you? Of all people? None of it makes any sense. You just don’t get it.

Why did Zinnia have to be the one? Why did she have to be in this bed hooked up to these machines? Why? Why? Why?

The questions do nothing but bubble up your anxiety. You hold Zinnia’s hand and lean against the bed rail, focused on the rise and fall of her chest. She’s still alive but how can you live knowing you’re the reason all this happened. As unwitting as you are, you ignored her warning, all the alarm bells, and you just let him do this.

Your phone vibrates, jarring you from your mournful daze. You squeeze Zinnia’s fingers and let her go. It can’t be that important. It’s late. Past midnight.

You get up and muffle a groan at how your back pangs from your stiff perch on the stool. You pick up your phone, the battery in the red. There’s several junk emails that you flip away and some reminders to get your daily bonus in some word game or another. Under all that is a single message.

There is no number, just ‘Private’. You have a bad feeling as you press your thumb down and the conversation pops up. You stand and stare at the message, eyes glazing with tears as you read it over and over.

‘She won’t get hurt again. Mao’s. One hour.’