#bucky barnes x hydra!enhanced!reader

[papipopsicle]

MERCENARY PART THREE

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Enhanced!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Summary: In which Hydra never seems to give Earth's Mightiest Heroes a break, and while dismantling every known base, they find a weapon. In which this weapon is a young woman whose known nothing but the life Hydra gave her, and a certain super soldier becomes protective of her from the first time they lock eyes. AU AWAY FROM IW&Endgame, ALSO THERE ARE X-MEN

Warnings: swearing, reference to scars

Song: Punching Bag by Palaye Royale

Words: 1.6K

MASTERLIST

feedback is always appreciated

"Stark Industries and and the Wakanda Outreach programme has helped thousands of mutants and inhumans, why don't we just hand her over to them and be done with it?" Kitty Pryde mulled over the idea, rolling her eyes as the clock ticked over into the third hour of bickering.

Y/N's sedation would wear off within the next half hour and the team were still yet to come to an unanimous decision on what to do with her. She was currently fast asleep on a comfy bed inside a room which restricted the use of her powers- but she didn't know that yet.

Bucky had tried his best to remain objective, but as he watched the large monitor streaming footage from her room, he couldn't help but be reminded of the girl he watched grow up into a woman and how he'd already missed four years of her life.

"I'll monster watch tonight, James." Y/N hummed, playing with a small flame at her fingertips. She looked over her shoulder and found him watching her with worried eyes, yet she just smiled, "You haven't slept for three nights in a row now. Trust me, they'd hurt you a lot more if you fail your mission tomorrow than they will if I'm a bit grouchy. Sleep, moya lyubov."

"She'd still be a great addition to the team," Tony sighed, standing up to stretch his legs, "and by team I mean the Avengers, I don't even know why you're here quite honestly."

Kitty flipped him off before storming out, probably going to find Charles or Raven to vent to them about how much Stark pissed her off.

Natasha leant over the table, eyes not moving from the tablet in front of her, "Is she like you were, Barnes?"

Bucky tensed and looked at the redhead, "In what way?" He asked slowly.

Nat glanced over at Tony before finding the super soldier waiting for her response, "Did they manipulate her mind and create triggers that'd turn her into a murder machine? Is she at all loyal to Hydra?"

"Come on, you saw her earlier, Nat, Y/N had tried to escape that many times they had to chain her up." Steve tried to reason as he saw Bucky's flesh hand clench up.

"We should consider every possible angle though, right?" Bruce spoke up from his seat towards the back of the room, propping his glasses on his nose and taking a better look at the security footage, "She seems harmless, but-"

"She is harmless." Bucky stressed, "Sure, when you look at her file you see a genetically engineered super-assassin with elemental powers, but not one day passed without trying to escape or planning our next escape. And okay, fine, she enjoys violence, but Hydra conditioned her to be that way and she's never had anyone to tell her otherwise. At the end of the day, she's scared- and I don't want her waking up alone."

The soldier felt Steve's hand squeezing his shoulder in comfort, but it felt cold and the sentiment felt short. Bucky watched each pair of eyes fall away from his sight and their voices stayed silent. He shook off Steve's hand and left the room, making his way down to the supervisory level. He looked down at the small piece of technology in his hand, matching the number to the cell like room and entering a six digit code into the keypad from memory. A single second later it pinged and the lights turned green.

The one armed man stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Y/N's healing figure peacefully sleeping. It was a sight to behold, even in tattered clothes and a thick layer of grime and dust covering her, she was anything but a weapon. She was soft and even delicate to the eye, resting as if her mind wasn't plagued with the tortured souls from her past.

Bucky sat down on the cool wooden floor, crossing his legs like he used to at the age of eight, playing tic tac toe with a small Steven Grant Rogers. Those memories didn't feel much like his own, more at peace with the ones of war he shared with Y/N.

"Stop pulling your punches, their hands are worse than yours." Nineteen year old Y/N warned James with a sharp whisper. His flesh knuckles were scorched from her most recent attack, goaded to use her powers by the watchful handlers. Metal collided with bone and he knew on impact two ribs had fractured, a further one would bloom with bruises soon enough. Training was often more taxing than the missions themselves, bored Hydra agents pulling on puppeteer strings to ensure they put on a good show.

Y/N estimated another ninety minutes had past before her handler pulled her away for healing observations, for research rather than well-being purposes. It wasn't long until she found herself flung back into the dingy cell with a kick to the back of her knees and an expired first aid kit thrown to the ground beside her.

Once the door cranked shut, James knelt beside the stoic woman he knew was hurting so deeply within. He collected any supplies for sterilisation and allowed Y/N to collapse under his touch. She curled into his chest as he cleaned the wounds he caused, burnt knuckles stung from the movements but that was numb compared to the torment of seeing her in pain.

James was past the point of blaming himself for any injuries Y/N incurred from training and vice versa, too much of their precious time had already been taken away in arguments of how much the other was not at fault. Hydra allowed them one hour a day together, usually after training, to decompress and recover and mostly hold each other. Y/N had a knack for sneaking out of her cell to be with the super soldier, it took more time stopping her, punishing her and hauling her back than their current routine. Teamwork on missions became more efficient, so they were allowed their hour of peace unless it became a weakness.

That was when Y/N was most aware of time passing by, fingers habitually running over the rigid scars between metal and soft flesh as a reminder James was entirely real. He watched between the fire dancing in her free hand and the peace within tired features, her own eyes burning bright at his constant touch. The hour would soon be up, and there was no fight to leave each other other than the lingering fingertips as they were pulled apart.

"You cut your hair-" Y/N's gravelly voice was cut off with a harsh array of coughs, spluttering dust from her cell's destruction stuck in her lungs. She squinted at the bright sterile lighting, everything in the room intensely white with the exception of Bucky and his all black clothing sat at the bottom of her vision.

He dialled the lights down noticing Y/N's discomfort and handed her an unopened bottle of mineral water. Her eyes carefully surveyed his movements, not considering him a threat as she chugged the liquid gratefully.

"Do you like it?" He asked after a few seconds of silence had filled the air, taking a seat at the side of the mattress apprehensively. Four years had passed and although he trusted the woman he thought was dead with his life, she was indeed alive and Hydra could do a lot of damage in much less time apart. He had so many questions, so many missed touches longed for and so little worry that she was no longer his Phoenix.

Even with grime covering her from head to toe, Bucky couldn't take his eyes away from her as she scrunched her nose playfully and answered, "I'll miss your long hair, but this suits you- you look like a person."

Unlike Bucky, whose memories were fuzzy around the edges, for better or worse Y/N held all of hers. She remembered cutting his hair short for a mission the once and wishing Hydra wouldn’t let it grow out again. But seeing him this time was immaculate- he was his own human, and she looked to the dirt and disheveled clothing on her person and knew she wasn’t. Purely what she was engineered to be and not a thing more, a biological weapon owned only by Hydra.

Bucky sensed the mental downward spiral as she scanned herself, brows knitting together and tears welling threatening to fall.

He corralled her away from those cataclysmic thoughts with a cool touch to her hot fingertips, metal thumb running across the back of her hand soothingly. “It took a bit more than a hair cut, but the days I feel like a person outweigh the days I don’t. And we’ll get you there too.”

“Can I start that tomorrow?” Y/N pouted and lay against the plush pillows behind her head, content with the sounds of metal whirring against her skin that only super soldier hearing could pick up on.

The team, fewer members left in the conference room, watched the interaction from the projection. A few more words were shared before Bucky lay down beside Y/N, both infinitely still but continuing the motions on their joint hands. Steve’s chair rolled back a few inches as he eyed Tony, “Listen, I can already see Bucky following if we send her off somewhere, we’ve got to at least try re-humanising her.”

“Great, we adopted another murder machine- when the first one gets lonely, at least now he’ll have company!” Tony held his hands up in defence when Steve didn’t appreciate his humour, “Alright, Cap. We’ll observe, give it a few days and get to work on project no murder and less machine.”

part four?

taglist: @kcd15 @killjoynotes

want to be tagged? comment or send in an ask x

[winterst4n]

Sit still!

Pairing: Nurse!Reader x Grumpy!Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Very, very light swearing. Just pure fluff!!

Word count: 1.3k

Summary: After stupidly jumping out of a craft on a mission, ending up with many broken ribs. Bucky is placed under your care unwillingly and he makes the week hell for you. But when the week ends he starts to regret everything.

A/N: This is pretty short and maybe i’ll come back to it another time and try something new but so far i like how this turned out. If you like this, i’d really appreciate it if you could share or leave comment!

“Will you just sit still?!” You grumble at Bucky for what feels like the millionth time today.

“Well stop poking me and maybe I will.” He practically hissed at you. You swear that when Fury assigned you to take care of him he was plotting your early death– or at least Bucky's death.

“If you sit still I'll give you a cookie…” you try to bribe, but of course this just earned you a very hard and angry glare from Bucky.

Due to Bucky’s recklessness on a recent mission, he is now under your care until he can breathe without whining and groaning about his ribs, which he broke several of. He thought the easiest and quickest way to land by a mission base was to jump out of the craft without a parachute– stupid!

You were the nice nurse. The nurse everyone on the team liked to be cared for the most when they had an injury, except a certain fossil. He was grumpy and rude to you for no reason, always making an effort to ruin your day with some stupid comment every time he saw you. But this week had been hell!

So here he was pouting and glaring at you in the plush armchair in your office that practically cowers under his large frame. “I need to check the progress of your ribs and I can't do that without touching you. So please…just sit still.” You sigh, your patience being stretched very, very thin.

Bucky notices your stress and annoyance with him and he does feel some sort of pity but he can’t shake this unfamiliar feeling you give him everytime he feels your hands on his body or your gaze on him. “...Fine.” He mumbles grudgingly.

You move your hands back into place against his chest, gently feeling where the broken ribs are located. Due to the serum, he had enhanced healing abilities but it never failed to amaze you how fast they fixed up his and Steve’s body.

“They’re healing just fine.” you say as you pull your hands away and move to sit by your desk. “I still don’t recommend doing any strenuous activities just yet but, you’ll live.”

Bucky just rolls his eyes like usual and keeps his unwavering scowl on his face– it annoys you and somehow hurts you to see just how unwilling he is to accept any help. That was the way HYDRA treated him though, you knew that. Hell, everyone knew that.

“James…” you start softly with a quiet sigh. “It’s just me and you in here…i need to know if you’re in pain so i can fix it.”

Silence– as expected.

He sighs and looks down at his boots, his feet shuffling slightly as he thinks about your words. Soft brown locks fall over his eyes and shields you from looking into his broken and guilty eyes. “I’m fine” a hoarse voice says so quietly.

Hesitating for a moment, you look over his body language and think about his tone. “Okay…” you respond simply, knowing not to push him.

Within the silence, Bucky stands up and storms out of your office– he almost let it all out. How did you have this effect on him? You were so easy and sweet, the complete opposite of him, he couldn’t let you in and see what HYDRA did to him. You weren’t allowed to see how everytime you checked his vitals, he felt like he was back in HYDRA’s claws, back to being prepped to be shocked again. No, he had to keep you away from that.

The week passes and ends, you were no longer assigned to take care of Bucky anymore and he’s back to missions and training– avoiding you. Part of you is happy that he’s not around you everyday by force, no longer having to endure his glares and rudeness but another part of you felt shitty.

That week felt like showing Bucky for the first time that it was okay to be cared for, to be looked after with no ulterior motive except for the benefit of his health. You wish he had that reminder everyday instead of throwing himself into missions, being reckless with himself because he didn’t think his body was worth protecting. This feeling was stronger than the happiness over his departure from your care– a lot stronger.

It seems you weren’t the only one thinking about that week. After some reflecting and thinking (a.k.a, talking to Steve), he realised why he felt so strongly when you touched him and why he wanted to open up to you. Yes, he was angry at the reason why at first. Angry at himself for being so foolish and falling for the team nurse, “She’s supposed to be caring!” he repeated like a mantra. Angry at himself for feeling like it was okay to let you in, to want you to care about him, to know why he struggled.

But Steve explained to him that you weren’t as weak or as fragile as he kept insisting you were– scolding him slightly for the way he dismissed you. Bucky realised that he should probably explain some things to you– or at least apologise, you were only doing your job and he took it out on you.

That night he wrote a letter to you, the words were genuine and words he knew he would mess up if he tried to say them to his face–

“Hey, I'm sorry. I know that’s pretty generic but it’s the truth. I’m still figuring this shit out so don’t take it too personally, it’s just really hard for me. I know you were only doing your job and I'm so sorry that I made it difficult. I wish I could take it back and just be open with you. I know you would’ve treated me the way i needed if i asked, you’re sweet like that. You’re good at your job and I'm pretty sure my ribs feel even better than they did before I jumped out of that plane. Anyways, i hope you’re free tomorrow night so maybe we can grab a drink, I’ll even buy you one of those fruity cocktails if you’re into that,

James Buchanan Barnes.”

Sealing the letter, and addressing it to you on the front, he walked through the compound and eventually found your office and slid the note under the door for you to find in the morning.

But on this night in particular, you decided to stay late to finish some work, maybe by luck or fate the note arrives while you’re already there. You read through the letter and smiled softly, touched that Bucky would let you in like this, you knew it was rare considering he really only spoke to Sam and Steve.

Pocketing the note, you quickly walk down the hall to head to Bucky’s room to give him an answer. Your feet carry you as quickly as they can without running, trying to catch up to Bucky as soon as possible.

You arrive at his door and knock three times in a very desperate motion before the door swings open. There he is. In his sleepy and shocked state. He’s surprised to see you here so soon but he’s slightly anxious for your response– he’s practically anticipating for you to throw the letter back at him and insult him.

To his surprise, you don’t. “I don’t need a fruity cocktail, I'd prefer a coffee…tomorrow morning, in my office?” you say softly as you bite your lip back gently in anticipation.

Bucky’s eyes seem locked in place on your face, his lips parted from surprise until they slowly break into the tiniest smile that lights up his face in your eyes, a smile that gives you a glimpse into the charming soldier before HYDRA.

“Coffee it is then, Doll” he says in a low tone before gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, wanting to fully see your face in all its beauty. Wanting to see the face of the person he was about to let into his life and hopefully never let go of.

[midniqhtt]

james buchanan ‘bucky’ barnes

masterlist • marvel • 04/25/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs four

one two three five

𑣲 light I @sun-kissy

bucky meets you, his bright, new neighbour, and is instantly endeared

𑣲 bucky hcs I @/sun-kissy

𑣲 people pleaser!reader I @winterarmyy

𑣲 must be fate pt2 pt3 pt4 I @/winterarmyy

Y/N has been crossing paths with this particularly sweet alpha all day long; this must be fate right?

𑣲 sleepy heads I @/winterarmyy

That time when the reader accidentally fell asleep on a stranger’s shoulder in the subway ride home. The stranger in question, however, is none other than the former Winter Soldier, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

𑣲 valley-girl charm I @rainydayathogwarts

In which reader from the 1940s knows just how to play the damsel in distress to get exactly what she wants in the modern age after coming out of the ice.

𑣲 starry eyed I @flowersforbucky

reader gets a special gift from her secret santa

𑣲 alls well that ends well to end up with you I @/flowersforbucky

bucky isn't going to let an extended mission, a severe thunderstorm, and a delayed flight ruin your first valentine's day together.

𑣲 no one does it better I @/flowersforbucky

sent on a mission with the man you never intended to fall for, you run into someone from your past who your heart has never been able to fully let go of.

𑣲 love language I @/flowersforbucky

snapshots of your relationship with bucky told through the five love languages.

𑣲 moth to a flame I @/flowersforbucky

bucky is triggered into the winter soldier during a mission and then goes MIA, until he seeks you out in the middle of the night.

𑣲 rule number one I @mrs-elsie-barnes

Bucky is happy to find you still in his bed the morning after the night before, but Steve isn't impressed.

𑣲 never again I deactivated account

natasha likes to touch bucky's dog tags and bucky, well, he just wants to know why his favorite girl isn't talking to him.

𑣲 the other guy I @seventven

pietro proves to y/n that bucky is into her by doing everything in his power to make him jealous

𑣲 voicemails to an unmanned inbox I @pellucid-constellations

When Bucky takes an argument a little too far, you take off. All he wants is for you to come back home. 

𑣲 flashing lights pt2 I @/pellucid-constellations

Bucky’s worst fears come true when he’s called to a scene. If he’s the one with the dangerous job, then why is it your life that’s hanging in the balance?

𑣲 jealous I @/pellucid-constellations

You keep talking about the owner of that new bakery and it’s rubbing Bucky the wrong way.

𑣲 five moments in time I @/pellucid-constellations

All of the moments in which Sergeant Barnes let the nurse on his unit know he’s not gonna stop trying to win her over. Even from beyond the grave.

𑣲 stay still pt 2 I @buckysknifecollection

What if your soulmate was the one person you had hurt the most?

𑣲 dog tags I @/buckysknifecollection

You are a kept prisoner by Hydra, your role is to fix Soldat’s metal arm whenever it gets damaged in a mission. You grow fond of each other and you decide to save him.

𑣲 slipping away I @kashimos-hajime

and now, he’s not your bucky anymore.

𑣲 dr. bee I @malum-forev

Bucky has quite the reputation but all it takes for him to want to change is an hour with an outspoken little Bee.

𑣲 eyes never lie I @/malum-forev

Sam and Bucky try to recruit (Y/N), Bucky's ex and a former Avenger who has left that life behind. But they realize her life has changed completely once they meet a her daughter with striking blue eyes.

𑣲 her weakness I @buckysfaveplum

you’re an enhanced individual with strong abilities and one moral code- you only fight with them when your opponent is also enhanced. during the fight with john walker, that code gets broken when bucky is hurt

𑣲 misery loves company pt2 pt3 pt4 I @shurisneakers

grumpy x grumpy drabbles

𑣲 saturn I @/shurisneakers

you die. bucky tries to bring you back (or) close to a year after you die, bucky's desperation finally finds an answer. but it may not be the one he's hoping for.

𑣲 unsolved I @/shurisneakers

Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or any shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

𑣲 by the warmth of the oven I @elixirfromthestars

You are baking cookies for the Avengers holiday party when a certain super solider comes into the kitchen tipsy for the first time...

𑣲 boulevard confessions I @/elixirfromthestars

Being a third wheel to Peggy and Steve wasn't your ideal Thursday night fun. However, when they tell you Bucky is tagging along you eagerly decide to join them. That is until a third party makes its presence known.

𑣲 knock you down a peg or two I @navybrat817

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

𑣲 stood up I @/navybrat817

Bucky asks you out on a date and doesn't show.

𑣲 sugar plums I @blythesarchives

The soldier has an attachment to you.

𑣲 Подарок I @/blythesarchives

You give the soldier a present for Christmas.

𑣲 limbo I @/blythesarchives

Not quite Bucky, not quite Soldat, but all yours.

𑣲 cut your hair I @/blythesarchives

You help Bucky cut his hair.

𑣲 fugitives I @/blythesarchives

While you and Bucky flee from captivity in Berlin, Bucky shows his thanks to you for always being by his side.

𑣲 just as you are I @/blythesarchives

He tries his best for Valentine's Day.

𑣲 some other guy I @espinosaurusrexex

Everything was finished: the buffet was ready with sweet goodies, people were wearing their ugliest Christmas sweaters, and the music spread Christmas spirit wherever it reached. But you were still not enjoying it as much as you should. Something was missing, but what could you have possibly forgotten?

𑣲 when it all falls apart I @bucky-bucket-barnes

The fate of the universe was in your hands. Bucky and you had been sent to retrieve the soul stone, a seemingly simple task. Unbeknownst to you, there was a hefty price to pay for such an exchange. You’re able to return to Earth, but it’s soon apparent part of you was left in Vormir.

𑣲 just one kiss I @sarahwroteathing

Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss?

𑣲 hair I @magicaloneandmystery

bucky doesn't let anyone touch his hair. well... anyone except you.

𑣲 the catch I @lessersole

Bucky comes to the rescue when being Yelena's roommate makes things dangerous for you.

[thebarneschronicles]

A Quiet Escape

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: During a holiday stay at Clint Barton’s home, you’ve been desperately trying to steal a moment alone with Bucky—your super-soldier boyfriend—but the Avengers are constantly interrupting. Between Clint’s kids, Steve’s “bromantic” grocery runs, and Nat pulling Bucky into sparring sessions, it feels like you’re constantly fighting for his attention. Frustration finally boils over when you confront Bucky about your lack of privacy, only to discover he’s just as eager for some alone time as you are - and willing to do anything to get it.

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: This is barely a holiday fic with Bucky - it’s mostly smut with barely any plot. I just had a vision. Don’t consider the MCU timeline - everyone is alive and together in this. And Clint’s kids are a little older but still proper kids.

—

You told him no.

The word hit the air like a thunderclap—sharp, unexpected, and rare enough to make his icy blue eyes narrow in disbelief. Then they widened, a flicker of surprise breaking through his usual calm.

Slowly, his hands retreated, leaving the curve of your waist, hot and cold pulling away at once. Arms lifted, palms open, as if surrendering to the sharp finality in your voice.

“Did I… do something?” Bucky’s voice was low, rough around the edges, his frown deepening as a steady breath expanded his chest.

“No,” you said again, firmer this time, though your heart stuttered at the flicker of hurt that crossed his features. Your gaze darted past him, locking onto the narrow crack of the door behind his towering frame. Three sets of eyes stared back, wide and unblinking, from the shadows of the barely open door.

“I don’t get it, doll,” Bucky murmured, confusion twisting his expression. His metal hand lifted toward your hip, the motion almost instinctive, only to grip empty air as you leaned back and pressed both palms flat against his solid chest.

“Bucky,” you hissed, nodding toward the door. “We’ve got company.”

He blinked, brows knitting together, before his head swiveled to follow your line of sight. The moment he turned, the door slammed shut with a loud bang, and the sound of frantic footsteps thundered away on the other side. Three pairs of little feet, retreating as fast as they’d been caught.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as realization dawned, but you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched upward, a mix of exasperation and amusement bubbling in your chest.

Company. There was always company.

At least, there had been for the past week, ever since you’d been swept into the whirlwind that was Clint Barton’s home. What had once been a cozy haven for his family had turned into a buzzing hive of activity, packed with super-soldiers, gods, and genetically—or technologically—enhanced heroes. The Avengers had descended, and while the world might have known them as Earth’s mightiest protectors, to you, they were beginning to feel like the world’s nosiest roommates.

It was the holidays, and by some miracle—perhaps one granted by Saint Nick himself—the planet wasn’t teetering on the edge of destruction. No alien invasions, no terrorist plots, no missiles hurtling toward oblivion, and, to your immense relief, no Hydra agents lurking in the shadows.

For once, it was a somewhat normal holiday season. If you ignored the superpowers and the enhanced DNA floating around the house, that is. More importantly, you were finally getting to see Bucky in an everyday, domestic setting.

And you loved it.

You’d caught him horsing around with Clint’s kids—Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel—who had taken an almost unhealthy fascination with his metal arm. Your normally stoic, brooding boyfriend had become their favorite jungle gym. You’d walked into the living room one afternoon to find all three of them hanging off his arm like little monkeys, giggling uncontrollably as he lifted them effortlessly.

You’d marveled at the sight of him brewing your coffee in the mornings, the way his lips twitched into a subtle smile when he handed you the mug, the steam curling between you. He shoveled snow off the driveway with Clint, laughing at the older man’s dad jokes, and indulged the kids in their never-ending demands to walk the family dog. While they chattered away endlessly, he listened with that quiet patience of his, nodding and occasionally chuckling.

But as much as you adored seeing Bucky like this—calm, grounded, happy—you couldn’t help but notice one glaring downside: you hadn’t had a moment alone together.

Not one.

Between Clint’s kids, Steve dragging Bucky out for “quick” trips to the store (which were never quick), and Nat luring him into sparring sessions when she couldn’t sit still anymore, your time with him had been thoroughly hijacked. And Lila—sweet, mischievous Lila—had an uncanny knack for giving you the stink eye every time you got too close to Bucky.

You were losing your mind.

It had been a month since you’d had real time alone with him. Work had pulled you apart, his responsibilities to the team had swallowed every spare moment, and now, what you’d thought would be your chance to reconnect had turned into a holiday circus.

You’d imagined this trip differently. Romantic walks in the snow, cozy kisses by the fire, maybe even some stolen, steamy nights in the attic of Clint’s house. But those dreams had been systematically dismantled by the chaos around you.

Everyone wanted a piece of Bucky—or you—or both of you. And while the holidays were supposed to be about togetherness, you were starting to think that all this togetherness might drive you both completely insane.

You let out a frustrated sigh, closing your eyes as you leaned back against the door of your shared attic bedroom. From down the hall, the giggles of your boyfriend's three tiny shadows echoed, fading into the room they’d darted into.

The sound of your frustration pulled Bucky closer to you, his hand finding the doorknob near your hip. With a gentle turn, he pushed the door open and guided you inside. The soft glow of the moon coming in through the large window spilled across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his features as he quietly shut the door behind you both.

“Alright,” he started, his voice low but edged with concern. “You’ve been sighing like that for three days now, doll. What’s eating at you?”

You tilted your head to look at him, folding your arms. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I haven’t had you to myself in weeks. Or that every time I even think about kissing you, someone—usually under four feet tall—pops up like a whack-a-mole.”

You pointed toward the direction of the room where the kids were hidden, having interrupted you and Bucky’s rare alone time for the millionth time today alone. You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s lips twitched, as if he was trying not to smile, and it just aggravated you further.

“They’re kids, sweetheart. What am I supposed to do? Ignore them?”

“No,” you grumbled, seemingly for the thousandth time, dragging your hands down your face. “But I didn’t realize signing up to be your girlfriend also meant being a full-time babysitter, snow-shoveling assistant, and third wheel to Steve freaking Rogers on your bromantic grocery runs.”

That did it—he laughed, a low, rich sound that made your annoyance falter for a moment.

“Don’t laugh. I’m serious!” you snapped, shooting him a glare, dropping down at the edge of the bed, both hands sliding into your hair, a clear sign of the frustration that seemed to be pouring out of your pores.

“I know, I know,” he said, holding up both hands in mock surrender. “I get it. This… isn’t how I pictured this trip either.” He crossed the room to sit beside you, his weight making the mattress dip. His flesh hand reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “I miss you too, doll.”

You softened at his words but refused to let go of your irritation entirely. “Then do something about it, Barnes. You’re a super soldier, a former trained assassin, a ghost agent—surely you can figure out how to steal your girlfriend away for five minutes without someone barging in.”

His eyes gleamed mischievously. “You think I haven’t been trying? Clint’s kids are like little spies. Lila’s practically Natasha junior. And Steve? Forget it. Guy has a radar for when I’m about to kiss you.”

“Of course he does,” you groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “He’s Captain America. Always watching. Always judging. It’s like dating a guy whose best friend is a giant Boy Scout.”

You paused, raising an eyebrow. “Wait—do you think Steve’s ever even been kissed?”

Bucky snorted, the sound so uncharacteristic it made you glance up. “What? You think I’d know that?”

The furtive way he avoided your eyes told you he did.

“C’mon, you’ve known him forever.” You leaned forward, narrowing your eyes. “He gives me virgin energy, Buck.”

“Virgin energy?” Bucky repeated, a smile spreading over his lips despite himself. “Doll, you’re gonna kill me.”

“I’m serious!” you said, barely stifling your own laugh. “The guy probably spent the ’40s too busy punching Nazis to even hold someone’s hand. And now? Forget it. I bet if you kissed me in front of him, he’d faint on the spot.”

Bucky dragged a hand over his face, unable to hide his amusement. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You know I’m right,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your foot. Your stomach tightened as his flesh hand wrapped around your ankle, tugging you closer. “It explains so much,” you went on, voice faltering slightly when he dragged his hand up your inner thigh, sending a shiver through you. “He’s probably the reason we never get a moment alone,” you added, squirming under his touch. His hand settled firmly on your hip, his chest solid against you as he laid beside you, his head propped up on his metal hand, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What, because he’s a cock block?” Bucky asked, voice dropping lower.

“Exactly!” you exclaimed, shifting to allow his one leg between yours, ignoring the intense burn that settled low in your belly. “Think about it—if he’s not getting any, there’s no way he’s letting anyone else get laid. Misery loves company.”

Bucky shook his head, his grin making your heart flutter. “You’ve officially lost it, doll.”

“And yet, here we are. Still not kissing,” you shot back, looking at him pointedly, lifting yourself up onto your elbows so you could tilt your head up, lips ghosting over his.

“I’m done talking about Steve and his virginity,” he said, icy blue eyes dropping to your lips, his nose dragging over yours. “And for the record, doll, you’re the only one I want to see faint when I kiss you.”

“Oh, smooth recovery, Barnes,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself, breathing shakily with his proximity.

He leaned closer, brushing his lips against yours, voice low and rumbly in his chest, sending a surge of heat from your toes all the way to the center of your body. “How about this? Tomorrow morning, we sneak out. Just you and me. We’ll take the bike, get some coffee, and maybe… I don’t know… find a spot where no one can find us for a few hours.”

You stared up at him, your annoyance giving way to hope. “Promise?”

His frown softened into something more sincere, understanding. “Promise. I’ll even turn my phone off. No Avengers. No interruptions. Just us.”

“Okay,” you whispered, allowing yourself to relax into the idea.

But just as his lips brushed yours, the door creaked open, and a small voice called out.

“Bucky?”

You both froze, and he let out a soft curse under his breath. “Yeah, Nate?”

“Can you come read us a story? Lila said you promised!”

You turned your head, glaring at the ceiling while Bucky sighed, standing up. He glanced back at you with a sheepish smile. “Rain check?”

“Nate,” you called out, loud enough for the little boy to hear. “When you’re older, remind me to teach you about boundaries.”

His laughter followed Bucky out the door, leaving you to bury your face in the pillow, groaning dramatically.

When he returned fifteen minutes later, you were still face-down, your muffled voice rising from the comforter. “Why are you a children magnet? It’s like you’re Santa Claus, and they’re all lining up for their turn.”

Bucky chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I guess I’m just irresistible.”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him. “You used to be scary. Remember those days? Big, brooding Winter Soldier? People crossed the street to avoid you. I miss that guy.”

He leaned down, grinning as he kissed the top of your head. “That guy never would’ve gotten you to fall for him.”

“Yeah, well, that guy wouldn’t be getting interrupted every five minutes either,” you muttered, pulling the pillow back over your head.

The first rays of sunlight peeked through the attic window, casting a warm glow over the small room. You stirred at the soft sound of movement, the creak of the floorboards familiar enough to pull you from sleep. Cracking one eye open, you saw Bucky crouched by the foot of the bed, lacing up his boots.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep as you pushed yourself up on your elbows. The room is warm and you can smell the soap and shampoo coming out of the bathroom, the steam of Bucky’s shower still rolling out under the door even after he’d gotten out of it.

He glanced over his shoulder, wet hair dropping onto his forehead, his dog tags dangling from his neck, a sly smile playing on his lips. “You, me, the bike, and some much-needed alone time, remember?”

You blinked, processing his words, before groaning and flopping back onto the bed. “It’s too early, Barnes.”

“It’s not. You just want to stay in bed,” he teased, leaning over you, his lips brushing your temple. “C’mon, doll. Coffee awaits. And I’ve got a spot picked out where no one will find us. Not even Steve.”

“Not even Steve?” you repeated, hope warming your heart, cracking a smile despite yourself. “That’s ambitious.”

Bucky chuckled, his fingers trailing lightly over your arm. “Trust me, I’ve planned this escape like a military op. Now get dressed before Clint’s kids wake up and ruin everything.”

The mention of his tiny shadows jolted you awake. You sat up, pushing your hair out of your face. “Fine, but if one of them catches us sneaking out, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” he said, grinning as he stepped back to let you get ready.

Half an hour later, you were showered and wrapped in your warmest coat and scarf, perched on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle as it roared to life. The crisp morning air nipped at your cheeks as you sped away from the Barton farmhouse, the sound of the engine loud enough to drown out any lingering holiday chaos.

“Where are we going?” you shouted over the wind, your arms tightening around his waist.

“You’ll see,” he called back, his voice filled with a levity you hadn’t heard in days.

After about half an hour, he pulled off onto a narrow dirt road that wound through a dense forest. The bike came to a stop in a clearing, where a small cabin stood sturdy and welcoming, the promise of warmth, quiet, and alone time beckoning you inside.

The cabin was nestled among tall pines, their branches heavy with snow that caught the early morning light, casting a soft glow over the place. The structure was rustic, with a large stone chimney rising above the roof, smoke curling lazily into the pale blue sky. The wooden exterior, darkened by age, gave off a comforting, lived-in feel, as if it had been waiting just for this moment. The windows glowed faintly from within, a sign of the warmth that awaited inside.

Bucky killed the engine and swung off the bike, turning to help you down. “What do you think?”

You looked around, taking in the serene beauty of the scene, the stillness of the forest enveloping the cabin like a protective embrace. “It’s perfect,” you said, your voice full of awe.

He grabbed the large bag he’d stuck on the bike’s saddlebag and handed it to you. “Coffee, as promised. Some other things as well. And no interruptions. Just us.”

You felt the warmth seep through you, both from the shee relief you felt and the way he was looking at you, his eyes soft with affection. “Okay, Barnes. I’ll admit it. You nailed this one.”

“Damn right I did,” he said, tugging you closer, lips brushing against your temple. His arm wrapped around your shoulder as the two of you headed towards your little safe haven. A satisfied smirk played on his lips, and you could feel the tension in his body ease as you walked together, just the two of you, heading toward the cozy cabin.

When you stepped inside, the scent of wood and pine mixed with something warm and comforting. The interior was just as inviting as the outside. The open space was simple but cozy, with a stone fireplace built into one wall. There was a leather couch near the hearth, a soft rug underfoot, and shelves stacked with books and a few family heirlooms - you didn’t have to ask him who it belonged to, the pictures lining the shelves told you you and Bucky weren’t the only couple who sometimes needed a reprieve from the Barton household.

Through the large windows, you could still see the vast expanse of the snow-covered forest, but inside, it felt like you were in a world of your own.

Bucky dropped the bag at the kitchen counter and turned to you, his expression softer now that you were finally alone. “How does it feel? No Steve, no Clint, no kids…”

“Perfect,” you murmured, crossing the room to stand by the fire, arms crossed over your chest.

Bucky followed you, his hands finding your waist as he pressed himself gently against your back. The cold of his clothes from the sharp wind outside sent a shiver down your spine, but the heat of his touch, his body against yours, was enough to make your heart race. The tension between you was palpable, growing bigger with each mile you put between you and the Barton farmhouse, unwinding itself as the space grew and crackling in the air like an electric current.

His hands, one cold and one warm, were steady on your hips, anchoring you in a way that made you feel safe and desired all at once. It wasn’t just the fire in front of you that made the room warm—it was the pull between you two, the undeniable chemistry that neither of you could ignore.

You tilted your head back slightly, allowing him to place a kiss on your neck, his warmth seeping into you, the fire’s crackle making the moment feel even more intimate. “This was exactly what we needed”, you hummed, eyes fluttering shut.

“Exactly,” he agreed, his breath warm against your skin. “Now, where were we before we got interrupted last night?”

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “I think you were about to make me faint.”

His amused laugh was the only sound that filled the space between you two, a low, warm chuckle that made your heart flutter. Then, before you could react, his hands turned you around gently, pulling you into him as his lips captured yours in a deep, consuming kiss. For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no distractions—just the two of you, wrapped in the fire of the moment.

His tongue traced the curve of your bottom lip, a teasing stroke that made your breath hitch, and then he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. His hands slipped beneath your jacket, finding the soft, heated skin of your hip, and you sighed into his mouth, a sound full of longing and need. You melted against him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, your head tilting to the side to allow him more access. The taste of him overwhelmed your senses, the familiar warmth of his mouth, the intensity of his touch, and you felt your legs grow weak, trembling with the hunger that surged between you.

Every inch of your body seemed to respond to him, to the press of his chest against yours, the way his hands moved with a quiet urgency that matched the pounding of your heart. You lost yourself in the kiss, in the feeling of his lips, his touch, as if everything outside of this moment didn’t exist. There was nothing but him and the intoxicating pull of his affection, and you knew, in that instant, that nothing else mattered but being with him—your Bucky, in the most intimate way you’d ever shared.

It had been so long—too long—since you’d been able to be this close to him, to feel his body against yours without hesitation. The longing, the quiet yearning that had built up between you, was finally starting to break free. You could feel the weight of it in every touch, in the way his fingers brushed over your skin, as if he was finally letting go of the last remnants of his walls. It was like you were rediscovering each other in this moment—his warmth, his presence—reminding you of the man he was when he allowed himself to be vulnerable with you.

His breath was warm against the back of your neck, and you could feel him trembling ever so slightly as you turned toward him, your eyes meeting his. In his gaze, you saw the storm of emotions—desire, need, love—that he rarely let others see, let alone act upon. The man you loved, the man who had once been a stranger even to himself, was now standing in front of you, and for the first time, he wasn’t pulling away. His lips hovered just above yours, the anticipation between you two thick, hanging like a breath waiting to be taken.

It hadn’t always been like this—him, so open, so ready to let you in. There was a time when he had been reluctant to trust, when the thought of giving his heart to someone had been suffocating, terrifying, downright impossible. But you had weathered the storm with him, through the nightmares, the quiet doubts, the fear that he wasn’t worthy of love. And with every touch, every word, you had proven to him that you could be his anchor. You were his safe place. His refuge. And now, he let you in, fully, in ways he had never allowed before.

His lips found yours in a longer kiss that was soft at first, a gentle exploration, but the hunger, the need, was undeniable. You could feel it in the way his hands tightened around you, the urgency behind his lips a testament to the desperation you shared throughout all the weeks you had been deprived of each other’s bodies, each other’s skin. He kissed as if he feared this moment would slip away, like so many had when friends had knocked on closed doors and children had tugged him away for a snow fight.

You responded in kind, deepening the kiss, pulling him closer, needing him just as much. The world outside, all of it faded into the background. There was only this—him, you, the electric tension that had been building for so long, and the quiet promise that this was just the beginning.

As his hand slid up your side, tracing the curve of your body, you could feel the weight of everything between you both—the time it had taken to get here, the quiet moments of trust and understanding, the slow building of love. But now, in the heat of the moment, all that mattered was the connection. The way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered, the way his touch seemed to ignite something inside you that you couldn’t explain.

He undressed you in a way that could only be described as deliberate—although his mouth was hungry, his hands took their time with every piece of clothing, hot and cold dragging over every inch of skin he managed to uncover. It was maddening, really, the calm he could have in certain moments where all you wanted was for him to lose control.

You pulled away from him slightly, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “You know,” you said, your voice low and sultry, “if you keep undressing me like that, I’m going to start thinking you’re waiting for someone to interrupt us… or that you’re torturing me on purpose.”

His grin was slow, all confidence and mischief. “Maybe I am,” he teased, his voice rougher now. “Maybe I like making you wait.”

You raised an eyebrow, your fingers running lightly down the front of his leather jacket, lingering on the zipper. “You know, I could make you wait too,” you purred, fingers pulling on the zipper until it opened, enough for you to drag your hand under the sweater he had underneath, his skin blazing.

He could’ve once been called the Winter Soldier, but there was nothing cold about Bucky. The icy blue of his eyes sent wild fires burning through your skin, his own skin always running a few degrees hotter than yours… you always joked he was your personal furnace, but it made it all the more true as you dragged your icy fingers under the thick knit that covered his torso.

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, his hands tightening around your waist as if he was fighting the urge to pull you closer, to devour you. “Doll–” he said in warning, the edge of longing crystal clear in his voice.

You leaned in closer, lips grazing his ear as you whispered, “Maybe… maybe I’ll make you wait. Maybe I won’t let you touch me… maybe I’ll go back to the house and leave you like you did me… desperate, warm and so wet… Let’s see how you like that…”

You could feel him shudder at the words, the tension between you two growing thicker with every second. “You have no idea, Bucky… no idea how empty I’ve been, how much I’ve been aching–”

Before you could continue, he pressed his lips back to yours, deeper this time, more urgent. He didn’t hold back, his hands roaming over your body, tugging you closer, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the fire building in both of you.

"God, I’ve missed you," Bucky breathed against your lips, his voice strained with need, his words sending a shiver down your spine. “You have no idea how much.”

You laughed softly, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, the feel of him intoxicating. “Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” you replied, your lips brushing over his, teasing, before pulling back slightly, your hands working quickly to push his jacket off. "But I guess we can talk about it later..."

His grip on you tightened, the words barely leaving his mouth before his lips moved to your neck, trailing hot, desperate kisses down your skin. “Later?” His voice was rough, his breath a heated whisper against your throat. "You think I can wait any longer?"

You nodded, a teasing smile curling on your lips, but it faltered when he pushed you back onto the leather couch, his lips never leaving your skin. You didn’t mind. Not one bit. This was finally your moment—just the two of you. The cabin, the fire, the stolen time, and all the teasing, the tension, the pure want that had been simmering between you two for so long.

"I want your mouth busy with something else," you gasped, voice shaking as he kissed a path lower down your skin.

Bucky's eyes darkened with desire, his lips pulling into a wicked smile as he moved, doing exactly what you suggested. "I think I like the sound of that”, his voice low and teasing. His hands had already stripped your jacket away somewhere along the way to the couch, and now they were eager, pulling your top up, inch by inch, exposing more of your skin. His mouth followed, leaving heated kisses down your stomach as his hands worked to unfasten the waistband of your pants.

Your breath caught in your throat when his teeth grazed the spot just below your belly button, and you could feel your body tightening in anticipation. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, and you instinctively arched your back, urging him on, breathing getting harder as he exposed the top of your knickers, the skin of your thighs, your knees, little by little until he finally took away your pants like the obstacle they have been - with a violent sway of his arm, that landed the garment in a heap across the room. “Bucky…” you whispered.

He wasn’t gentle when he maneuvered you, grabbing you by the backs of your thighs and moving your body until he was kneeling between your open legs, hands pushing your knees back until he could spread you further, eyes hooded as he took you in.

You know he could see the damp, dark spot on your knickers - the one you had purposefully picked in the hopes you’d both find a bathroom somewhere and take advantage of it - but you couldn’t be self conscious about it. Never in your wildest dreams you had expected him to find a place for you to fully enjoy each other’s bodies and as he dragged the fingers of his metal arm down your covered slit, you silently thanked Clint and Laura for having a sex drive.

“Bucky–” you repeated, whiny and desperate, eyes stuck on where he’d slipped his fingertips on the side of your bottons, gliding slowly up and down, the cold of the vibranium pressing to your heated folds and sending goosebumps all over your body. “Quit teasing me!” you gasped, breath catching as he pulled on the damp fabric until he could finally see your glistening slit, his lips parting in awe, eyes darkening and filled with promise.

He smiled, the sight making your stomach twist, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins. "Teasing you? Baby, I’m just getting started," he murmured, his hands slid up and down your thighs with deliberate slowness, savoring the way you trembled beneath his touch, his mouth pressed to the inside of your knee as he leaned in.

You shivered, your hands reaching up to tug at the back of his hair, a muffled growl leaving his lips as he traveled further down your body, until his mouth was hovering over your aching cunt. "I swear, if you don't get on me, I—"

"Or what?" he teased, leaning down to brush his lips against your slit, just barely grazing them before he pressed a kiss to your mound. "You think you can fight me?” His voice was thick with amusement, but there was a rough quality to it that made your pulse race.

“I could strangle you… with my thighs…” You threatened with no real intent behind it, eyes closed for a moment as you tried to steady yourself, swallowing thickly against a gasp when you felt his flesh fingers spread you open, exposing more of your dripping core to him.

“And I’d die a happy man”, Bucky breathes, his brow furrowed in concentration as he licks his lips. “A very happy man…” he adds before he pulls your clit between his lips with the softest of sucks.

When you first started dating, the sheer idea of having Bucky’s mouth between your legs had been comical to you. The broody super soldier, the stoic, serious, impenetrable walls he’d put up made you believe he hadn’t been capable of this kind of passion - had he even had time to learn what giving head was?

You knew he wasn’t totally oblivious - you’ve read the files, you knew he was a ladies man in the 40s, the kind to run away from armed daddies who caught him with a hand up their daughter’s skirts. But with everything he’d gone through, the many years he’d spend locked away - from his body and his mind - you had no idea how far his… sexual education (or should you say experience) had gone.

So it is an understatement to say you were shocked when he first begged to get his mouth on you… and how much he enjoyed it. Every time he did you’d praise his skill, his eagerness, his urge to please and you’d get paid double the effort, double the delight.

This time was no different, as he dragged his tongue up and down your slit, humming when his lips closed around your aching clit. He was thorough, leaving no spot untouched, tongue dipping into your weepy entrance as he buried his face closer, unashamed and unabashed.

All you can do is moan and scratch his scalp, pulling his hair whenever his cheeks hollow and he suckles harshly against you. Every time Bucky puts his mouth on you, you can’t pick what you like most: when he’s lapping at your entrance with greed or sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, but either way your toes curl and you pull him closer as he feasts as if it’s his last meal.

He’s so lost in it at times, he’s almost sloppy in his technique, choosing to lie there and taste your cunt and smell you. You’re lost in the sensations when he lazily probes your entrance before he pushing two of his fingers in and spreading them, exploring you gently, and you swallow back a moan.

“Bucky, please,” you whisper, face scrunching and you bite your lip, one of your heels digging into the couch. You’re begging for him, his body, his cock, because this? This is torture.

Because you haven’t had him in weeks and you feel everything - from the insistent licking of his tongue against your clit to the scissoring of his fingers - and it’s coming quicker than you had expected. He’d been between your legs for all of five minutes, but you’re barely able to take the combination of his eagerness and your needs, all of it stretching the elastic band that is your orgasm farther and farther, until you’re ready to snap.

“I don’t—“ you gulp, trying to push him off with your foot but he grabs you by the ankle with his free hand, icy metal fingers wrapping around your ankle with a tight hold. “I— fuck me, you’re gonna make me c-cum!”

Your words are supposed to deter him - to stop the assault on your swollen cunt, to stop the ballooning of pleasure building deep in your belly from the way his fingers work you - but he presses his face closer, because that’s what he wants. He won’t be able to do this again, not when you’re in a house full of children and heroes and people who can’t seem to understand what privacy is. This is what he wants to hold with him and carry with him when he’s got a long night with you laying by his side, unable to touch you how he so desperately needs, how he’s so sure both of you want. He wants to be able to bite his lip and still find ways to taste you from his memory.

Bucky pulls away with a filthy wet noise, lowering his forehead to your thigh, his voice suddenly raw. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you,” he confessed, his hands gently spreading your thighs further, his touch reverent, as if he couldn’t believe this was finally happening. “I’ve missed being this close to you.” His lips brushed your opening, a smacking kiss making your thighs tremble before he licks deeper, more fervent than the last.

“Me too,” you cry out, hips lifting up towards his mouth, sweat slicking down the back of your neck. The urgency in your body mirrored the way he gripped you tighter, his hands firm around your hips, pulling you closer, never wanting to let go.

“Fuck, Bucky, come on–”, you cry out, both hands shooting down to grab at his hair. “This isn’t how I wanted– I want you in me”, you beg, unabashed, and he groans against you, the vibrations of it pushing you closer to the edge.

“Give me a good one,” he breathes out, pulling away for a second to nuzzle at your clit. “Just one good one and I’ll give you my cock, doll. How’s that?”

It’s a delicate negotiation, but he never falters. Not until you’re biting down hard on the heel of your hand, desperately trying to silence the scream clawing its way up your throat, shaking thighs closing around his head as he brings you to your orgasm, your other hand twisting into the shoulder of his sweater.

His fingers are just as insatiable as his mouth and you’re panting, crying out his name pulling him closer and pushing him away until the waves of pleasure, one after the other, have subsided and your vision - that had gone dark, stars dancing behind your closed eyelids - is less blurry.

“That’s it,” Bucky breathes, teeth closing on the supple skin of your thigh, his chin, nose and lips glistening with your slick. “That’s my girl.”

Your fingers are shaky but insistent as you pull him upwards, profanities leaving your mouth as he drags himself until he’s settled between your spread legs, jean covered cock pressing against your swollen cunt. He’s still wearing the damned sweater and you nearly scratch him raw in your desperate attempt to pull it off, seeking bare skin and intimacy you had been craving.

When he finally pulls it off and settles on top of you, you taste yourself on his tongue, fingers dragging over the expanse of his broad back, the kiss animalistic and unbidden. “God, I love your mouth–”, you confess, heat pinking up your cheeks at the sincerity.

“Just my mouth?”, Bucky questions, muttering against your neck. You can feel his smile on your skin and you can’t but bite into your bottom lip.

“Your stamina too,” you whisper, moaning when he ruts against your core, the shape of his cock clear even under the fabric of his pants. “Cause I’m not done with you”, you shake your head, accepting the kiss he licks into your mouth.

"You’ve waited long enough, doll”, His eyes locked with yours, a playful yet intense look in them, his lips curling into a smile that spoke of things only the two of you understood. “I’m not going to stop now.”

[vunblr]

Foundations (#1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms. (Bucky)

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 8.1.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok. Let’s just pretend for a bit.

Next Chapter

Two years ago.

Steve crouched in the snow-dusted ruins of the Hydra facility, surrounded by the faint hum of outdated machinery and the occasional creak of the aging structure. The air in the base carried a mix of metallic tang and decay as if the building itself was holding its last breaths. He ran his gloved hand along a table coated with frost and dust before stopping in front of a row of cryogenic chambers.

Each pod told a story of Hydra’s grotesque obsession with human experimentation. Steve’s sharp gaze scanned them uneasily and when he reached the last chamber, he froze.

Encased in cryogenic suspension, there was a small boy, no older than three, with his delicate features eerily serene within the frosted glass. The sight made his stomach twist.

Natasha’s voice crackled through the comms. “Steve, what did you find?”

He pressed a hand against the glass. “It’s a boy. About… two or three years old. Cryostasis. We need to get him out of here.”

His eyes darted to a nearby desk, where he eyed a weathered folder with its corners curled with age. Flipping it open, he scanned the documents, and his stomach churned with every line. “This- he is not a kidnapped normal human boy… they’ve been using fertilization methods here. Thirty samples and only this child lived after birth. The mother died in labor. Nat-” Steve’s voice got strained. “He’s… he’s Bucky’s son.”

The line remained silent for a moment before Natasha answered cautiously. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. There’s… documentation here, DNA confirmations. God, he doesn’t even have a name. Just a designation: A-25.”

A beat of silence passed again, heavy with the implication before Natasha’s voice softened. “What do you want to do?”

Steve exhaled slowly, his breath clouding the icy air. “We can’t just leave him here.”

-----

Back on the Quinjet, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The cryo-pod rested in the cargo bay, its faint orange light casting an otherworldly glow over the steel walls. Steve sat on a bench, with his elbows rested on his knees and his hands pressed on his face, wrestling with the enormity of the decision he’d just made. Across from him, two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stood stiffly, with palpable apprehension.

“Captain Rogers,” one of them began, breaking the tense silence. “Moving him to the tower isn’t viable. We don’t know what kind of conditioning Hydra implemented, or if the kid is enhanced. He could be dangerous.”

Steve’s head snapped up, pinning the agent in place with his gaze. “He’s a child. And from what I read; he didn’t inherit the serum properties. Whatever Hydra did to him, it’s on us to undo it. Leaving him here or handing him over to a government lab isn’t an option.”

The agent shifted uneasily. “And if he’s unstable? Wha-”

Steve set his jaw, leaning back against the cold metal wall with determination. “Then I’ll handle it,” he cut firmly. “But we are not abandoning him.”

----

Two nights later in the common room, Steve, Natasha, and Tony gathered to discuss the next steps. The atmosphere was heavy. Tony leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a skeptical expression.

“Look, I’m not saying we keep this from Barnes,” he pointed out with a little hesitation. “But you’ve seen him, Steve. He’s barely keeping himself together most days. Throwing a kid into the mix?”

Steve’s jaw clenched, and he hardened his gaze. “That’s not your call to make. He deserves to know.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Even if it sends him over the edge?”

“He’s stronger than you think,” Steve countered firmly. “And he’s not alone, even if sometimes he thinks he is. If he decides to step up, we’ll help him. All of us. That boy is his only family, Tony. Bucky deserves the chance to decide what kind of relationship he wants with him.”

----

Present.

Two weeks into the new school year, she stood at the kindergarten’s gate, greeting the kids with a warm smile. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves, and shades of orange and gold framed the cheerful faces of the kids as they laughed and ran to their friends. Each day, they’d formed a routine, walking together through the small park leading to the school hall.

Nearly everyone had arrived when, just as she was about to close the gate, she noticed a figure approaching. Her gaze landed on a tall man with strikingly beautiful yet tired blue eyes. His hesitant steps betrayed a certain nervousness. Beside him walked a boy, the spitting image of him, with the same dark hair and soulful eyes. They were unfamiliar to her, but she knew immediately who they must be.

Thomas Barnes and, presumably, his father.

The director had informed her about the new student, explaining that, for personal reasons, the boy would start a bit later than the others. Now here they were, standing on the threshold of a new chapter.

She stepped forward with a warm smile. “You must be Thomas,” she said gently, crouching slightly to meet the boy’s gaze. Then she looked up at the man, her voice equally kind. “And you must be his dad. Welcome.”

The child hugged his father’s leg when he realized he had to go in alone. Bucky bit his lip, placing a hand on the boy’s head. “Kiddo, we talked about this. I’ll pick you up at three, and then we’ll go to Uncle Steve’s,” he said softly.

Then he gave her an apologetic look. “Also, what do we always say? Manners. You didn’t even greet Miss...”

Oh. She got so distracted by the pair that her clouded mind didn’t even consider the basic introductions. “Sorry! I’m Miss Y/n. It’s a pleasure to meet you two.”

The boy separated one hand from his father’s leg and, straightening his posture but with a quivering lip, offered his hand like a little gentleman. “I’m Thomas. I’m five years old, and… and I will be in your care.”

She shook his hand, surprised and delighted. “Well, aren’t you a little gentleman,” she said warmly.

The bell rang, and she straightened up. “Well, that is our cue. Would you like to come inside? There are lots of boys and girls who would love to meet and play with you,” she reassured. Then she looked at Bucky. “And, as your papa -Mr. Barnes- said, he’ll be here when we finish.”

“James,” Bucky said promptly, stretching out his hand firm but gently to shake hers. She felt a traitorous warmth rise in her cheeks when their gaze met at closer range. His tired blue eyes held more than exhaustion; something softer and more vulnerable lingered there, though it was quickly masked. Apprehension, perhaps? He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and yet, somehow, he was effortlessly handsome.

“Nice to meet you, James,” she managed, keeping her tone calm and reassuring. “Don’t worry, your little one will be fine, you’ll see.”

Bucky nodded once, briskly but slightly hesitant. “Yeah, I-I know. Alright, Kiddo,” he said, crouching slightly to Thomas’s level, in a low and encouraging voice. “You listen to your teacher and... have fun, alright? Just like we talked about.”

Thomas clung to his father’s jeans for a moment longer, small fingers clutching the fabric as if it were a lifeline. His lip quivered, and he glanced back at her with uncertain eyes. For a brief second, she wondered if he might refuse to let go, but then, slowly, he released his grip. The boy stepped toward her, tentative but brave, and positioned himself by her side.

She crouched again, offering him an encouraging smile. “You’re going to have a wonderful day, Thomas. I’ll be right here with you.”

The reassurance seemed to help. Thomas nodded shyly, though he didn’t speak. When she stood again, she noticed Bucky watching his son with an expression that tugged at her heart, equal parts pride and pain.

With a single nod of acknowledgment toward her, he straightened and turned on his heel, walking away without looking back. She couldn’t help but watch him for a moment longer than she should have, her gaze lingering on his broad shoulders as he disappeared down the path. She exhaled softly, turning her attention back to Thomas.

“Shall we?” she asked gently, holding out her hand.

Thomas hesitated, but then his small hand slid into hers. Together, they walked toward the classroom, the sound of children’s laughter welcoming them into a new day.

----

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he strolled along the sidewalk, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. Two years. It had been two years since Thomas came into his life, and now, for the first time, he was entrusting his care to someone else’s hands, strangers, no less. It might have seemed like an ordinary milestone for any other parent, but ordinary wasn’t a word that had ever described his life.

Normalcy was a foreign concept in their household. From the moment Steve had walked into the tower with that cryo-pod and the revelation of Thomas’s existence, everything had shifted. Even in the haze of his own self-doubt and fucked up brain, Bucky had known there was only one choice to make. Despite the murmurs of alternatives offered to him -guardianship through S.H.I.E.L.D. programs, adoption options- he hadn’t hesitated.

Responsibility. He owed the child that much, even if the idea of raising him terrified him to his core. How could he possibly be a parent when he was barely figuring out how to be himself? A walking mess trying to navigate a world he no longer fit into, burdened by guilt, memories, and nightmares. But Thomas wasn’t just a child, he was his child, a fragile thread tethering Bucky to something tangible and real.

The first months had been the hardest. Thomas, scared and silent, flinched at shadows and refused to speak more than a handful of words. A traumatized child by his earliest experiences, molded by Hydra’s cruel hands, and burdened with a fragility that made Bucky’s heart ache almost everyday. He could barely bring himself to imagine what might have happened if Steve hadn’t found him in that lab.

It wasn’t a journey he could have managed alone. Living at the Avengers Tower, he had been reluctant at first to accept help from the team. Steve, of course, had been steadfast and supportive, as expected. But what surprised Bucky the most was how the others had stepped in. Natasha’s guidance when words failed him, Wanda’s ability to soothe the boy, and even Tony’s seemingly endless stream of resources, like the top-tier child therapists he’d hired without hesitation.

Thomas was lucky, in a way, that Hydra’s experiments hadn’t left him with the serum’s super-soldier effects. The organization had tried, forcing serum-adjacent treatments to awaken something dormant, but to no avail. It was a relief Bucky carried deeply, though it did little to soften his guilt for not being there to stop it sooner.

Over time, they found a constant rhythm in their lives. Bucky wasn’t perfect -far from it- but he learned how to be there for Thomas. He showed him that food wasn’t a reward to fear, that adults could offer love instead of pain, that bedtime stories were for comfort and not to kept teaching lessons until he closed his exhausted eyes. Slowly but surely, the child started to blossom, inching out of his shell, exploring the world with a tentative kind of hope.

Still, Bucky knew they couldn’t stay in the protective bubble of the tower forever. Thomas needed more: kids his age, a chance to experience life outside their small, cloistered world. It had taken time, but Bucky finally worked up the nerve to rent an apartment for the two of them and begin the daunting process of finding a kindergarten.

The search was harder than expected. On paper, the process was simple: call, inquire, and enroll. In practice, things unraveled quickly. Many schools initially expressed enthusiasm, but the moment they learned Thomas was the son of that James Barnes, things changed. “Administrative errors” cropped up, classes mysteriously filled to capacity, or calls simply went unanswered.

When Tony offered to pull strings, Bucky refused. He wasn’t about to force his son into a place where the only motivation was Stark’s money. He didn’t want Thomas in an environment where whispers followed him down the hall, or where teachers tiptoed around him out of fear or prejudice.

So, he kept searching. Two weeks into the semester, he finally found a place. It was modest, tucked into a quiet neighborhood, with no interest in his past beyond the necessary paperwork. No judgment. No lingering stares. Just a promise to give Thomas a chance, and that was all Bucky needed.

As he walked away from the schoolyard, leaving Thomas in the care of his teacher and her warm smile, he tried to shake the tension in his chest. Rationally, he knew it was the right step. Thomas deserved to experience childhood, and this was the first of many milestones.

Still, the ache of leaving was sharper than he’d expected.

----

Thomas’s first day could have been better, but it wasn’t terrible either. As expected, the transition wasn’t easy. He seemed overwhelmed by the number of children around him. Though the school was small, nine energetic five-year-olds in one room was a stark contrast to the quiet, adult-dominated environment he’d grown up in.

The morning began with a formal introduction, as she guided Thomas gently to the front of the room. “Everyone, this is Thomas. Let’s all say hello!” she announced with her ever-patient smile.

A chorus of cheerful voices greeted him in unison, and Thomas blinked, wide-eyed, shifting closer to her side. Throughout the day, he stuck to her like a shadow, quietly observing the other children. His curious gaze darted from one group to another, watching how they played together, laughed, and squabbled.

The first hiccup came when two boys got into a brief tug-of-war over a toy truck. Thomas visibly tensed, his small shoulders stiffening as he clutched the hem of her skirt. She quickly diffused the situation and offered Thomas a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Thomas, sometimes there are quarrels, but nothing to worry about,” she said softly, her voice soothing as she rested a hand on his shoulder. He nodded but didn’t move from his spot.

Flora, one of the more outgoing girls in the class, made several attempts to coax Thomas into playing with her. Each time, she would approach with a bright smile and an outstretched hand, only to be gently refused as he shook his head and clung to his teacher. “Thomas is feeling a little shy today,” she explained kindly to Flora. “But I bet he’ll join you soon.” Flora nodded enthusiastically, skipping back to her friends, undeterred.

When the day finally wound to a close, the children were picked up one by one, their parents ushering them out with cheerful waves and chatter. Soon, the classroom emptied, leaving only her and Thomas. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes past pick-up time. Not late enough to be alarming, but enough to notice the change in Thomas.

The boy sat stiffly on a bench near the gate, his small chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. She crouched down in front of him, “Hey, Thomas, it’s okay. Your dad will be here soon, I promise. While we wait, want to learn a game?”

The child blinked at her, with glassy eyes by unshed tears and then nodded hesitantly.

She held out her hands and showed him a simple clapping game. The rhythm seemed to distract him, his and his breathing slowed down as he focused on mimicking her motions. They repeated the sequence a few times, and she rewarded him with a bright smile each time he got it right.

Then, footsteps approached the gate, and she looked up to see James Barnes hurrying toward them, with a concerned expression.

“I’m so sorry,” he said breathlessly, his blue eyes flicking from her to Thomas. “Traffic was worse than I expected-”

“Papa!” the small voice broke through as he bolted toward his father, tears streaming down his face now that the wait was over.

Bucky crouched and scooped him up immediately, cradling him close with his gloved hands. “Hey, hey, I’m here,” he murmured with guilt. “I’m so sorry, kiddo. I won’t be late again, I promise.”

As he held his son tightly, he turned toward her, ready to apologize again. But when he met her gaze, something in his chest shifted, just a flicker, something too fleeting to name.

She was smiling, kind and patient, with a softness in her expression that made it painfully obvious she wasn’t upset about waiting.

That shouldn’t have stood out. But it did.

“I’m sorry for making you wait and... taking up your time. It won’t happen again.”

She shook her head with a kind smile. “It’s alright. He was fine, really. And the game helped. Don’t worry about it.”

Bucky gave her a grateful look, softening his features just enough to show how much he appreciated her patience. “Thanks... for everything.”

She was about to respond when something crossed her mind. She hesitated briefly before speaking. “Um, Mr. Barnes -James- do you think we could schedule a meeting sometime this week? I usually interview families during the first days to get to know them better, but since Thomas started a bit later, we haven’t had the chance. If you’d like, we can arrange a time that works for you.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and she quickly added, “Of course, if you need to check with Mrs-”

“It’s just me,” he interrupted, firmer than intended but not unkind.

She blinked. “Oh.”

Just him.

Her expression didn’t change much, she simply nodded, adjusting quickly, but something about her expression made his throat go dry.

“Alright,” she said smoothly, “how does tomorrow at 1 PM sound?”

Bucky knitted his brows, working through something in his mind. She took the hesitation as doubt and quickly reassured him, “The interviews take place during school hours. Another teacher covers my class while I meet with parents. It’s all planned out.”

He nodded after a moment, letting the arrangement settle.

“Then it’s a date.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

Silence. His own brain screeched to a halt.

Shit.

The second the words left his mouth, he froze. Why the hell did he have to use that word? He shows up late on the first day, and instead of keeping his shit together, he throws that word in her face like some creep. What is she going to think? That he’s hitting on her? That he doesn’t take this seriously? His mind started spiraling as always, and he glanced at her, waiting for her reaction, expecting something-anything- that signaled she’s offended or uncomfortable.

But she only smiled. Not a smirk, not teasing, just… warm. Like she hadn’t even registered the slip, or worse, like she had and found it endearing.

“Alright, Mr. Barnes. See you tomorrow. Bye, Thomas! Have a wonderful afternoon!”

He nodded stiffly, turned on his heel, and walked toward the gate with Thomas in his arms. The tension in his shoulders was killing him, and his mind kept spiraling. Why couldn’t he have just said meeting like a normal person?

-----

He arrived five minutes early. Pressing the doorbell, he tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, exhaling quietly as he waited.

A moment later, a soft buzz hummed from the side gate, signaling that he should push to enter. The latch clicked open under his touch, and he stepped through, strolling into the modest front yard where tiny footprints were imprinted into the damp soil, remnants of an afternoon spent playing.

As he neared the entrance, the building’s front door swung open, and there she was, standing at the threshold to receive him.

She hadn’t expected him to be so… put together.

Her breath hitched for half a second as she took him in, her brain momentarily short-circuiting before she caught herself. He was overdressed for a simple parent-teacher chat. His hair was neatly tied into a short ponytail, keeping the strands away from his sharp, striking features. The crisp black shirt he wore, fitted just right, framing his broad shoulders like a second skin, the mother-of-pearl blue buttons subtly gleaming under the soft afternoon light. The contrast of the dark fabric against his fair skin only made his blue eyes stand out even more.

She blinked, suddenly aware that she had been staring, like an absolute idiot, at that.

Her own reflection in the glass door made her painfully self-conscious. She had thrown on a comfortable jumper that morning, warm and practical, paired with an open wool jacket she hadn’t given much thought to. Now, under his gaze, she felt underdressed.

Shaking off the ridiculous thought, she straightened her posture and smiled, keeping her voice even. “Mr. Barnes, right on time.”

His lips twitched slightly, almost a smile, but not quite. “James. Figured I shouldn’t be late twice in a row.”

She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. “Come on in. Would you like some tea or coffee before we start?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Tea, if it’s not a hassle.”

“No hassle at all,” she assured him, leading the way inside.

As he followed her down the hallway, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. This was just a meeting, a standard conversation about Thomas. That was all. She led him into the small office and closed the door with a soft click.

With him inside, the space suddenly felt even smaller, almost claustrophobic. As he settled into the chair, she turned toward the small counter, flipping on the electric kettle. With her back to him, she absently tugged at the neckline of her jumper, then glanced down, frowning as she noticed a faint smear of green tempera near the hem. Great. Just great. She tried to rub it away discreetly, but the stain refused to budge.

Forcing herself to move on, she turned around, offering a professional -and hopefully not too flustered- smile. “So, Mr. Barnes.”

“James is really alright,” he repeated. Then he asked himself if there was a rule to use the last name, and she was trying to make him notice that fact politely by still addressing him with formality.

She nodded. “Alright, James.” The name felt different on her tongue, more personal somehow, and for some reason, it flustered her to use it. She cleared her throat, refocusing. “I’m going to ask some questions about Thomas’s daily life and family status so we can start building his file.”

At that, she caught the way his gloved hands tensed over his knees. It was subtle, just the smallest tightening of his fingers, but she noticed. His expression, however, remained unreadable: calm, polite, the perfect picture of an agreeable parent sitting through a standard school procedure.

But she knew better.

Not wanting to push too soon, she offered an alternative. “Also, if you’re interested, I can tell you briefly about yesterday and today’s steps in his integration.”

Something shifted in his posture at that. Not much, but enough. A small breath in, a glance toward her, like a man bracing for news he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

“Yeah,” he murmured, nodding. “I’d like that.”

----

Bucky felt little beads of sweat trickling down his spine. Was he trying too much?

He shifted slightly, flexing his fingers over his knees as he stole a glance at himself, just a quick, discreet look. Then, at her, and then, at the tiny office around them, shelves stacked with colorful folders, walls decorated with cheerful crayon drawings.

Back in his time, people dressed better. If a parent had to meet with a teacher, for whatever reason, it was treated as a formal occasion. A suit, a tie. The respect was shown in one’s presentation. So, naturally, he thought the right thing to do was clean up good.

Now, sitting in that too-small, squeaky green chair, with that attractive lovely lady making him tea, he felt like a goddamn wedding cake doll.

Her jumper was slightly wrinkled, her open wool jacket practical and cozy, and there was that stubborn little stain on the hem that she’d tried to wipe away when she thought he wasn’t looking. She belonged in this space, warm and natural, while he looked like he had an appointment with a boardroom, not a kindergarten teacher.

He swallowed, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Too late to do anything about it now.

"Alright," she said, settling across from him with a patient smile. "Where do you want to start? The interrogation about personal matters or how Thomas is adjusting to his partners and environment?"

Bucky barely hesitated. "The second one."

She smiled knowingly as if she had expected that answer. “He was a little introverted at first, which is completely normal for a child his age in a new group. Most of the kids already knew each other, so he’s still figuring out where he fits in.”

Bucky nodded, listening intently.

She hesitated for a second before continuing, careful but warm. “He’s also a bit… dependent.”

That made something in Bucky’s chest tighten.

“Which, again, is perfectly normal,” she reassured quickly, reading the shift in his expression. “Especially considering his background. I have no problem giving him the comfort and reassurance he needs throughout the day. But maybe, with time, we can work on building his independence a little.” She offered him a gentle smile. “But overall, James, he’s a lovely kid. Really.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. Lovely. Not a problem. Not difficult. Just… lovely.

She turned to retrieve the tea, and as she was about to place his mug on the table, the sleeve of her wool jacket caught on a rough splinter in the wood. The movement sent the cup tipping, and a small splash of hot liquid spilled onto her hand and the table.

“Oh, fuc-” She caught herself just in time, trading the curse for a flustered, “Oh, dear.” She hastily set the mug down, shaking her wrist slightly as she clutched her burned fingers.

Before Bucky even registered the thought, his body moved on instinct. Old chivalry, muscle memory, -maybe both- he reached out, pulling off his glove in one swift motion and gently cradling her injured hand in his own. He wrapped his cool metal fingers around hers, as an automatic attempt to soothe the burn.

She tensed.

The reaction was so small that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But he did. The slight stiffening of her shoulders, the way her breath caught, the way she froze beneath his touch for a fraction of a second.

His brain caught up with his actions.

Shit.

This was something he did all the time with Thomas, an instinctive, unconscious movement, one that made sense when it was his son crying over scraped knees or bumped elbows. But this wasn’t Thomas. This his son’s teacher. A stranger, technically. And here he was, holding her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He winced inwardly, twitching his fingers slightly as if preparing to pull away, to apologize, to-

But then, she relaxed.

Just enough for him to notice. Her grip eased slightly as her fingers rested in his palm, still warm from the tea. And then, to his utter surprise, she let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Well,” she murmured, “I guess that’s one way to handle it. Thank you,” she said, sincerily.

Bucky swallowed hard.

He wasn’t accustomed to people thanking him. Hell, he wasn’t accustomed to people wanting to share a space with him. The proof of that was in how damn difficult it had been to find a school willing to take Thomas in without judgment.

Was it always so hot in here?

The stupid shirt Steve had lent him to look presentable felt glued to his skin, clinging uncomfortably as a fresh wave of heat crept up his neck. He let go of her hand -reluctantly- and with a quick movement, he popped open a couple of the top buttons, trying to breathe. His fingers ran absentmindedly through his hair in the process, loosening a few strands from the short ponytail.

She blinked.

Hard.

His deep voice cut through the charged moment. “Don’t mention it. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” He murmured the words as he hastily pulled his glove back on, as if reestablishing some invisible boundary he had accidentally crossed.

It took her a second -maybe two- to remember how to speak after that sight.

“Oh, not at all,” she finally managed, waving her hand nonchalantly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, so you are perdoned.”

“Oh, good,” he added promptly.

“Yeah, good,” she echoed.

And then- silence.

Not the comfortable kind.

The kind that stretched for just a few seconds too long, making the air feel thick and awkward. It was ridiculous, really. She was supposed to be having a professional conversation, and yet here she was, staring at him like a flustered schoolgirl while he sat there, stiff and unreadable, probably wondering if she had a single functioning brain cell left.

Snapping herself out of it, she straightened in her chair, clearing her throat as she grabbed a folder and a pen. Professional. Focused.

“Let’s start with the questions,” she stated, determined to get back on track. “How is the family group composed?”

A faint tick appeared in his jaw. “Just the two of us.”

She nodded, jotting it down. “Do you receive any kind of support from extended family members or close friends?”

Bucky hesitated. “I have… friends.” A pause. Then, a little softer, “Oh, um… my friend Steve is like an uncle to him.”

She froze for half a second, pen hovering above the paper. Steve.

As in Steve Rogers.

And suddenly, the fact that James Barnes -Bucky Barnes- was sitting in her tiny office, answering questions about kindergarten pickup times and playtime habits, felt almost surreal.

But she pushed past it, nodding as if it was just any other answer. “Tell me about a normal day in Thomas’ life. From the moment he wakes up until bedtime.”

The questions continued, one after another. But to his surprise, none of them were invasive.

Nothing about him. Nothing about his past. Nothing about the child’s mother.

She was only interested in Thomas, his routines, his favorite activities, the people who cared for him. What made him happy, what calmed him down, what sparked his curiosity.

And he just felt… like a normal Dad.

She tapped the pen against her lower lip, scanning the notes she had just taken, furrowing her brows slightly in concentration.

Bucky tried to keep his eyes anywhere else; on the folder, on the damn splintered table, but somehow, his gaze flickered back to her.

Her lips were slightly parted. Soft. That translucent lip gloss she wore caught the autumn light just enough to glisten innocently. She didn’t seem aware of it, of the way the movement drew attention, of how effortless it was.

He clenched his jaw. Pathetic.

Maybe Sam had a point. Maybe he really did need to -what was how he had said it?- "get some." Because sitting here, staring at his kid’s teacher like the virgin Steve used to be back in the day, was not normal.

Especially when she was just… there. In a damn tempera-stained jumper, flipping through papers, completely unaware that his brain had short-circuited over something as simple as the way she absentmindedly pressed the tip of the pen to her lip.

He shifted slightly in his seat, making the little chair squeak under his weight. He needed to get a grip.

She looked up then, extending the forms she had just filled out. “Here, read it, and if it’s fine for you, please sign it, and we’re done.”

He reached for the papers, his fingers briefly grazing hers. She was already moving, sorting through more documents, rummaging inside what looked like her purse as he scanned the form.

A moment later, he signed it, handed it back, and stood up.

The room somehow felt even smaller with him standing.

She tucked the papers into a folder, then hesitated for the briefest second before extending something toward him. A small, brightly wrapped raspberry lollipop.

He just looked at it.

She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh, um- it’s just a thing we do,” she explained, feeling a little ridiculous. “Teachers give a sweet to the parent who comes in for the visit. A friendly token.”

Bucky glanced at the candy, then at her.

Slowly, he reached out, taking it from her hand.

“If you feel too old to try it, give it to Thomas,” she teased lightly. “Though I must say, they’re pretty good.”

Bucky barely managed to keep his expression neutral as an entirely inappropriate image flashed through his mind involving her slightly parted lips against the bright red lollipop, swirling her tongue over the slick, glossy-

Nope. Absolutely not. He shoved the thought into the darkest corner of his brain and slammed the door shut.

Clearing his throat, he glanced at the candy in his palm. He was pretty sure the last time he had something like this was in the ‘20s, running through cobblestone streets in short, ragged pants and scraped knees. It felt oddly foreign now, a relic of a time buried long ago.

“No, it’s… it’s alright,” he muttered, tucking the candy into his jeans pocket, trying to expel the compelling thoughts swirling at the back of his mind.

Her smile lingered a moment as she straightened the papers, and again, the moment stretched just enough to make the air feel heavier than before.

She cleared her throat. “Well, the institution will be asking for another meeting in about three months to give you an update on how he’s doing. It’s the same for all the kids,” she explained, slipping back into professional mode.

Bucky nodded, adjusting his stance slightly, like he was grateful to have something to focus on.

“I’ve also added you to the parents-teacher WhatsApp group," she continued, "as a way to communicate news, the things kids should bring, upcoming events, that kind of stuff.” She hesitated, glancing at her notes before adding, “Um… it says you don’t have the app installed, so it would be great if you could download it.”

And then, silence.

Bucky barely moved, but something in his posture changed. His gaze flickered toward the small table, where his old clamshell phone rested near his keys.

She noticed.

That was not a smartphone, and it was definitely not suited for a parent-teacher chitchat group.

Before he could say anything, she quickly added, “It’s a policy here, since, well… it’s assumed everyone has it.” She smiled, small and reassuring. “But don’t worry, I can send you a normal text separately with the same information. Just… without the cool emojis, I’ll have to stick to ASCII.” She winked.

That got something out of him, a faint huff, not quite a laugh, but close. His shoulders relaxed just slightly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Appreciate that.”

----

After a couple of months, Bucky was relieved -no, grateful- to see Thomas flourishing in his new environment.

The once-quiet, wary boy had slowly started to open up. He was more talkative now, his voice no longer a whisper but something steadier, stronger. He laughed more, flinched less. When he came home from school, he actually talked about his day, about the games they played, about Flora and Matthew, about how Miss Y/n read the best stories and always did the funniest voices.

Bucky didn’t know if she realized just how much of a difference she had made.

One afternoon, while Thomas was scribbling dinosaurs at the kitchen table, Bucky’s old clamshell phone vibrated against the counter.

He flipped it open. A general message from her number.

Dear families, our annual fundraising event is coming up! Each grade and nursery group will participate by preparing goodies to sell, baked treats, crafts, and more! We encourage everyone to take part and help make it a great day for the kids!

Bucky was already closing the phone when it binged another time. It was her again.

Don’t know about your culinary expertise, but we could really use some strong dads to help build the booths this saturday ;)

He blinked.

A just-for-him message.

For a second, he only stared at it, like his brain needed to catch up. The winking face at the end nearly made him short-circuit.

Clearly, she was recruiting him for his enhanced strength.

It wasn’t like the other parents would be thrilled to have him around. He rarely talked to them, never lingered after pickup, never engaged in small talk about school trips or birthday parties. The most interaction he got was a nod or a hesitant smile. Acknowledgment, but never an invitation.

And he understood why. He wasn’t the kind of dad people naturally gravitated toward. He wasn’t friendly like Steve, or charming like Sam. He was… him. Quiet. Intimidating. A man with too much history and too little practice in fitting into normal spaces.

So why would anyone want him there?

He exhaled sharply, glancing at the message again. Maybe she’d sent the same thing to a few others. Maybe it wasn’t just for him.

But… she had sent it. With a winky face.

And despite the self-doubt crawling at the back of his mind, he couldn’t ignore the small, reluctant warmth blooming in his chest.

Because for whatever reason, she thought to ask.

-----

When the Saturday came, Bucky was sharp on time at the open kindergarten gate, with Steve.

Not that it had taken too much to convince him. Steve, being the charitable man he was, never missed an opportunity to help. But Bucky also knew his friend well enough to recognize the other reason he had agreed to come so quickly, curiosity. Curiosity about the place Thomas spent his days. And curiosity about the “winking emote teacher.”

Bucky had two reasons for bringing Steve.

One: With two super soldiers on site, setting up the booths would take a fraction of the time.

Two: He didn’t want to come alone. Not that he’d admit it outright, but walking into a social setting full of parents and staff -people he knew saw him as an outsider even if they tried to mask it- felt a little too exposed. At least with Steve there, the focus will be put elsewhere, and he knew his level of self-consciousness will drop.

Of course, Steve suspected as much. But to his credit, he had the courtesy of not saying anything.

They hadn’t been there long enough when he spotted her across the yard, balancing a few wooden planks in her arms as she walked toward the setup area. She was focused, navigating carefully, until a rogue Lego piece nearly sent her sprawling.

In an instant Steve was there, supporting her before she could hit the ground.

She let out a startled gasp, gripping his forearms instinctively. And then, the realization showed all over her face. Because holy shit, Captain America was in the kindergarten.

“Uh- thanks,” she said, letting go of his forearms, looking a little flustered.

Steve, ever the gentleman, just smiled. “No problem.”

Then, as if remembering there were other people present, she glanced over his shoulder, and finally noticed Bucky, standing just a few steps behind, looking slightly out of place.

Her face lit up with recognition. “Oh, hey! You made it. and with backup! That adds points, you know” She grinned, tilting her head playfully. “More help means more credit when it’s time to take home the leftover cakes and pies.”

Bucky blinked. “That’s a thing?”

“Absolutely.” She crossed her arms, pretending to be serious. “Hard work should be rewarded. And what better prize than free dessert?”

Steve chuckled, throwing Bucky a look. “See, now that’s motivation.”

Bucky shifted slightly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah. Um I thought some extra hands would come in handy, anyway.”

She nodded, rocking back on her heels slightly. “Well, I’m glad you did. We can definitely use the help, some of these booths have been in storage forever, and let’s just say… they’re not in peak condition.”

Steve smirked. “Don’t worry ma’am, we’ll make sure they stand up straight.”

She snorted. “That’s the bare minimum we’re hoping for, yeah.” Then she proceeded to give them a quick rundown of what was needed: booth assembly, structural support, and general heavy lifting. After making sure they understood, she left them to it, moving to a shaded corner where a group of teachers and moms were busy painting banners.

As Bucky grabbed a plank, Steve picked up another, glancing over his shoulder toward her. Then, with a knowing half-smile, he turned to Bucky.

“So… I assume she is Tommy’s teacher?”

Bucky didn’t even look up. Just gave a curt nod, with an unreadable expression.

Steve hummed. “She’s cute.”

He didn’t take the bait. Just kept his gaze firmly on the plank in his hands, jaw tightening just a fraction.

Steve pressed a little more. “Real cute.”

This time, Bucky gave him a noncommittal grunt. No eye contact. No reaction.

"Do you think the teachers might do a kissing booth?" Steve asked nonchalantly, setting a plank into place like he hadn’t just thrown a live grenade into the conversation.

That got a reaction.

Bucky’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before he shot him a side glance. “…Is that still a thing nowadays?”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah. Dunno if it’s as chaste as it was in our time, Buck, but it’s still runnin’. Clint told me sometimes they have them at his kids’ school.”

Bucky pressed his mouth into a thin line, gripping the hammer a little tighter.

Steve chuckled, sensing an opening. “I mean, it makes sense, you know. A lot of divorced dads…”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Bucky cut him off, hammering a plank into place with maybe a little too much force. The loud crack of wood echoed through the yard.

Steve just smirked. “Touchy subject?”

Bucky ignored him, grabbing another nail.

"You know, Buck, I think you should ask her out."

"Shut up, punk."

"I'm serious. What’s the worst that could happen?"

Bucky turned to him, giving him a look so dry it could’ve drained the Atlantic. His next words were slow, like he was explaining something to a mentally impaired person.

"Let’s see. First of all, she’s my child’s teacher. It’s unethical."

Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky steamrolled right over him.

"Two, I can barely deal with myself most days. I can’t trust my own mind sometimes. I’m trying to put my shit together because of Thomas, but you know there are days I can barely get out of bed. So adding another person into our lives right now?" He shook his head. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."

Steve stayed quiet, watching him.

"And three," Bucky exhaled, returning to the plank, "I don’t think she’d be interested, damn I even don’t know if she is seeing someone. And I don’t want to make our interactions weird."

Steve tilted his head, giving him a look that was both skeptical and amused but, to Bucky’s relief, he kept his mouth shut didn’t press further.

-----

After a couple of hours, Bucky and Steve eventually split up, taking on different tasks. As expected, Steve had a small crowd of parents ‘casually’ gravitating around him, helping with his station while subtly asking for pictures and sneaking in questions between hammering and measuring.

Bucky, meanwhile, retreated to a quieter corner, bending some metal pipes to straighten the framework. It was a stark contrast, really. Steve walked into a place and illuminated it, drew people in without even trying. And Bucky… well.

He worked alone, unnoticed. Or so he thought.

A sudden hand on his shoulder broke his trance, and he startled just slightly.

“Sorry!” she promptly removed her hand. “I called your name, but you didn’t seem to hear.”

Bucky just blinked, “It’s fine.”

She smiled, holding up a thermos. “Thought maybe you’d want some coffee?”

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he tried to shake off the momentary stiffness. “I, uh… yeah. That’d be nice. Thank you.” His voice came out a little rough, and his eye contact was fleeting at best.

Fucking Steve. Bringing up his nonexistent love life like an asshole, and now Bucky was hyperaware of her presence. Every small shift of her stance, every little tilt of her head. It was funny -no, it wasn’t- how their roles had completely reversed.

Once upon a time, Steve had been the one fumbling, awkward, struggling to find his footing with women. And now? He was Captain America, confident and magnetic, while Bucky was… whatever the hell this was. A fucking mess.

“Thank you for coming, James. Really,” she said as she poured coffee into a small cup.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

“And thanks for bringing help with you,” she added playfully. “It seems everyone is livelier since you two got here.”

He grumbled something under his breath, bending the pipe back and forth absentmindedly, like someone fidgeting with a strand of grass.

She caught the movement and grinned. “Showoff.”

Bucky huffed, pressing his lips into a firm line to stop the small, unwilling twitch of amusement threatening to surface.

“I’m going to miss this,” she said suddenly, looking at the thermos handle. “The community here is really nice. Luckily, I’ll still be around for the event.”

Bucky’s gaze snapped to her “What?”

She blinked. “I said, I’m going to miss-”

“Are you taking a vacation?” he interrupted, unable to stop himself.

Her brows furrowed slightly. “What? No-” Then, she realized. “Oh. James… Jane is coming back.”

Bucky just stared at her, the words not quite clicking in his brain. “Who?”

She tilted her head, looking almost apologetic. “Jane. The actual teacher. I thought you knew, I’m just a substitute. The real teacher was on medical leave, but she’s ready to return now.”

The words settled like a slow drop of ink into water, spreading, tainting something that had been perfect moments ago.

“I didn’t- didn’t know,” he admitted, quietly. Maybe because Thomas had entered late in the school year, they’d missed that little piece of information.

She seemed to notice the shift in him, the way his grip tightened around the empty cup. There was a certain distress in his expression, subtle but there.

“Don’t worry,” she said gently, trying to reassure him. “Jane is an excellent teacher and person. Thomas will be thrilled to have her in the class.”

Bucky nodded, curtly, handing the thermos cup back.

In all the interactions he’d had with her, the drop-offs, their little conversations, the parent meeting, the fact that she was just a substitute had never popped up.

"When’s your last day?" he asked, suddenly very interested in the twisted pipe in his hands.

“The Friday before the event,” she replied. “I’m still going to participate since I helped organize it, but by Monday, Jane will be here.” She paused, as if anticipating his reaction. “I can assure you, It won’t be a sudden change for the kids. This week, she’ll come for a couple of hours every day to introduce herself so they can get used to her.”

Bucky gave a slow nod, gripping the metal a little tighter than necessary.

It shouldn’t have really mattered. It shouldn’t have made him feel anything at all.

And yet, the news bothered him.

Because things had been fine. He wasn’t close to her, not in any significant way, but she was a constant. And if there was one thing Bucky Barnes wasn’t fond of, it was change.

It wasn’t like he had been expecting anything more than what he already had, which wasn’t much. Just crumbs, really. Small moments of connection. Casual chats, occasional teasing remarks that made something in his chest pull in a way he ignored. The way she talked to him like any other parent—like a man, not a reputation.

But it wasn’t just that, was it?

There were other things, little details that had wormed their way into his awareness without permission. The way her voice softened when she spoke to Thomas. The way her soft body looked like it would fit perfectly against his if he just- no. The way her eyes lingered on him just a second longer than necessary sometimes, making him wonder if…

Bucky exhaled sharply, straightening his pose, forcing the thoughts back.

It was comfortable. And, somehow, warm.

And now she was going to leave.

And maybe it was stupid, but it affected him more than he wanted to admit.

Chapter 2

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[ramp-it-up]

Bolder

Summary: Bucky and Steve's relationship is practically perfect in any way. And then Bucky wishes for what would make it complete for his birthday. Happy Birthday Bucky Barnes!

Word count: 5.6 K

Pairing: Stucky x Enhanced!Reader (Sparrow)

A/N: This is another dream inspired by #BuckyBarnesBirthdayBingo by @avengers-assemble-bingo. This fulfills the square: Another Year Older, Another Year Bolder. Althought I've written mfm before, I've not written Stucky. Let me know how I did. 😬 Please reblog, comment, and like!

Another note: This is canon divergent in the events of Endgame, Steve returns from replacing the Infinity Stones, but he still gives Sam the shield.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! Bucky and Steve. That should be the entire warning, but it's not. Grumpy Steve and, cock blocker Sam. Poly sex acts, angst, emoting, wild thoughts, a birthday wish, which leads to birthday sex. Birthday sex: Captain and Sargeant kink, fingering, voyeurism, nipple play, oral (female receiving), raw p in v, two sex acts simultaneously (not dp) cock denial, creampie, squirting. I wish I could say this was a one shot, but... well, let me know if you want another part.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The way Bucky pushed back against Steve’s command and control, subtly at times, outrageously at others, was a sight to witness.

The order and restraint that defined the former Captain America trembled in Bucky’s presence.

And Steve made Bucky come alive, fully awake for the first time in years. 

Steve belonged to Bucky and Bucky to Steve, for almost a century, even when he couldn’t remember his own name. After all they’d been through, they finally had the time and space to proclaim and celebrate their love.

They were the most beautiful couple you’d ever seen. 

When you first joined the team, you were starstruck not because they were some of the most famous Avengers, the hero and the villain, but because they were sun and moon, yin and yang, and seemed utterly perfect and complete in their relationship.

They were nice to you, respectful and curious, as you were the most like them. But you were so very different. You’d wanted to serve your country as a volunteer for a 20 week trial of the serum, the effects of which you were assured would be reversed.

Turned out, the people doing the assuring were HYDRA in disguise.

Now, here you were, another supersoldier and newbie on the team, and that caused them to drift toward you naturally. Skittish at first, you warmed up to them and became the third musketeer, training, working together, and hanging out.  

Your code name was Sparrow, because you were small yet fierce, which Steve admired, and handy with sharp implements, which made Bucky smile, which was a feat.

With this team, you third wheeling became a running joke. Although you didn’t admit that you would jump at the chance, you could handle the ribbing, mainly because you thought you were in no danger of having your deepest fantasies fulfilled. 

Of course it was a joke, because what would they need with you?

It was a question you were beginning to ask more in the past few months. It had almost been a year since you joined the Avengers and everyone was comfortable with you now.

Especially Bucky and Steve. 

As time progressed, way they acted with you was more than familiar and you began to feel something…else in the way they interacted with you.

When he looked at you, Steve’s gaze was steady, with heat simmering just beneath it. You admired the way he shared command of the team with Sam easily, his restrained and disciplined demeanor the default until he was pushed.

And so you did it, because you wanted to see that control crack for you like it did with Bucky. 

You disobeyed Steve on a routine mission, but the actions you took put you in slightly more danger than was planned. Steve snapped and chewed you out so thoroughly that you were wet for the entire seven minutes that he lectured you on protocol. It was a thorough dressing down, and it made you want to get undressed for him.

After, he retreated to the other side of the room, looking at you like he was considering all the ways he could break you apart and put you back together. You stared back at him, silently daring him to.

He would have bent you over the desk if Sam hadn’t told him to give you a break. He stalked out and you wanted to follow him and submit to anything he wanted, but Sam followed him instead.

Bucky didn’t hold back that day either. His hunger was blatant, carved into the smirk that tugged at his lips, in the way he leaned just a little too close, testing, demanding.

His voice dropped when he spoke to you, low and rough, thick with the promise of something dark and dangerous. 

“What you did wasn’t too smart, Sparrow. You shouldn’t put yourself in danger like that. Better be careful, before Steve takes it out on your ass.”

Bucky devoured you with those sharp and knowing eyes, like he already knew how you’d sound when you moaned his name and how you’d feel beneath his hands.

“Something tells me that you wouldn’t mind that…”

Sam came back into the room and cocked blocked yet again. This time you escaped the situation. 

After that, you were caught in a storm of tension so thick it was dizzying. You knew what Bucky and Steve were to each other, two halves of something unbreakable that was forged through war and loss and survival. 

And yet, somehow, they’d turned their attention on you.

The heat between you was filled with unspoken promises that these two men would destroy you in the most exquisite ways. 

And God help you, you wanted them to.

—-

Bucky’s birthday rolled around not too long after that, a crisp March day bright with newfound sunlight and celebration.

Steve had apologized to you and you to him, yet there was something unfinished there. He still held you at arms length.

Nevertheless, you were able to have a fun day celebrating your “old man,” as you joked about Bucky. Steve’s eyes flashed and Bucky’s jaw clenched when you said it. 

And when you kissed him on the cheek after wishing him happy birthday, Steve’s cock hardened when he noticed the way Bucky’s fingers twitched on your lower back.

Bucky had never been one for birthdays. For too many years, they were just another mark on a calendar he didn’t remember, a reminder of how much time had slipped through his fingers like sand.

But now, things were different. Bucky was bolder now.

The older Bucky got, the more he leaned into asking for what he wanted. And for what he needed.

Because of that newfound boldness, now he had Steve.

And this year, he had you.

Was that right?

Maybe he should’ve questioned the way you had slipped into their lives like you were always meant to be there, and the way his body recognized your presence before his mind did.

But it was all so obvious.

He noticed it in the way Steve looked at you, that quiet hunger he tried to reign in but never quite managed to. He felt it in himself, in the way his pulse jumped when you laughed, in the way his fingers twitched with the need to touch you. It was also in the way his stomach tightened whenever you looked straight through him into his essence.

Only Steve had been able to do that before. 

And Steve was lost, too. His eyes followed you when you walked out of a room, like he was waiting for the moment you'd return. 

Strangely Bucky wasn’t jealous, but at first he was alarmed when he noticed the way you looked at both him and Steve. Like you were just waiting for one of them to finally say it out loud.

But then he realized that he just needed to ask for what he wanted. For what he and Steve both needed.

So Bucky did.

It was 2 AM of the morning after night of his birthday, the three of you the last hangers on in the living room of their apartment. Each time you made to leave, one of them drew you into another conversation.

Finally, Steve lit the match.

He asked Bucky what he wished for when he blew out his candles.

Bucky didn’t even hesitate because he wasn’t good at pretending. Never had been.

"I wished for Sparrow to join us," he said simply, leaning back against the couch, watching as Steve processed his words.

Neither you, nor Steve, had to question what he meant. The meaning was painfully clear.

Steve’s blue eyes flickered with something unreadable. His jaw tightened as his fingers flexed against his thigh. Bucky could tell he was already overthinking, probably considering a dozen different ways this could go wrong. 

That was just the way Steve was, always careful, always considerate. Even to the point of denying himself.

But Bucky knew Steve wanted this too.

Across from them, you stilled. Then, slowly, like you wanted them to see, you tilted your head and uncrossed your legs in your short skirt, just to cross them again, the smooth slide of your thighs against each other made Bucky’s mouth go dry and Steve’s pulse race.

A smirk played at the edge of your lips, but your eyes gave you away. There was curiosity there, something that said you’ve thought about this too.

Bucky pretended to be cool even as tension and heat coiled tight in his gut. 

"It’s my birthday. And I figured—why not make it interesting?"

Steve exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand through his golden hair, his ears tinged red. Bucky knew that look. 

He had seen it in battle, right before Steve made a decision that would change everything. 

He’d seen it in private, right before Steve begged for his cock.

Steve’s gaze flickered to you, then back at Bucky, then at you again. He and Bucky had built something solid between them, something unshakable, but he couldn't deny there was a certain pull whenever you were around.

The tension, the glances, the way you fit so seamlessly into their lives. It was heady.

You sat watching the scene, eyes flickering between them with interest.

"You don't have to say yes," Bucky said, giving Steve an easy out. 

But he smirked anyway, because deep down, he already knew what the answer would be. Steve was flustered, Bucky could tell, but not upset. 

No, this was something else.

"You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?" you asked Bucky, your voice smooth, teasing.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea," Bucky chuckled.

You gasped as if those words alone sent a jolt through you. Then you hummed trying to remain calm as you tapped a finger against your knee, eyes flickering toward Steve. 

"And you, Captain?"

Steve’s breath hitched just slightly as he gazed at you. Small, but Bucky caught it.

And when Steve’s gaze landed back on him, slow and deliberate, Bucky felt it. That heat. That unspoken understanding. 

Bucky saw it happen in real time, the shift in Steve’s expression, the way his pupils blew wide, the way his fingers twitched like he was fighting the urge to reach for you right now.

Steve smiled and his voice was a low rasp when he finally spoke.

"Happy birthday, Buck."

Bucky grinned.

—

The second Steve said it, the air in the room changed.

You didn’t move right away, just watched them, your breath just a little uneven. Bucky could feel your body heat, close enough to touch. Close enough to ruin.

He’d imagined this. Countless times. 

What it would be like to have you here, caught between him and Steve, wanting them.

But reality was so much better.

Bucky reached out first, metal fingers around your wrist, pulling you up and forward until you landed on his lap with a soft gasp. His other hand found your waist, grinding you against him. Your body was warm, soft, and pliant in all the ways he had dreamed about.

"You sure about this, sweetheart?" he murmured against your ear, his lips just barely brushing the sensitive skin there. 

His voice was rough and hungry.

You shivered in his grip. 

"I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t."

Bucky let out a low chuckle, his grip tightening. 

"Good."

Behind you, Steve shifted, so close Bucky could feel the desire radiating off him. When he spoke, his voice was thick.

"You look good like this," Steve murmured, and when you turned your head slightly to look at him, Bucky caught the way Steve's face changed to a look of pure lust.

Fuck.

Bucky had always known Steve wanted you, just as much as he did. He’d seen it in the way Steve watched you, in the way he tried to be respectful, to keep a distance, even though everything in him wanted to close it.

Not anymore. He was going to help Bucky thoroughly defile you.

Bucky leaned in, pressing his lips just beneath your jaw, smirking when he felt your pulse racing beneath his lips.

"You gonna let us take care of you, Sparrow?" he rasped. "Since it is my birthday, after all."

Your breath was uneven, but you didn’t hesitate. You turned slightly in his lap, your fingers reaching up to fist in Steve’s shirt, tugging him closer.

"Yes. I want you both to take care of me tonight.”

With those words, the space between all three of you disappeared in an instant. Bucky felt your body press against his, your breath warm against his neck, and it took everything in him not to lose himself right then and there. 

He wanted to take his time. He wanted to feel this, wanted to drag it out until you were breathless, until Steve’s control cracked, until all three of you were left trembling in the aftermath.

Steve’s lips hovered just above yours, his breath uneven. Bucky watched, enthralled, as you stared up at him, eyes dark and half-lidded.

"You absolutely certain about this?" Steve asked, voice low and thick with something deeper than just desire.

You reached up, moving your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him down until your lips brushed his. 

"Never been more certain of anything."

Steve groaned softly, capturing your lips in a slow, hungry kiss. Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt you melt between them.

Holy shit, this was happening.

Watching you kiss Steve, watching the way his hands skimmed over your sides and the way your body responded, Bucky swore he could feel it in his own skin.

When you finally pulled away, your breath hitched, and your lips were swollen as your eyes flickered toward Bucky. He smirked, tilting his head slightly, fingers grazing your jaw before he leaned in, capturing your lips with his own.

While Steve’s kiss had been slow and languid, Bucky’s was something else entirely.

Possessive. Starved.

You let out a soft sound against his mouth, your fingers tightening in his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his metal hand trailing up your spine, cold against the heat of your skin. You shivered, arching just slightly, and hell, that was enough to drive him crazy.

Behind you, Steve let out a low chuckle, pressing closer, his lips grazing your collarbone. 

"Didn’t think you’d be the greedy one, Buck," he murmured, amused.

Bucky smirked against your lips. 

"Oh, I know how to share." 

His blue eyes flickered between both of you, dark and full of promise. 

"Especially when it’s something this good."

Your breath came in shallow pants, eyes flickering between them, heat pooling between the three of you, thick enough to drown in.

Steve’s fingers traced the curve of your jaw, tilting your face back toward him, his lips barely ghosting over yours as he whispered, “You sure you can handle us both, Sweetheart?”

His voice was teasing, but beneath it was reverence, like he needed to be sure before he let himself fall. This was the fourth time they’d asked for your consent.

They were really about to ruin you.

“Guess we’re about to find out,” you murmured.

A soft, delighted hum rumbled in Steve’s chest behind you. Bucky caught the way your body shivered at the sensation of the warmth of Steve pressed against your back and at the weight of Bucky in front of you. 

Sandwiched between them, you fit perfectly, like you had always belonged here, like this was inevitable.

“We should take our time with this,” Steve murmured against the skin of your neck.

“Make sure she knows exactly what she’s gotten herself into.”

Bucky smirked, sliding his metal hand up your spine, relishing the way you arched into his touch. 

“That sounds like a plan, Stevie.”

The way they were talking about you as if you weren’t there served to make you wetter than you already were. You wanted to be used by them for their pleasure.

For yours. 

The two men looked at each other in a silent exchange that didn’t need words. It had always been that way between them. Decades of understanding built through war, through loss, and through finding each other over and over again despite the odds. 

But this?

This was new.

Sharing something, someone, this intimately wasn’t just about lust. 

It was trust. It was knowing Steve would move when Bucky moved, and that Steve would read him the way he always had. It was knowing that they could balance each other, even in this.

And you were centered in it, the tether between them, the unspoken possibility they had both been too afraid to touch until now.

Bucky slid his hand to the back of your neck, guiding your lips back to his. He kissed you slowly and deeply, savoring the way you melted into him, the way you rolled yourself over him. 

The sound of your soft sigh sent heat curling in his stomach, and just as he deepened it, Steve’s hand slid over your hips, grinding you down harder on Bucky’s lap.

“Fuck, you feel s’good, Bucky”

You were already lust drunk, the thought that you would have them both electrifying your body. And your mind.

“Think she likes this,” Steve mused, fingers teasing at the hem of your shirt.

“What do you think, Buck?”

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes dark, searching. You were breathless, caught between them, pupils blown wide.

“Oh, she loves this,” he murmured, dragging his metal fingers down your spine again, watching the way you arched your back, feeling the heat pool between your legs.

Steve hummed in approval, his grip on your shirt turned to pulling it up and over your head. Bucky’s eyes widened at the fact that you didn’t have on a bra. Well, he’d guessed at it earlier as his eyes took in your body, but seeing you in the flesh, and in his face made his blood heat. 

When Steve grabbed your tits and, softly at first, then more urgently pulled and rolled your nipples, Bucky licked his lips and glanced over your shoulder before he leaned down and sucked you through Steve’s fingers. 

You threw your head back on Steve’s chest as you rode Bucky’s straining jeans covered cock.

Oh, this was heaven.

“Open your eyes, Sparrow.” 

You hadn’t even realized you’d closed them. You opened your eyes as Bucky’s hands went to your thighs and spread you wider against him. The move bunched your skirt high up around your hips, leaving you with only your panties covering you. 

Steve watched as Bucky pulled your dress higher yet and then palm your pussy through your panties. He reached down and together, the two men tore your panties and tossed them aside like they were made of tissue paper.

“She’s so wet, Stevie. Wet and…” 

Bucky slid his hand to your pussy and pushed two fingers into you.

“…Tight. Holy fuck she’s going to feel so good.” 

You rocked your hips to take his fingers deeper, but he gripped you with his metal hand, forcing you still.

“"M gonna fuck you first since it's my birthday. But should we show Steve what he’s missing?” 

Bucky’s touch, while authoritative and demanding, was nothing less than reverent. And Steve’s gaze was on you as much as it was on Bucky. 

You made a noise that must have been enough for Bucky, because he turned you around on his lap as Steve backed up for a better view. Bucky palmed and finger fucked you for Steve’s benefit.

And yours.

You moaned and squirmed in his clutch, while the only reaction from the blond was a tightening in Steve’s jaw and his blue eyes going molten steel. Bucky laughed softly. 

“I’ll tell you a secret, Sparrow. I’ve never met a man with better control than Steve. It’s downright supernatural. It’ll take a better show than this to get him over back over here to put his hands all over you.” 

He nipped your earlobe. 

“If you make it very, very good, I’ll even let him use his mouth.” 

There wasn’t enough air in the room. There couldn’t be. Your breath hitched in your lungs, and it took you two tries to force words out. 

“What–what if I want his cock?” 

This time, Bucky’s laughter filled the room. He sat up, taking you with him, and positioned you with your legs on either side of his thighs. 

“Tell her, Stevie.” 

The other man crossed his arms across his broad chest, his features cold. Why did that turn you on so much?

“After what you did on that last mission, you have to earn my cock, Sparrow.” 

His arrogance should have been a turnoff. It should have made you want to put him in his place and make him earn access to you. Instead, a part of you that you just met whispered in your brain.

I want to earn your cock, Steve. Just tell me what I need to do. 

You slammed your mouth shut hard enough that your teeth clicked to avoid giving voice to those thoughts. You took a breath, and then another, then leaned back against Bucky more firmly. 

“Then let me play with you, Sargeant.” 

Bucky didn’t laugh again. You were a team now, testing Steve’s restraint. He let you stand and guided you out of your clothes.  A few seconds later, his shirt joined the growing pile, then he sat you back down on him again. 

The shock of his bare skin against your own drew a small moan rom your lips. There wasn’t a soft spot on his body, and he caged you with his chest and arms, one flesh and one metal, holding you open for Steve’s perusal. 

You twisted to offer him your mouth, needing to taste him again, and Bucky didn’t hesitate to give in to your unspoken request. His tongue tangled with yours, and he cupped your bare breasts and pinched your nipples to aching peaks. Bucky spread his thighs, forcing yours wider.

You felt Steve’s gaze all over you: On the curve of your neck. Following the path of Bucky’s hands. Centering where your pussy was exposed.

You felt it as if he’d reached out and touched you. 

Or maybe it was Bucky responsible for those sensations. It was too much and not enough and you whimpered against his mouth. 

“Stop teasing and touch me.” 

You grabbed his hand and pressed it between your spread thighs. 

“Please, Bucky. I’m gonna die if you don’t make me cum..” 

“Can’t have that, can we Stevie?” 

He looked him in the eye as he drew your wetness up around your clit with a single finger and circled the sensitive bundle of nerves, easily finding the motion that made your entire body go tight and hot. You opened your eyes and met Steve’s gaze as your orgasm spiraled closer and closer. 

A challenge rolled around your brain.

I’ll get what I want, and you’ll have to watch while it happens, knowing you could have been a part of it.

Bucky, damn him, seemed to know exactly you were thinking. He slowed his pace, dragging it out. You whimpered.

“You see how he looks at you? He’s seconds away from stalking over here, smacking my hand away, and licking that pretty pussy until he takes your orgasm for himself.” 

You made that soft whimpering sound again. The whole situation was overwhelming your senses, dragging you into a place where every part of you centered around these two men. 

“Please!” 

You didn’t know what you were pleading for. An orgasm. Bucky. Steve. All three. 

“I’ll make you a deal, Sparrow,” Bucky murmured in your ear, his finger never stopping its slow circles that seemed designed to keep you on the edge but never take you over it. 

“I’ll let you choose this time. Who do you want to gift this orgasm to?” 

“Both!” 

The answer tore itself from your lips, too honest for your own good. Steve grinned. His white teeth flashed and his eyes lit up with amusement, the whole effect knocking him from just handsome to downright dangerous. 

Oh God, what have I gotten myself into, you thought. 

Bucky kissed the back of your neck.

“Good girl.” 

He slid his hand away from you cunt as you grunted in displeasure.

“Stop playing and get over here, Steve. We’ve got to take care of our girl.”

Steve walked toward you and stopped to tip up your face, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip.

“This mouth was made for one thing.” 

You caught his thumb between your teeth and bit him, just hard enough to get his attention. You felt off-center and floaty and needy, but you weren't weak. 

You lifted your chin at the same time you looked at the bulge in his pants.

“Then do something about it.” 

There it was again. The heat radiating off of Steve that made you sure he wanted to ruin you. You shifted, but Bucky held you, caged and spread by your thighs and your elbows behind you.

You rocked your ass back against his cock, desperate for him to lose control the same way you were on the verge of doing. 

Steve just stood there, staring down at you with his mouth quirked in a smile. He released your mouth and shook his head.

“You haven’t earned my cock and you damn well know it.” 

He kneeled and braced his hands on Bucky’s legs. His knuckles dragged along your inner thighs, close enough to where you wanted him that you felt his heat near your clit

Steve leaned towards your face, his dark eyes intent, and you braced for another kiss. 

But he didn’t kiss you. He dragged his rough cheek against yours, and you twisted as best you could to watch him take Bucky’s mouth. 

You stared in shock as they kissed right next to you.

No, calling it a kiss was too mundane.

Steve and Bucky came together like two titans clashing, like opposing forces of nature, where one had to submit or they would destroy each other. Bucky shifted his grip on your elbows to one hand and used his free hand to tangle his fingers in Steve’s hair. 

He disconnected the kiss, and Steve groaned softly. You felt it as intensely as if it had come from your own throat. Bucky raked his teeth over Steve’s bottom lip as they parted, his blue eyes darker than they’d been before. He ran his thumb over Steve’s bruised mouth, mirroring what Steve had done to you. 

“You give her your cock when I say you do. Not before.” 

Through some unspoken agreement, they reversed positions. Bucky released your arms and Steve caught your wrists in a single hand before you had a chance to fully appreciate your freedom. He dropped onto the couch with you sprawled on his lap. 

You huffed out a breath. 

“I can move on my own, you know.” 

“We like moving you.” 

Bucky knelt between your and Steve’s spread thighs. 

“And you like being moved by us.”

He looked up at you and whatever smartass comment you were thinking of disappeared into thin air.

 “Wider, Stevie. I want to see all of her.” 

Steve responded, spreading his thighs and parting your legs further. Bucky ran his thumbs up the dip where your thigh met your pussy, exploring, his expression intense as if committing every bit of you to memory. 

He glanced at Steve, and that was all the other man needed to guide your hands down to the couch on either side of his hips. 

“Don’t move.” 

Steve spoke softly in your ear, as if too much volume would break through the spell Bucky wove around you three with his touch. Steve released you and you realized that he wanted his hands free, too. 

Lust made your head spin. 

You nodded, “Okay.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the quirk of his lips. 

“Good girl.” 

Steve ran his hands up your stomach and cupped your breasts as Bucky dipped his head and dragged his tongue up your center. Your body went hot and cold, tight and unfurled, all at the same time.

You gripped the edge of the couch cushions with everything you had and bit your lip hard. It was only when Steve nudged you back to lean fully against his chest that you realized you were frozen in a half sit-up, waiting for Bucky’s next move.

The man between your thighs chuckled, the sound vibrating across your skin to your clit. 

“Let Steve watch, Sparrow.” 

Steve moved your thick hair to the side with one hand and dragged his mouth along the line of your shoulder up to your neck. His beard prickled against your skin, which only made the smooth slide of Bucky’s tongue even more intoxicating. 

Your brain couldn’t handle the onslaught of sensation. 

Bucky’s hands gripped your thighs as his mouth worked your pussy. Steve played with your nipples as he sucked on the pulse point in your neck. A sound came out of your mouth that you’d never heard before, a keening cry that was more animal than human. 

“There you are,” Steve murmured.

Bucky speared into you with two fingers, and then a third, spreading you almost painfully, the sensation completely at odds with the way he sucked your clit. He met your gaze and then looked over your shoulder, and you knew he and Steve were watching each other as Bucky ate your pussy. 

The realization sent you hurtling into an orgasm that blanked what few thoughts you had left in your head and bowed your back sharply enough that you would have fallen off Steve’s lap if both men hadn’t held you down. 

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh my god, oh shit.” 

You were just saying words as you experienced the feelings.

Bucky brought you down gently, giving your clit one last thorough suck and shifted to ever-widening circles as your pulses slowed down. He nipped your thigh and sat back on his heels. 

“We’ve barely gotten started.” 

You blinked at him. 

“I don’t know if I can survive more.” 

“You can take it.” 

This from Steve. He reached down and cupped your pussy, his fingers huge and causing you to dream of his cock.

“Change your mind yet, Sparrow?”

“Is that a trick question?”

They had gotten you off harder than you’d gotten off… well, ever. You weren’t about to stop now.

“I want this.”

Bucky didn’t take his gaze from your face as he unbuttoned his jeans and underwear and replied, “Good.”

You weren’t as polite. You stared at his cock.

Holy shit, you thought.

You’d known he was big, but he wasn’t just big, he was big.

“Oh fuck,” was what you said aloud.

“That’s the idea.”

Steve lifted you and turned you around as Bucky caught your hips. You ended up with your hands on the back of the couch on either side of Steve’s head, your legs wide on the outside of his thighs as you were bent over, tits very nearly in his face. 

You looked from his beautiful eyes down to his jeans, to where his large cock was straining against the heavy material. You licked your lips, but Steve used a single finger to tilt your chin back up.

“Not. Yet.”

Bucky stroked his metal hand down your spine and gripped your hip as he lined up at your entrance and you tensed, thinking he would slam home in one thrust.

Or maybe you were hoping.

Instead, he held you tightly so that you couldn’t throw it back on him, and teased you, one delicious inch at a time. 

“More, Bucky, moreeeee…”

You were desperate.

Steve shut you up with his mouth, his tongue twisting over yours as Bucky shoved into you to the hilt. Steve cut the kiss off prematurely, then sat back with a smirk as Bucky started fucking you.

“Oh. My. GOD!”

Bucky drove into you again and again, making you sob. He felt so fucking good. Pleasure spiraled through you, and you didn’t know if it was Bucky’s cock, or the way Steve was watching, or both, but you were so close so soon.

Bucky stilled, buried deep, then leaned over and braced his hand on the back of the couch, caging you in with his chest to your back. 

Steve moved, sliding down to sit on the floor.

“What are you…? Oh fuck…”

The words choked out of you as Steve captured your hips, his and Bucky’s hands entertwining around you, and then his mouth was on you.

“OH GODDDDD.”

“Not God, Sparrow, Steve.” 

Bucky started moving again slowly, and you weren’t able to do anything but take what they were doing to you.

Steve was relentless, and there was nothing restrained in the way his mouth moved over your pussy. He tongued your clit even as Bucky fucked you, and their hands clasped you so hard, that you were sure there would be bruises later.

The thought brought you closer to the brink.

You were gripping the couch so hard that your knuckles went white, and the wood inside was cracking from your strength.

The sight of Steve's golden head between your thighs, of knowing exactly how close it was to Bucky’s cock sent you speeding toward the edge.

Bucky seemed to read your mind. 

“Another time, and it would be a stroke for your pussy and one for his mouth,” he chuckled as he palmed your breast and rolled your nipple.

“You’d like that.”

“Yes!” you gasped.

Like didn’t even begin to describe how that image made you feel. And when Bucky’s fingers laced through Steve’s hair, holding him to your clit, it was too much. You could only imagine what Steve was doing to Bucky as well as you. And the image tipped you over the cliff.

Your orgasm buckled your knees and it was Steve and Bucky that kept you on your feet. They held you in place as Bucky kept fucking you, his strokes becoming wilder.

How could one person endure this much pleasure?

The pressure built until you couldn’t hold it any more and then the pleasure caused you to release, squirting all over Steve and all of you melted into a puddle on top of him.

You were speechless, as both Bucky and Steve soothed you with their hands, and words that were meaningless murmurs because of the blood rushing in your ears.

There was no mistaking that this wasn’t over yet. And that you didn’t want it to be.

Bucky stood up, and lifted you in his arms, looking at you for a minute as Steve started down the hallway ahead of you, stripping off his clothes.

You heard the shower start as Bucky murmured.

“Been one hell of a birthday so far. Stay with us tonight?”

“Yes,” you managed to whisper as Bucky claimed your lips again.

“Happy Birthday Bucky Barnes.”

——

Let me know if you liked it! 🥰

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hi can you do a fic where y/n buckys fiancé who is also a winter soldier but has telepathic powers and teleportation abilities gets kidnapped and reprogrammed again and they have to fight her to snap her out of it and it ends with smut and y/n finding out she is pregnant with twins a boy and girl?

Forever After » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Fiancée/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Fiancée/Enhanced!Female Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are supposed to be planning a wedding, but you get kidnapped and reprogrammed again. Not too long after Bucky gets you back, you two find out you’re pregnant with twins.

Warning: Fluff, little bit of Angst, Smut (18+), language, Winter Soldier!reader, pregnant!reader, enhanced!reader, HYDRA, kidnapping, sweet/dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, praise kink, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“Hey. Have any of you seen Y/N?” Bucky asks as he walks in the lounge room.

“Not since this morning. Why?” Steve says.

“Her and I are supposed to go over more details of our wedding, but she’s not answering any of my calls or texts.” He says.

“Her phone probably died or something.” Natasha says.

“Probably. I hope that’s all it is.” He says.

Meanwhile, you regained consciousness in the lab where you first developed your telepathic powers and teleportation abilities. You already know this couldn’t be good. HYDRA is the ones who tested those powers and abilities on you. Since you can’t call or text Bucky with your phone, you decided to try to send a signal to him by using your telepathic powers. You took a deep breath and gave it a try.

“Bucky, I’m in trouble. HYDRA found me and kidnapped me. Please hurry.” You said.

Bucky stopped in his tracks when he felt something. It was the signal from you, telling him that HYDRA kidnapped you and you need help. Bucky’s heart dropped and his eyes widened. He quickly changed into his mission suit and got his gun and knife.

“I’m on my way, doll.” Bucky says to himself.

You were tugging at the restrains to get free, but it was no use. They were too tight and there was no way you were getting out of them any time soon.

“You’re awake!” A familiar voice said.

You looked up to see the HYDRA scientist who tested on you. Your eyes widened.

“What do you want from me?” You asked.

“To reprogram you.” He answers. “I see you haven’t been using your powers and abilities to how I programed you.” He says.

“I’m not using my powers and abilities to do your dirty work anymore.” You say, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Not yet, but you will.” He replies. “Starting with your fiancée, Sergeant James Barnes who’s also known as the Winter Soldier.” He says.

“No. Please don’t make me do that!” You begged.

“Too bad. You don’t have a choice.” He says.

He sat down at the table across from you, opening up your file. Your eyes widened. You tugged at the restrains again.

“There’s no use in tugging at the restrains. You’re strapped down good.” He says.

You groaned and huffed in frustration, tilting your head back. The only thing on your mind is if Bucky is on his way to you.

Your head shot back up when the HYDRA scientist started reading the trigger words that turns you into the person you aren’t anymore… the Winter Soldier. You’re not the same Winter Soldier as Bucky was. You’re a Winter Soldier with powers and abilities.

“No!” You shouted as he continued reading the trigger words. “Please!” You begged.

You squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your hands into fists. No matter what you tried to do, you couldn’t get out of this. After he read all of the trigger words, your eyes glowed blue. The scientist smiles in satisfaction.

“It’s nice to know that those words still work on you.” He grins.

The scientist pushed your file aside and stood up, grabbing a piece of paper and the key to the restrains. He unlocked the restrains and took them off of your arms and legs. You slowly stood up in front of him.

“Ready to comply.” You said obediently.

“This man is your mission.” The scientist says, showing you a picture of Bucky.

“Yes, sir.” You replied.

“I’m sure he’ll be here any minute. I’m assuming you contacted him with your telepathic powers earlier.” He says.

You nodded your head.

“You know what to do when he gets here.” He says.

As if it were on cue, Bucky busted down the door. He felt relieved to see you. He immediately walked to you, stopping in his tracks when he saw your eyes glow blue and your signature grin form on your face. His eyes widened. He hasn’t seen that grin in a while and you haven’t used your powers and abilities in a while either. Bucky grabbed the scientist by his white lab coat and slammed him up against the wall.

“What the hell did you do to my fiancée?!” Bucky growls.

“Reprogrammed her for what she’s meant to do.” The scientist says, grinning evilly.

Bucky growls again and knocked him out with a punch to his face. He dropped him on the floor and turned his attention to you.

“Doll…” Bucky’s voice sounded calm and cautious. “You don’t need to do this.” He says softly.

“Don’t do what?” You asked, tilting your head a bit.

Bucky already knew this wasn’t going to end good.

“Doll, please.” He pleads softly.

“Doll isn’t here anymore. The Winter Soldier is though and she’ll like to have a little talk.” You say.

Bucky’s breathing got shaky for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Please don’t make me fight you.” He pleads.

“Too bad you don’t get a choice, Soldat.” You say, walking towards him.

Bucky cringes when you called him Soldat. He hasn’t been called that in a long time.

“You look scared, Soldat.” You say, playfully pouting at him.

“I’m not scared.” Bucky says.

“So if I read your mind, you won’t be lying?” You asked.

“No. I have nothing to hide from you.” He says honestly.

“Oh yea?” You raised your eyebrows. “What about a certain mission you did in 1991?” You asked.

Bucky gulped and his jaw clenched when you said that. You rose your hand up to his head so you could read his mind, but he grabbed your arm before you could.

“Stop it.” Bucky almost whispers. “I don’t want to fight you.” He says.

“Why? Are you scared you’re gonna lose?” You tauntingly asked.

“I don’t lose.” He says confidently.

“Then fight me.” You say.

“No.” He says.

You chuckled lowly before throwing a punch at him, hitting his jaw and catching him off guard.

“C’mon, Soldat. It’ll be fun.” You say.

“I’m not fighting you.” He says again.

“Ok then.” You say, shrugging your shoulders.

You opened a teleportation portal and stepped in it, turning around and waving at Bucky. The portal took you to a different room in the base. Bucky jumped in the portal before it closed, tackling you to the groan. You groaned when you hit the ground. He pinned your arms to the floor above your head so you didn’t try anything.

Bucky knows if he keeps denying you, you’ll keep provoking him into fighting you. He doesn’t want to fight you, but he has no choice. He thinks if he fights you, he might be able to break through the programming and get your normal self back. He might as well give it his all.

“You wanna fight, doll? Let’s fight.” Bucky finally says.

“That’s more like it.” You say with a grin.

You kneed him in his stomach to get him off of you. You stood you as Bucky groaned in pain. He stood up a few seconds after you did. You approached Bucky, tilting your head slightly.

“I know what you fear.” You whispered.

“I don’t fear anything.” Bucky says.

“Oh really?” You asked, putting your hand against his forehead to read his mind. “You fear that if you don’t get me to break through the programming, you’ll lose your fiancée forever and you won’t get you forever after with her.” You say, reading his mind.

Bucky growls and smacked your hand away.

“Stop it.” Bucky growls, gritting his teeth.

“Loosing your fiancée is your worst nightmare and you’ll slip back into your old ways as the Winter Soldier.” You say.

Bucky’s jaw clenched when you said that. He grabbed you, slammed you against the wall. You yelped in surprise.

“Shut up!” He shouts. “Never fucking say that again.” He says.

Loosing you is his worst nightmare, but he wouldn’t slip back into his old ways as the Winter Soldier.

“Did I touch a nerve?” You asked, tilting your head slightly.

Bucky put his vibranium hand around your throat, but didn’t squeeze. He just stared in your eyes, searching for any sign of your normal self. His hand let go of your throat. What he did next surprised himself. He kicked your feet out from under you to the ground, his eyes widening when you hit your head on the wall. You didn’t go unconscious so that’s a good sign, but you did have a confused look on your face. He didn’t want to do that to you. He just wanted the taunting to stop and for you to break through the programming.

“Doll, I-I-I didn’t mean to do that.” Bucky stutters, crouching down next to you.

“I-I’m fine.” You said softly, followed by a small whimper. “Can you take me home please?” You asked.

“Of course.” He murmurs, picking you up bridal style.

Later that day after you and Bucky got back to the Avengers compound, you two took a shower and put comfortable clothes on.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized in a whisper.

“You don’t need to apologize, doll.” Bucky says softly.

“Yes I do. I tried to use your worst nightmare against you and I brought up that one mission.” You say.

“It’s completely fine, doll. I understand. You weren’t your normal self.” He says.

Your eyes flickered down to Bucky’s lips. You leaned toward him, kissing him softly and passionately. Bucky’s right hand caressed your cheek gently. Your hands grasped onto his shoulders. He gently laid you back on the bed and hovered over you. His vibranium hand went underneath your -his- shirt. You shivered, feeling the cool vibranium against your skin.

“Bucky…” You say breathlessly.

“Yes, doll?” Bucky asks, moving his lips down to your neck.

“I want you.” You tell him.

Bucky pulled away from your neck to take off your -his- shirt, revealing your braless breast to him. He dipped his head back down, kissing your neck again. His teeth nipped at your skin, marking you up. He repeated those same actions as he moved his lips down your body.

Bucky’s hands gently caressed your curves. His lips pressed soft kisses down your body, stopping just above the waistband of your sleep shorts. Bucky hooked his fingers in the waistband of your shorts. You lifted your hips so he could pull them down, pulling down your panties and shorts down in one go.

“My doll is so gorgeous.” Bucky murmurs softly, making you blush.

Bucky stood up, taking off his clothes. His cock is hard and leaking with precum. You voluntarily spread your legs. He got in between them, his hands gently rubbing the top of your thighs. Bucky leaned down, kissing you passionately.

Bucky reached a hand down in between the two of you, wrapping his hand around his cock. He stroked it a few times before lining it at your wet entrance. He slowly slid his cock in your pussy. Soft and satisfied moans left yours and his lips.

Bucky put his forearms against the bed on either side of your head, caging you in between his strong arms. You reached your hands up to hold his. You intertwined your fingers with his.

His thrusts were soft and loving. Your head rolled back against the pillows, enjoying the feeling of your fiancée’s cock inside of you. Soft moans of his name left your lips.

Bucky dipped his head down and kissed along the column of your throat, not leaving any part of your skin not kissed. A soft satisfied hum left your lips when his stubble scratched your skin. That’s one of your favorite feelings from Bucky.

“Bucky…” You say more in a whine.

“I got you, doll.” Bucky whispers softly.

“More please.” You begged softly.

Bucky increased the pace of his thrusts. His thrusts are still loving. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together against his back. Your eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the pleasure you were receiving from your fiancée.

“I love you so much, Bucky.” You said breathlessly.

“I love you so much to, babydoll.” Bucky whispers.

You managed to get your hands out from Bucky’s hands and gently grabbed his face, pulling him down for a passionate and hungry kiss. You two moaned against each other’s lips. Your hands found their way to his head, carding your fingers through his soft dark brown hair. Bucky moans against your lips. He loves it when you play with his hair in any way. Your fingers tugging on his hair urged him on. Bucky thrusted faster, his cock immediately finding that one spot inside of you.

“Fuck, Bucky!” You moaned.

Your moans are like music to Bucky’s ears. You tucked your face against the crook of Bucky’s neck. You kissed his neck and nipped at his skin, marking him up.

Bucky wrapped his right arm around your waist while his vibranium hand held the sheets tightly. He increased the speed of his thrusts once more. That made you want him even more. Your hands grasped onto his biceps, digging your nails in his skin and the vibranium.

“Fuck, doll…” Bucky moans. “Such a good girl.” He praises softly.

You moaned at his praise. You love it when he praises you.

Bucky’s right arm left your waist and went in between the two of you. Your hips jolted against his hips and his hand when you felt his fingers on your clit. His fingers rubbed your clit in circles.

“Oh god, yes, Bucky!” You moaned, throwing your head back against the pillows.

Your orgasm began to build up faster than you liked. So did Bucky’s. His thrusts became sloppy, but he regained rhythm.

“I can feel you getting close, doll.” Bucky said breathlessly. “You gonna cum for me?” He asks.

“You hummed and nodded your head in response.

“Cum for me, babydoll. I’m close too.” He pants, rubbing your clit a bit faster.

The coil inside of you snapped. You moaned Bucky’s name loudly as you came. Bucky gave your clit one last rub before focusing on his own orgasm.

“That’s a good girl.” Bucky pants. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He moans.

Bucky came inside of you after a few more thrusts. His thrusts came to a stop and he pulled out of you, laying down next to you. You moved closer to him, laying your head on his chest and putting your thigh on top of his. Bucky’s vibranium hand held onto your knee, rubbing his vibranium thumb against your skin.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” You murmured softly, caressing his stubbly cheek.

“I can’t wait to marry you too, doll.” Bucky says softly, kissing your hand.

———

You’re standing in the bathroom, staring at a pregnancy test that has two pink lines on it. You and Bucky have been married for a few months and you’re finding out you’re pregnant with yours and his first child.

“Holy shit…” You mumbled in shock, staring at a positive pregnancy test. “Bucky, babe! Come here!” You shouted.

Bucky ran to the bathroom as fast as he could, almost tripping over his own feet.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok?” Bucky asks frantically.

You didn’t say anything. You smiled widely and showed him the positive pregnancy test.

“Holy shit…” He mumbles in shock. “You’re pregnant? We’re having a baby? We’re going to be parents?” He asks.

“Yes!” You confirmed.

Bucky picked you up, hugging you tightly.

“We’re going to be parents!” He said happily. “Let’s go tell everyone!” He says.

Bucky held your hand as you two walked to the lounge room where all of the Avengers are.

“We have amazing news.” Bucky says with a huge smile on his face.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to you and Bucky, waiting for you guys to tell them what the amazing news is.

“I’m pregnant!” You tell them, holding up the positive pregnancy test.

Everyone cheered and congratulated you two, giving you two hugs.

———

“Would you two like to know the genders of your babies?” The doctor asks, looking from you to Bucky.

“Babies?” You and Bucky say in union and surprise.

“You’re having twins!” She smiles.

Yours and Bucky’s eyes teared up. Bucky leaned down, kissing your lips softly. Bucky looks in your eyes and nods at you, wanting to know the genders of yours and his twin babies.

“Yes, we would like to know the genders of our babies.” You tell her.

“Twin A is a boy and twin B is a girl.” She tells you two. “Congratulations!” She smiles, giving you and Bucky the ultrasound pictures.

You and Bucky had smiles on your faces the whole car ride to the compound. You two were so excited and happy that you guys had to tell everyone.

“Hey! How was the doctor’s appointment?” Steve asks.

“We’re having twins!” Bucky tells everyone, holding up the ultrasound pictures. “Twin A is a boy and twin B is a girl!” He says excitedly.

Everyone stared at you and Bucky in surprise and gave you two hugs, congratulating you two.

“Can I tell Steve the other amazing news?” You asked, whispering to Bucky.

“Go ahead, doll.” Bucky smiles.

Steve looks from Bucky to you, waiting for the other amazing news.

“Me and Bucky have been talking about it and we want you to be the godfather to our twins.” You tell him.

“Wh-What?” Steve asks, making sure he heard you right.

“You’re the godfather of our babies, punk.” Bucky tells him, patting his shoulder.

“I’m honored to your babies’ godfather.” Steve says, hugging both of you.

Later that day, you and Bucky went home and spent the rest of the night trying to come up with baby names for yours and his twins.

“I feel like the names we’re coming up with are too basic.” Bucky says.

“Yea.” You agree. “What about we name our son after you and our daughter after your sister?” You suggested, tapping your fingers against your pregnant belly.

“You want to name our babies after me and my sister?” He asks, tearing up.

You smiled and nodded your head yes.

“I would love nothing more than to name our babies James Jr and Rebecca.” He says, smiling widely.

“It’s settled! James Jr and Rebecca will be our babies names!” You say happily.

Bucky kisses you passionately. You two smiled against each other’s lips.

“I love you, doll.” Bucky whispers against your lips.

“I love you too, sweetie.” You whispered back.

Bucky leaned his forehead against yours, looking in your eyes with the look of adoration in his eyes. You two finally have your forever after.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[brunchable]

It's not a Meet-𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒆, it's a Meet-𝗨𝗴𝗹𝘆.

《 Chapter 5: Your Crying Shoulder. 》

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: It's not a meet-cute, it's a meet ugly, Grumpy Meets ✨️Sunshine✨️, Opposites Attract, Sassy Pet Matchmaker, Enemies-to-Lovers (Lite), Destined to meet again, Bucky is a hidden softie. Summary: When everything falling apart, you found yourself in the arms of the person you least expected. A/N: This story will be OUTSIDE of MCU but Bucky's traits will be mixed comics/mcu. This will be updated every FRIDAY(AEST). I can't help but place a TikTok meme in here somewhere lmao. Credits to me for the Banner lmfao. credits to @ khaer for the divider.

Mission Report - J. B. Barnes To: N. Fury Subject: Family Dynamics

Key Findings

1. Family Structure

Y/N Y/LN: CEO of The Emporium NYC, handling New York operations, public relations, and key corporate responsibilities.

Jonathan [Half-Brother]: Oversees Miami branch expansions and operational strategies. Professional but distant relationship with Y/N, characterized by mutual respect and a clear division of responsibilities.

2. Operational Observations

Financial Irregularities: Offshore accounts linked to Emporium subsidiaries display significant fund transfers with unclear purposes. Investigating their potential connection to Hydra-related activities is a priority.

Board Affiliations: Certain board members are linked to political figures and tech firms specializing in advanced security technologies. Their involvement requires further investigation for possible ties to Hydra.

Employee Turnover: Leadership restructuring followed Y/N’s promotion. Several former executives now hold external consulting roles, potentially redirecting focus from Emporium’s internal operations.

3. Personal Relationships

Rhys: Y/N’s boyfriend and the son of a global luxury hotel mogul. While not directly involved in Emporium operations, his influential family ties and potential connections to Y/N's network merit attention.

4. Behavioral Insights

Y/N demonstrates dedication to her role but shows signs of frustration with corporate pressures. She appears unaware of financial irregularities within the organization, suggesting compartmentalization of information.

No evidence connects Y/N directly to suspicious activities. Monitoring her relationship with Rhys could provide additional context, as his background and resources may intersect with Emporium’s broader dealings.

Recommendations

1. Background Checks: Investigate board members, financial consultants, and Rhys’s family business for any links to Emporium's offshore holdings and potential Hydra connections.

2. Monitor Relationships: Subtly observe Y/N’s interactions with Rhys and board members for indirect insights.

3. Enhanced Financial Scrutiny: Deepen analysis of offshore accounts to establish potential links between Emporium funds and Hydra-backed projects.

End of Report

× × × ×

Figaro pranced confidently into Bucky’s apartment, his tail held high, a familiar item clamped between his teeth. Alpine looked up from her spot on the windowsill, tilting her head as she watched him strut across the room.

“Alpine,” Figaro greeted, setting down the item—a soft, worn scarf that unmistakably carried your scent.

Alpine sniffed at the scarf, then looked at Figaro, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. “Your human let you out with… that?”

Figaro settled down next to her, casually licking a paw. 

“Oh, she doesn’t know I took it,” he replied with a lazy flick of his tail. “But I thought you might appreciate a little reminder of her.” He gave her a knowing look, lowering his voice. “She was patching up your human’s busted lip the other night, by the way.”

Alpine’s eyes narrowed with amusement. “Did she now? And did you happen to notice the way he was looking at her?” she asked, her whiskers twitching.

“Oh, I noticed. He was all ‘I’m tough, but not too tough for you,’” Figaro said, imitating a dramatic swoon, then rolled his eyes with exaggerated flair. “Honestly, he’s got it bad. She was fussing over him, and he was eating it up like a kitten with a saucer of cream.”

Alpine purred thoughtfully. “Well, it’s about time. But he won’t admit that to himself.”

“Yeah, well, the issue,” Figaro continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, “is that there’s another guy in her life. Rhys.” He spat out the name with as much disdain as a cat could muster. “Total bore. Calls her ‘baby’ like it’s some kind of magic spell. And he smells like cheap cologne. Honestly, his existence is an insult to felines everywhere.”

Alpine’s ears perked up. “So he’s competition?”

Figaro scoffed. 

“Please. He’s like the knockoff toy they keep at the bottom of the discount bin. My human doesn’t even smile around him anymore; she just tolerates him. But every time your guy shows up, she lights up like it’s Christmas morning.” He stretched, his claws extending as if to make his point. “I’m telling you, we’ve got to get rid of him. For the sake of all that is right in the world.”

Alpine let out a thoughtful meow, eyeing the scarf Figaro had brought. “You know, if we could just keep nudging them together, maybe they’ll take the hint. They’re not too bright, but they’ve got chemistry.”

“Exactly!” Figaro said, his eyes gleaming. “Our owners are hopeless without us. This is a mission, Alpine. A noble mission. A mission to save her from that pathetic excuse for a partner.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “And frankly, if I have to listen to him call her ‘baby’ one more time, I might cough up a hairball on his shoes.”

Alpine let out a low chuckle, nudging Figaro with her paw. “Well then, Mr. Matchmaker. What’s the plan?”

“Oh, I’ve got ideas,” Figaro said, eyes narrowing as if deep in thought. “Plenty of ideas. After all, I’m doing the world a favor.”

× × × ×

There was cold silence since that tense encounter with Rhys, and though you’d pushed it to the back of your mind, his apology text had come through late tonight, begging you to talk. You decided, almost against your better judgment, to go. Maybe it was a habit, maybe just closure. But as you reached the hotel and made your way up to his office, a cold, uneasy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach.

The hall was dimly lit as you approached, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Then, as you neared the frosted glass door of Rhys’ office, you stopped in your tracks. Two silhouettes were visible through the blurred glass, close, intimate. You watched as Rhys pressed a woman—with a golden hair clip—against the glass, their forms locked together in a kiss that left little to the imagination.

Your throat tightened, a dull ache building in your chest as the weight of the betrayal hit you. To be honest, I felt like I already knew it, you thought, the silent admission somehow worse than the scene unfolding in front of you. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. You tried to swallow down the emotions swirling within you—anger, sadness, and that unmistakable pang of disappointment. Being cheated on hurt, even when you’d mentally checked out of the relationship. It chipped away at something deeper, a quiet part of your self-worth you hadn’t realized still cared.

Water rimmed your eyes, but you blinked it back, refusing to let him take that from you too. You inhaled deeply, straightened your shoulders, and turned away from the office door, leaving as quietly as you’d arrived.

× × × ×  Fews days after

Bucky squinted, utterly baffled. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he muttered. He scratched the back of his neck, feeling absurdly judged by a cat.

Alpine huffed, letting out a short, dismissive meow, clearly unimpressed with whatever answer she’d decided on. She trotted off toward her food bowl, pausing just once to throw him a final, critical look before bending to eat.

“Alright, sure, just go back to ignoring me,” Bucky grumbled, watching her. But as he leaned against the counter, glancing down at the faint trace of your scent still on his sleeve, he couldn’t help feeling like Alpine had silently decided something about him that she wasn’t going to share anytime soon.

Bucky watched Alpine chowing down on her food, her tail flicking in satisfaction as she devoured each bite with gusto. He allowed himself a moment of peace, but then came the unmistakable sound of someone struggling with his lock.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, his mind flashing back to the night you’d drunkenly tried breaking into his apartment, mistaking it for yours. Swinging the door open, he was prepared for a repeat performance, only to be met with Sam, frozen in mid-action, his hand clutching a spare key. Behind him stood Steve, holding two large bags of takeout, and Nat, arms crossed with a smirk.

“Uh… hey, Buck,” Sam greeted, attempting a casual tone while quickly tucking the key behind his back like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed.

“Why are you trying to break into my place?” Bucky narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms.

Sam cleared his throat, glancing at Steve and Nat for backup. 

“We’re, uh… your backup! Sent by Fury.” He flashed a grin that looked anything but innocent.

“Backup?” Bucky repeated, deadpan, as the three of them filed in with the casualness of seasoned intruders. “Fury said it was a simple assignment. Barely a mission.”

Steve rolled his eyes, giving Bucky a pitying look as he passed by to set down the bags on the table. “You really believed that? Seriously?”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but before he could get a word in, Nat had already made her way over to Alpine, who blinked up at her with the smug satisfaction of a cat who’d been expecting her. Nat scratched Alpine’s ears as Alpine purred, looking even more at ease than Bucky had ever seen her.

Just as Nat leaned down to pet Alpine, her gaze flicked up, catching sight of Bucky’s busted lip. She raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Nice lip, Buck. Trouble on the way to the door?”

Bucky’s hand instinctively went up to his mouth. “Oh, that? I… tripped over Alpine.”

Steve’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing as he tried to keep a straight face. 

“You tripped… over Alpine?” He looked down at the serene, not-at-all-menacing cat sitting contentedly by Nat’s side, then back up at Bucky, clearly struggling to hold back a laugh.

Bucky crossed his arms, his expression turning defensive. “It’s possible, alright? She’s tiny but lethal.”

Sam let out a snort. “Yeah, sure. I’m sure the Winter Soldier can handle a battalion of Hydra agents but gets taken out by a house cat.”

“Don’t you guys have anything better to do?” Bucky just rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as Sam already raiding the fridge like he owned it. 

“Oh no, please, make yourselves at home. I’ll just find somewhere else to live, shall I?” Bucky’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he watched the scene unfold. 

“Buck, you have got to keep better beer in here. This stuff is practically water.” He settled on a bottle anyway, taking a long swig before glancing back at Bucky. “We’re just here to help, man. Think of us as… extended housemates.”

Bucky crossed his arms tighter, a look of utter disbelief on his face. “Extended housemates?” He gestured at the room. “You act like you already live here!”

Steve, entirely unbothered, started setting out the food, carefully placing burgers on plates and arranging napkins. “We thought you might need a little company. I mean, it’s a Friday night, after all.”

“I’m perfectly fine alone, thanks,” Bucky replied, his gaze narrowing as he watched Sam polish off half a beer in one go. “How about you go keep each other company?”

Steve chuckled, handing a plate to Nat. “You said the same thing last time we showed up. Yet, here we are. Again.”

Nat, now comfortably settled on the couch with Alpine, flashed him a wicked grin. “Let’s not be dramatic, Bucky. Just think of us as… spontaneous visitors.”

“Visitors don’t usually come with their own keys,” Bucky grumbled, his gaze settling on Sam, who was busy rifling through his cabinets for snacks. “And they certainly don’t bring takeout to make themselves at home.”

Sam shrugged, unfazed. “You think of it as invading your privacy; I think of it as improving the vibe around here.”

Bucky let out an exasperated sigh. “I swear, one of these days, I’m changing the locks.”

“Good luck with that. We’ll just get new keys.” Nat smirked, scratching Alpine’s head as if she were orchestrating a coup. 

Bucky glared, but Steve was already setting a plate piled with ribs and a burger in front of him. “Eat up, Buck. Before Sam devours everything like the human garbage disposal he is.”

Sam waved his beer bottle, looking completely unbothered. “Hey, I resent that. This is strategic eating. Besides, with your ‘barely-a-mission,’ we need all the fuel we can get.”

“I’m starting to think Fury set me up.” Bucky rubbed his forehead, exasperated but clearly losing the battle.

Steve just grinned, popping open his own beer. “I’m sure Fury thought you’d appreciate the backup.”

“Or at least tolerate it,” Sam added, grabbing a handful of fries and popping them into his mouth.

With a resigned sigh, Bucky sank into a chair, shaking his head. “You guys are impossible.”

“Impossible is our specialty,” Sam shot back, raising his beer in a mock toast. “To back up, and to Buck finally admitting he likes having us around.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” Bucky snorted. 

Alpine purred louder, clearly pleased with the lively atmosphere, while Nat smirked at Bucky. “See? Even Alpine agrees. You’re just a grump with a soft spot for us, admit it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fine. But next time, bring your own key.”

“Oh, we will,” Steve assured him with a smirk. “And maybe a couch, a pillow or two.”

Sam, now munching contentedly on fries, raised his beer again. “To crashing Bucky’s place—where every night is a mission, and the food’s free.”

Bucky took a reluctant bite of his burger, trying to ignore how comfortable his “guests” had made themselves. Just as he was starting to think the worst was over, Steve casually leaned over to Sam, as if sharing a quiet plan.

“We’ll grab the rest of our stuff from the car when Buck’s asleep,” Steve said, completely deadpan.

Bucky nearly choked on his burger, staring at Steve like he’d lost his mind. “The rest of your stuff? What are you talking about?”

Sam, without missing a beat, grinned. “Perfect. Nat can take the bedroom, and the three of us can crash in the living room. It’ll be like a sleepover.”

Nat raised her eyebrows, feigning delight. “I called dibs on the bed, anyway. I always knew Buck had the fluffiest pillows.”

“Hold on, hold on! This isn’t some youth hostel! You all have your own places!” Bucky’s face twisted in horror as he looked around the room. 

“Yeah, but none of our places have a view of you panicking about your personal space.” Steve looked unbothered, casually unwrapping another burger.

Bucky glared. 

“I’m not panicking! I just—” He waved a hand in utter frustration. “This is my place! You can’t just... commandeer my bed!”

“Don’t worry, Buck. We’ll all be snug as bugs on the floor, reliving those good ol’ days in the barracks.” Sam leaned back, looking way too comfortable for someone who’d apparently just broken in.

“Except Nat,” Steve corrected, “who will be enjoying Buck’s luxurious mattress.”

Bucky looked to Alpine, almost pleading. “You see what I deal with? Even the cat respects my space more than you three!”

Alpine simply blinked, looking rather indifferent to her owner’s plight as she happily settled on Nat’s lap.

“Oh, come on, Buck,” Sam said, reaching over to ruffle Bucky’s hair. “We’ll make it fun! Popcorn, ghost stories, some embarrassing truths about Fury… just like old times.”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve added, grinning. “Think of it as team bonding.”

Bucky threw his hands up. “This isn’t bonding! This is trespassing! And I don’t want to hear any ghost stories or truths about Fury. I want my bed, my couch, and my fridge not raided!”

Nat sighed, patting Alpine who purred louder. “Look, Buck. Clearly, Alpine’s on board. You’re outvoted.”

“Traitor.” Bucky narrowed his eyes, looking at Alpine in betrayal.

Steve chuckled, leaning back with a smug grin. “Face it, Buck. Tonight’s already decided.”

Bucky let out a resigned sigh, shaking his head as he muttered under his breath. “Next time, I’m leaving the country.”

× × × ×

You strode into the dimly lit restaurant, greeted by a chorus of cheers and mock applause as Serena, Mei, and Jane raised their glasses, voices rising in unison. "Woooo, here comes the CEO!"

You shook your head, laughing as you took your seat, subtly glancing around the table. Your gaze caught on one unfamiliar face, though it took a split second longer for the memory to click into place. Carly. She was Rhys' new assistant, a realization that caused your brow to lift just slightly. You’d thought she looked familiar from somewhere else, but with her new polished appearance and newfound confidence, it was hard to tell right away.

Chloe, ever the instigator, nudged Carly forward with a smile that held a hint of challenge. 

“Ladies, meet Carly. You might remember her, Y/N. She used to work at The Emporium,” she said, her words smooth but her gaze pointed.

You kept your expression cool, a practiced smile settling on your lips. “Ah, that explains why she looks familiar.” You gave Carly a nod, and she responded with a forced smile, her eyes holding something less friendly beneath the surface.

The evening moved along, filled with laughter and a few rounds of drinks. Serena, Mei, and Jane offered congratulations, and Sarah, as always, played the role of your unwavering cheerleader, throwing a few enthusiastic compliments your way. But as the night flowed, it was Mei who leaned in, her voice dipping into a sympathetic tone.

“So, I heard Rhys de Armande cheated on you.”

You blinked, not expecting the topic to surface so bluntly. You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, though a subtle flicker crossed your face.

“You forced a light laugh, though your jaw tightened beneath it. “Oh, it was probably because I told him to take his bare minimum and keep it out of my sight. Pretty sure he wanted to vanish into thin air after that, especially since his entire office got to witness it.”

Jane, Mei, and Serena burst into laughter, clearly picturing the scene as you animatedly relayed the story.

“Oh my gosh, that’s incredible,” Serena giggled, shaking her head. “He absolutely deserved every bit of that.”

You let out a faint laugh, flipping your hair back and letting it settle over your shoulder as you raised an eyebrow. “Ugh, I’m too busy with work to be hurt by this kind of stuff,” you replied, feigning a casual air as you took a sip of your drink, though the words had a hard edge underneath.

“Do you know who the woman was?” Serena leaned forward, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

Chloe’s lips curled into a faint smirk.

“I mean, with Rhys’ type, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s someone… eager to climb the ladder, if you know what I mean,” Mei said.

Sarah’s eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth, ready to retort, but you discreetly squeezed her hand under the table, keeping your expression smooth. You didn’t need her stepping in right now. 

“You should’ve grabbed her hair!” Jane piped up, half-laughing, her fist in the air as if she were ready to throw a punch herself, “I respect the way you’re so laid back, because honestly I would’ve gone apeshit.”

“Oh, forget it. He’s the one who cheated. I couldn’t care less about her,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “She’s probably no different from him—anyways! Enough about him!”

As the words left your mouth, Carly’s face visibly tightened, her forced smile slipping as she pushed back her chair, muttering under her breath as she walked off toward the restroom. Her eyes flickered with a glare that lingered on you as she departed, barely concealing the frustration bubbling beneath her cool facade.

Serena raised her eyebrows, catching the shift in mood. “What’s with her? She was glaring at you the whole time.”

“Oh, who knows,” Sarah murmured, watching Carly’s retreating figure with a slight smirk, her hand still entwined in yours beneath the table, a sign of solidarity.

Chloe glanced after Carly, a subtle, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Probably just adjusting to her new… surroundings.”

You glanced down at your phone, barely containing the irritation rising within you as you took in the image on the screen: Rhys and Carly, cozy on a beach, his arms wrapped around her as if he hadn’t been apologizing to you just days earlier. It was from an unknown number, but there was no doubt in your mind who had sent it.

With a measured breath, you slipped the phone back into your bag and stood, offering your friends a polite excuse before following the path Carly had taken. You found her just outside the restrooms, leaning casually against the wall with a smug smile, almost as if she’d been waiting.

“Why did you send me that?” You stopped in front of her, gaze steady.

She didn’t bother hiding her grin, crossing her arms as she looked you over. “Because I wanted you to know.”

“Know what?” You raised an eyebrow. “That Rhys cheated on me?”

“No,” she replied with a sickeningly sweet smile, crossing her arms tighter. “That I seduced your boyfriend. You seemed completely fine with it.”

A scoff escaped you as you let out a dry laugh, crossing your own arms. 

“Did you expect me to crumble just because I was cheated on?” You tilted your head, studying her. “Alright, let’s say you two ‘fell in love.’ Then you should be apologizing to me—”

Her smile faltered as she cut you off, her voice raising a fraction. “I felt guilty at first. But then you acted like it wasn’t a big deal. You weren’t curious about me, didn’t even acknowledge what I did. So my self-esteem? It just kept plummeting.”

You looked at her, incredulous, and chuckled coldly. “Wow—seriously? You’re such a loser—You’re blaming me for your self-esteem issues?”

Her lips pursed in irritation. “Why shouldn’t I? Why do you think I can’t do what you do? I can seduce your man and be just as successful—be just like you. But you never gave me the chance. Not only that, you took my opportunity at The Emporium away from me.”

“Ah,” you murmured, amusement in your voice. “So this is about me firing you?”

Her jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t deserve to be in that position. You act so high and mighty, like nothing can shake you. You have it all, don’t you? The job, the influence, the respect. But guess what? I can take what’s yours. I already did, didn’t I?”

You laughed, unbothered, shaking your head slowly. 

“You really don’t get it, do you?” You stepped closer, gaze locked on hers. “If you couldn’t handle the job, that’s on you. Throwing this little tantrum only proves I was right about you. As for Rhys…” You shrugged, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You can keep him. My ex cheating doesn’t affect my work—but you? You do. So maybe I’ll have a word with his parents and see how your career fairs then.”

You turned to leave, but her voice came out sharp, dripping with venom. “You can’t pretend you’re not bitter about it. That’s why you’re here, right? To confront me?”

Pausing, you glanced over your shoulder, an icy smile on your lips. “Ever step on something nasty on the sidewalk? Hmm I don’t know like shit? It’s a pain, but you don’t let it ruin your day. You wipe it off and move on. That’s what you and Rhys are to me—Shit—something I’ll be glad to scrape off my shoe.”

Without another glance, you strode back to the table, your head held high. Your friends glanced up as you approached, a few eyebrows raised.

“Everything okay?” Sarah asked, eyeing you with mild concern.

You forced a polite smile, nodding as you picked up your bag. “Actually, I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow. I should get going.”

With a few quick goodbyes, you left, satisfaction settling over you as you stepped out, knowing you’d left Carly exactly where she belonged—behind you.

× × × × 

“Sarah! Open the noor! I know you're in there, Sarah! Open the noor!” Your drunken voice slurred through the quiet hallway, louder with every knock.

Inside, Bucky froze, instantly recognizing your voice. His eyes widened, and he shot a panicked look at the mountain of files scattered across his coffee table—the very files on you and The Emporium that he’d been piecing through with Steve, Sam, and Nat.

“Everyone! Gather the files, now!” he hissed, immediately jumping to action.

“What? Why? Relax, man, we’re not under attack or anything.” Sam raised an eyebrow, lounging on the couch with a half-eaten sandwich.

Bucky shot him a glare, practically yanking the files out from under Sam’s plate. “One of our ‘subjects’ is outside the door, Sam! Now MOVE!”

“Wait, you mean her?” Steve asked, eyes widening as the banging on the door got louder.

“Yes!” Bucky hissed, shoving an armful of files into Steve’s hands. “Now stop talking and start hiding!”

Nat rolled her eyes, stacking papers hastily. “Isn’t this a little dramatic? She’s probably just lost.”

“She’s not ‘lost,’ she’s drunk!” Bucky snapped. “And I’d rather not explain why I’m reviewing her life story with three nosy intruders!”

“Oh, we’re the intruders now?” Steve muttered as he clutched a bundle of files to his chest. “Could’ve sworn we were here for your mission!”

The banging grew even louder. 

“Sarah! Don’t you ignore me, woman!” Your voice was muffled but determined, sounding like you were one step away from kicking the door down.

“Go, go, go! Get in there!” Bucky herded them like sheep, arms waving wildly as he tried to push them toward the bedroom.

“Ow, Bucky, stop shoving!” Sam complained, elbowing Bucky back as he tripped over a rogue sneaker. “Seriously, why are you acting like we’re about to be raided?”

“Because she’ll see this mess and ask questions!” Bucky shot back, pushing him forward again. “Just get in and be quiet!”

Nat stumbled as Bucky prodded her toward the door, muttering, “Why are you so panicked? Did you do something wrong, Buck?”

“Would you all just move?!” Bucky whispered furiously, practically bulldozing them all through his bedroom door. “I’ll explain later. Just don’t make a sound!”

Steve stumbled, catching himself with a loud “Ow!” as Bucky finally got all three of them behind the door. He shut it firmly and leaned against it with a sigh, only to hear a loud “Shh!” from Nat, Sam, and Steve bickering in hushed whispers.

“Move your elbow!”

“Steve, that’s my foot—ow!”

“Could you three not sound like an entire stampede?”

Outside, your voice grew louder, slurring but stubborn as ever. “Saarah! Come on, I brought sushiiii!”

Bucky took a breath and opened the door, his expression calm yet barely holding it together. There you stood, wobbling slightly, hair slightly mussed, and an unmistakable grin on your face when you saw him.

“Oh! Sarah, you changed! You look so much taller… and more... Bucky-like.”

“Uh, hi,” he said as he steadied you. “I think you might have the wrong door, trash panda.”

You blinked, frowning, and swayed a little closer. “Wrong door? But I brought sushi! And, wait—” You squinted at him, leaning in. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” he confirmed, holding back a chuckle as you gave him a suspiciously scrutinizing look.

“Ohhh…” you drawled, clearly trying to process it all. “Well, if you see Sarah, tell her the sushi is... sushi-ing.”

He nodded, keeping his tone light, even though his friends were probably eavesdropping as best they could. 

“Will do. And, uh… maybe we should get you home?”

“Good idea. But you keep this. Looks like you could use some fish.” You nodded, albeit unsteadily, handing him a stray piece of sushi. 

You gave Bucky a wobbly smile, one that looked a little too determined for someone in your state. Before Bucky could stop you, you swayed forward, making a beeline past him and into his apartment.

“Wait, Y/N—this isn’t… Sarah’s place!” he said, barely catching up as you staggered into his kitchen.

“Close enough,” you slurred with a grin, swaying dramatically from side to side as you reached for the fridge handle. Alpine, sensing a new friend in distress, trotted over, rubbing against your legs with enthusiastic little chirps.

“Oh! Hey, kitty!” you cooed, reaching down to pet her, then looking up at Bucky with wide, innocent eyes. “Sarah’s cat never welcomes me like this. See? She gets me.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, half-amused, half-panicked. “Right. Because Alpine just loves guests raiding the kitchen.”

You opened the fridge door, inspecting the shelves as if on a mission. 

“Where’s the… the ice cream?” you muttered, voice muffled by the refrigerator door. “Sarah always has chocolate fudge swirl, and I need it.”

“Seriously, you’re in the wrong apartment,” Bucky tried, sounding both exasperated and entertained as he reached out, but you sidestepped, one hand still on the fridge door, the other now waving vaguely in the air.

“Shhh, Bucky,” you chided, squinting as you leaned in further, peering deeper into the fridge with a sense of deep concentration. Alpine padded around you, her tail curling around your ankle, clearly thrilled to have you there.

“Listen, Bucky,” you slurred, not even glancing up, “all I want… is chocolate ice cream and maybe… maybe a good laugh. Do you have tissues? I feel like I’ll need them, like, a lot of them.”

Bucky couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He tried his best to guide you away from the fridge gently, but you shot him a mildly annoyed look, shoving a stray pack of carrots aside as if they were personally offensive.

“Don’t you dare hide the good stuff behind the veggies,” you said, mock-scolding him as Alpine hopped onto the counter, watching the scene with wide, curious eyes, tail twitching.

“Really, Alpine?” Bucky muttered at his cat, who was clearly rooting for you and even pawed at Bucky’s hand as if to say, Let her have the ice cream!

“I knew you’d understand me, Alpine,” you cooed at the cat, as if she were your personal support group. “See, Bucky? Even she gets it. She knows.”

Bucky sighed, half-heartedly resigned. “You know what, fine. If Alpine says so, who am I to argue?”

Finally, you pulled out a random tub—yogurt, not ice cream—and peered at it in disappointment. 

“Greek yogurt? Bucky, are you… are you okay?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, perfectly fine, thanks.”

You blinked at him, still clutching the tub. “Well, clearly, you’re living a sad existence if this is all you’ve got.”

“Or I’m just not prepared for unexpected trash pandas who raid my fridge,” he replied, crossing his arms, trying not to burst out laughing as you clung to Alpine for support, who purred loudly, delighted with the chaos.

“Fine, then!” you declared dramatically, patting Alpine’s head. “Alpine and I will fend for ourselves.” You turned on your heel (or tried to, at least), your balance giving out just slightly as you wobbled with an exaggerated sway. Alpine gave an encouraging “mrrp!” as if saying, Yes! Go forth!

Bucky finally took pity on you, grabbing a pint of actual ice cream from the freezer, waving it like a peace offering. “This? Will this make you happy, your highness?”

You lit up, the joy on your face as radiant as if he’d handed you a crown. “Now that’s more like it!” you cheered, taking the tub, your steps still swaying as you made your way to his couch.

Bucky followed you over, shaking his head as you sat down, giving Alpine a spot next to you. He sat down nearby, stifling a chuckle as you dug into the ice cream.

“So… just gonna crash here tonight, then?” he asked, leaning back with a smirk.

You waved the spoon dismissively, barely even looking up. “Obviously. And you, Bucky Barnes, need to get more ice cream. Greek yogurt’s just… depressing.”

He shook his head, chuckling. “Noted.”

You tore into the box of tissues, your frustration boiling over as you whipped open the plastic bag for trash with the precision of someone handling a life-or-death task. In one hand, you wielded the spoon like a weapon, in the other, a tissue you’d already shredded halfway. Bucky sat a few feet away, wide-eyed, clearly out of his depth. Alpine perched on the coffee table instead, her tail swishing in judgment, shooting Bucky a look that all but screamed, Fix this.

“You good there?” Bucky asked cautiously, his voice hesitant, like he wasn’t sure whether he should move closer or start looking for an escape route.

You let out a short, sharp laugh—bitter, too loud for the small space. “Good? Oh yeah, I’m great! I mean, how could I not be? My ex-boyfriend cheated on me with his assistant, who, surprise, also happens to be the same girl I fired for being utterly incompetent.”

Bucky, sitting stiffly on the couch, could only blink as you laughed. Not a gentle laugh, but one that bordered on hysteria, punctuated by short, sharp breaths. It wasn’t the kind of laugh that came from something funny; it was the kind that cracked through the tension when words couldn’t quite hold the weight of everything you were feeling.

“Oh, my God!” you exclaimed, raising your spoon as if to make a toast. “It’s just perfect, isn’t it? Fired her for being terrible at customer service, and what does she do? Rebounds as my boyfriend’s personal assistant. Like, how poetic is that?” You gestured with the tissue, accidentally flinging it onto the coffee table, but you didn’t stop. 

“And then—get this—she blames me for her low self-esteem! Like, excuse me for not sending her a gift basket after she slept with my boyfriend. I mean—” You let out a bark of laughter, shaking your head as tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You can’t make this stuff up!”

“And then tonight?” You gestured wildly with your spoon. “Tonight, I had to sit there, all smiles, pretending like everything was fine, because God forbid I let anyone think I’m not. And Carly—oh, Carly—had the audacity to act like she’s the victim. She felt bad about it! Isn’t that just hilarious?” You scooped another bite of ice cream, your laughter spilling out, sharp and brittle, filling the air like broken glass.

Bucky sat frozen, his jaw slightly ajar, his heart twisting as he watched you spiral. You leaned forward, still laughing, the sound echoing unnaturally in the quiet apartment. You looked absurd, sitting there with a tub of ice cream and tissues in hand, trying to force humor into something that was clearly tearing you apart.

“Y/N,” Bucky said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t seem to hear him, your laugh rising in pitch as you tilted your head back, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “It’s hilarious, really. Just the perfect little tragedy. I kind of saw it coming, you know? Rhys was always—”

“Y/N.” Bucky’s voice was firmer this time, cutting through the haze of your spiraling thoughts like a blade.

He moved off the couch, lowering himself to his knees in front of you, his steady blue eyes locking onto yours. The laughter caught in your throat as you met his gaze. There was no judgment in his expression, no pity—just an unwavering presence that felt like a lifeline. His gaze softened, like he was offering you something you weren’t sure how to accept.

“Just cry,” he said, his voice calm but resolute.

Your lips parted as if to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. The lump in your throat tightened, and for a moment, you thought you could hold it together. But the way he was looking at you—like you were the only person in the world—broke down every defense you’d spent the evening building.

“Don’t force yourself to laugh,” he added gently, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s okay to cry.”

Your smile wavered, trembling at the edges before fading completely. You looked away, the dam bursting as tears spilled over, hot and relentless. A shaky breath escaped you, and your hands fumbled with the tissue box, but they were trembling too much to hold anything.

Bucky let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced toward the closed bedroom door. He rarely, if ever, allowed anyone to see this side of him. Vulnerability wasn’t something he was used to sharing—especially not with his friends only a room away. But for you? He didn’t hesitate.

“Ah, screw it,” he muttered under his breath.

Alpine let out a soft “mrrp” of approval, watching as Bucky leaned forward, wrapping a careful arm around your smaller frame. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, letting you bury your face against his chest. His touch was gentle but grounding, the steady rhythm of his breathing anchoring you as you finally let yourself break.

He rested his chin lightly on top of your head, his other hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back. The weight of your head against his chest grounded him as much as he hoped it comforted you.

Alpine, perched on the coffee table, watched with what could only be described as smug satisfaction, her tail flicking contentedly.

Bucky’s awkwardness melted away bit by bit as he felt your breathing begin to even out against him. He let out a soft sigh, glancing down at you. Alpine’s watchful gaze was fixed on him, as if daring him to get this right. Bucky cleared his throat, searching for the right words, feeling more vulnerable than he’d admit.

“You know… you’re stronger than you think,” he said, his thumb grazing your shoulder without him realizing. “You take on so much, and you do it with so much grace. Even when you don’t have to.”

Your breath caught, and you lifted your head to meet his gaze, his blue eyes soft but unwavering.

“I know you don’t need me or anyone else to tell you how incredible you are. But, just… let someone see it, will you? Because you… you deserve that. And I mean every damn word.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you felt a rare sense of peace, your heart light in a way it hadn’t felt in so long. Bucky looked at you, his expression softening further as he took in the sight of your smile, his own heart skipping a beat.

Just as the warmth of Bucky’s words started to sink in, your phone erupted with an insistent buzz, breaking the peaceful moment. You glanced down to see Rhys’ name flashing on the screen. You groaned, but before you could even react, Bucky had snatched the phone from your hand, holding it up as it vibrated relentlessly.

On the fourth ring, Bucky pressed "answer," bringing the phone to his ear with a calm confidence that sent a thrill through you, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm.

“Rhys right? You know, she’s a little busy right now…” he greeted, the single word laced with a tension that could cut glass. “Here’s the deal: you’re gonna stop calling her. Got that?”

You watched, wide-eyed, as Bucky ended the call without waiting for a response and promptly shut off the phone. He set it down with an air of finality, his gaze meeting yours. Before you could form a coherent thought, a loud knock echoed through the apartment, making you both jump slightly.

“Y/N? I know you’re in there.” The voice outside was unmistakable—Rhys.

Your stomach churned as Bucky’s eyes flicked to the door, his jaw tightening.

“What the hell?” he muttered, standing up, his posture instantly tense.

“Bucky…” you started, but he raised a hand, silencing you with a look.

The knock came again, harder this time, followed by Rhys’ impatient voice. “Come on, Y/N, open the door! Let’s talk.”

Alpine, perched on the coffee table, let out an annoyed hiss, her tail flicking sharply as if she shared Bucky’s distaste for the situation. Bucky moved toward the door with deliberate steps, glancing briefly at the bedroom where Sam, Steve, and Nat were undoubtedly eavesdropping.

“Stay here,” Bucky instructed, his voice low and commanding. You watched as he reached for the door, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring.

The door creaked open, revealing Rhys standing in the dim hallway, his expression a mix of desperation and annoyance.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky’s voice was dangerously quiet, but the threat beneath it was clear.

Rhys crossed his arms, his gaze darting past Bucky into the apartment. “I’m here to talk to Y/N. This is between me and her, so if you don’t mind…”

“Oh, I mind,” Bucky shot back, stepping further into the doorway, blocking your view. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“You don’t speak for her,” Rhys snapped, his voice rising. “Y/N!” he shouted, his voice cracking with frustration. “You can’t avoid me forever!”

The tension in the room was palpable, and you stood frozen, torn between staying put and stepping in. But before you could decide, Rhys’ voice dropped, and the words that followed sent a chill down your spine.

“I know what you’re hiding.”

Bucky’s entire body stiffened, his hand tightening on the edge of the door. His head tilted slightly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel the shift in his demeanor. The calm before the storm.

“Excuse me?” Bucky’s voice was low, deadly.

Rhys scoffed, his tone dripping with false confidence, voice low while glancing shortly at you. “Don’t play dumb. I know about the Emporium. And I know about you.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, your breath catching as Rhys’ words hung in the air like a grenade waiting to explode. Alpine let out a sharp, warning hiss, her tail flicking wildly.

“Y/N,” Bucky called over his shoulder, his voice steady but laced with coldness that made your blood run cold. “Go to my room.”

“What? Why—”

“Now.”

The finality in his tone left no room for argument, and with a wobble in your step and the slight haze of alcohol still clouding your mind, you retreated into the hallway. 

You staggered slightly, catching yourself on the wall as your eyes darted toward the only other door in sight: Bucky’s bedroom. Your curiosity—or perhaps your drunken instincts—propelled you forward. You weren’t sure why, but something about the tension in Bucky’s voice and the way he’d so urgently told you to leave made your heart pound faster.

The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly as you approached the door, your hand reaching out hesitantly toward the doorknob. You heard a faint shuffle from behind it—too faint for you to process fully in your current state—but enough to make you pause. Your fingers hovered above the cool metal, trembling slightly.

The voices from the other room grew louder for a moment before falling eerily silent, the tension almost palpable even through the walls. Your breath hitched as you gripped the doorknob tighter, the faintest click of the mechanism echoing in the stillness of the hallway.

The door began to give under your push.

Inside, Steve, Sam, and Nat froze mid-whisper, their eyes darting toward the door as it inched open.

tags: @winchestert101 @lomlbuckybarnes @lveegsoi @itsshellzy @almosttoopizza

@aami98 @hextech-bros @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @infqnitysblog

@ayayaeyato @blackbirdwitch22 @mostlymarvelgirl @bohoooitsme @crdgn

@yiiiikesmish @jae0515 @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @nikey-no-likey @aami98

@almosttoopizza @wisteriaandwafers @yiiiikesmish @marvelavengerspovs1 @xunquish-blog

@ppbhquinn @ziawbarnes @scott-loki-barnes @let-it-sn0o0ow @seven0714

@lostinspace33 @clockworkballerina @bonnie-bun

[literaryavenger]

Can I be him?

Summary: When Bucky finds something of yours, he hopes against hope that you feel the same way about him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language cause it's me. Fluff. A lot of angst. Idiots in love. Self-deprecating thoughts, both reader and Bucky. No use of Y/N. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 4.8K

A/N: It’s 3am where I live, so… Happy 107th Birthday to my favorite Supersoldier! Today I’m posting 2 Bucky fics because my baby deserves it, this one and another one sometime around the afternoon. Hope someone likes it! Thank you to my angels @ordelixx and @mrsbuckybarnes1917 that gave me so many ideas that helped me finish this. I love you🖤

Masterlist

Being an Avenger is not easy.

The long missions, the intense training, the weight of the world on your shoulders…

Everybody on the team has a different way to unwind after a mission: Steve draws, Clint and Natasha compete doing target practice, Thor sleeps, Sam plays video games, Bucky takes motorcycle rides, Tony and Bruce work on side projects in their lab, Loki reads, Peter does his homework and Wanda cooks with Vision.

For you, it’s going to the rose garden behind the Compound.

It’s a bit of a sanctuary for you, Tony allowed you to put tall hedges of roses with a gazebo-like structure in the middle of them facing the lake, only it’s entirely made of vines.

You made it yourself, that’s your power: you can manipulate anything plant-related. 

Everytime you finish a mission the team splits up as soon as the debriefing is over and you walk straight here.

You sit on the bench, also made of vines, take out your diary and start writing.

You write about everything, from details of missions to your feelings about the team. From things you did that you don’t want to forget to things that you want to do after you’re not so tired anymore.

The hedges hide you from view and the only thing you can see when you’re here is the lake.

Sometimes, after a particular difficult mission, you don’t even write. You just sit there and look out into the water, the sunshine or moonlight shining down on you, and you feel at peace.

It helps that nobody else ever comes here. The team understands it’s your safe space, and the agents are mostly scared of your powers ever since you grew a giant carnivorous plant and it bit an agent that squeezed your ass during training. 

The agent got both taken to the medbay and suspended on the same day, and you got the thanks of about a dozen girls that had the same problem with the same asshole.

You walk out of the conference room, the debriefing of the team’s latest mission just wrapped up, and like usual everyone scatters to their own after-mission ritual.

Today, though, you can’t concentrate on anything.

Your feet take you to the rose garden by reflex, but your brain doesn’t even register you’re there until you sit on the bench.

Today’s mission took a lot out of you, not just because of the amount of magic you had to use to get everyone out safely, but also because it was your fault the team was in so much danger in the first place.

You fucked up your task, Natasha had to step in and save your ass, moving away from her post and making her late for her own task and that derailed the entire mission.

At the end, you had to use your powers to take out the hundreds of Hydra agents at the same time, which is no small feat and made you almost pass out.

Everybody told you on the way home not to worry, the mission was successfully accomplished and everyone made it out safely, but you know that if it wasn’t for your screw up the team would’ve gotten in and out of base without so much as a scratch. 

Nobody had fatal injuries, thank God, but Sam got shot in the leg, Clint got stabbed and everyone else had various degrees of injuries because Hydra got the jump on the team.

Because of me.

That was all you kept thinking about. Your brain had a field day making up all kinds of scenarios where your mistake cost someone’s life, a few of them even had the entire team dying because of your stupidity. 

You were so caught up in your head that you didn’t even notice someone following you to the rose garden.

Not that you ever do. 

If there’s one thing Bucky Barnes knows how to do, is move around undetected. He’s a master assassin, he was trained for this for over 50 years, he knows how to be a shadow.

Except now he uses his skills for good during missions and, occasionally, to follow you.

Not in a creepy way, of course, just to check on you. At least that’s the excuse he always uses so he won’t have to admit to himself that what he does is, indeed, a little creepy.

But he can’t help himself, Bucky knew from the moment he saw you that he was fucked. 

The moment you walked into the room to meet the team his heart was yours. You stole it with one simple smile, with one look of your beautiful eyes.

You introduced yourself and shook hands with everyone, but when you looked at Bucky he felt like a light came on and it was just you two.

You shook his hand and he felt like he had to take it off and give it to you, it was yours now. His hand, his arm, his leg, his head, his heart, his soul. Everything he is was now yours, he just knew it.

Then you said his name and he could’ve died right there and then. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, and it was barely two syllables. Every word you said, every laugh and sound that came out of your pretty mouth, Bucky felt like it was all for him. Nobody else mattered.

Bucky knew then he was in love.

But he didn’t know how to approach you. You were like a fairy, like a princess. Growing flowers, always smiling, baking, growing everyone’s favorite flowers and always willing to help, like growing Aloe when Wanda burned herself cooking, or Chamomile to help with Tony’s anxiety, or Valerian roots whenever someone was feeling down. 

You were like sunshine and he was terrified he’d kill your light. But he’d be damned if he’d let the world kill it either, he’d protect you with his life.

So he took to following you, making sure you were safe from a distance.

But it’s not like he never talked to you, the more time you spent with the team the more comfortable Bucky got around you and eventually you became friends.

Bucky knew you could take care of yourself, you were one of the strongest members of the team, but he didn’t like it when you were in your rose garden by yourself. The tall hedges made it impossible to see incoming danger, so he kept an eye on you just to be sure.

For his own piece of mind. And you never saw him.

That was Bucky’s actual way to unwind after a mission.

He’d tell everybody he was going for a ride on his bike, but he’d drive it through the woods around the compound and to the other side of the lake where he’d have a perfect view of you without you knowing. 

Deep down he knew it was a little creepy, he could just ask you if he could join you, but he felt like you needed your time alone without anyone else around, and he knew if he asked you, you’d say yes no matter what you were feeling, because that’s just the kind of person you are.

So Bucky watched you from afar, always careful not to be seen. He watched you write for hours, it relaxed him to see your beautiful face so concentrated.

Sometimes you’d laugh quietly at what you were writing and those were the only times Bucky was grateful for the supersoldier serum that allowed him to hear such a beautiful sound even with so much distance between you.

But it was torture for him when he knew you had a bad day. Sometimes you’d hug your knees and cry, Bucky could tell how much you’d need a hug, and it killed him that he couldn’t just walk up to you and hug you.

Everytime he sees you cry his heart breaks a little and he always tries to make you feel better when you walk back inside. He doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, he just tries to make you laugh. But all he wanted to do was dry your tears.

You did notice Bucky always seemed to act a little goofy when you're feeling down, like he somehow knew, but you never thought much of it.

You knew he was a very observant person, so you assumed he just saw your mood through your behavior better than most.

Bucky loves hanging out with you, even if it’s just as friends. You make fun of him like with everyone else, you don’t treat him like could explode at any moment, never walking on eggshells around him like most people do.

You’ve never been afraid of him, and he’s glad that you don’t treat him like glass. You treat him like everyone else, and it makes him feel normal.

Everytime time he hangs out with you, you take him back to a time where he was unbroken. You make him feel alive again.

And he falls more in love with you by the second because of it. You’re all he wants, he wants to have you and kiss your lips and never let anyone hurt you. That’s all he can think about, but he knows that’s not gonna happen.

He heard you talk to Natasha and Wanda, heard that there’s someone you’d gone on a few dates with. But Bucky knows that guy doesn’t deserve you, nobody does.

Even Bucky himself doesn’t deserve you, you’re too pure for anyone in this world, but if there’s someone that has any chance of making you happy, Bucky prays to God that that someone is him.

Bucky knows today’s mission shook you deeply. He knows you blame yourself, and no amount of reassurance will make you believe that everything is okay.

So today, for the first time, Bucky actually follows you. He can see your unfocused eyes even as you walk and he wants to be near you, just in case.

He almost walks to you when you curl up on the bench and start sobbing quietly, but he holds back not wanting to startle or upset you further.

He just listens to your soft cries until you stop and compose yourself. You sigh and get up, walking back to the Compound to take a much needed relaxing shower.

But you’re still so much in your own head that you don’t even notice you left your diary on the bench in the gazebo. 

Bucky did notice, though.

He’s tempted to call after you and tell you, but something deep down tells him not to. He waits until you’re gone and then walks to the bench, picking up your diary and opening it.

He doesn’t know why, he knows it’s wrong, these are your private thoughts, but he’s just drawn to it for some reason.

When he starts reading he notices you don’t mention any specific names, which makes sense because only you read it, you know who you’re writing about. He reads a page here and there, reading about your missions or lazy days. 

He reads about some memories with the team you wrote about, some he remembers and others he probably wasn’t there for, but seeing all these memories from your point of view does something to him.

It makes him feel connected to you, makes him feel like he’s reading your heart and soul, because he kind of is. Then he reads something that captures his attention completely. 

You write about eyes blue like the ocean and just as troubled, about a smile that could light up the world. You write about someone with a complicated past that never lost his spark, never lost his love for life. 

A man that went through hell, and never once took it out on the world. A man that didn’t ever blame the world, even when he had every right to, choosing instead to protect it. 

You filled pages and pages with everything you admire about this man, everything you love about him that you know he hates. 

And Bucky feels like every word you wrote, you wrote for him. But could this be him? Could he be the one you talk about in all your stories?

He wants to. He wants this to be him. He prays you’re talking about him. He wishes this could be him… Who is he kidding?

Of course it’s not me. 

It’s probably the guy you’ve been dating. Yeah, that’s it. You’re in love with that guy, that much is clear. 

Bucky gets to the page where you write about your dates with the guy, but he can’t read them.

He closes the diary, not knowing that you compared your date to Bucky every step of the way. Not knowing that you granted the guy a second date just to be sure he couldn’t compare to Bucky, and went on a third date at a coffee shop just to let him down gently.

Bucky didn’t read how you know he’s the one for you, he didn’t read his own name written in your handwriting, the only name in your whole diary because he’s the only person you never want to forget, even though you know you never will.

But Bucky didn’t read that.

He puts your diary back where it was on the bench and, with his heart broken and his hope that one day you could be his lost, he goes back inside and to his room.

It’s only when you go back to the rose garden after your shower that you notice you left your diary there, but don’t think much of it. Nobody ever comes here anyway, as far as you know.

After finding out you’re in love with someone else, Bucky can’t stop himself from acting differently towards you, which you don’t fail to notice.

It’s not like he’s mean, but your interactions get shorter, like he tries his best to end the conversation quickly.

He no longer sits close to you, no longer tries to make you laugh when you’re feeling down, doesn’t hang out with you as much during your down time and if he does, it’s never just the two of you anymore.

It’s silly to say, but you miss him.

Bucky knows he’s been distancing himself, he knows you’ve noticed and he can see it’s affecting you, but he’s doing this to protect himself.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before you present your boyfriend to the team, the man you’re in love with and he doesn’t want it to hurt more than necessary.

You decide not to push Bucky, knowing he has his reasons to pull away from you. Maybe he’s just trying to deal with all the stress the team’s been under and you don’t want to add any more to that, so you let him be.

A few weeks later the team’s on their sixth mission in just as many days and everyone is exhausted. You’ve been taking down Hydra base after Hydra base, because waiting too long meant losing your chance to shut down their operations for good before they got the opportunity to leave.

You’ve been dividing in smaller teams to take down the bases while still giving the team a chance to recuperate, but this last one was the biggest and required the whole team together, which sucked for you because you were in the last team with Steve and Bucky that took down a base just yesterday, so the three of you got barely a few hours of sleep while you flew to the last base.

You’ve cleared the base, all that’s left is the agents in the courtyard who are really going down fighting. The whole team is outside now, the Hydra agents giving you a hell of a fight. You’re using your magic against your better judgment, giant vines coming out of your arms like whips, covered in poisonous thorns. One touch of that and anyone would go down immediately, everyone except you.

Or at least that’s what you think.

As you’re fighting you can see an agent trying to sneak up on Bucky who’s fighting near you, so you quickly take care of it for him.

Bucky turns around and sees the agent down and then looks at you with that charming smile you fell in love with and winks at you. “Thank you, doll.”

That’s the friendliest Bucky’s been towards you in weeks and you can’t help but smile back with a small blush.

You can see the last agent standing coming at you from your peripheral vision and you quickly whip him with a vine, taking him down as soon as you can so you can turn back to look at Bucky, still smiling at you.

Bucky’s smile drops quickly, though, as he sees your face draining of any color. You barely have the time to register the sting of your own thorn on your arm that you’re already falling to the ground.

Bucky tries to catch you, but he gets thrown back by your magic that goes into defense mode, creating a wall of thorns to protect your now unconscious body.

The team doesn't know what to do, none of them know enough about plants to be sure that these thorns wouldn’t just kill them all.

The only one that would know that is you, the person that’s passed out, or worse, trapped in the midst of a cocoon of thorns.

“Okay, we need to find a safe way to-” Steve starts but cuts himself off almost immediately. “What are you doing?!”

Bucky doesn’t even turn around to answer, too intent on breaking the thorns around you with his metal arm, not caring that the thorns are ripping his clothes and scratching his face, all he can think about is getting to you.

He finally manages to get through to you, but nobody can follow because your magic regrows the thorns Bucky broke, trapping him with you inside the cocoon.

But Bucky doesn’t care, his eyes never leaving your face as he kneels behind you, running a finger softly along your cheek and shivering when he feels your skin is cold as ice.

His mind goes to the worst possibility, that there’s nothing he can do, but his brain gives him some hope reasoning that your magic wouldn’t be working if you were dead.

Right?

He snaps out of his thoughts when he feels the thorns around you vibrate, he takes you in his arms and shields you with his body from whatever is about to happen.

But the only thing that happens is the shade cast by the thorns gets replaced by sunlight. Bucky looks up and realizes Wanda used her magic to lift the thorn cocoon.

“You couldn’t have done that before?!” Bucky barks at Wanda with a glare while carefully picking you up to take you to the Quinjet.

“She’s not the dumbass that threw himself headfirst in a mess of thorns without even considering another course of action!” Natasha came in Wanda’s defense, though she seemed more amused at Bucky’s antics than annoyed.

As the team heads back home in the jet, Bruce examines you and lets the team know you’re still alive but in a sort of coma.

Their relief is cut short when Bruce makes it known that he has no idea when, or if, you’ll wake up.

As soon as the Quinjet lands you’re taken to the medbay and hooked up to machines, an IV in your arm to keep you hydrated.

Bucky holds your hand through it all, staying all night next to you just in case you wake up. He didn’t want you to be freaked out and alone, he wanted to be the first person to see your beautiful eyes open.

When morning comes, though, you’re still unconscious, but Bucky doesn’t lose hope. You probably need a good sleep.

That’s what he tells himself for two, three, four days.

That’s what he keeps telling himself for a week, two weeks. Never once leaving your side, not eating unless Steve brings him food and makes sure he eats before leaving, and using the bathroom of your room in the medbay.

He barely sleeps and, when he does, he dreams of you.

Everyone was getting worried about him, he refused to leave your side until one day Steve came into your room to tell Bucky there was something wrong with your rose garden.

Bucky was torn between staying with you and seeing what Steve was talking about, but decided that it would kill you if something happened to your roses so he had to make sure everything was okay when you woke up.

Because you’re going to wake up.

Bucky follows Steve to your rose garden, and his eyes widen in horror as soon as he sees it. The roses, the hedges, the vines.

Everything is dying.

Bucky’s heart breaks, only one thought in his mind. If your plants are dying, does that mean you’re slowly dying too?

No. That’s unacceptable. You’re not gonna die, not if Bucky has anything to do with it.

He takes it upon himself to take care of your garden, watering it and doing everything he can to keep the roses and vines alive, fooling himself into believing that this will keep you alive.

He stays on the gazebo day and night, sleeping on the bench, spending every waking moment trying to keep a hold of even the smallest part of you.

But it’s not enough. Nothing is enough.

Bucky loses track of how many days he’s been in your garden, sleeping maybe an hour at a time here and there, watering the roses every few hours and crying the rest of the time.

After all it’s his fault, if he hadn’t distracted you none of this would’ve happened. You’d be in your beautiful garden, probably with your boyfriend, and the only broken thing would be Bucky’s heart.

That he could’ve lived with. 

But how can he live with the knowledge that he caused your end? That he killed your light? That he killed his sunshine, his hope, the love of his life? He can’t live with that.

Not that he has to.

While Bucky’s spiraling while surrounded by dying roses, inside your room in the medbay you’re finally waking up after almost a month.

You open your eyes slowly, looking around you at the hospital-like room. There’s nobody around and, as you look at the window, you can see it’s really late at night.

You sit up and try to make sense of what happened while rubbing your eyes. The last thing you remember is Bucky’s bright smile, and then nothing.

You look down at your arm and see an IV, which you take out while frowning. How long have you been sleeping?

You carefully get off the bed and make your way outside to your rose garden, just to be sure everything’s okay. It’s not like anyone’s gonna stop you anyway.

When you get close, the moonlight shines on the hedges and you gasp at what you see. Your beautiful roses withering away, the gazebo made of vines dying too.

But the most confusing thing is the sobs coming from the bench, although no one’s sitting on it.

You get closer and see Bucky sitting in front of the bench while hugging his knees and crying softly. You frown and get a little closer before stopping, not wanting to startle him.

“Bucky…” You say quietly and his head snaps up, his eyes instantly meeting yours.

For a moment it feels like he’s trying to decide if you’re real, he reaches out and you extend your hand to take his. That seems to convince him and he gasps.

“Doll…” His voice is barely above a whisper, almost as if he thinks if he makes too much noise you’ll disappear.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him while getting a little closer to him, concern clear in your every feature.

It’s only when you get closer that you see his face full of cuts and you frown. Those are not just any scratches, it’s clear to you that they were made by thorns. “D-did… Did I do this to you?” 

You’re kneeling in front of him now, one hand still in his one the other comes up to trace the cuts in his face softly, but he takes your hand in his and kisses your palm.

“I’m okay…” He reassures you.

Just then he realizes, you’re fussing over him when you’re the one that’s been in a coma for a month. “Are you okay? How long have you been awake?” 

“I… I just woke up.” You tell him honestly, then look around at the dying roses and vines before looking back at him. “What happened to me?”

“You got stung by one of your poisonous thorns.” He says quietly, his thumbs rubbing circles on your skin while he refuses to let go of you. “You’ve been unconscious for almost a month.”

“A month?!” You’re shocked at the news, not knowing what to say or do, so you just stay there while letting the information sink in. The silence is broken by Bucky after a minute.

“I’m sorry about your roses… I tried to keep them alive, but…” He looks around with a hopeless expression. “I failed you.”

Your heart breaks a little. Does he really think he failed you?

You take a deep breath, then close your eyes and when you open them again a second later everything’s back to normal. The roses are as beautiful as ever, the gazebo just as majestic. It’s like nothing ever happened.

Bucky looks around in awe when he feels you take his chin and you make him look at you.

“You could never fail me.” You say firmly, wanting him to understand you mean it. You look at the cuts around his face and you can’t help the guilt and pain that you feel deep within you. “I’m sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” It’s like Bucky can read your thoughts, he knows all you can see are your faults, and he wants you to know he doesn’t blame you for anything. “You weren’t even conscious. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I never wanted to be one of the people that hurt you…” Your voice is a whisper as a tear escapes you. “The world hurt you so much already… I never wanted to be part of that. You don’t deserve it.”

Bucky frowns. He feels like he’s heard those words, but where? No, he didn’t hear them. He read them. He read them in your diary, where you wrote about the man you’re in love with. Could it be possible?

Could I be him?

“It’s me…” He says lower than a whisper, his eyes locked on yours, and it’s your time to be confused now.

“What?” You ask him with a frown while wiping your cheeks.

“It’s me you’re in love with.” His voice is a little louder, but firm. He’s not asking you, he’s making a statement.

Your eyes widen in surprise, you almost take your hands away from his but his hold prevents you from doing that.

“I-I… What?” Is all you can bring yourself to say, confused as to why he’s so sure of it. Are you really that transparent?

“I read your diary…” Bucky says, guilt written all over his face, but at least he’s owning up to it. “You wrote about the man you love… and you wrote the same thing you just told me. It’s me, isn’t it? You love me back?” His voice is more hopeful now, his confident demeanor weavering.

“You… You read my diary?” You say, your mind still playing catch up.

It’s only a moment later that you register the ‘love me back’ and you don’t give him a chance to apologize or justify himself before you’re speaking again. “You love me?!” 

Bucky hesitates a moment but nods firmly. “I love you, doll. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you.” 

You feel like someone punched you and all the air has left your body. You have no idea what to say, so you don’t say anything.

Instead you lean in and kiss him.

Bucky wastes no time kissing you back, but a thought pops into his mind and he reluctantly pulls back. “What about your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” You frown again, having no idea what he’s talking about. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t?” Bucky feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders and he pulls you to straddle him. “What about the guy you went on a few dates with?”

You narrow your eyes at him but decide to table the conversation about how he knows that for another time, so you smile at him and decide to just be honest with him.

“Do you honestly think that anyone could ever measure up to you? Because if you do, you’re an idiot.” Bucky grins and kisses you again. 

Maybe he is an idiot. But when he’s the idiot you’re in love with, how much of an idiot can he really be?

It looks like he can be him after all.

[mandoalorian]

crimson fever [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Synopsis: In the icy shadows of 1944 occupied Europe, you uncover a dangerous Hydra secret that could shift the war’s tide. But Hydra’s ruthless scientist, Arnim Zola, marks you as a threat, unleashing a sinister drug—“crimson fever”—that set your body and soul ablaze with an unrelenting desire. As you fight to protect vital intel, your path collides with Sergeant Bucky Barnes, your childhood friend from Brooklyn, whose unspoken love for you burns brighter than the war’s chaos.

Warnings: 18+ explicit, smut, sex pollen that comes with themes of dub-con, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, exhibitionism sorta, reader is drugged via injectables, descriptions of pain, canon typical violence, torture, one use of Y/N, Winter Soldier foreshadowing.

Word Count: 6700

Author's note: Thank you to @notreallythatlost for helping me with all the German translations. I love youuu. ღ

ᯓ★ Masterlist

✮ PROJECT: WINTER SOLDIER ✮

Objective: Develop a serum enhancing physical strength, endurance, and healing, surpassing the Allied “Super Soldier” serum used on Captain America. The serum is paired with psychological conditioning.

Methods: Subjects— prisoners, captured soldiers, “recruited” operatives undergo experimental injections and brutal brainwashing techniques including sensory deprivation, electroshock, and chemical inducements to break their minds.

Timeline: Initial trials are active in an underground facility, in occupied France. Production to be scaled by 1945. Report to Johann Schmidt.

Der Winter Soldier wird die Zukunft von Hydra sein. (The Winter Soldier will be Hydra’s future.)

You hunched over the decrypted Hydra message, your eyes burning from hours of work, fingers smudged with pencil lead. The office buzzed with quiet urgency—typewriters clacked, a radio hissed static, and your fellow codebreakers murmured over their own stacks of intercepts. You’d been at it since dawn, unraveling Hydra’s coded transmissions, each one a puzzle that could save lives or lose them. Your role as a linguist, fluent in German and trained in cryptography, made you vital to the Allies, but tonight, the weight of what you’d uncovered felt like a stone in your chest.

“Carter, you need to see this,” you called, your voice sharp, cutting through the room’s hum. You pushed your chair back, the wood scraping the floor, and held up the decrypted page, its typed German translated into your neat handwriting. Your heart raced, the words searing your mind: Projekt Winter Soldier.

Peggy Carter, poised in her tailored ATS uniform, strode over, her heels clicking on the hardwood. Her dark eyes flicked to the paper, then to you, sharp and assessing. “What’ve you got?” she asked, voice crisp but laced with concern.

You swallowed, pointing to the key lines. “It’s Hydra. Something called ‘Project Winter Soldier.’ They’re experimenting—on people, not just weapons. It mentions a serum, like what they used on Captain Rogers, but… different. They want to create operatives with no will, no memory. ‘Perfect obedience,’ they call it.” Your voice trembled, and you tapped a name scrawled at the bottom. “Signed by Arnim Zola. He’s running it.”

Peggy’s jaw tightened, her fingers brushing the paper. “Zola,” she muttered, disgust curling her lips. “That man’s a butcher with a scientist’s ego.” She scanned the text, her expression hardening. “This is big. If they’re building mind-controlled soldiers…”

“It’s worse,” you interrupted, voice low, glancing at the other codebreakers—two women, heads down, oblivious. “They’re testing it now. Somewhere in France. Prisoners, maybe captured soldiers. They mention a ‘prototype’ and… something about breaking their minds first.”

Peggy’s eyes met yours, a silent understanding passing between you. “We need to get this to Colonel Phillips. Tonight.” She turned, barking at the codebreakers. “Eleanor, Joan, wrap up and secure the files. We’re locking down.”

You nodded, heart pounding, but a flicker of pride warmed you. You’d cracked this, you’d found the truth. You thought of Bucky Barnes, your old friend from Brooklyn—his cocky grin, the way he’d sneak you comics, the almost-kiss on that Coney Island pier in ’39. He was out there with Captain Rogers, fighting Hydra. This intel could help him, keep him safe. You tucked the thought away, focusing on the task, and began gathering your notes.

The door crashed open, wood splintering, and you froze. Four Hydra soldiers stormed in, black uniforms stark against the office’s warmth, their rifles gleaming with that eerie blue glow of Hydra tech. Peggy spun, drawing her pistol, but a soldier fired, a blast of energy grazing her arm. She hissed, diving behind a cabinet.

“[Y/N], get down!” Peggy shouted, but you were already moving, shoving the Winter Soldier intel into your blouse, your hands shaking. The codebreakers screamed, scrambling for cover, and you ducked behind the desk, heart hammering. The soldiers barked in German, their voices harsh.

“Die Linguistin! Bringt sie mir lebend!” one ordered—The linguist! Take her alive!—and your blood ran cold. They wanted you. Your codes, your knowledge, or… the intel you’d just found.

You grabbed a letter opener, its dull blade a pitiful weapon, and crouched, peering through the desk’s gap. A soldier loomed closer, his boots thudding, and you lunged, stabbing his thigh. He roared, backhanding you, and pain exploded across your cheek, knocking you to the floor. The room spun, but you scrambled up, clutching the desk, only to feel iron hands seize your arms.

“No!” you yelled, thrashing, but the soldiers pinned you, their grips bruising. Peggy fired from cover, dropping one, but another blasted the cabinet, forcing her back. You kicked, aiming for a groin, and connected, earning a grunt, but a rifle butt slammed your temple, and darkness flickered at your vision’s edge.

“Enough,” a new voice said, cold and precise, cutting through the chaos. Arnim Zola stepped into the room, his small frame dwarfed by the soldiers but radiating menace. His round glasses glinted in the bulb’s light, and his smile was a thin, cruel line. “Fräulein, you are far too valuable to kill.”

You glared, blood trickling from your lip, the intel paper crinkling against your skin. “You’ll get nothing from me,” you spat, voice hoarse but defiant.

Zola chuckled, a dry, hollow sound. “Oh, we shall see.” He nodded to the soldiers. “Take her to the transport. We have… experiments to conduct.”

A soldier jabbed a syringe into your neck, and a sharp sting gave way to a creeping warmth, a sedative, dulling your senses. You fought to stay conscious, to memorise Zola’s face, his words. “Winter Soldier…” you mumbled, half-delirious, and Zola’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise.

“Secure her,” he snapped, and the soldiers dragged you toward the door, your legs buckling. Peggy’s shouting your name followed you, but the world blurred, and you were gone, the intel tucked against your heart, a secret you’d guard with everything you had.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You’d been gone for weeks, a fact that gnawed at Bucky Barnes like a wound he couldn’t stitch. He stood against the command post’s wall, dog tags clinking under his olive-drab jacket, his eyes scanning a corkboard plastered with mission lists, reconnaissance photos, and urgent telegrams. His fingers, calloused from gripping a sniper rifle, hovered over a typed sheet, and then froze.

Your name stared back at him, stark in black ink: Allied Linguist, Captured, Hydra Facility, Occupied France.

His breath caught, sharp and painful, like a blade between ribs. You—his friend from Brooklyn, the girl who’d steal his cap and run, laughing, through Prospect Park, the one he’d nearly kissed under Coney Island’s Ferris wheel in ’39—were in Hydra’s hands.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered under his breath. He ripped the paper from the board, the pin clattering to the floor, and his hand trembled, betraying the storm inside. Memories flooded him: summer nights on your stoop, your hair tucked under a scarf, teasing him about his latest dame. But truthfully, he only had eyes for you.

“You’ll run outta girls to charm, Barnes,” you’d said, smirking, but your eyes had softened, holding something he’d been too dumb to name.

He’d leaned in, heart pounding, only for Steve’s call to break the moment. Then the war came, you to London cracking codes, him to the front with Steve, and letters faded. Now, Hydra had you, and the thought of you in Zola’s grip—Zola, whose name he’d heard tied to twisted experiments, made his stomach churn.

“Hey, Buck, what’s got you lookin’ like you swallowed a grenade?” Steve Rogers’ voice cut through, steady but concerned. He stood across the room, all Captain America in his blue jacket, leaning over a map with Colonel Phillips. His blond hair caught the dim light, but his eyes locked on Bucky, reading the tension in his friend’s stance.

Bucky strode over, boots thudding on the creaky floor, and slapped the list onto the map, scattering pencils. “It’s her, Steve,” he said, voice tight, low, like he was holding back a shout. “From Brooklyn. You remember her—used to tag along with us, always givin’ me hell.” He swallowed, jaw clenching. “Hydra’s got her. Says she’s a linguist, crackin’ their codes. She’s in one of their damn facilities.”

Steve’s eyes widened, flicking to the list, then back to Bucky. His memory was sparking. “The one who’d sneak us into the library after hours? Yeah, I remember.” He straightened, voice firming. “She’s tough, Buck. But Hydra…”

“She’s more than tough,” Bucky snapped, then caught himself, running a hand through his dark hair. “She’s… she’s family, Steve. And you know what Hydra does…” His voice cracked, and he gripped the table, knuckles whitening. “We gotta get her out. Now.”

Colonel Phillips, puffing a cigar, looked up with a scowl, his weathered face etched with irritation. “Sergeant Barnes, we’ve got ops stacked to the ceiling,” he growled, exhaling smoke. “Hydra’s got captives everywhere—this linguist ain’t our priority.”

“She is to me,” Bucky retorted, his voice low but fierce, eyes boring into Phillips. “Sir, she’s got intel—Hydra’s codes, maybe more. She cracked somethin’ big before they took her. Losin’ her gives them an edge.” It was a half-truth; he’d burn the world for you, intel or not, but he knew Phillips needed a reason.

Steve studied Bucky, seeing the truth—the kind of loyalty that went beyond duty, rooted in Brooklyn’s streets, in quiet moments you’d shared. “Colonel,” Steve said, voice calm but unyielding, “the Howling Commandos can handle this. We hit the facility, get her out, and cripple Hydra’s operation. Two birds, one stone.”

Phillips grunted, stabbing his cigar into the ashtray. “Fine, Rogers. But if this goes south, it’s your ass.” He waved them off, turning to an aide, already dismissing the matter.

Bucky exhaled, tension easing a fraction, but his heart still raced, pounding with fear for you. He met Steve’s gaze, a silent thank-you passing between them. “We’ll get her, Buck,” Steve said, clapping his shoulder. “Promise.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, voice rough, folding the list and tucking it into his pocket, next to a faded photo—you, him, and Steve at Coney Island, 1939, your smile bright as the summer sun. He headed for the door, the room’s chaos—officers shouting, radio static—fading behind him. Outside, the Howling Commandos lounged near a jeep, cleaning rifles and trading jabs in the grey dawn.

“Sarge, what’s the word?” Dum Dum Dugan called, his mustache twitching as he tossed a flask to Gabe Jones, who caught it with a grin.

Bucky held up the folded list, his sergeant’s calm settling over him like armour, though his voice carried an edge. “We got a job,” he said, eyes scanning the team—Gabe, Jim Morita, Monty Falsworth, Jacques Dernier. “Hydra’s holdin’ one of ours—a linguist, key to their codes. She’s in a facility in France. We’re hittin’ it, gettin’ her out, and blowin’ the place to hell.” He paused, his grip tightening on the paper. “She’s from my neighborhood. Means somethin’ to me. You in?”

Gabe nodded, his smile fading to seriousness. “Always, Barnes.”

Dum Dum cracked his knuckles, grinning. “Hell, Sarge, let’s give them a mornin’ they won’t forget.”

Jacques smirked, twirling a knife. “Pour la France,” he said, voice low, and Jim and Monty murmured agreement, their faces set.

Bucky forced a smirk, but his mind was on you—alone, maybe hurt, fighting Zola’s experiments with that fire he’d always admired. He touched the photo in his pocket, your face burned into his memory, and whispered, so quiet no one heard, “Hold on, doll. I’m comin’ for you.”

The words were a vow, and he’d keep it, no matter what Hydra threw at him.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You lay curled on a thin cot in a Hydra cell, your body trembling, skin flushed with an unnatural heat that made your pulse race and your breath come in shallow, desperate gasps. The crimson fever drug, injected by Arnim Zola weeks ago after your kidnapping in London, burned through you, twisting your mind with a relentless need you fought to suppress. Your blouse, torn and stained, hid the crumpled Winter Soldier intel you’d kept secret, its paper pressed against your chest like a talisman.

You’d overheard Zola’s gloating—his “perfect obedience” experiments, the “winter soldier” prototype—and your linguist’s mind clung to those details, even as the drug threatened to unravel you. “Stay sharp,” you whispered to yourself, voice hoarse, your nails digging into your palms to anchor you against the fever’s pull.

Outside, Bucky Barnes crouched behind a snow-dusted ridge, his M1 Garand rifle steady in his hands, breath clouding in the frigid air. You weren’t there to see it, but you’d have felt the weight of his resolve, his heart pounding with one thought: getting you back. The Howling Commandos flanked him—Dum Dum Dugan reloading his Thompson submachine gun, Gabe Jones checking a radio, Jim Morita adjusting his scope, Monty Falsworth and Jacques Dernier wiring explosives. The plan was tight: hit hard, find you, blow the place to hell. Bucky’s jaw clenched, your face—Brooklyn summers, that Coney Island almost-kiss—burning in his mind.

“Ready, Sarge?” Dum Dum asked, his moustache twitching as he grinned, though his eyes were hard, scanning the bunker a hundred yards away.

“Let’s give ‘em hell,” you’d have heard Bucky reply, his voice low, all sergeant, but laced with something raw. He signalled, and Jacques tossed a smoke grenade, grey haze cloaking the ridge. The team moved like a well-oiled machine, slipping toward the bunker, their boots silent in the snow. Gabe’s radio crackled, confirming Allied distractions were pulling Hydra’s outer patrols away. Bucky’s heart thundered, not for the fight, but for you, trapped in Zola’s nightmare.

A Hydra guard at the entrance barely turned before Bucky’s knife found his throat, a silent kill, blood dark against the snow. “Go,” Bucky hissed, and Jacques’ charges blew the steel door, the blast rattling the night.

Alarms screamed, red lights pulsing inside, and Hydra soldiers poured into the corridor, their blue-energy rifles spitting death. You heard the gunfire, distant but growing louder, a chaotic symphony that stirred hope in your fevered haze. “Help…” you mumbled, clutching the cot’s edge, your body shaking as you tried to sit.

Bucky ducked behind a crate, returning fire, his shots precise, dropping two guards. “Push through!” he shouted, voice cutting through the din. Dum Dum’s Thompson roared, mowing down a squad, while Monty and Jim covered the rear, grenades shaking the walls. “Lab’s that way!”

Gabe yelled, pointing left, where a sign read Forschungsbereich—research sector. Bucky’s gut twisted, Zola’s name a poison in his thoughts. If Zola had touched you…

“Keep movin’!” Bucky ordered, leading the charge past sparking machinery and shattered glass, his boots slipping on spilled chemicals. Jacques planted more explosives, grinning like a kid with firecrackers.

“Pour la France!” he muttered, wiring a console. You heard the blasts, closer now, and dragged yourself upright, your vision swimming but your will iron. The Winter Soldier intel crinkled against your skin, a secret you’d die to protect.

The cell block was a maze of iron doors, damp concrete slick underfoot. Bucky rounded a corner, gun raised, and there you were—behind a barred window, slumped but alive, your hair matted with sweat, eyes flickering with fever. His heart lurched, he called your name, voice raw, cracking like a boy’s. A Hydra guard lunged from the shadows, but Bucky slammed him against the wall, the man’s skull cracking with a sickening thud.

“Bucky?” you whispered, your voice weak but sharp with recognition, cutting through the drug’s fog. You staggered to the bars, fingers trembling as you gripped them, your blouse clinging to your fevered skin. The needle marks on your arm stood out, angry red, and your breath hitched, a mix of relief and desperation.

“I’m here, doll,” Bucky said, fumbling with the lock, his hands shaking until Gabe tossed him a pilfered keyring. “Hold on.” The door swung open, and he was at your side, dropping to his knees, his hands cupping your face. Your skin burned under his touch, too hot, and your eyes, though glassy, locked onto his, a spark of you still fighting. “It’s me,” he said, voice soft but urgent, thumb brushing your cheek. You leaned into his hand, a whimper escaping, your body trembling with something more than weakness—a need that alarmed him.

“Bucky… they… Zola…” you stammered, your fingers clutching his jacket, nails digging in. “Crimson fever… it’s in me… burning…” Your voice broke, shame flickering in your eyes, but you forced out, “Winter Soldier… I know… they’re making…” You trailed off, a shudder racking you, and Bucky’s blood ran cold, the intel’s weight hitting him.

“Shush, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” Bucky hummed, his arms tightening around your body, not caring about any intel. Not caring about the war. Not caring about anything. Just you. 

Your shaky hands went to pass him the intel, but failed with exhaustion. “Winter. Soldier.” you bit out again, aimlessly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Winter Soldier? No, no doll, it’s me. It’s Buck, from Brooklyn,” he was misunderstanding, and you couldn’t blame him. “What’d they do to you?” he growled, his voice low, rage barely leashed as he saw the needle marks, the fever’s flush.

But you couldn’t get your words out. 

He scooped you up, your weight light but your grip fierce, your head lolling against his shoulder. “I got you,” he said, standing, his arms steady despite the chaos. Your breath was ragged, too warm against his neck, and he felt the drug’s unnatural pull in your touch, your fingers clutching too tightly, too desperately.

“Base is rigged!” Jacques shouted from the corridor, where the team held off reinforcements, blue energy scorching the walls.

Dum Dum’s voice boomed, “Thirty seconds, Barnes!” Explosions rumbled, the facility shaking as charges blew.

“Bucky, the intel…” you mumbled, half-lucid, patting your blouse weakly. “Winter Soldier… don’t let them…” Your voice faded, the fever stealing your strength, but your words seared him, tying your fight to the horror he’d only heard whispers of.

“I won’t,” he promised, voice fierce, dodging a blast that charred the wall. It was an empty promise, but that didn’t matter right now. He still didn’t understand completely what you were mumbling about. 

He carried you through smoke and gunfire, the Commandos covering him—Monty tossing a grenade, Gabe firing steadily. “Stay with me, doll,” he said, his boots pounding as he reached the exit, the night air hitting like a slap.

The bunker erupted behind you, flames licking the sky, and the team piled into a stolen Hydra truck, Gabe at the wheel. Bucky slid you into the back, climbing in beside you, holding you close as the truck lurched forward, tires crunching snow. Your fevered body curled against him, your hand still clutching the hidden intel, and Bucky’s mind raced.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You slumped against Bucky Barnes in the corner of the Hydra truck’s cargo bed, your body a furnace of torment, every nerve alight with the crimson fever drug’s cruel fire. Your skin burned, slick with sweat despite the November chill, and your pulse thundered in your ears, each beat a drum urging you toward something you barely understood. Your blouse, torn and clinging to your damp skin, hid the crumpled Winter Soldier intel you’d guarded since London, its paper a faint crinkle against your chest.

The drug, injected by Arnim Zola during those weeks in his lab, twisted your mind, flooding you with an aching, primal need that made your thighs clench and your breath hitch in sharp, desperate gasps. You fought it, nails digging into your palms, but your body betrayed you, hips shifting restlessly, a soft whimper escaping as you pressed closer to Bucky, his warmth both a lifeline and a torment.

Bucky held you tightly, his arm a steel band around your shoulders, his wool jacket rough against your cheek. You felt his heartbeat, steady but quick, through his chest, and his breath clouded in the cold air, his dog tags clinking faintly as he shifted to shield you from a gust. His eyes, shadowed under the swaying lantern’s amber glow, darted to you, worry carving lines into his face. You’d seen him tough, cocky, tossing quips in Brooklyn diners, but now he was raw, his sergeant’s calm fraying at the sight of your trembling hands, the way your fingers clutched his sleeve like he was the only thing keeping you sane.

“Doll, talk to me,” Bucky whispered, voice low, meant only for you, his lips brushing your ear. His calloused hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face to meet his gaze, and the touch sent a jolt through you, your body shuddering as a wave of heat pulsed low in your belly.

You moaned softly, unintended, and your eyes fluttered, half-lidded, the drug amplifying his touch into something overwhelming, intoxicating. Your hips twitched, pressing against his thigh, and you bit your lip, shame flooding you even as your body begged for more.

The Howling Commandos sprawled around you, their presence a grounding hum amid your chaos. Dum Dum Dugan, sprawled on a crate, polished his Thompson, muttering, “Damn roads are gonna shake my teeth loose.”

Gabe Jones, at the wheel, cursed as the tires skidded, shouting, “Hold tight, this ain’t a Sunday drive!” Jim Morita cleaned his rifle, Monty sipped from a flask, and Jacques toyed with a looted Hydra grenade, whistling a French tune.

You looked at the men. If you wanted, you could have had any one of them. They could have given you what you needed. But it was the Sergeant who had owned your heart since the very start. He was the one you trusted more than anyone else. The infantry’s banter was a lifeline, but they didn’t see your state, didn’t hear the soft, needy sounds you stifled against Bucky’s neck.

“Bucky…” you managed, voice cracked, barely audible over the truck’s rumble. Your hand slid up his chest, fingers curling around his dog tags, the metal cool against your burning skin. The contact sent another shiver through you, your thighs squeezing together as a fresh surge of desire made your breath hitch, a low, throaty moan escaping before you could stop it. You were drowning in it—the fever’s heat, the drug’s relentless pull, the ache that coiled tighter with every second. “I… I need to tell you,” you whispered, urgent, your lips grazing his ear, the intimacy of it making your skin prickle. “Alone.”

His pulse spiked—you felt it under your fingers—and his eyes widened, alarm mixing with something deeper, unspoken. “Okay,” he said, voice rough, glancing at the team. The Commandos were distracted, Gabe wrestling the wheel, Dum Dum arguing with Monty over the flask. Bucky shifted, easing you behind a stack of crates, the wood splintered and cold against your back. He knelt in front of you, his hands steadying your shoulders, his gaze searching yours. “What’s goin’ on, doll? You’re burnin’ up,” he said, thumb brushing your cheek, and you gasped, your body arching toward him, the touch igniting sparks that made your hips rock involuntarily.

You swallowed, tears welling, the shame of your need warring with the urgency to speak. “Zola… he gave me something,” you said, words spilling in a rush, your voice trembling. “Called it crimson fever. It’s… it’s making me want things. Need things.” Your breath hitched, a sob catching as you clutched his wrist, your nails digging in. “It’s in my blood, Bucky. It’s burning me, making me… want you. Not just want—I can’t stop it. If I don’t… get release, he said I’ll go mad.” Your cheeks flushed deeper, not just from fever but humiliation, and you looked away, tears dripping onto your lap.

Bucky’s breath caught, his hand tightening on yours, crumpling the edge of his jacket. You saw the horror in his eyes, but also love, fierce and unyielding, rooted in Brooklyn nights when you’d danced around his teasing, your laughter brighter than the city lights.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice hoarse, pulling you closer, his forehead resting against yours. Your breath mingled, hot and ragged, and you moaned again, your body reacting to his nearness, hips shifting, thighs trembling as the drug surged. “You don’t gotta be sorry,” he said, cupping your face, wiping tears with his thumbs. “This ain’t you—it’s them. Hydra. Zola. If they’re doing this, only God knows what else they have planned.”

Your body didn’t care for words. You didn’t need empathy. You pressed against him, a desperate, unconscious move, your hand sliding to his chest, fingers splaying over his heart. The drug made every touch electric, and you gasped, your skin flushing from chest to throat, a sheen of sweat glistening in the lantern’s light.

“Bucky, it hurts,” you whispered, voice raw, your lips brushing his jaw, leaving a faint heat. “I’m burning… I need you.” Your fingers tightened, tugging his jacket, and your hips rocked again, a soft, needy sound escaping as you fought the urge to climb into his lap. 

Your thighs clenched, the ache between them pulsing, and your breath came in short, frantic pants, each one a plea you hated but couldn’t stop.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with a mix of guilt and desire he hated himself for feeling. You saw it—the way he fought his own reaction, his breath hitching as your touch stirred him, his love for you clashing with the drug’s twisted demand.

You were so needy, so clingy. And Bucky knew it wasn’t completely you, right? None the less he swallowed, trying to ignore the erection pressing against his trousers, begging for release. Every time your fingers grazed him even in the slighest, he felt like he was going to explode. The war had him touch-starved and desperate, that’s for sure. 

“Listen to me,” he said, voice low, steady, though it shook at the edges. “You’re stronger than this. We’re gonna get you through this, you hear me?” His hand slid to your neck, holding you gently, and you whimpered, the contact sending a shiver through you, your body arching, breasts pressing against him as another wave of need made you tremble.

“I trust you,” you said, voice breaking, your eyes locking onto his, lucid despite the fever’s haze. “Only you.” Your hand found his, guiding it to your waist, and you gasped as his fingers brushed your hip, the touch sparking a moan that made your thighs quiver. You were losing ground, the drug’s pull relentless, but your trust in Bucky—forged in Brooklyn, in quiet moments he’d never forgotten—kept you tethered.

The truck lurched, Gabe shouting, “Road’s blocked! Barn up ahead, half a mile!” The Commandos shifted, readying gear, their voices a blur.

“I have one grenade left.” You just about made out Jacques’ annoucement. 

But Bucky’s world was you, your fevered whispers, your body trembling with a need that wasn’t just the drug, but you, the girl he’d loved since that night on the Coney Island pier.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You stumbled into the barn, Bucky’s arm steadying you, his warmth the only anchor against the crimson fever’s relentless fire. Your body was a storm of torment—skin flushed and slick with sweat, pulse hammering like a war drum, every nerve alight with a desperate, aching need that made your thighs tremble and your breath come in ragged, needy gasps. The drug, Arnim Zola’s cruel creation, had twisted your desire into something overwhelming, your hips shifting restlessly, a soft whimper escaping as you pressed against Bucky, his scent—wool, gunpowder, and something uniquely him—igniting a fresh wave of heat low in your belly. Your torn blouse clung to your damp skin.

The Winter Soldier intel was still hidden against your chest, a secret you’d guarded through weeks of captivity. You fought the fever’s pull, nails digging into your palms, but your body betrayed you, craving Bucky with an intensity that left you dizzy, your lips parting as another moan slipped free.

Bucky shut the barn door with a creak, sealing you in a fragile sanctuary, the wind’s howl fading to a low moan. He set the lantern on a crate, its glow catching the worry in his blue eyes, the tension in his jaw.

You felt his gaze, heavy and searching, as he knelt before you, easing you onto a makeshift bed of hay cushioned by his folded greatcoat, its wool warm from his body. Your hands clutched his jacket, fingers trembling, and you gasped, a shudder running through you as his touch sparked electricity, your hips twitching involuntarily. “Bucky…” you whispered, voice raw, your eyes glassy but locked on his, a flicker of you shining through the fever’s haze.

“Doll, I’m here,” he said, voice low, hoarse with worry, his calloused hand brushing your cheek. The contact sent a jolt through you, your body arching, a soft moan spilling out as your thighs clenched, the ache between them pulsing sharper. He froze, his breath hitching, and you saw the conflict in his eyes—love, longing, and fear that this wasn’t you, just the drug. “You’re still burnin’ up,” he said, thumb tracing your jaw, and you whimpered, your skin flushing deeper, a rosy heat spreading from your chest to your throat, glistening with sweat in the lantern’s light.

“Bucky, please,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, urgent, as you grabbed his wrist, guiding his hand to your waist. The touch was fire, and you gasped, hips rocking toward him, your body trembling as the drug amplified every sensation. “I need you… it’s too much.” Tears welled, shame mixing with desire, but your eyes held his, fierce despite the fever. “I told you… I can’t fight it.”

He exhaled, shaky, his hand tightening on your hip, his dog tags clinking as he leaned closer. “I’ve wanted you forever,” he said, voice raw, breaking. “Since that damn pier in Brooklyn, since you laughed at my dumb jokes. But this…” He gestured to your trembling form, his eyes darkening with guilt. “I don’t wanna take advantage, doll. I need this to mean somethin’ to you, not just… Zola’s poison.” His thumb brushed your lip, and you moaned, loud and unrestrained, your body shuddering, thighs squeezing as a fresh wave of need made your breath stutter.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes — ever the gentleman.

“Don’t make me beg,” you said, voice sharp, almost a growl, your hand sliding to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He moaned, and the sound of his voice was like velvet. “I want you, Bucky. Always have. The drug’s making it worse, but it’s me.” Your eyes burned into his, lucid, defiant. “I trust you. Make me feel good. Please.” Your hips shifted, pressing against him, and a desperate, throaty moan escaped, your skin prickling as the fever surged, your pulse racing so fast you felt it in your throat.

Bucky’s resolve cracked, his breath ragged. “Alright, honey,” he whispered, voice thick with promise. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you feel good, I swear.” He kissed you, slow and deep, his lips soft but hungry, tasting of salt and desperation. You melted into it, your body trembling, a gasp catching as his tongue brushed yours, sending shivers down your spine. Your hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging in, and your hips rocked, the drug making every touch a spark that set your nerves ablaze.

He pulled back, eyes searching yours and you could see the question he wanted to ask ‘Are you sure?’, and you nodded, breathless, your chest heaving. “I’m sure,” you said, voice firm despite the fever’s haze.

He eased your blouse off, careful of the hidden intel, his fingers brushing your skin, and you gasped, your body arching, nipples tightening in the cold air. Your skin flushed deeper, sweat beading on your collarbone, and you whimpered, thighs trembling as his gaze alone sent a pulse of heat through you.

Bucky’s hands were gentle, reverent, as he traced your curves, his fingers lingering on your waist.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice raw, and you shivered, a soft moan escaping as his words stoked the fever’s fire. He kissed your throat, lips warm and deliberate, and you gasped, head tilting back, your pulse hammering under his mouth. Your body reacted vividly—skin flushing from chest to cheeks, thighs clenching as a fresh wave of desire made your hips rock, the ache between them unbearable.

“Bucky, touch me,” you pleaded, voice desperate, guiding his hand lower, your boldness driven by the drug but rooted in trust.

He nodded, his forehead against yours, breath mingling. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his fingers sliding down your stomach, slow and deliberate, tracing the soft skin above your thigh. You trembled, a sharp gasp tearing from you as his hand brushed closer, your thighs parting instinctively, inviting him.

Your skin prickled, sweat glistening, and your breath came in short, frantic pants, the drug making every touch electric. His fingers found your warmth, teasing gently, and you moaned, loud and needy, your hips bucking toward him, thighs quivering as a jolt of pleasure shot through you. 

“Bucky…” you breathed, clutching his wrist, nails digging in, your body tensing as he explored, his touch careful but sure.

Your reaction was immediate—muscles tightening, a flush spreading across your chest, your breath stuttering as his fingers circled, coaxing waves of heat that made your toes curl. You arched, hips rocking in rhythm, and your moans grew sharper, each one a desperate plea. The drug amplified every sensation, your skin hypersensitive, and you felt every callus, every movement, as if he were rewriting your nerves.

“Feels… so good,” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut, your thighs clenching around his hand as a coil tightened inside you. Bucky watched, his breath ragged, worry flickering but desire burning stronger.

“You’re with me, doll,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, and you nodded, a tear slipping free as pleasure overwhelmed you.

He shifted, lips trailing down your chest, and you whimpered, your body trembling as he kissed lower, his breath warm against your stomach. “Gonna make you feel even better,” he promised, voice low, and you gasped, hips lifting as his mouth found you, his tongue gentle but deliberate. 

The sensation was a lightning strike—your body jolted, a cry tearing from your throat, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging hard. Your thighs trembled, muscles quaking, and your breath came in short, desperate gasps, the drug making every lick a pulse of fire. Your skin flushed deeper, sweat beading on your brow, and you moaned, unrestrained, hips rocking against his mouth as pleasure built, sharp and relentless. “Bucky… oh, God…” you gasped, your voice breaking, your body tensing as you neared the edge, every nerve singing.

He pulled back, kissing your thigh, and you whimpered, desperate, your hands tugging him up. 

“Need you… now,” you said, voice raw, your eyes locked on his, lucid despite the fever. He nodded, shedding his trousers, dog tags clinking, and leaned over you, his body warm, grounding. 

“Tell me you want this,” he said, voice thick, needing your consent, his worry clear.

“I want you, Bucky,” you said, fierce, pulling him closer. “Always.”

He guided himself, the moment of connection slow, deliberate, and you gasped, a shudder running through you as he filled you, the sensation overwhelming, amplified by the drug. He was big, bigger than you had ever had before. He stretched you and you felt your body clamp down around him. Bucky’s cheeks flushed pink and you felt his short fingernails dig into your hips as he steadied himself. Your body reacted vividly—muscles clenching, thighs trembling, hips rising to meet him.

“So good…” you moaned, nails digging into his back, leaving crescent marks.

He moved, each thrust a rhythm of passion and care, his lips brushing your ear, whispering, “I’ve got you, doll.” 

You brought your hands up to his face, guiding him to your lips as he thrusted into you. This was more than sex — a cure to your condition. This was love. You kissed him slowly, leaning into the softness of his lips. He smelled like lingering smoke mixed with a sweetness you just couldn’t describe. It was familiar, like the cotton candy you picked at and shared on the pier at Coney Island.

“Do you remember that time when we stood at the edge of the pier and you were showing me the constellations in the sky?” You asked, your eyes finding Bucky’s, watching him as he fucked you.

“Mm,” he nodded his head, wordlessly. “Wanted to kiss you so bad that night.” He breathed into admittance. 

“I wanted you to kiss me too.” You replied before your words were cut off with a loud moan. Bucky grabbed your calves, pulling them up to his shoulders allowing him to go even deeper, hitting you at a new angle. Lewd, wet sounds echoed in the barn and you had visions of someone walking in. It only spurred you on even more. 

Your breaths mingled, your cries soft but desperate, the drug’s urgency blending with love. Your thighs tightened around him, hips rocking, and pleasure coiled tighter, your body trembling as you neared release. “Bucky…” you gasped, voice breaking, and he kissed you hard, just like he’d always imagined, deep and grounding, as you shattered, a cry muffled against his shoulder, the fever’s grip breaking. He followed, his climax a choked wave, shooting a warmth that painted your walls, arms tightening to hold you close.

The barn fell silent, save for your ragged breaths and the hay’s rustle. You collapsed against him, trembling, the fever’s heat gone, leaving you fragile, your skin cooling but slick with sweat. Bucky pulled his greatcoat over you both, shielding you from the cold, and held you, your head tucked under his chin. The lantern flickered, casting long shadows, and shame crept in, your voice small. 

“Was it… just the drug?” you asked, clutching the intel in your blouse, fear lacing your words. “Did I… make you?”

“No,” Bucky said, fierce, tilting your chin to meet his gaze. “It was us, I’ve loved you since Brooklyn, since that pier. The drug didn’t make me want you—I always did.” His voice cracked, and he kissed your forehead, steady. “You’re not broken. You’re mine.”

You nodded, tears spilling, but doubt lingered, Zola’s experiments haunting you. “I’m scared,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “What if they’ve changed me?”

“They haven’t,” he said, stroking your hair. “You’re still you, still the girl who cracked their codes, kept that intel through hell. I won’t let them touch you again.” His promise was fierce, but you felt the war’s weight, Hydra’s reach, and the shadow of what you’d uncovered.

Outside, Gabe’s voice cut through, soft but urgent. “Sarge, we’re clear. Ready to move.” The Commandos, loyal, unaware of the barn’s secrets, waited in the snow.

Bucky helped you sit, adjusting the greatcoat, his touch gentle. “We gotta go,” he said, voice low. “But I’m with you, every step.” He stood, pulling you up, and you leaned into him, steadier but haunted, the fever gone but the intel and emotional weight lingering. The barn door creaked open, moonlight spilling in, and Bucky led you out, his arm around you, ready to face the war—and Hydra’s lingering threat.

You followed Bucky back to the van. “Write to me?” You asked, locking a subtle finger with his, so that his men wouldn’t notice.

“Of course I will.” He promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He didn’t care if anyone saw. The last thing he’d do was want to keep you a secret. He had dreamed of you, of this, since 1939.

“And after the war, you’ll find me on the pier at Coney Island, waiting for you.” You told him, an oath that you’d protect with your life. You didn’t want anyone other than him. You would wait for him, even if waiting meant forever.

“I’ll be there.” 

You believed him.

“You’ll come home, won’t you?” The question lingered with uncertainty and worry as the Winter Soldier intel burned in your pocket.

“Do I look like a man who’d keep my doll waiting?” Bucky smiled, his blue eyes twinkling like an aurora, full of love and hope. 

Yeah, you believed him.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

Taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira

If you want to be tagged in all my future Bucky/Sebastian works, let me know. <3

[societyfolklore]

Kuritsa

Title: Kuritsa

Pairing: Winter Solider! Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Female Reader

Summary:  You life has been stolen from you now held captive by HYDRA for breeding purposes, paired with the Winter Soldier. You dreamed of freedom.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: ::Explicit Content:: 18+, Minors DNI, Dub-con/Sexual contact initiated under coercion, programming, and captivity, Sexual Assault/Breeding Context (themes of being used as a vessel), Depictions of Violence and Blood, Brainwashing chair, memory erasure, Imprisonment/Captivity, Psychological Trauma, Mind Control/Programming, Sedation/Physical Helplessness, Dehumanization, Dark Sexual Content, blurring trauma and craving, Smut, Unprotected Sex (DONT DO THIS) ...angst..

A/N:  fic inspired by Bo Burnham's "The Chicken." – In honor of April fools day... well I had the idea I'd post it than.. BUT THIS ISN’T A JOKE FIC.. so to be safe its getting posted now (Yes, technically its April 1st where I am.. But yeah..just.. DONT JUDGE)

You always heard him first. It was the sound that woke you up. A jagged scream, animalistic and raw, that tore through the sterile silence of the compound.

The screams were muffled through the walls, but they still split through you like wire dragged over raw skin. Wet, strangled, inhuman. They had him in the chair again. You knew it by the rhythm- shouts cut off mid-breath, followed by silence. Then the electric hum. Then the screaming again. Over and over. Mechanical. Precise. Cruel.

You flinched every time. Not because it was him. Because you remembered.

The same chair. The same straps. The same cold leather biting into your spine. The sting of the restraints as they tightened around your wrists. The stench of melted wires. The taste of your own blood from where you bit your tongue just to keep from screaming like that.

The same blank faces leaning over you, muttering notes while they pulled you apart neuron by neuron. Probing. Recording. Smiling.

You used to fight it. Kick. Spit. Bite.

That was before.

Then, you began mumbling names into the dark; yours? Someone else’s? A place with sun? The owner of the voice that laughed? The notes of a song you couldn’t quite remember? They were shadows now. Fragments. Ash in your mouth.

Your cage was damp. The walls sweat in summer, froze in winter. Mold crept along the ceiling. You slept curled, knees to chest, like a bird with clipped wings. Sometimes, your shoulder blades ached like phantom wings were trying to burst free.

They called you that sometimes.

“Back in your cage, little bird.”

Sometimes, you thought if you stared long enough at the rusted metal grate in the ceiling, it might dissolve. That maybe you'd float right up through it like smoke, disappearing into some unreachable sky. You used to imagine what that would feel like weightless, free. As if your body would just melt away, and your soul could slip between the bars like vapor. But you never did.

There was no sky. No smoke. Just the walls. Just the dark. Just the screams.

And him.

You would’ve clawed their eyes out if you had the strength. Some days, you tried. Weak swipes, trembling fists. They laughed. Sometimes they hit back. Sometimes they didn’t need to. Just dragging you down the corridor was enough to remind you what you were.

Your life was hell: invasive tests, sterile rooms, long needles that never seemed to stop. You were monitored constantly. Recorded. Measured. Bled. Injected. Re-injected. Burned. Frozen. Made to run until your legs buckled. Made to scream until your throat bled. They treated your body like a blueprint and a battlefield all at once.

Then they’d toss you into his cell when it was time nothing was said. Just the click of the door. The shove between your shoulder blades. The sound of it locking behind you.

And him. Already there. Still. Watching. Waiting.

The Winter Soldier didn’t beat you. Didn’t growl or leer or curse. He didn’t speak unless instructed. He mounted you like they told him to, like it was a drill, like your body was just another mission to complete. Another task in the protocol. Like you were a sheath. A target. A breeding container.

And still you preferred him to them.

You had a warped affection for the Winter Soldier. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was that he didn’t make it worse. Maybe it was the way, just once, he touched your face after. Or the way he sometimes hesitated at the door.

You didn’t know what it was. You only knew it was the closest thing to gentleness left in your world.

You could still taste the metal in your mouth from the bit they used to hold your jaw still. It haunted you; cold and tangy, sharp as betrayal. The phantom pressure of it still made your teeth ache, your jaw clench in your sleep. You had bitten down on it so hard once, a molar cracked.

Your cell smelled of bleach and old blood, the kind of stench that lived in your skin even after they hosed you down. The floor was always damp, the kind of damp that seeped into your bones and never left. Mold crept in the corners like it knew no one would care to clean it. The walls whispered in the dark, a constant hum of pain soaked into the concrete, voices of other girls who didn’t last long enough to be named.

You dreamed of green places, warm hugs, kind smiles. Sometimes, a soft bed. A blanket that smelled like flowers. A kitchen table. Your fingers curled around a mug of tea. A dog barking in the distance. Sometimes, you thought those dreams were real, like they weren’t just fragments of a life someone else lived. Maybe a life you had once. Before.

HYDRA guards mocked you constantly. Their voices were oil-slick and cruel, rehearsed jokes to entertain themselves while you wilted behind bars.

“Back in your cage, little bird.” “Don’t break her- we’ll need her eggs soon.”

Sometimes they laughed when they said it. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they said it softly, like they meant it as comfort. Like you were a thing, not a person. A vessel. A hen.

You were underfed. Frail. Your ribs showed when you breathed. But their mistake was thinking that made you weak. They saw hollow cheeks and shaky legs and thought you’d given up.

But inside you, something still burned.

Because one day, when they came for you, you fought.

~#~#~#~#~

When the moment came you didn’t think. You just moved.

The second the cell door creaked open, something ancient and wild ignited in your blood. You exploded forward, driven by instinct, by rage, by a raw, primal need to live. A scream- feral and guttural- ripped from your throat as you slammed your elbow into the nearest guard’s neck with a satisfying crack. He dropped like a stone, choking.

Another guard lunged, but you caught him mid-motion, grabbing a fistful of his uniform and smashing his face into the concrete wall so hard the sound echoed like a gunshot. A third grabbed your arm, but you twisted under it with a snarl, your fingernails gouging deep furrows into his cheek, hot blood spraying across your face.

There were shouts. Alarms. The buzz of static in radios. Boots thundered behind you, but you were already gone, barefoot, bloodied, sprinting down the corridor like a bullet let loose. The red emergency lights strobed across the walls as your shadow leapt and flickered with every step.

You Ran, You flew.

The thing they put in your veins, the one they’d whispered about while jabbing you full of needles and watching you writhe. It surged now. It made your muscles coil and spring, made you faster, harder to catch. Not like the others, maybe. But enough.

You hurled your body into a security door, shoulder-first, and it gave way with a scream of twisted hinges. It slammed against the far wall, denting metal. You stumbled, caught yourself, kept going.

Footsteps thundered behind you. Shouts growing louder.

You took the corner too fast and your bloodied feet slipped on the polished floor. You crashed into the wall, pain flaring down your spine. But you didn’t stop.

Another door. Locked. You threw yourself at it. Again. Again.

It buckled. You screamed, the sound inhuman, your throat raw.

You weren’t running anymore. You were escaping. You were breaking through.

And still, behind you, they came.

The world outside was warmer than you remembered- oppressively so, like it was pressing down on you, trying to smother the panic clawing through your ribs. Pine needles slashed at your legs, carving sharp little welts into your skin. Branches whipped across your face, drawing blood, blinding you in bursts of green.

The trees blurred past you, but your vision pulsed with black spots at the edges. The air seared down your throat, each breath like swallowing knives. Your lungs burned. Your knees screamed. Your bare, bloodied feet hit roots and rocks, tearing skin, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Somewhere behind you- closer than before- voices shouted. Dozens of them. Radio static barked out garbled commands. Dogs barked. Boots thundered. Gunfire cracked so close it popped your ears. Bark exploded from a tree to your left. The trunk shattered near your ribs. A bullet.

You pushed harder.

You were being hunted.

Your legs were shaking. You weren’t sure if it was pain or adrenaline keeping you upright. Something hot was dripping down your shin. Your vision swam.

But you didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

And then

The trees broke.

A road.

Blacktop. Screeching tires. You stumbled forward, half-falling onto the guardrail. Horns blared. The scent of exhaust and heat and rubber filled your nose.

Across the road, you saw it.

A meadow. Vast and wild, stretching endlessly beneath a sky smeared with lavender and gold. The grass was green and thick, heavy with dew that sparkled like glass in the fading light. Wildflowers swayed- violets, daisies, yellow bursts of something unnamed. The breeze danced through them, carrying the soft hush of the earth breathing.

Above, birds wheeled through the sky, dipping and soaring, their wings catching the sun like flashes of silver. Everything here was alive. Unashamedly, impossibly alive.

You remembered green places, warm hugs, kind smiles. Fingers threaded through your hair while someone hummed a lullaby. The feel of warm earth between your toes. Laughter carried on the wind. Someone calling your name,  not the one they gave you here, but the one that belonged to you before.

For a moment, the world tilted. Something inside you ached so sharply it stole the air from your lungs.

This meadow wasn't a fantasy. It was a memory.

You moved, climbing over the low barrier, the rough tarmac biting into your feet, still wet and blood-slick from the forest floor. Each breath in your chest came sharp and ragged, like your lungs were tearing with every inhale. The roar of engines filled your ears, deafening, and the scent of rubber and oil churned your stomach.

“Kuritsa.”

You froze.

His voice. Low. Steady. From behind you. From the tree line.

“Come back.”

You turned.

The Winter Soldier stood there, framed by shadows and pine. Expression unreadable. Gun lowered but not discarded. His eyes locked on you like he was tethered- like if you moved too far, something in him would snap.

“Don’t fly, little bird,” he said, quieter this time. Almost… pleading. Even at this distance you could hear him. “They’ll clip you again.”

A choice..

You looked back.

The meadow. The other side. Golden, glowing. Wind stirring the wildflowers like hands reaching out to welcome you home.

Your head jerked back and forth, heart pounding so hard it hurt. Left. Right. Left. Right. The cars flew past like metal beasts, one after another, their horns screaming. Your ears rang. Your knees shook.

There- a gap. A breath. A beat of silence in the thunder.

You lunged.

Rubber screeched behind you. A side mirror clipped your arm and spun you halfway around, but you caught yourself, pushed forward, legs burning.

You ran.

You ran like you never had before.

Like your soul depended on it.

You barely heard the gunfire anymore.

You dodged between honking cars, the wind of a speeding van nearly toppling you sideways. Someone screamed from a vehicle, a horn blared, a voice cursed- but none of it registered. Your focus tunnelled to the other side.

You leapt the last guardrail and your feet hit the soft earth of the field- mud, grass, roots all giving beneath your weight. The ground didn’t hurt. It welcomed you. Your knees buckled, but you caught yourself, palms scraping the soil, fingers sinking into it like you'd been starved of its touch your whole life.

The sun hit your face.

Warm.

Golden.

It wrapped around you like a second skin. You stumbled forward, breathless, and the sharp roar of the road fell behind you like a door slamming shut. The farther you went, the quieter it all became. The birds circled overhead. The sky opened up above you. Wind moved through your hair.

The grass brushed your legs like fingers. Wildflowers bent toward you. Every step you took felt lighter, like gravity had loosened its grip. Your chest still burned, your legs still trembled- but it didn’t matter.

You were free.

For a moment, you were free.

~#~#~#~#~

You woke up.

Your body hurt. Aches radiated deep in your joints, muscles stiff and sluggish as the sedative wore off. Your skin prickled like it had been dipped in ice water, and there was a heavy, smothering pressure in your chest that made it hard to breathe. It was always like this- the return. The slow drag back into a body that felt more like a cage than a home. The familiar fog of waking, like surfacing from a nightmare only to realize the nightmare is where you live.

Your cell. Concrete. Cold. The old mattress on the floor, the spring dug into your spine like punishment, its stuffing long since thinned to nothing. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead like insects chewing through your skull.

The contrast made it worse.

You had just been in the sun. You had felt the warmth on your face, tasted freedom, heard birdsong. And now- this. Gray. Sterile. The walls loomed like tombstones. The air was sour with bleach and mold. Your blanket was gone. The cot felt harder than usual, like it was punishing you for dreaming.

You started to cry.

It hadn’t been real.

You bit your knuckles to keep from sobbing loud enough for the cameras. But it was no use. The pressure in your chest cracked open like a fault line, and the whimpers slipped free, shaking, hopeless. Your body curled tighter, trying to fold in on itself, to disappear into the cold concrete floor.

You pressed your forehead to the ground. Tears smeared across the filth. Your shoulders heaved.

You had felt it. The wind. The sun. The way the earth gave under your feet instead of fighting you. You’d tasted freedom- and now it was gone. Ripped from your ribs like something delicate torn apart by teeth.

You were breaking.

Just the soft scuff of a boot on concrete. A shift in the silence.

You froze.

Your breath hitched.

Slowly, you lifted your head.

He was already inside the cell, standing just feet away, still and silent. Watching.

The Winter Soldier. Motionless. Built like a monolith. Cold light caught on the metal of his arm.

His eyes found you- and they were blue. Flat. Empty. As emotionless as frost.

He said nothing.

He just looked.

He stepped forward slowly, like you were a wounded animal, like he was afraid you’d break. His boots barely made a sound against the floor, each one placed with deliberate care- as if you might vanish if he moved too quickly.

"You had to be good, Kuritsa," he murmured, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "They wouldn’t tell me to hurt you if you were good."

There was something in the way he said it- like he wanted it to be true. Like he needed to believe it more than you did.

He reached for you. Not like a soldier following orders, but like someone trying not to scare the ghost in front of him. His hand hesitated in the air between you. Waiting. Wanting.

And you let him.

Because no one else reached for you. Because even this broken, programmed shell of a man was gentler than the rest. Because his touch- hesitant, calloused, human- was the only thing anchoring you to the world in that moment.

He stripped you gently. Despite the cold, he was warm. You both were. His body radiated heat, and when your skin touched, it felt like something real- something grounding in a world where everything else had become unrecognizable. Your body, your mind, your freedom- all had been twisted, burned, broken. But this? This was contact. Connection. A fragile thread back to something human.

He murmured "umnitsa" when you trembled instead of fought. The word fell like a feather against your cheek- foreign, yet almost soft, almost kind. You hadn’t heard kindness in so long that it carved through you like a blade.

His hands were rough, but careful. The callouses rasped across your hips as he steadied you. He traced the bones of your ribs, your stomach, like he was trying to memorize something forbidden. Like you were fragile and holy. His touch made you shiver, not from fear, but from the aching ache of being touched at all.

He waited for your nod. And when you gave it, small and tear-soaked, something in him relaxed. Like permission mattered. Like you mattered.

You were still weeping. You didn’t know why you needed this so badly. Maybe to kill the aching weight in your chest. Maybe to drown in sensation, to burn out the cold that lived in your marrow. Maybe to feel like anything other than a thing in a cage.

You gripped him- not out of lust, but because you needed something. Something alive. Something solid. A warmth to hold onto while the world around you blurred and cracked. But the longer you held him, the more that need twisted, deepened, darkened into something else. Something desperate.

His body pressed closer, the weight of him grounding you, overwhelming you. And when he aligned himself against your entrance, his thick, hard cock nudging at your core, you gasped. The heat of him seared through the cold in your bones, and for a moment, all you could do was hold your breath.

Then he pushed in.

Slow, steady, unrelenting.

The stretch burned- sharp and aching- as he filled you inch by inch, your walls fluttering around the thick length of him, your breath shattering with every heartbeat. You whimpered as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, buried to the hilt. The sting of the invasion was real, raw, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

It was the only invasion you ever craved.

He stayed there a beat, chest heaving against yours, his breath ragged. You felt the tension trembling in his muscles as he tried to hold back, as if even now he was waiting for you to break. But you didn’t. You pulled him closer.

Because the ache of being filled by him was the only thing that ever made you feel whole.

You both needed this, even if neither of you fully understood why. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was programming. Or maybe it was the only act left that made you feel like you had a body at all.

He moved inside you with no rush, no violence.

At first.

Just heat. Flesh. Friction. But you felt him grow bolder with every thrust, felt the rhythm change from tentative to possessive, like your body was something he was rediscovering and claiming in the same breath.  You whimpered as his hips snapped forward, rougher now, grinding against the deepest parts of you. You gasped- your head thrown back, legs trembling from the effort of taking him, from the pleasure spearing up your spine.

"Soldate..." you whispered, shocked at the sound of your own voice, he only grunted in reply.

The slap of skin against skin filled the room. Your nails dug into his back, clawing for purchase. He braced himself over you with his metal arm, the cold of it ghosting across your ribcage while his other hand gripped your thigh and hitched it higher. He fucked you like he was trying to bury himself inside you, deeper, deeper, until you didn’t know where he ended and you began.

You moaned for him and that seemed to break something open in him. His teeth grazed your neck, just a scrape, just a warning. You shuddered. His hand slipped between your legs, and when his thumb circled your clit, it was almost too much. You bucked against him, your orgasm cresting like a wave you couldn't stop.

"Cum." he growled, and you did. Your whole body arched, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open on a sob. You clenched around him, and he followed, rutting into you with a strangled groan before freezing, twitching inside you, his release hot and thick and undeniable.

For a moment, all you could do was pant beneath him, your body boneless and trembling. His forehead rested against yours, and his breath warmed your face. His fingers still moved against your thigh, slow now, almost reverent.

He didn’t speak. Just held you. Just stayed.

And for one terrible, perfect moment, you could pretend you weren’t in a cell at all.

He stayed inside you after. Heavy. Warm. You didn’t move, neither did he. Instead keeping himself pressed deep within you, like he could hold back the world by just staying there. Like if he stayed inside, the moment might stretch, safe and untouched.

You felt every twitch of him, the slow pulse of his cock still buried in your heat. He didn’t pull out, didn’t shift away. He just stayed. Ensuring nothing would spill. A painful reminder of your true purpose here.

The weight of him inside you was grounding and cruel all at once- comfort and control, tenderness and protocol.

His hand cupped your cheek. The same hand that had killed without pause.

“Good, little bird,” he whispered. “They won’t hurt you now.”

For a moment you believed him.

~#~#~#~#~

You were still sore. Still warm from him when they came after removing him from your cell.

You didn’t fight. He had made you promise. Whispered it against your skin while he was still inside you

“Be good Kuritsa. Be good for them like you were for me.”

So you didn’t fight. You just stared at the ceiling, empty and aching, when the guards returned.

“Not supposed to cross roads, little bird,” one of them sneered, voice dripping with smug cruelty. You barely blinked before the needle slid into your arm, sharp and fast. The sedative burned as it entered your vein, and within seconds, your limbs began to go heavy.

Still, you felt it all.

Their rough hands grabbed you by the arms and legs. One of them lifted you by the underarms while another gripped your thighs, dragging your limp body out of the cell like a broken doll. Your toes scraped along the concrete floor, leaving faint streaks as you tried- and failed- to move against them.

The corridor was a blur of fluorescent light and iron stench. You tried to twist away, but your limbs wouldn’t obey. Sluggish. Leaden. You whimpered, barely audible.

You recognized the hallway. The turns. The shape of the door at the end.

No. Not again.

When the door opened, you sobbed. That awful room. That awful chair. Waiting.

They hauled you inside like trash, flipping your body onto the leather seat. Cold restraints snapped over your wrists and ankles. Your head lolled to the side as you tried to resist, tried to pull your arms back, but they might as well have been made of stone.

You didn’t want this. You wanted the sun. The flowers. The breath of wind across your face.

But you weren’t in the meadow anymore.

You were back in the chair.

You wanted to plead. To beg. You were sorry, you wouldn’t do it again. You just wanted to hold on to something, to keep even a shred of that warmth inside you. But your lips were too heavy to form the words.

But he had said they wouldn’t do this. Not if you were good.

And you’d been good.

One tech hesitated, glancing down at you with something almost like pity. You tried to lock eyes with him, to will him to stop, to see you. But it was too late.

Another tech snapped, “Erase it. She’s dangerous now.”

Rough hands held you down tighter as you struggled weakly. A guard’s fingers pinched your jaw open. You whimpered. The bit forced into your mouth was hard and rubbery, pressing down against your tongue and teeth. The pressure made your cracked molar throb.

Then the seat began to tilt.

Slow. Mechanical. Inevitable.

You felt the world shift with it, the room pitching as gravity settled you deeper into the chair. The jaws of the machine descended- cold metal bracing your skull, clamping over your head like a vice. Your heart thundered. One side of your vision darkened as the rig covered your left eye.

Your panic rose, sharp and feral, tearing through the fog of sedation. You tried to twist, tried to scream around the bit, but your limbs barely moved. You could only writhe in slow, pathetic motions as the restraints cut into your skin.

You weren’t in a meadow. You weren’t running. You were here.

This time, it was your memory they erased.

Your escape.

They couldn’t let you know you could fly.

You screamed the words in your head, over and over, desperate and wild:

Birds fly. Meadow. Other side.

And then it came.

The pain.

White hot. Blinding.

Your back arched.

All you could hear was your own screams now, louder than the hum of the machine, louder than your racing heart. There was no world outside of that sound. Just your pain, ripped from your throat and thrown into the void.

[mintyys-blog]

What would you think about this?

Bucky with a super soildier reader both have been together post civil war . He figured out she wasnt from the modern era as she was taken by hydra from the 1930s then hid in america . She decived people cause of the serum she had didnt age her (so stuck in adult age) , no bulk muscle its as if shes suposed to be a stealth type . Fury did recruit her back in 2010 before steve was unfrozen

TIMELESS— bucky barnes x super soldier! reader

WARNINGS: mention of human experimentation, HYDRA.

The soft hum of an old jazz tune drifted through the quiet apartment, barely audible over the hum of the city beyond the window. Bucky sat on the couch, fingers absentmindedly working over the leather strap of his prosthetic, but his focus had shifted entirely to her.

She was drying a glass, movements slow and methodical, humming to herself—a song he knew.

Not because he’d heard it in a movie or on some vintage playlist, but because he’d lived when it first hit the radio.

His jaw tightened.

“Where’d you hear that?” he asked, voice calm but edged with something sharper.

She paused, glass still in her hands, then turned to face him. There was no flicker of surprise, no awkward attempt to brush it off. Just a steady gaze, as if she had been waiting for this moment.

“It’s just a song,” she said.

Bucky shook his head. “Not one people just know nowadays.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You hum that like it’s second nature.”

She set the glass down with a quiet clink before walking over to him. “You already suspect the truth.”

His gut twisted. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, not really. There had always been something off about her—something that had nothing to do with the super-soldier serum in her veins. She wasn’t just another enhanced operative; she carried herself with the kind of caution that only came from watching the world change around her for far too long.

Bucky exhaled slowly. “Tell me.”

She sat beside him, hands clasped loosely together. There was no hesitation when she spoke.

“Hydra didn’t just create weapons during the war,” she began. “They started long before that. I was one of their first. Taken in the 1930s, experimented on, enhanced. But I escaped before they could use me.”

Bucky didn’t move, barely even breathed.

“I disappeared,” she continued. “Lived through the decades, pretending to be something I wasn’t. Never aging, never settling. Then Fury found me in 2010 and gave me a new purpose.” She turned to look at him, searching his expression. “That’s the truth.”

Bucky swallowed. Of all the things he had been prepared for, this hadn’t been one of them. She wasn’t just a soldier—she was a relic, just like him. Stolen from a time that no longer existed.

His fingers curled against his knee. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because what difference would it have made?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “Would it have changed the way you look at me?”

Bucky met her eyes, stormy blue meeting unwavering resolve. Maybe it should have changed things. Maybe it should have made her feel like a stranger.

But instead, it made her feel like the only person who might truly understand.

“Guess not,” he murmured.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t the only one trapped between past and present.

Silence settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable. Bucky let her words sink in, absorbing the weight of them. He understood what it meant to be frozen in time, to watch the world move forward while he remained unchanged. But unlike him, she had never had the mercy of forgetting. She had lived through it all.

Finally, he spoke. “So Fury knew about you before Steve was even pulled out of the ice?”

She nodded. “He found me in 2010. I wasn’t exactly hiding, but I wasn’t looking to be found either. Still, Fury had a way of knowing things.” A small smirk played at her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “He offered me a deal—work for him, keep my past buried, and no one would question why I never aged.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Classic Fury.”

She shrugged. “It worked. People saw what they wanted to see—a highly trained operative with an unknown past. The truth never really mattered.”

Bucky studied her, noting the way her fingers twitched slightly against her knee, the only crack in her otherwise flawless composure. It hit him then—how exhausting it must have been, carrying this secret for so long, pretending to be something she wasn’t. He knew that feeling too well.

Reaching out, he placed his hand over hers, solid and grounding. She didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said, voice quieter now.

Her expression softened just a little, and that was enough.

They sat like that for a while, neither rushing to fill the silence. Outside, the city pulsed with life, but in that moment, it felt distant—like something belonging to a world neither of them truly fit into. Eventually, she exhaled, breaking the quiet. “So… what now?”

Bucky thought about that. About everything they had both been through, about what it meant to have someone who understood. He didn’t have an answer—not yet.

But what he did know was this: she wasn’t alone anymore. And neither was he.

Bucky didn’t have an answer to her question, not right away. What now? Hell, he was still figuring out how to live day by day without feeling like a weapon waiting to be used. But the weight in her eyes told him she had been asking herself the same thing for far longer than he had.

So instead of speaking, he just squeezed her hand—a silent promise that they’d figure it out together.

She didn’t pull away.

Eventually, she shifted, leaning back against the couch, her body relaxing just enough to tell him that—for once—she wasn’t keeping her guard up. “You realize you’re the only person who knows the full truth now?”

That hit harder than he expected. Fury had known, obviously, but he was gone. No one else would’ve questioned her past, not even Steve. It was easy enough to assume she was just another enhanced soldier, another name in the long list of people shaped by war.

But he knew her now.

Bucky let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s gotta be exhausting. Carrying that secret all these years.”

She smirked, but there was no humor behind it. “You get used to it.”

That sounded like something he would say. Another survival mechanism. Another way of pretending it didn’t hurt.

He watched her for a moment before shaking his head. “That’s a lie.”

That actually got a reaction—a flicker of surprise before she chuckled softly. “Guess it is.”

A beat of silence passed, the kind that wasn’t heavy but wasn’t light either. Then she turned to face him fully, expression unreadable. “You gonna look at me differently now?”

Bucky met her gaze without hesitation. “No.”

And he meant it.

Nothing about her had changed—only the weight of what she had been carrying alone. And now, she didn’t have to.

She studied him for a long moment before finally nodding, as if deciding to believe him. Then, with a slow exhale, she leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes.

For the first time since he’d met her, she rested.

Bucky just sat there, watching her, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like a ghost stuck in the wrong era.

Maybe neither of them had to be.

The shift between them was subtle at first—so small that if Bucky hadn’t been paying attention, he might’ve missed it.

She let her guard down more often, even in the little things. Like how she no longer hesitated before stepping into his space or how she started leaving a cup of coffee beside him in the morning without a word. It was an unspoken rhythm they fell into, a quiet understanding that neither of them had to be alone anymore.

Bucky, in turn, started noticing things about her—not just the way she moved like a ghost, always aware of her surroundings, but the moments when she let herself exist in the present. The way she tapped her fingers against her thigh when she was deep in thought, the way her lips twitched in amusement when he got frustrated with technology, or how her eyes softened whenever he let himself be vulnerable.

One evening, as they sat on the couch, a movie playing in the background, she spoke without looking at him. “You ever think about what you’d be doing if things were different?”

Bucky glanced at her, noting the distant look in her eyes. “You mean if we weren’t frozen in time and experimented on?”

A small smirk pulled at her lips. “Yeah. That.”

He thought about it for a second. “Dunno. Maybe I’d still be in Brooklyn. Maybe I’d have a family.”

She hummed, considering that. “You think you’d have kids?”

The question caught him off guard. He hadn’t thought about it in a long time. “I used to,” he admitted. “Before the war. Figured I’d settle down eventually.”

She nodded slowly. “I wanted that too. Once.”

Bucky tilted his head slightly. “What changed?”

She exhaled through her nose, something almost like amusement crossing her face. “Seventy years of being a ghost will do that to you.”

He understood that too well.

After a moment, she turned to him, her expression more open than it had ever been. “But I don’t feel like a ghost when I’m with you.”

Bucky’s chest tightened. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that until now.

He reached over, fingers brushing against hers, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, she laced her fingers through his, anchoring them both to the present.

Neither of them spoke after that. They didn’t need to.

They were still figuring things out, still learning how to live after years of merely surviving. But in that moment, sitting beside each other in the dim light of their shared apartment, Bucky knew one thing for certain.

Whatever came next, they’d face it together.

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 3.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: I had someone on Ao3 ask me about how often this will get updated and my answer is that I don't know. My IRL can be pretty unpredictable and I do deal with depression on a daily basis. I'm going to do my best to update this while still working on my Leon Kennedy fic, Unlikely Salvation! Please do bear with me as I try to figure out where I want this story to go!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. chapter 1 / chapter 2

The lab was hustling with scientists, the Wakandan sunrise filtering through the enormous windows with an intensity that made Bucky eyes hurt as he stood by the cryostasis pod where the Winter Soldier would soon be housed.

The whole trek to the lab had been uneventful: not once did the soldier fight back. It seemed that the failure to complete her mysterious mission had caused her to shut down, and Bucky was tense as she was strapped down with multiple magnetic cuffs like the ones he and Steve used back in the quinjet.

Even with the super soldier serum coursing through her veins and whatever other enhancements she might naturally have or that HYDRA might have given her would prove useless. She was strapped down nice and tight.

There was a machine hovering over her knee, the tissue and bone beneath crunching and grinding as it was fusing back together, her expression unchanging despite her kneecap and patella being exposed. The air was beginning to smell of singed flesh and hair, and Bucky felt slightly nauseous.

Bucky hated knowing how much damage his arm could inflict; how unforgiving his grip was and how hard it was to regulate the strength at times so he would break yet another glass just by holding it and trying to take a drink.

And it had been so easy to crush her flesh like it was nothing.

"Howard? Howard, oh god...oh god, Anthony...!"

Bucky clenched his jaw, swallowing harshly as Maria Stark's voice whispered to him, and he was broken out of his trance by Shuri announcing.

"Once we are finished with her knee, I would like to begin deconstructing her mind. If efforts are fruitless, I would like for you to activate her again if possible. We might be able to figure out what her previous orders were and her intentions, history, anything that would prove useful to the eradication of HYDRA."

Steve frowned, asking as T'Challa simply stayed quiet, observing the Winter Soldier as she sat complacent and quiet; seemingly not hearing a word that they were saying.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? What if it doesn't work?"

Shuri replied confidently, flicking her eyes over to Steve before gesturing towards Bucky with a nod of her head.

"We will have to reset completely and start over. Sergeant Barnes' rehabilitation was easy due to the flaws within his programming that HYDRA was unable to remedy. However, we do not know what improvements have been made to HYDRA's algorithm since then. It will be challenging to separate the core person that this woman was before her programming, but not impossible."

T'Challa then asked, raising an eyebrow at Shuri as she shined a light into the Winter Soldier's eyes, taking down notes and recording her vitals.

"What if you are unable to separate the identity from the programming?"

Shuri sighed deeply, shrugging.

"She will have to be built from the ground up. This woman will be like a completely clean slate down to a new name if we are unable to figure out who she was before. I am already running the best biometric identification programs within our arsenal to figure out who she could have been. I would assume that Stark is also doing so?"

Steve nodded, replying as he watched the soldier closely as her eyes inconspicuously flicked to a scientist that readying a syringe.

"Yes, he's also got Nat looking through the database that we downloaded and coursing through any previous databanks we obtained from previous HYDRA raids."

Shuri then turned to Bucky, making him quirk an eyebrow up slightly as she regarded him with a raised brow.

"What is your take on this, Sergeant Barnes?"

All eyes were on him, and Bucky sighed slightly he stared down the soldier, watching the way her brow began to tense slightly the closer the scientist got. The second the syringe touched her skin, the soldier began to freak out.

Due to the cuffs restricting her movement, she resorted to smacking her back against the chair over and over, hissing and yelling loudly as the scientist jolted and stumbled back. T'Challa immediately shoved her down, Shuri exclaiming profanities as she snatched the syringe from the scientist and shoved it into the soldier's neck.

The soldier hissed and yanked her neck away, breaking the needle, and Shuri groaned, gesturing with her hands wildly.

"Really? Now I'm going to have to dig that out. You make things harder for yourself!"

Okoye quipped, her spear pointing towards the soldier as Steve and Bucky stood tensed and ready should the Soldier somehow get out of her binds.

"How primitive! She is like a wild animal!"

The sedative began to kick in, the woman's bucking gradually stopping, and she went limp within the chair, head rolling to the side as her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. Bucky's heart was racing slightly with adrenaline, and Steve observed.

"Seems like she knew what the syringe meant."

T'Challa frowned deeply, leaning back and brushing his hands off slightly as he glanced back at Steve.

"An important but grave detail: she must be remembering...or perhaps, it is a recent memory."

Shuri plucked the broken needle from the soldier's neck, humming.

"I will take it as a good sign that there is at least someone beneath the rubble. I promise you, Mr. Rogers, that I will do my best to find her."

Steve nodded before clapping Bucky on the shoulder.

"You going to be alright?"

Bucky glanced over at Steve, muttering truthfully.

"I don't want to do this, but I'm only doing it for you. I'm worried that she is going to somehow lead HYDRA to me and it's gonna be a shit-show all over again."

Steve was firm, declaring quietly.

"You know I wouldn't let that happen. I'd have to miss that big head of yours again."

"You're a goddamn punk, you know that?"

Bucky couldn't keep the smile from gracing the corners of his lips, and Steve smiled at him softly before hugging him firmly and backing away.

"Alright, I'm going to leave you to it. I'll check in periodically; let you all know what we find on our side of the world."

T'Challa hummed, walking towards Steve.

"I will accompany you. I would like to discuss some things before your departure."

Steve nodded, and the two men walked out of Shuri's lab. Bucky turned back around, making a slight face as Shuri cut away pieces of the woman's clothing, revealing a black and tight-fitting compression camisole.

There were numerous scars and marks all over her body, some jagged and unforgiving while others were clean and precise. Shuri hummed softly, muttering as her fingers grazed a jagged scar that ran beneath the woman's neck.

"The things this woman must have been through...HYDRA is truly despicable."

Bucky couldn't speak. Hell, he couldn't even think outside of the boiling hatred and rage that was beginning to consume him at the sight of the gruesome scars that covered her upper body. Bucky could only assume that it got worse beneath her uncut clothing, and he had to bite his tongue as hard as he could.

Whip scars, burn marks, mutilated flesh that never regenerated, her body was a canvas; a horrendous painting that HYDRA had taken delight in decorating. This was more than just punishment, it was a warning.

A warning that disobedience will not be tolerated.

How many times did they slash her throat for the scar to become so prominent? How many times did they burn her skin to the point that the serum couldn't work to regenerate? How often did they beat and prod and jab and shoot and stab at her until she was too weak to fight back?

In a morbid way, Bucky took it as a sign that despite her being activated and still dangerous, her history of resistance let HYDRA know that the person that used to be there still existed.

There was someone still underneath the rubble, as Shuri had put it, and Bucky hoped that Shuri could pull her out.

But even so, would it help? Would it be right to let this woman have to live with the memories and nightmares of what had happened to her? Was it right to subject her mind to the torture of HYDRA even after being rescued?

Was it right to try despite knowing how traumatized and desolated the woman was going to be once she was free? Hell, there were times were Bucky could still smell the scent of the cologne his Handler wore when punishing Bucky, and now Bucky couldn't stand to smell the scent without being pushed into a panic.

"Don't worry, White Wolf. I am going to do what I can to help this woman."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

His voice was choked, cracking slightly as he rushed to respond, and Shuri tilted her head at him, asking Bucky with a curious gaze.

"Then what is it that plagues you?"

"I just...is it right to do this when she's gonna have to live with the memories and the nightmares?"

Bucky felt ashamed by the frown that crossed Shuri's face, but was slightly relieved to know that the disappointment that flashed within her eyes was not directed at him.

"I understand the concern, and I understand that it will not be easy for her...but that is why you are here. You have survived HYDRA and are free of the programming they worked hard to instill within your mind. With living proof that persistence yields peace, I truly think that she may become a person again...it will just take time and a lot of work."

Bucky nodded, and Shuri was quiet for a moment before she murmured.

"While it may not seem fair to save her...it is truly a tragedy to deny her the chance that HYDRA never gave her."

The words left a profoundly bitter taste within Bucky's mouth, and he could distinctly taste copper from him biting into his cheek too hard. Shaking his head, Bucky looked away from the woman as Shuri began to assess her further.

"Reactivating her will come with a risk. I would only be able to activate her, but I don't have the knowledge to deactivate, if that's even possible. When I was activated...the longer I was out of cryostasis and hadn't been wiped, the easier it was to resist the programming. I don't know if it will be the same for her."

"As I said: reactivation will allow us the ability to communicate with her. She has not been wiped, it would seem, so it is possible that this woman knows something."

Shuri grabbed a butterfly needle and a vial, putting on gloves and tying a tourniquet around the woman's arm so that she could find a vein. Once she found it, Shuri inserted the butterfly needle, taping it to the soldier's skin.

"I am now going to collect bloodwork to run DNA diagnostics and input the data into the biometric identification program to see if we may be able to identify her this way. I'm also going to do some testing to see what serum she might have been injected with to trace it back to the creator."

Bucky nodded and sat back, watching and listening intently as Shuri described what she was doing and what the programs did on a deeper, intellectual manner. While Bucky was listening and trying to absorb the information, he couldn't stop glancing over at the scars that lined the woman's body.

Horrific couldn't even describe it. It made him sick to his stomach. If Shuri noticed that Bucky was slightly distracted, she gracefully didn't comment on it. Instead, Shuri tried to distract him the best that she could while the machine she was operating was taking a scan of the woman's brain.

After a moment, Shuri hummed, a perplexed look on her face as she sauntered around the hologram of the woman's brain, tendrils of red seeming to pulse all over the organ, and Shuri's brows furrowed as she thought to herself. Bucky asked with an intrigued look on his face.

"What is that?"

"This is a digital recreation of the woman's brain as well as the areas most affected by HYDRA's programming."

Shuri looked proud as she began to move the hologram around, zooming in and out of different areas and lobes before breaking it down into layers.

"Thanks to the work that I did for you, I was able to develop an AI that was capable of identifying HYDRA's programming, as well as detect the intensity and depth that it runs. It gives possible solutions and suggestions on what to work on first...and tells me when something activates the program."

Shuri's voice seemed to lower slightly, side-eyeing him for a moment before she looked back at the hologram, but Bucky didn't notice. Bucky was floored, in awe at the ingenuity of the AI that he couldn't help but to whistle lowly.

"That's incredible, Shuri."

"Please, compared to her, you were like a walk in the park."

Shuri waved him off before she hummed, pointing to a area that was largely red within the hologram.

"However, unlike your programming, her programming is much more complex. There are multiple layers where the programming intertwines with core pieces and memories, which will make unraveling the ties difficult. There might be parts of her that will not be salvageable."

Bucky pursed his lips slightly, shaking his head as he replied gently.

"Like you said: from the ground and up if needed."

Shuri smiled widely at Bucky, her eyes crinkling as she teased gently, pointing at him.

"See, now you are beginning to understand."

Bucky rolled his eyes before he asked as Shuri began to work, a screen popping up and flashing slightly.

"So, what is that?"

"If we are going to salvage as much as we can of the core person she was before she became a Winter Soldier, we will have to analyze every piece of her psyche. Unfortunately, I cannot do much with HYDRA's program basically firewalling me. It is like they added some sort of encryption to her so that any attempt of undoing their work would be unsuccessful or too risky."

Bucky tilted his head, becoming slightly confused as he pointed to the red parts of the woman's brain.

"Is that why those areas are red like that?"

"Yes. If you look closely, it is almost as though these red areas are wrapping around the parts that are otherwise untouched by HYDRA's program. If we can get past the encryptions, we might be able to get through."

Bucky nodded along, crossing his arms before he glanced down at the woman, asking apprehensively.

"Are you going to make me activate her?"

"For now, no. I do not think that it will be necessary. All I need to do is bypass the encryptions, break them down, and then I will begin to root out the memories with the most significance to her."

Shuri spared Bucky a glance, relaying to him honestly.

"If possible, I would like to keep you from doing so because of the mental repercussions activating her will have. I will entrust the process to Okoye if activation is the only option we have left."

Bucky shook his head, murmuring to Shuri as he glanced down at the woman again as her face scrunched slightly.

"No, I'll do it...let's just hope that I don't have to."

Shuri became quiet, staring Bucky down for a moment before she turned away and suggested.

"Perhaps you should see the Captain off. Breaking through the encryption will take time, and I can tell that you are starting to become brain-dead listening to me."

Bucky chuckled before bowing his head slightly, shaking his head.

"I'd rather not upset your brother by leaving you with her by yourself."

Shuri made a face at him, the expression reminding him of Steve pre-serum.

"Do you think I am not capable of defending myself? This is my territory, white boy."

Bucky raised his hands in surrender, wincing slightly.

"I'm sorry, your highness, but I've been on the receiving end of your brother's foot."

Shuri barked out a laugh, and Okoye made her presence known by snorting while a couple of the Dora Milaje stood by the entrance to Shuri's lab.

"At least he knows what he would be up against. Do not worry, Sergeant Barnes, I will stand watch. The Captain is about to make his departure."

Bucky nodded before expressing his gratitude, nodding gently to Shuri.

"Thank you. I'll be back shortly."

Bucky turned and left quickly, his steps quick and urgent as he arrived outside. However, the quinjet was already flying away, making Bucky purse his lips. T'Challa's voice greeted him, making the man look over at the King as he spoke.

"You just missed him."

"He's always running off on me somehow, so I'm not entirely surprised."

T'Challa chuckled slightly, before he glanced over at Bucky.

"How are you feeling about all of this?"

Bucky glanced over at T'Challa, regarding him with an exhausted look before he turned back front, watching Steve leave again.

"I'm worried, honestly. There's so many things that could go wrong. What if HYDRA is trying to find me and was using her to do it? HYDRA must know that the Avengers have been raiding the old facilities that aren't in use anymore, so why not leave her to be found and taken in?"

T'Challa hummed, clasping his hands together as he replied.

"Let them try. They will not make it very far."

Bucky pursed his lips slightly before he murmured.

"It's...strange, honestly...seeing this from an outside perspective. I knew that this was serious, but I wasn't aware of how bad it actually was. Standing on the other side of the glass...it's almost poignant."

T'Challa nodded, replying with a hum.

"When my father was killed and I was under the assumption that it was you in Vienna, a deep hatred rooted within me for HYDRA. While I understand now that it was Zemo's schemes...that hatred for HYDRA has never wavered. Even now when knowing the dangers that lie beyond those doors, I still hope for peace."

Bucky was quiet, listening intently to T'Challa's words as the king spoke, his brown eyes downcast as he continued.

"Nobody deserves to be subjected to such horrific torture."

Bucky wasn't sure on how to respond. Instead, the man just nodded and took a moment to breathe before he settled, glancing over at T'Challa.

"You're right, and if we have to start from scratch, then I'm willing to help how I can...both with rehabilitating her and eradicating HYDRA once and for all."

T'Challa nodded quietly before turning to walk back towards the lab, suggesting over his shoulder.

"You should get some rest...and maybe put that on ice."

At the mention of the wound on his temple, it began to pulse, and Bucky just sighed.

"I'll sleep it off...and thank you for listening."

T'Challa didn't respond, but a smile graced the king's lips as he disappeared through the doors. Bucky's shoulders sagged slightly, and he rubbed his temple gently, wincing when he pressed down to hard.

He had to admit: that woman could give a mean right-hook.

-

STORY NOTES: Bucky, T'Challa, Steve, and Shuri are all within her lab with the Winter Soldier. So far, the Winter Soldier has made no move. Shuri is using a machine that heals and reconstructs the soldier's knee, and Bucky is perturbed by the damage he had inflicted. He reflects on the hardship it took to regulate the strength of his grip in his metal arm; reminiscing about the difficulty of clutching a glass of water.

Shuri then tells the group that she would like to begin deconstructing the Winter Soldier's mind to get an understanding of her intentions, and suggests activating the Winter Soldier again should Shuri's efforts fail. Steve is apprehensive, and Shuri voices that if neither efforts are successful, then she will have to completely reboot the Winter Soldier.

Shuri elaborates that she is currently attempting to figure out the identity of the Winter Soldier, and makes a remark that she hopes Tony Stark is also doing the same. Steve comments that Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, is also combing through the databank Bucky had downloaded, as well as previously recovered databanks.

When a scientist attempts to inject a sedative into her, the Winter Soldier begins to resist; causing a scene and consequently breaking the needle of the sedative within her neck. Steve observed that the woman understood what the syringe meant, and T'Challa points out that it might be a sign that she is remembering.

Before Steve's departure, Bucky voices his fear that HYDRA is using her to get to him, and Steve reassures Bucky that he won't let HYDRA get their hands on him again. Steve exits with T'Challa, and Bucky and Shuri are left alone within the lab. Shuri begins to remove a bit of the woman's clothing, and more scars are revealed.

Bucky becomes upset by the sight of the scars, understanding what they meant, and Bucky begins to become apprehensive about saving the woman. Shuri reassures Bucky that what they are doing is right. Later, Shuri shows Bucky a digital rendition of the Winter Soldier's brain and explains what she is going to do in order to save the woman's core identity.

Shuri comments that Bucky should see Steve off, and though Bucky tries to get to Steve before he leaves, he is unsuccessful. Instead, he meets with T'Challa. They begin to converse with each other, Bucky revealing his concerns, and T'Challa reassures him that HYDRA would not make it far into Wakanda if they attempted to retrieve him. Bucky makes a final thought on the woman and reflects on her strength. End scene.

TAGLIST: @vicmc624 @tilldeathripsusapart

[arcadia-smith]

One touch

Part 1 // Part 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Summary: You’ve lived your whole life carrying pieces of others—memories, emotions, pain. A single touch is all it takes. You never meant to fall for Bucky Barnes. Not when one touch showed you the full weight of his past—every wound, every scream, every drop of blood spilled. But the problem with avoiding someone is that it only makes you want them more. And Bucky is just as drawn to you as you are to him.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Bucky's memories, kinda slow burn.

Note: Might be inspired by that one POV I saw ages ago. Finally, wrote smth on it.

You’re careful, always. Gloves in the winter, long sleeves in the summer, avoiding unnecessary contact. But you weren’t expecting to meet him that day. You weren’t expecting his steel-blue eyes, the hesitant way he reached for you, the calloused warmth of his palm.

James Buchanan Barnes. You thought maybe it would be something vague, like the usual flickering memories you caught from strangers—forgotten birthdays, the feeling of laughter in their ribs, the taste of their last sip of coffee.

But the moment your hand slipped into his, you knew you had made a mistake.

Pain.

It surged through you in an instant, stealing the air from your lungs, making your knees nearly buckle under the weight of it. The sharp bite of a knife slicing through flesh. The suffocating grip of restraints against metal wrists. The echo of voices shouting commands in Russian, the chilling sensation of being stripped down to nothing but a weapon. The screams. The red star. Blood, so much blood—on his hands, on his soul, dripping onto snow-covered ground. The sensation of metal replacing flesh. Terror. Rage. Regret. The unbearable weight of loss.

You ripped your hand away, eyes wide, heart hammering. Bucky was staring at you, brow furrowed in confusion.

"You okay?" His voice was rough, but his concern was genuine.

You force a smile. A lie. “Yeah. Just—just got a little dizzy.”

It’s the first of many lies.

You avoided touching him after that. It was difficult. Bucky's a tactile person, more than he realized. A hand on your back when guiding you through a crowded space. Sitting beside him on mission briefings, careful not to let your knees brush. You handed him files with your sleeves pulled over your fingers. You trained in the same room but always kept your distance. It was exhausting, this careful, deliberate avoidance, but you had no choice.

He was kind, in a quiet, unassuming way. He made you coffee in the mornings when you were both in the compound kitchen too early for anyone else to be awake. He told you about the books he had been reading when sleep didn't come. He listened when you talked, really listened, like what you were saying was the most important thing in the world.

He made you want things you shouldn’t.

But you knew what was inside him. You felt it. You felt him break, over and over again, and you didn't know how to hold that without breaking too.

Bucky wasn't just the things Hydra made him do. He wasn't just the broken memories and the pain. The way he always waited for you to enter a room first. The way he softened when he talked to Sam’s nephews. The way he looked at you sometimes, like he wanted to say something but didn't know how.

He remembered things about you, little things you barely noticed about yourself. And it terrified you because you were falling for him.

And worse? He was falling for you, too.

“You don’t like touching me.”

You froze, coffee cup halfway to your lips. You were both sitting in the compound’s common area, the glow of the city outside casting long shadows across the floor.

“I don’t like touching anyone,” you corrected.

Bucky didn’t look convinced.

"Steve told me you have some kind of.. gift or whatever he called it." He huffed.

"A gift," you shook your head. It was all but a gift. "i can see.. and feel... memories of a person, whenever I touch them."

“What did you see, when you shook my hand that first time?” Bucky questioned, not knowing if he really wanted to hear the answer.

You hesitated. He deserved an explanation, an answer, but how could you explain something like this? How could you tell him that touching him had nearly broken you? That you’d spent weeks trying to separate your own thoughts from the pain you’d absorbed? That even now, sometimes, you woke up gasping, ice spreading through your veins, memories that weren’t yours pressing against your skull? He didn't deserve that. After all he'd been through.

"You were quite a skirt-chaser back in the day." You shrugged, hoping he'd let go of the topic.

Bucky let out a short laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s what you saw?”

You forced a smile, lifting your cup to your lips. “That’s what I’m telling you I saw.”

You weren’t sure if he was buying it, but either way, he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back against the couch, stretching his metal arm along the back of it, close but not touching.

“You know,” he said after a beat, “I might’ve been a flirt, but I was always a gentleman.”

You raised a brow. “That so?”

“Absolutely.” He smirked. “Always asked for a dance first.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “How chivalrous.”

Bucky chuckled, but you could feel the shift in the air. He hadn’t forgotten your deflection. The momentary ease between you wasn’t enough to erase the unspoken weight of his question.

What did you see?

What did you feel?

You didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

The ice-cold metal of an operating table. The burn of a shock collar. The sting of a fresh wound being ignored, a voice barking orders in Russian. The absolute, gut-wrenching terror of realizing—over and over—that you weren’t in control of your own body.

And beneath it all, buried so deep it nearly went unnoticed—loneliness. A yearning for something, someone, anyone to remind him he wasn’t just a weapon.

You couldn’t tell him that.

So instead, you clung to the lighter pieces, the moments before the pain, before the war. The golden haze of 1940s Brooklyn, the warmth of laughter, the way the air used to hum with the promise of something better.

“Steve always said I was a pain in the ass back then,” Bucky mused, snapping you back to the present.

You glanced at him, offering a small smile. “Some things never change.”

That made him laugh, real and genuine this time, and for a moment, the weight in your chest lightened.

The next few days were a blur of subtle moments, quiet exchanges, and the uncomfortable tension that lingered between you and Bucky. You tried to keep your distance, pretending that everything was fine, but the truth was far harder to swallow.

Every time Bucky walked into the room, the pull was undeniable. You’d find your gaze drawn to him, and when he caught your eye, you’d quickly look away, as if your body was betraying you, desperate for something you couldn’t have.

And then there were the little things—the way his presence seemed to fill the space around him, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, like he was trying to break through some invisible barrier that you’d put up.

You didn’t want to feel that pull. You couldn’t afford to. Because no matter how much your heart ached to close the distance between you and him, you knew the consequences.

That afternoon, when you were leaving the training room, you almost collided with Bucky in the hallway. He stepped back just in time, his eyes flashing with surprise as you tried to regain your balance.

“Easy there,” he said, his voice low but steady, his hand brushing your arm to steady you.

You froze. The moment his fingers made contact with your skin, everything came rushing back. The sharp pain of a bullet slicing through muscle, the flash of a bomb exploding too close, the heartache of losing everything that had ever mattered. The memories of the wars he’d fought, of the things he’d been forced to do, filled your mind so quickly you barely had time to breathe.

You pulled away instinctively, your body trembling, your chest tightening as you fought to keep it together.

“I—I’m sorry,” you gasped, avoiding his eyes, your heart hammering in your chest. You didn’t want to look at him. You couldn’t. Because if you did, you might just break, and you couldn’t do that. Not with him. Not when you already knew the kind of pain he carried inside him.

Bucky took a step forward, his expression softening as he reached out, his hand hovering just shy of yours. “You’re not okay,” he said quietly, his voice full of concern. “What’s going on?”

You shook your head, willing the storm inside you to settle. “I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a smile. “Just… tired. Long day.”

Before either of you could say anything more Steve appeared at the end of the hallway, calling out to Bucky.

“You coming, Barnes?”

Bucky hesitated, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer, as if he was torn between walking away and staying.

Finally, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he said to Steve, before turning back to you. “We’ll talk soon, yeah?”

You noded and you couldn’t breathe until he was gone.

The next day, Bucky found you in the courtyard, sitting by yourself, your eyes distant as you stared at the horizon. He walked up slowly, as though unsure of how to approach you.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t look up. “It’s a free country.”

Bucky settled next to you anyway, the quiet between you comfortable for a moment, but not for long. He was too aware of everything. Too aware of you.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his voice low.

You shifted uncomfortably. “No, it’s not that.”

“Then what?” His tone softened, and you finally turned to meet his eyes.

“I told you, I don’t like touch. And it’s not something I can just turn off. And it's hard to be around you... when all I want to do is touch you, for you to touch me, kiss me..”

You got up on your feet but before you could turn, you felt the weight of his hand on your arm, gentle, but firm. Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest. His touch was warm, steady, nothing like the icy remnants of war that had scarred him, but you still felt the sharpness of his past pressing against you like a shadow.

You looked down at his hand, at the way his fingers barely brushed your sleeve. It was a simple gesture, but to you, it was more than that. It was the invitation. The risk. The question you both had been dancing around.

You swallowed hard, fighting the sudden wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. But when you met his eyes, the vulnerability there, the honest want for connection, it nearly broke you.

You wanted to pull away. You wanted to stop, to keep him at arm’s length, but something inside you shifted, and you found yourself taking a step closer, just enough for your fingers to brush against his.

The world tilted.

The memories flooded you—faster, sharper this time. The face of a man who wasn’t quite Bucky anymore, wasn’t quite the soldier he’d been. The ache of betrayal, the desperate longing for redemption. The faces of people he’d loved and lost, the quiet rage of a man who had been turned into a weapon and was still trying to find his humanity.

Your chest tightened as the memories crashed over you, and you gasped, pulling your hand away, stumbling back like you’d been burned.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice ragged. “I—I can’t…”

Bucky’s face twisted, a flash of pain crossing his features “I’m sorry if I—”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “It’s not you. It’s me. I just… I can’t keep doing this.”

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Policy & Procedure | Part 8 | Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Reader | 3.6k words

You and Bucky finally talk back at his apartment. Without work and the public watching, you can finally be yourselves again. But what will that look like now the truth is out?

Warnings: 18+ language, mentions of HYDRA and the Winter Solider, adult content, p in v, dirty talk, mentions of bratting, dirty talk, oral (f recieving). S is for Sir.

A/N: This is the last chapter and I'm so excited to share it with you! Thank you so much for reading, whether it was from the start, part way through or you're just here for the smut! If you enjoyed this series please reblog to share with your friends :)

Masterlist | Policy & Procedure Masterlist | <-Part 7 | Bucky Barnes

The ride back to Bucky's apartment was filled with fraught silence. The driver tried desperately to make conversation before turning the radio up and tuning in to the coverage of what was apparently several attacks on several political offices.

Bucky paid in cash as he always did and you rolled your eyes, stepping out close behind him, his shadow. And he loved it, had missed the smell of your perfume when you tugged on his jacket sleeve.

"Mr Barnes —"

"Let's not talk here," Bucky could feel how tight his smile was, the edge in his voice.

You were finally here, finally coming to his home where he'd spent hours preparing for you — only to come back and shove the flowers into the trash compactor. He'd downed the bottle of wine he picked out sat in the bath while the water went cold and then he'd shoved the dressing gown to the back of his closet and decided he'd done as much crying as he felt became a man of his age.

Now you were here, his apartment was a mess, he had no food in and he was pretty sure he hadn't even put his clothes in the hamper from yesterday. He felt like a boy again and despite the decades of time that had passed since he'd last seen his mother, he could hear her scolding him for his slovenliness. Hear his father's raised voice —his stomach turned.

None of this was right anymore, not his life, not this day, not the awkwardness he felt with you when he'd been so happy before.

He was right, his apartment was as he left it. Dirty dishes by the sink and his coffee table covered in books, candy wrappers and cups.

"Come in, I guess, can I get you a drink?" He offered, getting a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, at least that was full, maybe Anna had sent someone round.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you're drinking." You sat awkwardly at the breakfast bar, watching him, and a prickle on unease ran up his spine.

He still wasn't sure who you really were. Sam had told him you were security, but did he even know your real name?

Bucky placed the glass in front of you and opted to stand on the other side of the counter, he rolled his shirt sleeves up and undid his tie, watching your eyes tracking his movements as he went. That was real, he knew it, he didn't imagine the way your throat moved when you swallowed, or flick of your eyes to his forearms.

"Okay, you wanted to tell me your side of things so. You said back there —"

He was still replaying what you'd said, that you cared about, had been frightened for him.

"You have to know, I wasn't sent to —"

"Sleep with me?" Bucky took a swig of water to try and calm himself down, "sure, you said."

"I was tasked with making sure you're safe. You get lots of letters, nice letters, from kids and enhanced people and that's lovely. But you get a lot of hate mail too, it just doesn't reach your desk and Sam— he was worried."

"Do you even really know Sam?" This had stung Bucky as much as anything else, that Sam would lie so much something had to be true and he really hoped Sam had been telling the truth about your bravery during Project Insight.

"Yeah, I do.I've worked with him, as Captain America, I've done private security, undercover ops, freelance stuff…that was true. He trusts me, that's why he trusted me with his best friend." You looked at him pointedly, making sure to keep eye contact.

You hadn't looked away from him the entire time, you weren't shaking or nervous, you were telling the truth — or you were an insanely good liar because Bucky could hear your heart beating when you got excited, and right now, it was a steady thump.

Bucky wasn't so sure he was still best friends with Sam, he had a lot of apologising to do for the way he'd spoken to him.

"You worked for SHIELD?" He used his glass to wave at your faded Kevlar vest.

"Yeah, I did." He could see in your eyes, you knew what was coming next.

"Were you there?— Don't pretend you don't know what I mean, were you there?"

"Yes." You said it proudly, chin up, and he he was reminded of why he was so drawn to you. Your persistence, your pride in your role, your willingness to take responsibility. "I was there."

"And did you follow your orders then?"

"I followed the right orders,"

Bucky's heart sank momentarily

"— I listened to Agent Hill. I did my job, not as directed by SHIELD officials, but by the principals it was founded on. I protected the people. I protected Sam and Captain Rogers, Agent Hill and Agent Romanoff. I shot one of my colleagues, point blank, to protect them." You did look down then. "I was mostly a desk agent before then, it changed my life and I'm still not sure if I'm glad of that or not. But it did. I have to live with it, what I did, killing him. I had to make it mean something, so I found Sam after and I've been freelancing for him every since. Is that what you wanted to hear?" You looked like you were fighting back tears.

Bucky ducked his head, ashamed. Of course you did. Sam was a man of principal too, he wouldn't have been friends with you if you'd have run away or listened to the HYDRA agents. But it also wasn't everything he wanted to know…

"And did you see me?" Bucky let the question hang, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

"I saw you, yes. I saw you as him, the Winter Soldier and I saw you drag Captain Rogers from the river. I saw you walk away a different man. And it's that man I promised Sam I'd protect."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, "I don't need protecting, sweetheart."

"Seems to me like you do, if you keep forgetting you're a congressman and not a superhero. You were going to go back into the building today, if I hadn't called that cab."

"That's true." Bucky downed his water, he'd have walked back in without a second thought, he was still a little troubled by how easy it had been for you to lead him away.

"It's what makes me care about you, Mr Barnes, more than the job required."

It was your turn to look awkward now, playing with the condensation on your glass of water, the ice clinking when you moved it between your palms.

"You don't have to pretend I meant anything more to you to make me feel better, I just wanted to know the truth."

He was lying and he knew it, but he hoped you didn't.

"Hmm —" your gaze slowly moved over the counter, tracing up his arms until it felt like you were trying to see his secrets, eyes keen and trained on his own. "It meant a lot more to me than that, and I think it meant more to you. You know — I really never meant to hurt you, Mr Barnes, I got carried away. Sam was right to remove me from the position, I would've got us both in trouble or, worse, killed."

Suddenly there were tears spilling over your cheeks.

Bucky had never been good with crying, it was in many ways his biggest weakness. He wasn't an idiot, he'd spent years comforting his sister, Steve, the Howlies. But crying just seemed to make him panic.

"Oh - oh no —" he rounded the counter and wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head against his chest, one hand rubbing circles on the small of your back, the other stroking over the back of your head. "I hurt myself, I was stupid and reckless, inappropriate and unprofessional. Regardless of who you are, I should never have —"

You looked up, your arms circling his waist and pulling him closer, "I'm glad you did, I wanted to, I still —" you ducked your head, wiping your finger over the smear of mascara on his white shirt. "That'll stain."

"I don't care, what were you going to say?" He cupped your cheek in his vibranium palm, thumb nudging your tears away.

"I hated not seeing you every day, I hate being apart from you, I know that sounds pathetic, we only had a few weeks together but I —"

Bucky bent down and pressed his lips to yours, salty from your tears. He licked away the sadness, holding you steady against his body. You hesitated for a moment and he kicked himself, ready to let you go, back away and call you a cab, then you sighed into his mouth and kissed him back.

Everything felt right again, the way you allowed him to take some of your weight, leaning back into his palm, your lips parting for his own, hands clutching at his shirt and in his hair.

It felt the same. But it was still different, now that the truth was out.

"You're in your head," you whispered, tucking his hair behind his ear and searching his gaze.

"It's hard not to be," Bucky bent forward, resting his forehead against yours, "you taste the same —but—"

"But —"

"At the hotel, you — the things you said and did, what was real?"

You pulled back further, "are you asking me if I wanted to have sex with you? Of course I did, none of that was — no one asked me to do that." A little crease appeared between your eyes and Bucky fought the urge to kiss it away.

"Come on now, you know what I mean. I may be an old man but I understand playing these games, the bratting, calling me sir — I —fuck — I spanked you, sweetheart. What of that was you maintaining this illusion of the sweet little secretary, and what was real?" He could feel his ears going pink at the memory, your gasps, your begging voice asking for him.

"Would you think less of me as an agent if I wanted you to spank me, if I enjoyed playing the little brat for you?"

Bucky paused, "no, of course not, it was so sexy and I was thrilled you wanted to share that with me, sweetheart, I would've been happy no matter what you wanted to do."

"You still call me sweetheart," you tugged on his tie and he allowed himself to be brought closer to your lips.

"You're still sweet to me, regardless of what you tell me next. Unless you don't like it?"

"I like it." Your voice was breathy, dreamy and far away. "And you're still Mr Barnes —"

"That's my name, sweetheart."

"Hmm…." you lifted your chin, your lips against his, "you could still be sir to me, if you want to be."

"Oh I want to be—"

And then he was kissing you again because he couldn't help it, he had to kiss you. And you were pulling at his hair, tugging him down and arching up into him.Bucky slid his hands down your back and scooped you up into his arms marching away from the kitchen towards his bedroom. He didn't care that his sheets were messy anymore, if he got his way he'd have to change them all anyway when he was done with you.

"You like it when I take control, hmm?" He asked gruffly, nipping at your ear. The sharp sensation had you arching in his arms, trying to press yourself against him, get some friction, but it was too hard.

"I trust you, sir, but I also like that frown you get when you want to be mad at me," you kissed his cheeks and then between his eyes where Bucky knew he had a permanent wrinkle forming. "It's so sexy, I just can't help myself." You bit your lip, smiling cheekily.

He debated between dropping you to the sheets to enjoy your shocked expression or lowering you gently, but instead decided to sit himself, keeping you in his lap. Above him your face was all smiles, your eyes lit up with excitement and your mouth parted slightly. Your tongue darted out to lick nervously at your lip.

Bucky cupped your cheeks, allowing you to settle in his lap, arms looped around his neck and your fingers playing with his hair.

"I haven't been able to get you off my mind, sweetheart, couldn't stand being without you."

You both paused, bodies still, drinking in the moment.

"Then don't be, let me stay with you." You kissed him softly, coaxing him back out of the nervous shell he'd found himself in. "Let me be with you."

You pressed your hips forwards to rock against the outline of his cock and smiled when he gasped.

"You're torturing me," he groaned, dropping his head to your collarbone and pressing kisses through your shirt. His fingers made light work of the buttons, pushing the heavy kevlar vest off first and then the softer cotton.

Shyly you brought your hands up to fiddle with your bra, plain cotton to match the shirt, "didn't expect to be doing this today, had a whole lingerie set picked out for after your speech and —"

Bucky took your hands and placed them in your lap before quickly releasing the clasp of your bra and sliding the straps down your arms slowly, "you look gorgeous," he praised, ducking forward to lap at a pert nipple.

"So you don't want to see the blue lace I chose?"

"Oh I definitely want to see the lace, but right now, I just want to see you, sweetheart."

With that he lifted up, easily turning you both so you were sprawled on the bed beneath him.

"I think I promised that I'd kiss every inch of you," he lifted an eyebrow, ghosting his lips down over your collarbone and the swell of your breast. You lifted up into him but all he gave you was a flick of his tongue on your sensitive nipple.

"Tease," you groaned, tugging on his hair.

"Brat," he countered, sliding lower, kissing down to your belly button. "These have to go," Bucky began unbuttoning your office slacks, "god please say you're wearing neat little cotton panties to match that bra."

"Mr Barnes!" You covered your face with your hands and pushed at him with your foot, "you said you liked it."

Bucky caught your foot and kissed your ankle before placing it over his shoulder, "I do, I mean it — wait." His fingers slid over your ankle holster, "do you still have weapons on you?" He could feel himself getting harder, his underwear pressed uncomfortably against the wet head of his cock.

"A few, wanna find them?" You slid your foot from his shoulder down to his chest.

"Fuck, yes." And then he pounced, all pretence of romance and delicacy out of the window along with your trousers, ripped down the seam to allow him better access.

You were wearing neat cotton panties, as predicted, but Bucky didn't think he'd seen anything sexier than your concealed ankle holster, or the knife hidden on your thigh.

Bucky trailed his fingers over your thigh and then followed with his tongue, pressing down under the strap. You writhed against the sheets, "please." You whined and Bucky throbbed — that tone, the pout, your eyes. He was worried things would be different, that he would notice the previous lies in the new truths. But this was you just as you'd been at the hotel. Just as you'd been kissing him in his office.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you can have anythin' you want when you beg so pretty." He slurred, lust drunk, love drunk and preparing to bury himself between your thighs.

Your panties were gone in a second, torn and thrown over his shoulder into the darkness of his room. Instantly forgotten when his tongue touched your clit, swirling and then pressing in a steady rhythm.

"Shit," you grabbed at his hair, mussing it between your fingers and tugging, the pain was a delicious flash down his spine urging him on.

"That's it sweetheart, take what you want," he speared his tongue between your folds, lapping at you, squeezing your thighs and encouraging you to wrap them around his shoulders.

You obliged and with a final tug you went taut beneath him, thighs locking around his head.

"Good girl, give it to me, c'mon," Bucky mumbled against you, pressing you apart with his thumbs and catching your arousal on his tongue.

You panted above him, one arm covering your eyes, the other hand still tangled in his hair as he crawled back up your body, kissing you as he went. He was painfully aware that he was still clothed and though the image of you, naked, aroused, post orgasm, beneath him while he was still in his suit was incredibly sexy. He needed to feel you.

Before he could move though your hands were on him, tugging at his buttons and pawing at his trouser zip, pressing the heel of your hand against the firm length of him.

"Please, Mr Barnes," your eyes were wide, that doe eyed expression back, "fuck me."

"Fuckin' hell," it was like his entire body was hard, his whole being. He shoved his trousers and underwear to the floor, his shirt open and half off his shoulders, undershirt rucked up when he pushed you back down, looping your leg over his hip. "You're irresistible, do y'know that?"

You smiled, slowly, and tugged him down so you could whisper in his ear, "takes one to know one —sir." Your hands were all over him, sliding up his back, teasing down his chest. He was surrounded.

Your kisses were as needy as he felt, fervent, teeth clashing as you attempted to get closer, your hands clasping at each other, Bucky didn't bother to line himself up, he didn't need to. As you writhed and arched into each other his cock caught against your soaking folds, he knew when he was against your clit by the high whine that resonated from you.

"Puh-puh-puh-" your begged, rolling against him until finally he was buried inside you, blissful heat and the tight wet feeling of you thrumming around him overtook you both.

"You feel so fuckin' good, could stay here forever," Bucky kissed your temple, giving you time to adjust, for that glassy look to fade enough to know you're ready.

"God yes," you breathed and Bucky drew back, watching your mouth open in time with his thrusts, almost shocked at the sensation and the little punched out 'uh-uh-uh' noises you made. "Wanna stay, missed you so much - yes -uh - just there - yes!"

Bucky dropped to his elbows, caging you against the bed, narrowing his vision until all he could see was your face, feel the puff of your breath on his cheek and smell your perfume.

It was everything, this is what he wanted, what he'd missed, the hollow part of him that was never satisfied before. He'd known it as soon as you'd walked in his office door and he'd been completely helpless to let go of you. You were meant to be here, with him, around him — you were everything.

"Fuck —" he was close, he could feel it building and he wasn't sure if — "sweetheart, I'm so close, god I —" he pulled back, meaning to finish in his hand, on your belly or legs if you'd let him but..

"Don't you dare," you locked your ankles behind him, "I wanna come with you - I'm so so close — oh god oh god — "

He could feel you fluttering around him and, helpless to stop himself, he came hard, flush against your writhing hips he kept himself buried as he twitched, spent, inside of you. He was so happy, so tired, he let his forehead drop to your shoulder where he placed a single kiss.

"I mean it, I don't want to be without you anymore," he whispered, afraid to look at you.

"I don't want to be without you either." You closed your eyes and he allowed himself to just indulge in the feeling of your warm soft body wrapped around his own.

"I'm glad you're here, sweetheart. Do you need anything? I could order take out, run you a bath?" Bucky offered, lifting himself onto his elbow to better view you.

"I don't need anything…although…"

"Yeah," Bucky felt dreamy and far away, he caught your eye and you were smiling again, that low indulgent smile.

"I can't really keep calling you Mr Barnes, can I?" You smirked.

"I guess not," Bucky let out a chuckle, "you can call me Bucky, that's what all my friends call me."

Your smile deepened and Bucky blushed, of course you knew that, he'd forgotten his own notoriety for a moment.

"Bucky." You whispered, stroking a hand over his cheek, scuffing your thumb over his stubble. "Bucky," you sighed his name again, curling into him, tipping him over onto the bed and moulding your body with his. "I like it, I think we need to try it out properly though."

"Yeah?" Bucky said, half listening while he let his hands wander over your back. "How would we try it out."

"Hmm…" You pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips, rubbing yourself against his half-hard cock. "How about — please fuck me, Bucky?" You did your best pout, eyelashes fluttering and breasts pushed forwards.

Bucky opened his eyes to find you giggling as well.

"Yep, that'll do nicely." He agreed, before rolling you over again with a laugh of his own.

[romaevelizz]

Back to You

James “Bucky” Barnes x exhydra!femreader

sum: Bucky finding refuge after D.C from a woman that had been next to him for several years while held in captivity by Hydra.

warnings: cursing, implied past/current relation, violence, angst, hurt-comfort, reader is black coded, bold-italics are russian, reader is kinda mutant(she’s like Vi from incredibles but instead of turning invisible she can heal and create shields).

After D.C Bucky knew he had no choice but to leave, and if there was one thing he was good at was leaving without any trace. He had no money and nowhere to go. One thing he knew he wasn’t going back to Hydra, leaving the country would be the best option.

Maybe he did have somewhere to go, but he had to make sure it was the right place. Few weeks later He’d end up in Romania if there was one thing he was good at it was finding people and he needed to find her, worse that could happen is he got shot.

The clock read 2 a.m., signaling the witching hour when shadows deepen and the world outside holds its breath. An unsettling sensation prickled at the back of her mind, snapping her from sleep. With a jolt, she sat upright in her bed, adrenaline surging as she reached for the rifle hidden beneath her mattress. The air was thick with silence, each creak of the floorboards beneath her feet resonating like a warning as she made her way through her dim, shadowy apartment. As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, an icy chill settled in her veins. There, at her table, sat an enigmatic figure cloaked in darkness. Her heartbeat faltered for a moment, fear clawing at her throat, until her gaze caught the faint glimmer of moonlight reflecting off a metallic arm. Recognition gripped her, sending a wave of dread washing over her as she stood frozen.

“They finally sent you to try to kill me again huh?” She spoke keeping the rifle up to defend herself.

“No.” he answered, “I got out, did it know where else to go.”

She lowered the rifle slowly her eyes watching answering him slowly, “How did you find me.” she questioned.

“I’m good at finding things, and it’s not like you’re hiding.” he answered simply.

She scoffed, “What do you want?”

He could tell she was on edge her tone sharp and protective. “I need help, no money, no place to stay, and can’t go to hospitals for this.” he spoke his voice changing to english as he lifted the shirt up.

A large make shift bandage decorated his abdomen, the cloth bloody and the skin around it irritated. He watched her brows nit together a worried expression fall on her face “What the fuck happend.” she asked walking over to the table placing her gun down on to it.

Their eyes met a small glance being exchanged “alright… you need take that off, I’ll clean it then heal you..” she spoke softly moving from him over to her kitchen to get a rag and warm water.

He nodded quietly, his gaze fixed on her as she moved gracefully around the counter. She appeared transformed since their last encounter. Her hair cascaded down her back inis natural state, significantly longer than he remembered, adding a vibrant touch to her overall look. She radiated a newfound vitality, her skin glowing with health. Intrigued, Bucky took in the intricate tattoo artistry that adorned her left arm; delicate floral patterns twisted and intertwined, each bloom telling a story of its own. A few subtle piercings now embellished her face, glinting softly in the light and enhancing her features. The combination of her tattoos and piercings gave her an air of maturity and confidence that he found striking. He couldn’t help but admire how these changes suited her, transforming her into someone who seemed more self-assured and bold.

“James I need you to remove your shirt or else I can’t help you.” She spoke softly walking around the counter with the bowl and rag.

He did so, slipping the shirt over his head. He always took note of how she called him by his first name, a name that only seemed to be his when she said it. To her, he wasn't ‘Soldier’ or ‘Soldat’; he was James. Her eyes wandered over his figure, a few more scars on him than she remembered his shape the same still big and burly. She felt him flinch under her touch. The sound of his arm moving made her stop. “I won’t hurt you; it just hurts,” he reassured.

She gave him a look before continuing, “To be fair, that last time you showed up in my home you tried killing me gotta get why I’m a little, ya know.” She said frowning.

He pressed his lips together, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I lived. Plus you weren’t, well you.” She hummed, her eyes glancing up at him. “Why are you really here James?” She asked suddenly turning to dip and wring out the rag.

“Because I know you can deal with a bit of a beating and sneak around if you need something. You could’ve very well had this cleaned up what? Days ago when it happened, but instead you let it get infected, and came to me.” Her eyes meeting his as she faced him again.

He remained silent, the words caught in his throat. Deep down, he felt an overwhelming urge—no, a desperate necessity—to see her again. He longed to see the familiar face he had once associated with comfort and camaraderie during the grim days spent in the confines of Hydra. However, that face, once warm and welcoming, now seemed distant and cold, cloaked in shadows of their shared past. Doubt gnawed at him; perhaps this was a mistake after all. As he sat there, a sense of foreboding washed over him, mingling with a flicker of hope.

Her face carried a heavy frown as she looked at him her arms and legs crossed. He remembered when she left, a different doctor cleaning him up instead of her, he recalled asking where she was and instead of an answer he was put under and sent to kill her. He remembered her begging for him to let go of her as she fought back, how after he’d cut her skin would melt back together to heal herself. Her cries and pleas rang through his ears just like everyone else’s but here stood out, the only person in years who cared about him and talked to him like a human instead of a dog, the person who put her energy into healing him day after day, the person who quietly reassured him with a sweet smile on her face when in need, her words always gentle and kind. Then he hurt her, after putting so much trust in him he had hurt her.

He was thankful she’d got away, that she got off Hydras radar. But deep down the world ended when she left. “I don’t know.” He said avoiding her harsh gaze.

“Are you still-“

“No, I’m not in their custody anymore. They don’t know where I am.”

“How are you so sure?” She sneered.

“Because I tore it out,” he spoke up defensively. James had ripped out the chip they put in him, that made sense to the scab on his neck the chip was small and could easily be felt not a surprise it healed easily for it wasn't deep.

“I wouldn't put you in danger again, I can't ever forgive myself for hurting you before, I wont let it happen again.” he mumbled looking down.

He heard her hum before scooting closer to him, “Sit up James.” she said her finger tapping his chin to looks up,

“You can't stop what you can't control James.” She spoke her hands moving to his wound. A soft glow of white can from her hands a tingling sensation lurking around his wound as she heals him.

“I-” she started before closing her mouth.

“I know what you're capable of and in truth it scares me, because I can't get through to you when you're mind is clouded,” she spoke, her eyes focusing on him wound.

James felt his heart shatter into a thousand pieces at her words; the fear etched across her face pierced him deeper than any blade. She had every reason to be afraid—he was a man steeped in darkness, stained with the blood of his past. Her voice broke through the thickness of his thoughts, sharp and clear.

“But I think I understand,” she continued, her tone shifting from trepidation to something almost contemplative. “You’re all alone, just like me. If was so easy to kill Pierce would have done it himself. Instead, he sent you. It’s sickening, isn’t it?” A laugh escaped her lips, a haunting sound laced with both amusement and resignation. It echoed in the dim light, chilling him as it lingered in the air between them.

She shook her head slowly, a deep sense of weight settling over her thoughts like a heavy fog. “They sent the one person I treasured more than anyone else, the person I trusted most—on a mission to take my life.”

Pierce knew it hurt not only her but James as well, he knew she didn't fear death for she had never been close to it. And when she was about to face it flight took over, panic, crying, and screaming. Pierce got the sick satisfaction of having James who would have never laid a finger on her try and kill her, her body under his as he suffocated her his hand crushing her throat as she kicked and screamed. He remembered how her nails clawed at his face, trying to desperately pry his metal hand on of her throat, “Get off, please, please I don't wanna die. You don't have to do this.”

Looking up she saw his lip tremble, tears welding up in his eyes. “James-” she whispered sitting up her hands pulling away from his abdomen.

James hunched over, feeling the weight of his emotions press down on him, his forehead resting against his knees as he wrapped his arms around his head. The defeat in his posture was noticeable, a silent cry for solace that hung heavily in the air. She looked at him, her heart aching, and reached out instinctively, but then hesitated, her hands hovering uncertainly before retracting back to her own lap.

A frown creased her brow, and she absentmindedly began to pick at the delicate skin on her fingers, a nervous habit that surfaced in tense moments peeling the skin from her fingers. Inside, a wave of frustration crashed over her; she mentally chastised herself for bringing the painful topic into the air. Why had she opened her mouth? All she had needed to do was offer him silent support, to be there without the burden of words. She should have just kept quiet, allowing him the space to gather his thoughts without feeling the pressure of their past so obviously weighing down on her.

She took a deep breath before reaching out her hands carefully going to his wrist her body getting closer to him, “ James..” she whispered prying his hands from his head.

She was hurt her protective shield coming off and being harsh towards the broken man. He’d been through so much, his vulnerability spilling out in front of her. He felt safe here, he had no reason to harm her anymore even if he was afraid he’d hurt her again she was all he had. “James.. please look at me..” she spoke desperate for him to look at her.

James slowly picked his head up, her hands moving from his wrist to his face. The way he flinched broke her heart, causing her to pry her hands away, only for him to bring her hands to his face. He melted in the warmth of her touch, her thumbs rubbing his face. “If I could, I’d take it all back… I would’ve taken you with me…” she said, her voice filled with sadness.

She urged him closer. James allowed himself to embrace her his body leaving his chair falling on his knees his arms holding her close as her hands cradled his head. “You promised you wouldn't leave me there by myself..” he broke.

“I know… I know, I'm sorry…” she uttered.

Even after all the feeling of betrayal on both ends, they found each other again, running back to one another like before. Even with the thousands of miles between them, they'd crawl back to each other, she held his heart with such care while captive together. “Let me help you again…” she spoke up pulling his head back to meet his eyes.

James nodded his head tiredly before finding home back in her embrace. It would take both of them time to fully trust each other again but through it all this was the best things he’s done for himself. She kept his word helping him month after month, opening her home to him and helping him adjust to his new found freedom. Two years they would spend together, their fondness for each other never diminishing. Bucky came to terms that he didn’t have to be on edge all the time with her, now sleeping by her side at night.

He never realized how much he needed her till now.

a/n: messy sure maybe i’ll fix it up later but hope u enjoyed!