#bucky tends to readers wounds

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Favourite Surprise

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and Bucky have been through a lot together. So what happens when you surprise him with something he wasn't expecting?

Disclaimer: descriptions of bullet/stab wounds from a mission, hurt/comfort, Bucky tends to Reader's wounds and worries about her, some swearing. Not proof read.

“I’m gonna put you down. Just stay there.”

“It’s not like I can go anywhere.” You slumped onto the floor, holding your side, trying your best to breath through the pain. But even breathing was starting to hurt. 

Bucky had carried you to the safe house. You were on a mission just outside of Prague. You’d been prepared for the worst, and told to hope for the best. But you hadn’t been prepared for this worst. One of the enemy agents having it out for you. 

They’d dived right past Bucky and three other Shield agents in order to reach you. And they’d sure as hell made sure they got to you. 

You could hear Bucky rummaging around in the bathroom, piling things up in order to bring them into you. A few seconds later, he appeared and started moving around, locking all the windows and shutting the curtains. 

“Can I look?”

You nodded, a small whimper leaving you as your clothes caught your wound. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Bucky helped lift your shirt the rest of the way but then he frowned. “I can’t clean it like this. I’m gonna need to cut-”

“No. Don’t-don’t cut it.” Pushing yourself to sit up, you reached for the hem of your t-shirt. “Buck, I’m gonna need your help.”

“It’s gonna be easier to just cut it.”

You shook your head. “I’m not wearing one of the tiny fucking t-shirts kept here. Now, help me.”

Bucky did as he was told, helping you pull the t-shirt up your body and over your head, leaving your top half in your sports bra. 

“This is gonna hurt-”

“I know it’s gonna fucking hurt. Just do it.” You took in a few breaths before shaking your head, your tone softening. “I’m sorry-”

“You’ve been shot and stabbed. Swear as much as you like.”

A weak, breathy laugh left you. “Thanks.”

Bucky gave you a quick countdown before pouring the wound cleaning solution over your wound. Your body reached, crunching up, trying your best to push yourself away from Bucky and the bottle he was pouring over your gaping wound. Your hand landed on his right arm, squeezing him as tight as you were squeezing your eyes shut. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“Ugh, god.” You looked up, your head banging gently against the kitchen cabinet behind you. “I hate this.”

“You’re gonna hate it even more in a minute. You need stitches.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“I need to do them now. We don’t have time-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You took in a deep breath before finally looking at him. “I trust you.”

“Do you?”

“Do I really have any choice?”

“No, I guess not.”

After fifteen minutes, you started to feel yourself succumbing to sleep. “Whoa, hey, no, no, no. Stay awake. Y/n! Don’t you dare pass out on me now!”

You continued to breathe, feeling the needle curl through your skin as he stitched you up. 

“I’m almost done, doll. I promise. Just stay. Awake. You hear me?”

You nodded, though it was weak. However, whatever essence of sleep you were falling into was suddenly gone when a deafening sting ripped through your wound and you shot up from where you’d laid down on the floor. 

“All done. It’s all done now. But I’m gonna need to wrap it.”

“Couldn’t you have warned me?”

“I did. I told you not to fall asleep.”

“I’ve lost a lot of blood. Don’t blame me.”

“Think you can stay awake long enough for me to let Sam know where we are?”

You nodded. “I can try.”

Bucky smiled a little with relief. “Good. Stay awake.”

You didn’t know how long had passed but it couldn’t have been long. Bucky was standing somewhere in the corner of the room, his voice repeating his badge number and coordinates until Sam’s voice finally replied. Then his voice slowly slipped away. 

“She’s lost a lot of blood, Sam.”

“We’re on our way now. Just keep her awake.” Sam told him and when Bucky didn’t reply, he spoke again. “She’ll be okay, Buck. You’ve got her to safety and patched her up, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice broke over the radio. 

“She’ll be okay. I’ve got Cho on board with me so she’ll be in safe hands. Just sit tight. We’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Keep her awake, Buck.”

The radio crackled away and Bucky turned back to you. “Y/n!”

You didn’t open your eyes, but you did speak. “I can’t keep 'em’ open, Buck.”

“You’ve gotta. I need to know you’re awake.”

You forced them open but not for long. 

“Just save your energy. Sam’s not too far.”

Then he sat beside you, pulling you into his side. “Just stay awake with me, doll.”

“I’ll try, Buck.”

Bucky tried his best to keep you awake but eventually you passed out. For a moment, you woke up and found yourself wrapped in a pair of familiar arms. But then you passed out again. 

Bucky laid you down on the bed inside the jet before stepping away, being pulled into a tight hug by Sam as Cho started to inspect your wound and start a blood transfusion. 

Bucky explained everything as best as he could to both Sam and Helen until eventually all there was left to do was for him to sit by your side and hold onto your hand. 

And he did that for three days. 

By your side in the jet, by your side in your hospital bed and, not too far from your side when you were pulled into surgery.

When you finally woke up, your hand was in his as he lay hunched over the edge of your bed, fast asleep. 

“He’s been awake for two days.”

You turned and looked at the door. Sam was standing there, a soft smile on his face as he walked inside, his voice quiet. “I did try and make him go home but he didn’t want to leave you.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Almost a week.” Sam told you before he sat himself down in the chair on the other side of your bed. “After three, they took you in for surgery. Some lesions from where the knife had cut through your bullet wound. He did a good job at fixin’ you up, though.” Sam explained. “You’ve been asleep ever since.”

“And him?”

“Never left your side.” 

You turned and looked back at the sleeping Bucky and your hand reached out. Softly, you brushed the hair back from his eyes, repeating the movement until you saw a soft, sleepy smile appear on his face. 

“You have been shot and stabbed. You’ve both survived through a lot.” Sam told you, bringing your attention back to him for a moment, you hand softly landing on top of Bucky’s. 

“I think maybe it’s time you two took some time alone together. Maybe a nice vacation.” Sam offered. “Just think about it.”

Then he sat up, leaned over and pressed a light kiss to your head. “I’ll see you later.”

As he got to the door, you called out to him. “Sam?”

He looked around. 

“Thank you.”

Sam just smiled and closed the door behind him, leaving you and Bucky inside. He remained asleep for a while and each time you gently pushed your fingers through his hair, that soft smile would appear on his face. 

Then he finally opened his eyes. His eyelashes fluttered open and closed until his brain finally registered what had woken him up. 

He shot up, but your hand came to his face. 

“You’re awake- you’re awake!” Bucky turned, ready to call for a nurse but with your hand on his face and shoulder, he sat himself back down before sitting on your bed, facing you. 

“Hey, hey, no, don’t call them. Not yet.”

“You’re awake. How long have you- are you okay?”

You smiled, holding onto him to make sure he stayed still long enough to hear you. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? They had to rush you into surgery and-”

“Hey, I’m okay. I’m awake, right?”

“Right.” Bucky smiled, finally looking at you. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“I’m okay because you saved my life.”

Bucky then reached out, his fingers holding onto the ends of your hair before his eyes tracked back up towards your own eyes. And for a moment, the last time you’d looked at him like this flashed before your eyes. 

Laying on the floor, a white-hot pain spread through your side as Bucky skidded to his knees beside you. The panicked look in his eyes, the slight shake in his hand as it quickly reached out for you, and his voice…the recovered panic…

But the way he was looking at you now…

No danger. Just pure relief. 

And without thinking, you took the plunge. 

Leaning forward, you kissed him. 

His breath hitched for a moment, and his body stilled. But then he kissed back. His hand firm against your face, his fingers lightly digging into the back of your hair. 

Pulling away, if in a little need of catching your breath, Bucky’s head remained against yours for a moment, his eyes closed, soaking up every last moment. 

You’d both been surprised a lot in the last seven days alone. But he had to admit, you kissing him was his favourite one yet. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Pact 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, size kink, blood, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: your city has been ruined by goblins and must make a deal with a different sort of beast to save your people.

Characters: orc!Steve Rogers, orc!Bucky Barnes, human!reader

Note: here we go.

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The mist wafts around the mountain pass, the dulled glow of firelight speckled through the camp. As the sky dims, bodies shiver, with more than the cold, and voices lower as ears listen for the howl of wolves or winging of fanged bats. You hunch down between your sisters, Medra and Castina, holding your hands up to the flame above the kindling and cinder. Your brother, Ralf, whets his blade, as your other, Frin, chips stones to points for the tips of arrows. The same labour can be heard from around the encampment.

Your mother and father are in the tent already. The rest of you are sleepless. You don't think they are dreaming peacefully, only hiding as their aging bones ache from the damp cold. You glance down and scratch away the dry blood around the linen wound tight around your hand. Castina reaches to pet your arm as she notices the movement.

"I can smell the smoke from here," she whispers.

"The foundation will hold," Ralf intones, always the one who knows. "It's stone. The pillars are strong. There won't be much to rebuild."

"Only goblins to chase out," Medra, the youngest retorts. "Ugly creatures."

"Beasts," Frin agrees. "But we will regroup and we will reclaim the city."

"Will we?" Castina asks. "Or shall we perish here in these crags? A fortnight now and we only move between the same caves."

"What do you know of war, hm?" Ralf challenges. "Here, take my sword and go down there. See how far you get, girl."

She frowns and rescinds her hand from your arm, pulling her cloak tighter, "I don't not reproach, I only wonder."

"You speak too much," he snorts.

You lean into her as she wipes her nose and her teeth chatter. You open your cloak and spread it over her shoulders. You are the middle of your sisters, of all of you. She is the eldest girl and yet she is so thin she cannot stand the frost. Her nose has been dribbling for days. You hear her trying to clear it at night. That and many noises which trouble you more.

"It is late, arguing cannot do us any good," you gird as you welcome Medra under the other wing of your cloak.

"Then go and put your head to rest, sister. Hide in your fancies as the men tend to the real world," he scoffs.

Frin tosses a stone at him. "Don't be such a mule. Did you not snore until midday?"

"I was on night watch last eve," Ralf hisses.

"Yes, I'm certain your rumbling scared away the night creatures," Frin chuckles.

"At arms!" The holler brings both your brothers to their feet and you squeeze your sisters. "At arms! At arms!"

Footfalls sprint in all directions as the men stir to action, each quick to man the border of the encampment with steel and hide. You shudder as Medra whimpers and Castina wipes her nose. Your father pokes his head out and hacks into the dirt.

"Have the come to finish their work?" He asks dryly and pulls on his pointed helm. "Aditha, my sword."

He turns back at the rustling within. You stand and Medra clings to your arm. You tug on Castina as she struggles. She needs to keep warm.

"Halt!" The echo rolls around the stone wall of the mountain and sends a ripple through the women and children as they recede from their fires, clustering against the stone. "Men, to your lines."

The bodies in armour, leather and otherwise, form a boundary around the camp, locking together in formation. Shields at the front, arrows to the rear. Yet, you do not hear marching in responses.

"A shadow--"

"Shhhh---"

The voices hush as the collective draw in a terrified breath. Your father emerges and scrambles to join the ranks. A child cries and their mother cooes. An infant begins to fuss. You squeeze your sisters' wrists.

"You should only draw steel if you mean to use it," a sonorous voice carries as if from the heavens.

"East!" A soldier hollers.

"No, west," another claims.

"Well, city of man, is it blood you search for in these mountains?" The voice bounces off the walls once more.

"Show yourself!" The general demands. "What foe hides himself like a snake?"

A rock tumbles down the rock face and lands in the midst of the camp, sending dirt up at impact. You cry out in surprise and turn to look above. Tall shadows loom on the narrow ledges. You back away with the rest of the women in children, likes tides off the coast. The men redirect their bows.

"Ah, now, you will not fire," the beast above proclaims. The mist slowly clears. "For your women and children are not behind your shields, rather at my mercy." The large figure lowers himself to sit, with his legs hanging over the rock face. He is not spindly and sickly like the ravenous goblins, rather thick as a great oak. His dark hair hangs past his shoulders, his beard thick around his square jaw, two teeth poking up from beneath his lower lip. Orcs.

"Beasts! You would savage the defenseless," The general accuses.

"If I wish to do so, so I would," the orc replies.

"Knock," the general calls.

The orc shows a palm, "loose your bows and I shall loose hellfire." He closes his fist and lets it drop.

"You are upon orcish lands. We only wonder why." Another appears behind him. His skin is a fairer shade, yellowish green, and his hair is gold, a braid on each side of his head against his loose locks. He looks over the edge.

"We men do not fear monsters," the general calls.

The soldiers break out into a rabble, clanging their shields and swords, shouting to the sky. The orcs laugh. Both of them.

As silence casts back upon the men with the weight of their fear, you peer between them and the creatures above.

"There are only two," you say. Medra squeaks and Castina hisses as she tugs on you weakly.

"Who speaks?" The general snarls. "This is no business of women."

"Sister," Ralf booms, "silence."

"Is sense not in a woman's domain?" You return. "There are two against you all. Has enough blood not been shed?"

The dark-haired orc scoffs, "your wench speaks sense, does she not?"

"It is not her place." The general snaps.

"Nor is this yours," the blond orc insists. "Though we can see that your own is in ash."

"Are orcs and goblins so different?" Another man shouts. "It is a trap!"

"Goblins," the brunette spits at the very word. "Those mongrels."

"I'd listen to the woman. She speaks wisely," the blond adds.

"We would not let ourselves be seen if we meant harm," the other adds.

"Then what is your meaning?" The captain barks.

The dark-haired orc laughs, the blond puts his hands on his hips.

"The goblins are a plague and we mean to cut the disease out of these lands," the golden-haired orc declares. "So let us agree over a keg of ale, lest we drown in blood."

"And how do we know you are not the ones to hold our heads under?" Another accuses.

The rumbling from above is like an avalanche. More laughter. Medra nestles closer and Castina groans. Her hand is clammy in yours. You let go of your younger sister to untie your cloak and slip it fully around the eldest.

"Let us hear them out," the captain counters, then moves closer to the general to speak unheard.

"We will feed your masses. Your stores will have been raided by the heathen," the blond orc avows.

"A discussion might be held, beyond our camp." The general agrees. "My people are tired and scared."

"I do not blame them," the dark-haired one returns, reaching up as the other helps him to his feet. "There is a pass, west from here. A series of stones jutting out like a great wave. We will await you there."

The orcs disappear as swiftly as they appear, the mist curtaining their departure. The general convenes with his officers as the soldiers exchange looks of concern. The women and children wail and whine in a tempest.

"You," a captain approaches, "since you do think yourself fit to meddle in the affairs of men, you will attend to pour the ale."

"My sister is sick," you hug Castina.

"You have another," he grabs your arm and tears you away. "You undermine not only the general but the city with your tripe. Come, lest you bring further shame to your father and brothers."

Ralf lashes your name out and you wince. You turn and bring Castina's arm around Medra, "take her to mother."

You face the solider and let him lead you away. You knew better than to speak up and yet you could not witness any more blood. You cannot stomach it.

"Churlish girl," the man grips his sword as you follow at his heels.

A party forms near the edge of camp. The general leads four captains and a dozen common soldiers. You walk amidst them with your hands clasping your skirt. Your father will have another reproach waiting.

You shiver without your cloak as you walk along the craggy ground, stones skittering away from your shoes and bouncing off the soldiers' boots. The scout ahead whistles but you can't see much beyond the wall of bodies around you. There's a grunt and a loud thump as the party comes to a halt and you nearly stride into the back of one of the men.

"As promised, fine orcish ale," the voice carries on the wind. "We will light a fire to keep warm and speak."

The soldiers fan out in a line. The general keeps to the head of the pointed formation. Your sights are obscured.

"We've brought a wench to pour serve the ale," a captain declares.

You are thrust forward suddenly by your arm. You scramble to keep up and are hurled ahead. You stagger and crash against the tall barrel before the two tall orcs. You catch yourself on the slats and peek up at them meekly. The dark-haired one reaches for you and you exclaim and collapse to the dirt, shielding yourself in fear.

He is unexpectedly gentle as he lifts you to your feet, "only meaning to keep the lady on her slippers."

You steady your legs as he releases you. The other reveals a wooden tap and shoves in into the barrel. The men reach for their belts and free their bone cups and brass flasks. The orcs reveal long tusks hollowed out for drink.

"General," the blond orc stands patiently.

You pour for the general first, then the orcs, and finally the assembly of men patiently approach and claim their frothy prize. The general and his captains stand in a half-circle as the dark-haired orc strikes a fire over kindling and stone. He stands and claims his ale from his companion.

"A truce between man and orc," the general mulls as he eyes the ale. The orcs drink.

"A pact which might prove fruitful to both," the blond suggests.

"You offer homecoming and food, but what do you ask?" The general growl.

"Let us introduce ourselves, first, eh? Let us meet with more than suspicious. You may call me Steve, my companion is Bucky. We hail from the Stonehead horde." The blond declares.

The general clucks, "General Howler," he returns. "The Duke was slain in the fire. His son is but a lad."

"Tragic," Steve replies with no lack of pity. "You require to rebuild, to feed those who will soon starve in theses passes. And labour to aid in all that. We have many who are strong who might bring timber and fortify your city anew. We have stores of stock to share. We do so with open hands in exchange for one thing."

"One thing?" The general repeats warily.

Steve and Bucky share a glance. The latter beckons to you and hands over his empty cup. You fill it and return it to him. His thick fingers brush yours. He is gargantuan compared to you. His brows are heavy, his jaw is square and stone, and his skin has a reddish undertone. His blue eyes gleam as he looks upon you, he cheek twitches. The other orc skims you with a glance.

"Daughters," Steve says at last.

"Daughters," the general echoes.

"Aye," Bucky says. "Women."

"For what purpose? You think we would let you desecrate our wives?"

"Wives? Not your wives. Ours," Bucky argues.

"Can not you lay with your own kind, cretinous beasts," a captain snarls.

"A plague," Steve intones. "A plague has swept through us and it took as many mothers as it did their babes. My own beloved among them. There are few left, not enough."

"It's... no, it cannot be done."

The orcs look to each other again then to the men. They dip their chins. "Enjoy your ale then. Go back to your people. Batter down and pray."

The general winces. The other men whisper and the captains drone behind their gauntlets. You skirt toward them.

"One daughter," the general says. The crowd grows silent. "Her." He points at you. "Prove that it can be done. That your seed does not split her in two and you will have more. And you will deliver us food enough for the winter to come. Should you bear fruit, you will have more and you will help us rebuild in the spring."

The orcs shift and turn to each other. You back away from both monster and man, pressing yourself to the rockface. The dark-haired one spins around and gestures to you.

The blond presents his sword. "On my blade, let it be done," he declares.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Hi!! Saw your post🤭 What about reader tending to Bucky's wounds? And being all soft with him😭 It could be fluffy and ending with something else👀🫣

Thank you for the request! I've been wanting to write for bucky for a while lol I really hope you like it <3 I kind of have a part two in my head that I might do for this

He stumbled through the hall, trying to get to his apartment before passing out. He didn't mean to lean against your door. He didn't want you to know he just got home. Hell, he didn't even want you to know he had gotten hurt tonight. You were the sweetest person to ever come into his life, his cute, sweet, caring neighbor. Thinking of you made his heart skip a beat lately. He met you when you first moved into the building, and he felt drawn to you ever since. You asked him to help you build a bookshelf, and you repaid him with homemade bread. How could he not be drawn to you after that?

He groans both in pain and at hearing your footsteps walking towards your front door. He was still leaning against the door when you opened it. You weren't expecting someone to fall into your arms when you opened your door, but looking down at Bucky, you were grateful that you caught him.

"Bucky!?" Your voice was filled with confusion and concern. Bucky was clearly bleeding heavily, the side of his white shirt was turning bright red, and through a groan, he gave a guilty smile, "Hi doll." He cringed at your scoff, "Don't doll me when you're bleeding in my arms. " You helped him get to your bathroom and helped him sit on the edge of your bathtub.

"I'm really sorry, doll." He mumbled while trying to take off his shirt to make your job easier. His eyes followed your figure as it bounced around, trying to find your first aid kit. You finally calmed down once you do find the first aid kit, and you settle between his legs to clean his wounds.

"Do I want to know what happened?" You whispers break the uneasy silence that was settling in. He winced at the thought of telling you what he had to do earlier. "We don't have to talk about it," you assured him as you bandaged the wound in his side, "We can just get you cleaned up, and I can make something to eat? Maybe we can watch a movie that's on your list. " He smiled softly, hearing your assurance.

"I have been wanting to watch a movie, I think Sam said it's about some pretty lady." You giggled at the misprounced movie title, "pretty women?" You asked, already knowing what he meant. He nodded sheepishly, making you nod with him while you pushed his hair back to start washing the blood off of his forehead. "You got it sergeant." A blush dusted his face quickly when you leaned down and kissed his now clean forehead. "Come on, let's get you more comfy. You can stay over tonight." You showed him to your bedroom as you ramble about ordering a pizza so you can watch more movies. You turned to ask him what he thought, but you were taken back when he was already watching you.

"What? Is everything ok?" You asked worried that he was in pain, he shook his head with a goofy smile forming, "nothings wrong doll."

Nothing was wrong. He may have been stabbed earlier that day, but he just realized he may be falling in love again. Nothing could be wrong with that happening.

A/n: I don't have a taglist for bucky, but lmk if i should make one! Request for bucky and Logan howlett are still open. Please send more ideas. I love getting them, and it really helps with my motivation. <3 If you did like my work, please reblog and comment. I really appreciate it. I'm going to start working on a bucky masterlist, so keep an eye out for that

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (2)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: Bucky is a dick; Bucky has issues; mentions of murder, fire, death, knives, dead parents, sexism; prejudices; attitude

Author’s Note: Here is the second part already. Thank you for all those lovely comments!! Hope you enjoy! ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Once again, you follow Barnes through the woods, wondering if this is what you are destined to do now for the rest of your life.

You’ve been walking the whole day. Through the same forest. With the same mountain of a man in front of you. It’s almost about to get dark again.

Leaves whisper around you, birds cry in the distance and you try - you try so hard - to find some sense of peace in those sounds since it really is the first time you get to listen to this so near, but it still doesn’t match the dreams you have imagined for so long.

The hem of your gown is tattered, stained with mud, and torn by thorns. The embroidery that once shimmered in candlelight is dulled. The fabric used to be so soft against your skin, but it feels abrasive now, like sandpaper scraping against a wound.

You want nothing more than to rip it off.

But you can’t.

This gown, as ruined as it is, is all you have left of who you were. A princess. A daughter of a king and Queen. A girl who once walked polished marble floors, who dined beneath chandeliers that glimmered brightly.

This gown is your last tether to that life, and you hate it for it as much as you need it.

Your feet are still aching and you stumble a few times in trying to keep up with Barnes's fast pace again.

The soles are raw and blistered.

But your senses seemed to have dulled enough to not care about that at the moment.

Your stomach growls.

It might be the fourth time now in however many minutes.

Barnes hears it. You know he does, because he sighs - an exhale so sharp and pointed, he might have used his whetstone to sharpen more than his blade.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn around, doesn’t offer a single word.

His broad shoulders remain squared and rigid.

The last meal you had was at the banquet - if you can even call it a meal. You barely ate, too consumed by the intensity of the watchful eyes of men who saw you as anything but a person. Your skin still crawls at the memory of those gazes.

You try and stretch your limbs out a little. They are still sore and weak from the night before, from the contorted position you were forced to sleep in because of the cold wind.

The ground had been unkind, its hard surface pressing against your ribs and hips, you might believe you have bruises.

When you woke up this morning, the fire was burning. It had been cold when you fell asleep.

You don’t know when Barnes lit it. You don’t know why. He didn’t say a word to you when you stirred, didn’t even look at you beyond a cursory glance.

He simply tossed you a get ready to move before turning his back and tending to his blade. Did he sharpen this stupid thing the whole night?

Part of you wanted to thank him for the fire. But the larger part bristled at the thought. And who is to say he put it on for you? So, you said nothing, stood, and got ready to move on.

You glance at Barnes’s back. The muscles beneath his worn brown armor shift with each step. You find yourself looking at his back quite often.

The trees grow denser. The air is damp and earthy and you are sure the scent of moss and decaying leaves won’t leave your hair any time soon.

Barnes stops suddenly. His head tilts to the side faintly as if listening to something beyond your comprehension.

As before, you nearly collide with him, too lost in your thoughts to notice his abrupt halt.

He turns to look at you then. His blue eyes piercing and assessing. There is something in his gaze you don’t know what to make of. Not kindness, not really. But it is not the coldness or indifference you’ve come to expect either.

With his eyes on you, he jerks his chin to a fallen log nearby.

“Sit,” he says gruffly, his voice low but carrying something that makes you do just that.

Obeying, you sink down onto the rough surface with a gratitude you don’t voice.

He unslings his pack and begins rummaging through it, pulling out a small pouch of dried meat and another of what looks like nuts.

He tosses them to you without ceremony, then pulls out a flask and takes a long swig before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Eat,” he orders, his tone as brusque as you came to know.

The food is unappealing as it is necessary, but you don’t complain. The dried meat is tough, each bite requiring an effort that makes your jaw ache, but the saltiness is oddly satisfying.

The nuts are bland, their texture chalky, but they fill the emptiness in your stomach, if only temporarily.

You chew slowly, hoping to maintain the grace you’ve been taught your whole life despite living a different now all of a sudden.

Barnes is watching you. You are aware of his gaze but choose to ignore it. Perhaps there is something critical in his eyes and he is asking himself why the hell he agreed to take you with him. Or perhaps he is simply keeping track of your pace, ensuring you eat enough to keep up.

But something doesn’t sit right.

You glance at his pack, then back at him.

He is perched on the edge of a moss-covered stone, arms resting on his knees, and he is no longer looking at you, head tilted slightly downward, lost in thought as it looks like.

The flask rests by his side, but he makes no move toward the food he just handed you, or gets himself something from his pack.

You haven’t seen him eat anything since you met him. Maybe he ate something this morning when you were still asleep but that too is many hours ago now.

The food sits heavily in your stomach and you swallow hard. You prepare yourself to break the silence. Or, rather, you build up some courage to talk to him.

“Why don’t you eat?”

His head lifts, piercing blue eyes snapping to yours with an intensity that makes you flinch. There is irritation there, the faintest flicker of exasperation, but no answer.

He looks away just as quickly, his jaw tight. “I’m fine,” he says curtly, as if the matter is settled.

Your fingers curl around the pouch of nuts, frown tugging down your brows.

You are tired. Tired of all this. Tired of the silence, of the questions you don’t get answers to, feeling so unwelcome in the presence of this man you didn’t even want to have anything to do with. Tired of you being brushed off all the time.

“You have been walking all day, same as me. You need to eat.”

He exhales a vexed breath, shoulders rising and falling tensely with the effort of keeping himself calm. “I said I’m fine. Eat your food.”

But you don’t let it go. You reach into the pouch, pull out a handful of nuts, and hold them out to him. “Here,” you say softly, hoping your hand stays steady enough so he won’t notice your nerves playing with you.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. His gaze falls to the offering in your hand, then back to your face. Something unreadable passes through his expression, too fleeting to make out. Then his lips press into a hard line. “Keep it,” he bites out, roughly. “You’ll need it more.”

You don’t lower your hand. “Why won’t you just take it?”

His patience snaps like a brittle branch.

He lets out a frustrated groan that might have been a growl, raking a hand through his dark hair. “Because I’ve got nothing else,” he snaps, his voice louder than you’ve heard it before. He looks away after his little outburst, his jaw working almost painfully hard.

It hits you harder than you expect. You glance at his pack, at the threadbare state of his clothes, the patches on his jacket that tell of years and tear.

He’s been rationing - not just food, but everything. He doesn’t have more. But he gave you the rest of the food he had, and he has been doing so without a word, without complaint. The thought makes your throat tighten.

You are silent for a moment, but an idea sparks in your mind.

Slowly, you reach for the clasp at your neck. You had almost forgotten it was still there. Your necklace. The delicate thing of gold with a single, small ruby at its center. One of the few remnants of your old life. The one you had been living just yesterday.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo it and hold it out to him. “Take this,” you say quietly.

His head jerks towards you, his expression shifting to confusion. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You can sell it,” you explain, trying to push down your nerves. “Get food. Supplies. Something.”

His brows draw together, gaze moving from the necklace to your face and back again. “Spare me your pity.” His words are gruff, almost angry. But there is a hint of something else. He is genuinely bewildered by your gesture.

“It is not pity,” you insist, trying to hold his gaze. “You… You’re keeping me alive. It is the least I can do,” you add a little hesitantly.

The muscles in his face tighten and loosen as he stares at the chain in your hand with an expression you haven’t seen before. It might be the softest he has looked since you met him.

He doesn’t move to take it, but he doesn’t refuse outright either. You seem to have gotten him off guard for a moment. He looks away for a while, gaze fixed on some distant point in the forest. For a long moment, the only sound is the rustling of leaves in the wind.

His voice, when it comes, is somewhat thick, quieter, and low, almost grudging. “Keep it. For now.”

You hesitate. But with a small sigh, you lower your hand, grasping the necklace tighter again so it won’t slip through your hands to the forest floor.

There is a tension in the air. It seems to bend it. Making you hold your breath as you avoid looking at him again.

He won’t look at you either but there is something in his posture that has changed. It is a shift in the way he holds himself. As if he is no longer preparing for the next hit.

You tuck the necklace safely into the folds of your gown since you sure as the devil won’t ask the man to put it back on you.

The silence stretches on. But it feels lighter somehow. Unspoken words easing just enough to let you breathe.

Yet the food in front of you feels uncomfortable now. Each bite you have taken feels like a theft - from him, from his dwindling resources.

You glance back at him, still perched on the moss-covered stone, his expression unreadable as he stares at the forest floor.

He’s been silent before, more so than not, but something about his stillness now makes your heart feel heavy.

Without thinking, you nudge the remaining food toward him, standing up swiftly, needing the act to be completed before doubt can settle. “Here,” you say, voice as resolute as it would go. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

His eyes are fixed on you in an instant again, narrowing warningly. “Don’t lie to me,” he growls, his voice low but biting, like the crack of a branch beneath too much weight. “You’re still hungry. Eat.”

“I’m fine,” you counter, echoing his earlier words with a stubbornness that surprises even you. Your heart is pounding. Your hands are getting clammy at the way he looks at you, but you force yourself not to back down.

You have never been good at pushing back against people, not like this, but something about your new situation makes you dive in your heels. After all, you’ve also never been without your parents to this extent, or without a home, a ceiling atop your head.

You feel like, you can allow yourself a little attitude. And when you have to find out that he has been sharpening his knives in that almost passive-aggressive manner just to kill you, well, then you will go down as the princess you are.

He sits there stiffly, clearly aggravated, but you turn away before he can argue further, deciding to continue your trek, following the narrow path that winds deeper into the trees.

Behind you, you hear him exhale, though it sounds more annoyed than angry. A muttered curse follows you and you almost can’t suppress the smile that tried to make its way onto your face.

His heavier footsteps follow, quickly closing in and he strides in front of you again, sighing once more. There still lingers a little displeasure at the whole situation but it sounds softer. And you might have heard it turn into a suppressed and breathless laugh for a second.

Amusement.

The path is uneven, strewn with roots that twist gnarled across the ground of the earth. You keep your eyes on the ground, not wanting to snap your ankle and become an even bigger burden.

Walking this path is tiring you out, considering the fact that you have been on your feet the whole day without getting a good night's sleep.

You don’t know how long you keep going, but it is completely dark again and Barnes's back is only illuminated by the moonlight barely sinking through the trees.

Your mind has been on edge ever since yesterday, so full of questions about yourself and the mystery surrounding this man.

They churn ceaselessly, those questions, clawing at the walls of your mind, making you almost wince. Each question is a stone dropped into a bottomless well, the echo spiraling down, down, down - never reaching an answer, only silence.

Your mind is as twisted as the tunnels you had escaped from and it only makes your head hurt so much more.

You are exhausted beyond belief.

Even your usually straight spine is turned into a question mark.

The part of the forest you are walking on is relatively straight but you feel like you are walking uphill. Through air turned to syrup.

The longer you walk, the more the world in your mind slows - not with peace, but with the sluggish drag of overuse.

Ahead of you, Barnes moves with the same annoying purpose as always, his tall, dark frame cutting a path through the thick forest.

You wonder if he is as unaffected as he seems, if his endurance is as unshakable as the armor he wears.

“Barnes.”

Oh, no.

You didn’t know your mind is that far gone already to let your mouth have a mind on its own.

The man in front of you freezes for a fraction of a second.

You should not have used his name. Not so directly. So you keep on talking, pressing the words out quickly but with a hesitation you are sure he hears.

“Perhaps we should find somewhere to rest soon.”

Barnes continues to walk in front of you, but you see the slight shift. His shoulders are still tense but in a slightly different way. He seems to contemplate something.

It takes a while for him to answer and when he does, his voice sounds almost hoarse. Rough. “It’s Bucky,”he mutters.

“What?”

A pause. A sigh. Another pause. “My name. Call me Bucky.” There is no warmth in his tone, but there’s something else - a reluctant offering, perhaps, or the faintest dent in his hard armor.

You blink, surprised. That is not what you had expected. And you are unsure whether to acknowledge it or stay silent. Your fingers fidget with the fabric of your gown as you search for the right response. You nod, more than for yourself than for him, and steady your voice. “Okay. Bucky.”

He doesn’t respond. His gaze is firmly fixed ahead, but now there definitely is a change in his posture. It’s not quite softness, not an invitation, but it is something - subtle and fleeting. His fingers twitch at his sides.

You barely manage to suppress a yawn when you notice his stride falter.

He glances back.

That’s the first time he’s done that. He never looked back at you while wandering through the woods, never even hinted that he needed to confirm your presence.

You have grown accustomed to the idea that he just knew you were there, trailing behind like a load he can’t shake.

But now, his head turns slightly and those deep eyes find yours.

The moment is so startling, that you almost trip, your foot catching on a root.

His gaze rakes over you, studying, but giving nothing away. There’s no gentleness there, no sympathy, but neither is there judgment.

His attention makes your skin prickle and your neck heat up.

He seems to focus on your trembling limbs, the way your shoulders sag.

He sees all of it, and for a brief second, you think you catch a glimmer of something. Again, it is gone so fast but you know it was there.

As quickly as it began, it’s over. He briskly turns around, the glance seemingly nothing more than an instinctual check.

“We’ll settle down soon,” he announces. His voice gives nothing away. There is no acknowledgment of the toll the journey has taken on you, but it’s enough.

Relief floods your chest, filling your lungs with something sweeter than oxygen, intertwining with the residual tension his gaze had created.

****

“Where are you taking me?”

Sitting a few inches away from you, Bucky lets out a sigh. It’s long and drawn out, but surprisingly not as sharp as you had expected. It sounds tired.

“What did I tell you about askin’ me questions?” He doesn’t say it like a question. His tone is dismissive. He sounds annoyed.

Your chest tightens. Your breaths are shallow.

Each exhale aches with want - wanting resolution, wanting action, wanting answers, wanting something to crack.

He didn’t say anything to you since announcing that you would settle down soon. True to his word, he actually stopped not long after.

But he basically ignored you. He didn’t even order you to go to sleep.

He just shrugged off his pack and sat by the base of a large tree - one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee. You watched him as he pulled out his dagger and began to clean his nails with the casualness of someone who doesn’t feel the need to explain himself.

And again, you hated him for it.

In fact, something starts to burn inside of you. A fire, burning low and smoldering, its smoke wafting into every corner of your mind and clouding your senses.

Each thought is a spark, feeding the flame.

It burns like your home has. Like your parents have. Like your old life has.

And the only remains left will be the ash, piling high, darkening everything, dirtying your title.

Your fingers tighten on your legs, having wrapped them around you in your seated position to try and make yourself warmer.

Nails dig into your gown, hurting your skin through the fabric.

“I deserve to know.”

That makes him pause. He looks up then. His blue eyes look dark in the dead of night. He fixes you with the kind of stare that makes you want to take a step back, though you don’t move. “Do you?” he asks with a low voice. Dangerous. “Do you deserve to know? You think this is a negotiation, princess?”

The title sounds like acrid on his tongue.

Like it burned in his throat on its way up and he needed to spit it out.

You crack.

“Yes!” you spit it out the same way he did your title. “I do deserve to know. Because in case you have not noticed, I’ve lost everything. My home is gone, my parents are gone, and I am here, in the middle of a forest, with you! I know you did not ask for this but neither did I. People have been making decisions for me my whole life. They don’t ask me what I think, what I need, or what I want. And believe me, this-”your hands point at your surroundings and him “-is not what I want. So, yes, I think I deserve to know where you are taking me.”

Each sentence feels heavy. It’s like carrying a stone all the way up a hill to the edge of a cliff, only to see it tumble soundlessly into a void.

Silence follows.

Blood pounds in your ears. It pounds like a ticking clock. The clock that might count the remaining seconds of your life.

Bucky stares at you with an unreadable expression.

His dagger is still in his hand. The blade catches the light of the moon for a second and you almost flinch as he lowers it.

The smirk you have seen before - the one that twists at the corners of his mouth in a taunt - is absent now. His expression makes you uneasy.

“You’re right,” he finally says, his voice quieter than usual but no less hard. “You didn’t ask for this.”

His words are a concession, but his tone doesn’t make them feel like one. There is no apology in his tone, no softening in his gaze. He tucks the dagger back into his belt and leans closer. Even with the distance and your sitting positions, he towers over you. His shadow falls long against the forest floor.

“But here’s the thing,” he continues, voice colder than the night air. “Nobody will ever care for what you ask for. Nobody will ever care if you deserve better, or fairer, or easier. Life takes what it takes, and it leaves you with what’s left. Right now, that’s me.”

The space between you seems to shrink with every word he basically throws at you. Or maybe that’s just the force of them, pressing against your ribs, your shoulders, your head, your legs. Until you feel trapped.

“You want to know where I’m taking you? Fine. I’m taking you somewhere safe. That’s it. That’s all you need to know. Because if you start askin’ for more, you’re going to be disappointed.”

You push against the walls of your own limit, only to feel them close tighter. The space shrinks. Tighter. Tighter. Until you can no longer remember the purpose of breathing.

He takes his time to watch you. His gaze is like the steel of his blade - sharpened to perfection.

His eyes burn through you but without warmth.

Frost creeps across your skin, freezing you in place, though you refrain from tightening your arms around yourself.

Your pulse is in chaos, each beat shaking your composure, thudding loud, and reverberating in your ears.

You feel exposed. In your entirety. He might as well see through your skin, through your bones that seem to shrink under his stare, right to the tender places inside you, that you’ve worked so hard to protect.

“You think you’ve got it bad, huh?” Bucky sneers. “You lost your palace, your shiny crown, the cushy life of being waited on hand and foot? Poor little princess. Maybe that’ll teach you how to be thankful for simply being alive.”

Your hands tighten around your legs.

“So you think you can just shove me through the mud without a single explanation, without even the slightest bit of humanity-”

“Humanity?” His laugh is short, cruel, and humorless. “You think humanity is what’s gonna keep you breathin’ out here? You think I’ve got the time or the patience to coddle a girl who’s never had to survive a day in her life? Save the sob story, princess. It doesn’t change a bloody thing.”

He stands up then. His tall frame looks menacing in the way he stands above you. His gaze is so blank. So uncaring.

“You see, your Highness - your palace is ash, your parents are dead, your title means nothin’, and the only reason you’re here right now, instead of lying face down in a ditch with a blade in your back, is because of me.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you ground out, voice shaking but resolute. You rise to your feet yourself but still have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. “Do you believe being born in a palace means living a perfect life? Do you believe you are the only one who suffers? That I’ve never felt trapped, or powerless, or suffocated because of the decisions all the others are making for me my whole life? I did not choose this life. I did not choose to have every moment of it dictated by someone else. To be looked at like I’m nothing more than a symbol. A prize. A pawn.”

It’s like speaking into a canyon. Your words echo back to you, hollow and distorted. Meaningless. Because they never reach anything. They only repeat themselves to you.

“You think your crown made you a pawn?” Bucky scoffs. “Your crown was the only thing keeping you alive-”

“I thought that was you-”

“-Out here, you’re nothing,” he continues firmly as if you never even talked, but his eyes flash. “Just another girl who doesn’t know how to survive. And if you keep wastin’ time whining about what you’ve lost, you’re gonna lose a hell of a lot more.”

“I’ve already lost everything!” you cry, your voice breaking, your hands trembling. The words just barrel out of your throat, rushing and violent, without pause for precision. “All that’s left for me is a man who treats me like I’m worth less than the dirt under his boots. I did not ask for you. I did not ask for any of this. So stop acting like I am the one who is supposed to be thankful. You are here because you were ordered to be. Don’t act like you’re my hero.”

He steps closer to you. His shadow falls darker than the night around you, covering you in its entirety. His eyes blaze with an intensity that borders on feral. He doesn’t take them off you for a second.

The tension he radiates crackles against your skin. Your instincts scream at you to move away from him, to cower and hide, to shield yourself, to run into the woods, and never look back. But you are rooted into place.

“Oh, but you should be grateful.” His voice burns itself into the air. “You think bandits in these woods are gonna stop and bow because you’re wearing a filthy gown and calling yourself royalty? You think anyone out here gives a damn about who you are or what you’ve lost? Or whatever dreams you have about what you deserve? No one’s coming to save you, your Highness. They’re all too busy tearin’ apart what’s left of your kingdom. All that matters now is keepin’ that pretty head atop your shoulders. And the only person able to keep it that way is me. So, yeah, you’re damn right you owe me. Every. Single. Breath.”

Your lips part but no words come out.

You don’t know if the ground gives way beneath you. But it feels like it might have. It crumbles and tumbles and falls into itself. You reach and you reach and you reach and there is nothing but air to meet you. But even as you fall, you will still be grasping, will still be fighting, until the very end.

Beneath the fury in his words, there is something else - a bitterness, a weariness that feels older than you can fathom.

It carries a weight. A gravity that demands not just your attention, but your surrender.

“You think you can survive without me? You think you’d last a day?”

Your skin flushes with color, cheeks burning crimson at the fire of fury that scorches your throat, making it feel raw and blistering. Making your next words sound rough as they come out.

“Maybe I wouldn’t. But at least I would die knowing I wasn’t at the mercy of a man who looks at me like I am already dead.”

Something shifts in his eyes for a second. His lips press into a line so thin, it might be a boundary you seemingly are about to cross. His eyes turn cold again. So cold. And yet, they feel alive. Piercing. Penetrating you with his unrelenting focus.

“I didn’t grow up in a palace,” he spits out. “And you know what that taught me? That the world doesn’t care about your sob stories. It doesn’t care if you’re a princess or a pauper. The only thing that matters is who’s still standin’ at the end of the day. And the only reason you are is because I’ve decided to keep you that way.”

You grit your teeth. Your body is holding a scream too big to let out.

“Oh so now I am supposed to grovel at your feet, is that it? Thank you, great and noble Barnes, for dragging me through hell without caring a damn bit if I even live or die. Should I kiss your boots while I’m at it?”

“Watch your tone,” he warns, his voice low and taut. “You’ve got no idea what it takes to survive out here, and you’ve got no idea how close you’ve come to being just another body on the road.”

“Then maybe you should have just left me,” you try to yell, but it sounds fractured, snapping and curling back on itself. “Maybe you should have left me to burn just like my parents did. Why didn’t you leave me behind? Why did you agree to this and drag me out here like some burden you can barely stand to deal with?”

His eyes flash with something dangerous, but you don’t stop.

“What did my mother-”

“Don’t,” he seethes lowly.

“You swore to her-”

“Shut up,” he shouts, voice rising for the first time. “That has nothing to do with you.”

“Nothing to do with me? She was my mother!”

His chest is heaving with heavy breaths, his hands are gripping and releasing nothing, just the air that holds all the tension - akin to a hunter assessing its talons before plunging them into its victim.

You try not to shrink but your space feels diminished.

His shoulders are stone, drawn up and braced. He seems to thrum with energy. His eyes draw into a narrow, tightening at the corners.

“All you need to know,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, almost growling tone, “is that I’ll take you somewhere safe and make sure your head stays in place. So unless you want to lose it, you’ll keep your mouth shut about things you don’t understand.”

You stare at him. The heat of all that’s been said burns in the air between you but you still feel colder than ever. A shiver creeps up your spine, muscles releasing with a shudder.

The breaths that fall from your lips are too shallow, as if the atmosphere is being pulled away, claimed by his intensity.

A thousand retorts claw at your throat, but none of them make it out.

You feel it draining out of you. The energy. The fire that burned hot, but now leaks away. Leaving your limbs heavy and unresponsive.

Your chest feels hollow.

Your heartbeat slows, not peacefully, but with a kind of aching fatigue.

Your hands fall open, fingers slackening.

Your jaw loosens, leaving your mouth slightly open. Making room for the words you were ready to speak to flee, leaving only silence for you to stand in.

But even standing in front of him feels precarious. The earth beneath your feet might tilt at any moment and your body would lack the will to catch itself. And you know Bucky wouldn’t dare to even lift a single finger for you.

It is a surrender not of choice but of inevitability.

Because he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t try to. He doesn’t care to.

“Now go to sleep,” he says so flatly as if nothing even happened. “We move tomorrow at dawn.”

“Silence just feeds the rage, a calm that screams with hurt, and there I was, trapped in the quiet, my mind a chaotic storm of pain. Every word I swallowed felt like a match, lighting up the ashes of my frustration, until the heat inside me became too much to hold back.”

- Jaelyn Young

Part three

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv

[kushnovice]

Spinning My World

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark! Reader

Synopsis: Reader tends to the avengers wounds constantly and when Tony opens an emotional wound in the reader, Bucky is there to help.

wc: 2.4k

Warnings: my first bucky fic, medical, wounds, tending to wounds, sibling rivalry, mention of dead parents, fluffy love, slow-burn, hurt/comfort

AN: Female reader, fluffy, lots of mistakes, self indulgent (Pictures are not mine nor are any characters part of this)

What makes the earth go round? to most people it's money, to others it's family. To me, it's love.

I grew up with Tony Stark, my older brother. He was never that big on affection which was something he picked up from our parents and because of that, Tony and I aren't as close as we once were before our parents died. I spend most of my time making sure the house is always put together and cooking food for Tony and Pepper. I always feel a little guilty as I haven't achieved as much as my older brother and living with him and all of his fancy things just rubs it in. I also spend a lot of time studying. Since we have the money, I am attending an Ivy League school online. Unlike Tony, I don't like robots and technology, I prefer to help people. I am majoring in Medical Science as well as minoring in Psychology, which the amount of work is unbearable.

I sigh as I close one of my textbooks, my notebook, and my laptop, leaving them on the desk in my room. I make my through the long winding halls and into the kitchen, the tiles on the floor leaving my feet cold as I walk. I flick on the light as I walk in and take a deep breath, finally feeling at peace. The kitchen was always my safe space since Tony never cooked for himself, neither did any of the avengers. It was my own tiny world of peace.

I smile softly to myself as I make my way to the sink, I start to wash my hands while humming a song. "Friday, can you play (song name)?" As the song starts playing, I feel more comfortable as I start pulling what I would need from the fridge and the cabinets. I then fill up a pot of water and put it on the stove to boil and preheat the oven before I start separating and seasoning the chicken. I then start to cut up some veggies before checking on the pasta that I am making. After everything is cooking, I take the time to dance in the kitchen, just enjoying the music and how it flows through my body. That was until I heard the door open. I jerk my head to see who it is, only to be stunned by the sight in front of me. There he was, the most beautiful creature this world had ever created, but he was drenched in blood. Without thinking, I walk right up to him and start to examine him from what I can see. "Oh buck, what happened this time?" I ask as I eye him up and down for injuries, feeling better after not finding any serious ones. Bucky sighed deeply, "The mission was hijacked. I'm not the only Injured one." I sigh deeply as I take the food out of the oven and put the veggies and sauce into the pasta. Then, without a second thought, i make my way to the medical clinic, which I pretty much run.

I put my coat on and wash my hands again before putting on gloves. I make my way into the emergency room that we have to see Tony laying on a gurney. I immediately start to cut his shirt and pants off as I examine his body, the deep wounds showing no mercy as they continue to bleed. I sterilize the wound and start stitching him up and taking my time to make sure it's perfect.

After a few hours, I was done with making sure Tony was alright and had checked out all of the other team members. I look at the clock and sigh deeply when I realize that it is close to 1 in the morning. I make my way through the winding hallways again and I stand outside of Buckys room. "Hey Buck, are you awake?" I ask softly knowing his super human hearing can pick up my voice, and sure enough because the door unlocks and slides open revealing that he had just got out of the shower. I blush slightly as i try not to stare at his bare chest, "oh um...sorry I was just coming to give you a quick check up..." I shuffle awkwardly at his door but he nods softly and lets me in his room.

The smell of Axe Body spray and Midsummers Night circle the room. I sit Bucky down as I start to stitch up a few of his wounds. It stays mostly silent, neither of us knowing what to talk about until Bucky speaks up, "aren't you tired?" I furrow my eyebrows, "why would I be tired?" Bucky sighs deeply, "we go on these missions almost daily and you're the only one who gives us medical help, isn't it tiring?" I look up from his stitches to smile softly at Bucky, "No, it's not tiring. If anything, it gives me a purpose and makes me a hero like you guys." I giggle to myself at how corny that sounded before going back to stich bucky up.

After I am done, I make sure I didn't miss any dry blood before I stand up, "make sure you eat dinner, I don't know if the others did yet but you need to eat." I smile at him to which he gives me a small smile at the end of his lips. "I did eat already, it was delicious." I smile at him as I watch him put his shirt back on, "good good, I tried a new recipe today so I'm glad it is good." I smile to myself thinking about how Bucky enjoyed my food. "Did you eat yet?" Bucky asks with a furrowed eyebrow and I'm left shocked, normally i'm the one asking that question. "I was about too, then all of that happened," I smile at Bucky but his facial expressions don't change this time. "You really should eat." I nod my head and start to make my way into the kitchen to see a huge mess of plates and bowls and forks all over the place and all of the food gone. "at least they liked it" I smile to myself as I shrug off my coat and take off my gloves, "Friday, some music please" I speak as I start to pick up the plates and bowls and utensil's and place them in the sink. I then pick up all the trash and wipe down the counter while dancing around the kitchen. I spend a few hours cleaning, until it is spotless before I turn off the music and realize I wasn't alone. As I go to grab my coat and turn off the light, I hear a voice, "Aren't you going to eat?" I whip my head around, looking for where the voice came from until I can see Bucky, just outside the door. "there was no more left, i'm glad everyone enjoyed it." I smile at him but he doesn't smile back, he makes his way into the kitchen and starts grabbing stuff. "woah woah woah what are you doing?" I ask as I watch him start up the stove. "You need to eat. More than any of us." Buckys voice is stern and emotionless but I can tell that he cares. "I'm alright, I'll be up in a few hours to cook breakfast anyways." I look at the time and then at Bucky who then turns to me with furrowed eyes again his eyes studying me and trying to figure me out as he looks me up and down. "Why do you cook for everyone? Why do you go out of your way for everyone? I don't get how that benefits you." I sigh deeply, "I don't do it for me, I do it for you guys. You guys are heros and are saving the world every day. the least I can do is cook you guys a warm meal and make sure you guys don't get too hurt." "But why?" Bucky asks as he cracks open an egg and starts to cook it. "You guys deserve it, you deserve the best." I smile at him softly, watching his movements while I think. "Why do you save the world?" I ask while watching his movements. He seems relaxed and calm "Because if I can help save the world then there's hope to save myself." He speaks in a quiet whisper, "why do you save us? why are you so interested in medicine?" He asks with seriousness, trying to understand me better. "I was never taught self defense so I save the world in the only way I know, medicine." Bucky turns to look at me, "you don't give yourself enough credit, no one does." I can hear how he sighs softly. I let myself smile, knowing this was his way of showing he cared. Bucky finished cooking the food and he made two plates, setting one in front of me while he sat across the table from me. He immediately downs his food within seconds leaving me to take awhile to finish my food. When I'm finished eating, I grab our plates and put them in the dishwasher. When i make my way back into the dining room, Bucky is watching me as soon as I enter the room. "What? Is there food on my face?" I jokingly ask, with a smirk on my face as I make my way back to sit down. Bucky snorts softly at my comment, "No, I just don't get how someone could look so pretty after working for so many hours." Buckys voice is soft but his eyes are full of emotion as his hands fold on the table. I feel myself melt under his gaze as my cheeks start to burn, "Oh, uhm...thanks..." I giggle lightly, "You aren't too bad looking for someone who just got stitched up." I reply causing bucky to be taken aback.

"Why are you two up at 2 in the morning?" Tony asks as he walks into the dining room in his black robe that is barely covering his bare chest and his blazers. Tony somehow still has his shades on as well as his slippers on as he sets down some coffee and a sandwich at the table and sits down. "I was just making sure your sister ate after giving everyone medical exams." Bucky replied as he stared blankly at tony as he ate. "Interesting." Tony replied quickly as he started to eat. "I'm glad that your mission didn't go to badly, not many people were injured." I smiled at Tony as I recall the injuries that everyone had got. Tony sighed as he swallowed the food in his mouth, "Do I get bonus points if I act like I care?" I roll my eyes at how immature Tony still is after all of these years. "Somebody's cranky." I snort to myself, Tony glares daggers at me. "Somebody needs to shut up." I smile at Tony, now enjoying fucking with him. "I don't have enough middle fingers to let you know how I feel." I smirk at Tony, thinking I got the better up. "Frankly, I don't care. Just like how he never cared about Mom and Dad. You know who killed them right?" Tony asks as he glares between Bucky and I. "If you're insinuating that Bucky killed our parents then fuck you!" I yell in Tony's face, not able to control my anger as I get up and storm off. Bucky looks at Tony as Tony finishes his sandwich, not purposefully glaring but staring deeply at him causing Tony to get uncomfortable and scramble out of the room.

Bucky sighs deeply as he makes his way to my room, thinking of the right words to say as he ends up right outside of my door. "Hey...I know Tony's words really hurt but I'd like to tell you my story, not what you've heard from files but my life the way I lived it, when I had control of my life." Bucky expected no response honestly, who would want to talk to their parents murderer? Surprisingly the door swung open as Bucky looked in at my small trembling figure on the floor, a pang in his heart caused him to lose his breath seeing her in such pain.

I lift my head to meet Buckys soft eyes as he moves to sit on the bed next to me. His voice was kind but also firm as he told me all about his life, from his time in Brooklyn with Steve all the way through Hydra, he spoke about my parents last almost as if to save me the pain. "Your parents...they were a mission I had to carry out while apart of Hydra, or else I would have died as well as them...I wish I never had too..." Bucky sighs deeply as he looks at the ground. "You don't have to be my friend or even be nice to me, but I just wanted you to know that I never wanted to hurt anyone." Bucky softly got up, expecting to be kicked out before he felt my hands wrapped around his human arm. "I want to be your friend. It hurts knowing that you did that to my parents and I don't think that hurt will ever go away, but I do know that it wasn't you, that you didn't do it on your own will. I forgive you, Buck." I speak softly as I wrap my arms around Bucky's human hand, taking his warmth from him as it comforts my shaking body as I am able to relax into my bed and into Bucky, feeling safe and comfortable for once. I don't remember what happened after that other than my eyes forcing themselves closed as Bucky's mechanical arm softly strokes my hair.

I wake up to the sun shining brightly in my eyes causing me to instantly rub my eyes. I stretch with a small groan, wishing to be asleep still as I reach my arms above my head. I hear a rough chuckle beside me and open my eyes to see Bucky smirking down at me, "Morning, Doll." I feel my face go red at the nickname. I roll over to face him in the bed, "I'm sorry that I kept you here all night." I apologize softly as I yawn the sleepy feeling away. He smiled softly down at me, the golden sun reflecting off of his eyes making it look like tigers eye. "You have nothing to apologize for, darling." He used his fingers to swoop the stray strands of hair out of my face. "It was the best sleep I have gotten in awhile." He confessed as he pulled me a little closer, his body heat keeping me warm as he smiled down at me cheekily. "Don't smile at me like that, you know it drives me crazy..." I giggle at him softly as I place my hand on his face before leaning in. Bucky closed the gap as he took my lips in his, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in closer as he chuckles into the kiss.

"How else would I make your world spin?"

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hello! It's my first time requesting, I don't know if you will write it or not, but I thought I'll put the idea in, basically when I had this sudden burst of idea for a story where in this story Bucky is sort of a the type of guy who likes to bring girls and ykyk, and unfortunately the reader has a crush on Bucky and they r neighbour so reader would tend to listen to the noises and it would break the reader's heart. One day, she decided to go for a walk when Bucky was *cough* w some random girl, and unfortunately, the reader was attacked from behind, and Steve or Sam found her and brought her to the Medbay, and when Bucky found out his heart broke and he confessed, bc he also has a crush on the reader but don't know how to do handle it so he just go with other girls to push his feelings aside, obv doesn't work. Ending fluff!! Love your work always🫶

You’re The One That I Want » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Neighbor!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn’t want the other girls he has brought home, all he wants is Y/N.

Warnings: Fluff, language, mentions of blood, crying, kissing, cuddling, use of pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

You covered your ears with your hands and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to drown out the sound of the moans coming from Bucky’s apartment next door. You couldn’t help but feel jealous and heartbroken. You’ve had a crush on Bucky since the day you moved in next door to him, but it’s pretty obvious that he doesn’t feel the same way about you. He brings a different girl home almost every night. You put on a jacket and grabbed your phone and keys. You decided to take a walk to get your mind off of Bucky having a girl over. The night air felt refreshing. You hadn’t realized how long you were walking when you felt someone grab you from behind and pulled you into a nearby alley. The person covered your mouth to muffle your screams. The next thing you knew, you felt something sharp pierce your left side. Soon your body felt limp and you fell to the ground, everything went dark after that. Steve was walking down the street when something caught his eye in the alley. He cautiously entered the alley and seen a person lying on the ground unconscious. Something about this person seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He crouched down and carefully rolled the person over. His eyes widened when he seen your face.

“Y/N, it’s Steve. Can you hear me?” Steve says.

That’s when he felt something wet. He looked down and seen a pool of blood underneath you. He checked for a pulse. Your pulse was weak, but it was there. Steve picked you up bridal style and took you to the med bay at the Avengers Compound. While the doctors were checking you out, he tried to call and text Bucky, but he didn’t answer.

“Come on, Buck. Answer your damn phone.” Steve says to himself.

Steve was sent to voicemail for what it seems like the hundredth time. He sighed and put his phone in pocket and ran his fingers through his hair. Steve knows you’re Bucky’s next door neighbor. He also knows that Bucky would like to know if something bad happened to you.

The next morning, Bucky woke up next to a girl who’s name he didn’t remember. He grabbed his phone and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion when he seen a lot of miss calls and texts from Steve. He got out of bed to get dressed at the same time the girl woke up. He politely told her that he had to go to work and she left. He then made his way to the Avengers Compound.

“Why did you call and text me so many times last night? Where’s the emergency?” Bucky asks, walking towards Steve.

“It’s Y/N.” Steve says.

“My neighbor Y/N? What’s wrong with her?” He asks.

“I found her with a stab wound and passed out from blood loss in an alley last night.” Steve tells him.

Bucky felt his heart drop and his eyes widened. A bunch of bad scenarios were going through his mind.

“Where is she? Is she awake?” Bucky asks with worry in his voice.

“She’s in the med bay and still hasn’t woke up yet.” Steve says.

Bucky immediately ran to the med bay. His eyes teared up when he seen you in the bed with an IV in your arm and a breathing tube in your nose that’s giving you oxygen. He approached the bed and sat down next to you. Him seeing you in the bed like that almost killed him. He carefully picked up your hand, giving it a kiss and held it. Bucky couldn’t help but feel guilt. If he answered his phone last night, he would’ve been here sooner.

“I’m s-so sorry this happened to you, doll.” His voice cracking. “This shouldn’t have happened to you.” He says with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Bucky sniffles and let out a shaky breath. He thought hooking up with girls who aren’t you would push his feelings away about you, but it didn’t work. You’re on his mind 24/7.

“I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but umm…” Bucky paused for a few seconds. “I just want to tell you that I’m in love with you. I thought that seeing girls who aren’t you would push the feelings I have for you away. You’re always on my mind. You’re the one that I want.” He confesses. “If you don’t feel the same way as me, I totally understand.” He says.

He waited a moment, hoping you would wake up after he said that, but you didn’t. Bucky sighed and laid his head on the bed.

“What you said was really sweet.” Natasha says, breaking the silence.

Bucky lifted his head to see Natasha in the doorway. Wanda was standing next to her. They walked in the room and stood next on the opposite side of the bed.

“Thanks, but I doubt that she feels the same way about me.” He says.

“She’ll get through this, Bucky.” Wanda says.

“I hope so.” He says, looking at you.

Something came to Bucky’s mind. He remembered you told him you like red roses. Maybe that’ll help you change your mind about him if you feel differently towards him.

“Can you two do something for me?” Bucky asks, looking at them.

“Of course. Anything.” Natasha says.

“I want to get her roses, but I don’t want to leave her. Can you two get them for me? She likes the red ones.” He says, giving them some money.

“That’s so sweet of you. Of course we’ll do that for you.” Wanda says, taking the money from him.

After they left, Bucky looked at you with sadness in his eyes. He lifted one of his hands and moved your hair from your face, admiring your beautiful features. He gently caressed your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your skin. Bucky couldn’t stop his eyes from tearing up. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He wanted nothing more than for you to wake you up.

“Don’t leave me. Please wake up, doll.” Bucky says, letting his tears free fall.

Bucky laid his head against the bed. You could hear his voice. You also felt his hand holding yours. Your eyes fluttered open, squinting them to adjust to the light. It took you a moment to gather your surroundings. You looked to your right to see Bucky sitting next to the bed.

“B-Bucky?” You say weakly.

Bucky’s head shot up when he heard your voice. A smile grew on his face. Relief washed over him, knowing that you’re alive.

“Oh thank god!” Bucky says, hugging you tightly.

You whimpered in pain when his arm accidentally bumped your wound.

“Shit, sorry.” He apologizes, letting go of you.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, wondering why your left side is in pain. You lifted your shirt just enough to see bandages on your left side.

“Wh-What happened and where am I?” You asked, looking at him.

“Steve said you were attacked from behind. You’re in the med bay in the Avengers Compound.” Bucky explains.

“Did you find me?” You asked.

“No. Steve found you.” You could hear the sadness in Bucky’s voice. “What’s the last thing you remember?” He asks.

“Uhh…” That’s when it came to you. “You and the girl you brought home last night were- umm enjoying yourselves…” You tried not to sound awkward. “And I didn’t want to hear it so I went on a walk and someone grabbed me from behind. I’m assuming that’s how I got this.” You explained, lifting your shirt to show him the bandages.

Bucky felt even more guilty. He felt like this is his fault. A couple tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, doll.” Bucky apologizes. “I should’ve been there for you.” He says.

You lifted your hand weakly and caressed his cheek, your thumb rubbing across his stubble.

“This isn’t your fault, Bucky.” You say softly.

You looked in his teary blue eyes. Bucky leaned in, kissing you passionately. Steve, Natasha, and Wanda walked in at the same time you two were kissing. Bucky slowly pulled away from you, glancing over to the doorway to see the three of them standing there.

“You have company, doll.” Bucky says.

You looked at the door, smiling when you seen Steve, Natasha, and Wanda. Wanda had a vase of red roses in her hands.

“Bucky told me and Nat to get these for you.” Wanda says, placing the roses on the table next to the bed.

“We’ll leave you two alone. We’re happy that you’re awake.” Natasha says, walking out of the room with Wanda following her.

“Steve…” You stopped him in his tracks. “Thank you for saving me.” You say.

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. I’m just glad I found you and got you help.” Steve says with a smile before leaving the room.

You turned your head to admired the roses for a moment before turning to face Bucky.

“I don’t know if you heard what I said earlier or not, but I mean every word. If you don’t feel the same way about me, I completely understand. We can go back to being neighbors and-” You silenced Bucky with a kiss.

“I’ve been in love with you since the day I moved in next door to you.” You confessed.

Bucky smiles widely and kissed you sweetly and passionately.

“When you’re fully recovered, do you want to go on a date with me?” Bucky asks.

“I’d love that.” You say in almost a whisper.

You scooted over in the bed, whimpering in pain when you moved the wrong way.

“Doll, what are you doing?” Bucky asks.

“Lay down next to me.” You say, patting the bed next to you.

Bucky happily laid down next to you, wrapped his arms around you protectively and being careful not to touch your wound.

“You’re staying with me till you’re fully recovered and then I’m going to help you move your stuff to my apartment.” Bucky says.

“We’re not even dating yet and you want me to move in with you.” You say, looking up at him.

“You’re my girl now and that means I want you to live with me.” He says.

You smiled and kissed his stubbly cheek. You laid your head on his chest, slowly falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. Bucky kissed the top of your head, smiling to himself when the two of you finally got each other to yourselves.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[wastingmylifesecondatatime]

Bucky Barnes Masterlist - One Shots/Drabbles

Updated: March 22nd, 2025 🔞 = mature Other masterlists: mother masterlist (2019-2024), mother masterlist (2025)

NEW ADDITIONS:

Imagine #4 by @angrythingstarlight ​(added: March 22nd, 2025)

↳ "You've been dodging your creepy ex all night but he's getting more persistent and frankly, you're frightened of what he's going to do."

Imagine #5 by @angrythingstarlight ​(added: March 22nd, 2025)

↳ "You honestly forgot about the ad you made at 10pm. The night before your sister's wedding."

Sugar and Spice by @navybrat817 ​(added: March 22nd, 2025)

↳ "You make a sweet impression on one of the new tattoo artists in the neighborhood."

🔞 Imagine #6 by @angrythingstarlight ​(added: March 22nd, 2025)

↳ "You and Bucky accidentally discover one of his kinks. Now that he knows he's into that, he can't wait for you to do it again."

Imagine #7 by @angrythingstarlight ​(added: March 22nd, 2025)

↳ "Bucky’s wardrobe consists of expensive suits that are tailored to his body, even his causal garments are from the most exclusive designers."

Imagine #8 by @angrythingstarlight ​(added: March 22nd, 2025)

↳ "Bucky was having a day."

Imagine #9 by @angrythingstarlight ​(added: March 22nd, 2025)

↳ "He looks at you as if you're the sun, the moon and every single star in the sky."

Always and Forever by @wicked-mind ​(added: March 4th, 2025)

↳ "Bucky met the love of his life in 1942 and she lost him in 1945."

Comfort by @avenging-fandoms ​(added: March 4th, 2025)

↳ "Y/N sleeping over Sam’s with Bucky and sitting on the floor next to Bucky who’s on the couch rubbing his eyebrow until he falls asleep."

Exhausted by @moonvis ​(added: March 4th, 2025)

↳ "You’re exhausted from working, and would like to relax and cuddle with your boyfriend. Instead, Natasha convinces you to join a girls night out, which turns out to be a bad idea."

Headcanons #1 by @shurisneakers ​(added: March 4th, 2025)

↳ "Bucky and helping out at the tower."

🔞 Heroes by @maeve-writes ​(added: March 6th, 2025)

↳ "It’s your friend’s birthday and you’re dragged to the Heroes club. You’re not one for that kind of place, but you quickly change your mind after you get to play the damsel in distress for a pair of Brooklyn babes."

↳ Bucky Barnes x Reader x Steve Rogers

I Can Do More by @the-bau-quinjet ​(added: March 6th, 2025)

↳ "The team underestimates Y/N's strength until one day when her powers save them all."

I Need You by @comfortbucky ​(added: March 6th, 2025)

↳ "John Walker is really rude to reader(insults her & shit), but she stands up for herself. They(her & John) get into a fight & Bucky finds out by surprisingly swinging by her apartment. of course bucky is pissed, but he tends to her wounds. Then for some stupid reason, John shows up at Reader's apartment & Bucky loses it."

Imagine #1 by @teenwolf-theoriginals ​(added: March 4th, 2025)

↳ "Not being able to sleep until Bucky comes home from missions."

Imagine #2 by @avenging-fandoms ​(added: March 4th, 2025)

↳ "Bucky waking up from a nightmare and all he keeps saying is “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.” as he holds you so tight"

Imagine #3 by @metalbuckaroo ​(added: March 6th, 2025)

↳ "Agreeing to going bar hopping with Sam and Bucky ends in a confession."

It's just practive, V. by @bucks-metal-arm19 ​(added: March 6th, 2025)

↳ "“This is a terrible idea and you know it.” Tony grumbled as he and the rest of the Avengers were gathering in the sparring/weapons room of the compound."

Maybe Tomorrow by @metalbuckaroo ​(added: March 6th, 2025)

↳ "You gonna talk to me or are you gonna come up with another excuse?"

Misunderstanding by @demonsandmischief ​(added: March 4th, 2025)

↳ "A misunderstanding causes a rift in your relationship."

Soft by @crypticwanda ​(added: March 4th, 2025)

↳ "Bucky is a thighs man. he loves laying his head in your lap, or just sitting with his head between your thighs as if they were pillows."

Terrible, Rotten, Very Good Day by @sagechanoafterdark ​(added: March 6th, 2025)

↳ "Today. Was. A. Disaster."

🔞 The Angel and Devil on your Shoulder by @wicked-mind​ (added: March 4th, 2025)

↳ "One day you wake up with an angel and devil on your shoulder. And for some reason, they like to air all your feelings out to the one person you’re trying not to like. Bucky."

Unintended Target by @xxwritemeastoryxx ​(added: March 4th, 2025)

↳ "Bucky Barnes angst where you're dating and like you get hurt really bad on a mission because you tried protecting him and he just cannot stop crying while you're being treated. Steve, like literally has to hold him through it."

You Belong With Me by @natashxromanovf ​(added: March 4th, 2025)

↳ "Sharon and Bucky’s relationship is becoming more toxic every day. Thank God Bucky has the reader to give him some good advice and comforts him after everything."

[like-what-the-fuck-scoob]

🌸 could you maybe do a Bucky x reader in which reader clumsily hurts themself (tripping up the stairs, burning themself on a hot pan, nicking themself while shaving, hitting their head on a cabinet they didn’t know was open) and Bucky going absolutely mother hen insisting he takes care of her, basically going complete nurse mode with a first aid kit? Kind of “I can take care of myself” and “shut up and hold still” vibes?😅😂🥰

Bucky x Clumsy!Reader - Headcanons ❤️

Content Warnings - Mentions of head bumps, cuts/wounds, burns, shaving, general clumsy behaviour.

**********

- Bucky can't help but giggle everytime you hurt yourself. He finds it an endearing quirk of yours, and cannot count the amount of times you've been clumsy throughout your relationship. Though, amongst his amusement, he never fails to care for you with the upmost of sincerity.

- Reaching to the top shelf of the cupboard, it was almost predictable that something would fall, likely on top of your head with a bonk. Familiar with your sharp squeal, Bucky would chuckle, whilst nonetheless placing a comforting kiss on your bruised forehead.

- You'd definitely burned yourself more than once, whether it be on the pan, the kettle, or even your hair straighteners. Hearing a splash of oil following by a high screech, the brunette would be up from the table in a flash, by your side with yet another smirk and a chuckle. "Sit down, Doll. I'll carry on." Grabbing a bandaid from the box, he shushed you as you protested, his firm grasp ensuring your wound was covered and cared for. "Nu-uh. Sit. I don't wanna hear it." His voice still light hearted, there was a genuine sternesss to his words, the soldier intent on having you rest.

- Walking into your shared bedroom, Bucky flinched at the sight of the blood tricking down from your inner thigh. "Oh Doll. You shaved again?" He would ask in amusement, already familiar with this exact circumstance. Fetching a damp cloth, the avenger would tend to the cut gently, swatting your hand away as you attempted to take over. "Hold still, i've got you." Kissing the dry wound, he would gaze up at you with adoring eyes, truthfully enjoying every second of such tender love.

- Intent on being your fierce protector, nearly every item in the house had been threatened by your boyfriend. The first time you hit your head on a cabinet door, the soldier vowed to 'give that piece of wood a taste of its own medicine', because 'nobody hurts his babydoll and gets away with it.'

- Accepting your clumsy nature was part and parcel of Bucky's relationship with you; that was clear from early on, the brunette unable to forget when you tripped up the stairs on your first date. But, admittedly, he would never have it any other way. He was happy, more like honoured, to tend to those needs. After so many regrets in his life, these moments of care were somewhat validating; a chance for the repenting soldier to finally help, to finally do good. ❤️

[darkdemeter]

・okay but imagine・ STUCK IN THIS FORM

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

Nobody has ever seen you in your human form. It's unsure as to why exactly, but you never seem to ever reveal your human side, instead wandering around the compound as this 8ft hairy creature stalking around on two, large hind paws with a haunting weight that thunders through the halls. Your thick, long tail sweeps along behind you and though you have this beastly appearance, you tend to act... human. But there is a lacking to it, like an intelligent lifeform that knows how to mimic human behaviour. There's something dark in the way you drink from a bottle of water, there is an unsettling air around you when you eat the leftover meatloaf.

The smell of wet dog still clings to you even though you used half of your soap bottle in the shower, as if you try to peel away that layer from you and you fail to do so. You barely leave the compound grounds because of your condition, unable to involve yourself with the general public. You're stuck.

Your fellow Avengers have taken some time to get used to you, often wary of you and Wanda knows she shouldn't. She just knows that she shouldn't but she can't help the way her eyes drift down your body, taking in every detail she can.

At first she too was one of the wary ones who tried to avoid getting in your way. She had Vision after all and she was happily in a relationship with him. But something about you was pulling, she found herself drawn to you by this invisible tether. Nobody else but her was able to see the way your fur becomes tousled with this majestic flow in the wind.

Vision regularly reminds her that you're just an animal with no sense of your humanity. At least not enough to return to your human form. Your mind had been scrambled by Hydra to the point of no return to that aspect of your life; to find that agency that allowed you to blend in with everyone else.

But what Wanda saw was a fellow victim of Hydra. One that was secretly starved for love and affection. Nobody wanted to go near you, nobody really interacted with you outside of missions.

Maybe she pried... once or twice. In your mind, she came to know how badly you were tortured. The way you curl up into a ball and whimper, high pitched and growl in pain. You relive your time trapped in their labs as an experiment and their personal dog. Another mind tried too far and fried much like Bucky. Like him, you were forced to pay the price with your humanity.

Thus, she began to let herself closer to your presence. Whenever you both occupied the same space, she would let herself drift that little bit closer and though you would snap and snarl at her, secretly warning her to keep her distance for her sake, she only found her way around it all. She wouldn't give up on you.

She'd find the reflective shine of your amber eyes burning with this fire, sternly animalistic but it made her feel... secure. And then that sense of comfort and safety turned wayward, instead becoming something it shouldn't have. She began to feel the inkling wetness pooling in her panties, soaking her wet and leaving her in desperate want for something more. Something raw and untamed - wild.

By this point, you also let yourself get that bit closer to her. Able to finally take in the creamy jade of her eyes at a closer distance and to become fully enveloped with her scent. It was one you found calming, it numbed the pain of your memories and allowed you to finally rest peacefully. Because of this, you eventually would creep with a silent stalk into her room, body sauntering forth until you came to lay down on the floor beside her bed. She'd smile at the deep, rumbling purrs of your slumber, the way your ears would flicker and twitch and the relatively calm posture you came to have instead of your muscles being wound tensely. In the grace of morning, her hand glides with gentle brushes down the column of your spine and you stretch, shaking away the remnants of sleep. The two of you would just stare at the other for a moment, taking in the other in the rising light of the early sun. What she'd see is a hesitance, a fearful reaction that made you turn and leave quickly with a huff snorted through your dark, wet nose; like you didn't want her to see you like this.

You're stuck like this. There is no humanity within you to love.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Could I ask for a Logan x afab!reader? Readers mutation is strength, but like, it’s too strong for their body. Punch something? Boom. Hand skin GONE

SFW or nsfw is cool

A/N: Request are open for Bucky and Logan! If you enjoy my work please like, reblog, and comment it helps me stay motivated to keep posting on here. My classes are starting to get busier so I might start posting less but I am still planning on posting a few times a week so lmk if you'd like to be tagged <3

Logan liked the idea of having a girl who could handle herself. He liked knowing she didn't need him watching over her 24/7. When he met you, he thought he found the one, someone who could keep up with him physically and could stand her ground while still looking drop dead.

And he did find the one with you but there was just one flaw that he didn't approve of, that he couldn't just overlook. No, it wasn't something stupid like stretch marks or height or body weight. It was the fact that you were so unbothered by shit that should fucking bother you. So, instead of being worried about if some random fucker was trying to take advantage of you, he had to worry about you taking advantage of your mutation.

He didn't notice it right away, when you first got together, he was kind of a shitty partner. He wasn't proud of it, but he could admit it. He met you at the mansion, he knew of your strength and your pain tolerance, and he doesn't really know what happened. Maybe since he didn't feel like he needed to babysit you like he did with his ex-lovers he wasn't too concerned over how you were doing at first. He just knew you could handle yourself.

And you always did.

Your mutation was similar to his, you didn't have the claws, but you did have the metal, and you didn't heal as quickly as he did, but you did heal faster than a normal human and you hardly felt any pain.

The two of you being together just made sense, you completed one another in many ways that surprised Logan. Because of this you were together often, and Logan was quick to start noticing things about your mutations that he didn't notice before.

It was little things to you but to him it was a huge deal. He noticed that when you used your strength part of your skin would just vanish. Like the other night, you were getting ready for a mission and wanted to train more to be properly prepared. He had found you in the training room punching one of the punching bags and he watched for a few minutes to take in your form and make sure you were throwing the punches correctly. He was always in awe when he watched you either train or watched you during a mission and he started to slip into that awe state when he noticed your knuckle bleeding heavily.

"Darlin?" He asked, trying to hide his panic. You turned and smiled brightly at him completely unfazed by the blood. "How long have you been here? I would've stopped sooner if I had known you were here so we could get ready for bed silly" You giggled and went to kiss his cheek before skipping off to your shared room.

He looked at the door in complete shock and confusion. What the fuck was that? He muttered to himself before following you to try and get answers. He caught you before you could get into the shower. "Darlin, I think we need to talk." He grabbed your hand to see your knuckles completely skinless and bloody. "What is this? I know you don't feel much pain, but you had to have seen this. You should've stopped before it got to this. I mean fuck, how long is it going to take for this to heal for you?" He talked in a frantic tone as his mind started to race, how long has this happened? How long would they need to heal, what if they get infected? Was this a mutation thing? Has there been bigger wounds that he just didn't catch? Why the hell didn't you tell him about this!?

"Logan it's fine" you said with a shrug. "It just happens. Charles says I'm too strong for my skin cells so when I throw a punch or kick something the cells tend to rupture so he suspects that losing skin is going to be common, it'll be healed in an hour or two. Nothing serious I promise." You calmly explained to try and soothe his anxieties, but it seemed to just make it worse. He looked at you as if you just grew another head. "How are you this calm?! I see your adamantium bones right now!" He could feel himself growing more panicked, his heart was racing faster, and it felt like he couldn't breathe.

You knew that he was thinking himself into a panic attack, it was something he tend to do. You walked away for a moment and came back with your knuckles completely wrapped in gaze. "Lo, look at me honey." You cooed at him while you cupped his face to make him look at you. With his teary expression your heart sank knowing you were the cause of the panic. "I'm okay, you're okay, we are okay. Listen to my heart can you do that for me?" You felt his jaw clench before he nodded and focused on your chest. Hearing your heart beating steadily calmed him more than anything else would've in that moment.

"You're okay." He whispered, looking up at you for confirmation. You nodded with a lopsided smile. He nodded back at you, "This is just your mutation?" He asked shaking his head in disbelief and was met with you nodding as you shrugged. "Doesn't every mutation come with something stupid like this. I'll always heal eventually; I'll be okay Lo" You promised and sealed that promise with a kiss pressed to his forehead.

That night he kept you closer than usual. He doesn't know how he never noticed sooner and he's positive he'll never be okay with how unbothered you are by it but at least he knows you will be okay. He knew you could handle it. You always did.

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[deliciousangelfestival]

The Lady - 7

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Eddie Horniman x Female Reader

Summary: After fifteen years away, a step-daughter returns for her Duke step-father's funeral, only to inherit a staggering 8 million pound debt and strike a risky deal with a criminal underworld figure.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3 , Chap 4 , Chap 5 , Chap 6 , Chap 7.

Your ongoing support means the world to me! Reblogs are a fantastic way to help spread the word about my work.

Eddie's classic car roared up the gravel driveway, the engine's purr echoing through the quiet morning air. The sleek, polished body of the car gleamed under the sunlight, its timeless elegance a stark contrast to the tension that gripped the house.

Bucky clicked his tongue, his eyes narrowing in disdain. "Tsk, show off," he muttered. You shot him a sidelong glance, annoyed that he was still hanging around despite your earlier insistence that he leave.

"Don't kick me out. I want to see where this is going," Bucky said, leaning back casually as if he had all the time in the world.

Eddie moved swiftly, opening the back door of his car and helping Charles out. Charles looked like he'd been through hell. His face was swollen and bruised, one eye nearly shut from the swelling, and dried blood crusted at the corner of his mouth. He winced with every step, leaning heavily on Eddie for support.

Before you could fully process the sight, a hysterical scream pierced the air. "Kyaa!!! Charles, who did this to you?" Susan, your mother, ran out of the house, her face pale with panic.

She reached Charles and frantically checked his face, her hands trembling. Without a second thought, she helped Charles into the mansion, her expression a mix of fear and anguish.

Bucky watched the commotion with a detached interest, his eyes flicking between you and the unfolding drama. "Well," he said, his voice breaking through your daze, "looks like things just got a lot more interesting."

Leaving the three of you dumbfounded by your dramatic mother, you sighed and looked at the boys. "It’s already come to this. Let’s talk with cigars and whiskey."

“Yes. Let’s go!” Bucky walked inside, his steps light and eager. You and Eddie lingered behind.

You couldn't share Bucky's enthusiasm. Instead, you grumbled, feeling the weight of yet another problem. One issue had just been resolved, and now a new one had emerged. Eddie gave you a sympathetic smile, his eyes filled with understanding.

You sighed deeply. "The next time we meet, I hope it’s not about drugs and debt."

Eddie nodded, his expression somber. “I’ll drink to that.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍

You, Bucky, and Eddie are drinking whiskey in your study while your mother tends to Charles's wounds.

“What did a priest do to get beaten up like that?” you ask, leaning back in your chair.

“He got into trouble with ‘The Gospel,’” Eddie replies.

You raise your eyebrows. “Who?”

“John Dixon, aka ‘The Gospel.’ He’s an evangelical nutjob who also runs a cocaine syndicate,” Eddie explains.

You’re taken aback, hardly able to believe what you just heard. Charles, sitting nearby with a bandage on his forehead, interjects.

“He’s not evangelical. That man is a liar. His people sell that devil powder at schools,” Charles says with conviction.

You cross your arms, incredulous. “So you confronted them? All by yourself?”

Charles looks at you, pain and determination in his eyes. “I know what those drugs can do. It ruined my life. I don’t want others to go through the same hell I did.”

He leans forward, his expression earnest. “You have to stop him.”

“Me?” you respond, surprised.

“Yes, because you can. You have to save people from a man like ‘The Gospel,’” Charles insists. "If this were medieval times, he’d be the corrupt pope, and you’d be the martyr trying to bring him down."

Bucky, always eager for excitement, chimes in. “This is getting more exciting. Can I join?”

“No!” you and Eddie answer simultaneously.

“I’ll provide you with the guns,” Bucky offers, unfazed.

You consider his proposal for a moment. “Fine,” you agree, knowing you’ll need all the help you can get.

Before you go to meet the fake evangelical, your mother chases after you. She grabs your arm and says, “You have to avenge your brother.”

She's so determined to get her stepson some justice. You sigh inwardly; since you've come back, she hasn't shown this kind of worry for you, only for Charles and Charlotte.

After she leaves, you notice Bucky and Eddie looking at you. Bucky says, “It’s just me and my dad. And I’m sure he’d like you.”

“Huh?” you reply, confused.

Eddie chimes in, not wanting to be outdone, “All my family likes you.”

You chuckle, “Let’s go.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

You arrive at the chapel where ‘The Gospel’ has his hideout. It’s a dilapidated old building, its stained glass windows cracked and dirty. The air is thick with the scent of incense, masking the more sinister activities taking place within.

Eddie leans in and whispers, “Be careful with him.”

“I know,” you respond, steeling yourself for what’s to come.

As you approach the entrance, Bucky nudges you and hands you a small revolver. “Just in case things get messy.”

You nod, tucking the weapon into your coat. The three of you push open the heavy wooden doors and step inside. The interior of the chapel is dimly lit, casting long shadows across the pews.

At the front, a figure stands at the altar, preaching to a small group of followers. His voice is smooth, charismatic—a stark contrast to the malevolence you know he harbors.

At the front, ‘The Gospel’—John Dixon—stands, his face a mask of calm malevolence. He looks up as you approach, a twisted smile playing on his lips.

John’s eyes flick to Eddie first. “We meet again,” he says, his voice dripping with false piety.

Then his gaze shifts to you. “So you’re the priest’s older sister,” he says, sizing you up.

"You hurt my family," you say, your voice low and filled with barely-contained fury.

John’s tone turns accusatory. “He stopped God’s plan that I received. That’s why we gave him a warning.”

Listening to this madman talk, you realize he belongs in an asylum, not leading a drug syndicate.

John’s expression softens into a mockery of benevolence. “I will forgive and forget if he apologizes to me,” he declares.

You raise your eyebrows, incredulous. Then you cross your arms defiantly. “Fuck no.”

The room falls silent, everyone taken aback by your boldness. Bucky immediately grins, thoroughly enjoying the confrontation. “Go on,” he whispers, urging you on.

You step forward, your voice steady and resolute. “Charles was too soft on you. Not me. I’ll wipe out people like you from this earth.”

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[gaysindistress]

Allies or Enemies - one

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

pairings: Dragonborn!bucky x f!reader

Summary: The reality of her cruel world is more evident than ever before when her stepfather sends her to her death under the guise of diplomacy. Y/n, the expendable daughter of a scared king, must find a way to secure her own protection among the Dragonborn and she will do that by whatever means necessary.

Warnings: mild cursing

Word count: 3.3k

series masterlist | main masterlist

taglist: @unaxv

“The king requires your presence.”

“But were I to require that he does not bother me, my request would be ignored. We cannot always have the things that we desire,” I sigh whilst continuing to read the journal in front of me.

The handwriting is terrible, so much so that I can barely finish a page in 5 minutes but given that the king has been demanding my presence at every chance that he gets, I continue with my struggles. An older woman stands in the doorway and I can feel her glare at me with a hatred that I imagine is reserved only for me. After all, my mother is the one who married her lover.

“Now.”

The finality in her tone would’ve caused a younger me to look up in fear but I’ve grown used to the stern reality of our world. As the eldest daughter of the queen, I’ve been educated in every form of manipulation that can be conveyed through the voice. As the child of the late king and the unwanted stepchild to the current king, I’ve been taught that I am the only protection that I have. No one will come to my aid or offer me guidance when I need it. No one will tend to my wounds when the cruel servants of the king lash me with their words. No one will care for me in the way that my younger sisters are looked after. No one would even bat an eye if I were to vanish into thin air. They might celebrate if that were to happen.

The woman whom I despise just as much as she me repeats herself with a heavy huff as if I have greatly inconvenienced her by breathing the same air as her or simply existing. Whether it be my existence or continued residence at the palace that is more vexing to her is yet to be determined I’ve decided.

The journal before me bound in precious leather and gold thread suddenly becomes unimportant. While it details the various races of creatures that occupy these lands and would prove to be useful in my studies, it will do nothing to shield me from the king’s wrath. My fingers drift away from the frayed edges and allow it to close by itself, prompting small dust specks to flutter around it. The black silk ribbon that I wound around the end of my braid is dangling above the curious journal, trailing its delicate ends over the monstrous illustrations hidden in its opulent bindings. The ribbon, much like my heart, yearns to open it once more and lose myself in its pages but is bound by duty to ignore such a yearning.

“Your highness,” she demands in a tight voice, “We are to leave now.”

Rolling my eyes would most certainly earn me a slap across the face but it doesn’t stop me from squeezing them shut in frustration. Standing up from my desk, I swipe at the dust on my lap, smearing gray streaks across the thick black fabric of my over skirt. She makes a small noise of disgust at the action, no doubt complaining loudly in her mind that being presentable is not something I know how to do. We make eye contact for a brief moment and she is quick to turn on her heel, forcing me to nearly jog to catch up so that I may follow this hateful woman to my certain death.

The Beloved King Anthony Starkov had been a wonderful king at first. After the invasion of the Dragonborn and the apparent failure by my father to protect his nation, Anthony seemed like a god sent. He rode in on a pure white horse with the head of the most fearsome Dragonborn knight on his sword as he declared that he was now king. My mother, the poor grieving widower queen, had no choice but to accept his proposal and promise to care for us. He’s doted on her, showered her with affection and gifts, and most importantly he treated me as if I were his own. Following my father’s death and living in fear of Dragonborn attack’s, a protective shield was all I prayed for. My mother could barely protect herself from the onslaught of the court’s cruel words and it became apparent that soon they would turn on me. It was not for a lack of trying surely but due to the fact that she was not a man. As the angry old woman who calls herself my advisor likes to remind me, a woman is only as powerful as the man that marries her and that meant my mother had no power until Anthony.

The moment that Anthony took the crown and later my mother’s hand, we’d all thought that this would be the bright moment in our bleak lives that we’d been looking for. The nation of York was at peace when it had been a foreign concept to me and many others after the Dragonborn had launched their attack. The love that Anthony and my mother shared burned brighter than the terror that my father had allowed into our land.

Until the rumors of his cruel actions behind closed doors began to spread.

The help always gossiped against themselves and no one truly paid any mind.

That is until evidence accompanies these rumors.

My mother did well to hide what she could but once again there was only so much that she could do to protect me. When my sisters came along, I presume that Anthony no longer felt anger towards her but instead towards me, the last reminder of the Failed King. I’d always had pitying stares and endured hushed conversations where my name slipped between their fingers as they whispered to each other.

Poor child.

I heard that she’s going to be married off as soon as possible.

I heard that she’s just as weak as her father.

Poor child.

I ignored them until I couldn’t anymore. I ignored them until I had been sent to live with a distant cousin to be “taught the art of diplomacy” and was told to never return to the palace. With this distant cousin, I did learn the art of diplomacy as planned but as the craft of cutting words and cunning actions. I’d grown rather talented at navigating the complicated relations of neighboring nations, so much so that foreign diplomats asked for me by name. My ability to seamlessly blend together warring cultures and broken bonds earned me fame beyond that of my late father. Of course like any wicked stepparent, Anthony demanded I return to court so that my talents may be best utilized to serve the nation.

What a wretched lie to shorten my leash.

So began my rebellion.

The older woman who is also my ill informed advisor, Pepper, stomps down the dim hall towards the grand battle room. Her reddish blonde hair hardly moves behind her as she makes a determined path to the king despite the curls it’s been styled into. It’s rather shocking to see her hair down at all considering she is usually the one to lecture me on the propriety of society and how as a member of the royal family, I must uphold that. After she’s red in the face and moments away from exploding with fury, I like to remind her that I’m the forgotten eldest daughter. No one thinks of me as the face of this family or that of modern society either.

Despite its name, the battle room cannot be considered grand by any stretch of the imagination. Much like the rest of the palace, it is old and worn from economic fatigue. Where gold used to be brushed across every inch, there are now only flecks of lackluster yellow. Where towering windows used to bathe the halls in sunlight, there are now curtains drawn to prevent the Dragonborn from seeing movement within the palace. There is no finery to be seen and what was once a regal sight to behold is the stark reminder that we are at war with enemies who have every advantage.

With a deafening boom, ragged guards who’ve past their battle prime push the battle room doors and alert the king to our arrival. Pepper stomps right to where the king is sitting among pillars of maps and letters and whispers something in his ear. I don’t need to know whatever lies she’s telling him because his expression tells me enough. His ever present scowl deepens when he looks up and settles his disgusted gaze on me.

Dust swirls from my skirts as I shift on my feet and hit the wood paneled floors beneath me with a silent loudness as he stares at me.

A single question hangs in the air as he attempts to peer into my soul, “Were you aware that the Dragonic bastards were planning to create an alliance with the Elven counsel?”

Of course no warm welcome or small talk. Straight to the heart of the reason he even dragged me back here in the first place.

“Was I aware of this alliance?” I calmly restate, arching a brow at the man who sits high on his worthless throne and judges me. “Had I been, I would have informed you the instant I knew, your highness.”

In truth, I had heard snippets of clipped conversations about something brewing between the two nations but nothing raised concern within me. Rather nothing could’ve convinced me to speak to this man willingly.

The throne is a disgusting sight to behold with its mangled wood and tattered black cloth that flows in the still wind behind it. Black as night and deafening as the ever present silence that fills when you’re dying, this throne is what haunted me as a child and whispers promises of my demise now as an adult. The throne smiles when it senses my anger and the man who is occupying it becomes a conduit for its emotions as that familiar sinister glint flickers in his dark eyes.

Anthony throws a glance to the dust that has fallen around me with disappointment before speaking, “Do not play games with me, child.”

My eyes narrow at his choice of words.

“I assure you,” I start as I take a step forward as the heels of my boots make light taps on the wood, “I am not playing games with you. As I said before, if I had heard anything about this rumored alliance then you would have been made aware as well but alas I did not know.”

Anthony’s hollow chuckle causes my hair to stand on end but my face is schooled into perfect indifference. I allow my expression to portray only mild concern for the safety of our nation and that gets under his skin more than anything.

“If that is the position that you wish to maintain, then so be it.”

I roll my eyes at him and his flash with rage for a brief moment. The king settles back into his chair as he smirks at me, “you are my most sought after diplomat, are you not?”

Where is he going with this? I think to myself while I nod.

“Of course you are. You have your father’s legendary silver tongue. I should think that you would be the perfect person to forge an alliance on the nation’s behalf.``

My heart stills while my body becomes completely frigid. Suddenly the thick fabrics of my skirts and tight corset are useless against the chill that has begun to creep up my spine. The king holds back an all out grin and clenches his jaw. The action tightens and sharpens his already pronounced jaw, giving him the appearance akin to a statue. A crown of graying black waves adores his head but it does nothing to soften the severe look on his tanned face. “I have arranged for you to travel to the Dragonic capital and broker a peace treaty of sorts between us and them. We cannot allow this war to rage on any longer if they intend to ally themselves with the Elven counsel. This nation will not survive.”

“You expect me to do what?” I snarl with a curl of my lip which sends the entire room on high alert. Pepper gasps as she steps behind Anthony and the guards have arranged themselves in a defensive circle.

The king on his feet in seconds, brandishing a dull sword and pointing it at me albeit still a safe distance away. My gaze makes a slow path from the pathetic sword to his furious face. It is not the first time that he’s drawn a weapon on me and I doubt it will be the least.

“Your father is the reason this nation is all but decimated and it will be you who corrects that mistake. You will do as I demand of you and you will do it well if you wish for your mother to live.”

“You would not dare.” I hiss at him as I step closer. He steps back and says my name but I interrupt him with a roar of anger.

“You cannot expect me to willingly walk into a viper’s den, provoke the beast within, and survive, let alone make it obey me. You must know that this means almost certain death for me and I will fail. It is an impossible task, your highness. I will not do it.”

He hesitates, something that I haven’t seen him do ever, and I want to take pride in being the one to cause his hesitation but it’s short lived. His lip curls up into a nasty smirk as he sneers at me and circles his desk to stand mere inches from me.

“We might share blood but you are not my step daughter or family in any sense of the word. You are an abomination, a blight upon this earth. You are a dark stain in the fabric of our history and one that I will spend the remainder of my reign trying to scrub clean. You are a beastly girl who knows no discipline nor manners and nothing can forgive the torment that you've put this court through. Understand that is a blessing and that I should sentence you to death outright for simply being the offspring of the Failed King.”

Too caught up in the king’s self-serving monologue, I’d failed to hear the sound of thundering wings and the dreadful slap of scaled boots marching towards the battle room. I’d missed how the palace seemed to shrink around us in fear while its enemy stormed its halls with permission. I’d missed how only Anthony and I remained while the others had fled for their safety. I’d failed to notice that the air grew hazy and thick with smoke instead of tension as I had assumed.

Just as I catch the scent of burnt embers, I turn to glance over my shoulder and see the most important thing that I had failed to notice; a knight clad in iridescent black armor who is standing just behind me.

Towering above everyone and everything in the room, the knight seems to be almost double the size of any mortal man I know. As I spin to face it, the hulking frame shrouds me in complete darkness. My eyes make the nearly seven foot long ascent to where a face might be if it weren’t for the helmet that chills me to my core as I recognize it.

It’s the helmet of a Dragonborn knight.

They all wear the same sleek black helmet that resembles their beastly forms; six large horn-like spikes that stretch from the sides and top while the chin comes to a narrow point like a dragon’s nose. The helmet is otherwise plain with engravings or markings to decorate it aside from two sets of ruby glass eyes that stare down at me. It covers the knight’s entire face and head, leaving not even a sliver of skin or strand of hair to be seen. Save for the nature creases where the armor is cut to allow for movement, it lacks any decorations or embellishments much like the helmet. I’d once been told that it’s iridescent quality was due to the fact it was made from their dragon form’s scales instead of metal like mortal knights’ but I’ve never been close enough to one to ask. This is the first time I've been close to a Dragonborn at all, knight or not. My father had allowed a handful of their diplomats into the palace before his death but they’d used they’re mortal forms and only stayed for however long was absolutely necessary. I scarcely remember them aside from their silently menacing presence that would engulf rooms before they walked in and the scent of burnt embers that clung to their skin. Aside from those few past encounters, my knowledge comes from the journals I’ve snuck into the palace but nothing would’ve prepared me for this moment.

The knight simply stares down at me with those double ruby eyes before lifting its head to look at Anthony. With its gaze off of me, I look around it to see that there are only three more Dragonborn knights. Given how hostile our nations’ relationship has been, I would’ve expected to see a small army. Instead it seems that their leader did not think they would face much resistance or maybe these knights are more vicious than I’d been led to believe.

Anthony lets out a shuddered breath before he speaks, “You will leave with them in two days time.”

The knight glances back at me. The clawed gauntlets that cover its hands make a small noise when they come to rest on the hilt of a onyx greatsword. It stiles a cord of deep rooted terror within me that I can’t stop from setting ablaze to my nerves.

they’re not like us

they’re not like us

they’re not like us

It echoes throughout my mind while we stare at each other. The knight cocks its head and I can only assume it's studying me as I am it.

Anthony’s unsteady footsteps stop me from getting caught up entirely in the knight before me.

“She’ll never forgive you,” I whisper without looking away from the knight. I don’t need to look to know that my cowardly stepfather is retreating to safety and leaving me with these monstrous knights.

“She’ll be more thankful that her true daughters are alive.”

The other knights approach us, causing Anthony to let out a shaky chuckle in fear and stumble as he steps back.

One speaks, his gravelly voice rumbles the walls of this weak palace and shakes dust all around us, “The binding ceremony will take place tonight. Have you made the preparations as requested?”

I hear Anthony mumble something along the lines of ‘yes’ with a rambling of nervous explanations. The only words I can focus on are “binding ceremony”. They fall off my tongue in confusion and disbelief without me realizing.

“For your protection,” another more guttural voice answers. It’s quieter, one could not call it gentle but the low tone might be considered such to their kind. The knight before me waits for me to say something and when I don’t, he adds, “you will be safe with us. No harm shall befall you under our guard.”

A sarcastic chuckle wants to spill out but I keep my lips sealed. Safety is an illusion for any member of the royal family and it’s one that I saw through many years ago. I have no doubt that the knights will protect me as long as I prove useful but the moment an alliance is forged, that protection will end. Anthony will kill me the moment I step foot back into his nation and I have no allies of my own to rely on me.

The reality of this cruel world is more evident than ever before; I must find a way to secure my own protection and I will do that by whatever means necessary.

[babyhatesreality]

Hey loves! Can you possibly do a Head cannon with mob stucky and reader? How would they be when the reader is sick?

Hey love! So....answering this a year later....ugh, trust me I'm disgusted with myself. I hope you're still around to read this, and if you are, I thank you for sticking with me while I went through it this past year. I hope you enjoy <3

So with Mafia Stucky and Little Reader, when you're sick, there is a very calculated plan to get you better.

The trouble is, you're terrified of doctors after all those mean doctors held you captive before your Mafia Daddies could rescue you. You still trembled at the sight of a white lab coat, even after all this time.

So at the first sign of a sniffle or a sore throat, they call in their "guy"

You know him as Mr. Bruce, the really nice man in the purple silk shirt who tells you really silly jokes and talks to you sometimes when you're feeling icky

They know him as Dr. Banner, their on call physician who has been threatened within an inch of his life to not tell you that he's a doctor

Banner has no problem with this arrangement. He enjoys working for Steve and Bucky, as his...issues with rage, let's say....have gotten him in trouble in other locations, and Stucky has given him a full time job with incredible benefits where he still can practice medicine and science.

So what if the majority of his work is now stitches and tending to bullet wounds? He's still helping people, right?

And he genuinely loves you. He was one of the ones to help Steve and Bucky "get you out" of your kidnapped situation, and he was the one quietly monitoring your health as you came out of the haze that the drugs had put you in. He spent a lot of time caring for you and came to see you as a baby sister of sorts. He was extremely protective and fond of you.

Bruce has gotten extremely good at being able to just talk to you and diagnose what the problem is, because you trust him enough to be honest with him about how you're feeling

If there's an occasion where he needs a saliva sample, he's designed special lollipops that taste delicious- AND melt quickly. He simply pockets the stick when you're done and you have no idea.

If he needs a blood sample, that's a bit more complicated. That's when the strawberry milk comes out and you take a nice nap. You'll wake up later to find a little itchy spot on your arm, but that's really about it.

Once Bruce has diagnosed you, he'll quietly talk through a game plan with one of your Daddies while the other one is cuddling and cradling you in the other room.

You don't have any big issues with taking medicine- after all, your daddies are giving it to you and they always know what they're doing, so you don't question it.

You hate cough syrup with a fiery passion. More than once you've straight up refused to take it or spat it back out repeatedly, resulting in a spanking after you get better, but since Bruce figured out a way to mask the taste in a candy, it's not nearly as much of a battle as it used to be.

Mostly, you just crave cuddles and attention. And Steve and Bucky are more than happy to give it to you.

Their team knows just how sick you are by how Stucky rearranges their schedules. If you have a cold, they will NOT get them at the same time until you're better. If you have something a little rougher, like a stomach flu, don't expect to see either of them until you're back on your feet. If it's something like pneumonia, it's about to become everyone's only problem for the foreseeable future. They will ALL be on call twenty four seven. God help them if they think any differently.

Steve likes to carry you around everywhere, even if it's just from the bed to the bathroom. He doesn't want you wasting a bit of energy on something as trivial as walking- it should all go towards you getting better.

Half of his pockets are loaded with your medication, and the other half are full of little toys and expensive trinkets and sparkly jewelry to reward you for being good and staying down and taking your medicine.

Bucky anticipates your every need before it even happens. You shiver once, and he's already wrapped a blanket around you. Your face looks a bit flushed, and he's gently pressing a cool washcloth to your forehead, murmuring about what a good girl you are. He's holding up a tissue to your nose before you even realize you have to sneeze.

They will let you have unlimited screen time, watching all your favorite movies and TV shows with you- as long as they've approved them, of course.

You also get to eat pretty much anything you want (unless it's a stomach illness), since you really don't want to eat when you don't feel well. They'll let you have almost anything to ensure that you're still eating enough to get better.

Every morning, they carry you to another new room in the mansion, with clean fresh sheets and new things to do, since you get very bored very quickly, especially after a whole day in bed. Hell, what else are they gonna do with the twenty guest rooms in the house? The cleaning crew then sanitizes the previous room in a whirl, just in case you decide you want to go back in there.

Steve and Bucky cuddle you and constantly tell you what a good girl you are, and how proud they are to be your daddies, and just how much better their lives are now because you're in them.

And honestly? That heals you faster than anything else.

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: bloodties (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, comfort/angst, fluff, wound description, healing, cuddling, religious punishment mentioned, threats, cults, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, bucky barnes has issues, bucky barnes is a dick, bucky barnes needs a hug, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: woo!! finally the second part to this section!! comfort and fluff as promised w a little bit of angst. you guys are not ready for what i have planned for future chapters woohoo!! sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love

main masterlist | series masterlist

When the coal boy finally came around, you were going to strangle him.

Despite its tiny size, your flat seemed to be leaking heat by the second. The last of your coal had long burnt out, leaving you shivering and elbow-deep in a dirty, lukewarm water bucket. Bucky had faded in and out of consciousness as you tended to him. A poultice had been made and lathered across his marred back, bandages holding the paste in place.

The gangster had moaned and groaned, half-consumed by fever as you cleaned the filth from his skin and hair. A satisfied grumble escaped his swollen lips while you massaged soap into the dirty locks, your fingers carefully working from root to end. His eyes would flutter open, bruised and bloodshot, watching you work with silent awe.

With some effort, you had roused the man long enough to get him to clamber into your small, rickety bed. Sweat glistened along his bare chest, the fever leaving him restless as he writhed between your sheets. Between laying a cool cloth along his brow, you worked on getting his clothes cleaned and hung up to dry. You knew you had none spare that would fit the hulking size of the gangster, so he would have to survive in his undershorts until his clothes dried.

You fished his stained but clean shirt from the bucket, wringing out the fabric. In the dim light cast by your candles, you could make out your breath as the depth of the night fully descended upon you.

You were filthy, tired, and cold. With a sniff, you rubbed the back of your hand across your forehead. The work had kept you warm for a short time, but now your sweat and blood were running cold. Across the room, Bucky had settled for the moment. He lay on his belly, bandaged back exposed to the skies as his breath rose and fell raggedly.

A small flash of guilt churned in your stomach upon fully looking at the damage you had caused. It would take days for the burning sensation and agonising pains to pass. The skin would never be the same, molten and twisted in appearance.

Maybe you should have denied him. He could have never truly known what he was asking for when he came to you for help.

You cast aside the thoughts with a frown.

Your knees were stiff, the muscle and bone aching as you unlocked them from your kneeling position. Hands shaking and goosebumps raised across your skin, you quickly darted across the room. Your nightgown was filthy with gods knows what from helping the gangster.

You did not check if the man had roused as you pulled it from your head in one swift motion. You did not particularly care if he gazed upon your nakedness. The man had been inside of you, with his fingers, his cock—your nipples peaked, maybe not just from the cold.

You cast your gaze back once you had slipped on a new and clean nightgown. Your eyes followed along the curve of his bicep, the solid muscle along his shoulders that disappeared beneath the bandages. Most of all, you looked at his face, still oddly beautiful despite the cuts and bruising. He looked vulnerable, more vulnerable than you had ever seen him.

His eyes were closed, thick, dark lashes brushed across his cheeks. His brows were drawn slightly, the ghost of a wince crossing his features.

Maybe it was the lack of clothes that was the most jarring. Even while he was inside you, he had remained clothed, as if he always had a piece of armour upon him. As if even at the height of pleasure, a thought lingered, worrying about his safety. Always had eyes in the back of his head, always watching and waiting for an enemy to strike. Did his sleeping form before you mean he trusted you? Or was he simply too injured to fight the exhaustion that clung to his very soul?

Outside, a frigid wind howled as it tore through the winding streets of The Warrens. You took that as your cue to stop lingering, shivering, and feeling pathetic.

You clambered into the small bed beside him, curling up by his side. Heat radiated off him, his sticky, hot flesh pressing against your own cool skin.

Bucky’s fever would be enough to keep the both of you warm.

—

By the time you awoke, Bucky’s fever had broken.

The gangster still lay on his stomach, but his head now rested just below your sternum. His tousled hair spilled between the valley of your breasts, an arm lazily draped across your middle. Hesitantly, you tilted your head, raising your own arm to gently hook it around the back of his head. Your fingers wound through his strands of hair, nails carefully scratching along his scalp.

You leaned your head back, a short sigh escaping your nose as you stared at the ceiling. Bucky let out a low hum, still half-asleep and bleary, responding to your touch. The vocalization sent vibrations across your skin, deep into your bones.

In a moment of selfishness, you savoured the quiet and the sensation of his weight upon you. Your digits explored deeper, splaying down his neck as you gently massaged. He hummed beneath you again, a small moan tugging from his lips as your fingertips moved lower. You dared to work the rhythm across the tops of his shoulders, ghosting along the edges of the bandages where the skin was untouched.

“Bucky,” you whispered. The gangster jerked beneath you as if startled that your touch wasn’t a dream. His head tilted, and he inhaled a sharp breath, wincing as the movement tensed his back muscles.

His eyes cracked open, vivid blue against the bloodshot whites. As he looked up at you, his entire being seemed to grow rigid. You tried not to take it personally.

“How’s your back?” you questioned, reluctantly withdrawing your hand from his hair.

Bucky contemplated your words, tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. He winced as he reached the split, the tender flesh not quite scabbed over. He spoke up, voice croaky and strained. “Bad.”

“I’ll make you somethin’ for the pain.”

Bucky didn’t reply, only making a pained noise as you slid out from under him, prying yourself from his touch. His limbs were frozen in place, muscles rigid as if every small movement brought agony. You got the sense that he did not remember clambering into your bed, nor you joining him.

You shuddered from the cold, wrapping your arms around your waist. Your thin nightgown did little to ward off the chill, and you could see your breath with each exhale. You felt the gangster’s gaze follow your every movement as you tip-toed across the cold hardwood floors to your dresser. You quickly pulled out a pair of socks and an ugly, oversized knitted sweater to throw over your shivering frame.

“I'll need to go out soon and hunt down the coal boy,” you explained as you moved to your desk. “I’ll get word to Steve or Sam too.”

You gathered some fresh herbs from your woven basket, sorting through the leafy greens and selecting what would be most effective. You weren’t particularly knowledgeable about potions or botany, but you knew enough to understand what worked best for the task at hand.

“No,” Bucky’s gravelly voice spoke up from behind you. You paused your movements, casting your gaze back to meet his.

“No?” you questioned, rubbing your chilly hands together with a disapproving frown.

“I don’t need Steve or Sam comin’ here with their… pity,” he explained. It was the most words he had spoken since he awoke, slightly muffled due to his face being half-pressed into the sheets.

You stalked forward, lowering yourself to your knees next to the bed. Eye-to-eye with Bucky, you sighed slowly, running a hand through his hair once more. His eyes closed, satisfied like a purring cat. “It’ll take a few days for your back to heal proper. I can help you here… I just worry they’ll go huntin’ for you if they don’t know you’re fine.”

He contemplated your words for a beat, lids fluttering as he reluctantly met your gaze.

“They can’t come here. They can’t see me like this.”

A strange sadness clawed at your gut at his confession. A man so feared that he could not be vulnerable in front of even those closest to him. The weight of expectation was heavy, and the fear of mutiny was even heavier.

“They won’t be able to get past my wards,” you reassured him, your fingertips ghosting across one of the gashes on his face. “I’ll just tell them you’re here, and you don’t want to be disturbed.”

He huffed out a pained laugh. “They’re gonna think I’m fuckin’ you, doll.”

You tried to keep a straight face. “Well, they’re not far off, now are they?”

—

Now that Bucky’s fever was broken, the both of you were rather grateful for a roaring fire. 

Your tasks outside the bubble of comfort that was your flat went smoothly and briskly. You had slipped the coal boy an extra coin to ensure your coal was delivered to your flat efficiently and had remained tight-lipped about your frustration with the lad. One look at his sickly, pale mother, and you realized your order had slipped his mind with good reason.

Locating a Smog boy had gone easier than the first task. You slipped one of Bucky’s boys a note, instructing that it be delivered to Steve or Sam. Bucky had managed to scribble out some nonsense, explaining where he was while keeping out the details of his near-death experience. He hadn’t gone into depth but indicated he was worried Steve and Sam might go after The Penance Boys themselves if enlightened. Bucky had rather sternly muttered that he couldn’t afford rash or stupid decisions in such situations.

From the glance, you managed to get at the note, it read like Bucky’s absence was due to him being lost between your legs rather than a brush with death. You could already hear the sneering voices of the gangsters the next time you saw them.

Returning home, you found Bucky continuing to slip in and out of consciousness. During the hours he was awake, you made sure to give him tonics for the pain and broth to fight off hunger.

Little words were exchanged between you. The gangster only blinked at you in surprise as you settled some spare blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace. As easy as it would be to clamber into bed next to Bucky, you no longer had the excuse of the cold. With him being more sentient than the night before, you suspected he would be more likely to call out such actions. You could already imagine the flush of embarrassment and the mocking words he would use.

As you arranged the makeshift bed, laying out the blankets and fluffing the pillows with meticulous care, Bucky's confused voice broke the silence, cutting through your thoughts. "What’re you doin’?"

You glanced over your shoulder, meeting his bewildered gaze. His eyes, still heavy with pain and exhaustion, searched your face for answers. "I thought it might be better if I stayed by the fire tonight. Give you more space to rest," you explained, trying to sound nonchalant even as your heart pounded in your chest.

Bucky frowned, his brow furrowing deeply, lines of concern etched into his features. "You don’t need to do that," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, devoid of its usual harshness. "Come here."

His tone held no trace of mockery, only an earnest invitation. You hesitated, unsure of what to make of this sudden shift. The room seemed to hold its breath with you. Slowly, you moved towards the bed, and Bucky shifted, wincing as he rolled onto his tender back. You carefully climbed in beside him, your movements tentative.

Bucky settled his head in your lap, his body sinking into the mattress with a deep, relieved sigh. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, he looked almost peaceful. Your hand instinctively went to his hair. The strands were soft under your fingers, and you ran them through gently, feeling the tension slowly drain from his body.

The moment was fleeting, a mere whisper on the breeze. You pressed your back up against the wall, watching as his brows twitched, eyelids fluttering as the ghost of a scowl crossed his bruised face. You pressed your fingertips to his temples, wishing you could extract whatever thoughts plagued him.

In the quiet, you murmured, "I have my wards up once more. No one’ll disturb you."

Bucky’s eyes fluttered open again, and he met your gaze. There was a wary look in his eye, and with little hesitation, he spoke up. "You have strong wards. You keep everyone out. Don’t you have any visitors?"

You could only assume it was the tonics you were giving him for the pain. The gangster was loose-lipped, practically putty in your hand as you contemplated how best to reply. He sighed again, a sound of contentment, and you marvelled at the transformation. You let your hand travel from his hair to his stubbled jawline, tracing the rough edges tenderly. His skin was warm under your touch.

“No,” you replied simply, gaze cutting away as you looked across the room with a frown. “I don’t have family, ‘least none that I speak to. My parents are dead.”

There was a brief pause as your nails circled his adam’s apple, then dragged back up to his jawline once more. “My mother from sickness. My father… well, he drank himself to death.”

Bucky shuddered beneath your touch. “I take it your father was a cruel man?”

“Yes.”

“He was the one in your memories? At the brothel?” He questioned further, and your frown deepened.

“Yes,” you repeated, surprised he had cared enough to remember. Your mind cast back to his strained reaction to your memories, the way the muscle in his jaw ticked. You wondered if Bucky saw his own demons within you. “The only kind thing my father ever did was…”

You hesitated, sucking in a sharp breath. Your fingers entangled through his hair. Was this a story that needed to be told? You cleared your throat, locking your gaze on the fireplace as you spoke. “My mother was a priestess in a coven or a cult…  however you view it. They were terrible people, obsessed with cruel ideas of worship. They believed in sadism and suffering. Sacrifice. They praised those who could withstand torture for hours, believed that when the rapture came those who suffered most would be saved.”

Bucky was silent as you continued your tale. “They believed a witch would be born into their ranks, a witch with unbelievable powers that could raze cities with a single look. She would bring upon this rapture, save them from this place. They were all blinded, of course. The only kind thing my father ever did was get my mother away from that place.”

There was a long pause between the both of you, only broken as you looked down to find him staring up at you with a frown. Your breath caught in your throat. Despite the fogginess in his eyes from the pain tonic, there was a strange clarity in the way he held his gaze.

“I take it your father was much the same, cruel and a drunk,” you dared to muse.

Bucky’s face contorted into a glower, eyes darting away. “I don’t like to speak of my father.”

You noticed how the gangster almost began to cower from your touch, shoulders and neck rigid against your thighs. “Tell me of the others in your family then.”

“Well, there is Becca, my sister. I don’t think you’ve met her.” His tone was surprised, wary even. Even if outwardly he was standoffish, you noticed how his muscles relaxed.

You persisted with your soothing touch. A small feeling of delight thrummed in your chest as you noticed how his eyes rolled back, obviously pleased by your fingertips massaging into his scalp. “No. You’ve mentioned her before. You said she's… sensitive to magic.”

“My mother has this theory that someone, somewhere down the line, was a witch.”

“Magic is known to skip generations. It can manifest in unexpected ways.”

“Yes… well,” He stumbled over his words, a small grunt slipping past his lips as you massaged a particular spot along the base of his skull. “Becca and my mother are very alike. Sometimes too alike. It’s infuriating to deal with them when they have both made up their minds.”

“But you love them regardless?” You asked, the ghost of a smirk playing across your lips.

“I don’t think I’m a man capable of love.” Bucky paused, as if hesitant to confess. “But yes, I do.”

—

In the days that followed, your bedtime ritual continued, leading to slow, comforting mornings where you woke up with your limbs entwined with Bucky's. Each day settled into a steady routine: you prepared food and tonics for the gangster, watching as he slowly regained his strength. You found a strange solace in the rhythm of those days, his presence a constant, grounding force in your otherwise solitary life.

The mornings were a blend of quiet intimacy and simple tasks. The sun’s early light would filter through the fog, casting a soft glow over the port. Bucky’s breathing, once ragged and laboured, had become steady and strong. You would gently untangle yourself from him, careful not to disturb his rest, and begin the morning routine. 

Bucky’s recovery was gradual but noticeable. He moved with more ease each day, his strength returning as the bruises faded and the fever’s grip loosened. You found yourself engaging in more conversations, sharing stories over meals, and even exchanging the occasional joke. His laughter, though rare and often accompanied by a wince, was a sound you soon came to miss.

It was not entirely a surprise to wake up alone in your bed one morning. The hollow pit in your chest, however, was undeniable. Though you would not admit it, you clung to the hope that Bucky had merely gone downstairs to wait for you to wake, or perhaps stepped outside for some fresh air. But as you searched your tiny flat, it became painfully clear that he was gone. No words, no note, no messenger—just a cold, empty space where he had been.

You should have come to expect it, yet the absence of any farewell stung more than you cared to acknowledge.

Spring finally rolled around, but the cold persisted, mirroring the chill that had settled within you. On your occasional excursions to the market or to see clients outside your home, you remained bundled up against the lingering frost. The Smog Boys hardly spared you a glance, their eyes always scanning for other threats, and you never caught a glimpse of Bucky weaving through the fog and alleys. His disappearance was a gaping void, a reminder of your isolation.

A flicker of hope would spark each time you had a visitor at your door. Clients, workers, the coal boy… yet not a single Smog Boy. As quickly as you had come to despise the gangster and how he called for your services at any whim, you also found you quickly came to miss those late-night summons. 

But the knock at your door this night, the face that greeted you as you swung open the door… it was a face that left a fit of dread in your stomach. 

Rebecca Barnes. 

You had never met the woman, but with one look you knew. You could recognise those features anywhere. She stood in the doorway with an unyielding, cool confidence. She was a striking figure, tall and lithe, with the same piercing blue eyes as Bucky. Her raven hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, a few rebellious strands framing her sharp features. Over her shoulders, she draped a dark, fur-lined coat, the fabric gleaming softly in the firelight. Much like her brother, it seemed she had appeared from the fog like a wraith, not a speck of ash to be seen across her clothing or hair. 

She smiled. Wide. It unsettled you, the way the smile did not quite meet her eyes. “May I come in?”

The woman did not wait for a response, nor did it seem she intended to wait either. She brushed past you without a care, the fibres of her furs tickling your forearm as she passed.  

“What’s happened?” You ask, unable to hide the worry in your tone. Becca didn’t involve herself in Smog Boys business, besides some surface showing of her face. Bucky had made sure his sister and mother would never be incriminated in any crimes, and that they were always to be protected. 

Becca Barnes did not turn up at anyone's door, not without good reason. 

Rebecca placed her purse on your dining table with a deliberate, almost ceremonial motion. Her eyes locked onto yours, unblinking and intense, the calculating gaze of someone who always knew more than they let on. Her lips curved into a thin, tight smile. “My brother.”

Your stomach dropped as if a trapdoor had been opened beneath you. 

“Your brother?” you repeated cautiously. You took a hesitant step forward, your hand instinctively reaching to close the front door behind you, as if doing so could keep the impending storm contained within your tiny flat.

Rebecca's eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing through the dim light of the room. She took a step closer, her movements fluid and predatory. “Do you care for him?”

“What?”

“I said,” Rebecca's voice was low, measured, each word enunciated with chilling precision, “Do you care for him?”

You paused, your body frozen in place. The silence stretched taut between you, a razor-thin wire ready to snap. Rebecca shook her head, a small, almost pitying smile playing on her lips. She let out a soft tut, a sound of mild disappointment. 

“I’ll get to the point, shall I?” Her tone was clipped, businesslike, as she stepped forward. Her lips pressed into a thin, hard line. “You’ll stay away from him. You hear me?”

Your brows furrowed, and you took an involuntary step back, confusion and defiance warring within you, trying to make sense of the sudden, stark command. Rebecca’s eyes flashed with impatience. She closed the distance between you, her posture rigid, her movements calculated. She loomed over you, her presence both intimidating and inescapable. 

“This would’ve been simpler if you remained one of his whores,” she continued, her voice dripping with disdain. Her chin lifted. “You already fucked him, so I suppose that’s out of your system. But you’ll stay away from him, witch. There was enough grief with the last one, the traitorous bitch she was. I cannot afford to have another one of you messing’ with family business.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to explain, but the words caught in your throat. “I don’t know what you think has happened between us—”

“Oh, I know what has happened.” She interrupts, her voice brittle like breaking glass. “You’ve somehow infected his mind. It’s the only reason he would’ve come to you when he was injured, that he allowed himself to be a victim of your magic.”

“He asked me for help–” You begin to insist. 

“Help?” She barked out a laugh, a harsh sound bubbling from her throat. “How do you call what you did to his back help? Those scars will never heal fully, you’ve ruined him.”

You felt a flush of anger rise in your chest. “He knew I’m not a healer–”

“I know what you did.”

Rebecca’s voice cut through the room, silencing you. The silence that fell between you was thick, suffocating. 

“I know what you did to those coppers. I know how they beat Leofric’s son to death in front of you. So you blitzed them out of existence. There were no bodies to recover because you turned them to mist.”

The accusation hung in the air, a dark, undeniable truth. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms.

“You think that’s what I’ll do to Bucky?” you asked, your voice defiant.

“I don’t think, I know it.” Rebecca’s gaze was unwavering, her expression unreadable. “I know your breed, and I warn you that I’ll destroy you if you compromise what my brother has built. What my family has built.”

“Respectfully, you do not know me,” you replied, your voice steady.

“Maybe I don’t,” Rebecca conceded, her tone cold and detached, “but I know a threat when I see one.”

She clicked her tongue as she picked up her purse, the sound sharp and final. “Within the next few days, you’ll receive a message asking you to attend a family meeting. You’ll politely decline. You'll continue working for my family, but you’ll keep your distance.”

You could feel the anger flaring up your throat, hot and fierce. “And what’ll happen if I don’t? What if I tell him what you’ve said today?”

Rebecca’s smile was a chilling, sickly sweet curve of her lips. 

“Then I’ll kill you,” she said simply, her voice a soft, deadly whisper. “When you least expect it, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you. Bucky won’t be wise to any of it. Do you truly think he would believe a witch over his own sister?”

Becca turns, adjusting her coat with a practised flip of her wrist. The heels of her shoes clicked on the hardwood floors as she strutted to the front door. "I do like you, spirit-raiser. We could be friends if you remember your place."

As she walked out the front door, turning to close it behind her, she flashed one last smile. "Just remember, you’re nothing to us."

PART FIVE

[m4rv3l-girl]

What about Bucky taking care of a really sick reader?Reader is always the kind of person that even though they dote and take care of others,they tend to refuse to accept any help.Bucky is determined to help them realise that it is okay to ask for help from people they trust and helps takes care their delirious feverish ass😭😂(protective instincts since the 40's days where Steve used to always be sick)

Warnings: Lots of fluff!

Y/N had been feeling off all morning, but she chalked it up to lack of sleep and too much caffeine. That was until she found herself swaying on her feet in the kitchen, gripping the counter for dear life as the world around her blurred at the edges.

Bucky noticed, of course he did.

"Doll, you good?" he asked, voice laced with suspicion as he took in her pale complexion and the slight tremor in her hands.

"Fine," she croaked, clearing her throat and forcing a smile. "Just need more coffee."

Bucky narrowed his eyes, watching her shuffle around the kitchen like an exhausted raccoon. He’d seen this routine before. And if there was one thing James Buchanan Barnes couldn’t stand for, it was people he loved being stubbornly self-destructive.

So he waited. Patiently. Because he knew exactly how this was going to play out.

It took less than four hours.

By noon, Y/N was curled up on the couch, cocooned in a blanket despite the fact that it was objectively warm in the apartment. Her nose was red, her eyelids drooping, and her usual energy had been drained to the point where she didn’t even protest when Bucky turned off her laptop mid-email.

"Hey!" she rasped, voice wrecked with congestion.

"Nope." Bucky held his ground, arms crossed over his broad chest. "You’re sick. And before you argue, you’re sweating but shivering at the same time, you sound like you’ve been gargling rocks, and you just spent five minutes staring at your own hand like it was a foreign object. So yeah, you’re sick."

She groaned, burrowing deeper into the blanket. "I don’t get sick."

Bucky scoffed. "Right. And Steve was a seven-foot tank in the '40s. Just admit it, doll, you feel like crap."

She muttered something unintelligible into the fabric.

"What was that?"

A dramatic sigh. "Fine. I feel like crap. Happy?"

Bucky smirked. "Ecstatic."

Thus began Operation: Take Care of Stubborn Girlfriend.

The problem was that Y/N, despite being a doting and fiercely caring person, sucked at accepting help. Bucky had seen her patch up Sam’s wounds after a mission, shove food into Nat’s hands when she hadn’t eaten all day, and even bully Clint into resting when he tweaked his back. But the moment someone -specifically Bucky - tried to do the same for her? It was like trying to corral a feral cat.

"I can make my own soup," she grumbled as Bucky guided her back to the couch after she’d attempted (and failed) to stand without looking like a baby deer.

"Sure, if you wanna pass out into a pot of boiling water, be my guest."

"You’re dramatic."

"And you’re impossible," he shot back, throwing a blanket over her with the practiced ease of someone who had done this before. (Spoiler: He had. Many, many times with Steve.)

She let out a huff but didn’t fight him when he tucked her in.

"Now," Bucky said, standing up and stretching. "You stay put, drink some water, and I’ll make you that soup. No arguments."

"Bossy."

"Damn right."

An hour later, Bucky returned with a bowl of homemade chicken soup. He may or may not have called Sam for the recipe, a cool cloth, and a determined look in his eyes.

Y/N, now in the full throes of feverish delirium, blinked up at him with glassy eyes. "Bucky?"

"Yeah, doll?"

"I think I’m dying."

He bit back a laugh. "You’re not dying."

"I am. Tell Sam I love him."

That did it. Bucky burst out laughing, shaking his head as he sat down beside her. "Wow. Not even dead yet and already leaving me for Sam. Rude."

"He’s Captain America, Buck. You understand."

Bucky rolled his eyes, placing the cool cloth on her forehead. "Drink some water before you start writing your will."

She took the bottle he handed her, sipping weakly before sighing. "You’re too good to me."

Bucky softened, brushing damp strands of hair away from her clammy forehead. "You take care of everyone else, sweetheart. 'Bout time someone took care of you."

Y/N blinked at him, the fever making her look heartbreakingly vulnerable. "Thanks, Bucky."

His heart clenched, his fingers lingering against her temple. "Anytime, doll."

The fever broke later that night, but Bucky refused to let her move from the couch for the next two days. Every time she protested, he reminded her that this was payback for every time she’d forced him to eat, rest, or take care of himself.

She grumbled but deep down, she knew she’d never win against James Buchanan Barnes.

Not when he loved her this much.

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Hope this is what you were wanting, Dear! 🫶

[writersblockedx]

Winter's Protection: Chapter Three

Pairing - Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Summary - In search for the past of the Winter Solider, you take a visit to your father. Warnings - Mentions of violence Words - 2.2k

Read Chapter Two Here Masterlist

That night, you found sleep all too difficult. Your mind simply didn't seem to be able to slip away from the image of your bodyguard holding Ryan's life in his hands. He was far too capable of killing. You questioned if he would have stopped had you not yelled, whether the night could have taken a much different route.

It must have hit past four when you dragged yourself away from the comfort of your bedsheets, wandering downstairs where a light was still flickering. Maybe it was the sudden worry of what the Winter Soldier might be doing which drew you back to your living room. What you hadn't expected was to see the man terribly tending to his wound as he attempted to stitch up a cut that he had gained from the continuous punches.

You didn't announce yourself as you drew over to the sofa. Instead, you silently took the medical supplies from his grip. "You'd think after all you've done, you would know how to stitch yourself back up."

He stared at you, almost confused when you knelt down in front of him. Your hand reached out for his wounded one. Before you could touch his skin, he retracted it back, as if acting on instinct. "I just want to help." You explained.

The man swallowed. Something in your eyes must have offered trust as he provided his wound into your touch. You stared at his wonky stitching that you assumed probably would have made the wound worse. So, to begin with, you began taking that out from his skin. A sense of deja vu taking over. Only a couple nights ago when you were forced to tend to the own cut you had gained when the soldier wanted to help, only for you to practically spit in his face.

"I don't think Ryan is the type of person my dad wants you to go after." You spoke after a moment, grasping at the wipes to first clean the cut. The reason your dad was so hell-bent on keeping you safe was something along the lines of his task force having enemies. You didn't ask questions, you had little care for your dad's business.

"He hurt you." The man finally said.

You glanced away from the blood, to lock eyes on the man for a second. When you looked away, you continued speaking, "I was handling it." Maybe he did need a punch. Just many not that many. 

"He made you uncomfortable from the second you saw him. And it wasn't his first time pulling something like that." You seemed almost shocked at his words. Not one of your previous bodyguards had taken such intense notice of you, more than any of your friends.

"How did you know?" You found yourself asking.

"I heard you talking." Of course, he had done. You should have known he wasn't just standing around aimlessly that night.

You nodded and began stitching up the wound. "Thank you." Your words came out in a mutter. "But, unless someone is trying to kill me, you don't need to almost kill them. Ryan was in the wrong, that's for sure, but all he needed was a punch." Hell, you had been seconds away from doing that himself.

The soldier nodded sternly, watching with such intensity as he held onto your words. All he had known was to kill, to torture, to obey his orders. You gave him something different to obey. "I understand."

For a brief moment, your eyes flickered towards his own before you continued to tend to his wound. A silence settled. One of which you couldn't help but break with the sudden intimacy you were stuck in. "You know, I was thinking, one of my friends asked for your name. And I don't even know it."

You felt him tense in your touch. Maybe you had crossed the line. But it seemed such a simple question. To anyone else, it should have been an easy answer. But as your eyes met with his, you only faced an abyss. "I don't know."

You should have known. A man could not perform such vicious acts for so long without something else at play. Years stuck in a lab where your father and other scientists perfected him. "They took it away from you." You realised.

The soldier nodded. "More than just my name."

You didn't want to ask, you didn't want to push him any further. There was pain in his voice. A certain tone you had never caught onto before. He was a man once until he was moulded into nothing but the perfect soldier. So you leaned back, wiping his wound once last time. "All done."

He smiled your way. Possibly the first time you had seen him break into an expression which wasn't anger. "Thank you."

You stood, cleaning away the supplies, "I could help, you know." He stared up at you. "I know where my dad keeps all his files."

"You don't have to do that."

At his reply, you shrugged. "You deserve to know who you are."

So the next morning, you arranged a car and texted your father. Maybe you would lose a day of your time, forced to be within close proximity with your father, but it was worth it for one man to understand who he was. Not to mention, you liked the thought of actually having a bodyguard on your side for once. But, more than anything, the man you once saw as nothing but a pet of your father's, was a man who had everything taken from him. It seemed like the least you could.

You had put on more respectable clothing that morning, slipping into the back of the car as the driver was silent on the drive out of the city. Beside you, the soldier watched as you passed by city skylines and the crowds of New Yorkers. Suppose he wasn't used to being in the back seat. "Thank you." He muttered.

You glanced over at him and nodded, "Of course." Facing your father was the least you could do.

It was a decent drive. Watching as the skyscrapers slipped into suburban homes with picket fences and gated communities. Your family here in particular was situated at the end of the road, right in the cold-e-sac. Shut gates started back at you, soon opened by the telecom when the driver announced your arrival. The gates clicked open, showcasing the home that some people may describe as a mansion.

A large garage, a stone path leading up the front door. All were painted in stone, with windows looking out across the small town they lived in. "Thanks," You said to the driver before exiting with the soldier following closely behind.

Your knuckles knocked against the door. Not having to wait long before your father welcomed you back home. "Finally, I thought I was going to have to call to check you were still coming." He took you in a stern hug that made your body always feel awkward. When he let you go, he gave a nod to the bodyguard without a smile. "You going to tell me why you're here? Ran out of money already?"

You and the soldier followed your father's lead through the marble floors which lead to the kitchen. Passing by the eccentric living area and the dining room fit for a party of twenty. He didn't ask before pouring you a tall glass of wine and sliding it your way. "Can you believe I just wanted to see you?" Even you wouldn't believe yourself.

"Well, whatever it is, it's good to have you home every now and again." He sent a sly smile which had you reaching for your glass of wine. "How's the new bodyguard treating you?"

Instinctively, your eyes fluttered over the solider who stood by the doorway. "Fine." You nodded, not wanting to let on too much, worried he might see through what had really led you back to your family home. 

"You just let me if anything happens-"

A figure peeked out from the doorway, "Sir," A figure you had been used to seeing: Rumlow. Scars littered his face, a strong build, the perfect right-hand man for your father. "We need your approval."

He nodded before turning to look over you, "I'll not be a moment." And like that, he slipped away with Rumlow at his side.

You waited a moment, listening to the front door open and then close once again. That was your sign to do what you were here for. Your hand slipped into your pocket to retrieve the key you had stolen from the second you walked into the house. Your father was smart but oblivious to your ways. "What is that?" Questioned the soldier.

"The key to his office." You glanced up at him, a confused expression still littering his features. "Please, I learnt that trick when I was fourteen." Whenever your father went in for a hug, you simply slipped your hand into his pocket without him feeling a thing. "Stay here, I'll not be long."

You went to slip away, and head upstairs while you still had time. But before you could even take a step, a firm grip found its way to your first. You froze as to face the soldier, "Will you be okay?" Dare you say it, but there seemed to be a hint of worry in his tone.

You took a breath, taking in this expression you had never seen before on the man. "Like I said, I've been doing this since I was fourteen. Trust me." With that and an assuring smile, he let you go as you rushed up the marble stairway.

You checked the hallway as if it wouldn't be empty. Your father never had guests round. Co-workers? Always. But by the seems of things, they were all too focused on whatever had taken your father out of the kitchen. So it was easy enough to get into his office undetected. The key hit the door and it clicked open, giving you access to the many secrets you had once denied to know.

The second you stepped into the room, you went searching. The file cabinet was large. Many files with the title: HYDRA. A word you had seen far too many times, though had little to do with it. You never had much to do with your dad's work. That was until you fit a certain file. It was chunky, filled with several pieces of paper and reports. It had the same HYDRA written across it, followed by: The Winter Solider Programme.

You only had to flick through the pages for the horror to set in. Pictures of your bodyguard from when he was just a man fighting in the war. You snapped pictures at everything you could - even the horrible parts. The reports of several scientists picked his brain apart and moulded it back together to create the perfect soldier. You only stopped when you heard the front door open once again, the distant mumblings of Rumlow and your father not far away.

So you placed the file back in its place as if it had never been touched. You slipped back out, locking the door behind you and headed for the stairs as if nothing had ever happened. "Miss," Called a voice.

Your head snapped up to stare at Rumlow who nodded your way. For a moment, you thought you had been caught. "Rumlow," You greeted in response before walking right passed him to where you had left the solider.

Your eyes stared to the soldier first. Your expression read like a book: it was done. The bland small talk was just that now. There was no need to play pretend. So you gulped down your wine as your father went on about some project you had little interest for. Instead, your mind couldn't stop running around the images of the man who had been tortured. All at the hand of your father. You hated to admit it, but maybe it wasn't all that surprising at all. There was a reason you were naive to his work.

That night, you requested the driver drop you off at a quaint bar downtown. Only five minutes away from your apartment. A couple of tipsy groups sat at the bar, ordering shots and loudly conversing with one another. But you took your bodyguard towards the back of the bar, a quiet table where no wandering eyes could stare. 

From there, you took out your phone and shared everything that you had learnt. "Your name is James Buckan Barnes. You were born on March 10th, 1917. You grew up as the eldest son with three siblings. You had a best friend who you fought with alongside during the war in 1943. With him, you helped take down an enemy of the state named Red Skull." You took a breath at the next words, feeling the impact your explanation was about to have. "During this, you fell from a train, dropping hundreds of feet into the snow. A Nazi project named HYDRA took advantage of this and began experimenting on you until they successfully created the first Winter Solider."