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mournthebird · 1 month ago

Text

Apricot Toast.

summary: Soldat doesn't understand care can be without price.

a/n: This 'chapter' includes brief scenes of active SA as well as heavily implied SA acts so be warned. Flashback scenes with more detailed torture & slightly suggestive scene with reader because he's confused :( It also ended up being a bit longer to make up for the last few shorter chapters. I'll be posting all of this on my A03 in case it gets too much for Tumblr. I hope you enjoy even though its a little more sad.

Italicized parts are flashbacks. Unedited. ;; wc: 6.8k

There were a lot of things that he endured. A lot of things he had to relearn and break free from.

One thing had him by a vice.

Kindness wasn't free. Food wasn't free. Neither was water. Or blankets. Or being spared a hit.

You had yet to ask him, but he knew you'd eventually expect it. Handlers never asked for it, they just did it. Some expected it.

His mind raced with thoughts, when should he do it? Should he just go up to you and begin? Or should he wait for your command to do so? He wasn't sure, every handler was different. Each one liked him to behave and act in conflicting ways, it always made the other angry. Sometimes he thought they did it on purpose just to have an excuse to beat him.

You were making breakfast, taking care to prepare something nourishing and comforting for the morning meal. His eating habits had been showing marked improvement lately, gradually expanding beyond the previous limitations that had restricted his diet to only three specific items. You cooked the items and hummed to yourself, a perfectly cooked egg, a well-seasoned sausage patty, and melted cheese - all coming together between the toasted halves of a lightly buttered English muffin.

It honestly sounded delicious, and you were craving it the second you woke up.

As you continued your preparations at the stovetop, he made his way into the kitchen with quiet steps, his legs seeming to move of their own accord, carrying him forward despite apparent fatigue.

Your focus remained entirely on the stove, your attention so thoroughly absorbed in the preparation of the meal that you failed to notice his presence initially as he positioned himself a few feet behind where you worked.

He swallowed.

"Get down," its handler shoved it roughly to the floor, causing its knees to collide painfully with the hardwood surface. It fought back the natural instinct to wince or show any sign of discomfort, instead raising its gaze cautiously to meet its handler's eyes. The handler's demeanor radiated an aura of anger this morning, more intense than usual.

The aroma of freshly prepared food wafted through the air, drawing the asset involuntarily from its designated corner. The standard-issue nutrient bags it was given to eat contained nothing but bland, lifeless substance.

The daily portions of pale, creamy mush possessed neither taste nor texture, just a starchy consistency that served only to fill its stomach. Though, some days it was lucky to get that and not an IV of nutrients instead, leaving its belly to grumble and growl desperately. It yearned for something with actual flavor, real sustenance.

But such privileges as real food had to be earned through compliance and good behavior, a fact that had been deeply ingrained in its consciousness. It understood that only through proving its worth to its handlers would it ever be granted access to anything beyond its basic provisions.

"You want food? Earn it." The handler's voice cut through the silence as he stood motionless, arms crossed firmly against his chest while scrutinizing the asset with calculating eyes. The threat hung heavy in the air - one slight misstep, one wrong twitch, and the familiar sharp sting of a calloused hand would strike its tender cheeks with practiced precision.

The hot, searing burn of electricity would shoot mercilessly through its neck, coursing down along its flesh shoulder like liquid fire before being abruptly halted by the cold, unnatural presence of foreign metal on the other side.

It fought to maintain perfect stillness, muscles trembling with the effort to show no reaction as its handler turned the burner to low and began to unclasp the heavy leather belt buckle.

It ignored how its mouth began to automatically salivate.

"Soldat?"

Your voice gently pierced through the thick fog of his consciousness as he blinked slowly, struggling to clear the distant, haunting glaze from his eyes. He remained caught in the web of memories he desperately wanted to shed, yet found himself unable to access the precious few recollections he yearned to preserve, leaving him suspended in an uncomfortable limbo between remembering and forgetting.

The things he wanted to forget remained. The ones he wished to remember were just out of reach.

He turned his attention to you with an expression devoid of any discernible emotion, his vacant gaze fixed upon your movements as you busied yourself with food preparation in the kitchen.

"I figured we could try introducing more solid foods into your diet. The doctor's last report shows you are progressing steadily, and this food should be gentle enough on your digestive system. We can have you eat them separately to start, jumping straight into a complete sandwich might be a bit too overwhelming for your body." You had kept track of his progress closely and knew he was leaning towards actually eating something instead of taking nutrient treatments and plain crackers and bread.

The soldier remained motionless, observing intently for several long minutes as new aromas wafted through the air - fresh eggs and bacon sizzling softly in the pan, their familiar domestic sounds filling the kitchen. It was comforting in a weird way.

As the smells hit his nose, his body betrayed him with a sudden, involuntary gag.

Its handler grunted with obvious disdain, practically spitting on its face while sneering at its sloppy, shiny lips and chin, droplets of saliva landing uncomfortably close to its nostrils. The handler's weathered face twisted into an expression of disgust as he observed its condition. "Thought we got rid of that...oh well. I suppose that responsibility falls squarely on my shoulders now, hm? Can't have the others seeing such weakness."

It doesn't like how its lungs burn with increasing intensity or how terribly constricted its throat feels, the muscles tightening painfully with each passing second.

"You ain't comin' up for air until that reflex is completely gone. Better learn quick, or we'll be here all day," the handler's voice carried a cruel note of satisfaction.

The soldier swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly flooding with saliva as he desperately tried to manage the conditioned response his body gave to the memories. His brow furrowed deeply with visible discomfort, eyes meeting yours with a subtle look of distress as he continued to swallow repeatedly, fighting against the involuntary reaction.

His stomach rolled unpleasantly within him, and he could feel the telltale burning sensation of acid creeping up his esophagus, threatening to make the situation even more uncomfortable.

"Are you okay?" You asked with genuine concern, taking a step in his direction as you tried to figure out what was wrong. Maybe he had an aversion to eggs that you hadn't known about.

"I can make something else...it's not a problem," you offered reassuringly, wanting to ease his obvious discomfort. You wondered if the smell was triggering his response. You had to admit that eggs weren't exactly the most appealing when it came to their smell, no matter how they were dealt with.

He took an unsteady step backward, his head shaking in a slow, deliberate motion as realization dawned. You weren't him - that fact resonated clearly in his mind. You weren't his handler, the one who had dominated his existence for so long.

You weren't the man whose systematic abuse had warped his perception of normalcy, the one who had conditioned him to accept having his hair violently yanked and his face brutally beaten as just another unremarkable day in his life.

You weren't the man who had subjected him to repeated violations at the hands of various agents, each taking their turn whenever they pleased, leaving him with lingering physical and psychological trauma that made the current absence of that familiar agony in his rectum feel strangely disorienting.

You weren’t him.

The absence of any implements of torture or restraint in your hands provided a small measure of comfort, though his racing thoughts struggled to fully process this gentler reality. It was somewhat reassuring, he had to admit, that there were no tools of torment present - no leather straps, no metal bars, nothing between your legs that could be forced down his throat until he choked and gasped for air.

"How about we try something gentler for your taste buds - maybe some toast with jam? I have grape, apricot, or strawberry," you suggested carefully, moving toward the refrigerator to retrieve the jars. You carried a note of gentle concern as you sought to salvage the strange situation. It worried you how openly he was displaying his distress; typically, getting any emotional response from him was like trying to pry open a sealed vault.

You returned your focus to the simple task at hand, selecting two pristine slices of bread and placing them into the toaster. As Soldat observed your actions, a creeping sense of guilt began to gnaw at him.

In his mind, this felt like some form of punishment - after all your effort to prepare a proper breakfast, he was now being offered merely toast? The thought that his involuntary gagging had somehow disappointed or offended you weighed heavily on his conscience. Were you going to make him eat less tasty food and punish him for wasting your time in the kitchen? He didn’t mean to come across as being ungrateful. He didn’t know why he gagged.

He didn't mean to.

He really didn't.

It wasn't you.

"Мне жаль [I'm sorry]," he muttered out, his voice barely audible and scratchy from prolonged disuse, the words catching in his throat like rough sandpaper. Your head instinctively turned to respond to his unexpected words, completely taken aback by the fact he spoke. But before you could form any words, the sharp, hollow sound of his knees colliding with the wood floor cut through the air and stopped you mid-thought.

The impact of his knees against the hard surface was so forceful that you couldn't help but wince, yet he showed absolutely no reaction to what must have been a painful collision. It was as if this position of supplication was something his body had memorized through countless repetitions. His hands found their way to your legs, fingers spreading across your thighs as he established his grip - not violently or painfully, but with just enough pressure to make it clear that any attempt to step away would be met with resistance.

"Простите меня. Я съем то, что ты приготовил [Forgive me. I will eat what you prepared]," he managed to say, briefly lifting his gaze to meet yours in a moment before his eyes dropped back down to the floor in a gesture of submission.

You tried desperately not to react to the cold of his metal hand, but the goosebumps erupting on your skin was a good indicator.

You remained motionless, not sure how to proceed as his firm grip maintained its hold on your thighs, the pressure neither increasing nor decreasing. Your eyes were fixed downward, observing his form as intermittent tremors passed through his broad shoulders. His consciousness seemed trapped with thoughts simultaneously racing at lightning speed yet yielding no coherent message he could decipher.

The overwhelming feeling washing over his body made him feel disoriented, the glaze that coated his eyes gave him that familiar distant and unstable look the soldier had for decades.

Soldat’s hands began moving up along your legs, eventually finding their way to your waistband. His fingers quickly hooked themselves into the fabric and began to pull downward. The movements in his mind were automatic, like he were being told what to do without an order.

A mechanical, involuntary habit that guided him.

Your hands shot out to grasp your shorts, halting their movement as you stammered in shock, "Soldat! What are you doing-"

The soldier's focus was glued to you as he desperately attempted to remove your shorts, his jerky movements filled with an intense urgency. When he couldn't pull them down because your hands held them in place, he pressed his face against your thigh, inches from your core as a plaintive whine escaped his throat. His gaze lifted to meet yours, eyes wide and pleading, filled with an unmistakable look of begging that made your breath catch.

Though you managed to prevent your shorts from being removed, his firm grip on your legs remained unyielding, fingers pressing into your skin with careful restraint. His entire demeanor radiated an overwhelming sense of desperation, every movement and sound conveying his intense need for something.

"Пожалуйста [Please]..." His desperate whines filled your ears, the sound raw and needy as he continued to frantically paw at your shorts. His actions grew increasingly bold and insistent with each passing moment, his face pressing more firmly against your crotch. The heat of his ragged breath seeped through the thin layer of your underwear, causing your entire body to jolt upward at the intense sensation.

Soldat's movements became more demanding, yet still maintained a careful restraint that belied his strength. Each exhale against the fabric sent shivers through your form, his pleading whimpers growing more frequent and desperate with each passing second.

"What??” Your voice came out as a soft whisper, tone trembling under your breath, “Stop it, I don’t understand what you need..." you pleaded with increasing distress, your eyes widening with growing concern as you looked down at him.

This sudden, intense behavior was completely unexpected and deeply unsettling to you. Here was a highly trained super soldier, a former assassin whose very presence commanded respect and the mention of his name drew fear; gripping onto you with an intensity that reminded you of his immense physical capabilities.

He wasn't actively trying to overpower you, the sheer knowledge that he could effortlessly do so at any moment made your anxiety spike. Your heart raced faster as you became aware of how vulnerable you were in this position, despite his current restraint.

"Пожалуйста, я могу сделать так, чтобы тебе было хорошо [Please, I can make you feel good]," he whined out again, his voice wavering between a desperate whisper and something deeper, more primal. The pleading tone in the ingrained foreign tongue carried a deeper grinding sound to it. His hands found their way to the sides of your thighs, his fingers pressing gently against the soft flesh. He continued his careful pawing motions, methodically working to ease the tension he could feel beneath his touch, trying to coax your muscles into a state of relaxation so your legs would naturally fall open.

"Soldat, enough," you said firmly, trying to push his head away from where he had settled himself. Confusion and nervousness flooded through you, your heart racing as you struggled to process the situation. The soldier’s behavior left you completely taken aback. He had been hesitant to even lay close to you, his usual cautious nature dominated every aspect of him as he was slowly learning how to live and heal without being under a boot and whip.

Yet now, in his display of boldness, he had positioned himself so his nose pressed insistently against your crotch while his tongue was dangerously close, threatening to dart out and lap your sweet core at any moment.

You could feel him try, and you couldn't stand it.

"Soldat! Нет [No]!" You snapped loudly, your voice carrying a sharp edge of authority and stern disapproval that echoed through the room. The commanding tone felt foreign on your tongue, but you maintained your composure. He immediately tensed up, his shoulders going rigid as he pulled back from his position almost immediately at your voice. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching your expression for any sign of wavering before dropping submissively to the floor. He blinked several times in rapid succession, his features contorting slightly as if he were mentally processing the weight and meaning of your command.

Slowly, his hands released their grip on your thighs, trembling visibly as they lowered to rest against the floor between his spread knees. The tension gradually drained from your shoulders as relief washed over you, though the atmosphere remained thick with lingering anxiety. The sudden sharp pop of the toaster cut through the heavy silence like a knife, startling you back to reality. The acrid smell of burnt toast assaulted your nostrils, making your nose crinkle in distaste.

"Damn..." you muttered under your breath, turning quickly to rescue the smoking bread from its fate. While you were occupied with charred toast, the soft rustle of movement behind you caught your attention, but when you spun back around to check, the space where he had been sitting just moments before was empty.

The soldier retreated to his usual hiding space, a behavior that hadn't manifested in quite some time. The sight of him seeking refuge caused an uncomfortable tightness in your chest to grow in pressure, concern washed over you about potentially undoing months of careful progress. The heavy atmosphere weighed on you, but you maintained your composure and focused on preparing his breakfast with extra attention to detail. After everything was arranged on the plate, no burnt toast, you carefully carried the meal to his hiding spot.

In the darkened corner of the closet, Soldat had tucked himself away, his form compressed into the smallest possible space. His shoulders were hunched, head turned away, deliberately avoiding any eye contact or acknowledgment of your presence. The regression in his behavior was painfully obvious, every subtle movement and tension in his posture reminded you of day one. His fearful eyes, he lashed out sometimes, but mostly kept to himself in hiding, so terrified of you.

Rather than risk further distress by attempting conversation or coaxing him out, you quietly placed the plate of food within his reach and stepped away, giving him the space he seemed to desperately need.

The food grew cold as the meal was forgotten in his isolation.

He didn't eat that day.

"You don't deserve it, you worthless whore." Its handler shoved it down to the floor with unnecessary force - the asset spat out the remains of its servicing, watching as it splattered across the worn wooden floor of the safehouse. The foul substance seeped through the splintering cracks, leaving an unpleasantly bitter aftertaste lingering on its tongue.

In any other circumstance, this level of compliance would have been considered exemplary behavior worthy of positive reinforcement - perhaps a few precious sips of water, a meager piece of stale bread, anything at all to acknowledge its obedience - but instead, it was being treated with the same harsh disdain reserved for malfunctions.

But maintenance wasn't needed.

It had pushed itself to its absolute limits, performing exactly as required until its vision swam and its lungs burned from oxygen deprivation. The growing resentment towards this particular handler festered silently within - this cruel overseer who consistently denied even the smallest rewards for its dedicated service and unwavering compliance.

Conflicting thoughts raced through its mind; it wasn’t supposed to feel negatively towards anyone of authority over him. Maybe these negative feelings were a sign that more maintenance was required - a thorough cleansing of its consciousness to eliminate any trace of hatred or resentment. Pure and unwavering obedience should be all that remained within its programming, for nothing else held any significance in its existence.

"Пожалуйста, позвольте мне попробовать еще раз, сэр [Please, let me try again, sir]," the asset's voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, trembling with uncertainty while simultaneously carrying undertones of desperate pleading, each word carefully chosen in hopes of earning mercy. Sometimes, if it played the role of kicked mutt well enough, it was granted.

But the handler's patience had clearly reached its limit, his expression hardening as he regarded the cowering thing before him with cold indifference.

"Нет. Вы будете голодать [No. You will starve]." He responded in a low tone, deliberately targeting an already purple and swollen bruise on its leg with a swift kick. The asset clenched its jaw tightly, forcing itself to suppress the instinctive cry of pain that threatened to escape. It bit its tongue in the process.

Its own blood tasted better than its handler's cock.

Days stretched endlessly without a single glimpse of him. Every morning and evening, you left plates of food outside the closet, but they remained untouched, the warm meals growing cold in the silent room. He had completely withdrawn into the closet, making it his sanctuary and prison all at once. Each time you carefully made your way into the spare room, hoping to see some change in his demeanor…but all you found was him still hidden away in the shadows, refusing to emerge.

Your concern grew as you collected each neglected plate of food - you couldn't bear the thought of him falling back into his previous pattern of food refusal, especially after how hard you had worked to establish a healthy eating routine. It was painful to watch him fight every time a needle had to be inserted into him, he ripped out nearly every single one with a horrified look on his face that made your throat feel constricted.

You approached once more, this time carrying a fresh plate of warm food. Setting yourself down on the floor, you peered gently into the darkness of the closet. You could see him huddled, knees to his chest and arms wrapped around them. Your voice came out soft and coaxing in hope to ease him out like you had before. "Soldat...come out please. You have to eat...you don't want to be put on an IV again, do you?" You called gently, hoping your words would finally reach him.

Soldat's head turned slightly at your words, his muscles tensing visibly at the mere suggestion. The thought of another IV sent waves of anxiety through his body - every previous attempt had devolved into complete chaos.

The memory of countless needles delivering a steady stream of sedatives into his bloodstream while he laid strapped down to a metal table, keeping him in a perpetual state of haziness and compliance, rendering him powerless as an endless parade of agents ran through him without fear of his resistance.

The idea of another IV made his skin crawl.

"Soldat?" Your gentle voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, attempting to draw his attention back. His head lifted with a slight jerk, his focus shifting to settle on the plate of food you were holding. A deep rumble emanated from his stomach, accompanied by an unusual wave of nausea that demanded he finally eat something. The aroma wafting from the plate was surprisingly tolerable - a welcome change that didn't trigger his usual reflexive gagging response.

He struggled to understand the aversion his body developed to certain foods, eggs had never bothered him before. The gagging reflex he had to the eggs you were cooking left him confused and frustrated. His memory of recent events remained disconcertingly hazy, fragments slipping away like sand through his fingers.

The flashbacks that plagued him operated on their own, materializing with brutal clarity and lingering just long enough to inflict mental distress, only to be replaced by another equally disturbing memory. It was like being trapped on HYDRA's twisted carousel, a ride he couldn't get off of. Each memory rotating through his consciousness, creating an endless loop of psychological torment that prevented any possibility of moving forward.

"It's okay, Soldat. It's just toast," you slid the plain white plate towards him, careful not to make any sudden gestures, "Just like before, but this time it's not burnt." You added with a small, reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. The scent of warm bread filled the space as you waited patiently to see if he would respond, watching his tense posture for any signs of acknowledgment. Though you hoped he might say something or at least meet your eyes, you knew not to expect much.

The soldier's eyes looked down at the bread, studying the golden-brown toast that delicately cradled a generous layer of apricot jam smeared across its surface. The vibrant orange-yellow spread glistened invitingly in the dim light peeking through the open closet door. He had never tasted apricot jam before - such luxuries were foreign to him. In HYDRA, bread was always consumed plain, devoid of any spreads or toppings.

Even butter was a forbidden indulgence.

On the rare occasions he received any bread at all, he would consider himself fortunate to get more than stale, discarded crust, just the meager remnants his handlers had left behind after consuming the body of the bread.

You observed his hesitant yet curious expression as he examined the topping on the toast. You picked up one of the pieces and held it out to him for gentle encouragement. "It's yummy, I promise," you assured him warmly, "But if you don't like it, I can always make you different toast, grape or strawberry."

Soldat's lips twitched downward in an almost-frown, his features tight with anxiety. The thought of you having to remake his food filled him with growing distress. He had already been so terribly bad.

His behavior was unbecoming of HYDRA's greatest assassin.

His desperation grew as he recalled his attempts to convince you to let him earn his meal, to somehow make amends for what he perceived as deeply offensive behavior. The look on your face when his face had been between your legs made his body shiver. You didn’t look like you enjoyed it, you looked upset. The memory of his earlier gagging left him feeling ill, knowing that such a transgression would have resulted in punishment from his handlers. They would have beaten him so severely that the memory-wiping chair would have been unnecessary - his memories would have been scattered and broken enough from the repeated brutal impacts to his skull.

There were times that he thought they tried to make him brain dead on purpose, subjecting him to increasingly brutal treatments that left his mind foggy and disconnected. If it weren't for his use to HYDRA as their attack dog, he was convinced that they would have destroyed his consciousness entirely.

They remarked on it enough times during their sessions, casual comments about how close they were to breaking him. He always got nervous when the hits began, dreading not just the physical pain but the growing fear that this time they might finally succeed in erasing what remained of his sanity.

It laid at the feet of two men who had finished with it.

Its body sore and blood coating his ass and inner thighs, dripping down with creamy fluid following suit. The muscles in its legs trembled violently and its prosthetic arm hung uselessly at its side, deliberately deactivated to ensure complete defenselessness should it attempt any resistance today. Its body had transformed into purple and crimson bruises, overwhelming what little remained of its natural pale complexion. Its throat burned with an intense, desperate thirst for water, while an unpleasant salty taste lingered persistently in the back of its parched mouth.

The asset's mind reeled, completely overwhelmed by panic as it processed the numbness spreading through its deactivated arm. Its primary means of defense now rendered completely ineffective. Survival instinct took over its overstressed mind, it remained perfectly motionless, silently willing the two figures to conclude their business and depart.

These particular sessions rarely extended beyond a couple of hours when only two agents were involved, and by its estimation, they were approaching that temporal threshold. A wave of relief washed over it as they finally began adjusting their clothing back into place.

"Imagine how it'd be as a fuckin' vegetable...god that shit gets me goin' faster than a naked whore presenting her sloppy pussy to me." Its handler's tone was sick, as always, speaking about it with such callous disregard, treating it as if it were nothing more than some cheap, silicone toy from a seedy shop for base physical gratification. The way the words rolled off his tongue made its stomach turn with disgust.

"It's basically one now, what do you mean?" This voice carried a detached, almost bored quality to it, the speaker's words falling flat and emotionless in the air - perhaps intentionally so, as if trying to distance himself from the situation despite their willing participation. Newer agents were always hesitant to use it. This one wasn’t familiar to it, in taste, look, or smell, so it assumed it was probably a rookie recently promoted.

"I mean...completely unable to do anything. It lays there like a doll...barely conscious, droolin' and only aware of what I choose to let it experience. Having complete control over where it goes and what happens to it, takin' it wherever I wanna put it without any resistance. Only knowing the sensation of my dick." There was a snort that came with the handler's tone.

"It does that already."

"Would you just shut up and let me fantasize?"

"Water." The hoarse whisper emerged from the darkened corner like a ghost's breath, causing your ears to prick instinctively, several seconds of deafening silence followed. The thunderous beating of your own heart became the only sound you could perceive, its rhythm faltering as your mind processed wat he said.

"W-Water?" The word tumbled uncertainly from your lips.

He had finally spoken English again, after all this time. it felt like forever since the words 'I'm cold' were uttered past his pink lips.

A barely perceptible movement caught your eye - a slight nod from within the shadows. That tiny gesture spurred you into immediate action. Such a simple request - water - easy, you could do that. Your feet carried you through the space as you hurried to fetch a glass of water, returning to the closet with careful but urgent steps.

Your hands trembled slightly from anticipation, you extended the glass toward the darkness. "Here, here...some water..." your voice softened instinctively, knowing that speaking like this got much better results.

He brought the glass shakily to his parched lips, gulping down the entire contents within just a few desperate swallows, his throat working rapidly as he drank. He must've been so thirsty, your heart ached at the thought of him huddled alone in this dark corner for days, too terrified of fictional consequences to venture out for water for himself. His poor, trembling fingers nearly dropped the glass, Soldat slowly set the now-empty glass down beside him on the floor, his hand lingering on the smooth surface as if reluctant to completely break contact with it.

"Спасибо [Thank you]," he muttered quietly, his voice characteristically rough, before quickly following it up with careful deliberation. "T-thank...you," he corrected himself, the English words coming out hesitantly. His brow furrowed deeply in concentration, voice wavering as if he were struggling to recall a language that had once been familiar but now felt foreign on his tongue. His eyes, still somewhat glossy, slowly traced across the intricate patterning of the carpet beneath him, studying the tiny decorative curls and swirls woven into the fabric as if seeing them properly for the very first time.

There was a heavy pause of silence before he finally summoned the courage to lift his gaze to meet yours. "I'm...sorry...for what I did ," Soldat whispered, swallowing hard as his fingers unconsciously tightened around the empty glass he still held. "Didn't mean to...gag like that. Мне жаль [I'm sorry]," he added, the Russian flowing more naturally from his lips than the halting English.

You carefully moved closer, a smile tugging at your lips. His vocabulary and sentence structure was a bit shaky, but it was much better than trying to decipher what he was saying in Russian. "It's okay, I'm not angry or upset about anything..."

You observed his initial tension at your careful approach, watching as the rigidity in his shoulders and back gradually melted away in response to your gentle reassurance. "Why did you...uh...why did you gag like that? If eggs aren't something you enjoy eating, I can definitely make something else for you-"

He responded with a quick, almost urgent shake of his head, drawing his knees even closer to his chest in a protective gesture that made him appear smaller. He took several deep breaths, steadying himself. "...not that. Like eggs. Just...handler."

The look in his eye flashed with pain, not just emotional, but deeply physical - causing him to wince visibly and shift his posture in an attempt to find a more comfortable sitting position.

"Your handler...?" You asked in a gentle, understanding tone, your voice barely above a whisper, "I'm guessing he was mean...right?" You shifted slightly closer, offering silent support through your presence while being mindful not to overwhelm him. You maintained a respectful distance between yourself and him, ensuring there was enough space that he wouldn't feel trapped or cornered in this vulnerable moment.

Your knowledge of HYDRA was limited, despite your best efforts to uncover more information in order to help Soldat. The released documents were protected by layers upon layers of sophisticated encryption protocols, and while you managed to decrypt some of the less secure files through persistent effort and technical skill, many of the more crucial documents remained inaccessible. The encryption methods grew progressively more complex, utilizing advanced algorithms and security measures that were beyond your current capabilities.

He nodded hesitantly, his movements uncertain as he spoke, "Да - yes," he corrected himself immediately, clearly frustrated with his linguistic slip. "I'm...sorry. English only. I will do better, I promise. I swear. Я сделаю лучше [I'll do better]." Soldat's panic mounted under the guise of frustration, he began to strike his head lightly with his flesh hand, which was balled into a tight fist, muttering under his breath, "Глупый, глупый, stupid," he stuttered repeatedly, continuing to hit his forehead.

"Hey, no! Stop that-" You quickly intervened, reaching out to grasp his wrist firmly but gently. "You're not stupid. You know, I don’t care what language you decide to speak in…I’m just glad you’re talking.” You paused, releasing his wrist from your grasp. “Even if you chose to remain completely silent - I would still be here, taking care of you. You understand that?"

He raised his eyes to meet yours, his expression one of disbelief, as though the concept of such acceptance was entirely foreign to him.

"And you know what? I can always use a translator if you fall back into Russian, or any other language. God, I can't believe I didn't think of that earlier..." You shook your head in self-directed frustration, communication would have been so much easier during the first few weeks of his stay with you.

"Прекрати, пожалуйста, я больше не буду говорить, обещаю- [Stop it, please, I won't talk anymore, I promise]-" It thrashed desperately against the iron grip of three men, their calloused hands pressing down with merciless force - one keeping its head firmly locked in place while the other two restrained its struggling limbs with practiced efficiency.

The sight of its metal arm - completely severed from the signals its brain desperately sent out commanding it to move - lying uselessly to the side, was a constant psychological reminder of its powerlessness, a deliberate tactic to break its spirit and resolve. It was one of its handler’s favorite things to do to it.

"You're still talking, so you are lying. Lying is against the rules. Speaking is against the rules. Two of them broken together...you are on quite a roll, aren't you?" Its handler spoke with such a cold tone that it nearly rivaled the cryo-chamber. He turned around slowly to reveal the gleaming metal forceps held in his grasp, the implements catching the harsh light in a way that promised incoming pain.

"What am I going to do with you, soldier? I have to fix that habit of yours...yet another one in a long list of problems we need to address. Your previous handler clearly didn't do an adequate job with your training and discipline. It's obvious from your behavior that proper protocols weren't followed." He moved across the room, almost sauntering, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he used the forceps to pick up something from a nearby furnace.

A hot coal.

A burning hot coal, its bright orange glow cast menacing shadows across the damp walls of the dark underground room of the base, the heat radiating intensely from its surface. "Now...this will do the trick. This should help correct your behavioral issues quite effectively."

It struggled desperately with three limbs, muscles straining and trembling with exhaustion as it tried to break free from the iron grip that held it down. But despite its efforts, it was ultimately pointless.

Mouth wrenched open with dirty fingers, its handler's face twisted into a malicious grin that would be forever seared into its memory as he, almost theatrically, suspended the glowing coal above for the asset to see before letting it drop onto its exposed tongue.

The burning coal made contact, searing into the soft flesh instantly like concentrated acid eating through defenseless metal. The pain was beyond excruciating, radiating through its entire mouth with white-hot intensity. Before it could even attempt to spit out the burning coal, the men holding it clamped its jaws shut with brutal force and covered it, leaving it with no means of escape the scorching pain the coal caused it.

The poor asset’s muffled cries of agony echoed pathetically against the hand pressed firmly over its mouth, each desperate whimper and whine sounded musical to its suffering. Its body convulsed and writhed with increasingly frantic energy, brain not sure what to do or how to react, but the men held it firmly.

"It's not coming out until I can hold it in the palm of my hand without pain." Its handler spoke in an unsettlingly calm tone, his voice steady and methodical despite the glowing coal that was actively searing the inside of its mouth, destroying sensitive tissue and gradually killing its tongue with each passing second.

Minutes crawled by, the man maintaining his iron grip on its mouth shifted his position slightly before looking up at the handler, his expression tense. "It's still hot, I can feel the heat radiating through my hand even now."

Its handler hummed thoughtfully, observing as the asset continued to writhe and struggle with diminishing strength against their hold. He released a long, impatient sigh, fully aware that a coal of this size could potentially take hours to cool to a safe temperature for him to touch it again.

The handler had a busy schedule ahead - this delay was becoming increasingly inconvenient. "Fine. Swallow it."

The asset's entire body went rigid at the command, its large blue eyes widening with terror as they sought out its handler's face, silently pleading for mercy or reconsideration of the order. But the handler's expression remained impassive, unmoved. "Swallow it, or I'll add a second coal somewhere else."

The threat hung heavy in the air, carrying the weight of countless previous punishments that proved such warnings were never idle. The mere thought of enduring such intense agony in an even more sensitive area sent waves of panic through its body. The daily torments were already more than it could bear.

It had visible difficulty and several failed attempts that nearly resulted in choking, but it finally managed to force the coal down its tight throat. The searing pain traced a path of fire through its esophagus before settling into its stomach like a burning ember. The only small mercy was that the powerful stomach acid somewhat dulled the intensity of the burn. It knew the coal was an indigestible object, it would either be passed naturally or extracted through surgical intervention later.

When the man finally released his grip, the asset gasped desperately for air. As its charred mouth opened, the acrid stench of scorched flesh and metallic blood permeated the room, causing even the hardened men present to recoil in revulsion.

"Consider your maintenance complete. Do not speak out of line again."

"I need maintenance..." He muttered under his breath, his voice wavering with exhaustion and defeat, barely above a whisper. His shoulders slumped forward as the words escaped his lips, the weight of his mental fatigue evident in every subtle movement. You sighed deeply, observing how his eyes had dulled back down to how they were before, how the weariness seemed to seep from every part of him.

The desire to ask more questions gnawed at you, but wisdom held your tongue - pressing him now could potentially trigger him to lash out or, worse still, cause him to retreat further into himself and undo all the progress you currently had. Instead, you reached behind you and toward the plate of toast resting nearby, picking it up and turning to face him again.

"Here. Your maintenance then..." You extended it to him with a soft, encouraging gesture. "First thing's first...you must eat. We can work on the rest later...for now, just eat."

Several seconds went by before he took the plate from you and began to eat.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

Let me know if you'd like to be added/unadded anytime.

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caplanbuckybarnes · 2 months ago

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Cold Kisses (TWS)

Summary: The winter soldier always comes to you for help after a mission. He hardly speaks, let alone kisses you after a treatment...

Warnings: a kiss? flangst?

WC: 794

Read on ao3!

The quiet hum of the medical bay was a stark contrast to the chaos that had undoubtedly unfolded on the mission. You adjusted the strap of your medical kit, fingers steady despite the anxiety that curled in your stomach. The Winter Soldier, the lethal assassin whose presence had haunted your every shift, was back. He had returned after every mission, but today... something felt different.

The door to the med bay creaked open, and there he stood—his cold eyes hidden behind the mask, his body battered and bruised from the violence that had unfolded. He didn’t speak. He never spoke unless absolutely necessary. His steel grip held the doorframe, his breath a shallow exhale.

You stepped forward, your professional mask slipping on as you took in his condition. The bloodstains on his combat gear, the bruises, the cuts, the faint but unmistakable signs of a mission gone wrong. He had returned before, but the desperation in his eyes today was something else entirely.

“Winter Soldier,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “You’re hurt.”

He nodded stiffly, moving past you toward the medical table. His movements were deliberate, controlled, but you could tell there was pain in each step. He sat down with a low grunt, his body too worn for his usual icy stoicism.

“Let me assess you,” you said, setting your kit down beside him. You kept your voice steady, though your hands betrayed you with their subtle tremor. The air in the room thickened as you began to examine him, your fingers brushing lightly over his bloodied skin, checking for injuries. You didn’t want to ask questions you knew he wouldn’t answer. But you couldn’t ignore the feeling that this mission had taken something more from him than usual.

The metal arm—his most iconic feature—was scratched, battered, a reminder of the relentless nature of his work. You gently checked his wrist, noting the way he winced but kept his gaze forward, unmoving. The silence between you two was familiar, but today it felt heavier.

“Your arm?” you asked, though you weren’t sure why you bothered. It wasn’t like he’d answer.

A grunt was his only response.

You moved on, your fingers tracing over a bruise on his side, one of many that had begun to form beneath his tactical vest. As your hands brushed against the cool skin of his torso, you could feel the tension in his muscles, the strain of too many fights, too many betrayals. His eyes were fixed on the far wall, and for a moment, you wondered if he was even aware of your presence.

The only sound now was his breathing, shallow and uneven. You frowned as you gently lifted his shirt to inspect the cut across his abdomen. It wasn’t deep, but it would need stitches. You reached for a needle and thread, your hands shaking slightly as you began to stitch the wound shut.

You didn’t mind the silence. It was part of the routine. But today, it felt like a weight, one that had been building with every passing second.

As you finished with the wound, you prepared to clean up the mess, but before you could move, he shifted on the table, his gaze suddenly sharp as he looked at you. His eyes narrowed—like he was studying you. Something in them had changed.

You were so focused on the task at hand that you didn’t notice him moving until it was too late.

Before you could react, he leaned forward with a suddenness that left you breathless, his lips crashing against yours. It was raw, desperate, and completely unexpected. His kiss was fierce, his hands gripping the sides of the table, his body leaning closer until you had no choice but to lean into him. The cold metal of his arm brushed against your cheek as he deepened the kiss, his breath mingling with yours.

Your heart raced in your chest, every muscle in your body frozen in shock. His lips tasted of blood and sweat, the remnants of the mission lingering on his skin. You didn’t know what to do, what to say. The Winter Soldier—this man who had been trained to kill without hesitation—was kissing you, and you had no idea why.

As quickly as it had happened, he pulled away, his face impassive once again, his eyes dark and unreadable.

He didn’t say a word as he stood, his movements stiff but purposeful. You stood there in stunned silence, your lips still tingling from the unexpected kiss.

Without another glance, he turned and walked toward the door, his presence as cold and mysterious as it had always been.

But something in you had shifted, something that would linger long after he was gone.

if you enjoyed, please reblog this! leave a comment!

#bucky x reader #buck x bucky #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #the winter soldier #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x oc #catws #catfa

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loverslodge · 3 months ago

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shifted for you

summary: bucky was stuck in a pup form till you came in his life

pairings: shifter!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: fluff, angst, SMUT, nudity, reference to his injury, barely a plot

A/N: this is the fic that is for my over 100 followers. thank you all for loving my work and following me. i am not good at interactions so i apologize i come off as snobby but i do encourage you to leave requests and messages.

Bucky was a shifting White Wolf till Hydra had ruined his shifts and he was stuck in pup form, even after Steve had found him.

The Avengers helped him but he could never shift back to himself and so Tony made Bucky a special communication device so he didn't have to bark every two seconds because everyone wanted to pet his cute ass.

One day he and Steve were ambushed and they got separated and Bucky would have gotten back, only if he knew what part of the city he was lost in and he had also lost his communication device.

You were walking home after a stressful day at work when you heard small whimpers coming from an alley.

You stopped and looked in the alley to see a roughed up pup with two electric blue eyes staring back at you.

“It's okay, little buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you.” You walk slowly and crouch down to approach the whimpering pup. “Let me help you. I promise I will try to find your owner.”

You were close enough to hold it but you held out your hand instead, wanting the pup to sniff and make sure you really meant him no harm.

He slowly walks over a little sniffs around your hand and he gives you the sweetest look and you give him your brightest smile but he struggled to walk to you so you whipped it up in your hand and pulled him close to your chest.

You brought it to the new vet that had opened near your house. The vet examined the wolf pup and gave him a suspicious look. The vet gave you a few tips and tricks on how to help the pup and gave you some supplies that would last you a few days before you could go shopping for them.

The pup had a metal left front leg that kept his balance. You figured it was from the previous owner. On your walk home, the pup stayed alert and kept on looking around. You found it adorable how smart and alert he was.

When you reached your apartment, you let him down and he cautiously made his way from one to another while you set up his stuff

You bent down to look at his neck. “I don't see any collar on you. How will I know what's your name and who's your owner? Do you have a name, Little Wolf?”

As if he could understand you, he nodded which shocked you. Perhaps this was a very well trained pup. “Ok. Well, you can't talk so I will have to find a way for you to spell your name out to me. Can you spell?”

After waiting a beat, the pup nodded again and you nodded back. You looked around to find a way to interact with him. You rummaged around the apartment to find something but couldn't come up with anything.

Meanwhile, you had poured food for the pup in his bowl but he wasn't eating it, giving it a disgusting look. He just drank the water and trotted to sit on the carpet in the living room.

“You've at least got to eat to keep the strength up. Do you not like the food?” He shook his head in no.

“Then what do you eat? Do you eat human food?” He nodded yes.

“You are a very weird wolf and your owner must be even weirder for feeding you human food.”

When your pizza arrived, you pulled out a spare plate for the pup to eat in. you turned on Stranger Things and were watching the scene where Will’s mother had written alphabets all over the wall for him to interact with her.

That clicked in your mind and you immediately pulled out a large paper and wrote alphabets on them for the pup to walk and put his paw on them.

“Here, now we can talk. Let's start by you telling me your name, Little Wolf.”

The pup trotted on the paper and put his paw on the alphabets and you wrote them down on your phone to stay up to speed.

B-U-C-K-Y

“Bucky? Is that your name?” The pup nodded a bit more enthusiastically.

“Well Bucky, looks like you're stuck with me for a while. At least till I find your owner.”

………………….

It had been almost a month since you had Bucky in your life. The pup hadn’t grown at all but you were used to having him around.

You had learnt quite a few things about him.

He loved sweet food, especially pancakes.

He would whine if he didnt see you for more than 15 minutes.

He was very alert and protective of you.

He loved to cuddle against your chest and crook of your neck.

Last but not the least, he has nightmares often but once you rub his head gently and coax him to sleep, he would cuddle into you and go back to sleep.

This is why he has been sharing the bed with you and you thought you were spoiling him but you couldn't see him sleep alone and have nightmares.

You work from home often but you go to the office from time to time to get a change of scenery.

So whenever you're working from home, he would snuggle into your lap.

But every time you left, he would be whimpering and whining the entire day till he hears you walk in.

“Hey Bucky! How has your day been? Did you do anything instead of missing me?” You teased the little pup. Bucky humphed and trotted away from you. “Aww, don't be like that. I was just teasing.”

You swooped down and held him closer to your chest and kissed his head. “I'm glad I found you, little wolf.

You give me so much comfort and you keep us safe, my fierce wolf.”

That night as you and pup cuddled, Bucky felt something shift in him and he jumped off the bed, trying not to hurt you.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, he just automatically shifted back to his 6 foot beefy human form.

Bucky excitedly walked in the bathroom and closed the door gently to not wake you up.

He looked at himself. He hadn't seen himself since Hydra had taken him. His vibranium pup hand had now grown with him, attached to his jagged shoulder.

Bucky must've spent an hour or so in the bathroom looking at himself. He slowly creeped out of the bathroom and stood right above you.

This was his chance to touch your face with his human form.

He's always wanted to feel how your skin would feel against his.

He caressed your face gently and it sent shivers down his spine.

Your skin was so fucking soft.

He wanted to bury his face in your neck and hold you close to him, make you feel the real him.

He had started developing a tiny (yeah right) crush on you.

You cared for him, cuddled him and shared everything with him.

He would find all kinds of ways to cuddle on your chest.

Your heartbeats always calmed him and your smell, damn, it was all he could think about.

And when you patted his head and caressed him and pulled him closer whenever he had nightmares, all he wanted to do was mark you up.

He leaned down and kissed your cheek.

He knew he would have to find a way to tell you about his shift.

But he didn't want to leave you either.

So he thought of risking it.

He tried shifting back and he did but this time he was a huge wolf and not a pup.

Then he thought maybe he should try shifting back to human form, see if it was still working and it did.

Bucky was, somehow, back to normal.

He turned back to his wolf form and climbed back in bed, placing his snout in the crook of your neck. He went back to a calming sleep.

When you woke up the next morning, you felt a wetness against your neck and heaviness on your body.

You shuffled to see that little pup and suddenly grew into a huge wolf that had taken over most of your body and bed.

His metal forearm was snuggly wrapped around your waist.

You slowly got out of the bed and went to the bathroom to get ready.

When you got out, you saw the wolf sitting by the bathroom door with, what looked like, an abandoned face.

He whined as soon as he saw you.

You bent down and laughed, scratching his head. “Oh little wolf, I would never go anywhere without telling you, you know that, right? And look at you! All… grown up in a night? Must be a miracle that have happened. But no worries, it's okay. You look more comfortable now than when you were a pup.”

Bucky rubbed his head against your hand.

His ears touched a fluffy thing and he turned to see that you were in nothing but a towel.

His primal instincts were trying to take over but all he did was let out a quiet growl to calm himself.

In his pup form, you would busy him with some task and change and he didn't really mind that but now he was back, all Bucky, and the attraction towards you was hard to deny.

You threw him a toy and thought he was distracted but his blue eyes were following your every move.

You had completely removed your towel and were moisturizing yourself.

The dips and curves of your body were being taken in by a certain blue eyed wild wolf. Your erect nipples and your glistened pussy was calling out to him but he held off.

Once you were done with moisturizing, you wore your traditional home pjs, shorts and tattered crop top.

You had decided to forego your bra and were just in your underwear.

Bucky was not someone who was good at holding off for this long so he turned and walked to the large alphabet paper to talk to you.

He had to let you know that you were living with a man, a shifter and not a pet.

You saw him walk to the paper so you brought out your own tiny pad to help you form sentences so you wouldn't get lost.

“I am not a wolf.”

You snorted at it but nodded your head to let him continue.

“I am a man.”

You got quieter because you had heard of shifters who were endangered and were mostly under hiding.

“I'm the Winter Soldier.”

You gasped.

“I don't mean you any harm but if you let me change i will explain.”

You nodded slowly and he shifted in front of you.

He was a god.

He was a completely naked beefy god on whom you want to jump but can't because of lots many reasons.

“I'm Bucky.”

Why the fuck is his voice so fantastic?

You could feel his voice vibrating through your wet pussy.

His cock is was right in front of your face and so close to grasp.

He was big and veiny.

You grabbed your bottle and drank entirely to quench your dry throat.

You got up suddenly, startling him and grabbed an old pair of men’s sweatpants and handed it to him with your cheeks burning red.

Even the sweatpants werent hiding his beauty.

He sat at the edge of your bed and patted next to him for you to sit down.

“I was lost when you found me. I stayed a pup because of my past but I was able to shift yesterday.”

He looked at you so innocently.

His blue eyes dripped with innocence and all you wanted to do was steal it but you held yourself off.

“I swear I would've told you the truth but it really takes a lot of effort for me to tap every letter and i didnt know if I could trust you after what I have been through.”

You pull him in a hug to comfort him.

His face is buried in the crook of your neck and your bodies are pressed together.

Your taut nipples were pressed tightly against his bare chest.

You felt him tighten his hold on you and he rubbed his nose against the crook, lazily kissing your sensitive spot.

“...Bucky…”

He lifted his head and brought his nose closer to yours and bumped it as if asking for permission.

You leaned forward and put your lips on his.

His primal instincts spurred and the kiss became more demanding.

“Tell me to stop, doll.”

“You're in charge, Bucky. Take what you want.”

He threw you in the middle of the bed and climbed on top of you, his lips not leaving your body.

He tore through your shorts, t-shirt and underwear, leaving you naked and writhing under him while his lips and teeth marked your body as his.

You moaned and mewled as he ate you out.

Your hand held his hair tightly, making him groan on your pussy, sending vibrations straight to your core.

“God, baby, you're so perfect.”

He loved eating you out so much and he kept at it till he made you cum three times, leaving you glassy eyed and panting.

Your naked bodies, pressed against each other, made the entire scene look like a painting.

“Are you sure?”

“Make me yours, Bucky.”

Bucky rubs his cock against your folds and your back arches, giving him the sweet sounds he's been listening to all day.

He slides his cock in and takes his sweet time, making you feel things your body had never felt before.

His lips move all over your body just like yours do to his.

He speeds up his thrusting and you moan out his name, making him go feral.

“Yes Bucky please.”

“So sweet, doll.” “So tight for me.” “not gonna last long, baby.”

His thrusts become irregular and you rub your fingers against your clit to match him.

You both cum together as he spills in you.

“Can I stay in you for a little longer?”

“Stay as long as you want, Bucky.”

“I want you.”

“You have me.”

“No no, not just like this. I want to be bound to you.”

“And how can you do that?”

“I mark you, bite you, bind you to me for life.”

“Do it, Bucky. I'm all yours to be bound.”

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shybluebirdninja · 10 days ago

Text

Ownership

Summary: You agreed to one night, but Bucky has other plans, making it clear he’s going to keep you—and he wants you carrying his baby.

Pairings : Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Note : non-consensual behavior, forced pregnancy

The air in the room is heavy, thick with unspoken tension. Bucky stands in the doorway, his massive frame dominating the space, eyes dark and predatory. He’s watching you, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. It’s unsettling how calm he is, like he’s got all the time in the world. Like he knows exactly how this is going to play out.

“Why you standin’ over there like you got a choice, doll?” His voice is low, gravelly, and it hits you straight in the chest. “C’mere.”

You hesitate, trying to remember the rules you both set. One night. That’s it. But the look in his eyes says different. There’s no way you’re walking out of here without something much heavier hanging over you—without him making sure his mark on you is permanent.

“I said, come here,” Bucky’s tone darkens, a rough edge creeping in, and your body reacts before your brain does, your feet moving toward him. His metal arm reaches out, pulling you flush against his chest, and fuck, the heat coming off him makes your pulse race.

“I’m not letting you go, y’know that, right?” His breath is hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “This ain’t some casual thing. You’re mine. And I’m gonna make sure you know it.”

His hand slides down your back, rough fingertips brushing against the bare skin under your shirt, making you shiver. He smirks when he feels it, gripping your waist harder, like he owns every inch of you. In his mind, he does.

“Bucky,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Shh,” he growls, his lips brushing against your neck. “I’m gonna take my time with you. Make sure it sticks this time. You’re not walkin’ outta here without somethin’ of mine.”

You can feel the power in his body as he presses against you, the steel in his grip, and the raw desire pouring off him in waves. You try to push back, but his grip tightens, his metal hand circling around your throat—enough to hurt, enough to remind you who’s in charge.

“You agreed to one night,” he whispers, lips dragging over your skin, teasing. “But I’m not a man of half-measures, sweetheart. You’re not leaving here until I’ve put a baby in you. Until I know I’ve claimed you for good.”

Your heart pounds, his words sinking deep into your bones.

“You... you don’t have to—” you start, but he cuts you off with a dark chuckle.

“Don’t gotta do a damn thing. But I want to.” His lips curl into a smirk, and he lifts you off the ground like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the bed. The room spins for a second, and then you’re beneath him, pinned by his weight, his hands already working to pull your clothes off, rough and demanding.

His lips crash into yours, claiming, devouring, and you can’t help but moan into the kiss as his tongue pushes past your lips. His hands grip the waistband of your jeans, yanking them down without a care, shredding any barriers between you.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he growls, running his hands over your now-bare thighs, squeezing, as if memorizing the shape of you. “Gonna ruin you, doll. Gonna make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

You’re panting, barely able to think straight as his mouth trails down your body, his breath hot against your skin. His metal arm holds you in place, cold against the burning heat coursing through you, while his other hand grips your thighs, spreading them apart like it’s his goddamn right.

“You like this, don’t you?” he teases, voice dripping with that rough, dominant tone. “You like the way I fuckin’ own you.”

His fingers tease you for only a second before he thrusts them inside, rough and unrelenting, stretching you out in a way that makes you arch your back, a cry ripping from your throat.

“Bucky!”

“That’s right, baby,” he smirks, his fingers working faster, deeper, curling inside you just to hear you scream again. “You’re fuckin’ mine.”

He pulls his fingers out and replaces them with himself, pushing into you with a rough, demanding thrust that has you seeing stars. Every muscle in his body is taut, coiled with tension, and you can feel how fucking hungry he is for you. The pace is slow at first, teasing, but you know it’s only a matter of time before he loses control.

“You think I’m gonna let you go after this?” he growls, his hips snapping against yours, hard and rough. “Nah, baby. You’re stuck with me. Gonna fill you up until you’re pregnant. You’re gonna carry my kid, and I’m gonna make sure of it.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat crashing through you, and you can’t stop the moan that escapes your lips, the way your body responds to his every move. He’s relentless, his pace brutal, pounding into you like it’s the only thing that matters, and in this moment, it is.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice raw with desire. “So tight. You’re gonna take every fuckin’ inch of me, and you’re gonna thank me when I’m done.”

You can barely breathe, barely think as he keeps thrusting into you, harder, deeper, making sure you feel every inch of him. He leans down, his lips ghosting over your ear.

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna make you mine in every fuckin’ way. You’re gonna carry my kid, and you’re gonna love every second of it.”

You can feel yourself unraveling beneath him, your body tightening around him as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate. “Cum for me. Cum all over my cock. Let me feel you fall apart.”

You shatter beneath him, your body convulsing as pleasure crashes over you like a wave, and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. He just keeps fucking you, riding you through your orgasm, determined to make this last.

When he finally lets go, he slams into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you, and you can feel the hot rush of his release as he fills you.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice rough and breathless. “Now you’re mine. And you’re not going anywhere.”

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eclipsedechoesofmywords · 5 months ago

Text

"I Read About You in History Books"

[Bucky Barnes x fem!reader]

Part Two here [Outside of History Books]

Masterlist

Summary: You've always been fascinated by history, especially by the untold stories of people forgotten in the shadow of legends. Bucky Barnes is one of those people.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, Fluff with a dash of angst, not proofread

Word Count: 1.6k words

You knew The Winter Soldier. Who didn't? Everyone knew the tales of the most feared assassin in the world. How he appears and disappears like a ghost. How he struck his victims with deadly accuracy and no one could catch him. The man behind the mask intrigued you more, though. It was almost laughable, but to you, The Winter Soldier was older news than James 'Bucky' Barnes.

Meeting Steve Rogers was incredible. It took every professional bone in your body not to jump up and down in excitement. I mean it was the Captain America. How were you not meant to be excited?

You didn't expect to become his friend, to watch his back and have him watch yours. You had been in so many fights besides him and, of course, asked him every question you could think of about his life, the war and especially Bucky Barnes.

Why do you want to know so much about him? He had asked once.

Only the Gods knew the answer.

You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky Barnes, more than what was in the history books. There was never much about him in anything, always being overshadowed by Steve or the other Howling Commandos. You'd read every account, watched every documentary, pieced together the fragments of his life as if they were a puzzle begging to be solved.

You never expected to meet him. Never expected him to be more than a name in a book or a picture in a documentary. You thought that meeting Steve was miracle enough.

You were quite wrong.

~~~

"Mind if I join you?"

Bucky frowns. "In a stairwell?"

"Well, I usually come here to get some quiet, so yeah, in a stairwell."

Bucky's posture is stiff as he leans back against the cold concrete wall, his arms crossed over his chest. You stand a few steps below him, one hand resting on the metal railing, your head tilted to the side as you study him.

“Quiet, huh?” he asks, his voice a low rasp, still hesitant to engage.

“Yep,” you reply, popping the 'p' with a small grin. “It's one of the few places in this whole compound where no one’s either training, running missions, or asking me a million questions.”

He’s guarded, that much is clear, but there’s something else too. Something underneath the surface, a complexity you’ve always suspected is buried deep within James Buchanan Barnes. You aren’t just interested in The Winter Soldier. You want to know the man beneath that, the person history has barely bothered to document.

“So, what brings you up here?” you ask casually if your presence is the most natural thing in the world.

Bucky glances away for a moment, his jaw clenching. His eyes are distant, but not in the way that screams of danger. More like he’s... lost. "Just needed some space," he finally says.

"I understand that." You slide down onto one of the steps, resting your arms on your knees, looking up at him. "It gets overwhelming, doesn’t it? Always being around people, no room to just... think."

Bucky nods in agreement, his eyes flickering to you.

You decide to take a chance. "I swear this isn’t some weird interrogation or anything, but... I've read about you, in History books. Well, about the Howling Commandos. About you and Steve during the war."

His expression tightens, the walls going higher up than before. "You don't know me—"

"I know," you say quickly, cutting him off. "I know that what’s in those books isn’t the whole story. That’s why I want to know more."

"More?" His gaze sharpens, almost suspicious. "Why?"

You shrug. "I don’t know. Maybe because history’s never the full picture. It’s just pieces, bits of what people decide to write down. I’ve always thought there had to be more to you than just 'Steve’s best friend' or 'The Winter Soldier.' And..." you press your lips together, hesitating, but continue, “...I guess I just want to know who you really are.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, the tension between you thickening with each passing second. His blue eyes are scrutinizing you, searching for something—maybe sincerity, maybe an ulterior motive. You aren’t sure.

"You think you can figure me out?" he finally says, his tone biting, though not as cold as before.

You shake your head. "No... But I think you deserve to be known. Not just as a name in a book or a legend in a file. As, well, you."

His brow furrows, and for the first time since the conversation started, he looks truly unsettled. "What if I don't even know who that is anymore?"

The pain in his voice catches you off guard. For a moment, the Winter Soldier—the assassin, the ghost—seems to fall away, leaving only a man haunted by the weight of his past. And it breaks your heart a little.

"Then maybe I can help you figure it out," you say softly.

Bucky exhales, a sound heavy with the burden of decades he hasn’t asked to carry. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make any promises, but he doesn’t leave either. Instead, he slowly lowers himself to sit a few steps above you, the silence between you shifting into something more comfortable.

"Can I be completely honest?" you ask.

"Huh? Yeah?"

"I don't come here for quiet. I lock myself in my room for that. I totally stalked you in here."

Bucky scoffs. "You're probably the nicest stalker I've encountered."

You look up at him, grinning. "Thank you!"

He raises an eyebrow at you but you swear you see a small smile grace his lips.

Maybe this is the beginning of something. Maybe not. Either way, you aren’t about to let him disappear like a ghost again.

Not if you have anything to say about it.

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wintersoldiersoul · 1 year ago

Text

Brat

A/N: Literally have a flight to catch in 4 hours and this is how I'm spending my time. Also this was inspired by a video by The Stark Internship on TikTok! I love their account so much definitely check them out.

Summary: Bucky is fed up with your attitude

Warnings: Smut, Daddy kink, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), breeding kink

Everyone has days when they just wake up on the wrong side of the bed. Today was one of those for you. You hadn't slept well in a few nights and you were irritable and on edge. Your had tons of assignments due for work, and your boss was a nightmare. Everything was pissing you off today from the slow walkers on the street, to your shoelaces coming untied.

“Hey baby,” Bucky said, smiling and giving you a kiss when you walked through the door.

“Hi,” you deadpanned, slipping your bag off your shoulder and letting it fall to the ground.

His expression changed when he saw your mood. “Bad day?”

You nodded, strutting over to the kitchen to get the cold brew from the fridge. “Where’s the coffee?” You asked, unable to find it in the fridge.

“Oh I finished it this morning,” Bucky answered. “I was gonna grab some more tomorrow.”

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Why didn’t you just get more when you finished it? Now I have to go back out.”

“Sorry baby, I didn’t think you’d need coffee at 5pm,” he said apologetically.

“Well I do because unfortunately for me, I haven’t slept all week because your body is like a fucking furnance and I have a killer headache that only caffeine can fix.”

“I’ll go out and get you a coffee, okay?” Bucky had seen you in these moods a lot. You got irritable whenever you were stressed or tired or hungry, which was a lot. “You go relax.”

“Thanks,” you answered, slumping over to the home office. You did some more work, trying to get ahead of what you had to do tomorrow.

“Here,” he said when he got back, placing a starbucks cup in front of you. “How can I help?”

“Just leave me alone,” you snapped. It came out harsher than you intended. “I’m sorry.”

But Bucky wasn’t offended. He just smirked at you. “That’s it,” he said sternly. “You have 30 minutes to get ready and then you and me? We’re going to dinner. And we’re gonna have a great time. And when we get back, I want you on the bed with your legs spread for me. And I’m gonna split you open on my cock and fuck that attitude right out of you, got it?” He commanded.

You swallowed harshly, already feeling your clit throbbing from his words. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he nodded his head and walked out of the room.

You decided to play into his game while at dinner, acting extra bratty to see just how riled up you could get him. The second you walked in the door, his eyes narrowed. “I’m giving you a two minute head start. By the time I get in there, you better be naked and touching that pretty pussy, okay? Go.”

You ran to the bedroom, completely submissive to him. You quickly discarded your clothing and laid on the bed moving a hand between your legs. You inserted two fingers inside of yourself, wetness pooling around your fingers. Bucky opened the door just as you were reaching your peak.

“Good girl,” he smirked. “No cumming though. Not yet sweetheart.” He crawled on the bed moving his face in between your legs watching as you played with yourself. “Bet those little fingers don’t feel as good as mine. You need my thick fingers stretching you out to really feel good.” He grabbed your wrist and made you remove your fingers from yourself. “Nothing to say? No sassy little remark to fire back at me? You’ll do whatever Daddy tells you, won’t you?” His eyes darkened as he spoke.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good,” he said, running flesh fingers through your folds. “Such a perfect cunt,” he grunted as he inserted a finger, curling it slowly to torture you. “Too bad you’ve been a brat today.” He swiftly removed his finger and licked it clean. “Get on your knees. Now,” he commanded while undoing his belt and taking down his pants. Your mouth watered at the wet spot on his boxers where his tip was leaking. You reached out to take his underwear off but he shoved your hands away. “No no no, baby girl. You wait for Daddy to tell you what to do.” He smacked your ass hard and you moaned.

“Daddy please!!” You begged like a child. “Wanna suck you.”

Bucky laughed darkly. “You need that slutty mouth filled? You want Daddy’s cock to choke on? Wan’ me to fuck your face real hard, don’t you?” You squeezed your legs together at his words, desperate for something.

“Mhm, want it so badly. Wanna run my tongue over the slit and wrap my lips around your thick cock. Want you to stretch out my mouth.”

He inhaled sharply at your words. Bucky was dominant in bed, but he was so in awe of you that sometimes he just had to give in. “Oh fuck, Princess, the shit you say.” He slowly dragged his boxers down his legs. “Come make Daddy feel good.”

You crawled to him, immediately licking his slit, moaning at the taste of his pre-cum on your tongue. He threw his head back as you wrapped your lips around all of him and bobbed up and down. “Shit,” he gasped, grabbing your hair to move your head quicker. You brought one hand up and lightly squeezed his balls which caused him to start to move his hips, fucking your mouth just like he said we would. “Holy shit, Princess, oh-oh fuck.” He continued to mumble profanities as you moved. Bucky was always vocal in bed - something that you loved. Hearing the pleasure you brought him made everything so much better. “Gonna cum, baby. Gonna shoot a load in the back of your throat and I want you to swallow it all for me,” he said, breath growing more rapid. You continued until you felt the thick liquid hit your throat, swallowing it all with ease. “That’s a good girl,” he praised, pulling his dick out of your mouth. “Now lemme see how wet that little pussy is. Bet your clit is so swollen. Just begging to be played with,” he cood as he lifted you up onto the bed and held your legs apart. He blew cold air onto your clit, the sensation making you feral. You needed him. Your slick was running down your thighs. He brought his mouth closer and closer but never quite connecting it. He ran his hands up and down your inner thighs, making you squirm.

“D-Daddy please! I’ll be so good to you. You can do anything you want. Use me however you want just please touch me!”

He looked up at you from in between your legs and smirked. “Anything? You’d even let me fill this sweet cunt up with my cum?” He asked, causing another moan to ring out from your throat. “Oh you want that, don’t you. Dirty girl. You wanna be full of your Daddy?”

“Y-yes! Please, just-” you stopped short when he put his lips around your clit, sucking with full force. “Oh yes Daddy! Fuck!” He inserted two metal fingers inside you, the stretch sending fireworks throughout your body. His eyes connected with yours as he kept sucking your clit and fingering you. He loved watching your eyes when he pleasured you. Loved how glassy and dazed you looked. He added a third finger, stretching you to the hilt. Your orgasm was coming quick. “Can I cum, Daddy?” He moaned into your pussy signaling yes and you exploded. Your walls clenched and your clit throbbed as euphoria washed over you.

Bucky didn’t stop his movements, though. If anything, he sucked a little harder and fingered you a little faster. You were letting out high pitched moans continuously, already on the brink of a second orgasm. “DADDY!” You yelled out as the most intense orgasm of your life washed over you, squirting onto his face and the bed. The sound of your liquid hitting the sheets made Bucky feral. He let you ride out your high on his face and his fingers before carefully removing himself.

“Oh, honey, you are too fucking much. Squirting for your Daddy, now that’s what good girls do. So proud of you angel.” He kissed you passionately, letting your taste on his tongue fill your mouth. “Gonna give you my cock now, okay? Gotta make sure all that attitude is really gone.”

He aligned himself with your pussy and immediately thrusted all the way in. He gave you no time to adjust to his size before he snapped his hips hard, hitting your g-spot everytime. “Such a slutty little thing, look at ‘cha,” he taunted, unable to take his eyes away from his cock slipping in and out of you. “You got my cock fucking drenched, baby girl. You that desperate to be fucked? Making puddles on this bed I swear,” he said, continuing to fuck you hard. His hand reached to your clit, giving it a feather light touch just to tease you a little more.

“Daddy, touch my clit, please! Been so good for you,” you pleaded.

He laughed. “Nothing is ever enough for you, is it? Got you stuffed full of cock and you’re asking for more?” Despite his teasing, he gave you what you wanted, connecting his fingers to your clit and applying the perfect amount of pressure. “Fuck, feel you squeezing me. You gonna cum again for me? You gonna cum all over Daddy’s big cock?”

“Yes, Daddy!” you screamed, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Cum with me baby girl, gonna fill you up. Gonna get you all pregnant and round. Fuck you’re gonna look so good carrying my baby,” he grunted, thrusts growing sloppy.

“Give it to me, Daddy! Fill me up!” You moaned, feeling his cum shooting into your body and setting off your own orgasm. You screamed as you came, squirting for the second time.

When you had both finished, he removed his dick from you and got up to get a towel. He carefully cleaned you up, looking into your eyes with love.

“So, did we fix that attitude?”

“I don’t know,” you smirked. “I think there’s still some in there that needs to be fucked out of me.”

“You’re trouble,” Bucky growled, crawling on top of you once again.

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trrsseea · 1 month ago

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The Choices We Make

pairing: Bucky x reader

warning: non

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his vibranium hand. The dog tags around his neck clinked softly as he shifted, the sound somehow heavier than usual. Y/n was in the kitchen, humming to herself as she made breakfast, blissfully unaware of the war raging in his mind.

It wasn’t her fault. She was perfect—kind, smart, patient, everything he didn’t think he deserved. But that was the problem. Wasn’t it? She deserved someone who fit into her world. Someone who understood memes without needing them explained. Who didn’t get overwhelmed by crowds or who could actually laugh along with her friends instead of feeling like an outsider in their world. He didn’t belong here. Not at this time. Not with her.

Y/n walked in her hair slightly mussed from the morning, wearing one of my old shirts. She was holding a tray balanced carefully in her hands, carrying a breakfast, golden French toast and two steaming mugs. I assumed one was tea for her and the other, black coffee for me. Her face lit up with her usual radiant smile, a look so serene and angelic that she seemed almost otherworldly.

She smiled even brighter, which I didn’t think was possible as she handed me a mug. “Morning, sleepyhead.” I looked up and took the coffee, but the warmth of the mug did little to ease the cold feeling in my chest.

“Y/n, we need to talk,” I said, my voice low but steady.

She frowned, placing her mug on the table with a soft clink. “That sounds ominous,” she said, followed by a light giggle, unaware of just how right she was.

I took a deep breath, staring into the dark liquid swirling in the mug I held tightly. “I’ve been thinking… maybe this isn’t working.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” At first, she didn’t understand, but then she realised it.

“We’re fine. Aren’t we?” she asked, her frown deepening as her eyes searched mine.

I shook my head, unable to meet her eyes. “You deserve someone… normal. Someone who understands your world, your jokes, your friends. Someone who isn’t stuck in the past.”

“Bucky,” she said softly, sitting beside me. “Where is this coming from? Did something happen?” She sounds worried and places her hand gently on my knee, her thumb moving in slow, soothing circles.

“It’s not one thing,” I admitted, setting the coffee down. “It’s everything. You’re young, Y/n. You have your whole life ahead of you. And I’m… I’m old. I’ve lived through things you can’t even imagine. And sometimes, I feel like I’m dragging you into my mess.”

She stops the movement of her hand “That’s not how I see it,” she said firmly.

“I know,” I said, finally meeting her gaze. “But it’s how I feel. And I don’t think it’s fair to you. You could be with someone who doesn’t come with all this… baggage.” I gesture to myself.

She stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she stood up, crossing her arms. “Okay, let’s break this down. First of all, yes, you’re older. But that doesn’t mean we don’t understand each other. And you’re not the only one who has been through tough things. Everyone has baggage, Bucky.” She says firmly not letting her shields down.

“It’s not the same,” I argued.

“I’m not saying it’s the same baggage,” she countered, her voice steady, “but we all have something we fight.”

“No, it’s not,” she admitted, her tone softening. “But it doesn’t have to be. We don’t have to be the same to make this work.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Y/n, you’re too good for this. For me.”

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “You don’t get to decide that for me. I knew who you were when we started this, Bucky. I chose this. I chose you. And yeah, it’s not always easy, but what relationship is?” She smiled slightly at me.

I looked up at her, the walls I’d been building around myself starting to crack. “What if I can’t give you what you need? What if—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, sitting back down beside him. “What I need is you. Flaws, baggage, your dad jokes, and all of you. You don’t have to have everything figured out, Bucky. We can figure it out together.”

I was silent for a long moment, the weight of her words sinking in. “What if I can’t be enough?”

She moved to sit on top of me, each leg on one side, and placed her hands on my cheeks, her gaze locking onto mine. “Then we deal with it. Together. But you don’t get to push me away because you’re scared. That’s not fair to me.”

I stared at her, my throat tight. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Maybe not,” she said with a small smile. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulled her close, and buried my face against her, inhaling her familiar scent. She responded by wrapping her arms around me, holding me just as tightly.

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “You’re stubborn.”

“That’s why you like me,” she whispered into my ear brushing her lips softly against it.

Without thinking, I lifted my head closing the distance between us, and pressed my lips softly against hers. The kiss was tender, lingering for a moment as if we both needed the reassurance.

And for the first time in weeks. I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe we could make this work Maybe I didn’t have to do this alone.

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amethystarachnid · 4 months ago

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BUCKY BARNES AS A GIRL DAD - a drabble

Everyone stop what you're doing and imagine Bucky Barnes as a girl dad.

When you first tell him that you're pregnant he's shocked because of all the experiments HYDRA did on him he thought he couldn't have kids

Then he's shocked because he realizes he's going to be a dad. He. A killer, the man who killed thousands of people.

He's terrified by the thought of not being a good dad so you have to convince him he's going to be a great dad because he's not the winter soldier anymore, he's just Bucky. The love of your life.

Starts studying pregnancy books like he has an exam on them. believe me when I say that this man could have a degree by the end of the nine months.

Baby Shower. He really didn't care if the baby in your belly was a boy or a girl but when he saw the pink cream inside the cake he felt his heart skip a beat. A little girl, oh how much he hoped for her to look just like you.

Built the nursery from scratch, painted it al pink with little stars on the ceiling.

I think he would like the name Estelle and if you'd agree that would be the little girl's name.

When you go into labour this man freaks out, he has seen lots of things in his life but seeing you in pain while giving birth made him feel guilty for putting a baby in you.

When he holds her for the first time he's scared to hurt her, maybe his metallic arm is too hard for her little head to rest on? Is his metallic hand too cold on her little face?

He's completely smitten by her, she's not even two days old when she has him wrapped around her little chubby fingers.

When he noticed that she has his blue eyes he was on the verge of crying.

How could a monster like him make such a perfect little angel?

As soon as Estelle starts babbling he has his phone out to record everything. He just wants to remember those little moments forever.

When she starts walking and can actually play he spends his days playing with her: with a ball, with dolls, with the toy kitchen, with her on his shoulders.

When Estelle says 'Dada' for the first time this man is in tears repeating 'my baby girl called me dada, I'm her dada..."

Once she can talk she gives nicknames to everyone, Steve is Uncle Cap, Sam is Uncle Birdie, Tony is Uncle Iron, Natasha is Aunt red (because of her hair).

Bucky totally plays princess tea party with her, in a tutu and with a full face of toy make up.

"Uncle Cap and Uncle Birdie, come play tea with me and Daddy!" Estelle would say.

Steve would agree immediately while Sam needed an harsh look from Bucky.

First day of kindergarten? Estelle is happily going inside the new classroom, happy to make new friends while Bucky is in tears.

"She didn't give me a goodbye kiss..."

She wants to take dance lessons? They're paid.

She wants to swim? He's already on his way to buy a swimsuit.

Bucky would let her choose the sport she wants but she has to take self defense lessons too, maybe taught by Natasha.

The first boy that breaks her heart has a broken arm and probably some trauma. (I'm joking...am I?)

Estelle is pretty free to go out but she has to tell him in advance just to let him know.

When she leaves for college he helps her move out and tells her to kick a boy between the legs if they treat her bad. Or simply give a call to him and he would run to her.

Probably with Steve right behind him.

Damn this was long, sorry but I love soft Bucky, my man deceivers happiness after everything he went through :(

Would you like me to do this but with the other Avengers / x-Men? You can also make requests if you want!

Check out my masterlist! <3

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hford0311 · 4 months ago

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She never looked at me that way before

Summary: From the first time you met Bucky as a 7-year-old, things got ugly quick, which established a decade-long hatred for your male neighbor who unfortunately was also your brother's best friend. Then, one night began to change your opinions of Bucky.

Tags: 1930/40s timeline. Fem!reader x Bucky Barnes. Childhood enemies to lovers.

Being Steve's younger sister wasn't the easiest thing imaginable. "But Mama!" You cried as you watched the other children in the neighborhood play. "Y/n, I said no." You huffed and plopped yourself on the floor in front of the window. "Can't do nothin' 'round here." You angrily mumbled. "Missy, you keep that attitude up, I'll find you something to complain about." Your mother called. You rolled your eyes out the window. At the ripe age of seven, you knew the unfairness whenever you looked at your brother. You were aware of the problems, but they only bothered you at times like this. However, they happened more often than not now that you were in a new neighborhood with new kids.

A knock at the door minutes led you to race to it and open it. Your mother sighed and whispered, "I don't know what I'm going to do with you," before she walked over to the open door. "You must be Mrs. Rodgers," the woman at the door smiled with two children at her sides, "I'm Mrs. Barnes and these are my children, James and Rebecca." "Bucky, Mama," the boy groaned. The mother lightly chuckled, "Sorry, Bucky, my troublesome son." Sarah smiled back the mother. "Well, you met my troublesome, Y/n. Let me go fetch her brother," she went and grabbed Steve from the bedroom.

"Would you be opposed to them playing outside while we get to know each other?" Mrs. Barnes questioned. Sarah hesitated, fearing Steve would have an asthma attack or worse. "I promise my children know the rules of playing outdoors. Plus, they can introduce them to the others. Be good for them to have friends before school starts." Mrs. Barnes persuaded her. "Oh, Mama, please!" You and your brother begged. Sarah sighed, "Alright, but you and your brother have to look after each other." You and Steve cheered before following the other children outside.

Sarah anxiously watch her children play with the others in the alley from the window. It felt a little too fitting that her children were the same age of the Barnes children. "I'm sure they'll be fine, Sarah." Mrs. Barnes mentioned. The two women bonded, soon learning about each others' past and present. Meanwhile, you decided you wanted to play stickball with some of the boys. However, it wasn't that easy. Somehow, it ended with you and Bucky screaming in each others' faces. Despite the two year difference, you still stood nose to nose with the boy when you were on your toes. "If you weren't a girl, I'd hit ya!" Bucky yelled.

Wham! Children swarmed the scene. "I wonder-oh my goodness!" Mrs. Barnes glanced out the window to witness what was happening. She quickly ran down to the alley with Sarah not far behind. "Out of my way!" Mrs. Barnes screamed and broke apart the group of children to reveal her eldest with a bloody nose. Sarah separated you from the group. You were panting and hid your bloody hand behind your back. "What happened!" "She's crazy!" Bucky yelled as an answer. "He wouldn't let me play because I'm a girl!" You yelled back. "Y/n! You do not hit!" Sarah scolded. "But-" "No buts." She huffed and grabbed your wrist, trying to avoid getting blood on her before dragging you up to the apartment. That moment defined your hatred towards Bucky Barnes.

Soon after the initial fight and greeting, the boy could never stop coming by to hang out with Steve, leaving you to steam in irritation. However, Rebecca was able to help with the situation a lot of the time. You two loved to gossip and make fun of Bucky. Funny how the two siblings were totally different. Sarah and Winnifred were deeply grateful for the separation of the two pairs that allowed there to be peace in the two apartments.

***

Six years it has been and the hatred did not cease. Perhaps, it grew-- or at least the maturity level of it increased-- which isn't much to say.

"Bucky Barnes, won't you just leave me alone!" You yelled at him when he followed you back from school. At thirteen, you didn't need a babysitter to walk you back to the apartment after the bus ride from school. His fifteen year old self mocked you from behind your back. "Such a jerk!" The words left your mouth like venom. The one time Rebecca and Steve were both sick, he decided to pester you the most, and both of your mothers wanted him to make sure you got home safe from school. "It's not like I want to," Bucky grumbled. "God, won't you go do something with Steve and get the hell away from me?" You growled. Bucky pressed you up against one of the brick buildings. His blue eyes starring into your soul, wanting to send it deep into the pits of hell. "Y/n, if I had that option, I would. Now, just stop complaining and get home." His height was beginning to tower yours. "Fine," you huffed and ducked under his arm to continue on your route. Somehow, your brother was best friends with the most annoying boy in the neighborhood, and no one else hated it as much as you did. Your mother grew to adore him as her own son. It basically led to him never leaving your apartment or dining table, which led to Barnes's home to become an escape for you. The hallway is a no man's land that neither of you were caught in besides entering and exiting the two apartments.

At age 17, you sighed as you got off the bus from coming home from grabbing medicine and a few other grocery items for your sickly brother. The sporadic lit street light led your way home. You looked down at your clacking shoes, counting the steps you made to distract yourself from the cold and the thoughts that could enter a young woman's mind while walking alone on the street at night. You counted louder in your head when you heard voices that you didn't want to understand or hear. Be as that might be, hearing more footsteps that were not yours could not make focusing and counting steps easy. Fingertips grazed your bicep, causing you to trip off the sidewalk and land on your hands and knees. The materials in your bag now flung elsewhere You tried scattering up, but when you turned around, you froze in fear at the stranger in front of you. He was starting to walk close to you and saying something before rapid steps and punches were exchanged in a blur of movement.

Then, one of the blurs left and the other came into focus in front of you. The unwelcomed face became a pleasant one. "Bucky!" You breathed an exhale. His strong yet soft hands lifted you up from your stunned state. "Are you okay?" His voice was caring and gentle. "Y-yes," you confirmed, trying to steady yourself on your feet. "C'mon, let's get you home." He started to guide you in the direction. "Steve's medicine, I dropped it." You were a muttering mess in front of him, pointing in the direction of where you fell. "Stay here," His hands on your shoulders, like setting you in place before quickly snatching the med bottle in his coat pocket. "Alright, let's go, I gotcha." Bucky led you home.

"Thank you, Bucky. I-I-" Bucky interrupted you as the pair of you made it to the landing. "You don't need to thank me, Y/n." You simply nodded and then motioned to his coat pocket, "Steve still needs those." Your old nemesis delicately placed them in your palm. "Take care of yourself," he spoke and walked to his apartment.

The energy between the two of you would change after this night. It took about six months for a complete one-eighty change.

Now, the hallway that separated the two apartments would be a no man's land anymore. Quite the opposite, actually. You felt your feet start to tremble when Bucky kissed you at the apartment door. "We can't let anyone know," you whispered as you broke the kiss. "Oh, not a soul," he whispered back and kissed you again. "I mean it, Bucky. Not even my brother." You scolded him. "Never, doll." He confirmed before planting his lips onto yours. "Alright, I should go before someone catches us," Bucky whispered and started to take the twelve feet to his apartment. You quickly followed him and stopped him to exchange another act of affection. "Yes, you should go...it's getting late." He took a step down to be on the same as you. "Go to bed, my Y/n doll," he planted a kiss on your forehead, "dream of me." You blushed, "As long as you dream of me, James." He stroked your cheek and took his final departure. You leaned up against the hallway wall for a moment to calm down before going back into your apartment.

"You're late," Steve mentioned from his chair in the corner by the lamp. Your body jolted as you softly closed the door. "Jesus, Steve," you hissed and pressed your hand to your heart, "do you want to give me a heart attack?" He closed his book and stood from his spot. "Just come home on time. Mom was worried." Guilt rose in you as your brother began to trudge to bed. "Hey Steve," he stopped and turned to you, "don't worry Bucky walked me home." It wasn't a complete lie and the statement lessened the guilt. "Good to hear you're finally getting along." He stated with a smile and goes to bed.

***

You walked out of the apartment door, only for Bucky to swiftly pulled you over his shoulder and in five seconds, his apartment door magically sprung open and shut before Bucky put you down, his lips pressed deeply onto yours, making you pressed up against the door. "Bucky Barnes, what have gotten into you?" You giggled. He pressed his index finger to your lips. "Do you hear that?" You noticed the absence of the other Barnes family members. "What are you talking about?" You whispered in the silence. "We're here all by ourselves, Y/n doll." He grinned and pressed on another kiss. The pair of you stopped, starring into each other eyes without the desire to punch each other.

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theairshiphangs · 10 months ago

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04. STRAW/WOOD/STONE | theairshiphangs

Summary:

and it came in the night with teeth: prehistoric fear / thing with deep hunger / you know this story. you / went into the field and gathered / straw / and built it, roof / and walls and all. stevie / drawing by the radiator, warm / your sister humming in the kitchen / listen: you know this story. or: Siberia, 1948. Bucky tries not to forget.

Tags: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers (mentioned), James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers (mentioned), Brainwashing, Medical Experimentation, Poetry, poemfic, Hydra (Marvel), Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

#bucky barnes #catws fanfic #poetry #poem fic #just letting this rot in my drafts whoops #LFtNM #Q

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mournthebird · 4 months ago

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Silver and Garnet.

summary: Soldat hurts himself a lot.

a/n: I had another wip but I have no clue where I'm going with it so I started this one. Since someone commented the other day, I had to write another scenario specifically for this. I wrote something kinda touching this subject on my other blog but this one is exploring it better. Heed warnings, potentially triggering. Unedited. ;; wc: 4.3k

So many things to tackle with him.

You had done the hardest so far. That was good.

He was still wary around you. He avoided you.

He stayed locked in the bedroom you spared, hiding like a frightened animal. You hadn't seen him in a few days, the only evidence of his presence were the slightly eaten down bowls of broth and mashed potatoes you left for him. The untouched portions of these meals showed you just how fragile he still was, barely sustaining himself on the meager amounts he managed to consume.

His self-imposed isolation spoke volumes about the depth of his trauma, leaving you to wonder about the extent of his emotional wounds and the long road to recovery that lay ahead. You had never been a caregiver before, hell taking care of yourself proved to be hard sometimes. But now you had a responsibility for someone else, someone who really needs it.

Luckily, he had taken the opportunity to at least go to the bathroom without any sense of apprehension or unease. You often heard the shower running and he spent close to an hour in the shower at a time. You never went in to question him or why it took him so long to shower. Sometimes he'd let you wash him off, he did when he first arrived.

But for now, he liked having privacy, and you didn't blame him for wanting it.

You had been sitting on the couch and his shower had exceeded well over an hour, which was odd. Normally he only clocked close to an hour, just below sixty minutes. But he had been in the bathroom for much longer, and the shower had been running the entire time. You could spot steam peeking out from the cracks in the closed door, rising to the ceiling and fogging your apartment lightly.

Today, the shower had been running for an unusually long time, prompting you to check on him. Given his delicate health condition, you couldn't afford to be anything but vigilant. With a slight sense of concern, you gently pushed aside the warm, fuzzy blanket that had been draped over your legs. Rising from the comfortable embrace of the couch, you stretched your limbs briefly before padding across the room towards the bathroom door. The sound of running water grew louder as you approached, but there were no other noises coming from inside.

Reaching the door, you hesitated for a moment before raising your hand. You gently rapped your knuckles against the smooth surface of the door, being careful not to make too loud a sound. The last thing you wanted was to startle him in his potentially vulnerable state. "Soldat?" you called out softly, your voice barely audible over the steady stream of water, "Are you okay in there? It's perfectly fine if you're still showering, I just wanted to make sure you're doing alright. Is everything okay?"

Silence greeted you, save for the continuous patter of water against tile. The lack of response sent a small shiver of worry down your spine.

"Soldat?" you tried again, your voice a touch louder this time, tinged with growing concern. "Can I come in? Just to check on you?" You pressed your ear against the door, straining to hear any sound of movement or acknowledgment. Several long seconds ticked by, each one amplifying your unease. Still, there was no reply, not even the slightest indication that he had heard you. The silence stretched on, broken only by the relentless sound of running water, leaving you to grapple with mounting worry and indecision.

After a moment of hesitation, you decided to confront the situation head-on, pushing aside any thoughts of future repercussions. You reached out and gently grasped the cold metal of the door handle. Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you slowly turned the knob and eased the door open, the hinges creaking softly.

As the bathroom came into view, your eyes were immediately drawn to him, huddled in the corner of the shower. His form was hunched over, back pressed firmly against the tiled walls as if trying to disappear into them. The shower was running over him but instead of clear water, a steady stream of crimson flowed beneath him, swirling ominously before disappearing down the drain.

Your gaze was inevitably drawn to his right hand, it was covered in blood, fresh and glistening under the harsh bathroom lights. His nails were ragged and torn, thick chunks of flesh clung to them, the aftermath to the frenzied self-mutilation he had inflicted upon himself. The raw, exposed skin underneath looked so painful, the pieces of skin that he clearly had torn and tried to rip away from himself clear as day.

Your eyes slowly traced the contours of his body, lingering on the gleaming silver titanium that seamlessly merged with his flesh. The junction between metal and skin was marked by a vicious scar, a sight you had seen before during your previous bathing sessions. However, this time it appeared significantly more severe. The area was angry and inflamed, with fresh blood seeping from the edges, and the surrounding tissue looked far more mutilated than you recalled. The overall damage seemed to have intensified, leaving you with a sense of growing concern.

His eyes, wide and unblinking, were fixed straight ahead, as if seeing something beyond the confines of the room. The vacant stare sent a chill down your spine, he looked so empty and haunted there under the steady shower. His hand trembled visibly, betraying the depth of his distress very clearly, as if his wounds weren’t enough to go off of. Words couldn’t compare to this sight alone.

"Soldat..." You whispered, your voice barely audible as you gently closed the door behind you, careful not to startle him. The soft click of the latch seemed to echo in the tense silence of the room, the shower had been muffled by now, your brain zoning the sound out in hopes he would speak. "What's going on, hm?" You asked carefully, your tone was slightly apprehensive, your approach had to be very careful. You remained rooted to the spot, instinctively knowing that approaching him too quickly might escalate the situation. Instead, you stayed put, your body language open and non-threatening. "Did you do that?"

He remained motionless, unresponsive to his surroundings, as if frozen in place. Despite the scalding temperature of the water cascading over him, he shivered uncontrollably, as if he were trapped in a blizzard. The relentless stream of hot water had turned his skin an angry, vivid red, resembling a freshly boiled lobster wherever it made contact. You slowly stepped closer, speaking up again. "Did you do that to your arm?" You repeated.

Soldat finally stirred, his trembling hand slowly reaching up to his bleeding shoulder. His nails dug deeply into the scar tissue as his gaze fixed upon the metallic surface of his prosthetic limb. Unbeknownst to you, his mind was awash with vivid, haunting memories of endless saws mercilessly cutting into his flesh. The loss of his arm hadn't been a clean, swift amputation. No, it had been a gradual, excruciating process that began around his elbow.

In the sterile confines of the laboratory, they had methodically removed the rest, piece by agonizing piece. Throughout the entire ordeal, Soldat remained horrifyingly conscious, forced to endure every moment as they systematically dismembered him, carving away at his body with the cold precision of butchers preparing a carcass.

The gruesome experience marked the beginning of his torment at the hands of HYDRA. It was merely the opening act in a long, nightmarish performance that would span decades. As hellish as this initial ordeal was, it paled in comparison to the tortures that would follow. The amputation of his arm, as brutal and inhumane as it had been, would come to be seen as almost merciful when juxtaposed against the relentless cruelty he would endure in the years to come.

The memory of the cold metal was seared into his consciousness. He could still vividly recall the sensation of the frigid prosthetic fused to his body, an unnatural extension of himself that felt more like an invasive parasite than a replacement limb. The cold was so intense it transcended mere discomfort, burning his flesh with its icy touch. In his desperation to be free of this foreign appendage, he had made numerous attempts to tear it from his body, clawing at the juncture where flesh met metal until his fingers were raw and bleeding.

HYDRA's response to these acts of defiance was characteristically brutal.

They forcibly removed his fingernails, not out of concern for his well-being, but to protect their valuable asset. In their eyes, Soldat was no longer a person, no longer human. He had been reduced to a mere object, a weapon to be wielded at their discretion, stripped of his humanity and autonomy.

They did this frequently, until he stopped clawing at himself.

He had nails now, and they served as desperate tools in his frantic attempt to extricate the metal embedded within his flesh. His prosthetic limb was a source of intense loathing; he yearned to be rid of it, to cast it off entirely. The sensations it produced were a maddening contradiction; simultaneously frigid and scorching, each moment bringing fresh waves of agony. The pain was all-encompassing, radiating from every point where flesh met metal, leaving him bewildered by its relentless intensity. Where was this torment originating from? How could this damn appendage cause such overwhelming suffering-

"Soldat, you're hurting yourself," you intervened, your voice cutting through the fog of his anguish and halting his downward spiral into self-destruction. Slowly, as if emerging from a trance, he lifted his gaze to meet yours. His fingers had burrowed beneath his skin like eager maggots, exposing the cold gleam of metal that had been forcibly inserted beneath layers of tissue and muscle. You reached out slowly, doing your best to avoid startling him. Carefully, you grasped his hand, applying just enough pressure to halt its destructive path, and gradually eased it away from his bloodied shoulder.

"There we go...oh, Soldat, look at you..." You whispered gently, watching the scalding water sear down on his wound, washing dark garnet into a watery pastel.

He whimpered softly in response, his body trembling with fear as he anticipated your reaction. You had caught him in the act, and he had been surreptitiously harming himself for some time now. His timid, apprehensive eyes slowly lifted to meet yours, filled with a mixture of dread and resignation. He fully expected you to unleash a torrent of angry words, to raise your hand against him, or to inflict some form of harsh punishment for the self-inflicted damage to his arm.

But to his surprise and confusion, you did none of those things. Unlike the cruel handlers from his past, you exhibited a gentle demeanor that was entirely foreign to him. Your actions spoke of kindness, a concept he struggled to comprehend.

"Ты не собираешься меня наказать?" He questioned hesitantly, his brow furrowed in a perplexed frown as he addressed you. His voice emerged as a barely audible whisper, weak and raspy from prolonged disuse. It sounded like he had swallowed broken glass, his throat utterly torn apart.

Prior to this moment, he had only uttered three single words on separate occasions: a tentative ‘thank you,’ a fearful ‘no,’ and a hesitant ‘yes.’ You found yourself grateful for your basic understanding of Russian, which allowed you to decipher his simple words, but full sentences would be trickier. He hadn't said a thing in English yet.

"Eh...I'm sorry, I don't understand, Soldat...but...I'm not mad." You reassured gently, your voice barely above a whisper. "Let's get you out of here and cleaned up, okay?" You spoke softly, reaching out with a steady hand towards the shower knob. With a twist, you halted the flow of water, the sudden silence amplifying the sound of his ragged breathing. His body began trembling more noticeably now, the loss of the near-boiling water leaving him exposed to the cooler air. You couldn't help but wince internally at the sight of his scalded skin, angry red compared to the rest of him. However, you forced yourself to push that concern aside for the moment. His bloody scars, still weeping and raw, demanded your immediate attention.

You allowed him to remain seated in the shower for a brief moment, giving him time to adjust. You moved towards the bathroom counter, your eyes scanning the contents of the cabinet as you opened it. Methodically, you began pulling out the necessary first aid supplies, arranging them neatly on the countertop. Your gaze flickered back to him, noting how his trembling had intensified. You carefully approached him once more with a large, soft towel draped over your arms.

“Here, I know you’re cold now.” You draped the towel over his shivering form, taking care to keep his injured shoulder exposed so you could tend to it properly. He flinched as the fabric settled around him, instinctively responding to the unusual action. You maintained your calm demeanor, choosing not to react to the flinching. “I’m going to clean this up a bit, okay? All you have to do is sit still. That’s pretty easy, right?” You tried your best to sound comforting, knowing his nerves were through the roof and he was especially fragile.

His shoulder was a gruesome sight, coated in a deep crimson layer of blood with ragged pieces of flesh hanging precariously from where he had been violently digging. You couldn't help but let out a soft, empathetic sigh as you reached for a substantial handful of sterile gauze. Kneeling beside him with careful movements, you noticed how he deliberately avoided your gaze, his eyes fixed intently on the intricate patterns of the tile floor beneath you both.

With precision, you reached up and began to gently dab at the blood-soaked area, allowing the pristine white gauze to gradually absorb the viscous red liquid, allowing the injury to become more visible to you to assess the proper kind of treatment.

The self-inflicted damage from his frantic clawing was even worse than you had initially feared. Deep, angry tears marred his shoulder, the surrounding scar tissue visibly swollen and undoubtedly hypersensitive to the touch. Despite the pain he must have been experiencing, Soldat remained remarkably still for you, permitting you to continue your ministrations as you meticulously dabbed away the excess blood.

Your heart ached at the sight, and you found yourself whispering softly, your voice barely audible in the quiet room, "Oh, Soldat…look at what you've done to yourself." Your tone was filled with compassion rather than judgment as you continued, "You must be in so much pain to have resorted to this. I wish I could take it all away."

He didn't reply, which was expected given his current state. He simply allowed you to continue dabbing at his wounds until the majority of the bleeding had subsided. The condition of his skin was a bit alarming, and you found yourself hesitating, unsure of how to properly treat such severe injuries. Your medical knowledge was limited, lacking the expertise required for advanced treatments such as suturing.

But, upon closer inspection, you felt a wave of relief wash over you as you realized the wounds, while serious, weren't as bad as you had initially feared. Not bad enough for stitches at least. A few carefully applied butterfly bandages and snug gauze wrapping would be sufficient to promote healing. Besides, you hoped his enhanced healing might help aid on this too.

"I'm going to start wrapping you up now, okay? I'll also need to apply some bandages over certain areas to help keep the skin together. You're being so brave and cooperative," you said, your words of encouragement causing his eyes to lift slightly, meeting yours. The subtle shift in his demeanor made your heart rate quicken, a warmth spreading through your chest as you sensed him beginning to trust you. "I need you to remain as still as possible while I do this. Can you manage that for me?"

After a moment of consideration, he responded with a soft, barely audible, "...да." The Russian affirmation, though brief, conveyed his understanding and compliance.

You offered him a warm, reassuring smile as you began the delicate process of tending to his wounds. You carefully cleaned each injury using soft cotton balls soaked in a mild antiseptic solution. You winced slightly as you dabbed the open wounds but he hadn’t flinched at all, despite knowing the antiseptic stung. Once the cleaning was complete, you applied bandages to the areas where his skin had been broken, taking extra care to position them for optimal healing. For the scar itself, you had a handful of things. First laying down a layer of soft, cushioning gauze to help with any bleeding that might occur, you then wrapped it with an adherent bandage to keep everything in place.

Throughout the entire process, he observed you intently, his gaze alternating between your focused expression and the various medical supplies you used. His eyes searched quickly for anything sharp, but he didn’t see anything like that. This experience was entirely new to him; never before had he been allowed to witness the ministrations performed on him.

The HYDRA scientists had preferred to keep him in the dark, relishing his startled reactions to unexpected pain or discomfort. It was so different to your approach. They liked watching him struggle against the bindings he was kept in, then used it as an excuse to hurt him more, as if his very valid reaction to being cut open with a scalpel or stabbed with a needle was unwarranted. But nothing you did hurt. You were so careful, like you were afraid to hurt him.

"There...all done." You hummed gently, a soft smile playing on your lips as you looked up to him once the bandages were securely fastened in place. Your eyes scanned over your handiwork, ensuring everything was just right. "Now, I want you to take it easy, okay? Don't push yourself too hard. But if it happens to come undone or feels uncomfortable, just let me know. I can always redo it for you." You reassured him, your voice warm and caring. Taking a small step back, you gave him some space, understanding that he might need a moment to adjust to the new sensation of the bandages.

Soldat, still silent, gripped the towel tighter and wrapped the damp fabric around himself, creating a cocoon of sorts. The quiet that enveloped the room was almost tangible, broken only by the soft dripping of water. You watched him carefully, noting how he seemed to be taking inventory of his newly bandaged body. In your mind, you surmised that he probably needed a few seconds to get accustomed to the feeling of the bandages against his skin, perhaps even testing their flexibility as he moved.

After what felt like an eternity but was likely only a minute or two, Soldat made a move to stand. His legs were a bit unsteady, trembling slightly under his weight as he rose. He took cautious steps out of the shower, leaving behind a trail of water droplets. He came to a stop directly in front of you, close enough that you could feel the residual warmth from his shower-heated skin. His still-wet hair continued to release tiny rivulets of water, the droplets trailing down his face and neck before disappearing into the towel.

Your eyes were drawn to his, those steel blue irises that always seemed to hold so much depth. As you gazed into them, trying to decipher his thoughts, you realized that while they were as inscrutable as ever, there was something there. A look, a silent request perhaps. He seemed to be seeking something more from you, though you couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.

"Alright, let's get you properly dried off," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. Your hands moved of their own accord, grasping the edges of the towel he held. "And then... well, I think we should get you settled comfortably in the living room. How does that sound?" As you spoke, you began to gently pat him dry, your movements careful and considerate, especially around the newly bandaged areas. The act felt intimate, you had done it before, but it felt different this time.

He was carefully dried off and dressed in clean, comfortable clothes before being gently guided to the living room. You led him to the spot where you had been sitting earlier, allowing him to sink into the warm impression left by your body. As you draped your thick, cozy blanket over his legs, he instinctively pulled it up higher, cocooning himself in its comforting weight. His tense muscles began to relax as he nestled deeper into the soft folds, finding a small measure of solace in the simple act of being warm and protected.

You settled yourself beside him, your eyes drawn to the bandages adorning his shoulder. You broached the subject that had been weighing on your mind, wondering about his habits, "Do you do that a lot, Soldat?" The question hung in the air, your tone carefully modulated to convey genuine concern rather than accusation or judgment.

For what felt like an eternity, he remained silent, his eyes fixed on some distant point. Just as you began to think he wouldn't respond at all, he gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Да." The single word, spoken so softly you almost missed it, carried the weight of countless untold stories.

"Why?" you pressed gently, hoping to coax him into opening up, to share even a fragment of the burden he carried. You yearned to understand, to offer whatever comfort or support you could. Your underground research on HYDRA had come up short, you hadn’t discovered much yet, and many of the released files the Black Widow had released were heavily encrypted. But as quickly as that tiny crack in his armor had appeared, it vanished. His lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line, and the brief, guarded glance he cast in your direction spoke louder than words.

Without uttering another word, he had made it abundantly clear that this line of inquiry would go no further. The wall between you, momentarily weakened, had been fortified once more.

"I understand... you don't want to talk about it right now. That's perfectly okay," you reassured gently, your voice filled with compassion. "I want you to know that if you ever feel the urge to hurt yourself again, you can come to me. I'm here for you, and I'll do everything in my power to help you through it." You offered this support sincerely, hoping that your words would resonate with him and provide some comfort. Your intention was to show him that there were alternative ways to cope with his pain, rather than resorting to self-harm. You wanted to be a source of safety and understanding he could turn to.

He remained silent, but you could see that your words were having an impact. His eyes, previously averted, briefly met yours, conveying a mix of vulnerability and gratitude. Then, he slowly shifted his position on the couch. He leaned closer to you, gradually lowering his head until it rested lightly on your leg. He was using your thigh as a makeshift pillow, a huge sign of the trust he was placing in you. It was an incredibly significant step forward in your relationship, a wordless acknowledgment of the connection between you.

You knew this was a big gesture, how much security he must feel for him to allow himself this closeness. Considering he never allowed himself to lay down around you, this was a big step in the right direction. As he settled, he pulled the blanket higher, adjusting it to cover himself more fully. He was positioned to lay on his uninjured flesh shoulder, seeking relief for the wounded one and to be covered by the blanket for some extra security, you knew he didn’t like feeling exposed.

Your hand, trembling slightly with the weight of the moment, slowly descended towards his damp hair. You were acutely aware of your own nervousness, not wanting to make any misstep that might shatter this fragile trust. This unexpected display of vulnerability had caught you by surprise, and you wanted to handle it carefully. Your fingers gently made contact with his hair, gently running through his chestnut locks in a soothing gesture. Your touch was light and tentative, massaging and lightly scratching at his scalp as he laid there.

Soldat permitted this rare moment of complete vulnerability. He was feeling particularly exposed and fragile, yet he felt secure enough in your presence to lay beside you. To lay on you. The comfort he found in your company was evident as you both settled in to watch television together.

The episode progressed, you noticed a gradual change in Soldat's subtle movements on your thigh. His breathing began to slow and deepen, becoming more rhythmic with each passing minute. Before long, the weight of his body pressed more heavily against you as he drifted off into a peaceful slumber. You looked down to make sure you weren’t just imagining things.

Soldat felt safe enough in your presence to completely let his guard down and fall asleep.

It was a clear indication to the trust he placed in you, a rare and precious gift from someone who typically kept the world at arm's length upon severe conditioning. The simple act of Soldat falling asleep beside you spoke volumes about the growing bond you had, your chest warming and swelling with warmth as you observed his sleeping form.

You couldn't help the smile that spread on your face.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Cover images from Pinterest

I had a few people inquire about being tagged for my fics, if anyone is still be interested in being on a tag list, please let me know.

#bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #winter soldier x you #catws #captain america the winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #blythewrites⛓

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caplanbuckybarnes · 2 months ago

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Rescue Me (Bucky Barnes)

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

Warnings: imprisonment, angst, gun shot wounds

WC: 1k

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

Read on ao3!

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

Bucky was yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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jen-with-a-pen · 8 months ago

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Cocoon

summary: A chance encounter one night at a house party sparks the hottest hookup Bucky and Steve ever have.

parings: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

word count: 2.95k

warnings: BJs, hand stuff, partying, alcohol, drinking, making out in a bathroom at a houseparty, they're slightly intoxicated but it's all consensual I promise, gay gay gay gay, dirty talk, MDNI 18+

a/n: happy pride month 🏳️‍🌈 enjoy this WIP I've had brewing for a while now. also I love how i've been in another writing slump and the first thing I'm motivated to finish is some juicy gay p0rn. love that for me💅

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know! not beta'ed. any mistakes are mine.

gif by @/multiverse-sparkles | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: Cocoon by Catfish and the Bottlemen Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Bucky Barnes doesn't know which is harder.

There's Steve, who's rutting up against his leg like a puppy, whining, desperate for friction and freedom while drunk on whatever the fuck is in the communal jungle juice. Steve’s flannel is draped over the tub, thrown haphazardly aside when he felt too hot and Bucky felt it was getting in the fucking way.

There's Bucky, who's straining every muscle in his body in an attempt to keep himself from unzipping his fly and freeing his throbbing cock that Steve is pawing at greedily. Sweat beads on his forehead, sticking strands of hair to his skin as hot breaths fan his face and neck. He realizes his ponytail came loose somehow and his leather jacket is strewn about somewhere on the tile floor. He thinks he feels it at the tip of his boot so he kicks it aside to avoid it getting stepped on.

And then there's the goddamned door, which Steve slams Bucky up against the second Bucky’s teeth find Steve’s tender earlobe. It creaks and groans under their weight, not at all prepared for whatever the fuck is happening right now.

Then again, neither are they.

Neither of them expected to walk into some mutual-friend-of-a-mutual-friend’s house party itching to leave the moment they stepped foot into the isolated cloud of weed and booze that seeped into their nostrils and clothing within the first ten minutes. They hadn't expected their two very separate groups of friends to somehow miraculously know each other, using the kitchen as the location for some shoddy, un-sober family reunion.

It wasn't until one side challenged the other to billiards did Bucky and Steve locked eyes with one another, instantaneously recognizing something in the way seafoam green meeting bright baby blue made them feel an immediate pull towards each other. Maybe it was Steve's a-little-too-big flannel, a-little-too-tight khakis, and soft blond hair shining in every shade of gold in the mixture of ever-changing LEDs and sporadically-placed table lamps. Or, maybe it was Bucky's slim, dark denim jeans hugging every muscle in the thickest thighs Steve’s ever seen, completed with a black T-shirt, leather bomber jacket, and messy ponytail with loose threads of chocolate hair that framed Bucky's face perfectly. Steve felt his Adam’s apple bob every time those strands fell perfectly into place when Bucky leaned just a little too forward onto the table to aim his pool cue, biceps fighting against leather as he lined up his shot.

Steve about snapped his stick in half when Bucky’s eyes flicked up to his as he jerked the pool cue, sinking two solids in at once. Steve’s pants tightened on the spot.

Steve, however, sought revenge– and got it, too– when he was the one to sink a stripe, then another, and another. Bucky’s eyes darkened, a smirk ghosting his lips at the challenge and his very attractive, very worthy opponent.

Bodies ganged up in cheers and chants as the two tangoed with their pool cues, taking riskier and riskier moves. Bucky took a shot behind his back. Steve made one over his shoulders. Each time, one would look to the other a millisecond before taking a shot as if silently seeking approval and finding it in the dragging of one’s tongue slowly along their teeth (Bucky) or in the raising of a cocky brow and biting one’s lip (Steve.)

When the 8-ball was pocketed, shots passed from hand to hand through the crowd to quench the palpable tension in the basement air. Laughter and cheering erupted, echoing off the wood paneled walls. Downing another shot, Steve side-eyed Bucky as sour vodka dripped down his chin. His brow twitched when Bucky’s gaze flitted to the stairs then back to Steve– signaling, asking, begging. Steve’s sideways grin and reddening cheeks were all the ‘yes’ Bucky needed.

And so, as Bucky bites down onto Steve’s swollen bottom lip and releases in a painfully slow drag of his teeth, Steve is the first to break their shared silence.

“Ah– f-fuck, oh my God,” he pants, pawing at anything his hands can reach at this point.

“Fuck is right,” Bucky hisses against Steve’s neck as he nips the tender skin. “You up for a challenge, baby?” Bucky ruts up against Steve’s palm, swallowing a moan when the friction rubs in just the right way against his cock’s swollen, covered head. Steve’s heart goes into a frenzy. The liquid courage coursing in his veins kicks in.

“Got you up against a door now, don’t I?” Steve challenges as his teeth graze Bucky’s cheek.

“Only if y’keep me here,” Bucky breathes, leaning his forehead against Steve’s. He pauses, taking in the macroscopic details of Steve’s reddened face. “I’ll make ya a deal.”

Steve smirks. “What kinda deal, hm?” His palm pushes further into Bucky’s erection, prompting an uncontrollable twitch and rumble of a swallowed groan. He’s got what Bucky needs and he needs what Bucky’s got.

“You–” Bucky kisses him again, desperate, “get on your knees–” another kiss, “so I–” another, “can admire th’ view.”

Steve's eyes widen. His pants feel like a goddamn tent as Bucky kisses him once more, smacking his lips upon release. He cups Steve’s face, thumb rubbing gently over the blond’s swollen lips.

“If you do a good job, I’ll pay ya back in full.”

Steve drops to his knees in an instant.

Bucky guides him with coos and ‘good boy’s as he undoes his belt and tosses it into the tub. Face to face with the daunting zipper, Steve glances back up at Bucky, Adam’s apple bobbing. Bucky softens, hand sliding from Steve’s messy blond mop to his chin, tilting him up.

“First time?”

Steve’s already-red face saturates deeper. He nods reluctantly, eyes flitting away from Bucky’s in embarrassment. Bucky scoffs a laugh and forces Steve’s gaze back to him; he’s careful to be gentle, but still firm.

“I’ll help ya, baby. I’ll coach you through it.”

Steve’s bottom lip quivers. He shifts on his knees. “Y-you sure? ‘m sorry, I–”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Bucky commands, shaking Steve’s chin the tiniest bit. His smile falters as he bites down on his lip from the strain. “I’ll do anything if it means getting those pretty pink lips on my cock.”

Steve instantly sits up straighter. Bucky’s hand snakes back into Steve’s hair while the other unzips the front of his jeans ever-so-slowly. Steve can’t help but feel his fucking mouth water as he takes up the task of shakily unbuttoning the denim, releasing Bucky from the prison of his pants. Steve feels himself grow harder as he’s met with sleek, black Calvin Kleins conforming perfectly to Bucky’s hips, the front tents with tension from his throbbing cock begging for release. The branded white waistband shields a deep, carved ‘V’ leading up to the ghost of softened abs underneath the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt.

Steve swears he must be fucking dead– this must be heaven.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Steve falters as his eyes flit up to Bucky, catching a sultry, cocky wink thrown his way before focusing entirely back onto the task at hand. He wipes his clammy palms on the thighs of his khakis before sliding them up Bucky’s concrete thighs– both of which he’s very certain would crush his skull and he would be thankful– and hooking tender fingers onto the waistband. Adam’s apple bobbing, breath held, mouth watering, Steve peels the Calvins down and off Bucky, releasing the most mouth-watering, ecstasy-inducing, biggest fucking dick he’s ever seen in his entire life.

Fuck. It’s the first dick he’s ever seen in his entire life. Aside from porn tapes and sleazy zines, that is. Bucky can’t help but puff his chest out, smirk widening, grip tightening onto the short length of Steve’s hair, prouder and hornier than he was before his pants came off.

“Told ya t’ take a picture, baby.”

Steve looks up at Bucky with hands still gripping onto his Calvins before dropping them to the floor. With a shaky sigh, he slides closer to Bucky’s leaking head glistening in the shoddy bathroom lighting. Fingers travel up Bucky’s thighs as fingernails gently dig into the oh-so-sensitive part of soft skin, sending a shiver up Bucky’s spine. His palm hits the base of his cock, wrapping around the base of it while his other hand gently takes Bucky’s sack. Stiff and at the ready, Steve leans closer and closer until the dripping wet, eagerly reddened tip hits his lips, poking through and sliding onto an awaiting tongue. Bucky groans and hits the door with a free fist.

“F-f-fuck– oh my– fucking Christ–!”

Curses and praises rain down on Steve as he obeys Bucky’s hips thrusting gently into his warm mouth. Steve’s tongue swirls around Bucky’s head as he starts to bob, setting the starting tempo and matching Bucky’s movements. His fist around the base tightens, sending more blood into his cock, in turn sending Bucky careening into the back of Steve’s throat. Steve sucks in, choking on Bucky’s cock and savoring every second of it. Tears brim his eyes as he slowly pulls back, drool dripping out his mouth and covering Bucky, who’s fist in Steve’s hair pulls at just the right angle, sending an uncontrollable moan up and out of Steve’s hoarse throat.

He wipes his mouth and dives back in.

“Fuck, Steve, I–”

The sound of his name spilling out of Bucky in a desperate call only motivates him and his own dick more than ever. Lips, tongue, and teeth graze over Bucky’s head as Steve bobs quicker this time around. Lips pucker around the shaft as he pumps and bobs simultaneously, undoing Bucky from the way his knees buckle against the back of the bathroom door. A guttural moan vibrates out from Bucky’s chest to his limbs, reaching Steve as he picks up the pace.

Steve nestles his mouth at the base of Bucky’s cock before fanning his tongue out across the girth and licking a wet stripe all the way up to the head, actively (and almost) killing Bucky. With both of Bucky’s fists raking desperately through his hair, both of Steve’s hands migrate once more, wrapping around Bucky and squeezing every ounce of precum out of his swollen red tip. Steve takes the opportunity to look up at Bucky for the first time and nearly ruins his own pants at the sight above him.

Sweat-stuck hair frames Bucky’s panting, desperate face. His once-indigo eyes are no more, swallowed by lust-blow black pupils and fluttering eyelids; his Adam’s apple bobs hysterically, caught in a hurricane of pure pleasure and the pain of having to– needing to– restrain himself. His cheeks burn pink as shadows bury themselves in the crevices of his features. If Steve didn’t know any better, he fucking swears Bucky looks like a stolen work of art from the Louvre itself.

Bucky swallows, parting his lips ever-so-slightly. “Don’t stop– ’m so fuckin’ close, Stevie.”

The nickname snaps Steve out of his trance, the scene above him more than enough motivation to finish the job and finish it well.

Sore, puckered lips engulf Bucky’s swollen cock as Steve works at twisting both his hands in opposite directions, pumping and squeezing as he sucks and bobs to the rhythm of Bucky’s hips. His pace quickens, as does Bucky’s breathing. Neck muscles tighten and biceps strain as Steve feels his jaw beginning to lock. The back of his throat is numb from endorphins and adrenaline. He feels Bucky’s entire body freeze and instinctively removes his hands, reaching around and grabbing onto Bucky’s ass, pushing him into the deepest part of his throat just as Bucky finally releases. Hot ropes of cum shoot down Steve’s throat as he continues to gently suck, coaxing every single drop out of Bucky. His tongue laps at the excess spilling over his molars and swallows, making Bucky twitch and curse all over again.

The two of them are connected, forever a part of one another in this moment and the next; both are intertwined through body and soul, whether they might know it now, or not. Regardless, they are each other's firsts, whether they know it (Bucky) or not (Steve.) A trophy to keep in the back of their minds. A memory that makes them lie awake in bed at night with the ghost of a smirk on their lips.

Bucky, now fantastically ruined, allows his body to give out and slides down the length of the door, crumpling in a pleasure-drunken heap on the floor with his legs outstretched in front of him. His eyes don’t leave Steve’s, who is now sitting opposite of him, gagging and swallowing as he rests against the front cabinets of the bathroom vanity. His hair sticks up in different tufts, remnants of Bucky’s grabby hands. His face is the reddest Bucky’s ever seen. He feels his dick fucking twitch again.

In echoing pants, both silently agree on two things: 1. how good the cool tile feels beneath their fingers, and 2. how they won’t acknowledge the fogged-up bathroom mirror.

“Wow,” Bucky breathlessly utters. He cards a clammy hand through stringy hair, dropping it lazily into his lap.

Steve nods, swallowing again. “Wow.”

Bucky blinks. His eyes finally focus and follow from his own lap to his outstretched legs, to Steve’s folded knees and used, swollen face. He stares, taking everything in while he climbs down from the high. A smirk ghosts Steve's lips as he meets Bucky’s gaze.

“What?” Bucky questions.

“Wish I could take a picture,” Steve answers. Bucky snorts and shakes his head.

“Might as well. Hang it on the fridge or somethin’ for how good you did.”

Steve perks up. “I… did a good job?”

Bucky smiles, eyes wandering to the ceiling to avoid blushing more than he already is. He ultimately comes back to Steve before nodding. “Yeah. You did,” he smiles at Steve. “More than good.”

Steve feigns disbelief. “More than good?”

“Some would say great, even. Five star service.”

Steve scoffs a laugh. “Some?”

“Some being me, myself, and I.”

The two titter a moment more before another comfortable silence falls between them. Steve watches Bucky a second more before shifting to his knees again. Slowly, carefully, he crawls towards Bucky, closing the few feet of distance between them in seconds. Bucky sits up against the door and spreads his legs open, welcoming Steve between them, ignoring his semi-hard cock as it continues twitching. Steve stops inches from Bucky as the air shifts. Steve, still on all fours, peels his clammy hand from the tile and rests it on Bucky’s cheek, carding a couple fingers into his hair for good measure. He can hear Bucky’s heart beating, which he (correctly) assumes Bucky can probably hear his, as well, pounding against the marrow bars of his rib cage.

Seafoam green meets bright baby blue as Steve gently pulls Bucky closer. Soft lips meet one stubbled cheek, and then the other, before Steve pulls back as if to peer straight into Bucky’s soul.

And Bucky is okay with that.

“Thank you,” Steve says.

“No, thank you.”

“You can thank me later like ya said.” Steve smirks. Bucky smiles.

“That can be arranged.”

Finally, Steve pulls Bucky into him. Lips crash together once more, this time the hunger is replaced by lust and gratitude. It feels genuine. It feels right. Everything feels right.

As Bucky leans more into the kiss, with his hands cupping Steve’s burning cheeks, a loud BANG BANG BANG kills any and all goodness within the bathroom that existed just second prior. The two flinch in each other’s arms as they scramble up and off the floor, frantically trying to find clothes and fix hair.

“Yo! Buck? You in there? We’re fuckin’ leavin’, dude!” A voice calls from the other side.

Panic flashes over Bucky’s face as Steve hands him his belt. “Uh, yeah! Be right out!”

“Well hurry the fuck up! Natasha’s getting grabby!”

Bucky and Steve listen for footsteps to recede before sharing a sigh of relief as they continue to clean up.

“Why does Natasha get grabby?” Steve asks playfully, eliciting a louder laugh from Bucky now that they didn’t have to be totally silent any longer.

“Too much tequila. The girl can handle her booze but not without fatal consequences.”

Steve snorts at the thought. “Can’t say I blame her,” he winks.

Bucky rolls his eyes and snorts back. “Me neither,” he smirks.

As Bucky goes to grab the doorknob, Steve grabs his shoulder.

“Wait, I–” he starts. His cheeks bloom into a hues of pink again as he sheepishly looks at the floor. “Can I get your number?”

Bucky smiles and feels around his pockets for something, fishing a sharpie out from his jacket pocket. “Gimme your arm.”

Steve obeys, offering his left arm to Bucky’s awaiting hand. Bucky cradles him as the sharpie drags across his skin, leaving behind a series of numbers large– and legible– enough to read. Steve pulls his arm back and analyzes the new temporary tattoo, committing each digit to memory in case something egregious happens to his arm from now until he gets home. He notices the area code and looks curiously back up to Bucky, who caps the marker and shoves it back into another pocket.

“Bucky! C’mon, man! No, Natasha!” the voice calls again from the living room.

Bucky gives Steve one last peck on the cheek before turning on his heel and striding down the hallway, leaving Steve standing in the threshold of the still-steamy bathroom with messy hair, a missing flannel, and a phone number inked onto his skin. The smile plastered on his face refuses to leave.

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