#i say as if im not the one who wrote this

[cherie-doll]

hello again!! i just wanted to askk, could i possibly request how the cod men would be with a self-conscious reader? :3 thank you for the curly-haired!reader hcs btw those were so cutesy!!

I hope u have a nice day/night <3 - 🦇

lol im back and yea ofc! (omg i finally wrote and posted something, EVERYONE CLAP)

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Being Self-Conscious Around Them

౨ৎ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

He notices that anytime you're out, you glance at your reflection in every mirror or window you appear in, you always regret doing it, and he notices it when you fix your hair to cover your face a little more, or bringing your hoodie over your head

He switches the shopping bags he was using both hands to carry to only one hand, with his now free hand he brings an arm over you and pulls you into him, tucking you into his side

And when you look up at him, a soft breath condensing in the cold air as it escapes your lips, he just smiles warmly and reassuringly at you

His voice, low but thickly as he says your name, wanting your utmost attention, and your eyes find his, in the quietude of the street on that evening you did not turn to glance at your reflection again

It is easy to worry endlessly, to get lost in your thoughts of how people see you, of being aware of every flaw someone could see in you, but you're once again reminded why for one person in the world who's always by your side sees past them

Ghost

Sometimes it is very subtle things you don't like about yourself, not always easy to perceive or notice, but he notices how you feel, the way you carry yourself is different, maybe your shoulders a little more hunched as you try to hide

He doesn't say anything, but he knows something like holding your hand extra tight will have your spinning mind grounded again when you're in public

A chaste but rare peck on your forehead when you get home as he detangles from your fingers and walks off, leaving you surprised but feeling warm inside for it

He knows he's not the best at providing comfort, the man himself uses a balaclava every time he goes out, the real reason for wearing it still unknown but you could say he's just gotten used to not showing his face, so he can't exactly tell you to not hide or turn away if he himself does it

Still, he wanted to give you something to lean on, anything to give you a little bit of reassurance

Soap

He doesn't see why you would be so self-conscious, he loves everything about you, why wouldn't you too?

To be honest, he's never cared that much about his appearance, and he may not exactly be the best when it comes to words, but he's trying

He wants to show you that you shouldn't shy away from him, that he will continue to show you love even if you're hesitant and overly aware of yourself, to not let it get to you or affect how you treat one another

He hates hearing you say negative things about yourself, even if you're just pointing them out, because he truly doesn't see the flaws you think are there, he looks up at you endearingly as he kneels down, his hands on your hips as he tells you about how he first fell for you

And God, you can't get him to shut up once he starts, you'll be laughing and telling him he can stop now, that you get the point he's trying to make, but he refuses to stop talking, you will listen to hear him go on for at least another 30 minutes

Gaz

Those days where your self confidence isn't the best suck :(, especially if you feel like nothing else is really going right and on top of that you just don't feel your best

Kyle would just sense that something is off when you walk through the door, he looks up from where he's sitting and just the sight of him makes you rush into his arms the moment he opens them for you

He'd hold you as he gently strokes your hair, which has a most calming effect on you, making your brain go quiet, feeling how soft his fingertips are against your scalp as they gently caress between strands of hair, it is during this that he asks if there's anything bothering you, since it's been a while since you've had a deep conversation

Feeling like nothing can hold you back, the streams of words just flows, and he's there to only nod and listen as he wishes he could clutch you tighter to his chest and heal everything inside of you, it hurts him to see you like this

But after you've poured everything out to him, he hums quietly and parts from you a little, you raise your head to meet his eyes in confusion

"You really think that?" and he gives the most loving and adoring look you've ever seen him give you it just melts you from the inside

Roach

Honestly, he'd sulk noticing how much it affects you, because he loves the confident you, how charming you are when you hold your head high not letting the thoughts swarming in the murky waters of your mind get to you

He knows he might not be able to change how you perceive yourself, but he can try his best to offer his comfort, maybe you're lying in bed, trying to make peace with the thoughts inside your head, and here comes your boyfriend/husband to climb into bed with you

Slowing making his way towards you like a cat seeking attention, resting his head on your lap as he stares up at you with dreamy eyes admiring you, and you can't ignore him, you take his face in your hands and feel the urge to aggressively love him

His soft smile reminding you of how much he loves you, it momentarily makes you forget about everything, you've been too engrossed in your thoughts you forgot about the person who could erase your doubts even if it was for a moment

The tenderness in his eyes when he murmurs "I love you"

Alejandro

Alejandro is the best at excessive flattery, he does not pass up a moment to tell you how good you look, the problem is that's what he thinks, you're more worried about what your mind has to say and what others might think too

No matter how far down you try to push your thoughts, they just keep finding a way to resurface and make you feel awful, why do you even care so much? It feels like you should, everyone else feels so natural, you want to feel normal for once

Seeing how distressing it can be for you to the point you avoid certain things, Alejandro decides to take matters into his own hands

Telling you, "Who cares what anyone else thinks? It's what you and I think, and no matter what, I still feel the same way", you already know he'd go through extreme measures just to have you feeling like the luckiest person alive, everyone should be envying you for having what you have and you should look and feel it too

Rudy

You're always asking him, "How do I look?" and he will always answer with a smile and "You're beautiful cariño" except you don't believe it, especially when you asked for his jacket, you're not even cold but suddenly you don't like how you feel in your outfit, maybe the people passing by are snickering or laughing or noticing that there is something wrong with you

You just want to turn around and go back home where you can be at peace without the fear of judgement, but Rudy stops for a moment, sensing right away how you feel and asking if you really want to, he could take you back home and instead choose to do something else for the night

You nod yes and he doesn't hesitate in rearranging his plans, he centers his life around you anyways, and he'd rather take a raincheck for any other night than make you feel uncomfortable, he just cares endlessly about you

But he wishes he could find a way to make you see you like he does

Phillip Graves

Waiiitt I've literally entertained the idea of this with him before ;)

You staring into the mirror, unsatisfied with yourself until you're approached by Phillip from behind, him wrapping an arm around your waist, resting his head onto your shoulder and nuzzling his nose into your neck, making you laugh softly

But he notices that sad look behind your eyes, your furrowed brows

No matter how much you try to bring it up to him, he will not let you get more than a sentence in before shaking his head, he doesn't want you to express anymore of those negative feelings, knowing that if you started you'd just go on until you started crying

He'd have you meet his gaze through the mirror, making you stare deep into his beautiful blue eyes asking if you truly trust him, if you nod yes, he'll tell you how he truthfully finds every part of you attractive, how alluring you've been from the first moment he laid eyes on you and how you should discard other people's thoughts

"You truly are the most stunning thing I've ever seen"

Makarov

He did find it strange how you'd gradually become quiet the longer you were around people, and then when you came back home you'd immediately go to the mirror and smile and practice different facial expressions in front of it

When he asks you what you're doing, you simply wave him away, you're only trying to see what you looked like when you were talking to people, did you really look like that? And suddenly you notice other things

Until you're convinced you shouldn't really smile so wide or talk so much, but all it takes is Makarov and his rare tenderness to make you forget about it and feeling good again

He sees no blemishes on you, and you allow yourself to tell you whatever he wants as he drags you away from the mirror and pulling you into bed with him, spooning you, whispering into your ear how you're better than all those insufferable leeches anyways

And for the next time you're getting ready, you receive a questionable amount of compliments from the help Makarov keeps around the house, did he tell them to do that?

Keegan

Keegan wouldn't have known you were being self-conscious around him if it weren't for the fact that you started changing when you were alone, you no longer let him stare at you too long, afraid he'd see something he wouldn't like

You were always trying to turn away or cover yourself if he came into a room when you weren't dressed, yelling at him to get out, except he doesn't care and ignores you anyways as he settles into bed or he holds your hands so you can't cover your face when he leans in closer to get a look at your face

"Hey, don't hide from me" as he turns you to face him, his eyes impossible to part from as he stares deeply into yours, trying to find that fear so deeply rooted in you and pull it out, no one should reach this low, and he'd be a damn fool to let it get to you

He wouldn't want to lose you to this disquietude

König

He very much understands and notices when you're feeling self-conscious, he often feels it too, awkward and unsure of himself when around others, with you though, he forgets about that feeling entirely

Obviously, he's going to do something when you're starting to feel like that, first thing is searching for a place where there is less people, the air gets heavy rather quickly when there are too many people which only makes things worse especially if there's a crowd of people

Doesn't really say much as you both settle into a bench, he's not even sure you noticed that he did it intentionally, he kind of fiddles with his hands nervously but he sits there for a moment, watching the scenery with you, until you lean into him

He's surprised but welcomes it, bringing an arm around your shoulder, "König?" and he responds with a hum, "Do you think... other people think I'm weird?"

Seriously? That's what you were worried about? As if his entire being hasn't always been clumsy and sheepish when around others, yet he still somehow managed to bag you, he snorts, if you're weird he can't imagine what word would be used to describe him

Horangi

He might not fully understand the anxiety that comes with feeling like everyone is constantly watching and judging everything you do or how you look, if anything he quite enjoys the feeling of having eyes on him, especially yours

But he notices how whenever he stares at you a little too long to the point you notice, your reaction gradually shifts from giving a timid and bashful smile to full on embarrassed, he doesn't understand, you're deserving of attention, so why don't you enjoy it?

You do end up explaining how much it bothers you, but there's a long list of things you're always taking notice of, isn't it weird how you walk? Don't you tend to look around too much at people? Is it only you who has an awkward interaction with someone every single time you go out? It's only you, right?

Again, he had never taken notice of these things, seeing as he's learned to take pride in how he carries himself and how he does things, he tells you people don't actually care, no one pays attention long enough to notice

Which is unfortunate really, why doesn't anyone else ever notice that spark in your eye, or that distinctive mark on you? Such a pity no one will ever get to look at you like how he does, maybe he's lucky because he has you all to himself

Nikto

He doesn't even notice what you're constantly worrying about, you've overlooked every scar of his, so why would you ever feel the need to worry about how others perceive you? Especially when it comes to him? It's not unusual of him anyways, you have to point things out for this guy to even take notice of

He sees you staring into the mirror and thinks nothing of it, sees you pull your shirt down every time you sit and again dismisses it, sees you looking uncomfortable when pictures are being taken, fine with him he hates them too

Until you're up at night thinking and he's in bed next to you ready to rest until your voice comes out shaky, frail as if on the verge of tears asking if he really even likes you

Needless to say, he's confused, tired and only grunts in response as he pulls you, snaking an arm around your waist and trapping you in his arms, when you try to move he just shushes you and tells you to sleep

You go to sleep not knowing he's still awake, staring gently at you as he caresses your hair

[huxhsz]

🍎 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ikaw lang

— synopsis: caleb is back, but he's different. he looks the same, talks the same—but something about him feels just out of reach, like a melody you can’t quite remember. the boy who used to piggyback you home, who cut apples for you without complaint, who always found a way to annoy and protect you in equal measure—he's not here anymore. and yet, as you watch him silently peel an apple, his hands steady and sure, you realize something. you still want him. even if he’s changed. even if he's not the same. because no matter what, he’s never leaving you again. — note/s: first post on tumblr im a bit intimidated HAHA wrote this while listening to ikaw lang by nobita and also realized i NEED filo caleb. save me filo caleb save me I NEED TO WRITE A FILO COLLEGE/HS AU OF HIM SO BAD

cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

caleb has changed, you realize grimly.

he sounds the same, looks the same, talks the same—

but he's not your caleb.

he's not the same caleb who used to piggyback you home after school, he's not the same caleb who would use you as his fake girlfriend to ward off his fangirls, he's not the same caleb who would slice apples for you because you would always complain about being lazy... no.

when you look at this man's—this stranger's—face, you do not see your caleb. you see fleet colonel caleb of the farspace fleet, you see a soldier hardened by war, a man who has seen too much and lost even more.

"—pipsqueak? pipsqueakk— earth to pipsqueak? oh, there she is! hello, what has gotten you so out of it? you're staring, y'know."

caleb raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the kitchen counter like he belongs there. like this is normal. like you haven’t been standing here, silently cataloging every little thing that’s different about him.

"am i?" you blink, tilting your head, feigning ignorance. "you sure it’s not you just being self-conscious?"

"as if," he scoffs, and there—there it is. a glimpse of him, of the boy you knew, the boy who used to flick your forehead whenever you got too smug.

but then it’s gone, swallowed up by something older, something colder.

his fingers tap against the counter, a steady rhythm. you used to recognize all his nervous habits. the way he’d scratch the back of his neck when lying, the way his nose scrunched when he was about to say something stupid. this? this tapping? you don’t know this one.

"well?" he prompts. "you gonna tell me why you’re looking at me like i grew a second head?"

"you’d be lucky if that happened. then you’d have twice the brain cells," you retort automatically. safe. easy. the kind of banter you used to have.

it works. he rolls his eyes, lips twitching like he wants to smirk. "real original. you workshopping that one while zoning out?"

you shrug, moving to the fridge. "maybe."

his eyes follow you. you feel them, just like you feel the weight of his presence in this space that suddenly feels too small. he was gone for so long, and now he’s here, standing in your kitchen like nothing’s changed.

like everything hasn’t.

"you still eat those awful store-bought apple slices?" he asks, nodding toward the fridge.

"mm. got tired of cutting them myself."

he exhales sharply—something between a laugh and a sigh. "figures. lazy as ever."

you expect him to leave it at that, but then, before you can process it, he’s reaching for the fruit bowl on the counter. a knife glints in his hand, and for a second, your breath catches. not because you’re afraid—no, never of him—but because of how he holds it.

not with the careless ease of someone cutting fruit. but with the precise grip of a soldier trained to kill.

a second too late, he seems to realize it too. his fingers shift, adjusting to something more casual, more familiar.

"still want them peeled?" he asks, tone too light.

you force yourself to breathe. "obviously."

he hums. starts peeling. his movements are too smooth, too calculated, but for a moment, if you squint, you can almost pretend.

almost.

he hands you a slice without looking up. you take it.

it tastes the same.

you chew slowly, watching him, waiting for something—anything—that feels real.

his gaze flickers to yours, unreadable. then, softer, quieter—

"good?"

the apple sits heavy on your tongue.

you swallow.

"yeah."

you chew, swallow, and place the half-eaten slice on the counter. caleb watches, waiting for something—maybe for you to complain about how the pieces aren’t cut evenly like you used to. but you don’t. you just stare at him, this version of him, and you realize something.

you still want him.

not just the boy he used to be—the one who would throw you over his shoulder just to prove he could, the one who’d grumble about being your fake boyfriend but always played the part too well. no, you want this caleb, too. the one who stands before you now, heavier with the weight of things unsaid, carrying shadows you don’t recognize.

your fingers twitch, and before you can overthink it, you reach out. you expect him to flinch when you press your palm against his wrist—his grip tightens just slightly around the knife, but he doesn’t pull away.

"caleb." you say his name like an answer to a question neither of you have asked.

his jaw tightens. he sets the knife down, slow and deliberate. when he finally looks at you, his eyes are searching, guarded—but underneath it, there’s something raw. something afraid.

"i know," he says. and it’s barely a whisper, but you hear everything. the guilt, the exhaustion, the hesitation.

you exhale. "i never said anything."

"you don’t have to." his lips press into a thin line. "i can tell."

you consider denying it, telling him he’s being dramatic, but you’re tired of pretending. so instead, you squeeze his wrist, grounding him.

"it’s okay," you say quietly. "if you’re no longer the same caleb I knew."

his breath hitches. you feel it more than you hear it.

"because either way—" you tighten your grip, firm, unwavering, "you’re never leaving me again."

his body stills. like he’s waiting for the catch, for the conditions, for something that makes this feel less like a promise and more like a fleeting moment he can let slip through his fingers.

but you don’t take it back.

caleb swallows. his free hand twitches at his side, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

"say it again," he murmurs, voice barely above a breath.

you step closer. "you’re never leaving me again. i won't let you."

this time, he exhales shakily, as if he’s been holding his breath for years. and then—finally—he rests his forehead against yours.

neither of you move.

the apples sit forgotten on the counter.

(caleb drops a bag onto the counter with a dull thud.

you glance at it, then at him. “what’s this?”

“apples,” he says, already rolling up his sleeves.

you blink. “they’re not pre-cut.”

“no shit,” he snorts, pulling out a knife. "figured you were overdue for the real thing.”

you watch as he starts peeling—smooth, practiced movements, no hesitation. he still holds the knife like a soldier, but his hands are steady, deliberate. for you.

a slice appears in front of your face. you take it without a word. it tastes fresher, sweeter.

he smirks. “better than that store-bought crap?”

you chew, swallowing down something thick in your throat, replacing it with something lighter in your chest.

“…yeah.”)

[mrderofcr0ws]

HEADLOCK

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

that was the name written on a gravestone in brooklyn with no body below it since the sergeant had been pronounced dead in 1945.

the body that once belonged to that name was now hydra's most prized possession— but the winter soldier was not the only danger locked away down in the remote siberian facility. you were there, too. a monster made from horrors most refused to believe could be real.

two trained killing machines.

one bound to commands and trigger words.

the other bound to instinct and bloodlust.

it had been a long time since either of you had seen the sun. you could get out with his help in the brief, painful moments of clarity he had. when he answered to that long forgotten name, you could escape together.

but bucky was often buried under that brooklyn headstone-and the winter soldier who slept in the bunk below you nearly every night was a danger to even you.

this is a fic that explores bucky's time in hydra. the content warnings are as follows: torture, manipulation, angst, pain, psychological horror, graphic descriptions and language, poetic comparisons to cannibalism, hurt with minimal comfort at times, stockholm syndrome, smut, degrading, power imbalance, canon divergence. 18+ fic.

— DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT WARNING —

THIS SPECIFIC CHAPTER OF “HEADLOCK”CONTAINS A NEW SET OF POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING CONTENT ON TOP OF THE ONES LISTED ABOVE THAT PERTAINS TO THE TRUAMA OF THE READERS CHARACTER. THE LIST IS AS FOLLOWS: kidnapping, themes of stalking, implied sexual abuse and assault, drugging, mutilation, and trafficking.

bucky x fem!reader (you have a given name in this fic for the sake of making writing easier, but it will be used sparingly)

word count: idk i write on tumblr... but this one is really, really long, guys, im ngl… (roughly edited)

<- previous part

author note: this chapter is heavily inspired by the song “strangers” by ethel cain. i recommend giving it a listen after you read to deepen the experience. on my masterlist, i shared my bucky playlist that i use to write this fic, too. music is a big source of inspiration for me — the title of this fic and each chapter’s title are a direct reference to the imogen heap song ‘headlock’ (except this one) — and a lot of what i write has songs to go along with the emotions that i try to capture and portray. i hope you enjoy if you decide to listen to the song or take a peek at my playlist.

sorry in advance, everyone.

-crow

PART FIVE —

— WITH MY MEMORY RESTRICTED TO A POLAROID IN EVIDENCE.

a girl had been born to a mother and a father in a small romanian town in 1919.

her mother tended to the house and grew the prettiest flowers in the front garden. she had flowers that bloomed in every season and she had the longest hair anyone had ever seen. her father was a factory worker. he helped manufacture car parts like steering wheels and headlights. he was a strong man. strong like an ox who could lift his two children over his head like they weighed nothing at all, even when they grew to be too big.

this girl had a little brother and her little brother went on to become a scholar as they got older. a scientist. a virologist determined to cure the sick. he moved away to a bigger city when he was old enough and had enough money in his pockets. but he was a good boy. a kind one. he always sent money back home. he sent his sister pictures of the city he lived in and wrote to her every month.

the girl stayed with her parents.

she stayed with her mother— and she and her mother opened a flower shop out of their garage together. it had been her idea. her mother was hesitant. she did not see the value others could find in flowers grown from their garden— but the girl had heard the compliments. their neighbors always had nice things to say as they crossed paths. she saw how people would stop and stare outside their house.

with a bit of persistence and a sweet charming smile, her mother came around to the idea.

for years, she and her mother sold the prettiest flowers for the prettiest shiny pennies. they spent the spring knee deep in dirt, planting seeds and dirtying their nails as they giggled together. in the summer, they would fan themselves off and drink cold iced tea under the shade of their garage head, selling out their flower supply in a matter of days.

she had a good life.

she had been a happy girl.

in 1943 at the age of 24, the girl had met a man deployed to her town during world war ii. an officer.

he took a great liking to her and came to visit her every day. she paid him no mind outside of small conversations and pouring him a glass of iced tea when he asked for one. he paid a dollar every time and she slipped it into her pocket. her mother always beamed when he came by. hospitality was her trade and she welcomed the solider each and every time he popped his head into the garage.

her mother would’ve been cross with her if she knew that her daughter was taking a dollar from him for a cup of iced tea— but it was their little secret.

the girl now grown grew used to his presence.

she grew used to his persistence, too.

he wasn’t so bad to be around when he brought chocolates. he had learned how to swoon the stubborn girl who had caught his eye— and the officer asked on her a date.

a man on deployment shouldn’t date but what else was there to do in that tiny romanian town.

and she agreed.

of course, she had. she’d grown fond of him. a foolish little thing with a crush, she had come to enjoy his visits. when he asked her out, he’d brought her a new dress for the occasion and promised to have her home by 9 o’clock.

how sweet things could sour so terribly…

she never returned from her date on july 9th, 1943.

her mother never saw her again and all the flowers in the garden died. her father lost his strength and he could hardly lift himself out of bed. his brother grew sick with grief and he left the city to return home.

it was all a story.

it was a sad story that filled you with dread knowing there was no way to change the fate of the poor girl who had been stolen away.

but that’s all it was.

just a story.

you had no memories of pretty flowers. no memories of doting parents. no memories of a little brother. there was no house you could close your eyes and picture. there was no town to call home. there were no neighbors. no friends. no officer.

the pictures in the folder made your throat sting. the girl in them had your face. it was the face you could not look at in the mirror— but her story meant nothing.

her story was not yours.

yours had only began where hers ended.

that was the difference between you and the winter soldier— and if nick fury was trying to appeal to a better side of you he believed had to exist by handing you that folder, he was wrong.

whatever hydra had done to you in the very beginning, it was different than what they had done to him. you had no memories— but he had his. they were buried under the rubble of the thousands of pieces they shattered him into over and over again. like shards of a broken mirror, everything reflected off of each other. it was too hard to make sense of— and that is why they tortured him.

they made it too hard for him to sort through the pieces by jumbling them up each and every time he got the courage to try.

your mind was void of everything that came before. it was a blank white space like the room you sat in now.

that is why manipulation and brainwashing could not work on you the way it did for him. there was nothing they could toy with. there was nothing they could take away because they already had— so much so that you could only see the blocks that built your story for yourself when they were placed in front of you within the folder.

pictures of the girl named isla were not the only ones paper clipped to the pages holding any and every bit of information there was about her. a picture of her parents. a picture of her and her brother. a picture of their house in romania. your heart ached as you rubbed the pad of your thumb over the picture of this girl’s mother— but there was no lightbulb.

there was no click.

there was nothing you could recall about this woman— of either women in those pictures.

but you knew one face in that folder better than you even knew your own.

as you flipped the page, his face was clipped to the top of the sheet of paper with the red logo at the top.

hydra.

a hydra document.

a hydra officer.

nikta patrova’s face stared stone-cold back at you.

“stop it,” a far, far away voice cried out. “don’t touch me! please, stop! stop!”

you shut your eyes and all you could see was the blank white void. in every direction you looked in the space behind your eyelids, it was nothing but white. it wasn’t anything at all.

“get off me!”

the ground below your feet began to tremble.

the sound that echoed in the space between your ears was the awful, terrible crackling sound of ice giving way. kukukuku.

the void in your mind was not a void at all.

it was a landscape of unyielding winter— and the ice below your feet shattered, sending you sinking into the freezing depths of a darkness long sealed away.

the smell of blood burned your nose as you crawled through the tall grass under a moonless sky. one hand after the other, you heaved yourself across the dirt. across the grass. across the field.

he tugged you back by your ankles and a sharp, petrified gasp ejected from your lungs. you screamed as you twisted and writhed on the ground like a snake with its head cut off. your nails dug into his arms. blood painted your nails as you tore open skin— but he only snickered.

“shhh,” he hushed as he covered your mouth with his large, calloused hand. “come on, don’t be this way.”

you bit down on his hand and blood stained your teeth. he hissed, pulling his hand back. he put the wound in his mouth, grunting as he suckled on the hurt.

“you little bitch…” he whispered.

the dirt suffocated you and you choked on it each time you tried to draw breath. it stuck to your blood stained mouth as he pressed his palm down into the back of your head and held you in place. on a breezeless summer night, the rustle in the grass was no fault of the winds.

you never saw that field by the river again.

you never took the path back into the town you called home.

and you never returned to the house with the prettiest flowers in the front garden at 9 o’clock.

“get up,”the officer said. he grabbed you by your elbow and hoisted you to your feet. “walk.”

it was hard to walk. you had been cramped in the trunk of that dirty, rusty car for hours. the sun was too bright. you stumbled alongside him as he guided you by the back of your neck towards a warehouse.

you hit the floor hard as he shoved you inside. you scraped your hands on the concrete floor. your knees, too. you looked up with tears in your eyes. in the warehouse, men dressed in dark uniforms stood around a circular table.

“nikta,” one of them turned. a general. he glanced at you with little interest. his next words were in a language you didn’t understand. “what is this?”

nikta grabbed you by the roots of your hair. a cry escaped you and you reached up to grab his wrists. he dragged you over to the table of uniformed men and whispered two words you could not understand.

two words that had damned you.

“she bites.”

you cried ceaselessly in that dusty, dirty trunk when he shoved you back inside it.

you cried ceaselessly when he and the group of uniformed generals forced you onto an airplane.

you cried ceaselessly as you were put in chains and led inside one of hydra’s weapon facilities.

you only stopped crying once they put you in a cell.

you stopped crying because you weren’t alone.

“hey,” a low, soft voice whispered.

you turned at the sound. through the metal bars to your left, you saw the silhouette of him. you wiped your face off on your arms and winced as you made your way across the cold stone floor to the bars separating you both.

“you alright?” the pale, blue-eyed man asked you. he had bruises on his face and bags under his eyes. his short, dark hair was a mess across his forehead. “christ, they roughed you up pretty bad, huh?”

“i…i don’t understand you,” you whispered through trembling lips. you spoke no english. you spoke no russian like the guards did. you had been drowning for days in words you didn’t understand.

his eyes widened, “romanian? you speak romanian? i mean— you’re romanian?”

it felt like god had heard your prayers to hear him speak the only language you understood. you couldn’t help but cry. you placed your hands atop his on the bars and wept like a baby.

“yes.” you cried. your head dropped and you curled into yourself. big, wet tears left streaks on your dirty face. “you— you are, too?”

“yeah. my grandparents moved from there to america.” he said with a smile. he squeezed your hands and rubbed them between his, trying to warm up your fingers. you hadn’t noticed how cold you were.

“how long have you been here?” you asked in a whisper, glancing around at the cold, desolate cells around you. he had been the only one down here before you showed up.

his smile faltered but he tried to keep a brave face. “only a little while.”

he was lying and you knew it, but you didn’t push.

“what’s your name?” he asked as he settled down to sit directly across from you.

“isla,” you told him softly. you sniffled and wiped your face on your sleeves. “my names isla.”

“isla,” he grinned as he said your name. “it’s nice to meet you. i’m james but my friends call me bucky.”

“james,” you said with a small smile.

“bucky,” he corrected. he gave your hands a soft squeeze and whispered like a promise, “we are friends now, isla. call me bucky.”

“friends.” you agreed, squeezing his hand back.

they left you to rot in your cell for more days than you could count.

but they always took him away.

like clockwork, they came each morning to take him and brought him back each night. every day got worse. he lost more and more weight. you tried to share the food they would toss at you but he would politely decline. every time he tried to eat it would all come back up, anyways.

he would apologize to you profusely after he tossed up nothing but bile in the corner of his cell. you would have to cover your ears at the sound of him gagging. the air would smell like sickness. he’d apologize for it over and over again as you sat together with the iron bars separating you.

the time passed slow but he made it all a little easier.

he was a talker.

he would talk about anything and everything even when he didn’t feel well just to keep the quiet away.

he hated the quiet.

he told you about where he had grown up. about his parents. about his sister. he told you about his best friend steve and how they had turned him into a super soldier.

captain america.

you knew that name. you had seen a picture of him in the newspaper not too long ago. he was spotted in europe traveling around to boost the moral of the america troops.

bucky took that news as bravely as he could.

his best friend was on the same continent as him— but no one knew where he was and he doubted very much that they had any resources to spare towards looking for him.

he made his peace with it.

it was you who did not.

“bucky,” you murmured.

“hm?” he asked without opening his eyes. he was holding your hand through the bars like always, exhausted and cold. the two of you were trembling, trying to seek each others body heat despite the bars between you.

“do you think we’ll die down here?”

he opened his eyes and met your gaze. he pulled his hand from yours and slipped it through another bar, placing his hand on your cheek. he wiped the tears off your nose and shook his head.

“nah,” he whispered with a smile. “you and me? we’re going to live until we’re a hundred, darlin’.”

you giggled and placed your hand atop his, pressing your face into his touch. “a hundred?”

“at least that, yeah.” he chuckled.

you slept easy that night.

but the next morning, it wasn’t bucky they took.

“let her go!” he roared, slamming against the bars of the cell. he tried to grab at the officers who dragged you out and into the hallway. “isla!”

you reached for him, the tips of your fingers grazing.

the officer who had stolen you away once before stole you away again once more.

that was the last time you saw bucky.

that was the last memory the girl in the pictures had before you took her place.

you opened yours eyes and stared at the folder in your lap. you brought your hands to your face, touching the tears pouring down. you wiped at them. over and over again until your skin was raw, you wiped your face dry.

the imaginary lightbulb above your head flickered.

nikta.

the hydra officer who had stolen you away and made you what you were— it was all him. every single bit.

he chose you to be weapon-v.

he brought you to hydra and threw you at their feet.

you were his project and they froze him year after year alongside you so that he could keep his eyes on you.

and yet in the end, he turned the gun on bucky and you killed him for it…

why would he have done that after all this time?

you could’ve been sick all over yourself at you saw his stone-cold glare in the picture beside yours. you grabbed the picture out of the folder and let out a bereaved scream. you tore it to shreds as disgust spread across your skin and infected the marrow of your bones.

you fell back against the bed and cried into your pillow. your clawed at the mattress. rage vibrated in every cell of your body. you could’ve torn the room apart— but you were weak. fear made you weak.

the despair you felt knowing there were so many more gaps to fill in froze you still on the bed as you shed tear after tear.

you wanted your mother.

you curled into yourself despite the way your wound protested and clutched the photo of your parents to your chest.

they were long since dead by now.

and you should’ve been reaching the end of your time, too, but you were nearly still that young girl they lost all those years ago.

— ☆ —

“i want everything you have on him.”

nick finished placing down your food but you pushed the small table away. you weren’t hungry.

“the files we have on sergeant barnes are classified.” nick said with a sympathetic frown. “sorry, kid.”

“i’m classified,” you hissed out from between your sharp teeth. “give me the damn files.”

nick stared at you for a long, painful moment.

tears were brimming on your lashes and you tried so hard to fight them— but you couldn’t.

“please,” you begged in a broken voice. you closed your eyes and the tears fell free. “i need to know what happened to him.”

“let me make a call.”

you looked up but nick was already out the door. a soft breath of relief escaped you and you turned your head. the food was steaming beside you. freshly prepared.

you swallowed your pride and ate it.

it wasn’t too bad…

— ☆ —

when you saw nick again, he had a file in his hand. not only that but an agent behind him wheeled in a television. your brows pinched together as you sat up.

“here’s the deal,” nick said, holding up the folder. “i show you everything i have on barnes and you tell me everything i wanna know about the two of you. got it?”

you nodded once.

you’d decide whether or not you’d tell him anything of substance when he asked the questions.

his folder felt as heavy as a headstone in your hands.

you placed it down on your lap and ran the tips of your fingers over his name.

SGT. JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

HOWLING COMMANDO

[ DECEASED ]

you held your breath as you opened the folder.

a massive stack of papers with every bit of information there was of him greeted you. your heart sank as you skimmed the old, aged ink.

his name. his birthday. his height and weight. his birthplace. his parents names. his enlistment papers. his mission logs.

the medical report from the day he’d been brought back to his company.

you had not been with him the day captain america broke into the hydra base and freed his friend.

doctor zola had sent you away three days earlier to the siberian facility in the mountains. when bucky was freed by steve, they were pulling out all your teeth and reconstructing your jaw.

the answer to the longstanding question between the two of you was now answered.

you had been made first.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you picked up the note smooshed between the next two pages. the crumpled, stained piece of old parchment had his handwriting on it.

you touched the words written in pencil.

——————————————————————————

santa,

her name is isla and i need help to find her.

i have to get her out.

i told her we’d live until we were 100.

- bucky 12/25/1944

——————————————————————————

“oh, god.” you cried, clutching the note to your chest.

guilt burned through every inch of you.

how could you have forgotten him?

the sweet-hearted soldier who held your hands and wiped away your tears. how could you have forgotten that? it was as clear to you now as the moment it had happened— but where had it gone?

where had it all gone?

where had he gone?

you brought the note to your lips and held it against them. it smelled old and worn. when you closed your eyes and tried to picture his face, the only thing you saw was winter and his blank, icy stare.

it was hard to imagine them as one person— just like it was nearly impossible for you to see yourself as the girl in those photos.

bucky hated the quiet. you could recall so vividly now how he hummed a soft, jazzy tune each night you both would grow too tired to talk. he would run his fingers through your hair and hum until he exhausted himself.

winter was quiet. far too quiet.

they weren’t the same.

you and isla weren’t the same.

not anymore.

as you flipped the page, you saw the date at the top of the paper and your heart sank.

1945.

bucky had never found you.

though he tried, a years time had passed and there was no trace of you. you where a ghost in the snow and there were bigger missions for him to see out.

you didn’t blame him.

you couldn’t.

because even if he had found you, you wouldn’t have been able to recall his face.

it was fight in the freight-car that got him killed. he was hanging on to the dangling door for dear life as steve tried to reach him. but it broke. and he fell.

bucky was pronounced dead on january 9th, 1945.

the winter soldier project was resumed on january 9th, 1945 when he was found by hydra soldiers who took him to the facility in the mountains.

you were in your first sleep when they brought him in. underneath the floor frozen in a cryochamber, neither of you had any idea that you were together again.

he didn’t know that you had lived.

and you didn’t know that he had died.

a little less so than before, but you two were soon to become strangers to each other once more.

it broke your heart to read that there were no efforts made in finding him. it was accepted throughout the whole of his platoon that the fall had killed him and it was too dangerous to try and find his impact sight in the mountains.

his friends believed that he was alone and broken in the snow all this time.

and you hadn’t even remembered him.

you covered your mouth with your hand and stifled a sob as you saw the pictures of him. a collage of four. a couple paperclipped to the back of the folder. you wiped away your tears before they could fall and you tried through hardest to see through them as you pulled the piece of paper with all of them glued down out of the folder.

“hello, soldier.” you whispered, touching the picture of him in his uniform.

he was handsome.

you had forgotten how handsome bucky was.

you brushed your thumb across the photo of his face with the cut on it. you knew that cut. you had dabbed your sleeve against it to try and stop it from bleeding. it was one of the last things you had done before you were taken away.

how bittersweet it was to know that photo had been taken of him after he had been brought back safe.

you unclipped the two photos on the back of the folder carefully. a soft smile curled across your lips at the picture of him and his buddy captain america.

his best friend steve.

it was nice to put an unmasked face to steve’s name.

it was strange to see him with short hair— to remember him with it. it made it all the more hard to accept that his man was the same man you had spent every single day with up until your capture.

he was the same man you shared a cell with.

he was the same you are every meal with.

he was the same man you showered with.

he was the same man you punched and kicked and bit and fucked.

but it wasn’t the same man it all.

the man in these pictures was someone you hadn’t seen in a long, long time despite the fact that you had been with him just yesterday.

bucky was a ghost.

sometimes, you heard him whisper and you could see the remnants of him flickering in winter’s cold blue eyes— but bucky had died a long time ago.

and so had isla.

there was only the two of you.

you and winter.

you should’ve given yourself the grace to mourn them — bucky and isla — but it was too late to start.

you placed the picture of bucky and steve down and picked the other one up. you hummed audibly at the sight of his smile. it made you smile. something so automatic. something so sincere.

he was with his squad.

with a charming smile and a cigarette between his teeth, he was surrounded by his brothers-in-arms.

you were careful as you put everything back into his folder— as careful as placing flowers into a casket. you took one last look of the photo of him with the cut on his face.

you kissed the small hurt like you should’ve done back then to comfort him.

you held the folders out for agent fury to take. he was sitting in the chair by your bed. he had stayed quiet and let you…

grieve.

“will you keep them together?” you asked in a whisper. it was such a stupid request but it meant something to you.

those were more than just folders.

they were graves.

“sure,” nick said with a small nod.

you swallowed hard and looked anywhere else. your gaze fell upon the tv. “what is that for?”

“you said that you wanted everything we had on barnes.” nick said as he stood up. he clicked the lights off and flicked on the tv. “this is the rest of it.”

your brows drew together and you watched the screen intently as the camera fumbled. whoever was moving it was doing a piss-poor job of it. you could hear the clunky audio of the tripod bumping into things.

when the camera was finally set up, you saw the bar from the picture. it took a moment to find them but the camera settled on the two of them: bucky barnes and steve rogers.

you sat forward and ignored the pain it brought you. you could hear them laughing together over the music. over the chatter in the bar, you could hear his voice. they had no idea they were being filmed. they spoke like teenage boys as they caught up with each other.

“i really don’t like this whole ‘you’re-now-taller-than-me’ thing.” bucky said as he took a sip of his beer. “it freaks me out. i used to be able to fit you in my pocket, little man.”

steve chuckled and glanced over at him, “i like it.”

“of course, you like it. now you know what it’s like to look down at a woman and see her cleavage from above.” bucky said, wiggling his eyebrows.

steve blew a raspberry and rolled his eyes. “you’re a real dog, buck, y’know that?”

“woof! woof! woof!” bucky barked, throwing his arm around his best friend.

the two of them downed their beers together before the camera turned off.

the tv screen flickered and you watched as nick changed the tape. when the next video started, you sat back in your bed and let the tension in your shoulders drop.

it was an army home-video. the cameraman made his way passed each and every person in the squad. you saw him in the background.

shirtless with two human arms.

it made you smile.

he was shaving in front of a small mirror. as the camera man walked around and he caught wind that he was being filmed, he started flexing in the background. he kissed his muscles and winked.

“look at barnes,” laughed one of the soldiers.

“guys, c’mon, this is supposed to be a serious documentary for roger’s whole big thing. we are living through a historical moment in time. it’s important!” the cameraman complained.

“oh, this is important alright.” bucky said as he walked up to the camera. he leaned in close to it and batted his eyelashes. “hello ladies. like what you see?”

the camera turned away. “you’re going to fog up my lens, jackass!”

“oh, great heavens!” bucky cried out in a god awful posh accent.

the camera turned in time to catch him with his middle fingers up. he hid them behind his back and bowed politely, “good evening.”

“roger’s, how the hell did you put up with this guy?” asked one of the soldiers.

“to be fair, bucky did a lot of putting up with me.” steve said as the camera turned towards him.

“he used to be the size of my pinky picking fights with guys who could toss him over their heads like a sack of potatoes.” bucky said. he stepped into frame beside steve as he pulled on a shirt. he pointed at the camera and said, “america, i want you to know that our nations hero used to be an instigator and feral little street rat that used to not only get his ass royally kicked but mine, too.”

“i will not confirm or deny anything at this time.” steve said with a bow of his head.

“barnes when you’re not getting your ass kicked, what’s it like being captain america’s best friend?” one of the soldiers asked. he held the end of a hairbrush towards the two of them and pretended to interview them.

bucky grabbed ahold of the brush and started screaming into the camera. the whole room erupted into laughter.

steve took the fake mic and said, “for those who don’t know, that means ‘i love you,’ in german. isn’t he just so kind?”

the two of them laughed together, smiling at each other before the tv went black.

music began to play.

your breath got stuck in your throat as the melody floated through the air towards you. it struck you in the heart. the trumpet’s melody was familiar.

this was the song he would hum to himself.

clips began to roll across the screen of him. videos that had him in the background. some more soundless videos of him walking around the bunks and sticking his tongue out at the camera. there were clips of him walking alongside his platoon— walking with steve in his captain america uniform.

the last clip of him ever taken was a video of him right before the howling commandos followed captain america onto the train.

he never returned from that mission.

and you couldn’t help but notice how nervous he looked on the screen in front of you.

you wanted to reach out and save him— but nick shut the tv off.

for a moment, the room was completely dark. it was so dark that you expected to feel the bed rattle as he tossed and turned somewhere below you in his bunk.

but he wasn’t here.

and when nick turned the lights on, you were faced with the horrible emotion now pressing down onto your chest for the first time.

you missed him.

you missed winter.

you couldn’t show it because you could not be weak now of all times— but you were afraid. you had been told so much. shown so much. you remembered so much.

all you wanted was him.

and you missed him.

you missed bucky because isla missed bucky and that part of you — no matter how fleeting she was now— had the privilege to know him for even the smallest amount of time.

and that was a gift.

a gift that you promised yourself you would never forget again.

“now,” agent fury said as he sat down beside you. he pulled a recorder out of his jacket and clicked it on. he placed it on the table beside your bed. “i want answers.”

“you told me that shield knew more about either of us than i could imagine. what questions could you possibly have for me?” you asked before he could.

he grinned at you. “your friend agent nikta patrova defecting from hydra to join shield may have bought him a few brownie points, but we’re only selling lemon tarts right now. you, miss constantinescu, happen to have enough lemon tart points to buy out the whole lemon tart bake sale shield is hosting.”

“i’m not fond of word games.” you said with a roll of your eyes. “and don’t ever call him my friend. he is no friend of mine.”

“yeah, i put that together when you threw a knife into his chest and nearly killed him.” nick said.

nick watched your face go pale and your shoulders tense. he glanced behind him, as if he could see nikta from where he sat right now.

“he’s…alive?” you asked in a whisper.

“he is.” nick said.

“go on and ask him all your questions then. he will know more than i will.” you said with a scowl.

“miss constantinescu, im going to be straight with you. the questions i am going to ask you are not to find out intel about project winter or project vampire. you’re right. we know all that. that’s why you’re here with me now.”

“this,” nick gestured between the two of you. “is an interview.”

you recoiled the smallest bit. “what?”

“an interview, miss constantinescu. shield has known about your existence for some time now thanks to agent nikta’s guilty conscious— and it’s taken a lot to find you. it’s a known fact that you and sergeant barnes are highly trained and lethal expert assassins, but all it takes is one look into either of your project files to show loud and clear that you two are only following orders in order to see another day.”

“that is why shield is offering you a chance.” nick said as he leaned back in his chair.

“a chance…” you repeated the word. it didn’t feel right coming off your tongue. “what kind of chance?”

“a chance to do the right thing.” nick said. he crossed his arms against his chest, maintaining a lax posture as to not put you anymore on edge.

if only he knew how much worse seeing him pretend to be casual made you feel.

“and my options are?” you asked softly.

“you join shield today — right now — and your record is scrubbed clean. fresh start. a new life for you while working for us— helping us bring down hydra at its most weakest spots.”

nick shrugged, “or you go to a maximum security prison in the middle of the ocean where you will never see the sun again.”

you closed your eyes and you couldn’t help but laugh. covering your mouth with the tips of your fingers, you giggled.

“something funny, miss constantinescu?” ageny fury asked, raising his brows.

“yeah. yeah, you know, it’s really funny to me that you think i have a choice in all this. you think that just because you showed me a folder of the woman i once was and i shed a few tears over some dead soldier that what? i’m not the monster you’ve been told i am?”

“i am much worse,” you whispered like a reluctant promise, as if you were trying to spare him from the truth. “i know no other life than the one i was made for. i kill, i eat, i freeze, and i do it all again.”

“there is no choice for me, agent fury, because hydra will come for me. they will come and they will find me. i will not jeopardize what little space i’ve carved out for myself in the rock of my cell for a fresh start that won’t last when they find me. when they know i’ve betrayed them, they will take me from him— and that is not something i can live with.”

“aren’t you alone now?” nick asked. he glanced around. “where is the winter soldier?”

you laughed a again. “men like you think you know everything, don’t you?”

“don’t i?” nick smiled at you and scooted his chair closer to your bedside. “you know, i find the nature of you incredibly fascinating. they did a lot of work on you. you are technically a super soldier— but they gave you special teeth and rewired your olfactory nerve. i know of your dietary habits but they use a strange word in your files that i can’t help but think is a bit out of place.”

“bloodlust. that’s what they call it when you fall into spells of rage. you can wipe out of a whole platoon of men all with your teeth, isn’t that right?” nick asked.

you said nothing.

“but see, here’s the thing i just don’t believe. i don’t believe that you become this insatiable, feral monster at the sight of blood. if you did, then you sure kept a tight grip on yourself on the street yesterday when it was raining blood.” he said.

you tried to lie. “my mask was stuck.”

“bullshit,” nick said, pointing a finger at you. “i call bullshit because i’ve spent a long, long time reading each of your files and i’ve gotten real good at reading between the lines.”

“i believe that you have codewords of your own, don’t you, miss constantinescu? just like the winter soldier, when they are said you have no control over what happens next until someone snaps you out of it.” nick said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

you leaned towards him and asked in a whisper, “are you expecting a gold star from me?”

nick smiled. “so it is true then.”

“in situations that seem dire, the winter soldier will do what needs to be done.” you said with very little feeling.

“and what is that?” nick asked.

you took a slow, deep breath and met his eyes.

“he will let me off my leash.”

nick sat back in his chair and nodded. “and is this the only instance you know of that there are words used to control you?”

you swallowed hard. “i don’t know. i used to think not but…i don’t know anymore.”

“sometimes,” you bit your lip to try and stop yourself but it all came rushing out. “it’s like there is more missing than just…just the gaps from the black sleep. my memories from before they’ve always been gone, but sometimes….sometimes i’ll wake up and i won’t remember going to sleep. sometimes i don’t know how long i’ve really been out of the ice for.”

“i applaud you for trying but the reason why you can’t appeal to the side me you’re hoping to reach, agent fury, is because she isn’t there.” you said as you looked at him. you shook your head and shrugged your shoulders, “she’s gone and i have a feeling that most of the time, i am too.”

“and the sergeant? it’s the same for him?” nick asked.

you nodded. “worse. they steal things from him. his past. his memory. his ability to feel. they strip him of it all. but with me, i think…i think they have found a way to put me to sleep while im awake.”

“and thats why it frustrates me when people talk about me and him like we’re different. we’re not. as much as i wish we were, we are one big puzzle. if you tried to put all his pieces together, it would be incomplete. it’s the same for me. to see the whole picture, you have to put us together.” you said softly.

nick said nothing for a long, long moment. you watched as he grabbed the recorder off the table and clicked it off. you lost some of the tension in your shoulders and eased back into the bed.

“do you know what the red room is?” nick asked.

“no.” you said. and it was the truth.

“the red room is hydra on meth and they pump out assassins like seahorses. hundreds at a time. they take these young girls and they put them through the worst of the worst— much like hydra has done to you and sergeant barnes.” nick said.

he rubbed his hand over his jaw, “in the red room, they sterilize the girls so that they cannot become mothers. it’s a way to control them. to make sure they never have anything that is more important than their job.”

“what does this have to do with me?” you asked.

“when you were in surgery,” he stopped himself. he cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “we confirmed the reason behind nikta patrova’s fear. you have a uterus and — from what we know about assassins like you and the girls who come from the red room — it is by no means unintentional that you have it.”

your brows drew tight together. “what are you saying?”

“do you get your period, miss constantinescu?” nick asked.

“sometimes,” you nodded. “but why does it matter?”

“the first piece of intel shield got from nikta of you two weren’t your laundry lists of assassinations or records of your personal projects as the winter soldier and weapon-v. shield received a project folder called winter solstice.”

“winter solstice is hydra’s next step to creating its next generation of weapons like you and sergeant barnes.” nick said. he frowned at you and you didn’t know why.

“so what? they’ll be making more soldiers like him? monsters like me?” you asked.

“not exactly.” nick said, his face twitching with unease. “nikta patrova has done a lot of bad things— most of them to you — but even for the worst kinds of men, somethings are just too much.”

“hydra wouldn’t be making the next generation of weapons themselves.” nick said,

“you and sergeant barnes would be.”

your heart stopped— time had stopped.

you closed your eyes and shook your head. over and over again, you shook your head.

instinctively, you placed a hand over your belly.

“that…that wouldn’t be…” you couldn’t find the words. “that’s not…”

“ethical?” nick listed words off for you. “possible? legal? true?”

you looked at him.

he frowned at you, “shield believes that based off the information nikta gave us that projects winter and vampire were merged in the hope that you two would make…little winters and vampires.”

“that is why you have a choice here, isla.” nick said as he stood up. he crouched down beside your bed and folded his hands beside yours. “it took a us a long, long, long time to find you both and it’s a good thing we did, even if we only got one of you away in the end. we won’t let you go back. we can’t. it’s not safe. most of all, it’s not right.”

“how long?”

“what?” nick asked.

you swallowed hard and asked, “how long has shield known about project winter solstice?”

“project winter solstice was put into motion twenty five years ago and nikta patrova sent it to shield almost immediately after it was drafted and accepted.” nick said.

you pressed your lips together in a thin line. tears stung your eyes and you did your best to blink them away. you opened your mouth to speak but you couldn’t say the right words.

“do…do he and i…” you couldn’t finish as your lips began to tremble. you covered you mouth with the tips of your fingers and stifled a sob. “do we have…”

“as of right now,” nick said as gently as he could, “there are three known children to have come from project winter solstice that belong to you and sergeant barnes.”

you closed your eyes and fought to stomach the idea. you couldn’t picture it. you couldn’t imagine it in the slightest. you touched your stomach and winced as the wound reminded you it was there.

it couldn’t be true.

but it was as true as isla constantinescu story was.

“i want to see him.” you whispered. you opened your eyes and looked at nicholas fury as tears slipped down your cheeks. “i want to see nikta patrova and i want the truth from him.”

nick nodded once and stood up with a sigh. “you’re real lucky that you didn’t kill him with that knife, kid.”

hey, guys, i’m sorry. let me get that outta the way. sorry, guys. i told ya this fic was gonna hurt! anyways, hope you enjoyed as always 🖤! also, i hope the pictures added a little something something to the reading experience. i wasn’t too sure how i felt about it at first but it grew on me. lmk your thoughts and pls lmk if you listen to strangers by ethel cain.

part six is going to be another long one, too, so expect another update in a day or two unless something pops up for me irl. as always, let me know if you want to join the taglist. thanks so much for reading, guys. you all make me giggle and i look forward to feeding you with each update.

with the most love ever in the world,

crow.

taglist: @homiesexual-or-homosexual @carbonnite-copy @valckenaux @itsmadamehydra @normanreedus-blog

[horrorsprovider]

YES!!! omg….. my screenshots folder is so full but it’s ok bc it’s for him <3

god what an interesting dynamic it would be to have someone destined to be a demigod that is also a reanimated corpse who seemingly just wants control over his body again and to be laid to rest

now i’m really curious about how much emphasis was being put on him still being alive, now knowing this. like Yeah there was a catastrophe at the grove and Yeah he was defending it but it just has another layer…

trying so hard to be patient and not jump to my own conclusions already but i can’t wait !!!! i’m so excited !!!! as well as whatever is going to happen with him and castorice (my favourites <333) … an experiment with death you say…

thinking about the line “does death mean that much to you” (or something along those lines i can’t remember). just another heart wrenching allusion to how he has no control and can only reclaim that through death, where no one can touch him. doing so much research to defy the gods and eventually the prophecy so he isn’t enslaved to immortal lifeeee aghhhhhhh

super super curious about the event(s) that may have sparked his disbelief in the gods and the prophecy and how much of that ties into his death… grrghhhh

okay im gonna do less theorizing in fear of extreme embarrassment when he releases and im actually blatantly wrong and he’s like “actually this is awesome as fuck i have so much control over myself i just relinquish it all for FUN and the void inside me is NORMAL it’s BLUE RASPBERRY” /silly

im crying i wrote so much more than i intended to goodnight tumblr

okay. hm. small prediction but i feel like anaxa's personal themes will center a lot around personhood and autonomy. theres ofc the whole thing abt his body as the vessel for coreflame (tho im not sure if he let that happen willingly), but there's also that little comment he made after returning to okhema w us for the first time ("that titan made a myrriad of adjustments on their own")

if you think about it too much it starts entering body horror territory but. a god modifying your body for their gains...to anaxa creces' prosence probably feels like a virus or a parasite

also just. the general disconnect that is present when he talks about himself (or at least his body ig) ? "this sick body" and not "my sick body"...there ought more examples im missing but i cannot recall them atm

and dont get me Started on the whole "silent, cold corpse" thing because either he has died before Or he is not "human" or it could be something else entirely

his whole schtick of "disregarding fate" plays into this as well i just cant articulate it well atm

[nyxtickled]

Fucking hell, Nyx. I have down-shifted my presence on here significantly lately (only tangentially relevant tl;dr: it turns out that the added mental bandwidth from my ADHD meds is not the only thing I need in order to be a good member of a kink community, and I am still working on the rest) so it took me a minute to get caught up, but I have now.

I am really fucking sorry that Socal put you through all of this extremely unhinged, unnecessary, sociopathic shit; I am really fucking glad you had the receipts ready to unload; and I am really really fucking amazed at your fortitude, both in carrying it mostly in silence as long as you did, and in opening up about all of it. I obviously also wish you hadn't had to do either of those things, but that's not news. I reiterate: fucking hell. 😞

(Incidentally: he was the pissant, penny-ante troglodyte shitheel, wasn't he? Your answers to other asks implied you knew who the main anon hater was, and that you'd taken some distance from them. It deserves mentioning that that was the same fucking guy. If someone wrote a character that toxic on an HBO show, people would say it was unrealistic. Fucking hell. 🤮)

I've always felt two ways about sharing community hygiene posts because my blog is tiny and I legitimately can't see that it matters (though I do it anyway) but I also saw the one that said "reblog that shit no matter the size of your blog" so I guess I'm done feeling two ways about it. Do you mind if I add a couple of my own thoughts when I do? They feel really inconsequential, because I have not dealt with anything even remotely like this, but I think I saw a reply saying you appreciated other people's perspectives, so I dunno.

Either way. I am glad you're here and that you continue to be here despite All Of The God-Damned Fucking Bullshit. The community is better for it. I am very evidently not the only one who feels that way, either. Go hug your wife and cuddle your dog and gather some spoons. 🖤

hey there, my dear beloved Thing 💖 it’s so great to hear from you! and i appreciate your empathy and support, very very much.

(incidentally: your suspicion is absolutely indeed on par with mine. the first time i ever received anon hate was during the screenshot fallout i shared when my dog got sick, as i was ignoring his calls and receiving walls of toxic texts from him. the second time was during the additional screenshot fallout i shared when the AUNT convo went down. the next time was after i got married, when i wasn’t speaking to him anymore. and, ever since i ended the connection entirely, ive been getting sporadic anon hate from the same person who just keeps trolling about me “cheating” since im married now etc. lmao, it’s just, the timing??? is way too fucking suspicious and it makes me laugh every single time i think abt it)

i am always open to anyone sharing their thoughts and perspectives! you’re more than welcome to add anything you want to a rb.

thank you for being here. the overwhelming response has been so validating and healing bc i legit only wanted to look out for others, and i’m so grateful that it was received in the way i intended. 💜

[minkie-fury]

My Cookie Run Kingdom sona 😊

im not a writer but im tryna write out his lore but the gist of it is like?

- used to be Goldfish Cookie and was a researcher at blueberry yogurt academy back when blueberry milk/shadow milk founded it and they were like besties n shit maybe more teehee

- researched and wrote books on the witches and wizards on how they made cookies

- he had a secret lab where he would obsessively try to recreate the way the witches and wizards made the cookies and made life of his own so though he looked like just a nice little librarian he was low key kinda crazy but he didnt intend to be

- it went RONG and now he made these vaguely cookieoid half sentient creatures that are in constant pain and they KILLED HIM REALLY HARD OH IT WAS BAD

- the witches were like wait this guy is kind of awesome lets just bake him again but turn him into a fish lol

- so then he became Clownfish cookie and grew up in Tearcrown to become one of White Pearl Cookie’s attendants and then he fell in love with her awwwwwwwwwww how kawaii but he was like super ashamed of it because he thought it was indecent and that White Pearl should be with someone of her status

- AND THEY ALMOST KISSED BUT THEN he got harpooned and fishnapped by Abalone Cookie’s crew and they were like oh its a guy not a gem mermaid just throw him with the common loot lol. that ship managed to get away before white pearl went all emo

- bote fled to beast yeast and it was BAD BECAUSE THERE WERE THESE HUGE SQUIDS AND THEY EAT THE BOAT. IT WAS REALLY BAD

- so then the boat broke which clownfish cookie used as an opportunity to get out of the ship and into the ocean but the ocean was scary as hell like there were these big monsters everywhere so he just fled to land instead which was also a bad idea because he had to drag his tail everywhere but it wasnt as bad as dying to monsters so it was ok 🌷 (he was in the faerie kingdom btw) so shadow milk was in the silver tree right and he was like HOLY SHIT IS THAT WIFE? so he started talking to him telepathically and shadow milk is like I AM SHADOW MILK COOKIE and clownfish is like ? idk who that is

- shadow milk was like ohhh poor little me all alone trapped in a tree and he said ok so if you see to it i get outta here i will grant you a new home and clownfish was like 👍🏼 also he forgot he was pierced clean by a harpoon so he passed the fuck out OH HOW JOYOUS

- woke up in the faerie kingdom and elder faerie let him stay out of pity and i THINK he also met white lily there briefly????¿ but he spent most of the day ‘talking to himself in front of the silver tree’ and as the days went by he slowly started to change (into his beast yeast appearance) everyone kinda thought he was tweaking tf out and elder faerie was mad sus of him but figured hes literally a fish on land so he was kind of defenseless and didn’t have the heart to send him away

- during episode 1 of beast yeast he does kind of unintentionally warm up to pure vanilla & co. but hes mainly there to plant a seed of doubt in elder faerie’s narrative about the beasts and the silver tree

- and the.n shadow milk like rips open the tree and hes like OOHHHHHH IM SO HAPPY TO FINALLY MEET YOUU and starts yapping about how he knows so much about him (for obvious reasons) and clownfish is busy shitting his non existent pants because that was a whole jumpscare

- SHADOW MILK SEEMS SO FAMILIAR TO HIM BUT AT THE SAME TIME HES LIKE WHO ARE YOU AND WHY DO YOU KNOW SO MUCH ABOUT ME???? and hes weirded out by it so when the time comes he starts doubting his allegiance to shadow milk and debates on if he should stay with shadow milk or join pure vanillas side but shadow milk promised him a safe haven and that’s what mattered to him the most in that moment

- cue the doomed yaoi live laugh love shadowfish i say to myself and like maybe 2 other people

- he becomes the guy to be able to spot the cracks in shadow milk’s front and realize just how lonely he is but while shadow milk seems to be all over clownfish he does keep him at arm’s length in a way because he HAAATES being vulnerable

- so now hes like ohhhhhgh i miss white pearl but ogguhhgghhh i love shadow milk but oughhhhhh pure vanilla

- candy apple secretly reads shadowfish yaoi idc

like and subscribe hit that bell turn on notifications 🔔🔥 heres more of him

[treatbuckywkisses]

It's happened she LITERALLY did this for ME🥺😭 

the warning............ already has my stomach tense as fuck🫠

Thor is such a sassy king in this LOLL dramatic man with power 😮‍💨

A formal gala, with Bucky dressed up in a suit and you in the most alluring dress in your closet, could be the perfect place to earn a second warning. LMAOOOO YOU GO BABE !!!!!! 

“Okay darling, they’re closed.” He plays along, knowing that when it comes down to it, he would do anything you ask him without contest because it’s for you. My God shutup this whole encounter between them is literally the most freaking precious thing EVER☹️☹️

Bucky’s fearful that you won’t actually believe his statement, even though they are perhaps the most honest words that have ever left his lips. It’s no secret that before he met you, Bucky had enjoyed sleeping around - had entertained more than his fair share of attractive women in his bed, but after just one month officially as your boyfriend, becoming intimately familiar with your beautiful soul, he has zero doubts that you are the only woman he wants in that position for the remainder of his life. Em I'm SICK this is everything☹️❤️

You playfully slap his chest, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and then proceeding to rub your lipstick stain off, before pushing him along to get you a drink. He looks back at you as he walks away, almost bumping into the Chief of Surgery, apologising profusely with a guilty glance to you, before he shuffles off towards the bar. THE LOVE THEY HAVE IM SCREAMING 😭😭

“Months… how much can someone really change in a couple of months? There’s so many of us around the hospital he’s fucked. You really think he’s loyal to you?” You recoil at her words, not having expected the conversation to turn into whatever this was becoming, nor so soon into your small talk. I just gasped so loudly.............what a bitch 

“You don’t know him like I do and have no right to speak about him like that.” You state firmly with a small humph. If you weren’t at an event packed with your colleagues, you’d slap her. YESS STANDING ON BUSINESS BABY 

Coming to a compromise, your brain instead decides that being frozen in place, unable to look away like an impending car crash, is the best place for you to be. But that is also pure torture. this is so realistic😔 poor baby I'm feeling so bad for her rn

What if you are just Bucky’s practice run at being in a relationship, the one who fixes him up, teaches him all the valuable lessons, only for him to leave you and be the perfect partner to someone else? UGH EM the writer that you are !!!!! Seriously!!! The self doubting and silent spiral is so me lol so I can confidently say you wrote this out so well ❤️‍🩹 

There’s a split second where the whole world stands still, everyone at the gala other than the two of you disappear and it’s like you’re standing right in front of him, regardless of the space separating you. Their love 🥺🥺🥺 I will never be over them 

You lean your head on Bucky’s shoulder as he continues to rub your back. Why can’t the world just exist like this? Just the two of you in peaceful, quiet, solace. He kisses the top of your head and in that moment you know he’ll wait patiently, all night if that’s how long it takes, for you to explain how you’re feeling. I'm going to cry over this forever 

YOU'RE MY FUTURE YOU'RE MY EVERYTHING BE SO SERIOUS RIGHT NOW EM 

Fracture into a million pieces, the fabric of reality tearing apart at the seams around you as euphoria flows through you like wind on the surface of water. Every single cell in your body feels like it’s been lit on fire, burning bright like a shooting star soaring through a galaxy assembled by your love for him.  How actually dare you write this

“I love you.” Bucky confesses with a shaky breath, even though he is assured in his affection. Though you’re not conscious to receive his words, something about disclosing his most closely guarded secret to your beautiful face, finally admitting his profound feelings aloud, feels like an enormous step for him. Never in a million years did he think he could open his heart up far enough to allow space for these types of feelings to nestle within. “You are the most precious thing in my life. I’m never going to compromise what we have, never going to take you for granted. I’m going to love you and only you for every day I have left in this life and even when I’m no longer here, my soul will forever be yours.” A SLEEP CONFESSION I'M SO SICK HES SO FUCKING PRECIOUS 

A male paramedic was shot.  ........I know you did not do what I think you did.......... 

And then you see it. The thing that flatlines your heart. No.

You try not to break down seeing the sheer amount of blood, Bucky’s blood, soaking the gauze they are pressing into his shoulder wound, how pale and fragile he looks strapped down to the gurney. You’re an emergency medicine doctor, you’ve treated wounds like this before, confronted much more blood than this from a patient. But nothing in your training prepares you for observing your soulmate barely clinging to life, their claret staining your gloved fingers as you help maintain pressure, how cold his skin is to the touch, how his face looks almost serene even though these could be his final moments on earth, that he could be abandoning you for the warm embrace of death.   No simply no what the fuck hey what the hell 😃 em what the fuck! My heart is in my asshole right now you're so evil what the fuck is this babe!! (This is really written so beautifully but I'm mad at you currently) 

James Barnes simply wouldn’t exist anymore. STOP??????????? DON'T SAY SHIT LIKE THAT WHAT THE FUCK. 

You’d never hear his voice again. Or his laugh. I'm literally sobbing RN

Neither comes. You are fated to live in excruciating limbo, your lungs burning, as if you can’t take a breath until Bucky’s destiny has been sealed. Me fkin too 😭😭😭😭😭 

So I'm basically feeling all stages of grief RN but mostly denial🫶🏻 I simply refuse to believe you would do this to ME SPECIFICALLY?????? HOW DARE YOU😭😭😭 YOU GIVE ME ALL THE BEAUTIFUL THINGS SO WONDERFULLY AND LOVEY AND SOFT AND PERFECT AND THEN TO RIP IT ALL AWAY SO FORCEFULLY LIKE I'M THE ONE BEING SHOT WHAT THE HELL EM RESPECTFULLY WHAT THE FUCK. talk about a twist bc I was in denial from the beginning I really was thinking you'd make it Steve to throw us off but no she had to go and pull the trigger on my fucking man I'm so sick rn I'm going to bed until bucky wakes up.

In Situ

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 8 | Series Masterlist

In Situ - meaning in the natural position (ie. Bucky’s place next to you)

Summary: You ask Bucky to accompany you to the hospital's fundraising gala.

Warnings: strictly 18+, unprotected soft loving sex, creampie, graphic depiction of gunshot wounds & significant bleeding to a major character, a bit of angst as they struggle to reveal their feelings, will we finally get an ‘I love you’??, certain ex-fling of Bucky’s makes an appearance, this part has a bit of everything, fluff, angst, smut all rolled into one; I will apologise in advance you have every right to hate me given the ending of this

Word count: a whopping 10.3k (buckle up)

A/N: this part is dedicated to the wonderful @treatbuckywkisses and @yenzys-lucky-charm, I haven’t updated this series in so long and I genuinely thought no one would care about it being incomplete but you both have left such sweet comments on the other parts that inspired me to continue with my vision for paramedic!bucky, so I hope you both enjoy my darling friends 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

It’s the start of a very long shift when the person you least want to encounter, Dr Thor Odinson, approaches you with a glowering expression which looks like the most accurate embodiment of ‘I would rather be anywhere else’.

You would rather quite literally be in any other room of the hospital than in trauma room 2 right now, but as your direct superior, you have to constantly take direction from the same man who tried to compete with Bucky for your affection, and then blacklisted you at work after you turned him down.

“Before you say no to this, I need you to know this is a requirement of your employment here and you cannot get out of it, no matter how much you might want to.” Thor states with the same amount of joy as if he were inviting you to a funeral. His hands fidget almost unconsciously with a sealed envelope as he speaks, before offering it to you with a firm, outstretched hand. “Believe me, I’ve already tried.”

You consider him for a moment, his eyes not quite meeting your examining gaze and nervously grinding his back teeth. Taking the envelope, you notice your name written in messy, scrawled handwriting on the front.

“Not sure why I wouldn’t want to, whatever you’re inviting me to sounds like the absolute time of my life.” You jest in an effort to diffuse the tension between you. Thor, however, doesn’t seem to find it funny as rather than a chuckle, you elicit the most forced eye roll you’ve seen in a while.

“It’s a fundraising gala, mostly for the research labs associated with the hospital, but part of the proceeds go to supporting patients without healthcare who otherwise would not afford our help.”

Though the thought of contributing to those of the community who are less fortunate, and find themselves in the unfortunately common situation of being in debt to a healthcare system which was designed to further cripple the already vulnerable, the lack of enthusiasm Thor is conveying during the conversation makes you wary of what important information you’re likely missing about the event.

“You’re allowed to bring a plus one.” He adds with a rising inflection, almost as if it’s a question rather than a statement.

Silence falls between you two, and for a moment you fully believe Thor is waiting for you to confirm whether you will be bringing Bucky as your date, which would just make this uncomfortable encounter even more awkward, but thankfully he speaks again before you need to say anything.

“You’ll be representing the ED, and more importantly the hospital, at this event. You and whomever you bring better be on your best behaviour, I don’t want to have to write you up again.” A smirk curves on your face as he walks away. Although there is a finality to his voice in which you know you won’t get out of this work event, Thor has reminded you of the very public display of affection Bucky showed you in the emergency room which had earned you an official warning from hospital HR.

A formal gala, with Bucky dressed up in a suit and you in the most alluring dress in your closet, could be the perfect place to earn a second warning.

* * *

The night of the Gala, Bucky knocks on your front door, feeling rather uncomfortable in this taut suit with the unnatural feeling of the shoulder pads compressing against his already broad shoulders.

He tries adjusting them as he waits, he wants to look his absolute best for you, to rival even a fraction of the radiance he’s sure you will exude tonight. But they feel even more out of place now he’s fiddled with them and regrets the decision until he hears the pattering of your footsteps behind the door.

“You have to close your eyes before you come in.” You call out to him in a playful voice, without opening the door. “I’m not ready yet.”

Bucky’s positive that in any state of undress or stage in the process of getting ready you are the most beautiful girl in the entire world, but a warmth spreads through his chest at the notion you’re wanting to look your best for him.

“Okay darling, they’re closed.” He plays along, knowing that when it comes down to it, he would do anything you ask him without contest because it’s for you.

Bucky hears the lock click as it opens and a small giggle, before the light pressure of a pair of lips on his.

“No peeking.” You request as you take his hand and lead him inside. Bucky knows your place like the back of his hand already and doesn’t need his eyes open to know that you take him towards the couch. “I’ll be right back, don’t you go anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” With each beat of Bucky’s heart his anticipation of seeing you only grows. He’s seen you in every way imaginable, naked and writhing for him, vulnerable with sickness, beaming with pride and joy, and yet every time he sees you he is continually flawed by how stunning you are in every scenario.

“Buck, you can open them.”

Bucky is simply lost for words. Never in all his life has he been in the presence of someone so utterly breathtaking. Looking at you now, practically radiating golden light, a brilliant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, and your body looking downright heavenly in a form fitting dress which compliments the colour of your eyes, Bucky believes angels do actually exist.

“You are so beautiful.” He manages to stammer out once he’s picked his jaw up off the floor.

“Not as handsome as you in this suit.” You grip the lapels of his jacket to pull him even closer to you, straightening his tie in an action that overwhelms Bucky with a need to kiss you.

“What, this old thing?” He attempts to brush off your flattery, because next to you, there is positively no way anyone could compete with your beauty.

Bucky gulps the excessive saliva pooling in his mouth as his eyes roam your frame once again, because he can’t help but literally drool over how stunning you look - can’t believe that he gets to be the one who walks into the gala tonight with you on his arm.

The only other time he has felt this utterly floored by someone’s appearance was the first time he laid eyes on you as you strolled across the ER on that now historic day when he could not believe someone in scrubs and a lab coat could look so breathtakingly beautiful.

“You are genuinely the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

Bucky’s fearful that you won’t actually believe his statement, even though they are perhaps the most honest words that have ever left his lips. It’s no secret that before he met you, Bucky had enjoyed sleeping around - had entertained more than his fair share of attractive women in his bed, but after just one month officially as your boyfriend, becoming intimately familiar with your beautiful soul, he has zero doubts that you are the only woman he wants in that position for the remainder of his life.

You kiss him in the breath after he finishes speaking, in that luscious, sensual way that no one else has ever kissed him and evokes a warm, fuzzy, almost life-ruining devotion, dare he say love, in his chest.

“Let’s just stay here tonight.” Bucky mumbles against your lips, his hands finding the zipper on the back of your dress and slowly unzips to let the fabric fall from your décolletage.

He can feel you smile against his lips but then you bruise his heart by pulling away and saying “As much as I would prefer to spend the whole night naked here with you, I’ve already been told I cannot miss this event.”

However, they aren’t words which scare Bucky away from a challenge, he dives back into the kiss, the tip of his tongue tangling with yours. He thinks he has you convinced when your hands start playing with the hair at the nape of his neck - you know how much he likes it and do it constantly to turn him on, but then you pull back and Bucky sighs.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”

“Only when it comes to you.” He responds with a chuckle. You’re the only woman who’s ever had him whipped before, and Bucky’s not sure you realise how powerful the hold you have over him is.

“I promise, all we have to do is last an hour at this thing, and then you can take me home and have your way with me.”

* * *

You walk into the Gala, which is already packed with hospital staff dressed to the nines, hand in hand with Bucky who, in your opinion, looks magnitudes more handsome than any of the other men all dressed in black suits.

You turn to him and he’s already looking at you with that sparkle in his eye, like you’re absolutely perfect, just as you are, and there is nothing about you he would ever dream of changing.

“What?” You ask when those twinkling eyes don’t look away, but instead study your features as if there’s words left unsaid on the tip of his tongue.

“Just imagining pulling you into one of the on-call rooms, tearing this dress off you and tasting every inch of you.” Bucky shifts his hand to rest on the small of your back, his breath warm against your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

“Well, we have done some of our best work in there.” Bucky hums in agreement, both of you taking a second to remember the first of many visits to the on-call room which left you with shaking legs, but was also the first time either of you acknowledged that your feelings were deeper than simply hooking up. “I think you need to grab us both a drink to quench that thirst of yours, James.”

You playfully slap his chest, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and then proceeding to rub your lipstick stain off, before pushing him along to get you a drink. He looks back at you as he walks away, almost bumping into the Chief of Surgery, apologising profusely with a guilty glance to you, before he shuffles off towards the bar.

While Bucky is busy with that task, you instead make your way over to the other side of the atrium to take a look at the items available for the hospital's silent auction. You have to chuckle to yourself looking at the prices listed on the bidding sheets - as if anyone with medical school debt could afford to pay for even one of the allusive holidays or artefacts they had obtained for the fundraiser.

But you suppose your job tonight isn’t to bid on the items themselves, but to shmooze the wealthy guests in attendance into bidding with their spare millions.

Searching out one of the items at the lower end of asking prices, you decide to put an almost embarrassing low bid on an all expenses paid weekend to Mexico, that you know someone will outbid you on, just to say you participated in the night without needing to lie through your teeth.

You stroll through the busy hall, keeping your eyes peeled for Bucky near the bar but it seems you’ve lost him in the packed crowd. It’s usually fairly easy to spot your tall, broad boyfriend, and your heart sinks a little that you’re forced to walk aimlessly around the event as everyone else is wrapped in conversation.

“Doctor, lovely to run into you like this.” You hear a voice you’ve heard before but cannot place from behind you. And though you can’t actually see their face, the tone of their voice contradicts their words - they don’t seem pleased to see you at all.

Turning around, a face that evokes prickly apprehension in your chest comes into view. She’s hauntingly beautiful, the type of beauty which artists spend hours trying to commit to canvas and which is just not attainable for regular people like yourself. She holds herself like she’s closing out a Victoria Secret fashion show and is fully aware of the enchanting effect she has on any man who sets eyes upon her.

“Jacqui… I didn’t know pharmacy staff were invited to this thing.” Even with her disagreeable inflection, you do your best to sound pleasant.

“Oh well you are when you’re heading up the department.” She boasts, with a little wobble of her head which you mostly think is to draw attention to her shiny, voluminous blonde hair.

So is she just here to rub her new job title in your face?

“Congratulations, I didn’t know you got promoted.” You try to sound genuine even though you really couldn’t give a shit.

“I saw you walk in with Barnes. Where did he scamper off to?” You are now actually very glad to not have found Bucky in the crowd earlier. Something about the way she is trying to control the curiosity in her voice, and that she was actively watching the two of you together, makes you cautious of her intentions.

“Not sure, I was just looking for him.”

There’s a long pause where both of you refuse to be the next one to speak. You just want this conversation to be over. But you aren’t that lucky.

“How long have you two been together now?” The inquiry is almost punctuated with sharp spite, and though you don’t want to indulge her line of questioning, there’s a voice in the back of your head that’s telling you you need to defend your Bucky from whatever that time is implying.

“A couple months.” Is the defensive response you retort - it’s technically correct, though you’ve only been official for a month of that.

“Months… how much can someone really change in a couple of months? There’s so many of us around the hospital he’s fucked. You really think he’s loyal to you?” You recoil at her words, not having expected the conversation to turn into whatever this was becoming, nor so soon into your small talk.

Where the fuck was this coming from?

“I trust him implicitly.” You attempt to control the absolute bewildered facial expression that’s trying it’s very best to overtake your features.

“Oh you poor, naive thing.” She says with a tone you use when delivering bad news to patients' families. “Men don’t change, they just hide their true nature from you. Wait a few months, he’ll be back to his fuckboy ways, guys like him can’t resist cheating. I guarantee it.”

Most men are like that, at least in your experience. But Bucky has never given you any cause to believe he would treat you like that. Just because he had a reputation of casually sleeping around before meeting you, doesn’t mean once he’s in a relationship he’ll be unfaithful.

You can’t imagine the sweet man who walked into your place tonight with his eyes closed, waiting for your consent to see you fully dolled up in your gown and then proceed to call you the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on, would ever cheat on you.

“You don’t know him like I do and have no right to speak about him like that.” You state firmly with a small humph. If you weren’t at an event packed with your colleagues, you’d slap her.

The look in her eyes appears like you’ve challenged her, but you don’t want to think about the connotations of that right now. Without saying goodbye, you turn on your heel, needing to get as far away from her as quickly as possible.

Rippling anxiety bubbles in your chest that in your experience only Bucky’s touch can soothe. You frantically search for him in the sea of black suits, trying to also keep half an eye out for Jacqui so you don’t accidentally run into her, but he is again nowhere to be found.

Where the hell is Bucky? Your mind practically screams as you bump into a strapping chest, but this one unfortunately belongs to the one and only Thor Odinson.

God, could he have worse timing?

You plaster on your best smile, trying your best to keep a calm facade as he introduces you to two older gentlemen he appears to be chaperoning for the night.

As wealthy and influential as they are, having made their billions from a tech empire started with a little trust fund from their families' generational wealth, you can’t find it in you to care at the minute. You just want to find Bucky. Need him to hold you until the tornado of anxiety dissipates in your chest.

But Thor doesn’t allow you to slip away unnoticed, instead he prompts you to talk up the work the team does in the emergency room, speaking about the people you save from all walks of life, from those without health insurance to the affluent who can afford the life saving medical procedures others fail to receive.

Knowing their donations tonight could mean the difference between many getting life saving medicine and not, you summon the will to engage in conversation, trying to push down the acidic bile bubbling in your stomach that had risen as result of your interaction with Jacqui.

The sharp taste remains on your tongue as you’re now caught in philanthropic discussion, silently cursing Thor who stands beside you for ever inviting you to this damn gala in the first place.

It’s at least fifteen minutes later when you finally excuse yourself from their presence, the two men having pulled out their cheque books, much to Thor’s delight, preparing to make generous contributions that would have the hospital naming wards after them.

You hate to think what trouble Jacqui could get up to in that time frame. But you don’t have to wait long to find out.

Finally, after searching near the whole hall for Bucky you find him. Goddess like Jacqui by his side.

She stands there, supermodel tall, blonde bouncy hair, beautiful, toned legs on display through the slit in her dress, a flirty smirk curving on her face, tucking strands of loose hair behind her ears like a schoolgirl with a crush.

The nerve of her, approaching Bucky at all, but especially after the words spoken between you earlier.

Just seeing them together, the most exquisitely gorgeous woman flirting with the man whom you love and confirmed less than half an hour ago to her you are in a relationship with, makes your insides tightly twist with jealousy, as if someone were wringing out a wet towel.

Half of your mind is telling you to stalk over there and possessively claim your man in front of everybody, but the other half, the insecure side which believes Bucky could do so much better than you, who would want someone as beautiful as Jacqui by his side, and which is currently winning the battle in your mind, wants to run off crying into the furthest corner of the hospital.

Coming to a compromise, your brain instead decides that being frozen in place, unable to look away like an impending car crash, is the best place for you to be. But that is also pure torture.

Bucky smiles, not quite his signature cocky smirk that never leaves his face when the two of you are together, but it’s definitely a smile nonetheless and your heart sinks through the pit of your stomach.

Men don’t change. He’ll be back to his fuckboy ways.

You’re not sure why you’re letting Jacqui’s words penetrate your mind, burrow into the deepest crevices and allow them to make a home there. You suspect it’s because at one point in time Bucky thought she was desirable enough to take home and do unexplainably filthy things with. Does he still have that same attraction for her?

What if you are just Bucky’s practice run at being in a relationship, the one who fixes him up, teaches him all the valuable lessons, only for him to leave you and be the perfect partner to someone else?

Practically paralysed in place as you watch their interaction, it feels like your heart has stopped beating all together when Jacqui strokes his arm. But buoyant relief comes near milliseconds later when Bucky brushes her off. That’s your man.

You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you distinctly see him mouth the words ‘I have a girlfriend’, which relieves some of the tension in your tightly wound heart.

Bucky frantically searches around the room, and appears to have found what he is looking for as his eyes settle on your face.

There’s a split second where the whole world stands still, everyone at the gala other than the two of you disappear and it’s like you’re standing right in front of him, regardless of the space separating you.

But when your mind catches up to all the drowning emotions swirling in your chest, an uncontrollable sob bubbles up your throat and tears sting your eyes. You’re not even upset with him, but the fear of what Jacqui had been planning on trying with him still manifests as a choking lump in your throat.

The physical distance between you throughout tonight has let doubt and hesitancy creep into the only small space in your heart Bucky’s affection has not yet touched. Jacqui planted the seed and it’s already bloomed into a large tree, branches crowding space in your tightening chest.

The last thing you remember seeing is Bucky taking a large stride towards you, before your hands fly to cover your mouth and you take off, walking as quickly as you can in your heels, to where you know the nearest on-call room is.

* * *

Prickling panic fills Bucky’s lungs.

Has he inadvertently just ruined the best thing in his life?

Jacqueline’s voice calls his name as he chases after you, watching as you weave between guests and make your way to the nearest exit, which only takes you deeper into the hospital.

He was naive enough to think Jacqueline’s intentions were innocent when she approached him for conversation, just two colleagues catching up at an event that neither of them were fully participating in, but he was sadly mistaken.

He’ll never make that blunder again.

Watching you shuffle into the nearest on-call room, Bucky takes it as a positive sign that he’s not the one you’re upset with, at least not completely, when you don’t slam the door in his face but instead leave it open knowing he’ll follow you inside.

Bucky stays by the doorframe for a split second, watching as you work to steady your breathing, hands wiping the corners of your eyes, but the overwhelming urge and the need to comfort you wins out and he can’t help but hastily rush to your side.

“Darling…” He starts to say but when you look at him with big, wide eyes that are filled with tears, his mind goes blank and all he can think about is holding you.

You turn into his chest, face nuzzled into his lapel, and his arms instinctively close around you.

It’s the little sob which escapes your lips that does Bucky in completely. He hates to see you upset, but never in the months of knowing you has he been privy to this amount of genuine distress. He’s seen some not so great days, shaking frustration, even teary eyed with sadness, but never breaking down weeping.

He would move heaven and earth to ensure you never feel this way again.

He places a feather light kiss to your hairline whispering, “I’m right here. Nothing can hurt you.”

Though it was not his intention, his words provoke more sobs to escape your throat and Bucky pulls you ever closer. He’s practically holding up your entire body weight, and decides you’ll probably be much more comfortable on the bed this on-call room provides.

Even seated, you cling to him like he’s your lifeline, and Bucky can’t ever imagine letting go. He’d drown if it meant holding you safely out of the rough, relentless rapids currently flooding your mind.

As a paramedic, he’s so used to taking action, launching into a crisis with the equipment to be able to provide aid, to prevent further suffering. But right now all you need is his presence, to be the anchor grounding you to this world as a reminder that you have someone in your corner fighting for your happiness.

He hates not being able to do more for you.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Bucky asks after minutes of comforting you without words.

God, you feel so stupid. Crying at a work function because one of your boyfriend's ex-flings decided to flirt with him.

But it’s more than that - it’s the disrespect, the fact that she seems so entitled to Bucky’s affection simply because at some point in his history he slept with her, regardless of if she hurts you along the way to get to him. Do all the women at the hospital look at you like you’re an inconsequential ant they can step on to get what they want?

It doesn’t help that she's also the most stunning, physical personification of a man’s wet dream you’ve ever seen.

“It’s not you Buck, it’s her.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just continues rubbing his large hand up and down your back, which tells you he’s confused by your statement. Perhaps you’re not making any sense in this outburst of emotion, you can barely keep your thoughts in a logical stream let alone expressing them eloquently.

“Jacqui, she… I told her we were together, she knew I was your girlfriend, and she still had the nerve to flirt with you.”

“I didn’t flirt back.” Bucky says defensively, and as much as you adore him, it’s making you frustrated having to spell it out for him how her actions have made you feel when your throat is aching from pure emotion.

You take a deep breath, allowing oxygen to diffuse into the deepest alveoli of your lungs, calming the constant stream of anxious thoughts, and letting you regain control of the tears falling from your eyes.

You lean your head on Bucky’s shoulder as he continues to rub your back. Why can’t the world just exist like this? Just the two of you in peaceful, quiet, solace. He kisses the top of your head and in that moment you know he’ll wait patiently, all night if that’s how long it takes, for you to explain how you’re feeling.

“I don’t know if it’s jealousy or insecurity. I genuinely don’t care how many women you were with before me Buck, it’s just a number, it doesn’t matter.” You sit up and look him in the eye, needing to convey just how vigorously you believe your statement. “It’s just… it's a soul crushing feeling that people in the hospital, people I have to work with every day, use the fact that you’ve slept with them to make me feel uncomfortable. That somehow because they know what you look like naked it diminishes our relationship and then they feel entitled to flirt with you and try and fuck you even though they know you’re dating me.”

The misery in Bucky’s eyes is almost tangible, and maybe it’s just an illusion from tears in your own, but seeing you hurting makes him start to cry too. His large hands engulf both of yours and his thumb strokes the backs of your hands resting comfortingly in your lap.

Previous partners have always brushed you off, gaslit you or raised their voice and called you crazy when you expressed an ounce of self-doubt or insecurity, but Bucky listens to each of your words with a determined focus, taking the weight of them on himself, as if they have just as much significance to him as they do to you.

“Darling, I’m so sorry Jaqueline made you feel that way. She had no right. But you need to know there is not a single woman on the face of this earth that could tempt me away from you, no matter how hard they try. No one has ever had me like you do.”

The panic beating of your heart starts to calm when Bucky places gentle kisses to your knuckles. His eyes brim with trepidation, as if he’s just realised how fragile relationships can be and he’s desperately trying to hold onto you, preventing you from ever letting go again.

“I can’t change my past, as much as I might want to, but all I know is you’re my future.” Tears trickle out of the corners of your eyes, but now the reason being due to happiness at Bucky’s sweet confession.

What did you ever do to deserve him?

“My life before I met you was dull, black and white reruns of the same shit each day. Since I met you, everything is in vivid colour. If I could go back in time and wait for you, I would. If I knew you were around the corner, there wouldn’t be any other women. But to me, you’re the only woman that matters. It’s so profoundly better with you because I-, because I care about you beyond comprehension. There were never any feelings with anyone else. You are the only person I have ever felt this way for. You have nothing to be insecure about or anyone to be jealous of, you’re the only woman in my eyes, and I-, you’re my everything.” For someone who constantly says he isn’t very good with words, Bucky always seems to know exactly what to say to make you fall even more in love with him. They are perfect words. Precisely what you need to hear from the man who has quickly become the reason for your being.

There’s a buoyancy in your chest as those familiar eyes, so blue you could drown in, examine your face for any non verbal cues of how you’ll react to his words.

“You really feel that way James?” You ready yourself, inadvertently grinding your teeth, waiting, hoping, wishing for him to say those three little words that will take your relationship to the next level.

But that hope pops like a bubble floating in the wind.

“Darling, I would never lie to you.” He punctuates with a kiss to your lips, slow and fervent, full of meaning. The look in his eye tells you he wants to reveal more, but it passes in a blink. “C’mon, let me take you home, and I’ll show you just how much I care.”

Bucky’s firm hold on your hand never leaves yours as he leads you back through the gala. You notice some glance at you, but all you’re focussed on is your boyfriend, his head held proudly high, not giving a damn what other hospital staff are whispering under their breaths.

* * *

Bucky slowly unzips the back of your dress, the material slowly falling away from your shoulders. A shiver runs down your spine as his lips kiss down the path of the zipper, starting between your shoulder blades, careful not to miss a single inch of skin as your dress bunches around your stomach and hips.

“You were the most beautiful woman there tonight. You’re the most beautiful woman in the whole world.” He whispers against your skin, in such a sure tone you can’t help but believe him. His hands roaming over the base of your spine before gently pulling your dress over your hips. “Can’t believe I got to be the man who walked in with you as my partner.”

Bucky turns you around to kiss you once you’re bare for him. The passion, zealousness of his lips feels like you’re drowning in a tender devotion he could not articulate with just words themselves.

You don’t need to break away from the kiss to push his jacket off, unbutton his shirt, nor unbuckle his belt. He’s as hard as a rock, standing at attention ready for you as soon as his trousers hit the floor.

“My darling girl…” He practically growls in your ear when you cup his balls with one hand as the other starts stroking him, using your thumb to spread the pearly bead of precum over his tip whilst placing kisses to his chest. “This will be a very short, one act play if you keep doing that.”

“I’ve barely touched you Buck.”

“Mmm, I know. That’s just how much you turn me on.” The signature smirk he shoots you turns your stomach to mush, and makes you feel like you’re the dazzling sun at the centre of his universe.

Bucky’s large hands pull you down on the bed, on top of him. He sits you on his thick thighs, tongue sweeping into your mouth, hands exploring your every curve.

You wish you could live in this moment forever, relishing in how much care Bucky holds you with, but still manages to make you feel like you’re the sexiest woman in the solar system.

It hits you square in the chest when his soothing, wide blue eyes look up at you with a familiar tenderness that gives life to butterflies in your stomach, that you would do anything for the man underneath you, the man you love.

“What do you want, darling?” Bucky asks between breaths as he sucks on your hard nipple, his tongue swirling, doing magical things that could make you cum just like this. “What do you need?” He adds, switching to your other breast, which makes it hard to control your stream of thoughts - but there is one thing at the forefront of your mind that you don’t have to consider to know you need desperately.

“You.”

He lets out a groan around your nipple and you suspect thrusts his hips up involuntarily, just to feel closer to you.

“I need you Buck.” You repeat, tucking your finger under his chin and bringing his lips up to tenderly touch yours, as the urge to kiss him overcomes you. If it were up to you, the remainder of your life would be spent with your lips locked with his.

“How?” His stubble scratches the tips of your fingers as you cup his face. The desire brimming in his eyes, the hunger to ravish every part of you, the yearning to have you so close to him you can’t tell where you end and he begins, leaves you breathless.

“Just like this, please.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but your imploring tone inspires Bucky on, not wanting to waste a single second more where the two of you are not joined.

Your forehead rests against his, his eyes boring into yours as he simultaneously uses one hand to assist you lifting yourself to hover over him, and the other to line his tip up to your dripping entrance.

An obscene sound from the back of your throat topples from your lips as you sink down on Bucky's cock. He doesn’t take his adoration filled eyes off you for a single second, even to blink, as he fills you up completely. A whine escapes his lips once you’re seated on his thighs, appreciating how your pussy is swallowing his entire, impressive length.

“You enjoy sitting on your throne?” You can tell he’s trying to tease, a mischievous twinkle in those deep blue eyes, but his voice quivers slightly, almost as if it’s strained, which you know him too well to realise is a dead giveaway for just how aroused he is.

How aroused he is by you.

That fact alone is enough for you to start grinding against him, hips moving back and forth, working up a rhythm that has you seeing stars and him groaning your name.

Both of his large, calloused hands are resting on your hips, helping you keep the tempo, making sure each rock of your hips results in your clit being stimulated against his pelvis. His lips find your collarbone, teeth scraping your delicate skin, the sensation of which clears your mind of any coherent teasing response you could have come up with.

“Fuck, look at you fucking yourself on me. You’re a fucking dream.” Bucky’s mouth is one of the most arousing parts of him, not only for what his lips and tongue can do to your body but also for the salacious words he speaks in that gravelly tone which turns you on just as much as his body does. “That’s it, fuck me darling, this cock is all yours.”

“Buck you’re so deep.” Is all you can think, all you can feel is how his length is nestled within you, how much he fills you up. You’re bursting because of how satiated you feel with him inside you, but Bucky’s musky, woody scent, as well as his warm, tender touch surrounds you from the outside, you feel like he’s everywhere all at once, and it brings you right to the brink of coming undone.

“Be a good girl and cum for me.” In this moment you want to give him everything you have, give him everything he’s asking for and more. His voice is gentle the next time he speaks, a murmur just for you, and matches the softness in his gaze. “It’s okay, I got you. Let go for me.”

Bucky sucks the pulse point on the side of your throat and it’s the complete end of you. You shudder, feeling safe caged in his arms as ecstasy fires up from the base of your spine through every neuron in your body, your toes curling, fingers scratching down Bucky's back - you can even taste it on the tip of your tongue as you scream his name.

Your legs shake uncontrollably, unable to continue your pattern of movement grinding down against him, but Bucky takes matters into his own hands by wrapping his arms around your waist and fucking up into you to prolong your high.

Once you’ve finally stopped seeing stars, your vision coming back into focus, all you can see is the adoration, pure captivation as he looks up at your sweaty form trying to catch your breath.

“That’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

No one’s ever looked at you like this before, as if you’re the only girl in the world, the only person that matters to them, the one who holds their fragile heart in the palm of your hands and trusts you not to break it.

A dangerous thought flashes through your mind - do you dare tell Bucky that you love him for the first time right now, in the middle of the throes of passion. You have always wanted to let him set the pace of the relationship - he was the one who wanted to take it slow, not rushing into anything, but you can tell by the blooming warmth spreading through your chest, you have never loved someone more than you love him right now.

Bucky reaches up and affectionately brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek, and before you can think twice about if you truly want to confess your devotion in this moment, he’s kissing you again.

Before you can even recognise what he’s doing, his toned arms have engulfed you in a tight embrace, and without pulling out of you, he flips you onto your back, making sure your head rests gently on one of your pillows. His body weight presses you deliciously into the mattress, it feels like being tucked in securely with a weighted blanket that just so happens to look like a Greek god.

“Need to feel you cum on my cock again, it’s so fucking addicting.” Bucky practically growls in your ear, his breathing heavy. His long chestnut hair falls into his eyes, but it doesn’t prevent him from gazing at you with a tangible combination of awe and lust.

The thrust of his hips is downright sinful. You feel the longing absence of each inch of him as he pulls out, only for him to split you apart again as his hips snap forward. Bucky starts out slow, his fingers intertwine with yours, forcing your hands above your head, but when he starts placing open mouthed kisses on the underside of your jaw, his strokes pick up momentum.

James Barnes has you in a trance, caged in by the sheer size of him, each languid, sensual thrust into you tightens the knot twisting into shape at the bottom of your belly.

He’s so breathtakingly beautiful, the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid eyes on. As his shining pupils fixate on the pleasure contorting your face you ponder if he is possibly thinking the exact same way about you.

The moans dripping from his lips, mixed with grunted curses, along with the telltale crease in his forehead, and the fact that his teasing mouth can’t come up with anything coherent is evidence of how close he is. But you know Bucky’s generous heart better than anyone, perhaps even himself, and you are sure he’ll be determined not to cum before you.

One of his large hands continues to pin your wrists down as the other moves to wrap your legs tighter around his waist. Then he has the fucking audacity to rub the pads of his fingers over your clit in tight circles. You’re so done for.

“Bucky, oh fuck… yes, just like that.” You manage to stammer out, barely able to move with his weight pinning you beneath him, knowing your body is hurtling towards an inescapable, forceful orgasm, and all you can do is feel as Bucky plays your body like a fiddle.

“Please, need you to… I can’t last like this.” You can feel the desperate, animalistic timbre of his deep voice in your chest and his hot breath against your neck. “Darling please.”

And then you shatter.

Fracture into a million pieces, the fabric of reality tearing apart at the seams around you as euphoria flows through you like wind on the surface of water. Every single cell in your body feels like it’s been lit on fire, burning bright like a shooting star soaring through a galaxy assembled by your love for him.

Bucky speaks your name as a prayer, a vow, a promise. Over and over again. A reminder that you are who he is coming apart for.

It almost makes you dizzy how lost he is in the feel of you, how his hands spread you open as far as your legs will flex, but then you hear the wanton whimper as he spills his orgasm inside you and it’s almost enough to make you cum again.

As your heart rates slowly return to normal, Bucky lays down beside you, cupping your face tenderly as his tongue slips once again into your mouth. You would have thought given the display of passion just produced he’d have had his fill of physical affection, but he continues to surprise you.

Who would have guessed that Bucky ‘doesn’t go on second dates’ Barnes would now be clinging to you like a koala, not being able to get enough of your touch.

* * *

“Sweet dreams Buck.” You whisper in that tired, yet sickly sweet tone that Bucky associates with the contentment of falling asleep beside you.

”They’ll all be about you.” He responds with a delicate kiss to your forehead, fingers tracing gentle lines up and down the expanse of your back.

“Then I wish you nothing but dirty dreams.”

He rarely dreams of anything else nowadays, but it makes him smile nevertheless that your minds think in such similar ways.

You really are the girl of his dreams.

Even more than that, if there was an expression which captured just how significant you had become intertwined in his life after a relatively short period of time. His brain could not have concocted someone as perfect as you, even in his wildest fantasies.

He holds you close to him in the total darkness as your breathing slows, but there are too many thoughts racing through Bucky’s brain for him to fall asleep.

Tonight was perfect. Complete, utter perfection. Not that he expects any less of a night spent with you.

So why, even after building the courage all week ahead of the gala, (and if he was honest with himself, since the week he swapped to be on the night shift with you), had he yet to utter those three magic words?

Steve would say there was one final wall around Bucky’s heart he had yet to pull down for you, to reveal his deepest darkest vulnerability that he could barely admit to himself, let alone the flawless woman who consumed his every waking thought.

The insecurity he had been plagued with since he was fourteen years old and his father had wished death upon him.

The fear that he is innately unloveable.

Just because he loves you in a way that influences his every decision, impacts every aspect of his existence, and alters the chemistry of his brain, doesn’t mean you are as hauntingly consumed by devotion as he is.

And even though the rational part of his brain tries reminding him you would not have shown such patience and stuck around as he clumsily attempted to manoeuvre being in a relationship for the first time if you truly did not want to be with him, that nagging insecurity is always at the back of his mind like a fog that won’t clear, doubting whether after everything he has endured, if he is deserving of being loved the same way he adores you.

But at some point Bucky knows he needs to find the bravery to take that leap, even if your possible rejection would be his ultimate downfall.

“Darling?” Bucky whispers as quietly as he can into the still night air. You don’t stir, nor do you respond, which is exactly what he’s hoping for. “Darling, are you awake?” He questions slightly louder so that you couldn’t help but hear him considering his proximity.

You continue to rest peacefully, lips slightly parted and breathing steadily, which is precisely how you always appear when sleeping beside him, but given the gravity of what he is about to reveal to you, Bucky has to be absolutely positive you’re in a deep slumber.

“Chicken butt.” He says randomly, hoping that if you are feigning sleep this will cause a crack in your rather convincing facade. But to his delight, your expression doesn’t change in the slightest, no muscle in your face so much as flinches, and Bucky is finally convinced.

He takes a deep breath, readying himself even though he knows you’re unable to hear him.

“I love you.” Bucky confesses with a shaky breath, even though he is assured in his affection. Though you’re not conscious to receive his words, something about disclosing his most closely guarded secret to your beautiful face, finally admitting his profound feelings aloud, feels like an enormous step for him. Never in a million years did he think he could open his heart up far enough to allow space for these types of feelings to nestle within. “You are the most precious thing in my life. I’m never going to compromise what we have, never going to take you for granted. I’m going to love you and only you for every day I have left in this life and even when I’m no longer here, my soul will forever be yours.”

You provide no response, features stay perfectly still, breathing rate doesn’t change. Which is of course exactly the reaction he’s hoping for while you rest, but he can’t stop his mind from wondering what your reply might be if you were awake; if you’d profess the words back to him, or if instead you’d recoil, shying away possibly because Bucky was moving too quickly.

Nevertheless, Bucky knows better than most that life can be painfully short, everyone has their expiration date, and you need to tell the people in your life how much you care about them before it’s too late.

“I love you.” He repeats with a smile and a kiss to your bare shoulder. Though he is navigating the all consuming, anxiety riddled, life ruining feeling of falling in love for the first time, Bucky knows with absolute certainty that he would go through it all again, one hundred times over, if it meant getting to spend his life with you.

But now for the difficult part - he has to say those three life changing words when you’re actually awake to hear them.

* * *

When the irritating ringing of your alarm wakes you up the following morning, a wave of disappointment washes over you. The night before with Bucky had been nothing short of memorable; complete with overflowing emotion, devotion, and no hint of apprehension from the man who had previously told you himself he wanted to take the relationship slow.

It was the most tangible display of pure love you have ever beheld.

But now, you lay alone in a web of cold sheets, Bucky’s place beside you unnaturally empty. When he has an early shift, typically he wakes you before he leaves, and at the very least gives you a kiss on the forehead, if not a much more intimate show of affection. But today, you have no recollection of being woken, no memory of his pillow soft lips on yours.

You find it takes a much more determined effort to get out of bed without an energising kiss from your Bucky.

The gala is the talk of the hospital, those who did not receive an invite interrogating everyone who attended for all the latest gossip. You hear your and Bucky’s names dropped a couple times in passing conversation, but all that does is remind you of the night before, and Bucky proclaiming his devotion to you while extracting a pleasure from your body no one else has been able to produce.

Tonight, you promise yourself, those three small words that have been tugging at your mind for the last month, tonight you’ll tell Bucky.

His declaration of wanting to take your relationship slowly was all the way back before your second date, before you officially became his girlfriend, before you held him as his mother underwent life saving surgery, before you knew of his traumatic past, before he switched to the night shift just so he could see you more often, before last night where he told you you are his everything.

Regardless of if he says the words back, you need to tell him. Need him to know that he is the love of your life, that synapses in your brain have reformed so your train of thought always comes back to him, that he has rewritten the molecular code inscribed in your cells so that they crave him like water, drawing him in like osmosis.

Your thoughts are interrupted by your pager going off, calling an all hands on deck emergency.

The ER is a frenzy of nurses clearing trauma rooms, doctors discharging patients who have already been seen to and Dr Strange shouting at surgical staff to prepare the operating rooms.

“There was a shooting at the mall. Police and paramedics are on scene, but it sounds bad.” Wanda fills you in as you both wash your hands and put gloves on, getting ready for the volume of blood and carnage that comes with gunshot wounds.

Dr Strange gathers the emergency medicine team together to brief you all on what you’re about to face. His face is stoic, having treated too many disasters to even seem phased by the decimation of so many lives.

You have not mastered that, but you also like having your humanity, caring about people is what you do best.

“So far we know of eight victims being routed here. There will most likely be more. All G.S.Ws, five women, two men and a child, about eight. One of the men was a paramedic on scene.” The last sentence out of his mouth gives you pause.

A male paramedic was shot.

“A paramedic? Did they say who? Give a description?” All eyes turn to you and no one needs to say it aloud to know exactly what you’re thinking.

“No, that’s all the information we have at this time. They should only be a few minutes out.” You’ve never known Dr Strange to be very sympathetic, but the look he shoots at you is what you assume to be the most compassion he is capable of.

The nagging part of your brain that always finds a route to the most devastating scenario, no matter how unlikely, is screaming so loudly you cannot ignore it.

What if that paramedic is Bucky?

There would have to be thousands of paramedics in a city of this size, what would the chances actually be that Bucky is the one paramedic in critical danger at this very moment.

But the universe has always found a way to be cruel to you, with the exception of when it brought devilishly handsome Bucky Barnes into your life. But what could be more cruel than introducing you to unconditional love and then destroying your heart by taking it away just as swiftly?

Wanda, sensing your paralysing worry beside her, comfortingly strokes her hand up and down your upper arm. “He was working the morning shift today, his shift will be well and truly over. He shouldn’t have been working when the shooting happened.”

“Yeah… he was on morning shift today.” Reminding yourself how you woke up in bed alone. Your lips tremble as you attempt to talk yourself down from the ledge of sheer panic. But your best friend can tell this fact doesn’t convince you.

“Call him.” Wanda instructs with a level voice, only a small glisten in her pupils gives away that she too is worried for his safety.

Your hands are shaking uncontrollably as you locate his contact in your favourites, accidentally dialling your mum first before you see the picture you have of the two of you together set as his contact pop up as it starts ringing.

Time stands perfectly still, the bustling hospital which is always full of movement, the constant beeping of patients pulse oximeters, announcements sounding over the PA, it all goes dead silent and all you hear is the ring tone of a phone call which Bucky isn’t answering.

Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

It goes to voicemail, his voice filling your ears but it’s of no relief because it’s only a recording.

You press his contact again.

And again.

And again.

The fourth time you’re forced to listen to his infuriating voicemail, you leave a panicked message. “Bucky I’m so worried about you, please ring me back as soon as you get this. There’s been a shooting. Please, I need to hear your voice, hear that you’re alright. Please.”

You thought he’d pick up the phone and relieve you from this torment, but now knowing he hasn’t answered after multiple calls, you’re more convinced than ever it’s him that’s been shot.

“Wanda if it’s-”

“You can’t think like that.” But that's all you can think about. Your job, the duty you have to these patients who are en route to the hospital, none of that comes close to the need to know Bucky is unharmed.

The world starts moving in slow motion as the first of the patients arrives. Time runs like molasses, but the anxiety in your chest turns up one hundred fold, as if flashes of lightning strike your chest one after another.

A woman gets pushed in on a gurney, light brown hair stained with blood, and even from the sight of how the paramedic needs to hold her skull flap to her head to prevent her brain being exposed, you know she won’t make it as much as the surgeons will try to save her.

There’s a child, not much bigger than Sasha who you treated the day you first met Bucky, that gets pushed through next. In complete juxtaposition, she’s sitting up talking to paramedics, arm in a sling, but mostly looks unharmed.

And then you see it. The thing that flatlines your heart.

Chestnut hair and an EMT uniform.

You’d know those thick, wavy locks anywhere.

“Bucky!” You don’t even recognise your own voice with how much terror it is consumed with. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

In a flash you’re by his side, keeping pace as they wheel him deeper into the hospital, your lungs and throat scorching with distress.

You try not to break down seeing the sheer amount of blood, Bucky’s blood, soaking the gauze they are pressing into his shoulder wound, how pale and fragile he looks strapped down to the gurney. You’re an emergency medicine doctor, you’ve treated wounds like this before, confronted much more blood than this from a patient. But nothing in your training prepares you for observing your soulmate barely clinging to life, their claret staining your gloved fingers as you help maintain pressure, how cold his skin is to the touch, how his face looks almost serene even though these could be his final moments on earth, that he could be abandoning you for the warm embrace of death.

Not your Bucky. They can’t take your Bucky.

“Buck, can you hear me?” Your hand cups his cheek, and he’s as cold as ice. His eyes are shut so he can’t even look at you to give you one last chance to memorise the astonishingly blue irises which have been your source of solace since meeting him.

A mask covers his mouth and nose, delivering rescue breaths. You try to place a block in your mind to stop it from retrieving the medical knowledge you have spent years memorising - you don’t want to know how catastrophic a situation his body must be in to be needing rescue breaths.

“I love you, James. You hear me? I love you!” It almost ends your existence when he doesn’t answer, doesn’t even so much as flinch at your confession. You hope any part of him that is still alive inside the casing of his cold body manages to hear those words.

Dr Strange and Wanda have to physically restrain you from following the team treating Bucky and prevent you entering the operating theatre.

Dr Strange’s voice sounds like a hum, too far away to make sense of even though he’s pushing you away from the OR. All you’re focussed on is keeping your eyes on Bucky for as long as you can.

Is this the last time you will ever see him alive?

It’s only once he is out of sight, that your brain starts to catch up to the realisation of what has actually happened.

Bucky was shot. A bullet ripped through his skin, tearing muscle and fascia, lacerating his organs, possibly fatally wounding him.

Bullets are designed to kill. To end the life of the organism the gun barrel is aimed at. There is no mercy from a gunshot wound, you had seen too many to believe better.

A guttural cry forces its way out of your parched windpipe without you being able to prevent it, your kneecaps sting as you fall to the ground. Hot, large tears cascade onto your cheeks as Wanda’s arms engulf you.

Any second now, James Buchanan Barnes’ heart could be taking its final beat and you wouldn’t be any wiser. His lungs would stop breathing, preventing oxygen from binding to hemoglobin in his blood and reaching his brain. Everything else would shut down quickly from there.

One second he’d be here and the next he wouldn’t.

James Barnes simply wouldn’t exist anymore.

You had seen it too often, heard from bereaved family members time and time again how quickly it had all happened, but it wasn’t until this very moment that you understood the magnitude of that sentiment.

How could he go from telling you yesterday night that you were the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on to now possibly his cold, lifeless body laying on an operating table with his soul having crossed over to the afterlife?

You’d never hear his voice again. Or his laugh.

Never see his dazzling sapphire eyes as they regard you with overwhelming affection.

Never feel that warm rapture blooming in your chest when he’d proclaim himself as yours and kiss you in the same breath.

He’ll never get to know you love him.

It feels as though you are tumbling wildly down into an abyss, waiting for the inevitable crash at the bottom that would either end this eternal suffering or that sudden jerk, the lurch as you wake up from this cruel nightmare.

Neither comes. You are fated to live in excruciating limbo, your lungs burning, as if you can’t take a breath until Bucky’s destiny has been sealed.

Oxygen would be the gift you’d allow yourself once your love was awake and talking again; cracking stupid jokes with his signature cocky smirk and flirting with you like you were on your first date again.

And if he were to pass into the next life, taking your heart with him, then you would simply refuse to take another breath until you were reunited with him once again.

Part 10 coming soon

Be added to the series taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @princezzjasmine @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @pop-rocks-818 @Dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @kayden666 @amiimar @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet @wishingwell-2 @aya-fay @lowkeysebby @redbarn1995 @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

Blurb Countdown To Daredevil: Born Again

2 Days: Dress - Taylor Swift "say my name and everything just stops/i don't want you like a best friend/only bought this dress so you could take it off."' NSFW You pick out a dress just for Matt. note: okay i was worried about this but i actually really like the way it came out, and its an epilogue ish of this other fic i wrote, also called dress, BUT you dont have to read it to enjoy this one! ya hooked up at foggys wedding thats all the background ya need okay sorry im gonna stop yapping now countdown masterlist

It’s been over a year since you slept with your boss at Foggy’s wedding.

You’ve learned a lot since then.

You’ve learned how difficult it is to be with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, how many sleepless nights it comes with, how many arguments it comes with, how much anxiety it comes with.

You’ve learned how good Matt is at eating you out.

You’ve learned how easy it is to love him.

You've learned how easy it is to be loved by him.

And on the first spring day in New York, you put on the dress that you accredit your relationship to, and the two of you go out for a romantic dinner, enjoying champagne and relaxing together.

But when you get to his apartment afterwards, Matt’s lips do not leave your skin, and his hands roam your—Well, I could lie and tell you his hands roam your skin, but Matthew is obsessed with this dress.

He had been ever since it destroyed the last bit of his willpower.

“I’m gonna fuck you in this dress,” He mumbles against your skin. You let out a giggle as your fingers tangle in his hair.

“What?”

“I changed my mind,” His mouth finally pulls away from your skin, so his forehead can rest against yours, “I’m going to make love to you while you wear this dress. I’m going to fill you with my cock, ruin that pretty makeup and make you cry with this dress on,”

Your breath hitches in your throat.

He chuckles.

“Devil got your tongue, sweetheart?”

Then, before you can respond, Matt picks you up by the back of your thighs, your arms wrapped around his neck. He gets to your bed and sits you down on it, and his lips are immediately back on your skin, pulling you in for a deep kiss.

He inhales deeply, his tongue slipping past your mouth. He has this moment of Déjà vu, of this exact situation in this exact dress. And he remembers what happened that night, so he pushes his tongue further into your mouth, exploring every crevice he can—Like he’s mapping it out, memorizing it.

His hands wander up your thighs as his kisses grow sloppy, his hands dipping under the silk fabric. He’s pulling your panties down, and he stretches them right over your heels.

Here’s something else you’ve learned in the past year or so: When Matthew decides what he wants, he doesn’t stop until he gets it.

“Are you going to be good for me and let me fuck you?”

Now here’s something Matt learned in the past year or so: You love to have the last word. You love being the one who wins an argument. You love being right.

“I thought you were going to ‘make love’ to me.” He shakes his head, before dropping your legs to start to unbuckle his belt, but you quickly sit up and begin to do it for him. He smiles once he realizes what you’re doing. You tug his belt away and throw it somewhere across the room.

But before you can unbutton his pants, Matt tilts your head up, cupping your cheeks. Your eyes stare up at the face you fell in love with much longer than just over a year.

“Can I ask you something?”

His voice is raw. Tender. You sense this is a moment separate from the one you were just in.

“Anything.”

And he knows you mean it.

“You can’t say yes just because we were about to fuck,” He says softly.

You smirk.

Your need to be right has followed you into this next moment.

He smiles and rips off his glasses, not feeling the need to hide from you, across the room somewhere.

“Right. But promise?”

“Promise.”

“Would you marry me?” He wonders.

You blink.

“What?”

“Would you? If I asked?”

“You want to marry me?”

“Do I want to marry you?” He then falls to his knees, his hands curled around yours. You tilt his head up to look at you. “I don’t just want to marry you,” He starts, “I want to make you breakfast every morning, I want to fuck you in a house we own, I want to spend my life with you.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I promise I’ll say yes.” You grin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Matt brings your hand to his chest. You giggle gently.

“Your heart is beating so fast.”

“That’s how badly I want to spend my life with you.” You grin, pulling him in for another kiss. You only deepen it, sinking deeper and deeper into him as his hands finds your thighs, sneaking their way up, when he pulls away, “So you’ll say yes?”

“Yes!” You laugh, “Swear to god, hope to die!” You beg.

“Good.” And he kisses you again, just to make sure.

[postpendulum]

Damian's new classmate was what most people would deem as strange, Damian however could not see him as anything other than suspicious. Daniel Knight had joined in the midst of the school year, claiming to have moved here with his father Fredric Knight (first area of suspicion, a parent willingly moving both them and their child to Gotham) for a new start following his fathers divorce. The boy was reclusive when not spoken to directly, however he would not stop talking when a topic of his interest would come up. After searching further into his past (as he does with all his classmates) Damian found a relatively normal past, the only outstanding things being a noticeable drop in grades at the beginnings of freshman year relating to an undisclosed accident resulting in lichtenberg scarring starting from Daniels palm, and presumably up his arm being hidden by his sleeve. Apparently this accident left Daniel with irregular tremors and, every once in a blue moon, seizures. Damian had thought about taking this suspicious blockage of information to Tim or the Bat Computer to be bypassed, however the idea of sharing Daniel this cases existence with the rest of his family for some unexplained reason bothered him greatly, so Damian has come to the decision to figure out Knight’s true intentions on his own.

Meanwhile Danny’s just trying to live his new, semi-normal life in peace. After a reveal gone wrong results in some good old vivisection, Jazz Sam and Tucker recruit the help of Clockwork to find Danny a new home, where he can heal from both the physical and mental wounds. Clockwork ends up dumping Danny into the DC universe alongside Fright Knight, who was insistent on going with him, feeling responsible in helping to protect his young prince now since he feels he failed the first time. So with a bit of spacetime razzle dazzle, Tucker messing with stuff he probably shouldn't have messed with and a very tearful goodbye with promises to check in every day, Danny goes off to start his new life as Daniel Knight. It was going ok so far, he took half the year to himself, focusing on healing. Also so Frighty could adjust to the whole pretending to be human thing. Danny doesn't have any friends yet, and to be honest hasn't made the effort to make any (Jazz would be disappointed if she knew that), but there's this one boy in Danny's class who might be even weirder than him. Danny can feel Damian's eyes on him, knows how he follows him around without a sound (Danny really shouldn't be able to tell, he only knows because he isn't fully human(and in a weird way, Danny thinks that's kinda cool)), and whenever they do make eye contact Danny can see and feel the boy fluster and shy away.

Maybe he just needs a friend too.

[chatlote]

Just because you don't love yourself it doesn't mean I will stop loving you.

[moeblob]

Yeah! I haven't read any fics focusing on them but I have seen that they exist! And also there's like a five sentence interaction in a fic I read ages ago that lives rent free in my brain. I think about it all the time when I draw Sixty.

[skunkes]

[goofyjelly]

me? finally working on my spock "TOS rewrite of SNWs 'Charades' episode, but this time i make it angsty and also its canon compliant now" WIP? More likely than you think.

[traaanskimkitsuragi]

ill be honest ive seen a lot of people criticize the romances in veilguard but i havent seen anywhere near as much criticism for the sex scenes which is baffling bc theyre just?? so bad???? i like some of them in a vacuum as individual scenes but the fact that they all take place at the same time because bioware Had to have a mandatory sex scene for every romance at the exact same point is so ass (not to mention that the timing is literally RIGHT after the unavoidable death of either harding or davrin like okay??? literally could not think of worse timing). like some of them just dont fit at all, bellaras is literally a confession scene that results in immediate sex (feels ooc for her but they dont even show anything that could lead to sex before the fade to black, so whats even the point?? again it just feels like they had a quota they were trying to stick to rather than making choices that fit the characters), and davrins just straight up does not work because by that point the climax of the relationship has already passed (and if youre going to put a sex scene during the climax of the story, then yes, it SHOULD serve as a climax for the relationship, pun not intended).

[sacchiri]

Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.

Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen

A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?