#james buchanan barnes x reader

[system-to-the-madness]

A Past Revisited - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Pairing: James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes x fem!Reader Era: from CATWS to Black Panther Genre: hurt/comfort Word Count: 4 922 Warnings: no use of (y/n), Reader was born in the GDR (DDR) and knows German, canon-typical violence and weapons, Reader gets threatened by the Winter Soldier, use of German (translations provided in-text), fall of the Berlin wall (I wasn’t there, so probably historically inaccurate), Reader’s father was killed (not by the Winter Soldier), blood Summary: All your life the eyes of the man who almost killed you haunt your nightmares, so when you find these same eyes in Steve’s friend, you struggle with overcoming the past Prompts: not really a prompt but ‘the past coming back to haunt you’ A/N: I think I accidently ruined @spongelll 's weekend by giving y'all the choice between Bucky and Viktor. Well, today's Bucky's turn, next week Viktor. Sorry. (Although I'll admit the poll was a closer cut than I thought it would be.)

It felt like a déjà-vu, like you had lived this situation before. No. It didn’t feel like you had. You had been in this situation before. It actually was not the first time Winter Soldier pressed the muzzle of a gun against your forehead. But this time your lips were not quivering, nor were you crying for your mother as you stared past the gun directly in the bluest pair of eyes you had ever seen. The shiver that ran down your spine was not due to the fear that cursed through your veins at being held at gunpoint by the in black dressed assassin. Rather it was a memory of a cold November night over twenty years ago.

“Bringst Du’s endlich zu Ende,” – are you finally going to finish it – you asked in German, as you stared at the man. “Ich hab’ fast 25 Jahre auf Dich gewartet.” I waited almost 25 years for you.

Blue eyes widened slightly at the use of the foreign language and yet you were certain he had understood you. Did it matter that he looked barely a day older than he had that night in Berlin, that night when the history of a country had been changed forever? It was the same man, there was no doubt about it, you saw it in his eyes, saw it in the way his finger tightened around the trigger, and when a shiver went through him, you knew he felt the same cold November air from 1989 as you did. If only you inhaled deeply enough, you might still smell your mother’s perfume, the smell of gasoline.

Now you were on your knees, where you had fallen during the fight against the assassin, but then you had been just six years old, looking up at the masked man, who stood beside the border patrol hut.

Your mother was waving your passport into a soldier’s face, screaming at him about a radio report and the opening of borders, while the chilly November air blew into your worn-down coat. You stared at the strange soldier, who looked so much different from the ones you knew were patrolling the streets. Their pressed, green-grey shirts and trousers were paired with red-brown belts, but the man who stood before you was wearing all black, a mask that covered half his face, making it look like he was being gagged. Around his eyes, black paint was smeared as he stared at the people crowding at the border point. He seemed indifferent to the people requesting passage, but his striking blue eyes looked sad in the harsh light of the flood lights lighting up the bridge where the crowd had gathered. You were only a small child, not knowing that you were becoming witness to one of the most important historical events of post-war Germany, nor were you aware of the danger you were in.

While your mother held your hand tightly in hers, waving your passport at the soldier she was shouting at, alongside a dozen others, you kept your eyes on the mysterious man before you.

“Are you sad,” you asked him over the shouting of the other people, the German words slipping over your small lips before you had considered them. “You look sad.”

He did not react, only looking at the crowd before him. Until another soldier, a normal one, dressed in the familiar, fear-inducing grey-green intervened.

“That’s enough,” he shouted. “Soldat, the girl-”

Before you or anyone could understand what had happened, the man in black had grabbed your arm, tearing your hand out of your mothers.

Panic surged through you as your fingers slipped out of your mothers, and the last thing you saw before you looked back at him, were the terrified eyes of your mother as she tried to take your hand back into hers.

The man held you an arm’s length away from himself, the fingers of his left hand, dressed in a metallic glove, painfully tight around your thin arm. And then the muzzle of his gun pressed against your forehead.

“Mama,” you whimpered out, but kept your eyes fixed on the man. He was looking straight at you, but at the same time he seemed to be looking right through you, as if behind you he could see memories playing out that made him hesitate.

“Soldat!”

The other soldier shouted, and the finger at the trigger quivered, but didn’t deliver the final squeeze. Instead, he blinked, and suddenly his eyes focused on you, and he almost seemed surprised as if only he had realized now, that he was pressing a gun to a little girl's head.

Staring up at him through tears, unable to speak, you tried to understand what was going on in his mind, tried to puzzle together the previous indifference with the terror that now flickered in his eyes and the way his hand loosened around your arm.

And then there was a whistle, shouts for the soldiers to lower their weapon, someone grabbing the gun out of the man’s hand, and your mother pulling you against her chest, lifting you up into her arms and carrying you over the border at the border point of Bornholmer Straße from the German Democratic Republic into a new life, a different life, in the Federal Republic of Germany. But the Soldat’s eyes would keep haunting you, until you were back face to face with him.

Somehow, your mother carrying you away from him had brought you right back in front of his gun. He was staring at you the same way he had back then, almost as if looking through you, as if looking at a memory that played out behind you.

“Did you also kill my father, when he escaped,” you asked, this time in English. “Or am I special?”

The assassin kept staring at you, but his gun quivered again. He looked exactly the same way you remembered him, blue eyes, black mask, that made him look like he was gagged so he couldn’t talk, strips of his gun holster around his chest like restraints.

“Komm schon, ich hab‘ nicht den ganzen Tag Zeit!“ Come on, I don’t have the whole day, the words shot over your lips in frustration. Gravel was digging into your knees, the muzzle of the gun into your forehead. “Worauf wartest Du? Mach schon, Soldat!” What are you waiting for? Do it, Soldier!

And suddenly his eyes snapped to you, filled with the same quiet terror as all these years ago on the bridge. He straightened, his shoulders rolled back the faintest bit. But then his eyes grew cold, as if he had made a decision, and he steadied the gun, his finger beginning to squeeze the trigger.

The next moment a flash of blue and beige came shooting from the right as Steve tackled the assassin, saving you from certain death.

~*~

The next time you came face to face with those blue eyes, there was no malice behind them, no indifference, only pain and resignation as the man rubbed his left wrist, not a metal glove, as you had assumed as a child, but a prosthetic.

Steve had told you about him, about his best friend, the famous Sargent James Barnes. When you had heard Steve talk about him, before the events in DC, when you had let him show you pictures from the 40s – it had almost felt like he could walk in through the door at any moment and swipe you off your feet with a charming smile, a few clever words and a dance or two. Before you sat someone entirely different. His hair was shorter than it had been two years ago, but longer than in the old pictures, his frame somehow even broader. Slight stubble was covering his cheeks and blood was running down from his hairline.

Then again, maybe he was still the man Steve had described to you over nursing a glass of whiskey that had definitely more done to your system to his, when you realized the description of his best friend had you almost swooning a little, up until the point where he had described his eye colour at least. You couldn’t really stand blue eyes, not since the man with the black face paint and the blue eyes had almost shot you the night the Berlin Wall had fallen. Those conversations with Steve about his friend Bucky had been before the Winter Soldier had almost killed you two years ago. But now the same man who had almost killed you, smiled as he remembered how a sickly Steve had stuffed newspaper into his shoes, and for a moment, it had almost felt like you knew him; the friend of a friend, someone you would laugh with over a drink, someone you could imagine joining the group for a night out after a long mission.

As if he had heard your thoughts, he looked up, his blue eyes taking you in and for a moment you froze, almost waiting for the feeling of a metal hand around your arm, gravel under your knees, a cold gun to your forehead. Instead, he averted his eyes again, as if you had caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Shooting Steve a quick glance while he was talking to Sam, you took a deep breath. You were no Avenger, but had been working close enough with them for long enough to have learnt the one or the other thing about bravery, so you took that deep breath and grabbed your backpack, walking over to the man you knew as the Winter Soldier, but Steve so easily called Bucky.

You could tell he was monitoring each of your movements as you walked towards him, even with his eyes on the ground. Every step felt like you were walking through hip deep mud, your body protesting against your intention to close the distance to the assassin, but you kept pushing on.

He was still not looking at you as you stopped before him and zipped open your backpack, only tensed, as if he expected you to shoot him on the spot. Instead, you pulled out a first aid kit.

“You’re bleeding,” you told him. “Let me look at it?”

His jaw tensed for a moment as if he considered declining the offer. “It’ll have healed by tomorrow.”

You didn’t answer, only kept looking at him while he had his eyes averted from you, staring at the floor. He had even stopped massaging his wrist. You wondered if he had feeling in the metal hand.

Eventually after what felt like an eternity, he finally nodded, and you pulled gauze and some disinfectant from the first aid kit.

Taking another deep breath, your reached for his hair, giving him a short warning that you were going to touch him, before brushing the hair at his hairline back, revealing the cut there. It was not deep, but almost an inch long.

“I’ll spray some disinfectant on the cut, it’ll be cold for a moment,” you warned him, before doing as you had told him.

“Sie haben fast keinen Akzent.“ You barely got an accent.

Surprised you blinked, momentarily halting the application of the disinfectant as the man before you spoke to you in German.

“Sie auch nicht.” You neither.

The man blew air through his nose, maybe an attempt to laugh, as you begun dapping at the cut. He probably had been right about it having healed by tomorrow. The wound did not look like it was only a few hours old, more like a few days.

“Sie,” he noticed thoughtfully. “Why so polite all of a sudden? Didn’t you prefer the informal you?”

“I don’t know you,” you shrugged, beginning to wipe at the dried blood in his hairline. “But politeness is usually not something I give much of a damn about when a national crisis is in progress, or I am about to be murdered.”

For a long moment he was silent, and you almost worried you might have hurt his feelings. Maybe you had said too much, had reminded him of something he rather would not have remembered.

“Ich bin Bucky,” he finally continued the conversation. I’m Bucky. “Bleiben wir beim Du.” Let’s stay with the informal you.

Quietly you introduced your first name to him, and in turn, trying not to move his head while you were still wiping at the blood in his hair, he held out his right hand for you, glancing at you from under your hands.

For a moment you stared at his hand, wondering if he really expected you to shake it, the same way two new acquaintances would. Seeing the blue of his eyes made another shiver run down your spine, made the smell of your mother’s cheap perfume rise in your nose, made you wait for the press of cold metal against your head.

Pointedly you looked back to where you had been attempting to clean him up and grabbed his chin instead, tilting his head so you could clean the blood away from the side of his face. You knew he could pull away any moment, hell, you were standing to his left, one sweep of his arm and he could throw you across the room, probably kill you in the process. But instead, he let you tilt his head, let you use the disinfectant that had run down his face to scrub at the blood, his skin warm and soft, his stubble rough and prickly against the gauze in your fingers. His blue eyes turned away, focusing on a point in the distance.

For a while he let you scrub at him, before he suddenly spoke up again.

“I didn’t kill your father,” he whispered, making you halt for a moment.

Instead of answering, you just furrowed your brows, while continuing.

“You asked,” he explained his sudden statement. “Back in DC.”

“I know,” you answered, realizing your voice was quivering slightly as you did. Clearing your throat and taking another breath, you turned back to wiping the last remains of blood out of his beard. “He got shot by border patrol. He wasn’t important enough to be assassinated by the Winter Soldier.”

“I almost killed you. Twice.”

“Except you didn’t. You hesitated. Twice. Why?”

You didn’t get an answer, as Steve called for Bucky and you, and you let go of his chin, and stepped away, wondering if along with the feeling of a gun muzzle against your forehead, a metal hand around your arm and gravel underneath your knees, you’d now also associate the feeling of a stubbled chin in your hand with the sight of blue eyes.

-

It was a strange feeling. Since you had been five years old, you had dreaded the sight of blue eyes, and now you were sitting in a small hut in Africa, waiting desperately for the same blue eyes that had haunted your nightmares for over 25 years to open.

“He’ll be fine,” the comforting voice with the familiar Wakandan accent of Shuri assured you. Considering she was barely more than a child, you were concerned for yourself that you relied so heavily on her reassurance.

“For most of my life he was the personification of the absolute worst in my world and over the matter of a few days that view has been turned upside down,” you explained, furrowing your brows and wringing your hands in your lap, suppressing the need to reach out and weave your fingers through Bucky’s. After Shuri had eliminated the trigger words from Bucky’s mind, and Okoye had confirmed the procedures success, Shuri had made the offer of a second surgery: remove the brutally implanted metal plates HYDRA had fused with Bucky’s body and replace them with a better version, one that would not let him flinch in pain occasionally, when damaged nerves were firing. You had no idea how it was supposed to work, knowing the Wakandan technology was so far above your understanding of medicine that it would have taken you several years to even begin to understand how it worked, but what you gathered was that they had a way of connecting all the nerves in a way that perfectly mimicked a real arm.

Bucky had jumped at the idea so quickly, that it had almost been concerning, and had made you realise that even after you had shared a few longer talks with him by now, you still had not even the faintest understanding of how desperately he needed to get rid of any reminder of what HYDRA had done to him. He had declined the offer of a new arm though, saying he would only accept the offer if it was T’Challa’s wish for him to fight, something that had concerned you even more because in his mind it seemed like having two arms would make him feel like a weapon.

What had concerned you most though, was the way he had asked you to stay with him in Wakanda, right before he had been taken under before the first procedure. He had spoken to Steve, knowing his best friend had made himself an internationally wanted man for his sake, before his incredibly blue eyes had fixed on you.

“I have a request, which is too much to ask of anyone, but especially of you,” he had told you.

“Spuck's aus.” Spit it out.

A smile tucked at his lips, not the sad one he had shown while talking to Steve, explaining his decision. It was a rather amused one.

“Be here when I wake up.”

You had felt the way Steve had looked between the two of you, but you had just looked at Bucky, at the same blue eyes that had haunted you for decades in your nightmares. There was no plea, no submission, no expectation in his eyes, only the simple question. You bowed your head in response, a slow, wordles yes, and when Bucky had leant back in the capsule to be frozen again, he reached his hand out. Not for Steve, not for Shuri or T’Challa. For you. It wasn’t like that time you had cleaned him up only a few days ago, not a greeting. It was the hope for comfort. So you stepped forward, grabbed his hand and squeezed his fingers briefly before he let go, letting himself be taken under.

He had squeezed your fingers the same way before the second procedure. You still felt his warm, dry skin against yours, his bigger fingers closing against yours as if your hand alone had the power to evaporate his nerves. And now you wished you could feel their steady seeming warmth again. But he was still asleep, and you wouldn’t just take a sleeping person’s hand. Especially not without knowing what exactly he had been put through by the hands of HYDRA.

“When he’s up, make him drinks some water and if he’s in pain, call me,” Shuri asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“You’re not going to wait here until he’s awake,” you wondered, concern swinging in your voice.

“He’s in good hands,” she shrugged with a knowing glance, “and there were no complications, so I don’t think he’ll need medical attention.”

And with those words and a wink you were not sure how to understand, she saw herself out.

It only took a few more minutes, before Bucky begun stirring. His brows furrowed as if in discomfort, and his hand begun patting over the thin blanket that covered him up to the chin, as if searching for something.

“Bucky,” you tried biting back the smile, only half-successfully, as you scooted closer to him, but still not daring to take his hand.

He hummed affirmatively, furrowing his brows further before he blinked his eyes open, their blue striking even in the dim light of the hut.

“You’re here,” he whispered, his eyes ghosting over your face as he reached for your own hand, lacing his fingers between yours.

Your breath skipped at the action, but you just nodded and smiled.

“I promised you I would,” you told him.

“Did you?”

“You were asleep,” you explained. Indeed, after you were waiting for him to wake up after his first procedure, you had promised yourself more even than him to be there for all future procedures he would have to be put through.

Bucky scoffed, clearly amused, before he suddenly grew quiet, watching you carefully for a moment before he swallowed thickly.

“I know now,” he began, taking a deep breath. “I know now why the Soldat hesitated.”

Not having expected this sudden change in topic, you blinked surprised.  

“He couldn’t. In Berlin- you were a child, a little child. He… never killed a child. I think he physically couldn’t. I don’t know about DC, but maybe he recognized you. Maybe…” Bucky hesitated. “Maybe he remembered the one shot he couldn’t take and that made it impossible to do it then.”

“Do you… do you remember? Berlin and DC?”

Bucky sat up, running his hand over his face. “Not really. Not all of it. Bits and pieces here and there. But in DC, I remember thinking of Berlin, a memory I shouldn’t have had, and I remember being unable to pull that trigger. I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, averting your eyes from where he sat, letting them wander over to the door and to the tree outside. The setting sun drew long shadows over the ground, and suddenly you had the distinct feeling, that the day was not the only thing ending.

“For what,” Bucky asked, and you could hear the furrow of his brows in his voice.

“For telling me. It helps.”

“It helps?”

You shook your head and sighed quietly before turning to look back at him. Meeting his eyes, you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine at their cold blue.

“With processing everything. It was kind of… a lot.”

Bucky nods and suddenly you realized that only a few days had passed since he had been torn out of the quiet life he had built for himself in Bucharest.

“Can I ask you something?”

Over the past days, since Shuri had taken care of the trigger words, Bucky had often used this question to precede inquiries about SHIELD, Steve, the Avengers and everything else really. It always gave you the impression that it took him a certain amount of courage to ask, and you wondered if he would have felt the same hesitation if it had been Steve sitting next to him. You were little more than a stranger to him.

“Ask away,” you replied anyway, confused when he suddenly lowered his eyes.

“You flinch when you look at me.”

There was no hurt in his voice, no reproach. It was a simple observation, but one that made you feel guilty nonetheless.

For a moment you waited for the question, but when he did not ask it, you assumed the unspoken ‘why’ was what he had wanted to know.

“I can’t help it,” you answered slowly, watching as Bucky sat, hunched, and fiddled with the blanket in his lap. “It’s your eyes.” You could see how his gaze flickered over to you, from the corner of his eyes, but he did not turn to look at you fully. “They’re really all I remembered of you. Your eyes and your hand on my arm and the gun to my head. I haven’t- I’ve been struggling to meet people’s eyes since, especially when they’re as blue as yours.”

“You don’t struggle looking at Steve,” Bucky mumbled, and if you hadn’t known better, you would have assumed hurt.

“Different blue,” you shrugged.

For a while you sat in silence, not sure what to say. You wanted to ask about his shoulder, wanted to ask if he was in pain, but bit the question down with the same harshness, with which you pushed the thought away, that you wanted to see his eyes again.

But when he made no attempt to get up or look at you, and the shadows outside grew longer, turning blue, you finally called his name, quietly.

His eyes snapped up, and he moved his head a fraction, but stopped, not looking at you fully, not letting you see his eyes. He was trying to keep his eyes hidden to avoid scaring you, you realized with a pang in your chest, and suddenly you were reminded of all the things Steve had told you about his Bucky. How caring he had been, how considerate, how he had always done everything he could to accommodate Steve, even when it meant cutting back on his own fun, just to avoid Steve getting another asthma attack. The same man, who had been put through more than you could ever imagine, now avoided the impulse to look at your eyes, simply to lessen your discomfort around him.

“Bucky,” you said again, reaching out for him, before stopping. “Can I touch you?”

Bucky blinked; his eyes directed at the entrance to the hut. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Yes, yes I do.”

He took a moment to process your answer, before he nodded.

Slowly you reached out, taking his chin, and turning his head to you, similar to the way you had done after meeting him as Bucky for the first time. Except this time, you were more careful, didn’t grip his chin as tightly, weren’t as rough with him as you had been back then. His eyes flickered over the traditional Wakandan clothes you were wearing, a gift from Shuri, up to your chin, but then he cast them down again, not daring to meet yours.

“Bucky,” you called him again, and finally he looked at you, mere inches away from his face.

A shiver ran through you as you took in the clear blue of his eyes, the fine pattern of his irises. Memories of sensations flashed across your body, the smell of your mother’s perfume, the pressure of a metal hand around your arm, gravel underneath your knees, a gun pressing to your forehead. Warm skin and rough stubble under your fingertips, the scent of disinfectant. Only a few days had passed since this last memory, but his beard had grown in that time, no longer just stubble. The hair seemed softer now under your fingers, his skin just as soft, but the warmth that radiated from him seemed to have increased.

It hit you like a punch in the stomach when you realized that he let himself be at your complete mercy, was completely relaxed in your hand. He trusted you. You just weren’t sure why.

While you were wondering about these things, you couldn’t help noticing the shift in Bucky’s eyes. At first there had been insecurity, hesitancy when his eyes had met yours again, but then his expression changed, his brows drew together just slightly, and a feeling of regret swam in his eyes, as if he hated the part of himself that had scared you so badly, had haunted you since that November night in Berlin. No, he actually hated that part of himself, the part, HYDRA had turned into the Winter Soldier.

“I’ll get used to it,” you mumbled out, not sure who you were talking to, but Bucky seemed to understand that you were referring to his eyes.

He inhaled deeply, as if to say something, and opened his mouth before hesitating. It was this small gesture, that suddenly made you aware of how close you had lent in, only a few inches separating you now, bridged by your hand at his chin. It was a reflex, you told yourself later, not at all motivated by what Steve had told you about him before you had found out Bucky was still alive, not by what he had allowed you to observe about himself over the past days. But your eyes flickered down to his lips, just for a split second, the thought forming, that you could get used to this, his intense eyes focused on nothing but you, the strong, but calm presence of his body so close to you, his breath fanning over your face in an even pattern.

As quickly as possible you looked back up, but it had been enough for Bucky to notice, judging by the way his eyes softened, and the corner of his lips pulled upwards only the faintest bit. That evening, as the sun sunk behind the mountains, you let go of his chin as if you had been burnt, distracting yourself by starting to talk about dinner, but the damage had been inevitably done. Bucky had found something to hold onto, and as much as you tried denying it, so had you.

The moments of prolonged eye contact increased as the weeks passed, dragged out, let the memories of the gun against your head be overshadowed by the feeling of Wakandan summer heat on your skin, the sound of bleating goats and Bucky’s steady presence at your side. And when eventually he was the one to grab your chin, after you had averted your eyes after a particularly flirty comment of his, it was impossible to tell, who of you leant in first. All you knew was that the feeling of the cold Berlin autumn night and the gun against your head had irrevocably been replaced by the feeling of Bucky’s gentle touch against your skin whenever you saw his eyes.

[blythesarchives]

Sugar Plums. | W.S

summary: The soldier has an attachment to you.

warnings: Suggestive 18+ MDNI & Fluff | Fem!reader | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Brief mentions of PTSD | Brief talk of HYDRA | Heavy petting | Love biting/hickeys

a/n: This came to me randomly but thought it was cute and somewhat spicy. I added some fluff to balance it all out and tried to keep the sexy scenes sweet too. I see so many fics of him being super aggressive in bed and those are great, but for me I think he'd be a little more like this. Takes place after the events of CA:TWS. Contains roughly translated Russian, native speakers can correct me if anything was translated wrong. Ty. ;; wc: 5.5k

It was so awkward.

Everyone sat frozen in place, their eyes locked on the imposing figure of the Winter Soldier as he towered behind you, his piercing blue eyes methodically scanning the room and studying each occupant with an intensity that made them shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"Absolutely not!" Tony was the first to break the suffocating silence, his voice sharp and decisive as he beat Steve to speaking by a mere second. There was absolutely no way he would even consider allowing the fist of HYDRA to take up residence in his tower, treating him like he was nothing more than some lost stray that needed sheltering. "He's not staying here, no way in hell - this isn't a halfway house for reformed assassins."

"Tony, come on. HYDRA is gone, their control over him is broken," you reasoned desperately, your voice taking on a pleading tone as you gestured toward the silent figure behind you, "He's been surviving on his own for weeks, barely getting by. Just look at him...he's exhausted, malnourished, and clearly needs somewhere safe to stay and recover."

"Uh, how about no?" Tony fired back, staring at you like you had grown a second head...or like you had a towering sleeper soldier looming behind you.

Tony wasn't your favorite person in the world, but he was usually somewhat reasonable.

"There's absolutely no way that he's staying here. Have you completely lost your mind? What if he suddenly snaps or loses control and goes completely berserk, hm? What if one night those sleeper triggers buried in his brain suddenly activate and he systematically takes us out one by one in our sleep?" Tony added emphatically, his hands gesturing wildly in the air as he attempted to visualize the gruesome scenarios playing out in his mind.

"Your state-of-the-art security cameras can't give us a heads up before that happens?" You asked with dry sarcasm, your tone deliberately flat and unimpressed, clearly making a joke while you tried to find some kind of middle ground that would get the agitated, self-proclaimed playboy to calm down and think rationally.

"No chance in hell, sweet cheeks," he folded his arms and glared at you with sternness that etched across his features. "Too dangerous."

"He's staying, whether you like it or not," you replied in the same unwavering tone, standing your ground with resolute conviction. "He's hurt, weak, completely vulnerable. There's absolutely nothing he could possibly do in this state. He needs somewhere warm and safe to stay, especially since he's been struggling to survive out on the streets for weeks now. Besides, winter is coming fast and there’s no way he won’t get hypothermia or something." You added with concern, knowing full well that while the soldier hadn't been entirely helpless during his ordeal, he certainly hadn't managed to secure any kind of stable shelter.

His temporary refuges consisted only of cold spaces beneath bridges, dark corners tucked away in forgotten alleys, or the remains of abandoned buildings - not a single place where he could truly let his guard down or feel protected from the harsh elements. With winter's rapid approach and already light dustings of snow, the temperatures would only get more brutal as the nights went on.

You continued to argue with Tony, Steve butting in every so often, luckily siding with you, desperate to have his old friend somewhere safe. It was a long, frustrating argument that lasted much longer than need be.

Earlier that day, while you had been making your way down the frost-covered street of New York's downtown district, his eyes had caught sight of your familiar form. Something deep within him told him to follow you, a magnetic pull that he couldn't explain. He obeyed the instinct, trailing silently behind you all the way back to the tower. When you finally became aware of his presence, he was thoroughly drenched from the steadily falling snow, his cheeks and nose having turned a bright, rosy color from the biting cold as he tried to suppress his constant shivering.

The moment you made your sudden turn to approach him, he visibly startled, immediately taking a defensive step backward as his mind raced through all the possible scenarios and potential threats. His eyes darted across your face with obvious wariness as you fully turned to face him, his entire body subtly shifting its weight from foot to foot, muscles tensed and ready to bolt away.

"It's okay...you look cold..." You spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper, trying not to startle him as you took in his disheveled appearance. The soldier, the one whose face had practically been plastered across every news channel, the same one Steve had spoken about with such raw emotion in his voice.

You remembered how Steve had mourned his best friend, utterly confused and devastated about why he had saved from the river, while Bucky fell to what should have been his death. Steve held onto that grief, that guilt, like a lifeline. He held onto it so desperately, clinging to the faintest hope that a sliver of Bucky was still somewhere deep inside the persona of the Winter Soldier.

Looking at him now, you couldn't see any trace of the man from Steve's stories - the soldier's eyes were too wild and wide, filled with fear and confusion.

But despite everything you'd heard, despite the destruction you'd witnessed on the news, despite the intense warnings from everyone in the tower, there was something about his presence that didn't trigger your fight or flight response.

He didn't make you feel unsafe.

He looked absolutely beat down, exhausted to his very core, his shoulders slumped in a way that made you wonder when he'd last had a moment's rest. You weren't even sure he could take you down if he tried in this state, though you knew his reputation suggested otherwise. He was shaking from the cold air as it blew in a stinging breeze, his metal arm gleaming dully in what little light remained, while the incoming winter storm brought with it a thick haze and countless tiny pinpricks of needle-like snowflakes that seemed to cut through the air.

"Come inside with me, I'll take care of you." You offered quietly, your voice gentle and reassuring as you extended your hand towards him. Your body language remained open and non-threatening, shoulders relaxed and posture deliberately casual to help put him at ease and to show him you felt no fear.

After a few silent moments where his piercing blue eyes studied you through the thick haze, he finally shifted his weight forward and took a step in your direction.

The water in the shower had set a steady steam in the bathroom, the mirror had fogged and the tiles sweat below your bare feet.

You could hear the gentle splashing of water against the bathtub as he cleaned himself. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm caught your attention, hopefully that thing was waterproof, but it must be, right?

After setting out a fresh towel and clean clothes for his use, you quietly excused yourself to provide him with privacy. The state of his current attire was awful, every piece was thoroughly saturated and carried an unmistakable stench that made you wrinkle your nose. The clothes were in such poor condition that you couldn't help but wonder if they had been scavenged from someone who no longer needed them.

You wouldn’t put it past the soldier to steal from a cadaver.

His shower routine was notably brief, years of conditioning taught him to minimize the time spent on his personal care. Upon finishing, he emerged from behind the curtain and efficiently dried himself with the provided towel. His gaze fell upon the fresh clothes you had thoughtfully placed by the sink, while his previous garments had been discreetly removed.

The soldier hesitated momentarily before donning the clean outfit. It wasn’t anything fancy, a pair of grey sweatpants emblazoned with the Avenger's logo along the side and a simple yet comfortable black tank top. When he finally emerged from the bathroom to face you, his body language betrayed his uncertainty as he stood there, not sure what to do now. Comfort was completely foreign to him, and care was a dream away.

"Tony finally gave in," you replied softly, your voice sounded in the quiet stillness of the bedroom. "He said you could stay here with us."

He remained motionless, his expression blank and unreadable as he stood there, offering neither response nor the slightest hint of acknowledgement to your words. You weren’t sure what to expect but that seemed pretty in character for him at the moment.

"You'll be staying in my quarters since no one else is comfortable having you in their space just yet...but don't worry too much about that," you reassured gently, though you could tell from his demeanor that others' opinions held little weight in his mind. "They'll come around after some time, I'm sure of it."

His gaze fixed upon you then, his brow creasing ever so slightly with an unspoken question as he began to move. Each step was deliberate and measured as he crossed the room, closing the distance between you until he stood directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the water droplets from his freshly washed hair beading at the ends and falling onto the fabric of your top, leaving dark spots where they landed.

"Everything's going to be fine," you said with gentle reassurance, trying to ease the tension in the air. "Why don't we head to the kitchen and get you something to eat? You must be hungry." You offered, hoping to bring some normalcy to the situation.

The soldier shadowed your every movement, following closely behind like a faithful companion who refused to stray from their master's side.

Upon entering the expansive kitchen, you immediately made your way to the industrial-sized refrigerator, searching through its contents for something suitable to offer him. The kitchen was perpetually stocked to the brim with an array of foods, snacks, and ingredients, practically anything one could imagine or desire. It was like having a private, fully-stocked grocery store.

Though with a the ravenous super soldier with enhanced metabolism, the mighty Asgardian god whose appetite matched his status, and Banner's surprisingly hulk-ish consumption…the team still depleted their food with an efficiency that would put a pack of famished wolves to shame.

"Hm...what should you have...do you want anything specific?" You turned over your shoulder to address him, but he maintained his characteristic silence. Unmoving, and completely stoic, like a statue carved from marble.

"Нет [No]," came his quiet response, the Russian word rolling off his tongue deeply. He remained perfectly still, observing with careful attention as you continued your search through the refrigerator's contents, trying to determine what would be most appropriate for him to eat. Your mind was working quickly, knowing you wanted to avoid anything too time-consuming to prepare. You wanted to get some food into him sooner rather than later.

"How about...I could make some soup real quick? Tomato and grilled cheese might be a safe option for you. Shouldn't upset your stomach too much if you haven’t been eating a lot, and it will warm you up if you're still feeling cold." You turned back toward him once more, studying his features carefully for any hint of reaction or preference to your suggestion, any subtle change in his expression.

But, he didn't provide even the slightest indication of his feelings.

You decided on tomato soup and a grilled cheese anyway, you figured it was best and immediately set to work in the kitchen.

Although you typically prided yourself on preparing meals completely from scratch, this particular circumstance called for something different. You assembled the sandwich, buttering the bread before placing it in a heated pan to get a golden-brown crust while keeping a watchful eye on the pot of soup simmering beside it, occasionally stirring for even heating.

Once everything reached the perfect temperature and consistency, you transferred the meal onto clean dishes, relieved it didn’t take too long. You presented him with the steaming bowl of soup and perfectly grilled sandwich, watching as the soldier deliberately took his place at the counter, his eyes fixed intently on the rising steam from the bowl before him.

You watched him, noting how his entire body remained unnaturally rigid and motionless, as though every muscle was locked in place and braced for something. His lips bore a slight sheen of moisture, like he had licked them at some point when you weren't watching. Yet despite his obvious hunger, he hadn't made even the slightest attempt to reach for the food. His eyes held intense longing and hesitation, briefly meeting yours before quickly darting away, as if making eye contact was somehow forbidden.

"What's wrong?" You asked with growing concern etched across your features, "You're hungry aren't you? I can tell you haven't eaten in a while. Especially not anything warm, at least. I know it can be hard out there, all by yourself…"

His response came in the form of an almost imperceptible nod, his gaze remaining firmly fixed on the bowl and sandwich before him, as though they were the most important and most dangerous objects in the room.

"So why aren't you eating? The food's getting cold, it won’t be as good if it cools too much."

"Я не могу совершить действие без приказа. [I cannot perform an action without an order]," the soldier responded in barely more than a whisper, his voice carrying the weight of years of conditioning.

You stood there, completely lost in the language barrier between you. Your limited knowledge of Russian extended only to the most basic words - 'да' and 'нет' - leaving you clueless by his response and worried about the implications of his behavior.

You didn't want to wake Natasha, even though she would certainly understand what he was saying in Russian, but disturbing her sleep for something as simple as a quick translation seemed unnecessary and might put her in a bad mood. Instead, an idea popped into your head that would avoid an angry widow. You reached for your phone and placed it on the smooth counter surface, navigating to a translator app before looking up at him again. "Can you repeat that?"

The soldier's eyes flickered briefly to the phone screen, taking in the sight of the translation app with what seemed like recognition, before his gaze deliberately returned to the untouched food laid out before him. "I cannot perform an action without an order," he stated in perfect, albeit mechanical English this time.

You blinked in surprise, thoroughly caught off guard by the sudden switch to English when he had been persistently speaking Russian up until this point. "Okay...well...eat then, you can eat freely here, you don't need an order to do that." You slowly tucked your phone away into your pocket as his right hand gradually lifted from where it had been resting in his lap, reaching out to pick up the sandwich.

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but he wolfed down his food within a minute, that sandwich was gone within maybe three bites. The soup swallowed just as fast.

God, he was starving, and the realization made your heart ache.

"Better?" You asked gently, to which he only nodded, swallowing the last of the food in his mouth.

This became routine, the soldier stuck by your side like a duckling imprinting on its mother.

He followed you diligently around every corner of the tower, his protective instincts activated as he positioned himself like an ever-vigilant guardian. His eyes constantly scanned the surroundings, noting how others would cast uncertain and sometimes suspicious glances in his direction.

These looks made him increasingly self-conscious and anxious, as though he were some exotic creature put on display at a zoo for others to gawk at. But in your presence, he seemed a bit more at ease. He genuinely liked being around you.

Gradually, the rigid tension that had defined his existence began to melt away, and he started allowing more intimate gestures of care. He let you gently brush his unruly hair into place, carefully wash his face with warm water, or trim his growing stubble for him.

He accepted these tender ministrations without the slightest resistance or complaint, though a nagging worry lingered in your mind that his compliance stemmed from years of conditioning to submit to others' wishes. Each time you worried about that, you’d see a genuine warmth and contentment in his gaze rather than submission, showing you that he truly found comfort and pleasure in your gentle touch.

It was evening, the room reflected the warm glow of festive holiday lights emanating from a miniature Christmas tree nestled in the corner. The soldier found himself transfixed by the small decorated tree, his eyes lingering on each twinkling light as their vibrant colors danced and shimmered. The sterile, monotonous walls he had grown accustomed to during his confinement were nothing compared to the colorful lights. The gentle play of red, green, and gold seemed to awaken something long dormant within him, he almost wanted to plant himself in front of the tree and just stare at it.

Tony may have allowed his stay, but that didn’t mean there weren’t restrictions. He was stern about where and when the soldier could go anywhere with you, and he demanded that he not leave your room afterhours. It wasn’t hard to follow, the solider showed reluctance to leave your room at all, having been so accustomed to being kept in one room. You didn’t push him, but you felt bad for him because he was missing how the tower had been decorated for the holidays. So, you got a smaller tree for the bedroom to provide some kind of festive look for him to take in.

You emerged from the bathroom, wisps of steam following in your wake, your damp hair leaving little droplets on your shoulders as you continued to towel it dry with scrunches. He remained motionless on the edge of your bed, his attention immediately shifting as he turned and blinked up at your approaching figure.

His icy eyes traced a deliberate path across your form, which was barely concealed beneath the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the hem teasingly brushing against your mid-thigh with each movement. "I am beat," you sighed heavily, your voice carrying the weight of the day's festivities. The marathon of holiday activities had clearly taken its toll, leaving you thoroughly drained. The tower often held an array of things to do because Tony loved to show off what he could afford, and it wasn’t like anyone else would object.

He observed with rapt attention as you made your way onto the bed and settled back against the pillows, releasing a deep exhale that seemed to melt away the day's tension. His unwavering gaze remained fixed on the rhythmic, hypnotic motion of your chest rising and falling with each breath.

You felt the bed shift beneath you as he moved, his weight causing the mattress to dip and creak softly. He crawled over to where you lay, his arms positioning themselves on either side of your body, caging you in. Your eyes fluttered open to find him hovering directly above you, his presence overwhelming in its proximity. This was something new…he had always maintained somewhat of a distance before, never daring to position himself so intimately over top of you.

"Я скомпрометирован. [I'm compromised]," the soldier spoke in a hushed tone, his voice carrying that distinctive gravelly pitch that made you feel tingly. The tension between you had become damned near impossible to ignore. What had started as a subtle pull had grown into an overwhelming force of attraction that seemed to draw you both together like magnets.

Still, you forced yourself to hold back, maintaining that last thread of restraint. You had no way of knowing the depth of his emotional capacity, if he was even capable of genuine feelings, or wanted to experience them at all after everything he endured.

"Soldat...?" The whispered word escaped your lips as you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his muscles tensed as he remained suspended above you, perfectly still. "You know I don't understand-"

"I am compromised," he repeated, switching to English this time. His voice had dropped even lower, carrying an edge of frustration that vibrated through the minimal space between your bodies.

"Comprom..." You sat up slowly on your elbows and shook your head in confusion, your brow furrowed as you tried to process his words. That’s what you’d say about a machine or computer, not a man. "What are you talking about?" Your eyes wandered downward, suddenly drawn to an unmistakable tent in his fitted briefs that became obvious from your new viewing angle, causing you to freeze in place as your breath caught in your throat.

So, he could feel things.

"Oh..." You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you as you remained frozen in place, your cheeks growing warm. "I think I understand now...you're feeling a bit pent up, aren't you?"

His metal arm whirred softly, the sophisticated machinery humming as he moved to adjust his hand placement. "Да. [Yes]," he responded in a low voice, his gleaming titanium fingertips delicately ghosted across the bare skin of your thigh, just barely grazing beneath the hem of your thin sleep shirt. Goosebumps erupted along your body in response to the contact, the cool metal sudden against your flushed skin.

"Мне не нравится делиться вашим вниманием. [I don't like sharing your attention]," he muttered with an undertone of possession, his lips curling into a slight frown as he gradually leaned closer to you. His silken hair delicately tickled your face as he slowly lowered himself, the tips of your noses barely grazing against each other in an intimate gesture. His lips parted ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of anticipation before he dipped his head down, warm lips pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your jawline.

You swallowed reflexively, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his warm, steady breath caress your sensitive skin, sending a visible shudder of growing excitement through your body.

He continued his gentle exploration, encouraged by your acceptance and the absence of any resistance. He pressed a trail of soft, purposeful kisses along the curve of your jaw, each one more intimate than the last, before gradually working his way down to your neck. His lips carefully followed the rhythmic flutter of your pulse beneath your skin, his tongue peeking out shyly to touch against you.

"Ah-" You voiced softly, feeling him settle on a particularly sensitive spot, right against the delicate side of your neck. It was nestled perfectly between the graceful junction where your neck connected to your collarbone, the skin there warm and inviting, holding a faint trace of blood flow from the intricate network of smaller veins positioned just beneath the surface.

He kissed many times with increasing intensity, clearly finding this spot ideal for his attentions. The soft, tentative pecks gradually became more passionate, open-mouthed kisses as each one was placed. His tongue began gently pressing against your skin with each lingering kiss, the pressure slowly growing in need. You felt your cheeks flush with warmth when he finally latched on, your eyes widening in surprise as the soldier's strong arms held you a little tighter.

Soldat began to suckle a mark, his ministrations gentle and teasing at first, but quickly growing in force and intensity as his skilled tongue swirled expertly around the trapped skin between his lips and teeth. The sensation drew a breathy moan from deep within you, making your entire body feel as though it were engulfed in flames of desire. Though you were completely helpless beneath the assassin, you had absolutely no intention or desire to push him away.

This felt too damned good.

Without thinking, your leg came up and hooked around his hips, drawing him closer until your bodies were flush against each other. The heat between you grew and you felt his painful erection trapped in his briefs, straining against the fabric as his arousal was staining them. Soldat exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening possessively, but he did not let go.

His suckling grew increasingly intense, the sensitive skin tingling and starting to sting and burn with each passing moment. Still, he didn't release the bruised skin just yet.

Instead, he just bit down harder, ensuring the mark he left would last for days. You moaned loudly, your fingers gently tangling in his thick hair as your pleasured sounds encouraged his attention. He became more attentive when your little sounds of pleasure turned into sharp, quiet hisses - clearly indicating that the sensation had crossed from pleasure into discomfort, silently telling him to ease off.

When he did finally relent, he pulled back to admire his handiwork, looking down at the deep purple mark blooming on your neck. His breath came in heavy pants through his parted lips as he stayed quiet, watching intently as you struggled to catch your own breath too. The sight of you beneath him, disheveled and vulnerable, with flushed skin and labored breathing, was enough to draw him right back in.

He dipped back down with renewed hunger, his metal hand slowly threading through your hair before gently fisting it at the base of your skull, though his careful control ensured it wasn’t painful, just firm. He tugged just enough to guide your movement, encouraging you to expose more of your neck to his hungry gaze.

"E-easy..." You whispered, a note of anxious anticipation in your voice. You wanted more, god you wanted more, but his sudden change of behavior was a bit surprising for you.

"Понял. [Understood]," he whispered against your skin, pressing a soft kiss of reassurance to your jaw before returning his attention to your neck. Those soft kisses began again, trailing along your skin, but his restraint didn't last long as he quickly sought a new canvas for another mark. He latched onto a spot just a little bit higher on your neck, alternating between sucking and carefully controlled bites to gradually darken and bruise the sensitive flesh.

You felt bite after delicious bite, hickey after possessive hickey.

He marked the tender flesh of your neck in several deep, purple marks that bloomed like violent flowers across your skin...each one throbbing with a sweet ache when he pulled away. His tongue always swirled over the mark with care to soothe the sting of it, making you arch into his touch as you fell into a complete daze.

"S-Soldat," you muttered breathlessly, cheeks flushed crimson and eyelids heavy with desire. Your pupils matched his own - completely blown with hunger and desperate need. Those bermuda swirls meeting yours as he continued a torturously slow trail of hot kisses down your chest, nipping your collarbone with just enough pressure to make you gasp before following the gentle dip of your sternum.

He paused deliberately, pulling up so he could lift the thin sleep shirt over you and expose more of your bare chest to his hungry gaze, giving him better access for his heated kisses and teasing nips. Once your top was discarded somewhere on the floor, his hands gently but firmly held your sides, trailing up with reverent touches until settling against your ribcage. His larger hands completely encompassed your torso, making you feel small but protected.

The soldier was absolutely transfixed at the sight of your breasts, eyeing the soft mounds and peaked nipples as they hardened in the cool air, growing increasingly sensitive and rosy with your mounting arousal. It was like he was completely mesmerized by the sight before him, the fucking Winter Soldier, the most dangerous assassin in history, stopped dead in his tracks at the mere sight of your bare breasts.

You felt in charge now.

"What is it? Do you like them?" you purred softly to the soldier, your body swaying in a deliberately teasing motion that made them gently move. His eyes remained fixed, drinking in the sight before him as his lips parted ever so slightly. Slowly, his head tilted down again, surrendering to the moment. He let his face nestle against your chest, his lips trailing a constellation of unhurried kisses across your skin.

He began to nip and suckle the tender skin of your breasts, his mouth working to create deep, purple love bites on that delicate flesh. The bruising blossomed easily beneath his ministrations, almost like they were eager to show themselves.

His lips would find a promising spot, then he would begin lapping at the skin with gentle strokes of his tongue until he felt you squirming. The soldier took the sensitized flesh carefully between his teeth, rolling the captured skin while his talented muscle swirled and sucked.

Your chest displayed his passionate handiwork when he finally drew back to admire his creation. The plum-colored bruises created an intimate pattern across your skin, their rich hues made even more striking by the soft glow of the holiday lights that danced through the room, highlighting each carefully placed love bite until they seemed to shimmer like twilight stars against your flesh.

"Soldat...I think you covered enough surface area," you breathed, feeling overwhelmed by the intense throbbing that radiated from each mark he'd left. The sensation pulsed in waves across your skin, making it difficult to focus. Your neck was thoroughly covered in the passionate marks, and now your chest bore an equally impressive collection.

The soldier gazed down at you with intensely, his eyes taking in each little sugar plum bruise that decorated your skin like a masterpiece. Though they were scattered without any deliberate pattern, the overall effect clearly pleased him. You lay there looking thoroughly affected by his attention, hair mussed and breathing uneven, cheeks beautifully darkened with a dust of blush, just from his careful application of bites alone. The sight of you in such a state, marked so thoroughly, brought deep set satisfaction in his gut.

"Моя теперь. [Mine now]," he muttered softly, his warm breath ghosting across your skin as his lips hovered mere millimeters from your own. The almost-kiss was delicate, just the faintest brush of contact that sent electricity dancing through your nerves. He almost seemed nervous to close that final distance, his confidence faltering despite the passionate trail of marks he had already left scattered across your skin.

He drew back slightly, seemingly snapping out of a trance, and you could see the vulnerability written plainly across his features as that nervousness flickered in his eyes. Shifting his weight, he settled back onto the bed, his right hand finding your knee and tracing gentle, soothing circles there with his thumb. The tender gesture matched his hushed voice as he spoke, "Я не хочу идти дальше. [I don't want to go any further]," the words carrying both certainty and a hint of apology.

Your brow furrowed deeply as you struggled to understand what he was trying to stay, the confusion evident in the slight crease between your eyebrows and the questioning tilt of your head. You really needed to study Russian. "Do you not want to continue?" you asked slowly and carefully, focusing more on interpreting the subtle nuances in his tone rather than trying to parse the exact words he was using.

His facial expression held hesitance and uncertainty, the slight downturn of his lips and the way his eyes wouldn't quite meet yours telling you what you needed to know. Body language was his primary mode of genuine communication, and you had become very good at reading these silent signals he unconsciously broadcast.

"It's okay, we can stop," you replied with a reassuring tone, making sure to keep your voice soft to help dissipate any lingering tension he might be feeling. "Let's just lay here, okay? We can cuddle without any kind of pressure to do anything else, if you want." You offered with a warm smile, wanting him to feel that his comfort and boundaries were completely respected and that there was no expectation or obligation to continue.

This was a lot of good progress with him, you typically just cuddled or he kept to his side of the bed but he had shown you a lot of sweet affection tonight, and you loved it, it meant he was growing more confident in himself and your relationship. The evidence of his passionate yet tender attention remained visible in the form of gentle, plum-colored marks that decorated your neck and chest as you lay beside him, watching as his silent form trembled slightly beneath the heavy warmth of the thick blankets that enveloped you both.

You opened your arms, offering him a warmer space, and he quickly scooted forward, tucking himself against you. Prone to being cold, he liked being under many layers of blankets, so you made sure to provide plenty for him to not only feel warm but secure. Plus...having you to hold him always helped.

Without the worry of being a soldier, he could rest easy like this.

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

[mournthebird]

Knots.

summary: You help the soldier with some self care.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD symptoms & behavior | Flashbacks of HTP | Past dehumanization | Flashbacks of SA | Intimate handlers

a/n: Bit of a short one, but I thought helping him shave would be nice <3 And maybe trim his long hair a bit too. Two more chapters to go and I think that will be it for this series. I wrote this quick so please don't mind any errors. ;; wc: 3.1k

"Your hair has grown a bit."

Your voice cut through the air, startling him out of his previously zoned out mindset where his thoughts had been drifting aimlessly through memories and half-formed ideas. He blinked several times, slowly turning to look over at you with slightly unfocused eyes that gradually sharpened with awareness. It was then that he truly noticed his hair, for the first time in what felt like forever - the weight of it, the way it fell across his vision, the unkempt state it had fallen into. He hadn't really paid any attention to how he looked since he...well, he couldn't remember when. The days and months had blurred together into an indistinct haze.

"...sorry." He mumbled, the word coming out soft and uncertain, not exactly sure what else to say in response. You didn't sound like you were upset or berating him, which was a small comfort, but old habits died hard. He never got to tend to himself before, he wasn't allowed to - personal care had been a luxury far beyond his reach. You never asked him to look after himself either, so he wasn't sure what he could've done to avoid your comment, leaving him adrift in unfamiliar waters of self-care and personal autonomy.

"It's alright, don't apologize," your reassurance was nice, washing over him like a warm blanket and helping to ease some of the tension from his shoulders.

You gently reached out, your fingers carefully threading through his dark, unkempt hair. Over time, he had grown increasingly comfortable with your gentle touches, no longer tensing or pulling away when he knew your hands were approaching. The progress had been slow but steady - though he would still occasionally flinch if caught unaware by sudden contact, the reflexive response born from years of conditioning never failed to go away completely. In those moments, you would always take extra care to reassure him with soft words, reminding him that he was safe.

"I can trim it for you, if you want." You offered softly, studying the way his hair had grown past his collar. Your hand drifted downward, fingers ghosting along his jawline where several days' worth of stubble had accumulated. "And shave some of this," you added, feeling the rough, prickly texture beneath your fingertips. The soldier's own hand rose hesitantly to mirror your gesture, touching his jaw as he swallowed thickly, considering the offer.

"...if you want to." His voice was quiet, uncertain, still struggling with expressing his own desires.

"Do you want to?" You emphasized gently, wanting him to make the choice for himself.

"...yes." The word came out barely above a whisper, but it was decisive.

The ceramic sink gradually filled with warm, gently bubbling water as the fragrant soap and rich shaving cream created a luxurious foam inside it. You swished the gleaming razor through the water, the metal catching the bathroom light as you turned back to face the patient soldier. He sat perfectly poised on the wooden stool in the bathroom, his big blue eyes gazing up at you without much of an expression.

"Keep still alright?" You spoke in gentle, soothing tones, bringing the well-honed blades up to his stubbled cheek and carefully drawing them down to his defined jaw in smooth, measured strokes. Of course, Soldat remained absolutely motionless, like a masterfully carved statue perched on that little wooden stool, his posture relaxed yet perfectly controlled. He allowed you to delicately adjust his head to whatever angle was needed as you continued shaving his face, your movements precise and unhurried to make sure every swipe was perfect.

"Doing okay?" You asked gently, pausing to check in with him about halfway through the intimate ritual. The soldier lifted his gaze to meet yours, his expression almost innocently vulnerable, making your stomach suddenly flip with unexpected emotion. In all your time together, he had never looked at you quite like that before - with such openness and implicit trust.

You took a moment to admire his features in quiet appreciation - the strong, defined angle of his jawline that spoke of nobility, the soft pink hue of his perfectly shaped lips that almost held a permanent, precious pout, and those remarkable eyes that drew you in. Those eyes, windows to his soul, held such warmth and vitality that it made your heart ache. Despite all the pain and suffering he endured, despite every obstacle that could have dimmed their light...his eyes remained steadfastly, beautifully bright.

"Almost...done." The words left your lips in barely more than a whisper, gentle and soothing as you finished your careful ministrations. You took a warm, soft cloth and delicately dabbed his face dry, making sure every spot was attended to. You reached for the aftershave, applying it with gentle strokes across his smooth skin.

As your hand came to rest on his cheek, you found yourself lingering there longer than strictly necessary - drawn in by the warmth of his skin, unable and unwilling to break this moment of connection.

Your heart fluttered as you observed how he responded to your touch - the way he ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, pressed his cheek further into your palm, seeking more of that tender contact. It was a small gesture, but one that screamed at you in the quiet of the bathroom.

Focus, focus.

"Now let's see what we can do about that hair." You reluctantly pulled your hand away from his cheek, watching as his expression shifted - his brow furrowing deeply and lips turning downward in a small, almost imperceptible frown that tugged at something deep within your chest. The warmth of his skin lingered on your fingertips, a sensation you tried desperately to ignore.

No, you couldn't feel like this. It was wrong.

Moving behind him, you took to brushing out his hair first. Your hands worked with practice having to do this with your own hair, gently running the brush from the ends and gradually moving higher to ensure the least amount of discomfort when working through the stubborn knots. The methodical strokes seemed to calm you both. He sat perfectly still for you, but you could sense there was more he yearned for in your touch - an unspoken desire that radiated from him in waves.

He wanted you to hold him, to continue the gentle ministrations with his hair just as you were doing now, to show him that tenderness wasn't just a distant memory. Every careful stroke of the brush seemed to remind him of a truth he had long forgotten: that touch doesn't have to hurt, that it could be soft, nurturing, healing instead of harmful.

The man yanked its hair with savage force, causing sharp pain to radiate across its scalp. "I told you not to miss," the handler spoke with a familiar malice that it became familiar with. The spot where its hair was continuously yanked developed that persistent, throbbing ache that it desperately tried to push from its consciousness, knowing any reaction would only make things worse.

It couldn't flinch, wouldn't dare to show even the slightest reaction. HYDRA had made it clear what happened to assets that showed weakness, that dared to respond to discomfort. Even the smallest involuntary movement could result in severe consequences.

A gentle tug of the brush running through his hair pulled him abruptly from the dark memory, your soft and immediate apology working to ground him in the present moment, reminding him he was safe now. "Sorry, just found a stubborn one in here..." your caring voice helped chase away the lingering shadows of the past.

As he sat in the silence of the bathroom, his mind began to wander yet again, drifting through the corridors of his fractured memories like a lost ghost. His thoughts scattered like broken glass, shards between gentler memories with you - moments of peace and quiet understanding - against the more vicious ones that lurked in the shadows of his consciousness. Their dark tendrils constantly tried to wrap around and forcefully pull away all the lighter, precious memories he desperately held onto, attempting to corrupt them in classic HYDRA fashion.

Even still, it held onto him, refusing to let him go.

The soft, ambient light illuminating the bathroom in a gentle, warm glow caught his metal arm at just the right angle, creating a mesmerizing play of shadows across the surface. He found himself caught in an almost trance-like state, meticulously tracing the intricate grooves and carefully engineered plates with his eyes, his gaze tiredly half-lidded as he tried to focus his scattered thoughts by counting how many precise lines were drawn against his titanium forearm.

This handler was different from the others it had in the past.

He was unpredictable in his actions and reactions, displaying a volatility that made every interaction an exercise in cautious observation. It found this characteristic particularly distressing, as it undermined any attempt to establish reliable behavioral patterns.

The man exhibited a jarring duality in his demeanor - he could be loud and openly sadistic one moment, taking visible pleasure in displays of unnecessary cruelty, while in the next breath he would transform into something completely inverted.

His manipulation took on an almost hypnotic quality, reminiscent of a serpent's mesmerizing sway, as he would speak in soothing, honeyed tones while orchestrating harm with calculated precision. Like a constrictor coiling around its prey with deceptive gentleness, he would wrap his victims in a façade of care and comfort, all while administering his particular brand of venom - a poison that worked through words and actions rather than fangs, but was no less deadly for its subtlety.

A snake. That is how it described this man.

Sometimes beautiful to look at, but knowing the true nature of his scales, it knew better.

Then why did it fall for his sweet tone, why did it fall for the gentle touch?

Soldat blinked slowly, struggling to maintain focus on your gentle hands as you carefully brushed through his tangled hair, but he found his troubled mind inevitably wandering back to darker memories.

He ran his calloused fingers through its matted hair, feeling his way until he discovered the painful knot hidden at the base of its skull. His fingertips were uncomfortably warm and sticky with blood, but he purposefully ignored that sensation. He quite liked it, but held his tongue. As he roughly prodded at its injured head, examining the wound, the slight involuntary flinch it gave in response only caused his cruel smirk to grow wider with satisfaction.

He struck without warning or mercy. Like a perfectly trained rattlesnake that had been patiently coiled and waiting for precisely the right moment to unleash its deadly strike.

The handler's iron grip suddenly seized its hair, violently yanking backward with such unexpected force that it actually cried out in genuine pain this time, unable to maintain its usual stoic silence.

Why did it feel so much more vulnerable and powerless with this particular handler?? How did he possess such an uncanny ability to draw out its voice when others could not?

"Goddamn, babe. You're bleeding quite profusely now, aren't you? What did we discuss earlier about this situation, hm? No crying whatsoever. We simply cannot afford to keep weak assets in our organization - you understand that, don't you?" He maintained that eerily gentle tone he typically used when offering comfort to the thing, a purposeful torture that only intensified its mental confusion and emotional distress.

The asset writhed in discomfort, experiencing an excruciating burning sensation across its entire scalp that made it desperately yearn for solitude and rest. Sleep called to it like a siren song, but given its handler's current temperamental state, it knew that such relief would likely remain frustratingly out of reach.

The night before, it had been tasked with cleaning the entire arsenal belonging to the agents - a task that consumed countless hours just to achieve the required gleaming finish on each weapon. Even after completing such an exhaustive task, the asset wasn't granted even the briefest moment of respite, ordered to remain awake as punishment for a small misdemeanor it couldn’t even recall.

It harbored an overwhelming desire to beg for mercy. Every fiber of its being wanted to plead desperately with its handler for some small measure of compassion. However, such displays of weakness were strictly forbidden and promised a horrible punishment.

The soft, rhythmic snip of the scissors cutting through his hair acted as an anchor, helping to ground him in the present moment. You moved with care and gentleness, working to trim his hair back to that familiar length - the same as when you met, falling just shy of his shoulders. Your hands moved with a focused steadiness, fingers carefully carding through the strands while the comb followed in their wake, creating a gentle, repetitive pattern before the precise, delicate snip of the scissors would break through the quiet once more.

He made a conscious effort to focus on the floor tiles now, trying to count the individual squares, to trace their patterns with his mind. But there was only so long he could maintain that fragile concentration before the memory's dark tentacles began to wrap around him, inevitably dragging him back down into those depths he fought so hard to escape.

The comforting rhythm of the snipping gradually faded away, growing distant and muffled, as the harsh, commanding voice of his last handler in HYDRA took over, flooding his consciousness with unwanted recollections.

Hand after hand, yank after yank, a relentless rhythm of violation and control.

A different flavor of foul tasting fluid spread along its taste buds as the asset was kept down on its knees, forced into submission. The men surrounding it formed an impenetrable wall of bodies, barely giving it any room to move or breathe, pressing closer and closer until the weight of their presence crushed against its consciousness. It felt - wait…no. It quickly corrected itself - it didn't feel.

It didn't feel.

It didn't feel.

Bad asset. Disobedient asset. Failure of an asset.

It deserved this. This was necessary for its conditioning and punishment for ever developing feelings. It wasn't supposed to feel humiliation or be opposed to anything they do.

Assets don't have preferences.

Assets don't have desires.

Assets simply obey.

It licked their boots, it let them insert themselves without resistance, no matter how painful it was, no matter how much its body tried to reject the intrusion...it didn't feel. It couldn't feel. Assets don't have the luxury of feelings.

It did feel.

Somewhere deep inside, buried beneath layers of conditioning and denial…it did feel.

The soft shudder that rippled through his broad shoulders suddenly broke your careful concentration, the final decisive snip of the scissors having just been completed moments ago. Your attention immediately shifted from the scattered clumps of dark hair on the floor to his hunched form, noting with concern how he seemed to physically withdraw into himself while perched uncertainly on the weathered wooden stool beneath him.

Despite his imposing physical presence and considerable stature that normally towered over your own frame, he had a peculiar way of carrying himself - shoulders drawn inward, head slightly bowed - as if he were trying to occupy as little space as possible.

"Soldat?" You asked softly, carefully making your way around to face him, your heart clenching at the sight that greeted you. His nose was red and running, skin mottled and blotchy, fresh tears carving glistening tracks down his trembling face. He remained frozen in that tense, hunched position on the stool, head bowed so low his chin nearly touched his chest, eyes squeezed firmly shut as if to block out the world around him.

"Hey, hey...what's the matter? Did you not want me to cut your hair?" You asked with gentle concern in your voice, reaching out with to brush aside the newly shortened bangs that had fallen forward to hide his eyes from your worried gaze. The dark strands were still slightly damp from the earlier wash, sliding easily between your fingers as you tried to establish some sort of connection with him.

You remained in patient silence, giving him the space and time to express himself naturally without any sense of obligation or hurry. Your fingers moved with gentle, soothing motions through his hair in a repetitive pattern, while your other hand occasionally lifted to tenderly dab away the moisture from his flushed cheeks and reddened nose with your sleeve. To your surprise, he accepted these gentle touches without any resistance or signs of discomfort, allowing himself to be comforted by your presence.

"...Н-Нет [N-No]," he finally managed to vocalize after several long moments, his voice emerging fragile and unsteady, trembling with each syllable. Though he had slipped back into his native Russian tongue, you found comfort in recognizing the simple word.

"Can you tell me what it is?" You inquired carefully, your hands moving to cradle his face between them. You made no attempt to direct his gaze upward, instead letting your palms rest against his skin with gentle reassurance, offering silent support through your touch.

He kept his eyes tightly closed, focusing intently on your hands as they rested on his face while your thumbs gently stroked back and forth across his cheekbones. They felt so different from what he had grown accustomed to - gentler, warmer, filled with an unfamiliar tenderness that made his breath catch slightly in his throat.

He remained silent, something you had come to expect from these sessions, though you couldn't help but wish he had grown comfortable enough to open up by now. Still, you quickly pushed aside these thoughts, knowing it was not your place to feel these selfish things when he was still so deeply hurting. No matter how well and gentle you were with your ministrations, you knew this kind of deep-seated pain and suffering wouldn't simply vanish overnight. These wounds needed time to heal, perhaps more time than either of you initially realized.

Your attention was suddenly drawn back up as his trembling hands wrapped around your smaller wrists, the contact unexpected but not unwelcome. The soldier finally opened those glistening eyes - pretty, baby blue eyes that seemed to hold a sea of unspoken emotions within their depths...

"I...I just...want to feel you." He whispered, the soft admission tumbling from his lips like a secret, making your heart equally speed up and ache all at once. His gaze was pleading and gentle, vulnerable in a way you rarely saw, as several strands of his disheveled hair fell into his face when he raised his head to look at you better. "...Пожалуйста [Please]."

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover image from Pinterest. I do not claim as my own.

Taglist: @millercontracting | @teafangirl | @questionableratatouille00 | @buckybarneswife125 | @hazydespair | @leighta | @knoxic | @ghostlyfleur | @beckies000 | @seventeen-x | @freyjhasdesiredreality | @curlycow01 | @blackstabbath6 | @devilslittlehelper | @regics | @honeybee-hayes | @buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger | @gabriella-aesthetic | @sapphirebarnes | @animechick555 | @chimchoom | @regics | @frombkjar | @tummyyellin

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

[starlemons]

Coffee and Crime Series Masterlist

Pairing ✦ mafia!bucky x reader

A/N ✦ All the parts of my series Coffee and Crime

THIS IS AN 18+ SERIES, MDNI

Last Updated: 03/12/2025

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

PART SEVEN

PART EIGHT

PART NINE

PART TEN COMING SOON

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

TAGLIST IS CLOSED FOR THIS STORY

[oatski]

old man bucky barnes x fem!reader (fluff) wc: 841

   "you know, alcohol affects older individuals to a higher degree than younger people," you look towards your next patient, working for sam wilson came with many perks and many surprising interactions.

  you had heard of buchanan barnes, seen him on tv, but nothing would've prepared for the first in-person interaction. especially in the middle of nowhere, inside of a giant building that rivals your apartment building. however, the scariest thing in the room was his icy stare as he comprehends what you said. his hand stops with his drink just a few inches from his lips, "excuse me, what?"

  tempting fate, you rub hand sanitizer between your hands, looking back over at him, "well, you're what, two hundred? as you get older, there's an increased chance of alcohol poisoning, impaired vision, constant possibilities of falling... and more. so, as your temporary physician, i have to advice against alcohol."

  his eyebrows furrow, hand setting down the glass of whiskey. he mentally acknowledges that setting it down was not due to your instructions, but rather his surprise at your combative personality. "i'm not even close to two hundred, and can we stick to the broken ribs? i've had alcohol plenty of times and am yet to fall and break a hip," bucky walks towards you and the makeshift doctor's office you've created.

  "there's a first time for everything," you whisper under your breath, stepping back as he sits down on a table, the padding only being a few couch pillows. 

  bucky looks away, shaking his head. he now understands why sam wanted to bring you along, your sharp wit and fiery tongue left much to be desired for anyone but him. however, even as his hears you whisper your objections, he feels intrigued by you. by how you're willing to mess with him despite your unfortunate situation of being in the middle of a country you've never been in before.

  "now, lift your shirt so i can see if there's bruising and any superficial damage," you pull on a pair of gloves as you wait for him to follow your instructions. 

  he cautiously pulls off his crew neck shirt, unable to see you nervously looking away, trying not to let the situation get too awkward. the awkwardness immediately fizzles away as soon as you see a large bruise around his chest. it carries an array of colors, deep purples and blues mixed within the bruise. narrowing your eyes, you reach forward, "do you mind if i-?"

  "do what you need to do so we can get this over with," bucky looks away, chest moving as his body seemingly clenches, waiting for the painful touch of your fingers against his body.

  frowning, you lean forward, barely grazing your fingers against the bruise. goosebumps start to form along his skin, head still turned away from you. "let me know if any of this hurts," you press one of your fingers against the center of the bruise, barely pushing into it when he breathes sharply inward, "james- if you don't tell me what hurts, then i can't help you. so talk to me like i'm someone trying to help you."

  finally, he looks back towards you, unsure if it's because of what you said or you calling out his first name. most people in his life no longer call him james, it's unnatural, unusual for him. "okay, it hurts, a lot."

  "thank you, now if you want to stop hurting, you'll have to refrain from anymore physical contact. and you'll have to go to an actual hospital to get x-rays and properly treated," you lean back against a nearby wall, tilting your head as he digests the information, "starting with an ice pack and some pain medication will help at first, but you'll have to get help in a medical environment. especially if your rib punctured something."

  bucky clenches his jaw, looking down at the ground. he never held much against hospitals, there was just something about the way they irked him. he doesn't answer for a moment, leaving you to lean towards him, "this would be just like any of your other procedures that you've needed in your line of work."

  "right, well we've always had someone working for tony."

  "i can come with you if you want me to. if you feel uncomfortable within the general medical community, as it's been five thousand years by now, i can come with," you smile to yourself, trying to lighten the mood as you see him slowly look over at you, a fake-disgusted look washing over his face.

  bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head, "you're lucky you're sam's physician."

  "so i'm taking that as a yes then?" your eyebrows raise, hands clasped behind your back.

  his shoulders drop, almost bringing your eyes down to what could be an awkward conversation. shaking his head slightly, bucky lets out a very quiet 'alright' just loud enough for you to hear. and for a second, you realize that there's more to james buchanan barnes than you would've expected.

[cosmos-coma]

Sleep Deprived

A/N: still alive!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1005

Warnings: Unedited, Toot-Rotting fluff :)

Summary: You are far too nice and cannot seem to say no when the team keeps asking you for favors. Now you're ridiculously sleep-deprived and Bucky is determined for you to finally get some rest. (Grumpy Bucky X Sunshine Reader)

Bucky Masterlist

Buy me a Coffee?

_____

Kindness had always been something you prided yourself on; your willingness to help and be patient with others had almost always done you well, but sometimes you were just too nice

First, it was helping Nat go through her old paperwork late one night; she had been in an absolute rush trying to find this old file before the deadline and you didn’t even think of refusing. Then it was Tony, who all but forced you to fill in for one of his lab techs in an overnight experiment. Then Steve wanted help with some confounded modern technology that Sam swore he didn’t have the time to teach him. 

On top of it all you had hardly been sleeping the last few nights anyway.

Where you once felt vibrant and bright was now filled with far-distant gazes and tired smiles. Not that you really noticed, right now you were only focused on opening your eyes again after each agonizingly heavy blink. 

“Y/N are you sure you want to come?” Steve asked, “You look like you could use a 90-year sleep…” he commented with a quiet huff of laughter. 

You barely even registered the joke, instead just smiling sleepy on instinct to his small laugh, “I’m sure, I really do want to go. I promise I’ll be okay once we get going” you assured. The team had been planning this outing for weeks now and you swore you wouldn’t miss it. Not only that but you really didn’t want to miss out on a chance to spend a little more time with Bucky outside of work. 

He had snared you at the very first moment and he didn’t even know it. His bright blue eyes had turned away from their conversation, a small frown on his lips from whatever had just been said, and turned to you instead- jolting you with a force you couldn’t have foreseen. Ever since then your heart had been hooked, its strings unwillingly tangled by the smallest interactions.

Not you’d ever admit that to anybody.

“Doll, I really think you should consider staying home and getting some rest…” your heart thrummed as Bucky spoke, his arms crossed over his chest as he gave you a look. 

But you only held up your hands, smiling your assurances as you spoke, “I can last a few more hours..! I’ll take a nap as soon as we get back, but I’m sure I’ll last.” 

The other members of the team only looked at each other, sharing doubtful glances but nodding nonetheless- if you really wanted to go they weren’t going to try and stop you. 

“Alright then,” Nat said with a shrug and stood up, “let’s all head out then.”

Everyone stood up at once and you followed suit, your vision swimming as you stood up far too fast. “Whoa.. um, I mean… Whoo! Yeah, let’s do this…!” You took a staggering step forward. You refused to look like you couldn’t keep up and so you pushed through, giving yourself no time for recovery. 

Thankfully there was still one person watching you. Bucky stood up to follow, lingering by your side as the others moved on ahead. He’d tell himself it was purely to watch over you, but he couldn’t deny the lingering urge to be near you. Ever since your first day at the tower when you flashed your annoyingly bright smile at him… he knew he’d never be able to think of anything else. 

You stumbled but quickly caught yourself, your breathing ragged and worn as your body begged for rest. “Doll, please-“ but he didn’t have a chance to finish as you stumbled towards the ground yet again. 

Strong hands shot out to catch you, your body almost completely limp in his firm grasp. “Oh I…” you started, struggling to keep your consciousness and your breath, “Sorry… I’m okay….”

But Bucky only frowned and shook his head,  his hands scooping you up bridal style and he turned to the rest of the team who had stopped to turn back, “You guys go ahead. We’re gonna stay here and get some rest.” He said as he walked back toward the couch, acting as if holding you against his chest was the most natural thing in the world. 

“You don’t have to do that, Bucky…” you mumbled against his chest, your body more than happy to sink into him. 

“Shh, yes I do…” he spoke quietly, the whole room settling into a calm quiet as the rest of the team headed out the door, “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Doll… I know you want to be nice, but you’re only gonna wind up hurt.” He chided as he took a seat on the couch and laid back against the armrest. 

Thanks to your lack of sleep you had no shame in rolling on top of him, your cheek squishing against his chest as you let out a tired huff. “I’m not.. good at saying no…” you murmured with eyes closed, sleep coming on fast in your comfortable state. 

The grumpy ex-soldier grinned despite himself, your sweet smooshed face stirring something in his old heart. He pulled a blanket off the top of the couch, draping it over the two of you as you seemed to be in the last thralls of consciousness.

“Bucky…?”

“Yes, Doll?”

“Will you be here when I wake up…? Please..?” Your soft voice asked, your fingers curling around his shirt in an effort to make him stay- but he didn’t need any swaying. 

A grin, as bright as your own, broke through his expression, and he nodded quietly, “I’ll be right here, Doll. I promise you….”

---

And he kept his promise. 

Hours later the rest of the team had finally returned, initially boisterous and full of laughter, they were quickly quieted down by the sight before them. 

There on the couch you and Bucky continued to lay, his strong arms wrapped firmly around your frame with his sleeping face tucked into the top of your head. 

_____________________________

General Bucky Taglist:

@writingmysanity @simpxinnie @goldylions

If I missed or accidentally tagged you lmk! Wanna be added General Bucky taglist? Please ask/DM me!

[littleredwolf]

Hungry Eyes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: The team overhears Nat and Y/N's 'girl talk' through the comms and feelings surface as a result.

Warnings: Suggestive content. Sex references.

Words: 956

A/N: PART 2 CAN BE FOUND HERE

--

“Bucky's done nothing but undress you with his eyes since you walked in,” Natasha's husky voice came over your earpiece and your eyes snapped to the super soldier on the other side of the room, your cheeks reddening to find him already staring in your direction. 

You let your gaze casually pass over him, playing the brief moment of eye contact off as a coincidence as you scanned the room for the mission, but your heart was pounding and you were sure he could probably hear it. 

“Doubtful,” you scoffed, though you couldn't ignore the tingle that travelled up your spine at the thought of Bucky finding you attractive. You'd had the hots for him for months, but your fear of rejection strongly outweighed your desire to tell him so you'd kept your little secret to yourself…and Nat of course. 

“Stop living in denial, anybody with half a brain can see how he practically drools over you every time he sees you,” Nat argued, and you rolled your eyes as you continued to survey the room. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, it’s true.” 

“Stop watching me, you know it creeps me out when I can’t see you,” you hissed, eyes roaming the crowd in an attempt to spot the redhead. 

“If you could see me, I wouldn’t be very good at my job,” she teased, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes again. 

“Just hurry up and do your job, Romanoff - the quicker we finish and I can get out of this dress the better,” you stated, readjusting the silky garment that Natasha herself had picked out for you. It suited your cover well, but it was a little provocative for your usual tastes. 

“I’m sure Barnes would agree with you on that one…”

“As much as I’m enjoying watching Bucky squirm from this conversation, head’s up that this is an open channel,” Sam’s voice cutting in over the comms caused any reply you had prepared for Natasha to die on your tongue, the blood draining from your face as you turned to look at Bucky.  

The super soldier was no longer on his mark, but as you searched the crowd you caught a glimpse of him as he was making a swift exit. More than anything you wanted to follow him, to defuse the awkwardness and recover from the embarrassment of him overhearing Nat’s comments, but you stayed rooted to the spot, unable to leave your position. 

“Go,” Nat urged, as though sensing your inner turmoil. “Me and Sam have got this.”

A quick look towards Sam confirmed that he agreed, and you wasted no time in hurrying towards the same door Bucky had gone through moments ago. 

Surprisingly, he hadn’t gone very far, and you found him leaning against the wall in the foyer. Heat rushed to your cheeks as his eyes landed on you, and you smiled sheepishly as you approached.  

“Hey Buck,” you softly said as you reached him. “Sorry about what you heard back there - Nat was just teasing, she didn’t mean any of it.” 

“Didn’t she?” He asked, raising a single eyebrow. 

“What?” You frowned, unsure how to interpret his response. There was a way you wanted this to go, but you didn’t want to get your wires crossed and make even more of a fool of yourself. 

“You said she didn’t mean any of it, but how can you be sure?” 

He pushed himself off the wall and fixed you with an intense gaze, making your knees weak and your breath short. You didn’t dare look away - afraid that if you did, this moment would end. 

“I-uh…I don’t know what you’re getting at here, Buck…” you stammered, too dumbfounded to form a better response. You were very aware of how close the two of you were and the smell of his cologne and warmth emanating from his body was making your brain short circuit. 

“Then let me show you.”

There was no hesitation as he took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours, and you melted into him with a whimper. The sound gave him the encouragement he was looking for and he spun you round so that he could press you up against the wall, moaning into your mouth as you raked your hands through his hair. 

Everything around you ceased to exist and all sense left you as you gave into your desires, the feeling of Bucky’s hands roaming your body setting your skin on fire. You couldn’t believe this was happening, you’d never even let yourself hope that Bucky might actually feel the same, yet here you were, making out with him while his sizable bulge pressed up against you. 

Had Sam not cleared his throat over the comms, you were sure you’d have let the super soldier take you right there and then, regardless of the fact that you were in public and on a mission.  

“Channel is still very much open, guys,” he informed, and Bucky’s eyes widened in horror as he pulled away. You giggled and gave him a quick peck on the lips. 

“I’m not even sorry,” you told Sam teasingly, straightening up and readjusting your dress. You were aware of Bucky’s eyes on you and you looked up to meet his hungry gaze. 

“I can’t wait to get that thing off you when we’re finished here,” he blurted, and you bit your lip as heat flooded your core. 

“Then we’d better hurry up and finish,” you replied, taking him by the hand and leading him back to the main room so that you could get the mission, and later on your clothes, out of the way. 

PART 2

[deliciousangelfestival]

I Hate It When You're Drunk - 1

Character: bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Summary: A short love story between a princess and her bodyguard, where their love is forbidden.

I Hate It When You're Drunk Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Alcohol.

Bucky didn't hate it. In fact, he drank it himself, though he never indulged to the point of blacking out. What he truly hated was receiving the inevitable call that began with, “She’s drunk again.”

With a weary sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose and replied, “Bring her home.”

Standing at the entrance, he watched as three black SUV cars approached. The middle car, he knew, was the most important—it carried one of the country's most influential figures. A princess.

When the car door opened, a suited man approached Bucky. “She only allows you to carry her,” he said.

Bucky nodded and stepped closer. Inside the car, he saw a beautiful woman, half-asleep, the scent of alcohol clinging to her. It didn’t bother him.

Gently, he touched your shoulder. “Your Highness, you’ve arrived.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, and you smiled drowsily at the sight of your favorite person. “I’m so happy today,” you murmured. You had been out drinking with your friends.

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said softly. He already knew because he had seen the pictures and had taken swift action to erase them from the internet. He couldn't let your image be tarnished.

As the princess of Veridian, any image of you being drunk and acting silly could ruin the kingdom's reputation.

You reached out your hands toward Bucky. “Carry me.”

The other guards exchanged glances, dumbfounded, even though they had witnessed this scene several times before. Despite knowing Bucky since childhood—his father was the head of security at the castle—did it really have to be this intimate?

Bucky chuckled at your childish request. He indulged you, lifting you gently and carrying you like a princess to your room. Being in his arms was your safest place.

Arriving at your room, he gently laid you on your bed. The other servants, accustomed to this routine, had already prepared everything and discreetly left the room, leaving the two of you alone.

Bucky brushed a strand of hair from your face and tucked you in, making sure you were comfortable.

He wiped your face and hands with a warm cloth, his fingers gently brushing through your hair. He looked at you lovingly, a soft smile on his lips. Then he felt something wrap around his waist. It was your hands. You moved closer and rested your head against his stomach, whispering, “Let’s run away.”

Bucky sighed, his heart aching. “We can’t,” he replied.

“I don’t care,” you insisted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He lied because, deep down, he loved the idea. But he knew his place. He was just a bodyguard who had grown up alongside you, a princess.

You didn’t want to be separated from him. But you were terrified of your father, the tyrant king, who had forbidden your union. The only man you ever loved was out of reach because of royal decree.

In desperation, you had once given your father an ultimatum, “Let me marry Bucky, or I will never marry.”

You hadn't expected his response, “Never marry, then. If you run away with him, I will kill him.”

Those words haunted you. The tyrant king’s threat loomed large, and you couldn’t bear the thought of losing Bucky. Yet, you were trapped in a gilded cage, unable to be with the one you loved.

That’s why you turned to drinking. The numbness of alcohol allowed you to escape your harsh reality, if only for a while. In your drunken fantasies, you and Bucky lived a simple life, with a house surrounded by a white picket fence, building a family together.

In that fantasy, you found solace. But even in your dreams, tears slipped from your eyes, betraying the sorrow you couldn’t escape.

Bucky always noticed your tears. It pained him to see you drowning in sorrow, unable to change your fate.

This was why he hated it when you got drunk. Because in those moments, you cried over your impossible love, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

You were a princess, and he was just a bodyguard.

As he wiped the tears from your cheeks with his fingers, he leaned closer and rested beside you. “I’ll always be by your side,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet determination.

You clung to him, seeking comfort in his presence, even if it was all you could have. He watched over you as you slept, his heart heavy with unfulfilled dreams and the cruel reality that kept you apart.

But at this moment, at least, he could offer you the comfort of his presence, which would have to be enough for now.

Author Note: Should I continue this as a series?

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Author Note: Hey friends,

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Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

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[scariusaquarius]

rehab masterlist.

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: Hello! This is a masterlist for my story, Rehab, featuring Avenger! Bucky and Winter Soldier! Reader. This list will be updated with every chapter that is released, so make sure to check back every now and then just in case that you missed something! You may also read it HERE on my Archive of our Own account!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate for any Russian written cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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Chapter One: Midst of Winter Chapter Two: The Dust of Snow from a Hemlock Tree Chapter Three: The Cold Earth Slept Below Chapter Four: The Edge of Winter Sky Leaning Over Us in Icy Stars Chapter Five: To Shake in the Surf of the Winter Dark Chapter Six: We Wait for a Winter Lion Chapter Seven: A Frozen Drop of Dew Chapter Eight: Winter Opens Air to Iris Blue Chapter Nine: The Great Cold Eye of Winter Moon Chapter Ten: To Regard the Frost and the Boughs Chapter Eleven: In This Valley the Snow Falls Silently Chapter Twelve: In Her Cold Arms Chapter Thirteen: Chionophobia: The Fear of Snow Chapter Fourteen: Breaking the Ice Chapter Fifteen: In the Cold of Night

[companionjones]

Extra

Pairing: James "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes x Fem!Reader

Fandoms: Marvel, MCU

Summary: Bucky just wants to love you a little extra this morning.

Warnings: SMUT, Cursing, Porn without plot, unprotected sex (wrap it before you insert it into a vagina)

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You were the first one up that morning. You got to watch Bucky sleep a little before he woke up.

"Morning, baby," you greeted, "How did you sleep?"

Bucky joked, "Too well." He sat up. "I gotta get out of this bed."

"Go ahead, then," you half-heartedly urged, not making any movies.

Bucky looked like he was going to get up. He was stretching like he was going to get up too, but then he turned to you and it himself fall on top of you.

"Bucky!" you squealed as he fell.

He grinned at you while he stroked your cheek. "What? I just need some affection, babe." He gave you a quick kiss before laying down with you in his arms. He looked at you for a moment, then kissed you again, this time with more ferver.

"What're you doin', Buck?"

"Loving my woman a little extra..." He pulled you closer as he started to kiss your neck. "That okay?"

"Always, love," you smiled.

Bucky chuckled and pulled you even closer. He mused, "You feel good in my arms."

"Feels good to be here, babe," you confirmed.

He was kissing your neck again. Somehow, he found even more passion within himself. He exhaled deeply against your skin.

"You okay, Buck?" you checked in on him.

"Yeah, just...craving you..." he responded without his lips leaving your neck.

"Go ahead, baby," you returned, "Take what you want."

Bucky deepened the kiss before climbing completely on top of you. His breathing was getting ragged.

Bucky already didn't have a shirt on. He made quick work to remove yours, then both your bottoms.

He smiled from above you as he told you, "I never get tired of seeing you. You know that?"

You felt blush on your cheeks as you answered, "Yeah, I know."

Bucky grinned before descending on you once more. He met your lips sweetly,but his hands were up to something much more indecent. They travelled down your sides, ghosting your skin before meeting your thighs. He directed them upward so your knees were bent, then Bucky's metal hand went back up to cup your breast while his flesh hand cupped your cunt. "Never get tired of feeling you drippin' for me, either." He didn't take too long a break from kissing your lips. Then, Bucky inserted his middle finger into your wet pussy, and you involuntarily clenched around him.

You whined. That felt really good.

He was very attentive. "I know that feels good, doll, but you gotta relax if I'm gonna get more fingers in here."

You whimpered some more, but you slowly relaxed your cunt enough for Bucky to get two additional fingers inside. You held on tightly to Bucky's shoulders. You nails dug into his shoulders.

Bucky's grin conveyed how proud of you he was. "That's my girl." Slowly, he started to pump the three fingers in and out of you. On his metal hand, his thumb was rubbing over your hardened nipple. Bucky started tweaking it at the same time he leaned down to capture your other nipple in his mouth.

"Ohhh...Bucky..." It didn't take long for you to approach your orgasm with him working on you like that. Bucky always knew what to do with you.

You came with a gasp, and your eyes opened. Just before the world went out of focus, you saw Bucky transfixed on your face. He was still watching you as you came down from your high.

He asked you, "That feel good, sweetheart?"

"More than good, babe," you breathed.

"You ready for me?"

"Always," you responded.

Bucky gave a quick suck to the three fingers that had previously been inside you. "Taste so good, babe," he told you, "Bet you'll feel even better around my cock."

"Hurry, Bucky," you begged.

He shushed you. "I got you, don't you worry."

Not too long after, Bucky thrusted into you. You both had a sharp intake of breath at the feeling, and you released that breath together.

You were immediately squirming around him. "Move, Bucky..."

He smiled, "Whatever you say, princess." He kissed your cheek, then pulled himself partway out of you before shoving his cock all the way back in.

Both of you moaned at the sensation.

Bucky choked out, "I love you, Y/n."

You put your hand on his cheek so he would look at you. "I love you too, Bucky."

It was obvious Bucky couldn't exactly control himself. His thrusts were immediately speedy, and his grunts matched his movements.

"Oh...Bucky...Bucky!" you chanted his name every second or third time he entered you.

Bucky couldn't stop saying stuff like, "Fuck, love you so much, babe...Can't live without you..."

It wasn't long until you felt your orgasm building in your stomach. "You gonna cum with me, Buck?" you asked of him.

Bucky just groaned in response. His eyes were screwed shut and his brow was furrowed.

You continued, "You gonna fill me up with everything you've got?"

His response was strained. "Yes...yes!"

Your nails started digging into his back again. "Go ahead, Bucky. Give it to me."

With four powerful thrusts, Bucky came inside you. You came at the same time. Your head was thrown back onto the pillow while Bucky looked down to where your bodies were united. He even pressed a hand onto your lower abdomen to heighten your pleasure for you.

When you started to calm down, Bucky collapsed on top of you. You loved the feeling of his weight on you. You tangled your fingers from one hand in his hair. "Love you so much, Buck," you promised him.

Bucky kissed your collar bone. "Love you too, Y/n."

*******

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading this! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlist. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[system-to-the-madness]

Still Loved - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Pairing: : James Buchanan ‘Bucky‘ Barnes x fem!Reader Era: post-tfatws Genre: fluff Word Count: 6 039 Warnings: food, crying Bucky, Bucky’s having a bit of a crisis, mentions of Bucky’s past Summary: Bucky’s fully prepared to spend his birthday alone, but you have different plans A/N: Happy Birthday to our Bucky! spent like an hour looking up Brooklyn accent, feel like I know less than before, probably did it all wrong. Don’t come for me unless you feel confident enough to do it in spelled out Franconian German.

Bucky wasn’t entirely certain why he woke up with the feeling of dread having settled deep into his stomach. Not until he had turned and grabbed his phone from the nightstand anyway. The date caught his eye without him meaning to check it, and he froze. 

The 10th of March had always been a day he had looked forward to, his favourite day of the year. As a child, he had known it would be the one day, where his Ma would take him out to a café, leaving his siblings with the babysitter. They’d sit in a window spot, eating cake and laughing until his stomach hurt. He remembered how every year the shop seemed to shrink, the table and the chairs became smaller, and eventually his feet would reach down to the floor. In the evenings his Da would come home to the family, all four children running to hug him, but on the 10th of March the hug Bucky got was especially long and tight. His Da would always be the one to bring the presents. Sometimes there were two or three small ones, usually small toys Bucky had seen in the shops, or books, once he could read. Other times there was one big present, a little machine he could assemble himself, a chemistry set or the pocketknife he had gotten for his tenth birthday. Really, those days, the 10th of March of every year until 1943 had to have been the best days of his life. Later, after he had met Steve, he still would let his Ma take him to the café, would still welcome his Da home, but in the afternoons, after class, he'd hang out with Steve, just taking walks and buying insane amounts of sweets on their way around the blocks.

Now… Bucky wished his bed would swallow him whole and spit him out tomorrow, preferably without his memories of this day. He wasn’t sure what the worst part of his birthday was now. That the whole world knew it was his birthday, and somehow expected him to do something meaningful that day? That everyone expected him to somehow make time so they could congratulate him for being born, when really he had had very little say in the matter? Or maybe it was for surviving so long? Yeah, he’d rather not be reminded of the conditions for his survival. 

Maybe he didn’t like his birthday, because while the whole world remembered, nobody ever really made him feel as special as his family had, with his Ma taking him out to the café, his Da handing him his present with a knowing smile, Steve sheepishly giving him a rolled up drawing of a spot Bucky had commented recently on liking, his sisters giving him flowers they picked themselves or trying to put them in his hair. 

These days, people shook his hand and said: “Happy Birthday” and kept moving along as if nothing had happened. Sure, he didn’t expect, didn’t want, the whole world to make a big fuss, but at least the few people he was closest to… Well, that wasn't a lot of people if he was being honest. There was Sam, for one. Sam, who had been sent on a mission to Alaska last night, so he wouldn’t be home for a while. Then there was Joaquin, if Bucky even cared to count him. Who had gone with Sam, for obvious reasons. Sharon hadn’t been in contact for months. And again, not necessarily the person he was closest with. That left…

Bucky sighed and sunk back in his pillow. Yeah, there was no way he’d celebrate his birthday in a meaningful way this year either. You were the one person he would always count on to have by his side, considering you weren’t nearly as often out of the city as Sam or Joaquin. But you had a deadline to meet for a project that had been going on for almost a whole year now, and Bucky understood that even if you could make time for something like his birthday, you probably would not be in the mood. If he were lucky, he’d get to see you tomorrow. Or on Wednesday. No, not Wednesday. That was too far away. 

He sighed again, running his hand over his face. This was pathetic. Hadn’t he seen you just on Saturday? The two of you had played darts with Sam, and you had been world-record-breakingly bad at it, and somehow it had been the most endearing thing Bucky had seen since- well, since the weekend before that, when you had put some cookie batter on his nose and laughed gleefully, apparently absolutely ecstatic about the way he had raised his eyebrows at you and pressed his lips together. The second part had mostly been to suppress the urge to kiss you, but his point was standing: it was absolutely pathetic that he, a grown man of what? 108 years old could not even go half a week without seeing you. 

His phone made a weird noise that faintly sounded like a cackle, which wasn’t surprising since the ringtone he had set for messages from Sam was a sound recording of the man himself laughing his ass off over a small mistake Joaquin had made. Grabbing the phone off his bedside table again, he opened the message, phrased in the usual nonchalant-sounding tone Sam loved to use. A few years ago, he might have been confused at Sam’s message, but by now he knew him well enough to understand that this was simply his way of showing he cared. Reading through the birthday message actually made a smile tuck at Bucky’s lips and he quickly replied with a heartfelt thank you, appreciating that Sam had taken a few minutes away from the mission to send him this message.

Realising that he couldn’t spend the whole day in bed, Bucky got up, making sure to disconnect his phone from the Wi-Fi so he wouldn’t be tempted to check social media, and made his way to the bathroom. A long shower, a hearty breakfast and two chapters of his current reading later, there was a knock on his door, making him pause mid-sentence. 

Quickly he went through all the people who would check up on him in person, coming to a similar conclusion as this morning: There was nobody. Sam and Joaquin were on a mission, Sharon was god-knew-where and you were probably drowning in work and incompetent co-workers… Now that he thought about it, he could pick up some lunch and drop by your workplace. That would mean for one, he might help you destress a little over shared lunch, and two he would get to see you before Wednesday. But… would you even have time to talk to him, even if it was just twenty minutes over some take-out sushi? Or would that just add to your stress? He’d hate himself, if he made your day even worse than it already was by additionally stressing you out over insisting he was so self-centred that he ignored your needs over his wish to spend his birthday with you.

Another knock on his door made him interrupt that thought and hesitantly he got up. What if his address had been leaked to the public again, and these were some people whose families the Winter Soldier had killed? Or worse: fans? He appreciated the support, he really did, he just wished people wouldn’t come up to him and confront him with their sexual fantasies about the Winter Soldier, the will-less killing machine he had once been.

Checking the camera next to his entrance made him furrow his brows in confusion and quickly he opened the door.

“What are ya doin’ here,” he asked, irritated but unable to hide the smile that began pulling at his lips.

“Happy Birthday, Bucky,” you cheered, holding a bouquet of flowers out to him.

“I- uhm,” surprised, but now definitely smiling, he took the flowers and stepped aside, letting you in. “Thank ya!”

“You didn’t mention your birthday at all when we hung out last time, so I figured, I should check up on you,” you explained, following him into the kitchen after you had toed off your shoes in the hallway.

“Ya didn’t have to come,” Bucky told you, rummaging through his cupboards, looking for a glass that was big enough to fit the flowers. “I know ya super busy with that project.”

“Well, guess what?”

“Hm?”

“I handed it in-” you glanced at your watch, “about thirty minutes ago!”

“What? Really?” Surprised Bucky turned around to you, placing the flowers down and crossed the short distance to you, wrapping you in a rare hug. “Congratulations! Ya finally got it over with!”

“I do,” you grinned, hugging him back, and Bucky couldn’t help but hold you a bit tighter, feeling your warm body press against his, feeling your torso expand and deflate with each breath you took. He was inhaling the soft scent of your shampoo, his hands carefully resting on the thin jacket you were still wearing, and he had to remind himself, that this was a casual hug, nothing more. 

“I’m so proud of ya,” he whispered against your hair, before pulling away slowly, hoping you didn’t notice the blush on his cheeks. “I thought the deadline was Friday though…”

“It is,” you answered, taking a step backwards, unable to meet his eyes, and for a terrifying second Bucky worried he might have made you feel uncomfortable, but then you were smiling again and the thought evaporated from his mind. “I put in some extra work last week, so I could finish it in time to spend your birthday with you.”

“Shouldn’t we- shouldn’t we celebrate that it’s over,” Bucky asked, “I mean, it feels like a pretty big thing. Ya should celebrate. With ya co-workers or…”

You scoffed. “Nah, thank you. I have seen enough of them. And I do intend to celebrate. Tomorrow. Today’s all about you. So, what do you say: Lunch? Unless you have other plans?”

Bucky smiled. “All free,” he let you know before finally deciding on a beer mug Sam had brought him as a gift from his last trip to Germany, knowing fully well that beer did nothing to Bucky’s super-soldier body and metabolism.

After he had arranged the flowers, all while trying to ignore the way you were leaning with your shoulder against his fridge and watched him, he put on a shirt that made him look at least a little more like he was planning on heading out and his leather jacket, and let you lead the way to a small restaurant. 

It was almost impossible to find spots in Brooklyn that were not busy around the lunch time, but the restaurant you had chosen, in a small backstreet, seemed just far away enough from the big streets to avoid the worst of the trouble. It was a lovely little place, with a window nook, into which the waiter guided the two of you to sit, looking out into a slightly more crowded street. It was an Italian place, the walls painted with sceneries of the Mediterranean, small olive trees growing in pots next to the door, fairy lights in wine bottles strung along the ceiling, and soft, Italian music playing over speakers hidden behind fake vines. 

The elderly gentleman with a strong Italian accent, Emillio, handed the two of you menus and made a big gesture out of lighting the candle on the table between you, even while soft spring sunlight was flickering in through the window.

When he had stepped away again, Bucky leant over. “How confused do ya think he’ll be, when I order in Italian?”

“You speak Italian?”

He shrugged: “Well, a little.” He leant back again with a smug grin, watching as you were furrowing your brows.

“Since when?”

“Some time in ‘43, I guess… See, we were stationed in Italy, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to learn a little, if ya know what I’m sayin’.”

As he was speaking, your amused smile slowly dropped, and an expression of thinly veiled horror began creeping over your face.

“Shi- I’m so sorry,” you apologized, making it Bucky’s turn to be surprised.

“What for? Hey, what’s wrong?”

“For- I mean- I completely forgot you were stationed in Italy and now I dragged you to an Italian restaurant-”

“Oh, come on,” Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at the way you looked around, half-panicked as if the sight of a wine-bottle might trigger a traumatising memory for him. “I appreciate ya concern, I really do, but it’s fine, ya hear? It’s all fine.”

Reaching over the table, he covered your hand with his, stroking the back of it gently. 

“I love Italian food,” he reassured you, who only slowly began relaxing again.

“Ugh, I’m so stupid,” you groaned, turning your hand to wrap your fingers around his. “I should have thought about this.”

“No, trust me,” Bucky laughed quietly, leaning forward again, “It’s all fine. Apart from the fact that it’ll be hard findin’ a country in which I haven’t - worked, I do love Italian. And it’s romantic.”

He wasn’t sure why he said the last part, or why he thought it to be necessary to kiss the back of your hand, before placing it back down on the table. But the way you looked at him for a brief moment, before you averted your eyes as if you had seen something that wasn’t meant for you to see, was worth any possible embarrassment that could have followed. Because for a short moment, Bucky was sure he had seen a glimmer in your eyes. Not the kind of glimmer the girls in the ‘40s had had in their eyes when he had asked them to dance, the glimmer of a quick crush. But rather the glimmer that Sam always joked about being in Bucky’s eyes when he looked at you or talked about you.

The first few times Sam had teased him, Bucky had still reacted to it, worried you might find out about his hidden feelings for you, but soon he had realised Sam always made sure to do it without you noticing; he was a good guy after all.

But having seen this small spark in your eyes now, gave Bucky confidence like he hadn’t had in a long time. He had been good with the ladies once, he knew how to talk to them, make them swoon, and there had never been one who he had taken interest in, who he hadn’t gotten to take interest in him, too.

Oh, knowing he could probably get you to make a move on him without having to reveal his feelings first gave him a boost of confidence he knew would end in disaster. That left only the question of whether he wanted to. This was no date after all. It would be unfair of him to use what had been but a split second’s impression as a basis to turn a casual lunch into something you might not have intended at all. But did that mean he shouldn’t try?

Bucky was watching you closely, how you opened the menu and scanned the pages as if looking for something. You seemed nervous, biting your lip absentmindedly, and your eyes always flickering up, as if tempted to look at him. The good kind of nervous, he concluded, not the bad kind.

“I think, I’ll stick with pasta today,” you told him, finally looking up, allowing him a break from his racing thoughts.

“Oh, pasta sounds good,” Bucky agreed, “I think I’d like some carbonara. Haven’t had that in a while. At least if they don’t put cream in it.”

After Bucky’s unusually carefree and outright flirty gesture, the rest of lunch passed without any more incidents. Bucky ordered food and drinks for both of you in Italian, using the opportunity to ask whether there was cream in the carbonara (there wasn’t), and Bucky’s apparently fluid language skills were enough to draw several other staff members to your table, all of them Italian as it seemed and all of them in one way or another related Emillio.

As Bucky was talking to who he assumed to be the husband of the original waiter’s cousin, trying to explain that, no, you were not his wife, not his fiancée either, and no he was not about to propose to you, he could feel your eyes on him. Unable to help himself, he glanced over to you, finding you were watching as he was speaking in Italian, gesturing almost desperately to the clearly amused older man in front of him. You had tilted your head to the side a little, a soft smile on your face, your eyes taking in his gestures as if you were studying him. When he met your eyes, your smile broadened, and he lost his train of thoughts, stuttering over his own words, before quickly averting his gaze again. It was impossible really, how easily you made him lose his train of thoughts. All you had to do was smile at him and any rational thought was replaced by the thought of you.

The food was, for a lack of better words, otherworldly. It tasted better than anything he had eaten in a very long time, but he wasn’t sure how much of this credit should be paid to the kitchen, and how much to his company. You had eaten with a clear appetite, enjoying the meal as much as he did, sometimes closing your eyes in bliss at the delicious dish before you.

Of course, you had also tried almost killing him with a heart attack, as you had fed him some of your food with your own fork, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and he had to remind himself that it wasn’t the first time. You often shared fries while walking in the park and yes, it had happened that you fed the fries to him, but usually Bucky followed up the action with a sharp stare over at Sam, as if daring the superhero to call out the gesture.

After finishing the meal, the plates had been taken away, and Bucky had ordered coffee and dessert for both of you, before you pulled out a small package you seemed to have hidden underneath your jacket.

“It’s nothing special,” you apologised, sliding the in flowered paper bound package over the table to Bucky.

“What is it,” he asked, a curious smirk pulling at his lips. 

“A birthday present. From both Sam and me. As I said, nothing special, but… you know.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment before he reached out, taking the package. Judging from the weight and the size, and the way it felt under his fingers, he suspected a book. Suddenly his throat started to feel weirdly rough, and he quickly swallowed away the awkwardness. 

“Ya didn’t have to get me anything’,” he quickly said, hoping his eyes didn’t look as wet as they felt. It had been a long time, a really long time since he had been given anything physical as a present that wasn’t meant to help him fulfil some kind of duty for the giver. 

“It’s your birthday, of course we had to,” you disagree. “Well, I say we but Sam wasn’t really that involved in the process. I think he’s more the ‘let’s make memories together’ kinda guy.”

Bucky chuckled at your description of Sam, remembering how he had threatened him with taking him out for drinks after coming back from the mission he was on now. Running his hands over the smooth wrapping paper, Bucky pointed to it.

“Can I open it?”

“That’s what it’s for, sure!”

Encouragingly you lent forward, propping your elbows on the table. The light of the candle between you mirrored in your eyes and for a moment, Bucky was threatened to get lost in the light that seemed to pour out from you, but then he quickly turned back to the package in front of him. Carefully he tore at the scotch tape, making sure not to rip the paper too much. Sure enough, once he folded the paper away, he revealed a book. Flipping it, he curiously studied the title.

“‘The Lord of the Rings, the Fellowship of the Ring’,” he read out loud, showing you the cover as if you hadn’t been the one who had chosen the book for him. “By… wait, that name sounds familiar. Tolkien… Isn’t that the author of ‘The Hobbit’?”

“That’s him,” you nodded, smiling as you watched Bucky flip the book over so he could study the cover himself again, the dark blue fabric with the silver imprinted letters. “It’s… well, it’s like a sequel to ‘The Hobbit’, but following Bilbo’s nephew. You mentioned having read ‘The Hobbit’, so I thought you might enjoy it. The whole ‘Lord of the Rings’ is three parts, but I need presents for Christmas and your next birthday, too, so don’t you dare buying the other books yourself.”

Bucky nodded with a smile, fighting the urge to look up at you again, flipping open the book instead.

“Oh, it has a map,” he exclaimed, quickly busying himself with studying the drawings, running his fingers over the familiar names of the Shire, Rivendell, the Misty Mountains. “Maps are good.”

“I hope you enjoy it,” you told him, and finally he gave himself permission to look up at you again. Which turned out to be a big mistake, because you had that soft expression in your eyes again, which made his knees weak and made him want to reach out over the table, intertwine his fingers with yours, and kiss your hand again without having to hide the admiration he held for you.

Not long after, your coffee and desserts got served, giving Bucky something else to focus on besides the way his heart kept beating at a fast pace, almost as if your presence alone kept him alive. That you still kept looking at him so softly, laughed freely at his jokes, and reached out to touch his hand once or twice was not helping him. 

As he was chewing on a spoonful of tiramisu, arguably the best he had ever had, he looked out of the window into the street beyond. It reminded him of the afternoons, in which his Ma had taken him to the café. The scent of black coffee in the air, the sweetness of a creamy treat on his tongue… sure, the street outside looked different, the clothes he wore, the company he kept. But at the heart of this memory there was always a window out into a busy street, the scent of coffee in the air, a dessert on his spoon and a woman he loved in front of him. Back then, it had been his mother, now you. You, who were so different from his mother, who he loved in such an entirely different way. But still he loved you, he loved you like he had never loved anyone before.

The realisation hit him in that moment, that yes, he had gone out with countless girls in his life, but none of them had ever even remotely meant as much to him as you did. What if he lost you, too? The same way he had lost everyone else he had ever loved, first his family and friends when he had gone to war, then Steve, when he had left him for the past? What if you left him too? What if his love would not be reciprocated? Was today just an outliner instead of a glimpse into his future? Would that soft look in your eyes fade again once he stepped outside this restaurant? Would the brush of your fingers against his stop meaning anything?

A soft touch against his cheek startled him back into the moment. Looking over, he realised he had frozen while looking outside, the spoon with the next bite of tiramisu halfway to his mouth. You had stood up from your seat, propping yourself up on the table with one hand, as you brushed at his cheek with the other, a concerned look in your eyes.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” 

“I-” Only then he realised that you had brushed at a tear that had run down from his eye. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was thinkin’ of my Ma and… she would take me out to a café on my birthday, every year. It was just her and me, showin’ me that even though she had three small children at home, I was still important to her. I was-” Bucky’s throat closed up, and he averted his eyes, from where you had sat back down again, only dropped his spoon into his plate, and ran his hand over his face. For the second time in less than an hour, realisation hit him so hard, that he felt like all air was knocked out of him. “My family loved me so much. My Ma, my Da, my sisters- I was loved so much.”

It was embarrassing, to cry in front of you, in a public restaurant of all places, but he couldn’t help it, he didn’t want to help it. He had to be honest about his thoughts to someone, and you had always felt like the safest person for that. While he tried regaining his composure, you took his other hand, wrapping both of yours around his, and held it tightly. 

“I’m happy that you had such a wonderful family,” you told him quietly. You didn’t tell him not to cry, didn’t tell him to calm down, he realised. You acknowledged his feelings, and that did not help his helpless love for you at all. “I’m happy you were loved by the people around you. And I’m so sorry that they’re gone now. But I need you to know that you are still loved. It can’t replace the way your mother loved you, or your father, or your sisters. But you are still loved.” You hesitated, and for a moment Bucky wondered whether you had read his thoughts, this nagging question of whether he was even still worth being loved after all he had done, after all the suffering he had caused. “And you are worth it Bucky, always have been.” Maybe you were destined to be with him, as his friend at least.

It took a few minutes for Bucky to calm down, before he felt confident enough to drop his hand away from his face again. All the time you never had let go of his other.

A few minutes passed, and he was back to smiling, thanking you quietly for being there for him, which you waved off with a smile, reminding him that you would always be there when he needed you to be. Besides, it was his birthday, and yes of course, you would be there for him on his birthday, too.

By the time you had finished your dessert and coffee as well, Bucky felt like he had lost all sense of time. And for the first time in a long time, he loved it. The lines between his old life and his new life were blurred by the feeling of your consideration for him, this feeling of being cared for so naturally being something he had not dared hoping he would ever get to experience again. At the same time, it seemed impossible to tell how much time had passed since you had stepped into the restaurant together. Had it been only twenty minutes or ten hours? And this morning seemed as fast as half a lifetime away anyway. 

When you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, Bucky quickly took the chance to pay for the meal, even though he knew you had wanted to invite him, which earned him a scolding and a pout from you, as you returned, but knowing smiles from the staff, who had insisted on not billing him for the dessert. In turn he made sure to tip them generously.

After you had calmed down from scolding him, and accepted your fate, you grabbed your jackets and headed out. The sun was shining, surprisingly warm spring air met you as you stepped outside, followed by the calls of ‘thank you’ and ‘come back soon’ from the waiters.

Bucky flipped up the collar of his leather jacket, as if subconsciously bracing himself for what was inevitably to come next: saying goodbye to you. You had spent already more than half of your day on him, had stressed yourself out the entire previous week to even make time for this, and while Bucky had spent half of his brain capacity over the past hour on finding a way to drag the inevitable out, he felt like it would be inappropriate for him to try and keep you around for much longer.

You had stepped out of the restaurant first, after he had held the door open for you, and now you were holding your face into the sun, eyes closed as you let the beams warm your skin.

For a moment, Bucky stopped in his tracks, just looking at you. You had never been especially guarded or scared around him, not even in the beginning, not more than one would be around a normal stranger anyway. Now, you were completely relaxed, a soft smile on your face, lashes resting against your cheeks, shoulders dropped casually. You were stunningly beautiful, Bucky realised, not for the first time. He wished he could take a picture of you like this, burn the memory into his brain to always return to this moment, you, standing in the sun, so relaxed and carefree, him, in his leather jacket, the book you had given him for this birthday in hand, the fabric of the spine weighing heavy against this skin.

“So!”

Tearing Bucky out of his happy little bubble, you turned to face him, eyes sparkling, happy. God, he loved you.

“Where to now,” you asked, turning to head towards the next bigger street, Bucky falling into step beside you. “I was thinking, since you’re interested in engineering, there’s this new, interactive museum in Manhattan, combining engineering and art, the Museum of Art and Technology. I don’t know if that’s something you’d be interested in, but it sounded kind of interesting…”

Bucky was only half listening to what you were saying, too distracted by the way your hand kept brushing against his with each step. Carefully he moved his fingers, prolonging the contact with the back of your hand for a few moments, and with the next time your skin brushed against the cool vibranium of his hand, you slipped your hand in his, wrapping your fingers around him in a manner that made his breath catch in his throat in the best way possible. In disbelief he looked up from the ground he had fixed his eyes on, surprised when he found you were already looking at him expectantly.

“What do you think,” you asked, clearly referring to a question he hadn’t caught, too distracted by the fact that you had just taken his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if it were routine. He wanted it to be routine, wanted it to become routine. He’d never be able to forget the soft touch of your hand in his either way.

“Museum,” he asked back, the single word the last thing he had processed before getting distracted. 

“Of Art and Technology,” you repeated, looking away from him again. “Wanna go?”

“Now?”

“Sure, now. Why not?”

“Ya don’t want to- go home or…” Bucky trailed off, keeping his eyes on you, watching how you were walking next to him, still holding his hand. Were you really as calm as you seemed? Didn’t it turn your whole world upside down that you were holding his hand?

“What,” you laughed, “do you? Already had enough of me, Barnes? Wait-” Suddenly you stopped, turning to him, your fingers loosening around his, but he held on; he wasn’t prepared to let go of you yet. “Do you want to go home?”

Bucky stared at you, just half-registering your question. There was a sudden vulnerability, almost hurt, in your eyes, which he didn’t like. He didn’t want you to feel anything but safe and cared for while you were with him. The spark in your eyes had dimmed, and the open, unguarded gaze with which you had been looking at him the whole day, began closing up as if you were preparing to be told off.

Quickly Bucky shook his head. “No,” he told you, maybe more forcefully than necessary. “I don’t. I wanna go to that museum with ya. I wanna-” 

He stopped mid-sentence, not sure what exactly he was supposed to say other than that he wanted to keep spending time with you, that he was so infinitely glad that you had come to see him today, because it felt impossible to wait until Wednesday until he would allow himself to make up an excuse to see you.

But even those thoughts were lost when he looked at you, at how close you stood to him, still holding his hand, eyes widened slightly as if you were the one who was fearing rejection. Your lips were parted slightly, looking soft and sweet in the afternoon sun, their shape as perfect as if crafted by Michelangelo from living flesh. And that was where his mind stopped, like a cracked record, unable to move on from the thought of your lips, the thought of wanting to kiss your lips. He had wanted to do it for so long, had spent every minute in your presence wanting to kiss you. Why couldn’t being your friend be enough? Why did he have to want more than you had already given him? But he was selfish- for the first time in so, so long he was selfish enough to ask for something that was not offered to him.

“I wanna-” he repeated, unable to look away from you, “Can I kiss ya?”

Your eyes skipped between his for a terrifying moment, as if you were evaluating the honesty behind his words, and then you lent in, closing the gap between you, and pressed your lips to his, making his breath hitch and a shiver run down his spine. Closing his eyes, he gently tightened the hold on your hand, pulled you in until you stood chest to chest with him, and tried wrapping his arm around you without having to drop the book he was still holding. His whole world tipped over, gave the phrase of ‘falling in love’ a whole new meaning, but he didn’t mind it one bit, not with your hand on his chest, not with your lips, tasting of coffee and tiramisu against his, not when he could feel - not see, but feel - the way you smiled into the kiss.

When you pulled away, Bucky knew he was wearing the widest grin, not that he minded. It seemed like you noticed, too, because you reached up, and ran your thumb over his chin, along the lower line of his lips, scanning his face with what seemed like infinite softness in your eyes.

“Did you think I’d say no,” you teased, making him shake his head slightly.

“Can never know, love,” he offered with a smirk, making you raise your eyebrows.

“Where’d that nickname come from,” you teased, slowly pulling away, Bucky giving in only reluctantly.

“Oh, would ya prefer sweetheart? Honey? Angel?”

“Stop it,” you laughed, clearly flustered, making him grin wider. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Trust me, I haven’t even tried yet,” Bucky chuckled, pulling you into his side affectionately. “So, museum ya said. In Manhattan?”

Nodding, you began walking to the closest subway station, and while you started explaining about the museum, Bucky couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, if he was lucky, his birthday could become his favourite day of the year again.

[blythesarchives]

Limbo | W.S

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

warnings: Smut | 18+ MDNI | Fem!reader | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Post!CATWS | Brief & minor SH | Mentions of HYDRA | Hints of past drugging | Light non-con | Multiple orgasms | Handjob | PiV | Emotional sex

a/n: Oh my god, I have no self control. I love writing WS!Bucky and I'm glad so many people have been enjoying it too. So, I finally got to a smut. I won't write the typical 'aggressive' WS (if I ever do it will be like a blue moon situation) because imo I don't see that, plus...I like this better lol. Edited lightly but ignore any missed mistakes pls ty ;; wc: 5.0k

You felt like your life was a complete mess.

But it was nothing compared to his.

James, Bucky, Soldat...each name he had gave him the same reaction.

Nothing.

His brow might furrow deeply, eyes glazing over with confusion as he stares intently at the floor, his gaze drifting slowly from side to side as if attempting to piece together an impossibly complex puzzle laid out before him. When his name was called, no recognition flickered across his features, no familiar warmth lit up his face.

He wasn't truly any of the identities that had once been his. Not James with his easy smile, not Bucky with his loyal heart, not the cold precision of the Soldat.

Instead, he existed in a nebulous space between all these versions of himself, these names and personas washing over him like waves, each one bringing with it fragments of memories that would surface briefly before slipping away like smoke through his fingers. Nothing concrete would stay, only wisps of who he used to be.

He was stuck, trapped in this liminal space between identities, neither one thing nor another.

You watched helplessly as he struggled, how he would desperately grasp at each fleeting memory that surfaced, trying with all his might to hold onto even the smallest piece of his past. But inevitably, tragically, even these fragments would dissolve like morning mist, leaving him once again adrift in that haunting space between what was and what is, lost in the void between his many selves.

His handwriting often too shaky to make out among the journal’s pages.

For whatever reason, the soldier had taken to you, of all people. Not even Steve could reach him without causing further distress and confusion to the poor man. Heartbreak glossed the blonde’s eyes each time Bucky rejected Steve's gentle advances, careful attempts to trigger some form of memory, some spark of recognition from their shared past, only failed.

Your own heart ached watching these interactions, seeing the pain etched across Steve's features with every failed attempt at connection and the ever growing agitation from the soldier. You didn't want to step between them, this bond that had survived decades and wars, and you couldn't explain why he had taken such a peculiar liking to you over anyone else.

For the soldier’s sake, you took your new role without complaint.

Countless hours in the medical wing of Avenger's tower proved exhausting for the both of you. Hours of treatment on his end seemed to stretch without end, punctuated by moments of crisis when you found yourself having to wrestle with him every time someone new came into the room.

Your voice grew hoarse from spitting sentence after sentence of reassurance, constant streams of gentle reminders that no one here was going to cause him harm, that he was safe, that these people were here to help. The mantra became as familiar as breathing, though no less important with each repetition.

The soldier experienced dramatic swings between states of intense panic and unsettling calmness, making each medical examination completely unpredictable. Sometimes he would remain completely still, frozen like a statue during the procedures, while other times he would thrash and struggle with every ounce of strength to escape from the men in white. His behavior was noticeably different with female medical staff, even when they wore the white coats - he showed a marked willingness to cooperate with them much more. The behavioral change made your stomach churn with the obvious implications.

As days turned to weeks, he gradually began to show signs of adjustment within your quarters. The decision to let him stay had come naturally, as every attempt to establish separate living arrangements had proven futile…he invariably found his way back to your space.

Every time.

It became a predictable pattern: regardless of the hour, whether in the dark of night or dawn of early morning, he would somehow make his way back into your room and by your side. He was satisfied sleeping on the floor, he settled himself at the foot of it or beside it, he liked the small area tucked between the wall and your mattress, a small hidden space for him to form some sense of security.

It had been several months since the day when you first took him in, watching as he struggled daily with the fragments of his shattered identity. The psychological wounds were still raw and festering, making it impossible for him to process or accept who he truly was. Every morning brought new challenges, every evening ended in confusion and frustration.

Together with Steve, you dedicated countless hours trying to help him piece together the puzzle of his past life. Steve brought out old photographs, shared stories, and created detailed timelines in journals, but despite all your patient guidance and gentle encouragement, the poor man remained trapped in a void of forgotten memories. He couldn't recall anything from his previous life, not even the smallest detail.

The mounting frustration grew in every line of his face, in the way his hands would clench and unclench as he'd violently shove away the journals and carefully curated photos. His eyes would dart around the room like a cornered animal, accusing Steve of fabricating elaborate lies as his mind wrestled between what felt true and what his broken psyche insisted was false.

"Shut up!" Bucky suddenly exploded, sending the leather-bound photo album flying across the room with enough force to leave a mark on the wall. He launched himself up from his position between you and Steve, his entire body radiating tension and hostility. As he whirled to face Steve, his eyes were wild with confusion and fear, nostrils flaring with each rapid breath.

Steve was clearly struggling to maintain his composure through all of this too. Though he tried his best to remain patient and understanding, watching his oldest and dearest friend transform into someone who didn't even recognize him was taking an enormous emotional toll. Rising slowly to meet Bucky's challenge, Steve's face was a mixture of hurt and frustration. "I'm not lying," he insisted, his voice thick with emotion, "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes - I'm your friend!"

"No!" The soldier shouted back, his chest heaving rapidly with each labored breath as he stood there, his long dark hair falling in tangled strands over his face while he shook his head violently in denial.

"You know me!" Steve retorted passionately, his voice cracking with emotion as he faced the resistance before him, desperately trying to reach through to his old friend.

"No, I don't!" The words came out as a raw, desperate cry, filled with confusion and pain.

You wanted to intervene in their intense confrontation, but for the moment you stayed silent and watched the two of them from your position, your heart racing as you observed their exchange, wondering if maybe Steve's unwavering determination could finally break through the soldier's programmed shell and reach the Bucky that lay buried underneath all those years of conditioning.

The soldier threw a punch, his metal arm whirring with the momentum as Steve quickly dodged out of the way. The poor soldier had thrown such a powerful and uncontrolled swing that it sent him stumbling forward, his boots scraping against the floor as he struggled to maintain his balance. You immediately rose to your feet as you realized this confrontation was rapidly escalating. You had been able to keep the soldier at bay, his unstable emotions were pretty manageable up until now and you didn’t want them to get out of hand.

"Okay, enough! Steve, stop-" You warned with urgency in your voice, desperately wanting the blond man to create some distance so the agitated soldier could have space to regain his composure.

"Soldat...easy, it's okay." You placate in a gentle voice, carefully watching his tense form as he sharply turned around to face the two of you again, his chest heaving with each breath.

"He's lying!" The words tore from his throat, anger, fear, confusion filled his tone.

"It's okay...it's all okay," You soothed, focusing all your energy on defusing the situation. You held your hands out toward him in a peaceful gesture, maintaining steady eye contact despite the intensity of his gaze. "You're fine...just take a breath." Your measured, calming tone seemed to pierce through his agitation like a shaft of light through storm clouds.

Gradually, the harsh, rapid breathing that had been wracking his frame began to slow, your non-threatening demeanor and passive body language helping to anchor him back to a more stable state.

"I think that's enough for today..." You muttered quietly, glancing back at Steve with a weary expression. He was still visibly frustrated, his jaw clenched and shoulders tense, but he had enough sense and self-awareness to know it was time to back off for now. Your attention shifted back to the soldier, carefully and gently guiding him down the hallway to your room to give him a much-needed break from the intensity of the memory session.

He was noticeably stiff when he walked, his movements reverted to being mechanical and hesitant. You had no idea what thoughts were racing through his mind, but you hoped you could help ease some of his obvious distress. Days that were more emotionally tense and unpredictable tended to disturb his sleep patterns significantly more than usual, restless nights filled with nightmares and you had to tend him through them. You didn’t mind, but it was exhausting after a few weeks.

Once inside your bedroom, you quietly shut the door behind you and watched as he began to relax ever so slightly, the familiarity of your quarters helping to settle his frayed nerves bit by bit. He slowly trudged over to your bed, his footsteps still carrying that residual tension, before sitting down heavily on the edge and looking up at you with an expression that made your heart ache - his eyes shy and pouty like a kicked puppy, clear with shame and uncertainty.

"M'sorry...I was…bad. I shouted." He muttered softly, his eyebrows deeply furrowed in distress, "I just...can't..." His hand gradually balled into a tight fist and before you could react, he struck himself in the head, hitting over and over as he sat there - delivering short and sharp knocks to his temple that made you wince with each impact.

"Soldat, hey, no. Stop it right now." You quickly grasped his wrist firmly but gently, staring at him with intense concern in your eyes. "We talked about this so many times...don't hurt yourself like this. You don't deserve any punishment...none of what happened was your fault. You just got a bit overwhelmed by everything, and that happens to everyone, even me." You soothed in a gentle voice while maintaining your grip, determined to keep him from continuing to hit his head. “You don’t need to hurt yourself anymore, okay?”

He didn't reply verbally, but the gradual lowering of his mechanical arm provided enough reassurance and comfort for you to finally release your grip on his wrist. With a heavy exhale, you pushed yourself up from your position, muscles protesting slightly from the tension. "I think it's best if we stay in tonight, all things considered." You observed thoughtfully, taking measured steps toward your closet to retrieve some fresh clothes, "I'm going to take a shower, okay?" You turned back to look at him after seconds of silence, only to find his piercing gaze fixed intently on you, his eyes blinking slowly as if processing your words. "Soldat?"

"Да." The response came swiftly and automatically from his lips, prompting you to turn and make your way deliberately toward the attached bathroom. As you walked, you couldn't ignore the sensation of stress gradually creeping through your body, tension coiling through your muscles like a spring. You knew that a hot shower would at least provide some relief, hopefully working to unknot the tight muscles that had formed across your shoulders and down your back.

When you emerged from the steamy bathroom later, towel pressed against your damp hair as you scrunched the moisture from the strands, you stopped in your tracks when you crossed the threshold - the soldier was spread across your bed, his body taut with obvious need as he desperately sought some form of release.

He was alone, his eyes darting around nervously.

Your room smelled nice, a gentle and comforting aroma that made him relax ever so slightly. He felt deeply estranged sitting perched on the edge of your bed, knowing he shouldn't be on the furniture. The memory of that lesson being violently beaten into him surfaced with crystal clarity, he felt a sharp phantom pain at his side, electricity fueling his body.

Should he get down onto the floor where he belonged? You hadn't said anything about it when you left, hadn't seemed to mind his presence on the bed, so maybe just this once it was okay?

“Just this once, you mutt.” He spat at the soldier, perhaps its handler felt some sort of pity for it that day. It was just grateful it didn’t have to curl up on the splintering wooden floor by the bed.

After several long moments of internal debate, he decided to stay on the bed.

You were nice, you wouldn’t hurt him.

He laid back against the bed, a soft sigh escaped his barely parted lips. The sheets smelled incredibly good, carrying your distinct scent; your shampoo, your natural musk that gradually seeped into his sensitive nose as he hesitantly buried his face against your impossibly silky pillow.

God it smelled so good.

Try as he might, he couldn't quite pinpoint the exact notes of the scent, his senses having been shot and dulled for so terribly long. But he knew deep in his bones that it smelled good, smelled sweet and pure and perfect.

As he clutched your pillow closer, hugging it tightly to his chest, he suddenly felt something unfamiliar stirring in his gut, like a sharp fluttering sensation that made his breath catch. His trousers felt uncomfortably tighter and he glanced down at himself with wide eyes, blinking in confusion at the sight. Seeing his body react this way was deeply odd...he hadn't experienced anything like this in such a long time. His handlers always had to give him pills to get this kind of response, otherwise it simply didn't happen.

Growing increasingly curious despite his lingering apprehension, he cautiously felt himself through the fabric and was genuinely surprised to discover that it felt good. It felt...really good, wonderfully good. And it didn't hurt in the slightest. It had always used to hurt so badly before, so why didn't it hurt now? Each time one of his handlers touched him, it hurt a lot. He remembers sharp pain, it made him nauseous a lot of the time. But now…he didn’t feel that pain, only this fluttering feeling.

He couldn't help himself any longer, his control crumbling entirely. Before he fully realized what he was doing, he had frantically ripped his own pants off, stumbling awkwardly as he struggled to kick his heavy combat boots off in order to tear the restricting black pants completely off himself as he penguined around your room. Bouncing precariously on one leg and growling in mounting frustration, he nearly toppled over onto his ass in his desperation.

He stared at his crotch, his thick cock twitching and leaking fluid as it throbbed at attention. The neglected part of him begged for his touch, the way it sent neurons rapidly to his brain to do something almost hurt. The soldier was desperate yet hesitant, he hadn't been allowed to touch himself in HYDRA, it was forbidden for him to ever do so. Only his handlers had that luxury, and it never felt good.

The poor thing felt hot and he bit back a strangled whine as he finally allowed himself the intimate touch he'd been denying for so long. His trembling fingers hesitantly explored bare skin, trailing down his abdomen and to his neglected cock.

He carefully grasped himself, unsteady and out of practice, his hand moved up and down the length with tentative strokes as he tried to replicate what he knew from distant memories. He squeezed and turned his hand with experimental motions, though the sensations remained frustratingly muted, falling short of what he desperately sought. His behavior replicated that of past hands, mechanical and clinical touches that had never prioritized his pleasure or comfort.

His frustration mounted steadily as his pent up desire overwhelmed his senses, leaving him breathless and yearning for more. The soldier moved back to your bed with shaky steps, his cock felt heavy, his balls full and needy for some kind of release. He buried his face deep in your pillow once more, inhaling deeply to chase that fluttery feeling that he felt earlier when inhaling your scent.

As you stood there, freshly showered with droplets of water still clinging to your skin, the plush towel wrapped securely around your body - you were surprised at the sight before you. The soldier on your bed moved with such raw, unrestrained desperation, his movements so primal and needy that you couldn't help but wonder if this was his first taste of pleasure, as if he hadn't ever experienced the sweet release of an orgasm before, or hell, even remember what it was like.

The man clung onto your pillow, face buried in it as his hips jut into your bed, the comforter balling up under him. His grunts were muffled against the pillow, his thrusts against your sheets were sloppy and jerky. You could tell he was just trying to reach climax, but none of his actions would get him there. He'd only cause himself enough friction to stay hard.

He lifted his face up gradually, his flushed cheeks burning bright and his dark eyebrows drawn tightly together in concentrated pleasure. His lips were glossy and parted, glistening with saliva as he practically drooled with desperate need, his entire body trembling on the edge of climax. His frantic thrusting began to slow to an erratic rhythm as waves of tension visibly radiated through his muscular form. The soldier's heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open hazily, only to suddenly lock onto your watching form.

In that moment, his entire body froze completely rigid, like a marble statue caught in a compromising position, as the full realization dawned across his features that you had discovered him rutting so shamelessly against your bed.

Assuming the worst, he quickly got up and leaned back, exposing himself without realizing it. His cock angry with need, leaking thick fluid as it tried to get its host to relieve the growing pain of orgasm denial. Your eyes were naturally drawn to it, the thick member twitching and staining your favorite pillow.

His face was flushed a deep crimson with overwhelming embarrassment, his eyes cast downward to avoid meeting your gaze as he desperately tried scooting further back on the bed. The poor man was clearly consumed by shame, not just from staining your belongings but from experiencing such intense, primal need for the first time in what felt like countless decades.

You had always been careful with him before, understanding and respecting his past experiences and trauma. But right now, watching his reactions and body language, it seemed like he was silently pleading for your intervention.

And honestly...the sight of him this way made your pussy feel wetter by the second.

"Awe, baby...are you struggling?" You asked in the softest, most nurturing tone you could, slowly making your way to the bed, careful not to startle him. "Don't worry, I know it feels weird, huh...I'll help make it better."

Your hand gently reached out and ran up from his knee to his thigh, the bare skin feeling warm and inviting against your palm. Your fingertips traced delicate patterns as they moved upward, savoring each moment of contact he allowed you to have. Your eyes glanced down at the scars marring his beautiful body - silvery lines etched across his skin like a canvas of survival. He didn't like looking at them, always trying to hide them away from view, but you didn't mind. They didn't make him any less pretty to you .

You reached his pelvis, your touch feather-light as you looked up through your lashes to meet his eyes. They were glossy with need, dark with desire as he stared down at you - his broad chest heaving with painful anticipation, each breath making the muscles in his abdomen tense and relax. "Please..." he spoke meekly, voice barely a whisper, his bottom lip trembling as he gripped the sheets beneath him, desperately resisting the overwhelming urge to rut upward towards your teasing touch.

"I'll take care of you," your voice cooed, gently reassuring him as your heart fluttered rapidly against your ribcage as your gaze drifted downward to rest upon his erect cock. Your fingertips traced light patterns up the length of his thighs, the touch both teasing and tender, avoiding those silvery scars. You pressed against his thighs, carefully guiding his legs to part.

Fuck, he was beautiful.

Pretty pink head just weeping for your touch, twitching as it laid against his belly, sticky fluid webbing into his neat, curly happy trail. Pretty pearls flowing out of him as the blushed tip became a darker, angrier red with the company of your touch.

His balls hung heavy, so so full, so you gently kneaded his sac. This earned a loud whine in response to your warm hand palming against him, massaging the sore testicles. "Please, please...please, I need..." His pretty voice was so delicious as he begged for something, he just didn't know what.

"What do you want baby...tell me, I'll give it to you," you whispered softly against his skin, your warm breath causing goosebumps to ripple across his flesh. The man beneath you was struggling to maintain his composure, his chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. Tears welled in his glacial eyes as he trembled against the soft, cotton sheets, his fingers desperately clutching at the bedding beneath him.

His voice caught in his throat - a deep, ripping cry of need as you slowly placed tender kisses along his knee. You took your time, savoring each press of your lips as you traced a path along the sensitive inside of his thigh, feeling the muscles quiver beneath your touch. Just before reaching the spot he craved your attention most, you paused, letting the anticipation build a bit.

"I won't tease too much, I know you are needy." You finally grasped him, letting your hand move along. Bucky squirmed, moaning and desperately rutting up into your touch for more. You kept a slow pace, steadily stroking his hard flesh so as to not overwhelm him. Your thumb gently caressed his tip, circular motions spreading those pearly beads all around and coating the tip in a thick lubricant.

You let your thumb gently press and swipe up through his slit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make him quiver. The sensation overwhelmed him, causing his body to tremble uncontrollably as waves of pleasure coursed through him. His back arched dramatically off the bed as he cried out in pure ecstasy, every nerve ending singing with delight as it felt so good. You felt so incredibly good, your touch electric against his sensitive, neglected cock.

This was entirely new territory for him - he had never experienced anything that came close to this level of intensity before. Physical contact without pain was a rare occurrence, and when he did get touched in the past, it was never on his terms. But this - this was something entirely different, something that made his whole body feel alive with sensation. The pleasure built and built until it felt like brilliant fireworks were exploding in his belly, sending sparks of pure bliss radiating through his entire body until his fingertips and toes tingled with static numbness.

You let out a soft breath, a smile quirked at your lips as you viewed the mess of white ropes that hung against his belly and draped on your fingers from your stroking. He came already, you barely touched him and he fucking came. Disheveled, he took deep breaths and looked up at you, his eyes peeking open as a small whimper emitted from his throat.

However, he was still hard.

You wondered if super soldiers could go more than once without a refractory period.

"What do you want, Bucky?" you asked the trembling soldier, your voice barely above a whisper. His breath hitched as you leaned closer, eyes searching his face intently. "What do you want...tell me. You get to choose. You decide what happens now," you murmured, watching his reactions carefully as your hands slowly traced gentle patterns across his thighs, fingers trailing deliberately up and over his pelvis, thumbs following the natural V-line. You applied just enough pressure to his shaking muscles to make him gasp, feeling the way he tensed and relaxed under your touch.

The poor man could barely form a coherent thought, his mind clouded with desire. His hands frantically grasped at your arms, fingers flexing against your skin as he tugged and yanked lightly, desperately trying to pull you on top of him. His voice came out rough and pleading, filled with raw need as he begged, "More, more...more..." His lip trembled and his eyes watered, you had never seen him like this, so taken over by the cloud of need.

"You want me to ride?" you asked gently, your fingers unwound the towel still wrapped around your body, letting it fall softly and you tossed it off beside the bed. Your skin glowed in the dim light as you leaned forward, your voice dropped to a calm whisper. "I'll ride you, all you have to do is sit back and enjoy..."

The words ghosted across his skin as you traced a delicate path with your lips, starting at his sternum and working your way up, each kiss lingering longer than the last. Your mouth found the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, and you could feel the thundering of his pulse beneath your lips.

His breathing had grown ragged and uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath your touch. His arms encircled you, fingers pressing into your skin as if he were anchoring himself to reality, terrified that if he loosened his grip even slightly, you might fade away and he’d wake up in a cold cell again.

Before you knew it, his cock was poking your slick entrance and you sunk down on his length without wasting a beat, impaling yourself on his thickness. He let out a shuddering cry, his glossy eyes widening with unbridled desire as his trembling hands instinctively shot out to grasp your plush, inviting hips, fingers pressing deeply into the soft flesh.

Oh, this felt...fuck, he struggled to find words. The warmth enveloping him, the wetness made his head spin, the softness of your cunt threatened to undo him completely.

You squeezed him so good, your inner muscles contracting rhythmically around him like your body was purposefully attempting to milk him of everything he had stored away, drawing out every last drop. You carefully began to move on him, lifting your hips up slowly before letting gravity guide you back down, savoring each sensation as you felt him stretch and move your insides. The fullness was overwhelming - he was absolutely massive in you, spreading you wider than you'd ever been, yet somehow he fit perfectly, like your bodies were made for each other, two lost pieces of a puzzle finally united.

Your body moved in perfect harmony with his, each roll of your hips drawing out beautiful moans in response. The way you naturally undulated against him, finding an intoxicating rhythm that had him gasping and trembling beneath you. His hips bucked up desperately to meet your movements, seeking more of that friction that felt so damn good. The soldier's hands gripped you tightly, his fingers still digging into your skin as he struggled to maintain what little composure he had left.

"C..can't...gonna..." His voice strained and broke, he buried his face into your chest as he thrusted up hard - warm, gooey cum shooting out and coating your cervix and inner walls, pooling out of your cunt and coating him as he thrusted slowly until he stopped and remained tucked inside.

He cried out against you, his body trembling and clinging desperately as waves of intense pleasure coursed through him, his second release of the night overwhelming his senses completely. His fingers dug into your skin as he shuddered, overcome by the intensity of sensations he had been denied for so very long.

"I've got you," you whispered soothingly, your arms wrapping protectively around his broad shoulders. One hand found its way into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as you gently scratched his scalp in a comforting rhythm. His face remained buried against your breasts, and you could feel the warm wetness of tears against your skin.

A seed of worry took root in your gut at his emotional response, but you quickly reminded yourself that these tears were caused by relief and pleasure, not pain or distress. His hurt body and tortured mind were simply overwhelmed by the rush of positive sensations - after decades of existing without any form of physical pleasure or intimate touch, it was natural for him to be overcome by these emotions when finally getting to experience pleasure again.

Bucky sobbed.

His body trembled violently as if the bitter chill of winter had taken his body all over again, leaving him shaking uncontrollably in the aftermath. He clung to you, unwilling to release his grip on you. The safest he had ever felt was here, wrapped in your arms, where nothing else seemed to matter.

His broken mind, a constant battlefield of screaming thoughts filled with pain and unrelenting anger, was silenced - if not just a little - when he was in your arms. The constant torment of pain and guilt became manageable right here by your side, tucked away against your chest and arms.

No longer lost. No longer wandering aimlessly.

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

[mournthebird]

Shower Suds.

summary: You give Soldat his first bath out of captivity.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Non-sexual nudity | Mentions of scars and injuries | Self-Harm mention | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD symptoms & behavior

a/n: This wasn't supposed to be so long, but somehow it always happens when I write about him. Something sorta comforting with some recovery thrown in there. Unedited because I worked on this for so long lol ignore mistakes please! ;; wc: 5.8k

Filthy. You felt bad, really.

There was a lot of problems to tackle with Soldat's condition, but first thing's first...the soldier needed a bath. Badly.

He was dirty, his hair knotted, matted, greasy, his skin was covered in sweat and dirt, probably blood under the black uniform he still wore. The poor man stunk, and he didn't seem to even notice. Or care.

You found yourself in a bit of a hard situation, unsure of the best approach to cleanse him. A bath seemed problematic; he would essentially be marinating in his own grime, which was far from ideal. Would he sit for that long? Would he fight you? You weren't entirely positive.

On the other hand, a shower presented its own set of challenges. Your observations over the past days had revealed his struggle with prolonged standing. He didn't seem to want to stand for very long and often sat or laid down when he could. The majority of his time was spent either huddled in the furthest corner of the room or barricaded within the confines of the small closet, as if seeking refuge from an unseen threat.

As you mulled over the options, weighing the pros and cons of each, you ultimately figured a shower would be better in terms of cleanliness…if anything, you could have him sit in the bottom of the tub. Better than sitting in dirty water with the increased possibility of infection.

But there was one problem. How the hell would you get him into the bathroom in the first place?

You took a breath in, preparing for the worst, and went to the room he stayed in. It was the spare room in your apartment you barely used, but had been furnished as a bedroom in case someone you knew needed a place for a night or something. Not that you ever figured your friends would want to stay with you, you didn't have many to begin with. When you came in, your eyes scanned the room until they landed on him, spotting him huddled up in the corner like expected.

He didn't look up at you when you walked in, his gaze fixed downward and obscured by the curtain of his long, unkempt hair. The stillness that enveloped him was almost unnerving. Only when you took a few steps closer did he react, his head snapping up at you. His eyes bright blue against the dark, messy ink that surrounded them, like he tried to smudge off the black paint but failed.

You took another step forward, your movements slow and deliberate. You could see the change in his demeanor immediately with your approach, even as careful as it was; his breathing became more rapid and shallow, his chest rising and falling at an accelerated pace like he was preparing to be harmed.

"It's okay," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand extended slightly, palm open to try to soothe him. Carefully, you lowered yourself to his level, bending your knees until you were crouching before him. This position, you hoped, would make you appear less imposing and more approachable.

In the few days he had been in your care, you had begun to discern patterns in his behavior, learning to recognize the subtle cues that indicated his comfort level. You had started to understand which actions he perceived as threatening and which ones helped him feel more at ease. It was a delicate balance, one that required patience and constant observation, but you were determined to create an environment where he could begin to feel safe and secure.

"I think...a bath sounds nice. Doesn't it?" You asked him softly, smiling slightly to show you weren't intending to do any sort of harm. "It will feel good to clean off all that dirt...nice and warm water too...you've been shivering." You noted how cold he appeared to be, he was still latched in his cold clothes from when you found him. You were surprised the uniform kept in water.

He remained motionless, prompting you to reluctantly take a step backwards to leave him alone, you’d try later. As you turned away, the faint sound of movement caught your attention. Glancing back, you saw the soldier had risen to his feet, his eyes fixed upon you with an air of expectancy. "Would you like to come and shower?" you inquired, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Да." His voice was a harsh, grating sound, reminiscent of shattered glass scraping against parched earth. It was as though he hadn't uttered a word or tasted a drop of water in an eternity. Despite the brevity and roughness of his reply, it carried a weight of affirmation. You found yourself oddly relieved by this simple acknowledgment. It wasn't much, but in that moment, it felt like a significant step forward. The fact that he had agreed seemed like a small victory.

You had him in the bathroom. That was a good thing.

You pivoted slowly to face him, your gaze carefully scanning his imposing figure. For behaving so meekly, he was an intimidating body to be this close to. Your eyes meticulously traced the contours of his suit, lingering on the intricate array of tactical belts and buckles that adorned his outfit. Each piece seemed to serve a specific purpose, hinting at the dangerous nature of his profession. Your hand tentatively reached out, fingers trembling slightly as they approached one of the sturdy buckles.

Your action was met with an immediate and startling response from the soldier. His metal hand shot up with inhuman speed, grasping your wrist tightly, the cold metal a stark contrast to your warm skin. His hold was firm and unyielding, like a vice grip, yet it wasn't painful.

As his hand clasped around your wrist, his entire body tensed, transforming into a living statue. You couldn't help but flinch slightly at the abruptness of his reaction, your body instinctively recoiling even as his grip held you in place.

"I-It's okay, I promise," you managed to say, your voice deliberately calm and steady to avoid startling him further. You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. "I'm just going to help you undress for the shower... I promise I won't hurt you or do anything you're not comfortable with. We're just getting you cleaned up, that's all."

Your words didn't seem to have much effect at first. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and his jaw flexed with tension. You remained patient, maintaining a soothing tone and open body language. "Take all the time you need," you added softly. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. It’s just you and me." His eyes scanned you intently, searching for any hint of deception or ill intent. You met his gaze steadily, allowing him to see the sincerity in your eyes. After what felt like an eternity, his grip on your wrist slowly loosened until he finally released you completely.

Second time's the charm. You reached out with steady hands, your fingers finding the first buckle on his tactical suit. With careful precision, you unfastened it, the metallic click echoing softly in the bathroom. Then, you moved to the next one, and the next, methodically working your way through each fastening. The process was slow but deliberate, each buckle giving way under your patient touch until, finally, the last one came undone. You paused, surveying your handiwork as the suit lay open, no longer confining him.

With the buckles undone, your attention turned to the decked out belt encircling his hips. You grasped the front, feeling the sturdy material beneath your fingers. You pulled the belt free from the thick buckle, the black leather sliding smoothly through the loops. As you removed the belt, you took care to lay it gently on the floor beside you, the heavy belt colliding with the tile was bound to make him jump and you didn’t want that.

The belt now removed, you returned your focus to the suit itself. Your hands found the straps, and you began to loosen them, pulling them out slowly and methodically. His uniform reminded you of a rehashed straight jacket, the uniform nearly acting just as one. When the tight suit gradually relinquished its grip, you noticed an immediate change in the soldier’s demeanor. The restrictive pressure eased, and you could see his chest rise and fall more freely. It was as if a weight had been lifted, allowing him to breathe deeply for the first time in who knows how long.

You watched, a mix of concern and relief washing over you, as he took in several deep breaths. The realization hit you then, a jolt of disbelief and worry. The suit had been so constricting that it had barely allowed him to breathe properly. The thought was infuriating. What kind of protection was that? What twisted logic had led to the creation of gear that endangered its wearer almost as much as it shielded them? You found yourself shaking your head in disbelief. What the hell...

"There we go...good..." You praised calmly, your voice a soothing whisper in the quiet room. He stood before you, now shirtless, his muscular frame tense with anticipation as he awaited your next move. Your eyes couldn't help but linger on his exposed torso, taking in every detail of his battle-worn body.

His skin was a canvas marked by the harsh realities of his past. Bruises in various stages of healing painted his flesh in a morbid palette of purples, yellows, and greens. Fresh cuts, angry and red, intermingled with older, silvery scars, creating a chaotic tapestry across his skin. Each mark had a different cause, accidental, intentional, self inflicted.

Your gaze was inevitably drawn to the most prominent feature: the junction where flesh met metal at his shoulder. The scar tissue surrounding his prosthetic arm was a sight that made your heart ache. It wasn't a clean, surgical line as one might expect, but rather a jagged, angry border that spoke of crude methods and little regard for the body it was attached to. The metal seemed to dig cruelly into his flesh, as if it were trying to consume more of him. You couldn't help but wonder about the pain he must have endured during the procedure, imagining how they had torn him apart with brutal efficiency, prioritizing function over comfort or aesthetics.

Despite the visible evidence of his suffering, he stood tall and stoic, awaiting your next move with a mixture of trust and trepidation in his eyes.

You offered him a gentle, comforting smile, you were acutely aware of his attempts to appear strong, but the reality of his fear was unmistakable. In that spare room, his demeanor reminded you of a cornered animal, flinching and retreating whenever the door creaked open. He cowered from you, even when you tried to give him water to drink. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, you didn’t know much of what happened just yet, but you knew whatever it was must’ve been utterly horrific.

"I'm going to help you out of your trousers now," you explained in a soft, reassuring tone. "Then we'll get you into the shower. The warm water will help you feel better, I promise." You paused, giving him a moment to process your words before adding, "Is that okay with you?"

He remained motionless. His lack of response was telling - not a nod, not a word, not even a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. He simply stood there, statuesque, as if bracing himself for whatever was to come next. The stillness was almost eerie, so you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was going to come. You truly hoped he wouldn't begin to put up a fight randomly, you knew you couldn't take him if he did.

You grasped the zipper of his pants and slowly pulled it down, the metallic sound echoing in the quiet room. As the fabric loosened, you gently tugged at the waistband, shuffling them down his muscular thighs and allowing the pants to fall around his ankles. Without a word, he stepped out of them, his movements controlled as he jerked his foot to get the leg of the pants off completely.

His gaze remained fixed on you, his expression betraying no hint of discomfort or self-consciousness at his state of undress. You found yourself averting your eyes, a mix of respect for his privacy and your own sudden shyness causing you to look away.

Turning your attention to the shower, you reached out and adjusted the taps, your hand testing the water until it reached a comfortably warm temperature, you could always adjust it upon request. The sound of cascading water filled the bathroom, creating a soothing ambiance. Once satisfied with the water's warmth, you looked back towards him, your arm extending in a welcoming gesture towards the bathtub. "Come on," you encouraged, your voice soft and inviting, "it's nice and warm." A gentle smile played on your lips, your expression meant to convey comfort and reassurance.

But even with your efforts, he remained motionless, his feet seemingly rooted to the spot where he stood. His lack of movement prompted you to maintain your encouraging demeanor, your smile unwavering as you waited patiently for him to make a decision.

The steam from the shower began to fill the room, creating a misty atmosphere that hung between you, yet he showed no signs of stepping forward or retreating. He just stood there, planted like a tree. You frowned, seeing that he wasn't going to budge.

"Hey, it's okay," you said softly, "It's just water, and it's nice and warm. I promise it will feel so good. You've been shivering for a while now, and I bet the warmth will be really comforting for your cold skin. There's nothing to be afraid of." You continued to encourage him, your tone patient and understanding.

The soldier's reaction was tense and wary. His metal arm plates made a series of soft clicking sounds as he shifted his arm and adjusted his stance, his body language radiating discomfort and distrust, maybe even a hint of growing agitation. The way he eyed the water, you could have sworn he thought you were about to subject him to some form of aquatic torture. His entire demeanor screamed of deep-seated fear and suspicion.

"It's alright, really... Look, see?" You demonstrated by reaching out and touching the water, letting your fingers trail through the warm liquid. You made sure he could clearly see that the water didn't cause you any harm or discomfort. Could he be afraid of the water? The concept seemed strange, but then again, you didn't really know or understand the full extent of his experiences or traumas. You had made so much progress with him already, and now all that remained was for him to sit under the water and allow you to wash him. It seemed so simple, and yet you could see the monumental struggle playing out behind his eyes.

He finally seemed to respond when he observed that you remained unharmed by the water, and he cautiously approached, his movements slow and deliberate. His eyes wore wariness with a flicker of curiosity, carefully scanning your form and ensuring you made no abrupt or threatening gestures. As he inched closer, his body language betrayed a conflicting desire for comfort and an instinctive need for self-preservation.

Once he had convinced himself of a relative level of safety, he gingerly stepped into the bath. The warmth of the water seemed to catch him off guard, and with an almost childlike lack of grace, he unceremoniously lowered himself into a sitting position with a loud thud and for a moment, he appeared startled by his own actions.

Now fully seated on the bottom of the tub, he allowed the soothing warmth of the water to cascade down his dirt-encrusted body. The grime that had accumulated over time began to loosen and swirl around him, running down his body and creating murky patterns at the bottom of the textured bathtub.

He sat motionless, gradually acclimating to the comforting warmth of the water cascading down his back in a gentle, soothing shower. It was foreign to him, a luxury he had been denied for far too long. His time with HYDRA had been bereft of such simple comforts; the organization was a cruel and unforgiving entity, more akin to a heartless taskmaster than a nurturing presence.

His experiences with something as harmless as water was vastly different to what you were treating him with now - he was subjected to harsh, icy streams forcefully directed at him, the intense pressure through the hose so severe it felt as though it was stripping away layers of his skin.

He remembers being forcibly submerged by his handlers, a cruel and twisted game that shattered his expectations of a simple, cleansing bath. What should have been a moment of respite transformed into a nightmarish struggle for survival, where he was forced to submit to their ruthless whims.

The memory of sharp, abrasive bristles tearing at his skin and the application of painful, saline substances lingers. He didn’t want to think about the unnecessary groping he encountered either, something he wished he forgot along with his life during the chair’s wipes.

These traumatic encounters left an indelible mark on his psyche, turning what should have been a basic human necessity into a source of fear and anxiety. The handlers' sadistic approach to something as fundamental as personal hygiene served as a constant reinforcement of their control over every aspect of his existence, even the most intimate and essential.

For him, the act of bathing became synonymous with vulnerability, pain, and the complete loss of autonomy, a far cry from the soothing, rejuvenating experience it was meant to be.

This gentle treatment you were providing was so different from the abusive handling he had endured in HYDRA, it almost caused him to panic, the feigning comforts he were offered by handlers before tricked him too many times, and he refused to let his guard down.

His glacial eyes gazed up at you, the poor man looked absolutely pitiful under the steamy water, his once greasy hair now thoroughly soaked as rivulets ran down the contours of his entire body. You took a breath and exhaled out a soft sigh, your hand slowly reaching for your own body wash. You didn't have any products specifically designed for men, so your expensive shampoo would have to suffice until you went shopping.

You pumped the bottle twice, watching as the clear, slightly viscous shampoo pooled into your open palm and the refreshing scent of cucumber and mint permeated the humid air, filling your nostrils with its crisp, clean aroma. You turned and addressed him softly, "Alright, I'm going to wash your hair now. Just try to relax and sit still for me, okay? This might feel a bit cold at first, but I promise it'll feel good once I start massaging it in."

The soldier regarded you with an inscrutable expression, his eyes betraying only a hint of that fight-or-flight instinct, his mind was reeling as he battled the urge to respond to your presence. You knew he had the strength to easily break your arm if he chose to, so you tried your best to be as slow and careful as possible. Your fingers delicately threaded through his hair, methodically working the shampoo into a rich lather. You watched as the suds multiplied and foamed, the soapy shampoo pure white on top and slowly stained the closer it was to his scalp.

You noticed that every so often he would flinch ever so slightly or instinctively pull away from your hands. You wondered if he had hidden injuries or tender spots on his scalp, or bruises or cuts concealed beneath his hair, or maybe knots of tension that had formed from prolonged stress or blunt impacts. His hair must’ve been yanked around, his scalp was extremely tender and while you did your best to soothingly massage, he didn’t enjoy it as much as you hoped because of the discomfort there.

"It's okay, I understand it might be a bit uncomfortable. I’m just getting all that pesky dirt and grime out." You spoke in a gentle, reassuring tone, moving a little bit quicker so you could rinse and move on. After thoroughly rinsing his hair, you applied conditioner in the same manner as the shampoo, and then rinsed it out again. He looked much better now, his hair was now clean, wet, and sleek, with a smooth texture and a noticeable shine. It was so much better than before, and it had to feel better too.

Your hand extended under the rain of water, dampening a soft, handheld washcloth and applying a generous amount of body wash to it. You worked the cloth until it produced a rich lather. The soldier moved which caught your eye, you looked up at him and saw he had recoiled, his gaze fixed warily on the washcloth. He became noticeably slower and more hesitant, his eyes widening slightly as he regarded the cloth with apparent apprehension, as if it posed a threat. You furrowed your brow at his reaction to the cloth, he looked at it like you held a weapon of some kind.

"Hey, it’s alright…this won’t hurt. It’s just a cloth, see? A cloth with some soap," you said softly, you felt so torn up about his reaction to the simplest of things. "I won't hurt you, I promise, I'm just going to wash you a bit...get all that dirt and blood off you." You raised your hand holding the washcloth in a placating gesture. “It’s warm, it will feel good scrubbing off all that dirt, you’ll be nice and clean.”

Gradually, he relented and shifted backwards to where he had been sitting, permitting you to gently glide the damp cloth across his skin, meticulously removing every trace of grime from his body. After a few minutes of washing him, you noticed he was beginning to find comfort in the experience. His eyelids drooped, and his head dipped down slightly, a tired expression settling over his features as he succumbed to the soothing sensation of your ministrations. He wasn’t exactly serene, but he was too drowsy to focus on much else other than the feeling of the rag gliding over his back and flesh arm.

You adjusted him and you tended to his metal arm, diligently working the cloth between the intricate plates and joints of titanium, ensuring that no speck of dirt remained. You weren’t exactly sure how the arm was cleaned prior to finding him, but clearly there wasn’t a worry about rust or anything of the sort. The soldier remained motionless, allowing you unhindered access as the warm water cascaded over his back, leaving a rosy tinge in its wake. He enjoyed the hot temperature, he hadn’t felt hot water in decades.

Your focus then shifted to his lower extremities, concentrating on scrubbing his legs and feet. As the rag moved up to a more sensitive area, you paused, pulling the rag off his skin and slowly extending the washcloth to him. You pointed towards his privates, you softly instructed, "You can…get right there, I’d rather not touch you in that spot."

The furrow on the soldier's brow gave away his visible confusion, his eyes darting between you and the offered rag with a mixture of uncertainty and hesitation. It was clear that he was contemplating with the decision of whether to accept your gesture or not, if there was an ulterior motive, or if this was some sort of test. After what seemed like an eternity of internal debate, he finally extended a trembling hand towards you. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he were approaching a wild animal rather than a simple cloth.

He grasped the rag from your outstretched palm, his fingers curling around it slowly. Once in possession of the cloth, he set about the task of cleaning himself. His actions, though quick, lacked the assurance of someone accustomed to such basic self-care. Each motion seemed so carefully calculated, as if he were relearning a long-forgotten, essential skill. It had been so long since he was allowed to clean himself. His movements were unsteady, his hands quivering slightly as he went about his ablutions.

It had clearly been an extensive period since he had been granted even this small measure of independence. The concept of autonomy was a luxury he had been denied for far too long.

When he was done with his hurried cleansing, the soldier's gaze immediately sought yours out. His eyes, still holding the rag, were filled with expectation, awaiting your next command. His posture tense and ready to respond to whatever instruction you might provide. The rag remained clutched in his hand, as if he were unsure whether to return it or continue holding onto this small token of independence.

"Good, you're all done," you offered a warm smile to him. Despite the wounds still visible on his body, you felt a sense of accomplishment knowing that at least the layers of dirt and grime had been washed away, your work getting him clean would pay off and be better for the both of you. You reached over and turned off the water, the sudden silence broken only by the soft dripping from the showerhead. "Let's get you dried off," you said softly, gesturing for him to step out of the shower.

He complied wordlessly, his movements careful as he stepped onto the bathroom mat. You couldn't help but notice how vulnerable he looked, standing there dripping wet, his eyes never leaving your face, his body completely littered in discoloration. Reaching for a large, fluffy towel, you unfolded it and wrapped it around his shoulders, enveloping him in its warmth to fight off the rapidly cooling water droplets all over him.

As you began to slowly dry his body, you noticed a change come over him. His softened expression now returned to its usual blank mask and the brief relaxation he showed in the shower was long gone by now. His body returned to the stiffness he had before he got in. His eyes remained fixed on you, following your every movement with an intensity that was almost unnerving.

You worked in the quiet calm of the bathroom, carefully patting dry each part of his body, mindful of his injuries. The soldier remained motionless, allowing you to maneuver him as needed, but offering no assistance, like a doll. It was as if he had retreated back into himself, leaving only an empty shell for you to tend to. You wondered what he was thinking behind those watchful, guarded eyes, they were pretty up close. Glacial, stormy blue irises that had been glued to you since you started to tend to him.

After drying him off, you were lucky to find a pair of boxers in your apartment and helped him into them, where they came from wasn’t something you could remember at the moment, but you were glad you had them. He cooperated as you dressed him, then stood there clutching the towel around himself like a security blanket.

His gaze fixed on you with a mixture of expectation and vulnerability, as if silently asking for further guidance or comfort. His wide eyes blinked languidly, and his soft pink lips formed an almost imperceptible pout, giving him an endearing, slightly lost appearance.

Lost. He embodied the word entirely. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

Taking in his disheveled state, you smiled a little, "How about we get your hair detangled, hm?" Your voice was warm and reassuring as you reached up, your fingers lightly brushing against the damp strands, feeling the water practically seep out of the ends.

The soldier's reaction was a mix of acceptance and hesitation. While he didn't outright reject the idea, there was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm in his demeanor. However he didn’t dare reject the idea, worried about any kind of retaliation. So he made his way to the stool nestled beneath the counter and lowered himself onto it. As he settled into position, maintaining a stoic silence, his eyes continued to convey that enigmatic expression, hinting at unspoken thoughts or emotions.

You positioned yourself behind him, your hands instinctively reaching for a comb and a bottle of detangling spray already sat out from your use earlier that day. You recalled how your fingers had encountered numerous knots and tangles when you washed his hair, and thinking about how knotted it looked dirty made you sigh outwardly.

The fine mist of the detangling spray settled on his hair as you applied it methodically, you guided the comb through his locks, working patiently to untangle any knots you encountered. You tried to be as gentle as possible, knowing not only were there a ton of knots, but you remembered his scalp was especially sensitive and sore.

Soldat remained still as a statue, his posture composed and unwavering. His disciplined demeanor allowed you to work unimpeded, your movements careful and unhurried. He maintained a firm grip on the towel draped securely around his body, the fabric acting almost like a barrier and protecting him from the world. You continued to work the comb through his hair, encountering tangles and knots that spoke of recent exertion or neglect.

The process of detangling was slow, your touch continued to be gentle yet purposeful, muttering soft apologies when you ran into an unexpected knot. Teasing apart the snarls with patience and skill, the resistance lessened, and you found yourself able to run the comb smoothly through his hair, the strands falling into neat alignment.

"There we are... much better," you praised softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The sight of his hair, now brushed out and free of tangles, felt like a monumental achievement. You couldn't help but admire how the clean, detangled strands caught the light, a stark contrast to their earlier disheveled state. Your fingers ran through his locks, gently ruffling the hair from being so flat against his scalp.

You couldn't help but notice the angry red lines marring his skin, peeking out from beneath the towel. The blotchy colors on his skin that ranged from purple to blue, it made you frown. Your instincts as a caretaker kicked in, and you found yourself wondering if he would allow you to tend to those wounds. Hesitantly, you reached out, your fingers barely grazing the edge of the towel just wanting to get a better look at them.

In an instant the soldier suddenly sprang to life, standing with such force that the stool he had been perched on skidded across the tile floor, the harsh scraping sound shattering the previous calm. He retreated to the far corner of the bathroom, his body language screaming defensiveness.

His eyes, which had been closed or downcast for most of your interaction, now bore into you with an intensity that made you freeze. They held fear, yes, but also a raw, primal aggression that sent a shiver down your spine. It was the look of a cornered animal, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.

You immediately backpedaled, not wanting to trigger any aggression from him. "Okay, okay... no wound checks," you reassured as you raised your hands in a gesture of surrender. You took a step back, giving him more space, silently cursing yourself for pushing too far, too fast. The fragile trust you had built over the past few minutes seemed to hang by a thread, you didn’t want to snap the little you had.

Your words had a calming effect on Soldat, who clutched the towel tightly in his fists, ensuring it remained securely wrapped around him. His gaze drifted down to his soiled attire, prompting you to shake your head in disapproval. "No, those definitely need to be washed," you explained, your voice dropping to a thoughtful murmur, "And to be honest, these can hardly be called proper clothes. I'll make sure to get you some suitable ones tomorrow, alright?"

Soldat's eyes met yours once more, his gaze still carrying a hint of coldness and wariness, but he managed a brief, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. You gathered his discarded garments and deposited them into the washing machine, silently hoping that the combination of leather and other materials wouldn't prove too much for the aging appliance. The damn thing had to be ran twice already, you just couldn’t afford to buy a new one right now.

As you busied yourself with setting the appropriate wash cycle, Soldat seized the opportunity to hastily retreat to the room that had been designated as his temporary living space.

He immediately gravitated towards the floor, as he had been the past few days. You hadn't seen him use the bed at all, rather stay cuddled in the corner or inside the small space of the closet. The towel long forgotten and laid splayed out on the floor, he ripped the blankets off the bed in one fluid motion and proceeded to wrap himself up in them, burrowing beneath the layers of fabric for comfort and security. The blankets having replaced the towel's symbolism for safety.

You wished he’d rest on the bed rather than the floor, but you knew better than to try to alter what he was doing. Leave him to be comfortable on his own, that is the best thing to do in this situation. And if Soldat wants to sleep on the floor in a huddle of blankets, then fine.

You approached the doorway, peering inside to see him nestled in a cocoon of blankets. His exhaustion was written on his face, yet there was a noticeable improvement in his appearance. The layer of grime and perspiration that had clung to his skin was now gone, you knew he had to feel somewhat refreshed.

You cautiously stepped into the room and made your way towards him, acutely aware of how his body tensed at your approach. In response to your closer proximity, he burrowed deeper into the thick comforter that enveloped him, seeking refuge from your presence.

A soft, reassuring sound escaped your lips as you placed a water bottle within his reach. As you anticipated, he remained motionless under the comforter, offering no acknowledgment of your thoughtful action. He stayed hidden beneath the layers of fabric, like a child seeking shelter from imaginary monsters lurking in the shadows.

"Get some rest, Soldat..." you whispered gently, your voice barely above a murmur. "I'll be down in the other room if you need anything. Don't hesitate to call for me, even for the smallest thing." With that reassurance, you slowly stood back up and turned to walk out. A faint noise suddenly caught your attention, causing you to pause mid-step.

The gentle rustling of the comforter drew your gaze back towards the floor, curiosity piquing your interest. The soldier cautiously peeked out from under the blanket's edge. His tired, weary eyes met your inquisitive ones, there was a beat of silence.

"Спасибо," the soldier rasped out, his voice meek and slightly hoarse from disuse, but still loud enough for you to hear clearly.

"You're welcome..."

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

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

[starlemons]

Coffee and Crime ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ PART FOUR

Pairing ✦ mafia!bucky x reader

Word Count ✦ 3.6K

Warnings ✦ overall story has a 18+ content warning, MDNI, cussing, weapons (pew-pew), weapon caused injury (non-fatal), reader being a little self deprecating, insinuated crime

A/N ✦ this one is a long one! hope you enjoy! (added a little bit of a somewhat bucky POV for once as well)

PART THREE »»» Series Masterlist

I will update the series every 1-4 days depending on my schedule

Time seemed to speed by and next thing you knew it was the day of your date. Nerves riddled your stomach. 

You weren’t the most experienced in the world of dating. It embarrassed you to no end thinking about how you had only ever had one boyfriend. The ex in question and you having only dated for less than a year. 

You rubbed your eyes and peeled yourself out of bed, trying to shake the thoughts from your mind. After brushing your teeth and doing your skincare, you exited your room, heading to the kitchen.

Nat leaned up against the kitchen island, a small checkered plate was in her hand, a piece of banana bread sat on top of the dish.

“I already cut you a slice.”, she nodded her head towards the plate she had made for you.

“Thanks.”

The two of you ate in silence, enjoying the peace and quiet. 

“Nat,” you started, “What if he ends up not liking me?”

She shot you a dirty look.

“Quit thinking like that.”, she straightened up, walked over to you and put her hands on your shoulders, “Anyways if things don’t end up going well that’s his loss, you’re beautiful, and one of the kindest people I know.”

You smiled up at your friend, embracing her in a hug.

As she hugged you back Nat said, “Okay we have two hours until seven. Let’s go get you put together.”

She took you by the hand, dragging you to your room.

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Bucky Barnes was also wracked with nerves at the thought of your date. He leaned back in his office chair, one of his forearms thrown over his eyes.

“Buck, you’ve gotta relax.”, Steve chuckled at his best friend, “She’s just a girl, you’ve gone out with plenty of them, you’ll be fine.”

Bucky removed his arm from his eyes, sitting back upright in his seat. 

“Yeah but I wasn’t going out with those girls to date them.”

“Fair enough.”

“Look Steve, you’re just as aware as I am that most women don’t go for us for our personalities.”, Bucky shook his head, “I’m tired of being minimized to a checkbook or a pretty face. I want to find someone that I emotionally connect with, someone I want to do the little things in life with.”

Steve nodded at his best friend, staying silent to let him continue.

“I don’t know man, there’s just something about Y/N that just draws me to her. She’s beyond beautiful and I like that she seems to be the complete opposite of our world.,” Bucky pointed back and forth between him and Steve.

“Speaking of that, I was going to ask, how do you plan on telling her about your career.”, he used air quotes as he said career, raising his eyebrows at his friend. 

“I don’t know Steve, it’ll probably scare her half to death and she’ll want nothing to do with me.”, Bucky put his head in his hands, “How the fuck are you supposed to casually tell a girl, I’m the head of one of the oldest, and biggest mafia families in the city.”

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You looked yourself up and down for what had to be the twentieth time, feeling absolutely gorgeous. The dress you had picked was a dark midnight blue, with flowing bell sleeves. The hem of the dress reached right above your feet, a thigh high slit going up the left side of the garment. You wore glittering silver heels on your feet and silver jewelry adorned your ears to match. 

You had done your makeup, eyeliner and a dark plum colored lip. Nat helped with your hair, which was now pulled half up-half down. A small bow matching the color of your dress was wrapped around the pulled up portion of hair. 

Looking at the time on your phone you saw it was six fifty-one. In nine minutes Bucky would be gracing your front door, and your stomach immediately dropped at the realization. 

“Oh my God Nat I can’t-”

“Y/N, I’m not gonna listen to any bullshit about how you can’t because you’re too scared you’re gonna fuck something up.”, Nat cut you off, “Let go of all those negative thoughts and allow yourself to enjoy your night, you owe it to yourself.”

Your eyes welled up with tears.

“And don’t you dare start crying, you just did your makeup.”

You chuckled a little, trying to blink away the tears and fanning your eyes.

“Okay, okay no crying.”, you said, “I appreciate you Nat, I’m so lucky to call you my best friend.”

Nat pulled you in for a hug. Your moment however was interrupted by a knock at your front door. Grinning at you Nat shoved you in the direction of the entryway.

“You’ve got this!”, she said as she ducked down the hallway to avoid being seen.

You took a deep breath, smoothed down the front of your dress, and turned to the door. When you opened it Bucky stood in front of you; he wore a tailored black suit, a crisp white dress shirt sat underneath his jacket, and a forest green tie wrapped around his neck. He wore the same watch and rings he’d had on the two times you had seen him. 

“You look wow.”, Bucky said as he looked you up and down.

You blushed and thanked him.

“You look wow too.”, you stuttered out.

Bucky gleamed down at you, finding you adorable.

“Thank you. You ready to head out?”

You nodded your head, “Yeah I’m ready, let’s go.”

Pulling the door shut behind you, you locked it, and followed after Bucky. Once you made it outside, he approached a sleek black car, walking around to the passenger side, he opened the door for you. 

“Thank you.”, you said, holding onto his hand that he had extended to you, helping you lower yourself into the older Mustang.

He gently closed the door as soon as you were situated, coming back around the car to the drivers side, and getting in. The keys turned in the ignition, the car drumming to life, and the radio softly played a local station. Bucky shifted the car into drive and pulled away from your apartment, heading down the street.

The two of you drove in silence for a while, both of you almost too scared to talk. Almost. 

“How has your week been so far?”, Bucky asked, glancing over at you with a small smile on his lips.

Feeling your nerves slowly start to dissipate, you filled Bucky in on the absolutely wild interaction you had the day before at work; an older woman had come in and cut the entire line of people who had already been waiting to order, stating that because her grandson was supposedly Tik-Tok famous, she deserves special treatment. From there the two of you easily chatted back and forth, until you pulled up outside of your destination. 

The restaurant sat in the middle of a row of shops and other businesses. A decorative hanging sign sticking out from the restaurant wall read The Iron Man.

One of the valet boys hurried to the driver's side door, opening it for Bucky, greeting him, “It’s nice to see you again Mr. Barnes.”

He politely greeted the boy in return, moving around his car and opening the door for you, extending his hand once again to help you out of it. 

“This place is owned by a very close friend of mine.”, Bucky explained as the two of you approached the front doors.

Once inside your eyes looked around, absolutely in awe. Fairy lights twinkled around the dark restaurant, the curved booths were wrapped in a soft floral fabric, tables covered with perfectly bleached coverings, and a small vase of red flowers sat in the middle of each of them. 

“It’s so pretty in here.”, you said.

“I hoped you would like it, I figured this seemed like your vibe.”

Bucky couldn’t help but grin widely as he studied you. You looked absolutely immaculate to him, the dress you were wearing fit you perfectly, your makeup accentuating your already beautiful features. He also found himself rather pleased with the look of joy that was being expressed on your face.

The hostess led the two of you towards the back of the restaurant, your table being somewhat secluded from the others. Bucky pulled out your chair for you, helping you scoot it closer to the table after you sat. 

“Your server will be with you in a bit.,”, the young woman who sat you said with a smile, “And I’ll make sure to let Mr. Stark know you’ve stopped in Mr. Barnes.”

“Thank you.”

Both of you unrolled your silverware from your napkins, placing the linens in your laps and laying the cutlery out on the table. Lifting up your menu you began to read it, jaw almost dropping in shock of the prices. 

“What’s up?”, Bucky asked, noticing your frantic expression. 

“Everythings so expensive.”

He lifted his eyebrows at you, “Y/N, I’m paying, order whatever you want, price doesn’t matter, just get whatever sounds good to you.”

Your eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Yes, anything you want and it’s yours.”, he said, shooting you a big smile.

You took your time scanning the menu, trying to ignore the massive price tags by the dishes and only focus on what looked tasty to you. Finally deciding on your meal, you sit the menu down.

“Good Evening.”, a young man approaches your table, “My name is Evan, I’m going to be your server tonight. Can I get you started with any cocktails?”

“I’ll take my usual drink and the lady will have…..”, Bucky trailed off, waiting for your answer. 

“Oh I’ll just have water thank you.”

“Of course, I’ll be right back with those for you.”

Evan the waiter turned and headed towards what you assumed was the door to the kitchen area. 

“Sorry, not really feeling like drinking after what happened last time I drank alcohol.”, you sheepishly chuckled, rubbing your arms anxiously, worried the man in front of you might find you silly for your admission.

“That’s totally okay, makes sense to me, but you don’t have to explain yourself just because you didn’t want to drink.”

You smiled at him softly.

Evan returned to the table a few minutes later, bringing you your water and Bucky his old fashioned. Before he retreated again, he took your meal orders, steak for Bucky and lobster mac and cheese for you. The waiter reached for the menus, removed them from in front of you, and stated your food would be out shortly as he made his leave. 

Bucky and you talked a lot, the conversation between the two of you flowing with ease. You learned he was twenty-nine (a few years older than you), you both loved cats and literature, he told you about his love for cooking and baking, and you expressed yours for mixology. The two of you were deep in a conversation about possibly going to a cat cafe together, when a familiar man approached your table.

“Bucky!” Tony called, leaning down to embrace his friend.

Bucky patted Tony on the back.

“Nice seeing you again.”, Tony said as he turned to you.

You stared at him, trying to place him in your memory.

“Shit you don’t remember anything from that night, duh, I’m a jerk. My names Tony, Tony Stark, Bucky is one of my oldest friends, known him since birth.”, Tony lamented, extending his hand to shake yours.

“My name is Y/N”, you said, embracing his hand back, “It’s nice to meet you sir.”

The three of you chatted for a while, Tony yapping about old memories he had with Bucky, before he was pulled away by a frantic waitress, who whispered something in his ear.

“I’ve got to go take care of some urgent business, I hope you enjoy the food Y/N, and hopefully I’ll be seeing you around again soon.”, Tony winked at Bucky, waving at you as he made his exit. 

“I like him.”, you smiled at Bucky.

“Well don’t tell him that, you’ll just make his head bigger.”

The two of you laughed. 

You were beyond thrilled that the date was going so well. Bucky had so far been a perfect gentleman to you, making sure you didn’t touch a single door handle of any kind and pulling out your chair for you. Such simple acts almost had you turned into a swooning idiot. What really put you at ease, was the fact that the two of you could just bounce back and forth off of each other, not running out of topics of conversation. 

Evan appeared again, this time carrying a serving tray. He placed your respective meals in front of each of you, before he turned to leave saying he would be back in a bit to check in on the food and to enjoy. 

You reached for your fork, scooping up a big bite of your meal. As soon as the food touched your tongue you swore you were in heaven. This was the best mac and cheese you think you’d ever tasted. You almost moaned around your fork, savoring the test.

“How do you like it?”, Bucky asked.

“It’s amazing.”

The two of you ate in mostly silence, you too focused on your food at the moment to form a good conversation. You sat down your fork, having eaten almost all of your meal, and feeling like you were about to burst from the seams. Bucky on the other had eaten his whole meal, setting down his silverware on the empty plate that remained. You honestly weren’t surprised. With how beefy the man was, you knew he had to be able to put down some food.

“Do you want any dessert?”

“I think I’m going to explode if I try to eat any more.”, you laughed, hands holding onto your stomach.

“The check it is then.”, he laughed along with you.

Evan had boxed up your remaining food, bringing it back to you in a little bag. Bucky slid him a generous wad of cash, telling him to keep the change. Standing, Bucky made his way to you, pulling out your chair, helping you stand. He then reached past you, grabbing your bag of leftovers. 

“Thank you for dinner.”, you said to him.

“The pleasure is all mine.”, he responded, his empty hand brushing yours, as the two of you walked closely out of the restaurant and waited for the valet to get his car.

As you climbed back inside the Mustang, and Bucky shut the door, you felt as though you were a princess in some kind of fairytale. How lucky were you to be on a date with such a kind and sweet man. Bucky joined you back in the car, clicking his seatbelt into place and starting up his vehicle. 

“If it’s okay with you, I kind of wanted to just drive around and talk some more before I take you home? I’m enjoying talking to you way too much right now to end our date already.”, he admitted turning to you.

Your face blossomed red and butterflies churned in your stomach, “Yeah of course, I would love to do that, let me text my roommate really quick and let her know.”

Bucky beamed at your response.

You pulled your phone out, opening your text chain with Nat and sending her a message.

Y/N: Bucky and I are going to drive around for a bit, he said he likes talking to me ahhhh, dinner went amazing, will fill you in on everything when I get home!

She liked the message almost immediately and sent you back a response.

WIFEY: I told you to not worry! I love you!

Y/N: I love you too!

You and Bucky drove off down the semi-busy street and away from the restaurant. At first you had just been driving straight forward when Bucky all of a sudden began to change direction every few blocks. He made a left here, two rights there, another left, not really driving around with any destination in mind, at least that’s what you assumed. 

In all actuality, a few blocks back Bucky had realized that a large black SUV was tailing his car. As to not raise any alarm to you he continued on talking as though nothing was wrong. Mentally he noted that this was probably related to some of the business Tony had been referring to.

When there was a pause in your conversation, Bucky reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and dialed Tony’s number. 

“Give me just a second sweetheart, gotta check on something really quick.”, Bucky said to you, reaching out and turning up the radio louder, hoping you wouldn’t overhear his conversation. 

You nodded, responding with an okay.

Two rings later and Tony answered, “What’s up?”

“I think part of the business you had to deal with wasn’t taken care of man. I’ve got a dog giving chase if you get what I mean.”, he whispered into the phone. 

“The girl still with you?”

Bucky glanced at you, “Yeah.”

“Shit. Head out of the city, I’ll track your location and the guys and I will catch up to you. We’ll get rid of the problem before your girl even notices what’s going on.”

Bucky hung up the phone without a good-bye. He took another left turn, followed by a right, getting off on a remote road that led out of the city and into the country.

You had purposefully diverted your attention from his phone call, focusing on anything other than Bucky, not wanting to be rude and eavesdrop. 

“Where are we going?”, you asked, worried slightly at the fact your date was driving you out to the middle of nowhere.

“Shit, this seems creepy to you, doesn’t it?”, Bucky questioned, seeing your expression, “I just wanted to drive out a bit to try and see the stars better.”, he quickly made up a lie.

It totally worked on you too, easing your worries. The car ventured even further into the country, fields of crops on either side of the road from you, the car behind you inching closer.

“You started to make me worried that I was about to become the topic of a true crime podcast for a second.”, you giggled.

Bucky joined you, laughing loudly, noticing in the rearview that the car pursuing you was way too close.

A loud pop sounded, something whizzing past your face, and the front windshield splintered with cracks. 

“Oh fuck!”, Bucky yelled from beside you.

He floored the gas pedal, speeding ahead of your attackers. Another pop sounded from behind you, the passenger side mirror gaining a hole through the middle. 

“Holy shit are they fucking shooting at us?!”, you screamed.

“Yes, yes they are!”, Bucky yelled back.

“What the fuck why?!”

He didn’t know how to answer you, glossing over your question, he asked one of his own.

“Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

You baulked at him.

“No I don’t know how to shoot a gun why the hell would I know how to shoot a–”, you were cut off as another bullet shot past your head., “Holy shit!”

“Okay well I’m going to need you to hold the wheel steady for me then!”, he instructed you.

Before you could give him a response, he let go of the steering wheel. You launched your body across the console, yanking the wheel to the correct position, keeping you guys straight on the road. Bucky reached to his left, opening a secret drawer of sorts in his car door. Reaching inside he pulled out a black pistol. You stared at it in shock, eyes flipping between the weapon and Bucky. 

Next thing you knew, he had turned around in his seat, aiming it towards the vehicle giving you guys chase. As he steadied the weapon, another bullet shot through the car digging into his left shoulder, an agonized groan leaving his mouth. Ignoring the burning feeling in his arm, Bucky realigned the weapon with his target and fired, successfully taking out one of the tires on your assailant's car. Their vehicle lost control, veering off the road and into the ditch. 

“Shit.”, Bucky hissed, as he faced forward, taking the wheel back over from you.

Bucky's arm was throbbing, white hot pain radiating down his arm. His attention was locked forward, focusing on getting you as far away from the shooters as possible. The two of you drove further and further away, finally stopping at the end of a dead end road. He threw the car in park, hurriedly reaching around for his phone. Finally finding it, Bucky immediately dialed Tony again.

As the phone started ringing, Bucky’s eyes finally looked at you. Your hair was tousled, shattered pieces of glass were scattered all over your dress, and you looked like you’d seen a ghost. 

Your head reeled, there was no way any of this was actually real. You reached for your forearm, giving it a pinch, feeling pain bloom from the spot you squeezed in between your fingers. 

You turned slowly, eyes locking with Bucky’s blue ones. The two of you sat there in silence for just a brief moment before you spoke.

“What in the absolute fuck is going on?!”

PART FIVE

TAGLIST IS OPEN!! LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT ADDED!

TAGLIST ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ @danzer8705 @sebastians-love @mrsnikstan

[navybrat817]

What Happens in Vegas

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You get more than you bargained for when you decide to get married in Vegas. Word Count: Over 2.8k Warnings: Drinking, drunk wedding, accidental marriage, supernatural element, dubcon elements, soft!dark vibes, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I wasn't able to get all 4 birthday stories done, but I hope you lovelies enjoy the ones I plan to share. Here's 1 of 2! ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby (thank you for spitballing), but any and all mistakes are my own. Thanks to @targaryenvampireslayer as well for letting me scream about this. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The fluorescent lights of the strip flashed as you stumbled along the sidewalk. Fast paced and surreal, the city that never sleeps offered a little something for everyone. Entertainment, architecture, adventure. While your intention for the evening was to grab a drink with some friends and nothing more, you decided to do something bolder. Crazier. Because what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right?

“Goin’ to the chapel and we’re… gonna get maaaaaaried,” you sang, squinting as your guy, date, whoever he was, helped steady you. “Who or what was your name again? Randy?”

“That’s not my name. It’s-”

“Randy. ‘Cause you’re a rando,” you declared, making him laugh.

Forgetting the guy’s name should’ve been your first clue to call it a night and go back to your hotel. Randy was cute enough though and bought all of you drinks. When you told him most of your friends were hitched or close to getting married while you were still single, he joked that he’d marry you.

“Fuck it! Let’s get married!”

Which was how you found yourself on his arm heading to a chapel.

Your second clue to go back to your room should’ve been that none of your friends stopped you. Not a single one told you to stay or offered to go with you, which was strange. Not that each of you hadn’t done stupid stuff before. Letting you go off with a stranger though? In an unfamiliar city?

Bitches. All of them. Noooooo. I love my girlfriends. They’re just DRUNK, like me.

You did feel sad for a second. While your friends all had family who would’ve thrown a fit if they eloped or married a stranger, you didn’t. Your dad would never give you away. Your mom wouldn’t wipe her tears as she heard you say your vows. So who cared what you did?

You sure as hell didn’t.

“Here,” Randy said, pulling you toward a door. “This place is supposed to be really nice.”

“OOOOOOOOH. Reeeeeeeally nice,” you said, gasping once you stepped inside.

You expected cheesy decor to smack you in the face, but instead found yourself in a luxurious entryway. Sparkles of gold lined the sleek floor and walls all the way up to the high ceilings. The art depicted landscapes you only had the pleasure of seeing in dreams. The room almost had a glow to it.

Or maybe it's the alcohol blurring my vision.

A voluptuous redhead walked through a set of doors to greet you. Her heels didn’t make a sound as she glided across the floor. Glancing at Randy, you caught him adjusting the front of his pants. Was he drooling? You found it amusing rather than let it upset you.

“Welcome to the Enchanted Valley where all your dreams come true. My name is Natalia. How may I help you this evening?”

“We’re getting married,” Randy answered, though he didn’t glance at you.

“Is that so?” she asked, tilting her head as she turned her attention to you. The gold from the walls sparkled in her eyes as she waited for your confirmation.

Swaying a little, you gave her a two finger salute. “That is so,” you answered before you added, “Do you also do annulments?”

Snorting, she gestured behind her. “Before we get started, you must be at least 18 years old, must not be currently married, must not be kin, and I’ll need to see a government form of identification. As long as that’s clear, you’re free to proceed with your ceremony. Do you have witnesses?"

“No ‘cause my bitchy friends didn’t come here. I don’t even have flowers,” you said, hiccuping a little. “Don’t tell them I call them that. I love them soooooooooo much.”

“That’s just fine. I’ll ask James and Wanda if they wouldn’t mind witnessing this…” Natalia tried to find the word as her eyes darted between you. “Blessed union.”

Randy followed Natalia like a lost puppy into the chapel as he struggled to get his wallet out. “You single?”

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head. “Why am I doing this?” you mumbled, swaying as you dug your wallet out. “Why didn’t I just get a tattoo or something?”

“Because a ring on your finger is easier to remove than ink on your skin.”

“Holy fucking… fuck,” you said as you looked up. “Where did you come from, you… gorgeous specimen?”

You understood why Randy practically eye-fucked Natalia since you were doing the same with the man in front of you. His steel blue eyes reflected the gold of the room the same way the redhead’s had and you were scared you’d fall into an abyss if you stared for too long. His light brown hair had to be the softest you’d ever seen. If you had to guess, he was at least 6’4” with a broad chest and shoulders and didn’t have the audacity to button up his shirt.

Is his left arm made out of gold? Or is it painted gold? How drunk am I? Would Randy object to me giving this god of a man the ride of his life?

“I’m James,” he said, the timbre of his voice causing your knees to wobble as he held up a bouquet of colorful flowers. “I’ll be one of the witnesses for this blessed union.”

“Nothing blessed about it. I don’t even know the guy. But he said he’d marry me and I said ‘fuck it,” you giggled, taking a step forward. Your shoe caught on nothing. Nothing. You just fell forward.

And the beautiful man caught you in his embrace.

“Careful, beautiful,” he said as he helped you stand upright and placed the flowers in your hand. His touch warmed you as he ran his hands along your bare arms. “You would marry a stranger then? With no friends or family here?”

“You smell really good. How do you smell so good?” You said, putting a hand on his chest with a grin. “Friends are busy and I have no family.”

His brows furrowed and you wondered how pathetic you sounded. You weren’t looking for pity. “Did he give you any token of affection?”

“Mmmmm. You know, he didn’t. We don’t have rings or anything.”

James traced a finger along your cheek. “And he dares to call himself a man,” he whispered, tutting when you leaned into his touch. “Doesn’t seem like he's fit to marry such a delectable creature.”

Eat me up, James.

“It’s okay,” you said, hoping the sad feelings of alcohol weren’t about to hit you. It sucked being alone and you knew you’d come to regret this later, but who cared about tonight? “Do you have gold streaks in your hair? Why are you so pretty? It’s like you’re not even REAL.”

“I’m very real, beautiful,” he smiled, flashing his pearly white teeth as your cheeks got hot. “Do I have the pleasure of knowing your full name?”

“My full name? So formal,” you teased, giving it to him without hesitation as you ran your fingers through his hair. You should’ve asked permission before touching his soft hair. You shouldn’t have touched him at all. But logic left your mind the moment you stepped into the city.

James closed his eyes as he repeated your name, making it sound erotic and sensual. You liked hearing it on his tongue. “You will not marry him,” he whispered, opening his eyes. A ring of gold surrounded his pupils before it went away. Maybe one of the girls slipped a little something into your drink to help you relax more.

Whatever it is, I want more of it.

“Tell you what,” you smiled, booping his nose with a giggle. “If you object with good reason, I won’t marry Randy Rando. Deal?”

James smirked after a moment, a darkness clouding his eyes as he stepped back to shake your hand. “Deal.”

Before you shook it, you noticed a gold ring on the floor by his foot. Did he drop it? “Is that yours?” you said, crouching down to grab it. It wasn’t very dignified how your dress rode up, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Here.”

He didn’t take it from you. “It is mine, but do you not wish to keep it?”

You frowned, confused as you glanced at the band. It had some sort of lettering around the solitaire diamond that you didn’t recognize. “This isn’t ‘finders keepers’. It’s yours. It’s nice, but it’s rude of me to take it.”

With a low hum, he accepted the ring back. “There aren’t many who would return something of value,” he said, slipping it on his right pinky finger. “You have a giving heart.”

“Oh, it… It was nothing,” you said, shrugging a little to hide how badly you wanted to preen at his compliment.

I’m really acting like I’ve never seen a good looking guy before.

He kept an intense gaze on you as he slipped a hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a small stone. It would’ve looked like a normal pebble if not for the gold speckles. “I know this may not look special, but would you take this as a token for giving my ring back?”

Whaaaaaaaat?

“Um. Yeah. Sure. Thanks,” you said, tucking the stone into your purse before you selected a flower from your bouquet. “Would you accept this from me?” you asked, wanting to do something nice.

A pleased look crossed his face as he took the flower and inhaled. Your head spun a little. Something felt different, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. “Thank you,” he said, running his teeth along his bottom lip as he fixed the bottom of your dress. “You really are the most beautiful bride.”

“And you, James, you beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, god of a man, will make the hottest groom when you get married.”

“Hey!” Randy shouted from the chapel when James opened his mouth. “We doing this or what?”

Oh, yeah.

“Wish me luck!” you said, giggling as you went through the doors and not looking back to see if he followed. “Wow.”

It was as if you stepped into an enchanted forest. The colors of the room were lush and welcoming, a blend of evergreen and sage. Flickering fairy lights and flowers adorned the dark brown pues. Natalia stood in front of Randy and a slender woman you didn’t recognize sat on his side of the chapel. The lights were playing tricks on you again when she looked at you, her eyes a flash of red as she smiled.

That must be Wanda. And I’m never drinking again.

“Ready?” Randy questioned when you got to the end of the aisle.

How romantic.

“Yeah, I guess,” you shrugged, looping your arm with his as you held your bouquet. “Take it away, Natalia.”

“Dearly beloved,” she began.

Truthfully, you didn’t pay much attention to the ceremony as Natalia spoke. You didn’t question that she hadn’t looked at your identification card or confirmed anything else she named off. It probably wasn’t a real wedding ceremony. You weren’t going to be Mrs. Randy Rando.

Not when James is here. Wait, what?

“If there are no objections,” Natalia spoke, glancing over your shoulder. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“I object,” James announced behind you, making you cover your mouth as you giggled. He did say he’d object with good reason. You wondered what he’d come up with.

“On what grounds?” Natalia asked, smirking as if she expected him to interrupt.

“Because she’s my wife,” he answered.

What the hell did he just say?

“What?!” You laughed louder as you spun around, falling against Randy with wide eyes.

"What's wrong?" He asked, barely holding you upright.

James walked down the aisle toward you, a gold shine covering him from head to toe. Pointy ears stuck out through his hair and his eyes had a hypnotic glow as he smiled at you, his teeth sharper than before. He looked like a beautiful nightmare.

Ready to eat you up.

“You can see me as I really am, beautiful, can’t you?” He asked, a melodic lift in his tone that was both sinister and alluring. “Glamour doesn’t work on mates.”

...the fuck?

“M-Mates? We’re mates? What does that even mean?” You asked, looking at Randy for help. His eyes had a glossy glaze to them, like he wasn’t seeing you. Was he in shock? Did he know what was going on? “Dude, snap out of it. Look at his gold skin! And his pointy ears!”

“She can see you,” Natalia said with pride. “Congratulations, Bucky. You’re finally married.”

“Thank you, Natasha,” James smiled, waving a hand at Randy. His nails looked sharp enough to claw through his skin. “Get rid of him. He’s crowding my bride.”

“I’m… I’m way too drunk for this,” you mumbled, your knees giving out. With unnaturaul speed, he made his way to the end of the aisle and caught you.

“Hey! That’s my…” Randy looked confused as he blinked. “Well, she's not my girlfriend, but. Huh?”

“No, she isn’t your girlfriend. She’s my wife. And when you wake up tomorrow, you won’t remember being here,” he said, nodding over to Wanda. “I’d wipe your memory myself, but I’m not letting my mate go.”

“The fuck are you…” he trailed off when Wanda waved her hand, a ball of red light floating in front of his face.

“You sleep now,” she said as the light touched his forehead, not bothering to brace his fall as he collapsed.

“What the hell?” You slurred as Natalia grabbed his ankles to drag him out of the chapel, Wanda on her heel.

“I wouldn’t worry about him since you accepted my hand in marriage,” James said, touching your cheek with a fond smile. “I’m sorry for not courting you longer, but we didn’t exactly have much time, did we?”

“We’re not married,” you argued.

“By Fae law, we are,” he explained as your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. Did he say Fae? “You returned something of value to me that I dropped, which was you saying ‘yes’ to my marriage proposal.”

“No,” you whispered. That couldn’t be true.

“You accepted my token of my affection, which was me pledging myself as your husband. And you gave me a token of affection in return, which was you pledging yourself as my wife.”

The stone. The flower. No. Fucking. Way.

“I don’t understand,” you whimpered as he propped you up in his arms.

“I wanted a bride, so I came here. You’d be surprised how much of my kind has infiltrated this city. We do love our realm, but your people are so easy to manipulate,” he said, gesturing to the room. “Gambling, drinking, strippers, quick weddings. You just throw your hard-earned money away like it’s meaningless. Your currency goes a long way where I’m from.”

“I want to go home,” you said as he tightened his hold on you, even stronger than he looked.

“You didn’t see me at the bar tonight, but I saw you. I knew you were destined for me,” he continued happily as if you didn’t say anything. “And when he suggested marrying you on a whim, I made sure your friends didn’t try to stop you and that your path led here. Don't worry. They're safe. I wouldn't harm them.”

Who is he? What is he?

You shook your head, surprised that you hadn’t gotten sick from how your stomach turned. “I’m not your wife,” you said, trembling when his entire body began to glow.

“You are not just my wife. You are my queen. Even if you hadn’t accepted my token of affection, I wouldn’t have let you marry someone whose name wasn’t worth remembering. You’re mine,” he said through his teeth, angry at you denying him before he took a breath. “My poor bride. A woman with no family and friends who don’t look out for her. You have me now. And you’ll be happy by my side.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hoping by some miracle a bit of pain would wake you up. But the creature who called himself your husband wasn’t going away. “This is a bad dream,” you whispered, as if lying to yourself would help.

“Oh, my love,” he said in false comfort. “There are no bad dreams in the Enchanted Valley. And this isn’t the Vegas you know where you can simply write this off as a mistake. There is no divorce in my world. Well, your world now.”

“James, please,” you begged as your heart pounded.

“We’re married now, beautiful. Call me Bucky,” he smiled, smothering your protest with a kiss. Heat spread along your lips and flowed through your veins, wrapping around your heart like a vice. It was enough to suffocate you, but fate wasn’t ready to claim your life yet. “Now sober up. We have a honeymoon to start.”

I couldn't tag Bucky as "fae" without giving some of the surprise away! This idea was inspired by @adayka's beautiful art here. Maybe we can revisit this new couple down the road. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[cosmos-coma]

My Sun, My Star

A/N: I'm so weak for Winter soldier Bucky. I cant wait to write more of him, I love this sad guilt ridden man.

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Reader

Words: 6756

Warnings: Breaking and entering, Minor violence, Injury and Blood, Winter soldier Bucky, GN reader but also Pregnant reader, mild language, I'm not sure if this is fluff or angst or both??

Summary: You wait up late for your boyfriend Bucky to return from his mission, but it isn't Bucky who finds you.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue | Bucky Masterlist

Like what I do? Consider buying me a Coffee!

________________

Your eyes blinked slowly, heavier with each passing second, yet you still managed to open them once again. Glancing at the bright white numbers of the digital clock you watched it change to 1:46 AM, causing a groan to pull from your lips. Bucky was supposed to be back tonight (yesterday technically) from his latest mission, but he still had yet to show up at your shared flat. 

You checked your phone again, the lack of notifications mocking your tired eyes. You let out one more sigh before you turned off the mindless babbling of the TV and stood up to get ready for bed. You were sure Bucky wouldn’t want you waiting up so late in your current condition anyway, he had been harping you about getting enough sleep and water and everything in between.

“I’m only four months pregnant, Bucky. I’m fully capable of staying up late” You had said to him. 

“Five months, Doll, and it’s about your cortisol levels. It’s not good for you or the baby, and it could lead to them being underweight” he said, reciting exactly what the doctor had told him during your last checkup. 

“Four and a half,” you argued as you stuck your tongue out at him, “and she was talking about getting chased by a bear kind of stress, not staying up to watch Bake Off.” 

You snorted at the memory of just earlier that week, a small smile coming to your face as you went through your nightly routine. You continued to check your phone here and there as you went, “Did you get back safe? How’d your mission go?” you had texted two hours ago, yet it still remained unread and unanswered.  

‘Maybe one more quick text wouldn’t hurt,’  you thought to yourself as you typed out the simple message and hit send. 

“Stay safe, okay? I love you.”

You sighed as you set the phone down, “it’s okay, everything is okay,” you assured yourself as you pulled one of his large hoodies over your head, enjoying the way the hem brushed against your bare thighs and the sleeves threatened to swallow your hands. “He’s a former assassin and a super soldier! Nothing is going to happen that he can’t handle,” You stated firmly to your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes remained unsure despite your voice’s conviction, but you did your best to ignore it, focusing instead on the achingly tired look they held. 

“Yes, I know. It’s finally time for bed, little one,” you mumbled sleepily as you felt your baby kick against the walls of your protruding belly, being quick to climb between the layers of blankets and lonesome sheets. “Fuck, that's cold…!” you swore quietly as your bare legs hit the icy fabric- having gone unwarmed by your personal space heater and super soldier.

Thankfully sleep came easily, the thought of waking up to Bucky’s sleepy, scruffy face only further urged your body to wind down so the moment would come sooner. 

----

Bucky’s phone buzzed again in his bag, lighting up with your smiling face as your text displayed on the screen, but nobody reached down to check it, as everyone found themselves in a far more urgent situation. 

“Keep him busy, Rodgers! I just need one more minute!” Tony yelled as he dug through the equipment in the quinjet, “For fuck’s sake, who organized this last?” 

“What do you think I’m doing…!” The blond grunted with a justified hint of frustration,” Sam? Any help??” He shouted with a pointed look, telling more than asking as he struggled to restrain his thrashing friend. A swift metal fist flew toward his already battered face, barely giving him time to duck out of the way and attempt to restrain it again. 

“Honestly? Seems like you’ve got this one,” Sam said, holding up his hands.

“SAM.” 

“I’m coming..! God, can’t either of you old men take a joke?”

No one knew exactly what happened, Bucky had gone off on his own in the Hydra base they were exploring. It was supposed to have been recently abandoned, something about the agents leaving in an urgent rush that left files upon files sitting out in the open. It was supposed to be a simple mission; everyone goes off in teams, gathers what they can, and makes sure there are no surprises. But Bucky assured them that he would be fine to go on his own, he hadn’t had a sign of relapse in over a year, and he would only be picking up what looked important. A simple job.

He should’ve listened. 

It was when he didn’t return to the jet with the rest of them that they started to get worried. 

“So, where’s the Manchurian candidate?” Tony jested, looking at his watch. They were supposed to leave maybe 10 minutes ago, not terribly late by any means, but enough to start getting worried about Bucky’s quietness over the coms.  

“Man, come on.. ” Sam sighed at Tony’s joke as he crossed his arms. 

“Bucky?” Steve tried calling over the coms, ignoring both of his teammates, but the line remained all too quiet. 

They found him finally in the basement level of the office building, old discarded computers lining the walls along with cabinets upon cabinets of old files and other equipment. He hadn’t even realized it was a trap until he stepped right into it, triggering a switch that had the computers and hidden speakers flashing images and sounds that assaulted his senses with fragmented memories long forgotten. 

He should have listened. 

Sam had found him first, on his knees in the middle of the floor with hands desperately covering his ears, trying to block out the incessant noise. Hauling his teammate to his feet, he rushed back to the jet, calling everyone off from their search before anything else could be sprung. 

At first, they thought he might be fine- quiet, but fine. He had given them a small smile and a wave of his hand as everyone tried to check in with him, taking a seat as the jet took off to go home. It had all seemed relatively normal until they were halfway back and the unseen battle inside him must have taken a turn. 

“Got it!” Tony yelled as he pulled out the dart gun, aiming quickly as he fired two shots into Bucky’s chest, readying a third as he waited and watched for the tranquilizers to finally take effect. It was slow as Bucky continued to struggle against the drug’s drain, his body and mind turning into slow-moving molasses. Low grunts emanated from his throat as the last of his strength ebbed away, leaving nothing but forced sleep in its wake. 

“Was two really necessary?” Steve asked as his shoulders finally relaxed, the strain and worry now temporarily over. 

Together they dragged the drugged-up assassin into the jet’s small quarantine area for the remainder of the trip, satisfied only when they heard the mechanical locks slide into place. It wasn’t much, and they knew that and if he really wanted to there would be no stopping him from getting out, but it was something- enough to give them a few seconds of preparation if nothing else.  

“I’m not giving a super soldier only a single dose, you two metabolize things like this way too fast and I’m not taking any chances with the Tin man over there.”

Bucky- no, the Winter Soldier, seemed to still be out of it when they finally landed, sat up and leaning against the wall, head slumped forward just as they had left him. 

“Alright, let's just get him into one of the holding rooms for the night. We’ll work on resetting him-” Tony lifted his hands as the two men glared in his direction, “- on ‘fixing him up’ as soon as he’s been secured.” 

Sam shook his head as Tony corrected himself, taking notice of the lit-up phone in Bucky’s bag, buzzing with an only recently delivered message. Sam had quickly become one of your closest friends after you were introduced to the team. He was one of the few people Bucky trusted with his life and between his sarcastic jokes, his incredibly loyal nature, and his willingness to give Bucky shit whenever he deserved it, you knew very quickly how great a friend he would be. 

But now his stomach twisted as he saw your name flash across the screen, the alert quickly minimizing itself as it joined the other messages you had sent that night. How was he gonna break this to you? The last thing you needed was a bunch of unnecessary stress on your shoulders, but it’s obvious you were beginning to worry over their late return. Sliding the phone back into its rightful place Sam told himself that he’d call you once they had things more figured out.

“Heart rate still seems to be resting. With any luck, he’ll remain knocked out until we get inside,” Tony relayed as he monitored the Soldier’s vitals and pressed the button to open the heavy quarantine doors.

The doors slid into their resting positions with a soft click. 

As soon as that click landed on sensitive ears, vibrant blue eyes shot open. Sparing not even a second, the Winter Soldier surged forward from his seat, not nearly as far gone as he left them to believe. With the element of surprise, the Soldier easily knocked past his teammates, throwing his body weight against them and knocking Sam and Steve off balance, leaving him a good headstart as he dashed out the jet’s open door.

“Fuck, Bucky- Wait!,” Steve swore as he stumbled out behind him, having to use his super soldier speed just to keep pace. But between the settled darkness of the night, and the winding alleyways the brunette stuck to, Steve was left falling behind in no time. “Shit,” Steve swore as he slowed to a stop, looking around for any sign of his compromised friend. 

However, the streets lay barren, the fluttering of moths in the streetlights the only sign of life on the entire block.

---

The heavy thud of his boots echoed against the alleyway’s pavement. He wasn't sure where exactly he was headed as his silhouette slunk between the warm light of the streetlamps, but part of him- a currently repressed part of him- knew that safety was bound to be just ahead. 

His heart beat smoothly as he kept his pace, every other step falling in time as he rounded the corner. Blindly, he let himself be led by instinct and his feet maneuvered the city’s countless paths with a mind of their own. They slowed before a little apartment building and as those emotionless eyes looked up, he knew this was it.

The lateness of the hour had almost assured that no one was around as he slipped inside, footsteps padding up the stairs before stopping at the third floor. His heavy boots left nothing but wet prints in their wake as he wandered down the hall, impossibly silent, as even the notoriously creaky boards dared not announce his presence. 

The closer he got, the more the back of his mind itched, as if something- someone- was begging him not to go any further, but he refused to listen; he knew this was where he was meant to be and where he would find what his body was so inexplicably drawn to.

With each step his head turned on a swivel, looking for the sense of safety and familiarity that the other half of him seemed to find here- and desperately wished he wouldn’t discover. Just as his foot was about to take another step he stopped. ‘No. Here.’ His gut told him, turning to the door. 

His door.

Your door.

The former assassin bypassed the lock with ease, quickly slipping in before shutting the door behind him. A dim light illuminated the living room, the little lamp you left on for him casting its orange glow over his surroundings as he surveyed them.

A few mugs stand beside the sink, framed photos dot the wall and side tables, and a veritable nest of blankets lay across the couch. It was obvious someone had been here, and recently. A deep breath pulled into his lungs, causing his head to tilt to the side in contemplation as an unfamiliar scent hit his nose, something just as earthy as it was sweet and speckled with distant notes of… him?

“Hmmph”  

His sensitive ears picked up the soft grunt from down the hall immediately. His shoulders squared and tensed as his body leaned into a defensive position. Cautious fingers pulled the knife from his boot, ready for whatever may come at him as he approached. 

The sounds of soft breaths lead him to a door left ajar. Light just slipped past the curtains into the darkened room. Badum… Badum… Badum… a heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he took a step closer, leaving the door open and letting further light fall onto the source of the noise. 

His wolfish gaze ran down your form as you lay there on your back, swallowed in the extra fabric of the old sweatshirt. Your hand rested casually over your stomach as your other one squished gently against your cheek. Your legs lay bare to the world after having kicked the overbearing sheets away, leaving just a glance of your underwear for him to take in.  

“Mmph” You grunted again as you shifted, your face now turned to him as that earthy scent of yours gripped him like a vice and refused to let go.

Your sweet sleep became interrupted though- much to his dismay- as the phone on your nightstand began to light up and buzz incessantly. Still, as a statue he watched as you groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows as you went to check what your device could possibly want at this ungodly hour. 

With one loose fist, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes away, blinking consciousness back into them until you saw Bucky’s illuminated figure before you, standing tall and quiet as he watched you intently. 

“Bucky..?” You couldn’t hide the grin that spread across your face as you saw the familiar face of your lover lit up by the bright light of your phone screen. But the longer you looked the more you noticed.

His eyes were all wrong, his gaze was devoid, that’s the only way you could put it. Devoid of meaning and humanity, it seemed every gaze- every movement- was a means to an end. Empty… save for a flicker of fear; It was probably the only thing in those eyes right now that registered as human. The fear of someone who was lost, unknowing of their purpose, and confused as to why your gaze was made his cold heart falter.

His expression was flat and stoic, save for the knit of confusion that pulled his brows together. His stance was tense and prepared, the discrete knife still glittering in his hands as he took another step forward, his head slowly shaking in response to your question. 

A gasp caught in your throat as you finally understood. Glancing at your phone you saw it was Sam who was calling, undoubtedly trying to tell you what you now already knew.

“Soldat…” You whispered, trying to hide the way his name sent shivers across your skin. Your phone went black then, as you didn’t pick up in time and you were left blind by the sudden darkness.

 You and Bucky had talked about what to do if you found him like this, “You call Sam and Steve, Okay? You find a place to hide and you stay far away, no matter what you hear. There’s no reasoning with him,” He had told you.

So much for that

Your phone lit up again with Sam’s urgent call, its revealing light sending ice down your spine as you saw the man nearly standing over you now, just a hair’s breadth away.

Your hand rose slowly, shaking as you tested a reach for your phone, stopping dead in your tracks as he let out a disapproving grunt. Your head nodded slowly as you gulped, returning your hand to your stomach as you watched his gaze finally shift away. 

With unbothered calmness, he looked toward your phone to see Sam’s face and name scrawled across your screen. Wordlessly he reached over and pressed the ‘decline call’ button, cutting the call short and leaving you two in perfect silence once more. 

Panic began to rise in your throat as his gaze turned back toward you, darkened now only by the lack of light. With slow movements the Winter Soldier reached out, putting the knife away as he crouched down, as if trying to attract a skittish animal. 

Your whole body tensed as his reach came closer, eyes screwing shut as you waited for the worst, “Please… Just don’t hurt her…” You whispered, fear and desperation rattling your voice, just as it did your anxiety-filled body. 

But the pain never came. Instead, the cool touch of metal fingers ran down your cheek, barely denting your flesh as he relished in its softness. Your eyes peeked open cautiously, as his fingers moved along the slope of your jaw, tilting your head up as he came to your chin. 

His eyes had changed, you noticed, instead of being a harsh blizzard, they had now settled into something more human, something warmer and… yearning? 

“Soldat..?” You questioned as you watched his lips part, his senses focused only on the way your body reacted to his touch. You were sure he could hear the rapid pattering of your heart beneath your ribs, its pace only increasing as his fingers moved down your neck and to the exposed collarbone in your loose neckline.

“Красивый [Beautiful]...,” was all he could reply. It came out so soft you weren’t sure you heard it at first, it’s quiet reverence meant for your ears and your ears only. “Из-за тебя он чувствует себя здесь в безопасности...? Замки дерьмовые, видимость слишком высокая, но ты… [Are you why he feels safe here…? The locks are shit, the visibility is too high, but you…]” He continued, quiet and unbothered as if he assumed you couldn’t understand him. 

“He’s been bugging me to get better locks all week…” you replied with a huff, quickly shutting up as his stare found your eyes again. Between Bucky’s ramblings in the night and Natasha’s tendency to only gossip in Russian, you had made an effort to learn it; You were still learning, and your pronunciation was shit, but your understanding had gotten far better. 

“And you have a good ear…” He spoke in English this time, the vague hint of an amused smile pulling at the assassin’s stern lips. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever done that before. If that odd little smile had been seen by anyone else- anyone still living that is.

A breath of relief left you as your lips stretched to mimic his, the tension easing out of your body a little by little.

His metallic touch continued to linger, running down your covered chest until it settled on the waistband of your underwear, the cool metal trailing across your ticklish skin. 

“Ah, wait, Sol-” You jumped at his touch, grabbing his wrist, despite knowing you wouldn’t have the strength to stop him if it’s what he wanted.

But instead of dipping his fingers lower, he simply tugged the oversized hoodie up, gathering it over your chest and exposing the firm baby bump concealed below. His head tilted to the side as he listened to the tiny heartbeat that fluttered in your belly as well as the thuds of its little movements against your skin. Slowly, still with that inkling of a smile, he turned to look at you, his hand hovering just above your vulnerable midsection as if awaiting permission. 

Heat rose to your cheeks as you hesitated. On one hand, you felt a surprising amount of calm under the assassin's touch, his need for your approval only increasing your sense of security. But on the other hand, Bucky would never be able to live with himself if something happened to you or the baby, accident or not. 

“Oh. I-” 

CRASH.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as were cut short by the loud noise. The door to your apartment slammed open, surely breaking the hinges with the sheer force of it. Over a dozen heavy boots stormed into your apartment as the lights turned on, flooding your senses and forcing the Soldier’s attention elsewhere. 

Your hand found his instantly, the heat of his calloused skin a comfort to you just the way Bucky’s was, especially as it squeezed around yours just the same. Sitting up properly now your sweatshirt swallowed your pregnant form once again and you peeked out to see just what was going on. 

Through The Winter Soldier’s defensive stance in front of you, his knife is now drawn once more, you watched a small armed group, covered in black tactical gear raid your home, all guns pointing towards you- or more accurately- the former assassin attempting to shield you. You recognized the symbols on their vests as the team’s secondary security force, having even met a few of them over the years. But where was the rest of the team? Where was Sam, and Steve, and Tony?

“Step away from the civilian!” “Put your hands in the air!” “Sir, drop the knife!” They all shouted, overlapping with each other as each of them rushed out their demands. 

“Don't shoot! It’s okay! It’s okay!” You rushed.

You tried to slip your hand from his, but he only held fast, “Soldat, please… It’s okay, just do what they say… They don’t want to hurt us. Please,” You urged, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, 

His defenses faltered as he listened to you beg him to stand down. It wasn’t the usual begging he heard in his line of work, and coming from your lips had his walls cracking in an unprecedented way. 

He shouldn’t have looked back at your eyes, wide and pleading, as they shook his walls further. Moving slowly he turned, kneeling before you despite the way the armed group yelled at him not to. You just held up your hand to them, pleading for them to be as gentle with him as he was with you. 

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” The warm flesh of his hand came up easily to cradle your face and a small smile pulled at him again as you leaned into his large palm. “Я только что нашел тебя. Я не потеряю тебя снова так быстро[I’ve only just found you. I will not lose you again so quickly]. ”

Your heart both swelled and pained for your Soldier. You looked into his eyes and saw a sense of certainty, a sense of knowing, you hadn’t seen from him earlier. “Oh… my soldier, my star,” Your fingers entwined with the hand holding your cheek, ”You can not lose me in any way that would last…” You whispered to him past the shouts, the commotion, and the tension, like you were the only two in the room. 

“Sir, put the knife down!” A young squad member called again, his voice far more concerned than his superiors. You didn’t recognize him or his number and you figured he must’ve been new. His gun trembled in his hands as he shouted again, but as the Soldier failed to move and the kid’s finger unexpectedly twitched, there came a sudden- 

BANG.

“Ah-!” Your face twisted with pain as you pulled away, “Fuck…!” Your hands instinctively grabbed your leg, clamping over the shooting pain in your calf that hit you- well- like a bullet. 

You winced again as you pulled one of your hands back, the raw skin of your leg angrily letting you know that it did not like being brushed against. Warm, wet crimson covered your fingers as you looked down, becoming slightly dizzy at how much had already covered your palm. You were thankful it only seemed to be a graze, but the burn you already felt and knowing you were losing blood had your stomach lurching in uncomfortable ways. 

Concern painted the assassin’s expression as you recoiled away from his doting touch, but as the unmistakable warm, metallic smell curled into his nose, his expression darkened dramatically. What was once kind, curious blue eyes now saw nothing but red as he caught sight of the wound slashing across your skin. His jaw set firmly, almost audibly grinding his teeth as he stood and turned to the young kid. 

You looked back at the newcomer as you tried to breathe through the pain, the horrified look on his face telling you that he knew he was a dead man walking. His face went ghost white as the super soldier stalked toward him and through even worse trembling hands he raised his gun to shoot again. 

“No…!”

A sickening thud rang out as the bullet hit the assassin square in his good shoulder, getting lodged in the muscly flesh. His shoulder jerked back at the force, but it wouldn’t stop his stride as he closed the gap. Another shot rang out, but with the solid vibranium arm now covering the barrel it did little to help this poor dumb kid. Snatching him by the neck, you watched as your assassin held him up until his feet kicked uselessly in the air. 

Every gun immediately trained on him and with their proximity you knew they wouldn’t miss a fatal shot if it came to it.

“Stop! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Soldier, put him down!” You yelled as you maneuvered towards the edge of the bed. “Please, don't shoot, I can fix this!” you continued, trying to convince yourself as much as you convinced them. Familiar voices joined in on your plea as Sam and Steve finally entered the picture, urgently trying to talk down both the Winter Soldier and the secondary security team. 

“Bucky, It’s okay... Just put the kid down, alright?” Steve tried to reason with him, “He’s new, he doesn’t know what he’s doing yet.” Steve tried his best to stay calm and patient, but the young man was beginning to change colors now. “Bucky, put him down before you do something you can’t come back from.” But Bucky’s ears were deaf to the outside pleas and the Winter soldier refused to listen.

“Ah..!” You whimpered as you tried to stand and approach the commotion. The pain in your leg reached new heights as you tried to put weight on it, causing you to tumble to your knees almost immediately. You clutched your belly, hoping the sudden jostle wouldn’t upset the baby too much as you tried to get up again. 

“Hold on, Y/n. Stay down for a minute so we can wrap your leg…” Sam asked of you, moving over to help as soon as he saw the blood on your hands, “You’re losing plenty already.”

“No, I have to…. I can’t let him get hurt,” you argued, pushing away his helpful hands as you tried to stand again. You heard the crashing thud and rushed voices as you shakily got to your feet, leaning all your weight on your good leg. As you looked up again you came eye to eye with worry-filled icy blues.

“Sol-”

“Мое солнце  [My Sun]...” He interrupted, his metal arm snaking around your waist to pull you in possessively and away from those who threatened your safety. On the other side of the room, the nervous kid now coughed and wheezed for breath, but you were just happy to see he was still alive. 

“Please just listen to them. You’re already hurt, don’t get yourself killed…” you pleaded, your hand barely brushing over his bleeding wound before pulling his hand to your rounded belly. He tried to keep his expression steady, but you saw the way his eyes widened slightly as he looked down. “She needs someone looking out for her and I can’t do this on my own. I can’t keep away all the dangers of the world…” Your forehead rested against his as you tried to shift your weight, whining as you gave up and moved back. You couldn’t deny that this part of Bucky was her father too, even if he had been hidden away for ages, she was still his too. Whether Bucky would see it the same way you weren’t sure, but right now you were just concerned with making sure he got out of this alive. 

“I can’t do this without you…” 

The silence felt deafening as he considered. He never had to think about other people relying on him, not like this. His orders had always been to leave no threats, to finish his job and move on, no matter the cost to him. But the pain in his soft, fleshy shoulder was getting harder to ignore. The way his blood-soaked shirt clung to his arm now climbed to the forefront of his mind as he watched your big eyes stare back at him, desperate to understand. He was between a rock and a hard place. 

“I’ll be right beside you the whole time..” You assured him, “We both will, but please let everyone get us some help.” 

A gentle nudge pushed against his palm as his thoughts swirled around him, snapping him back to a single line of thought and he knew then. Defeat laid heavy on his shoulders as they slumped, accepting what must be done., “Мое солнц [My Sun] …”, He said, “Если вы так хотите, то я не буду жаловаться [If it is what you wish, then I will not complain].” 

You couldn’t tell just how long you had been holding the breath you let out, your muscles relaxing as he finally held his hands up. The security squad began coming forward with an array of cuffs, but it was Sam who stopped them this time, glancing back at you for confirmation as he assured them that they could take it from here. Despite the arguing and the hesitation, they seemed to relent, shifting their focus now to their injured colleague. 

Both Sam and Steve looked tired but relieved as they turned to the two of you, bloody and pained in your current state. Though they weren’t quite better; both of them looked like they had been the unfortunate punching bag of a certain super soldier mere hours before. Sam had bruises lining his arms from where he was surely blocking blow after blow and Steve smiled a bit with his busted lip, dried blood still stuck in the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s get you two to the tower…” 

----

The journey to the tower was quiet, your soldier never letting you out of arms reach as you all boarded the armored truck, and made your way up the tower and to the lab. 

Doctors tried to treat the both of you, but as soon as anyone dared to come close your assassin was right there to growl them back. They’d hardly be able to get past his possessive hands even if they could manage to get close, his touch keeping you pulled beside him at all times.

“Soldat…” you warned him, but he was too preoccupied gathering the medical bag they had been dropped. Coming over to you, there was no warning as he scooped you up from the ground and set you on a table to get to work. 

“Oh-!” You exclaimed as you held onto his strong shoulder, quickly getting plopped back down on the corner of the cold metal table. A shiver ran down your skin as you shifted against the sleek table, watching as practiced hands scoured through the medical bag, producing everything he needed as he went about fixing up your leg wordlessly. 

You were beyond thankful for the haze of the (baby-safe) painkillers as his fingers slid over the raw flesh. Despite the gentle numbing of the painkiller your fingers still lay tangled in his hair as he worked, only tugging in discomfort as the gauze wrapped tightly around your leg.

"Thank you..” You said when he finally finished, moving back to appreciate his work before giving it a satisfactory nod. His eyes had grown distant again, bits of confusion and uncertainty swirling in the storm of his eyes, and you reached out to stroke your thumb across his cheek. His stony cool expression remained as you touched him, his mouth staying a firm line as he instinctively leaned into your palm. You watched him for a moment before you continued, knowing that his thoughts must be far away.

“It's your turn now, big guy.... your shoulder is still seeping and you can’t keep losing blood like this," You urged him just as you had on the ride to the tower. He had refused to listen then, letting nothing else occupy his mind until he knew you were fully taken care of. But now as you sit safely before him, the only looming threats being Sam and Steve who seem to haunt the hallway outside, he finally relented.

You moved to stand, needing the angle to effectively dig out the bullet still lodged in his muscles, but he held you still with a single large hand on your shoulder, "Stay," he urged you with that low rumble of his. His eyes lingered on yours, ensuring you would do as he asked before he began to move again, gathering the supplies you would need.

He slid his bloody shirt off, revealing the weeping wound beneath and the scars of many wounds past. You expected him to stand in front of you, maybe sit so you could take care of him, but that didn’t seem to be the important thing right now.

He climbed up onto the cold table where you sat, curling onto his side with his back facing the door so his wounded shoulder sat closest to you. His head lay in your lap with a look of unmatched serenity as he pressed his forehead against your rounded belly. And there he rested, quiet and unmoving as he took his quiet moment. But he was far too exposed like this, far too trusting of “threats” lurking outside, and he almost reminded you of Bucky again. Was Bucky fighting to come back…? Was the Winter Soldier trusting you to watch his back? … or was he accepting of something you weren't sure he knew yet?

"Are you sure? It's going to be harder to take the bullet out this way. I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to," you tried to explain as you pulled out the forceps.

But he simply shook his head, "I know my time here is short, my Sun..." he said with an even tone, no semblance of fear to shake his voice, "Please let me enjoy it like this…."

Your voice caught in your throat as he answered, his blunt acceptance and knowing catching you off guard. You wished beyond anything that you could soothe him, to tell him no one was going to hurt him or take him away again. But you wouldn’t lie to him, so instead you said nothing, Your words rasping as you replied, "Of course, My star…."

The room was quiet as you worked, the only noise the sweet mumblings from your boyfriend's lips as he filled your baby’s ears with loving promises. His body let out a grunt and a soft squelch as you finally tugged the crushed bullet out. Pain creased his brow but his words never faltered and neither did the nudges or kicks he got in reply.

Carefully you cleaned up the blood, packing the wound as best you could, but you were sure Tony and his team would be redoing it soon nonetheless.

A sigh escaped him as he heard you putting away your tools, "My Sun?" he asked.

"Yes?"

“Is it time…?”

You cast your eyes downward, looking into those confused and swirling blues as they watched you with unbridled hope.

You nodded, wiping away the tears that welled in your eyes, “It’s time…” you whispered.

He nodded, thinking quietly as he looked down at your belly again, his hand smoothing over the skin he’s exposed, “Will I see you two again…?” 

Your heart broke at the slight waver in his voice, “Oh, my star…” you said, resting your palm against his cheek, “It’s just like I said, ‘you can not lose me in any way that would last’. I’ll see you again and again, in this life and the next,” you assured as you leaned down to kiss his temple, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips. Tears blinked from your eyes as you continued, “I don’t know when, or for how long, but you will see us again. You can always come home to me, and I will always be there to welcome you.” You leaned, slow as not to scare him, and kissed him gently as he turned again to look at you.

 It was awkward at first, but you didn’t mind, you couldn’t imagine the last time the Winter Soldier had felt such gentleness, let alone a kiss. 

But the moment was ripped away as the door opened, Steve, Sam, and Tony all standing in the doorway. “We’re ready for him,” Tony said simply, “Let's get this started so my lab techs can go home….” 

-----

You watched behind thick glass as Tony and his team of technicians attached various wires and machinery to Bucky’s body. Sam and Steve’s hands lie on your shoulders, trying to comfort you as you watch them finish tuning and placing everything. You watched as his blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, as still as a statue as he let them do their work.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to watch this…” Steve tried to comfort you, but you only shook your head. 

“No… I promised I’d see him off,” you replied, then thought with a pause, “Despite all the warnings Bucky gave me I’m happy I got to see him face to face…” 

“Well, it helps that he wasn’t trying to beat the shit out of you…” Sam mumbled, getting an immediate nudge from you right in one of his bruises, “ Ow…okay, point taken.”

You smiled and shook your head. It was true though; despite the fear, blood, and death that dripped from his moniker, despite the pain you endured in his presence, you would do it all again. Bucky had hidden this part of him from you for so long, only ever showing you half of his face. And though you know he wouldn’t like it, you’re happy to finally see him in full light- to know and love him completely as he’s meant to be.

Tony says something that’s hard to make out through the glass, but you see him give a thumbs up to you all so he must have been ready. He moved to the switch, hesitating for a moment to let you say a quick goodbye. 

Your Soldier’s eyes found yours right away, but there was no trace of sorrow for you to see, no discomfort or fear. In fact, he seemed almost excited; excited and hopeful that when he saw you next he’d have a bundle of joy to look forward to as well. 

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” you watched him say beyond the glass.

“I’ll see you again, My stars. I’m sure of it…” You replied with a soft smile.

He had just enough time to smile softly back at you, an image now pleasantly etched in your brain before Tony flipped the switch and the reset procedure began. 

You covered your eyes quickly as Bucky’s body began to convulse, his strained grunts and shouts breaching containment despite the way he tried to hold it all back. The sounds of pain continued for minutes, but it felt far longer. Though, it wasn’t until it got quiet that you began to worry. 

“Is it done? Is it over...?” You asked the men on either side of you, afraid to peek past your hands for fear of the worst.

“Doll…?” you heard the familiar voice call, gritty and rough from its recent use but still carrying that same soft tone he used with you.

Your heart swelled, “Bucky...?”

_____________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @simpxinnie (sorry I forgot to tag!)

It's been a while since I've written for our favorite sad man, so if I've missed you/you want to be added to the taglist, DM me to let me know!