#james bucky barnes x original character

[iwishicanbeagoodpianist]

the Wifilcon and the Winter Router Chapter 2: Customer Service

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC/Reader Summary: When Bucky learns that his neighbor has been stealing his wifi for months. Warnings: None A/N: I’m not a fanfic writer at all, this, like all my stories, are adaptations to fanfics. My original stories are not written in english, so this is also a translation. please do not repost my work

Chapter 1

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-"Sir, are the front lights on the router on or not?"-

-"Uh, yes, I think so, there are too many lights, all blinking."-

Bucky, once again, was facing the demonic device that, at this moment, he’d rather throw out the window without looking back. How is it possible that I’m doing one of the things I hate most in life, talking to other people, all because I need to know how the fight between Diego and his evil twin ends and who finally wins Alfonsina's love?

While Bucky continues his internal dialogue about the 8 o’clock soap opera (he can actually watch it anytime, but he regularly decides to watch it at 8) and how he hates his life at this moment, he hears the customer service lady sigh, whom he vaguely recalls is named Sara, with whom he’s been speaking for an exhausting (for both of them) 20 minutes. With this amount of wasted time, I could have already thrown this device out and gone to buy a new one. Without having to talk to anyone, 10 minutes max, timing clocks and all. Stupid piece of junk…

Bucky’s thoughts are interrupted again by Sara or Susana, I’m sure it was something with an S…

-"Sir, can you describe what you see right now?"-

-"A piece of junk?… I mean, I mean, a rectangle with two antennas…"-

-"Sir, I mean the lights, the colors, if they’re blinking or not…"-

Is it possible to be more idiotic? Bucky is sure he can read the thoughts of… uh… Sofia?

-"Yes, yes, of course,"- Bucky stammers, trying to focus since this conversation started, -"there’s a green light with an image that looks like a circle, then there are some curved lines that the light is blinking…"-

Before Bucky could finish describing each part of the router like a 5-year-old to… to… Sasha? he hears the front door open, and it’s none other than the main person who got him into this problem, and by problem we mean the addiction to telenovelas on Nitflix, Notflex… Netflox?? Whatever, his dreaded and somewhat appreciated neighbor from the next-door apartment.

-"What do you think you’re doing??? The internet’s been down for over 30 minutes."-

The cheeky comment comes, not only is she using the internet for free. Not really, she pays for the… Netflex? account and he pays for the internet, it’s not a fair agreement, but she also makes him dinner on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and on Sundays she makes waffles for breakfast, his favorite, something he never plans to tell her even if he’s kidnapped again and tortured.

-"That’s what I’m trying to fix,"- Bucky replies exasperatedly, because let’s be honest, he’s nowhere near fixing the problem, he hasn’t been able to sit down to rest since he got back this morning from his last mission and discovered his stupid internet wasn’t working and he’s been talking for over 20 minutes now with… with… Samantha? whom he’s sure wishes she were unemployed right now living with her parents again rather than dealing with his over 100-year-old ass for 5 more minutes.

-"Don’t be silly, you just need to unplug and replug it and it’ll be fixed…"- Your adorable neighbor, adorably annoying, hadn’t finished saying those words when she automatically took the plug out of the wall just like that. All the lights on the router went out at the same time, just like Bucky’s brain.

-"Sir, are you still there…?"- At this point, Samantha, or Sierra, sounds distant as if she were part of Bucky’s conscience. But really it’s just because he very intelligently moved the phone away from his ear in shock after seeing his neighbor very casually walk to the kitchen and open the fridge.

-"You have to wait about 30 seconds before plugging everything back in and… what’s wrong with you?"- She asks when she turns to look at him again with a carton of juice in her hand. I should check if that’s still good, when was the last time I went grocery shopping? God, I just want to sleep for 12 straight hours. Bucky’s brain also needs 30 seconds to react.

-"What are you doing here? Today is Tuesday, you should be at work."-

-"I’m sick."-

-"I don’t see you looking very sick."-

-"That’s because you’re too in love with me to notice how bad I look."-

A thud is heard, Bucky unsure if what sounded was his stomach dropping or the phone he was holding, his brain automatically rebooted, at the same time as his now-neighbor, soon-to-be victim, approaches him.

-"W-w-what are you doing??"- Is that music coming from my head? How hard did they hit me today? She, without stopping and looking straight at him, gradually gets closer to him, and that’s when he starts to notice, the red cheeks, the unkempt hair, the exaggerated layers of clothing, the glassy eyes. She really is sick. And without thinking, because let’s be honest, Bucky hasn’t managed to string a coherent thought in the last hour, he says: "It’s true, you look like crap." Just like that, without anesthesia, without a prior psychological evaluation that confirmed Bucky was not fit to live alone, much less interact with other human beings in a normal and civilised manner.

And now a thud is heard, as if someone had slapped their forehead and a sigh of exasperation. Did that sound come from my phone?

But before he could keep thinking about how possibly his love life is now the 8 o’clock soap opera in the customer service office, which for some reason hasn’t ended the call yet. Bucky reacts to these words:

-"I just wanted to reconnect the internet, to go off sick and horrible somewhere else."-

And in a matter of seconds, the lights on the router start blinking again, Bucky’s computer makes a sound indicating it’s connected to the internet again and Bucky’s heart starts racing uncontrollably when he sees his neighbor, firm to her previous statement, grab the juice, which she not-so-politely stole from his fridge, and walks quickly to the door.

-"I’m taking this as payment for being an idiot,"- and with those words, she closes the door behind her.

Bucky stopped breathing, thinking, well, he hasn’t thought correctly in the last 24 hours, he can’t coordinate words or string the necessary letters to call her name, he just stays there, with the blinking lights of his brain that can’t find the connection with his mouth. He was going to spend a full 40 minutes there when he hears his conscience shouting from afar:

-"HELLO??? Sir??? Are you stupid or what??? Go after her right now and apologize!"- It’s not his conscience, it’s… it’s… Selena? From his phone on the floor, the customer service agent was shouting at him and not very kindly expressing what she’s been thinking since the call started. I really am an idiot, nothing new here.

In an act of, not very sure how to explain what, Bucky picks up the phone from the floor, brings it to his ear and asks in an anguished voice:

-"Scarlet? Are you there? God, what have I done? What am I supposed to do now? How do I fix this? I’m just a 100-year-old person, I’m rusty, it’s not my fault."-

And in whispers from the other line like: -"Who the hell is Scarlet? 100 years old??, god this guy has serious issues."- A clearing of the throat is heard and the following words:

-"Sir, the best thing you can do is go and apologize, be sincere, I’m sure she already knows you’re an idiot and likes you anyway."-

-"She likes me?"-

-"I hope you leave the best note in the customer satisfaction survey."-

-"Yes, yes,"- customer satisfaction survey???? what the hell?

-"Well, no girl would be that vulnerable in front of you, I mean, she came to your apartment sick to help you and also dropped that hint, not subtle in my opinion, that you’re in love with her. There are only two options: either she’s really sick and the fever makes her delusional…"-

Bucky is heard whispering,-"delusional?"-

-"Sir, please, let me finish, or she likes you and was helping you take the first step."-

-"Okay, I understand."-

-"Sir, do you like her yes or no?"-

-"No, I mean, yes, only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays when we have dinner together and the food is really good, on Tuesdays and Thursdays I only see her in the morning before leaving, but she accompanies me to buy coffee at the bakery across the street, she takes it very sweet, that’s not good for her health, but she never listens to me. On Saturdays she passes by the park where I always go running, and on the way back she gives me a bottle of water before going to her parents’ house. Sundays are waffle days and it’s the best day because everything is so quiet and peaceful and we just eat and watch TV, sometimes we talk about what happened during the week, but most of the time we’re just… together… peaceful. But I don’t just like her sometimes…"-

-"Sir, I don’t think you’ve said this much dialogue in the entirety of this fanfic or in the history of any fanfic… so I think it’s clear that you like her…."-

"Fanfic?" Bucky whispers, -"what the hell…?"-

-"Doesn’t matter now, sir, the important thing is to put your pants on and go find her right now."-

-"But I already have pants on…"-

-"Shut up, hang up the call, fill out the survey and go hug your girlfriend, god!"-

-"Thanks… uh… Sabrina?"-

-"My name is Amanda, sir…"-

-"Oh."-

-"Just go, have a good day…"- and before hanging up you hear the murmur of I’m going to pretend the last 45 minutes never happened…

-"Thanks… you too…"- but Amanda had already ended the call. Automatically a sound is heard and a female voice starts saying: -"Please rate your agent from 1 to 10… 1 being…"-

Without waiting for the answering machine to finish, hurriedly heading out the door to try to fix his stupidity, Bucky says:

-"10! 10!! The best service, please give Amanda a raise, she deserves it, give her more vacation too, everything, thank you, thank you."-

[shortnspidey]

CHAPTER ONE: ECHOS OF THE PAST

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 3.7K

WARNINGS: Tony being a shitty father, cursing, self-depicting thoughts, talks of anxiety

A/N: In honor of Sebastian getting his first Golden Globe (which was long overdue), I present to you all the first chapter for this series! Thank you for all the love on this series before it was even published! This first chapter is really angsty, BUT there is certainly more to come! Dividers by @sister-lucifer <3

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The familiar hum of New York City quickly faded as you stepped into the quiet sanctuary of your apartment. It was a stark contrast to the bustling campus of MIT, a place that had once held so much promise. The weight of the past few months hung heavy on your shoulders as you let out a long, weary sigh. You had returned home, defeated and disillusioned.

The keys in your right hand felt heavy, almost like an invisible weight was pushing you down. You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of disappointment and frustration. The sense of relief from being back home was met with the bitter taste of unmet expectations. You had dreamed of making a mark, of proving to yourself and to everyone else that you belonged at one of the most prestigious institutions in the world.

Instead, you found yourself constantly questioning your place, your purpose, and your abilities. As you finally turned the key and stepped inside, the familiar surroundings offered a small comfort. However, that relief was short lived. What you didn't expect was to see your father, in the flesh, sitting in your living room. His presence felt like an additional weight on your already burdened shoulders, amplifying the emotions swirling inside you.

Choosing to ignore him, you walked past the living room and into your room. You could bet that he would be following close behind you not even a second later. Sure enough, as you settled to unpack the little clothes that lay in your suitcase, you heard his footsteps approaching. "F.R.I.D.A.Y told me you were back in New York," The stern voice of Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist or as you knew him, your father, interrupted behind you.

Letting out a sigh, you could practically feel the disappointment radiating off of him from your doorway. "Which I find very odd since it's nowhere near your winter break." You avoided eye contact as you fiddled with the items on your desk. "Funny enough, I gave a lecture at MIT and to my surprise my daughter was nowhere to be found. Especially since the academic advisor stopped me to inform me you haven't been attending classes for almost a month." God you wished he'd just get right to the point.

"Care to explain?" Not bothering to hide the nonchalance in your voice, you simply shrugged and mumbled, "Dropped out." The tension in the room was palpable, his silence spoke volumes, a mixture of disbelief and frustration hanging in the air. "Dropped out? What do you mean, you dropped out? You were doing so well." You could hear the strain in his voice, the effort it took to keep his emotions in check. “MIT was your dream, not mine.” His eyes widened, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of hurt cross his face.

You almost felt bad. Almost. "But you had everything going for you," He insisted, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at you with what you could only assume was utter disappointment. "The scholarships, internships, the many opportunities they offered… Why would you throw all that away?" You sighed, feeling the weight of his disappointment. "Because it wasn't making me happy," You replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I finally realized that I was living someone else's dream, not mine."

You had finally admitted it.

As you finally mustered the courage to confront him, a bruise blooming on his right eye suddenly stole your attention. The conversation about MIT, now seemed like the last thing on your mind. After what seemed like an eternity, you tried to gauge his expression, but came up short. "Well in that case," He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're grounded." Clenching your jaw you scoffed in disdain. "What the hell do you mean I'm grounded?" You spat, crossing you arms over your chest. "I don't think I stuttered." Tony rolled his eyes which only fueled your anger.

"I'm not five dad, I'm almost twenty-five, you can't ground me." You growled, digging your freshly manicured nails into your palm in frustration. "As your father, I believe that is one of the many privileges I still hold. You're clearly not thinking straight. You need time to reflect on your choices and figure out what you truly want." He looked at you with a mixture of worry and disappointment, his eyes searching for a way to reach you. "This isn't about punishment, it's about helping you." The more he talked, the angrier you became.

Of course, he was making this about him, as he somehow always seemed to do. Completely disregarding what you wanted, he continued to impose his will. The familiar feeling of being trapped under his expectations washed over you, instantly making your blood boil. "Helping me?" You echoed, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "You do realize that I just confessed that I don't want to go back to MIT, and instead of asking me why, you ground me instead. Real mature." You could feel the tears of frustration welling up, but you refused to let them fall.

You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he had affected you. This was your life, your decision, and you were growing tired of being treated like a child. He opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off, the words spilling out before you could find will to stop them. "You don't get it, do you? It's like you only hear what you want to hear. I’m not some kid who needs to be sheltered from the world. I need you to listen for once!" His expression hardened, and you could see the frustration creeping into his demeanor.

Taking his silence as a sign to continue, you pushed back your nerves and tears, and decided a different approach to somehow get your point across. "Can’t you see that I’m trying to figure things out on my own? Grounding me isn’t going to help me in any way." He sighed, and you could tell he was struggling to find the right words. Tony Stark may be the smartest and most successful man in the world, but he sure as hell didn't know how to express himself. In words, at least. "I just want what’s best for you," His voice softer now, was almost pleading.

It almost made you feel bad for yelling. "Then try trusting me for once," Your voice trembled with a mix of anger and desperation. "I'm tired of people not knowing my name, and only knowing me as 'Tony Stark's daughter'. You have to understand that, dad." The silence hung heavy between you, both of you staring at each other, the weight of unspoken words filling the room. You could feel the tension shifting, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he finally understood. After a pregnant pause, he suddenly found the words, just not the ones you were expecting.

"Well, I'm off, there's cheeseburgers in the kitchen." The casualness in his voice, as if the conversation hadn't happened made your frustration and anger resurface. "Just like that you're leaving," You scoffed in disbelief, but never the less expected it. This was typical of him, avoiding the deeper issues with a quick exit. "You really think cheeseburgers is going to make up for this?" You added, hoping for once in his life he was joking. Oh how wrong you were. “Settle in, watch movies, but do not leave this apartment under any circumstances.” He instructed, his tone firm as he moved toward the door.

"And if I leave?" You challenged, standing your ground as his hand hovered over the front door knob. He paused, his back to you. "Just remember I have eyes everywhere," Without so much as a final glance in your direction, he shut the door behind him. The thud echoed through the apartment, leaving you alone with your thoughts. As if on cue, your phone which laid abandoned in your bedroom went off startling you. Looking at the door one last time, you let out a huff, the frustration and disappointment evident in your breath. It was clear your father wasn't coming back.

With a resigned sigh, you turned and made your way to your bedroom. As soon as you picked up your phone, your heart dropped. Notifications filled the screen, each one more alarming than the last. You had been tagged in numerous social media posts, not to mention the messages from colleagues and acquaintances at MIT. Even Pepper had sent you a text regarding something called the Sokovia Accords. Your fingers trembled as you scrolled through the posts, the images and videos of chaos and destruction filling the screen. Your mind raced, trying to piece together what had happened while you were unaware.

Among the thread of messages, Pepper's stood out the most. "We need to talk. This is serious. Call me as soon as you can," it read. You could almost hear the urgency in her voice, and it made your stomach churn. You quickly dialed her number, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for her to pick up. The phone rang twice before she answered. "Hey sweetheart, are you okay?" She asked, her voice filled with concern. "I don't know," You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "What even are the Sokovia Accords?" You heard Pepper sighed on the other end of the line.

"It's a long story, but to put it in the simplest terms, it's a set of legal documents that will regulate the activities of enhanced individuals." You felt a cold chill run down your spine as Pepper explained the implications. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, and you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. "Just be careful, okay?" You nodded even if she couldn't see you. "I will, I love you." As she echoed those words back, you hung up. The world seemed to be against you today, because not even seconds after you set your phone down, there was a knock present at your door.

It made your heart drop, especially since no one knew you were back in New York. Slowly, you reached for the knife hidden by your bedside table, adrenaline coursing through your body as you slowly inched toward the front door. Your heart pounded in your chest as you approached the door. Taking a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Peering through the peephole, you saw a shadowy figure standing just beyond the threshold, their features obscured by the dim hallway light. With your hand gripping the knife tightly, you cautiously unlocked the door, ready to defend yourself if necessary.

As the door creaked open, the figure stepped forward into the light, revealing a familiar face. "Uncle Clint," You breathed out immediately tackling the man in a hug. He instantly reciprocated, tightening his hold on you. “You ready to get the hell out of here, kid?” You couldn’t contain your smile, immediately nodding. Not needing anything else but your phone and keys, you locked your door following Clint down the steps. "Where are we going?" You asked, your curiosity piqued. "Germany," He replied nonchalantly making you stiffen momentarily.

Turning back as if sensing your unease, he gave you a reassuring smile. "I'm assuming you've heard the news about the Accords." You nodded, climbing into the passenger seat of his van as he unlocked it. "We just have to make a quick pitstop first." As you settled into the seat and the van roared to life, your thoughts instantly started racing. "What's the pitstop for?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady. Clint glanced over at you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just picking up some... backup." He muttered cryptically as the sense of anticipation grew as you wondered what lay ahead.

Arriving in Germany at the Leipzig-Halle Airport, it was safe to say you were a nervous wreck. Especially since the 'backup' Clint had meant was breaking Wanda Maximoff out of the Avengers Compound and picking up someone named Scott Lang. Thankfully, the witch had promised to stay out of your head so she couldn't read your inner turmoil. However, just by your body language, anyone could tell you were not 'okay'. "You okay, kid?" Clint's voice asked softly, his paternal instincts kicking in.

You managed a weak smile. "Yeah, just… thinking." The van's engine hummed softly as it entered the airport car garage, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the concrete walls. Clint raised a brow in your direction as the van entered the airport car garage, his eyes searching yours. "About what?" You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. "Everything," You finally admitted. "The Accords, my dad…" Clint nodded understandingly. "Yeah, it's a lot to take in." He paused, then added, "You don't have to do this, you know. You can still walk away." His words echoed in your head.

He was right, there was nothing stopping you from walking away, especially since your father was in support of the Accords. However, something about how he was willing to start a divide within his closest friends made you angry. Maybe it was because he had failed to hear you out, just as he had failed to hear Steve’s side of the argument. The memory of your father’s dismissive tone and the way he brushed off your concerns played over and over in your mind, fueling your decision. It was safe to say you had already made up your mind.

Turning in your seat, you gave Clint a smirk, a spark of defiance lighting up your eyes. "No chance in hell." His smile widened at your words, and he reached over to squeeze your hand. The van came to a sudden halt, jolting you slightly. Only then did you realize that Steve Rogers was a few feet away, his broad shoulders and familiar stance unmistakable. He had his back turned to you, deep in conversation with two other figures. "Does Steve know I'm here?" You asked, a mix of anticipation and apprehension threading through your voice.

"He does now," Clint shrugged, his tone casual but reassuring. "Here goes nothing" You mumbled to yourself as you unbuckled your seatbelt. "You know I wouldn't have called if I had any other choice," You heard Steve say to Clint as he extended his hand in a firm handshake. His voice was steady, but you could detect the underlying strain. Only then did his blue eyes find yours over Clint's shoulder. They widened slightly, a mix of surprise and relief washing over his features. "Y/N?" Steve breathed out, almost as if trying to decipher if you were real or not.

You lifted your hand in an awkward wave, finding the courage to step forward. Only, the super solider beat you to it. In two strides he was at your side, scooping you up into a much needed hug. His embrace was strong and warm, enveloping you in a sense of security you hadn't felt in a long time. You squeezed him back just as eagerly, hoping that through the hug you could tell him you were on his side. "It's so good to see you," He murmured into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "I just wish it was under different circumstances." You nodded, pulling back your eyes searching his face for any signs of the unease you knew he must be feeling.

"You know I've always got your back." You smiled, giving him a mock salute which made him laugh. "Nice to see you again, kid." You turned locking eyes with Sam Wilson who was giving you a teasing smile. "Hi Sam." You grinned, eyes landing on the figure standing beside him. Dressed in a red Henley, his posture was rigid, and his expression was guarded. "Y/N, this is Bucky." Steve introduced him, almost as if reading your mind. Bucky's intense gaze met yours, and for a moment, you felt a shiver run down your spine.

His eyes were a stormy blue, filled with a depth of experiences that seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Despite his tough exterior, there was something about him that intrigued you, a vulnerability that was almost palpable. Here it comes. Bucky thought to himself watching as your eyes flickered with recognition. "You're Sergeant James Barnes," You couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and empathy for the man standing before you. Bucky nodded slowly, his expression softening just a fraction. "Just Bucky," He corrected gently, as if trying to distance himself from the past that still clung to him.

You offered a small, understanding smile. "It's an honor to meet you, Bucky. I've heard a lot about you." You could have sworn you saw his lip twitch into a faint smile, almost as if for a brief moment the walls he had built around himself seemed to lower. Steve cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Thanks for having my back." He nodded towards Wanda who stood behind you with her arms crossed. "It was time to get off my ass." Her expression was one of casual indifference, but her eyes held a spark of determination. "It was time to get off my ass," She shrugged nonchalantly, her tone light but her commitment evident.

The corner of your mouth lifted into a smile at her straightforwardness. "How about our other recruit?" Steve questioned, turning his attention to Clint. His eyes met Steve's with a knowing look, and he gave a slight nod, signaling his readiness. "He's ready to go," He coaxed turning to open the sliding door of the van. "I had to put a little coffee in him, but he should be good." As Scott slowly blinked the sleep from his eyes, Wanda stepped in front of you, her stance protective, almost as if shielding you from his gaze. "What time zone is this?" You heard him huff, his voice gravelly and tinged with sleep as he climbed out of the van with Clint's encouragement.

You watched as his eyes widened when they landed on Steve, almost as if not believing Captain America himself was standing in front of him. His expression shifted from confusion to awe, his mouth slightly agape. "C-Captain America," He breathed out, the words barely more than a whisper. "Mr. Lang." Steve nodded politely, extending his hand out for him to shake. The gesture was calm and composed, a stark contrast to Scott's jittery excitement. "It's an honor," Scott beamed, his face lighting up with a wide grin as he proceeded to shake Steve’s hand longer than was deemed normal.

"Wow, this is awesome," You heard him mumble to himself. The awe in his voice was infectious, and you had to stifle a laugh as Steve and Sam shared a knowing look. "I know you too, you're great," He praised, turning to Wanda with an earnest smile. You saw her eyes light up, a genuine smile spreading across her face as she acknowledged his compliment. "Y/N Stark," His attention now shifted to you. "I'm a huge fan, your Mind-Weaver pitch was compelling. Should help a lot of people too." His words were sincere, and you could see the genuine appreciation in his eyes.

That was the first time you had heard someone acknowledge you as well as your work outside of being Tony Stark's daughter. It was a refreshing change, and you had to admit it felt good. A sense of pride swelled within you, and you couldn't help but smile back at him. Turning back to Steve, Scott nervously fiddled with his hands, his fingers twitching as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Uh, look, I want to say, I know you know a lot of super people, so thanks for thinking of me." He smiled appreciatively. "They tell you what we're up against?" Steve asked, his voice steady and calm.

"Something about some psycho assassins," Scott replied, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern. Steve nodded, his expression grim. "We're outside the law on this one, so if you come with us you're a wanted man," Steve warned, his eyes locking onto Scott's, ensuring he understood the full implications of joining their cause. "Yeah well, what else is new," Scott shrugged. "We should get moving." Bucky suggested, speaking up for the first time in a while. His voice was low but carried a sense of urgency. Clint nodded in agreement, his eyes scanning the room as if already planning their next move.

"Thanks to Y/N's help, we got a chopper lined up," He added, acknowledging the crucial role you played. Suddenly, a buzz emitted from the intercom, sharp and insistent, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a knife. It sounded urgent. "They're evacuating the airport." Bucky translated, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. "Dad," You breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. You picked at your nail polish, trying to distract yourself from the anxiety that was building up inside you, avoiding everyone's piercing gaze that seemed to bore into you, seeking answers.

After a moment of heavy silence, Steve seemed to mull over his options, his jaw clenched tightly. The tension in the room was almost palpable, each second stretching into an eternity. Finally, he made his decision. "Suit up," He commanded, his voice firm and resolute. You held your breath, suddenly feeling the realness of the situation wash over you like a cold wave. The gravity of what lay ahead settled in, and the room seemed to shrink as your heart pounded in your chest. This was it. You were officially going to face your dad in what very well might be the endgame.

thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! <3

[thewinterdrafts]

Part 02 - Incision | Frostbite Series | The Winter Soldier

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x Original Female Character (1st Person)

Word count: 2,383

Summary: Elena begins the grueling task assigned to her, forced to work under impossible conditions. Every wound she treats only deepens the horror of what’s been done to the Soldier—what’s still being done. But exhaustion makes people careless, and in a single moment, something happens that should be impossible.

Disclaimer: This series is extremely dark, touching on graphic violence, psychological torment, and human suffering in all its forms. If you choose to read, proceed with caution.

Warnings: strictly 18+, Graphic medical procedures & surgical descriptions, Torture & inhumane treatment, Psychological distress & breakdown

A/N: i got so lost in this story that i literally had to step out and touch grass to realize i'm not physically in there. with that being said, happy reading!!

❄️ Frostbite Chapters: Part 01 - Severance Part 02 - Incision - you are currently here Part 03 - Containment Part 04 - Recognition Part 05 - Trigger Part 06 - Submission Part 07 - Disobedience Note: The Frostbite series has officially migrated to bigger platforms! Check out the rest on AO3 and Wattpad ♡

📍Masterlist

I wash my hands until my skin burns.

The water is ice-cold, but I don’t care. I scrub harder, my nails digging into my palms, my breath shallow and uneven. My reflection stares back at me in the small, fogged-up mirror above the sink. I don’t have the luxury of breaking down now, even though I am still sick to my stomach. 

The room behind me is as close to being sterile as it can get in a place like this. It smells of antiseptic and metal, with the constant presence of rot in the air. It looks like something straight out of a time capsule from the 40's, or like the setting of the first Saw movie. There’s an underlying scent of blood, lingering even after the floors have been wiped clean. Or attempted, at least.

I square my shoulders, forcing myself to breathe and push down the knot of horror coiling in my gut.

I am a doctor. I fix things. This is no different. However, even though I am skilled, I still only have two hands. And for what I'm looking at, that's not gonna be nearly enough.

"I need a sterile workspace. Proper surgical tools. A fully stocked medical kit, not whatever half-assed excuse for supplies you’ve been using. I also need a nurse."

One of the men scoffs, arms crossed over his chest. "You think this is a fancy hospital, Professor?"

"You think I can fix this with a prayer?" I snap, gesturing toward the Soldier’s ravaged body. "If you want him operational, I need supplies. I need hands."

The room is silent for a beat. They dragged me here, expecting me to do my job. They better fucking deliver then. 

Upon realizing that I will not back down, one of the higher-ranking men—judging by the insignia on his uniform—nods toward another. "Get her what she needs. And assign her someone."

There’s a pause before a hesitant voice fills the room.

"I—I’ll do it."

I blink, turning toward the source.

She’s young—too fucking young. Barely eighteen, if that. Dark curls spill from beneath her poorly fitted medical cap, her uniform is slightly too big for her slight frame. Her wide, nervous eyes dart between the guards and me, but her jaw is set with determination. I quickly realize that she must be a prisoner here, like me.

"You?" The guard beside her snorts. "You barely know how to hold a scalpel."

She swallows, knuckles white where they grip the edge of the doorframe. "I know enough."

I scan her face carefully, noting the shadows beneath her eyes. She’s afraid but resilient, which reminds me too much of myself when I was her age.

The guard looks like he’s about to argue, but the superior holds up a hand. "Fine. Take her." His lips curl. "But if she slows you down, she’s dead weight."

The girl’s breath hitches, but she doesn’t back down. She holds my gaze like I was some sort of savior, and this ignites a sense of protectiveness in my chest. 

I step forward, voice firm. "She won’t be."

The man only smirks. "Then get to work, Professor."

I turn to my new assistant, who silently sneaked next to me in the meantime. Her hands are shaking, but when I meet her eyes, she straightens.

"What’s your name?" I ask quietly. I don't want the guards to hear anything.

Soft as a whisper, she says, "Yulia."

I nod. "Alright, Yulia. The Soldier is dying."

I don’t miss the way the Soldier’s eyes meets mine, and for the first time, they linger. The average person would describe it as emotionless, downright unreadable—but not me. I've seen way too many of these looks from cancer patients, trauma survivors and soldiers who barely made it back from the battlefield. He's in so much pain, his eyes are begging. Pleading.

To let him die. 

The sheer pain on his face startles me so much, my breath catches in the middle of my throat. After all he's been through, death would be the highest form of mercy he could receive from the gods, and for the first time in my life, I wish I could give it to him. I wish I could take it all away.

"I know. I'm sorry," I whisper to him, not even sure he can understand me. He holds eye contact for a couple of seconds before he is back to being a... being.

I take a bit more time to analyze him under all the blood. His face is sharp—strong jaw, high cheekbones, the kind of symmetry that would make him striking if he weren’t marred by exhaustion and suffering. If he weren’t... this. There’s something bitter in the thought that makes my stomach churn. He would be beautiful if not for the violence carved into his existence.

I scoff at myself. I shouldn’t think like this. Shouldn’t look at a man responsible for so much bloodshed and feel pity. But how much of it was his choice? How much of the destruction tied to his name is his, and how much belongs to the people who turned him into this? My hands hover inches from his skin, hesitation burning through me.

He is dangerous. Lethal. But he is also trapped. And if I pretend I don’t see that, I’m no better than the people who put him here.

Yulia's studying gaze between me and the Soldier yanks me back to reality. The last thing I need for her is to be more afraid than she already is. I inhale deeply and force myself to see, to analyze, to calculate.

I start with the obvious.

The stab wound in his side—deep. Way too deep. If the blade had gone a few inches lower, it would have punctured his liver. The bleeding has slowed, but the wound itself is a torn mess that was never treated properly. Someone pulled the knife out without thinking and sealing the arteries. He’s been leaking blood internally ever since. I need to close it. Now.

His left leg is swollen, stiff, and discolored. Fractured tibia. A break this bad should have been treated fucking days ago. The bone has started to heal, but the alignment is wrong. If I don’t reset it properly, he’ll never walk without pain again.

His flesh shoulder is completely dislocated. A deep bruise spreads from his collarbone down to his ribs in a sickening shade of purple and green. They must’ve ripped it out of place and left it. Just left it for him to endure.

I press my lips together and breathe through my nose. Elena, for fuck's sake, you need to keep going.

His ribs are cracked—no, broken. The bruising pattern suggests repeated trauma. Someone must have kicked him or stomped on him with a steel boot to the ribs, over and over again. If there’s a punctured lung, I’ll need to act fast.

His metal arm—I hesitate.

This is why I was taken here. There’s something wrong with it. Not just damage, but something deeper. The plating along the shoulder joint is misaligned, as if someone forced it back into place without realigning the nerve ports. The metal twitches slightly, the hydraulics struggling to engage. I know right away that it will take me weeks to reconnect each nerve.

Don't even get me started on his face.

The bruising along his cheekbone is old, faded into a sickly yellow, but the cut on his brow is fresh. The split lip is fresh. The blood staining the corner of his mouth is fresh.

I don’t want to think about how that happened. I physically can’t, or else I will be sick. Instead, I swallow hard, steel myself and take a step back to look at the whole picture.

He should be dead. With injuries like this, with the kind of neglect he’s endured, his body should have shut down. Organ failure, sepsis, internal hemorrhaging. He should be in shock, actively dying.

But he isn’t, which terrifies me more than it gives me hope.

I turn to Yulia, my voice steady but firm. "We start with the stab wound. Then the shoulder. Then the leg."

She nods, wide-eyed, fingers still trembling.

I reach for the syringe, my grip steady despite the hurricane raging inside me. The vial of anesthetic catches the dim, flickering light as I prepare the dose. It’s the only mercy I can offer him and it does make me feel a bit better.

I position the needle to his skin, but before I can even spot his vein, a hand clamps down over my wrist.

"It doesn’t need that."

I snap my head up, meeting the officer’s lazy stare.

"What?" I grit out, shaking off his hold.

"It doesn’t feel pain like we do." He nods toward the restrained man on the table. "Don’t waste resources."

Cold slithers down my spine.

It.

Not he. Not him. It.

I turn back to the officer with a voice of steel. "Anesthesia is non-negotiable."

The man shrugs, looking utterly indifferent. "Waste of time."

I don’t respond, I just press the needle to his arm before the guard could take the syringe away. The moment it punctures the Soldier's skin, I wait, watching for a flinch, a sign, anything. For what seems like eternity, I see nothing. Then his fingers twitch again as his throat works around a slow swallow. 

That’s all I need to know. He feels this, he’s just been trained not to show it.

The back of my throat burns as I press the plunger, injecting more of the sedative. Please, sleep. Just as I plead mentally, his body slackens and his breathing deepens, the tension in his limbs fading as the drug takes hold.

Yulia exhales a shaky breath beside me. I look at her, and as if she could read my thoughts, she pulls up the rubber glove on her hands while I pick up the scalpel.

I murmur a short prayer under my breath. I don't know if it's more for me, or him. And then, I begin.

The overhead lights are too bright, too artificial, washing the room in a sterile glow that feels almost mocking. My hands ache, fingers stiff from hours of careful, meticulous work. My back is screaming, my eyelids feel like they weigh a ton. But I don’t stop, I can’t stop. Not yet.

Yulia isn’t much better. She’s trembling beside me, sweat clinging to her hairline, her breath shallow and uneven as she hands me the next suture. She hasn’t spoken in hours. Neither of us has.

The table beneath us is slick with blood; the Soldier's blood. It pools in the crevices of his restraints, dark and glistening. My gloves are stained nearly black, my forearms streaked with it, the scent thick in the air.

I press my lips together and refocus, suppressing the nausea curling in my gut. The damage I’ve seen… God.

His right shoulder, nearly torn apart from repeated stress and neglect, had to be painstakingly repaired—each muscle fiber, each tendon, each shredded nerve carefully restructured, piece by piece. His ribs—fractured in multiple places, likely never given time to heal—had to be set, his sternum realigned. The internal bleeding had to be drained, the damaged vessels cauterized.

And then there was his spine. Fuck.

A brutal cocktail of fractures and nerve damage, the result of untold trauma, had left his lower back an absolute mess. An absolute fucking mess. I spent nearly three hours stabilizing his lumbar vertebrae alone, each movement precise, each incision deliberate. If I hadn’t, he’d have lost full motor function eventually—not that HYDRA would have cared. They would’ve simply fixed him up in whatever way was convenient—or thrown him away if he was no longer useful.

But now, after ten relentless hours, we’re finally near the end. The worst of the damage has been handled. He’s stable.

I exhale through my nose, pressing the final suture into place. One last stitch, and then—

Flinch. A barely-there movement.

I freeze.

So does Yulia.

Our eyes snap to the Soldier’s face—absolutely nothing, still lifeless. Maybe it was a muscle spasm—I think to myself—a side effect of prolonged stress on his nervous system.

Maybe—flinch.

Stronger this time. His brow furrows, barely perceptible, but I spot it immediately. A muscle in his jaw jumps, his fingers, the ones still restrained at his sides, twitch.

Something thick and ice-cold settles in my stomach. This isn’t normal. This isn’t right.

I glance at the monitor, trying to search for an explanation. His heart rate is elevated, but not alarmingly so. His breathing is steady. His pupils are dilated—wait. Dilated?

My pulse pounds in my throat. A slow, horrible realization starts creeping in. 

There's no fucking way.

I turn to Yulia, voice dangerously low. "What sedative was I given?"

She blinks at me, confused. "I—I don’t know. They just handed it to me and said it was for deep sedation."

A rush of heat floods through me—anger, panic, horror, sickness all at once.

No. 

No. 

I rip my gloves off as I grab the empty vial I had discarded hours ago. The label is vague, the chemical compound not what I was expecting. I inhale sharply as I read the small letters, my chest tightening like a vice.

This isn’t an anesthetic; this is a fucking neural inhibitor. A drug designed to numb the brain, not to block pain—just to prevent a reaction.

I feel like I’m going to be sick.

Oh my fucking God.

I look at the Soldier again in sheer, blood-freezing horror.

I cut into him. I sutured him, burned and stitched and drilled into him—and he was awake the whole time.

He felt everything.

Everything.

A shuddering breath leaves me. My throat is closing up as I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turn white. Yulia whispers something under her breath in Russian, her face pale as she steps back from the table. She realizes it, too.

My legs give out beneath me, and I collapse onto the cold, bloody tile.

I cried six hours straight that night for him. 

[sjsmith56]

A Family for Christmas

Summary: Bucky’s acts of kindness towards a single mother and her two kids leads to more.

Length: 4.7 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, named OFC, named OCCs (one boy, one girl), Pepper Stark, Sam Wilson, Sarah Wilson.

Warnings: Abandonment issues, brief mention of domestic violence, sweetness overload.

Author notes: Admit it, this is the dream scenario many of us want for Bucky Barnes. Just enjoy it.

One dark and dreary late afternoon in December

The lineup at the grocery store was long, as the Christmas season had started. Bucky glanced at what people had in their baskets, seeing mostly party food like fancy cheeses, charcuterie meats, snacks of all kinds and some things he had never heard of or seen before. Other than the lady in front of him and himself, everyone seemed to be buying for a Christmas party. The lady in front of him, with a small toddler girl in the child seat, and an older boy looking anxiously at the items she took out of the cart, kept a close eye on the tally. When it got to $95 and she saw how many necessities were still on the conveyor belt, she sighed at the boy.

"I'm sorry, honey, we won't be able to get the snack mix or the kids' cereal," she said, then looked at the cashier. "Could you remove those from the tally, please? I only have $100 to spend." The cashier frowned at her. "I'm really sorry."

"Keep it on," interrupted Bucky. "I'll pay whatever is over that amount." He looked sympathetically at the woman. "I know what it's like to not afford things."

Her lips trembled, then she swallowed, but she nodded her head and whispered. "Thank you."

After everything was put through, the amount owing was $123.45. Bucky peeled off two twenties, then said to give the change to the lady. When she started to protest, he smiled at her again.

"It's alright. You take your kids to McDonald's or something."

"Thank you again," she whispered. "You're a kind man."

He smiled at her, watching as she pushed her cart out the door. Her son kept looking at Bucky until they were outside, then he heard the boy just before the sliding doors closed.

"Mom, that was Bucky Barnes."

Smiling, he watched while the cashier rang his things through, paying cash for his bag of groceries. As he stepped outside into the chilly December air, he could hear a car being started and failing. The person tried several times, then there was the sound of crying and he walked towards it. It was the mom, sitting behind the wheel, weeping. Her son was leaning over from the back seat, trying to comfort her while the little girl looked like she was going to cry at any moment. Walking up, he knocked on her window and smiled as she lowered it.

"I could hear you trying to start your car," he said. "Would you let me take a look at it?"

"You've already done more than enough, Mr. Barnes," she began, flustered, as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "I'll figure it out on my own."

That brought a smile to his face.

"The thing is, you don't have to," he replied. "I'm offering and it's going to cost you to get someone to have a look. It's getting dark and I don't like the idea of you and your kids sitting here in a parking lot waiting. Please, let me help."

"Okay, let me just pop the hood," she said, reaching below the dashboard for the release mechanism.

He lifted it up, pulled out his phone and activated the flashlight, looking at the engine. Then he went back to the window.

"What's your son's name?" he asked. "I'd like to borrow him to hold the light up so I can see what I'm doing."

"Liam," she answered, then she looked back at her son. "Would you help Mr. Barnes?"

He grinned at his mother, then opened the door. Bucky shook the boy's hand as if he were a grownup.

"Would you hold the phone up so that the flashlight is on where I need it?" Liam took the phone and aimed it to light up the area while Bucky began checking the wiring. "When I was a boy, it was a tough time for families. People got sick and died, some men lost their jobs and took to the road to find work, leaving their families behind. It was important for friends and neighbours to help those who needed it. I don't know how many times my mother made extra and sent me with food to a family that needed it."

"My dad left," said Liam, bluntly. He looked up at Bucky. "Said he didn't want to be a dad anymore because it was too much for him. I heard him tell my mom one night and, in the morning, he was gone."

Bucky hesitated, sickened at what he just heard. "I'm sorry. That makes you the man of the family now and that's a lot for a boy your age." He looked over at the woman. "Try it now." It still didn't catch, and he put up his hand for her to stop. "Does she have a job?"

Liam nodded. "Part-time so we don't have as much money. She cries every night after she gets home and Grandma leaves. I'd find a job but I'm too young." He wiped his eyes. "Why did he do that? Why did he stop loving us?"

"I wish I had an answer for you," said Bucky, "but I don't. I'll tell you what, Liam; I'm going to talk to some friends of mine and see if we can help you out, okay?"

He found what he thought was the problem and asked the mom to try again. This time the engine caught. Taking his phone back from Liam, he closed the hood and walked the boy back to the back seat door. Then he leaned down.

"I found a loose wire and fixed it, but it may come loose again," he said. "If you want, I can come over and do a better fix during the day. I'll give you my number and you let me know, okay? I wouldn't turn your car off before you get home, so maybe go through McDonald's Drive-Thru for dinner."

The woman swallowed and looked up at him, almost ready to cry but she nodded, and unlocked her cell phone, offering it to him. As she drove away Bucky memorized her licence plate number and made a phone call. After a short conversation he hung up and drove back to his place. He had some homework to do.

The following morning, he received a phone call from the mom, Lorraine, telling him that her car wouldn't start.

"I hate to be a bother," she said, "but I need it for work, and I can't afford to get it fixed at the garage."

"It's no problem," replied Bucky. "I offered. Give me your address and I'll come over."

Half an hour later, he arrived at her place, noticing the house had a For Sale sign on it. Lorraine met him at the door, all bundled up, then said she would open the garage door from inside. After meeting him inside the garage she retreated back into the house. The car had the hood up, as it appeared Lorraine tried to fix it herself before phoning Bucky. In the light of day, it was obvious the car was worn out. Carefully, he checked all the connections, tightening what he could. He started it up, let it run for a bit then stopped it before trying again. This time there was nothing except for a clicking sound and he sighed; it was a bad alternator. He could buy another one and install it but from what he just saw of this car there were other parts ready to fail. Taking his phone out, he phoned the number from the evening before.

"Hi, it's Bucky. I'm at the lady's house, trying to get her car started. It's worse than I thought. The car's old and worn out, and even though I can fix the immediate problem it's just a matter of time before the next part fails." He listened for several moments. "Her house is up for sale. I haven't talked to her about it yet but she's definitely in a tough position." The person on the other end of the call must have suggested something because he nodded his head. "Alright, I'll give it a try, but I would rather be the one tracking down the husband and making an example of him."

Removing the keys and lowering the hood, Bucky went to the front door and knocked on it. Lorraine arrived with her toddler on her hip, looking hopefully at him. He gave her the keys grimly.

"It's the alternator and I can fix it, but that car is already falling apart," he said, as kindly as he could. "It's only a matter of time before something else fails on it."

She swallowed, nodded her head and turned away so he wouldn't see her tears. Digging into his jeans pocket, he pulled out a clean handkerchief, offering it to her. That set her off and she walked back inside crying, leaving him at the door. Reluctantly, he entered and felt his heart break at what he saw. There was only a couch and end table with a lamp on it in the living room, no furniture in the kitchen or dining room. The couch had a sheet, blanket, and pillow on it. It was cold in the house, which explained why she and the toddler were dressed in several layers of clothes. As she sat on the couch, she wept for several minutes then gathered herself.

"It's been six weeks since my husband left us," she said, her emotions making her voice crack. "He took the car, cleaned out our savings and said he had enough of being leeched off of. Blamed us for all of his troubles, like we were the ones who got him fired for drinking on the job. I had another bank account that he didn't know about. I used that money to buy the car, as it was all I could afford. My mom looks after the kids when I have to work but she doesn't like it when I work an evening shift because it means she has to go home on the bus in the dark. I don't even get full time hours and there's no benefits. If any of us gets sick ...." She stopped, taking several long breaths to calm herself. "I've sold almost every piece of furniture in the house, except for this and the kid's beds. I sleep here on the couch. The heat is turned down to barely enough to keep us warm at night. I applied for welfare but because I co-own the house and have a job, they say I'm ineligible. I don't know what I'm going to do."

She looked up at Bucky, as he stood in front of her. He saw in her eyes something he hadn't seen since he was a boy during the Depression. It wasn't just despair; it was desperation. She was at the breaking point. He gestured to a space next to her on the couch, only sitting when she moved over for him.

"I was a boy during the Depression. I saw the worst in people, but I also saw the best, often from my own family. No matter what I went through since then I've tried to live by that since I became a free man. After I saw you last night, I gave your licence plate number to a friend, and we've already put things into motion to help you. Until we get everything in place I'll do what I can for you. One of the first things we'll do is to get you a reliable car. The one in the garage isn't it. So, we're going to pick up a rental. It will be paid for by my friend."

"Okay." Her voice was shaking. "How will I pay your friend back? My job isn't the best paying. It's a struggle to keep a roof over our heads."

"You don't," smiled Bucky. "She can afford it. As for your job, we think you should quit and focus on taking care of your kids and your personal life. She's going to hire you herself but is trying to find the right position that will allow you to have a work / life balance as she's a single mother herself. You know what she means?"

Lorraine nodded her head. "Thank you. I don't know what to say."

"There's more," he smiled. "We've put someone into finding your husband." She looked alarmed. "Not to make him come back, but to make him accountable. He cleaned out your savings account, so it's only fitting that he gives you sole title to the house. We're looking for a place for you and your kids, your mom, too, if you want. Until we get you moved into that new place, you crank up the heat here. I'll help you get some more furniture, a TV and maybe one of those game systems for Liam. He's a good kid and I can tell he wants to help you as much as he can."

"You would do that for me?" she asked, ready to cry again.

"Not just me," he smiled, then placed his arm around her shoulder and squeezed it. "My friend assigned me to be your helper. So, how do you feel about doing some furniture shopping, then I'll take you and your little miss for lunch before we pick up your rental car?"

If gratitude could be measured, Bucky was sure Lorraine was overflowing with it. Perhaps it was just knowing that someone cared enough to help, without expectation of repayment, that made her face light up in a way that made him feel good. They bought some necessary furniture, including a new bedroom set for her, and for the dining room, to be delivered first thing the following morning. They picked up a television set and game system as well. By the time lunch was finished, Bucky received a text message that the rental car was ready for pickup along with some other necessities that would be waiting. He felt like Santa Claus, after giving Lorraine a bank card with some funds already deposited that would allow her to look after herself and her kids until she started her new job. When he brought the television and game system to the house, he was met by a Stark Industries technician, who set it up for the family.

"Go pick up Liam from school, get some more groceries, and don't worry about money," he advised, before he left. "You have my phone number. Call me day or night. I'm at your disposal."

When he did receive a call, a frantic one made by Liam, two nights later, to report his father had shown up at the house, hit his mom, and broken the TV set in a fit of rage, Bucky wasted no time in getting there, quickly dressing, and asking Wong for a portal to the house. His wish to make an example of the father was granted as he entered the house, lifted the man one-handed, and held him against the wall, while instructing Lorraine to call the police.

"Pack some bags for yourself and the kids," he said, as her husband was being led away in handcuffs. "You're staying somewhere else tonight. I'll let my friend know that you need the new place sooner rather than later."

How a man could treat his wife and kids the way her husband had was beyond Bucky's comprehension. If they were his family, he would be beyond the moon to have Liam as his son, Larissa as his daughter and Lorraine for his wife. They deserved so much more than what her husband had subjected them to.

Three weeks later

After locking up the house, confirming it was all cleared and clean for the new owners, then giving the realtor the keys, Lorraine walked back to Bucky's car, not looking back at where she once lived. In the three weeks since she was at the lowest point of her life, she had learned to look forward to the future. Already set up in a new apartment, they had only stopped to meet with the realtor one last time to hand over the keys. Smiling back at Liam, her mom, and her daughter Larissa, she sat in the front seat with Bucky.

"So, where to now?" she asked of the man who had become her friend in that time.

"That's a surprise," he said. He looked back at the kids, smiling at Lorraine's mom, who still didn't quite trust him, then put his SUV into gear. "We have a company function to attend where you'll meet some of your new colleagues and their families."

"Is it a Christmas party?" asked Liam.

"It is," smiled Bucky. "I heard a certain jolly old man might be there."

"Santa." Larissa beamed at Bucky through the rear-view mirror, her toddler voice full of excitement. "I want Santa."

"We'll see when we get there, won't we?"

When they did get there, a prestigious hotel complete with valet service for the car, even Lorraine's mother was awed at the setup for the Christmas party. After checking in at the desk set up outside the banquet hall, Bucky escorted them inside to a winter wonderland, complete with people dressed as elves. It was full of the lights and sounds of Christmas. Larissa, overwhelmed a little, asked to be lifted up and carried by her mother, while Liam stuck close to Bucky, eventually grasping his hand, which pleased the big man immensely. He saw Pepper Stark in the distance and led the others towards her. Her face lit up when Bucky introduced them to each other.

"Lorraine, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," she smiled. "These must be your kids, Larissa and Liam, and Bucky said he convinced your mother to attend. Welcome all of you."

"It's you," gasped Lorraine. "You're the friend who's been helping us."

"Guilty as charged, although it was Bucky who got it going," said Pepper. "He couldn't bear the thought of what you were going through. I was in a position to help, and it was totally my pleasure. When you start in the New Year, you and I will have a good sit-down time together and we'll talk about a lot of things but today, just enjoy yourselves and eat, drink and be merry."

She squeezed Lorraine's hand, then smiled up at Bucky before greeting another attendee and their family by name.

"Come on, let's find a place to sit," said Bucky.

He saw Sam at a table with Sarah and the boys, waved to them and asked to join their table. Lorraine and the kids had already met Captain America in the few weeks since Bucky first met them, but her mother was almost dumbfounded at sitting with the famous hero. It wasn't just a Christmas party, there was also dancing, and a place for the kids to try out the latest in games. AJ and Cass invited Liam to join them in playing video games. Breathlessly asking permission of his mother, she nodded then glowed at how happy he seemed to be included by the other boys. When the band began to play The Christmas Song, Sam asked Lorraine's mother to dance, receiving a giddy acceptance. Bucky looked at Lorraine.

"What do you say? Would you like to dance?"

"We'll have to take Larissa with us," she answered. "I'm not much of a dancer."

"Not a problem," he smiled, then offered his arms to the three-year-old. "Do you want to dance with Mommy and me?"

"Pease!"

With big grins on their faces, Bucky held the toddler between them, then managed to lead Lorraine through the dance. Sarah watched, happy at how animated the super soldier seemed on the dance floor. Sam had told her about the woman's struggles and how Bucky became friends with the family after meeting them at the grocery store. She could see the beginnings of something between the couple, although he was too much of a gentleman to do anything while Lorraine's divorce petition had just been filed. As much as Lorraine and her kids deserved to have a good life, so did Bucky, and Sarah found herself hoping for the best for the tall super soldier.

One year later

The ten-year-old boy was on guard at the door of his bedroom while Bucky wrapped up two presents for Lorraine. The first present was a framed sign made by Liam with decorations by Larissa, and the second present a small box containing something special from Bucky. Liam heard his mother talking about leaving the kitchen and whispered at the dark-haired man.

"She's coming!"

"It's okay, I'm done," said the super soldier. "I'll let you put them under the tree."

Handing them off to the boy, he left the bedroom, heading towards the sound of Lorraine before she stepped out of the kitchen. Stopping in front of her, he placed his hands on her waist and maneuvered her to some mistletoe that was hanging. With an amused shake of her head, she raised her cheek to him for a kiss but was surprised by a full kiss on the lips.

"Bucky, what's got into you?"

"Collecting my mistletoe tax," he grinned. "I'm going to need several instalments."

Larissa tugged on Bucky's shirt. "Me, too?"

"You, too, little girl," he laughed, lifting her up until her head touched the mistletoe, then bringing her down so she could kiss his cheek. "Both my girls need to pay up. Your mom, too, when she gets here."

"Good luck collecting that," joked Lorraine. "She still thinks you're up to no good."

"Not anymore," he thought, recalling the special visit he made to her for her blessing.

Offering his help in the kitchen, he was soon chopping vegetables up for snacking on, as they were hosting several close friends on this Christmas Eve. While he did that Lorraine arranged cheeses and sliced meats on some platters along with crackers. It was easy to assemble and didn't require any time over a stove. With everyone ready, they both changed into something suitable for a family and friends Christmas.

The gathering was enjoyed by everyone present as Christmas songs played in the background, the kids played video and board games while the adults talked of many happy things. When it got close to Larissa's bedtime, Bucky called for everyone's attention.

"Before our little princess heads up to bed, I promised that she and her brother could give their mother a present." He pulled their special present out, handing it to Larissa to give to her mother.

"We made it together," announced Liam, as his mother unwrapped the box, then took out a framed handmade sign that puzzled her at first.

"What does "Say yes!" mean?" she asked, confused. "Is this about getting a puppy?"

"No, Mommy," laughed Larissa, then she reached under the tree for Bucky's present, and pulled him by the hand towards Lorraine. "Go ahead, ask her."

Several of the others gasped audibly, guessing what was happening. Bucky went down on one knee, then showed Lorraine the wrapped second box, holding it in front of her.

"Over a year ago, I met a wonderful lady, her son, and her daughter, on probably the worst day of their lives, but it was the beginning of something wonderful. I found someone that needed what I was ready to give, my love and my commitment. Lorraine, I can't imagine a life without you, Liam, and Larissa. Would you do me the honour of marrying me, becoming my wife, and allowing me to be a father to these incredible children?"

He handed her the box, then watched as she unwrapped it, opened it, and revealed a beautiful solitaire diamond engagement ring. With her lips trembling and her eyes glistening, Lorraine took the ring, placed it on her left ring finger and began to cry.

"Mommy, say yes," demanded Larissa, making everyone laugh.

"Yes, I'll marry you," she answered.

With a cheer from everyone, and Larissa clapping her hands excitedly, the couple kissed then Bucky pulled both kids in for a hug from him and their mother. As the others gathered around them, wishing them congratulations, Sarah Wilson sat and smiled at the happiness that radiated from Bucky's face, making him look younger than he ever did since she first met him. Sam sat next to her and nudged his sister in the side.

"You called that right," he said. "You knew a year ago it would come to this. How did you know?"

"Because they each found something they needed," she answered. "She found someone who was kind and giving. He found someone who needed him to be there for her. It was as plain as the sun shining in the sky."

"Right," he grinned. "So, you think they were meant to meet?"

She smiled at her brother, squeezing his hand. "If you meet the one you want to spend the rest of your life with then yes, you were meant to meet. You just have to open yourself up to the possibilities, Sam. You know that."

He did know that. Offering his help to Lorraine and her kids had opened Bucky's heart and now the man had a family for Christmas. It couldn't happen to a better person.

Later, after everyone had left, Bucky and Lorraine tucked Larissa into bed, then sat with Liam, as he snuggled down under his covers.

"You were surprised, weren't you Mom?" he asked. "Bucky asked me and Larissa first, then Grandma next, if he could marry you."

"You did a good job keeping that secret," she answered. "I was very surprised and I'm going to put your picture up where everyone can see it."

He grinned, then he looked at the super soldier. "Can I call you Dad?"

"If you want, I would be honoured. Liam, I want to adopt you and Larissa. Are you okay with being my son and taking my name?"

The boy nodded his head enthusiastically. "Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Dad."

They both kissed him on the forehead, returning the words. As the couple bustled around, cleaning up the last few things from the party, Bucky looked above Lorraine's head, noticing the mistletoe. He stopped her, taking some dishes from her hands and placing them on a counter. She looked up at him, her face glowing with the love she felt for this man who became so important to her and the kids in the past year.

"Final instalment?" she asked, looking at the mistletoe above his head.

"Nope." He shook his head. "That's a lifetime tax, payable on demand."

They chuckled, then kissed, sweetly at first then with more passion and intensity.

"With kisses like that we'll end up with another child very quickly," she murmured.

"If you want," he answered softly. "Do you know when I first envisioned having you and the kids as my family?" He breathed out noticeably. "It was the night Liam called about your ex showing up. I felt such a panic that I wasn't there. I wanted to protect you all from ever being in that position again. By the time we went to the Christmas party I wished for you and the kids to be my family some day." He caressed her hair. "Even though we started living together two months ago, today you gave me the best Christmas gift ever."

Lorraine's eyes were glassy as she listened. She placed her head on his chest while she hugged him, still not believing that this man was hers.

"I wished for the same thing," she whispered, before looking up at him. "You were kind to us from that first moment in the grocery store and it was something that had been missing from our lives. Thank you for being there when I needed someone like you the most."

"Always."

They kissed again, turned off the lights, and headed up to bed, where Lorraine's comment about the quality of Bucky's kisses proved prophetic. By the following Christmas, there was another stocking hung up on the fireplace but that is a story for another time. Needless to say, they both got their Christmas wish and more.

One Shots Masterlist

Please support the author by reblogging.

[marvelvillian23]

PLEASE!! I need fics rec for all of these! Especially the Convict. Please be multi Chapter fics.

It even can be Steve in these situations instead of Bucky I don’t mind.

*Photos From Pinterest

I’m currently reading Blood Moon Rising on AO3 by Sarahyellow.

It’s a A/B/O prison story where Bucky’s the convict and pre serum Steve is the prison counselor…I think. A riot breaks out and Bucky takes Steve hostage. 5/8 Chapters are up so far.

[azrielwingspan]

MASTERLIST

Bear with me, I have random bouts of inspiration that are VERY irregular.

AZRIEL (ACOTAR)

Azriel x Reader

Vallahan Diaries

'Someone' (Part 1 / Part 2)

Stolen Kisses

'High' Praise

A 'Tea' Party

Shattered

The Choices We Make (Part 1 / Part 2)

A Tactical Ploy

The Strings Of Fate- SERIES (Prologue)

Azriel x OC (Nyra)

Distractions (Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3)

As Fate Commands

BUCKY BARNES

Mob!Bucky x Reader

Let it Burn (Part 1)

Red Serpent (Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch.3/ Ch.4)

THEODORE NOTT

Theo x Reader

Soon

[prin-does-art]

Stucky Comic Snippet Pt 1

Whew, finally done! Time to continue working on the sequence 😈 If you like it please consider following me!

[iamleesi]

★ 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ★

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒: ↓

› THE HUNTERS & THE SOLDIER

┆

↳ [ 𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳. ]

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

› 𝙎𝙄𝙇𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙇𝘼𝙆𝙀 (coming soon)

┆

↳ [ 𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝘉𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺. ]

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› 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐓

┆

↳ [ 𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝖠𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽'𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈. ]

__________________________________________________

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓: ↓

[Coming when I get ideas]

[crimsonivy001]

Would anyone read a Bucky x OC story, where they were prisoners in HYDRA together (no real romance happened while they were there, cause yknow, they were prisoners).

BUT the story is written as a therapy session in the beginning. The MC is having a mandatory therapy sessions while living in a trauma facility, away from Bucky.

The story of what happened before HYDRA and while in HYDRA is told through flashbacks and dialogue with her therapist.

The beginning would focus and keep on acknowledging her trauma and the not so healthy bond that she formed with Bucky while they were prisoners.

When she’s released they wouldn’t fall back into each other with Bucky, but they would try to start their relationship again with an equal footing. So living apart, meeting up like friends up etc etc. They try not to be so dependent on each other.

Which would eventually lead towards a real and healthy romance.

So basically I wanted this story to be a healing journey for both of them. Because while she’s in the facility recovering, Bucky is also in therapy and getting the words taken out of him.

I don’t think that I saw anyone do something like this with this trope of (Bucky had someone while in HYDRA). For the most part it’s another assassin, or maybe they get out and just go on their merry way, living together, fighting bad guys and that’s it. No shade to anyone! I read these stories and enjoyed them but I kinda wanted to go for something different.

So anyways. Made this blog just to ask this so let me know!

I posted a WIP of the first chapter, you can see it on my blog !

[buckysbunnie]

"Broken"

a/n: so i have an oc named riley and i wanted to write something for myself since i haven't been having the best mental health days. bpd (borderline personality disorder) is a bitch, but i'm trying to get better at managing it. i wanted to share this just in case anyone else could use some bucky comfort. and yes i am aware writing canon x oc is cringe. do i care? not really? everyone has their tastes. dont like? dont read.

warnings: comfort, oc x character, feelings of anger and depression, soft bucky, first person pov, established relationship

word count: 900+

My mind felt like it hasn't been my own lately. I don't know why, but it feels like I can't do anything right. I keep saying the wrong things. I've been lashing out at everyone in my life, including him. I don't like being angry and sad all the time, but I feel like I don't have anything to be happy about. It feels like the universe is against me. Why am I like this? Why do I act like this? There were so many thoughts running through my head as I sat in the darkness of my room. I don't like isolating myself, but it's the only thing I can do to avoid yelling and screaming at everyone else. I fear I might be scaring everyone away. The thoughts always became too much if I kept them in, but I had no one to talk to about all of this. I wish I could explain everything to him but I'm so scared he'll leave me like everyone else does.

As if on cue, I heard the door creak open slowly and my name being called. "Riley? You in here?"

I didn't want to answer him, but I stood from the corner I was sitting in and replied to him, "Yeah, did you need something?"

Bucky turned on the lights and looked at my face, tears streaming down my cheeks, my eyes red and puffy from crying for so long. I could see the hurt in his eyes as he stepped closer to me. He pulled me into a tight hug, knowing the usually helped me calm down. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I cried into his chest and wrapped my arms around him. It felt like a dam had burst and all the emotions I was feeling in that moment had overflowed. I felt him pet my hair with his metal hand as he rocked us side to side.

"Everything's alright, doll. I'm right here." He spoke in a whisper, placing a kiss on he top of my head.

I cried for what felt like an eternity and finally let him go. I looked up at him as he placed his hands on my face, wiping the tears away as they continued to flow. He kissed my forehead and slowly sat us down on the bed, keeping an arm around my waist.

"Want to talk about it?" Bucky asked, rubbing my shoulder, "You don't have to if you don't want to, just know that I'm here to listen."

I looked down at my hands, questioning whether or not I was ready to tell Bucky what was going on in my mind. I knew I would eventually have to tell him if I ever wanted to get help, but I was terrified of his reaction to anything I had to say. I took a deep, shaky breath before looking at him.

"I just… I feel like a failure all the time." I started speaking, not being able to stop at this point. "I feel as if I can't do anything right. I'm always fucking things up. And then I feel so angry about anything and everything and I end up taking it out on you and our friends and it's not fair." The tears started to build one again as I continued, "I don't like being angry all the time. I hate it, but I feel like I can't stop it once it starts. And when it's all over, I feel like total shit afterwards. I'm so scared that you'll start seeing me differently and want to leave like everyone else. It's been so hard trying not to let myself get to the point of anger and rage, but I can't reel it in for some reason. I feel like all the progress I've been making is for nothing…"

Tears were now flowing once again, making small puddles on my hands as they dripped from my eyes. I saw one of Bucky's hands come into view, covering both of mine. I looked at him and saw that he now had tears in his eyes. I was confused as to why he would be crying until he spoke up.

"It breaks my heart to hear this is what you're going through. It hurts even more hearing that you were scared to come to me. I promised you that I would always be here for you, Riley, and I meant that. Even if you're dealing with some demons in your head, I won't leave you." He hugged me once again, "Please don't ever feel like you can't talk to me. I may not be able to offer the best solutions, but I can do what I can. If you'll allow me."

"Bucky… why would you want to help me? I'm broken. No one wants someone who is broken like me." I rested my head on his shoulder as I spoke.

"Because I'm broken too. You know what I've been through and you've been such a help. Let me return the favor." He pulled away from the hug and looked into my eyes. "Let me help you." With those four simple words, I knew I could trust Bucky with any thought I had after that day. If I was having a bad mental heath day, I knew I could go to him and talk. Even if he couldn't offer a solution right away, I knew he would try to comfort me and make me feel better. He said he would never leave me because of my thoughts, and that was enough for me to keep trying. We both are broken for different reasons, but we're trying to help each other heal everyday.

[shortnspidey]

CHAPTER TWO: LINES DRAWN

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 4.6K

WARNINGS: Avengers level violence, cursing, talks of anxiety

A/N: Thanks for all the love in the first part!! This chapter is crazy!! I loved writing all of the action scenes (with the help of my bestie because I would have never finished)! Hope you all enjoy!! Dividers by @sister-lucifer <3

➩ previous chapter || next chapter

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

“So what’s the plan, Cap?” You questioned, fiddling nervously with the straps of your kevlar gear, the buckle clicking a little too loudly in the sudden quiet. You missed the questionable look you were receiving from Steve, his eyebrows slightly raised, a flicker of concern in his eyes. He’d been quieter than usual upon your arrival, a tension radiating off him that you couldn’t quite place.

"I'm not involving you in this," He shook his head, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. The words hit you like a physical blow. Your head snapped up, a frown making its way onto your face. You stopped fidgeting with the straps, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. "What? Why not?" You asked, the question laced with a hurt you tried to hide.

“Yeah kid," Sam chuckled from beside you. "Besides, aren't you a little young to be carrying those around?" He gestured with his chin towards the pair of hefty-looking revolvers strapped to your thighs. You sent a glare in his direction crossing your arms. "I'm twenty-four, and don’t think I don’t know you’re taking his side just because I wouldn’t upgrade Red Wing."

You huffed not giving him time to answer before turning back to Steve. "You do remember Natasha Romanoff trained me right?" You emphasized the name, hoping to remind him of your capabilities. Natasha had been more than just a mentor to you; she had been a mother figure aside from Pepper, teaching you everything she knew about combat, espionage, and survival.

You were confident in your abilities, but you also knew that this mission was different. It was a civil war, pitting friend against friend, and the stakes were higher than anything you had ever faced before. "Yes, but this is different," Steve coaxed. "I know," You insisted, your voice rising slightly. "But I can still help.” Sam raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Takes one to know one, huh?" You rolled your eyes, ignoring his teasing.

"I'm not a child," You protested. God you were so tired of men telling you what to do. "I can take care of myself." The determination in your voice was unmistakable at that point, you could have sworn you heard Scott mumble something to Clint. "I know," Steve repeated. "But I don't want to see you hurt." He sighed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. You hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing your face.

You knew Steve was right, but you also knew that you could make a difference. You could help fight for what you thought was right. Even if it was against your own father. "Fine," You finally conceded, your voice barely a whisper the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "We need you help starting the Quinjet," Clint stepped in pulling you into a reassuring embrace knowing it was a comprise that would prove useful and keep you out of unnecessary conflict.

Steve was already moving, nodding sharply at Sam and Bucky, who were standing a few feet away, clearly waiting for orders. "She's with you two." He instructed, his voice carrying the weight of responsibility. Your mouth twitched into a small smile upon hearing Sam grumble something under his breath. "Wait," You called out, the word sharp and urgent, halting their retreat. "You should know my dad recruited someone too." You watched the gears in Steve’s head turn as his fists clenched at his sides.

"How do you know that?" He asked, his voice low, measured, his brow furrowing in disbelief and concern. "It’s not that difficult to hack into his phone," You replied, the words slipping out with a nonchalance that you didn’t feel. You shrugged, trying to mask the gnawing pit of anxiety in your stomach, but the gesture felt forced. There was nothing casual about what you had uncovered. "Especially since I’m guessing he tracked you all here." You could feel Bucky’s gaze drilling into you, his intense eyes unblinking, his expression unreadable.

His silence only amplified the tension in the air, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck, the burn of embarrassment mixing with the knot of unease twisting in your gut. “Typical Stark,” Clint muttered under his breath, the words tinged with disbelief, though his voice carried a flicker of exasperation. "Always thinking two steps ahead." You glanced back at Clint, but the reassuring look you were hoping for didn’t quite settle the storm inside you. You knew the battle wasn’t over. Not even close. “Just be careful,” You warned, your voice thick with concern, anxiety creeping back into your chest.

The realization that this was happening—now—made it feel even more real, the weight of your involvement in this fight more suffocating. The momentary comfort Clint had provided seemed to dissipate, leaving you feeling raw and exposed. This wasn’t just about opposing your father anymore. Steve looked back at you one last time, the lines of his face hardening. "He's under Ross' pressure to bring us all in, he’s desperate." You nodded, but the words didn’t comfort you.

You had seen how your father worked—how relentless he could be when he believed in something. And even with all the pressure on him, he wouldn’t stop. Not for you. Not for anyone. The thought of facing him, possibly having to fight him, stirred something deep inside you. With one final look at the group, you turned away, your heart pounding as the sound of battle swelled around you, the weight of the conflict now more real than ever. "Don't beat yourself up too much," Wanda's voice came from behind you, a look of understanding on her face.

You turned to face her, offering the best smile you could muster, though it felt more like a hollow gesture than a reassurance. Her eyes flickered with understanding, and she gave a subtle nod, as if she knew the war raging inside you, even if you hadn't voiced it aloud. Easier said than done, you thought bitterly, but said nothing more. With a swift, practiced motion, everyone began to take their positions. You moved quickly, your boots clicking softly on the cold metal floor as you followed Sam and Bucky up to the upper level of the baggage claim station.

Sam was already in motion, activating Redwing with a quick flick of his wrist. The small drone hummed to life, its sleek red form darting through the air like a shadow. You watched over Sam’s shoulder as it’s cameras were scanning the expanse of the airport with an intensity that matched the urgency in the air. Sam’s face was set in a hard line as he studied the data flashing across his screen. "You know, if you upgraded it, the picture would be a lot better." Sam muttered, his voice tinged with the lightest trace of hope.

You shook your head, a half-smile tugging at the corners of your lips, but there was no real humor in it. "Not a chance, Wilson," You replied, your voice steady, but carrying that familiar edge of irritation. "You know how much I despise that thing." As the words left your lips, you could've sworn you heard a faint, almost imperceptible laugh from Bucky, though it vanished just as quickly as it came. His expression remained stoic, like a mask set in place with practiced precision.

It was unsettling. Normally, you could read anyone easily. But right now, there was nothing. He was completely unreadable, and for the first time in a long while, it threw you off balance. Before you could dwell on it further, Sam’s voice broke through, sharp and concise, the words crackling in your earpiece with urgency. “The Quinjet’s in hangar five, north runway.” His voice held the weight of finality. The tension in his tone hit you like a physical blow, the gravity of the situation sinking in. This wasn’t just a reconnaissance mission anymore; this was something that could change everything.

You could hear Steve’s voice faintly in the background through Sam’s comms, distant but unmistakably steady, his words meant to reassure. But it only made your chest grow tighter as the reality of what was coming hit you full force. The adrenaline that had been simmering in your veins since the moment you stepped onto the tarmac now surged, taking root deep in your bones. "Let’s move." Bucky grunted, snapping you out of your thoughts. Without hesitation, you sprinted after him and Sam, the feeling that all hell was about to break loose settling over you.

Then, without warning, a thud rang out from above. Your gaze shot upward just in time to catch a glimpse of movement. Someone, no something was climbing across the ceiling. Your heart skipped a beat. “Guys, we’ve got incoming!” The words barely left your mouth before the figure dropped from above, twisting in mid-air with fluid grace. With a deafening crash, the mystery figure smashed through the glass ceiling, sending shards raining down in a sparkling cascade. The momentum sent Sam flying backward, his body slamming into the ground with a sickening thud.

Bucky wasted no time. His body was a blur of motion as he swung his metal arm toward the intruder with a ferocity that would’ve torn through steel. But the figure was faster. In a split second, the person in the red and blue spandex caught the strike mid-air, gripping Bucky’s arm with one hand like it was nothing. The force of the blow barely seemed to faze him. "You have a metal arm? That is awesome, dude!" The voice was youthful, filled with excitement and awe. The eyes on the figure’s mask widened comically, making it look almost cartoonish in the moment.

That brief moment of distraction was all you needed. Your body reacted before your mind could even catch up. You closed the distance in an instant your fist aimed for the masked face in front of you, but he was faster. With a flick of his wrist, a web shot out, wrapping around your arm and pulling you off-balance. Before you could recover, he yanked you toward him. But you weren’t caught off guard. Years of training with Natasha kicked in. You twisted mid-air, using the momentum to redirect your body and land gracefully on your feet.

The ground cracked beneath your boots as you skidded back, knees slightly bent, eyes never leaving your target. You lunged again, but this time, you anticipated his move. He fired a web toward your chest, but you ducked just in time, his webbing missing by inches. "Who the hell are you?" You huffed, slamming your elbow into his midsection. "Spider-Man.” He grunted, yet his reflexes were insane he backflipped, launching himself into the air. Luckily you had distracted him enough for Sam to get off the ground and fly towards him momentarily knocking off his concentration. But that moment of distraction was brief.

As quick as lightning, you watched as he shot out another web from his wrist, grabbing onto a nearby pillar and yanking himself sideways, swinging out of Sam’s range. His reflexes were faster than you could track. Sam attempted another direct strike, but you watched as he swerved in mid-air, his body spinning, narrowly avoiding the stun blast. The sheer speed and fluidity of his movements were mesmerizing, and at that moment you realized just how difficult it would be to trap him. You took a sharp breath, hands briefly resting on your knees as you caught your breath, eyes flicking over to Bucky.

A few feet away, he had already noticed the change in the fight, his eyes scanning the wreckage. Without even breaking stride, Bucky reached down, picked up a jagged piece of scrap metal that seemed to weigh nothing to him, and with a fluid motion, he hurled it toward the masked acrobat. "Hey, buddy, I think you lost this!" You heard his voice ring out, a touch of playful mockery in his tone. Spider-Man's hand shot out, and with a flick of his wrist, he caught the scrap mid-air, flipping it in his hands before tossing it back toward Bucky, grinning beneath his mask.

"Catch!" The piece of metal sliced through the air, aimed for Bucky, but he was already moving his body a blur as he leaped forward, positioning himself between you and the oncoming projectile. "Get down!" Bucky’s voice was sharp and commanding, an edge of urgency cutting through the air. Without thinking, you dropped to the ground, throwing yourself into a roll to get out of the way. Just as you hit the concrete, Bucky's broad frame shielded you, his metal arm outstretched, intercepting the scrap and absorbing the force of the blow without flinching.

Your eyes locked momentarily, an unspoken question lingering in his eyes. Are you okay? You simply nodded, feeling the weight in your chest lift, your heartbeat returning to normal. Seeing as Spider-Man's attention was on you and Bucky, Sam took his chance to fly at him once more only for him to roll out of the way and instead shoot a web at Sam's jetpack, making him collapse to the ground once again. As he attempted to get up and spring into action, Spider-Man was one step ahead. Successfully webbing both of Sam's hands to a nearby banister. “Those wings carbon fiber?” You overheard Spider-Man ask, his voice full of curiosity.

“Is this stuff coming out of you?” Sam, trying to free himself, marveled in spite of the situation. “I’d explain the rigidity-flexibility ratio, but I gotta say, that’s awesome, man.” He rambled, a hint of admiration in his voice. “I don’t know if you’ve been in a fight before, but there’s usually not this much talking,” Sam grumbled, his eyes narrowed in irritation. “Alright, alright, my bad,” Spider-Man shot back, his voice dripping with faux apology as he swung down to face them. Bucky, attempting to intercept him, was knocked down just like Sam. You watched as Spider-Man quickly shot a web at Bucky’s metal arm, trapping him as well.

“Guys, look, I’d love to keep this up, but I’ve only got one job today,” Spider-Man rambled with a grin, “And I gotta impress Mister Stark.” That was when it clicked. This was the kid your father had recruited. As Spider-Man aimed his web at you next, the familiar whirring of Red Wing sliced through the air. Sam, controlling the small drone, had it wrap a rope around Spider-Man’s wrist, yanking him clean out of the building and sending him crashing onto the tarmac with a loud thud.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?” You heard Bucky grumble as he and Sam lay sprawled on the floor, both of them still trying to regain their footing. Sam, his patience clearly running thin, shot back, “I hate you.” Unable to suppress your amusement, you laughed and made your way down the escalators toward them. “Get us out of this thing, will you?” Sam urged, his tone a mix of frustration and mock pleading. Rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you pulled the small knife from the thigh holster and began cutting the webbing off him.

“Maybe that thing isn’t so bad after all.” You teased, gesturing toward Red Wing, which had successfully dealt with Spider-Man. “A simple thank you Sam would suffice.” Sam muttered under his breath, clearly annoyed, but you could tell he appreciated it. As you worked to pry the sticky webbing from Bucky’s metal arm, you found yourself instinctively reaching out to help him. Without thinking, you extended your hand toward him, fully aware he could easily get himself up, but you offered it anyway.

His cerulean eyes flickered from your face to your outstretched hand, hesitation lingering in his gaze for just a moment before he made his choice. Then, without saying a word, he reached out, his flesh calloused fingers brushed against yours as he took your hand. You helped him steady himself, and he quickly regained his balance, his grip firm but not too tight. He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if silently thanking you, though neither of you needed the words.

"Come on! Let's go!" Steve’s voice rang out, urgent and sharp, cutting through the chaos around you. You didn't need to be told twice. Taking that as your cue, you pushed yourself forward, sprinting with everything you had. The Quinjet was just a few feet away, but every step felt like a mile. Sam and Bucky were right behind you, their footsteps almost synchronized with yours. Then, out of nowhere, a yellow beam of light sliced through the air, freezing you in place.

"Captain Rogers," Vision's voice rang out, smooth and commanding, cutting through the air like a blade. Hearing his voice made your heart plummet into your stomach. If Vision had found you, then it was only a matter of time before your father arrived. The last person you wanted to face in a moment like this. "I know you believe what you're doing is right," Vision continued, his tone unwavering, "But for the collective good, you must surrender now." The words hung in the air like a weight, suffocating you.

Just as you thought things couldn't get worse, the deep, mechanical hum of your father’s suit filled the air. It was unmistakable. Your heart lurched. Iron Man, your father, descended from the sky with an almost eerie precision, landing beside Natasha, who immediately locked eyes with you. "Y/N?" You heard your father called out. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Your throat tightened. You didn’t need to see your father’s face to know the expression he wore, the disappointment, the hurt. You could feel it in your bones, even from a distance.

And then you saw them: Rhodey, standing beside Spider-Man, as well as a man you didn’t recognize. You looked back at Steve, his jaw clenched, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. Sam’s voice broke the heavy silence, his words reflecting the tension in the air. "What do we do, Cap?" He asked, the uncertainty in his tone clear. The question lingered, hanging between you all like a cloud before a storm. Steve didn’t hesitate. His eyes locked on your father, Vision, and the others and for a moment, it felt like everything slowed.

You watched as he took a step forward, his decision made. "We fight." His voice was like a command, a declaration of defiance. There was no turning back now. "Y/N," Steve’s voice sliced through the thoughts swirling in your mind, harsh but filled with a protective edge that made you freeze mid-step. "Stay out of this." You flinched, the command feeling like a gut-punch that momentarily took the wind from your lungs.

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, to plead your case, to fight alongside him, alongside your team. But as you met Steve’s eyes, something in the quiet intensity of his stare stopped you. It wasn’t just his leadership at play. It was something else. His message was clear without a word spoken: Get to the jet. The sharp, unspoken command stung, but there was no mistaking it. You were to stay out of the fight, for now. The plan was set, but you didn’t know if you could trust it. Still, with the weight of Steve’s look and the immediate danger mounting around you, you forced yourself to nod as discretely as possible.

A subtle shift of your chin, enough for Steve to know you understood. His eyes flickered in response, once, before he squared his shoulders and began his march toward the others your father, Natasha, Rhodey, and the rest of them. His footsteps rang with purpose, and with that, you knew there was no more room for doubt. You exhaled, not realizing you were holding your breath, feeling the tension seep out of your body. The plan was set. But the moment you watched Steve walk away, the instinct to act kicked in.

Without another word, you turned on your heel, pushing your legs to move faster, faster than you thought you could. The Quinjet was close, but so was everything else. You could hear the voices behind you, but they were fading now, drowned by the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears. Every muscle in your body was screaming to go back, to fight, but you couldn’t. Not yet. Not without ensuring the escape plan was in place. You were on autopilot now, your mind focusing on the mission Steve had entrusted you with.

Your fingers flew across the console as you bypassed your father’s security protocols, already anticipating the passcodes, the encryption levels, the firewall measures. Years of working on tech with your father had given you a deep understanding of his systems, and now that knowledge was your advantage. You could feel the pulse of the Quinjet’s systems come alive under your fingertips as you worked with practiced precision, overriding the locks, enabling the flight sequence. Every second counted, every move had to be perfect. You glanced over your shoulder once, scanning for any signs of pursuit, but none came.

The others were still focused on the confrontation with Steve. Finally, the Quinjet’s systems blinked green, the controls lighting up with readiness. It was ready for takeoff. But there was no guarantee that you’d make it out in time. You bit your lip, thoughts of what was happening behind you swirling in your mind like a storm you couldn’t escape. You took a deep breath, shaking your head to clear it. There was no time for doubt. You had a job to do, and this was your part in it. Now, you just had to pray it would work.

Just then, you felt a presence behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, a cold shiver running down your spine. Without thinking, your hand instinctively moved to the weapon holstered at your side. You spun on your heel, fingers tight around the grip, ready to strike, every muscle in your body primed for action. But then, as your eyes locked onto the figure in front of you, everything froze. The weapon lowered almost involuntarily as you were met with a pair of familiar green eyes.

A rollercoaster of emotions hit you all at once: relief, guilt, fear, but above all, an overwhelming sense of comfort. You quickly secured your gun back into its holster, but before you could even process your thoughts, you found yourself being pulled into her arms. The redhead’s embrace was like home. Safe. Familiar. It was the anchor you didn’t know you needed in that moment. You could have sworn your breath caught in your throat, and you almost felt like you would break down right then and there, all the pressure of the day finally catching up to you.

But you couldn’t afford that. You couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Not with everything on the line. "Nat—" You started, your voice trembling as you fought to keep it together. But Natasha silenced you with a gentle, but firm grip on your shoulders. Her voice, as always, was steady, but there was a warmth to it that made your heart tighten. "I’m proud of you, дорогая, fighting for what you believe is right." Her words hit you harder than any punch could. It was more than just reassurance. It was acceptance. Understanding. And it meant more than she could ever know.

A lump formed in your throat, but you quickly pushed it down, focusing on the moment at hand. Just as you were about to speak, an explosion erupted a few feet away, a shockwave that rattled the ground beneath you and sent dust into the air. You jumped, instinctively pulling away from Natasha as both of you snapped your heads toward the source of the blast. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw Steve and Bucky rushing toward you through the smoke and debris. You let out a shaky breath of relief, finally, they were here. But that relief was short-lived.

As soon as their eyes fell on Natasha standing beside you, they froze in place, exchanging a look that was almost too heavy to bear. You could feel the weight of the tension in the air between them, thick and suffocating. Natasha exhaled sharply, the sound of it betraying her frustration. "You’re not gonna stop, are you?" Steve let out a long, resigned sigh, his shoulders sagging for just a moment before he shook his head, a silent acknowledgment of what was coming. "You know I can’t." The words cut through you like a blade, but before you could process them.

Natasha’s wrist raised, and the distinct sound of the Black Widow’s Bite whirring to life echoed in the tense air. You held your breath, anticipating the next move. And then, in the blink of an eye, you saw him. The Black Panther. He appeared like a shadow, moving with a speed and grace that was almost unnatural, as he lunged toward Bucky, claws extended, his target locked. Time seemed to slow as you watched in horror, knowing Bucky wouldn’t be fast enough to dodge. But Natasha was faster. Her wrist aimed at T’Challa, and with a sharp crackle, an electric shock discharged, halting the Black Panther mid-flight.

He recoiled, clearly stunned but not incapacitated. He growled in frustration, but Natasha didn’t hesitate. With another swift motion, she shot another surge of electricity directly at him, pushing him back, buying you and the others precious moments. "Go," She urged, her voice steady, unwavering. Steve gave her a silent nod of gratitude, and without another word, he turned to you and Bucky, motioning for you to move. But before you could take another step, Natasha’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm. You glanced back at her, only to find her gazing at you with a softness that was quite rare for the widow.

"I love you, дорогая. Stay safe." The words were simple, but their weight was immeasurable. They struck you like a bullet to the chest, and without thinking, you rushed to her, wrapping your arms around her in a brief but fierce hug. "I love you too." You whispered back, the words barely audible over the noise of the battlefield. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment ended. You pulled away, your heart aching, and nodded at Natasha before following behind Steve and Bucky, making your way toward the Quinjet.

The Quinjet roared to life, thanks to Steve’s quick thinking and your help with the systems. As you climbed into the cockpit and the jet began its ascent, your eyes widened as you glanced out the window. Below, the fight raged on. You could see your teammates still engaged in combat, a blur of movements and blasts of light. On the other side, your father, Rhodey, and the others were still locked in their battle, and in that moment, the weight of it all hit you like a tidal wave.

But you couldn’t afford to think about that now. Siberia was your destination, and stopping the psycho ‘psychologist’ was the only thing that mattered. "Are you okay?" Steve’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "I’m fine." It was a lie. A complete lie. You felt like your chest was about to crack under the pressure, but for the first time that day, you could finally breathe, just for a fleeting second. But deep down, a gnawing feeling settled in your gut. You knew this was far from over.

It was only the beginning.

thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! <3

[heytheredelulu]

Back at it again with more imagines of Bucky and that ex HYDRA agent (The Winter Rose) that I totally made up in my head for my self indulgence. 🫣

“Sarge, I need you.” She says quietly, stepping out onto the balcony where Bucky leans against the railing, having his midnight smoke, the backdrop of the restless city and its lights illuminated behind him.

“What do you need from me?” He asks, taking a long drag off his cigarette.

“Just-“ She releases a shaky breath, catching her bottom lip between her teeth to keep it from quivering. “Can you just touch me?” She questions in a whisper, moving closer to him.

“Touch you? He asks, raising an eyebrow and slowly exhaling a cloud of smoke. “What’s the matter, doll? Can’t sleep? You wantin’ me to hold you again?”

She shakes her head, catching his wrist and plucking the cigarette from his hand, stamping it out on the railing.

“I need you to touch me.” She says firmly, lifting his hand and resting his palm against her cheek. “Please.”

He lowers his gaze to meet her, concern evident in his blue eyes as he gently strokes his thumb back and forth across her cheek.

“Are you sure?” He asks in a low voice.

“Am I-“ She stammers. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure. Please. Just touch me. I need this, I need you.”

His thumb stills and he lowers his head, nuzzling his forehead against her temple.

“Doll.” He warns, taking in her scent with a shuddered inhale.

“We drew that line. We set those boundaries. Once we cross it there isn’t any coming back. I need you to be sure.”

“Fuck the line.” She whispers, her breath fanning across his neck and sending a shiver up his spine.

“Fuck the boundaries. And for the love of God, Sarge, please just fuck me.”

Okay, that’s all. I’ll get back to writing Ready to Comply Pt 3 now.

💋Sj

[sjsmith56]

Snowfall

Summary: The threat of a stalker brings Bucky onto the team protecting an attractive writer but they’ve already fallen for each other. How can he do his job when he’s emotionally involved with his client?

Length: 5 parts

Characters: Bucky Barnes, named OFC, Pepper Stark, Happy Hogan, Sam Wilson, named OMC.

Warnings: Sexual situations (Rated M), violence, stalking, self-doubt.

Author notes: Takes place after FATWS but Bucky is back in New York, isolating himself from everyone except Sam. Thunderbolts and Captain America 4 haven’t happened.

Part 1. The Lady in Red

Part 2. Recognized

Part 3. Profile

Part 4. Encounter

Part 5. Shadows and Light

Short Fiction Masterlist

[marvelvillian23]

Any Dark Cop Bucky Fics ?

*Photo from Pinterest

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Random Thought: Bucky Barnes

Nightmares

Bucky has very bad nightmares.

It’s just normal for him at this point and he’s gotten used to waking up every night at some point, with a horrible nightmare.

The nightmares had made him a bit self conscious about being with you. You had slept together quite a few times but Bucky always left before the end of the night and it took him a while to realize it bothered you. Not realizing that it made you feel like he only wanted to sleep with you, he kept it up for a while. It was nearly a month before you told him how you felt and he swears he felt his heart break in that moment at seeing your sweet face afraid he was only into you for sex

He quickly broke down and told you the truth and you were very understanding. He didn’t think you wouldn’t be but he was embarrassed that he was a grown man having debilitating nightmares. You reassured him though, swearing that after everything the Sergeant had been through that it was more than understandable and that even people who haven’t been through horrific trauma have nightmares sometimes.

You convinced him to stay that night and it was the first time in a very long time that he slept in a bed. It was odd for him but holding you as you fell asleep actually assisted him in drifting off on the foreign feeling plush mattress. He did have a nightmare that night and you were awoken to the sound of him mumbling quietly, the words all being Russian meaning you couldn’t understand but it didn’t matter. You pulled his head to your chest and ran your fingers through his hair, jostling him as you did to ensure you woke him and the mumbling stopped as you ran your nails across his scalp and whispered sweet words to him as his eyes opened. He didn’t jump up or startle himself awake like he had told you, he woke gradually and calmly which was more than he had ever done before since being free and he clung to you tightly, face in your neck as he relaxed and actually drifted back off to sleep quite quickly. After that he slept through the rest of the night, staying asleep until his alarm went off at 7:00am.

You quickly changed his sleeping habits! You refused to continue to be awoken by a god awful alarm at 7 in the fucking morning so Bucky ditched the alarm, only waking early when he needed to, coming to very much enjoy sleeping in with you and having sleepy/snuggle days.

Sleepy days in bed or on the couch with you became his favorite kinds of days, not because of how often you would have sex but because you gave him something he hadn’t had since he was a child. Naps!

Bucky Barnes hadn’t had a nap since 1928 when he was 11 years old. It was very rare that he had a nightmare when he napped beside you but when he did, there you were to scratch your nails along his head and tell him that he was safe beside you like you did every night.

He had nightmares every night when he slept on missions, though there was rarely a time for sleep at that point. When he was in the field and he got some shut eye the nightmares always came crawling back, probably having something to do with being in an unsafe environment once again.

It didn’t take long for you both to decide him sleeping with you was actually helpful for not just his recovery but his overall mental state and he moved into your apartment. You were relieved as he would have access to a bed to sleep in every night, being appalled and outraged that Bucky didn’t have a fucking bed in his apartment.

The nightmares never went away and he didn’t think they ever would completely but they did lessen. So much so that he went an entire week once without having a single nightmare and you for sure celebrated that. They may never be gone but they’re getting better and Bucky is comforted in knowing that when he has a nightmare he will never again be alone for it

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Random Thoughts

[krisslegacy]

chains that bind us - cry baby

ao3 link

song - cry baby by the neighbourhood

characters: bucky barnes x original female character

summary: "i get this anxious feeling, but it goes away for a minute when i'm with you breathing."

word count: 1.5 k

warnings + tags: talks about dying, heavy angst, but a little fluff, if i missed any lmk

a/n:

so sorry for the delay because what!!! hopefully i have more motivation soon.

very much inspired by "theres only one bed" but instead of bed its a mattress and in the end well who cares (wink)

They went to the market together. Though neither of them wanted to.

“Want” didn’t matter, had never actually been asked of them. It was always about survival.

They spent their money wisely, both knowing the bare minimum that the human body needed to sustain itself. Jaina, on the other hand, could survive longer than the average human without food. And though uncomfortable, part of her was willing to burrow the pain within herself so her mission partner could feed himself. What they were willing to do for each other was always a curiosity, Jaina mused.

Willing to train together, to train others together, to trade techniques and strategies, weapons. Willing to cover each other under fire, willing to find a rhythm in the bloodshed they sowed. Sometimes even willing to patch each other's wounds under fire. Yet it was all robotic, numb, and unfeeling. How could it be anything else?

She had seen how they unmade him. The water, the ice, the electricity that danced across his skull. His screams- the most agonizing she’d ever heard, the ones where he so desperately tried to hold onto his identity- haunted her. The only thing she could ever do was watch.

And watch.

And watch.

It tore her to shreds to see him slowly submit, to slowly want stop fighting, just as she did.

Suddenly, they were no longer humans or living. Just weapons.

And to constantly sharpen a sword was to condemn it to breaking.

So they broke. But they broke together.

That had to mean something, right?

Jaina liked to think so.

[***]

There was only one real mattress in their safe house. It lay in the farthest corner from the door, to the left of the window. However, neither Jaina or Bucky had attempted to sleep.

Sleep, something so comforting to most, was dreaded to them.

They both stared at the mattress in silence.

Once upon a time, they had both shared spaces together, without shame, because that’s what the mission required of them. There couldn’t be any discomfort- because they did not feel at all.

They were weapons. Weapons did not feel.

Once upon a time, she had felt the leather constriction on his back press against her own. That feeling was always a luxury, because it meant she wasn’t in containment- wasn’t a shadow in that claustrophobic jar that her captors enjoyed seeing her struggle against.

Yet now, it didn’t feel right at all.

Jaina shivered.

“I’ll stay on the couch,” Bucky said quietly, already turning his back.

“No, I’m…smaller.” Her voice nearly faltered at the excuse, Bucky only beat her by two or three inches. “And I’m keeping first watch anyways.”

That was their habit. She would always keep first watch.

He stared at her then, those icy blue eyes analyzing every breath she took, every twitch of her fingers, the gentle sway of her torso. Exhaustion emanated thickly from her body, clinging to the oversized clothing she wore, and the look in her eyes suggested that it wasn’t just the desire to not fight, but to care. Worry.

Something foreign, something from a very long time ago, rose within his chest. And perhaps for the first time, Bucky saw the woman underneath the layers Hydra cast onto her. Could he peel back his own, shed the skin he’d worn for so long as well?

No… she should be able to rest comfortably. Something in the back of his skull whispered to him, urged him to do something right. Decorate this muddy safe house, buy flowers, make it feel like a home.

No.

He blinked.

“No, just…sit.” He motioned with his metal arm. “It’s fine.”

Jaina could’ve felt like a dog then, but she didn’t. Not when she saw the tight emotions etched into Bucky’s face- a movie of thoughts and questions. Gently, she moved back and squashed herself on the old mattress, tugging her knees up as shadows began to curl around her.

Shadows- they held her, hugged her, comforted her. It seemed as if she was never alone when they were there with her.

Sit down next to her. Ask her to dance. Sit.

Again, that voice. Like from a distant dream, a distant life long-gone, slowly creeping back into frame. It grazed his bionic arm, almost seeming to shudder at its foreign feel. His hair felt too long, his body too… thin? Large? He wasn’t quite sure. But it was as if a stranger had just snuck its way into his soul.

My name is James Buchanan Barnes. 32557038.

Jaina’s gentle voice weaved its way into his psyche. “Are you alright?”

They both knew the answer- of course not.

“Can I,” he swallowed, “sit?”

She nodded.

Shoulder to shoulder, they lingered next to each other in the deafening silence that threatened to consume them.

Jaina reached down within herself, looking for that anchor that kept her rooted to Earth, to her body, to reality. She just held onto it, knowing, feeling the safety that spread throughout her soul.

The steady beating of her heart matched the beating of Bucky’s, so audibly in their shared space.

She had practiced this often in captivity, to the point where she could feel him from across the room, in that chair, heaving through the aftershocks of pain.

As if she could feel it again, her shoulder grazed his.

32557038.

“I remember a place like this once,” Jaina said softly. “In Munich. 1957.”

Bucky stirred, his shirt ruffling against her own. In her peripheral vision, she saw him turn his head in her direction.

“We used gas for the, uhm, assassination.” She met his gaze now, and she could see the hunger that lined his eyes. Hunger for the past, for information on his own history, something that he never had. “But there was still a shootout.”

She swallowed. “Shrapnel grazed you. Pierced straight through the leather.”

“You… remember all of it.” Bucky’s voice was near silent, grazing the stone walls.

She did. A cursed thing, a wretched thing, to be burdened with near immortality and a mind to rival it. And it was taken advantage of.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

His throat bobbed. “Where…was it?”

Like dealing with a wounded animal, Jaina’s core clenched as she slowly reached a hand over to his torso. Feather lightly, her calloused finger brushed against his upper obelisk muscle. Underneath the fabric of his shirt, Bucky tensed, the muscles rippling as blood pulsed through his veins. She could feel it, his heartbeat, through her own fingertips.

And though they were both fully clothed, there was a vulnerability between the two of them. The simplicity of touch and feeling, the lack of it for a century, the humanity of it all, caused blood to rush to Jaina’s face.

For the first time in years, she blushed. How ridiculous it seemed.

But she was surprised to hear him speak again. Louder. “Sometimes I’d look at myself and find scars that I didn’t know existed. That I had no memory of receiving. But the faces… I knew the faces.”

His throat bobbed. “And then I start to see the… the missions again.”

Jaina grew consciously aware of her hand, still drifting against his body, yet no longer did she feel the tension of its invitation. Under her touch, Bucky nearly melted into it, just barely leaning against her.

Did he know that?

“I see them too.” She swallowed again, then drew her arm from his side to rest across her knees. But he didn’t move. Still, he leaned against her shoulder- scarcely perceptible. “I feel them too.” “But the scars you have- we have,” Her sight slid from the floor right into the tundra of the Winter Soldier’s eyes, the sea Bucky’s eyes, “it means we survived, doesn’t it?”

And there was nothing but agony in his face now, the slight crease at the corner of his lips, and clench of his strong jaw that made Jaina’s heart drop.

“I don’t know if I’m worth that. Surviving.”

No, that wasn’t right. Because all those years, when she’d been able to do nothing but watch as they’d attempted to shatter him over and over, cracked him open and reassemble him, she’d witnessed the true strength of mankind.

She had lived hundreds of years, tens of lives, but had never met a human quite like Bucky.

“We didn’t fight for nothing.” She said, “If we did, I would’ve let you die from that shrapnel in 1957.”

Quieter now, her voice carrying all the warmth she could muster, “You would’ve let me die too.”

If Captain America’s love for his best friend could break through 70 years of brainwashing, perhaps she was the constant that Bucky couldn’t bear to lose. Jaina knew that that’s what he was to her. Alone, in the dark, she had his heartbeat, his breathing. Just to know he was alive, that was what kept her fighting. Because he represented the humanity she so yearned to have.

Silence swallowed Jaina and Bucky. Not the honking, the city noises outside could suppress the unspoken questions and answers that they could’ve had for each other. But side by side, pressed together by the shoulder, they breathed together.

After what seemed like hours, bleeding into night, Bucky spoke again.

“Will you tell me everything?”

Jaina answered.

“Yes.”