#reader comforts bucky

[itsalliny0urhead]

Let Me Stay (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Bucky doesn’t ask for help. He never says he needs you. But when the nightmares hit, you’re the only one who can reach him. In the silence of the early hours, you hold him through the shaking, the memories, the guilt. He says he doesn’t deserve love — but you stay anyway. Because he’s yours. And you’ve never needed him to be perfect — only real.

Bucky Barnes x reader

It always started with the silence.

Not the kind that came with peace — the kind that held its breath. That heavy stillness just before something breaks.

You felt it before you heard him move.

Bucky jerked upright in bed with a sharp gasp, body tense, back bowed, lungs desperate for air that refused to come. He was already drenched in sweat, chest heaving, metal hand curled tight in the sheets. The muscles in his neck were straining, like he was still bracing for impact.

He wasn’t there. Not with you. Not yet.

Your heart cracked.

You didn’t say his name immediately — you’d learned not to. Too sudden and it startled him. Too loud and it pulled him under.

So you moved carefully.

“Bucky,” you whispered, voice soft as breath, like a hand reaching out in the dark.

He didn’t turn.

The moonlight through the window caught the edge of his scars — the silver glint of metal at his wrist, the faint shimmer of sweat along his spine.

You sat up slowly, sheets slipping from your skin. Reached out. Let your fingers hover just above his back. He was trembling.

When you finally touched him, he flinched. Just barely. But he didn’t pull away.

“It was just a dream,” you murmured. “You’re safe.”

He let out a breath that sounded like a sob held too long in his chest. His shoulders dropped, just a little.

“I couldn’t stop it.” His voice was wrecked. “It was happening again. I couldn’t— I didn’t know where I was—”

You moved behind him, pressing your body to his back, wrapping your arms around his chest like a shield. You felt his heart pounding beneath your palm.

“You’re home,” you said quietly. “You’re not there. Not anymore.”

Bucky shook his head. “But it’s still in me.”

You pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck. He shuddered.

“I still hear the screaming,” he whispered. “I can feel the blood on my hands. I wake up and I can’t breathe because it still feels real.”

You closed your eyes. God, how many times had he woken like this? Alone, before you ever touched his bed. Before he ever let you stay.

“You didn’t choose any of it,” you said, holding him tighter. “You were never what they made you.”

Bucky’s breath hitched. He twisted slowly in your arms, like he was afraid of what you’d see. His eyes were wet, jaw tight.

“I’m afraid,” he whispered. “Of what I’ve done. Of what I still could do.”

You cupped his face gently, both hands holding him like something precious. Something fragile.

“I’m not,” you said. “I know you. I know every part of you — even the ones you hate.”

His throat worked. “You shouldn’t love someone like me.”

You kissed the scar just beneath his eye. Then the hollow of his cheek. His temple.

“I don’t love someone like you,” you whispered. “I love you.”

His hands gripped your waist like he didn’t know what to do with that — like the weight of being loved so completely made his ribs ache.

“I don’t know how to be soft,” he said. “Not like you deserve.”

“Then don’t be soft,” you said. “Just be here. With me.”

He leaned in, slowly. Hesitantly. His lips brushed yours — tentative, almost shy. But when you kissed him back, his hands found your back, your jaw, your hair — pulling you closer, like he needed to make sure you were real.

When you pulled him down into the bed with you, his head rested against your chest. One of your hands slid through his hair. The other held his metal hand, fingers curled gently between his.

“I’m still here,” you whispered.

Bucky closed his eyes.

“I don’t deserve this,” he said.

You kissed the top of his head. “That’s not your call to make.”

He was asleep within minutes — still holding your hand like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You didn’t.

You stayed.

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Game Night

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: Steve’s mandatory game night takes a turn when you and Bucky are paired up.

Word Count: Roughly 1.4k 

Warnings: Fluff, banter, friendly competition, implied threats, destroying property (Bucky and Sam), romantic tension everyone can feel, and some overprotective Bucky because that man does not play about his sunshine.

Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay; I was helping my friend with a research project. Ugh, it feels choppy, but I hope this is to your liking, babes ;)

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics

The living room buzzed with energy as the Avengers tried to recover from the chaos of their most recent mission; the munching of chips and clinking of drinks in glasses filled the space.

Peter and you were talking animatedly about the mission, with Peter recounting how he flipped mid-air, webbing a bad guy to a nearby wall.

“I mean, I swear, the guy didn’t see it coming. I was way higher up than I thought, and then BAM!” Peter dramatically mimicked the motion with his arms, sending you into fits of laughter.

“It’s honestly kind of unfair that you can just flip your way out of everything, Pete,” you teased, elbowing him.

He shrugged, all smugness. “I mean, someone’s gotta make the web-swinging look good, right?”

Before you could reply, Steve stood up from his spot, clapping his hands for attention. “Alright, team! Time for some mandatory bonding!”

A chorus of groans erupted from the group, each one from someone hoping to escape Steve’s relentless enthusiasm for ‘team-building’ nights.

“Tonight is Charades.” Steve declared.

That’s when Steve decided to assign the partners. He glanced around the room with a twinkle in his eye and paired you with Bucky, clearly anticipating the fun to come.

You gave Bucky your signature puppy dog eyes, and he looked away with a scowl as he crossed his arms over his chest, not wanting to give in and show that he was happy to be partnered with you.

“Oh, great,” Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

You didn’t let his grumpiness throw you off. “Bucky, come on!” you said, plopping beside him on the couch. “We’ve got this! We’re unstoppable!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow and shot you a skeptical look. “Sure, sure. We’ll see about that.”

He didn’t seem convinced, and as Sam overheard, he couldn’t resist adding his two cents.

"Oh, this is gonna be easy," Sam declared loudly, rolling his eyes. "Grumpy Barnes can’t even smile, let alone act."

"You’re gonna regret that," Bucky shot back, his tone thick with warning. 

His words weren’t loud, but they were laced with enough warning that Sam quickly leaned back into his seat, hands raised in mock surrender.

"Okay, okay, I get it," Sam laughed, but you caught the wariness in his eyes. "But not holding my breath, this will be easy."

Then, leaning in toward you, he whispered, “If we lose to that clown, I’m never letting it go.”

You gave him an exaggerated look of disbelief, pretending to be shocked. "Who knew you cared so much about winning?"

Bucky’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk. "Don’t mess this up," he teased.

You winked at him. “You’re with me. How could we lose?”

As the game started, it quickly became clear that Bucky treated charades less like a fun group activity and more like a tactical mission. His intense focus was almost comical, but you fell into an unspoken rhythm. 

When it was your turn to act, Bucky’s sharp eyes locked onto you, and after a few gestures, he almost always guessed your clues. When it was his turn, he leaned into the ridiculousness of it all, whether miming a gorilla or pretending to be a ballerina, just to keep your laughter ringing through the room.

By the end of the game, the scoreboard showed a landslide victory in your favor. Bucky allowed himself a small, smug grin as you squealed in delight and launched yourself into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“We’re the dream team!” you exclaimed, giggling as you clung to him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, though his grip on you was secure, his metal arm effortlessly supporting you. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Much to everyone's amusement, he carried you back to the couch, where he promptly plopped you into his lap. “You’re comfy,” you declared with a grin, making yourself home. 

Sam, clearly displeased, waved a hand in your direction. “This has to be rigged. There’s no way those two didn’t cheat.”

Natasha snorted, leaning back in her chair. “They didn’t cheat, Wilson. They’re just disgustingly in sync.”

Sam grabbed a pillow and chucked it at you. “Sync this!”

The pillow hit you square in the face, and you burst out laughing, holding it in your lap. “It’s just a pillow!”

But Bucky didn’t see it that way. His gaze turned sharp as he caught the second pillow Sam threw mid-air. “If you throw another one at her...”

Sam, of course, took that as a challenge. “What are you gonna do, Barnes?” he quipped, hurling another pillow that you easily dodged.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll give you a five-second head start.”

Sam’s smirk faltered. “Wait, what?”

Without a word, Bucky carefully brushed your hair out of your face, placed you gently on the couch, and stood up. The room went silent as he walked purposefully toward the hallway. 

“What’s he doing?” you asked, looking to Steve for answers.

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, hiding a smile. “He’s going to smash Redwing.”

Sam’s eyes widened in panic. 

“Barnes, you touch Redwing, I swear-” He bolted after Bucky, and the two disappeared down the hall. 

Moments later, a loud crash echoed through the compound, followed by Sam’s yelling and Bucky’s retorts.

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head as she leaned back on the couch. “This happens all the time.”

You glanced between her and Steve, bewildered. “Doesn’t anyone stop them?”

Steve shrugged. “Nope. They’ll tire themselves out eventually.”

From a distance, the team could hear the muffled sounds of Bucky and Sam bickering echoing through the compound. 

“Touch Redwing, and you’re paying for a whole new one!” Sam’s voice was laced with fear.

“Oh, don’t worry, Wilson,” Bucky shot back, his tone mockingly calm. “I’ll make sure to recycle the pieces. I hear it’s good for the environment.”

A loud thud followed as if Bucky had knocked something over or thrown something against the wall. 

“Man, what is your problem?” Sam hollered. “You act like I threw a brick at her!”

“You hit her in the face!” Bucky retorted.

“It was a pillow!” Sam defended himself. “It probably felt like a marshmallow.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky countered. “You don’t throw things at her. Ever.”

Back in the living room, you stifled a laugh as Natasha shook her head in amused disbelief. “It’s always like this,” she said, smirking. “I don’t know why Sam keeps testing him.”

Steve folded his arms, looking like the exasperated dad of the group. “Because Sam likes pushing buttons. And Bucky…well, Bucky only has so much patience.”

Another crash echoed from down the hallway, followed by Sam’s yell. “Oh, come on! That wasn’t even Redwing! That was my lamp!”

“You’ve got terrible taste in decor, Wilson,” Bucky said, completely unfazed.

“YOU OWE ME A NEW LAMP!” Sam shouted.

“I did you a favor.” Bucky said dryly. “So say ‘thank you,’ it's polite.”

You couldn’t hold back your giggles any longer. “Should we...I don’t know, step in?” you asked, looking at Steve.

Steve shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Nah. Let them hash it out. Bucky’s not actually going to break Redwing. Probably.”

“Probably?” Natasha echoed. “You’re really putting a lot of faith in him.”

From the hallway, Sam yelled again. “THAT’S IT, BARNES. YOU AND ME. SPARRING MATCH TOMORROW.”

“Fine,” Bucky fired back. “But don’t be mad when I wipe the floor with you, bird brain.”

Natasha leaned over to you, her voice low. “You know he’s only this protective because it’s you, right? He doesn’t care this much when we get hit with stuff.”

You blushed, glancing down at your hands. “He’s just…looking out for me. Like a guardian.”

Natasha snorted. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

Steve smiled knowingly but didn’t say anything. 

The sounds of Sam and Bucky’s argument gradually faded as they came back.

Sam was glaring, his hair disheveled, and he muttered under his breath about never forgiving Bucky. 

Bucky, on the other hand, was smug, like he had just won a personal victory.

Sam threw himself back down on the couch, muttering something about "not talking to Barnes for the rest of the week," to which Bucky gave a half-hearted shrug.

He sat down beside you, his arm casually draped across the back of the couch. His eyes flicked down to you, and without a word, he reached out to brush his knuckles lightly over your knee.

“You okay, sunshine?” he asked quietly, only for you to hear.

You smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Bucky’s lips quirked upward, just slightly. “Good,” he said softly. “No one messes with you. Not even Sam.”

The others shared amused looks, but neither of you paid them any mind. Bucky’s protective side made your heart flutter in a way you didn’t quite understand, and you sank further into the couch, curling into his side.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp

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Much love x

- Maeve

[marvelstoriesepic]

In too deep

Pairing: Fuck buddy!Bucky x Reader

Summary: After Bucky calls, and you come running, you end up locked in his bathroom, trying to get rid of the evidence that something hasn’t gone well this time.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: 18+ (mdni) blood; descriptions of sex; feeling pain during sex and not saying anything; friends with benefits; mentions of periods; mutual pining; miscommunication; self-doubt; self-loathing; worried!Bucky

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing something more suggestive. It is not outright smut, but there’s lots of talk about sex, so if you are a minor, please stay away. And if you are not, then I hope you enjoy and I'd be happy to know what you think ♡

Masterlist

You are bleeding.

The sting between your legs is sharp. Like a wound still weeping after the blade has been pulled away.

The yellow light above the mirror of Bucky’s bathroom hums and flickers slightly, ghostly shapes of shadows draping against the walls.

Your breath is shallow.

The bleeding won’t stop.

With toilet paper in your hands, you press your trembling fingers against the inside of your thigh. It soaks, leaving your skin warm and sticky. The scent of iron is in your nose.

You know your body. You know how it shifts and bends beneath pleasure, how it aches in the aftermath and you know that this is different. It’s wrong.

A breath shudders out of you at the pulsing pain.

Bucky is still in his bedroom.

Probably waiting for you to come out and leave.

That’s how it’s always been.

He calls, you come, you make him feel good, then go.

He never asks you to stay. Not really. He asks you to come over, to press your lips against his, to carve his pleasure into your skin, but he never asks you to stay thereafter.

But you still keep running. Every time.

The sting flares up again and you clench your fists against your thighs, your body curling inward on instinct.

You don’t know how long you usually take to freshen up, but it certainly takes too much time right now.

You don’t want to be a burden. You want to be something simple, something easy.

But fuck, it hurts.

You glance down again, lifting the hem of your shirt you pulled over quickly before retreating to the bathroom. Crimson smears against your skin, staining the inside of your thighs and you curse under your breath.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you exhale slowly.

You need to get up. You need to clean yourself up, put on your clothes, and walk out of his apartment like nothing happened. Like it doesn’t matter. Like you don’t matter.

The thought is a sour taste on your tongue.

Bucky had a bad day. That’s why he called. That’s why you came. That’s why you let him take and take, why you let yourself pretend it was more than just relief and release.

And now, you are bleeding in his bathroom, barely able to stand, barely able to breathe without wincing.

Your fingers grip the edge of the sink as you haul yourself up. The room tilts for a moment, and you grip it tighter, knuckles whitening.

You look in the mirror. You look ruined - cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, lips swollen from kisses.

You press your hands to the cool porcelain.

One more breath.

Then another.

Then you reach for the toilet paper again, dabbing at the blood, pretending you don’t see the way it just keeps coming. Pretending it’s not seeping through the white thin fibers. Pretending it doesn’t matter.

Because if you want to keep coming back, it can’t.

It’s not like he hasn’t been nice to you.

Bucky is always nice.

You were friends first, after all.

Before the weight of need, before his hands started lingering a little longer, before the heat and the fleeting contact.

Things had been easy, light, and simple.

You had inside jokes, late-night conversations that bled into mornings, you even cooked together - well, you cooked, while he hovered, occasionally stealing a bite, occasionally setting the table with that soft little smirk. It was comfortable. Safe.

Until he kissed you one day. So many weeks ago.

It was an accident. Or maybe it was inevitable.

You were both drunk. You were both in a good mood. There is not much you remember about that night. All you remember is how close you two were and that all your friends from the party were gone already.

You remember the way his knee had brushed yours, sitting on his couch, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you. And then you remember that he did. He kissed you. And your heart stuttered, his breath caught, he hesitated for a second, giving you a chance to pull away. You didn’t. You should have.

Because there was no stopping from then on.

You left the moment you woke up in his bed to him snoring in your ear and leaving drool in your hair.

But you keep coming back when he calls.

He is careful with you, always. Slow and attentive. He never lets you leave without asking if you are okay, without pressing a bottle of water into your hands, without brushing his fingers against your wrist as if needing something. Maybe a reminder that this is real. Maybe something that’ll hold him back from saying something.

But today was different.

He didn’t ask you how your day was when you walked through his door. Didn’t wait for you to slip off your shoes, to drop your bag onto its usual spot by the couch. Didn’t even give you a chance to breathe before his hands were on you.

He had you pressed up against the wall next to his door and claimed your mouth in a searing kiss that almost tasted desperate.

His fingers curled around your waist and pulled you to him so tightly, you felt every single one of his ragged breaths against your chest, the tension thrumming beneath his skin.

Then he lifted you, carried you over to his bedroom, and basically tossed you onto his bed, his body following. He pressed you down, caging you in, his weight and scent and whole behavior dizzying you.

There was no hesitation. No slow unraveling. No playful touches and teases meant to draw things out. It was pure and unfiltered need.

His hands gripped your hips so firmly, not enough to leave bruises, but hard enough to tell you that he needed this.

He fucked you like you were the only thing on his mind.

He fucked you like you were the only thing keeping him here.

He fucked you like it’s you he craved.

He fucked you like it was making him blind.

It did.

Because he didn’t see the way you gritted your teeth, the way your nails dug into the sheets beneath you, the way the dull pain at the beginning began to sharpen, spreading with every of his hard thrusts.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, lips tracing the curve of your skin, his breath warm and heavy against your pulse.

He was lost in it, consumed by the feel of you, the way you were wrapped around him, the way your body clenched.

Normally; his weight, his deep groans, the heat of him, his sheer presence pressing you into the mattress would be grounding, would be something good. Something addicting.

But it wasn’t today.

Because the pain only grew.

The stretch felt wrong - too much, too sudden. He gave you time to adjust, asked if you were ready with that husky tone of his, and you only nodded. You lied.

You thought you were able to push through the pain and that it would soon turn to pleasure. But that wasn’t the case, and every snap of his hips only had you fighting to keep from flinching.

Your breath stuttered as he shifted, angling deeper, hitting something that made you gasp. It must have sounded like pleasure to him because he then groaned into your hair, but it was a sound stemming from startled pain.

You felt that deep, bruising pressure that shot up your spine, making you bite down hard on your lip to refuse a cry to slip out that would surely make him stop out of concern.

You only squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will it away. But it didn’t.

It kept spreading, kept tearing, kept building with every thrust.

You know you should have said something.

You know you should have told him to stop, to slow down, to give you a second to breathe.

But then he panted against your neck, breathing into your skin how good you feel, whispering praises and words that sounded a little too affectionate for the kind of arrangement you are having and you felt him let go of whatever was plaguing him.

So when he checked in again, asking if you were alright, you nodded once more. Forcing your lips into a shape that could resemble a yes, and you felt him shudder, felt his grip on your waist tighten as he dived into you again, lost in the feel of your walls.

And you let him.

Because you didn’t want to ruin this.

Because this is what he needed, what he asked for, and if you had told him to stop, what if it changed something? What if it broke that thing between you? What if he would have ended up being disappointed? Unpleased? What if he stopped calling?

So you swallowed the pain. You kept biting your lip and tried to focus on his breathing, the warmth of his skin, anything but the way your body protested, the way the ache morphed into something unmanageable.

You still don’t stop bleeding.

It’s not your period.

You had your period last week. It’s what kept you away from him, what had you say no when he asked you to come over. The thought of bleeding on his sheets, on him, was enough to make heat run along your neck, mortified at the very idea.

But Bucky had just shrugged, voice low and unbothered when he told you he didn’t mind.

But you did, so you declined. And when he asked you, soft and caring, if there was anything he could do for you, you declined as well.

There is a limit to his affections you can take. A limit to the sweetest things he can tell you, the lovelies things he can do for you, and the softest ways he can touch you because you believe none of them mean as much to him as they do to you.

So you stayed home, curled in your bed with a heating pad, ignoring the way you ached for something that had nothing to do with cramps.

And now, here you are, bleeding anyway.

God, you hate this.

Thankfully, the blood started coming when you already sat down on the toilet. When your thighs pressed together and you felt the wetness along the sharp sting that made your breath catch.

But you tell yourself it will stop soon. It has to.

You just need a few minutes - just long enough for your body to calm, for the pain to fade into something tolerable. Long enough to clean yourself up and pretend like everything is fine.

You take another breath, pressing your palm against the cool porcelain of the sink. Your time is running out. You can’t stay here too long or Bucky will notice. You never take this long. And you certainly can’t let him see this. Can’t let him know. Can’t let him ask questions you don’t want to answer.

A knock comes. Soft and firm, rapping against the wood of the bathroom door. Once, twice, before his voice follows, rough but laced with something gentle. Careful.

“Hey, you alright in there?”

Your stomach drops. Shit, you took too long.

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling sharply, trying to keep yourself from spiraling. You force your voice to steady, to keep the waver out, to sound normal.

“Yeah,” you call back, trying to make it sound light, breezy, unbothered. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Silence. Just for a second. Then, another knock, a little firmer this time, a little more insistent.

“You sure?” Bucky’s voice carries through the door, and there is something new in it now. A crease in his tone.

You can practically hear the way his brows furrow, the way his jaw ticks, that little frown tugging at his lips and deepening the line between his eyes.

Normally, you would think it’s cute. Normally, you would have to suppress the urge to press your finger to that little divot and smooth it out like your touch could unravel the tension in him.

But right now, thinking about it only makes your pulse halt, makes you feel like there is something thick and choking in your throat.

Bucky shifts on the other side of the door, his voice lower, softer when he speaks again. “Do you need-”

Panic flares in you. “I’ll leave as soon as I’m done,” you blurt out, too fast, too sharp. “Just- just give me a minute.”

There is a beat of silence.

The air in this small bathroom seems to be thinning out. You stare at your own reflection in the mirror, at the wide eyes, the parted lips, the tension in your shoulders that pulls them up.

“You don’t gotta leave, doll.”

It’s quieter. His words are careful, almost hesitant, but there is something insistent in them too. Him trying to piece something together.

“I just-” He exhales, and you hear the way he scrubs a hand down his face, the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot, like he is trying to keep himself still, trying to keep himself from pushing open the door and looking at you. “Is everything alright?”

It’s the way he asks, the way he lingers on the words, like he already suspects the answer but is hoping - praying - you will say or do something to prove him wrong.

And you want to. You want to smooth it over, to push away his worry before it sinks too deep, before it turns to annoyance or impatience. But before you can get a single word out, he keeps going.

His voice turns tighter. Faster. His knuckles still seem to rest on the door.

“Are you hurt?”

Your breath stays caught in your throat.

“Did I-” He stops. Starts again. “Did I hurt you?” The words rush out of him, like he can’t stop them. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You open your mouth, but he still continues talking.

“Shit,” he exclaims, as if it hits him square in the chest. His voice dips lower, rawer, tinged with something like guilt, something thick and pressing. “Doll, was I too rough?”

You can hear it all in his voice - the worry, the guilt, the panic, that desperate need to fix something before it even fully breaks. And there is no impatience, no annoyance, none of the things you were afraid of.

You should have known, but somehow you keep lying.

“No, Bucky,” you say, and you hate the way your voice wavers, the way it doesn’t sound that much convincing. “Don’t worry.”

The door handle rattles.

“Doll.” Bucky’s voice is closer, pressed right up against the other side of the door, low and urgent. The knob jerks in his grip, testing it, trying to keep his touch gentle but unable to stop himself. “Can you let me in?”

You swear you can hear your own heartbeat, a dull, thrumming thing pounding in your ears.

“I’m fine, Bucky.” The lie stumbles out too fast, but you don’t know what else to say.

The knob shakes again, this time harder. “C’mon,” he breathes out, and you hear the strain in his voice, the way his words come tighter. “Please, doll. Just open the door.”

You don’t move. Your knees are weak.

“Fuck.” He is frantic. His breath is ragged and sharp. You hear him shift, pressing more of his weight against the door as if he is fighting the urge to force it open. “Y/n, I didn’t mean-” he stops himself, and you can almost picture his hand running through his hair, his jaw clenched tight, his brows pinched together so deeply. “I didn’t mean to be rough with you. Fuck, I- I swear, I-” His voice falters, cracking on something heavy.

You swallow hard, but your throat is closed up and it can’t pass through cleanly. “You weren’t rough, Bucky,” you try to assure him.

But he only lets out a troubled sound. “Yeah?” His voice turns gravelly. His tone turns desperate. “Then why the hell won’t you open the door?”

You can’t answer that. You can barely stand, gripping the sink so hard you feel your fingers might start to cramp. The pain flares up again and you grimace.

“Doll,” he tries again, his voice frenetic. “Please, let me see you.”

The door handle tugs again.

“I need to see you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to keep the frustrated tears from welling up your eyes.

“Bucky-”

“Please.”

That word is laced with a plea so deep, you feel it in your bones.

“Buck, I need a second, okay?”

You force a slow inhale through your nose as you rip off another wad of toilet paper and press it between your legs. The crimson smears against the white. You do it again. Again. Until there is nothing left to wipe away and nothing more is coming. For now.

Your thighs sting where you rub at the dried streaks, the skin tender, hypersensitive. You force yourself to ignore it. You just have to get out. That’s all. If you can get out of his apartment before it starts bleeding again and without crumbling to the floor in pain, there is nothing to worry about.

“You’re scarin’ me here, baby. Please. I need to see you. Need to make sure-” His voice catches.

You toss the balled-up paper into the toilet, reaching blindly for the handle, flushing it down, and cutting Bucky’s desperate words off for a moment.

The pain gets worse, dragging along your nerves and making you lose your balance slightly. You grip the sink again. Your vision goes dark for a short second. The floor is cold beneath your bare feet.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to be rough with you. Y/n! I- I needed you, and I got lost in it, and fuck- I didn’t-” he chokes out, not able to continue. His words sound like a confession.

You grit your teeth, twisting the faucet of the sink too hard, too fast. Water rushes out, scalding against your skin as you scrub your hands, scrubbing at the blood, scrubbing at the proof, as if that will make it disappear.

Your lungs feel too tight, too small to hold enough air. Your heart beats against your ribs like it wants out.

You don’t know if it’s because he went too deep, or too hard, or if something inside you just wasn’t ready for him, but it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you don’t let it show.

On the other side of the door, Bucky exhales vehemently.

His fist knocks twice again before curling around the door handle. “Baby, please let me in.”

“I’m fine,” you call out, but it doesn’t sound right.

Bucky’s breath shudders out.

You try to straighten, try to compose yourself, and open that door to pretend you are fine, but a sharp, searing pain rips through your lower abdomen and you gasp. Your vision swims and the ground beneath your feet feels wobbly, shifting like it might fall out from under your feet.

Bucky’s breath is rough and broken through the crack beneath the door. His palm presses flat against the wood, a low thud that makes your stomach churn.

“Y/n,” he warns, voice low, but so incredibly distressed. So incredibly worried. “If you don’t open this door, I swear to God-”

Your legs give out.

It’s not a full collapse, but it’s enough. Your knee buckles and you stumble, hip knocking hard into the edge of the sink before you pitch sideways, shoulder crashing into the shelf beside you.

The impact rattles the whole thing.

A bottle of cologne topples over, then a razor, then something heavier - a glass jar filled with cotton pads - shattering on the tiled floor with a violent crack.

“Alright, I'm coming in.”

Bucky doesn’t wait for permission.

The door bursts open with a bang, the hinges groaning under the force of his shove. He is on you in an instant, all broad shoulders and frantic energy, filling the small space with his presence before you even have time to react.

Bucky’s hands find you - not grabbing, not pulling, just there, at your back, your arm, holding you together, holding you up before you can fully meet the ground.

His breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast, and the sight of him nearly knocks you off your feet once more.

His eyes are wide, pupils blown, that storm of worry you have heard in his voice through the door now a full-blown hurricane.

“What’s goin’ on? Doll, what is it?”

You don’t answer. Instead, your own gaze shifts to the glass jar at your feet, fractured lines spiderwebbing through the surface from the fall.

Your chest tightens. Your throat locks.

“Shit, Bucky, I’m so sorry.”

You barely recognize your own voice - thin, trembling, too damn weak. You grip onto him, the shirt he must have pulled over when you disappeared into the bathroom, and you hate it. You hate how bad of a burden you are to him right now, when all he wanted was to let off some stress of the day.

But Bucky doesn’t even seem to hear you.

He doesn’t seem to see anything else than you. Doesn’t look at the glass, doesn’t blink at the mess.

His eyes are on you.

And the way he is looking at you makes something inside you crack even deeper than the broken jar at your feet.

His eyes are sharp and they trace over you, cataloging everything.

He doesn’t just look at you, he dissects you. His gaze maps every inch of your body, searching, calculating, reading between the lines of what you’re not saying.

The way your shoulders are drawn tight. The way your chest stutters on each inhale, as if even breathing is too much right now. The way you clutch at him, your knuckles white, not even trusting your own legs to hold you up.

You swallow hard, shifting your weight in his hold, and the pain flares again, enough to make your body involuntarily tremble. You clamp down on a wince, but he notices.

Bucky’s jaw is tight.

You tug at the hem of your shirt, yanking it lower, bunching the fabric between your fingers as if that will do anything.

Bucky’s gaze snap to your movements. He narrows his eyes, drinking you in with an intensity that makes you want to shrink.

“Doll,” he lets out, voice hoarse and rough, like the single word is punched out of him.

His hands skim over your arms, your waist, searching.

Then he stills.

His fingers twitch against your hip. His shoulders stiffen.

His gaze drops.

The storm behind his eyes turns feral.

You know what he is seeing.

You feel it before you even look down - the slow, unwelcome warmth trailing down your inner thigh.

The blood.

A single, thin ribbon of red against your soft skin.

For a second there is nothing. No sound. No breath. Just his stare.

“Jesus Christ.”

His voice comes in a way you’ve never heard before. It’s rather a harsh croak of sound than his normal voice.

You try to move, do anything to shift his focus, to stop the way his grip on you tightens as if he’s afraid, in pain himself.

But the second you move, another sharp pang shoots up your core, stealing what little breath you have left and you gasp.

Strong arms wind around you tightly, pulling you into his chest firmly.

“Bucky-”

“Hush.”

It’s not an order. It’s not a demand. It’s a plea, soft and urgent and broken, whispered against your hair as he holds you like you might break. No, like he might break.

“You’re hurt.” There is an aching note of guilt hanging between each syllable. It’s so thick and pronounced, you wince. “Fuck- I hurt you.”

You shake your head against him, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. “No, Bucky, you didn’t-”

“Don’t.” His voice breaks on the word. His grip tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin. “I hurt you. God, fucking hell, I hurt you.”

His grip on you is firm, but not rough.

His arms cage around you, holding you as if you might slip right through the cracks of his fingers if he lets go.

Large fingers press into your hip, your thigh with a feverish desperation, enough for you to feel the slight tremble in them.

His breathing is so ragged, like he’s been running. Chasing something he’s already lost.

He is shaking.

A whisper of his lips presses to the side of your temple, lingering. A contrast to the way he has been claiming your mouth moments before.

It feels like he is pressing his regret into your skin, hoping you’ll absorb it.

“I'm so sorry,” he breathes. It’s hoarse. Nearly choking.

You hear the fracture in his voice, something splitting open inside him.

Another kiss, this time on your forehead. Another apology, spoken in the warmth of his mouth against your heated skin. Another kiss, soft, like he’s praying to you, trying to breathe the apology into you.

“Shit- I'm so sorry, baby.” The words rasp out of him, broken, spilling into your hair, against your forehead, over your cheek.

His hands won’t stop moving. You feel them everywhere - gliding over your back, skating down your arms, searching. For what, though you are not sure. A sign that you’re okay? Proof that he hasn’t broken you?

But perhaps he has. Just not in the way he fears right now. Not in a way that bruises or cracks like a bone, but in the way that has you swallowing down the shame rising thick in your throat.

You don’t want him to see you like this.

It’s humiliating. It’s too much. The way he is looking at you is making you lose control over your limbs and you really can’t afford that right now.

Heat pools beneath your skin, then it vanishes, leaving you cold, your body not able to decide whether to fight or flee.

He gathers you and lifts you in the air, pulling you to his chest. He does it slow. Careful. Looking at your face for any indication that he hurt you some more.

With that, he walks you out of his bathroom.

You should fight him, tell him you can walk, but you’re not sure you can. Your legs are trembling in his hold, unsteady, and the deep throb of pain is still biting at your insides.

And Bucky is holding you like you are the most important thing he ever carried.

You whimper in pain and his hold tightens instinctively. His hands shake against you.

You hate the way your stomach spins in on itself at the thought of staining him. At leaving blood on his clothes, on his skin, on his belongings.

But Bucky does not seem to care at all. He does not seem to think about that at all.

None of it seems to matter.

Only you.

He sits you down carefully, on the edge of his bed. The very same one he just fucked you raw in. His hands hover even after he lets go, still gripping at your waist, brushing along your arms, your knee.

Then he takes off.

You can hear the frantic rustling - the opening and shutting of drawers, cabinets, his movements fast and panicked.

And when he returns to you, he is kneeling in front of you with a damp cloth.

He doesn’t speak at first.

Just opens your legs slightly, with gentle hands, for better access and begins to swipe. Soft, slow drags over your sensitive skin, barely any pressure at all, afraid even the slightest touch might make this worse for you.

But the thing is, he is already making this worse.

Not in the way he thinks.

Not in the way that physically aches in your body but in a way that fills you with something barely manageable.

Bucky is not annoyed, or exasperated at this turn of events. He is not disgusted. Not even a little.

He is not wincing at the blood smearing on your thighs, isn’t hesitating when it stains the cloth, and also might stain his hand, the sheets on his bed. He just keeps wiping. Keeps caring. Keeps frowning with that expression of utter concern and remorse.

And this hurts so much more.

It would have been easier if he had been an asshole about it. If he had sighed in annoyance, rubbed a frustrated hand over his face, and told you to just go if you were gonna act weird. Maybe you would have been able to handle that.

But Bucky Barnes is anything but an asshole.

He is kneeling before you, hands still cautiously wiping at your skin. Each motion is so slow, painstaking, like an artist restoring a ruined masterpiece, knowing no stroke of his hand can undo the damage.

His touch is soft, but his body is anything but.

His spine is a pillar of strain, each muscle wound so tightly, even the act of breathing seems like an effort to him, like something he must force past the knot in his chest.

His jaw is hard, teeth pressed together in a pressure you can almost hear.

Rigid shoulders don’t really move with his breaths, as if the guilt inside of him has turned to iron and settled deep in his bones.

Every inch of him seems to be screaming with the need to undo something that has already been done.

His blue eyes are flooded with regret. With something heavier than guilt, something closer to self-loathing.

It feels like he is bleeding grief.

And it would have been easier if he didn’t care so much.

Because if he was indifferent, if he brushed it off, if he let you go, then at least you could pretend this didn’t mean anything. At least you could convince yourself that this arrangement was just that - an arrangement. A convenient thing. A way to feel wanted without asking for more.

But this makes it impossible to lie to yourself.

This makes it impossible to stop falling for him over and over again.

And that is what really hurts, what dives deep into your insides to carve out a room and stays there.

His fingers brush over your knee as he cleans.

And then, after a long, silent moment, he speaks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His voice is rough. Not accusing. Not angry. Just wounded. Pained.

He lets out a sharp breath, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. He looks away for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut as if blocking out what he did to you.

His gaze flicks back up to yours and the way he looks at you nearly takes you apart.

“Why didn’t you stop me, doll?” His voice breaks, as if it physically pains him to say it. “I- Jesus, I- why didn’t you tell me?”

You shake your head, your throat tight, trying to find the words. Trying to explain. But the shame, the embarrassment make it hard to pull in a full breath, making it impossible to speak.

Bucky waits.

And again, that makes it worse.

Because he is patient with you, even now. Even when he desperately searches you for something, when he looks like he wants to rip himself apart with his bare hands.

He is still waiting for you, waiting for you to think about your answer.

You push past the lump in your throat and force up something. “I didn’t want to ruin it,” you admit quietly.

His brows pull further together, face twisting. His hand stays on your knee. “Ruin what?”

You exhale shakily, your fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. “For you,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to ruin it for you. I just- I wanted you to feel good.”

Bucky might have stopped breathing in front of you. Might have just died and come back in the same second.

A sound leaves him. You can’t make out if it is a word or something else, but it is deep and gravelly and it slams into your chest like a fist.

His head dips forward, his hands flexing into fists on his thighs before he drags them over his face. The stained cloth lay discarded.

He shakes his head, not believing what he is hearing. Not even knowing what to do with himself.

He looks at you again. His eyes are darker now. So full of pain.

“Doll,” he breathes, and the way he says it - like it hurts him, like it breaks him - have you staring at him helplessly. “You think I’d rather you suffer through it? That I’d rather have you- have you just take it? That I’d rather get off than-” He stops. He has to stop. His breath hitches in a gasp. His fists shake. “Fuck.”

You can’t look at him.

You want to. But you can’t.

Because he is too much.

Because he is everything.

Because he is making it impossible to pretend like this isn’t something more than what it is.

There is a deep, pulling sensation in your stomach, a hand reaching inside and twisting and turning everything around.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. Your bottom lip trembles and you fight against tears welling up in your eyes.

Bucky moves instantly.

He is on you in a heartbeat, as close as he can possibly get, as if he could crawl into your skin if it meant keeping you from hurting.

His head shakes, frantic, desperate. “No, hey- no.”His voice sounds like it has been dragged over broken glass. Fractured.

“Don’t apologize, baby. Please, don’t.” He cups your face, his palms warm against your skin. He forces your eyes to his, refuses to let you look away, refuses to let you hide in your shame.

His brows are pulled together, his jaw is tight. His entire body vibrates with something fierce.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who is. I’m the one who needs to apologize.”

His thumb catches a tear.

His hands tighten, like he can physically hold all of you.

“God, I gotta apologize, baby,” he breathes, and the sheer pain in his voice has your heart pounding. “I shouldn’t have- I should’ve never let you think this was all it was.” His fingers flex against your face and he drags in a breath that seems to hurt him.

His forehead almost touches yours.

“I should’ve told you,” he croaks out, words something like a confession. “That first night. That next morning. Should’ve told you then. Should’ve never let you leave thinkin’-” He stops himself, his eyes so blue, so damn intense, burning into yours with something so vulnerable it has your ribs crack open.

He regains a firmness in his voice when he speaks next.

“I should’ve never let you walk out thinkin’ you were just some good time to me.”

You choke on your next breath.

Your mind blanks.

He shakes his head, like he hates himself.

“I thought-” He exhales and rubs a hand over his jaw, his stubble rasping against his palm. “You were gone so fast that first time, baby. So fast. And I- I thought maybe that’s how you wanted it. Maybe that’s all it was for you. It broke my heart, but hell, I thought that’s all I was gonna get. And I didn’t wanna risk it. Risk losin’ that with you.”

You didn’t feel your lips part. You just know that they are gaping.

Words are lost on you.

Bucky’s hands slide down your arms, squeeze at your elbows, needing to ground himself, needing to feel you solid beneath his fingers. His thumb brushes over your pulse point, as if trying to memorize the beat of it.

His voice lowers. Softens.

“But I can’t do this anymore.”

His fingers tighten.

“Not- not like this.” He swallows hard. “Not when it’s hurtin’ you. Not when I-” His throat tries to work around the words, his gaze searching. “Not when I’m hurtin’ you, and giving you the impression you’d just have to take it. That you couldn’t tell me to stop when you need me to.”

His voice splinters.

You stare into the glossy sheen of his eyes and only see sincerity and the utter despair he is in.

Something pushes against your ribs, trying to carve out space where none existed before. A deep heat blooms low, not the kind that you knew to ignite in the dark between tangled sheets and intertwined limbs, but something slower, something deeper.

“I left that morning because I thought it’s what you wanted, Bucky.” Your voice wavers, but you hold his gaze, watching the way his entire body tenses, the way his brows draw together.

Your hands move to his shirt, nails pressing into it, eyes moving away from his, but he keeps them on you so firmly.

“I was scared,” you admit quietly. “I was scared you would wake up, look at me, and regret it. That you’d think it was a mistake. And then, you never asked me to stay-” You swallow hard, blinking rapidly to slow the tears. “And I thought that meant I was right. That you didn’t want me to.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide.

He looks broken.

His body jerks forward as if you hit him. His mouth is parted and his lips are trembling. His throat works words up.

You watch as something dark and agonizing moves through him. He blinks fast, breathes in sharp, and exhales even sharper.

Then he shakes his head, over and over again, lips moving to a curse he doesn’t speak out loudly. His hands adjust themselves on your skin.

“You thought I wanted you to leave?”

The sheer disbelief, the sheer devastation in his voice makes your chest cave in on itself.

“I-” You try to answer, try to explain, but he continues.

“No. No, sweetheart, no.” His hands slide down, gripping your arms, your hands, begging you to listen. “I never- Fuck. I never wanted you to leave.”

His eyes are wild, urgent, stormy.

“I wanted you to stay. Every damn time. But I thought it’s what you wanted.” His voice hitches, his shoulders rigid with tension. “You were gone so fast, doll, you didn’t even-” He swallows, his expression shattering. “I figured you didn’t wanna wake up next to me.”

You feel everything crack open inside you.

Your pulse hammers in your throat, in your wrists, in your ears, in the very tips of your fingers, both in a wild and certain way.

“You never told me to stay,” you whisper.

Bucky’s face contorts in pain.

“I was terrified,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against yours. “Terrified that if I asked, you’d tell me no. And I- I couldn’t-” He exhales a profound breath, shaking his head. “I couldn’t stand hearin’ that, doll. I couldn’t stand losing even the little of you I had.”

Something harsh tugs at your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You had it all wrong.

And so did he.

You want to laugh, maybe, or cry, or press your hands to his face just to make sure this moment is real, to make sure he won’t take back what he just told you.

You let out a shaky breath. A finger lifts gradually and brushes against his jaw. He leans into your touch like he is starving for it.

“I always wanted to stay,” you whisper, voice breaking.

Bucky’s breath stutters, his fingers twitching against you. His lips are parted.

With a long and drawn-out breath he moves to cup the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you to him.

His lips press against your forehead, once, twice, a third time, his breath warm and unsteady against your skin.

“I fucked up,” he mutters, voice thick with regret.

You shake your head, but he won’t have it.

“No, baby. I shoulda told you from the start. I should’ve never let you walk out that door.” Another kiss. Another released breath. “But you ain’t walkin’ out now. Not this time. Not ever. M’ not gonna let you.”

His voice is low and rough, filled with something sore.

“You’re stayin’ right here.”

You pull him in, needing him closer, needing his arms around you and his warmth against you.

And Bucky melts.

Completely, he folds into you. His arms wrap around your body, pressing against the small of your back, fingers digging in like he needs to feel you.

He buries his face into your hair, leaving kisses there, his breath strained against your scalp. He smells like soap, like something faintly sweet, like safety.

His hand smoothes over your back, tracing slow and grounding patterns, memorizing every inch of you, needing you to be okay.

“How do you feel, baby? You still hurtin’?” he whispers against your temple.

Your stomach flips at the care in his voice. How much he wants to know. How much he needs to know.

You hesitate for a second, words sticking to your tongue.

Bucky pulls back slightly, enough to look at you. His eyes sweep over your face, over every tiny micro-expression, over every little glimmer of pain you can’t quite hide.

His gaze drops lower, assessing you, thoroughly. The bleeding seems to have stopped and relief washes over his features. But it’s fleeting.

“I’m okay,” you assure, even though the soreness still lingers, the ache still exists beneath your skin.

Bucky gives you a warning look.

“It only hurts a little.”

Bucky closes his eyes for a beat, and when he looks at you again, you get uneasy. It seems he wasn’t quite done with confessing things.

“Please don’t do that again, baby. Don’t ever put me before you like that. Don’t ever let me hurt you just ‘cause you think it’s what I want. I could never feel good at the cost of your hurtin’.”

His face is twisted with pain, the idea of you suffering in silence unbearable to him.

He is looking at you like you are everything.

“I promise, Buck,” you tell him reverently. Softly. “But I really am okay.”

“Doll.” His voice is low, firm. “We need to get you checked out. We ain’t just sittin’ on this and hopin’ it’s fine. We’re going to the ER.”

You sigh.

“Bucky-”

“Not up for discussion,” he retorts, shaking his head. There is tension around his mouth, pulling it taut. “We’ll let a doc check you over, and gonna let ‘em tell us you’re okay. And if you’re not, we’re gonna figure out what to do. But we won’t ignore this, sweetheart. Not when it’s you. Not when you’re in pain and bleedin’.”

Your chest is filling with something warm, something fond, something that hurts and heals all at once.

Still, you try. “It’s better now, Buck-”

He doesn’t even let you finish.

He is already moving, already reaching for clothes. He grabs a new pair of his boxers for you to pull on, seemingly not caring about the remnants of blood that will stain them, along with sweats and one of his hoodies.

And before you can argue, or can even fully process what he is doing, he dresses you in those clothes and immediately lifts you into his arms when he is done.

His hands are strong, gentle, so cautious, one cradling your back, the other under your knees. He holds you like you weigh nothing, but also like you are the most precious thing in the world.

You let out a startled noise, but Bucky shushes you tenderly, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple.

“I got you, baby,” he soothes, voice so warm and full of something so achingly deep you don’t know how to hold it.

But you try to.

Because you want to.

“Real love doesn’t meet you at your best. It meets you in your mess.”

- J.S. Park

[buckyalpine]

Imagine feeling needy and sad when Bucky pays more attention to your very round, pregnant tummy instead of you. I mean he doesn't actually. You're his entire world and you come first no matter what but currently, you feel like the little super soldier you're carrying is getting much more love than you.

"How's my little plum" Bucky cooed, peppering kisses all over your tummy, snuggling against your skin after coming back from a mission. 2 weeks had never felt longer and you were craving your husband more than ever. As soon as you heard the rumble of the jet, you waddled from your room as best as you could, panting out of breath by the time you reached the living room.

You couldn't wait to have your Bucky safe in your arms again, giggling at the way he tossed his bag and jacket to the side haphazardly, running straight to you. You braced yourself for an attack and flurry of hugs and kisses he always greeted you with but it never came.

You squeaked as he picked you up and set you on the couch, lifting your shirt up to curl up with your belly, sighing contently as his scruffy cheek pressed against your warm skin. You brought your hand down to play with his soft cropped hair, longing to feel his arms hold you, his warm lips all over your face, his sweet words of how much he missed you and how happy he was to be back home with you again. Instead, the tiny soldier in your belly was hogging up all the time with his daddy.

Of course it was ridiculous. You knew Bucky loved you more than anything else in the world; he doted on you all the time, you were the most precious thing in this life. He adored you more than ever, worshipping your every being and ever since you'd told him he was going to be a father, he'd fallen in love with you more. You were giving him the family he dreamed of with his dream girl, you trusted him, you were carrying his little baby.

You will always be everything to him.

Yet you couldn't help but feel a little left out of the welcome party, your throat feeling tight, eyes starting to fill with tears. You missed him soo much and he was still busy nuzzling into your tummy, but not busy enough to miss the whimper that slipped past your lips.

"Baby?" Bucky's head shot up as soon as he heard what sounded like a cry but it couldn't be. His eyes filled with worry when he saw your sweet fallen face, indeed crying and poorly hiding it. "Why are you crying angel, what happened, is everything okay?"

His mind started to run a hundred miles a minute, ready to swoop you away to the med wing when shook your head, another wave of tears pooling when he reached out to wipe your cheeks.

"It's silly" You shrug with a sniffle but Bucky isn't having it.

"Tell me what's wrong baby" his baby blues pled with you, waiting to fix what was wrong because why was his perfect angel sad.

"I didn't get a hello kiss" You say with a pout and Bucky found himself stuck between wanting to cry and loving you more.

"I'm sorry, mama" Bucky coos, scooping you right up into his arms, cupping your cheek and placing a kiss onto your nose. Then your forehead. "M'sorry" He places a gently kiss to your still pouted lips, repeatedly peppering kisses till he hears you giggle. "You deserve all the hello kisses angel"

"I thought you didn't miss me" You whisper with your face pressed against his neck, breathing in his scent, all the anxiety you felt with him gone washing away in an instant.

"I missed you more than you know, baby" His lips move against your hair, "How could I not miss the pretty girl I fell so in love with, you're it for me"

He kept you in his arms, his hand slipping up your shirt to rub your back, the simple action nearly lulling you to sleep. He picks you up with ease, deciding to run a bath because he doesn't want to be away from your side for another minute and he keeps himself glued to you the entire time. Your back is against his chest, his hands coming up to massage your tense shoulders, kissing down your neck. He doesn't let go when it's time to rinse off, standing with both hands over your tummy as the hot water cascades over you both. He gets you dried off with a nice fluff towel before taking you to bed to sleep, frowning when you shuffled around in discomfort.

"I think your little plum misses you" You giggled between a squeak as baby Bucky kicked in your tummy, refusing to sleep until he heard his daddy's voice say goodnight. You gave him a pointed look as Bucky grinned, shimmying down the bed to rest between your legs at eyelevel with your belly. "Come talk to your son please"

"Quit kicking your ma" Bucky whispered, his metal hand patting the area where his baby boys tiny feet caused a ruckus, "time to let mommy rest, plum"

"Unbelievable" you huffed as the kicking stopped immediately, your little one settling contently while you also got comfortable against Bucky's chest. "So in love with his daddy"

"He gets it from you" Bucky smiled down at your content form, already half asleep, snug in his arms, "Pretty angel"

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Favourite Surprise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I look?”

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

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

“This is gonna hurt-”

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

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

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

“Oh, fuck.”

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

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

“Do you?”

“Do I really have any choice?”

“No, I guess not.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Couldn’t you have warned me?”

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

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

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

You nodded. “I can try.”

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

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

“She’s lost a lot of blood, Sam.”

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

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

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

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Keep her awake, Buck.”

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

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

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

You forced them open but not for long. 

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

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

“I’ll try, Buck.”

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

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

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

And he did that for three days. 

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

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

“He’s been awake for two days.”

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

“How long have I been out?”

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

“And him?”

“Never left your side.” 

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

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

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

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

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

He looked around. 

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I’m okay. I’m awake, right?”

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

“I’m okay because you saved my life.”

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

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

But the way he was looking at you now…

No danger. Just pure relief. 

And without thinking, you took the plunge. 

Leaning forward, you kissed him. 

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

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

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

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Fingerprints

main masterlist | marvel masterlist

summary: bucky remembers every time your fingers graze his skin

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of torture, bucky is touch starved

timeline: set in an au after civil war

author’s note: touch starved!bucky barnes is so heartbreaking </3. (picture this bucky during the story, but he has the vibranium arm)

Bucky remembered every bad thing he did as the Winter Soldier. Like scars on his soul, he remembered watching the life drain from their eyes. He remembered every grueling torture session Hydra subjected him to.

He hated how well he remembered his past, and it haunted him nightly. The only thing that was keeping him sane was… you.

He had met you several months ago during the mess with the Sokovia Accords, but he’d only really known you a couple of weeks now. The moment he re-met you, your kind nature swept him off his feet. Up until then, he’d only received kindness from the Wakandans and Steve. But here you were, a stranger who only knew his worst sides, yet you were so gentle with him, so soft-spoken.

**

“Morning sunshine,” you chirped from the compound’s kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?” you asked Bucky as he sat down at the kitchen island, facing where you stood.

“Slept fine,” he replied. His eyes were tired, burdened with the memories of the nightmares last night had taunted him with. He kept his focus on you. He watched as you stirred creamer into your coffee and as you blew on it through pursed lips to cool it down.

“You okay?” you asked, noticing how intensely he was watching you. 

“I’m fine,” he repeated the word.

“Uh huh, sure hun.” You nodded your head. “Want some coffee?”

“Yes please.”

“Coming right up.”

You grabbed a Stark Industries mug from the cabinet and poured him some coffee. After asking if he wanted any you poured in some creamer as well. You slid the cup across the counter and your fingers brushed his knuckles as he took it.

“Thanks, doll,” he said. He wasn’t just thanking you for the drink, he was thanking you for the fingerprints you left on his right hand, the hand that now held the warm cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, wanting to keep the conversation going but unable to think of a topic change.

“I slept fine,” you replied in a lowered voice, mimicking his. The impression worked because he let out a short laugh.

**

Bucky thought about this short interaction all day. He thought about it as he trained in the gym and as he took a quick shower afterward. He thought about it as he fell asleep that night; he thought about your soft hand brushing his calloused one. He tried to focus on the thought of you as he drifted off the sleep, yet his dreams were still plagued with ghosts of his past.

The next few mornings went about the same.

“How’d you sleep?” you’d ask.

“Fine,” he would respond.

You would ask him if he wanted coffee and he always did. You’d give him the cup and each time lightly brush his hand with the tips of your fingers.

It was barely an interaction. But to Bucky? He looked forward to it. He looked forward to the soft touch of your hand, he looked forward to the smile lines that would deepen when he made you laugh, and he looked forward to the brief conversation the two of you shared each morning.

One morning was different for Bucky, though. He could barely get himself out of bed; images of his dreams still swirling in his mind. He all but collapsed onto the kitchen chair as he sat to speak with you.

“Whoa, you don’t look so good, Bucky. You alright?” you asked, your voice laced with concern and kindness. 

“Just didn’t sleep great, that’s all,” he grumbled, slightly slurring his words.

You shrugged it off and began making his coffee just how he liked it. When you handed it to him, your fingers brushed against him like they had done mornings prior. He savored the moment of skin-to-skin contact before it was broken again.

He thanked you and began sipping the coffee. You watched him intently as he did so.

“What’s wrong, Bucky?” you asked him after a beat of silence.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he protested.

“Are you sick?” you asked. You walked around the island table and stood closer to him. “Can I touch you?” you asked as you brought your hand up to cup his cheek.

He couldn’t believe his ears. You’d just asked for his consent to do something to him; something as gentle as touching his cheek.

He couldn’t get the word out fast enough; “Y-Yes.”

You quickly put your hand on his cheek and furrowed your brows with concentration. You then put the back of your hand against his forehead.

“You don’t seem to have a fever,” you commented.

It was official; Bucky was in heaven. He was relishing in the feeling of your touch. Your left hand on his forehead, your right hand resting on his shoulder. He felt like he had been in darkness for ages and had only now begun to see pure light. 

It was over too soon when you pulled back.

“Maybe you need some more sleep, Bucky,” you suggested.

**

It’d been two weeks since Bucky’s favorite moment with you. Since then he’d barely gotten alone time with you; it was always interrupted by Sam or Steve coming into the kitchen for breakfast. 

He cursed the timing; he’d sit down just as Sam and Steve entered the kitchen, completely disrupting the routine he had going.

Today was no different.

“Morning gorgeous,” Sam exclaimed when he walked into the kitchen. “You make me those pancakes again?”

“You know it, stud.”

Bucky hated the “will they, won’t they” tension you two seemed to have going. He didn’t know you both swore up and down it was platonic flirting.

“You’re too good to me, baby.” Sam smiled widely.

Bucky stared daggers at him, wishing the earth would swallow himself or Sam up whole, anything to put an end to this torment.

But then you glanced his way and suddenly all his annoyance dissipated. The color of your eyes, hair, and lips under the harsh kitchen lighting made him feel like the luckiest man in the world just to be in your presence. 

“Bucky, you want some?” you offered him a plate with two pancakes. He happily accepted yet your fingers didn’t brush his hand when you gave it to him. Stupid plate, being big enough for two people to hold onto at the same time. 

He began eating the pancakes along with Steve and Sam.

“Goddamn these are good,” Sam practically moaned dramatically. “You are an angel, woman.”

“Oh stop it,” you laughed off his comment. Bucky hated feeling so jealous of Sam. 

**

The next time Bucky touched you was during a sparring session in the gym. Several trainees along with Sam, Steve, Wanda, and Nat were paired up and fighting each other. You were partnered with Bucky, Steve was partnered with Wanda, and Sam was partnered with Nat.

You threw a punch and he blocked it just as you expected, you kicked at him and again he blocked it. 

After a while, Steve yelled “Switch,” which meant it was Bucky’s turn to play offense. 

As he was punching you missed a block and he punched you square in the cheek with his vibranium hand.

“Fuck,” you gasped, covering your right cheek with both hands. “Oh fuck, that hurts!”

Bucky hadn’t felt such pure, immediate guilt in so long.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly. “Shit, fuck, I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s okay, not your fault,” you said between pained gasps. While you were a trained fighter and Avenger, you weren’t a super soldier. And without powers, a vibranium punch hurts like hell.

Bucky wanted to punch himself in return for hurting you. He wished to take the bruise forming on your cheekbone and give it to himself instead.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, sounding defeated.

He had been so excited to be partnered with you for training, he had been looking forward to it for days (Steve put the pair schedules up early) but now he wished you had been paired up with Sam instead.

“Let me kiss it better,” he could imagine Sam saying if he had made the same mistake. The bruise wouldn’t be half as big if it had been Sam’s left hand instead of his own. He could imagine Sam would pull you into a hug to express his apologetic sorrow, yet Bucky assumed you’d rather not get a hug from himself.

“Not your fault,” you told him again. You could tell by the expression on his face what he was putting himself through. “Make it up to me by walking me to the freezer for some ice?”

He was shocked by your words. You wanted him to accompany you to the gym’s kitchen? You weren’t going to immediately run to Sam and ask him for help instead?

“Of course,” he said. “Anything you need.”

“Ice that wound, Y/n,” Steve said from a few yards away.

“Already on it, Cap,” you replied.

**

You sat on a bench inside the gender-neutral lockers with Bucky on your left. You held the ice up to your cheek as you both stayed silent for a while.

“I’m really sorry, doll,” Bucky whispered, wanting to break what he felt was an uncomfortable silence.

“I forgive you, Bucky,” you said. You wished he could understand it wasn't his fault, but at the very least you wanted him to know you forgave him. “Besides, it was kinda my fault for not blocking that punch, I should’ve seen it coming a mile away.”

“I thought I went too quickly,” he admitted.

Truthfully, he hadn’t in fact thrown too quick of a punch. In reality, you had been distracted by the color of his eyes under the gym’s harsh lighting. The way they shone such a beautiful, bright blue had you so mesmerized you failed to block the (fairly slow because Bucky was going easy on you) punch.

“Not at all, hun,” you assured him.

Again you both sat in silence. You didn’t mind it, you didn’t mind Bucky’s company. Bucky, however, felt awful about the silence and thought it was a sign you didn't want to talk to him. 

“Can you do me a favor?” you asked. “It’s kinda a big one so feel free to say no.”

“Sure,” he replied. “Anything for you, Y/n,” he wanted to say.

“My hands are getting really numb, would you mind holding the ice pack for a bit?”

“Okay,” he said. You turned to face him, moving your left leg so you were straddling the bench as Bucky did the same with his right leg. The two of you now faced each other as Bucky asked; “Can I touch you?”

That warmed your heart and you nodded.

He reached out his vibranium arm and cupped the ice pack against your cheek as you let go of it. You smiled warmly and put your hand overtop his.

“B-Better?” he asked, his nerves running wild.

“So much.”

**

The punch had sent your relationship with Bucky back lightyears. Every time you talked with him he couldn’t help but stare at the swollen bruise he’d caused.

It bothered you how guilty he still felt even after you willingly took the blame. You could tell he was losing sleep over it so one night you decided to confront him while he stayed up past three AM.

“Bucky, what’re you doing up so late?” you asked, walking into one of the living rooms and seeing him sitting in the corner reading a book. “Is everything okay?”

You took a seat near him on the couch, your brows furrowed with worry.

“Could ask you the same thing, doll,” he retorted.

“I’m serious, Bucky, I’m worried about you.”

“You’re worried about me? Why?”

“Cause I’ve noticed how tired you are when you talk to me each morning, and I notice how you strain yourself trying to focus when you look at me.”

“You don’t have to worry ‘bout me, I’m fine.”

“I know I don’t have to, Bucky,” you said softly. “I worry about you because I care about you.”

“You… care about me?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” you replied quickly and reached out your hand. “Can I touch you?” He nodded and you rested it on his knee. “You matter, Bucky. Your health matters. And if you wanna talk about whatever’s keeping you up, I’m here for you.”

Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off your hand. 

“Thank you,” was all he could choke out. 

**

He eventually began to open up to you. Bit by bit, night by night, you were truly getting to know the great Lieutenant James Barnes.

The more you got to know him the deeper in love with him you fell. You felt selfish for wanting to kiss the pain away, but you couldn’t help it. All you wanted to do was hold him tight till he fell asleep in your arms. But that’s not what he wanted, you assumed. He seemed to be barely okay with the brief touches up till this point.

Whenever you could, whenever you weren’t too exhausted, you would stay up with him. A couple of times you both ended up sleeping on the couch because you fell asleep and Bucky didn’t feel right moving you without your permission. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep next to you, but it happened anyway.

One night you went to speak with him like you had done before but this time was different.

You stood in front of where he sat and when he looked up at you the light caught the glint in his eyes and made you aware of his tear-stained face. 

“Can I touch you?” you asked, just as you had done time and time again.

“Always,” he replied. You cupped his face with your hands. 

“Is this okay?” you asked, hands moving to tangle with his hair. 

“It’s more than okay,” he replied, leaning on your stomach as he brought his hands to rest on your hips. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t merely thanking you for staying up with him, but for the fingerprints you were leaving on his very soul. The lingering feeling of your soft touch on his trauma-filled skin.

He didn’t dare tell you about his most recent dream — a dream in which the Winter Soldier took your life.

[vunblr]

Toy Soldier (part 1)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings:Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Eventual Smut. Dark Content: Sexual Assault Wounds (Bucky). Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con (both characters as victims).

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Word Count: 5.6.k.

notes: Even though this fic will include the tone I usually maintain in my stories, there will be flashbacks to unpleasant events that might be triggering. Please read the warnings carefully, and if I’ve missed any, feel free to let me know. More tags will be added in the future.

The cell reeked of bleach and iron, a suffocating blend of sterility and blood. She sat huddled in a corner with her knees drawn to her chest, shaking from the lingering aftershocks of what they had made her do mere hours ago. A steel table in the center of the room bore the evidence: blood-soaked rags, reinforced restraints, and instruments that glinted menacingly under the harsh light.

The door creaked open, and she flinched instinctively. Her pulse quickened as they rolled him in on a gurney, his body was impossibly broken again, but somehow, still alive. The Winter Soldier. His mask was cracked, exposing a bruised cheekbone, his metallic arm hung at an unnatural angle, wires sparking like dying fireflies. His tactic suit was shredded, revealing deep gashes that glistened with dark blood.

"Fix him," the handler barked, void of empathy. He tossed a clipboard onto the table, detailing every injury, every broken bone, every expectation to her work. "We need him ready by morning."

She didn’t move at first. She never did. But the familiar press of a gun muzzle against her temple jolted her into action. They didn’t tolerate hesitation.

Her bare feet slapped against the cold tiles as she approached the table. Soldat’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his blue eyes were half-lidded and glassy, staring past her into the abyss. She wondered, briefly, if he even felt the pain anymore, or if the agony had simply become a part of him, stitched into his body like the scars of the wounds she was forced to erase.

She laid her trembling hands over his chest, cutting the remnants of the suit and rushing her power forward like a tide, knitting sinew, mending fractures, restoring what should have been allowed to rest. His body convulsed as the healing process awakened raw nerve endings. He groaned low in his throat, a sound of both relief and torment and her eyes burned with unshed tears.

"Good pet," the handler sneered, patting her head, "Keep going."

As the minutes dragged into hours, her hands moved mechanically, weaving muscle and bone back into place. Every touch drew more from her, siphoning her strength to pour life into a body that shouldn’t be able to withstand such brutality. The process left her light-headed, and her vision started blurring at the edges, but she didn’t dare falter. They would notice. They always noticed.

As her hands pressed over a jagged wound on his side, a faint tremor ran through his body. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven, and his eyes fluttered open. Glassy and unfocused at first, they slowly, impossibly, found her. A vacant gaze, yet somehow piercing, locked onto her face as if trying to understand who she was and what she was doing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words spilling out before she could stop them. She kept her voice low, trembling, her fingers brushing the edge of the wound as she worked. “I don’t want to do this. I’m sorry.”

His gaze didn’t falter, even as she murmured the apology again, with a cracking voice. He didn’t speak -he probably couldn’t- but the weight of his stare felt like an answer. He knew. Somehow, he knew.

More time passed, and the room emptied. The guards left her alone with him, trusting her to finish her work under the ever-present cameras. The sterile silence closed in around them. She wiped the sweat from her brow and whispered again, “I’m sorry,” her voice breaking completely now. “I’m sorry for all of it.”

Soldat blinked slowly, almost as if acknowledging her words, but his body remained still. Her fingers lingered over his shoulder where fresh skin covered what had been a deep gash, and couldn’t stop herself from caressing his bloodied temple before going back to mend him.

By the time she finished, her legs felt like water, barely holding her upright. The Soldat’s breathing had evened, the jagged cuts on his skin replaced by fresh, pale scars. His metal arm still hung limp, but it wasn’t her area of expertise. He looked human again, or as close to human as Hydra would ever allow him to be. She allowed herself to caress him again as if that gentle touch could make up for what her actions on his body entailed, his endless torment.

When the door creaked open, the spell was broken. The handler barked a question she didn’t hear over the roaring in her ears. Then he stepped forward, inspecting her work with a critical eye. He tugged at Soldat’s extremities and poked his body, then he turned to her with a smile that chilled her blood.

“Well done,” he said, sickeningly sweet. “See? You’re still useful. You’ve earned yourself another day.”

The words felt like a slap, a grim reminder of her reality. She wasn’t a person to them. She was a tool, an extension of their will, just as much a prisoner as the man she had just saved. Her power was her curse, chaining her to a life of servitude. And for what? To keep the Winter Soldier standing. To ensure he could carry out their dirty work, kill their enemies, and endure whatever horrors they deemed necessary for him to endure.

The handler gestured to the guards. “Take her back. She’ll need her strength for tomorrow.”

They grabbed her arms, dragging her toward the door. Soldat's eyes shifted for a moment, trailing her as they walked her out, his gaze still glazing but faintly flickering with awareness. Then the door slammed behind her, sealing them both back into their respective hells.

----

The cryopreservation always left her disoriented, the passage of time reduced to a murky void of nothingness. Days, months, years, they blurred together into a haze she couldn’t untangle. Based on the count of the meager breakfasts slid through the cell door, it had been two days since they’d pulled her from the tube. Her body still ached from the cold, and the numbness clung stubbornly to her limbs.

When the metallic clank of the cell door jolted her from her thoughts, she instinctively tensed. Two guards stood there, gesturing sharply for her to follow. 

The halls they guided her through were unfamiliar. These weren’t the sterile corridors leading to the medical bay. These walls were darker and the air was heavier, and the faint hum of machinery was replaced by an unsettling silence. Confused, she knit her brows but swallowed the urge to ask.

When they descended a narrow staircase, her stomach sank. The flickering lights cast long shadows against concrete walls. They passed rows of heavy metal doors, each marked with faint rust and grime. No cells with bars, no windows, just solid slabs of steel.

Her breath hitched when they stopped in front of a door near the end of the corridor. One guard yanked it open with a screech that set her teeth on edge. The other shoved her forward, barking a single command: “Fix it.”

The door slammed shut behind her, and the sound echoed in the cramped room. She stood frozen, since the stench hit her like a physical blow: blood, sweat, semen, and something else she couldn’t place.

Her gaze darted around the sparse room. A cot pushed against one wall. A table cluttered with ominous instruments. And in the corner, barely illuminated by the flickering overhead bulb, the Soldat.

Her breath left her in a shaky exhale as she took him in. He was curled into himself, naked, trembling despite the heat radiating from his abused flesh. Blood and cum stained his thighs, while bruises painted his skin in grotesque patterns. His wrists and ankles bore the raw marks of restraints, and burns and welts layered over old scars, turning his body into a tapestry of pain.

But it was his face that shattered her. A blank mask with hollow and distant wet eyes, haunted by whatever horrors had left him in this state.

She forced herself to move. When her shadow fell over him, his head snapped up and his vacant blue eyes locked onto hers. The movement was sharp and instinctive, but he didn’t lash out, didn’t flinch. He simply stared, as though he were looking through her rather than at her.

She paused for a moment, crouching to his level, resting her hands lightly on her knees. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice steady. “I’m here to help you.”

He didn’t respond. The haunted emptiness in his expression pierced her chest. He didn’t deserve this. “I know,” she said softly, inching closer. “I know it hurts. I’ll do what I can.”

She reached for him carefully, brushing his arm. His muscles tensed under her touch, but he didn’t pull away. Gently, she guided his arm away from where he’d been clutching his side, revealing the bruises and burns scattered across his flesh. Her stomach churned, but her hands remained steady. She had no room for hesitation, no time to falter.

As she worked, she whispered to him, not apologies this time, but reassurances. “I’m with you now, I’ll make this right, even if it’s only for now.”

As expected, he didn’t speak, didn’t move beyond the involuntary twitches of his battered body. But his eyes stayed on her, betraying a silent acknowledgment, a fragile thread of trust.

She tried to focus on the burns on his chest, the raw welts along his ribs, anything but the bruises and blood marking his inner thighs. But eventually, she had no choice. The damage there couldn’t be ignored. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she shifted closer, and her hands trembled for the first time that day.

She couldn’t comprehend it. Couldn’t understand how anyone could twist a man into this, into something pliable, stripped of will, used like a puppet for their every vile whim. The red book and the chair had shattered his mind, and then they’d wielded that power not only to carry out their heinous crimes but also to satiate their carnal perversions. 

“Soldat,” she said softly as she crouched closer. “I need to see the rest.”

His chest started to rise and fall in shallow breaths. His lip was caught between his teeth, bitten hard enough to draw blood. The distant, vacant expression he’d worn before had given way to something else now, resignation, or shame.

“I know,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I know it's private -should it be-, and it hurts a lot… but I promise I’ll make it better, yes?”

Her tone was as soft as she could make it, the kind someone might use with a frightened child. For a moment, there was nothing. Then he exhaled and shifted ever so slightly, granting her access. The movement wasn’t much, but it spoke volumes. He didn’t fight her. He didn’t resist. Even now, after everything, he complied.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her hands moved carefully, brushing his battered flesh with as much gentleness as she could muster. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her focus on the healing, not on the tears threatening to spill over. Every touch she had to make felt like another betrayal of his dignity, but she couldn’t leave him like this, they wouldn’t leave him like this.

“It’s not fair,” she said under her breath “Fuck, it’s not fair.”

Every so often, her gaze flicked to his face, but he didn’t look at her this time. His eyes were closed, and his body was eerily still except for the faint shudder of his breathing.

—-

Some days, she wondered if he resented her. If he was even capable of that. She wasn’t the one inflicting the pain, wasn’t the one abusing him, but she was the one who ensured he survived it. She pieced him together, over and over, a cruel kind of mercy that prolonged his torment. Without her, they wouldn’t have been able to keep breaking him the way they did.

It haunted her.

Sometimes, it seemed like he remembered her. On the rare occasions when his body was whole and he wasn’t immediately dragged back out for another mission or another “session,” his vacant gaze would linger on her. Just a flicker of recognition in those haunted blue eyes, something that made her wonder if, somewhere beneath the chaos they’d inflicted on his mind, a part of him knew who she was.

Other times, he didn’t seem to know her at all. He would stare past her like she wasn’t even there. She didn’t know which was worse: the possibility that he hated her or the possibility that he didn’t think of her at all.

-----

Nine years had passed since her escape from their clutches. Nine years since Captain America and his team put down Pierce and dismantled Hydra’s plans,  the Soldat went missing and she got away in the chaos of the fight.

In the early days, survival had been a constant struggle. She’d wandered aimlessly at first, her coarse, prison-like clothes drawing stares from strangers who gave her a wide berth. The world was unrecognizable: a kaleidoscope of flashing screens, roaring cars, and people glued to strange, glowing devices. Everything felt faster, louder, and infinitely more confusing than the world she remembered.

For a couple of days, she kept to the shadows, but the hunger and desperation eventually pushed her to the edge. One night, trembling and exhausted, she walked into a police station. The officer at the front desk glanced at her with a mixture of suspicion and concern, likely wondering if she had escaped from a mental institution. And maybe, in a way, she had. She tried to explain, spilling out her words in a garbled mess of decades-old trauma. She told them about being taken, about Hydra, about the years spent in cryo. The officer raised a skeptical eyebrow and asked her to sit while he "sorted things out."

She knew they didn’t believe her. Not until one of the younger officers, fresh off patrol, walked in with a nasty road burn on his arm. She didn’t think, just acted. In seconds, the wound knitted itself back together under her glowing hands. The room fell silent, every set of eyes fixed on her in a mix of fear and awe.

From there, things moved quickly. The police dug into her story, and to everyone’s shock, her name and photo flagged a cold case from October 1962, a missing person report filed by her family. A woman who had disappeared without a trace, and presumed dead after two years of fruitless searching.

But what the police uncovered was too big for them to handle alone. They passed her case to federal authorities, and soon, she found herself in the hands of people who promised her a fresh start, though she quickly learned that nothing came without strings attached.

The feds helped her establish a new identity, gave her a place to live, and taught her how to navigate the modern world. In exchange, she worked for them using her mutant powers to heal injuries, aid covert operations, and clean up the messes no one else could. 

Still, the past lingered in her mind, haunting her in the quiet moments. She often wondered what had become of the Winter Soldier, since freedom, she realized, was not the same as peace.

In the years that followed, she began piecing the fragments of her past into the puzzle of the present. The world had changed in ways she struggled to comprehend, yet she adapted, carving out a relatively ‘normal’ existence.

Then, one day, she heard his name.

James Buchanan Barnes.

She learned about him in bits and pieces from news reports and whispered conversations among the people she worked with. Steve Rogers' best friend. The Winter Soldier.

The details unfolded like a tragic epic: framed in a terrorist attack, slipping under the radar, fighting in Wakanda, only to vanish in the Blip. And then, five years later, he returned. His face, no longer the blank mask of the Soldat, appeared on screens everywhere as the government pardoned him under strict conditions: mandatory therapy and restricted accommodations, a leash that kept him just shy of true freedom.

She watched every news segment, every interview. He wasn’t the weapon she remembered. There was something different in his eyes. Half-masked pain, certainly, but also humanity. He was trying, struggling to reclaim himself, to exist in a world that only knew him as a ghost or a monster.

It wasn’t an obsession. At least, that’s what she told herself. It was curiosity, concern, a connection she couldn’t sever no matter how hard she tried. Because no one else could understand what they’d been through. No one else had seen the depths of his torment, or felt the same chains biting into their skin.

She hadn’t planned to ever contact him. The idea terrified her. For all she knew, his fractured mind might not even remember her. Worse, maybe he did and resented her for the role she’d played, for the way she’d prolonged his torment under Hydra’s commands. Those thoughts were enough to keep her at a distance, safely watching from the shadows of her new life.

But life and destiny had their ways of unraveling carefully laid plans.

-----

Her work with Sam Wilson had started as another government assignment, one of many designed to keep her powers useful and her secrets buried. Yet, somewhere along the way, it had turned into something more. A friendship. He didn’t know about her past -no one did, actually-. He only knew the version of her life the government had scripted, a fabricated identity polished to perfection.

Leaving that aside, she liked him. He had a way of making her feel less like a displaced ghost and more like a person. Sometimes, they hung out after missions, sharing laughs over beers or stories about the ridiculous situations they found themselves in. And when he came back from a mission bruised or limping, she always tried to help.

That friendship had led her here, to a bustling backyard party, with warm laughter and music filling the air. Sam’s birthday celebration. She had accepted his invitation without thinking much of it, expecting a relaxed evening with a few familiar faces. What she hadn’t expected was to see him.

Standing at the drinks table, not the Winter Soldier, not the cold, empty Soldat she remembered, but James. His shoulders were relaxed, his hair shorter, and his blue eyes clearer than she’d ever seen them. He looked... alive in a way that left her breathless. For a moment, she froze, and her stomach twisted into knots. But there was no turning back now.

Not when he lifted his face after grabbing a glass of soda, only to find her mere inches away, rooted in place and staring at him like a rabbit in the middle of the road.

Her breath caught, and the world around them seemed to fade into a blur of laughter and music as his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers. 

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The faintest flicker of something -recognition? confusion?- crossed his face. The glass in her hand suddenly felt heavy, and she tightened her grip around it as her heart raced.

“H-hi,” she managed to mutter, almost lost beneath the hum of the party.

He tilted his head slightly, deliberately, as if weighing her. For a long, agonizing moment, he simply looked at her with an unreadable expression. Then his lips parted, and a single word escaped from them, low and hoarse.

“You.”

Her stomach dropped while her mind scrambled for a response. Did he remember her? Or was it just the way her face stirred a distant and fractured memory?

“I-” she started, but the words tangled in her throat.

His gaze darted over her, taking her in: the way she clutched the glass like a lifeline, the way her shoulders tensed, the way she made one step back as though retreating was an option.

Sam’s voice cut through the moment, cheerful and oblivious. “Hey, Buck! Flirting already with one of my girls?”

Bucky flinched, the spell breaking as he snapped his gaze toward Sam, stiffening his posture. “I’m not f-”

“Don’t be a dick with her,” Sam interrupted, grinning as if he were the greatest matchmaker alive. “She’s good people. Y/n, this is Bucky, a pain in the ass but a good friend. Bucky, this is Y/n.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his expression still unreadable as his eyes flicked back to her. He didn’t speak, didn’t offer a hand or a smile, just narrowed his eyes slightly, like he was trying to solve a riddle only he could see.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her instincts screamed at her to move, to flee, to escape his scrutiny before his fractured memories pieced her together.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and forced her lips into what she hoped was a polite and not-too-awkward smile. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice much steadier than she felt.

Bucky studied her for a moment longer. Finally, he gave a slight nod, stepping back as though he’d decided she wasn’t worth the effort of figuring out. “Yeah. Same,” he muttered before turning to leave.

As he moved away, she exhaled, a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her grip on the glass trembled, the adrenaline coursing through her leaving her both relieved and strangely disappointed.

“Don’t take it personally,” Sam intervened, leaning in with a knowing smirk. “He specializes in a heterogeneous game of staring, brooding, and groaning. Dry comments here and there, too.”

She let out a soft, nervous laugh, grateful for the break in tension. “Good to know,” she murmured, still gripping the glass tightly.

Sam patted her shoulder with the easy camaraderie of someone who had no idea the weight of the moment that had just passed. “He’s not so bad once you get past all the walls. Might take a while to crack that nut, but hey, who knows?”

-----

Two months later, Sam called her for a job.

“It’s a simple mission,” he’d explained. “Poland. The higher-ups want you to stay at the safehouse most of the time in case something goes wrong, but if we need someone to move unnoticed -play tourist, fetch intel- they figured you’re our best bet.”

She hesitated for a beat, her instincts screaming at her to say no this time. But she had never ditched a mission before and Sam will be there, so she agreed.

When she climbed aboard the military plane early the next morning, with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she almost turned around and fled.

Bucky was already sitting there, strapped into his seat, with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was as closed off as ever, and his gaze was fixed somewhere on the cabin wall. Her stomach dropped, and before her brain could process what she was doing, she turned sharply on her heel and headed straight for the cockpit.

The pilots greeted her with raised brows, clearly surprised to see her there before takeoff. She forced a nervous smile, chatting with them about flight logistics, weather conditions, anything to stretch the time and delay the inevitable.

“Shouldn’t you be back in the cabin?” one of them asked eventually, glancing at her curiously.

“Just thought I’d keep you company,” she replied, slightly strained.

The hum of the plane’s engines growing louder reminded her she couldn’t hide forever. She exhaled deeply, gripping the doorframe. Maybe, she could slip into some corner, unnoticed once the plane was in the air.

But life wasn’t so kind.

“Sam’s voice came loud and clear, calling her. “C’mon, you’re holding us up!”

Bucky’s head turned, locking his sharp gaze onto her the moment she entered. His expression didn’t shift -no frown, no surprise- but what she saw in those blue eyes made her knees threaten to buckle.

She forced herself to take a steadying breath. “Hi,” she greeted the two men quickly, her voice barely above a murmur, before moving to the furthest seat she could find.

Her hands fumbled as she pulled a book from her bag, flipping it open without even checking the page. She pretended to read, scanning the same line over and over as if the words might somehow shield her from the weight of Bucky’s stare.

Sam furrowed his brows, glancing between them with a mix of confusion and curiosity. He’d been prepared for the usual brooding and disagreements from Bucky -his default settings on most missions- but he’d expected her to be more engaged. She’d always been sharp and chatty, quick to offer solutions or crack a joke, but now she seemed... distant.

He leaned toward Bucky, “Did you scare her off already before I got here?”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed sidelong glance. “I didn’t say a word.”

Sam, determined to break the awkward silence, leaned back in his seat and raised his voice. “Alright, we’re stuck in this tin can for the next few hours. Someone better start talking, or I’m gonna make us all play twenty questions.”

She forced a small smile, though her eyes remained glued to the book. “You win. I’m reading.”

He huffed dramatically, shaking his head. “Tough crowd.” Then he turned back to Bucky. “Guess it’s just you and me, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t respond, his gaze flicking toward her briefly before settling on the wall ahead. His expression remained impassive, but his metal fingers tapped against his thigh, the only sign of some internal debate.

-----

After a while, Sam, ever persistent, leaned forward, and turned to her “So,” he started, casually but probing, “you ever been to Poland in other mission before? Got any recommendations for pierogi spots or are we flying blind here?”

She hesitated, tightening slightly her fingers on the edge of her book. Avoiding interaction had been her plan, but the pointed look Sam sent her way made it clear he wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

Finally, she closed the book with a soft sigh, forcing herself to meet his expectant gaze. “No, never been,” she replied, cautious. “Though I think I read somewhere Kraków’s old town is nice.”

Sam grinned, seizing the opportunity. “Kraków, huh? I’ll take that as a vote to play tourist if we get the chance. “Maybe you can even guide us, seeing as you’re good at blending in.”

“I doubt we’ll have time, Sammy,” she said quickly, trying to deflect.

“Oh, come on,” Sam teased, leaning back in his seat with an exaggerated grin. “You’re one of the friendliest people I know. You’ll probably charm us into some exclusive spots. Earn your keep!”

She let out a soft, nervous laugh, shaking her head. “I think you’ve mistaken ‘friendly’ for ‘quiet enough not to get in trouble.’”

Sam smirked, undeterred. “Nah, you’ve got that vibe. People trust you, and open up to you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you walk away with more intel than anyone else.”

Her fingers tensed slightly on the edge of her book, but she forced herself to smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment... I think.”

“It is,” Sam replied, his tone warm and easy. “And I’m just saying, if we do get downtime, we’re counting on you to find the good spots.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she managed to say, though her stomach churned under Bucky’s relentless stare.

He hadn’t said a word, but the weight of his gaze made every exchange feel heavier like he was dissecting her responses, searching for cracks in her calm facade. She refused to look at him, focusing instead on Sam’s cheerful grin.

Sam clapped his hands together. “That’s the spirit. See, Buck? She’s already proving more useful than you.”

Bucky huffed, the barest flicker of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before disappearing. “Yeah, well, let’s see if she’s still useful when things go south.”

Her stomach tightened at his words, though she kept her face carefully neutral. It wasn’t outright hostility, but the skepticism in his tone felt like a challenge, a warning wrapped in a dry comment.

Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Man, you’ve gotta work on your people skills. Not everyone you meet is gonna double-cross you, you know.”

Bucky didn’t respond and bit his lower lip as he looked away, clearly done with the conversation.

She forced a small smile, trying to defuse the tension. “I think he’s just saying I should prove myself first.”

Sam shot her an encouraging look. “You don’t need to prove anything to him. Trust me, you’re good-”

“Sam,” Bucky intervened almost dryly. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. This isn’t sightseeing. It’s a mission. If she’s not-”

“I can handle myself,” she interrupted, managing to keep her voice steady despite the sudden rush of heat to her face.

The fact that she addressed directly to him got Bucky’s attention. He turned, locking his gaze onto hers, and for a moment, the silence between them felt heavier than the thrum of the plane’s engines.

“Guess we’ll find out,” he murmured, leaning back slightly in his seat. He kept staring at her sharply and unyielding. After a beat of silence, he added, “And, actually, what exactly do you do?”

Fuck.

The question wasn’t casual, she could see it in the way his eyes stayed fixed on her, a glint of something just beneath the surface. He knew. He was waiting for her to say it, to confirm what he already remembered but was pretending not to.

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking between them. “Bucky, come on. She’s solid, alright? I wouldn’t bring her along if she wasn’t.”

Bucky didn’t even glance at him. His attention stayed locked on her. “I didn’t say she wasn’t solid. Just curious what her... specialty is.”

She forced herself to take a steadying breath. If he wanted to play coy, fine. Two could play that game.

“I’m good at staying unnoticed,” she said, feigning a casual tone “Recon, blending in, getting intel…” She shrugged lightly, as though explaining her skill set was just a routine part of the job.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in faint amusement. “That it?”

She gave him a polite smile, curling her fingers around the edge of the book on her lap. “Well, I’ve been told I’m handy in a pinch. Let’s just say I’ve got a knack for fixing things.”

His lips quirked, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fixing things, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied smoothly, ignoring the way her heart raced under his scrutiny. “Little cuts, scrapes, that kind of thing. Nothing too fancy.”

Sam, oblivious to the subtle tension between them, chuckled. “Don’t let her undersell it. She devours. Saved my ass more than once, you wouldn’t believe the absolute carnage I've seen her mend.”

“Good to know,” Bucky commented, with his gaze still locked on her. There was something in his eyes -something sharp-, almost daring her to break first, but she didn’t flinch.

“Just doing my job.” She added, her eyes still glued to the unreadable baby blues.

Bucky leaned back, the corner of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to say more but decided against it.

Sam glanced between them. “It's pretty early for a staring contest.”

She didn’t answer; she just smiled at him and returned her focus to the book. He remembered, she was sure of it.

Still, if he wanted her to confirm it outright, he’d have to try harder. For now, she’d play his game, and she was determined to win.

-----

The safehouse was a two-bedroom apartment in an old building that groaned with every step. It was cramped but functional, the kind of place that wouldn’t draw attention. As they settled in, Sam tossed his bag onto one of the worn couches and stretched like a cat.

“Alright,” he said, grinning at her. “Do us all a favor and work your magic in the kitchen. I haven’t had a proper meal in weeks, and I can’t survive on takeout and those protein bars Bucky packs.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. Cooking would give her something to focus on, and it was the perfect excuse to isolate for a couple of hours.

“Fine, let’s see what I can do,” she muttered, scurrying inside the kitchen.

“You’re the best!” Sam called, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll be back soon, gotta meet a contact nearby. You two... play nice.”

The sound of the door closing made her grimace. She exhaled slowly, tying an old apron on her waist as she dug through the sparse pantry and fridge. Within minutes, she was chopping some potatoes, humming Animals while she was at it, because fuck it all.

She felt the weight of his gaze pressed against her back like a physical thing before she heard him. He stood in the kitchen doorway, quiet and unmoving, a presence impossible to ignore.

Her grip on the knife tightened, but she didn’t turn around. “Need something?”

“No.” The simple word carried so much weight that it made her pause mid-cut.

She exhaled slowly and resumed her task. “Then why are you standing there?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretched until it became almost unbearable.

“You’re good at it.”

Her hand froze. “At what?”

“Pretending.”

She forced herself to keep chopping, while her pulse hammered in her ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” His tone didn’t carry malice, but the words felt heavier than any accusation. He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. “I remember you.”

Her chest tightened, and the room suddenly felt smaller. “You’re mistaken,” she said flatly.

“I’m not.” He took another step forward. His tone was soft, but the words were unrelenting. “You were there. Hydra.”

Next Chapter ->

[queers-gambit]

Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[rkiveinmarvel]

(Y/N): Yeah, don't go falling in love with me, Barnes. Bucky: You? That won't be a problem. -- A few weeks later Bucky: Steve, I have a problem.

[yourmidnightlover]

forever?

pairing: mob!bucky x reader

summary: after being forced into a marriage you didn’t want, you become very cautious of your new husband out of fear of what he’s capable of when one of his employees makes a move at a dinner meeting.

warnings: anxious reader, threat of domestic violence (reader is just worried abt it), groping, please let me know if i missed something or need to add anything!

a/n: reader is very timid in this. i know a lot of people like a reader who doesn’t take shit and stands up for herself, but i often find myself in situations where i just shut down and don’t know how to respond… so this is kinda inspired by that feeling

pt 2 -> control

two months out of forever.

two months of what seemed like wedded bliss from the outside.

in reality, that “bliss” included sleeping in separate rooms, never even seeing each other unless necessary to make appearances for either of your parents. 

the ones who arranged for this to happen in the first place. 

you were just glad you were able to have your time for yourself. you thought you would use the time to continue writing for your book, but you’ve hit a serious case of writers block. so lovely. 

on the bright side, he wasn’t as controlling as your few friends had made it seem he would be. 

they had painted this picture of a monster in your head. a man who would loom over your presence during every waking second. a man who was controlling and wouldn’t let you have a personal life or secrets.

so far, he’s been the opposite. 

for some reason, that still leaves you unsteady. 

because they also painted him in a very violent, angry, red light. 

but maybe he had a mistress. if that were the case, he truly didn’t respect you or your family. it didn’t seem like bucky to do that, though. he wouldn’t ruin a business deal that benefitted him so much. 

the reason you married him was because your father’s finance business was going under, drowned in debts while the only options were to sell to the barnes’ or the rumlow’s. the barnes’ seemed the lesser of two evils.

the only way to smoothly transition your father’s business to be under the barnes’ control without raising any question of your father’s capability was to marry. if any questions were asked about why your father sold his company, the not so good side of the finance industry would trample after your entire family. the barnes’ would get a new company and their many clients, while your family wouldn’t become entirely blacklisted by the entire country, would be putting your family under the barnes’ protection, and there would be less questions asked as to why the company had been merged.

you had a few months of “leaking” images of you and bucky together into the tabloids to prepare the public for the news of such a big marriage. some were photos of you and bucky holding hands while walking. a couple of you at a restaurant smiling. a few staged kissing photos… those may or may not have been your favorite.

those times spent with him, in all honesty, weren’t bad at all. going for walks together at sunset, dinner dates, feeling his lips against yours…

you had gotten to know more about his childhood that the tabloids didn’t feel was important to cover. his favorite subject in school and how he actually lost his arm so many years ago. you learned each others’ fears and worries in life. your favorite thing to learn about him, however, was what he truly wanted in life. 

peace.

a couple weeks after the wedding, a few photos of the reception were once again “leaked” in order to sell the “too in love to wait” bit that everyone had started assuming upon seeing the first few photos of you and bucky together. 

but all of your history with him flew to the back of your mind as bucky knocked on your office door. 

“come in,” you replied hesitantly, not sure what he wanted from you for the first time since your wedding. he stepped through the threshold and stood at the doorframe. 

“there’s a work meeting tomorrow,” his hand remained on the doorknob, so stiff you’d think he might rip it off the precious white wood in seconds. “the men are meeting at the house. i wanted to let you know. the men in this business, they expect marriages to be of the… traditional values.”

you nodded with understanding, turning to face him with a forced grin. “so i should play the part of the doting housewife, huh?” no smile in return, so you bit back your humor in turn for matching his serious tone. “what food should i prepare, then? and uh, how many guests will we be expecting?”

“whatever’s easiest for you,” he shrugged lightly. “there will be 9 of us there.” with one final look in your direction, he left the office and didn’t return to say goodnight. 

-

the next morning you got to work setting the house up for the 6pm meeting your loving husband was hosting. 

you had decided to set up a buffet-style table outside of the main dining room where the meeting would take place. for the menu, you settled on simple grilled chicken with quite a few side options. roast potatoes, asparagus, sauteed carrots, green beans, and rolls. 

you were putting the rolls in the oven when bucky got home, seemingly entranced by the smell of all the food, heading straight to the kitchen.

“it smells amazing in here,” bucky called from the archway of the kitchen. you jumped slightly from the surprise, but swallowed down the shock and another weak smile. 

“thanks,” you nodded to the edge of the island where a large chalkboard sat, your handwriting neatly displayed on the board that listed all the food to be had. “the menu. i figured a variety would be nice, and who doesn’t like chicken, right?”

“vegetarians,” if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was telling a joke. but you knew better than that. “the men are coming in a little less than an hour. do you maybe want to change before they get here?”

you looked down at what you were wearing, a pair of blue jeans and a loose t-shirt clearly not worthy of someone who had married a barnes man. “right, of course. i’m sorry,” you finished setting the timer on the oven and ran upstairs to get yourself put together before bucky saw the tears trying to seep past your waterline. 

you settled on a black cocktail dress you had worn to one of your dad’s company events before the downfall… quickly swiping some makeup on to cover the exhaustion in your eyes and pulling your hair up to a more respectable updo rather than your typical messy bun. 

luckily you had become an expert at quickly getting ready from your time in university, as you were back in time to pull the rolls from the oven, but not before pulling on your apron. you’d be dammed if you got this stunning dress dirty right before this prestigious meeting. 

t-5 minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin and you could already hear lots of rustling from the formal dining room. you knocked on the closed doors before bucky opened the door for you. 

the men went silent as their gaze rested on you in the doorway. 

“the foods ready. buffet style?” your eyes didn’t leave bucky’s pretty blues, too scared to do anything wrong in front of his men. 

“that’s perfect, my love,” his hands gravitated to your waist before pulling your body taut against his, one hand moving a stray hair behind your ear before leaning in to whisper. “you look ravishing…”

as he pulled back, you were sure your blush was evident across your cheeks. you tried to hide it behind a smile, shrugging with a shy ‘thanks’ leaving your lips. 

“what do you say to my stunning wife, boys?” his hand squeezed your waist once more before turning to the other men, ‘thank you’s being echoed throughout the room as they stood and made their way to the kitchen to make their plates. 

in a matter of minutes, all the food was gone. you figured it was best they liked the food, even if you didn’t get to try any of it yourself like you had planned. 

you got started on cleaning everything up with earbuds in your ears, starting with the dishes already in the sink from when you were cooking. then, you were sure to place the dishes that the food was in inside the sink for you to clean before starting on wiping the counters, then sweeping, then mopping, and then back to the dishes. 

you didn’t realize that bucky had called for a break in the meeting, however. you were in for quite the rude awakening when you felt a pair of hands on your waist, but not the ones you were semi-familiar with. 

you turned around with a gasp, shock evident on your face as you tried to piece together whoever this man was. blond hair, blue eyes… definitely not steve though. you knew steve well and had seen him often. 

you pulled your earbuds from your ears in attempt to better understand what was going on. his hands were still gripping your sides, but you couldn’t necessarily escape his touch. you were backed against the sink. even if you could fight him, you’d likely lose to his strong grip. 

“is the meeting-is it over already?” your voice was so much more cowardly than you’d ever expected yourself to be. 

“no, no,” he shook his head. “just a little break, some of the guys were getting antsy.” you leaned back further, trying to create some semblance of space between you. “i figured i’d say a special thank you, on behalf of all of us guys in there.” he let one hand cup the side of your face and neck, his other hand trailing down from your waist, firmly grasping your ass with a sqeeze before you jumped at the invasion.

“i don’t-i’ve got it…”

“john,” he smiled grossly, as if he could convince you to go to bed with him.

“no need for a thanks,” you tried to remind him. “i did this for bucky. for my husband.” your eyebrows rose, trying to emphasize that his boss was also your husband. 

“i’m sure he won’t mind you getting a little bit of extra special attention, don’t you?”

then, a growling voice cut through the fear running through your veins. 

“i think he might mind.”

you turned to face bucky with wide eyes before facing john, wishing the tears welling in your eyes would just go away. 

his hands slowly retracted, stepping back with a chuckle.

“sorry, sir,” he smiled before turning to face your husband. “she was just telling me how she wanted some extra attention, weren’t you, toots?” he tilted his head expectantly.

your mouth opened, nothing leaving in spite of your brain screaming at you. what would bucky do? would he take his side? would he believe you? would he hurt you? 

you’ve embarrassed him now… humiliated him in his own home. surely he’ll take action against you for this. 

your mind replayed stories your old friends had told you about him. how he would lash out at men that betrayed him. how he never took shit from anyone who showed him any disrespect. how he was the kind of man to shoot first and ask quesitons later.

and now, in a way, you’ve both betrayed and disrespected him. or at least, that’s what he’ll think. 

you didn’t even realize tears were flowing down your face until your sobs were interrupted. 

“enough!” you finally looked at bucky before his eyes softened for a second before walking closer to you. “go to the room.” he ordered sternly. 

“but the dish-”

“i’ll take care of it,” he interrupted gravely, “go. to. the. room.” 

“yes, sir,” you nodded and swiftly left the room entirely, collapsing against the door once you had shut it, sobs wracking your body. you held your knees against your chest before trying to regulate your breathing.

he won’t hurt you.

he has to protect his image.

you’ve embarrassed him.

you’re his wife.

you’re his business deal.

you’ve humiliated him.

he’ll hurt you.

you didn’t know how long it had been since the incident. 

your sobs had subsided. you had, at some point, moved to your bed. you were still rocking your body back and forth, trying to self sooth. 

and then there was a knock at the door. 

your body instinctively jumped at the sudden noise, although it wasn’t harsh in any manner, at least not one that you were expecting. 

he twisted the knob, slowly opening the door with slow movements. 

“i-i’m so sorry,” you began apologizing as soon as he stepped through the threshold into your room. “i swear-i swear i didn’t tell him that. i didn’t even realize he was there, i promise. i wouldn’t lie to you. i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry. please believe me.” your body was still rocking and you didn’t even notice he was as close to you as he was until you saw his hand moving by your head.

automatically, you assumed the absolute worst, your head ducking into your body like a fucking turtle, the meekest squeal leaving your lips mixed with a sob. your arms went over your head protectively, as if a bomb were about to go off.

“sweetheart,” his voice sounded so broken, so torn, so unexpectedly soft. 

you finally looked at him for the first time since he came in your room. his flesh hand was holding his metal one as if it were something that could kill. in ways, it was. 

“you-there’s no need to…” after looking at him for a second longer, you noticed that his eyes had tears that almost mirrored your own. “i would never, ever lay a hand on you. i’m so sorry for scaring you. i can’t…” he sighed. “i can’t believe i made you believe i’d ever hurt you.”

“i’m sorry,” you pleaded with him once again. 

“you have nothing to apologize for,” he hesitated to reach for your hands before settling on simply grabbing a spare pillow. “i came up here to apologize. for my tone earlier… i know john. he never knows his boundaries. i should’ve… you never should’ve been put in that situation. that’s my fault. that’s on me. and i will spend the rest of forever to make it up to you.” 

“you don’t have to-”

“no, my love,” he shook his head. “can i-can i hold your hands? please?” you, without hesitation, grabbed his hands yourself. “i need to make it up to you. you’re mine. you’re my wife. it’s my job to protect you, to keep you safe. and to have someone ruin that? to touch what’s mine in my own home? i’m so sorry.” he brought your hands to his lips, pressing at least ten kisses to each hand. he was so gentle and careful it was a good thing you knew better than to think it actually meant anything.

you were surprised, to say the least, at how tender he was being with you. 

how could you have ever thought he would hurt you? that he would raise his hand and swing? that he would cause you harm? he was here declaring that he would make up this incident for the rest of eternity when it wasn’t even his doing… 

“will you stay with me tonight?” his eyes lit up at the request.

“are you sure you want that?” he became a touch more reserved. “i don’t know if it’s a good idea since you were worried i would…” his voice trailed off.

“i’m sure,” you nodded before scooting over in the bed. 

sure, your marriage was arranged and didn’t stem from true love. you may not have talked outside of when absolutely necessary. you might have even been terrified of him at one point. 

but now, the thought of forever with bucky barnes didn’t seem half bad. 

[mugglebornmarvelite]

BUT IMAGINE SUNSHINE DRAGGING BUCKY TO A PHOTOBOOTH AND HE PULLS HER ONTO HIS LAP ‘CAUSE HE’S TOO BIG FOR HER TO ALSO FIT IN THE SEAT

Mall Day

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: Despite his best efforts to stay unimpressed, Bucky ends up indulging in your playful antics, finding himself completely disarmed and charmed by you.

Word Count: Roughly 1.1k 

Warnings: Fluff, cheeky moments, awkwardness, sarcasm, a little romantic tension, Bucky being a soft dom (manhandling and praise), affectionate teasing

Author’s Note: Thank you for the request, babe! This was such a cute idea, I hope it was to your liking. It was originally going to be a short blurb, but I made it into a mall day! @ghostlyfleur <3

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics 

It was supposed to be a peaceful day off for the Avengers. The sun was out, the mall was bustling, and for once, everyone had agreed to take a break from saving the world.

But for Bucky Barnes, the day was already feeling like a test of patience.

He wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of a crowded mall. The noise, the chaos, the shiny stores full of overpriced trinkets. It just wasn’t his scene. 

But you were you. And he would do anything for you.

And with no match against you and your little smile, you dragged him around the mall for the past hour like a hyperactive puppy.

You were practically bouncing with excitement as you skipped from one shop to the next, and Bucky, despite his grumbles and sighs, was always just a step behind you, keeping a close eye on you.

“Bucky, come on!” you said, turning back with your bright, infectious smile. “Hurry up! We’re gonna miss all the fun!”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed in a mall,” Bucky grumbled, his voice low but fond.

You shot him a grin. “That’s why I came with you, big guy.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, letting you pull him along.

You had this way of getting under his skin, making him smile even when he was trying to stay grumpy.

Just as you were about to break into a sprint to your favorite store, you tripped over your own feet. 

Instinctively, Bucky’s hand shot out to catch you, pulling you against his chest.

“Careful, sunshine,” he muttered, his voice unusually soft. His hand lingered at your waist for a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your jacket. “One of these days, I’m gonna need to wrap you in bubble wrap.”

“Thanks for the rescue, grumpy bear.” You giggled and straightened up, swatting his arm lightly. “But I’m fine!”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Bucky grumbled, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. His eyes narrowed, and he scanned the crowd around you both. He was always on high alert, always protecting you.

As if on cue, your attention shifted to something else. You spotted it: the photo booth. 

Bright lights flashing in the window, cute little props hanging around. Without even asking, you grabbed his hand.

He let out a sigh, but let you drag him across the mall.

“Really? A photo booth?” he asked, though the annoyance in his voice was half-hearted. You looked up at him, with those stupid doe eyes.

“Please, Buck, pleeeease! You owe me after almost letting me faceplant!” you grinned as you tugged him along with you.

"I didn't almost let you faceplant," he grumbled, "I saved you."

"That’s the spirit!" you beamed.

Bucky grumbled a string of curses under his breath.

“You’re going in, grumpy!” you said with a grin, “There’s no way you’re getting out of this. It’s for us.”

Bucky sighed. “I’m too big for this. You know that, right?”

“Too big for fun?” you teased. “I don’t think so!”

There was no fighting it. 

Bucky wanted to put his foot down, but with how you smiled up at him, he could never refuse you. 

He ducked into the booth, his broad shoulders hunched, trying not to take up the entire space. There was barely enough room for both of you, so Bucky did the only reasonable thing to do: he picked you up effortlessly and plopped you onto his lap.

"Bucky!"

He pulled you in tighter. "You wanted the pictures, brat. You’re stuck with me now."

“Alright, let’s take some pictures,” you said, playing around with props and making silly faces until Bucky begrudgingly joined in, his grumpiness melting as he went along with it.

Bucky reached over with one massive hand and squished your cheeks together, a smirk on his face. "Like this, sunshine?"

“Bucky! Stop it!” you giggle under his gentle touch.

He chuckled, squeezing your cheeks once more before he put on enormous, goofy glasses and scowled for the next picture.

“There, happy now?” he grumbled, his tone completely at odds with the ridiculous glasses.

“Oh, totally!” you said with a giggle. “You look adorable.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, though you could see the corners of his mouth twitching. “Don’t go telling anyone that, okay?”

“Of course not!” you assured him with a grin. “I’m not that mean.”

"And now, a kiss on the cheek," he said with an air of mock seriousness, before planting a quick kiss on your cheek.

You felt your face flush. 

"Bucky!" you said, your voice suddenly quieter, though your smile betrayed how giddy you were.

He raised an eyebrow. “What? I’m a gentleman. Sometimes.”

Your face flushed a deeper shade of red.

The booth’s final picture snapped. Bucky leaned his cheek against your head and you both smiled.

He pressed a chaste kiss against your temple before he helped you out.

When the photos were printed, you couldn’t hide your grin as you handed one set to Bucky.

“Great,” he muttered. “This is gonna haunt me for the rest of my life, isn’t it?”

You practically beamed. “Yep! And I’m showing the team.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You’re not.”

“I will!” you declared, undeterred.

Bucky tilted your chin to look at him with just the right amount of force. His thumb gently traced your skin, a subtle reminder of who was in control. “You won’t.” 

“Yes, I will,” you insisted, although your voice got softer.

“No, you won’t.” His thumb traces against your cheek, almost like he was grounding you, pulling you closer into submission. “Right, sweet girl?”

“I won’t,” You agreed and held up your pinky. “Pinky promise.”

“Good girl,” he praised, hooking his pinky around yours.

You remained quiet until a small smile creeped up on your face. “You’re totally going to keep the pictures forever and ever.”

He sighed again, looking down at you with both exasperation and fondness. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

“Not unless you really pout,” you teased, poking his side gently. “Which I’m kind of hoping you do.”

“Now I understand why the others like to pick on you,” Bucky muttered.

You pout playfully and he ruffles your hair gently.

You smiled, and when you turned around, you spotted the cotton candy machine. 

Without hesitation, you bolted toward it, yelling, "Cotton candy, Buck! Let’s get some!"

“I swear to God…” Bucky sighed, watching you go with a fond smile that he couldn’t hide. 

The only thing worse than being dragged to a photo booth was following you to a cotton candy machine, knowing you'd get even more hyper off the sugar.

Was he still going to buy it for you?

Yes.

Why?

Because, like always, he was helpless against his sunshine.

"Can’t take you anywhere," he grinned as he followed after you.

No matter how grumpy he tried to be, when it came to you, Bucky Barnes was completely powerless.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp @winchestert101 @thatesqcrush @bamitzzsam @grubler @peaches1958 @helen-2003 @ickearmn @Kimmie113080 @Xgbtmdmx @buckysbunnie @Shower-me-with-roses @pigeonmama @civilbucky @piinksdoll @desimarie12 @sleepysongbirdsings

If you'd like to be added to my taglist or just ask me, and I'll update it!

Much love x

- Maeve

[buck-star]

Sweetening the ache

After everything Hydra made him go through, he finally found comfort in a person. Still, his stomach isn’t a friend of your pancakes, at least as not as Bucky himself would be.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Wordcount: 1.292 Words

Warnings/Tags: hurt/comfort, throwing up from too much food/fat, angst, fluff, established relationship, nicknames [baby, babydoll]

Authors Note: Beta’d by my favourite person @thevillainswhore, thank you so much, my love. ❤️❤️ Divider made by me.

Events: Bucky Barnes Bingo [BO23 | C4 | Broken | @buckybarnesbingo], Bucky Boy Bingo [O2 | Gentle kissing | @buckyboybingo], Valentine Trope Flash [Row Three-One | Wrapping someone in a blanket | @fandombingo], Seasonal Delights Bingo: Fall Vibes [Row Three-Three | Taking care of each other | @seasonaldelightsbingo]

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Warm, dim light fills the bedroom, and your hand moves over the sheets until it settles on the cool cotton on the other side of the bed. A low groan escapes your lips when you move your palm up and down the fabric, narrowing your eyes when there is nothing but the coldness. A cool sheet, not typical for you anymore – not since your boyfriend and you moved in together.

The soft sound of gags and whimpers make you realize why you woke up. It’s not the cool sheet next to you, it’s the sound of your boyfriend in the bathroom. It's nothing new to you to wake up and hear him in the bathroom – too much food or the wrong food and his stomach is literally throwing a tantrum, that’s what Bucky likes to call it.

You slowly push yourself up, running your fingers through your hair before slipping out of bed and walking to the bathroom. Your eyes immediately land on your boyfriend leaning with his head over the toilet, while he sits on the ground, his back pressed to the cool tiles. His eyes are watery, his muscles tense when his throat constricts again.

“Baby,” you mumble softly, turning on the light but dimming it slightly. You walk closer to him, noticing his sweaty skin, the tears rolling down his cheeks. Bucky’s thick fingers grip the edge of the toilet tightly, his breath ragged and his chest heaving. “Can I come closer?”

Bucky nods, turning his head slightly to look at you. He reaches out to touch you, his fingers grazing your bare thigh, down to your ankles before he lets them fall to the ground. His stomach rumbles loudly. Before he can say anything else he’s throwing up once again, unfortunately all over the floor.

“Fu-,” he whimpers, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, baby—“ Bucky can’t even finish the sentence before his stomach has some more for him in store. You take some of the towels from the shelf and place them on the floor, walking closer to Bucky to sit down on the edge of the tub behind him. “I’m sorry. I-I promise your… the pancakes–“ another gag before he takes a shaky breath and swallows thickly. “your pancakes are the best. It’s just…”

“Sh, I know. I know, Bucky,” you say softly, bringing one of your hands to his head. You run them through his long, soft, brown hair, massaging his scalp while Bucky leans back and between your slightly spread legs. “Take a deep breath. Your stomach isn’t used to the amount of fat in food or the amount you ate, baby.”

Bucky nods, closing his eyes for a moment while he takes deep breaths. His stomach – now empty anyway – calms down slowly, rumbling quietly but without the need to throw up anymore. He sighs softly, running his hands over his face as he leans further into you.

“S-sorry for waking you up, babydoll,” he whispers, more tears roll down his cheeks. Your heart aches at the guilt and pain in his voice, the feeling that he doesn’t deserve your comfort. “I shouldn’t have eaten so many pancakes.”

“Don’t. You’re allowed to eat as much as you want, as much as you like,” you assure him, stroking his hair and along his neck. Bucky sighs, quiet sobs slipping past his plump lips while his body shakes slightly. “Are you cold, baby?”

Bucky nods, leaning further back to keep you where you are. His fingers curl around your ankles. “Please, don’t. I-I- Can you stay here, please? I don’t, don’t want to be a burden, I’m fine.”

“Can you let me at least get something to wrap around you, baby? You’re shivering and I assure you, you’re not a burden,” you mumble, leaning further down while your hands slide along his shoulders and down his muscular chest. “Please?”

“But you… you’ll sit down here again?” His fingers tighten his hold around your ankles. You nod with a small smile on your lips, pushing yourself up while Bucky loosens his grip. “Promise?”

“Promise, baby. Towel, blanket or hoodie?”

“T-towel?”

You nod and grasp a thick, fluffy towel from the shelf, walking back to Bucky before kneeling down in front of him. You place the towel around his shoulders, leaning closer to kiss his forehead while Bucky tugs the fluffy fabric even tighter around himself.

“Thank you, babydoll,” he whispers, whimpering when you lean back. His eyes shoot open, he didn’t even realize he had closed them but when your warmth faded he just had to check that you wouldn’t leave. “Babydoll, noooooooo.”

“I just want to sit down comfortably, baby,” you chuckle softly. He pouts but nods, reaching his hands out for you. Instead of sitting back behind him he pulls you onto his lap this time, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“Comfy enough?” He asks, leaning his sweaty forehead against your neck and takes a deep breath. Your scent is always calming for him, reminding him of all the love and affection you show him. You nod, sliding your fingers through his brown locks. “But you’ll still make pancakes for us, right?”

“Of course. You love them, why wouldn’t I make some for us? But maybe for breakfast and not as much huh?” You chuckle, lips trailing along his tremble of his forehead.

“But I… I threw up, so they are wasted,” he whispers, the guilt evident in his voice again. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to eat so much but they are just so good.”

“Bucky, none of that. They are not wasted, they made you happy for a bit, you enjoyed the taste. How about we make pancakes in the morning - less oil, bit with more fruits?”

Bucky hums, his stomach growling once more. He sighs, laughing softly at the continuous sound of his belly. At least this time it’s not a bad rumble, more like a hungry rumble. And the more he thinks about the pancakes, the more his belly is begging for some. Bucky leans his head back slightly, smiling softly at you, while he trails your cheeks softly down to your neck with both of his thick fingers.

“You should get some sleep, babydoll. I will clean and up then get a snack before joining you,” Bucky mumbles, still feeling shaky but also guilty for not letting you sleep. But you shake your head, earning a soft growl from your boyfriend.

“I will clean and you get a snack, baby,” you suggest, though, it’s not really a suggestion but a comment - a soft command. Bucky sighs but agrees, keeping you on his lap, arms circling around your waist while he hides his face on the crook of your neck and presses his against your warm, soft skin.

“Thank you, babydoll. It means a lot that you’re sitting here with me, freezing,” he mumbles, causing you to chuckle. The warmth of his body keeping you warm too, so it was actually like cuddling with him. “And for accepting me. You know, I fell in love with you not because I wanted to date anyone. But because you wanted me while I had nothing to offer to you except myself. And it means so much more than I can ever explain, babydoll. I love you.”

“I love you too. And being yourself, it’s more than enough. You don’t have to offer anything, I get your love, your sweetness. I see the soft, vulnerable side of you no one else sees, Bucky, trust me, this is more than anything else. You’re enough, you’re worth more than you think,” you whisper against his forehead. “And if it takes me forever to prove it to you, I will gladly do it, baby.”

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @rnurse-kole @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @irisk12 @lilyalone @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @princesscore-angel @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @bamitzzsam @feynightlight @ethanhoewke @kandis-mom @peachy-satan00 @armystay89 @queen-honeybee-stories @p1nkgirly333 [add yourself here]

[tldrthor]

promises we intend to keep | steve rogers

Summary: The Avenger's spend time with their comatose friend, Cap's sanity slips from him as he spends every night by her bedside. Is blind faith enough?

Part 2 to things we shouldn't have said (prev. classic enemies to lovers stuff) // He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't care less. // word count: 4.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hi, (y/n).” He settled himself into the chair next to the bed, the familiar antiseptic smell filling his nostrils, the beep, beep, beep of her heart like music to his ears. He had hated it at first, but now, it was evidence that she was still here. There was still hope. “I’ve got a break between meetings so I figured I’d come down and say hello.”

He leaned back, watching her peaceful features as unmoving as they had been for nearly a month now. He frowned at the wires connected to her neck and chest, knowing that if she was awake she would’ve hated that. Part of him wanted to rip them off, but his more rational thinking prevented him from doing that.

Dr. Cho’s words circled round his mind, as they hadn’t stopped doing since she spoke them all those weeks ago. “She’s not out of the woods yet. She died twice on the table, and requires all manners of intervention going forward. We’ll only know the extent of the damage when she wakes up –” The doctor had paused for just a second, trying to soften what was only certain to be a killing blow. “–If she wakes up.”

Every time he remembered those words, his knees felt as weak as Bambi on ice. The nausea he used to feel every time he entered this room had faded, and the shell-shock had worn. She still occupied every moment of his thoughts, awake or unconscious. Not that he had been doing a lot of sleeping.

He opened the book at the page he had last left off at, when Sam had come downstairs and dragged the Captain to bed himself last night. “Just to recap,” He spoke to her regardless of her response to him. “Laurie confessed to Jo, but she rejected him. Beth is still sick and boy, that’s rough.” 

He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

================================================

“(Y/l/n), I’ve had enough now.” Natasha charged through the doors to where (y/n) lay. She threw herself down in the chair, leaning her head on her asleep friend’s shoulder, trying to gain what little emotional support she could from her usual source of sanity amongst the chaos of the compound. “The boys are driving me crazy. I think you’ve made your point; Cap is sorry – he’s very, very sorry, borderline depressed – so you can come back.”

She smiled a charming, pleading smile. But no one was there to see it. She dropped the smile after a few seconds.

“(Y/n), it’s hard without you here. No one’s the same, and Steve won’t accept any missions so we can’t even escape. Sam and Bucky are about to tear each other apart, and Cap just wallows in the gym whenever he’s not here with you.”

More silence. 

“Anyways, Cap said that he wants someone here as much as possible. And we haven’t hung out in a while, so if you don’t mind we’re going to watch the new season of Love Island together.” She kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs over the hospital bed and getting comfortable.

================================================

The next visitor didn’t say anything as he walked through the doors, hovering by the foot of the bed. He uncomfortably brought his hands in and out of his pockets, shifting from one leg to the other. 

He eventually moved beside the bed, reaching a hand out to her forehead, to get rid of a hair that had found itself there. He stood there, staring, in silence for a while longer. He swallowed, took a breath, and spoke out loud;

“Kid, I don’t know if you can hear me.” He paused. “You probably can’t.”

He paced around the room, continuing; “I just want you to know, I got your little letter. Really, more of a stunt, very childish – anyway. I want you to know that if that’s your wish, I’ll help you out in setting up. But I also need you to know that you’re going to have to tell me that to my face. So you’ll have to wake up.”

“Also, I’m your boss and your sick pay is running out, so chop chop.” He joked to himself. He basked in the silence for another second.

“It’s not the same without you, (y/l/n). Hope to talk soon.”

“Mr. Stark, Mrs Potts is requesting your presence in the kitchen.” FRIDAY chimed in right on time. He muttered a be right up, taking one last look at his young teammate, and walked out the doors. 

================================================

A month to the day since she was shot, Steve couldn’t sleep. Before the whole debacle, he would’ve just gone to the gym and fought it out of his system. But now, he couldn’t bear being anywhere but in the medical bay. He couldn’t even count the amount of times he had woken up in that chair, neck in excruciating pain, the book on the floor. Or, the amount of times Bucky or Sam or Natasha had come downstairs and marched him back to bed.

He couldn’t help it. The thought of her waking up alone, not knowing where she is, was his greatest concern – scratch that, his greatest fear was her not waking up at all.

He didn’t take the time to change into proper clothes, instead deciding to head down in his pyjamas – ones that she had complimented him on, once upon a time. Red flannel pants and a matching henley – she had described it as ‘lumberjack chic’ and then explained that that was a good thing. He hadn’t realised back then, but Steve now thinks she might have been flirting. He cursed how much of an idiot he was before this disaster.

He wished desperately he could turn back time to then. Before he decided the only way not to love her, was to hate her.

“It’s me, again.” He spoke, taking his familiar spot on the chair next to the bed. He yawned, getting himself more comfortable, flicking the blanket they had all collectively decided was required over his legs. “Now, where were we?” He picked up the book again, reciting words from the pages until it fell from his hand, loud snores from his mouth filling the room.

================================================

When he awoke again, he was in the same familiar pain he always had when he spent too much time in the chair. This time he had fallen forward, his head resting on the bed and… his hand entwined in hers.

He sighed, giving himself the luxury of just a second feeling what he would never have. Her hands were soft, and smooth. Not like his own. They were warm, and comfortable, and something about her fingers holding onto his just felt right.

It wouldn’t be respectful to linger for longer than that, not without her knowing, but as he tried to pull his hand away –

Was that a twitch?

He stared at her hand, now more awake and alert than he had been all month. There was no way, he was definitely just going delirious through stress, or lack of sleep, or maybe his age had just caught up with him because –

A second twitch.

“Oh my god.” He glared daggers into her hand, as if that would do something. Maybe he really was losing his marbles. This was just wishful thinking. His heart feeling like it was about to thump, thump, thump right out of his chest. Do it again. Please, do it again. 

When it happened for a third time, and he saw it with his own eyes, he could only make a noise that could really only be described as a squeal. On his feet in an instant, his hand finding its way to her cheek, cupping her face.

There was no other sign of life. He stared and stared and stared. “Wake up, (y/n). Wake up, I’m here.” He pleaded. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he considered them; “If you wanted to prove a point, consider it proven. You’re not a liability, you’ve never, ever been a liability.”

“Just wake up. I am so, so sorry for everything.” His thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes staring at her face looking for anything that might indicate she was coming back to him. “Just wake up.”

Nothing.

He sat back down, defeated. He had gotten his hopes up, and it all came crashing back down. He placed his hand firmly back on hers as he leant his head on the bed, wet patches forming on the sheets as saltwater leaked from his eyes.

====================================

“Cap, we’re not saying we don’t believe you —” Sam was interrupted.

Steve turned away from his friends, growing more and more frustrated with every sentence uttered. They didn’t believe him. She had moved. She was coming back, but no one would listen.

“You don’t believe me. I promise her hand twitched.” His jaw tensed, his stare as far away from his friends as he could get.

“Stevie, we believe that you felt something, but you have to admit, bud, you’ve been hardly sleeping and pushing yourself too far. Nothing was picked up on monitors, how would that be?” Bucky reasoned, sitting in the same chair where Steve had been so convinced she was waking up, just hours ago.

He had called them to the room as early as he deemed was responsible that day, and they had come running. Only to find their friend still asleep, and the captain with red eyes and bags under them that only seemed to get worse and worse the more they looked.

Sam sighed, hand reaching up to rub his temple. He had had a pretty consistent headache himself for a good couple of weeks. “Steve, I completely understand. We all want her back, but you can’t keep torturing yourself over this. She’ll wake up, just give her time.”

“Sam, it’s been a month – the doctor said if she was going to wake up it would take around a week.” Steve pleaded, the tears welling in his eyes again. He didn’t care anymore about hiding it from them. They already thought he was crazy anyway.

Sam placed a hand on his back as he wiped the water with the back of his hand.

“We’ll wait as long as it takes, but it has to be we. You can’t be here all the time, Steve. It’s no good if she wakes up and you’ve killed yourself from lack of sleep.”

“I don’t want to miss the moment she comes back.” He whispered.

Sam and Bucky made eye contact, pitying looks cast between them. 

Bucky decided to speak, seeing Sam’s heartbreak at trying to reason with their normally solid friend. “Steve, you have to go to bed – don’t argue – but I’ll stay with her. I promise that if anything happens, I will let you know in an instant.”

Steve’s lips drew into a tight line, his eyebrows furrowed. Bucky continued; “Come on, just give me a couple hours, Stevie. I’ll chat to her, we’ll listen to music or something. I promise I’ll take care of her.”

“Come on.” Sam put his arm round Steve, gentle but firmly leading him away. He stole one last glance, as Bucky pulled out his phone to put on some music.

When the boys were finally away, Bucky turned to her. “You’re causing quite a ruckus, tiger. You always liked your sleep, but this is a bit much.” He laughed, leaning back in the chair. “There’s not much to say, kid – I know that the others have been talking your ear off. We need you back.”

He scrolled on his phone a little. Looking for the playlist she had shared with him – one to blend their music tastes. It was originally just for a mission they had to go on together, but turned into one of his favourite ways to bond with her. Music. He laughed again at the name: ‘Golden Oldie and the Wunderkind’ He remembered the day she had made up the name, they hadn’t stopped laughing for hours.

He clicked shuffle, smiling as I and Love and You by the Avett Brothers came over the speakers. “I know you like this song because it reminds you of Stevie.” He teased, but let it play out. He didn’t quite let himself sing, but he did mouth the words to his favourite verse;

That woman, she’s got eyes that shine, Like a pair of stolen, polished dimes. She asked to dance, I said ‘it’s fine– I’ll see you in the morning time’.

What he didn’t tell her, didn’t dare to say out loud, was that ever since he had mentioned to Steve that she liked the song, Steve had listened to it at least once a day. Particularly after they had their usual fights.

These idiots have a lot to figure out when she wakes up. He thought to himself.

================================================

Bucky got a few hours with her, listening to their playlist, occasionally chatting about the song choices. He briefly tried to read the book on the side, but when he saw it was Little Women, he put it right back down again. 

“Sorry, tiger. Not my vibe.” He chuckled.

The doors opened slowly, revealing a slightly-less-haggard Captain America. He had put actual clothes on, looked like he had slept at least a little bit and had even showered. Bucky gave a nod of approval, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair again.

“You feeling better?” Bucky asked his friend, who simply nodded in response. 

Buck stood, knowing that Steve wanted to be alone with her right now. To not have the pitying looks thrown at him that Bucky couldn’t help but cast. He understood, he had been there.

“See ya, punk.” He gave a hearty smile before leaving.

Steve took his rightful seat, sighing before starting the same routine they had done over, and over, and over again. He was growing so sick of this chair, and the bed, and the beeping from the machines that didn’t seem to be helping at all. 

He got through around half a chapter of Little Women, until he realised that Beth was going to die. He didn’t know how he hadn’t remembered, he had heard his mother reading this book all the way back in ‘35. He closed the book, finding death far too triggering, given the current situation. 

Just closing the book wasn’t enough, it was like it burned him to hold it. He threw it across the room in a moment of fury. Frustration swept his whole body as he spiralled, down and down and down. He was ashamed of how out of control he had become. He had always been so rational, so measured. He was always the one people came to when they needed grounding – yet he didn’t know how to ground himself.

He rested his head on her arm, his sweaty palms holding her hand with a ferocity hitherto unseen from him. Like his damn life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

“Come on, (y/n),” He pleaded with the air. With God. With her. “I know you’re mad at me, just wake up and we’ll have another shouting match. Just like before.” A brutally defeated tone weighed down his voice, rough and gravelly from the effort of his bargain. He enclosed her hand in both of his own, leaning his head against them.

A cough. 

He froze for a second, hiding behind her hand in his. The coughs continued, dry and painful sounding. Was there someone else in the room?

He took a moment to steel himself, peeling himself away from her hand, and staring at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “Oh my god.”

“Water.” She croaked.

He jumped up, the chair going flying backwards. He didn’t notice. With shaking hands, he poured the water from the jug on the bedside table into one of the plastic cups. He held it up to her dry, cracked lips, watching as she drank the whole cup.

“Be careful.” He spoke, instincts kicking in. “You’re on fluids, don’t overload your kidneys.”

She finished, her head laying straight back down on the pillow. He could see in her very brief movements that she was weak. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Her eyes were barely open as she turned her head in his direction.

“Captain?” Her voice was rough as sandpaper, like she was straining just to get her singular words out. He just stared, incredulously.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” The pet name rolled off his tongue like he had always said it, and he didn’t even notice. “Oh, my god. You’re awake. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

He had practiced over and over again, what he was going to say to her when she woke up. Thought about it for entire nights when he couldn’t get to sleep. His plans had been poetic and perfect – they were not ‘oh my god you’re awake.’ He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t care less.

Her eyes opened, slowly, and she looked around the room. “What happened?” The words were still a struggle to get out and he could tell. He wanted to tell her to rest, to save her voice for later, to recuperate. But he hadn’t heard that sound in so long, that he let himself be selfish – just one more time.

His own mouth when dry at her amnesia. She knew who he was, which was good. But not knowing how she ended up here was a bad sign. 

“What do you remember?” She was growing restless at lying down, and she was in so much pain. It felt like her whole body was made of stone, but she used all of the strength she had in her to try to sit up.

She was met by gentle hands, guiding her up and placing pillows behind her to support her. Hands that belonged to her once arch-nemesis, who looked at her now like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She was so confused. 

“I remember arguing in the forest.” Her eyes were wide with what Steve could only decipher as panic. “I don’t remember anything else… Why am I here?” The scared tone in her voice broke Steve’s heart all over again, but it could not take over the elation he felt at the fact that she was there.

He took a deep breath, briefly considering what he should tell her, considering all the events of the last month, in particular, that day. One of the worst days of his life.

“You were shot through the chest.” He began. “It knocked you out instantly, we barely got you here alive.” He ran his thumb softly over the back of her hand, unable to make eye contact. “You- you’ve been asleep for a month.”

He decided not to tell her of the fact she had died on the operating table. That could wait.

“A month?!” She shouted, resulting in another coughing fit. He helped her drink some more water, making soothing noises as she did so. It all felt so surreal. Every minute of every day since that moment, he had wished for this. And now it was happening. She was awake, and talking. 

Her voice started to clear; “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“No. Please, don’t worry about me. You saved me from being shot right before you went down – it was my fault you got hurt.”

“I don’t think that’s right.” She contorted her face into a puzzled expression, looking down at his hand, clasping hers. She said it as a mix between a statement and a question – “We’re holding hands?”

“Yes, um. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and your hand twitched a couple of days ago so that’s why – sorry, I’ll stop-”

As he tried to untangle their hands, she closed her fist and prevented him from doing so. He watched her chest rise and fall quickly, her eyes wide.

“Please, don’t.” Her words were like a child’s as her nostrils flared. She was uncertain. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her uncertain before, not even a flash of hesitance had danced across her features as far back as he could remember. “It feels nice.”

Maybe, he just wasn’t paying enough attention.

“Then I’ll keep holding your hand until you ask me to stop.” He promised. A gentle, sincere smile took over his features, which she tried her best to replicate. He observed her face, drinking in the colour in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. 

It was a stark contrast to how they had last left off – the image replaying over and over again in his mind of her clinging to life, blood leaking from her mouth, her nose, her chest. The inky, sticky red coating his suit and his hands and his shoes. So much blood, endless. Sometimes he still felt the slick heat of it all over him. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to scrub that feeling from his memory.

“Where are the others? Are they okay?” (Y/n) asked, looking around the room at the various bunches of flowers and cards littered upon every surface. Steve had completely forgotten the others existed in his complete shock at her return.

He winced, knowing he should have called for them immediately. “They’ll be so happy to see you.” He spoke directly to her, and then to the ceiling; “FRIDAY, let everyone know that (y/n) is awake.”

“Yes, Captain.” The irish lilt came from above.

It was mere seconds before the doors came barrelling open, the entire team funnelling into the relatively small room, crowding around the bed and exclaiming various different versions of ‘Oh my god’, ‘You’re awake’, ‘Holy shit’. The room was absolute chaos with an unmusical cacophony.

This was allowed to go on for a few minutes, before the on-call doctor, someone (y/n) had never seen before, rounded the corner. “Okay, okay!” He shouted, “This is too much for the patient, I want everyone out – you can come in smaller groups.”

Everyone grumbled but did as they were told, each taking their chance to say ‘call if you need anything’, ‘see you later’ or ‘we’ll come back with sweets’. Bucky ruffled her hair and Natasha pressed a kiss to her cheek, muttering about how a certain Captain would be looking after her. She didn’t really understand what it meant, but a blush spread to her cheeks anyway.

As the last of them filed out, Steve turned to her and asked; “Do you want me to stay?” A certain vulnerability sewn into his question.

“Yes.” She answered far too quickly. “Please, Captain. If that’s okay.” Her voice seemed to get smaller and smaller as she spoke. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her grip on his hand tightened, both a demand and a question contained within it.

How on Earth could he say no to her? Her wide, gorgeous eyes searched his face for an answer, which he gave by settling further into the chair, pulling it even closer to the bed, if that was even possible. 

“Like I said, as long as you want. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

They sat in silence for a while, the Captain not taking his eyes away from her face. 

“(Y/n).” He had to tell her, now or never. He wouldn’t risk something like this again, things going unsaid. “I hope you know how sorry I am for what I said, all those weeks ago. It’s not an excuse, but I realised all this time I’ve not hated you, I’ve …”

She looked at him, her lips parted. Her messy hair splayed in a way where the fluorescent lights caught it, making it look like a sort of pseudo-halo. He knew it, right there and then. This was it.

“I’ve loved you. Since the moment we met.”

A shocked expression on her face moved slowly, her open mouth contorting into a soft, loving smile. She squeezed his hand, bringing her other arm over to hold it as well. Just more contact. That was all she needed.

“Steve, I feel the same.” She was still playing with his actual name, not ‘Captain’ or ‘Rogers’ or a sarcastic ‘Cap’. He couldn’t believe how it sounded coming from her – like it was a new name altogether. Like a song he was discovering for the first time.

He couldn’t help it now, he beamed. “You do?”

She nodded, licking her lips. They were so cracked, and dry. But she didn’t care.

“I– I can’t lean over to you, but… I would love to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t waste any time. Up and out of his seat in an instant, crossing what little distance was left between them. His hands reached her cheeks first, cupping them ever so softly. They breathed together, just for a second, his eyes flicking to hers almost to make sure she knew what she was doing. 

And then his lips were on hers. The kiss wasn’t like she had imagined – it wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t angry, wasn’t sudden. It was calculated and gentle and passionate. It was everything she could ever have hoped for.

They pulled apart, Steve knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to hold her breath to kiss her as long as he wanted to. His hand stroked her cheek, his eyes staring into hers. He rested his forehead against hers for a second, before moving up and pressing a kiss to it.

The look in his eyes was one of love, happiness and admiration.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that since we met.” He admitted, breathless from excitement. They smiled at each other wordlessly, growing used to the looks between not being ones of glaring and daggers, but of kindness, and warmth.

The only sound was the steady beep, beep, beep of her heart rate – a sound he had definitely decided he loved. They stayed like that for hours, before she started to fall back asleep – to rest, this time.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” She asked, as she slipped back into slumber.

“I promise.” And nothing on Earth could stop him from keeping it.

================================================

TAGS -- I've tagged everyone who requested a part two! You guys really keep my motivation up so I hope it's done you justice <3. This will be the last part for now, but I'm thinking of setting future domestic fics in this universe!

@haven-in-writing @marvelouskatie @veryaverageapple @ironwinnerwonderland @ohdrey89 @waqtzayaontmblr @shygamergirl01 @starkenobi @ynstark

p.s. please please listen to 'I and Love and You' by the Avett Brothers if you haven't before -- it's so Steve and is such a lovely song.

[buckyalpine]

You know what I was thinking of all day? Comforting our sad baby Bucky who just wants a hug. He's tired from a bad mission. His body aches. He saw things he didn't want to. He could really just use something.

Even just a smile?

He doesn't have a lot of friends and most people around the compound outside of the team avoid him. Even those who'd worked with him for ages were still wary, scared he'd snap if they just asked how he's doing. He would have liked it, even just a hello in passing. When he walks by with a scowl on his face, no one meets his eye. If they did, they would have seen the storm that was brewing inside was not an angry one.

He just needed to be held.

When he continues to make his way towards his room, he's given a few nods from a couple of teammates but he knows they're doing it while holding their breath. He reaches his room and the damn is about to break, he hasn't been held in years, he feels so cold and empty, was he really so terrifying, no one would-

"Sergeant Barnes?"

A gentle voice calls for him, forcing him to swallow the lump in his throat. He knows that voice, mustering his best smile as he turns around to find Tony's lab assistant with a cup of chamomile tea in his mug and a file with the mission report he was supposed to fill out.

"Everyone's filling their reports in the conference room, I figured you'd rather have some privacy so I thought I'd bring it to you" You give him the same warm smile you grace everyone with, handing him the steaming cup, "and of course, your favourite"

It's too much. Normally it wouldn't be but he's never given such kindness but he always gets it from you. You're so unbelievably affectionate to everyone and he really doesn't feel worthy but today he needs it so he graciously accepts the tea and file with a soft thank you.

"and call me Bucky, doll"

You stiffen at the slight crack in his voice, frowning when he keeps his eyes trained to the floor. It wasn't unusual for Bucky to keep to himself but you catch his reddened nose and glassy baby blues and it breaks your heart.

He opens the door to enter his room ready to drown in a lonely storm when that voice calls again. Surely he was dreaming. He sets down his things, turning to find you still at his door.

"Bucky?" You enter his room, standing before him when he doesn't ask you to leave, "Are you okay?"

He doesn't trust himself, nodding and desperately blinking back tears. He wished you'd leave, he wished you'd stay, he wished he could just tell you what he needed, his hands fisted into balls by his side, he should just suck it up, what was he expecting-

"Come here" You whisper, your hand coming to cradle the back of his head, bringing it to rest into your neck where he can let go, your arms wrapping around his body.

Bucky doesn't get a chance to realize what's happening because as soon as he feels your touch the first sob escapes. He's hidden himself away in your hold, his tears wetting your skin with no remorse. He clings onto you like a lifeline while you coo and comfort him, playing with his hair and rubbing his back.

You don't let go, allowing him to cry for as long as he needs. Even after his cries turn into sniffles, you comfort him, pressing a kiss to his temple while he holds you extra tight.

When he's finally ready to let go, albeit reluctantly, he's instantly shused from trying to apologize. You don't ask questions asking what happened or why he was upset. It really didn't matter. You just knew. Bucky whispers a thank you, making a mental note to get you some flowers to properly showed you how much he appreciated it.

Of course you'd always just know when he needed it so he'd thank you again with coffee.

Dinner.

Dinner again.

Eventually, a ring.

You always knew what he needed.

A hug.

That was all.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the black sheep

a/n: wrote this at five in the morning after i woke up from a nightmare ✌️

summary: “don’t,” a sharp breath filled your lungs as you shook your head and your eyes instantly squeezed shut, “don’t do that… don’t act like you care just because my father pays you. I know you’re no better than all of the others out there…” 

warnings: soft!mob!bucky x mob boss daughter!reader, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, forbidden romance, age gap, sexual references, horrible and abusive family, bullying, mental illness (depression, anxiety, stress), references to being institutionalised at a terrible place against one's will, party, dancing, crying

word count: 1511

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist 

The creak of a heavy pair of boots crossing over the threshold found your ears, though didn’t persuade your neck to twist around and see who had appeared in the doorway. 

“Miss?” Bucky’s tone echoed quietly throughout the room as his metal hand continued to clutch the doorhandle he’d just twisted. 

But instead of tearing your eyes away from the night sky that twinkled on the other side of the window, you instead continued to sit on the floor, the fancy dress you’d been forced into wrinkling around your legs, as you faintly began to murmur, “you know, I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little…” your eyes traced one of the constellations gleaming above, “it wasn’t because I had some fascination with space, but it was the one thing I could imagine that would take me as far away from here as possible…” a breath escaped you before your vision finally floated back down to earth and you glanced over your shoulder, “would you mind closing the door? It’s so loud out there…” 

As you reunited your gaze to the world outside and you heard the door shut behind you, the mobster then carefully asked, “are you alright?” 

“Don’t,” a sharp breath filled your lungs as you shook your head and your eyes instantly squeezed shut, “don’t do that… don’t act like you care just because my father pays you. I know you’re no better than all of the others out there…” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried to conceal his painful awareness of your situation. 

“I know what the others say behind my back,” you uttered, your mind haunted by their voices, playing the comments on a loop till they turned into boiling tar, “poor Y/n, weak and broken Y/n who is crazy and could never really be a part of this family… but unfortunately for everyone, I am,” you breathed, memories of your adolescence flooded your system, how they had sent you away to a broken institution at the smallest sign of vulnerability, “so I could never just leave. I couldn’t go out and earn my own money, they would cut off any attempt I made of getting a job in this city,” you pointed out their power, “and if I tried to get away, move to somewhere else, then they would have to take care of that as well because they can’t have a liability just out there. They own me, and they’ve made sure that I am nothing without them, and with them, I’d never be able to accomplish a goddamn thing. They wouldn’t hesitate to cut my life short if I ever stepped out of line again, you know that, it happened to my aunt… for all I know, it’ll probably happen as soon as my brother takes over, it is after all what everyone has surely wished for since the day I was born…” 

As those last few venting words escaped your lips, a sinking feeling bloomed in your stomach as you realised those shattering truths hadn’t been contained in your thoughts alone. 

“Oh shit…” tears began to blur your vision as you spun around and jaggedly rose to your feet, “please don’t tell anyone about any of that,” you took a panicked step forward, “I–… I didn’t mean any of it, it’s not–…” your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared back at the gangster, “what do you want?” you attempted desperately, “do you want money? I could talk to my father and give you another leg up? I’ll give you whatever you want, just please don’t tell anyone, I–…” 

An idea then struck through your terrified blubbering, and without giving it another thought, you dropped down to your knees before him. 

“What are you doing?” he finally spoke, blinking down at you by his feet. 

Wiping your cheek as a steady flow of tears rolled down them, you then reached out for Bucky’s belt and sniffled, “you can have me, if that’s what could buy your silence.” 

But instead, your father’s right-hand man grabbed your hands, “stop,” he pleaded, “just stop.” 

Blinking up into his eyes, your hazy vision then drifted down to his fingers enveloping your wrists before you gloomily concluded, “…right…of course… I get it,” your head bowed even further as you uttered, “why would you think of me any differently… of course, you wouldn’t want me to touch you, you probably think I’m cursed just like the rest of them do…” 

But instead of ripping his touch away from your skin as if it was a scorching flame, Bucky’s frame suddenly lowered to be at your level, kneeling by you before he lifted one of your palms up to cup his stubbly cheek.

“I don’t,” a faint shake found his head, “never have,” you found yourself floating away into the ocean of his eyes as he stared back at you, his slow breath fanning across your wet cheeks at the close proximity, “I won’t tell anyone what you said,” he promised, his deep voice nearly at a whisper, “you have my word.”

But as you were filled with equal amounts of uncertainty, as well as shock, footsteps on the other side of the door found you both and tore you apart, just before the door ripped open and in strolled the boss himself. 

“Barnes!” your father’s glare landed on the mobster first before it shifted to find you, hastily wiping your cheeks, “oh great, you found her,” he uttered impatiently, “darling, come, it’s time for your brother to cut the cake. You need to be there,” he swiftly waved a hand for you to shadow him. 

The storm of the party made you feel as if you could come undone and burst into tears at any moment, pushing and shoving your shaky soul till you felt like just a tiny speck of dust floating around in the air. Keeping your gaze on the floor as you pushed through the bustling crowds, it stayed there as your sibling sank a shiny blade into the ridiculously elaborate cake that was rolled out for everyone to applaud. 

Raw and bleeding while the others drank and laughed, your vision finally found enough courage to flicker up, though only to find those same blue eyes, across the room and locked upon you. 

When the music soon was cranked up high and people swarmed to the middle of the floor in pairs, you briefly spotted one of your brother’s friends, a guy not too far from your own age, march straight towards you with an air of confidence that couldn’t help but relax your tense shoulders as you were slowly filled with hope. 

But as he neared and a greeting fell from your lips, a confused look muddled up his features as he shot you a glance before grabbing the waiting hand of a girl standing in the crowd behind you. 

Amused snickers and cruel comments found your ears even though you knew their tones attempted to be silent.

“What a freak.”

“Could you imagine if it had actually been her he’d wanted to dance with? In her dreams.”

“She should just run back to that insane asylum she somehow escaped from.”

With your back soon pressed up against one of the perimeter walls, a shadow then came to darken the spot on the floor your reddened eyes were glued to. 

“You wanna dance?” you glanced up with a wide pair of eyes to spot Bucky settled in beside you. 

“Why?” your brows knit together, “so that everyone can have another thing to laugh about?” 

Holding out his palm, he then let out a sigh, “just take my hand,” and the next thing you knew, your fingers were tangled in his own. 

Once he’d led you out onto the floor, your eyes darting around to all the bewildered glances that shot your way, a sudden breath then filled your lungs as his wide palm slid over your waist and dragged you in closer to his frame, causing your vision to cease their torture and meet his own steady gaze instead. 

The sway was slow and intimate, though you weren’t sure if the sensation terrified or calmed you, as the intoxicating way he made you feel had previously been something you’d packed far away as just an inconsequential crush back when he’d first started working for your father. Though as he held you in his arms and showed you a rare display of compassion, how could your heart not begin to thump once more?

With your gaze hazily cast over his shoulder as you danced so near that your cheeks almost touched, the warmth of his hand then slid down to your lower back before he whispered in your ear, “I know it won’t fix anything, but if it was up to me, you’d be the one inheriting this whole business, not your brother,” he uttered sincerely under his breath, “he’s a hot-headed idiot, while you are stronger and more brilliant than all of these fools combined.”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[romanoffshouse]

Bucky: Y/N, what does IDK, ILY, and TTYL mean?

Y/N: I don’t know, I love you, talk to you later.

Bucky: Alright, I love you too, I'll ask Sam.

Y/N: Wait- Bucky , no-