#red room reader x bucky

[mcuynfluffwriter]

Out. (Again). - Bucky X Y/N short

//so sorry this is a little late (?), if anyone cares, now you have three shorts to try and fit into a timeline puzzle now😘// y/n=your name, ya’ll know the drill by now- (if not it’s basic don’t worry)

warnings: injuries, fluff, lil bit of violence, swearing

Contains: Bucky X fem!reader, red room/hydra shtuff, floof/fluff/aww

Y/n was captured by an orginization. Whether it was what remains of the Red Room still somehow alive or even HYDRA the lines have blurred too much to figure it out. But Bucky broke through their base. And found her in a cell.

Y/n could barely make anything out. The light was bright. Far too bright. And you couldn’t… you just. Ow. And. Just. Ow. Pressure in your head. Pressure on your head. And your ears rung so loudly. So.. so loudly. Your thoughts.. they felt too repetitive and off. Something- one. Someone. Was trying to say something. Then something- one. Stop forgetting there’s another person! Touched your face. You were mostly limp still. The words being thrown at you were both too loud and too blurry to make any sense. Your name, that was part of the mix. The thing touching your face was too cold to be another person though. There was a clattering noise somewhere nearby and now it felt like there was a real and alive human hand holding your face too. Wait wait, no you knew someone. With the… yes, James- no- Bucky. That mission. Did that mission fail? What was happening? The metal arm. Well that explained the cold hand and- ouch. Ouch, the light reflecting off of it. There was something else. That came with the real skin to skin contact though. Something you weren’t used to. It felt like this big flash behind your eyes. Like contact was conducting energy from one to the other. That hurt and was painful. Only now you could- less hear more feel- even more going on in your head. There was desperation, and anger, and adrenaline, and even fear. And it was all too much. You gasped sharply, too sharply, and felt new tears appear painfully in your eyes. On reflex your arm reached out to grab something and hit into the figure of the person that was standing in front of you in all the blinding light. You can hear more too though. And as painful as it was, you thought that maybe this weird… feeling you had. Or the feelings he had. We’re helping you get just a little more of a grip. The feelings weren’t all, there were words, if you were able to pick them out. Lots of them matching with the sounds you could hear on the outside, but not all of them. Come on! Come on! Be ok! What’s wrong? Is she ok? Am I too late? Is she ok? What did they do? Are you ok? Come on I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you! Don’t make me fail worse than I already have don’t do this. Damnit I’m running out of time. Come on, y/n. Y/n I’m sorry. What’s going on? She has to be hurt. Did they drug her before I got down here? We have to get out of here now. It was never ending and fast and overwhelming but brought you back. Just a little but. Just enough. Enough for you to be aware of even more horribly loud gunshots and Bucky picking you up. Clearly not going to waste any more time trying to get you to come through at the moment. Focusing. Focus focus focus. On getting the both of you out and then you to help. There was running and guns and loud loud noises. All the light was still dazzling. You could feel blood roaring in your ears and your heart beating fast. But there was sharp pain all around you. Not yours. Not physically for you. Apparently you didn’t need physical touch to feel other people because you could hear the loud bangs and if it hit someone nearby, which was often, you could feel where and what and everything. The pressure in your head was too much. It was a rush. It felt rushed. It was rushed. Your thoughts and brain still felt all repetitive and wrong and off but now there was everything else. And still Bucky. And get yourself together y/n you try to think furiously but it sounded more desperate to your inner monologue. Get it together. You could help. You could you just- oh my God that is far too bright. Apparently it was on the Sun’s agenda to become the brightest thing on earth or something because the moment you were out in the open it was like getting blinded. You didn’t even realize you reacted by shutting your eyes tightly, not surprising, and turning to hide your face into Bucky. Which was much more of a surprise. But then again. Maybe not.

There was more fighting and noises and you could feel Bucky’s heartbeat speeding like a person running in a horror movie. He was breathing hard and suddenly things were much darker, which felt so much better. The running had stopped all at once and you were set down like you were the most delicate thing. Gently as possible, propped up against the wall. Wall of where, oh. That didn’t take much to figure out. You should have known anyway but it didn’t really matter. There was the sound of an engine and that really weird stomach dropping sensation that made you feel nauseous and some talking. It was such a strange state to be in. Where everything was both too much yet too off for anything to even come together in the right ways. You could see but not really understand what. You could hear but couldn’t make out the words. After a while you felt someone, not Bucky this time evidently, start gently prodding you in different areas, and you were able to figure out that it was Melina. She was probably just checking to make sure you’re ok. And if you were being entirely honest, you weren’t ok. But you were also kind of glad that it was Melina, at least. There was even more talking and eventually you felt a sharp prick in your arm that stayed for a little moment and seemed to be drawn out before a second one a little higher than the first. That one did something, if not completely bring you back to normal, getting you a little closer to being properly aware again. Melina instructed Bucky, who was standing off to the side still catching his breath, “You tell me if there’s a change, yes?” He glanced up from a long cut he was treating on his arm and nodded after a second. Melina seemed fine with this and answer gave you a slight smile and rubbing your shoulder before getting up to go probably fly the jet. You close your eyes and wince, trying to lift a hand to your head. “You ok?” You blinked your eyes open again to look at Bucky. “Dunno…” you manage to mumble, trying to sit up a little more and wincing. “Try to stay still.” He suggested, flinching when he put some of Melina’s ointment for wounds on the cut then wrapping it with a bandage and looking up to watch you again. After a long moment of silence he stepped over and sat down next to you against the wall, staring ahead solemnly. “I’m sorry.” He finally said after a long moment. “So sorry. I said that you didn’t have to worry about them anymore. That I would be able to help defend you. And I failed. Badly.” He sighed, dragging one hand through his hair. You still don’t entirely trust yourself to actually be able to really speak or get out all the words inside your brain and all the words in everyone else’s brains apparently but it felt really important to you that he should know something. That you didn’t blame him at all. No way. Not his fault. Without any better way you just… let your head softly drop to his shoulder. You’re looking forward still, just off into space. You didn’t know what words to say so you didn’t say anything. You hadn’t really been raised to show emotion but you hoped that this was enough for him for him to understand that you didn’t blame him. It wasn’t his fault. In that moment you could feel a spike in his emotions, or at least you were assuming they were his still. Not quite negative, more like dampened surprise mixed with a little bit of something that felt warm and good. You weren’t sure what that one was yet. But you knew you’d find a name for it eventually.

[reginaphalange2403]

Never Again

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Despite an intense dislike for one another, you and Bucky begrudgingly get paired together for a mission. You’re forced to look past your differences when things so south.

Warnings: Canon level violence, asshole Bucky (at first), enemies to lovers vibes, other mcu characters make appearances. Word count: 6.1k

a/n: AHHHH my first fic in like 6 months! this is also the first time I've ever written for Bucky or written anything like this. It was a lot of fun and I hope I did him justice lol. Enjoy!

The loud hissing of the Keurig was a rude awakening to your 7am start to the day. Unfortunately, Steve had decided to hold a team conference meeting at 8. Why he chose to annoy you all like this, you weren’t sure. 

“Are you fucking done yet?” You instantly recognized the deep, rough voice muttering under his breath behind you. Bucky had his arms folded and was impatiently waiting for you to finish up at the machine so he could make his own cup.

“Already have a stick up your ass today, huh Barnes?” You spit back at him before moving to let him use the Keurig.

“Well, I wouldn’t have one if you weren’t the first thing I saw when I came down the stairs.” 

Damn. That stung. “Have you ever been nice for once in your life? Or is being a dick just a permanent part of your personality?” 

At your words, Bucky looked up at you and feigned offense “Oh, I’m nice” He assured you in an almost sweet tone, before turning cold again “…to people that deserve it.”

You rolled your eyes at him, muttering a ‘whatever’, and left the kitchen to go take a seat in the conference room. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an atypical conversation for you to have with Bucky. Ever since you had joined the team almost a year ago - at Natasha Romanoff’s request - Bucky had been anything but welcoming. At first, you thought it was just friendly banter, him trying to sarcastically intimidate you, but it was clear by now that he genuinely had a deep distaste for you. 

Soon enough, everyone else started to file in for the meeting. Nat smiled as she took the seat next to you, her regular spot, and quietly started asking you about your morning. Bucky was the last one to enter the room, and by that point the only seat left was the one on your other side. 

He glared at you as he sat down. 

“It’s not my fault you’re always late to these things” You quipped under your breath.

“Don’t push it, sweetheart” Bucky frustratingly muttered, and you quickly opened your mouth to reply before Natasha interrupted,

“Don’t bother with him, Y/N. He’s always a grump in the mornings” 

‘No, he’s always a grump to me’ you thought to yourself, but kept your mouth shut. 

“Good Morning, everyone” Steve finally got started with the meeting, a cheery grin on his face that was all too happy for 8am, in your opinion.

“As you all know, for months now we’ve been trying to track down where exactly Ian Haverford and his men have been setting up camp and operating their illegal activities” Most recently, the team had been working on taking down a group of rouge scientists. They had somehow been creating and using a serum that was similar to the super soldier serum. A antidote that made them have increased strength, speed and agility. They then used their new enhancements to rob and kill storeowners, evade the police, and then subsequently sell the drugs and weapons that they had stolen. 

“We’ve finally located their compound, up in rural Virginia, we-“

“What he meant to say was I located their compound in Virginia” Tony cheekily butt in. 

Steve sighed, having to stop his own eye roll, “Fine, yes, Tony located the compound. Anyway, as I was saying…We believe that that’s where they’re making the serum. The sooner we go in, the less time they have to continue using the serum and giving it to more people. Now, I didn’t necessarily think this was a task we all needed to partake in. It really only requires two people to take down Haverford and gather intel on what chemicals they’ve been using”

Steve took a big breath before revealing who he had assigned to the mission, knowing he’d have hell to pay, “Y/N and Bucky will be heading to Virginia tomorrow morning-“

“Are you serious Rogers?!” You immediately confronted Steve’s decision as you heard Bucky next you,

“You’ve got to be kidding me” He mumbled, clearly as annoyed as you were.

Steve put his hands up defensively, “I know the two of you don’t always get along, but I was hoping this assignment would allow you to work together and actually have to interact beyond your bickering” 

You had never been on a mission with just Bucky before. Of course, the two of you had been on missions with the rest of the avengers together, but never just the two of you. 

Steve continued, “Besides, we need someone who’s a super soldier to infiltrate the compound. Bucky has the strength and speed to match that of Haverford’s people. And Y/N, you also have enhancements, it makes sense to send the both of you in together.” He concluded by basically saying his decision was final, and that you and Buck would be leaving on a quinjet first thing tomorrow.

During your years in the red room, you had been injected with various substances and drugs that over time had enhanced your agility, flexibility, reflexes and even your sight. But you didn’t see how that made you a necessary aspect to this assignment. You were sure Steve was just using that as an excuse, he really just wanted you to get along better with Bucky. 

Speaking of which, Buck stood up from his chair as you looked over at him, he glowered at you for a moment before scoffing, “Guess I’ll just have to grin and bear it” and with that he left the room. 

You stayed, waiting for everyone else to file out so that you could speak with Steve privately. Natasha gave you a sympathetic look and squeezed your shoulder, as she was the last one to head out after talking to Steve for a while herself. You were always sort of jealous of their friendship. Of course, you had Nat. Who was your closest confidant in the group. But you also wanted to be close with the guys as well. You supposed Steve was your friend, but sometimes it felt like he looked at you as more of a younger sister. 

Finally, it was just you and Steve alone in the room and you were still sitting in your same seat, Steve standing at the head of the table. He tilted his head towards you and quirked his eyebrows, waiting for you to say something. 

“Why does he hate me?” You asked quietly. You had always wanted to go to Steve for advice on how to handle Bucky, but never wished to cause a rift in their friendship or make Steve feel like he was put in the middle of something.

His eyes went soft and he sighed, “Oh Y/N” He began gently “I know it may come off that way, but Buck doesn’t hate you. He just…” Steve looked to find the right words, “has a hard time handling his emotions and how he feels about people… especially people that bring up past trauma for him” 

Steve’s little hint helped you clue in to what he was trying to imply. You knew that Bucky had a history with the red room, long before you ever did, but you never really knew the details of it or how he was involved. You were saved from Dreykov almost a year ago when Natasha returned to destroy him. You were one of Yelena’s closest friends and she had introduced you to Nat, who then saw how skilled you were and decided to invite you to join the avengers, since you really had no other home to go to. Yelena meanwhile, had wanted to enjoy her freedom a little more and chose to see the world a bit before deciding to join any sort of vigilante team. Though Natasha always held out hope that she would finally join one day when she felt ready. 

“But Nat’s from the red room too!” You defended yourself, “And Bucky treats her perfectly fine! It’s not my fault that my past is what it is. I can’t help the fact that I was raised there, why does he have to hold that against me?” You started to get emotional and Steve could tell, so he began to try and explain his friends behavior.

“Well, he’s gotten to know Natasha for a few years now, so I think they’re on better terms. Plus he kinda owes her one for how she saved both our asses during the whole…sokovia accords thing” Steve said the last part quietly while sort of shamefully looking down. Despite the fact that it was worked out now, that whole incident with him, Tony and Bucky still deeply bothered Steve to even bring up.

He continued after a moment, “He doesn’t hold it against you Y/N, it’s not your fault. He just doesn’t like the memories you bring up for him, the things you remind him of. And he doesn’t know how to properly process and work through them, so instead he just takes out that pent up anger and self hatred on you. It’s not fair to you, but it’s also not your fault.”

“Get him to see a therapist then” you muttered.

Steve scoffed, “Believe me, I’ve tried.” 

He then walked around the length of the table to where you were sitting and gave you a pleading look, “Just give him a chance. Hopefully this mission will be the thing that finally gets him to see you in a different light. I know it’s hard to believe, but he really does have a sweet, soft side under all that brooding, if you dig deep enough” And that was what Steve left you with as he walked out, leaving you alone to mull over what he had said. 

———————

For the rest of that day, you and Bucky both avoided each other. You spent most of the afternoon locked up in your room or in the gym, perfecting a few moves with Nat’s help in preparation for your assignment. You didn’t see Bucky all day, you assumed he also was doing his best to not run into you.

Now, you were seated across from him on the quinjet, an awkward silence taking up the majority of the ride to a rural part of Virginia. He barely even looked at you for the entire 2 hour flight. Mostly staring down at his hands with airpods in, or having his head tilted back and eyes closed. As you neared the end of your trip, jet about to touch down, you noticed Bucky finally didn’t have headphones in, so you decided it would be a good time to set some things straight before you literally went into battle with him.

Cautiously, you spoke up, “Look, I know we don’t necessarily see eye to eye but we really need to-“

He cut you off sharply “Once we touch down I’ll take the northeast side of the compound and you can take the south side. They apparently keep their lab in a big room on the south side, so you head that way and ransack the lab while I take down Haverford, who’s quarters are up in the north end. Got it?” Not even listening to what you had tried to say, Bucky simply started barking out a game plan at you.

“Sure, but I was saying that we-“

Bucky sighed dramatically, “Look Y/N, we just need to do our damn jobs and get this over with. Alright?”

“But Steve said-“

“I don’t care what Steve said.” He snapped, “I’m not here to make nice.”

And with that, you sat in silence again for the last few minutes of the flight. The quinjet landed in an open forrest area, roughly a 10 minute walk away from where Haverford’s compound was supposed to be. Of course, you couldn’t land right next to it without risking them hearing and giving yourselves away. So, you and Bucky began the short trek to the complex, once again in complete silence the whole way there. 

Finally, you arrived upon a large monster of a building. It took up almost the entirety of the empty field that it occupied, with no windows around it whatsoever. To anyone else, it looked like from the outside to be just an eery abandoned building. You and Buck snuck around to the backside where a hatch door was used to get into the lower level of the building. 

“When we’re done,” Bucky finally spoke for the first time in over 15 minutes “How about we meet up back here at this door, so that we can leave asap and not waste time trying to find each other in this fucking maze. Good?��

You swallowed, remembering the “plan” Bucky had laid out earlier on the jet. You really didn’t feel right about splitting up with him. The compound was massive and neither of you had ever navigated it before. Sure, Steve had shown you a basic floor plan of it and talked about where he believed they were making the serum, but that was it. You didn’t know your way around this territory, and you didn’t know what Haverford’s men were like.  And on this mission, it was just you and Buck. You didn’t have the other avengers around to look out for you, or be your eyes and ears over the comms. 

“Bucky, I don’t know if we should separate. This place is big.” You finally admitted.

“It’s nothing you can’t handle” He grumbled out, which should have sounded like a compliment but came out as more of something to shut you up and get on with it.

“But what if one of us gets injured or can’t find our way back to the door?” You asked, embarrassed to be admitting your nerves to him. Bucky could see for a moment that you were genuinely anxious about this.

“We have the comms in our ears,” He began in a slightly softer tone than he had ever spoken to you before, “If you need help, just talk to me. I’ll be in your ear the whole time” 

You nodded, still a little worried but trying not to show it.

“Splitting up is the fastest way to do this. And the faster we get this done, the less time we have to spend together.” Ah, there was the Bucky you knew. Back to making jabs at you. That was the last you spoke before he broke the door open and you were in.

—————————

As discreetly as possible, you made your way through the compound, quietly trying to get to the south wing without being heard or seen. Steve said that they most likely were keeping their lab in the largest room in the building, which supposedly should be through the last door on the south side. As long as you could find it, get the records and evidence that you needed, and get back to the exit in time to meet Bucky, you’d be fine. 

You could hear Bucky through the comms, sounds of grunting and punching obviously coming from him fighting Ian Haverford’s men that he had come into contact with. 

“Looking for something princess?” You immediately stopped in your tracks at the sound of a deep sinister voice snarling at you. Whipping around, you saw one of Ian’s goonies standing just a few feet from you. 

Instantly he charged at you, but it was nothing you hadn’t ever dealt with. Before he could grab you, you took hold of his arm and twisted it behind his back, affectively turning his entire body away from you. Then, using the Widow’s Bite armor that were around your wrists, you tased him in the neck, causing him to fall completely unconscious.

It was then that you realized you had made it to the end of the hallway, and thus the last door which was supposed to be their lab. Prepared for men to potentially be in there, you unholstered one of your firearms, and promptly kicked down the door.

To your shock, the room had no occupants. You quickly reached over to find a light switch, and what you saw next was infuriating. It indeed was Ian Haverford’s lab. Full of tables and stations that held different mixed drugs and chemicals that he was using to create his own super soldier serum, one that he then used on himself and his accomplices. You also saw a station that was entirely made up of a large desktop connected to multiple computers. 

You started to make your way towards the computers so that you could plug in your hard-drive and collect the data that would supply the team with how Haverford had been making the serums. But before you could get there, a white, powdery substance started to sprits down from what looked like emergency sprinklers that were on the ceiling. The substance reeked like chemicals, similar to that of bleach but not as strong. You began to cough a little, trying to wipe the shit out of your face and eyes. You had no idea what the fuck it was or what it might possibly do to you. 

“Bucky” you half coughed half called his name into the comms, “Bucky something happened”

“What?” He grunted out, clearly still in the middle of fighting someone.

“I just got sprayed with some kind of white powder stuff. I don’t know what it was. It must have been part of some kind of booby-trap that they had on the lab, since I kicked their door in, it went off.”

“Are you okay?” Bucky immediately asked, seeming genuinely worried. 

“Yeah I mean, nothings happened yet, I’m still fine. But-“

“I’m a little busy Y/N, if you’re fine for now, just get the data from the lab and head out fast. I don’t have time to keep talking” he quickly rattled off to you, and you heard a loud scream coming from a guy that Bucky obviously just injured. 

You swallowed, still very nervous about whatever the hell just happened to you, but you didn’t want to distract Bucky any further and potentially get him hurt, “Alright. On it.” 

Plugging the hard-drive into the main desktop, you waited patiently as thousands of files started to download from Haverford’s database. As you stood there and waited, an annoying, high pitched ringing began to go off in your ears. At the same time, your vision slowly started to blur slightly, as if you were wearing the wrong prescription glasses. A lump formed in your throat and your heart practically dropped into your stomach, you hated to admit it, but this was deeply scaring you. You’d never been poisoned before. 

You rubbed your eyes, hoping maybe it would help, but nothing happened, the blurriness just got worse. On top of that, your head started to pound, most likely due to the loud obnoxious ringing. It was the powder, you knew it had to be. What else would just suddenly start causing all this? 

“Y/N? You still good?” You heard Bucky ask through the comms, clearly still preoccupied with something else but wanting to check on you. 

You debated telling him about your symptoms. You were teammates, he should know. But on the other hand, It was just a few mostly mild symptoms, and the files were almost finished downloading anyway. You’d grab the hard-drive, run out of the compound and meet him in just a few minutes. You could make it until then. Plus, you didn’t wish to further annoy or distract him from fighting. 

“Yeah. Still good!” You tried to sound as enthusiastic and convincing as possible. It must have worked, because he didn’t question you further. 

Standing over the counter, still waiting for the files to be done, you leaned over the table a bit and made the idiotic decision to close your eyes for just a second, trying to relieve the headache. 

A moment later, you felt a sharp, intense fiery pain in your abdomen as someone reached from behind you choking your neck and thrusting a knife into your stomach. You were paralyzed for just a second with fear, not even able to cry out. The ringing in your ears was so bad, you must not have heard anyone come in. 

Trying to ignore the pain, you instinctively kicked your right leg back hard, hitting the man in the groin and causing him to fall to the ground. However, on his way down, he didn’t miss the chance to slash you in the calve with the knife he had been holding. The stab was so quick you could only gasp in pain. A gasp Bucky must not have heard as he was fighting his own battles. 

Turning around, you fumbled for your firearm for a moment before finally getting it out and being able to pull the trigger, sending a bullet right through his chest. Stumbling backwards a bit, you started to feel lightheaded and you were reminded of the red hot pain in your stomach. You placed a hand over the side the feeling was coming from, and immediately felt a sticky hot liquid coat your fingers. 

You didn’t have time however to investigate the stab wound, because as you glanced up, you could see through your blurry vision that 3 more men were walking in through the kicked down door. 

Lazily raising your gun again, gripping the table to keep from toppling over, you aimed as best you could, with ringing ears, blurred vision and now two stab wounds. Thankfully, your training in the red room had taught you how to aim with even a blindfold on, and with a few quick shots, the men were taken down, now lying limply on the ground in front of you. 

Bucky heard the gunshots through the comm, but since you never called his name or made a noise that would indicate you needed help, he assumed you had it under control. 

You let the gun fall from your hand, now that you were alone and for now, out of danger, you were finally able to feel the extent of your injuries as the adrenaline wore off. Ever so slowly, you peered down at your stomach and saw that the hand you’d been holding there was almost entirely now coated in blood. Without meaning to, you fell to your knees, which then painfully reminded you of the other deep wound in your calve. However, you were so tired, and the loss of blood was making it hard to do anything other than focus on breathing.  

You knew you needed to alert Bucky. You couldn’t just lie here and wait, you didn’t have that kind of time. 

“Bu-Buck” you whimpered, trying to be loud enough that the comm would pick it up. But even just trying to talk was proving to be exhausting. You knew you were losing what was probably a lot of blood. Wet hot tears started to roll down your face, you were dangerously close to just giving in to the blood loss induced exhaustion and closing your eyes.

——————

Bucky, meanwhile, had finished taking down the men on the other half of the facility and was waiting for you outside at the spot you’d both agreed you would meet. He spoke over the comms, “I took down Haverford and his men. I’m out here now. Hurry up.” Short and to the point. How he always was with you. 

Immediately, more tears welled in your eyes at hearing his voice. You were desperate, in pain, and exhausted. Despite having a deep distaste for Bucky, you knew you needed him. You needed him to come and find you. You didn’t have enough strength to speak, but luckily the sound of his voice finally brought your own voice back and you mustered up a deep, pathetic and painful whine from the back of your throat…and it was enough to be caught over your ear piece. 

He stood there for a few minutes, getting antsy. Especially since he didn’t hear fighting noises over comms, he assumed you were just taking your sweet time making it back to him.

After a bit of waiting he sighed, grumbling “C’mon Y/N, what the fuck could you possibly-“

His complaining ceased as soon as he heard your one singular cry through the comm. Bucky’s eyes went wide, heart dropping into his stomach. He’d never heard a sound like that come out of you before. 

“Y/N?” He called your name in an almost scared tone, “Are you okay?”

No response.

Bucky swore under his breath, “I’m coming, just hang on” he made that promise to you like it was an oath, and raced back inside the building. 

Sprinting to the side of the compound that you were tasked with handling, Bucky searched frantically through the hallways, popping his head into every room trying to find you….until he did.

You laid there, blood seeping across your shirt and a pool of it surrounding your one injured leg. The men that you had disarmed and killed were sprawled out around you. 

After his initial shock wore off, Bucky ran to you, kicking one of the dead arms dealers out of the way to get to you. He dropped to his knees, eyes scanning your wounds.

“Oh, Y/N” He whispered with guilt and sorrow dripping from his tone. A million emotions flashed across his face. Including anger at the men who had attacked you, but mostly at himself for allowing this to happen. 

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and the tears finally flowed freely now. Aside from the pain, you were relieved. Despite you’re not getting along, in this moment you wanted nothing more than for Bucky to hold you, and tell you everything was going to be just fine.

“Okay” he whispered in a stunned tone, trying to calm both you and himself down. His hands hovered over your body as he took in your wounds and decided what he needed to do. 

 “Okay, alright.” That time, it came out more sure, “It’s alright, doll. Just keep breathing for me.”  He tried to comfort you as he whipped out his phone and let Tony and the team know they needed medical there immediately.

Bucky then swallowed, giving you a remorseful look for what he was about to do. 

“Okay sweetheart,” he began tenderly, as he took off the black jacket he had on, and then promptly ripped the sleeve of it off with his metal arm. 

“I’m gonna have to tie this around your leg to stop the bleeding. It might hurt a bit, but I gotta do it” He gently explained what he needed to do, waiting to see a sign in your eyes that at least you understood. You gave him a very weak nod, and that was all he needed to then wrap the sleeve tightly around your upper calf. 

He was right, it did hurt. But it wasn’t anything you hadn’t expected or weren’t prepared for. However, you believe Bucky only told you about having to wrap your leg, in order to half distract you from what he did next. 

A blinding, nauseating pain quickly overcame you as he took the rest of the jacket he had, and with his metal arm and half his body weight, pressed it over your abdominal wound.

You immediately cried out and instinctively reached for Bucky’s arm, trying to push him away. 

“Shhh, I know, I know baby” Bucky, who almost sounded pain-stricken himself with guilt, began to hush you, “I know it hurts, but I have to, I have to” He grabbed your hand that had tried to push him away, and let you squeeze the life out of his own as he continued applying pressure. His thumb softly grazed your knuckles, trying to soothe you. 

While continuing to comfort you, Bucky began to look around as if he expected someone else to also come to your aid. It was then that he realized he’d need to get you out of the building in order to get you onto the quinjet. There was no way the medical team would be able to find their way around in here to get to you in time. And he could see that you’d already lost a lot of blood, and even with the tourniquet and pressure he applied, you were still losing some. 

He took a breath, staring into your eyes with a serious yet remorseful look on his face, “Ok doll, I’m gonna have to pick you up and carry you out, but we can’t let up pressure on your wound” he explained, “So, I’m gonna need your help.”

Bucky then took the hand of yours that he was holding and gently guided it over to your abdomen. Lifting the jacket, he placed your hand over your own wound, you whimpered a little at the contact. Bucky swallowed, “I know doll, but I need you to put pressure on it like I was, okay? Can you do that for me?” He looked at you pleadingly, praying that you understood what he was saying.

Having to bite your own lip to keep from crying out again, you started to press down on your stomach with the little strength you still had. Bucky could tell you were trying by your obvious change in facial expression, “That’s it. Just like that, that’s my girl” he praised, quickly swiping one of your tears away. It wasn’t a lot of pressure, but it would do. 

Ever so gently, trying to avoid hurting your injured leg, Bucky gracefully slipped his arms underneath you and scooped you up, holding you close to his chest. You moaned a little at the shift in movement, “Shhh, I got you doll. I got you” he whispered into your hair as you shoved your face in the crook of his neck. 

He quickly made his way back out of the compound with you in his arms, thanking god when he saw the medevac quinjet was already out there waiting for you guys. Bucky tenderly laid you down on the stretcher, taking hold of your hand again as soon as he was able. 

“She was poisoned with something and then stabbed in her lower left calve and left quadrant of her abdomen” He immediately started rambling off what had happened to the medical team and Dr. Cho. 

“Poisoned with what?” Someone asked, he didn’t see who it was cause he wasn’t taking his eyes off of you. 

“I- I don’t know.” Bucky admitted, “I think she said it was white and powdery, I can’t remember.” Internally, he was kicking himself so hard for not having immediately ran to you when you told him about the poison. He shouldn’t have just written you off and told you to deal with it. He shouldn’t have done a lot of things. 

Bucky sat on the little bench in the quinjet right next you, still holding your hand, while the team got to work on your injuries. Technically, he should have been sitting at the front of the jet, out of their way, but no one was going to tell an upset Bucky Barnes what to do. 

As they began working your leg, removing the tourniquet and getting a shot of lidocaine ready to numb the area, you saw them preparing the syringe out of the corner of your eye. You begin to hyperventilate, letting out a small whimper of fear. You hated all things medical, which stemmed from a deep rooted fear that dated back to your red room days. After years of being practically experimented on and shot up with god knows what, you didn’t particularly love the sight of needles. Even if you knew you were in a safe environment. 

Bucky, who was still diligently sitting right beside you, immediately recognized your anxious reaction. He too knew that fear all too well. While he didn’t like to admit it, his time as the winter solider and being left at the hands of hydra often caused him to have visceral reactions to medical paraphernalia. 

“Hey, hey” he softly called to you as he gently held your chin and brought your face to meet his, “It’s alright doll, you don’t have to look down there. Just look at me. Right at me.” He held your eyes, squeezing your hand a little tighter to let you know he was there. “That’s it. Just keep looking at me, Y/N. I’m right here” And that’s how you eventually went unconscious, staring into Bucky’s eyes as he quietly shushed you and ran his hand through your hair.

——————

The harsh lights of the medical wing practically blinded you as you tried to let your eyes slowly adjust to your surroundings. 

“Hey hon” you heard a soft voice coming from your right side, whom you instantly recognized as Natasha. 

“Well there she is” another voice, coming from your left who you thought was Steve, spoke up, sounding relieved at the fact you were awake. Your suspicions were proven correct when Steve leaned over slightly into your line of view. 

“Welcome back, Y/N” he smiled, clearly exhausted but delighted by your opened eyes. 

Your voice came out raspy and weak as you spoke for the first time, “H-how long have I been out?”

Natasha grabbed a cup from off your bedside table and offered you some water as Steve answered you,

“About three days. They had to get the bleeding under control and repair a portion of your stomach that was perforated. They also gave you some antibiotics to combat whatever the hell it was you were poisoned with,” he explained, “they seem to be working though. Doc says as soon as you’re strong enough, you can finish recuperating in your own room” He ended his spiel with a smile, but there was still one question he hadn’t answered that you were desperate for.

“W-Where’s Bucky?” You wondered why he wasn’t here, as you didn’t see him next to Steve or Nat. 

“He’s right here, Y/N” Steve motioned to the back of the room where you couldn’t see, but Bucky was standing in the corner, eyes red and sunken in like he’d been crying. He immediately picked his head up when he heard you mention him. 

“He hasn’t left this room in three days” Steve whispered to you in a hushed tone, hoping Bucky couldn’t hear him.

Nat cleared her throat, “We’re just gonna go get some coffee” she looked at Steve and jerked her head towards the door, beckoning him to follow her. They both left, leaving you and Bucky to yourselves. 

Slowly, Buck made his way over to your bed, taking the seat that Steve was just in. 

He was almost fearful of what to say, surprised that you had even asked for him in the first place. He blamed himself entirely for what happened, and was positive that when you woke up, you’d want nothing to do with him. And he wouldn’t blame you.

“Hey doll” he croaked out, voice sounding strained, “How’re you feeling?”

You swallowed, “My stomach hurts, and I have a headache” you admitted, still in a bit of pain from your wound healing. 

Bucky nodded, “Do you want me to get the doctor? They might be able to give you more pain meds.” He asked, wanting to make sure you were as comfortable as possible. You didn’t know, but for the past three days Bucky had remained diligently at your bedside, alerting medical staff of any slight change in vital signs or if he thought you were cold and needed more blankets. He’d only left a few brief times when Steve had to force him to go eat or use the bathroom. 

You shook your head, “no, no I’m okay. Promise” You offered him a slight smile. 

Bucky stared down at his hands for a moment before he spoke up again, “Y/N, I am so so so sorry. This never would’ve happened if I had just listened to you and not had us split up.” He spoke with such guilt and shame you almost felt bad for him, “I was so focused on my own agenda and being a dick to you, that I completely ignored when you needed help. I can’t even-“

“Buck,” you interrupted him, reaching over and grabbing his hand with the little strength you had, “this isn’t your fault. It’s the fault of the men who stabbed me. That’s it. No one else’s” As much as you knew he fucked up with the way he treated you, you certainly didn’t think he should have to take responsibility for you getting hurt. 

“But if I had come as soon as you said you were poisoned, if I had just listened to you instead of choosing to be an asshole, you probably wouldn’t be in this hospital bed” he insisted, eyes getting watery. 

“Well, you were an asshole, I’ll give you that.” You smirked at him, trying to get him to relax, “but you also saved my life.” Bucky looked up at you, “You tied the tourniquet which kept me from losing more blood, and then made sure I didn’t have a panic attack on the quinjet. You might have fucked up a little Bucky, but you certainly made up for it” you gave his hand a little squeeze. 

For the first time since you went under surgery, Bucky smiled, “All the same, I’m never separating from you during missions ever again.” 

You playfully rolled your eyes, “that sounds a little suffocating, don’t you think?”

He shook his head, “Nope. Not to me. Nothings ever happening to you while you’re under my watch again”

“Well if that’s the case,” you scooted over a little in the bed, “will you keep me warm before I freeze to death in here?” You were genuinely very cold and were hoping for someone to bring you another blanket, but you supposed having Bucky there would do.

He chuckled softly, “you got it.” Lowering the hospital bed rail, Bucky climbed in and laid down next you, pulling you up close to him with his arm around your shoulders. 

He placed a brief kiss along your hairline, “get some rest, doll. I’ll be right here.” 

————-

Taglist: @patzammit @dpaccione @fdl305 @gh0stgurl

[writerslittlelibrary]

All assassins need a cat

masterlist

summary: since your rescue from the Red Room you had been living in the tower, and it didn’t take you long to realise that ex-assassins simply need a cat 

pairing: Winterwidow x widow teen reader, Natasha x widow teen reader, Bucky x widow teen reader

warnings: cats

genre: fluff

words: 1602

a/n: I really want a cat, so I figured I'd write something short about it :) 

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

Living in the Avengers tower had been nothing short of amazing. The people were kind, the food was even better. After living in the Red Room for so long you were overwhelmed with the freedom you were given, and the choices you could make.

You had been in the tower for two months now, and although you liked almost everyone that lived in the tower, you preferred Natasha and Bucky the most. 

They were kind, and because of your shared life experience it was easy to get along with them. They understood you, and there was no pressure in talking to them. You knew that whatever you told them, they would understand. It was comforting. 

However, it didn't take very long before you realised that both Natasha and Bucky owned a cat. 

It happened during a movie night. Natasha and Bucky had sworn to catch you up on all the great movies you missed. While watching the entirety of the Indiana Jones movies, a small, black cat jumped up on the bed, snuggling against Natasha. 

After you asked who the cat was, Natasha explained that she got her after living in the tower for a while. She said it helped her feel better about herself, and her past. 

‘Liho,’ as Natasha told you she was called, took a liking to you rather quickly. It didn't take many movie nights before Liho wasn’t only snuggling on Natasha's lap, but also climbing on yours. 

During breakfast with Natasha and Bucky later that week, you spotted a white cat joining you in the kitchen. It walked up to Bucky and started yelling at him for food. Bucky picked the cat up, snuggling with it for a few seconds before grabbing some food, feeding it. 

“That's Alpine,” Bucky had explained, telling you how he had gotten a cat not long after Natasha did. 

Bucky and Natasha didn't share a floor when they had gotten their cats, but when they moved in together it didn't take long before the cats became friendly with each other. Natasha had told you how you could often find them snuggled up together. 

After meeting both cats, you could often be found cuddling with them. 

When you were sitting in your room, you would leave your door open, allowing the cats to enter whenever they pleased. Often, they would wander into your room, either jumping on your bed or jumping on your lap while you entertained yourself. 

They started following you around the house soon after, always begging for cuddles and kisses. You cheerfully obliged, and it didn't go unmissed by either Bucky or Natasha. 

Natasha had brought up the idea one night, after you had fallen asleep in their room. 

She shared her thoughts with Bucky, discussing how it might be good for you to get a cat of your own. You loved the cats that were already living in the house, and both Natasha and Bucky thought it would be great for you to raise a cat of your own. 

At breakfast a week later Natasha brought it up again.

“How would you feel about getting another cat…?” Natasha asked carefully, bringing up the question casually so as to not make you suspicious. 

“You want another cat?” You asked cheerfully, petting Liho behind her ears as she settled on your lap. 

Natasha nodded. “It might be fun for Liho and Alpine to get another play buddy.”

Bucky nodded along, settling in the seat next to you. 

“Besides, we were thinking, you might like one of your own…” Bucky explained carefully, but your gasp of excitement washed all their worries away. 

“I could get a cat?!” You asked excitedly, watching as Natasha chuckled before nodding. 

“If that’s something that you want,” she explained, sitting into the seat across from you. “I still have the contact information from the same people I bought Liho from. They have another nest and are looking for homes for the kittens,” Natasha told you, biting into her toast.

“We could go have a look if you want,” she finished. 

Another gasp of excitement left your lips. “I could get a kitten? We can go look at kittens?!” you exclaimed happily. 

Natasha and Bucky both nodded, chuckling a bit.

“We can visit today,” Bucky explained. 

------------------------------------------------------------- 

After finishing your breakfast quickly, you had gotten into the car, heading over to the address that had the kittens. On the way, Natasha told you that the kittens were already old enough to leave the nest, so if there were a kitten that you had a connection with, you would be able to take it home the same day. 

You happily stared out the window, humming along to the song on the radio as your excitement grew. 

Once inside the house, you were practically jumping from excitement, sighing a little when Natasha, Bucky, you, and the other two people sat down at the table to greet each other and catch up. 

Natasha noticed your impatience, grabbing your hand under the table and rubbing soothing circles on it, assuring you that you would get to meet the kittens soon.

After a tedious half hour, the woman finally got up, leading you towards a different room where all the kittens were. 

Once you were finally inside, you gasped in excitement when all the kittens ran towards your legs, playing with your shoelaces.

You went to sit on the ground, smiling as all the kittens started exploring around you, inspecting you. Natasha moved to sit next to you, lifting a kitten into her lap and cuddling with it. 

After playing with the kittens for a little while, you found out that the mother cat was actually one of Liho's siblings, so you would be adopting a cat of Liho’s family. 

You were in the kitten room for about two hours, and you had grown especially close to one little kitten. It was the smallest one, and she was sleepy and shy when you first came in. After about half an hour, she did come over to you, sniffing you for a bit before deciding that you were the perfect place to take a nap. She climbed on your leg and started sleeping. 

“Can we have this one?” you asked Natasha as you carefully petted the young cat's body, allowing her to rest.

“She does really like you,” the woman said, cuddling with the mother cat.

Bucky stood in the corner, observing you and his girlfriend as you had a bonding moment. He loved Natasha more than anything, and you were slowly becoming just as important to him. He loved both of you, and he wanted to give you this moment together. He knew how much it meant to Natasha to be a mother, and he was certain it meant a lot to you as well. 

Natasha nodded excitedly, giving the kitten on your lap a little snuggle.

“I wish we were able to take them all. They are all so cute,” Natasha said as she lifted another kitten from the ground, holding it close to her and giving it some kisses. 

The woman stood up, walking over to Bucky. 

“If you could come with me, I will get you all the medical papers and get everything sorted out.”

Bucky nodded and followed the woman out of the room, leaving you and Natasha to snuggle with the kittens a little longer. 

------------------------------------------------------------- 

After getting everything sorted you had taken the sleeping kitten into your lap, snuggling with it while you sat on the backseat. 

You were more than happy with your new best friend, and both Natasha and Bucky were more than happy because of the fact you were so happy. You cuddled with the cat a little more before you as well fell asleep.

When you woke up again you were back in the Avengers tower, sleeping on Natasha’s and Bucky's bed while Natasha read a book. 

“Good afternoon my little Malyshka,” she said when she noticed you were awake. She closed her book, setting it aside and brushing some of your hair out of your face. You groaned and blinked a few times before sitting up, noticing the weight that pressed on your legs. Your little kitten was still fast asleep. 

You smiled and reached down to pet her, enjoying the purring she made as she snuggled closer into your hand. 

“Thank you, Natasha,” you said as you looked at her, smiling when she gave you a kiss on your forehead. 

“Anything for you, my little Malyshka,” Natasha said as she cupped your cheeks, giving you another kiss on your nose.

“Leave some snuggles for me,” you heard Bucky say from the door opening, watching as he walked inside and crawled into the bed, on the other side of you. 

You smiled and leaned forward, giving him a little kiss on your cheek. 

Bucky smiled as well. “Thank you little miss,” he said jokingly as he leaned forwards as well, giving you a little kiss on your forehead. 

Your kitten started making some noises, waking up and taking in its surroundings. Once her eyes landed on you, she crawled higher up your legs, settling onto your chest as you leaned against Natasha. It didn't take long before the kitten fell asleep again, enjoying your gentle pets and kisses. 

“Another movie?” Natasha questioned as she observed your state, realising she would not be getting out of the bed for a while.

You nodded happily, snuggling close into her side as she started the movie, stroking your hair. 

“Thank you,” you sighed contently before falling asleep as well, safe in the arms of your found family. 

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @n0txn3vee @lorsstar1st

[m4rv3l-girl]

I’ve Got Your Back - {Part 1}

Bucky x Y/N

Bucky meets you, a student making ends meet at an over-priced convenience store. Despite being afraid of entering the world of romance again, you just seem to …understand each other. Maybe there’s more to them both than they originally thought.

Warnings: age-gap. Angst. Workplace bullying. Language.

Bucky Barnes stepped inside the convenience store. The fluorescent lights buzzed above him, illuminating aisles stacked with overpriced snacks, crappy. The smell of mop-water sat in the air.

He hadn’t really planned on stopping by. But a craving for something sweet had led him here, the tiny corner store tucked between a laundromat and a liquor shop. A couple of kids loitered by the slushie machine, arguing over which flavor was superior, while a man in a wrinkled suit debated over cigarettes behind the counter.

And then, there was you.

You stood at the register, expression caught somewhere between tired and vaguely annoyed—not outright rude, just carrying the weight of someone who’d had a long day. Bucky knew the look well; he saw it in the mirror more often than not.

He didn’t expect much interaction beyond the necessary exchange of goods and payment. But as he approached, a voice from the back interrupted the quiet monotony.

“Y/N! Are you fucking serious? I told you to restock aisle four, not stand there like a damn statue!”

Your spine stiffened at the harsh words. From the back room, a squat man in an ill-fitted polo stomped out, glaring at you with the disdain of someone who’d long since lost any patience for basic human decency.

Bucky noticed the way your eyes momentarily glossed over, how your fingers curled slightly against the counter before you took a steadying breath.

“I did restock it, Mr. Carl,” you replied, voice even but quiet. Bucky swore he saw a glassy sheen in your eyes. “I was just about to—”

“Don’t give me the excuses, girl. If I have to tell you one more time—”

“That’s enough.”

The words left Bucky’s mouth before he could stop them.

Both you and your boss turned to look at him. Your eyes widened slightly, surprised, while Carl just narrowed his, sizing up the stranger who had the audacity to interrupt his evening tirade.

“And you are?” Carl scoffed, crossing his arms.

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “A paying customer who doesn’t appreciate seeing people get treated like dirt for doing their job.”

Carl let out an incredulous huff but, perhaps noticing the sheer muscle and steel beneath Bucky’s jacket, decided not to push it. With a dismissive wave, he muttered something about ‘lazy employees’ and retreated to the back.

You let out a slow breath and glanced at Bucky, something between gratitude and embarrassment flickering across your face.

“Sorry about that,” you murmured, ringing up his purchase. There was a twang in your voice, an accent that seemed a mix-match.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, shaking his head. “You okay?”

You hesitated. Bucky recognized that too—the reluctance to admit that things weren’t fine, even when they clearly weren’t.

“I’m fine,” you said, forcing a small smile. “Been through worse.”

Bucky nodded, respecting the boundary but not quite believing you. He tapped his fingers against the counter, considering his next words carefully.

“You need me to rough him up a little?” he asked, only half-joking.

A surprised laugh burst from your lips before you could stop it. It wasn’t much, but it was genuine, and for some reason, that made Bucky feel lighter.

“Nah,” you said, shaking your head. “As tempting as it is to see Carl get launched into a snack display, I don’t think that would help my employment status.”

Bucky smirked. “Fair point.”

He took his bag, but instead of leaving, he lingered for a second. Then, in a softer voice, he added, “Seriously though… if you ever need help, I’m around.”

There was something in his tone—something solid, reassuring. A promise.

You met his eyes, seeing not just the war hero or the former assassin, but someone who understood. Someone who didn’t just say things to sound good, but meant them.

“Thank you,” you said, and the sincerity in your voice made him realize that maybe, you were telling the truth when you said you’d been through worse.

He gave you a single nod, the kind that said more than a hundred words ever could. Then, with a quiet goodbye, Bucky turned to leave, his heavy boots echoing against the linoleum floor. As the door chimed shut behind him, you couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth spread through your chest. It had been a long time since someone had stood up for you like that—if ever.

The rest of the shift dragged on, the weight of your boss’s words lessened slightly by the brief encounter with the mysterious customer. You found your thoughts drifting back to Bucky’s face—his concerned eyes and the gentle curve of his mouth when he’d offered to help. It was a small gesture, but in that moment, it felt like a lifeline thrown to a drowning person.

When your shift finally ended, you stepped outside into the cool night air, letting it wash over you like a wave of relief. The neon lights of the store sign cast a garish glow on the empty sidewalk, but it didn’t feel as lonely as it usually did.

As you began the short walk home, you noticed a figure leaning against the wall of the adjacent laundromat. It was Bucky, arms folded over his chest, watching the world pass by. He pushed off the wall when he saw you, his eyes lighting up in a way that made your heart stutter.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You okay to walk home?”

You nodded, surprised by his concern. “I’m fine. I live just a few blocks away.”

“Okay,” he said, falling into step beside you. “I’m in no rush, and I don’t like the thought of you walking out here by yourself after what I heard in there.”

The gesture was unexpected, but somehow comforting.

“Thanks,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden rush of emotions. “Did you wait here this whole time just to check I got home okay…?”

Bucky shrugged, his shoulders shifting beneath the leather jacket. “Call it a gut feeling. Besides, it’s the least I could do after that show back there. No one should have to deal with that kind of crap at work.”

You couldn’t argue with that. As you walked side by side, the silence stretched comfortably between you, filled only by the distant sound of passing cars and the occasional chuckle of a couple leaving the liquor store.

“So, what’s your story?” Bucky asked, his gaze scanning the street as if expecting trouble. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course. I get the feeling you’ve got a bit of a history with that guy.”

You sighed, looking down at your worn-out sneakers. “It’s nothing special. Just a dead-end job, trying to make ends meet while I figure out what I want to do with my life. Carl’s always been a bit of a… character, but he pays the bills. Or at least, he did before tonight.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to you. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, a hint of sadness in the movement. “I think that might’ve been the last straw. I’ve been looking for something better for a while now, but it’s hard to find something that fits with my school schedule. Plus, I can’t exactly quit without another job lined up, you know? But I feel like shit there.”

Bucky nodded, his expression empathetic. He’d been in tough situations himself, had to make choices that weren’t ideal.

“Well, if you ever need a reference or anything, you’ve got my number now.” He fished out a piece of paper and scribbled down a string of digits. “And if he ever gives you grief again, just remember, you’ve got backup.”

You took the paper, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The thought of having someone like Bucky on your side was oddly comforting. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

As you approached the turn that led to your apartment complex, you felt a twinge of sadness. You didn’t know much about him, but there was something about his presence that made you feel less alone in the world. But you knew that this was the part where you said goodbye and went your separate ways.

“This is me,” you said, pointing to the dimly lit building. “Thanks for walking me home, Bucky.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on the worn-out stairs leading up to the entrance. “No problem. Stay safe, okay? Wait…how did you-”

You smirked, holding up the receipt from the store. “It’s my job to remember faces and numbers, even if it’s just for the night. Plus, yours is pretty hard to forget. War hero, and all”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, a ghost of a smile. “Well, I guess that makes me pretty memorable.”

You nodded, tucking the paper into your pocket. “It does. Thanks again, really.”

“Take care, Y/N,” Bucky said, giving you a small salute before he turned and melted back into the shadows of the alley.

The night felt eerily quiet once he was gone, the echo of his footsteps fading away into the distance. You climbed the stairs, the chill of the evening seeping into your bones and unlocked the door to your apartment. Inside, the warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the outside world. You threw your bag onto the couch and kicked off your shoes, feeling the weight of the day finally start to lift. As you padded over to the fridge, the cold floor tiles biting at your socks, you pulled out the leftover pizza from the night before, the cheese congealed into a sad, greasy mess. But it was food, and that was all that mattered right now. All that you could budget for.

As you heated up your dinner in the microwave, the glow of the screen casting a soft light across the kitchen, you couldn’t shake the image of Bucky’s face from your mind. The way he looked at you - like he truly saw you - was something you hadn’t experienced in a very long time. The microwave beeped, snapping you out of your thoughts. You took a bite of the lukewarm pizza, the cheese pulling away from the bread. But somehow, it tasted a little less disappointing given that your night was accompanied by a nice guy… and a small spark you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You sat at the small table by the window, looking out into the quiet street. Sometimes a car passed by, their headlights painting streaks of light on the pavement. You found yourself wondering about Bucky’s life. What led him to be so kind? What made him want to protect someone like you from a simple act of workplace bullying? The curiosity grew, but you pushed it aside, telling yourself that you should be grateful for the brief respite from your reality and not overthink it.

Your phone buzzed, breaking the silence. You glanced down at the screen, expecting a notification from a class group chat or a text from a friend complaining about their day. But instead, you found a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey Y/N, it’s Bucky. Just checking in. How are you holding up?

Your heart skipped a beat. You weren’t used to this kind of attention, especially not from someone like Bucky Barnes. You know, handsome. Sweet. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. Just the thought of answering gave you a flutter in your chest.

You: Hey, I’m okay. Thanks for checking in. It’s been a long night.

Bucky: No problem at all. Just wanted to make sure you’re not letting that asshole get to you. You deserve better.

The bluntness of his message made you chuckle around a mouthful of pizza. It was refreshing, the way he didn’t mince words. You chewed thoughtfully, considering how much of your situation to share with him. After all, he was basically a stranger.

You: I’ve had worse days, but thanks for caring. I’ll be okay. Just trying to keep my chin up and move on.

The phone vibrated again, the screen lighting up with another text from him.

Bucky: That’s the spirit. Ever need someone to vent to, I’m here. Or, you know, to help you move some furniture. I’ve got strong arms and not a lot of plans.

The offer made you smile wider. It was almost a vague way of saying he wanted to see you again, despite being a blunt man he could bring himself to ask you out. It was laughable, in a way.

You: Haha, I’ll keep that in mind. I actually do have an old bookshelf that’s been giving me a hard time.

Bucky: Perfect. I’m your man. Whenever you need it moved, just let me know. No strings attached. Unless you want to grab some coffee first.

The suggestion was casual, but it hung in the air, charged with something more. You chewed on your lip, contemplating his offer. It wasn’t just about the bookshelf; you knew that. But the idea of seeing Bucky again, of sharing a moment that didn’t involve work or the stale air of the convenience store, was tempting. You hadn’t had a decent conversation with anyone in what felt like forever.

Coffee sounds good - you replied, trying to keep your excitement in check.

Bucky: Great! How’s tomorrow afternoon around 3? I can swing by with some muscle and a decent taste in caffeine.

You nodded to yourself, feeling a rush of blood to your face. It wasn’t a date, but it was something. Something outside the routine of your life. Something that had the potential to be more than just another forgettable encounter.

You: Tomorrow at 3 it is.

Bucky: Looking forward to it. Get some rest, and don’t let Carl ruin your night.

The conversation ended with a promise to meet, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe had just handed you a gift-wrapped opportunity for a new beginning. You spent the rest of the night scrolling through job listings, a renewed sense of determination burning in your chest. Maybe you didn’t need to settle for the same old crap anymore. Maybe there was more out there.

The next day dragged by with the excitement of a snail race. You found yourself checking the time on your phone every few minutes, counting down the hours until you could see Bucky again. It was ridiculous, really. You barely knew the guy, but he’d left an indelible mark on you with his kindness and protective nature.

Finally, the clock struck 3, and you felt your nerves begin to fray. You’d chosen your outfit with more care than usual, opting for a simple black dress that fell just above your knees and a light cardigan to ward off the chill of your ill-heated apartment. It was cleaner than it had been in weeks, the bookshelf sitting awkwardly in the middle of your living room, a clear indicator of the ruse you’d concocted.

When the buzzer rang, you took a deep breath and opened the door. Bucky stood in the hallway, dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, looking every inch the hero from your childhood comics. He held up two steaming cups of coffee, the aroma wafting into the room.

“Peace offering,” he said with a wink, handing one to you.

You took it gratefully, feeling your nerves dissipate a little. The warmth of the cup felt good in your hands. “Thanks,” you murmured, taking a tentative sip.

He stepped inside, surveying the bookshelf with a nod of approval. “Looks like it’s seen better days.”

“It was my grandmother’s. I just can’t seem to part with it,” you said, feeling a twinge of nostalgia.

Bucky set his own coffee down and rolled up his sleeves. “Well, let’s get to work then.”

The process of moving the heavy, cumbersome piece of furniture was surprisingly easy with his help. You directed him where to push and pull, and together, you managed to maneuver it into the perfect spot. It was a small victory, but it felt significant, a symbol of progress in a life that often felt stagnant.

Once the bookshelf was in place, you sat down on the couch, breathless and laughing. Bucky followed, his smile reaching his eyes as he took in the now organized space. He handed you back your coffee, and you took a grateful sip, watching him as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

“So, what’s the story behind the books?” he asked, gesturing to the eclectic mix of novels and textbooks that now lined the shelves.

You shrugged, feeling a bit self-conscious. “They’re just my escape. Sometimes school gets overwhelming, and I just need to lose myself in a good story.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on the spines before meeting yours. “I get that. Sometimes, when I’ve had enough of my own head, I’ll read for hours. It’s like…going on an adventure without leaving your couch.”

You shared a knowing look. “Exactly. And my couch is pretty comfy for traveling the world.”

Bucky’s smile grew a little sad. “Or escaping it, huh?”

The air in the room changed, thick with unspoken understanding. You both knew what it was like to carry a past that weighed heavier than any book. You took a deep breath, deciding to let down your guard a little.

“Yeah, I guess so. Sometimes it’s easier to deal with other people’s problems than my own. And the ones in books have a better chance of a happy ending than the ones in real life.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “But you can’t live in someone else’s story forever, Y/N. You gotta write your own sometimes too.”

You looked away, feeling the weight of his gaze. It was a gentle push, but it was a push nonetheless.

“I know,” you said softly. “I’m just…scared to mess it up, you know?”

Bucky’s hand found yours, his grip firm but gentle. “You won’t. And if you do, that’s what the backspace button’s for. Just keep going.”

The warmth of his hand was like a balm to your soul, a silent promise of support. You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the beginnings of something unfurling in your chest - hope, perhaps?

You both sat there in silence for a moment, sipping on your coffee, the quiet hum of the fridge the only sound breaking the stillness.

“So, what’s your story?” Bucky asked, curiosity etched in his voice as he took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

You took a deep breath, unsure how much of your life you wanted to unpack for a man you’d only just met. But there was something about him that made you feel safe, like he could handle whatever you threw at him. “It’s not much to tell, really. Just trying to get through school, work to pay the bills, the usual stuff. My parents aren’t around, so it’s all on me.”

The sadness in your voice was palpable, and Bucky’s expression softened. He knew what it was like to be adrift in the world, carrying the weight of responsibilities that were never meant for one person.

“What about your friends? They help you out?”

You shrugged. “They try, but everyone’s got their own lives. It’s hard to juggle it all. And Carl…” You trailed off, not wanting to dwell on the sour note he’d left you with the night before.

“He’s not worth another thought,” Bucky said firmly. “You’ve got more important things to focus on. Like what you’re gonna do after you graduate.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I want to be a counsellor. I’m studying psychology.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up. “That’s amazing. You’ll be great at it. You’ve already got the patience and strength to deal with people at their worst.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the compliment. “Thanks. It’s just what I’ve had to learn to do, I guess. Can I ask you something a bit stupid?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his grip on your hand not loosening. “You can ask me anything.”

“How did you become so…” You paused, searching for the right word. “So…good?”

He chuckled, a sound that was surprisingly warm and full of life. “It’s not something you just become, Y/N. I’ve seen a lot of bad stuff. Done a lot of bad stuff. It’s about making choices, every day. Choosing to do the right thing even when it’s hard, even when it’s scary. And I’ve had a lot of people help me along the way. Like Steve… Captain America, I mean.”

The mention of his friend brought a wistful look to his eyes, and you felt a tingle of curiosity about the stories he must have, the adventures he’d been on.

“I just…I mean, I’m not gonna trauma dump on you or anything but sometimes I just feel like I…can’t make up for anything…” Your voice drew out.

Bucky’s thumb made small circles on the back of your hand, a gentle reassurance. “You fascinate me.”

You looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath, his gaze drifting to the floor before meeting yours again. “You look so sweet. I..obviously you are. But, I can tell there’s something else going on. That something happened….”

You felt your eyes well up, unsure if you wanted to let go of the dam of emotions you’d held back for so long. But the sincerity in Bucky’s voice, the way his thumb kept caressing your hand, made you feel like maybe, just this once, it was okay to be vulnerable in front of him.

“It’s just… I’ve made some mistakes,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Big ones. Ones I’m not sure I can ever fix. It’s hard to…move on from that.”

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, the warmth in them unwavering. “We all have regrets, Y/N. Hey, we all know I do. But that doesn’t define us. It’s what we do next that counts. And you, helping people, that’s a pretty noble next step, if you ask me.”

You took a shaky breath, his words resonating deep within you. “Sorry.” You giggle softly, “This is a bit dark for a first…whatever this is.”

“It’s okay to be real. Sometimes that’s all anyone can ask for.”

Bucky’s words surrounded you like a warm embrace, his grip on your hand a silent reminder that you weren’t alone. The room felt a size smaller, but not in a suffocating way - more like the comfort of a blanket on a cold night, wrapping you in a cocoon. You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your secrets threatening to spill out.

He could see a look of guilt spilling over your features suddenly.

“Bucky, I’m a bad person.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. You hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, but there it was, hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

Bucky’s thumb stopped moving. He studied you, his gaze intense but not judgmental. “You can’t believe that, Y/N. You’re not. Everyone makes mis-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “No, Bucky. You don’t understand.”

The silence grew heavier, the air thick with the unspoken words. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for his judgment, his pity. But all you found was his hand tightening around yours, a silent declaration that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I was trained in the Red Room.”

It was a whisper, the weight of the confession making your voice tremble.

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, the warmth in them never fading. “The Red Room?” he repeated, his voice low and measured. You nodded, the words feeling like lead in your mouth. The Red Room was something you’d buried deep, a chapter of your life you’d hoped never to have to re-open. But here you were, in the dim light of your small apartment, sharing it with this stranger. He deserved to know. He deserved the option to walk away and never look back at the twisted world he’d barely escaped the first time.

He was quiet for a long moment, his hand still wrapped around yours. The tension grew, a symphony of unspoken questions and fears playing in the air. You felt your heart hammering in your chest, the thumping rhythm echoing in your ears. Was he disgusted? Would he leave now?

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, looking for the truth in the shadows of your irises. “The Red Room,” he murmured, the name rolling off his tongue like a dark secret. You could see the recognition in his eyes, the understanding of what that meant. “You were a widow.”

It was less of a question than a statement.

You nodded, feeling the weight of your past pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. The air grew colder, and you found yourself shrinking into your cardigan, as if it could offer some kind of protection from his judgment. But instead of recoiling, Bucky leaned in closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

“How’d you get out?” His voice was gentle, the question not one of accusation, but of genuine curiosity.

You took a deep breath, feeling the walls of your chest constrict around the words you hadn’t spoken in years. “Natasha and Yelena…they found me. When they took the Red Room down. They…freed me.”

Bucky’s grip on your hand grew stronger, his eyes never leaving yours. You could see the understanding dawn in his expression, the knowledge of what it meant to be plucked from the hell you’d been living in and thrust into a world that didn’t make sense anymore.

“Bucky, you….I think you should go.”

Your voice was barely a whisper, the tremble in it clear as day. You couldn’t hold his gaze anymore, the guilt and fear of what he’d think of you now that he knew the truth too much to bear. You didn’t expect him to stay, not after what you’d told him. But the way he looked at you, with a mix of empathy and something you couldn’t quite name, made you hope.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N,” Bucky said firmly, his thumb still caressing the back of your hand. “You’re safe here. With me.”

But the dam had already broken. Tears spilled from your eyes, a silent cascade that painted tracks down your cheeks. You hadn’t realized how much you’d needed to hear that, how much you’d needed someone to remind you that you weren’t the monster you felt like. You hadn’t expected to find that in the arms of a man who’d been through his own brand of hell.

But here you were, crying in front of him, letting the pain of your past spill out in a messy, human way.

——————————————————————————————————

I’m hoping this series will be intriguing for some of you fabulous readers! 🫶

[arcadia-smith]

Note: So I am coming up with some new series of one shots about The Winter Soldier and a Black Widow. (🖤⃝🤍 WS&BW) Each part will take place on different occasions, exploring their relationship. Some will be extra short, some longer.

Summary: he's come here to be a trainer for The Red Room's Widows. And you get to fight him- The Winter Soldier.

Word Count: just a bit over 1k.

The air in the training room hung heavy, thick with an unspoken menace. The Red Room’s notorious facility was awash in harsh, clinical light that seemed to leech the very life out of its surroundings. Every surface gleamed coldly, every shadow stretched long and unyielding. Agents glided past the glass walls like phantoms, their movements silent, their gazes devoid of warmth.

The Red Room thrived on the art of control—on pain sculpted into perfection. Comfort was a foreign concept here. You had no illusions about this place. Standing in its heart, you could feel its essence: discipline, survival, submission.

You stood in the center of the mat, your chest heaving as you stared at the man towering over you. He was a ghost made flesh, a legend who had clawed his way out of the abyss only to be shackled once more in its darkness. James Buchanan Barnes.

Here, though, he wasn’t a name. He was The Winter Soldier.

Your posture was perfect, your stance textbook, but there was something in your eyes—a glimmer of rebellion, of individuality. It set you apart in a place that prided itself on breaking spirits and forging weapons. Maybe that’s what had caught his attention. Or maybe it was what had doomed you.

And sparring with the Winter Soldier wasn’t a test—it was a punishment.

“Let’s see if you can keep up, маленькая вдова,” he said, the Russian a hint of mockery.

He paced around you, his metal arm gleaming under the faint light. And his voice threw you off. He hadn't said much since his arrival, and he didn't need to- his presence was enough to intimidate whoever stood in front of him.

In the Red Room, weakness was a death sentence, and arguments were a waste of energy, so there was nothing else for you to do- you dropped into a fighting stance.

The fight was brutal. Bucky wasn’t holding back, and neither were you. Every punch, kick, and block was met with calculated precision. He moved like a ghost, silent and deadly, his attacks relentless. But you were trained for this. You’d spent years perfecting your skills, and you weren’t about to let him walk all over you.

“Faster,” he barked as you narrowly evaded his metal arm, its weight carving through the air like a blade.

You ducked under his next attack, using his momentum to drive an elbow into his ribs. He grunted and for a fleeting second, his mask cracked—just enough for a flicker of amusement to surface.

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, twisting it just enough to disarm you of the training knife you hadn’t realized he’d spotted. You gasped as he swept your legs out from under you, pinning you to the mat in one fluid motion. His metal hand hovered near your throat, not quite touching but close enough to make a point.

“You’re quick, but you think too much, маленькая вдова,” he said, his voice low “Out there, hesitation will get you killed.”

You glared up at him, “And being reckless will get you killed just as fast.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—recognition, perhaps. He didn’t say anything as he stood and offered you a hand. You hesitated before taking it, his grip firm but not crushing as he pulled you to your feet.

“Again,” he said simply, stepping back into position.

He lunges first, a blur of strength and precision. You barely sidestep his punch, the force of his metal fist shattering the concrete pillar behind you. You retaliate with a sharp kick to his midsection, but it’s like striking a wall—he barely flinches. He grabs your leg mid-kick, spinning you off balance, but you twist in midair, using the momentum to land a solid elbow strike to his jaw.

The impact makes him stumble back, if only slightly, and his expression shifts to something darker—impressed, maybe, but also more dangerous. He retaliates with a roundhouse punch. You duck low, sweeping at his legs, but he anticipates, vaulting over you and landing a brutal kick to your side. Pain shoots through your ribs as you hit the floor, but you roll away before his metal fist crashes down where you had been.

Springing to your feet, you grab a combat baton from the wall, spinning it deftly in your hand. He charges, his metal arm aiming for your weapon, but you feint, striking at his flesh-and-blood side instead. He grunts, momentarily off balance, and you press the advantage, delivering a flurry of strikes that force him to retreat.

The fight becomes a dance of skill and raw power—his brute strength against your agility and strategy. Sweat beads on your brow, muscles burning, but you refuse to yield. When he grabs your baton mid-swing, you let it go, using his surprise to land a knee to his ribs and a sharp jab to his throat.

Finally, you’re both standing again, breaths labored, circling one another like predators. The Winter Soldier wipes blood from his lip, a ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Not bad,” he mutters.

“Enough,” General Dreykov's cold voice cuts through the room. “This isn’t a death match. Save it for the mission.”

As you walk away, you feel the Winter Soldier’s piercing gaze on your back, a silent acknowledgment that you’re not just another Red Room recruit—you’re a threat.

[fictionfromthevoid]

Bucky Barnes x ex-red-room-agent! reader headcanons:

A/N: Some of my thoughts about how it would be like if Bucky dated an ex-red-room agent because I think it would really fit. I might write a part 2 that plays during the events of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier when I have rewatched the show. Because it's been a while since I've last seen it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

like Natasha you grew up in the red room as part of the black widow program

after a failed mission you got captured by SHIELD, Natasha convinced you to join SHIELD

you meet Bucky a few months before the beginning of the events of The Falcon and the Winter soldier

You meet when you both run to help some kids who where being robbed by a gang or something like that

You both are intrigued by each other's combat skills, both asking each other about it and receiving the same answer "long story I'd rather not tell"

You invited him for a drink at a nearby bar that night and you two had a great time talking and laughing and silently agreeing to not ask about each other's past. At the end of the evening, you exchange numbers

You are the one to ask him out first. Which is fortunate, because he wouldn't have done it. Even tho he liked you he was still too insecure and felt like he didn't deserve something like romance at the moment.

You had not much experience with dates that weren't set up for a spying mission or an assassination, so you two simply got drinks at the same bar again.

After that, he took you on a lot of old-school 40s-like dates.

Walks in the park, 'going dancing' where he realised that clubs are vastly different now than what he remembered

when you were out one evening it started raining horribly and since you were close to Bucky's flat you two sought shelter from the weather there.

He made the both of you tea and you sat on the floor (he didn't have much furniture) and spent the night talking. That's the first time you tell each other about your past.

You realise that you have a lot in common.

You both are so happy to finally have found someone who understands again.

He lost Steve, you lost Natasha - you both lost the only people who could understand your life

You spend the whole night talking until you both fall asleep on his living room floor.

This is also the first time you see him having a nightmare.

You talk it out and comfort him. He falls asleep again in your arms.

Not long after that, you make your relationship official

He asks you, all 40s style, with flowers and all, to be his girlfriend. You think it's incredibly cute but also incredibly funny and you might laugh at him a little

when his past is haunting him, or when he has had an especially bad nightmare he calls you. You either come over and comfort him or you talk it out over the phone.

You teach him about your culture and introduce him to the Russian community in New York, where you live.Even though your childhood in the red room was traumatic, you are still Russian, and you still think your culture is beautiful, regardless of the government.

When you find out that he speaks Russian you are thrilled

Because speaking to the person you love in your native language is just a lot more intimate. English will never touch your heart as much as your mother tongue does.

You start speaking in Russian more often. Soon you two mix the languages

He will ask something in English, you answer in Russian or you start a sentence in English and finish it in Russian

When other people hear you speak they are always VERY confused

But you two think it's amazing that you can communicate in both your native languages

You are the one who convinces Bucky to go to therapy

In the beginning, you accompany him to the sessions since he doesn't feel comfortable talking to anyone but you about his problems

But slowly he trusts his therapist more and more until he eventually doesn't need you there anymore

You still often drive him there and pick him up, since a therapy session can sometimes leave you feeling pretty shattered

[questionableratatouille00]

HEY IDEA

I don’t know if it’s been used or done before

but a trigger for Bucky could be the sound of a blender or a mixer. Like the wrrrrrrr sound. I feel like the electric chair thing he was in would’ve made some kinda noise, right? like, right before the things pressed against his head and electrocuted him, he would’ve been able to hear whatever noise it made

tagging ships so artists/writers can see and use this if they want

[artwinx]

commission for @/fangirlsmagicxo on Instagram of her and bucky in the red room 💕

my commissions are still open and you can support me on ko-fi

[lovebugspots]

welcome to the helicarrier, barnes

this is my own sort of timeline, a mix of the MCU and the concept of Marvels Avengers (the game) so instead of the compound they are in a helicarrier with Tony, Steve, Bruce, Clint, Wanda, Vision, Natasha, Bucky, Sam, ★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ Y/n Irina Agapov

Other Aliases; Widow 18, Winter Widow, La mujer de la muerte, Reaper.

Age; 29

Sex; Female

Height; 5'4

Past: Y/n Irina Agapov was born in 1987 in Oslo Norway to two Russian parents, who eventually leave her on the streets of Siberia, Russia in 1991. To which the Red room finds her and takes her in. HYDRA and The Red Room selected her to become the first super soldier widow. Her and Natalia Alinovna Romanova became close friends during their rigorous training with both the Red Room and the Winter Soldier. Eventually years pass, and Natasha had found Y/n in Washington DC. ★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ James Buchanan Barnes

Other Aliases; Sergeant James Barnes, The Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes

Age; 99

Sex; Male

Height; 6'0

Past; James Buchanan Barnes was born in Brooklyn New York in 1917. He became best friends with Steve Rodgers and all throughout their life they have been close friends, and they both enlisted in the army. Bucky fell off the train during a raid on Arnim Zola's train and sadly was KIA. But HYDRA had found him alive due to the super soldier serum they had given to him when he was kidnapped earlier in the war. They had given him a metal arm and brainwashed him for years. When he was taken out of CRYO he had trained some of the widows at the Red Room. ★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ plot;

Natasha had found and recruited Y/n while she was in DC for a week on a mission, and reluctantly, she agreed. So, after the mission Natasha in the Quinjet brought Y/n, but she was brought in so Fury can arrest her. The only person who helps Y/n get her name cleared, is Bucky. A man of her past whom she will always love. ★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ songs will be listed instead of a playlist :) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★ ★ ★ ★ ★★

[navybrat817]

Knock You Down a Peg or Two

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.

You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.

He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.

“Give me his name.”

“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”

“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”

You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.

He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.

Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.

He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”

The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”

Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”

The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”

Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.

There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”

The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.

“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”

“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”

Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.

The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”

“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”

The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”

Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”

His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”

“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”

“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”

“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”

The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.

“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”

Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.

“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”

The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.

“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”

“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”

“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”

The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.

“Love you.”

His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”

He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.

But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.

Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[mrs-bucky-barnes106]

training in the red room

[mcuynfluffwriter]

more red room reader with bucky?

I was just writing that:0 omg I freaking forgot😭 sorry I’ll get it out in a day or smth, thank you so much

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, grinding, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, premature ejaculation, reader has dubious methods of emotional control, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, mentions of red room, very consensual, safe words, kissing, panic attacks, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: hey guys, i'm a woman possessed. i've had so much motivation to write recently, so here is a quick one-shot. i'm sure this concept has been done before but i just couldn't stop thinking about touch starved bucky :( ! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

You never would’ve agreed to this mission had you known Barnes was going to be this squeamish. You’d seen the man slit throats without a sound, drop bodies with cold efficiency, and unload an entire chamber of bullets without so much as flinching. He hadn’t even blinked when aliens from outer-fucking-space rained hell upon Earth. But holding your hand? Letting his fingers brush your waist? Anything a devoted ‘husband’ ought to do? The super soldier looked like he’d rather swallow glass. He couldn’t even meet your gaze, for god’s sake.

What the hell had Fury been thinking?

You had to yank him away before anyone noticed the strained—Help me, I’m being held hostage by this incredibly attractive, incredibly capable woman who, might I add, is supposedly my wife—look on his face.

This gala, a weeklong jerkfest for the wealthy and villainous, was meant to be a stroll in the park. Your bread and butter, even if the Red Room had been... regrettable and against your consent, it had taught you an array of useful skills. Yet Barnes was ruining it, turning what should have been a simple infiltration into a goddamn babysitting job. The plan was airtight: pose as a glamorous Russian couple, collect incriminating evidence, and dip at the end of the week. Except Barnes wasn’t holding up his end of the deal. Instead of charming your way through the crowd, you were covering for his stiff, awkward pauses and the fact that he looked less like a besotted husband and more like a man being forced at gunpoint to stand beside you.

By some miracle, you managed to drag him away to one of the empty floors, a tucked-away space littered with stacks of unused tables and chairs. He was wound tight—shoulders squared, jaw clenched, eyes flicking across the dimly lit room like he was expecting death itself to emerge from the shadows. You didn’t bother with subtlety. Tearing the small recording device from between your tits, you fumbled with the button until the tiny red light blinked off. Whoever ended up reviewing the footage later wouldn’t need to hear the verbal onslaught you were about to unleash. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed, keeping your voice low, though the sheer force of your frustration was enough to strip paint off the walls.

Barnes clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as he refused to meet your eye. It reminded you of a scolded dog, all pouty and pathetic. You might’ve found it cute under different circumstances. “You’re making this incredibly fucking difficult.”

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal—”

“Because it’s our cover, Barnes.” you snapped, incredulous. “We’re supposed to be married, not some fucking timid virgin couple. PDA makes people uncomfortable; they look away, and we have less eye on us to, I don’t know—do our fucking job?”

Barnes looked down at his clenched fists, swallowing hard. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. The dangling diamond earrings you had hanging from each lobe tinkled slightly, and you ran a hand through your perfectly styled hair, resisting the urge to throttle him.

“You’re unbelievable. Fury should’ve just sent me alone—” you muttered, but the words barely left your lips before your eyes caught movement.

A group. Heading straight for you. Purposeful.

“Fuck.”

With haste, you tucked the small recording device back into your cleavage. Barnes noticed immediately, clocking your distress. His brows knit together, hand twitched toward the hidden knife tucked into his suit jacket.

“No.” You scolded. Catching his wrist, you guided it elsewhere—your hips. He stiffened instantly, making a noise of protest, but you kept him locked in place, pressing in until your chests brushed. Too close. Not close enough.

“Play along,” you murmured. “Kiss me. Now.”

“Wha—” His breath hitched, barely enough time to form a response before you rose onto your toes and sealed your mouth over his.

Barnes froze. Stiff beneath your touch, lips rigid like you’d just planted one on a slab of granite. He still tasted like toothpaste—spearmint—and the faint trace of his aftershave clung to his skin. If you’d been trying to salvage some believability, some small thread of natural chemistry, it was impossible now. It was like kissing a statue.

An aftershave-scented stone statue.

The passing group chuckled, one of them murmuring, amused, “Ah, young love.”

Maybe it was the murmured chuckles of the passing guests, or maybe Barnes had finally remembered how to act, because his grip on your hips suddenly tightened, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress with unexpected force. The silk pulled taut against your skin, trapping heat between you, and then—

A sound.

Low. Strangled. A rasping, utterly pathetic groan against your lips.

You barely had time to register it before something else stole your attention. In the tight press of your bodies, you felt it—hard, insistent, pressing against your pelvis.

Oh.

The realisation sent a flicker of shock through you, but you schooled your expression, keeping your face composed as you lingered just a second longer—just enough to ensure your audience was convinced. Then, finally, you pulled back.

Barnes didn’t move.

For a moment, he just stared, pupils wide and unfocused, a blissed-out haze dulling the sharp blue of his eyes. But then, like a lightning strike, awareness snapped back into him. Horror overtook his dazed expression, his breath hitching as he seemed to realise—

Did he just—?

You both looked down at the same time.

And there it was.

The medium grey of his suit pants betrayed him entirely, darkening at the crotch with an unmistakable wet patch.

You gaped, lips parting in stunned silence. No fucking way.

Barnes didn’t wait for a reaction. With the sheer force of a man fleeing for his life, he ripped himself from your grasp and marched away, stiff-backed and utterly silent, leaving you standing there, speechless.

—

It had been twenty minutes, and Barnes still hadn’t left the goddamn bathroom.

It had taken you all of thirty seconds to track him down, but the moment you found the door, it was locked. Of course it was. You twisted the handle, rattling it in frustration, then resorted to pounding your fist against the heavy wood—subtly, of course, but with enough force that he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

“Barnes.” You hissed his name through gritted teeth, pressing closer to the door. Nothing. Not a shuffle. Not a breath. Absolute fucking silence.

You exhaled sharply, trying to keep your expression neutral as a pair of guests passed by, casting you a curious glance. Yeah, you knew exactly how this looked—lipstick smudged, breath uneven, standing outside a locked men’s bathroom like a woman scorned. You must’ve looked thoroughly debauched.

Your pulse hammered in your throat. This was insane. A simple, fake kiss had made him short-circuit so hard that he fucking came in his pants? Twenty minutes ago, he looked repulsed by the mere idea of touching you, and now he was hiding away like some panicked virgin?

You let out a long, slow groan, dropping your forehead against the door.

“Barnes,” you muttered, knocking again—your patience wearing thinner by the second. “Open the damn door.”

Silence.

You straightened, glaring at the wood as if you could will it into splintering apart.

“Barnes, I have been patient.” You gritted your teeth, knocking harder. “If you don’t open this door in the next five seconds, I will break in.”

Silence.

Motherfucker.

"Alright, I’m coming in," you announced, your voice low but firm.

You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, ensuring no one was watching, before slipping a bobby pin from your hair. Years of practice made the process effortless; your fingers worked quickly, blindly, jamming the pin into the lock and feeling for the mechanism. A few precise twists, a satisfying click, and—

"Make sure you're decent, Barnes—"

The words were halfway out of your mouth when you pushed the door open, but whatever half-hearted joke you'd meant to make withered before it even reached your tongue.

Barnes was not decent.

Not in the way you’d expected.

He sat hunched on the closed toilet lid, head in his hands, his entire body drawn in tight like he was trying to fold in on himself. His knee bounced erratically, the rapid motion almost violent in its rhythm. He had ripped off his suit pants, leaving himself in nothing but his boxers, his bare thighs tense, twitching. His fingers dug into his hair, gripping at the strands like he wanted to rip them out, and when his bloodshot eyes flicked up to you—

You felt your stomach drop.

Panic. Raw, unfiltered, choking panic.

Tears welled along his lash line, his chest rising and falling in uneven, barely contained pants. He looked like a man caught in a cage, seconds from tearing himself apart just to escape it.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and stepped in, shutting the door softly behind you before flipping the lock.

"Hey, Barnes…” Your voice was hesitant, softer than before.

He shook his head, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, his hands trembling as he dragged them down his face.

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, breaking on the words. "I don’t want you in—"

You moved before he could finish, lowering yourself to the cool bathroom tiles in front of him, as if making yourself smaller would make you any less intimidating.

"Hey," you murmured, tone careful but steady. "Look at me."

“No.” It came out sharp, like a whip, a defence mechanism honed over decades. His entire body went rigid, his breathing ragged.

“Barnes, you need to breathe.”

Your voice was steady, firm without being harsh, each syllable carefully measured as you crept forward on the cold tile floor. The dress, the dirt—none of it mattered. It wasn’t your dress, anyway. Tony Stark could foot the bill for a replacement if this one got ruined, all this fancy wear was on his dime.

“In through the nose,” you instructed, voice softer now. “Out through the mouth.”

By some miracle, Barnes listened.

He sucked in a ragged breath, chest expanding beneath his half-unbuttoned dress shirt, and then exhaled through parted lips. It was shaky, uneven, but it was something. You watched in silence, waiting. His limbs still trembled, his fingers clenching and unclenching against his thighs, but the worst of the violent, full-body tremors had eased.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice barely above a breath. “Keep breathing, just like that. You’re doing so well.”

Slowly, you inched forward, shifting across the tiles until you sat in front of his knees. His skin was warm, radiating heat even through the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Barnes,” you hesitated, watching his face carefully. “Can I touch you?”

His whole body tensed.

“What?” His eyes darted up, sharp and startled, as if the very question had knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Is it okay,” you rephrased, slower this time, gentler, “if I touch you?”

Barnes hesitated. His gaze flickered away, jaw clenching like he was at war with himself. But then, after a long, tense beat, he gave a small, stiff nod.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. Then, with slow, deliberate care, you reached out and cradled his face between your hands.

The moment your fingers touched his skin, he flinched.

Not violently. Not like he was afraid of you. But enough that you felt it—felt the way his muscles coiled beneath your fingertips, the way his throat bobbed in a hard swallow. The cool metal of your fake wedding ring grazed his cheek, and his breath hitched, like he had just been burned.

“Keep breathing,” you reminded him, voice low and steady. “Nice and slow.”

Barnes obeyed, dragging in another breath, and you felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The hard lines of his face softened just slightly as he leaned into your touch, nuzzling—actually nuzzling—against your palms.

“There you go,” you murmured, your thumb stroking in slow circles over his cheek. “Look at me.”

His eyelids flickered, resisting for a moment, but then those storm-blue eyes finally met yours. He looked exhausted. Frayed at the edges. But grounded, at least. Present.

“Tell me one thing you can smell right now.”

Barnes blinked. A hint of confusion crossed his face. “Smell?”

“Yes, smell.” You nodded, keeping your voice soft, coaxing. “Just one thing. Keep breathing and tell me.”

He hesitated but then took a deliberate inhale through his nose, his bouncing knee slowing. “I guess… whatever shitty fucking chemicals they use to clean this place.”

A quiet laugh left you, your thumb tracing a swirling pattern along his cheekbone. “Good. You’re doing good, Barnes. Now, tell me two things you can feel.”

His breathing had steadied, his inhales and exhales falling into rhythm with yours. For the first time since you’d walked in, he wasn’t shaking as badly.

“This suit jacket,” he muttered after a pause. His metal fingers twitched against the fabric at his arm. “It’s too fuckin’ tight. They always are with my arm—”

His breath stuttered, his body tensing again. Immediately, you leaned in, close enough for him to feel your warmth. “Just breathe, remember? You’re doing so well. One more thing you can feel.”

Barnes swallowed thickly. His gaze flickered down, just briefly, before settling back on your face. 

“You,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I can feel you. Touching my face.”

“Good.” You nodded, thumb gliding over his cheek again. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yes.” He exhaled, and for the first time, it wasn’t shaky. “It feels… it feels nice.”

Something in your chest clenched at the confession, but you pushed it aside. You smiled at him, soft and small, and kept going. “Now, three things you can see.”

Barnes’ eyes scanned over your face, searching.

“You,” he said, still quiet, still certain. His gaze lingered on your mouth. “Your lipstick is smudged.”

"Two more," you breathed, keeping your voice calm and steady, resisting the urge to comment on why your lipstick was smudged in the first place. No need to remind him of that right now.

Barnes' gaze flickered across the small, dimly lit restroom. His body had almost fully relaxed now, his mind preoccupied with the task you'd given him.

"Uh…" He scanned the space, brows furrowing in concentration. "The awful wallpaper… and the sink, I guess?"

You nodded approvingly, finally withdrawing your hands as you eased back onto your knees. The cold tiles bit through the fabric of your dress, but you barely noticed.

"Well done," you murmured. "Now, how about we keep breathing and get you sorted, huh?"

At that, Barnes stiffened slightly. The panic that had been receding just moments ago flickered in his eyes again, his hands twitching where they rested on his thighs.

You reached out, grounding him with a gentle touch to his knee. Your voice softened even further. "I’m going to turn around and face the door. I need you to clean yourself up—use the sink, use the soap."

His throat bobbed. "But my—my boxers, they’ll get all wet—"

"There’s a dryer on the wall, see it?" You tilted your head toward the small, dingy dryer meant for hands. "Use it to dry them. Then get dressed, and we’ll head back to the hotel early, okay? Order some shitty takeaway, watch bad TV. Just forget about all this for tonight. How does that sound?"

Barnes blinked as if thrown by the simplicity of the offer. His mouth parted, closed, then opened again, his voice small. "Yeah. Okay."

"Good." You flashed him a reassuring smile before pressing your palms against the sink, pushing yourself to your feet with a small wobble in your heels. "I’ll be right here. Just let me know if you need anything. Keep breathing, alright? Everything’s okay."

Turning, you crossed your arms over your chest and faced the door, giving him the privacy he needed. You tried not to listen too closely. Tried not to glance at the mirror reflecting the scene behind you.

The rustle of clothing filled the quiet, then the tap sputtered to life. You leant your forehead against the cool wood of the door, closing your eyes as you focused on the steady stream of water, the faint squeak of the soap pump, and then the soft sloshing and scrubbing of fabric.

The sound of fabric wringing out echoed softly against the tiled walls, followed by the steady hum of the hand dryer sputtering to life. You kept your forehead against the door, listening as Barnes manoeuvred through the motions, drying his boxers first, then his suit pants. The wet fabric slapped lightly against the metal dryer as he held it up, shifting awkwardly as he worked.

You didn’t rush him. Didn’t make a sound. Just stayed where you were, giving him time.

Eventually, the rustling stopped. A sharp inhale, then the familiar slide of fabric as he pulled his clothes back on. The quiet click of a belt buckle being fastened. The creak of leather shoes shifting against tile.

Then—

Barnes cleared his throat.

You turned.

He stood stiffly, suit now back in place, though the fabric still carried faint traces of dampness. His jacket was slightly askew, his tie loosened just enough to be noticeable. You took a slow step toward him, scanning him up and down with a careful eye. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move—just stood there, watching you warily, as if expecting a comment.

You didn’t give him one.

Instead, you reached up, grasping the edges of his tie. He stiffened but let you work, your fingers smoothing the silk fabric, tightening it properly against his collar. His pulse thrummed beneath your fingertips as you brushed against his throat, and though he remained still, you caught the way his breath hitched slightly at the contact.

“There,” you murmured, satisfied.

You turned towards the mirror, angling yourself slightly to the side. Your reflection was a mess—lipstick smudged, hair slightly dishevelled. You sighed, wetting your thumb with your tongue before dabbing at the edges of the stain, then reached into your clutch to pull out a small tube of lipstick.

Barnes hadn’t moved.

You could feel him behind you, his body heat pressing against your back in the cramped space. His gaze was heavy, following your movements as you leaned closer to the mirror, carefully reapplying the pigment to your lips. You didn’t look at him. You just smoothed the colour in place, pressed your lips together, then capped the tube and tucked it back into your bag.

Finally, you met his eyes in the mirror.

“Ready to go?” you asked.

There was a pause. A hesitation. His jaw clenched for half a second before he gave the smallest of nods. “…Yeah.”

You turned fully, flashing him a small, knowing smile before reaching for his arm. He didn’t resist when you looped yours through his, guiding him towards the door. With an easy tug, you led him forward, your heels clicking softly against the marble floors. His arm remained tense beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away. Didn’t let go.

You glanced at him briefly, lips twitching into a small smirk. “C’mon, sergeant. Let’s get out of here.”

Barnes exhaled through his nose, shaking his head ever so slightly. But when you reached the bottom of the stairs, he followed without question, letting you steer him towards the exit, away from the crowded room—away from prying eyes.

—

A small, muffled whine stirred you from sleep. You blinked groggily, rolling onto your side as the cool sheets tangled around your legs. The plush hotel mattress dipped beneath you as you buried your face into the pillow, willing yourself back into slumber.

A low, panting groan cut through the silence, soft at first, then growing in volume. Your brows knit together, heart thrumming uneasily. Something about the sound was… strange. It wasn’t just a groan—it was strained, needy. Erotic.

Your eyes snapped open.

The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the dim red dot of the fire alarm and the faint reflection of the turned-off TV. You remained frozen for a few beats, your ears straining to catch the noise again. It came, louder this time—a choked whimper thick with desperation.

Was someone in the room? Adrenaline slammed into your veins as you rolled off the bed in one swift motion, bare feet hitting the floor without a sound. You had heard stories of creeps breaking into hotel rooms, preying on women while they slept. Had one made the mistake of picking yours?

Another sound. Low, breathy, utterly wrecked.

Your hand darted to the bedside table, fingers curling around the hilt of a knife, its leather grip smooth beneath your palm. Not even yours, Barnes’—

Barnes.

Your breath caught as your gaze snapped towards the couch, knife slipping from your grip and landing on the carpet with a soft thud.

There, bathed in shadows, was the writhing mass of the super soldier. His blankets lay discarded on the floor as though he’d tossed them off in his sleep. The two of you had agreed to take turns—one in the bed, the other on the couch—to keep up appearances. A stupid arrangement, courtesy of Fury and Stark’s meddling.

You flicked on the bedside lamp. The warm light spilt over the room, casting soft amber hues onto Barnes’ form. His face was twisted in torment, and his lips parted around quiet, breathless whimpers. Sweat clung to his skin, catching the glow of the lamp and highlighting the sharp lines of his body. His metal arm whirred faintly as he twitched, fingers flexing against the cushions.

Your stomach dropped when your eyes drifted lower. He was shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling erratically. The thin fabric of his boxers did little to hide the evidence of his dream—more than half-hard beneath the cotton. Was he really that big?

The realisation hit like a freight train.

He was having a sex dream.

Jesus.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. You should’ve looked away, should’ve given him privacy. But then his hand twitched, drifting downward—

“Barnes.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the haze like a blade.

He jolted awake, body seizing as his eyes snapped open. For a moment, he was utterly lost, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with confusion. Then his gaze landed on you—standing there in your thin nightgown, face unreadable.

His eyes flickered downward.

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, panic flickering across his face as he yanked a pillow over his lap, shifting awkwardly as if that would somehow erase what had just happened. A string of curses left his lips, voice still wrecked with sleep.

You tilted your head, studying him. His expression wavered, part shame, part something else, something raw and vulnerable. You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers into your temples. There was a pattern here. A man whose body wasn’t his own, whose skin felt foreign, whose touch-starved existence had left him unravelling at the seams.

What in God's name was Fury thinking sending him on a mission like this—or did Fury not know? How could he not? That one-eyed bastard had a habit of knowing everything. Hell, he probably knew the colour of your underwear before you even picked it out for the day, the all-seeing prick.

“H.Y.D.R.A really did a number on you, didn’t they?” you muttered.

Bucky flinched. The words struck deep, sinking into something fragile beneath the surface. He didn’t say a word, just recoiled, fingers gripping the pillow so tightly his knuckles turned white. A moment later, he was scrambling off the couch, making a beeline for the bathroom.

“Barnes, we’re not doing this again. Let’s just talk—”

The door slammed.

Then, the soft click of the lock.

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossing over your chest as you stared at the wooden barrier now separating you. Asshole. You knew you should’ve been more sympathetic. Should’ve handled it differently. But after a long, exhausting day, dealing with Bucky Barnes’ second puberty was not on your list of priorities.

You stepped closer, pressing a palm against the door; your voice quieter now. “I know how you’re feeling.”

Silence.

You could picture him inside, hunched over on the edge of the bathtub, fists clenched, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “I understand what it’s like to be in a body that doesn’t feel like your own.”

A pause. No response.

“It must be hard,” you continued softly. “Not knowing who you are. Not recognising yourself anymore. And then... feeling things you don’t understand.”

Another pause. This one stretched longer.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of trying to navigate that.” The silence that followed was heavier than before. You didn’t push, didn’t say anything else. Just rested your forehead against the doorframe, waiting. 

You had spent the better part of your life under the Red Room’s control, under Dreykov’s control. Every breath you took, every move you made, had been dictated by someone else. Orders given. Orders followed. It was all you had ever known. And then, one day, it was gone. Just like that.

You remembered the moment with eerie clarity: standing in the open air, staring out at the horizon, the sunset bleeding colour into a sky that suddenly felt too vast. The question had gnawed at you, quiet but insistent. What comes next? Who comes next? Because you didn’t know. You didn’t know who you were beyond a weapon, beyond a machine engineered for death and seduction. Two decades of programming, of conditioning, of being nothing more than an asset to be wielded and discarded at will. And then, without warning, you were handed something you were told was freedom.

But what did freedom mean when you didn’t exist?

There were no real records of your birth, no true identity to reclaim. The Red Room had scrubbed that away long ago, erasing every trace of the girl you had once been. No family. No home. No belongings that weren’t issued to you by those who had owned you. And yet, you were expected to smile—to accept this newfound autonomy without question, to embrace the illusion of a life you had no blueprint for.

But how could you, when you weren’t sure if the body you inhabited was even your own?

So even if Barnes thought you were bluffing and just trying to relate for the sake of kindness, he was wrong. Because you understood.

Terrifyingly well.

The difference was that you had refused to let it consume you. You had forced those feelings into the farthest corners of your mind, locking them away where they couldn’t touch you. Because if you let yourself linger on them for too long.

“Go back to sleep.” Bucky’s voice finally broke the silence, muffled through the bathroom door.

You sucked on your teeth, exhaling sharply through your nose. “Yeah, not happening.”

“I know the others give you crap about not dating, but you don’t have to let them pressure you,” you continued, keeping your tone light. “You don’t have to force yourself into a role that makes you uncomfortable. It takes time.”

“Back in the day..." His voice was quieter this time, tinged with something that almost sounded like regret. “I used to be a real flirt.”

A humourless smirk ghosted across your lips. You could picture it, all smooth charm and effortless confidence. The kind of man who could wink at a girl across a dance floor and have her swooning in seconds. But that wasn’t the man behind this door. That man had been stripped away, piece by piece. 

“I just don’t know anymore,” he admitted, voice raw. Your chest tightened. You could almost hear him weighing his words, picking them apart, and deciding how much of himself he was willing to give away.

“When I was the Winter Soldier... they made me do things.”

A slow, twisting knot formed in your stomach.

“It’s all… fractured in my mind,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Scattered. Broken.”

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you meant it. “I understand that. More than anyone. The Red Room… they didn’t just use us for assassinations and espionage.”

There. You had said it. Pulled a piece of yourself from the grave and placed it between you.

For the first time, the door cracked open.

Bucky stood there, dishevelled and breathless, still only in his boxers. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his skin, catching the dim hotel light, while his metal arm twitched slightly at his side. His hair was a mess—damp and curling at the ends, sticking to his forehead. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if he hadn’t quite caught his breath, muscles taut beneath the weight of exhaustion.

“Why are you being kind to me?” he asked suddenly. His voice was rough, tinged with suspicion, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You tilted your head, studying him.

“Because you’re hurting,” you said simply. “And obviously, you haven’t fully processed any of this.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Without another word, he turned and stalked past you, out of the cramped bathroom and into the main space of the hotel room. You followed at a slower pace, arms crossed as you watched him sink onto the couch, scrubbing a hand down his face. He was hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, his metal fingers tapping restless patterns against his flesh palm. His body had settled now, no longer betraying him with signs of arousal. That part of the moment had passed, but the turmoil in his head remained.

With a quiet sigh, you slid down to the floor, settling against the base of the bed across from him. Your legs stretched out in front of you, arms loose at your sides as you let the silence settle between you. 

“Have you spoken to Steve about this?” you asked after a moment, voice soft but firm. “Sam?”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “God, no.”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he muttered, fingers threading through his damp hair. “It’s just... awkward. I feel like a fuckin’ schoolboy.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “I could teach you.”

His eyes snapped to you, wary. “What?”

“I could teach you,” you repeated, voice steady. “How to make love. Fuck. How to gain control over your life again. You’re just sensitive; you need a bit of exposure therapy.”

Bucky’s expression darkened, jaw clenching. “Why the hell would you do that?”

You exhaled slowly, gaze drifting to the patterned carpet beneath you. “Do you know how many men I’ve fucked and not felt a thing?” you said quietly, barely above a whisper. 

“I wasn’t just an assassin or a spy. Not like Natasha or Yelena. I was a swallow, Barnes. A honeytrap.” His expression flickered, eyes scanning your face as if searching for something, some hint of insincerity.

You swallowed, pushing forward. “It’s why Fury sent me on this mission with you. This is all I’ve ever known.”

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. “Fury knows what they did to you, and he still continues to—”

“I agreed to it,” you cut in, your tone clipped, controlled. “He just wanted our sham marriage to be believable. He wasn’t asking me to fuck you, just to perform. That’s what I do. Perform.”

Bucky huffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head. 

“Look, I don’t know you,” he muttered, voice low, rough. “I don’t want your baggage, or for you to fuck me out of pity or... I don’t know, self-sabotage.”

The words hit like a slap, sharper than you expected. You recoiled—actually flinched—before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t just what he said, it was the venom in it, the way he threw it at you like a blade meant to wound. And damn it, it did.

Bucky saw it, too. The way your shoulders stiffened, the flicker of something raw crossing your face before you forced it away. His breath hitched slightly, fingers twitching at his side, but he didn’t take it back. Didn’t soften the blow. Maybe he regretted it, maybe he didn’t, but either way, the damage was done.

Your expression hardened like cooling steel, every crack that had formed between you quickly sealing shut, any semblance of vulnerability buried beneath layers of carefully placed armour. It was instinct—second nature, really. You’d spent years perfecting the art of locking yourself away, of making sure no one could reach the parts of you that still bled. You’d built it, brick by fucking brick, until you were fully encased, isolated from anything that might harm you. 

Bucky wasn’t the first to speak to you like that. Wouldn’t be the last.

You swallowed down the sting, inhaled slow and deep through your nose, and then let it out in a steady breath. When you spoke again, your voice was quiet, devoid of emotion, a perfect imitation of indifference. “It was just an offer.”

Nothing more. Nothing less.

You held his gaze for a second longer, searching for something, anything, that might suggest he regretted it. But Bucky just stared back, face unreadable, jaw tight. Then, without another word, he turned away, stretching out on the couch with his back to you.

Fine. Message received.

—

The rest of the week had been nothing short of torturous. After the argument, the air between you and Bucky had turned to ice. The two of you barely spoke. Not outside of necessity, not outside of the roles you had to play. At the gala, he did what was required—he held you close, leant into your touch when needed, murmured sweet nothings in your ear to sell the lie. But you felt the restraint in him, the hesitance in the way he brushed a thumb over your knuckles, the barely-there tremors in his fingers when he smoothed a hand over your waist. It wasn’t as if he was walking on hot coals anymore, but there was still that same, underlying hesitation.

Back at the hotel, the silence stretched long and unbearable. Shower, eat, sleep—repeat. Conversations were reduced to one-word exchanges, curt and impersonal. At least by morning, this miserable charade would be over. You’d gathered the intel you needed at the gala, and in a few hours, you’d be free of this place. Free of this suffocating, awkward tension. Free from Bucky’s constant, looming presence. 

God, the man had a staring problem.

You had noticed it before, how he always seemed lost in thought, his gaze heavy with some unreachable burden. You had assumed it was just brooding, the kind of silent, empty-headed angst that men like him fell victim to. But now you realised—he wasn’t staring through you. He was staring at you.

You saw it when you dressed for the gala, slipping into silken dresses and heels, when you pinned your hair into elegant styles, when you traced the lines of your lips with lipstick, perfecting the illusion. You’d catch his reflection in the mirror, eyes fixed on you, dark and unreadable.

Once, he had been so caught up in his daze that he nearly left without putting on his suit jacket. You had to press it into his hands, dragging him out of whatever spell he was under. He had taken it stiffly, mumbling a quiet ‘thanks’ but the heat in his face was unmistakable.

And now, as you sat cross-legged on the bed in a loose nightgown, the fabric riding high on your thighs, the same damn stare was drilling into the side of your face.

The TV flickered before you, an incoherent blur of colours and sound. You weren’t even sure it was in English. It didn’t matter. You weren’t watching it anyway. You were too focused on not focusing on Bucky, who stared at the side of your face like he intended to burn a hole through the flesh.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, running your thumb over your knee. The sheets were soft, the mattress more forgiving than the couch you’d been forced to sleep on last night. At least tonight was your turn back on the bed, though ideally, you’d be back in your own apartment by now, wrapped in high-thread-count luxury courtesy of Tony Stark’s absurd wealth.

God, you missed Egyptian cotton.

Bucky was still staring at you. You couldn’t help it, annoyance, filthy and venomous came pouring out of your mouth before you could stop it. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Bucky startled, his whole body tensing as if you had physically struck him.

“Nothing—” he stammered.

You arched a brow, unimpressed.

“No. There’s obviously something you want to say.” You shifted on the bed, your frustration mounting. “Go on, spit it out.”

He hesitated, his jaw working like he was biting down on whatever words were lodged in his throat.

You didn’t let up. “You sure had a lot to say earlier in the week. What, do you want to dig the knife in further? You might as well just call me a whore while you’re at it—”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky cut over you, his head dipping. You paused, momentarily stunned. He was doing that thing again, where he looked like a scolded dog. Adorable, but not the fucking time.“I shouldn’t have said that, it was inconsiderate of me, especially after... after all you’ve done.”

You frowned. “You don’t owe me anything, Barnes.” The words left your lips quieter this time, but still firm. 

“I snapped at you. And I shouldn’t have.” he admitted. His voice was low, restrained.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers to your temple.

“It’s okay. I understand,” you said, a little softer. “I haven’t exactly been… the kindest either.”

A bitter chuckle escaped him, his fingers twitching against his knee. Then, after a long pause, he asked, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Act like everything is okay. Like it’s normal.” His voice was strained, like he wasn’t even sure if he believed in what he was asking.

You let out a short, almost nervous laugh. “I’m probably not the best person to ask about this—”

“But you get it, right?” He looked at you now, something almost desperate in his gaze. “To not know… who or what you are? Sometimes I… I just want to be normal again.”

You frown deeply, weighing his words carefully. You understood his sentiment, but you knew it was futile. There had never been anything normal about your life—not anything you could remember, at least. The Red Room had seen to that. Your earliest memories were of drills, of ballet, of suffocating discipline, and of the erasure of self. Even now, you weren’t normal; you were an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D for fucks sake, a woman barely pardoned of her crimes, existing in a liminal space. The world's governments couldn’t quite confirm you existed. You were a ghost, a fucking shadow of a person. 

“I don’t think people like us get to be normal,” you said finally, choosing your words carefully.

His expression twisted slightly, like he had already known that answer but had hoped for something different.

“But I think,” you continued, “it would serve you a world of good if you let people in. Steve… Sam. You don’t have to face this all alone—Natasha, Yelena, and I look to each other all the time to process it all and patch together the missing pieces. There’s no shame in it.”

Bucky’s face creased, his body drawing in on itself slightly. You moved before he could shrink further, slipping off the bed and kneeling before him. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured, voice steady. “Just tell me... what is it you need right now?”

His lips parted slightly, then pressed into a thin line. He fidgeted, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if struggling to force out something that had been sitting at the edge of his tongue all week.

Finally, he exhaled, jaw tight.

“I want to take you up on your offer.”

You tilted your head. “My offer?”

Bucky swallowed, eyes flickering to the floor before darting back to you. His voice was hesitant, low—like he was worried some invisible presence might have overheard. “Lessons. Lessons in… love-making. I want to be able to look at a girl without... you know. This fucking week has been torture seeing you—”

He cut himself off, warmth flooding to his cheeks. A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it—light, amused, genuine.

Bucky stiffened, eyes widening slightly, horror flashing across his face as if he thought you were mocking him.

You shook your head quickly, reaching out to place a hand on his knee.

“Of course,” you murmured, smiling. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—

“Is this okay?” you asked softly as you swung your leg over, settling onto Bucky’s lap. The mattress dipped beneath you both, the quiet creak of the hotel bed the only sound between you for a moment. He sat beneath you, legs slightly spread, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. You dug your knees into the bed on either side of his thighs, anchoring yourself against him.

His breath hitched, sharp and uneven. “Yes,” he murmured, though there was a noticeable tremor in his voice, like he was still convincing himself.

“Just breathe,” you encouraged, smoothing your hands over his broad shoulders. His muscles were tense beneath your fingertips, wound tight like coiled steel. He swallowed hard.

“What’s worrying you?” You asked gently. “Is there something I can do to make this more comfortable for you?”

Bucky shook his head, a shuddering breath leaving him as his hands finally found purchase on your hips. His grip was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold you. “No,” he said, his voice rough. 

“This is great, I—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together in frustration.

You tilted your head, studying him, before offering a reassuring smile. Your fingers kneaded into his shoulders in slow, soothing motions, attempting to melt away some of the tension knotted there. “Talk to me,” you coaxed.

His gaze flickered downward, shame creeping into his expression. “I just… don’t want to embarrass myself. Again.”

Your heart clenched at his vulnerability, but you refused to let him linger in self-doubt. Instead, you leant in, your lips curling in a playful smile. 

“You’re cute when you say things like that,” you teased, running your tongue over your lower lip before continuing. “Don’t worry about any of that. Just stay here, in this moment, with me.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he obeyed, focusing on the warmth of your body pressed against his. Slowly, his grip tightened on your hips, fingers kneading into the flesh more firmly this time. His thumbs traced cautious circles against the fabric of your clothing, testing. You let your hands drift from his shoulders down to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“Now,” you murmured, keeping your tone soft but steady, “if you get overwhelmed, or if you need to stop, what do you say?”

“Stop,” Bucky answered without hesitation.

“Good,” you praised, smiling warmly. “And if you can’t speak? If the words won’t come?”

His fingers flexed on your hip before he squeezed in a deliberate rhythm—three distinct beats. You nodded in approval. “Perfect.”

His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching. 

“What about you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more earnest. “If you want to stop?”

You demonstrated by tapping three times against his chest, just over his heart.

“I’ll do the same thing,” you assured him. “Just like we discussed.”

For a moment, he just breathed. His lashes fluttered as he exhaled a slow, measured breath, his hands steadying against you. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he whispered, “I’m… I’m ready. I think.”

You smiled, fingers tracing a soft, reassuring path along his jaw. 

“Okay. I thought we’d start with kissing, since you seem worried about it. Nice and simple, no pressure,” you murmured, your voice low and reassuring as your fingertips ghosted along his jawline. Bucky swallowed thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he leaned into your palm without thinking, nuzzling it like a touch-starved thing. His blue eyes, dark as the ocean in a brewing storm, flickered with something hesitant, something fragile.

“I’m sure you kissed plenty of girls back in the day,” you teased, lips curling as you brushed your thumb over the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

“Oh yeah,” he exhaled, the words dipped in self-deprecation, “until Steve became… well, the Steve he is now. None of the girls spared me a second glance after that.”

You let out a soft laugh, breathy and genuine, and felt the way his body tensed beneath you at the sensation. It was funny how a man who could tear through steel and strike terror into the hearts of the world’s deadliest enemies could turn so shy at something as simple as your laughter.

“You know…” he hesitated, voice quieter now. “You were my first kiss since… well, everything.”

Your teasing grin faltered slightly. You tilted your head, gaze flicking between his eyes and his lips, close enough now that you could feel the steady heat radiating from his skin. 

“Well,” you murmured, the ghost of a smirk curling your lips as you shifted closer, “now I’ll be your second too.”

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, a testing press of your lips against his, feather-light and coaxing. Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, his breath hitching as though he was bracing for impact. But when you didn’t pull away, when you lingered just a little longer, he melted into you—hesitant at first, but eager.

His hands, large and trembling slightly, hesitated at your waist before gripping your thighs as if he wasn’t sure whether to hold you or let you slip away. The warmth of his palms bled through the thin fabric of your nightgown, spreading across your skin like wildfire.

You deepened your kiss, tilting your head to slot your lips more firmly against his, and a quiet sound rumbled in his chest—halfway between a sigh and a groan. Encouraged, you shifted, rocking your hips, the new position pressing your bodies flush together.

Bucky tensed beneath you, fingers digging into your flesh instinctively as you settled against him. His own hips bucked in response, and you could already feel him growing hard against your inner thigh. He pulled back slightly, panting, his lips swollen.

“Am I doing… okay?” he asked, his voice rough.

You smiled, smoothing a hand through his dark hair, tugging him gently forward again. 

“More than okay,” you whispered against his lips before capturing them once more.

This time, he kissed you back without hesitation. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring himself to you as he parted his lips, following your lead. You swept your tongue into his mouth, slow and purposeful, teasing along his lower lip before deepening it. A groan rumbled in his chest, muffled against your mouth.

You rolled your hips, grinding against him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, savouring the way his breath hitched and stuttered beneath you. Even through the layers of clothing, you could feel him—hard, straining, likely aching for more. His fingers dug into your skin, a bruising grip that only added to the heat blooming in your core.

You pulled away from his lips, shifting your attention lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his neck. You could feel his pulse hammering beneath your lips, quick and erratic. He tipped his head back, surrendering himself to your touch, a quiet curse slipping from his mouth as you sucked at the sensitive skin below his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” you hummed against his skin, your voice warm and indulgent, laced with soft praise. His body trembled beneath you as he bucked his hips up to meet yours, desperate for more friction, more of you. You rewarded him with a soft, breathy moan, letting him know just how much you enjoyed this too.

“I—” He tried to form words, but they crumbled before they left his lips.

The tension in his body coiled tighter and tighter, like a bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. His hands clutched at you, grounding himself in the sensation, like the overwhelming pleasure was building too fast for him to control. His breath came in short, needy gasps, his hips stuttering as he lost the rhythm.

“I’m gonna—” His voice broke, his head tilting forward as his entire body tensed beneath you. A strangled moan escaped him, deep and wrecked, as he came undone. His grip on your hips tightened, his thighs trembling slightly beneath yours as his climax overtook him. His body fell back against the sheets, a soft exhale leaving his lips as the last waves of pleasure wracked through him.

You perched above him, still straddling his hips. For a moment, he just lay there, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath. His eyes were half-lidded, dazed, and his lips parted as if he had more to say but couldn’t quite form the words.

“I didn’t mean to finish so early—” he started, his voice hoarse, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and lingering pleasure. Leaning over, you flipped your hair to one side as your face hovered over his. You silenced him with a lingering kiss, slow and reassuring. He groaned softly into your mouth, still sensitive but already melting into the warmth of your lips. When you pulled away, his shoulders had loosened, the rigid tension gone from his body.

“You did so well,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” 

You grinned, sliding off him and stretching languidly before settling back onto the bed. You exhaled, content. Bucky turned his head to look at you, still slightly frozen in place, as if unsure what to do next. His brows furrowed slightly. “What… what about you? Don’t you want to…?”

You snorted. “That doesn’t matter. This was about you, not me.”

He hesitated, clearly still unused to receiving something without feeling obligated to return it. “But I feel bad leaving you—”

“I’m fine, trust me.” You hummed, closing your eyes as you nestled into the warmth of his arm. “We have a long way to go before you need to be thinking about that.”

Bucky went quiet. You could feel his gaze lingering on you, unreadable.

For a moment, you weren’t sure if he would say anything at all. But then, after a beat of silence, you felt him shift beside you. A hesitant hand—warm and slightly calloused—ghosted over your arm before settling on your waist, drawing you in closer.

“…Thank you,” he murmured at last.

[bucksangel]

run little bunny

pairing: softdark!ceo!bucky x naive!assistant!reader

word count: 8.6k

summary: Being John Walker’s assistant is hard; he’s mean, disrespectful, misogynistic, the whole nine yards. On top of that, he hardly pays you fairly. So, when you’re fired for a mistake you’re sure wasn’t your fault, you’re at risk of being kicked out by your rude roommates. Luckily for you, James Barnes, a wildly successful CEO, has found his way into your life. And he’s going to take such good care of you.

warnings: where do i even start, 18+, minors DNI and i fucking mean it, mild coercion, some of it could be interpreted as stalking, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, sir kink, oral (f receiving), housewife kink, breeding kink, pet names (bunny, darling), dirty talk, dom!bucky and sub!reader, choking, squirting, basically just absolute filth, a little hurt-comfort, reader’s roommates are awful and mean, not john walker friendly but when am i ever

a/n: so this was supposed to just be some quick smut but as always i went overboard, so please enjoy! likes and comments are appreciated, reblogs are even better!

tip jar | main masterlist | ao3 | run little bunny masterlist

Your hands are shaking slightly, your heartbeat races with anxiety, and your leg bounces rapidly. Today is an important day after all, and your boss has made it clear that if you mess up in any way then he’d have to rethink your employment. That sent dread flooding through your body, so you’ve been preparing yourself for the last week to make sure everything for the meeting is perfect.

And, on the technical side, everything is immaculate - mostly due to you staying up until almost midnight each night to polish the presentation. You thought everything was done properly, but when you’d walked into the building that morning your boss was holed up in his office finishing up his portion of the work, so you’d decided to simply email him to let him know that you had arrived.

Everything was perfect. But when you get into the meeting room, your boss’ eyes go wide, anger clouding them while he scowls. You quickly make your way to his side, only for him to bark out a command for you to grab water for his incoming guests. Placing your notebook on the table, you turn to scurry off to the side to grab the glasses, but you’re stopped when your boss grabs your arm harshly.

“Do you have a change of clothes?”

“Um… Um, I-“ Your boss raises an eyebrow, and you feel like you might throw up from the sudden anxiety. “No, sir.”

He scoffs, muttering under his breath something about looking “trashy,” before releasing you and allowing you to go to the minibar.

Your arm stings, no doubt sporting a red mark because of how harsh the grip was. You’re also confused because you thought the floral dress you’d chosen was pretty. Sure, it may not be high class, but your boss has never had a problem with it before, but you’re assuming that he’s on edge due to who he’s meeting with.

James Barnes; the most powerful and successful CEO in the entire country. You haven’t met him personally, but from what you hear you know that he’s not someone you want to upset. According to the hushed whispers around the office, he stands at a towering 6’6, tattoos cover his arms and hands, and if he frowns then you better move out of the way.

Would Mr. Barnes be upset with your attire?

You desperately hope not, because you need this job. While you can barely make your rent and utilities, you don’t have any other job lined up, and you’re way too scared to ask for a raise from a man who so clearly disrespects you. For right now, though, you’re stuck.

The oak doors open, and one of the office assistants steps off to the side while holding the door open for several men to walk in. You hear him before you see him. You’ve never heard his voice, but the commanding tone he uses when he addresses your boss lets you know that it must be him.

“Hello, Mr. Walker,” Mr. Barnes greets him, and you can hear your boss stand and greet him as well.

You’re trying your hardest to keep calm while you walk toward the table with a platter holding several glasses of water. You do your best to place them in front of the men without showing how nervous you are.

But when you get to Mr. Barnes, you nearly spill the drink all over the table once you get a whiff of his clearly expensive cologne. Oh, how you’d love to be surrounded by that scent, the woodsy smell almost intimidates you but you’re unsure as to why you don’t mind.

You’ve never done anything even remotely sexual with a man, you’re far too awkward and anxious in a way that isn’t too appealing to many, but for a very brief moment, you wonder what he looks like underneath the black three-piece suit — the prominent veins on his hands insinuates that the rest of his body is probably just as toned. But you’re immediately snapped out of your thoughts by your boss’ harsh voice calling your name.

“Aren’t you going to greet our guests?”

You breathe in sharply, heat flooding your face as you stumble your way through an apology and a polite “Hello, Mr. Barnes.”

You’re about to leave his side when he reaches out to grasp your hand — surprisingly gentle for such a powerful man. With a slight jump, you glance over to your boss who’s staring at you as though you’re becoming a nuisance and should quickly get back to your chair beside his. But you can’t, both because of Mr. Barnes’ hold and the fact that when you look back at the man in front of you his ocean-blue eyes pull you in, and you’re unable to break your gaze.

“And who might you be, darling?” His eyes twinkle with mischief but you’re too blind to see it, you’re too flustered to really focus.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about her, she’s just –”

“I wasn’t asking you,” Mr. Barnes snaps, briefly glancing at your boss and not bothering to hide his smirk when he almost visibly cowers. “Now, darling,” he continues, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “What’s your name?”

You nearly squeak, having to force yourself to tell him your name before he gets upset with your lack of answer.

Mr. Barnes hums, then brings your hand up so he can place a delicate kiss on your knuckles. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You flounder for a moment, unsure as to what to make of the compliment. You don’t have much time to overthink it because this meeting has a time limit and you’re sure your boss would prefer to get this over with.

“Th-Thank you, sir.” You’re not sure why, but your voice is breathy because something about that word — sir — just feels right for him, though you’re not sure what it means.

“So polite,” He mumbles to himself, and his eyes seem to grow darker. Finally, he lets you go, shooting you a wink and smirking to himself when you scurry off to sit next to your boss.

The presentation went relatively smoothly — thank God. You don’t know what you would have done if anything went wrong. In fact, Mr. Barnes seemed extremely invested in what you had to say, catching your gaze several times and causing you to stumble over your words a few times, only for your boss to clear his throat and glare at you. Eventually, Mr. Barnes throws him his own glare, silently telling him to shut up, to which your boss finally does.

Once the meeting was declared to be over, you were quick to close your notebook and tuck your pen behind your ear, then you went around the table and started collecting the now-empty glasses. As you’re running around the room trying to clean up, you can feel a powerful gaze boring holes into your body, but you try not to pay it any mind. It’s probably just your boss anyway.

But when you turn away from the desk to finally leave, you bump into Mr. Barnes, your body nearly slamming into his very sturdy chest. His hands shoot to your hips almost immediately, helping to steady yourself.

The warmth of his body pulls you in, but that might also be because Mr. Barnes is literally bringing you closer to his chest by the hold he has on your hips. And that’s when you realize that your hands are clutching his shoulders, but you can’t find it in you to let go.

“What’s the rush?” He asks playfully, his upper lip quirking up in a smirk. “You’re running around like a little bunny.”

“Oh, oh I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes.” You’re not sure why you’re apologizing, you recognize that he’s just teasing, but something in you doesn’t want to disappoint him. 

“Mr. Barnes.” He hums, his eyes briefly glancing down to your lips. “I like it when you call me that.”

Now you’re really flustered, your face heats up and you have to do everything in your power not to faint — the way his voice deepens is doing something to you and you don’t know how to handle it.

“I’d like it a lot more if you called me James, though. Can you do that for me, bunny?” 

“Ye-Yes, James.” You might have been embarrassed about how quick you were to answer him, but the way he closes his eyes and tightens the hold he has on your body you’re thinking it was the right decision.

Mr. Barnes — James — opens his mouth again, but is interrupted by the door being opened by one of the office assistants, whose eyes immediately go wide in shock. It seems to take a second for her to gather her bearings, but she recovers soon enough.

“Mr. Walker is requesting you,” She tells you, glancing over at James and giving him a nervous smile. “He says you have to file all of the paperwork for the meeting.”

You sigh, you’re tired of having to do everything for your boss only for him to take credit ninety percent of the time. But, it’s what you’re paid to do, so you suck it up. 

Looking back to James, you give him a shy smile, reluctantly removing your hands from his shoulders. 

“Um, I guess I should go, James.” You’re a little sad, and you don’t quite know why having to leave him and go back to your duties makes you so anxious. It could be because Mr. Walker is mean, or maybe because James makes you feel safe. In reality, it’s probably a mixture of both.

“I guess you should,” He murmurs, removing one of his large hands from your waist so he can cup the back of your neck and pull you closer, only for him to press a lingering kiss on your forehead.

And absolutely no one can blame you for the quiet whimper that leaves your lips, even though you are surprised by your reaction. It doesn’t matter though, because he finally moves back, letting go of you and reaching into the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket so he can pull out what looks like a business card.

“Here,” James says, handing it to you. “In case you ever want to talk, you’re always free to call me.”

“What would we talk about?” Your confusion causes James to chuckle, and he seems amused by your naivety.

“Whatever you want, Bunny. Whether you just want to talk about nonsense or vent about your boss. Doesn’t matter to me as long as I get to hear your beautiful voice.”

With that, he gives you a wink, then turns to the door and leaves, though he does glance back at you. With one final smile, he leaves, and you’re left with a million racing thoughts while standing in the middle of the meeting room.

It took three days for you to finally reach out to James. As soon as you got home that night you ran to your bedroom and added his number to your phone, going so far as to put his business card in your bedside table drawer so you wouldn’t lose it. It just took a little time to gain the courage to actually contact him. After all, what if he was just being friendly? You’ve never met anyone quite like him, so it’s hard to read into his actions.

But today had gone horribly. The café you frequent before work was so busy that you didn’t have time to grab your coffee without being extremely late, the bistro you were demanded to pick up lunch from was closed — and while it wasn’t your fault, Mr. Walker certainly seemed to think it was. Your workload was piled high and by the end of the day, you were on the verge of crying due to the stress and mean comments thrown at you by your boss.

You need a shoulder to lean on and, unfortunately for you, you don’t have anyone else to go to. You’re pretty sure your roommates hate you and only let you live with them because they haven’t found a new roommate yet, you don’t have siblings and your parents are states away, and you have maybe a few friends, but even then the communication is scarce.

You need a shoulder to lean on, and James offered his, so you finally decided to pull up his contact and start a new message. It takes several minutes to figure out what to say, but you eventually settle on something simple.

Hi, James. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Mr. Walker’s assistant. You gave me your number in case I ever wanted to talk.

You hit send and stare down at your phone anxiously as you wait for a reply. A minute goes by, then two, suddenly five, and then you’re starting to regret texting him, what if he doesn’t remember you? What if he’s busy? What if – 

Your phone starts ringing, James’ name popping up on the screen and taunting you — almost commanding you to answer.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, bunny,” James says softly, and if you press your ear close enough to your phone you could pretend that he’s right next to you.

“Hi, James. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Your voice is soft and timid, you’d hate to disrupt anything he’s doing.

“Don’t be silly, bunny,” He says, his smile evident in his tone. “I always have time for you.”

“Oh, um. Thank you, sir.” It’s almost indescribable, but you can just make out the soft curse James lets out, followed by some shuffling.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

You’re a little apprehensive, but with James’ gentle encouragement, you’re able to get everything off your chest, complaining about your day and everything that went wrong. Each word spoken feels like weights lifting off of your shoulders, allowing you to breathe easier every time James hums. He doesn’t interrupt you, which you greatly appreciate, and by the time you’re done, you fall backward onto your bed, relieved.

“I’m sorry you had such a bad day, bunny,” James coos with his smooth-as-honey voice, filling your body with warmth and comfort. “A pretty girl like you doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.” That comment floods your face with heat and you shuffle up the bed to lean against the headboard.

“Oh, I - thank you, sir.” There it is again, sir. James exhales slowly as though he’s trying to control himself from doing something he shouldn’t, and part of you is momentarily worried that you’ve upset him somehow. You don’t want to disappoint him.

“What can I do to help?”

What can he do to help? You’re not quite sure, you’re not sad, and you’re not angry, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t need at least a hug right now. But, it would be too imposing to ask, right? There’s no way he would be willing to come over – that is, if your roommates would even allow him over. And he certainly wouldn’t invite a stranger into his house. So, you lie to him.

“Oh – Oh, no, James, I don’t – you don’t have to – it’s fine –”

“Bunny.”

Your mouth promptly closes, taking a deep breath through your nose and exhaling slowly.

“Sorry, James.”

“Don’t be sorry, bunny.” There’s some shuffling in the background as he talks and you can’t help but sigh at how sincere his voice is. “Now, what can I do to help?” And before you can even open your mouth he’s talking again, “Don’t say nothing, because I know there’s something you want.”

You’re silent for a moment, stewing over how to tell him. But, he’ll probably just be empathetic and say something along the lines of ‘I’d hug you if I were there right now’. So, you decide to just spit it out.

“I guess I just want… I just need a hug, I think,” You sigh, feeling a sudden sense of loneliness. It’s hard not having anyone to talk to, to be isolated even from the people you live with, to be put down time and time again, and not have anyone to support you.

“Where are you?” James asks, and you hear some more shuffling in the background, followed by the jingling of what sounds like keys.

“I’m at my apartment,” You say, confused. He couldn’t possibly be coming over, could he?

“Send me your address and I’ll come pick you up, we’ll go out for ice cream,” James says decisively, and you can tell he doesn’t want any protesting. “Bunny,” He says when you don’t say anything. “You need cheering up and I’m here to do just that. Please send me your address.” He speaks gently but once again, he doesn’t seem to want you to argue against it.

“O-Okay, I will.”

“Good, I’ll see you soon, bunny.” When you bid him goodbye, he hangs up, and you’re quick to send him your address, giving him instructions to text you when he arrives so you can meet him out front of the building.

During the next twenty or so minutes you’re practically running around your room trying to make yourself look presentable. You cried all of your makeup off so you opt to just wash the rest of it off, and then you pull your hair back and away from your face. It takes a bit to decide what to wear, after all this is just a friend taking another friend to get ice cream, but this is also James Barnes; he has more wealth than you could possibly imagine. You want to impress him and appear grateful for his friendliness, and looking at least half-decent would achieve that.

Finally, someone knocks on your door, yelling, “Someone’s here for you!”

With a rush of excitement, you grab your phone and wallet and slip on your shoes, then make your way out of your room to the front door where another roommate is standing in front of it, leaning against the frame and giggling at the person.

James.

He looks bored, almost like he’s trying to appear interested but can’t quite muster up the energy to do so. When you approach, he lifts his head, a wide smile crossing his face.

“There’s my little bunny,” He says confidently, completely ignoring your annoyed roommate. “Come on, let’s get you cheered up.”

With that you walk to him, timidly accepting his outstretched hand and letting him gently tug you into the hallway. When you turn around to tell your roommate that you’ll be back later you can’t even get a word out before you see her glaring at you and shutting the door — the click of the lock is audible through the empty hallway.

“Are they always like that?” James asks with a tone that conveys concern.

“Like what?” You know what he’s talking about, but you hate acknowledging it.

“Rude and disrespectful.” He is so blunt that it causes you to look down in embarrassment to avoid his intense gaze.

Yes, you want to say, they’re awful. You want to shout from the rooftops that your roommates are horrible to you, but you’re just too scared to do it.

“Oh – Oh, no, they’re just…” You trail off, peeking up at James to see the disbelief in his eyes. When you look down again, he brings up one of his hands to cup your cheek and guide your head up so you can look at him head-on.

“You don’t need to lie to me, bunny. I want you to trust me.” James sighs, leaning forward and placing a small kiss on your forehead. “Come on,” He squeezes your hand, smiling softly at you as he starts walking you out of the building and to his car.

It doesn’t take long to get to the ice cream shop, only a five-minute drive, and when you get there James keeps the car locked as he gets out so he can circle around to your side and open your door for you.

“Th-Thank you,” You say as you put your hand in James’ outstretched one, letting him guide you out of the car. He keeps his hold on your hand as you walk into the shop, going so far as to thread your fingers together while you wait in line.

The image of your hand encompassed by James’ large tattooed one has your tummy fluttering with butterflies. But, you must have been staring for a little too long because you’re broken out of your trance by James gently squeezing your hand.

“Is this okay, bunny?”

“Yes!” Heat floods your face as soon as you say it, feeling embarrassed by how quick you were to answer. “I, I mean. Um… Yes, it’s okay.”

James smirks at you, clearly enjoying how flustered you are. But, before you can stew in your shame, the man behind the counter says, “Next!”

You walk up to the counter, letting James order before giving yours. And when it’s time to pay, James doesn’t even drop your hand while he fishes his wallet out of his pocket and takes out his card. Your tummy flutters once again.

“Come, bunny.”

With your desserts now in hand, James leads you to a corner booth, only letting go of your hand so you can scoot in. He sits across from you, looking at you with what can only be described as thinly veiled hunger. It’s not off-putting, you just don’t know what it means.

“So, um…” You trail off looking down at your bowl of ice cream, fiddling with the spoon they gave you.

“You don’t need to be nervous, bunny,” James coos, reaching over and placing his hand palm up on the table, and you’re helpless but to take it, practically aching to feel his warmth again. “Now, other than everything that happened today, how have you been?”

It’s surprisingly easy to fall into a pleasant conversation with him, he asks questions and lets you finish talking before adding his own input, and he doesn’t break eye contact. It feels like he’s really listening to what you’re saying, and it’s almost freeing to have someone in your corner, someone you can trust and depend on.

What feels like far too soon, though has probably been several hours due to how dark it is outside, the man behind the counter comes to your table to tell you that they’re closing soon, and you can’t help but be sad. You’re enjoying James’ company far more than you probably should since you’ve only known him for a handful of days. It almost seems like you’ve known him your whole life.

“Well, bunny. I guess it’s time to go,” James says remorsefully, getting up out of the booth and reaching out his hand to help you out of the booth as well. He keeps holding your hand while you walk out of the door — making sure to throw away your trash on the way out.

James insists on opening the car door for you again — ever the gentleman. There’s a comfortable silence on the drive back to your apartment, your stomach swirling the entire time because James refuses to drop your hand. But when you get to your apartment building, a small amount of anxiety settles inside you, and you’re desperately hoping your roommates are asleep because you don’t feel like dealing with them after you’ve had such a good evening.

The silence is a little more tense while you ride the elevator up to your floor, but you’re grounded by James’ touch. It’s not until you get to your front door that you really look at him, staring into his twinkling eyes. And when he smiles, it settles your nerves.

“I guess this is the end of our night, bunny,” He says, squeezing your hand one last time before dropping it. Before you can mourn the loss of his touch he’s wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close to his chest, and you desperately hope he doesn’t hear the squeak you let out. You wrap your arms around his waist, letting James tuck your face into his neck while he holds you close.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” James murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead.

“Me too,” You say softly, breathing in and inhaling his comforting scent. “Thank you for cheering me up.”

“Of course, bunny. I’m always here for you.” Then, James pulls his head back so he can look into your eyes. “Always.”

You can’t help but smile. His gaze is hypnotizing, pulling you in and almost refusing to let you go.

“Thank you, James,” You breathe out, and one last time, James squeezes you and kisses your forehead, then steps back.

“I’ll talk to you soon, bunny?” James asks, smiling wide.

“Y–Yeah, I’ll text you. Or you can text me. Or call, that’s–that’s fine too.” Heat floods your face in embarrassment, but you don’t feel too bad about it because James only smiles wider, nodding once.

“I will.”

“Goodnight, James.” With that, you turn and unlock your door, turning around to look at James one last time as you shut the door.

“Goodnight bunny, I hope you have dreams as sweet as you are.” James winks, and you swear you can hear him chuckle when you squeak out an “o-okay,” and shut the door.

And maybe James is some kind of wizard because you have the best night of sleep you’ve had in a while.

For the next few weeks you and James text almost every day, and talk on the phone every couple of days. You’ve met up with him a few times as well, accepting his invitations to lunch or coffee. Each outing would last for several hours, too enraptured by his… everything to be the one to suggest the night should end. You’ve come to trust him, you know with a possibly concerning amount of certainty that James would do everything possible to keep you happy and safe.

Roughly a month and a half after meeting James, you’re sitting on your bed in the same position you were in when you first called him crying. Unlike last time, though, you don’t hesitate to call him. He’s told you time and time again that it doesn’t even matter if he’s in a meeting, he’ll always make time for you. You just hope that’s true.

He picks up almost immediately.

“Hello, bunny,” James says with the same soft tone he always uses when talking to you.

“H-hi, James,” You manage to say, before breaking out into sobs. You’re nearly hyperventilating, trying and failing to catch your breath between hiccups, and it takes a few minutes to calm down enough to hear rustling in the background on James’ end.

“Are you at home?” He asks with the utmost concern.

“Ye-Yes.”

“Stay there,” He says, using what you’ve deemed his CEO voice. “I’m coming to get you.”

“Ja–”

“Bunny.”

You sigh, knowing you can’t change his mind – not that you really want him to. You could really benefit from a hug right about now and James always provides the best ones.

“Can you at least stay on the phone with me?” Your voice is small, still sniffling every few words. You don’t think you could handle being alone with your own thoughts right now.

“Of course. You know I’ll do anything for you.”

It takes James twenty minutes to get to you, and he talks to you the whole time, just menial things to get your mind off of your sadness. When he lets you know that he’s at your apartment, you don’t even wait for him to tell you he’s coming up, you simply grab your jacket and slip on your shoes, then run to the front door without so much as a word to your roommates in the living room.

“James!” Upon seeing the man himself standing next to his car, you fling yourself into his arms, taking deep breaths to prevent yourself from crying in public. “Thank you for coming.”

“Bunny, how many times do I have to tell you that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep a smile on your pretty face?” James’ tone is teasing, but you know he’s serious if his stern and concerned gaze is anything to go by.

You nod, blinking back tears. It’s so nice to have a friend like James Barnes; kind, chivalrous, attentive. With the way he acts sometimes, you’d almost think he’s interested in more than friendship, but you always shake that thought off. He’s too handsome and wealthy to date some random personal assistant who’s barely able to make her rent.

“Come on, bunny,” James moves back but keeps an arm wrapped around your waist, leading you to his car and helping you in. Like always, he waits for you to sit so he can strap you in your seatbelt, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before shutting the door then running around to the driver's seat.

This time, instead of taking a left at the light at the end of your block, he keeps going forward, taking turns until you’re not exactly sure where you are.

“Um, where are we going?”

“My house,” James says casually, briefly glancing at you so he can give you that ever-soft smile.

“But, isn’t your house only twenty minutes away?” You’re confused, and a little curious as to what he’s talking about.

“I only stay there when I have meetings in the city. I have a house a little further out where I live most of the time. It’s a little more lived-in, so I want to bring you there where you’ll feel a little more…” James pauses for a moment, glancing at you again. “At home.” His explanation makes sense in your brain, quickly squashing any nerves that you had. He’s rich, so of course he’d have multiple houses.

It’s almost an hour long drive to get to his house. Well, house feels like an inappropriate term for what it actually is. It’s more like a mansion, standing tall at three stories, a long driveway with trees lining either side of the road, and a luscious garden surrounding the property.

James helps you out of the car and guides you up the steps to the front door, where he unlocks it and lets you step inside. The moment you pass through the threshold your jaw nearly drops to the floor; a large chandelier hangs from the ceiling right when you step in and beautiful artwork adorns the walls. The open floor plan gives you a good view of the living room and kitchen from your vantage point, and you can’t wait to sink into the luxurious and almost comically large couch in front of the TV.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” James urges you further in, bringing you to the living room.

“Um, just water is fine.” You look up at him, smiling shyly and nearly tripping when he smiles back.

“I’ll be right back,” James says, watching as you sit and sink into the plush couch. “Make yourself at home.” The look in his eyes when he says it sparks something inside you, something warm and fuzzy. Thinking of James’ house as your home makes your tummy flutter, but you don’t understand why.

God, you need to get it together.

You’re left alone for a moment, and everything is quiet except for the fridge opening and the glasses clinking. James’ absence allows you a moment to breathe properly, being with him always leaves you flustered, though you can’t deny that some part of you likes it. You like his commanding nature, how deep his voice gets when he talks passionately about something, how warm his embrace is when he holds you for what might be a little too long, squeezing you like he doesn’t want to let you go.

“Here you go, bunny.” Suddenly, a glass of water appears in front of you, and you take it with a gracious smile and a small “thank you.”

“So,” He says, sitting next to you — really close — and throwing his arm over your shoulders, practically pulling you into his lap. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Tears immediately spring to your eyes, suddenly remembering how horrible today was. You force yourself to take a couple of sips of your glass but your hand starts shaking enough to where James takes your glass and sets it on the coffee table in front of you.

“Bunny—“

His soft voice causes you to start crying, throwing yourself into his chest and burying your face in his neck as you sob out your troubles. James’ hand is warm on your back, rubbing it soothingly and squeezing you close to him. This time, he actually pulls you in his lap, you’re grasping the front of his sweater while he maneuvers your body so you’re straddling his thighs, and you can’t help but scoot closer so you’re sitting on him properly with your body flush against his.

A few minutes of crying later and your tears have finally slowed, your sobs deforming into hiccups until you calm down enough to hear James cooing into your ear, whispering sweet nothings. When you finally catch your breath, you pull back, staring up at James with wide eyes and a pout.

“I-I… I was fired! Fired! And I don’t know what I’m going to do! Mr. Walker just tossed me to the side because a document went missing and he blamed me, and now I’m jobless and my roommates are definitely going to kick me out because I can barely make my rent as it is. What am I going to do?”

James sighs, rubbing one hand up and down your back and keeping his other on your waist, though they manage to sneak up your shirt a little without your notice.

“I’m sorry, bunny,” He starts, giving you a comforting smile. “It’s awful that happened to you, and it’s not your fault, so don’t go blaming yourself like I know you want to.”

Your face goes warm with embarrassment. How is he able to read you so easily?

“And as far as your living situation, you’ll move in with me.”

“James!” Your eyebrows furrow, your head automatically shaking. “No, no I can’t do that to you. I don’t have a job anymore and I definitely can’t afford to pay you rent, I-I can’t burden you like that.” Even though it hurts to say it, you want to be honest with him. Because how on Earth are you supposed to pay him back for this?

“You’re not a burden.” You’re surprised by his angry tone, and his eyes darken as though he’s challenging you to say otherwise. “You’ll never be a burden on me, bunny. I’m offering you this, I don’t want you to pay me.”

As though he can sense your hesitation, he gives you a playful smirk.

“But if you really want to help, how about you do the cooking and cleaning? I don’t always get a good home-cooked meal, and it’d be nice to come back from work to see you in a cute little apron.”

This makes you giggle, a weight lifting off your shoulders when you nod timidly. “I-I can do that. I’ll do anything.”

And while you had pure intentions with that statement, James takes it differently, his eyes darkening even further as he nibbles at his bottom lip.

“Anything?” He smirks wider when you nod eagerly because that’s what you are. Always eager to please — especially please James.

“Yes, anything!”

James hums, seemingly thinking something over, before sliding one of his hands up the back of your shirt.

“How about you give me a kiss? I haven’t had a good one in a while,” While he sounds like he’s teasing, his face shows he’s anything but.

He really wants you to kiss him. And, well, it’s not like you’re going to deny him, you’re too grateful for his generosity. Plus, you’d be insane to pass up such an opportunity, he’s handsome, kind, and makes you feel safe. So, with only a little hesitation, you lean down and press your lips against his in a simple peck, but before you can pull away James groans, placing one hand on the back of your head to keep you steady.

His lips practically attack yours, his tongue invading your mouth and taking what it wants – you. You don’t even know it but you’re whimpering almost immediately, opening your mouth and letting James consume you whole. He’s smiling against your lips, biting your bottom lip as he retreats for a moment so he can stare up into your eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, bunny,” James whispers reverently like he’s hypnotized. And he’s not the only one. Your brain is quickly going silent, your sole focus is on James and how good he’s making you feel.

“Really?”

“So beautiful, I’ve always thought so.” His confession makes you whine, he thinks you’re beautiful, this gorgeous man with the deepest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Suddenly, James curses softly, grabbing your waist under your shirt, and that’s when you realize you’ve started subconsciously moving your hips against his.

“S-Sorry,” You mumble, though you’re not too sorry considering you can’t stop rolling down onto his lap, it feels too good.

“Don’t be.” James hums thoughtfully, leaning forward slightly and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Why don’t we go to my room? It’ll be more comfortable.”

You don’t even wait for him to finish before you start eagerly nodding your head, adjusting your legs as he stands so you can wrap them around his waist. He carries you to his room, smirking to himself the entire time because you can’t stop kissing and biting his neck in the hopes of leaving a mark, staking your claim. When you finally get there, James quickly shuts the door behind him and then drops you down onto the bed.

“Sir,” You whine when he doesn’t do anything, he’s only standing at the end of the bed, staring at you with eyes so dark with lust that you can’t see the blue of them.

“Don’t worry, bunny, I’ll take good care of you.” With that, he swiftly strips his shirt off and tosses it to the side, then undoes the button on his pants, slowly dragging down the zipper with a wide smirk at the haze in your eyes. “Do you want to help me?”

It takes a few moments for you to understand what he’s asking of you, but once you do you push yourself up, shuffling over to him until you’re sitting with your legs underneath your butt. For a moment you’re not sure what to do, you reach out for his pants but freeze mid-air because you just now realize that you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. You’ve never been in this situation before, your sexual exploits consist of goodnight kisses on the few dates you’ve been on, and your vibrator in your nightstand that has been working overtime ever since you met James.

“I-I’m sorry,” You murmur, embarrassment flooding your features.

“Why are you sorry, bunny?” James’ voice is soft, soothing your worries.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never… been with a man before.” Your hands fall to your lap at the same time you hang your head. What if you disappoint him? You don’t know what you’re doing and you’d hate to mess anything up.

“I know, bunny. It’s okay.” James lifts your chin with his fore and middle fingers, guiding you to look at him again. “I’ll teach you everything.” His voice dips lower, his bottom lip getting trapped between his teeth when you smile, relieved.

“Now, I’m going to take off my pants, but I want you to take off my boxers. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” You say quickly, eyes dropping to his crotch as he begins pulling the denim down, down, down until it pools on the floor. He steps out of them, then steps in front of you with his arms hanging by his side. When he raises his eyebrow, nodding to his underwear, you reach out for him again, this time with only a small amount of hesitation. Your nerves are nearly off the charts, but knowing that James is going to guide you makes you feel better.

Your hands are shaking slightly when you pull them down, and absolutely no one can fault you for the loud gasp you let out when he’s finally bare because holy shit. Despite being relatively anxious and naive surrounding sex, you’ve watched your fair share of porn, and while the men in them did usually have big dicks, they seem small compared to James’.

You’re almost frightened, how the hell is that going to fit inside you? James chuckles, and you realize you probably said that aloud.

“Don’t worry, bunny. I’ll make it fit,” James groans, reaching down to grab the bottom of your shirt. “I’m going to take this off now, okay?” He tugs it up and over your head once you give your consent, tossing it to the side and cursing when he sees the light pink bra barely covering your breasts. James is biting his lip so hard you’re worried he might draw blood, but you don’t pay it any mind because he’s soon urging you to lay on your back with your legs dangling over the edge.

“Gonna take these off too.”

Giving him a shy smile and a nod, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sweatpants, glancing up at you one final time to make sure you’re okay before he surprises you by pulling them off of your legs in one swift movement. You’re tugged down the bed a little, a shocked gasp leaving your lips.

“Fucking angelic,” James murmurs, dropping to his knees and placing his large, rough hands on your knees. He smirks when he sees your matching light pink panties, already soaking wet at the crotch. You have to bite your lip to keep from whimpering when he pushes your legs wide apart, but you can’t stop yourself from squirming when he doesn’t do anything else.

“James,” You whine, high-pitched and needy.

“Sir,” He reminds you with a raised eyebrow as though he’s daring you to say his real name again. And just for good measure, he surprises you by lifting up one of his hands and swinging it down onto your clothed pussy in a harsh swat, causing you to let out a loud moan.

“Sir! I-I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s okay, little bunny,” James coos as he runs his hands up the back of your thighs so he can push them up and out, letting him get a good look at where you need him most. “Are you going to let me eat your pretty pussy?”

Even though it’s phrased as a question, you know James isn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. It’s not like you even want to tell him ‘no’, you’re too desperate for something, anything.

“Y-Yes, sir. Please.” Your begging makes him groan, and he quickly dips forward so he’s not even an inch away from your core, inhaling deeply and cursing again.

With a quick kiss to your covered clit, he twists his fingers into the band of your panties and rips them into pieces, and you know you’ll have marks from it. But you want them, you want evidence of this night, and you’ll gladly take anything he gives you. And no sooner than your panties off do James dive in, inhaling once more before his tongue sneaks out and licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit.

It’s at that point that you know you’re well and truly fucked, because there’s no way you’re not going to become addicted to the feeling of his tongue dipping into your quivering hole, the way he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks it into his mouth, the way he groans into your pussy like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

And it doesn’t take long for your legs to start shaking, desperately trying to close around James’ head but not being able to due to his hands gripping your thighs and holding them still. The filthy groans he lets out are enough to make you cum alone, but then he attaches his lips to your clit again and gently bites down, forcing an obscene moan out of your mouth.

He lets you get used to the pleasure, switching between fucking his tongue deep inside you and flicking at your clit, and only when he decides you’re ready does he manage to slide his forefinger in your pussy all the way to the third knuckle.

“Sir!” You can’t help but yell. Yes, it stings, but it’s far outweighed by the pleasure of his tongue assaulting your pulsating nub.

He wastes no time in slowly sliding it in and out, wiggling it around until you whine loudly, letting him know he’s found that special spot. You’re too out of it to realize it but James is smiling, clearly smug at how he’s making you react. You wouldn’t care anyway, in fact, he deserves it. He’s making you feel too good, especially when he slips in his middle finger and spreads them.

“Oh god! Yes, fuck. Sir, yes,” You’re incoherent, blabbering nonsense because your brain is too foggy to form a coherent thought. James picks up the pace, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking it as he thrusts his fingers directly at your g-spot.

“Sir! Sir, I-I’m…” As soon as he started, he stopped, pulling out his fingers and leaning back slightly with a wide grin. His chin is coated in your juices, and the gleam in his eyes shows you that you’re not going to be able to cum so easily.

“Not yet, bunny,” James says when you whine pathetically, trying to buck your hips up into his mouth but unable to do so because of his commanding grip now holding your waist. “I’m not letting you cum until I’m inside you.”

James then climbs onto the bed, guiding you upwards to lay your head against the plush pillows so he can lean over your body. With little preamble, he snakes his arms around your back to quickly unclasp your bra and allow your breasts to spill free.

“I can’t wait to watch these bounce,” James groans, palming one of them, twisting and pinching at your nipple. James just laughs when you hiss, because your soaked pussy is enough to tell him that you’re loving what he’s doing. 

“Bunny.” He says gruffly, and your eyes shoot up to meet his, though you can hardly see him because your vision is hazy, nothing matters except James. “Are you ready?”

You’re barely able to mumble ‘yes’, but you manage to do so, and James takes that as his cue to grasp the base of his cock and position it at your entrance. He places his other hand on your neck, lightly squeezing the sides to keep your eyes locked on his.

The pressure against your hole is immense, James telling you to breathe as he slowly pushes deeper. He stops about halfway through, giving you a moment for the pain to fade. He’s clearly having a hard time staying still but is cognizant enough to know you’re overwhelmed. It takes a few minutes of deep breathing before you finally nod, silently letting him know that he can move. And he does, pushing in all the way until his hips are flush with yours. Once again, he stills, leaning down to brush his lips over your cheeks and catch the tears spilling from the corners of your eyes.

“H-Hurts, sir,” You whimper out, forcing yourself to keep eye contact with him. And while your core is burning, James looks so damn proud that you’re taking him that it pushes away any discomfort.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” Even though you’re in mild pain you’re pretty sure you’ll cry if he pulls out, you need everything he can give you. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Don’t worry, bunny,” James coos, then tightens his grip around your neck ever so slightly. “I’ll give you what you need.” And as though a switch was flipped, James pulls back, pausing for half a second before thrusting forward.

“Ahhh!” Your mouth drops open as you scream, your arms coming up to claw at James’ shoulders and back as he gives you all he has.

And he has a lot to give. He puts his back into fucking you, keeping one hand around your neck and using his other arm to pull your left leg over his shoulder. Sweat beads at your hairline, your eyes stinging with tears, your whole body lit on fire. At this moment, nothing matters except the delicious burn between your legs, the way your body is shoved further up the bed with each of James’ powerful thrusts until it gets to the point where he has to place the hand around your leg on the headboard to steady you.

“Fuck, bunny, you feel so good. You’re so good for me.” James can’t stop mumbling praises, and even though you can’t really hear them, you feel them. Your eyes don’t move from his, even as he glances down to where your bodies are joined. “Fuck, little bunny. Your pussy looks so good stuffed full of my cock, knew you’d take me so well.”

“S-Sir,” You whimper, bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts and digging your nails into his skin. But James doesn’t seem to mind if the way his whole body shudders and his hips slightly lose their rhythm is anything to go by.

“Are you gonna be a good little bunny and cum for me?” James moves his gaze back up to your face, chuckling when he sees how fucked-out you already are. Despite his hand still around your neck you manage to nod, little cries and whines escaping into the air every time James’ cock gets shoved against your cervix.

“Yeah, you are,” James continues, leaning over your body even more and shifting so the tip of his dick hits your spot with every thrust. “You’re going to squirt all over my cock so I can cum deep in your cunt. Gonna cum in you every day, keep you full of me, maybe even plug you up to make sure it sticks.”

You’re right there, your pleasure climbing higher and higher until you’re ready to fall off the edge. James’s next sentence sends you there.

“Fuck, bunny. You’re going to be the perfect little mommy to all the children I’m gonna give you.”

When you wake up, James will tell you about how you came so hard that you blacked out, squirting and gushing around his cock while he continued telling you how even more beautiful you’ll be when you’re pregnant, taking care of him and his home, how he knew you were the one for him from the moment he first saw you. Your things will already be moved into his house. New clothes chosen specifically for you will be hung up in his closet and the bathroom will be adjusted to fit your products. The kitchen is going to be filled with all the food you like. And your cat will be curled up in a miniature hammock in her very own room.

When you wake up, you’ll see how much thought James put into redecorating his home just for you.

And you’ll be too grateful for his kindness to question where he put your birth control.

main taglist: @lilyalone / @crazyunsexycool / @goldylions / @yeehawbrothers / @buckyssweetheart / @buckysprettybaby / @sushiseoks / @heytheredelulu / @somnorvos / @ozwriterchick / @pxgeturner / @gentlelimerence

bucky taglist: @justsebstan / @myfavbuckyfics

[arcadia-smith]

Summary: His arrival and first demonstration.

Word count: 920

The air in the Red Room was thick with tension, the stale scent of gunpowder and sweat clinging to every corner of the training compound. You stood in the dimly lit corridor, the faint hum of fluorescent lights flickering above you. Today was different; today, he was coming.

Whispers had been circulating for weeks about a new addition to the training cadre. Not just a recruit, not just another trainer—no, this was a legend. The Winter Soldier. A phantom of the Cold War. His name carried weight, heavier than any weapon you’d ever held. They said his strength was inhuman, his precision unerring, and his presence a storm that left chaos in its wake. But you weren’t just anyone. You were the Black Widow—the Red Room’s finest creation, and intimidation was not a luxury you afforded yourself.

The metallic hiss of the heavy doors opening snapped you from your thoughts. A wave of cold air swept in, along with the sound of boots crunching against the icy floor. Slowly, you turned your head and caught sight of him.

The Winter Soldier.

He was taller than you expected, clad in tactical gear that looked more like armor than clothing. His mask obscured most of his face, but his eyes—icy, calculating, and just a touch haunted—locked onto you the moment he stepped inside. A chill ran down your spine, but you refused to let it show.

“Black Widow,” Dreykov’s voice rang out behind you. “Meet the Winter Soldier. He’ll be training our new recruits for the next few months.”

You didn’t move, holding your ground as Dreykov’s words hung in the air. The Soldier’s gaze didn’t waver, and neither did yours. This was no ordinary man—they hadn’t lied about that—but you weren’t about to step aside for anyone.

Finally, you took a single step forward, your boots clicking against the floor like a countdown. He watched your every movement, a predator gauging prey. But you were no prey.

Seeing the Soldier now, flesh and blood, made him more real—and more dangerous.

The other trainees stepped back, forming a wide circle around the sparring mat.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” you said, your voice steady.

He tilted his head slightly, like he was studying you, dissecting you. For a moment, there was silence, and then he spoke, “And I’ve heard about you.”

The air between you thickened, a silent challenge crackling like static electricity. You both knew what the other was—a weapon forged, sharpened, and honed for destruction. Survivors of systems built to break lesser beings.

Dreykov clapped his hands, breaking the moment. “Enough introductions. Widow, you’ll assist the Soldier during his time here. Make sure he...adjusts.”

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes at Dreykov’s tone. Assist? The Winter Soldier didn’t look like a man who needed help with anything. Still, you nodded, knowing better than to argue.

The drills began soon after. The Winter Soldier was an unrelenting force, each move precise, ruthless, calculated. He didn’t train the recruits; he tested them, pushed them, broke them.

You stood on the sidelines, watching each new Widow take on The Winter soldier, as you watched, you caught the subtle restraint in his movements.

He wasn’t here to kill—this was a measure of their endurance. A hunt, not a massacre.

Every punch, every kick, every takedown was calculated, designed to inflict maximum damage with minimal effort.

“Impressive,” you said as the last recruit stumbled to their feet, clutching their ribs. “But maybe they’d learn more if you didn’t break them on the first day.”

He turned to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Fear is a good teacher.”

“Fear only works for so long,” you shot back, “If they’re too afraid to think, they’ll be useless in the field.”

For the first time, you thought you saw the ghost of a smirk beneath his mask. “Show me, then.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a challenge.

You stepped onto the mat without hesitation.

The recruits fell silent, their eyes wide with anticipation. The Winter Soldier took his place across from you, his metal arm glinting under the harsh lights.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Always.”

The first move was his—a lightning-fast jab aimed at your side. You dodged, countering with a roundhouse kick that he blocked effortlessly.

He was stronger, but you were faster. He relied on brute force, while you used agility and precision. The clash of styles was exhilarating, each move testing your limits.

For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you, the recruits and Dreykov fading into the background.

“You’re holding back,” you hissed dodging one of his attacks.

He lunged, faster than you expected, catching your wrist mid-strike. His grip was iron, twisting just enough to throw you off balance, but you spun with it, using his own momentum to flip him onto his back. You landed hard, pinning him with your knee pressed against his chest. His breathing was steady, his gaze sharp and almost—impressed.

“You’re good,” he said.

You looked him, a smirk tugging at your lips despite the ache in your muscles. “So are you.”

You pushed off him, standing and extending a hand. He hesitated, then took it.

As you stood, Dreykov clapped sharply. “That’s enough. The rest of you, take note. This is the standard you will aspire to.”

You turned to leave, but you could still feel his eyes on you. You paused, glancing back over your shoulder.

“You’ve got a name?” you asked, your voice quiet enough that only he could hear.

He tilted his head slightly, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Not one I remember.”

You slightly noded “Well, Soldier, welcome to the Red Room.”

His eyes followed you as you walked away, and you thought you heard him murmur under his breath, “See you, маленькая вдова.”

The Winter Soldier wasn’t just a ghost or a weapon. He was something far more dangerous.

[buckysfaveplum]

man of the house

summary: without each other, bucky and you wouldn’t know how to be

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 5k

warnings: descriptions of the reader having breasts etc, bucky’s trauma, fighting, super super SUPER SOFT SMUT, (like not even but mentions) 18+!! (MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE!)

a/n: soooo this one is differentttt, and idk lmk if you like. I love Rachel's new song for Romeo + Juliet and it made me think of Bucky sooooo here we are

masterlist | send requests

How sweet

You're the man of the house to me

Water beads streamed down your back as you stood beneath the shower head. Your hair clung to you in clumps as you soaked in the calm within the tile room. Steam slowly overtook the bathroom, leaving you with smooth breaths and serenity as you scrubbed at your scalp.

You watched from through the glass door as he washed his face. His hand moved roughly without pausing as if he thought to be gentle with himself like it wasn’t necessary. He was never like that with you. His hands seemed to melt at your skin, once hard and cold suddenly silky and fragile on your body.

His left side was empty, his arm long removed and in the wash, as he prepared for the night's end. It took you so long to convince him to remove it around you, to give himself a break from the heavy load constantly being lugged on his side. He did it once for a bit. One time led to another and another. Here you were.

He brushed a lush white towel across his face. Placing it back on the counter, he began to undress. The steaming water ran off you as your eyes followed him. His shirt came off quickly, gently being placed in your laundry bin. Through the fog of the glass, you could make out his most prominent scars, scattered across his back in dark browns and reds. Some raised and a light peach, lighter than his skin. He moved to his pants, undoing his waistband and slipping them off; he discarded them the same as his shirt. 

Your voyeuristic gaze continued as he took a moment to stare at himself in the mirror. You watched as his eyes roamed over his body, clocking each imperfection that he knew you’d kiss in just a moment. Once finished, he turned to see you watching. A small smile crept on his stoic face as he took in your face through the fogged door.

He took a step closer, standing before you and looking at you through the glass. The warmth of your breath had cleared a soft view of your face through the condensation. You glanced up at him, your brows twitching up in a soft and inviting expression. A kind smile grew as you tilted your head at his gaze. Come in, join me.

You stepped back as he opened the shower door. Steam streamed from the entrance, letting in the biting cold of the outside and flushing the bathroom mirror. Clouding it, blocking any more raging thoughts of his.

He stepped inside making the small tile room shrink. He approached you slowly, stalling his movements as he stood before you undressed. He was always like this in the shower. He had no issues with nudity with you, not anymore. Showers were intimate, however. More intimate than sex for him. He’d first felt vulnerable, trapped. His showers, if you could even call them that, under Hydra more so resembled the way you would've hosed off a dog. Bathing was personal and something he never thought he’d share with someone. Until you.

His eyes were glued to your face, his hand itching to hold you close but freezing just above your hips. His brows furrowed as if pleading with you for permission.

“Hi,” you said softly, stepping closer to him. His hand finally rested on you, firmly gripping at your flesh. 

You ducked your head under his chin, resting under him. Your breasts brushed across his chest as you both breathed in the misty air of the room. His hand roamed across your body, up your waist, and to your back, pulling you close. You looked up at him, as he glanced down at you.

“You’re soft,” he said, tightening his grip on your back,

You chuckled and leaned in, beginning to press gentle kisses along his jawline. You lead them further, moving down his neck and below. You paused at the mangled scarring along his left shoulder. You placed a hand tenderly along the tissue, moving slowly across the bumps and ridges of the barrier between his body and the vibranium. As your hand moved, you felt his head press into yours, resting himself on you as you explored his most vulnerable places. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen it or even touched it. You’d seen him undressed so often that you barely spared a glance at it. The scarring was just him, just Bucky. You continued your kisses, placing them meekly along the scarring; before leaving a final kiss on the vibranium of his shoulder.

Your hand moved to hold his cheek and take his gaze. You pulled his face to yours, keeping him close under the hot water of the shower. Hot, never cold. Always hot, steaming the room and peeling the paint along the side of the door. You didn’t mind, you could just repaint it.

His hand slowly moved up, cupping your breast gently as he pulled you close. His lips met yours, soft and never pushing for dominance. He kissed you like he wanted to know you like he was holding a deep conversation in the dead of night when the moon’s light was all that filled the room. 

Your hand slipped down his chest, lingering at the curves and dips of his muscles; each time you encountered a scar you simply continued because it was nothing to mull over for you. It never was to you.

“I love you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. It always became rough deeper into the night as his body prepared for rest.

“I love you, Buck,” you said.

Your movement stalled just at the bottom of his abdomen. The trimmed hairs of his lower half tickled your fingers as you paused and sought his permission. He nodded gently but quickly, leaning further into you as you took him in your hand. 

I watch you from the window and I see the good in you

The good in me

That's who you are

And what I need

It's what I need

Your legs stretched before you along the bay window seat as you watched the cars and people pass by on the streets below you. The window was swung open, letting you take in the warm summer air as you sat with your book. Your fingers danced over the pages in your hands, the text inside long forgotten as you watched outside. It had been an hour, he would be home any minute. You always did this, if you could. If you were home and knew he was coming back. You slipped your legs out and rested on the fire escape as you sat on the windowsill.

People continued to pass; laughing friends, businessmen in a rush, couples, and parents chasing their children. You couldn’t help but wonder if one day that would be you and Bucky. 

The trees along the street swayed in the wind, petals of the white flowers dotting their bushes flowing in the breeze. The pigeons sat up along the phone lines, flapping and cooing. The loud car horns below flowed into the air, mixing with the other noises around you and creating the music of your neighborhood.

You’d always loved living in Manhattan, you couldn’t imagine leaving. Until you met Bucky. Maybe it took falling in love with a local to fall in love with Brooklyn. Even if this local hadn’t lived there for 90 years. Maybe that’s what did it, seeing the timeless charm and old beauty of the borough from someone who knew it when it was younger. 

Your thoughts stilled as you saw him coming down the road. Two full bags of groceries filled his arms as he walked the worn cobblestone streets. His leather jacket was gone, a blue henley and jeans. You remembered last summer when he refused to leave the apartment without it, despite the record heat of the city. It was hard to believe that was a year ago.

His face lit up as he saw you. Sat on the window, smiling and waiting for him. He never thought he’d be there in life. Where he could leave and had to hurry home, where someone would be missing his presence and awaiting his arrival.

You leaned forward out the window, holding the metal of the ladder for support. You gave him a strong wave and giggled as he watched you. You could’ve sworn you saw his pace quicken at the sight of you. You stood on the fire escape, resting on the railing as you watched him approach your building.

“Hello, doll,” he said, smiling up at you.

“How was the grocery store?” you asked. 

“Boring, and they didn’t have any broccoli raboni…” he said, struggling to remember the word for the vegetable you had told him you wanted.

“No broccoli rapini??” you said, feigning a gasp and clutching your chest. His subtle laugh slipped out at your acting. 

“Think you could help me with the door? I got more than we needed,” he said.

You nodded with a giggle, slipping back through the window and rushing through the apartment. You grabbed your keys and ran down the stairs. He watched you from the window of the apartment door, placing the bags on the floor in preparation for what he knew was coming.

You raced through the door and down the stoop. You jumped into him, wrapping yourself around him. His arms slipped under you, holding you tight as he gave you a little spin. He paced you back to the ground, pressing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“I missed you,” you said, keeping your arms around his neck.

“I was gone an hour, doll,” he said. He loved teasing you; it didn’t matter how long he was gone, he always missed you. It could’ve been an hour, 20 minutes, or a second. He was always missing you.

“So you didn’t miss me?” you asked, pretending to be offended.

“You know I missed you, babydoll,” he said, tightening his grasp on you and pulling you into a hug.

You rested there for a second, relaxing in his hold in the warm New York weather. The sounds of earlier were louder, rushing into your ears and swirling in your head. Your giggles from just seconds ago joined the music, flooding through neighbors' windows just as it did for you.

“You gonna help me with the door?” he said lightly with a small laugh.

You nodded eagerly and reached for one of the bags. You struggled to lift the overflowing reusable bag, huffing up the stoop and opening the door. 

“Geez, this shit is so fucking heavy!” you said, cursing your way up the steps. Bucky just chuckled as he passed you, taking the back from you into his spare hand.

“Yeah, I never said to take it,” he said.

Do you have doubts?

I curse your name

It brought me pain and now

Without you, I don't know how to be

Hurts so bad it brings me to my knees

I still believe

The scrapping of Bucky’s hand along the hardwoods woke you from your dreams. The usual warmth you’d find in the comfort of your bed had long been rendered cold and empty. He was slipping out of your reach, going backwards; his mind desperately trying to pull him back into the dark place you had found him in. He returned to his makeshift bed in the living room a few days ago.

You tried not to take it personally. You knew it had nothing to do with you. Yet after six days of him sitting at the other side of your bed and watching over you as you slipped gently into slumber, only to leave you alone, it began to take a toll on you.

You’d begged him to talk to you about it, you could feel him slipping between your fingers. He didn’t leave the apartment as much as usual. When he did, you noticed the leather gloves he had long stashed away seemed to reappear magically. He didn’t point out every cute dog he thought you would like on the street, something that often sprinkled your conversations with laughter since you’d met.

His beard, normally just a thick stubble, had begun to grow, alerting you to his deviation from his daily routine; something we had always been strictly religious about. He was struggling, struggling to stay above water in waves that you didn’t even know how to calm. You’d tried to throw him a lifejacket several times, but he just kept swimming away. You didn’t know what to do.

You slid from your bed and dipped from your bedroom and into the living room. He lay beside your couch, a thin spare bed sheet draped poorly over his legs, exposing him in just his sweats. He thrashed slightly, his brows knit tight and face locked in agony. His chest was exposed to the cool 3 am air, coated in a fresh layer of thin sweat. His breaths were rapid and uneven, his dog tags slipping as his chest heaved. His vibranium arm stretched across the floor, scrapping at the laminated wood below as if to try and keep him from harm; to ground him in the safety of his home that he knew somewhere deep in his mind he still was.

Before you could cross the small room to him, he jolted upright. You watched as he struggled to orient himself and regain his composure. His hands gripped his dog tags and he desperately tried to control his breathing. Wiping his hand through the tufts of his hair, dull mutters fell from his lips. You couldn’t make any of it out, but we knew it was Russian. Something that only slipped off his tongue after an especially bad episode.

Without even thinking, your feet moved forward but didn’t get far before landing on the loose and creaky floorboard near the kitchen bar. Freezing in place, hoping your spot in the dark would cloak you from his gaze, your face contorted in embarrassment. Of course, he saw you, sometimes you forgot he was a trained assassin. To you, he was just Bucky.

“Y/n?” he said, turning to see you.

You didn’t respond at first, unsure of how to proceed. Before you could speak, you tried to get closer.

“Please don’t,” he said. Your heart cracked.

“Bucky, why are you doing this to yourself? You always have more nightmares when you sleep alone,” he didn’t respond to you. He knew you were right. Four months ago you had left for a week for a family engagement; he had constantly restless nights shrouded in night terrors.

“Just… just talk to me,” you said. 

“It’s nothing, doll. I just need to get out of that bed ya know? Too soft,” he said, his voice too casual, but the quiver he tried so hard to hide didn’t escape you.

It was bullshit, you knew it. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch next to you, or I’ll sleep on the floor,” you said, trying to reason with him. “I just don’t want you alone. Let me camp out here with -”

“Stop, Y/n,” he said, his voice somewhat harsher as he stopped you “I’m sorry, sorry, just no.”

You watched as he rose from the pile of cheap fabric on the floor, stretching his back as he made his way into the kitchen. It wasn’t lost on you how he passed you without a single touch; no kiss on the cheek, squeeze of your hips, or quick grasp of your hand. He never used to do that, he couldn’t not touch you. But six days ago, those little touches disappeared. 

“Bucky,” you said, following behind him. He didn’t seem to acknowledge you behind him as he poured a glass of water from the sink. “Please, what’s going on? I know you, something happened.”

“I’m fine, doll. Just drop it,” he said as he chugged his drink. 

“Is…is it me? Did I do something? If I did just tell me, I’ll-”

“No!” He spat out, almost stunned you could think that. “No, no it’s not you. It’s never you.”

He came close to you for the first time that night. You could see his hands twitching at his sides, desperately willing himself to reach for you. But he never did.

“It’s me, I can’t…” he muttered, almost too broken and soft for you to understand.

“What, Plum? Talk to me,” you said. 

It was second nature, you didn’t even think. You reached up for him, your hand running along his vibranium arm and briefly brushing against his bare side. You barely touched him, but you could feel it, he’d never tensed like that before.

He stumbled back, softly batting your hand away. Your chest ached as you watched, a sight you never thought you’d have to see.

“Bucky, wha-” he was out of your sight before you could ask what happened. He rushed to your bedroom. You slowly followed, careful to keep your distance. Until you saw him getting dressed and grabbing his keys. Then you broke.

“Honey, what’s going on?” you asked in distress. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. Please just tell me what’s going on.”

“I need to go, now,” he said, grabbing his gloves and boots and slipping past you. 

You rushed after him. He didn’t look at you as he tied up his boots. He knew if he did he’d see tears. He knew if he looked he’d see the way your small hands trembled and pawed at his large henley draped over your body. He knew if he looked, he’d give in. He'd stay. And he couldn’t. He had to leave, for you.

He began to move for the door, prepared to slip out into the night when he heard your soft sob. He froze, his body rigid and hand still as it hovered over the door handle.

“Please stay, Plum,” you said. He could almost gag. He was disgusted with himself. He did this to you. He was hurting you, no matter what he did. You deserved an explanation, of course, you did. But he knew if he told you, if let you in, he’d break. You talk in that way that seemed to quell all his fears, that made everything okay. And he’d stay, because he was weak; always weak with you. 

Not now, he couldn’t be weak now. Not when it came to your safety.

He turned to face you. The look on your face was a sucker punch to the gut. He swore he deserved all the pain under Hydra just for that. For the pain he was causing you.

He stepped forward, you didn’t move as quiet tears slipped down your cheeks. His right hand gently reached out and swiped them away, soaking in every second his skin brushed against yours. For one last time, he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. Your hands reached for him, yearning to hold him once. But he was gone from your touch as soon as he was there.

The front door was swinging closed once again before you knew it. He was gone.

You're breaking my heart in the best of ways

How many versions of myself will it take?

How many men I've seen with a similar face

I always look for you in so many ways

The first one to go is the worst to take

With all of my love comes all of the pain

You come and you go and I stay the same

But if you came back now, I'd take your name

The morning came quickly, flushing the apartment in light and leading the way into noon. You didn’t seem to notice. Your body had spent the following hours curled on your old loveseat. You always told Bucky you needed a bigger one. Maybe had he left under different circumstances, that memory would’ve brought a small laugh from you.

The hours since he left were filled with silence. For the first time in a long time, you swore the city was silent. The music of your neighborhood that you had grown so fond of seemed to go quiet at that moment. Like the city was mourning for you.

Maybe you could’ve done more, maybe you could’ve been there for him before it got so bad. Maybe if you hadn’t listened when he said to stay in your bed that first night. Maybe if you had pointed out the dogs to him. Maybe he would’ve stayed.

You knew you should've been mad, but you weren’t. Just worried. Where was he? Where did he go? Was he safe? Was he hurt?

You needed to shower, you needed to move from your spot on the couch. Hours had passed, leaving you to watch the day slip away. You hauled yourself up off the sofa, taking note of the familiar patch on the left back cushion. The haphazard sewing job was the result of the fabric getting caught in Bucky’s arm plates during a more heated intimate moment. You wished you could say it made the moment hotter, but it just ended in laughter and Bucky nakedly struggling to free himself.

He was everywhere. All over the apartment. Each picture frame, each book. Spilling out of the bin with his never-ending dirty clothes. Overflowing in each paint stroke from the days you decided eggshell was too dull and aged ivory would look much brighter. Bursting through the walls, and flowing into each corner of the home you had built together. You couldn’t escape him.

He was the man of the house to you.

The only person you ever needed. Your security, your love, your happiness, your comfort. Your home, he was your home. This was just an apartment.

You stepped into the bedroom to find his sweats from the night before. You gently slid them on, the baggy fit of his spare clothing wrapping your body in whatever you had left of him. As the smell of his cologne and skin surrounded you, you wondered if he’d be back before the smell of him faded.

You found yourself drawn back to your fire escape window, watching the people below. You slid the window up, stepping out onto the iron platform and taking in the crisp fresh air. It filled your lungs and swirled inside as if trying to breathe any bit of life into you.

You watched the people passing below. The familiar faces blended into the crowds as the busy streets went on with their day. The city never failed to remind you how small you were. How as your life crumbled, as your everything was going, the city kept moving. People kept moving. The world kept spinning.

Your roaming eyes froze as they landed on one tall figure, stopped below the awning of the bodega below. The man watched you, a look of longing and despair deep in his blue eyes. You watched as his hands fidgeted with the leather gloves covering them, almost aching to take them off. Bucky was practically wailing as he watched you.

He stepped forward, never breaking his eye contact with you as he crossed the street. The deep dark circles under his eyes stung, all you wanted was to hold him as you both slept. He crossed over to your building, pausing below the fire escape. Your brows furrowed in anguish as you looked at his tired face. His clothes from the night before looked somewhat disheveled as if spending the evening hiking through trees.

Your hands gripped the railing as your body leaned forward slightly. A tight-lipped soft smile was all you could manage as you gazed upon him. His body shook slightly with tremors, his familiar anxiety taking over. You just wanted him close. 

His face spoke for him, pleading for you to invite him in. He needed to know you wanted him back, that he was allowed in. Not back into the home but your life. He needed to know he was welcome. You nodded to the door before slipping back through the window. You caught sight of him racing for the door on your way in.

How does it feel to be God?

How does it feel to be God?

I'm in the palm of your hand

I'm in the palm of your hand

You waited by the door, hands trembling as he slowly slipped inside. His demeanor was nervous and cautious. Too careful to get close to you. He couldn’t meet your eyes.

“I’m… I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry,” he said, muttering as he struggled to find the right words. You knew he never would. Bucky was always one to stumble over his words when he cared. Like all the emotions and all that passion was yearning to come out, so much it hindered his speech.

“Bucky, why?” you asked, your voice was faint and tired. He was gutted at the sound.

He took a step forward as he spoke,” I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Last night hurt, Buck.”

His face was devastating, he could hide the pain that washed over him. He knew it, but hearing you say it crushed him. You wanted nothing more than to pull him close. But you couldn’t, you knew you shouldn’t. Not only should he initiate, but he needed to explain.

“I know, I’m… I’m s-so sorry, babydoll,” he said, the strength in his voice wavering. “It killed me, I never wanted to, Ididn’t want to leave.”

“Then why did you?” You asked, stepping closer.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

You took a moment, his head hung low as he spoke. It became clear at that moment. Why he avoided your touch, the bed, why he left. He was afraid.

You slowly came closer, leaving only a foot between the two of you. He shook before you as he fidgeted with his gloves again.

“Can I?” you asked.

He hesitated before meeting your gaze. His hands rose to yours. His eyes watched as you gently stripped the gloves from his hands and placed them on the counter. Your thumb brushed over the plates of vibranium.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice still shaky.

“What’s going on, Buck?” you asked. You continued to stroke his hands, coaxing him to a calmer mood.

“Last week, I-I had a bad nightmare,” he said.

“In the living room?” you asked.

“No, in the bed. I didn’t wake you up. I…I couldn’t.

You didn’t look away or still your hands. You listened, refusing to allow him to think you were scared or unwilling to listen.

“I didn’t know what to do, I’d never- I couldn’t tell you. I just… I was so scared,” he said.

You stepped closer. Your hand moved to rest on his neck, slow enough for him to stop you if he needed to. He didn’t.

“What was the nightmare, honey?” you asked.

“It’s a little blurry now, I was so scared I couldn’t even take it all in. But, all I needed to know was what mattered. I was him again. You tried to help, to help me, but…. I killed you,” tears clouded his vision as he spoke, he willed himself to finish for you. You deserved to know everything.

“I was him again, so easily. And I killed you, I killed you Y/n.”

His mumbling began again, the nerves and fear taking over. You no longer hesitated to pull him close. You tucked his head snuggly into the crook of your neck. His tears soaked the collar of your shirt, his hands gripped tightly at your waist and held you firm. 

It all became clear. The pulling away, the distance, the makeshift bed. The way he flinched from you. He wasn’t afraid of you or mad at you. He was scared of himself. Scared for you.

“Why didn’t you tell me? It was a nightmare, Buck, you’d never,” you said, carding your fingers through his messy hair.

“I was scared that you’d hate me. That you’d be afraid of me. You should be,” he said.

“I’m not afraid of you, I could never be,” you said. His grip on you tightened at your words.

You stood in silence for a moment, allowing the sounds of the street to flood through the window and surround you both. You held him tight as if your grasp could shake each violent and self-destructive thought from his body. You held him for each moment you couldn’t over the past six days.

“Why did you come back?” you asked.

He pulled away to look at you.

“I don’t know, I’m scared I’ll hurt you, I can’t… I can’t hurt you,” he said. You cupped his cheeks and pulled his focus back to you.

“You won’t, Bucky. You know that, I know you do,” you said, your voice unwavering.

“I didn’t leave last night, not really. I couldn’t,” Your brows furrowed in confusion at his words. “I stayed on a bench in the park across the street. I…I couldn’t go far.”

His words rattled in your ribs and caused your heart to ache. You brushed your thumb along the grown-out stubble along his jawline. Gently, you leaned close and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I don’t….I don’t think I know how to be without you. I-I need you,” he said.

“You think it’s not the same for me?” you said. “Plum, you’re my everything. If I lost you for real…”

Words faded on your tongue, the thought alone clouding your mind with anxieties and dread.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice low.

“I need you here, this is our home,” you said. He rested his forehead on yours, relaxation finally washing over his body in your arms. 

The hairs on his neck pricked at your fingertips as you gently brushed against his jaw. You didn’t mind. Even if it hurt, if it tickled, if it was soothing. You wanted it all, you wanted him.

“Please stay, you won’t hurt me. You know that, Bucky. I know you do,” you said.

He nodded tenderly against you, a faint sob escaping his lips. So soft you almost missed it. His hands grabbed tightly at your back, keeping you tucked firmly against him. So close no one could hurt you.

So close the winter soldier couldn’t even crawl back into his mind if he wanted, not with you beside him. 

“Who else will protect me if not you?” you asked.

How sweet

You're the man of the house to me

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