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winterarmyy · 9 months

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Promise Me | Part I

When he was sent out for war, Bucky made a promise to his lover that might just last through several lifetimes.

Summary: Y/N kept being reincarnated into the world for seemingly endless of lifetimes with the lasting, vivid memories of her past lover during the 40's, Sargent James B. Barnes. While she thought this was a 'punishment' for her sins, she was also unknowingly oblivious to the fact that James was still alive somewhere, almost forever frozen in the time.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 6.5k++ (hella long bc lots to cover in the story building part)

Pairing: 40s!bucky / eventually tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: just slow induced angst for your daily consumption (i guess?) It has a hopeful ending so don't let the first warning chase you away. reincarnation concept. an attempt to follow exact mcu timeline (forgive if i'm wrong at certain parts). slight religious contents. grief & loss. graphic violence. deaths. mention of suicide. a lot of reader's pov, story building > dialogs (sorry guys).

P/S: Another impulsive writing from me y'all. I hope you don't get bored of this tendency of mine lol. I just need to let the fantasies out before it consumes me. So... anyway, it's gonna be another 3 parts fic cause for the love of god, I cannot commit for more :') Also, my first attempt of writing 40's bucky!!! I'm honestly scared. I hope you like it!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Italy, 1943 – His return

If it was one thing that Bucky should expect when he decided to be in a relationship with Y/N was that he had to accept her for who she was; stubborn, clumsy, bold, clever, sweet and most certainly the prettiest dame he ever met.

He might have unknowingly signed up for it the moment he quite literally fell for her at one of those Stark's science expo. Bucky had been stealing glances at this one pretty lady in the crowd, adored in soft mint dress that falls right below her knees.

It wasn't even a scandalous dress to wear in public but somehow Bucky was more than ecstatic to marvel at her beauty. There was no such thing as a too long of a stare, especially when she laughed like that; throwing her head in amusement, the loose strands of her curls fall back across her shoulders as they slightly shook to the rhythm of her laughter.

A careless misstep, that Bucky could see from a mile away, had caused her to stagger backwards and twisted her ankle into an inevitable fall. Somehow, Bucky managed to slither his way through the crowd towards her, almost jumping forward to catch her before she landed on the ground.

Not only that he was the one who fell first, but he also fell hard.

So, it was expected that Bucky knew what he had got himself into. At least, that was what Y/N had been repeating in her head to convince herself for what she had done. Now that she was sitting at the back of the wobbly military truck, the fear had slowly started to seep into her, causing shivers to crawl all over her nerves.

Y/N just knew it in her guts that Bucky would be absolutely furious when he sees her but what does he expect her to do when she hadn't receive any letters from him for months now. So, when she heard that they needed more medical helpers at the Italy base, she signed up without thinking twice about it.

"There has been a recent attack on the 107th. Too many casualties and much more whose heavily injured. You might have your hands full the moment you arrive to the base. There are few rules..." The lieutenant's voice was rigid just as his demenour when he continued to inform the situation to the troops of medical staff.

No matter how much she wanted to pay attention to his words, Y/N couldn't help but to tune in only at his first few sentences. Casualties, heavily injured. Her hands moved to search for the cross pendent hanging from the necklace around her collarbone, gripping it tight as she prayed that her lover was not categorized under any of those dire circumstances.

What the lieutenant said in that truck could never be more true as the moment they stepped into the medic tent, Y/N and the others were quickly pulled to assist the fallen men. It was truly heartbreaking and horrid to witness the dreading truth behind what the public posed as the "heros of the country'.

Surely they were proud to fight for the nation but then again no human being should ever had to suffer the consequences of war; not the civilians and certainly not the soldiers.

After seemingly hours of continuous stitching, wrapping and patching up; surrounded sound of groaning pain and the endless cycle of inhaling the distinct scent of fresh blood, burned flesh and the bitter of anticeptic odor; the injured soldiers were finally taken care of and had been put to rest.

Y/N looked around the tent, noting the unorganized mess around the patients; the result of the panic and chaos of the whole situation. A thought came to her mind, she might need to do some cleaning up before writing down medical record for each one of the patients.

That was when the lieutenant entered into the tent, and his stern gaze swiftly analyzed the much calmer scene, "Thank you for your service, everybody. I assume the soldiers are stabilized?"

"Yes, sir." One of the battalion doctor replied as he approached, while the rest of the team watched from where they stood.

The lieutenant simply nodded, "Good." He paused for awhile and looked around, "Now, have any of you met Captain America before?"

There were bunch of no's murmured around the medical staff, some of them just shook their head as an answer and the lieutenant nodded again as he informed, "Well, I guess you are all just darn lucky cause he's here to perform. You are invited to come and join the others to watch, if you want to."

"Steve's here?" She thought to herself.

As the lieutenant continued to explain some things about accommodation, food and medical supplies, Y/N's head were filled with thought that her dear friend, Steve was there too.

"I wonder if he gotten any words from James."

"Maybe he got letters from him?"

"Or could it be that he was here to find James too?

There were so many questions kept circulating in her head that by the time she snapped out of them, the lieutenant was already long gone and some of the medic staff went out to untangle themselves from the hours of stressful tension.

As a nurse herself, she felt the need to take care of her patients and finish her job before anything else. So, she started to clean up the shredded clothes, bloodied guazes and the other medical tools that needed to be sterilized and put away.

By the time she finished, it finally dawned to her that there was no trace of Bucky in the medic tent. Which means he didn't fall into the heavily injured category. So, there was two left; the one she prayed for and the other that dreaded her to even think about.

Y/N quickly made her way towards the tent where she can find the soldier in charge. However, if she was focused during one of the lieutenant's speech in the truck, she would've heard that she and the others were not authorized to enter certain parts of the base, which include the higher ups' tents.

When she was turned down by the soldiers, she sadly walked away towards the main area where Steve was supposed to perform. The drag of her feet across the dusty sand was heavy but no more heavier than the burden in her heart.

She watched as her black pump shoes gradually covered with light sand. Finding it odd that a few weeks ago she was standing on the shiny tile of a hospital in Brooklyn and now she was halfway across the world in the middle of the chaos of a war.

The things she'd do for love.

Soon enough, the dry ground was wet from the sudden down pour, turning it into a murky soggy path. Y/N quickly ran towards the main area where apparently the show was long over. "Did I missed Steve?" She thought as she stepped into the tent where the performers supposed to be.

The tent turned out to be empty and only the sound of drizzling raindrops above it was left behind. She looked around the area and saw the costumes for the performers were still there; the pleated white and red skirt hanging on the rack, white gloves clipped with them, the captain's shield with notes sticking at the back of it and the iconic blue helmet-mask thingy plastered with the obvious letter.

She peeked a little to the right only to see Steve hunched down on the floor, curling into himself just as he always did back when he was left beaten up in the alleyway somewhere in Brooklyn. She guessed that the upgrade of his size doesn't really change his habits.

Y/N walked closer to see him holding his sketchbook on one hand and another was a pencil pressing across the paper, lining the drawing of a monkey on a unicycle. "I guess the serum does not amplify your art skills huh Steve?" she teased as she approached the blonde man.

Steve lifted up his head as he turned towards the familiar voice, "y/n?" His face lit up as he recognized her face. He stood on his feet and pulled her into a tight hug, "It's so good to see you." He sighed, he haven't seen her since his departure when she insisted for him to stay.

But alas, Steve was also as stubborn as her.

It took awhile for him to process it but when it came to him, he gently pushed her away, "Wait.. what are you doing here?" His brows creased into a worried frown.

Y/N simply smiled as she responded, "They needed help, so I volueentered."

Steve shook his head in disbelief, "Bucky made me promise not to let you do stuff like this." In which Y/N countered, "And he also remind you not to do anything stupid until he get back so..." she purposely trailed her words for him to draw the conclusion on his own.

He let out a long sighed before concluding, "Bucky's gonna kill us."

Since, Bucky was in the topic, Y/N took the oppurtunity to asked Steve about him, "About that, have you heard--"

A woman's voice came from her back, cutting in between her words, "Steve?"

Steve nervously untangled himself from Y/N as he shyly greeted the woman, "Hi."

The woman continued to stare at Y/N trying to figure out her role and relationship with Steve but before she could get any strange idea, he quickly introduced her, "This is y/n. She's my good friend from home."

A spark of realization glint through her eyes "I see. I'm Peggy. Nice to meet you." She extended her hand towards Y/N, in which Y/N gladly shook it in hers as she reintroduced herself, "You too. I'm y/n."

After the brief exchange of smile between the two ladies, Steve continued to asked Peggy, "What are you doing here?"

Peggy sighed as she explained, "Officially, I'm not here at all." She paused as she picked her words, "I just came by to oversee the situation after the recent attack."

Although Y/N knew what Peggy meant, she was one of the medic staff that had been stitching up the aftermath of that attack after all. However, Steve on the other hand seemed to be lost.

Peggy further explained, "Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano, more than 200 men went up against him and less than 50 returned." She paused, "Your audience contained what's left of the 107th."

Steve's blues widen in realization that almost looked much like panic, "The 107th?"

"What?" Peggy prompt quickly.

Steve then turned his head to Y/N, "Bucky?" He questioned shortly.

But even she was hoping that he'll know something about Bucky, apparently she was wrong, "I tried to ask but I'm not authorized to enter the tent. I was hoping you heard from him."

Seeing the panic in Steve's eyes, she knew that her lover was no where near the safety that she prayed for. But before fear could set in, Steve sprinted out of the tent, "Come on!" he shouted as Y/N and Peggy ran closely behind him.

When they arrived to the tent, fortunately they had the permission to enter with the help of Peggy. "Well, if it isn't the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan. What is your plan today?" Colonel Philips greeted in a teasing manner.

Steve didn't even bother to greet the colonel as he demanded, "I need the casualty list from Azzano." In which the Philips responded, "You don't get to give me orders, son."

Knowing that arguments won't help the situation, he control his tone of voice and spoke, "I just need one name, Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th." He took a short breath and insisted, "Please tell me if he's alive, sir. B-A-R-"

Colonel Phillips stood on his feet as he walked towards a table behind him, "I can spell. I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count." He paused before turning around to eye on Steve and briefly on the very worried looking nurse next to him.

"But the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry." There was a flash of sincerity in his eyes when he looked towards Y/N.

The optimistic Steve continued to insist more about other possibilities than casualties, "What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?" They went back and forth about the what is the 'right' thing to do, "Yes, it's called 'winning the war'. "

And suddenly sound of the heavy rain fall was all Y/N could hear, then comes the booming of her heartbeat as the panic started to deprive her of any optimism, clouding her judgment to think of anything near to positive outcomes such as Steve.

It was getting harder to breath and the anxitey slowly choked her, forcing tears to pool in her eyes. Peggy swiftly took a hold on Y/N, before her knees managed to fall to the ground. The muffled sound of Peggy's voice managed to come through but not enough to wake her from the despair.

Before she knew it, Steve was already gone for an unauthorized rescue mission with the help from Peggy. And ever since, Y/N had spend every waking moment digging her knees into the uneven ground. Her elbows bruised from how hard she propped them on the steel edge of the army green cot. Her palms almost dented to shape of the silver cross as she desperately squeeze it between her hold.

She prayed and prayed for his return. For both of her dearest to be safe, to find their way home.

And for a moment Y/N thought her prayers were graciously granted by God, as the crowd was getter louder and the circle of soldiers were geting thicker when the survivors joined the rest of them. There were chantings of "Captain America" that echoed throughout the base and that gave her relief to know that Steve was safe.

But it was not enough to tame her anxiousness. Y/N's focus has never been sharper when her eyes scanned the crowd, she slithered her way between the jumping joy of the soldiers, grabbing onto some men who she mistook as Bucky until she saw him.

Her heartbeat ramped increasingly as she pushed through the soldiers, finding strength from the blood pumping excitement when she recognize those steel blues and that cheeky smile. Not long before she managed to grab onto his hand and pulled his attention to her.

It was brief but he knew that face anywhere; and suddenly his whole body was engulf into a familiar tight hug that he thought he could never be able to feel again. "James." her voice still stuttered even if it was just one word that came out of her lips.

"y/n?" Bucky called her name, almost in disbelief.

God, she never knew that she was able to miss his voice this much.

"Doll, what you doing here?" He gently lead her away, which she reluctantly followed, "I'm here for you." There was no need of lies now that Bucky was here in her arms.

His gaze soften with a mix of concern and joy, "What do you mean you're here for me?" Bucky couldn't help but to let out a short laugh, "Sweetheart, you do realized that you're in the middle of a war?" His brows quirked as he reminded.

Y/N rolled her eyes. Of course, she realized that. The moment she saw that form for enlistment, she knew. But, it didn't stop her to sign up, does it?

She laced her fingers into his, "I didn't come all the way here to fight with you, James." she whispered as she leaned closer, "So, please just shut up and kiss me."

Bucky might have just realized it now; what a stubborn, demanding, crazy little lover got himself. Though at the same time, she had never charmed him more.

Bucky sighed in defeat before running his tongue on his lower lip, "Well then, come here you little minx" he took her by the head and gave her the most desperate yet sweetest kiss she could never forget.

Brooklyn, 1944 – Promises, promises

It was the day that Steve, Bucky and the rest of the Howling Commandos were depolying to the Austrian Alps for one of the biggest mission since Captain's impulsive rescue mission in Italy last year.

Apparently, Zola was on the move and predicted to be passing though the location while travelling on a train.

This wasn't the first time she had sent Bucky away, but the fear of each always felt like it was her first; especially when she thought about the promise of death that's chained to a soldier's fate.

The closer the time of departure, the stronger her grip on Bucky's uniform becomes. And Bucky didn't need to say anything because he knows her too well; she won't take any of his sweet words as a cure for her distress.

Bucky slowly swayed her from side to side as their embrace tightens with need; her face hidden in the crook of his neck while his arms secured around her waist. He had to smile as it reminded him of their late night dance, barefoot on the kitchen floor of his apartment.

He could feel the teasing gaze coming from his back as well as the whistles of the Howling Commandos playfully making fun of him. Bucky was also well aware of the fact that everyone had made theirs bets on when will the Sargent James B. Barnes finally get down on his knees for his little nightingale of a nurse.

Unsurprisingly, Steve might just win the bet afterall. That punk just had know everything about him.

Y/N closer snuggled into him one last time, "Come home to me, James." She whispered against his skin before pulling away. Teary eyes threatened to spill its salty liquid as she looked up at him, "Promise me."

Bucky's charming smile lighten his features as he leaned to press a kiss in her forehead, "I promise."

Brooklyn, 1945 – Loved and lost

Months gone by, entered the new year, and it always felt like eternity for Y/N. She spent nights kneeling next to her bed and days on the church's floor; practically begging to God for the life of her lover, for keeping him away from death.

And the letters from Bucky also come and goes within those few months' time, with his promises of coming home that's laced in the words of his longing and love for her.

But, little did she knew, that promise met it's end of the bargain when the dreaded letter came to her hands. It came from the man she met back in Italy base, Colonel Phillips, sending the words of condolences for the death Sargent James B. Barnes during his honourable mission at the Austrian Alps.

But the first time she read to words, it didn't even register in her head. It was as if her brain failed to translate the message for her to understand. Y/N had been re-reading the same lines over and over and over until it finally clicked.

The usually bright eyes of hers were now slowly filled with tears, she was in the state of shock; that even if her brain knew exactly what had happened but her heart wasn't ready for it.

The tears started to fall down onto the letter. Drip by drip. And all of the sudden she lost every word that she could ever think of. Her silent scream; suffocating her with each breath she took desperately gripping onto the fragile piece of paper, holding it to her chest hold as if that would help to ease the pain in her heart.

Y/N could feel it in her ripping guts. How all the threads of every joyful memories she could ever once recall; they unraveled in a way that broke her to pieces until they were all but a rumpled of strings scattered about her feet.

A sharp fall had forced Y/N down to her knees, skin digging into the hard floor as her hands trembled silently, clutching onto the letter.

At first when she opened her mouth, there was not a single sound came out as her breath ripped from her lungs. Each left her with scars of loss and every waking minute in this reality was just pure pain.

Her body bend forward until her forehead meets the floor, that was when she wailed; an agonizing scream that left a haunting memory to the neighbours around her apartment.

She cried like there was too much raw pain inside that she could never contained. She cried like her soul needed to break loose from her skin, desperate to release a loathful rage on the world.

But it was more than just crying, it was the sobbing of a woman that drained of all hope. She sank on floor, willing herself to be swallowed by the dread and loss. Just screaming out the agonies that been dancing across her vulnerable veins.

Her chest violently quivered as she was desperately trying to catch the air. She collected every last energy that she had to call out the name of the lover she had loss, "James.." Her gasping breath whispered against the floor, "You promised."

A month later the nation celebrate to the announcement to the end of a war, but to Y/N it was just another wave of mourning grief to a loss of another precious person in her life; Steve.

Amidst the loud sound of cheering and laughter, she rushed away from the crowd to the place that she had put all her faith into. Stumbling through the empty church and falling at the feet of Jesus' statue, Y/N looked up at the face if God with loath, rage, despair, and tears.

The night was brighten to the flashing light from the firework but all she could think of was how similar the sound of it to a firing canon in the war. And the thought of Bucky and Steve run through her mind.

She had been nothing but faithful to the lord, religiously prayed for no more than saving the life of people she held dear to her heart.

But, God thought it would be merciful to let them die.

Y/N harshly ripped the cross necklace from her neck, tearing her skin apart in the process. She gripped on the cross in her hands, much like she would few month back but for completely different reason.

The crimson of her blood tainted her white collar of her nurse uniform as she she cursed the all mighty God for what he had done. Ever since, she swore to herself to never be naive to the illusion of God's mercy ever again.

Washington D.C., 2014 – An old friend

Fate is full with irony and God has his way of twisting them for his own pleasure.

When Y/N died in the 60's, old and unmarried, even if she doesn't believe in God anymore, her dying wish was to be able to meet her lover and friend again.

At least one more time.

But lo and be hold, God had different plans for her. Y/N's body did die that night on the hospital bed but her soul never did. It was as if she was woken up from sleep in another body with the same face as her, that's when she realized she has been reincarnated.

Apparently, she was only born in the same family lineage as her original life; whether coming from her younger brother or cousin or anyone related back to her bloodline. And sharing even the tiniest amount of blood of her own, triggers every single memory from her previous life.

This wasn't what she wanted.

She didn't want to live knowing she cannot be with Bucky.

So on the 2nd life, she did the unthinkable. She took her own life, thinking that she would finally leave the world behind but she didn't.

It happened again.

And again.

So, when she reached her 6th life, she realized that she will never able to meet James and Steve ever again; that was when she went rogue.

Her 6th life was filled with rage and vengeance that she took the idea of life very lightly. So, instead of living until the old days, she searched for revenge and got herself tragically killed in the process.

Now, the 18 year old Y/N was in her 7th life, with a new name that was given by her 7th parents, "Evelyn" , and the spitting image of her 1st life. From her dark raven hair to the light brown of her eyes. This time, she decided to try to accept the cruel fate; the cursed that God had placed on her for the sin that she made decades ago.

Y/N walked around the Smithsomian Museum, specifically at the American history section where they put up Captain America's exhibit. It's been how many lifetimes since she surround herself with knowledge of a past that she once lived.

This was the first time, since her first life. And most probably the last time since she was going overseas in a week to continue her studies in Asia.

She walked along the line up display of the Howling Commandos suits, remembering the living flesh of them as she took steps forward to each, stopping in front of Bucky's.

Flashes of him appeared to where the figure stood; the memories was so vivid that she could still feel fabric of his suit against her, the electrifying feeling on his skin on her own.

She ripped her gaze away just to be greeted by the portrait of Bucky, plastered so hugely on the memorial of one of the Howling Commandos section. Despite the cracking of her heart, her body move on its own; as they knew that deep down, Y/N's heart will always be yearning for her lover.

Her gaze soften with longing and nostalgic as she slowly blink at his features. His considerably messy hair, that little frown that he does to act mysterious for the ladies, and the thin layer of beard that she loved to leave her lipstick marks on.

Y/N's daydream were cut short when someone pulled her by the arm, startling her into a defensive mode. Her 6th life's habit almost broke through when she nearly flipped the man on the floor but thankfully she stopped herself as she recognized those blue eyes.

The man's face looked pale like he had seen a ghost, as he uttered a name that she haven't heard for decades, "y/n?"

"Steve..." she called his name wordlessly.

She knew he was alive. Everybody does, when the news came out in 2011, she was merely a 15 year old kid back then. Apparently, the super soldier serum helped him to survive the ice.

She remembered how her parents rushed to her room when they heard the sudden cluttering sounds of panic upstairs, only to find their daughter on the floor looking pale while her cup of iced coffee spilling in all over her study desk as the viral youtube video of Captain America running through New York city barefoot.

She remembered the feeling of both disbelief and joy that rushed through body as her parents helped her to sit up on her bed. The moment that it sunk into her head, she began to cry. Streams of joyful tears broke from her shaky body, each drop washed the painful burden in her heart as her parents lulled her to sleep.

Y/N never made an effort to meet him after knowing truth because who would've believe her words?

She wasn't Steve. There wasn't any super soldier serum in her blood. There wasn't any tank of chemical that drown her with power.

She was cursed and now she had to live with it.

Meanwhile, Steve seemed to be trapped in a spiralling confusion of his own. He examined each of her features and he had not a single doubt that she has the same face to an old friend in the 40's.

The same friend that he knew died of old age in the 60's.

But, how come the person managed to have the exact same face to hers. Now that he looked closer, she was younger than the last time he saw Y/N. She looked like she was in her teens, "Are you really y/n?" His voice was soft as he muttered.

Y/N bit the insides of her cheeks, holding back the urge of telling him the truth, "Sorry, I think you got the wrong person." she tried to untangle his grasp around the thin of her arm.

Even her voice was similar to Y/N, and she was looking at Bucky's photo like she knew him.

How could she say that she's was not Y/N?

Steve reluctantly let go of her arms and took a step away after seeing the distress on her face, "I-I'm sorry. You remind me of someone I know." He couldn't take his eyes off her.

She was just too similar looking to someone precious that he left behind.

"It's okay, sir." She smiled gently, like the way she usually does when Steve apologizes for his impulsiveness of picking a fight in alleyways. She looked up to the taller man as she continued, "Thank you for being alive..." she hesitated to call him by his name so instead she called for his other name, "...Captain."

She thanked him sincerely before walking away, leaving Steve to reminisce the memories of his life with Y/N and Bucky as he stared at Bucky's memorial.

The next week, she left the United States for Asia where she planned to spend 4 years studying at the National University of Singapore, leaving her past behind in hopes of moving forward with her life, refusing to care about the avengers shenanigans anymore, including her dear friend, Steve.

New York, 2018 – New norms

When half of the population was wiped out from the earth, two of them was Y/N's parents. And like every other people who had lost their loved ones during the blip, her parents sudden absence truly take a toll on her, especially when she was planning to live a long life with them.

After graduating and getting a decent job in Singapore, she was forced to go back to New York when it happened. Y/N couldn't just let her childhood house left abandoned, she simply can't let that happen.

You would thought a person who had multiple lifetimes would be used to losing someone they love but no. It only gets worst as the years go by.

The more Y/N tried to fit into the new norms, the more that she could feel herself slipping into old habits of her 6th life.

Until that one drunken night when she visited the Smithsomian Museum again after years of forcing herself to forget about him; it took her one look at the potrait of Bucky, she knew what she had to do.

Germany, 2023 – An old nemesis

Nearly 5 years into the blip and Y/N was already becoming a legend in the underground scene. They called her the Deathstalker. She never really knew the origin of it but nevertheless she chooses to stick with the newly founded identity.

With the skills she picked up on her 6th life, she easily became the most deadly assassin in the business, seemingly in a constant competition of reputation with the highly popular, black widow assassins.

Though she couldn't care less about who was winning the battle, she only cares about tracking anything or anyone related to Hydra.

After that fateful night at the museum, she couldn't to think that this must be her calling.

If the curse made her technically immortal, then why not became the hunter destined to slay the monster. They said that Hydra will never die, but so was she. And if anything good came out from this curse, then she might as well use it to avenge Bucky.

And bring the old nemesis to the ground.

Her 6th life was similar to this but she wasn't going to make the same mistake. The flaming greed to have her revenge was too strong back then, it lead her to be hasty and clumsy, which then let her to an early death.

But, she's grown out of those immaturity.

Nowadays, she takes her time and still get the job done flawlessly. Just like she is now, when the soft but dark sound of her chuckle, interrupted the silence that had claimed the room.

The poor man was sitting limp on the chair with his body tied with it. He had been like this for seemingly hours with a knife in one of his thighs, which trembled with the vibrations of his body.

More so, when Y/N twisted them, causing a keen of pain to clawed up his throat and spilled out a hoarse groan.

"Where is it?" Her fingers wrapped around the handle, as she watched the man tossed his head, more with fear than trying to answer.

"I don't like to repeat myself." Y/N slid the blade free, causing a noise he would not forget. The man sagged against his bonds, panting as he watched the blood surged and dribbled out of the wound.

But then he felt the prick against his other leg, wide eyes turning to watch as the knife was held above his skin, Y/N's hand flat against the top, ready to push in. "Where the fuck is it?" her tone was eerie as the voice changer in her mask produced an emotionless robotic effect on it.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The thick german accent seethed through his voice as he grunted in pain.

There was only boredom in Y/N's eyes as she gazes straight into his. A stab of the knife went through his thigh without a warning, until the tip of it almost met the flat surface of the chair beneath it.

The whole room echoed with the sound of the whimpering and cries of his struggle, "Please, I swear to God I don't know what you're talking about." He pleaded as fast as he can, when he felt the shortage of breaths in his lungs due to dealing with the excruciating pain.

"Playing dumb isn't going to help you, mutt." She twisted the knife, pulled out and stabbed it again causing him to fall into an almost delirious state, "Please, please please, I swear I don't know anything about the serum." He blurted out of misery.

There it was.

The thing she wanted to hear.

Y/N's eyebrow quirked in interest, "I never mentioned the serum in our conversation, no?"

He fucked up.

He knew that he fucked up.

But, does it matter when his body was searing in pain?

By the end of the intense interrogation, Y/N finally got the intel she needed to find and destroy whatever was left behind by Wilfred Nagel, who was recruited by the CIA to recreate the super soldier serum.

Those greedy fuckers just cannot stay away from things that shouldn't be meddled with. Even Y/N could see the potential threats of a successful recreation the super soldier serum; they were practically asking for Hydra to revive to its glory days.

And she would not allow that to happen.

She needed to destroy it before its finished.

A loud wail left the man's lips, almost sounded a little strained as he had been screaming in pain for hours. Y/N mercilessly grabbed him by his sweaty chin as she pried his mouth open. Knowing exactly what was coming, the man begged, "Oh lord, please please help me please."

Leaning closer she coldly spoke, "The gods doesn't care about you. Trust me I've been there." With a swift strike, she forced her knife down his throat, and a splash of red tainted her mask, nearly got into her eyes but she managed to blink before it does.

She stood still as she watched him gurgle on his own blood as death collected his soul. Wiping the blood away from her eyelid, she walked out of the abandoned building with a mission to finish; all the while blissfully oblivious to the war that the avengers were fighting to their death on the other side of the world.

Madripoor, 2024 – The most prized asset

The returned of her parents were as sudden as the lost. Though she was glad that they were back, however she had to live a double life now that they kept asking about her job and personal life as they wanted to catch up for the lost of time in 5 years.

Y/N felt bad for lying to her parents but it was for their own good. Now, that she had sent them to a honeymoon to travel all over Europe, she felt better in pursuing her mission without concerns.

Besides the joyful return there was also the awful ones.

Now, that Wilfred Nagel was back from the blip. The serum was perfected to its finest version. And was stolen by bunch of kids protesting for equal rights.

What a fucking mess that was.

But, she would deal with that later. The main focus right now was to find the man itself. There would be no more serums if the source is eradicated.

That was her priority.

With her face hidden behind her signature mask, Y/N walked through the messy crowd as she searches for Shelby's men. This should be a short meeting, since Shelby and her had history together; or more to a favour that she owns to Y/N.

However, when she tried to tune in into the hushed conversations in the crowd, she noticed that the murmurs seemed to be divided into two hot topics; one about the sudden appreance of the Deathstalker, which was herself, and second was surprisingly about the return of another notorious assassin.

Then when the conversations died down, a fight suddenly broke out. Y/N hold on the handle of her blades from the side of her thighs, as she stiffed into a defensive mode.

While on the other hand, the crowd seemed to be more interested in recording the fight, than avoiding it.

She seemlessly weaved her way through the people, only to see that the action ended with a man choked onto the table of bar. The attacker's face turned away from her where she could only see his figure from the back.

Then, a gleam of gold caught her attention, Y/N squinted her eyes as she analyzed the man's left arm.

It was not the pattern of the sleeve from his suit.

It was his arm.

A black bionic arm.

Which reminded of her of someone she came across in her 6th life; but his was a tin foil silver with a red star on his upper arm. At the time, he was Hydra's most prized asset, they called him the Winter Soldier.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: yes, I am well aware that left y'all hanging but I still hope you enjoy this one. Tell me what you think so far, I'm curious if y'all cry at the part where she received the letter or maybe you can comment of something else, I'd still love to hear them ♡

#winterarmyyfics #promise me au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #40s!bucky #1940s!bucky #tfatws!bucky

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vellicore · 10 months

Text

TOUCH

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky knows exactly how to help you relax on top of the Ferris wheel.

Word Count: 400+

Warnings: 40s Bucky (he’s a warning), pet name (doll), exhibitionism, fingering (f in v), implied orgasm, mention of loss of virginity

AN: Please do not report this! It’s so frustrating to have things reported. If I missed any warnings you feel should be listed, please let me know.

18+ ONLY

Your heart raced as the Ferris wheel began to move. You aren’t quite sure how Bucky convinced you to go on this thing. But it always seemed like all he had to do was flash that smile, and you quickly became putty in his hands.

“Just relax, doll.” He cooed as he wrapped his arm around you. “I promise, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” You desperately wanted to believe him, but as the two of you rose higher up in the air, his words became harder to believe.

A thought popped into his head when Bucky realized there was no chance you’d be relaxing soon. He knew exactly how to make you relax.

“Close your eyes for me,” he whispered into your ear. He didn’t have to tell you twice as you quickly shut your eyes. The next thing that he did caused you to gasp. His hand slowly made its way up your thigh to your cloth-covered mound.

“Bucky!” you gasp, clamping your thighs together, locking his hand between your thighs. “We can’t do that here.”

“Of course, we can. No one will know.” As he moves his finger beneath the band of your panties, you know there’s no use in arguing. He could already feel how soaked you were. The truth was, you always loved being adventurous with him. After all, the two of you lost your virginities together in the back seat of his car at the drive-in.

So, here you two are, stuck on top of the Ferris wheel. You give him a slight nod, which only causes his smirk to grow. “We’ll have to be quick, doll.” He shoots you another wink before his long finger pushes between your folds.

It takes everything in you not to moan, but it feels like Bucky wants you to moan. He doesn’t care if people hear you. No, he wants them to. He wants the whole carnival to know what he does to you. He wants the world to see that you belong to him and him alone. And as he curls his finger deep inside you, that’s exactly what happens. A loud, drawn-out moan leaves your lips.

No longer were you afraid of this ride. The only thing on your mind now was how good his finger felt. His thumb moves to your clit, causing moans and profanities to leave your lips. God, Bucky loved seeing you like this. The memory of you coming undone because of him was something he’d be taking with him overseas.

He didn’t know what the future held, but he knew one thing for sure. He needed you, and you needed him.

#bucky barnes #1940s!bucky #1940s bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes drabbles #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucks and noble

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s0urw00lf · 2 months

Text

All the time

Bucky Barnes x reader

The three times you called his name. The one time he answered.

1940’s era: James Barnes

Y/n l/n had regrettably found herself on a date with a something shed be called unladylike for saying asshole. To be fair her mother wouldn’t let her turn the man down, ready to get her married off before the war. She was currently at the movies sitting beside him as his arm draped sloppily over her shoulder and much to close to her breast for her liking all the while he continuously yelled for the movie to start. People all over the theater were ‘shhh’ing him but he didn’t care as he continued on, making y/n want to melt into her seat with embarrassment. You heard from behind you “hey, wanna show some respect?” Someone whispered. You turned around to see a small frail man, you mouthed ‘I’m sorry” and he just nodded back. Again “who cared, Just start the cartoon” he said. Y/n sighed about to get up and leave until the small man spoke up again “hey you wanna shut up?” At that point Tommy heard him and turned towards him.

Somehow you found yourself in the alleyway trying to pull Tommy off of the guy. “Tommy that’s enough” you said pulling his arm, he pushed you down hard making you hit your head on a rock and you felt the blood immediately pool down your face not fully aware of what was going on anymore, until you were pulled up softly “you okay ma’am” you were asked. “Yes, yes I’m fine he needs More help than me” you said pointing to the fight, not even looking at the man that helped you up, more focused on the blood running down your face. You soon saw Tommy walk past you and grabbed your wrist firmly “come on y/n” he said angrily. You struggled against his grip “let me go you pig” you said as you clawed at his hand trying to separate it from your wrist. He didn’t budge “let go of me you disgusting pig” you cried putting as much resistance as you could.

Tommy finally turned and gave you the worst bitch face and forcefully pushed you back as he let go. You fell to the muddy ground, and tears formed in your eyes when you looked down and seen how dirty yourself and your dress was. The two men had seen the whole interaction and rushed to help you up. “Thanks” you said not making eye contact with either as you tried to make yourself a bit more presentable even though those stains weren’t gonna come out without some stern washing. You finally looked up when the shorter man spoke “no thank you for trying to help me. I’m Steve by the way. Steve rogers” he said. You nodded “y/n l/n, wish we could’ve met on better terms” you said with a small laugh. “Steve seems to find trouble everywhere he goes. James Barnes” the other man spoke. You finally took a good look at him and you let out a gasp when you made eye contact with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen.

He towered over you and his brunet hair only heightened his handsome features. “Oh, uh yeah I mean it happens right?” You replied trying to cover up how shocked you were at his handsome face. He smiled and nodded, making you melt a little. Suddenly you’d felt a little more self conscious. “Hey Steve, how about you go get cleaned up and I’ll walk miss y/n here home.” James says. Steve looked up at him in confusion “why, we goin somewhere?” He asked. James nodded “the future” he said smiling and handed Steve a pamphlet. Steve studied the pamphlet before nodding and making his way home with a nod to you and a pat on James’s back. James led you back to the sidewalk and you began to get dirty looks from people passing by, making you even more uncomfortable and self conscious .

James luckily noticed and started up conversation in hopes to distract you, “So, what where you doing here with, and excuse my language, an asshole like that” he asked. She sighed “my mom, she wants me married or at least in the process of getting married. She’s getting old and my pa passed some time ago, she doesn’t think I can make it on my own.” You said bitterly. You looked at him taking in his attire for the first time “you getting shipped out?” You asked. He nodded “Sargent James Barnes, shipped out to England first thing tomorrow morning” he said standing proud. You nodded lowering your head to watch your shoes as you walk feeling a bit disappointed because he and his friend were the first decent men you’d come across in all of Brooklyn.

“James Barnes”

—————

Winter soldier era

after being let out of cyro for the first time in decades the soldier was led to a morally grey room, by the same man with round glasses shed seen before she went into the cyro. Aside from the table and two medal chairs, the room was empty much like the rest of the facility.

The only difference from the rest is there was a lingering presence in the darkest corner of the room. All she could see was the shining of something silver. She made no face, showed no sign of weakness, because she couldn’t, she’d been erased of everything. Fear included. But she stayed on high alert, ready to defend herself and her boss. “Sit” zolo demanded.

She took a stealthy seat, not making any noise as she did so, not even as her boot made contact with the ground on the other side of the chair. She stared at the man who had also taken a seat in front of her. “You have been assigned a new partner, it he has been made to match your every move as if it was your own. You fit together like a puzzle.” The man stated.

She nodded letting the man know she understood. “Step out soldat” the man demanded. At the corner of her eye she’d seen it, the smoothest movement as the figure slipped out of the darkness and into the light. “Meet the winter soldier” said zolo. She slowly turned her head meeting the steel blue eyes. ‘Barnes’ the name had echoed in her head but she was careful not to let her expression shift. She looked back to zolo only to see him eyeing the herself and the soldier carefully. She chose not to make it known. “Do we have a mission?” She asked, voice hoarse from not being used in so long.

“You do” he said and smiled his sickening smile. A file was placed in front of her, the soldier came to stand behind her so he could see, she almost felt at ease. She opened the file only to be met with a photo of a blonde haired blue eyed man. Captain ‘Steve rogers’ America. “What do you want us to do?” The man finally spoke behind her. His voice deep and hoarse as well. “Find him. Bring him alive. Beat him to the brink of death if you have to. But. Bring. Him. Alive.” He demanded. The pair nodded in understanding, before bing dismissed.

as they made their way to the jet and got stocked up on weapons and ammo the name ‘Barnes’ kept running through her head. So much so that it slipped out of her mouth.

“Barnes”

—————-

Fatws era

The last time you’d come face to face with james it was after the thanos war, you’d lived with nat while you were figuring things out before then you’d been snapped and now you’re living close toSam’s sister Sarah, helping her out with the boys. On this particular day you had walked into Sarah’s house in search of some flour, as you had ran out some days ago, “hey sara-“ you called but stopped yourself as your eyes landed on an all to familiar shield in the hands of Sarah’s boys. “Hey where’d you-“ she began to question but the oldest shushed her and pointed to the couch. Y/ns brows furrowed as she looked only to see that all too familiar face, obviously just now waking up. She ushered the boys away, but was quick to take the shield before they slipped too far out of her reach. “Hey, I uh- i didn’t know that you were here” she said awkwardly. “I just got here yesterday. I didn’t know you lived here” he said as he sat up from his laying position. “Oh no no. I don’t live here. Like here as in this house, I’m neighbors with Sarah.” You said shaking your head.

All he did was smile at you in amusement, making your cheeks heat up. “Uh well i only came to get something, I’ll be out of here soon” you said slowly backing away into the kitchen. Helping yourself to the flower you’d initially came to get. As you passed him again, he looked lost in thought so you cleared your throat, once again catching his attention. “Uh i live next door, if you uh- ever wanna come by and talk things over” you said nervously picking at your fingers. He smiled that charming smile that had you swooning since day one and nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind” he said. You nodded and backed away from the room and out of the door you used to enter the house.

a while had gone by since your interaction with James and if you’re being honest, you are really disappointed because you were looking forward to seeing him again. You are about to pack up for bed when a knock on your door broke you out of your daydream. You went to cautious because old habits die hard, you open the door to come face-to-face with James Buchanan Barnes. “Oh, hey I wasn’t expecting you” you’d said stupidly before you could think. You were totally expecting him, hoping and praying for him to knock on your door. “If im gonna be honest i want going to. Last time we’d seen each other we left off on a kiss and a barely confessed ‘I love you’. Sam told me not to let that go again.” He said sincerely. “ Well, Sam was right. Ever the wingman, no pun intended” you said letting out a laugh, as did he. Before either of you could make another remark, Bucky rushed forward and pressed a kiss to your lips. The kiss was soft and full of longing and warmth, happiness flooded you like you just took your first drink of hot chocolate on a chilly winter morning. The two of you separated breathing heavily

“my Bucky Barnes.”

“My Y/n L/n”

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gaysindistress · 3 months

Text

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest This fanart has haunted me since the first time I seen it and then I watched the Inglorious Bastards and here we are. There is nothing explicated stated but since Bucky is lowkey inspired by Hans Landa, take care of yourself and skip if you need to.

Footsteps and a knock at the door.

“Mademoiselle?” the quiet voice of a maid drifts from the cracks of the door, “Mademoiselle are you awake? You have invités.”

The code word is what rouses the girl from her fitful sleep. Sliding out of her warm bed, the girl grabs her robe and slips it on before opening her bedroom door for her maid.

“Merci, Josette. How many?” The hoarse voice tears its way from her throat as she steps aside for her maid to come in.

Josette shifts nervously on her feet but stays put before whispering, “One but Mademoiselle, he is… he is the one from the papers.”

The girl nods as she listens to the frightened words of her maid. “Take him to the kitchen and tell him that I will be down momentarily. Give him a glass and a pitcher of water but do not offer him anything else and leave immediately. Wake Monsieur Pierre and tell him that you need him to take you to get honey. Do you understand?”

Josette doesn’t do anything, she just stares at the girl that she’s worked for for the last two years in shock. She begins to tremble and she grips her by the shoulders.

“Tu comprends, Josette?”

She nods and scurries off down the hall, her blonde hair whipping behind her. The girl closes her door and begins to fix her appearance in her vanity mirror, rebraiding a braid she wore to sleep that night. She changes into her usual pair of cotton dungarees with a worn white blouse under and puts on the terribly knitted cardigan she made when Monsieur Pierre’s wife was first teaching her. Unable to find her boots, she slips on her oxfords and stalls at the door with her hand on the knob. She had hoped that it would’ve taken the bastard longer to find her but alas time is never going to be on her side.

She pulls the door open and walks to the kitchen. She’d come to love this chateau during her months here and would miss it when she undoubtedly would be forced to flee. Pierre’s hushed voice draws her attention behind her but she doesn’t turn around. He’s telling Josette to hurry up and it almost made her chuckle. He wasn’t fond of the young blonde and would lecture her regularly. It seemed as though nothing would ever change from the sound of his frustrated voice.

The flicking candle light in the kitchen is a warning, an omen really as she drew closer. She knows who was sitting in there, the man who had been haunting her dreams for years now.

“Monsieur,” she says in demure tone as she steps into the kitchen, “I apologize for my staff. She is a nervous girl. Would you like something to drink other than water? Coffee? Tea?”

“Fräulein,” the menacing voice that plagues her drawls, “you know that’s not how you should address me.”

The switch from French to German causes her to freeze internally but she doesn’t let it show. Instead she feigns nativity and she shakes her head at him, “I’m afraid I do not speak German, only French.”

He only stares at her. His sharp blue eyes are intense as they were before but the evidence of their time together is everlasting. A deep scar that stretches from his eyebrow to the bottom of his eye socket and a milky white eye in the middle of it.

Her lip curls up in a smirk when she turns her face and sits opposite of him. He’s dressed in the usual attire of a colonel: an immaculately kept black uniform with a long black overcoat.

“We both know that is a lie, Fräulein.”

She doesn’t respond.

His own smirk overcomes his painfully beautiful face, “Drop the act, y/n.

“I don’t know what or who you’re talking about. There is no act to be dropped and no y/n here.”

He leans back in his chair, causing the wood to creak and groan under his weight. He takes a drink of water while holding eye contact with her. Upon setting it down, the sound of gunfire rips through the air and she tenses while he watches for her reaction. When she doesn’t so much as flinch, he cocks his head at her and narrows his eyes. A car barrels down the gravel driveway and crashes into the ancient tree in the center.

“I would apologize for them but that would be a lie,” he tells her.

There’s a shift in the air and her demure french woman act is, in fact, dropped.

Her accented German cuts thick through the air, “What do you want?”

“You.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“No.”

“I will burn this shithole to the ground,” he says as he pulls out a cigarette tin and lights a cigarette. He offers one to her and she takes it, allowing him to light it.

“Is that meant to scare me into going with you? Come on, James, you have done worse than that and I suspect you will do far more.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees with a shrug of his shoulders. “But you will come with me, y/n. Tonight.”

“No,” she states again, blowing out her smoke and crossing her arms.

“Defiant as always I see,” he mutters under his breath as he too takes a drag of his cigarette.

There is a long silent pause as the two of them smoke and stare at each other. His beauty hasn’t waned over the years but it’s turned deadly. The scar she gave him when she escaped him that night adds to the murderous edge to his gaze. The uniform that he wears is foul and makes her sick to her stomach. He’d promised to leave, promised to get away before things got bad. He’d promised to come for her once it was safe and they could live the life they had dreamed of.

He’d broken all of those promises when he put on that uniform. All but one promise that is. He has come for her and he would be able to provide her with his sick verison of safety.

“One of us is going to die,” she says finally whilst tapping the ashes of her cigarette onto the floor. “That’s the only way this ends.”

“No, Fräulein. There is another way but you will not like it.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #1940s #1940s bucky #40s bucky #40s au #hydra au #dark bucky x you #dark bucky x reader #dark bucky barnes

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imaginedreamwrite · 10 months

Text

“I’m telling you Steve, this is the perfect place!” Bucky’s arm was a slung around Steve’s neck, his directional pull steering the two.

“You bought a house, Buck? You’re not even—” Steve’s minor protest had fallen short when the two stepped into a concrete sidewalk in front of a white picket fenced house.

There was a brickwork chimney still dusted with coal and ash that needed to be cleaned, a porch that wrapped halfway around the back of the house with a covering that led to a back garden. There was an enclosed front porch that had a swing off to the left, and a screen that was off hilted.

The fence around the front of the property needed a fresh coat of paint and a few minor repairs. It was a nice home, beautiful really and full of character, and Steve wished to see inside however it was the sign hanging off the gate that he was distracted by.

“This is gonna be my home, Stevie. Y/N and I…” Bucky had inhaled softly, he had smiled wide and raised his hands like trying to frame a picture. “…this is our house.”

“Bucky Barnes & Y/N Barnes,” Steve read the hand painted sign, the uneven and scuffed edges just adding more character to this whole place, “you bought her a house?”

“Its 1938, Steve. Its time to settle down and plan for the future.” Bucky had tugged on Steve’s coat, leading him through the gate in the fence toward the front garden. “Y/N is gonna be my wife and a mother…”

A pant of envy hit Steve. Jealousy and envy as he thought of Bucky getting everything he only wished he could have.

Steve wanted a wife, Steve wanted a house and a family.

Steve wanted to be able to live without ailments that kept him down.

“I’m happy for you, Bucky.” Steve swallowed his true feelings, he pushed it as deep inside himself as he could in favour of showing a good face.

He couldn’t let Bucky know how he felt.

“Come on, punk. Let’s go see it inside.” Bucky grinned and tugged Steve behind him, up the front steps to the front door.

Bucky had plans, he was going to settle down and get married. He was going to have a family in this cute little house.

Bucky had plans, he had a future.

And yet it was Steve who stood on the steps of that same house in 1946 with a handful of flowers and anguish on his shoulders.

“I wish I could’ve done more.” Steve’s empathy was expressed through his shaking hands and trembling voice. “I tried, Y/N. I tried to save him.”

And as you stepped aside to let him inside, Steve felt just as broken as he had before he got the serum. He was just as weak, just as broken.

“Let me make tea. You sit.” Steve helped you back into the living room while he offered to serve you.

It was the only promise he made to Bucky that he could complete.

#Bucky Barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes #1940s!Bucky Barnes #1940s!Steve Rogers #1939!Bucky Barnes

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bucky-barnes-diaries · 1 year

Note

Bucky love for you. ❤️

Those Three Words

Pairing || 1940s!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary || A beautiful declaration of love.

Word Count || Around 400

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, Mild Smut — implied sex.

Authors Note || Yay Bucky! He’s always precious <3 Thank you Navy! Had to do a drabble for 40s Bucky because of that gif <3

1940s!Bucky Masterlist

It’s been hours. Hours of you and Bucky rolling around in the bedroom sheets, deep into the night.

You couldn’t get enough of each other. Couldn’t get enough of your skin touching, the taste of one another, the breathless words of pleasure as you and he lost count of how many times you reached euphoria together.

Once you were both happy and satisfied with your prolonged adventure of mind-blowing sex, you held each other close under the protective bubble of the sheets.

His body lay tight against yours, facing each other as your foreheads brushed. The palm of his hand cradled your face, his thumb stroking your cheek lovingly. His other trailing delicate fingers up and down your spine. Your skin felt warm and fuzzy as he touched you so gently after his rough and determined behavior previous.

His eyes. You could get lost in them, drown in those perfect blues forever as they gazed into yours. They held nothing but love and affection for you—only you.

“I love you, doll. I’ve done so for some time now. I’ve never felt more alive and happy when I’m with you. You’re the love of my life, darling. You’ve touched my soul like no one ever has.”

Your heart burst with happiness as he finally said those three words to you, declaring his undying love for you. You’ve wanted to share those words with him for some time now but were too afraid to do so, worrying that there was a chance that he didn’t feel the same for you in that way, despite all the clear signs that he did indeed.

You rubbed your nose against him as you smiled in glee, cupping your hands around his neck to play with his hair at the back of it and snuggling even further into his naked embrace.

“Words can’t explain how much I love you, Bucky. It’s beyond what I can ever express. But I’ll spend the rest of our lives together trying to convey just how much as best I can.”

You both leaned in until your lips touched, softly and gently, sealing your words together in a forever pact with a kiss of love and joy.

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

Follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

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jadedvibes · 1 year

Text

Promises

Summary: You’ve been arranged to marry someone else, but with only one night left before Bucky redeploys, you decide to make a few memories you know you'll never forget.

Pairing: Soft Dark 1940s!Bucky x reader

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, oral (f), unprotected sex, loss of virginity, corruption kink, slight dub-con, a little sub!bucky, innocent!reader, arranged marriage plans, swearing, pet names, fluffy feels, angst, manipulation, dark!bucky, 1940’s au.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Hi @mickeyhenrys, I am your secret santa! 🎅❤️ Hope you enjoy this soft dark fic that incorporates a Christmas Party/Mistletoe to fit my prompts🎄And a big thank you to @late-to-the-party-81 for coordinating this Tis the Season to be Thot-y challenge!

Like, comment, and/or reblog to put a giant smile on my face ♡

The annual Hodge Christmas Eve party was always all the rage, the whole neighborhood vied for an invitation to attend the grandiose and lively gathering. Your family had always wanted to attend, and this year was particularly special because an agreement had been made and an invitation was extended.

The families spoke and you were promised to marry Gilmore Hodge, the son of the town's most successful businessman. Your father was ecstatic that Gilmore’s parents agreed because he knew you’d be well taken care of for the rest of your life. The Hodges’ were happy with the arrangement because your reputation was exactly what they wanted for their son. Your mother taught you the ways of proper homemaking, ensuring you had every domestic duty down perfectly. Together with that, you were obedient and lovely, but most importantly you were chaste. The ideal package for a favorable young man.

After spending some time being excessively primped by your mother to look your best for your future family, and finally putting on your prettiest white dress, you were ready to go. This was what you had to do, it was your duty as a daughter, and defiance wasn’t your strong suit. Plus Gilmore was a hero, after returning home from the war he had earned even more respect than his great family name afforded him — he was an exemplary suitor. You would learn to care for him in time.

However, the engagement had yet to occur, and your families had only just completed their negotiations. The party gave you and your parents the opportunity to see what the Hodge family was like up close; although it didn’t weigh very much in terms of what was already decided. You were told that you were extremely fortunate to be chosen for their beloved son. There was a line a mile long to even be considered for him, but you were the kindest and the purest of them all —it could only be you.

So you were going to put on a big smile and spend the evening rubbing elbows with the high class folks Gilmore’s family socialized with, because it was your responsibility.

The main thing that had you actually excited about going to the party was that you knew your wonderful old friend Bucky Barnes would be making an appearance. Throughout the years you had kept in touch through letters, and he recently wrote to you letting you know that he’d be there; saying he knew Gilmore from his time in the service, and that he was looking forward to seeing you.

As a kid you always had the biggest crush on the guy because he was so effortlessly charming yet still adorably nerdy, the perfect combination. He was a constant in your life, and you weren’t willing to give him up, so regular letters helped keep you tethered together despite the distance. Somehow through every candid letter you felt yourself grow closer to Bucky, even closer than you were when he was still back home. His honesty, his vulnerability, his hope to see you again — it made you cherish him all the more.

Your mother knew about your elation over seeing him, especially given his valiant return from the war as well, but she urged you to be coy and downplay your enthusiasm. She didn’t want you to upset anyone in a way that could thwart her plans for your future.

Bucky had a good reputation growing up, and your parents took no issue with you having him as a friend. But that’s all it was ever allowed to be.

While you secretly wished for a different reality, you couldn’t help but feel euphoric about at least getting to spend some time with Bucky, the sweet guy you always wished your parents took an interest in. Nevertheless, it couldn’t happen, he didn’t come from enough according to your father. It didn’t matter that he was smart, and kind, and everything you ever wanted.

None of it mattered. Bucky would deploy again soon, so you had to have a memorable last night in his company. You didn’t understand how returning to the war worked, but that’s what he wrote in his last letter. The two of you would only have this one night to see each other.

Upon arrival at the party you made your greetings with the Hodge family, graciously speaking to them and then eventually Gilmore, who already had a couple girls vying for his attention. He was polite, but cared far more about returning to his little raving fan club. You couldn’t blame them, not everyone knew about your arrangement and he did look nice in his uniform. The snub stung a little, but you figured things would be different once you were married.

Sitting with your mother by a warm roaring fireplace, you spoke to some other women that had arrived with their families. Chatter was lively, with beautiful jazz ballads drifting throughout the grand property; setting the ambience just right. There was a good reason everyone wanted to attend this party, the food was delicious, the decorations along with the christmas tree extravagant, and the company among the best known in Brooklyn.

Your body buzzed with excitement and anticipation, knowing that any minute Bucky would arrive. Trying to stay calm, you focused on socializing to distract yourself, but it didn’t help. It had been so long since you’d seen him, your heart didn’t know how to play it cool.

However, all that anxiety dissipated the moment he stepped in the room, his eyes immediately finding yours; you felt yourself and the energy calm around you — it was only you and him.

Minding your manners you gave him a cordial nod before excusing yourself and seeking out a more quiet place to greet him. You smiled politely at the guests you passed as you made your way towards a quiet secluded hallway, all the while knowing you wouldn’t be alone for long.

Bucky smirked, stepping into the empty corridor, away from prying eyes and the loud music. “Didn’t want to talk to me out there with everyone else, doll?”

Finally seeing him for the first time in years, you dropped your proper facade and threw your arms around his neck, clinging to him. “Didn’t want to share is all,” you breathed, squeezing him tight. He held onto you with equal ardor, before you finally pulled back to get a good look at him.

You’d only known from his letter that he’d make an appearance at the party, you hadn’t heard his voice or seen him in the flesh for far too long. He still looked like the sweet boy you always adored, but something about him seemed different. His aura didn’t feel as light as you once remembered it to be, but perhaps you were imagining things. Given all that he’d been through you could understand if some things changed.

But then he spoke and you remembered that he was still your Bucky.

“I missed you so much,” he cupped the sides of your face and smiled broadly. “You’ve gotten even more beautiful, doll. Didn’t know that was possible.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his kind words. Shaking your head you smiled shyly before taking him in some more. He looked so handsome in his dress uniform, a touch more mature and muscular too — but still your Bucky. “How have you been?” you beamed.

“I’m alright, happy I get to see you,” he trailed his fingers down your arms before finally holding your hands in his.

“Can you stay long?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, I have to get back and get ready to ship out bright and early tomorrow.”

“Oh,” you breathed, disappointment running across your features before you remembered to put on a brave face. If time was that limited then you’d make sure every moment was a positive one.

He brought up a hand and traced his thumb over your cheekbone softly, dark blue eyes admiring you. “Glad I got to see you and say goodbye,” he gave you a small smile before stepping back and putting his hands behind his back, subtly distancing himself from you. He couldn’t get too close, he knew about the arrangement you had with Gilmore.

You furrowed your brows at his stiffness, things weren’t like this before. “We’ve barely even caught up, what’s the rush? Who knows how long it’ll be this time.” Or if he’d even return.

“I can’t, doll.” Bucky knew he shouldn’t be alone with you, yet he also knew for certain that he couldn’t go on knowing that soon you’d belong to someone else.

“C’mon Sarge, you’ve gotta give me something to remember you by,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “I can think of one thing that I could give you before some USO girl gets her hands on you,” you grabbed his hand and led him down a quiet hallway. Mrs. Hodge had given you the grand tour, and you knew your way around already. Her attention to detail with decorations throughout the home was commendable, just as her hospitality.

“What is it?” he smirked, disregarding the quip. The USO girl’s always paled in comparison to you. There wouldn't be another, there would only be you.

You tilted your head up at the mistletoe tied with a red bow hanging above the door you’d tugged him towards before meeting his gaze.

Bucky peeked up before shaking his head at you with a mischievous smile. You weren’t making this easy, so he finally committed to his decision. He’d been tinkering with holding back, but there you were under the soft light, looking so gorgeous in your white chiffon dress. If he could only have this one night with you, he was going to take advantage of it. Stepping towards you, his hand loosely cupped the side of your face, before he leaned in close. “I can think of something more memorable than this, doll. But it’ll do for now,” he breathed against your lips.

Your heart fluttered in your chest when his warm lips met yours. Certain and deliberate, making you gasp at his confidence. The grip on your face tightened before his lips parted, and suddenly his tongue was sliding along yours, expertly exploring your mouth. No man had ever kissed you like that. No fumbling or hesitancy, only desire in his actions.

A soft moan slipped past your lips, breaking you out of the impassioned trance you’d fallen under with Bucky, reminding you that you were at a lively Christmas party. If someone had stumbled over and seen that little display of public affection they would inevitably gossip about you; leading to major consequences if your parents or worse, if the Hodge’s heard about it.

“I have to go,” you whispered, stepping towards him to get away.

“Why?” his hands found your waist, keeping you trussed up against the door.

Your fingertips rose to touch your lips, still tingling because of him. “Bucky, they can’t see us like that. It– it was a bad idea.” You’d never been kissed with such passion and it made you feel things. Things you knew you shouldn’t for a man you weren't promised to — even if he was the only man you ever wanted a future with.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Bucky.”

“What happened to ‘Sarge’?” He raised an eyebrow, his hands slowly wrapping around your body. “Thought you might give me an order or two, using my rank and all,” he grinned.

You couldn’t help but crack a smile. “You know we shouldn’t, you know I’m–“

“I know about the arrangement, doll. I know that soon you’ll be married. But I also know that I’m leaving tomorrow and I might not make it back,” he looked at you solemnly.

“Oh, Bucky,” you frowned. “I know. I wish I knew what to say. Is there any way I can make this last night a good one for you?” you asked with hopeful eyes.

His eyes darkened, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I can think of a few ways.”

“Like what?” you tilted your head.

“We can start with you giving me an order,” he quirked an eyebrow.

Taking a quick peek around to make sure you were alone, you placed your arms around his neck once you ensured the coast was clear. “Are you good at taking orders, Sarge?” you asked sweetly. Maybe you could get him to give you a couple more of those kisses that made you tingle.

“Wanna find out?” he nodded towards the door.

“You wanna go in there?” your eyes darted around. You’d never been in this kind of situation, unsupervised no less. It was unlikely anyone would notice you were missing for long, but the uncertainty of what might happen if you were alone with him made you nervous.

He shrugged with a lopsided grin, it’d have to do for now. You deserved far better than a rushed hookup, and one day he’d give it to you. But on this special night in your company, he had to improvise.

Biting your lip, you nodded your head before turning around as he opened the door into the small room.

“This can be our little secret,” he suggested as he followed in after you.

Secrets were good, no one had to know, this would be okay.

Butterflies were in your stomach, your heartbeat erratically thumping in your chest, but then his familiar blue eyes were on you, and your apprehension slowly melted away. You trusted him with your life, you always could, and if tonight was the last night you had with him, then it ought to be an unforgettable one.

“I’d like that,” you hesitantly tugged at his lapel, bringing his lips back to yours. His hands drifted down your body, tightening the hold as they finally settled on your hips. The chatter down the hall, the music drifting through the house, it all faded away. Tongues tangled, bodies pressing up against one another. Nothing but the present moment filled your senses; a moment years in the making. It was always supposed to be Bucky, at least for the first time.

Bucky sure knew how to kiss a girl speechless. When his hands drifted around and a little lower, you were too caught up to protest, not that you really would anyways. Swiftly he tugged you even closer, hands possessively on your ass, his hardened length pressed against your torso.

The sudden shock of it all made you gasp against his lips. This was wrong, and deep down you knew that. But you’d never been embraced like this, never felt wanted in this way, and surely letting him have his way with you would give you both something to remember once he was gone. This was all you’d ever have with Bucky, may as well make the most of it.

When his lips trailed down your throat, when his hands deftly unzipped your dress and when he undid your bra, you couldn’t utter a protest. As your dress pooled at your feet you felt embarrassed for a moment, wanting to cover up; that was until you saw the way Bucky looked at you. Longing paired with a pleased grin on his lips.

You wanted to make him feel good, if only once.

“You sure are gorgeous, doll,” he groaned, tracing his lips down your neck, dipping his tongue over your breast. “Sure wanna make you mine,” he whispered before latching onto your nipple.

“Please,” you whined, pleasure rushing to your core in an unfamiliar way simply by his touch. You weren’t really sure what you wanted, you only knew that you needed him to give it to you. Threading a hand through his hair, you held him close as he lavished your breasts with his warm lips.

With his eyes steadily fixated on yours he stood to his full height, unbuttoned his jacket and slowly sank to his knees.

“Do you mean it?” He gently kissed up your thighs.

You didn’t know what he was asking, but in that moment there was only one answer to any question. “Yes,” you whispered.

Bucky leaned toward your clothed core, hands wrapping around your thighs. “Say you want me to make you mine, doll.”

The smallest touch sent shivers down your spine, the way his large hands felt against your skin, the way his warm breath felt through your thin panties. You were his to do as he pleased.

“Make me yours, Buck–” you gasped as he tore through the fine material of your underwear. Heat immediately rushing to your cheeks. His tongue slipping between your wet folds. He thought he wanted one night without having to give or take any serious orders. Although this was one he was happy to oblige. He’d gladly make you his, entirely his.

“Oh, god,” you cried, arching against his mouth. Him and his soft, warm tongue were going to be the end of you.

His tongue gently stroked up to your sensitive bundle of nerves, before two fingers suddenly slid inside your tight hole. This was so foreign, and so wrong, yet you couldn’t find the words to make him stop; because they didn’t exist in your mind, and you didn’t want him to.

He fucked you with his fingers, building slow to start then alternating with his tongue. Your mind was in a haze, you couldn’t fathom how Bucky knew how to do this. But there he was, looking up at you, continuing his sweet torture with a possessed look in his eyes.

He wanted to watch you fall apart, he needed to be the first to see that. Your innocence was something he desperately wanted to sully and he’d thought about it more often than he’d care to admit. Getting the chance to ruin you. Some nights it was the only thing that gave him the determination to make it back home.

Your mouth fell open when he picked up his pace, moving more roughly, and you couldn’t stifle the cry that slipped past your lips.

“Might wanna keep it down, wouldn’t want word to get back to your boyfriend now do ya, doll?” he groaned against your pussy, returning to his task, lips latching onto your aching bud while his fingers pumped into you.

“He’s not my boyf–” you sharply inhaled as he harshly sucked your clit. Throwing your head back, you moaned as you felt your pulse throb through your body. Heat washed over you as Bucky worked you through your orgasm. The sight of you falling apart above him was an image he would never forget. He’d caused that, and he needed to see it again.

Before you could make a sound again he was up and his mouth was back on yours, swallowing your moans as he slowly finished you off with his fingers.

“You sure are a beautiful thing,” he rasped, grabbing the back of your neck as he kissed you ardently. Through hazy eyes you watched as he finally pulled his soaked fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean.

“Bucky,” you whimpered. “We should– it’s probably time that we head ba–”

“Can I make love to you, doll?” His mouth cut you off, a tender kiss that let you taste your arousal on his lips. Heady and intoxicating.

“Please?” he pleaded. “I might never get the chance, and well — you know how I feel about you.”

Through countless letters and years of memories, you truly knew exactly how he felt about you.

The least you could do was give your dear friend this final gift. He came back from the violent war once, and the odds of him finding that luck again would be even more slim. He deserved everything you had to offer.

“Okay,” you nodded your head. “Please be gentle.”

“Is that an order?” he teased, smiling softly. Grabbing your hand he led you to the small bed in the corner of the room. “I’ll take care of you, promise.” Bucky swiftly undressed leaving him in just his dog tags, his eyes glazed with lust as they took in your body. This was real, you were there, you were his.

Your eyes roamed over his broad chest, his chiseled abs, but then you stuttered a breath when you saw his hard thick cock. Oh god. It wouldn’t fit, there was no way.

Before you could protest, his hypnotic blue eyes locked with yours, and you were under his spell. Your eyes lingered on each other's as the air became electric. He could do whatever he wanted, you trusted him.

“Just relax,” he whispered. Laying you down, he softly peppered your neck with kisses as his fingers ran through your folds. You were plenty wet, but he didn’t want to hurt you. Mesmerized by the way you looked up at him so wide-eyed and beautiful, his eyes searched yours as he tried to ease his way into you, but he was met with resistance.

“Take a deep breath, doll.” Circling his hips he worked on loosening you up, while you focused on your breathing, and then he slowly slipped further into your tight pussy. A groan escaped his lips once he finally bottomed out inside of you. Fucking exquisite.

The intense pressure in your core was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, the feeling so different you didn’t know how to comprehend it. But there was no time to think, because suddenly Bucky was making love to you with gradual measured pumps. The sensation felt overwhelming yet more addicting with each passing moment. Your mouth fell open, and you opened your legs wider, experimentally trying to match his thrusts with your hips — that made it feel even better. He was so deep, so thick, you felt every inch of him as he moved in and out of you.

He treated you with reverence, but with each stroke you felt yourself grow needier. Burning desire like a fire slowly building up in your belly. “H-harder,” you breathed, slapping a hand over your mouth before another moan could escape.

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky mumbled, picking up his pace. That was another order he’d dutifully obey. He grabbed your knee and bent it up, hitting you hard in a spot that had you seeing stars.

“S’ good, Buck,” you blubbered. No wonder this was a sin, nothing moral or right could ever feel this good.

Bucky’s breath stuttered as he watched you; lust-blown pupils and messy lipstick, his pretty innocent girl utterly debauched all thanks to him. He captured the moment in his mind, burning it in his memory. Worshiping you, devouring you, ravaging the woman he dreamed so many nights about. He could never forget this.

Tender lovemaking quickly turned brutal as he rutted into you roughly over and over, his face buried in your neck to quiet his own moans.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you let him get lost in pleasure; he was loving it, and you were grateful you could give this to him. Warmth started to rise up your body again, the coil in your belly tightening with each sharp thrust.

“I wanna know what you feel like when you come around me, doll. I need it,” he groaned, pressing his lips to yours while his fingers swirled your needy bud. And like an order your body spasmed at his command. Bucky quickly placed a hand over your mouth to silence the sound you were on the cusp of letting out.

Even though you knew this was improper, morality didn’t deter the way you responded to his strong thrusts, shuddering hard as waves of pleasure washed over you.

“Bucky,” you mumbled, suddenly frantic with fear over what you’d done. He removed his hand and kissed you, silently reassuring you that this was good. He was right for you, just as you undoubtedly were right for him.

“Shh it’s okay, sugar. I’m here.” He muttered your name as he came, relishing in the way your wet walls rippled around him. Everything he could have ever wanted. In the house of the man you were planning to marry, he felt bliss, love, and euphoria as he poured himself inside of you.

Collapsing beside you, he calmed his breathing as you did the same. Both of you trying to process what this meant. You hoped this was enough for him, you gave him every bit of yourself, every last piece. Surely it had to be.

But in his mind this was only the beginning.

“I’m going to miss you, Bucky,” you laid your head on his chest, finally back down from your high.

He gently stroked your face with the back of his hand. “Oh don’t worry about that, you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

You furrowed your brows and propped yourself up on your elbow to get a better look at him. “What do you mean?”

He placed his hand around the back of your neck. “You’re mine now, I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to tell your father that Gilmore's out, and I’m in.”

“Bucky, I can’t do that,” you shook your head with a soft smile. “That’s who my parents have chosen for me.” Sadly, it wasn’t up for debate.

“You’re going to tell them it's me, or I’m going to tell them what we did. All the things you let me do, how much you loved it,” he ran his thumb over your bottom lip. “Now you wouldn't want that, would you?”

No, he wouldn’t. If anyone knew about this your reputation would be ruined, your family would be destroyed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was not the man you always adored.

“You lied to me.” The ugly realization that your fate was unwittingly sealed fully dawned on you.

He didn’t bother trying to deny it. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to take good care of you, I promise,” he smiled. “Get dressed, we have a tough conversation to attend to.”

“Bucky, I–”

“You trust me don’t you?” He tilted your chin, forcing you to meet his dark gaze.

Not anymore. Hesitantly, you nodded your head. There was nothing more you could do.

He gave you a saccharine smile. “You told me to make you mine, and that’s what I did. Now c’mon we have a beautiful future to begin, and maybe we can fit in a dance before I take you home; well what will be your home for a short while longer,” he chuckled.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you wordlessly retrieved and redressed yourself in the wrinkled garments strewn across the room. Disgust overcame you, tarnishing the emotions behind what you thought would be a beautiful memory you’d always cherish.

Turns out your best friend wasn’t deploying and you belonged to him now. By some miracle, or more accurately some misfortune, he made it back home — and you were the reward for all his hard work. The violence and destruction he witnessed and took part in changed him, more than you could tell at first glance.

You thought offering him your innocence before redeployment would be a sweet consolation prize. Never did you imagine your new reality, becoming Sergeant Barnes’ most prized possession.

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nexusnyx · 1 year

Text

to my sweetheart

40s!bucky barnes x f!reader [8.2k] summary: The promise of a weekend home hangs over Bucky's head like the sun used to shine on sweet summer days, illuminating everything in life. It's all planned out in his head: the place he'll take you to, the things he wants to talk about, the hundreds of ways he needs to touch you. It's all planned. A taste of how it'll be when the storm passes—he's ready for it. 📝 this was based on this post. if you like it, reblogs and comments make all the difference. i hope you enjoy this sweetheart saturday, 'cause this will be the sweetest one. 🏷️ established relationship, letters, angst, longing, love delcarations, Steve x Reader (platonic) ⚠️Smut. Minors, DNI. Unprotected sex, body worship, slow fuck.

masterlist | series masterlist

ㅤㅤㅤJuly, 1943.

My sweetheart,

You're a menace even from far away. How can that be? If I hadn't met you exactly like this, I'd dare say I'm surprised. But I'm not. Little minx. Do you know the lengths of what I had to do to finish your last letter? The effects you have on me, even from far away?

I bet you do. Good god, I can bet you're fuckin' smiling, right now. Sittin' there all pretty with your knees pulled high, so giddy and proud of yourself for what you've done to me. Well—let it be known that this here... this is payback.

First things first, thank you for the pictures.

You're more than I could ever ask for, every single time. One of them is safely tucked inside my uniform. I placed the other one inside my pocket watch. Morita's already laughed under his breath as if I can't fuckin' hear him sayin "you don't let a single hour pass by, huh, Sarge?", so you should be happy to know that, as well. My guys are giggling because of me. Because I'm whipped for you.

Second of all... thank you.

From the bottom of my heart which belongs to you entirely, I'm thankful for you. Knowing Ma has a friend in someone soothes my soul. I got a letter from her a few days ago—she's mad at me for dating you "for almost half of an entire year, James Buchanan. almost half a year and you didn't think to bring her here yourself! You'll count yourself lucky if you go back to the base camp with your ears still intact because when I see you..." and this is a direct quote, by the way. I have her letter right next to me—Ma's mad, and I'm glad that she is. It means she loved ya. As I knew she would.

What did you two talk about? Ma said you played with the girls, too. I think I dreamt of that scene. Did she show you my embarrassing baby pictures? I bet she did. My favorite one is the one that Stevie's got paint all over him; I love that one.

Now... as for the rest of your letter.

What should I do to you, hm?

You can't just tell me these things, you lil' witch. Can't just talk about the things you wished I was doing to you, 'cause I'm not there to do them, and it makes my chest tight, my heart beating faster.

I went to the showers at 2 something a.m. to finish that letter, 'cause I felt your words like caresses all over my skin. Here's a new acronym I learned from Gabe: V E N I C E. Wanna know what it means? I'll tell ya.

It means I think about it, too. Not often, unfortunately, not because I don't want to, but because in here I have very few moments to think about good things, but when I do, that's where my mind goes to—in the sweet minutes I have all to myself, my mind runs back to your presence like a puppy, wiggling its tail with its tongue out, so happy and so excited beyond words because of one single person.

My mind rushes to you, to memories of us, to moments we shared. Most of all, it seems to zoom in on the seconds where we were the closest. I save those memories for the stars, for when no one else's around, for when I can let my brain dive and swim in them.

You said that for you, what comes back when you're alone in the dark is the ghost of my hands.

For me, it's the fathom of your lips.

The way you kissed put a spell on me. Right now, as I write this, I'm sitting alone in a corner of the common showers with my neck sweating just a little bit and my heart beating in my throat, all because of that: the thought of your lips, so present and so sweet, making me ache all over. Should I be concerned, lil' witch? With the way you have control over my body even from far away? As if I were a puppet with strings only you can see, I'm aching for you and you're not even here. I'm hard, painfully so, because your picture and the distant echo of your giggles in my ear are enough to put me in a trance... the way you whisper my name when my hands are searching in menace ways the best path to get under your clothes and imprinted all over your skin... It's so difficult to write like this, sweetheart. Very Excited, Now I Caress Everywhere... d'you get it now? D'you see it?

I'm not there, but I can see you reading this. I can see your thighs clamping together in a pitiful attempt to not think about how I loved to tease the path to my favorite place, with my hands, my lips, my tongue. I'm gonna dream about it tonight, I can already see it. Gonna dream about your little whines, and how excited you got, while always being so good. Never asked for more. Never pushed for faster. Just took whatever I had to offer you, and asked in the sweetest way possible for what you wanted. "Jay." I miss that. The way you call me Jay when it's just us. No one's ever called me that before, and no one ever will again.

So do it, lil' witch. Touch yourself all you want when thinking about me. You had to ask for permission, didn't ya? (It's a rhetorical question. You never have to ask. I told ya long ago that from me, you can take and take without ever asking first, and yet you did, anyway.) I'm the luckiest bastard in this godforsaken and twisted world, all because of you.

I'll be there on the last weekend of this month, only for two days, but it'll be enough.

Just a taste of what'll come for us when all of this is over. A taste of you — that I miss so goddamn fuckin' much, Jesus Christ, sweetheart — and hours and hours of making you smile until it's imprinted in the walls of my brain, secured safe and sound in the labyrinth of my mind.

Wait for me, but never sadly. Keep up your studies, and focus on them just as I focus on work here whenever I have to. Talk to your friends, stay clear of those damn radios that only make you anxious and get you to bite your pretty nails, take Steve out for walks and keep that neighborhood in check, the two of you. I'll be back. I'll always come back to you.

With love in my heart (and because of your menace ways, my hand in my pants), I say goodbye for now,

V.E.N.I.C.E;

always yours, J.B.B.

In a month and a half, Bucky has written and read more than in the past decade, at least.

You'd scold him for admitting such a thing so easily, but it was true.

There are a few letters exchanged by now—the U.S. Postal is doing their best, but can only do so much—but they're enough on their own. More than two, sometimes 3 pages long, filled with more post scrimptums than anyone else rather than you two would care to read and it's probably acceptable, and always signed with a lot of love.

It's a whole new world created between the two of you where childhood memories are shared, secret fears that neither Bucky nor you ever imagined talking about are laid on the table, and all of that written between paragraphs of gossip stories from home or the military base, and dirty dreams and wishes.

A mess. An entire conversation—one with topics that go back and forth since the first letter and short pieces of dialogue you two shared with important people; it's the best conversation he's ever had.

The longest. Deepest.

ㅤㅤㅤ"I love talking to you, Jay. If before I thought we were two peas in a pod, now I'm certified of it the same way I'm certain the Sun rises in the East to set in West. Can you see the same thing I do? Sometimes, it feels as if we're sittin' on our porch, on our living room armchairs, laughing to one another about the sweet memories or silly theories that only we find amusement in."

Through you, Bucky hears things his Ma is saying. Gets news from his two younger sisters, as well as realistic check-ups on Steve.

In one of your letters, you said, "you know, I'm starting to feel calluses. I dreamt of writing dark children's books for so long, and I think this is my punishment, in some sort of way. How in the hell am I having an argument with Steve and you through here? You two are wrong. We talked about this before and I'll say it as many times as needed: this whole 'trip to the future' thing is hiding something bigger, and it's cute that you two think that geniuses and billionaires are just giving us all of their biggest developments. Truly adorable," and it had sparked the favorite topic in his unit: the existence of aliens, or not.

You're there without being there.

Most of them don't even know about you, of course. Bucky's private, and likes to be that way.

Morita, Gabriel, and Dum Dum are exceptions—those tree men proved to be the exact type of company a fella needs when facing an untamed and suffocating darkness.

They teased Bucky about his alone 'poet' time. When the time in July finally came for the soldiers to be dismissed for a weekend home before being shipped to London, Morita bid him goodbye with, "and see if you do something else other than writing back home, eh, Sarge?"

Bucky would.

He barely gets any sleep, waiting for the time when he'll be sharing your presence and counting each minute of it, placing them in the same precious box he kept your words.

With his eyes closed, the smile sets in stone on his face.

To any onlookers that pass him by, Sgt. James Barnes looks at peace.

Everything around him feels sharp and colorful.

Bucky almost feels surreal—his energy is humming underneath his skin, scorching as hot as the star that starts to rise.

He breathes in deeply as he steps out of the train, welcoming the smell of home.

Brooklyn is a hive of noise, so loud and different than anything he'd been used to these past weeks, and he strides in confidence towards his destinies.

For each of his people, Bucky told a story, but all for a good reason:

First, he has to visit his family. If he had told Steve about the time his train arrived, he'd be there without any regard for his sleep and comfort, and Bucky loved him too much to pull him out of bed before the sky had even lost its dark blue tones.

So first, he goes to the Barnes household.

Bringing bread, he steps inside his home almost feeling like the first rays of sunshine itself. Bucky's welcomed by the oldest feeling of attached to being safe and sound when Winnifred's arms wrap around him and she lets out a choked gasp at his name.

"James," is the first name he hears.

He's James during breakfast while he updates his mother to the best of his abilities, and fights the persistent sting in his eyes whenever the light illuminates her dark hairs, shining evidence in her new silver strands. He's James — but in a scolding tone — when his mother hears that he omitted from Steve his arrival time, and he's oh, James when his plans for later tonight are laid on the table in a soft, almost shy-spoken tone.

"I really like her, you know?" his mother tells him.

She's leaning against the sink with her ruby red robe, the soft slippers he bought for her as a present, and her hair held up in a bun. Bucky smiles at the approval, ignoring the heat in his cheeks that blossom at his mother's all-knowing gaze and the glint in her blue eyes. "I'm glad to hear that, ma."

Winnie does no effort to hide how pleased she is, and he has to admit that the teasing face he catches in reflections sometimes came from one person, and it wasn't his father. "Will I get to spend some time together with the two of you, at least?"

According to Bucky's plans, very little, because the time was as counted as their paychecks. "Well—today I'm gonna have lunch with Steve, then the three of us will meet up."

"Right."

"We'll probably hang around Stevie and I's apartment. Then we'll get ready to go to the Stark exhibition."

Winnie's are you serious look reminds Bucky that she never saw the three of you all hanging around together. "Really, James?"

"What?"

"You're gonna bring that poor, sweet boy to chaperone and be a third wheel at your date? Son," the title is another scolding and meant to serve as a tug in his ear.

He can't help it—Bucky laughs. "Mom," he teases right back. "That 'poor sweet boy' will be just fine." He snorted—there was nothing poor nor sweet about Steve. "The three of us are friends."

"And I'm not doubting that for a second. I'm just sayin'. Does he need to be there on the date? Does he even want to?"

"They already argued about this and the final conclusion was, apparently, that yes, he does." Bucky had to bite his lip at those bits in your last letter—even through ink and paper, he could see you and Steve as clear as daylight. "Steve and her are really good friends, Ma. She knows how much I miss him, and she claims that he's been even more annoyin' about stuff, mumbling shit—sorry, mumbling stuff about 'Bucky this' and 'Bucky that', so she ain't havin' it. Plus, it's not like the two of us can't behave. We never made Stevie feel left out."

His mother chuckled. "For some reason I find it hard to believe that you two are not the grossest thing together."

"What?!" his laughter intensifies. "You never saw us together."

"And whose fault is that, hm? Hm?" Winnie's look pierces through him as the last drops of her coffee seep to the cup, and she grabs her cup like a ninja, with eyes still glued on him and her head shaking, no need for a single glance to where her hands are going. His mother sips, and Bucky's laughter subsidies to a smile. "Well, I'm glad you she's generous enough to share ya." Her whole face softens. "Bubba's right. Steve's been missing ya a lot."

Bubba. Bucky forgets how to breathe for a single second. "Bubba?"

The name that his mother calls the girls—Bubs, Bubba, baby.

Winnie smiles behind the cup, and he's not sure if her happiness is directed at him because of how he looks, or at the whole situation. "Yes, James. The woman who's been comin' to my house for two months now, havin' almost daily cups of tea with me to talk about life and the perils of life is, to your surprise and delight, my Bubba. Are you really surprised?" Her next chuckle is as sweet as her coffee must be. "I like her. I told ya already."

"I can see that."

His mother moves to sit in the chair in front of him. "And you haven't answered my question yet, young man." She crosses her legs and offers her coffee for him to sip, which he does. Gods, this woman is a bee. He returns it with a grimace.

"Right, as I was sayin', today we're going to the Stark fair, the three of us. Eat a hot dog, be annoyin' at the square, drink a couple of beers. Then tomorrow, uh—"

"You two love birds will be together all day, yes, I can imagine."

He's thankful his mother saves him from saying the embarrassing bits, at least. "I have to go back on Monday."

"What time?"

"Thirteen hundred train."

"So there's time for breakfast?"

His smile returns. "Yeah, Ma. There's time for breakfast together."

Across the table, his smile seems to be reflected back at him. It looks a little older, with more crinkles around the corners and kissing the side of the eyes, but the same smile nonetheless. "Now I'm happy." She sips the coffee, humming in pleasure. "And what's so interesting at this fair?"

"Was that Bucky's voice?! Ma! Is Bucky here?!"

Ah, that screeching tone.

The second name he hears—Bucky.

Screamed at the top of her lungs by Rebecca, and later by a still sleepy Dorca, Bucky's greets with open arms his young rascals and spins them in the air, so lucky to have their laughter be the only sound he hears once again.

He does his best that whole morning to imprint every second spent with them like a tattoo in the malleable muscle of his brain. He wants Rebecca's slightly nasal and bossy tone to be of easy access when he's far away. He wants to not forget how long Dorca's hair is getting, or how much his mother still has control of this entire house at the tip of her fingers as if she's a powerful spider whose webs are invisible, but stronger than the eyes behold.

Before he leaves, he takes them for ice cream. Bucky asks all sorts of questions, trying to squeeze as much as he can in only a few hours, knowing that no amount of time feels enough nowadays.

Later, there's Buck.

"Hey, Buck."

It's a second homecoming.

This one, it tastes like a little bit of everything. "Hey, Stevie." The tiny frame that fits in his embrace as if it were a puzzle piece, it smells like childhood and teenage years all mushed together. "Glad to see you're in one piece."

It's a jab to the fact that his best friend and soulmate was about to get into a fight just seconds before Bucky finds him, and it was met with an ocean-cold stare. Blue meets blue, and Bucky can only laugh.

"Oh, shut up," Steve rolls his eyes. "I hate that I let them go—fucking bastards."

"Hey, hey; you can't fight 'em—"

"Can't fight 'em all, I know, punk, I know." Steve sighs, but when he looks at Bucky again, his gaze softens. Something clicks, and Steve seems to come back to himself. "You sound like Father Chase," his snorted laugh means it's Bucky's time to scoff.

"Maybe because he had a point?"

"Always did. Doesn't change the facts."

"And what are the facts?"

"The facts, Buck, are that you're a softie," before he can come up with an answer, Bucky's frame is pushed back by the force of it—Steve doesn't go for it, he lunges for another hug, body crashing against Bucky's. "'m glad you're back."

The facts must be true, if only when it came to Steve, at least. "Punk," he mutters against soft blond strands. Bucky hugs back just as hard, and they let go at the exact same time.

A single look is shared, and then they nod.

Secret conversations aren't only spilled in acronyms.

I'm glad to be back, his nod says.

While Steve's says, Now we're alright.

They were. For now, everything was alright.

"You get your orders?" Steve starts walking in the direction that Bucky's heart was tugging in—the direction of your apartment.

He follows, putting one arm around Steve's shoulders. "Sure did. The 107th. Sgt. James Barnes, shipping out on Monday for England."

"Sargeant, huh?"

Under Steve's appraising eyes, Bucky's always felt a little bit analyzed. "Yeah." No inch of him went unnoticed. "I'll do my best to take care of all of them." An artist's eye on you could be an unnerving thing.

It soothed when he smiled. "Of course you will, Buck." Often, Bucky wondered if Steve had any idea of how much power his opinion yielded. "You always do your best." A smile of his alone, and Bucky felt more approved than any superior's highest praise. "I—" he hut himself short, but Bucky knew what he swallowed down. I just wish I could help. "I'm happy for ya."

Always so good, "thank you, Steve." Not a day would go by when Bucky would let it pass the opportunity to thank god for gifting him with Steven Gran Rogers. "Now—" he looked up, seeing your building approach. "You sure she has no idea I'm here?"

Another roll of eyes—Steve could one day get cursed with the sight of his brain forever. "I'm starting to think you're spending too much time with your comrades. You forgot already who's had your six since forever?"

"Awn, Stevie—don't be jealous of my smelly, grumpy men. You'll always be my number one."

"You're ridiculous. Of course she doesn't know. Lady thinks you'll be here on the 4pm train, just like we talked about. She's probably still sleepin' 'cause of her late-night shift."

"Another one?!"

A scoff. "You try to tell Lady what to do and see how it goes. I already know my place of speakin', and it ain't that one."

"God, how on earth did I end up with the two more stubborn people to ever walk this goddamn planet? No, really—"

"Oh, because you're a beacon of flexibility."

"—you two are made from a single mold, and whoever used it on you first, and then her, saw their mistake two heartbeats too late, then broke the damn mold 'cause they knew if they made more, it'd mean world domination."

There's a single second of pause, and then Bucky turns to the amused gaze staring at him. Steve with a hand on his hip and a smirk on his face will always look the same. "You've gotten more dramatic. That's a fuckin' wonder." He turns around laughing to himself and shaking his head. "Go say 'morning' to her. I'm gonna go get tomato sauce, we ran out of it yesterday."

The implication that Steve's been hanging around more registers in all the happy places of Bucky's brain, but everything's washed away by the flood that it's the sight of it—

your window.

Bucky's entire world does the thing: it tunnels.

The same rounded, small rocks that he used on the first date still litter Mrs. Simyl's vase. He picks one, weights it in his hand, and with a heart-thumping loud in his chest, he throws it to your window.

A peck.

KNOCK

Bucky waits: one, two, three heartbeats.

He swallows the lump that rises in his throat.

The sun already rose, but it comes up again.

At least, for him.

When your head pops out in the window, Bucky swears it does.

Like a sniper's barrel, your eyes know exactly where it goes on instinct. They find him underneath your window pulled by the gravity that—with a quick check on his hummingbird of a heart, it's confirmed—still there.

North, meet South.

"Jay?"

"Hi, sweetheart."

Your face disappears, taking everything with you. The light, the warmth, the strenght in the gravitational hold of your beautiful eyes and gaze—as soon as they disappear, Bucky's spell is broken, and his feet gain life.

He knows you're rushing to your door the same way he rushes up the stairs.

He's glad the uniform stayed in his suitcase, safely tucked in his and Steve's apartment. He'd sweat from all the heat he's emmanating, and probably drench you in an ocean before he could get a single kiss.

Bucky's pulled by his North, and when he sees the familiar sight of your door, it's already swinging open.

"Oh, god." There's a breach in time. A break in the fabric of space. One moment, he's a few steps away from you, and the next thing he sees and knows, he has an arm full of you.

"Bucky."

That's him. James, Bucky, Buck, Jay. From all of his names, now's the only time when all of his cells feel slotted into place. Bucky's heard every one of his names, all the ones that matter, and now he is whole.

His voice evades him.

Inside his arms, he's aware that you're shaking, even if the notion takes a moment to register—as it should. He's shaking, too; vibrating, is more like it, because he's here, and now that he can breathe, his body seems incapable of doing so.

He inhales deeply, even if it's all trembling.

Your smell is different from any other. Bucky would recognize in a crowd of millions. He'd find it blindfolded, he was certain of it.

If they made him forget his name, Bucky would be Nobody, but even as Nobody, he would know that this is the scent of his person.

Citrine. Mint leaves. With a deeper inhale, he catches the underlying tone—vanilla. The purest and sweetest form, used in the lotion you put all over your body after showering sometimes, mixed with the unique and personal scent of just you. Vanilla has a taste on you. It's sweet, but not sticky.

It's summer.

Bucky is in love.

When the pull that holds you together seems to loosen its threads, you and Bucky pull back at the same time.

Not too far—neither one is able to go further than millimeters for now, and in the back of his mind, he's thankful that Steve gave the two of you the time you needed.

Just like he and Steve clung to each other like a lifeline for embarrassing minutes that neither one chose to talk about, you two are roped together, and going too far is impossible for now.

The only space is a breath of air separating your heads.

Bucky pulls an arm up, crowding your head inside his forearm. His palm spreads on the top of your head, holding you there.

His eyes find yours, swimming and spilling over.

Your lips tremble when you speak. "You told me you were getting here later," he feels your hand making fists out of his white shirt, resting on the curve of his lower back. After a sniffle, you add, "'m gonna kill you and Blondie," and then, you nuzzle your nose on his.

He laughs. Bucky truly is home. "He was just followin' my orders, lil' witch. No killing, please."

"You two planned behind my back," you go on, sounding small and choked still. His crybaby that never cried before.

Bucky's arm cage around your head got a little tighter, and his arm around your waist pulled you impossibly closer. "Don't cry," he pleaded in a whisper. "It was to surprise ya."

He thinks you're beautiful even with wet, rosy cheeks. "I'm surprised," your laugh came out choked, and you sniffled again. Bucky accepted the tears despite how much his hand itched to wipe them away, and clean your cheeks. Lower, and softer, so much softer than he was used to hearing any voice, you say, "You're actually here..."

The awe in your voice is a sentiment he can understand. "I am."

"I'm not dreaming."

His forehead stays touching yours as he shakes his head, and while it's an uncomfortable angle, but he likes it for now. "No. Seems neither am I." It's the closeness his heart aches for, and achieving it soothes the wrinkles in his soul.

You, on the other hand, seem to need a better angle—your head pulls back against his head, gaining a couple more inches of distance, and his body moves along with yours.

When you're far enough to look at his whole face, Bucky's breath is sucked out of his body.

He's here.

"I missed you, Jay."

And so are you.

Bucky smiles and dives.

Your eyes are closed, lips waiting for his.

If angels sing, this is it. Angels, a choir, or maybe just the white noise of his head subduing, opening up space for this—your lips on his are a single drop falling in a pond, creating ripples until the surface is a still mirror.

Neither one of you moves too much. There isn't back and forth, or any deepening of the kiss. On the contrary.

It is what it is.

A sweet sound of hello. A press of lips, two pieces meeting together, fitting in as one.

When the air he stored runs out and Bucky gasps in your lips, he hears your pleased hum.

You smile, breathing in through your nose. "'m so happy," you inform him.

Bucky laughs. He breathes out, and kisses you again, but messier this time. Rougher. He wants to taste your tongue, wants your oxygen in his veins. He nibbles, bites, sucks on your lips; Bucky finally gets his tongue intertwining with yours, walks you back inside your place, and closes the door with his foot even if somewhere in the back of his mind, he's aware that Steve will come passing by any minute now.

The kiss is enough for now.

A single taste—a sip of a galleon he'll drink whole later tonight, bathe himself, drown in; Bucky pulls back and is pleased to note how pink you look and the puffiness in your lips.

You two exist in silence for a moment, just breathing each other in, and then,

"You ready for a day with Stevie and I?" he asks.

Your smile is enough of an answer. "Where's Blondie?"

"Probably comin' right up."

"'Kay. Cool." You press your lips on his again, melting and humming softly; all the little sounds he's missed. The hums, and ahs you make when melting in his arms that he's taking back to the base with him. "'m gonna change."

"Cool. Let's go."

Your laughter as well—he's pocketing that, and keeping it close to his heart. "That wasn't an invite."

"Was it not? Damn, I could've sworn it was, miss. My bad."

"D'you think I can get any 'changing' done with you in the room?"

Although the question is asked amidst laughter, you seem okay with Bucky glued on your back and stepping where you do, channeling his inner cat. "I have no clue. We'll figure it out."

"And if Steve arrives?"

A cackle from him—you're the witch, but Bucky laughs like one at that joke. "I'm sure your new best friend can find himself just fine in your house. Wasn't he here last night?"

"How d'you know that?"

"He said you two ran out of tomato sauce. He went to get some to cook lunch for us."

"You mean for you to cook lunch for us. We're just sittin' there lookin' pretty and talking your ear off."

"Sweetheart, that sounds marvelous to me."

True as he said to his mother, there is no third-wheeling or chaperoning.

In the same kitchen as his two favorite people, Bucky has one of the loveliest afternoons of his entire life. In fact, his Saturday is so good that Bucky marks the date in the calendar in his mind — the 24th of July — as some special daybreak.

He fits right in. Between the jokes that you and Steve now share and he has no idea what the roots of them are, next to your attentive, hawk-like eyes that never seem to leave him, snuggled by the much smaller frame of a friend who still looks up to him as someone good.

It's a pity that Bucky has no superpowers.

He would fit an entire month right there, in the afternoon reserved for the three of you.

By the time the sun is setting down and you three feel the need to clean up for the exhibition, the trio has already covered every base:

The military. Family. Neighbors (both the annoying as well as the good ones). Steve's stubbornness, and then yours. England. Bucky's squadron, with the specifics of each man he claimed to like.

Bucky laughed. He sobered up—those coal, slimy tentacles of war tried sneaking their way to the front.

Impossible to be done with you and Steve present.

When Bucky comments about separating — 'Steve and I can go to the apartment to get ready then come pick you up, whatcha say?' — he gets the same attitude from both.

"Why would I go stay alone at my place?" you ask.

Steve nods along. "Just wait here 'till she picks up her overnight bag and she'll come with us."

"Yeah. Steve never takes longer than ten minutes to get ready, anyway."

"True. I say Lady and I will be ready before you are," Steve adds with a knowing smile.

You laugh with him. "Oh—that's for sure."

"Hey!" Bucky loves to see you two teaming up. It's the kind of thing he'd like to see forever if he has any say in it. "I don't take that long."

To that, he hears many arguments.

"Oh my god, who is he talking to?" you ask, turning your gaze to Steve.

"I don't know. He's actin' like we don't know him," Steve snorts.

"It's crazy. Did he forget the times we had to wait for him?"

"Many times."

You glance back at Bucky, all smiles and daring. "You think you can hurry up tonight, princess?"

It does something to him. He hates that it does—and he sees and hears it in Steve's laugh that it's obvious, too, that the stupid teasing nickname pulls a string or two of his, and he huffs away from you both. "Ungrateful duo of firecrackers, I swear to god."

"Oh, c'mon!" it's you, rushing to catch up to him, laughing the same as Steve.

"Yeah, c'mon—"

"Don't you dare, Steven," he cuts him off before he can use it too, and it gets only more laughter.

"You didn't answer her question, you know," Steve comments when he catches up to Bucky and you.

He rolls his eyes. "I'll speed up. 's not like I have to look my best—not when you two aren't doing anythin' to deserve it."

"Damn, Jay. Not even a little bit of cologne for me?" you pout.

The gall. The audacity. He huffs and puffs, and turns his eyes away from you. "I'll think about it." He's a joke. Bucky's going to spend at least triple the time in the bathroom, but it's okay, because he'll come out to you and Steve waiting for him.

"Welcome to the Modern Marvels Pavilion and the World of Tomorrow!"

In his uniform, Bucky feels oddly in place.

He's pulled by the sleeves by either you, or Steve. "C'mon, c'mon, Buck, it's starting!" you squeal.

Willing and pliant, that's his role for the whole night. With a smile plastered on his face, and a giddiness he hasn't felt since he was a kid. Not that he was ever this happy in his childhood—this is a new, shinier form of happiness.

It happens because he's in the right place. With the right people.

Also, he paid very close attention to your eyes when he left the bathroom an hour ago.

When Bucky saw that glint, a very familiar one to him, his body responded. He felt your gaze on him. On his uniform. The tension that for a second became almost like humidity in the air, it hung for a few seconds, and it made Steve go to the kitchen with yet another roll of his eyes.

"I'm... gonna go drink a glass of water. You two—yikes. Be quick. The eye fucking is gross."

"Such a gentleman, Steve," you joked, but the lack of eye contact with him kind of ruined it for you.

Bucky approached you, walking in slow and deliberate steps. He allowed you to look at every inch. Feeling it was good, too—your eyes ranking up and down his body was almost a physical touch, and it made the soft spreading of your palm on his chest warmer.

"You look..." the words left you, leaving your lips parted and pink. "Very nice."

Not often did Bucky feel bashful. "Thanks, sweetheart." A rare gem such as this needed to be polished, even if it was perfect in its raw form. Bucky leaned in closer, barely containing his smile, and with his mouth nearing your ears, he whispered. "I have a feeling it's not my hair and my perfume that you like."

The intake of your breath was loud from this proximity. "Jay..."

That whisper alone was enough for him. He whispered your name back and kissed your temple with a smile. "Save all of those thoughts for later, 'kay? All of 'em. I wanna hear everything that's goin' around on that pretty head of yours."

Breathless, you whispered, "'kay'," and then nuzzled your face against his neck before pulling away. The flush was high on your cheeks. Redder than before, and due to more than just makeup. "You really do look handsome," that whisper made his insides tangle, and he enjoyed it.

"'m glad you think so."

That part was only forgotten when he saw the automobiles.

Even if Steve hid it better than you and Bucky, the reality hit you three all the same. Three nerds in a science fairy served for more than entertainment; it meant a night to be remembered.

Bucky gets lost in hours of conversation.

You three see everything. Even the dance floor is forsaken in the name of reading about stuff, theorizing about what is left out of the exposition, and laughing with each other as the ideas that bounce between you three get wilder each time.

It's almost midnight when you three make your way to the apartment.

Bucky is in a tipsy state. Steve—well, his tolerance is not the best, and mixing sugar with alcohol is a bad idea. It's all good though, because you hate the taste of it, and walking between the two of them like a beacon of balance and normalcy is a thing you did before.

Steve's hand hooks through your shoulder, into Bucky's nape.

He talks about the war. The human condition—Mrs. Georgia, from downstairs.

"She's been cryin' every night or two. It's—sad. Loud. God, I'm so glad I'm gonna black out tonight."

Bucky ends up taking off Steve's shoes while you tuck his sleeping body into bed.

He looks up at you, and sees the strand of your hairstyle escaping the pins, framing your face into something more suited for the faint yellow lights of late-night times and the Moonlight outside. "At least he waited 'till he was home," Bucky reasons.

You smile at him. "At least he didn't puke."

"Touché."

Once Steve Rogers is safe and sound, you turn your body to Bucky, both hands placed on your hips.

Here it comes, thinks Bucky...

"Safe and sound."

He smiles. "That he is." Bucky knew he'd be. It wasn't his first time hearing this.

He extends one hand in the air and is delighted when you catch it.

"Let's go?"

It's barely a whisper.

You nod at him, fitting your body under one of his arms as you walk out of the room. In the quiet magnitude of this hour into the night, you whisper, "I should've let you buy me cotton candy."

Bucky closes the door of the room holding back his laughter. "I'll make you scrambled eggs when we get to the hotel."

"Will you?"

"I will."

"I don't know if I trust your tipsy self to a stove."

Bucky groaned, pulling you even closer to him to bury his nose into your hair. "I'll be a hundred percent by the time we make it there."

The conversation goes on in hushed whispers as you two walk, ignoring all the other rare figures you see walking in the streets too, not on purpose—on the fact that it's a new world, already.

As soon as the apartment door was locked behind him, Bucky's world shifted in its axis; everything becomes you.

He's barely aware of what he's answering.

The only thing he knows it's that you're teasing him—he pays attention to the blush he sees forming on your cheeks once you feel his gaze so locked on your lips. He laughs under his breath when you stutter, and then laughs harder when you poke him in the ribs for laughing in the first place.

He feels how warm you are despite how chill the night has become.

Inside his jacket—his uniform, you've found heat.

The hotel room he located for the night is not far from your house itself, and it's one of the most decent ones still inside his budget. Rooms that are nice and clean, plus a decent breakfast.

It was far from what you deserved, but Bucky had years of work ahead of him before he was able to afford that.

When he enters, you take a little spin around.

Bucky puts both yours and his duffel bags on the floor.

He lets you walk around, and take your heels off, his eyes following you.

When they finally land on him, Bucky can almost see the air that stands between you.

Your voice is as low as a whisper. He hears it loud and clear in the deep quiet of the night. "You're not gonna cook for me, are you?"

He's kicking his shoes off as he shakes his head.

Bucky's eyes are so attentive, that he catches the shivers that run through you.

"Tomorrow," he promises.

Your fingers graze the long sleeve of the dress until it hooks on the shoulder pad, but Bucky hums negatively.

The movement stops.

He takes his steps until he's an inch away from you, and breathes in deeply.

"'m pretty sure that's my job."

It was. One of the best parts of it, now that Bucky paid close attention to it. His hands removed the fabric from your skin, exposing it to the light entering the room through the window, and in those moments, Bucky managed to fit in hours.

Every inch of you being exposed to him, it was like he painted it somewhere in his mind, guarding that canvas in a special slide of his subconscious.

When all your clothes were on the floor, he continued his ministrations of sewing all your measurements to memory.

Bucky's hands — palm spread flat, his fingertips, his knuckles — made work of you, while you removed his clothes in return.

Once naked, he could pass on to the next stage:

"Wanna remember how you taste, sweetheart."

The shaky gasp you let out when his words met your ear was too fast for him to catch, but everything else that followed fell into Bucky's lips.

They were wide, hand-made nets, built only for one purpose: to fish every part of you that was delectable.

Bucky started with close-mouthed kisses and ended up almost devouring you. Swallowing you whole.

There were hours between that first and last stage, though.

At first, everything was slow.

Bucky had been so preoccupied back at the base with whether the first time you two fucked would be the same as the ones from before or not, that he missed the entire point.

It had always been great. The connection between you two always started with more than just physical, and when it got to that point, you two were already lost in each other.

This was immersion.

Hearing your tender, then groaned, and later broken moans of "Jay" counted as his sea.

Your eager touches were current, guiding him in.

This was far from fucking. There was nothing crude about the first time—there was only love.

Bucky never made love before, but he understood why not when your body unfolded in front of him. When your legs open wide and everything blossoms, Bucky has full comprehension of what a feeling can do to two people.

Not just any feeling. This.

Bucky's a drunk man.

It's only his grace that you're as far gone as him. As Dionysus blessed—when Bucky's fingers intertwine with yours to replace your fisted hands in the sheets with his own instead, Bucky's gaze catches yours.

He sees the warm and inviting openness of black in your eyes.

Bucky kisses and leaves his feeling all over his path.

As overwhelming as it is, making love is also beautiful. This type of surrender required a level of trust and blinded faith that he's not sure he even had before, but he finds it right there, in bed with you.

The first time is slow.

Both of you taking your time to marvel at how in sync you are—to marvel at how wet one makes the other, and how unashamed both of you feel in touching each and every part.

He's never had anyone touching him the way you do. Bucky gets your lips leaving prints from his face, his chest, arms, and legs, all the way to the curve above his ass.

As he opens you up with his fingers, Bucky keeps watching all the emotions passing through your face.

The first time you make love, in gentle, long, and agonizing steps.

When he pushes inside at last, he can almost swear he hears violins.

Or maybe it's your nails digging at his back—your pained, blissed whines. "Jay."

He's whining, too—your name spills from his lips as much as air does, and you two move not to reach an end, but to feel what is connecting you at that exact time.

When the words leave his lips, Bucky can see them traveling in the air before being sucked in by yours. "I love you, sweetheart."

Out of his lips, into thick, warm air, and falling...

You gasp, closing your eyes for a moment, and Bucky tastes your tears when he's gifted back with, "I love you too, James." It makes him smile, shaking from head to toe like a leaf. "I truly do."

"I know. I feel it."

"It w-was never like—like this. Never before."

An understatement, if he ever heard one. Bucky could feel your heartbeat as if it was his own; it was more than just his cock buried to the hilt inside of your warm cunt, feeling every construction and high of your pleasure, or the vibrations of your moans and the pleas for his name that seemed to reverberate all through his being—

"This—" he bucked his hips harder, just to feel the waves of pleasure cursing through you, and laughed with his lips ghosting your mouth. "This is—oh—it's making love, sweetheart."

"Jay!"

Bucky was unsure of how long it lasted.

Could've been hours, or just a few, blissful minutes.

From the thick layer of sweat that covered your bodies by the time you both came undone, his guess tips more towards the first.

It's almost like seeing a visible thread being cut—when the orgasms hit your bodies, one right after the other, Bucky collapses his back in the bed, carrying your body along with him.

That's where you two stay, for a few moments longer.

"Were we whispering?" you ask.

He likes when your lips are on his skin. They're warm, and he has their shape memorized now. "I think we were." If he was a better artist, he'd draw them. "D'you want me to cook for you now?" he asks with a chuckle.

You tilt your head up, take a second to think it over, then answer with a simple smile.

So Bucky cooks.

He slaps your hand when you try putting on his white t-shirt laying on the ground, commenting, "No need for that at all, c'mon'," and watches with the same pleased and hungry eyes as you stay leaning on the wall as he uses the small stove for a quick meal.

After that, there are other times.

There's the desperate round, and there's the fucking, and the unexpected, and the lazy, 'we're too tired to move but still horny enough for this' moment where he just lays in bed with his hands between your legs, touching your pussy even if he's not actively doing anything.

Bucky washes you with careful hands and a lot of tenderness in the shower, running the cloth and the soap through your marked, sensitive skin as slowly as his sleepiness allows.

"We're gonna have a good day today," you tell him.

Given the whispering tone and slurred words, Bucky assumes you're almost sleeping, too. "Yup. All day to ourselves. Dinner with Steve. Come back here to sleep well."

"I love you, James."

Bucky would never get tired of hearing those words in your voice. He pulls your body close, kissing even if he'll taste soap and warm water. "I love you more." He whispers your name, kisses you again, and turns off the shower head before cold water sprays on his perfect day.

Nothing about today is cold.

Bucky's warm. While you may carry the elegance and magic of the Moon, you're his Sun.

His North, and his Sun, which would always guide him home, for hot and perfect days like this that remind him of why it's good to be alive and to feel all of this love.

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venusfalling · 1 year

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Masterlist

Dick Grayson x Reader

In the Early Morning Universe

That Good*

Complications

Steve Rogers x Reader

Through Me Universe

An Antique

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Where You Go, I Go Universe

Part 1: There You Are

Part 2: Off to Germany Without So Much as a Fucking Goodbye

Part 3.1: Breaking Someone Out of A German Prison is A Lot Easier Than it Should Be

Part 3.2: Madripoor

Part 3.3: I’m Sorry If I Scared You

Part 3.4: Escape From Madripoor (coming soon)

Little Soldiers in the Trenches

Prologue

#dick grayson x reader #bucky barnes x reader #tfatws!bucky barnes x reader #1940s!bucky barnes x reader

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buckyysdoll · 9 months

Text

— 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 —

જ⁀➴ 18+ MDNI — • summary: even bucky’s parents in the bedroom next door won’t stop him from getting you off; • cw: smut, no direct p in v but it’s referenced at the end, hand riding through clothes, implied hj/bj; • pairing: 40s! bucky x f! reader

MAIN MASTERLIST

Your moan was abruptly cut off with a hand at your mouth, so it came out as muffled. Even still, though, there was nothing that could silence your desperate sounds.

Not even Bucky.

Especially not even Bucky considering it was his fingers that were inside you.

“Shh doll, you gotta keep quiet.” There was something like pride in that sly little laugh. Pride for how you were a mess on his hand while his parents slept soundly next door.

Next door — as in the very next room with only one wall between you, and thin. Any second now they could open that door, and in truth the thrill just made it even better.

“You don’t want anyone to hear us, now do you?” Bucky’s smile was clear in his voice. And beyond that was something much deeper, much softer. It was a whisper smooth as velvet in the dark.

There was a challenge, too, in the words, and you would’ve swatted at him had you had your coherence. But as it was you couldn’t think beyond the sweet ache between your legs, and your steadily rising need that only Bucky could help relieve.

He wasn’t even touching your skin, for God’s sake, but working you up through your panties; you sat with your thighs parted on him, against him, straddling his waist with his hand up your skirt.

For all that you cried out, though, it may as well have been his cock; may as well have been both of you stripped fully bare, and not only heavy petting through clothes.

“Please,” was all you could say, and you fought to keep your eyes on his own. With your hands braced on his shoulders like this, every curl of his fingers had your own on him tightening, clutching at your boyfriend as he touched you through the fabric and your wetness soaked through to his hand.

It didn’t escape his notice and dear God, you could see he was hard — but as he had said, this was your time now, and he wouldn’t stop until you were coming.

Until he could raise his hand to his lips and taste what you’d done for him, given.

And by God, if there was one thing at all you didn’t want — it was for that boy to even think of stopping.

You wanted — needed — to come, felt like you couldn’t breathe as Bucky’s touch took you higher. He removed the hand from your mouth when convinced you wouldn’t expose yourselves with a cry, and instead held you by the hip to guide your soft, undulating movements.

But as you ground against him, so wet and aching, your urgency grew; enough to make him feral at the sight of you like this, so plain and obvious in the tent of his trousers.

And yet still, he made no move to help it. Instead he just watched and watched —

And spoke.

“What would they think if they knew what you were letting me do to you, hm? You know they think you’re so sweet and pure, but I personally need some convincing.”

It was just like Bucky to choose the absolute worst time at all for the tease, his movements building and coiling the threat of release up inside you, but then slowing with speech.

You bucked your hips into his hand with your own clutching steady to his biceps and whined. “Bucky,” you got out with your face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing him in with the feel of his fingers inside you almost being too much.

You were gonna come soon, and you knew it — so did he. It was both too much and not enough.

Not even nearly enough.

The words cut through you like a death knell and all the room around you was a barely-there haze. There wasn’t the window, or the curtains you’d drawn; not the radio so quiet on the table by the bed.

Indeed, even that beneath both of your bodies seemed redundant when compared to his touch, and so there was him, just him, and how close you were; your thighs soaked, his fingers more so, with arousal.

And so indeed no, it damn well wasn’t enough. You needed more of him, all of him, all you could have —

You needed to do something, anything, to ease the sure ache between your parted legs.

And so that was when you started to kiss him, starting firstly at his jaw, smooth and recently shaved. You tracked it down to the curve of his neck and left a little trail to his ear; a series of open-mouthed kisses that had Bucky cursing under uneven breaths.

Thinking, Oh now how the tables had turned, you claimed him in the only way you could.

All the while you carried on rocking your hips, building pace as you chased your own high; and by the time you’d kissed at his temple, working down to the corner of his mouth — he was gone.

You didn’t even know where you were but Bucky’s mouth parted against your own lips, his tongue an eager thrust as he sought out your own until you were just hands and fire and teeth.

With each roll of your hips, your blouse revealed itself as much too thin. You were rocking against Bucky’s chest and the friction was too much, it felt too good; your nipples peaked hard against goose flesh as shivers overtook you, still brushing up on him —

And his taste, dear god, his taste —

He would take you right now, right here in this bed if he could, and you’d let him, but now —

His fingers curled deeper until the telltale signs of your legs softly shaking began.

You hadn’t gone further than this, not yet, hadn’t ventured beyond underwear. And as you thought it, you couldn’t help imagining how it would be —

Skin on skin, panting breaths. The weight of Bucky’s body on you, between your legs, inside you —

The tremors in your legs — now much more violent, urgent, desperate — ran straight to your bones, and your sex clenched empty around the lack of more of him inside you.

Release threatened to spill, and spill hard, as you clutched and just rode him, moaning softly, breaths hitching —

As all the while your Bucky kissed and loved you.

Worshipped his girl.

For now it was his turn to trail wet kisses down the length of your neck, and you held fast to his hair — drove your fingers into the mass of dark silk and cried out.

You couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe beyond him, and it very nearly hurt to feel this good and sore. It felt if the whole damn world was in you.

And he was it.

And knowing he marked you with his mouth even as you came hard on his hand, you clutched tight to him and tighter even still, nails scrabbling for purchase as the precipice came near.

Came near as you free fell right down from it with a cry, with a plea. You barely heard the soft muttered praises he said as you shuddered apart from atop him.

“Bucky, Bucky,” was the mantra on your breath, but it was what you said next that undid him. Until now, he’d fought fucking hard to keep his painful erection in the background of his mind, counting up numbers with his focus on you, every part he could reach, just to keep it at bay.

Now though, your aching desperation was his saving grace. It was his own confession.

And so the groan he let out was obscene when you cried out, “James, please, I need you.”

And of course, you needn’t have to say the words twice. He was right there with you every single time.

Bucky guided you through each convulsion and urged you to take all he could give, to take anything he could offer you now, no longer caring how loud you were or became.

He didn’t care for anything beyond you, in this moment. Anything but you looking like this:

On him with your cheeks flushed, mouth in a silent, open ‘O’. You gone weak against his front, bloused chest to his own, still now from the friction of before. Foreheads together and hearts pounding fast, he held you through the slight aftershocks.

Your hair was damp at your temples, curling slightly, and your skin was slick with sweat. Even his was hot and held that familiar post-release sheen you so loved.

And though you hadn’t even touched him anywhere below the belt, you saw his eyes blown wide with arousal as he raised those two fingers to his mouth, and then sucked.

You might’ve come again right there and then, just seeing that. Would’ve were it not for the fact you wanted to pleasure him now, in return.

The hard-on so apparent in his trousers would no longer be ignored for the sake of your need.

And so you didn’t take your eyes of Bucky as you let him brush your hair back from your face, allowed him to press one last kiss to your mouth and murmur softly, “That’s it, doll. That’s it.”

But the answer you gave was spoken in just subtle movements as you shifted position, edging backwards down the bed on your hands and knees until you came to where you wished to be most. You didn’t even bother to pull your skirt back down to pool at your ankles; you felt no need to fix the buttons of your blouse that had since come undone.

You just met his gaze from where he rested at the headboard while you lowered your head to his lap.

The look in his eyes was unhinged, and just one glance at his face spelt sex. He hadn’t even gotten inside you, not yet, and still his cheeks were flushed, eyes blown wide.

It was so plain what you’d been doing with his lips full and glistening, wet; swollen red. But if anyone had walked in that room right then, no love nor money would’ve made any difference.

And as you lightly tugged on a button of his pants — a request, to which he eagerly nodded — you resolved to make him feel as good as you had in the place he’d just made in his arms.

Resolved it as you bared him from his trousers to the boxers beneath, already worshipping the sight that met you and the sense that it would be a much longer night than you’d both planned.

✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪

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winterarmyy · 9 months

Text

Promise Me | Part II

When he was sent out for war, Bucky made a promise to his lover that might just last through several lifetimes.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 5.2k++

Pairing: 40s!bucky / eventually tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: little angst, melancholy but fluffy stuff, we have bucky's pov in this one, lovers who missed each other very much, emotional reunion, probably bad writing of fighting scenes (sorry guys), mentions of suicide, mentions of sexy times, death of main character (y/n' s past life), another attempt to follow mcu timeline, otherwise, nothing that's too heavy/sensitive for anyone to read.

P/S: Thanks so much for the feedbacks in previous chapters! Here's the new update, guys! I hope you enjoy your reading!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Brooklyn, 2024 – Glimpses of the past

"So, Mr. Barnes, are you still having nightmares?" Dr. Raynor asked as she leaned leisurely on her chair. However long it had been since the first time she met Bucky on their first therapy session, she still couldn't crack the man to talk more than he deem necessary.

Bucky sat silently on the sofa that was certainly big enough to fit three people with its size, as he stared blankly at the door behind Dr. Raynor, wanting to avoid eye contact with the woman.

"James, I asked you a question." She prompted as she crosses her legs together. "Are you still having nightmares?"

If he was being truthful, then his answer would've been yes, however he decided to test if she managed to see through him, "No." He replied with a convincing tone.

Dr. Raynor paused for a moment as she eyed his behaviour, "We’ve been doing this long enough that I can tell when you’re lying." She quirked her eyebrow as if she was non-verbally asked him to cut the crap.

"Well, you seem a little off today. Did something happen recently?"

Yes. Something did happened recently.

Sure, there was the horrid nightmare that had been haunting him in his sleep most of the nights, but lately there was something else that's been making unannounced appearance in his dreams. Something much older than his memories of the Winter Soldier.

They were glimpses of the past where he was but a man in his mid 20's living his best life with a woman he thought he was going to end up growing old with.

Bucky saw images of his younger, undamaged self tangled up in bed with that woman. His hands raking through her raven hair as he pushed the mess away from her face. And when she whined in her sleep he would let out a soft chuckle as he lovingly stroke his thumb across her cheek.

He remembered feeling the tug in his chest when the morning light touches her brown eyes as she peeled them open. He remembered the sweet smile she graced upon him as she pulled him in for an innocent kiss. He remembered the warmth of her naked skin rubbing against his own when she snuggled back into his body.

Those were always a pleasant dream to have during his sleepless nights. However rare it was to have them; he found himself spared in the gentle grace that she left behind from those loose pieces of memories. He realized that his broken soul yearns for her peace more than his will longs for his freedom.

"No." He lied again.

"You’re a civilian now. With your history, the government needs to know that you’re not gonna…" Dr. Raynor gestured her hands as if there was an invisible knife in her grasp as she motioned a stabbing movement.

Bucky let out a silent sigh, nodding his head with a somewhat forced derpy smile as she continued to explain, "It’s a condition of your pardon. So, tell me about your most recent nightmare."

However, Bucky remained stubborn on keeping the memories of his lover to himself. He simply shook his head as he briefly looked to the side and out the window, before coming back and confessed, "I didn’t have a nightmare."

Dr. Raynor breathed deeply, letting the air out through her nose as she clicked on the mechanical pen. The pointer latched on the surface of the lined papers as she started to write down her observation.

Bucky who was sitting on the opposite side only scoffed in respond to her petty attempt of threat, "Oh, come on. Really?" He taunted, "You’re gonna do the notebook thing?" Rolling his eyes in annoyance as he commented his thoughts outspokenly, "Why? It’s passive aggressive."

"You don’t talk. I write." The therapist replied with a short comeback.

Bucky glared intensely at her before letting out a sigh, "Okay. Okay."

His flesh fingers started to fiddle with his metal ones, a habit which he noticed he recently picked up after getting used to the high-tech vibranium arm.

"It wasn't a nightmare. It's just..." Bucky didn't know how to put it in words other than, "...a good dream."

It was in the peak of witching hours, when Y/N stood in the middle of the tiny kitchen section of her lover's humble apartment. The quiet of the night sometimes interrupted by the sound of the droplets trickling from the faucet.

There was a luminating light of the full moon that leaks through the open window, granting enough of a vision to see the layout of the kitchen. The stillness of the air made Y/N wonder if this is what she would need to go through soon.

Just an empty atmosphere without the presence of her lover.

And there she goes again, wondering in the seemingly endless darkness, thinking of the worst things that could possibly happen.

She had been staring unblinkingly at the counter top for who knows how long since she was woken up from her slumber.

Y/N couldn't go back sleep even if she needed to. Not when tomorrow is the day that she dreaded the most. The day Bucky was going on his first call, to be sent away to England first thing morning.

"Missed you in bed, yknow?" The huskiness of Bucky's voice broke her from the gloomy thoughts.

Y/N turned around to first see the bare shape of her lover's body, lean and slightly muscular, then trailed up to his sleepy grin, barely opened eyes and the mess of his bed hair sticking out all over the place.

She had to admit, partially, it was her fault for constantly pulling on them when he went down on her. But it was also important to note that it was entirely his fault for being so damn good at it.

Bucky's humming was hoarse when he walked towards her, "What are you doing up, doll?" While Y/N watched his naked figure moved closer.

Bucky Barnes is a beautiful man.

She knew that even before they started dating but it is a wonder that his beauty still to manage to catch her off guard sometimes.

The moment he engulfed her into his arms, she whispered onto his skin, "Can't sleep." She kept it short and ambiguous but that only became the biggest giveaway to Bucky.

Bucky effortlessly lifted her up on the counter as he settled comfortably in between her legs. His hands trailed along the side of her thighs, casually lifting up the thin material of her night gown before going under it to gently fondle with the flesh of her hips.

He leaned upwards, placing the softest kiss on her lips as he murmured, "Everything's going to be alright, y/n." He kissed her again for a good measure, "I'll be home to you before you know it."

Y/N wrapped arms around his neck, pulling him closer until their forehead touches each other's, "You must write me, always." She spoke quietly; as if it was a secret she wanted to keep from the world.

"You must tell me everything, James. Don't hide anything from me; every blood, sweat and tears. I want to know all of it." Her eyes pleaded desperately, "You must be safe." Their lips hovered over each others; so close, barely even touching, "And come home."

The blue of his eyes were glazed with so much love and adoration as he whispered, "I promise, doll. I'm not going to die before I meet you at the end of the isle."

Somehow, Bucky always knew what to say to make her crack a smile, "I love you, James. Too much for my own good." She pulled him as she kissed his soft lips, "I love you too, y/n. More than anything." He grabbed her by the head, latching his mouth on hers as if it was their last kiss.

Before she knew it, Bucky swiftly pulled her off from the counter and grabbed her onto his shoulder, causing her to yelp in surprise. "Oh my god, Bucky! Put me down right now!" The brunette simply laugh as she shriek his name, "James!"

"James!" Dr. Raynor managed to pull Bucky out of his thoughts. "You're clearly out of it today." She remarked before continuing, "And so, this woman in your dreams... Is she someone you knew back in the 40's?"

Bucky replied, "Most probably." He hesitated as he thought thoroughly, "Or it could just be a made up character that only exists in my dreams."

"Does she perhaps, have a name?" Dr. Raynor asked, in which he simply answered, "She does."

There was brief silence of unbroken eye-contact between them, before Bucky realized that the therapist was silently enquiring her name.

Bucky straightened his position in his seat as blatantly stated, "I'm not telling you her name." That was where he drew the line. Therapist or not; she didn't need to know his lover's identity.

Dr. Raynor hanged her hands up as a sign of defeat, "Okay, okay. That's fair." That was when the timer on her phone went off, "Oh, time's up." She reached for her phone and slide across the screen.

She quickly stood on her feet as soon as Bucky did on his own, "That would be all for this session. Thank you for coming in today, Mr. Barnes."

He had to let out a sarcastic chuckle when he said, "It's not that I want to anyway. It's mandatory." He walked towards the door but before he could turn the knob, Dr. Raynor spoke.

"Outside of this 'mandatory' session, I'd say my advice to you as a friend, is to maybe find her. Or her family." She suggested, "And if you're lucky..." She briefly paused, "...maybe she's still alive somewhere."

Bucky remained static for a moment before he spoke, "Thanks, Doc." He didn't look back to face her at all, before walking out the room feeling much more burdened than he did entering it.

Dr. Raynor's advice soon turned out to be a constant dilemma to him more than he anticipated.

Virginia, 1991 – The man she once loved

Y/N panicked. She didn't think the appearance of that metal-armed man will trigger a deep-rooted memories she was desperately trying to forget; spiralling her back into old chapters of her previous life.

It was the year of 1991 and Y/N was in her 6th life. She was a black widow that went rogue after managed on escaping the Red Room program about a few years prior. She was drunk on hatred and vengeance that she almost recklessly killed half of the people in her facility on the day she escaped.

It's not to say that she came out uncut, it was quite the opposite really. Y/N had left the grounds with multiple holes on her body and a deep wound her face; a cut from the inner edge of her right brow all the way across her left cheek.

And that left her with a very prominent and unforgettable scar. Though she couldn't care less about it, especially when she knew Hydra was out there still thriving under another intellegence organization like some kind of parasite.

After she heard the news that Howard Stark has successfully replicate the super soldier serum, she is now somewhere in Virginia, trying to hijack the products before it falls in the hands of the Pentagon or worst, Hydra.

Unfortunately for her, the worst thing that could happen, happened.

Someone from Hydra managed to get their hands on them before she could, leaving the corpses of Howard Stark and his wife in the broken down car, posing it as a road accident.

The bodies was still warm and she knew the culprit won't be far from the crime scene, so she rode on forward until managed to catch up with him. She never intended to confront him head on. She was planning to follow him to the meeting point where they will transfer the products to another Hydra agent, like they always do.

But he certainly didn't care about her plan when he changed his route to a different location. She didn't even realized that her incognito was useless when he nearly shot her in the head.

Now, with her cover blown, it was just him and her alone at the gate of an abandoned building. "Well, shit." Y/N cursed.

She could feel the heavy tension from the atmosphere. Silence from the wordless man were screaming louder than her pumping heartbeat.

There were only two of those run-down street lamp that helped to brigthen up the battlefield. But even with the dying light, Y/N could see the silver of left arms, a red star on the upper side, black mask covering lower half of his face and a messy black shadow all over his eyes.

She knew who he was; though most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists. The ones that do call him the Winter Soldier. Hydra's most prized asset from the Winter Soldier program that Y/N had been trying to track for months.

Maybe it was a careless greed, or maybe she was just tired of living. But, Y/N dared herself to fight the against super soldier. It was intense but completely one-sided as the soldier managed to counter most her punches and kicks.

There were times that she felt like he was simply playing around with her and that riled Y/N to the core. If it wasn't enough for God to toy with her life, now this weapon of Hydra is joining the fun.

She was sick of it; and it got her to be impatient. That, however, was a mistake that she shouldn't have done especially during a hand-to-hand combat with the Winter Soldier himself.

Y/N ducked down from his swinging arm as she surged her own towards him but the man could see her moves from a mile away, so he dropped his knife to his other hand and managed to strike the blade right into where her pulsing heart resides.

All the times she had ripped her own life, it seemed that her soul was used to the pain that it took a few moments of time to register the pain.

"Ah, this is truly exhausting." She thought to herself.

She wanted it to end.

She wanted to rest. For good.

In her hazy vision, she looked up at the soldier and noticed that he had been staring blankly into her eyes; like a curious predator watching his dying prey.

She knew it was wrong, but looking closer at the shade of blue in his dead and frozen eyes, she couldn't help to find the resemblance in the man she once loved.

It was cruel to find the semblance of her lover in the eyes of her killer, but that tends to happen when a person's soul longed for someone so much that everything and anything became the reminder of them.

Streams of tears trickled down into her ears as her blood seeped through her clothes, staining the fabric and the ground under her.

Instead of hearing the sound of the soldier's footstep walking away, all she could hear was the vivid memories of Bucky's laughter, "I miss you, James."

She truly did.

She missed him so much that she wished that she can finally die this time around, praying for a chance to meet him once more.

But alas, that's not gonna happen anytime soon. Not when the God hates her now.

"I miss you so much." her voice shivered as she whispered her last breath.

Madripoor, 2024 – Long-lost lover

Easy to say, Y/N was furious that she let the memories of her past, the appearance of the winter soldier, distract her focus for her mission. She was furious that she didn't manage to get into Wilfred's lab before someone else did.

Don't get her wrong, though.

She was somewhat grateful when she found him dead, because that's means there's one less parasite that could potentially revive Hydra from the recreation of super soldier serum. But, she was pissed that she wasn't able to dig for more information about his research and the people he was affiliated with.

She knew he was recruited by the CIA before the blip but seeing that his lab is now basically a cargo, located in Madripoor, she doubt that he has anything to do with CIA now.

He's probably working with someone else in the underground scene.

Y/N sat leg-crossed on stacks of cargo, as she watched the scene from afar. The bounty hunters were ruthlessly attacking a group of criminals that attacked Shelby last night, while they were completely out-numbered.

She heard from the bar that it was considerably a high pay for the rewards especially when the targets were consists of the runaway prisoner, Zemo, Hydra's weapon, the Winter Soldier and the member of Avenger, the Falcon.

It was indeed an odd group of people but she couldn't care less about how that came to be. What caught her attention was the fact that the Falcon, who is a member of the Avenger, was affiliated with the Winter Soldier, who is an asset of Hydra.

And the fact that they were digging their feet in the underground world for the super soldier serum making the trio combination even more concerning.

She knew it was the best bet to approach the Falcon for information rather than going for the other two, so when the group split up during their fight, she quietly followed the Falcon.

He was a bit clumsy when fighting alone; or maybe it was because the hunters kept streaming in non-stop. Nonetheless, one by one, eventually the Falcon managed to take them down.

Y/N lurked at the corner, quietly observing his fighting style as he struggled with the few that was left.

"He's going to run out of ammo." She thought to herself.

And two shots later, he did.

There were two hunters left and he had no choice but to use his fists. Looking at him now, maybe he suited the hand-to-hand combat style more than gun combat. Y/N noticed his moves are more seamless than when he fight with a gun a few seconds ago.

The Falcon breathed heavily as the last hunter was tackled down. She decided that it had to be now or never, at least before the winter soldier came to the scene to regroup. When she stepped out of her camouflage, the Falcon only noticed her presence that he missed the red dot on his chest.

But, Y/N saw it, "Fuck! He can't die. Not before I get what I want." She couldn't let him go without getting information she needed from him.

In mere seconds, she jumped towards him and managed to pulled him away from the target. However, it was not far enough, that was when the bullet grazed on his side. Y/N quickly grabbed her throwing knife and land it right into the hunter's head.

The Falcon staggered backwards, meeting his back on the side of the cargo as he groaned in pain. His eyes scanned the appearance of his potential saviour; hooded figure, mask-covered face, assassin-like dressed – he realized that she matched the description of what Sharon had warned him before.

"So before we move, this might be unrelated, but I gotta warn you guys about someone." Sharon spoke as she equipped herself.

The three men looked over her as they gave their undivided attention, "While last night was hectic with the return of the Winter Soldier." She briefly looked over at Bucky, "But, there was also another person that made an appearance."

"She's known as the Deathstalker." She paused. "What I can say about her is she's a basically mystery; appeared out of thin air a few months into the blip." Sharon explained, earning a couple of nods from Sam and the signature frown from Bucky.

However, Zemo simply smiled and commented, "Ah, the pretty little Deathstalker." The mannerism of his speech was thick with Sokovian accent.

"You know her?" Sharon quirked.

Zemo smiled again, this time a little bit too smug, "We might have once crossed our path." He kept it ambiguous.

"When? You were in the prison years before the blip." Sam frowned as he questioned.

Sipping on the glass of liquor, Zemo answered, "She may or may not have 'visited' me to get some information about Hydra."

The mention of Hydra caught Bucky's attention but he kept it well hidden under his stoic expression. Noticing Sam's confusion with Zemo's insinuating answer, Bucky simply laid it out for him, "It means, she broke into the prison, Sam." he simply sighed.

Sam jutted his lips as he shrugged, "Guess you're not the only one who's insane here, Buck." He teased as he poked fun of Bucky's decision of 'breaking into the prison' to let Zemo out.

"You said, 'pretty little Deathstalker'. So you've seen her face?" Sharon asked curiously as she crossed her arms to her chest. No one had seen the assassin's face before, so she could help but to ask.

Zemo shook his head, "No. But that signature mask of hers cannot hide the beauty within." He smirked as he recalled the look in the Deathstalker's eyes; she had that obsession for vengeance. As he did when he broke the Avengers apart .

"You see, I've always had the eyes for beautiful things." He explained as if it was a natural thing to say.

Sharon knew shouldn't let herself expect too much from Zemo, especially when he had that attitude. She simply rolled her eyes and walked towards the seat next to Sam.

Bucky leaned his back into the sofa, spreading his legs apart as he asked, "Is she gonna be a problem?" An assissin that's been breaking into prison to ask Zemo about Hydra. That doesn't seem like a casual information to overlook.

Sharon shrugged as she continued, "Well, depends on your move. But, I'd advice you to never get on her bad side. People speculated that she's a rogue assassin turned bounty hunter but the thing is... she has never taken any job."

Bounty hunters get their money from jobs that's advertised all over the city. So, the Deathstalker couldn't be called a Bounty Hunter when she never take jobs before. If it were up to Sharon, the Deathstalker was much suited under the same category as Ronin, the masked vigilante who tracks down and slaughters criminals during the blip.

Sharon explained that, "She just stalks around the underground scene, and leave bodies behind for people to find."

Zemo interjected, "Hence, her name." Gaining a glare from Sharon, that translates to "Do you want to tell the story or what?"

"Right." Sam nodded as he takes in the information.

After earning a silent apology from Zemo, Sharon continued, "No one knows who she works for or what her aim is but there's rumours she's been hunting down Hydra, or anyone and anything affiliated to it."

Again, the Deathstalker's obsession with Hydra had caught Bucky's attention. A rogue assassin seemingly made it her mission to hunt down Hydra?

Bucky doesn't know what to make of that. So, he kept his questions to himself. Eitherway, if she gets in their way, he'd still need to fight against her.

"Why are you telling us this again?" Sam asked as he didn't find the connection between their mission and the Deathstalker.

Sharon replied, "It's just worth to note that she might be hunting for Wilfred Nagel too." She paused as her gaze fell into Bucky's, "...since the super soldier serum had been Hydra's obsession for centuries."

The Dealthstalker technically saved his life.

So, does that mean that she was not an enemy?

Sam was struggling between containing his pain and coming up with a plausible conclusion but Y/N's action quickly give him the answer he needed.

Within seconds, she had Sam pinned against the wall as the edge of her sharp blade dug into the skin of his neck, "What is an Avenger doing with the Asset?" Her voice sounded distorted through the voice-changing mask.

"Lady, I don't know what you're talking about!" He grunted in protest.

Sam was not used to Bucky being labeled as an "asset". Sure, he knew the name of Winter Soldier or Soldat. But, Bucky was never addressed as the Asset, at least not by the people around him.

Y/N grabbed him by the collar and harshly slammed him against the metal of the cargo behind him, causing him to curse as the pain struck on the side of his abdomen.

"Are you planning to revive Hydra?" Her menancing eyes searched into his, demanding for a truthful answer.

What kind of bullshit was she talking about?

Reviving Hydra?

Why the hell would he do that?

However, before Sam could retort to her accusation, Y/N was pulled back by an arm, wrapped around her neck from behind. She knew it was the Winter Soldier from the cold metal burning into her skin. The soldier's other hand grabbed onto her wielded hand, forcefully bending her wrist until the knife fell from her grasp.

He easily lifted her up in the air as he backed away, tightening the lock of his left arm around her neck while twisting her right hand to her back with his flesh hand. The smaller let out a robotic groan through her mask as she struggled in his chokehold.

While the two wrestled in between holding one down and freeing oneself, Sharon quickly ran to Sam's side, "Are you alright?" she prompted as she examined his wounds. The male simply nodded his head, "Yeah, it's just a graze." He explained before asking, "Is that the Deathstalker chick that you've been talking about?"

Sharon followed his gaze, and eyed the woman who was still struggling in Bucky's hold before she managed to land a paticularly sharp strike right into Bucky's stomach, "Yeap, that would be her." Sharon answered.

Usually a few strikes by an elbow of a woman doesn't really hurt the super soldier but unfortunately for him, the elbows of the suit Y/N was wearing were armored with thin yet effective pad made of vibranium. Due to its ability is to absorb and dissipate shocks, it managed to push him back and simultaneously loosen his hold on her.

When his guard was down, Y/N took the opportunity to slightly twist her foot back around his and grab onto his left arm. She pushed her bottom into his hips as she bend over, pulling onto his arm as she flipped him forward.

Y/N stepped backwards, standing on guard as the soldier rolled over on the ground before finding a position to stop the inertia; one knee of the ground while the other leg paused at his foot with his back facing her.

Her hands reached to her back and pulled two knives from the holster on the belt, gripping them by the handle while the blades facing downwards. She bended her knees into stance, much like a panther ready to pounce.

But when the soldier stood on his feet and turned around, suddenly her defensive stance flatter and her breath were cut short. The battled-tensed surroundings did not matter when all she could see was the soldier's face.

He looked a bit aged from the last time she saw him but a lot younger considering it was decades ago.

How could she forget those livid-blue eyes sharpen beneath the deep frown he was wearing?

Or the softness of his pursed lips ghosting over her own?

Even if the smooth skin of his forehead were now decorated with thin lines of wrinkles, and the exhaustion in the discoloration under his eyes had overshadowed the playful glint he used to have; they could never fool her to believe that the man standing in front of her right now was not her long-lost lover.

"James?" Her voice was gentle but the voice changer behind her mask didn't quite conveyed her tone.

Suddenly, the high walls of her defences begin to crumble into mere pieces of fragments like crushed dried leaves on autumn grounds. Time suspended, almost too still, as if it was trying to give her the luxury to cherish the revelation; to revel in the moment of joy and relief.

And there wasn't any thoughts formulated in the fog of her mind besides the need to melt in his arm. Somehow the dark side of her mind managed to trick her into believing that if she didn't touch him now, then she would perish in despair.

Her feet inches forward closer and closer, and her knives were long forgone, leaving clancking sounds on the surface of the ground.

When Bucky heard his name uttered by the woman, somehow it didn't sound foreign to him. It was as if he'd heard it before.

And when he saw the wet glaze in her brown eyes as she hesitantly walk towards him, he knew then that she was not approaching with an intent to kill him; he'd dare to say it was quite the opposite.

There were so much emotions in her gaze; grief, yearning, sorrow, need, joy – that he even his ex-assassin's skill couldn't possibly decipher them all. And that had impeccably managed froze every nerves in his body until he can only stood there, paralyzed on his spot.

With each hesitant step, more tears started to swell in her eyes. Step by step she took, hoping he wasn't another fragments of hallucination that she made up to ease her needs, until she finally stood close enough to him to realize he was real.

Bucky knew he should move. Reprimand her before she could land any sneak attack that he might not expect; but he couldn't. Not when she gaze up at him with that look in her eyes.

He unexpectedly drowned himself in those waves of emotions in her eyes, not realizing her actions until her shivering hands cupped his face.

Her fingers were cold as if they were soaked in ice.

Her voice slightly cracked when she spoke, "Is that really you, James?" Even if she was looking directly into his eyes, somehow the question sounded like it directed towards herself rather than to Bucky.

It's real.

He's real.

Her eyes casted down to where her skin met his warmth. There was a slight tingle when her thumbs rubbed against the stubble of his jaw, prickling her skin perfectly just as she remembered.

"It's you. James. It's really you." She mumbled under her breath, convincing herself over and over as if her brain refused to acknowledge it while her heart does otherwise.

Bucky, on the other hand, didn't know what to do or what to say. But, he hadn't heard anyone called him by that name so affectionately since Y/N. The lover he left behind during WWII, who's grave he had been visiting every Tuesday morning ever since that particular session with Dr. Raynor.

However, something in his guts were screaming at him to reach out to this woman's plea as she cried in his presence, lost in her own world as she muttered his name again and again.

But, why?

Why does he feel the need to cradle her body in his arms, and whisper the sweetest things to calm her down?

Why?

Bucky gulped as his eyes loomed over hers, "Who are you?"

<< Part I || Part III >>

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A/N: Feel free to leave feedbacks! I'd love to hear your thoughts! Until then, see you in the next part 🤍

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