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queers-gambit · 18 days

Text

Damage Done

prompt: The Winter Soldier is activated and Bucky's lover is unlucky enough to be in proximity.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!Widow!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 5.4k+

note: oh, wow, Cherry wrote Bucky NOT in a Mafia AU?

warnings: takes place during Civil War, absolutely no plot - author just doesn't know how to shut the fuck up. cursing, violence, established relationship, small angst, injury, blood, hurt and comfort, Winter Soldier antics, choking, abrupt ending, maybe domestic violence? it's the WS.

it's really not that bad, it's not terribly descriptive but still tread carefully if triggered by these topics.

"Keep them together," Agent Everett Ross commanded, a little man with a raging Napoleon Complex, gesturing at you and Bucky; the latter held in mobile, restrictive captivity. "He doesn't play nice if he doesn't see her, or so it's said," his eyes rolled.

"You're making a huge mistake!" You barked, struggling in the restraints they had you wrapped in.

"No, I don't think so," he sneered, approaching you as Bucky's unit kept moving. "I think the mistake was letting you out of anyone's sight. Tell me, how long have you been in cahoots with the Winter Soldier?"

"He's not the Winter Soldier anymore, you jackass, he's a person! A real, live human being! His name's James but he prefers Bucky! He likes plums," you were yanked away, still snarling, "his favorite color is blue, likes motorcycles, he has real guilt over his past transgressions, and you've got the wrong guy!"

"Oh, right, like you're the best judge of character," Ross laughed.

"Natasha! Nat! Fucking tell him!" You pleaded, struggling in the hold of the men who kept iron clad restraint on you and were starting to drag you away. "You've got the wrong guy! Bucky didn't do this! I wouldn't lie - not to you, Natasha! Tell him!"

"That's touching, really sweet," Ross mocked, rolling his eyes as you were finally overpowered and lead away.

"Hang on a second," Nat muttered, sharing a look with Tony. "Was her DNA or facial recognition anywhere at the UN? Anywhere near where the bomb was set off?"

"What's that matter - "

"Since they met, they've not parted ways," Nat spelled out. "He won't go anywhere without her - you, yourself, are keeping them together for interrogation - "

"It's just easier," Ross scoffed.

"No, you know..." She blinked in confusion, "You know, Bucky won't talk unless she's there - you know he'll be ten times as difficult if she's not in the room."

"So?"

"So, in the past two years, have you heard about him without her? Have you seen her without him?"

"Nobody's seen or heard from either of them," Ross shook his head.

"Exactly," she nodded, lungs tightening with nerves. "If you can't find evidence of her being in Vienna... Bucky might not be your guy... Besides, they're both trained to avoid cameras - "

"Mistakes are made," Ross waved off.

"Not by two highly trained assassins like them," she snapped. "Check the files, go back - look! Actually look, run her scans through facial recognition - if you don't find her, it wasn't Bucky."

"You're so sure?" Tony asked skeptically.

"I know her," Natasha nodded, "better than anyone. She's as good as my sister, she's as good as blood. I know her. I know she wouldn't run this risk - "

"Then you also know she wouldn't get caught," Ross laughed.

"Neither would Bucky."

The silence stretched, but Ross was stubborn; sneering at the Avengers and taking his leave with his own plan of action in mind. He left Tony and Natasha to deal with Sam and Steve as he went to observe the interrogation. When he got before the monitors, he watched as it took four different men to restrain you enough to hoist your locks up the wall until they were clicked in place by ultra-strength magnets.

You jostled, feeling the full extent of your containment, grunting when the pipe you were connected to shocked your entire system into submission. Everett Ross smirked at your pain; watching your tongue swipe over your teeth, arms high above your head, readjusting your weight in your feet, but otherwise, not moving.

Ross heard Bucky ask quietly, his eyes watching you carefully from inside the reinforced cell, "You okay, doll?"

"Looks like they learned from last time," you grit, the cuffs around your wrists electrified; charring your skin, making you grimace slightly in a veiled attempt to hide your pain from your lover.

"Don't fight, you'll make it worse," he advised softly, frowning, eyes glassy from restrained emotion.

"They could've at least put me in a bit more comfortable position," you sneered, glaring up at one of the cameras, shaking your head as if in disappointment.

"I don't think they want to play nice, sweetheart."

"Yeah, could've guessed that from when they arrested us," you shook your head, puckering your lips to gather the blood in your mouth; spitting it to the floor. "You good, baby?" You asked as the men who restrained you moved to plug in the power cell caging Bucky.

He nodded silently at you, bowing his head and letting his long locks curtain his face. You frowned, shifting again as you blindly felt your cuffs and designed a way to get free; watching the men stoically as they exited the room to make way for the psychologist. Your jaw clenched, the air smelling foul - alerting you that something wasn't quite right.

"Hello, Mr. Barnes," the accented man greeted casually, standing at a single table in front of Bucky, you off to the side; chains rattling as your defenses flared. The psychologist smirked and greeted you, too, assuring your real identity was known - something that Natasha released to the world about two years ago when HYDRA sent Bucky after Cap in DC. You didn't fault her, in fact, you respected her move, and after getting out of the blown-to-shit base, you had run into the Winter Soldier... Beginning your epic love story, both of you on the run from authorities and higher powers.

You smuggled Bucky out of the country, using fake aliases that had yet to see the light of day and therefor, wasn't released in the files Nat published during her takedown of the compromised S.H.I.E.L.D. agency. He was appreciative, pondering how he was meant to go forward in a world he didn't know; so, you agreed to stick around for a bit to help settle him, and that bit turned into a couple of years - the two of you inseparable.

There was an incident in London that almost exposed you, but instead, it just shined a light on your new partnership. Captain American, Nat, Sam, shit - even Tony Stark himself was unable to catch up; your trail going cold, Nat knowing your Widow training was running the show and keeping you safe. Granted, she probably could've unraveled the web you had weaved - but the truth was, she didn't want to. So, she kept quiet. Leading you all here...

"I've been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you both," the man you'd come to know as Helmut Zemo continued; playing his part very well, but not well enough to convince you of his innocence. Something about the man rubbed you the wrong way. "Do you mind if I sit?" He asked politely, feigning like you two had a choice. When he did, Zemo continued, "Your first name is James?"

He noted the way Bucky and you shared a look, both remaining silent. Zemo tried to assure, "I'm not here to judge you - either of you. I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?" Continued silence, your head subtly shaking - an act only Bucky clocked. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

"My name is Bucky," he croaked, your sigh echoing around the room.

"Hm," Zemo nodded, "I take it, she doesn't want you to talk?"

"She wants me safe," Bucky answered stiffly.

"That is admirable," the psychologist offered kindly, "a great display of love, is it not?"

"Jesus Christ," you shook your head, offering a glare, "you went through all that schooling to ask stupid fucking questions? Might wanna get your money back."

Zemo chuckled after humming, "I am merely trying to establish the connection you two share. I hear it is rare to find one without the other, that you two have become, uh, joined at the hip?"

"I protect her," Bucky offered, sharing a long look with you, "and she protects me."

"An equal partnership, would you say?"

"Yes."

"Buck," you warned, wrists twisting to hold the cuffs; being zapped, making your jaw clench and the veins in your neck to bulge.

"It's all right," his voice sounded like it was being put through a grater. "We're caught, doll, it's all right."

You huffed, eyeing Zemo as his eyes flickered between you two. He nodded, making a note in his little book, "I was warned that you would be unwilling to cooperate without her present. Why is that?"

"She keeps me safe."

Zemo hummed, "So you've said, and yet... Here you both are..." You were ready to lash out, but the doctor changed course, "Tell me, Bucky. You've seen a great deal, haven't you?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your restraints zapped you again when you jolted forward as if to physically silence Zemo, Bucky's head snapping over and his eyes drooping in sympathy. "Told you not to move, it'll only get worse," he told you softly.

"He's asking questions that will get him killed," you snarled, gritting your teeth as the electric currents seized most of your energy. But it was worth it, finding a little weak spot and letting your mind devise a specific plan.

"You fear," Zemo continued, "that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. I feel it is safe to assume, uh, your lady is privy to your past experiences? Perhaps, you two have shared a couple?"

"Just leave her out of this," Bucky pleaded.

"Don't worry," he assured you both, tapping something on his tablet before looking back at Bucky with a sick recognition. "We only have to talk about one. One mission... That I know you," he nodded at you, "were not present for."

"Kinda game you playin', Doc?" You sneered. "Think anything he says will change my opinion about him?"

"No, no, I know your relationship is too strong for that," Zemo smiled. "So, it's not so much what he will say... But what he will do..."

"The fuck does that - "

But then, the lights went out; darkening the room save for the lights individual to Bucky's holding cell. You perked up, the electric currents halting as the cuffs died with the power and gave you an opportunity to begin working on your escape. As red panic lights flickered, Bucky questioned, "What the hell is this?"

"Why don't we discuss your home?" Zemo offered. "Not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn, no," he reached into his satchel, revealing a red notebook the world thought long lost... Buried in snow... Forgotten in time. "I mean, your real home," Zemo removed his glasses as you frantically started working.

"No, no, no, no, no, hey, hey, hey, don't - fuck!" You grit, trying harder to free yourself. "Bucky - Bucky, don't listen - ah, Goddamnit!"

The man you now understood to be a fake psychologist stood with a little flashlight, opening the red notebook, and began repeating words in Russian that would activate the decommissioned Winter Soldier. Bucky had told you all about these words, begging you to provide a shield against them should they ever be uttered again; but you had prior knowledge, the Winter Soldier someone you had been debriefed on during your time with other secret agencies.

"Longing."

"No," Bucky whispered, head tilting back in panic as he felt his stomach curl in a familiar pattern.

"Bucky - don't fucking listen, please!" You begged, still working to free yourself.

"Rusted."

"Stop," Bucky pleaded, sounding in pain.

"Don't do this!" You pleaded to Zemo. "You're fucking hurting him, please, stop!"

"Seventeen."

"Stop!" Bucky barked, his vibranium hand clenching in anger and pain; the entire arm whirring from the flex of his muscle. He began to pant, a deep growl emitting above your panicked whimpers.

"Daybreak!"

"You have no idea what you're doing!" You raged, Bucky screaming in pain as his mind was forcibly sunk back into dark recesses of his past. "Don't - Bucky, baby, listen to me - don't fucking listen to him, please, please, baby, don't do this!"

He screamed, breaking free of the iron restraints that kept him seated in the reinforced, mobile cell. "Furnace!" Zemo continued, ignoring the pain and panic you and Bucky were both thrown into.

"Fucking stop, please! You don't understand!" You begged, freeing one hand and working in vain to unlatch the other. Bucky was out of his seat, anger coursing like a palpable rain over you all - him screaming as his metal arm worked to pound into the strengthened glass surrounding him.

"Nine!"

"Bucky, please, baby, please, don't do this!" You tried a new tactic, hoping you were enough to cut through the brainwashing - but how silly to imagine. Decades of trauma was washing over Bucky again and your little words couldn't cut through the barricades of his mind.

"Benign!"

"You stupid fucking little man!"

Zemo rounded around the cell, Bucky still pounding away at the glass. "Homecoming! One!"

"DON'T!"

"Freight car!"

You whimpered in fear when Bucky punched the entire door off the hinges, freeing him at last; but the words were spoken, the damage done. He crouched on the floor, Zemo pausing to take in the sight, slowly approaching Bucky as he stood upright; the jangling of your chains louder and more frantic as you tried to free your last wrist.

"Jesus Christ," you whispered, trying to divide focus between the two tasks of freeing yourself and protecting Bucky - but being terribly unsuccessful as you watched Zemo stand in front of your dead-eyed boyfriend.

What a ridiculous, mundane label to assign someone like Bucky.

In Russian, Zemo questioned, "Soldier?"

And in Russian, the man you loved answered, "Ready to comply."

Zemo demanded in English, "Mission report. December 16, 1991."

You whimpered in fear, listening to Bucky give the report that would haunt you for years to come. Just as he finished, you managed to get out of the cuffs, but the clanging of your freed restraints caught Zemo's attention - who smirked with abundant cruelty. "Don't," you warned, backing out of the room just as officers began to flood it.

It was a brutal fight, trying to stave off Bucky once in his Winter Soldier mindset. You grunted as he engaged you, men dead at your feet - the lucky ones just knocked out. You grit your teeth, trying to defend yourself as Bucky operated mechanically; doing what you could to protect yourself, but it wasn't enough.

Blows landed, punching and kicking one another in an equal match of strength and stamina.

"Seize her," Zemo demanded, and in the next moment, Bucky had you by the neck; an effort that made you wheeze and claw at his bionic hand.

"Bucky," you begged. "Baby - baby - it's me, it's me, please, don't, it's me! Don't do this, baby, please, come back to me. Come back!" You struggled in his grip, trying to pry his hand open, "Baby, please, please, come back to me," spit drooled from your lips as he squeezed tighter. "This isn't you!" You managed to squeeze out, tears surfacing. "Not anymore, don't let them win!"

"Shut her up, Solider," Zemo commanded in Russian, your eyes widening and trying to beg Bucky again before he was sending you into a wall. He marched up to you, grabbing your hair, and surging his balled up metal fist directly into the bridge of your nose, breaking it, head jolting backwards, and effectively knocking you out.

When you came back into consciousness, it was to Steve's worried face; his hands caressing your cheeks and begging, "You all right?"

"Fucking hell," you winced, reaching up to prod the tender spot on your head; revealing blood.

"Got your ass kicked, huh?" He frowned.

"Watch your language, Cap," you smirked, wincing when your face throbbed. "Shit, how bad is it?"

He looked you over, offering, "Definitely a broken nose."

"Goddamnit - where is he? Where's Bucky?"

"Help me," a voice pleaded from the next room, Zemo playing his part by splaying out on the floor like bait.

"Don't trust him, something ain't right about him, Steve," you whispered, waving him on as you sluggishly hoisted yourself up the wall to lean against it. "Kept asking about Siberia, asking about shit nobody should actually know."

"Get yourself safe," Steve told you swiftly, nodding at Sam; who was checking on the status of the other bodies around you.

"Just find him, Steve, he's lost in his own mind - a threat to himself," you panted, slowly standing.

"I know - "

"You don't know," you shook your head, wiping a trickle of blood from your temple, "but you're gonna have to do more than understand him right now, Steve."

"I've got this," he promised, watching you nod and limp away. You had just missed the action, Bucky overpowering both Sam and Steve; getting to a safety landing and running into Natasha, Tony, and Agent Sharon Carter.

"We'll hash our bullshit out later," you panted, "but for now - "

You heard a commotion behind you, flinching out of sight when Bucky made himself known and began taking down rogue agents unlucky enough to stand before the Winter Soldier.

"He have an off switch?" Nat asked.

"Not that I've found," you frowned. "Split up."

Tony tried to engage Bucky first, using a mobile Iron Man device he wore on his wrist that used sonics to disorient Bucky. It only worked to a small extent, the two exchanging a few blows, Bucky firing a bullet at Tony's face at pointblank range that was saved by his technologically advanced glasses. Bucky got the upper hand, sending Tony flying back, letting Sharon and Nat attack.

He disposed of them both easily, stumbling when you caught him off guard and wrapped your legs around him. Normally, you'd do anything to have your legs around him - but this wasn't one of those times. You exchanged several punches, blocking one another, going for disarming hits but being of equal challenge; leaving small cuts and blooming bruises on each other as if to prove the engagement. Natasha rejoined the fight, two Widows showing Bucky up on a few instances, but he was heaving her across the room as you swung onto his shoulders in an impressive acrobatic move.

You heaved your fists down in a repeated fashion on the top of his head, Bucky charging at one of the cafe tables; slamming you down and choking you again with his metal hand. Both your hands held his, legs up around his neck to try to keep him at a distance for relief on your windpipe.

Through a strangled breath, you managed, "You could at least recognize me!"

"Who said I don't?" He growled, reaching out to snap a piece of wood from a chair.

You tried to regain normal breath, wheezing, "This isn't you, baby, you are not this person anymore - you're not a psychotic, robot killer! You're a man - please!"

"You don't know a damn thing about me," he seethed.

"I know everything about you," you strangled, "and I know this isn't you. Come back to me, baby, please! Y-You can't let the demons win, Buck, please - fucking listen to me!" But he only raised the wooden shaft above his head. "BUCKY, DON'T!"

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

You cried out shrilly when he jabbed the sharp wood into your shoulder, staking you to the table just as King T'Challa rushed onto the scene and stole your brainwashed boyfriend's attention. You hissed in pain, trying to yank the wood free but being unsuccessful; resulting in blood to splatter onto the tiled floor.

Hearing someone pant your name, you caught a glimpse of red and knew it was Nat, her face worried over yours a moment later. "Where's Bucky?" You coughed and winced in pain.

"Goin' up by the looks of it," she informed, "now hang on, this is gonna hurt. Want a belt to bite?"

"No, just do it, get it done, please," you panted, bracing yourself, and suddenly, without warning, your companion heaved the piercing shaft free from your flesh. Naturally, you cried out, groaning and clenching your jaw so tight, it nearly crushed your teeth into dust.

"Hey, you seen..." Sam arrived on scene, taking in your injury, "Holy shit, you good?"

"Yeah," you grunted, stumbling to your feet as blood bloomed into a bigger, brighter blemish on your tactical shirt. "We gotta go, Sam, we should get outta here."

"Hang on," Nat paused you two, your opposite hand holding your wound; her hands occupied by a smart device, "looks like Bucky tried to highjack a helicopter. Steve stopped him, but it resulted in them all crashing in the river."

"Shit," Sam breathed. "We gotta go find them."

"We need to get outta here, you know, away from the cops and agents," your head shook. "Get somewhere safe, away from this catastrophe. We'll regroup with Steve."

"Go," Nat permitted, "I won't say a word."

"You're one of a kind, Nat," you praised, pecking her cheek. "Let's go, Sam. And grab that First Aid kit," you pointed to the wall where the white box was mounted. He agreed and you lead the way out of the facility.

Bucky groaned as he woke up, head lulling back before realizing he couldn't move his metal arm; finding it clamped in industrial weights. Sam called you both to attention, but while Steve jogged over, you remained in your place out of sheer distress.

You only vaguely listened to the conversation, hands trembling as your shoulder was bandaged to prevent further injury or infection. You did what you could to patch up any injury, and when you heard your name, you dialed in; Bucky asking, "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"You don't remember?" Sam sneered.

"No..."

"You stabbed her," the Falcon growled.

"What? N-No, I-I-I couldn't've - I wouldn't!"

"You did," Steve confirmed, pity coloring his words. "Punched her out pretty well, choked her, too. Broke her nose..."

"Please - Steve, please, tell me I didn't."

"I'm sorry, Buck."

"That why she's not here? She's in a hospital?"

"Actually, no," Sam trailed, "she's just in the other room."

"She didn't want to come here?"

Steve sighed as Sam informed, "Don't think she wants to see you right now, man."

"I didn't mean to hurt her."

"We know," Steve swiftly promised, nodding his head. "She knows it, too, you just have to give her some time."

Bucky looked utterly defeated, murmuring, "I scared her. Oh, my God, I scared her..."

"Gotta agree with you there."

"Sam," Steve reprimanded. "Look, Buck, she'll come around."

You waited until the two men left Bucky alone to regroup and stratify a new course of action. Slowly and almost sheepishly, you entered where Bucky was being kept, steps silent but he heard you anyways. His blue eyes flashed in concern as he met your gaze, mouth opening and closing as if words failed him.

"Doll," he finally breathed, "a-are you all right?"

"I'm okay."

"Don't bullshit me, how hard did I hit you? Steve said I broke your nose, I-I'm so sorry, doll, please believe me. What'd I do to your shoulder? Is that where I stabbed you?"

"Buck," you sighed, slowly squatting in front of him, "I need you to take a breath and know that I understand you were not in your right state of mind. You were forcibly triggered and sent back into that way of thinking, I know it wasn't you."

"I still hurt you, I still did it."

"Did you, though?" Your head cocked, eyes narrowing slightly, "Because I know my Bucky wouldn't hurt me, would never dare lay a hand on me - but the Winter Solider is a different story. You didn't do this, Buck, you weren't you."

"I can smell the fear on you."

"Well, yeah, it fuckin' scared me. I tried to stop that fake doctor, I tried to help, tried to save you and keep your safe. I'm sorry I was too slow, that I failed."

"You didn't fail anything, sweetheart... I-I failed you, I broke my promise to never hurt you."

"No, you didn't. The Winter Solider did all that, not my Bucky."

He frowned, repeating to ask softly, "Your Bucky?"

"My Bucky - the kind, charismatic, impossibly stubborn, kind hearted man I've loved the past couple of years who always gives me the crispiest fries, who has nightmares, who loves me unconditionally despite what I, too, have done in my past. And you know what I was doing out there while Sam and Steve talked to you?"

"What's that, doll?"

"Understanding that loving someone means loving their flaws, accepting them exactly as they are. So, while, yes, the Winter Solider scares the fuck outta me, he's still part of you and I can't authentically love you if I reject the Soldier."

His head shook "Your kindness is wasted on me."

"I think you should let me decide what's a waste and what's not when it comes to my own energy and emotion."

"I'm just gonna end up hurting you again. You're better off without me, baby, you and I both know you're better off keeping your distance. You should get out now while you still can."

"Not gonna happen. 'Cause you know what else I realized?" You reached up to caress his cheek, "I trust you beyond reasonable doubt, I trust you even if I'm afraid of the Winter Solider. I should've been faster, I should've helped you more, but I was powerless against that red notebook."

"You and I, both..."

You pet the cheek you were holding. "Buck, I know it was scary, I know how it must've felt being forced back into that mindset, but I want you to know that I'm in this for the long haul - you're not gonna scare me off. Because I love you, Bucky, and every single part of you - whether choking me out or not. Whether I earn a broken nose or not."

"I'm so sorry. I-I can't believe I did that, I'm so sorry, I hate that I hurt you. I'm so sorry, baby, I can't - I can't even put it in words how much I regret putting you in that position."

You smirked, "See? The Winter Soldier has no remorse, but my Bucky does." You gingerly reached out to curl his hair behind his ear. "My Bucky apologizes and takes accountability. There's no reason to not love that man - especially when he deserves it so much. Hey? Hear me? You deserve to be loved, too, Buck."

"And you deserve a man who doesn't run the risk of being turned into a psycho killing machine over a few measly words."

"I deserve to love my best friend, so let me do that. Say whatever you want, try to push me away - but I'm like a boomerang, baby, I'll just come right back."

"What kinda man puts his best girl in that kinda position? Who hurts the most important person in his life?"

"A man who endured decades of abuse," you laid your hands on either of his thighs, "a man who wasn't allowed control of his own mind. I can't - no, no, I won't fault you for that, Buck. Today wasn't your fault and I'll remind you of that as often as it takes. Don't you dare feel guilty because you didn't do this to me, okay? You didn't put me in any position - that fake fucking doctor did this, Agent Ross did this, special ops put us here. You, my sweet boy, didn't do anything to be at fault. You were trapped, but look at you now - freed, level headed, talking to me."

His eyes gleamed with a sheen of emotion, staring at the bloodied bandage wrapping your shoulder wound before his eyes danced over the bruising and other aftermath of your injuries. "I could've killed you," he muttered, tears filling his eyes.

"But you didn't - and surprisingly, neither did the Winter Soldier. Maybe there was a part of you still alive, wanting to refuse orders and not actually hurt me."

"Perhaps," he frowned. "I'm still so sorry, doll, I hate that I did this to you. It never should've happened."

Your head nodded, "I know, baby, and listen - I forgive you. Yeah? Hear me? I forgive you, this is in the past."

"Are you sure about me? You sure you wanna do this? Knowing I could flip a switch and hurt you - maybe even worse than today?"

"I'm sure about you, Buck," you agreed. "I don't wanna be without you, so, sign me up for whatever's to come."

"You might regret that."

"The only thing I could ever regret is abandoning you. I don't want to do this without you - I love our life together. In any world, in any lifetime, I'd still choose you. There's nothing that would make me regret you - regret being with you."

"You sure? I don't want to make you do anything out of your comfort."

"I love you, Bucky, yes, I'm sure. No matter what damage you think you might've caused, whatever damage has been done, I promise, that's not the truth. There's nothing about you that I could regret."

"Well, all that's left now is to get to Siberia, stop the other Winter Soldiers."

"And figure out a way to free your mind once and for all... It's what you deserve," you told him softly, rocking to your knees to meet his forehead with yours and caressing his cheek again. When you heard approaching footsteps, you sighed and pulled away from him to stand and turn, spying Sam and Steve. "C'mon, Cap, get him outta this. He's not gonna attack anyone," you requested, gesturing where your boyfriend was trapped.

"You sure?" Sam asked stiffly. "He did a real number on you alone. Not to mention all the other agents and cops he took out back there."

"He's good," you snapped, perking your brows at Steve, "and you two would do well not to throw what happened in his face, it wasn't his fault. So c'mon, free him, he's not a wild animal."

Steve agreed and lifted the machinery from Bucky's prosthetic, him instantly snatching it back and massaging where the joint met metal. Bucky stood with a set stare at Sam and Steve, as if anticipating them to lunge at him. His throat constricted, swelled with emotion when you stepped in front of him - posing barrier between the two Avengers and himself.

"You still got that phone on you?" Steve asked you softly.

"I do."

"Is it still unregistered?"

"You know it is. Who're we calling?"

"Reinforcements. We're gonna need help now that the Avengers will be looking for us. We gotta get to Siberia."

"Here," you agreed, unlocking the device and handing it over. "Who's first on your list?"

"Any Avenger who didn't sign the Sokovia Accords."

When he walked away with Sam again, you turned to face your lover directly; staring into swirling storms of baby blues. "You still with me?" You asked softly, reaching up to caress his hair again to push it behind his ear.

"Always. Got my six?"

"You know I do, baby," you smirked, stepping into his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. "We'll figure this out, together."

"Together," he agreed, sighing deeply and returning your embrace tightly. His flesh hand rose to hold the back of your head, bringing his lips down to lay a chaste kiss on the top of your head. His voice rattled quietly, "Thank you..."

"Hmm? For what, handsome?"

"Believing in me. It's nice to think we can end this torment."

You smiled up at him, "You deserve freedom, Bucky, and to live without this haunting fear."

"I don't know about 'deserving' it, sweetheart. Done a lot of things that would argue against that."

"Maybe against the Winter Soldier, but Bucky deserves the world. Deserves kindness, accommodation, love and understanding. Now," you smirked and sniffled, giving his waist another squeeze before releasing and pulling back, "get your head outta this pit and focus, we've got a long day ahead of us."

He agreed, letting you take his hand and lace fleshy fingers together in a tether. Sam's face remained stoic and passive, but when Steve saw you two, he couldn't help but smile. Two years he hunted for Bucky and just today, he's learned his best friend's been shacked up with you - a warmth blooming in his chest over the idea of you two finding one another and loving each other.

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Somethin' Stupid

Summary: And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like "I love you..." Warnings: 40s Bucky and reader is described as shorter than him, let me know if i missed any :) Word Count: 792 Notes: i love this song so much and aghhfgisuhfdoguhaphgpag (also requests are open and here are my guidelines)

The lights from the insides of bars and restaurants spilled out through their windows, lighting the sidewalk as Bucky walked you home. The two of you had gone out with some of his friends for dancing and drinks, but you didn't feel like staying out too late. Bucky was kind enough to walk you home.

You and him danced most of the time you were out. You felt comfortable around him, he made you feel at ease. Your friendship with him led to you two being closer than either of you were to your other friends. He was always there for you, and you did the same for him. You two would stay up late at night just to talk to each other, he would read to you on lazy afternoons, you would bring him along with you to the movie theater.

You two worked so well together, which led to feelings being developed on both sides.

You sighed as you looked up at the night sky, the stars twinkling faintly against the dark background. "The stars are so pretty," you said softly.

"Yeah, they are," Bucky replied, but you didn't notice how he was looking at you and not the sky.

You smiled as you looked back ahead of you. "'M sorry I had to pull you away from your friends. You should go back and have fun."

"Don't be sorry, doll. I'd much rather spend time with you."

You laughed dryly. "I'm afraid you're going to get sick of me one day, Buck."

"Me? Get sick of you?" He stopped walking and faced you, causing you to stop, too. "I could never get sick of you."

"C'mon, we're going to get older-"

"We're going to get older together, and there's nothing you can do about it," he cut you off, smiling.

You looked up at him, smiling as well. There was this...twinkle in his eyes. You couldn't quite place it, but it gave you butterflies in your stomach. You nodded your head towards the next block, where you apartment building was.

"Let's go, I wanna get out of these shoes," you said, glancing down at your tight dancing shoes before continuing on your way. Bucky quickly fell into step beside you and stayed by your side all the way up to the door of your apartment building.

Bucky tensed a bit while under the awning with you. You were close, causing your perfume to flood his senses. It was a smell that was uniquely you and he loved it. He watched as you dug your keys out of your bag and unlocked the door. Before you could open it, he took your hands in his, making you turn to look at him.

"What is it?" You asked.

"I...I need to tell you something before we go in."

"Yes?" You prompted him to continue.

"I've felt this way for a while, and you can call me stupid for feeling this way or saying this, but...I love you, doll. I don't want to ruin our friendship, but I need you to know."

You stepped closer to him, leaving just enough room for you hands to stay in his. You smiled up at him.

"I thought I'd be the one who would spoil it all by saying something stupid like 'I love you'," you said. "Then I realized it isn't that stupid if I'm saying it to you."

Bucky let out a relieved sigh and smiled. "Can...can I kiss you?"

You nodded. He dropped one of your hands and brought his up to your chin, holding it gently as he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. You smiled into the kiss, wrapping both of your arms around his neck. His other hand fell to your waist. When you pulled away, your hands didn't move and neither did his. You both laughed before he gave you a quick peck to your lips, then another and another.

You were both smiling and breathless, but the moment was perfect. It was just like how you told him you wanted this moment to go during one of your late night talks. You wanted it to be like the scenes in the movies you dragged him to see or the romance books he would read to you.

"I love you," he said softly between kisses.

"I love you, too."

Finally, you both pulled away from each other. He opened the door for you and gestured for you to go ahead. You walked inside and waited for him to follow you in. You held your hand out for him to take as the door shut behind the both of you.

Bucky took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers as you led him up to your apartment.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier fanfic #the winter soldier x you

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goodgirlofglory · 1 year

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Occupied / One-shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2,5k

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral (m recieving), blowjob, balls-worship, handjob, a smidge of painplay (concerning the aforementioned balls), some d/s undertones (with Bucky being a sweet subby boy and loving being manhandled), exhibitionist kink, semi-public sex (they're in the loo with a lot of people outside), cumshot in mouth, swallowing cum, a little cum in hair (lol)

Summary: You have dragged Bucky into the handicapable toilet on the main floor of the administrations floor of S.H.I.E.L.D and intend to swallow his cock. Who is he to say no?

Note: Hiyaaa, this is just a short, cheeky little something for those who have a sweet tooth for subby simpy Bucky (ie ME)💞 This excists in the same universe as Ambrosial, my first Bucky fic, and happens sometime after Bucky and reader start getting real comfortable with each other🥰 Hope you enjoy🦋

(Not betaread so all mistakes are mine and i kinda can't be arsed to care🤷‍♀️😘)

Replies, reblogs, likes and asks are amazing💫💕

«Hnngh!»

The choked groan escaped Bucky’s gritted teeth despite his uttermost efforts to keep it in. A low hum came in answer from below, either in agreement or appreciation - or a mix of both. Bucky could hear the continuous buzz of people milling about outside the handicapped toilet. He didn’t really need his enhanced hearing to hear how busy it was, but his heightened senses almost made it seem like the crowd was inside the room with the two of you. It was on the main floor of the administration's wing for God’s sake - and you were on your knees at Bucky’s feet, softly nuzzling the hard bulge that had formed in his pants during the last thirty seconds since you pulled him into the single lavatory room and flipped the lock to “occupied”.

Oh who was he kidding, he’d been sporting a semi since you gave him that low-lidded glance in the strategy meeting an hour back. He would recognise that look anywhere, anytime and it always went right to his cock like an adrenaline shock. Now all his blood was rushing south so fast he almost felt faint. Faint with anticipation at what you apparently intended to do mere meters away from the whole administration of S.H.I.E.L.D – and faint with nerves at you doing this mere meters away from the whole administrations office of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Fuuuck,” Bucky grated out, biting his fist to stop himself from groaning louder as your nimble fingers undid his pants and let his cock bounce free of its restraints. Bucky’s breath was out of fucking control, huffing unevenly as his muscles ached to grab at you, to bring you closer, to bend you over the sink or throw you over his shoulder and make the escape to one of your rooms. He wasn’t really picky about the places he took you, but this? This was kind of insane, even for him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, he fucking lived for your hands on his body, and your mouth on his cock was the highlight of any week whenever you graciously gifted it to him. But…but shit, this was really fucking close to a lot of fucking people, and Bucky was always way too fucking loud for this kind of sneaking around. Sweat beaded his brow as he strained to keep still and keep quiet, burning arousal mixing with anxiety to a heady concoction inside him.

You didn’t seem to share his concerns at all, slowly taking his shaft in your hand, pumping his foreskin up and down his cock languidly, staring hungrily at his leaky head like it was your favorite thing in the world. Your cheeks were flushed pink, your eyes wide and blown out with lust and oh god, you looked so fucking good on your knees like that, the sight made Bucky’s own knees wobble. He reached out with his hand to clutch the shelf of extra towels and toilet paper next to him, the wood groaning in protest at his grip.

“Y-you sure about this?” he asked for probably the half-dozenth time, voice low and gravelly even as he tried to whisper.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, shining with mischief, and you nodded, a sickly sweet “mhm” sounding in your throat. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck, Bucky could deny you nothing when you did that. When you looked so cute and excited. When you so sweetly – and literally – took him by the cock and simply let him know you would have your way with him now. There was no way he would stop you on his own, he was completely powerless against you and his cock throbbed in your hand at the knowledge.

You leaned forward and Bucky stared helplessly as you stretched your pink tongue out and licked over where a thick drop of precum beaded at the tip of his cock, eyes looking up at him. His breath rushed out of him at the sensation, your wet and soft mouth closing around the head of his cock. Shivers wracked up his spine and he clutched the shelf tighter to ground himself as the pleasure coursed over him like a tidal wave, goosebumps rising on the back of his neck at the way you teased his sensitive tip with your tongue - the way that made his jaw go all slack and his mind quiet down to a pleasant buzz, empty of all but you, you, you.

It hadn’t taken Bucky long to realize you had a little exhibitionism kink in you. Nothing seemed to turn you on more than the threat of being caught. Or maybe it was the way Bucky got flustered and nervous at the risk of being caught that excited you. Maybe you were a sadist. If so, Bucky might be a masochist, for his cock was never harder than when he was fraught with the anxious anticipation of the humiliation at being caught with his cock out. The one thing that helped was that he couldn’t stave off his orgasm for very long whenever you went to your knees for him. It was like his cock went into overdrive and pounced over the edge like a freight train. He could feel it now, his balls tingling already, drawing closer to his body just from the sheer image of you taking his cock further into your mouth, lovingly and thoroughly laving it in spit and dragging your swollen red lips over it again and again, letting the head move to the back of your mouth and tickle your throat.

You swirled your tongue around his head on the way back, kissing his slit with an open mouth and a lot of tongue and Bucky’s head thumped back into the tiles of the wall.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” he growled low as his hips bucked in your hand, cock seeking your mouth.

“You have to be quiet, baby,” you murmured from below, seemingly completely calm and collected, a teasing lilt in your voice.

You might’ve fooled Bucky into thinking you were unaffected if it wasn’t for the mouth-watering scent of your arousal permeating the air, drifting up to clog Bucky’s nose, adding to the sizzling goosebumps spreading all over his skin. The scent that drove him mad. His very own private aphrodisiac. The air was thick with it now, making his cock throb again as it anticipated the tight, wet heat of your cunt, Bucky’s very favorite place to bury it.

Bucky raked his hand through his hair, laughing helplessly and a bit deliriously, a raspy, thin wheeze.

“Fucking e-easy for you to say, doll. You’re not about to ex-explode,” Bucky choked out in a whisper, tugging on his own hair to try and gain some semblance of control over his body. Explode or implode, he couldn’t really be sure. Having to be quiet like this had him so wound up he feared he’d have a heart attack if his enhanced body would allow it.

“I’m not?” you quietly murmured after a moment, words muffled by the way your mouth moved down his shaft in sloppy kisses while you massaged his cockhead in your fist.

Bucky bit back a moan, the image of you coming from sucking him off filling his mind, picturing your pussy drooling and clenching around nothing, soiling your panties while he soiled your face. Bucky inhaled a broken gasp, grabbing the sink to his left with his metal arm, holding on for dear life as your mouth reached his ballsack, greedily sucking a testicle into your wet, hot mouth and –

“Holy fuck, just like that, please,” Bucky begged shamelessly, eyes clenching shut as his whole frame shuddered. The way you massaged his ball with your tongue had him nearly crumbling to the floor in pleasure.

You hummed in appreciation and/or agreement again, and the light vibrations it sent through his balls had his cock spitting precum into your hand.

“Ah shit, yes,” he groaned, voice coming out raspy and growling and you popped off his ball to grab his sack with your free hand just a bit too tightly. Pain shot up Bucky's body.

“Quiet,” you admonished.

Bucky felt himself go all loopy with the mix of pain and pleasure, mouth hanging open, panting, and his sight slightly hazy, the most mind-blowing sensations wracking around his body. Oh yeah, he might just be a masochist. You were definitely a sadist, and Bucky felt simultaneously exhilarated and completely safe and calm as you manhandled him. He fucking loved it when you took control, when you toyed and teased and used him exactly as you pleased. He never felt more seen or content or well-loved as when you were like this. It was almost overwhelming and at the same time so intoxicating, he couldn’t help but need more.

You returned your lips to his balls, taking the other testicle into your mouth, suckling on it while your hand worked the spit and precum around the purple head of his cock faster and faster.

He was already so close, he bit his lips to keep from groaning and the sink and shelf held tightly in his hands groaned instead from the way his grip tightened as he barreled down towards release.

Your thumb brushed against his frenulum and white-hot pleasure shot up his spine. Fuck, he was going to cum, he was –

Your thumb stroked up and teased the hole on the tip of his dick and the wooden shelf shattered in his grip as he pommeled over the edge. He had no time to warn you, choking on air as he was before cum shot out of his cock and splayed in a stripe over the top of your head. You reacted quickly, popping your mouth off his ball and immediately putting it over the head of his cock, catching the next spurt of cum inside your mouth. The tip of your tongue stroked his frenulum and spitting hole, coaxing the cum to shoot out in pulse after pulse. Bucky’s body shuddered violently, eyes clenching shut and mouth opening to choke on air. Fuck, you always made him cum so fucking hard it was almost painful.

Your hand stroked his shaft, wringing the orgasm out of him. The sink gave a screeching groan as his metal hand bent the steel, and Bucky’s body trembled like a leaf as his orgasm diminished and then mellowed out to a pleasant, numbing buzzing deep in his very bones.

You gently released his cock, still hard and twitching faintly, giving the tip a loving kiss before getting to your feet elegantly. Bucky still panted like a dog when you pulled him by his shirt down to kiss him on his mouth. He eagerly parted his lips to your prodding tongue, and though he found you’d swallowed every bit of cum you’d sucked from him, he could still taste the faint, salty essence of himself on your tongue. It made him hot all over again, his cheeks flushed with heat at the intimate knowledge of what you’d so generously done for him, his chest warming with a satisfied, preening sort of possessiveness. God, you were such a fucking gift and Bucky still questioned what good he had done in his life to deserve you…

Breaking the kiss, you gave Bucky a slow, pleased smile, hand absently reaching down to hold his still hard cock in a gentle, distinctly casual grip. It had Bucky flushing for entirely new reasons. He was almost embarrassed to admit how much he liked you holding him so proprietarily, with such confident ownership, like he was nothing but an extension of your own natural form.

Your eyes caught on something off to the left and then widened comically. Bucky followed your gaze and saw the unnatural, twisted shape of the sink basin he’d clutched while coming. He carefully opened and extracted his vibranium hand from the tangle of molded metal, an almost comical hand print left behind.

“I’m fairly certain this is incriminating evidence,” you teased, not bothering to keep the wicked glee out of your voice.

Bucky shot you a glare, and he knew his cheeks must be blazing red. People might not catch on to the specifics of the situation the sink was ruined in, but they would definitely know it was him (there weren’t many people on the base capable of bending steel with their hands and no one would suspect America’s golden punk Steve before Bucky). Furthermore he would look like a half-animal with little to no self-control. Which, admittedly, he kinda was around you. But still!

You giggled at Bucky’s glare and planted a kiss to his chest before quickly washing your hands in the sink that now looked more like one of those modern art sculptures you insisted on showing Bucky whenever you went into the city. Picking up your phone, you tapped it a couple of times before putting it back in your pocket.

“Nat’s on the case,” you said with an easy-going smile as you looked back up on Bucky. You turned to leave, spotting yourself in the mirror above the sink and quickly wiping some of Bucky’s cum out of your hair and away from the corner of your mouth while Bucky stared, transfixed by it, not really surprised when his cock gave a twitch of interest at the sight. Just when you turned to slip out, Bucky caught you around the wrist and pulled you back against him, nuzzling your neck from behind while pushing his half-hard cock against your tights-clad ass.

“What about you?” he murmured as he kissed the spot just below your jaw he knew was extra sensitive. He could still smell how wet you were, and brought his hand forward and down to cup you between your legs. He couldn’t help the groan that escaped him as he felt the heated, damp clothing covering your cunt. Your breath hitched and you grinded down into his hand for a moment before turning your head to whisper against his mouth.

“Meet me at mine? I’m free the rest of the day,” you said, breath tickling Bucky’s cheek and he shivered, cock starting to harden for real again at the proposition. He bit down on your shoulder to keep from growling outright. You were a too fucking perfect.

He nodded against your skin, still collecting himself from the onslaught of lust your invitation brought forward - he was gonna fucking ruin you for this, that was a promise. You nuzzled his cheek and giggled softly, before promptly slipping out of his arms and then the toilet, leaving him to make his own exit of profound embarrassment. Bucky stayed put until Nat came and rescued him God knew how many minutes later, giving him a knowing look that made his face heat like a fucking furnace. He had to keep himself from outright sprinting to your room, all the while plotting all the different ways he was going to make you cum before even slipping his cock inside you. It was gonna be a long night.

Bucky did ruin you, getting back at you quite thoroughly. Even so, Bucky had to duck his flushing face for days after as he passed the handicap toilet with it’s promptly made “out of use”- sign, both out of humiliation of what you’d so obviously done in there, and from the memory of how fucking good it’d felt.

#Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky Barnes x f!reader #Bucky Barnes x y/n #The Winter Soldier fanfiction #The Winter Soldier fanfic #The Winter Soldier x reader #The Winter Soldier x you #The Winter Soldier x y/n #The Winter Soldier x f!reader #Ambrosial #Occupied #Bucky Barnes smut #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes smut

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eddiemuonson · 7 months

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Break Free - Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: You were an infiltrated nurse working for HYDRA and takes care of Bucky Barnes, who's still triggered and being used as The Winter Soldier.

Warnings: blood and some kind of violence

Word count: 1.7k

You watched as they brought the Winter Soldier into the briefing room after a long battle of something you were yet to find out about. As a HYDRA’S nurse, you learned to not give fully attention to what actually happened inside the department, but it's not like you actually would. You just wouldn’t be able to talk about that with anyone else as much as you wanted to. He sat on a chair, all sweaty and still panting. He was shirtless, and you could see his chest going up and down with the rhythm of his heart beating.

He was bruised, his left brow was split open, and he had many cuts from what appeared to be from a knife all over his arms and his chest. Alexander Pierce asked for the mission report, but Barnes could barely stand, he had trouble breathing after all. Standing in a corner, you could see his blue eyes were darker and carried something else rather than rage, maybe it was remorse or pain, but you couldn’t tell.

Pierce snapped his face with a sharp slap, and the Winter Soldier kept his head low. “Mission report, Barnes”, he said, his voice was louder, but the man stood still and didn’t say a word.

“The target ran away”, James responded under his breath. He wasn’t panting anymore after a few long minutes, but he had blood running down his face and his neck, along with the fresh cuts from the knife. Alexander let out a scoff and gripped his face aggressively, making him look at his eyes. His hand has a tight grip on his chin, which made Barnes groan over the angriness.

“If you don't do your part, I can't do mine, and HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves. Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century, and I need you to do it one more time”, the man said.

As soon as he dropped James’ head, the Winter Soldier kept his gaze at an empty space. You knew what he used to do every time he went back from a mission, but in the back of your mind you had some sort of compassion for him. You knew the man in front of you was being controlled by the organization you most feared, but being there to gather as much information as you could might end up helping Barnes somehow.

You just had no idea how you could swallow everything you’ve seen inside that building without regretting that, but maybe it’s the fact that taking down HYDRA would be the most important step for you at the moment.

Pierce demanded them to prep him, but he was out of cryo-freeze for too long. “Then wipe him and start over”. God, that was hard to watch, you’ve seen that before. He just loses his memories from the day once again. As the scientists place a teeth shield in his mouth, they begin the process of wiping his brain as he screams in pain. The sound is terrifying, and try to keep yourself stable for the next part.

You’re in an ER as you wait for James to show up and finally patch him and give him stitches. The man looks miserable, paler than you’ve ever noticed, his hands are still shaking, and his chest is compressed for trying to hold back the pain from the brain machine.

He sits on a stretcher as you prepare to clean his cuts, and you finally look at him in the eyes. They look a mixture of foggy, confusion, pain and anger. Bringing your hand close to his face, Barnes holds tight on your wrist with his metal arm.

“I don’t really need that”, he said. He always speaks with a lower tone, and you can barely hear what he says. You almost let out a scoff, but you’re too intimidated by him, he always has a killer look, and you didn’t want to be his next victim.

“You’re a super soldier, but you’re gonna bleed out if I don’t give you those stitches”, you respond. You carefully place a wet cotton on his brow, and he doesn’t flinch or make any noise, but you kind of understand how he manages to not feel the pain since he’s too used to that. Being too closed to him makes you wonder how that happened to him, because you never really learned about his life or his past, what he used to do and how he ended up there. You only knew about Steve Rogers, but mostly because he was already famous.

With his eyes closed, you can see his expression changes a little with your warm touch, but it could also be because that brings him some kind of comfort. You patch him and start taking care of the superficial cuts on his arms, learning that every inch of his body carries some scars, either they’re deep or small, they’re still there. As soon as you finish everything, you take your gloves off and throw everything in the trash. Behind you, Barnes stands up feeling some sort of dizziness, and you hold him still, making him sit back again on the stretcher.

“You may wanna lie down here and get some rest, your head is still sensitive from the wiping”, you watch him groan and get rid of your touch, but doesn’t complain. James closes his eyes and tries to rest his head on the pillow, but finds it too hard to actually keep his cool as his brain is confused.

“I don’t want to rest”, he whispers. As a nurse, you have the right to give him some medicine for the pain, but you opt to actually make him sleep only for the night. He should be fine, you thought. Pierce and the STRIKE guys wouldn’t show up until the next day.

It was still the middle of the night when Barnes woke up, still feeling his head a bit heavy and his body aching. His temples were pounding, and he found it hard to get his body up from the stretcher, even though he was given painkillers. Funny, a super soldier getting pills for the pain, huh? He went to the bathroom and decided to wash his face, taking a look at himself in the mirror.

The Winter Soldier realized he wasn’t looking his very best in a long time, but that was the third time he had his memory wiped in less than two weeks, and sometimes just couldn’t handle how much it actually hurt. He had no idea what had happened before he lost his memory, he had trouble trying to gather everything inside his head, but he could remember the delicate touch while being taken care of before blacking out.

He realized it was one of the few times he was actually being treated nicely, but then it hit him that it had been a long time since he wasn’t his James self. He knew he wasn’t like that. He knew he was triggered but had no idea how they did that, he only knew it was difficult for him to understand what made him that way, and when he was self-conscious, Barnes also knew he didn’t like that about him.

As soon as he came to his senses after waking up, James gathered his gun and knives and left the building. He went out looking for the target Pierce made sure he wanted out of the picture as soon as possible, and he couldn’t wait to take them down and end the mission before having his mind wiped out once again.

He was sitting at a café next to the apartment lot he learned it was of his victim, where they should be awake soon. Leaned against the chair on a table, the man was hiding his metal arm on a hoodie trying to disguise himself, but the look on his face didn’t give much appreciation to the waiter that came near him to offer him the menu, which he denied.

Not long after he got there, the woman left her place wearing common jeans and a shirt, carrying a purse where she would look for her badge from work. The Winter Soldier left the café and walked towards her, not looking both sides when he crossed the street as fast as he could.

Passing by an alley, he took the chance to drag her to a corner, covering her mouth with his flesh hand, while with the metal hand he made sure she wouldn’t let go of him. Even if she tried, he had a tight grip. You’ve had many self-defense classes over the last year, but nothing prepared you to actually be assaulted at daylight next to your house, which left you feeling hopeless as you didn’t have any moves in mind at the moment.

The man held a knife next to your face but didn’t say a word, until you decided to try and knock your head back on his. You heard a loud thud and figured out he hit his head on the wall, falling on the floor, unconscious, behind you. Not only weren’t you prepared for being harassed, but you also weren’t prepared when you turned around and saw James still blacked out.

“Barnes?”, you asked under your breath as your hands started shaking. You felt like you were spinning around and still had trouble figuring a way out of that. “Ok, ok. Shit, okay”, you tried to keep calm, but you felt like you were numb, your skin was pinching and your stomach was sinking inside your body.

You kneeled next to him and cupped his face, trying to wake up him. Did you kill the Winter Soldier, banging his head on a wall? Was that all that needed? If you actually killed him, what the fuck would HYDRA do to you? What if that was actually planned, and he knew what he was doing? After several minutes, you decided to use your taser on him, only enough to make him wake up. James suddenly opened his eyes and let out a loud gasp as he tried to catch his breath. He looked beyond confused, his eyes were searching for some sense, and he acted terrified.

“Hey, James. Hey, it’s me. It’s (Y/N)”, you tried to calm him, but he was still panting and couldn’t actually understand what was happening.

“Where the hell am I?”, he asked. When he finally looked at you for an actual answer, you realized it wasn’t the Winter Soldier talking to you. You just weren’t sure what just happened and how you would deal with him.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier fanfiction #the winter soldier fanfic #userashe #bucky barnes imagine #the winter soldier imagine #marvelouslizzie

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vader-anakin · 8 months

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"A Place In My Heart" - Bucky Barnes x f! Reader, Part 1

Here I am again! I've had this scene playing over my head for a hot minute so I decided to give it a shot. Fluff Bucky and broken Bucky is what I'm writing about, but let's see how this one works. This is the first chapter, but you can check out the prologue here.

Word count: 1.1k

***************

Bucky:

I ended up consuming a lot more alcohol than I expected, and although I barely felt the effects of the booze every time I drank it, something seemed to have changed at that moment. She gave me a ride home from work and we went to a bar near my apartment. I already knew the place, I knew which people went there, which guaranteed my safety - mainly because of her. We were talking a mix of stories about her past and how I lived as a super soldier, and I noticed how quickly time passed when I was distracted.

(Y/N) was a company I never expected to get to have, and despite the differences between us - she is a successful journalist and I am a broken man trying to save the world - things seemed to work out. Doctor Christina would be proud if she saw me interacting with anyone other than Sam. At one point during my reverie, I felt her hand discreetly grab my wrist as a warning that something was wrong. With a subtle movement, I turned to look around the establishment, looking for any hint of danger. Her touch, however, for some reason caused a strange vibration and involuntary spasms in my right arm, something I could hardly feel with a touch.

I'm normally not one of touching other people, something I've been trying to change since I started psychiatric treatment, but it wasn't like I could - or even wanted - to get involved with anyone else. Perhaps the response had something to do with the alcohol. Among so many people there, I couldn't find anything unusual, despite noticing brute figures like tall, muscular men exchanging words in louder tones on account of the drink. I used my metallic hand and rested it on her hand, as if to say that everything was fine and she understood, nodding, soon breaking the contact between the two of us. I knew that hardly anything could happen there, I knew the owner and some regulars. My mind was always on the lookout, so I was always analyzing every single person who walked in and out the door.

That is the little bubble of comfort that I hoped (Y/N) could enjoy when she was with me, or even around Sam. The TV announced the appearance of John Walker in another public safety debate and I felt my eyes roll. Damn Wilson, not accepting that shield from Steve still killed me inside.

"That guy again," I growled, staring to the man's face. Next to me, the journalist wrote down a few words on her cell phone. Everything she said about the new "Captain America" she kept with her in case of any trouble. And I was sure one day it would come. I felt her icy hand - which was previously holding a bottle of beer - grabbing my chin roughly, making me look at her. I got the message.

"If you don't stop looking at that TV, I'm going to break that bottle over your head", (Y/N) snapped. There, we were trying to distract ourselves from anything involving my missions and Walker. I laughed at the way she tried to sound scary, even in a joking tone. I felt the alcohol rise up my cheeks as it coursed through my bloodstream. I already knew I was going to have a problem with a hangover the next day, but I didn't want to think about it now.

"Sorry, tell me about your childhood. What did you use to do?", I questioned, seeing her eyes shine when starting the conversation back about how she liked to play all day in the street at home. I also had a flash of memories from that time, but at the same time, the memory of the moment I fell off that train washed over me and I tried not to let her know my mind wasn't there for a few long seconds.

When she dropped me off at home, I began to feel the weight of all the whiskey and beer I shouldn't have mixed, but insisted on drinking, imagining myself resistant to it all. My body heaved as soon as I changed my clothes and lay down on the couch, while I watched (Y/N) turn on the television, looking for a glass of water in the kitchen. It wouldn't take me all the water in the gallon to wash out whatever was still stuck in my head at that moment, but it would help me get rid of at least some of the alcohol in my blood. She sat next to me, looking at her phone for a while, while I shook off the drunk feeling.

"Thanks, (Y/N)," I said, getting her attention. She looked at me, putting her cell phone in her purse. "You know, for today. For agreeing with Sam and the doc to make me more social." She smiled and gave a light laugh at the same time.

"Sociable isn't quite the word I would use. But now at least you've become a less grumpy, and a more talkative Bucky."

I nodded, it wasn't so easy to be able to express myself the way I'd like to, but over time and with psychiatric treatment I managed to be more me, more James Barnes, more Bucky Barnes and less The Winter Soldier. When I took her hand to shake it as a thank you, I felt the same vibe as before and when I looked into her eyes, I could see compassion. Having a friend there, even though I had already met other women (and not kept in touch as I should have), brought me a thread of hope that I would still be able to change myself.

I came closer to greet her with a kiss on the cheek - which I learned to be a custom - smelled the mixture of floral perfume and the bitterness of beer through her light breath and my head made a noise as if my neurons had done a backflip. When I changed the course of her face, I realized why I avoided approaching any female person in this way so much. My lips stuck like a magnet to her pink mouth in a long peck and, intoxicated, I felt I hadn't done the right thing. I'd be trapped there, and, even worse, I would be automatically putting her in danger by simply being with me. But the feeling was better than anything I had experienced before.

"Guess I should've knocked before", the sound of Sam's voice brought me back to reality and I felt (Y/N) stiffen in front of me. It scared both of us, and it made us break the kiss immediately.

#bucky barnes #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier fanfic #jamesbvck #userashe

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angelbbarnes · 3 months

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chapter one // headstones and land mines // j. b. barnes.

hi there :) i've had a huge break from tumblr after deleting my old account, but i am back with a new one :) re-entering the marvel fandom is something i've been wanting to do for months, and i've missed it so much. for my bucky stans, this series is for you. - clarke <3

read on ao3 :) warnings for this chapter: mentions of death. grief.

“But you spoke some quick new music that went so far to soothe this soul.”

The drowning man, swaying like dead seagrass in his hands, had once come to him in a dream. And as Bucky dragged him to shore, panting through gritted teeth and clouded mind, he repeated the single syllable of an unfamiliar name underneath his breath.

Steve. It slipped so easily from his mouth as though he’d said it a million times. Steve. The mechanics in his arm clicked and whirred as he dumped the sandy-haired captain in the gravel, the thick scent of smoke in the air. Bucky knew what he’d find if he glanced over his shoulder. Destruction. Destruction because of him, again.

Steve. Crouching beside the man that seemed so familiar to him, Bucky pressed a hand to his chest, waiting for the tell-tale thud of his heart. The man’s, Steve’s, hair was plastered to his forehead, and a gash on his cheek oozed blood down his face. Standing with a grunt as something in his side achingly protested, Bucky turned to walk away. He only made it a few steps before he backtracked, kneeling beside the man in red, white, and blue.

Bucky reached out, his hand pale and pruned and cold, and brushed the scraggly strands out of Steve’s face. A muscle in his jaw flickered, and he coughed and spluttered, but remained unconscious.

Bucky limped away, vanishing into a strange sense of unearned freedom.

Five Months Later

Keep moving. That’s all she had to do. Despite the ache in her fingers from scrubbing cabinets and windows, the wheeze in her lungs from the dust, and the tugging pain in her spine from moving furniture she probably shouldn’t have moved on her own, Hazel kept going. Kept fucking moving.

If she just stayed busy, ticking off task-after-task, the grief wouldn’t catch up to her. She could outrun it if she just worked, cleaned, and organised until she was too exhausted to think. Hazel stepped into the back bedroom, noting the creak of the floorboards beneath her feet with a grimace, and stared at the finely hand-crafted wardrobe against the wall. It was antique, definitely worth something, and she would’ve liked to sell it if only she could move it. But even she, with her ignorant determination, decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. Nor the devastation if she broke it. Sure, she wanted it gone, needed the space it took up, but it was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship that she’d never forgive herself for ruining.

But there was a small part of her that wanted to keep it, at least until she could figure out how to open the upper cupboard, half hidden by clothing racks. She’d only found it when she was cleaning out all her grandmother’s old coats, folding them neatly and slotting them into boxes to donate. A little locked section, with a brass keyhole that seemed to taunt her. It was probably home to her grandmother’s important documents, so she’d have to figure out a way to get in without doing too much damage.

Huffing a sigh, she opened the wardrobe and pried at the handle of the stupid, secretive cupboard again. To no avail. Rolling her eyes, she planted her hands on her hips.

The wardrobe would have to stay. The key had to be in the apartment somewhere, it was only a matter of time until she found it.

A knock on the door pulled her away from the staring contest she’d subconsciously begun with the keyhole, as though she might be able to melt through the stupid thing with the force of her glare. Sweeping her hair off her sweaty neck, she trudged back down the hall, grimacing when the obnoxiously strong scent of her sister��s floral perfume wafted to greet her. What the hell? What, was it seeping through the crack beneath the door? Jesus.

“What?” Hazel said as she opened the door, frowning.

“Is that how you greet all your visitors?” Joanna, always the picture of put-togetherness, adjusted both her tortoise-shell glasses and the slobbering toddler on her hip, gently swatting away the chubby hand that was fiddling with her Stark Industries nametag.

“Just you.” Hazel motioned her sister inside with a lousy wave of her hand, but Joanna just shook her head.

“I need you to watch Riley for an hour. Maybe two. Kyle got called away for work, and Alice can’t get in until ten.” She said it with such assurance, like she expected Hazel to bend to her every will. And Hazel hated that she would do exactly that. But wherever her nephews were concerned, it was second nature.

There had once been a time, before her sister’s marriage and before their parent’s divorce, when she and Joanna had been as thick as thieves, as sisters should be, and Hazel often yearned for that feeling.

“It’s not safe for him here, Jo. I’m in the middle of scouring this whole place. It’s got dust and stains like you wouldn’t believe. I don’t know why grandma chose to stay here.”

Joanna glanced around at the disarray with an unamused pout on her glossy lips. “Looks fine to me.”

“There’s literally a bucket of bleach right there,” Hazel pointed toward the kitchen, where the bleach, and a dozen other bottles of cleaning agents, stood like proud, hazardous little soldiers.

“Take him to the park, then. Or the library. I just…” Joanna sighed, shoulders drooping, and it made Hazel want to punch her sister’s good-for-nothing husband right in his stupid face. “I need you to do this one thing for me, for once.”

Glancing between her big sister and her youngest nephew, Hazel held up a hand, shooing them away.

“Just let me get changed. I’ll be downstairs in five.”

Joanna nodded, the frown lines between her eyebrows softening, and turned to leave.

“And Jo?”

Her sister glanced back over her shoulder, one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised.

“Did you ever see a brass key around here? Did grandma ever mention…”

But Joanna was already shaking her head. No, of course not. Joanna used to call, but not once did she ever visit their grandmother.

Nor her little sister.

There was a ravine between them, yawning across the past seven years, and they were both to blame…

~~~

Hazel didn’t take Riley far, his little legs could only handle so much walking, so they’d ended up at Julie’s, the café a few doors down from the brownstone she now, by her grandmother’s dying wish, resided in. Sure, it was only the second floor of a brownstone complex, but it was the only place that resembled the feeling of home. The only place she’d ever truly felt welcome.

“Come on, bud,” she grunted as Riley squirmed in her arms while she tried to secure him into the highchair. “I bought you a cookie, so just work with me here, okay?”

Once her nephew was safely strapped in, giggling delightedly between mouthfuls of some ultra-triple-chocolate monstrosity, Hazel took a sip of her vanilla latte. Sighing contentedly, she gripped the mug tightly, warming her cold and aching hands. Now that she’d taken a moment to pause, to breathe, the weight of her exhaustion hit her like a tonne of bricks. Resting her elbows on the table, she smiled at Riley, who looked her right in the eye with those baby-blues and dribbled cookie crumbs all down his front. Snorting, Hazel went to grab the baby wipes out of her tote bag when movement over her nephew’s shoulder caught her eye.

There was a man waiting by the counter, and she’d caught him staring at her. With a black baseball cap pulled low, he looked rather ominous in the warm light in the café. He flashed her a pathetic half-smile, but it twitched and vanished as quickly as it had come, and his gaze left her as he scanned the small café critically, snagging on the exits. Hazel frowned. She’d seen him around a few times in the past week, usually when she’d been cleaning the windows and had an unobstructed view of the street below, spotting his cap and his dark jacket with ease as he moved through the foot traffic.

He probably lived nearby, and she was probably just being paranoid.

Hazel didn’t hear the name the barista called, but she watched the man take his coffee and leave, watching the broad expanse of his shoulders as he retreated through the sliding door, little brass bell tinkling as he went.

~~~

That evening, determined to find the little brass key, she searched through every drawer, cupboard, and coat pocket. Upturning boxes of trinkets, sorting through them in a frenzy. After two hours, and still no key, she’d given up for the night. But in her desperate rifling, she’d found her grandmother’s vinyl collection. Though ‘collection’ seemed too vast a word; there were only a few compilations, and a Doris Day album. With a sigh, Hazel plugged in the suitcase vinyl player she’d bought her grandmother several birthday’s ago and placed ‘The Everlasting Memories of the 40’s’ onto the deck. Dropping the needle, she winced as the record skipped a few times before the unmistakable voice of Judy Garland crackled from the speakers.

Hazel laid down on the living room floor, too sweaty from cleaning and searching and moving to taint her nice, newly delivered, emerald-velvet upholstered couch. It was the one thing she’d splurged on, the only thing she’d bought for this place that was hers, to distract herself from the fact that her grandmother was gone. That her grandmother was gone, but she’d made Hazel promise not to sell the brownstone apartment. Promise to keep it alive, lived in.

“Keep those curtains thrown wide, windows open. And play music and laugh and cry and dance and let all that float out into the world, okay? You have such life in you, Hazel. Please don’t dampen it for anybody.”

Hazel could do nothing but nod at her grandmother, their hands entwined in the dim light. Every word was quiet, a labour of breath and effort that left her grandmother’s lip trembling, but she persisted.

“Promise me, Hazel. Promise me you will stay; promise me you will take care of a place that took care of me for a very long time.”

“Okay, okay. I promise.” Hazel squeezed her grandmother’s hand, rubbing her thumb over the back of her wrinkled palm. “I promise.”

“It’ll take care of you, too.” Her grandmother inhaled deeply, a disturbing rattle in her frail chest. “And tell… tell James…” Her words were weak, spluttered between coughs. “Tell him…”

Hazel had no idea who James was, but that wasn’t important right now. Each dry cough echoed off the walls, and it sounded like the old woman was choking on her own breath.

“Grandma, stop, it’s okay. Don’t speak.”

“No!” The brief return of strength in her voice, the desperation behind that word. Hazel shut her mouth. “No. He must know… That I am so grateful… Thank him for me…”

Hazel frowned, eyes brimming with tears. “Okay. I’ll tell him.”

Now subdued, her grandmother settled back into her pillows with a deep sigh. As Hazel laid a cool, wet cloth over the old woman’s sweaty forehead, their gazes met, and her grandmother smiled softly.

The floor was vibrating by her ear, and for a moment it drowned out the gentle croon of the record player. Groggy, Hazel sat up, blinking spots out of her eyes. With clumsy fingers, she picked her phone up off the hardwood and pressed it to her ear.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, thank God, I thought you were dead.” Harley sighed, and Hazel could almost the picture the expression on her best friend’s face. “Do you know how many times I’ve tried to call? Where have you been?”

Lodging the phone between her shoulder and her ear, Hazel lifted herself from the floor, bracing a hand on the coffee table for balance.

“I’ve been cleaning my grandma’s apartment, and I just, fuck. Fell asleep on the floor.”

“Do you still want to meet us at Oakley’s?”

Shit. Oakley’s, the bar a few blocks away. Shit, was it already Friday? Shit, shit, shit.

“Okay, Hazel, I can hear you overthinking, or maybe that’s just… What the hell are you listening to right now?”

“Hits from the forties,” Hazel mumbled, oddly protective of her grandmother’s music taste.

“Okay. Anyway, I can hear the thoughts rattling around in your head, and I want you to chill out. There’s no pressure on you to come out tonight, alright? I’d love to see you, but we can arrange something another day if you’re not up to it right now, okay?”

The living room window was open, letting in a chilly draft, and Hazel had to tug it a few times before it closed with a slam.

“But I don’t want to—

“And before you say you don’t want to upset me, I can assure you that you aren’t. You’ve got a lot of stuff going on in your life, and I understand, okay? Just give me a call whenever you need to. I’m your best friend, and I’ll be here.”

“I love you, Harley. And I’m sorry.” Hazel pressed a palm to her forehead, screwing her eyes shut.

“I know, and I love you, too. Don’t be sorry. Have a wicked dream for me, yeah?”

That brought a smile to her face, and a soft laugh slipped from her chapped lips. “Yeah, okay. Goodnight, Harls.”

“Night.”

The call ended and there was silence again. The record, having reached its end, spun soundlessly on the turntable, the soft crackle of the needle repeatedly passing over the final ridge like a metronome.

“Alright,” Hazel muttered to herself as she packed the record away, sliding it into its slot on the shelf. “Another day done.”

She was tidying up the cleaning supplies when a loud creak echoed down the hall. Hazel whipped her head toward the sound, heart suddenly in her throat. Armed with a bottle of oven cleaner and microfibre cloth, she crept towards the back bedroom, waiting for something terrible to jump out at her.

She was suddenly regretting watching that horror movie last night.

Flicking on the light, heartbeat so loud in her ears she thought passersby on the street might be able to hear it, Hazel let out a relieved sigh. Nothing.

Just the mostly empty room, the wardrobe, and the open window that led out to the fire escape.

The open window?

The orange glare of the streetlight seeped through the curtains, stark against the dark floors, and Hazel half-expected to see somebody on the fire escape. Nothing. The street was mostly empty, strange for a Friday night, but it was getting colder so she could understand the lack of desire for an evening stroll. Despite this, she climbed out onto the fire escape, letting her legs dangle off the edge, through the gaps in the fencing. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery pallor over the street.

Hazel felt the hot sting of tears as she gazed up at the stars, so she slipped back through the window and shut the curtains. And when she crawled into bed after a scalding shower, sleep dragged her down with vice-like hands, shoving her head underwater.

~~~

Bucky hadn’t meant to be so distracted. His plan was simple; get in, get his journal, get out. But the second he slipped through the window, hearing that music… He’d wandered to the doorway and looked down the hall, saw the woman lying on the floor as the same record his parents had played spun on the turntable.

And suddenly he was decades away, barely fifteen, watching his parents sway around the room long after he was supposed to be in bed. He’d learned to dance that way, mostly, through observation. And a little trial-and-error with the girls at the charity dances downtown.

He'd only come back to himself when the woman spoke, mumbling sleepily into her phone. He’d observed her then, watching the way she moved like water, drifting mindlessly through the space he’d grown up in. How many lifetimes had passed since he’d last been here?

Then Bucky had stumbled forward, a misstep, and the same floorboard that creaked in the forties had creaked again, giving his presence away as it always had. So, he’d fled, journal forgotten, if it was even still there. If it wasn’t, he’d still remembered something, at least. After all the strings he’d been grasping blindly for, searching for his own memories in the dark, one had wrapped around his fingers and tugged him into the past, if only for a moment.

Now, as his watch read just past midnight, he hummed to himself; a pitiful attempt to recall something by recounting the songs he’d heard for the first time in what felt like a thousand years. Sitting there, in the abandoned office building he’d bunked down in, humming in the dark. Christ, he felt pathetic.

But he would never be so lucky. If it were that easy, he would’ve figured out who the fuck he was by now, other than something to be owned and controlled. He could still feel that leash around his neck, and every time he breathed too deeply, too evenly, the vice tightened as a stark reminder that this freedom was only physical and temporary.

He would never be free of his mind and what they’d done to it. To him. He’d once been something whole; a son, a brother, a friend. Now reduced to nothing but a handful of half-memories he wasn’t sure were real, and a sense of shame that followed him around like a lead-weight shackled to his ankle. His last thought before he slipped into fitful unconsciousness was the fear that they’d find him soon…

#bucky barnes #the winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes fluff #the winter soldier fanfic #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #sebastian stan #marvel fanfic #marvel fic

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cherrys-writings · 1 year

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Waking The Asset

This is different from what I usually write. (Suits, Scones, and Serendipity cuttently under perfectionist level of editing) I’ve been playing around with this idea a bit, let me know if it’s a keep or toss lol

Tw: Violence, physical abuse

“Soldier,” the gentle voice echoed in his head, “soldier. Are you there? Can you hear me?”

The Asset’s opened slowly, heavy from the sedative, the woman speaking looked familiar. Like he’d seen her before, many times. He took in his surroundings, the dark cement walls, metal gurneys, various tools. A fluttering sound pulled his attention back to the woman. She wiggled her fingers, letting them rub against each other, as she moved her hand slowly in front of her face.

Her head jerked sharply and she fell, the harsh sound of the slap seeming delayed. “We don’t have time for kid gloves,” said the man now standing over her. The Asset tried to move between them when the man gave her two hard kicks to the stomach, but he was stuck. Rapid whirring reminded the man of The Asset’s presence, “good thing we keep him on a leash while waking him up.”

Another person stepped forward, “Sir, the Doctor is just as valuable as the Soldier. The General wants us to keep them both in good condition.”

The Asset counted around twelve men in the room with them. The remaining ten stood silently holding their guns, down, but ready. The woman–Doctor–got to her feet, bruises beginning to form on her cheek already. She wiped the blood from her mouth, unfazed by the harsh treatment, and began again, fingers fluttering at her side. When she spoke again, it sounded less like he was underwater, but there was still something off. The Asset kept a blank face when he realized she was whispering in English.

“I’m sorry for all of this, Sergeant Barnes.”

#bucky barnes fic #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #the winter solider x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier fanfic #fanfiction #Fanfic writer #fandom #marvel #steve rogers #stucky #bucky needs a hug

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avengerscompound · 1 year

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The Return Home

The Return Home: A Winterhawk Fanfic

Buy me a coffee with Ko-fi Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton

Word Count: 1073

Warnings: Injuries

Synopsis: Clint just wants to get home, but when he arrives at his building someone is waiting in the dark to ambush him.

The Return Home

Clint’s whole body ached. He was pretty sure he’d broken a rib and at one point he’d dislocated his shoulder. He’d pushed it back in, but usually, you were supposed to rest that kind of wound. Instead, Clint had spent the rest of the afternoon having the shit kicked out of him while he used a compound bow with a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound pull strength, over and over again.

He was sore and exhausted and he just wanted to put some ice on his shoulder and ribs, have a shot of rum in his coffee so that he could pass out, and not have any dreams where he revisited that battlefield.

Also, his hearing aids had been shorted out by an EMP. So he couldn’t hear anything. He wasn’t sure if he was upset about that or not. On one hand, it had made ordering pizza difficult. On the other, it gave him an excuse not to enter into small talk.

Of course, he’d stopped at the pizza place down the road and bought a pie. There was no point going to his empty apartment without it. It wasn’t home without a box on the counter that he could pick at for a few days. Pepperoni. Extra cheese. He'd also gotten a side of garlic knots. It was way more food than he was going to be able to eat but Lucky would have some, and he could reheat some for breakfast. It would mean he didn't have to go out, and he wanted to know if that ice cube trick he saw on Reddit would work.

Besides, he really liked garlic knots.

He struggled with the security door. Of course, the stupid thing wouldn't recognize his key and when it did, as soon as he went to turn the handle it would click locked again. He finally managed to muscle it open, aggravating his shoulder in the process, and he stepped inside.

The hall light was out and someone was standing in the dark alcove under the stairs. He couldn’t see them, but he still knew they were there. It was like an itch under his skin. It made his skin crawl and the hair stand up at the back of his head. It was the kind of itch you got when you know you were being watched. He assumed whoever it was was responsible for the light being out, which was annoying because now he was going to have to fix it as well as likely get his ass kicked again today.

Still - maybe he’d get lucky and whoever was waiting to ambush him might kill him and he wouldn’t have to worry about it.

“I know you’re there,” he said as he walked to the stairs. If they wanted a fight, they could start it. He’d be ready for it either way but he wasn’t going to make the effort to get it going. He caught a glimpse of movement as he started climbing the stairs and the figure began following him up.

There was something familiar about the movement. Something comforting even. He knew he could turn and see who it was if he wanted to, but he didn’t have the energy. He could move if they attacked but the fact they hadn’t meant that they likely weren’t going to. At least not yet. Maybe they had a message to deliver first. If that was the case they were going to have to get comfortable while he looked for his spare pair of hearing aids.

When he reached the door he caught a glimpse of metal. He braced a moment, ready to fight or dodge depending on what was about to happen, but when three beats passed he unlocked the door and pushed it open. Lucky came running out snuffling and dancing around Clint’s feet. When the Golden Retriever ran past him with the same excited lope and greeted Clint’s guest, Clint knew for sure he had nothing to worry about. He slumped inside and went straight to the kitchen bench. He dropped the pizza box and the bag with the garlic knots on the counter and pulled out a slice and held it down at his knee. When Lucky came running over and took it, Clint braced his hands on the kitchen bench and let his head drop forward, as his eyes fell closed.

The figure moved up behind him. Clint could feel them before they’d even touched him. Their hands connected first gently landing on Clint’s hips and sliding around his waist. As they moved up his stomach to his chest, the rest of their body pulled in closed and pressed up against Clint’s back. Their cheeks rested on Clint’s shoulder and their arms pulled him in close to them. Both were strong and firm, but one was made of unyielding metal. It made his broken rib ache, but he didn’t care. There was nothing in the world that would make him want to move it away now.

Their lips brushed against Clint’s neck, a puff of air tickling him as they spoke but Clint couldn’t hear a word. He pulled the broken hearing aid from his ear and put it on the counter, not saying anything but hoping the meaning would be passed along.

The hands moved, pressing into him so that Clint had to turn or risk his broken rib pushing into his lung. He turned around and looked down into the face of Bucky Barnes. His hair lay lank over his eyes. Such gorgeous eyes. Blue but in a dark way. Like a storm brewing out over the ocean. Bucky reached up and cradled Clint’s jaw, his thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Are you okay?”

Clint couldn’t hear the question, but he could read his lips perfectly well. He nodded. “Broke my rib,” he said.

Bucky smiled. He brushed his thumb over Clint’s lips and shook his head just a little. “Fuck. I was so worried. When Steve called and said what happened…”

He tugged Clint down toward him, pressing the archer’s forehead against his own. Clint smiled and his arms circled Bucky’s waist. He kissed him. Just briefly. A soft brush of his lips against Bucky’s before he pulled away and buried his face in Bucky’s neck. Today was hard. His whole body ached and he was exhausted to the bone. It would all be okay because here, in Bucky’s arms, he was finally home.

~ END ~

#marvel #avengers #clint barton #bucky barnes #clint barton x bucky barnes #winterhawk #hawkeye #the winter soldier #hawkeye fanfic #the winter soldier fanfic #winterhawk fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #the return home

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queen-of-the-avengers · 1 year

Text

So, You Got Detention

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~600

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Buckyx mutant reader / Reader can shpe shift , she and bucky are together . One time they are messing around r likes to play with her powers by shifting to anyone with comedic fun bucky likes to watch this time shes in steves form and bucky was all "can you pretend hes that psa from peters detention" grinning r grins too . Just in time steve came reader in steves form "so, *promp sits on chair* you got detention , you screwd up , you know wht you did was wrong" trying not to cackle like bucky steve is all hed down" what did i do now??"

Summary: To pass the time, you show off your shapeshifting skills once you find the videos Steve made for Peter’s school.

Squares Filled: body swap (2020) for @avengersbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Having powers is a great thing if you know how to use them well. Wanda was forced to learn how to use her powers because of the experiments she had to undergo. Vision was born into it, Tony adapted easily, Steve was seen as a hero both inside and out, Natasha and Bucky were forced to use their powers for evil, and many other Avengers had similar issues.

Not you.

You were born with the ability to shapeshift, but you’ve always had fun with it. You never saw it as a hindrance or a problem you needed to fix. If someone caught you using it, then so be it. It helped you get out of a lot of issues in school and well into your young adult life.

Just one look at someone is enough for you to copy what they look like. That made for some very dangerous yet really fun nights with your friends. It’s something you never took seriously, and adding your care-free personality to the mix equals disaster.

The older you got, the more you took bigger and bigger risks such as sneaking into the Avengers compound dressed as one of the other Avengers.

The only reason you did it was because you wanted to see how long it would take for one of them to notice you. You didn’t want to steal their information or take them down, but they might see you as wanting to do that if you got caught.

You did by Vision himself.

As soon as you were on the Avengers’ radar, life became a lot more difficult because they would always interrupt your dangerous nights with a strong lecture and a threat to keep you at the compound until further notice.

Before, you hated the idea of that.

Now, you can’t think of anything better.

The only person who you connected to was Bucky. There was something about him that made you always want to be around him, to be his friend. He didn’t take to you at first, but now, he can’t imagine his life without you in it.

“Bucky, I’m bored. What are we going to do?” you groan.

Everyone is out living their life and seeing their family while you and Bucky along with a select few Avengers are lingering in the compound.

“I’m content with sitting here and watching YouTube videos,” he chuckles.

“What are you watching?”

You lean over his shoulder to see the screen. He’s watching a video that Steve made for Peter’s school to use. Videos such as “Don’t do drugs”, “Always do your homework”, and “Never get in trouble”. It’s making Bucky laugh, and you want to take that up a notch.

“Check this out.”

You easily shapeshift into Steve since you’ve done it dozens of times to mess with him, and Bucky puts his phone down to watch this play out. You grab a chair and drag it to the living room where you take a seat backwards on the chair so the back of it is pressed to your front.

“So, you got detention. You screwed up. You know what you did was wrong. The question is, how are you going to make things right? Maybe you were trying to be cool. Take it from a guy who's been frozen for sixty-five years. The only way to really be cool is to follow the rules.”

Bucky cracks up laughing at this, and you can’t help but giggle at his reaction. You open your mouth to say more when Steve walks into the room with a confused look on his face.

“What is going on here?”

You transform back into yourself and fall onto the couch next to Bucky in a fit of laughter.

“You got detention,” you laugh.

“I regret making those videos for them,” Steve sighs.

“They’re great, Steve, really,” Bucky smirks.

“Keep laughing. You two are no friends of mine,” Steve teases, turns, and leaves the room.

“Be careful, Buck, you’ll get detention if you hurt his feelings,” you giggle again, and Bucky laughs along with you.

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sorryiwasasleep · 4 months

Text

All the Stupid

Steve Rogers is a genius, but he's also an idiot and only Bucky Barnes has ever seemed to call him out for it when it matters.

Bucky remembers after visiting the Smithsonian and he realizes that without him at his side, Steve's even more of a damn fool than Bucky ever thought.

So he returns to his side.

And some long overdue truths are acknowledged along the way.

#stucky #Stucky fic #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #Steve Rogers fanfic #Captain America #The Winter Soldier #captain america: the winter soldier #post ca:tws #catws #catws fic #Captain America fanfiction #captain America fanfic #the winter soldier fanfic #Stucky fanfiction #2012 me is cringing but 2023 me is cringe and free

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rogersideup · 1 month

Text

｡°✩ ♊︎ The Gemini♊︎ ✩ °｡

Chapter 5:

Rearview

Series Masterlist

Previous part: Pink Peonies Next Part: Little Birdie

Word Count: 6,610

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI. Mentions and descriptions of sexual acts, anxiety, and sever depression.

Gentle knocks barely caught Bucky's attention from his spot on the couch in his apartment. All the lights were off, and it was quickly nearing bedtime as a show played a little louder than it probably should.

He thought he was hearing things until it happened again, this time he got up and looked through the peephole in his front door. To his surprise you were standing there.

The door swung open with a sense of urgency and Bucky on the other side. His eyes were immediately soft and concerned, his posture relaxed as he leaned onto the doorframe.

"Bug, what happened to you?" He questioned sounding sounding worried as he took in your appearance.

Comfortable work out shorts and a hoodie was pretty much all you wore during your time off of work in the building that always seemed to be air conditioned to a temperature a few degrees below your comfortability, but this time your hair was thrown up in a messy bun, your cheeks pink and your eyes and nose red, but the main point of concern was your arm in a sling.

Bucky had been way better at respecting your boundaries and giving you the space you needed to heal more than anyone else in your life at the moment, and right now, you just really needed a friend. You had some reluctant confidence that he would be willing to listen to you, maybe even give you a hug if you were lucky, and you were also reluctantly confident in your ability to forgive him at this point.

"Hey, I'm really sorry to bother you but I was just hoping you had a few minutes to talk about what happened today?" You pitched.

Bucky was admittedly taken back by your appearance. Your mental health was taking a toll on you, and it was becoming evident. Even since he last saw you a week ago at your evaluation, you looked sadder, frailer, and smaller.

His hand latched onto the upper arm that wasn't in a sling and he gave it a gentle squeeze as he stepped into the hallway, letting his door close behind him.

"Tell me about it" he nodded.

"Um, Harvey yanked my arm back and trapped me against the wall in the hallway earlier today. He dislocated my shoulder" You admitted with a big deep breath, really trying to keep your composure. "I went to the med bay, they popped it back in place but suggested I rest it and take it easy for a few days, hence the sling."

"Oh you poor thing, that sounds painful." Bucky's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you okay?"

You let out a sad chuckle. "No, I'm not." The admission slipped past your lips for the first time ever.

"M'sorry" Bucky sunk into himself.

"Right after it happened I went to training with Steve, it didn't go well." You explained. "He got mad that I was late, and he really wasn't interested in hearing about what made me late or why I was clutching my shoulder and crying. He grabbed my arms and pulled them behind my back then tied my wrists together. The doctor thinks it wasn't completely dislocated until I had to get myself out of the rope. He gave me pain killers and a pretty strong dose of Xanax to calm me down from the panic attack I was having because of him."

"Steve did that to you?" Bucky questioned quietly in disbelief. "I can't believe he did that."

"I don't think he meant to, but whether it was his intention or not, it happened and the bridge has been burned." You gently nodded. "I couldn't believe it either."

"I don't know what to say." Bucky shook his head sadly.

It was evident that Bucky was stuck between a rock and a hard place in this situation. He kept doing what he thought was right, but he still felt immense guilt that his friends were hurting as a result of it.

"You don't need to say anything." You reassured him. "Rogers made it clear that he's not my boss anymore, and Commander Bennett is sleeping so I figured you'd be next in line as a higher up to make informed that I can't report for duty for a minimum of 24 hours because I'm under the influence of benzodiazepines. It's noted in my medical chart."

"Okay, you rest up and I'll make sure to tell him in the morning." Bucky noted. "How are you feeling right now?"

"A little out of it, but the pain isn't nearly as bad so that's all I could've ever hoped for."

"Mental or physical?"

"Both." You admitted. "I'm sure I'll be feeling a lot worse tomorrow, but I'll leave that to be a problem for myself in the future."

"Steve mentioned to me that you quit the rest of training with him, is this why?" Bucky questioned hesitantly.

"Yeah, it is." You sadly confessed. "Ever since the initial fight, seeing him every day has been pretty hard. After today I realized I really need to prioritize my health before being a good agent. I can't go out and fight on a battlefield if I can barely get out of bed anymore. Plus with my shoulder I can't do strenuous physical activity for a week, and after that there would only be one more week of training left so it would be pretty useless."

"Prioritizing your health is important to being a good agent." Bucky reminded you. "Although it makes me sad to hear, I hope you know I'm proud of you for sticking up for yourself to anyone that's causing you pain."

"Thanks." You crossed your arm close to your body, chickening out on the conversation you initially came for.

You weren't stupid, you knew there was a reason why he wasn't inviting you into his place, and that reason was either Natasha or Steve. Either way, you didn't want to interrupt.

An awkward silence fell over the two of you, and it made your skin crawl. Both of you were far too wrapped up in your own heads just trying to find the right thing to say to each other, but the words never appeared, so you put an end to it.

"oh...and uh thanks for handling Commander Bennett in the morning. It'll be nice to sleep in and not have to worry about waking up early."

"Does he know you're going to quit training? I can tell him about that too."

"He doesn't, but that's not in his jurisdiction anymore so it's fine."

"Got it." Bucky nodded.

"See you around." You awkwardly lifted your hand in an attempts to wave and walk off.

"Hey, would it be okay if I checked on you tomorrow?" Bucky asked. "It's okay if you're not ready for that yet, but I still worry about you a lot. I just want to make sure you're doing okay."

"Yeah, that's fine. You can stop by whenever." You agreed.

"Thanks" Bucky accepted sadly. Then, what he really wanted to say rolled off his tongue unapologetically. "I really miss you, Bug."

"I miss you too." You agreed, the pain you've become rather familiar but never comfortable with was clawing at your chest again. "A lot, actually. But I don't see a situation in which Steve would be okay with us hanging out again, and I know how important your friendship is with each other and I'd never want to be the one to drive a wedge into that."

"I hope you don't take this as me defending him, because I'm not. I promise I'm not." Bucky started. "But I've known him my whole life, I'd like to think I have a good read of his character, and this is nothing like him. He said some really dumb things to you, but bug? I've never seen him this upset with himself in my entire life."

"I don't think there's anything I can do about that." You shook your head. "He's in your place right now, isn't he?

"Yeah, he is." Bucky told you the truth. "He told me about what happened today, he cried for the first time in a few years because he feels terrible about it and how he made you feel."

You swallowed thickly. "That's not an apology for his behavior."

"It's not, but I'm trying to help you understand each other better. If I can attest to anything, it's that you found out about his crush on you at the worst time imaginable. He loves and cares about you so much, and none of it is ill intended. The reason he kept it in for so long was because he was scared of exactly this situation happening, and he's mortified that he broke your friendship and trust in him. Yes, he's been avoiding talking about it because he was hurt by what we did, but now I think he understands and he's avoiding it because he thinks you hate him."

"I don't hate him" You denied. "I'm mad at the way he's handling this, but I don't hate him."

"I know" Bucky nodded.

"He was really angry when I got to training." You told Bucky. "I've never been scared of him before, but I was terrified of him today. I don't know what he was mad about, but I think it was because I was late. I was only late because Harvey was being an asshole, but Steve told me pointedly that he didn't care."

"He was mad at himself, and it was making him grumpy. He's been like this for a week now."

"I don't know how to move past the way he made me feel earlier. It's like I'm scared to see him again because I'm scared that he's still going to scare me." You explained. "It was like there was no traces of my friend left in there, it felt like he was Captain America, and I was the enemy, and there was no mercy for whatever I did to make him mad."

Bucky sighed because he's seen Steve that angry before, and he knew how scary he really can get. He's a tall, muscular guy, and you're barely five-foot-something with far less fighting experience.

"He would never hurt you" Bucky reminded you. "He knows he scared you, and he's having a breakdown because of it."

"He did hurt me, Buck. In more ways than one." You reminded him. "I love him, I really do, but I'm not responsible for his reaction to the way he hurt me. He scared me, he berated me, and he broke my heart but that's his own doing, and he has to deal with the consequences of that just how I have to deal with the consequences of what happened between you and I and how that made Steve feel."

"I get it." He agreed.

"I'm glad that you two seem to be on okay terms, but you understand how that's bullshit, right?"

"Yeah." Bucky practically whispered.

"Well, for what it's worth I'm sorry you're in the position of being stuck in the middle." You apologized. "I love you, I forgive you for telling Steve because I understand why you did it, and I'll always be here for you if you need me, but I also know I can't be the priority."

"Bug, that's not-"

"It's fine, I get it." You saved him from his own lie. "If he's already struggling, are you going to tell him about my shoulder?"

"I don't know." Bucky sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Should I?"

You shrugged with your one good arm. "You know him better than I ever will."

"Do you want to talk to him?" Bucky asked already knowing the answer, but he had to give it a shot.

"Not tonight." You denied. "If he wants to talk about it he can come to me, but right now I'm a little high on crazy pills and pain killers so I'd rather wait until I have more time to get into my right mind."

"I understand."

"Thanks for listening, it was really nice seeing you again." You said sincerely.

"Thank you for trusting me. Can I give you a hug?" He asked knowing you needed one desperately.

You nodded and opened your good arm for him, he hugged you gently to avoid hurting you, but it was still healing in a way you haven't felt in a while.

"Don't be a stranger, okay? We can talk more about it whenever you need to in order to make it better. I love you bug, I still want to be your friend and I know we can make it work."

"I appreciate it." You nodded.

"Do you need help getting back to your apartment? I can walk you home."

"I'll be okay." You reassured him. "Have a good night, I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

Tomorrow came around, and Bucky did eventually come check on you. He found you in bed around 4pm fast asleep with a romcom playing quietly in the background. It made him

Sad to wake you up, but he did it anyways just to make sure you were okay and that you didn't need anything, and once he was convinced that you were okay he left you alone.

Then, that was the last anyone had seen you for 4 whole days. Was it your intention to stay in your apartment for that long? No. But things happen, mental health quickly spirals, and your body felt sick. It was like there was an external force locking you in the walls of your home, and imaginary restraints tying you to your bed.

You were scared to leave because you didn't want to get attacked again, scared to report to work because you didn't want to see Harvey or Steve again, and you were scared to move because you were so tired of being in pain. So yeah, your apartment became your little safe space, but you never realized you were the point of concern around the building.

Especially not so much that you woke up once more, but this time Steve was sitting on the edge of your bed looking absolutely terrified as he gently shook your arm.

"Hey, are you okay?" Steve asked the second your eyes opened, eyebrows pinching together in concern.

You grumbled something he couldn't understand before turning away and covering your entire head with a blanket.

"Wait, stop, I'm not joking. Are you okay?" Steve asked, this time you could hear the genuine worry in his voice.

"Why are you here?" You asked with an adorable glare as your head popped out of the blanket. “What part of leaving me the hell alone do you not understand?”

He hated that it almost made him smile. "No one has seen or heard from you in 4 days. We got so many concerned reports of your disappearance that they made me to a mandated wellness check."

"Obviously I'm well, you can go now." You wrapped yourself tighter in the blankets and turned away from him again.

"You're not obviously well. It's 2pm and you're in bed, you haven't answered anyone's texts or phone calls, and you were supposed to report to Fury today to see if you were okay enough to get back to work. Everyone is worried."

"I'm fine."

"You're watching pride and prejudice." Steve noted simply. "You're not fine."

"Tell Fury I'll report to him in an hour."

"Fury is gone for a while, I think he's out until the end of the month." Steve explained.

"Commander Bennett, then."

"Out of jurisdiction" he reminded you. "That's why Fury sent me."

"Then who can I talk to in an hour?"

"Me." Steve sighed, knowing that's not what you wanted to hear.

"Do you have a meeting spot available in an hour?"

"No, my schedule is full for the rest of the day."

"Tomorrow?"

"Dude, I'm here right now. What's wrong?" Steve asked, his heart pounding and cracking in his chest.

"What time you you have available tomorrow?"

"8am." Steve said simply.

"Fine. I'll take it." You agreed, closing you eyes and trying your best to pretend like this wasn't happening.

"I'm not allowed to leave until I'm convinced you're okay." Steve noted. "Are you sure you don't want to push the meeting up to right now?"

"Positive." You grumbled. "Sometimes when heavy conversations are sprung on someone with no time to prepare for them, it leads to overly emotional responses. Ever heard of something like that happening before, Rogers?"

"Maybe once or twice." He made the active choice to not bite at the argumentative bait you threw him. "How's your shoulder?"

"Attached and functioning."

"When was your last full meal?"

Once again, you turned your head to glare at him. "If I answer these stupid questions does that mean you'll get out of my apartment and go back to pretending like I don't exist?"

"This is just as uncomfortable for me as it is for you" Steve told you. Really, seeing you look so broken down and worn out made him genuinely sad, but right now you weren't looking for his pity. Quite honestly, he was worried about how you would react to him if he expressed how concerned he really was.

Now with knowing what you knew, Steve was at least smart enough to know that if he reacted to this scenario as a coworker, or a boss, or even a friend, all of his concern would be directed straight to the romantic advancement category of your brain. He knew that he always would and always will care for you regardless of if you rejected his feelings for you or not, but in this situation where that information was taken horribly wrong, the best thing he could do was stay neutral and respect that you didn't want to be part of his life anymore.

You didn't want him to care, you didn't want him to be there, you didn't want to get out of bed, and you didn't even want anyone to notice you were gone for so long.

Yet, somehow on the very flip side of the coin, you were mad at him for not expressing that he was more worried about you than he was letting on, you wanted him to just stay with you and fight for a spot back in your life, you wanted to just get out of your congested apartment and breathe some air that wasn't from the buildings circulation system, you wanted to go on a long run and feel the cold morning air, and you wanted the same people who reported you as missing in action to care enough about your existence to actually be nice to you beyond a mandated report.

But really, you just couldn't get yourself to do anything.

Leaving was overwhelming, staying made you want to cry, and there was no solution in between those two options.

"Hey, did I lose you?" Steve asked.

"No. Sorry." You shook your head.

"When was the last time you ate?" He repeated.

"Dinner last night." You grumbled. "I would've lied and said I ate lunch today, but your bullshit detector is almost unfair and I think anything but the truth would make you even more worried."

"At least you're honest." Steve sighed. "Last time you drank?"

"This morning"

"Water?"

"Coffee."

Steve frowned. "Last time you left your apartment?"

"I saw Bucky after I got released from medical, whenever that day was."

"Last time you went outside? Had fun? Hung out with a friend? Anything?"

"I played The Sims 4 yesterday, it was riveting." You said dryly.

"Any future plans you're looking forward to? Something? Anything? Literally just give me anything to work with."

"Ooh!" You perked up. "There's a new sim's expansion pack coming out next week it costs $40 but it's okay because if you break down the cost per hour you play it, it really is cents to a dollar."

"Oh my gosh" Steve sighed, running his hand through his hair and tugging at the ends a big trying to relive the stress you had caused him. "I can't in good conscience say you passed a wellness check."

"I'm trying my best dude, this is all I got. I don't know what else you want from me." You huffed.

You watched Steve's eyebrows furrow in concern as he checked his wrist watch for the time. "Okay, here's the deal."

"If this ends with me in grippy socks and a gown I'm going to be so undeniably pissed off at you."

"You're already undeniably pissed off at me so that's not very threatening, but, no I don't think you need that at this very moment." Steve corrected you. "I have 45 minutes until I have to get to a meeting. If you can pull yourself together and leave your apartment to go get food and do something fun, then check back in with me in a few hours, I'll mark you as well."

"That sounds like a lot of money and effort." You complained.

Steve sighed and pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his nice jeans, then handed you a card between his two fingers. "Take the company card, I'll mark the charges as a business expense."

Only then did your face light up, and you happily grabbed the heavy silver card from his hand. "I think I can work with this."

"The rules are that I need cold hard proof you ate and did at least one activity that'll make you feel better, I don't care what that is. And I need the card back by the end of the day, no ifs ands or buts."

"Deal."

"Okay great, you have 44 minutes now to get out of the building." Steve reminded you.

"Are you really going to stay until I leave?" You questioned, tone full of annoyance and dread.

"Yeah, that's part of the deal."

"Ugh, fine." You ripped the blankets off of yourself. "Can you at least go into the living room so I can shower and change in peace?"

"As you wish" Steve stood up and raised his hands in defense. "But don't make me late, you know I hate being late."

"How could I ever forget?" You rolled your eyes.

More bait that Steve refused to bite, so he quietly walked out of your room and softly closed the door behind him. Sitting on the couch and waiting, half an hour later you flew through your bedroom door and didn't miss a single beat as you flew through the living room and grabbed your purse off the rack.

"Come on, Captain, i'd hate it if you were late under any circumstance!" You said sarcastically, pulling open the front door as he shot up off the couch. "Even if it was completely out of your control!"

"I'm choosing to not respond to that" Steve grumbled, following you out and down the hall with confidence your door would automatically lock as it slammed shut behind the two of you.

Calling the elevator did nothing to slow either of you down as the doors automatically opened, and you shoved yourself into the furthest corner you could, trying your hardest to ignore your racing heart and internal panic over being forced out of the compound. He could read the anxiety on your facial expressions, and feel it radiating off of you as if you were telepathically sending it to him.

You hit the lobby button, Steve hit the floor his office was on.

Since his floor was above the lobby, the doors opened once more and it was his turn to get off. "Have fun, be safe, give me the card back today."

"Wait? When was I supposed to give it back to you?" You made one last sarcastic jab before the doors closed, completely shielding you from his annoyed face.

As per his request, you got food, spent more than a few hours and a few hundred at a beauty salon, made a quick stop home before Steve texted you that he was out of his last meeting.

So you made a leisurely walk over to his office, and knocked twice before entering. He looked tired and more than ready to turn in work for the day as he straightened out the haphazard papers and various sticky notes on his desk.

"That pothos is looking a bit sad." You noted, leaning in the doorway.

The once happy plant with bright green leaves with tiny cream colored patches was now droopy and under watered.

"It's not sad, it's just dramatic when it needs some water. I watered it a few minutes ago, it'll perk up again soon" He explained, looking at the plant, then up to you. "Oh, you got your hair done."

Your hair was now perfectly styled, cut a little shorter, and was a little lighter throughout the ends. Steve also noticed your casual street ware was replaced with your favorite sweatpants and a cropped t shirt. He once again cursed himself for thinking about how beautiful you were when he really should've still been mad at you.

"And my nails, and my eyebrows." You noted, holding up your hands for him to see. "Is this enough evidence?"

"I guess it is." He nodded. "What did you get to eat?"

"Dim sum" you admitted. "Here's the card."

It wasn't the cheapest option in the world, but every few weeks you and Steve would happily splurge and go get dim sum together because it was just so good. But hey, if you had the company card, you we're definitely going to fill your belly up with bao and dumplings.

"Thanks." He took it back from you. "Do you feel any better?"

"Yeah, maybe a little bit." You nodded. "But I am going to continue on with that meeting in the morning, oh, and definitely finish pride and prejudice."

"Would you like to have the meeting now? I'll stay late, I don't mind." He asked. Staying late was the last thing he wanted to do, but nothing would be worse than living with the anxiety that this unknown meeting was causing him.

"No it's fine, you seem tired." You denied. "And by the way, did you know the company card works on The Sims 4?! Now I'm even more excited for that new expansion pack because I didn't have to pay for it!"

He could tell you were still deeply sad and exhausted by your surroundings, but your fake enthusiasm wasn't helping him feel any less concerned by your state of being.

"Lovely. I'm happy for you." Steve said dryly.

"See you in the morning, Captain Rogers. 8 am, don't be late."

And just like that, you slipped past his office door. Steve wished it was physically possible to kick himself in that moment. He so desperately wanted to just talk to you, he wanted to explain himself, express to you that he loved and cared for you regardless of where the two of you stood, he wanted to be a good friend and be there for you through this very obvious rough patch, but he couldn't.

The words never properly formulated whenever he was within eyeshot of you, yet the second you left and when he would lay awake at night staring up at the dark ceiling unable to sleep, those words formed perfectly and passionately with no way to express them in a way you deserved to hear.

Just like always, he laid awake all night just for 8 am to come around. Promptly on time, you were back in his office.

As you took a seat in the very familiar chair across his desk, he noticed three things. The first being that you weren't in uniform, the second being that even though you looked beautiful, you no longer looked like yourself, and last but not least, the words escaped him again.

The concealer under your eyes did little to hide the fact that you had been crying, the blush on your cheeks didn't fool him into believing that the life hadn't been drained from your face. Your eyes were dull, your sweet and spunky personality that he loved so much had been missing for a month now. You were right in front of him, but you felt like a ghost and he found himself missing you.

"You're on time" Steve noted. "I stopped for a coffee this morning and grabbed you one too since you're the first meeting of my day."

Steve placed the perfectly ordered vanilla cold brew in front of you, "oh, thanks. I appreciate that."

"Will you please tell me what's going on now?" Steve practically begged. This very meeting had been looming over his head in a storm cloud of anxiety since yesterday.

Without saying anything, you handed him a piece of paper. He took it from your shaky hands with a dreadful look in his eye, so you sat and sipped your coffee and looked at the swirls in the wood of his beautifully stained desk while awaiting his reaction.

The first and only thing his eye picked up before he refused to read more was 'This letter is intended to notify you of my resignation in two weeks from S.H.I.E.L.D.'

"No." Steve said sternly before sliding your resignation letter right back to you.

"No?" You questioned.

"Absolutely not."

"I'm quitting and you're saying...no?" You cocked your head to the side, trying not to cry out of immediate frustration. "You understand that's probably illegal?"

"When have I ever been one to follow the law?" He asked rhetorically. "I can't let you throw everything you've worked so hard for away just because of me. Nuh-uh. Not going to happen."

"This has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me." You corrected him.

"Why do you think this is the best choice for you right now?" Steve poked, trying his hardest to ignore the way his heart was sitting in the bottom of his stomach.

You braced yourself with a big breath, and accepted the presence of the never ending tears that always stung your eyes nowadays. "Being here has proven to be the worst experience for my mental health, and I need it to get better because I'm scared of what will happen to me if it doesn't."

"There are other things we can try before taking a step this drastic." Steve pleaded.

You shook your head in denial. "I can't get out of bed anymore."

"I'll get you a therapist."

"I've barely been able to eat, shower, work out." You continued painting the picture for him while quickly wiping away a tear. "This is the furthest I've ever been from myself. I look in the mirror and don't recognize my reflection, all i want to do is sleep so I don't have to deal with the constant state of anxiety I'm in just to wake up and hate that I feel numb. I've lost control over my own emotions and I can't take it anymore. We all saw this coming, Steve, so please just let me go."

"Harvey is literally one write up away from getting fire-"

"Four months ago, it had been 3 years since the last time I cried. Now I think I cry about three times a day, and sometimes I need to cry but nothing happens. It's like I'm losing my mind and I hate it."

"But..."

"I never took a day off or called out since I started shield until that one mission when Harvey made sure I got hurt. Ever since then I've been getting hurt more, working less, having to take days off left and right. At this rate, I'd rather go quietly before I get fired."

"Nobody is going to fire you." Steve denied.

"Even before everything happened, I haven't been happy here. My friends and my boyfriend were the only ones keeping me sane and tying me down to the compound, but now? I don't have a boyfriend or even friends for that matter. Everyone here hates me. Nothing is grounding me."

"Do you have another job lined up?" Steve sank in his chair.

"I'll figure it out."

"You know quitting means you'd lose your housing?" Steve challenged. "Do you have another living situation lined up?"

"Yeah, I have two places and two sets of people waiting for me."

You were being cryptic, but Steve knew you were talking about your Sister and Brother in-Law, and your Mom and Dad.

"But you haven't signed a lease yet?"

"No, not yet." You sniffled.

There was a break in conversation, Steve's wheels obviously moving and cranking desperately trying to come up with a solution. So you sat and dissociated from the situation while talking small and slow sips of your coffee.

"Okay, since I legally can't say no to you right now, here's what we're going to do." Steve sat up, and rolled his chair closer into the desk. "I'm putting you on a two week paid leave of absence instead. Take the two weeks to get out of the compound, stay with whoever is waiting for you and really focus on yourself. Really think about what you want, then at the end of the two weeks if you still think that you don't want to do this anymore, that's fine. I'll terminate your employment on the spot, no need for another notice."

"Okay" You accepted. Not only was it a good deal, but it got you out of the compound as soon as today, and all you wanted to do was run out of the doors and never come back.

He started typing around on his computer, and a piece of paper came out of the printer that jumped on. "In the meantime I also really want you to consider this." You grabbed the warm paper from his hands, and looked it over to see that it was the benefits list to the Avengers position. "You'd move up into the loft with the rest of us, you'd never have to see any of the other agents again if you didn't want to. The job is easier- not as busy with more downtime. Everyone loves you and wants you there, plus it would be an increase in pay with better benefits and a killer 401k."

"Everyone?" You asked, "I can think of two people that probably wouldn't want me there right now."

He gave you a disappointed dad stare. "Everyone, and I mean that."

"Much to think about." You mumbled.

"Since you'll be gone and out of harms way, I'm going to take the time to whip the boys into shape since they can't retaliate against you." He noted.

"Good luck with that."

"Questions, comments, concerns?"

"No questions, no more comments, and no less than a million concerns but that's just an average day for me." You stood up from his desk. "Thanks for your time and effort, I'll be back in two weeks I guess."

"Hey, I'm rooting for you, and I genuinely mean that." Steve reminded you sadly. "If you need anything at all, professionally or personally, I'm here. I always will be."

You nodded before pushing through the doors with your coffee and benefits list in hand. As quickly as you could, you packed a bag full of everything you'd need to be gone for a little while in hopes that you could get out of the building before the news spread. The last thing you wanted was Bucky trying to convince you to stay or Harvey getting some sort of sick satisfaction from your choice.

It took about an hour, but walking through the compound with a backpack and a duffel was the most satisfying and enjoyable experience you've ever had since the first time you walked into the building.

Getting into the car and turning the key in the ignition, you let the air from the vents hit your face and dry out the tears on your cheeks. Your seatbelt clicked in place and held you like a hug while the music from your playlist connected to Bluetooth and sang comforting words to you.

After putting in the address to your parents house in maps and set off on your journey, you had an hour and 45 minute drive ahead of you to relax and let the weight of the world roll off your shoulders.

But in the process of setting off on your journey, nothing was more comforting that seeing the reflection of the compound becoming smaller and smaller in the rear view mirrors.

Much like the gravity of all the issues that lived within the cold, gray building, they became smaller and smaller the further you got.

You let all of your problems stay locked in the concrete walls for Steve, Bucky, and Harvey to deal with on their own. Because right now, you needed to get better, you needed to feel like you again.

By the time you pulled into your parent's driveway, you barely had time to open your car door before your dad was grabbing your bags from the back seat while your mom was waiting for a hug.

You hopped out of the car and happily wrapped your arms around her. Before you knew it, there were little arms around your legs, your dad joined in, then two more sets of arms held you close.

"Wha-" You mumbled, lifting your head to see your sister, her husband and your nephew were here as well. "What are you guys doing here?!"

"We made the drive over so we can spend a few days together as a whole family." Jane explained with a kind, sympathetic smile on her face. "Luca lives in a constant state of missing his Auntie Smalls, and we all miss having you around so we thought this would be a perfect opportunity to get some quality time in."

"We know you're having a hard time, sweetheart." Your Mom pet your hair lovingly. "But we're here to rally around you no matter what, okay?"

"Whether you choose to be an agent, or an avenger, or a barista at the coffee shop around the corner, we're going to love you and support you just the same." Your dad reminded you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "There's plenty of space here for you, we're happy to have you as long as you need. There's no rush."

“And when they inevitably start to drive you absolutely insane, our house is your house too. You know we would love to have you, as would Luca." Nathan, your brother in law told you.

"We're going to have so much fun! Mommy brought puzzles, and paints, and ooh! We can play Nintendo-" Luca started excitedly.

"Woah there buddy, let's let Auntie at least put her stuff down before we start bombarding her, alright?" Jane giggled.

"Fine... Auntie let's go inside!" Luca grabbed your hand and gently pulled you towards the door of your childhood home.

You looked back with a genuine smile on your face. Tears filled your eyes at the sight of your family in the driveway, but this time they were happy tears, something you were completely unfamiliar with.

"Thank you, I love you guys." You put your free hand over your heart as Luca continued to happily walk you in.

"We love you too." Your mom said, finding comfort next to your dad who was lovingly wrapping his arm around her.

He was happy and content to have his kids and grandkid all under the same roof. Nothing made him happier than his empty nest becoming full again. "We love you more."

Next Part: Little Birdie

Tag List: @saranghaey @firephotogrl74 @selella @talesofadragon @ss28 @nekoannie-chan @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @spikeluv84 @crazyunsexycool @callmissrogers @xxxalicerogersxx @whore-for-chris-evans @em8rin @mulbsstuff @qalijahbydior @awkotaco24 @buckybarnessimpp @nicoline1998enilocin @buckystevelove @rogersbarber @mybuck @dbnightingale24 @ynstark @sincerelytlh @klaralovescaptainamerica @alexakeyloveloki @mrsevans90 @smhnxdiii @claralovescaptainamerica

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thranduilsperkybutt · 2 years

Photo

Lamb Among Wolves ♠️ Part IV ; Wild Card

Photo sources: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

| Part 3 | Part 5 (WIP) |

Imagine: Imagine owing mobster!Bucky a lot of money after your deadbeat brother bails with it, leaving you with his debt, and you offer yourself as payment that he is more than happy to collect himself.

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes/Reader

Series Warnings: NSFW unprotected smut; phone smut; fantasy description & oral mention; teasing; dark!fic; dubcon themes; mobster/mafia AU; mentions of blood, guns, violence, murder, drugs, gambling, etc.; mentions of character injury which occurred in the previous part & IEDs; nightmares/trigger behaviors; not quite PTSD but it’s PTSDesque; brief mention of choking (not the sexy kind); it gets worse before it gets better but dont tell nobody mama aint never fed ya

Word Count: 22k words

Reader Gender: Female

Author: Meg

Summary: The stakes are higher than you could have ever known, and the comedown from the events leading up to now feels like it will kill you, if Bucky doesn’t first. Just when the numbness sets in, an unexpected and unwelcome visitor comes to call, bringing more trouble on the horizon.

A/N: This has taken a thousand years, I know. I’m sorry about that, but with the pandemic, it’s been very overwhelming. Either way, I hope you enjoy this part! Thank you all for hanging in there with me and sending such kind messages. This has not been proofread. I’ll do that later.

The smell of rubber burning is what you remember most. It stuck in your mind and clung to your memory as vividly as if you were still sitting there on cold concrete, watching the Jaguar burn in the sparking lamplight.

The heat had cast a sickening glow, slicing through the chilly air like a knife, and warming your face with a caress that was much too welcoming for the horror that played out before your eyes.

The wailing, you realized, was coming from you when the strong force of Sam’s hands on your shoulders kept you from scrambling up off the ground. If he hadn’t, you’re certain you would have attempted to run towards the burned, bloodied body of the boy resting on the sidewalk, regardless of the staggering vertigo that would have surely hit you far sooner than it did.

He’s only seventeen, you thought, over and over again, Peter’s only seventeen.

“Don’t look,” Sam ordered, voice tight and militant, but his hands were gentler than you would ever have thought them to be as he pulled you into his chest. You don’t know if he’d done it in an effort to keep you from escaping his grip, or if it was his attempt at calming you down, but his repeating of, “Just, don’t look,” hadn’t helped soothe your terror as much as he probably intended it to.

That was your blood still staining Sam’s shirt, you notice as your head throbs despite the medicine they’d given you for the pain. It’s the only part of you that doesn’t feel numb.

“The doctor thinks you might have a concussion, huh,” Sam’s voice carries in the small space of the curtained observation bay, accompanying the distant beeps and groans that define the emergency department’s sterile atmosphere. “At least that cut on your head wound up looking worse than it really was. Don’t think it’ll scar up too bad, since you only needed a couple stitches.”

Your hand reaches up instinctively, ghosting over the bandage on the side of your head. It was near your hairline, barely creeping down the northernmost edge of your forehead, and you know you must look as much the mess you felt right now.

Blood still stuck to the hairs there, though dried with the time that’s passed since your bleeding stopped. It all felt like a blur, though you’re certain that’s from the shock of it all. Fresher in your mind was the memory of the haze of fear that overcame you when the stitches were being placed, and the emergency doctor’s attempt at conversation throughout the process.

She’d talked about how your scar should mend into your scalp rather unnoticeably; that head wounds bleed more than in other places. There was an attempt at a joke at one point, about how this was why you and Sam looked like you had just walked off a horror movie.

You don’t think she was aware that you might as well have.

God, you need a shower, but the exhaustion that’s seeped into your bones with the tapering of whatever adrenaline remained in your bloodstream protested any thought that didn’t involve collapsing into your bed the first chance you got. Hell, you might could pass out right here, if your head wasn’t throbbing like this.

Sam hasn’t left you, not since you hit the pavement, except to have a hushed conversation beyond the range of your curtain with the physician. Whether it was due to some worry that if he left you unattended you would take the opportunity to tell the nearest medical professional in earshot everything you knew--- which was practically nothing--- or a genuine decency buried somewhere deep inside this man, you couldn’t figure out. You didn’t want to try. Your head hurts too much for complex thought, right now.

Even laying it down on the pillow makes you wince. You just want to go home. You want all this to be a bad dream that you can wake up from in the morning.

“Did you find out if they’re going to keep me overnight?”

“They aren’t. You get to go home,” he probably doesn’t mean it this way, but you can’t help to hear the, when Peter doesn’t, at the unspoken end of his sentence. Forcing your eyes away, you focus on the provided chair for visitors in the small space beside the bed, but you haven’t seen Sam sit down in it once. He just hovers around the part in the curtain, shifting his weight, sometimes moving beyond it. You wonder if he’s unable to sit down. If maybe he doesn’t, because the same nerves that were jittering under your skin had gotten under his, too. It’s about the only indication you get that he’s just as antsy for news as you are.

“I’m sorry,” you try to swallow it down, this feeling of dreadful worry. Focusing on the dark stain draping over the chest of his shirt. There’d be no getting it out; you’ve ruined it, “For bleeding on you.”

Sam stares at you for a moment, as if he can’t quite wrap his head around what you’re saying, until he scoffs, “Why are you apologizing for bleeding? Not like you could help it.”

Your mouth clamps shut at that, because silence is easier than trying to explain the habit that has followed you since childhood. You’re saved from needing to when Sam’s phone beeps. He reads the waiting text immediately, brows drawn together. Concern, in the way the endless abyss of his dark eyes seems to somehow widen, encapsulating his once-friendly posture with the stiffening cold within them.

“What is it?”

“You should rest. You’re pretty beat up.” Even his voice sounds tense.

“Sam,” your own shakes with the change in his mood, worry creeping up your throat, “is it Peter?”

This kid, he’s gotten under your skin. Or, maybe you’re too empathetic for your own good. Too soft, because you know what he is wrapped up in— has been wrapped up in, long before you ever entered the picture— but seeing that boy on that pavement had broken some small piece of you. No matter what life he chose, this was something you couldn’t believe anyone deserved. Let alone a boy with his whole life ahead of him.

You’re worried sick, and it only makes the sharp pain in your skull ring. Gritting your teeth, on the verge of praying for the pain pills to soon start kicking in.

“Look, you don’t need to get all worked up right now,” Sam’s voice is softer, undoubtedly with the pain he’s noticed along your face, but you cut him off with one last, pleading sound.

“Sam.”

He sighs deep, running his hand over the short crop of his hair, and relents much more easily to your pleading than a man like him probably should, “They’re taking the kid back to surgery.” Your breath catches in your throat, as Sam explains, “He’s bleeding, on the brain. They’re going to put in some kind of tube to help relieve the pressure.” None of that could be at all good, and your breath catches as he continues, “Steve went to go get Peter’s aunt.”

“Is he,” you dare the question, even though you know it’s a stupid one, despite how terribly hopeful you sound as you say it, “going to be okay?”

Sam’s eyes flicker with anticipatory grief, looking back to his phone when he clears the emotion from his throat, but you can still hear the lie there, “Of course, he’s gonna’. That kid? Knowing him he’ll probably be running circles around us all by next month.”

Fuck, Peter’s in bad shape. You have a sneaking suspicion that it’s even worse than what Sam will tell you. He’s minimizing whatever it is, maybe for your sake, maybe for his own. Maybe it’s too hard to say out loud, without bursting into a million pieces. Maybe it’s too much for even a big, bad mobster like him to fathom.

Or maybe it’s just none of your business.

The nurse pulling back the curtain breaks you from the verge of dissolving into tears, as she moves towards you with a stack of paper in hand, “Okay, so if you’ll just sign these, you’ll be good to go. Now, you’ll need to be watched for the next twenty-four hours, in case you get any worse. If you do get worse, you’ll need to come straight back to the Emergency Department, okay?”

“Watched?” you sit up, trying not to groan at the stiffness in your bruised bones, “I live alone---”

“That’s already handled,” Sam cuts in, drawing both yours and the nurse’s attention, as he addresses her with a smile that’s all assurances, but doesn’t meet his eye, “She’ll be well taken care of. Don’t you worry.”

“Alright then, sweetie,” the nurse smiles at you, flipping through the papers you return to her after signing them, separating the back pamphlet, “these are yours to take with you. There’s a list of symptoms to watch out for, a summary of your visit, and when you’ll need to go back to the doctor to get those stitches out.” You’re too busy dwelling on Sam’s assertion that you were going to be well taken care of to do anything but stare at the papers in your hands.

He makes up for your distant state when she passes him, “Thanks a lot.” Near asking him about it, you don’t get the chance when he offers you a wide, open palm to rise from the hospital bed with, “Come on, Bucky’s waiting for us upstairs.”

Right, Bucky.

There’s a clenching in your chest, which would be way too easy to blame on your currently injured state. It would be a lie, though, if you told yourself that this feeling wasn’t caused by the thought of seeing him again. The desire to do so. You haven’t seen him since he was pulled from your bedside by a rather determined nurse, intent on assessing him in his own designated trauma bed. His face had been bloody then, and as much as you wanted to not care, you hoped he was alright.

That was over two hours ago, and you don’t blame him for not returning to your bedside. You figured his prolonged absence was due to more important matters, upstairs.

Mainly, Peter.

Your suspicion is proven right, as you let Sam lead you up and down hallways, to an elevator, and beyond. Neuro Intensive Care Unit, sprawled in bold block-print on the sign pointing in the direction he walks down, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you were still keeping up with him. There’s a waiting room which catches Sam’s attention for the split-second it takes to note that noone recognizable sat among the sleeping, crying, or reading people within, and so he leads you further, until you reach a set of double-doors that require him to press a button on the wall in order to gain entry.

A quiet that was too peaceful for your raging soul seeps into every inch of the space beyond the locked double doors, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of monitors and airflow of ventilators. Lining the walls on either side of the nurse’s station Sam guides you to are glass doors leading into exposed rooms, the curtains hanging within them clearly only have been placed for a momentary privacy.

“Ma’am, I’m here for--- oh, there he is, nevermind,” Sam begins, and the nurse sitting beyond the desk nods as she registers the room you’re heading for.

He sits in an empty room, leant forward so that his hands could support the weight of his head as he rested his chin upon intertwined metal and flesh knuckles. The hospital bed was missing, you notice, as Sam ushers you forwards until the movement catches Barnes’ attention. From a distance, he had looked almost peaceful, or at least exhausted, but in the brief moment after his eyes landed on you, you knew that initial observation to be incorrect.

Glaring anger, worry, grief, and something almost hauntingly vacant swirled in the blues of his eyes. It’s replaced with something nearby relief almost as soon as you’ve noticed it, but just as quickly, that’s schooled into the unreadable mask of nothingness he loved to wear.

He’s cleaner, now, in regards to the blood that had once stained his cheekbones and jaw, but a hint of it crept against the collar at his throat. A bruise blossomed along his jaw, having the time to settle its pink threat beneath the hairs there, aside from which a few minor scratches trailed up over his left temple. Overall, he looks like he’s been in a fight, with the worst of his injuries being a cut against his forehead, secured with two butterfly-like strips of bandage. At least, from what you can spot at first glance.

Sam’s voice keeps you from freezing in the doorway under the weight of Bucky’s stare, “Hey, man.”

“There you are,” his voice is almost hoarse, but not quite, as he stands from the chair to make his way towards the two of you.

“Shit,” he sighs as he reaches up familiarly, catching your chin by the tips of his metal fingers, tilting your head to the side to get a good look at the bandage against your skull, “bet that smarts. They give you something for it?”

“They gave me some Tylenol. Apparently, it’s all I’m allowed to have,” you try not to sound too pitiful, but Bucky raises his brow regardless.

“Yeah,” he hums in a way that almost sounds sympathetic, “sounds about right for a concussion.” You don’t know why it surprises you that Sam’s apparently kept Bucky in the loop on your medical condition, with all that texting he’s been doing, but it does. Moreso, it surprises you that Bucky would want to know about it. Everything about this is surprising, down to the gentleness with which he smooths his hand along your jaw, and asks, “You hurtin’ too bad right now, doll? You should sit down.”

The flip of your stomach has you recoiling from his grip, away, to look at Sam in a way that you hope isn’t completely dominated by the embarrassment at Bucky’s open affection, “I’m fine, thanks.” Maybe it was a little clipped, your tone, but you don’t dwell on it in favor of trying to refocus on Sam. Anything other than your pendulum of consciousness, swinging from Bucky to Peter and back again.

Sam’s eyes are trained on Bucky, though, as he leans against the pane of the glass door, suggesting with a wave of his cell phone, “We should take this outside. Cap’s on his way up.”

When you look back to Bucky, you find his jaw’s set, agreeing, “That’s probably a good idea.”

It takes you halfway across the ICU to realize the dread mirrored in their posture is due to the fact that with Steve, would come Peter’s aunt.

And it’s all you can think of, by the time you’re standing in the waiting room with them. Who were you, to be here right now? To witness one of the worst moments in a person’s life?

A stranger is what you were, and the thought only makes you all the more guilty when the low back-and-forth conversation between Sam and Bucky trails off into low silence. The vision of a woman catches your eye, emerging from the extended hallway to march across the waiting room, towards your group, with Steve quick on her heels.

For an instant, you consider making your escape to the restroom on the other side of the waiting room, but you’re too frozen to even move.

She was strikingly beautiful, in a way that only became more distinguished with the years between her youth and older maturity. Brunette, donned in the pastel yellows of a coffee-stained, aproned uniform dress that came down to rest just above her knees. Her petite frame made her no less of the hurricane she was when she rears her hand back and slaps Bucky straight across the jaw so quickly that it knocks the breath out of even you with the pure shock of it.

Steve was quick, but not quick enough to stop her, “May---!” Steve tries to grab her by the shoulder, but she’s already too upset. Too easy to escape his first, initial grasp.

“You promised!” furious tears escaped her then, as Bucky caught her next swing, weak beats dissolving against his chest more feebly, but she continued her distraught accusations, “You promised to--- to look after him!”

“May,” his voice is tight, as he wrestles with little effort to pull her against him by his grip on her forearms, repeating the soft, near broken, plea of her name, “May---”

“Why didn’t you look after him?” and it’s not fair; it’s not something anyone can ever level on one person, but the words that spill from her mouth are wracked with sobs as she finally lets herself crumble into Bucky’s grip.

He holds her tight, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him close to tears as he clutches her to him, promising, “We’re gonna’ find who did it. Hear me? We’re gonna’ find them, May. I promise—”

All you can do is exist, stock-still, as the scene unfolds before you. Much the same as the few others who lingered around the edges of the waiting room, attention drawn when she pushes Bucky away roughly, and he lets her go just as quickly.

“Don’t you dare touch me right now, Barnes,” she sobs, all grief and anger, moving away until she collapses, exhausted, into a chair. “The last thing I need is more of your empty promises.”

Sam crouches down before her, watching her hands wipe at her eyes in an attempt to compose herself in vain, “May, listen, Peter’s got the best doctors money can buy.” She looks at him, weary through the veil of anguish that nearly consumes her, and he glances at Steve, “Steve, you already tell her everything?”

“Couldn’t really get down to specifics,” Steve rubs the back of his neck, stiff, as he catches May’s watery glare. He excuses his omission with, “You’ve been pretty upset since I told you what happened.”

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself, “Well, tell me everything. Now.”

Steve and Sam move back-and-forth between explaining the situation of what occurred outside Galereya Romanova to her in detail, and attempting to comfort her as best they can. Talking of Peter’s condition, you’re surprised to find, does not turn her into a mess of sobs again. Instead, she remains somewhat collected through the news of it all, and your eyes wander back to Bucky.

He wouldn’t look at her, fixated on the floor with his hands in fists at his sides, but anything else to suggest his emotional state was closed-off to you. A blank expression set upon his face, almost too calm for the detailing of Peter’s condition to his most beloved aunt. It looks as if he’s in another world, anywhere than right here, and your heart aches regardless of your better judgment.

It’s somewhere between Sam explaining the mild flash burns and Steve mentioning the broken ribs, that you move towards Bucky before you think better of it. Reaching out to brush the warm skin of his fingertips with yours in a way that you hope is at all comforting. Anything to pull him back from that haunting vacancy that’s overcome him. When his eyes cast upwards to find yours, they’re softer, if not minutely surprised, at the feeling of your fingers beside his own.

You’ve been through a lot tonight, and you’re too tired to think past the basest implication of what your hand reaching for his could mean.

Just this once, you can let whatever he’s done slide, because you need to feel okay in some small way, if it was at all possible. Any shred of comfort you could find, you were chasing right now. You know he needs it too, when his fingers flex, and he catches your hand with his own. Holding tight, as if you would disappear if he let go.

He looks like he’s going to speak, eyes searching yours for whatever there is that he needs to hear from you, but another, firm voice catches your attention with a call of, “Are Mister Parker’s family members in here?” A man in navy scrubs stands tall, glancing about the waiting room for the instant it takes to look up from the charting tablet he carried.

“Yes!” May all but leaps from the chair she’s in, Sam rising just as quickly, “I’m Peter’s aunt--- his legal guardian.” Her voice is rushed, in the same way that most people become when they’re on the verge of desperation. Sam and Steve flank her, as the doctor reaches to tug the scrub cap from his head.

“Ah, yes,” dark hair falls messily along his forehead, gray hair framing his cheekbones as he offers his hand for May to shake, “I’m Doctor Stephen Strange, your nephew’s neurosurgeon.” His arms cross in front of his chest, as he explains, “We’ve just finished in surgery, and you’ll be able to visit once he’s stabilized in Recovery. You are aware that your nephew had a subdural hematoma?”

“Um, yes, I’ve been told. There’s some kind of… tube you had to use?”

“Right, well, we had to go in, and place a Burr Hole in his cranium, along with a tube to drain the fluid, but it looks like most of the bleeding has stopped on its own, so that’s a good sign. We’ll keep him sedated and on the ventilator as the fluid continues to drain. He’ll be returned to the ICU after the recovery period is over. That should take a few hours,” the way he explains it is direct, as if he can’t quite figure a way to say it in layman’s terms or simply doesn’t care to, but May nods along regardless.

It’s Steve that asks directly, “You think he’s going to be okay?”

Dr. Strange’s attention slides towards the blonde, raising one eyebrow as if the answer should be obvious, “Brain injuries are somewhat unpredictable, so we’ll be watching and waiting to see how he progresses over the next several days. That said, if you’re asking for my professional opinion on his prognosis, I do think his chances are much improved with the drain placement than without it.”

An answer without an answer, and you’re certain Steve’s thinking the same thing with the way he smiles, dripping with sarcasm, “Thanks for your professional opinion, Doc.”

“Will I be told when I can go see him?” May fidgets with her apron when she’s worried, and her hands have balled into fists along the edges of the off-white fabric.

“I’m sure the nurse can help you with all that at the nurse’s station,” he gestures towards the double doors leading back into the ICU, before turning with a non-negotiable, “Now, please excuse me,” and briskly walking back down the hallway, probably towards the O.R. from whence he’d came.

Steve’s hand finds May’s shoulder comfortingly, ushering her towards the ICU, “Come on, we’ll go ask the nurse, okay?”

“Yeah,” May breathes, moving a few steps forward only to finally glance back at Bucky, and you feel his hand in yours clench ever so slightly. She looked hurt, but even more than that, she looked angry, with all the commanding authority of a mother in her tone as she said, “Barnes, you make this right.”

He doesn’t say a word, just stares back into the unspoken suggestion of her words. Giving a short nod, before she turns back to make her way towards the nurse’s station.

Even to your ears, her words had sounded like, “You make them pay for this.”

When he does speak, it’s to catch Steve with a call of his name, “I want extra security with the kid when we’re not here.”

“You read my mind, Buck,” Steve nods, reaching into his pocket to toss his car keys towards Sam, who catches them easily. “Sam, you need a change of clothes. It’ll take a while, handling stuff here, so you should take my car.”

Sam plucks at his shirt, scrutinizing it with a sigh as Steve follows after May beyond the double doors, “He’s right. This one’s history.” The urge to apologize again is quickly stamped out when Sam half-heartedly teases, pointing his finger at you, “You know, she apologized for bleeding on me? Who apologizes for bleeding?”

“You’re still on that? Excuse me for being polite. Won’t make that mistake again,” you defend as Sam’s eyes flick to where your hand rested in Bucky’s. It was stupid, to feel so self-conscious at your age, but you retrieve your hand, choosing instead to shove it into the pocket of your jacket, alongside the folded discharge papers you’ve tucked there.

The small quirk at the corner of Bucky’s lips appears for only an instant, yet doesn’t brighten his mood as he leans towards you, scrutinizing with only the barest hint at teasing, ”Maybe it’s that hit to your head.” His attention shifts to the bandage, then back to hold yours, “How ya’ feeling, doll?”

“Tired,” you admit, “sore, but my headache is a little better than it was.” Nodding towards the cut on his own forehead, “You?”

“I’ve had worse,” is all the answer he gives you, shrugging slightly, before his head turns towards Sam, “Give us a ride on your way?”

There’s no question, and you’re certain there’s only one answer, but Sam jokes anyway, “What? No, ‘please.’” Part of you is thankful for Sam’s attempts at lightening the overwhelming mood around you. It’s something you’re sure is for his own benefit, but the sliver of lighter conversation helps to soothe the worry in your own soul.

Bucky stares at him, deadpan for a moment, before dryly stating, “Sam,” like he doesn’t have the energy to banter with his friend right now.

Shaking his head, Sam calls your name, “You need less manners, he needs more.”

“Says the guy who won’t offer a ride before I have to ask,” Bucky starts, as if he can’t help himself, but any budding back-and-forth is soon stamped out when his attention catches beyond Sam, on two approaching figures. You can feel the tension rolling off him in waves, and when Sam catches sight of them, his demeanor changes as well.

A man and a woman approach the three of you with purpose, like they know who you are, but you’ve never seen either of them in your life. The man is older, dark-skinned, with a beard kept close to his chin, but even the simple suit he wore couldn’t hide the distinct impression that he was a threat. What’s jarring, though, is the eye-patch covering his left eye, and you have to force yourself to look away before you linger on it for an inappropriate amount of time.

The woman at his side wears dress slacks and a dress shirt, replacing the typical blazer that would accompany such an ensemble with a brown leather jacket that complimented her paler skin tone. It framed her shoulders in a way that suggested she was well-muscled beneath it, as blonde hair fell haphazardly from her ponytail against the sides of her jaw. Nowhere near as put-together as her male counterpart, but just as unnerving, because you make them for cops before they even open their mouths.

“Special Agent Nick Fury, FBI,” the man begins, reaching into the breast of his blazer to retrieve the badge he flashes at the three of you. “This is my partner, Agent Danvers,” he gestures to the woman, who flashes a similar badge with less enthusiasm. “Would you mind answering some questions regarding the explosion you were involved in earlier this---”

“I already told the cops everything that happened when they came through,” Bucky interrupts, tone solid, cold. Dismissing them with a shrug of his shoulders.

Sam chuckles dryly, “Don’t you guys compare notes?”

Agent Fury’s smile is tight, and his hands slip into his pockets, “We have reason to believe this bombing may be related to several others.” He speaks slowly, as he stares towards Bucky with an almost smug expression on his face, “Possibly even terrorism.”

“Unless you have a reason to believe someone would want to kill an upstanding businessman such as yourself, Mister Barnes,” Agent Danvers says it in an innocent enough tone, but your stomach drops at the sound of it. It was anything but an innocent question, that’s clear enough.

Bucky doesn’t bother looking at her, instead asking Fury, “Which department did you say you were from, again?”

“They didn’t say,” Sam crosses his arms.

“Criminal Response,” Danvers holds out a business card, and only then does Bucky glance at her. First her hand, then back to her face. He makes no move to take the card from her offering fingertips.

Sam takes it, scrutinizing the card as he comments, “If you think the bombs are terrorism, why isn’t counterterrorism standing where you are instead?”

“Possible terrorism,” Fury corrects, like the distinction is obvious, but you know a lie when you hear one, “but that’s still under investigation. What do you think is going on here, Mister Barnes?”

“It’s not really my job to figure out what’s goin’ on, is it? All I know is, my intern got seriously injured tonight,” comes, clipped, from Bucky. When Agent Fury’s uncovered eye casts his attention on you, Bucky clears his throat, “Look, Agents, now’s not really a good time. I’m still pretty shook up after everything, y’know. Maybe I’ll be more up to answering your questions at a later date.”

Trying your best not to visibly shrink under Agent Fury’s scrutiny, you know you’re not the poker player Bucky is. Before you think better of it, you murmur something about needing the restroom, and escape towards it before they can blink twice in your direction.

You were going to be sick.

The feds?

What were the feds doing here?

Bucky said he spoke to the cops, but you sure as hell hadn’t seen any of them since you’d been wheeled into the hospital. Would they come to ask you questions? It made sense, considering you were a witness, but what could you possibly say—?

Nothing, you’d say nothing, of course—

And you’re pushing a stall open, collapsing to your knees, dry-heaving into the toilet before you can continue that train of thought. Your head felt like it was going to explode, and you don’t know if it’s from the concussion or the borderline-hyperventilating state you’ve dissolved into in that brief moment it takes your stomach to realize there’s nothing there for it to expel.

Doing your best to collect yourself once the worst of it stops, you grip the stall door as the world spins ever so slightly, before leveling out again, and make your way to the sink to clean yourself up, even a little bit.

Harsh paper towels are all you have to work with, as you wash your face as tenderly as you can in the motion-activated tap, trying not to moan with the relief of the cool water on your overheated skin.

The sound of the bathroom door opening, and boots approaching the sink beside yours is what opens your eyes to the intrusive presence of the blonde federal agent— Danvers. You do your best not to tense up at her approach, as she leans towards the mirror to apply her chapstick.

Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool—

“You look pretty banged up, yourself,” she says, casting a sideways glance your way as you continue to drag the paper towel along your cheek.

“Wow, you sure know how to make a girl feel pretty,” you shoot back, hoping in vain your standoffishness would be enough to have her leave you alone, but she just cracks a smile.

The bathroom door opens again, just enough for you to hear Sam’s voice call your name, “You almost done in there?” There’s an edge to his tone. Something that sounded more like insistence than anything else.

“I’m coming,” tossing the paper towel into the trash, you move to pass Agent Danvers, but she holds her hand out.

“Hope you’ve got an umbrella,” caught by her index and middle fingers is her business card, and in her eyes is a suggestion of some deeper meaning you don’t quite understand, “It’s a little misty out there tonight.”

You don’t want to take it, but Sam was calling your name again, more insistent this time, and you needed to get her out of your way. Silently, you take it from her, shoving it deep into your coat pocket alongside your discharge paperwork before finally leaving the restroom.

“You good?” Sam stares down at you, moving you across the waiting room towards where Bucky waits near the hallway leading out of it.

“I just was feeling like I might be sick, but I think I’m okay, now,” is your answer, and it’s only half of the truth, because you feel the furthest from okay.

It’s only when you’re in the elevator, on the way to the parking level, that Bucky finally asks, “What did that agent say to you?”

Glancing up at him, you know he’ll see through anything but the truth, so you get as close as you can to it, “She said I looked banged up, then told me to watch out for the rain outside? I think she was just trying to intimidate me, or something.”

Sam huffs in annoyance, “They usually do. Bastards.”

“You don’t gotta’ worry about them,” Bucky begins as the elevator finally opens, and you all make your way towards the exit. “Their kind just like to flash their badges around, act all authoritative— it makes them feel like they’re doin’ something.”

“Yeah, nothing to worry about,” Sam agrees, as the sliding double doors open out into the night, but you’re not stupid enough to believe the lie they’re trying to sell you.

How can you, when you finally realize what Agent Danvers had meant? The meaning of it was literally staring you straight in the face from the other side of the road, begging to be noticed by the only person who would: you.

Dark brown eyes peer from beyond a rolled-down window, almost black in the dead of night, but there she was. Watching you for just long enough to know you’ve seen her. Only then does she turn her car from her park to pull out of the deck, but not before getting the message across.

Misty Knight was working with the feds, and the feds were watching Barnes— therefore, you. The walls were closing in, and you were going to find yourself stuck if you didn’t find a way out.

There’s a tinge of regret on your tongue at how you had left things with Misty last week, nerves spiking at the remembrance of the wire you’d abandoned beneath your bathroom sink at home. You can’t risk giving away how the sight of your old friend here truly shakes you, though; not with these two men at your side.

Something bigger was going on here, and you’re certain Bucky knows that, despite his attempt to minimize it in front of you. And, God, from the bottom of your heart, you want nothing to do with any more of this, but you feel entirely powerless to keep yourself from getting dragged deeper into this rabbit-hole of a situation you’ve found yourself in.

You’re so tense, so wound up, that as soon as you sit down in the back of Steve’s borrowed Cadillac Escalade, a wave of exhaustion practically melts you into the leather seats. This day’s been too much for you to handle, and your brain simply can’t take anymore with the stress it’s already been under. If it weren’t for Bucky sliding into the space beside you, you’re certain you would have slumped over and passed out in the backseat, right then and there. His shoulder is a welcome alternative, considering.

“I’m so tired,” you remember saying as Sam drove out onto the highway, and the feeling of warmth that radiated from the arm Bucky draped over your shoulders. You’ll blame it on the concussion, why you let yourself relax there, against him, when every logical part of your being would usually demand otherwise.

It’s later, and you’re groggy, when you’re jolted awake, hearing him murmuring softly beside your ear, “Sorry, doll, didn’t mean to wake ya’.”

“Ameye ‘ome?” you slur, before blinking into a more firm plane of consciousness at his next words.

“You’re at my place.”

His place? As in his home?

A sharp intake of air accompanies your squinting blink at your dim surroundings, and only then do you realize he’s carrying you, not unlike you would a sleeping child, through the hallway you remember leading towards his bedroom.

“Why?” is all you can manage, the blanket of sleep luring you more than the unease that comes with every moment spent alone with him.

Bucky’s chest, flat against your own, rumbles when he speaks, “You can’t be left alone with that concussion of yours.” It’s the only explanation you get, before he’s moving into the darkness past his bedroom doorway. It makes sense, but it also doesn’t. He didn’t have to do this. There are probably a hundred other options out there, aside from him watching you personally.

You’ve long since come to the conclusion that James Barnes doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. Maybe there was a time when he once did, but he’s fought hard to be in the position he’s now in. Killed for it, even—

Fists catch in the fabric at his shoulders when you lean back in his arms, just enough to get a better look at him. Hallway light illuminates his jawline, the cuts along his face and the bruise that’s only darkening with the passage of time, but he doesn’t shy away from your stare. You catching a hint of what he’s feeling seems to be the least of his worries tonight.

All it takes is the soft murmur of, “Please, put me down,” for the hands at your thighs to do just that. Easing you down until you find yourself standing along the side of the very bed you’d found yourself tangled up in not so long ago. Only as your feet rest softly along his floor do you realize that you’ve lost your shoes and coat somewhere between here and the car, but he has, too.

He looks different, in the lowlight and solitude of just the two of you in this room. More worn down than he had at the hospital, if that were possible, but with that same haunted vacancy in his eyes as he watches you. There was a carefulness in his eyes you aren’t familiar with, almost like he expects you to move away from him, further than you already have.

The familiarity of the situation, however, does not escape you. The closeness of his body to yours has come to be expected, but the moments of passion you shared hours ago had been separated by the horror of the night, until that felt like miles away to you, now. There’s no denying that the exhausted desolation of his stare is a stark contrast to the way he had looked at you in the redlight of the darkroom. It’s too tinted with grief for you to mistake this for want.

“There’s a room at the other end of the hall… you could stay there instead,” he splits the silence, as if it’s a revelation that he probably should have come up with the offer far sooner than he has.

“I…” you begin, hesitant to admit the truth, because as terrible as it is, the idea of being left alone in this foreign, vacant house after what’s happened creeps a fear up your spine that’s even more terrible than that of the man standing before you. The fact that, in this moment, you feel at all safer by his side than you would at the other side of that vacant hallway is almost impossible to accept.

The part of you that wants to run far, far away from him is no match for the side of you which wants anything but the cold loneliness that will allow you to dwell on what you’ve both gone through.

Only when you avert your eyes from his, can you finally say, “I don’t want to be alone… tonight.” It’s certainly early morning by now, but that technicality doesn’t really matter, because when you dare to look back at his eyes, darkened by the shadows across his face, you still make out how softly he looks at you. For a moment, you can almost trick yourself that you’re simply two people in need of comfort, rather than the truth of everything between you, “Do you want to be alone tonight, Bucky?”

His lips part, hesitancy on his own tongue, before he breathes a solid, honest, “No.”

“Okay,” you say, like it’s that simple, and crawl into his bed, clothes and all. Exhaustion capturing you and dragging you down into the mattress that was still too soft for a man like him, but is perfect for forgetting why. He just stands there, watching until you’re buried beneath his irritatingly soft duvet. Calling to him with that same drowsy airiness of someone on the verge of sleep, “Come to bed, Bucky.”

Your eyes are already shut by the time the bed dips with his weight, and you’re too tired to worry past the feeling of cool metal dragging along the hitch of your exposed waist, pulling you against the warm expanse of his clothed chest.

You have no idea where this falls in the context of your debt to him, or if it even counts at all, when he murmurs his own breathy exhaustion at the nape of your neck, “Night, doll.”

⤜♚⤛

James Barnes looks less threatening when he’s sleeping. It’s almost like, in full consciousness, he’s never truly relaxed, even when he appears to be. His apparent laid-back confidence doesn’t carry over in his sleep; when the actions and conversations and expectations all fall away into the pit of unconsciousness.

You don’t know what you’d expected. For his side of the bed to be empty, again, maybe? Or perhaps for him to appear just as much the icy-hot threat he was when awake? Something other than the simple, normal vulnerability of a man lost to the world at this current moment.

Part of you wonders if he’s dreaming, or if it’s one of those blissful periods where nothing at all disturbs the blackness of the mind. When the peace of it is as close as you can come to death.

The clock on his nightstand announces almost midday, now, but you figured as much with the strong sunlight shielded beyond the curtained windows. Even still, it’s too early to pick apart your every action or choice for the day before; micro-analyzing your time with him was a habit you struggled to break.

No, that… that would have to wait until after coffee, and another dose of tylenol for the throb in your head. It isn’t as bad as the night before, thankfully, and you have a sneaking suspicion the ache is more due to stress than your physical wound itself. Truthfully, your whole body aches to a certain degree, and you’re certain that it’s littered with bruises from hitting the pavement as hard as you had.

A lull of your head to the side reaffirms your proximity to the sleeping gangster, the part of his lips, the mess in his hair. Not even the scratches along his face or the purpling bruise on his jaw can keep you from staring. Your breath catches alongside the skip in your chest, and the guilt at the feeling washes over you only an instant too late for the thought of his attractiveness to blossom at the back of your skull.

He sleeps pretty well for a killer.

But perhaps the bitter thought comes too soon, because Bucky’s brow furrows and his body tenses. Discomfort spreads across his features as quickly as your brain can process them, and before you can think better of it, your voice parts the morning quiet with a murmur of his name. A brush of your fingertips at the scruff of his jaw and—

Metal digits wrap tight around your wrist so quickly you think it startles the both of you with how you gasp and he inhales, blinking wide-eyed like he doesn’t quite recognize you until his eyes focus. Whatever had been there before dissolves with the relaxation of the grip at your wrist. Bucky blinks, but even then it takes a minute for the startled look in his eyes to dissipate.

“Bucky,” even to your own ears there’s a hesitancy to it, a sobering concern in the back of your throat. You don’t care if you shouldn’t ask, if it wasn’t your place, “Bad dream?”

He releases you just as quickly, rolling onto his back with a groan, “What time is it?”

You don’t know why you ever expect him to give you a straight answer, literally ever, “Almost noon.”

“That late?” his fingers wipe the exhaustion from his eyes. “I overslept.”

He looks like the only thing he needs right now is to oversleep, you think, as you supply with a dry sarcasm, “I think the Queen of England will understand your tardiness.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, casting a glance towards you that is more unreadable than it is threatening. Irritation, maybe, you could expect, but the subtle curiosity there is something else entirely. You don’t know if he finds what he’s searching for by the time it melts into something closer to compassion.

“How’re you feeling? Any numbness? Nausea?” it takes you a second to realize he’s assessing you like a soldier would, straight to the point as his attention settles on the side of your head, and the bandage there.

“Just dandy,” you sigh into the pillow. You weren’t about to complain about the soreness, when you had yesterday’s throbbing pain to compare it to.

“Yeah, tell me that again when you get up, and maybe I’ll believe you.”

“What about you?” you question, and there’s that curious look again. You point towards his purpling jaw, “That’s bruising up nicely.”

He reaches for his jaw, a gentle caress over the affected area, and his eyes finally look away from you, as if the memory is somewhere far off, before repeating what he’d said last night, “Had worse, doll.”

But you’re tired of him avoiding you, and just this once, you decide to push it, “That’s not an answer. How bad does it hurt?”

“What? You gonna’ kiss it better for me?” Bucky’s teasing deflection cuts with his smile, until he flinches from grinning too widely, and you huff at him.

“Bucky.”

He grunts, and you thank your lucky stars that he looks too tired to keep this round of cat and mouse going, because he simply groans and deflates into the sheets, “Yeah, it’s kinda’ sore.” He’s minimizing, and you know it. The man can’t even smile naturally without flinching.

“That settles it, then,” Bucky glances towards you at that. “First order of business, pain meds for the both of us, and then I’ll head home—” Before he can say anything, you maneuver yourself to push off the edge of the bed. Standing straight only lasts for a split second, before the lightheadedness sets in and you’re falling back to the bedside once again.

Bucky makes a quick, “woah,” sound before you find his hands at your waist just as you hit the bed, the small effort to keep you from falling onto the floor being greatly appreciated.

“Fuck,” you groan with a soft defeat, trying not to look as embarrassed as you felt, but you can hear the man behind you start to chuckle as the bed shifts when he sits straighter. You can’t even stand up without fucking it up.

“Well, that didn’t go to plan,” his joking breath ghosts over your skin, perhaps genuinely enjoying your struggle or simply trying to lighten the mood. It could go either way at this point; you don’t know what to think of him, not when he leans his chin onto your shoulder, the tight grip at your waist easing with your steadiness.

Tensing up with his sudden proximity, you shouldn’t want to lean into him like you do. Your heart shouldn’t speed up like it does, hammering away in your chest like he’d just released a million butterflies there. Heat creeping up your neck from where the prickly set of his jaw leans into you, catching your breath from your near-fall seems easier said than done.

“Want to try that again, or maybe I should get you a parachute first—”

“Shut up—” comes out weaker than you intended it to, with less edge, and he’s chuckling again. Leaning further into you until he’s practically draped himself over your shoulders, trapping you in the cage of his arms, the prey instinct to run is nearly as powerful as the impulse to melt there. To accept your fate.

Your only saving grace is the sound of your stomach growling, alerting you to just how hungry you were, and subsequently making you wish that a hole would simply open up in the ground and swallow you whole right then and there.

You can hear the sound of the smile in his voice, coaxing in a way that makes you want to agree before he’s even finished his thought, “How about this, Sam’s probably starving, too. Let’s grab a bite, and then I’ll take you home, if you want me to.”

If you want me to has you wondering if he wants you to stay. If it was some kind of invitation. If perhaps you erupted the same borderline uneasy desire in him that he had set alight in you—

You fight to forget that train of thought, instead settling on, “Sam’s still here?”

“Yeah,” he hums, “he had to stay. After last night…” Bucky trails off, and you try your best to avoid the feelings that threaten to come rushing back all over again at the slight mention of it. “Well, let’s just say that Sam and Steve are the only ones I can trust right now.”

In the light of day, after the immediate shock of it has worn off, and enough time has passed for you to somewhat separate in your mind the pieces of what happened last night for appraisal, you can understand the implications of what he’s saying. You should have realized it sooner, but the rushing intensity of the moment coupled with your concussion had slowed your thoughts.

Someone wanted to kill him.

That in itself is probably nothing new, knowing him, but the fact that someone had so brazenly attempted to achieve it shocked you. Maybe you’re naïve to think of it this way, you don’t know for sure, but the idea that someone would simply try to kill him in such a public place was baffling to you. There was no finesse about it, no attempt at hiding their intent.

The thought of his attempted murder should have left you with some kind of relief. Your problems would be solved with him out of the picture, right? Shouldn’t you be hoping whoever it was would achieve their purpose?

The one thing you do know right now was that the idea of him being killed gave you a very different feeling than relief. This anxiety simmering within you was an unmistakable worry. You could try to excuse it, to say that you don’t want anyone to be killed. That this was simply a compassion for your fellow man and nothing else.

But you know that’s not true.

He’s under your skin now, and as much as you wish you could claw him out, or even feel some sort of indifference towards him, you can’t.

Turning your head slightly, you dare to look at him, catching his questioning eyes with yours. Reaching up to feel the warmth of his arm, caging you against his chest.

It slips from you before you can help it, “They placed that car bomb to kill you?”

You don’t care if it’s a stupid question. You already know the answer to it, you just need him to confirm that this is real. That this othered they you speak of exists.

Bucky’s jaw sets, before his arm slides in your grip to catch his hand at your own, “You’d think people would know I’m harder to kill than that.” And he’s slipping from you, pushing himself away and taking the warmth that has radiated through your clothes with him. Leaving you with a chill that was more than just the room temperature.

This was real. This was real, and someone was really trying to kill him—

Mind racing, you almost miss when he rises from the bed to stand before you, stretching for the moment it takes before he offers you the cool metal of his prosthetic hand, “Let’s go eat, doll.”

You take his hand with less hesitancy than you expect of yourself, using his strength to guide you to your feet slowly. Thankfully this time, the lightheadedness doesn’t follow you, so much as the aches in your bones do.

“Still feelin’ ‘just dandy?’” Bucky shoots at you, but lets you keep your pride and his assisting arm as you roll your eyes at him. When you finally let go of him on your steadier legs, he continues, “I’ll go see if I can find where Sam’s at.”

“Alright,” you try to breathe even, to focus on the small smile at the corner of his lips. Watching him leave the sanctuary of his bedroom, only one thought dominates your thoughts, coming to a head when he shuts the door behind him.

That someone who had tried to kill him last night had failed, and you doubted that whoever it was was going to give up so easily. They’ll try again, you’ll bet money on it, and anyone in their way is fair game. They’ve made that clear enough with what happened to Peter. Wrong place, wrong time had just turned into a life or death situation for anyone in a ten yard radius to James Barnes, and you’re already standing far too close.

That futile urge to run creeps up the back of your throat again. You swallow it down as you push into the ensuite bathroom instead, going through the motions. If you hadn’t liked the girl who looked back at you in the mirror the last time you were here, then you hated the girl who stares back at you now.

Damn, you look rough. The scrapes along your body from the pavement are nothing compared to the bandage on the side of your head. The bruising along your temple on that same side of your face maps where your head had hit the ground, and you hiss as you pick through the dried blood against your scalp. You need a good shower. The sooner you get back to your place, the better.

Aside from your clothes being wrinkled from having been slept in last night, your shirt has dots of blood on it, though it’s nowhere near as terribly marred as Sam’s had been. Wiping at it with a wet rag only seems to make the stains worse, and you sigh with defeat before meticulously removing the shirt entirely once you’re done freshening up as best you can.

Stealing is the least of your crimes, you suppose, intruding upon Barnes once more when you emerge back into his bedroom to toss your shirt upon the bed. That dresser with the picture from his army days upon it is your target, and by the time you pull out the second drawer from the top you hit gold.

Immaculately folded plain t-shirts stare up at you, and you reach for the black one. You’re in enough debt as it is with him, so what’s another twenty dollars?

Besides, this was more like borrowing.

The shirt is comfortably generic, if perhaps a bit inappropriate for the chillier weather, but when you find wherever Barnes has put your jacket and shoes, you know it’ll be fine. Scooping up your crumpled shirt from the bed, you haphazardly fold it as you make your way into the hallway, deciding to be lazy and take the elevator rather than the stairs.

Bare feet pad along the hardwood, as the elevator dings, door smoothly sliding open to expose the white walls within it, contrasting the light grays of the hallway. Leaning against the rail, you take the opportunity to scrutinize the operation panel after clicking the corresponding button to the first floor.

Scoffing in the silence of the moving elevator, your suspicion that this place was entirely too large for its own good is confirmed with the denoting B, 1, 2, 3, 4, R that are labeled on the panel. Four floors, plus a basement and roof space? You’d be terrified if you were living here all alone; it was much too big for your liking, but you guess that this was just another piece of evidence that Barnes had no fear whatsoever, and more money than God.

You’re torn from your mute appraisal of the elevator when it dings once again, alerting you just before the door opens and you find yourself walking into the vacant formal living room. The dim memory of when you had walked in on Barnes conducting business with Cornell Stokes scratches in the back of your skull, but the faint sound of voices drifting further into the home. Following the sound, you’re led down a short hallway until you can hear the sound of running water.

“---is handling the hospital, and Steve’s going to swing by here tonight after he checks out the car. I’m thinkin’ the two of us will alternate your security.”

“Sounds good to me, Sam,” the water turns off as you round into what you realize is the kitchen, catching the attention of Sam and Bucky with your presence.

Sam whistles, shooting off at the mouth before he brings a glass of water to his lips, “Even all beat up, she’s still prettier than you, huh, Barnes—” Bucky glares, as Sam grins with the opportunity to tease the two of you, “I mean you look rough—”

“Fuck off,” but it seems to be in good fun, this teasing, and judging by Bucky’s reaction and Sam’s low chuckling, it’s nothing new to either of them. Sam’s wearing fresh clothes, but not even his bright smile can distract you from the holster at his hip. It’s clear he’s not just here to hang out with an old friend.

“Bucky,” you move closer to the marble-topped island counter Sam leans upon, “where’d you put my coat and my shoes? I can’t find them.”

Sam looks pointedly towards Bucky, something playful in his tone that is so much like schoolyard teasing that you almost want to melt with the embarrassment of it, “Hmm, where did you put her things, Bucky?”

“They’re in the coat closet,” Barnes replies with only a hint of annoyance at how much Sam seemingly enjoyed goading him.

“Man’s a neat freak,” Sam sighs. “That’s a red flag.”

“You know what? Let me just show you where your stuff is,” rounding the counter, Bucky catches you by the forearm and all but drags you from the kitchen, shooting one last glare towards Sam. You have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from reflexively giggling at the bizarre exchange, keeping up with Bucky’s long strides until he inevitably releases his hold on you to open a door at the end of the small hallway you’d initially come down on your way to the kitchen.

It’s a walk-in, lined with a myriad of men’s jackets and coats, wherein your feminine ensemble sits on a wooden hanger as if it were at all meant to hang among the expensive fabrics there. Bucky plucks it from the hanger while you slip your feet into your shoes.

“Here,” when he hands it to you, the weight of it reminds you of its pockets filled with discharge paperwork and your personal belongings.

“Thank you for taking care of it for me,” politely draping it over your shoulder, you look back up at him, only to be rendered immobile by the hand that finds the side of your neck. His thumb caresses your jaw as he tilts your head under the more pointed closet lighting. It takes you a moment to realize he’s scrutinizing the bruising along your temple, with something akin to regret.

“Sam was right. You are pretty beat up,” you’re about to supply a sarcastic comment about how beautiful that reminder makes you feel, when his eyes refocus. Staring into your own with a weight in them that silences you completely, but it’s what he says that leaves you speechless, “I’m sorry. I got you hurt.”

He was apologizing. As if the entirety of your relationship with him hadn’t been spent with his constant disregard for your comfort or wellbeing. As if you weren’t near-constantly teetering between desire and outright fear of what he could do to you.

This confounding, terrifying man was apologizing for something he didn’t even do, and it makes about as much sense to you as the gentleness of his hand at your jaw does. You’re sure you could study him for the rest of your days, and still not have figured him out.

Because why does he care? Aren’t you simply his most recent object for amusement?

There’s the possibility that, in some way, you may have misjudged him.

It takes a second, before your tongue catches up with your mind, and you weakly supply, “You weren’t the one who did this to me.” You don’t know why you feel the need to absolve him of the guilt he rightfully has in this situation, but you’re starting to accept you don’t know much of anything at all.

“Still,” he murmurs, and when he tears his eyes from yours, they settle at your lips. His own promise, “I’ll find who did.” His promise to make it right shouldn’t leave you as indifferent as it did. You knew who he was, you knew his implied methods for dealing with these people would be less than above board, and yet… it doesn’t matter to you. The promise of his threat to the people who had tried to kill him, subsequently injuring both Peter and you, was perhaps the only time when a threat from those lips didn’t scare you.

In some sick, twisted way, it makes you feel a little safer in his arms.

“I know you will,” for a moment you think he might kiss you again. There’s something similar about this closet and the darkroom back at Galereya Romanova. Something intimate about being alone with him.

You’ll never know if your suspicions are correct, because the sound of footsteps strips whatever veil that had descended on you away, along with Sam coming into sight beyond the doorway, “Hey, we going to eat or not? I got that Tylen— Oh, am I interrupting something?”

Bucky rolls his neck, fixing Sam with another annoyed glare that’s a little more genuine this time before you move away from his touch, “Yes.”

There’s no remorse from Sam, who simply grins back at him while you try to melt into the floorboards beneath your feet. Clearing your throat, you pull your jacket on, gesturing towards the pill bottle in Sam’s grip in an effort to quickly change the subject.

“Mind if I grab some of those.”

“Course,” taking the bottle and the opportunity to escape the coat closet, you down the appropriate dosage of pain medicine as quickly as you can, before supplying Barnes with a matching dose.

By the time you make it into the garage, you find that Steve’s Escalade has been replaced with a black Mercedes G-Class which Sam unlocks before you even reach it. Sometime in the night it seems Bucky’s men had been coming and going while you slept, evidenced by the exchange of cars.

It’s a little diner in Brooklyn that Sam and Bucky finally settle upon, but hole-in-the-wall places like these are typically the best kind. Somewhere between deciding on if you wanted breakfast or lunch, you thank your lucky stars that you had decided upon only bringing your wallet and keys with you yesterday to work. They were still tucked into your jacket’s deep pockets by the time you found yourself searching for enough cash to cover your meal, only for Bucky to nearly laugh in your face at the notion that you were paying for your own brunch.

“I already owe you too much money as it is,” you huff, trying your best to snatch the receipt he’d cornered from his grip.

“Isn’t letting me do what I want part of you working off your debt, doll?” he playfully bit back at you, and you had settled into your seat with nary a grumble after that.

You half expected Sam to just dump you out at your place like he had the last time, but instead you realize Bucky’s quick behind you when you slide out of the Mercedes’ back seat.

“I’ll walk you up,” is all he says, and you know better than to argue with him, but part of you doesn’t want to. Calling back to Sam, “Won’t be too long.”

This time, you supply Sam with a proper good-bye, but any chance at hearing his reciprocation is obstructed by Bucky’s quick shutting of the back door.

“You really don’t have to,” there’s a hint of awkwardness in your voice as you begin the trek up to your apartment.

“Sure I do,” Bucky shrugs. “What would I be if I didn’t make sure you got in safe?” There has to be more to it than that, but you do have a terrible habit of overthinking.

Keys in your lock, you push your way into your quaint apartment, but your tension doesn’t fade like it usually did upon returning home. It lingers, like he does, on the precipice of your threshold when you look back towards him.

Wracking your brain for something to say, he cuts through the silence before you have the chance, “I’ll be back by tonight.”

Your brow furrows, evidencing your confusion, “Tonight…?”

“Yeah, I got that meeting to go to, remember? Though, with everything that’s happened, it’ll probably run a little later than I told you yesterday,” and that’s when it hits you. He had asked you to meet him afterwards for dinner. Truthfully, you’re surprised that he still wants to, considering.

“I… don’t know if I’ll be good company,” you begin, leaning into the doorframe with crossed arms. “I’m all sore, and my head’s still hurting—”

Stepping closer, Bucky shakes his head, “No, it’ll be lowkey. Don’t worry about it.”

“Bucky—” for once, you’re about to protest. The last thing you felt like doing was going out God knows where to be the thing on his arm like you’d been at his poker club. A girl can only take so much stress, and you don’t care if you sounded whiney, if it meant the chance at getting out of it.

Even if it meant turning down the first date he ever asked you on.

You’re about to go further, but he silences you when he steps into your space, leaning to ghost at your lips, “I said, don’t worry about it,” before capturing them entirely. He may as well have captured you, too, because your attention is completely short-circuited by the gentle leisure of this kiss.

It’s not the same hasty passion of that time in the darkroom, or the explorative touch from the time before that. No, this is something else entirely. A soft, delicate kiss that drips warmth down to your toes, and only after that do you feel the brush of his fingertips at your neck. Not to trap you there, but rather to almost steady himself against you.

It doesn’t last long, and you’re damned for wishing it was longer than it was, because when he pulls back he takes his hand with him, and you’re left only with the crooked smile on his bruised lips, “Better shut and lock that door, doll, or someone’s bound to walk right in.”

Flushing under the intensity of his flirting, you step back, away from his proximity, and grip to your front door for dear life, “Yeah, I ought to do that.”

You don’t bother telling him good-bye, because you’re afraid that if you linger too much longer with him staring at you like he was, the weaker, supid part of you would invite him inside. Locking and bolting the door, you take a deep breath, allowing one, two, three long seconds to pass before you dare look through your peep-hole to see if that action alone had been enough to keep the wolf from your door.

Forehead thumping against the door at the realization he’s gone, you take a deep breath in the hopes that it will cure you of this tension he’s set in your shoulders.

Your apartment looks too similar for the shifting in your stomach. Too much has changed too quickly, and in your efforts to maintain your life as closely as you could to what it was before these events were set into motion, not even your unaffected home could save you from this feeling that things would never be the same again. That you would never be the same again, once the chips fall where they may.

Focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, you push yourself from the door, and this spell he’s cast over you. Emptying your coat pockets on your kitchen counter, you put your wallet and keys aside in order to sort through the discharge paperwork from the hospital, reading over the vague home-care instructions they had given you which amounted to little more than you already knew. You’re on the third page when the business card falls from between the papers, and you’re left staring at the name printed there.

Carol Danvers

Picking it up with your nails, you flick the card absentmindedly, wondering if it was even smart to hold onto it at all, or if throwing it into the trash was the dumbest option you could take. Misty had tried to get through to you as a friend, and it hadn’t worked, so now she was sending in the big guns.

Really, did she even have a say in what the FBI did? You remember from that fragment of a conversation you never should have heard that Bucky had told Stokes something about a task-force out in Harlem making trouble for him. Were Agent Danvers, Agent Fury, and Misty all part of that same task force he mentioned?

You refused to believe it was a coincidence.

But you have no idea what to do about it right now. You don’t think there’s anything to be done about it, at least not by you.

So, you decide to tuck the business card in your wallet among the gift cards you still haven’t used since your last birthday. Squirreling it away just as you had the wire that Misty left you with.

Out of sight, out of mind.

The rest of the midday consists of peeling off your over-worn clothing, and throwing everything into your wash, along with the shirt you’d successfully stolen from Barnes. Scrutinizing every scratch and bruise on your body came next, and then changing the dressing on your skull as you carefully washed the hair around the stitches there.

By the time you’re through, it’s near five o’clock, and while you would love nothing more than to crawl onto your couch and veg out, there’s something more pressing you feel you have to do.

⤜♚⤛

The gift shop is more like a highway robbery. Fifty bucks for flowers, balloons, a card, and a stuffed bear? Ridiculous, but you’re either a schmuck or a sucker, because you fork it over nonetheless when the receptionist rings you up.

The bear isn’t even a bear. It’s a panda, and you sigh as you look down at the items you’ve acquired when you find partial solitude in the elevator. Was it too much? You were second-guessing yourself, now.

But when the floors ding off, you have only a split second to decide if you truly want to do this before the doors threateningly begin to slide shut once more. Catching it just in time, you push your way out, along with your myriad of presents.

Fuck, you didn’t even know if they allowed gifts like these in the ICU. You hadn’t thought that far ahead.

You feel like a damn idiot as you walk the same path as last night once again, tunnel vision only easing when you’re standing out front of the push-button double doors. Deep breath. You reach out and push it.

The beeps are just as familiar as they are foreign, breathing whooshes of the ventilators accompanying the atmosphere of this place, but in the setting daylight, you notice it’s busier than it had been the night before.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” asks an older nurse with pulled back box braids from beyond the counter at the central nurse’s station.

“Oh, yeah, I’m visiting Peter…”

“Last name?”

It takes you a second, “Parker. Peter Parker. He is still here, isn’t he?”

“That’s right. Technically, we’re only supposed to allow two visitors at a time during visiting hours, but if you’re going to be quick, I’ll let you go back,” she offers kindly, and you nod. You didn’t need long. You just wanted to make sure he was okay.

“I’ll only be a second,” you agree, before she points you around to the same room he had been stationed in the night before. As you move around the ICU, you spot the room, now curtained, and the large hulk of a man standing beside the door to it.

He squints at your approach, before recognition eases his brow, “Oh, you.”

“Drax, wasn’t it?”

“That’s me,” Drax nods towards the items in your hands. “Boss send you down with those?”

“No, actually, I was just hoping to deliver them myself, for the kid… if that’s alright.”

He grunts, frowning, “Not supposed to let anyone in that the Boss hasn’t approved.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I guess. Can you just put these things in there for me, then?” you offer him the get-well-soon items, and Drax raises a brow. “I just… don’t want him to wake up to an empty room when he does, you know?”

“I don’t know. The boss said—”

The sound of metal against metal catches your attention when the curtain is pushed open, the same petite woman from last night staring out at you with a questioning gaze, before realization dawns upon her, “You’re that girl from last night. You were there when it happened, weren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, I was,” you supply awkwardly, and Peter’s aunt sighs with all the exhaustion it takes to wave off the guard at the door.

“Oh, let her in, Drax. She wouldn’t have blown herself up, now, would she?”

“I… guess not, Aunt May,” he concedes, and she waves you into the room.

“That one doesn’t have a whole lot going on between the ears, but he’s just a big teddy bear when you get to know him,” May moves around the bedside, returning to a small packet that she uses to produce lubrication for the boy’s lips. Glancing towards where you linger along the outskirts of the bed, she nods to the corner of the cramped room, “You can put all that near the window. That way he can see it when he wakes up. I know he’ll love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, I just… wanted him to know people were thinking about him,” you supply weakly, gingerly placing your various items on the small windowsill there. May was still carefully treating his lips around the endotracheal tube, and if the various wires and low rhythm of the ventilator weren’t there, you could almost believe Peter to be sleeping.

His head is bandaged, but from beneath the bandage comes another tube, hooked to some sort of draining mechanism on the other side of the bed. It must be the product of that surgery he had last night. One thing stood out to you, more than anything else, and that was how small he looked laying there. He was nowhere near the man he so desperately wanted to pretend to be.

May breaks you from your solemn observation of the boy, “I’m sorry, do you mind if I ask you something?”

Catching her brown-eyed stare, you nod, “Sure.”

“The other boys… I know they won’t give me an honest answer, but… was it— do you know if he was in a lot of pain, when he was on the street?” her question punches you in the gut, pushes all the air from your lungs and leaves you empty.

You gape like a fish for the moments it takes to collect yourself, and you avoid her stare when you reply, “Honestly? From what I remember of it, he was already unconscious. No… I don’t think he even saw it coming.”

She hums, tucking the blanket around him like a mother would her child, smiling weakly when she confesses, “That’s good. He wasn’t scared, then.”

Trying your best to swallow the lump in your throat, you aren’t ashamed when your voice shakes, “I’ve heard that sometimes people in comas can hear what’s going on around them, so right now, he might know you’re here with him. That you’re taking care of him. I might not know him as well as everyone else does, but I do know that kid loves you with his whole heart. There’s no way you can’t know that, if you’ve met him at all. I’m sure it makes him happy, having you here with him now.”

May looks towards you once more, hopeful, as if she wants to believe you, “I hope he can hear. He needs to know how much he matters.”

Silently, you nod, before reaching out to offer her the card, “This is for when he wakes up, but if you need anything, my number’s in there, too. I live in Hell’s Kitchen, but I’m just a call away, okay?”

“That’s awfully nice of you to offer to someone you barely know,” she begins, somewhat skeptical, but takes the card from you anyway.

“I know what it’s like to try to make it on your own.”

“You don’t know what I’m going through.”

“You’re right. I don’t. I’m only offering what I can, if you figure you need some extra help, aside from that big lug at the door,” a bittersweet smile cracks on your face. “But, I better go before the nurse comes in here and shoos me out. There’s only supposed to be two visitors at a time, technically.”

Before you’re past the curtain, her voice catches you, and you turn to find her reading your name from your signature at the bottom of the card, “Thank you for coming by to check on him. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Something told me I did.”

The path back through the hospital is something you’re starting to remember automatically by your fourth time through its curving, winding halls. It takes three stops by subway to get back to Hell’s Kitchen, and when you do, you find yourself taking your time down the brisque city streets.

The air’s getting colder as the hour passes, the threat of winter looming ever closer, and by the time you’re once again standing in front of your building, the sun has gone all the way down.

Barnes had said not to worry about tonight, but you weren’t sure if that meant you were off the hook or not. You wished he would leave and never come back, that he could take this uncertainty swirling in your chest along with him when he did, but it’s too late for that now.

The on-edge feeling returns as the evening hours tick by, until you’re barely able to enjoy the reruns you’ve taken to watching on your couch. Tension seeping into your skin until the way you constantly check your phone every thirty minutes to check the time gives away your anticipation of his possible arrival.

It’s past nine when you hear the rap at your door, and the way you nearly jump out of your skin is enough reason to thank the heavens that no one is around to see you do it. It might not even be him—

A glance through your peep-hole proves that thought incorrect, because there he stands in a leather jacket. More casual than you expected him to be with the jeans along his hips. Fuck, you’re still in the sweats you threw on after your shower, having been too ambiguous about his arrival to decide on a proper outfit—

Hesitantly, you unbolt and unlock the door, swinging it open just enough to catch a glimpse of the plastic bag he holds in his hand.

Barnes still looks like sin when his teeth cut in a grin at the sight of you, even with the bruising and cuts on his face. It makes him look somehow even more dangerous than he already did, in the low fluorescent lights of your building’s hallway. Lifting up his hand to dangle the plastic bag between you, you make out the unmistakable shapes of the to-go boxes nestled within.

“Told you it would be low-key,” he juts his chin upwards slightly, motioning for you to open the door wider. “Let me in.”

You do as you’re told, but mostly because whatever he’s carrying smells heavenly, “Didn’t you want to eat out, though?”

“Nah,” brushing past you, he spots your kitchen easily enough, placing the bag on the counter like he owns the place, “could barely stand to sit through the full meeting, with how long it wound up taking. Besides, you said you were sore, right?”

Upon re-locking your door again, you meet his raised brow, “Yeah.”

“Hope you like shawarma, ‘cause that’s all we got,” he grins, pulling the boxes out of the bag as you come closer to examine the food. You should be more uneasy with his presence here, but maybe you’ve become numb to the feeling. Perhaps it’s simply your new baseline, now, and you’re unaware of it.

Or, maybe, you don’t mind him as much in this moment as you used to.

He offers you a plate, “This one’s yours, doll,” and you take it from him like he doesn’t completely baffle you at every chance he gets. Looking towards the television, he asks, “What’re you watching?”

“Oh… reruns of some old show, but I wasn’t paying much attention, I’m afraid,” moving towards the couch while he finishes up grabbing his own plate, you tuck your legs under the box of food. You can’t help but wonder, “Aren’t you supposed to be under, like, constant guard or something, after last night?”

“Yeah, Steve’s sitting out there watching the place.”

“He’s just sitting in the car?” there’s no hiding the amusement in your voice. “Isn’t that kind of mean to just leave him there?”

“I could invite him up here, if you’re so worried about him, doll,” Bucky grins back at you, watching you lean back into the cushions with a snort.

“I didn’t say that.”

“So she does have a mean streak,” sitting his plate down on your coffee table, he sinks into the couch beside you. “Who would’ve guessed?”

“I’m not the one who left him in the car.”

Bucky’s shrugging off his jacket, draping it over the arm of your couch, “He’s not a dog on a hot summer day. Plus, the car’s on. I think he can handle himself for a couple hours while we eat.”

“Two meals in one day,” the smile on your lips is as genuine as they come, peeling open the plate of food to properly appraise it. You had to admit, it looked good. He’s begun to pick apart his own plate when you decide to tease him a little, “If I knew all I had to do to pay off my debt was let you feed me, I’d have sent you a grocery bill sooner.”

The initial bite of your wrap silences you and he shoots back, “If I knew all I had to do to keep that smart mouth of yours quiet was to stuff it full, I’d have done that sooner, too.” The mischievous glint in his eye is all it takes for you to know that he’s exactly aware of the double entendre in his words. It takes all you have not to choke on your bite before you wash it down with your drink.

“Gross,” you huff around a giggle when you catch a breath of air.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he chuckles, taking his own bite of his wrap.

The evening dissolves like this, and you hate to admit that it’s… pleasant. Talking and occasionally joking back and forth with him is dangerous, because he seems almost likable. As if he’s just a regular guy on a laid-back date. As if he didn’t have a disproportionate amount of control when it came to every interaction you had with him.

As if this weren’t the cost of a debt beyond your control, but as the night wears on, you start to wonder if that’s really the reason he was sitting here with you now. Surely there are other women he could be with. Women who don’t owe him practically anything he wants from them.

You should be thankful that all he wants from you right now is your company. That should be enough, but in the back of your mind, the thought crawls up your neck, planting the seed of uncertainty there. Of questioning.

And you know asking questions will only serve to get you even deeper into this mess.

The only question you should want to ask him is how much longer until your debt is paid, but that one— perhaps the most important question in your life right now— is far away from you tonight. Instead, a far more treacherous question eats at your thoughts.

Is there some part of him, perhaps the part that made him come here tonight, that might care a thing about you?

You shouldn’t wish for it. You shouldn’t want it. You shouldn’t want him, or want him to want you, but damn it if you haven’t become a complete mess in the head, ever since you first met him.

And when the dinner’s over and done with. When he’s leaning against your couch with you settled into his side, the reason you let him kiss you again is more than just the score you have to settle.

That realization is more terrifying than he ever could be.

His lips, his hands, his body pressing you into your couch— he’s all consuming. Burning away every shred of good sense you have left, and the butterflies in your stomach scream out how you’re in too deep for your own good— drowning in him in more ways than one. The Devil is supposed to be charming, though, isn’t he?

If he’s the Devil, you’re already falling.

Metal and flesh have become so familiar to you that you think it would be strange for two warm hands to touch you at the same time. The scrape of his beard is a map that you’re certain you could trace with your eyes closed. It’s already certain to you that he’s utterly ruined you, in just the short time you’ve known him.

Is it possible for a week to feel like a lifetime? Maybe you are completely insane.

His breath is warm as he kisses you into the couch, gasping into your lips when you tug gently at the dark hair of his head. You’re on the verge of doing anything he asks, when his lips part from yours to trail across your cheek, gently avoiding your bruised temple.

“Ask me to stay,” he murmurs into your ear, and you try to hang onto the last shred of your dignity at the sound of it.

“You can’t,” pushing against his chest, you’re desperate to distance yourself. To try and breathe a single breath of air that doesn’t smell like him, “Steve’s outside. He’ll be sitting out there all night if you stay. I’m mean, but I’m not that mean.”

He has checkmate when he counters, “Then pack a bag, and come home with me.”

Your eyes flutter open, staring up at him in the dim cast of light from the television and your kitchen light. There’s no teasing smirk on his lips, no evidence that he was simply trying to pull another one of those reactions he liked to get from you. He’s serious, and while it’s an offer, it’s not a question.

You’re nearly sobered by it, “What did you say?”

His hands find your thighs, still flanking his hips, giving you a squeeze to punctuate, “Grab a duffel, throw what you need in it, and let’s go.”

A refusal buds in the back of your throat, but what falls from your lips is, “Only for tonight.”

His noncommittal, “Sure,” convinces neither of you, but when he kisses you again, you’re too distracted to care.

He waits on the couch as you dump out your gym bag’s random contents onto your bed. Not wanting to stay for too long to start overthinking this more than questionable decision on your part, you hurry to sling some clothes in your bag, along with the bare necessities you would need to keep your third walk of shame less shameful.

Pausing in your bathroom, you glance towards the cabinet, the thought of Misty’s wire coming to mind once more, but you shake that off almost as soon as it comes. You were not going to get involved.

Flipping the light off, you grab your phone and wallet to stuff into your duffel, and by the time you’re back in the living room he’s standing in front of your door. Staring at you with an expectation that you’ll follow him from the safety of your home, into the night.

“Ready, doll?”

You’re already too involved with him as it is.

“Ready.”

⤜♚⤛

James Barnes has a way with manipulating his way into getting what he wants, and before you know what’s properly happening, one night has turned into two, and a lazy weekend spent between his home and accompanying his visits to the hospital flies by you in a way that’s strangely comfortable. As if bending to his whim is becoming somewhat natural with the passing days, and any discomfort at the idea of that dissolves when you think that maybe your increased time spent with him will absolve you of your debt all the more quickly.

The most baffling part of all of this is that, over those two days, save for a little hot and heavy kissing or teasing, Barnes hadn’t initiated anything more intimate than that. You don’t know if it’s because he was more injured from the explosion than he let on, or what, but it left you with time spent… unpressured. Less performance anxiety, at the very least, followed you through the weekend, lulling you into a state that was… almost, relaxed, in a way.

Truthfully, you’re satisfied with wasting the weekend away with him, refusing to question the moments he’s pulled away by either Sam or Steve for some sort of business not meant for your ears. Still, it’s clear they’re still working through the weekend, and even when one is keeping watch of their boss, the other is doing something. Your guess is on them investigating who was after Bucky, but you have no concrete evidence of what they were truly doing.

It’s just past noon on Sunday that he finds you in his bathroom, shoving your toiletries back into your gym bag, “Going somewhere?”

“Just getting ready to go home,” you say as if it’s obvious. This was already a day longer than you had initially agreed to, and on top of your seriously diminishing wardrobe which currently consisted of another of his stolen t-shirts and your recycled pants, you had other matters to worry about, “I have work in the morning.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he says quickly, somehow entertained by your announcement, “so you literally almost get blown up, and you want to go back to work on Monday?”

“Some of us don’t have the luxury to not go to work on Monday, Buck,” you sigh, tugging your bag onto your shoulder once you zip it up. “I’ve got bills to pay legitimately. I can’t just miss work, or they’ll fire me, and I worked hard to get this secretary job.”

“Okay, I hear you,” his hands come to rest on your shoulders as if to calm your insistent tone. Raising one finger between you to pause your thought, he continues, “Hear me out, though. I’m sure they’ll understand if you need a few days off after going through what you did.”

“My boss isn’t the understanding type—”

“I could pull some strings—”

“Oh, really?” raising a brow, you place your hand on your hip in disbelief. “What kind of strings are you going to pull in an elementary school, Bucky. Gonna’ start strong-arming third-graders?”

“I have all kinds of strings I can pull, if you want me to… all you have to do is ask nicely.”

The taste of skepticism on your tongue, you search his amused gaze for an answer, “And what is this going to cost me?”

“Not anything that you can’t make up to me,” he grins, and you’re left chewing the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling reflexively.

“You won’t hurt any of these strings you’re gonna’ pull, right?”

Bucky’s metal hand comes to his chest, as if he’s hurt you’d accuse him of such a thing, “What am I, a common criminal?”

“No, you’re worse,” you step into his teasing with equal strides, in a way that you’ve come to realize is safe to do. The man who was once entirely unreadable to you had somewhat become understandable, at least at times like this, when his smile reached his eyes.

“Ouch,” he calls after you as you slip away from him, following not far behind your stride into the bedroom to search for any of the items you might have missed. He halts your scrutiny with a blatant step into your line of sight, “I still haven’t heard you ask me nicely, doll.”

Testing the water, you dare to be bold— to throw some of this tension he’s wound in you over these past two days back at him.

Slipping close, just a breath away from him, you all but purr, “Do you want me to get on my knees for you first?”

His grin falters, lips parting, and for once you relish in genuinely shocking this man who consistently seemed prepared for anything you could ever do. You even think you see a hint of a blush, before he clears his throat.

“Doll, you can’t go around just saying things like that to me…”

“And here I thought you wanted me to ask you nicely,” you hum, edging closer.

“You’re still a little too bruised up for all that, don’t you think?”

Oh, so that’s what this was about. Some sort of twisted guilt that he had for your injuries? Or… did he not find you as attractive with the healing bruises along your face?

Either option stings your pride, and has you leaning away from him, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just wouldn’t want to tear open your stitches.”

Swallowing down the urge to verbalize the insecurities jumbling around in your head for fear of genuinely irking him, you blandly ask, “Will you please help me get off work this week?” If there’s any evidence that your change in tone is deeper than the act of it you put on, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

Bucky taps beneath your chin with his index finger gently, “Hey, try to sound at least a little enthusiastic about it.” Forcing a smile, he buys it just enough to allow you out of this conversation, “Let me go make a call, then I’ll get you home.”

You don’t know who he called, but it must have been one hell of a person with pull, because it’s barely eight on Monday morning when you’re woken up from a dead sleep in your own bed by a call from your boss, gushing about how terrible an ordeal you’ve been through. Better yet, you suddenly had enough PTO that your whole week off would be covered.

Thanking your boss as professionally as you could considering the groggy haze you were in, you dissolve back into your empty bed and try not to think about Barnes’ comments on your face. It might sound vapid, but it’s been bothering you ever since he left you at home last night. Sure, he’d taken the chance to kiss you senseless again before he left, but still.

You’d never had a problem being left untouched before now, but nearly every second you spent with him was a constant tease, and after his rejection yesterday, your mind was going down the path of worst-case-scenarios. What if he was starting to find you boring? Unattractive? What if he was getting tired of you entirely? What if that made it harder to pay your debt off? What if— What if—

Distance, that’s exactly what you need right now. Space to clear your head once again from him like you had last time. Everything would be just fine after a couple of days spent alone—

Easier said than done, when he’s calling you right now. You contemplate ignoring the vibrating phone when you see his name there. You could wallow in your own private self-pity a moment longer, if you did.

Just when you’re about to answer, it goes to voicemail, and you’re left relieved that the universe has chosen your fate for you.

Until he starts ringing you again. This time you answer.

“Mmm, Bucky?” you know you sound groggy. You don’t particularly care.

“Doll, did your work call? They’re supposed to let you off—”

“Mhm,” you sigh into the phone, stretching your tired bones and letting out a slight whimper in response. “My boss just did. I’m off the whole week. It’s even paid. Lucky me.”

“Lucky you,” he chuckles low into the phone, and you’re left wondering if he’s still in bed like you are, or is he doing that early-riser thing he seems to favor?

You hate that you know that about him.

“Yeah,” it comes out a sigh again, “thanks to you.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he sounds so proud of himself. “Feel free to show your appreciation the next time you see me.” How dare he say things like that. He’s nothing but audacity, making your mind race with ideas fed solely by the memories he’s provided you with, only to turn you away like he doesn’t want you anymore.

You dare to ask, if only for a chance at reading his meaning, “And how should I do that, do you think?” He’s silent for longer than it should take to answer you, so you call his name. Had you been disconnected?

“I’m here… uh,” he breathes into the phone, softening his tone even lower as if to keep the conversation private, “I can think of a few ways.” If he didn’t want you, then what’s with that tone?

“Tell me.”

“It can wait until you’re better—”

Rolling your eyes, you huff into the phone, settling your other hand along your stomach, “When I do get better I’m just going to write you a thank-you note and call it a day at this rate.”

The sound of his chuckle settles into your chest, “That’s not quite what I’ve got in mind, doll.”

“Spell it out for me,” you taunt, using his own words against him. “You gotta’ tell me what you want, or you’ll never get it.”

“Now, where have I heard that before?”

“Some tight-lipped jerk told me something like that, once.”

He sighs into the phone, like he’s exasperated with you, but there’s also a hint of something electric there. Some kind of excitement that carries through the phone when he finally gives into your temptation.

“You really want me to tell you, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“This early in the morning?”

“Mhm…”

“I don’t know, I’m a busy man… might not have time to detail everything to you.”

“Bucky, I’m this close to hanging up on you—”

There’s his laughter again, and it cuts right through you like butter. The man was a tease. That’s what he was, and you were falling for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

“Hold on.”

You groan at the sound of his order, utterly fed up with him, but you don’t dare hang up. Not when the possibility of him spelling out exactly what he wants from you is within your reach. Staring at the ceiling, you lick your lips, and listen to the muffled sounds that you can’t make out on the other end of the line.

His breathing returns, closer this time, “I’m back.”

“And I’m still waiting,” you whine. You can practically taste the anticipation.

Bucky hums into the phone, “I don’t know, I can get pretty creative when I want to be.”

“Give me an example.”

“I’d like to see you on your knees again, just like you offered to.”

You have to bite down to keep from making some silly noise of excitement into the phone, “Oh? Here I thought you didn’t like that.”

“Doll,” it sounds chastising, nearly a growl, “you should know better than that.”

“And when I’m on my knees for you, then what?” your fingertips move along your stomach, southward at the sound of his voice. You don’t care if it’s selfish, the sound of the slight breathlessness in his voice is twisting the knot in your stomach.

“You looked so pretty with my dick down your throat, so I figured we could start there.”

“I wish I could taste you right now,” you confess quietly into the receiver, pushing your fingers beneath the elastic of your sleep shorts when you hear a responsive murmur in return.

“Yeah? I bet you’d take it all, wouldn’t you? You did so well last time,” his voice is getting lower, more raspy, and it’s making you insane as you drag your fingers through your wetness like he had in the past. Shutting your eyes, it’s almost like you can imagine him there with you now.

“You wanna’ get me messy again, huh, Bucky?” your voice hitches as you roll soft circles on your clit. “I’ll be good for you.”

“You’re always good for me,” there’s a groan in his voice. “I want you to beg me to make you cum, doll.” His words have you flushing from head to toe, heat pulsing through you in time with your increasingly hasty fingers between your thighs, and you can’t help the moan you try to muffle against the pillow. “I want to watch when you do. Do you know what seeing you walk around all weekend in my shirts did to me, knowing I couldn’t touch you?”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you worse.”

His words sober you, but only just enough to murmur into the phone, “I’m not that easy to break, Bucky. I would’ve let you have me.”

“I know you would have. You like it, yeah? You like when I touch you?”

You grit your teeth. It shouldn’t be hard to say it. It’s not like it wasn’t entirely obvious by now. It’s not as if you weren’t actively exchanging your fantasies of him with your hand buried between your legs right this instant.

Bucky doesn’t let up, “You’d like me to fuck you right now, wouldn’t you?” A swipe of your thumb puts him on speaker, and then your other hand dives beneath the sheets to join the first. This time, you can’t muffle your whimper.

“You’re touching yourself right now, aren’t you, doll?” the way his endearment for you rolls from his tongue should be illegal. It sounds as close to a purr as you’ve ever heard him, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice at having caught you red-handed. “C’mon, you can tell me.”

“Y-Yes,” you breathe around a whimper, and your lungs nearly close up entirely when you hear the faint sound of a zipper in the background.

“Shoulda’ told me sooner,” he pants, and you know he’s doing it too. “You’re so lucky I’m not in Manhattan right now. You’d really get it for starting without me.”

God, he’s completely melted your brain. That’s the only explanation for the reason his words alone are getting you so worked up.

“I can’t help it,” you turn over onto your stomach, hoisting yourself to your knees until your face is tilted towards the phone from the pillow it rests upon. “I need you so bad right now.”

“I know you do. Fuck your fingers like it’s me,” his breathing is speeding up, and you can’t stop the mewl that escapes you when your fingers dip into your entrance. Stretching yourself in as closely a mimicry of his own ministrations, you’re going mad here by yourself.

“I want to sit on your lap,” the thoughts spill from you, as you desperately chase the end of this moment with him, relishing in the moans that are spilling from his own lips at this point. “Ride you like that time… when we were on my couch, I wanted it then, too.”

“Doll, ah, fuck,” he trails off.

“And the way your beard feels on my skin— whenever you’re kissing me, I’m only thinking about what you feel like inside me,” this time you’re certain he whimpers. “Bucky, I don’t care who sees—” His breath hitches, a soft moan spilling from his throat before there’s even a chance at biting it back, before he dissolves into heavy breaths, and you can’t help but to ask, “Did you cum? Did I make you cum?” You don’t care how needy you sound, or if he can possibly hear how wet you are as your fingers desperately try to compensate for the lack of him.

His voice sounds utterly wrecked when he finally responds, “Yeah, you did. Fuck’s sake, you’re driving me crazy over here.” He’s closer to the phone now, voice coming in clearer beside your ears, “Tell me you’re close, doll. You go ahead and cum for me.”

You’re near drooling as you whine, “I can’t— I can’t take it—”

“You’ll take it,” he murmurs, and it sounds so low, so dangerously close, that you can nearly imagine him right behind you as he says it. “You’ll take it all. I’ll make sure of it—”

His name breaks in the back of your throat, bit down against a pillow as you try your best not to scream your way through the grind of your fingertips at your clit. You all but collapse with the weakness that settles over you in the immediate aftermath of your orgasm, and by the time the ringing in your ears dulls, you realize he’s coaxing you through it on the phone.

“---did so well. I knew you would. I bet you look amazing right now—”

“Bucky,” it’s nearly a whisper, and that’s all you can do to alleviate the confession in your chest, “I wish you were here.”

His laughter is more breathless this time, and there’s a dark promise that sends arousal seeping through your skin once again when he hums, “Trust me on this, no you don’t.”

There’s no energy left in you to argue with him, “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Do that,” he lingers, probably in just as much a stunningly blissful state as you were right now. It clearly takes a second for him to gather his thoughts, “Damn, I’m supposed to go help Steve and Sam with something, but you’ve completely derailed me.”

“This early?”

“It’s the city that never sleeps.”

“Well, the city may not sleep, but I sure do,” you don’t think you’ll be getting up any time soon after that.

“Then, I probably should leave you to it, huh?”

“Mhm… I guess so…”

He sighs into the phone, “You enjoy your time off, okay? I’ll see you in a day or two.”

“Busy, busy, huh?”

“Hmm, yeah. Business and pleasure don’t mix, unfortunately.”

You raise your brow, “Well, sometimes they do…”

You can practically hear the gears in his head turning, until you hear the amusement that accompanies, “Touché.”

“Hang up, Bucky. Steve and Sam are waiting for you.”

“Right… yeah, I probably should. I’ll call you later,” you don’t dare think that he sounds like he wants to linger longer, even if there’s barely a single thought in either one of your heads right now.

“Bye, Bucky,” you sigh, swiping your phone off the bed to hold closer.

“Try to not miss me too much,” he manages, and before you can get the last word, the line goes dead. Groaning, you toss your phone to the other side of the bed. You know you’re playing right into what he wants, but it was starting to become damn enjoyable.

Turns out, “a day or two” was more appropriately described as several days, because when Barnes showed up again, three days had passed. That’s not to say you spent the entirety of those days waiting listlessly by the phone. That time off was spent with you finally doing the things you enjoyed, as well as some errands here and there. Your bruises were starting to yellow, some of your scratches were nearly healed, and the stitches along your forehead were bound to come out any day now. The calls you did happen to receive from him had been shorter than the one on Monday, and less filled with pent-up frustration, but that didn’t mean that by the time you saw him you weren’t wound up.

Barnes shows up out of nowhere, not long after six in the evening, and when you wrench your front door open upon realizing it was him knocking, it takes only a split second to realize he was staring at you like a man starved. You barely have the time to breathe his name past your lips before his hands find your jaw, dragging you up to his lips with a haste that would have had you collapsing, were it not for the long form of him against you.

Walking you back into your apartment, he kicks the door closed with his boot before abandoning one side of your face for the breath it takes for him to fumble blindly behind himself and click turn the lock. The bolt would have to wait, it seemed.

He leaves you lightheaded, as his lips and tongue drag one kiss out into another, one of his hands migrating into your hair only to tug your head back, allowing him the access to your neck he desires. You’re pliable, putty in his hands.

“Bucky,” rips from your lungs, “what—?”

“Doll, I’ve been thinking about you all week,” is all the explanation he supplies before you shiver in his hold, the drag of his lips down your throat just as good as if he’d set you on fire personally. You thought you’d cooled off some with the days spent apart, but just like that you’re consumed with him all over again.

“If you don’t throw together your bag in the next minute, I’m going to take you right here, and if I do that, then Steve’ll be waiting all night in the car, and I know how much you worry about him,” Bucky teases, straightening up just enough to brush his lips against yours before releasing you entirely. For a moment, you stand there staring at him in a daze, trying to process what he’s just said, until he lifts his wrist and begins counting, “One, two—”

“Wait, like an overnight bag? Like last time?” you try to clarify and he smirks.

“Yeah, exactly like last time,” part of you wonders if he’ll keep his word were you to stall him, but at the sound of his pointed, “nine, ten… you better start packing… thirteen, fourteen,” you know he’s entirely serious.

“Gimme a minute—” you squeal before turning on your heel, trying your hardest to remember where all your crap is as fast as you can.

Bucky calls after you, a hint of laughter on his tongue, “You have forty-five seconds.”

You barely make the timer, but you’re certain that you’ve forgotten something important in your haste to meet him back at the door in the nick of time. He drags you back into his arms, kissing you deeply once more, before gesturing you out the door.

“Let’s go. You’ve got a long night ahead of you for that little stunt you pulled on Monday.”

He was right, too, and the worst part was trying your hardest to keep from letting Steve— and then Sam, when he switched out security at eight— from hearing every little cry or whimper that Bucky mercilessly wrenched from you. You’re certain he was working out more than just the pent-up result of your phone sex, because you may as well have been left entirely boneless by the time he was through with you. There had to be more to it than that, and you had a gut feeling it was due to a week’s worth of investigating the bombing with little progress, because if there had been progress, wouldn’t Sam and Steve be off security detail by now?

Bucky doesn’t tell you anything about it, and you don’t ask. You doubt he’d answer even if you did.

Instead, you settle into his side, and content yourself with your simple lot in life… for now.

It’s nearly five in the morning when you’re jolted awake. There’s a pitiful, soft groaning that sounds throughout the bedroom, and it takes you a moment to realize it’s coming from the man beside you.

“Nnn… Rebecca…” has you sitting up, flicking on the dim bedside table lamp to get a better sight of him. “No,” he struggles, slurred and smudged between his lips as he fights through whatever dream— or rather, nightmare— had claimed him. There’s a cold sweat on his brow, and while you’ve seen him in the midst of a nightmare before, this time it’s different.

His whole body is clenched, wrestling with the sheets at random as pained murmurs pass his lips before another, barely audible call of a name, “Becca…”

You reach for him before you think better of it, calling his name as you try to shake him awake, but instead of catching you by your wrist like last time, this time vibranium fingers catch you at your throat. You’re beneath him before you even realize what’s happening. Blinking up, at the confused, wild eyes of the man above you. Struggling to breathe. Choking around his grip.

“It… Bucky—” you barely manage around his closing grip, before the glassy stare in his eyes fades as he blinks down at you, realizing what he was doing. He releases you like he’s been burned, pushing himself off of you nearly as fast as he had pinned you down with a sharp gasp. Trying to catch your breath, you hear his shocked repetitions of an apology, before you manage to push yourself up on the bed.

“I’m sorry— God— Fuck— I’m sorry— I’m sorry—”

You’d gotten too comfortable, too complacent in whatever façade he had shown you over this past week, but that shaking, icy fear that chased up your spine now was as close to the truth of him as you can believe. He reaches for you, and you flinch towards the headboard before you can school your emotions. There’s no burying the terror in your eyes this time.

Bucky all but scrambles away from you until he’s reached the edge of the bed, recoiling from your reaction. Turning to sit his whole body off the edge of it, as if that will give you both the time it takes to compose yourselves.

Your throat is sore, by the time your breathing slows from its desperate wrenching of oxygen through your mouth. The threat to run slips through your addled mind before you manage to calm yourself enough to not shake entirely when you move away from the headboard.

Bucky is still tangled in the sheet, his head in his hands, and he is trembling.

“Bucky,” you try, but there’s a somewhat hoarse edge to your voice, and he tenses at the sound of it. You’re hesitant to touch him again, so you ghost around the edges of his space. “Bucky,” you clear your throat, and that almost fixes your tone. “C’mon, Bucky, look at me.”

His head tilts slightly, and with the dark shadow cast over it, you can’t help but think he looks like a fallen angel. A peculiar, foreign brand of terror that you’re entirely unequipped to handle stares back at you, nearly as deep as the pit of regret that, for once, is openly exposed for your perusal. You don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t want to hide it in this moment, or if he’s completely lost all control of his ability to do so.

His mask is gone, for the moment you ask him, “Are you okay?”

Irritation flashes, then he scoffs, “I hurt you,” with all the venom it takes to push another person away.

Still, you sit there, “You… didn’t mean to… right?”

“Fuck, you aren’t even certain about it,” he shakes his head, and once again his eyes are shielded in his hands. Anger radiates from him, but there’s a hurt, defensive edge to it. Ready to lash out like a cornered animal, when given no other option but to fight their way out.

You’re silent for too long, and when you do finally speak, the wrong question comes tumbling from your clumsy lips, “Who is Rebecca?”

He almost stops breathing entirely, before glancing towards you, “What?”

“Rebecca?” you stupidly blunder onwards, thundering all over the eggshells laid between you when you continue, “You were calling for her in your sleep.”

“She’s no one,” it’s a lie, and for once you hate that you’re able to read him so openly, when all this time you’ve been begging for the ability to do just that.

“I was just—”

“Just drop it!” his voice raises, biting at the person who’s cornered him in. Screaming, “Damn it! Can’t you just mind your own business for once?!”

There’s a specific kind of defeat which washes through you so quickly that it’s somehow faster than the immense regret that swells in his eyes when he dares to look at you again. You fight to keep the tears from welling up, but they’re blurring your vision before you can even escape his bed entirely.

Bucky reaches out as you try to stand, catching you by your forearm, voice heavy with grief, “Wait—” but you snatch away from him, despite knowing that if he had truly wished to keep his grip, he could have done so far easier than you could have broken away from it. He calls your name softly, like a wounded creature would cry out for help, and you try to keep the tears from falling, but they have a mind of their own, and an intent to blaze their way to the floor with one destructive streak along your face.

“No,” you step away from him, from the bed, backing towards the door. Before he can fully evoke whatever words are forming on his parted lips, that traitorous reflex to run creeps into your very soul, and this time you have the good sense to listen to it. Darting down the hallway, you don’t stop at the stairs, or the living room, you don’t tuck yourself into the coat closet, or pause in the small hallway that your feet lead you through.

You don’t stop until you find yourself cornered in the kitchen, choosing to fall to pieces against that beautiful marble-topped counter, sinking to the floor. Knowing you’ll look nothing near as pristine by the time you’re through.

You just need to cool off. To collect yourself. To fit these feelings back into the box they crawled out of, but you can’t possibly do that sitting by his side. You barely can regulate your own emotions, let alone that of one of the most dangerous men in Brooklyn.

The violence, the yelling, the uncanny similarity of the upheaval of that same feeling of walking on eggshells that had followed you most of your childhood— it turned out to be too much, and now you were sobbing your eyes out on this spotless tile floor.

You’re still trying to piece yourself back together— grasp one shred of composure— when the sound of someone approaching takes your breath away. Forces you to reflexively minimize yourself, but hoping whoever it is will move along without noticing you is too much wishful thinking.

“Shit!” Sam jumps like he’s been startled, upon rounding the corner of the island counter, not having expected you there, “What are you doing on the floor?” It takes him all of two seconds to roughly appraise your emotional state, and his voice changes accordingly, kneeling slowly with a hesitant, “Hey, woah, what’s goin’ on?”

“N-Nothing,” you try your best to keep it in. But when Sam reaches a finger out to carefully push away your hair from obstructing his view of your neck, the tears well up all over again.

“What happened?” it’s firmer this time, that same authoritative voice he had used when you were lying in the middle of the street after the car bomb, and all your resolve crumbles under the weight of it.

“I don’t think he meant to,” is your hiccupped excuse, before the whole story gushes from you through the blubbering expression of a hysterical woman. Sam listens, sitting on the floor beside you throughout it.

When you finish, he settles his chin in his hands, and sighs, “Rebecca, huh? Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

“Who… is she?” you carefully ask, and Sam frowns at the question.

“Don’t know if it’s my place really, but it’s not exactly a secret, either…” rubbing his hands on his sweats, he sighs, “I figure you deserve to know, considering…” Leaning against the cabinets, he explains, “Rebecca was Barnes’ older sister.” Was lingers heavily in the air, but you’re too worried about evening out your breathing to question him on it, “He doesn’t talk about her anymore. At least, I haven’t heard him talk about her in years. Steve says he still visits her grave on her birthday, and during Hanukkah, but other than that… Bucky isn’t really an open book when it comes to things like this.

“Steve knew ‘em both, back before the army. That’s where I wound up meeting them, though. From what I understand of it, they had a hard time as kids, and when she aged out of foster care the army was pretty much her only viable option. Bucky signed up more to keep tabs on her, rather than because he wanted to,” Sam goes on, and you don’t know why it surprises you that Bucky lied… or at least omitted some pretty important details, but it does. “Becca was… well, she was special. She’d do anything for the people she cared about. We were quite a unit back then, the four of us.

“And for a few years it was going good, y’know? The army is different from civilian life, your squad is your family. They’re the ones who keep you alive out there. No one else is going to risk their neck for you like that,” Sam picks at the fuzz on his pants, wetting his lips as he tries to find a way to say the next part. “We were on a mission— we didn’t know it was a suicide mission until after— and getting separated would’ve been no problem if it weren’t for the mines.

“The enemy was ready for us before we even got there, and we didn’t realize we were being used as a distraction by our commander until it was too late,” Sam blinks, avoiding your gaze to stare at the cabinets across from you, as if it’s the only way he can get through the story. “Becca realized before the rest of us that we were being led into a kill box— a place they’re leading you to die. She saved our lives that day, but an IED exploded when Bucky reached for her.”

Sam tries to remain steady, but you hear the quiver in his voice that he tries to fight back, you see the weight of his dark eyes when he fixes you with them, “That grave Barnes goes to, she’s not in it. There wasn’t enough left to even bring home.” Your breath hitches at the terrible dread that sinks through you, “On top of his sister, Bucky lost an arm. Mentally dealing with what goes on over there is hard enough without all that. I’m not surprised he still has nightmares about it… and with that bombing last week, I’m surprised he’s handling it as well as he is.”

Straightening up, Sam makes to stand, “That said, it’s not an excuse for how he handled you tonight. I’m sorry you were caught up in the middle of it.” He offers you a hand to help you up, but you don’t take it. You can’t. You’re not ready.

“I’ll just… stay here a little longer,” you breathe, trying to process everything he said. “If that’s okay?”

“Stay there as long as you like. I’ll go check on Barnes,” when Sam catches your questioning look, he shrugs, “I used to do some counseling to veterans after my time serving.”

You’re left sitting there, sorting through the pieces you knew about the man you had shared a bed with until you have some fractured, kaleidoscope picture settled in your mind. Just when you were starting to think you could possibly know something about him, you find you never knew anything about him at all.

Everything was the façade— it had to be. You have to believe that, in order to do what has to come next.

You didn’t learn by example from Pandora, or even Icarus, because the only thing you’re stuck with now is this box of frayed, torn feelings, longing to burst out of your chest at any moment, and the evidence of his metallic fingertips, burned along the column of your throat. The ultimate destruction of your very being was, perhaps, the fact that you can no longer deny that, good or bad, there were feelings in you for James Barnes.

And those are the last things you need.

Pulling yourself up, catching your footing on the cold kitchen floor, you wish you could leave these collected pieces of yourself there. Abandon them, like a changeling in the night.

The more time you spend in this irritatingly large house, the more claustrophobic you feel. Maybe this house was big enough for him. Maybe, it’s just too small to hold the devastation you construct here together.

Your jacket resides in the coat closet, alongside your shoes, just as before. Your bare necessities of personal effects were stuffed well enough in your pockets, and you sacrifice the rest to him at this very moment. You can’t go back.

It’s dark and dangerous on the streets of New York at night, but no moreso than it was in this brownstone, and you know your way around the city you were born and raised in to find your way home. One glance back, catching the dimly lit, deceptively beautiful sight of this empty palace, which you now realize reflects him perfectly.

A push of your hand to unlock the door, it beeps. The quiet denotation of your exit, and your lingering items on the second floor, are the only evidence that you were ever here.

Running seems to be the only option that was ever worth taking in the first place.

⤜♚⤛

The cold night air whips your long coat around your legs, but there’s no turning back now. Sleep shorts and another stolen t-shirt are all that accompany your coat and sneakers, but you make do with it, and by the time you reach the subway, it hardly matters.

The air does little to clear your head, consumed by the toxic swirl of longing, regret, uncertainty, and fear that follows you all the way back to Hell’s Kitchen. Truthfully, you don’t know how long you have until they realize you’ve gone.

Will Barnes even try to come looking for you, in that vast manor of his? Will Sam think you’re still sitting on the kitchen floor?

The adrenaline is the only thing keeping you warm by the time you finally find yourself on your own street, and you’re intent on abandoning it all. The sympathetic response to run is all that drives you when you turn your key in your lock. Thinking through it requires slower thought than the racing of your mind allows when you push yourself into your dark apartment.

You’re breathing heavy, relishing in the warmth of your home for the split second it takes you to dump your keys on the kitchen counter. The sun’s rising slowly beyond your drawn blinds, and you’re so focused on stripping yourself of your coat that it takes a moment for the eerie feeling of being watched to creep up the back of your neck.

You freeze. Hoping it’s only a lingering fear response from earlier. Peering through the melting darkness. You catch sight of a void in it. The shape of a person.

The urge to scream swells in your lungs. You don’t dare do it. Caught between the choice to turn the light on or not, and praying that it’s some collection of furniture playing tricks on your mind, you round into the kitchen.

Reaching for a knife just in case, you choose.

Light swims in your vision, and you almost scream at the sight of the man sitting in the chair across the room, only for the sound to choke off in your throat when you recognize him.

“Donnie?!” you gasp with all the heightened exhaustion you can muster at seeing your brother for the first time in five years, “What the fuck is wrong with you, sitting in the dark like some psycho?!”

He’s just as you remember, a spitting image of those old photos your mom showed you of your grandpa, if only he had been a degenerate rather than a coal-miner. A grin cuts along his teeth, and you suddenly recognize the dread swirling inside you for what it is— a premonition— because nothing good ever came from Donnie being in your life.

“What? Aren’t you happy to see your big brother?”

#bucky barnes fanfic #winter soldier fanfic #the winter soldier fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel female reader insert #female reader insert #newstuff female reader insert #author meg #trigger warning #nsft #smut #au fanfic #mob au

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thelovelylolly · 3 months

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#frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher x reader #the punisher fanfic #the punisher fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic

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mrsbarnesblog · 6 months

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Push him

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x PR manager! Reader

Summary: When you became Avenger’s PR manager, you basically got your dream job, but one particular man, who had been staring at you every single time you were around, made you wonder whether it was because he hated or liked you.

Word count: 6.8K

Warnings: smut, bucky is obsessed with your short skirts, bucky is recovering, grumpy x sunshine, good friend natasha romanoff, office sex, oral sex (f), unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, pet names

Author's note: ‼️so if you haven't seen my previous post, this is my new account. you may have seen this work on my old one (@inmyicyworld) but it was terminated and @support doesn't respond to me. please, follow and share this work. I'm going to reupload all of my old fanfics and hope to get your support ❤️

The work at the Avengers Tower wasn’t what you expected it to be. Tony Stark found you while you were working for another company a little bit more than a month ago. He was amazed by the way you were dealing with problems, by your charisma, and by your ability to find a common language with everyone. That’s how he knew that he had to have you as his partner and a part of the team.

The next day, you got a call directly from Tony, asking you to quit your job and accept his offer to work as Avenger’s PR manager. It would be an understatement to say that your jaw dropped to the floor when you heard your salary.

He said that you were totally worth it and that working with a group of such different people was not easy, but he was sure that you would be perfect at this. So on that exact day, you decided to take a risk and accept the challenge.

One thing that you hated about your previous job was the strict dress code. It was simply far from your style because you hated wearing the same basic and boring clothes every day. Tony said that it was the last thing that he cared about, and in that building, no one was obligated to wear certain clothes.

You knew that it was your lucky ticket.

He was actually really friendly and funny in person. You talked a lot during your first day while he was showing you all the necessary places in the tower: your office, his lab, common rooms and kitchens, avenger’s rooms, and even a beautiful garden on the roof. By the way, Tony allowed you to decorate your office however you wanted and gave you the number of the person who was responsible for this.

In short, it was perfect.

You were giddy with excitement on your first actual day of work. According to the plan, you had to meet with the Avengers and then arrange a few meetings for Tony.

It felt like you spent hours before your mirror deciding what to wear. Your whole room was a mess, and when you finally completed your look, which consisted of a short black skirt, beige long sleeve and a brown leather jacket on top, it was already time to go.

Everyone in the room heard you before they saw you because of the sound of your heels clicking on the wood floor.

“Don’t tell me that this is our PR manager, Stark.” Black Widow looked you up and down with a smirk on her face. “You look good, hun. Finally, someone with a taste in this boring group of losers, besides me and Wanda, of course.”

“Hi.” You nicely smiled, not ready to get a compliment as soon as you stepped into the room.

“Ohh, she’s also the sweet one.” Another red-headed woman, Wanda, said with a smile.

“You both, shut up.” Tony stood up from the armchair with a pack of chips in one hand and threw the other one over your shoulder. “Want some?” He asked you, showing the food, but you slightly shook your head. “Whatever… Now, you all listen here, this is Y/N; she’s our new PR manager. I stole her from someone because she’s incredibly smart and good at her job. Starting from this moment, she’s going to cover up your asses and organize all this stupid media stuff.” You blushed at his words but were still silent. “So, this is Natasha, Wanda, Steve, Bucky, and Th—wait, you already know them, right?”

“Yeah, of course I do.” You chuckled. “By the way, it’s nice to meet all of you. I hope we can work together, and I will have a chance to be helpful.” You took a look at all the Avengers in the room, and everyone looked at you with a smile except one person, whose eyes sent shivers down your spine.

When you looked at Bucky, you saw that his eyes were scanning your body with an unreadable expression, and you suddenly felt really weird in your short skirt. Your eyes met, and his famous death stare was really quite scary. He didn’t like you? You two were staring at each other for a few seconds, and you believe that the rest of the team noticed it because Steve loudly cleared his throat to get your attention.

He asked you a few questions about you, and Clint and Sam made a few jokes. Everything was fine as you all chatted for a little bit until Tony said that everyone should get ready for tomorrow’s mission, and you too have a lot to do.

You went back to your office only with the thought that, during this whole time, Bucky was staring at you like he wanted to burn a hole in your head.

Later that day, Bucky was sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of already-cold coffee while Steve was making himself dinner. It was quiet besides the sound of the cooking food, or at least Bucky didn’t listen to Steve’s words because he was too deep in his thoughts.

Well, he was mostly thinking about you and his mixed feelings about this interaction. As soon as you walked into the room, you had his whole attention. He couldn’t help but stare at your body, at your open legs, and at your smiley face. He knew that he sounded like a total creep and that it was inappropriate to look at other people this way, but he had never seen women dress this way. Was it normal right now? Was it new fashion trends or something? The only women that he had been interacting with for the past few years were women from Wakanda, and in the tower it was mostly Nat and Wanda, and he had never seen them dress like that. Or, at least, he just didn’t care enough to notice it.

When he saw you today, he felt something in him, and he didn’t like that feeling. It was something new, something that he had never experienced before, but his body became tense and his stomach tightened. It was weird.

“What, you're still trying to process her?” He was distracted from his thoughts by Sam, who came to the kitchen to grab a bottle of cold water from the fridge. Bucky looked at him and furrowed his brows when he saw a shitty smirk.

“What the fuck are you talking about? And why are you smiling like an idiot?” Bucky growled.

“Because you’re thinking about Y/N.” His words caught Steve’s attention, and he came closer.

“That’s why you two were staring at each other like that?” Steve said this while drying his hands with a towel. “Do you like her? I think she seems cute.”

“No, I don’t. She just looks... different.”

“Oh, the old man got excited by the beautiful woman and her short skirt.” Sam’s smile got even wider as he started teasing Bucky. “You know, I wanted to ask her out, but I can take a step back if you like her.” He leaned on the table so he could get under Bucky’s skin even more.

“I do not like her.”

“So you’re okay if I ask her out? Maybe I should go to her office right now.” Sam pretended like he was really thinking about this.

“Sam...” Steve said.

“You both are just getting on my fucking nerves.” Bucky’s chair almost fell to the floor when he angrily stood up. “Do whatever the fuck you want, I don’t care about you or her.” With these words, he stormed out of the room, and Sam started to laugh out loud.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” Steve shook his head like a disappointed mother whose kids always fight.

“That was fun, and maybe it’ll push him to ask her out. She’s hot, but not my type; I’m just trying to help this idiot.”

You have been working with the Avengers for over a month now. This work was literally a dream from any angle. You were making a lot of money, doing the job that you really liked, and found a lot of close friends.

Almost everyone on the team was very close to you. Natasha and Wanda were particularly your best friends. Sam was the funniest person you’ve ever met, and he always found time to tease you or to make a compliment. Bruce and Clint were like your uncles—a little bit old and annoying, but always with a piece of advice for you. A few times, you and Steve met at the gym when you came to work too early, so he was happy to train with you. Who would’ve thought that Captain America himself would teach you how to throw a punch?

The only pain in your ass was Bucky Barnes. Well, to be fair, he didn’t do anything. You’re not even sure that you heard his voice. He was always just staring. Any time that you came to the room and he was there, you either saw him from the corner of your eyes or felt his burning gaze on your back.

To this day, you had no problems with your job. You organized a few interviews for Tony and Steve, talked to the newspapers and magazines, and held some meetings, but right now, sitting on your white chair, you felt weirdly nervous.

Bucky had to come here any minute to talk about a recent accident. Apparently, he almost knocked out someone on the street. All the press and news sources were taking advantage of the situation and using loud headlines to cast a shadow on Bucky and get more views. “The Winter Soldier is back?”. “The Winter Soldier almost killed an innocent man on the street.”

It has been the biggest topic on the internet for the past few hours. Most of the people were furious and wrote too many inappropriate and rude things. So you asked FRIDAY to call Bucky so you could know the whole situation and give comments to the press as soon as possible.

You started thinking about what you should do, or, to be more honest, how to behave around Bucky, because a few days ago two red-headed women that you now considered your best friends assured you that he is in love with you and just doesn't know what to do with it.

You told them everything about his weird actions—that he always looked at you, checked your clothes, and stayed silent. Natasha and Wanda just looked at each other with smirks on their faces.

“Why are you looking at each other like that?” You arched an eyebrow and crossed your hands across your chest.

“Please, don't tell me that you don't understand his behavior.” Natasha looked at you and sipped her coffee.

Well, I wouldn’t have asked you if I knew the reason.”

“Honey, he lust likes you and thinks that you’re hot. You remember that he’s actually an old man, right? Women from his time didn’t dress like that, and you look really sexy.” Wanda’s words made Nat nod her head as you looked weirdly at both of them.

“That’s bullshit, Wanda. This can’t be true. I'm sure that he just doesn’t like me and thinks that I look too revealing. Or he just hadn’t had a girlfriend in a long time.”

“Some time ago, I came to the kitchen at like 2 a.m. just in my lingerie because I thought everyone was asleep. Barnes was sitting there with a book, and you know what? He just said “Hi” and didn’t even look at me again while I was making a sandwich. And when he sees you, he just can’t take his eyes away and stares like an idiot.”

You stayed silent, thinking about the girls' words, because everything seemed pretty reasonable.

“And what should I do?”

“I don’t know, seduce him or something.” Natasha just casually said it, and your eyebrows flew to your hairline.

“Wait, do you like him?” Wanda asked you, and Natasha huffed like it was obvious.

“I mean… he’s beautiful. I didn’t have a chance to talk to him, but Steve and Sam love him, and I trust their opinion.” You stopped trying to put together your thoughts. “To be honest, sometimes I think about the fact that he’s probably one of the hottest people I’ve ever seen. When we studied history at school, all the girls fell in love with America's Boy, and I with his best friend.”

“Then don’t wait. Just give him some hints, because I swear, for the ladies’ man, he’s too slow.” Natasha’s words made you smile. “Try to get closer to him; I don’t know, flash him with your boobs and look at the reaction. Push him a little bit. He’ll break.”

The loud knock on the door almost made you jump out of your chair.

“Come in.” You said this as you stood up and fixed your white dress and cardigan.

Bucky came probably to the lightest and most cozy room in the whole tower. A lot of white and pastel colors, comfy sofa and armchairs, and paintings on the wall. And in the middle of this was you—always perfectly looking, in heels, in a too-short dress, and with a smile on your face. He couldn't stop himself from looking at the smooth skin of your legs. It’s probably so soft...

“Em– Hi.” You awkwardly stood while his eyes were scanning your body. He didn’t answer; he just nodded. “So I think that we can sit there, it’s more comfortable.” You wave your hand at the sofa with a fluffy cover on it. “Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water, soda?” Bucky just shook his head while he was trying to comfortably sit with a frown on his face.

You deeply inhaled while trying to be a professional. You didn’t know what was wrong with this man, but his behavior started to get on your nerves.

“Bucky, we can’t work together if you keep ignoring me. You can say if you don’t like something, because I don’t want to be on bad terms with anyone.” You sat across from him and crossed your legs.

“I don’t know what I should say.” His deep voice filled the room. Bucky took a pillow that was lying near him and started playing with the fringe. “I feel weird when I’m around you, and I don’t like it. I have thoughts that I shouldn’t have.” His eyes scanned your body once again, and you wondered if he was talking about what you thought.

“Can I do something to change it?”

“No.” He deeply inhaled. “It’s my own problem, and it’s not your job to try to fix it. Anyway, why am I here?”

“I think you know why. I need to ask you about the recent incident because I have a meeting with the press in less than an hour, and I have to give them a good reason why you did that. People didn’t take all that information too well.” You saw that Bucky sadly smiled and looked you directly in the eyes, making goosebumps appear on your skin. “So, tell me what’s happened.”

“You know that whatever you say won’t change people’s opinions about me, right? No one forgave me, and they’re still looking for a chance to call me a murderer.” He tried to hide behind a smile, but you saw everything written in his eyes. Bucky hurt himself with his own words.

“I understand how you feel about this whole situation, but we should address all those rumors because things might get worse.” You leaned on your knees with your hands, and Bucky’s eyes immediately fell on your boobs.

Push him a little bit. He’ll break.

You tried to hold back a smirk.

“Fuck.” He mumbled. “ I– um– I was walking from the coffee shop to the tower. It was another busy street with hundreds of people, but I still didn’t expect someone to touch me. That man jumped on my back or something, and my instincts just worked. I threw him over myself on the ground and put a hand on his throat. Turned out he wanted to take a picture. But I panicked because there are many people who want to take revenge and who might want to do it literally any second. I’m always ready for this.” He shrugged like it was nothing, but you could hear the pain in his voice.

You felt deeply sorry for the man before you. Even if he was cold and acted weird around you, you knew that it was his way to protect himself. After everything he came through, you couldn’t blame him.

“Do you still go to the therapist?” You gently asked.

“Yes, two times a week.” Bucky nervously ran his right hand through his hair while still holding your pillow in the metal one.

“Okay, that’s good; I can work with this information.” You nodded and reached for your journal on the coffee table. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Bucky. I really appreciate it. I’ll do my best to convince people that it was not your fault, okay?”

“Thank you, Y/N.” Bucky stood up, carefully putting your pillow in its place, and left your office without another word, while you were sitting there with a smile.

Maybe the girls were right.

After that day, everything between you and Bucky became even weirder. Yes, he wasn’t totally silent now, and you’ve got a few “Hi”, but his stares felt different.

It was like you two were playing some kind of game. Since you knew that he didn’t actually hate you, you tried to do as Natasha and Wanda said—get his attention and push more. And God, you loved that game.

Almost every day you found an opportunity or excuse to see him in common rooms or in the corridors of the Tower, and you made sure that Bucky noticed you. You wore tighter clothes, walked right past him, and looked at him with a smile. You knew that it was working because a few times Bucky just suddenly left the room while he was mumbling something.

It was almost 8 p.m., but you were still working on schedule for the next week. There was some kind of charity event, and Tony required you to convince everyone to go there because more Avengers can attract more sponsors and money. As always, Bucky was the one who refused to go there. He simply sees no reason for him to be there, and he doesn’t want to be there alone because he knows that Captain America will be the biggest star, and such a social butterfly as Sam will leave him in a second.

You decided that it would be better to talk to Bucky in person, but you didn’t want to lose a chance to get his attention, so you went by yourself instead of asking FRIDAY.

You looked in the small mirror to check your makeup and hair and went straight to where you knew Bucky was spending his evening. As you walked in a dark room filled with only light from the TV, you saw Sam and Steve sitting on the couch and Bucky on the armchair near them. You quietly walk to him and just casually sit on the armrest. His eyebrows flew to his hairline, and you heard that the chewing from the boys stopped. Bucky had no choice but to put his metal arm on your lower back.

“I need you in my office. You have to talk about the next charity event. Could you please give me some of your time?” You quietly asked and lowered yourself closer to him. Bucky was just staring at you for a few seconds, but then slightly nodded.

Bucky followed you to your office, not without getting smirks from the boys,and then stood near your table with his hands in his pockets.

“Don’t you want to sit?” You said and stepped closer to him.

“No.”

“Um– okay.” You took the papers from your table and stood in front of Bucky. “So, you know that there is going to be a charity event, and I’m responsible for getting all the Avengers there, and you are one of them.”

“I’m not going, I already told Tony.” He just shrugged.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not needed there. I’m not an actual hero, people have no interest in me, especially when there will be Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor, you know? Plus, I have no interest in sitting alone the whole night.” You saw that Bucky tried to be casual about it, but he just put salt on his own wound.

“Don’t say that, Bucky. There are people who want to see you there, you have a lot of fans. You know, I’m going there too, so if you don't mind, we can–”

“What game are you playing with me?” He interrupted you. Bucky straightened his shoulders, which made him look even bigger, and started moving closer to you, putting you in a trap between him and your desk.

“W– what do you mean?” You couldn't control your body as you started to tremble a little bit from the power that this man had. As soon as you bumped into the table, his hands landed on both sides of you, and his face was right in front of yours.

“Don’t act clueless, Y/N. I see what you’re doing.” He stopped for a second, studying your face. “You know, I tried to convince myself that you do all of this by accident, but now I’m sure that you’re just playing your little game. Am I right, doll?” You two were staring at each other, and you felt almost nauseous from different emotions.

He was so fucking beautiful up close. Piercing blue eyes, pink lips, and light stubble You know why many women thought that James Barnes was charming. If he had more confidence, he would’ve been unstoppable.

Your eyes slowly shifted lower to his arms and chest as you remained silent. He was big, with well-trained muscles that were seen through the tight black t-shirt. Both arms were stretched near you, so you had a really good opportunity to look at the smooth tanned skin and beautiful dark vibranium. You felt how your lower stomach tightened just from the thought of getting those pretty hands on your body…

You were pulled out of your head by a sudden movement of Bucky’s hand, which gripped your face and pushed your lips together. He was obviously dominating in the kiss, as if he were desperate to taste you. The tip of his tongue brushed over your lips, asking for entrance, which you happily gave him. The moan came out of you when Bucky moved away and looked you in the eyes, still holding your face.

“This whole fucking time I thought that I was a creep for looking at you, but now I know that you did everything on purpose, doll.” His eyes moved between your eyes and mouth. “All these short skirts and dresses that almost showed me everything underneath it, all these innocent smiles and looks... You did it to tease me?”

“Not at first...” You mumbled. “But you were acting so weird, and girls said that you liked me and just didn’t know what to do. I wanted to find out whether it was true or not.”

“Fuck, if I knew earlier that this was your plan, I would’ve bent you over the nearest surface, baby.” Bucky moved a little closer, brushing his lips over yours. “Do you know how fucking hot and gorgeous you are? I haven’t felt that way in many, many years. Just wanna kiss you and make you mine.”

“And what’s stopping you from this, Sargent?” You asked with a smile and moved your hand to the back of his neck to gently play with the baby hairs.

“You’re gonna be my death, doll face.” He mumbled before leaning closer and kissing you again.

This time, you started to touch each other's bodies. Bucky’s warm and cold hands landed on your thighs, playing with the hem of the skirt and rubbing your soft skin after he lifted you up a little bit and helped you sit on the table, staying in between your legs. Your own hands were moving up and down his broad chest, discovering all of his muscles.

“Bucky…” You whined into the kiss when his finger brushed against the edge of your already wet panties.

“Tell me.” Bucky moved away from your swollen lips and left a path of kisses down your neck. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.” He sucked a sensitive spot under your ear, which made you moan.

“I don’t know. Just do anything, please.” You both breathed heavily. You felt like you were too hot; your lower stomach ached, and your underwear was soaking wet. Bucky was looking at you with such lust in his eyes that you wanted him to destroy you.

“Lay back.” He ordered you as one of his hands went higher under your skirt and slid your black lace panties down your legs. You didn’t miss how Bucky shoved him into the back pocket of his jeans with a smirk on his face.

You quickly followed his instructions and just threw all the papers from our table on the floor. You’ll regret it later, but now you don't care. The sudden move of Bucky's metal arm grabbed and pulled your shirt, and all the buttons scattered on the floor, making you gasp in disbelief.

“Bucky! It was expensive.”

“Sorry, I’ll buy you whatever you want, I promise. But now I need to see you all.” He growled and fell to his knees before you. “Fuck, doll, such a pretty pussy. I’m gonna make a mess with her.”

Bucky’s hands grabbed both of your legs and threw them over his shoulders. He dragged your skirt higher, not wanting to take it off of you. His head fell on your right legs as he left a few kisses on your sensitive skin.

“Bucky please! Don’t tease me!” You desperately whined.

“I need a moment to appreciate both of you. I haven’t done it since the 40's, you know that?”

You wanted to say something, but his mouth on your most delicate part of your body left you speechless and made you grab his hair. Bucky’s tongue was gentle at first, just to get a taste of you and tease you a little bit. His tongue started to play with your clit, circling it and applying different pressures to find out what made your body twitch. It looked like he was enjoying it too; you felt deep grunts escaping his mouth as he was trying to catch every drop that came out of you.

Your loud moans filled the room as Bucky found the perfect place and made motions that made you see stars. A hand in his hair tightened even more when you felt one of his fingers at your entrance.

“M-hm, so wet and tight for me.” He pulled away a little bit, looking at how his two fingers came in and out of you, all shiny with your juices. His darkened eyes were firmly glued to your pussy, which was trying to get more, and his mouth opened a little bit at the sight. “Taking my fingers like a good girl.” Bucky attacked you with his mouth again. This time he was licking your folds, mixing his saliva with your juices. When the feeling of his nose touching your bundle of nerves came through your whole body, you gripped Bucky’s dark locks even harder, particularly trying to ride his face, and he had to put his metal hand on your hips so you wouldn’t move.

Your body tensed when he curled his fingers right on your g-spot, sucking your clit like a hungry man.

“Bucky—fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m gonna cum, please don’t stop!” You whined with tears running down your face.

A few more movements of his magical mouth, and you fell over the edge. Your legs tightened around his head, tingles went all over your body, and the loudest moan mixed with Bucky’s name came out of you as you were riding on the wave of your orgasm.

Bucky didn’t stop, though.

He made sure to lick every drop that came out of you, to the point that you had to beg him to stop because you were too sensitive.

“That was—“ You were trying to catch a breath. “That was the best orgasm I've ever had, oh my god. If you did it for the first time in like seventy years, I can’t imagine what you can do with practice.”

Bucky dragged you up by your neck, so you would be at the same level with him. His hand moved your hips closer to the edge of the table, and you felt how hard he was through those jeans.

“I can practice whenever you’ll allow me, doll.” He put his warm hand on your face to kiss you. The taste of your own release on his tongue made you moan.

“Need you inside of me, please.” Your hands automatically started to pull up his shirt, but he stopped you.

“We don’t have to take it off if you don’t want to.”

You were silent for a few seconds. “Why wouldn’t I want to take your shirt off?”

“You know, my arm and scars...”

“Do you really think that I care about it?” You left a few kisses on his cheek. “I think that your arm is hot, by the way, and I want to feel your skin on mine, Sarge.” It was enough for Bucky to pull off his shirt and stay before you half-naked.

Your hands moved to trace every muscle, every birthmark, and every scar on his chest, and you felt that this moment was so intimate, especially because of Bucky’s stare. He looked at you with such adoration and softness that you wanted to melt.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He mumbled and kissed you with even more passion.

Bucky ripped off the rest of your shirt and quickly took off your matching black bra, gripping your breasts with both hands and taking your left nipple in his hot mouth.

You dug nails into Bucky’s back as he was sucking and licking your nipples, leaving them wet in the cold air. It felt good. So fucking good—his mouth was truly amazing. But the emptiness inside of you was almost painful, and you were clenching around nothing.

“Bucky! Sarge, please, I need you.” You almost cried and dragged his head by the hair back to your mouth.

“Baby, baby, wait– “ His hot breath was touching your lips, but he stopped your hands, which were unbuckling his belt. “Baby, I don’t have a condom. Fuck, do you have one?”

“We don’t have to use it... I’m on the pill. And I’m clean.” Your legs wrapped tighter around Bucky’s waist and put him closer to your naked core. He swore that he could feel your heat through his jeans and boxers.

“Fuck, I love twenty-first century... I’m clean too, can’t even catch a disease with this serum shit.”

His words were like a green light to you. You didn’t want to wait even a second more. So you just took off his pants with such speed and impatience that it made Bucky chuckle. With the last movement, all of his clothes were on the floor, and you sat on your table, frozen because of the sight before you.

Bucky’s thick and perfectly long dick was the best fucking thing that you’ve ever seen. Pink and a little bit curled to his abdomen. Your mouth watered just thinking about tasting it. Or how well he’ll stretch you out. You didn’t even notice how your mouth opened a little bit, and you unconsciously wrapped your hand around him.

“You’re gonna destroy me, Bucky.” You mumbled, to which you heard only a deep chuckle. Your eyes moved back to Bucky’s smiley face.

“I hope so.”

Two different hands landed on your thighs again, spreading and lifting them up. You both looked down at where his cock almost touched your bare folds, and the first contact made you moan loudly. Bucky took the base of his cock, giving himself a few pumps, and moved the tip up and down your pussy, moving easily because of the mixture of your juices.

You grabbed his forearm and whined at the action.

“Ready, doll?” He was trying to be tough and strong, but you saw how he nervously licked his lips, the tremble of his flesh hand, and the tension in his abdomen. But you still vigorously nodded.

It was different from everything you’ve ever experienced. He was big but tried to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to hurt you. He only pushed a few inches, but you already wanted to cry from all the feelings inside of you. Pain mixed with extreme pleasure.

Bucky was trying so hard to control his motions and go slow, but God, it wasn’t easy. From the first touch of his cock, it felt like he had gone to heaven. He knew that sex was good, he remembers it, but the feeling of you and your warm body that so gracefully greeted him inside made him feral. Bucky felt such a need to kiss you that it was almost painful, especially when your swollen lips were a few inches away from his.

He leaned in closer to your lips, but it made him slip deeper into you, which made you both loudly moan into each other's mouths.

“Fuck– doll, you’re so warm and tight, oh my god.” Bucky mumbled as the grip on your hips became harder. It’ll probably leave bruises, but you didn’t care.

The feeling of him inside of you was overwhelming. He was so deep and stretched you just the way that you wanted, and you almost cried from pleasure.

“Please, Bucky, please move!”

His hips slightly moved once, and it felt like his mood instantly changed. You were suddenly pushed back on your table, and your legs, still in heels, were thrown on Bucky’s shoulders. His metal hand stayed on your thigh, and the other one fell on your stomach to push your skirt higher on your waist.

“All dressed up for me, baby.” He started slowly moving, burying his cock deep inside, and then leaving only the tip to tease you. “You know how long I wanted to do that, huh? Bend you over and just fuck the shit out of you until you can’t say anything except for my name.”

“Bucky– Sarge, please go faster. Just fuck me, do whatever you want.” You were desperate, yes. But you couldn't help but beg, because you really needed him to keep his promise and fuck the shit out of you.

You reached for his hand on your stomach and interlaced your fingers together.

“If you keep calling me that, I won’t last too long, doll.” His thrusts became harder and faster as your body moved up and down on your table.

Bucky was looking at your drunk-looking face with a slightly open mouth because you couldn’t keep your moans quiet. Your hair was deshiveled, your skin glimmered with sweat, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

“So beautiful, baby.” Bucky murmured, fucking you harder. The room was filled with loud noises from slapping skin and moans. “You love it when I talk to you like that, huh? Want me to tell you what a good girl you are?” His words definitely did something to you, and you unconsciously tightened around him. “Almost choking my cock, baby, fu-u-ck.”

“Mhm, Sargent, I’m so full of you.” You couldn’t see straight as the tip of his head pressed at the perfect spot with every thrust, it was too much and not enough at the same time.

The wet kisses on the inner side of your thigh sent shivers down your whole body when Bucky started to suck tender skin. His rough movement didn’t stop for a moment, and you knew that your orgasm was getting closer. The warm feeling in your belly slowly became bigger. It was hard for you to cum from sex, but Bucky did it so fast and without even touching your clit.

“C’mon, doll face. I feel ‘ya. Feel how your perfect little pussy is squeezing me. Cum with me, baby, cum on my cock.” His movements were still rough and confident, but you felt the slightest change in the way he was looking at you, how his body trembled a little bit, and the prettiest quiet noises escaped his mouth as Bucky was coming to his own end.

You were completely lost in your pleasure, with strong arms on your body and Bucky’s hard cock that was completely destroying you, so when fingers on your clit started to move in circles, your body slightly jolted up from your table.

“Bucky, Bucky, please—ohmygod, I’m coming!” You cried out loud and grabbed the hard wood under your arms.

“O-oh, fuck, doll, cum with me, please. Yes, squeeze my cock harder, make a mess. ‘M gonna cum.” With the last few pushes of his dick inside of you and movements of the fingers, you both fell from your heights, and the room filled with loud moans of pleasure. The feeling of his hot seed on your walls almost made you faint.

Bucky fell down on your body as your leg slipped from his shoulder. Two strong arms wrapped around you, and Bucky’s face nuzzled into your neck. You don’t know how long you two stayed silent, trying to catch a breath, while your hands gently rubbed Bucky’s back.

When he finally lifted himself up with a metal arm near your face on the table, the look in his eyes sent millions of butterflies to your stomach.

“I don’t even know what to say…” He chuckled and cupped your face with his right hand. “You look so fucking beautiful, Y/N.”

“Even when my makeup, my hair, and my clothes are completely destroyed?” You playfully arched an eyebrow and enjoyed the feeling of his fingers on your hot skin.

“Well, I did it, and I’m satisfied with it. You still look so hot, especially with my dick still inside of you.”

“Bucky!”

“Sorry, sorry. But I’m serious, though. Will you let me take you on a date? Maybe yesterday for lunch or for dinner after work?” His eyes had this little bit of doubt, and you couldn’t stop your wide smile because he was really thinking that you would say “no” after that.

“I will be glad to go out with you, Buck.” You dragged his face closer and gave him the sweetest kiss you could.

Bucky moved away, gently slipping out of you, and you hissed at the empty feeling. He helped you stand up on your shaking legs and handed you your clothes.

“Fuck, you completely destroyed my clothes.” You said as you were standing in front of the mirror. “How will I go home?”

“You can stay in my room.” Bucky came closer to you and helped you make your blouse look more presentable, even without buttons.

“Really?”

“Of course, doll. Just hold your shirt in case we bump into someone in the corridor, but I think everyone is already in their rooms.” Bucky finished dressing up, and you saw your underwear sticking out of his pocket.

“Don’t you want to give me my panties?”

“Na-ah, you’ll have to walk with me dripping out of you.” He gave you a cocky smile and turned all the lights off before wrapping his arm around you and leading you into the hall.

It was completely empty, but the second that you stepped out of the elevator, you saw Bucky’s best friends looking at you. All of you were looking at each other for a few seconds before Sam started hysterically laughing.

“You owe me fifty bucks, idiot!” He said to Steve, who was as red as a tomato. “Good job, Buckaroo, but I really thought that we were gonna ask her on a date first.”

“Fuck off, Willson.” Bucky growled, protectively stepping forward to protect you from their looks.

“Okay, okay, relax, no one’s touching your girl.” He said with a cocky smile on his face. “Let’s go, Steve. You’re too innocent to look at things like this.” Sam took his friend and led him in another direction.

“Asshole.” Bucky growled.

“Everything is okay, Buck, let’s go.” You stepped closer to his room, but he was still standing in his place. “I have to take a shower. Will you come with me, or will you stand here the whole night?” You smirked.

It was everything he needed to finally get closer to you, scoop you into his arms, and carry you into his room to the sound of laughter, which soon turned into moans.

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