#the winter solider fanfiction
when she has a really good C.E fic planned 👀 and more chapters of series are about to be dropped 👀
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my fic gets really dark and angsty…and right now it’s literally all fluff and flirty
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Last Mission - Series - Part 4: Watching the Watcher
Last Mission - Series - WS X Reader; BB X Reader
Warnings: kidnapping, dubcon, themes of stalking and voyeurism, smut later and each chapter will have specific warnings as applicable. Minors please do not engage.
Winter Soldier X Reader (she/her); Bucky Barnes X Reader
Summary: you were his mission and unfortunately for you, he was told to bring you in alive
A/N: Would love to hear feedback, constructive criticism, and whatever else you want to say! I love detail and a slow burn but maybe it's too slow? Maybe its not even a spark let alone a burn.... Lemme know!
Part 1: Uneasy Feelings
Part 2: The Long Retreat
Part 3: On The Run
Part 4: Watching the watcher
As your eyes further adjust to the dark room you notice another table right in front of the window opposite the bed. The moonlight streams through it and illuminates the floorboards. The cottage is surprisingly clean. It smells of wood and cookstove but it’s not unpleasant by any means. And once the door is closed, the sounds of the wind quiets and your body starts to warm up. The soldier is looking down at the floorboards when suddenly he takes the toe of his boots and presses down on the corner of the board. The floorboard pops up revealing a hidden room underneath the cottage. Narrow steps lead downstairs, and the soldier makes his way down. He doesn’t bother to warn you again about the perils of running away. Though you doubted you would get very far as you are exhausted and hungry and thirsty.
You watch him disappear only to reappear several times with large plastic containers and a massive jug of water. He rinses out the kettle on the front steps of the cottage and pours from the massive water jug into the kettle. He fills it and sets it on the stove. He then goes outside and reappears holding cords of dried wood, kindling and box of long stick matches. He also has your floral tote bag hooked over his shoulder which is a disarming sight. He drops the wood on the floor near the cookstove and the and the loud noise makes you jump. He turns back to you on the bed and hands you the tote. You reach out with shaking hands to take it from him, instinctively whispering "thank you" as you grasp the familiar bag.
He kneels down and opens the cookstove door and carefully lays the firewood and kindling down, striking a match to illuminate his taciturn features in the flickering fire light. The kindling catches quickly and it’s not long before the logs are crackling and burning strong. Happy with his handy work he pulls the heavy cookstove door closed and sets the kettle on the burner. As the stove heats up the room the warmth seeps into your body. Your arms and legs ache and your lower back and thighs twinge from the cold ride. The soldier is kneeling over a plastic container rifling through things that you are too tired to be interested in. Until he hands you a carefully piled assortment of things.
You feel a cold object thrust into your hand. You place it down on the bed. It’s an enamel wash basin, clean wash cloth, and a small hotel soap stamped with the name and address of a motel in Niagara Falls. Then you feel the soldier carefully laying down clothes behind you. They appear to be some sort of standard issue long sleeve shirt that is white and crisp and clean and grey sweatpants with a white draw string. They appear way too large for you but clean and comfortable looking.
You make eye contact with the soldier. He is watching you closely. You absentmindedly rubbed your hand over the clothes, anticipating being in them and feeling clean as your work clothes feel caked with road dust and grit and mud from the long ride. Just then the kettle starts to squeal on the stove pulling you both out of your shared revelry.
He walked over and took the kettle off the stove and brought it over to the enamel basin. He carefully pours some water into the basin, the steam rising into the air. He then abruptly turns and returns to the secret basement. You can hear metal being thrown into a wooden box and he comes back up into the main room. He places a wooden box literally filled with weapons and ammunition on a small square table you hadn't noticed is up against the opposite wall, directly in front of the only window in the cottage. He grabs the only chair from a dark corner near the door and sits down in a few smooth motions. He lights a stub candle from the windowsill and places it near his workstation on the table. The candle softly illuminates the room along with the moonlight but also creates a mirror effect in the window. He is sat in front of the window now, with his back to you. You can see his face in the reflection and can tell that his is engrossed in his work and has no further interest in engaging with you right now.
He starts to sort his weapons, pulling more from his holsters and hiding places on his person and laying them on the table in an organized fashion. He has a rag and oil, and he is focused on this work, seemingly single-minded.
You presume you are to clean yourself with the things he has provided. Though it is very awkward as he just feet from you. You gently skim a finger across the water in the enamel basin. It’s still too hot to wash with. You look at the massive water jug and back to the soldier. You are unsure whether you are strong enough to pour some of the cold water into the basin to make it usable sooner as you are eager to be clean. You walk over and try to lift it and makes and let out a frustrated grunt when it proves to be too heavy for your tired and worn-out body. Just then the soldier appears, and he lifts the jug easily. You ask him to pour a bit into the basin to cool the water. He does so easily, careful not to put too much and cool the water completely. You thank him and he glides back to the table to continue his work by candlelight.
You dip your hand in the perfectly hot-warm water and open the plastic covering on the soap. You rub a bit on the washcloth and dunk it back in the water and begin to wipe and sponge your exposed skin. You turn your back and slip off your sweater, running the warm cloth up and over your arms, across your neck and décolletage, the back of your neck and under your arms. You feel much cleaner already and slip the clean shirt on over your bra. You turn back around as you are fully covered and your rinse out the washcloth again. You look down and realize your new gladiator sandals are caked with mud and your cute high waisted pants are filthy. You slowly untie the silk belt of your pants and slide down the zipper. Your pants pool at your still shoed feet and you awkwardly step out of them. You look down to see that the oversized shirt covers much of your thigh, though your hips and curvaceous shape is visible. The men’s clothing is narrower, and your stomach and hips and breasts press against the fabric in spots. You decide you aren't concerned with this maniac seeing your knees and frankly the modest thought is kind of funny. When he kills me, I doubt he will care whether he saw my thigh or not, you think darkly.
You move to sit down and deal with your very filthy feet, as you are saving this bit for last as the water and washcloth will be disgustingly dirty once your sore feet are clean. You hesitate, realize that you have not washed your breasts. The underside of your breasts feels hot and sticky with your fearful sweats from this ordeal. You turn your back to him again and put your arms into the shirt. You reach back and undo your bra and you slide it discreetly down to the bed. You reach behind you and rinse and wring out the washcloth well. You then carefully bring it under your shirt to wipe your breasts and their undersides, sighing contentedly as you do so. It is soothing and you immediately feel a tiny bit better.
You straighten your back and stretch out your shoulders a bit with your arms outstretched. You do a full body stretch as well, even standing on your tip toes to feel your leg muscles and feet come alive with fresh blood and oxygen. You feel cold air on your backside. and realize that your lifted arms have lifted the shirt to expose your bottom, black underwear and all. You discreetly turn and find the soldier still facing the window. You are relieved he wasn't looking at you then. Another dark thought: good thing you bought all new bras and panties with one of your first paycheques at SHIELD. It would be a damn shame to be found as a mummified skeleton years from now in the woods around this strange cottage with those old stretched out cotton numbers you wore when you were a broke student. Your grandmother always said to dress like you could be hit by a bus and a cute EMT or doctor will save your life and see your sexy underwear in the process. Always thinking ahead, my Gran. I wonder what she'd think about this metal-armed manic who kidnapped me. Surely these expensive lace numbers are being wasted on this soldier and your untimely death. You allow yourself a mirthless smile, schooling your face back to an impassive neutral before you turn around.
You sit heavily down the bed frame again, knees together eyeing your feet and taking a second to collect yourself. Suddenly you look up as you feel you are being watched. Sure enough, as soon as you raise your head you can see your reflection in the window, provided by the flickering candlelight. The soldier is perfectly still but making no secret of his blue eyes raking over you, looking at you from your head of long messy hair, still in the loose French braid you had plaited this morning, to your exposed legs. You also realize that where you were just standing is fully visible in the reflection of the window, the moonlight rushing into the room working as a spotlight. You realize the soldier has been watching you wash yourself, his weapon cleaning and organizing either complete or ignored. You blush, stand, and step out of the bright moonlight into the dark nearer the door. The soldier looks away from the window and stares down at the tabletop. You can hear him systemically loading weapons and returning them to the box. He also places a few back into the holsters on his person. You try to ignore the threatening nature of that act. The sheer number of weapons is deeply concerning to you so it’s probably best to ignore it for as long as possible.
You sit on the edge of the bed in the dark and start to unwrap the ties of your sandals, They painfully cut into your skin and your feet are still freezing, wind burned, and swollen from the wind on the long motorcycle ride. You discreetly slide your panties down your leg and grab them into a ball in your hand. The soldier has returned to the basement of the cottage and you take the opportunity to quickly wipe between your legs and buttocks with the now cold water. You slip your panties back on just as the soldier’s head reappears through the hole in the floor. He watches your hands glide them up and you quickly cover your upper thighs with the oversized shirt he gave you.
You turn your back and return to the soap and basin. You lather the washcloth with soap and place the basin on the floor. You slowly lower your feet into the cold water and hiss slightly at the sting. The soldier surprises you again by walking over to the kettle. He slowly moves over to you and places a single finger from his flesh hand into the water and pours more hot water in, gauging the temperature and watching your reaction closely. Once the water is warmed, he stands and turns back to the stove. You are slightly slack jawed in response to this but you're too eager to feel clean to focus on it.
You scrub your feet and get the grime off as the water turns from grey to brown. Once you are clean you look around, for a towel or something to dry your feet with. The soldier hands you a small towel and you again thank him for his attentiveness. You dry your feet and happily slide the very large sweatpants over your clean legs. By this time the cottage has warmed considerably, and you sigh slightly at the comfortable and soft fabric over your skin. You have collected your dirty clothes, including your bra, which you just couldn't face putting on again even if you would feel less exposed to have your ample breasts securely supported under this large shirt. You place the dirty shoes in the plastic bag from the department store and place your work clothes on top. You decide to refold your sundress in case you need to wear it again tomorrow. Its wrinkled but not too bad. Again this feels like an optimistic act, the promise that this isn't the end, and that this expensive and luxurious new dress will have another day in the sun; that you will be alive and well and happy in it once more.
The soldier has filled the kettle again and returned it to the hot stove. He grabs the basin and wash cloth and soap from you. He opens the cottage door and steps out, throwing the water on the tall grass on the other side of the small cottage porch. He fills the basin with hot water, pouring it over the same washcloth you used. He starts to undo his leather jacket and peels it off. It is heavy with weapons and makes a loud clunk as it hits the ground. He sits on the chair and unties his heavy boots with his flesh hand, using each big toe at the heel to work the other off. He rolls off his thick socks and throws them on the floor near his leather jacket. You can smell him again now that he is disrobing. He smells strongly of leather and sweat but you find yourself watching him and deliberately inhaling more of his scent. It's not unpleasant, and now, hours into this ordeal, is oddly familiar.
He has a long-sleeved compression shirt and his tactical cargo pants on. He stands right in front of the window, illuminated by the moonlight. He is standing sideways, so he is completely visible to you from your vantage point on the edge of the rough wooden bed frame. He looks less scary, standing there barefoot in his pants and undershirt. Though his muscular arms and back and stomach are visible under the tight fabric, his form becomes one of an enticing man rather than a scary killer. He looks over at you and slowly peels the shirt from his chest. As it comes up over his head, he turns to fully face you. You let out a small gasp as his torso is revealed. His left arm attached to his body by what looks like blistered and scarred skin. It is raised and angry looking and you feel sympathy for the man standing before you. It must have hurt when that alteration was made to his body. Was he awake for it? Did he know that his would be done to him? Had he agreed to it? Did it hurt still? He searches your face, and you make eye contact. You try not to give your thoughts away, though you suspect your surprise and curiosity are written all over your face. You wonder what he thinks of your sympathy, can he feel that you worried for him for a split second? That you thought of his experience as a test subject for a crazed scientist? You cast your eyes down and stare at your hands in your lap. He turns his back to you and drops his pants. He also has compression leggings on underneath, and they are fitted to his muscular legs. You search his form, taking in every detail of him that is visible to you.
You slowly look up as he slides those down as well. He is now fully naked and your breath catches. He is a beautiful and terrifying, strong muscles, broad back, and long dark hair. You can see dark hair on his arms and legs, though it looks soft and silky in the moon light. He is washing his face and neck roughly with the washcloth. He even dunks his head into the water, letting the water run through his hair down his body as he used the washcloth to wipe and scrub the grime away. He turns and walks towards you, leaning down right next to you to grab the small towel that you dried your feet with. He uses it to dry his hair and face. He seems to have no problem sharing with you, unbothered about rubbing your foot towel over his face and neck. He returns to washing himself with the washcloth. You blush thinking of where that washcloth has been on your own body. Running soapy water over every part of him. Under his arms and behind his legs. And then he cleans between his thighs. You are transfixed on the man as he stands fully visible to you in the reflection of the window. You watch his washcloth-covered hand wrap around his cock and clean the head. He then rinses the cloth and returns it wipe around and under his large testicles. You aren't breathing, your breath caught in your throat as you watch him work. You look up to this face and find him again studying you, with a curious but serious look in his eyes. You avert your eyes down and stare at your chaffed hands, giving them a quick squeeze as if to remind yourself of your situation. Finally he moves towards one of the plastic containers he brought up from the basement and fetches clothes exactly the same as the ones you now wear. He quickly dresses and you are relieved he is no longer visible to your hungry gaze.
Once he is dressed, he sits in the chair again, but this time he turns it out from the table to face you. Leaning on his metal arm and relaxing backwards. He silently watches you and you try to avoid his gaze. Eventually you become restless and start to dig in your floral tote. You find the fruit you had purchased earlier from the market, which now feels forever ago. You quickly untie the bag with fumbling fingers and pull out the ripe peaches. It's the very end of the season and the fruit is heavy and soft and fragrant. In a day or two the fruit will spoil as it's perfectly ripe right now. With shaking hands you extend to him a piece of fruit. He leans forward and accepts it, moving forward to pull it from your hand with his flesh hand, his warm fingers brushing your colder ones. You return to your peach rubbing it with your palm to feel the little hairs on the outside of the fruit. You hastily bite into it and feel the sweet juices running down your throat and some escaping the side of your lips. You release a small hum into the fruit as the sweetness and floral flavour overloads your heightened senses. You realize how hungry you are as you take another bite. The soldier watches you for a few moments before taking a bite of his own peach. He seems to enjoy it as well and eats it with determined effort.
You stand and make your way to the back corner of the room where the plastic containers are. You start to dig through them with one hand, looking at the supplies. You are pleasantly surprised to find socks and you toss two pairs on to the empty bed. You also find more washcloths and towels and take a quick peek at the soldier. His peach is finished, and he holds the pit in between two large fingers, watching you explore. You take another bite, slowly savouring it as you turn to rifle through the second container. In this one you find packages of dried food, including two large packages of beef stew with instructions to just add hot water. You also find a smaller box of orderly and labelled tin cans of baking supplies. You turn behind you and find the skillet you remembered seeing before. You excitedly start to unpack these supplies onto the long table along the back wall, occasionally taking a bite of your peach.
You place the skillet on the stove and pour water in in from the kettle, letting it boil on the hot stove. With your back to the solider he comes up behind you, he opens the stove door and adds more wood as the fire had started to die down. After you take the last few bites of your peach you throw the pit over his shoulder into the fire and it hisses and burns, the soldier looks back at you, slightly amused and then follows suit with the pit he still clutched in between his fingers. He opens the stove vent and the cold air from outside fed the fire and it whooshed up and crackled hard again. The water in the pan quickly comes to a boil. You look around for something to grab the pan with, realizing that the cast iron would burn you severely if you touched it. Finally you turn to the soldier who had returned to his chair to watch you work in the candle and moon-lit room. You walk over to him and grab the candle from the table and move it over to the table nearest to the stove so you can see the supplies clearly. You turn back to him and worriedly consider whether you should request his help again. Finally your grumbling stomach decided for you. You lift your head and look him dead in the eye. "Can you please toss the hot water from the pan outside? I was just trying to clean the pan a bit before I cooked with it." He nods and stands smoothly doing your bidding. The boiling water splashes on to the ground with a singeing noise and he returns the pan to the stove. You sort your ingredients and decide that you have everything you need to make the stew and rough biscuit for the top. You coat the cast iron pan with oil and add the amount of water for two large stew packets, you slowly add the dry ingredients into the pan, and they quickly incorporate, and the stew begins to rehydrate, stirring with a wooden spoon that appears to be brand new.
You find a metal mixing bowl in the plastic container and start to mix flour and baking soda, a bit of salt and sugar, using a drop biscuit recipe that your grandmother taught you for biscuits and gravy that you made at her camp. She told you to learn the recipe by heart as its perfect for this exact scenario. Though you doubt your grandmother would have predicted that you would be baking drop biscuits on stew at a cottage in the middle of nowhere as a captive victim of a super soldier with a metal arm. You mix the powdered milk and powdered butter with some water from the kettle with the wooden spoon and form a dough with the dry ingredients. You use your hand to drop the biscuit batter on top of the now boiling stew. When all the batter is in the skillet you lick a bit of the batter of your hand. It tastes good despite the strange ingredients and military packaging.
You turn back to the soldier, but he is already standing behind you, moving silently. He gently pushes you out of the way of the cookstove’s oven door, opens it and slides the cast iron on to the only rack in the oven. You breath your thanks to him and go to the basin on the table. You find it still filled with dirty water from the soldier’s bath. He grabs the washcloth and wrings it out and then takes the basin outsides to dump it out. He then returns and adds more hot water from the kettle and a bit of cold water from the jug to make it perfectly soothing and warm for you to wash your hands in.
He slowly walks down the stairs into the basement of the cottage and this time brings up two more totes. One is small and has some enamel and metal dish ware and cutlery and scratchy paper towels. He passes you that container and puts a much larger one on the bed frame and then returns to his spot at the table. You pull forks and plates and cups from the storage container, making a note of the percolator coffee pot in this container. You place it on the top of the stove out of the way as you had noticed the brick of ground coffee in the food stores. Even if you are held hostage, you should still get a strong, dark cup of coffee in the morning. You painfully try to swallow but your throat and mouth are dry as you hope you will in fact make it until morning. You darkly think that you could be cooking your last supper and you smile slightly at the thought. It's not funny but your family always did find comfort in black humour.
"You just smiled. What did you find amusing?" His gruff voice rung out into the candle lit room. You startled as you had been trying your best to ignore his very presence when you could. You knew he was there, scary, imposing, and watchful. Yet also curious and attentive and even at times gentle.
You screwed up your courage to respond "I smirked at the idea that I was cooking my last supper for both me and my would-be killer"
"And this amused you?" The soldier asked in surprise, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly hanging open.
"It's not amusing per se, rather just some black humour to comfort me in this ridiculous predicament you have placed me in." You bent down and opened the oven door, checking on the biscuits. The stew was done so it was just waiting for the dough to cook through and brown on top. The fire is hot, and the biscuits are nicely browned and appeared cooked. You turn to the soldier and say "Dinner's ready, dear" in a sing-song voice.
His lips quirk at that and he stands and steps forward, bending low near you to pull the pan from the oven and set it on top of the cook stove. It smells amazing and you busy yourself with serving two heaping and very hot portions on the enamel and metal plates. You place one plate, fork, and rough napkin in the soldier's spot and another on the edge of the bed frame next to the unopened large tote for yourself. The water jug is much emptier and your strength more returned to you, so you also pour two mugs of water and walk them over. You drink the water down in just a couple gulps, realizing how parched you feel.
You patiently wait for your food to cool and the soldier does the same. Except he gets an idea, you visibly see it cross his face as he genuinely seemed excited for a split second. He returns to the basement and comes up with two bottles, one of a dark amber liquid that you suspect to be whiskey of some sort and a bottle of red wine. He wordlessly holds them up in front of you and you point at the bottle of wine. He sets down the whiskey bottle on the table and then walks over to the mound of his clothes on the floor. He digs out a folding utility knife and opens the serrated blade and screws it into the cork, pulling hard with his metal arm and the cork slides out easily with a satisfying pop. He then walks over to you and you hold your cup out to accept the wine. Its dark ruby colour and smells delicious and fruity. He pours you an ample portion and then does the same in his cup.
You can still see the threads of steam rising from your plate and you are wary of burning your tongue and losing the flavour of what might be your final meal. Another bleak thought. You can’t burn your mouth as it might lessen your enjoyment of this meal made from various military powders on this dark night, which is the eve of your death, you are quite sure. The soldier is waiting and watching you, not touching his own food but taking sips of the wine. You place your cup of wine down on the floor and turn your attention to the plastic container. Might as well dig around while you're waiting.
Once the lid pops off you exhale deeply. Inside this container is crisp white pillows shrink wrapped in plastic. You excitedly grab the package and walk over to the end of the bed away from your food. You rip open the plastic greedily and the pillows immediately spring up and out over the bed. They are indeed crisp and white, but you are overjoyed to see that they are also deeply fluffy and plush. You press your hand down into one and smile at the feeling. You grab one and place it on the edge of the bed frame that has been your seat this long night. You return to your plate and cup. You take a swig of the wine and the bright and fruity liquid is smooth and delicious. You swallow and a small smile plays at your lips.
You lift your plate up and set it on your thighs. It is still hot on your legs but not scalding so you feel confident to use your fork to break off some biscuit and take a small sampling of the hot stew below. You raise it your mouth and slowly take a bite. At that moment you look up and see that the soldier has now taken his first bite as well. Apparently waiting for you to start eating. Ever the gentleman, this mass murdering machine. You take another bite and enjoy it. You watch him do the same, and then he ravenously dives in and eats in record time. You are only half done your plate and he is done his. He drains the last of the wine from his cup and reaches for his utility knife again. This time he reaches for the bottle of amber liquid and repeats the same process to remove the cork. He pours himself a few fingers of the booze and sets the bottle down slowly. He grabs the cup and holds it in his flesh hand, resting it on the knee of his now crossed leg. His metal arm is placed back on the table as he leans back in his chair and returns to watching you. You watch him right back, only ceasing eye contact when you take a bite of food or a sip of wine. When your cup is empty, he raises the wine bottle along with his left eyebrow, silently asking if you'd like more. You lean forward and hold out your mug and he leans forward and pours you another.
You take another sip and finish your last bites of food. You ate enough to feel very full, and the wine is making your body feel warm and your eyelids heavy. You walk your plate over to the long table on the other side of the cookstove and set it down. You turn around and lean back and rest your lower back on the counter's edge. The soldier is of course, watching you with that same intensity and blank expression. You decide you can't handle the silence any longer. "Will you kill me tonight or tomorrow? What’s the point of taking me anyway? Are you going to torture me for information or am I a hostage to extract a ransom? If so, how much am I worth, out of curiosity?"
The soldier studies you for quite a while. He seemed taken aback by your forward questions. He considers his words carefully for he speaks slowly. "As I said, you are my mission. I am to keep you alive and safe until I receive my next instructions. I pose no threat to you."
You consider his words. Alive, safe, no threat. This coming from the man who kidnapped you on a perfectly sunny and warm afternoon in Brooklyn and drove you deep into the woods to an abandoned cottage.
You look down into the ruby liquid in your cup and swirl it, watching how the flickering candlelight and moonlight play off the colour, moving it from black to bright red to deep purple, an optical illusion that you find soothing. You raise your head and stare into his eyes again. "Okay, I guess that’s about all the assurance I can get. Though if that changes, and you do pose a threat to me, can you please make sure that my mother finds out what happened to me? Or at least so she knows I am dead? It always seems so bleak to me when families never know what happened and just don't have that person in their life anymore, without explanation. At least if she knows I am dead she can grieve and move on rather than fretting and wondering and worrying about where I could be, if I am in pain, things like that."
The soldier, still drinking his whiskey, says nothing. You sigh heavily and walk over to the bed. You find the thick wool socks you pulled out of container earlier and put them on your feet, bending over with your back to him. The cottage is warm and cozy now from the fire, but your feet are still cold on the rough wood floor. You then turn your attention back to the tote of supplies. You pull a large, shrink-wrapped package out and rip the hard plastic with some effort. A very large and soft duvet is released and two smaller scratchier wool blankets, also swelling with air as the confines of the packaging is removed.
Lastly, there’s a very large rectangular item in the very bottom of the container. It’s so large and heavy you can’t quite get it out. You feel his body before you know he is there, standing directly behind you, both arms around either side of you, helping you lift the last item from the container. He holds the package up and you pull the plastic container to the floor, dipping underneath is right arm to move further away from him. He asks you to move the pillows and blankets from the bed, You do so, carefully making sure the pillows and blankets don't touch the floor and instead are all balanced in and on the empty container. He places the square in the middle of the bed and rips the plastic off quickly and collects it into a ball in his hand. The square item in the middle also expands quickly and shoots open, lying flat on the slatted wood frame. It is a very large and very thick mattress. It’s kind of a rubbery material that feels a bit strange but it’s much more enticing than the bare wooden slats and netting and you press your hand into the foam and eagerly want to crawl into the bed. The soldier is walking around the room and collecting all the stray bits of plastic and packaging, stuffing them into a box.
You turn to him and ask "Are there sheets? I very much prefer to sleep on nice soft sheets." You say, half-joking as if you were talking to a hotel worker rather than your kidnapper.
The soldier smirks that slightly annoying and destabilizing look, almost boyish but a little bit mocking. His every reaction having a rough edge to it. Or perhaps it's just his imposing presence that gives you that impression. "You won’t need sheets on this mattress, the material is made to redistribute body heat. Basically it keeps you cool in the summer and warm in the winter, you'll see."
You start to make the bed, first by placing two pillows on either side of the bed and then flipping the fluffy duvet over the whole bed. Then you place each blanket at the foot of the bed. The soldier has resumed sitting in his chair, watching you curiously. You stand back to look at your handy work and just about laugh out loud at yourself. Look at you! You made a bed for two! A perfect little happy couple having a cottage trip in the woods. It would be deeply romantic if it wasn't so strange and perverse. You both watching each other intensely, washing your bodies in plain view of the other, and working quietly around one another. Very few words spoken but intense communication happening regardless. The fleeting looks, subtle touches as you passed each other items, the feel of your body pressed against his in the several scenarios you found yourself pressed against him somehow. And now, in this dark cottage, you set the bed as an invitation. Maybe you had misjudged him. Maybe you would be alive but perhaps used in another form. Your exhausted body screamed to crawl into bed, but you were now frozen in place. Worried as to what might happen in the dark. You looked over at him, seated at the table, intense fear in your eyes. He saw it. He noticed it straight away as you saw something flash across his face. Sadness? Regret?
The soldier quietly stood and slipped out of the cottage. In his absence you tried to decide whether you would crawl into that bed or not. You collect your bags again and find the flowers, starting to wilt in the paper cover. You decide to unwrap them and find an empty container to fill with water and a bit of sugar. You walk over to the table and take the soldiers utility knife and start to saw off the ends of the flower stems. It takes a while as the stems are hard and you need to cut them down to size one by one. But eventually it is done, and you place the flowers into the square metal container serving as a makeshift vase. Just as you turn around the soldier is back in the cottage with a massive load of wood. You can see his breath in the cold outside meaning that the frost has come, and this evening might be chilly. You guess that it's around midnight as the moon is high in the sky from the looks of things. You have been up since 5 am and are weary. You were taken off the street around 4pm so you have spent close to 8 hours with this man. You lean down and press your face close to the flowers, inhaling the sweet and sharp smells of pollen and petals. The soldier watches you, a bit dumbstruck it would seem. Perhaps it is a strange sight for a hostage to be decorating their cell with flowers.
But you are a woman of sensory discernment and hedonistic excess. You want it all, the nicest foods and clothes, the nicest smelling perfumes and softest creams, and even a touch of colour and smell of the flowers you purchased for your kitchen table. You had planned to spend a leisurely Saturday reading a romance novel with endless cups of coffee and tea at that table with your favourite deep purple vase your mother gave you jammed full of these gorgeous blooms. It was an impulsive purchase but when you saw them... No, when you smelt them as you walked by, you knew you had to have them. The vendor laughed as he saw you stop dead in your tracks a few feet from his stall, swear quietly and turn back to face him. "I simply must have a bouquet, sir" He smiled broadly and let out a laugh "But miss you sound annoyed, do you not like my flowers?" You laughed a quick little surprised laugh, reaching forward to cup a particularly bright yellow bloom, placing your face as close as you could without getting pollen on your nose. "Oh no its quite the opposite! I love flowers but cut ones like this make me sad. They only last a short time, and when I am away from them, I don't notice their slow decline. And then one day I look at them and they are all used up: brown and starting to crumble away to dust."
The vendor smiled a bit sadly perhaps and replied, "But isn't that the beauty of them too? That they only last a short while so it’s imperative to enjoy and appreciate them while they are still green and alive?" You looked up and away from the flowers to see the soldier still standing there. He watched you closely as you reminisced about that short exchange from this afternoon, when you had felt a bit lighter after your tense week and serious conversation with Fury. He then walked back over to the stove and gently as possible placed the wood on the floor. Careful to not make you jump with surprise as you had last time. The soldier then opened the stove door again and placed many logs into the fire. The warmth increased rapidly in the cottage, which was helpful as the temperature had dropped quickly over the last hour or so.
You had made up your mind. You kept the soldiers folding utility knife in your hand, discreetly sliding it into the pocket of your sweatpants. You then walked with confidence over to the bed and crawled over the foot of the bed. You crawled slowly up left side of the bed, furthest away from the door. Earlier you had felt a draft coming from around the door in its frame and wanted to be away from it as you had been cold for hours. You crawled up and under the blanket and slid down the slippery material of the mattress soundlessly. The fluffy pillows were welcome support under your back and shoulders and you found yourself relaxing almost immediately.
You again looked up to find your soldier watching you intensely. He hadn’t moved from his position kneeling in front of the stove just to the foot of the bed, seemingly transfixed. The small candle that he had lit many hours ago suddenly burned out and the room was thrust further into darkness. Your breath hitched at the sudden change, you felt more vulnerable in the dark. You discreetly slipped your hand into your pocket and clutched at the utility knife, trying to feel around to see how to open it again if you needed to use it.
His voice was a quiet rasp "I will not hurt you, Y/N." Your eyes snapped opened very wide and you looked at him again lifting your head and making eye contact. "You know my name?" you squeaked
"Yes of course. As I said, you are my mission."
"I remember your name from the file too. James Buchanan Barnes, nicknamed "Bucky". AKA The Winter Soldier. But I will not be calling you anything as you have kidnapped me, and I do not want to be too familiar with my hostage-taker as it humanizes you and creates emotional enmeshment that is not helpful for my chances of survival as per SHIELD security training. I am going to sleep now. Please do not disturb me," you said haughtily with confidence you did not feel.
"I won’t. Sleep well. " He whispered back. He grabbed one of the scratchier blankets from the bed and laid it on the hardwood floor. He then quietly closed the open gateway to the secret basement and silently stepped close to the bed and reached for the two pillows on the empty side of the bed and threw them down on top of the blanket. He also grabbed the wool socks near the bed on the floor and put them on his feet. He laid down and fixed the pillows to his liking and relaxed. You could hear his breathing slow as he settled. However, after an hour you knew he was not yet asleep. He had angled himself to have his head as far from the bed as possible along the wall slightly behind the door and next to the small table. If you titled your head in the right way, you could see how his head was propped up on the pillows and his arms and he stared at your form in the bed. You could see the whites of his eyes glowing in the moonlight. As usual, you watched him right back until your eyelids grew too heavy and you drifted off, hand still clutching the small, folded utility knife in your sweatpants pockets.
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Last Mission - Series - Part 3: On The Run
Last Mission - Series - WS X Reader; BB X Reader
Warnings: kidnapping, dubcon, themes of stalking and voyeurism, smut later and each chapter will have specific warnings as applicable. Minors please do not engage.
Winter Soldier X Reader (she/her); Bucky Barnes X Reader
Summary: you were his mission and unfortunately for you, he was told to bring you in alive
A/N: Would love to hear feedback, constructive criticism, and whatever else you want to say! I love detail and a slow burn but maybe it's too slow? Maybe its not even a spark let alone a burn.... Lemme know!
Song suggestion: On the run by the rural alberta advantage
Part 1: Uneasy Feelings
Part 2: The Long Retreat
Part 3: On The Run
“If you run, I will hunt you. I always finish my mission. If you run, I won’t hesitate.”
Hesitate to do what you did not know. The threat lingered in the air, but he surprised you further by dropping your wrist. You took a quick step backwards away from him. You missed the heat that his near body provided and shivered at the difference. You rubbed your wrist where his metal arm had held you tightly. You could feel the cold and sore skin and the cold creeped further into your body. Bugs lazily moved around your legs. Though the cold weather slowed them down it didn’t stop them from biting at your skin.
You danced about and stepped closer to the soldier. He was walking away from you and the growing darkness obscured his figure as he walked toward the large garage door. He entered some sort of pass code and then the massive metal doors started to slide down deep into the ground.
An automatic lighting system flickered on and you covered your eyes as the shocking bright light hit your pupils. As your eyes adjusted you saw the only contents of this fancy garage: a massive motorcycle with a black leather seat and shiny chrome fixtures. The Winter Soldier stomped towards you. He had a fiery look in his eye and grabbed your wrist again. He pulled you towards the bike. He swings his leg over and straddles the bike, sitting it upright. He motions for you to climb on behind him.
You do as he instructs. Your right leg is exposed from your hip as you swing your leg over the bike. You hastily position yourself on the seat, trying simultaneously to fix your dress for maximum coverage and to figure out how to put as much space as possible on the seat between you and the Winter Soldier. It seems a strange situation to have your body pressed up against someone who has told you they would not hesitate to hurt you if they need to, if you resist as he continues to kidnap you. What no one tells you is that being kidnapped takes a very long time. We are now on our second mode of transportation and it’s been at least 4 hours. It's not the same exactly but it reminds you of a Christmas party at your old job where the manager Jerry suggested going to a bar to continue the "fun" after a long, tedious meal and no one wanted to be the one to turn down the boss. Perhaps that was a hostage taking rather than a kidnapping? Regardless, it felt similar.
The soldier looks down at your exposed leg and hesitates. He stands abruptly from the bike, returning it to its leaning state on the kickstand and you almost topple over off the heavy bike. He wrenches the tote from your shoulder and digs until he finds your sweater and pants. He throws them at you. You quickly realize he means for you to change in front of him. You awkwardly pull on your pants under your dress and over those annoying sandals that were now painfully cutting into your swollen feet and legs. You then turn around in front of him and throw the dress over your head and over the seat of the bike. You pull on your fluffy sweater and sigh as the warmth soothes you a bit. As you turn around you see him gently wrapping your dress into a ball and stuffing it back into your tote. He then places your tote carefully into a hidden compartment on the bike. He returns to his mounted position on the bike. You sit behind him, cursing yourself for not changing your sandals into your regular work shoes as they would have provided more coverage and protection from the now frigid fall air.
You grab on to the back of the seat. Though you realize immediately how uncomfortable it is to have your hands behind your body on the cold steel. Before he starts the motorcycle, he looks back at you. He grabs your arm around the bicep. He wrenches your hand off of the seat handle and wraps your arm around his middle. He turns to do the same on the other side, but you relent and willingly wrap your other arm around his waist. He is balancing the bike with his weight, expertly shifting as you wiggle to balance on the seat. Finally, he moves back in his seat ever so slightly. At the same time, he hooks his hands under your knees and slides your body down the long seat until you are flush against his back. Your arms relax and your immediately feel the heat of his body through his dark, hard canvas pants and leather jacket. You can smell him as well. His hair is slightly matted at the bottom like he hasn't been able to shower recently. His scent is a mix of sweat and leather and gunpowder. It’s a searing scent in your nostrils at first but quickly you adjust and almost appreciate it.
He finally starts the bike’s engine and quickly accelerates out of the garage, the garage door automatically and quickly closing with a thunk behind you as you look back. You hold on tighter as the bumpy forest road connects back to the deserted highway. Neither of you have helmets but he has returned his glasses and metal mask to his face. The cold wind and grit from the road soon coat your exposed skin. You occasionally peak above the soldier’s shoulder but the cold and air that feels like lashes across your cheeks keeps you clutching to his leather jacket and you burying your face in his back.
Your hands meanwhile start to go numb. You have them linked together to hold on while also not having to touch him any more than necessary. You started to fidget your hands as the temperature drops and your skin gets chaffed by the cold fall air. As you rub your hands together you notice the soldier tilting his head down to see what you are doing.
He finally turns his head slightly to the right where you have your face buried in between his shoulder blades. He growls down at you “Stop moving”
You do your best to oblige primarily out of fear and embarrassment. Though as you ride your office wear provides little protection, particularly as the bike quickly cuts through the night on this deserted highway. Your body starts to shake uncontrollably.
Your hands feel like they are locked in the place on his front. You feel his flesh hand reach down and flatten your fingers on his stomach. And then even more surprisingly, you feel his hand reach to the bottom of his leather jacket, and he lifts it away from his skin. You can feel the subtle heat waft from him and instinctively you flatten your interlaced fingers across his low abdomen. His skin is a little clammy but very warm and you can feel the of skin of your palm burn slightly at the temperature change. The backs of your hands are rubbing within his leather jacket. The leather protects them from further wind burn but you can feel they are sore and cracked.
After another hour or so (you suspect) he finally he starts to slow down. He angles the bike down another rough-hewn road, that honestly looks more like an unmarked hiking trail than anything. The bike easily manoeuvres through potholes and rather large stones. You feel your teeth chatter every bump and the slower speed makes every touch and shift of your bodies felt in between your thighs. You can feel your warm core pressed against his low back and buttocks. His clothing rough material not stopping your awareness of his muscular frame and strong body nor the weaponry that is hidden amongst his person in small discreet holsters and pockets and loops. You supposed you could have grabbed one at any time and tried your luck with the soldier distracted as he was driving. Though you felt you’d be assuring your death with such a silly move. Finally there is a clearing, and a small cottage becomes visible just ahead. The moonlight shining through the trees shows a log cabin with a porch. The kind that are now fixed up and sold as “glamping” destinations to rich city kids who want an outdoor adventure roughing it without actually roughing it or having to figure things out on their own. You doubt this cottage experience will leave you wanting to write a glowing review.
The bike rumbles to a standstill and he turns off the motor. He seems to wait a second as if you would hop off the bike. Your body feels frozen in place and you stiffly try to unwrap yourself from him. He slowly tips the bike and simultaneously boots the kickstand down with his left foot. You feel yourself sliding with him in real time, your equilibrium totally dependent on this leather clad, taciturn man.
He pulls your hands off his stomach and coaxes them apart. He then stands and quickly pulls his right leg over the bike, careful to not hit you. You feel him dragging you up to a standing position, he even reaches to pull your right leg up and over the bike so that he practically sets you down on your feet. You wobble and he places his arm around your waist and helps you into the cottage.
The door is unlocked and swings inward to reveal an empty cottage save for a large frame cot bed low to the ground with rough looking netting where a mattress should be and an old-fashioned cook stove that is blackened by years of use.
As your eyes adjust you see that there is also a long, high table along the back wall which makes for an additional cooking surface. A few stray supplies like a cast iron skillet, a kettle, and a few old wooden utensils are haphazardly spread around.
He walks you in the door and dumps you on the bed frame just to the right of the entrance. The bed creaks and rough netting cuts into your cold and chaffed skin. You straighten yourself up on the edge of the bed frame the best you can. The Soldier then slams the cottage door, the crack making you jump. You aren’t so sure you will leave this cottage again.
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Last Mission - Series - Part 2: The long retreat
Last Mission - Series - WS X Reader; BB X Reader
Warnings: kidnapping, dubcon, themes of stalking and voyeurism, smut later and each chapter will have specific warnings as applicable. Minors please do not engage.
Winter Soldier X Reader (she/her); Bucky Barnes X Reader
Summary: you were his mission and unfortunately for you, he was told to bring you in alive
A/N: Would love to hear feedback, constructive criticism, and whatever else you want to say! I love detail and a slow burn but maybe it's too slow? Maybe its not even a spark let alone a burn.... Lemme know!
Part 2: The long retreat
It felt strange to be sitting in traffic, quietly and slowly making your way out of the city. It was rush hour and you were heading in the wrong direction, so it was bumper to bumper. No one spoke. The driver and his passenger didn't make eye contact or speak to one another. Instead they constantly scanned for threats. The super soldier sat next to you on the seat. He took off his glasses and stored them in one of his many pockets. You were pressed up against the door, breathing slowly and counting your breaths as the security training at SHIELD had taught you, trying to get control of your fear to think. However, you knew it wasn't a good scenario for you. They would have known you had left for the day as the SHIELD facilities are biometrically controlled. But the street you were taken from was still far from your apartment, it was busy and full of people but seemingly no one had noticed that you had been kidnapped. And no one had given chase yet. It seemed like you were very cleanly snatched, and you were not due back at work until after the long weekend. It may be Tuesday until anyone noticed that you were gone.
What kind of person doesn't have a single solitary plan for a long weekend? You didn't even call your mother on Sundays as some of your friends did. Honestly, since you moved to New York, your life had consisted of quick stop offs at your favourite restaurants to pick up single meals to take home. SHIELD paid well and NYC was a perfect place for a foodie and the long days and high-pressure environment made sure that your body ached, and your mind was mush at the end of the day.
You cursed yourself under your breath. The soldier slowly turned his head. His bright blue eyes searching your face. His features were blank and unreadable, and he soon grew bored at staring at you and turned away. He swivelled his head to look back out his window and seemed very disinterested in what he saw. This infuriated you. You unthinkingly lunged forward and started to smack him and yell. "Why did you kidnap me? What do you want with me? Let me out this instant!" You started to bang on the windows and roof trying to cause a ruckus as the van was stopped at busy intersection with cars and pedestrians streaming around the vehicle. The soldier took his metal hand and clamped it over your mouth and grabbed your wrists one by one in his other hand, his large hand forcing your wrists together and looping around both your wrists to hold your arms still. He hummed in your ear "Hush, we won’t hurt you. You are my mission. Will you be quiet if I remove my hand from your mouth?" he asked, turning you on the leather seat to look you directly in the eye. Your eyes were swimming with tears, and you nodded your head vigorously. He let go of your wrists and slowly disengaged his hand from your mouth. You immediately screeched like a banshee "What the fuck does that mean? I am your mission? I am just supposed to believe that you aren't going to hurt me? You kidnapped me, are you deranged? Who do you work for? I read in your file that you are Hydra and not to be trusted."
The soldier just stared blankly back at you and then turned to look out the window again. The van had just taken a freeway exit and you were now truly alone, with no one able to see or hear you now. You had missed your ruckus-window that could have saved you. You cursed yourself. You lost precious minutes being frozen by fear when you could have been screaming and crying and pounding on the roof of the van while driving through busy city streets.
The van had hit open highway and it sped down the freeway, taking multiple exits and looping back around. You were trying to keep track of where you were being driven by discreetly typing the exit numbers on your phone and texting them to your friend. You didn't want to draw attention, so you hoped that you were sending messages that made sense. Your phone was hidden under the fold of your dress in your hand closest to the door. The soldier suddenly grabbed your arm and dragged you across the smooth, buttery leather of the seat. He grabbed your wrist and saw your phone in your hand. He grasped the phone and wrenched it easily from your grip with his metal arm.
He crushed the phone, and it made a sickening sound as the glass and metal folded under the pressure like it was made from tinfoil, with powdery debris falling on the van floor. He then searched through the debris in his hand that used to be your brand-new smart phone and strategically broke the tracker that shield IT security had installed, your sim card, and the memory drive of your phone. You hoped you could access your photos on the cloud. But then you remembered: you were not likely to make it out of this scenario alive. Well, maybe your mother will get access to them and take comfort in the way you had diligently documented your new life in NYC and subsequently, the last few months of your life. The touristy photos you took while a wide-eyed newcomer, the work in progress photos of your brand new one bedroom apartment with all new or new-to-you furniture collected over the last few years as you finished school and hopped from job to job, the growing collection of plants and the ways in which you decorated your place to finally feel like home.
Once your phone was smashed the driver made an abrupt exit and seemed to try to be misdirecting someone. Perhaps they thought your former best friend was still speaking to you and would be suspicious of the strange texts you had managed to send. Or that SHIELD would be following behind closely to rescue you. You doubted either of those lifelines were coming. You had left your work computer and phone at the office as Fury would contact you on the encrypted app that was downloaded on your phone with short messages if he needed you. Often a message would say something along the lines of "Report to my office at 08:00 hours". You were unable to respond as a feature of the app as Fury didn't take no for an answer. If you don't show up to his requests, you better be dead or gravely injured. Luckily if he called you in to work on this long weekend you have a great excuse to not respond. If you make it out alive (doubtful) you will hopefully still have a job.
You sighed heavily as the solider threw the broken pieces of your phone out the window of the van. You saw them disappear into the ditch on this deserted highway in upstate New York. The chances of that being a clue for your would-be saviour was slim and none. The soldier then noticed the bags at his feet. He picked them up and set them on the seat. You had the small bag from the department store stuffed with your work clothes and pretty reusable grocery tote that you used for absolutely everything. He slowly started to rifle through them. He pulled your neatly packed and clean bento-style lunchbox out of the floral tote. You had eaten every last bite of your lunch quickly at your desk so that you could go shopping on your lunch break and washed it in the kitchen sink as you mulled over how to respond to rude email from your nemesis in another department. He carefully set the lunchbox on the seat next to him.
He then pulled out the small box from the bakery and opened it. He grabbed a cookie and passed the box up to the two men in the front who each gladly took the other cookie and danish you had purchased yourself. The driver ate the danish and made a satisfied noise after his first bite. You were steaming mad at this because those danishes were the best in Brooklyn. And you would know, you had gone to every bakery in the borough, meticulously keeping track of your reviews in a spreadsheet: too buttery, greasy texture, dough not worked enough or too much, or dry and crumbly. You groaned inwardly at that thought. Maybe if you had been less interested in finding the best bakery in the borough you could have made some friends or gosh, even met a partner! Perhaps you would have been meeting up with these hypothetical friends or partner rather than collecting sad supplies for a lonesome weekend. Maybe you would have been safe had you had people around you waiting on you and checking in with you this sunny afternoon.
The super soldier slowly took his mask off and turned to look at you. He ate the cookie, YOUR COOKIE, while making eye contact. You were frozen watching him chew. He turned his attention back to your stuff when the shoved the final bite into his very full mouth. He pulled the flowers out of the tote next, staring at them for a second like he didn't recognize them before discarding them next to his muscular thigh. He dug around a bit more, checking in your small wallet, including studying your new NY state ID card and looking at your house keys like a curious child. He then picked up the other bag and pulled your fuzzy sweater out. He slowly held it up in front of him and then brought it close to his face. He sniffed and then placed it fully against his face inhaling deeply. For some reason this act was deeply arousing. You rationalized that this must be some sort of stress response, the fact that this scary man with at least 6 weapons visible on his tactical uniform was pulling at your body right now. It was a strange sight to be sure and you zeroed in on his immovable features as he placed your sweater back into the bag. He again discarded it onto the floor and turned back to stare out the window. You felt exposed. And gathered up your things carefully and placed them all into the floral tote. Perhaps it was a bit of optimism that you would get to go home and use that lunch box or wear those work clothes again. You clutched your stuff to your chest, scared and uncertain.
Abruptly, the van turned off the main highway and sped down a narrow, rough road. It was starting to get dark, and the sun was setting immediately in front of you bathing the inside of the van in bright light. You had been driving for quite a while by this time. As the vehicle sped forward into the sunset, you felt wet tears starting to fall down your cheeks. The sun quickly set, and the dusk made it impossible to see any details besides the vague shape of trees outside of your window. Finally, the van slowed, seemingly at random as there was no road to turn down or markers that you could see of any kind. The driver and passenger didn't say anything, but the Winter Soldier grabbed you by the wrist again and pulled you easily towards him. He opened the door as he pulled you out of the van behind him. You stumbled and nearly fell to your knees as he rushed forward. Your body was tense with fear and the van was high from the ground, though you caught and righted yourself. You still clutched your floral bag to you, the paper wrapping of the flowers crinkled with your movements. You stumbled through the bush behind him as he single-mindedly surged forward, not bothering to look back at you at all. You looked back and the van had just turned around and went back the way they came. You used your free hand to pull up your long dress and keep your feet visible to you as you walked through rough ground, exposed roots, and felt the rough branches of shrubs scratch your legs exposed by those stupid new sandals. As dirt and pebbles collected in your shoes you cursed listening to that saleswoman with the smiling face of thick makeup and sunny demeanour. “These are not great shoes to be kidnapped in, Jessica” you thought bitterly.
His metal arm pulled you by the wrist and it was growing increasingly painful. You released an involuntary whine when he had twisted his grip on your wrist, and it pinched. He had tensed up a bit and loosened his grip after you gave a few more sharp intakes of breath.
After walking through the bush a short while a garage suddenly came into view. It was hard to see in the settling dusk, but it was an imposing building once your eyes adjusted. Fear crept in. You had been told that you were to be kept alive. But was this your final location? Were you to be given over to whoever controlled this super soldier and issued his orders?
Surprisingly he turned to you and stopped moving. He pulled you so that your right arm was held in his left, side by side, you were pressed against his side, awkwardly and on unstable feet, still pointlessly clutching your tote to your body and your sundress in your hand. He looked into your eyes, illuminated and shadowed by the growing moon light. Half his face was cast in darkness, but the other half was clear. You could see that his eyes had shifted slightly. They were a clear blue and the pupils focused on you in a way that differed significantly from in the van.
He finally spoke after a few seconds that felt like an eternity.
“If you run, I will hunt you. I always finish my mission. If you run, I won’t hesitate.”
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Last Mission - Series - Part 1: Uneasy Feelings
Last Mission - Series - WS X Reader; BB X Reader
Warnings: kidnapping, dubcon, themes of stalking and voyeurism, smut later and each chapter will have specific warnings
Minors please do not engage.
Winter Soldier X Reader (she/her); Bucky Barnes X Reader
Summary: you were his mission and unfortunately for you, he was told to bring you in alive
A/N: I have some of this written but would love feedback to improve my writing style or flow or story constructions. Would love to hear what works and what doesn’t! The warnings above are more series wide. Will have part/chapter specific warnings as applicable.
This is an AU that I picture as part of WS, though I hope I created my own variant timeline.
Part 1: Uneasy feelings
You looked at yourself in the mirror of a changing room at a high-end department store. You had gone shopping on your lunch break and found a gorgeous sun dress with a high slit up the right hip. It was also super discounted as it was the end of the season. You purchased gladiator sandals that salesperson pushed on you. She had a point, the brown leather straps intricately working up your calf and tying just under your exposed knee did look great with the vibrant orange sun dress. The floral pattern was bold and feminine and the material both silky and flowing. You smoothed the dress over your body and spun in the mirror and for a second remembered that you could be mistaken for an enticing woman in this outfit.
You worked in a pretty strait-laced hierarchical and male dominated environment. You, as a civilian support staff, weren't expected to wear a uniform but you did have to dress in the more formal business style common in Manhattan where you worked. You liked to think you pulled off a bit of fashion within the constraints of these unspoken codes. You occasionally wore heels but often opted for more practical flats as you did a lot of walking at work. Recently, as you walked around the campus you felt like you were being watched. Considering where you worked it was safe to assume that everyone was being watched and tracked from one degree or another, but this sensation felt different. It had only been for a couple of weeks that you felt it.
The shopping trip was a bit of an excuse to take your mind off of work and clear your head before you gave an important update. You figured some retail therapy might be in order as you had been working long hours and hadn't been taking very good care of yourself as a result. Most days off you were too tired to do anything other than read a smutty romance novel for few hours, cook a few things for the week ahead, and do a bit of laundry and cleaning around your place. You didn't have any pets and your home felt rather quiet and stifling, though the high ceilings and big windows made your space perfect for your large collection of houseplants that you happily spoke to as if they could talk back. Cooing over the leaves and putting a finger in the dirt to check on their moisture levels, it brought you satisfaction to see these plants thrive and was perhaps a good sign that you had finally grown up enough to care for all these plants and maintain a steady and stressful job. But something was missing, and you were starting to grow restless now that your student debt was cleared thanks to your ample pay cheques from SHIELD and frugal spending habits developed during years of instability and financially precarious years.
This dress was just the number to make you feel like you had awakened that part of yourself long dormant. You wanted to be seen as enticing, and that thigh high split was just the thing. You paid for your purchases and ran back to the office. You had just enough time to run by the cafeteria for a fresh cup of tea, stop by your desk and drop your things off, and pick up your presentation materials.
You had finished a presentation for a large project committee meeting, in the intimidating board room on one of the highest floors of the SHIELD skyscraper in downtown. You think you killed it. But as the meeting adjourned and emptied out and it was just you and your boss in the room, you decided that now would be a good time to share your concerns. "Director Fury, do you have a minute?"
You had caught him just as he was standing to leave, and he smirked and settled back into his seat, always interested in your perspective of what was going on around you in this context. He joked that he hired you for your perspective and the fact that you still had both eyes, though you know that Fury saw more than most and picked up on subtly like no one you've ever seen. Very good skills for a secret organization's Director, you thought.
You straightened yourself out, screwing up your courage and taking a few deep steadying breaths. Fury quickly interrupted you, "That’s one of the best things about you, Y/N. You do things even though they scare you and even if you aren't sure it's the right course. You commit and you follow through on what’s right."
You stared at this face, trying to read him and failing. You stumbled forward anyway. "Thank you, Fury, that’s very kind. But I think the fact you said that betrays my nerves bringing this topic up to you." You use your pointer finger to make a circular motion in the air, "Is this a good space for a sensitive conversation?"
Fury eyed you cautiously and said "Good catch, Y/N. Thinking like an Agent. Let's step into my office."
You rode the elevator down, quite a few floors until you reached the floor you worked on with Fury. He liked to be in the thick of things, which is why he didn't take a massive executive office on one of the higher floors as past Directors had. You had worked closely with him from the beginning, working on various small things and providing administrative and operational support until he tasked you with a massive project: interdepartmental liaison for Project Insight. You basically made sure that communication between all the sectors of SHIELD went smoothly and your ease dealing with people had garnered attention. More than a few were suspicious of this civilian woman with top secret security clearance and the ear of Nick Fury. You couldn’t blame them but didn’t let their whispers stop you. You had felt something was off on this project. More than a few times you felt you weren’t getting access to all the information your clearance and access allowed. You also had seen some tactical guys watching you closely when touring the munitions and building bays of this massive project. Agent Rumlow in particular followed you like a shadow. But even then, you didn't feel the intensity of the sensation of being followed as you had the last few weeks.
You and Fury settled on the comfortable chairs and couches in his office. It relaxed you a bit. He then put on low music and a few anti-snooping devices to provide you further comfort that it was in fact, just you and him in this conversation.
His uncovered eye bore into you "What is it, Y/N"
"Fury, I know this is a silly thing to say in a place like this but over the past weeks I have felt that I am being watched. Especially in the SHIELD offices, but also when I walk home or take the subway, I still have that sensation. I have even had this sensation when I am home alone, sitting in my living room or at my kitchen table. I am not a paranoid person generally, but I wanted to flag it to you in case it was something. I even used the anti-tracking devices you gave me in my apartment and didn't find any bugs or anything."
"Again, Y/N, you are demonstrating the good instincts of an Agent."
"Or just a woman in the world" you half-joked.
This earned a smirk from Fury. "I can tell you that something does indeed smell off on this project insight business. And that I too have been concerned for you as our singular civilian staff on this project. Some would think that you would be the weak point of this project because you are "just" a civilian. But I know better. You have pointed out the inconsistencies in data and the stories of our fellow collaborators on this project and I fear it's drawn a bit of attention from the Rumlow's within the agency. But I want to assure you that I am aware and have taken certain.... countermeasures to ensure your safety. Your safety is first and foremost on my mind, and I am very proud of you for bringing this to my attention. I know that what I am about to say next may be of a little comfort but it's all I can say: I am watching the watchers very closely."
You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. You trusted Fury and felt like he trusted you too. It was comforting to know you weren't crazy and that he had the situation under control. Though you were still worried. "Okay..." you hesitated and tried to think logically. "Can I get security to follow me around. I am starting to think I may be underestimating the threat level. And respectfully, I am worried that my life is in danger and I have a long commute home to Brooklyn by myself."
"As I said, Y/N, the watchers are being watched. I am confident in this." He let his words sink in and silently watched you again. You twisted your hands together in your lap and took some more steadying breaths. When you finally looked up and met his gaze, it was clear and true, and you felt comforted by his straightforward demeanour. He broke the silence first "I think this has been a particularly shitty week in a long line of shitty weeks. How about you skip out a bit early and enjoy the unusually warm weather?"
You shakily laughed in surprise "You don't have to tell me twice!" You stood up quickly, keen to take his suggestion but also to reflect to him that you trusted him and his assurances. You walked quickly to the door and said over your shoulder "I'd ask you what you are going to do this long weekend, but I wouldn't believe what you told me." Fury laughed, "You'd be right about that - I don't like to acknowledge that I am anything other than Director Fury. But what are your plans, Y/N? Seeing anyone special?"
You had your arms crossed and you casually leaned against the door frame of his office door "Oh of course not, I am far too exhausted for such things. I will just sit at home quietly in the dark until my eyes open at 5am Tuesday morning. Oh and by the way, I won’t be taking my computer home so you'll have to contact me by other means should you wish to. Have a nice weekend, Fury."
"You too, Y/N."
You returned to your desk and packed your lunch containers, stored all the top-secret materials in the hidden safe just outside of Fury's office, and collected your purse. You paused as you grabbed your bag of new purchases and impulsively decided to change into them on your way out of the office. You stepped into a stall in the large bright bathroom and hurriedly changed out of your sensible yet professional work clothes. The pants were high waisted and quite fashionable if you did say so yourself. And the strong air conditioning meant that full coverage was necessary, so your teeth didn't chatter in meetings with agents wearing standard uniforms of wool suits and ties and socks. You pulled your favourite fuzzy sweater over your head and shoved it into the empty shopping bag along with your pants and ballet slipper shoes that you favoured. They were comfortable and went with anything and stayed on as you walked the long hallways and endless stairs of SHIELD headquarters.
Though today, as your dress flapped behind as you strut through the lobby of the building, you felt eyes on you in a new way. You remembered as it was too late that your friend Zahid who was the lobby security manager would be at the front desk and would notice this dress for sure. And it would not go without comment. You had been excited about it but now you felt a touch overexposed.
"Looking good Ms. Y/N. You meeting someone after work?" said Zahid, who had been extra kind to you since you were hired. You slowed down and walked over to the security desk, leaning heavily on the counter. You replied, "Just a date with the guy who works the takeout window at my local ramen shop, unfortunately"
You had looked like a wide-eyed kid when you were first hired. You had plenty of professional experience but never in a context like SHIELD. He had taken you around the campus, introducing you to other people that would prove indispensable in making your time at SHIELD easier: the chef in the cafeteria kitchen who cooked your favourites when you sent a complimentary email after a particularly good week of hot lunches that included shrimp po'boys and steak tacos; the building facilities manager that decided to give you a corner office with lots of natural light so you could keep plants and expensed a new tiered flower stand to make your office homier because you always made sure to say hi when you saw them in the halls; and other indispensable colleagues that could get you in contact with the right people at the right time. Zahid had become one of your only friends in the whole city. He lived in Brooklyn like you with his wife Shareefa and his 3 adorable kids. He doted on them and always had a lovely story about them that made you fantasize about having that sort of life yourself one day, loving husband and all. Zahid was handsome, probably a decade older and always ready with a joke. Your friendship was purely platonic, but he was a voracious flirt.
Zahid shook his head "It's been six months, Ms. Y/N, it’s about time you started living like a young single woman in NYC! And I am sure that dress would be a magnet! You should go stand in the park and wait for them men to line up to chat you up."
You laughed and blushed a bit, his compliments always did put an extra confidence in your manner. You held your head high and said, "Not a bad idea, Zahid, but you know I have no time for men with sweet words and empty gestures."
He shrugged "But if you don't give them a chance, how do you know their gestures are empty?"
"This is an excellent point; one I should perhaps unpack with my therapist next session. But for now I am going to choose to believe that ramen in front of the tv is a fun Friday night that gives me everything that I need. I hope you have a nice long weekend, Zahid. Say hi to Shareefa for me. I will be in on Tuesday at 6am so I hope that I will have more to report to you than whether or not the special was good."
Zahid gave you a broad smile "Enjoy your very expensive soup, Y/N!"
You decided to walk home. You normally took the subway but since it was late September and the sun blazed hot, you decided to enjoy the weather before it turned cold. It had already started getting too cold at night to keep your window open.
You walked through bustling Manhattan and over the Brooklyn bridge. You purchased a few small items along the way, a beautiful bouquet of colourful flowers from a small corner stand, some cookies and a danish for your Saturday morning coffee, some fresh fruit and avocados from the fruit market near your place. You had quite a heavy burden by this point. You stood on the side of the sidewalk near the curb out of the way of the streams of people bustling home. You were a few blocks from the ramen place and knew if you ordered it online, they'd have it ready by the time you made your way over. You looked down at your phone as you mulled your options: chef's special or your regular? Just then you heard a strange noise over the bouncy pop music in your ear buds. Kind of like tires screeching. A sudden breeze pushed your sundress forward and it tangled it around legs. Just then you looked over your shoulder and realized that you were only 6 inches away from a large man leaning out of a black matte van with a sliding door.
You knew him on sight as he was well known around SHIELD offices as an enemy of the state and a very, very dangerous man. He was once described in a meeting as a "pet psychopath" and a "killing machine". The bottom half of his face was masked, and his eyes covered with large, dark glasses that wrapped around his eyes. His dirty chin length dark brown hair framed his face.
You were frozen. Staring into his eyes through the dark glasses for what felt like a full minute but what was in actuality only a few seconds. His arms quickly wrapped around your middle, pulling you and your full bags discreetly into the van. The force of his arms had pressed the wind from your lungs and cut off the possibility of you screaming for help. Once your feet were inside the van, the door quietly rolled and clicked closed and the van sped forward. You were now in his lap, his arms still tightly pressing your arms against your body. You had dropped your bags, so they were strewn around the soldier’s feet. He then dumped you unceremoniously on to the bench seat next to him and turned away, as if you were no longer of interest to him. You scrambled as far as you could away from him and tried to right your dress and cover yourself up. Your legs had been exposed and the dress had twisted over your chest and your black bra was clearly visible. Not a single one of the 3 men in the van paid you any mind. This disinterest in you scared you more than anything. They were very confident that you had nowhere to go and posed no threat to them.
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BUCKY BARNES MAIN MASTERLIST
Deja Vu Mini Series-COMING SOON
Here In Brooklyn
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I have been thinking about writing fanfic. I have had this story idea rattling around in my brain for years:
The story spans from CATFA to TFAWS. Before the trip to the Alps, the Howling Commandos stay in a remote Italian village where Bucky meets a firecracker of a woman (I am kinda thinking of making her an abbess because why the hell not?). She makes that week an absolute joy for the Commandos before their mission. But it is clear that she is not totally what she seems. Fast forward to TFAWS era and Bucky and Sam are assigned to the Assistant Secretary of Legislative Affairs of the State Department as there have been threats against her life. She also happened to have represented Bucky in his pardoning case so there is a feeling that duty from Sam and Bucky to protect her. Bucky keeps getting deja-vu every time he sees her and can't help but feel like he knows her.
Does this sound like anything people would want to read?? I am kinda like "fuck it, just write it so you can finally get it out of your head" but also want people to read it.
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You Weren’t My Mission: Ch. 5
Chapter 5 – Aftermath
TW: panic attack description
Note: Hello! All chapters will have warnings at the beginning of their content and possible triggers. If you find that I miss any triggers, please let me know and I will add them to the chapter warnings as soon as possible. Thank you! <3
Also available on Wattpad and AO3
“I should get going,” Bucky decided, avoiding eye contact once again. As he shifted back into his seat and adjusted his legs to stand, you grasped his upper arm, fingernails scraping the leather sleeve of his jacket.
“No, please don’t.” ･:*:･ﾟ☆
The light pressure of a hand against the center of your back jolted you out of your daze and into reality. You kept your eyes pressed shut as you began to pick up on the sounds around you — the creaking of a chair; running water; distant muffled voices from all around. Nearly all of it was drowned out by the high-pitched ringing in your ears.
As you regained sensation in your fingertips and limbs, you felt a sharp pain in your upper arms. It took a moment to realize that it was of your own doing and you quickly loosened the death grip you held on your arms, fingernails sure to have left deep crescent marks. Knees pressed against your chest, you steadily attempted to relieve your muscles of the tension they held, loosening out of the curled up ball in which you were seated.
The hand on your back rubbed over your shoulder blades before disappearing, a reminder that you weren’t alone — that your panic episode had an unwelcome audience.
You slowly opened your eyes, almost immediately closing them when the dim light of the bar flooded your senses. The hand on your back was replaced by a cool sensation draped over the nape of your neck. Cold water dripped down your back, dampening your shirt, and you reached up to feel a wet dish towel.
You attempted to open your eyes again, this time more cautiously, training your eyes on your knees and focusing on one thing at a time. When you were finally able to open them all the way, you looked up to find Vincent crouched in front of you, a glass of water in one hand and what you assumed to be orange juice in the other.
“Take it easy,” he cautioned, voice soft and eyes filled with concern as you continued to take in your surroundings. You were at the bar, you concluded, but why the fuck were you on the ground?
Your question was answered shortly by the sight of Bucky standing just a few feet behind Vincent, arms crossed and brow furrowed with worry. The events of the past however many minutes replayed in your head as a choppy film reel upon seeing him, only bits and pieces salvaged by your mind. One second you were warming up your cold hands and the next you were tumbling to the ground. From your curled seated position on the floor, you looked Bucky up and down as he stared at his shoes, doing everything in his power to avoid making eye contact as you came to your senses.
You looked back to Vincent and shakily reached to grab the glass of water he held out. With two hands gripping the glass, you took a sip, letting the cold liquid rest on your tongue before swallowing and taking another drink. You repeated the process a few times before setting it down, letting out a shallow breath and looking to Vincent.
“Thank you, I’m so sorry,” you whispered. He looked at though he’d seen a ghost; although he knew things weren’t all smiles in your day-to-day, he’d never seen you in this state before. Nothing in your years of coming here after work had sent you into a panic before, at least not anything as severe as this. He shook his head, rejecting your apology, and reached out to gently rub your shoulder. It was an odd display of sympathy from the man you’d made little more than small talk with for the past year.
“Want some help getting up?” he offered. You gave a small nod and reached to grab his shoulder, which steadied you as you rose slowly to your feet. The world was becoming less and less blurry with each passing moment, the ringing in your ears now a dulled hum. You finally thought to look to Bucky again, whose eyes by now had bore holes into the ground.
Vincent looked nervously between the two of you, the tension thick even to someone with zero context. He gave you a look, a silent question, and you shook your head, assuring him that things were okay. Sure, you were still terrified and winding down, but one more minute of a dead-silent Bucky ominously looming in the background was just going to send you into another round of panic.
You stepped towards the table nearest you and took a seat. Bucky finally looked up at you, reading your face for any sign of what to do. Every part of him was screaming at him to leave, to never see you again and no longer cause you this panic and pain. It’s what he knew to do; he was used to being barked at to leave, to being begged to never show his face again. But it felt unfair to do so without your word. He didn’t necessarily want to leave — he felt responsible for the situation and wanted to do whatever he could to help you — but felt equally obligated to disappear from your life once more.
You gave him a gentle nod in response and he looked to the ground again, clenching his jaw before finding the seat besides yours. Despite your panic attack, you figured that you might as well talk to him. Besides, numbness had washed over you by now, sure to make interacting with Bucky less taxing in the moment at least.
He rested his forearms against the table, which shifted under the added weight, and looked up to meet your gaze. “I’m sorry, I should have known.” While usually hard to read, the guilt he felt shone through his tone like a search light. You felt guilty too — not for having panicked, but for having put him in this uncomfortable situation.
“It’s not your fault,” you assured, letting out a small chuckle and shaking your head in disbelief at the present situation. This all felt ridiculous, the fact that you were seated right next to him and having a conversation, that he was apologizing. “Just been a long day. I guess seeing you just pushed me over the edge.”
“I get it. Get ‘em all the time.”
Bucky was well-acquainted with panic attacks, far too used to waking up from nightmares short of breath with a shrill ringing in his ears. He was plagued by them, and so were you.. The irony of the shared source of your panic attacks being from his time as the Winter Solider didn’t escape him, but you didn’t know that. You nodded, mouthing “same” with a frown as you looked down at your hands in your lap.
The air was still between you two for only a few moments before Vincent approached the table with two glasses of water, setting them down with a wordless glance in your direction and walking back behind the bar. You feigned a grin at Bucky and reached for a glass, body still begging to be hydrated post panic attack.
Bucky sat still, puzzled as his eyes flickered between his glass, your face, and the tabletop. Indecision boiled below his steely surface, only visible to the trained eye via the mild crook in his brow.
“I should get going,” Bucky decided, avoiding eye contact once again. As he shifted back into his seat and adjusted his legs to stand, you grasped his upper arm, fingernails scraping the leather sleeve of his jacket.
“No, please don’t.” He cocked an eyebrow; he’d expected you to be relieved by his absence, not to reject it. You released the hold on his jacket, unaware of how tight you’d gripped the fabric. The two of you were both were shocked by the sudden contact, having never so much as shaken hands before. “I mean,” you joked, “I didn’t panic all for nothing, right? We might as well talk.”
Bucky grimaced and you immediately felt bad for joking around — clearly, the gruff super soldier wasn’t as amused. “I’m just kidding, I really do want to.”
He nodded, finally accepting your word as truth and settling back into his chair. You noticed the way he relaxed his jaw and set his shoulders back; he was getting comfortable and was eased by your desire to be around him. Even in such little time you’d spent with him, you were beginning to pick up on his subtle cues.
You didn’t have much in-mind to talk about, nor where you in the headspace to delve deep into a conversation about the history of your connection. Instead, you decided to keep to small talk. Bucky picked up on the cue and moved along in the surface-level conversation, asking how your day was and about your work.
He didn’t say much about himself — the most you got out of him was that he’d been on a work trip this past weekend. You weren’t expecting much from him, though, in terms of small talk. And, hell, you figured anything he did do was to be kept fairly under wraps. Most of the conversation was weighted on you and you weren’t surprised.
Even with the limited information he shared, Bucky sat intently, as though he were really listening to each thing you said. He asked follow-up questions to aspects of your day, about your relationships with your coworkers and what exactly it was that you did for work.
It wasn’t until you reached for your water glass, only to find it empty, that you realized that you’d spent half an hour talking about nothing more than your day.
“Sorry, I’m not sure why I insisted we talk,” you began, “I guess I-“
“I get it,” he stopped you. “It helps, as a distraction. Sometimes I wish I had one.” You frowned subtly at his admission — surely he had people around that helped him through that kind of stuff, right? Although even if he did, you wouldn’t have been surprised to learn if he was secretive about his struggles regardless.
“I appreciate it.” You meant it. If you’d had to walk home right after your panic attack, you surely would have either passed out on the sidewalk or have gone into a further spiral in the confines of your apartment.
“I think I might need to head home, though. I should eat and rest after,” you fumbled, “all that.”
Bucky agreed and stood. “I’ll walk you home.”
You froze at his offer, mind flooded with conflicting feelings of gratitude, worry, and anxiety. Sure, it’d be nice to not walk home alone — you weren’t even sure if you were physically capable given how exhausted you were. But you didn’t want to further inconvenience him, and your traumatic past with the man made the prospect of him knowing where you lived fearsome.
He scanned your flustered expression; for someone who was so good at shielding his own emotions, he was rather perceptive when it came to others’.
Normally you’d be frustrated by being read so easily, but the inability for your coping brain to form coherent thoughts around him made you grateful for his ability.
“Or, how about a Lyft,” he offered.
Relief washed over you, thankful that you didn’t have to explain your post-traumatic fear. You nodded and thanked him for the offer, grabbing your phone from your bag to call a ride.
A minute later, your ride was selected and the two of you stood outside of the bar as he waited with you. You pushed your hands into your coat pockets as far as they’d go, doing everything in your power to keep from visibly shivering. If the super soldier was affected at all by the winter weather, he didn’t show it; he stood perfectly still, leather jacket unzipped and hands out of his pockets.
“You don’t have to wait around, she’ll be here any minute now,” you told him.
Bucky shook his head, insisting that he wait with you until you got in the car safely.
He wouldn’t say it, but he knew he’d already caused you enough distress for one night — the least he could do was ensure that you got home safely. If it were up to him, he’d be making sure you were getting home safe up until your doorstep; but he understood your hesitation and wasn’t going to push.
You looked up the street and could see the white sedan Lyft a few blocks away, just two red lights between them and the bar. Bucky visibly shifted and you turned to find him peering at you.
“Look, are you sure this-“
“Yes,” you breathily assured. “I’ll be fine. I’m fine.” A short pause and you exhaled, looking up to read his face. He didn’t have to say it for you to know he wasn’t just asking about your ride home, but the situation as a whole. “But if you don’t want to, I get it. I’m sure it’s uncomfortable.”
Wrinkles formed across his forehead as he considered your point before meeting your gaze. “No, I think I’d like to.”
Even with his agreement, you were conscious of the task you, a near-stranger, were asking him to take on. The knowledge of the added stress to his daily life that your request possibly created weighed on you heavily.
“I just know you’re busy, I don’t want to add more work to your plate.”
He scanned your face quizzically, baffled that you’d even consider it that way. If anything, he figured that he owed it to you to help in whatever way he could. It felt like anything but an obligation — he wanted to do it.
“No,” he cautioned, “it’s not like that.”
You squinted at him before looking to the ground and nodding, somewhat confused but grateful.
“Could we maybe set a regular day at least,” you suggested, “it makes me anxious not knowing.”
Bucky agreed and the two of you decided that you’d see each other again the next Monday. As your Lyft pulled up, Bucky put a hand in his jacket pocket and nodded, a silent goodbye.
You walked to the curb, pausing as you got in and turning when you heard Bucky call out behind you.
Once in the back seat, you looked out the window to see him walking the opposite direction down the block. His head hung low, shoulders broad and tense as he took slow steps along the pavement.
In his walk alone, you could see the effects of years being simultaneously on-guard and in hiding. As much as it made you sad to see in a man you knew did no wrong himself, you couldn’t help but see yourself in his composure — always alert, guarded, hypervigilant. All because of something that Bucky hadn’t done, but that Hydra had made the Winter Soldier do.
You were brought back to the present by your driver asking about your night, her voice suggestive at you having been with Bucky outside. You chuckled; oh, if only it were that simple.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Honestly it means so much if you’ve even made it this far; this is going very slow and I know that ;-; things will speed up soon, I promise. I just don’t want to skim over the fact that this is a difficult/rocky start to things; it would feel painfully inappropriate to skirt over LOL. Thank you again so much!
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• — ♡ – ♥ – ♡ — • — ♡ – ♥ – ♡ • – ♥ •
You look over your shoulder as a vaguely familiar voice calls your name out on the street. After a moment of searching, your eyes land on the black SUV pulling up beside you. You stop walking as it brakes to a halt, and lo and behold who sits just several feet away from you.
You hadn't seen him in almost a year. Not since the last time he came by to see you at your new apartment he had helped you get. Seeing him was the last thing you were expecting on your way to the bookstore. But you'd recognize the voice anywhere. It was hard to forget. Raspy. Serious. Just like he was.
Plus he sounded like the funny guy from The Incredibles. But he was almost as illusive as the Sasquatch of legend.
"Hey, Uncle Nick." You walk over to the passenger window as he lets it all the way down.
"You on your way home?"
"I'm actually on my way to meet some friends. I'm headed that way."
"Hop in. I'll give you a ride."
"Are you sure?" You couldn't keep the surprise from your voice. You learned years ago questioning his work life was pointless, but you knew how occupied it kept him. "It's not that long a walk if you have somewhere to be." You observed his dramatic spy like clothes, but didn't say anything else.
"I'm passing that way. Won't be a problem."
"Thanks." Like usual, you just rolled with his erratic reappearances, and got in the car. You were used to Uncle Nick popping up out of nowhere after months of never hearing from him and acting like it was normal.
He watched you fasten your seatbelt before driving off. "Try not to look so surprised. I'd give a ride to any of my nieces, if I had any others. I'm nice like that."
You just give him a humorous smile and let him play off his most recent months-long absence. Even if he wasn't around, he was still there for you when you needed him.
"You can drop me off at the bookstore near my place, that's where I'm meeting them."
"How are things at the apartment?"
"Good. Rent's always paid. Landlord doesn't bother me." You explain, referring to whatever mysterious yet extremely helpful agreement he set up for you when he got you emancipated.
He only nodded. "Meeting your friends at the bookstore, huh? Your generation still read these days?"
"Some of us..." You smile at the casual old-man question. "They want to see what's new in the comic book section so that's why we're meeting there."
"Is that what sixteen year olds are doing on their Saturdays now," he remarked rhetorically.
"I'm seventeen, Uncle Nick."
Fury looked directly to you, as if believing you were trying to trick him. "Since when?"
"Since two months ago. Like always," you answer, grinning in lighthearted amusement.
"... I don't appreciate you reminding me of my age." He looked serious, but the humor was there. He shook his head and looked back ahead to the road. "Years keep getting shorter and shorter."
His lack of remorse and birthday knowledge didn't bother you. The two of you didn't see each other enough, and weren't close enough that you expected to give or get presents for each other for things like this. Heck, the man only called maybe twice a year to check in on you since living on your own. You weren't even sure how old he was. You knew his work, whatever it was, kept him busy. Well beyond the confines of your typical busy, anyway.
He was the only blood relation you had left, but knowing he was there was good enough for you.
His black car pulled up briefly at a light, stopping alongside a police car on an otherwise empty street. You pulled your phone out to send a message to your friends, tapping at the characters on the screen.
"Wanna see my lease?"
You look up at Nick when he speaks, then follow his gaze past you. Two officers sat in the squad car, nosily staring into the SUV you two sat in, as if driving down the street were cause for suspicion.
One then muttered something into their radio, and the other one sounded a whooping siren from the speaker in response, before pulling off.
You just look away and roll your eyes.
Nick pulled off after them once the light turned green, passing through the intersection as you continued to type on your phone.
Neither of you had been prepared for the second cop car that came hurtling into the side of your car at full speed. Or the third one that rammed into the back of your vehicle, boxing you in against the sidewalk.
You had felt the car lift from the ground as the cop car forced you up against a row of sidewalk pillars, making you slam into your side door and hit the side of your head on the window, phone falling to the floor.
When the second and third blow hit, you were sure there must've been a pile up in the road. Cars that couldn't brake in time before crashing into you.
You suddenly heard a distinct ringing in your head, a pain in your shoulder growing quickly. It started to waver in and out of your ears as you finally sat still for a moment. And when the car started talking, you knew you must have been imagining things.
"Multiple impact injuries detected. Anesthetic injection recommended."
A fourth undercover police car appeared while the two of you sat there like sitting ducks. Nick reached over to the glove compartment in front of you and grabbed two cylindrical injectors.
"Police dispatch shows no units in this area."
He ripped the cap off of one before methodically stabbing it into your arm. You hissed at the sharp sting, and he did the same with himself.
"What is that?" You watched him at first, noticing the blood on his head and arm, but then slowly looked up when you noticed the commotion he was warily observing outside. The police cars were empty now, their passengers on the street and surrounding you with guns drawn, making your eyes widen.
Giant black vans drove up, letting out around a dozen men with the word SWAT on their vests and what looked to be AR-15 rifles, same as what the policemen were already aiming plenty of towards you.
Something told you the two of you were in a lot of trouble.
"Uncle Nick, what's going on?!"
His partially bloodied face showed no sign of surprise, but maybe a dash of concern towards your situation.
"Who did you piss off?!"
Two questions that he never answered. He eyed each faux cop and SWAT agent, sizing up your odds in his brain. "Get us out of here."
A diagram of the vehicle appeared on the windshield, red flashing warningly. Red was never good. "Propulsion systems offline."
"Are you talking to the car?" All at once, every rifle in the vicinity starts firing on the car, making you jump and press your back into your seat as the glass stops each bullet from hitting you, in hopes that it would magically absorb you into a state of safety. "Why are they shooting at us?!"
"Hurry up and reboot, damn it!" Nick snapped, glancing at the windshield before looking back to the firing squad.
At some point you became aware of how badly you were shaking. Your hands clamped protectively over your head, paranoid of all the bullets rushing towards you despite the bulletproof windshield. You were being shot at by at least two dozen assault rifles right now all at once. Oh how your Saturday had taken a turn...
"Stay calm and do everything I say, got it?"
You only nod vigorously, taking bracing breaths in attempt to ease yourself.
There was so much noise. Sounds of guns firing over each other, orders being shouted, and glass cracking and threatening to forfeit what was your only form of cover right now. You didn't know how long it lasted until the glass became almost completely littered with cracks.
But suddenly it stopped. The street became silent once again, but you saw every eye and automatic still trained on you. A group of the SWAT team came into view of your uncle's window. They were setting up a battering ram.
"Warning: window integrity compromised."
"Ya think?!" Fury unlatched his seat belt and pulled himself over next to you, putting some distance between him and the window, and bracing you between himself and the car door. "Hold on."
You were already gripping onto the door handle and armrest console for dear life. But even that hadn't been enough to steady you for the sheer amount of impact the battering ram made as it slammed against the driver window, rocking the car and shaking everything inside.
"Window integrity: thirty-one percent. Deploying countermeasures."
"Hold that order."
"What?! Countermeasures sound very important right now!" You commented in terrified confusion.
"How long until propulsion is up?"
Another smash to the window makes your head hit your side window again, and you try desperately to ground yourself better, because you knew this wasn't stopping.
"Window integrity: nineteen percent. Defensive measures advised."
Another merciless hit left a widening circular crack to the window, spiking your fear up to a thousand percent. "Uncle Nick!"
"Window integrity: one percent."
You yanked your hand back when the armrest moved beneath your hand and a giant gun emerged from the inside. In horror you watched as Nick grabbed it and returned endless rounds of fire onto your assailants, taking down nearly everyone in view. Bodies dropped, and suddenly a grenade fired from the bottom slot, exploding one of the police cars in a fiery eruption. Black smoke and orange fire boomed as one car was sent flying into another.
"Propulsion systems back online."
"Full acceleration, now!"
He continued firing at every threat in sight, as several of the fake policemen were still standing and firing their guns toward him.
Fury's car rumbled below you, tires screeching against the asphalt as they unsuccessfully tried to move full force past the car smashed into its front, then intuitively switched into reverse.
You finally drove off of the scene, leaving behind a fraction of the enemy agents this had started with. The wheel twisted and turned as you sped down the street.
"Initiate vertical takeoff!"
"Flight systems damaged."
"Then activate guidance cameras!" Nick moves back over into the driver's seat, taking over steering. "Gimme the wheel! And get me Agent Hill."
Your head whipped over to him at his use of the word 'agent'. Not because any of this happening to him totally surprised you, no. Maybe more so at the fact that he finally said something so job revealing in front of you.
"Communications array damaged."
"Well what's not damaged?!"
"Air conditioning is fully operational."
"Full blast! It's hot as hell up in here."
You look back as police cars continue to chase after Fury, and he expertly weaves through the cars on the road. You were going so fast that your whole body tensed in fear that you would crash.
"Get me an alternate route!"
"All vehicles stopped on Roosevelt Bridge. 17th Avenue clear in three blocks; directly ahead."
"We're gonna have to take it." You heard him mutter, switching gears. The car lurched as he pushed the accelerator harder, speeding and passing a pick up truck on your right side. But the opening wasn't wide enough and his car caught the back left of the truck, causing it to spin around and land on part of the sidewalk.
"No! What are you doing?!" You look back frantically at the discarded truck that was left blocking part of the street and sidewalk, with an injured and confused driver inside.
He only drove on and sped in between two cars, scraping the sides as he propelled forward. But the assassins' cars were relentless, and simply pulled up and weaved around other cars to take more shots at the S.H.I.E.L.D. director.
"Get down!" He ordered and reached over you to pull the lever of your seat, making you fall back with the recliner seat just as more shots fired into the car, splintering your already bullet riddled window from the other side.
Your hands flew to your head when one agent hung out of their car and fired at Fury as a city bus passed between them, with no remorse for shooting through the bus full of civilians in attempt to get to him. The bus driver slammed on the brakes at the sound of passengers screaming and glass shattering under gunfire, which allowed the assassins a clear shot after passing by.
But Nick Fury wasn't having it. He yanked his steering wheel to the side and full on collided his car up against the other, putting him right up against his attempted murderer. He wrestled him for the gun, punching and dodging unsuccessfully.
While he was distracted, the other car pulled up alongside your side of the vehicle, their gun dead set on your uncle. And at this point, you were just about tired of getting shot at. You shot up and lifted your hands, fingers clamping in towards your palms as you attempted to take hold of the weapon before they could use it. It wasn't so difficult from ten feet away, so when you could feel the metal energy rushing through your fingers, you clutched onto it and pulled the firearm out of their car, letting it take the driver with him and fall down into the street.
The passenger stared at you in inconvenienced shock, but quickly recovered, and jumped up and into the driver's seat to steer before he could crash. He grabbed his own firearm, so you gripped the bottom of his car with your magnekinesis, and yanked your arm back as hard as you could. The squad car flipped from underneath itself, and it was left it in the dust.
Nick had finally managed to grab the gun from his opponent and hit him over the head with it, then shot him in the shoulder. He turned back to you, having missed your measures of defense. "Stay down!"
"Warning: approaching intersection."
His head snapped back to the road, and just before you could drive out into traffic he slammed on the brake. However, the fake cops were too busy going for the kill to take notice, and they drove ahead into the intersection just as a huge truck was passing through. It made hard impact, t-boning your attackers and not stopping until the smaller car wrapped around it, landing in the center of the intersection. There was no question of whether they survived. Despite their malintentions getting them there, you couldn't help but grimace at the sight of them being completely obliterated by the truck.
Fury didn't wait a second to swerve left and hightail it out of there. Now that you shook the last cop car in sight it was time to disappear. For a moment, it seemed you were in the clear. But you hardly got a block or two away until you saw a car driving down the wrong side of the road and right toward you. This time another fake SWAT van, with an agent hanging out of the side window and pointing an AR towards you.
"Windshield integrity at forty-three percent."
"Damn it." Nick stopped the car and put it in reverse, backing up to turn onto the side road before your attackers could get in range, but you stopped him. Your hand reached out towards the brake, making a fist to hold it down.
"What the hell?!" Your uncle exclaimed at his car's sudden disobedience. "What's the problem?!"
The SWAT van was racing toward you at dangerous speed, but you knew even if you escaped down the side road you weren't going to lose them. So you decided you would stop them right now. Call it an adrenaline high, or powerful intuition. You'd never practiced with your powers in a real situation like this before... So you didn't even truly understand your confidence in what you were doing as you reached your other hand out and stopped the array of bullets between you and the other car. Tens of bullets flew through the air only to get caught in your magnetic field. You only waited until the mercenaries stopped firing to drop them to the ground. But they were still speeding towards you, less than a building's worth away.
You could feel the energy pulsing through your hands, feeding you intuition and protection. So you used it again, to reach out and manipulate their steering wheel. Their van jolts a hard left much too quickly, so it trips over itself and spins a couple times in the air before dropping and skidding to a stop in the middle of the intersection, only yards away from your car now. No one else was hurt. It was a clean countermove.
Panting, you watched the crash scene, and lowered your hand. All was suddenly quietly around you, and you turned your head to a very confused Nicholas.
"What... the hell!"
You grimaced. Even his surprised face didn't look all that surprised. It was more like... accusatory and displeased.
"Escape route recommended."
"Keep your eyes open, and hold on." He ordered as he put his car back in drive, but you could tell by the look and way he said it that the two of you would be having a conversation later.
"Disengage brake," the car helpfully advised as he tried to accelerate.
He looked at you, and you shook your head. "Oh–" you relaxed your left hand, and the brake releases. He veered a hard right and took off down the next road, hoping to get to safety before another damn police car or SWAT van showed up.
"Get us off the grid!"
"Calculating route to secure location."
"How did you just do that," he demanded.
"It's a long story."
"Well ya better start talking, cause last I knew my niece couldn't do that!" He glanced at you, staring for a moment in suspicion. "Are you really Alex?"
"What? Yes it's me!"
"Then you've got some explaining to do–"
"So do you!" You fired back as he sped down the road, wind whipping past through shattered window openings. "You just killed like twenty guys back there!"
"They were trying to kill us."
"You mean you."
"Us. You're a witness now." He swerves left as directed, making you fall back on your reclined seat again. Other drivers frantically scrambled to avoid the madman. You had to pull yourself back upright, as well as the back of your seat before you got whiplash or something of that unpleasant effect.
"Get back in your seatbelt, we're not secure."
Obediently you pulled the strap back across your chest. "Ya know, I knew it! I knew you were in the CIA or something!"
"You don't know shit!" He countered, denying the possibility of you, his teenage niece, catching on to him that easily.
"You wear an eye patch, you only dress in menacing black or leather, and you contact me like once a year! It's a little obvious!"
"We can discuss my work life when we're certain we're not dead. Now stop asking me so many damn questions and stay vigilant!"
Quickly you looked behind to see if any mercenaries were still following you, still gripping tightly onto the car as he wildly steered.
Fury kept a lead foot on the accelerator, determined to get to security. That was, until a figure appears just up the road. He squinted through the bullet punctures at the darkly cloaked man.
"Ah hell no..."
You look to him in concern, then ahead to whatever he was gawking at. And it was impossible to miss it. A man, out in broad daylight standing in the middle of the road. No costume, no imposter government car. Just him, with his grown out brown hair, black protective gearing covering him head to toe, and aiming his weapon right at you.
A gasp filled your lungs, and before you could lift a finger, a disc shot from the launcher. But it didn't fly directly towards the windshield like every other weaponry sent at you before. The disc flew underneath his SUV, and you could hear it latch onto the bottom.
Maybe a nano second later, the device detonated, and you didn't process any of what happened next.
The sheer amount of explosive pressure sent the back of the SUV into the air, and it flipped you two over with a harsh crash, landing with the top of the vehicle down to the street. The teched out car that had done such a good job of keeping the two of you alive, now slid uncontrollably down the asphalt at deadly speed, making a horrible scraping noise as it went.
The dark figure calmly side stepped the two ton car hurtling towards him, and watched as it slid to a grinding stop, meters ahead.
Civilians gawked, and recorded, and fled about as the bullet ridden car lay upside down on the ground, a cloud of black foreboding smoke leaving a trail through the street.
The black clad figure began to walk towards the scene with an unbothered, unparalleled swagger.
Slowly, you blinked once, then twice. Blur filled your vision, and you could feel your body had already gone into shock. You were so stiff that you couldn't even tell if you were breathing until you let in a forced inhale. Your hair hung towards the ground, bits of glass falling in the same direction.
Your seatbelt was keeping you hanging from your seat, but Nick was laying on the ceiling below you, trying to recover himself.
With careful and cautious movement, you went to dislodge your seatbelt, but discovered your arm was pinned against the car door. You could barely move.
Your neck twisted slightly to look around, and your eye caught movement out of the driver window. Black boots were strutting calmly towards you, taunting to your demise.
"He's coming." You only managed a whisper.
Nick finally looked up at you, having not heard. "You okay?!"
Blood was rushing to your head. Your senses were overwhelmed with the smell of smoke and bleeding. You could feel dull pain in the side of your head, and your body forced another sharp intake to your lungs. You knew there was no time to get free as the combat boots neared menacingly.
"He's coming!" It come out louder; choked, more afraid. You frantically tried to brace yourself with your free hand on the ceiling and get free; at least regain some sense of control.
Nick looked over to where your panic stricken eyes had settled, and saw the calm gait already halfway to his car. A second later he pulled a device out of his jacket, then turned back to you. "I need you to hold still."
Outside of the car, the deadly assassin finally reached his destination. He grabbed the car door, and with an easy yank, throws it across the street to the sidewalk. He knelt down to look in, and discovered an empty car, and a burning hole left in the ground.
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Chapter 3 is out!
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PART ELEVEN OF THE FIXERS HAS BEEN PUBLISHED 🤓
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Part Eleven of The Fixers
“That’s the last of them,” Sam said, dragging the last officer off the ship. The fight hadn’t taken long, but there was a bigger issue to deal with. The ship needed steam so it could fly.
“Can’t we try the hob?” Clint asked, going over to the kitchen. He turned on the tap and put freezing cold water into a saucepan. He then turned on the gas, and lit the gas.
“What the hell?” Natasha asked.
“Let me try,” Bucky said. Nothing happened when he tried.
Luna looked quietly at the hob. Tod jumped up onto the counter and started sniffing around it. Then he froze.
Everyone ran outside.
Inside the airship, there was a bang.
“What happened?” Steve asked.
Cautiously going inside the doorway, the group saw a burnt out space where the oven and hob used to be.
“It exploded! But how?” Sam asked, aghast.
“Funny that, isn’t it?”
Katherine leaned against the door, closing it behind the group.
There was a click.
“You locked us out!” Natasha fumed.
“Of course I did. You don’t have any use for this airship anymore, do you?” Katherine smirked.
Bucky started to walk off, but Katherine suddenly appeared in front of him.
“You might want to change your outfit, handsome,” she said. With a quick twirl of her fingers, Bucky was no longer wearing his green jacket, black shirt, brown trousers and red cummerbund.
He was now wearing a dark blue shirt with twelve dark red buttons and a red collar with matching trousers and cuffs on the shirt.
When he turned to face the group, Luna gasped. Bucky had a black domino mask that showed off his eyes.
Photo credit to @jaybrogers
“You look lovely,” Luna said quietly. Lovely wasn’t the word for the look; it was extravagant.
Bucky smiled a little, checking out his blue boots.
“It feels good to be back in the old suit. Now let’s go get that steam. Sam, you and Redwing fly up and see if anyone is looking for us. Steve and Natasha and Clint can look elsewhere, just in case. Alpine stays with you guys, ok?” He commanded, pointing to Steve, Clint and Natasha. “Yes, sir!” Clint said, smiling at him.
“Luna and Tod, stay with me. We’ll meet back here in an hour.”
“Is this safe?” Sam asked. When Katherine had changed Bucky’s costume, she also changed everyone else’s; Sam was now wearing a red and white jumpsuit that for some weird reason had an open chest. It wasn’t very practical, but his wings were attached to the suit and were red. Sam also had red shoes and a white and red domino mask.
The wings weren’t powered by a jetpack; they were powered by the current of the wind.
Sam was now walking alongside Bucky and Luna. Redwing the falcon was flying around in the sky.
“How do you mean?” Tod asked.
Sam looked down at the fox who was walking alongside Luna, who was quiet; Tod had told Sam and Bucky that she was feeling like her soul had been ripped out now her powers were gone.
“Well, we’re fugitives, and everyone is currently giving us dirty looks,” Sam said, indicating the people who were staring at them as they walked through the market. A woman then spat at Sam. A man said something unforgivable to Sam, who felt anger inside of him. He didn’t react, which was what the man would want.
“We should go to the backstreets,” Tod said. Bucky nodded in agreement.
Just as they turned around, three men blocked their path.
“Um, Buck, we have an issue,” Sam said.
Bucky gritted his teeth.
“I know. Sam, you still have that telepathic link with birds, right?”
He saw Redwing out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly the falcon swooped down, screeching, followed by a large flock of pigeons, who scratched at the men who blocked the path.
Sam, Bucky, Luna and Tod ran past and into the maze of backstreets, which provided them cover.
Then Luna stopped.
“C’mon, sweetheart, we have to go,” Bucky pleaded.
“I can’t,” Luna said. Sam recognised why she was acting like this; she was clearly in shock.
“Luna, what year is it?” Sam asked her gently.
She frowned; why was he asking her that?
“And where are we?”
“And what are we looking for?”
“Steam for Bucky’s ship. But I miss my powers! I don’t know who I am without them!”
“Then let’s find out,” Sam said gently. “I’m sure there’s more to you than your powers. You’re a strong woman.”
“But without my powers, I’m nothing!”
“No,” Tod said, running up to her. “Your powers are just a part of you. You’re still a witch, regardless of your powers. You can still create spells, right?”
“I-I think so.”
“Then let’s find out,” Bucky said, holding his hand out for Luna, who took it.
They continued down the maze, until they stumbled upon what they were looking for.
Redwing landed on Sam’s shoulder.
“I know, Redwing. I don’t like the look of this place.”
The building looked rundown and a part of it was burnt.
The three humans, the falcon and the fox then walked inside.
Writing the first kiss: OH MY GOD SO CUTE, I LOVE THIS
Realizing I have to write smut the next chapter: Oh fuck
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stars aligned — bucky barnes
a/n: for the sake of this we will pretend that this is completely possible and there are no consequences from the universe for how this goes okay thx <3
follow the instagram / tiktok to interact with me
summary: 1940s bucky fell in love with you and there is no other woman he could love. with all the heartbreak after the blip, and a way is presented to bring you back, can it work?
word count: 7.1k
requests are open
Bucky Barnes. Fucking Bucky Barnes. He was the smoothest talking, charming man in all of Brooklynn. He had been ever since you could remember. Even in grade school, his reputation was known throughout multiple grades that he was the boy of everyone’s dreams. The only problem: Bucky knew it. He knew how desired he was and he wasn’t necessarily an ass about it, but he knew that women wanted him.
Now, one of your most prided features was that you were not one of them. You refused to be one of his little flings and have your heart broken by him. Also on that list was you were one of the few women who talked to Steve Rogers. There may have not been anything there romantically, but you adored that man as a friend.
All was well until you gave in. After years of putting Bucky off, you finally gave him a chance. One date you had told him. One date turned into a month. Then a couple more months, the two of you went out on town, laughing, flirting. Practically labeled a couple, and then nothing. No calls, no more dates, no more acknowledgment. He had dropped you and crushed you just as you swore you would never allow it. And then he was gone.
To say you were crushed was an understatement. Steve checked on you after, scolded his best friend, but at the end of the day, he was his best friend. Being in Steve’s company helped. And then he left.
And then there was you.
So what did you do?
You did what you could do and you became a nurse for the army.
Months had passed since you had seen the two men. Months stretched longer and your heart became less and less hurt, slowly bandaging itself back together. Bucky Barnes was barely a thought.
All of your focus went into your hurt men, tending to their wounds, unknowingly lifting their spirits, some even falling for you. Helping and caring for them helped you heal as well. The job was excruciatingly heartbreaking. What you had seen, how battered some of them came in was something you would never be able to unsee. But you helped them. Your smile brought smiles to their pained bodies and sometimes laughter when you would crack some jokes.
There was not a lot of down time for everyone, well until half the proclaimed “dead” soldiers were found and saved. Celebration erupted after that, even for the nurses - who had been working tirelessly to help the men.
Tonight, you and few of the other ladies had off and were enjoying yourself at a bar. Most of the drinks were on the house or men were buying them for you. You were sat at the bar, eyes glued onto your drink. Not much was running through your mind. The chatter and cheers wouldn’t allow for much thinking, or any deep thoughts.
“So what’s a pretty lady like you doing by herself?” a familiar voice flirtatiously spoke. Whipping your head around, your eyes were met with Bucky Barnes. Bucky fucking Barnes. “y/n,” he breathed. His blue eyes widened at the realization. His lips were a rosy red and the lighting in the bar made his skin glow somehow.
After a moment of admiring, the pent up rage of months of heartbreak slammed you and your hand was flung across his face as you slapped him. Your narrowed angry eyes widened as you realized what you had just done. Then your eyes saw Steve. He was huge, chiseled and beautiful. Steve had a wide grin on his face as he busted out laughing.
“Steve?” you exclaimed. Quickly, you hopped off the seat and flung your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight a hug.
“Hi y/n,” he chuckled out, hugging you back.
Pulling away, you looked over him with in a friendly manner.
“What the heck happened to you?” you asked.
“So I get a slap in the face and he gets a hug?” Bucky grumbled to himself, rolling his eyes.
“I wasn’t the idiot who stood her up,” Steve teased, raising an eyebrow to him. You stepped out of his proximity, eyes looking back and forth as you saw them share a knowing look.
“I would have said asshole, but idiot will do,” you added, bitterly. “But it is wonderful seeing you, Steve,” you kindly spoke, giving his arm a friendly squeeze.
“You too, y/n,” Steve grinned. “What are you doing out here?”
“Oh, you know, I’m actually a Sergeant leading my own group of men,” you nodded, messing with the boy.
“Wow,” Steve said, impressed.
“Not actually,” you laughed, “I’m a nurse.”
“Well, I have a really bad messed up hip you could look at,” Bucky chimed in, coming to stand beside you and Steve.
“Screw you,” you grumbled, rolling your eyes.
“Hey,” Bucky started, his hand grabbing on your arm gently as you turned your head away from him. “Can we talk?”
“Can we talk?” you laughed out, mockingly. “We could of talked when you completely dropped me with no explanation. We could have talked before you took out another five girls before you left. Or we could of talked before you left, but no. You just forgot about me. So no we can’t talk,” you spat, taking your arm out of his grip.
“I’m going to take this as my cue,” Steve cleared his throat, stalking away from the two of you
“I’m sorry,” Bucky apologized. For the first time since you got here, he genuinely showed some emotion besides some cocky, gorgeous soldier. “Truly, I am so sorry, y/n.”
You allowed yourself to look him over. He looked damn good in his uniform. His jacket fit him so well and made him look even more handsome than he normally looked. His hair was swept in a side part and even though he had been fighting in a war, his skin looked flawless.
“Why?” you pried, gulping as you imagined how vulnerable you looked. And god you did. Bucky could feel his heart sink into his stomach as he looked down at you. Your eyes were huge as the pain you had been trying to hide revealed itself. Your normal sweet smile was replaced with a slight pout. He could feel himself physically pained by your hurt.
“I was a jerk,” Bucky lied. He kicked himself for doing it, but there was one reason he did it and that reason still applied.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” you croaked, feeling heat rise to your skin.
His mouth fell agape as he tried to say something. He didn’t.
Without wasting another second, you spun around on your heel, heading out of the bar and into the cool night air. The city was busy around you as people walked around and cheered and yelled happily. Your heels clacked on the sidewalk as you walked anywhere away from the bar.
“y/n!” a voice called. Determined, you kept waking away, but were quickly halted by a body standing in front of you. Steve stood, not winded in the slightest. “What happened?” he asked, eyes filled with concern.
“He’s an ass,” you hoarsely spoke, feeling the true emotion take over you: heartbreak.
“What did he say?”
“There was no reason for him doing it besides he was a jerk. That’s all he said to me,” you answered, trying to regain what little dignity you had.
“That’s not true,” Steve rebutted, shaking his head at you.
“Then why, Steve?” you croaked, feeling your eyes well up with tears.
“You have to ask him,” Steve replied, giving a defeated smile.
“I did,” you snapped. “And it got me nowhere.”
“Go ask him for the truth,” Steve nodded towards the bar.
“Why should I?” you questioned.
“Just, come with me,” Steve ordered, taking your hand before gently tugging you back to the bar. The second you walked back in, your gaze fell upon Bucky. He was leaned against the bar, his hand clutching his temple as he scrunched his face. He seemed stressed as he slung back his shot of whiskey. “Bucky, follow me you dumbass,” Steve barked. Bucky and you locked eyes for a moment before he followed where Steve led him. It was not quiet by any means but it was a hell of a lot quieter. This corner of the bar was deserted. Finally, Steve let go of you.
“Now, Buck, you’re going to tell y/n the real reason you let her go,” Steve stated, looking to his friend with a stern face. Rolling his eyes, Bucky gulped while Steve walked away. The two of you remained staring at each other.
“If you don’t start talking, I might slap you again,” you threatened, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared over to the beautiful man.
Clearing his throat, he adjusted his footing before opening his mouth.
“I am an ass,” Bucky started. Snickering, you rolled your eyes. “I’m also weak.”
Narrowing your eyes, you watched as he let out a huff of air.
“When I asked you out, I didn’t expect it to go that far. I just- I had always had a thing for you since I could remember and before I left - which I thought I was brave for enlisting - and that I owed myself to ask you out. I deserved to take you out at least once before I went off and could have died. The next thing I knew, you were the only woman I wanted to spend time with and everyday was better with you in it,” Bucky threw you a small smile as your glaring softened. “But like I said, there’s a good chance I was going to die out here and I couldn’t- I wouldn’t put you through that, y/n. So I stopped coming around, even took out a few girls to make sure you wouldn’t even want a chance with me.”
For a moment, you stood there, just blinking and processing. Normally, you would assume the worst and that it was a lie, but Steve knew this. Steve made him tell you this, meaning Bucky told Steve before he left.
“I don’t know what to say,” you started, shaking your head. Bucky gave you a smile, thinking your speechlessness was a win. He was wrong. “You are an idiot. You think after all that if you would have died I wouldn’t have cared? The damage was already done, Barnes. I started falling for your stupid, charming self. No matter what stupid things you’d done, if you would have died, a piece of me would have too,” you seethed, feeling enraged by him and his idiocy.
“y/n,” Bucky began, calmly.
“No, don’t. Just-you think you were saving me? Being noble? No you were just a selfish idiot!” you exclaimed. Your arms fell to your sides as you clenched your hands into fists angrily. “That wasn’t for you to decide,” you exhaled, shaking your head.
“I am so sorry,” Bucky apologized, taking a step closer to you. “I regret it.”
“I know this sounds stupid cause it was only a few months, but Bucky I was destroyed,” you admitted, feeling hot as a wave of embarrassment washed over you. It’s not that you wanted his pity, but it was the truth.
“I wish I could take it back,” Bucky swallowed, gazing down at you.
“Well, like I said. It was only a few months. Not like we were in love or anything,” you regained your composure, standing up straighter as you tried to dismiss all this. “Good luck to you, Barnes.”
One last final look. You memorized every feature you could of him before you took a step around him. Whatever could have been, it couldn’t be now. He would be off to who knows where tomorrow and you would be back to tending to your men.
“That’s it?” Bucky asked, hitching your steps. “After all that you’re just going to shut everything I just said down because we weren’t together for a longer amount of time?”
“We weren’t together,” you said, keeping your back turned.
“That’s bullshit,” Bucky snapped. Looking behind you, you saw his nostrils flare slightly. “What the hell am I doing?” he asked, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling for a moment as he battled some inner dialogue.
“We weren’t,” you repeated.
“No, dammit, y/n. You’re not going to switch this up! You’re not going to sit here after telling me I’m an idiot and then just walk away and pretend like those months weren’t the best months of either of our lives!” Bucky erupted like a volcano. Maybe it was the war, maybe it was you, maybe it was the fact that you had finally struck a nerve. Dismissing what the two of you shared was something that he would not allow.
“There’s no point. What are we going to do now? I’m back to the camps tomorrow just as you are. It’s easier if we don’t,” you croaked, feeling more vulnerable than you had ever before in your life.
“Don’t you dare talk about there being no point- y/n, just. No fuck this,” Bucky shook his head. Clarity showed through and determination next. Within two strides he was right in front on you. Seconds later, his arms were thrown around your waist and he had you tugged against his frame. Before you could even take a breath, he slammed his lips on yours. The kiss of a lifetime. Any sort of rage or doubt dissipated at the feeling. His plump lips weren’t as soft as they once were but they didn’t feel any less amazing. His hands were firmly planted on your hips as you flung yours around his neck, leaning him over you.
Basking in this moment, you tried to memorize the feeling of his hands on your hips, his lips latched onto yours, his neat hair that your fingers were ruffling through. This was it. That earth-shattering kiss, that moment that people only dream of having. When he pulled away, you were seeing stars. Slowly, you came back down to earth as he gazed down at you.
“I would rather enjoy one pointless night with you then let you go again,” Bucky breathed, as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. Your heart thudded against the walls of your chest at his words.
“One night,” you grimly chuckled.
“One night,” he repeated.
The two of you scurried out of the bar, his hand held in yours. The bar goers cheered and whistled knowingly. Neither of you paid them a lick of mind as you hurriedly made your way to a spot you knew would be empty.
“How many soldiers you brought out here?” Bucky teased, raising an eyebrow.
“None,” you mumbled, glaring up at him.
“Then how you know a spot?” he inquired.
“Just cause I haven’t doesn’t mean I don’t know people who have,” you shot back, earning you a grin from Bucky.
“I didn’t kiss any of them,” Bucky stated, making your furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “The girls I took out. I didn’t kiss them or do anything with them.”
Snickering, you responded, “I doubt that.”
“I didn’t, y/n,” Bucky repeated, sternly. A layer of hurt evident in his tone. “Have you-ya know done any-“
“No,” you interrupted. The moment for being embarrassed about it had passed. There was no point. No point in putting up a wall, pretending anything. One night. That was all you got with the man.
“I wouldn’t have been mad if you did,” Bucky started as you turned a corner, tugging him inside an abandoned building. When you halted, Bucky stood in front of you, looking you up and down. His girl. No matter where life took you, you would always be his girl. And he would always be yours. The building wasn’t completely abandoned. It was just a little out of the bustling streets of the city. It used to be a little shop until it closed down with all the hardships of the war. Some of the nurses stumbled upon it when they were mingling with soldiers. It used to be a bookstore. The shelves were still lined with books and the front window let the moon cast a glow in the store.
“You going to keep asking questions or are you gunna kiss me, Sergeant Barnes?” you asked, batting your eyelashes as you held your hands behind your back, swaying on your heels. A dazzling smirk swept over him as took a few steps towards you.
“A bit needy are we?” he teased, towering over you for a moment.
“Not needy,” you breathed as he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist, his grin dimly lit by the moonlight. “Just reminding you we don’t have much time.”
“I don’t want this to be rushed,” he began, his voice velvety as he dipped his head down, trailing kisses along your jaw, dipping into your neck. “I want to take my time with you, doll. I want to remember every moment of this. If this is my only chance with you then I want to cherish every damn second we have.” His voice was slightly muffled between kisses.
“We don’t have to rush, Buck,” you exhaled as he kissed a tender spot, making your head roll back.
His head neglected your neck as he looked down at you, his hands moving from around you to cupping both of your cheeks in his hands.
“You’re my girl,” Bucky spoke, swallowing thickly. “No matter what happens, you’re my girl. And I will always be yours.” You clamped down on your bottom lip as you tried your hardest to hold back the tears. The tone of his voice was endearing and bittersweet, almost as if he was already saying goodbye. He wasn’t of course, but there was no happy ending for this. Unless months later or years, who knows with this war, maybe you two would come back together, but there was no guarantee. A wave of sadness washed over you as you looked up into his ocean blue eyes. Waves thrashed through his eyes as he was going through the same feeling as you. “No tears, baby, please,” he shakily let out, letting his thumb caress your cheeks to soothe you.
“I’ll always be yours, Buck,” you smiled, lip quivering.
“Always mine,” he repeated, nodding his head. A tear lulled down your cheek as your heart thumped in your chest. “I’ve never made a girl cry before I had sex with her,” Bucky teased and your mouth parted a little as you let out a bitter laugh.
“You’re an ass,” you laughed, sniffling.
“I love you,” Bucky voiced so sure. Now your mouth was left agape. “y/n y/l/n, I love you. I had to tell you that.”
“No, shh,” Bucky shook his head, causing your to close your mouth. “Don’t say it back. Don’t say anything,” he rasped, a tear rolling down his flushed cheek.
Before you could protest, he latched his lips to yours, moving them tentatively against yours as your head tilted back. You were completely under his spell, your body moved whatever way his did, your lips followed his, every movement he did you followed.
“Always my girl,” he mumbled against your lips, tugging down on your lower lip as you let out a shaky breath in pleasure.
The next morning, you awoke with a note left next to you.
I love you y/n.
- Always yours,
Your Idiot, Asshole Bucky Barnes
The reality of it crushed you. It was still early, just a little past dawn. In the time it would take you to get back, you could cry and grieve what could have been and still have enough time to regain your composure before you went back to work.
The ride was long and dreadful. The paper was tucked into your hand neatly. A piece of your heart gone, the rest hanging on by a thin, worn-out bandaid. Your mind replayed the night before, focusing on every touch, every kiss, everything about him. Remembering as much as you could, not wanting to forget any of him. You wouldn’t. Bucky Barnes was unforgettable.
A week passed and still your mind was completely taken over by him. Any spare time you had for thinking, your brain centered around him, your heart sinking each time. Things were beginning to look up for the war. Soldiers were in higher spirits, moral was boosted and so was their recovery. You were the complete opposite, especially after hearing the news: you were to be sent over to another camp. All the women you had become close with, all the soldiers you had healed all left behind. There was no choice in it. It was your duty.
The morning you left, you packed your belongings and went from a military vehicle to a cab to another cab to another military vehicle.
When you arrived, you were immediately met with many soldiers gazes. Nothing out of the ordinary. There were few women around and the men were touch deprived. As usual, you ignored their glances, whistles and such, holding your head high and focusing on your job.
You were shown to your tent and then over to the facility. After you were shown around, you were thrown to the wolves, beginning to care for the soldiers. Thankfully, most of them were in good condition, mostly just broken bones, few concussed. The rowdy yells caught your attention from behind you. Not an uncommon thing to here with the men rough housing and such. Rolling your eyes, you looked back down to your patient, continuing to wrap his shoulder in a sling.
“They are very loud,” you observed, causing him to chuckle.
“Most of us are,” he nodded, watching as you gently placed the strap around him. You gave him a warm smile after he thanked you before turning your attention to the noise.
“I’m fine! I don’t need to see anyone,” a voice exclaimed. A familiar one. But it wasn’t possible. Your breath caught in your throat as you listened intently, praying to any and every God it wasn’t some cruel joke. That you had heard it and heard it correctly. After some bickering, someone came through the tent flaps, messily.
“Bucky,” you gasped, eyes wide as you locked onto him. It was him. Bucky Barnes was standing in your presence. Then his eyes saw yours.
“Y/n?” he breathed.
“What- what are you?” you sputtered out, not truly believing your eyes. The shock on his face had morphed into happiness quickly.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, rushing over to you, sweeping you into his embrace.
“Buck,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as he nuzzled into your neck.
“I- how are you here?” Bucky asked, pulling his face away, but keeping you in his arms. Your eyes looked him over. He was wearing a beat up henley, his dog tags hanging from his neck, thudding against his chest. His hair was a little greasy and he looked dirty but still so damn beautiful.
“I got relocated,” you shook your head, smiling in disbelief.
“Wait- so you’re staying here?” he asked, beaming down hopefully.
All you could do was nod. Your Bucky was here, standing right in front of you, in your arms after you thought there was no chance for the two of you. One night that now could go somewhere.
“Thank god,” he chuckled, pressing a small kiss to your lips.
“I love you too,” you blurted out, finally feeling allowed to say it. That night he never let you say it back to him, and now with you two coming together again, twice. It felt like fate and destiny and like the world and stars and moons all aligned for this very moment.
“I love you,” he smiled, pushing a stray hair behind your shoulder.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” you admitted, biting down on your bottom lip as you looked up at him.
“It’s like fate, isn’t it?” he beamed, scrunching his nose as it widened.
“Or a punishment for me,” you joked.
“I can’t believe you just said that,” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head.
“Oh you think just cause we spent one night together I’m going to go all easy on you, Barnes?” you teased. One of his eyebrows raised up at you, taunting you.
“If I recall correctly, I believe you were screaming out Sergeant Barnes the last time I saw you,” Bucky cockily spoke, lowly as he said it into your ear. The tops of your ears heated up at the contact.
“I think you misheard,” you gulped, smiling up at him.
“Whatever you say, doll,” he chuckled, letting his hand come to the side of your neck, pulling you up to him to lay a gentle kiss on your lips. “I’ll have you screaming it again later tonight,” he added, letting his lips ghost over yours as he spoke.
“Bucky!” you felt flush as your eyes darted around you, making sure no one heard.
“Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure they all know you’re my girl,” Bucky grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your nose. “But, I gotta run, doll. Ten o’clock, I’ll be at your tent,” Bucky winked.
Shaking your head, you watched as he sauntered away from you. When he reached the flaps of the tent, he turned back around to face you.
“I love you, Nurse y/n y/l/n!” he exclaimed, obnoxiously as you let out an embarrassed laugh. That was Bucky, your Bucky.
“I love you too, Sergeant James Barnes!” you laughed out, shaking your head at the wide grin he threw your way. A couple whistles and chuckles ripped through the men that laid in their cots before he threw the flap open and left.
The weeks that passed were the best of your life. The word love even felt inadequate to describe what you felt for Bucky. Every night that he could, he snuck out his tent and into yours, spending till the early hours in the morning before he ran back to his. The war was finally turning in the favor of them. Steve led troops and had win after win. Each new mission, you followed with the other medics and every time they won. You stood, waiting for their return. Once Bucky saw you, he would sprint over to you, swooping you up in a hug, and twirling you in a circle as you laughed.
Tonight, the two of you were rolled around in your uncomfortable cot, he was lying next to you on his side with his hand propping his head up as he stared at you, memorizing every nook and cranny of your face and body. There was a permanent smile etched into his face as he admired you. In the dim light, you could see his eyes twinkling as he looked down at you.
“I got you something,” he blurted out, capturing your full attention. In confusion, you furrowed your eyebrows. His chest was bare and he leaned over your body, grabbing his pants. His tags clanked together before the cool material fell against your chest. When he returned, he sat up on his knees and you quickly sat up in front of him. The cool air nipped at your skin now that the blanket wasn’t covering your bare body.
“Is this another snack?” you teased, but he didn’t pay you mind as he held a hand behind his back.
“No, it’s something else,” he cleared his throat, nervously adjusting his weight.
“What is it?” you asked, tilting your head to the side. He let a huff out of air as he visibly looked nervous.
“It’s not anything super special, I couldn’t get much, but,” he began before his hidden hand came out. In it he held a picture of the two of you smiling at each other and a locket. It had a gorgeous flower engraved on the front. Your eyes shot up from the gifts up to him.
“Buck,” you breathed, as your bottom lip poked out. Eyes wide, you reached your hand out shakily as you took the locket. It popped open easily and when you opened it, you saw a picture of Bucky with a gorgeous smile. The next side had a message engraved “Yours forever, Love Bucky”. “It’s beautiful,” you smiled, tears welling up in your eyes. Next, you took the picture, examining it completely. He was grinning down at you, his hand cupping your cheek as you laughed up at him. The two of you looked so in love in it, you could feel your heart swell.
“I wish the necklace was a little nicer, but,” Bucky chuckled, nervously scratching the back of his neck. Bucky and nervous were not a common pair. This reaction just made it all the sweeter.
“I love it, thank you,” you smiled, looking back up to him.
“I can help you put it on if you want,” he offered and you quickly handed it back to him, bowing your head down so he could lock it safely around your neck. His fingers pushed the hair off your neck, leaving goosebumps. The clasp was quickly secured and you brought your head back up, cradling the locket in your fingers, grinning.
“I love you,” you smiled, leaning forward to give him a grateful kiss. When you pulled away, he had a small smile over his lips.
“I love you too, doll.”
Something was off, with his tone. Nervously, you gulped.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, concern leaking out of you.
“Can you promise me something?” he asked.
“Sure,” you replied.
“Promise me, if I don’t make it out of this you will find someone,” Bucky began, making your eyes widen.
“No, I will not promise that, anything else but that,” you immediately replied, shaking your head in disbelief. “Don’t talk like this.”
“y/n, I need you to promise me that, that you will find someone who makes you smile and you’ll have some gorgeous babies,” Bucky repeated, sternly looking to you.
“No,” you shook your head, feeling all of your body begin to panic. The thought alone of a life without Bucky in it made you want to shrivel up and cry.
“You have to promise me,” he begged, letting his hand come up grab the side of your face gently.
“Would you do it? If it was the other way around?” you asked, quickly.
“I don’t know if I could, but-”
“Then why the hell would you ask that from me?” you hoarsely spoke, feeling how dry it felt from the idea of it.
“Because I need to know if I don’t make it out of here, that you will still get that beautiful life you deserve, y/n,” he answered, forcing a pained smile to his face.
“I want a life with you,” you stated. “I want all that with you, Bucky.”
“I need you to promise me you’ll get that regardless,” he croaked, biting down on his lower lip to try and conceal the real pain plaguing him.
“I won’t promise that,” you shook your head. “I will not promise that I will find someone else because I cannot imagine a life without you in it.”
“You’re so stubborn,” he chuckled bittersweetly.
“I wouldn’t ask that from you, if I died,” you added, looking up into his blue eyes, seeing the dark waves in the ocean color. The pain, the fear.
“I wouldn’t want that with anyone else, either,” Bucky admitted.
“How are you going to give me this necklace then tell me to marry someone else if you don’t make it all within the same moment,” you shook your head, seeing a laugh rip through him.
“I love you,” Bucky stated.
“I love you… Even when you’re an idiot.”
He left early the next morning. His instructions were clear, anytime you worried, close your eyes and hold the locket and remember his love for you. You did it more often then you should have. These missions were always troublesome. You always tried your hardest to keep your mind focused on your patients and busy yourself with work when they left, because if not it was too unbearable to think of the possibilities.
Normally, they would be back late that night or the next morning. They were never gone for too long since the camps move in accordance to their next target. The day went by dreadfully slow and when it was time for sleep, you stared at the picture he had printed of the two of you. Your hand clutched the locket until you finally dozed off.
When you awoke the next morning, you did your usual routine, keeping your mind as cool and collected as you could. A couple hours into tending to your men, you heard the loud cheers of soldiers, meaning they returned. Hurriedly, you bolted out of the tent, walking out to see the men returning over the hill. Steve was in front, in his normal fashion. Once they got closer, you could see the look on Steve’s face. No notorious smile, just a straight face. Your eyes darted, not seeing Bucky beside him. He was always beside him. Always. Then Steve met your eyes, that’s when you felt it. Your heart dropped to your stomach and your stomach flopped down so hard you could feel yours legs giving out on you. It was the pity on his face, the glazing over of his eyes.
Everything blurred around you, you could feel Steve’s arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest. Words left him but you couldn’t process them. He was gone.
You never moved on. Ever. You never found a man or had a family. There was no need. You had your one earth-shattering love. Bucky. No one could live up to him and he deserved someone to love him so much that no one could take his place. You lived your life, had some pets and a small house and looked after your family and helped with others children. And most of all, you lived everyday with half of your heart missing, it was too busy morning and loving Bucky.
When Bucky finally regained consciousness after years of brainwashing, the first thing he did was try and find you. He did. Your grave. You had passed away and it felt like half of his heart died. He found out you never settled down after him and he could feel his heart shatter in his chest at the revelation. You had loved him so much that you never even went on a date with another man. And that was how much he loved you.
He wished he died so many times and now with you gone, it felt as if there was no meaning to living.
When the blip happened, Steve had momentarily forgotten about you. Without Bucky alive, and seeing his best friend grieving you, he had forgotten, but once he got Bucky back, he remembered, everything.
The moment has come for him to return the stones. He looked to Bucky and thats when he knew, if he was going to be selfish and get his happy ending, Bucky deserves his. It was in that moment he decided the mission.
You sat on your porch, a book in your hand, as you rocked on your swing, captured mentally with a far away love story. A momentarily, startlingly rustle in your yard ripped your eyes away to look in front of you. Steve Rogers stood in front of you, appearing out of thin air. Your stomach tightened, mouth agape as you stared at him, blinking hurriedly. It was a dream, Steve was dead.
“Hi, y/n,” he smiled.
“Steve?” you croaked, feeling the familiar hot tears brimming your wide eyes. He had been pronounced dead, saving the city.
“You going to sit there staring or are you going to come give me a hug?” he chuckled. Shakily, you stood up stepping down the steps and flinging your arms around his neck, clutching him to you. Life without Bucky was one of the worst things imaginable, but life without Bucky or Steve was even more soul crushing.
“You’re really here,” you cried out, feeling your emotions get the best of you. “How are you here?” you let out, holding him closely as he squeezed you in his arms. When he set you down on the ground, you looked him over, still not used to his now built form.
“We have a lot to discuss,” he smiled, giving your arm a comforting squeeze.
“I thought you were dead,” you croaked, a smile creeping up on your face as you looked over Steve. He was real.
“Can we sit down somewhere?” Nodding, you led him into your home, and he looked over everything, his eyes catching the framed picture of your and Bucky, picking it up off the shelf. He politely declined your offer for tea or snack or anything, instead saying it’s best for you to take a seat.
“Do you miss him?” Steve asked, still looking over the picture in the frame in his hands.
“Every second of everyday,” you winced out, swallowing the lump in your throat. Steve’s eyes flicked to you.
“If there was a way for you to see him again would you take it?” Steve asked.
“Of course,” you answered, beginning to furrow your eyebrows, suspiciously.
“Do anything?” Steve continued.
“Even if it sounded crazy?” Steve questioned.
“Steve, what’s going on?” you asked.
Sighing, he told you everything. That Bucky had been alive and that he is still alive in the future; that Steve is from the future and he’s currently in the ice and that Bucky didn’t die that day and instead was held captive and was brainwashed by HYDRA for decades. Most importantly, he told you he could take you to the future to see Bucky. Throughout the whole spiel, your lips remained parted￼ in shock. It took awhile before you could say anything, even process.
“You said you would do anything. I’m giving you the chance. Are you going to take it?” Steve asked, leaning forward and leaning his elbows on his knees.
Without hesitation, you breathed out, “Yes.”
Bucky stood staring at the platform. All the men were starting to panic as Banner mentioned Steve was taking too long. Suddenly, Banner was speaking and clicking buttons loudly and before Bucky’s eyes, someone stood. It took him a moment until he registered. It was you. It was his y/n.
He stood in front of you, his hair longer than you had ever seen. His face was more than stubbly and in this light he was glowing. He wore tight black pants and a black jacket and his blue eyes were glazed over as a wave of emotion washed over him.
“y/n?” he whispered out, shaking his head. You were different, you were modernized ever so slightly. Your hair wasn’t done how it once was, it was long and flowed down behind your shoulders almost a little messily, but it was you. Most importantly, he saw the locket still wrapped neatly around your neck. “How-“
“Long story,” you giggled, nervously clasping your hands in front of you.
“But you’re here,” he let out, processing your presence.
“I’m here,” you whimpered, feeling your own wave of emotion wash over you. Pain. Pain for morning him and thinking he was dead and now seeing him in front of you and not knowing what to do. Do you kiss him? Hug him? Do you have to talk first? Your stomach was in your throat as your heart beat erratically in your chest, thumping loudly. A silence fell over the two of you as you both stared at each other.
Hesitantly, he took a step to you. Then another, and then he was stood right in front of you. His hands came out of his pockets and you looked down, seeing his metal hand. The pain that throbbed in your chest as you thought of your perfect, sweet Bucky enduring the torture and having his limb replaced with a metal one.
He noticed you staring, feeling his stomach sink. That was it, you were going to fear him.
Instead, your hand reached out shakily, taking his cool metal hand in your own, looking up at him.
Such a small act, but it told Bucky everything he needed for the moment. His other arm wrapped around your waist as he tugged you into his firm chest. Your head snuggled into his chest as he nuzzled his own face into your neck. Both of you cried against one another, the relief that you felt in one another was overwhelming.
“I love you,” Bucky mumbled against your neck.
“I’ve missed you so much,” you sobbed against him. “I love you, Buck.” After the two of you relaxed slightly. Bucky pulled away, tears streaking down his face.
“y/n, I’m not the same man I once was,” Bucky started and without hesitation, your hand cupped his scruffy cheek, and he relaxed into your touch.
“You’re still my Bucky. Always, remember?” you smiled gently, rubbing your thumb soothingly across his face.
“I’ve done things-things I will never-“ he started.
“I know,” you nodded. “Steve told me. But I still love you, so damn much.”
He knew his words would fail him. Especially in this moment when they would mean the most. Action. He had to take action. Hesitantly, he leaned his head down, his fingers still wrapped in yours. He looked down at you for a moment, seeing if you showed any fear. You didn’t, not a bit. He let his lips hover over yours for a moment, watching your eyes flutter shut on instinct before he dipped his head down, finally connecting your lips together. Two lost puzzle pieces that finally found their place. Everything around you two disappeared. Once he felt your lips against his, he felt more confident than he had in years and he tilted your head back as his hand snuck to the side of your neck, deepening the kiss. Years of pain, heartbreak all gone and forgotten now that you two were finally reunited. What he couldn’t tell you with words, he showed you with how his grip tightened ever so slightly, trying to make sure you never leave his side and how gentle yet passionate the kiss was.
He pulled away, his eyes still closed, his forehead against yours. Both of you catching your breath, inhaling one another’s air.
“I wanna marry you,” he whispered, his eyes popping open to see your reaction.
“Right now?” you asked, caught off guard.
“No, not right now, but soon. I don’t want to waste another moment without you in my life, forever,” he mumbled, his cheeks turning a rosy color.
“I’ll let it slide due to the circumstances, but just so you know this is not how you propose,” you teased, with a huge smile on your face as your wrapped both your arms around his neck. Your once confident, outgoing Bucky was now more shy, and reserved. He was a lot more muscular too, a lot. But he was still your Bucky.
“I promise to actually ask you,” he mumbled, nodding.
“I don’t even care,” you laughed. “I just am so happy to see you. I could care less about a proposal.”
“I still want to give you one,” Bucky shyly spoke, biting down on his lower lip. “I still wanna give you everything you deserve, doll.”
“I love you, Buck,” you breathed out, pushing up on your tippy toes to press a small kiss to his nose, making him scrunch it as he smiled.
“I love you more than you’ll ever know, y/n.”
And so you both got married, in a beautifully elegant and small wedding. Bucky had began living again with you by his side. Both of you finally complete with each other.
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Who wants to be friends and talk all things ✨Marvel✨
Send me a message let’s hang ✨
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“You’re here doll.” Bucky reached out and grabbed your hand. You looked between his face and your hands. Suddenly the words he said to you before cause your anger boiled over. You yanked your hand out of his.
“Yep. Steve wanted me to be here when you woke up. So here I am.” You pressed the button to the Shuri know Bucky was awake, then turned toward the door.
“Yn please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” He was trying to get out of bed but was getting tangled in the cords.
“That’s fine.” You turned back to him once you reached the door. Shuri had just come in the room. “Steve said he wished he could be here. He hopes to stop through soon.” Before Bucky could say anything else you were out the door. Walking quickly to the elevator and back to your apartment.
The streets outside were busy as you rushed home. People going about their day unaware of the battle going on in your head. Part of you wanted nothing more than to crawl in that bed with him and just lay there. The other part wants to punch him right in the face. It felt like the last three months hadn’t even happened. Just as you reached your door, the kimoyo beads on your wrist chirped.
“Well that was dramatic.” She didn’t even give you a chance to say hello.
“Shuri. Please don’t.” You flopped down on the couch.
“You weren’t the one trying to keep a super solider from tearing out every lead and chasing after you.”
“I’m sorry.” He tried to chase after you? Shit.
“You can make it up to me tonight.”
“Nakia is coming home and we haven’t been to a club in a while.”
“Shuri, it’s been like one week.”
“And that’s too long! We will be at your place about 8. Wear something hot!” She gave you a wink and hung up. Maybe going out was just what you needed. Keep yourself distracted.
You sent a text off to Steve that Bucky was awake and everything went smoothly. You then switched your phone off and set it at your desk. Spending the rest of the day puttering around your apartment cleaning and reorganizing things.
Finally, it was time to get ready for the club. You choose a deep red satin dress. It was strapless and came to rest just above your knees. It also had a slit up the right side to your hip. This dress was probably the most daring one you had bought. One that Natasha was proud of when you sent her a picture of you in it for the first time. You kept your makeup light. Doing your brows, mascara and a clear gloss. Your favorite necklace to wear with it was a black snake choker. Nat said it made you look sexy and scary at the same time. That is exactly what you wanted to feel tonight. Your hair was in a loose bun at the nape of your neck and you let pieces fall around your face. You were getting your shoes from the hall closest when there was a knock at your door.
“Come on in!” You shouted at the door from the hall.
“Yn?” You froze. What the hell was Bucky doing here? You shut the hall closest and walked to the living room.
“What are you doing here Bucky?” You didn’t even look at him as you walked through the room to the kitchen. Tossing your shoes down, you grabbed one of the liquor bottle from the counter.
“I was told to pick you up.” You looked up at him. He was dressed all in black. His dress shirt was unbuttoned just enough to tease his body underneath it. His left sleeve was tucked in on itself.
“What do you mean pick me up?” You forced yourself to keep your eye on his but you noticed his wondering.
“Shuri invited me out with you guys.” His eyes were still everywhere but where they should be.
“Wonderful.” You poured yourself a shot and then another. All the while Bucky was just staring at you and you let him. Thanking yourself for choosing the outfit you did. Your kimoyo beads chirped.
“Shuri mind telling me why Bucky is in my apartment.” She gave you a big smile.
“I thought it would be good for him. Now get over here!” She hung up.
“Well let’s go then.” Bucky held his arm out for you to take but you just brushed past him out the door.
“Well ok then.” You heard him mumble behind you. You were not about to let some 100-year-old super solider dampen your night.
One of the perks of being friends with the princess is that you never had to wait in the lines at clubs. The music greeted you as you walked through the door. Bucky’s hand came to rest on your lower back protectively. You groaned to yourself as you scanned the room quickly. Finding Shuri and Nakia at the bar. You danced your way to them trying to stay just far enough from Bucky so he couldn’t touch you. Once at the bar you chose to wedge yourself between Shuri and a man, not allowing any room for Bucky who reluctantly took a place one the other side of Nakia.
“Yn!” She shouted and came around Shuri to give you a big hug. “You look sexy as always girl!”
“You look great to Nakia. How was the mission?” The bar tender had made her way over to you. You ordered a round of shots for the group.
“You know no work talk on girls’ night!”
“Well it’s not really girls’ night is it?” You raised your eye brows and looked at Shuri.
“You’re right.” Nakia turned to also look at Shuri.
“Oh come on!” She raised her hands and took the shot placed in front of her. The two of you followed.
After a few more drinks the three of you made your way to the dance floor. Bucky thankfully stayed at the bar but you could feel his eyes on you all night.
“He really does stare a lot.” Nakia whispered to you under the loud music.
“You have no idea.”
“It probably doesn’t help you wore THAT outfit.” She gestured at your dress.
“Well I had no idea until he just showed up at my house.” Just then a man grabbed your waist and spun you to him.
“Hello.” He gave you a flirty smirk.
“Hello.” You returned it and danced against him. You ignored Nakia’s protest that you were dancing with her. Instead you just focused on his hands. They found their way across your body in an intoxicating way. The liquor that flowed though you gave you the courage to dance even closer.
“You look stunning in that dress.” He whispered in your ear. His voice sent goosebumps racing down your body.
“Thank-” A strong hand on your upper arm cut you off. You looked at your arm only to be jerked away from the man you had been dancing with.
“What the hell Bucky.” You tried your best to shake his grip.
“It’s time to go.” He spoke low and was staring now at the man. He opened his mouth to say something but just shook his head and walked away.
“Fuck you. I’m not going anywhere.” You tried and failed again to break free. This time though you lost your balance a bit thanks to the alcohol. Bucky just held on tighter. You looked around for Shuri and Nakia, they were both standing at the door. The lights in the club had started to filter on.
“I said it’s time to go.” He nearly growled it out between his clenched teeth. He started to pull you toward the door.
“Let me go you fucking ass.” You struggled the whole way to the door. Trying everything short of starting a full fight with him. He didn’t let you go until everyone was outside.
“What the hell was that?!” Bucky shouted at you.
“I could ask you the same fucking this ass hole!” You shouted back. “I was dancing and having fun.” You bent down and started taking off your shoes to make it easier to walk home. “You’re the one that got all possessive.”
“Is that what you call what you were doing?” Bucky was still seething with anger but help to keep you steady while you worked at your shoes. “And I was not being possessive.”
“Dancing isn’t like it was in the 40s buck. Get over it.” You walked back over to the girls. “Thanks for a great night ladies see you.”
“Yn are you ok?”
“I’ll be fine Shuri. I’ll see you tomorrow.” As much as you wanted to be mad at her you couldn’t. You knew she meant well inviting Bucky out. You gave her and Nakia a hug then headed off to your apartment. Bucky was following close behind you.
“Bucky what are you doing?”
“I’m making sure you get home safe.” You stopped but didn’t turn around. You hung your head and sighed.
“Whatever.” You started walking again. “But that’s kind of possessive.”
“It is not. Now come on.” He caught up to you pace and placed his hand back on your lower back.
A few minutes later you both stood at the door to your apartment. Bucky insisted on walking you all the way to your door not just the door of the building.
“Home safe.” You said as you turned you key and the door opened. Bucky gently grabbed your arm and turned you to face him. You gave a slight wince as he grabbed the same spot he had a death grip on not too long ago. When he saw that he dropped his hand and head.
“I’m sorry about that Yn. I’m sorry about a lot.”
“I’ll forget it if you spar with me. I owe you a few punches.”
“Deal.” He lifted his head and smiled at you. It was genuine. It showed in his eyes too. They were brighter than you had ever seen before. Shit. That was the alcohol.
“Right. Good night Bucky.”
“Good night doll.”
Before you could think his hand was on your face and he placed a kiss on your forehead. It was simple but it was probably the most Intimate moment you had with a man in almost a year. It damn near made you knees buckle. If Bucky noticed he didn’t let on, just give you another smile and watched as you went into your apartment.
Once in your apartment, you made your way back to the bedroom. Struggling with the zipper on you dress as you went. Finally getting it of you changed into you pj’s and head to your desk. Even though you were fairly drunk you had a nightly routine of checking all your sources for Steve. Before sitting down you grabbed a glass of water and took some meds for the headache you knew would be coming in soon. You mind wasn’t quite focused on the screen in front of you. Your computer was running a facial recognition program. Instead you were thinking about what happened at the club.
Part of you knew exactly why you did what you did. You made Bucky jealous. But why did you want to make him jealous? Sure you liked to dance with men at the club but you never got that bold with how you danced. Mindlessly you rub the spot on your arm where Bucky grabbed you. It was still tender. For sure there would be bruises there by morning. In the back of your mind that excited you a bit. Bucky marked you.
What the FUCK Yn. You propped you elbows up on your desk and rested your head in your hands. Your computer chimed letting you know that the program was done running. Trying to pull your mind from Bucky, you clicked though any possible hits. There was only one that was even close. It was of Wanda. She was spotted in Finland. You decided to check you phone. Only to realize that you had turned it off earlier in the day. Once it was on, there was a title wave of notifications. A few calls from Steve, even more text messages, even some calls from Nat and Sam. You didn’t bother to read all the messages and called Steve back.
“Yn, where the hell have you been?”
“Well hi to you too Steve.”
“Sorry. We have just been trying to reach you all day. I was getting worried.”
“I mean same Steve. But I’m ok. Just had my phone off and got busy. Shuri took us out to the club.”
“Ok. Well how is Bucky doing? Did he do ok coming out of cryo?”
“Bucky is fine. Shuri drug him out to the club with us. So that was fun.” You tried to make your tone light. You really didn’t want to tell Steve everything that happened tonight.
“Bucky went to a club?” You could hear Sam say something and Steve laughed.
“Yea. It was interesting to say the least. But he came out of cryo just fine.”
“Good. Any other updates?”
“Not really. I haven’t really talked to Shuri about what’s next. All I know is that whenever he is ready they will get the rest of that old metal arm removed. Shuri has a whole plan for a new arm if he wants it.”
“That’s awesome. I’m glad.”
“Yea.” You couldn’t help but let you voice slip.
“What else Yn?” Steve always knew when something was wrong.
“Uh, I got a new tac suit ready to go. It’s got all kinds of goodies. So whenever you need me I am more than ready.”
“Sweetheart, I know you want to be out here, but please just stay there.”
“Right.” Both of you paused in conversation.
“Oh, also, you might want to let Wanda know to be a little more careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well I run a facial recognition program every now and then. She popped up tonight. It may not be her but it was a pretty high match.”
“Where was it?” He sounded concerned.
“Central Finland. Is that where you guys are at now?”
“Yea it is. I’ll let her know. Thanks Yn.”
“Anytime Steve. Also if you need anything tech wise you can still use me. I’ve been helping Nakia.”
“I know. We are just kind of laying low right now.” You heard more voices over the phone. “I got to go Yn.”
“Alright. Tell everyone I said hi and that I miss them.”
“I will sweetheart. Stay out of trouble.”
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Part Ten of The Fixers
Luna was frozen with fear.
“You’ve been stealing my magic!” She hissed. Tod snarled at Katherine.
“Of course. Don’t you remember how you ruined my life?” Katherine replied.
“I did?” Luna asked. A wave of hurt flashed across Katherine’s face.
“You don’t remember how you ripped my family apart?” She asked, her voice breaking.
Luna felt bad.
“No. But I’m sorry about it.”
Katherine stalked towards the group, who quickly got up and walked backwards.
“You deserve to die after what you did to me.”
Suddenly, the door opened, and the Gestapo stormed in.
“Get down!” Steve yelled. Luna hid under the control panel, and watched in fear as Bucky, Steve, Sam, Clint and Natasha fought back.
Natasha was beyond annoyed. Not only had the group been tricked, now they had to fight Nazis.
Admittedly, fighting Nazis was less annoying than being tricked by another witch.
Natasha jumped from the shoulders of one Nazi to another, electrocuting him with her baton.
One of the dogs caught her by the ankle and dragged her down. Thankfully, Tod the fox attacked the dog. Natasha got up, surrounded by three men.
“Well, this is unfortunate,” she said, hitting the first man across the face, kicking the second man in the stomach, and electrocuting the third man.
Sam was terrified, both for his friends and himself. They were all considered enemies as none of them were on the side of the Nazis.
By some miracle, the group’s weapons were in the living room. Sam was flying over the Nazis with his jet pack wings, shooting at every man in sight. Redwing would dive down and scratch at the men with his talons.
“Buck, behind you!” Sam yelled, kicked a man in the head who was about to shoot Bucky.
Clint had several types of arrows. The first were normal archery arrows. The second were arrows that exploded upon target, which caused a mess in the airship. The third electrocuted the victim.
“Hey, Cyborg! Sorry about the cleanup job!” Clint said to Bucky, who just huffed in response.
“You’re the one who’s cleaning the windows,” Bucky grumbled as blood splattered onto the window at that moment.
Clint rolled forward and took out a couple of men who were trying to hold Steve down.
“Watch your six,” Clint said, smiling at Steve.
The man got knocked out as Steve threw his shield at him.
He’d fought Nazis before, and it felt good to do it again; he hated anyone who was doing wrong. He grabbed the shield and punched one man in the face. Steve had taken a gymnastics class a while ago, and made use of the skills he had gained by jumping off the sofa and summersaulting in the air, kicking some Nazis in the face.
It felt good to do that.
Today wasn’t Bucky’s day. Not only had his ship hidden two creepy people, it was now covered in blood.
On the plus side, a part of him had missed fighting, so it was great to exercise that muscle again. His gun wasn’t working as there wasn’t any steam available, so Bucky concentrated on using his knives and fists.
He’d been a boxer in his youth, so he was light on his feet. Despite him being the shortest of the men in his group, he felt that this gave him an advantage. He quickly dodged punches from the man that he was currently fighting. He had no idea how many there were; all he wanted to do was to get them off his ship.
This rage fuelled him to go on fighting.
He had a fancy metal arm; he wasn’t afraid to use it.
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does anyone know the fic where (reader)’s mission goes badly and they come back to the compound all bloodied up and dirty? and bucky takes care of them, #fluff from there…
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Dating Bucky Would Include Headcanon
Bucky Barnes Masterlist
Dating Bucky would include lots of hugs and affection as he lacked it for such a long time. He couldn’t go more than an hour without kissing you as it reminded him that he had someone who cared for him even after all the mistakes he made.
He would constantly be touching you so that everyone knew the two of you were together. These touches would range from him holding your hand whilst in public or hugging you from behind when he felt anxious.
When the two of you were alone the former assassin would let his guard down and would tell you about all his guilt and regret. “Every time I close my eyes all I see is the people I hurt and even though I tried to make amends I can’t get over the pain I’ve caused.” The man explained with tears in his eyes. “Bucky, you have to remember that wasn’t you. Hydra manipulated your brain and forced you to do awful things but at least you feel remorse so it shows that your clearly no longer the Winter Soldier.” You told him hoping to reassure the man that he had worked to being a better person.
During the night you were aware there was a possibility of Bucky waking you as his mind was plagued with traumatic memories of the war, his torture from hydra and his fine as the Winter Soldier. Every other night he would wake up and begin searching the room in a state of panic only relaxing when his eyes landed on you.
When Steve left it was almost as if all the progress Bucky had made disappeared. The soldier went back to sleeping on the floor and avoiding spending any time with you as he feared you would leave him just like Steve did.
“James if you don’t open this doo right now I swear I’ll break it down!” You shouted to your lover through his apartment door. When he continued to ignore you and your attempts to see him your resolve broke.
The next morning when Bucky found you outside his apartment door you were even more confused than before. “Doll, I’m sorry about everything I was just scared that you were going to leave me as well or that you would realise I was an awful person.”
When you woke up in Bucky’s apartment you were even more confused than before. “Doll, I’m sorry about everything I was just scared that you were going to leave me as well or that you would realise I was an awful person.”
After his confession the two of you mended your relationship and were quickly back on track.
Soon the two of you were joining Sam and his family on the weekends and enjoying the simpleness of life. Seeing Bucky with Sarah’s children made you smile and realise that he may be okay with the little surprise you had growing.
Overall, dating Bucky was never easy but it was worth it as you knew the solider was a good man who just needed to focus on everything positive he had done and had been doing for the world.
The love the both of you shared was unconditional and was going to last a lifetime especially when your little one joined the both of you.
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