#winter soldier imagines | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ultralightpoe · 2 months

Text

Question? - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note : I always thought this one was unfinished so I never posted it but it's gotta be released from the drafts so here it is folks.

Word Count: 5800

Warnings: mentions of murder

Requests: OPEN

Main Master list - - Midnights Event List

(Thank you for the gif @falcvns )

x Enjoy! x

I remember

Therapists were no help to your situation, this much you were sure.

They tried, they really did. But there was no answer to your grief. Your family were good people and there was no doubt in you that that’s what got them killed. But you were supposed to meet the same fate as them, the only thing that went wrong was the fact that you managed to escape after watching the Winter Soldier slaughter them.

He had a moment of hesitation, one moment of pure eye contact as his hand inched for the knife that had been meant for you, and you had bolted.

And though the therapist tried to help you with the trauma, but there was no understanding. You watched your entire family get slaughtered, and then years later their killer would be renamed a fucking hero.

You were cursed with the memory of it all, scarred for life.

And the rest of the world was not.

It was your burden to bear.

Good girl, sad boy

Big city, wrong choices

We had one thing going on

I swear that it was something

'Cause I don't remember who I was before you

Painted all my nights

He spots you the day he moves in, carrying a simple duffle bag as he tries to hide in the back of the elevator. Sam had helped him move what little belongings he had earlier in the day, and tried his best to talk to him about what little things he had in the first place.

But Bucky didn’t listen, or tried not to. Truth was he was trying his best to add more to the collection, but it was hard. There was some stuff he couldn’t shake. And there was some stuff that Sam didn’t understand, the way people looked at him.

It was a 50/50 most of the time. Sometimes they smiled and were excited once they recognized him. Sometimes, like his last landlord, they freak out and get rid of him as fast as they can.

His last landlord broke his lease, as fast as he could, and Bucky struggled to find another apartment. Sam and Sarah helped him, and since the landlord was breaking the lease Bucky was able to get his rent and security deposit back. Not that it mattered since he was getting paid from the government anyways.

The elevator was beginning to fill up, an older lady with a dog on a tiny leash followed by a younger kid with his mom. He pushes himself further back into the corner, trying not to make eye contact with the mom not wanting to scare her. An older man limps in, says something flirty to the older woman before leaning against the wall. Some kid with a ragged beard wearing a colorful hoodie comes in, his eyes red and glazed, music blasting in his headphones as he nods to everyone before turning to the front. He smells of skunk as Sam would say and Bucky has to hold his breath to stop from inhaling it. His heightened senses forming a headache quickly.

But then there was you walking in.

Unlike the others he watches as your eyes mark everyone, then mark all exits and safety paths in sight before entering the elevator. He watches as you cross your arms, moving to press your floor before stopping and seeing it had already been pressed.

You must know everyone in the elevator already because when the doors start closing your head snaps to take one more look, and he watches as you spot him. He immediately casts his eyes down, keeping his hands in his pockets which makes it hard to watch your reaction. But he hears you inhale before turning back to the front.

He lifts his eyes then, only to see that you were watching him from the reflection of the doors. Clever.

There was something familiar, what was it about you that rung through his mind.

His heart speeding up as his eyes narrowed, through the distorted reflection he tries to recognize you. It’s right there, right there right there. If he could see your actual face then he can-

You whirl, eyes wide and your face flushed as if you just saw a ghost right as the doors open on the third floor. It wasn’t the right floor but within a flash you are running, sprinting from the elevator and dashing for the staircase.

He can do nothing but watch, while the others all turn to each other with odd expressions while Bucky blinks.

It’s clear then, it wasn’t Bucky that knew you. It was the Winter Soldier.

A color I've searched for since

But one thing after another

Lost in situations, circumstances

Miscommunications and I

Have to say

By the way

I just may like some explanations

It wasn’t him, it couldn’t be. It was just your imagination.

The view from the elevator was distorted, and you couldn’t actually see him but the second he narrowed those eyes, you saw him. Him that stormy night, the small step and the way his hand reached for his knife, the notch in his brow before you bolted.

You tore through the streets, hearing people yell as you bumped into them. Your breath was wasted and your body tight as you ran and ran and ran.

The only reason you stop is because a loud honking sounds out and a hand is snatching you back with a yell right before you get plowed by a red car driving faster than light.

“ARE YOU CRAZY LADY?!” Someone screeches, pulling your attention to the face yelling into yours. “You nearly got killed, stupid!”

“S-sorry.” You manage to mumble out, trying to figure out where you ran to. “Where am I?”

“Jesus christ, someone call 911!” He snaps, keeping a hand on your shoulder as people crowd around. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

You couldn’t concentrate, you could barely see. The Winter Soldier was back, and he was coming for you.

You were in trouble.

Can I ask you a question?

Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room

And every single one of your friends was

Making fun of you

But 15 seconds later they were clapping too?

Then what did you do?

“You’re being crazy.” Someone laughs, drawing Bucky’s attention from where he sat on the couch. It had been a week since he moved in and he was still on edge with the new surroundings, every sound drew his attention. The windows were still bordered up and he made sure no one could get in.

The tv, though it was on, was kept on silent so he could keep an ear out which is what he was doing right now when he heard it.

“I’m not being crazy.” Another voice, one thrilling enough to make his heart speed up, sounds out with a clipped tone. Defensive and hurt. “You didn’t have to walk me up, okay?”

“Oh come on. Please don’t be mad at me-”

“I’m not mad. I get it. I can’t sleep on your couch forever.” The clipped angelic voice sounds out once more. “I just….. I could have sworn that…. I’m fine.”

The sound of a door swinging open follows before both of the voices head inside and he finds himself heading closer to the door in an attempt to hear them. It’s not like he has to try hard with the super hearing, their voices catching quickly.

“I just think you need to keep going to therapy. I know you said-”

“I am still going to therapy, okay? The only reason I called you is because the hospital wouldn’t let me be released without someone.” The voice snaps back. “Can you just go? I already feel embarrassed. So just go.”

The door opens quickly after that and Bucky finds himself peering out the peephole of his door as you lean against the door watching the other person storm off as you stay there. Once your friend is out of sight he watches as your eyes trace over all the doors in the hall, calculating and nervous, before they land on his door and you watch for a moment.

He doesn’t know what pulls him to do it but he opens the door, pretending to be looking as if he heard a sound.

“You hear something?” He asks, still pretending to look. He hears you inhale sharply and finally he looks up to see your eyes on his arm, tears welling up as you freeze there. “I…. um.”

What could he say? What could he say to someone he had obviously wronged but doesn’t remember it? How could he make it better?

“I’m sorry.” Good way to start. “Whatever happened I am sorry. But it’s important to know that I…. I have been cleared of-”

That snaps you out of the daze as you push back into your apartment and slam the door quickly.

Shit.

Did you leave her house in the middle of the night?

Did you wish you'd put up more of a fight?

When she said it was too much?

Do you wish you could still touch ...her?

It's just a question

A sound had woken you up from your dreams, pulling you from the deep sleep quickly and sending every bolt of fear through you. There had been a loud bang, and you pulled from the princess sheets your mom had gotten you for your birthday, the face of snow white staring back at you as you leaned across Belle’s face to look out the window.

A strike of lightning has you shrieking out, dashing from the bed in a your alien pajamas as you run across the hallway to your parents room, barging through the door to climb onto their bed and find your mother. They were normally in bed by now, but you were shocked to see that neither of them were there.

So you jumped up at another strike of lightning, crying softly before running down the hall to see if they were in the living room where your sister often watched her cartoons.

You didn’t think anything when you slipped in the red liquid by your brother's door, and you missed the red handprint swiped by the wall next to your sister's door.

When you spot your moms figure on the couch you let the sobs free as you run to her side and force yourself under her arm to cuddle her. She doesn’t hug back, and this pulls another sob as you look up to see a red slash across her neck, reaching a hand up in the dim lighting to see pull at the necklace.

Only there is no necklace and you soon realize it’s a cut across her neck, your hand coming back bloody and warm. A loud scream pulls from you as you stand up, looking around for you dad sti screaming your lungs out.

That’s when you see him, slashing across your fathers throat quickly before turning to you, his blue eyes narrowing in on you right as you move.

He takes one step forward, but then grunts as if in pain, like he was fighting himself as he stared at her. His hand reaches for the knife strapped to his thigh and like a bolt you dash out, the rain hitting you as you scream and run anywhere you can.

Half-moon eyes, bad surprise

Did you realize, out of time

She was on your mind

With some meathead guy

That you saw that night

But you were on something

“Her family used to take in strays apparently, and had a safehouse filled with kids escaping Hydra. Dad was a scientist, and knew how to get all the kids out until Hydra caught them. Sent the Winter Soldier not long after.” Sam reads out as Bucky walks with him across the pads of the gym, keeping his eyes trained for the person they were here to look for.

“Figured that much.” He sighs out, remembering the way you looked at him. “What are the chances I end up across the hall from her?”

“Not high. Fate or something.” Sam sighs, closing the phone before he spots the figure. “What are you planning on doing?”

“I can’t lose another place to live, and I doubt she can either. If she’s scared there is a reason so I have to find a way to fix it. Which would be better if I knew what I did.” Before Sam could ask anything else they are upon their target, giving him hard eyes.

“Captain Black America.” The man grunts, a smug smirk playing at his lips as he lifts more weights. “How ya doing?”

“Cut the crap.” Bucky snaps, clenching his fists. “We have some questions.”

It was one drink after another

Caught in politics and gender-roles

And you're not sure and I don't know

Got swept away in the gray

I just may like to have a conversation

You didn’t know what to do, you were stuck.

Breaking the lease would screw you over, you couldn’t hide at your friends places forever and you couldn’t stay in your apartment forever. The Winter Soldier lived across the hall from you. The man that slaughtered your family lived across from you. The only correct solution you could come to? Getting black out drunk.

Somehow you ended up in your apartment building, blinking at the elevator buttons as you lean your head against the wall in an attempt to stabilize yourself.

“Now what are you doing out so late missy? Work keep you again?” The voice of Mrs. Day sounds out, a small touch on your shoulder as she and another figure enter the elevator. You couldn’t concentrate on either of them.

“I…. wenf ou…. The bwar… bwar… ber.. I went-tt to the b-” At some point you give up, eyebrows pinching together as you point to the buttons on the elevator. You miss your button, sliding down the wall.

A hand shoots out to catch you before you hit too hard, making sure you land softly before pressing the level you needed.

“Oh dear, back in my day girls never went to the bar.”

“Screw you Mrs. Day.” You blurt quickly before you realize what you said and your hand slaps over your mouth. A deep chuckle sounds out as you shake your head. “No. I didn’t say that.”

“She didn’t.” Someone mumbles. “It was someone else.”

“It was someone else.” You agree.

The elevator dings and the old woman scurries off as you close your eyes and lean against the wall. “I’m gonna sleep here.”

“You okay?”

“I’m gonna sleep here. This is where I sleep now.” You slur out, waving your hand around with your eyes still closed as the elevator closes again and you lay back down. You actually manage to haze out a bit before a ding sounds out again and someone puts their hands under your shoulders and lifts you easily.

“I live on the 5th- go to bed.”

“Okay. I gotcha.” The voice huffs out a laugh, carrying you easily before they get to a familiar door. “You gotta key?”

“Nooooo.” You giggle, opening your eyes a little wider. “It’s unlocked.”

“No, it isn’t. You sure you don’t have a key?”

“No key. Call me if you need let in and I’ll be there, okay?” You mumble, pulling out your phone and lifting it to your ear. “I’m on my way to unlock the-”

But before you can finish your sentence a wave of nausea hits you, you lurch forward quickly and hit your forehead on the door harshly, sliding down the wall and onto the floor below.

“Okay. Okay. Take it easy.” The deep voice hums out, and you are lifted once more before they walk across the hall and unlock their own door easily.

You are wrapped with the deep scent of a calming earthen scent, with a bit of a licorice scent that makes you giggle out. “Licorishhhhh.”

“I’m gonna set you down on the couch, okay?”

“I love licorice. Just so you know.” You continue before being set down, without question you curl up on the couch in a small ball.

“There is a glass of water by you and a trash can. But the bathroom is down the hall. Okay?”

“Is it raining?”

“Yeah, just started.”

“I don’t like when it rains.” You whisper out, a blanket put over you gently before you pass out fully.

Can I ask you a question?

Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room

And every single one of your friends was

Making fun of you

But 15 seconds later they were clapping too?

Bucky was torn between hiding out in his room until he heard you wake up and run, but the other half of him wanted to keep camped out in the main window area to make sure you were okay. From the spot you had passed out on the couch it was the perfect vantage point for any sniper, even with the newspaper he had.

So, after hours of deliberation, he ended up on the floor by the windows, facing you as he slept on the floor. The surprise came when he himself passed out, on the floor by the windows.

He slept without a single nightmare, the image of your drunken smile keeping him sated.

He only wakes up when the sound of feet padding across the floor sounds out, sitting up quickly right as he hears your body crash onto the bathroom floor before you retch into the toilet. A grimace pulling at his face as he tries to zone it out before shuffling around and standing to trudge to the kitchen.

He starts a pot of coffee, grabbing a couple eggs from the fridge and shuffling to the stove. Making as much noise as he can when you come waddling out, your head twisting around the corner with wide eyes as he turns to attempt a smile.

Your face falls slack and you turn quickly.

“Wait! Wait. Just take a second.” He rushes, holding out both his hands as you dash to grab something to hold over your head. “Please don’t throw that.”

“I’ll scream! If you’re here to kill me I’ll scream!” You rush out, stepping back, tripping over the blanket that he had thrown over you last night and nearly falling back.

“I could have killed you last night and I didn-” He stops short as he realizes that is a terrible point to make. “Okay. Hold on, wait. Just- I can make you eggs and or coffee. Or both, you don’t have to choose. You can have both. Anything you want.”

“Why am I here?!”

“You.. you were drunk and didn’t have a key okay?”

“It’s under my door mat- WHY AM I TELLING YOU THAT?!” You blanch, stepping back again. “What is this thing? It’s weird.”

“It’s an old radio….. I stole it.”

“You stole it?”

“I stole it.”

“From where?”

“The….. my exhibit at the…. It was mine so technically I didn’t steal it and just took it back. It’s fair.” He can’t fight the heat filling his body as you take a look around, mouth falling open as you finally take everything in. “My sister gave it to me for my birthday the year before…”

“My sister got me a radio once.” You mumble. “Well it was this princess cd player thing that played the soundtracks of princess movies. I wore down the mulan cd so much that my dad pretended to sit on it and break it because he couldn’t handle hearing the skip in the songs anymore.”

“Was your sister here the other day?”

“What? No.” You huff and he feels his chest loosen up a little bit when you seem to relax. “My sister is gone. My whole family is…..”

And just like that he watches your eyes harden again, your spine tensing as you glare. “So I got drunk and you brought me here.”

“Yes.”

“And you slept in the same room?”

“That’s where I always sleep. It’s… the best spot to hide from snipers and it’s in the corner so no one can sneak up on me.” He answers. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t choke on your puke too. Do you want eggs?”

Then what did you do?

Did you leave her house in the middle of the night?

Did you wish you put up more of a fight

When she said it was too much?

Do you wish you could still touch ...her?

It's just a question

If someone had told the seven year old you that you would be sitting across from the Winter Soldier on his dining room floor eating scrambled eggs and chugging straight coffee as you both played a round of 20 questions.

“I’m sorry, who drinks straight coffee? No sugar or milk or- this is bad.”

“You want to waste your question on that? You sure?” He asks, leaning to pour you more coffee.

“No! No. I…. why did you steal the radio back?”

“Because it was the last thing my sister gave me. And I just found out she died in a nursing home…. alone .” He shrugs, scratching at his forehead. “And…. it’s mine. They are displaying my stuff in a museum.”

“Must feel a little weird.” You nod. “They are actually displaying a gun you used in the smithsonian, the JFK shooting.”

“That’s not me. Well it is but….”

“Can I ask…. about…… “ You want to ask, so desperately, but you don’t want to piss him off. Not to mention that you hated when people asked you about your past.

“I don’t really want to…. “ He mumbles. “But I think that you must have questions and I do owe you answers.”

“Do you remember everything?”

“No. Not at all. Which might sound cowardly when I say I’m thankful for that. They kept me in their trance.” He answers, moving to give you more eggs before you shake your head. “I…uhm - well when I moved in and you recognized me I searched you up. The person who… for lack of better term the person who used me for the task, well I got them arrested when I got out. He was the 4th person on my list.”

“Have….” You go to ask another question about his years as the soldier before you see the look in his eyes, the nervous energy leeching off of him. So you switch, giving him a break. “You ever been to rome?”

“No. Have you?” He asks back, a look of relief on his face.

“No. But I always wanted to. There is this exhibit at the museum wh- shit. I gotta go.” You realize, moving to snatch your purse. “Oh my god I have work. I’m sorry for leaving a mess. Thank you for….”

You stop short, realizing you are thanking the man that killed your family, blinking slowly as a wave of guilt washes over you. What would they say? They would be so disappointed in you.

“I have to go.” He doesn’t say anything as you dash out.

Does it feel like everything's just like second-best after that

Meteor strike?

And what's that, that I heard, that you're still with her

That's nice, I'm sure that's what's suitable

And right

But tonight..

The building you work in looked more like a morgue in Bucky’s humble opinion, but he tried to get that image out of his head as he walked through the front door.

He didn’t know why he was here, but for some reason he was drawn to you, and he just wanted to be near you. The game of questions you had played this morning had been…. Fun. He learned a lot about you. He now knows your favorite color, dream vacation destination spot, your weird dreams about the titanic.

“Good morning, do you have your badge?” The front desk asks, smiling at him.

“Oh… uh no. Sorry. I don’t work here.” He blushes, coming up to the desk. “My friend does.”

That was a blatant lie, he was sure you would not consider him a friend but he was gonna give it a shot. But a moment of fear passes through him that she might recognize the lie.

“No problem. Can I see you I.D. and the name of the person you’re here to see?” She hums out and he nods, pulling out his I.D. and muttering your name.

“Oh! You are here for her! She is the best. The only one that wishes me good morning and actually shows me her badge.” The girl gushes, moving to the phone and dialing an extension. “Hey this is Maya from the front desk. You have a visitor here… yes…. James Barnes?”

Her eyes widen for a second and she turns back to Bucky. “She doesn’t recognize the name-”

“Try Bucky Barnes.”

“Okay, Bucky Barnes.” She smiles through the phone and then nods before hanging up. “She will be down in one moment.”

“Great. Thanks.” He attempts an easy smile even though his stomach is in waves, trying to even out his jacket as he waits for you to come down. His chest clenched in a panic as he tries to calm himself down, taking a deep breath and keeping his metal hand in his pocket so the receptionist doesn’t see it from where she is still staring at him from her desk.

“How long have you worked here?” He asks after a moment, trying to release some of the awkward tension in the room.

“Three years. I was a temp for the first couple months but now I am full time.” She explains, fixing her hair nervously. “So are you two dating? Because, not to be weird or anything, you two would be so cute.”

“Oh, no we just live in the same-”

“And she is just so nice. And you seem nice too so-” Before she can keep going in you appear from the elevators with wide eyes, your badge swinging from side to side as you march towards him.

“Hi Maya.” You mumble out at the last second, shooting her a quick smile which makes the girl beam. Before she can say her reply you are turning back to him with those same wide eyes and snatching his elbow to lead him outside.

“Are you crazy? Do you know how many pr people are in this building and will send a bunch of paps after you.” You snap, blinking up at him as he tries to come up with a decent reason as to why he is here.

“I… okay well I figured you would need to leave for lunch so I came to get lunch with you.”

“If you forget about the fact that it involved a little bit of stalking then that would be nice.” You huff, shaking your head from side to side before shrugging. “I get to pick.”

“You know the area best.”

“I get to ask questions.”

“Sure. “ He answers, though he begins to get nervous, his mouth going dry. If you kept looking at him with those eyes he would answer anything, no matter what.

“Awesome, starting with the big questions.” You smile, leading him down the sidewalk as he clears his throat to try and remain cool. “How long does it take you to clean the arm?”

Relief washes through him as he follows your lead down the street, smiling a bit.

Can I ask you a question?

Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room

And every single one of your friends was

Making fun of you

But fifteen seconds later they were clapping too?

You had no clue what you were doing, guilt and shame coated your every move as you walked with Bucky through the market, watching a mix of people turn to glare or smile at him.

It was weird, weeks ago you would have been one to glare, hell you had glared at him through your tv hundreds of times. And here you were, walking beside him like you were the closest friends in the world as he searched for plums.

Your days were spent questioning each other, all light stuff when the sun was out. If you were born in any other century what would it be? Do you think you’re more of a sunshine or moonlight person?

Then when the sun goes down the questions turn deep. You learned about his memories as the Winter Soldier, you came clean about that night in your memories.

You were betraying your family, by falling for this man you were betraying your family. It was the one thing that had been bothering you for the past 3 weeks.

Like right now, when the biggest urge you were fighting was to grab his hand and hold onto it as you both moved to avoid bumping into people, your palm sweating as he sent a quick look your way to make sure you’re okay before moving to a stall that had plums.

“Are you okay today?” He asks, feeling around for the perfect plum as you pick up the jars of honey not too far off.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” You lie, setting the jar down and moving towards him to avoid talking to the worker, your hand catching on his lower back before you snatch it back. “How many plums do you need?”

“I. Like. Plums.” He scoffs. “Would you rather be a bee or a flower?”

“Flower, 100 percent.”

“That was….. A really quick answer.” He smiles, paying the stall worker before, leading you both away. “I would want to be a bee.”

“You would be a bitch of a bee. You would not last a day as a bee.”

“I’m sorry?!”

“Not a day.” You laugh, throwing the bag you had been carrying around over your shoulder as he looks a little closer at you.

“You want to tell me what’s been bothering you?”

“You ever feel guilty… for like you family?” You blurt, eyes welling up. “Like you’re disappointing them?”

“Because you’re friends with me?” He asks, his voice tight.

“Are we friends?” You blurt, it’s not meant to come out that way, but it’s the first time you’ve heard him reference you both as friends. But the second his face falls you realize your mistake. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like- wait.”

“It’s fine. I’ve got it.” He snaps out, keeping his eyes away from you. “I’ll see you later.”

“Wait. No. Okay just give me a chance to explain here.” You rush out, trying to stop him from walking away. “This has been a big adjustment, weeks ago I hated you. Okay? You killed my family so I’m sorry that this was-”

Someone bumps up into him from behind, and you have to take a step back to avoid hitting him, his eyes narrow at the movement as you blink at him. His lips curl as his head tilts, and he blinks.

“I… I remember you.” He whispers, hands clenching. “You were wearing alien pajamas.”

“You remember?”

“I…” And it was a remake of that night, you both staring at each other with his eyes narrowed and you getting ready to bolt. He looked green.

And then he bolts, dashing from you so quickly you barely have time to blink.

Then what did you do?

Did you leave her house in the middle of the night?

Did you wish you put up more of a fight?

When she said it was too much?

Do you wish you could still touch ...her?

It's just a question

He couldn’t breathe, something was bursting in his chest and it was painful, so fucking painful.

He knew you, that hatred and fear in your eyes brought everything back. The night, when you were just a child and he had….. He had… He was going to pass out.

His door slammed into the wall so hard it left a dent in the plaster before he slammed it shut again and dashed to his room to snatch his duffel. He needed to go, he needed to leave. Find somewhere else to be, anywhere away from you.

He was a monster.

He hears the door swing open, your footsteps following and you come into view soon after, your eyes wide as he continues packing.

“Bucky. I’m sorry.” He breathes out, snatching a shirt before you come into view and snatching the shirt before it can hit the duffle bag. “Please, just give me a chance. Buck, I am sorry.”

“No. I’m sorry.” He grounds out, moving to grab something else. “I’m sorry.”

“Buck.” You try again, moving to grab his shoulders to stop him.

“Don’t. Please don’t.”

“Bucky, come on.” You snap, wrapping your arms around him to get him to stop. “Please don’t. Can we just talk about this. We can figure this out.”

“I…. I can’t.”

“20 questions. Let’s play 20 questions.” You rush out.

“No, let’s not. No more questions. We’re done here.”

“No we’re not.” You snap out, wrapping your legs around his like a koala so he would stop trying to run away. “Would you rather be a tie or a bra?”

“I’m sorry?” “A bear or a tiger?”

“That is terrible. A bra, and a bear.” He huffs, trying not to look at you.

“20 questions. You can’t leave now that we’ve started the game.” You mumble, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“That’s the dumbest thing I have ever hear-” He stops when you lean up to press your lips to his softly, your eyes closing as his entire body tenses for a moment before completely melting into it, his hands moving to thread through your hair.

You moan when he deepens the kiss and his heart just about stops before he tears away. “I never thought….”

“Neither did I.”

You play 20 questions every night, sitting together on your shared living room floor, with whatever show he wanted to catch up on playing in the background.

He plays with your hair from where your head lays on his chest, humming softly.

“Would you rather be a plum or a grape?” You whisper, fingers tracing a pattern on his pajama pants.

“Plum.” He answers quickly, tugging your ear which makes you gasp.

“I was so close to falling asleep.” You groan, slapping his hand away. “You are such a pain in my ass.”

“But you love me.”

“That I do.” You hum, moving to sit up. “Your question.”

“Would you….. Will you….” He clears his throat, sitting up straight as you give him a weird look. “Will you marry me?”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel #marvel smut #marvel imagine #marvel angst #marvel fluff #marvel fanfiction #winter soldier imagines #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier smut #winter soldier fluff #winter soldier x reader

102 notes · View notes

s-123-dont-know · 1 year

Text

Bucky Barnes Fic Rec III

Fic Recs Masterlist

Last Update: 1/26/2023

ˢᵒ, ᵗʰᶦˢ ᶦˢ ᵈᵉᶠᶦⁿᶦᵗᵉˡʸ ˢʰᵒˢᵗᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᴿᵉᶜˢ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵃᵈᵈᶦⁿᵍ ᵐᵒʳᵉ, ⁱⁿ ᶜᵃˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ ⁽ᵒʳ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᶠᶦᶜ ʳᵉᶜ⁾

¡Give some love to these amazing Writers and their writing!

🔞⚠️Read the Warnings⚠️🔞

Series

Awake My Soul by @foreverindreamlandd

The Deal by @justreadingfics

Playing With Fire by @beccaanne814

Never Got Over You by @valkyrieofsmut

Better Like This by @simsadventures

Blue Is For Ben by @writerlyhabits

Heal Me by @rogue-barnes-16

Bucky Barnes x Rogers!Reader by @itsapeterthing

Pastel Colors by @the-canary

Dorogaya and Vas Prizrak by @the-fallen-nightmare Sequel of Soldat that I already rec in my previous fic rec. I felt that they need to be mentioned too c:

Oneshots

ᴹᵘˡⁱᵖˡᵉ ᵖᵃʳᵗˢ = 📍

Chemical Reaction by @slut4buckysarm

Forward by @cherrypickertheory

My Arms Will Hold You by @allyouneedisbuck 📍

Beneath The Moon, Upon The Sea by @bbyboybucket

The Family by @viperbarnes

Stalker by @you-are-my-sanctuary

Just One Night by @jobean12-blog

Untitled by @buckyalpine

On My Way by @buckyownsmylife

Tenure Track by @disturbedbydesign

Cause You Are, You Are by @sunmoonandeddie

Treacherous by @scrumptious-delusion

Someone To Die For by @giorno-plays-piano

Teacher's Pet by @hansensgirl

On The Eve Of Destruction by @threeminutesoflife

We Can Make It Till The End ᴮᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ⁱˢ ⁱᵗ ʳᵉᵃˡˡʸ ᵃ ᶠⁱᶜ ʳᵉᶜ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵇʸ ᵐᵉ ⁱᶠ ⁱᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ⁱⁿᶜˡᵘᵈᵉ @sinner-as-saint 💗

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes rec #bucky barnes fic rec #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier smut #winter soldier imagines #steve rogers smut #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines

574 notes · View notes

heliads · 1 year

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you would mind writing a Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader where the reader is Bucky's soulmate and she knows that but Bucky doesn't then one day the reader becomes injured and then Bucky sees whatever soulmate mark you decide on. Thank you!

it's been too long since the last soulmate au

masterlist

Bucky Barnes is staring at a blank on his S.H.I.E.L.D. file and wondering how in the hell he’s supposed to fill it in. It is not the only one of such imposing empty lines, obviously, the sheer quantity of things that Bucky may or may not have done in his life that he has no idea about could probably fill another twelve dossiers or so, but this one in particular is enough to fill him with significant trepidation.

For once, this specific box to check likely marks empty spots on the files of many other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, those both ex-brainwashed Russian killers and not. It’s a box that even civilians can go their whole lives without ever seeing filled. Usually, you hope that you’ll be able to find your soulmate before you take your last breath on this world but, well, no one’s ever lucky one hundred percent of the time. Someone always has to be the loser, the kid who gets picked last for schoolyard games, the guy who can’t manage to find his meant to be before it’s too late.

Somewhere inside, Bucky harbors a fear that the guy might be him. After all, what are the odds that he’d get to find his soulmate after the weird life he’s led? For all he knows, he left his soulmate behind in the 40s. Maybe they were supposed to meet him after he came back from fighting in the war and their paths never crossed once Bucky fell from that train. The visual makes his heart ache, picturing some woman growing old by herself all because he couldn’t manage to come back from that mission.

In fact, his soulmate could have been born during any time over the last hundred years or so. Bucky has been put into and come out of the ice over so many years that it would be impossible to map out any decade when he should have found his soulmate but just didn’t. In truth, he half wonders if he even has a soulmate at all. Were it not for the mark, he’s fairly sure he’d be able to talk himself out of thinking it was possible. After all of the horrible things Bucky has done, why should he deserve someone like a soulmate?

Yet the mark remains. Everyone has one, even if they haven’t managed to track down their soulmate yet. The idea is simple enough, although heaven knows it’s been analyzed so many times by self called scholars that everyone has a different take on it. Most people can agree on the bare minimum, though. Your soulmate’s biggest regret is written in their handwriting on your chest, right above the heart like an arrow between the ribs.

If you can use that scrap of information to find them, great. Bucky’s heard thousands of stories over the years of couples locating each other through the smallest of hints, the biggest of coincidences. His parents both regretted a train they never took and met one night wandering the city alone, wondering about the places they should have been.

When his mother died when Bucky was just a kid, his dad’s mark changed to something about not treasuring the little moments. Bucky thought that’s what his would be when his father died a few years later, but he’s committed enough atrocities now to wash out such a commonplace regret.

It’s strange to think about what mark would be on his soulmate’s body now, if she’s still alive and not a corpse buried in time by now. What would it possibly say? Bucky has enough regrets to fill a thousand caskets, and he seems to be working towards that with every new job he takes. Bucky hurts and tortures and kills. It is the only thing he has known for quite some time. If he had any regret, it would be that someone has kept him alive for so long that he could have accomplished all these grievous tasks.

All these twists of fate have still led him to the same place, though, sitting in the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters and staring at his file. One of the agents in charge of handling the Avengers has handed over the manila dossier in the hopes of coaxing some more information out of him. Instead, it’s sent Bucky spiraling on a tangent of what he deserves in this life. Does he really get a soulmate after everything he’s done? Or should he damn himself to solitude in some desperate plea for penance?

All this might have changed were it not for the fact that Bucky does have a mark, and judging by the looks of it, his soulmate might be just as much of a mystery as him. It’s deceptively simple, this phrase inked onto his skin, and written in such a plain script that it could belong to thousands of people. There’s no way he’d be able to stick it to any specific person unless they told him outright. No, there will be no personal secrets here, not from his soulmate.

The tattoo above Bucky’s heart says this and this alone: opening the door. It could mean a thousand different things, and over the years, Bucky has had plenty of time to ponder them. Does his soulmate blame herself for something she did, for letting someone in? His latest theory was that she welcomed a killer into her house, although of course that could just be Bucky’s years of combat experience making up violence out of nothing. Maybe it was just the cause of a bad breakup. Odds are, his soulmate has a normal regret because she’s a normal person who doesn’t deserve all of the bloody baggage that goes along with James Buchanan Barnes.

A sound from across the room makes him startle.

“Are you done staring at your file, or can I take you out of here?”

Bucky looks up and breaks into a smile. His questioner is another agent, but this time a friend, not an inquisitor. He’s known Y/N L/N since he started working with the Avengers, and they’ve been close ever since. She understands exactly what it’s like to never know who to trust. They both have secrets they’d rather hide, and that means they’ll be closer than anyone else here.

Y/N started off as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., yes, but she almost didn’t turn out that way. The agent who first recruited her ended up being HYDRA. After Y/N graduated from S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, that superior officer gave her a spot on his team. She trusted him more than anything, which is why she didn’t question him at first when he started giving her secret missions, trips out to clandestine locations that never went in the official reports.

When the HYDRA reveal first came about, Y/N was stunned. It turns out her recruiting officer had been using her to fulfill his schemes for years. All this time, she thought she was furthering S.H.I.E.L.D.’s agenda, but instead she was being sent to kill people who started suspecting HYDRA moles. It’s been haunting her ever since for obvious reasons. Sometimes Bucky wonders if she ever wishes she never joined S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place just to avoid all the blood that’s now stained her hands.

That makes two of them with long lists of regrets, however. It also means he’ll always give Y/N far more of his attention than anything else. That’s what you do for your closest friend, he supposes. You find someone who fits with you and never let them go.

“I would be happy to finish up here,” Bucky answers her at last.

Y/N arches a brow. “You sure? You seemed to be in a pretty serious staring contest with that piece of paper.”

Bucky chuckles. “I was told to write down any new information so you could have a more complete file on me. Turns out I don’t like thinking about the fact that I still have no idea who my soulmate is.”

For some reason, Y/N’s face locks slightly. It’s the same sort of look she gets when she’s biting back a truth, keeping some part of herself hidden back. She always wears it when he talks about soulmates. Bucky once heard that she’s afraid of finding her soulmate because she’s terrified that he’ll betray her just like that superior officer did, and although that was nothing but a rumor, it makes sense.

In response, Bucky doesn’t bring up soulmates around Y/N. She seems grateful for it, and they keep it like that: easy conversation, nothing more. It wouldn’t do to alienate the best thing Bucky has going for him at the moment over some discussion he could probably do without.

He stands up from the table, casting his dossier down on the surface without another thought. “Anyway, it’s not that important. What job do we have now?”

“You always assume I’m here for a mission,” Y/N chides, “what, I can’t just visit my friend because I feel like it?”

When Bucky remains judgmentally silent, she sighs and gives in. “Yeah, there’s a mission. Don’t give me that look. Basically, Fury sent in an agent to retrieve some data and the whole thing went south. What was supposed to be an abandoned HYDRA facility turned out to be very much not abandoned, and now he needs an extraction team before he gets someone killed.”

Bucky nods. “When do we take off?”

“A few hours,” Y/N replies, “why, do you have plans?”

“I’ll have to push off my melancholy musing for another day, but that’s probably for the best,” Bucky answers casually.

Y/N laughs. “As much fun as that sounds, your musing will have to wait. We have lives to save, Bucky. Let’s get going.”

Bucky watches her as they walk through the twisting halls of the S.H.I.E.L.D. complex. He’s heard people, both agents and Avengers alike, joke that the two of them should be soulmates from sheer similarity alone. They both have the same sort of personality and sense of humor. Factor in the fact that they’re both professional murderers and you’ve got the same person. If there was ever any two people that were just meant to be, it would be Bucky and Y/N. So the stories go, anyway.

In truth, Bucky isn’t sure that he would mind it. Sometimes when he’s had a couple too few hours of sleep and his mind is wandering unchecked, he pictures that sort of life. They could get a place together, some house or apartment that even S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t know about. He can imagine coming back from a hard day to find her waiting for him. They’d both be exhausted, but it would be enough to stay there with her and fight back the storm for another day.

It is not to be, of course. Y/N has her own life and Bucky is not a part of it outside of their friendship. That’s alright, though. Bucky can convince himself that it is alright. As long as he has her easy laughter, he can do anything. So he tells himself, at least. Still, when their own extraction mission goes south and Bucky starts worrying that he won’t even have that, his tenuous grip on his emotions starts to unravel.

Out of desire to protect the already failing mission status, Fury hadn’t told them a whole lot about what they’d be walking into. In all honesty, Bucky isn’t sure that even Fury knows what’s going on in there. The agent stopped responding to pings about an hour ago. All Bucky and Y/N have to do is either help the agent get out or go retrieve a corpse.

Still, it would have been nice to have at least a little more information, perhaps about the number of people who’d be firing at them. Bucky and Y/N are huddled under some cover right now, although judging by the sheer quantity of bullets currently streaking towards them, it won’t last forever.

Y/N breathes out harshly, whipping out from around the corner of their protective overhang to fire a few shots at their attackers before hurrying back to safety. “This is only going to hold for a few more minutes. We need to move.”

“Fury said his agent was holed up in a warehouse,” Bucky recalls, “there’s one just across the clearing. If we can make it across, we can get the agent and get out.”

“Easy as that?” Y/N says, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, easy,” Bucky replies, starting to grin, “what, that doesn’t sound so simple to you?”

Y/N laughs once. “Oh, it’s going to be a piece of cake. Come on, let’s sprint over before we get shot to bits.”

Bucky gives them a count to three and then they take off running. He provides as much cover fire as he can while they hurl themselves towards the door of the warehouse, but it’s not like his efforts do a whole lot. The HYDRA agents in the area have been converging on their location for some time now, and the firefight is going to happen regardless.

Through some dumb luck, Bucky manages to make it to the door of the warehouse unscathed. He blows through the lock with a bullet and kicks it open. Bucky falls across the threshold, pulling Y/N through and slamming the door shut behind him. He almost thinks that they were able to make the trip without getting shot when he looks over and sees Y/N clutching a hand over her collarbone.

Instantly, his heart drops. Mission forgotten, Bucky rushes over to her.

“What is it?” He asks, terrified, “What happened?”

Despite her obvious pain, Y/N spares Bucky the time for a sarcastic look. “I got shot, what else?”

Bucky grimaces. “Yeah, I can see that. Let me get a look at it, I need to make sure you’re not going to die on me.”

“It would ruin the charming atmosphere of this place, wouldn’t it?” Y/N quips, but moves her hands aside and lets Bucky drift closer anyway.

There’s a lot of blood, that much is obvious, but when Bucky tries to look closer Y/N steps away again.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, hand already drifting up to cover the wound again.

Bucky shakes his head. “Clearly you won’t. You’re losing blood too quickly. Come on, let me bandage it. You can’t finish the mission in this state and you know it.”

Y/N looks like she wants to run. “I’ll be fine,” she repeats.

“Do you really trust me so little that you’d rather bleed out than accept my help?” Bucky breathes.

Y/N stares at him a second longer, then sighs and looks away. “Fine. Just don’t–”

She cuts herself off, leaving Bucky wondering what on earth she’s talking about. He doesn’t have much time for questioning, however, as every moment that he wastes is one in which Y/N loses even more precious blood than before.

He moves quickly, grabbing bandages from a kit in his bag and rushing towards her.The neck of her shirt tears easily, and Bucky is able to patch her up as best he can. He’s about to make some stupid comment about how that wasn’t so hard when he sees it.

Y/N’s soulmate mark is just visible with the blood cleaned away from it. Even without reading the words, Bucky would recognize the handwriting in an instant. He’s always wondered what it would be like, if you could really know your own script if you saw it inked into someone’s skin, but now Bucky can answer that question definitively. Somehow, Bucky knows it in his gut. That’s his writing, and that’s his regret spelled out into Y/N’s skin.

I will never know if I have stopped being the Winter Soldier.

It could never be anyone but him. He wonders what that would have been like, to be born with that sentence on your body, to go about your life with the name of a killer inscribed in your own flesh. Y/N has been marked for death from the very moment she was alive, all because she had the misfortune of being tied to him.

All of a sudden, everything makes sense. Y/N’s regret, the one written over his own heart. Opening the door. She opened the door from her old life to let in that superior agent who turned her into a killer, didn’t she? Bucky should have seen it coming. His gaze slowly raises to meet Y/N’s, who looks at him wearily.

Bucky breathes out slowly. “You’ve known all this time, haven’t you?”

Of course she had. How could she not? Y/N would have learned about the Winter Soldier the second he started showing his face again. She has always known the truth, and she has never told him.

Y/N tenses. “You weren’t ready to know. I wasn’t ready to tell you. You had to figure out who you wanted to be before you started thinking about trying to make a soulmate happy. I didn’t think I deserved to mess up someone else’s life after all the mistakes I’ve made.”

Bucky nods slowly. “Would you have told me eventually?”

“I hope,” Y/N whispers.

She seems to expect him to get mad, but for some reason Bucky just understands. Their entire lives have been bad choices, one after another. Telling him that she was his soulmate would have been a consequence so massive it would impact them for the rest of their lives. It is no surprise that she would have held back.

“I’m just happy to have you now,” Bucky tells her. “Truly, I am. I just want you. Regardless of when we started, we get to finish like this. It all ends the same.”

Y/N’s eyes shine. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do,” Bucky assures her, “I always will. We might want to discuss this after the mission, though.”

Y/N laughs, a true laugh. He hasn’t heard such relieved joy from her in some time, and it delights him like nothing else. “I think that sounds good to me.”

It’s good to him, too. It’s all good.

marvel tag list: @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @caswinchester2000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes, @w1shes43

556 notes · View notes

milliedazzledust · 2 years

Text

The Devil and I Get Along Just Fine (Bucky Barnes imagine)

Request: Bucky had just been rescued by the Avengers. Now he has to go through tests to show just how much the serum has changed him, emotionally and physically. Neither the Avengers, nor the reader truly realize just how much the soldier is tired to fight

Words: 2.8k

Warning: heavy talk of PTSD

A/N: so this was a story I had already posted but I felt like there was more to write, more depth and emotions to explore - I hope you'll like it!

“How did you sleep ?”

“Fine” She knew he was lying. The man barely slept and on the rare occasion he did, his demons were quick to change into nightmares. He would never tell her that, and she would never allow herself to ask.

“Ready for today ?” She chose to say instead.

Bucky sat at the end of his bed, in his own bedroom, inside a gigantic building he hadn’t really wanted to live in. He kept staring at his clasped hands, trying to force his own mind to shut down his anxiousness.

“Not really,” He sincerely whispered.

The woman sighed and knelt down in front of him. She gently stroked his forearms, trying to somehow appease him.

“Do you trust me ?”

“You know I do, Y/N” He replied with the hint of a smile.

“Then trust I won’t let anything happen to you” She squeezed his hands. She had a distinctive smell, a mix of the shampoo she used and the perfume on her skin. It had become a scent he associated with peace and reality. “C’mon, Buck. Time to go”

It would have been an understatement to say he didn’t want to. Every part of him was scared of how this day would go. He silently followed her nonetheless as she led him to the basement floor of the building. It had been designed by Stark and almost looked like a hospital. Him and Dr.Banner were spending much of their time there. That day, they had been charged to test Bucky in order to fix his arm and check on his health.

He never acknowledged Tony or Bruce as he walked inside the examining room. He surprised himself thinking it was a lot cleaner than what he had been accustomed to. No wires, no massive machine, no device to hold his head in a deafening grip, yet his first instinct was to memorize each and every exit.

“We’ll start with your arm” Dr.Banner instructed him. The soldier was already in his own world, his mind miles away. It was a trick he had learned long ago, a palace he had created to escape the pain. He knew the doorways by heart, he had built them. A real labyrinth nobody but him could go in, the perfect hiding place. He knew his body could take any hit, so long as his mind remained intact.

“Buck” Y/N delicately called, bringing his attention back to her. He reminded her of a scared animal when he glanced up at her.

“Do they need to remove it ?” He talked quietly, almost as if he was scared Tony and Bruce would hear him.

“Yeah” She answered with a frown, knowing he would be uncomfortable. “But it won’t hurt”

He didn’t believe her, how could he ? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to refocus, forcing his muscles to stop acting by memory. The adrenalin was already coursing through his veins, anticipating a fight or flight response he knew wouldn’t come.

“Alright” He resigned himself and laid back on the gurney, clenching his fists in an attempt to stop his body from twitching.

“I’m gonna need you to leave the room, Y/N” Tony informed her.

She shook her head, categorically refusing as she kept her gaze on the man. “He needs me”

“It’s alright” Bucky muttered without even looking at her. “I’ll be fine”

He didn’t see the way she bit her lips, didn’t see the expression of worry on her face. Her eyes trailed down his figure, watching him sink into his seat, almost as if he was expecting pain to be inflicted at any point. She dropped her head and with a sigh left the room, left him drifting into one of the dark and gloomy corners of his mind.

Tony and Bruce weren’t really hurting him, only doing basic analysis and checking his vitals, yet every touch felt heavy, eliciting goosebumps all over his skin. His senses were heightened, his brain ringing a fire alarm he couldn’t ignore. He had learned long ago the best way to endure torture was to lay still and silently wait for it to be over. So, as his entire body froze, he waited.

“We are done, sergeant Barnes” Dr.Banner said after a while, giving him a sympathetic nod of comfort.

The soldier drew in a small breath and turned his head to look back at the doctor. “What now ?”

“We’ll need to test the arm once you’ve gotten used to it” Stark stated, typing on a computer. “For now it’s just about your everyday life - two hands is better than one. We’ll see later how you can adjust in a fight”

Bucky pursed his lips, biting back venomous words he wanted to shout back. He had no intention of fighting ever again, just like he had no intention of surrendering his will to choose to do so.

Steve was next, waiting for him in the training room. Y/N was there too, afraid he would not handle the weight of yet another minute spent using skills that weren’t really his.

“What is this ?” The wounded man asked, his eyes roaming across the room.

The Captain carefully looked back at him before answering. “Can’t really put you back out there without testing your… abilities first”

Before them were several kinds of weapons, firearms and knives mostly, set on a large table. They all knew he didn’t want to do this but needed to be sure they could rely on him when the time would come. They all knew what Hydra handy-man was capable of. The only catch was that using those skills as Bucky Barnes would be very different than using them as the Winter Soldier. The man felt too much, the assassin too little.

“We’ll start with the guns. They are all in pieces. I’ll put a timer - take as much time as you need to reassemble each parts” Steve explained.

Bucky cast an unsure look at Y/N but she forced a smile on her face and nodded at him. She was standing nearby, her arms crossed, concerned he might snap under the unnecessary pressure. She had been against this whole idea, deeming it was too soon for him to jump back into business. He needed therapy, not training.

The former soldier only took a second to observe and analyze what was in front of him. Without thinking, he started to assemble each piece together. There were eighteen different kinds of firearms in total, for which he took less than two minutes to rebuild. All from muscle memory he didn't know he possessed.

Once he was done, Steve asked him to show them what he was capable of doing with knives. Each time he threw them, they landed exactly on the target, precisely where he wanted them to. Whichever the shape or size of the weapon he was using, his hands seemed familiar with it.

His companions were watching from afar, taken aback by his speed and agility, but most of all by the lack of expressions on his face. He was stone cold and detached, doing what was expected of him without any care in the world. There was no denying he had been trained to kill.

“That’s… impressive” The Captain conceded. “Better than most”

The compliment fell flat on Bucky and he waited for them to give him the next instructions.

“What more do you need to evaluate ?” He mumbled, almost annoyed. He was exhausted, he needed to rest.

“You were injected with the infinity formula, which we know now slows down the way you age” The Captain told him.

“Cryo helped” Bucky muttered under his breath, avoiding to look back at his friend.

“What else did it alter ?”

He crossed his arms, not wanting to elaborate. He felt naked under prying eyes. “Mostly strength, speed and reflexes” He still vividly remembered the brutal violence he used to force secrets out of his targets, sometimes could even still feel the blood on his hands.

“Healing too” The Sergeant reluctantly added.

Steve suddenly seemed very interested.

“How so ?”

From the corner of her eyes, Y/N saw Bucky tensed. She knew he wasn’t ready to share that part of his story yet.

“I… don’t think now is a good time for this, Steve”

He wanted to push the issue but she shook her head, efficiently silencing him.

“Are we done now ?” The former soldier had had enough.

The Captain sighed. “I’m only trying to help, Buck”

His friend was quick to answer. “I know. But getting me back on the battlefield is the worst way to do it”

Steve knew he was right.

“Can I go ?” The former soldier pushed one more time, looking back between them. His voice was barely a whisper, filled with apprehension. He had been taught the hard way to follow commands without a second thought, without questions.

“You are not forced to do anything you don’t want to” Y/N gently reminded him. “The choice is yours alone”

“Should have started with that” He grumbled.

He left them there and went back to his room. Spending his whole day being looked at under a microscope had been a burden for him. They knew how the Winter Soldier came to be and figuring out how he changed the man underneath could prove to be of great help. That much he understood, but it didn’t make anything easier. He could heal quicker than most, move faster, handle any weapons as he pleased, yet remained incapable of using his own mind. What good could a set of skills do if controlled by a damaged system ?

He had intended to choose a book from his small collection and read until exhaustion finally caught up with him when somebody knocked. He knew already who it was before she had entered the room.

“Are you alright ?” Y/N leaned on his door with a concerned expression on her face.

He snorted without humor and raised his head to look at her “You need to stop asking”

“That would mean stop worrying about you” She shrugged as she walked inside and sat on the bed next to him. “You know I can’t do that”

They didn’t talk for a while, enjoying the comforting proximity. Y/N had been a rock for him throughout all the adjustments he had had to make. She understood the loneliness and the devastation brought by his newfound identity.

“I tried to tell them it was too soon” She efficiently cut the silence in a whisper.

“They want me back out there” He guessed.

She shook her head. “No, Buck. They want to understand what Hydra did to you”

“Why ?” He turned to look at her, eyes filled with questions.

“Steve thinks they can find a way to heal you” She confessed.

“Heal me ?” He repeated, arching an eyebrow in bewilderment.

She took a deep breath and let herself fall back on his bed, absently staring at the ceiling. “I told them it was useless. It’s not your body that needs help”

“Y/N…” He warned her, standing up to put his book back on the shelf.

“I know you don’t want me to say it, Bucky, but seeing you like this is truly horrifying”

He pursed his lips and clasped his hands together. She saw the movement from the corner of her eyes and knew it meant he was done talking. He had the habit of shutting everyone down once he deemed the conversation too uncomfortable.

“It’s like… you’re constantly standing on the verge of a cliff, overlooking memories that bring you nothing but guilt and pain. Hydra is long gone but you still live with them”

“You should leave” His voice was firm.

She sighed and sat back up, looking right at him. “No. Not this time”

“What is this ?” He clenched his jaw, flipping his hand in the air. “What are you doing ?”

She rubbed her eyes in exasperation. “I’m getting you to talk”

A dark chuckle escaped his lips. “So what, now you’re my therapist too ? Is that what this is ?”

He was slowly losing his patience, she could see it.

“Bucky, I know this isn’t easy for you…”

“You don’t” He cut her in a sharp tone, his nostrils flaring almost in anger. “So please, please, Y/N I need you to stop pushing”

She stood up and took deliberate slow steps toward him, almost afraid to scare him away.

“I can’t” She whispered, shaking her head. “I need to help”

“This isn’t helping” Y/N raised her hand and before she could even reach his cheek, he gently grabbed her wrist and pushed her away. He saw how much the rejection hurt her but chose not to say anything.

“It’s been weeks, Bucky” She tried to explain. “And I really thought you were making progress and getting better. But clearly it’s getting worse again”

“Worse ?” He repeated in a hysterical chuckle. He had talked with so much animosity she felt compelled to take a step back. “You think this is worse ?”

She could see a whole spectrum of anger displaying on his face. He covered his mouth with his hand and started pacing around the room. That single word alone had attacked him in a way she hadn’t anticipated. He looked like a cage animal, trying to repress whatever emotions had hit him.

“Bucky…”

“There wasn’t even a better to begin with!” He shouted, voice filled with so much emotion it made her involuntarily flinch. “No, no, no, Y/N, I’m not getting worse again. This was never temporary, this is how it’s been for as long as I can remember”

He closed the distance between them so fast she barely saw him moving. They were inches apart and every muscle in his face was contorted with rage.

“I’m exhausted, do you get that ? I’m so fucking exhausted of pretending so congratulation, Y/N, you’re sitting front row to see the shit show! You wanted to know what was inside my head ? Hm ?” He pointed an accusing finger at his skull, hitting himself repeatedly. His bloodshot eyes were wide open and he hadn’t realized he had started crying. “This is it! It’s getting worse again for you, but nothing ever changed for me. I live in hell every single fucking hour of every single fucking day. The moment I stop pretending is the moment you get to witness the tip of the iceberg. But you’ll never see it all, never. Because if you did, you wouldn’t even comprehend how I’m still alive”

She tried once again to close the distance and touch him but he didn’t let her and backed away.

“This isn’t getting worse again” His voice cracked in a whisper. “You’ve seen nothing”

When finally his eyes landed on hers, he realized she was sobbing. She had silently taken every single blow of rage that had been aimed at no one but himself. This is what he had been afraid all along, for her to see how much damages there was to uncover.

“I woke up in a world that wasn’t mine anymore” He said after taking a couple of deep breaths. “And today, you were all acting like I should’ve been proud to know how to fire a gun, or throw a knife, or handle a fight. But all this ? It came with a cost. You have to get that”

“I do” She murmured. “I’m sorry I can’t take your pain away, Bucky”

He sadly smiled at her. “I never ask you to”

With a long sigh, he let his body fall back on his bed and clasped his hands together. “I wanted to rip my own heart out every time I was allowed a shred of sanity. There was this… peephole inside my own brain, this tiny window from which I was able to witness what the Winter Soldier was capable of doing. It was always… always so… brutal”

He stopped for a moment, the emotions once again too violent to handle all at once.

“But sanity never lasted too long. I ended up on that same chair, strapped down, my head bare for them to wipe. Just like that, back to square one. To oblivion” He shook his head. “Now I’m not sure how to handle memories I share with an assassin. Where do I end and where does he begin ?”

She swore she had never seen a man looking so broken. This time when she closed the distance between them he let her. She kneeled down in front of him and took his hands on her own.

“We’ll take it one day at a time”

“It might take a while”

She softly brushed the tear rolling down his cheek, watching him closing his eyes and relishing on the small and intimate touch between them.

“I’m willing to wait”

“I might never get the old me back”

“That was never the goal, Buck. We move forward, use all the pieces to create a new version you’ll be comfortable to live with”

“I like that idea” He smirked.

She leaned forward and tenderly kissed his forehead, sealing in that gesture the promise she would stay and fight for his sanity.

Tag list:

@kmuir1 - @highland1124-blog

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barns x you #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier imagines #the winter soldier fanfiction #the winter soldier #the winter solider imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagines #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier #bucky x reader

303 notes · View notes

lillianofliterature · 2 years

Text

word count: 986 || warnings: fem!reader, mind control, implied murder/assassination attempt

Bucky’s grip on the silencer tightened with an unhinged force of strength he hadn’t ever known before. He could hear the metal plating cracking between his fingers, the pale whiteness of his knuckles a tell-tale sign of the turmoil churning in the caged confines of his conflicted mind. His sights were trained on a woman he couldn’t recognize through the haze of HYRDA’s erasure of his past life, the target he’d been assigned to eradicate; a woman with (h/c) hair carefully rolled into an updo at the nape of her bared neck. There was a delicate wave to the hair that framed her face, leftover from her overnight pin curls.

But there was something about the smell of the garden she was tending in the moonlight, the overwhelming aroma of golden gardenias and peace roses, something that burned in the back of his mind that HYDRA had yet to expel.

Longing.

The static voice in his earpiece, though only a menacing whisper, could have been as loud as the bells suspended above a monastery. Louder than the phantom voices that echoed in his ears; louder than the soothing voice of a woman telling him that she loved him, that he was a good man, that he better promise to come back home to her after the bloodshed was over.

But it hadn’t ever ended for him, had it?

Not in the way the yellow telegram last spring must have led you to believe.

Rusted.

The shine of the blue moonglow on her hair was like the flash of a searchlight grazing over the sea in a storm, calling out to ships made victim by the violent waves. Something in this woman’s countenance, the way she moved and carried herself, the way her delicate hands inspected the damp petals of the flora, the sound of a warm hum that leaped from her lungs to the tune of a big band number he hadn’t heard in more than a year’s time. . .

The shape of her fingers as they cradled the curved handle of that tin watering can, the oddity of her bare feet in the dewy grass. Something about her muddied knees and that pair of dungarees hugging her hips made him want to crush the weapon still poised in his now-trembling hand.

But who was she? Who was this searchlight, beyond who he knew as his current target? He knew he’d seen her before, there was too much that was familiar about her, too much that he was drawn to.

Furnace.

Bucky’s vision blurred over and he winced at the piercing pain in his head. The voices of his past were drowned out by the raging roar of a fire and the deafening blow of an explosion, the sound of his own screaming. Heat lapped at his neck and chest, invigorating the sweat in his pores beneath his unmarked uniform. He felt his forehead grow hot like a fever had suddenly washed over him, heavy and thick.

Something white-hot began burning through his veins, straining the muscles in his neck and arms as he clenched his jaw through the pain.

Oh. That was right.

He’d seen her photograph in the file he’d been given.

That’s how he knew her.

Daybreak. Seventeen.

Had the Winter Soldier ever even been seventeen? Had there ever been a time before now, before this moment, before the erasure of James Buchanan Barnes’ existence?

Had he ever felt daylight on his skin or basked in the warmth of a rising sun?

He felt no golden warmth now, no voice of comfort, no hand to pull him back.

Benign. Nine.

Two minds in one body, two destinies peeling the flesh from his soul.

If he were really Bucky, the man whose memories trickled in the back of his mind like condensation in a melting pot, he wouldn’t be here. If he really wasn’t a HYDRA operative, his thoughts wouldn’t be so swarmed with torture and contracts like hornets in a hive.

He could feel the tight straps of his operating chair winding around his wrists as he steadied his aim on the curve of the wide steering wheel, as though he were back in the dungeon confines of his master’s laboratory. As though the heat of the blood in his mouth from biting his own cheek was merely the sensation common to an assassin and not a man fighting the impulses of someone else’s programming.

Homecoming.

There had been a dance in school before the world had caught fire; before the concept of freedom had become a complete mockery of self-imposed will. She’d worn a red dress with a matching pair of slingback shoes. She had (e/c) eyes and sweetly crooked teeth. She’d been his first kiss, and at one point, before he’d been stripped of himself and left bare to the bone, he’d hoped she’d be his last.

And in some sickly poetic misinterpretation, she had been.

One.

The flames under his skin burned hotter, his hair growing damp with sweat. He sucked in a sharp breath, blinking in the fog of his mind and the faint taste of fading cotton candy on his tongue.

But there was no memory of that now, no thought or word or softy hummed song that could bring him back. James Barnes was dead. He’d died falling from a train. Plummeted into a snow-capped ravine. Had he ever even lived in the first place?

The Winter Soldier didn’t know, nor did he recognize the silhouette of the woman standing in her garden with a stray cat winding between her legs. He’d never seen her before.

But some part of him didn’t want this. Some part of his protocol hesitated with what semblance of free will he had left, slowing down the finger enclosing around the trigger.

He didn’t want to see her die. He didn’t want to be the one to do it.

Freight car.

[please ask before using my imagines as prompts, or at least give credit to the idea if you are inspired by it. do not copy what I’ve already written. do not repost. thank you!] [gif not mine, found on google ages ago.]

tags: @tessaem @izbelross @sunnysidesidra

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky imagines #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan imagines #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier imagines #mcu #mcu imagines #mcu x reader #marvel imagines #marvel x reader

135 notes · View notes

saiilorstars · 10 months

Text

Fandom: MCU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC • squeeze your eyes for a little Bucky Barnes x (2nd)OFC

Story Summary: Steve has figured out that what he wants from the new world is a literal star in the form of a woman. Seren, who's always been loyal to her work, realizes that there could be a future outside of SHIELD and she wants to take it. As she and Steve find the courage to speak their truths, fate strikes by giving them an old friend once thought dead, and the truth behind Chloe Winters' erratic SHIELD missions. Chloe's ghosts have finally come to take what they've sought for so long.

Previous Story • Seren’s Masterlist • Chloe's Masterlist

Also available on Fanfic ○ Ao3 ○ Wattpad

Chapters:

Prologue

The Girl with the Hive Mind

We All Change in the End

What's Left in the Past

The Worldwide Initiative

P.S. I Love You

If You Were Gone

Chloe's Long Way

And It All Came Crashing Down

On the Run

The Truth Hurts

The Ghost

The Lost Pieces

The Final Line

Letting Go

To Stand Back Up

Hudson

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @gloryekaterina @lenonizi @averyhotchner @foxesandmagic @kmc1989

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s fics/edits, send me a message!]

4 notes · View notes

random-imagines-blog · 2 years

Text

Imagine Bucky Barnes falling for you even though you’re part vampire.

Bucky was a supersoldier who knew other supersoldiers, witches, sorcerers, a hulk, and had fought against aliens - actual aliens, so when he found out that there were vampires, he wasn’t the most shocked person in the world.

In fact, he hardly batted an eye - but he did take to wearing turtlenecks when you two worked with one another. You took it well, laughing and promising that you would never feed upon a friend, which oddly set his heart aflutter. He didn’t have many friends, only Steve and - well, he would reluctantly say Sam as well. It felt good to be thought of fondly, and even better that it was someone like you, someone that he respected and genuinely liked.

A little too much, it seemed. He’d find himself distracted on missions that you were together on, more worried about your safety than actually getting the job done. You called him out on it when he stopped you from getting shot, which did ultimately compromise the mission. “Do you not have faith in me, Bucky Barnes?”

“What?”

“Do you think that I’m such an incapable agent that I need you to watch over me like a hawk?” You asked, your bright eyes glowing against the darkness of the night. “I’ve been taking care of myself for nearly as long as you have, and I’m quite good at it-”

“Never said you weren’t,” Bucky grunted.

“You wouldn’t treat Sam this way,” You said, softer. “Can you please just - trust I have this?”

“I do,” Bucky argued. “I know you do.”

“Then what is it?”

He groaned. He ran his fingers through his hair which he had been growing back out. Short didn’t work for him. He didn’t feel like he could hide properly when his face was exposed, then brought his hand back to the steering wheel. “I just don’t like seeing the people I love get hurt. I’ve seen it enough times.”

A heavy silence took over the car as it sunk into you what he had said. “You know what I am,” You said, quietly.

“Yeah. And you know what I am,” Bucky retorted.

You rested your hand on top of his knee. He flinched at the feeling, but didn’t try to jerk himself out of your grip or try to move your hand. It was gentle. It was so gentle. He side-eyed you and then went back to looking at the road. The rest of the ride was permeated with the silence but it felt more comfortable this time. A twinge of hope was in his heart. Something he hadn’t felt for a very long time.

Requested by: @sarcastic-sourwolf

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes imagines #Winter Soldier #Winter Soldier imagines #Winter Soldier x reader #Marvel #Marvel imagines #x reader #buckyb #request

94 notes · View notes

aeaean--bliss · 2 years

Text

tui la | part one: the unforeseen consequences of arbitrary decisions

summary: the clock hits midnight, and it’s time to run. this story is about the race.

pairing: bucky barnes x bender!reader

genre: atla!au, strangers/enemies to lovers, pining, slow-burn

word count: 6.2k

warnings/tags: this one’s a bit tame, but things will kick off and get a bit gorey/violent later on. canon level stuff, though. loneliness, depression, all that good stuff. later tags include, fire, burns, death (not main character), amputation (it’s a bucky fic lads), icky wounds, would not recommend reading if overly squeamish. lmk if i’ve missed any.

a/n: been working on this for a while now, really excited to have it up. please consider telling me what you think about it!

masterlist

chapter index

part one | part two

part one | the unforeseen consequences of arbitrary decisions

First, there were Spirits.

They manifested in mortal realms, roaming the uninhabited territories of the Spirit Wilds with a fervour only the unworldly can muster.

When mankind appeared and sought refuge from these dangerous territories, its protector granted them sanctuary. Isolated from each other, these communities of men developed distinct cultures and forwent their common origins.

When necessity forced men to wander beyond the boundaries of their asylum, their protector granted them the ability to command and bend one of the four great elements to their will. This power was reserved for protection, and was to be returned upon re-entry to the sanctuary.

And so, man and his protector had established an amicable relationship. When the Spirits were driven into the Spirit Worlds, mankind’s protectors renounced their titles, leaving mankind to go about its business as it pleased.

What followed developed sporadically. Some learned the art of bending the elements from the natural creatures, such as badgermoles, dragons, and flying bison. Some stole it from their protectors. Others learned from observing the forces from the moon on the ocean tides.

Push, and pull.

Tuī lā.

Tales of the battles of warlords, avatars, benders, and Spirits were the bread and butter of any child’s upbringing in the Realm. Awesome, unfathomable, terrifying, and inspiring great reverence, they formed the intricately woven history of the fabric of the world, centred around the four pivotal elements:

Water,

Fire,

Earth, and

Air.

It’s strange how the heat can play with your mind.

It makes fleeting images flicker across your eyes, vision blurred by the waves of fever emanating from the ground like a contagious sickness, poisoning your reality.

The silhouettes of dead trees scattered along the golden horizon morph into figures resembling moving spirits, shifting and swaying in the waves radiating from the dust. Here, they constitute modern folklore, their names unspoken yet painted in the whispers of children after dark. The fields they stand in have laid untouched for thirty-seven years, smouldering still.

In their ashes, you can see the clouds of black smoke. Weeping with tar and oozing with a stench so palpable it threatens to empty your already-depleted stomach, it spreads across a pine-clad land, devouring every organism in its path and leaving behind an all-consuming sinkhole.

As though vibrating against your eyes, the air seems to push into you, submerging you in pressurised heat. Up here, from the modest room that constitutes your current lodging, your view extends all the way to the edge of the town; past the fields, to the ascent where the ground disappears and meets the azure.

You’ve been feeling faint lately. You’d be forgiven for attributing your ailment to the persisting climate, but this doesn’t feel like the bouts of sunstroke you used to endure as a child. In an effort to soothe your nausea, your subconscious conjures phantom scents of aloe vera jelly and boiled ginger, but it only makes your stomach turn.

Nonetheless, the world does not stop on your behalf, and you have errands to run at the market before it is time to open. The metal hook that locks the panels in front of your window creaks shrilly as it slips into its loop, and the floorboards groan as you make your descent to the lower level. Everything feels slow today. Tired, unmoving, and reluctant. The seven tables stationed throughout the room stand undisrupted from where you left them yesterday evening, and yet they have an unnervingly strong presence in the quiet room, as though the ghosts of their occupants have decided to linger. Delicate cloths, carefully pressed and uniformly straightened, line the heavy wooden surfaces. You can’t put your finger on it, but something about them comforts you; like a tapestry hung straight and even against a wall.

The sweltering air hits your face like a fur swung against your head with the force of the opening door. It stings in your nose, forcing your eyes shut as you shift the handle of your woven basket from your hands to the crook of your elbow. The coarse reeds chafe against your bare skin, dry and golden as the sand and dust that coats the stone under your feet.

If anyone asked, you would be convinced you eat, sleep, and breathe that dust. Morning, noon, and night. It weighs heavily in the air. Invasive. Foreign. Sometimes, on days like today, you’re reminded of your mother. Gentle fingertips through hair, smell of cured fish in the air, and the sun beating down on your skin.

Not like here, not this kind of heat. A softer heat. The type that disappears temporarily when you step into the shade.

Not like here, where there is no shade to step into because the heat doesn’t come from the sun, it comes from the earth; pounding.

The walk down to Market Square is heavier than usual; your lungs feel small and weak, your mouth feels dry, and your head throbs in tune with your footsteps. It seems, however, as though you’re alone in being bothered by the climate. Foot traffic in town has been unaffected. If anything, it seems even busier than usual. You’re not exactly certain how long it takes migrants to acclimate to their new settlements, but you suppose it must be longer than five moons, seeing as you’re not even remotely close to operating at your usual pace.

Fortunately, you don’t attract any particular attention. So many migrants have settled on the merchant island of Andaar over the course of the past one hundred and seventy years that traditional fire nation attire is only ever really worn by the official guards who patrol the town. Even those patrolling the coast wear different uniforms to indicate their rank.

As for your uncomfortable demeanour, people have more important things to care about. Food is scarce. Despite being a regional hub for trade, the benefits of these practices are reserved for a few. Goods flow through the ports, but they never stay for long.

By the time you return to your humble abode, your skin is layered with dust. There is no water for a wash. So, you begin to organise your purchases of the day into the brown clay pots lined along the wall, on the table that serves as a counter at the far end of the room. The scents of their contents are faint and weak, barely lingering on your fingertips as you strip the dried stems of their needles and leaves.

Then, you wait.

Many arbitrary decisions led to you finding yourself here, in a small tea shop in the Western quadrant of a Fire Nation merchant island, waiting for your first customer of the day. You don’t earn a profit; any income goes directly to your landlord. In turn, you receive accommodation and a small allowance.

You find yourself here, hoping it will be the last place they look.

It’s days like this that make you feel nauseous. The profound vista of the setting sun devours you, reminding you of your inherent insignificance. The beauty of its colours taunts you, teasing you with temporary luxuries that evaporate with sundown.

Now, when you are at your lowest, when you feel like you’re in the place farthest from anything and everything you know, the spirits strike you with yet another bolt of humiliation.

There is a woman. At least thirty summers old. She sits against the wall outside the tea shop, selling snails. She wakes at three in the morning, every morning, wraps her daughter to her chest, and walks the distance to the docks in time for the first shipment to come in. All she gets are scraps; the docks are import/export, nothing ever fully lands, but there is always a loophole for those who keep their eyes open. They’re sloppy when they load the nets off the boats for repackaging; the odd snail slips from the grasp of the net and falls with a gentle plop into the shoreline. And she sits against the wall until dusk, selling steamed snails to the officers. They’re the only people who can afford the luxury.

You catch slight glimpses of her throughout the day while you work. The way she holds her babe to her chest, lips moving in silent whispers… It strikes a pang within you.

Not because you have any desire for a child. That is a luxury you certainly cannot afford. Nevertheless, you can’t help but envy the company she must have, sitting outside those long hours. You don’t think you’ll be able to get away with muttering to your cups and pots under your breath for much longer. One of your customers will undoubtedly pick up on it sooner or later, and you’d rather it be later than sooner.

People don’t talk much here. You can’t even begin to recall the last time you had an ordinary conversation with someone. People don’t engage in small talk, or find any excuse to utter any words that aren’t strictly necessary. Your childlike urge for recognition, your desire for attention sits deep in your stomach like a pit, but it’s old now. Old and worn down.

At this stage, your suspicion for anyone who lays eyes on you is excruciating. Occasionally, a heavy gaze will follow you as you manoeuver the shop, though it never lingers for too long. Despite its temporary presence, it sparks nausea.

No, people don’t talk much here. And yet, you step one toe out of line, and they’ll all know about it.

Even standing here, lingering at the docks as you stare out at the waterfront, is risky. You have no business standing here. Men who lug nets and crates and sacks don’t appreciate you standing in their way. Their skin lies coated with sweat and grime, caked with dust that never seems to settle. From the sun breaks in the sky in the morning till it slips below the horizon at night, they work.

Part of you has no desire to stand here, either. The odour of decomposing sea creatures hangs as a heavy stench in the air, the smoke from the cast iron fire pits stationed along the coastline seeping into your lungs as you begin to feel drowsy.

But fate deals you yet another blow of humiliation as you stare into the murky, grey water.

There’s a spirit in folklore, a spirit which takes the form of a young woman of extraordinary beauty. Everything she touches, everything around her, shines like a summer’s day. Young men will scarf down anything, creatures that creep, slither, and crawl, fruits infested with rot, as though they were at the Emperor’s great banquet hall. With hijacked eyes, they are led into the deepest crevices of the wilderness, never to return.

You feel her hanging over you, slipping the stained glass over your lids as you stare into the water. It’s opaque; a dark, lifeless water that looks as though it poisons whatever it touches, but to you? To you, the waves look a crystal green. If you concentrate, you can just about see the lion crabs scuttling along the white sand below. Your skin itches with the urge to dip your toes in the water, to feel the cool waves extract your fever like a syringe.

You stand less than an arm's length away from the edge, so unfathomably close to the waves below, and yet, for all the good it does you, you might as well be sitting in your quarters, looking out of your window. It taunts you, poised and pretty in your stained glass lenses, knowing you will come this close and no farther.

Maybe things are different on the other side of the island, beyond the deep, tangled forest and the deserted plains. Maybe it’s the soot, the same chalk that stains your skin a dark black, that poisons the water that lures you to this part of the town at this late hour.

Nevertheless, the nausea that floods you in waves is a sickeningly bitter invasion of the brief, ever-so-small relief you find in the sea air that works as a cool contrast to the humidity of the shop. You feel as though your skin may never learn to breathe again.

“Hey, lady.”

The words ring in your mind with such profundity that you’re convinced you imagined them. You’ve become so estranged that the thought that someone might be talking to you does not even cross your mind until they speak again.

“Hey!”

He’s right behind you, now. Whoever he is.

When you turn, you see the owner of the voice; a man with dark features, shoulders broad and strong from heavy lifting. He carries timber across his shoulder, one arm wrapped around the load to steady it. He doesn’t look happy, though that doesn’t come as a surprise.

“Get going.”

His voice is gruff, yet oddly quiet. You can tell by the way he’s positioned that you’re not on his route; he’s taken a detour to speak with you. Judging by the way he continues to glance over his shoulder, you assume he’s not supposed to.

“The lumber yard is that way,” you say bluntly, gesturing apathetically to your right.

You turn away from him again, and cast your gaze back to the water.

“It’s getting late,” he says plainly. “You’re in the way.”

He must have taken a step closer. In the interest of not placing yourself in a position where you’d be easy to knock, you turn to face him fully. You catch him glancing over his shoulder again, this time in the direction of two men who stand by one of the huts further inland. Their features are poorly illuminated, though they don’t strike you as anything out of the ordinary. One of the men has a sack almost the size of his own body slung across his shoulders, his hands resting firmly either side. The other holds a great iron hook with three razor-sharp prongs, attached to a thick and heavy chain. The man with the hook turns it over in his hands, as though with muscle memory. It’s longer than his forearm and as thick as the horn of a ram, but he carries it as though it weighs less than a feather. Their eyes are fixed to the west, almost unmoving.

“Listen,” he speaks again, stepping even closer. You quell the urge to step backwards just in time to remember how close you are to the water’s edge. “You don’t want to be here when the sun sets. Not tonight.”

You draw yourself up until the two of you are almost even in height, fixing him with a stare designed to conceal anything he might be looking for. Although, you must admit, his eyes don’t appear to be anything less than sober.

“Hm.”

It’s amusing, how the sun sets. In the beginning, when it starts, you cannot imagine that the light might seep from the day. You cannot even picture what it looks like. Then it goes on, gradually, painting deep, entrancing colours and shapes in the heavens that seem to go on forever.

And suddenly, in an instant, it’s all gone. And when you take your eyes off the man in front of you for a split moment and dart your eyes in the direction of the horizon, you can see that the point of blindness is almost upon you.

But with this blindness comes the unmistakeable feeling that something is wrong.

“I suggest,” the man says, voice low, “you get going.”

You can’t tell quite yet how you feel about how his eyes linger heavily on you as you leave.

The scrapes on your knees and shins burn almost as hot as the petulant rage that fills you as you all but stomp back to your quarters. It wasn’t until you reached the brush, the hard, prickly remains of whatever godawful shrubs used to grow before the air became poisoned, that you began to seethe with a childish fury.

Your skin prickles with the flush of an odd mixture of guilt, regret, embarrassment, and something you can only describe as… fear. With your head in the clouds, shrouded by rainbow illusions, he took you by surprise. Like a child, told off for stepping out of your lane. It’s a foolish thing to get aggravated over, you know this, but you’ve never been known for your balanced temper.

Nevertheless, the interaction has your blood boiling. So much so that you stomp through the bristles without a second of thought, ignoring the way their shards tear at your bare skin. Anger is an excellent anaesthetic; it isn’t until you lie down on your makeshift mattress that you feel the throbbing begin.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the throbbing in your legs is matched in pace to the beating of your heart, but rather than remaining an inconvenient nuisance, it amplifies the anxiety bubbling under your skin like an echo. As you stare into the wooden beams that cross the ceiling, you realise with a start that it’s the first time anyone’s spoken to you outside of marketplace trades and orders of tea in five whole moons. You’ve become so isolated from social interaction that the slightest confrontation has you drawing your breath as though you have to force it through a punctured hole in your lung.

Curse the man from the docks. You can’t even fully remember his face; his features shrouded by the setting sun and the heavy soot and your own lack of attention to the present. That proves no obstacle for your mind, though, as it begins to transcribe page upon page of insult to hurl at him.

But they don’t do confrontation here, and judging by the quick thuds you can feel against your flesh as you press your palm under your breast, you should be grateful. So – after much deliberation and progression through the five stages of grief – you allow the slumber that’s been blossoming in your chest to consume you.

It tingles. Burns, might be a more appropriate way to describe it. Business has been so quiet this morning that it leaves you little to be distracted by. You made the mistake of subconsciously rubbing your calves together as you were waiting for your first customer, and the enraged throbbing still has yet to subside.

You afford yourself a deep inhale of the blend you’ve gathered together, picking up the pestle and beginning to grind. It’s borderline painful, handling the scarce commodity without being able to spare a single cup. The tea you serve is weak as it is, and if you want to avoid losing what little clientele you have, you have no choice but to let your mouth water.

Now that you’ve had the opportunity to reflect on the events of last night, you find yourself a bit on edge. Something in the air has shifted. The anxiety sowed with his confrontation has bubbled with ease under your skin, keeping your heart rate up and your palms sweaty. The fact that you were perceived, that he came up and spoke to you, has triggered an anxiety even deeper than you originally thought existed.

Very simply, your bubble has burst.

Because it’s not just him, you think, as you add the powdered leaves and herbs to the water and mix slowly. It’s not just him. With your increased wariness, you decided against leaving the house this morning. Strictly speaking, you don’t need to run errands until tomorrow, and as you sat at one of the few, pristine tables in your keep, you began to take note of the number of patrols outside your door.

Just in the few moons that you’ve been here, they have increased five-fold.

The air feels heavy with tension, and you feel the fool who only just noticed. It has been a steady development, and had you been more preoccupied with observing rather than just keeping your head down, you might have avoided an unpleasant truth.

No use wallowing in should-have’s and would-have’s now.

You remember his words from yesterday -

“You don’t want to be here when the sun sets. Not tonight.”

What did he mean, not tonight? What was happening, ‘tonight’?

Days trickle by, and you feel the pressing weight of your curiosity growing steadily. Things in the town remain largely unchanged, but you feel a desire to learn more. What you’d be learning more about, you cannot possibly say.

But someone else can.

Though, no matter how many times you walk past the docklands on your errands, you never catch a glimpse of him. You even make up excuses, detours you cannot afford to take, just for the opportunity to spot him because at this point – at this point, your curiosity has exceeded your anger. You pass by, at hours outside your ordinary schedule, but still, he eludes you.

And with this little to do, outside of running your errands and working the shop, you become fixated.

You must be stupid.

Why else would you repeatedly attempt to prod at the open wounds on your legs? They haven’t begun to cool yet, still red and itchy, skin swollen and tender and over-sensitive. It becomes one of those relatively mild inconveniences that is just mild and just inconvenient enough to fill you with pettiness. Bested, by your own foolishness. Your own damnable petulance, that led you to trample through the brush like a child with a tantrum rather than walk the extra stone’s throw around the hill. The fact that the prodding hurts causes greater damage to your pride than it does to the cuts.

With a heavy sigh, you pick up the crisp, thin piece of parchment you haphazardly tossed on the tabletop a few minutes ago with your fingertips and bring it to your eyes again.

“Payments outstanding.

Failure to provide adequate payment will result in eviction.

~ Lim Goro”

You sigh again, folding the sheet in half and pressing the crease meticulously. It’s no fault of yours that prices have increased; if people do not have wealth to spend, you cannot earn what you ordinarily would. It’s more of an incentive for you to earn him more gold rather than a legitimate threat of eviction, but your landlord is not beyond replacing you with someone else. There are plenty of potential replacements, after all.

You look upon the empty tables in front of you with a blank stare. There are no more chores for you to do, no more preparations to tend to, nothing to do except sit here and listen to the sound of your own sighs.

The day slips by, the sun climbing high, high, high in the sky until it hangs directly over you, glaring. So far, you have had a total of one, singular customer. The old man had taken one sip from his cup, looked you up and down, grimaced, and left, leaving a few pieces of copper coin behind on the tabletop. Already, you’re formulating plans for movement. Today has been ridiculously slow, and your newfound anxiety has you wondering whether this is now likely to become the norm. You are in no mood to find yourself evicted, you know you will not find alternative employment anywhere on this godforsaken island.

You will have to travel on. Which isn’t a problem in itself, more of a mild inconvenience at this stage. It’s just tiring. And you’re already tired. The old man’s presence lingers uneasily at the table despite his having left hours ago, taunting you as you shift your weight from foot to foot. You grow restless in your boredom, picking at threads and scratching your nail against the counter’s rugged surface. Maybe you should just call time of death, move on at your own leisure and on your own terms. Get yourself the hell out of here, away from all these people, and away from whatever’s brewing on the shipyard.

Or maybe you’ve been too hasty. Because there, just outside your front door, is not the man you’re looking for – but his friend. He hasn’t donned his hook today, instead opting for a burlap sack slung across his shoulder. The sleeveless tunic he’s wearing cuts off at the corner of his shoulder, the light blue textile contrasting the deep, golden hue of his skin. You almost didn’t recognise him. You have only seen him from a distance, after all.

Your hands still as you watch. He tosses something in the air with his left hand, muscles flexing dangerously in the sunlight. Your eyes fixate on the small object as it leaps and sinks in the air. He’s talking to someone, someone out of your line of sight. His jaw flexes as he grins at his companion, tossing the object in their direction. Then, he raises his hand in farewell and shifts the sack farther up on his shoulder, before turning and heading down the street. Your eyes linger on the phantom of his presence, frozen in thought.

And you do something you ordinarily never would, but which you have found yourself doing increasingly as of late: you make a split second decision. Tossing the rag in your hands haphazardly on the counter behind you, you bolt the front door shut, and begin to follow him.

He turns left, leading you onto the path that ends at market square. It’s a long, slack street on a distinct decline, passing through the abodes of merchants who can afford the steep price of permanent establishments. The path is packed with people and the dust swirls heavily in the air from endless heels kicking up sand. Fortunately for you, he’s taller than most; deep, dark brown hair visible over the crowd. You weave through the mass as best you can, but his strides are longer than yours and somehow someone manages to get in your way with every step you take.

Your shoulders knock into passersby as you shuffle through the crowd, eyes not finding much sympathy for the endless people who come at you with baskets, sacks, carcasses, and boughs. Your heartbeat thrums under your skin. There are no back streets or paths diverging from this road; it leads directly to the marketplace, so you don’t run the risk of losing him.

That is, until you reach the end of the road. Any satisfaction you felt at having kept him within sight is immediately quashed by the throng that greets you at the square. You almost trip over your feet as you lurch to follow him, senses working overtime to process the pungent odour filling the air.

The complete absence of customers at your shop seems less strange, now; men and women with painted faces twist and contort themselves in rhythmic waves across the sands that form the outskirts of the square, near the mouth of the Southern quadrant. They’ve attracted quite a crowd, stunting the masses that charge towards the market stalls on their daily errands. There’s a commotion to your right; from the corner of your eye you see the black spears with glinting, golden tips bobbing above the heads of the crowd, manoeuvring determinedly southwards.

You’ve lost him. How have you lost him? You only looked away for a moment. You squeeze your way between stalls, eyes darting around frantically. Finally, you spot him at the seaweed merchant’s, talking to the middle-aged woman who sits cross-legged by the small stack of baskets. Retreating a couple steps to maintain some distance between you, you watch as he passes her a couple of copper coins. She lifts the lid covering the largest of the woven baskets, a small smile on her lips. Now that you’re standing closer to him than ever before, you can understand why. He is, beyond all doubt, a very pleasant-looking man. His smile is wide, eyes crinkled, and you find yourself staring at him as though-

Oof.

The sharp yells at your ear echo in your head for a moment before you register the pain in your shoulder. With wide eyes, you squat to recover the dry strips of bark that have spilled from the man’s hamper. Uttering quiet, yet firm apologies, hands moving hurriedly to save the strips from being trodden on, you feel your heart begin to race. He continues to berate you, voice nasal and high-pitched.

You stand to give your knees a rest and you’ve lost him. The man’s carping follows you as you begin to weave through the crowd in the direction of the seaweed merchant. Waving the man behind you away with an unsympathetic grimace, you move to stand directly in front of the stand. The woman eyes you unimpressed; you’ve practically stormed into an exchange between her and another customer, chest heaving and eyes wide.

Quickly, quickly, you pull away and begin to skirt the masses. You catch sight of him after a short while, near the mouth of the Eastern quadrant, reaching into the sack that used to hang off his shoulder. He hands some of its contents to an older man smoking a pipe who sits on a wooden pail near the mouth’s gate; a tall thing made of sand-coloured stone with the Emperor’s emblem carved into its top. A big, bronze gong hangs suspended from the head. The old man hands him something in return, though from this distance, you can’t see what it is.

With hurried feet, almost tripping over yourself, you move to the gate only to find him gone. You’re on the outskirts of the crowd, now, caught in the debris that circles the swarm. Squinting, you take a step back. Your eyes scan a million faces, searching for distinct braids, but you come up dry. With a heavy sigh, you move around the wall, past the gate. There’s a bit of shade there, sweet, sweet shade, though it has no affect against the heat. Instead, it feeds your imagination. Memories of cool waves and sugary fruits, sunlight that sparkles against the green ocean, salt stinging in your nose and peace pumping through your veins.

You heart catches in your throat as a firm hand latches harshly onto your shoulder and pulls you backwards. You stumble, tripping in the sand. Before you can put your feet back under you, the same firm hand grabs your arm and hauls you up, up, up, into one of the dim alleyways off the main street.

You can’t decipher the expression on his face, but the slightest trace of a sneer laces his upper lip in a way that almost makes you shrink back into yourself. But his eyes, there’s something in those piercing, blue eyes that truly makes your skin crawl.

“You wanna explain yourself?”

He’s ditched the sack. It’s a good question, actually, because when you think of it, you don’t think you could explain yourself if you tried. What were you planning to do? In all honesty, you were probably planning on following him until you saw something - anything - interesting. You have a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate that as an answer if you gave it.

His eyes look over you as the silence stretches on, narrowing as the grip on your arm loosens ever-so-slightly.

“I know you. You’re that teamaker from the Western quadrant.”

Then he frowns.

“You been following me all the way from there?”

Something in his voice puts you at a greater ease than is reasonable.

“Following you? I… who do you think you are? Why would I follow you?”

“Try again.”

You scoff.

“And how do you know who I am?” you jab, wrenching your arm loose from his grip. “By all accounts, it appears I’m the one being followed. And dragged into some dim alleyway!”

“Careful, girl, you’re not out of here yet.”

“So you admit it, you are following me.”

But his words ring a scary truth; for all the good your sharp tongue does, you still find yourself in a dark alleyway at the mercy of a complete stranger. Shouts grow louder in the square as you size each other up, followed by the unmistakable roar of a blaze.

Your assailant’s attention snaps to the mouth of the alley. You could slip past him, you think. One swift moment is all it would take. But the orange glow has reached beyond the sand of the gate, seeming so far in the distance and yet so, so close. It won’t be long until its creators follow.

You count down in your head. Three, two-

The heavy tolls of the Bells of the Gates ring through the air, causing your very bones to vibrate like a tuning fork. The shouts increase even further, both in volume and proximity. A general feeling of deep unrest spreads with the echoes of the Bells. You feel it creep through your body as you inhale, like a heavy gas.

“I have business to take care of in the Western quadrant. You either come with me, or you make your own way back.”

You blink. The deep, quiet inflection in his voice stands as a considerable contrast to just moments ago. The Bells indicate curfew, effective immediately. The square is undoubtedly in lockdown, which means that your only way home involves navigating your way through either the Southern or the Northern quadrant. At this hour, it’s not a journey you would particularly enjoy making on your own.

Should have just stayed in the shop, you think.

“Suit yourself.”

You blink again, watching as he turns his broad back on you and starts towards the gate. The thuds of feet running through sand echo from the street ahead in the walls that encase you.

“Hey- wait,” you say, scrambling after him. “Hey!”

He scowls.

“Change your mind? I don’t entertain hysteria.”

Now it’s your turn to scowl.

“I’ll show you hysteria, how-”

“Are we going or not?”

You drag your feet in the sand. You’ve not spoken two words to each other since the Eastern quadrant, with the exception of the occasion where he berated you for kicking up too much sand as you walked. It draws attention, he’d said. You’d bitten your tongue to refrain from telling him anything he didn’t strictly need to know.

You find yourselves on the outskirts of the Western quadrant, now, on a path lovingly referred to as ‘Arson Lane’. Fire nation patrols linger on its corners, keeping a keener than normal eye out for wrongdoers. You stick to the walls, pausing at every corner and listening for voices. The blindness is upon you, darkness shrouding every detail.

“I think we should get off this path,” you murmur under your breath, holding a hand out against his chest in an effort to stop him.

“This is the quickest way through,” he whispers. His voice is close to your ears, the consonants clicking loudly against his tongue. The intimacy of your situation only fuels the fire that boils your blood.

Your passage through the Northern quadrant, though in complete silence, has put you on edge. Heavy, black boots kicking bodies down the streets mar at your senses. You cannot hear any nearby patrols, no orange hue decorates your route, and yet…

“I think we should find another path,” you whisper.

“What would you know,” he grunts. “You’re just a teamaker.”

You jump at the volume of his voice. It’s not particularly loud, but it rings in the silence. You see no movement on the road, nothing to indicate anything is wrong, no…

You grab him by the tunic and pull him, with a surprising amount of force, to the other side of the road. The wall there is short, and easy to climb over. Squatting low, you listen intently. Sure enough, the muted thuds of spear shafts against sand approach in the distance. You can feel his breath on your cheek, restrained like yours, his side pressed against the naked flesh of your arm.

You hear the patrol as they pass, throwing vulgar quips to each other and letting out drunken laughs. You share a look you can’t quite place with your unlikely companion. It’s strange, seeing him so close. He’s not as young as you are, though exactly how many summers he’s seen, you couldn’t say. Maybe six, seven more than you?

You stay huddled behind that short wall for a good while after their voices disappear into the night.

“Have they gone?” he breathes.

You glare.

“How would I know,” you mouth. “I’m just a teamaker.”

His features slip back into his scowl, and he pulls himself to his feet and climbs over the wall.

By the time you reach the crossroads that leaves you on your street, you’re not speaking. You push past him and don’t look back.

But you’ve always been too curious for your own good. Standing in front of your door, you spare a glance in the direction you came. Once again, you make a split-second decision. Darting after him as quickly as you can without attracting attention, you spot him creeping against the walls of a street perpendicular to your own. Peeking your head out from behind the corner, you watch as he slips from the shadows of the walls to knock gently against a wooden window shutter. Not even a moment later, the door glides open. The little light that slips through the crack paints the figure of an old woman, shorter with her years. Without hesitation, he ushers her inside the room and closes the door after himself.

Your knees feel weak as you trudge up the steep steps of your abode.

part two

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fan fiction #marvel fan fiction #winter soldier fan fiction #winter soldier imagines #tui la #aeaean--bliss

37 notes · View notes

espinosaurusrexex · 5 months

Text

Watchful Eyes

CEO!SteveRogers x Female!Maid!Reader AU

read Bucky's story here

summary: When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself.

a/n: So that just happened... I don't know where it came from, but please enjoy. (Please don’t be discouraged by the word count - I promise you it’s worth it and I kindly ask you to at least try 💛)

word count: 10.8k

warnings: power differences, Steve is pining, watching someone over secret livestream (is this stalking?), women being referred to as objects (not by Steve), just so much fluff, and also angst (there is a happy ending!), smut (masturbation - m, praise kink, oral - f receiving, dirty talk, orgasm control, overstimulation, unprotected p in v, size kink, breeding kink) !MINORS DNI!

ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ

“Can you start Monday?”

“I can start Monday.”

“Perfect.”

Holy fuckidy fuck fuck.

You had a job. A job that would crinkle some noses but it would pay money. Good money actually. Well, better than other offers in the branch.

It had been luck, really. Because during one drunken night, which had originally been dedicated to drowning yourself in self-pity over the last job that had let you go due to staff cuts, your friend Natasha had crashed your party with Chinese food and gossip from her workplace. She was an assistant for one of the CEO’s of Shield Protection Services. And during her lunch with Sharon, the other assistant, Sharon had complained about Steve Rogers and how he had fired the third maid this month because they, apparently, were taking pictures of his home or selling some of his things.

There might have been some talk about how picky and stuck up he could be but the important info was that Sharon was desperate at this point and had asked Nat if she knew anyone with the decency not to breach privacy and willingness to clean the CEO’s home.

The good thing - or bad thing, you weren’t sure - was, Nat knew you were desperate too. So she gave Sharon your number and before you knew it, you were an employed woman again.

❁ ❁ ❁

It was too early for you to be roaming the streets of New York, but you had gotten instructions and so you had gotten up at 6 and headed out to the address. And when you arrived, it felt as though it was the first time you blinked since the subway - you were that tired. Definitely not a morning person.

The building was huge, tall glass fronts stretching into the sky and the ride up to the penthouse took longer than your average elevator rides did.

The doors opened and revealed a beautiful open floor plan. A whole wall of windows brought natural light into the place and offered a view so breathtaking, it took you a moment to collect yourself. The place was ginormous - a lot to clean up - but seemed tidy enough to at least get started right away.

You placed your bag on the counter by the kitchen and took more of the place in when suddenly, a voice startled you.

“Who are you?” You whipped around, big eyes searching for the source until they landed on a tall man standing in what seemed to be a dining area - well, one of them at least. He had broad shoulders, neatly styled hair and one of those toothpaste smiles you only ever saw in magazines. He was wearing office attire, blue dress pants that slightly stretched over his muscled thighs, and when your head wandered back up his body, piercing blue eyes seemed to stare right into your soul.

Holy Shit.

Before you stood Steve Rogers, three-time Forbes Magazine cover story, young entrepreneur turned filthy-rich hunk of a man, and CEO of the most successful security firm in this country. And he was talking to you - staring at you... waiting for an answer.

Talking, you needed to start talking, you reminded yourself.

“I’m the new maid, sir. I’m so sorry I was told to come here at 7 as you leave for work before that.”

Mr. Rogers looked at you with an unintelligible stare. Meanwhile, you were nervously wringing your hands in the doorway, looking down. You hadn’t planned for anyone important to see you today. The worn-down Fleetwood Mac shirt you didn’t mind getting bleach on hanging over some pants you pulled from the back of your closet definitely wasn’t the kind of outfit you expected to greet Steve Rogers in. Great start. This was going awful.

“Well I’m here aren’t I?” His arms folded before his chest as his eyebrow raised, impressive biceps bulging beneath the white button-up, and - damn - it was hard not to stare.

“Right. Yes. Sorry. I’ll come back later.” You turned to leave again but he stopped you.

“No need. I am on my way out.” The left corner of his mouth twitched into a cheeky grin when he grabbed his bag, left the newspaper discarded on the table, and placed his coffee mug in the sink. Interesting.

“Don’t snoop.” He whispered teasingly as he passed you, a whiff of expensive cologne paralyzing your senses and you weren’t sure if he was making a suggestion or actually warning you. That damn perfume seemed to hypnotize you.

Your eyes followed his broad shoulders until they disappeared behind the corner and then the elevator doors shut. It seemed to take all the tension from your face. You exhaled long and then began to look around some more.

The place was huge, you’d already established that. But when you found the third bedroom amongst the private office and Pool table room, you knew you had to make a weekly plan to work off. You had to give Mr. Rogers credit, though. There was rarely any clutter lying around - it wasn’t dirty per se - just had the usual dust you’d expect in a place this size with only one person living in it.

You huffed, resting your hand on your hips once you completed the tour. And then you got started.

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve peered up from his computer screen when Bucky strolled through the doors of his office. A coffee in hand he had most likely tweaked from his assistant's desk on the way here, he shot a grin to his oldest friend and business partner.

“What ya doing, punk?” The brunette asked teasingly when he circled the desk and settled on the window sill behind Steve.

“Just making sure things stay in order.” He leaned back and turned around slightly, just in time to see his friend nod knowingly.

“Heard Nat got you a new maid.” Bucky dipped his chin towards the laptop still open on the desk. “That her?”

His eyes wandered to the screen where a live feed of his apartment streamed you changing his bedsheets. He hummed in agreement.

“She’s pretty,” Bucky commented before sipping his coffee again and Steve felt an unfamiliar feeling bubble in his stomach. “But I bet you don’t care anyway. You’re all ‘don’t sell my stuff’ and ‘having things stolen from a security firm CEO is embarrassing’. Wouldn’t know a pretty thing like that if it climbed you.”

“Because it is embarrassing. And I highly recommend you monitor your staff to make sure they don’t do the same.” Of course, Steve knew you were ‘pretty’. Exactly his type, to be honest. He had noticed it the second you stepped into his apartment this morning. The way your hands wrung beneath you. And he had shot you a teasing remark in hopes of discovering a sassy fire in those timid doe eyes of yours. But you had stumbled over your words like a fawn.

Bucky clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Nonsense. Peggy is great - and too old to even carry anything valuable out of my place. I trust her with my life and house keys.” And then he pushed off the sill. “I think it’s time for you to get laid again. And that’s why I’m a great friend and organized dinner and drinks with Tony and Sam tonight.”

Steve fell back in his chair, hands over his eyes. “I don’t need your wing-maning me. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious, Buck.”

“You can thank me later.” He stout towards the door. “You know... after you’ve been devoured by the pretty little waitress at the Ironbar.” Bucky winked before his face disappeared again.

Steve just huffed as his eyes landed back on the weekly report on his desk and then swayed back to his computer screen.

As unwilling as he was to admit it, it had been some time since his last late-night rendezvous. And as he saw you crawl up on his bed to place the bedsheets properly along his mattress, he felt his pants tighten slightly.

❁ ❁ ❁

“We’ll get one more round of the good stuff.”

“Of course Mr. Stark.” Tony winked and patted his waitress’s butt before she stalked away on her high heels and towards the locked glass cabinet behind the bar.

Steve had designed it himself, a fiberglass shrine-like display for ridiculously expensive liquors, only to be opened by a passcode that got regenerated every week. He watched as Betty - the young and lanky waitress - retrieved a crystal bottle of whiskey and filled four glasses with the golden liquid.

“God, I love that thing,” Tony sighed next to Steve and watched Betty with a satisfied smile.

“You better be talking about that cabinet, Stark.” Steve shook his head with a frown only to receive a wink from Tony, who was sitting closest to him at the round table.

“So...” Bucky leaned over to Steve and spoke in a hushed voice. “You see anything you like?” He gestured at the bar where Tony’s carefully picked waitresses passed with filled and emptied glasses and bottles. They were all wearing tight black t-shirts and skirts or shorts that counted just as scandalous. One could foolishly mistake this place for a Hooters if Tony hadn’t made it one of the most pristine bars in all of New York City.

It was popular amongst the clientele which mainly consisted of bored rich men that came here to get something to look at without being judged for it. But Steve wasn’t feeling the girls today. When Betty shoved her breasts in his field of view, all he could think about was how he had never gotten the idea to get his maids a uniform that catered to his... liking. And when Betty swayed her hips on her way to the bar, his thoughts became clouded by the image of you in a short little skirt, riding up just a little to tease I’m about what was hidden underneath when you kneeled on his bed to get the sheets sorted.

Steve adjusted his pants at the little flashback, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter in his seat.

“Oh, apparently you have...” Bucky grinned before his eyes hushed down to Steve’s crotch and back up just as fast. “Well then,” he leaned back with a satisfied grin. “Which one is it? Samatha? Tiffany? Though I think Megan is more your type.”

“Just shut up, punk.”

“Okay you don’t have to tell me me... either way, my job here is done.” He brushed his hands off fake dust and smiled smugly. “You better be in a good mood tomorrow.”

Steve just huffed and waited for Betty to come back with ‘the good stuff’ to hopefully drown out his annoying friends for the rest of the night. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them. No, he would do anything for the people he chose to have in his life. The group he found himself in right now had been through thick and thin with him, stayed through his fame and fortune, and was just as supportive before it had all happened to either of them. He was happy having the guys because they built each other up and aimed for greatness - together, they were fucking invincible.

But sometimes, Steve felt a little out of place amongst Bucky and Tony. It was in situations regarding women most of all because he could never adapt the attitude to talk about them the way they did. And he never had the headspace to juggle as many as they did. He had tried the one-night stands. But he struggled to navigate the superficial pleasure maze New York City provided in masses. Because just as the ever-passing smiles on the streets, it wasn’t fulfilling enough for Steve. At least not in the way it was for his friends.

He wanted what Sam had. A partner, a family, something constant and beautiful. And that was, why he found himself asking for pictures of Sam’s kids and nephews rather than listen to Tony’s latest bed bunny endeavor whenever the conversations took a turn in that direction.

“Earth to Rogers,” Sam’s finger snapped in front of Steve’s face. “What this I’m hearing? You got a new maid? What happened to the old one?”

“She sold his stuff on Craigslist.” Bucky snorted and took a sip of the drink that had magically appeared in front of them.

“You aren’t serious.”

“I really liked that tie,” Steve grumbled into his cup.

“Man, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with things like that. You rich people really are a different breed.”

“You’re rich, too, Sam.”

Sam just smiled above his crystal glass, having fun with the little joke he liked to pull for ages now. He wasn’t any less successful than any of the other men at their table. But other than them, he had settled in a beautiful neighborhood - despising the concrete jungle each of the other guys lived in. His house felt like home, like a cozy place that had seen love and time and nothing like the polished and sleek man caves the rest of them owned.

“Well, anyways, my amazing assistant organized him a new one, the prettiest thing - really. But he’s refusing to see it.”

Tony chuckled. “Well, that's Rogers in a nutshell, isn’t it.”

Sam just pursed his lips and glanced over at Steve with a soft smile, ignoring the comments of the other guys. They never explicitly talked about it, but Sam was a smart man, and it would have surprised Steve, had he not already figured out that he was more of a family man than their friends were as of right now.

“To new maids that aren’t selling your clothes on the internet then.” He raised his drink and winked at Steve once their glasses clinked.

And Steve? He visibly exhaled, silently thanking Sam for pulling the tension out of their conversation.

❁ ❁ ❁

It had been a little over a week. And so far, things had been going great.

By now, you had cleaned through the entire place once and set up a plan of what to do on which day. You weren’t surprised it actually took a full 6 days to cover every single room in Mr. Rogers’s apartment. You had already figured out which tasks were going to be your favorite and which weren’t. Like his bedroom. You liked doing that. Because even though the sheets were a bitch to get on the ginormous bed, you kind of liked the smell the room had. His pillows smelled of the cologne you couldn’t forget ever since the man had brushed past you on your very first day.

You were pretty sure you would never forget that since your knees literally felt like giving in at that moment.

Today, it was bedroom day. That and the on-suite.

With a smile on your face, you entered the apartment on the top floor, each day secretly hoping you’d catch a glimpse of the CEO before he took off to work. But even though you tried to arrive ten minutes earlier (you really couldn’t spare any more sleep for your own good), the first day remained an exception in Mr. Rogers’s daily schedule.

You placed your bag on the stool at the open kitchen island, changed into some other shoes, and headed for the supply closet. Despite the size of the place, you actually got around pretty easily. Mr. Rogers was a very organized and neat man - you’d noticed that the first and only time you met him. So things were almost always where you’d think they would be. Which made your job just that much easier. But also prevented you from the advised ‘not snooping’ you desperately wanted to do.

You knew better though.

People like Steve Rogers probably had cameras installed in this place. And you would certainly not go and rummage through his underwear drawer after he had personally told you not to. Who knows what strings powerful people like him could pull. So, for the sake of not waking up on a cargo ship to Madagascar one day, you restrained yourself as much as possible.

Of course, you didn’t stop your eyes from wandering whenever you swept the shelves in his walk-in closet or closed the drawers in his office space. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. And this girl had a nosy best friend on her back that wanted to know every little detail of her new job... and was also way too invested in celebrity gossip.

Though, as always, there was nothing out of the ordinary today - there never was. Sure, it was still exciting to see how the filthy rich lived but other than that, no scandalous collection of women’s underwear, or drug lord papers lying around. You started to believe that Steven Grant Rogers was a very boring man. Not that you could properly judge in your position, seeing as you did not really know him, but the whole being in his home seemed a little too intimate not to do so.

So that day you finished the tasks for the day, packed your stuff, and made your way back home, hoping to see him in the morning or to at least find something more interesting than dust in his home.

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve greeted the concierge of his building when he entered the marbled entree hall. With a little frown and a look at his watch, the man greeted him back before he resumed his work.

Yes, Steve was home earlier than usual. He regularly stayed even longer than his original work schedule intended. Today, however, he was home even earlier. But after another banter with Bucky about Steve’s non-existent sex life, he couldn’t imagine making it past five in the same building as his persistent best friend. So, he fled the office and decided to work through the rest of his papers at home.

Of course, Steve knew that Bucky only wanted the best for him. But the ways he tried to approach the supposed bothersome loneliness Steve had in his bed just weren’t for Steve. Those might have worked on Tony - hell, Tony probably invented setting his friends up with one-night-stands - but not on Steve.

He huffed and swiped some loose hairs from his forehead as the elevator dinged at the top floor. The doors opened to the window front of his penthouse apartment and Steve stepped over the threshold, immediately stopping in his tracks when he took in the scene before him.

The vacuum was running while you were kneeling on the floor, wiping up some water he only assumed came from the vase missing next to his sofa. He would have found it rather amusing if it weren’t for the way you carried yourself today. Something wasn’t right.

Steve knew that you weren’t usually this messy - that much he could tell from the livestream that had become a constant in his office by now. Your head hung low, your motions hurried and sloppy. He watched as you swiped the floor, one of your sleeves constantly slipping down your arm again until you angrily pushed it up further than necessary.

It was worrisome.

He couldn’t place the feeling he felt in his chest when he sat his briefcase down and approached you from behind. His foot carefully turned off the vacuum and then he stood still, careful not to startle you when you finally looked up at him.

He could see it in your eyes then. The panic, the uncertainty, and something else he hadn’t seen in them before.

You looked around you as if you were seeing the mess for the first time and when Steve was still watching you with an arched brow after a minute of silence, you suddenly sprung up to your feet.

“I am so Sorry, Mr. Rogers. I didn’t realize it was this late already.” You turned a full 360 until your eyes landed on his again. “I’ll have this cleaned up in no time and I'll be out of your way. I promise.”

Steve watched as you scrambled to gather the vacuum cord, struggling with it when it didn’t immediately snap back into the caster. “The subway was stuck in a tunnel for an hour because some guy decided to pull the emergency break for fun. And then this lady passed out next to me and when the fire department finally got us out and the paramedics packed her in the ambulance, I realized that I still had her purse.” You finally got the cord in turning so fast that the wet rag in your hands sprayed some water on Steve. “And do you know how difficult it is to find out which hospital they’re taking people? Because it’s so much more difficult than it looks in the movies. I didn’t know that! And then it was almost 10 a.m. when I got here. I am so sorry. This won’t happen again I promise-“

“Hey,” Steve finally stepped forward and caught your flailing hands with his and it shut you up. “It’s alright.” He spoke softly, guiding your hands down and proceeding to carefully stroke your arms down. “Are you okay? Do you need a day off?”

Your doe eyes stared up at him, round and shiny as if you couldn’t believe he was actually standing in front of you. And Steve had to admit, besides the concern breezing through his body, your face was capturing up close. He traced your lashes with his gaze, the way your lips were parted slightly, your teeth showing past your upper lip, and the way your eyebrows were raised in shock.

“No... no, I’m fine.” You finally stammered and it made Steve relax a little.

“Then take a breath for me, please.” You nodded and Steve watched as your shoulders moved when you inhaled with your eyes closed. It shook Steve out of his trance. He cleared his throat and retreated his hands from your arms, awkwardly standing up a little straighter now that there was no excuse to touch you anymore.

You were fine - that’s what you had said. But you didn’t quite seem that way.

He watched as you opened your eyes and gifted him a small smile. Then your gaze dew to the floor and the mess you were standing in. Your smile turned awkward.

“I’ll clean this up real quick and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Steve shook his head with a smile. Maybe this was a nice opportunity to do as Bucky had suggested. It was true, Steve hadn’t been interested enough before. Had he taken more time to know his former maids better, he could have probably prevented his things from being stolen and sold. Maybe it wasn’t exactly what Bucky had meant by ‘interested’, but Save decided it would do for now. “You can do what you need to and you can take as much time as you need to. I’ll be in my office for some time, so please don’t rush. I didn’t mean to freak you out by coming home earlier.”

His arms reached up to scratch the back of his neck and your eyes landed on his bicep. Those damn doe eyes. “O- okay.”

He nodded, buried his hands in his pockets, gifted you a tight-lipped smile, and then proceeded to grab his briefcase and disappear into his office at the end of the hall.

After some time, he heard the vacuum pick back up. Steve peaked through his open office door and caught a glimpse of you roaming his living room every now and then. It was relieving to know that you were functioning again. You had him worried for a second there - a feeling the successful CEO hadn’t welcomed in a hot minute. But it was kind of nice, made him feel a little more human than usual. So he didn’t mind having you work while he was home. On the contrary, actually, even though he had a huge stack of papers to go through, having to do them with a little bit of white noise was much more efficient than he had thought. He liked it when the occasional sound of items being set down snook its way to his office just to be interrupted by the vacuum again. And before he knew it, the workload he had taken home with him today, was worked through.

Steve made his way to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. Though, as he waited for the machine, he found himself leaning against the counter and watching you work in front of him. You were currently bent over the sofa, arranging the cushions after shaking them out, your shirt riding up ever so slightly and exposing a strip of skin on your back.

The fresh grounding of coffee beans covered the way Steve gulped loudly at the sight of you in front of him. This was definitely different than watching on his laptop screen. He felt his pants tighten ever so slightly as he imagined walking up to you and just taking you from behind. Your face would press into the pillows as he would easily push into you, hearing your drawn-out moans through the cushions.

He couldn’t help himself, you were just so pretty.

The smell of coffee drew Steve back to reality. It wasn’t that simple. Because Steve wanted you to want him as well. But you didn’t know him well enough yet.

You pulled the vacuum around the corner and seconds later the sound of the storage room door closing echoed through the apartment. You walked back into the living room, adjusted the book on his coffee table, and then looked at your work with your hands on your hips. It was kind of cute to watch, Steve had to admit.

“Well done,” Steve praised and your shoulders jerked in surprise.

“Woah, didn’t see you there, Sir.” You relaxed again and then moved to change your shoes, before packing the other pair in your bag. You looked like you were about to leave, but Steve didn’t want that.

“Would you like some coffee?” He offered and turned to grab the mug that was just filled with the steaming hot beverage.

But you shook your head, raising your hands. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’m sure you’ve got work to do...”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it were an inconvenience.”

You looked down and nodded, which made Steve smile and hand you the cup. Your hands encased it like it was a cold winter's day, timid looks roaming the room and landing everywhere but him.

“You seem uncomfortable,” he tried, cautious not to intrude.

“I’m not. It’s just that... I’m not used to,” you gestured around the kitchen, “all this.”

“I know it sounds stupid but sometimes I feel the same.” Steve took in the high ceilings and shiny surfaces, the expensive paintings and furniture he had no part in picking out.

You just stared at him again before nodding and averting your eyes once more. It seemed like you were holding back, but Steve didn’t feel like he was in the position to ask. So he just had to do with your fleeting glances and diffident presence. It was fine for now. Though he didn’t know if he could actually stand it for long.

“You got this job through Bucky’s assistant, right?”

“Natasha, yes. She’s my best friend.” Your eyes lit up and Steve celebrated the little victory in silence. He had finally found something to talk about with you.

“How long have you known each other?” He took a sip of his own coffee, acting indifferent, though his gaze hung on your lips.

“We’ve been friends since high school. But then we went to different colleges and for a moment, we lost contact. But when I called her after graduation, we reconnected. We coincidentally both moved to New York. It’s nice to have her back.”

“That does sound nice. I know a thing or two about reconnecting with old friends.” Steve smiled reminiscent.

“Right, your business partner. Mr. Barnes.” You set your mug down when Steve shot you a surprised look. “Sorry, but it’s hard not to know things about you when every tabloid in the country has covered your story.”

Steve nodded, being reminded once again how different his life was now. Not that he didn’t appreciate it... it just used to be simpler.

“Yes, Bucky is my oldest friend... we’d lost contact in-between as well. Now we spend so much time together, I sometimes wish it was that way again.”

“You don’t mean that,” you laughed and Steve swore it was the prettiest he’d ever heard.

“Of course not.” He set his cup down once he noticed that you had finished your coffee and had grabbed your bag from the stool.

“I should go,” you smiled sadly and Steve just nodded with a similar expression on his face. Then he pushed off the counter and walked you to the elevator. He caught your small wave before the doors closed, leaving his stomach feeling warm and fuzzy.

This was definitely new.

❁ ❁ ❁

The next week was pure torture.

Steve couldn’t work from home like he had wanted to. He also couldn’t go to work later to at least catch a ‘good morning’ from you.

It had only lasted a couple more days. He had managed to trap you for a conversation with coffee two times after the first one and then it all went downhill from there.

Steve’s work seemed to pile up in unusual amounts of papers on his desk. His e-mails and meetings were longer than ever and his frustrations built with every new message Sharon redirected to his phone.

It wasn’t until Bucky pointed out how unusually grumpy he was, that Steve realized, he missed you. How could that have happened? He barely knew you and talked to you even less than that. But he knew he was missing you. Because as silly as it sounded, the time he spent with you, he was more relaxed than ever before.

“I’m headed home, now. Do you need anything before I go?” Sharon popped her head through the door of Steve’s office after the knock she placed there.

Steve just sighed as he closed one of a dozen tabs on his computer. Then he shook his head. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early!” She beamed and Steve just waved her off.

The door fell shut once again and Steve moved to close a second tab. The one open beneath was the video footage of his home. It was paused because Steve had categorized it as ‘not suited for work’ once he saw you climb on his bed to straighten out the sheets and his dick reminded him just how deprived he really was.

Looking at the paused video now, his pants tightened again. There you were, on all fours on his bed, tugging the sheet under the headboard side of his mattress - ass up and struggling. Fucking hell.

His hand instinctively moved to his crotch to relieve some tension and then his eyes fell to his office door. Sharon had gone home. He was likely the only one left. His gaze wandered back to his computer screen and before he knew it, he was rubbing his hard cock through his pants.

He groaned lowly at the feeling spreading through his body, the image on his screen just intensifying the scenarios he usually imagined when he got himself off. Because now they had your face. And your perfect body. If he squinted at the screen, he could actually see a sliver of your underwear peaking out the top of your pants.

“Jesus Christ,” He pushed through his teeth when his hands worked to open his belt and pulled his rock-hard length out. He was already leaking from the angry red tip.

His thumb grazed over his sensitive flesh, spreading the beads of precum and his whole body shivered when he imagined you doing it instead. His knees spread further apart in his office chair as he squeezed the base of his cock, concentrating on his breathing to slow. And then, without thinking, his other hand moved to play the video.

Steve’s eyes never left the screen as he watched you tug the sheets tight. Your ass bounced up and down with the motion and he began to pump his shaft, imagining pushing into you from behind. Then you crawled back slowly, careful not to pull the sheet off again, but one corner came loose anyway. As you leaned forward, your new position seemed even more obscene - with your arms stretched forward and your ass still slightly lifted off the mattress.

Steve’s fist pumped harder up and down his cock, he was panting. He could already feel the orgasm building. His balls were on the edge of bursting - but he wanted to hold out a little longer.

For a second, his gaze jumped to the little speaker icon at the bottom right corner of his screen. His right hand still pumping with a tight grip, the left moved to slightly turn up the volume on the stream.

Just then, you released a frustrated groan, followed by a throatier, softer noise that could almost be mistaken for a moan and Steve lost it. His fist stroked his thick cock in hard fast motions, the tingle in his body building with every heavy breath you released. His thumb grazed over his tip when you fell forward like a fawn and it was enough to make him burst.

He closed his eyes and threw his head back on the chair. With a last firm push, he tumbled over the edge, squeezing his flesh as he felt the hot ropes of cum cover his hand. His heart beat in his ears once the ecstasy subsided, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

Steve stared at the ceiling, sighing in defeat. He was in deep now.

❁ ❁ ❁

“So... how’s it going?” Nat’s voice rang through your speaker and you pressed your phone a little harder to your ear to hear her over the street noises.

“It’s going really good. I don’t see him that often but he’s not messy at all, so it’s really not that bad.”

“Good, I’m glad!” Nat cheered on the other end of the line and you could hear her computer keys clicking beneath her fingernails. “Anything you wanna tell me?” Her tone was suggestive, and you kind of hated how well she knew you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on, we’re stating the obvious here. He’s hot!”

“Nat!” You gasped appalled. “I’m not going around asking you if you think your boss is hot.”

“Why not? I'm not ashamed to admit it. My boss is hot,” she stated plainly and shorty after a distant ‘You got that right, doll!’ was heard through your speaker.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, watching around you as if anyone could hear what Nat was saying.

“So...?”

“Okay, yes he’s super hot and I wish he would just grab me with his big muscled arms and kiss the life out of me every time I see him. Are you happy now?”

“Yes, very.”

You waved at the concierge when you reached Mr. Roger’s apartment building and then stepped into the elevator. “Good. I can’t believe I just made me say that out loud.”

“We both know it’s true. No shame in a little crush.” You could practically hear her grin through the phone and it just annoyed you even more. How could she call you out when she was a mile away?

“Great, now I’m actually imagining kissing him and running my hands down his chest,” You huffed as the elevator door opened and turned the corner just to stop in your tracks.

“I knew it!”

“Nat, I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, but-“ and then you ended the call as your eyes were glued to the kitchen counter.

You stepped closer, your eyes never leaving where they had landed upon your arrival. There, on the polished black marble, stood a vase with a beautiful bouquet of pastel flowers.

Your breath hitched in your throat as your fingers traced the colorful petals, and you leaned in to smell them. This was so sweet! A little giddiness shot through your body at the sight of the flowers. You’d never expected them from Mr. Rogers and it was nice to be appreciated.

Feeling excitement all over, your fingers reached for the little white card lodged between a eucalyptus branch. But when you turned it over, all of it fell like someone had turned on gravity again.

Happy one month!

Your mind repeated the words over and over again until they registered.

Happy one month.

You dropped the card and it made a dull clicking noise on the counter. How could you have been so naïve? Nat had put this stupid haze in your brain, getting you all giddy and excited. Of course, he had a fucking girlfriend. How could he not? He was Steve fucking Rogers.

You needed to take a step back and breathe. Those were a few too many emotions to feel in the early morning for you. Now you even felt guilty about wanting to run your fingers down his body. God, you’d even said it out loud - how embarrassing!

“Okay, girl. Relax. Nobody heard,” you reminded yourself out loud. And then you took a deep breath with your eyes closed.

“It’s not embarrassing if nobody saw. I’m the only one that can decide the level of awkwardness here.” Maybe stop talking to yourself then. You nodded and carefully placed the card back in the bouquet.

“This never happened,” you whispered, more so to ensure yourself. “Just move on with your day.”

Thank god it wasn’t kitchen day - you wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of those flowers any longer.

With your shoulders pulled back and your head held high, you made your way to the supply closet and got to work.

It’s just another day. You reminded yourself when you pulled your cleaning supplies out and into the office.

Just like any other day...

❁ ❁ ❁

Boy, had you never been any more wrong.

Your phone rang at 7.30 that evening. You had already made yourself comfortable on your sofa, ready to binge a whole season of Gilmore Girls, after a successful day of pretending you hadn’t gotten the biggest turn-down of the century this morning. You had finished your cleaning plan, you had gone grocery shopping, bought yourself some own damn flowers, and even showered all before the sun had set.

But now your phone rang and the caller ID could not mean anything good.

“Hello?”

“Good evening!” Your name echoed through the speaker of your phone, a - for your taste - way too cheery woman on the other end. “I am very sorry I have to call so late. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“That’s alright, what do you need?” You bit your lip nervously, only dreading the next words of Mr. Rogers’s assistant.

“Well, actually it is not I that needs anything. Mr. Rogers requested for you to see him. Is that possible?”

“What? When?”

“Now would be amazing.” Your eyes widened at her words. Mr Rogers wanted to see you and it couldn’t wait until tomorrow? You must have done something horribly wrong. Oh, god, had he noticed you messed with the flowers? Had he seen you sniff his pillows? All possible scenarios of wrongdoing swarmed your head when you sprung up and bolted for your closet.

“I can be there in thirty minutes,” you hurried through the speaker just to receive a satisfied hum from the other end.

“Amazing! Thank you so much.”

She had hung you before you could even answer. It didn’t matter. You looked through your clothes, trying to decide what an appropriate ‘getting fired’ outfit would consist of - probably no sweatpants, so you could find the closest bar and drink your sorrows away in connection to the dreaded talk.

You pulled out something, you could see yourself crying in and headed for the door.

❁ ❁ ❁

8.00 pm on the dot, the elevator doors opened to reveal a beautiful New York Skyline. Unfortunately, you neither had the headspace, nor the time to appreciate it properly. As soon as you turned the corner you saw Mr. Rogers casually leaning on the kitchen island.

Instantly, you felt intimidated. He had never done anything to make you feel scared or in danger, but his mere presence was so powerful, you didn’t quite know how to act around him. Especially, because on top of it all, he was the most attractive man you’d ever laid your eyes on.

“What did I do?” It just sprung out of you, your arms wanted to hug your body but you willed them still. He didn’t need to see how worried you really were.

To your surprise, however, his face scrunched up in amusement instead. He pushed himself off the counter and gestured towards the flowers still standing proud on that polished marble top.

“You forgot your flowers.”

“My... my flowers?” He nodded with a small frown, probably confused by your reaction. And to be honest, you were too.

“Yes... I got you flowers. You’ve officially been working here for a month. That’s a record.” He shook his head with a chuckle and then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m... very picky.”

His eyes met yours and a whole new wave of uncertainty washed over you. You didn’t miss the hesitation in his tone, the carefully chosen wording for something he didn’t exactly say.

“So, I’m not fired.” God, why did it take so long for you to register. You just looked so stupid right now.

“On the contrary.” Mr. Rogers took a step closer, though still keeping a respectable distance. “I think I can trust you. I’m very pleased with your work. You deserve them.”

“I do?” You looked up at him with big eyes when he took another step closer. He was so tall, you had to tilt your head up now that he was so near.

“Can I trust you?”

His chest would almost touched you, if you were to breathe any heavier. Your breath hitched in your throat when the faint remains of his perfume reached your nose. It was as intoxicating - the way his eyes stared down at you - intense and looming. “Ye- Yes.”

“Good.” His voice was a raw timbre. His gaze drifted to the side, where his hand slowly reached up to lay on your shoulder. You felt warm and tingly from the touch.

Not knowing what to do exactly, you just held your breath and stared up at his eyes. They were so blue - and up close, they were so much more captivating than any magazine photograph could ever display.

You wanted to touch him, reach out, and pull him down towards you, but he had just told you he trusted you. Were you really going to risk this perfectly good job for a heated moment?

His other hand came up to graze your cheek with a careful touch and the worry of losing your job suddenly became very small. Mr. Roger’s hands were warm, his fingers almost hot even compared to your heated face.

So you did it. Your hand reached forward and landed on the top of his chest, one of them traveled down the hard plane of his torso while the other clawed at his shirt collar. His thumb traveled to your lower lip, pulling it down and then stroking over the soft flesh, touching your teeth as well.

Guided by the heat traveling through our body, your right hand tightened around his shirt and pulled him down and onto your lips. The blonde man jerked forward until his mouth crashed onto yours, immediately moving in perfect sync with yours.

Your insides were tingling from the kiss when you felt his lips pull into a smile. His big hands roamed your body until they snook around your back, pulling you flush against his body and making you sigh contently.

Mr. Rogers chuckled and then kissed you deeper. His touch was everywhere, yours too. Your mind was free of anything that wasn’t the tall, built, blonde man in your arms as soon as his tongue traced your bottom lip - asking for you to let him in. And you did just that. When he began to explore your mouth, you melted even further into his embrace.

No man had ever kissed you like that. Which was why you dreaded the moment you had to pull away for air.

Your hand landed on his cheek, thumb softly stroking his beard, eyes locked with his.

“You’re very good at this.”

He just chuckled and pecked your lips once more. “Up.” He demanded, suddenly, he grabbed your thighs and lifted you as if you weighed nothing.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm gonna show you how good I am at this.”

Then he set you down on the bed and pushed you back until your head hit the comforter. His scent, the one you’d secretly been craving ever since you started working here, engulfed you like a big blanket. He stood above you, big and broad-shouldered, looming over you like a wild animal. But you weren’t scared.

“You know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” His lips attached to your collarbone, sucking and licking bruises to your skin until you moaned beneath him and your hands clung to his hair. “I’ve been watching you,” he murmured to your neck and a shiver traveled down your spine.

“I knew it,” you gasped when he reached a spot behind your ears that sparked more pleasure. The thought of him spending his day watching you made you all excited and impatient.

“The way you stumble about this place when you clean it... How do you navigate the world being this clumsy, Bambi?” A whimper escaped you at the nickname he chose for you. “You need somebody to take care of you, huh.”

You arched your back to brush up against him. His hard cock was already straining his pants, pressing into your own deliciously. “Ah, yes.”

“Don’t worry, Bambi, I’m right here. I’ll take real good care of you.” His fingers traveled down your body until they reached the hem of your jeans and began to tug on them.

You pulled him down to your lips once more, guiding his head back to that spot behind your ear that had you squirming on the sheets. “So needy.”

His voice was so low and husky now, you barely noticed he had already worked your pants open and halfway down your legs. You kicked them off the rest of the way and arched yourself back against him just to have him grind down on your core.

“Feel so good, so big,” you mumbled through the haze you already found yourself in. God, what was it with this man - he was out of this world.

“You can’t wait any longer, can you, Bambi?” His hands moved beneath your shirt and began to massage your breasts. “But I get it. I don’t wanna wait any longer, either.”

In a swift motion, he had you flipped on your stomach, his hands traveling to your hips to pull you on all fours in front of him. Then the bed dipped and you felt his fingers press to your soaked underwear. He rubbed the drenched fabric over your entrance, only driving you wild with need when his fingers reached higher to your clit. “So pretty.”

“I need you,” you whined, “need you so bad.”

“Believe me, I need you too.” He pulled the black lace over the curve of your ass and you felt the cool bedroom air hit your wet core, only making you shiver once more.

“You’re so fucking perfect, you know that.” You could only whimper in response when his hand pushed your head into the comforter and his face suddenly pressed into your pussy from behind.

“Oh, god.” A yelp escaped you as his tongue teased at your entrance, only to be pulled back to lick a long strip from your clit back to it. His hand massaged your cheeks and the constant moaning to your core shook you from the inside out.

“This isn’t enough, is it, Bambi?” He dragged a strong finger up your spine. “You need me to fill you all the way up, don’t you? Need me to mark you, show everyone you’re mine.”

“Yes, yes, fill me up, give it all to me. Fuck me and make me yours.” You were so desperate at this point. His mouth had you squirming and aching for the promising bulge beneath his pants and you couldn’t wait to feel him raw - you’d let him do anything.

You turned your head and watched as he unbuckled his belt. Within seconds, his cock sprung free from its restraints and your breath hitched in your throat. He was thick and long, a prominent vein running along his side up to his tip, pink and already decorated by a bead of precum. Of course, Steve Rogers had a pretty cock. What wasn’t perfect about him?

“You’re so wet already, Bambi. So ready for my fat cock, aren’t you? You’ll suck me right in, I just know it.”

“Please! I wanna feel all of you.” Another whimper got swallowed by the mattress when you waited in anticipation for him to finally fuck you.

His one hand grabbed your ass and the other aligned his cock with your entrance. You could feel his head already breaching, a delicious stretch sending shocks through your body in hot and cold waves of pleasure.

He groaned lowly and it sent shivers down your spine. “Relax, baby girl. You’re so tight. You’ll be so stuffed with me.”

“I need you de-. I- ah just please!”

He worked himself forward with small rocking motions, each time reaching a little deeper into your core and when you thought he was finally all the way in, he pushed even further until your ass was pressed flush to his thighs.

You screamed into the covers and reached for something to grasp when he groaned behind you. “Gripping me like a vice, Bambi. Are you gonna be able to take it?” He shivered behind you and you could tell he was struggling to hold still until you answered him.

“I can take it. Your big cock feels so good inside me. Oh, god, please move.”

“Fuck.” Wet noises filled the room when he drew back almost all the way, just to slam back into you. In this position the curve of his cock stroked your walls perfectly, making it hard to hold back the building orgasm.

“I’m so close already, sir. I’m-”

“Fucking call me Steve,” he roared and pushed your face further into the covers. “You gonna come? Gonna squeeze my cock with your pretty little pussy already, huh?”

You could only whimper in response, the steady stroke of his body clouded your mind until you felt like you were floating.

“I-“Another scream ripped through your speech when the pleasure exploded within you. Steve slowed his motions, seemingly unable to move with the way your muscles contracted around him. And when the pulsing pleasure lessened after what felt like minutes, he picked his pace back up again.

“That was so sexy. You gonna do that again for me? I’m so fucking close.”

His hand reached around you and began to massage your clit in tight little circles and your body lifted off the bed. Steve had pulled you up flush against his chest and watched his hand work on your clit over your shoulder.

“’S too much! Ah!” You were still pulsing around his cock with every circle he traced on your bundle of nerves, making your legs quiver.

“You’re doing so good, Bambi. You can give me another. Milk my cock dry.” He kissed your neck and bit your skin. “So fucking beautiful, how’d I get so lucky?”

“Steve!” You felt another wave of pleasure approaching, just for his fingers to still on your clit, his hand now pressing into your stomach.

“I’m almost there, baby. Hold it a little longer.” His face fell into your neck and you could feel his cock twitch inside you while his hot breath licked down your shoulder. “Don’t you fucking cum until I say so.”

“I don’t know if I-“

“Yes, you can!” Steve pushed you until you fell onto all fours again and then guided your hips to meet his hard strokes. His movements became frantic and fast, making you lose your mind.

“I’m gonna fill you to the brim, Bambi. Make you drip with my cum for days. You’re mine.”

“Steve! Steve!” You couldn’t hold it any longer, it was too much. He was so big, and his movements so fast, there was no way you were lasting any longer.

“Wait. Almost there.”

“I can’t. I can’t! I’m- Oh my god!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuck.” With one last hard slam, Steve shot his hot seed in your pussy. Your walls clenched with every lewd sound he pushed through his heavy breaths. “Cumming so much for you, Bambi. All for you. Uhnggghh.” He rutted into you a couple more times and once the intense feeling faded into lazy pulses, he fell forward and pulled you into his chest.

Still buried deep within you, Steve pulled the covers over your bodies. Every little movement made you squirm and your pussy clench down again, drawing small grunts from the man behind you.

“You did so good.” His hand stroked over your hair and his face nuzzled into your shoulder. “Now, rest. You deserve it.”

And with that, you let your body fall into its well-needed sleep - warm, content, and without a care for the morning.

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve woke up to the sound of his alarm. He smiled before he opened his eyes, his mind still reminiscing the night before. He felt warm and content at the thought of it. Your kiss was like nothing else.

He felt around his bed blindly after turning off the alarm only to be met by a cold mattress. Opening his eyes, he called out your name and sat up in bed. But when no answer sounded from his apartment, he got up and looked for you. After a few minutes of searching, he was sure you weren’t there. And it worried him. He had planned to order you breakfast. He wanted to talk about last night. He wanted to tell you how much it had meant to him.

A look at the clock on his wall made him frown. Maybe you’d gone home to change for work. He decided to wait and get to work a little later today. It would all resolve itself, Steve was sure.

But when seven rolled around, there was no sign of you. And even after another 25 minutes, there was no indication you’d show up soon. Steve really couldn’t push his time anymore. There was a lot of work waiting for him at the office. So he got up and grabbed his briefcase, only to be interrupted by his phone.

“Good morning, Sharon.”

“Good morning, Mr. Rogers. I’m just calling to let you know your maid just called in sick.”

“What? Until when?”

“She didn’t say. But she’ll call when she is better.”

“Do you know what she has?”

“I believe that’s private. Mr. Rogers.”

Steve just hummed absentmindedly. His brain already playing all the possibilities in his head.

“Would you be so kind so send me her number?” He asked almost hesitantly, but still demanding enough for Sharon to agree right away.

“Of course, one second.” And then his phone pinged with a message from his assistant.

“Thank you.” Sharon just hummed in response and then she hung up the phone, ever the busy assistant he knew her as.

Steve didn’t hesitate to call you right away. With every peep. His heart hammered faster in his chest. And when he was about to give up, a familiar rustling rang through his speaker.

“Hello?”

Steve took a second to breathe and then he said your name - steady but careful.

“Mr Rogers,” you sounded surprised, and Steve tried to suppress the sting in his heart at the sound of his last name. You had called him Steve just last night. Why’d you stop?

“Yes... I heard you’re sick. Do you need anything?” He cringed the second he said it. You obviously didn’t want anything from him given that you had fled from his apartment before he even woke up this morning.

“No, no. I’m good thank you.” There was an awkward tension in the static connecting the two of you. But Steve didn’t understand where it came from. Had you not enjoyed last night. Had he only imagined the affection you gifted him then?

“Well... I hope you are able to come back soon.”

You huffed into the phone. “Uh, yes. Okay.”

“Alright, then. I’ll see you.”

“I’ll see you.”

And then the line went dead. And Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that you had sounded a lot colder than before...

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve had taken the next day off. His mind was too occupied to work, anyway. He had caught himself glimpsing at his video feed several times that day, even though he knew you weren’t going to show. He guessed, somehow that you would appear anyway. It didn’t happen of course.

So today, Steve had to learn to do nothing. That included not thinking of you as well. Because as much as the thought of you distracted him from work, not working wasn’t exactly the best move to get rid of his thoughts.

First, he had tried to stay in bed until 6. That was hard enough. Then, he worked out a bit, read an article, made a smoothie - okay he ordered one - and then he sat on his sofa watching as the clock above his fireplace ticked to 7 a.m.

It was ridiculous. If every hour would pass this slowly, he’d go insane.

His fingers taped on his thigh as he watched the seconds hand tick. He had to do something, anything.

The moment this thought passed his mind, he heard the elevator door ‘ding’ at his level. And before he could even turn around, your bag hit the ground with a loud thud.

Steve stood up straighter, adjusting a tie he was not wearing, but the motion had become a habit. He was excited you’d shown up - visibly well and healthy that was.

You stared at him for a solid minute and neither of you said a word. Your stare was unintelligible to Steve. He had to admit, that he didn’t know you well enough to read into your silent conversation yet, but he wanted to - he wanted to so badly.

His hands moved to clasp in front of him and then he cleared his throat, but as he was about to say something, you moved past him, straight to the supply closet, and then disappeared into his guest bedroom.

He followed you before he could tell his feet to stop, halting in the doorway of the room and watching as you dusted off the tall shelves above the sideboard.

“What are you doing?” His voice was higher than he anticipated.

“I’m working,” you answered bluntly, moving to the next object to dust off.

“Why?” Steve had promised to provide for you just the other night. And, yes, while he might have been hazy from the incredible pleasure you had created, he had meant every word.

You suddenly turned to him with an angry stare. “I’m working because, unlike other people, I can’t just do whatever I want and not deal with the consequences,” you spat and then turned around again. The dusting motion turned a little more aggressive and Steve felt a cold shiver run down his back. Feisty.

Though, Steve couldn’t quite place your anger. Had he said something to offend you? How did the other night play into any consequences and why the hell were you working still? You’d said it yourself, you wanted to be his. And that was all he ever wanted. It just didn’t make sense.

Steve didn’t move. He just stood there like an idiot and watched you work your anger away on the poor dusty decorations of his home. You obviously didn't want to talk to him and he had no idea what to say to you. So he just watched... and watched until at least ten minutes had gone by.

You were at a completely different corner of the room by now, trying to grab a book to dust off, but couldn’t quite reach. Steve had been standing in the doorway this whole time so he just assumed he was blocking your way to a ladder. But he took it as an opportunity instead.

In three Long strides, he had walked up to you, reached for the item you stretched toward, and handed it to you. And for a second there, he could see those doe eyes return to your face, staring up at him.

Maybe he had misread the situation after all because your gaze drew him in again. He slowly closed his eyes before he could reach your lips, excitement rising in his veins when he thought back to the feeling of your lips on his–

*smack*

His eyes shot open when your hand collided with his cheek, a fire flickering in your eyes that made him take a step back, holding his heated skin.

“You don’t have to mock me, okay?! I know it’s embarrassing and it’s stupid what we did, so please don’t make this more difficult.”

“What?” Steve was baffled, hurt.

It was stupid what we did. Your words echoed in his mind until your voice penetrated the mantra.

“Just leave me alone. Don’t you have work to do?”

He shook his head with an aching heart. You really had no idea. You thought he had used you, made you a bed bunny like Tony or Bucky would - he’d never do that. “I called in sick. I was so... forget it.”

You resumed cleaning and Steve just stood in your way watching. His chest stung with every second he spent with his eyes glued to you, knowing what you thought of him. He couldn’t stand it. He never wanted to make you uncomfortable, much less convey he’d only use you.

“Can I ask you a question?” You ignored him, but he could see your movements stagger for a second. “Do you really regret what we did?”

Then you paused, your eyes trained to the surface in front of you. When you finally looked at him, Steve could see the tears shimmering in them.

“No,” you whispered softly, Steve had almost missed it had his heart not skipped a beat.

He instinctively stepped closer to you again, though cautious not to scare you away. He’d come this far and didn’t want to mess it all up again. “Then why are you ignoring me?”

“I'm not ignoring you.” It shot out of you like a bullet. You sighed, took another breath, and set the duster down. “We don’t know each other. We live in completely different worlds. There is not one scenario in which we could exist together as anything more than... this. I know that now.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re you and I’m just the maid.” You gestured to Steve and then yourself and Steve hated the way you degraded yourself just because he had a couple dollars more in his bank account. It wasn’t right.

He shook his head, his hand reaching out to you but dropping just before he could actually touch you, curbing into a soft fist instead. “And what if I told you that you are much more to me than that?” Now he finally dared to lay his hand on your cheek, tilting your head so he could come closer to you and still stare into your eyes. “I like you. And the night– ever since you came into my life, my days seem just so much less dull.”

He smiled with shiny eyes, afraid your silence would last forever. “Please say something, Bambi.”

“You like me?” There was awe and disbelief in your voice and Steve wanted to kiss it away until every last doubt was erased from your mind. Whoever had made you this insecure about affection would eat his fist.

Steve bit his lip to hide the chuckle threatening to spill. “I do.”

He slowly got lost in your eyes again. Those beautiful innocent orbs looked at him like he was a different type of special. He loved it so much.

His gaze dropped to your lips, slightly parted and full, and then back up. And before he could lose himself in them again, your hands latched onto his collar and pulled him down toward you.

The kiss was all tongue and teeth, need and desperation melting into sighs and tingles - he could feed off of it forever. His hands roamed your body and pressed you deeper into his. Your arms reached around his neck as your noses bumped against each other in eager anticipation.

Nothing ever felt this right. Steve couldn’t possibly believe you’d doubted the chemistry for a second. Not when it felt like that. But he wouldn’t need to think back on it anymore now... now that he finally had you.

I couldn't decide which GIF to use, so here are some extras!

If you’ve read this far, I would be so happy to receive a comment or reblog. It helps writers reach more people in the community and also improve themselves. So, if you have the time, please consider giving me some feedback :) until next time ~Meg 💞

Wanna be added to the taglist?

@circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @wattpaduser200 @buckyseddie @adoreyouusugar @km-ffluv @fangirl-swagg @mi-amoree1111 @lastwandastan @royalwritersoftheuniverses @dinwifey @stuckysgirl27 @broadwaybabe18 @buckybarnessimpp @goodkittyspost @simpxinnie @blackhawkfanatic @kandis-mom @ashhsage

6K notes · View notes

downbadf0rficppl · 3 months

Text

pink in the night

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Some interesting rumours have been circling around about Bucky. Little do you know, it's kinda your fault.

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: Porn with a bit of plot, SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, soft Buck, SMUT!!!!

AN: Sorry y'all! It's kinda a bit shit but listen, it's self-indulgent so idc :) This is kinda inspired by 'Pink in the Night' by Mitski which I was listening to while writing this. Have a good rest of the week, y'all <3

Repost

Bucky had a love-hate relationship with being your neighbour. On the one hand, he loved seeing your face as you left your room every morning, hair not yet slicked to perfection, and sleep still evident on your face. You seemed a lot more innocent in the morning - conversations more idle.

On the other hand - and perhaps as a downside to his more sensitive hearing - you drove him crazy with the knowledge of things that perhaps he wasn't supposed to know.

This night was no different. You had headed off to bed after a long day, bidding everyone in the kitchen a good night. You grabbed a water bottle before slipping into the elevator, Bucky not far behind. You stepped out of the elevator together and you wished him sweet dreams before slipping into your room. Oh, his dreams were going to be far from sweet.

You see, your beds were pushed up to opposite sides of the same wall, so he could hear you relax on your bed. He could hear you shuffle to strip into just your underwear, and how your hand slipped into your panties. He could hear how your breath hitched as you circled your clit, and your soft moans as you plunged your fingers into your cunt or as your vibrator dipped in between your folds.

He could almost envisage you doing it - a forbidden porno that took root in his mind every night that he heard you finger yourself to completion. The rosy pink flush that you would glow as you came all over your hand. Your heavy rise and fall of your chest as you came down from your high. The small smile that would adorn your face as rolled over to fall asleep - the oxytocin released coursing through your veins.

He felt disgusting as he did - one of those creeps that he intended to protect you from for the rest of his life. But after you'd fallen asleep, he'd hop into the shower to cool his body and his mind - to throw the detestable thoughts of you to the far corners of his mind. But as he fell asleep, you'd re-enter his mind in a different way. A more safe-for-work way. You'd be in his arms, cuddling him and whispering sweet words of encouragement. You'd be cooking him dinner while he told you funny stories about his life with scrawny Steve in the 40s; he'd be washing the dishes while you sat on the counter tell him about your day. He'd worry for your well-being - not as an overbearing coworker but as a loving, doting boyfriend. Maybe husband.

Bucky was getting ahead of himself - he'd have to work up the courage to have more than a few-word conversation with you. But for now, wishing he could hold your hand would have to suffice.

Being Bucky's neighbour was not much easier. Especially when he was completely oblivious to your plight. Even the slight brush of a hand made your heart flutter.

You loved seeing him early in the morning - he always seemed less reserved when he was fresh from a good night's rest. He was faster to smile, faster to laugh. It was nice. You woke up at an ungodly hour to see him just before he headed on his morning run. You couldn't deny that the morning light did wonders for him - you were always left wanting more when he dipped into the elevator.

Oh, and the sounds. Your hearing was not quite as superior as Bucky's, but you definitely heard things that left you clenching around thin air.

You knew Bucky wasn't one to self-complete often - in fact, it was rare that you ever caught on to the act. But you had caught the odd broken moan coming from his room. You turned into molten mush, the weight of your arousal buckling your knees. If there was any sound that could turn you to putty, it was that.

You didn't how many times the idea of Bucky fucking you had played through your mind, but each night a different variation brought you the same ending - your fingers deep in your cunt, coaxing you to a climax.

Every night, you wished his cock, tongue, fingers were filling you up instead of yours, leaving you aching and wishing for more. You wanted to run your nails down his back - leaving permanent reminders of your love for him - while he nipped at your neck - leaving marks claiming you as his.

Sometimes, your brain caught up to your thoughts, reprimanding you for your possessiveness. He wasn't yours, you had to remind yourself, even if you wished he was. For that, you'd have to actually have to have more than a few-word conversation with him - which to be honest, seemed impossible. So you stuck to your nightly wishful dreaming, hoping one day he'd be yours. Only yours.

Summer was the worst for Bucky. You were the type to spend hours upon hours out in the sun, coming back with a budding tan and rosy complexion - it did nothing to quell the budding images flashing in the back of his mind. You. Under him. Panting. Moaning his name as he brought you to the edge. Over and over again. Face glowing pink as you gaze up into his eyes, drunk on love and his cock. Bucky had to excuse himself to splash cold water on his face.

It didn't help that the clothing you wore did nothing to help his imagination. The semi-sheer tops, the shorts, the swimsuit and bikinis. Every time he saw you, he immediately had to duck back inside to deal with 'a little problem'. More like a very large, very hard, and very obvious problem.

Still, he enjoyed your company more than he had for the better part of his time living in the compound. He listened to your stories, your jokes, helped solve your issues. He felt that - even if you weren't quite what he wanted you to be - your relationship was blossoming into something quite beautiful. And that made him feel a lot braver - he introduced a little comment here and there, a hand always on your waist or the small of your back. He flirted with you from time to time: just to gauge a meter on your reactions, he'd tell himself, as if this was an experiment to crack a hypothesis that had been perplexing scientists for years.

The sun was peaking over the top of the trees surrounding the compound when you woke up. That was a rarity in summer, given that the sun rose at nearly 5am. Still, you didn't miss out on the opportunity to watch the sunrise, curling up on your windowsill with your blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

You heard Bucky opening his door, and you ran towards yours, grabbing your phone and slippers on your way. You opened your door just as he closed his. He was dressed in gym wear - as always - since he was going on his morning run around the compound track. It was a nice track - one that you rarely frequented - going in and out of the forest behind the compound, totalling about 4.5 miles in distance.

He took you in, eyes bulging as they raked over you. You looked down, following his gaze. Shit. In your rush to see Bucky, you'd forgotten that your nightwear had consisted of some flimsy shorts and your bra - that you had thrown on after waking up to save a modicum of dignity, should someone burst into your room. It was too hot for anything else. You crossed your arms over your chest, which indefinitely made the issue worse as Bucky's eyes lifted way over your head.

"Looking good, babe!" Nat yells, walking across the landing toward you both. Clearly, Bucky had been intending to go on a run with her, maybe fit in a quick sparring session. You sent them on their way, with a 'have fun' and 'don't have too much fun.'

As soon as you were back in the comfort of your room, Nat elbowed Bucky hard.

"Oww! What the fuck was that for?" Rubbing his metal arm, for the convincing act.

"Oh please, you big baby. You have a fucking metal arm, get over yourself." She looked down, "You have a bit of a situation going on down there."

He looks down, embarrassment flushing his cheeks bright red, and subtly tucked his hard dick into his waistband.

"You wanna go sort that out? I won't hold it against you," Nat said, hitting the button to call the lift, "I promise not to tell Stark. Scout's honour." She jokingly holds up 3 fingers. Bucky swats her arm gently.

"No point."

Nat gasps, "No way. Don't tell me Mr. Winter Soldier can't have sex."

"Not sex," Bucky mumbles, "Just jerking off. Can't seem to - you know - finish."

Bucky had a history with Nat. They'd known each other for years. That kind of history made this kind of conversation somewhat less uncomfortable.

Nat burst into laughter. So much for not being uncomfortable.

The lift stopped on Sam's floor. He stepped in, gazing warily at the scene in front of him: the Black Widow doubled over in laughter, and the Winter Soldier embarrassed and uncomfortable in the corner.

He begged to be let in on the joke. Nat wheezed between laughs, "He - can't - fucking - cum!" Bursting into another bout of laughter, with Sam close behind, Bucky jumps out on the next floor, heading to the roof for some fresh air. He catches you up there, trying out some morning yoga. He sneaks up behind you as your stand up, grabbing your waist. You shriek, hitting him hard in the chest, before melting into his embrace once your brain caught up to the situation.

"Not fair!" You pouted, pausing your peaceful music, "Yoga's supposed to be peaceful!"

Bucky chuckles, pulling you into another hug, feeling you wrap your arms around his neck.

"I thought you were going on a run with Nat?" You whispered into his ear, your cheek resting on his clavicle.

"She ditched me for Sam." Bucky opted to leave out the real reason why he had left Nat and Sam in pieces in the elevator.

"Sucks to be you, Barnes!" You laugh pulling away and stepping back onto your mat. "Now leave me alone - just 'cause your friends abandoned you, doesn't mean you can bother me."

Bucky pouted, causing you to laugh before you turned back to your Yoga. He stood there and watched you for a minute, before heading back down to the gym. He strung up a punching bag, before wrapping his flesh wrist. Bucky took all his pent-up aggression and frustration out on the punching bag, allowing no respite between each jab, cross, and hook.

He stayed in the gym for over 3 hours, working every bit of stress out of his body. By the time he left the gym, the sun was high in the sky and a long day of paperwork and training awaited. Bucky headed up to his room for a quick shower - washing all the sweat off his body.

He felt lighter heading downstairs for breakfast - the weight of his arousal pushed far back in his mind. There was nothing he could do about it anyway.

Since deciding he would pursue you honestly, he couldn't seem to finish, no matter how hard he tried. You had been the only thing to push him over the edge - it seemed his body couldn't do it without you. It was frustrating beyond belief. He'd tried other things, porn, erotica, even thinking back to good times before the war. Nothing helped. It was as if his body was finetuned to you - only you knew the magic password to release him. Figuratively and literally.

When he reached the kitchen, he was privy to a welcome sight. You, in your combat gear, grabbing some granola bars before you jumped on the quinjet. You and Stark were heading on a surveillance mission in Guatemala for the week. You were reaching up to the top shelf, stretching on your tiptoes for the expensive granolas that had been kept on the top shelf. Bucky's granola bars that he had put there to stop anyone else from stealing them.

He reached up from behind you and grabbed the box, placing it in your hands. You looked guilty. You'd been caught red-handed.

"It's fine, doll. Take as many as you want." He said, leaning back against the counter, resting on his forearms. Your face flushed red as you grabbed 2 or 3, shoving them into your bag and turning around to fill up your water bottle.

You shivered when his hot breath fanned across your exposed neck, "Just remember that you owe me."

He was gone by the time you turned around.

The rumour had spread like wildfire while you were away.

"Did you hear that Bucky can't have sex?"

"I heard that Bucky can't - you know - cum?"

"Apparently, his time at Hydra fucked him up worse than he realised."

"He can't even masturbate you know?"

The rumours were getting out of hand, but he let them swirl. There was an ounce of truth to them, even if Hydra had nothing to do with his current predicament.

No, that blame could only lie with you.

When you got back, Bucky had just left on a 4-day-long mission with Sam - which meant you heard all the rumours and Bucky wasn't there to defend himself.

You heard it first when you dropped your suit off for dry-cleaning. One of the tech guys was whispering to Marta, the woman who looked after the dry cleaning of suits, about Bucky's apparent inability to ejaculate. You were shocked. Where the hell did they even get that information? You dropped off your suit and headed back up to your room to shower.

You then heard another mention of it when you went to drop off your reports. Two of the agents that were being reassigned to Steve's team - that were currently on a month-long mission in Chad - were gossiping outside Tony's office.

" - and apparently she ran out crying. Thought she wasn't good enough for him or something along those lines. I don't know."

"Yeah, apparently the breakup was grizzly."

"I feel bad for him you know, all of the shit he went through with Hydra, and now this?"

"Yeah, man, really sucks."

Your face blushed a bright red. What the fuck? Where did this rumour even come from? You knew for a fact that Bucky hadn't had a girlfriend since living in the compound so wherever that part of the rumour came from was completely untrue.

You had to get to the bottom of this.

You spent the better part of the next 2 days collecting bits of information from conversations between people around the compound. You found out that the rumour had originated from a conversation between Nat and Sam, which an agent had overheard while they were on their run. It had been twisted as most oral stories were leading to this big misleading idea that Bucky was unable to even get it up and that he was unable to please a woman. You were sure the latter part was untrue. You'd heard the way he moaned alone in his room - you were sure that you could cum just from his moans alone. He wouldn't even need to touch you.

You didn't think the rumour would affect you when Bucky got back. After all, you knew at least some of it to be false. But when he got back, his beard grown out a little because he couldn't shave it while he was away, you felt embarrassed. Not because of his supposed 'predicament' but because you felt as if you had found out something that you maybe weren't supposed to know.

Bucky caught on quicker than you would have liked. The night after he got back, Tony had thrown a little get-together to 'celebrate midsummer'. Realistically, Tony just wanted a reason to go out and drink with his friends. You had avoided Bucky most of the night - not necessarily intentionally, but Bucky still felt slightly hurt and more than a little confused.

He caught you alone on the balcony, looking out at the stars.

"Did I do something?" He said, sneaking up behind you and making you jump. Nervousness and insecurity laced his every move, worried that he had hurt you in some way that he couldn't possibly imagine.

You shook your head violently, scared to make eye contact with him. He lifted your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"What's wrong?" You turned back to face the sky, embarrassment filling your chest. He laced his metal fingers into yours, "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"It's stupid."

"No, it's not. Nothing's stupid, not if it's you." Your heart fluttered at his words.

Your eyes met his steady gaze, "It's really stupid." His eyes begged you to go on, "It's just that - um - when I got back I - um - heardthisreallystupidrumourandIshouldn'thaveletitgettomebutbasically -"

Bucky placed a hand on your waist, drawing small circles, "Breathe."

"Someone said you had trouble pleasing women." You let out quietly. If it hadn't been for his enhanced hearing, he probably would have missed you. His grip on your waist tightened, "Bucky?"

"Trouble pleasing women? That's a new one." His deep voice cut you to your core. You let out a small whimper as the arousal pooled in your panties.

Bucky didn't miss that either.

He grabbed your arm and led you through the party. No one gave you a double look as he lead you into the vacant elevator, slamming your floor number and pushing you up against the wall.

"Think I can't please a woman, huh? Think again. Don't think I don't know what you think about when you cum all over your hand, whining my name under your breath." You whined lowly at his words, feeling how he pushed his hard dick perfectly in line with your throbbing pussy, "Isn't that right, slut? That's what you are, aren't you? My perfect little slut?" You moan at his degrading statement, pushing your pussy further onto his cock trying to find some friction.

"So needy," He tutted, his condescending tone only heightening your arousal. The elevator door pinged and Bucky picked you up bridal-style, kicking the door to your room open. You regularly forgot to lock it while heading down to dinner - for once, both you and Bucky were glad.

He dropped you on your bed, unceremoniously, eyes raking over you ravenously. The heat rose up your face, as you shifted under his unrelenting gaze.

"Oh baby, you don't how long I've been waiting for this." He leaned down locking your lips in a passionate kiss. His palm landed just above your knee, caressing up your leg towards your upper thigh. His hand slid under your dress, cupping your ass. He left a light squeeze, making you gasp into the kiss.

He leaned down, grabbing you with ease, flipping you both so you were straddling his waist. He tangled his flesh hand in your hair, the metal one possessively gripping your hip. He brought you down to his lips for another kiss - even when you were on top, he made sure you knew that he was in charge.

He toyed with the hem of your dress, eyes raking over you once again.

"Off."

You pulled the dress over your head, leaving you in your bra and panties. You felt seriously underdressed, especially considering Bucky was still in his jacket. He reaches up, joining your lips in another kiss, and reaching around to remove your bra. He tosses it to the side, running his knuckles over your pebbled nipples. You moan loudly, panties soaked. He takes his time pinching and squeezing your nipples, licking and biting as he went. The alternate sensations of one warm hand and one ice-cold heighten your arousal ten-fold. You buck your hips over his jeans, the sensation of his fly between your sensitive folds throwing you into overdrive.

His grip on your waist tightened once again. "I can feel your cunt throbbing, honey." You whimpered pathetically. "Go ahead, use me to get off. I know you want to."

Your hips started bucking off their own accord, clothed pussy running over the fly of his jeans. They started slow, getting a feel for what exactly you were doing. Bucky's hands started pushing you faster, setting a faster groove. The coil in your stomach began to tighten as your bucking became more erratic. You teetered on the edge of an orgasm when Bucky stopped you.

"Beg." He restarted your pace, faster and more erratic than before.

"Please, please, please, please, Bucky, please let me cum, please..-" You babbled, tripping and stumbling through your pleas. With a searing kiss, he gives you permission.

"I love you, I love you, I love, OH-" You fall off the edge of one of the hardest orgasms you've ever had, head empty with only one thing on your mind. Bucky.

You feel Bucky manhandle your body so your back is lying on the bed and he is towering over you. He asks you if you want to go on and all you can do is nod your head vigorously.

He chuckles, "I like your enthusiasm baby, but I need words. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, YES!" You shout, breathlessly, already needing more.

He's fully naked and it's all you can do to not stare. He's definitely a well-endowed man, and he definitely has no problem getting it up.

"Like what you see?" He smirks, and you slap his thigh playfully. He pulls you further toward the edge of the bed and lines his dick up with your slick folds. He slides in slowly, holding your chin up so you keep eye contact with him. He watches as your eyes roll to the back of your head in satisfaction. You've never felt so full in your life. He presses into you slowly, feeling the way your tightness engulfs him, allowing your body to adjust to his size. You whimper softly as he pushes in - you never realised just how desperate you were for him.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He chuckles, watching as tears leak out of your eyes. His condescending tone was back, and all it did was make you hornier. You babbled incoherently, "Gone dumb already? What a cock-drunk little slut you are."

He trails a metal finger up the side of your torso, watching the goosebumps left in its wake. You whimper again.

"Such a needy little baby. Only I can take care of you like this, right? Only me."

"Only you." You affirmed, pressing a kiss to the arm near your head.

He pulled out almost entirely, before slamming all the way back in. You screamed in pleasure, and Bucky set a brutal pace. He pinned your arms above your head with his right hand, and his left hand came to wrap around your throat. The significance of that was not lost on you. He loved you enough to not hurt you, even with his metal arm.

"I love you, baby. You know that right?" Bucky looked you deep in the eyes, "You know I love you right?"

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you," You babble back, lost in the throes of passion.

Bucky found your clit with his metal hand, pressing and flicking gently. You felt your muscles tighten for a second time, and you grabbed the sheets throwing your head back as you came harder than the first time.

Bucky came moments later, deep inside you with a loud moan. He pulled out slowly, collapsing next to you. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling yourself into his neck.

He chuckled at that, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a bear hug. You stayed like that for a minute before he untangled himself from you and carried you to the bathroom.

He turned on the shower and you both stepped under it, cleaning the sweat and cum off your bodies. Your legs felt like jelly, so you leaned heavily into Bucky as he washed you off.

"Stay awake, doll, just for a second," He said, shaking you awake each time you dozed off in the shower.

Bucky pulled some of your clothes onto your body, before setting you down on the bed. He gave you a quick kiss to the forehead before promising to be back soon.

He snuck into his room wrapped in a towel, before throwing on the first pair of sweats he could find and dashing to the kitchen for a cup of water.

He snuck back into your room, to see you already dead asleep on the bed. He slipped under the covers, tugging you closer to his chest, and smiled.

Through your grogginess, you nuzzled into his chest. "I love you." You whispered, your lips resting against his heart.

You woke up to the sound of soft snoring in your ear and sunlight streaming through the window. You smiled. You untangled yourself from Bucky's arms, disappearing into your bathroom to pee. You wash your face and brush your teeth before diving back into Bucky's arms.

Your legs were still sore from last night, but you didn't care. You were Bucky's and Bucky was yours. The very thought put a massive smile on your face.

"What's tickled your feather this morning?" Goddamn, his morning voice was sexy. You smiled and pressed a hard kiss to his lips.

Bucky smiled through the kiss. He picked you up by the thighs, carrying you while he brushed his teeth and splashed his face.

The compound was pretty silent, barely anyone was awake after drinking the night away. So, while Bucky made you pancakes for breakfast, you asked him the question, "Hey, Buck, where did the rumour come from?"

He looked at you, vaguely embarrassed, "You know that day, when me and Nat were gonna go down to train?"

You face flushed red, "When I walked out in my underwear?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "I got a hard-on, like a teenage boy."

You stifled a laugh.

"So, Nat said, do I wanna go deal with it? And I told her I couldn't."

You looked at him confused, "Why not?"

"Cause of you," he said simply. You looked at him even more confused, "You were the only thing I got get off to. I tried everything else. Porn, erotica, even thinking about old sex. Nothing worked."

You flushed red again. "Oh god, I've weirded you out, haven't I?" You broke off his impending spiral with a kiss.

"I love you." You said, placing a kiss on his bare chest.

He looked at you with such love and reverence that you felt like you might combust under his gaze.

He kissed you again and all you could think was, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

I love you, I love you, I love you.

I love you I love you I love you.

fin.

buy me a coffee

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky angst #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bukcy barnes #bucky x female reader #winter soldier #bucky imagine #bucky smut

3K notes · View notes

nev3rfound · 1 year

Text

does it get easier? : b.b

a few weeks have passed since Steve left to return to his old life, leaving those who loved him behind to try and carry on. but for some, it's easier said than done. (1.3k)

it's an angsty one, all I'll say.

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop

Everyone could see the dark clouds swarming the sky, the never-ending wash of rain they brought with them for company, and the sight of you sitting outside with your head held low.

"It's still early days." Sam reasons, standing alongside Bucky and Wanda with heavy hearts.

The rolls of thunder quickly follow, but you barely flinch at the sound.

"She'll catch a cold if she stays out there." Carol sighs, emerging from the kitchen with a mug of coffee in her grasp before joining the trio to watch the glum view before them.

"Or pneumonia." Wanda huffs light-heartedly, still lost in her own mind to really focus on yours. "Bucky, why don't you go see her?" The witch suggests, and Sam glances out of the corner of his eye at the sight of Bucky tensing from the suggestion.

The former soldier shifts slightly on the spot whilst keeping an eye fixated on you at all times, noticing you tug on your jacket and your hand shaking.

"You're the only one she'll actually talk to." Sam adds, knowing it's true.

Out of everyone left, the only person you could honestly and openly confide in would be Bucky as he's all you have left of everything you knew.

Breathing out a yes, Bucky forces the door open and slips out. Before it's fully shut, his metal hand lingers. "Do you mind not watching this?" He asks, looking between the Avengers stood in front of him.

"But we're just getting to the good bi-" Sam starts, only to be jabbed by Wanda. "Sure." Clearing his throat, Sam curtly nods before walking away with Wanda and Carol, grumbling as he does.

Slowly, with his hands buried into his pockets, Bucky starts to walk toward you. He briefly stops, turning back around to see the others wearing disappointed expressions, notably still watching despite his previous request.

"Forgot this." Bucky motions to the umbrella as he slides the doors shut, waving the onlookers away, and this time, they reluctantly oblige.

In your peripheral vision, you can see someone approaching. Your ears perking at the sound of boots against the dewy grass, your hair sticking to you as droplets fall onto your jeans, soaking through to your bones. At this point, the coolness is like a second skin, it doesn't feel so bad after a while.

Suddenly the rainfall stops above you, yet you can still hear the delicate pattering and see it falling ahead. With a breath, your gaze lifts to see the large span of fabric covering you, and Bucky staring down back at you with a solemn expression.

"So," Bucky's tensing at his own words, unsure where his sentence is supposed to take him. "I was gonna try and make small talk, but I think we're a week past that, doll." Trying to lighten the mood, Bucky kneels beside you whilst your eyes stay fixated ahead at the courtyard.

"He always said he'd dance with me in there." A raspy voice unlike your own sounds, but you continue nonetheless. "Said we'd dress up all nice like we used to. Play some songs from the dance halls, you know the ones?"

Bucky nods, remembering those days all too well. You'd dance around without a care in the world, twirling in Bucky's arms whilst Steve remained a wallflower until you took his hand in yours. That was the first time Bucky saw a spark in little Steve's eyes, one that mirrored his own whenever he looked at you.

Bringing your legs to your chest, you avert your gaze from the courtyard, burying the thoughts. "Well, that'll never happen now. Stupid of me to even think about it now." Scolding yourself, Bucky shakes his head before sitting down on the damp grass.

"You know," He starts, furrowing his brows before continuing. "I always thought Steve was a terrible dancer."

And that's when Bucky hears it. The sound he's longed to hear that has been absent for weeks since Steve left.

Your hand rests on your face, trying to conceal your laughter with an ill attempt. "You can't say that!" You playfully nudge him, still smiling which hurts less than you anticipate.

Holding his free hand up in defense, Bucky shrugs his shoulders. "He was, always trippin' over his feet or getting stunned by all the dames. Unlike some." He adds, watching you roll your eyes at that.

"He tried his best." Your smile drops, picturing Steve with Peggy. "But sometimes best just isn't good enough, huh?" Tears return with ease to your eyes, pooling over the edge as the painful lump scratches at your throat.

Without a moment of hesitation, Bucky envelopes you into his arm, holding you into his chest. He knew his heart was beating faster than it should, but little did you know it was breaking into pieces at the sight of you like this.

"It's okay to miss him, doll. I know I do." Bucky admits, though there are thousands of things he would say to Steve if he could, knowing not all are as pleasant as others; the main question would be why leave you like this? Someone so perfect, so kind and caring. How could he leave you behind?

Sniffing, you bury your head further into Bucky and wrap your arms around him. You can remember the seldom occasions when you'd be like this with Bucky.

The first was when Steve was beaten up in the 30s for being different, you couldn't stand the sight then of his bloodied face. He ignored you when you tried to help, resulting in Bucky coming to your aid. The second time was when Bucky returned from the war alongside Steve. Everyone was looking at Steve, though he too had changed, something shifted in Bucky's gaze. Truth be told, you were relieved to have a friend back.

The third was when you woke up in a whole other world, unsure how you got there but saw a familiar face there ready to welcome you in open arms.

And the fourth, when Steve returned after returning the infinity stones. He had lived a long and happy life without either of you. The moment you saw the old man on the bench, your arms loosened from Bucky, and you haven't said a word until now.

"Does it ever get easier?" You dare to ask, the rain now easing up as the grey clouds begin to part ways, saying farewell for now. "To lose someone you love?"

Bucky allows the question to linger in front of him; his answer remaining on the tip of his tongue as his lips part. He misses seeing your smile, and the gleeful laughter you often shared together at the discussion of stories new and old. Yet, he always admired the glint in your eyes, saddened that it was always directed at someone else.

Easing his grip on your body, he sits upright, lowering the umbrella from above you both. "I'm still learning, doll." He sighs deeply, seeing your lip quivering before inhaling harshly. "But it'll get easier, I know it will."

"Yeah." Nodding along, you remove yourself from Bucky, unaware of the light fading from his eyes at the moment of the withdrawal. Forcefully wiping the stray tears away, you find yourself looking up at the sun shining down on you both. "At least we'll always have each other, yeah?" Your voice is laced with hope as you glance back to Bucky, who smiles softly at your words.

Rising to his feet, Bucky extends his hand to you which you gladly accept. With his other hand, Bucky reaches forward and brushes your damp hair from your face, wishing he could cradle your cheek in his hand before muttering his response. "I promise you doll, I'm not goin' anywhere."

t a g l i s t (thank you for the support!) link in my bio and at the top of this piece to add yourself☺️(if your user isn’t tagged, it’s because nothing comes up sorry!)@bissstuff @psychicforest@lourightm@mywinterwolf@justsomedreaming @stanlux17 @smokeandnailz @supermoonchildbroski @xrosegoldwolfx@courtneychicken@marvelsangels@supraveng@tommy-lee-81@smilexcaptainx@fandom-princess-forevermore@sarge-barnes-sir@pleasantlysecretdream @decaffeinated-fangirl @howdyherron @kirby-boo @florencxs@eldahae @handmesomecoffee @hi-my-name-is-riley @dev1lbella @thanossexual @alissaginger @sambucky8@notbrooklynsblog@nikkixostan @cosmiccaptian @adoreyou976@sarcasticallywitty15@multi-fandom-princess07@16boyfriends-and-me@courtneychicken @mackevanstan80 @torchwoodoctor@pleasantlysecretdream@yougottalovefandoms@magicalxdaydream@soccer-100000 @tenaciousperfectionunkown

@talksoprettyjjx @btsonthedaily @jessyballet@katiaw2@buckyswildflower@lucrea@weenersoldierr@katiaw2@lucrea@amelia-song-pond@bluelakeee@dottirose@emilytheukuleleplayer@5-seconds-of-mendes @rudystilinski @bookfrog242@wild-rose-35@fleurlovesbucky@iiclarixa@soldierstucky@twinerd14@lieswithoutfairytales@ateliefloresdaprimavera@teenwonder@weenersoldierr@nobody-will@ilikemypolarbear@rottenstyx@original-in-itself@sebby-staan@bbl32@lyoongx @iilwjbb @siriuslyslytherin@chazubagi @youngmarveltastypersona @iamninaannaisreading@marry-me-calum-hood@original-in-itself@clownerlyluv

@emilyprentisslittlewhore@amelia-song-pond@buckleyx@jesuswasnotawhiteman@hallecarey1@sleutherclaw@wonderwoman292@paintballkid711@leyannrae@blackwidownat2814@lmao-ethel@fillechatoyante@evanpetersisreallyhot@i-neverasktwice@aconfusedslytherin@kpopnena@ruzannetheseahorse@yelenabelovasgf@harysty@pastelreds@it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @keyanasstuff @marvelatthisone @natblackwidow2 @bucky-stan14 @chiyongberry @stuckybarton @alexxavicry

385 notes · View notes

ultralightpoe · 2 years

Text

Bleeding - Bucky Barnes

Description: Part 4 bishesssssss

Authors Note: There will be two more parts! The next one is the finale and the one after is a peek into life after the events

Warnings: A lot of injuries

Word Count: 3899 (once again yikes)

Part 1 : Transfer HERE

Part 2: Visits HERE

Part 3: Returning HERE

MAIN Master List - - Marvel Master List

He sees you in an instant.

The entire team had gotten ready early that morning, bustling with excitement at the idea of seeing you again. He couldn’t even prep the knife strap on his thigh properly because his hand was shaking too much.

Steve had rushed them all out the door, not that they needed it since everyone was running for the jet, and he all but knocked down 5 people in the halls on his walk there. Captain America, man for the people until Y/n is mentioned.

When the jet ramp opens slowly to allow the team to board he sees you in the back bunk within a split second, eyes trained on you like you were the last bit of sunlight in an apocalypse. And damn it felt great to finally be able to breathe in and relax when he knew you were safe and alive.

You had changed your hair since you had last seen him, shorter and neater, and you looked like you gained some of your weight back which had his chest filling with an unfiltered joy. You looked healthy. You left the team behind and took care of yourself.

Everyone is staring at you as they board, no one even bothering to hide it, and you are already fast asleep in your bunk which gives Bucky a moment to evaluate you closer. (Not too close, he isn’t a perv)

Besides the hair and weight there were a couple more changes. You had a scar at the top of your chest where your suit was unzipped slightly to expose just that bit, from the surgery to remove the bullet. You had a brace on your hips and knee, the type that made moving and walking hard and he already knew that was from the hip replacement after your encounter with the bomb.

You have headphones in while you breathe softly, eyes shut and looking as comfortable as you can get in the moment and he takes just a second to admire this before Yelena is racing him for the top bunk in the right corner of the jet.

You weren’t actually sleeping, come on, only true idiots would believe that. But as you felt everyone's eyes on you when they boarded the quinjet you were doing your best to keep the rouse because your old friends were indeed true idiots.

The sounds of them quietly boarding and getting ready bled through your headphones and apart of you was honored by the fact that no one was being loud to wake up you…… that is until Wingers team showed up 4o minutes later.

“MORNING TEAM!” He calls which has Steve audibly sighing from the bunk above yours and your do your best not to smile at the torture these two are about to inflinct on eachother over the next 2 weeks. “Who is ready for an awesome mission?!”

“You should have been here 30 minutes ago.” Steve mumbles, the sound of his bunk jostling around told you he was sitting up. “You're the team leader and you need to do evaluations.”

“I’ll do evaluations in the air. Thanks for your concern Raymond.” Winger snarks which has some of his team members laughing like Hyenas. The sound annoys you to your bones. “Is Y/n asleep?”

You hear someone approach and assume that Winger is about to ruin your rouse and ‘wake you up’ but then you feel rather than see Steve hop from the top bunk in front of yours. “Yes. She is.”

It’s silent for a moment and you already know everyone is tense, a part of you debates whether you should yawn and wake up to help ease the tension but your debate is won out when Steve closes the curtain around your bunk and the one at the end cascading you in the dark.

You always chose the bunk in the corner so you had two stable walls around you and you could sleep with your back to them and not have nightmares. This was an absolute must for you since you had joined Shield and it was something you didn’t really want to admit out loud.

So when you got a mission with The Captain America you knew that you would not risk getting a shit bunk and have night terrors in the middle of the night, so you did what any anxiety induced person would. You showed up an hour early.

The ramp door wasn’t open yet so you climbed through the pilots door, your new duffel heavy on your back as you climbed the ladder and hoisted yourself up, closing it behind you and heading to the bunks on the jet.

It’s there you see him, the very first time you see Steve Rogers in person. He is already claiming the bunk you always claim, right in the corner with two walls and now it would just be weird if you grab the same one when there are nearly 10 more empty.

“It wouldn’t be weird to grab it. I do the same thing.” He says, pulling you out of your stupor before moving so you can climb to the top bunk.

Every long mission you had with Steve from then on you shared that bunk. He always saved it for you if he showed up first and vice versa.

You had actually passed out.

You awoke in a sweat, trying to catch your breath and trying to remember where you were. Right. Bottom bunk, back right corner, quinjet 14 on an extended mission for frickin Fury.

It’s a moment before a small light fills your area, Steve's concerned face poking through the curtains as he looks at you. “You okay?”

You manage a nod, doing your best to slide out of the bunk smoothly, your hip and it’s brace fighting you every moment of the way. Steve does his best to help you, awkwardly trying to hold your arm while you lift out.

“Would the top bunk be easier for you to move around? You wouldn’t have to bend so low on your hip.” He whispers, already grabbing his gear to make it easier for you.

“It’s fine Steve.”

“No. Let’s put you on top, that way you’re not crawling out all the time and it’s less stress on your hip.” He murmurs, moving everything around and switching the pillows around. “Wait. But you would have to use the ladder and that might hurt your hip too-”

“Steve. It doesn’t matter.” You stop him, grabbing your pillow and placing it on the top one so he doesn’t move everything around again. You had a feeling this would just lead to him turning on his mother mode.

“Y/n! You’re awake, come here.” Winger calls from the table in the intersection from the bunks to the cockpit, maps and gear laid out in front of him. Rubbing your eyes to chase off the fatigue you move closer to him, taking a second to check out the maps as you do. “Lets do you evaluation.”

“Shouldn’t you have done those before we took o-”

“Is there anything hindering you and or affecting your physical status? Will you be able to perform at 100 percent for this mission?”

“My hip replacement?” You ask, confusion lacing your tone. “You know I am not a field agent right? I’m here to hack the main system.”

“You will need to be on the field to do that?” Winger snarks, looking at you as if you were dumb. This catches everyone's attention (although you sure they were already eavesdropping) and Nat and Sam decide to step in.

“Y/n should be able to hack from the jet. We are sent in to distract them and take down the base while she gets their information before they self-destruct.” Nat argues, stepping beside you.

“No. We can’t risk any of our equipment to theirs. Fury said that Y/n would need to hack from their own computer and put it on a flash.”

“This wasn’t what I agreed to.” It made sense now, why he waited to do the evaluations, one look at Steve told you he had figured it out as well. They had trapped you in this role.

“Well it’s your job.”

“Y/n can’t be on the field. She can barely move at a regular pace.” Bruce argued, stepping closer. “This would be a death wish on all of us-”

“Y/n is a field agent. These are her orders that she has been given and any mistake that may cost her her life is not the team's matter or in the hands of shield. She knew what she was getting into when she agreed to the missio-”

“No. She didn’t. You lied to her.” Bucky snaps, hopping off his top bunk and storming up with Yelena in tow. Wait, Yelena was here? When did she become an agent?

“This discussion is over. We help Y/n infiltrate the base and then she gets the flash drive.” Winger snaps, storming to the cockpit as you carve into the fury.

“Great. I was sent to die surrounded by people I hate.” You snap, storming to the bunks and trying to climb up the bunk. You struggle for a moment before someone is behind you, lifting you up so you can easily swing your leg and not bend it.

When you look back you see Bucky, ever perfect looking Bucky, assessing whether you were okay rather than meeting your eyes, causing you to snap a “I’m fine. Fuck off.”

They all leave you alone after that, though you catch them staring at you quite often, glaring back. You take to drawing in your sketchpad, imagining how hard you will hit Fury when you get back.

The rest of the day is spent in silence, which is actually the sign of good luck for a mission, everyone strewn about trying to keep busy. Lights out by 9, the jet dark with the lights of the controls and monitors breaking it from being pitch black.

Steve asks if you need anything else before he gets comfortable, worried about you being on the top bunk and asks if you want to move back. You just turn away and close your curtain as an answer. You pass out quickly, and the next 3 days follow this same routine.

The chain is broken when you wake up to hear shuffling below you and Bucky's metal arm whirring as he resets it. “Landing in 30 minutes. He should be waking his team up to prepare.”

“I’d rather wake him up by popping my fist into his skull.” Bucky snaps, voice low. “What the hell is Fury doing? She hasn’t been on a mission in months and the last one nearly cost her her life. Not to mention he is sending her in with two teams she doesn’t trust.”

“This isn’t looking good.” Steve agrees right as you hear Nat and another set of feet touch the floor of the jet.

“Everyone keep our eyes on Y/n. Winger and his team are our last cause of concern.” It’s Nats voice that says this, demanding and unwavering with Yelena and Sam agreeing. “Bruce will stay on the jet and keep it prepped and ready to go in case we need to make a fast exit.”

Everyone agrees and moves about to prepare as you try to calm yourself down. You were once again dragging this team down. No matter what you did you were an issue to them.

Winger finally dragged his ass out of bed 10 minutes later, yawning like he had no cares in the world before shooting Bucky a smug smile. “Morning Tinman.”

“Bucky. You might need this.” Tony snaps from beside Steve, the soldier noting that this was the first time the man had actually said his name. He hands Bucky his sniper gun which he slings over his shoulder no problem.

“I’ll pair with Y/n.” It’s not a question and he doesn’t look at you when he says it. He honestly expects you to argue but instead it’s WInger that argues.

“Y/n will be with me. I’m the leader of this mission.”

“You want her on the field? Fine. But Y/n is with me or one of my team. That’s final-”

“I’m with Bucky.” You mumble from where you are lacing up your boot in the corner, not looking up. “If something happens he is the best option to get the drive out.”

Winger rolls his eyes and storms off to suit up, getting a glare from Bucky the entire time. Once he is out of sight the super soldier moves towards you and kneels in front of you, gently grabbing your calf and placing it on his thigh to lace up your other boot so you wouldn’t have to bend the knee a lot.

“I’m the best option to get YOU out if something happens. That drive is the least of my fucking concern and I need you to know that.” He mutters softly, looking up to stare at you as he slowly laces your boot. He would admit to taking his time with it, wanting to be close to you as much as possible.

You only stare back, eyes hardened but your lip quivers a little bit. “The drive is the mission and if we don’t get it then-”

“Fuck the mission. And you need to be prepared for anything. Something is up and I don’t believe Winger for a second.” He finishes up the tie of the shoe, flesh hand tracing up your calf as he helps you stand normally. But instead of getting up and moving on, he unstraps his knife from his thigh and begins strapping it on to yours.

“I don’t need i-” He walks off before you could argue more, moving to finish his own prep, ignoring the smile Yelena sends his way and the way she wiggles her eyebrows.

It’s another hour before the team is fully prepped, mostly because Winger was a bit of a mess, but Bucky knew something was off. The ‘leader’ was acting odd and would not make eye contact.

As the ramp lowered everyone gathered up, 14 total. Bucky and Steve stayed close to you, flanking your sides as Yelena and Nat backed them up, sam and clint taking the steps in front of you.

“Princess has her whole protection huh?” Winger teases, a hint of anger in his tone. Something is definitely up, Bucky thinks, watching the male before him.

“We aren’t sending one of our own on this mission without backup.” Steve snaps, tightening his shield.

‘Okay. Listen up. Rogers, Belova and Archie as a team. Wilson, Romanoff and Barton another. Maximoff, Stark, Jameson and Williams another. Barnes, L/n and I will be intel lead and banner stays aboard the ship as backup.” Winger announces before going over the plan once more.

Within the next few minutes the teams set out. Team A, Steve and Yelena with Wingers agent take the floor plan. Team B, Clint, Sam and Nat will go through the third floor windows for a sneak attack while Team c (wanda, tony, and the two winger agents) would take to the higher levels.

Bucky is walking on your right, staying as close to you as possible and waiting for the moment Winger isn’t paying attention to slip the teams intercom on your ear. You jump a bit as his flesh hand touches your neck, letting him fix the wire so it’s not noticeable.

“I already have one.” You murmur as Winger snaps his head towards you both. Bucky, worried he is about to be caught, kisses your forehead lightly and plays it off like you were talking about a kiss. “And now you have three.”

You catch on then, face flushing as you smile slightly at him. It was the team's intercom he was giving you, one that Winger could not know about.

“Okay. We camp here for 30 minutes as the teams infiltrate and then take the first opening we see.” Winger snaps, crouching low behind a row of bushes. You and Bucky follow, him not missing the wince as you crouch.

“So did Fury mention why Y/n needed to be on the ground?” He asks, turning on his comn smoothly so his team could hear the conversation.

“No. He didn’t.”

“Usually Fury explains orders like that to everyone. I didn’t hear anyth-”

“Fury didn’t give the orders.”

“But you said on the jet that he did.” You note, eyebrows popping up as Bucky nods.

One of Wingers agents lets everyone know the third floor is clear as Sam speaks into Buckys right ear “Agent 3 just cleared a floor without taking out one hydra agent. Bucky watch your back this is a trap through and through.”

“Alright, the third floor it is. Y/n let's go.” Winger rushes out, taking off. You give Bucky a look before following and Bucky could feel his own blood freeze as he takes off after you.

Nothing can happen to her. I would rather die. He thinks as he catches up. Winger leads the way, catching the grappling hook on the open window with ease and hoisting himself up. You follow, keeping a little distance between him and you but staying close to Bucky thank whatever gods there were.

Once his foot hits the floor of the building he is alert, gun pointed and standing in front of you. “Take the lead Winger.”

“You should go ahead and I walk with -”

“Take. The. Lead. Winger.”

The agent does, glaring as he takes his first steps and Bucky starts following. Until 30 steps in he turns whirls around with a smile and winks. “You’re just too predictable lover boy.”

Then the world fell apart.

You hear the explosion, the sound rupturing your ears. You feel the heat as the floor beneath you disappears and you know you scream as Bucky lunges for you. A shot rings out as his arms wrap around you, one second of splitting pain in your side as he wraps around you like a blanket, shoving your face in his neck as you both fall.

One story passes and you hear him curse, you’re still screaming as you try and cling to him.

Two more stories and you know you are nearing towards the end of the fall.

By the fourth story you are prepared for the body ache that was sure to come. Bucky weighs his metal arm out to twist you both around as he falls on his back with you laying on his chest.

His head hits the concrete with a snap and his arm screeches from where he tried to break the fall.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath, staring at him as he inspects you for injuries. “You hit your head.” Is the first thing you strangle out, crying in pain as he rolls you around so that you are on the floor and he is above you.

He keeps a leg wrapped around your bad one so his knee touches the ground instead of your hip or injured leg. “You’re bleeding.”

“You hit your head.” You repeat, reaching up to touch his forehead as he puts pressure on your side. “I wasn’t hit Buck.”

“You were! You’re bleeding.” He snaps, causing you to look down to the newest gunshot wound on your side. “Holy shit buck-”

“I know. Just stay calm. We can call the tea-”

“No no. Your-.” You murmur, pushing his hands off you to sit up and inspect his side. He fights the movement until seeing the bar sticking through his stomach. “Shit shit shit.”

“It’s fine.”

“We have to take it out before you start healing around it.” You mumble, a bit dazed as you reach for it.

“No. Your gunshot woun-”

“BUCKY! Y/N! Come in! Can you hear…… Buck….. Y/n-” Steve’s voice breaks through your comns causing you both the jump a bit. You rip out the one in your left ear so you can hear his announcement.

“It was a trap and they cornered Bruce. Our jet is ruined.” Nat snaps, the sound of her fighting in the background. “We need to get to the meeting spot now!”

“Winger knows where that is.” You argue to Buck, hands applying pressure to his wound.

“Winger knows where the original spot was. He has no clue where our new spot is.” Bucky gives a weak smile, face paling a bit. “You didn’t really think I would let my girl go into a mission like this with no backup plan would you?”

“You guys planned on this?” You whisper, fighting against the pain to scoot closer.

“I didn’t plan on this specifically.” He mutters bitterly, hands flying to your side. “But I did plan on something. I did not fucking embarrass and torture myself for a year and a half by ignoring you only to lose you to some fucktard named Winger.”

“Buck…..” You whisper, head tilting up as he physically melts closer, eyes softening. “Can you do something for me?”

“Anything so long as you never call me Barnes again Dollface.” He whispers back, nose against yours as you smile.

“Kiss me.”

“What?” He blanches, eyes widening. “Y/n hey, no we are not dying down here so don’t force yourself to -”

“Kiss. Me. James.” His lips are on yours in an instant, hands tightening where they sit on your sides as he kisses you like there is nothing else in the world. You kiss back, just as eagerly, taking a moment to pray in your head before you rip the bar out of his stomach.

Blinding hot pain has him seeing white, one moment he is kissing the girl of his dreams and the next he is screaming in pain as you rip the metal from him. He falls back to the floor and you are above him, pressing onto the wound with a grimace as your hands begin to glow.

Blackness takes his vision for a minute and when he arises you are sobbing and screaming at him. “JAMES WAKE UP-”

He launches to sit up, hitting your heads as he does. “I’m up. I’m up.”

“Jesus, I thought you were dead. It’s been like 5 minutes and I couldn’t tell if you were breathing-” You sob as his hands grab at your chin softly. “I thought I was to late and that you-”

“I’ve never seen you use your power before.”

“I normally can’t.” You snap. “But in times when you’re about to die you find it’s quite easy to reach it.”

“Do you have enough to heal your side?”

“That’s not how it works Barn- Buck.”

“Okay. Let’s get you out of here.” He mumbles, using his strength to lift you up.

“I only healed as much as I could. Don’t overdo it.” You snap, trying to get down but he just tightens his grip. “Just give me a moment.”

He reels in his strength, breathing you in for a moment before standing. Swaying a bit as he tries to focus his blurry vision on a way out.

It’s as he is taking those first couple steps he hears you scream and the gunshot that follows sends you both to the ground once more.

616 notes · View notes

s-123-dont-know · 2 years

Text

Bucky Barnes Fic Recs

Fic Rec Masterlist

Last update May 15, 2022

A list of some of the fics I have read in my time on tumblr.

(ᵂᶦˢʰ ᴵ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˢᵃʸ ᶠᵒʳ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ ᶠᶦᶜ, ᴵ'ᵐ ʲᵘˢᵗ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ʷᶦᵗʰ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ, ˢᵒʳʳʸ. ᴶᵘˢᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᴵᶠ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵃʳᵉ ʰᵉʳᵉ ᶦᵗ'ˢ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉⁿʲᵒʸ ᵗʰᵉᵐ :⁾)

Series

Just one kiss by @sarahwroteathing (Definitely one of my favourites on this site. You won't regret reading this)

A world of our own by @shreddedparchment (Never read something like this and I really love it. Will be re reading this soon)

Nothing to despair by @bvccy (Another one of my absolutely favourite)

Russian roulette by Offcast (on Ao3)

Safe with me by @bitsandbobsandstuff

Almost had me believing it by @tuiccim (I think this is the first series I started reading so is a bit especial :')

Atrophile by @all1e23 (This series is just too cute)

Eye for an eye; Yours to wield

by @sinner-as-saint

The match by @babyboibucky

We'll meet again by @coffeecatsandcandles

For love by @moonbeambucky

Barnes Barnes & Barnes by @imaginedreamwrite (If you know other fics like this about different realities an universe feel free to leave it on the notes 🥰)

Masterlist by @wkemeup (Couldn't decided which one so I picked the whole masterlist)

Beneath the milky twilight by @babiebucky

The chosen one by @drabblewithfrannybarnes

With this ring by @barnesjamcs

Call me when you want by @bonky-n-steeb

One-Shots

When it all falls apart by @bucky-bucket-barnes (it's one of the most beautiful and heart breaking fics I've read 🥺)

Learning to accept by @multi-stann

The knowing by @buckycuddlebuddy (😭😭😭 that's all I have to say)

Winter baby by @scrumptious-delusion (Bucky is too adorable in this one)

Looped by @softlybarnes

Dog tags by @buckysknifecollection

Dimensional pain by @tuiccim (I really, really like this one :)

Just a little taste @angrythingstarlight (🥵)

Feel you by @x-ladyathena-x (🥺)

Strangers in the night by @sugarpplum

This one by @bvccy (That I still can't believe doesn't have a second part)

Buttoned up by @disturbedbydesign (Just 🔥)

Home where I belong by @hellotherekenobi

Mine by @irndad

Chronon by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

The sins of the father by @sunmoonandbucky

Waking up call by @starshipsofstarlord

Victim behind the gun @seventven

Open your eyes by @heloisedaphnebrightmore

🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

Don't forget to check these writers' masterlists. ❤️

ᵂᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵈᵉᶠᶦⁿᶦᵗᵉˡʸ ᵃᵈᵈ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᶠᶦᶜˢ ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᴵ ᶠᵒʳᵍᵒᵗ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ᴵ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶦⁿᶜˡᵘᵈᵉ. ᴹʸ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳʸ ᶦᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉˢᵗ.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes series #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes angst #winter soldier imagines

1K notes · View notes

heliads · 2 years

Note

Hi girl ❤️ inhope it's ok to send in a request. i thought of something where the reader is working at the Avengers Compound and trains new agents, but one of them grows fond of her and like creeps up on her or follows her around all the time. Soon Bucky noticed that and decides to help. As the guy then again waits up on you and gets too close for Bucky's liking, he steps in between and kisses you passionately, making the creep leave and takes you by surprise but continue to kiss him and later he finally asks you on a proper date ? i hope this is ok with you.

hi girl! that is more than ok with me.

masterlist

Bucky Barnes only hears about the incident until it’s been going on for two weeks.

Most of the time, Y/N’s more prompt about this, more willing to complain to him at a moment’s notice. That’s part of why they’re friends, after all, a fierce devotion to gossip that isn’t entirely welcomed in the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers. She’s candid today, but Bucky gets the feeling it’s only because she’s been holding back for a while and can keep her quiet no longer. It’s enough to make him listen even more than usual.

They’re at a small coffee shop now, just outside the perimeter of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most intense surveillance. They meet up for small gatherings like this about once a week, more frequently if something comes up. Bucky claims he needs it so he can be ‘more attuned to normal, 21st-century activities’ or whatever, but it’s definitely just so he can have an excuse to do something of his own free will that doesn’t involve a gun in his hands. Y/N knows it, too, and uses the exact same excuse for why she’s there.

They’ve only been sipping at their drinks for ten minutes before Y/N cracks and tells him what’s going on. She always jokes that she’s glad he never runs S.H.I.E.L.D. interrogations because she always ends up telling him everything the second they come face to face. Usually, Bucky humors himself and pictures it to be true, but after today, he’s not so sure of himself. If Y/N really is an open book around him, why is it that she could wait two whole weeks before telling him something like this?

The situation unfolds as Y/N explains herself, words tangling with the steam rising from their mostly untouched mugs of what, Bucky can’t remember. Something hot. He always orders in a rush, too eager to get back to that pleasant privacy of their favorite booth to linger too long on what drink he’ll be ignoring. They all taste mostly the same, anyway. His first few too eager sips always scorch the flavor from his true appreciation of what the baristas have concocted for him this time around.

It has to do with her job, Y/N says. Most things do. Y/N’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, one of their best and brightest. Bucky met her when he was first being taught the ropes of life as an Avenger. Technically, their paths were supposed to diverge when he had finished learning which buttons he could press in a given Quinjet and how not to cause a diplomatic incident due to people still being worried about the Winter Soldier coming out (spoiler alert: Bucky’s kind of one of them), but he’s too selfish to let her go quite so soon.

This is why he’s had the pleasure of learning more about the enigma that is Y/N L/N, how she takes her coffee, how she likes her knives. It’s also why Bucky assumed that their friendship meant he would have heard about something like this happening far earlier. The days in which they held their tongues over everyday grievances are long since over, if they ever happened at all.

At her core, though, Y/N is an agent, and that means she’s used to keeping secrets. This doesn’t come off as a secret, however, more like an indignation. A silent wound that she can’t address without feeling embarrassed or revolted about the whole affair.

There’s a man at the Avengers compound, one of the new agents. Like Bucky, he’s been there only a little while but wants to stay with Y/N for far longer than he should. Unlike Bucky, he’s being a creep about it. Bucky thinks he won Y/N over because he had a habit of minding his own business, something she valued in a building full of spies who’d turn each other in if it meant getting an extra promotion.

This newcomer, however, hasn’t quite learned that not everyone wants to instantly bond with him. He won’t leave Y/N alone and it’s wearing on her. The problem is that he hasn’t done anything outright to give her a reason to chastise him, it’s the little things. He keeps hanging around after practice ends, he stares at her during training sessions, he follows Y/N around the compound under the guise of wanting to ‘learn from the best,’ to quote him directly. Bucky wants to puke and he hasn’t even met the guy yet.

Y/N grimaces, head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do about it. His training cycle should end in a couple of weeks, but I doubt he’ll just up and vanish when that time comes. I’ve already had to make up a fair amount of excuses as to why I can’t give him my number. At some point I’m going to run out of fake smiles.”

Bucky discreetly scoots her half-full mug to the side, out of the way of dramatic hand movements so it’ll be safe from overturning in crucial moments. “He’s already asked for your number? Who is this guy?”

Y/N chuckles bitterly. “See, that’s what I was asking myself. I mean, I’ve been doing this sort of thing for years. There have been flirty trainees, but they’re always going to be there, and all of them so far have known when to back off. I don’t know what this guy’s problem is or why he can’t pick up on it, but it’s so frustrating.”

Bucky nods slowly. “What can I do to help? I don’t mind listening if that’s all you want, but I’d like to get rid of this guy if I can.”

“I’d like to get rid of him too,” Y/N says through a half smile, “but if I kill another trainee, Fury’ll have my ass.”

“Another?” Bucky asks, faintly worried.

“Any,” Y/N clarifies, although Bucky isn’t sure that makes him feel any better, “and I’d love to have your help, but I don’t know what to do. If me clearly not wanting to be around him doesn’t work, what would? The guy’s only smart in exams. His social skills could use some work when it comes to figuring out people aren’t interested in him. Tell you what, I’m just going to stick this one out. He’ll be gone in a few weeks anyway, I just need to hold down the fort long enough to see him leave.”

“You sure?” Bucky questions, “I don’t like the idea of this guy creeping you out all the time. I don’t mind stepping in, really.”

Y/N sighs, staring at her cooling beverage. “I need to be able to handle these sorts of problems by myself. If it looks like I have to reach out to the Avengers all the time, it’s not great for my leadership success. I appreciate it though, Bucky. Really, I do.”

Bucky lifts a shoulder. “Any time. If he does something, though, I have no problems with taking steps to enlighten him about why he should back off.”

“If he does something, I can finally step in myself,” Y/N counters, “Look, all the new agents are the same. One big scene, one display of force, and they know what’s what. All I need is an excuse and I can make sure this guy never tries a thing again. I just have to wait for the perfect opportunity.”

Bucky nods solemnly. “Until then, complain to me as much as you want. It’s the least I can do.”

Y/N’s eyes shine with ill-disguised mirth. “I just might take you up on that offer. You might regret your words once I rant to you for the thousandth time.”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it,” Bucky promises, and it’s true. He just likes hearing her talk, that’s all. It reminds him that he’s not so alone, that there are people in this world who can look at him like Y/N’s looking at him now and see someone worth searching for. Who wouldn’t dream of something like that? Certainly not a jaded ex toy soldier such as himself.

Despite her joking promise to talk his ear off, Y/N drops the subject soon enough. He can see it still bothers her, though. Over the next few weeks, Bucky comes into their favorite coffee shop to see her looking absolutely exhausted. It’s as if she’s been drained of every bit of her motivation, her will to keep on fighting. The second she spots him, Y/N manages to conjure some sort of mask, a winning smile and easy joke, but Bucky knows what he sees, what she’s hiding.

Somewhere in there, Y/N is hurting. Bucky hasn’t spent that much time in his own mind, but still, he knows this: whatever it takes to bring his Y/N back, he’ll do it. Bucky can freely admit that he lives for those precious hours in which it’s just the two of them, and if some asshole from her work is making her feel as if she can’t go anywhere without being haunted by bad memories, well, let’s just say it’s not going to end well for this newbie.

So, two weeks after that conversation, when Bucky is given a task that involves him being even remotely close to the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facilities, of course he’s going to use it as an excuse to check in on Y/N. Of course he is. How could he do anything else?

Bucky may not have any idea of this bothersome newcomer’s name or face, but the second he walks into the training center, he already knows which one of the black suited agents is his target. The agents in training are split into pairs on the fighting rings, with Y/N walking amongst them, shouting out pointers and making sure everyone is doing what they ought. And there, just two or three paces behind her, some young man with an idiotic expression on his face won’t leave her alone for a heartbeat. It’s stifling. No wonder Y/N hates him so much.

Y/N’s footsteps stall slightly when she sees Bucky at the door. He gives a little half wave and hates himself instantly for it. All the same, she smiles and starts walking his way.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, an easy grin on her face.

Bucky pretends to look affronted. “What, I have to have a reason? I can’t just come see you because I feel like it? That’s not very welcoming of you.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, although she’s clearly happy to see him, which makes Bucky quite happy in turn. “I’m an agent, Bucky. I don’t have to be welcoming.”

He’s about to say something back to that when the annoying agent (who’s still following Y/N around like a lost puppy, by the way) clears his throat and announces in an obnoxious voice that he had a question about one of the martial arts moves they learned earlier.

Y/N’s smile drops in an instant. “Tell you what, I have to get back to class. Today’s session ends in about ten minutes, though.”

Bucky nods. “I’ll wait up.”

She looks relieved at that, and only upon securing this promise allows the newcomer to lead her over to one of the training mats so he can pose his no doubt useless question. Bucky watches them go and wonders why the sight of that agent being so close to Y/N makes his blood boil. He’s just being a good friend, of course, in trying to help Y/N rid herself of this leech, but Bucky could swear that he’s got another reason for wanting this young man to back off. Or any young man, for that matter. Anyone except Bucky himself. No reason for that in the slightest.

The training session ends soon enough, as promised, and Bucky watches as the other agents head out in one great wave of exhausted grins and idle chatter. One sticks around, though, and of course it has to be that cumbersome agent that won’t leave Y/N alone. He’s practically hanging off of her. Across the room, Y/N shoots Bucky a desperate, wordless plea, and that’s when he knows that enough is enough.

Something Y/N told him in that coffee shop is sticking in his mind now, the part about how she’d step in if something were to ever happen. There’s nothing S.H.I.E.L.D. agents respect like a show of force, she’d said. Well, Bucky is about to put on a show now.

He crosses the training facility in about half a second. He needs to do something that’ll make it clear that this guy needs to back off forever. Maybe Bucky can say something smart or do something threatening. He’s fairly adequate at both.

When he blinks, though, he’s kissing Y/N. It isn’t what he anticipated doing, but for some reason it is the best thing he could have ever done. It strikes Bucky suddenly that he doesn’t want to just kiss her to freak out this other agent, but for Bucky himself. He wants to kiss her whenever he wants, whenever he can. He wants his time with her to last forever.

He forces himself to break away, to take a step back, and belatedly realizes that the agent is making his excuses for leaving. The other agent all but runs out of the place.

Bucky nods a little too quickly and tries to get himself together. “Well, I think that worked. He probably won’t stalk you again anytime soon.”

“Yeah,” Y/N says, looking dazed, “probably not.”

Bucky swallows hard. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that, it’s just, well, I didn’t know what to do, and it worked, obviously, but–”

Y/N cuts him off, smiling. “You don’t have to apologize for kissing me, Bucky. You never will.”

He looks back at her and realizes that she doesn’t look upset with him, not in the slightest. “Is that your way of telling me that I can kiss you again?”

“I think it is,” she confirms, and clearly Bucky can’t let her down, so he does as told. He doesn’t think that any scheme has ended better.

requested by @imagine-all-the-fandoms, i hope you enjoy!

321 notes · View notes