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randomshyperson · 1 month

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Baby, I'm Yours - Wanda Maximoff Oneshosts

Summary: The Avengers gain a new member, and Wanda Maximoff mistakenly assumes she has gained a rival instead of a friend. Or the one where Wanda has a crush that she doesn't know how to deal with. [Requested]

Warnings: really fluff, enemies to lovers, some kissing and a lot of teasing, avengers being a family, emo!Wanda and her first gay crush. | Words: 4.564k

A/N-> This was requested a while ago and I used it as practice for a winter soldier!reader idea that I had. Idk if I would ever make a series out of this idea, but it was fun to write this reader.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

Seven months after she joined the Avengers, someone else did too.

Unlike her, Sam was extremely excited by the news, he woke up early and somehow managed to convince Vision to join him in the welcome.

Wanda would have skipped the interaction - She only went to get breakfast and intended to spend the rest of the training-free day filled with interactions between the team, hiding in her room and watching old TV shows. But as soon as she noticed the little witch sneaking around the kitchen trying to go unnoticed by Sam's excited theories about who the new avenger would be, Natasha whistled and called out to her.

"Good morning, Maximoff. Do you intend to welcome our new colleague in pajamas?" The widow asked, hiding a teasing smile behind a cup of coffee.

The question already implied what Wanda had feared, and made her sigh. "I didn't know I was expected to take part in the welcome."

Nat grimaced softly - she seemed to be finding the whole thing very amusing.

"What an idea, Maximoff, of course you are! We were all there waiting for you when it was your turn."

She forced a smile, resisting the urge to snap back something bratty like "Thor wasn't". Deciding she had no reason to argue with Natasha, she busied herself with preparing some toast and pouring herself some tea.

When Sam suddenly tapped on the counter, everyone looked at him.

"I got it!" he declared excitedly. "I bet the new guy is Spider-kid!"

Nat frowned. "Who?" and then chuckled to the Falcon's obvious disappointment.

"Come on, the colorful vigilante who keeps throwing webs around? How come you've never heard of him?"

Assuming a thoughtful expression for a moment, Nat flipped through the newspapers on the counter before clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth.

"Ah, I think Tony's got his eye on that one." She says. "But, no, Wilson. The new recruit isn't the spider. And there's no point in giving me that look, as I won't spoil the surprise."

It looked like the subject was ending - at least that Sam was going to give up. It wasn't long before the rest of the team showed up for coffee, and Wanda mumbled a few good mornings back quickly before making her way to her own room, to change into something more presentable than fluffy pajamas.

But on the way to the bedroom, from one of the glass entrance doors, Steve Rogers appeared and he was accompanied.

"[...] Come on, we're early, they must still be having breakfast." Commented the older Avenger, busy taking off his coat, it took him a moment to notice that Wanda was in the hallway. She was staring, probably. "Oh, good morning, Wanda. I want you to meet someone."

But Wanda already knew you, straight from the television. And from the Shield's files of potential Avenger-level threats.

So maybe that's why when Steve said your name, patted you on the shoulder and you held out your hand for Wanda to shake, she just stared.

"Okay, not a handshaker." You mumbled awkwardly, lowering your arm. "You're Wanda Maximoff, mind reader and former enemy, right? I didn't expect the shock, given the circumstances."

"Hey, easy." Steve grumbled at your aggressiveness, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. Wanda narrowed her eyes at you, but you didn't look too intimidated, your posture relaxed and your hands in the pockets of your leather jacket. "That's in the past. We're all friends now. Aren't we, Wanda?"

With some resistance, she eventually forced a smile and tried to relax her posture. She sighed and nodded. "Of course, Steve. It's nice to meet you apart from the news, Miss Barnes. Should we wait for your brother to join us or does he still have Interpol on his back?"

You chuckle dryly. "Listen here, you-"

"Okay, enough." Steve interrupts, pulling you by the shoulders and giving Wanda a disapproving look. He also whispers that he'll have a talk with her later, but the witch turns away, dragging her feet back into the bedroom while you and Rogers head in the opposite direction.

On the way to the kitchen, you mutter: "And here I thought superheroes were polite."

The soldier chuckles briefly. "You tried to blow up the White House, you can understand the hesitation. Now come on, we've got the rest of the team to shock."

It had taken her hours to see you again, not that anyone had asked her opinion, but Steve had put you in the room next to hers on the justification that it would be good for the two of you to have someone close in age to pass the time.

Wanda grimaced and reminded him that you were about 150 years old. Steve chuckled.

"Technically, yes. But she spent almost all that time on ice, so she was only really around for less than 20 years. Can you please try to be friendly? You have more in common than you might think."

Wanda begrudgingly agreed to be the one to give you a tour of the tower. And so she could also discover that she was apparently the only Avenger who was hesitant about your presence on the team.

She knew your list of skills off the top of her head, but still wondered if you could read what she was thinking when you added; "Your hesitation is totally fine, Maximoff. It must be hard to share the podium as the team's coolest person, but you get used to it."

She chuckled awkwardly at the compliment mixed with teasing at the end of the tour. You offered her a farewell wink, thanking her for the favor before muttering that you needed a shower after several hours of driving. You disappeared to your own room before Wanda could come to a coherent conclusion as to why her heart was racing inside her chest.

Perhaps she was having a panic attack?

Wanda turned on her heels and made her way to Bruce's lab. A quick check-up would clarify things.

While assuring her that she didn't have a chronic arrhythmia, Bruce also - under the influence of Natasha and Tony - diagnosed her with something very common to teenage patients: a crush.

"Did you consider Miss Maximoff, that perhaps, you may have just liked her?"

She did not take this very well.

"What? That's ridiculous! I'm not even gay!" Bruce looked up from the normal results of the cardiology test she had demanded and offered her a small smile.

"All right, Miss Maximoff, maybe I made a mistake. You're probably just anxious about your return to action next week." The doctor suggested and Wanda stood up from the lab chair with an impatient huff.

"That's definitely it." She assured him, not wasting any more time on Bruce and his absurd theories after thanking him for the tests.

After such an unfortunate situation, Wanda began to avoid you. It was the most viable solution when someone caused her to have irregular heartbeats, sweat or tremors. Perhaps she was allergic to you.

Obviously, she should keep her distance.

But it seems that the team had other ideas.

"Barnes and Maximoff, you're together. No gloves, come on." Natasha arrived at the gym announcing, an iPad with the training schedule in hand. Wanda, who had spent a good few weeks with the successful plan of interactions limited to greetings, nearly had a stroke. At least her partner, Sam, was keen enough to hold off his punch before it got to her. Wanda hadn't even heard his comment about her getting distracted in a fight and her feet were moving towards the mat, her eyes quick to notice your breathless figure removing the fighting gloves you had been using on a practice dummy for the last few minutes.

"Let's see if training with Wilson has taught you anything, Maximoff." You commented with a smile that made her stomach jump. Something about your sweaty, panting appearance was making her dizzy.

The rest of the team spread out on the edges of the mat, interested to see the exercise, and it was only Natasha who came up to you to lead the whole thing.

"Start with the basics, I want to see Wanda's reaction time." The widow explained, squeezing the two of you on the shoulder. Before turning away completely, she raised a finger in warning to the younger brunette. "And no magic tricks, Maximoff. Even if you're losing."

Wanda smiled, rolling her eyes. Only once had she done that to Natasha and it seemed the widow would never let that story die.

Before the whistle blew, you looked her in the eye. "I'll take it easy on you, little witch." You whispered teasingly, and Wanda felt something burn in her lower belly. She also decided that she had to win because she had to get that smirk off her face.

It was an easier task than it looked - and it was all down to the fact that if there was one thing Hydra had taught her well, it was to exploit weaknesses.

And yours was to care about her. Every hesitation in your movements, your awareness of the super-soldier strength that could hurt her, made it very easy for Wanda to exploit it, slip away, and dodge all your blows. And there was something else too; a soft choke in your breathing every time she got too close, tangled up between one move and the next. The way your ears turned three shades redder when she managed to knock you over and landed on your chest.

"Wow, Maximoff really is kicking your ass." taunted Sam from the corner of the room, grinning at Barton and Nat.

You didn't seem to mind, licking your lips as you took a second look at the position Wanda now found herself in; sitting on your hips.

She did, however, give you an annoyed look. "Don't hold back, I can take it."

"I'm sure you can, little witch." You retorted ironically, leaning yourself fully back onto the mat.

Wanda grunted angrily, then grabbed the collar of your blouse. "Fight for real! I don't need you to take it easy, I can handle it."

The disarming was so quick that she barely had time to blink - one second she was on your hips, the next her back was pressed to the mat with her hands pinned to the side of her head.

Your body on top of hers, pressing her to the floor, made her choke.

For a moment, as your dilated eyes descend to her mouth, you also seem to forget what you were doing, and the audience around you.

But suddenly, you let go; a dry, humorless laugh escaping you as you stand up. And you turn to Nat as if you hadn't just dropped Wanda on the mat.

After ignoring you for weeks, she thinks she deserves it.

"Her fight is decent, so I think we had enough."

Nat raises an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. "Oh, are you the one deciding on the training now, Barnes?"

You smile briefly before retorting; "Come on, everyone knows she's not punching her way out of fights when she can use the energy tricks. It's a waste of time making the girl train like a soldier."

Natasha doesn't seem to agree. She follows you towards the locker room, arguing how important it is to eliminate the team's vulnerabilities, while the rest scatter around the gym, some giving up practicing to get something to eat and others going back to wrestling.

Wanda regrets sitting on the mat because in that position she can watch you at the locker room door, tugging at your training shirt, exposing a strong muscular back and a lot of skin because of the sports top that doesn't do much good to hide it.

Natasha continues to talk to you without taking any notice of the gesture, so Wanda is sure she's the problem. Her stupid brain and heart are clearly forgetting that she can't handle a crush right now.

She doesn't even have Pietro anymore, who, as soon as he'd finished tormenting her about it, would give her advice. Because he's always had a natural talent for this kind of thing, while the last time Wanda tried to flirt with a boy, it sounded like a threat.

She can't do this on her own. And with that conclusion, she tries to get over it. Maybe Google has some tips, or maybe, the walking computer that hangs around the tower can help.

"Vis?"

The synthesized man took his eyes off the book in his lap when Wanda called out to him, a few days after the training session where, since being pressed into a mat by you, Wanda found herself unable to think of anything else.

"Hello, Wanda." He greeted her gently, closing the pages and waiting for her to approach.

"I need your help with something."

"Oh, what would that be?"

Wanda pressed her lips together, her hands restless in front of her body. "Would you be able to tell me the most efficient way to... get over someone?" Vision frowned in surprise, and Wanda sighed. "Someone we shouldn't like. Definitely inappropriate."

Vis opens her mouth, still in shock at the whole thing, but it's someone else who speaks;

"What's definitely inappropriate?" Tony asks, and Wanda thanks the gods he didn't hear the first part.

"N-nothing!" Rebuts the witch quickly, the color of her cheeks probably giving her away. Stark looks at her suspiciously, then at Vis.

"Okay, what are you two love birds talking about?" The Vision would have blushed if he could. He gets visibly embarrassed, smiling shyly.

That's great as if Wanda needed one more extra thing to stress her out.

She can barely contain her grimace at the nickname, but Tony doesn't bother; Vision is at least quick to change the subject, and surprises Wanda with his ability to lie very well.

"We were just commenting on how inappropriate General Ross's accusations were at the last meeting." And that's enough to distract Stark.

Wanda practically flees the scene after that. For a long moment, she had even forgotten about the tension that had been swirling around the Avengers over the last few days, precisely because your absence from the compound made her - not that she would admit it - miss you terribly. And all she could think about was inevitably you, busy on missions with Steve in search of your brother James.

With your presence increasingly rare in the Compound, Wanda hoped that the crush would go away, but every time she happened to bump into you between missions, the feelings came back with an overwhelming force, like two lovers the war kept apart. It was frustrating, to say the least. Especially since Wanda was nothing more than a teammate. Hardly a friend.

When Lagos happened, and it was the worst thing that could possibly occur, at least Wanda had something else to think about. And this time, Ross's visit to the Compound was more than inappropriate - it was final.

Accords and fights between the team led to an unbearable situation. With half of her colleagues out for meetings with the United Nations, Wanda was still grounded at the Compound, waiting for news.

She didn't expect you to be sneaking around.

"You shouldn’t be here." That's the first thing she says as she fully opens the bedroom door you left ajar. Wanda could lie about being your fault that she found you, when in fact she had become an expert at sensing your aura over the last few weeks, the ability to just know when you were around, perfecting itself every time you two met.

You chuckle, without diverting your attention from the task of filling your backpack with as many things as you can squeeze inside. Wanda had the impression that many of the items you came to collect in your room were old presents; everything the others had gotten you over the last few holidays. Things that were precious.

"I'm aware. I won't be long." You retort, folding some socks together to put them away in the closet.

Wanda should call Vis - he's working as a sort of watchman for the tower or something. And he was supposed to notify Tony of your presence. But instead, she closes the door.

Twisting her fingers in anxiety, she asks:

"Where are you going to run off to?"

Offering her a quick glance as you returned to your suitcase to put away some underwear that made Wanda look away, you replied; "I can't tell you that, little witch."

Wanda almost smiled at the nickname. Instead, she took a desperate step forward.

"Would you take me with you?"

Standing back, you chuckle. "Funny."

"I wasn't joking."

You leave the St. Petersburg snow globe you got as a present from Natasha on the dresser and turn with a frown to the witch behind you. "Maximoff, come on-"

"I'm serious." She insists. "Stark grounded me. Like a fucking child. “ She then chuckles sadly. “Or worse, a problem he didn't want to deal with. And I know I fucked up in Lagos-"

"Don't say that, Lagos wasn't your fault." You interrupt her with a certain determination. "You need to remember that, alright?"

Wanda smiles softly at your reassurance, looking away because her face is suddenly very warm. You sigh then grab just one more change of clothes before zipping up your suitcase.

"It's not because of the company, Wanda." You mutter suddenly, with the backpack on your shoulders. She looks at you with confusion, but you don't meet her gaze. "I just don't think it's right, everything that's happening. And I don't think we should all be fighting with each other. But that's what's going to happen from now on. If you come with me, Steve probably expects you to be choosing sides. And I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt."

Her heart skips a beat, but Wanda takes a chance;

"Anyone... or me?"

You're taken aback, but you don't lose your poise. You sighed deeply before approaching her without haste, without any hint of what you were going to do either. Wanda opens her mouth again, to apologize for being so difficult, but you muffle the statement with a kiss.

It's the first time she's kissed another girl if that isn't obvious. She melts, panting and so very shy; it's a good thing that you hold her waist, while your other hand keeps your face close by grabbing her chin gently. Wanda's lungs scream for air after a moment, but she refuses to pull away from a sensation as good as kissing you.

Something like a whimper of need escapes her when you break the act, or maybe it's the way you give her lower lip a gentle tug with your teeth that leaves her trembling, ready to beg for more.

"Sorry if that was sudden." It's the first thing you say, your voice is hoarse, and as affected as your breathing. You smile, your thumb wiping away some of the mess left by Wanda's gloss. "But I think it took us long enough."

She babbles like a fish, unable to form a coherent thought for a whole moment. You wait patiently, your hands touching her shoulders, sliding down her arms as a way of calming her. Wanda has dreamed so much of feeling you that the touch meant to ease her nerves has quite the opposite effect; every inch of skin you touch tingles.

"H-how... did you know?" she asks, and you give a short laugh.

"I didn't." You retort gently. "Not for sure, at least. Not until two seconds ago when you asked to come with me. I had this... feeling. And this tension. Every time we walked into the same room, every time we were alone. I just felt…�� You can put it into words exactly, so you just take a deep breath and smile at her. “I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, that the way I felt was making me imagine things but then you came in here. Sneak out into my room and ask if you could leave this fancy tower to run away with me to fight. I just had to be sure."

Wanda bites back a shy smile, feeling the heat spreading from her chest to her face and eras, and knowing for a fact that it's only going to get worse because of the way you're looking at her.

She tries to get some ground again.

"And are you..." A sigh, as one of your hands settles on her waist. "Sure?"

You hum thoughtfully before breaking the distance, kissing her in a different way than before. It's more intense and hungrier. Your tongue invades her mouth, exploring everywhere and your hands prevent her from pulling away when the oxygen is off. Every needy sound that escapes her is muffled against into lips.

Wanda tentatively follows the rhythm, one of her hands wrapping in your hair. Your backpack falls to the ground and you hold her tighter now, pulling her into you. It's a significant difference between a super-soldier's body and her own, and just the quick memory of you pressing her against the mat makes her moan into your tongue.

The sound makes you lose your mind - Your hands become more determined, the kiss desperate. Wanda struggles for air, exposing the collarbone that keeps you busy as she tries to catch her breath. You bite down on her skin and she arches against you, her hands becoming bold enough to scratch your back and pull up your blouse.

But you break into a husky chuckle, slowing the kiss and pulling away to remind her; "We have to go." Between one touch and the next, "We don't have time."

She needs a whole moment to force her brain to work, and even after you're no longer touching her, and she's sneaking off to her own room to prepare a suitcase, she's still shaking.

When you meet again, running hand in hand with suitcases back to the garage, Wanda is surprised to realize that she was foolish to be afraid of something as good as this.

That is, of course, until reality hits again.

Wanda has never seen you in action as a Winter Soldier before. She saw it through television, Shield files, and testimonies about deserters captured by the Avengers.

But she was never there.

The Avengers split up and fought each other, and your brother fled with Steve Rogers. She thought you were safe on the plane with them, she made sure you got on - but she didn't see you climb off.

Wanda accepted being captured, she accepted being drugged as a security measure. And throughout the confusion that was the transportation of the Avengers in custody to the Raft, she thought she was hallucinating the whole way there. The masked figure attacking the soldiers and opening the cells was a projection of the sedative in her mind.

She only knew what had really happened, had been able to remember, when you both were already in another country as fugitives from the United Nations.

You were by her side the whole time. You held her on your lap after getting rid of the straitjacket that had trapped her and lay down next to her when there was finally a secure roof over your heads.

Wanda was exhausted. She had lost the only thing she had left; her freedom. There was no longer a home, a team, a brother. She was drugged and trapped like an animal by people she considered family.

She started crying, and you woke up. You didn't say a word or ask her to stop. You just held her and let her sob into your chest until she fell asleep again, this time from exhaustion rather than through the influence of chemicals.

When what was left of the team moved on the following day, to another location to avoid suspicion as Natasha clarify it, Wanda got the impression that maybe it was you who needed her to hold you until you went to sleep now.

Bucky didn't come back, and neither of you knew what had happened to him or Steve.

Wanda let you cry all you wanted.

But then finally, everyone who had fought for Steve was back together. Even Clint and Scott, who would probably make deals for their families, to try to be with them, and would have to leave soon. For a moment, everyone was there and you found out that your brother was going to stay in Wakanda to be free again.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a good moment. Steve got food for everyone, you had something that resembled a Christmas, or at least an end-of-year celebration.

We're alive and safe. We're together. Steve was a man of words.

Even if they were sharing a safe house that was too small for such a group. Even if half the world was after them.

The team fell asleep between sleeping bags and sofas, and you left the trailer to get some air. Wanda went after you without thinking much about it.

"It's cold, witchy." You commented as soon as she was close enough, even though you opened your arms for her to wrap hers around you.

Your back was against Nat's truck, and Wanda pressed a little closer to hide her face in your collarbone.

"Where are you going to run off to?" She questions into your skin.

You sigh, one hand caressing her back. "I don't know." You confess quietly. "I wouldn't get to Wakanda with this, but I wasn't feeling very well in there. Having a Christmas meal without him."

Wanda adjusts her face to look at you. "Bucky needs to heal first."

You nod, giving her a sad smile. "I know, but Steve told me they put him back on ice. Until they found out what they were going to do with him. Just the fact that he's there, freezing again... " You look away, sniffling softly. "It reminds me of the past, our time as Winter Soldiers. And It makes me very sad.” You explain softly before sighing. “I know there's nothing we can do to help him now, but it's all so frustrating. I just needed to get out of there for a moment."

Wanda absorbs your words for a moment until she returns to her previous position and smiles as she feels you relax and put your arms around her.

She murmurs; "It's a shame we can't go out there. Natasha said this place has beautiful spots to visit."

You snort slightly. "Actually, we could drive somewhere further away. Far from the city." You comment. "We can watch the Aurora Borealis."

Wanda bites her lip for a moment, considering your invitation, until she adds; "Just the two of us?"

You chuckle. "Unless you want to wake up the team..."

"No, I wasn't complaining!" She clarifies quickly, and you start laughing again.

She taps you gently on the shoulder to make you stop. "Idiot."

"Your idiot." You hit back with a smirk, and Wanda's heart stops beating for a moment. There's a pause, between exchanging intense glances as you bring your hands to her face, adjusting her hair out of the way. "Don't forget, witchy."

She swallows dryly, her voice hoarse when she speaks: "I won't." She whispers back and you smile before pressing your lips into hers.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff imagines #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader

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loveindefinitely · 2 months

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༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

12 — IN SOME SAD WAY, I ALREADY KNOW

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

“A written statement from the General himself.”

You mindlessly nod, eyes unfocused and ears ringing as you sit at the conference table, Laswell at the head with the paper in hand. Her brows are furrowed, and one of her hands rests at her hip as she reads over the paper’s contents once more.

Everything feels numb. Like your entire body’s been reset, and nothing makes sense – as if your very existence has been muffled.

Price and Ghost sit at the table, too, sharing looks with each other. The Sergeants are out training rookies – and a small, minute part of you is grateful. You don’t want them to see you so…

Whatever you are. Numb, cold, unfeeling. Any adjective that fits.

“Shepherd traded her,” Price seethes, knuckles whitening on the tight grip he has around his pack of cigars.

“But why?” Laswell asks, exasperated, pacing at the front of the conference room. The overhead beams have been left off, so the frosted window is the only source of light. It allows a soft, gentle glow from the moon to fill the room, and it helps with your racing mind.

“We need to find him,” Ghost demands, voice gruff and icy. Thinly veiled anger – you recognise the tone all too well.

“This gives us evidence to push the search further,” Laswell cuts in, her footfalls pausing as she searches the scrawled handwriting for something. “And it opens up a new trail. Why did Graves want you? And what did Shepherd deem worthy of trading his star soldier?”

Your leg’s bouncing, the soft tap tap tap of your foot against the linoleum floor sounding more like a ticking time bomb than anything.

When you look up from the table, your eyes instantly clash with a pair of dark brown. Ghost.

He’s watching you – something hidden behind his gaze that you can’t unpack. Not now, at least, with your mind racing at a million thoughts per hour. With your body feeling as sensitive as a live wire. Every breath feels manual, a feat in and of itself.

You break your eye contact with him suddenly, weary, looking to the window instead. The moon isn’t so complicated; doesn’t hold so many layers of darkness, both in colour and soul.

There’s nothing like the feeling of moonlight against your skin, the brush of nightly breezes against your chilled skin.

“Sweetheart –” Your attention instantly goes to Price, whose hands are clasped on the table, gaze heavy where it sits on you, “Do you know anything at all that could help us. Any leads.”

You go to open your mouth, but everything feels wrong, your stomach sinking and hands trembling and vision going blurry.

Without any thought, or reason, you abruptly stand, slightly shaky on your feet. You swallow, once, a difficult movement against your barren throat. Scratchy and harsh.

“I – I’m sorry, I need a moment,” you manage to mutter out, taking a step back in a shadow of defence.

Brows furrow, a question’s asked – you don’t hear, don’t see, because all you can do is turn and bolt out of the room, shouldering the door open and heading down the hospital light-white corridor, the white burning your vision.

Your eyes sting with unshed tears, your chest heaving, the echoing sound of your boots against the floor a distant soundtrack.

“Fuck,” you mutter, palms coming up to rub harshly at your face as you slow, unsure. You just need space, a moment to yourself, a place to break apart with no one as your witness.

A slightly ajar closet to your left seems like your best bet.

Heading for it, you push in, the stale scent of cleaning products hitting your nose. It’s difficult to find any part of you that cares in the slightest.

The door closes, and you just stand, for a moment, your head resting against the wood. Every breath rattles your bones, like your core is falling apart at its seams. Another breath. Two more.

Except it’s getting harder, with every breath, to fill your lungs. They come out harried, shallow and not unlike slices of a knife against your windpipe. They tear from your mouth like coughs.

Your back hits the wall, and you slide down, until you’re sat on the floor, head sat between your bent knees as the first tears finally fall down your cheeks. Hiccups leave your chapped lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut as your shoulders shake.

You haven’t allowed yourself to break down like this in... Gods, you can’t even remember. All you know is that it hurts, at your very core, but it’s also kind of freeing.

It’s as if your world is closing in around you; your breaths doing nothing to quell that intense sense of suffocation, cruel in the grasp your fear has around your throat. Nothing makes sense – everything hurts, your tears leave lines of heat down your cheeks –

The door creaks open.

Heart stuttering in your chest, you look up from your balled up frame with blurry vision, to see who your intruder is. Did Gaz or Soap leave the rookies early? Did Price or Laswell get worried and come check on you?

“Sweetheart.”

The tall, threatening frame of the man fills out the small crack of the door in a way that has your breath catching for a whole other reason.

“Ghost?” You find yourself asking, your voice threatening a whine with the state you’re in.

He steps in, the scent of blood and some cologne filling the space as he does. You wipe at your bloodshot eyes, curling in closer.

“If you want to kill me, this is probably your best bet,” you bite, posturing, an attempt of goading so your image isn’t completely ruined. The idea isn’t completely unfound, either – he very well could pull out his gun and shoot you clean through the head.

He shakes his head, closing the door – allowing pitch black to envelop you both.

“You’re too cheeky for your own good,” he mutters, and despite all of your notions of the man, he slides into a sitting position next to you.

If you could stabilise your breaths, you would, if for no other fact than your own embarrassment. Your body still trembles, and small hiccups still leave your lips with every shaky breath.

His presence is warm against yours, and when he moves, the fabric of his uniform brushes against your own.

“Why are you here?” You find yourself asking, a whisper under your breath. Just loud enough for him to hear, for him to hear the fragile undertone. The risk you’re taking, sitting beside him in this state.

He looses a breath – easy, soft. Unlike everything you know about the hulking man. “I understand.”

You can’t help the uneasy chuckle that leaves your lips. “You understand? Mister been-conspiring-against-me-since-day-one?”

“I understand what it’s like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, with no one you trust there to hold you, too.”

You look to him, but in the darkness, it’s more of an instinctual act than anything.

“Didn’t realise you were a poet, Lieutenant,” you chide, voice breaking slightly around the syllables. He doesn’t comment; a small mercy.

He shrugs, brushing against you as he does. “Not a poet. Just a soldier.”

“And an asshole,” you hum, and you can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes you when he elbows you in the dip of your waist. You elbow him back, unthinkingly, freely.

Silence fills in the gaps, except for the background noise of your shaky, tight breathing, and the bounce of your knees.

That is, until the man beside you breaks it.

“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” Ghost says, easily. You loosen your posture, just slightly, brows furrowed when you turn your head towards him once more.

“What are you on about?” You ask, incredulous. He shrugs. Nods.

“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” he continues, despite the confusion that is surely emanating off of you. “She said nothing.”

You let out a shocked, lost bark of a laugh at that, turning your body around so you’re facing him in the enclosed space. “Was that a dad joke?”

“I found out why my dog’s such a bad dancer,” Ghost starts once more, continuing despite your elongated groan. Seems to relish in your dismay.

“And why’s that?” You entertain him, despite the anxiety in your gut, the words left unsaid burning your tongue.

“She’s got two left feet.”

You heave a sigh, shaking your head – but the corners of your lips pull into a cheesy grin, and your breaths are lighter. Easier, natural, less harsh against your dry throat. “Do you even have a dog?” You ask.

“Her name’s Riley. She’s my family,” he says, earnestly, and your heart shatters just a bit more.

“What breed is she?”

“German Shepherd. Used to work in the military, till a mission gone wrong left her too scared to work in the field. Saved ‘er from the pound.”

How can this man be the same one who threatened your life? Who – who had made it very clear how little he trusted you, and was generally such a jerk? A complete asshole, of whom you had no qualms hating?

“She’d like you,” he adds, and you blink, “Always did like girls more than guys. Strong ones, at that.”

“You think I’m strong?”

You can tell he rolls his eyes, even without being able to see it. “I’ll bring ‘er in, when this is all said and done.”

“When this is all said and done, we’ll probably never see each other again. Small mercies, hey?” Your tone takes on a joking lilt.

He doesn’t laugh.

And it hits you, then. How fragile this very situation is. How unimportant, in the real scheme of things, your relationship with the 141 is. When Graves and Shepherd have been dealt with, where do you fit in? What purpose will you have?

You don’t, can’t, truly fit in with them. They’re already so interconnected, memories spent together that you’ll never understand, connections you have no place in joining.

Oh, what a stab in the gut that is.

“I can get Johnny or Kyle if you want,” Ghost offers, but you find yourself answering just this side of too soon.

“No.”

You realise, as you sit here beside him, that he is all you need. Soap and Gaz would’ve tried to ramble or make a move on you, Price would’ve tried to embrace you. Ghost just sits, and waits, his presence speaking a thousand words. He’s your anchor, right now.

“What does a bee use to brush its hair?” Ghost breaks the quiet, once more, his words steady and grating with the low timbre of his voice.

You exhale, but go along with it anyways. “I haven’t a clue.”

“A honeycomb.”

You scoff, but the smile on your face doesn’t waver – your cheeks hurting from the way it tugs on the muscles of your tired face. “That was awful, Lt.”

“Johnny laughed at that one,” he replies, head tilted to rest his skull against the wall. His arms rest on the bends of his knees.

“That’s cause he feels bad for you,” you hum, satisfaction weighing on your words.

Ghost elbows you once more, a bit too hard, but you find the movement grounding more than harmful. Like a way for your body to come back to itself, and register the world around you. No need for self-destruction or derealisation.

“They really like you, y’know,” he murmurs, and your breath pauses in your chest. “The Sergeants. Won’t shut up about you when you’re gone.”

“Well, if you’re gonna hate me, some support is nice,” you retort, and he huffs a low breath. Pauses, like he’s thinking something over. Weighing the risk and reward of his next statement.

“I don’t,” he rolls his tongue in his mouth, “I don’t hate you.”

“You’ve had me fooled,” you retort, the cool wall against your cheek a steady reminder of the world. “The whole threatening to kill me thing, and all.”

“If it means protecting Johnny, Kyle – even Price, I’d do it. Still will,” he says, the last statement bordering on a warning. “If you’ve somehow fooled us all, then I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”

You swallow. Scratch at the skin of your wrist.

“I just need to figure this shit out,” you admit, looking to the roof for answers. “Once Shadow Company’s been taken down, and Shepherd’s dealt with, everything can go back to normal. This’ll just be a blip in time.”

“The Sergeants aren’t going to let you go,” Ghost warns, an edge to his words. “What are you gonna do, anyways? Live in the countryside?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, picking at your fingernails. “I’ll figure it out when it comes to it. We’ve got bigger things on our plate.”

With his shoulder pressed against your own, you let your body relax, your breaths finally even. No tears on the verge of falling down your cheeks – and no fear lacing your veins with a thick coat of adrenaline.

However, that short-lived relief is quickly replaced with the all too familiar crash.

Your head pounds, and your limbs suddenly feel heavy. Your eyelids threaten to close, even though you don’t feel the need to sleep.

“Tired?” Ghost asks, low and soft, careful not to startle you. So at odds with the idea you had of him.

Without meaning to, you lean further against him, using his frame to hold your own up. He doesn’t comment on it. “I’m – just need a minute,” you murmur.

His hand moves to rest at the side of your head, pulling you in so your temple rests against his shoulder. It’s warm, comforting – a parallel to the man of which you thought you hated.

Rest comes easy, at the side of one of the men who wants to kill you.

When you come to, it’s with the feeling of fingers brushing through your hair, and the scent of cajun.

The gentle mid-morning light filters into the room, casting light through your closed eyes, the faraway sound of bullets being fired an odd comfort. Soft sizzling, too, can be heard, as well as the chopping of a knife against a board.

“That smells bloody divine, Si,” a familiar, Scottish voice calls, quietened by what you can only suspect is due to your ‘sleeping’. “Ya’d be a bonnie housewife.”

“Watch it, Johnny,” Ghost replies, stern, even with the undercurrent of humour in his voice.

The fingers in your hair continue to card through your strands, pausing to massage at your scalp every now and then. The movements have you melting further into Soap’s lap.

“Ken the other two are goin’ at it?” Johnny chides, and even without vision, you can see the goading smile on his face.

“I ken you should shut your face,” Ghost retorts, the sound of chopping finally coming to a pause. “And, no, you’re a bloody idiot.”

“Rude.”

Fluttering your eyes open, you let out a small huff of air, stretching your tense muscles. They feel sore with lethargy, and stiff from the position you fell asleep in.

“Mornin’, Sweetheart,” Johnny smirks, looking down at where your head sits in his lap.

When you look towards the kitchen, it's to find Ghost, flipper in hand as he stands by the stove, a glass bowl filled with salad to his side. One thing in particular has you looking twice.

“A bit promiscuous, don't you think, Lieutenant?”

Ghost's eyes narrow, but Soap lets out a pleased chuckle. “Like a lad seein’ an ankle, aye?”

Instead of gloves, the pale skin of his hands is shown for the first time, patterns of ink decorating the back of his hands. The small hint of a sleeve has you desperate to see the full thing.

“You're both fuckin’ ridiculous,” Ghost scoffs, starting to swap the contents of the pan into the salad bowl.

As you move to sit up, Soap’s hands fall to your waist, pulling you so your back presses against his chest. His thumbs trace circles into the skin where your shirt rides up, but it’s more out of instinct than anything else.

“What’d you make us?” You ask, rubbing at your weary, sleepy eyes as you deflate against Soap.

“Cajun chicken ‘nd salad,” Ghost quips, serving up a plate for each of you. It smells nothing short of delicious, and you sit up straighter against the Sergeant.

“Lt and Gaz are our personal chefs,” Soap chimes, squeezing you tighter against him. “Bloody perfect at it.”

Ghost rolls his eyes, but comes over with two plates, setting them on the coffee table in front of both you and Soap. It’s a small space, next to the personal kitchen, but it’s nice. Intimate.

The first mouthful of salad is like heaven on your tongue, and you look up at Ghost with wide eyes as you swallow. “This is amazing.”

“You’d better eat it all then,” he jerks his chin towards your plate, grabbing his own before sitting on the chair to your left. Soap, still with his chest to your back, shovels his food into his mouth like a man starved.

It’s quiet, for a few moments, just the three of you enjoying your food.

“What’s the next step?” Johnny asks, around a mouthful. You elbow him in the side, and he feigns hurt. He swallows, before continuing, “Aye mean, what’re we gonna do? What lead do we follow?”

“I think,” you work your jaw around the words, thinking, “I think if we get to the root, we can bring down the whole tree.”

You scan the two men, and it’s Ghost who understands your words first.

“Shepherd. You think we should take him out first,” Ghost leans back in his seat, studying you with calculating, chocolate brown eyes. They shine in the midday light.

Nodding, you swallow around some lettuce, before continuing, looking between the two.

“If we can find Shepherd, and learn why everything’s happened the way it has,” you rub at your face, “Then we can bring it all crumbling down. Like dominoes.”

“He’s MIA,” Soap furrows his brows, placing his empty plate on the coffee table. “We’ve tried finding the twat – he’s gone.”

You shrug, a plan forming in your mind like the final pieces of a puzzle connecting. A small, pleased smile spreads on your lips, before you’re moving off of the couch, ready to head to Price’s office.

“Where’s you going?” Ghost queries, leaning forward, elbows resting on his spread knees.

You tilt your head.

“Power in numbers, right?” Heading for the corridor, you open the door, before turning back to look at the two men one more time.

“I know two soldiers who’ve been waiting for a call.”

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kaznejis · 10 months

Text

Love is lost on you- Bucky Barnes x Reader

Sam hummed, eyeing you as he nodded slowly, “He’s been to therapy, gone on a date with some girl apparently.”

Your heart stuttered, eyebrows shooting up as you failed to hide your expression from Sam- the shock and subsequent heartbreak present in your features. “Oh,” you spoke slowly, refusing to meet Sam’s eye, “Yeah, well, good for him.”

A/N- I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing! Please feel free to send any requests for Bucky- I have a lot of free time right now. :)

Word count: 3,862

Read it on AO3!

“Have you seen Bucky recently?”

Your lips twisted at Sam’s question, a lump forming in your throat at the name. Whilst you loved spending time with Sam- breakfasts, jogging together, late night drinks; the topic of your relationship with the Winter Soldier remained a taboo, an unspoken topic that lingered within every etched line of your conversations. You tended to skirt around his questions, opting to forget the time in which Y/N L/N and Bucky Barnes had been the pinnacle of a dynamic duo; both inside and outside of the battlefield. Constant speculation surrounding your relationship made you popular within the public eye, even as active fugitives- the perfect, star-studded friends-to-lovers trope, the bad boy and the good girl next door. Natasha had joked about the two of you being a couple- just to appease the general public who had kept up with any of your appearances.

Bucky had laughed in her face, mocking the idea of even being seen with you, ridiculing the idea of recognising what you believed to be true. You had laughed too, as sincerely as you could with the swirl of rejection in the pit of your stomach. You had realised then that despite your prayers, your wishes, you and Bucky Barnes would never be more than friends.

Sam was the only avenger you were constantly in contact with, having both opted to remain in Washington- you would join him in visiting Steve every now and then; now a dwindling old man, a shadow of the former super-soldier you had looked up to. He remembered very little of his time with the Avengers, the wide span of time his life had consisted throughout caused memories to intertwine and muddle together. But he still laughed, still carried that jovial optimism he carried towards life; you could only smile along, holding his hand as he lived out his final days. You envied Steve at times, he had known exactly where he belonged and had taken the chance to go there.

You hadn’t quite worked out your place in the world post-Avengers, post superhero glory.

Maybe that was why you had clung to Sam, meeting with him regularly and joining him on outings to his hometown; he felt the same way. You couldn’t blame him when he gave away the shield- it was too much of a responsibility, a burden to hold for the rest of his life as he would constantly live in Steve’s shadow. You understood, you couldn’t fault him for it- but part of you knew it would have landed in the wrong hands.

“No,” you shook your head, running a finger along the rim of your beer bottle as the new ‘Captain America’ pranced around on the bar’s television above you. “Why, have you?”

Sam hummed, eyeing you as he nodded slowly, “He’s been to therapy, gone on a date with some girl apparently.”

Sam hummed again, a blatant smirk upon his lips as he drank from his beer bottle, “There’s something else.”

“Go on.”

“He’s coming down here, to help confront the flag smashers issue,” his voice faded out as your heart thudded, “And to probably cuss me out for letting the shield go.”

“He’s coming here? Bucky’s coming here?” your voice wobbled slightly, your facade of strength instantly fading at the thought of being in the same room as him, seeing his face, smelling his scent. It was a feeling you’d once been accustomed to, seeing him everyday- sparring with him in the gym, fighting alongside him, collapsing into his arms as the both of you had faded back into existence- gripping the sides of his face, foreheads connected as you’d cried. Your lips had collided on that fateful day, tears mingling together as you’d gripped at each other, holding fistfuls of his long hair in that Wakandan jungle. You had thought that was it, it was finally happening. But then the portals had opened, the fight had ended and the clarity of the situation had become all too real- Tony and Natasha were dead, Steve was no longer the young super-soldier he had been only seconds earlier. Bucky had left then, disappeared without a trace leaving the kiss you had shared merely adding up to the heat of the moment.

It had broken your heart, more so than the day Bucky had laughed at the thought of a relationship. You had finally grasped it, everything you had ever wanted- you were alive, you had won, you had Bucky. But within minutes it was over, rendering you helpless, empty, alone. You had been left with nothing post-blip, no family to return to, no home to return to. You joined the billions that simply rode the wave of life, unable to return to their previous selves; unable to gain back the years upon years lost to Thanos.

Sam had continued to eye you, pity sitting deep within his eyes, “You know, maybe now could be the time to discuss what happened between you two.”

You shook your head once again, a sardonic chuckle erupting from your gut, “I don’t wanna do that to him, Sam.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You literally just said that he’s been on a date, I don’t want to disrupt his life now with reminders of the past. He’s put it all behind him and I respect that.” You continued to work in favour of America, utilising your skills in order to aid the government. You and Sam had co-ran multiple military focused missions- threats were ever prevalent, so at least you could be occupied on that front.

Sam sighed, rubbing at his forehead, exhaustion prevalent within the crease of his brow, “Well, the two of you better not be awkward as hell the whole time, we have a mission to complete.”

Smiling, you raised your beer bottle to clink it against his, a toast to whatever was to come. “Can’t make any promises.”

You pitied Sam, sitting on the other side of the plane, grasping at any semblance of a coherent conversation in order to escape the thick tension within the air. It was awkward as hell.

Bucky had stormed over to the two of you, opting to ignore you entirely and cuss Sam out for losing the shield. You had been too stunned to acknowledge him- his once long locks had been chopped, replaced by cropped, buzzed hair with the slightest fluff on top. Your body practically yearned for him as you took in the tight leather, light stubble and dominant demeanour he now wore- the quiet, isolated Bucky that you had rescued and harboured was no longer present; he had been replaced by a real soldier- all hard muscle and perfected accuracy. You had stood to the side of Sam, switching between avoiding Bucky’s gaze and gawking at his new appearance. Upon the chance that he had taken to try and acknowledge you, you had already walked away- much to Sam’s dismay as he side eyed the both of you the entire walk towards the plane. Despite Sam’s endearing attempts to include you in the conversation, you had merely hummed and nodded- too nervous to engage with this new Bucky Barnes.

So, now, you sat side by side in the back of the plane- waiting, begging, for the instruction to jump. As soon as it did come, Sam was gone- practically leaping from the plane as he flew towards the target. Bucky had faltered, glancing back at you momentarily as you had remained stoic; refusing to meet his gaze as you checked your weapons.

He cleared his throat, glancing downwards from the exit of the plane, “We got any chutes?”

“It’s too low.” Joaquin replied from the opening, gripping the handle as he remained stable. Bucky glanced back at you once again, a tinge of worry present in his features as he calculated the expanse of the drop before you. You rolled your eyes back, crossing your arms as you waited for him to jump. Clicking his tongue, he nodded- before throwing himself from the plane.

“Impressive,” you snorted as he screamed, grinning at Joaquin who attempted to stifle his laugh, “Good thing I thought to install gliders in my stealth suit instead of opting for a leather jacket.” At that you swan-dived from the entrance, allowing your suit to expand and form makeshift gliders. With feline-like precision, you landed on your two feet beside Bucky, splayed along the grass.

“Well, that was majestic.”

You scoffed, turning to jog after Red Wing as it began to lead the way to Sam’s location. Though, before you could; a weighted hand grasped at your sleeve, “Whoa, whoa. Hold on.” Bucky gasped, presumably exasperated from the fall, “Are you gonna talk to me or are you giving an old friend the silent treatment right now?”

Scoffing, you snatched your hands from the metal arm- an action only possible with his allowance, “What do we have to talk about, James?”

“Oh- come on Doll, James, seriously?” your heart sped at the nickname, your cheeks filling with heat as you turned your face away from Bucky, beginning the long run through the forest. You heard a sigh behind you, to which you ignored, you had nothing to discuss with him. He had obviously moved on, with no intention of using this meet up as a chance to potentially rekindle what had about to have been- right person, wrong time and all. But instead he had gone on a date. He had probably bought her flowers, drinks, and put on a nice outfit for her. The thought made your stomach churn, the polar opposite of butterflies swarming in your stomach. Jealousy. Out of curiosity, you just wanted to know who she was- check that she was a viable replacement, made him happy, was good looking and all. Though you couldn’t ask Bucky about it- why should you care anyway? The two of you had kissed once. Bucky probably didn’t even remember it, you thought to yourself.

The two of you jogged in silence; the heavy weight of what lay between you creating a dark cast upon your conscience. You well and truly pitied Sam. The Falcon came into view within the warehouse, crouched behind a shelf and watching the targets. As him and Bucky argued petulantly, you observed the group ahead- they were just kids. All young, fighting for what they believed was right; you saw a mirror image of your own young self. You watched as they entered the trucks- Sam scanned the trucks before realising that a hostage was potentially present within one of the vehicles. You swore, sprinting after Sam and Bucky.

“Wait!” you shouted, causing the others to come to a halt; both sharing confused looks, “Sam I need you to lift me so we can get extra eyes from the sky- I’m not as fast as the two of you on foot and I’m definitely not about to make James give me a piggyback.” Sam nodded, ensuring that he could lift you and fly at the same time- but not before sharing a confused look with Bucky, mouthing ‘James?’ to which Bucky only shook his head, shrugging. The two of you flew off, allowing you the opportunity to unholster your handguns and deliver a number of shots to the top of the truck.

“Drop me off on top!” you yelled up to Sam as you watched Bucky be thrown from one van and dragged to the top of another. His super-soldier strength inflicting damage upon each vehicle.

“Are you serious?” Sam shouted from above, “You’ll get yourself killed, look at them holding Bucky back right now.”

“Do it Sam.” you ordered, squirming in his arms until he deposited you on top of the trucks to which you instantly unclipped your throwing knives, depositing two into the necks of the two soldiers holding Bucky back. Though- it only angered them, allowing them to turn their attention to your human form. You swore, your hair whipping in the wind as they advanced towards you.

“Y/N!” Bucky yelled, fighting against the men holding him down, “Y/N, no!”

Delivering a fatal kick, the soldier finally reached you, grabbing you by the hair and slamming you into the top of the truck. Screaming, you mustered every tactic you’d ever been taught: elbows, legs, arms- any brutal bone was thrown against the soldier pinning you down. The man tutted, his anonymity within the mask only increasing your terror as cold eyes glared down at you. You realized that you had become used to fighting alongside super soldiers instead of against them.

You heard Bucky’s yell before you felt the impact of the floor- the trucks speeding away as you laid at the side of the road; each breath hitching with the intense pain within your body. Gritting your teeth, you rolled to your knees and crawled to the roadside; only to lose momentum and roll into a ditch. The fall would have been fatal if not for the protection of your suit- but the high velocity impact had still broken a number of bones. Licking your lips, the taste of acrid copper prevailed as you began to cough up flecks of blood; turning only to see that the grass around you was stained red.

“Shit.” your vision blurred dangerously- the pain merged into an unfocused haze, rendering your ability to identify your injuries useless. Fading in and out of consciousness, you listened to the wildlife around you and thought of Bucky. He would never know the origin of your anger- only remembering the cold mirage you had enacted towards him; opting to ignore him instead. Sobbing, you prayed for anyone, anything to find you; for Sam and Bucky to break free from the soldiers and come and find you, save you. You would apologise then- talk to Bucky, talk to him about whatever he wanted to say to you. It didn’t matter if you were just friends, if you met his new girlfriend- you just wanted to see him again.

Blood stained your chin at that point; the coughing and choking a constant motion as you couldn’t muster the strength to sit up; to allow your throat some reprieve. Your leg felt wrong, broken in different places and bent backwards at the knee. As your vision faded, you only thought of Bucky.

“Shit, shit Y/N,” a gust of wind hit you as the whoosh of wings closing sounded above, “Buck! I’ve found her, she’s over here.”

The sound of knees hitting the ground beside your head could be heard next, the impact causing your head to jostle, “Doll? Y/N, can you hear me, tell me you can hear me.” warmth surrounded you as you felt your head being lifted into a lap, a rough sleeve gently wiped the blood staining your chin, “Come on Y/N, don’t do this to me. Wake up.”

“Get her in the truck.” A foreign voice sounded, deep and arrogant in its timber.

“Get away from her,” the voice above you snapped, “we don’t know the extent to her injuries yet- we may not be able to lift her.”

“We need to get her to a hospital, Buck,” a voice that sounded like Sam’s spoke, “there’s still a heartbeat, we’ve got a chance.” Throughout the conversation above you, a trembling hand had caressed your face; smoothing the blood-matted hair away from your face and distracting you from the pain throughout your body. The hand was calloused but gentle- the feeling of it against your cheek vaguely familiar in your unconscious state. You faded in-and-out of consciousness from there, an ache resounding throughout your body as you were lifted and held against a firm chest; warmth radiating through the harsh material. Sweet nothings and comforts were whispered into your ear as the body stayed close, the hand firm against the side of your face; creating a comforting pressure. Reminding you that you could still be alive.

Eventually, you woke- the harsh lights of a hospital room blinding as your eyes adjusted; the last thing you had seen being the country roadside. Coughing, you retched at the sandpaper texture to your throat. A straw was quickly coaxed towards your mouth, Sam’s worrisome eyes staring down at you. You sipped from the straw, blinking as you truly adjusted to being conscious.

“Hey there,” Sam spoke as he gave you a watery smile, his eyes filling with tears, “We thought we’d lost you for a minute there.”

“Can’t lose me that easily,” you croaked, smiling at your best friend and reaching for his hand; to which he obliged.

“Thankfully not,” Sam laughed shakily, his gaze still clouded with emotion, “Y/N, I was the one to see you first and- we really didn’t know if you were going to make it. I mean there was so much blood and your leg-” you squeezed his hand tighter, you were alive, you were okay. Sam’s vision darkened suddenly, his hold on yours tightening. “You should have seen him Y/N.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you cocked your head at Sam, “Who?”

“Buck, he- the soldiers held him up so he watched as you were thrown. The scream he let out I- I’ve not seen him lose it like that during a fight in years, not since-”

“The Winter Soldier.” you finished, turning your gaze to your hands. Sam could only nod.

“He cares about you, Y/N. So much. He held you to his chest the entire journey here and we practically had to tear you from his arms when we arrived.”

“Why isn’t he here now then?

Sam’s face took a different cast then, one of confusion. “I- I’m not sure actually, he said he wanted to give us some space?” You reflected his look of confusion.

“Is he still in the hospital?”

“I assume so, it wasn’t too long ago that he left,” Sam stood then, giving you a kiss on the cheek and jogging towards the door- still in full Falcon gear, “I’m gonna send him in.”

It was only a number of moments later that Bucky rounded the entrance to the doorway, his expression stricken as he froze- staring at your opened eyes, at your steady breaths. A beat passed and he sighed, moving to occupy the vacant seat that Sam had been sitting in only moments earlier. “Hey, Doll.”

“Buck,” you sighed, reaching for his twitching hand that lay at the edge of your bed, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, a glint of anger and confusion in his eyes, “I’m okay? Y/N I watched you fall from a moving truck.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat straight; wincing slightly at the pain, “I was just say-”

“No, Y/N,” Bucky snapped, “you shouldn’t even have been there in the first place, I mean what were you thinking, jumping onto a truck and taking on super soldiers that were holding me down.”

“Wow, thanks-”

“Seriously. This easily could have been prevented if your boyfriend hadn’t agreed to carry you 100 feet into the air.”

“My what-”

“I mean, come on, surely he should have your best interests in mind. The whole thing was reckless from the beginning, if I was in his position I wouldn’t have brought you.”

You sat, shell shocked, Bucky thought you and Sam were together, “Is that why you weren’t here when I woke up?”

Bucky nodded then, hurt in his eyes as he scrubbed at his stubble, “Yeah- I mean, I wanted to, you know, give you space. Let you work things out I don’t know-”

You cackled, laughing right in his face- leading to an entirely unattractive coughing fit to which Bucky was forced to clap you on the back. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you chuckled, wiping at the tears rolling down your cheeks as you stared at the silly man before you, “Bucky, me and Sam aren’t together.”

Bucky paused, seemingly halting in his tracks as he gaped at you, “What?”

“We aren’t together.”

“But-” he shook his head, having seemingly lived a lie for however long he’d believed this, “but you two have been so close I mean- every time I talk to Sam he mentions things the two of you have been doing and you’re just so close and in tune with each other I thought-”

“We’re just friends Buck,” your mouth twisted, the clarity of the situation hitting you, “Why do you even care anyway? You have a girlfriend.”

“Oh for goodness sake.” Bucky was laughing now, standing and opting to pace the room, his face filled with mirth as he continued to scrub at his stubble, “I do not have a girlfriend.”

“Sam told me you went on a date.”

“Sam told you- yeah and he conveniently missed the part where I did that in an attempt to get over you.” Bucky threw his arms up then, his expression defeated as he spoke. You could only stare back, lips pursed, eyes wide.

“Get over me?”

“Yes.”

“But, I thought-” you shook your head, “after the battle, you-you left and we never spoke again. I thought you regretted what happened. I thought-”

“Every waking moment is spent thinking about that kiss, Doll,” Bucky sighed, circling the bed to sit back at your side, taking your hand in his, “I was mourning, my best friend was gone and I knew he was going to do it but I just- I would never be ready for it, you know. Sam found me later and he was telling me all of these stories about you and- God, I’m so stupid- I presumed that the two of you had gotten together so I kept my distance. I mean, I was so in love with you that I didn’t want to ruin that for you even despite what had happened between us and- I’m so sorry Y/N.”

Tears trickled down your cheeks as you stared at the ridiculous, gorgeous man before you; you laughed again, softer and tearier this time as you reached to grab Bucky’s face, mirroring the action that he had done to you during your unconscious state, “We are so ridiculous.”

Bucky laughed too then, moving to sit at the edge of your bed and tuck the loose hair behind your ears- his cheeks were crumpled; red with embarrassment and love and longing. He leaned forward then, careful in respect of your injuries, in order to capture your lips between his. This kiss was different from your first, it was slower, less urgent- your thumbs tracing figure-of-eights into his cheeks as you didn’t carry that same weight of uncertainty as you had last time. You smiled against each other's mouths, hands trailing each other’s bodies- the back of his head, his cheeks, his back, his neck, the brass of his metal arm.

You finally felt complete, like you knew where you belonged.

#bucky barnes x reader #mcu #mcu fanfiction #bucky barnes #falcon and the winter soldier #extremely self indulgent #sam wilson #marvel #thunderbolts #use of the doll nickname iktrrrr

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samodivaa · 11 months

Text

Deny the truth,set my world on fire (Part 1)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Winter Soldier x Reader)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Part 2⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ Part 3 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* Part 4⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there. She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Warnings - heavy angst, betrayal, smut, non consensual, dom!Soldat. rough!Soldat Words - 2000

Bucky was already waiting on the couch, tormented by the decision he has made – to confront her. Y/n enters their shared apartment, carelessly smiling at him. She seemed so generous about her love – a constant presence and support since the fight on the airport years ago. Grace and patience and consideration is what she made him master once again, these little qualities are in his control, thanks to her kind soul. Y/n helped him forgive himself and he chose to return love and compassion, chose to fight his past. Wakanda was their secret - beautiful and peaceful. Her heart was born open and although his hands were empty at the time, he filled them with the soft fire made from the two ember eyes. The dreamy mind is full, overflows with tender memories… When she enters a room, it blazes with red, pink, roses, but behind her blossomed spirit stood a façade he was not aware of. The floral presence is poisoned, spreading into him. And just like the deadly nightshade, she is indeed is a poisonous flower.

"How long has this been going on?" he asks coldly, taking a sip of his bottle before putting it back on the table. A stressed dove, mournfully looking at her as he gets up. "How long?" he asks again. „Bucky, what is the matter with you?“ There won’t be a chance of escape, he steps closer, towering over her as some sort of a warning. He just came back to life, laying under the warmth of it and is already being burned by the person who he trusted the most. Abstained for far too long, he needs to hear her says it – he needs the truth to devour his life. "Can I ask what happened to your neck?" pointing to her neck, his tone is still neutral, but his eyes are exhausted by the phantom following his mind the past days. Love makes knots, now it is brutally tearing them apart. He ran from the darkness of his nightmares for so long, only to find himself in a situation darker still. „I don’t know“ she is wearing a turtleneck shirt, she hates those – inside she is crumbling as much as her lies. “You don’t know?” his tone strays to the realms of anger – it consumes him, fear ensnares her until her back hits the wall behind, Bucky not withdrawing from her face even for a moment “Who was it?“

"No one, Bucky" she manages to retain her posture, not giving him the satisfaction of telling the truth. The blade of her words hit a nerve. "You’re terrible at lying" He crosses his hands, nails digging into his arms. Silence looms for a while before he nods, his dearest love painting his misery and his eyes ache with the weight of the unspoken truth. “So no explanation, got it" „I don’t know how I got them…“ Bucky’s eyes narrow slightly, trying to shackle his intention of breaking something. "So you have no idea what happened to your neck? Are you making fun of me or do you have brain damage“ his tone finally rises as he takes the collar of her shirt between his metal fingers, pulling it down rashly to reveal the bite marks. The image wraps around his throat as a wreath of spikes. “Who did that to your neck, because I am sure that it was not me“ „Jesus Bucky, why are you so angry, I didn’t do anything. We literally spend most-“ He laughs devilishly, still holding her by the colar. “Just so many bad things happening in my life. Nothing important, nothing new, just one thing after another, you know?” There is no such thing as life for him , it's just catastrophe. Unmoored and alone, his eyes become full of tears. The only still part is his body. He gives her one more chance to say something, to explain herself in any way, but the silence is pain chiselled forever into his chest, it hurts more than words. "Don’t be angry, please…let me go…“ "Don’t be angry…don’t be angry" he whispers as a lullaby, staring into her teary eyes. His eyebrows furrowed at her audacity to even cry. "We shared a life and you to cheated on me" His favorite beauty and terror on myriad levels keep her silence. He decides to let go of her collar, his fingers clenching to fists as their drop weightlessly to the sides of his body. "You expect me to believe this…? Really, y/n?” he says , his expression is still angry, but it appears softer "If you didn’t want to tell me because you‘re afraid, it‘s fine. Just be honest and tell me that, why are you still lying? That hurts me more than you think." „I am not…“ He stands there unmoving, staring at her and it seems like he‘s still processing this realty of her not having any concern towards him. Her mind is resting whilst his is grieving, wondering and reasoning. He can’t gain control of his dreadful spirit, he is the shell he was back at Wakanda. A tear runs down from the wet, dreamful eyes, landing on his cheek as he looks down, trying to hide it from her. Bucky takes a step away from her and rubs his eyes. His hands are shaking and it‘s obvious that he doesn’t want to cry in front of her. Their love is his apparition, a figment of his imagination. He observe her for a moment, he is dying in that house, buried underneath the floor of their shared past and she just watches it unfold. Bucky finally shakes his head in disbelief. "So you‘re telling me you have no idea where that bruise came from?" a weak laugh escapes his lips, choking back a sob. „You’re lying, I know it“ he says in a calm voice, but there was a quiet threat hidden beneath it. „I don’t want to leave, Bucky“ "And I don‘t want to get cheated on" he counters with an angry scream as his pain is infinite at this point. All kind of thoughts stirring inside of him. „I won’t say it wasn’t meant to be, because it was. We were. Only for a short while, maybe. But we were.“ It makes him tremble to remember their daily life, but now he is unsure which pain is worse: the shock of what happened or the ache for what never will. „I can’t tell you...I can’t...I will leave“ she whispers, having found a comfort in hiding. "Fine, leave then!” Bucky snarls, before he spins around as his heavy footsteps resonate through the quiet room, but he stops himself to look at her for the last time – the end of the line.

Bucky watches her leave, already nostalgic for his love. He doesn’t say a word, not even bothering to close the door as he stands in the doorstep, watching her go. Y/n notices him staring from the darkness of the doorway as she makes her way into the world. Bucky’s inner self is shutting down more and more, as though to protect himself, but it became inaccessible even to himself. Over the next couple of days, Bucky shuts himself completely in his lonely home. He only leaves the apartment to buy alcohol and some food. His days are spent either drinking or sleeping, and when he‘s awake and sober, he just sits on the couch blankly, staring at the wall. He is composed of nothing, but illness – a phantom built out of pain. The days turn to weeks. With his heart broken, he despises life. Rising from a grave with each morning, wallowing in his sadness and alcohol. („What went wrong...Did I do something wrong?”) he wonders for weeks repeatedly, tears again rolling down his cheeks. „What did I do to deserve this“ he screams, slamming his metal fist into the wall, there is nothing but a stain in his heart, it grew – infecting the whole heart. He slowly slides down, sitting on the ground as he buries his head into his arms and starts to cry.

- Two days before she left - „Bucky, baby…I don’t wanna do anything tonight, let’s just sleep“ he was getting harder and harder, pressing into her back to let her know. He whispers in her ear, but the voice is huskier than usual and filled with seduction „Цветок...“ (Flower) Bucky’s control is slipping once again and y/n gups at the realization. The metal grip tightens on her hip, drawing her even closer to his clothed cock. Fingers pass through the fabric of the nightdress, pulling it upwards to reveal her butt cheeks. His warm hand, spilled under her body proceeding to lightly trace his fingers over her nipple. She knows to her remove the panties by herself, not wanting to anger the Soldier from the very beginning as it happened last time. He groans, closing his eyes to savor the scent of her hair. Vibranium fingers digs his into her soft skin, leaving prints of evidence. „No, don’t…please…he will see“ she desperately tries to voice her concern, knowing there is no way of fighting him in this state. „Пусть он увидит…“ (let him see) His breath fanned the skin of her neck, sending chills to the bone.

He dragged his length through her wetness, pushing in fully leaving y/n with no time to adjust. Tears roll down her beautiful face, why this keeps on happening? The warm touches of his human arm move to from her nipple to her stomach „Я хочу ребенка...да.“ (I want a baby…yes) She takes a deep breath, sometimes regret settles in for not telling Bucky that the Winter Soldier was very present and real. He never seems to remember, they operate as different people. She whimpers at the cold touch to her clit, he was flicking it, making her body shake. His hand returns to her hip, grabbing it harshly as he starts thrusting deeply. His pace becomes erratic, being closer to his orgasm. Soldat forcefully holds her in place so he can fill her with hot cum. Her reality hurts so much. She wants to get away, but when she had tried before – resulted in him being close to sadistic. His fingers trail to her hair, removing it from her neck and he sinks his teeth. Goosebumps trickle up there, from fear, from pain as he slowly turns her head towards him – there is no sight of Bucky.

#winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier x y/n #winter solider imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier imagine #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x f #bucky barnes x female reader #dark fanfiction #angst

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stealingyourbones · 6 months

Note

Why does DC hate Jason Todd so much??? He's literally Babey!!! 🥺

You probably aren’t me expecting to respond to this factually but fuck it here we go. Because he was a little rat fuck who replaced their favorite Robin character for a shitty carbon copy.

I wasn’t in the comic scene, or alive, when that happened in comics, but Jason originally was a carbon copy of Dick. He grew up in a circus, was in an acrobatic troupe called the Flying Todd’s, and his parents died by the hands of Two-Face.

The next Crisis had his backstory changed but the fans still viewed him as the bad Walmart version of Robin.

(For the readers:)He was a shitty replacement for Dick Grayson that had been Robin for so long and readers didn’t like the new guy taking over the role.

He doesn’t have a memorable Robin stand-alone series, he was uncharacteristically ruthless for a robin, he replaced Dick and didn’t have any of the Grayson charm that made Robin so loveable, he was arrogant at times and bashed in general. People wanted Dick. Not this other guy.

Nowadays why they hate him?

Simple and yet layered reason:

He went from a very wonderful villain in the comics and got later boiled down to an anti hero. Most people I know that dislike Jason now preferred his villain arc. I prefer it too honestly but if we didn’t have anti hero Jason, we wouldn’t have the interactions he has with the batfamily at all and I really enjoy those scenes in the comics.

His characterization is all over too. He goes from absolutely batshit insane in some comics to angsty ninja boy, to essentially a little bit feistier Ric Grayson (I’m so sorry it’s my take DC fans please don’t fight me).

Also, his death was a BIG thing in comics and him coming back ruined the meaning behind his death.

Back in the day there were three deaths in comics that always happened and never changed. They were deaths that grew other characters around them. Those three were:

- Bucky Barnes from Captain America

- Jason Todd from Batman

- Uncle Ben from Spider-Man

Their deaths hold major stepping stones to character arc changes and how the main character acted for the rest of the comics. They were always the main characters greatest tragedy and a core part of their lore.

Of course two of these are now changed. Bucky Barnes is back as the Winter Soldier and Jason is back as Red Hood.

But that death was sacred for a while. For 20 years he was dead. He was Batman’s greatest tragedy. You did not fuck with Batman’s greatest sorrow. And they did it after (incel) Superman Prime punched the universe so hard Jason Todd came back to life.

Additionally, lots of comic writers just don’t fucking want to deal with him. Same with Damian I feel like. They throw both under the bus because they’d rather be writing other characters.

Most of this is my observations but if anyone else has any other comments to add feel free.

#bones replies #DC comics #red hood #Jason Todd

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our-destiny · 1 year

Text

Yandere Winter Soldier x GN!Hydra!Reader <3

Trigger Warnings: Hydra employee SA's reader, murder, dehumanization, creepy staring from Winter Soldier, Winter Soldier being protective, Hydra generally being shitty, I continue to be terrible at endings - If I missed anything please tell me

I am not responsible for the media you consume, read the warnings, minors dni

Want to read more of my work? Check out my Masterlist

Word count: 1027

. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ . * ✯. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ .

The Winter Soldier took a liking to you. He would ignore his handlers, staring at you whenever you're in his line of sight, never taking his eyes off you even while answering his handler's questions. It was unnerving, to say the least. No one knew why he liked you so much, but he didn't really do anything else apart from stare at you so they didn't bother worrying over it, just tried to keep you away from him as much as possible so the soldat wouldn't get distracted. That, however, was a mistake.

He started missing you. Missing your presence, your voice. Soon enough he started asking where you were, refusing to follow orders until he saw you. He had this weird fixation with you and Hydra couldn't do anything about it, he was their best Asset, and you were just a Hydra worker; replaceable. They humoured his desires, making sure to have you in the room with him at all times, which seemed to placate him, being able to watch you made him more... submissive, it seems. Calmer. He went back to following orders, not causing a fuss or refusing to speak. But eventually the Asset wanted more.

He stopped responding to his handlers again, just sitting there, staring at you, not moving or speaking. Up until this point you had never spoken to one another, the soldat just watching you while you squirmed under his harsh gaze, Hydra wondered what would happen if you.. called out to him. Said his name. Gave him orders.

One day the soldier was doing his usual stunt, not responding to his handler in favour of watching you breathe. A few of the officers started whispering among themselves, glancing over at your direction. A minute later the soldat's handler turned to you and spoke.

"You. Talk to it." You stood there dumbfounded. What did he mean 'talk to it'? "Come here. Stand in front of it and talk to the Asset." Hesitantly you stepped forward, his handler moving out of your way so you can stand directly in front of him. The soldat looked up at you from where he was sat, his eyes holding some sort of reverence for you, lips parted in awe. What should you say? You can't ask him how his day was or talk about the weather so what should you say? You settled on his name. Well what Hydra called him at least.

"Soldat." His eyes softened slightly, responding immediately to your word. "Ready to comply."

You glanced back at his handler, not sure if you should continue. After getting a slight nod from the officer you asked him, "Mission report?" Your voice was shaky, not used to giving orders and still not used to the way the soldat stares at you, but he responded anyway. For the first time in who knows how long the Asset complied without any fuss, detailing his mission to you. A feat no other Hydra employee could achieve recently.

Hydra quickly realized that this was the only way to keep their most prized soldier submissive. He'd only take orders if they were from you, always seeming eager to please you, saying "ready to comply" with a bit too much enthusiasm. When he came back from missions he'd relay the details to you, seeming to search your face for some sort of approval, like he wanted to know he did you proud, did what he was told to do like the soldier he is. The Asset worked harder, strived to please you, carried out your requests with fervour. You quickly got promoted to his handler. Not much changed, all you had to do was give him orders, orders which you were told to by higher officers. It kept him happy for a while, you having control over him, talking to you daily. But once again, he wanted more.

Other Hydra employees usually tried not to bother you, you were obviously precious to the soldier and crucial to getting the soldat to comply, but recently there was a new employee, a man that had not realized your importance. You could never really get comfortable working for Hydra, still talking with a quiet voice and trying to avoid any attention and he thought he could take advantage of that, cornering you one day in the hallway, pushing you against the wall trying to feel you up. Unfortunately for him the soldat was just returning from a mission and everyone knows the soldat immediately goes to see you after his missions. The Asset was not happy to see someone else feeling up his handler, and he was even more upset that he was making you uncomfortable, forcing you to do something you didn't want to. The Asset handled it a lot more maliciously than he usually would on missions, first focusing on getting the employee off of you, then only focusing on hurting him, nothing else but the crunch of his bones breaking beneath the soldier's metal fist, making him regret even touching you. Only when he was unrecognisable did he stop, turning to you to grab you, holding you in his lap, arms slightly shaking, growling at anyone who got too close.

After that... encounter he became more physical in a way. He didn't like it when someone got too close to you, wrapping his arms around you protectively. He got closer in general, getting closer to your face while staring at you, eyes lingering on your lips, so close you could feel his breath on your face. Sometimes he got confident, brushing his lips over your temple or cheek, as if testing the waters. Gradually, he applied more and more pressure to those half-kisses, until he was kissing you fully and often, whenever you gave him an order or he came back from a mission he'd kiss you, sometimes on the cheek, on the forehead if he was feeling particularly protective, but mostly on the lips.

It was some sort of fucked up obsession the soldat had for you, the want for you to own him and for him to own you, you're his and he's yours, no one else matters.

. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ . * ✯. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ .

Reblogs make tumblr go around and are very much aappreciated <33

#yandere marvel #yandere bucky x reader #yandere bucky barnes #yandere bucky #yandere winter soldier #yandere mcu #yandere marvel x reader #dark mcu #dark marvel #dark bucky x you #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!buckybarnes #dark winter soldier #the winter soldier #winter soldier #also note that i do not like hydra #fuck hydra

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waywardcrow · 4 months

Text

Timeless.

Summary: 1943. 1975. 2024. Three different decades, three different lives, three different times your life and Bucky's interwined; he lost you twice, will he do it again?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader.

TW: It can change each chapter but themes of Bucky as soldier and as the Winter Soldier in general, some stalker behaviour but with good intentions?, flashbacks and a not so good writing style by me, lots of feels, one awful boss, one jerk that almost gets reader in an accident, mentions of headaches, past reader is mentioned to be named Beth but that changes for 2024 version of her so I nicknamed her Ace, this will be a +18 story so minors dni, as always please remember english is not my first language so if I make a mistake or forget something let me know.

Pictures from pinterest and graphic and dividers by the amazing @ firefly-graphics so all credits to the creators.

Your head was aching like never before and that was your life now; annoying pain, annoying boss who was a fucking brat with a trust fund who never heard the word “no” as a kid and that now acted like she was entitled to make your life miserable.

It wasn’t like you were and idiot who believed a job like this will be easy, as a born and raised new yorker who watched The devil wears Prada too many times you were aware of what will come your way as PA of the editor of one of the best magazines in the country but your issuess were beyond that, it was easy to handle a bully if you are getting something in exchange besides a check that barely paid your rent.

This job was suppossed to be your opportunity and Mia Alexander was beating up your expectations. With a sigh you picked the coffee and make your way back to the office, it was so stupid that you have to walk three blocks in the pouring rain just to get her stupid cold brew from the stupid pretencious coffee shop that always made you feel like you were back in high school. Always the outsider in a world ruled by assholes, just like the one who pushed you too hard while waiting to cross the street. For an idiotic reason, your first thought was that you will have to go back for another cold brew when the one in your hand hit you and then the pavement, not the bike coming your way.

It happened too fast for you to understand it, the asshole pushing you towards the traffic, your annyoance, the stranger who hold you back in the blink of an eye, the pain in your head stopping and then you were standing at a safe distance to the cars, with your umbrella tossed in the pavement and absolutely no idea of what had happened.

Alexander yelled at you for your aspect when you came back late with her first coffee all over your dull clothes and the second one not good enough apparently, the best you could do was bite your tongue and not tell her to fuck off. This job was everything you had.

“What the fuck happened to you, babe?” Harper didin’t care about Mia but that was because she couldn’t get her fired being her sister and everything, you were a different story.

“Your evil sister doing her usual shit” was your only response, Harper was completely different to Mia and if you tried to tell her about the incident she will drove you herself to ER. She followed you to the bathroom, your blouse was so stained it couldn’t be saved and still you wanted to do something to don’t cry.

Harper pursed her perfect red lips, it didn’t matter how many times she tried to help you, Mia was their mother’s favorite and will never do anything against her; the best she could do for you was to get you out of that clothes.

“Take that off, I’m bringing you something and don’t argue” Harper disappeared before you could try and came back with a pretty blouse with a V line and a small waist that will rock with your boring blue jeans.

“I can’t wear that” you refused still covered in coffee.

“Why? I have seen you wear more skimpy stuff when we go out” someone walked in the bathroom and shot you an intrigued look when she saw Harper undressing you.

“You know why” your dumb boss didn’t like that the person walking three steps behind her attracted the attention so you were expected to wear boring clothes in order to not be noticed by anyone.

“I’m telling you, one of this days I’m going to punch her in the face and I will not give a fuck if I get cut out…” your hand in her mouth stopped her to finish her sentence “back off, Ace” her nickname make you roll your eyes “you know I’m right.”

She was but your life was a constant reminder that no matter how right you were, you had no other option but to do as you were told if you wanted to pay the bills and help your parents, you stopped wishing for a way out long ago, this was your life.

Bucky went back to the tower that night after making sure you were home safe first, Sam tried to call him back but he ignored his phone and jumped in the shower, the hot water barely easing the tension in his muscles. He could have lost you that afternoon.

The super soldier still wanted to chase the idiot who nearly get you killed but Bucky wouldn’t be able to hold back if he saw him again, that’s why he asked Sam to take care of it without giving a good explanation beyond what had happened: a jerk pushed a by-stander to the traffic and didn’t give a shit about it. Bucky had to act like you were nothing to him, just another civilian he could help. He was liar, a murderer, a destroyer of lives but that lie, insignificant and not even believable, left his chest aching. You were everything; you always were from the moment he set his eyes on you that night in 1943.

Bucky expected more from his last night home before going to war, his date was nice but Connie will never think twice about him once he was gone and in all honesty, he wouldn’t do it too. Maybe it was the fact that Steve insisted in being enlisted that left him so uneasy, maybe the thought of leaving his family behind when his ma and his sisters already lose too much or maybe it was everything mixed with his fears.

Opposite to Steve, he never wanted to go to the war, it was what left them without a father, what left his mom without a husband, Bucky swore he will never abandon his family to fight and die alone in someone else’s land but his country didn’t care about his promises and his fears and demanded his blood and sacrifice anyway.

He tried to don’t let his family see this, not even Steve but Rebecca could see it, only three years of difference between them made them close to know each other well. She was there when Bucky got the letter informing him about being drafted, she held him while he cried like a little kid and swore to don’t say a word to the others, Rebecca woke up early the morning of his mandatory training to make him breakfast and give him a hug before their ma could do the same.

Bucky didn’t want to leave her in charge, she was his little sister, his responsibility but he was sure Rebeca will do it.

The way back after leaving Connie and her friend home was silent, Steve probably was back in their apartment after being rejected again, Bucky promised himself to be reasonable with his best friend later but after he spent one more night with his family.

In the porch stairs there were two girls whistling a short melody, he could see them from the distance, one was Rebecca but he didn’t knew who was the other one, her hair pinned up perfectly giving him a good view of one perfect neck and three moles aligned like a little constellation.

When he got close enough, Rebeca spotted him and she broke a smile.

“Bucky! You are here!” His sister got up, holding him in her embrace. After all those years he could swear he still remembered her scent: homemade cookies and lilacs. “You are early” she said, giving him a suspicious look.

Before she could say more, he interrupted “Who’s your friend, Becca?”

You shot him a funny glance, like you knew what he was doing and follow his sister after fixing your skirt.

“I’m Beth, nice to meet you” You and Rebecca were being friends for more of a year but you never met her brother, Rebeca tried to set you both up but he insisted in not dating anyone as young as her sister, didn’t seem right but that was before he got a chance to actually know you.

He knew a lot of beautiful girls; he probably dated a good number of them in the last years but you were more than your pretty eyes or your perfect lips, he never felt like his whole world stopped with any of them the way he felt it with you.

“Beth” Bucky repeated, his tongue tasting sweet with the echo of your name in his mouth. A charming smile made its way to his lips and you blushed under the intensity of his eyes. Everybody talked about Rebecca’s brother, such a ladies man, a respectful one but a ladies man anyways and you were raised better than to be one of those dames who let men sweep them off their feet.

“I should go back home, Becca” you said giving your friend a quick hug and a nod to her brother.

“Let Bucky walk you home Beth, is late and your mother will not be happy if she knows you went alone” oh Rebecca was good, Bucky could see the spark in her eyes, identical to his, and he could hear her future constant reminders from now on about how she told him so, she was always right about him and Beth.

“I don’t want to impose” was all the girl could say and Bucky took that as his chance.

“Please, allow me to escort you home safe, miss” he used his best smile and extended his arm like a gentleman “it will be an honor.”

For a heartbeat, he could see your intention to roll your eyes but you agreed and took his arm, Rebeca didn’t do a good job at hiding her smile saying her goodbyes before going back to the house to tell Winnifred everything.

And that was the only time he could be close to you before he lose everything he was once.

Next chapter >>>

Please let me know what you think! Thanks 🩵.

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x f!reader #40s bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst

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httpwintersoldier · 10 months

Text

『night visits. || winter soldier x reader』

pairing: winter soldier x f!reader words: lenghty summary: usually people find their own interests, but when you are "forecefully recruited" to work under HYDRA, your interest found you first.

『part 2』

You thought your studies and hard work would be rewarded, especially being one of the only women in the field. You thought all of the late nights studying, all of the potential relationships lost over fear of falling behind in your studies and all of the golden years invested would be worth it. You would be praised, given numerous titles and be able to help the community and give back to Society.

Except that didn't happen.

The payment for your hard work came in the form of a kidnapping. By Hydra. After appearing in the paper, being praised for your skills and knowledge, unbeknownst to you, a target had been placed by one of the most evil forces walking the earth.

Someone as bright and qualified as you who did not yet have the influence or the contacts to generate buzz in the media or in the government when kidnapped qas rare, and Hydra recognized the fact. So one late night, as you were coming back from your lab alone, you were hit in the back of the head and next thing you knew you were sitting in a metal chair, shaking in cold, with two men standing by your side and another menacingly sitting in front of you, waiting for you to wake up.

"The world sure is cruel..." Were your only thoughs, as tears ran down your emotionless face, when you heard where you were and what your purpose was.

You couldn't even choose the easy way out and... "eliminate yourself". They made sure you knew the worst would happen to your loved ones if you did so. So you complied, in hopes there would be a way out.

They then introduced you to a soldier, one genetically enhanced, to be stronger, smarter, smoother and more skilfull than thw average soldier. A previous army man whose brain had been blended and molded into being a mere killer puppet.

You were to supervise him, make sure everything in his heavily modified and messed-with brain was in order. You conducted psychological tests as well as neurological ones.

You were handed his file before you got to meet him, so you could study him. All of his information was there, the information of James Buchanan Barnes.

Tears brimmed your eyes when you met the soldier. He was a person, with a life. With hopes, dreams, loved ones... And Hydra turned him into a monster.

"The tests work best if I am alone with him. Other presences may disturb him and alter the results." You told the other Hydra agents.

It wasn't a complete lie, but you just wanted to be alone with him so you could treat him like a human.

" But he could-"

"I will call if you're needed." You said, interrupting him by raising your finger "You have not-so-gracefully brought me here because I am good. I should know what's best."

All of the men overseeing the Winter Soldier prohect exited the room, while muttering some not-so-nice Russian words under their breaths.

You pushed a chair to sit close to the Winter Soldier (but not too close, since you were still wary).

"Hello, James."

All of the men called him "Soldier", but it seemed inhumane, like a tool to be used, so you just used his first name. You knew it might trigger memories, but you refused to keep up the bad treatment.

This made the soldier look at you through his eyebrows, acknowledging your presence, but not replying.

"I'm here to asses you. Is that okay?"

You were to make sure he didn't remember anything from his past life and that he remained in the borderline-psychotic state he was in constantly, and that was already monsteous enough, so you made sure it was as easygoing as possible.

"Sargeant Barnes I don't want to treat you like those men, I don't want to hurt you."

His eyes softened the least bit, but as you expected his walls were up, strong and solid, and once more he did nor reply.

It would be months of hard work before he trusted your words, before he revealed that there was a bit of James Barnes underneath the soldier.

"Why... Why do you do this?"

You looked up from your notebook.

"Do what, James?"

"That. Give me hope."

Your heart raced a little at those words.

"What do you mean, give you hope?"

"It was easier killing people when I thought they were all cruel..."

There was silence in the room. You knew he didn't mean to say that your encounters were unpleasant, but that they were so pleasant, there was such peace when you were with him, that it was harder to complete his job.

"Do you want me to change my behaviour?" You still had to ask, just in case.

He did not look at you when he shook his head negatively.

"I like you. You're a good one. But I don't want to remember anything."

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion and put down your materials for a second.

"Why's that, James?"

Fortunately, the fact that he was never called "James" (it had always been "Bucky" or "Sargeant Barnes") worked in his favour, as he did not have recurring memories from his past when you called him that.

"If I am here... it was because I was a bad person. No good person ends up in this place. I am here, I must deserve it."

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" This question was genuine curiosity. You wondered, after hearing his logic, if he thought you were evil too.

The man looked at you as if you were stupid. His eyes said "how could it ever come across your mind that I think there's a trace of evil in you". But, due to his conditioned mind, all he said was a cold, harsh "no".

"Then you trust me?"

A nod was all you got in response. If you got a couple sentences out of him per session, you'd be in luck.

"I will respect that you don't want to remember, but I can tell you, I saw who you were. You were not a bad person, you were a great one."

He finally made eye contact with you, and you could almost feel emotion in him.

The soldier's eyes wandered away from yours once more, focusing on the ground.

"I will end up here." He mumbled.

"Sorry James, what was that?"

"I will end up here. No matter what I do, they find me. I know I have remembered before, they left that in my mind. They left that I escaped, they brought me back and put me back in the machine." His voice was more somber as he told his story "I don't want to remember because if I do I won't want to stay, but I will just end up here again and be tortured again. I will just save myself the pain."

That was the most he had ever said to you, and it brought tears to your eyes. It wasn't human, what they did to him, no. It was pure torture on a man that, on the pictures you saw, looked like a hopeful young man, the life of the party, the one that would make friends with any and everyone.

You placed your hand on top of his.

"I'm sorry, James."

This action caused the soldier to widen his eyes and look at you in shock.

It was the first friendly touch he had felt since forever. It was the first human contact he had that wasn't a punch, a slap, or something equally as painful.

That interaction almost made him lose composure, but he remained stiff and serious until you awkwardly removed your hand.

You were slowly bringing out the human in him, but sometimes you wondered if that was the correct choice. You didn't want him to get hurt again. The last time they used the machine you could hear his screams no matter how far your room was or how you tried to cover your ears with the pillow, the Soldier's pained and desperate screams still reached your ears.

After that particular day, Bucky realized how much he enjoyed your touch. It seemed that the spot you had touched him burned every day you were apart. Your sessions were twice a week, three times maximum, but it was the only thing Bucky looked forward to.

"Hello, James."

His gaze remained locked with the floor. You thought you had made no progress whatsoever in your mission to make him accostumed with behaving like a human, however that wasn't true. Bucky was just afraid that if he did look at you he wouldn't be able to contain his excitement.

His brain was in constant disarray - the conflict between wanting to smile and have a conversation with you and the fear of disobeying orders and being punished were constant.

You sighed and sat next to him. You did the usual job of first checking to see if Hydra hadn't permanently fucked his head, and then you moved to the part where you'd check if he still was the emotionless psychopath Hydra had turned him into. Except you bent the last task to your will.

"I don't want to treat you like the rest of them. I won't. No matter what they made you believe, you're a person still. And I want to make your situation a little better but you have to pretend, no matter how much your condition improves, that you're still the same Soldier. I don't want you to go back into the machine because of me." You had explained, in one of your earliest appointments.

"I read the mission report. What are you feeling?"

"Accomplished."

His response was short, and dry, delivered in a voice devoid of all feeling.

"Are you saying that just because you accomplished the mission?"

Silence. His silence was, most of the time, an admission. You nodded and sighed.

You stood up and walked closer to him, placing your hand on his shoulder. There it was. Bucky didn't even care about the rush of emotions flowing through him, he just focused on your touch, how warm it felt, how homely it felt.

"Now, how did it really make you feel."

There was a short silence again, as he thought.

"Confused. I don't think I like to see people suffer, I don't like their screams, but I must do it, or else I suffer." His eyebrows furrowed as he said that, as if he was trying to connect the pieces in his head.

You began saying something about how he wasn't bad, but all that was just background noise. All he could focus on was how your hand travelled down his arm and rested on his hand as you crouched in front of him.

"James? Did you listen?"

Only then did you realize how intensely he was looking at you. His icy blue eyes stared into your soul, and you noticed how beautiful the man was when there were slight traces of emotion on his face. The strands of his jaw-lenght dark hair shaped his face beautifully, and you couldn't help but look at his parted lips.

You felt your face growing hot and immediately stood up, turning your back to him and pretending you were doing something else as you tried to regain your composure.

Before long, Hydra officials came through the door to take the Soldier, You'd never get too long in his presence, just enough time to do your job.

This time you wouldn't see him again in two days, and so you walked back to your "room" (if it could even be called that) thinking about his eyes, the way he looked at you, and the way you wanted to brush back his hair and take a good, long look at his face.

It was late, very late, when you woke up with a cold breeze in your room. You stood up, to close the window, only to realize that it was closed. It was only when you looked towards the door that you saw a tall, large, dark figure standing under the frame. Before you could scream, he paced forward and placed a hand over your mouth.

You could then see who it was. The moon light coming through from the window's glass lit up those blue eyes you had come to be so familiar with, and the mask you dreaded.

Once your breathing calmed down and the Soldier was sure you knew who it was, he allowed you to remove his hand from your mouth.

You then reached around his neck and undid his mask, slowly removing it.

"Why are you here?" You asked, your voice above a whisper.

The mask fell to the ground but Bucky's eyes never left yours.

"I won't hurt you."

It stung you that he thought you'd ever think he was capable of hurting you, but that was how he was conditioned to think.

"I know..."

Those words sent a wave of relief over Bucky, and he wasn't sure how to describe the feelings inside of him if he had to.

"I came back from a mission and I should head back but... I can't. I needed to see you."

Your mind immediately went into work mode and you looked at him with a very serious face.

"Are you feeling alright? Did something trigger you in the mission?" You asked, sitting down on your bed and pulling him down so he could be comfortable.

"No, miss Y/N, I needed to see you." As he said this, Bucky slid a hand up your thigh, stopping dangerously close to your core.

Only then did you realise that you were sitting next to a very big man wearing nothing but the sheer and short nightgown you used, as it would get very hot in your particular side of the building due to all the machinery working.

Your legs spread slightly, and you didn't miss the ever so sublte smirk tugging at the corner of Soldier's lips. The man watched your reactions carefully, and took that as a green card to proceed. His face got closer to yours, and he teased your lips, brushing his own against yours, before moving to your neck and kissing the spot right below your ear.

"James..." His name escaped past your lips.

It wasn't voluntary, because you didn't know if you wanted him to stop or continue. Morally it was wrong, he was your patient (technically), but it felt so right, so good...

"Hm? Want me to stop?" He asked, as his hand made its way closer to your core and his lips bit down on your neck.

Fuck it. If you were stuck here you might as well enjoy it, there was nothing morally right around you, why would you be the exception.

"No." You said, with the upmost certainty.

"Good."

With his metalic arm, the man separated your legs far enough so he could have access to your vagina, and with the other he cupped your face and brought your lips to his.

His fingers went inside your panties and rubbed between your folds before teasing at the entrance. You couldn't help but moan into the kiss as one experimental finger went inside of you.

There had obviously been a considerable ammount of time since you had been sexaully active, so you were very sensitive, and the Soldier could tell.

You weren't sure on what to focus: the way his lips completely dominated yours, or the way his fingers fucked you.

Soon after he added a second finger and switched between curling and uncurling them as he fucked you. His thumb found your clit and he rubbed it, adding to your pleasure.

You didn't hide how good he made you feel, incessantly moaning into the kiss and calling his name.

The man pulled away for a second, kissed your cheek and then your neck.

"I love the way you sound." He whispered.

"Then... Then fuck me, I promise I will sound so much better." You said, almost breathless.

Bucky shoved the fingers that were in you inside of your mouth so you could lick them clean, and then wrapped the same hand around your neck.

"That's all I needed, doll." He whispered.

Bucky unzipped his tight pants and pulled his cock out. You admired his size before he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you onto his lap. The soldier lifted you up pulled your panties to the side and, once his tip found your entrance, slowly lowered you on his cock.

You gripped his arms and let out a long, strained moan, until he was fully inside you. He then started moving you on his cock, thrusting slightly when pulling you down.

He skillfully and smoothly removed your little sleeping gown and kept on fucking you.

"Shit." He cursed, as he watched your ass bounce on his cock.

You realised how much you loved to hear him curse, how much you loved to hear his voice in your ear.

Slowly, the soldier picked up the pace when he felt you were comfortable. He then wrapped one arm around your body to keep the movements steady, and wrapped the metal hand around your throat.

You would've guessed the man that barely spoke would've been a quiet one, but oh were you wrong. The grunts and moans in your ear brought you closer and closer to your climax, along with the way his metal arm applied a slight but noticeable pressure in your neck.

"James I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum."

With these words, Bucky flipped you two, wanting to see the pleasure in your face when you came. You laid on your back as Bucky kept fucking you with his hand on your neck, switching between the way your tits bounced and the way your face looked as you were about to reach your climax.

It wasn't long before your hands gripped the thin sheets and your back arched. With a cry for his name, you came. Soon after hearing you call for him, Bucky buried himself deep inside of you and came.

The way he looked at you had you in a trance.

He bent down, grabbed your face and kissed you, before looking down and caressing your stomach.

"You're mine. Mine. All mine."

#bucky #bucky smut #bucky fanfic #bucky reader insert #bucky x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #winter soldier #winter soldier smut #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x y/n #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier x you #winter soldier angst #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #marvel smut #bucky breeding kink

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frogchiro · 4 months

Note

As a proprietor of a Skyrim blog myself, do you have any other headcanons for our darling Call of Duty gentlemen? Perhaps what their classes and roles might be in that universe?

Ngghh I love this ask and it's perfect for a come-back!! And I'm very sorry that you had to wait so long for this :((

My Skyrim hyperfixation comes back every year around this time so have this super specific roles/races of the CoD men <3 This was brought to you by Kin's hyperfixation and me listening to Skyrim soundtrack <3

Simon would definitely be a Nord through and through; big, burly, hairy and strength for days! Perfect body for surviving the harsh Skyrim winters, hunting Saber-tooth tigers and bears for their precious pelts for keeping warm or lugging heavy wood after him to place in the hearth in his modest cabin deep in the woods near Dawnstar.

Johnny would be a Breton!! Just think about it!! He's canonly a demolitions expert, knows his way around explosives right? Sooo he'd be adept at Destruction Magic, always eager to learn until it eventually turns into a fight where he just...blows his opponent up/ That's how he got kicked out of the Winterhold Academy for being insubordinate and seriously harming one of the students there by loosing control of his spells. Now he's traveling through Skyrim as a mercenary/adventurer, always getting into fights and being known for exploring places where no one else would dare to go it.

My boy Kyle is a proud Redguard! A skilled fighter and extremely knowledgeable, he was traveling through Tamriel as an adventurer too, visited Morrowind, Elsweyr and while he was traveling through Cyrodil he met the big, burly Nordman, Price! He actually saved him when he got accidentally cornered and heavily injured by a group of Draugrs when he was exploring old ruins and Price helped him fight them off and then took him back into his camp and helped him. Since that time Kyle is a loyal friend and companion of Price, learning all the time from the older man and bettering his fighting skills <3

And now for John!! He's a Nord too, an older and seasoned warrior and former soldier in the Imperial Forces, he stationed most of his life whenever he was send and now that he's retired Price decided that he wants to return back to Skyrim. I imagine he'd settle somewhere in the Rift, close to a village but far enough to have a lot of privacy...Or at least wanted to until he met the young Redguard man, Kyle, and saved him <3

Bonus!:

Philip would definitely be half -Nord-half -Imperial, idk why I just feel it😭I think that even though there's Nord in him as well Philip would be very adamant on disregarding that side of him, always introducing himself as Imperial since he'd kinda have that mindset instilled in him that Nords are just mostly meat-headed savages. He rose through ranks in the army and is now a general like Tullius, known for his strategic mind and skills in battle. He got acknowledged by the Emperor himself and given an award; poor Phil thought he'd be rewarded in gold, lands and riches but instead his 'reward' was to be stationed in Solitude and supervise the Imperial forces in Skyrim😭

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #skyrim au #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #philip graves x reader #graves x reader

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sunshine-on-my-mind · 5 months

Text

Soldat’s fairy

~ Chapter 1

pairing: winter soldier x reader / bucky barnes x reader

general warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!! Dark Elements!! HYDRA!! (Dub Con implied but not really and NOT FROM BUCKY), Winter Solider, Mind Control, se-xual in-tercourse. forced relationship forced procreation (HYDRA!!), ANGST - (this is my first time writing something like this so please let me know if I should more warnings)

chapter warnings: same as general warnings (let me know if i should add anything else)

words: 1.1k

a/n: hi cuties i’m very excited about sharing this story with you all. this will be angsty and involve some dark elements (not something i’ve written before) PLEASE PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS before continuing. feedback is appreciated!!

-> Next Chapter

DO NOT COPY MY WORK!!

—————————

Run. Hide. Fight- Surrender.

Those words were still buzzing in your ear. How could your own father do this to you? Truth be told he wasn’t your father, he adopted you, took you in. But what happened to the man who was always kind to you.

At that moment you were nothing but a tool, a pawn in his bigger plans. Alexander Pierce, a cold hearted leader and no longer a caring father.

That morning when he called you to his office you felt happy. You were lonely, you didn’t have a lot of friends, well how could you, when you weren’t even allowed to go out of the house much, and if you did then either with a bodyguard or in the presence of your father. It was once in a blue moon. Pierce prioritised his work, work you didn’t know much about, everything felt like a secret.

When you entered his office, his gaze on you was cold, and maybe a very tiny hit of sadness but a sly and determined look soon overtook his expressions.

“Daughter, you have always wanted to help me, help my work haven’t you?” Was he finally going to ask you to work for him? You smiled and nodded.

“Well then, I have something for you, in fact it’s quite a big responsibility, think you can handle it?” Pierce’s tone was taunting and you didn’t like it one bit.

“I won’t disappoint you”

“Very well than, come on, I would like you to meet someone”

It all happened too quickly, the air cold around you, and you couldn’t believe your own eyes. The sight in front of you, never before had you seen something- someone like this.

A large man trapped, inside a cage? or is it a room? Even though he looked so human, there was no single expression to be found on his face, as if made out of stone.

“Wha- who is this father?” Pierce smirked

“This? My key to victory” You looked confused. None of it made sense.

“Sir, everything is ready” One of Pierce’s men spoke up. Alexander Pierce had a devious smile on his face. He looked at you.

“Daughter, finally you have some purpose, do not fail me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Pierce nodded to point at the man inside the cage. He gave a brief history about who the winter soldier is. You were shocked, you felt blood draining from your body. Worst part was you still didn’t understand how you can be of any help?

“You see, the serum in soldat, has great potential, our scientists believe, if someone is born with the serum they will be even stronger” With each word, you felt your heart beating faster. “You my sweet daughter will be the key to that. Don’t worry your head over it hm? Just surrender to the Soldier, you can run if you want, hide too, but he will find you. There is no use to fight, no one can fight the soldier, let alone you. Surrender and you never know he might just show mercy.”

Reality was slipping from under your feet as you were sucked into a nightmare. It couldn’t be happening, no way on earth your father would do this to you. Then again, this wasn’t earth, this was hell and you’re about to be a part of it.

“Why me? I can’t, I won’t.” Pierce laughed at that.

“You won’t? After everything I’ve done for you? You ungrateful good for nothing girl you think.”

“Why me?” You kept on repeating, in between heavy sobs

“Because I said so. Because I have spent so much money on you, fed you, kept you healthy, given you shelter. I gave you everything and now it’s time you did something for me.”

Without thinking your feet started moving on their own. You ran as fast as you could,

you didn’t even know where you were going.

“Give the soldier his new target.” Pierce ordered one of his men.

Your body was moving on its own, it felt never ending, you kept running. A door was in sight, maybe you could make it. Almost there- almost.

A metal hand landed on your shoulder and you gasped loudly, you didn’t want to turn, didn’t want to face your future.

“Don’t Run” the voice sent chills to your whole body, suddenly you couldn’t move, frozen in your place. Soldier grabbed your arm and pulled you. The fight and flight ignited in you once more and you screamed ‘no’

It made no difference, soldat easily pulled you back, you cried and yelled but no use. He put you in front of your father, as was ordered.

“Well then daughter, I see you’ve met soldat.” In your wildest dreams and worst nightmares never a thought occurred where your father would treat you no better than a mere object.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Pierce laughed at your question

“It’s not about you, it was never about you, you will just play a small role in a much bigger game.”

“My life is a game to you?” Rage consumed your body. Rage, fear, disgust.

You were taken by your father’s men to a room and locked inside. The room was surprisingly nice, too nice, you felt your body revolting, you wanted to throw up.

A victorian style bedroom painted red and gold but modern furniture and decor. The roses on the bedside table didn’t provide any joy, it was clear to you the thorns could prick you any moment.

The massive door opened as the Soldat walked inside. You were petrified to say the least. His hair long, face showed no emotions, his silver metal arm glistening in the light. Everything about Soldat screamed power at the same time. He was no man, he was hydra’s weapon. But what about the man? Was he doing everything willingly? You know they kept him in a cage, but why? There was more to the story and you could feel it.

Soldat took a few steps towards you and you stepped back. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you. Scanned you. Assessed you.

“Why- why are you here?” You asked but didn’t receive an answer.

“Wait- We can talk, don’t do this. Please”. No answer.

“Soldat?” At that the man let out a soft grunt. The way you called him, sparked something inside him.

Your tears, the way you were shaking, none of that was supposed to matter to the Winter Soldier. Then why? Hydra made sure he was immune to all human emotions, except only rage. Then why?

Soldat turned around and left the room without another word. You kept standing in your place, no idea about what just happened or what would happen in the future.

All you knew, that was not the end but only the beginning.

—————————

series masterlist | next chapter

taglist: @cjand10

#bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x remember #bucky barnes angst #winter soldier angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #winter soldier #mcu bucky barnes #mcu winter soldier #marvel x reader #soldat’s fairy

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eightmakesonebraincell · 11 months

Text

[fic rec mlist] member x reader | hyung line

main mlist | prev (ot8) | next (member-specific cont)

only general themes and tags are listed - please read through the author's specific tags and warnings

both sfw and nsfw fics are included. minors please dni with nsfw fics and respect the age restrictions put into place by the writers (suggestive, smut, and trigger warnings are highlighted in red)

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sleazy seonghwa who sneezes | @chaseatinydream

genre: badboy!au, fluff

length: twoshot - 9.8k

by the intervention of fate (namely choi san), you see a different side to the school’s resident bad boy that you weren’t aware existed.

pirate!seonghwa | @ateezmakemeweep

genre: angst, fluff

length: oneshot - 13k

nil author synopsis

i'll be with you | @cheollipop

genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

length: oneshot - 1.6k

a long, dreadful day at work calls for a hot shower and sleep, perhaps a few hours of crying as well. what you don't account for, however, is the man who wouldn't let you go through that alone.

royal library | @nczennie

genre: royalty!au, angst, fluff, smut

length: oneshot - 10.1k

you turn to look at seonghwa, “thank you for keeping my secret,” you smile at him and he returns it, quickly standing to bow, “of course, your highness. your secret is safe with me”.

addicting kitten | @tenelkadjowrites

genre: smut

length: 6/6 chapters [completed] - 34.3k

when your car breaks down and your phone is dead, you are stranded alone on the way home. however, when seonghwa, the intimidating figure you see at the club often, comes by and offers you a ride, you cannot help but feel as if you might be walking into the lion’s den.

playing with fire | @ateezmakemeweep 🩶

genre: sugardaddy!hwa, fluff, angst, smut

length: 5/5 chapters [completed] - 121k

when your scholarship falls through during the last semester of your college career, you were, admittedly, on edge. overwhelmed by the prospect of delaying your graduation to save up thousands of dollars or work a second job or, per the suggestion of your roommate, sell pictures of your feet. you first met park eunbi during your first year of college, when she walked through your dorm room with a smile on her face and her parents by her side - or, more notably to you, her incredibly handsome father. that’s all he ever was to you though - your friend’s hot dad who you only ever saw a few times a year. but when you find yourself around him more and more often, your attraction growing and his eyes lingering, you suddenly find yourself in a situation you know is wrong but can’t seem to pull yourself out of.

lights out | @ateezmakemeweep

genre: neighbour!yunho, angst, fluff

length: oneshot - 7k

nil author synopsis

promise | @sorryimananti-romantic

genre: prince!yunho x princess!reader, arranged marriage, fluff, angst, suggestive

length: oneshot - 23k

‘i’ll be a friend to you, if nothing more’ is the promise yunho, prince of wonderland makes when you, the princess of eden find yourself in an arranged marriage with him to avoid war. however, war approaches and eden sides with the enemy. will you and yunho stick with each other? will you find love in this arranged marriage?

one day at a time | @sorryimananti-romantic 🩶

pairing: seonghwa x reader, yunho x reader

genre: soldier!au, fluff, angst, suggestive, trigger warnings

length: oneshot - 18.5k

come fly with me | @hwaightme

genre: pilot!yunho, fluff, angst, slice of life

length: oneshot - 9.0k

aerophobia - the fear of flying. and clearly, something that your boss has no idea exists. while you curse the universe and the metal bird, your handsome seatmate ponders if it is possible to redirect this flight, from gwangju, to your heart.

convenience store chances | @ohmyamor

genre: exbf!yunho, fluff, comfort, trigger warnings

length: oneshot - 2.5k

it’s the typical story of right person, wrong time. but maybe an unfortunate situation might turn the wrong time into the right time.

you're enough | @cheollipop

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst

length: oneshot - 2.0k

with the soft scent of baby wipes following him, yunho helped you stand back up to face the storm within your mind.

out of the woods | @sluttywoozi

genre: rom com, friends to lovers, fluff, smut

length: 3/3 chapters [completed] - 9.2k

you’ve been driving yunho nuts lately and he just can’t figure out why. he hates being annoyed with his friends, so he’s been avoiding you. it’s difficult to stay away when you’re locked together in a cabin with seven of your closest friends, though.

complete relaxation package | @beahae

genre: massage therapist!yunho, smut

length: oneshot - 4.8k

you’ve been neglecting your self-care for a while now so you decide to treat yourself to a massage. you deserve it! you didn’t realize the guy you booked would be so attractive though.

lovers in the night | @atzfilm

genre: sugar daddy!yunho, exes to lovers, fluff, angst, smut

length: oneshot - 11.3k

just out of your college with a freshly printed degree, you set out for a job that would fit your somewhat high standards. after a brief scroll through a sugar daddy website and a meeting set-up, you sit across from the one man you didn't expect to see — jeong yunho, your ex-boyfriend and apparently, a millionaire looking for someone to spoil.

[newly added] your hand | @smileysuh

genre: tattooist!yunho, smut

length: oneshot - 6.6k

it’s a classic parlor love story: big tattoo man finds new receptionist cute, but he can’t talk to her until something totally avoidable happens that brings them together out of his own sheer stupidity- that kind of shindig ;)

prince!yeosang x servant!reader | @ateezmakemeweep

genre: angst, fluff

length: oneshot - 4k

nil author synopsis

badboy!yeosang | @ateezmakemeweep

genre: angst, fluff, smut

length: oneshot - 18k

nil author synopsis

ideal woman | @the7thcrow

genre: gang!au, romance, angst, suggestive

length: oneshot - 10.5k

at the only bar in town where the lines drawn between different gangs becomes blurry, you spot your intellectual rival involved in one of the biggest underground organizations the city has to offer. responsible for the recent heist on your warehouse, as well as the death of multiple of your gang’s own members, he’s understandably considered someone that you should not be talking to. you buy him a drink.

the most lonely creature | @atzfilm

genre: serpent!yeosang, fantasy, fluff, angst, smut

length: oneshot - 35.9k

finding a yeouiju in the forest brings terrors unlike you've ever seen– in the shape of a water god

siren | @sorryimananti-romantic

genre: siren!yeosang, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst

length: oneshot - 27.8k

yeosang is a siren and you're a siren-hunter. he may have lost his voice and you may be immune to a siren's call, but he has you bewitched anyway. on your journey together to find the sirens who killed your parents and took his voice, you make new friends, find yourself cursed and turning into a siren, and fall for yeosang. he proves time and time again that he's not the monster you thought all sirens to be as he helps you come to terms with yourself and find the person who cursed you.

last updated: 24 march 2024

568 notes · View notes

loveindefinitely · 3 months

Text

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

09 — I'M HIGHER THAN THE HOPES THAT YOU BROUGHT DOWN

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

When you had taken down the organisation by Shepherd’s side, it was the beginning of everything.

The first time you had drawn someone else’s blood was with a rifle in your hand and a vengeance burning in your veins. A single order from your General – your only support – to kill anyone with the organisation’s uniform. Anyone who raised a scope to you.

It’s difficult, usually, to remember what had happened.

Sometimes, in your deepest of sleeps, the nightmares of your past came to haunt you. Flashes of blood on your skin, corpses underneath your feet, the crackle of a radio sounding in an empty room.

A congratulations from your General.

Congratulations for seeking revenge, and executing it like a soldier well-trained. Another cog in the military’s rusting machine. A weapon for them, more than a human with free will and determination.

You’d thrown up, after it all.

Heaving, sweating, crying, the endless guilt of what you’d just done. Were you no better than them? Sure, they’d killed your mother, but you had just carried out the same in turn. Tenfold. They had families that they’d never report back to. Families that they’d never get to say goodbye to. Dinner left untouched.

Shepherd had pat your back – then, he’d been in service, active duty. You hadn’t known it, but taking down the organisation was his last mission.

You never even learnt the name of the organisation. Shepherd had said that it was better that way, to detach yourself, not get yourself muddled with the logistics of it all. You weren’t meant for that. You were meant for weaponry and death and destruction.

That night, when you laid awake in the small camp set-up just a few klicks out from the organisation's site, you determined that you wouldn’t take another’s life without certainty. Unless it was for defence.

That night, you’d known that you would ask to be trained for field medicine.

Oh, how naive you had been. Young, aching for a chance to get revenge, to get what you felt you deserved.

Ten days later, you met one Phillip Graves.

A day after that, he offered you a place within the beginning of his mercenary company.

Half an hour after you signed the contract, General Shepherd announced that he was no longer suitable for active duty.

How naive indeed.

You think, in the very back of your mind, with the smallest grip you have on thought, that you’ve been carried to safety by men more than you have in your life, these past few days.

In and out, your mind wavers, senses completely gone, consciousness an impossible thing.

Minutes, hours, days. You’re not sure. How does time even work? What is time? Are you alive? Is this death? Another third, universally unknown state, an in between?

These past few days, the utter mess your life has become, has it finally worn you out? Destroyed you from the inside, shrapnel embedded into your flesh? A direct hit, a ticking time bomb gone wrong? A suicide mission with no preparation, no warning, no hope?

If you could, you’d cry.

Let tears fall down your cheeks, crystalline and pure against your dirtied and sinful skin. A mocking of all things good and right and beautiful.

Oh to be beautiful. To be right. To be good.

Heaven would taste like fairy floss melting against your tongue, you think. Sweet and pink and soft. It would furl around your tongue, season your mouth with the feeling of cotton and freedom.

White.

White blinds every inch of your body, the darkness of your eyelids lit with the shade. Chemicals fill the air, a stagnant, all too damning smell. Beeping, too, a constant background noise as you slowly come to.

Hospital – or, at the very least, a Med Bay. It’s something quite familiar, but the feeling of being a patient in one is a very rare instance for you.

That feeling of blood, sticky against your face and arm, has gone. Instead, the itch of fabric and bandage replaces it, an IV drip attached to your inner arm an annoying sting. Your hair feels as if it’s been carefully spread over the pillow underneath your head, a blanket wrapped over your form.

If your spatial awareness is at all correct, you think you can sense a few other people in the room, too. Soft murmuring chimes in over the beeping, now, as you return to full consciousness.

“Can’t believe all three of ‘em are down.”

Gaz – that honey-esque, smooth voice instantly has you recognising the Sergeant. From where his voice is coming from, he seems to be sat beside your bed.

“It’s not your fault, Kyle.”

Price. Captain. He sounds… softer than you’ve ever heard him. Lost, maybe, upset. Disappointed? It’s hard to place, his tone, but it seems almost forlorn.

“Had a whole fuckin’ team of Marines and we couldn’t make it to ‘im in time. If it wasn’t for her–”

“I know, Sergeant,” Price snaps, shutting down the younger man’s nervous, distressed rambling. A scrape of a chair sounds, the sound of pacing footfalls a moment later. “There wasn’t anything we could do – and it’s not like any of ‘em are dying, now are they?”

“Don’t act like this didn’t affect you either, Captain,” Gaz bites back in return, his chair, too, scraping against the linoleum floor. “I heard your yell clear as day.”

“I can and will write you up for insubordination, Garrick,” Price warns, stern and cold.

Gaz’s responding laugh is biting, grating. “No, you won’t, Price. Because if you do that, you’ll have to report the others too. You really wanna risk losing us all?”

“Don’t test me.”

“Thought you liked that about me, Cap.”

“Kyle –”

“Good morning to you, too.”

Both men turn, then, to look at you with wide eyes. With a small groan, you move to sit up, eyes burning with the sudden overhead lights. Your shoulder aches, your cheek, too, but not as badly as they had before.

“Be careful, don’t –” Gaz goes to say, moving towards you, before you show him your palm.

“I’m fine. I know my limits, Gaz,” you say, a small reprimand as you shift into a comfortable position. “I’ll be out of this bed within the hour if I can help it.”

“You dislocated your shoulder,” Price says, insistent, brows furrowed as he looks down at you, arms folded over his chest. “It’s in a wrap. You’re lucky, Colonel, that they could perform the surgery here.”

Your brows raise.

“Surgery? How long was I out?” You frantically ask, sitting up straighter, wincing when you bump your shoulder. Your mind races with theories, fear trickling down your spine like a cold vice. There was so much you had to do – had to investigate, now.

“Only about a day. You were under anaesthesia – and your body near shut down,” Gaz leans forward as he sits, elbows on his knees. “You were awake, under high-intensity stress, for nearly four days.”

Four days? Had it really been that long? What had only felt like a day – it had been four?

You must show your inner panic on your face, because Price takes a step closer, hand moving to rest comfortably on your shoulder. He has a calming, understanding tilt to his lips that you appreciate. His eyes examine your body, before his blue eyes meet yours.

“Graves is already planning his next movement,” he says, gruff and true. His hand squeezes. “We were playing checkers, seems like he wants to play chess.”

The beep of the machines sat beside your bed and the overall feeling of hospital and gauze and injury has you realising something. A flash in the back of your mind, a bell ringing for you like a dog on a leash.

“Where’s Soap and Ghost?”

Price and Gaz share a look, before Gaz flits a nervous grimace to you. “Ghost… refused to be treated unless he was put in the same room as Soap. Soap, is, well…”

“Get yer bloody hands off me, aye am fine, let me see ‘er–”

Soap’s voice carries down the hallway, the standard-issues curtains surrounding your small area doing nothing to block the sound. Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, Gaz buries his face in his hands, and Price heaves a long-suffering sigh, muttering something under his breath about decorum.

“Sergeant, the doctor’s –”

“Tell Sarah tha’ aye can bloody well handle maself!”

A crashing noise follows the last statement, along with the sound of confused yelling, before the curtain surrounding you gets ripped open by none other than Soap MacTavish.

His grown-out faux-mohawk is messy, obviously having been laid on for a fair bit, his eyes wide and chest pounding in sweeping movements. Fist clenched in the scratchy fabric of the curtain, his frantic eyes focus on Price and Gaz, respectively, before landing on you. His shoulders loosen, and he lets go of the curtain as he trails down your form, analysing for any injuries or a single hair out of place.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, sounding all too like that single nickname is a lifeline, “Yer alright.”

You softly shake your head, disbelieving and confused and shocked and.

And maybe slightly grateful. Lucky, even, to have someone care for you enough to act like your very presence is their saviour. Like your blood is as worthy as their own, your lungs virtually theirs, too.

“I’m not the one that nearly fell to my death,” you exasperate, voice as soft and vulnerable as you’ve heard it. At the very least, the most open you’ve sounded since your mother was around. “Did you just kill one of the nurses to get here?”

Soap’s creeping smile turns into a full, toothy grin as he shakes his head. “Nah. That’d be Lt.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price mutters from beside you, along with Gaz’s choked off laugh. You can’t help your own private smirk.

“And here I was, thinking you were the dog, Soap,” you tease, except for the first time, it isn’t with the intention of goading. Of poking the beast. You’re… teasing just for fun. Because it feels natural and right and.

Oh.

Soap scoffs. “Aye, ye did say that, didn’t ya? Ye haven’t seen a guard dog like Mr. Lt, lass,” He taunts, freckles dusting his nose, the hospital lights doing nothing to wash his tan skin out.

He says, as if your world hasn’t been flipped over, shaken about, and sat down on your shoulders like a snowglobe.

He says, as if everything is fine and normal and not cataclysmic.

“The nurse is fine.”

Everyone, including Price, jolts where they are situated, eyes darting to where Ghost leans against the wall opposite your bed, picking at his nails.

He’s.

Unlike the balaclava, of which is all you’ve known of the bulky man, the only thing covering his features is a standard black medical mask, covering his mouth and nose. No ink stains the upper half of his face, either, and for the first time – you see his hair.

Dirty blond.

It oddly suits him, the shortly cut mess, the strands hanging over his forehead and ears. What strikes you is the lack of scars from the skin you can see, the unmarred skin, the softness of it.

He’s pretty, in a rugged, unabashed way, and what a realisation that is.

With just a black compression shirt, sleeves cut to the mid-section of his upper arms, sleeves of talented ink cover his pale skin. A snake, intricately designed, covers his left, curving around the muscle. On his right, what looks to be a Greek god, its depth shadowed with blacks and greys.

“Good to see you in one piece, too, Lieutenant,” you say, and if it was at all possible, you’d swear that sparks shoot up your spine when his deep brown eyes catch onto yours.

He raises an uncovered brow – pale and soft. “I meant what I said,” he threatens, a glint in his eye.

So, you suppose, not all has been forgiven. Your memories are shaky at best, but a few words stand out from your confrontation – kill, belonging, rank. A promise of death, but a vow of protection, too.

“What’re you talking about?” Gaz asks, looking between the two of you with a confused expression.

Neither you, nor Ghost, break eye contact as you simultaneously say; “Nothing, Gaz.”

Both Sergeants share a look, a cheeky one, the type that no one else in the room can decipher. You had seen the way that the two shared comments, winks, hits up the back of their heads. Joking and full of life, but with an unbreakable bond between them.

Yearning was becoming too familiar of a concept for you, you were finding.

“Laswell found a hit on some intel,” Price breaks the tension of the room, hands bracing on his knees as he looks to the four of you. A grim expression settles on his face when he looks to you. “It’s in the home of one of your Lieutenants.”

Your heart stutters in your chest as you swallow around a dry mouth. “What kind of intel?”

Everyone seems to collectively move in closer – Ghost’s hand rests at his belt, Soap’s at his back pocket, Gaz’s on the chain adorning his neck, a guitar pick attached to the gold.

“Intel on an ‘organisation’,” Price says. “A group of people wanting to overtake the military, one with a rising number of members.”

It’s as if you can feel nothing but the beat of your heart, the sensation of your fingers, the pain in your chest. The organisation. They were. You and Shepherd, you hadn’t eradicated them. Maybe stumped their growth, for a while, but you hadn’t.

You hadn’t realised they were still around. Growing, even, thriving.

The urge to just cry, pour out your emotions and weep is the strongest it’s been since your mother’s funeral. To just pull up the covers over your head and let tears fall down your cheeks, mourn in your misery, scream and claw at your skin and feel.

If only you could be that woman. Just for a day.

Instead, you reply.

“When are we going?”

Soap is, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, the first one to speak up. His hands land on his hips as he studies you with a narrowed gaze. “Ye need to rest, lass. Yer broken.”

You throw your unwrapped hand in the air, waving in their general direction. “Have you guys seen yourselves? How the fuck you’re out of your gowns is almost crazier than you storming into here gunsablazing!”

“We didn’t get a concussion, a wound on our cheek, a dislocated bloody shoulder,” Ghost challenges, and your hackles rise in turn. When he gives, you return. The moon and the sun – the two of you, always taunting the other with a bone just to see if the other will bite.

“I saved your ass,” you seethe back, and with only a small wince, you pull the IV drip from your arm. If Price or Gaz debate that move, you ignore it. “And his. I don’t seem to recall hearing a single thank you, either.” You rise on shaky legs, pushing through the ache, pushing through the thunderstorm in your chest. You turn to Soap, “So don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” you turn to Ghost, “And you don’t tell me what injuries deem me weaker! I’ve survived this long without the lot of you, and you don’t need to start babying me now.”

The silence in the room should dispel your nerves, but it only serves to increase them tenfold.

“We’ll scope out the area and decide what to do after. Five days ‘til we perform an undercover mission, I suspect.”

With a small tilt of your head, you look to Price, who rubs at his jaw, scratching at the hair lining it. He looks deep in thought – ever the calculating leader.

You sigh, quiet enough to not be heard. “Thank you, Captain.”

The wrapping around your set shoulder seems recently done, and when you move the ligament in small circles, the pain is nothing more than a dull ache. Your cheek, too, has been bandaged, but the sting is nothing if not prevalent.

Someone had spent the time putting socks on your feet, so you’re grateful for the small mercy as you move to the side table and swallow down mouthfuls of water from the plastic bottle placed there.

A thought comes to mind then.

“Where do I sleep? Or should I, um…” You trail off, because the idea of finding a shoddy motel in the middle of nowhere is definitely not a pleasant one.

Silence.

Slowly turning around, bottle in hand, your brows furrow when you see that none of them are meeting your eyes. Even Ghost, which is most definitely a first.

“Are you banishing me? Worried I have cooties?” You tease, bouncing on the soles of your feet. When no one responds again, you truly start to worry. “That was a joke,” you confirm, as if they didn’t know that.

“There’s no spare rooms,” Gaz blurts out, and your eyes go wide.

Of all the things that had briefly crossed your mind, a lack of space was most certainly not one of them. The consequences of that fact is the next thing to be brought to the forefront of your muddled ideas.

“Right,” Soap nods, as if this is a newly found concept. He gestures to Gaz, a smile creeping onto his face. “Thanks for offering to let ‘er crash with ya, lad.”

“I didn’t say that –” Gaz starts, expression slowly creeping into one of exasperation as Price interrupts with a slap to the Sergeant’s shoulder.

“Real generous, Garrick,” Price commends, moving to stand from his chair and leave the room. Ghost follows closely behind him, shooting a look between you and Kyle, simply saying, “Thanks, Sergeant.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Gaz groans, head falling against the chair backing as he slides down the wood. Soap is quick to bound away from the room, too, with a cheerful, ‘See you tomorrow!’.

Gaz, eyes squeezed shut, seeming to try and melt into the floor, flutters one eye open to look at you where you stand. He grimaces, before slowly getting to his feet, too.

“Sorry for,” you bite at your lip, looking everywhere but at the man who seems to want to die more than host you, “Being a nuisance. Really, I’m fine sleeping at a motel, or whatever. Seriously.”

His hand grasps your chin, moving it so you’re forced to look up at him, his analysing gaze searching your own. The brown of his eyes glisten in the bright light, his features shining with it, and you’re hit with an overwhelming want to be cherished by this man.

How bad had your concussion really been, to be making you think this way? You should really talk to Sarah about it, ask what kind of side effects came with one.

Oddly enough, you don’t think that this realisation is as sudden as you’re forcing yourself to believe.

“I didn’t,” Gaz begins, quickly looking away and setting his jaw before meeting your eyes once more, “I didn’t mean it like that. Just. Embarrassing, y’know?”

“How? Got a secret collection of pornos you don’t want me finding?” You quip back, a soft tilt to your lips.

He chuckles, a soft, girthy thing, shaking his head. “Nah. Nothin’ like that. Just… havin’ a girl in my room on such short notice is a bit scary. Gonna kill them all when I see ‘em tomorrow,” he mutters the last few words under his breath.

“I really am sorry,” you promise, “I didn’t realise that I’d have to impose on you like this.”

“You’re not imposing,” Gaz says, stern, thumb brushing along your jawline. “My bed should be big enough, anyways.”

Your cheeks heat at the implication, mouth opening and closing around nothing. “Your – Your bed? I can just sleep on the floor –”

“No,” he interrupts, shaking your head side to side softly. “If anything, I’ll crash on the floor if you’re uncomfortable. I won’t let you sleep on anything but my bed.”

“Such a gentleman,” you lean in, whispering the words over his lips, a smirk forming on your face as you pull back. Heading for the door, you miss the way his fingers raise to hover over his mouth, gaze flitting to you before he follows behind.

“Do I need to see Sarah? The only reason I was really in there was ‘cause I was passed out, right?” You ask, turning around as Gaz meets you, opening the door for you to walk through. His hand falls to the small of your back as he directs you down the hallways.

He shakes his head. “Nah, Price messaged ‘er. If your pain starts up again, just take some pain meds or see her.”

“I like the way you run things here,” you hum, looking around at the concrete walls and linoleum floors, barren of personality. “No wasting time or resources.”

A draft carries down the hall, and you find yourself rubbing your arm, biting at your lower lip from the cold. Gaz’s hand wraps around your waist, pulling you into his body heat subtly, and you’re silently grateful. “I’ll give you some of my spare clothes to sleep in,” he says, thumb rubbing against where his hand sits in tight circles.

Your stomach growls, then, and you can hardly find the energy to be embarrassed when you haven’t eaten in four days. Yikes.

“Sorry –”

“I made you. Um.” Gaz looks away, bringing up his other hand to rub at the nape of his neck nervously. “I made you some wraps to eat, because the guys love ‘em, and Price kept getting pulled into meetings. So.”

The smile that pulls at your cheeks burns as you softly say, “Thank you.”

His grip around your waist tightens, the smallest amount.

You don’t comment.

“While you change, I’ll go get them from the fridge,” he says, as the two of you pause outside a standard door. The barracks look the same as every other corridor in this base, you’ve found, three other doors sitting close to this one. The 141’s rooms.

Unlocking the door, he switches on the light, and as you step in, you look around at the small room.

A double bed, narrow but long, sits in the corner next to a small window. Next to it, a wooden bedside table, with photos atop it, and a few random medals and gum wrappers. A single poster is stuck to the wall – and as soon as you see it, a laugh bubbles up in your chest.

“What?” Gaz asks, looking through his chest of drawers, looking to you with flushed cheeks. “It isn’t that bad.”

Your laughs continue, racking your body with each inhale as you point to the poster, eyes watery as you look at the man. “Didn’t realise you were into the Spice Girls, Garrick.”

He shoves his clothes into your face, only making you double over with laughter.

“It was from my mum,” he grumbles, and you grab for his cheeks, squeezing them as your eyes near-shut with the manic laughter bubbling from you.

“Mama’s boy,” you tease, pulling at his cheeks until he’s face level. He huffs, pushing you away with a hand to your jaw, making more giggles erupt from your chest. “It’s cute, Gaz, I’m not being mean, pinky promise.”

“I’m getting the wraps, you twat,” he tries to sound accusatory, but his dimples deepen in his cheeks, his mouth pulling into a stubborn smile as he shoves you onto the bed, slamming the door shut behind him as he goes.

The fondness in your chest aches, and as you pull on his clothes, taking off the medical robe, you realise something. A niggling, in the back of your mind, one you can’t seem to shake as you tie off the oversized grey sweatpants around your waist.

A singular realisation, but a damning one, nonetheless.

Your smile doesn’t fade.

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @oreo-cream @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing @oreo-cream @fanngirl19

630 notes · View notes

scoonsalicious · 1 month

Text

Unwanted: Chapter 3, Unbidden - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, alcohol consumption, minor discussions of sex, drunk!Bucky, minor violence, FloRida's Low (that song slaps, okay?), minor anti-Winter Soldier sentiment, an unnecessary Ted Bundy reference just because. As always, let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 4.1k

Previously On...: You and Bucky had a heart-to-heart after you came back from your mission with Steve, and Bucky asked a very interesting question about the nature of your relationship with the Star Spangled Man.

A/N: I just finished writing Chapter 9 ahead of schedule, so here is Chapter 3 a little bit earlier than I planned on posting it! Consider it in honor of Sergeant Barnes' 107th Birthday! This is my favorite chapter; I had so much fun writing it, this part in particular (even though it took me a million tries before I got it to where I wanted it). Sam is finally given some page time, and I adore him, so I hope I've captured his essence sufficiently. I sort of love writing drunk!Bucky. Part three is where things are going to take an interesting turn for Bucky and Pocket so I'm looking forward to posting that soon!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @jmeelee @cazellen

Slapping your American Express Black Card onto the polished mahogany bar, you made sure the bartender was giving you his full attention. "Everything my group orders tonight goes on my tab, got it?" you told him. "If Tony Stark tries to pay for a single thing, tell him it's already covered and if he has a problem with it, he can take it up with me." The bartender nodded, taking your card and depositing it with the other open tabs behind the bar. It was going to be a very lucrative night for the bar.

You'd all come to Gino's, a downtown dive of place you all loved, to celebrate Bucky's clearance for missions. As a part of his presidential pardon for the Winter Soldier's crimes (completely unnecessary, in your opinion, because Bucky hadn’t been the one to commit them), he had been required to undertake 12 months of court-mandated therapy, and now that he had ten months under his belt, his therapist had signed her approval for Bucky to engage in real Avenger work, provided he was accompanied by another member of the team at all times for supervision. He'd be leaving tomorrow for a classified location with Steve and Sam; they'd be gone for about a week, so you'd wanted to commemorate the event and leave him with some positive memories before he left.

You rejoined your group in the far back, where you'd commandeered the largest corner booth and the surrounding tables. "Tonight's on me," you declared as you approached, "so drink up and eat well." Your friends cheered their thanks; Thor even banged his giant fist against the table in appreciation. You did a mock curtsey before coming to stand behind Bucky where he sat, draping your arms around his neck and shoulders and bringing your head down alongside his.

"Having a good time?" you asked him.

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, leaning back into your touch. "With you by my side? Always," he replied, his voice laced with affection. "But you didn't have to do this, doll. Pay for everything, I mean. We could have all gotten our own."

Letting go of his shoulders, you moved around to sit next to him. "Bullshit. My best friend is going on his first Avengers mission, this is the least I can do."

"Listen, man," said Sam Wilson, also known as The Falcon and, if you were being completely honest, one of your favorite teammates after Bucky, "I know things might have been different when you were younger, but in the 21st Century, when a lady offers to buy you drinks, the polite thing to do is just say 'thank you' and get hammered."

Bucky laughed and chugged down the beer he'd been previously nursing and took the bourbon you'd brought over for him from the bar. "Thank you, Pocket. Though, I don't think I'll be getting... hammered on anything here."

"You're most welcome, Buck," you said, patting his cheek, the stubble tickling at your palm. "But if you are looking to get hammered, I believe our resident God of Thunder has brought a little something extra you could sip on in between beers." You nodded your head toward Thor, who sat a few seats down, pouring a splash of Asgardian something from a flask into Steve's tumbler.

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. "Is that so? Maybe I'll take him up on that." The super soldier got up and, squeezing your hand, made his way over to Thor, who gladly poured a generous splash of spirits into Bucky's glass of bourbon.

You watched him for a moment as he sat and drank with Steve and Thor, a warm feeling building in your chest at the sight of him looking and doing so well. He'd made so much progress since he first arrived at the Tower and you were unbelievably proud of him.

"You've been good for him, Pocket," Sam offered with a raise of his glass. "But I gotta know, when are you two gonna stop tip-toeing around each other and make things official?"

You let out an agonized groan. "Not you, too, Sam. Why don't you and Natty get together and write some fanfic about it? That's about as close to reality as it'll get."

"What are Wilson and I collaborating to write smutty fanfiction about?" Natasha asked as she sat down in Bucky's vacated seat, passing you a shot glass.

"Za nashu druzhbu!" You toasted in unison before downing the sweet liquid. To our friendship!

"A Redheaded Slut shot? How very Natasha," you teased.

"Don't try to change the subject," Sam interjected. "Romanoff: (Y/L/N) and Barnes. They go together like Netflix and chill or what?"

Natasha's eyes lit up. "Absolutely! Oh my God; I'm so glad you see it, too. They're just screaming 'Let's fuck already,' right?!"

"I don't know that they haven't started already," Sam said, obviously pleased to finally have someone to talk about this with. "I've never seen Metalhead as content as when he's with Pocket. Figure she's gotta be doing something to keep a smile on his face, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows, setting Natasha off into a barking laugh.

"Jesus Christ, Sam!" you sputtered. "I'm sitting right fucking here!"

Sam gave you a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Baby Girl. 'M just calling it like I see it. And with you and Barnes, I see it."

"She's going to stick to the story that nothing's going on between them," Nat began.

"Because there is nothing going on between us," you interrupted.

"But I think we all know something is brewing between those two," she continued, as if you hadn't said a thing. "I mean, do you really think they're just sleeping in the same bed every night?"

"Hold up, hold up." Sam raised his hand to stop Nat. "You're telling me those two share a bed? How long has this been going on and why am I just hearing about it now?"

"Oh my god," you said, putting your head in your hands and wishing the floor would open up and suck you into a hell dimension. It had to be better than sitting here listening to the two of them talk as if weren't in the room.

"You didn't know?!" Nat's expression was incredulous. "Essentially since the moment Barnes moved into the Tower. They alternate whose bed they sleep in, but it's literally every. single. night."

"That's it," you murmured, though you were sure they weren't paying you any attention, "I am never telling you another thing, ever, Natalia." They weren't embarrassing you, per se. You felt no shame about your closeness with Bucky. It was more that you hated that they were making assumptions about him. You could take ones made about you; you'd been doing that your entire life, but Bucky was different. He was... fragile wasn't the right word, but it came close. You wanted to protect him from everything negative, including your friends gossiping about his alleged sex life.

"Guys, please," you said, loud enough to catch their attention. "I know that, whatever I say, it's not going to convince you that I'm telling you the truth, but I don't want Bucky to hear it, okay? You're just going to make him uncomfortable and he'll retreat into himself, close up. So, save it for when you're by yourselves, alright?"

The sincerity in your words caused Sam and Nat's gazes to soften as they looked at you. You hoped that, despite their ribbing, they understood that your concern for your shared friend was genuine, and that, of the three of you sitting at the table, you knew Bucky best.

"Alright," said Sam, "I'll drop it. For now. But know I've got my eye on you, Pocket." He gave you a shrewd look. "Don't think you can keep your secret from Ole Sammy forever."

You shook your head, annoyingly amused.

The evening moved on pleasantly: conversation and alcohol flowed, and you felt yourself loosening up as the shots you'd drank with Natasha worked their way through your system until you were sporting a pleasant buzz. Bucky eventually came back to join you at your table, eyes glassy and with a giant, dopey grin plastered across his face.

"How's that Asgardian liquor treating you, Buckaroo?" you asked him with a grin of your own, knowing full well he was sauced.

"'s real good, Pocket," he slurred, propping his head on his fist and gazing at you with a dreamy expression. "'s nice and tingly, like the sun is shining on my insides."

"I'm happy for you, Buck," you said with a laugh, shooting an amused glance over Bucky's head to Nat, who responded with a smirk of her own. "That's real good."

He put his arms around you and pulled you into him, almost tugging you off of your chair in the process. "No! You're real good. Sho good to me, all warm and fuzzy and pretty. Just wanna keep touchin' you, you know? 'Cause you make me think of happy things." He paused to nuzzle his face into your hair. "You're m'favorite person."

"You're my favorite person, too, Buck," you said, stifling a giggle, amused by this new soft, silly side of him.

"Me?" he squeaked--actually squeaked. You nodded and then let out a surprised squeal as he pulled you into his lap, holding you almost tight enough to be uncomfortable, his metal arm clinging you to his chest. But then he pulled his head back to look you in the eye, his face suddenly serious.

He slurred, leaning in closer. You could smell the sweet scent of the Asgardian liquor on his breath. "Don'tcha dare tell Stevie, though, doll" he hiccupped, "'cause he'd be real put out if he found out I was your fav'rite."

"Well, then we won't tell him," you assured him, casting a bewildered glance to Nat. She subtly shook her head, as if to say she was just as confused as you as to why Steve would care if Bucky was your favorite person.

Bucky nodded solemnly. "Good. Don't want 'im feelin' bad, but 'm not sorry. 'S not my fault, either. He had ages and he didn't do nuthin'. That's on 'im. Not on me, not on you. On 'im." He began petting your hair in long strokes, seemingly distracted by the feel of it and losing his original train of thought. "Mmmm, you're so pretty. M'pretty little Pocket."

"Why, thank you, my handsome soldier," you replied, tapping him playfully on the nose while wondering what the hell he had been going on about concerning Steve. You hoped he wasn't so drunk that he didn't remember this conversation in the morning, because you were going to press the shit out of him for details.

Oh, but then... the next song from the jukebox caught your attention, and you looked up as the opening bars of Flo Rida's Low filled the air.

"Oh no," moaned Nat with a trace of laughter. "You're gonna dance, aren't you?"

A broad grin broke across your face. You loved dancing to anything, but this song was your kryptonite. "I can't help it," you told her, "it calls me, I come. Let's go!" You stood up, taking Bucky's hand and trying to pull him along with you, but the super soldier just shook his head and refused to move. Apparently he wasn't that drunk. "Fine. Sam, Nat, dance with me."

"I'm coming, Baby Girl," Sam said, taking Nat's hand and dragging her to meet you.

As soon as you had the space, you began to move, the music pulsing through your veins, syncing perfectly with your heartbeat. You swayed your hips in time with the infectious rhythm, your body moving effortlessly to the beat.

You felt Sam come up behind you, placing his hands on your hips as he began to dance with you, bass thumping in your chests. You and Sam had danced together countless times before; he was one of the only ones in the Tower who enjoyed dancing as much as you did, so the two of you had had plenty of practice moving together. Your movements may have been completely innocent, but they gave the appearance of something much more intimate-- it was just the nature of the dance. You could feel the heat of Sam's body pressed against your back, the way his hands gripped your hips protectively. It was all in good fun, a playful dance between friends, until you felt Sam's hands fly from your waist as you were about to get low.

You spun around, finding Bucky standing where Sam had been just a few seconds before, Sam now several feet away, anger wearing heavy on his face.

"What the hell, man?" Sam barked at Bucky. "What'd you shove me for?"

Bucky, his face flushed and eyes narrowed with a combination of intoxication and something dark, took a step towards Sam. "Didn't shove ya, Wilson," he slurred, his words blending together. "Ya just...got in the way."

"Got in the way? Man, we were just dancing. How was I in your way?"

Bucky's jaw clenched, his metal arm flexing by his side. The atmosphere shifted, thick with tension, as if the air in the room had suddenly turned molasses-slow.

"Okay, boys." You stepped between them, hands down and palms open, trying to create as much distance between the two as possible. The last thing you wanted was a drunken argument devolving into some kind of brawl. "It's getting late, and we've all had a good amount to drink." You gave Sam a pointed glance. "Bucky, will you take me home to the Tower? I'm pretty tired and I think I'm ready to call it a night."

Sam nodded in understanding-- it would be a hell of a lot easier to get Bucky home in his current state if he thought he was escorting you, instead of the other way around.

"Yeah, 'course, Pocket," Bucky said, his eyes softening as he looked at you. You were able to call out your goodnights to the rest of the team and, leaving instructions with Nat to close out your tab at the end of the night, began making your way to the door. Bucky stumbled a bit, his balance compromised by the alcohol in his system. You wrapped an arm around him, steadying him as you both made your way outside.

Outside the bar, the cool night air was a welcome relief from the noisy atmosphere inside. Bucky leaned heavily against you, his arm draped around your shoulders for support.

"Fuck, Barnes. You're heavy," you groaned under his weight.

"Fuck me, Pocket," he slurred, head tilting to the side. There was that look in his eyes again. The same one you'd seen the day he'd gotten his new arm. You couldn't identify it, but it made the hair on your arms stand up straight.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I said." You could feel his warmth seeping through your clothes, his presence comforting even in his intoxicated state.

"You good to stand on your own for a second, soldier?" you asked him. "I need to hail us a cab."

Bucky nodded and you carefully eased yourself out from under his arm, scanning the street for a taxi. The bustling city night was alive with lights and sounds, creating a tapestry of urban energy that seemed to match the frequency of the electricity that ran through your brain.

God, did you love this city.

As you raised your hand to flag down a cab, you couldn't help but steal glances at Bucky, his hair in disarray, falling into his eyes and his lips slightly parted as he breathed in the cool night air. Even drunk and disheveled, he still looked so handsome. There was a softness to him in the moment that made him look younger, and for a second, you could imagine that beautiful, carefree young man who had been drafted to cross the sea to fight someone else's war, and had paid for it with even more than his life.

A taxi screeched to a stop in front of you, interrupting your reverie. You hurriedly opened the door and helped Bucky inside, sliding in beside him. The cab driver gave you both a curious glance before pulling away from the curb. Once you gave him the address to Avengers Tower, that look got more and more frequent as he kept checking his rear view mirror.

"Hey, eyes on the road, buddy," you snapped at him, probably putting more aggression into your voice than you had intended, but the way the cab driver was looking at the two of you made you uneasy.

The ride back to the Tower was quiet, the low hum of the taxi's engine serving as a backdrop to the thoughts swirling in your mind. Bucky slumped against you, his head resting on your shoulder as he dozed off. You gently ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the softness of it against your skin. The city lights blurred past outside the window, casting a hazy glow over both of you.

"Listen," the cabbie eventually began in his thick New Jersey accent, "sweetheart, ya seem like a nice girl, but I don't think ya know what you're dealin' with, here. That man right there's the Winter Soldier. He's a murderer, a nasty one. The kind that likes to take a sweet thing like you and do horrible things."

You rolled your eyes. If they were going to keep telling stories about the Winter Soldier, the least they could do was get the details right instead of making him sound like Ted Fucking Bundy.

"This nasty murderer is my best friend," you said, each word clipped and infused with the anger you felt on Bucky's behalf. "So, maybe you should stick with getting us to our destination instead of trying to lecture me on something you know absolutely nothing about."

The cabbie fell silent, his eyes darting nervously between the road ahead and the rearview mirror. You could tell that he was regretting his decision to say anything, realizing that he had struck a nerve. Or, you thought with an amused chuckle, afraid that you were just as nasty as the Winter Soldier. But you couldn't blame him entirely. The reputation of the Winter Soldier was notorious, and it was only natural for people to be cautious. You just wished they knew the name Bucky Barnes, and the actual man, himself, just as well.

You sighed and shifted your gaze to Bucky, still unconscious against your shoulder. It wasn't fair, you thought, how people judged him solely based on his past. Yes, there were dark chapters in his history, but he had fought tooth and nail to regain control over his life. He had redeemed himself in countless ways even before he had officially joined the Avengers.

As the taxi approached Avengers Tower, you leaned over and gently shook Bucky awake. His eyes fluttered open, confusion etched in his features for a brief moment before recognition set in.

"We're home, Buck," you whispered softly, trying to soothe away any lingering unease from your brief conversation with the cab driver. "Let's get you upstairs." You threw a handful of bills in the cabbie's direction, not even bothering to wait for him to give you your change; you just wanted out of his cab and away from his prejudice.

Bucky nodded, rubbing sleep from his eyes. With your help, he stumbled out of the taxi and leaned on you for support as you made your way into the building.

"'m sorry 'bout that, doll," he drawled as you passed the security desk, sending a quick wave to the night guard.

"Sorry for what, Buck?" you asked him. He was silent as you made your way to the elevator bay, waiting until you had pressed the button to summon the elevator car.

"'bout the cabbie." He avoided looking at you while you waited, and it was like a punch to your gut-- he'd heard everything that ignorant man had said. The elevator doors dinged open and you helped usher him inside.

You took a deep breath as you pressed the button for your floor, the retinal scanner making quick work to prove your identity and verify your security clearance. "Buck," you exhaled, "you have nothing to apologize for. That man was an asshole and an idiot."

Bucky leaned back against the elevator wall, his head thumping against the cool metal. "But he was right. I am a nasty murderer."

You could scream. You could strangle that cabbie with your bare hands. Bucky had been doing so well, had been having such a good night, and one person's careless remark had ruined all of it.

"Barnes," you said, turning to face him. "Look at me. Do you think I'm stupid?"

His eyes grew wide at the insinuation, even in his drunk state, he was with it enough to be taken aback by your question. "'bsolutely not, doll. You're the smartest person I know. Smarter than Stark, even, 'cause you can admit when your wrong." The compliment left you trying to hide a smile.

"Okay. Do you trust my judgment?"

"With my life," he breathed. The elevator opened to your floor, and you helped Bucky out into the hall and down the corridor toward his room. The soft glow of the hallway lights illuminated his features, casting a warm, intimate aura around the two of you.

"So, if I'm not stupid and you trust my judgment, trust me when I tell you are not what that man says you are. You are a good man who had too many horrible things happen to him. And despite all those horrible things, you are still the kindest, funniest, most gentle man that I know."

As you reached his door, Bucky turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. "Thank you, Pocket. Thank you for taking care of me, and for being my friend," he murmured, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and emotion.

A small smile played on your lips. "Always, Buck," you replied softly. "Now let's get you inside."

With a gentle push, you opened the door to his room and guided him over to his bed. Bucky collapsed onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, his body sinking into the softness beneath him. Once you'd pulled off his boots, you knelt down beside him, tucking the blanket around his shoulders.

As you straightened up, Bucky reached out and grabbed your hand, his grip surprisingly strong despite his intoxicated state. His gaze locked with yours, a mix of vulnerability and longing flickering in his eyes.

"I don't want you to leave," he whispered, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.

"I'm just going to hop over to my room to change into pajamas," you assured him. "I'll be right back. Promise." You smoothed his hair, trying to tame it from where it stood up in all directions.

"'kay," he said through a yawn, "but don't take too long. I got somethin' I need to tell ya. 's important."

"Okay," you told him, planting a kiss on his head. "I'll be just a minute." You hurried across the hall to your own room, changing into your pajamas and brushing your teeth in record time.

Re-entering Bucky's room, you were extremely curious as to what he'd wanted to say to you. "Alright, Buckaroo, I'm back. What did you--"

You smiled to yourself. Bucky was fast asleep, light snores emanating from him as he lay sprawled across the bed. You couldn't help but find him adorable in his slumber, especially with his hair sticking up in all directions.

With a soft sigh, you walked over to the side of the bed and gently sat down, watching Bucky's peaceful face. It was moments like these that reminded you of how much he had been through, how much pain and loss he had experienced. Despite his tough exterior, there was a vulnerability about him that tugged at your heartstrings.

You leaned in closer, unable to resist the urge to brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. Your fingers lingered on his skin for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the warmth radiating from him. The desire to protect and comfort him overwhelmed you, making your heart ache with affection, and something else that you couldn't quite identify.

Pulling down the covers, you climbed into bed next to him, snuggling up to his body for warmth. He grunted and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. It wasn't long before you drifted off into a slumber of your own.

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