⭐︎ warnings: nsfw, greece au, fluff, smut, enemies to lovers, banter, arguments, alcohol, manchild player bucky, mean!bucky, john walker back to playing the role of a toxic bf, cheating (not by bucky), jealousy, oral (f!receiving), squirting, overstimulation, reader mentions she's on the pill (no pregnancy), praise, dirty talk, angst, alpine feature, dead rat, miscommunication, insecurities, hurt/comfort
⭐︎ word count: 17.8k
⭐︎ a/n: if you like mamma mia, this fic might be up your alley. this is my contribution for the bwat summer collab hosted by the lovely @barnesonly and @iamthatonefangirl. thank you for taking the time to keep us in check. be sure to check out the other fics in this masterlist! happy brat summer even though it was two years ago
synopsis:
If managing a housing complex in Greece during peak tourist season wasn't hard enough, your stupid, DJ manchild of a tenant, Bucky Barnes, goes one step further to make it even more difficult—that is, until he overhears an argument between you and your boyfriend, John, and decides to prove that he actually cares about you for more than just pissing you off with his loud music.
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Oonts. Oonts. Oonts.
It was the same wretched sound all over again.
From where you sat in the complex’s office, the bass emitting from Bucky’s room was thumping and vibrating the very walls around you. The ground shook, and you swore you could see dust and pebbles straying off the ceiling and landing right into your cup of coffee.
There was no one else in the office, so you screamed as loud as you could.
“Keep it down, Barnes!”
But of course, your angry voice was met with even more thumping bass and weird techno noises.
Mumbling curses to yourself, you angrily picked up the office phone—which barely worked—and dialed his number. You pressed the receiver hard to your ear, foot tapping impatiently as you heard it ring once, twice, three times, until finally…
“Hey, you reached Bucky. Sorry I couldn’t get to the phone right now. Please leave your name and number—”
He had left your phone calls unanswered so many times, you had already memorized his voice message word for word.
With another curse, you slammed the phone back down, pushed out of your rolling chair, and stomped your way up to his room.
It was peak summertime, meaning that vacationers were flooding the streets of Greece looking for accommodations, meaning that your rundown complex had available rooms for cheap rent, meaning you had to leave your one-man post just to take care of the obnoxious tenant you should’ve kicked out years ago.
Finally reaching his door, you knocked angrily with a strength that threatened to break the hinges.
“Barnes, open up!” you shouted.
I wanna dance to me, I wanna dance to A. G—
“Bucky! Don’t make me break down this door!”
I wanna dance with George, I wanna dance to SOPHIE.
Christ. What the hell was he playing? Whatever this noise slop was, it felt specifically designed by Bucky himself to give you a headache.
“God, this fucking… fucking asshole—” you cursed to yourself, fishing for your keys in your pocket.
You unlocked his door and pushed it open. Lo and behold, you found him seated in the exact same position you always found him in every time you barged into his room for a noise complaint. Bucky’s music was so loud he didn’t even hear you enter, his focus entirely on his fancy DJ setup and speakers that probably cost more than his rent.
“Bucky!” Your face scrunched as it took every vocal cord in your body to muster the shout.
Bucky whipped his head around to face you, looking very much like a boy who had been caught red-handed watching porn—except this music was much worse than mediocre sex-on-a-screen.
He finally lowered the volume, allowing you the ability to actually hear your own thoughts.
“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”
You crossed your arms, jutting your hip out as you glared at him with an unpleasant and as equally disappointed frown.
“I tried calling your phone, but it went straight to voicemail. I need you to turn this music down.”
Bucky didn’t react.
He had heard this exact complaint from you more times than he could count. It was always the same routine. You’d yell at him, your body hot from the lack of AC circulation this shitty complex provided, leaving you standing in his doorway in a tank top—no bra—and tiny daisy dukes that left little to his imagination. And once you were done yelling, you’d go back downstairs to your office, and he’d turn the music right back up.
But of course, he always had a knack for making your job much harder than it actually was, purely because he loved seeing you get riled up.
“Oh. Is Georgia from the third floor complaining?” He tilted his head like an innocent puppy, knowing damn well that Georgia was a senior citizen who was legally deaf.
You scrunched your nose, looking even more pissed—which only made Bucky’s smile widen.
“No, but I’m complaining, and that should be enough to get you to shut the hell up—considering I’m your landlord.”
“Aw, but I’m dedicating this song to you.”
You wanted to stomp over to his desk and slap him right across the face to shut him up for good—but dealing with a lawsuit and a restraining order was the last thing you needed when you were responsible for running this shitty complex during peak tourist season.
“I’m not going to argue with you today,” you said, though it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself rather than him. “Soon, this complex is going to be packed with tourists and I need you on your best behavior. That means no loud robot music that’ll scare potential tenants away.”
Bucky flinched, looking offended.
“Robot music?” he scoffed, spinning back in his chair to face his laptop. “And you say this shit every year. Summertime, tourists, rent... but you’re lucky if even one person books a room.”
Your brow twitched. You hated how right he was. “Regardless, I need you to give the music a rest. If I’m not the one complaining, someone else will.”
You were ready to leave it at that. You turned around, your hand gripping the doorknob, prepared to slam the door behind you so he wouldn’t have the space to argue back. But of course, Bucky just couldn’t help himself.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
You spun around so fast your hair whipped across your face. “What the fuck did you just call me?”
Bucky kept his back turned to you. You didn’t even need to see his face to know he was wearing a smug, shit-eating grin.
“My music is harmless,” he muttered, clicking away at his screen. “And who knows? Maybe your future tenants will actually find it entertaining. I might even draw people in.”
“No, it won’t,” you hissed. “You’ll scare people away.”
Bucky shrugged. “Then what the hell am I paying you rent for if I can’t even listen to music in my own apartment?”
The way he said it was so casual, but you knew he had thrown those words out just to pull the pin right out of your heart.
Over the years, you had seen several tenants come and go, break their leases, or even scam you out of money. Taking over the building with little to no hope for business had been completely exhausting, and Bucky—along with Georgia—had been the only loyal tenants you had left.
In reality, the two of them were the ones keeping the place afloat.
You grimaced, facing the door again.
“Just… keep it down,” was all you said, because you no longer had it in you to keep up the fight.
Bucky had kept his promise to keep the music down—but that only lasted about a day. And Bucky being Bucky, if he didn’t have the ability to piss you off one way, he’d make sure to do it another.
You weren’t sure if it was entirely intentional or not, but regardless, it made your skin burn with irritation. While you were talking to a man seated across from your desk, the sound of a girl’s loud laughter echoed right above the office—and it certainly wasn’t the voice of any girl you recognized who lived in this complex.
You smiled through it. As long as you ignored it and didn’t address it, then maybe the man in front of you—who seemed to have every intention of staying here during his months long vacation—wouldn’t notice.
“But yes, as you can see, the building is very close to the beach—walking distance, actually!” You smiled, hands folding primly on the desk in front of you. “And the beaches in Greece are beautiful. I’m sure you’ve seen them while doing your research. You said you like to surf, right? This spot is very convenient for—”
“Haha—you’re so silly, Bucky!”
“I know. But you like it.”
The man in front of you glanced at the ceiling, frowning at the sound of the girl giggling, and you swallowed hard.
“—surfing….”
Instead of answering your question or addressing anything else you said, he kept his focus on the wooden ceiling above him and pointed up. “I take it this place is pretty busy—considering all the noise.”
You gripped your hands tighter.
If you weren’t able to secure this guest, you were going to make sure Bucky got an earful from you after this.
“That’s a good thing, right? Shows how lively Greece is during this time of the year.” You tried your best to salvage the situation, but your own words only gave you secondhand embarrassment.
The man chewed the inside of his cheek, his expression apprehensive. His eyes darted around the office, suddenly taking in the white plug-in wall fan that was making a suspicious whiiiirrr noise, along with the poorly painted window panels you hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet.
“Look, you seem like a nice, responsible, and hardworking young lady, but—” He stood up and started grabbing his bags. “I don’t think this place is right for me.”
“W-wait!” You scrambled from your chair, nearly lunging across the desk just to get him to stop. “We have much quieter rooms on the second floor! Facing the courtyard! You won’t hear a single thing over there, I promise!”
Fuck. What were you even saying? Bucky’s room was on the second floor.
The guy was already heading for the exit, his heavy duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He gave you a tight, sympathetic smile that felt more like a slap to the face before walking out.
“Sir, please! I can offer you a discount on the first month! Ten percent—no, fifteen!”
Your voice was pitching higher in distressed panic, but the bell above the office door gave you a cute and mocking ting! before he pushed it open and stepped out into the burning Greek heat. The door shut behind him, leaving you alone in silence with the stupid run down fan.
Well, almost silence.
Aside from the consistent whirring from the fan, another loud giggle squealed through the floorboards right above your head. Then came the thud of Bucky’s mattress hitting the bed frame.
Your eye twitched as your hands curled into tight fists. The payment that man would have given you had he settled in today—even with a fifteen percent discount—was supposed to be your grocery budget for the next three weeks.
Your sandals were already stomping up the stairs to Bucky’s floor. By the time you shoved the key into his lock, twisted it, and slammed the door open without so much as a knock, you were seeing red.
“Barnes!” you screeched, not even caring that the unknown woman lying in his bed was half-naked.
She squealed and yanked the blanket up to her chest, trying to cover herself, but you didn’t so much as glance at her.
“Bucky, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!” she yelped, looking at Bucky with wide, terrified eyes.
Well, at least this one had some decency compared to the others. Most girls would look at you with swollen lips and a proud, “gotcha” smile to match. Bucky pushed himself up with a groan, giving you a glare that could have killed you right where you stood.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he grumbled, wiping his wet lips with the back of his hand. “She’s my landlord.”
“Oh.” The girl’s shoulders slumped in relief—and a part of you wished Bucky hadn’t clarified that, just so you could have kept the upper hand.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Bucky? You scared another potential renter away!”
Bucky didn’t look remotely remorseful. If anything, he looked mildly annoyed that his afternoon had been interrupted. He swung his legs over the side of the mattress, getting up to meet you at the door.
You didn’t even care that he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers that hung low on his hips—you had walked in on him one too many times to even bother telling him to put on a pair of pants.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said, his voice gravelly from whatever he’d been doing earlier. “I was minding my own business.”
“I’m sorry, but your ‘business’ becomes everyone else’s when you’re being too fucking loud!” you shouted. “I was seconds away from closing a three-month lease, Bucky. Three months! Do you know what I could do with that kind of money right now? I could finally fix the plumbing so the water doesn’t smell like eggs!”
The girl in his bed looked back and forth between the two of you, awkwardly clutching the sheet to her collarbone. “Um… should I leave?”
“Yes!” you snapped.
“No,” Bucky countermanded, running a tired hand through his already tousled hair. “Stay, Eleni. My landlord was just leaving.”
“Like hell I am,” you hissed, crossing your arms. “I swear to God, Barnes. If you keep this up, I’m going to tear up your lease and evict you.”
Bucky huffed a laugh. That was new. He had pushed your buttons enough to unlock a brand new threat—even if it was one you both knew you probably wouldn’t follow through with.
“Yeah, sure. Go ahead and kick me out,” he challenged, stepping closer. “You need me more than I need you, anyway.”
You were seconds away from going ballistic—from grabbing his precious DJ setup and throwing it right off the balcony. Every hair on your body stood up like a threatened cat, and you were ready to tear Bucky Barnes apart in his own room.
You sucked in a deep breath to unleash a litany of curses, and Bucky stood up straighter, bracing himself to return the sentiment right back, until a familiar voice called out from the office downstairs.
“Honey? Are you here?”
Both of you froze. Your accusatory finger hung in midair as your head instinctively turned towards the open door.
Of course. Your boyfriend, John, always managed to show up at the absolute worst timing possible.
“Would you look at that,” Bucky sighed—though you couldn’t tell if it was out of relief or annoyance. “Your knight in shining armor, coming to save me yet again,” he said sarcastically.
You shot Bucky one last lethal glare— forgetting all about Eleni still laying in his bed—and turned on your heel, stomping back down the stairs to tend to your boyfriend. As you hurried down, you flattened your hair and adjusted your tank top, trying to make yourself look somewhat presentable, though it was a lost cause.
“Hi, John,” you said, sounding more tired than endeared as you leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Hey, you,” he grinned before pulling back to look at you, his expression turning from a smile to displeasure.
“Wow, you look terrible.”
Your boyfriend always had such a way with words.
You sighed, your shoulders slumping in defeat. With John here, you felt like now was the great time to talk about your day, hoping that it’d relief just a tiny bit of stress.
“I look terrible because my day is going terrible. I feel like a hamster running on a wheel that leads nowhere. It’s barely afternoon, and the day is already kicking my butt—”
“Did you hear that I got promoted today?”
You blinked at his blatant interruption. “I’m… I’m sorry?”
“No worries,” he waved his hand with a guileless smile, as if you were actually offering him a sincere apology when, in fact, you were just giving him the opportunity to rethink his interruption. “I said I got promoted. Valentina finally saw how hard I’ve been working and decided to give me the next position up. I’m making double the amount I made before!”
You felt utterly and completely defeated.
Here you were, feeling like a dog that had been beaten to the ground, and the man you proclaimed as the love of your life was flaunting his success. You should have been happy for him, but every sentence that left his lips only felt like a slap to your face.
“I’m happy for you, John,” you said, your voice wavering. You were happy for him—you really were—but John didn’t buy it.
He frowned. “Well…?”
You blinked again, your brows furrowing in confusion. “Well, what?”
“Are you going to take me out to celebrate?”
“Celebrate?” You huffed a laugh, taking his words as a joke. But one look at John’s face told you he was entirely serious.
Your lips twisted right back into a frown, your brows furrowing as dread began to settle in your gut.
“John… look around you. I can barely afford to keep this place running, much less take you out to celebrate your promotion. And besides, you’re making so much more than me now. Wouldn’t it financially make more sense for you to take us out if you really wanted to celebrate?”
You knew the words were blunt and straightforward, but truthfully, you didn’t have it in you to beat around the bush to cushion John’s feelings. You were drowning, and you needed to be honest with your partner.
John sighed, stepping closer and resting a hand on your shoulder.
“Honey, if money was that important to me—then I wouldn’t be with you right now, would I?”
Before you even knew it, you were looking at your partner not with the eyes of a lover—but with the eyes of an enemy.
“Excuse me?” You ripped yourself away from his touch, his hand dropping as you stared at him in utter disbelief. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
John let out a long sigh, his classic way of telling you that you were blowing things out of proportion. “I’m just saying, I don’t care about your financial situation. I’m looking past it because I love you. You don’t have to get so defensive.”
You wanted to cry. Your body was so coiled with nothing but rage, and right now, the only person you wanted to take it out on was John.
“Look past it?” Your voice cracked as it began to rise. “You’re looking past the fact that I run myself dry trying to keep a roof over my head with zero support from you? I can’t afford groceries, and instead of asking how I am, you walk in here, cut me off, brag about your money, and insult my business!”
“Oh, here we go with the drama,” John scoffed, throwing his hands up as if he were the victim. “It’s a rundown complex in Greece, honey, not the Hilton. You’re overreacting like you always do—”
“I am not overreacting! You are being incredibly selfish—”
“What’s going on here?”
You were so caught up in the yelling match that you hadn’t even heard the footsteps creaking down the stairs and into the office.
Both you and John turned to find Bucky and Eleni standing by the archway that led to the stairs. Bucky was dressed appropriately this time. By the looks of it, he had no intention of eavesdropping—he was just politely leading Eleni out of the building.
You swallowed hard. What a funny predicament to be in—complaining about Bucky and his noise just minutes ago, only to end up doing the exact same thing.
“It’s nothing,” you mumbled, averting your attention back to John. But John was already looking elsewhere—more specifically, right at Eleni.
“You sure? Sounded like things were getting pretty heated in here,” Bucky said, trying to make a joke that landed flat. “I was just leading Eleni out. You can go right back to tearing at each other’s throats once I escort her out, thanks.”
Eleni had been following close behind Bucky like a lost puppy, looking a little flustered, until her eyes scanned the lobby and landed squarely on the man standing next to you—who was already staring at her.
She froze, her jaw dropping. “John?” she gasped.
The color drained from John’s face, his cocky posture instantly stiffening into a defensive stance. “…E-Eleni?”
You blinked, looking between your boyfriend and the woman who had just been in your tenant’s bed. “Wait. You two know each other?”
Eleni gave you the exact same treatment you had given her earlier. She zipped right past you, completely forgetting about you and Bucky, and folded her arms tightly over her chest. “John, you asshole! You ghosted me after Cabo! You blocked my number and never returned any of my calls!”
The office went dead silent. Aside from the whirring fan, of course.
You felt your heart drop into your stomach. Cabo? John had mentioned going on a ‘business conference’ to Cabo—but that was only two months ago.
No.
He couldn’t have…
You slowly turned your head to look at John, silently pleading to whatever cruel God that was currently tormenting you to just give you a break. You hoped John would deny it, that he would tell this interloper to get lost, even if you hadn’t had the guts to do it yourself when she was upstairs.
But he didn’t. All he did was dart his guilty blue eyes around the room, looking anywhere but at the two women he had wronged.
“John…?” you whimpered.
And under just a smidge of pressure, John folded.
“I’m sorry!” he barked out defensively. “Look—it was a one-time thing, okay? I got drunk with Lemar on the beach, and… we lost track of time, and Eleni came up to me and—”
“Get the hell out.”
John’s shoulders slumped. He reached out for you again. “Honey, you don’t mean that—”
“Get out of my fucking face, John!” you screamed, slapping his hand away.
“Please, just listen to me for one second!” John pleaded, taking another step closer despite your screaming.
“I know I messed up, okay? I know it was a mistake—but look at the bigger picture here! I just got promoted. I’m making double now! I can take care of you. I can fund this entire complex and even… even fix the plumbing smell you’re always complaining about! Whatever you want! You won’t have to worry about a single cent anymore. Just please, don’t throw us away over a stupid slip up.”
Slip up?
Was this what he thought this was?
Years of being together, and his infidelity was just a slip up? A stupid moment of weakness?
You had thought that having a boyfriend—someone who loved you unconditionally—was the one thing you could have to yourself in this cruel world. You and John had your ups and downs, sure, but the idea of being in love was what kept you going.
Now, you felt entirely sick to your stomach—humiliated, exhausted, and broken.
“Stop it,” you choked out, a tear finally spilling down your cheek. You stepped forward and weakly slammed your palms against his chest, trying to push him towards the exit. “Just stop talking. Get out!”
Your hands were trembling, completely devoid of the strength you had wielded against him and Bucky just minutes ago. John barely budged under your weak shove. He sighed, reaching out to grab your wrists to stop you.
“Honey, stop. You’re hysterical right now, just calm down and—”
Before his fingers could even brush your skin, Bucky’s broad frame wedged itself between the two of you. He clamped a heavy hand hard onto John’s shoulder, shoving him back as he used his own body as a shield to protect you.
“You heard the woman,” Bucky gritted through clenched teeth, glaring down at your now-ex-boyfriend. “She told you to get the hell out.”
John stumbled back a step, swallowing hard as he looked up at the much larger man.
He tried to reclaim some of his lost dignity, puffing out his chest. “Hey, man, back off. This is between me and my girlfriend. It’s none of your business.”
“When you’re being that loud, your business becomes everyone else’s,” Bucky hissed. “You have three seconds to pack up your pathetic excuses and get your feet off this property before I throw you off it myself.”
If you weren’t such a fragile mess, you might’ve laughed at the fact that Bucky had just used your exact words to throw right back at John.
John looked at Bucky’s tight fists, then glanced past his shoulder at you, where you were wiping away your tears. He huffed a bitter laugh—he knew he couldn’t win a physical fight against Bucky, but that didn’t mean his pride was going down without a fight.
“Wow. Blew one of your tenants so he could act as your security guard since you couldn’t afford one?” John’s face twisted into an ugly, resentful sneer. “Fine. Keep her. I’m leaving.”
You were too busy sniffling behind Bucky—of all people—to notice that his shoulders were shaking with anger.
Bucky knew he wasn’t a saint, especially towards you, but hearing you get degraded by a man like this—a man you had given your heart to—made him unfathomably angry.
If you weren’t in such a sensitive, vulnerable state, Bucky probably would’ve had this guy pinned to the floor by now.
“While you’re at it, go ahead and take Eleni out with you,” Bucky added, nodding toward the woman dismissively, as if he hadn’t been tongue deep in her mouth just minutes ago. “Sounds like you two have some catching up to do, anyway.”
John muttered curses under his breath as he pushed through the exit, a timid Eleni trailing quickly behind him.
When the door shut, leaving just you and Bucky in the office, he turned around to finally look at you—and his heart broke right there in his chest.
He knew he had said and done things to purposefully get under your skin in the past, but seeing you now, looking so small with your cheeks stained with tears, it made him feel like the worst kind of man, despite not being the one who broke your heart.
“Hey,” Bucky murmured gently, resting both hands on your shoulders and leaning down so he was at eye level. “Are you okay—”
He nearly stumbled back from the impact of you burying your face into his chest.
You gripped his shirt tightly as you broke into the most gut wrenching sob he had ever heard in his life.
Without another thought, his arms came up to wrap securely around your body, holding you close against him. One large palm rested at the back of your head, soothing you with a comforting caress.
Bucky didn’t know what to say.
There had been times when he had almost made you cry out of sheer frustration, yeah, but that was almost. Now with you breaking down in his arms, he hated the very idea of you crying, period.
“Hey, he’s gone, okay?” he murmured against your temple. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
He didn’t know what else to offer other than a couple of “you’re okays” and the occasional “I’m here.”
“I—I don’t understand—” you whimpered into Bucky’s shirt, which was now damp with your tears. “What did I do to deserve this?”
Guilt clawed at his heart while his teeth caught his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
He knew your words were also a partial reflection on him and how he’d been treating you—constantly making your job so much harder than it needed to be. He sighed, holding you a little closer.
“Nothing. You did nothing,” Bucky said, his tone gentler than you had ever heard it before. “You don’t deserve any of this. And I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” you sniffled. “For standing up for me. I… I didn’t know what to do. I’m just so tired.”
Bucky felt like the Grinch—his chest tight as his heart softened with each broken word you cried out.
For the first time since he had moved into your complex, he was hearing a thank you leave your lips. He might have expected it if he ever turned his music down on the first ask, or helped you take out the trash. But not once had you muttered those words to him until now, while you were weeping in his arms and holding onto him like he was the only person you could rely on.
He felt terrible.
He, of all people, didn’t deserve your gratitude.
“Hey, don’t get sappy on me now.” He sighed, caressing your hair again as he rested his chin on the top of your head.
“You’re a strong girl. You’ll be okay.”
As the day bled into the rest of the week, Bucky felt like he was getting whiplash.
One day, you were crying in his arms and seeking his comfort, and the next, it was like you slapped your cold mask back on and went right back to being his personal landlord from hell.
He had made a promise to himself to help you out in small ways—like keeping his mixer at a lower volume, or offering to help paint the window frames. He hadn’t even invited a single girl over since your breakdown. It was selfish of him to think you’d soften up just because he held you while you cried, but you didn’t. Instead, it was the same usual business from you.
“Bucky, turn down your music!”
“Your music is giving me a headache. Lower it.”
“I can’t believe people actually listen to this robot music.”
Today, he had his friends over—Steve and Sam—whom you seemed to detest just as much because of the volume they brought with them.
Sam was lounging in the beanbag chair, his legs sprawled out, while Steve found comfort on Bucky’s bed. All three of them had a cold Mythos beer in hand, taking slow swigs while Bucky focused on mixing a new track on his laptop.
“Turn the music up,” Steve said, gesturing to the monitor with his bottle. “I want to hear how the bass hits on that drop.”
Bucky’s hand hovered over the master volume knob, then hesitated. If he recalled correctly, you had a lot of important calls to make down in the office today. The last thing he wanted to do right now was add more to your plate.
Slowly, he pulled his hand back, leaving the volume exactly where it was. “Nah, it’s loud enough.”
“No way, man. The walls are usually shaking from how loud you play this stuff,” Sam said, furrowing his brows. “Come on. Turn it up.”
Bucky kept his attention glued to his laptop, his hands adjusting everything on his mixer but the volume.
“My landlord is making calls downstairs,” he muttered, trying to sound as dismissive and nonchalant as possible in the hopes his friends would just drop it.
But of course, they don’t.
Steve sat up on the bed, his arms resting on his knees while the green bottle dangled loosely in his fingers. “Hold on. Since when do you care about what your landlord thinks?”
“Especially when it comes to your music,” Sam egged on, that teasing grin spreading across his face.
Bucky felt like he was a cat being cornered. He chewed the inside of his cheek, attempting to play around with the BPM to distract himself, but ended up completely messing up the transition.
“I don’t care what she thinks,” Bucky said quickly, his voice a little too defensive as he clicked aggressively on his trackpad. “I just don’t feel like hearing her run her mouth today.”
“You know, speaking of running her mouth—” Sam pushed himself up on the beanbag chair with a groan. “How did she react when she walked in on you and Eleni? Surely she heard all the noise you two were making, right?”
Steve barked out a laugh, waiting to hear Bucky’s response.
Bucky grimaced at the memory.
Despite them bringing Eleni up, his mind wasn’t on her at all—it was entirely on you and everything that had unfolded that day.
Normally, he’d chug his beer with his track set to the highest volume, laughing alongside Sam and Steve about how you were constantly on his ass, pestering him like a mother. But this time, he recoiled at the way his friends were talking about you.
He didn’t even know how to begin explaining it.
How could he explain that he hadn’t actually slept with Eleni because he’d overheard you arguing with your boyfriend, John? The very same John who got outed for cheating on you with Eleni—the girl Bucky just so happened to have brought home that day.
“We didn’t even sleep together. We were just messing around on the bed, and she came in to complain about the noise,” Bucky muttered with a casual shrug. “That’s it.”
Sam hummed in thought, pausing in the middle of sipping his Mythos. “You know what it sounds like your landlord needs? She needs to loosen up.”
Bucky frowned.
They had no idea what you were going through at all.
“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Take her to one of your gigs tonight—show her how good your music actually is, and what keeps her rent money coming in.”
Bucky couldn’t picture it. You, loosening up in the middle of a crowded dance floor, actually enjoying the music you constantly complained was nothing but “robot noise.”
“Yeah,” Bucky scoffed. “Like that’s ever going to happen.”
Steve shrugged. “A girl like that wouldn’t be hard to impress. Who knows, maybe she’ll realize the nightlife she’s missing out on here in Greece, ditch her lame boyfriend, and give you a chance instead—”
“Alright, alright, enough.” Bucky waved his hand, spinning around in his chair to glare at Steve. He hated how obvious it was that he cared. “Can we just get back to working on my mix? I need it ready and sounding perfect by Friday night.”
Sam’s brows rose. “Oh, Friday night! That’s the perfect amount of time for you to convince her to come out—”
Bucky groaned, rubbing the space between his brows to soothe his impending headache. “Christ, Sammy. Would you just shut up—”
“Eeeeek!”
Bucky was cut off by a loud, piercing screech echoing from down the stairs—straight from your office. He immediately sat up straight in his chair, his eyes widening.
Steve grimaced. “Jesus. What’s wrong with her now—”
But before Steve could even finish his sentence, Bucky was already throwing himself out of his chair. He lunged out the door and raced down the stairs toward you. As his feet pounded against the creaky steps, his mind scrambled through every worst case scenario.
Had John returned to threaten you?
Was a potential tenant giving you a hard time?
Either way, he was ready to tear them apart. And he didn’t care if Steve or Sam were right behind him to witness it.
“Hey!” Bucky barked, breathless as he rounded the corner into the office. “Are you okay—”
“Oh my god, oh my god, get away! No! Don’t get any closer!” you squealed.
Bucky froze in the doorway, only to find you stranded on top of your desk chair, your legs wobbly as you tried to keep yourself from falling. Your eyes were wide with terror, staring down at the floor. Bucky tilted his head to get a better look at what was going on.
Sitting right at the base of your chair was a stray white cat. Her tail was swishing lazily against the floor, and she was proudly holding a very dead, very fat rat between her teeth.
Bucky’s shoulders instantly slumped as he realized he wouldn’t be throwing hands with John after all—and just how ridiculous this entire situation was.
“Bucky, help me!” you wailed, pointing a shaky finger at the feline. “Get it out! Get it out of here right now!”
“Which one?” Bucky crossed his arms, making absolutely no effort to rush to your rescue. “The rodent, or the cat?”
“The rat, Bucky! Oh my god—she’s getting closer, ew!” You whipped your head toward him, frazzled. “Do something!”
Bucky sighed heavily.
He was on a tight time crunch, needing his mix ready by Friday for a gig at a massive club here in Greece—and now his precious time was being spent trying to wrestle a stray cat.
Then again, he had made a silent promise to himself to start helping you out.
He stepped away from the doorframe and closer to you, making exaggerated shooing motions at the animal.
“Shoo! Go on, get out of here. And take your friend with you.”
The cat looked up at Bucky with big, round blue eyes that perfectly matched his own, let out a raspy mewl, and turned her head right back to you. Wanting to ensure her favorite human accepted the prize, the cat pushed herself up on her hind legs, stretching her paws onto the seat of the chair to drop the limp rodent right at your feet.
“Oh my god, no! Don’t do that! Ew, ew, ew! No!”
You could’ve sworn you saw the dead rat twitch.
Panic completely overrode your system. Without a single thought for your pride or your dignity, you launched yourself off the chair and jumped straight into Bucky’s arms.
Bucky looked up, his eyes widening as he realized what you were doing, but it was already too late to brace himself.
He let out a oomph! as your body collided with his, nearly knocking him right off his feet. With a huff, his arms hooked around your waist and thighs to catch you before you both could hit the floor. He stumbled back, struggling to find his balance as you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder in panic.
He had never expected to find you in his arms again so soon—much less over a damn cat.
“You’re okay,” Bucky sighed, caressing your back. “Look! She’s already taking the rat away.” He reassured, despite the cat not moving a single paw.
You kept your face buried, your fingers tightly bunching the fabric of the back of his shirt. “Is she really? Promise me you’re not lying, Bucky.”
“Buck! We’re coming! Hold on—”
Steve’s voice echoed through the hallway as he and Sam burst through the office doorway in a sprint. Both of them had their shoulders squared and their fists clenched, ready to throw down in whatever fight Bucky had gotten himself into.
But they came to a halt, their eyes wide as they took in the view.
There was Bucky, holding the very woman he claimed to detest so much securely in his arms—bridal style, at that.
“Oh,” Sam chuckled, raising a brow. “Are we interrupting something?”
Bucky’s neck flushed a deep crimson. Even with your body tucked firmly against his, he was focused on the mortification of Steve and Sam drilling their stares directly into the side of his head.
“Get the rat out of the room!” he hissed through clenched teeth.
He tried to speak quietly so he wouldn’t startle you with the word rat, but the attempt obviously failed—because, well… you were right there, and you squealed in response.
Sam didn’t move, his grin only widening. “I don’t know, Buck. Pest control wasn’t really on the itinerary today. What’s the magic word?”
Bucky now understood why you hated his friends so much.
“Sam, I swear to God—”
Seeing that his best friend was about to combust from embarrassment, Steve finally took pity on him.
“Alright, alright, I’ve got it,” Steve reassured, stepping past them. He grabbed a plastic clipboard from your desk, using it like a makeshift shovel to carefully scoop the dead rodent off the chair.
“Ugh, that thing is huge,” Sam pointed out—eliciting another loud squeal from you—as he held the door open for Steve so they could dump it in the trash bins outside.
“Is it gone?” you whimpered into his chest.
Bucky looked down, his eyes softening as he took in the way your nose was pressed directly into his shirt. “It’s gone. I promise.”
With a relieved breath, you gently pushed yourself out of Bucky’s grasp until your feet hit the floor. He hated the sudden, empty space between the two of you.
Trying to bridge the gap you just created, Bucky stepped closer again, resting a warm palm on your shoulder. “Are you alright?”
He spoke so softly, with a gentleness that caught you off guard.
Heat tickled the back of your neck, your heart beating rapidly from the embarrassment of your outburst—and the fact that you had run straight into Bucky’s arms for comfort yet again.
“I-I’m fine,” you stammered, straightening yourself.
Steve and Sam were just about to walk back inside, but they stopped when they saw Bucky leaning down, his thumb now softly caressing your cheek.
They knew their friend had a long track record of being a blatant flirt and a playboy, but never once had they seen him soften up the way he was right now. Exchanging looks, the two of them played it smart and silently agreed to turn around, letting their friend have his chance.
You gently stepped away from Bucky’s touch, letting out a soft sigh at the cat still perched in the middle of the office floor. You hoped averting your attention elsewhere would soothe the awkwardness.
“Why’d you do that, Alpine? Are you trying to scare me to death?” you murmured, kneeling down to give her a gentle pat on her dusty head.
Bucky furrowed his brows. “She has a name?”
“She was a stray hiding near the trash bins a few weeks ago. I ran to the market next door to buy some food for her, and she’s been following me ever since. But I didn’t think she’d stick around long enough to gift me a…” You shuddered at the mere thought. “…a rat.”
He chuckled, kneeling down right next to you to offer the cat a few pets of his own.
“That’s cute,” he murmured. “Look at you, always on top of taking care of things—even the neighborhood strays.”
You let out a small laugh, the sound soft, warm, and genuine against his eardrums.
Bucky felt like his chest was going to explode. You were so close, smiling brightly in a way he almost never saw from you. As the last of your laughter trickled in the air, he realized this was his perfect opportunity.
The atmosphere between you two was soft. Your walls were down, and he could take this conversation exactly where he wanted it to go.
Are you free this Friday night?
Do you want to come see my set at the club? We could even dance together.
I actually named one of my tracks after you.
But you spoke up before he could. “Oh, I almost forgot. I wanted to say thank you.”
Bucky shrugged casually. “The rat was no problem—”
“No, not just for the rat. I meant for everything else,” you clarified, sitting up straight and meeting him in the eye.
“These past few days, I’ve noticed you’ve been… well, on your best behavior.” You offered a sheepish smile as you struggled to find the right words. “You’ve been lowering your music whenever I ask you to, and I really appreciate it. So, thank you.”
Bucky huffed a laugh.
Here you were—showing gratitude just because he was finally giving you the bare minimum. He didn’t deserve you.
“Yeah, well, even if my music isn’t blasting at full volume, it still sounds good,” he joked, flashing you a confident grin.
You rolled your eyes, letting your hands gently pet down Alpine’s spine. She was purring.
“You keep telling yourself that,” you teased back. “I still don’t know how you can listen to music like that all day, much less produce it.”
“It’s not music you listen to all day,” Bucky adjusted his posture so he was a bit more relaxed as he sat on the floor. “It’s music you listen to when the stars are out while strobe lights are blinding you.”
Without even realizing it, he started rambling.
“It’s the kind of music that's meant to make you feel good. To push all the thoughts out of your head, drown out the noise of the rest of the world, and just let yourself loose for a little while.”
You hummed in thought.
For the entire time you’ve known Bucky, you had never bothered to ask about his DJing simply because you didn’t care to.
You’d always figured it was just a stupid hobby he did to piss you off and disrupt your peace—but the way he talked about it now, passionately getting lost in his own words, made you interested to say the least.
“You should come to one of my gigs one day and see what it’s like,” he murmured, his voice sounding far more vulnerable than his usual confidence. “It’ll be fun.”
You blew a raspberry, though you weren’t entirely put off by the idea.
“I appreciate the invite, but look around you, Bucky,” you huffed, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. “This place is running on my bare hands alone. I can’t afford a night off.”
“Then let me help you,” Bucky interrupted, turning his body so he was giving you his undivided attention. “You need help painting the window frames and fixing the plumbing, right? I’ll take care of it.”
You blinked, your eyes widening in surprise.
Bucky… helping you?
This was completely out of character for him. You braced yourself for the catch, waiting for him to follow up with something like, “As long as I can bring home whoever I want, play my music as loud as I want, and get a discount on my monthly rent,” but nothing came.
“I don’t know, Bucky—”
“Come on, sweetheart,” he grinned, that taunting tone creeping back into his voice. “Let someone help you for once.”
You searched his eyes, trying to catch a punchline, but still, there was nothing.
You didn’t quite believe him. You figured this was just his way of tossing you sympathy points to get you to praise him some more, only for him to end up doing absolutely nothing.
So, you just sighed, rolled your eyes, and pushed yourself up off the floor.
“Whatever you say, Barnes.”
To your surprise, Bucky had actually made true to his promise and helped you around the complex.
He was already up most mornings before you even arrived, blasting his music from his speakers. Instead of just fixing the paint on the window panels, he reinstalled new ones and painted them over with the pretty blue you’ve been eyeing.
It made you feel giddy, seeing him in a tank top and jeans that were covered in both dirt and blue paint.
“Morning,” you shouted over the music, setting your cup of coffee down at your desk. Alpine was still here—curled up in your chair. Bucky must’ve let her in.
“You’re already working on the window panels?”
Bucky didn’t hear you at first, sweeping his paintbrush back and forth until he lifted his head in your direction. He reached over to his Bluetooth speaker, lowering his music to a much more appropriate volume for seven in the morning.
“Oh, yeah.” He pushed himself up with a groan. “Thought I’d get started on the easy stuff first.”
He crossed his arms, taking a step back to admire his work. Then, he looked at you for your reaction.
“How… how do you like it?”
You wanted to jump up and down in glee with how beautiful the windows looked. The bright blue color made everything much more welcoming and inviting, but you didn’t want to give Bucky the opportunity to gloat just yet.
“Hm,” you tilted your head. You could feel Bucky growing anxious beside you—though he tried his best not to show it. “I think I want it in a different shade of blue, actually.”
Bucky’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. He raised his hands, about to protest, but you broke down in a laugh.
“I’m kidding,” you said, wiping a tear at his reaction. “It’s perfect. I love it.”
He let out a heavy sigh of relief, but you could still see the grump lines on his face. “Good. Otherwise I would’ve painted your face blue,” he muttered, motioning to the paintbrush.
“Oh? You mean like this?”
You quickly snatched the brush out of his hands, and before he could even process what was going on, you had already swiped a stripe of blue paint over his stubbled cheek.
Bucky stood there, wide eyed. He swiped his thumb over the paint and looked down at his fingers, appalled. But while you were busy laughing in his face, a slow smile cracked across his lips. He suddenly lunged for you, wrapping his strong arms around your body from behind. He hooked the paintbrush back out of your hands, smearing a streak of blue over your face as well.
“Bucky, stop!” you yelled, thrashing in his arms as you just barely dodged the bristles that were tickling your chin with paint. “Stop! I can’t be covered in paint—I have to work!” you argued, despite the breathless laughter breaking in between your words.
“Yeah, well. You should’ve thought about that before you attacked me first, sweetheart.”
From that day onward, your week with Bucky had been filled with more laughter than you’ve had in the entire course of previous months.
Each day was eventful—Bucky was always up early in the morning working on the complex, somehow always managing to find new things to fix, while you arrived with cups of coffee and a bag of treats for Alpine.
During break times, you and Bucky would eat lunch together in his apartment, and he introduced you to more and more of his music.
Every time you two worked, he always had his music playing. Slowly, you started to become fond of it. There were even a few tracks of his that you liked so much, you actually saved them to your own playlist. And every time you asked him for the track title, Bucky would laugh and say, “See? I told you my mixes are good.”
Now, you were sitting on his beanbag chair with your legs crossed, the two of you eating pitas with cold beers to wash them down.
“It’s all about the frequencies,” Bucky said, gesturing to the DJ controller sitting on his desk. He set his beer down, leaning forward as his fingers traced the knobs and sliders. “You’ve got your lows, mids, and highs. If I want to drop the bass out to create suspense before the hook hits, I twist this dial right here.”
He clicked a button, and the beat lost its thump thump, turning into an airy synth. Then, he slid a fader up, and the thumping beat came back in.
“That’s pretty cool. It’s a lot more complicated than I thought.” You leaned your head back against the beanbag, looking up at him with a sheepish grin. “Honestly, I just thought guys up there would bop their heads to pre-made music and pretend like they’re doing something. I didn’t think they played it all live.”
Bucky chuckled, his shoulders shaking as he swiveled his chair to face you. “Surprising, isn’t it?”
He glanced at his desk, then back to you. “Come here,” he nodded his head toward the console. “Try playing something.”
“What?” you said, sitting up straight. “No. Knowing my luck, I’d touch something and it’d break.”
Bucky huffed a laugh.
Who would’ve thought that the very woman who had threatened to throw his entire DJ setup out the window was actually too scared to even touch it?
“Enough of that. Come here, I’ll show you.”
Judging by the look on Bucky’s face, you knew he wasn’t going to let this up. With a reluctant sigh, you pushed yourself off the beanbag chair and walked over to him. He scooted his chair back, giving you the space to step right up to his setup.
You felt your face warm up instantly when he swiveled right back around, locking you between his desk and his lap.
“Sit down,” Bucky instructed from behind you.
You glanced over your shoulder and swallowed hard. His lap was spread, and he was leaning as far back in his chair as possible to make space for you. You wanted to make an excuse, to say you were much better off standing, but you knew Bucky would just fight you on it.
Mustering up your courage, you sat down, pressing your bottom directly into his lap. Bucky didn’t seem to mind it at all—meanwhile, your face was burning like crazy.
“Here,” he murmured, reaching around you to grab your arm. He guided it toward one of the sliders and placed his hand firmly over yours, setting your fingers down gently on the control.
Bucky’s palm was rough and warm against the back of your hand.
He leaned in closer, his chest pressing into your back, and you could feel the rumbly vibration of his chuckle against you.
“Relax,” he murmured right against your ear, his breath tickling your neck. “I’m not gonna bite. Unless you ask nicely.”
You hated him. You really did.
“Bucky, I swear to God—”
Bucky nudged your hand forward, forcing your fingers to slowly push the slider upward. As the fader moved, the track playing through the monitors began to warp.
“That’s the high-pass filter,” Bucky explained softly. He shifted slightly beneath you, adjusting his thighs under your bottom. “Hear how it cuts out the low end? Now, wait for the timer on the screen to hit zero, and slam it back down.”
You did exactly as instructed, yanking it down the second the timer hit zero, and a smile broke across your face at the bass.
“Wow, that sounds pretty good,” you breathed.
Curiosity got the best of you, and you started to play around with the different sliders on your own—creating a whole new funky and out of beat mix. You messed with the distortion and the reverb, and it sounded terrible enough to make you burst into laughter, with Bucky laughing right along beneath you.
You pressed a button, then a beep! noise came after. A red light started blinking at the soundboard.
“You’re recording now,” he said. “Want to sing something?”
“God, no.” You laughed.
Sooner or later, you felt his hands slowly drift from your arms down to your hips. Surprisingly, you didn’t mind his touch one bit. It felt entirely natural. Like his hands were always meant to be right there—guiding you, holding you…
“Come watch me play on Friday,” he murmured gently.
You looked down at him over your shoulder, and your breath caught. Bucky had been staring up at you this entire time. His blue eyes bored right into yours the minute you made eye contact, with no intention to break it first.
“Bucky, I…”
“I can get you in for free—you can skip the line, or come whenever you want. Just take one night off for yourself. You deserve it.”
You chewed your lower lip, feeling apprehensive. You and Bucky had done enough hard work over the last few days to compensate for the rest of the week, essentially clearing your schedule.
Looking into Bucky’s eyes—seeing the blue glimmer with hope just like the Greek ocean does on a sunny day—made it so much harder to say no. He had done so much for you these past few weeks, and the very least you could do was watch him do something he was truly passionate about.
“Fine. But only if you play my favorite tracks,” you said with a teasing smile.
Bucky blinked, as if he hadn’t heard you right.
Then, his lips pulled into the biggest, brightest grin you’d ever seen from him. His grip on your hips tightened before trailing up to your waist. Hell, he’d delete this entire set he had been working on for months if it meant you’d come watch him.
He was so overjoyed with excitement that he didn’t offer any words to prove it.
Instead, he pulled your waist a little tighter, tilted his head up, and kissed you.
You froze, your eyes going wide as his warm lips connected with yours.
You?
Kissing Bucky?
You never thought you would see the day. But the second his slick lips began to dance with yours—the second his tongue pushed past your lips to taste you—it was like all the stress from before this, all the emotional drain from your breakup with John, disappeared in an instant.
“Mmm,” you moaned into the kiss. Your hands flew to the back of his neck, burying into his messy brown hair and giving it a firm tug that made him groan right back against your mouth.
Bucky’s hands slid up from your waist, his large palms smoothing against your ribs and moving to your back to pull you closer against him.
He tasted like the cold beer, but his mouth was intoxicating heat.
Bucky had his fair share of kisses with women—just as you had your fair share of makeout sessions with John. But neither of you had to say a single word to know that this was it. This kiss shared between you two was like no other.
His hands roamed under your tank top, his fingers tickling your lower back as he trailed upward.
Of course, you had no bra on. You never wore one in this suffocating summer heat. That was one of Bucky’s favorite things about you.
Bucky broke the kiss to catch his breath, his head leaning back against the chair to gaze up at you. His eyes flickered down, lifting the hem of your shirt to reveal your smooth belly. He had seen your midriff from a distance whenever you bent over in your office—but never up close like this.
He groaned hungrily, then leaned in, pressing soft, warm kisses to your abdomen.
“A—ah, Bucky…” you mewled, squirming from the ticklish sensation.
He looked up at you with the softest eyes a boy could have, leaning his cheek right against your fluttering stomach. His stubble made you ticklish, but he didn’t pull away.
“I love it when you say my name like that,” he sighed dreamily. “You’re so beautiful.”
Your face warmed and you stammered, avoiding eye contact.
It was clear to Bucky that you weren’t used to receiving compliments, especially not from your no-good ex-boyfriend, John Walker.
But that was okay, because Bucky was here to change that.
“The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmured. You tried to shy away from his compliment again, but his fingers trailed up to your chin, tilting your head down so you were forced to look at him.
“The prettiest eyes, the prettiest smile,” his thumb traced patterns on your bare hip. “And the prettiest lips. God, those lips.”
He leaned in to press his lips against yours once more. Your tongues danced in a warm embrace as he slowly began to undress you, starting with your tank top. His hands eagerly lifted the fabric, breaking the kiss momentarily just so he could pull it over your head before his mouth crashed right back down onto yours.
In between kisses, he would murmur things like, “So beautiful,” and “Mine,” every soft word matching the steady blood flow pumping from his heart and straight to cock.
When his hands found the button of your shorts, you rolled your hips forward, grinding that hot, delicious heat right against the growing bulge in his jeans.
He chuckled raspily against your lips before pulling away, his lips swollen and his chin sheen with exchanged saliva.
“Eager little thing, are you?”
You groaned in annoyance, though it sounded incredibly sexy to his ears.
You worked at his belt, then moved to the button of his jeans. “Take these off.”
Bucky clicked his tongue. His hand caught your wrist, gently prying it away from his pants. “You’ve ought to learn how to say please.”
His arms wrapped securely around your body, lifting you up from the chair so suddenly that you yelped, wrapping your legs around his waist instinctively. He led you quickly over to the edge of his bed, setting your body down and tucking himself right between your thighs.
“Besides,” he breathed, eagerly pulling your shorts down along with your panties and throwing them over his shoulder. “I’m still not done with you. I want to take my time worshiping this fucking body.”
You lay there sprawled out and bare while Bucky was still fully clothed. It was overwhelming, but you didn’t have time to fully process it before Bucky’s head tucked between your thighs, his nose pressing to your base as he inhaled deeply.
“Fuck, you’re dripping already.”
You arched your back, letting out a shocked gasp. “B-Bucky—! What are you—!”
“Relax,” he murmured against your sensitive skin, his hands finding your outer thighs and prying them wider for him. “Just want to taste you, baby.”
Bucky’s tongue swiped flat against your dripping center, the tip of his tongue flicking your sensitive clit. He groaned, letting the taste of you linger on his mouth.
He glanced to look at you between your legs, and the sight of your face—brows pinching together with your bottom lip caught between your teeth—made his cock painfully hard. You lying bare in front of him was an invitation for him to sink his cock into you, but he wanted to savor this.
He tucked his head back down, lapping at your pussy sloppily. His warm tongue would tease your entrance with every flick, before slowly dragging up. He’d press his whole mouth against your pussy, pushing his tongue deep against your clit and dragging his tongue up and down quickly to make you cry out in pleasure.
“Bucky—please, oh god, Bucky—!”
He swirled his tongue around the swollen peak of your clit, sucking it into his mouth with a light tug that had your toes curling around his head.
You were so deprived of intimate touches, never being ate out in a way that Bucky was eating you out, and you already felt like you were about to cum embarrassingly fast.
“Don’t stop, I’m gonna cum—” you whimpered, hand coming up to your mouth to muffle your cries.
Bucky had no intention of stopping.
He doubled his efforts, the sound of his wet tongue squelching against your cunt, lapping at every drip your arousal gave him. He was eager to make you fall apart, to listen to you cry out his name as you came all over his face.
Bucky inhaled sharply as you began riding his tongue with abandon. You were being selfish—chasing your high. He knew you were that kind of woman, to take what you wanted, and fuck, did he love you for it. Especially when you’re riding his face for your own pleasure, not even caring if he could breathe or not.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you moaned, tossing your head. “Fuck me with your tongue, Bucky. I’m gonna cum—!”
Your eyes went wide when you realized you were about to let out more than you could handle. But you couldn’t stop—not when Bucky was pressing his tongue firmly against your clit and holding your thighs down with his strong hands.
“Bucky—wait, I…” before you could warn him, your back arched off the bed into a cry.
Your orgasm came hot and hard, pleasure suddenly flooding your senses as you felt yourself gush around his tongue. Bucky’s face was drowning with your juices, your puffy cunt clenching around his mouth. Your wet essence trickled down your thighs and stained his bedsheets vulgarly, leaving a wet spot beneath you.
“Oh my god,” you panted, face burning hot as you fought to catch your breath.
Bucky finally pulled away, a smug grin plastered on his face while his chin was dripping with your juice. You watched as he licked his lips, the gesture only making you want to sink deeper into his bed from embarrassment.
“Look at that,” he kneeled back, hand rubbing his hard cock through his jeans. “You made a real mess on my bed.”
Your eyes were shamelessly glued to the way his dick was printed against his pants. It was strained tight against the denim, and you could see the heavy outline of his tip, spurting pre-cum and dampening his thigh with his own juice.
“I’m… I’m sorry…”
Bucky chuckled—a deep, raspy sound that made you clench around nothing.
“God, baby. You’ve got my dick so hard, it hurts,” he rasped, finally pulling his cock out of his pants and kicking the article off the bed. “You already came so much. I don’t know if you can go another round.”
You weren’t sure, either. But with the way he was jerking himself off, that heavy string of pre-cum dangling from his tip, and the way his balls looked so full and desperate for relief, you were determined to go another.
He crawled over you, dragging his tip along your shaking inner thigh and against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness as he probed you.
You were so sensitive, your pussy puffy and aching, yet when he pushed his tip in to test you, your cunt parted for him so easily. You winced, your overworked pussy already fluttering around his tip despite yourself.
“Please, Bucky…” you whined, and it might’ve been the cutest thing Bucky had ever heard. “Put it in. It hurts…”
“It hurts? Aw, baby. But I bet you’re not hurting as much as I am.” He grabbed your hand, guiding it down to his cock. It was so hot, his skin smooth as it twitched under your fingertips. “Feel that? It’s aching for you, baby.”
Bucky grabbed your hips, aligning himself perfectly so he could sink in deeper, pushing his tip past your tight walls until half of his cock was embraced by your warmth.
“Fuck, you’re tight… even after cumming,” he hissed, his face tightening as he eagerly pushed his hips forward to stretch you out. “Like you were made for this.”
Already sensitive, the sudden fullness was overwhelming. A high-pitched gasp tore from your throat as your walls clamped down hard on him, tightening around the middle of his cock where he was thickest.
You whimpered and winced, trying to accommodate him, and Bucky felt his heart soar.
You were usually always so demanding, wound up so tight from constantly being overworked, and now you were wound up tight from his cock bottoming out in your pussy. Each moan and gasp of breath that left your lips made his cock twitch and his balls heavier.
“Those cute little noises—it makes my cock throb so hard,” he groaned.
Once his cock was fully sheathed inside, he started to pick up the pace, his balls slapping against you with wet and obscene smacks. His room—usually filled with the sounds of his music—was now filled with the sounds of your moans, and that was the greatest sound Bucky had ever produced.
He was fucking you so deep, each thrust met with curses and grunts. “So fucking beautiful,” “What a tight little pussy, fuck.” “You’re gonna make me cum so fast. M’already getting close…”
Each moan that left his lips made white spots dance around your vision. He was so deep, you could feel him in your gut. Pressure was building fast in your lower abdomen—a fullness that was equally agonizing and overwhelming.
Bucky’s big body was enveloping yours, his chest pressed into your sweaty one as he rocked his hips sensual and deep. He quickened his pace, in and out, in and out, until he felt his balls clench up.
“Shit, shit—” he gasped into your shoulder. “Not gonna last.”
Your pussy was like a drug. It was addicting, the way you would squeeze and flutter around him. Despite him making you squirt all over his sheets just minutes ago, you were already edging on your next orgasm. He felt every ripple and pulse your cunt had to offer—pumping him with your pussy before you cried out in pleasure so overwhelming, it made you see stars.
“Bucky!” you screamed, “oh my god—I’m cumming again—I can’t—”
Fuck, this was the fastest he had ever came.
“Please tell me you’re on the pill,” he pleaded with a broken voice.
That was essentially your warning that he was gonna cum inside. And when you nodded, that was his invitation to do it.
His entire body coiled up tight as he started pumping you full of his backed up seed. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had sex before you. All that mattered now was that his balls were finally being drained inside the person he wanted to pump them in the most—his precious landlord.
“Shit. I’m cumming, fuck! You’re squeezing me so tight—” he gasped as his body collapsed over you, huffing angry groans as his body tensed—draining every drop of his cum into your overly fucked pussy.
The two of you lay tangled in each other’s sweaty limbs, melting under the shared, musky scent of sex.
While Bucky was catching his breath, he peppered you with wet kisses—to your collarbones, shoulders, neck, and chin.
“You’re so pretty. Could lay with you forever—just like this.”
Who knew that Bucky Barnes, of all people, was the one person you slept with who made you feel more pleasure and adored than John ever had?
Your heart felt too big for your chest, and you felt like you wanted to cry. The way he held you and murmured sweet things to soothe your heart—it all became too much.
A small sniffling sound escaped you before you could stop it, and Bucky caught it immediately. He tilted his head up and looked at you, wide eyed.
“Hey, hey,” he cooed so softly, his palms coming up to caress your cheeks so you would look at him. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
Bucky was so soft, looking at you with wide, adoring eyes, like you were the only woman in the world and the only one he wanted to be with. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who always made sure to get a rise out of you just weeks ago.
“I’m… I’m okay,” you stammered. “I just… didn’t expect all this.”
Bucky frowned, his touch so delicate as if he were afraid of hurting you.
“I’m sorry—”
“No, don’t apologize,” you interjected gently, your fingers running through his sweaty strands of dark hair so you could see his eyes. “I loved every bit of it.”
He searched your eyes, his brows furrowing with vulnerability as he tried to find the truth in your words. When you held his gaze, showing how sincere you were, his frown tilted back into a sheepish smile—a far cry from his usually smug grins that you always wanted to wipe off.
“Good. Because I don’t regret a single bit of it,” he leaned in, capturing your lips with a wet kiss. “You better come on Friday. Watch me play. Then, after my set, we’ll come back home and make love all over again.”
You grinned at how blatant he was. But lying here with him, soaked up in each other’s essence, it was hard for you to say no.
“Fine. I’ll take your word for it.”
With how busy you were taking care of the complex, Friday night came in the blink of an eye.
Despite living in Greece, on an island notorious for its nightlife, you weren’t a fan of clubbing at all. You were always so busy, elbows deep in the run down housing complex just to keep it afloat—so naturally, you didn’t have anything to wear.
When you had asked Bucky for advice, he told you, “Whether you wear a short skimpy dress or a skirt that goes down to your ankles, I’ll be tearing it off later in bed.”
You had rolled your eyes at that before settling on a dress that was far too short and far too tight for your liking. But you couldn’t be bothered to care, considering the club would be dark and packed enough with bodies that no one would notice your outfit anyway.
You arrived later than you had anticipated, having been caught up with last minute paperwork and calls. By the time you got there, the club was already packed nearly shoulder to shoulder, with colorful neon strobe lights dancing across the crowd.
Your eyes naturally gravitated to the stage, where a familiar—if slightly fancier—DJ setup stood right in the center.
And of course, Bucky was right behind it.
He was manning the mixer, getting lost in his own music while the lights danced around him. One hand was resting on the mixer while the other rested on his headset. He kept his promise of playing your favorite tracks—and you couldn’t help but smile with the way he had everyone dancing in the center.
You felt out of place, standing awkwardly by the bar while everyone danced drunkenly around you. Unlike Bucky, this was not your element at all. But you took the night off, making a promise to yourself, and Bucky, that you would enjoy yourself.
Remembering Bucky’s instructions from earlier that day, “Just go up to the bar, tell them you’re with me, and get whatever you want,” you pushed your way through the crowd to get the bartender’s attention for a drink.
A guy with a slammed expression who looked like he’d been dealing with unruly tourists all night finally looked at you.
“Hey,” you shouted over the music.
“What’ll it be, miss?”
“A double Tsipouro—I’m with Bucky,” you hiked your thumb over your shoulder, pointing at the DJ who was currently mixing your favorite track.
The bartender paused, looking at Bucky on stage, then back at you with an irritated scoff.
“Yeah, like I’ve never heard that one before,” he grabbed a double shot glass, filled it to the brim, and slid it towards you. “That’ll be €8.”
You frowned. You contemplated on arguing back, but the local girls next to you giggled after they eavesdropped on the interaction, and by then, the bartender was already tending to the next person.
With a sigh that felt almost self-deprecating, you downed the shot without a chaser, and tried to enjoy the rest of the night listening to Bucky’s set without letting that interaction get to you.
After a couple of shots—that you all paid for—you went from being buzzed to intoxicated. You were dancing by yourself in the crowd, relishing every bass and beat that Bucky was throwing up on stage. When an unexpected hand came to rest on your lower back, you instantly spun around to tell the guy off.
“Hey, get your hands off—!” but you stopped when you saw Steve standing right in front of you with Sam right next to him.
“If it isn’t Bucky’s landlord,” Sam teased with a tone that brought good intentions, “I didn’t think we’d ever see you here.”
“Did Bucky drag you out tonight?” Steve asked.
With the alcohol bubbling in your bloodstream, you weren’t sure if you hid your flustered expression well.
You had no clue how much Bucky had told his friends about you—how you two were technically a ‘thing’ now, despite not officially talking about it.
“Yeah,” you shouted back. “He wanted me to come out tonight to watch his set. He’s really good.”
“He definitely is,” Steve agreed, then grabbed your hand. “Well, if you’re out here to party, better make the most of it.”
You laughed as Sam and Steve pulled you further into a clearer pocket of the crowd. With the two guys next to you—warding off the other drunk men who tried getting close to you—you actually started to let loose. You were laughing, your chest feeling lighter than it had in months.
During a transition, you looked up at the stage to see if Bucky had noticed you in the crowd yet.
But then your smile faltered, and you realized you were no longer dancing.
A small group of girls—dressed in tight outfits and looking beautiful—had managed to bypass the side security and were now crowding his DJ setup. They were drunk, based on the way they were stumbling and trying to grind on Bucky—who you thought was just trying to focus on his music. But he smiled.
You didn’t know if that was him trying to save face because he was right there, in front of a whole crowd, but from where you were standing, it seemed like he enjoyed every bit of the attention they were giving him.
You looked down, suddenly feeling incredibly self conscious in your dress.
“Don’t worry about that,” Sam reassured you as he continued dancing. “People get on stage all the time, no matter who’s playing. His set is ending soon, anyway.”
Based on Sam and Steve’s expressions, they weren’t soothing your insecurities, but rather assuming you were just expressing concern for a friend’s safety. They didn’t know you and Bucky had a thing going on at all.
You tried to push those thoughts away for the rest of the night, but how could you? Not when every single time you looked up to see Bucky—the person you came out tonight for—he was being smothered by and dancing with half dressed girls.
You tried to get lost in the music, but instead, you were getting lost in your own thoughts.
It was a horrible, familiar feeling.
It was the exact same feeling you had felt with John, who had sworn he only had eyes for you while routinely crossing boundaries, making you feel like you were crazy for caring, and eventually cheating on you. You had promised yourself you would never let a man make you feel that way again.
And yet, here you were.
You thought about the night you and Bucky had just shared. But what was it to him? Just a fun distraction with his landlord? The woman he always swore he hated? Were you just another checkbox on his list—one he sought after simply because you were ‘playing hard to get’ in his eyes?
Bucky was a playboy. His friends knew it. You knew it. And hell, even the only other tenant in the complex—who was deaf, mind you—knew it.
You were the one who had to watch him constantly bring different girls back to his place week after week. You were the one always barging in on them with noise complaints. He was charming, hot, and clearly popular in clubs, and he knew exactly what to say to get what he wanted.
“Just go up to the bar, tell them you’re with me, and get whatever you want.”
And on top of it all, you remembered what the bartender had said.
“Yeah, like I’ve never heard that one before.”
He had heard it before because Bucky had probably used that exact same line on a dozen other girls.
You weren’t special.
You were just the latest girl on his list, foolish enough to believe his sweet compliments after he ravished you in bed—the very same bed he had shared with countless other women.
Tears stung the backs of your eyes, blurring the flashing strobe lights into a messy smear of color. Your throat choked up, your chest tightening so hard it hurt to breathe.
“Hey,” Steve leaned down, noticing your expression. “You okay?”
You couldn’t even answer him. If you opened your mouth, a sob would escape.
You tried to give Bucky the benefit of the doubt—that this was just his job, that he had to put on a pretty smile and perform. But as you looked up and saw him with a drunk smile, leaning closer to a woman who had her hand on his chest and was shouting something in his ear, that was it for you.
“Sorry, I—I… um, I forgot to finish some paperwork that’s due tomorrow morning,” you lied, trying your best to sound steady. “Have fun tonight.”
Steve and Sam offered to take you home, but you couldn’t let them. You needed to be alone.
And that’s exactly what you did.
You took a cab back by yourself, drunkenly stumbling into the complex’s office with only one thing on your mind. It wasn’t because of stupid paperwork or bills. It was to tear up Bucky’s lease.
You shoved the key into the lock with a clumsy hand. Bursting inside the small office, you slammed the door shut behind you.
The office was dark, but sitting right there in the very center was Alpine. The white cat lifted her head from her food bowl, kibble crumbs decorating her white, fuzzy chin as she blinked tiredly at you.
The sight of her made the tears spill over your cheeks. You were intoxicated, heartbroken, and your emotions were at an all time high— looking at the cat you two took care of together only made the anger burn hotter in your already fragile heart.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you choked out, pointing a shaky finger at the cat. “You and your stupid dad. Your stupid, lying, playboy dad!”
Alpine blinked before letting out a mighty yawn for such a small body. Then, she turned her attention back to her food, completely indifferent to your emotional breakdown.
“Yeah, go ahead and eat!” you cried, wiping furiously at your wet face. “Enjoy it, because both of you are packing your bags! He thinks he can just… smile and say the right things, and I’ll just let my guard down and let him in?”
You marched past the cat and stormed over to the filing cabinets. You grabbed the handle of the bottom drawer and yanked it open so hard that it rattled.
“Where is it…” you muttered, your vision blurred by tears as you began rummaging through the folders. You tossed utility bills, maintenance requests, and old plumbing receipts over your shoulder. “Where is that stupid piece of paper?”
You were going to find his lease.
You were going to tear it into a million pieces, throw it in his face, and kick Bucky Barnes out of your complex.
The office door suddenly pushed open, and you jumped at the unexpected intruder who just barged in.
Bucky stood in the doorway, his chest heaving as the moonlight outlined his body from behind. Any other woman probably would’ve seen him as a god, but to you, he just looked like a man spawned from the very depths of hell.
He looked like he had run all the way from the club—but he couldn’t have, not with how fast he got here.
“Why did you come back here?” He panted.
“Get out of my sight,” you mumbled, so quietly that it was like a part of you didn’t want to mean it.
He ignored you, stepping closer as he caught his breath. “Steve told me you left before I could finish my set—said that you had paperwork to do, but that can’t be right. You told me you cleared your schedule just so you could go to the club tonight—”
“Yeah—well, plans change,” you muttered, finally pulling his folder out from the others. You sorted through it until you found his paperwork, gripping it firmly in your hands.
When Bucky stepped closer and realized what you were doing—your fingers positioned in a way that looked suspiciously like you were about to rip it—he stormed over and snatched the paper right out of your hands.
“What the hell are you doing with that?!”
You glared up at him, your head spinning so fast it hurt. “I’m tearing up your lease. I’m evicting you.”
Bucky blinked, his face a mixture of frustration and confusion.
“Are you trying to play with me right now?” He sighed, setting the paper safely on top of the filing cabinet before bending down to try and lift you up. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed. You’re drunk right now—”
You slapped his hands away, pushing yourself up to stand on your own. “What? Get me in bed so you can add me to the long roster of women you fuck?”
“What?” Bucky’s eyes went wide, looking nearly as hurt as you felt just from that accusation alone. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t think I don’t know!” a sob ripped from your throat, and you hated how weak it made you sound. “You and your notorious record for being nothing but a player who plays stupid music. You know—it makes sense, actually!”
You hiccuped, slurring your words between tears.
“You being a DJ and playing in clubs and all. It’s such a classic tale, isn’t it? How easy it is for men like you to just… pick up women and bring them home in the middle of the night. And I’m always the one cleaning up your messes and kicking them out the next morning,” you laughed at yourself.
You probably looked insane in his eyes, but you didn’t care.
“Now, look at me. I’m the mess, and no one is there to clean me up. I was stupid to think I was different.”
What the hell were you saying?
None of it even made sense to you anymore. All you felt was an overwhelming wave of anger and hurt. Your head was pounding so bad that you just wanted to lie down and sob until there were no more tears left.
Despite every cruel word you hurled at him, Bucky didn’t get angry. How could he? When almost every word you said was nothing but the truth. All the talk about him being a player, blasting his stupid music loud enough to hurt your eardrums—he couldn’t deny any of it.
Except for one thing, and that was you thinking you weren’t different.
With a soft sigh, his shoulders slumped. He stepped closer, moving quietly so as to not startle you like a cat. When he was finally within reach, he wrapped his arms tightly around your body, pulling you close against his chest in a comforting hug.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered gently against your temple, his voice rough. “You saw all those girls huddled around me at the club, didn’t you? I’m so sorry I made you feel like this.”
You jammed your fists against his chest, weak and uncoordinated. But the alcohol had drained all your strength, leaving you hollowed out and drowning in your own tears.
Bucky took every pathetic blow you gave him, and instead of pulling away, he just tightened his arms around you. With a broken sob, you collapsed into his chest, burying your wet face in his shirt.
You hated this. You hated how every time you were upset, Bucky was always right there, comforting you in this very office. And you especially hated that, despite him being the cause of your current distress, you were still seeking his comfort.
One of his large hands came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers caressing through your hair, while his other arm held you around your waist.
“I’ve got you, baby. Just breathe.”
You were a weeping, hiccuping mess, your shoulders shaking violently as months of built up insecurity and old, unhealed wounds from John came pouring out all at once. You stained his shirt with your tears and ruined makeup, but Bucky didn’t seem to care at all.
He just held you, swaying you slightly from side to side in the quiet, dark office.
“I know what you’re scared of,” Bucky started with a gentle murmur. “You’ve gotten your heart broken, and you’re scared of opening up and getting hurt again.”
He rested his chin on your head with a sigh, looking blankly at the wall with eyes full of regret.
“And I don’t blame you for feeling that way towards me. I’ve been an awful guy to you from the start, and even now, I failed to make you feel secure with me.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, hoping it would help.
“There was no woman that came before you, and I have no intentions of anyone coming after.”
You wanted to believe him, but everything that left his mouth was just noise. Even drunk and vulnerable, you could feel your heart closing on him to shut him out.
You slowly pulled back, your hands pressing against his chest—not out of anger, but out of a desperate need for distance.
Bucky let you go reluctantly, his hands sliding down to rest loosely on your hips, his blue eyes searching your face with a fragile and heartbreaking hope that made it even harder for you to look away.
“I can’t do this, Bucky,” you whispered. “I like you. I like you so much, and I want to love you... but I can’t. I don’t want to get hurt again. I just want things to go back to the way it was before. Me as your landlord, and you as my tenant. That’s it.”
Bucky knew he deserved every ounce of your doubt, but he hadn’t braced himself for the hurt that came with it.
Still, he forced a pained, tight lipped smile, his eyes telling you just how much he was hurting. His hands twitched on your hips, a painful urge passing through him to pull you back, to hold you against his chest and never let you go.
The words I love you rushed to the tip of his tongue, burning to be said. He wanted to shout it, to promise you the world, to prove to you that he was entirely yours.
But as he looked down at your tear-stained face—at the exhaustion and fear written in your eyes, all because of him—he stopped himself.
Even drunk, you still had the strength to look out for yourself. And because he cared about you more than his own need to fix things, he respected your wishes. He wouldn’t use your vulnerability to force a confession on you. He had always been a selfish man, but he couldn’t afford to be one now.
Bucky swallowed hard, a visible lump forming in his throat as he forced the words back down. His shoulders slumped as he finally accepted defeat.
Slowly, his hands dropped from your hips. He took a single step backward, giving you the space you asked for.
“I get it. I’ll leave you alone. But if you’re ever ready to open your heart to someone again—please, let me be that person.”
Bucky kept his word and left you alone.
Yet, there were countless times when he found himself pacing in his room, or lingering just outside your office, waiting to see if you would open your heart to him again. He held onto the smallest bit of hope that the words you had shouted in a drunken blaze were words you didn’t truly mean—that they had simply come from a place of deeply unhealed hurt.
He stayed close, waiting for a knock on his door, hoping you would tell him you were ready to talk. But that knock never came.
Just like him, you also kept your word and went right back to treating him as if he were nothing more than the annoying tenant from the very beginning.
He still helped you around the complex whenever he had the time—entirely on his own insistence. But every time he found himself in the same room as you, you would make up some excuse just to get away from him.
“I need to stop by the store and buy litter for Alpine.”
“Georgia forgot to pick up her mail. I’m going to hand it to her.”
You were like a stone of indifference—not happy, but not angry either. It was starting to get frustrating.
He knew he should have respected your space, but the more you strayed away from him—not only emotionally, but physically—the more restless he grew. Maybe it was the immature side of him creeping in, but he started to take your pleas as a challenge. You wanted things to go back to normal? Back to how things were before his heart fell for you?
Fine. He would make sure to do exactly that.
The next afternoon, the entire building—which had been quiet for the past few days—began to shake.
It was that same, robotic warping noise that always rattled the ceiling of your office. It started with the usual thump, thump, thump, before the bass dropped into the most annoying sound nonsense you had ever heard in your life.
It was Bucky’s music. Except this was nothing like the tracks he knew you actually liked, and it was louder than it had been in months.
For the past few weeks, he had been playing his music through headphones or keeping the volume respectful. But right now, he was blasting it with a vengeance, the aggressive electronic beats making the light fixtures tremble.
You tried to ignore it for ten minutes. You tried to focus on your paperwork, but the relentless oonts oonts oonts was making your teeth rattle and your head pound. You knew exactly what he was playing at. He was trying to get your attention—but you wouldn’t give in. You refused to.
But then, a family of tourists walked past the front of your office. The daughter pointed up at the building, and the mother scrunched her nose, shaking her head in disapproval at the noise.
Shoving your chair back, you marched out of the office and stormed up the stairs.
You banged on Bucky’s door roughly. “Bucky! Turn that music down right now!”
You were furious, but for Bucky, this was the greatest moment of his week. He grinned, pretending not to hear you, and bumped the volume up just a tad louder.
You knocked again, but he ignored it. When you started cursing under your breath—which Bucky thought was the cutest thing he’d heard in what felt like forever, aside from Alpine’s meows—you finally fished out your master keys to unlock his door yourself.
“Do you mind?” you snapped, stepping into his apartment. “I have potential tenants walking past, and your absolute garbage music is running them off!”
Bucky was leaning back in his chair, lazily reaching over to slide a fader down.
“Garbage?” Bucky echoed, the cocky grin on his face not shrinking one bit. “You didn’t call it that when you were sitting on my lap and playing with my mixer, sweetheart.”
Your eyes widened—whether with anger or embarrassment, he couldn’t tell. Either way, he had gotten a reaction out of you, and to him, that was like a man finally finding water in the desert.
“Just turn it down!” you demanded, already turning away and slamming the door shut behind you.
Throughout the rest of the week, Bucky realized he couldn’t hold your attention for more than five minutes with just his music blasting alone.
He was working on a mix—one that wasn’t meant for his club sets, but one that would definitely catch your attention. What was distracting him more, though, was the sound of your giggles echoing all the way from your office.
A tourist had been sitting in there with you. Initially, Bucky thought it was just a potential renter. But as the minutes dragged into over an hour, he realized that the man in question had absolutely no intention of signing a lease. He was trying to get with you.
With the floorboards being so thin, Bucky could hear everything. The guy was a blatant flirt, and you were laughing and giggling cutely at every single word he said, convinced you were just sealing the deal on an apartment.
Bucky, moved by petty retaliation, queued up special track he was working on.
The beat was slower than usual—the exact kind that would have people drunkenly grinding against each other at a club. He dialed a knob, weaving the explicit, unmistakable sound of a woman’s breathless moans right into the track, letting it echo loudly through the thin flooring.
Downstairs, your laugh died in your throat.
Your eyes widened slightly, your jaw hanging loose before a rush of heat flooded your cheeks. The tourist blinked, his charming smile faltering as the loud, provocative audio filled the small office space.
“What an interesting song,” he forced an awkward chuckle. “Didn’t know you had a DJ living in here.”
You sat stiffly in your chair, a storm of emotions thundering in your chest. Embarrassment came first, but right behind it was a wave of shock and a sickening twist of jealousy that nearly choked you.
He brought a girl over? While I'm down here working?
He actually had the audacity to do that after everything he said to you? After he said he’d be your person once you opened your heart again?
“So, anyway,” the tourist continued, oblivious. “Since you’re a local—do you think you could show me some cool spots around here? Maybe we could start with dinner?”
You didn’t even realize how jealous you actually were until that exact moment.
Knowing that another woman might be in his apartment, touching him, making those sounds, made your blood boil and your fists curl tightly under the desk. You thought you were protecting your heart by keeping him at a distance, but hearing this only proved your heart was still hopelessly tied to him.
And right now, those ties were threatening to snap and hit him right in the face.
“Excuse me,” you choked out to the man seated in front of you, abruptly stepping away from your desk.
Every step up the stairs was a stomp accentuated by your anger, the explicit moaning getting louder and more humiliating with every flight you climbed. By the time you reached his door, you were already drowning in an emotional cocktail of rage and heartbreak.
You threw the door open, ready to scream at him and whatever woman he had hidden away in his room.
“What the fuck is your problem, Bucky!”
The door banged hard against the wall as you stormed into the apartment, your chest heaving, your vision tunneling with pure rage. You were so flustered, so blindingly angry, that the words just started spilling out of you before you could even think to filter them. You were desperate to cover up the humiliating jealousy tearing through you, but it only made you sound more unhinged.
“I am trying to run a business downstairs! I just had a guy down there, a potential tenant, and then... then you had to go and bring some woman over and—and do this while—”
You paused, letting your eyes sweep across the room, only to find an empty bed.
“Where is she?” you hissed.
Bucky leaned back in his chair, leg crossing the other as he folded his arms over his chest, looking far too smug for his own good.
“Where’s who?”
Your brow twitched with annoyance. You huffed a stray hair out of your face, waving a hand around the room. “The girl.”
Bucky tilted his head, playing dumb. “What girl?”
“The girl!” you screeched out. “The girl you have over right now—that’s… that’s making all these vulgar and indecent moaning noises because you don’t know how to keep your dick, much less your promises, in your pants for more than a week!”
Bucky’s lips quirked up into a smile.
“I have been keeping both of those in my pants, thank you very much.” He turned back to his screen, his hands hovering over his mixer. “And you mean your vulgar and repulsive moaning noises?”
You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, defensive. “What?”
“Listen to it closely,” he said, slowly amping the volume up. Your soft and breathy moans of pleasure filled the room.
“That’s you.”
Your face twisted. With the heavy distortion overlaid by the beat, you couldn’t tell if he was just pulling your tail or being serious. You didn’t even remember recording anything like that when you played with his mixer.
“Stop playing in my face, Bucky.”
Bucky, still impassive as ever, simply shrugged. “You don’t recognize your own voice?”
Then, a breathy little whine came in that sounded much too familiar. “Bucky, Bucky, oh—”
Your eyes shot open so wide that your pupils stung. That was you, no doubt about it, just remixed in a way that an outsider couldn’t tell.
“That’s you moaning my name, sweetheart,” Bucky said, turning to you again with a smile.
He watched as your once angry posture began to deflate into a look of pure embarrassment. You started to stammer, your eyes darting everywhere in the room that wasn’t him. “I… I—I don’t even remember recording that.”
Bucky pushed himself off the chair with a light groan, sauntering over to you with confidence now that he knew he had the upper hand.
“You pressed the record button yourself when you were playing with my table a few weeks ago,” he explained casually.
Standing in front of you, he lifted his hand to gently caress your cheek. When his palm made contact with your soft skin without you pushing him away, his smile grew wider, and the prideful flames in his heart glowed hotter.
“What’s with that face?” he taunted, his voice low and gravelly in a way that did nothing but make your heart race faster. “After everything I said to you, did you really think I would bring a girl up here? Hm?”
Bucky tilted his head, trying to meet your eyes, which were currently glued to the ground—refusing to give him any attention.
“Don’t tell me—are you jealous?”
He knew the answer, and you did too—you just didn’t want to admit it. Despite you telling him, “No more relationship!” there was a part of you that didn’t want anyone else to have him, as selfish as it might be.
“No,” you lied.
“Okay,” he hummed in amusement. “But I am.”
You scoffed. “What are you on about?”
His eyes trailed the curves of your face—the very curves he had fallen in love with and peppered with kisses just a few weeks ago.
“I’m jealous over the fact that you have a guy downstairs making you laugh, when I haven’t seen a smile from you in days,” he murmured, letting his thumb brush over your lower lip. The sensation made you shudder.
You hated how much you were leaning into his touch. And you hated even more how much you liked the idea of him being jealous over you, just as you had been over the simple thought of him having another woman over.
“I’ve tried so hard to be patient,” he continued. “To wait and see if you’ll open your heart to me again. To see if you’ll finally let your walls down and believe the words I said. But I can’t be patient when there’s a guy down there capturing your attention so easily, when the only way I can get yours is by playing loud music.”
“And you playing a track with my moans in it makes you think you’ll win me over?” You furrowed your brows at him. “If anything, it only pisses me off. You’re distracting me and my customers, and I need you to stop.”
You tried to make yourself sound more furious than you actually felt, but it didn’t translate very well. Bucky simply licked his lower lip before catching it in a subtle bite, making your body tingle all over again.
“I’ll stop,” he promised. “If you give me just one more chance to prove to you how much I care about you and how serious I am.”
You wanted to hold onto your anger, to keep that shield locked up with the key swallowed. But as you stared at him, hearing every sweet word that came out of his mouth, you realized how terribly you missed him.
God, you missed him.
You missed the moments when he would hold you in his arms after every problem, big or small. You missed the stupid afternoons down in the office, when you were supposed to be doing paperwork but ended up doing baseless chores with him instead—with Alpine inevitably scrambling up onto the desk and squeezing right between you two, demanding her own share of the attention. You missed hearing his music up close, sitting right on his lap while he guided your hand with his on the turntable.
You tried your best to keep your face stoic, to force down the screaming of longing in your chest so you wouldn’t cave. But Bucky saw right through you. He watched your shoulders ease up slightly, the way you chewed at your lower lip, and the way you were slowly unlocking that key in your heart.
Letting out a reluctant sigh that sounded like music to his ears, you mumbled, “Fine.”
Bucky’s smile widened.
“But you better not play this track anywhere. Not even to Steve or Sam,” you continued before he could speak, swatting weakly at his chest. “I’ll shoot you dead, Barnes—I mean it. That track is for your ears only.”
Rather than backing off, Bucky reached down and wrapped his arms firmly around your lower waist, pulling you close against him until your hips hit his, making you fluster at the proximity.
“Deal,” he whispered, leaning down even closer. “I’ll delete it if it makes you feel better, but only if I get to make you moan again like that for real—live and in person.”
Your breath hitched as his lips slid down to the line of your jaw, his stubble scraping pleasantly against your skin. Even though you two had been together like this before, the sudden closeness after days of agonizing distance made everything feel brand new, yet exactly right.
It was a feeling that, despite everything, you missed all too much.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” you breathed out as a final and weak attempt at keeping your guard up.
Bucky’s lips hummed deliciously against your neck, his mind already filled with things more than just hope.
“I’ll try.”
if you've made it this far, i hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading! while you're here, might i suggest taking the opportunity to check out the bwat summer masterlist that this fic is part of here!
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alright, i'll be the one to say it. ao3 and tumblr becoming "mainstream" did so much damage to the community and the writers. i have seen loads of videos and posts about:
1. people hating on writers and fics. writing is something we do for free and for fun. if you stumble upon a fanfic that isn't necessarily your cup of tea or you just don't like, scroll. dont read it. literally leave their page. you don't know if this could be the author's first work that they're so excited about, you dont know if the language they're writing in isn't their first language, you dont know that the writer could be a literal teen and loads of other reasons. fanfictions don't HAVE to be perfect. you write what you want to write because we do it for fun and enjoyment and we want to share that to the world. seriously, what is the wrong with that?..
2. x reader consumers getting WAY to entitled. the number of tiktoks i've seen that "i run a strict program when it comes to reading fanfics." girl you aint running shit. this is FAN FICTION you're reading. F A N F I C T I O N. there is no denying that most fanfiction writes are beyond talented but just because you read one fanfic that exceeds your expectations doesn't give you the right to talk down on others that don't. people have their own personal writing style, their way of doing things and you talking shit on that isn't right.
at the end of the day, we are all humans, reading and writing is what we do and what we're meant to do. and for you to talk shit about a person WRITING is so insane. we are humans. not some robots that you can tell what to do so you can consume it.
i've seen so so many authors take down their fanfics and losing all motivation to write because of a hate comment. DONT LIKE DONT READ‼️
and to every author reading this, this community values your work and your contribution. we love u and, please, never let anyone's negative words have an effect on you.
this!!! i completely forgot to mention this!!! so many anon bots have been treating authors like some robots who HAVE to post fanfics 24/7!! happened to my lovely talented mutuals too. you do nothing to contribute to the community or support the authors, you don't like, don't reblog, you don't leave a comment and then you think you get a say in what others will write or get mad that someone's writing style doesn't match the one you like.
get over urself girl omfg. you don't get a say in shit. ‼️‼️‼️
Omg one of my greatest fears is one of my favorites loosing interest in writing over this. It’s actually happened before, this gorgeous woman I became close friends with quit about a year or two ago and she’s been writing fanfiction for years. YEARS!! The art community has been like this too!! Hating has genuinely become a trend and it’s so embarrassing bc how bored do you ACTUALLY have to be??
Happy Juneteenth to all of my beautiful Black Americans! I am so proud of us and how far we have come — this is what our ancestors died for, sacrificed, and fought for: to see future generations empowered and united, proud of our beauty and strength. May our ancestors be blessed in the afterlife and rest peacefully, watching down on us with a smile. Being Black will never be easy (cause we come from greatness, duh), but we make it inspiring and full of light! Bless all my Black writers, the pen game is elite, brothers and sisters. Bless all my Black people in music, theater, film, acting, etc. Our talent and beauty are unmatched. Never question yourself or your worth — Black is beauty. Once again, happy Juneteenth, everyone!
stepdad dex & picking u up from a party or whatever and ur kinda drunk and he cant help himself… do we fw that here… 💭💭💭
we fw that omghjsnsheisusbsb 🤭🤭
cw - daddy kink, dubcon (reader is drunk)
so out of sorts that you mindlessly call your stepdad to come get you cos you don’t want to drive home drunk..
he pulls up after a couple minutes of your call and sees you sitting on the steps almost drifting to sleep, walking up to you and taking your jaw in his hands. he's cooing at you sweetly to come with dad to the car, reaching at your waist to help hoist you up. and you'll slur out a quiet “hi daddy..” as you get up from the stairs, looking up at him through your eyelashes. he whispers a hi baby as well, and your just stumbling over yourself to the car :( telling him how sorry you are for getting drunk and you really didn't mean to..
but dex is just telling you how it's okay, “just gonna have to sober up before you see your mom alright? gotta be good, can you do that for me honey?” and you'll nod with a smile, straightening up to give him a kiss on the cheek. and when you're in the car hes buckled you up in the front seat, driving to your house.
when you get home hes opening the door so quietly, it is 1 am so your mom should be asleep. dex is shushing you as you enter the house cos your being too loud but all you can do is giggle because your to focused on the fact that hes holding your hand to guide you upstairs <33
then he’ll place you on your bed, helping you take your clothes off that still smell of alcohol and partying. “up, there you go sweetheart..” dex will praise as you lift your arms to take your shirt off. then your pants and now your naked in front of him, almost nodding to sleep as you weakly hold yourself up. then you’ll feel his hand caressing your waist, slowly taking off your bra for you, chuckling as he sees you sigh in relief.
nd you start feeling so achy between your legs, twisting and turning on the bed not really caring that he sees. feeling dexs hand is slither his hand on them, stroking closer and closer until he’s at your heat. youll whimper from sensitivity but he just tells you shh its okay , leaning in to kiss you.
now dex has you on your back just fondling your breasts and kissing you, just taking advantage of his sweet girl in this intoxicated state :( then he’ll start getting all possessive and authoritative asking about the party as he leaves kisses down your tummy. “you didn’t let any boys touch you at that little party right sweetheart? saved this pretty pussy just for dad? my precious girl..” he’ll question.
“really didn’t daddy, s’yours..!” you shake your head no and hiccup sleepily, spreading yourself for him as dexs hips grind into yours. “atta girl that’s what i want hear..” he’ll say in approval, taking his dick out his pants as he plants hot kisses on your neck, hearing you groan. he knows you’ll start to get loud and turn attention to your room so he quickly covers your mouth with his hand. can’t risk getting caught
but he thinks to himself that it won’t be that unethical if he only touches you a bit to cum, so that’s what he does. fisting his cock on your stomach, whispering whatever it is that he needs to get himself off as he leaves marks all over you. hearing your muffled whines for dad just getting himself off closer and closer to cumming. and when he does it’s alll over your tummy, his arousal dripping from the side of you and onto the bed..
ugh and he barely feels guilty about it while he wipes your tummy with a cloth, tucking you into bed and leaving you with a kiss on the forehead. sneaking back into your moms room!
YOU ARE A WIN FOR BLACK WOMEN EVERYWHERE 😛😛😛 no but fr thank u so much for doing the work and giving us a slice of the pie, I get so tired of reading the words pink, red skin, blue eyes, blonde and whatever else
(611 words of !) - f!reader, prolonged use of a fuck machine, intense overstimulation, crying/tears (dacryphilia), voyeurism, surveillance and stalking behavior, possessive/obsessive dex, insecure and pathetic dex, public masturbation
loosely a pt 2 of this drabble
Dex had left you strapped to the fuck machine hours ago.
Before walking out the door, he’d kissed your forehead almost sweetly, then slid the thick, ridged dildo into your already soaked pussy and turned it on low. “Be good for me,” he’d murmured, eyes dark. “I’ll be watching.”
The machine was relentless in its precision, just like him. A steady, mechanical rhythm that never missed your spot, never slowed, never let you fully come down. By the time Dex made it to the Bullpen, you were already a mess: thighs shaking, back arched, tears streaking your face as the silicone dildo drove into you again and again. He kept his phone propped against his monitor, earbuds in, pretending to study surveillance footage. In reality, he was glued to the live feed of your shared apartment.
There you were on the bedroom camera, completely naked, wrists cuffed to the headboard, hips jerking helplessly every time the machine bottomed out. Your mouth was open in a constant, broken moan. You looked wrecked.
A quiet, pathetic ache bloomed in his chest. He hated being away from you. Even with the cameras, the tracker on your car, the microphones in every room, a small voice in the back of his head still whispered that you might somehow slip away. That one day you’d realize how fucked up he was and leave.
He needed to see you like this. Needed to know you were still here, still taking it for him, still crying and dripping because of him.
“Fuck…” Dex breathed, shifting in his chair as his dick strained against his slacks. You clenched hard around the machine on screen, sobbing his name like a prayer. The sound went straight to his dick. He couldn’t wait.
Muttering something about needing the bathroom, Dex slipped away from his desk, phone clutched tightly in his hand. He locked himself in the far stall of the men’s room on the quietest floor, heart hammering like a loser who couldn’t even make it through a workday without jerking off to his own girlfriend.
Leaning back against the stall door, he yanked his dick out—already leaking, flushed dark, embarrassingly hard. He angled the phone so he had the perfect view: your tear-stained face, tits bouncing with every thrust of the machine, pussy glistening and stretched around the relentless toy.
“Shit… look at you,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly. His hand moved fast, almost frantic. “Crying on it like that… You’re mine. You’re fucking mine, right?”
He was pathetic, and he knew it, hiding in a bathroom stall at Quantico, pants around his thighs, jerking himself raw while watching you fall apart on a machine he’d left you on. But the insecurity only made him stroke faster. He needed this. Needed to own every second of your overstimulation, every broken moan, every tear.
On the screen you came again—hard—body seizing up as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. You whimpered his name like it was the only word you knew. Dex’s hips stuttered. “That’s it, baby… keep crying for me. Don’t stop. I’m the only one who can make you feel like this.”
He came with a choked groan, spilling over his fist in messy pulses, eyes never leaving the feed. Even after he finished, he stayed there a moment longer, breathing hard, thumb gently tracing the image of your exhausted, flushed face on the screen.
He’d clean you up when he got home. He’d hold you, kiss your tears, and pretend he wasn’t terrified of losing the only person who made the noise in his head go quiet. For now, the cameras would have to be enough.
content <𝟑 .ᐟ 18+, obsession / possession, stalking, manhandling, size kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex, mention of f. masturbation, mention of crying (reader), reader is clueless.
benjamin knew he had to have you in every way from the moment his calculating eyes fell on you. you’re everything he isn’t. you’re sweet, you’re precious and innocent to a devastating fault. it almost makes him sick. faithfully, he took his time figuring you out. there’s nothing wrong with him watching you from a safe distance as long as it doesn’t get out of hand— that’s what he told himself as he memorized your routines, your tiny habits and mannerisms, the things in your life that alter your moods … all with the intention of getting to know you better.
months of preparation for when he finally gets close to you.
it wasn’t easy. you were skeptical that first time you met. maybe it was because you were clinging to an unsettling feeling. the feeling of being watched everywhere you went, whether it was day or night. it was enough to make you install a dead bolt on your door. he remembers catching a glimpse of it through your window. he scoffed, mostly because he was endeared by the fact you thought it made a difference.
he’d end up getting past those locks, anyway. time and time again.
like after your fourth date, when you invite him in and something about the way you purr your words tells him it’s not just for rosé flavored kisses and heavy petting or getting handsy on your couch. it doesn’t truly hit him until you’re pulling him into your bedroom with breathy giggles falling from your lips in between kisses. he’s nervous, a little fidgety as his deft fingers mess with the zipper on your dress— you’d never be able to tell by the grin that’s spread over his features. or the way he squeezes your waist with his big hands in the next second, muffling the mewl that falls from your swollen lips with his own.
you’re on your back and at his mercy in record timing. all it took was some tossing you around until you met your mattress with a soft sound. your dress is discarded, thrown to the floor along with your lacy panties and the delicate bra that matches. he’s careful not to tear anything no matter how badly he wants to let those urges take control for a brief moment. you can’t see that side of him yet.
the side you can see, however, is how attentive he can be while he has you folded up under him. while you’re gasping and whimpering and his hands are tucked under your knees, keeping your thighs spread wide and your pretty cunt on display for when he finally sinks in. you gasp in sync, and benjamin swears he’s never been closer to true salvation.
he wishes you both weren’t so desperate for it. he wishes he could take the time to press his face between your legs, kissing and sucking on your sensitive clit in earnest until you’re hiccuping for him to stop. he’s thought about it countless times, both on his own and while watching you play with yourself through your frilly curtains. whether it was your clumsy fingers rubbing yourself stupid or a pillow you decided to hump on, he’s seen it all. he’s thought about it all. and much like you, he’s thought about how no amount of finger fucking yourself to thoughts of him after your little dates could have prepared you to take him.
“look at that. y’did so good, angel girl— even after all that whining and crying,” he croons, running a rough hand down the length of your tummy as if he can feel himself under your tender flesh. he presses, just enough to make you gasp once more and whine. you can feel him right there, like weight of him is resting in your stomach. his gaze finally trails upwards, he breaks it away from where his cock pushes inside your soft, messy cunt and meets your dazed eyes instead. “but i think she wants more, huh? wants to be stuffed real good, yeah?”
he knows you don’t have the strength to respond fully. broken pleas and feverish nodding is all you can manage before he coos down at you and allows his hands to slip to the backs of your thighs. he feels your dewy skin as his fingers sink in for leverage, he rears his hips back before they twitch forward and chase after the silky, heated vice that your sweet pussy seems to be. yeah, he picked the perfect girl.
“fuckin’ made for me, you were made to take this cock,” he grunts out, peering down at you while you lose yourself little by little. pathetic sounds fall from your lips freely and he’s quick to shush you, leaning over your dizzy and manhandled form entirely as he speaks right above your spit slick lips. the words that leave his mouth send you into a frenzy— “i knew you were all mine from the second i saw you.”
PAIRING: professor!bucky barnes x college student!reader
SUMMARY: mr. barnes is your clumsy, timid, and definitely too hot professor. you don’t know what pushed you to start teasing him. maybe it’s the way those adorable blue eyes sparkled at you every time you raised your hand to answer one of his questions. or maybe it’s the urge to see him stuttering and whimpering under you.
WARNINGS: she/her pronouns for reader; age gap (bucky’s mentioned to be in his 40s); college student!reader; professor!bucky; shy and kinda insecure!bucky; blink-and-you'll-miss fluff; smut; mention of blow job; mention of fingering; first time together; exhibitionism (sex in his office + reader stuffs his mouth with her panties bc he’s fucking loud); whiny!bucky; kinda sub!bucky; reader teasingly calls him professor and mr.barnes; brief use of cock pronouns; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, pls); rough & “quiet” sex; slight overstimulation; creampie.
WORD COUNT: 4.4k
A/N: I had so much fun writing this one-shot, so I thought it was only right to make it the first one I upload here. hope you’ll enjoy!
Mr. Barnes is your clumsy, timid, and definitely too-hot professor. He might be nearly twenty years older than you, yet he still blushes the moment anyone shows even a hint of interest in his course.
You don’t exactly know when you began pushing at that invisible line between student and professor, curious to see how easily he’d lose his composure. Maybe it’s the way those adorable blue eyes sparkled every time you raised your hand to answer one of his questions. Maybe it’s the thrill running through your veins when you stayed behind after lectures, holding his gaze just a little too long to witness how easily the poor man turned red.
Or maybe it’s the urge to see him stuttering and whimpering under you.
You took a risk when you knocked on his office door to ask for clarification about your last quiz. Even if his gaze would linger on your exposed skin after you started wearing more revealing clothes. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes whenever your fingers accidentally brushed against his while handing him your paper. Even if he stumbled over his words when you softly greeted him with a soft “Good morning, Mr. Barnes.” every time you oh-so-coincidentally bumped into each other in the campus hallway.
Those signs were very clear to you, so you stood up to round the desk, pointing at a question you didn’t understand and consequently answered wrong. He mumbled something about mounds, his eyes fixed on your chest as he looked up at you, then quickly shook his head, frowning at his desk, his cheeks lighting up with a beautiful shade of red.
“M—Mountains, I meant mountains.” He stuttered out. That’s when you grasped one armrest, swiveling his chair until you could comfortably set yourself on his laps.
“Miss—” Mr. Barnes’ eyes widened, but you simply wrapped your arms around his neck, whispering about how much you needed him. His lips parted, not knowing what to do. He panted at the clear sight of the body who had been appearing in his sweetest dreams so many times— too many— since the beginning of the semester. Waking up, he would tug at his hair in despair, a wet patch soiling his underwear and shame curling hot in his stomach. How could he be sexually attracted to one of his students? His best student, nonetheless.
But his resolve melted like ice cream under the scorching summer sun once you started moving, humping his half-hard cock straining against his black pants.
“We are doing nothing wrong if we aren’t touching skin to skin, right professor?” You mumbled, grazing his lips with yours. Mr. Barnes shook, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, prayers for forgiveness echoing in his mind until he came in his underwear with your name on his lips.
As soon as he got inside the safe walls of his home, Bucky swore to avoid you for the rest of the academic year. No, for the rest of his life. He was terrified of how easily you could unravel him. The lightest brush of your fingers against his bare skin was enough to make him forget who he was supposed to be, all the walls he thought he’d built for himself crumbling with violent inevitability. Every glance, every curve, every soft, dangerous smile... The way you made him ache for more was almost unbearable.
Two days later, you tugged down his zipper, kneeling to hide under the desk as soon as the class had completely emptied, and Mr. Barnes could only sputter your name in shock before your luscious, glossy lips engulfed him. His head fell back, letting you play with his cock until he came down your throat with a ferocity that left you with a hoarse voice for the rest of the day. You left with a filthy kiss that tasted like his cum and a playful pat on his pec, just two seconds before the door opened for the next lesson to begin.
After two months of heated gazes thrown between a power point slide and a raise of hand, and an alarming number of orgasms in the privacy of his office, Mr. Barnes— or Bucky, as he told you to call him when you were alone— finally confessed he needed all of you.
He couldn’t take it anymore; even if you sucked the soul out of his dick, your soft kisses and the way you held him left him yearning for something beyond simple physical attraction. Right after your rendezvous, he always ended up with a hand around his stiff length, pretending it was your warm and wet pussy, before falling asleep imagining you were right there with him, your head safely nestled against his neck.
Last week Bucky stopped you after class, and oh, you would have kissed your professor right there on the spot as he clumsily asked you on a date, before his voice dimmed towards the end, suddenly self-conscious at the lack of any reaction from your part. Bucky was definitely being an old fool. Why would a girl as beautiful and confident as you want to go on a date with a forty-year-old man who still can’t look a pretty girl in the eye without stuttering?
His doubts melted away with an eager kiss that made you both smile so hard your cheeks ached.
Now, in the quiet, dimly lit ambiance of his office, his plans to properly court you go up in smoke the moment you start making out on the small leather couch by his sturdy oak bookshelf. Gone are the loud echoes of avid chatter in the halls, as well as the pressing fear at the back of his mind of being caught by some noisy colleague trying to get into his office to bother him about the latest gossip. On the contrary, you seemed to thrive in it, always whispering about how scandalous it would be to be caught with the shy and professional Mr. Barnes’ cock down your throat. He never had the chance to discuss this fantasy of yours outside of your intimate moments, and probably he never would.
It’s already humiliating enough that Bucky ends up coming the moment you start talking about it.
It began with you staying behind in the campus library to finish an essay for his course, when you noticed his car still parked outside. After confirming via text that Bucky was still locked in his office grading some tests, you decided to surprise him. As soon as you crossed the threshold, he captured your lips with an eager kiss, guiding you to his couch so he could finally indulge in you after a long day of restraint.
Now, the only audible noises are the whirring of the old ceiling fan slowly spinning, and the squeak of leather under you. You hump his sturdy thigh as your hands gently cup his cheeks, covered by a grey-ish stubble that you want to see glisten in your arousal so desperately.
“Bucky.” He usually wouldn’t initiate anything remotely sexual, instead opting to intertwine your fingers or leave gentle pecks on your neck. He only allowed himself to let go after you showed interest in going further. Tonight, it’s like Bucky doesn’t care about propriety anymore— maybe because you had agreed to go on a date with him, finally. Or maybe he finally understood you desire him just as much as he desires you.
You don’t know and honestly you don’t care, you just want this man to finally stick his dick into you and fuck you until you are forced to rest all day.
Your fingers wrinkle his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer. Bucky’s chest heaves against yours, his hands firmly resting on your hips as he tries to preserve that miserable crumb of self-control he still prides himself to maintain around you. That’s the only thing that keeps him from fucking your mouth with his tongue in the middle of his lessons.
You let out a soft mewl. “Mr. Barnes, please. Just fuck me.”
“Sweetheart, we can’t.” Bucky strains out, squeezing his eyes shut. Your sweet moans get closer and closer as you lean in, nuzzling your nose his jawline. Your lips leave a trail of soft kisses— kisses that feel far too innocent in comparison to the lewd movement of your hips. Bucky’s chin unconsciously tilts up to let you do whatever you want to his throat, from sucking to delicately biting the sensitive skin, until your mouth reaches his, and the kisses turn hungrier, filthier. His heartbeat accelerates under your palm as your other hand slides down, finally cupping his bulge. Bucky’s hands land on your ass, his grasp on the soft flesh is strong but still adorably hesitant, afraid of doing something that could disgust you— or worse, hurt you.
You’re pretty sure he would be the one to run away if he knew the things you want him to do to you.
“Yes, we can.” You whine, kissing his cheek before you meet his eyes. “I don’t need a fancy restaurant, or—or a bed. I only need you.”
Bucky’s cheeks turn pink at your honest yet fierce admission, the color spreading to his neck and ears as well. His limbs, albeit trembling, lead you down to lie on your back. Your smile is contagious as you realize what he’s doing, and your fingers promptly go for his white shirt, impatiently ripping it apart, the buttons flying left and right as you part the two halves to expose his broad and slightly hairy chest.
“Darling.” Bucky balks, before your arms wrap around his neck, and with a harsh tug, your lips connect again. You glide your tongue along his bottom lip, silently asking for access, and of course he obeys at once.
“Why—” You pant, gasping as Bucky, spurred on by your eagerness, trails a path of enthusiastic kisses down your throat. “Do you always act so surprised— oh!”
He travels lower, finding a sensitive spot of yours, right beneath your ear. His lips elicit moans and whimpers out of you that shamelessly echo into the open space of his office.
Finally, his hips move on their own volition, grinding his clothed bulge over your pulsing core. Bucky is still so clumsy, especially when he allows himself to drop all the doubts and uncertainties that hold him back, but that’s when you adore him the most: when he loses himself in your shared pleasure. He groans into the soft skin of your neck, finally reaching his ultimate destination.
Grabbing a hold of the hem of your sweater, he pushes it up until your torso is exposed for his eyes to feast upon. He is too eager to remove your bra, simply tugging the cups down until your breasts spill out. A sound that is dangerously close to a whimper falls from his lips at the sight of his favorite body part of yours. Each spot is gorgeous, don’t get him wrong, but your chest is simply spectacular. And after that time you let him come all over your tits, Bucky can’t look at your cleavage without getting hard.
You let him bury his face there, your fingers softly petting his hair as his lips latch onto your nipple. His hands shoot down, groping your thighs to keep them open, fingers kneading the soft flesh there, mimicking the slow yet intense pace of his mouth sucking on your turgid nub.
“Good boy, Mr. Barnes. Such a good boy.” You sigh, grinning as a soft, pathetic sound claws out of his throat at the praise, shuddering under your wandering palms. Pulling off with a gasp, he caresses his way up to fondle your breasts, pushing them together against his cheeks so he can nuzzle the soft skin. You giggle amused, remembering the time he fervently told you that he would not mind suffocating between them.
Bucky licks both nipples until they’re shiny and swollen, before his shaky fingers reach your bottom half. Your panties fly somewhere on the headrest of the couch, carelessly discarded aside as the sight of your bare pussy short-circuits his brain.
It’s not the first time Bucky’s seen you naked, having already been blessed with the permission to finger you. Yet, his body stills for what feels like eternity, just staring at your wet core with the same devotion one would feel while admiring an invaluably precious treasure.
His thumbs gently part your folds, allowing him to plant a soft kiss on your clit, before licking a long stripe from your hole to the throbbing nub.
Your thighs jerk close around his head. “No, no! Need your cock, Professor. Please.”
You watch as Bucky’s eyes squeeze shut, forehead resting against your hipbone as he sighs, probably to calm himself down as your taste on his tongue has his cock throbbing painfully. Then he stands up, quickly fumbling with his belt. His pants and underwear are removed in a single tug, and you both chuckle when he almost trips, his hand shooting forward to grab onto the couch.
“I’m a mess.” He mumbles half-embarrassed, kneeling back between your spread thighs.
“Mh, a hot mess.” His pulse jumps, blue eyes slowly following the way your hand reaches down to rub your clit. “Now c’mere and make me yours.” You unconsciously lick your lips, staring at his stiff length standing proud and leaking against his abdomen.
A nerd with a big cock, that’s professor James Barnes for you.
“You can lick me clean after, if you want.”
“Shit.” Panting, Bucky wraps his fingers around his cock, stroking it a couple of times before lining the engorged tip with your entrance. Your hips squirm at the action, eager to finally feel him inside.
Until his eyes widen, body stopping short. “Wait, I—I need to prepare you first.”
How could he forget to stretch you open? He was so close to hurting you.
“No need to do that.” You breathe out, caressing up and down your torso in a way that almost hypnotizes Bucky.
Your smirk makes his next protest die in his throat. Spellbound, he lets you guide him lower, until you can comfortably lie a slow kiss on his lips, his breath trembling at the way your tongue caresses his. He follows your mouth with a whine when you gently push his chest back.
“You have a big dick, professor, yes. But,” your hands tenderly cup his face, tugging him down again until your hot breath tickles his ear. “I always finger myself in the bathroom after your lessons.”
Bucky almost chokes on his own spit.
“Needed to do that before studying as well, I was so horny I couldn’t focus. Jus’ wanted to come here and bounce on your pretty cock.”
“Every time you say things like that, my brain just…” He trails off, not even knowing what he wanted to say. His thoughts just roam free when he’s with you, unable to stop himself from following his instincts.
Right now, he can only feel the warmth of your body under his, and the softness of your hands on his face. You claim every inch of his attention, an irresistible angel wrapped in lace and sin.
“I know, Mr. Barnes.” Your little giggle prompts him to bury his face into the crook of your damp neck, his chest heaving as his cock gets impossibly harder at your confidence. Bucky whimpers when your hips buckle up to coax him in, your folds brushing against the sensitive tip of his cock.
“Can I?” His eyes land down, and he gapes once again at how pretty your pussy looks.
You simply nod, a quick, eager movement, anchoring yourself to his shoulders as he starts breeching your hole.
The small, hot room is filled with the sound of your heavy breath. Your hold tightens on the ruined shirt precariously hanging from his frame when you gasp in unison at the feeling of your walls clenching around him. Your eyes close in bliss as he keeps pushing deeper inside you, his hands firm on your hips, holding you still with the fear that a single movement from you might make him come embarrassingly fast.
“Shit.” Bucky breaks the religious silence first, finally bottoming out.
“It’s so big, oh my God.”
“I know!” He whimpers. “Sorry.”
“Don’t—” You huff out a delirious laugh at the absurdity of this hot and smart college professor whining apologies for having a big dick. “You’re so cute, Mr. Barnes. Wanna move?”
His eyelids flutter shut in concentration, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “Yes, yes please.” He nods eagerly, the words leaving his mouth in a strangled plea.
The first pull of his cock is torturously slow, leaving you mewling for him until he forces his way back fully inside you. Tipping his chin up to kiss you, Bucky is interrupted by a loud moan escaping his lips without his permission.
“Fuck.” He grunts, forehead falling against yours at the feeling of your tight walls squeezing him again.
Once Bucky sets a steady rhythm, often disrupted by stray, eager thrusts, the slightly painful sensation of being stretched open by his huge girth quickly shifts into pure pleasure. Your body now lies pliant on this cheap couch, moaning every time his cock seems to reach deeper and deeper.
“Wait!” Bucky gasps at some point. “L—Let me…” He halts his movements all of a sudden, shifting until your knees are pushed up to your chest. The new feeling has your eyes rolling back, his cock filling and slamming in and out of you at an even faster pace, his pubic hair grinding against your sensitive nub.
“You’re so tight.” He cries out. “Fuck!”
Your legs are burning because of the physical strain but you don’t pay them any attention, too lost in the way his tip abuses your sweet spot. His big body blankets yours completely once your arms wrap around his neck, dragging him closer. The sight prompts Bucky to harshly grab your thighs in an attempt to stop himself from coming.
“Can’t hold back anymore.” A whimper claws out of his throat. “So tight, so warm… My pretty girl… Need to come. Please, please, please let me come.” He blabbers, the muscles of his stomach tensing.
“Already close?” You tease him with a condescending yet breathy tone. Fuck, he gets so whiny when he’s ready to fall over the edge, you can’t resist poking him a little. “You’re such a pathetic old man for your student’s pussy, Mr. Barnes.”
“Fuck!” He wails, hiding his flushed face in the slope of your neck. His hips stammer for a second, coming to a sudden stop.
“What—”
“Was about to come.” His whisper is so hot and dejected against your chest it almost makes you feel bad.
“I didn’t tell you to stop, though.” Your hips cruelly jerk up, making him whimper.
“Sorry, sorry.” He rushes out a string of barely coherent apologies, before he’s moving again. “Sorry, sweetheart.”
“Hm, ‘s okay.” You gasp, not expecting the brutal pace. “‘M close too, you can come, Mr. Barnes.”
Bucky realizes that you don’t understand what he meant, and he isn’t sure how to tell you without bursting into flames of embarrassment.
“Baby,” his voice breaks. “I—I don’t think I can pull out.”
You had talked about it before, in the heat of the moment as you humped his bulge only for him to spill in his underwear, moaning about how good you would take him, how much you craved to feel his bare cock pounding inside you. You are both clean, and definitely exclusive. But Bucky had briskly promised you he would pull out.
Of course, that was before being inside you. Now, all reason has been hurled out of the window as the only thought in his mind is pumping you full of his cum until you can’t keep it in anymore, shamelessly soiling the couch with your arousal mixed together. A reminder that would taunt him whenever he crosses the threshold of this damn office.
Bucky is pretty sure he’s going to cry if you ask him to pull out now, but he would do it immediately, of course.
Your wanton moan breaks through his worry, arching your back as if his words had physically grabbed you. “Then don’t.” You sob, tightening your hold around his shoulders.
“Really?” He perks up.
You nod. “Can feel you twitch inside me, he needs it, professor. Needs to be inside me when he comes.”
“Fuck, yes! Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you thank you thank you.” With renowned energy, Bucky’s thrusts become downright animalistic, muffling your surprised gasp with his mouth.
“Feeling good? Am I doing good?” He pants on your lips, hazy eyes desperately searching yours.
“Yes! So good, Mr. Barnes, always making me feel so good.” You cry out, impossibly full and aching in the best way.
“I— oh my God.” He whimpers shamelessly, one of his hands traveling lower to rub your clit. You flinch at the added pleasure, letting out a very embarrassing squeal.
“Ah! That’s it, baby. Yes, yes, yes!” His breaths are fast with anticipation as he marvels at your features crumpling in pleasure, head tossed back and tits deliciously bouncing with every filthy roll of his hips.
“Can feel you’re close. Come, sweetheart, please come, please—” He begs in a broken cry.
“Bucky—”
A slow, creaking noise echoes from the outside, making you choke on your next words.
He stops cold, still buried deep inside of you, heart hammering against his ribs. The sound slices through your melodic moans, abruptly waking him up from the sweet torture that is your pussy clenching for him.
You wait with bated breath, still unsure if the sound was real, or just a figment of your imagination.
Then, it happens again.
The creaking continues, steady and closer. His eyes land on your confused face. “The janitor.” He gasps, realization dawning on him like a bucket of icy water. Cold sweat coats your back as your brain scrambling to remember if you locked the door.
It should be a reflex by now, you’re so used to doing it every day. However, your attention was immediately caught by Bucky unexpectedly taking you to the couch.
And now you’re not so sure anymore.
He’s still motionless above you, now shielding your body with his as the janitor stops a few feet away from Bucky’s office. A door opens, and the cleaning cart is being dragged again, the sound getting slightly fainter. He probably got inside a nearby room to start his cleaning round.
Bucky’s cock doesn’t soften through it all. As a matter of fact, his hips unconsciously keep up their humping motion, shallow, almost imperceptible. Your hole squeezes his length at the realization that he’s not as indifferent to your teases as you thought. He will never admit it, you already know that, but his actions speak louder than words, and that’s enough for you.
“Keep going.” You whisper. His head snaps toward you, staring as if he’s just seen a ghost. His eyes are telling a completely different story though, now darker and wild as you grind on his cock once. He chokes on a breath, his hands flying down to grab your hips.
“Let’s see if we can really get caught, professor.” You giggle, thrusting your hips up.
“Wait, baby.” You simply smile at him, noticing how his eyes glaze over once again. His hips thrust into you. Hard. And now he’s fucking you again, faster and harsher than before.
There’s only one problem: Bucky is fucking loud. That same man who had paled at the slight possibility of being seen fucking a student on his couch, is now moaning and grunting against the swell of your breasts.
He is at your mercy, too drunk from the feeling of your sweet pussy engulfing his cock so well. A red flush takes over his neck as he gets so close to falling over the edge, and right when his chest puffs out, lips opening around an embarrassingly loud groan, your hand shoots up, grabbing your pair of panties and stuffing them right into his mouth. It takes a moment for the professor to understand what’s going on, but when his tongue tastes your slick on the gusset, and his nose catches the unmistakable scent of your core, his eyes roll back.
Bucky tenses above you, desperate sounds now flowing freely, muffled by your panties. You realize you’re sweating too, closing your eyes as you pray that the squeaking of the couch goes unnoticed to the outside world.
“Gonna come.” You whisper into his ear. “You’re gonna make me come on your big cock, Mr. Barnes, and you’re gonna fill me up, right, baby? Look how pretty you are, my good boy.”
Your pussy spasms, and then your eyes are rolling back while Bucky fucks you through your orgasm, wildly pumping into you, hitting that sweet spot that makes you cry out against his neck. His cock throbs, and then his cum is stuffing you full, just like you wanted. Loud, broken whimpers spill into your panties, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips keep thrusting into you at a maddening pace, even though his balls have nothing left to give you.
He refuses to let this moment of pure, unaltered pleasure come to an end.
“Bucky! Bucky, stop!” It’s only your meek squeak that pulls him out of the delirious state he fell in. His thrusts slow down, reluctantly coming to a stop, while his limbs tremble and his cock stays warmly snuggled inside you. The moment his jaw relaxes, your panties land on your chest, completely wet with his spit. Then, he grabs your face to crash his lips against yours, hot and needy, your hands refusing to let his shirt go, clinging onto him for as long as your lungs permit.
“Fucking hell.” Bucky gasps out, flopping down on your body. You are still dizzy by the intensity of your climax, but seeing him so unguarded and content makes a tired chuckle bubble up from your throat.
“So you really like the thought of being caught, huh?” Your eyebrows wiggle up and down, the left corner of your mouth lifting in amusement.
pairing: scientist!bucky barnes x experiment!reader
warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, daddy kink, dark!bucky, slight steve x reader, dubcon bordering noncon, stockholm syndrome, emotional manipulation, drugs, masochism and sadism, obsessive and possessive behavior, verbal abuse, mental illness, isolation, self-harm, mentions of the word "rape", angst, fingering, praise kink, innocence kink, medical malpractices, surgical inaccuracies, pet names, spanking
word count: 11.3k
main masterlist
a/n: please read the warnings listed before reading. i am not responsible for your media consumption. thank you to @danysdaughter and @iamthatonefangirl for giving me the courage to write this. clutching my shovel real close tonight ♥️
synopsis:
You are Bucky’s most prized possession. Your mind, body, and soul were crafted by his own hands—he gave you life, and he could just as easily take it away. He never imagined he’d feel threatened by his own creation, until the day you began to have desires of your own.
If you were to ask James Buchanan Barnes for the definition of ‘insanity,’ he would tell you “Insanity is a severely disordered state of the mind.”
If you were to ask him what the cause of insanity is, he would say “It’s triggered by a combination of many things. For example, if one becomes too fascinated—too fixated—on something to the point that it takes a toll on their mental health. It can shift their reality and potentially drive themselves to the very brink. It is a common denominator, I’ve noticed.”
If you were to ask him if insanity was correlated with craziness in any way, he would reply with “That’s exactly what it is.”
If you were to ask James Buchanan Barnes if he was crazy, he would say no.
Bucky never thought he was crazy—as a matter of fact, he was far from it.
From the day he found your corpse and brought you back to life through grueling experimentation, to the long months he kept you tucked away in the shadows of the hospital’s hidden basement laboratory—up until now, as he stood before you with a tray of cold hospital food in his hands.
No, he never thought he was crazy. Not then, and certainly not now.
“Darling? Daddy’s here,” Bucky murmured, knocking gently on the door.
He pressed his ear to the wood, waiting for a sound—that soft, gentle “come in!” he had taught you to say every time he arrived.
There was no sound.
Bucky smiled softly. He figured you were just asleep.
After looking around to ensure the coast was clear, as it always was, he pushed the door open quietly. As it shut softly behind him, a relieved breath escaped his lips at the sight of you.
There you were, lying on the cot on your side with your hands tucked beneath your cheek—sound asleep.
He couldn’t help his smile as he set the tray of food down on the table next to you. He sat at the edge of the cot, running his hand up and down your arm in a hauntingly slow motion. “I brought you dinner,” he whispered.
You only let out a sleepy moan. Bucky ran his hand down your hair, pushing it behind your ear. He frowned at how it felt beneath his fingertips. He had just brushed it this morning, and yet it was already a knotted, tangled mess.
“Come on, baby. Wake up. Your food’s not getting any warmer.”
He nudged you gently, but you still didn’t wake. He was beginning to grow impatient.
“Open your eyes for me,” he commanded, kneeling down as his voice rose.
When you still didn’t stir, his jaw clenched. Both hands found your shoulders, shaking you hard as he yelled in your face, “I told you to wake up!”
You jolted awake with a startled gasp, your eyes hazy with sleep as you stared back at the man in front of you. His grip on your shoulders was so tight it hurt.
He had yelled at you—what had you done wrong? Did you misplace something? Or was it simply because you had slept in?
Your master’s chest was heaving as he glared at you with wide, crazed eyes.
After finally getting your attention, Bucky’s breathing calmed slightly. Your eyes were wide with fear and your body was shaking, curling in on itself as if trying to make yourself as small as possible.
Your eyes—sunken, swollen, and bruised from his experiments a few days ago—were still prominent, and the sight of them made him feel even worse.
Slowly, he let go of your shoulders. “I… fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he sat back on his heels. “I’m sorry, doll. I got ahead of myself.”
Your shoulders eased slightly, though not entirely.
“I just had a bad day,” Bucky went on with a sigh. “These idiots at the facility… they’re working me like a dog. They have me running all these labs, all these data sheets…” He rubbed the crease between his brows. “I’m just so tired. And all I wanted was for you to be waiting at the door to greet me.”
You felt your heart thump in your chest. You had to react carefully—otherwise, Bucky’s mood would only sour further.
“I’m sorry,” you said, pulling yourself off the short cot to meet him on the floor with a hug.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, your chest pressed against his. Bucky let out a sigh, his eyes fluttering closed in satisfaction as his large arms wrapped around you. His hands splayed across your back, pulling you in even closer as his nose nuzzled the side of your head, breathing in your scent.
Rubbing alcohol, acetonitrile, and just a slight hint of lavender. His favorite.
“That’s it,” Bucky cooed into your ear. “You can be so forgetful, but at the end of the day, you always know how to make Daddy happy.”
He pulled away slightly to look you in the face. “Look at you, your hair’s a mess.” His frown deepened again as he tucked the stray hairs away from your eyes. “What did you do all day while I was gone?”
“I’ve been reading—or… trying to read the papers you told me to read.”
Bucky smiled, reaching for the hairbrush on your bedside table. His hands found your hair, dragging the bristles through the tangled heap.
“You mean the books?”
You nodded.
He sighed wistfully. “I wish I could hear you read them out loud to me, but I haven’t had much time these days.”
“I know,” you said, sounding a little more solemn than you’d like.
Bucky heard the disappointment in your voice, and his heart broke. “Turn around for me.”
Still sitting on the floor, you scrambled around until your back faced him. His hand bunched your hair from behind as he did his best to fix the mess you created.
“Tell me more,” he prompted, encouraging you to continue.
“The words make my head hurt,” you explained, staring at the floor. “It’s all just… a jumbled mess of text. I don’t even know what half the words mean.” Your finger traced the cold, laboratory tile. “My head has been hurting a lot, and the books just make me feel worse.”
Bucky’s brush went still for a moment.
Every time the headaches came, you would start pulling and tugging at your hair, crying in frustration. You would roll around on the cot, hit your head against the wall, or yank at your own locks—anything to rid yourself of the pain. But you didn’t know that those things only made it worse. All you knew was to hurt the things that hurt you.
“Sorry, darling,” he said gently. “I need to operate on your brain to help fix this problem. Maybe this next experiment will help you remember words better—help you gain some of that reading memory back. I’ll find the time for it, I promise. I’ve just been so—”
“—busy,” you completed the sentence for him, a bitter bite in your tone. “I know.”
He paused again, and it dragged out longer this time. “Excuse me?”
“I already heard how busy you were the first time,” you mumbled. “I don’t need to hear it again.”
Bucky’s eyebrow twitched. He couldn’t believe this was happening. You were talking back to him?
He grabbed your shoulders, roughly spinning you around and making you yelp as you were forced to face him again. Before you could compose yourself, he pressed his face against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks with a hard squeeze.
“Where the fuck did this new attitude come from? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, huh?” he seethed. “Did you forget your place? Did you forget who brought you here? Who took your sad, cold body from the grave and gave you a new life?”
You winced as he squeezed your face even harder.
“I gave you life. I made your heart beat again. I gave your brain a mind and your body a purpose. And if you disrespect me one more time, I can take it all away just as easily.”
That tone of his made your heart start to race. It was like a trauma response buried deep in your nerves he had rewired. Your vision started to blur as tears began to well up, spilling down your face before you even realized you were crying.
“I’m sorry,” you gasped, the words tumbling over each other. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it! I—I’m sorry, Bucky.”
You were apologizing profusely now, your hands hovering near his, not daring to touch him. You just wanted the pressure on your face to stop.
Bucky’s expression softened, just barely. He loosened his grip, his thumb brushing over your cheeks to wipe away the tears. He let out a long, weary sigh—the sound of a man burdened by… whatever it was you were to him.
He set the brush on the floor and pulled you back into his chest, hugging you once more.
“I’m sorry, doll,” he murmured into your hair. “I’m so sorry I had to do that. I hate when I have to talk to you like that, I really do.” He squeezed you tighter, his chin resting on the top of your head. “But I have to make sure you understand. How else am I supposed to get through to you? You know I only do it because I love you. I can’t have you forgetting who takes care of you.”
You stayed frozen in his arms, hiccuping between sobs.
When Bucky pulled back slightly to look at you, the small gap made you whine. He smiled in satisfaction. Of course—despite everything, you still needed him.
“There’s my girl,” he whispered. “Come here. Give Daddy a kiss.”
You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, pushing yourself up from the floor just enough to press your lips to his in a soft, gentle kiss. That was all you wanted, really—just a kind gesture to remind you that Bucky cared for you as much as he claimed.
But then his hands found your face again, locking you in place before you could pull away. His lips began to explore yours hungrily. He pushed his tongue against the entrance, sliding in to dance against yours.
A moan of satisfaction vibrated in his throat, then to his lips where you felt it.
He always kissed you like he was starving. He kissed you until your lips were swollen and wet, until you were panting and your heart was racing. When he was finally satisfied, he pulled away, catching his own breath as he trailed his thumbs over your bottom lip.
“Beautiful,” he praised breathlessly. “Absolutely beautiful.”
Despite how he had treated you just seconds ago, you couldn’t help but smile. Being praised by him always made the pain worth it.
But your salvation didn’t last. Bucky pushed himself off the floor with a grunt. He extended a hand to help you up, but you remained where you were on the floor.
“W-where are you going?” you asked softly, staring up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.
He checked the watch on his wrist. “It’s getting late, doll. I need to head home and get some sleep. I’ve got a long day tomorrow—gotta be up bright and early for some projects at the facility.”
Your eyes widened. He had left you alone all day, and he was leaving already?
“No,” you protested weakly.
Bucky tilted his head. “No?”
You couldn’t imagine another night of silence. “Please,” you whispered with a voice crack. “Please don’t leave me yet. It’s so quiet and lonely here.”
Bucky’s hand paused halfway through his hair as he let out a sigh. He looked down at you, his eyes looking almost mournful. “You’re breaking my heart, darling,” he murmured. “You know I hate leaving you, but Daddy’s got to work. I do it all for you, remember?”
When he took a step away from you, that’s when panic started to flare in your weak heart and desperation took over completely.
You scrambled across the tile, your fingers digging around the fabric of his trousers as you clutched his leg.
“Don’t go!” you begged, looking up at him through another round of tears. “I’ll be good. I’ll read the books. I’ll do the experiments without crying—just stay. Please, just stay a little longer!”
Bucky froze, eyes widened in surprise. He looked down at your hands wrapped around his leg. A part of him wanted to laugh at this little attempt of yours. You were a just a weak, fragile thing. He could push you off and leave—it’d be so easy.
But instead of doing that, he just stayed put and smiled. He liked this. He liked the way you were anchored to his feet, reduced to a trembling mess at the mere thought of his absence.
Slowly, he sank back down to his knees until he was eye level with you again.
“You really don’t want me to go, do you?” he mused with a taunting purr. He reached out, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look at the hunger in his eyes. “You want me to stay here with you? In this cold, dark basement? Keeping you warm?”
You nodded frantically, a sob catching in your throat.
“Tell me then,” he prompted, his thumb tracing your jaw. “How bad do you want it? What are you willing to do to keep me here tonight?”
“Anything,” you admitted desperately. “I’ll do anything.”
“Oh,” Bucky’s smile grew wide. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
You tried to keep a brave face, to hold your ground, but the relief was too great.
Bucky let out a short, amused huff as he reached down, hooking his hands under your arms to haul you up from the floor. “Okay, fine. You win.”
He stood back and reached for his neck, slowly loosening the knot of his tie. You watched, mesmerized and trembling, as he pulled the silk from his collar and draped it over the back of the lone chair in the room. His fingers moved to the top button of his white shirt, then the next, and the next, until they were all unbuttoned.
Then he moved to his belt. The sounds of it making you shiver.
“I’ll stay with you,” he promised, his tone as sweet as honey—designed to make you feel safe, even when you shouldn’t.
He folded the leather belt slowly. Painfully slow, his eyes never leaving yours.
“And before I head to the facility, I’ll do a quick experiment on you tomorrow. We’ll fix those headaches and get your reading memory back on track, okay?”
With one hand still gripping the belt, he stepped closer. His free hand cupped your face, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Think of it as my way of apologizing for my little outburst earlier,” he murmured against your skin. “I just want you to be perfect. I want you to be happy.”
He wasn’t leaving.
He was going to fix you.
You leaned into his touch as a small, fragile smile broke across your face. The tears you had shed before were no longer born of frustration—they were tears of relief.
“I love you, Bucky,” you whispered.
Bucky’s hand settled behind your head, rubbing gently to soothe you—the way a master might pet a loyal dog. He nodded towards the small cot in the corner.
“Lay down, doll.”
The light in the basement was always the same—artificial and blinding through the fluorescent tubes. After several blinks, you managed to force your eyes open against the piercing white light.
You let out a garbled groan. Your limbs felt extremely heavy, as if you were trying to move through deep water.
“Easy, doll. Easy.”
A deep, gentle voice cooed nearby. The cot creaked slightly as he sat beside you. As your vision cleared, you saw Bucky. He was already back in his professional attire—white sleeves rolled up his strong forearms. The room already smelled like he had his morning coffee.
He looked refreshed, while you felt like you had been disassembled and put back together again.
Which… in a way, you had.
Your fingers drifted up to the pain that throbbed in the back of your neck. You shuddered at the feel of the surgical tape and the fresh incision.
“The experiment went perfectly,” he said gently, his fingers replacing yours to check the bandage. “Your reading should be much sharper once the grogginess fades.”
You couldn’t even find the energy to be upset about him drugging you in the middle of the night—even if you should have spent those hours cuddling instead. The only thing that mattered was that he actually stayed.
“You’re still here,” you rasped, your throat scratchy and dry. A weak, hazy smile pulled at your lips.
Bucky smiled. He reached for a glass of water on the tray, holding it to your lips so you didn’t have to lift your head.
“I told you I would stay, didn’t I? I’m a man of my word.” He watched you drink, smiling as your dried lips softened from the liquid and the delicate column of your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “I even stayed through the morning to monitor your vitals. I’m going to be a little late to the facility, but for you? My baby? It’s all worth it.”
You leaned your head against his leg with a soft, content sigh. “Thank you for staying with me.”
“Always,” he whispered back, his thumb tracing over your cheek. “I have to go now—but when I’m gone, I want you to go back to reading your books.”
Disappointment settled in your chest, but the chemically induced state you were in made it too straining to fight back.
“I’ll be back soon with your breakfast.”
You didn’t care about food. All you cared about was Bucky. He was your true sustenance.
“How long?” you rasped, blinking up at him.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Alright?”
He leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. The cot creaked again as he stood up, and the sudden loss of his warmth made your heart clench painfully—more painful than the throb in your head.
“I love you, baby,” Bucky said, grabbing his blazer from the chair and heading for the door. “Be a good girl while I’m gone, okay?”
You nodded, and he offered a handsome smile. Then, he pulled the door open and shut it softly. The click of the lock on the other side finalized his goodbye, leaving you alone once again.
Bucky walked quickly from the hospital’s sub-level entrance, hurrying across the grounds toward the main facility. He looked like any other dedicated researcher running late for a briefing, but every time he left you, his mind remained back in the basement.
His mind was always on you.
His fingers fumbled with the middle button of his blazer as he forced his breathing to level out. He couldn’t afford to look ruffled. He turned a sharp corner near the east wing, head down as he adjusted his cuffs, and bumped squarely into another man.
“Woah, easy there, Buck.”
Bucky didn’t need to look up to recognize the voice.
“Steve,” Bucky exhaled, finishing the last button on his blazer with a tug. “Didn’t see you there. You’re up early.”
Steve’s gaze focused on the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes. “The shift change was a while ago,” Steve explained quietly. “I tried to page your office, but you weren’t there.”
Bucky waved a hand dismissively, stepping around Steve to keep moving towards his designated workstation. “Dead battery. I stayed late last night—lost track of time in the mounting data sheets—”
Steve extended his hand, landing on Bucky’s shoulder and forcing him to halt.
“You smell like…” Steve scrunched his nose. “Rubbing alcohol? Acetonitrile? That’s some heavy duty solvent for someone just looking at paperwork.”
Bucky’s heart let out a traitorous little thump. He gave Steve a deadpan look. “It’s a research hospital, Steve. What else am I supposed to smell like?”
Steve let go, but the look he gave his friend was anything but convinced. “You look exhausted. You’ve been spending every spare second in the south wing,” he sighed. “You’re my friend—and I worry about you, is all.”
Bucky averted his gaze. He didn’t have time for small talk. He had to review the latest labs and then fetch your breakfast. The longer he stayed out here, the longer you went hungry. Especially after the surgery, you needed to eat to recover properly.
“If there’s anything I can do to help loosen your load, even just a little bit, you know I’m always here.” Steve stepped closer, his voice lowering. “‘Till the end of the line, right?”
Bucky clenched his jaw. “Thanks, Steve. But I don’t need your help. I’m perfectly fine working alone,” he said, moving past him. Without looking back, he added, “I’ll let you know if my projects call for additional assistance.”
A few hours had passed, and ever since that interaction, it felt as though the universe had cursed Bucky with a jinx.
It was supposed to be a brief meeting—a few papers to peer review, perhaps a few charts to sign off on.
Christ, you were probably starving.
He could already picture it—your stomach curling in on itself, groaning and painful. He imagined your fragile arms wrapped around your belly as you cried in hunger. With the desperation that hunger brought, you might be clawing at your own skin. And since your body wasn’t being supplied with the nutrients it needed to recover, the post surgery throbbing in your head must be unbearable.
You could be pulling your hair or banging your head against the wall at this very second—and he wasn’t there to stop you.
He stared at the man sitting across from him. His boss’s frames kept slipping down his nose. His hair had more grease than the fast food joints across the street. His grimy hands shifted through the pages slowly. Painfully slow.
Bucky sat rigid, his foot tapping impatiently against the floor. He couldn’t dismiss himself—this was his superior, for fuck’s sake. But the longer he sat there, restless and useless, the more his mind spiraled.
His eyes flickered from his boss, to the clock, to the door.
“Is something bothering you, Barnes?”
Bucky swallowed hard. “Just… need to use the restroom.”
The man’s eyes rose sluggishly to meet Bucky’s. He paused—a silence long enough for Bucky to have gone and returned already. “Make it quick.”
Bucky pushed himself out of the chair, the legs let out a loud creak. He lunged for the door. He thought about sprinting to the canteen to fetch you something, but it was all the way across the facility. He didn’t have the time.
“Fuck, fuck!” Bucky hissed to himself, pacing the hall just outside the office.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed nearby. Then, salvation appeared.
“Bucky? You doing alright?” Steve asked, glancing up from his papers to find his friend in visible distress.
Bucky froze, his breath getting stuck in his throat. Steve. The very man who had been with him through everything. Before he even came to the facility. Before he even made you. Steve was the one person he could trust with his life.
So why not trust him with yours? Just for the time being?
“Steve,” Bucky started with a frantic voice. The words tumbled out in a breathless ramble. “I need—I need your help. I’m stuck in a meeting with that grease trap Henderson, and she’s starving. She hasn’t eaten before the procedure and I can’t leave, but if she doesn’t get nutrients now, the rejection levels will spike and I’ll lose all progress—”
Steve blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Wait, what?” He shook his head. “Who are you talking about? What procedure?”
Bucky stepped closer, grabbing Steve’s forearm with a grip so tight, it made him grunt.
“The south wing, sub-levels. Level four. I have her there, Steve. A woman—” Bucky glanced over his friend’s shoulder, making sure the coast was clear before continuing. “I’ve been… helping her, fixing her. But I have her locked in for her own safety, and I can’t get to the canteen and back without Henderson noticing I’m gone.”
Steve looked at Bucky as if he were seeing a stranger instead of a friend. “Locked in? Bucky, what the hell are you talking about? There are no active patients registered in the sub-levels. If you found someone who needs medical attention, we need to report this to the board immediately—”
“No!” Bucky hissed, eyes wide and wild. “No reports, and absolutely no boards. They’ll take her away, Steve. Please. I need you to help me. You said ‘till the end of the line’, didn’t you?”
Steve stood there, frozen with the papers in his hands.
“A woman,” Steve repeated quietly. “In the basement.”
“She’s my everything,” Bucky pleaded with a vulnerability that Steve has never seen before. “Just get a tray. High protein—soft foods. Use your clearance to bypass the canteen line. She’ll try to talk to you—but don’t entertain her. Just… give her her food, make sure she didn’t hurt herself while I was gone, and then leave quietly, okay?”
Steve let out a long breath.
He looked around the hall, checking for witnesses, before turning back to Bucky with a grim, reluctant nod.
“Fine,” Steve whispered. “I’ll get the food. But Bucky… we are talking about this the second you get out of that meeting. All of it.”
“Thank you,” Bucky exhaled, a sob of relief nearly escaping him.
He quickly shoved the keys to your room in Steve’s hand.
“Thank you, Steve. I knew I could trust you.”
It had been hours since Bucky left. You were curled on the edge of the cot, arms wrapped tightly around your growling stomach, trying to breathe through the nausea of starvation.
The grumbling was unbearable. You couldn’t have slept the hunger away even if you wanted to. It felt as though your stomach were eating itself from the inside out. Had Bucky forgotten you? He had broken his promise—but he said he was a man of his word. So where was he?
The sound of keys and the lock being undone sounded like music. Your heart gave a hopeful leap. Bucky always knocked—three soft, gentle taps that signaled he was coming to take care of you.
Unless you were asleep, he always waited for you to call out “come in!” to let him know you were ready to be his good girl again.
But this time, there was only silence before the door creaked open.
You didn’t care about the lack of a knock. You were too desperate, too hungry, and too lonely. You scrambled off the cot, your legs feeling like jelly as you rushed towards the door.
“Bucky! You’re back, I—”
You stopped.
The man standing in the doorway wasn’t Bucky. But he was as tall as Bucky, dressed in a white button up similar to Bucky’s, but it wasn’t him. He held a tray of food, but the stranger’s presence made you too terrified to reach for it.
Your breath hitched, a panicked wheeze leaving your lips as you scrambled backwards. Your heels dragged against the tile floor until your back hit the corner of the wall.
“Who are you!” you gasped, your bandaged hands coming up to shield your face. “Who are you? Where is he? Where’s Bucky?”
The man froze, his blue eyes widening in horror as he took in the sight of you—the surgical tape on your neck, the oversized gown, and the way you were cowering like a wounded animal.
Steve knew he shouldn’t speak to you, that had been Bucky's direct order. But he couldn’t fight his own instincts.
“Hey, hey… easy,” Steve cooed. He stayed by the door, slowly lowering the tray to a nearby table to show his hands were empty. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”
Despite the man’s kind and gentle tone, you couldn’t help the panic flaring in your heart.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you sobbed, pressing yourself harder into the corner. “He said… he said I’m not supposed to see anyone. He’s going to be so angry.”
“Bucky sent me,” Steve explained softly, taking a cautious step. “My name is Steve. I’m Bucky’s friend. He’s stuck in a meeting and he was worried about you. He told me you needed to eat.”
You sniffled. “… Worried about me?”
He reached for a piece of bread from the tray and held it out toward you, not moving any closer. “I know you’re scared. And I know you’re hurting. But you need to eat, okay? Then I’ll be on my way.”
You swallowed hard, glancing at the bread. He had spoken you so kindly, so soft and gentle, and to you, that felt like salvation in this lonely and cold room. Even if it wasn’t Bucky.
You took a hesitant step forward while Steve stayed still. He didn’t move until you approached him, treating you as if you were a stray cat. You grabbed the loaf with trembling hands, gave him a wary look, and he smiled.
“Not poisoned. Trust me.”
He tried to joke, but you didn’t laugh.
After a few seconds, you bit into the bread, letting the taste linger on your tongue.
Then, you started scarfing it down like a rabid animal.
Steve stood there, staring at you dumbfound as you ate. Without looking at him, you began to ravish everything else on the tray with your bare hands. He could only stumble back and watch in horror.
As you were occupied with the food, he took a mental note of your state. Your legs were marked with rows of stitches. Your skin was tainted with burn marks and various scars. You had bandages wrapped around your hands, wrists, ankles, and neck. Bruises decorated your body.
You looked exactly like a woman who had been plucked from the grave and brought back to life, but you were hardly living.
It didn’t take long for you to finish. When you finally looked up, you stared at Steve, waiting for him to disappear back through the door.
“I know I said I’d be on my way after you ate,” Steve explained slowly. “But Bucky also wanted me to check on your…”
He paused. He didn’t know what Bucky wanted him to check on exactly, but looking at you, it seemed as though everything needed to be checked. For now, he pointed to the freshly wrapped bandage around your neck.
“He just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
When you didn’t respond, he took it as a sign to step closer. You scrambled back immediately, and his gaze softened.
“I know this is scary for you. You haven’t seen or spoken to anyone besides Bucky, isn’t that right?”
You stayed silent.
“Have you ever been outside this room?”
Your eyes flickered to the door, then back to Steve. You slowly shook your head no.
“Well, the outside world is beautiful,” he began, speaking in a gentle tone. “There are lots of trees, flowers… animals. Like squirrels. You’d like the squirrels, they’re just like you—always scurrying around, especially in the courtyards.”
With each word, he moved closer.
Mentally, Steve was cursing himself.
He was a man of honor, yet he was currently violating his best friend’s trust while feeding a captive woman—Bucky’s woman—empty promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. He was falling back on his own medical training, using the standard practices he’d honed over years of patient care, hoping the routine would calm you as it did his other patients.
“Maybe Bucky will let you see it for yourself one day,” he lied. “But right now, your body is in no state for it. You’re fragile.”
He was close enough now to see the faint blossoming of blood staining your bandages.
“That’s why I’m here—to check on you,” he said, reaching out a hand slowly, palm up. “I just want to see how the stitches are holding up. If Bucky’s friend helps you, you’ll get stronger faster. And the stronger you get, the sooner you can go outside. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
You hesitated, your back still pressed against the cold wall.
“Bucky wouldn’t want you to touch me,” you admitted softly. “He always calls me his perfect girl—his good girl. He likes that I’m untainted and untouched by anyone else.”
Steve paused, his eyes widening slightly.
Ah. There it was.
That was how he could get through to you.
Against his better judgment and his friend’s wishes, he brought his hand up to your cheek. It was a gentle, steady touch—the kind of contact you had been waiting for all day.
“Just a quick look,” Steve whispered. “Just so I can tell Bucky you were being a perfect, good girl for him.”
You shuddered under his touch, your eyes closing slowly as you leaned into his palm.
That was all you wanted—to be Bucky’s good girl.
“Okay,” you nodded. “You can check me.”
You reached for the hem of your oversized gown and lifted it, baring yourself to Steve.
To you, this was simply the natural sequence of events. There was no shame in your movements, only the ingrained memory of how your sessions with Bucky always concluded.
The check up was just a prelude. The intimate inspection that followed was the reward.
Steve’s breath hitched, his face turning a bright shade of red when he realized what you were doing.
“No! No, no, no. You don’t have to do that!” he stammered, wrenching his head away. “I just… I just need to see the bandages. Just the neck and wrists. Keep—keep your clothes on, please.”
He was trying so hard to be a gentleman, his movements jerky and awkward.
“Bucky always tells me to undress so he can check me properly,” you said softly.
That concerned Steve. He let out a sigh. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen naked patients before, but this was different. He told himself all he had to do was check your stitches and leave. Quickly.
“Fine,” Steve rasped. His eyes tried his best to stay focused on your neck—not the curve of your breasts or hips, or the innocence of your bare slit between your thighs.
He stepped closer and his fingers traced the stitches of your neck.
His eyes met yours briefly, and his heart raced.
You had such a hazy, expectant look in your eyes.
“Okay,” Steve choked out, his voice cracking as he stepped back to put a safe distance between you. “I’m done. The stitches look... they look clean. I’m going to go now.”
As he turned to grab the empty tray, you moved.
You cupped his face the way Bucky always did with yours and pressed your lips against his.
Steve froze, his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull. His hands found your shoulders, giving you gentle shove that forced you back onto the edge of the cot with a yelp.
“No,” he panted, his chest heaving as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No, we can’t—I’m his friend, I’m not... why did you do that?”
You tilted your head, your brows furrowing in confusion.
“Because the check up isn’t finished,” you explained softly, your voice small and defensive. “Bucky says the examination isn’t over until he’s had his fill. He says that’s how I show him I'm getting better.”
“His fill?” Steve looked concerned.
“He says it’s part of the treatment,” you added, leaning forward slightly, searching Steve's face for the approval you were used to receiving. “Don’t you want to see if I’m better, Steve? Don’t you want your fill?”
The air left Steve's lungs.
His eyes traced down your body shamelessly this time—but not for the reason you expected. He took note of the faint bruises around your waist and thighs, and he felt sick.
Quickly, he crouched until he was eye level with you from where you were sitting on the cot. He clutched your shoulders, and you winced.
“Tell me,” Steve urged. “What is Bucky doing to you? Why are you in this state? How long have you been here?”
“I—I don’t—”
“Did he rape you?”
Steve expected a reaction—the typical trauma response to a word that heavy. Most victims would never confess it outright, but he could make out the answer from your reaction if you gave him one.
But all you did was blink at him as if he were speaking a foreign tongue.
“What does that mean?”
Steve didn’t know what to say. He let out a breath of exasperation and stood up. He couldn’t help you now, not with the risk of Bucky’s meeting ending at any moment.
“I have to go, but I’ll be back, okay? I’ll be back to get you the professional help you need.” Steve grabbed the tray and hurried to the door, his hand trembling on the handle. “Don’t tell Bucky what I told you. Please.”
The door shut quickly as he left.
But the lock didn’t click.
The hours following Steve’s departure were the longest of your life. You tried to do as Bucky asked—to sit on your cot and lose yourself in the pages of your books—but you couldn’t retain anything.
Your mind kept drifting back to Steve.
You liked the way he touched your cheek. He spoke of squirrels and trees and a world that Bucky never mentioned. Your gaze drifted to the door, and for the first time, it didn’t look like a shield protecting you from the world—as Bucky liked to call it.
It looked like an obstacle.
You knew you needed to stay put and wait for Bucky, but you couldn’t. You stood up and pushed through the door, moving carefully and slowly.
The hallway was bright, and as you wandered out, your bare feet felt freezing against the tiles. You didn’t know where the trees were, but you followed the hall, hoping it would lead to the courtyard Steve had mentioned.
You could already imagine it—running through the grass with Bucky, chasing the squirrels. A smile ghosted over your lips despite the tremor in your heart.
Then, a shadow fell over you.
“Going somewhere?”
You spun around at the familiar voice, a smile on your face so wide it made your cheeks hurt. “Bucky! You’re back! I was looking for the courtyard, I—”
The smile died the moment you saw his face. Bucky wasn’t happy. He had that scowl, the look you recognized whenever he was displeased, except now it was multiplied tenfold. His gaze was harsh enough to kill, and you could only imagine what he would do to you next.
His hand clamped around your upper arm, forcing you to cry out.
“Bucky, you’re hurting me!”
He hauled you back, dragging you down the hall towards where you had come from. He was breathing like an animal, his eyes darting around crazily to ensure the corridors remained empty—no witnesses.
He threw you back into the basement room, the door slamming shut as he locked it from the inside. He approached you as you collapsed onto the cot.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hissed in your face, his hands tugging at his hair in frustration. “What’s this talk about a courtyard? What was the plan, huh? To just walk out? To show everyone in this facility what I’ve been doing?”
“I just wanted to see—”
“After everything I’ve done for you!” Bucky roared, lunging to grab your shoulders and shaking you once, hard. “I saved you! I rebuilt you! I spent every cent, every hour, every ounce of my goddamn soul making sure you were perfect. And you’re choosing to run? You’re choosing to escape me?”
“No, Bucky, I—”
“You’re ungrateful!” He was spiraling, his eyes glazed with paranoia. “Someone saw you. Someone must have seen you. Who was it? Did you talk to someone? Was it the security feeds? I’ll have to wipe them. I’ll have to start over.”
You flinched at his cruel words. The pain in your arm was unbearable, but his accusations hurt more.
“No one saw me—”
“You can’t be certain!” he screamed in your face.
When he saw the tears welling in your eyes, he backed off slightly. His heart was beating furiously, and he didn’t foresee his temper cooling anytime soon. He let out a heavy sigh, releasing your shoulders. He couldn’t believe Steve had forgotten to lock the door—and now, he had filled your head with stupid ideas of going outside.
“I have to operate on you again,” Bucky said, walking to his desk. He removed his blazer and began rolling up his sleeves. “It’s a shame, really. I didn’t anticipate working on you so soon after your recent experiment.” He reached for the gloves, jerking them on. “I should even lower the dosage of the drugs, just so you could feel just an ounce of the pain I felt when I found you in the hallway.”
He glanced at you quickly before looking back at his tools.
“You did this to yourself, darling.”
You quickly scrambled off the cot, rushing to him and wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. “Please! I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to disobey you, I swear! I—”
“I’ve been gentle with you,” Bucky said, his voice flat as he reached for a needle on the tray. He didn't even turn to look at you. “Maybe even too gentle.”
You held onto him tighter, burying your face into the expanse of his back as the fabric of his shirt dampened with your tears.
“Please, Bucky, please!” you sobbed. “I missed you so much. I was being so good all day. I read the books, just like you told me. I didn’t hurt myself. But it was so cold and so lonely.. and—and you were gone for so long. I just needed you. I just wanted to find you.”
Bucky didn’t move.
The hand reaching for the syringe hovered in the air, his fingers twitching. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your crying. He looked down at the needle, then slowly, he pulled his hand back.
“You broke my heart,” he whispered. “You think your fruitless words mean anything to me now? After I found you wandering those halls like I meant nothing to you?”
“I didn’t—”
“Actions speak louder,” he snapped, still facing away. “What will you do to make up to me?”
“Anything,” you sobbed against his shirt. “Anything, Bucky. Just don’t hurt me. Don’t operate on me—please. I’ll do anything.”
Bucky stared at the wall, then at the needle, as if contemplating. Without turning around, his hands moved to his waist, the belt buckle echoing in the room as he undid the lather strap with slow movements.
“Put your hands over the bed,” he commanded. “Bend over.”
Your breath hitched in anticipation. You wasted no time rushing to the cot, placing your hands over the edge and bending over—exactly as instructed.
Your heart fought in your chest as you heard Bucky’s footsteps approach from behind. You heard the clinking of the belt in his hands, and then the air hit your skin as he lifted your gown, baring your bottom to his gaze.
The cold leather of his belt dragged slowly across your skin, and you shuddered, bracing yourself.
“Are you scared?” he murmured from behind you.
“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling so much it was barely heard. “Yes, Bucky. I’m scared.”
He leaned in closer, his chest brushing your back. You could feel the warmth, the scent of his cologne. When he spoke again, his voice was a low rasp against your ear.
“Good,” he breathed. “Fear is the beginning of wisdom, darling. It means you’re finally remembering who I am to you. It means you’re remembering that the world outside is just a fantasy, and this—this room, this bed, and my hand on you—is the only reality you have.”
He paused, the leather belt going still against your thigh.
“I didn’t want to do this,” he lied, smooth and deceptive. “But you forced my hand. I have to drive those silly thoughts out of your head before they ruin you completely. Before they ruin us.”
The belt lifted away from your skin, then came down hard with a whack against your bottom, jolting you and making you yelp.
“You’re so confused now, aren’t you, darling? I have a friend—my best friend come feed you, and suddenly you think you’re free to wander about? He was a fool. And so are you.”
Another whack.
“Ow!”
“It’s disappointing, really. I thought we were further along, doll. I thought you understood that you’re far too fragile for the sun. You’d wither like a flower, my perfect girl.”
Then another, and you let out a soft and shaky moan that was more breath than sound.
He leaned over you, the belt resting lightly against the back of your thighs as he watched the way your body reacted. He was being mean—his words were supposed to make you feel small, stupid, and utterly dependent—but to you, the condescension only felt like a caress.
With every smack, every word, you were arching your back and pressing yourself into him.
“Look at you,” he whispered, his hand reaching down to tickle the inner curve of your thigh. “I’m punishing you for being a bad, ungrateful girl, and yet..”
He paused, his fingers sinking lower and brushing against the wetness between your legs. It was slick, his middle finger gliding right through the folds. You gasped as he poked his finger against the entrance, and he could already feel you clench.
“You’re soaking wet for me,” he voiced in a way that sounded like disgust. “Even when I’m hurting you, you’re begging for me. Is this what you wanted when you walked out that door? To be caught and punished by your Daddy?”
Your face warmed with embarrassment. “No! I swear, I didn’t—”
Your words were replaced by a shameless moan when you felt Bucky’s finger slip into your entrance. He was only halfway in, yet he slid into you so easily. The way you stretched to accommodate his fingers was a testament to how much you needed him.
Bucky snarled against your ear. He was disappointed. He hated your denial—especially when your own body was betraying you, your hips rocking back to sink his finger deeper into your needy cunt.
But more than that, he hated how hard he was getting. He hated how much he wanted to rip his pants down and fuck you so hard that you’d be left crying and begging for his forgiveness.
“You could have it so easy if you just told me the truth,” he taunted. “But you like the struggle, don’t you? You like the attention—whether it’s good or bad. And you especially like it when Daddy’s being mean to you.”
He withdrew his finger slowly, the loss making you whine. His hands settled at your hips, he lifted you until you were standing on your tippy toes.
“Look at how you’re leaking for me,” he mocked, his eyes dark as he examined you. “A little attention from Steve, a little walk in the hall, and you come back to me looking like this. You’re like a little animal, aren’t you? So confused, so easily worked up by the first human who shows you a bit of kindness.”
Bucky grabbed your hands, wrenching them behind your back. He worked quickly, looping the leather belt around your wrists and cinching it tight.
You winced at the pressure as he restrained you, leaving you even more helpless than you were before.
“You’re right,” you whispered, face pressed against the cot. “I’m helpless. I can’t… I can’t function without you, Bucky. Please don’t leave me again. Hurt me. Kiss me. Just do anything so I don’t feel empty.”
Bucky hummed in approval.
He took a step back, and you heard the rustle of fabric and a zipper sliding down from behind. He didn’t utter a single word as he freed himself, but the sudden change in his breathing told you everything.
He began to stroke himself slowly. The sound was agonizing—that silky friction of his palm against his shaft, the shlick shlick noises of him spreading his pre-cum over and around his tip.
Every slide of his hand made you want to turn your head to look, to witness him in this state, but you knew better than to move.
You clenched your thighs together, your cunt pulsing as it reacted to the filthy noises. You were desperate to feel him, but you remained bound and helpless—exactly where he wanted you.
“Fuck,” he cursed, his breathing labored as he jerked himself off faster. “I should just finish right now. Let it all my cum drip to the floor—leave it there for you to stare at while I walk back out that door.”
His breathing grew even heavier. His movements quickening as he fucked his fist.
“But you’re so needy, aren’t you?” he whispered. “You wouldn’t let a single drop go to waste, would you, doll? You’d fall to your knees and lick it right off the tiles like my little pet, just to have a taste of me.”
You shuddered as his footsteps neared, flinching when his hand came up to cup your chin. He forced you to arch your back, making you strain to look up at him from over your shoulder.
“Is that what you are? My little pet?” He pressed the head of his cock against the curve of your ass, subtly rocking his hips forward. “My sweet girl that only functions when I’m inside her?”
“Bucky,” you breathed, squeezing your eyes shut. “Please. I can’t take this anymore.”
“Since you wanted to wander those halls so badly, I’m going to make sure you don’t have the strength to do it again. I’m going to fuck you so hard, doll, that you won’t be able to stand on those pretty legs for a week.”
One heavy hand landed on your hip, squeezing the flesh tight to hold you steady, while the other gripped his length, positioning himself at your entrance.
Then, surprisingly slow, he began to slide in.
The sensation was overwhelming. He was big—far too big. He knew you were fragile, and despite his harsh words, he didn’t want to truly break you just yet. That would ruin all the fun.
The stretch was slow and agonizing, yet perfect. You let out a broken sob, your fingers clawing at the thin mattress of the cot as your body was forced to accommodate him. He was thick, filling every inch of you, stretching you until you felt like you might break, yet your muscles tightened around him desperately—clinging to him like a hug that refused to let go.
“God,” Bucky hissed, his face twisting in both pain and pleasure. “So tight—even after last night…”
He kept pushing until he was completely sheathed inside, his dark curls tickling the curve of your ass when his pelvis finally met your bottom. He stilled there, his chest rising and falling as he waited for your body to accommodate him.
You could feel every ridge, every pulse inside, and in that moment, you wanted to cry.
You were so happy. Moments like this made your heart feel too big for your chest—because, despite everything, you were becoming one with the man you loved so dearly.
“Look at you,” he groaned possessively. “Taking all of it. Built just to hold me. Designed to take every inch... even if it hurts.”
Bucky began to move, his hips rocking violently as he started fucking you like an animal starved—as if he had been starving for this even longer than you had.
His hips slapped vulgarly against yours, and your eyes widened at the sudden, cruel change of pace.
“Oh—my!”
The cot beneath you began to groan, the frame creaking and rattling against the floor and the wall with every thrust Bucky gave you.
He leaned forward until his chest was against your back, his hand reaching around to grip the belt binding your wrists, using it like a handle to wrench your arms higher and force your chest deeper into the flimsy mattress.
“One taste of my cock and you’ve already forgotten everything that fool Steve told you, haven’t you?”
His pace became erratic, using your body like a sex toy. You were cock drunk for him, you were being his perfect, restrained little pet, your face buried in the cot pathetically while he claimed every inch of your body.
“You’re so pathetic, sweetheart,” he whispered affectionately and cruel. “Completely helpless. You can’t even touch yourself while I do this to you. You have to just lie there and take whatever I decide to give you.”
He slammed into you again, his cock rubbing deliciously against your tight, wet walls as they squeezed him for dear life.
“Ah, fuck... maybe if you keep being a good girl, I’ll let you suck on it later. How does that sound, hm?”
You nodded desperately against the cot, and mewling was the only answer you could manage.
The mere idea of being allowed to serve him like that—to have him look at you with something other than disappointment—it was all enough to make your head spin.
Bucky laughed darkly, you could feel his stomach vibrating as he was pushed up against your back.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Good girl. Daddy loves you, baby.”
Tears of overwhelmed pleasure started to spill down your cheeks at his admission.
He loved you.
Those four words were enough to make you fall apart right then and there as his approval was far more intoxicating than the pain and pleasure.
“Really? I—I love you too! I love you so much!” you squealed. Your cunt clenched around his shaft—squeezing him tight as if your body could prove just how much you loved him back. “I love you so much, Bucky. I love you. I love you.”
Bucky drawled out a long, tortured groan at the feel of you squeezing him. Buried deep inside you, he could feel you trembling, your body wound so tight it was nearly unbearable.
“That’s it,” Bucky cooed, his pace losing its rhythm as he fucked into you harder—chasing that delicious, sweet release. “You’re never going to walk away again.”
He leaned down, his pressing against your sweaty shoulder as he poured his devotions into your ear.
“I love you. Do you hear me? I love you more than anything. I’m the only thing you need. Just me and my love. You’re never leaving me again, doll. You’re staying right here where you’re safe—where you’re mine.”
He was chanting it now, a litany of possession that made your eyes roll back as you started to see stars.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
“Don’t you ever leave me,” he growled, his hand tightening on the belt and jerking your bound wrists one last time. “Tell me you’re staying! Tell me!”
You couldn’t hold back anymore. He was fucking you so thoroughly, telling you exactly how much you meant to him, and you were desperate to show him he was your entire world.
“I’m staying! I’m yours!” you sobbed before you cried out in a pleasure that was so hot—it made you dizzy. Clenching your legs together, your pussy pulsed and convulsed as you let the pleasure wash all over your body.
Your entire frame shook and trembled, but Bucky didn’t let up. Every shake and vibration from you was just a stroke to his own pleasure, and before long, he buried himself as deep as he could go, his cock painting your pussy with his cum.
It was hot. It was too much.
He stilled, remaining plunged inside as he fought for his breath. Silence consumed the room. Then, the sounds of his seed—spilling out of your abused pussy and onto the tile floors took over.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Like a clock.
Bucky shuddered against your neck, the heat of his breath tickling you. He stayed draped over you as he slowly began to press soft kisses to your cheek, then to the curve of your jaw.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb tracing your bare lower back while you warmed his cock with your body.
“My good, sweet girl. You did so well for Daddy. You always do.”
The atmosphere of the following morning was nothing like the night before.
Bucky had stayed the night with you. Again.
You were tucked over his arm, your head resting against his shoulder as you traced idle, wandering patterns across his bare chest. He was snoring peacefully, a soft sound that filled the quiet room.
Your heart felt full as you stared up at him with wide, adoring eyes.
His chest rose and fell in perfect time with his breathing, and you snuggled closer to his side.
“I love you,” you murmured, your finger tracing the outline of his abs. “I love you so much.”
Bucky slowly blinked awake, his eyelashes fluttering before he finally looked down at you. His eyes were clouded with the hazy, peaceful fog of a deep sleep he rarely ever got to enjoy.
“Morning,” he rasped.
A small, tired smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he took you in, his eyes softening at your adoring expression. “My girl.”
He slid his arm further under your neck, hooking his hand around your shoulder to pull you in until you were pressed tight against his side. He tucked his chin over the top of your head, nuzzling into your hair with a contented groan.
“Stay right there,” he murmured, his eyes drifting shut again as he squeezed you against him. “Don’t move. Just let Daddy hold you for a minute.”
And so you did. You both lay there for a long time, soft and snuggled up in each other’s arms.
But the peace, the silence, and the comfort didn’t last long.
The door—the one Bucky always made sure to lock with such clinical precision—was suddenly eclipsed by a violent crash that you made flinch.
Bucky bolted up, his body going rigid as his eyes snapped wide to the door.
“Bucky?” you gasped in fear, clutching his side. “What… what is that?”
“Fuck! Fuck!” Bucky hissed, the panic in his voice only startling you more. He threw his arm across your chest—not in a cuddle, but as a barrier, pinning you firmly behind his large body—as if hiding you.
He turned his head to catch your eye, a look in his blue orbs that you’ve never seen before. “Don’t—don’t say anything, got it? Not even a single breath of a fucking word.”
The door was kicked open, and a blinding flood of tactical lights and shouting turned your once private sanctuary into a war zone.
“He’s here! Target identified! Get him off her!”
Men in dark tactical gear you had never seen before swarmed the room, taking over the space that had once belonged purely to you and Bucky.
Before you could even process the intrusion, several agents tackled the very man who had been protecting you. The cot creaked and groaned as he fought to stay by your side, but even his strength was useless against so many men.
“Get your hands off me! Get away from her!” he roared, his voice louder and more frantic than you had ever heard it. He was terrified. You had never seen him lose control like this.
“She’s mine! You have no right—she’s mine!”
Bucky was going insane, fighting and kicking against the restraints of the officers. Everything happened so fast as the room blurred into chaos.
All you could do was sit there on the edge of the mattress and sob, reaching out for him in a confused daze.
“Bucky—”
Before your fingers could even brush his back, Steve was already there.
He pulled you into his arms, tucking your head against his chest to shield your eyes from the sight of the agents pinning Bucky to the cold tile floor.
“Don’t look,” Steve cooed, using that same comforting tone from the very first day you met. He held you tightly, his hand cupping the back of your head as he rocked you slightly to still your trembling. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe now. I promise... he’s never going to touch you again.”
The sound of metal cuffs clicked in the room, accompanied by Bucky’s screams of your name.
“Get your fucking hands off of her!” Bucky seethed from the floor, his face pinned hard against the tile by a set of gloved hands.
“You traitor!” he roared, the word tearing raw from his throat. “You fucking traitor!”
Steve tried his best to ignore his crying friend, clutching your body tighter against his. You began to sob, your fingers clawing at Steve’s arm to let you go—to go back to him.
As the agents hauled Bucky towards the door, his feet scuffed and slid violently against the tile floor.
He twisted his head back, his hair a sweaty mess as his face was twisted in a rage that terrified you. Yet, despite the fear, his eyes stayed locked on yours until the very last second, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.
“Don’t listen to a thing Steve tells you, baby!” Bucky screamed, fighting against the agents. “He doesn’t know you! He doesn’t love you like I do! He’s just trying to tear us apart—”
Even with a dozen people there to ‘protect’ you, guilt settled in your chest.
Was this all your fault?
Did this happen because you wandered the halls the other day? Because you had dared to talk to Steve?
“You belong to me—only me!” Bucky continued to roar, forcing you to listen to him instead of your useless train of thought. “Stop ignoring me—say something!”
All you could do was sniffle and sob, muttering broken apologies into Steve’s chest that Bucky couldn’t even hear over everything else that was going on.
“I’ll come back for you,” Bucky promised as they dragged him out. His voice rang through the cold hallways that had once been empty, but were now teeming with strangers. “I swear it—I’ll find you!”
Bucky and the men rounded the corner, and his shouts began to fade. The basement grew quieter. Much quieter.
Everything you’ve known and loved had been stripped away from you within seconds. What were you to do now? Who was going to take care of you? You wanted to hate Steve for doing this—but he said he was protecting you. But Bucky also promised you the same thing countless of times.
You didn’t know what was real—what was right or wrong, and you don’t think you ever will.
With the sudden and unexpected loss of his presence, your mind felt… lost. But deep in your gut, a feeling you tried so hard to suppress out of fear for betraying Bucky, you felt relief.
Steve let out a shaky breath, his shoulders finally dropping.
“He’s gone,” Steve whispered, his voice partnered with a guilt he couldn’t quite hide.
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.
“He’s gone, sweetheart. He’s never going to hurt you again.”
And for some reason, those very words only hurt you more.
The interrogation light shined directly into Bucky’s face, but he had grown so used to the glare that he no longer flinched.
Heavy cuffs bound his wrists, he only stared lifelessly at the metal biting into his skin. By now, the chains wrapped around his ankles felt as familiar as socks. His eyes were sunken into dark hollows, and his hair had grown out, lank and unkempt. You probably would have thought he looked ugly.
“James Barnes.” The man across from him sat down with a heavy huff.
His glasses were perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, and his pudgy fingers rifled through a thick stack of papers. With his greasy hair and impatient sighs, he looked exactly like Bucky’s previous boss, Henderson.
Bucky hated it.
The interrogator leaned back, watching the man across from him.
“The woman was dead before you found her,” the man began neutrally, his voice echoing off the sterile walls. “You robbed her grave, took her body, and performed several experiments on her—somehow managing to bring her back to life.”
Bucky stayed quiet.
“Where did you expect this experiment to go?” the man pressed, flipping a page in the file with a dismissive snap. “Would you have returned her to her family? To the friends she had before she passed?”
Bucky hadn’t blinked in three minutes, and hadn’t spoken for longer.
“What made you choose her, of all the other freshly buried bodies in that cemetery?”
Nothing. Not even a breath of a word.
“What was she to you?”
Bucky’s eyes remained hollow, his expression indifferent. He might as well already be dead.
“Did you love her?”
Bucky’s head tilted—just slightly.
Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet the interrogator’s.
“More than anything,” Bucky replied.
He didn’t look away from the interrogator, but his mind was already miles outside the concrete walls of the facility.
Behind his hollow eyes, he was already calculating. He felt the metal around his wrists, but he didn’t feel trapped. He felt like a spring being pushed down, gathering all this tension until he inevitably snaps. He could see it clearly—the precise moment he would finally break free.
It had been years since has been held captive. Since everything was taken away from him.
He wondered what you were doing right now. Without him there to guide your schedule, were you lost?
He imagined you in a park somewhere. He pictured you chasing squirrels, or perhaps laying in the grass and staring at the sun until your eyes ached. Or maybe you were reading one of those books he used to leave by your bed. He hoped you were reading. It kept your mind active. The books were good for you.
He’d find you.
It wasn’t a question of if, only a matter of when. He’d knock on the door of your new home—three times. Then, like the perfect girl you always were for him, you’d reply with “come in!”
The interrogator cleared his throat, leaning in closer.
“James,” he called for him, bringing his attention back. “Would you classify yourself as ‘insane’?”
For the first time in years, Bucky’s lips quirked into a smile.
Insane?
What kind of question was that?
“No.”
anyway how writing this fic found me
if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!
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pairing: scientist!bucky barnes x experiment!reader
warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, daddy kink, dark!bucky, slight steve x reader, dubcon bordering noncon, stockholm syndrome, emotional manipulation, drugs, masochism and sadism, obsessive and possessive behavior, verbal abuse, mental illness, isolation, self-harm, mentions of the word "rape", angst, fingering, praise kink, innocence kink, medical malpractices, surgical inaccuracies, pet names, spanking
word count: 11.3k
main masterlist
a/n: please read the warnings listed before reading. i am not responsible for your media consumption. thank you to @danysdaughter and @iamthatonefangirl for giving me the courage to write this. clutching my shovel real close tonight ♥️
synopsis:
You are Bucky’s most prized possession. Your mind, body, and soul were crafted by his own hands—he gave you life, and he could just as easily take it away. He never imagined he’d feel threatened by his own creation, until the day you began to have desires of your own.
If you were to ask James Buchanan Barnes for the definition of ‘insanity,’ he would tell you “Insanity is a severely disordered state of the mind.”
If you were to ask him what the cause of insanity is, he would say “It’s triggered by a combination of many things. For example, if one becomes too fascinated—too fixated—on something to the point that it takes a toll on their mental health. It can shift their reality and potentially drive themselves to the very brink. It is a common denominator, I’ve noticed.”
If you were to ask him if insanity was correlated with craziness in any way, he would reply with “That’s exactly what it is.”
If you were to ask James Buchanan Barnes if he was crazy, he would say no.
Bucky never thought he was crazy—as a matter of fact, he was far from it.
From the day he found your corpse and brought you back to life through grueling experimentation, to the long months he kept you tucked away in the shadows of the hospital’s hidden basement laboratory—up until now, as he stood before you with a tray of cold hospital food in his hands.
No, he never thought he was crazy. Not then, and certainly not now.
“Darling? Daddy’s here,” Bucky murmured, knocking gently on the door.
He pressed his ear to the wood, waiting for a sound—that soft, gentle “come in!” he had taught you to say every time he arrived.
There was no sound.
Bucky smiled softly. He figured you were just asleep.
After looking around to ensure the coast was clear, as it always was, he pushed the door open quietly. As it shut softly behind him, a relieved breath escaped his lips at the sight of you.
There you were, lying on the cot on your side with your hands tucked beneath your cheek—sound asleep.
He couldn’t help his smile as he set the tray of food down on the table next to you. He sat at the edge of the cot, running his hand up and down your arm in a hauntingly slow motion. “I brought you dinner,” he whispered.
You only let out a sleepy moan. Bucky ran his hand down your hair, pushing it behind your ear. He frowned at how it felt beneath his fingertips. He had just brushed it this morning, and yet it was already a knotted, tangled mess.
“Come on, baby. Wake up. Your food’s not getting any warmer.”
He nudged you gently, but you still didn’t wake. He was beginning to grow impatient.
“Open your eyes for me,” he commanded, kneeling down as his voice rose.
When you still didn’t stir, his jaw clenched. Both hands found your shoulders, shaking you hard as he yelled in your face, “I told you to wake up!”
You jolted awake with a startled gasp, your eyes hazy with sleep as you stared back at the man in front of you. His grip on your shoulders was so tight it hurt.
He had yelled at you—what had you done wrong? Did you misplace something? Or was it simply because you had slept in?
Your master’s chest was heaving as he glared at you with wide, crazed eyes.
After finally getting your attention, Bucky’s breathing calmed slightly. Your eyes were wide with fear and your body was shaking, curling in on itself as if trying to make yourself as small as possible.
Your eyes—sunken, swollen, and bruised from his experiments a few days ago—were still prominent, and the sight of them made him feel even worse.
Slowly, he let go of your shoulders. “I… fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he sat back on his heels. “I’m sorry, doll. I got ahead of myself.”
Your shoulders eased slightly, though not entirely.
“I just had a bad day,” Bucky went on with a sigh. “These idiots at the facility… they’re working me like a dog. They have me running all these labs, all these data sheets…” He rubbed the crease between his brows. “I’m just so tired. And all I wanted was for you to be waiting at the door to greet me.”
You felt your heart thump in your chest. You had to react carefully—otherwise, Bucky’s mood would only sour further.
“I’m sorry,” you said, pulling yourself off the short cot to meet him on the floor with a hug.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, your chest pressed against his. Bucky let out a sigh, his eyes fluttering closed in satisfaction as his large arms wrapped around you. His hands splayed across your back, pulling you in even closer as his nose nuzzled the side of your head, breathing in your scent.
Rubbing alcohol, acetonitrile, and just a slight hint of lavender. His favorite.
“That’s it,” Bucky cooed into your ear. “You can be so forgetful, but at the end of the day, you always know how to make Daddy happy.”
He pulled away slightly to look you in the face. “Look at you, your hair’s a mess.” His frown deepened again as he tucked the stray hairs away from your eyes. “What did you do all day while I was gone?”
“I’ve been reading—or… trying to read the papers you told me to read.”
Bucky smiled, reaching for the hairbrush on your bedside table. His hands found your hair, dragging the bristles through the tangled heap.
“You mean the books?”
You nodded.
He sighed wistfully. “I wish I could hear you read them out loud to me, but I haven’t had much time these days.”
“I know,” you said, sounding a little more solemn than you’d like.
Bucky heard the disappointment in your voice, and his heart broke. “Turn around for me.”
Still sitting on the floor, you scrambled around until your back faced him. His hand bunched your hair from behind as he did his best to fix the mess you created.
“Tell me more,” he prompted, encouraging you to continue.
“The words make my head hurt,” you explained, staring at the floor. “It’s all just… a jumbled mess of text. I don’t even know what half the words mean.” Your finger traced the cold, laboratory tile. “My head has been hurting a lot, and the books just make me feel worse.”
Bucky’s brush went still for a moment.
Every time the headaches came, you would start pulling and tugging at your hair, crying in frustration. You would roll around on the cot, hit your head against the wall, or yank at your own locks—anything to rid yourself of the pain. But you didn’t know that those things only made it worse. All you knew was to hurt the things that hurt you.
“Sorry, darling,” he said gently. “I need to operate on your brain to help fix this problem. Maybe this next experiment will help you remember words better—help you gain some of that reading memory back. I’ll find the time for it, I promise. I’ve just been so—”
“—busy,” you completed the sentence for him, a bitter bite in your tone. “I know.”
He paused again, and it dragged out longer this time. “Excuse me?”
“I already heard how busy you were the first time,” you mumbled. “I don’t need to hear it again.”
Bucky’s eyebrow twitched. He couldn’t believe this was happening. You were talking back to him?
He grabbed your shoulders, roughly spinning you around and making you yelp as you were forced to face him again. Before you could compose yourself, he pressed his face against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks with a hard squeeze.
“Where the fuck did this new attitude come from? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, huh?” he seethed. “Did you forget your place? Did you forget who brought you here? Who took your sad, cold body from the grave and gave you a new life?”
You winced as he squeezed your face even harder.
“I gave you life. I made your heart beat again. I gave your brain a mind and your body a purpose. And if you disrespect me one more time, I can take it all away just as easily.”
That tone of his made your heart start to race. It was like a trauma response buried deep in your nerves he had rewired. Your vision started to blur as tears began to well up, spilling down your face before you even realized you were crying.
“I’m sorry,” you gasped, the words tumbling over each other. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it! I—I’m sorry, Bucky.”
You were apologizing profusely now, your hands hovering near his, not daring to touch him. You just wanted the pressure on your face to stop.
Bucky’s expression softened, just barely. He loosened his grip, his thumb brushing over your cheeks to wipe away the tears. He let out a long, weary sigh—the sound of a man burdened by… whatever it was you were to him.
He set the brush on the floor and pulled you back into his chest, hugging you once more.
“I’m sorry, doll,” he murmured into your hair. “I’m so sorry I had to do that. I hate when I have to talk to you like that, I really do.” He squeezed you tighter, his chin resting on the top of your head. “But I have to make sure you understand. How else am I supposed to get through to you? You know I only do it because I love you. I can’t have you forgetting who takes care of you.”
You stayed frozen in his arms, hiccuping between sobs.
When Bucky pulled back slightly to look at you, the small gap made you whine. He smiled in satisfaction. Of course—despite everything, you still needed him.
“There’s my girl,” he whispered. “Come here. Give Daddy a kiss.”
You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, pushing yourself up from the floor just enough to press your lips to his in a soft, gentle kiss. That was all you wanted, really—just a kind gesture to remind you that Bucky cared for you as much as he claimed.
But then his hands found your face again, locking you in place before you could pull away. His lips began to explore yours hungrily. He pushed his tongue against the entrance, sliding in to dance against yours.
A moan of satisfaction vibrated in his throat, then to his lips where you felt it.
He always kissed you like he was starving. He kissed you until your lips were swollen and wet, until you were panting and your heart was racing. When he was finally satisfied, he pulled away, catching his own breath as he trailed his thumbs over your bottom lip.
“Beautiful,” he praised breathlessly. “Absolutely beautiful.”
Despite how he had treated you just seconds ago, you couldn’t help but smile. Being praised by him always made the pain worth it.
But your salvation didn’t last. Bucky pushed himself off the floor with a grunt. He extended a hand to help you up, but you remained where you were on the floor.
“W-where are you going?” you asked softly, staring up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.
He checked the watch on his wrist. “It’s getting late, doll. I need to head home and get some sleep. I’ve got a long day tomorrow—gotta be up bright and early for some projects at the facility.”
Your eyes widened. He had left you alone all day, and he was leaving already?
“No,” you protested weakly.
Bucky tilted his head. “No?”
You couldn’t imagine another night of silence. “Please,” you whispered with a voice crack. “Please don’t leave me yet. It’s so quiet and lonely here.”
Bucky’s hand paused halfway through his hair as he let out a sigh. He looked down at you, his eyes looking almost mournful. “You’re breaking my heart, darling,” he murmured. “You know I hate leaving you, but Daddy’s got to work. I do it all for you, remember?”
When he took a step away from you, that’s when panic started to flare in your weak heart and desperation took over completely.
You scrambled across the tile, your fingers digging around the fabric of his trousers as you clutched his leg.
“Don’t go!” you begged, looking up at him through another round of tears. “I’ll be good. I’ll read the books. I’ll do the experiments without crying—just stay. Please, just stay a little longer!”
Bucky froze, eyes widened in surprise. He looked down at your hands wrapped around his leg. A part of him wanted to laugh at this little attempt of yours. You were a just a weak, fragile thing. He could push you off and leave—it’d be so easy.
But instead of doing that, he just stayed put and smiled. He liked this. He liked the way you were anchored to his feet, reduced to a trembling mess at the mere thought of his absence.
Slowly, he sank back down to his knees until he was eye level with you again.
“You really don’t want me to go, do you?” he mused with a taunting purr. He reached out, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look at the hunger in his eyes. “You want me to stay here with you? In this cold, dark basement? Keeping you warm?”
You nodded frantically, a sob catching in your throat.
“Tell me then,” he prompted, his thumb tracing your jaw. “How bad do you want it? What are you willing to do to keep me here tonight?”
“Anything,” you admitted desperately. “I’ll do anything.”
“Oh,” Bucky’s smile grew wide. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
You tried to keep a brave face, to hold your ground, but the relief was too great.
Bucky let out a short, amused huff as he reached down, hooking his hands under your arms to haul you up from the floor. “Okay, fine. You win.”
He stood back and reached for his neck, slowly loosening the knot of his tie. You watched, mesmerized and trembling, as he pulled the silk from his collar and draped it over the back of the lone chair in the room. His fingers moved to the top button of his white shirt, then the next, and the next, until they were all unbuttoned.
Then he moved to his belt. The sounds of it making you shiver.
“I’ll stay with you,” he promised, his tone as sweet as honey—designed to make you feel safe, even when you shouldn’t.
He folded the leather belt slowly. Painfully slow, his eyes never leaving yours.
“And before I head to the facility, I’ll do a quick experiment on you tomorrow. We’ll fix those headaches and get your reading memory back on track, okay?”
With one hand still gripping the belt, he stepped closer. His free hand cupped your face, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Think of it as my way of apologizing for my little outburst earlier,” he murmured against your skin. “I just want you to be perfect. I want you to be happy.”
He wasn’t leaving.
He was going to fix you.
You leaned into his touch as a small, fragile smile broke across your face. The tears you had shed before were no longer born of frustration—they were tears of relief.
“I love you, Bucky,” you whispered.
Bucky’s hand settled behind your head, rubbing gently to soothe you—the way a master might pet a loyal dog. He nodded towards the small cot in the corner.
“Lay down, doll.”
The light in the basement was always the same—artificial and blinding through the fluorescent tubes. After several blinks, you managed to force your eyes open against the piercing white light.
You let out a garbled groan. Your limbs felt extremely heavy, as if you were trying to move through deep water.
“Easy, doll. Easy.”
A deep, gentle voice cooed nearby. The cot creaked slightly as he sat beside you. As your vision cleared, you saw Bucky. He was already back in his professional attire—white sleeves rolled up his strong forearms. The room already smelled like he had his morning coffee.
He looked refreshed, while you felt like you had been disassembled and put back together again.
Which… in a way, you had.
Your fingers drifted up to the pain that throbbed in the back of your neck. You shuddered at the feel of the surgical tape and the fresh incision.
“The experiment went perfectly,” he said gently, his fingers replacing yours to check the bandage. “Your reading should be much sharper once the grogginess fades.”
You couldn’t even find the energy to be upset about him drugging you in the middle of the night—even if you should have spent those hours cuddling instead. The only thing that mattered was that he actually stayed.
“You’re still here,” you rasped, your throat scratchy and dry. A weak, hazy smile pulled at your lips.
Bucky smiled. He reached for a glass of water on the tray, holding it to your lips so you didn’t have to lift your head.
“I told you I would stay, didn’t I? I’m a man of my word.” He watched you drink, smiling as your dried lips softened from the liquid and the delicate column of your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “I even stayed through the morning to monitor your vitals. I’m going to be a little late to the facility, but for you? My baby? It’s all worth it.”
You leaned your head against his leg with a soft, content sigh. “Thank you for staying with me.”
“Always,” he whispered back, his thumb tracing over your cheek. “I have to go now—but when I’m gone, I want you to go back to reading your books.”
Disappointment settled in your chest, but the chemically induced state you were in made it too straining to fight back.
“I’ll be back soon with your breakfast.”
You didn’t care about food. All you cared about was Bucky. He was your true sustenance.
“How long?” you rasped, blinking up at him.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Alright?”
He leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. The cot creaked again as he stood up, and the sudden loss of his warmth made your heart clench painfully—more painful than the throb in your head.
“I love you, baby,” Bucky said, grabbing his blazer from the chair and heading for the door. “Be a good girl while I’m gone, okay?”
You nodded, and he offered a handsome smile. Then, he pulled the door open and shut it softly. The click of the lock on the other side finalized his goodbye, leaving you alone once again.
Bucky walked quickly from the hospital’s sub-level entrance, hurrying across the grounds toward the main facility. He looked like any other dedicated researcher running late for a briefing, but every time he left you, his mind remained back in the basement.
His mind was always on you.
His fingers fumbled with the middle button of his blazer as he forced his breathing to level out. He couldn’t afford to look ruffled. He turned a sharp corner near the east wing, head down as he adjusted his cuffs, and bumped squarely into another man.
“Woah, easy there, Buck.”
Bucky didn’t need to look up to recognize the voice.
“Steve,” Bucky exhaled, finishing the last button on his blazer with a tug. “Didn’t see you there. You’re up early.”
Steve’s gaze focused on the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes. “The shift change was a while ago,” Steve explained quietly. “I tried to page your office, but you weren’t there.”
Bucky waved a hand dismissively, stepping around Steve to keep moving towards his designated workstation. “Dead battery. I stayed late last night—lost track of time in the mounting data sheets—”
Steve extended his hand, landing on Bucky’s shoulder and forcing him to halt.
“You smell like…” Steve scrunched his nose. “Rubbing alcohol? Acetonitrile? That’s some heavy duty solvent for someone just looking at paperwork.”
Bucky’s heart let out a traitorous little thump. He gave Steve a deadpan look. “It’s a research hospital, Steve. What else am I supposed to smell like?”
Steve let go, but the look he gave his friend was anything but convinced. “You look exhausted. You’ve been spending every spare second in the south wing,” he sighed. “You’re my friend—and I worry about you, is all.”
Bucky averted his gaze. He didn’t have time for small talk. He had to review the latest labs and then fetch your breakfast. The longer he stayed out here, the longer you went hungry. Especially after the surgery, you needed to eat to recover properly.
“If there’s anything I can do to help loosen your load, even just a little bit, you know I’m always here.” Steve stepped closer, his voice lowering. “‘Till the end of the line, right?”
Bucky clenched his jaw. “Thanks, Steve. But I don’t need your help. I’m perfectly fine working alone,” he said, moving past him. Without looking back, he added, “I’ll let you know if my projects call for additional assistance.”
A few hours had passed, and ever since that interaction, it felt as though the universe had cursed Bucky with a jinx.
It was supposed to be a brief meeting—a few papers to peer review, perhaps a few charts to sign off on.
Christ, you were probably starving.
He could already picture it—your stomach curling in on itself, groaning and painful. He imagined your fragile arms wrapped around your belly as you cried in hunger. With the desperation that hunger brought, you might be clawing at your own skin. And since your body wasn’t being supplied with the nutrients it needed to recover, the post surgery throbbing in your head must be unbearable.
You could be pulling your hair or banging your head against the wall at this very second—and he wasn’t there to stop you.
He stared at the man sitting across from him. His boss’s frames kept slipping down his nose. His hair had more grease than the fast food joints across the street. His grimy hands shifted through the pages slowly. Painfully slow.
Bucky sat rigid, his foot tapping impatiently against the floor. He couldn’t dismiss himself—this was his superior, for fuck’s sake. But the longer he sat there, restless and useless, the more his mind spiraled.
His eyes flickered from his boss, to the clock, to the door.
“Is something bothering you, Barnes?”
Bucky swallowed hard. “Just… need to use the restroom.”
The man’s eyes rose sluggishly to meet Bucky’s. He paused—a silence long enough for Bucky to have gone and returned already. “Make it quick.”
Bucky pushed himself out of the chair, the legs let out a loud creak. He lunged for the door. He thought about sprinting to the canteen to fetch you something, but it was all the way across the facility. He didn’t have the time.
“Fuck, fuck!” Bucky hissed to himself, pacing the hall just outside the office.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed nearby. Then, salvation appeared.
“Bucky? You doing alright?” Steve asked, glancing up from his papers to find his friend in visible distress.
Bucky froze, his breath getting stuck in his throat. Steve. The very man who had been with him through everything. Before he even came to the facility. Before he even made you. Steve was the one person he could trust with his life.
So why not trust him with yours? Just for the time being?
“Steve,” Bucky started with a frantic voice. The words tumbled out in a breathless ramble. “I need—I need your help. I’m stuck in a meeting with that grease trap Henderson, and she’s starving. She hasn’t eaten before the procedure and I can’t leave, but if she doesn’t get nutrients now, the rejection levels will spike and I’ll lose all progress—”
Steve blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Wait, what?” He shook his head. “Who are you talking about? What procedure?”
Bucky stepped closer, grabbing Steve’s forearm with a grip so tight, it made him grunt.
“The south wing, sub-levels. Level four. I have her there, Steve. A woman—” Bucky glanced over his friend’s shoulder, making sure the coast was clear before continuing. “I’ve been… helping her, fixing her. But I have her locked in for her own safety, and I can’t get to the canteen and back without Henderson noticing I’m gone.”
Steve looked at Bucky as if he were seeing a stranger instead of a friend. “Locked in? Bucky, what the hell are you talking about? There are no active patients registered in the sub-levels. If you found someone who needs medical attention, we need to report this to the board immediately—”
“No!” Bucky hissed, eyes wide and wild. “No reports, and absolutely no boards. They’ll take her away, Steve. Please. I need you to help me. You said ‘till the end of the line’, didn’t you?”
Steve stood there, frozen with the papers in his hands.
“A woman,” Steve repeated quietly. “In the basement.”
“She’s my everything,” Bucky pleaded with a vulnerability that Steve has never seen before. “Just get a tray. High protein—soft foods. Use your clearance to bypass the canteen line. She’ll try to talk to you—but don’t entertain her. Just… give her her food, make sure she didn’t hurt herself while I was gone, and then leave quietly, okay?”
Steve let out a long breath.
He looked around the hall, checking for witnesses, before turning back to Bucky with a grim, reluctant nod.
“Fine,” Steve whispered. “I’ll get the food. But Bucky… we are talking about this the second you get out of that meeting. All of it.”
“Thank you,” Bucky exhaled, a sob of relief nearly escaping him.
He quickly shoved the keys to your room in Steve’s hand.
“Thank you, Steve. I knew I could trust you.”
It had been hours since Bucky left. You were curled on the edge of the cot, arms wrapped tightly around your growling stomach, trying to breathe through the nausea of starvation.
The grumbling was unbearable. You couldn’t have slept the hunger away even if you wanted to. It felt as though your stomach were eating itself from the inside out. Had Bucky forgotten you? He had broken his promise—but he said he was a man of his word. So where was he?
The sound of keys and the lock being undone sounded like music. Your heart gave a hopeful leap. Bucky always knocked—three soft, gentle taps that signaled he was coming to take care of you.
Unless you were asleep, he always waited for you to call out “come in!” to let him know you were ready to be his good girl again.
But this time, there was only silence before the door creaked open.
You didn’t care about the lack of a knock. You were too desperate, too hungry, and too lonely. You scrambled off the cot, your legs feeling like jelly as you rushed towards the door.
“Bucky! You’re back, I—”
You stopped.
The man standing in the doorway wasn’t Bucky. But he was as tall as Bucky, dressed in a white button up similar to Bucky’s, but it wasn’t him. He held a tray of food, but the stranger’s presence made you too terrified to reach for it.
Your breath hitched, a panicked wheeze leaving your lips as you scrambled backwards. Your heels dragged against the tile floor until your back hit the corner of the wall.
“Who are you!” you gasped, your bandaged hands coming up to shield your face. “Who are you? Where is he? Where’s Bucky?”
The man froze, his blue eyes widening in horror as he took in the sight of you—the surgical tape on your neck, the oversized gown, and the way you were cowering like a wounded animal.
Steve knew he shouldn’t speak to you, that had been Bucky's direct order. But he couldn’t fight his own instincts.
“Hey, hey… easy,” Steve cooed. He stayed by the door, slowly lowering the tray to a nearby table to show his hands were empty. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”
Despite the man’s kind and gentle tone, you couldn’t help the panic flaring in your heart.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you sobbed, pressing yourself harder into the corner. “He said… he said I’m not supposed to see anyone. He’s going to be so angry.”
“Bucky sent me,” Steve explained softly, taking a cautious step. “My name is Steve. I’m Bucky’s friend. He’s stuck in a meeting and he was worried about you. He told me you needed to eat.”
You sniffled. “… Worried about me?”
He reached for a piece of bread from the tray and held it out toward you, not moving any closer. “I know you’re scared. And I know you’re hurting. But you need to eat, okay? Then I’ll be on my way.”
You swallowed hard, glancing at the bread. He had spoken you so kindly, so soft and gentle, and to you, that felt like salvation in this lonely and cold room. Even if it wasn’t Bucky.
You took a hesitant step forward while Steve stayed still. He didn’t move until you approached him, treating you as if you were a stray cat. You grabbed the loaf with trembling hands, gave him a wary look, and he smiled.
“Not poisoned. Trust me.”
He tried to joke, but you didn’t laugh.
After a few seconds, you bit into the bread, letting the taste linger on your tongue.
Then, you started scarfing it down like a rabid animal.
Steve stood there, staring at you dumbfound as you ate. Without looking at him, you began to ravish everything else on the tray with your bare hands. He could only stumble back and watch in horror.
As you were occupied with the food, he took a mental note of your state. Your legs were marked with rows of stitches. Your skin was tainted with burn marks and various scars. You had bandages wrapped around your hands, wrists, ankles, and neck. Bruises decorated your body.
You looked exactly like a woman who had been plucked from the grave and brought back to life, but you were hardly living.
It didn’t take long for you to finish. When you finally looked up, you stared at Steve, waiting for him to disappear back through the door.
“I know I said I’d be on my way after you ate,” Steve explained slowly. “But Bucky also wanted me to check on your…”
He paused. He didn’t know what Bucky wanted him to check on exactly, but looking at you, it seemed as though everything needed to be checked. For now, he pointed to the freshly wrapped bandage around your neck.
“He just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
When you didn’t respond, he took it as a sign to step closer. You scrambled back immediately, and his gaze softened.
“I know this is scary for you. You haven’t seen or spoken to anyone besides Bucky, isn’t that right?”
You stayed silent.
“Have you ever been outside this room?”
Your eyes flickered to the door, then back to Steve. You slowly shook your head no.
“Well, the outside world is beautiful,” he began, speaking in a gentle tone. “There are lots of trees, flowers… animals. Like squirrels. You’d like the squirrels, they’re just like you—always scurrying around, especially in the courtyards.”
With each word, he moved closer.
Mentally, Steve was cursing himself.
He was a man of honor, yet he was currently violating his best friend’s trust while feeding a captive woman—Bucky’s woman—empty promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. He was falling back on his own medical training, using the standard practices he’d honed over years of patient care, hoping the routine would calm you as it did his other patients.
“Maybe Bucky will let you see it for yourself one day,” he lied. “But right now, your body is in no state for it. You’re fragile.”
He was close enough now to see the faint blossoming of blood staining your bandages.
“That’s why I’m here—to check on you,” he said, reaching out a hand slowly, palm up. “I just want to see how the stitches are holding up. If Bucky’s friend helps you, you’ll get stronger faster. And the stronger you get, the sooner you can go outside. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
You hesitated, your back still pressed against the cold wall.
“Bucky wouldn’t want you to touch me,” you admitted softly. “He always calls me his perfect girl—his good girl. He likes that I’m untainted and untouched by anyone else.”
Steve paused, his eyes widening slightly.
Ah. There it was.
That was how he could get through to you.
Against his better judgment and his friend’s wishes, he brought his hand up to your cheek. It was a gentle, steady touch—the kind of contact you had been waiting for all day.
“Just a quick look,” Steve whispered. “Just so I can tell Bucky you were being a perfect, good girl for him.”
You shuddered under his touch, your eyes closing slowly as you leaned into his palm.
That was all you wanted—to be Bucky’s good girl.
“Okay,” you nodded. “You can check me.”
You reached for the hem of your oversized gown and lifted it, baring yourself to Steve.
To you, this was simply the natural sequence of events. There was no shame in your movements, only the ingrained memory of how your sessions with Bucky always concluded.
The check up was just a prelude. The intimate inspection that followed was the reward.
Steve’s breath hitched, his face turning a bright shade of red when he realized what you were doing.
“No! No, no, no. You don’t have to do that!” he stammered, wrenching his head away. “I just… I just need to see the bandages. Just the neck and wrists. Keep—keep your clothes on, please.”
He was trying so hard to be a gentleman, his movements jerky and awkward.
“Bucky always tells me to undress so he can check me properly,” you said softly.
That concerned Steve. He let out a sigh. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen naked patients before, but this was different. He told himself all he had to do was check your stitches and leave. Quickly.
“Fine,” Steve rasped. His eyes tried his best to stay focused on your neck—not the curve of your breasts or hips, or the innocence of your bare slit between your thighs.
He stepped closer and his fingers traced the stitches of your neck.
His eyes met yours briefly, and his heart raced.
You had such a hazy, expectant look in your eyes.
“Okay,” Steve choked out, his voice cracking as he stepped back to put a safe distance between you. “I’m done. The stitches look... they look clean. I’m going to go now.”
As he turned to grab the empty tray, you moved.
You cupped his face the way Bucky always did with yours and pressed your lips against his.
Steve froze, his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull. His hands found your shoulders, giving you gentle shove that forced you back onto the edge of the cot with a yelp.
“No,” he panted, his chest heaving as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No, we can’t—I’m his friend, I’m not... why did you do that?”
You tilted your head, your brows furrowing in confusion.
“Because the check up isn’t finished,” you explained softly, your voice small and defensive. “Bucky says the examination isn’t over until he’s had his fill. He says that’s how I show him I'm getting better.”
“His fill?” Steve looked concerned.
“He says it’s part of the treatment,” you added, leaning forward slightly, searching Steve's face for the approval you were used to receiving. “Don’t you want to see if I’m better, Steve? Don’t you want your fill?”
The air left Steve's lungs.
His eyes traced down your body shamelessly this time—but not for the reason you expected. He took note of the faint bruises around your waist and thighs, and he felt sick.
Quickly, he crouched until he was eye level with you from where you were sitting on the cot. He clutched your shoulders, and you winced.
“Tell me,” Steve urged. “What is Bucky doing to you? Why are you in this state? How long have you been here?”
“I—I don’t—”
“Did he rape you?”
Steve expected a reaction—the typical trauma response to a word that heavy. Most victims would never confess it outright, but he could make out the answer from your reaction if you gave him one.
But all you did was blink at him as if he were speaking a foreign tongue.
“What does that mean?”
Steve didn’t know what to say. He let out a breath of exasperation and stood up. He couldn’t help you now, not with the risk of Bucky’s meeting ending at any moment.
“I have to go, but I’ll be back, okay? I’ll be back to get you the professional help you need.” Steve grabbed the tray and hurried to the door, his hand trembling on the handle. “Don’t tell Bucky what I told you. Please.”
The door shut quickly as he left.
But the lock didn’t click.
The hours following Steve’s departure were the longest of your life. You tried to do as Bucky asked—to sit on your cot and lose yourself in the pages of your books—but you couldn’t retain anything.
Your mind kept drifting back to Steve.
You liked the way he touched your cheek. He spoke of squirrels and trees and a world that Bucky never mentioned. Your gaze drifted to the door, and for the first time, it didn’t look like a shield protecting you from the world—as Bucky liked to call it.
It looked like an obstacle.
You knew you needed to stay put and wait for Bucky, but you couldn’t. You stood up and pushed through the door, moving carefully and slowly.
The hallway was bright, and as you wandered out, your bare feet felt freezing against the tiles. You didn’t know where the trees were, but you followed the hall, hoping it would lead to the courtyard Steve had mentioned.
You could already imagine it—running through the grass with Bucky, chasing the squirrels. A smile ghosted over your lips despite the tremor in your heart.
Then, a shadow fell over you.
“Going somewhere?”
You spun around at the familiar voice, a smile on your face so wide it made your cheeks hurt. “Bucky! You’re back! I was looking for the courtyard, I—”
The smile died the moment you saw his face. Bucky wasn’t happy. He had that scowl, the look you recognized whenever he was displeased, except now it was multiplied tenfold. His gaze was harsh enough to kill, and you could only imagine what he would do to you next.
His hand clamped around your upper arm, forcing you to cry out.
“Bucky, you’re hurting me!”
He hauled you back, dragging you down the hall towards where you had come from. He was breathing like an animal, his eyes darting around crazily to ensure the corridors remained empty—no witnesses.
He threw you back into the basement room, the door slamming shut as he locked it from the inside. He approached you as you collapsed onto the cot.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hissed in your face, his hands tugging at his hair in frustration. “What’s this talk about a courtyard? What was the plan, huh? To just walk out? To show everyone in this facility what I’ve been doing?”
“I just wanted to see—”
“After everything I’ve done for you!” Bucky roared, lunging to grab your shoulders and shaking you once, hard. “I saved you! I rebuilt you! I spent every cent, every hour, every ounce of my goddamn soul making sure you were perfect. And you’re choosing to run? You’re choosing to escape me?”
“No, Bucky, I—”
“You’re ungrateful!” He was spiraling, his eyes glazed with paranoia. “Someone saw you. Someone must have seen you. Who was it? Did you talk to someone? Was it the security feeds? I’ll have to wipe them. I’ll have to start over.”
You flinched at his cruel words. The pain in your arm was unbearable, but his accusations hurt more.
“No one saw me—”
“You can’t be certain!” he screamed in your face.
When he saw the tears welling in your eyes, he backed off slightly. His heart was beating furiously, and he didn’t foresee his temper cooling anytime soon. He let out a heavy sigh, releasing your shoulders. He couldn’t believe Steve had forgotten to lock the door—and now, he had filled your head with stupid ideas of going outside.
“I have to operate on you again,” Bucky said, walking to his desk. He removed his blazer and began rolling up his sleeves. “It’s a shame, really. I didn’t anticipate working on you so soon after your recent experiment.” He reached for the gloves, jerking them on. “I should even lower the dosage of the drugs, just so you could feel just an ounce of the pain I felt when I found you in the hallway.”
He glanced at you quickly before looking back at his tools.
“You did this to yourself, darling.”
You quickly scrambled off the cot, rushing to him and wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. “Please! I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to disobey you, I swear! I—”
“I’ve been gentle with you,” Bucky said, his voice flat as he reached for a needle on the tray. He didn't even turn to look at you. “Maybe even too gentle.”
You held onto him tighter, burying your face into the expanse of his back as the fabric of his shirt dampened with your tears.
“Please, Bucky, please!” you sobbed. “I missed you so much. I was being so good all day. I read the books, just like you told me. I didn’t hurt myself. But it was so cold and so lonely.. and—and you were gone for so long. I just needed you. I just wanted to find you.”
Bucky didn’t move.
The hand reaching for the syringe hovered in the air, his fingers twitching. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your crying. He looked down at the needle, then slowly, he pulled his hand back.
“You broke my heart,” he whispered. “You think your fruitless words mean anything to me now? After I found you wandering those halls like I meant nothing to you?”
“I didn’t—”
“Actions speak louder,” he snapped, still facing away. “What will you do to make up to me?”
“Anything,” you sobbed against his shirt. “Anything, Bucky. Just don’t hurt me. Don’t operate on me—please. I’ll do anything.”
Bucky stared at the wall, then at the needle, as if contemplating. Without turning around, his hands moved to his waist, the belt buckle echoing in the room as he undid the lather strap with slow movements.
“Put your hands over the bed,” he commanded. “Bend over.”
Your breath hitched in anticipation. You wasted no time rushing to the cot, placing your hands over the edge and bending over—exactly as instructed.
Your heart fought in your chest as you heard Bucky’s footsteps approach from behind. You heard the clinking of the belt in his hands, and then the air hit your skin as he lifted your gown, baring your bottom to his gaze.
The cold leather of his belt dragged slowly across your skin, and you shuddered, bracing yourself.
“Are you scared?” he murmured from behind you.
“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling so much it was barely heard. “Yes, Bucky. I’m scared.”
He leaned in closer, his chest brushing your back. You could feel the warmth, the scent of his cologne. When he spoke again, his voice was a low rasp against your ear.
“Good,” he breathed. “Fear is the beginning of wisdom, darling. It means you’re finally remembering who I am to you. It means you’re remembering that the world outside is just a fantasy, and this—this room, this bed, and my hand on you—is the only reality you have.”
He paused, the leather belt going still against your thigh.
“I didn’t want to do this,” he lied, smooth and deceptive. “But you forced my hand. I have to drive those silly thoughts out of your head before they ruin you completely. Before they ruin us.”
The belt lifted away from your skin, then came down hard with a whack against your bottom, jolting you and making you yelp.
“You’re so confused now, aren’t you, darling? I have a friend—my best friend come feed you, and suddenly you think you’re free to wander about? He was a fool. And so are you.”
Another whack.
“Ow!”
“It’s disappointing, really. I thought we were further along, doll. I thought you understood that you’re far too fragile for the sun. You’d wither like a flower, my perfect girl.”
Then another, and you let out a soft and shaky moan that was more breath than sound.
He leaned over you, the belt resting lightly against the back of your thighs as he watched the way your body reacted. He was being mean—his words were supposed to make you feel small, stupid, and utterly dependent—but to you, the condescension only felt like a caress.
With every smack, every word, you were arching your back and pressing yourself into him.
“Look at you,” he whispered, his hand reaching down to tickle the inner curve of your thigh. “I’m punishing you for being a bad, ungrateful girl, and yet..”
He paused, his fingers sinking lower and brushing against the wetness between your legs. It was slick, his middle finger gliding right through the folds. You gasped as he poked his finger against the entrance, and he could already feel you clench.
“You’re soaking wet for me,” he voiced in a way that sounded like disgust. “Even when I’m hurting you, you’re begging for me. Is this what you wanted when you walked out that door? To be caught and punished by your Daddy?”
Your face warmed with embarrassment. “No! I swear, I didn’t—”
Your words were replaced by a shameless moan when you felt Bucky’s finger slip into your entrance. He was only halfway in, yet he slid into you so easily. The way you stretched to accommodate his fingers was a testament to how much you needed him.
Bucky snarled against your ear. He was disappointed. He hated your denial—especially when your own body was betraying you, your hips rocking back to sink his finger deeper into your needy cunt.
But more than that, he hated how hard he was getting. He hated how much he wanted to rip his pants down and fuck you so hard that you’d be left crying and begging for his forgiveness.
“You could have it so easy if you just told me the truth,” he taunted. “But you like the struggle, don’t you? You like the attention—whether it’s good or bad. And you especially like it when Daddy’s being mean to you.”
He withdrew his finger slowly, the loss making you whine. His hands settled at your hips, he lifted you until you were standing on your tippy toes.
“Look at how you’re leaking for me,” he mocked, his eyes dark as he examined you. “A little attention from Steve, a little walk in the hall, and you come back to me looking like this. You’re like a little animal, aren’t you? So confused, so easily worked up by the first human who shows you a bit of kindness.”
Bucky grabbed your hands, wrenching them behind your back. He worked quickly, looping the leather belt around your wrists and cinching it tight.
You winced at the pressure as he restrained you, leaving you even more helpless than you were before.
“You’re right,” you whispered, face pressed against the cot. “I’m helpless. I can’t… I can’t function without you, Bucky. Please don’t leave me again. Hurt me. Kiss me. Just do anything so I don’t feel empty.”
Bucky hummed in approval.
He took a step back, and you heard the rustle of fabric and a zipper sliding down from behind. He didn’t utter a single word as he freed himself, but the sudden change in his breathing told you everything.
He began to stroke himself slowly. The sound was agonizing—that silky friction of his palm against his shaft, the shlick shlick noises of him spreading his pre-cum over and around his tip.
Every slide of his hand made you want to turn your head to look, to witness him in this state, but you knew better than to move.
You clenched your thighs together, your cunt pulsing as it reacted to the filthy noises. You were desperate to feel him, but you remained bound and helpless—exactly where he wanted you.
“Fuck,” he cursed, his breathing labored as he jerked himself off faster. “I should just finish right now. Let it all my cum drip to the floor—leave it there for you to stare at while I walk back out that door.”
His breathing grew even heavier. His movements quickening as he fucked his fist.
“But you’re so needy, aren’t you?” he whispered. “You wouldn’t let a single drop go to waste, would you, doll? You’d fall to your knees and lick it right off the tiles like my little pet, just to have a taste of me.”
You shuddered as his footsteps neared, flinching when his hand came up to cup your chin. He forced you to arch your back, making you strain to look up at him from over your shoulder.
“Is that what you are? My little pet?” He pressed the head of his cock against the curve of your ass, subtly rocking his hips forward. “My sweet girl that only functions when I’m inside her?”
“Bucky,” you breathed, squeezing your eyes shut. “Please. I can’t take this anymore.”
“Since you wanted to wander those halls so badly, I’m going to make sure you don’t have the strength to do it again. I’m going to fuck you so hard, doll, that you won’t be able to stand on those pretty legs for a week.”
One heavy hand landed on your hip, squeezing the flesh tight to hold you steady, while the other gripped his length, positioning himself at your entrance.
Then, surprisingly slow, he began to slide in.
The sensation was overwhelming. He was big—far too big. He knew you were fragile, and despite his harsh words, he didn’t want to truly break you just yet. That would ruin all the fun.
The stretch was slow and agonizing, yet perfect. You let out a broken sob, your fingers clawing at the thin mattress of the cot as your body was forced to accommodate him. He was thick, filling every inch of you, stretching you until you felt like you might break, yet your muscles tightened around him desperately—clinging to him like a hug that refused to let go.
“God,” Bucky hissed, his face twisting in both pain and pleasure. “So tight—even after last night…”
He kept pushing until he was completely sheathed inside, his dark curls tickling the curve of your ass when his pelvis finally met your bottom. He stilled there, his chest rising and falling as he waited for your body to accommodate him.
You could feel every ridge, every pulse inside, and in that moment, you wanted to cry.
You were so happy. Moments like this made your heart feel too big for your chest—because, despite everything, you were becoming one with the man you loved so dearly.
“Look at you,” he groaned possessively. “Taking all of it. Built just to hold me. Designed to take every inch... even if it hurts.”
Bucky began to move, his hips rocking violently as he started fucking you like an animal starved—as if he had been starving for this even longer than you had.
His hips slapped vulgarly against yours, and your eyes widened at the sudden, cruel change of pace.
“Oh—my!”
The cot beneath you began to groan, the frame creaking and rattling against the floor and the wall with every thrust Bucky gave you.
He leaned forward until his chest was against your back, his hand reaching around to grip the belt binding your wrists, using it like a handle to wrench your arms higher and force your chest deeper into the flimsy mattress.
“One taste of my cock and you’ve already forgotten everything that fool Steve told you, haven’t you?”
His pace became erratic, using your body like a sex toy. You were cock drunk for him, you were being his perfect, restrained little pet, your face buried in the cot pathetically while he claimed every inch of your body.
“You’re so pathetic, sweetheart,” he whispered affectionately and cruel. “Completely helpless. You can’t even touch yourself while I do this to you. You have to just lie there and take whatever I decide to give you.”
He slammed into you again, his cock rubbing deliciously against your tight, wet walls as they squeezed him for dear life.
“Ah, fuck... maybe if you keep being a good girl, I’ll let you suck on it later. How does that sound, hm?”
You nodded desperately against the cot, and mewling was the only answer you could manage.
The mere idea of being allowed to serve him like that—to have him look at you with something other than disappointment—it was all enough to make your head spin.
Bucky laughed darkly, you could feel his stomach vibrating as he was pushed up against your back.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Good girl. Daddy loves you, baby.”
Tears of overwhelmed pleasure started to spill down your cheeks at his admission.
He loved you.
Those four words were enough to make you fall apart right then and there as his approval was far more intoxicating than the pain and pleasure.
“Really? I—I love you too! I love you so much!” you squealed. Your cunt clenched around his shaft—squeezing him tight as if your body could prove just how much you loved him back. “I love you so much, Bucky. I love you. I love you.”
Bucky drawled out a long, tortured groan at the feel of you squeezing him. Buried deep inside you, he could feel you trembling, your body wound so tight it was nearly unbearable.
“That’s it,” Bucky cooed, his pace losing its rhythm as he fucked into you harder—chasing that delicious, sweet release. “You’re never going to walk away again.”
He leaned down, his pressing against your sweaty shoulder as he poured his devotions into your ear.
“I love you. Do you hear me? I love you more than anything. I’m the only thing you need. Just me and my love. You’re never leaving me again, doll. You’re staying right here where you’re safe—where you’re mine.”
He was chanting it now, a litany of possession that made your eyes roll back as you started to see stars.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
“Don’t you ever leave me,” he growled, his hand tightening on the belt and jerking your bound wrists one last time. “Tell me you’re staying! Tell me!”
You couldn’t hold back anymore. He was fucking you so thoroughly, telling you exactly how much you meant to him, and you were desperate to show him he was your entire world.
“I’m staying! I’m yours!” you sobbed before you cried out in a pleasure that was so hot—it made you dizzy. Clenching your legs together, your pussy pulsed and convulsed as you let the pleasure wash all over your body.
Your entire frame shook and trembled, but Bucky didn’t let up. Every shake and vibration from you was just a stroke to his own pleasure, and before long, he buried himself as deep as he could go, his cock painting your pussy with his cum.
It was hot. It was too much.
He stilled, remaining plunged inside as he fought for his breath. Silence consumed the room. Then, the sounds of his seed—spilling out of your abused pussy and onto the tile floors took over.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Like a clock.
Bucky shuddered against your neck, the heat of his breath tickling you. He stayed draped over you as he slowly began to press soft kisses to your cheek, then to the curve of your jaw.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb tracing your bare lower back while you warmed his cock with your body.
“My good, sweet girl. You did so well for Daddy. You always do.”
The atmosphere of the following morning was nothing like the night before.
Bucky had stayed the night with you. Again.
You were tucked over his arm, your head resting against his shoulder as you traced idle, wandering patterns across his bare chest. He was snoring peacefully, a soft sound that filled the quiet room.
Your heart felt full as you stared up at him with wide, adoring eyes.
His chest rose and fell in perfect time with his breathing, and you snuggled closer to his side.
“I love you,” you murmured, your finger tracing the outline of his abs. “I love you so much.”
Bucky slowly blinked awake, his eyelashes fluttering before he finally looked down at you. His eyes were clouded with the hazy, peaceful fog of a deep sleep he rarely ever got to enjoy.
“Morning,” he rasped.
A small, tired smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he took you in, his eyes softening at your adoring expression. “My girl.”
He slid his arm further under your neck, hooking his hand around your shoulder to pull you in until you were pressed tight against his side. He tucked his chin over the top of your head, nuzzling into your hair with a contented groan.
“Stay right there,” he murmured, his eyes drifting shut again as he squeezed you against him. “Don’t move. Just let Daddy hold you for a minute.”
And so you did. You both lay there for a long time, soft and snuggled up in each other’s arms.
But the peace, the silence, and the comfort didn’t last long.
The door—the one Bucky always made sure to lock with such clinical precision—was suddenly eclipsed by a violent crash that you made flinch.
Bucky bolted up, his body going rigid as his eyes snapped wide to the door.
“Bucky?” you gasped in fear, clutching his side. “What… what is that?”
“Fuck! Fuck!” Bucky hissed, the panic in his voice only startling you more. He threw his arm across your chest—not in a cuddle, but as a barrier, pinning you firmly behind his large body—as if hiding you.
He turned his head to catch your eye, a look in his blue orbs that you’ve never seen before. “Don’t—don’t say anything, got it? Not even a single breath of a fucking word.”
The door was kicked open, and a blinding flood of tactical lights and shouting turned your once private sanctuary into a war zone.
“He’s here! Target identified! Get him off her!”
Men in dark tactical gear you had never seen before swarmed the room, taking over the space that had once belonged purely to you and Bucky.
Before you could even process the intrusion, several agents tackled the very man who had been protecting you. The cot creaked and groaned as he fought to stay by your side, but even his strength was useless against so many men.
“Get your hands off me! Get away from her!” he roared, his voice louder and more frantic than you had ever heard it. He was terrified. You had never seen him lose control like this.
“She’s mine! You have no right—she’s mine!”
Bucky was going insane, fighting and kicking against the restraints of the officers. Everything happened so fast as the room blurred into chaos.
All you could do was sit there on the edge of the mattress and sob, reaching out for him in a confused daze.
“Bucky—”
Before your fingers could even brush his back, Steve was already there.
He pulled you into his arms, tucking your head against his chest to shield your eyes from the sight of the agents pinning Bucky to the cold tile floor.
“Don’t look,” Steve cooed, using that same comforting tone from the very first day you met. He held you tightly, his hand cupping the back of your head as he rocked you slightly to still your trembling. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe now. I promise... he’s never going to touch you again.”
The sound of metal cuffs clicked in the room, accompanied by Bucky’s screams of your name.
“Get your fucking hands off of her!” Bucky seethed from the floor, his face pinned hard against the tile by a set of gloved hands.
“You traitor!” he roared, the word tearing raw from his throat. “You fucking traitor!”
Steve tried his best to ignore his crying friend, clutching your body tighter against his. You began to sob, your fingers clawing at Steve’s arm to let you go—to go back to him.
As the agents hauled Bucky towards the door, his feet scuffed and slid violently against the tile floor.
He twisted his head back, his hair a sweaty mess as his face was twisted in a rage that terrified you. Yet, despite the fear, his eyes stayed locked on yours until the very last second, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.
“Don’t listen to a thing Steve tells you, baby!” Bucky screamed, fighting against the agents. “He doesn’t know you! He doesn’t love you like I do! He’s just trying to tear us apart—”
Even with a dozen people there to ‘protect’ you, guilt settled in your chest.
Was this all your fault?
Did this happen because you wandered the halls the other day? Because you had dared to talk to Steve?
“You belong to me—only me!” Bucky continued to roar, forcing you to listen to him instead of your useless train of thought. “Stop ignoring me—say something!”
All you could do was sniffle and sob, muttering broken apologies into Steve’s chest that Bucky couldn’t even hear over everything else that was going on.
“I’ll come back for you,” Bucky promised as they dragged him out. His voice rang through the cold hallways that had once been empty, but were now teeming with strangers. “I swear it—I’ll find you!”
Bucky and the men rounded the corner, and his shouts began to fade. The basement grew quieter. Much quieter.
Everything you’ve known and loved had been stripped away from you within seconds. What were you to do now? Who was going to take care of you? You wanted to hate Steve for doing this—but he said he was protecting you. But Bucky also promised you the same thing countless of times.
You didn’t know what was real—what was right or wrong, and you don’t think you ever will.
With the sudden and unexpected loss of his presence, your mind felt… lost. But deep in your gut, a feeling you tried so hard to suppress out of fear for betraying Bucky, you felt relief.
Steve let out a shaky breath, his shoulders finally dropping.
“He’s gone,” Steve whispered, his voice partnered with a guilt he couldn’t quite hide.
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.
“He’s gone, sweetheart. He’s never going to hurt you again.”
And for some reason, those very words only hurt you more.
The interrogation light shined directly into Bucky’s face, but he had grown so used to the glare that he no longer flinched.
Heavy cuffs bound his wrists, he only stared lifelessly at the metal biting into his skin. By now, the chains wrapped around his ankles felt as familiar as socks. His eyes were sunken into dark hollows, and his hair had grown out, lank and unkempt. You probably would have thought he looked ugly.
“James Barnes.” The man across from him sat down with a heavy huff.
His glasses were perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, and his pudgy fingers rifled through a thick stack of papers. With his greasy hair and impatient sighs, he looked exactly like Bucky’s previous boss, Henderson.
Bucky hated it.
The interrogator leaned back, watching the man across from him.
“The woman was dead before you found her,” the man began neutrally, his voice echoing off the sterile walls. “You robbed her grave, took her body, and performed several experiments on her—somehow managing to bring her back to life.”
Bucky stayed quiet.
“Where did you expect this experiment to go?” the man pressed, flipping a page in the file with a dismissive snap. “Would you have returned her to her family? To the friends she had before she passed?”
Bucky hadn’t blinked in three minutes, and hadn’t spoken for longer.
“What made you choose her, of all the other freshly buried bodies in that cemetery?”
Nothing. Not even a breath of a word.
“What was she to you?”
Bucky’s eyes remained hollow, his expression indifferent. He might as well already be dead.
“Did you love her?”
Bucky’s head tilted—just slightly.
Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet the interrogator’s.
“More than anything,” Bucky replied.
He didn’t look away from the interrogator, but his mind was already miles outside the concrete walls of the facility.
Behind his hollow eyes, he was already calculating. He felt the metal around his wrists, but he didn’t feel trapped. He felt like a spring being pushed down, gathering all this tension until he inevitably snaps. He could see it clearly—the precise moment he would finally break free.
It had been years since has been held captive. Since everything was taken away from him.
He wondered what you were doing right now. Without him there to guide your schedule, were you lost?
He imagined you in a park somewhere. He pictured you chasing squirrels, or perhaps laying in the grass and staring at the sun until your eyes ached. Or maybe you were reading one of those books he used to leave by your bed. He hoped you were reading. It kept your mind active. The books were good for you.
He’d find you.
It wasn’t a question of if, only a matter of when. He’d knock on the door of your new home—three times. Then, like the perfect girl you always were for him, you’d reply with “come in!”
The interrogator cleared his throat, leaning in closer.
“James,” he called for him, bringing his attention back. “Would you classify yourself as ‘insane’?”
For the first time in years, Bucky’s lips quirked into a smile.
Insane?
What kind of question was that?
“No.”
anyway how writing this fic found me
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