𝐀/𝐍: happy birthday steve. this is so short. it's basically a birthday card. but like, from him.
⤷steve rogers masterlist
It was today.
The calendar showed it clearly—loudly, boldly, screaming in his face.
His birthday.
And he'd seen many, suns that rise and fall like clockwork, flames that flicker once then dance away in smoke, banners and ribbons that shine all bright and then fall down.
He'd seen it all.
But he didn't mind it. Not really. Because each year, he had something that stayed. Stayed past midnight, past goodbyes, past the smiles and hugs that lasted a day.
It stayed. For better and for worse.
For when he had everything, and for when he was all alone.
In sickness, when he was a skinny kid that kept wheezing and coughing because the air was too cold for his lungs; in health—when he was built to be a hero, the strongest of them all.
He had you to cherish. You to hold.
He had all of you till the day death claimed him, and even then, he was yours.
should i even tag anyone for something this short? Guess I'll just do it later today.
original request -> can you pls write about asking nerdy bucky to dom reader? like hair pulling, dirty talk, spanking, marking, all that? i’d love to see his reaction to being asked for that
a/n: back in the game... had some very full days with something to do but now here we are again
Bucky was hunched over his desk again, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he scribbled furiously into a battered notebook. His tongue poked out between his lips when he concentrated like that, and you knew he didn’t even realize it.
You were sprawled across his bed, watching the way his shirt stretched across his wide shoulders every time he leaned forward. It was ridiculous how much he got to you without even trying. Chubby but broad, strength hidden under hoodies and flannels. His dark hair messy from running his hands through it while he studied.
God, he had no idea what he did to you.
You rolled onto your stomach, chin propped in your palms. “Bucky.” He hummed, eyes still locked on his notes. “Can I ask you something?”
He paused, pen freezing mid-stroke before he turned in his chair. “Of course, doll. Everything okay?”
Your stomach flipped. Heat crept up your neck, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “Have you ever thought about… being more dominant with me?”
Bucky blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Dominant?”
You nodded, chewing your lip. “Yeah. I mean… I love how gentle you are. I do. But sometimes I just-” you shifted on the bed, thighs pressing together, “-sometimes I want you to tell me what to do. To take it from me. To… rough me up. I wanna be a mess... Bucky.” You said looking straight into his darken blue eyes.
The silence that followed was deafening. His jaw flexed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Rough you up,” he repeated slowly, standing from the chair. He crossed the room in three deliberate steps until he was looming over you. “You mean you want me to fuck you like you’re my little slut?”
The bluntness of his words punched the air out of your lungs.
You nodded, breath shaky. “Yes. Fuck me and when I say 'i can't' fuck me again...”
“I don’t know if i can, doll… I’m not the right guy for that-” he told you, looking at the floor.
“Bucky fuck me!”
Your voice, a command. Something dark flickered in his eyes, something you’d never seen before.
His hand shot out, tangling in your hair and yanking your head back until your mouth fell open in a gasp. “Then say it like you mean it.”
Your body jolted at the command. “I-I want you to fuck me like your slut, Bucky. Use me like your slut. Make me come so many times I’ll beg you to stop…”
His lips curled in a dangerous smirk. “Good girl.”
You swore your whole body heated at those two little words. He leaned down, mouth grazing your ear. “You have no fucking idea what you just started, doll.”
Then he kissed you.
It wasn’t the careful, sweet kiss you were used to. It was hungry, bruising, teeth clashing with yours. His other hand cupped your jaw hard, forcing your mouth open so he could shove his tongue past your lips. He kissed you like he wanted to devour you, like he’d been starving and finally let himself eat.
When he pulled back, you were dizzy, clinging to his shirt. “You want me to be in charge?” He asked, voice a low growl. “Then you do exactly as I say. You understand?”
“Yes, sir,” you whispered before you even thought about it.
The sound that rumbled out of his chest was pure approval. He tugged your hair tighter, forcing your head back to bare your throat. His teeth sank into the soft skin just below your ear, sharp enough to make you whine. “Mine,” he muttered against your skin, biting harder until you gasped. “I’m gonna mark you up so bad tomorrow no one’s gonna doubt who you belong to.”
“Please,” you whined, hips shifting against the bed.
He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your neck. “Look at you. Already fucking dripping, aren’t you? Just from me pulling your hair and calling you mine. Pathetic little slut.”
Your whole body jolted at the degradation, slick pooling between your thighs. He noticed instantly, of course he did. “God, you love it.” He shoved you back onto the bed, crawling over you like a predator. His weight pinned you easily, broad chest pressing you down into the mattress. He kissed you again, biting your bottom lip before pulling back to look at you eyes blown wide, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. “Take your shirt off,” he ordered.
Your hands scrambled to obey, tugging your top over your head. The way he looked at you hungry, greedy, owning, made you shiver. “Bra too.” You unclipped it, tossing it aside.
His hand came down suddenly on your breast, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. He smirked at the sound, pinching your nipple until your back arched. “Fuck, I’m gonna ruin you,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.
His mouth trailed down your chest, biting, sucking, leaving purple marks in his wake. You whimpered, tugging at his hair, but he caught your wrist and slammed it down against the mattress. “Ah, ah,” he scolded. “You don’t touch me unless I say you can. Hands stay here.” He pinned both wrists above your head with one big hand, the other sliding down your stomach.
“Bucky-sir-” you gasped as his fingers slipped under the waistband of your shorts.
“Shut up and take it,” he growled. When his hand cupped your soaked panties, he groaned like he’d just won the lottery. “Fuck. You’re already soaked. From what? From me calling you a slut? From me treating you like the little toy you are?”
“Yes, sir,” you whimpered, hips jerking against his hand.
He slapped your pussy through your panties hard enough to make you yelp. “Beg for it properly.”
Your whole body trembled. “Please, sir. Please, I want you. I need your cock.”
He grinned, cruel and dark. “That’s my girl.” Bucky’s grin only grew darker as he watched you writhe under him, wrists pinned, chest heaving. “You begged so sweet, doll,” he muttered, hand sliding down into your shorts. His fingers brushed your soaked folds through the thin cotton, and he actually laughed. “Goddamn. You really are my little slut. Dripping already and I haven’t even given you cock yet.”
“Please, sir,” you whimpered, trying to grind into his touch.
He yanked his hand away instantly, giving your cheek a sharp slap that made you gasp. Not painful, but shocking. “You don’t fucking move unless I tell you to.” His voice was harsh now, commanding. “You stay still and you take what I give you. Got it?”
Your thighs trembled. “Yes, sir.”
Satisfied, he shoved your shorts and panties down in one rough motion, tossing them carelessly aside. His eyes devoured the sight of your bare pussy, already glistening for him. “Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, dragging the head of his cock out from his sweats, already thick and leaking.
He stroked himself slowly, deliberately, right above you, making you watch. “See what you do to me, doll? This big cock’s hard as a fucking rock just from hearing you beg.”
Your mouth watered. You tried to reach for him instinctively, but his grip on your wrists tightened until you whimpered. “Didn’t I tell you? No touching.” His eyes burned into yours. “Hands stay put. Or I’ll tie them there.”
“Yes, sir,” you breathed, every nerve ending alive under his control.
“Good girl.” He rubbed the head of his cock against your pussy, smearing precum through your slick folds. The sensation made you moan, hips jerking up, but he immediately slapped your thigh hard. “Did I say you could move?”
“N-no, sir.”
“Then fucking behave.” He lined himself up, pressing just the tip inside, stretching you deliciously. Your back arched, a choked moan ripping from your throat. “Shit,” Bucky grunted, pushing deeper, inch by inch until he bottomed out inside you. “So fucking tight. Always so tight for me. You were made for this cock, weren’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” you sobbed, already overwhelmed by the fullness. He smirked, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into you hard enough to make the bed creak. “Say it louder.”
“I was made for your cock, sir!”
“That’s right.”
His thrusts grew brutal, relentless, slamming into you over and over until the headboard rattled against the wall. He fucked you like he was trying to split you in two, his stomach pressing against yours with every deep, punishing thrust.
“Look at you,” he groaned, eyes fixed on your fucked-out expression. “Taking me like a good little whore. Bet you love it when I use you like this, huh?”
“Yes-fuck, yes, sir!”
He shifted suddenly, letting go of your wrists only to grab a fistful of your hair and yank your head back, baring your throat to him. His teeth sank into your skin again, biting hard enough to leave marks. “Gonna cover you in bruises,” he growled against your throat. “So every time you look in the mirror, you’ll see exactly who you belong to.”
“Yours,” you gasped, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m yours, sir.”
“Damn right you are.” He spanked your ass sharply, the sting making your walls clench around him. His hips stuttered, a guttural moan tearing from his chest. “Fuck, you feel so good when you squeeze me like that. You trying to milk my cock already?”
“I can’t help it!” You cried, body trembling under the force of his thrusts.
“You better fucking hold it,” he snarled. “You don’t come until I say. You come without my permission, and I’ll make you regret it.”
The threat sent another rush of heat through your body. You clawed at the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto, your wrists aching with the need to touch him.
“Please, sir,” you begged, voice breaking. “Please let me come.”
He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Not yet, doll. Not until I’ve had my fill in this pussy.”
He drove into you harder, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the room. Your cries grew louder, broken sobs spilling out as his cock hit that perfect spot inside you again and again. “Bucky-sir-I can’t-”
“Yes, you can,” he snarled, dragging your hair back so you had to look up at him. Sweat dripped down his temple, his jaw tight. “You’ll take what I give you.
You’ll take this cock until you forget your own fucking name.” Your vision blurred with tears, pleasure overwhelming every nerve. “Please!”
“Now,” he growled suddenly. “Come for me. Show me who owns this pussy.”
The command snapped the last thread of your control. You screamed, body convulsing as your orgasm tore through you, clenching around his cock so hard he cursed. “Fuck-” His hips slammed into yours one final time before he buried himself deep, groaning as he spilled inside you. “Take it. Take every fucking drop.”
You sobbed through the aftershocks, body shaking pinned beneath him as he kept thrusting lazily, grinding the cum deeper inside you. Bucky finally slowed, breathing ragged, but his grip on your hair didn’t loosen. He smirked down at you, filthy and smug. “Don’t think we’re done, doll,” he muttered, pulling out slowly, watching his cum leak from your swollen pussy. “That was just round one.”
His hand gripped your jaw suddenly, forcing your bleary eyes to meet his. His hair stuck to his forehead, his pupils blown wide with hunger. “What did I tell you, my love?”
“That-that it was only round one,” you whispered, voice hoarse.
“Good girl.” He kissed you hard, biting your lip until you cried out.
“You think I’m done after one little orgasm? You think you get to fall apart that easy?”
“Please…” you whimpered, already sensitive.
“You can.” His tone was steel. “And you fucking will.”
Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up until you were on your knees. His hand smacked your ass hard, the sting making you jolt. “Ass up, face down. Present that pussy to me like the needy whore you are.”
You obeyed instantly, forehead pressed to the sheets, ass in the air. Your body screamed from the stretch, still tender from the first round, but the way his voice cut into you had you dripping again anyway.
“Look at you,” he groaned, spreading your cheeks to see your swollen, wet hole. His cum was still leaking out of you, and he smirked at the sight. “Messy little thing. Can’t even hold it all in, can you?”
“N-no, sir.”
“Don’t worry.” He slapped your ass again, harder this time, leaving a handprint. “I’ll just fill you again.”
He shoved back inside in one brutal thrust, making you scream into the mattress. The sudden stretch had you crying instantly, walls clenching tight around him. “Too much?” He asked mockingly, already grinding deeper.
“Yes, sir-please-”
“Too bad.” His hips slammed into yours, fucking you even harder than before. The sound of his cock driving into your soaked pussy was obscene, echoing through the room with every thrust. “God, you’re still so fucking tight,” he groaned, fisting your hair and yanking your head back so your spine arched. “Even after I just filled you. Your greedy cunt just keeps sucking me in. Like you were made to be used.”
“Yes, sir,” you sobbed, tears spilling as the pleasure blurred into pain. “I’m yours. Use me.”
“That’s right.” He bit down on your shoulder, growling. “Mine. My slut. My cock sleeve.”
You screamed when his hand smacked your clit suddenly, sharp and cruel. The overstimulation made your legs shake, your body struggling to hold itself up.
“Stay the fuck up,” he ordered, yanking your hair again when your arms buckled. “You don’t collapse until I tell you.”
Your body trembled violently, but you forced yourself to stay on your knees as he pounded into you. Every thrust knocked the breath out of your lungs, your vision swimming. “I want you cockdrunk,” he hissed. “I want you so used you can’t even say your own name.”
“I’m-I’m close, sir,” you cried, voice breaking.
He snarled, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing merciless circles. “Come. Right now. Squeeze my cock like the desperate whore you are.”
Your scream tore from your throat as your body gave in again, another orgasm ripping through you so violently your arms finally gave out. You collapsed onto the mattress, sobbing as you convulsed around him. Bucky didn’t stop. He dragged you back by your hips, still buried deep inside, still thrusting. “Get the fuck up.”
Your legs were jelly, your body weak, but his grip forced you upright. He pulled out suddenly, and you gasped at the loss, but before you could breathe he dragged you off the bed entirely.
“On the floor,” he ordered, shoving you down onto your knees beside the mattress.
Your chest pressed against the edge of the bed, ass raised. His hand tangled in your hair again, forcing your cheek to the sheets. “This is where you belong,” he muttered darkly. “On your knees. Getting fucked like a toy.”
You whined, trembling, but spread your legs obediently.
“Good girl.” His cock slammed back into you in one harsh thrust, forcing another scream from your lips. He didn’t give you a second to adjust. He set a brutal pace immediately, slamming into you from behind so hard the bed rattled against the wall. “Fuck, look at this,” he snarled, pulling your hair to force you to watch your reflection in the mirror across the room. “See how wrecked you are? Drooling, crying, begging for cock? You’re pathetic.”
Your mouth hung open, tears streaming down your face, but the sight of yourself being ruined by him only made your walls tighten around him again. “You love it,” he grunted, spanking you again and again until your ass burned. “You fucking love being my slut.”
“Yes, sir!” you screamed, voice breaking. “I love it-I love being your slut!”
He leaned over your back, teeth sinking into your shoulder hard enough to bruise. His hips never slowed, punishing thrusts driving into you until you were sobbing into the sheets. Your body shook violently, another orgasm clawing up from deep inside.
“Sir-I can’t-I can’t-”
“You will,” he growled, hand slamming against your clit again. “You’ll fucking take it. You’ll come for me again, and again, and again, until I decide you’re done.”
Your body broke. The orgasm hit so hard you screamed, legs collapsing, but his grip on your hair held you upright while your pussy convulsed around him. “Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, rutting harder, his cock twitching inside you. “I’m gonna fill this slutty cunt again. You ready for it?”
“Yes, sir! Please-fill me-”
With a guttural moan, he slammed deep, spilling inside you again. His hips ground against yours as he fucked every drop into you, not letting you move an inch.
When he finally pulled out, his cum spilled down your thighs, but his hand immediately shoved it back in, two thick fingers pumping roughly. “Not wasting a fucking drop,” he growled, smirking at your wrecked face. “You’re gonna be dripping with me all night.”
You were shaking so hard your knees nearly buckled, forehead pressed to the sheets as your body trembled from the wreckage of your last orgasm. Your pussy was raw, swollen, dripping with his cum, but Bucky hadn’t let you fall yet. His hand tangled in your hair again, forcing your head up. You blinked blearily, vision swimming with tears, but his smug grin was crystal clear. Your muffled whimper only made him chuckle. He pulled you up by your hair, dragging your wrecked body onto the bed until he was sitting against the headboard, sweat glistening on his chest.
His cock was still hard, thick and angry, glistening with your slick and his cum. “Climb on.” His tone was final. “Ride me.”
Your legs trembled as you straddled him, nails digging into his shoulders for balance. The stretch was brutal when he lined you up and forced you down onto his cock again, your walls clenching so tight you sobbed into his chest. “Fuck, you’re choking me,” he groaned, head falling back. “Even ruined like this, you’re still so fucking greedy.”
You whimpered, trying to move, but he gripped your hips and forced you to grind against him.
“Not good enough,” he snarled. His hand cracked across your ass, the sting making you jolt. “Ride it like you mean it. Show me how bad you need my cock.”
“I can’t-”
“You can.” His eyes blazed, his fist tightening in your hair again as he yanked your head back.
“You’ll bounce on this cock until I’m satisfied, or I’ll bend you back over and fuck you into the floor again. Which do you want?”
Your whole body convulsed. “Ride-ride you, sir!”
“That’s my girl.”
He slapped your ass again, then guided your hips up and down, setting a brutal pace. Every time you sank back down, his cock punched deep, hitting the spot that made you scream. “That’s it,” he growled, watching your tits bounce in his face. “Look at you. Crying on my cock, soaking me, milking me like a desperate little whore. Pathetic. And you fucking love it.”
“Yes, sir!” you sobbed, tears streaming freely. “I love it-I love being your whore!” Your walls clamped down hard tipping you to the edge again despite the burn, despite your body’s exhaustion. “Sir-I’m gonna-”
“Don’t hold back,” he ordered, gripping your ass to slam you down harder. “Come on this cock. Show me who owns you.”
Your scream ripped from your throat as another orgasm shattered through you, your body convulsing violently as you clenched around him. Bucky groaned, head snapping forward to sink his teeth into your breast, biting hard enough to bruise as he fucked up into you from below. “Take it,” he snarled against your skin. “Take my cum like a good little slut.”
With a guttural moan, he buried himself deep, spilling inside you again, his cock twitching as he ground you down against his lap.
You collapsed against his chest, body limp, trembling and broken. Your pussy pulsed around him, stuffed full and leaking, your mind fogged with nothing but his name.
The room was still thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the sheets damp, your body limp and trembling against him.
For a long moment, Bucky just held you, chest rising and falling under your cheek, his heartbeat slowing from a wild gallop to its usual steady rhythm. Then he glanced around the dorm room, realizing suddenly how raw the air was. His cheeks flushed. “Uh-hang on, doll. I’ll… I’ll fix you up.”
He gently eased you off his chest, making sure you were cushioned against his pillow. You watched through heavy eyes as he padded across the tiny room, rummaging through his cluttered desk. He came back with a half-full bottle of water and an old towel, the corners of his mouth tugging in a sheepish grin. “No fancy shower here,” he muttered, kneeling at the side of the bed. “But this will do.” He unscrewed the cap, dampened the towel carefully, and then wiped you down with the gentlest touch.
His fingers lingered where his roughness had left bruises, guilt flashing in his eyes even though you’d begged for every mark. “Sorry if I got… carried away,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your knee as he cleaned between your thighs. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”
You smiled sleepily, reaching down to stroke his hair. “You didn’t. I wanted it. Every second.”
His ears went pink. He ducked his head, hiding his face as he finished wiping you clean, then set the towel aside. “Still…” he murmured, voice quiet, “…I don’t like leaving you a mess.”
Once you were tucked back against the pillow, he crawled onto the mattress beside you again, pulling a small tin from his nightstand. You blinked at it. “Massage balm,” he explained shyly. “My ma always said it helps after soreness... she meant football injuries... thought… maybe it’d help after, uh, this.”
Your heart swelled as he rubbed the balm into his palms, then began massaging your thighs, your hips, your back with slow, careful pressure. His thumbs worked out the tension he’d put there, and you couldn’t hold back the soft moan of relief. “Feels good?” He asked quickly, almost nervous.
“Feels amazing,” you sighed, turning your face into the pillow.
He smiled, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Good. You deserve it.”
When he finally finished, he pulled open the drawer of his nightstand again and handed you a little wrapped bar.
“A granola bar?” You asked, amused.
He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly bashful again. “Yeah, uh-I keep ‘em there for late-night studying. Figured… after all that, you should eat something.”
Your chest warmed, tears threatening to prick at the corners of your eyes. Only Bucky Barnes could rail you into oblivion, call you his slut, and then shyly hand you a granola bar five minutes later.
“Thank you,” you whispered, tearing the wrapper with shaky hands.
He smiled, cheeks pink, pulling you against his chest again. “Anything for you, doll. Always.”
This time, when you drifted off, it wasn’t from exhaustion, it was from the warmth of being completely cared for.
The first light of morning crept into Bucky’s dorm, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets where you were curled up against him. Your body still trembled from last night, hips sore, thighs weak, every muscle buzzing and trembling in protest. You opened your eyes slowly, blinking against the sunlight. A groan escaped as you tried to swing your legs over the side of the bed. Immediately, your knees wobbled, hips threatening to buckle. You let out a frustrated squeak, collapsing sideways onto the mattress. “Uh… Bucky…” you whispered.
He stirred beside you, messy hair falling over his forehead, glasses crooked. When he saw your precarious attempt at standing, his eyes widened. “Whoa... hey, careful!” He scrambled closer, hands reaching for your waist. “Don’t fall over, doll.”
“I can’t… my legs won’t listen,” you admitted, shifting uncomfortably as they quivered under you.
He exhaled, flustered, but gentle, slipping an arm around your waist and helping you prop upright against the bed. “Okay… okay, we’ll take it slow. Lean on me. I got you.”
Your head rested against his shoulder, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath you. “You’re so shy,” you teased softly, smirking at the way his ears pinked and his lips tugged into a small, awkward smile.
“I-uh… yeah,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “I don’t… normally… wake up like this. With a girl in my bed… legs like noodles.”
“You’re adorable,” you whispered, nudging his chest with your nose. “Even after last night.”
He chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You think so?”
“I know so,” you teased, eyes soft. “You’re shy, even if you fucked me raw on that floor.”
His lips twitched in a shy grin, and he pressed a careful kiss to your forehead. “Yeah… maybe. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay. Safe.”
Your legs gave another shuddering wobble, and you clutched his shirt for support. “I’m okay. Just… can’t stand yet.”
After some minutes, you began to feel your legs again. “Feeling… a little stronger,” you admitted, voice still a little shaky. He grinned, cheeks pink, eyes soft with concern and pride.
“Good. That’s my girl. No more falling over, okay?”
“I’ll try,” you whispered, leaning against him as he helped you stand fully upright. Your legs wobbled a little, but this time you managed to stay balanced, knees trembling but holding.
“You’re perfect,” he said softly, sliding an arm around your waist. “Let’s get some breakfast. You need real food after last night.”
Your heart warmed. Even after everything he still wanted to care for you, in the shy and nerdy and sweet way only Bucky could. He led you slowly across the dorm, hand securely around your waist whenever your legs threatened to buckle.
You giggled when he adjusted his glasses nervously, muttering, “Don’t fall, don’t fall…” like it was his sole responsibility to keep you upright.
Outside, the sun felt good against your skin, and the crisp morning air was a gentle contrast to the heat still lingering between you. Bucky guided you carefully to the campus cafè, his hand never leaving yours once you stepped inside. “Seat?” He asked, pointing to a cozy corner.
“Yes, please,” you whispered, still feeling a little dizzy, and he helped you settle into the chair like a careful, doting boyfriend. When the waitress brought over your breakfast; pancakes, eggs, fresh fruit and a steaming mug of coffee. Bucky’s eyes lit up. “All for you,” he said, voice shy but proud. “I made sure it’s… uh… everything you like.”
“Bucky…” you murmured, touched.
He blushed furiously, setting the plate carefully in front of you. “Just… wanted to take care of my girl. You… you deserve it.”
You smiled, picking up your fork. “You already did, last night.”
He groaned softly, hiding his face in his hands for a second, embarrassed at the memory, then peeked at you shyly. “Yeah… okay, but this is… you know, normal breakfast care.”
You giggled, biting into a pancake, letting your legs relax as they finally regained their strength. Every now and then, his hand brushed yours across the table, soft, reassuring, grounding.
“You’re really good at this,” you whispered, smiling at him.
“Doing what?” he asked, confused.
“Being… gentle after… being… everything else.”
He looked down at you, eyes soft and warm. “Only for you, doll. Always.”
You reached across, taking his hand in both of yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know.”
The cafè hummed around you, but for a moment, it was just the two of you. Legs steadying, hearts full, full plates in front of you and the quiet, shy, tender Bucky who couldn’t stop himself from doting on you. You leaned back in your chair, sipping coffee, legs finally feeling like they belonged to you again.
And Bucky? He just watched you, shy grin on his face, secretly thrilled he got to take care of you in every way possible.
𓂃 𓈒𓏸 envy ii
pairing: professor!bucky x reader
prompt: “must be nice to never have to beg for a single scrap of affection.”
warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut mentioned, allusions to smut, bucky is a PRICK but its kinda hot, public humiliation, reconciliation (wink), horny!bucky, he does love reader, student/teacher relationship (20s/40s), bucky speaks latin once bc i <3 being self indulgent, petnames (sweet girl, sweetheart) . . .
word count: 907
a/n: guess who found out the prompts can be interpreted and not just used :D i loooove taking things too seriously :")
to be honest, i really just let the wind take me wherever it blew with this prompt and it got me here, im so sorry if this makes no sense with most of these lmfao :""")
event masterlist || navigation
Two hours passed by like pushing a train with your bare hands, slow and fucking torturous. You sat at your regular seat, two rows from the front, just close enough to seem attentive, yet far enough to not seem as eager as you really are.
A chirpiness exuded from you as you entered the building, through the halls with your fists tight on the strap of your bag, carrying an excitement just to see Professor Barnes.
Or James as more close students and faculty would call him, or even Bucky as you would whisper against his skin whenever you both had a chance to be alone together, wether at his place or even in his office after hours.
You sat with a smile on your face, the vivacity of your happiness seemingly from the night before, all tangled in his bed sheets, pried open with an acclamation you only ever saw him provide to his work. Whispering a litany of praise akin to idolatry upon already slick skin, only made wetter with kisses trailed with his tongue, like passages he would assign as class reading, which would turn into your head tucked against his chest, his fingers trailing up and down your spine as he read for you, asking questions with a soft nudge to wake you from your hazy, cotton mind.
You could still feel it as your thighs pressed together under your desk, as you readied yourself for the lecture.
But Bucky, smart, yet cruel, and far too handsome for his own good, had other plans.
Sitting in the leather chair in his office, you slump forward with an elbow on the arm, fist to your cheek, and your eyes stay solemnly down. A fury laved behind your ribs like magma ready to spill from the edges of a volcano, what's worse is that it accumulated and burgeoned low in your stomach, and ached it's way into a different form of hot liquid.
It's a real shame for you that your professor loves how easy it is to pester you, to rile you up. Biting your cheek, you stare sourly through your eyebrows, at his wide smile.
"It's not funny," You murmur, only to make his chest thrum with another bout of laughter. Bucky's teeth latch to his bottom lip to suppress the wheezing, hand coming up to shield his eyes, elbow up on his desk chair to hide behind his palm.
You could cry. With how embarrassed you are, confidently reaching your hand up at every question he asked, only for him to skim right past and call up another person. Two hours of ignorance, only for him to twist the knife further when calling for students who were barely paying attention and never bothered to raise their hand.
Once he calmed with a husky sigh, swivelling in his chair with the last flurries of humour, he speaks.
"Sweetheart—"
"It's really not funny," You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, muttering immaturely under your breath. “At least, I don't know, say something, you were basically ignoring me! I felt like a kid or something, you know? Must be nice to those other people, getting all your attention…” You sigh again, scrunching your face in aggravation. "I mean, one question would've been nice!"
"Oh, mea dulcis puella," he pouts condescendingly, lengthening the words in a degrading pitch. Standing now, he wastes no time in walking towards you, and holding his arms out to pull you up and into a tight embrace. "Was it too mean? I'm so sorry, sweetheart, but, God, your face is so beautiful when you're irritated… you wanted to answer those questions so bad."
Despite your disinclination to move, he wraps his arms around you anyway. His chin resting on the top of your head with a prolonged sigh, leaving your cheek to press up on his chest.
"Bucky—"
"I really didn't mean to piss you off so bad," he starts, voice low easing upon your body, mixed with the heat and strong hold he has you in, he has you cornered in a comfort only he could bring. "Thought it would be funny. Y'know how when you get so frustrated you get turned on?"
"Oh, Bucky!" You whine.
The wobble in his chest comes back with a hum to your scalp, pressing his lips there. "What, you told me that a while ago one night. When you were studying, couldn't focus… pissed you off so bad you had to call me to see if I was free..."
You hide deeper into his chest, arms still encircled around your own, and he pulls you in with ease.
"Didn't need to make it a humiliation ritual." You sigh against his shirt.
"Hm, I'll do better next time."
"You better."
"I promise," silence encapsulates the room for a moment, letting the two of you sink into each other, before Bucky's hands find themselves comfortable on the globes of your ass, and he pipes up. "Wanna get up on my desk and let me make it up to you?"
The lift of your cheek, a smile he can feel, presses through his shirt. Humming humorously, matching the condescension he delivered. "Christ, for an old man you sure know how to keep up."
"That is why I humiliate you. That smart ass mouth of yours," he pats your ass twice with a dopey tilt of his lips. "Up you get princess, just lemme redeem myself."
pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader
genre: kinda fake enemies to lovers | heavy smut on purpose | oral sex | rough sex | spanking | heavy overstimulation | consensual choking | very dominant!bucky | brat!reader | power dynamics | forced proximity | emotional tension | aftercare | trauma references | hydra and red room mention | protective undertones | future angst in the next parts
word count: 7.7 k
summary: Y/N and Bucky are the best at what they did, but couldn’t stand each other and now they’re forced together on a dangerous mission.
a/n: this is a relative "short" chapter while the other ones will be definetely longer. if someone already read it in the first place (i hope you'll do it again) there are gonna be some parts that may or may not trigger you.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | epilogue
The briefing room hummed with quiet tension and fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. There was a weird light in there as the main screen lit up with surveillance images grainy aerial shots, infrared blips and blurred faces in the snow.
The Hydra outpost was a remote fort almost invisible to satellites.
Tony leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. “This isn’t just a weapons depot,” he muttered. “Hydra’s cooking something nasty in there. Biotech signatures don’t lie.”
Natasha crossed her arms, eyes fixed on the screen. “Two names flagged from the old Red Room and Winter Soldier files. If they’re there, this isn’t a recon job this is a clean sweep.”
Steve nodded grimly. “Agreed. We don’t just need precision. We need people who can get in, eliminate the targets, and get out without leaving a trace.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Sam groaned. “You’re thinking Bucky and Y/N, aren’t you?”
“They’re the best,” Natasha said without hesitation.
“They also hate each other,” Sam countered, raising a brow. “Last time they shared airspace, I thought she was going to strangle him with her own belt.”
“They don’t hate each other on the field,” Steve said but his tone wasn’t confident.
Tony snorted. “Right, they hate how much they understand each other. It’s worse.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Can they at least pretend to cooperate? Or are we deploying World War III with stealth camo?”
“They’ll manage,” Steve said firmly, ignoring the look Tony gave him. “They’ve both led black ops. Both trained to compartmentalize. Whatever’s between them they’ll bury it for the mission.”
Natasha gave a small, knowing smirk. “Or they’ll use it to get the job done faster.”
Tony flicked to the next slide; blueprints of the Hydra outpost. “High-altitude drop, full winter gear. Satellite blackout zone. And if they’re compromised-”
“They’re ghosts,” Steve finished. “No rescue. No trace.”
Silence fell again.
Finally, Tony exhaled. “Guess we’re betting the mission on gritted teeth and sexual tension.”
Sam muttered, “This is gonna be a shitshow.”
No one disagreed.
In the meanwhile, in the compound’s gym grunts echoed off the padded walls. The rhythmic slap of fists on mats, the crack of limbs colliding sharp and clean but focused.
Y/N ducked under Bucky’s swing, sweat-slick and breathing hard. She twisted, leg sweeping toward his ribs but he caught it with a grunt, tossing her off-balance. She rolled, came up in a crouch and smirked. “Slowing down, Barnes.”
He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow, metal fingers flexing. “I’m giving you a chance to keep up.”
They circled each other again, bodies coiled like springs.
Neither pulled punches.
Neither gave ground.
Outside the gym, behind the reinforced glass of the briefing room, the other were still talking abou them.
Steve folded his arms. “You’re sure about this pairing?”
Natasha raised an eyebrow, glancing at the sparring match. “They’ll get it done. They always do.”
“But they’ll kill each other doing it,” Sam muttered, sipping coffee.
Tony leaned back in his chair and turned on the camera from the gym, watching Y/N shove Bucky back with a palm to the chest. “Or they’ll finally screw and get it out of their system.”
“Tony,” Steve warned.
“What?” Tony grinned. “Tell me you haven’t noticed the tension. I’ve seen less eye contact in war zones.”
Sam chuckled. “Still… it’s Hydra. Deep recon. Snow, low visibility, unstable terrain. This op needs the best.”
“And that’s them,” Nat said simply. “Like it or not.”
Steve sighed, watching Bucky catch Y/N in a hold and pin her against the wall.
She elbowed him in the ribs he grunted and she slipped free.
“They’ll fight it,” Steve said quietly. “Each other. The mission. Everything.”
Nat’s eyes narrowed, but her voice was sure. “Then they’ll survive it.”
Y/N’s breath came in short bursts, sweat glistening on her skin as she twisted into a takedown. With a sharp grunt, she hooked Bucky’s arm and shoulder-rolled him clean off his feet. He hit the mat hard, the thud echoing through the gym and the microphone of the camera but before his back fully met the ground, his boot swept out low and fast nailing her ankle just right. She yelped as her balance gave out and a heartbeat later she was sprawled beside him, face-first on the mat.
Both of them groaned, tangled in exhaustion and bruises. Neither willing to admit the other got the last hit in.
It was a draw. Again.
Tony turned the camera off and proceed to reach the gym. The others following his steps.
The door opened with a hiss of hydraulics.
Steve entered first arms crossed and expression unreadable. Behind him, Nat, a now worried Tony who let pass Steve first and Sam filtered in observing the sprawled pair with thinly veiled amusement.
Steve arched a brow. “Kids,” he said mocking them.
Both Y/N and Bucky raised their heads.
“Shower then briefing room. Now.” Steve was now less confident.
Y/N flipped onto her back, breathless. “You calling me a kid, Rogers?”
Bucky snorted. “He meant me, obviously.”
Tony smirked. “Sure, grandpa. C’mon, before you two make it weird.”
Y/N and Bucky exchanged a competitive glance, lingering and electric but neither said a word. They both stood, brushed themselves off, and silently made for the locker rooms.
Nat leaned into Steve as they left. “They’re going to love what’s coming next.”
Steve just sighed. “They’re going to hate it.”
Y/N now showered stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Eyes locked on the frost-streaked glass. She didn’t even flinch when the door opened. Bucky entered with that same grim tension he always carried before a mission jaw tight, shoulders squared and gaze already wary the moment it landed on her.
Steve followed a second later, holding a tablet. Nat, Tony and Sam lingered by the doorway, exchanging a glance that practically screamed this is gonna be fun.
Steve didn’t waste time. “Hydra’s back in motion. Remote outpost in the Carpathians. Two or three high-value targets confirmed on site. We need them taken out, clean and quiet.”
Y/N arched a brow without turning. “You’ve got half a dozen field agents who can do quiet. Why call us in?”
“Because it’s not just about infiltration,” Natasha said, stepping forward. “They’re building something. Biotech. Red Room adjacent. You both have history with the programs involved.”
Bucky’s tone was flat. “Who’s the lead?”
Steve paused for half a beat. “Joint op. You and Y/N.”
The silence hit like a thunderclap.
Y/N turned slowly, her eyes cold. “No.”
Bucky’s brow furrowed. “I work alone.”
“Yeah and I work with people who don’t get me shot,” Y/N snapped.
Steve held up a hand. “We don’t have time for this. You two are the best options. You know Red Room and Hydra’s playbook better than anyone else.”
“And he doesn’t listen when someone smarter gives him orders.” Y/N shot back.
Natasha sighed. “Look, no one’s asking you to hold hands and braid each other’s hair. We’re asking you to eliminate a target and survive.”
Sam added under his breath. “And preferably without killing each other before extraction.”
Steve stepped between them, calm but firm. “You’ve done this before. You don’t have to like it… you just have to finish the mission.”
Y/N stared at Bucky for a long, silent moment, something unreadable passing through her eyes. She scoffed and looked back at Steve. “Fine. But I’m not babysitting him.”
Bucky’s voice was low. “Wasn’t planning on needing it.”
Steve nodded, handing them both comm devices and the mission tablet. “Gear up. Wheels up in two hours. High-altitude drop, sub-zero conditions. You’ll be alone out there.”
As the others filed out, Y/N and Bucky lingered behind tension thick enough to cut with a knife. “You stay out of my way,” she muttered, strapping the comm to her wrist.
He didn’t blink. “Only if you don’t get yourself killed first.”
“Wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” she said, brushing past him.
He watched her go, eyes narrowing slightly. Not for the first time, he wondered if she was the only person on the planet who could get under his skin and still make his blood run hot. This mission was going to be hell. But he was already in it.
The metallic clatter of weapons and gear echoed faintly as Y/N adjusted the straps on her tactical vest. The cold metal of a knife sheath slid into place along her thigh.
Focused. Silent. Tense.
A soft footstep behind her didn’t make her flinch she already knew who it was. “I know it sucks, working with him,” Natasha said, leaning casually against a locker with her arms crossed. “Trust me. I’ve done it.”
Y/N huffed. “Wasn’t planning on letting him slow me down.”
“You won’t,” Nat said easily. “But you should know… he respects you. Even if he shows it by growling like a rabid dog.”
Y/N smirked, despite herself. “Charming.”
Nat pushed off the locker and walked over, voice lowering. “Look I know it’s complicated. He gets under your skin. Pushes every button. But in the field? You two work like a loaded gun. Clean. Precise. Lethal.”
“That supposed to be comforting?” Y/N muttered, adjusting the clasp on her gloves.
“No,” Nat replied. “It’s supposed to remind you don’t have to like him but you can trust him especially when it counts.”
Y/N didn’t reply right away but her jaw unclenched, she knew Nat was right.
On the other side of the armour, Bucky sat on the edge of a bench. Metal fingers worked methodically loading his gun, but his face was far from calm.
Steve approached quietly, offering a small nod. “You packed?”
Bucky slid the mag in with a sharp click. “Almost.”
“You don’t have to like her Buck,” Steve said carefully, resting a hand on the back of the bench. “You just have to get the job done.”
“That’s the problem, Steve,” Bucky said, not looking up. “I do like her… pn the field. She’s reckless, sharp and brutal. Like she knows exactly how far to go and then goes two steps past it.”
Steve raised a brow. “Sounds familiar.”
Bucky gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, well. Guess that’s what pisses me off.”
Steve studied him for a beat. “You think she’ll be a liability?”
Bucky finally looked up. His eyes were clear. Certain. “No. She’ll have my back, even if she wants to shoot me right after.”
Steve gave a faint smile. “Then that’s all that matters.”
As Bucky stood sliding a knife into his belt and slinging a rifle over his shoulder, his gaze shifted to the snowy sky through the high windows. “She doesn’t know how dangerous she is,” he muttered.
Steve clapped his shoulder. “Maybe that’s why you’re both still alive.”
Ready to move, the hangar was dark and lit only by the floodlights lining the floor and the sleek silhouette of the quinjet idling on the tarmac. Y/N walked in first, boots echoing sharply against the concrete. Each step steady and unbothered. Her gear was tight, efficient. A second skin molded to every curve and angle of her body. It wasn’t for show and yet it had the effect of one.
Tactical, precise, and effortlessly lethal.
She didn’t look at Bucky as he approached from the other end of the bay, but she didn’t need to as she felt him like always.
The weight of him and the quiet storm that trailed behind her in silence.
Bucky almost faltered.
His eyes locked onto her, tracing the lines of her frame. The way the combat vest hugged her torso, the smooth stretch of her sleeves over lean but powerful arms. He told himself it was reflex, muscle memory from a lifetime of watching for threats and assessing allies.
But it wasn’t that.
Not really.
It was her.
She moved with purpose like a loaded weapon unaware, or maybe fully aware, of how every calculated movement pulled him in.
Bucky knew better than to let his guard down but around her, the lines blurred.
Watching her… wanting her had become a habit he couldn’t break.
He clenched his jaw and forced his eyes elsewhere, pretending to check his gear but they always drifted back.
Just a glance.
Just one more.
It was a facade, the way he acted around her. The cold nods and the rude impersonal words. He wore indifference like armor, because it was safer that way. None of it was real.
What he wanted, truly wanted, was her.
Not just the version in combat boots and Kevlar, but all of her. The fire behind her eyes, the quiet strength and the way she never flinched around him, even when others did. He wanted to touch her like he wasn’t afraid of breaking things anymore.
But for now, he just watched pretending it didn’t burn.
Neither of them spoke.
The rear ramp of the jet lowered with a hiss. Steve stood at the edge arms still crossed, watching them both like a parent sending his problem children off to boarding school. “You’ve got coordinates locked,” he said. “No comm chatter unless necessary. Target recon first. Elimination second. Extraction window is tight.”
Y/N nodded once. “Copy.”
Bucky just grunted checking his sidearm as they reached the ramp at the same time.
Steve gave them a look half warning, half faith then stepped back. “Don’t die,” he muttered.
Y/N smirked. “I’ll try not to kill him.”
Bucky didn’t respond but the corned of his lips slightly moved up as he just walked past her up the ramp with heavy boots thudding against the steel. Each step a measured beat in the silence between them.
It was Y/N’s turn to look.
She hadn’t meant to, told herself she wouldn’t but her eyes followed him anyway.
The broad set of his shoulders beneath his jacket, the way his muscles moved under the fabric like coiled wire.
Controlled and contained, always on the edge of snapping loose.
There was something about the way he walked, like he carried centuries of weight in his spine and didn’t trust the ground not to give out beneath him. That same quiet tension that radiated off him when he stood too close. Like lightning in the air before a storm.
She swallowed.
He wasn’t looking at her and yet she still felt seen exposed, somehow.
The way his silence said more than most men ever did with a full sentence or the way he kept his distance but never really left her orbit.
It was easier when he looked away, easier to pretend none of it mattered or that her mind didn’t remember the sound of his voice or the rare and barely there smile that threatened to undo her completely.
Watching him climb the ramp, back rigid and jaw tight, Y/N felt something twist inside her because she knew the truth, whether he said it or not.
He wanted her and that was clear but, god help her, she wanted him too.
Want was dangerous.
Want got people killed.
So she kept her hands to herself and her feelings locked behind walls even he couldn’t break through. At least, not yet.
Inside the jet, the atmosphere was colder than the sky outside. She slid into a seat strapping herself in, while he took the bench across from her.
Their knees almost touched.
She didn’t look at him.
He did.
The engines roared to life as the jet lifted off into the night.
For a long moment, nothing but the hum of flight and the quiet rasp of breathing filled the cabin.
Then Y/N finally spoke, voice low and calm. “Let’s get one thing straight.”
Bucky arched a brow. “Go on.”
“I don’t like you.” Her eyes cut to his, sharp as glass. “But I trust what you can do.”
His jaw twitched and a muscle ticked in his temple. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “Good,” he said. “Because I don’t like you either.”
A pause, then the faintest curve at the corner of her lips. “Perfect.”
The roar of the jet engines hummed low beneath the silence that had settled over the cabin.
Mountains of white sprawled endlessly below them, wind currents buffeting the Quinjet like a steady heartbeat.
Snow. Ice. Silence.
Y/N sat strapped in arms crossed, eyes fixed on the endless whiteness outside the small window. She hadn’t said a word since takeoff. Bucky sat across from her, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor like it might open up and swallow him whole. He finally exhaled, slow and deliberate. “Listen, if…”
Her head snapped involuntarily toward him. “If what, Barnes?”
He looked up and met her eyes. For once, there was no heat behind his stare. No sarcasm, no challenge just… sincerity and something wounded.
“If you see something about the Red Room… memories that trigger you or files or… whatever,” he said quietly before pausing, looking for the rights words. “Remember you’re not a Widow anymore.”
The silence stretched.
She blinked once, then again. The cold edge in her gaze softened, just barely. “Same for you,” she said after a moment, her voice warmer now. “You were never him.”
The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile or a grimace. Just something real. “I know.” he said.
They both knew it was never that simple.
The Quinjet rumbled on, slicing through the storm and for the first time in a long time, they didn’t feel entirely alone with the weight they carried.
They stared at each other.
Steady. Electric.
Two weapons locked in the same box, waiting to explode.
Outside, the clouds swallowed the jet whole, and the mission began.
The quinjet touched down with a low hum, its engines cutting through the frigid mountain air like a blade. Snow drifted in thick, blinding sheets, settling in every crease of Bucky’s tactical gear as he stepped into the whiteout, rifle slung over his shoulder and jaw clenched tight. Y/N followed just behind him, checking her weapon one last time before pulling her hood over her head. The cold bit through everything, even their high-grade suits, but neither of them flinched. They weren’t here to get comfortable they were here to kill.
“Target compound’s half a klick northeast,” she muttered glancing at the tablet in her gloved hands.
A grainy satellite image flickered on the screen squat buildings hidden beneath camouflage netting, high fencing barely visible beneath the snowdrifts. “Hydra’s ghosts are nesting again. Intel says two of the names on the watchlist are confirmed inside.”
Bucky gave a tight nod but didn’t look at her. “We get in, eliminate the targets and get out. No heroics.”
She scoffed. “I wasn’t the one who tried to play human shield in Jakarta.”
“And I wasn’t the one who ignored backup protocol in Prague,” he shot back, voice clipped.
They fell into silence, trudging up the slope through the snow both too stubborn to acknowledge the sting behind each other’s words.
They didn’t like working together.
Never had.
Too much alike.
Too much history.
But they were the best and when the mission was this delicate.
Hydra wasn’t just regrouping they were testing limits again.
Quiet, hidden cells scattered across the globe, rebuilding what was lost, piece by twisted piece and the two assets best equipped to erase those pieces? Y/N and Bucky.
They reached the ridge twenty minutes later, breath fogging the air, snow clinging to their gear. The old compound lay below, barely visible through the storm a few scattered figures moving between buildings, heat signatures glowing faintly in their goggles. Y/N dropped to her stomach behind a jagged outcrop of rock, pulling her sniper rifle into position.
Her heartbeat slowed, and focus narrowed.
They took different paths.
“Three tangos out front. Two near the east gate,” she whispered into the comms. “Looks like shift change. This is the window.”
But before she could take the shot, Bucky’s voice crackled in her ear low, firm, and already laced with tension. “You’re too exposed on that ridge,” Bucky’s voice crackled through the comms, rough with tension. “Pull back, now.”
“Negative,” she replied, crouched low behind a jagged outcrop of stone. Snow whipped across her face like razors. “Targets in the open. I can take the shot.”
“Not with those thermals scanning the perimeter. They’ll spot you before your finger touches the trigger.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
There was a pause. “Copy that.” Bucky said clipped.
She adjusted the scope, heart pounding. She could feel him fuming through the comms, but this was her op. She had led it from the beginning reconnaissance, planning, infiltration.
Bucky was only there for backup, and his presence had been a thorn in her side from the first briefing.
Too intense and too observant. Still, she trusted her instincts until everything went to hell.
The second her finger squeezed the trigger, the world lit up in red sensors flared. Alarms screamed and within seconds, a flood of heavily armed guards swarmed the compound. She dove for cover, adrenaline crashing into her system like lightning. “Fuck! I’ve been made-”
“I FUCKING TOLD YOU!” Bucky growled over the comms. “Fall back to point Zero. Now.”
“I can still-”
“No.” His voice snapped like a whip. “You stay and fight, you die. Move.”
She hesitated just a second and that second nearly killed her. A blast tore up the snowbank beside her, spraying ice and debris across her face. She scrambled to her feet and ran, sprinting toward the treeline, heart thundering. Shots rang out behind her. They weren’t aimed at her. She skidded into cover just in time to see Bucky all muscle and fluid brutality drop from a ledge and take out three guards before they could follow. His movements were precise, lethal, beautiful in the worst possible way.
“We’re clear,” he muttered. He eliminated all the guards, alone. He grabbed her arm and hauled her into motion without waiting for thanks. “You compromised the op,” he said through clenched teeth as they ran. “We improvise now.”
“And what? You’re in charge suddenly?”
He stopped abruptly, backing her into a tree, his breath misting hot between them. “I don’t give a shit about rank. I care about getting us out alive. So yeah I’m in charge unless you want to bleed out in the snow.”
She hated the way her heart jumped. Hated that she couldn’t argue because he was right. And when he turned and took off again, she followed without another word.
“You good?” He asked, voice lower now but rougher.
She glanced at him. Nodded. “Yeah.”
But she wasn’t. Not really. Because even now standing in a battlefield of snow and blood and broken bodies she felt it.
The tension. The pull. The urge to slam him against the nearest tree and scream out every unsaid thing with her mouth, her fists, her hips.
And worse? She saw it in his eyes, too.
He stepped even closer. She didn’t move. His voice was quiet, unreadable. “You disobeyed a direct order.” Her lip curled, defiant.
The snow crunched beneath their boots as they moved through the shadowed trees, the cold biting through their layers but doing nothing to cool the fire simmering between them. The moon hung low, casting pale light over the frozen landscape, every breath visible in the icy air.
Neither spoke. Words felt useless. Too sharp and too vulnerable.
Y/N’s mind raced, every nerve alert, every glance at Bucky’s rigid posture a reminder of how close they were to the edge of the mission, of each other. He led without looking back, silent and sure, like a predator confident in his path. She kept pace, matching his steps but keeping a careful distance. Their breaths rose and fell in uneven rhythm and every so often, their eyes would meet. Brief, charged flickers before darting away like startled prey.
The extraction point came into view, no quinjet waiting.
Bucky paused, scanning their surroundings once more before turning toward her. All that remained was a twisted, smoking wreck shattered by Hydra’s ruthless strike while they’d been occupied. Y/N’s breath hitched as she took in the ruined craft, the blackened metal glowing faintly in the cold night.
Bucky cursed under his breath, fists clenched tight. Without hesitation, he pulled out his comm and dialed Tony.
The static crackled before Tony’s voice came through, strained but calm. “Bucky, we saw the attack. The quinjet’s a total loss.”
“What’s the plan?” Bucky asked, scanning the dark tree line.
Tony sighed. “Weather’s worsening. Visibility’s dropping fast. You’re stuck there for the night. Find shelter, stay low. I’m sending reinforcements at first light.”
Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of their predicament settling like ice in her stomach.
Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Copy that. We’ll hold position.”
He ended the call and looked at Y/N. His voice was low, clipped. “No extraction tonight. We find cover, keep watch. This just got a hell of a lot more complicated.”
She nodded, heart pounding not just from cold or danger, but from the way his eyes held hers.
Dark, fierce, and raw.
The night was far from over.
The wind howled through the trees, slicing cold air through their layers as they trudged deeper into the woods. Snow crunched beneath their boots, every step echoing in the stillness around them. Bucky scanned the darkness ahead, muscles tense and eyes sharp for any sign of danger or refuge.
Y/N’s breath came out in frosty clouds, her fingers numb despite the gloves. The chill wasn’t just from the weather anymore. After what felt like hours, a faint light flickered through the trees warm and steady, a beacon in the cold night. They exchanged a quick glance, silent agreement.
Moving cautiously they approached the source and saw a small, weather-beaten cabin tucked among the pines, smoke curling gently from its chimney. The house looked abandoned but sturdy, just enough to shield them from the storm. Bucky reached the door first, pressing his ear against the wood before turning the handle slowly. The hinges creaked, but the door gave way.
Inside, the air was stale but dry. Dust motes danced in the weak glow of a lone lantern hanging from the ceiling. Y/N stepped in, closing the door behind them, shutting out the storm and the world outside. Bucky dropped his pack with a thud and locked the door behind them.
“We’ll make it,” he said, eyes already searching for firewood or anything useful.
Y/N nodded, muscles still taut but a flicker of relief warming her.
For now, they had shelter but the night was still young and so was the storm between them.
Inside, after the door slammed shut behind them, Bucky turned slowly to face her. “You’re welcome,” he said, voice low and bitter.
“I didn’t ask you to save me.”
“No. You didn’t,” he said. “That’s the fucking problem.”
She stared at him, chest heaving. Rain dripped down her face but her blood burned hotter than ever. “I don’t need you.”
He stepped closer. “Yeah? Then why’d you listen when I told you to run?”
She said nothing because the answer was simple. She did trust him. Even when she hated him for being right. Even when she wanted to push him against the nearest wall and…
The silence cracked between them like thunder.
The storm outside hadn’t even started yet. The power flickered twice then died, leaving the place in a cold, humming silence.
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” she muttered, soaked through and scowling.
Bucky locked the door closed behind him, shoulders tense and eyes already scanning the dark with soldier precision.
“No power. No signal. We’re stuck until morning.” She blinked. “There’s only one bed.”
“And no heat,” he said, jaw tight. “This high up in the mountains? We’ll be hypothermic by dawn.”
She pulled off her soaked jacket, biting back a shiver. “What, no generator in your fancy arm?”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “But I’ve got body heat.”
She scoffed. “Wow. Original.”
“I’m serious.”
He always was too serious.
In the dimness, she peeled off her boots and gear, teeth clattering. Bucky shrugged out of his gear with more force than necessary, metal arm clanking as he yanked his harness free and dropped it to the ground. He looked at her and his jaw was tight, twitching like he was trying very hard not to say something he’d regret.
They watched each other intently as they slowly peeled off every piece of clothing. Fingers trembled slightly with anticipation, eyes tracing every curve and line revealed with each discarded layer. The air between them thickened with heat and unspoken desire, every glance speaking louder than words as they bared themselves completely, standing vulnerable and exposed before one another. He watched as the tactical pants slid slowly down her legs, the fabric slipping over smooth skin.
She watched how his metal arm moved deliberately, unclipping and pulling the belt free with quiet strength. Their eyes met, the small moments charged with something electric between them.
When she removed her bra, Bucky kept his eyes fixed on her face. Inside, he was dying to touch those delicate breasts, to suck on the nipples now fully erect but he also knew she’d probably shoot him if he tried.
“You always think you’re right,” she snapped, pacing across the floor. “Like your instincts are the only ones that matter.”
His head jerked toward her, blue eyes sharp. He stopped undressing, his shirt and boxers still on. She looked at how tight the boxers were, the fabric stretched against his skin.
“I was right,” he growled. “If I hadn’t pulled your ass out, you’d be cooling in a body bag.”
Her ass, Bucky thought, now bare except for a tiny pair of underwear clinging to her skin.
She stepped in closer. “You don’t get to throw that in my face.”
“I do when you nearly got both of us killed.”
Her pulse spiked. “I had it handled-”
“Bullshit. You’re too reckless.”
“And you’re too cautious.”
“I’m still alive.”
“I made the call-”
“AND IT WAS THE WRONG ONE!”
That hit like a slap.
Her breath left her in a short, sharp exhale. The room felt smaller and tighter. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “You think just because you’ve got a metal arm and a haunted past, you get to take over whenever you feel like it?” She hissed.
He stepped forward. “No,” Bucky said, voice low and dark. “I think I get to take over when you start making decisions with your fucking ego instead of your head.”
The silence after that was deafening. They glared at each other, the storm howling outside. Rain hammered the roof. Their chests heaved in unison her in just a tiny pair of underwear, him still in his shirt and boxers.
Then she laughed sharp and humorless. “God,” she said, her voice rough, “you are so fucking infuriating.”
He stalked closer. “Funny. I was about to say the same about you.”
She peeled off the last piece of clothing and grabbed a very light blanket she found. Curling under it on the bed, she settled in, the fabric barely shielding her skin. Bucky watched her remove the last piece of clothing, his breath catching as he took it all in. He inhaled deeply, the air thick with tension and something raw between them.
“This is stupid,” he said. “You’re freezing.”
“I said I’m fine.”
He stripped off his shirt and boxer slow, deliberate. His chest, all scars and muscle and too much perfection, caught her eye even if she didn’t want to look. Then he was beside her, sliding in behind her, his arm circling her waist like a steel band. “Bucky-”
“Shut up,” he said into her ear, voice low and rough. “It’s survival.” She tried to ignore the heat blooming under her skin. The sharp contrast of his bare chest pressed to her back. His breath on her neck. She was flushed too flushed and it wasn’t from the cold.
“You always get this worked up when a guy’s just trying to keep you warm?” He murmured.
She turned her head, eyes narrowing. “You’re enjoying this.”
He didn’t flinch. “I’m hard,” he admitted, blunt and brutal. “Doesn’t mean I’m enjoying it.”
She blinked. “You’re serious?”
“Fine. I’ve had dreams about you,” he said, voice like gravel. “Nights where I woke up panting and touching myself to the sound of your voice echoing in my head and you acted like you didn’t fucking notice.”
She turned fully and stared at him. Thunder cracked overhead. “I noticed,” she said, just above a whisper. “I just wanted you to beg for it.”
“I’d never beg for you,” Bucky said.
A long, heavy silence filled the space between their bodies, broken only by the pounding storm outside and the way his chest heaved beneath her.
“Oh?” she said, tilting her head, voice all silk and steel. “You sure about that, soldier?”
His jaw clenched. “Dead sure.”
She wasn’t supposed to lose control.
In the past out in the field, she was the one barking orders dragging Bucky out of fire, running point with steel in her spine and fire in her eyes.
But now? Now it was Bucky who’d saved her life and that shift sudden, jarring left her off balance in a way she couldn’t explain.
Now, he was on top of her in a second.
Now, his hand was curled around her throat with just enough pressure to remind her that she was his at least for the night. “You don’t know how long I wanted to see you like this,” Bucky rasped, voice low and thick in her ear. “All bark, all orders… but look at you now.”
She was naked beneath him, thighs spread wide, breath caught in her throat as he pinned her wrists above her head with his flesh hand.
“Bucky,” she whispered, writhing beneath him, desperate and aching.
“No,” he growled. “Tonight you listen. No control. No orders. Just me. You just love pushing me, don’t you?” He growled, metal hand clamped around her throat unyielding, cold and terrifyingly precise not choking, but firm enough to pin her there. “Out there, you love giving me orders like I’m some fucking lapdog.”
Her lips parted. Breath shallow.
“You gonna do it again?” He asked, eyes blazing. “Or are you finally gonna learn what happens when you make me feel like I don’t have any power?”
“Get off me,” she said but her voice shook, not with fear… but anticipation.
He smirked. “Oh, we’re playing that game tonight,” he murmured darkly. “Good.”
She wanted this. She wanted the loss of control. She wanted to be taken.
“You act like you’re in charge,” Bucky hissed, grinding against her. “But look at you now. Shaking for it.”
“Don’t stop,” she whispered.
“I wasn’t going to.”
The moment he flipped her over, she knew she was in trouble. Not just because of the bruising grip on her waist, or the way his cock slid between her folds with maddening precision but because of the way he smiled when she whimpered.
Like he had won.
“Look at you,” Bucky murmured, dragging the blunt head of his cock through her slick folds but refusing to give her what she wanted. “Acting like a big-shot in the field… but needy as hell the second I get my hands on you.”
She clenched her fists in the sheets, growling. “Just fuck me already.”
He paused. “We stop the second you say the word. Always.”
“Don’t you dare.”
Then crack a sharp slap landed across her ass. She gasped, hips jolting forward. “Bu-Bucky…”
“You gonna boss me around again?” He asked slapping her ass, then gripping the bruised flesh. “I don’t remember giving you permission to talk to me like that. I saved your fucking life before… do you remember?”
She lifted her head slightly, breathless. “Maybe I like being punished.”
“That’s right,” he rasped. “Because this body? It’s mine now. You only get to act like you’re in charge.”
His chuckle was dark and low and filthy.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he rasped again leaning over her, pressing his cock along the seam of her pussy without entering. “You have no fucking idea what that does to me.”
Before she could reply, he pushed in hard stealing the breath from her lungs.
She cried out, pain and relief at the same time, arching her back to take him deeper.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. “So desperate for it and still you act like a brat.”
He started thrusting deep, slow, punishing strokes each one knocking her further forward on the bed. His hand gripped the back of her neck, holding her in place like a doll. “You wanna act like a mouthy little thing?” He growled into her ear. “Then I’ll fuck the attitude out of you.”
She gasped, grinding her hips back just to spite him. “Maybe I want you to try.”
Another slap this one harder, across the curve of her ass, the sound echoing in the tiny room. “Careful,” he warned. “I’ll break you in half.”
She smirked into the mattress, panting. “Big words from someone already close to coming.”
That did it.
Bucky grabbed both her wrists, pinning them behind her back with one strong hand. His other hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back as he slammed into her, over and over, faster and rougher until her moans turned to ragged screams. “Say it again,” he demanded, sweat dripping from his brow. “Tell me how bad you want it. Beg me like the needy little brat you are.”
She was too close and too full and too wrecked to keep her defiance intact. “I want it,” she gasped. “Fuck, Bucky I need it-”
Another slap. Another sharp, blissful sting. She moaned, shaking. “‘Need isn’t good enough,” he growled. “Tell me you belong to me.”
“I’m yo-” She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She was unravelling. “I belong to you, Bucky. I’m yours. Just please let me come.” He shoved deeper, hips grinding against her ass, the wet sound of their bodies colliding filling the room, obscene and perfect. “Say it louder.”
“I’M YOURS!”
That broke him.
His rhythm turned feral, his fingers bruising against her hips as he fucked her hard and messy and deep, chasing both her orgasms like a man starved. Her legs shook. Her walls clenched. She screamed his name as she came, her whole body tightening like a bowstring then snapping apart beneath him. She felt him pulse inside her moments later a raw, guttural noise tearing from his throat as he came with her, collapsing forward, keeping her caged beneath his body as he filled her.
They both lay there, breathless, soaked in sweat, marked in each other’s prints.
She was still shaking when Bucky pulled out slow and thick and wet making her moan at the loss. Her body was boneless, wrecked, trembling in the aftermath of her orgasm, but he wasn’t done. Not even close. Because this wasn’t just about heat. This was about power. About payback.
And she saw it in his eyes the second he turned her onto her back his pupils blown wide, chest heaving and jaw clenched tight with the restraint he hadn’t yet dropped.
“You think you’re done?” He growled, crawling over her, sweat-slick skin sliding against hers.
“I-”
He grabbed her jaw, forcing her eyes on him. “All those times you gave the orders. Made me wait. Treated me like a subordinate instead of a partner.” She whimpered as he lined himself back up, her body already aching, still sensitive and leaking from the last round. “You liked teasing me in the field, didn’t you?” He said, voice low and dark. “Bossing me around. Making me watch you walk away.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He slammed back into her with a brutal thrust, ripping a gasp from her throat.
“Bucky…” she cried trying to squirm or to adjust but he was relentless deeper than before, fucking her harder now.
“You wanna act like you’re in charge?” He hissed into her neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. “Then take it.”
She clawed at his back, nails dragging down muscle. “Please don’t stop…”
“Oh no baby,” he snarled. “This is just the beginning don’t worry.”
He sat up on his knees, grabbing her thighs and folding her in half forcing her open. Her hips trembled, overstimulated and exposed.
“You’re gonna lie there and take it,” he said through clenched teeth. “Every. Last. Drop. Until you forget how to boss me around.”
She moaned like she was falling apart, her body shaking with every thrust. Her legs touched at his shoulders so he just grabbed her ankles, pinning them back. His metal hand wrapped around her throat again firm, not tight just enough to make her gasp.
“You’re mine now,” he said, hips snapping mercilessly. “You understand?”
She tried to nod, words gone.
“Say it,” he growled.
“I’m yours,” she gasped, tears prickling in her eyes. “I’m yours, Bucky…fuck…”
He fucked her through it, another orgasm as she didn’t know when the begging started. She just knew she couldn’t stop shaking or moaning.
By the time he flipped her over again face down, ass up, back arched and marked with bruises her voice was wrecked. Every sound she made came out hoarse and breathless, her body trembling from the overstimulation and rough praise he’d dragged out of her.
He settled behind her, kneeling between her thighs. His hands smoothed over the curve of her hips, fingers tracing bruises like they were battle scars he was proud of. Then, without a word, he leaned in and spread her open, dragging his tongue through her soaked folds with slow, deliberate pressure. She gasped high and broken her thighs trying to close instinctively, but his hands kept her wide and vulnerable for him. The flat of his tongue pressed against her clit, flicking, circling, teasing. He moaned into her like he was drunk on her, the vibration of it sending jolts of pleasure straight through her spine.
“Fuck…Bucky,” she cried into the pillow, voice muffled but desperate.
He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. His mouth was relentless tongue plunging deep, then retreating to flick her clit again and again until her hips were shaking. His metal hand gripped her ass tightly, holding her still while his other hand slipped between her thighs, two fingers sliding inside her with ease. He fucked her with his mouth and hand like he meant to break her all over again.
She clawed at the sheets, sobbing out broken curses as he devoured her. Every time she thought she might come down from the edge, he sucked her clit hard enough to make her scream, dragging her higher all over again. Her body wasn’t her own anymore not with the way he worshipped her, wrecked her. Her legs trembled violently, barely holding her up. He moaned into her cunt like he belonged there, like this was exactly where he was meant to be.
“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he muttered against her, lips slick and voice ruined with heat. “I could stay here forever.”
She sobbed into the mattress, her body shaking uncontrollably, every nerve on fire. And when the yet another orgasm finally hit, it shattered her like lightning. Bucky kept licking her through it, through the aftershocks savoring every drop of her release like it was the only thing that could satisfy him.
Y/N tried to speak, to form a single coherent word maybe a protest, maybe a plea but the pleasure was too much. Her mouth opened, a sound barely escaping nothing more than a whimper caught in her throat. Her mind was fogged, drowning in sensation, every nerve lit up and thrumming like live wire. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe all she could feel was his mouth on her, his fingers deep inside her and the overwhelming heat crashing over her in relentless waves.
“B-Bucky-” she managed to gasp.
Her fingers clawed at the sheets desperate to anchor herself, but her body refused to obey. Her thighs shook, her back arched, and she let out a strangled cry.
He knew.
Of course he did.
He could feel her tightening, hear the breath hitch in her throat, see her hips trying to pull away even as she ground herself against his mouth.
“You gonna fall apart again, sweetheart?” He murmured against her soaked flesh, lips brushing her clit like a tease. “You trying to tell me to stop?”
She shook her head violently, breath catching. “No…please…don’t stop… give me more Bucky… please…”
He growled and then his mouth was back on her harsher, deeper as if he wanted to break every bit of control she had left.
Y/N sobbed into the mattress, trying to say his name but her voice failed her again as pleasure took over.
All that came out were helpless moans, wrecked and breathless.
Her body went limp beneath him, trembling violently and tears pricking at her eyes from the sheer intensity of it all. Bucky just kissed the inside of her thigh, slow and reverent, like he hadn’t just dragged her through the edge of oblivion.
By the time he finally pulled back her thighs were soaked, her body boneless and her breath coming in shallow trembling gasps. He just smirked lips glistening, eyes dark. His palm came down on her ass, sharp and fast. “Pretty little brat,” he grunted. “Finally shut the fuck up.”
She didn’t even know how, but now he owned every inch of her.
Bucky hovered above her, hand stroking her thigh, now gentle. “You still with me, doll?” He asked softly, brushing sweat-soaked hair from her face.
She nodded, eyes half-lidded and body trembling.
He kissed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her lips. “Good,” he whispered. “You did so fucking good for me.”
And this time, when he pulled her into his arms, she didn’t fight it.
She curled against his chest, his warmth sinking into her bones and let herself be held safe and undeniably his.
pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader
genre: kinda fake enemies to lovers | heavy smut on purpose | oral sex | rough sex | spanking | heavy overstimulation | consensual choking | very dominant!bucky | brat!reader | power dynamics | forced proximity | emotional tension | aftercare | trauma references | hydra and red room mention | protective undertones
word count: 3 k
summary: Y/N and Bucky are the best at what they did, but couldn’t stand each other and now they’re forced together on a dangerous mission.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | epilogue
Another year passed and with it, the darkness that once clung to Y/N finally lifted.
The trauma was still a part of her, woven into her story but it no longer owned her.
Therapy, patience, time, and the unwavering presence of her team, and Bucky, had done their work. Now, the woman who walked through the halls of the Avengers Tower wasn’t a ghost or a broken soldier
She was loud and confident and playful and very fond of pranks.
The second anniversary? Best moment to prank.
That evening, the kitchen was warm with light and laughter.
Nat leaned against the counter, sipping coffee.
Steve was chopping something at the island while Tony talked Sam into trying one of his bizarre “protein-dense” culinary experiments
Then, without warning, the lights flickered.
A low mechanical click echoed in the dark.
From the shadows near the pantry, a figure emerged dressed in black tactical gear with hair pulled back tight and a rigid posture. Her voice was cold, clipped and eerily familiar.
“Compliance is the only way.”
Natasha spun around, mug shattering on the floor.
Steve instinctively reached for his shield.
Sam flinched and grabbed a frying pan like it might save his life. “SILVA?!”
Tony gasped, stumbling backward toward the counter.
Y/N stepped fully into the light, face grim and emotionless.
Then, just as their hearts seemed to stop, her lips twitched. “Gotcha.
The room exploded with overlapping expletives. “Y/N, are you kidding me?!” Nat snapped, clutching her chest.
“I hate you,” Tony declared dramatically, hand to his heart.
“You are a menace,” Steve said, though his relief was visible.
“Okay, that’s it. No more movie nights for you,” Sam huffed.
Just then, Bucky strolled in with two mugs of tea in hand. He raised an eyebrow at the chaos. “Did she pull the Silva’s voice again?”
Y/N smirked proudly, leaning against the doorway. “I was very convincing.”
“You almost got punched,” Steve muttered.
“Worth it,” she chirped, stealing one of Bucky’s mugs. “Also, your reactions? Priceless. I need to install security cameras in here.”
The kitchen, still recovering from Y/N’s prank, was filled with a mix of annoyed groans and incredulous laughter. Bits of shattered mug lay at Natasha’s feet, Sam was trying to look unbothered while discreetly checking his pulse and Steve kept shaking his head like he was reconsidering all his life choices. Tony had climbed halfway onto the counter in panic, and now sat there dramatically, arms folded, muttering something about “trust issues” and “demon spawn”.
Y/N, meanwhile, leaned comfortably against Bucky with the most self-satisfied smirk any of them had seen in a long time.
“Absolutely unhinged,” Natasha muttered, crouching to pick up the broken ceramic. “You can’t just do that to people who lived through Hydra.”
“I was gentle, come on,” Y/N said with a teasing shrug. “You all lived.”
“You almost gave Steve a heart attack,” Sam deadpanned, side eyeing the captain. “Man’s super soldier serum almost short circuited.”
“Not funny…” Steve grumbled, but there was a glint in his eye. The kind that had been missing during the hardest days of Y/N’s recovery.
Then Bucky, sipping from his mug beside her, said it like it was nothing. “Honestly? The Silva voice is kind of charming.”
Silence.
Y/N blinked up at him, clearly stunned.
Sam did a double take.
“What?” Tony practically choked on air. “You’re saying that creepy monotone is hot now?”
“I didn’t say hot,” Bucky replied smoothly. “I said charming. There’s a difference.”
“Wow,” Natasha muttered. “Brainwashing really did a number on you.”
Steve looked like he was reevaluating Bucky’s place on the team. “Please elaborate, Barnes.”
Y/N covered her mouth, trying and failing, not to burst into laughter.
Bucky leaned back against the counter, one arm still around Y/N’s waist. “I mean when it’s not accompanied by... you know... murder… it’s got a mysterious flair. The intensity. The tone. And come on, admit it, it’s kinda cool when she drops into that voice and owns the room.”
Tony pointed a finger. “You need therapy.”
“I have therapy,” Bucky replied dryly. “She’s standing right next to me.”
Y/N finally let out a loud laugh, dropping her head onto Bucky’s shoulder, eyes gleaming. “You’re a menace.”
“No, you’re the menace,” Steve muttered.
Bucky smirked. “We’re a team now.”
Sam leaned over to Natasha, whispering, “This is why we should never let two assassins date.”
But the bickering was light-hearted now. The heaviness that once haunted the tower had long since faded, replaced with moments like this, laughter echoing off the steel walls, coffee brewing in the background, and family found in the unlikeliest of places.
“You’re excused only because you’re healing from the bruises, Nat said. “Once you’re back fully, I’ll beat your ass.”
That was a promise.
Y/N looked around the room, her arms still looped loosely around Bucky’s.
The people she once feared she’d lose forever… they were there with her.
The room was quiet, just the soft shuffle of Bucky’s footsteps, entering.
Y/N sat propped up on the bed, her leg bandaged and a light ache spreading through her muscles. She hated being sidelined, but when Bucky was the one taking care of her, it didn’t feel like weakness. After months of healing she had the opportunity to be herself again on a mission, and this time she smashed it like she sis in the past. A simple ankle swollen but she was herself again.
He came over with a warm compress in one hand. His red henley clung to his chest, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, metal fingers glinting softly under the dim lamp.
“You’re overdoing it,” he muttered, kneeling in front of her. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am resting,” she shot back, but her tone was soft. She watched his fingers wrap the compress around her ankle, careful and tender, almost reverent.
“Barely.” His eyes flicked up, meeting hers, and there was something heated in the way he looked at her. Concern, affection, and something darker. “You scared me out there.”
Her voice caught in her throat. “I’m okay now.”
He nodded, but his jaw flexed. “You don’t get to scare me like that and act like nothing happened.”
She reached out, brushing her hand through his damp hair, tugging slightly so he looked at her again. “Then show me. Show me how much you care.”
The air changed.
“I care you, you know it…”
“You know what I meant,” she said moving closer to him on the bed. He stood there while she kissed his clothed stomach. “I need to feel you again… raw and passionate… please Bucky…”
He surged up, mouth crashing into hers. His hands, one warm and flesh while the other cold and metal, gripped her thighs spreading them open so he could slot between.
“Tell me if anything hurts,” he rasped, lips ghosting over her neck.
“Just need you,” she whispered, tugging his shirt up over his head. Her nails ran down his chest, flesh over vibranium and he groaned at the sensation.
She leaned back, letting him push her against the mattress, legs wrapping around his waist. He dragged her shorts down slow, kissing every inch of newly bared skin. “You’re so soft like this,” he murmured, lips brushing over her inner thigh. “Still healing, but still so goddamn beautiful.”
He kissed every bruise. His fingers slid through her folds teasing and torturously slow.
“Bucky-” she moaned, hips rocking into his hand.
“I got you, baby,” he growled, slipping one finger inside her, then two. “Let me take care of you.”
And he did.
With his fingers, with his mouth, with every whispered “you’re safe now” against her skin. When he finally pushed into her, slow and deep, it was like something inside both of them broke open.
Not pain, not even lust. Just need. The kind that said you’re mine without ever needing words.
Y/N’s voice broke into a breathless plea against his shoulder. “Faster, Bucky… harder… like… like that first time.”
Bucky froze for a second. His body deep inside hers, trembling with restraint. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand cradling the side of her jaw. “You sure?” He murmured, thumb brushing her cheek. “That night, after the mission… I wasn’t gentle. I was-”
“I know.” Her eyes were wide, pupils blown. “You were rough. But you were so good to me, Bucky. You held me through it. I want that again.”
His jaw clenched. The memory hit him like a punch. That mission had nearly killed them both. And when they got to the house, she hadn’t wanted silence or comfort. She’d needed him. Needed to be claimed, reminded that she was alive. She made him anger with her reckless behaviour. And he gave her what she needs. The memory snapped through Bucky’s chest like lightning. His grip on her hips tightened, teeth gritting.
“You want that again?” He asked, voice raw. She nodded, eyes burning with want. “I want you. All of you. Don’t hold back.”
And just like that, he snapped.
He growled low in his throat, flipping her effortlessly onto her stomach. Her breath caught as he dragged her hips up, chest pressed into the bed while her ass arched for him.
Perfect, offered.
“Goddamn,” he hissed, lining himself up again. “Look at you. So fucking perfect.” He pushed into her hard, fast.
A single stroke that made her cry out into the sheets. Her fingers fisted the blankets, hips jerking as he bottomed out. “That what you wanted, baby?” He rasped, hand gripping the back of her neck as he pulled out and slammed back in. “You want me to fuck you like you’re mine?”
“Yes!” She sobbed. “Just like that, please! Don’t stop… I’m already yours, Bucky.”
He gave her everything. His rhythm turned brutal, hips snapping into hers with punishing force, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room.
But even rough, even lost in her, he watched her. Tracked every gasp, every twitch, every hitch of breath. His vibranium hand slid around her belly, anchoring her and the contrast of cool metal against hot skin made her clench around him. “You take me so good,” he groaned, breath ragged. “Fucking made for me.”
Y/N moaned, nails scratching the sheets, drool on her lip as she shook under the force of his thrusts. “Don’t stop, Bucky, don’t-fuck-please-”
Her voice cracked, and something in him snapped again. He grabbed her shoulder, yanking her up so her back arched against his chest. Still inside her, fucking her hard, his other hand came to her throat.
Not choking, just holding, grounding her.
He bit her ear, breath hot. “You remember that first night? How wild I was for you? How couldn’t I stop?”
“I remember,” she gasped, body on fire.
“I still feel that way, Y/N. Every time I see you.” He slid his hand down, between her thighs, fingers finding her clit. “And now you’re healed. You’re mine again.” His fingers worked her with practiced pressure, matching his thrusts until she was bucking against him, frantic and completely undone.
“That’s it, baby. Come for me. Let go.”
She shattered. Her whole body locked up, back arching hard as the orgasm ripped through her. She sobbed out his name, legs shaking, nails digging into his forearm like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.
“Fuck… you feel so fucking good-” Bucky slammed into her twice more before he groaned loud in her ear, hips stuttering. He came hard, spilling deep inside her, gasping against the back of her neck like it was the only place he ever wanted to breathe.
They collapsed together, tangled and breathless, bodies still twitching with aftershocks.
He gathered her into his arms, shifting them onto their sides, keeping her close, still inside her. He kissed her temple, her jaw, her shoulder. Reverent, gentle.
“You okay?” He asked, voice soft and raw now. Y/N nodded, eyes closed, lips curved into a weak smile. “More than okay.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She pulled his arm tighter around her. “You reminded me I’m alive.” He exhaled, burying his face in her hair.
They stayed that way for a long time skin to skin, heart to heart. As the room slowly cooled around them. When she turned her head to look at him, their eyes met. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to.
She nodded.
Bucky pulled out with a low grunt, he moved with quiet urgency. Large hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips, guiding her back up onto her knees. “Put your elbows down,” he said roughly. “Arch your back. Just like that.”
Y/N obeyed, breath shaky as she pressed her chest to the bed, knees wide, ass high. The air was cool on her slick, swollen pussy. She whimpered needy, exposed but completely open to him. Then she felt his hands spread her wider.
And then, his mouth.
“Fuck-Bucky!”
He growled low against her skin, tongue diving between her folds with obscene, messy intent. No teasing now. No build-up. Just filth. Worship.
He licked her like he was starving. Wide, wet licks that had her thighs shaking, his fingers digging bruises into her hips to keep her still. His nose pressed right against her as he moaned into her pussy like it was the only goddamn thing that mattered.
“Can still taste me,” he growled between licks. “All that cum dripping out of you-fuck, that’s so fucking hot.”
Y/N cried out into the sheets, fists bunching them tight. Her body had barely recovered from the first orgasm, from being fucked so deep and hard her bones still trembled, but the moment his tongue touched her again, it reignited everything.
“You gonna give me one more, baby?” He murmured, lips brushing her clit. “You got one more for me?”
She nodded desperately, back arching more.
“Use your words.”
“Yes…yes… Bucky… please… don’t stop… ”
That earned her a sharp slap to the ass, followed by his mouth locking onto her clit with relentless precision. He sucked, circled, teased her with the flat of his tongue until she was sobbing, begging, her thighs trembling so hard they nearly gave out.
“I love how you fall apart for me,” he muttered. “You’re fucking soaked. And this little pussy? Still so tight. Still fluttering around nothing.”
Y/N whined, her voice high and broken. “Please, Bucky… fuck-need it.”
He slid two fingers into her from behind, curling them just right while his tongue never left her clit. The pressure was too much, too perfect and when she came again, it tore through her violently, nearly painful in how deep it went. She screamed, back bowing, body convulsing around his fingers. He didn’t stop until her legs buckled. Didn’t stop until her body gave out, trembling and boneless on the bed.
Only then did he crawl up beside her, pulling her into his lap, cradling her against his chest. He kissed her hair, her shoulders, his hand stroking her damp spine as her breathing slowly returned to something human.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered after a long silence. “I didn’t mean to push too hard-”
She shook her head against his chest. “No,” she said hoarsely. “Don’t apologize.”
She looked up at him, eyes half-lidded but clear. “You didn’t break me, Bucky. You reminded me I’m still here.”
pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader
genre: kinda fake enemies to lovers | heavy smut on purpose | oral sex | rough sex | spanking | heavy overstimulation | consensual choking | very dominant!bucky | brat!reader | power dynamics | forced proximity | emotional tension | aftercare | trauma references | hydra and red room mention | protective undertones
word count: 3 k
summary: Y/N and Bucky are the best at what they did, but couldn’t stand each other and now they’re forced together on a dangerous mission.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | epilogue
Another year passed and with it, the darkness that once clung to Y/N finally lifted.
The trauma was still a part of her, woven into her story but it no longer owned her.
Therapy, patience, time, and the unwavering presence of her team, and Bucky, had done their work. Now, the woman who walked through the halls of the Avengers Tower wasn’t a ghost or a broken soldier
She was loud and confident and playful and very fond of pranks.
The second anniversary? Best moment to prank.
That evening, the kitchen was warm with light and laughter.
Nat leaned against the counter, sipping coffee.
Steve was chopping something at the island while Tony talked Sam into trying one of his bizarre “protein-dense” culinary experiments
Then, without warning, the lights flickered.
A low mechanical click echoed in the dark.
From the shadows near the pantry, a figure emerged dressed in black tactical gear with hair pulled back tight and a rigid posture. Her voice was cold, clipped and eerily familiar.
“Compliance is the only way.”
Natasha spun around, mug shattering on the floor.
Steve instinctively reached for his shield.
Sam flinched and grabbed a frying pan like it might save his life. “SILVA?!”
Tony gasped, stumbling backward toward the counter.
Y/N stepped fully into the light, face grim and emotionless.
Then, just as their hearts seemed to stop, her lips twitched. “Gotcha.
The room exploded with overlapping expletives. “Y/N, are you kidding me?!” Nat snapped, clutching her chest.
“I hate you,” Tony declared dramatically, hand to his heart.
“You are a menace,” Steve said, though his relief was visible.
“Okay, that’s it. No more movie nights for you,” Sam huffed.
Just then, Bucky strolled in with two mugs of tea in hand. He raised an eyebrow at the chaos. “Did she pull the Silva’s voice again?”
Y/N smirked proudly, leaning against the doorway. “I was very convincing.”
“You almost got punched,” Steve muttered.
“Worth it,” she chirped, stealing one of Bucky’s mugs. “Also, your reactions? Priceless. I need to install security cameras in here.”
The kitchen, still recovering from Y/N’s prank, was filled with a mix of annoyed groans and incredulous laughter. Bits of shattered mug lay at Natasha’s feet, Sam was trying to look unbothered while discreetly checking his pulse and Steve kept shaking his head like he was reconsidering all his life choices. Tony had climbed halfway onto the counter in panic, and now sat there dramatically, arms folded, muttering something about “trust issues” and “demon spawn”.
Y/N, meanwhile, leaned comfortably against Bucky with the most self-satisfied smirk any of them had seen in a long time.
“Absolutely unhinged,” Natasha muttered, crouching to pick up the broken ceramic. “You can’t just do that to people who lived through Hydra.”
“I was gentle, come on,” Y/N said with a teasing shrug. “You all lived.”
“You almost gave Steve a heart attack,” Sam deadpanned, side eyeing the captain. “Man’s super soldier serum almost short circuited.”
“Not funny…” Steve grumbled, but there was a glint in his eye. The kind that had been missing during the hardest days of Y/N’s recovery.
Then Bucky, sipping from his mug beside her, said it like it was nothing. “Honestly? The Silva voice is kind of charming.”
Silence.
Y/N blinked up at him, clearly stunned.
Sam did a double take.
“What?” Tony practically choked on air. “You’re saying that creepy monotone is hot now?”
“I didn’t say hot,” Bucky replied smoothly. “I said charming. There’s a difference.”
“Wow,” Natasha muttered. “Brainwashing really did a number on you.”
Steve looked like he was reevaluating Bucky’s place on the team. “Please elaborate, Barnes.”
Y/N covered her mouth, trying and failing, not to burst into laughter.
Bucky leaned back against the counter, one arm still around Y/N’s waist. “I mean when it’s not accompanied by... you know... murder… it’s got a mysterious flair. The intensity. The tone. And come on, admit it, it’s kinda cool when she drops into that voice and owns the room.”
Tony pointed a finger. “You need therapy.”
“I have therapy,” Bucky replied dryly. “She’s standing right next to me.”
Y/N finally let out a loud laugh, dropping her head onto Bucky’s shoulder, eyes gleaming. “You’re a menace.”
“No, you’re the menace,” Steve muttered.
Bucky smirked. “We’re a team now.”
Sam leaned over to Natasha, whispering, “This is why we should never let two assassins date.”
But the bickering was light-hearted now. The heaviness that once haunted the tower had long since faded, replaced with moments like this, laughter echoing off the steel walls, coffee brewing in the background, and family found in the unlikeliest of places.
“You’re excused only because you’re healing from the bruises, Nat said. “Once you’re back fully, I’ll beat your ass.”
That was a promise.
Y/N looked around the room, her arms still looped loosely around Bucky’s.
The people she once feared she’d lose forever… they were there with her.
The room was quiet, just the soft shuffle of Bucky’s footsteps, entering.
Y/N sat propped up on the bed, her leg bandaged and a light ache spreading through her muscles. She hated being sidelined, but when Bucky was the one taking care of her, it didn’t feel like weakness. After months of healing she had the opportunity to be herself again on a mission, and this time she smashed it like she sis in the past. A simple ankle swollen but she was herself again.
He came over with a warm compress in one hand. His red henley clung to his chest, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, metal fingers glinting softly under the dim lamp.
“You’re overdoing it,” he muttered, kneeling in front of her. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am resting,” she shot back, but her tone was soft. She watched his fingers wrap the compress around her ankle, careful and tender, almost reverent.
“Barely.” His eyes flicked up, meeting hers, and there was something heated in the way he looked at her. Concern, affection, and something darker. “You scared me out there.”
Her voice caught in her throat. “I’m okay now.”
He nodded, but his jaw flexed. “You don’t get to scare me like that and act like nothing happened.”
She reached out, brushing her hand through his damp hair, tugging slightly so he looked at her again. “Then show me. Show me how much you care.”
The air changed.
“I care you, you know it…”
“You know what I meant,” she said moving closer to him on the bed. He stood there while she kissed his clothed stomach. “I need to feel you again… raw and passionate… please Bucky…”
He surged up, mouth crashing into hers. His hands, one warm and flesh while the other cold and metal, gripped her thighs spreading them open so he could slot between.
“Tell me if anything hurts,” he rasped, lips ghosting over her neck.
“Just need you,” she whispered, tugging his shirt up over his head. Her nails ran down his chest, flesh over vibranium and he groaned at the sensation.
She leaned back, letting him push her against the mattress, legs wrapping around his waist. He dragged her shorts down slow, kissing every inch of newly bared skin. “You’re so soft like this,” he murmured, lips brushing over her inner thigh. “Still healing, but still so goddamn beautiful.”
He kissed every bruise. His fingers slid through her folds teasing and torturously slow.
“Bucky-” she moaned, hips rocking into his hand.
“I got you, baby,” he growled, slipping one finger inside her, then two. “Let me take care of you.”
And he did.
With his fingers, with his mouth, with every whispered “you’re safe now” against her skin. When he finally pushed into her, slow and deep, it was like something inside both of them broke open.
Not pain, not even lust. Just need. The kind that said you’re mine without ever needing words.
Y/N’s voice broke into a breathless plea against his shoulder. “Faster, Bucky… harder… like… like that first time.”
Bucky froze for a second. His body deep inside hers, trembling with restraint. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand cradling the side of her jaw. “You sure?” He murmured, thumb brushing her cheek. “That night, after the mission… I wasn’t gentle. I was-”
“I know.” Her eyes were wide, pupils blown. “You were rough. But you were so good to me, Bucky. You held me through it. I want that again.”
His jaw clenched. The memory hit him like a punch. That mission had nearly killed them both. And when they got to the house, she hadn’t wanted silence or comfort. She’d needed him. Needed to be claimed, reminded that she was alive. She made him anger with her reckless behaviour. And he gave her what she needs. The memory snapped through Bucky’s chest like lightning. His grip on her hips tightened, teeth gritting.
“You want that again?” He asked, voice raw. She nodded, eyes burning with want. “I want you. All of you. Don’t hold back.”
And just like that, he snapped.
He growled low in his throat, flipping her effortlessly onto her stomach. Her breath caught as he dragged her hips up, chest pressed into the bed while her ass arched for him.
Perfect, offered.
“Goddamn,” he hissed, lining himself up again. “Look at you. So fucking perfect.” He pushed into her hard, fast.
A single stroke that made her cry out into the sheets. Her fingers fisted the blankets, hips jerking as he bottomed out. “That what you wanted, baby?” He rasped, hand gripping the back of her neck as he pulled out and slammed back in. “You want me to fuck you like you’re mine?”
“Yes!” She sobbed. “Just like that, please! Don’t stop… I’m already yours, Bucky.”
He gave her everything. His rhythm turned brutal, hips snapping into hers with punishing force, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room.
But even rough, even lost in her, he watched her. Tracked every gasp, every twitch, every hitch of breath. His vibranium hand slid around her belly, anchoring her and the contrast of cool metal against hot skin made her clench around him. “You take me so good,” he groaned, breath ragged. “Fucking made for me.”
Y/N moaned, nails scratching the sheets, drool on her lip as she shook under the force of his thrusts. “Don’t stop, Bucky, don’t-fuck-please-”
Her voice cracked, and something in him snapped again. He grabbed her shoulder, yanking her up so her back arched against his chest. Still inside her, fucking her hard, his other hand came to her throat.
Not choking, just holding, grounding her.
He bit her ear, breath hot. “You remember that first night? How wild I was for you? How couldn’t I stop?”
“I remember,” she gasped, body on fire.
“I still feel that way, Y/N. Every time I see you.” He slid his hand down, between her thighs, fingers finding her clit. “And now you’re healed. You’re mine again.” His fingers worked her with practiced pressure, matching his thrusts until she was bucking against him, frantic and completely undone.
“That’s it, baby. Come for me. Let go.”
She shattered. Her whole body locked up, back arching hard as the orgasm ripped through her. She sobbed out his name, legs shaking, nails digging into his forearm like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.
“Fuck… you feel so fucking good-” Bucky slammed into her twice more before he groaned loud in her ear, hips stuttering. He came hard, spilling deep inside her, gasping against the back of her neck like it was the only place he ever wanted to breathe.
They collapsed together, tangled and breathless, bodies still twitching with aftershocks.
He gathered her into his arms, shifting them onto their sides, keeping her close, still inside her. He kissed her temple, her jaw, her shoulder. Reverent, gentle.
“You okay?” He asked, voice soft and raw now. Y/N nodded, eyes closed, lips curved into a weak smile. “More than okay.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She pulled his arm tighter around her. “You reminded me I’m alive.” He exhaled, burying his face in her hair.
They stayed that way for a long time skin to skin, heart to heart. As the room slowly cooled around them. When she turned her head to look at him, their eyes met. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to.
She nodded.
Bucky pulled out with a low grunt, he moved with quiet urgency. Large hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips, guiding her back up onto her knees. “Put your elbows down,” he said roughly. “Arch your back. Just like that.”
Y/N obeyed, breath shaky as she pressed her chest to the bed, knees wide, ass high. The air was cool on her slick, swollen pussy. She whimpered needy, exposed but completely open to him. Then she felt his hands spread her wider.
And then, his mouth.
“Fuck-Bucky!”
He growled low against her skin, tongue diving between her folds with obscene, messy intent. No teasing now. No build-up. Just filth. Worship.
He licked her like he was starving. Wide, wet licks that had her thighs shaking, his fingers digging bruises into her hips to keep her still. His nose pressed right against her as he moaned into her pussy like it was the only goddamn thing that mattered.
“Can still taste me,” he growled between licks. “All that cum dripping out of you-fuck, that’s so fucking hot.”
Y/N cried out into the sheets, fists bunching them tight. Her body had barely recovered from the first orgasm, from being fucked so deep and hard her bones still trembled, but the moment his tongue touched her again, it reignited everything.
“You gonna give me one more, baby?” He murmured, lips brushing her clit. “You got one more for me?”
She nodded desperately, back arching more.
“Use your words.”
“Yes…yes… Bucky… please… don’t stop… ”
That earned her a sharp slap to the ass, followed by his mouth locking onto her clit with relentless precision. He sucked, circled, teased her with the flat of his tongue until she was sobbing, begging, her thighs trembling so hard they nearly gave out.
“I love how you fall apart for me,” he muttered. “You’re fucking soaked. And this little pussy? Still so tight. Still fluttering around nothing.”
Y/N whined, her voice high and broken. “Please, Bucky… fuck-need it.”
He slid two fingers into her from behind, curling them just right while his tongue never left her clit. The pressure was too much, too perfect and when she came again, it tore through her violently, nearly painful in how deep it went. She screamed, back bowing, body convulsing around his fingers. He didn’t stop until her legs buckled. Didn’t stop until her body gave out, trembling and boneless on the bed.
Only then did he crawl up beside her, pulling her into his lap, cradling her against his chest. He kissed her hair, her shoulders, his hand stroking her damp spine as her breathing slowly returned to something human.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered after a long silence. “I didn’t mean to push too hard-”
She shook her head against his chest. “No,” she said hoarsely. “Don’t apologize.”
She looked up at him, eyes half-lidded but clear. “You didn’t break me, Bucky. You reminded me I’m still here.”
pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader
genre: kinda fake enemies to lovers | heavy smut on purpose | oral sex | rough sex | spanking | heavy overstimulation | consensual choking | very dominant!bucky | brat!reader | power dynamics | forced proximity | emotional tension | aftercare | trauma references | hydra and red room mention | protective undertones
word count: 3 k
summary: Y/N and Bucky are the best at what they did, but couldn’t stand each other and now they’re forced together on a dangerous mission.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | epilogue
Another year passed and with it, the darkness that once clung to Y/N finally lifted.
The trauma was still a part of her, woven into her story but it no longer owned her.
Therapy, patience, time, and the unwavering presence of her team, and Bucky, had done their work. Now, the woman who walked through the halls of the Avengers Tower wasn’t a ghost or a broken soldier
She was loud and confident and playful and very fond of pranks.
The second anniversary? Best moment to prank.
That evening, the kitchen was warm with light and laughter.
Nat leaned against the counter, sipping coffee.
Steve was chopping something at the island while Tony talked Sam into trying one of his bizarre “protein-dense” culinary experiments
Then, without warning, the lights flickered.
A low mechanical click echoed in the dark.
From the shadows near the pantry, a figure emerged dressed in black tactical gear with hair pulled back tight and a rigid posture. Her voice was cold, clipped and eerily familiar.
“Compliance is the only way.”
Natasha spun around, mug shattering on the floor.
Steve instinctively reached for his shield.
Sam flinched and grabbed a frying pan like it might save his life. “SILVA?!”
Tony gasped, stumbling backward toward the counter.
Y/N stepped fully into the light, face grim and emotionless.
Then, just as their hearts seemed to stop, her lips twitched. “Gotcha.
The room exploded with overlapping expletives. “Y/N, are you kidding me?!” Nat snapped, clutching her chest.
“I hate you,” Tony declared dramatically, hand to his heart.
“You are a menace,” Steve said, though his relief was visible.
“Okay, that’s it. No more movie nights for you,” Sam huffed.
Just then, Bucky strolled in with two mugs of tea in hand. He raised an eyebrow at the chaos. “Did she pull the Silva’s voice again?”
Y/N smirked proudly, leaning against the doorway. “I was very convincing.”
“You almost got punched,” Steve muttered.
“Worth it,” she chirped, stealing one of Bucky’s mugs. “Also, your reactions? Priceless. I need to install security cameras in here.”
The kitchen, still recovering from Y/N’s prank, was filled with a mix of annoyed groans and incredulous laughter. Bits of shattered mug lay at Natasha’s feet, Sam was trying to look unbothered while discreetly checking his pulse and Steve kept shaking his head like he was reconsidering all his life choices. Tony had climbed halfway onto the counter in panic, and now sat there dramatically, arms folded, muttering something about “trust issues” and “demon spawn”.
Y/N, meanwhile, leaned comfortably against Bucky with the most self-satisfied smirk any of them had seen in a long time.
“Absolutely unhinged,” Natasha muttered, crouching to pick up the broken ceramic. “You can’t just do that to people who lived through Hydra.”
“I was gentle, come on,” Y/N said with a teasing shrug. “You all lived.”
“You almost gave Steve a heart attack,” Sam deadpanned, side eyeing the captain. “Man’s super soldier serum almost short circuited.”
“Not funny…” Steve grumbled, but there was a glint in his eye. The kind that had been missing during the hardest days of Y/N’s recovery.
Then Bucky, sipping from his mug beside her, said it like it was nothing. “Honestly? The Silva voice is kind of charming.”
Silence.
Y/N blinked up at him, clearly stunned.
Sam did a double take.
“What?” Tony practically choked on air. “You’re saying that creepy monotone is hot now?”
“I didn’t say hot,” Bucky replied smoothly. “I said charming. There’s a difference.”
“Wow,” Natasha muttered. “Brainwashing really did a number on you.”
Steve looked like he was reevaluating Bucky’s place on the team. “Please elaborate, Barnes.”
Y/N covered her mouth, trying and failing, not to burst into laughter.
Bucky leaned back against the counter, one arm still around Y/N’s waist. “I mean when it’s not accompanied by... you know... murder… it’s got a mysterious flair. The intensity. The tone. And come on, admit it, it’s kinda cool when she drops into that voice and owns the room.”
Tony pointed a finger. “You need therapy.”
“I have therapy,” Bucky replied dryly. “She’s standing right next to me.”
Y/N finally let out a loud laugh, dropping her head onto Bucky’s shoulder, eyes gleaming. “You’re a menace.”
“No, you’re the menace,” Steve muttered.
Bucky smirked. “We’re a team now.”
Sam leaned over to Natasha, whispering, “This is why we should never let two assassins date.”
But the bickering was light-hearted now. The heaviness that once haunted the tower had long since faded, replaced with moments like this, laughter echoing off the steel walls, coffee brewing in the background, and family found in the unlikeliest of places.
“You’re excused only because you’re healing from the bruises, Nat said. “Once you’re back fully, I’ll beat your ass.”
That was a promise.
Y/N looked around the room, her arms still looped loosely around Bucky’s.
The people she once feared she’d lose forever… they were there with her.
The room was quiet, just the soft shuffle of Bucky’s footsteps, entering.
Y/N sat propped up on the bed, her leg bandaged and a light ache spreading through her muscles. She hated being sidelined, but when Bucky was the one taking care of her, it didn’t feel like weakness. After months of healing she had the opportunity to be herself again on a mission, and this time she smashed it like she sis in the past. A simple ankle swollen but she was herself again.
He came over with a warm compress in one hand. His red henley clung to his chest, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, metal fingers glinting softly under the dim lamp.
“You’re overdoing it,” he muttered, kneeling in front of her. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am resting,” she shot back, but her tone was soft. She watched his fingers wrap the compress around her ankle, careful and tender, almost reverent.
“Barely.” His eyes flicked up, meeting hers, and there was something heated in the way he looked at her. Concern, affection, and something darker. “You scared me out there.”
Her voice caught in her throat. “I’m okay now.”
He nodded, but his jaw flexed. “You don’t get to scare me like that and act like nothing happened.”
She reached out, brushing her hand through his damp hair, tugging slightly so he looked at her again. “Then show me. Show me how much you care.”
The air changed.
“I care you, you know it…”
“You know what I meant,” she said moving closer to him on the bed. He stood there while she kissed his clothed stomach. “I need to feel you again… raw and passionate… please Bucky…”
He surged up, mouth crashing into hers. His hands, one warm and flesh while the other cold and metal, gripped her thighs spreading them open so he could slot between.
“Tell me if anything hurts,” he rasped, lips ghosting over her neck.
“Just need you,” she whispered, tugging his shirt up over his head. Her nails ran down his chest, flesh over vibranium and he groaned at the sensation.
She leaned back, letting him push her against the mattress, legs wrapping around his waist. He dragged her shorts down slow, kissing every inch of newly bared skin. “You’re so soft like this,” he murmured, lips brushing over her inner thigh. “Still healing, but still so goddamn beautiful.”
He kissed every bruise. His fingers slid through her folds teasing and torturously slow.
“Bucky-” she moaned, hips rocking into his hand.
“I got you, baby,” he growled, slipping one finger inside her, then two. “Let me take care of you.”
And he did.
With his fingers, with his mouth, with every whispered “you’re safe now” against her skin. When he finally pushed into her, slow and deep, it was like something inside both of them broke open.
Not pain, not even lust. Just need. The kind that said you’re mine without ever needing words.
Y/N’s voice broke into a breathless plea against his shoulder. “Faster, Bucky… harder… like… like that first time.”
Bucky froze for a second. His body deep inside hers, trembling with restraint. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand cradling the side of her jaw. “You sure?” He murmured, thumb brushing her cheek. “That night, after the mission… I wasn’t gentle. I was-”
“I know.” Her eyes were wide, pupils blown. “You were rough. But you were so good to me, Bucky. You held me through it. I want that again.”
His jaw clenched. The memory hit him like a punch. That mission had nearly killed them both. And when they got to the house, she hadn’t wanted silence or comfort. She’d needed him. Needed to be claimed, reminded that she was alive. She made him anger with her reckless behaviour. And he gave her what she needs. The memory snapped through Bucky’s chest like lightning. His grip on her hips tightened, teeth gritting.
“You want that again?” He asked, voice raw. She nodded, eyes burning with want. “I want you. All of you. Don’t hold back.”
And just like that, he snapped.
He growled low in his throat, flipping her effortlessly onto her stomach. Her breath caught as he dragged her hips up, chest pressed into the bed while her ass arched for him.
Perfect, offered.
“Goddamn,” he hissed, lining himself up again. “Look at you. So fucking perfect.” He pushed into her hard, fast.
A single stroke that made her cry out into the sheets. Her fingers fisted the blankets, hips jerking as he bottomed out. “That what you wanted, baby?” He rasped, hand gripping the back of her neck as he pulled out and slammed back in. “You want me to fuck you like you’re mine?”
“Yes!” She sobbed. “Just like that, please! Don’t stop… I’m already yours, Bucky.”
He gave her everything. His rhythm turned brutal, hips snapping into hers with punishing force, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room.
But even rough, even lost in her, he watched her. Tracked every gasp, every twitch, every hitch of breath. His vibranium hand slid around her belly, anchoring her and the contrast of cool metal against hot skin made her clench around him. “You take me so good,” he groaned, breath ragged. “Fucking made for me.”
Y/N moaned, nails scratching the sheets, drool on her lip as she shook under the force of his thrusts. “Don’t stop, Bucky, don’t-fuck-please-”
Her voice cracked, and something in him snapped again. He grabbed her shoulder, yanking her up so her back arched against his chest. Still inside her, fucking her hard, his other hand came to her throat.
Not choking, just holding, grounding her.
He bit her ear, breath hot. “You remember that first night? How wild I was for you? How couldn’t I stop?”
“I remember,” she gasped, body on fire.
“I still feel that way, Y/N. Every time I see you.” He slid his hand down, between her thighs, fingers finding her clit. “And now you’re healed. You’re mine again.” His fingers worked her with practiced pressure, matching his thrusts until she was bucking against him, frantic and completely undone.
“That’s it, baby. Come for me. Let go.”
She shattered. Her whole body locked up, back arching hard as the orgasm ripped through her. She sobbed out his name, legs shaking, nails digging into his forearm like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.
“Fuck… you feel so fucking good-” Bucky slammed into her twice more before he groaned loud in her ear, hips stuttering. He came hard, spilling deep inside her, gasping against the back of her neck like it was the only place he ever wanted to breathe.
They collapsed together, tangled and breathless, bodies still twitching with aftershocks.
He gathered her into his arms, shifting them onto their sides, keeping her close, still inside her. He kissed her temple, her jaw, her shoulder. Reverent, gentle.
“You okay?” He asked, voice soft and raw now. Y/N nodded, eyes closed, lips curved into a weak smile. “More than okay.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She pulled his arm tighter around her. “You reminded me I’m alive.” He exhaled, burying his face in her hair.
They stayed that way for a long time skin to skin, heart to heart. As the room slowly cooled around them. When she turned her head to look at him, their eyes met. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to.
She nodded.
Bucky pulled out with a low grunt, he moved with quiet urgency. Large hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips, guiding her back up onto her knees. “Put your elbows down,” he said roughly. “Arch your back. Just like that.”
Y/N obeyed, breath shaky as she pressed her chest to the bed, knees wide, ass high. The air was cool on her slick, swollen pussy. She whimpered needy, exposed but completely open to him. Then she felt his hands spread her wider.
And then, his mouth.
“Fuck-Bucky!”
He growled low against her skin, tongue diving between her folds with obscene, messy intent. No teasing now. No build-up. Just filth. Worship.
He licked her like he was starving. Wide, wet licks that had her thighs shaking, his fingers digging bruises into her hips to keep her still. His nose pressed right against her as he moaned into her pussy like it was the only goddamn thing that mattered.
“Can still taste me,” he growled between licks. “All that cum dripping out of you-fuck, that’s so fucking hot.”
Y/N cried out into the sheets, fists bunching them tight. Her body had barely recovered from the first orgasm, from being fucked so deep and hard her bones still trembled, but the moment his tongue touched her again, it reignited everything.
“You gonna give me one more, baby?” He murmured, lips brushing her clit. “You got one more for me?”
She nodded desperately, back arching more.
“Use your words.”
“Yes…yes… Bucky… please… don’t stop… ”
That earned her a sharp slap to the ass, followed by his mouth locking onto her clit with relentless precision. He sucked, circled, teased her with the flat of his tongue until she was sobbing, begging, her thighs trembling so hard they nearly gave out.
“I love how you fall apart for me,” he muttered. “You’re fucking soaked. And this little pussy? Still so tight. Still fluttering around nothing.”
Y/N whined, her voice high and broken. “Please, Bucky… fuck-need it.”
He slid two fingers into her from behind, curling them just right while his tongue never left her clit. The pressure was too much, too perfect and when she came again, it tore through her violently, nearly painful in how deep it went. She screamed, back bowing, body convulsing around his fingers. He didn’t stop until her legs buckled. Didn’t stop until her body gave out, trembling and boneless on the bed.
Only then did he crawl up beside her, pulling her into his lap, cradling her against his chest. He kissed her hair, her shoulders, his hand stroking her damp spine as her breathing slowly returned to something human.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered after a long silence. “I didn’t mean to push too hard-”
She shook her head against his chest. “No,” she said hoarsely. “Don’t apologize.”
She looked up at him, eyes half-lidded but clear. “You didn’t break me, Bucky. You reminded me I’m still here.”
pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader
genre: Non consensual confinement | psychological torture | audio based manipulation | emotional manipulation | memory based distress | mind control | healing | blood | fluff | HYDRA | violence
word count: 21 k
summary: Y/N and Bucky are the best at what they did, but couldn’t stand each other and now they’re forced together on a dangerous mission.
a/n: finally the last chapter of this story! this is gonna have violence and again it can be triggerring so read the warnings! hope you like this finale as much i loved it!! since it's so long i had to post the epilogue in another post otherwise tumblr won't make me post it at all so the smutty epilogue in the next part.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4
A full year since the kidnapping, since the screaming and the cell and the torture.
The doctor’s cold eyes.
The voice of Bucky twisted against her.
It was strange how time moved, sometimes achingly slow, sometimes so fast it blurred.
The mission that turned into a nightmare had started like any other, but Hydra was never just about brute force. They were clever and had patience. They had been watching Y/N, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The days that followed her disappearance felt like a war the Avengers couldn’t win. The team had experienced loss before, death and betrayal but this was different.
Y/N wasn’t just a teammate.
She was family.
For Bucky, she was something more complicated and deeper but also unspoken.
When she was taken, it was like someone had reached inside him and ripped out the only part of himself he believed was still worth saving. The team spent weeks chasing trails that went cold before they ever began. Every lead led to a dead end, every whisper of intel ended in silence.
Bucky became a ghost, barely sleeping, barely speaking only tracking, only hunting. Steve watched his best friend unravel, and Nat kept her phone in her palm constantly, waiting for something. Tony tore through data like a machine, guilt gnawing at him for not securing the mission better. Sam tried to be the glue between them all, but even his optimism started to crack.
And then… the videos started arriving.
They came without warning. Each one was a punch to the gut.
Grainy, colourless recordings.
A room.
A chair.
A too-familiar face.
Y/N.
Silent.
Bleeding.
Not crying.
Not screaming.
Enduring.
Sometimes the videos came with messages. Sometimes just footage. When they finally did, she was still alive, but not whole.
Y/N wouldn’t speak and barely ate, she wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
For days, there was no progress and then… something shifted.
She didn’t scream when Bucky entered the room. She let Nat braid her hair. She pointed at objects hesitant and shaky, learning again. She walked beside Bucky. She sat near the others during meals, even if she didn’t eat at first.
Then came the first word, his name.
Then another.
Now, a full year later, she was curled up next to Bucky during movie night. Clothes clean, hair brushed and breathing steadily.
She had returned to the gym first, slow and quiet. Just watching the others train at first, gripping Bucky’s hand tighter whenever the room got too loud or too hot or too much. Then she was on the mat again, her body remembering how to move or how to fight, how to defend, how to breathe without fear.
Natasha worked with her in the mornings.
Steve sparred with her on Fridays.
Sam ran laps with her to build her stamina back.
And Bucky? He never left her side.
By the time weeks had passed, she was back in the field. Smaller missions at first to support roles, tech extractions, controlled recoveries. The first mission she returned from unscathed, Bucky kissed her before the jet even touched down.
“You’re back,” he whispered against her mouth.
Now her mornings were calm and usually began with a quite naked super soldier.
“Hey, you’re doing that thing where you stare dramatically into the distance...” Bucky said, walking into the kitchen barefoot and shirtless, tugging on a grey hoodie but not bothering to zip it up.
Y/N smirked over her coffee. “I was having a moment, Barnes. Don’t ruin it with your chest.”
“You weren’t complaining last night when you-”
“Don’t finish that sentence if you want breakfast.”
He raised both hands innocently but smirked anyway, leaning against the counter beside her. “You want eggs?”
“I want you to admit I was right about the intel from yesterday.”
“You were lucky, not right.” She narrowed her eyes. “You gonna take that energy to the gym later?”
“Oh, we’re resolving this in the gym now?”
“Scarred, doll?” He asked her smirking
“Unless you’d rather settle it in the pool. Or… the kitchen island. I’m versatile.”
Bucky choked on air, glancing toward the hallway like someone might hear them. “Y/N.”
“What? No one’s here,” she said sweetly, sipping her coffee. “Stark’s in Tokyo. Steve’s on a nature retreat. Nat’s still pretending to be in Prague. And Sam… he doesn’t knock.”
Bucky groaned. “Okay, first, never say the words ‘Sam’ and ‘kitchen island’ in the same sentence again. Second… I still say the gym.”
“You’re stalling,” she sang, brushing past him.
Her hand trailed along his stomach as she walked away, heading toward the elevator. He watched her go, same way he always did now. Like she was his anchor and storm in one.
The girl who used to yell at him on missions was now the one he fell asleep with every night.
The one who teased him into letting go.
Who healed beside him.
The bickering never stopped, it just shifted into something that made them both stronger.
Sometimes they argued over strategy. Sometimes over who forgot to replace the coffee filters. Sometimes over who was more exhausted after sparring.
But the resolution? That always found them. In the stillness of their bed, where their limbs tangled and hearts calmed. In the gym, where sweat and adrenaline turned into kisses and apologies. In the Tower was quiet, and no one was around on the kitchen island.
Or in the pool, where their laughter echoed off the water, like the night where the Tower’s pool was just for them.
The city skyline glittering through the glass walls. The water reflected soft ripples of gold and blue, and the quiet hum of distant traffic filled the silence. Y/N stood at the edge of the pool, arms crossed, hair tied up, one eyebrow arched like a weapon. “I told you the safe house route through Madripoor was a trap,” she said, slowly.
Bucky floated lazily nearby, head tilted back, arms spread out in a half-drift. “And I said the extraction point wasn’t compromised until after we triggered it. Not the same thing.”
“You mean after I told you and you rolled your eyes.”
“Which I do lovingly now.”
“You nearly got us spotted!”
“But you looked hot climbing out that window.”
“Bucky...”
He swam toward her, smooth and unhurried, until he was close enough to rest his arms on the edge, chin tilted up toward her. Water beaded along his shoulders. His hair was slicked back and those eyes, the ones she used to hate (or pretend to), sparkled now full of smug affection.
“You’re mad at me again, huh?” He asked, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Furious,” she replied.
“Then come in here and drown me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”
She kicked off her flip-flops anyway and slipped into the water with practiced ease. The chill of the pool was nothing compared to the heat simmering between them. The moment she reached him he moved, fast and easy, she found herself caught, arms around his neck, his hands sliding to her waist beneath the water.
“You’re impossible,” she murmured, trying not to let her smile win.
“You like impossible,” he whispered, eyes on her lips.
“Only when I win.”
“So never, basically.”
She gasped, mock offended and shoved him backward. He let her, laughing. His body disappearing under the surface for just a second before reemerging, hair dripping, water streaming down his face. He came back for her fast this time grabbing her waist, lifting her slightly, then spinning them both in a gentle whirl in the shallow end. She laughed, breathless, caught in his arms.
“You still mad?” He asked, voice soft and low, chest rising and falling close to hers.
“Always,” she whispered, leaning in. “But now I’m wet and half-naked with you, so I’m conflicted.”
“Let me help you with that.”
The kiss was slow, like surrender.
Familiar and warm.
His arms cradled her close in the water, like he always did when she felt adrift. She melted into it, letting herself be held. Letting herself want.
And later, when they both climbed out of the water breathless, dripping, and very much reconciled, Bucky slung a towel around her shoulders and whispered, “You still lost the Madripoor argument.”
“I’m telling Sam you said that.”
He smirked. “Only if I get to tell him about the shallow end.”
“Bucky!”
“Worth it.”
Their love wasn’t quiet. It was lived.
On the anniversary of the darkest chapter of her life, Y/N wasn’t defined by what had been done to her. She was defined by who she became after, and by who stood beside her as she rose again.
The lab was quiet, bathed in the soft bluish glow of monitors and low lighting.
The hum of machinery was the only sound, save for the gentle scratching of a marker across the whiteboard. Y/N stood in front of it barefoot, wearing one of Bucky’s hoodies that hung off her frame. Her hair was slightly messy, eyes heavy but focused. She had drawn a crude outline of the facility. Circled certain details and written phrases like “white mask”, “protein compound sequence”, “pre-trigger” and “waterboarding protocol delay.”
There was a small digital timer still running in the corner. She didn’t know why she kept it running, it had started the moment she was rescued. Maybe she needed to see time pass. Behind her, the lab doors hissed open. Tony walked in with a yawn, a tablet tucked under his arm and a cup of tea in his hand. His arc reactor dimly lit his shirt.
“Honey, what time is it?” he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.
Y/N didn’t turn around. “Time to understand, I want to say.”
Tony tilted his head, watching her from a distance. She stood so still. Too still. The only thing that moved was the marker in her fingers, spinning anxiously.
“But I don’t know where to begin,” she continued, finally glancing at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but dry. Tired, but clear. “I’m stuck, still. It’s been a year, goddamn.”
Tony didn’t say anything at first. He just walked forward slowly, setting the tea down on a side table. He stood beside her, looking up at the whiteboard. A messy mind-map of pain and survival. “You’re not stuck,” he said quietly. “You’re surviving. That looks messy. Messy is good.”
“I feel like if I could just figure out who he is… that doctor… what he is…” She swallowed hard. “Maybe I’ll stop hearing him under the mask breathing at night. Stop smelling the chemicals before I even wake up. Bucky doesn’t say it but... I know I wake him up. I know I scare him.”
Tony turned toward her, softening. “He isn’t scared of you. He’s scared for you. Big difference.”
Y/N finally dropped the marker, arms falling limp to her sides. “He wore a white mask. That’s all I know. German accent, no name and no scar. Just that thing covering his face and his voice.”
Tony nodded slowly. “I’ve seen masks like that. Surgical-grade, trauma designed. Some Hydra doctors used them to keep the patients from recognising them. Compartmentalised torture, dehumanising from both sides.”
“I wasn’t a person to him,” she whispered. “Just… a test subject.”
Tony’s jaw clenched. “Then we find out which twisted Hydra grave this bastard crawled out of. I can cross-reference the chemical compound in the shakes, the timing of your trauma, and security footage from the black site. I’ll need a blood marker sample again.”
“You already have five.”
“Then I’ll get six. Science is about obsession, sweetheart.”
She gave him a tired, grateful look. “Thanks, Tony.”
He nodded, then looked at her with something a little softer than usual. “Take care of your brain, alright? You’re allowed to heal and want answers. But don’t burn down the house looking for the match.”
She nodded quietly.
As Tony left the lab, she sat down at the worktable. The whiteboard still lit behind her. She took a breath, pulled a tablet forward, and opened a new file.
“Project White Mask: Start.”
It was well past midnight when Bucky padded softly into Tony’s lab, barefoot and quiet as a ghost. The tower was still, the world asleep. But the faint glow spilling out from under the glass doors told him exactly where she was.
He didn’t call her name or knock, he just stepped in gently like he always did now careful and measured, the way you approached something fragile not because it might break but because it had already been broken and stitched back together with aching hands.
Y/N sat hunched over the main table, her hair tied up messily, the sleeves of her hoodie pushed to her elbows.
One hand rested on her temple, the other scrolling slowly through lines of Hydra encryption Tony had decrypted earlier in the week.
Her eyes were glassy. Not tired. Just far away. The whiteboard still had “Project White Mask” scrawled across it.
Bucky didn’t speak until he was beside her. He didn’t need to. Her shoulders relaxed the moment she felt his presence. “You’re here again,” he said softly, pulling a stool beside her. “Couldn’t sleep?”
She shook her head. “I thought I was past this. But I keep dreaming of the mask. I keep thinking... what if he’s still out there? What if it wasn’t just me?”
Bucky reached out and gently placed a hand on her knee. “You’re not going backward,” he said. “You’re just not done yet. That’s not weakness. That’s persistence.”
She finally looked at him. “You think I’m chasing ghosts?”
“I think you’re chasing truth. You deserve it.” Her gaze dropped to the file on the screen.
Chemical breakdowns. CCTV stills from scattered bases. A faint silhouette of the man in the white mask all blurry, always just out of reach.
“I don’t know why it still matters this much,” she whispered. “I survived. I healed. You’re here. The team’s here. But this hole in my head… it won’t close until I know.”
Bucky didn’t argue. Instead, he took her hand. His metal fingers cold against her skin at first, but steady. Comforting. “I understand that feeling more than anyone,” he said quietly. “I lived years not knowing what they made me do. What they turned me into. I still have holes, doll. They don’t close easy. But they get easier to live with when someone’s there holding your hand.”
She blinked back tears, and he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’re not alone in this. You’ll never be alone again,” he said.
“Even if I obsess over a ghost?” She asked, voice cracking.
“I’ll help you hunt it down,” he said, fierce and soft all at once. “And when we find him, we end it.”
A beat passed between them, and then she leaned into him slowly and carefully. Her forehead pressing against his collarbone. His arms went around her like instinct. They sat there in silence, in his arms with the glow of the lab around them and the ghosts of her past still whispering but quieter now.
She wasn’t alone in the dark anymore and she wouldn’t be, not ever again.
Bucky glanced down at her as she melted against him, her body too tired to fight anymore.
Not him, not the exhaustion, not the memories.
Without a word, he slid one arm beneath her knees, the other steady at her back and lifted her into his arms like she weighed nothing. She didn’t protest. The lab door slid closed behind them with a quiet hiss as he padded barefoot through the silent tower. The hall lights dimmed low for night mode, casting soft gold across the walls. She curled closer to his chest, her nose tucked into the warm space between his neck and shoulder. His scent wrapped around her like a second blanket.
In their shared bedroom, the sheets were turned down, the room slightly chilled. Bucky set her down with care, as if placing something delicate on the edge of something too sharp. She blinked up at him sleepily.
“Now you sleep,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek. His voice was gentle, but firm. “Okay?”
She let out a quiet sigh. “Fine,” she murmured, her lips curling just slightly as she shifted under the covers.
Bucky chuckled low in his chest. “That sounded very convincing.”
As he sat down beside her, she reached for him without thinking, her fingers lightly catching the edge of his shirt. “Stay?” She whispered.
“Always.” He pulled off his shirt, climbed in behind her and wrapped his arms around her. Her back pressed into his chest, her legs tangling with his instinctively, her hand finding his in the dark. Within minutes, her breathing evened out. Bucky stayed awake a little longer, eyes on the ceiling, listening to the soft rise and fall of her breath. His fingers traced idle circles against the back of her hand. She was safe. Healing. Still searching, but not alone.
And for now, that was enough.
The stone walls of the coastal facility were damp with salt and time. The echo of waves crashing outside growing louder as the team descended further underground. It was supposed to be a simple mission.
Get in, secure the remaining data drives from Hydra’s ghost systems and out before the tide locked the bunker shut again.
Sam stayed topside to monitor communications. Steve and Nat cleared the far corridor. Bucky and Y/N moved through the central archive together as always. But then, Y/N rounded a corner and stopped.
Bucky didn’t notice at first. He was ahead, scanning with his rifle but the second he heard her breath catch, he turned instantly, weapon lowered, voice tight. “Doll?”
She didn’t answer.
Her body had gone still.
Her pupils wide.
There, in the far corner of the damp, dark room was a steel medical table. Long abandoned, rust staining the legs, straps still attached but it wasn’t the table.
It was the wall behind it.
A cluster of tools mounted in a perfect line.
Syringes, scalpels, surgical pliers and just above it… a single hook on the ceiling.
The kind that could hold chains.
Or water pipe.
Bucky was next to her in two long strides. His hand hovered, waiting for her to nod before touching her, she did and then dropped her weapon. Just like that. It fell from her fingers like they no longer worked.
A memory slammed into her then. A towel soaked in ice water, a shadow standing over her, a voice whispering. With Tony’s help, Y/N was now fully healed. His detox’s protocol allowed her to clean her body and her mind. But now, the memories came back. When she was only remembering the towel and the pipe on the doctor’s arms, now she was also remembering how the water dripped on her body and in her throat. She felt the chill wrap around her spine like a phantom hand.
She clutched at her chest, gasping. “I can’t-Bucky-I can’t-”
“You can,” he said instantly, catching her face in his hands. “You’re not there. You’re with me. Look at me, Y/N.”
“I thought I was past this-”
“You are,” he said, steady and sure, even as his own eyes flicked toward the hook on the ceiling like he wanted to rip it out with his bare hands. “This is just a scar getting tugged. You’re not broken.”
She was shaking now, knees threatening to give. Bucky pulled her into his chest, one hand on the back of her neck, shielding her from the room entirely.
“Breathe with me,” he whispered.
And she did slow, one breath at a time surrounded by the smell of his skin and the steady beat of his heart.
Minutes passed before she finally stepped back and nodded, steadying her shaking hands as she retrieved her weapon from the floor. When they regrouped, Steve noticed the tension and raised a brow.
Bucky simply answered, “We’re good.”
And they were. She walked out of that room. Not quickly, but forward.
That night back at the tower, she didn’t go to the lab. She climbed into bed with Bucky, curled against him, and whispered somethingthat made Bucky’s freezing. “It’s still in me.”
He kissed her hair and replied, “Then we fight it together.”
The next morning, sunlight filtered lazily through the Tower’s kitchen windows. The smell of eggs and burnt toast and Nat’s aggressively strong coffee filled the air.
Steve was already halfway through his second plate. Tony sat half-asleep with sunglasses on, pretending not to care but listening to every word. Sam was flipping pancakes, poorly, while Bucky stood silently behind Y/N like a watchful shadow. She was quiet but present. Tired but not disconnected like she used to be after a bad flashback. She looked like herself. Still, the silence didn’t last long.
“So…” Sam said casually, sliding a lopsided pancake onto her plate. “How you doing, girl?”
“Fine,” Y/N said, stirring her tea without really drinking it.
Sam tilted his head. “I mean... you froze yesterday. I saw the report Steve filed.”
At that, Bucky’s jaw ticked but Y/N just sighed and leaned back in her chair. “There was a water pipe,” she said after a moment.
Everyone went still. The only sound was the soft click of the toaster popping up two forgotten slices of bread.
“I didn’t even realize it at first,” she continued, voice steady but distant. “I turned the corner, and it was just… there. My legs locked. I couldn’t move. My mind was there again. I haven’t seen a water pipe in a year, so I guess that’s the reason I snapped.”
Tony pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, suddenly very awake. “The water pipe was connected to the wall?”
“Yes.”
His brow furrowed. “Huh. It could’ve been more than just torture then. Could’ve been part of the neural reprogramming. Trigger-response conditioning. If it was the exact same setup, it might’ve had tech involved we didn’t find.”
“Tony,” Steve said warningly.
Y/N lifted a hand. “No, it’s okay. He’s right to ask.” She took a breath.
“The memory hit so hard because it wasn’t just physical. It made me feel like I was still there. Like I had no control again.”
Sam set the spatula down and looked at her with unusual softness. “But you got out. You moved. You did it because your stronger. You didn’t shut down completely.”
“No,” she said. “Because of him.” She nodded toward Bucky, who was pretending to sip coffee, ears a little pink. “You think it’s all behind you, and then a damn water pipe knocks the air out of your chest,” she said. “But I didn’t run this time. I didn’t hide. I told him what I saw. I breathed. I kept going.”
Nat reached over and gently touched her hand. “That’s not nothing.”
“It’s not everything either,” Y/N added.
“No,” Steve agreed, “but it’s the kind of progress that sticks.”
Ever since that breakfast, since Y/N sat there calm and composed recounting how the mere sight of a water pipe had pulled her back into a mental hellscape, Tony had become obsessed. He wanted answers. Wanted to understand how the doctor had managed to break her so precisely, what tech had been involved, and why certain triggers still lingered, embedded in her like wires waiting to spark.
“Progress isn’t healing if there’s a landmine in her brain,” Tony had said bluntly during one of their private team meetings. “We’ve got to find the wire and cut it, or it’s going to explode when she least expects it.”
And so reluctantly and painfully, they came up with a plan. A brutal one.
Tony had turned one of the deep vault-like rooms into a controlled simulation chamber.
No actual pain, no harm, no drugs.
Just elements that mimicked what she had faced: the metal chair, the camera in the ceiling, the water pipe, the faint sound of dripping in the background from the spout. A recorded loop of Bucky’s voice, the one they’d taken from the Hydra footage Please, Y/N, answer me! would be played at intervals.
Tony refused to use the knife. The goal wasn’t to re-traumatize. The goal was also to deconstruct the trauma piece by piece and understand it unplugging the connection between fear and memory.
Bucky hated every second of it. He paced outside the glass-walled control room, arms crossed so tightly over his chest it looked like he was trying to hold himself together. His jaw clenched every time someone mentioned what would happen.
He looked like he wanted to tear the whole room apart. “I don’t like this,” he muttered again. “This is twisted.”
Steve placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s her call.”
“That’s the only reason I’m not breaking the door down,” Bucky growled.
When Y/N walked in, dressed in black joggers and a tank top, hair pulled up, he moved toward her like gravity itself depended on her presence. “Are you sure?” He asked, eyes locking with hers. “You can still say no.”
She touched his chest gently. “Bucky, I need to understand why it still lives in me. I need to take the power back.”
He leaned down, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “I’m not leaving the room.”
“I know,” she said.
Bucky was a wreck. A composed, quiet, intensely protective wreck.
In one of Tony’s isolated lower level labs,stripped bare of anything remotely comforting, they reconstructed a simulation.
The pipe. The chair. A sterile, cold floor. And the phrase “Please Y/N, answer me” recorded in Bucky’s voice.
“I refused to touch you and use the knife,” Tony had said earlier, his voice unusually quiet. “But I’ll help you. I must help you.”
“Thank you, Tony,” Y/N had replied with steady eyes, but her voice was tight. Like she was holding herself together with both hands.
Now, inside the reconstructed lab space, Tony adjusted the mask over his face and slipped on a lab coat. Every movement he made was rehearsed, clinical not to frighten her more, but to recreate what needed to be remembered.
He had removed the scalpel from the table.
No instruments. No real danger. But the lighting was dimmed, the metal table cold under her fingertips. The sound of the water pipe’s hiss echoed in the distance. And Bucky stood just outside the room, in view, ready to call the whole thing off the second her lips parted in a way that didn’t feel right.
“Ready?” Tony’s voice came through a mic, modulated just slightly enough to distort it, like the recordings she had been forced to hear. Y/N nodded.
Her breath hitched immediately.
The mask.
The coat.
The lights.
The faint hiss.
It was all too close.
Tony raised both hands slowly, palms out, signalling no threat. He moved slowly, deliberately like someone handling a bomb. He connected the pipe to the spout, fingers steady, though his jaw was tight. A soft click echoed in the lab as the hose locked in place. Then the water began to flow into a sink.
A soft hiss filled the room, innocent to anyone else, but to Y/N, it was a thunderclap. She stiffened instantly in the chair. Her spine went rigid, her hands gripping the armrests so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her breath shortened. She wasn’t in the lab anymore, she was back there, strapped down, the hiss of the pipe the last thing she heard before the towel came down and darkness swallowed her.
“Doll,” Bucky’s voice came low and calm from behind the glass. “You’re here. With us. Look at me.”
She blinked rapidly, her eyes wet and distant but they found him. Through the fear, through the static, through the blur of memory, she saw him, her anchor.
Bucky pressed his palm flat to the glass, slow and steady. “You’re not strapped down. You can get up whenever you want. You say the word, it stops.”
“I… I want to keep going,” Y/N said hoarsely. “It’s awful but… I need to do this.”
Tony nodded, arms crossed but staying still letting her lead. “Okay,” he said gently. “I’ll just ask questions. You answer only if you want to.”
She nodded. Her eyes flicked to the water, then back to Bucky.
“Do you remember anything specific about the sound?” Tony asked, tapping a small control panel to cycle the flow rate.
Y/N flinched again. Then something shifted in her expression, focus. “It was louder… when the room was colder,” she whispered. “I remember. It echoed and… and I could hear his boots on the floor. I always knew when he was walking toward me.”
“Good,” Tony said, his voice soothing. “We can work with that.”
She inhaled shakily, her fists slowly unclenching. “The hiss came first. Then the towel. Then the recording.” She winced at the memory. “Your voice, Bucky... repeatedly like… like it was urgent... like if I didn’t speak, you’d suffer too.”
Bucky closed his eyes, pain flickering across his face. “They weaponised my voice. I’ll never forgive them for that.”
“But I will,” she said, surprising even herself. “You didn’t hurt me, Buck. You saved me.”
The water hissed, steady and soft, still running in the background. But now it didn’t drown her. It was just… water. Just a sound.
Tony looked over the monitors. “Your vitals are elevated, but not in a danger zone. You’re processing, not panicking. That’s huge, Y/N.”
She exhaled shakily, nodding again.
Then Bucky pushed open the door and walked inside, slow and quiet. He knelt beside her, metal hand resting on her thigh, grounding her. “Let’s kill this ghost together,” he said.
She didn’t flinch. Not once. And the water kept running. But it didn’t win this time.
Tony’s face was serious, none of his usual sarcasm or deflecting charm, just quiet, honest conflict. He held the dull replica knife loosely in his hand, letting it dangle harmlessly at his side.
“Tony, please,” Y/N said again, her voice soft but steady. “Didn’t you say the replica can’t cut me?”
He nodded once, lips tightening. “Yeah… it’s blunted. Totally harmless. Couldn’t slice butter if I tried.”
“Then I need you to use it. Not to hurt me. Just to mimic what he did. I need to feel it again, only this time. I’ll know I’m safe. I’ll know I’m in control.”
Tony exhaled through his nose and knelt in front of her, levelling his eyes with hers. “Y/N,” he said, gently, “I can’t even pretend to hurt you. Not after what you went through. That’s not in my toolbox. I build tech. I solve puzzles. But mimicking that monster? I don’t know if I can do that, even for you.”
“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t the only way left,” she whispered, eyes glassy but burning with resolve. “It’s not pain I’m afraid of anymore. It’s not knowing what he did. Not remembering. That knife… it triggered something in my head when you lifted it before. There’s more buried. I know it.”
Tony looked over his shoulder at the lab at the machines, the screens, the clean, clinical walls. He ran a hand down his face, then looked up at her again. “You’re sure?” He asked quietly.
“I’m sure,” she replied. “And I trust you.”
Bucky stood off to the side, jaw tense and arms crossed over his chest. His stare could’ve melted steel. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to. Every muscle in his body screamed he was ready to tear apart anything that made her flinch.
Tony looked up at him, then back to Y/N. “We do this once. And if anything feels wrong, if I even see a blink of panic, it stops.”
She nodded.
Tony stood and walked around behind her slowly. Y/N sat straight backed in the chair they’d set in the center of the lab. Her hands were open, palms face down on her knees, breathing slow and deliberate. Bucky had taught her that. Inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four.
Tony reached out, slowly placing a hand on her shoulder. “This is how he started, right?” He asked quietly.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Then he’d speak. But it wasn’t words that scared me. It was the pause… like he enjoyed watching me freeze. The anticipation.”
Tony gently mimicked the motion, bringing the dull knife down slowly deliberately near her side, the way the footage had shown. He didn’t touch her skin. Just the air near her ribs. Y/N flinched slightly. Then stilled.
Her breath caught, and then something shifted. “I remember,” she gasped. “He pressed it there, always on the left side, just under my ribs.”
Bucky stepped forward instinctively, but Y/N held up a hand. “It’s okay,” she said, eyes still wide. “I can take it.”
Tony lowered the knife completely, stepping away, visibly shaken. “That’s enough,” he said. “That’s all I can do.”
“You did enough,” Y/N whispered, looking down at her side. Bucky moved to her side, kneeling beside her chair, resting his metal hand over her trembling fingers. “You’re done with that now,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “You remembered. That’s power. That’s taking it back.”
She let out a long breath, eyes softening as she looked at him. “I feel lighter,” she whispered. “Like something finally let go.”
“You didn’t just survive,” Bucky said. “You beat him.”
Tony nodded, wiping his palms on his pants. “You’ve got one hell of a spine, Y/N.”
She gave a small smile. “Thanks for holding the knife.”
Tony gave a half-chuckle. “You ever ask me for that again, I’m faking my own death.”
She laughed and it wasn’t nervous or strained, it was real.
Night had settled gently over the Tower. The lights in their room were low, just the golden hue of a bedside lamp casting warmth over the space.
Y/N sat on the bed, kneeling in one of Bucky’s oversized shirts, sleeves swallowing her hands. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and her expression was somewhere between anxious and resolved. Bucky was sitting across from her, cross-legged, flipping through a book he wasn’t really reading. He looked up the second she spoke.
“Buck,” she said quietly. “I want to try something else.”
His brows lifted a little, curious. “What’s in your mind, doll?” He asked, his voice naturally teasing, but soft.
“Not like that,” she added quickly, cheeks flushing. “It’s not about… us. I mean... it is... but not like that.”
Bucky put the book down immediately. “Alright,” he said, shifting so he was facing her fully. “What is it?”
She bit her lower lip, gathering her thoughts. “The doctor… the last thing he did to me, before the team found me… was touching me. My chest. Not medically. Not clinically. It was the worst kind of control... and he said the phrase, that phrase, while doing it and I froze.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened. His hands curled slightly on his knees. “I know,” he said. “You don’t have to go on.”
“But I want to.” Her voice didn’t waver this time. “Because I remembered almost everything else, with Tony’s help. But this… this one still lingers in the dark. It’s like a shadow on my skin and I hate that it still holds power over me.”
Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “What are you asking me to do, Y/N?”
“I want you to say the phrase. I want you to touch me there, but not for… anything else. Just as an act of reclaiming it. I need to overwrite what he did. With you. With safety. With love.”
Silence hung heavy between them for a beat. Not awkward, not distant just full.
Then Bucky reached out, slowly, carefully, and took her hand. “Are you sure?”
“I trust you more than anyone,” she said. “And I know you’d never hurt me. That’s exactly why it must be you.”
His fingers brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his metal hand cool and gentle against her cheek. “I’ll do this,” he said finally, voice low and steady, “but we stop the second you want to stop. Even if it’s mid-breath, mid-touch, mid-word. You run the show. Not him. Not me. You.”
Her throat tightened with emotion, and she nodded. “I don’t want this to hurt,” she whispered. “I want to let it go.”
“Then we’ll do it together,” Bucky said. “And when we’re done, we’ll lay down here, and I’ll hold you like always. Like you’re mine. And safe.”
Bucky’s fingers traced along your collarbone, feather-light. His touch was reverent, almost hesitant, like he was memorizing the delicate slope of your skin. The pad of his thumb brushed against the hollow just beneath your throat, lingering there for a moment as he looked into your eyes.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice rough with something deeper than desire, something aching and tender. Your skin prickled under his touch, your breath catching as his fingers drifted lower. He cupped the side of your breast gently, thumb brushing over the soft curve as if he were afraid to press too hard. Not rushed, not greedy,just present. Like he was savouring every second.
She leaned into his touch, forehead against his. “Say it,” she whispered.
Bucky swallowed. His voice shook ever so slightly when he finally spoke the words that used to haunt her. “Please, Y/N… answer me.”
She flinched, her body reacting before her mind did. But then, instead of retreating, she took a breath. She opened her eyes. She was still in their room.
Still in Bucky’s arms. Still safe. He gently placed his hand, not possessive or rushed, over her heart.
She covered it with her own. “See?” She whispered, tears brimming. “It’s just you now.”
He nodded, eyes glassy. “No more ghosts,” he whispered.
She sank into his arms, curling against his chest. And for the first time in over a year, she didn’t feel claimed by what had happened to her. She felt free.
When Y/N appeared in the hallway, hair pulled back, jacket zipped, boots laced, it took a moment for Natasha to catch her breath. “Nat, can we go out?”
“Go out?” She repeated.
Y/N just nodded.
Nat didn’t question it. She just grinned.
Bucky, however, didn’t take it as easily. “You sure?” He asked, standing in front of the door with crossed arms as Nat pulled on her gloves. “I mean… what if something triggers her again? What if the crowds, or the noise, or-?”
“Bucky,” Nat interrupted, gentle but firm, “she’s okay, now.”
He looked past her at Y/N, who stood in the entryway looking down at her hands, thumbs nervously circling each other.
She wasn’t trembling. She wasn’t zoning out. She was just waiting.
“I won’t let anything happen to her. You know that. She needs this after the incident with the pipe.”
Bucky sighed, frustrated with himself more than anything. For so long he’d been her anchor, her shield, her quiet place. Letting go, even a little, scraped something raw inside him. But he nodded, slowly. Y/N stepped up beside him.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, eyes locked on his. “I’ll be okay.”
He swallowed the emotion clawing at his throat and gently tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Then go,” he said softly. “But come back.”
She smiled. “Always.”
They didn’t do anything wild.
No clubs. No missions. No high adrenaline. Just a walk. Just city air. Just the world outside the tower. They sat on a bench with coffee, visited a bookstore. and walked through the park and fed birds.
Back at the tower, Bucky was pacing. “Relax,” Tony muttered from behind a tablet. “They’ve been gone for two hours, not a decade.”
But before Bucky could respond, the elevator chimed. Nat stepped out first, tossing her coat on the rack with a knowing smirk.
Y/N followed jacket open, wind in her hair, cheeks pink from the cold… and smiling. Really smiling.
Bucky froze.
She walked straight to him, handed him a second coffee cup, and leaned her head on his chest. “I brought you something,” she whispered.
He held her tight, burying his nose in her hair, and exhaled for the first time in hours. “I’m proud of you,” he said, voice thick.
She looked up at him and nodded. “Me too.”
The sound was harmless. Just a quiet bing from Y/N’s phone, the kind she barely noticed anymore. She reached for it automatically, still smiling as she leaned into Bucky, the city chill fading from her skin. But then her thumb hovered over the screen. The colour drained from her face.
Bucky noticed instantly. “Y/N?” He asked, voice tight. “What is it?”
She didn’t answer at first. Her eyes scanned the message again and again, as if somehow reading it differently would change its meaning. Her lips parted. The coffee cup slipped from her hand, hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud.
“Y/N,” Bucky said again, firmer now, taking the phone gently from her hand.
Unknown Number: The park was really nice today…
Y/N backed away. Her body began.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “It’s him.” Her knees buckled slightly. “It’s him. It’s still him. The doctor...he’s...he’s here.”
Bucky caught her before she fell. “No, no, no. You’re safe. You’re here with me, with us. He can’t touch you anymore.”
But her breathing turned ragged. “He saw me. At the park. He was there…”
Tony and Nat burst in from the hallway, Steve and Sam right behind. “What happened?” Tony asked sharply, eyes on Bucky. “Is it him?”
Bucky didn’t answer. He simply held the phone up.
Tony grabbed it, his face instantly shifting as he read the message. “FRIDAY,” he barked. “Trace this number. Immediate scan. Everything.”
Y/N’s hands clawed at her jacket. “He’s watching me again. He said they’d find me, he wanted them to, and now...now he’s still... he’s still...”
“Hey,” Nat said firmly, stepping forward, her hands gentle on Y/N’s shoulders. “Look at me. Right here. You’re safe. We’ll find him.”
Bucky cupped the side of her face, grounding her. “We’re not going back, doll. Not ever.”
But Y/N was shaking her head, panic still rising. “You don’t understand… if he’s here, if he’s watching… he’s not done. You were right, Buck. I shouldn’t go out.”
FRIDAY's voice echoed from the ceiling. “Trace in progress. Signal routed through multiple encrypted channels. This is a deliberate obfuscation. But not unbreakable.”
Tony growled. “I want every city camera, every surveillance feed from that park. I want traffic footage, drone data, pigeons with GoPro. EVERYTHING!” He shouted angry.
Bucky never let go of her. Not for a second. Y/N buried her face into his shoulder, breath starting to slow, but her words, barely audible, were enough to break them all.
“…he said I’d never be free.”
The moment FRIDAY confirmed the trace was active, Stark locked himself in the lab.
Coffee in one hand, holograms spinning in the other, his eyes scanned walls of data no normal person could keep up with.
The message Y/N had received wasn’t just a message.
It was a declaration. He was watching. He was near. And he wanted them to know it.
“FRIDAY,” Tony snapped, “...remind me what we’re up against.”
“The signal came from a modified relay node in Queens, bounced off three privately owned satellites, re-encoded via an AI protocol that is… disturbingly familiar.”
Tony’s jaw tightened. “Hydra-familiar?”
“No. Stark-familiar.”
His heart sank. “You’re saying he used something I built?”
“Not directly, sir but part of the routing system used old Stark Net firmware, possibly stolen during the Siberia infiltration.”
Tony muttered a string of curses under his breath, then grabbed another tool and began working furiously.
Holographic cables, AI pathways, encryption strands danced around him.
The bastard hadn’t just resurfaced, he’d come prepared.
An hour later, the footage from the park finally began processing. Tony paused when the first angle loaded. He magnified a bench. There she was Y/N walking with Nat, laughing. Then, nothing.
No man in a lab coat.
No obvious observer.
Just people.
Too many people, but something caught his eye in the reflection of a glass food cart parked nearby.
A figure standing still not looking at Y/N, but at the camera.
Face obscured with a hat.
But the posture? Very familiar.
“Son of a bitch…” Tony whispered.
He turned to FRIDAY. “We’ve got partial image capture. Feed this to facial reconstruction, pull gait analysis, ear geometry, shoulder width, everything.”
“Reconstruction in progress…” the AI spoke.
And then came the real kicker.
As Tony decrypted the metadata embedded in the message itself, something appeared.
Something chilling.
A phrase, hidden in the code.
An embedded checksum tag, written in a language only a few minds would notice. Only those that lived in the grey area between machinery and madness.
“She still listens. She still remembers and I still own a piece of her.”
Tony dropped the tool he was holding. and stared at the code. Then he turned to FRIDAY. “Send that to Bucky, now! Get me every scrap of hardware that Y/N came back with. The device we removed, the transmitter core, everything. I want it stripped to the atoms.” He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his temple. “This isn’t just about tracking her.” He said aloud.
Meanwhile, upstairs Bucky stood outside Y/N’s room, the message Tony sent now glowing on the tablet in his hand.
She still listens. She still remembers and I still own a piece of her.
Bucky’s metal fist curled tight. “No,” he said through his teeth. “Not again.”
The tower had returned to its rhythm silent concern wrapped in forced normality but something had shifted.
Every now and then, Y/N would pause mid-movement. Her gaze would drift. She’d blink, slowly as if waiting for a cue.
The team noticed but they didn’t say it aloud.
They all knew.
She was still listening to him, and the encounter in the park made something woke up again in her mind.
Every achievement she made that text ruined everything.
Not through a speaker.
Not through an implant.
Not even consciously.
The doctor’s voice, it had rooted itself in her psyche like a virus.
It was Bucky who saw it clearly. He was training alone in the gym when Y/N appeared at the door.
She stood still, one foot inside the room, arms limp by her side. Her head tilted slightly, as if reacting to a sound. “Doll?” He said gently.
No answer. Her lips moved, barely. He came closer. “Y/N?”
She flinched violently then blinked. Her eyes found his, wide and trembling and Bucky froze. Her hand moved to the spot just beneath her shoulder blade. The same place the implant had once been. There was nothing there anymore, nothing physical, at least but in her mind, it still buzzed.
“She’s responding to post-suggestion loops,” Tony said in the common room after Bucky informed the team, projecting brainwave patterns into the air. “She’s not hallucinating at this point, it’s deeper. He embedded reflex responses through repetition conditioning.”
Steve’s face tightened. “So, what do we do? It took only a text after a year?”
“We rebuild her brain’s reaction system from scratch,” Tony replied. “Create new loops. Override the old ones. Basically…”
“We teach her how to not obey,” Natasha finished.
Tony nodded grimly. “Our work all wiped out…”
Y/N sat curled in the window seat of her room, knees pulled tight to her chest while the rain tapped against the glass. She stopped sharing the room with Bucky, and that alone killed him.
He knocked once, then came in. He sat beside her quietly. Minutes passed. “I know you still hear him,” he finally said. “But every time you don’t obey, even if it’s tiny, you win.”
Her fingers twitched at that.
He looked at her. “And I’m here every time you fight back. No matter how many times.”
She turned her head slightly. Eyes red, but dry. Then, slowly, she nodded.
It happened so quietly no one noticed.
No alarms.
No broken locks.
No sign of distress.
Just an open window and an empty bed at 3:00 a.m.
Y/N left the Avengers Tower boots on, wearing a hoodie and leggings. Her steps silent and her expression blank. She didn’t leave because she wanted to. She left because something inside her had been waiting to obey but his voice, that impossible voice, hadn’t disappeared fully.
It simply waited for the right moment.
For an entire year.
The right hour.
Midnight.
“Come home, Silva.”
So, when everyone was sleeping, three hours later she was out of the tower and something in her snapped into place.
By sunrise, Bucky knew. The sheets in her room were cold. The closet door was ajar. Her boots gone. But it was the small slip of paper on the pillow that broke him.
‘I’m sorry. I tried. But he’s right’
Tony was in the lab within five minutes.
“FRIDAY, track her,” Bucky demanded, already halfway to the elevator. “I can’t Mr Barnes,” the AI stammered. “Her watch was disabled manually. She’s offline.”
“Can’t be,” Sam muttered. “She was doing better…”
“She was reprogrammed, Sam. We removed the device, not the wiring.” Tony’s voice was steel.
Steve stepped forward. “Then we go after her. Now.”ù
While the Avengers were panicking, she wandered across the city unnoticed, just another face among millions.
A taxi, then a bus.
She never spoke.
She just followed instructions, once buried so deep in her mind, even she didn’t realize they were still there.
By 7 a.m., she stood outside an abandoned Hydra bunker north of the city, surrounded by woods and silence.
The door was already open.
Inside, the air smelled like bleach and iron and he was there.
The doctor, smiling. “You came, Silva.” He said, stepping forward. “They’ll come for you, of course. But we’ll be gone by then. Won’t we?”
Y/N didn’t move. Her breath trembled, but her feet didn’t. Not yet. Not until he said, “Sit.”
She did.
Silva.
Her new name.
Tony stood, eyes already flicking toward the ceiling. “FRIDAY?”
“No signal,” the AI answered, uneasily. “Her trackers were deactivated. Everything was shut off manually.”
“Manually?” Nat echoed, stunned. “You mean, she knew what she was doing?”
“No,” Bucky growled, turning toward her. “She didn’t choose this. He still has her, in her head. She left… because he told her to.”
A thick beat of silence settled over the team. Steve ran a hand through his hair. Sam swore under his breath.
“Look,” Tony said, stepping toward the glass table and flicking up a digital map. “If she’s on the move, she left a trail. I don’t care how deep it’s buried. We’ll find it.”
“Do it fast,” Bucky muttered. His voice was low, barely more than a growl. “Because I swear, if he lays a finger on her again-”
“He won’t,” Nat cut in, calm but deadly. “We’re getting her back. This time, for good.”
And without another word, the team mobilized.
Because Y/N wasn’t just missing.
She was slipping away all over again, and this time they’d burn down the world to stop it.
The message came at dawn.
Encrypted.
Masked IP.
Routed through untraceable satellites.
Tony nearly smashed the screen when it arrived. He’d been running diagnostics all night, trying to ping Y/N’s last known locations after she vanished. There hadn’t been a trace, not a heat signature, not a pulse of energy.
The others had filed in slowly, one by one.
No one had spoken.
Even Natasha, usually the first to break tension with some dry comment, had only crossed her arms and kept her eyes fixed on the monitor.
The common room felt colder than usual. Shadows stretched along the walls despite the rising sun. Steve, Sam, Nat, Bucky, and Tony stood in a line behind the console like a firing squad awaiting orders. But it wasn’t bullets they were bracing for.
The screen flickered. A man appeared.
Face covered by a white mask, surgical cap tight over his hair. His eyes gleamed clinical, cold, and full of joyless calculation. Behind him concrete walls, dull grey. Industrial lights. A surgical chair in the background. Wires hung loosely from metal beams. It could have been a lab or a prison, or both. But it was the figure behind him that stole the breath from the room.
Y/N.
Her presence hit harder than any explosion.
She was standing motionless, spine straight, posture terrifyingly familiar. Her eyes didn’t roam. They didn’t flicker. They didn’t even seem to see. She was dressed in a black tactical gear, painfully familiar to Bucky. Her arms were by her sides, hands gloved. Her hair was tied back with military precision. And then, barely visible but unmistakable, the faint scar trailing from the base of her neck.
Tony stopped breathing.
Natasha let out a single, quiet, “No.”
Bucky stepped forward involuntarily, like gravity itself had snapped him toward the screen.
“You took something that belonged to us,” the doctor began, voice smooth, deliberate.
“You tried to fix her. You even loved her, didn’t you, Soldat?”
The word loved slammed into Bucky like a sledgehammer to the chest.
“But what you didn’t understand… is that she was always meant to be like you.” He turned slightly, revealing Y/N more clearly. “And now, she is.”
He stepped aside with a predator’s pride.
Y/N turned slowly and mechanically. Her right arm lifted just enough to show the crimson star branded into her sleeve.
The team staggered in different ways.
Steve clenched his fists.
Sam cursed under his breath.
Natasha’s eyes glazed like someone recalling a nightmare.
Bucky looked like he was falling apart in real time.
Still, Y/N didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t breathe any heavier. Until the doctor gave a command.
“Demonstrate, Silva.”
What followed happened in a single, horrifying moment.
Y/N raised her fist and drove it into a concrete support pillar beside her. The crack echoed through the speakers like a gunshot. Stone and dust exploded outward. The pillar split. The silence that followed was deafening.
Bucky took a half step back, his face hollow. “No…” he whispered. “No, no, no.”
Tony’s voice came from behind clenched teeth. “He rebuilt her protocols. That’s why we couldn’t stop her. She’s not just conditioned, she’s hardwired. Remote access enabled. We’re not dealing with trauma anymore. We’re dealing with a goddamn reprogrammed super-asset.”
The doctor leaned toward the camera now. His voice dropped an octave, his words slow and cold. “She doesn’t need to be reminded, Stark. She came willingly. She obeyed. We simply… refreshed her training.”
“She was healing. You let her heal. But you didn’t finish the job. You forgot to erase the code.”
The camera zoomed ever so slightly, catching Y/N’s face in the background. Her eyes were empty. Not just dissociated but vacant, like someone had turned off the lights behind them.
“You can come get her,” the doctor added, voice now bordering on a taunt. “But you’ll have to fight her. Let’s see how deep your love really runs… Soldat.”
The screen cut to black and the silence reigned.
The entire team stood frozen in place, the image of Y/N’s burning arm still burning into their minds.
“What are we up against, Tony?” Steve was the first to speak. “And why he called her Silva?”
Tony was already tapping furiously into his tablet, trying to reverse-engineer the signal, tracing possible coordinates. His voice was low and fast. “He’s not lying. It’s a neural reinforcement loop advanced as hell. She’s not just brainwashed. She’s… rebuilt. Like Bucky was. But newer. Cleaner. Custom-coded to her psychology. New name, new person.”
Sam’s voice trembled. “She was getting better.”
Natasha stayed silent, eyes locked on the blank screen, her own past clawing at her insides.
And Bucky looked broken. “They turned her into me,” he whispered, jaw trembling. “They knew what I was… and made her willingly choose it.”
Tony stopped typing. “No. They made her believe she did.”
The team fell quiet again. But something had shifted now.
“We find her,” Steve said. “And we don’t hurt her unless we have no choice.”
Nat’s eyes burned. “If I get my hands on that doctor-”
“We all will,” Tony muttered. “But first we get Y/N back.”
“She might not want to come back,” Sam added quietly.
Everyone turned to Bucky. He stood still, arms locked to his sides, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Then I’ll remind her who she is.”
The cold was back. Not the kind that touched the skin, but the kind that settled deep into the bones. The kind she thought she’d left behind in a sterile lab, on a steel table, with needles in her veins and a voice whispering in her ear.
Y/N sat, spine straight, in the center of a training cell.
White walls.
No windows.
A single red light blinking above the door.
Her hands were gloved.
Her movements exact.
Her breathing shallow.
She didn’t speak, she hadn’t for days.
Her memories were fractured, layered like old glass, shards of freedom and captivity spliced together until she couldn’t tell which ones were real.
She remembered the Tower.
Coffee in the morning.
Tony complaining.
Sam teasing her.
Steve’s protective warmth.
Nat brushing her hair.
Bucky’s arm around her shoulders during stormy nights.
The doctor told her those weren’t real, that they were a cover story like a simulation. “You were never their equal,” he whispered behind her, voice always gentle. “You were the project. I merely resumed it.”
Sometimes, she believed him especially at midnight when the lights dimmed and the audio loop returned.
“Please, Y/N. Answer me.”
“Please, Y/N. Answer me.”
“Please, Y/N. Answer me.”
She had screamed the first night.
Then she whispered.
Then she said nothing at all.
Until the doctor came in one morning, his gloves bright white and spotless, holding the chip he’d once embedded behind her shoulder. “You left a door open,” he said, smiling down at her. “You let them back in. But I’ve closed it now. The only voice left is mine.”
That was the day she stopped crying.
“Execute sequence 27,” he said.
Y/N stood in front of the mirror in a different room.
Concrete, again. Cold light. Wires hanging from the ceiling. Click. The collar on her neck locked. Her eyes went blank.
She wasn’t aware of the camera above her. Or the panel of observers in the room behind the glass.
“Y/N,” the doctor said softly, stepping into the room behind her. “You were born out of pain. But forged into something unstoppable.” He ran a finger gently over the branded star on her upper arm. She didn’t flinch. “You’re not broken. You’re rebuilt.” Then he looked her in the mirror. “Now, say the line.”
She stared forward, unmoving. Silent.
“Say it.” Silence. “Say it.”
“I am not Y/N,” she said. Her voice monotone, hollow, detached. “I am Silva.”
The team watching from the other side of the glass burst into applause. But the doctor didn’t smile. He leaned close, whispered directly into her ear.
“Good girl. They’ll come for you. And when they do… you’ll show them exactly how much they failed.”
The cell wasn’t empty, but it was silent.
Y/N sat in the corner, knees drawn up, face blank. The white suit she wore reflected the sterile fluorescence of the walls, making her look like a ghost present, but already gone.
Then came the voices.
Bucky’s first. “She’s not the same,” he said coldly. “I don’t know if we can fix her.”
Y/N’s head twitched barely, but her eyes remained fixed ahead.
Tony’s voice followed, sharp and analytical. “She’s a liability. We can’t just let her walk around the Tower like she didn’t almost lose her damn mind. She could turn on us.”
Natasha’s voice came next. This one cracked something inside her. “She’s not my best friend anymore. That person died in the lab.”
Each phrase hit like a scalpel.
Y/N didn’t scream. She didn’t cry but her body leaned ever so slightly away from the speaker, as if her soul were retreating.
The recordings had been masterfully constructed, pieced together from real voice samples lifted from Tower security footage and mission comms.
“They turned their backs on you,” the doctor’s voice said calmly, as he entered the room behind her. “They fear what you’ve become. And they should.” He crouched beside her, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. “But I don’t fear you.”
She didn’t respond.
“Because I built you.”
He pressed a button on the tablet in his other hand and the room darkened slightly.
Another voice played, Steve’s. “If it comes down to it… we put her down.”
Y/N flinched, finally. That was the moment. That was when the last thread tethering her to the outside world began to unravel.
“You see?” the doctor whispered. “You went home and they never saw you again. They saw a problem. And problems get solved.”
The lights never turned off in her new cell.
The voices kept returning, always from the ceiling.
Steve about her being a threat.
Natasha saying she wasn't the best friend Y/N always thought.
Sam declaring his fear.
Tony saying she could be killed if they worked together.
Bucky admitting he stopped loving her after the first rescue.
The worst was Bucky. His voice lingered in her mind like ash. He had once been her anchor, her mirror. Now, he was the phantom holding the blade.
“You’re weak, Y/N. You were always weak. I do not care about you...”
“We only saved you because we pitied you.”
“The mission should have ended you.”
A voice in her head, not one from the speakers, kept whispering.
You’re not one of them anymore.
They threw you away.
But we rebuilt you.
Now you are something else.
And slowly, she believed it.
They didn’t call her Y/N anymore.
That name was erased from the files. It remained in the archives of her old life, in the Tower’s dusty database but here, under the doctor’s rule, she was something else now.
They gave her a suit, matte black nearly identical to Bucky’s old one.
A red symbol where her heart once was.
Her eyes were empty, but never without focus.
One of the guards said she looked like a machine pretending to be a woman. He didn’t say it again. She broke his arm in five places during a routine sparring test and smiled.
The rain didn’t stop.
It slicked the rooftops of the city in sheets of silver, washing the neon signs into streaks across the city skyline. In the shadows of a satellite tower, a figure crouched silently motionless, a silhouette against the storm.
Silva was waiting.
A soft voice crackled in her earpiece. “Subject is thirty meters north. Three guards. No cameras. No witnesses. Confirm the target, Silva.”
She didn’t reply with words, just the soft click of her boot shifting forward. Down below, the informant lit a cigarette with trembling hands, speaking into a burner phone. His contact would be gone in ten minutes. He had no idea she was there watching.
No one saw her fall from the rooftop.
No sound touched the street but the snap of bone and the thud of a body hitting wet concrete.
The cigarette rolled into a puddle.
Three guards never even got their safeties off.
The target turned, eyes wide. He opened his mouth to scream. She slammed his head into the brick wall with precision. “Extraction complete,” she muttered flatly into the comm. Her voice was flatter than the rain.
“Good girl,” the doctor whispered. He said it every time like she was a pet.
The Avengers’ Tower felt colder that night. Everything felt more fragile.
FRIDAY'S voice cut through the silence. “Y/N’s biometrics just matched combat readiness data. Full red alert. Combined oxidative stress, adrenaline pulse. She’s in active mission mode.”
Tony looked up from the holographic console, eyes dark. The waveform she’d once struggled to speak, now pulsed with precision filled with life again but strutted by someone else.
Nat put her hand on his shoulder. “She’s following the same neural pattern every mission log shows. We thought we broke it.”
Sam’s voice came static. “We read movement in Brooklyn. Silhouette movement pattern matches protocol 17. Female, tactical input masked. It’s Y/N.”
Bucky closed his eyes, breathing shallow. “It’s her,” he said. “God help us… it’s her.”
In the lab, Tony engaged the encryption scanner and pulled up mission logs from within Hydra’s network. A collapsed map of compromised files, all tagged with Y/N’s codename, Silva, popped up.
Next to it, an image fragment. A blurry shot of someone lean. “It’s definitely her,” he whispered.
Nat slammed her fist lightly onto the glass surface. “That bastard didn’t just reprogram her. He weaponized what was left of her. Armed her with precision.”
Sam swallowed. “So… do we intercept? Do we warn her? Or do we stop her?”
Steve lifted his shield decisively. “We go. We intercept. No answer comes from that contact chain. This is field op, not negotiation.”
They suited up in silence.
Nat whispered to Bucky, “She might still be in there. Not just that thing he made.”
Bucky nodded quietly.
Steve slid out with Sam in tow. Tony lingered, inputting override codes into the Tower’s defence systems.
Natasha strapped on Kevlar. Bucky took a breath. “I’ll find her.”
“We will,” Steve replied. “All of us.”
The elevator doors opened beyond. The city waited and somewhere, out there following orders she didn’t remember agreeing to, Y/N walked again faster.
The city’s shadows swallowed the figures moving in silence. The rain had started to fall in thin, cold sheets, mist curling in alleys, pooling in broken concrete. The industrial district loomed like a graveyard of iron bones, towering structures rusting into decay.
Every step echoed beneath them, muffled by the wet gravel underfoot.
Natasha, Tony, Sam, and Steve moved like ghosts between collapsed scaffolding and shattered glass.
The air was dense, thick with the hum of something wrong.
Tony’s voice broke the stillness, low in their comms. “FRIDAY picked up her heat signature five minutes ago. Two clicks north. Still moving.”
“Copy that,” Steve replied, eyes narrowing beneath his helmet.
Crouched behind the husk of an old supply truck, Natasha’s voice cut in. “She’s here. I can feel it.” She was tense, every muscle coiled, not from fear but familiarity. She knew this kind of silence, the kind that came before a kill.
Sam adjusted the scope on his visor, scanning the shadows ahead. “There.” He pointed. “Twelve o’clock. Moving fast.”
Tony’s HUD zoomed in. The figure moved with fluid precision. A blur of black against the steel-grey ruins. “Visual match confirmed. That’s her.”
Y/N.
But not the Y/N they knew. The Y/N who had started laughing again, who would shadow Bucky like a heartbeat, who had whispered her first words after months of silence.
No.
This was something else.
Sam’s jaw clenched. “We move in. Quiet and quick.”
They fanned out in practiced formation, weapons raised, not to kill but to save.
The rain intensified, clinging to skin and metal, slicking the cracked cement underfoot. Then, someone dropped from above.
Silva.
Y/N, if there was any of her left inside, landed in front of them like a shadow split from the night. Her stance was perfect and balanced.
Her eyes dead.
No words.
No hesitation.
She moved first.
A flash of movement, too fast. Tony fired a stun blast, bright blue light split the darkness. She twisted sideways mid-air, the bolt sailing past her head.
Nat barely had time to react before Y/N closed the distance. A single, brutal kick clean, sharp. Natasha flew back, crashing through a rotted doorframe and disappearing.
“Nat!” Steve shouted, raising his shield and charging forward. He swung.
Y/N ducked. Her fist connected with his ribs, spinning him. She used his own momentum to slam him into the ground. The clang of vibranium echoed across the alleyway.
Sam was next, wings flaring as he dropped from above, fists ready. Y/N caught him mid-lunge, her knee driving into his stomach, elbow clipping his temple. He hit the pavement hard, gasping for air. “Jesus, she’s faster than before-”
Tony called out, ducking as Y/N hurled a steel pipe in his direction. It embedded itself in the wall beside him with a shriek of metal. “She’s too strong,” he muttered, fingers tightening around the repulsor. “Too precise.”
Every move was calculated.
Every step planned.
This wasn’t just combat.
This was programming. This was someone unleashed. And then, he arrived.
Bucky.
Soaked from the rain, his chest heaving, hair plastered to his face. He slowed when he saw her.
Not her stance.
Not her weapon.
Her eyes.
They were blank and empty but still hers.
He stepped forward, unarmed and unafraid.
A soldier.
A ghost.
A man trying to remember how to breathe.
A boyfriend trying to save his girlfriend.
“Y/N…”
His voice cracked around her name, raw and breaking.
It wasn’t a call. It wasn’t a command. It was a plea.
She turned toward him, head tilting with eerie calm.
And for the tiniest moment, something changed.
Her posture slipped.
Her fingers twitched.
Her breathing faltered.
The brutal mask wavered.
The former Winter Soldier stilled.
Her eyes, so hollow a second before, flickered.
“Y/N,” Bucky said again, softer now, stepping closer. “You don’t have to do this. I’m right here.”
She blinked. The world stopped turning.
One second.
Two.
A breath.
Then her jaw clenched and her body re-engaged, like a machine rebooting.
Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t run. He just stood there, hand outstretched, his voice trembling as he whispered. “Come back to me…”
From the wreckage, Steve slowly rose to his feet.
Sam was pushing himself up, blood at his temple.
Natasha limped back into view, one arm held tight to her side.
Tony’s arc reactor glowed in the rain, his repulsors humming low.
They all watched the scene unfold, knowing this wasn’t a battle they could win by force.
This was a war for her soul and it had only just begun.
Y/N turned fully toward him.
The flicker of recognition, of her, was gone now replaced by something colder. Her jaw tightened again. She stepped forward in silence, fists at her sides, her breath calm.
Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t raise his fists. “I’m not fighting you,” he said, voice low but steady.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she charged.
Faster than a thought. Bucky barely brought his arm up in time, her fist slammed into his metal forearm with a crack, the force reverberating down to his bones. He stumbled back a step, panic flashing across his face. “Y/N,” he said again, more urgent now, “you don’t want to do this-”
Her leg swept beneath him. He hit the pavement with a grunt, rolling just in time to avoid a crushing stomp meant to shatter his ribs. She came down again, relentless.
A punch.
A knee.
Another strike.
He blocked each one, but barely not retaliating nor hitting back. “I know you’re in there,” he panted, pushing himself to his feet. “I know you are.”
A scream tore from her lips wordless and mechanical, like metal grinding on metal. She threw a spinning kick, connecting with his shoulder. The sound of his bones protesting echoed in the narrow alley.
Still, Bucky didn’t fight back.
“Hey,” he said gently. “You’re not still mad I let you tackle me through a glass wall, are you?”
No answer but her shoulders tensed. He smirked, just a little. “Because for the record, I let you win.”
Still nothing.
She didn’t look at him so, he walked closer cautious like she was still half wild not from fear, but from pain. “You remember that one sparring match?” He asked, in front of her. “Where you said and I quote... don’t go easy on me just ‘cause you’re old... I’ve never been so offended in my life.”
He stopped for a second.
“You decked me, Y/N. I landed so hard I almost asked Steve what year it was.”
Y/N stopped.
He went closer, touching her hands. “I missed you,” he said softly, brushing her gloved knuckles with his fingers.
“Missed the way you used to glare at me during breakfast. Missed how you’d roll your eyes when I tried to be charming.”
Her eyes shimmered, he thought she was coming back in some ways but he was wrong.
Silva grabbed him by his collar and crushed her head on his forehead. Bucky shook his head and blinked a couple of time. He starred at her once she left his collar.
“Baby?” He spoke, arms streached in the air in front of her. “You hurt me, doll.”
His eyes soft and bright, still with a hint oh hopeness. He walked again toward her. He leaned forward slightly. “I missed you. Not the weapon. Not the soldier. Just the pain-in-my-ass sparring partner who used to steal my coffee and kick my ass for fun.”
Silva looked at him, this time really looked at him.
“Hit me if you need to,” he rasped. “Break me if that’s what it takes, but you’re not gone. You are not this.”
She grabbed his collar again and slammed him into the wall. The impact split the concrete behind him. Her hand hovered at his throat, trembling not from weakness, but restraint. Their faces were inches apart.
Her eyes… cracked.
Tears mingled with rain. “I see you,” he whispered. “Even now.”
Her fist stayed raised quivering. Her lips parted as a broken breath escaped.
Not a word. Just sound.
For the first time, her expression twisted, not into rage but into confusion.
The program and the girl fighting inside one body.
“You’re not a weapon,” Bucky whispered, slowly raising his metal hand and laying it gently over hers. “Not to me.”
Her fingers flexed against his neck, like a threat she didn’t know how to follow through on anymore. She pressed it on his skin, not strong enought to choke him but still and steady to made him gulped.
“I chose you,” he breathed. “Not what they made you. You.”
For a heartbeat, her hand dropped.
She staggered back, clutching her head with both hands.
Her breath came out ragged now, gasping.
Knees buckling.
Bucky reached forward, and this time she didn’t strike. She collapsed into him.
It wasn’t a prison.
The glass walls were transparent, the lights soft and clinical. The bed had a real mattress and the door was unlocked but closed.
Monitors blinked quietly, tracking vitals with sterile indifference.
She woke with a gasp, bolting upright in the bed like she’d been shot out of sleep. Her eyes wild and unfocused, scanned the room.
No shadows.
No doctor.
No command.
Just silence.
Then came the realization.
She was alone.
She stumbled out of bed and moved straight toward the far wall, toward the one surface she knew was a barrier. She slammed her fist into the glass. It didn’t even ripple.
The monitors behind her chirped.
Another punch.
Then two more.
By the time the Avengers reached the observation room, she was in full panic.
Her fists pounded the glass relentlessly, breathing shallow, hair wild and mouth opening in a soundless scream. Her eyes locked on the mirror, on them, as though she could see right through.
“Shit,” Sam breathed. “She’s not just scared. She thinks she’s back.”
Tony stood tense, arms crossed, watching her form hit the wall again and again. “She’s not out of it. She’s fighting to get to something. Or away from something in her head.”
“She’s triggered,” Nat said softly.
“The glass, it’s too familiar.” Steve pressed a hand to the panel. “Let me go in.”
“No,” Bucky’s voice was hard, unshakable. “Let me.”
Inside the room, Y/N was slipping. The bruises from the previous fight hadn’t healed. Her knuckles were bleeding now, but she kept hitting. Her mouth moved again, that same phrase, repeatedly. “Please, Y/N, answer me.”
“Override the door,” Bucky said.
“Are you crazy?” Tony snapped. “She’s not stable, Barnes. You go in there, she might-”
“She already did.” His voice cracked. “She already hurt me. But if anyone’s gonna get through to her, it’s me. She could open the door from the inside but she don't know because she thinks she's there again. She's gonna hurt herself if I don't go in there...”
Nat hesitated then nodded.
The hiss of the pressure seal disengaging filled the hallway. The glass door slid open and Y/N froze.
Her body trembled like static electricity was running through her bones. Then she turned, slowly, mechanically toward Bucky. They dressed her with an hospital gown, no shoes but no matter what she stood there fists in the air, ready to fight.
He didn’t raise his hands. He just stood there. “I’m here,” he whispered. “And you’re safe. You’re not in the bunker. You’re not in his chair. You’re not a weapon.”
Her jaw clenched.
“I’m not going to fight you,” he said.
One step, then another and then, she launched at him.
He barely had time to react before her fist whipped toward his face. He ducked, the punch cutting through empty air, but her spinning backfist caught his shoulder and sent him stumbling across the room.
“Hear me!” He shouted.
She answered with a sharp front kick. He twisted aside. Her naked foot slammed into the wall hard enough to made her whine. Before he could recover, she was already on him again. Two quick jabs, a hook, then an elbow aimed at his jaw.
He blocked the first two. The elbow slipped through. His vision flashed white as he staggered backward.
“It's me!” he gasped.
He caught her wrist this time, trying to hold her still.
“Look at me.”
She drove her knee toward his ribs. He released her just in time, the strike grazing his side instead of breaking it. She spun free, sweeping his legs from under him.
He hit the floor hard. She was already above him, fist raised. He rolled away just as it crashed into the floor.
“You'd never try to kill me,” he said, climbing to his feet.
She tilted her head. “I have no memory of you.” Then she attacked again.
A blur of punches forced him across the warehouse. He blocked, dodged, and retreated, refusing every opening to strike back. Every time she overextended, he simply stepped away instead of countering.
His restraint cost him. A hook slammed into his ribs. Another clipped his chin. Blood touched the corner of his mouth.
“Fight me!” she demanded.
“I won't.”
He caught her ankle at the last second. For one brief moment they froze, eyes locked.
“Please,” he whispered.
Something changed.
A flicker.
Her brow tightened.
Her breathing hitched.
His name almost formed on her lips.
Hope surged through him.
She collapsed into him like her bones had given out, fists clutching the fabric of his shirt, her entire frame shaking against his chest.
Later that night, the humming of security fields had been lowered to a near whisper and the medical monitors glowed gently, casting pale shadows across the room.
Y/N lay curled on the hospital style bed, wrapped in one of Bucky’s old sweatshirts, her fingers still trembling faintly even in sleep.
Bucky sat beside her on the floor, back against the glass wall with his knees up. His head resting lightly against the frame of her bed.
The rest of the team watched through the two-way mirror. No one spoke.
“She didn’t scream this time,” Natasha finally said, her voice low and careful.
“Not once.” Tony nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That’s something. Her vitals stabilized once he held her.”
“She didn’t even flinch when he walked in,” Steve added.
“She could’ve attacked again. But she didn’t.”
“She still thinks she’s broken,” Sam said softly. “That’s the worst part. Even when she’s safe, she doesn’t believe it.”
Tony sighed. “He didn’t just program her body. He rewired her fear. Every quiet moment? That’s when the trigger loop resets.”
Nat stepped closer to the glass, her expression unreadable. “What if the trigger isn’t just audio or code?”
“You think it’s emotional?” Tony asked.
“No,” she said. “I think it’s shame.”
Behind the glass, Bucky reached up with his free hand and gently brushed a strand of hair from Y/N’s face. She didn’t stir, but she leaned a little closer in her sleep.
“I’ve seen this before,” Nat murmured. “In myself. In him.” She nodded toward Bucky. “It’s not the memory that traps you. It’s believing you were meant to be that way. That you’re still dangerous, even now.”
“So how do we help her?” Steve asked.
There was a long pause.
Then Tony, quiet but certain. “We keep showing her she’s not alone. Even if it takes years. I’m pretty sure her programming works like the Winter Soldier’s one. Once she woke up, she will be okay.”
“Do you mean like a switch?” Sam asked.
Tony nodded.
Hours later, the sky over New York was just beginning to turn a dull shade of blue, the kind of color that only crept in when the city was still asleep and the world was quiet enough to remember it was still spinning.
Inside the Tower, the soft pulse of medical monitors was the only sound that broke the silence.
Bucky hadn’t moved in hours.
He now sat slouched against the transparent glass wall of Y/N’s recovery room, one knee drawn up, one hand resting on the edge of the bed. His fingers loosely curled around hers. He didn’t care that the floor was cold. He didn’t care that his back was stiff or that he hadn’t slept.
She was breathing. That was all that mattered.
Then, she stirred.
It wasn’t much, just a twitch, a slow inhale. Her fingers adjusting their grip like her mind had finally caught up with her body. Bucky’s head snapped up instantly, eyes locking onto her hand as her thumb brushed over the back of his. Her lips parted, cracked and dry, and for a moment he thought maybe she was just shifting in sleep again, but then her voice broke through the silence like a knife slipping into his ribs.
“…You stayed.”
The whisper was so quiet, so impossibly fragile, that he almost thought he imagined it.
His breath hitched.
She still wasn’t looking at him, her cheek was pressed into the mattress, her eyes fixed somewhere far away but her head had tilted ever so slightly in his direction, like she’d been waiting for confirmation that he was still there.
“I’m here,” he said, barely above a breath. “I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned in a little closer, afraid to move too quickly. Her skin looked so pale in the early light.
There were still faded bruises along her jaw, faint shadows beneath her eyes, and that fresh, angry scar peeking out from her neckline where the implant had once been.
But her voice, it had been hers.
Not Silva’s.
Hers.
Y/N’s fingers twitched again, then curled tighter around his hand like a reflex. “Don’t let them lock me up again, please.” She whispered.
Her voice was hoarse, raw, like it hadn’t been used in weeks. She didn’t cry. She didn’t plead. It wasn’t fear in her voice. It was shame.
A deep, aching fear that she had become what they said she would.
Bucky swallowed hard. His throat felt like it had been scraped raw. “It’s not a cell,” he said gently, reaching up to rest his metal hand on the mattress beside her. “It’s just a room. A safe one. It’s where we keep the people we love when they’re hurting.”
She didn’t speak.
Her eyes, dulled by exhaustion but no longer vacant, slid toward his. They didn’t widen in fear or dart away in panic. “…Promise?” She asked.
The word barely made it out of her throat. It was more breath than sound, and it trembled as it fell from her lips. Bucky leaned closer until his forehead almost touched the edge of the bed, and he looked up at her like she was the only thing in the universe that mattered.
“I promise,” he said.
A long silence followed.
She didn’t nod.
She didn’t speak again.
Her fingers never let go of his.
For the first time in a long time, she closed her eyes not from exhaustion, but from rest.
The soft morning light spilled through the Tower’s huge windows as Bucky gently helped Y/N sit up, brushing stray strands of hair from her face. Her eyes, still heavy with the residue of restless sleep, flickered with uncertainty.
“I-I’m not sure,” she whispered, voice fragile. “What if they hate me? What if they don’t want me here anymore?”
Bucky’s gaze softened. “They don’t hate you. Nobody does.”
After days of silence and isolation, Bucky was determined to help her take one small step back into the world. “Come on. Breakfast with the team. You don’t have to say a word if you don’t want to.”
Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart pounding with nervous hesitation.
The last time she’d been with them, she was broken. A weapon twisted beyond repair. The thought they might resent her felt like another weight on her chest. But Bucky’s hand was warm, steady, and impossible to refuse. When they reached the common room, the team was already gathered, casual and calm, cups of coffee in hand. But when their eyes met Y/N’s, everything changed.
Tony was the first to rise, a soft smile breaking across his face. Without hesitation, he crossed the room and wrapped her in a careful, fierce hug. “Hey, kiddo,” he murmured, voice thick. “We missed you.”
Steve, Sam and Natasha moved closer, arms open and faces full of relief and something like love.
No accusations.
No cold shoulders.
Natasha’s fingers brushed Y/N’s hair gently, eyes bright with unshed tears. “You’re home,” she said simply.
Sam grinned, clapping her lightly on the back. “Took your sweet time, but you made it.”
Y/N’s chest tightened. She hadn’t expected this.
Not this warmth.
Not this acceptance.
Bucky stood beside her, feeling the way her body trembled, not from fear but from a fragile hope beginning to bloom. “I thought… you’d hate me,” she whispered to him later, her voice barely audible.
He shook his head, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “No. We don’t hate you. We never stopped fighting for you. And we never will.”
For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt the heavy armour of loneliness slip just a little. She was still broken. But she wasn’t alone.
The days that followed were nothing like the darkness Y/N had known. The Tower was alive with quiet determination, patience, and a gentle persistence that slowly chipped away at the walls she had built around herself.
Rehabilitation wasn’t easy.
Every step forward was met with memories clawing at her mind, every small victory shadowed by the echoes of the doctor’s control. But this time, she wasn’t alone in the fight. Tony designed personalized therapy sessions, blending technology with compassion. His AI programs encouraged her to keep speaking, to regain the words stolen by trauma. He never pushed too hard, always reading her cues, ready to pause when the fear flickered in her eyes.
Natasha became her shadow, a silent guardian and steady presence. She helped Y/N move through her days with quiet routines. Cooking meals together, sparring lightly in the training room when Y/N was ready, and simply sitting nearby when words failed them both. Steve and Sam joined in, bringing laughter and lightness. Steve’s calm reassurance helped Y/N rebuild trust in her body, while Sam’s easy-going nature coaxed shy smiles and even soft laughter. They reminded her there was a life beyond survival,a life worth reclaiming.
Bucky was her anchor. Every morning, he was there beside her, steady and unshakable. His quiet patience gave her the courage to try again when her own strength faltered. When she trembled with doubt or pain, his hand found hers, squeezing gently with the promise that he wouldn’t let go. Gradually, the silence between them softened.
One afternoon, after a particularly tough therapy session, Y/N surprised them all. As Bucky helped her up from the couch, she looked him square in the eyes and said, “Thank you.”
It was a small phrase, but in that moment, it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken feelings. The team exchanged glances, relief and hope shining in their tired eyes. This was only the beginning. But it was proof, the real healing had begun.
Weeks turned into months, and the team watched a remarkable change unfold. The dark grip the doctor once held over Y/N was finally slipping away. The dreaded trigger, once a cruel switch that transformed her into Silva, the weaponized soldier no longer had power. They all used the same method they had to use for Bucky after he was rescued from HYDRA.
One afternoon, Tony gathered the team in the lab, the results of his latest neural scans glowing on the monitors. “It’s official,” he announced, a rare smile breaking through his usual intensity. “The implant is finally gone, and the neural pathways that responded to the trigger have been rewired or suppressed. Y/N is no longer under Silva’s control.”
The weight in the room lifted.
Sam exhaled deeply, Natasha allowed herself a rare grin and Steve nodded approvingly.
Bucky stood closest to Y/N, who sat quietly nearby, eyes clear, body relaxed.
When Tony finished, Bucky reached for her hand.
She looked up, meeting his gaze without hesitation. The familiar flicker of steel was gone, replaced by something softer. Her own self returning.
Later, during a training session, a sudden loud noise echoed through the tower. It was a noise that once would have unleashed Silva’s fury.
Y/N froze, her eyes wide.
For a tense moment, everyone held their breath.
Then, with no sign of aggression, she blinked and relaxed shaking her head slightly as if to clear it.
Bucky smiled, pulling her into a gentle embrace. “You’re free,” he whispered and for the first time in a long time, Y/N believed it.
Y/N stayed behind in the common room, curled up on the window seat, staring out at the glittering city below.
Bucky, Steve and Sam outside running, Nat in her room relaxing.
Her posture was loosened, but her eyes carried that familiar depth, a storm quieted but never forgotten. She didn’t turn when Tony entered, though she knew it was him from the sound of his steps. Not the click of Bucky’s boots, or the quiet pads of Steve’s steady stride. Tony had his own rhythm hesitant tonight. He stood for a moment by the door, holding a glass of something dark and amber that he hadn’t even sipped from yet.
Then, slowly, he crossed the room and sat down in the chair opposite her. “Nice night,” he said softly.
“Mm-hmm.” Y/N nodded but didn’t look away from the window.
They sat in silence for a while.
Tony shifted, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I should’ve seen it,” he said finally. “The way he slipped past my scans. The tech, the implants, the layers of conditioning… I thought I’d gotten it all.”
Y/N blinked slowly, listening.
“I was so sure I’d taken every last piece of that programming out of your head,” Tony continued, voice lower now. “I built the safest cell I could think of and somehow still left a back door open. A command line buried too deep. And when you disappeared, when you, when he used you again…” He stopped himself, swallowing hard. “I failed you,” he said simply.
Y/N finally turned her head to look at him. Her eyes weren’t angry. “You didn’t fail me,” she said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was steady. Clear. “You brought me back.”
Tony let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his lungs for months. “Not fast enough.”
“But you did,” she insisted gently. “And I know you didn’t give up on me. Not once. Not when I couldn’t talk. Not when I couldn’t be me. You and the others kept fighting for me. And I’m here because of that.”
Tony looked at her, brow furrowed, guilt still flickering behind his eyes. “I just…” he exhaled. “I thought I was fixing you. But you didn’t need fixing, did you? You needed time. You needed to heal. I should’ve listened.”
“You listened more than anyone else,” she said, a soft smile ghosting her lips. “You treated me like a person, not a problem.”
He blinked, eyes stinging unexpectedly. “Well,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face, “...you are a problem. Just a lovable one.”
Y/N snorted. “I’ll take it.”
Tony glanced down at his untouched drink, then back at her. “You really okay, kid?”
“I’m getting there,” she said. “But yeah. I’m okay.”
She didn’t say anything at first just stood, leaned down and wrapped her arms around him from behind, holding him tightly.
Tony froze in surprise.
“Thanks, Tony,” she whispered, her voice a soft breath against his shoulder.
He blinked, barely able to react before she leaned in a little further and pressed a kiss to his forehead gentle, grateful and warm.
It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t dramatic. It was sincere.
His throat tightened as she pulled back, and for once, Tony Stark was speechless. “Damn it,” he mumbled, swallowing hard as he stared ahead. “You’re gonna make me cry in my favourite hoodie.”
Y/N just smiled, stepping back with a glint in her eye. “Good. You owe me a few.”
Tony chuckled, blinking quickly. Then he reached up and kissed her hand where it had rested on his shoulder. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“Yeah,” she said, still smiling. “But now I finally get to be me again.”
And for Tony, felt like the greatest success of all.
The cold hum of the lab’s machinery filled the dim room, an eerie soundtrack to the doctor’s mounting frustration. His fingers drummed impatiently on the metallic surface of his cluttered desk. The sterile white walls seemed to close in on him, suffocating. All his plans, every carefully orchestrated move , now teetered on the edge of collapse.
His eyes, sharp and calculating moments before, now burned with a storm of fury. The screen in front of him flickered once, then died, leaving a black void that mirrored the emptiness clawing at his control. He reached for the phone and dialed again, his voice low but edged with venom.
“Silva, come to me.”
Silence.
No crackle, no response.
Just cold silence.
Y/N hung up the phone.
He slammed the receiver down, his breath coming fast and shallow. The doctor paced the length of the room, his lab coat swishing sharply against the cold floor. His mind replayed every moment of their captivity, every data point, every experiment and now, it was unraveling. The one weapon he had forged, the sleeper agent he molded from flesh and will, had slipped beyond his grasp.
“She was mine,” he muttered to himself, voice cracking with rage and disbelief. “Mine to command, mine to break, mine to remake.”
But now she refused to obey. His hands trembled as he clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms. A sudden, vicious knock echoed from the door , one of his operatives entering with fresh intel, but he barely registered it. “Why won’t she respond?!” He growled, his eyes wild.
“She’s clean,” the operative said cautiously. “The trigger’s dead. She’s resisting the programming. Her signal won’t respond anymore.”
The doctor’s jaw tightened. “No,” he hissed. “She can’t be free. She’s a weapon, better than any soldier you’ve ever seen. And now she thinks she’s just a person.”
He slammed a fist on the desk again, causing scattered papers to flutter to the floor. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
“They took her from me. From us. And I won’t lose her. Not like this.”
He moved toward a cabinet, unlocking it with shaky hands. Inside, rows of vials glimmered in the sterile light.
Serums, drugs, chemical agents. His final tools, his last failsafe. “If she won’t come willingly,” he snarled, pulling one vial free, “I will drag her back into the shadows myself.”
Outside the lab, far from his reach, Y/N’s steady breathing filled the quiet room unaware that the man who once controlled her was plotting in darkness, furious at his failure and ready to fight to reclaim what he believed was his.
The battle was far from over.
The sun hung low behind a bank of heavy clouds as the Avengers’ jet touched down near the abandoned outpost. A forgotten relic swallowed by overgrowth and rust. The air was thick with damp earth and the faint scent of decay. Here, where silence had settled like dust, the echoes of past horrors still lingered.
Bucky stood at the forefront, his jaw tight, eyes scanning the crumbling structure.
Beside him, Y/N’s hand found his, her grip steady and warm like a stark contrast to the cold memories this place held.
She was herself again.
Clear-eyed.
Present.
No longer Silva’s puppet.
Natasha led the way, moving with the quiet confidence of someone who had walked this shadowed path before. Tony’s tech hummed softly, scanning for any traps or hidden threats. Steve’s shield was strapped firmly to his back, his gaze sharp and ready. The group approached the heavy steel door, its surface scarred with rust and old bullet holes.
Y/N paused, her breath catching ever so slightly. “This is it,” Bucky said softly. “Where they kept me… and where they kept you.”
Her eyes flickered with something unspoken, a mix of fear, anger, and something like closure.
Tony knelt by the access panel, fingers flying over the controls. “If this thing still works, we’ll get inside.” With a hiss of released pressure and a shudder, the door creaked open, revealing the dark interior: cold concrete walls, flickering lights, and the faint remnants of medical equipment long abandoned.
It was a tomb of broken dreams and forgotten cruelty. Y/N stepped forward, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “They thought this place could hold me,” she said, voice steady. “But I’m not that person anymore.”
Bucky squeezed her hand, a silent vow passing between them. Together, the Avengers moved deeper into the shadows, ready to confront the past, and finally bring the nightmare to an end.
The quiet of the abandoned outpost shattered like glass. Without warning, from the shadows and hidden corners, a dozen Hydra agents emerged, their faces masked, weapons drawn, and eyes cold with calculated intent.
“AMBUSH!” Natasha shouted, diving behind a rusted metal crate as bullets ripped through the stale air. Bucky was immediately on his feet, shield raised, muscles coiled. His movements were fluid and precise, a deadly dance honed through years of war. He caught a bullet in mid-air, snapping it away before launching himself forward, taking down two agents with brutal efficiency.
Y/N’s eyes hardened.
Though still recovering, she moved with a speed and strength that shocked even the team, years of Hydra conditioning still lurking beneath the surface, now wielded on their side. Her fists flew, striking with calculated force, disabling enemies before they could react. Steve threw his shield, sending one enemy sprawling, then ducked a hail of gunfire to sweep another with a powerful punch.
Tony’s repulsors flared, sending bursts of energy that knocked back three Hydra agents, his voice crackling over comms.
“They came prepared, but so did we.” Sam soared above, firing precise shots from his sniper, picking off enemies trying to flank.
The battle was fierce, every second a test of skill and will. But the Avengers fought as one, a seamless unit moulded by trust and shared history. As the last Hydra agent fell, silence reclaimed the outpost.
Bucky looked to Y/N, breathing hard but eyes shining. “You’re stronger than they ever imagined.”
Y/N nodded, determination blazing. “And I’m not going back.”
The adrenaline from the fight still pulsed through Y/N’s veins, but beneath it simmered something darker, a rising storm of anger and defiance. Her fists clenched tightly, knuckles white, eyes blazing with a fire the team hadn’t seen in a long time. With a voice sharp and fierce, she bellowed across the empty outpost, “IF YOU’RE NOT A COWARD, GET OUT HERE!”
Her shout echoed off the cracked walls, carrying the weight of every betrayal, every torment she endured at his hands. The silence that followed was thick, oppressive, but Y/N didn’t waver. She stood tall, chest heaving, ready to face the ghost of her past head-on. Tony stepped closer, hand steady on his repulsors, but said nothing.
Natasha tightened her grip on her weapon, eyes scanning the shadows. Steve and Sam stood alert, prepared for whatever might emerge.
Bucky’s voice was low but firm beside her, “You’re not alone in this.”
And for the first time in a long while, Y/N allowed herself to believe it. The silence after Y/N’s challenge stretched, thick and suffocating, until it was shattered by the distant echo of footsteps, slow, deliberate, unmistakably human.
From the shadows of the abandoned outpost, a figure emerged, stepping into the harsh, flickering light of a broken overhead lamp. The man was lean, his movements calculated and cold, the same mask still concealing most of his face, but his eyes burning with a cruel, mocking satisfaction.
“Impressive,” the doctor said, voice smooth but dripping with venom. “You’ve grown stronger… more defiant than I expected.”
Y/N’s glare never wavered. Her body tensed, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap. “I’m not your weapon,” she spat. “And I’m not afraid of you.”
He smiled, an ugly, twisted thing that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, my dear, you misunderstand. You are mine. And you always will be. You just don’t know it yet.”
The Avengers shifted, weapons raised ready to strike, but Bucky held up a hand, steady and calm. “Let her speak,” he said quietly.
The doctor’s eyes flicked to Bucky, a flicker of recognition flashing across his face. “Ah, the Soldier,” he murmured. “Still playing the hero. But you’re powerless here.”
Y/N took a slow, deliberate step forward, voice steady despite the storm inside her. “I’m no one’s weapon anymore. You lost me. You lost control.”
The doctor’s lips curled into a sneer. “Control is an illusion. But don’t worry, I have other ways to remind you who you belong to.” He reached into his coat, fingers curling around something small and metallic.
A cold chill ran through the room. Y/N’s eyes flashed with fury and fear, but she stood her ground. “This ends now,” she said, voice low and fierce.
And with that, the standoff began, each side waiting and watching, knowing the next move could decide everything. The tension snapped like a wire. Out of the shadows, more Hydra agents surged forward, their movements swift and coordinated. Before anyone could react, Tony, Natasha, Sam, Steve, and even Bucky were pushed back, blocked by a wall of enemies. The odds shifted instantly, and Y/N found herself standing alone, free, but surrounded by danger.
The doctor, still leaning casually against the cold concrete wall, pressed a small button on a remote clipped to his hand. Suddenly, the room filled with that haunting, distorted voice, Bucky’s desperate recording playing on a relentless loop, the echo bouncing off the steel walls.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me! Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
A chill ran down Y/N’s spine. But beneath the psychological assault, something else stirred. Through the noise, a real, raw voice cut through. “Y/N! Fight it! Remember who you are! Fight!” Bucky’s voice was fierce, pleading, a lifeline in the storm. Her heart slammed in her chest.
For a moment, her eyes flickered with hesitation, old programming clawing at the edges of her mind. Then, something snapped. Her body tensed and coiled like a spring. She clenched her fists, fighting back the trigger that tried to control her. Her voice rang out, sharp and clear despite the chaos.
“I am not yours!” She yelled. She charged forward, moving with the strength and determination of the woman she’d fought to become. The agents faltered, taken aback by her sudden ferocity.
The agents faltered, their confidence shaken by the unexpected surge of power radiating from Y/N. Their eyes widened as she moved, not with the cold precision of a programmed soldier, but with fierce, raw determination fuelled by something far stronger, the will to reclaim her own soul. Her fists connected with bone and steel alike. Each strike fuelled by years of pain and fear and captivity.
Her movements were fluid, fierce and unyielding. She wasn’t just fighting for survival; she was fighting for her identity, for every stolen moment of her past, for every whispered hope of a future she dared to dream about. The distorted voice from the remote still echoed in the background, an insidious soundtrack trying desperately to pull her back into darkness.
Y/N’s eyes burned brighter than the twisted commands filling the air. With every blow, every desperate grunt, she pushed further from the shadow the doctor had cast over her. Behind her, the Avengers rallied, inspired by her defiance.
Natasha’s kicks dismantled two attackers with ruthless precision.
Sam soared overhead, using his shield to block incoming fire while landing calculated blows.
Steve’s shield crashed through enemy lines, opening a path.
Tony blasted with his armour.
Bucky, despite being held back by several agents, fought with a quiet fury. His eyes never leaving Y/N’s fierce silhouette. The team’s combined efforts began to turn the tide.
Slowly, the blockade broke apart like shattered glass, scattering Hydra agents retreating before the storm of resistance. Y/N’s breathing was ragged, sweat mingling with dirt and blood streaked across her face, but she stood taller than ever. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t just a broken weapon to be controlled. She was a woman reclaiming her body, her mind, and her life. One heartbeat, one breath, one powerful strike at a time.
As the last of the agents fled into the shadows, Y/N’s eyes locked with Bucky’s across the battlefield. There was no programmed obedience in her gaze now, only a fierce and unbreakable spirit.
She was free and nothing, not even the darkest parts of her past, could take that away.
The doctor’s eyes widened in disbelief as the tide turned against him. His carefully constructed plan unravelling faster than he ever anticipated. The last vestiges of control over Y/N slipping like sand through his fingers.
Without hesitation, he turned on his heel and bolted through the maze of the outpost, his footsteps pounding on the cold concrete. Panic flickered across his face, years of arrogance now replaced by raw fear. He knew better than anyone that capture meant the end of everything he had built.
Behind him, Y/N’s heavy breaths cut through the chaos as she surged forward, every muscle coiled, every step charged with vengeance and resolve.
“Stop him!” Bucky shouted, breaking free from his attackers, his own fury ignited by the sight of the doctor fleeing.
Natasha and Sam quickly flanked the doctor’s path, cutting off escape routes while Steve covered the rear, shield raised and ready to strike.
But the doctor was fast, desperate. He darted through narrow corridors and slammed open doors, his mind racing for a way out, for a hidden exit, for any chance at survival.
Y/N’s voice echoed after him, raw and defiant. “You won’t get away this time.”
The doctor’s breath came ragged, his heart pounding like a war drum. But no matter how fast he ran, the reckoning he’d evaded for so long was closing in, unyielding, relentless, and finally ready to bring him to justice.
Y/N’s legs burned as she sprinted after the doctor, the rage inside her fuelling every step. Her breath came hard, but she didn’t falter. The corridors twisted and turned, but she knew this place like the back of her hand now, every shadow, every exit.
The doctor skidded around a corner, panic making him reckless. Y/N closed the distance in a heartbeat, grabbing his arm with iron strength. He stumbled, trying to wrench free, but her grip was unbreakable. “I’m done running,” she hissed, voice low and cold as steel. Her eyes, once vacant, now blazed with fierce clarity. She removed his mask. Under she found a normal face. She didn’t know what expect. “You’re just a man.” She hissed.
He tried to speak, to beg but the words caught in his throat. There was no mercy left for him, not after everything he had done. Behind her, footsteps thundered closing in. The doctor’s fate was sealed.
Y/N tightened her grip. “You made me a weapon. But I’m taking back my life. Starting with you.” Y/N’s knuckles ached bloodied and raw but she stood over the doctor, chest heaving and sweat and rain streaking down her face, hair clinging to her cheeks.
The others had arrived, surrounding the ruined hallway in silence, but none dared interrupt her. The doctor coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His once-imposing figure now looked pitiful, crumpled beneath her, stripped of his power. And still, he laughed. “You still couldn’t do it,” he rasped. “You had the chance.”
Y/N’s jaw clenched. Her fists tightened at her sides. But she didn’t raise them again. “I’m not what you made me,” she said, voice steady, calmer than any of them had heard before. “I’m not Silva. I’m not your weapon. I’m me. I’m Y/N.”
Bucky stepped forward quietly, keeping behind her, watching her silhouette tremble just slightly. “You don’t need to prove anything,” he said softly. “You already won.”
Y/N gave one last glance down at the man who tried to break her. Then she turned her back. Natasha and Sam moved in, restraining the doctor, even as he sputtered more hollow taunts. Steve contacted the Raft authorities. Tony stared hard at the man, rage barely under his surface, but he said nothing.
Hours later, as the jet lifted into the air, the doctor, bruised and broken but alive, was locked in reinforced restraints. Y/N sat by the window, her arms wrapped around her knees. “You didn’t kill him,” Steve said quietly beside her. “That was your choice.”
“I wanted to,” she admitted. “But I wanted more to be free.”
Bucky slid into the seat across from her. “You are.”
pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader
genre: Non consensual confinement | psychological torture | audio based manipulation | emotional manipulation | memory based distress | mind control | healing | blood | fluff | HYDRA | violence
word count: 21 k
summary: Y/N and Bucky are the best at what they did, but couldn’t stand each other and now they’re forced together on a dangerous mission.
a/n: finally the last chapter of this story! this is gonna have violence and again it can be triggerring so read the warnings! hope you like this finale as much i loved it!! since it's so long i had to post the epilogue in another post otherwise tumblr won't make me post it at all so the smutty epilogue in the next part.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4
A full year since the kidnapping, since the screaming and the cell and the torture.
The doctor’s cold eyes.
The voice of Bucky twisted against her.
It was strange how time moved, sometimes achingly slow, sometimes so fast it blurred.
The mission that turned into a nightmare had started like any other, but Hydra was never just about brute force. They were clever and had patience. They had been watching Y/N, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The days that followed her disappearance felt like a war the Avengers couldn’t win. The team had experienced loss before, death and betrayal but this was different.
Y/N wasn’t just a teammate.
She was family.
For Bucky, she was something more complicated and deeper but also unspoken.
When she was taken, it was like someone had reached inside him and ripped out the only part of himself he believed was still worth saving. The team spent weeks chasing trails that went cold before they ever began. Every lead led to a dead end, every whisper of intel ended in silence.
Bucky became a ghost, barely sleeping, barely speaking only tracking, only hunting. Steve watched his best friend unravel, and Nat kept her phone in her palm constantly, waiting for something. Tony tore through data like a machine, guilt gnawing at him for not securing the mission better. Sam tried to be the glue between them all, but even his optimism started to crack.
And then… the videos started arriving.
They came without warning. Each one was a punch to the gut.
Grainy, colourless recordings.
A room.
A chair.
A too-familiar face.
Y/N.
Silent.
Bleeding.
Not crying.
Not screaming.
Enduring.
Sometimes the videos came with messages. Sometimes just footage. When they finally did, she was still alive, but not whole.
Y/N wouldn’t speak and barely ate, she wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
For days, there was no progress and then… something shifted.
She didn’t scream when Bucky entered the room. She let Nat braid her hair. She pointed at objects hesitant and shaky, learning again. She walked beside Bucky. She sat near the others during meals, even if she didn’t eat at first.
Then came the first word, his name.
Then another.
Now, a full year later, she was curled up next to Bucky during movie night. Clothes clean, hair brushed and breathing steadily.
She had returned to the gym first, slow and quiet. Just watching the others train at first, gripping Bucky’s hand tighter whenever the room got too loud or too hot or too much. Then she was on the mat again, her body remembering how to move or how to fight, how to defend, how to breathe without fear.
Natasha worked with her in the mornings.
Steve sparred with her on Fridays.
Sam ran laps with her to build her stamina back.
And Bucky? He never left her side.
By the time weeks had passed, she was back in the field. Smaller missions at first to support roles, tech extractions, controlled recoveries. The first mission she returned from unscathed, Bucky kissed her before the jet even touched down.
“You’re back,” he whispered against her mouth.
Now her mornings were calm and usually began with a quite naked super soldier.
“Hey, you’re doing that thing where you stare dramatically into the distance...” Bucky said, walking into the kitchen barefoot and shirtless, tugging on a grey hoodie but not bothering to zip it up.
Y/N smirked over her coffee. “I was having a moment, Barnes. Don’t ruin it with your chest.”
“You weren’t complaining last night when you-”
“Don’t finish that sentence if you want breakfast.”
He raised both hands innocently but smirked anyway, leaning against the counter beside her. “You want eggs?”
“I want you to admit I was right about the intel from yesterday.”
“You were lucky, not right.” She narrowed her eyes. “You gonna take that energy to the gym later?”
“Oh, we’re resolving this in the gym now?”
“Scarred, doll?” He asked her smirking
“Unless you’d rather settle it in the pool. Or… the kitchen island. I’m versatile.”
Bucky choked on air, glancing toward the hallway like someone might hear them. “Y/N.”
“What? No one’s here,” she said sweetly, sipping her coffee. “Stark’s in Tokyo. Steve’s on a nature retreat. Nat’s still pretending to be in Prague. And Sam… he doesn’t knock.”
Bucky groaned. “Okay, first, never say the words ‘Sam’ and ‘kitchen island’ in the same sentence again. Second… I still say the gym.”
“You’re stalling,” she sang, brushing past him.
Her hand trailed along his stomach as she walked away, heading toward the elevator. He watched her go, same way he always did now. Like she was his anchor and storm in one.
The girl who used to yell at him on missions was now the one he fell asleep with every night.
The one who teased him into letting go.
Who healed beside him.
The bickering never stopped, it just shifted into something that made them both stronger.
Sometimes they argued over strategy. Sometimes over who forgot to replace the coffee filters. Sometimes over who was more exhausted after sparring.
But the resolution? That always found them. In the stillness of their bed, where their limbs tangled and hearts calmed. In the gym, where sweat and adrenaline turned into kisses and apologies. In the Tower was quiet, and no one was around on the kitchen island.
Or in the pool, where their laughter echoed off the water, like the night where the Tower’s pool was just for them.
The city skyline glittering through the glass walls. The water reflected soft ripples of gold and blue, and the quiet hum of distant traffic filled the silence. Y/N stood at the edge of the pool, arms crossed, hair tied up, one eyebrow arched like a weapon. “I told you the safe house route through Madripoor was a trap,” she said, slowly.
Bucky floated lazily nearby, head tilted back, arms spread out in a half-drift. “And I said the extraction point wasn’t compromised until after we triggered it. Not the same thing.”
“You mean after I told you and you rolled your eyes.”
“Which I do lovingly now.”
“You nearly got us spotted!”
“But you looked hot climbing out that window.”
“Bucky...”
He swam toward her, smooth and unhurried, until he was close enough to rest his arms on the edge, chin tilted up toward her. Water beaded along his shoulders. His hair was slicked back and those eyes, the ones she used to hate (or pretend to), sparkled now full of smug affection.
“You’re mad at me again, huh?” He asked, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Furious,” she replied.
“Then come in here and drown me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”
She kicked off her flip-flops anyway and slipped into the water with practiced ease. The chill of the pool was nothing compared to the heat simmering between them. The moment she reached him he moved, fast and easy, she found herself caught, arms around his neck, his hands sliding to her waist beneath the water.
“You’re impossible,” she murmured, trying not to let her smile win.
“You like impossible,” he whispered, eyes on her lips.
“Only when I win.”
“So never, basically.”
She gasped, mock offended and shoved him backward. He let her, laughing. His body disappearing under the surface for just a second before reemerging, hair dripping, water streaming down his face. He came back for her fast this time grabbing her waist, lifting her slightly, then spinning them both in a gentle whirl in the shallow end. She laughed, breathless, caught in his arms.
“You still mad?” He asked, voice soft and low, chest rising and falling close to hers.
“Always,” she whispered, leaning in. “But now I’m wet and half-naked with you, so I’m conflicted.”
“Let me help you with that.”
The kiss was slow, like surrender.
Familiar and warm.
His arms cradled her close in the water, like he always did when she felt adrift. She melted into it, letting herself be held. Letting herself want.
And later, when they both climbed out of the water breathless, dripping, and very much reconciled, Bucky slung a towel around her shoulders and whispered, “You still lost the Madripoor argument.”
“I’m telling Sam you said that.”
He smirked. “Only if I get to tell him about the shallow end.”
“Bucky!”
“Worth it.”
Their love wasn’t quiet. It was lived.
On the anniversary of the darkest chapter of her life, Y/N wasn’t defined by what had been done to her. She was defined by who she became after, and by who stood beside her as she rose again.
The lab was quiet, bathed in the soft bluish glow of monitors and low lighting.
The hum of machinery was the only sound, save for the gentle scratching of a marker across the whiteboard. Y/N stood in front of it barefoot, wearing one of Bucky’s hoodies that hung off her frame. Her hair was slightly messy, eyes heavy but focused. She had drawn a crude outline of the facility. Circled certain details and written phrases like “white mask”, “protein compound sequence”, “pre-trigger” and “waterboarding protocol delay.”
There was a small digital timer still running in the corner. She didn’t know why she kept it running, it had started the moment she was rescued. Maybe she needed to see time pass. Behind her, the lab doors hissed open. Tony walked in with a yawn, a tablet tucked under his arm and a cup of tea in his hand. His arc reactor dimly lit his shirt.
“Honey, what time is it?” he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.
Y/N didn’t turn around. “Time to understand, I want to say.”
Tony tilted his head, watching her from a distance. She stood so still. Too still. The only thing that moved was the marker in her fingers, spinning anxiously.
“But I don’t know where to begin,” she continued, finally glancing at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but dry. Tired, but clear. “I’m stuck, still. It’s been a year, goddamn.”
Tony didn’t say anything at first. He just walked forward slowly, setting the tea down on a side table. He stood beside her, looking up at the whiteboard. A messy mind-map of pain and survival. “You’re not stuck,” he said quietly. “You’re surviving. That looks messy. Messy is good.”
“I feel like if I could just figure out who he is… that doctor… what he is…” She swallowed hard. “Maybe I’ll stop hearing him under the mask breathing at night. Stop smelling the chemicals before I even wake up. Bucky doesn’t say it but... I know I wake him up. I know I scare him.”
Tony turned toward her, softening. “He isn’t scared of you. He’s scared for you. Big difference.”
Y/N finally dropped the marker, arms falling limp to her sides. “He wore a white mask. That’s all I know. German accent, no name and no scar. Just that thing covering his face and his voice.”
Tony nodded slowly. “I’ve seen masks like that. Surgical-grade, trauma designed. Some Hydra doctors used them to keep the patients from recognising them. Compartmentalised torture, dehumanising from both sides.”
“I wasn’t a person to him,” she whispered. “Just… a test subject.”
Tony’s jaw clenched. “Then we find out which twisted Hydra grave this bastard crawled out of. I can cross-reference the chemical compound in the shakes, the timing of your trauma, and security footage from the black site. I’ll need a blood marker sample again.”
“You already have five.”
“Then I’ll get six. Science is about obsession, sweetheart.”
She gave him a tired, grateful look. “Thanks, Tony.”
He nodded, then looked at her with something a little softer than usual. “Take care of your brain, alright? You’re allowed to heal and want answers. But don’t burn down the house looking for the match.”
She nodded quietly.
As Tony left the lab, she sat down at the worktable. The whiteboard still lit behind her. She took a breath, pulled a tablet forward, and opened a new file.
“Project White Mask: Start.”
It was well past midnight when Bucky padded softly into Tony’s lab, barefoot and quiet as a ghost. The tower was still, the world asleep. But the faint glow spilling out from under the glass doors told him exactly where she was.
He didn’t call her name or knock, he just stepped in gently like he always did now careful and measured, the way you approached something fragile not because it might break but because it had already been broken and stitched back together with aching hands.
Y/N sat hunched over the main table, her hair tied up messily, the sleeves of her hoodie pushed to her elbows.
One hand rested on her temple, the other scrolling slowly through lines of Hydra encryption Tony had decrypted earlier in the week.
Her eyes were glassy. Not tired. Just far away. The whiteboard still had “Project White Mask” scrawled across it.
Bucky didn’t speak until he was beside her. He didn’t need to. Her shoulders relaxed the moment she felt his presence. “You’re here again,” he said softly, pulling a stool beside her. “Couldn’t sleep?”
She shook her head. “I thought I was past this. But I keep dreaming of the mask. I keep thinking... what if he’s still out there? What if it wasn’t just me?”
Bucky reached out and gently placed a hand on her knee. “You’re not going backward,” he said. “You’re just not done yet. That’s not weakness. That’s persistence.”
She finally looked at him. “You think I’m chasing ghosts?”
“I think you’re chasing truth. You deserve it.” Her gaze dropped to the file on the screen.
Chemical breakdowns. CCTV stills from scattered bases. A faint silhouette of the man in the white mask all blurry, always just out of reach.
“I don’t know why it still matters this much,” she whispered. “I survived. I healed. You’re here. The team’s here. But this hole in my head… it won’t close until I know.”
Bucky didn’t argue. Instead, he took her hand. His metal fingers cold against her skin at first, but steady. Comforting. “I understand that feeling more than anyone,” he said quietly. “I lived years not knowing what they made me do. What they turned me into. I still have holes, doll. They don’t close easy. But they get easier to live with when someone’s there holding your hand.”
She blinked back tears, and he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’re not alone in this. You’ll never be alone again,” he said.
“Even if I obsess over a ghost?” She asked, voice cracking.
“I’ll help you hunt it down,” he said, fierce and soft all at once. “And when we find him, we end it.”
A beat passed between them, and then she leaned into him slowly and carefully. Her forehead pressing against his collarbone. His arms went around her like instinct. They sat there in silence, in his arms with the glow of the lab around them and the ghosts of her past still whispering but quieter now.
She wasn’t alone in the dark anymore and she wouldn’t be, not ever again.
Bucky glanced down at her as she melted against him, her body too tired to fight anymore.
Not him, not the exhaustion, not the memories.
Without a word, he slid one arm beneath her knees, the other steady at her back and lifted her into his arms like she weighed nothing. She didn’t protest. The lab door slid closed behind them with a quiet hiss as he padded barefoot through the silent tower. The hall lights dimmed low for night mode, casting soft gold across the walls. She curled closer to his chest, her nose tucked into the warm space between his neck and shoulder. His scent wrapped around her like a second blanket.
In their shared bedroom, the sheets were turned down, the room slightly chilled. Bucky set her down with care, as if placing something delicate on the edge of something too sharp. She blinked up at him sleepily.
“Now you sleep,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek. His voice was gentle, but firm. “Okay?”
She let out a quiet sigh. “Fine,” she murmured, her lips curling just slightly as she shifted under the covers.
Bucky chuckled low in his chest. “That sounded very convincing.”
As he sat down beside her, she reached for him without thinking, her fingers lightly catching the edge of his shirt. “Stay?” She whispered.
“Always.” He pulled off his shirt, climbed in behind her and wrapped his arms around her. Her back pressed into his chest, her legs tangling with his instinctively, her hand finding his in the dark. Within minutes, her breathing evened out. Bucky stayed awake a little longer, eyes on the ceiling, listening to the soft rise and fall of her breath. His fingers traced idle circles against the back of her hand. She was safe. Healing. Still searching, but not alone.
And for now, that was enough.
The stone walls of the coastal facility were damp with salt and time. The echo of waves crashing outside growing louder as the team descended further underground. It was supposed to be a simple mission.
Get in, secure the remaining data drives from Hydra’s ghost systems and out before the tide locked the bunker shut again.
Sam stayed topside to monitor communications. Steve and Nat cleared the far corridor. Bucky and Y/N moved through the central archive together as always. But then, Y/N rounded a corner and stopped.
Bucky didn’t notice at first. He was ahead, scanning with his rifle but the second he heard her breath catch, he turned instantly, weapon lowered, voice tight. “Doll?”
She didn’t answer.
Her body had gone still.
Her pupils wide.
There, in the far corner of the damp, dark room was a steel medical table. Long abandoned, rust staining the legs, straps still attached but it wasn’t the table.
It was the wall behind it.
A cluster of tools mounted in a perfect line.
Syringes, scalpels, surgical pliers and just above it… a single hook on the ceiling.
The kind that could hold chains.
Or water pipe.
Bucky was next to her in two long strides. His hand hovered, waiting for her to nod before touching her, she did and then dropped her weapon. Just like that. It fell from her fingers like they no longer worked.
A memory slammed into her then. A towel soaked in ice water, a shadow standing over her, a voice whispering. With Tony’s help, Y/N was now fully healed. His detox’s protocol allowed her to clean her body and her mind. But now, the memories came back. When she was only remembering the towel and the pipe on the doctor’s arms, now she was also remembering how the water dripped on her body and in her throat. She felt the chill wrap around her spine like a phantom hand.
She clutched at her chest, gasping. “I can’t-Bucky-I can’t-”
“You can,” he said instantly, catching her face in his hands. “You’re not there. You’re with me. Look at me, Y/N.”
“I thought I was past this-”
“You are,” he said, steady and sure, even as his own eyes flicked toward the hook on the ceiling like he wanted to rip it out with his bare hands. “This is just a scar getting tugged. You’re not broken.”
She was shaking now, knees threatening to give. Bucky pulled her into his chest, one hand on the back of her neck, shielding her from the room entirely.
“Breathe with me,” he whispered.
And she did slow, one breath at a time surrounded by the smell of his skin and the steady beat of his heart.
Minutes passed before she finally stepped back and nodded, steadying her shaking hands as she retrieved her weapon from the floor. When they regrouped, Steve noticed the tension and raised a brow.
Bucky simply answered, “We’re good.”
And they were. She walked out of that room. Not quickly, but forward.
That night back at the tower, she didn’t go to the lab. She climbed into bed with Bucky, curled against him, and whispered somethingthat made Bucky’s freezing. “It’s still in me.”
He kissed her hair and replied, “Then we fight it together.”
The next morning, sunlight filtered lazily through the Tower’s kitchen windows. The smell of eggs and burnt toast and Nat’s aggressively strong coffee filled the air.
Steve was already halfway through his second plate. Tony sat half-asleep with sunglasses on, pretending not to care but listening to every word. Sam was flipping pancakes, poorly, while Bucky stood silently behind Y/N like a watchful shadow. She was quiet but present. Tired but not disconnected like she used to be after a bad flashback. She looked like herself. Still, the silence didn’t last long.
“So…” Sam said casually, sliding a lopsided pancake onto her plate. “How you doing, girl?”
“Fine,” Y/N said, stirring her tea without really drinking it.
Sam tilted his head. “I mean... you froze yesterday. I saw the report Steve filed.”
At that, Bucky’s jaw ticked but Y/N just sighed and leaned back in her chair. “There was a water pipe,” she said after a moment.
Everyone went still. The only sound was the soft click of the toaster popping up two forgotten slices of bread.
“I didn’t even realize it at first,” she continued, voice steady but distant. “I turned the corner, and it was just… there. My legs locked. I couldn’t move. My mind was there again. I haven’t seen a water pipe in a year, so I guess that’s the reason I snapped.”
Tony pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, suddenly very awake. “The water pipe was connected to the wall?”
“Yes.”
His brow furrowed. “Huh. It could’ve been more than just torture then. Could’ve been part of the neural reprogramming. Trigger-response conditioning. If it was the exact same setup, it might’ve had tech involved we didn’t find.”
“Tony,” Steve said warningly.
Y/N lifted a hand. “No, it’s okay. He’s right to ask.” She took a breath.
“The memory hit so hard because it wasn’t just physical. It made me feel like I was still there. Like I had no control again.”
Sam set the spatula down and looked at her with unusual softness. “But you got out. You moved. You did it because your stronger. You didn’t shut down completely.”
“No,” she said. “Because of him.” She nodded toward Bucky, who was pretending to sip coffee, ears a little pink. “You think it’s all behind you, and then a damn water pipe knocks the air out of your chest,” she said. “But I didn’t run this time. I didn’t hide. I told him what I saw. I breathed. I kept going.”
Nat reached over and gently touched her hand. “That’s not nothing.”
“It’s not everything either,” Y/N added.
“No,” Steve agreed, “but it’s the kind of progress that sticks.”
Ever since that breakfast, since Y/N sat there calm and composed recounting how the mere sight of a water pipe had pulled her back into a mental hellscape, Tony had become obsessed. He wanted answers. Wanted to understand how the doctor had managed to break her so precisely, what tech had been involved, and why certain triggers still lingered, embedded in her like wires waiting to spark.
“Progress isn’t healing if there’s a landmine in her brain,” Tony had said bluntly during one of their private team meetings. “We’ve got to find the wire and cut it, or it’s going to explode when she least expects it.”
And so reluctantly and painfully, they came up with a plan. A brutal one.
Tony had turned one of the deep vault-like rooms into a controlled simulation chamber.
No actual pain, no harm, no drugs.
Just elements that mimicked what she had faced: the metal chair, the camera in the ceiling, the water pipe, the faint sound of dripping in the background from the spout. A recorded loop of Bucky’s voice, the one they’d taken from the Hydra footage Please, Y/N, answer me! would be played at intervals.
Tony refused to use the knife. The goal wasn’t to re-traumatize. The goal was also to deconstruct the trauma piece by piece and understand it unplugging the connection between fear and memory.
Bucky hated every second of it. He paced outside the glass-walled control room, arms crossed so tightly over his chest it looked like he was trying to hold himself together. His jaw clenched every time someone mentioned what would happen.
He looked like he wanted to tear the whole room apart. “I don’t like this,” he muttered again. “This is twisted.”
Steve placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s her call.”
“That’s the only reason I’m not breaking the door down,” Bucky growled.
When Y/N walked in, dressed in black joggers and a tank top, hair pulled up, he moved toward her like gravity itself depended on her presence. “Are you sure?” He asked, eyes locking with hers. “You can still say no.”
She touched his chest gently. “Bucky, I need to understand why it still lives in me. I need to take the power back.”
He leaned down, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “I’m not leaving the room.”
“I know,” she said.
Bucky was a wreck. A composed, quiet, intensely protective wreck.
In one of Tony’s isolated lower level labs,stripped bare of anything remotely comforting, they reconstructed a simulation.
The pipe. The chair. A sterile, cold floor. And the phrase “Please Y/N, answer me” recorded in Bucky’s voice.
“I refused to touch you and use the knife,” Tony had said earlier, his voice unusually quiet. “But I’ll help you. I must help you.”
“Thank you, Tony,” Y/N had replied with steady eyes, but her voice was tight. Like she was holding herself together with both hands.
Now, inside the reconstructed lab space, Tony adjusted the mask over his face and slipped on a lab coat. Every movement he made was rehearsed, clinical not to frighten her more, but to recreate what needed to be remembered.
He had removed the scalpel from the table.
No instruments. No real danger. But the lighting was dimmed, the metal table cold under her fingertips. The sound of the water pipe’s hiss echoed in the distance. And Bucky stood just outside the room, in view, ready to call the whole thing off the second her lips parted in a way that didn’t feel right.
“Ready?” Tony’s voice came through a mic, modulated just slightly enough to distort it, like the recordings she had been forced to hear. Y/N nodded.
Her breath hitched immediately.
The mask.
The coat.
The lights.
The faint hiss.
It was all too close.
Tony raised both hands slowly, palms out, signalling no threat. He moved slowly, deliberately like someone handling a bomb. He connected the pipe to the spout, fingers steady, though his jaw was tight. A soft click echoed in the lab as the hose locked in place. Then the water began to flow into a sink.
A soft hiss filled the room, innocent to anyone else, but to Y/N, it was a thunderclap. She stiffened instantly in the chair. Her spine went rigid, her hands gripping the armrests so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her breath shortened. She wasn’t in the lab anymore, she was back there, strapped down, the hiss of the pipe the last thing she heard before the towel came down and darkness swallowed her.
“Doll,” Bucky’s voice came low and calm from behind the glass. “You’re here. With us. Look at me.”
She blinked rapidly, her eyes wet and distant but they found him. Through the fear, through the static, through the blur of memory, she saw him, her anchor.
Bucky pressed his palm flat to the glass, slow and steady. “You’re not strapped down. You can get up whenever you want. You say the word, it stops.”
“I… I want to keep going,” Y/N said hoarsely. “It’s awful but… I need to do this.”
Tony nodded, arms crossed but staying still letting her lead. “Okay,” he said gently. “I’ll just ask questions. You answer only if you want to.”
She nodded. Her eyes flicked to the water, then back to Bucky.
“Do you remember anything specific about the sound?” Tony asked, tapping a small control panel to cycle the flow rate.
Y/N flinched again. Then something shifted in her expression, focus. “It was louder… when the room was colder,” she whispered. “I remember. It echoed and… and I could hear his boots on the floor. I always knew when he was walking toward me.”
“Good,” Tony said, his voice soothing. “We can work with that.”
She inhaled shakily, her fists slowly unclenching. “The hiss came first. Then the towel. Then the recording.” She winced at the memory. “Your voice, Bucky... repeatedly like… like it was urgent... like if I didn’t speak, you’d suffer too.”
Bucky closed his eyes, pain flickering across his face. “They weaponised my voice. I’ll never forgive them for that.”
“But I will,” she said, surprising even herself. “You didn’t hurt me, Buck. You saved me.”
The water hissed, steady and soft, still running in the background. But now it didn’t drown her. It was just… water. Just a sound.
Tony looked over the monitors. “Your vitals are elevated, but not in a danger zone. You’re processing, not panicking. That’s huge, Y/N.”
She exhaled shakily, nodding again.
Then Bucky pushed open the door and walked inside, slow and quiet. He knelt beside her, metal hand resting on her thigh, grounding her. “Let’s kill this ghost together,” he said.
She didn’t flinch. Not once. And the water kept running. But it didn’t win this time.
Tony’s face was serious, none of his usual sarcasm or deflecting charm, just quiet, honest conflict. He held the dull replica knife loosely in his hand, letting it dangle harmlessly at his side.
“Tony, please,” Y/N said again, her voice soft but steady. “Didn’t you say the replica can’t cut me?”
He nodded once, lips tightening. “Yeah… it’s blunted. Totally harmless. Couldn’t slice butter if I tried.”
“Then I need you to use it. Not to hurt me. Just to mimic what he did. I need to feel it again, only this time. I’ll know I’m safe. I’ll know I’m in control.”
Tony exhaled through his nose and knelt in front of her, levelling his eyes with hers. “Y/N,” he said, gently, “I can’t even pretend to hurt you. Not after what you went through. That’s not in my toolbox. I build tech. I solve puzzles. But mimicking that monster? I don’t know if I can do that, even for you.”
“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t the only way left,” she whispered, eyes glassy but burning with resolve. “It’s not pain I’m afraid of anymore. It’s not knowing what he did. Not remembering. That knife… it triggered something in my head when you lifted it before. There’s more buried. I know it.”
Tony looked over his shoulder at the lab at the machines, the screens, the clean, clinical walls. He ran a hand down his face, then looked up at her again. “You’re sure?” He asked quietly.
“I’m sure,” she replied. “And I trust you.”
Bucky stood off to the side, jaw tense and arms crossed over his chest. His stare could’ve melted steel. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to. Every muscle in his body screamed he was ready to tear apart anything that made her flinch.
Tony looked up at him, then back to Y/N. “We do this once. And if anything feels wrong, if I even see a blink of panic, it stops.”
She nodded.
Tony stood and walked around behind her slowly. Y/N sat straight backed in the chair they’d set in the center of the lab. Her hands were open, palms face down on her knees, breathing slow and deliberate. Bucky had taught her that. Inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four.
Tony reached out, slowly placing a hand on her shoulder. “This is how he started, right?” He asked quietly.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Then he’d speak. But it wasn’t words that scared me. It was the pause… like he enjoyed watching me freeze. The anticipation.”
Tony gently mimicked the motion, bringing the dull knife down slowly deliberately near her side, the way the footage had shown. He didn’t touch her skin. Just the air near her ribs. Y/N flinched slightly. Then stilled.
Her breath caught, and then something shifted. “I remember,” she gasped. “He pressed it there, always on the left side, just under my ribs.”
Bucky stepped forward instinctively, but Y/N held up a hand. “It’s okay,” she said, eyes still wide. “I can take it.”
Tony lowered the knife completely, stepping away, visibly shaken. “That’s enough,” he said. “That’s all I can do.”
“You did enough,” Y/N whispered, looking down at her side. Bucky moved to her side, kneeling beside her chair, resting his metal hand over her trembling fingers. “You’re done with that now,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “You remembered. That’s power. That’s taking it back.”
She let out a long breath, eyes softening as she looked at him. “I feel lighter,” she whispered. “Like something finally let go.”
“You didn’t just survive,” Bucky said. “You beat him.”
Tony nodded, wiping his palms on his pants. “You’ve got one hell of a spine, Y/N.”
She gave a small smile. “Thanks for holding the knife.”
Tony gave a half-chuckle. “You ever ask me for that again, I’m faking my own death.”
She laughed and it wasn’t nervous or strained, it was real.
Night had settled gently over the Tower. The lights in their room were low, just the golden hue of a bedside lamp casting warmth over the space.
Y/N sat on the bed, kneeling in one of Bucky’s oversized shirts, sleeves swallowing her hands. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and her expression was somewhere between anxious and resolved. Bucky was sitting across from her, cross-legged, flipping through a book he wasn’t really reading. He looked up the second she spoke.
“Buck,” she said quietly. “I want to try something else.”
His brows lifted a little, curious. “What’s in your mind, doll?” He asked, his voice naturally teasing, but soft.
“Not like that,” she added quickly, cheeks flushing. “It’s not about… us. I mean... it is... but not like that.”
Bucky put the book down immediately. “Alright,” he said, shifting so he was facing her fully. “What is it?”
She bit her lower lip, gathering her thoughts. “The doctor… the last thing he did to me, before the team found me… was touching me. My chest. Not medically. Not clinically. It was the worst kind of control... and he said the phrase, that phrase, while doing it and I froze.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened. His hands curled slightly on his knees. “I know,” he said. “You don’t have to go on.”
“But I want to.” Her voice didn’t waver this time. “Because I remembered almost everything else, with Tony’s help. But this… this one still lingers in the dark. It’s like a shadow on my skin and I hate that it still holds power over me.”
Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “What are you asking me to do, Y/N?”
“I want you to say the phrase. I want you to touch me there, but not for… anything else. Just as an act of reclaiming it. I need to overwrite what he did. With you. With safety. With love.”
Silence hung heavy between them for a beat. Not awkward, not distant just full.
Then Bucky reached out, slowly, carefully, and took her hand. “Are you sure?”
“I trust you more than anyone,” she said. “And I know you’d never hurt me. That’s exactly why it must be you.”
His fingers brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his metal hand cool and gentle against her cheek. “I’ll do this,” he said finally, voice low and steady, “but we stop the second you want to stop. Even if it’s mid-breath, mid-touch, mid-word. You run the show. Not him. Not me. You.”
Her throat tightened with emotion, and she nodded. “I don’t want this to hurt,” she whispered. “I want to let it go.”
“Then we’ll do it together,” Bucky said. “And when we’re done, we’ll lay down here, and I’ll hold you like always. Like you’re mine. And safe.”
Bucky’s fingers traced along your collarbone, feather-light. His touch was reverent, almost hesitant, like he was memorizing the delicate slope of your skin. The pad of his thumb brushed against the hollow just beneath your throat, lingering there for a moment as he looked into your eyes.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice rough with something deeper than desire, something aching and tender. Your skin prickled under his touch, your breath catching as his fingers drifted lower. He cupped the side of your breast gently, thumb brushing over the soft curve as if he were afraid to press too hard. Not rushed, not greedy,just present. Like he was savouring every second.
She leaned into his touch, forehead against his. “Say it,” she whispered.
Bucky swallowed. His voice shook ever so slightly when he finally spoke the words that used to haunt her. “Please, Y/N… answer me.”
She flinched, her body reacting before her mind did. But then, instead of retreating, she took a breath. She opened her eyes. She was still in their room.
Still in Bucky’s arms. Still safe. He gently placed his hand, not possessive or rushed, over her heart.
She covered it with her own. “See?” She whispered, tears brimming. “It’s just you now.”
He nodded, eyes glassy. “No more ghosts,” he whispered.
She sank into his arms, curling against his chest. And for the first time in over a year, she didn’t feel claimed by what had happened to her. She felt free.
When Y/N appeared in the hallway, hair pulled back, jacket zipped, boots laced, it took a moment for Natasha to catch her breath. “Nat, can we go out?”
“Go out?” She repeated.
Y/N just nodded.
Nat didn’t question it. She just grinned.
Bucky, however, didn’t take it as easily. “You sure?” He asked, standing in front of the door with crossed arms as Nat pulled on her gloves. “I mean… what if something triggers her again? What if the crowds, or the noise, or-?”
“Bucky,” Nat interrupted, gentle but firm, “she’s okay, now.”
He looked past her at Y/N, who stood in the entryway looking down at her hands, thumbs nervously circling each other.
She wasn’t trembling. She wasn’t zoning out. She was just waiting.
“I won’t let anything happen to her. You know that. She needs this after the incident with the pipe.”
Bucky sighed, frustrated with himself more than anything. For so long he’d been her anchor, her shield, her quiet place. Letting go, even a little, scraped something raw inside him. But he nodded, slowly. Y/N stepped up beside him.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, eyes locked on his. “I’ll be okay.”
He swallowed the emotion clawing at his throat and gently tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Then go,” he said softly. “But come back.”
She smiled. “Always.”
They didn’t do anything wild.
No clubs. No missions. No high adrenaline. Just a walk. Just city air. Just the world outside the tower. They sat on a bench with coffee, visited a bookstore. and walked through the park and fed birds.
Back at the tower, Bucky was pacing. “Relax,” Tony muttered from behind a tablet. “They’ve been gone for two hours, not a decade.”
But before Bucky could respond, the elevator chimed. Nat stepped out first, tossing her coat on the rack with a knowing smirk.
Y/N followed jacket open, wind in her hair, cheeks pink from the cold… and smiling. Really smiling.
Bucky froze.
She walked straight to him, handed him a second coffee cup, and leaned her head on his chest. “I brought you something,” she whispered.
He held her tight, burying his nose in her hair, and exhaled for the first time in hours. “I’m proud of you,” he said, voice thick.
She looked up at him and nodded. “Me too.”
The sound was harmless. Just a quiet bing from Y/N’s phone, the kind she barely noticed anymore. She reached for it automatically, still smiling as she leaned into Bucky, the city chill fading from her skin. But then her thumb hovered over the screen. The colour drained from her face.
Bucky noticed instantly. “Y/N?” He asked, voice tight. “What is it?”
She didn’t answer at first. Her eyes scanned the message again and again, as if somehow reading it differently would change its meaning. Her lips parted. The coffee cup slipped from her hand, hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud.
“Y/N,” Bucky said again, firmer now, taking the phone gently from her hand.
Unknown Number: The park was really nice today…
Y/N backed away. Her body began.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “It’s him.” Her knees buckled slightly. “It’s him. It’s still him. The doctor...he’s...he’s here.”
Bucky caught her before she fell. “No, no, no. You’re safe. You’re here with me, with us. He can’t touch you anymore.”
But her breathing turned ragged. “He saw me. At the park. He was there…”
Tony and Nat burst in from the hallway, Steve and Sam right behind. “What happened?” Tony asked sharply, eyes on Bucky. “Is it him?”
Bucky didn’t answer. He simply held the phone up.
Tony grabbed it, his face instantly shifting as he read the message. “FRIDAY,” he barked. “Trace this number. Immediate scan. Everything.”
Y/N’s hands clawed at her jacket. “He’s watching me again. He said they’d find me, he wanted them to, and now...now he’s still... he’s still...”
“Hey,” Nat said firmly, stepping forward, her hands gentle on Y/N’s shoulders. “Look at me. Right here. You’re safe. We’ll find him.”
Bucky cupped the side of her face, grounding her. “We’re not going back, doll. Not ever.”
But Y/N was shaking her head, panic still rising. “You don’t understand… if he’s here, if he’s watching… he’s not done. You were right, Buck. I shouldn’t go out.”
FRIDAY's voice echoed from the ceiling. “Trace in progress. Signal routed through multiple encrypted channels. This is a deliberate obfuscation. But not unbreakable.”
Tony growled. “I want every city camera, every surveillance feed from that park. I want traffic footage, drone data, pigeons with GoPro. EVERYTHING!” He shouted angry.
Bucky never let go of her. Not for a second. Y/N buried her face into his shoulder, breath starting to slow, but her words, barely audible, were enough to break them all.
“…he said I’d never be free.”
The moment FRIDAY confirmed the trace was active, Stark locked himself in the lab.
Coffee in one hand, holograms spinning in the other, his eyes scanned walls of data no normal person could keep up with.
The message Y/N had received wasn’t just a message.
It was a declaration. He was watching. He was near. And he wanted them to know it.
“FRIDAY,” Tony snapped, “...remind me what we’re up against.”
“The signal came from a modified relay node in Queens, bounced off three privately owned satellites, re-encoded via an AI protocol that is… disturbingly familiar.”
Tony’s jaw tightened. “Hydra-familiar?”
“No. Stark-familiar.”
His heart sank. “You’re saying he used something I built?”
“Not directly, sir but part of the routing system used old Stark Net firmware, possibly stolen during the Siberia infiltration.”
Tony muttered a string of curses under his breath, then grabbed another tool and began working furiously.
Holographic cables, AI pathways, encryption strands danced around him.
The bastard hadn’t just resurfaced, he’d come prepared.
An hour later, the footage from the park finally began processing. Tony paused when the first angle loaded. He magnified a bench. There she was Y/N walking with Nat, laughing. Then, nothing.
No man in a lab coat.
No obvious observer.
Just people.
Too many people, but something caught his eye in the reflection of a glass food cart parked nearby.
A figure standing still not looking at Y/N, but at the camera.
Face obscured with a hat.
But the posture? Very familiar.
“Son of a bitch…” Tony whispered.
He turned to FRIDAY. “We’ve got partial image capture. Feed this to facial reconstruction, pull gait analysis, ear geometry, shoulder width, everything.”
“Reconstruction in progress…” the AI spoke.
And then came the real kicker.
As Tony decrypted the metadata embedded in the message itself, something appeared.
Something chilling.
A phrase, hidden in the code.
An embedded checksum tag, written in a language only a few minds would notice. Only those that lived in the grey area between machinery and madness.
“She still listens. She still remembers and I still own a piece of her.”
Tony dropped the tool he was holding. and stared at the code. Then he turned to FRIDAY. “Send that to Bucky, now! Get me every scrap of hardware that Y/N came back with. The device we removed, the transmitter core, everything. I want it stripped to the atoms.” He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his temple. “This isn’t just about tracking her.” He said aloud.
Meanwhile, upstairs Bucky stood outside Y/N’s room, the message Tony sent now glowing on the tablet in his hand.
She still listens. She still remembers and I still own a piece of her.
Bucky’s metal fist curled tight. “No,” he said through his teeth. “Not again.”
The tower had returned to its rhythm silent concern wrapped in forced normality but something had shifted.
Every now and then, Y/N would pause mid-movement. Her gaze would drift. She’d blink, slowly as if waiting for a cue.
The team noticed but they didn’t say it aloud.
They all knew.
She was still listening to him, and the encounter in the park made something woke up again in her mind.
Every achievement she made that text ruined everything.
Not through a speaker.
Not through an implant.
Not even consciously.
The doctor’s voice, it had rooted itself in her psyche like a virus.
It was Bucky who saw it clearly. He was training alone in the gym when Y/N appeared at the door.
She stood still, one foot inside the room, arms limp by her side. Her head tilted slightly, as if reacting to a sound. “Doll?” He said gently.
No answer. Her lips moved, barely. He came closer. “Y/N?”
She flinched violently then blinked. Her eyes found his, wide and trembling and Bucky froze. Her hand moved to the spot just beneath her shoulder blade. The same place the implant had once been. There was nothing there anymore, nothing physical, at least but in her mind, it still buzzed.
“She’s responding to post-suggestion loops,” Tony said in the common room after Bucky informed the team, projecting brainwave patterns into the air. “She’s not hallucinating at this point, it’s deeper. He embedded reflex responses through repetition conditioning.”
Steve’s face tightened. “So, what do we do? It took only a text after a year?”
“We rebuild her brain’s reaction system from scratch,” Tony replied. “Create new loops. Override the old ones. Basically…”
“We teach her how to not obey,” Natasha finished.
Tony nodded grimly. “Our work all wiped out…”
Y/N sat curled in the window seat of her room, knees pulled tight to her chest while the rain tapped against the glass. She stopped sharing the room with Bucky, and that alone killed him.
He knocked once, then came in. He sat beside her quietly. Minutes passed. “I know you still hear him,” he finally said. “But every time you don’t obey, even if it’s tiny, you win.”
Her fingers twitched at that.
He looked at her. “And I’m here every time you fight back. No matter how many times.”
She turned her head slightly. Eyes red, but dry. Then, slowly, she nodded.
It happened so quietly no one noticed.
No alarms.
No broken locks.
No sign of distress.
Just an open window and an empty bed at 3:00 a.m.
Y/N left the Avengers Tower boots on, wearing a hoodie and leggings. Her steps silent and her expression blank. She didn’t leave because she wanted to. She left because something inside her had been waiting to obey but his voice, that impossible voice, hadn’t disappeared fully.
It simply waited for the right moment.
For an entire year.
The right hour.
Midnight.
“Come home, Silva.”
So, when everyone was sleeping, three hours later she was out of the tower and something in her snapped into place.
By sunrise, Bucky knew. The sheets in her room were cold. The closet door was ajar. Her boots gone. But it was the small slip of paper on the pillow that broke him.
‘I’m sorry. I tried. But he’s right’
Tony was in the lab within five minutes.
“FRIDAY, track her,” Bucky demanded, already halfway to the elevator. “I can’t Mr Barnes,” the AI stammered. “Her watch was disabled manually. She’s offline.”
“Can’t be,” Sam muttered. “She was doing better…”
“She was reprogrammed, Sam. We removed the device, not the wiring.” Tony’s voice was steel.
Steve stepped forward. “Then we go after her. Now.”ù
While the Avengers were panicking, she wandered across the city unnoticed, just another face among millions.
A taxi, then a bus.
She never spoke.
She just followed instructions, once buried so deep in her mind, even she didn’t realize they were still there.
By 7 a.m., she stood outside an abandoned Hydra bunker north of the city, surrounded by woods and silence.
The door was already open.
Inside, the air smelled like bleach and iron and he was there.
The doctor, smiling. “You came, Silva.” He said, stepping forward. “They’ll come for you, of course. But we’ll be gone by then. Won’t we?”
Y/N didn’t move. Her breath trembled, but her feet didn’t. Not yet. Not until he said, “Sit.”
She did.
Silva.
Her new name.
Tony stood, eyes already flicking toward the ceiling. “FRIDAY?”
“No signal,” the AI answered, uneasily. “Her trackers were deactivated. Everything was shut off manually.”
“Manually?” Nat echoed, stunned. “You mean, she knew what she was doing?”
“No,” Bucky growled, turning toward her. “She didn’t choose this. He still has her, in her head. She left… because he told her to.”
A thick beat of silence settled over the team. Steve ran a hand through his hair. Sam swore under his breath.
“Look,” Tony said, stepping toward the glass table and flicking up a digital map. “If she’s on the move, she left a trail. I don’t care how deep it’s buried. We’ll find it.”
“Do it fast,” Bucky muttered. His voice was low, barely more than a growl. “Because I swear, if he lays a finger on her again-”
“He won’t,” Nat cut in, calm but deadly. “We’re getting her back. This time, for good.”
And without another word, the team mobilized.
Because Y/N wasn’t just missing.
She was slipping away all over again, and this time they’d burn down the world to stop it.
The message came at dawn.
Encrypted.
Masked IP.
Routed through untraceable satellites.
Tony nearly smashed the screen when it arrived. He’d been running diagnostics all night, trying to ping Y/N’s last known locations after she vanished. There hadn’t been a trace, not a heat signature, not a pulse of energy.
The others had filed in slowly, one by one.
No one had spoken.
Even Natasha, usually the first to break tension with some dry comment, had only crossed her arms and kept her eyes fixed on the monitor.
The common room felt colder than usual. Shadows stretched along the walls despite the rising sun. Steve, Sam, Nat, Bucky, and Tony stood in a line behind the console like a firing squad awaiting orders. But it wasn’t bullets they were bracing for.
The screen flickered. A man appeared.
Face covered by a white mask, surgical cap tight over his hair. His eyes gleamed clinical, cold, and full of joyless calculation. Behind him concrete walls, dull grey. Industrial lights. A surgical chair in the background. Wires hung loosely from metal beams. It could have been a lab or a prison, or both. But it was the figure behind him that stole the breath from the room.
Y/N.
Her presence hit harder than any explosion.
She was standing motionless, spine straight, posture terrifyingly familiar. Her eyes didn’t roam. They didn’t flicker. They didn’t even seem to see. She was dressed in a black tactical gear, painfully familiar to Bucky. Her arms were by her sides, hands gloved. Her hair was tied back with military precision. And then, barely visible but unmistakable, the faint scar trailing from the base of her neck.
Tony stopped breathing.
Natasha let out a single, quiet, “No.”
Bucky stepped forward involuntarily, like gravity itself had snapped him toward the screen.
“You took something that belonged to us,” the doctor began, voice smooth, deliberate.
“You tried to fix her. You even loved her, didn’t you, Soldat?”
The word loved slammed into Bucky like a sledgehammer to the chest.
“But what you didn’t understand… is that she was always meant to be like you.” He turned slightly, revealing Y/N more clearly. “And now, she is.”
He stepped aside with a predator’s pride.
Y/N turned slowly and mechanically. Her right arm lifted just enough to show the crimson star branded into her sleeve.
The team staggered in different ways.
Steve clenched his fists.
Sam cursed under his breath.
Natasha’s eyes glazed like someone recalling a nightmare.
Bucky looked like he was falling apart in real time.
Still, Y/N didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t breathe any heavier. Until the doctor gave a command.
“Demonstrate, Silva.”
What followed happened in a single, horrifying moment.
Y/N raised her fist and drove it into a concrete support pillar beside her. The crack echoed through the speakers like a gunshot. Stone and dust exploded outward. The pillar split. The silence that followed was deafening.
Bucky took a half step back, his face hollow. “No…” he whispered. “No, no, no.”
Tony’s voice came from behind clenched teeth. “He rebuilt her protocols. That’s why we couldn’t stop her. She’s not just conditioned, she’s hardwired. Remote access enabled. We’re not dealing with trauma anymore. We’re dealing with a goddamn reprogrammed super-asset.”
The doctor leaned toward the camera now. His voice dropped an octave, his words slow and cold. “She doesn’t need to be reminded, Stark. She came willingly. She obeyed. We simply… refreshed her training.”
“She was healing. You let her heal. But you didn’t finish the job. You forgot to erase the code.”
The camera zoomed ever so slightly, catching Y/N’s face in the background. Her eyes were empty. Not just dissociated but vacant, like someone had turned off the lights behind them.
“You can come get her,” the doctor added, voice now bordering on a taunt. “But you’ll have to fight her. Let’s see how deep your love really runs… Soldat.”
The screen cut to black and the silence reigned.
The entire team stood frozen in place, the image of Y/N’s burning arm still burning into their minds.
“What are we up against, Tony?” Steve was the first to speak. “And why he called her Silva?”
Tony was already tapping furiously into his tablet, trying to reverse-engineer the signal, tracing possible coordinates. His voice was low and fast. “He’s not lying. It’s a neural reinforcement loop advanced as hell. She’s not just brainwashed. She’s… rebuilt. Like Bucky was. But newer. Cleaner. Custom-coded to her psychology. New name, new person.”
Sam’s voice trembled. “She was getting better.”
Natasha stayed silent, eyes locked on the blank screen, her own past clawing at her insides.
And Bucky looked broken. “They turned her into me,” he whispered, jaw trembling. “They knew what I was… and made her willingly choose it.”
Tony stopped typing. “No. They made her believe she did.”
The team fell quiet again. But something had shifted now.
“We find her,” Steve said. “And we don’t hurt her unless we have no choice.”
Nat’s eyes burned. “If I get my hands on that doctor-”
“We all will,” Tony muttered. “But first we get Y/N back.”
“She might not want to come back,” Sam added quietly.
Everyone turned to Bucky. He stood still, arms locked to his sides, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Then I’ll remind her who she is.”
The cold was back. Not the kind that touched the skin, but the kind that settled deep into the bones. The kind she thought she’d left behind in a sterile lab, on a steel table, with needles in her veins and a voice whispering in her ear.
Y/N sat, spine straight, in the center of a training cell.
White walls.
No windows.
A single red light blinking above the door.
Her hands were gloved.
Her movements exact.
Her breathing shallow.
She didn’t speak, she hadn’t for days.
Her memories were fractured, layered like old glass, shards of freedom and captivity spliced together until she couldn’t tell which ones were real.
She remembered the Tower.
Coffee in the morning.
Tony complaining.
Sam teasing her.
Steve’s protective warmth.
Nat brushing her hair.
Bucky’s arm around her shoulders during stormy nights.
The doctor told her those weren’t real, that they were a cover story like a simulation. “You were never their equal,” he whispered behind her, voice always gentle. “You were the project. I merely resumed it.”
Sometimes, she believed him especially at midnight when the lights dimmed and the audio loop returned.
“Please, Y/N. Answer me.”
“Please, Y/N. Answer me.”
“Please, Y/N. Answer me.”
She had screamed the first night.
Then she whispered.
Then she said nothing at all.
Until the doctor came in one morning, his gloves bright white and spotless, holding the chip he’d once embedded behind her shoulder. “You left a door open,” he said, smiling down at her. “You let them back in. But I’ve closed it now. The only voice left is mine.”
That was the day she stopped crying.
“Execute sequence 27,” he said.
Y/N stood in front of the mirror in a different room.
Concrete, again. Cold light. Wires hanging from the ceiling. Click. The collar on her neck locked. Her eyes went blank.
She wasn’t aware of the camera above her. Or the panel of observers in the room behind the glass.
“Y/N,” the doctor said softly, stepping into the room behind her. “You were born out of pain. But forged into something unstoppable.” He ran a finger gently over the branded star on her upper arm. She didn’t flinch. “You’re not broken. You’re rebuilt.” Then he looked her in the mirror. “Now, say the line.”
She stared forward, unmoving. Silent.
“Say it.” Silence. “Say it.”
“I am not Y/N,” she said. Her voice monotone, hollow, detached. “I am Silva.”
The team watching from the other side of the glass burst into applause. But the doctor didn’t smile. He leaned close, whispered directly into her ear.
“Good girl. They’ll come for you. And when they do… you’ll show them exactly how much they failed.”
The cell wasn’t empty, but it was silent.
Y/N sat in the corner, knees drawn up, face blank. The white suit she wore reflected the sterile fluorescence of the walls, making her look like a ghost present, but already gone.
Then came the voices.
Bucky’s first. “She’s not the same,” he said coldly. “I don’t know if we can fix her.”
Y/N’s head twitched barely, but her eyes remained fixed ahead.
Tony’s voice followed, sharp and analytical. “She’s a liability. We can’t just let her walk around the Tower like she didn’t almost lose her damn mind. She could turn on us.”
Natasha’s voice came next. This one cracked something inside her. “She’s not my best friend anymore. That person died in the lab.”
Each phrase hit like a scalpel.
Y/N didn’t scream. She didn’t cry but her body leaned ever so slightly away from the speaker, as if her soul were retreating.
The recordings had been masterfully constructed, pieced together from real voice samples lifted from Tower security footage and mission comms.
“They turned their backs on you,” the doctor’s voice said calmly, as he entered the room behind her. “They fear what you’ve become. And they should.” He crouched beside her, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. “But I don’t fear you.”
She didn’t respond.
“Because I built you.”
He pressed a button on the tablet in his other hand and the room darkened slightly.
Another voice played, Steve’s. “If it comes down to it… we put her down.”
Y/N flinched, finally. That was the moment. That was when the last thread tethering her to the outside world began to unravel.
“You see?” the doctor whispered. “You went home and they never saw you again. They saw a problem. And problems get solved.”
The lights never turned off in her new cell.
The voices kept returning, always from the ceiling.
Steve about her being a threat.
Natasha saying she wasn't the best friend Y/N always thought.
Sam declaring his fear.
Tony saying she could be killed if they worked together.
Bucky admitting he stopped loving her after the first rescue.
The worst was Bucky. His voice lingered in her mind like ash. He had once been her anchor, her mirror. Now, he was the phantom holding the blade.
“You’re weak, Y/N. You were always weak. I do not care about you...”
“We only saved you because we pitied you.”
“The mission should have ended you.”
A voice in her head, not one from the speakers, kept whispering.
You’re not one of them anymore.
They threw you away.
But we rebuilt you.
Now you are something else.
And slowly, she believed it.
They didn’t call her Y/N anymore.
That name was erased from the files. It remained in the archives of her old life, in the Tower’s dusty database but here, under the doctor’s rule, she was something else now.
They gave her a suit, matte black nearly identical to Bucky’s old one.
A red symbol where her heart once was.
Her eyes were empty, but never without focus.
One of the guards said she looked like a machine pretending to be a woman. He didn’t say it again. She broke his arm in five places during a routine sparring test and smiled.
The rain didn’t stop.
It slicked the rooftops of the city in sheets of silver, washing the neon signs into streaks across the city skyline. In the shadows of a satellite tower, a figure crouched silently motionless, a silhouette against the storm.
Silva was waiting.
A soft voice crackled in her earpiece. “Subject is thirty meters north. Three guards. No cameras. No witnesses. Confirm the target, Silva.”
She didn’t reply with words, just the soft click of her boot shifting forward. Down below, the informant lit a cigarette with trembling hands, speaking into a burner phone. His contact would be gone in ten minutes. He had no idea she was there watching.
No one saw her fall from the rooftop.
No sound touched the street but the snap of bone and the thud of a body hitting wet concrete.
The cigarette rolled into a puddle.
Three guards never even got their safeties off.
The target turned, eyes wide. He opened his mouth to scream. She slammed his head into the brick wall with precision. “Extraction complete,” she muttered flatly into the comm. Her voice was flatter than the rain.
“Good girl,” the doctor whispered. He said it every time like she was a pet.
The Avengers’ Tower felt colder that night. Everything felt more fragile.
FRIDAY'S voice cut through the silence. “Y/N’s biometrics just matched combat readiness data. Full red alert. Combined oxidative stress, adrenaline pulse. She’s in active mission mode.”
Tony looked up from the holographic console, eyes dark. The waveform she’d once struggled to speak, now pulsed with precision filled with life again but strutted by someone else.
Nat put her hand on his shoulder. “She’s following the same neural pattern every mission log shows. We thought we broke it.”
Sam’s voice came static. “We read movement in Brooklyn. Silhouette movement pattern matches protocol 17. Female, tactical input masked. It’s Y/N.”
Bucky closed his eyes, breathing shallow. “It’s her,” he said. “God help us… it’s her.”
In the lab, Tony engaged the encryption scanner and pulled up mission logs from within Hydra’s network. A collapsed map of compromised files, all tagged with Y/N’s codename, Silva, popped up.
Next to it, an image fragment. A blurry shot of someone lean. “It’s definitely her,” he whispered.
Nat slammed her fist lightly onto the glass surface. “That bastard didn’t just reprogram her. He weaponized what was left of her. Armed her with precision.”
Sam swallowed. “So… do we intercept? Do we warn her? Or do we stop her?”
Steve lifted his shield decisively. “We go. We intercept. No answer comes from that contact chain. This is field op, not negotiation.”
They suited up in silence.
Nat whispered to Bucky, “She might still be in there. Not just that thing he made.”
Bucky nodded quietly.
Steve slid out with Sam in tow. Tony lingered, inputting override codes into the Tower’s defence systems.
Natasha strapped on Kevlar. Bucky took a breath. “I’ll find her.”
“We will,” Steve replied. “All of us.”
The elevator doors opened beyond. The city waited and somewhere, out there following orders she didn’t remember agreeing to, Y/N walked again faster.
The city’s shadows swallowed the figures moving in silence. The rain had started to fall in thin, cold sheets, mist curling in alleys, pooling in broken concrete. The industrial district loomed like a graveyard of iron bones, towering structures rusting into decay.
Every step echoed beneath them, muffled by the wet gravel underfoot.
Natasha, Tony, Sam, and Steve moved like ghosts between collapsed scaffolding and shattered glass.
The air was dense, thick with the hum of something wrong.
Tony’s voice broke the stillness, low in their comms. “FRIDAY picked up her heat signature five minutes ago. Two clicks north. Still moving.”
“Copy that,” Steve replied, eyes narrowing beneath his helmet.
Crouched behind the husk of an old supply truck, Natasha’s voice cut in. “She’s here. I can feel it.” She was tense, every muscle coiled, not from fear but familiarity. She knew this kind of silence, the kind that came before a kill.
Sam adjusted the scope on his visor, scanning the shadows ahead. “There.” He pointed. “Twelve o’clock. Moving fast.”
Tony’s HUD zoomed in. The figure moved with fluid precision. A blur of black against the steel-grey ruins. “Visual match confirmed. That’s her.”
Y/N.
But not the Y/N they knew. The Y/N who had started laughing again, who would shadow Bucky like a heartbeat, who had whispered her first words after months of silence.
No.
This was something else.
Sam’s jaw clenched. “We move in. Quiet and quick.”
They fanned out in practiced formation, weapons raised, not to kill but to save.
The rain intensified, clinging to skin and metal, slicking the cracked cement underfoot. Then, someone dropped from above.
Silva.
Y/N, if there was any of her left inside, landed in front of them like a shadow split from the night. Her stance was perfect and balanced.
Her eyes dead.
No words.
No hesitation.
She moved first.
A flash of movement, too fast. Tony fired a stun blast, bright blue light split the darkness. She twisted sideways mid-air, the bolt sailing past her head.
Nat barely had time to react before Y/N closed the distance. A single, brutal kick clean, sharp. Natasha flew back, crashing through a rotted doorframe and disappearing.
“Nat!” Steve shouted, raising his shield and charging forward. He swung.
Y/N ducked. Her fist connected with his ribs, spinning him. She used his own momentum to slam him into the ground. The clang of vibranium echoed across the alleyway.
Sam was next, wings flaring as he dropped from above, fists ready. Y/N caught him mid-lunge, her knee driving into his stomach, elbow clipping his temple. He hit the pavement hard, gasping for air. “Jesus, she’s faster than before-”
Tony called out, ducking as Y/N hurled a steel pipe in his direction. It embedded itself in the wall beside him with a shriek of metal. “She’s too strong,” he muttered, fingers tightening around the repulsor. “Too precise.”
Every move was calculated.
Every step planned.
This wasn’t just combat.
This was programming. This was someone unleashed. And then, he arrived.
Bucky.
Soaked from the rain, his chest heaving, hair plastered to his face. He slowed when he saw her.
Not her stance.
Not her weapon.
Her eyes.
They were blank and empty but still hers.
He stepped forward, unarmed and unafraid.
A soldier.
A ghost.
A man trying to remember how to breathe.
A boyfriend trying to save his girlfriend.
“Y/N…”
His voice cracked around her name, raw and breaking.
It wasn’t a call. It wasn’t a command. It was a plea.
She turned toward him, head tilting with eerie calm.
And for the tiniest moment, something changed.
Her posture slipped.
Her fingers twitched.
Her breathing faltered.
The brutal mask wavered.
The former Winter Soldier stilled.
Her eyes, so hollow a second before, flickered.
“Y/N,” Bucky said again, softer now, stepping closer. “You don’t have to do this. I’m right here.”
She blinked. The world stopped turning.
One second.
Two.
A breath.
Then her jaw clenched and her body re-engaged, like a machine rebooting.
Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t run. He just stood there, hand outstretched, his voice trembling as he whispered. “Come back to me…”
From the wreckage, Steve slowly rose to his feet.
Sam was pushing himself up, blood at his temple.
Natasha limped back into view, one arm held tight to her side.
Tony’s arc reactor glowed in the rain, his repulsors humming low.
They all watched the scene unfold, knowing this wasn’t a battle they could win by force.
This was a war for her soul and it had only just begun.
Y/N turned fully toward him.
The flicker of recognition, of her, was gone now replaced by something colder. Her jaw tightened again. She stepped forward in silence, fists at her sides, her breath calm.
Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t raise his fists. “I’m not fighting you,” he said, voice low but steady.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she charged.
Faster than a thought. Bucky barely brought his arm up in time, her fist slammed into his metal forearm with a crack, the force reverberating down to his bones. He stumbled back a step, panic flashing across his face. “Y/N,” he said again, more urgent now, “you don’t want to do this-”
Her leg swept beneath him. He hit the pavement with a grunt, rolling just in time to avoid a crushing stomp meant to shatter his ribs. She came down again, relentless.
A punch.
A knee.
Another strike.
He blocked each one, but barely not retaliating nor hitting back. “I know you’re in there,” he panted, pushing himself to his feet. “I know you are.”
A scream tore from her lips wordless and mechanical, like metal grinding on metal. She threw a spinning kick, connecting with his shoulder. The sound of his bones protesting echoed in the narrow alley.
Still, Bucky didn’t fight back.
“Hey,” he said gently. “You’re not still mad I let you tackle me through a glass wall, are you?”
No answer but her shoulders tensed. He smirked, just a little. “Because for the record, I let you win.”
Still nothing.
She didn’t look at him so, he walked closer cautious like she was still half wild not from fear, but from pain. “You remember that one sparring match?” He asked, in front of her. “Where you said and I quote... don’t go easy on me just ‘cause you’re old... I’ve never been so offended in my life.”
He stopped for a second.
“You decked me, Y/N. I landed so hard I almost asked Steve what year it was.”
Y/N stopped.
He went closer, touching her hands. “I missed you,” he said softly, brushing her gloved knuckles with his fingers.
“Missed the way you used to glare at me during breakfast. Missed how you’d roll your eyes when I tried to be charming.”
Her eyes shimmered, he thought she was coming back in some ways but he was wrong.
Silva grabbed him by his collar and crushed her head on his forehead. Bucky shook his head and blinked a couple of time. He starred at her once she left his collar.
“Baby?” He spoke, arms streached in the air in front of her. “You hurt me, doll.”
His eyes soft and bright, still with a hint oh hopeness. He walked again toward her. He leaned forward slightly. “I missed you. Not the weapon. Not the soldier. Just the pain-in-my-ass sparring partner who used to steal my coffee and kick my ass for fun.”
Silva looked at him, this time really looked at him.
“Hit me if you need to,” he rasped. “Break me if that’s what it takes, but you’re not gone. You are not this.”
She grabbed his collar again and slammed him into the wall. The impact split the concrete behind him. Her hand hovered at his throat, trembling not from weakness, but restraint. Their faces were inches apart.
Her eyes… cracked.
Tears mingled with rain. “I see you,” he whispered. “Even now.”
Her fist stayed raised quivering. Her lips parted as a broken breath escaped.
Not a word. Just sound.
For the first time, her expression twisted, not into rage but into confusion.
The program and the girl fighting inside one body.
“You’re not a weapon,” Bucky whispered, slowly raising his metal hand and laying it gently over hers. “Not to me.”
Her fingers flexed against his neck, like a threat she didn’t know how to follow through on anymore. She pressed it on his skin, not strong enought to choke him but still and steady to made him gulped.
“I chose you,” he breathed. “Not what they made you. You.”
For a heartbeat, her hand dropped.
She staggered back, clutching her head with both hands.
Her breath came out ragged now, gasping.
Knees buckling.
Bucky reached forward, and this time she didn’t strike. She collapsed into him.
It wasn’t a prison.
The glass walls were transparent, the lights soft and clinical. The bed had a real mattress and the door was unlocked but closed.
Monitors blinked quietly, tracking vitals with sterile indifference.
She woke with a gasp, bolting upright in the bed like she’d been shot out of sleep. Her eyes wild and unfocused, scanned the room.
No shadows.
No doctor.
No command.
Just silence.
Then came the realization.
She was alone.
She stumbled out of bed and moved straight toward the far wall, toward the one surface she knew was a barrier. She slammed her fist into the glass. It didn’t even ripple.
The monitors behind her chirped.
Another punch.
Then two more.
By the time the Avengers reached the observation room, she was in full panic.
Her fists pounded the glass relentlessly, breathing shallow, hair wild and mouth opening in a soundless scream. Her eyes locked on the mirror, on them, as though she could see right through.
“Shit,” Sam breathed. “She’s not just scared. She thinks she’s back.”
Tony stood tense, arms crossed, watching her form hit the wall again and again. “She’s not out of it. She’s fighting to get to something. Or away from something in her head.”
“She’s triggered,” Nat said softly.
“The glass, it’s too familiar.” Steve pressed a hand to the panel. “Let me go in.”
“No,” Bucky’s voice was hard, unshakable. “Let me.”
Inside the room, Y/N was slipping. The bruises from the previous fight hadn’t healed. Her knuckles were bleeding now, but she kept hitting. Her mouth moved again, that same phrase, repeatedly. “Please, Y/N, answer me.”
“Override the door,” Bucky said.
“Are you crazy?” Tony snapped. “She’s not stable, Barnes. You go in there, she might-”
“She already did.” His voice cracked. “She already hurt me. But if anyone’s gonna get through to her, it’s me. She could open the door from the inside but she don't know because she thinks she's there again. She's gonna hurt herself if I don't go in there...”
Nat hesitated then nodded.
The hiss of the pressure seal disengaging filled the hallway. The glass door slid open and Y/N froze.
Her body trembled like static electricity was running through her bones. Then she turned, slowly, mechanically toward Bucky. They dressed her with an hospital gown, no shoes but no matter what she stood there fists in the air, ready to fight.
He didn’t raise his hands. He just stood there. “I’m here,” he whispered. “And you’re safe. You’re not in the bunker. You’re not in his chair. You’re not a weapon.”
Her jaw clenched.
“I’m not going to fight you,” he said.
One step, then another and then, she launched at him.
He barely had time to react before her fist whipped toward his face. He ducked, the punch cutting through empty air, but her spinning backfist caught his shoulder and sent him stumbling across the room.
“Hear me!” He shouted.
She answered with a sharp front kick. He twisted aside. Her naked foot slammed into the wall hard enough to made her whine. Before he could recover, she was already on him again. Two quick jabs, a hook, then an elbow aimed at his jaw.
He blocked the first two. The elbow slipped through. His vision flashed white as he staggered backward.
“It's me!” he gasped.
He caught her wrist this time, trying to hold her still.
“Look at me.”
She drove her knee toward his ribs. He released her just in time, the strike grazing his side instead of breaking it. She spun free, sweeping his legs from under him.
He hit the floor hard. She was already above him, fist raised. He rolled away just as it crashed into the floor.
“You'd never try to kill me,” he said, climbing to his feet.
She tilted her head. “I have no memory of you.” Then she attacked again.
A blur of punches forced him across the warehouse. He blocked, dodged, and retreated, refusing every opening to strike back. Every time she overextended, he simply stepped away instead of countering.
His restraint cost him. A hook slammed into his ribs. Another clipped his chin. Blood touched the corner of his mouth.
“Fight me!” she demanded.
“I won't.”
He caught her ankle at the last second. For one brief moment they froze, eyes locked.
“Please,” he whispered.
Something changed.
A flicker.
Her brow tightened.
Her breathing hitched.
His name almost formed on her lips.
Hope surged through him.
She collapsed into him like her bones had given out, fists clutching the fabric of his shirt, her entire frame shaking against his chest.
Later that night, the humming of security fields had been lowered to a near whisper and the medical monitors glowed gently, casting pale shadows across the room.
Y/N lay curled on the hospital style bed, wrapped in one of Bucky’s old sweatshirts, her fingers still trembling faintly even in sleep.
Bucky sat beside her on the floor, back against the glass wall with his knees up. His head resting lightly against the frame of her bed.
The rest of the team watched through the two-way mirror. No one spoke.
“She didn’t scream this time,” Natasha finally said, her voice low and careful.
“Not once.” Tony nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That’s something. Her vitals stabilized once he held her.”
“She didn’t even flinch when he walked in,” Steve added.
“She could’ve attacked again. But she didn’t.”
“She still thinks she’s broken,” Sam said softly. “That’s the worst part. Even when she’s safe, she doesn’t believe it.”
Tony sighed. “He didn’t just program her body. He rewired her fear. Every quiet moment? That’s when the trigger loop resets.”
Nat stepped closer to the glass, her expression unreadable. “What if the trigger isn’t just audio or code?”
“You think it’s emotional?” Tony asked.
“No,” she said. “I think it’s shame.”
Behind the glass, Bucky reached up with his free hand and gently brushed a strand of hair from Y/N’s face. She didn’t stir, but she leaned a little closer in her sleep.
“I’ve seen this before,” Nat murmured. “In myself. In him.” She nodded toward Bucky. “It’s not the memory that traps you. It’s believing you were meant to be that way. That you’re still dangerous, even now.”
“So how do we help her?” Steve asked.
There was a long pause.
Then Tony, quiet but certain. “We keep showing her she’s not alone. Even if it takes years. I’m pretty sure her programming works like the Winter Soldier’s one. Once she woke up, she will be okay.”
“Do you mean like a switch?” Sam asked.
Tony nodded.
Hours later, the sky over New York was just beginning to turn a dull shade of blue, the kind of color that only crept in when the city was still asleep and the world was quiet enough to remember it was still spinning.
Inside the Tower, the soft pulse of medical monitors was the only sound that broke the silence.
Bucky hadn’t moved in hours.
He now sat slouched against the transparent glass wall of Y/N’s recovery room, one knee drawn up, one hand resting on the edge of the bed. His fingers loosely curled around hers. He didn’t care that the floor was cold. He didn’t care that his back was stiff or that he hadn’t slept.
She was breathing. That was all that mattered.
Then, she stirred.
It wasn’t much, just a twitch, a slow inhale. Her fingers adjusting their grip like her mind had finally caught up with her body. Bucky’s head snapped up instantly, eyes locking onto her hand as her thumb brushed over the back of his. Her lips parted, cracked and dry, and for a moment he thought maybe she was just shifting in sleep again, but then her voice broke through the silence like a knife slipping into his ribs.
“…You stayed.”
The whisper was so quiet, so impossibly fragile, that he almost thought he imagined it.
His breath hitched.
She still wasn’t looking at him, her cheek was pressed into the mattress, her eyes fixed somewhere far away but her head had tilted ever so slightly in his direction, like she’d been waiting for confirmation that he was still there.
“I’m here,” he said, barely above a breath. “I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned in a little closer, afraid to move too quickly. Her skin looked so pale in the early light.
There were still faded bruises along her jaw, faint shadows beneath her eyes, and that fresh, angry scar peeking out from her neckline where the implant had once been.
But her voice, it had been hers.
Not Silva’s.
Hers.
Y/N’s fingers twitched again, then curled tighter around his hand like a reflex. “Don’t let them lock me up again, please.” She whispered.
Her voice was hoarse, raw, like it hadn’t been used in weeks. She didn’t cry. She didn’t plead. It wasn’t fear in her voice. It was shame.
A deep, aching fear that she had become what they said she would.
Bucky swallowed hard. His throat felt like it had been scraped raw. “It’s not a cell,” he said gently, reaching up to rest his metal hand on the mattress beside her. “It’s just a room. A safe one. It’s where we keep the people we love when they’re hurting.”
She didn’t speak.
Her eyes, dulled by exhaustion but no longer vacant, slid toward his. They didn’t widen in fear or dart away in panic. “…Promise?” She asked.
The word barely made it out of her throat. It was more breath than sound, and it trembled as it fell from her lips. Bucky leaned closer until his forehead almost touched the edge of the bed, and he looked up at her like she was the only thing in the universe that mattered.
“I promise,” he said.
A long silence followed.
She didn’t nod.
She didn’t speak again.
Her fingers never let go of his.
For the first time in a long time, she closed her eyes not from exhaustion, but from rest.
The soft morning light spilled through the Tower’s huge windows as Bucky gently helped Y/N sit up, brushing stray strands of hair from her face. Her eyes, still heavy with the residue of restless sleep, flickered with uncertainty.
“I-I’m not sure,” she whispered, voice fragile. “What if they hate me? What if they don’t want me here anymore?”
Bucky’s gaze softened. “They don’t hate you. Nobody does.”
After days of silence and isolation, Bucky was determined to help her take one small step back into the world. “Come on. Breakfast with the team. You don’t have to say a word if you don’t want to.”
Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart pounding with nervous hesitation.
The last time she’d been with them, she was broken. A weapon twisted beyond repair. The thought they might resent her felt like another weight on her chest. But Bucky’s hand was warm, steady, and impossible to refuse. When they reached the common room, the team was already gathered, casual and calm, cups of coffee in hand. But when their eyes met Y/N’s, everything changed.
Tony was the first to rise, a soft smile breaking across his face. Without hesitation, he crossed the room and wrapped her in a careful, fierce hug. “Hey, kiddo,” he murmured, voice thick. “We missed you.”
Steve, Sam and Natasha moved closer, arms open and faces full of relief and something like love.
No accusations.
No cold shoulders.
Natasha’s fingers brushed Y/N’s hair gently, eyes bright with unshed tears. “You’re home,” she said simply.
Sam grinned, clapping her lightly on the back. “Took your sweet time, but you made it.”
Y/N’s chest tightened. She hadn’t expected this.
Not this warmth.
Not this acceptance.
Bucky stood beside her, feeling the way her body trembled, not from fear but from a fragile hope beginning to bloom. “I thought… you’d hate me,” she whispered to him later, her voice barely audible.
He shook his head, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “No. We don’t hate you. We never stopped fighting for you. And we never will.”
For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt the heavy armour of loneliness slip just a little. She was still broken. But she wasn’t alone.
The days that followed were nothing like the darkness Y/N had known. The Tower was alive with quiet determination, patience, and a gentle persistence that slowly chipped away at the walls she had built around herself.
Rehabilitation wasn’t easy.
Every step forward was met with memories clawing at her mind, every small victory shadowed by the echoes of the doctor’s control. But this time, she wasn’t alone in the fight. Tony designed personalized therapy sessions, blending technology with compassion. His AI programs encouraged her to keep speaking, to regain the words stolen by trauma. He never pushed too hard, always reading her cues, ready to pause when the fear flickered in her eyes.
Natasha became her shadow, a silent guardian and steady presence. She helped Y/N move through her days with quiet routines. Cooking meals together, sparring lightly in the training room when Y/N was ready, and simply sitting nearby when words failed them both. Steve and Sam joined in, bringing laughter and lightness. Steve’s calm reassurance helped Y/N rebuild trust in her body, while Sam’s easy-going nature coaxed shy smiles and even soft laughter. They reminded her there was a life beyond survival,a life worth reclaiming.
Bucky was her anchor. Every morning, he was there beside her, steady and unshakable. His quiet patience gave her the courage to try again when her own strength faltered. When she trembled with doubt or pain, his hand found hers, squeezing gently with the promise that he wouldn’t let go. Gradually, the silence between them softened.
One afternoon, after a particularly tough therapy session, Y/N surprised them all. As Bucky helped her up from the couch, she looked him square in the eyes and said, “Thank you.”
It was a small phrase, but in that moment, it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken feelings. The team exchanged glances, relief and hope shining in their tired eyes. This was only the beginning. But it was proof, the real healing had begun.
Weeks turned into months, and the team watched a remarkable change unfold. The dark grip the doctor once held over Y/N was finally slipping away. The dreaded trigger, once a cruel switch that transformed her into Silva, the weaponized soldier no longer had power. They all used the same method they had to use for Bucky after he was rescued from HYDRA.
One afternoon, Tony gathered the team in the lab, the results of his latest neural scans glowing on the monitors. “It’s official,” he announced, a rare smile breaking through his usual intensity. “The implant is finally gone, and the neural pathways that responded to the trigger have been rewired or suppressed. Y/N is no longer under Silva’s control.”
The weight in the room lifted.
Sam exhaled deeply, Natasha allowed herself a rare grin and Steve nodded approvingly.
Bucky stood closest to Y/N, who sat quietly nearby, eyes clear, body relaxed.
When Tony finished, Bucky reached for her hand.
She looked up, meeting his gaze without hesitation. The familiar flicker of steel was gone, replaced by something softer. Her own self returning.
Later, during a training session, a sudden loud noise echoed through the tower. It was a noise that once would have unleashed Silva’s fury.
Y/N froze, her eyes wide.
For a tense moment, everyone held their breath.
Then, with no sign of aggression, she blinked and relaxed shaking her head slightly as if to clear it.
Bucky smiled, pulling her into a gentle embrace. “You’re free,” he whispered and for the first time in a long time, Y/N believed it.
Y/N stayed behind in the common room, curled up on the window seat, staring out at the glittering city below.
Bucky, Steve and Sam outside running, Nat in her room relaxing.
Her posture was loosened, but her eyes carried that familiar depth, a storm quieted but never forgotten. She didn’t turn when Tony entered, though she knew it was him from the sound of his steps. Not the click of Bucky’s boots, or the quiet pads of Steve’s steady stride. Tony had his own rhythm hesitant tonight. He stood for a moment by the door, holding a glass of something dark and amber that he hadn’t even sipped from yet.
Then, slowly, he crossed the room and sat down in the chair opposite her. “Nice night,” he said softly.
“Mm-hmm.” Y/N nodded but didn’t look away from the window.
They sat in silence for a while.
Tony shifted, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I should’ve seen it,” he said finally. “The way he slipped past my scans. The tech, the implants, the layers of conditioning… I thought I’d gotten it all.”
Y/N blinked slowly, listening.
“I was so sure I’d taken every last piece of that programming out of your head,” Tony continued, voice lower now. “I built the safest cell I could think of and somehow still left a back door open. A command line buried too deep. And when you disappeared, when you, when he used you again…” He stopped himself, swallowing hard. “I failed you,” he said simply.
Y/N finally turned her head to look at him. Her eyes weren’t angry. “You didn’t fail me,” she said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was steady. Clear. “You brought me back.”
Tony let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his lungs for months. “Not fast enough.”
“But you did,” she insisted gently. “And I know you didn’t give up on me. Not once. Not when I couldn’t talk. Not when I couldn’t be me. You and the others kept fighting for me. And I’m here because of that.”
Tony looked at her, brow furrowed, guilt still flickering behind his eyes. “I just…” he exhaled. “I thought I was fixing you. But you didn’t need fixing, did you? You needed time. You needed to heal. I should’ve listened.”
“You listened more than anyone else,” she said, a soft smile ghosting her lips. “You treated me like a person, not a problem.”
He blinked, eyes stinging unexpectedly. “Well,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face, “...you are a problem. Just a lovable one.”
Y/N snorted. “I’ll take it.”
Tony glanced down at his untouched drink, then back at her. “You really okay, kid?”
“I’m getting there,” she said. “But yeah. I’m okay.”
She didn’t say anything at first just stood, leaned down and wrapped her arms around him from behind, holding him tightly.
Tony froze in surprise.
“Thanks, Tony,” she whispered, her voice a soft breath against his shoulder.
He blinked, barely able to react before she leaned in a little further and pressed a kiss to his forehead gentle, grateful and warm.
It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t dramatic. It was sincere.
His throat tightened as she pulled back, and for once, Tony Stark was speechless. “Damn it,” he mumbled, swallowing hard as he stared ahead. “You’re gonna make me cry in my favourite hoodie.”
Y/N just smiled, stepping back with a glint in her eye. “Good. You owe me a few.”
Tony chuckled, blinking quickly. Then he reached up and kissed her hand where it had rested on his shoulder. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“Yeah,” she said, still smiling. “But now I finally get to be me again.”
And for Tony, felt like the greatest success of all.
The cold hum of the lab’s machinery filled the dim room, an eerie soundtrack to the doctor’s mounting frustration. His fingers drummed impatiently on the metallic surface of his cluttered desk. The sterile white walls seemed to close in on him, suffocating. All his plans, every carefully orchestrated move , now teetered on the edge of collapse.
His eyes, sharp and calculating moments before, now burned with a storm of fury. The screen in front of him flickered once, then died, leaving a black void that mirrored the emptiness clawing at his control. He reached for the phone and dialed again, his voice low but edged with venom.
“Silva, come to me.”
Silence.
No crackle, no response.
Just cold silence.
Y/N hung up the phone.
He slammed the receiver down, his breath coming fast and shallow. The doctor paced the length of the room, his lab coat swishing sharply against the cold floor. His mind replayed every moment of their captivity, every data point, every experiment and now, it was unraveling. The one weapon he had forged, the sleeper agent he molded from flesh and will, had slipped beyond his grasp.
“She was mine,” he muttered to himself, voice cracking with rage and disbelief. “Mine to command, mine to break, mine to remake.”
But now she refused to obey. His hands trembled as he clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms. A sudden, vicious knock echoed from the door , one of his operatives entering with fresh intel, but he barely registered it. “Why won’t she respond?!” He growled, his eyes wild.
“She’s clean,” the operative said cautiously. “The trigger’s dead. She’s resisting the programming. Her signal won’t respond anymore.”
The doctor’s jaw tightened. “No,” he hissed. “She can’t be free. She’s a weapon, better than any soldier you’ve ever seen. And now she thinks she’s just a person.”
He slammed a fist on the desk again, causing scattered papers to flutter to the floor. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
“They took her from me. From us. And I won’t lose her. Not like this.”
He moved toward a cabinet, unlocking it with shaky hands. Inside, rows of vials glimmered in the sterile light.
Serums, drugs, chemical agents. His final tools, his last failsafe. “If she won’t come willingly,” he snarled, pulling one vial free, “I will drag her back into the shadows myself.”
Outside the lab, far from his reach, Y/N’s steady breathing filled the quiet room unaware that the man who once controlled her was plotting in darkness, furious at his failure and ready to fight to reclaim what he believed was his.
The battle was far from over.
The sun hung low behind a bank of heavy clouds as the Avengers’ jet touched down near the abandoned outpost. A forgotten relic swallowed by overgrowth and rust. The air was thick with damp earth and the faint scent of decay. Here, where silence had settled like dust, the echoes of past horrors still lingered.
Bucky stood at the forefront, his jaw tight, eyes scanning the crumbling structure.
Beside him, Y/N’s hand found his, her grip steady and warm like a stark contrast to the cold memories this place held.
She was herself again.
Clear-eyed.
Present.
No longer Silva’s puppet.
Natasha led the way, moving with the quiet confidence of someone who had walked this shadowed path before. Tony’s tech hummed softly, scanning for any traps or hidden threats. Steve’s shield was strapped firmly to his back, his gaze sharp and ready. The group approached the heavy steel door, its surface scarred with rust and old bullet holes.
Y/N paused, her breath catching ever so slightly. “This is it,” Bucky said softly. “Where they kept me… and where they kept you.”
Her eyes flickered with something unspoken, a mix of fear, anger, and something like closure.
Tony knelt by the access panel, fingers flying over the controls. “If this thing still works, we’ll get inside.” With a hiss of released pressure and a shudder, the door creaked open, revealing the dark interior: cold concrete walls, flickering lights, and the faint remnants of medical equipment long abandoned.
It was a tomb of broken dreams and forgotten cruelty. Y/N stepped forward, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “They thought this place could hold me,” she said, voice steady. “But I’m not that person anymore.”
Bucky squeezed her hand, a silent vow passing between them. Together, the Avengers moved deeper into the shadows, ready to confront the past, and finally bring the nightmare to an end.
The quiet of the abandoned outpost shattered like glass. Without warning, from the shadows and hidden corners, a dozen Hydra agents emerged, their faces masked, weapons drawn, and eyes cold with calculated intent.
“AMBUSH!” Natasha shouted, diving behind a rusted metal crate as bullets ripped through the stale air. Bucky was immediately on his feet, shield raised, muscles coiled. His movements were fluid and precise, a deadly dance honed through years of war. He caught a bullet in mid-air, snapping it away before launching himself forward, taking down two agents with brutal efficiency.
Y/N’s eyes hardened.
Though still recovering, she moved with a speed and strength that shocked even the team, years of Hydra conditioning still lurking beneath the surface, now wielded on their side. Her fists flew, striking with calculated force, disabling enemies before they could react. Steve threw his shield, sending one enemy sprawling, then ducked a hail of gunfire to sweep another with a powerful punch.
Tony’s repulsors flared, sending bursts of energy that knocked back three Hydra agents, his voice crackling over comms.
“They came prepared, but so did we.” Sam soared above, firing precise shots from his sniper, picking off enemies trying to flank.
The battle was fierce, every second a test of skill and will. But the Avengers fought as one, a seamless unit moulded by trust and shared history. As the last Hydra agent fell, silence reclaimed the outpost.
Bucky looked to Y/N, breathing hard but eyes shining. “You’re stronger than they ever imagined.”
Y/N nodded, determination blazing. “And I’m not going back.”
The adrenaline from the fight still pulsed through Y/N’s veins, but beneath it simmered something darker, a rising storm of anger and defiance. Her fists clenched tightly, knuckles white, eyes blazing with a fire the team hadn’t seen in a long time. With a voice sharp and fierce, she bellowed across the empty outpost, “IF YOU’RE NOT A COWARD, GET OUT HERE!”
Her shout echoed off the cracked walls, carrying the weight of every betrayal, every torment she endured at his hands. The silence that followed was thick, oppressive, but Y/N didn’t waver. She stood tall, chest heaving, ready to face the ghost of her past head-on. Tony stepped closer, hand steady on his repulsors, but said nothing.
Natasha tightened her grip on her weapon, eyes scanning the shadows. Steve and Sam stood alert, prepared for whatever might emerge.
Bucky’s voice was low but firm beside her, “You’re not alone in this.”
And for the first time in a long while, Y/N allowed herself to believe it. The silence after Y/N’s challenge stretched, thick and suffocating, until it was shattered by the distant echo of footsteps, slow, deliberate, unmistakably human.
From the shadows of the abandoned outpost, a figure emerged, stepping into the harsh, flickering light of a broken overhead lamp. The man was lean, his movements calculated and cold, the same mask still concealing most of his face, but his eyes burning with a cruel, mocking satisfaction.
“Impressive,” the doctor said, voice smooth but dripping with venom. “You’ve grown stronger… more defiant than I expected.”
Y/N’s glare never wavered. Her body tensed, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap. “I’m not your weapon,” she spat. “And I’m not afraid of you.”
He smiled, an ugly, twisted thing that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, my dear, you misunderstand. You are mine. And you always will be. You just don’t know it yet.”
The Avengers shifted, weapons raised ready to strike, but Bucky held up a hand, steady and calm. “Let her speak,” he said quietly.
The doctor’s eyes flicked to Bucky, a flicker of recognition flashing across his face. “Ah, the Soldier,” he murmured. “Still playing the hero. But you’re powerless here.”
Y/N took a slow, deliberate step forward, voice steady despite the storm inside her. “I’m no one’s weapon anymore. You lost me. You lost control.”
The doctor’s lips curled into a sneer. “Control is an illusion. But don’t worry, I have other ways to remind you who you belong to.” He reached into his coat, fingers curling around something small and metallic.
A cold chill ran through the room. Y/N’s eyes flashed with fury and fear, but she stood her ground. “This ends now,” she said, voice low and fierce.
And with that, the standoff began, each side waiting and watching, knowing the next move could decide everything. The tension snapped like a wire. Out of the shadows, more Hydra agents surged forward, their movements swift and coordinated. Before anyone could react, Tony, Natasha, Sam, Steve, and even Bucky were pushed back, blocked by a wall of enemies. The odds shifted instantly, and Y/N found herself standing alone, free, but surrounded by danger.
The doctor, still leaning casually against the cold concrete wall, pressed a small button on a remote clipped to his hand. Suddenly, the room filled with that haunting, distorted voice, Bucky’s desperate recording playing on a relentless loop, the echo bouncing off the steel walls.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me! Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
A chill ran down Y/N’s spine. But beneath the psychological assault, something else stirred. Through the noise, a real, raw voice cut through. “Y/N! Fight it! Remember who you are! Fight!” Bucky’s voice was fierce, pleading, a lifeline in the storm. Her heart slammed in her chest.
For a moment, her eyes flickered with hesitation, old programming clawing at the edges of her mind. Then, something snapped. Her body tensed and coiled like a spring. She clenched her fists, fighting back the trigger that tried to control her. Her voice rang out, sharp and clear despite the chaos.
“I am not yours!” She yelled. She charged forward, moving with the strength and determination of the woman she’d fought to become. The agents faltered, taken aback by her sudden ferocity.
The agents faltered, their confidence shaken by the unexpected surge of power radiating from Y/N. Their eyes widened as she moved, not with the cold precision of a programmed soldier, but with fierce, raw determination fuelled by something far stronger, the will to reclaim her own soul. Her fists connected with bone and steel alike. Each strike fuelled by years of pain and fear and captivity.
Her movements were fluid, fierce and unyielding. She wasn’t just fighting for survival; she was fighting for her identity, for every stolen moment of her past, for every whispered hope of a future she dared to dream about. The distorted voice from the remote still echoed in the background, an insidious soundtrack trying desperately to pull her back into darkness.
Y/N’s eyes burned brighter than the twisted commands filling the air. With every blow, every desperate grunt, she pushed further from the shadow the doctor had cast over her. Behind her, the Avengers rallied, inspired by her defiance.
Natasha’s kicks dismantled two attackers with ruthless precision.
Sam soared overhead, using his shield to block incoming fire while landing calculated blows.
Steve’s shield crashed through enemy lines, opening a path.
Tony blasted with his armour.
Bucky, despite being held back by several agents, fought with a quiet fury. His eyes never leaving Y/N’s fierce silhouette. The team’s combined efforts began to turn the tide.
Slowly, the blockade broke apart like shattered glass, scattering Hydra agents retreating before the storm of resistance. Y/N’s breathing was ragged, sweat mingling with dirt and blood streaked across her face, but she stood taller than ever. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t just a broken weapon to be controlled. She was a woman reclaiming her body, her mind, and her life. One heartbeat, one breath, one powerful strike at a time.
As the last of the agents fled into the shadows, Y/N’s eyes locked with Bucky’s across the battlefield. There was no programmed obedience in her gaze now, only a fierce and unbreakable spirit.
She was free and nothing, not even the darkest parts of her past, could take that away.
The doctor’s eyes widened in disbelief as the tide turned against him. His carefully constructed plan unravelling faster than he ever anticipated. The last vestiges of control over Y/N slipping like sand through his fingers.
Without hesitation, he turned on his heel and bolted through the maze of the outpost, his footsteps pounding on the cold concrete. Panic flickered across his face, years of arrogance now replaced by raw fear. He knew better than anyone that capture meant the end of everything he had built.
Behind him, Y/N’s heavy breaths cut through the chaos as she surged forward, every muscle coiled, every step charged with vengeance and resolve.
“Stop him!” Bucky shouted, breaking free from his attackers, his own fury ignited by the sight of the doctor fleeing.
Natasha and Sam quickly flanked the doctor’s path, cutting off escape routes while Steve covered the rear, shield raised and ready to strike.
But the doctor was fast, desperate. He darted through narrow corridors and slammed open doors, his mind racing for a way out, for a hidden exit, for any chance at survival.
Y/N’s voice echoed after him, raw and defiant. “You won’t get away this time.”
The doctor’s breath came ragged, his heart pounding like a war drum. But no matter how fast he ran, the reckoning he’d evaded for so long was closing in, unyielding, relentless, and finally ready to bring him to justice.
Y/N’s legs burned as she sprinted after the doctor, the rage inside her fuelling every step. Her breath came hard, but she didn’t falter. The corridors twisted and turned, but she knew this place like the back of her hand now, every shadow, every exit.
The doctor skidded around a corner, panic making him reckless. Y/N closed the distance in a heartbeat, grabbing his arm with iron strength. He stumbled, trying to wrench free, but her grip was unbreakable. “I’m done running,” she hissed, voice low and cold as steel. Her eyes, once vacant, now blazed with fierce clarity. She removed his mask. Under she found a normal face. She didn’t know what expect. “You’re just a man.” She hissed.
He tried to speak, to beg but the words caught in his throat. There was no mercy left for him, not after everything he had done. Behind her, footsteps thundered closing in. The doctor’s fate was sealed.
Y/N tightened her grip. “You made me a weapon. But I’m taking back my life. Starting with you.” Y/N’s knuckles ached bloodied and raw but she stood over the doctor, chest heaving and sweat and rain streaking down her face, hair clinging to her cheeks.
The others had arrived, surrounding the ruined hallway in silence, but none dared interrupt her. The doctor coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His once-imposing figure now looked pitiful, crumpled beneath her, stripped of his power. And still, he laughed. “You still couldn’t do it,” he rasped. “You had the chance.”
Y/N’s jaw clenched. Her fists tightened at her sides. But she didn’t raise them again. “I’m not what you made me,” she said, voice steady, calmer than any of them had heard before. “I’m not Silva. I’m not your weapon. I’m me. I’m Y/N.”
Bucky stepped forward quietly, keeping behind her, watching her silhouette tremble just slightly. “You don’t need to prove anything,” he said softly. “You already won.”
Y/N gave one last glance down at the man who tried to break her. Then she turned her back. Natasha and Sam moved in, restraining the doctor, even as he sputtered more hollow taunts. Steve contacted the Raft authorities. Tony stared hard at the man, rage barely under his surface, but he said nothing.
Hours later, as the jet lifted into the air, the doctor, bruised and broken but alive, was locked in reinforced restraints. Y/N sat by the window, her arms wrapped around her knees. “You didn’t kill him,” Steve said quietly beside her. “That was your choice.”
“I wanted to,” she admitted. “But I wanted more to be free.”
Bucky slid into the seat across from her. “You are.”
pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader
genre: Non consensual confinement | psychological torture | audio based manipulation | emotional manipulation | memory based distress | mind control | healing | blood | fluff | HYDRA | violence
word count: 21 k
summary: Y/N and Bucky are the best at what they did, but couldn’t stand each other and now they’re forced together on a dangerous mission.
a/n: finally the last chapter of this story! this is gonna have violence and again it can be triggerring so read the warnings! hope you like this finale as much i loved it!! since it's so long i had to post the epilogue in another post otherwise tumblr won't make me post it at all so the smutty epilogue in the next part.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | epilogue
A full year since the kidnapping, since the screaming and the cell and the torture.
The doctor’s cold eyes.
The voice of Bucky twisted against her.
It was strange how time moved, sometimes achingly slow, sometimes so fast it blurred.
The mission that turned into a nightmare had started like any other, but Hydra was never just about brute force. They were clever and had patience. They had been watching Y/N, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The days that followed her disappearance felt like a war the Avengers couldn’t win. The team had experienced loss before, death and betrayal but this was different.
Y/N wasn’t just a teammate.
She was family.
For Bucky, she was something more complicated and deeper but also unspoken.
When she was taken, it was like someone had reached inside him and ripped out the only part of himself he believed was still worth saving. The team spent weeks chasing trails that went cold before they ever began. Every lead led to a dead end, every whisper of intel ended in silence.
Bucky became a ghost, barely sleeping, barely speaking only tracking, only hunting. Steve watched his best friend unravel, and Nat kept her phone in her palm constantly, waiting for something. Tony tore through data like a machine, guilt gnawing at him for not securing the mission better. Sam tried to be the glue between them all, but even his optimism started to crack.
And then… the videos started arriving.
They came without warning. Each one was a punch to the gut.
Grainy, colourless recordings.
A room.
A chair.
A too-familiar face.
Y/N.
Silent.
Bleeding.
Not crying.
Not screaming.
Enduring.
Sometimes the videos came with messages. Sometimes just footage. When they finally did, she was still alive, but not whole.
Y/N wouldn’t speak and barely ate, she wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
For days, there was no progress and then… something shifted.
She didn’t scream when Bucky entered the room. She let Nat braid her hair. She pointed at objects hesitant and shaky, learning again. She walked beside Bucky. She sat near the others during meals, even if she didn’t eat at first.
Then came the first word, his name.
Then another.
Now, a full year later, she was curled up next to Bucky during movie night. Clothes clean, hair brushed and breathing steadily.
She had returned to the gym first, slow and quiet. Just watching the others train at first, gripping Bucky’s hand tighter whenever the room got too loud or too hot or too much. Then she was on the mat again, her body remembering how to move or how to fight, how to defend, how to breathe without fear.
Natasha worked with her in the mornings.
Steve sparred with her on Fridays.
Sam ran laps with her to build her stamina back.
And Bucky? He never left her side.
By the time weeks had passed, she was back in the field. Smaller missions at first to support roles, tech extractions, controlled recoveries. The first mission she returned from unscathed, Bucky kissed her before the jet even touched down.
“You’re back,” he whispered against her mouth.
Now her mornings were calm and usually began with a quite naked super soldier.
“Hey, you’re doing that thing where you stare dramatically into the distance...” Bucky said, walking into the kitchen barefoot and shirtless, tugging on a grey hoodie but not bothering to zip it up.
Y/N smirked over her coffee. “I was having a moment, Barnes. Don’t ruin it with your chest.”
“You weren’t complaining last night when you-”
“Don’t finish that sentence if you want breakfast.”
He raised both hands innocently but smirked anyway, leaning against the counter beside her. “You want eggs?”
“I want you to admit I was right about the intel from yesterday.”
“You were lucky, not right.” She narrowed her eyes. “You gonna take that energy to the gym later?”
“Oh, we’re resolving this in the gym now?”
“Scarred, doll?” He asked her smirking
“Unless you’d rather settle it in the pool. Or… the kitchen island. I’m versatile.”
Bucky choked on air, glancing toward the hallway like someone might hear them. “Y/N.”
“What? No one’s here,” she said sweetly, sipping her coffee. “Stark’s in Tokyo. Steve’s on a nature retreat. Nat’s still pretending to be in Prague. And Sam… he doesn’t knock.”
Bucky groaned. “Okay, first, never say the words ‘Sam’ and ‘kitchen island’ in the same sentence again. Second… I still say the gym.”
“You’re stalling,” she sang, brushing past him.
Her hand trailed along his stomach as she walked away, heading toward the elevator. He watched her go, same way he always did now. Like she was his anchor and storm in one.
The girl who used to yell at him on missions was now the one he fell asleep with every night.
The one who teased him into letting go.
Who healed beside him.
The bickering never stopped, it just shifted into something that made them both stronger.
Sometimes they argued over strategy. Sometimes over who forgot to replace the coffee filters. Sometimes over who was more exhausted after sparring.
But the resolution? That always found them. In the stillness of their bed, where their limbs tangled and hearts calmed. In the gym, where sweat and adrenaline turned into kisses and apologies. In the Tower was quiet, and no one was around on the kitchen island.
Or in the pool, where their laughter echoed off the water, like the night where the Tower’s pool was just for them.
The city skyline glittering through the glass walls. The water reflected soft ripples of gold and blue, and the quiet hum of distant traffic filled the silence. Y/N stood at the edge of the pool, arms crossed, hair tied up, one eyebrow arched like a weapon. “I told you the safe house route through Madripoor was a trap,” she said, slowly.
Bucky floated lazily nearby, head tilted back, arms spread out in a half-drift. “And I said the extraction point wasn’t compromised until after we triggered it. Not the same thing.”
“You mean after I told you and you rolled your eyes.”
“Which I do lovingly now.”
“You nearly got us spotted!”
“But you looked hot climbing out that window.”
“Bucky...”
He swam toward her, smooth and unhurried, until he was close enough to rest his arms on the edge, chin tilted up toward her. Water beaded along his shoulders. His hair was slicked back and those eyes, the ones she used to hate (or pretend to), sparkled now full of smug affection.
“You’re mad at me again, huh?” He asked, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Furious,” she replied.
“Then come in here and drown me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”
She kicked off her flip-flops anyway and slipped into the water with practiced ease. The chill of the pool was nothing compared to the heat simmering between them. The moment she reached him he moved, fast and easy, she found herself caught, arms around his neck, his hands sliding to her waist beneath the water.
“You’re impossible,” she murmured, trying not to let her smile win.
“You like impossible,” he whispered, eyes on her lips.
“Only when I win.”
“So never, basically.”
She gasped, mock offended and shoved him backward. He let her, laughing. His body disappearing under the surface for just a second before reemerging, hair dripping, water streaming down his face. He came back for her fast this time grabbing her waist, lifting her slightly, then spinning them both in a gentle whirl in the shallow end. She laughed, breathless, caught in his arms.
“You still mad?” He asked, voice soft and low, chest rising and falling close to hers.
“Always,” she whispered, leaning in. “But now I’m wet and half-naked with you, so I’m conflicted.”
“Let me help you with that.”
The kiss was slow, like surrender.
Familiar and warm.
His arms cradled her close in the water, like he always did when she felt adrift. She melted into it, letting herself be held. Letting herself want.
And later, when they both climbed out of the water breathless, dripping, and very much reconciled, Bucky slung a towel around her shoulders and whispered, “You still lost the Madripoor argument.”
“I’m telling Sam you said that.”
He smirked. “Only if I get to tell him about the shallow end.”
“Bucky!”
“Worth it.”
Their love wasn’t quiet. It was lived.
On the anniversary of the darkest chapter of her life, Y/N wasn’t defined by what had been done to her. She was defined by who she became after, and by who stood beside her as she rose again.
The lab was quiet, bathed in the soft bluish glow of monitors and low lighting.
The hum of machinery was the only sound, save for the gentle scratching of a marker across the whiteboard. Y/N stood in front of it barefoot, wearing one of Bucky’s hoodies that hung off her frame. Her hair was slightly messy, eyes heavy but focused. She had drawn a crude outline of the facility. Circled certain details and written phrases like “white mask”, “protein compound sequence”, “pre-trigger” and “waterboarding protocol delay.”
There was a small digital timer still running in the corner. She didn’t know why she kept it running, it had started the moment she was rescued. Maybe she needed to see time pass. Behind her, the lab doors hissed open. Tony walked in with a yawn, a tablet tucked under his arm and a cup of tea in his hand. His arc reactor dimly lit his shirt.
“Honey, what time is it?” he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.
Y/N didn’t turn around. “Time to understand, I want to say.”
Tony tilted his head, watching her from a distance. She stood so still. Too still. The only thing that moved was the marker in her fingers, spinning anxiously.
“But I don’t know where to begin,” she continued, finally glancing at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but dry. Tired, but clear. “I’m stuck, still. It’s been a year, goddamn.”
Tony didn’t say anything at first. He just walked forward slowly, setting the tea down on a side table. He stood beside her, looking up at the whiteboard. A messy mind-map of pain and survival. “You’re not stuck,” he said quietly. “You’re surviving. That looks messy. Messy is good.”
“I feel like if I could just figure out who he is… that doctor… what he is…” She swallowed hard. “Maybe I’ll stop hearing him under the mask breathing at night. Stop smelling the chemicals before I even wake up. Bucky doesn’t say it but... I know I wake him up. I know I scare him.”
Tony turned toward her, softening. “He isn’t scared of you. He’s scared for you. Big difference.”
Y/N finally dropped the marker, arms falling limp to her sides. “He wore a white mask. That’s all I know. German accent, no name and no scar. Just that thing covering his face and his voice.”
Tony nodded slowly. “I’ve seen masks like that. Surgical-grade, trauma designed. Some Hydra doctors used them to keep the patients from recognising them. Compartmentalised torture, dehumanising from both sides.”
“I wasn’t a person to him,” she whispered. “Just… a test subject.”
Tony’s jaw clenched. “Then we find out which twisted Hydra grave this bastard crawled out of. I can cross-reference the chemical compound in the shakes, the timing of your trauma, and security footage from the black site. I’ll need a blood marker sample again.”
“You already have five.”
“Then I’ll get six. Science is about obsession, sweetheart.”
She gave him a tired, grateful look. “Thanks, Tony.”
He nodded, then looked at her with something a little softer than usual. “Take care of your brain, alright? You’re allowed to heal and want answers. But don’t burn down the house looking for the match.”
She nodded quietly.
As Tony left the lab, she sat down at the worktable. The whiteboard still lit behind her. She took a breath, pulled a tablet forward, and opened a new file.
“Project White Mask: Start.”
It was well past midnight when Bucky padded softly into Tony’s lab, barefoot and quiet as a ghost. The tower was still, the world asleep. But the faint glow spilling out from under the glass doors told him exactly where she was.
He didn’t call her name or knock, he just stepped in gently like he always did now careful and measured, the way you approached something fragile not because it might break but because it had already been broken and stitched back together with aching hands.
Y/N sat hunched over the main table, her hair tied up messily, the sleeves of her hoodie pushed to her elbows.
One hand rested on her temple, the other scrolling slowly through lines of Hydra encryption Tony had decrypted earlier in the week.
Her eyes were glassy. Not tired. Just far away. The whiteboard still had “Project White Mask” scrawled across it.
Bucky didn’t speak until he was beside her. He didn’t need to. Her shoulders relaxed the moment she felt his presence. “You’re here again,” he said softly, pulling a stool beside her. “Couldn’t sleep?”
She shook her head. “I thought I was past this. But I keep dreaming of the mask. I keep thinking... what if he’s still out there? What if it wasn’t just me?”
Bucky reached out and gently placed a hand on her knee. “You’re not going backward,” he said. “You’re just not done yet. That’s not weakness. That’s persistence.”
She finally looked at him. “You think I’m chasing ghosts?”
“I think you’re chasing truth. You deserve it.” Her gaze dropped to the file on the screen.
Chemical breakdowns. CCTV stills from scattered bases. A faint silhouette of the man in the white mask all blurry, always just out of reach.
“I don’t know why it still matters this much,” she whispered. “I survived. I healed. You’re here. The team’s here. But this hole in my head… it won’t close until I know.”
Bucky didn’t argue. Instead, he took her hand. His metal fingers cold against her skin at first, but steady. Comforting. “I understand that feeling more than anyone,” he said quietly. “I lived years not knowing what they made me do. What they turned me into. I still have holes, doll. They don’t close easy. But they get easier to live with when someone’s there holding your hand.”
She blinked back tears, and he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’re not alone in this. You’ll never be alone again,” he said.
“Even if I obsess over a ghost?” She asked, voice cracking.
“I’ll help you hunt it down,” he said, fierce and soft all at once. “And when we find him, we end it.”
A beat passed between them, and then she leaned into him slowly and carefully. Her forehead pressing against his collarbone. His arms went around her like instinct. They sat there in silence, in his arms with the glow of the lab around them and the ghosts of her past still whispering but quieter now.
She wasn’t alone in the dark anymore and she wouldn’t be, not ever again.
Bucky glanced down at her as she melted against him, her body too tired to fight anymore.
Not him, not the exhaustion, not the memories.
Without a word, he slid one arm beneath her knees, the other steady at her back and lifted her into his arms like she weighed nothing. She didn’t protest. The lab door slid closed behind them with a quiet hiss as he padded barefoot through the silent tower. The hall lights dimmed low for night mode, casting soft gold across the walls. She curled closer to his chest, her nose tucked into the warm space between his neck and shoulder. His scent wrapped around her like a second blanket.
In their shared bedroom, the sheets were turned down, the room slightly chilled. Bucky set her down with care, as if placing something delicate on the edge of something too sharp. She blinked up at him sleepily.
“Now you sleep,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek. His voice was gentle, but firm. “Okay?”
She let out a quiet sigh. “Fine,” she murmured, her lips curling just slightly as she shifted under the covers.
Bucky chuckled low in his chest. “That sounded very convincing.”
As he sat down beside her, she reached for him without thinking, her fingers lightly catching the edge of his shirt. “Stay?” She whispered.
“Always.” He pulled off his shirt, climbed in behind her and wrapped his arms around her. Her back pressed into his chest, her legs tangling with his instinctively, her hand finding his in the dark. Within minutes, her breathing evened out. Bucky stayed awake a little longer, eyes on the ceiling, listening to the soft rise and fall of her breath. His fingers traced idle circles against the back of her hand. She was safe. Healing. Still searching, but not alone.
And for now, that was enough.
The stone walls of the coastal facility were damp with salt and time. The echo of waves crashing outside growing louder as the team descended further underground. It was supposed to be a simple mission.
Get in, secure the remaining data drives from Hydra’s ghost systems and out before the tide locked the bunker shut again.
Sam stayed topside to monitor communications. Steve and Nat cleared the far corridor. Bucky and Y/N moved through the central archive together as always. But then, Y/N rounded a corner and stopped.
Bucky didn’t notice at first. He was ahead, scanning with his rifle but the second he heard her breath catch, he turned instantly, weapon lowered, voice tight. “Doll?”
She didn’t answer.
Her body had gone still.
Her pupils wide.
There, in the far corner of the damp, dark room was a steel medical table. Long abandoned, rust staining the legs, straps still attached but it wasn’t the table.
It was the wall behind it.
A cluster of tools mounted in a perfect line.
Syringes, scalpels, surgical pliers and just above it… a single hook on the ceiling.
The kind that could hold chains.
Or water pipe.
Bucky was next to her in two long strides. His hand hovered, waiting for her to nod before touching her, she did and then dropped her weapon. Just like that. It fell from her fingers like they no longer worked.
A memory slammed into her then. A towel soaked in ice water, a shadow standing over her, a voice whispering. With Tony’s help, Y/N was now fully healed. His detox’s protocol allowed her to clean her body and her mind. But now, the memories came back. When she was only remembering the towel and the pipe on the doctor’s arms, now she was also remembering how the water dripped on her body and in her throat. She felt the chill wrap around her spine like a phantom hand.
She clutched at her chest, gasping. “I can’t-Bucky-I can’t-”
“You can,” he said instantly, catching her face in his hands. “You’re not there. You’re with me. Look at me, Y/N.”
“I thought I was past this-”
“You are,” he said, steady and sure, even as his own eyes flicked toward the hook on the ceiling like he wanted to rip it out with his bare hands. “This is just a scar getting tugged. You’re not broken.”
She was shaking now, knees threatening to give. Bucky pulled her into his chest, one hand on the back of her neck, shielding her from the room entirely.
“Breathe with me,” he whispered.
And she did slow, one breath at a time surrounded by the smell of his skin and the steady beat of his heart.
Minutes passed before she finally stepped back and nodded, steadying her shaking hands as she retrieved her weapon from the floor. When they regrouped, Steve noticed the tension and raised a brow.
Bucky simply answered, “We’re good.”
And they were. She walked out of that room. Not quickly, but forward.
That night back at the tower, she didn’t go to the lab. She climbed into bed with Bucky, curled against him, and whispered somethingthat made Bucky’s freezing. “It’s still in me.”
He kissed her hair and replied, “Then we fight it together.”
The next morning, sunlight filtered lazily through the Tower’s kitchen windows. The smell of eggs and burnt toast and Nat’s aggressively strong coffee filled the air.
Steve was already halfway through his second plate. Tony sat half-asleep with sunglasses on, pretending not to care but listening to every word. Sam was flipping pancakes, poorly, while Bucky stood silently behind Y/N like a watchful shadow. She was quiet but present. Tired but not disconnected like she used to be after a bad flashback. She looked like herself. Still, the silence didn’t last long.
“So…” Sam said casually, sliding a lopsided pancake onto her plate. “How you doing, girl?”
“Fine,” Y/N said, stirring her tea without really drinking it.
Sam tilted his head. “I mean... you froze yesterday. I saw the report Steve filed.”
At that, Bucky’s jaw ticked but Y/N just sighed and leaned back in her chair. “There was a water pipe,” she said after a moment.
Everyone went still. The only sound was the soft click of the toaster popping up two forgotten slices of bread.
“I didn’t even realize it at first,” she continued, voice steady but distant. “I turned the corner, and it was just… there. My legs locked. I couldn’t move. My mind was there again. I haven’t seen a water pipe in a year, so I guess that’s the reason I snapped.”
Tony pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, suddenly very awake. “The water pipe was connected to the wall?”
“Yes.”
His brow furrowed. “Huh. It could’ve been more than just torture then. Could’ve been part of the neural reprogramming. Trigger-response conditioning. If it was the exact same setup, it might’ve had tech involved we didn’t find.”
“Tony,” Steve said warningly.
Y/N lifted a hand. “No, it’s okay. He’s right to ask.” She took a breath.
“The memory hit so hard because it wasn’t just physical. It made me feel like I was still there. Like I had no control again.”
Sam set the spatula down and looked at her with unusual softness. “But you got out. You moved. You did it because your stronger. You didn’t shut down completely.”
“No,” she said. “Because of him.” She nodded toward Bucky, who was pretending to sip coffee, ears a little pink. “You think it’s all behind you, and then a damn water pipe knocks the air out of your chest,” she said. “But I didn’t run this time. I didn’t hide. I told him what I saw. I breathed. I kept going.”
Nat reached over and gently touched her hand. “That’s not nothing.”
“It’s not everything either,” Y/N added.
“No,” Steve agreed, “but it’s the kind of progress that sticks.”
Ever since that breakfast, since Y/N sat there calm and composed recounting how the mere sight of a water pipe had pulled her back into a mental hellscape, Tony had become obsessed. He wanted answers. Wanted to understand how the doctor had managed to break her so precisely, what tech had been involved, and why certain triggers still lingered, embedded in her like wires waiting to spark.
“Progress isn’t healing if there’s a landmine in her brain,” Tony had said bluntly during one of their private team meetings. “We’ve got to find the wire and cut it, or it’s going to explode when she least expects it.”
And so reluctantly and painfully, they came up with a plan. A brutal one.
Tony had turned one of the deep vault-like rooms into a controlled simulation chamber.
No actual pain, no harm, no drugs.
Just elements that mimicked what she had faced: the metal chair, the camera in the ceiling, the water pipe, the faint sound of dripping in the background from the spout. A recorded loop of Bucky’s voice, the one they’d taken from the Hydra footage Please, Y/N, answer me! would be played at intervals.
Tony refused to use the knife. The goal wasn’t to re-traumatize. The goal was also to deconstruct the trauma piece by piece and understand it unplugging the connection between fear and memory.
Bucky hated every second of it. He paced outside the glass-walled control room, arms crossed so tightly over his chest it looked like he was trying to hold himself together. His jaw clenched every time someone mentioned what would happen.
He looked like he wanted to tear the whole room apart. “I don’t like this,” he muttered again. “This is twisted.”
Steve placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s her call.”
“That’s the only reason I’m not breaking the door down,” Bucky growled.
When Y/N walked in, dressed in black joggers and a tank top, hair pulled up, he moved toward her like gravity itself depended on her presence. “Are you sure?” He asked, eyes locking with hers. “You can still say no.”
She touched his chest gently. “Bucky, I need to understand why it still lives in me. I need to take the power back.”
He leaned down, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “I’m not leaving the room.”
“I know,” she said.
Bucky was a wreck. A composed, quiet, intensely protective wreck.
In one of Tony’s isolated lower level labs,stripped bare of anything remotely comforting, they reconstructed a simulation.
The pipe. The chair. A sterile, cold floor. And the phrase “Please Y/N, answer me” recorded in Bucky’s voice.
“I refused to touch you and use the knife,” Tony had said earlier, his voice unusually quiet. “But I’ll help you. I must help you.”
“Thank you, Tony,” Y/N had replied with steady eyes, but her voice was tight. Like she was holding herself together with both hands.
Now, inside the reconstructed lab space, Tony adjusted the mask over his face and slipped on a lab coat. Every movement he made was rehearsed, clinical not to frighten her more, but to recreate what needed to be remembered.
He had removed the scalpel from the table.
No instruments. No real danger. But the lighting was dimmed, the metal table cold under her fingertips. The sound of the water pipe’s hiss echoed in the distance. And Bucky stood just outside the room, in view, ready to call the whole thing off the second her lips parted in a way that didn’t feel right.
“Ready?” Tony’s voice came through a mic, modulated just slightly enough to distort it, like the recordings she had been forced to hear. Y/N nodded.
Her breath hitched immediately.
The mask.
The coat.
The lights.
The faint hiss.
It was all too close.
Tony raised both hands slowly, palms out, signalling no threat. He moved slowly, deliberately like someone handling a bomb. He connected the pipe to the spout, fingers steady, though his jaw was tight. A soft click echoed in the lab as the hose locked in place. Then the water began to flow into a sink.
A soft hiss filled the room, innocent to anyone else, but to Y/N, it was a thunderclap. She stiffened instantly in the chair. Her spine went rigid, her hands gripping the armrests so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her breath shortened. She wasn’t in the lab anymore, she was back there, strapped down, the hiss of the pipe the last thing she heard before the towel came down and darkness swallowed her.
“Doll,” Bucky’s voice came low and calm from behind the glass. “You’re here. With us. Look at me.”
She blinked rapidly, her eyes wet and distant but they found him. Through the fear, through the static, through the blur of memory, she saw him, her anchor.
Bucky pressed his palm flat to the glass, slow and steady. “You’re not strapped down. You can get up whenever you want. You say the word, it stops.”
“I… I want to keep going,” Y/N said hoarsely. “It’s awful but… I need to do this.”
Tony nodded, arms crossed but staying still letting her lead. “Okay,” he said gently. “I’ll just ask questions. You answer only if you want to.”
She nodded. Her eyes flicked to the water, then back to Bucky.
“Do you remember anything specific about the sound?” Tony asked, tapping a small control panel to cycle the flow rate.
Y/N flinched again. Then something shifted in her expression, focus. “It was louder… when the room was colder,” she whispered. “I remember. It echoed and… and I could hear his boots on the floor. I always knew when he was walking toward me.”
“Good,” Tony said, his voice soothing. “We can work with that.”
She inhaled shakily, her fists slowly unclenching. “The hiss came first. Then the towel. Then the recording.” She winced at the memory. “Your voice, Bucky... repeatedly like… like it was urgent... like if I didn’t speak, you’d suffer too.”
Bucky closed his eyes, pain flickering across his face. “They weaponised my voice. I’ll never forgive them for that.”
“But I will,” she said, surprising even herself. “You didn’t hurt me, Buck. You saved me.”
The water hissed, steady and soft, still running in the background. But now it didn’t drown her. It was just… water. Just a sound.
Tony looked over the monitors. “Your vitals are elevated, but not in a danger zone. You’re processing, not panicking. That’s huge, Y/N.”
She exhaled shakily, nodding again.
Then Bucky pushed open the door and walked inside, slow and quiet. He knelt beside her, metal hand resting on her thigh, grounding her. “Let’s kill this ghost together,” he said.
She didn’t flinch. Not once. And the water kept running. But it didn’t win this time.
Tony’s face was serious, none of his usual sarcasm or deflecting charm, just quiet, honest conflict. He held the dull replica knife loosely in his hand, letting it dangle harmlessly at his side.
“Tony, please,” Y/N said again, her voice soft but steady. “Didn’t you say the replica can’t cut me?”
He nodded once, lips tightening. “Yeah… it’s blunted. Totally harmless. Couldn’t slice butter if I tried.”
“Then I need you to use it. Not to hurt me. Just to mimic what he did. I need to feel it again, only this time. I’ll know I’m safe. I’ll know I’m in control.”
Tony exhaled through his nose and knelt in front of her, levelling his eyes with hers. “Y/N,” he said, gently, “I can’t even pretend to hurt you. Not after what you went through. That’s not in my toolbox. I build tech. I solve puzzles. But mimicking that monster? I don’t know if I can do that, even for you.”
“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t the only way left,” she whispered, eyes glassy but burning with resolve. “It’s not pain I’m afraid of anymore. It’s not knowing what he did. Not remembering. That knife… it triggered something in my head when you lifted it before. There’s more buried. I know it.”
Tony looked over his shoulder at the lab at the machines, the screens, the clean, clinical walls. He ran a hand down his face, then looked up at her again. “You’re sure?” He asked quietly.
“I’m sure,” she replied. “And I trust you.”
Bucky stood off to the side, jaw tense and arms crossed over his chest. His stare could’ve melted steel. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to. Every muscle in his body screamed he was ready to tear apart anything that made her flinch.
Tony looked up at him, then back to Y/N. “We do this once. And if anything feels wrong, if I even see a blink of panic, it stops.”
She nodded.
Tony stood and walked around behind her slowly. Y/N sat straight backed in the chair they’d set in the center of the lab. Her hands were open, palms face down on her knees, breathing slow and deliberate. Bucky had taught her that. Inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four.
Tony reached out, slowly placing a hand on her shoulder. “This is how he started, right?” He asked quietly.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Then he’d speak. But it wasn’t words that scared me. It was the pause… like he enjoyed watching me freeze. The anticipation.”
Tony gently mimicked the motion, bringing the dull knife down slowly deliberately near her side, the way the footage had shown. He didn’t touch her skin. Just the air near her ribs. Y/N flinched slightly. Then stilled.
Her breath caught, and then something shifted. “I remember,” she gasped. “He pressed it there, always on the left side, just under my ribs.”
Bucky stepped forward instinctively, but Y/N held up a hand. “It’s okay,” she said, eyes still wide. “I can take it.”
Tony lowered the knife completely, stepping away, visibly shaken. “That’s enough,” he said. “That’s all I can do.”
“You did enough,” Y/N whispered, looking down at her side. Bucky moved to her side, kneeling beside her chair, resting his metal hand over her trembling fingers. “You’re done with that now,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “You remembered. That’s power. That’s taking it back.”
She let out a long breath, eyes softening as she looked at him. “I feel lighter,” she whispered. “Like something finally let go.”
“You didn’t just survive,” Bucky said. “You beat him.”
Tony nodded, wiping his palms on his pants. “You’ve got one hell of a spine, Y/N.”
She gave a small smile. “Thanks for holding the knife.”
Tony gave a half-chuckle. “You ever ask me for that again, I’m faking my own death.”
She laughed and it wasn’t nervous or strained, it was real.
Night had settled gently over the Tower. The lights in their room were low, just the golden hue of a bedside lamp casting warmth over the space.
Y/N sat on the bed, kneeling in one of Bucky’s oversized shirts, sleeves swallowing her hands. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and her expression was somewhere between anxious and resolved. Bucky was sitting across from her, cross-legged, flipping through a book he wasn’t really reading. He looked up the second she spoke.
“Buck,” she said quietly. “I want to try something else.”
His brows lifted a little, curious. “What’s in your mind, doll?” He asked, his voice naturally teasing, but soft.
“Not like that,” she added quickly, cheeks flushing. “It’s not about… us. I mean... it is... but not like that.”
Bucky put the book down immediately. “Alright,” he said, shifting so he was facing her fully. “What is it?”
She bit her lower lip, gathering her thoughts. “The doctor… the last thing he did to me, before the team found me… was touching me. My chest. Not medically. Not clinically. It was the worst kind of control... and he said the phrase, that phrase, while doing it and I froze.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened. His hands curled slightly on his knees. “I know,” he said. “You don’t have to go on.”
“But I want to.” Her voice didn’t waver this time. “Because I remembered almost everything else, with Tony’s help. But this… this one still lingers in the dark. It’s like a shadow on my skin and I hate that it still holds power over me.”
Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “What are you asking me to do, Y/N?”
“I want you to say the phrase. I want you to touch me there, but not for… anything else. Just as an act of reclaiming it. I need to overwrite what he did. With you. With safety. With love.”
Silence hung heavy between them for a beat. Not awkward, not distant just full.
Then Bucky reached out, slowly, carefully, and took her hand. “Are you sure?”
“I trust you more than anyone,” she said. “And I know you’d never hurt me. That’s exactly why it must be you.”
His fingers brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his metal hand cool and gentle against her cheek. “I’ll do this,” he said finally, voice low and steady, “but we stop the second you want to stop. Even if it’s mid-breath, mid-touch, mid-word. You run the show. Not him. Not me. You.”
Her throat tightened with emotion, and she nodded. “I don’t want this to hurt,” she whispered. “I want to let it go.”
“Then we’ll do it together,” Bucky said. “And when we’re done, we’ll lay down here, and I’ll hold you like always. Like you’re mine. And safe.”
Bucky’s fingers traced along your collarbone, feather-light. His touch was reverent, almost hesitant, like he was memorizing the delicate slope of your skin. The pad of his thumb brushed against the hollow just beneath your throat, lingering there for a moment as he looked into your eyes.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice rough with something deeper than desire, something aching and tender. Your skin prickled under his touch, your breath catching as his fingers drifted lower. He cupped the side of your breast gently, thumb brushing over the soft curve as if he were afraid to press too hard. Not rushed, not greedy,just present. Like he was savouring every second.
She leaned into his touch, forehead against his. “Say it,” she whispered.
Bucky swallowed. His voice shook ever so slightly when he finally spoke the words that used to haunt her. “Please, Y/N… answer me.”
She flinched, her body reacting before her mind did. But then, instead of retreating, she took a breath. She opened her eyes. She was still in their room.
Still in Bucky’s arms. Still safe. He gently placed his hand, not possessive or rushed, over her heart.
She covered it with her own. “See?” She whispered, tears brimming. “It’s just you now.”
He nodded, eyes glassy. “No more ghosts,” he whispered.
She sank into his arms, curling against his chest. And for the first time in over a year, she didn’t feel claimed by what had happened to her. She felt free.
When Y/N appeared in the hallway, hair pulled back, jacket zipped, boots laced, it took a moment for Natasha to catch her breath. “Nat, can we go out?”
“Go out?” She repeated.
Y/N just nodded.
Nat didn’t question it. She just grinned.
Bucky, however, didn’t take it as easily. “You sure?” He asked, standing in front of the door with crossed arms as Nat pulled on her gloves. “I mean… what if something triggers her again? What if the crowds, or the noise, or-?”
“Bucky,” Nat interrupted, gentle but firm, “she’s okay, now.”
He looked past her at Y/N, who stood in the entryway looking down at her hands, thumbs nervously circling each other.
She wasn’t trembling. She wasn’t zoning out. She was just waiting.
“I won’t let anything happen to her. You know that. She needs this after the incident with the pipe.”
Bucky sighed, frustrated with himself more than anything. For so long he’d been her anchor, her shield, her quiet place. Letting go, even a little, scraped something raw inside him. But he nodded, slowly. Y/N stepped up beside him.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, eyes locked on his. “I’ll be okay.”
He swallowed the emotion clawing at his throat and gently tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Then go,” he said softly. “But come back.”
She smiled. “Always.”
They didn’t do anything wild.
No clubs. No missions. No high adrenaline. Just a walk. Just city air. Just the world outside the tower. They sat on a bench with coffee, visited a bookstore. and walked through the park and fed birds.
Back at the tower, Bucky was pacing. “Relax,” Tony muttered from behind a tablet. “They’ve been gone for two hours, not a decade.”
But before Bucky could respond, the elevator chimed. Nat stepped out first, tossing her coat on the rack with a knowing smirk.
Y/N followed jacket open, wind in her hair, cheeks pink from the cold… and smiling. Really smiling.
Bucky froze.
She walked straight to him, handed him a second coffee cup, and leaned her head on his chest. “I brought you something,” she whispered.
He held her tight, burying his nose in her hair, and exhaled for the first time in hours. “I’m proud of you,” he said, voice thick.
She looked up at him and nodded. “Me too.”
The sound was harmless. Just a quiet bing from Y/N’s phone, the kind she barely noticed anymore. She reached for it automatically, still smiling as she leaned into Bucky, the city chill fading from her skin. But then her thumb hovered over the screen. The colour drained from her face.
Bucky noticed instantly. “Y/N?” He asked, voice tight. “What is it?”
She didn’t answer at first. Her eyes scanned the message again and again, as if somehow reading it differently would change its meaning. Her lips parted. The coffee cup slipped from her hand, hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud.
“Y/N,” Bucky said again, firmer now, taking the phone gently from her hand.
Unknown Number: The park was really nice today…
Y/N backed away. Her body began.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “It’s him.” Her knees buckled slightly. “It’s him. It’s still him. The doctor...he’s...he’s here.”
Bucky caught her before she fell. “No, no, no. You’re safe. You’re here with me, with us. He can’t touch you anymore.”
But her breathing turned ragged. “He saw me. At the park. He was there…”
Tony and Nat burst in from the hallway, Steve and Sam right behind. “What happened?” Tony asked sharply, eyes on Bucky. “Is it him?”
Bucky didn’t answer. He simply held the phone up.
Tony grabbed it, his face instantly shifting as he read the message. “FRIDAY,” he barked. “Trace this number. Immediate scan. Everything.”
Y/N’s hands clawed at her jacket. “He’s watching me again. He said they’d find me, he wanted them to, and now...now he’s still... he’s still...”
“Hey,” Nat said firmly, stepping forward, her hands gentle on Y/N’s shoulders. “Look at me. Right here. You’re safe. We’ll find him.”
Bucky cupped the side of her face, grounding her. “We’re not going back, doll. Not ever.”
But Y/N was shaking her head, panic still rising. “You don’t understand… if he’s here, if he’s watching… he’s not done. You were right, Buck. I shouldn’t go out.”
FRIDAY's voice echoed from the ceiling. “Trace in progress. Signal routed through multiple encrypted channels. This is a deliberate obfuscation. But not unbreakable.”
Tony growled. “I want every city camera, every surveillance feed from that park. I want traffic footage, drone data, pigeons with GoPro. EVERYTHING!” He shouted angry.
Bucky never let go of her. Not for a second. Y/N buried her face into his shoulder, breath starting to slow, but her words, barely audible, were enough to break them all.
“…he said I’d never be free.”
The moment FRIDAY confirmed the trace was active, Stark locked himself in the lab.
Coffee in one hand, holograms spinning in the other, his eyes scanned walls of data no normal person could keep up with.
The message Y/N had received wasn’t just a message.
It was a declaration. He was watching. He was near. And he wanted them to know it.
“FRIDAY,” Tony snapped, “...remind me what we’re up against.”
“The signal came from a modified relay node in Queens, bounced off three privately owned satellites, re-encoded via an AI protocol that is… disturbingly familiar.”
Tony’s jaw tightened. “Hydra-familiar?”
“No. Stark-familiar.”
His heart sank. “You’re saying he used something I built?”
“Not directly, sir but part of the routing system used old Stark Net firmware, possibly stolen during the Siberia infiltration.”
Tony muttered a string of curses under his breath, then grabbed another tool and began working furiously.
Holographic cables, AI pathways, encryption strands danced around him.
The bastard hadn’t just resurfaced, he’d come prepared.
An hour later, the footage from the park finally began processing. Tony paused when the first angle loaded. He magnified a bench. There she was Y/N walking with Nat, laughing. Then, nothing.
No man in a lab coat.
No obvious observer.
Just people.
Too many people, but something caught his eye in the reflection of a glass food cart parked nearby.
A figure standing still not looking at Y/N, but at the camera.
Face obscured with a hat.
But the posture? Very familiar.
“Son of a bitch…” Tony whispered.
He turned to FRIDAY. “We’ve got partial image capture. Feed this to facial reconstruction, pull gait analysis, ear geometry, shoulder width, everything.”
“Reconstruction in progress…” the AI spoke.
And then came the real kicker.
As Tony decrypted the metadata embedded in the message itself, something appeared.
Something chilling.
A phrase, hidden in the code.
An embedded checksum tag, written in a language only a few minds would notice. Only those that lived in the grey area between machinery and madness.
“She still listens. She still remembers and I still own a piece of her.”
Tony dropped the tool he was holding. and stared at the code. Then he turned to FRIDAY. “Send that to Bucky, now! Get me every scrap of hardware that Y/N came back with. The device we removed, the transmitter core, everything. I want it stripped to the atoms.” He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his temple. “This isn’t just about tracking her.” He said aloud.
Meanwhile, upstairs Bucky stood outside Y/N’s room, the message Tony sent now glowing on the tablet in his hand.
She still listens. She still remembers and I still own a piece of her.
Bucky’s metal fist curled tight. “No,” he said through his teeth. “Not again.”
The tower had returned to its rhythm silent concern wrapped in forced normality but something had shifted.
Every now and then, Y/N would pause mid-movement. Her gaze would drift. She’d blink, slowly as if waiting for a cue.
The team noticed but they didn’t say it aloud.
They all knew.
She was still listening to him, and the encounter in the park made something woke up again in her mind.
Every achievement she made that text ruined everything.
Not through a speaker.
Not through an implant.
Not even consciously.
The doctor’s voice, it had rooted itself in her psyche like a virus.
It was Bucky who saw it clearly. He was training alone in the gym when Y/N appeared at the door.
She stood still, one foot inside the room, arms limp by her side. Her head tilted slightly, as if reacting to a sound. “Doll?” He said gently.
No answer. Her lips moved, barely. He came closer. “Y/N?”
She flinched violently then blinked. Her eyes found his, wide and trembling and Bucky froze. Her hand moved to the spot just beneath her shoulder blade. The same place the implant had once been. There was nothing there anymore, nothing physical, at least but in her mind, it still buzzed.
“She’s responding to post-suggestion loops,” Tony said in the common room after Bucky informed the team, projecting brainwave patterns into the air. “She’s not hallucinating at this point, it’s deeper. He embedded reflex responses through repetition conditioning.”
Steve’s face tightened. “So, what do we do? It took only a text after a year?”
“We rebuild her brain’s reaction system from scratch,” Tony replied. “Create new loops. Override the old ones. Basically…”
“We teach her how to not obey,” Natasha finished.
Tony nodded grimly. “Our work all wiped out…”
Y/N sat curled in the window seat of her room, knees pulled tight to her chest while the rain tapped against the glass. She stopped sharing the room with Bucky, and that alone killed him.
He knocked once, then came in. He sat beside her quietly. Minutes passed. “I know you still hear him,” he finally said. “But every time you don’t obey, even if it’s tiny, you win.”
Her fingers twitched at that.
He looked at her. “And I’m here every time you fight back. No matter how many times.”
She turned her head slightly. Eyes red, but dry. Then, slowly, she nodded.
It happened so quietly no one noticed.
No alarms.
No broken locks.
No sign of distress.
Just an open window and an empty bed at 3:00 a.m.
Y/N left the Avengers Tower boots on, wearing a hoodie and leggings. Her steps silent and her expression blank. She didn’t leave because she wanted to. She left because something inside her had been waiting to obey but his voice, that impossible voice, hadn’t disappeared fully.
It simply waited for the right moment.
For an entire year.
The right hour.
Midnight.
“Come home, Silva.”
So, when everyone was sleeping, three hours later she was out of the tower and something in her snapped into place.
By sunrise, Bucky knew. The sheets in her room were cold. The closet door was ajar. Her boots gone. But it was the small slip of paper on the pillow that broke him.
‘I’m sorry. I tried. But he’s right’
Tony was in the lab within five minutes.
“FRIDAY, track her,” Bucky demanded, already halfway to the elevator. “I can’t Mr Barnes,” the AI stammered. “Her watch was disabled manually. She’s offline.”
“Can’t be,” Sam muttered. “She was doing better…”
“She was reprogrammed, Sam. We removed the device, not the wiring.” Tony’s voice was steel.
Steve stepped forward. “Then we go after her. Now.”ù
While the Avengers were panicking, she wandered across the city unnoticed, just another face among millions.
A taxi, then a bus.
She never spoke.
She just followed instructions, once buried so deep in her mind, even she didn’t realize they were still there.
By 7 a.m., she stood outside an abandoned Hydra bunker north of the city, surrounded by woods and silence.
The door was already open.
Inside, the air smelled like bleach and iron and he was there.
The doctor, smiling. “You came, Silva.” He said, stepping forward. “They’ll come for you, of course. But we’ll be gone by then. Won’t we?”
Y/N didn’t move. Her breath trembled, but her feet didn’t. Not yet. Not until he said, “Sit.”
She did.
Silva.
Her new name.
Tony stood, eyes already flicking toward the ceiling. “FRIDAY?”
“No signal,” the AI answered, uneasily. “Her trackers were deactivated. Everything was shut off manually.”
“Manually?” Nat echoed, stunned. “You mean, she knew what she was doing?”
“No,” Bucky growled, turning toward her. “She didn’t choose this. He still has her, in her head. She left… because he told her to.”
A thick beat of silence settled over the team. Steve ran a hand through his hair. Sam swore under his breath.
“Look,” Tony said, stepping toward the glass table and flicking up a digital map. “If she’s on the move, she left a trail. I don’t care how deep it’s buried. We’ll find it.”
“Do it fast,” Bucky muttered. His voice was low, barely more than a growl. “Because I swear, if he lays a finger on her again-”
“He won’t,” Nat cut in, calm but deadly. “We’re getting her back. This time, for good.”
And without another word, the team mobilized.
Because Y/N wasn’t just missing.
She was slipping away all over again, and this time they’d burn down the world to stop it.
The message came at dawn.
Encrypted.
Masked IP.
Routed through untraceable satellites.
Tony nearly smashed the screen when it arrived. He’d been running diagnostics all night, trying to ping Y/N’s last known locations after she vanished. There hadn’t been a trace, not a heat signature, not a pulse of energy.
The others had filed in slowly, one by one.
No one had spoken.
Even Natasha, usually the first to break tension with some dry comment, had only crossed her arms and kept her eyes fixed on the monitor.
The common room felt colder than usual. Shadows stretched along the walls despite the rising sun. Steve, Sam, Nat, Bucky, and Tony stood in a line behind the console like a firing squad awaiting orders. But it wasn’t bullets they were bracing for.
The screen flickered. A man appeared.
Face covered by a white mask, surgical cap tight over his hair. His eyes gleamed clinical, cold, and full of joyless calculation. Behind him concrete walls, dull grey. Industrial lights. A surgical chair in the background. Wires hung loosely from metal beams. It could have been a lab or a prison, or both. But it was the figure behind him that stole the breath from the room.
Y/N.
Her presence hit harder than any explosion.
She was standing motionless, spine straight, posture terrifyingly familiar. Her eyes didn’t roam. They didn’t flicker. They didn’t even seem to see. She was dressed in a black tactical gear, painfully familiar to Bucky. Her arms were by her sides, hands gloved. Her hair was tied back with military precision. And then, barely visible but unmistakable, the faint scar trailing from the base of her neck.
Tony stopped breathing.
Natasha let out a single, quiet, “No.”
Bucky stepped forward involuntarily, like gravity itself had snapped him toward the screen.
“You took something that belonged to us,” the doctor began, voice smooth, deliberate.
“You tried to fix her. You even loved her, didn’t you, Soldat?”
The word loved slammed into Bucky like a sledgehammer to the chest.
“But what you didn’t understand… is that she was always meant to be like you.” He turned slightly, revealing Y/N more clearly. “And now, she is.”
He stepped aside with a predator’s pride.
Y/N turned slowly and mechanically. Her right arm lifted just enough to show the crimson star branded into her sleeve.
The team staggered in different ways.
Steve clenched his fists.
Sam cursed under his breath.
Natasha’s eyes glazed like someone recalling a nightmare.
Bucky looked like he was falling apart in real time.
Still, Y/N didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t breathe any heavier. Until the doctor gave a command.
“Demonstrate, Silva.”
What followed happened in a single, horrifying moment.
Y/N raised her fist and drove it into a concrete support pillar beside her. The crack echoed through the speakers like a gunshot. Stone and dust exploded outward. The pillar split. The silence that followed was deafening.
Bucky took a half step back, his face hollow. “No…” he whispered. “No, no, no.”
Tony’s voice came from behind clenched teeth. “He rebuilt her protocols. That’s why we couldn’t stop her. She’s not just conditioned, she’s hardwired. Remote access enabled. We’re not dealing with trauma anymore. We’re dealing with a goddamn reprogrammed super-asset.”
The doctor leaned toward the camera now. His voice dropped an octave, his words slow and cold. “She doesn’t need to be reminded, Stark. She came willingly. She obeyed. We simply… refreshed her training.”
“She was healing. You let her heal. But you didn’t finish the job. You forgot to erase the code.”
The camera zoomed ever so slightly, catching Y/N’s face in the background. Her eyes were empty. Not just dissociated but vacant, like someone had turned off the lights behind them.
“You can come get her,” the doctor added, voice now bordering on a taunt. “But you’ll have to fight her. Let’s see how deep your love really runs… Soldat.”
The screen cut to black and the silence reigned.
The entire team stood frozen in place, the image of Y/N’s burning arm still burning into their minds.
“What are we up against, Tony?” Steve was the first to speak. “And why he called her Silva?”
Tony was already tapping furiously into his tablet, trying to reverse-engineer the signal, tracing possible coordinates. His voice was low and fast. “He’s not lying. It’s a neural reinforcement loop advanced as hell. She’s not just brainwashed. She’s… rebuilt. Like Bucky was. But newer. Cleaner. Custom-coded to her psychology. New name, new person.”
Sam’s voice trembled. “She was getting better.”
Natasha stayed silent, eyes locked on the blank screen, her own past clawing at her insides.
And Bucky looked broken. “They turned her into me,” he whispered, jaw trembling. “They knew what I was… and made her willingly choose it.”
Tony stopped typing. “No. They made her believe she did.”
The team fell quiet again. But something had shifted now.
“We find her,” Steve said. “And we don’t hurt her unless we have no choice.”
Nat’s eyes burned. “If I get my hands on that doctor-”
“We all will,” Tony muttered. “But first we get Y/N back.”
“She might not want to come back,” Sam added quietly.
Everyone turned to Bucky. He stood still, arms locked to his sides, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Then I’ll remind her who she is.”
The cold was back. Not the kind that touched the skin, but the kind that settled deep into the bones. The kind she thought she’d left behind in a sterile lab, on a steel table, with needles in her veins and a voice whispering in her ear.
Y/N sat, spine straight, in the center of a training cell.
White walls.
No windows.
A single red light blinking above the door.
Her hands were gloved.
Her movements exact.
Her breathing shallow.
She didn’t speak, she hadn’t for days.
Her memories were fractured, layered like old glass, shards of freedom and captivity spliced together until she couldn’t tell which ones were real.
She remembered the Tower.
Coffee in the morning.
Tony complaining.
Sam teasing her.
Steve’s protective warmth.
Nat brushing her hair.
Bucky’s arm around her shoulders during stormy nights.
The doctor told her those weren’t real, that they were a cover story like a simulation. “You were never their equal,” he whispered behind her, voice always gentle. “You were the project. I merely resumed it.”
Sometimes, she believed him especially at midnight when the lights dimmed and the audio loop returned.
“Please, Y/N. Answer me.”
“Please, Y/N. Answer me.”
“Please, Y/N. Answer me.”
She had screamed the first night.
Then she whispered.
Then she said nothing at all.
Until the doctor came in one morning, his gloves bright white and spotless, holding the chip he’d once embedded behind her shoulder. “You left a door open,” he said, smiling down at her. “You let them back in. But I’ve closed it now. The only voice left is mine.”
That was the day she stopped crying.
“Execute sequence 27,” he said.
Y/N stood in front of the mirror in a different room.
Concrete, again. Cold light. Wires hanging from the ceiling. Click. The collar on her neck locked. Her eyes went blank.
She wasn’t aware of the camera above her. Or the panel of observers in the room behind the glass.
“Y/N,” the doctor said softly, stepping into the room behind her. “You were born out of pain. But forged into something unstoppable.” He ran a finger gently over the branded star on her upper arm. She didn’t flinch. “You’re not broken. You’re rebuilt.” Then he looked her in the mirror. “Now, say the line.”
She stared forward, unmoving. Silent.
“Say it.” Silence. “Say it.”
“I am not Y/N,” she said. Her voice monotone, hollow, detached. “I am Silva.”
The team watching from the other side of the glass burst into applause. But the doctor didn’t smile. He leaned close, whispered directly into her ear.
“Good girl. They’ll come for you. And when they do… you’ll show them exactly how much they failed.”
The cell wasn’t empty, but it was silent.
Y/N sat in the corner, knees drawn up, face blank. The white suit she wore reflected the sterile fluorescence of the walls, making her look like a ghost present, but already gone.
Then came the voices.
Bucky’s first. “She’s not the same,” he said coldly. “I don’t know if we can fix her.”
Y/N’s head twitched barely, but her eyes remained fixed ahead.
Tony’s voice followed, sharp and analytical. “She’s a liability. We can’t just let her walk around the Tower like she didn’t almost lose her damn mind. She could turn on us.”
Natasha’s voice came next. This one cracked something inside her. “She’s not my best friend anymore. That person died in the lab.”
Each phrase hit like a scalpel.
Y/N didn’t scream. She didn’t cry but her body leaned ever so slightly away from the speaker, as if her soul were retreating.
The recordings had been masterfully constructed, pieced together from real voice samples lifted from Tower security footage and mission comms.
“They turned their backs on you,” the doctor’s voice said calmly, as he entered the room behind her. “They fear what you’ve become. And they should.” He crouched beside her, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. “But I don’t fear you.”
She didn’t respond.
“Because I built you.”
He pressed a button on the tablet in his other hand and the room darkened slightly.
Another voice played, Steve’s. “If it comes down to it… we put her down.”
Y/N flinched, finally. That was the moment. That was when the last thread tethering her to the outside world began to unravel.
“You see?” the doctor whispered. “You went home and they never saw you again. They saw a problem. And problems get solved.”
The lights never turned off in her new cell.
The voices kept returning, always from the ceiling.
Steve about her being a threat.
Natasha saying she wasn't the best friend Y/N always thought.
Sam declaring his fear.
Tony saying she could be killed if they worked together.
Bucky admitting he stopped loving her after the first rescue.
The worst was Bucky. His voice lingered in her mind like ash. He had once been her anchor, her mirror. Now, he was the phantom holding the blade.
“You’re weak, Y/N. You were always weak. I do not care about you...”
“We only saved you because we pitied you.”
“The mission should have ended you.”
A voice in her head, not one from the speakers, kept whispering.
You’re not one of them anymore.
They threw you away.
But we rebuilt you.
Now you are something else.
And slowly, she believed it.
They didn’t call her Y/N anymore.
That name was erased from the files. It remained in the archives of her old life, in the Tower’s dusty database but here, under the doctor’s rule, she was something else now.
They gave her a suit, matte black nearly identical to Bucky’s old one.
A red symbol where her heart once was.
Her eyes were empty, but never without focus.
One of the guards said she looked like a machine pretending to be a woman. He didn’t say it again. She broke his arm in five places during a routine sparring test and smiled.
The rain didn’t stop.
It slicked the rooftops of the city in sheets of silver, washing the neon signs into streaks across the city skyline. In the shadows of a satellite tower, a figure crouched silently motionless, a silhouette against the storm.
Silva was waiting.
A soft voice crackled in her earpiece. “Subject is thirty meters north. Three guards. No cameras. No witnesses. Confirm the target, Silva.”
She didn’t reply with words, just the soft click of her boot shifting forward. Down below, the informant lit a cigarette with trembling hands, speaking into a burner phone. His contact would be gone in ten minutes. He had no idea she was there watching.
No one saw her fall from the rooftop.
No sound touched the street but the snap of bone and the thud of a body hitting wet concrete.
The cigarette rolled into a puddle.
Three guards never even got their safeties off.
The target turned, eyes wide. He opened his mouth to scream. She slammed his head into the brick wall with precision. “Extraction complete,” she muttered flatly into the comm. Her voice was flatter than the rain.
“Good girl,” the doctor whispered. He said it every time like she was a pet.
The Avengers’ Tower felt colder that night. Everything felt more fragile.
FRIDAY'S voice cut through the silence. “Y/N’s biometrics just matched combat readiness data. Full red alert. Combined oxidative stress, adrenaline pulse. She’s in active mission mode.”
Tony looked up from the holographic console, eyes dark. The waveform she’d once struggled to speak, now pulsed with precision filled with life again but strutted by someone else.
Nat put her hand on his shoulder. “She’s following the same neural pattern every mission log shows. We thought we broke it.”
Sam’s voice came static. “We read movement in Brooklyn. Silhouette movement pattern matches protocol 17. Female, tactical input masked. It’s Y/N.”
Bucky closed his eyes, breathing shallow. “It’s her,” he said. “God help us… it’s her.”
In the lab, Tony engaged the encryption scanner and pulled up mission logs from within Hydra’s network. A collapsed map of compromised files, all tagged with Y/N’s codename, Silva, popped up.
Next to it, an image fragment. A blurry shot of someone lean. “It’s definitely her,” he whispered.
Nat slammed her fist lightly onto the glass surface. “That bastard didn’t just reprogram her. He weaponized what was left of her. Armed her with precision.”
Sam swallowed. “So… do we intercept? Do we warn her? Or do we stop her?”
Steve lifted his shield decisively. “We go. We intercept. No answer comes from that contact chain. This is field op, not negotiation.”
They suited up in silence.
Nat whispered to Bucky, “She might still be in there. Not just that thing he made.”
Bucky nodded quietly.
Steve slid out with Sam in tow. Tony lingered, inputting override codes into the Tower’s defence systems.
Natasha strapped on Kevlar. Bucky took a breath. “I’ll find her.”
“We will,” Steve replied. “All of us.”
The elevator doors opened beyond. The city waited and somewhere, out there following orders she didn’t remember agreeing to, Y/N walked again faster.
The city’s shadows swallowed the figures moving in silence. The rain had started to fall in thin, cold sheets, mist curling in alleys, pooling in broken concrete. The industrial district loomed like a graveyard of iron bones, towering structures rusting into decay.
Every step echoed beneath them, muffled by the wet gravel underfoot.
Natasha, Tony, Sam, and Steve moved like ghosts between collapsed scaffolding and shattered glass.
The air was dense, thick with the hum of something wrong.
Tony’s voice broke the stillness, low in their comms. “FRIDAY picked up her heat signature five minutes ago. Two clicks north. Still moving.”
“Copy that,” Steve replied, eyes narrowing beneath his helmet.
Crouched behind the husk of an old supply truck, Natasha’s voice cut in. “She’s here. I can feel it.” She was tense, every muscle coiled, not from fear but familiarity. She knew this kind of silence, the kind that came before a kill.
Sam adjusted the scope on his visor, scanning the shadows ahead. “There.” He pointed. “Twelve o’clock. Moving fast.”
Tony’s HUD zoomed in. The figure moved with fluid precision. A blur of black against the steel-grey ruins. “Visual match confirmed. That’s her.”
Y/N.
But not the Y/N they knew. The Y/N who had started laughing again, who would shadow Bucky like a heartbeat, who had whispered her first words after months of silence.
No.
This was something else.
Sam’s jaw clenched. “We move in. Quiet and quick.”
They fanned out in practiced formation, weapons raised, not to kill but to save.
The rain intensified, clinging to skin and metal, slicking the cracked cement underfoot. Then, someone dropped from above.
Silva.
Y/N, if there was any of her left inside, landed in front of them like a shadow split from the night. Her stance was perfect and balanced.
Her eyes dead.
No words.
No hesitation.
She moved first.
A flash of movement, too fast. Tony fired a stun blast, bright blue light split the darkness. She twisted sideways mid-air, the bolt sailing past her head.
Nat barely had time to react before Y/N closed the distance. A single, brutal kick clean, sharp. Natasha flew back, crashing through a rotted doorframe and disappearing.
“Nat!” Steve shouted, raising his shield and charging forward. He swung.
Y/N ducked. Her fist connected with his ribs, spinning him. She used his own momentum to slam him into the ground. The clang of vibranium echoed across the alleyway.
Sam was next, wings flaring as he dropped from above, fists ready. Y/N caught him mid-lunge, her knee driving into his stomach, elbow clipping his temple. He hit the pavement hard, gasping for air. “Jesus, she’s faster than before-”
Tony called out, ducking as Y/N hurled a steel pipe in his direction. It embedded itself in the wall beside him with a shriek of metal. “She’s too strong,” he muttered, fingers tightening around the repulsor. “Too precise.”
Every move was calculated.
Every step planned.
This wasn’t just combat.
This was programming. This was someone unleashed. And then, he arrived.
Bucky.
Soaked from the rain, his chest heaving, hair plastered to his face. He slowed when he saw her.
Not her stance.
Not her weapon.
Her eyes.
They were blank and empty but still hers.
He stepped forward, unarmed and unafraid.
A soldier.
A ghost.
A man trying to remember how to breathe.
A boyfriend trying to save his girlfriend.
“Y/N…”
His voice cracked around her name, raw and breaking.
It wasn’t a call. It wasn’t a command. It was a plea.
She turned toward him, head tilting with eerie calm.
And for the tiniest moment, something changed.
Her posture slipped.
Her fingers twitched.
Her breathing faltered.
The brutal mask wavered.
The former Winter Soldier stilled.
Her eyes, so hollow a second before, flickered.
“Y/N,” Bucky said again, softer now, stepping closer. “You don’t have to do this. I’m right here.”
She blinked. The world stopped turning.
One second.
Two.
A breath.
Then her jaw clenched and her body re-engaged, like a machine rebooting.
Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t run. He just stood there, hand outstretched, his voice trembling as he whispered. “Come back to me…”
From the wreckage, Steve slowly rose to his feet.
Sam was pushing himself up, blood at his temple.
Natasha limped back into view, one arm held tight to her side.
Tony’s arc reactor glowed in the rain, his repulsors humming low.
They all watched the scene unfold, knowing this wasn’t a battle they could win by force.
This was a war for her soul and it had only just begun.
Y/N turned fully toward him.
The flicker of recognition, of her, was gone now replaced by something colder. Her jaw tightened again. She stepped forward in silence, fists at her sides, her breath calm.
Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t raise his fists. “I’m not fighting you,” he said, voice low but steady.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she charged.
Faster than a thought. Bucky barely brought his arm up in time, her fist slammed into his metal forearm with a crack, the force reverberating down to his bones. He stumbled back a step, panic flashing across his face. “Y/N,” he said again, more urgent now, “you don’t want to do this-”
Her leg swept beneath him. He hit the pavement with a grunt, rolling just in time to avoid a crushing stomp meant to shatter his ribs. She came down again, relentless.
A punch.
A knee.
Another strike.
He blocked each one, but barely not retaliating nor hitting back. “I know you’re in there,” he panted, pushing himself to his feet. “I know you are.”
A scream tore from her lips wordless and mechanical, like metal grinding on metal. She threw a spinning kick, connecting with his shoulder. The sound of his bones protesting echoed in the narrow alley.
Still, Bucky didn’t fight back.
“Hey,” he said gently. “You’re not still mad I let you tackle me through a glass wall, are you?”
No answer but her shoulders tensed. He smirked, just a little. “Because for the record, I let you win.”
Still nothing.
She didn’t look at him so, he walked closer cautious like she was still half wild not from fear, but from pain. “You remember that one sparring match?” He asked, in front of her. “Where you said and I quote... don’t go easy on me just ‘cause you’re old... I’ve never been so offended in my life.”
He stopped for a second.
“You decked me, Y/N. I landed so hard I almost asked Steve what year it was.”
Y/N stopped.
He went closer, touching her hands. “I missed you,” he said softly, brushing her gloved knuckles with his fingers.
“Missed the way you used to glare at me during breakfast. Missed how you’d roll your eyes when I tried to be charming.”
Her eyes shimmered, he thought she was coming back in some ways but he was wrong.
Silva grabbed him by his collar and crushed her head on his forehead. Bucky shook his head and blinked a couple of time. He starred at her once she left his collar.
“Baby?” He spoke, arms streached in the air in front of her. “You hurt me, doll.”
His eyes soft and bright, still with a hint oh hopeness. He walked again toward her. He leaned forward slightly. “I missed you. Not the weapon. Not the soldier. Just the pain-in-my-ass sparring partner who used to steal my coffee and kick my ass for fun.”
Silva looked at him, this time really looked at him.
“Hit me if you need to,” he rasped. “Break me if that’s what it takes, but you’re not gone. You are not this.”
She grabbed his collar again and slammed him into the wall. The impact split the concrete behind him. Her hand hovered at his throat, trembling not from weakness, but restraint. Their faces were inches apart.
Her eyes… cracked.
Tears mingled with rain. “I see you,” he whispered. “Even now.”
Her fist stayed raised quivering. Her lips parted as a broken breath escaped.
Not a word. Just sound.
For the first time, her expression twisted, not into rage but into confusion.
The program and the girl fighting inside one body.
“You’re not a weapon,” Bucky whispered, slowly raising his metal hand and laying it gently over hers. “Not to me.”
Her fingers flexed against his neck, like a threat she didn’t know how to follow through on anymore. She pressed it on his skin, not strong enought to choke him but still and steady to made him gulped.
“I chose you,” he breathed. “Not what they made you. You.”
For a heartbeat, her hand dropped.
She staggered back, clutching her head with both hands.
Her breath came out ragged now, gasping.
Knees buckling.
Bucky reached forward, and this time she didn’t strike. She collapsed into him.
It wasn’t a prison.
The glass walls were transparent, the lights soft and clinical. The bed had a real mattress and the door was unlocked but closed.
Monitors blinked quietly, tracking vitals with sterile indifference.
She woke with a gasp, bolting upright in the bed like she’d been shot out of sleep. Her eyes wild and unfocused, scanned the room.
No shadows.
No doctor.
No command.
Just silence.
Then came the realization.
She was alone.
She stumbled out of bed and moved straight toward the far wall, toward the one surface she knew was a barrier. She slammed her fist into the glass. It didn’t even ripple.
The monitors behind her chirped.
Another punch.
Then two more.
By the time the Avengers reached the observation room, she was in full panic.
Her fists pounded the glass relentlessly, breathing shallow, hair wild and mouth opening in a soundless scream. Her eyes locked on the mirror, on them, as though she could see right through.
“Shit,” Sam breathed. “She’s not just scared. She thinks she’s back.”
Tony stood tense, arms crossed, watching her form hit the wall again and again. “She’s not out of it. She’s fighting to get to something. Or away from something in her head.”
“She’s triggered,” Nat said softly.
“The glass, it’s too familiar.” Steve pressed a hand to the panel. “Let me go in.”
“No,” Bucky’s voice was hard, unshakable. “Let me.”
Inside the room, Y/N was slipping. The bruises from the previous fight hadn’t healed. Her knuckles were bleeding now, but she kept hitting. Her mouth moved again, that same phrase, repeatedly. “Please, Y/N, answer me.”
“Override the door,” Bucky said.
“Are you crazy?” Tony snapped. “She’s not stable, Barnes. You go in there, she might-”
“She already did.” His voice cracked. “She already hurt me. But if anyone’s gonna get through to her, it’s me. She could open the door from the inside but she don't know because she thinks she's there again. She's gonna hurt herself if I don't go in there...”
Nat hesitated then nodded.
The hiss of the pressure seal disengaging filled the hallway. The glass door slid open and Y/N froze.
Her body trembled like static electricity was running through her bones. Then she turned, slowly, mechanically toward Bucky. They dressed her with an hospital gown, no shoes but no matter what she stood there fists in the air, ready to fight.
He didn’t raise his hands. He just stood there. “I’m here,” he whispered. “And you’re safe. You’re not in the bunker. You’re not in his chair. You’re not a weapon.”
Her jaw clenched.
“I’m not going to fight you,” he said.
One step, then another and then, she launched at him.
He barely had time to react before her fist whipped toward his face. He ducked, the punch cutting through empty air, but her spinning backfist caught his shoulder and sent him stumbling across the room.
“Hear me!” He shouted.
She answered with a sharp front kick. He twisted aside. Her naked foot slammed into the wall hard enough to made her whine. Before he could recover, she was already on him again. Two quick jabs, a hook, then an elbow aimed at his jaw.
He blocked the first two. The elbow slipped through. His vision flashed white as he staggered backward.
“It's me!” he gasped.
He caught her wrist this time, trying to hold her still.
“Look at me.”
She drove her knee toward his ribs. He released her just in time, the strike grazing his side instead of breaking it. She spun free, sweeping his legs from under him.
He hit the floor hard. She was already above him, fist raised. He rolled away just as it crashed into the floor.
“You'd never try to kill me,” he said, climbing to his feet.
She tilted her head. “I have no memory of you.” Then she attacked again.
A blur of punches forced him across the warehouse. He blocked, dodged, and retreated, refusing every opening to strike back. Every time she overextended, he simply stepped away instead of countering.
His restraint cost him. A hook slammed into his ribs. Another clipped his chin. Blood touched the corner of his mouth.
“Fight me!” she demanded.
“I won't.”
He caught her ankle at the last second. For one brief moment they froze, eyes locked.
“Please,” he whispered.
Something changed.
A flicker.
Her brow tightened.
Her breathing hitched.
His name almost formed on her lips.
Hope surged through him.
She collapsed into him like her bones had given out, fists clutching the fabric of his shirt, her entire frame shaking against his chest.
Later that night, the humming of security fields had been lowered to a near whisper and the medical monitors glowed gently, casting pale shadows across the room.
Y/N lay curled on the hospital style bed, wrapped in one of Bucky’s old sweatshirts, her fingers still trembling faintly even in sleep.
Bucky sat beside her on the floor, back against the glass wall with his knees up. His head resting lightly against the frame of her bed.
The rest of the team watched through the two-way mirror. No one spoke.
“She didn’t scream this time,” Natasha finally said, her voice low and careful.
“Not once.” Tony nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That’s something. Her vitals stabilized once he held her.”
“She didn’t even flinch when he walked in,” Steve added.
“She could’ve attacked again. But she didn’t.”
“She still thinks she’s broken,” Sam said softly. “That’s the worst part. Even when she’s safe, she doesn’t believe it.”
Tony sighed. “He didn’t just program her body. He rewired her fear. Every quiet moment? That’s when the trigger loop resets.”
Nat stepped closer to the glass, her expression unreadable. “What if the trigger isn’t just audio or code?”
“You think it’s emotional?” Tony asked.
“No,” she said. “I think it’s shame.”
Behind the glass, Bucky reached up with his free hand and gently brushed a strand of hair from Y/N’s face. She didn’t stir, but she leaned a little closer in her sleep.
“I’ve seen this before,” Nat murmured. “In myself. In him.” She nodded toward Bucky. “It’s not the memory that traps you. It’s believing you were meant to be that way. That you’re still dangerous, even now.”
“So how do we help her?” Steve asked.
There was a long pause.
Then Tony, quiet but certain. “We keep showing her she’s not alone. Even if it takes years. I’m pretty sure her programming works like the Winter Soldier’s one. Once she woke up, she will be okay.”
“Do you mean like a switch?” Sam asked.
Tony nodded.
Hours later, the sky over New York was just beginning to turn a dull shade of blue, the kind of color that only crept in when the city was still asleep and the world was quiet enough to remember it was still spinning.
Inside the Tower, the soft pulse of medical monitors was the only sound that broke the silence.
Bucky hadn’t moved in hours.
He now sat slouched against the transparent glass wall of Y/N’s recovery room, one knee drawn up, one hand resting on the edge of the bed. His fingers loosely curled around hers. He didn’t care that the floor was cold. He didn’t care that his back was stiff or that he hadn’t slept.
She was breathing. That was all that mattered.
Then, she stirred.
It wasn’t much, just a twitch, a slow inhale. Her fingers adjusting their grip like her mind had finally caught up with her body. Bucky’s head snapped up instantly, eyes locking onto her hand as her thumb brushed over the back of his. Her lips parted, cracked and dry, and for a moment he thought maybe she was just shifting in sleep again, but then her voice broke through the silence like a knife slipping into his ribs.
“…You stayed.”
The whisper was so quiet, so impossibly fragile, that he almost thought he imagined it.
His breath hitched.
She still wasn’t looking at him, her cheek was pressed into the mattress, her eyes fixed somewhere far away but her head had tilted ever so slightly in his direction, like she’d been waiting for confirmation that he was still there.
“I’m here,” he said, barely above a breath. “I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned in a little closer, afraid to move too quickly. Her skin looked so pale in the early light.
There were still faded bruises along her jaw, faint shadows beneath her eyes, and that fresh, angry scar peeking out from her neckline where the implant had once been.
But her voice, it had been hers.
Not Silva’s.
Hers.
Y/N’s fingers twitched again, then curled tighter around his hand like a reflex. “Don’t let them lock me up again, please.” She whispered.
Her voice was hoarse, raw, like it hadn’t been used in weeks. She didn’t cry. She didn’t plead. It wasn’t fear in her voice. It was shame.
A deep, aching fear that she had become what they said she would.
Bucky swallowed hard. His throat felt like it had been scraped raw. “It’s not a cell,” he said gently, reaching up to rest his metal hand on the mattress beside her. “It’s just a room. A safe one. It’s where we keep the people we love when they’re hurting.”
She didn’t speak.
Her eyes, dulled by exhaustion but no longer vacant, slid toward his. They didn’t widen in fear or dart away in panic. “…Promise?” She asked.
The word barely made it out of her throat. It was more breath than sound, and it trembled as it fell from her lips. Bucky leaned closer until his forehead almost touched the edge of the bed, and he looked up at her like she was the only thing in the universe that mattered.
“I promise,” he said.
A long silence followed.
She didn’t nod.
She didn’t speak again.
Her fingers never let go of his.
For the first time in a long time, she closed her eyes not from exhaustion, but from rest.
The soft morning light spilled through the Tower’s huge windows as Bucky gently helped Y/N sit up, brushing stray strands of hair from her face. Her eyes, still heavy with the residue of restless sleep, flickered with uncertainty.
“I-I’m not sure,” she whispered, voice fragile. “What if they hate me? What if they don’t want me here anymore?”
Bucky’s gaze softened. “They don’t hate you. Nobody does.”
After days of silence and isolation, Bucky was determined to help her take one small step back into the world. “Come on. Breakfast with the team. You don’t have to say a word if you don’t want to.”
Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart pounding with nervous hesitation.
The last time she’d been with them, she was broken. A weapon twisted beyond repair. The thought they might resent her felt like another weight on her chest. But Bucky’s hand was warm, steady, and impossible to refuse. When they reached the common room, the team was already gathered, casual and calm, cups of coffee in hand. But when their eyes met Y/N’s, everything changed.
Tony was the first to rise, a soft smile breaking across his face. Without hesitation, he crossed the room and wrapped her in a careful, fierce hug. “Hey, kiddo,” he murmured, voice thick. “We missed you.”
Steve, Sam and Natasha moved closer, arms open and faces full of relief and something like love.
No accusations.
No cold shoulders.
Natasha’s fingers brushed Y/N’s hair gently, eyes bright with unshed tears. “You’re home,” she said simply.
Sam grinned, clapping her lightly on the back. “Took your sweet time, but you made it.”
Y/N’s chest tightened. She hadn’t expected this.
Not this warmth.
Not this acceptance.
Bucky stood beside her, feeling the way her body trembled, not from fear but from a fragile hope beginning to bloom. “I thought… you’d hate me,” she whispered to him later, her voice barely audible.
He shook his head, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “No. We don’t hate you. We never stopped fighting for you. And we never will.”
For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt the heavy armour of loneliness slip just a little. She was still broken. But she wasn’t alone.
The days that followed were nothing like the darkness Y/N had known. The Tower was alive with quiet determination, patience, and a gentle persistence that slowly chipped away at the walls she had built around herself.
Rehabilitation wasn’t easy.
Every step forward was met with memories clawing at her mind, every small victory shadowed by the echoes of the doctor’s control. But this time, she wasn’t alone in the fight. Tony designed personalized therapy sessions, blending technology with compassion. His AI programs encouraged her to keep speaking, to regain the words stolen by trauma. He never pushed too hard, always reading her cues, ready to pause when the fear flickered in her eyes.
Natasha became her shadow, a silent guardian and steady presence. She helped Y/N move through her days with quiet routines. Cooking meals together, sparring lightly in the training room when Y/N was ready, and simply sitting nearby when words failed them both. Steve and Sam joined in, bringing laughter and lightness. Steve’s calm reassurance helped Y/N rebuild trust in her body, while Sam’s easy-going nature coaxed shy smiles and even soft laughter. They reminded her there was a life beyond survival,a life worth reclaiming.
Bucky was her anchor. Every morning, he was there beside her, steady and unshakable. His quiet patience gave her the courage to try again when her own strength faltered. When she trembled with doubt or pain, his hand found hers, squeezing gently with the promise that he wouldn’t let go. Gradually, the silence between them softened.
One afternoon, after a particularly tough therapy session, Y/N surprised them all. As Bucky helped her up from the couch, she looked him square in the eyes and said, “Thank you.”
It was a small phrase, but in that moment, it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken feelings. The team exchanged glances, relief and hope shining in their tired eyes. This was only the beginning. But it was proof, the real healing had begun.
Weeks turned into months, and the team watched a remarkable change unfold. The dark grip the doctor once held over Y/N was finally slipping away. The dreaded trigger, once a cruel switch that transformed her into Silva, the weaponized soldier no longer had power. They all used the same method they had to use for Bucky after he was rescued from HYDRA.
One afternoon, Tony gathered the team in the lab, the results of his latest neural scans glowing on the monitors. “It’s official,” he announced, a rare smile breaking through his usual intensity. “The implant is finally gone, and the neural pathways that responded to the trigger have been rewired or suppressed. Y/N is no longer under Silva’s control.”
The weight in the room lifted.
Sam exhaled deeply, Natasha allowed herself a rare grin and Steve nodded approvingly.
Bucky stood closest to Y/N, who sat quietly nearby, eyes clear, body relaxed.
When Tony finished, Bucky reached for her hand.
She looked up, meeting his gaze without hesitation. The familiar flicker of steel was gone, replaced by something softer. Her own self returning.
Later, during a training session, a sudden loud noise echoed through the tower. It was a noise that once would have unleashed Silva’s fury.
Y/N froze, her eyes wide.
For a tense moment, everyone held their breath.
Then, with no sign of aggression, she blinked and relaxed shaking her head slightly as if to clear it.
Bucky smiled, pulling her into a gentle embrace. “You’re free,” he whispered and for the first time in a long time, Y/N believed it.
Y/N stayed behind in the common room, curled up on the window seat, staring out at the glittering city below.
Bucky, Steve and Sam outside running, Nat in her room relaxing.
Her posture was loosened, but her eyes carried that familiar depth, a storm quieted but never forgotten. She didn’t turn when Tony entered, though she knew it was him from the sound of his steps. Not the click of Bucky’s boots, or the quiet pads of Steve’s steady stride. Tony had his own rhythm hesitant tonight. He stood for a moment by the door, holding a glass of something dark and amber that he hadn’t even sipped from yet.
Then, slowly, he crossed the room and sat down in the chair opposite her. “Nice night,” he said softly.
“Mm-hmm.” Y/N nodded but didn’t look away from the window.
They sat in silence for a while.
Tony shifted, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I should’ve seen it,” he said finally. “The way he slipped past my scans. The tech, the implants, the layers of conditioning… I thought I’d gotten it all.”
Y/N blinked slowly, listening.
“I was so sure I’d taken every last piece of that programming out of your head,” Tony continued, voice lower now. “I built the safest cell I could think of and somehow still left a back door open. A command line buried too deep. And when you disappeared, when you, when he used you again…” He stopped himself, swallowing hard. “I failed you,” he said simply.
Y/N finally turned her head to look at him. Her eyes weren’t angry. “You didn’t fail me,” she said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was steady. Clear. “You brought me back.”
Tony let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his lungs for months. “Not fast enough.”
“But you did,” she insisted gently. “And I know you didn’t give up on me. Not once. Not when I couldn’t talk. Not when I couldn’t be me. You and the others kept fighting for me. And I’m here because of that.”
Tony looked at her, brow furrowed, guilt still flickering behind his eyes. “I just…” he exhaled. “I thought I was fixing you. But you didn’t need fixing, did you? You needed time. You needed to heal. I should’ve listened.”
“You listened more than anyone else,” she said, a soft smile ghosting her lips. “You treated me like a person, not a problem.”
He blinked, eyes stinging unexpectedly. “Well,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face, “...you are a problem. Just a lovable one.”
Y/N snorted. “I’ll take it.”
Tony glanced down at his untouched drink, then back at her. “You really okay, kid?”
“I’m getting there,” she said. “But yeah. I’m okay.”
She didn’t say anything at first just stood, leaned down and wrapped her arms around him from behind, holding him tightly.
Tony froze in surprise.
“Thanks, Tony,” she whispered, her voice a soft breath against his shoulder.
He blinked, barely able to react before she leaned in a little further and pressed a kiss to his forehead gentle, grateful and warm.
It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t dramatic. It was sincere.
His throat tightened as she pulled back, and for once, Tony Stark was speechless. “Damn it,” he mumbled, swallowing hard as he stared ahead. “You’re gonna make me cry in my favourite hoodie.”
Y/N just smiled, stepping back with a glint in her eye. “Good. You owe me a few.”
Tony chuckled, blinking quickly. Then he reached up and kissed her hand where it had rested on his shoulder. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“Yeah,” she said, still smiling. “But now I finally get to be me again.”
And for Tony, felt like the greatest success of all.
The cold hum of the lab’s machinery filled the dim room, an eerie soundtrack to the doctor’s mounting frustration. His fingers drummed impatiently on the metallic surface of his cluttered desk. The sterile white walls seemed to close in on him, suffocating. All his plans, every carefully orchestrated move , now teetered on the edge of collapse.
His eyes, sharp and calculating moments before, now burned with a storm of fury. The screen in front of him flickered once, then died, leaving a black void that mirrored the emptiness clawing at his control. He reached for the phone and dialed again, his voice low but edged with venom.
“Silva, come to me.”
Silence.
No crackle, no response.
Just cold silence.
Y/N hung up the phone.
He slammed the receiver down, his breath coming fast and shallow. The doctor paced the length of the room, his lab coat swishing sharply against the cold floor. His mind replayed every moment of their captivity, every data point, every experiment and now, it was unraveling. The one weapon he had forged, the sleeper agent he molded from flesh and will, had slipped beyond his grasp.
“She was mine,” he muttered to himself, voice cracking with rage and disbelief. “Mine to command, mine to break, mine to remake.”
But now she refused to obey. His hands trembled as he clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms. A sudden, vicious knock echoed from the door , one of his operatives entering with fresh intel, but he barely registered it. “Why won’t she respond?!” He growled, his eyes wild.
“She’s clean,” the operative said cautiously. “The trigger’s dead. She’s resisting the programming. Her signal won’t respond anymore.”
The doctor’s jaw tightened. “No,” he hissed. “She can’t be free. She’s a weapon, better than any soldier you’ve ever seen. And now she thinks she’s just a person.”
He slammed a fist on the desk again, causing scattered papers to flutter to the floor. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
“They took her from me. From us. And I won’t lose her. Not like this.”
He moved toward a cabinet, unlocking it with shaky hands. Inside, rows of vials glimmered in the sterile light.
Serums, drugs, chemical agents. His final tools, his last failsafe. “If she won’t come willingly,” he snarled, pulling one vial free, “I will drag her back into the shadows myself.”
Outside the lab, far from his reach, Y/N’s steady breathing filled the quiet room unaware that the man who once controlled her was plotting in darkness, furious at his failure and ready to fight to reclaim what he believed was his.
The battle was far from over.
The sun hung low behind a bank of heavy clouds as the Avengers’ jet touched down near the abandoned outpost. A forgotten relic swallowed by overgrowth and rust. The air was thick with damp earth and the faint scent of decay. Here, where silence had settled like dust, the echoes of past horrors still lingered.
Bucky stood at the forefront, his jaw tight, eyes scanning the crumbling structure.
Beside him, Y/N’s hand found his, her grip steady and warm like a stark contrast to the cold memories this place held.
She was herself again.
Clear-eyed.
Present.
No longer Silva’s puppet.
Natasha led the way, moving with the quiet confidence of someone who had walked this shadowed path before. Tony’s tech hummed softly, scanning for any traps or hidden threats. Steve’s shield was strapped firmly to his back, his gaze sharp and ready. The group approached the heavy steel door, its surface scarred with rust and old bullet holes.
Y/N paused, her breath catching ever so slightly. “This is it,” Bucky said softly. “Where they kept me… and where they kept you.”
Her eyes flickered with something unspoken, a mix of fear, anger, and something like closure.
Tony knelt by the access panel, fingers flying over the controls. “If this thing still works, we’ll get inside.” With a hiss of released pressure and a shudder, the door creaked open, revealing the dark interior: cold concrete walls, flickering lights, and the faint remnants of medical equipment long abandoned.
It was a tomb of broken dreams and forgotten cruelty. Y/N stepped forward, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “They thought this place could hold me,” she said, voice steady. “But I’m not that person anymore.”
Bucky squeezed her hand, a silent vow passing between them. Together, the Avengers moved deeper into the shadows, ready to confront the past, and finally bring the nightmare to an end.
The quiet of the abandoned outpost shattered like glass. Without warning, from the shadows and hidden corners, a dozen Hydra agents emerged, their faces masked, weapons drawn, and eyes cold with calculated intent.
“AMBUSH!” Natasha shouted, diving behind a rusted metal crate as bullets ripped through the stale air. Bucky was immediately on his feet, shield raised, muscles coiled. His movements were fluid and precise, a deadly dance honed through years of war. He caught a bullet in mid-air, snapping it away before launching himself forward, taking down two agents with brutal efficiency.
Y/N’s eyes hardened.
Though still recovering, she moved with a speed and strength that shocked even the team, years of Hydra conditioning still lurking beneath the surface, now wielded on their side. Her fists flew, striking with calculated force, disabling enemies before they could react. Steve threw his shield, sending one enemy sprawling, then ducked a hail of gunfire to sweep another with a powerful punch.
Tony’s repulsors flared, sending bursts of energy that knocked back three Hydra agents, his voice crackling over comms.
“They came prepared, but so did we.” Sam soared above, firing precise shots from his sniper, picking off enemies trying to flank.
The battle was fierce, every second a test of skill and will. But the Avengers fought as one, a seamless unit moulded by trust and shared history. As the last Hydra agent fell, silence reclaimed the outpost.
Bucky looked to Y/N, breathing hard but eyes shining. “You’re stronger than they ever imagined.”
Y/N nodded, determination blazing. “And I’m not going back.”
The adrenaline from the fight still pulsed through Y/N’s veins, but beneath it simmered something darker, a rising storm of anger and defiance. Her fists clenched tightly, knuckles white, eyes blazing with a fire the team hadn’t seen in a long time. With a voice sharp and fierce, she bellowed across the empty outpost, “IF YOU’RE NOT A COWARD, GET OUT HERE!”
Her shout echoed off the cracked walls, carrying the weight of every betrayal, every torment she endured at his hands. The silence that followed was thick, oppressive, but Y/N didn’t waver. She stood tall, chest heaving, ready to face the ghost of her past head-on. Tony stepped closer, hand steady on his repulsors, but said nothing.
Natasha tightened her grip on her weapon, eyes scanning the shadows. Steve and Sam stood alert, prepared for whatever might emerge.
Bucky’s voice was low but firm beside her, “You’re not alone in this.”
And for the first time in a long while, Y/N allowed herself to believe it. The silence after Y/N’s challenge stretched, thick and suffocating, until it was shattered by the distant echo of footsteps, slow, deliberate, unmistakably human.
From the shadows of the abandoned outpost, a figure emerged, stepping into the harsh, flickering light of a broken overhead lamp. The man was lean, his movements calculated and cold, the same mask still concealing most of his face, but his eyes burning with a cruel, mocking satisfaction.
“Impressive,” the doctor said, voice smooth but dripping with venom. “You’ve grown stronger… more defiant than I expected.”
Y/N’s glare never wavered. Her body tensed, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap. “I’m not your weapon,” she spat. “And I’m not afraid of you.”
He smiled, an ugly, twisted thing that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, my dear, you misunderstand. You are mine. And you always will be. You just don’t know it yet.”
The Avengers shifted, weapons raised ready to strike, but Bucky held up a hand, steady and calm. “Let her speak,” he said quietly.
The doctor’s eyes flicked to Bucky, a flicker of recognition flashing across his face. “Ah, the Soldier,” he murmured. “Still playing the hero. But you’re powerless here.”
Y/N took a slow, deliberate step forward, voice steady despite the storm inside her. “I’m no one’s weapon anymore. You lost me. You lost control.”
The doctor’s lips curled into a sneer. “Control is an illusion. But don’t worry, I have other ways to remind you who you belong to.” He reached into his coat, fingers curling around something small and metallic.
A cold chill ran through the room. Y/N’s eyes flashed with fury and fear, but she stood her ground. “This ends now,” she said, voice low and fierce.
And with that, the standoff began, each side waiting and watching, knowing the next move could decide everything. The tension snapped like a wire. Out of the shadows, more Hydra agents surged forward, their movements swift and coordinated. Before anyone could react, Tony, Natasha, Sam, Steve, and even Bucky were pushed back, blocked by a wall of enemies. The odds shifted instantly, and Y/N found herself standing alone, free, but surrounded by danger.
The doctor, still leaning casually against the cold concrete wall, pressed a small button on a remote clipped to his hand. Suddenly, the room filled with that haunting, distorted voice, Bucky’s desperate recording playing on a relentless loop, the echo bouncing off the steel walls.
“Please, Y/N! Answer me! Please, Y/N! Answer me!”
A chill ran down Y/N’s spine. But beneath the psychological assault, something else stirred. Through the noise, a real, raw voice cut through. “Y/N! Fight it! Remember who you are! Fight!” Bucky’s voice was fierce, pleading, a lifeline in the storm. Her heart slammed in her chest.
For a moment, her eyes flickered with hesitation, old programming clawing at the edges of her mind. Then, something snapped. Her body tensed and coiled like a spring. She clenched her fists, fighting back the trigger that tried to control her. Her voice rang out, sharp and clear despite the chaos.
“I am not yours!” She yelled. She charged forward, moving with the strength and determination of the woman she’d fought to become. The agents faltered, taken aback by her sudden ferocity.
The agents faltered, their confidence shaken by the unexpected surge of power radiating from Y/N. Their eyes widened as she moved, not with the cold precision of a programmed soldier, but with fierce, raw determination fuelled by something far stronger, the will to reclaim her own soul. Her fists connected with bone and steel alike. Each strike fuelled by years of pain and fear and captivity.
Her movements were fluid, fierce and unyielding. She wasn’t just fighting for survival; she was fighting for her identity, for every stolen moment of her past, for every whispered hope of a future she dared to dream about. The distorted voice from the remote still echoed in the background, an insidious soundtrack trying desperately to pull her back into darkness.
Y/N’s eyes burned brighter than the twisted commands filling the air. With every blow, every desperate grunt, she pushed further from the shadow the doctor had cast over her. Behind her, the Avengers rallied, inspired by her defiance.
Natasha’s kicks dismantled two attackers with ruthless precision.
Sam soared overhead, using his shield to block incoming fire while landing calculated blows.
Steve’s shield crashed through enemy lines, opening a path.
Tony blasted with his armour.
Bucky, despite being held back by several agents, fought with a quiet fury. His eyes never leaving Y/N’s fierce silhouette. The team’s combined efforts began to turn the tide.
Slowly, the blockade broke apart like shattered glass, scattering Hydra agents retreating before the storm of resistance. Y/N’s breathing was ragged, sweat mingling with dirt and blood streaked across her face, but she stood taller than ever. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t just a broken weapon to be controlled. She was a woman reclaiming her body, her mind, and her life. One heartbeat, one breath, one powerful strike at a time.
As the last of the agents fled into the shadows, Y/N’s eyes locked with Bucky’s across the battlefield. There was no programmed obedience in her gaze now, only a fierce and unbreakable spirit.
She was free and nothing, not even the darkest parts of her past, could take that away.
The doctor’s eyes widened in disbelief as the tide turned against him. His carefully constructed plan unravelling faster than he ever anticipated. The last vestiges of control over Y/N slipping like sand through his fingers.
Without hesitation, he turned on his heel and bolted through the maze of the outpost, his footsteps pounding on the cold concrete. Panic flickered across his face, years of arrogance now replaced by raw fear. He knew better than anyone that capture meant the end of everything he had built.
Behind him, Y/N’s heavy breaths cut through the chaos as she surged forward, every muscle coiled, every step charged with vengeance and resolve.
“Stop him!” Bucky shouted, breaking free from his attackers, his own fury ignited by the sight of the doctor fleeing.
Natasha and Sam quickly flanked the doctor’s path, cutting off escape routes while Steve covered the rear, shield raised and ready to strike.
But the doctor was fast, desperate. He darted through narrow corridors and slammed open doors, his mind racing for a way out, for a hidden exit, for any chance at survival.
Y/N’s voice echoed after him, raw and defiant. “You won’t get away this time.”
The doctor’s breath came ragged, his heart pounding like a war drum. But no matter how fast he ran, the reckoning he’d evaded for so long was closing in, unyielding, relentless, and finally ready to bring him to justice.
Y/N’s legs burned as she sprinted after the doctor, the rage inside her fuelling every step. Her breath came hard, but she didn’t falter. The corridors twisted and turned, but she knew this place like the back of her hand now, every shadow, every exit.
The doctor skidded around a corner, panic making him reckless. Y/N closed the distance in a heartbeat, grabbing his arm with iron strength. He stumbled, trying to wrench free, but her grip was unbreakable. “I’m done running,” she hissed, voice low and cold as steel. Her eyes, once vacant, now blazed with fierce clarity. She removed his mask. Under she found a normal face. She didn’t know what expect. “You’re just a man.” She hissed.
He tried to speak, to beg but the words caught in his throat. There was no mercy left for him, not after everything he had done. Behind her, footsteps thundered closing in. The doctor’s fate was sealed.
Y/N tightened her grip. “You made me a weapon. But I’m taking back my life. Starting with you.” Y/N’s knuckles ached bloodied and raw but she stood over the doctor, chest heaving and sweat and rain streaking down her face, hair clinging to her cheeks.
The others had arrived, surrounding the ruined hallway in silence, but none dared interrupt her. The doctor coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His once-imposing figure now looked pitiful, crumpled beneath her, stripped of his power. And still, he laughed. “You still couldn’t do it,” he rasped. “You had the chance.”
Y/N’s jaw clenched. Her fists tightened at her sides. But she didn’t raise them again. “I’m not what you made me,” she said, voice steady, calmer than any of them had heard before. “I’m not Silva. I’m not your weapon. I’m me. I’m Y/N.”
Bucky stepped forward quietly, keeping behind her, watching her silhouette tremble just slightly. “You don’t need to prove anything,” he said softly. “You already won.”
Y/N gave one last glance down at the man who tried to break her. Then she turned her back. Natasha and Sam moved in, restraining the doctor, even as he sputtered more hollow taunts. Steve contacted the Raft authorities. Tony stared hard at the man, rage barely under his surface, but he said nothing.
Hours later, as the jet lifted into the air, the doctor, bruised and broken but alive, was locked in reinforced restraints. Y/N sat by the window, her arms wrapped around her knees. “You didn’t kill him,” Steve said quietly beside her. “That was your choice.”
“I wanted to,” she admitted. “But I wanted more to be free.”
Bucky slid into the seat across from her. “You are.”
hiiiii if you’re taking requests can i ask something where reader and bucky both avengers and friends but like in love with each other bla bla bla and reader has toxic bf hitting her and bucky noticing it?? I know it’s like suuuuper popular in here but i absolutely love your writing style and i already know you’re gonna ace this 😍😍😍😍
You don't get it, Buck...
a/n: thank you so much love!! like we talked there's smut too (ofc duh!) really hope you like it! if the topic is too much (even tho is not descripted in details) for someone pls read something else.
“I’m telling you,” Bucky said smiling. “This is gonna be huge… Tony is gonna throw the party of the year…”
Oh dear Bucky, you said in your mind.
Bucky, your dear and most loyal friend. The man with a metal arm and tons of issue with the modern world and the coffee machine.
“I swear she hates me,” he said one time, referring to the coffee machine.
“She hates you.” You replied mocking him. “You do know she doesn’t have a soul nor a brain so she can’t hate you?”
You always smiled thinking back at that moment.
“You have to come… c'mon it’s been ages since we saw your pretty face with us outside work…”
Work… if being an avenger could be defined just as work.
The reality wasn’t so easy to get, especially for Bucky.
The coffee machine incident was almost three years ago, when you swore to yourself that no other man could be even remotely made you happy like him. Yes, you had a big crush on the super soldier but now every morning you woke up near Mark.
You forgot how you and Mark met.
Friend of a friend?
Someone you saved during a mission?
Casual encounter in the park with the dog you kept for a week for a Shield’s agent?
You completely cancelled everything the first he hit you.
A slap on your face, strong and calculated. The trace of his fingerprints on your cheek. That day, listening to his reason, he was forced because you got back home late for dinner.
“I was waiting while you were out playing costumes with your friends. I expect a warm and ready dinner the second I’m in,”
You laughed, thinking he was pranking you then he moved closer raising his arm. His dark and angry eyes targeting you, his slim figures appearing gigantic with anger. It burned where his hand hit, but it wasn’t burning like the humiliation of being an avenger slapped by him.
“Kitchen. Now.”
Not recognising yourself, you moved to the kitchen. Moving on autopilot, you took some pots and pans and began to make something. You didn’t cry even if he wouldn’t hear form the couch. You stared at the backsplash of the kitchen. Your lower lip trembled but you regained immediately your composure.
Without speaking, you served him something and walked fast toward the bedroom. In your en-suite bathroom, you opened the shower jumping in without waiting for the hot water. An ice cold stream of water hit your head. Resting the forehead on the glass door, you silently cried.
After that slap, Mark began to hit more and more.
Someone made him angry at work? Slap.
A deal with a client went wrong? Slap.
You not in the mood for sex of something else? Slap before taking advantage of your body.
You didn’t react anymore. You were sadly used to Mark’s behaviour.
The worse in this scenario, was having to lie to your colleagues. Especially to Bucky.
It was a random Friday. The big party Bucky begged you to come was gone. That night, your phone was beeping non stop for the messages you were receiving.
Giirllllll… so many alcohol in here, Nat wrote
I swear this chick wants me, Sam said
I’m sorry for Sam’s messages, Steve texted you.
Btw that lady was really looking at him, he wrote in a second text.
Doll, I miss you here…, Bucky simply wrote.
You smiled at Steve text, and deeply exhaled at Bucky’s one.
Mark of course noticed it. “Your boyfriend’s texting you?” He said, anger already sensed in his tone.
“You know it’s not my boyfriend…” you replied tired, omitting the sadly.
“Bet you’d like tho,” he stood up. “Look at me when I talk to you!”
You kept your eyes down.
He moved closer.
In a rush you felt your hair pulled up, closed in his fist.
“MARK STOP! IT HURTS!”
“As it should you slut. You’re all day with him… I know you’re fucking when you’re together,” he said, closing his fist more on your hair. “HE. CAN’T. HAVE. YOU.”
You moved your legs and kicked him, he lost the grip for a second and you tried to slid out of his presence but you miscalculated and trip on the rug. Coming closer from behind, he gripped your ankle and pulled your toward himself.
Imagining the scene from the outside, the shame of being treated like this grew in you.
You defeated Thanos, aliens and every kind of creatures but now your so called boyfriend was the one hitting you, making you feel like a little and scared girl. The pressure on your ankle didn’t fade, he gripped it even harder and yanked you more. When he was right above you, he left your ankle not before sitting on your lower back.
“Think you need a lesson…”
You tried to shake him off you but in that moment he was way stronger. The fear and panic blocking you. You heard him playing with the belt, sliding it off his trouser and smacking on the floor.
“I’m sure he’s into this type of game so…”
He didn’t finish the phrase, or maybe you blocked out his voice. You only heard the belt ringing into your ear, stinging on your legs. You tuned a little and you see the anger and yet satisfaction in his eyes.
He made the belt swinging behind him, hitting you again. “You like it just as you like it with him?”
You begged him to stop, to free you but he was completely blind by his anger. You tried to explain, again, how you and Bucky weren’t a thing if not just coworkers and friends. He stopped only when he was tired of swinging the belts in the air, leaving you there on the floor crying and sobbing. You tried to touch the parts where he hit you but the pain was unbearable.
After he left the apartment, you stood up crying more from the pain. You reached the bedroom and picked some clothes with a bag. After waiting some times, you got out. Since you were too ashamed, you choose an hotel near the tower and after a quick check in, you entered in the room.
Throwing yourself on the bed you cried more.
Violently and uncontrollably.
In the meanwhile at the tower, a very worried super soldier kept his eyes on the elevator all night. Phone in his hand and ear ready trying to hear every kinda of possible noise. Bucky recently noticed something was off. You smiled less, during mission you much more stiffened and most importantly, he swore you flinched after breaking accidentally a glass some days before.
Something is off, he thought.
The next day, after blocking Mark’s number, you reached the tower.
“Here she is,” Nat said, hugging you. You didn’t know how you could control the pain you felt. “The party was phenomenal… you are definitely gonna be in the next one. No objections.”
You simply nodded. You reached the common room, where the other avengers were standing finishing the meeting for the upcoming mission. Everyone cheered seeing you but Bucky’s eyes stayed on you for a long time.
It wasn’t a mystery you lived far from the tower, but they didn’t know about your relationship. You and Mark lived in your apartment in which he moved immediately.
Once you also got ready, carefully getting dressed in a separate room, you reached the others. When you entered the hangar where the jet was waiting, Bucky circled your shoulders and kissed your temple.
“Missed you yesterday doll,” he said, resting his cheek on your head. “You’re okay?”
You hummed yes and untangled from him.
The mission should have been easy.
Enter.
Eliminate all the threats.
Getting on the jet again and spending the night drinking a lot of beer in the common area.
So easy… until it wasn’t.
A grenade exploded right behind the warehouse, fortunately not hitting the jet. An explosion so big and loud that everybody was laying on the ground, ears ringing and throat burning.
“Is everybody alright?” Steve shouted, standing in a quick jump.
“Yeah…” Sam said limping.
“Kinda.” Tony exclaimed checking everybody’s vitals with his sensors.
“Okay.” Nat shouted, croaking his neck.
“Here pal,” Bucky replied. He stood attaching his arm on his shoulder. “Where’s Y/N?” He asked worried.
In the distance, you heard Bucky’s voice. He sounded so worried, for you. The back of your thighs burning from the day before. The ankle Mark crushed in hand was now hurting since you fell on it. You tried to stand failing miserably.
“Doll,” Bucky said running to you. “Here let me help you…” he moved closer to you followed by the team.
“No… I can do it myself… just take my hand…”
Knowing Bucky he was already ready to pick you up, but the idea of his arm under your legs made you tremble. He couldn’t know what happened, let alone knowing you had a toxic relationship.
In that moment, you thought that not telling the team nor Bucky about Mark, was a signal about how wrong it was all the situation.
“C'mon doll, you need help.” He snorted.
“I SAID JUST FUCKING TAKE MY HAND!”
Everything stopped.
Tony, Steve, Nat and Sam blinked trying to look anywhere but you.
Bucky froze. His eyes went down, slightly wet.
“Doll…”
“Please take my hand and stop talking,” you begged him. Your tone now low, sweet almost whispered.
He took your hand and you limped, he resisted the urge to circled your waist. You saw the pain in his eyes, but he kept his mouth shout.
No one dared to speak in the jet.
Bucky saw how you limped on the jet and how you laid on your side. You did that just because your thighs couldn’t handle your weight on them. When you arrived, you held Bucky’s arm without hesitation. He of course helped you.
Again, no one talked when you all entered in the compound.
You untangled from Bucky, looking at him.
You both took the elevator since your rooms were on the same floor. Entering the room you were barely using since living with Mark, you checked the phone, miraculously not broke from the explosion. You saw a voice message from Mark, and you played it.
Bitch… I swear the moment I found you I’m gonna break you so hard you can for-
“The fuck was that?” A voice behind you exclaimed.
Bucky.
You flinched and turned noticing the slightly ajar door. You pushed the phone in your pocket in a second.
“Doll,” he fought for keeping his tone controlled. “What was that?”
“Bucky… you don’t get… it’s nothing I swear…”
“Nothing? You wanna tell me that was nothing? Are you out of your mind?”
You didn’t know what to say. Bucky heard Mark’s message. He heard everything and now he was standing in front of you, hand closed in a fist while the metal one screeched. You moved to the bed limping, feeling his eyes on you. It burned when you sat.
“He’s Mark,” you said looking down. “My boyfriend…” you didn’t dare to look up.
“Your boyfriend? Wait… you have a boyfriend?”
Feeling his eyes on you, you nodded. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore… at least I hope…”
In a rush of laughter, you snorted. Every kind of emotions busted in you.
“Why the secret?” He asked you.
“Don’t know,” you whispered. You did know the reason but you weren’t ready to say it. Bucky couldn’t stand it.
“How the fuck you couldn’t know? It’s your fucking life…”
Hearing Bucky’s voice, made you angry. “You wanna know why? Because I’m fucking ashamed…” you stood abruptly. “Ashamed of your reaction… of being a fucking avenger but getting hit with a fucking belt-”
“A fucking belt? He hit you?”
Panic rushed in your body. You didn’t mean to say it and let Bucky know about it. “No… wait… I-I didn’t mean it like that…”
“And how did you mean it?”
You looked down again, while the tears began to run on your face. You legs began to burn again as you sat.
“Did he hit you?” Bucky asked calmly.
“Buck…”
“DID. HE. FUCKING. HIT. YOU?”
“Yes.”
Bucky jumped out of your room. A movement so quick you almost didn’t see him.
“BUCKY PLEASE WAIT…” you limped behind him.
He run toward the elevator, beating you. You waited for the closed one and once it was there you rushed into it. When the door opened, you caught a glimpse of Bucky’s voice in the common room.
“Stark! Look every fucking camera in this fucking city and find whoever was near Y/N-”
“Bucky what? Are you high?” Tony laughed, but immediately stopped seeing Bucky's face.
“BUCKY BARNES STOP!” You yelled.
“Can everybody explain?” Tony asked very much confused.
“Y/N,” Bucky exhorted you.
Sensing everybody’s eyes on you, you picked the phone from the pocket. Mark’s voice ringing into the silent common area.
Bitch I swear the moment I found you I’m gonna break you so hard you can forget your fucking weirdos avengers and that stupid assassin of yours.
You closed your eyes in the end. Bucky in your room made you pause the message but now you, and everybody else, heard it.
You explained everything.
How Mark seemed pretty normal or at least that was what you remembered since the trauma made you erased him from your mind. You now pictured only the pain, the humiliation and the loss of your freedom.
Nat was ready to fight just as Sam, Steve and Tony.
Bucky was calm, too calm. Knowing him, you knew he was already memorised his tone of voice ready to track him down in the streets if needed.
“Did he really hit you with a belt?” Sam asked.
You nodded. Again, you told them how you spent the night in a hotel after you escaped him. “It was easier like that… the mission today…”
“HOW CAN YOU FUCKING SAY THIS WAS EASIER. YOU SHOULD HAVE COME TO ME FOR GOD’S SAKE. I FUCKING LOVE YOU Y/N,”
You stopped breathing.
“You love me?” You asked shocked.
“Cmon, Y/N everybody knows this,” Bucky said looking down.
You saw around you the others nodding. You looked at Bucky. His head bent down, his eyes locked on the floor and his both hands closed into fists.
In your mind there were only the things Bucky did for you and thinking about it, it was pretty obvious. He always remembered your coffee order, the way you ate your sandwich or the books you liked more. It was when you decided to move closer to him, that you all hear a voice.
“I fucking knew it!”
Mark.
In the tower.
In the common room.
“I knew it. No one has your freaking relationship without any feelings…”
Feeling again scared and little you moved behind Bucky, who put already himself in front of you. As he turned looking at Mark, he gulped. He actually never saw Bucky in real life. He knew of course who he was and what he did in the past but seeing him there in real life was another thing.
Tall, broad shoulders, dirt and blood on him from the mission. He was intimidating and he knew it.
Bucky moved toward Mark, maybe too fast because Mark stumbled on his feet. He felt down, looking Bucky up from the floor. A coward in his natural state, eyes wide opened. Panic and fear rushing through him.
“Did you hit her?” Bucky asked him calmly, making him way more terrifying.
“I…I…” Mark stumbled and stuttered.
“So?” Bucky asked again, lowering near Mark. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you,” Bucky smiled. A smile tight and fake but surely effective on Mark. “In fact… I don’t care why you did it,” he said that keeping his composure but then he snapped.
In a second Bucky stood. Six feet tall, 200 and more pounds standing there in front of a scared little man. He grabbed Mark by the collar of his shirt with his metal hand. He kept him in the air, Mark’s legs swinging in the air. Bucky pressed his hand more on his neck, causing Mark’s face to change colour into a reddish shadow.
Seeing this, you realised how stupid you were.
Fearing a man like this?
Being treated like that?
And then you took a look at Bucky. The man you thought was only your friend, the one who was now defending you and giving him a lesson.
Bucky, sensing your eyes on himself, turned his head. His sweet blue eyes made a strong contrast with what he was doing to Mark.
He looked again at his target, held locked in his hand and threw him onto the floor. Mark coughed touching his neck. Bucky walked closer, lowering near him.
“If I ever saw you near her again,” he looked Mark with a firm glance. “I’ll kill you.”
Ever the loser, Mark nodded.
As he was about to stand, Bucky talked again. “Steve,”
“Yes pal?” Steve replied immediately.
“Call the police please.”
“On it.” Steve said, as Nat approached Mark.
In a bunch of minutes the police arrived and cuffed Mark, pressing charges against him for domestic violence and abuse. Nat asked the policemen to escort him at the station. You didn’t really know if she brought him at the station. Steve, Tony and Sam hugged you one by one whispering sweet thing to you.
You were now alone in the common room with Bucky.
“Buck,” you started. “I can explain…”
“Don’t,” he stopped you raising his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me anything?”
You looked down. “I was scared of your reaction,” you admitted. “Scared of what you might have said…”
“I should have killed him. I was going to… but I stopped…”
You knew why he stopped. Killing a man with his metal hand, keeping him in the air. Too many resembles to his previous life as the Winter Soldier.
“You were defending me,” you said as you moved closer.
“I spend my life defending you… and I’m not gonna stop,” he moved too.
Now you were face to face, chest to chest, the tip of his nose touching your head as he kissed your forehead. You looked up at him, towering over you. You took his head between your hands and pulled him down. Your lips touched his, just a peck until he deepened the kiss. His tongue playing with yours, his hands gripping your waist pulling impossibly close to him.
You felt his heartbeat against yours. Circling his neck with your arms, you breathed in him as he did the same with you. He tightened his press on your waist, lifting you in the air. As he was about to hold you from your legs, you hummed against his lips.
“Buck,” you said out of breath. “Not there please,”
He looked at you, calming his breath too. “Is your stomach okay?”
You looked at him confused but smiling. “I guess…”
“In that case,” Bucky said before lifting you from the waist and gently holding on his shoulder. Your stomach touching his shoulder as he circled your waist to kept you there.
“Right,” you snorted.
He walked you through the compound toward your bedroom. He gently put you down and stood there in front of you. The dirt and dust of the mission still on your bodies.
“I’ll let you take a shower,”
“Stay.”
“Doll, I don’t think it’s the right time.”
“Stay.”
He looked at you, trying to find any trace of doubts. He couldn’t. You knew what you were asking. He knew you were letting him see the pain Mark gave you.
“Okay.”
He stood in the bathroom, looking at you. “You don’t have to show me anything, doll.”
“I want to.”
You began to undress yourself. First the boots came off, then socks and belt. Your fingers rested a little on the shirt. After removing it, you stayed there in front of him with your bra on.
Bucky, always the most skilled spy in the room, immediately noticed some bruises on your hips. You noticed how he looked at your hips and began to unzip your tactical pants.
He wasn’t ready for that.
He noticed at some bruises on your arm, due to the mission and the explosion but looking down he flinched. Your ankle had a handprint on it, purple and dark. Giving him no time to reply, you turned showing him your back thighs.
Red whips landed on your meat. The skin a little puffy, painful and horrible to look at.
“That’s why…” he gulped. “That’s why you didn’t want me to hold you…”
You were naked in front of a fully clothed man and you were at ease. It was Bucky, your Bucky.
He could have took a look at your body but he concentrated only on the bruises Mark left on you. You only nodded.
“C’mon,” he said exhaling. “I’ll help you in the shower.”
He removed boots and socks and belt first, just as you did. When he stood back up again, his eyes never left yours. He took out the edge of his black shirt from his pants, removing it so damn fast that you didn’t even lost connection with his eyes. He moved closer, shirtless and barefoot, only his pants on him. “You don’t need to see if you’re not okay with this…”
You looked at him, at his eyes and caressed a cheek. “You don’t know how much I’m okay with this,”
He smiled at you and unzipped his pants. His boxer did absolutely nothing to hide the excitement. “Sorry,” he smiled sheepishly, covering his bulge.
“No,” you took his hand away. “No need to hide,”
He nodded and slid out of his boxer.
He stood there in all his glorious glory and strength. Broad shoulders and wide chest. His pecs perfectly sculpted along with his abs. His metal arm, shining with the bathroom lights.
“Turn the light off Bucky,” you said while he looked at you confused. “I wanna feel you before seeing you.”
He almost lost the balance, but immediately turned off the light.
It wasn't completely dark in the bathroom due to the big window with the city lights reflecting on it.
You felt Bucky shifting, coming back in front of you. You saw a glimpse of his arm in the dark, sensing his natural and intoxicating smell too. Raising your arm you caressed his abs, then raising up against his body until his pecs. When you rested the other hand too, he took a deep breathe.
“Doll,”
“What?” You asked, moving closer until your skin touched his. “Don't you like it?”
He was liking it, maybe too much. His cock twiched in the air, and when your thigh barely touched his tip he lost it for real.
Grabbing your neck with his metal hand, he pulled you toward him. He kissed you like his life depended on that kiss. His fingers tangling in your hair while his flesh hand grabbed your hip. “God, sorry… tell me if this is too much…”
“It's not even enough Buck…”
He growled against your mouth circling your waist with his arm. He lifted you in a second, keeping you against him. His arm only touched your waist, so your legs could be free to dangle.
“You're so fucking beautiful, doll…” he panted in your mouth. “I should have killed him… but I didn't… i'm gonna spend my life protecting you.”
“Bucky…” your words died in your throat as his tongue dove more into your mouth. He was starving.
In Bucky's mind, while his tongue devoured your mouth, there were only the pain of knowing you alone somewhere near that man. His hands on your body. Bucky hugged you a little more.
“Buck,” you said pulling out for a second. “I'm not going anywhere…”
“Oh god,” he said realizing what he was doing. “I'm sorry… did I hurt you?” He whispered putting you back on the floor.
“What? No! God, no.”
He released a breathe, locked in his throat when eh asked you if he hurted you.
You smiled at him, moving closer again. You pressed your mouth on his chest, as he push his head behind. His arms remained still at both of his sides. You smiled more and took both of his arm, linking them on your waist.
“I need to take control tonight, Buck… would you let me?”
“God yes. Please take control on me.”
Bucky knew you needed it to regain your trust in a man but he couldn't lie to himself, or to you if you ever had asked, that he was turned on by the idea of being bossed around especially by you.
You knelt on the floor, his knees buckled a little. He found again his balance grabbing the counter.
You hand began to grab the base of his shaft, sliding it up and down. A slow but very effective movement. You thumb worked on his tip. As you saw him closing his eyes, you kissed the tip of his cock.
“Doll,”
“Relax and let me…”
You took his cock in your mouth. Bucky towering over you, his eyes locked on yours. You winked at him and in a rush of pleasure he lifted his hand in the air. You got it immediately and nodded. He rested his hand on your head, fingers tangled in your hair guiding and not controlling. It took him a few more minutes to feel the pleasure raising in his body.
“Doll please… I don't wanna come in your mouth…”
“I do.” You replied sucking him more.
That wrecked him as he came in your mouth. Once he came down from his high, you stood and swallowed all.
He kissed your lips, starving again. His hands both at the sides of your face keeping you there.
“Turned around.” He ordered you.
You nodded smiling and turning.
Resting your palms on the countertop, you spread your legs. Bucky stayed still for a second, looking at the red whips on your body. He fully stood, chest to your back. Moving your hair, he kissed your neck almost sweetly and devotionally.
“I'm sorry this happened to you, doll.”
“It's not your fault, Buck.”
You pushed your head behind, hitting his shouder. It was almost a romantic scene. Two lovers getting back after a fight.
His hands roamed on your skin, you noticed in the reflection of the mirror. His fingers delicately grazed your stomach, then your belly button making you snort and then he moved them down. Gently caressing your folds at first. You felt a wave of pleasure almost immediately and you pushed yourself more against him. His metal hand circled your waist as his flesh one began playing with your clit.
“Little precious thing here,” he pinched a little, not hurting you. He felt the wetnees of your core. “Is that all for me?”
“You know it is, Barnes…”
He lifted your leg on the counter, waiting for a stop from you. You didn't stop him of course.
“Is this…?”
“It is, Buck.”
He knelt on the floor, behind you. He kissed the red part on your skin. You flinched a little when the tip of his tongue licked a puffy part on the back of your thighs. You should have stopped him but he was way better than any cream.
“Please do that again…” you panted.
“Like this?” He said before licking a stripe on your skin. “Or this?” He kissed the same spot.
You slouched yourself on the counter, forehead almost touching the mirror. Bucky, behind you, kisse for the last time your thigh.
He moved fast and efficient. In a second you felt the tip of his tongue in your pussy.
“Buck!” You yelled.
“Let me,”
He dove into your pussy, licking everything he could. He bite your folds and clit a little, your knees menaced to fall but Bucky's arm was pretty secure around your waist.
His tongue, strong and raw, devoured you. He was good at this and you suspected he knew that.
“Best day ever, doll.” He said against your core.
It was now your turn to clench around him. He felt the muscles in your pussy moving, so he inserted a finger too.
“Bucky!” You yelled moaning.
He pumped his finger in you as his tongue continued his journey. You came on his tongue yelling his name. You turned for a second, grabbing his hair. He moaned and groaned as you pulled his hair more.
As you came down from your orgasm, keeping his face in you for a second more, you feel on the counter.
Bucky stood behind you, caging you between his body and the sink. He rested his forehead in the middle on your back.
“I fucking love you, doll. I'm tired of pretending I don't. I wanna spend my life with you.”
You smiled as a tear escaped from your eye. “I love you too Bucky. I wanna spend my life with you too…”
He hugged you, still towering over you. “Let's have that shower.”
You nodded.
Entering in the shower, he opened the water. When the stream, not too hot due to your skin, hit the both of you. His body covered you from the direct stream of water. He remained for a second fixing your face.
“What?” You asked smiling.
He kissed you with the same damn hunger he had since entering your room. He pushed you more against the wall.
“Buck,” you asked against his lips.
He hummed.
“Pick me up and fuck me…”
“Doll… your legs… what?”
“PICK. ME. UP. AND. FUCK. ME.”
He looked at you and hs eyes got darker. He picked you up in a second, weight like a feather in his arms. His hands on your thighs did infact burn but you couldn't care less. Keeping his mouth on yours, he slid inside you in a singular movement. He stayed there fronzen from the pleasure, still keeping you up. When you looked at him nodding, he began to move.
His thrusts were precise, deep and able to reach every part of you.
Your nails grabbed him more, on his shoulders. His face went direct in the crook of your neck, hiding himself.
“Can't last, doll… too perfect…”
“Come inside…”
He quickened his movements as he felt your core clenching around him. You wanted to keep him inside you forever.
You felt his warm release in you and you hugged him tighter.
He held you with his metal arm as his flesh one went on the wall to balance himself. After regaining it, he moved it on your face. He traced the edge of your lips, playing with the lower lips.
He was still inside you when he stopped trembling.
He put your down, still keeping you from your waist the proceeded to wash your body and hair. He quickly did his too, soldier efficienty.
Once he rinsed yoo both, he opened the shower's door and grabbed the fluffiest towel he could. He delicately patted your skin.
“On the counter… rest on your elbow…” he said blushing.
“Again?" You asked smirking
“Uh, no…” he blushed more. “I'll apply the cream… if you want…”
“Oh,” you smiled at his shyness.
You perched your body on the sink, propping up your ass as he applied the cream.
“Behave.” He ordered with the less intimidating voice ever.
“Okay…”
Once he finished, you felt the relief on your skin. He massagged your thighs with gentle hands, too gentle. Completely the contrary of what he was in the shower.
You began tearing up a little.
“Doll, did it hurt?”
You shock your head no. “It's the way you care,” he stood behind you like he did before. “I suppose i'm not used to it anymore.”
“I've got you. Today, tomorrow and for the rest of my life.”
“I know.”
That night, when he slid in the bed near you, you felt at ease for the first time in a very long time.
Bucky's metal arm protecting you. His body against yours. His breath on your neck, warm and reassuring.
“I love you, Buck. I'm sorry if I didn't see it…”
“I love you too,” he kissed your shoulder. “Now you're seing it… it's all I care about.”
You closed your eyes with a super soldier on your side and a smile on your lips.
am I tripping or you wrote something like bucky and neighbour? if I remember correctly reader wasn’t kidnapped or anything but he had sad thoughts about someone like her being so nice with him??
I know technically it’s not a fully request but if you have it still I’d like it 🥹 (hope you didn’t lose it completely)
My sweet neighbour
a/n: hi anon!!! no you're not tripping, i have wrote something like that with a neighbour but unfortunately it was one of the few i lost when i had the problem with my old account. so here we are i wrote it again (that's why it took me some time) hope you like it as you liked the first version. this version contain SMUT.
“Why do you still live there? It’s so far from here.” Sam asked Bucky on the jet, coming back from a mission.
“Yeah pal,” Steve adjusted his shield. “It’s far and you always have something to do.”
Bucky looked down at his boots.
He liked that place, the cozy condo he found four or five block away from the Avengers’ Tower, but he loved even more his neighbor.
“It’s somewhere I can wind down… you know how I am…” Bucky gulped, worried about saying something more than what he wanted. “It’s also cheap and there’s no Tony Stark pumping heavy metal in the morning.” He smirked.
The billionaire laughed snorting at the cockpit near Nat.
The remaining journey back home was quiet and peaceful, everyone thought about what to do within the next couple of days of rest.
Once the jet landed on the tower’s platform, Bucky packed his bag and headed out.
He always walked from the tower to his condo. He liked the night air and the dark atmosphere around him. He passed in front of a florist, and like every time he did, he thought of coming home to you with a big bouquet of roses. He saw in his mind the happiness on your face, your arms linked to his neck and your body pressed to his.
The reality was way more different.
You were on his floor, your door right in front of his. Some hello every now and then, a wave of hand if you saw him while being on the phone. He would never forget how your eyes widened the first time you saw him.
You recognized him immediately.
Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier, on your floor.
Broad shoulders, wide chest, blue eyes and dark brown hair. A cheeky but shy smile when he presented even if that wasn’t necessary.
You run into your apartment, not wanting to face him and Bucky immediately got it.
You were scared of him.
Again, the reality was different.
Once you run into your apartment, you rested your back against the door. Chest moving up and down, a hand on your heart trying to calm it down. Your lower lip crushed between your teeth.
Bucky Barnes was by far the most handsome and hottest man you’ve ever seen.
Your body reacted immediately, like on autopilot, and you clenched your legs.
In the following days, you took a peek in the peephole trying to figure his routine.
Bucky did the same with you, but you had very different habits.
Bucky at five in the morning always headed out for his morning run. You preferred sleep.
Around nine, you finally woke up. Shower and a light breakfast and then straight to your office. At the same time he usually took his shower after his four hours of cardio and exercises.
Having different habits and routines, and not seeing you both as much, made it even more weird when you both got locked in the elevator.
People were supposed to know your neighbors and the fact he was taking more space with his body made you tremble.
Bucky got that as fear.
He saw you in the corner of the elevator, trapped and scared. He tried to make himself little bit but of course it was impossible.
He was a super soldier, six feet tall and 200+ pounds. His shoulders took all the space and he shuffled in his feet uncomfortably and ashamed of his past.
In your head tho, the reality was the total opposite.
You looked at him, finally not from a peephole. It seemed that his shoulders almost asked you to grab them, to rest your tights on them while he ate you out while grabbing his locks. You took a moment to admire his metal arm. You noticed how he tried to pull down the sleeve, trying to cover even the hand.
You took your sweet time admiring his lips. They seemed so soft and full. Imaging them on your skin made you shiver more.
His eyes were the thing you loved more. They were usually so shiny and bright. A blue so intense you found yourself staring at them in pictures once you found out he was your neighbor.
The great Bucky Barnes. The man turned into a weapon and then finally a hero with all the recognition he deserved.
You suspected he wouldn’t like being recognized like the Winter Soldier and so you preferred waving at him from the distance and simply saying hello to him.
“Sucks being stuck here, right?” You tried to asked him.
He hummed nodding.
“Okay,” you whispered crossing your arms on your chest. “So… do you like it here?”
“It’s fine.”
This time, you nodded without speaking.
You saw him in the opposite corner of the elevator far from you, as far as the space allowed.
Suddenly the elevator shook and you lost balance, crushing into his arms. His reflexes were on point like you suspected, as he grabbed you in a second. His flesh arm around your waist and your face against his chest. You inhaled his intoxicating smell. You didn’t see it but he smelled your hair too as he was way more taller than you.
“Oh sorry, Bucky.”
You looked up at him.
He looked down at you.
Bucky.
You said his name, so you of course knew him.
You saw the pain in his eyes. The regret of his past conditioning his present.
He removed the arm immediately from you and licked his lips.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “Did it hurt you?” He asked with a low tone.
You were about to reply but the elevators’ door opened. You saw two firefighters opening the heavy and metal door.
“Are you alright guys? Hey,” one of the firefighters removed his helmet. “You’re Bucky Barnes… god… you’re a hero.”
“Yeah… thanks…” Bucky replied shyly.
The firefighter who opened the door immediately helped you to get down since you were blocked between two floors. You refused his hand, and looked for Bucky’s hand. He gave his flesh hand to you, helping you balancing.
You looked at him straight in the eyes while thanking him.
It was now two weeks after being locked in the elevator. Bucky was nowhere to be found. He disappeared three days after.
You heard his door opened during the night and you immediately run towards the peephole. You saw him with his tactical gear and a duffle bag.
Almost a week away, you heard the news.
The Avengers were in a country you barely remember the name, fighting for the world. The local anchorman and cameraman filmed them after a fight.
Dirty, bloody and exhausted.
Bucky appeared on the screen.
Your breath got stuck in your throat.
He was suffering, painfully tired and absolutely handsome. His eyes tired and puffy. His chest moving up and down.
You picked the phone up and took a picture of the screen.
You missed him so much even tho you barely interacted with each other.
You got back on the bed and closed your eyes imagining him coming back.
After another week, he was back. You heard the keys in the door and immediately jumped up from your couch. You swung your door opened as he was about to close his.
“Bucky,” you whispered.
He turned and looked at you.
He didn’t have the same exhausted and dirty look he had on TV the week before, but he had a sad look in his eyes.
“Go back to sleep.”
“No.”
“We barely know each other… you should stay away from me.”
“No.” You replied again.
Bucky moved suddenly and you took a step back flinching at the speed not at him.
He froze.
“See?” He smiled sadly and got inside his apartment.
You run towards the closed door. “Bucky, please… you don’t get it. Open please.”
You kept knocking on his door but he didn’t answer.
He stayed near the door, hearing your knocking and looking at you through the peephole.
After some minutes your eyes were red and tears began to stream on your cheeks.
Bucky died inside seeing you like that, but he kept his facade.
As the days passed, you noticed how he avoided you even more. It looked like he was trying to even avoid getting on the floor the same time as you. At least sometimes you used to meet at the elevator.
He kept his five in the morning run cause he knew you would sleep at that time. He began to notice how the curtain of the living room, perfectly on sight from the street, was closed every time you were out and wide opened when you were in as you took all the natural light possible. He started monitoring the curtain as his personal tracker.
Close safe.
Open not safe.
It was inevitable seeing each other again.
It happened one afternoon after a summer storm. You were back from the office, no umbrella and light dress on. The first thunder made you walk a little bit more faster. As the rain began to pour, you found yourself two blocks ways from the condo.
The water wet your dress, making it cling to your body. Sadly that attracted weird looks from a man waiting on the bus.
You passed in front of the stop, one block from home, and he whistled at you. You kept your face down for not getting an eye contact with the man, and also for shielding your eyes from the rain and wind. You were right in front of your door looking for your keys, sensing his presence approaching.
“Hey beautiful,” the man began. “Why don’t you let me in your home.”
“Get off!”
“Mommy didn’t teach you the manners?” He lifted his arm in the air. You didn’t know what for, because it got stuck in the air.
Turning, you saw something shiny and metallic grabbing the man’s wrist.
Bucky.
You exhaled calming yourself, while your heart kept beating hard in your chest.
“Think you need to go dude.” Bucky said with a lower tone of voice. His eyes almost closed threatening, teeth gnarling and an evil smirk on his face. A wet wall of muscle, probably coming back from a run.
The man completely shuttered.
He nodded quickly and once Bucky left him, he run in the rain.
“Bucky,” you began.
“Did he hurt you?” He asked you worried. “Did he?”
You shook your head, thinking at what could have happened. “Thank you. You’re my hero.” You said opening the door of the hallway.
He looked down, letting you pass in front of him. You noticed he gave a final look at the street before closing the door.
You press the elevators’ button and stood near him. His scent, mixed with the rain, was in the air and you found yourself inhaling all.
The elevator hissed and again he let you pass in front of him. He pushed your floor’s button and rest his back against the wall of the elevator.
His henley stuck to his chest, his hair wet and messy. He passed a hand through them and you took a deep breath.
You turned and pressed your chest against his.
“Don’t talk.”
You pressed your lips against his, lifting yourself on your tip. Your arms circled his neck as your fingers began to play with his hair.
He growled in the kiss and grabbed your hips. You began to press yourself more against him and you felt definitely something getting harder.
“Wait,” Bucky told you. His hands on your shoulders. “Wait… wait… wait.”
Shame and sadness on your face.
You’ve never felt so bad.
Was that meaning he wasn’t interested in you?
Was it all in your head?
Were you the only one feeling the attraction?
“Sorry Bucky… I misjudged apparently…”
You slid away from him.
The elevators’ door opened and you rushed out. Bucky remained blocked and shocked.
You kissed him.
Hardly and passionately and roughly.
He saw you closed the door of your apartment and disappeared.
Why did he told you to wait?
Wait what?
Something more exciting of this?
His body reacted way too good at you but his brain stopped him.
He got back to his home and didn’t let anyone interrupting him.
He moved to the bedroom, cock heavy in his pants. He laid down on the bed while removing pants and underwear. He grabbed his shaft, already hard and leaking. He thought about your face, your hands around his neck and your chest against his.
Your soft and full boobs crushing on his hard pecks. He pressed his metal hand more around the base of his cock, while his mind pictured you in your soaked dress. The fabric clinging to your body like a vision.
He slid his hand up and down more, his thumb gliding on his tip as he felt the pleasure rising in his body.
What he didn’t know in that moment, was that you were doing the same in your bedroom.
You didn’t even take your time to remove the dress, you simply pulled it up around your hips as you sat on the bed. Legs spread opened and your phone on the dresser.
Bucky’s news picture on the screen.
You looked at him. His eyes looked at you as you were able to capture the moment the starred at the camera.
Your hands began to slid down your body. You fingers rolling your nipples pinching them.
Your chest already moving up and down quickly. You spread your legs more, lifting one on the mattress. Your index began to play with your clit, but it wasn’t enough.
Sitting better, you laid down on your elbow and rolled your clit more into your fingers.
“Bucky…” you panted. “Yeah… please…”
You licked two fingers and slid them in your hole. Already worked up, you didn’t need much time.
His picture staring at him was able to let the pleasure rise in you. You grabbed the sheet under you and starred more at the pic. You remembered his chest against yours, how his hands grabbed your hips and his soft and wet hair in your fist.
“Please let me come Bucky…”
“Please let me come Bucky…”
Bucky couldn’t possibly imagining what was happening on the other side of the wall. He suspected over the weeks that your bedroom was right near his and just a wall was separating you. Now he was sure.
He heard your moans after coming down from his high, already worked up enough.
He stood up, letting his clothes fall on the ground and rest naked against the wall. He pressed his forehead on the wall and grabbed his cock hard again.
Being a super soldier with enhanced senses had some flaws but this one was definitely an advantage.
Metal hand on the wall and flesh around his cock, Bucky began to pant and moan again.
He heard all the wetting sound your fingers made. He heard his name coming out of your lips and that made him shiver more.
“Y/N,” he grunted against the wall, punching it as he came again.
It was the first time he said your name out loud.
Everything stopped and he realized it later.
You heard him hearing you.
You stood, unsatisfied, and walked toward the wall. “Bucky?” You asked in the silence of a stormy afternoon.
“Yeah…”
“Can you hear me?”
“Yeah… I can…” his hand still around his cock. He pumped himself more as you spoke.
“Want to help me?” Your hand slid down too. “Why don’t you come here? I’ll opened the door just now…”
Bucky heard your footsteps getting far and even your door unlocking. His sense were so overstimulated that he was aware of everything.
You got back and punch lightly the wall for him. “Here I am… I’m waiting Bucky…”
“I’m ruining you if I’ll come…”
“I’m counting on it…” you breathed out. Your fingers sliding inside you again and Bucky heard the wetting sound he heard before.
He took his short, no underwear, and put them on. “Coming sweetie.”
He didn’t think of putting his shirt on, it wasn’t necessary.
In a second he was inside your apartment.
You scent reached his nostril in a second and he felt his cock hardening even more.
He removed his shorts and began pumping himself again.
“Follow my voice, Bucky…” you told him.
He gulped and licked his lips and indeed followed your voice.
You kept talking to him until you saw him on the edge of your room, naked and hard. He growled when he saw you. He kept pumping himself as you kept sliding in and out your fingers from your pussy.
“How… how could you… po-possibily... hear me…oh my god…”
“Sweetie,” you saw his knuckles getting white as he pressed more. “Super hearing… you made me weak and on alert all the time…”
His cock twitched in his hand.
Naked too and legs spreading on the bed. You back anchored to the mattress as you rested on your elbow. Your hand kept playing with your pussy.
“Why don’t you come here?” You asked in a sexy tone.
He moved like a leopard, precise and fast.
He grabbed your knees and spread your legs even more. He took a look at your glistering pussy before diving in you. His tongue licked a long stripe until his teeth grabbed your tiny and pulsing clit.
“Fuck… Bucky… you’re so good…”
“I know… stay there…” he ordered you.
You tried, really tried, but he was too good and your upper body irreversibly stood a little.
As he felt your core clenching, after began pumping two fingers in you, he stopped.
“Why?” You whined.
“Told ya to stay there. You have to earn it now…”
He looked at you with a smirk, you didn’t feel any ounce of fear, just excitement.
He slid up, reaching for your lips. He dove his tongue in your mouth as his hand kept your chin steady. He bite your lower lip while his all body crushed yours. You felt his fingers still playing with your pussy.
“Bucky… please…” you panted against his mouth.
“You wanna come?” He asked you, kissing your neck.
You nodded.
He looked at you and turned your entire body on the bed.
“Ass up,” he said lightly spanking it. “Are you gonna stay there?”
“YES YES YES… I’LL DO IT…”
“Good girl…”
He kissed your back, still a little wet from the rain in your hair. He grabbed his fat cock and teasing your entrance with his tip. You tried to wiggle a little but you were remembered what he told you with his hand grabbing a little harder your hip. You stopped when you felt him sliding into you.
It stung a little but it immediately transformed into pleasure. You felt every inches of him, stretching you deliciously.
He grabbed your hips both and began to push harder inside you. “God you are made for me…”
“Bucky…” you were able only to pant and moan his name.
“Yeah… that’s my name… scream it loudly…let everyone hearing it…”
“BUCKY!” You screamed as he pull out and push himself inside hardly.
“So beautiful with that dress on it… wait,” he kept pushing inside you. “Is that my face on your phone?”
You froze while he was still pushing into you. In the rush of adrenaline you completely forgot your phone and his picture.
“Can… explain…” you tried to told him in the middle of your moans.
“God,” he lowered more on you, letting your legs buckled and fell on the bed. He crushed you more as he kept pounding in you. “That’s the hottest thing even… I heard my name from your mouth pretty girl…”
“Bucky… please…”
“Yeah… just like that…”
He grabbed a fist of your hair, pulling yourself up on your not so stable knees. He circled an arm around your waist, then rested his palm on your chest letting you up. Your back pressed more against his chest. His cock kept sliding in and out. He felt clenching your muscles and snacked a hand on your clit. His fingers played with your clit.
“God Bucky… I need to come…”
“Come pretty girl… come on my cock…”
Your body reacted in an aggressive rush of pleasure. He let you fell forward, balancing on your elbows. Your ass pushing more against him as he kept pushing and sliding in you walking you through your orgasm.
“I’m coming sweetie…” he rasped, hands grabbing your hips.
“Inside Bucky. I want it inside.”
He let his head fall behind and grunted as he came. Hot spout in you, that he kept inside with his big cock.
He finally slid out of you, resting his forehead on your back. Once he stood, you stopped him.
“Lay down.”
“What?” He asked you confused.
“Do it.”
He did, and laid down on the bed. You knelt on the bed and turned. Bucky began to understand once you straddled his legs.
You lowered your head near his cock, too close.
“Sweetie… you don’t have to…”
“I want to,” you smiled at him. “I really do.”
You pressed a kiss on his tip as he pushed his head more into the pillow. Grabbing the base of his shaft, you began to bob the head on him. He was very well endowed so you had to really hollowed your mouth. His hips jerked up a little as he felt the tip of his cock in the back of your throat.
His hand immediately flew to you head, grabbing a fist of your hair. He wasn’t controlling you, he was guiding you and you wanted to be guided by him.
Already overstimulated, Bucky came again in a few minutes. You let him come into your mouth, greedily swallowing all of him.
You felt on him, arms opened and chest ready to let you sleep on it.
As your skin touched his, he circled you with his arms and caged you against his warm and sweaty body.
He peppered your head of kisses, it was sweet and kind, totally the opposite of what you both did.
“Why did you avoid me, Bucky?”
“It was easier. You’re too pure to be in this with me…”
“But I want to…”
“No, you don’t,” Bucky slid his hand on your back in a gentle caress. “The first time you saw you run away… I know fear when I see it… but it’s not your fault… I mean…”
“OH MY GOD!” You laughed hard and loud. “YOU REALLY THINK THAT?”
Bucky looked at you as you stood naked in front of him.
“Sweetie it’s normal… I get it…”
“Why the hell would you think that after I let you fuck me?”
“Well-” Bucky stopped.
Now that he was thinking, why letting him in your bed if there’s only fear from your side?
“You don’t tremble because I scare you?”
“Bingo,” you replied sarcastically. You took a look at his sad eyes. “Oh god, Bucky I’m sorry… you must sensing fear from people a lot…”
He nodded sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Well,” you said sitting on his tights and circling his neck with your arm. “I am not scarred of you… and the first time I saw you I run inside because I was horny…”
You looked down, right at his cock, and smirked.
“Horny?”
“Yes horny. Weren’t you horny the first time you saw me?”
“I’m always horny when I look at you…”
You turned, straddling his lap. The warm of your pussy touched his cock, hardening it again. You kissed him deeply and hardly. His tongue fought with yours. You snatched a hand between you, grabbing his half hard cock.
A couple of pumps and it was hard fully again.
Keeping kissing him, you let it slid inside you again.
You didn’t move, he didn’t just grab your hips.
He remained there, his cock protected in your warm and welcoming pussy. His metal hand, a little cold treat with the warm temperature in your room, resting on your back keeping you caged against him.
Kissing Bucky was good, maybe too good.
You rolled your lap a little and he grunted in your mouth. The sound made your nipple hardening even more.
He circled his flesh arm around you now, he pressed it against your hips.
You began to move a little, adjusting the position.
“Don’t move please…” he moaned.
You nodded but clenched your muscles. He moaned more, harder and deeper.
Music for your ears.
You did it again and made him come again.
A couple of pushes from under you as he came, made your orgasm approached too.
Hours later, the storm was already a memory from the past.
You convinced him to take a bath with you.
“How could I fit in there?” He asked you confused.
“We’ll make you fit…” you voluntary smirked in an allusive way.
You did made it fit in the tub.
His back completely against the end of the tub. His long and big legs spread opened. The right one completely out, resting his calf on the edge of the tub.
You sat in the middle of his legs, grazing his cock on more.
“Sweetie, you need to behave…”
“No.”
You laid down, back to his chest.
Your torso completely on him.
You took his arm and circled your collarbone with it.
“Are you sure it’s okay for you, sweetie?”
“More than okay, Bucky.” You said, eyes closed.
His metal fingers grazed your forehead, sliding out of your cheek some wet locks of hair.
“Can I wash your hair?” Bucky asked whispering.
“Of course, Bucky.”
You sat better, feeling already the loss of his chest to your back. You stretched your arm on the other edge of the tub, where some bottles stood there.
“Here,” you said, turning to him slightly. “Here’s the shampoo.”
He took the bottle as it was made of glass, then squeezed out a little amount of shampoo. Lathering between his hands, he makes the foam.
Once his fingers were on your scalp, you moaned.
“God… your so good…”
You heard him taking a deep breath.
“Mmh... Bucky… just like that…”
“Sweetie please…” he fought the urge to pull your head toward him and kissing you.
“I love this.”
“Yeah,” he snorted. “Figured…”
As he washed and rinse your hair, and even untangled them, you turned to him.
“Your turn…”
“What? How…”
“Don’t worry.”
You took the same little amount of shampoo and lathered it too.
You began washing his hair, and then you pulled his head toward your chest.
“Stay there.”
Bucky rested his face on your boobs, the best pillow he could get. They lightly giggled as you move your arm on his head.
He found himself cupping them with his both hands.
“Sorry,”
“Don’t say sorry. Do it again.”
He did.
Light and soft touch. He took care of them as he took care of you before.
His fingertips rolling your nipples making you deep breathes.
Once you rinsed his hair, he kissed your chest.
“I can get used to this, sweetie.”
“You have to get used to it.”
You kissed him, he circled your waist and pulled you against him slouching some water out the tub.
Thinking of the question from Steve about how he preferred living there, well… now he had a real answer.
a/n: okay this is actually happened between my couisin and her husband (a very patient man)
The thing about cravings, pregnancy cravings, is that they’re a mystery even to the person experiencing them. This is why Bucky Barnes, ex-assassin turned cuddle-bear, stood frozen in the kitchen mid-bite of his third Pop-Tart as his very pregnant and hormonal wife stared blankly at the open fridge like it had personally offended her.
“I don’t know what I want, Buck!” You cried, throwing your hands up and nearly knocking over a bowl of oranges in the process. “But whatever it is… it’s not in there and I hate it… and I hate this fridge… and why is this light so bright?”
Bucky blinked slowly, then glanced guiltily at his half-eaten Pop-Tart and tried to hide it behind his back.
“Sweetheart,” he said carefully, in the same voice he once used while disarming a nuclear device, “do you maybe want some... pickles and peanut butter again? Or the chocolate-covered beef jerky thing?”
You turned your gaze on him like an avenging angel with a maternity pillow. “No! That was last week, Bucky. I evolved. That was the larval stage of cravings. I don’t even know what this one is. All I know is I’m hungry and sad and mad and also maybe I could cry over a sock.”
“You did cry over a sock yesterday,” he mumbled under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing!” He said quickly, holding up his hands like he was about to be mugged. “Okay! Right… hungry… not sure what for. Could be anything. Could be... grilled cheese? Watermelon? Honey on pizza?”
“Stop saying food names, it’s making it worse!”
Bucky paused, then asked sincerely. “Do you want me to stop or do you want me to list them alphabetically?”
You made a sound that could only be described as a frustrated grunt-squeal, dramatically flopped onto the couch. “I’m going to die hungry and hormonal and the baby will come out annoyed because I couldn’t figure out what I wanted!” You shouted.
Bucky was sweating now as the Pop-Tart was forgotten. He sprinted to your side like the flat was on fire.
“Could have asked for some Pop-Tart…”
“I hate Pot-Tart… they’re disgusting!” You cried.
“Babe… don’t cry… I’ll go to the store and buy one of everything. I’ll bring back sushi and ice cream and that weird cereal with marshmallows that tastes like regret.”
“I can’t eat raw fish, you idiot!” You snapped, eyes blazing.
He blinked. “Right… raw and dangerous… got it… what about the ice cream? You love that mocha caramel chunk-”
“Ice cream makes me fat, Bucky!” You wailed, hands flying up in distress.
He blinked again, rapidly. “Babe… you’re pregnant. You’re literally supposed to gain weight. That’s part of the-”
“Oh, thank you, Doctor Barnes,” you growled. “Did they teach that in assassin school too? Did they teach you how to ruin your hormonal wife’s last shred of self-esteem while she’s swollen like a balloon and can’t reach her own toes?”
Bucky’s mouth opened.
Then closed but immeditely opened again.
No sound.
Just silent.
“Marshmallows?” He squeaked, desperate now. “Maybe marshmallows? I could make cocoa?”
You recoiled like he’d suggested eating a handful of gravel. “Marshmallows? I could vomit just looking at them right now. Why would you say that? Are you trying to kill me?”
“I’m not! I swear! I’m trying to save you!” He gasped. “Okay. No sushi and no ice cream and no marshmallows and… no joy apparently. Got it. That’s fine. I’ll go to the store. I’ll buy one of everything and we’ll sniff our way to an answer like food detectives.”
“You’d do that for me?” You sniffed, now on the verge of tears.
“I would storm a Hydra base for you, grocery is nothing.”
There was a pause.
“…Actually,” you said thoughtfully, “maybe I want… a pickle… dipped in whipped cream… wrapped in a pancake.”
Bucky blinked.
Then gave a single, solemn nod. “God help me, I’m going to make that happen.”
He kissed your forehead, stood up, and grabbed his car keys.
And as he headed for the door, you called after him. “Also maybe Funyuns! And a tub of cookie dough! And not the fucking off-brand kind this time, Barnes!”
“On it!” He shouted, already gone like a soldier on a mission.
You lay back, cradling your bump and grinning faintly. “I’m so hormonal… but I really married a good one.”
From the hallway, his muffled voice shouted back, “I heard that and I love you too, even if you make me cry once a week during snack hour!”
Damn super soldier senses, you thought.
Twenty-nine minutes later.
That’s how long Bucky had been gone. Not long, really.
Just enough for him to hit the local store, argue with a teenager over the last tub of name brand cookie dough and Google whether whipped cream counts as a dairy product or a “condiment”.
He was now juggling three overstuffed grocery bags, a wild-eyed expression and what looked like a pint of pickles wedged under one arm.
And when he finally kicked open the front door, all heroic and breathless, he was immediately hit with…
Sniffling?
Crying?
Whimpering?
“Y/N?” He called cautiously, kicking the door shut with his foot as he balanced the bags. “Sweetheart, I’m back! I brought, like… everything? Including that nightmare pancake idea? You said syrup optional… I got both. We can build the monstrosity together…”
The only reply was a soft, hiccupping sob from the couch.
Bucky dropped the bags like they were hot and darted over. “Hey… hey… hey what happened? Are you okay? Did the baby do a backflip again? Is it the indigestion thing? Oh my god, did I forget the non-dairy whipped cream?”
You sat curled up in a blanket burrito, red-eyed and nose running, clutching his hoodie to your face like it was a lifeline.
As soon as you saw him, your lip wobbled.
“I missed you,” you whispered in a teary voice that sounded like a Disney princess on the verge of collapse.
Bucky blinked. “I was gone for twenty-nine minutes.”
“It felt like a year,” you wailed, dramatically flopping onto your side. “And I was mean to you and I yelled and I said the Pop-Tart was disgusting and it wasn’t… it was fine… and I love you and I’m so sorry. I cried into your hoodie because it still smells like you!”
He gently perched on the edge of the couch, eyes soft. “You cried into my hoodie?” Bucky snorted and reached over to smooth your hair back, his touch gentle and warm. “I forgive you, doll… only because you’re very cute and very hormonal and carrying my future tiny assassin in there.”
You sniffled and wrapped your arms around his middle, burying your face in his belly. “I was just so sad and I didn’t know why. And then you were gone and I thought… what if you got hit by a car because you were thinking about pancake pickles and now I’m a widow and still hungry?”
Bucky tried very hard not to laugh. “Well… I did almost get hit in the parking lot. But it was because I dropped the whipped cream and chased it into traffic.”
You looked up at him, appalled. “Bucky Barnes!”
“What? I thought it was the fancy kind! You don’t disrespect fancy whipped cream.”
You blinked at him for a moment… then burst into laughter through your tears. It was the sort of laugh that turned into more sobbing halfway through, but Bucky just held you tighter and let you do both all over his shirt.
Once you’d calmed down, and maybe blown your nose a little too aggressively into his sleeve, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
“Okay… here’s the plan. I’ll make you the pickle pancake horror food,”
“With whipped cream,” you murmured against his chest.
“Obviously. I am a man of taste.”
“...And a tub of cookie dough?”
“The real stuff, babe. I tackled a guy for it.”
You looked up with teary eyes. “You tackled someone for me?”
“I lightly bumped him with the cart.”
You clutched his face and kissed his cheek like he’d just saved the planet. “You’re my hero.”
“I try,” he said dramatically, pulling the blanket tighter around you both. “Now… are you going to help me cook the Frankenstein meal or just cry while I assemble it?”
“I’ll probably cry,” you admitted, already tearing up again. “But I’ll cheer you on.”
“Deal.”
And with that, James Buchanan Barnes shuffled into the kitchen like a very tired raccoon in love, muttering to himself about pancake ratios and whether or not syrup counted as a hate crime in this context.
You smiled softly, hands on your belly.
The baby was probably wondering why it felt like a reality show in there, but it was home.
And it was full of love.
And whipped cream.
And maybe, just maybe… a slightly too charred pickle pancake.
Ten minutes later.
The kitchen looked like a cooking show hosted by a sleep deprived raccoon and filmed during a windstorm.
Bucky stood at the stove, frowning at a frying pan like it had personally betrayed him. He was still in his jeans, now wearing a dish towel over his shoulder like a professional chef or a dad from a 90s sitcom who just burned dinner.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, flipping the pancake with the concentration of someone disarming a bomb. “One warm and golden pancake.”
He glanced at the counter, where a line-up of very questionable ingredients waited.
Pickles? Check.
Whipped cream? Check.
Syrup? Optional, but included for the brave.
You? Sitting at the kitchen island with a pillow under your bump, watching him like he was cooking the final meal before his execution.
“I just want to say,” Bucky said slowly, “…this is an act of love. If I die tonight, tell Steve I went out honorably.”
You sniffed, hand on your belly. “If this goes wrong, I’m blaming you. I never should’ve said the word pancake. That’s where it all started.”
He gently placed the pancake on a plate and added a generous squirt of whipped cream then, holding his breath,rested on it a big and sour pickle. Then, like a final insult to logic, he drizzled maple syrup across the top.
You blinked. “Bucky. That looks like a war crime.”
“I know.” He turned, holding the plate solemnly like it was a cursed artifact. “I’m going to eat it with you.”
Your eyes widened. “You don’t have to-”
“No, I do.” He sliced the monstrosity in half, handed you the less-drenched side, and picked up a fork like it was a weapon.
You both stared at the halves.
Silence.
“I’m scared,” you whispered.
“Me too,” he whispered back.
Together, in synchronized doom, you each took a bite.
You chewed.
He chewed.
You blinked.
He blinked.
The baby did a single slow kick as if to say “what fresh hell is this?”
“…So?” Bucky asked, eyes glassy.
“It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever had.” You admitted, mouth full. “It’s kinda… weirdly satisfying?”
Bucky looked like he’d seen another plane of existence. “I think my tongue just had a panic attack.”
You smiled softly and took another bite. “It’s crunchy and sweet and gross but like… fine?.”
“Like me,” Bucky said with a proud shrug.
You swallowed, then leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re the best husband ever… forced to eat cursed food.”
He wiped imaginary tears from his eyes. “I take that as the highest compliment.”
Despite the messy pancake and the impending digestive regret, the two of you sat there sharing abominable bites holding hands across the table and laughing every time he gagged a little but kept eating anyway.
When you’re in love, sometimes the most romantic thing someone can do is eat a whipped cream wrapped pickle pancake without blinking.
Hi uhm, I don't want to bother you. I already read your fics because I recently found you and I adore your writing ☺️
Uhm I just don't want to come off as rude, I just noticed that when I tap on your link to your masterlist (I'm on my phone and using the app, sorry) it shows me the web version, sorry for interrupting 🥺🙈
I hope you're having a nice day ❤️
Hiiii, you don't bother don't worry! And thank you for reading my ficss ☺️☺️☺️
Honestly this used to be a problem for me when i read other fics from other blogs but i thought it was normal... so i'm sorry it happened and if someone can explain me how to resolve at this point it would be amazing ☺️
i’ve been seeing a lot of great freak circus ocs , & i was very interested in @da-kota ‘s oc , Vincent
i wanted to do a piece centering on his act , fire tricks i think
