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@itsnotbird
Eve’s Master List -_-_-_-
Bucky Barnes File
Rules; I do post more than 18+ content, but minors should not be welcome on my page. I will label my 18+ works as 18+.
Requests are open, I will not tolerate any asks that are for the following.
• Non-Con
• Involving children in any way
• Serious illnesses like cancer
• Nothing that is just plain icky
Ghosting
Post!Hydra Dark! Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
‘I’ve been ghosting…I’ve been ghosting along, ghost in your house, ghost in your arms.’
Summary: Maybe his tendencies are odd, but maybe the two of you are just meant to be? He doesn’t want to be the ghost that looms around, but what choice does he have?
Warnings: Stalking, dark themes, 18+ content, not intended for minors! Reader gets harassed in the beginning, Bucky is…he’s a little crazy but he means well. Isn’t he so dreamy? Trust the process here.
A/n: I had this idea and I’m going to poorly execute it! Not cannon whatsoever, post Hydra/Winter soldier Bucky but…old habits die hard.
“You want to come back to my place?”
You scrunched your nose. “That’s um…that’s a kind offer, Connor, but I’m kinda tired.” You politely say as you leave the restaurant.
It’s a bold offer for him to make after a first date- a lousy first date. He made you pay half the bill, made subtle comments about your choice of outfit, talked about himself the entire time. Now, he has the audacity to ask for a lousy hook up.
He looks at you with a confused smile. “No? Oh…okay.”
“I don’t know if you were…expecting something but…I just don’t think we’re the best match.” You say honestly.
He scoffs like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Okay, wow, um…I was trying to be nice because you’re clearly desperate-”
“Desperate?” You choke out a dry laugh.
“-but hey, go ahead and be a tease, that’s fine.”
“What?” You squint, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”
“Yeah, it probably doesn’t take much.” He says with a serious look.
“Wow, what a wasted night.” You say to yourself.
“Yeah tell me about it, you sat there going on and on about your parents and I’m not even going to get head? Hey, newsflash! Your parents are probably just disappointed they have a screw up of a daughter. Seriously, you’re so fucking boring.”
You huff in disbelief, not able to wrap your head around how mean his words are.
“I’m gonna go.” You say. “I hope you can find a decent personality.”
As you turn, walking back in the direction of your apartment, he shouts a few choice words in your direction. You only wrap your coat around you tighter.
Though you hate it, tears burn your eyes. Silently crying in the dark, you place a call to your best friend.
“Hey! How was the date?” She asks in a cheery tone.
Immediately you sniffle. “Pretty bad.”
Your soft sobs echo off of brick walls, all the way up to Bucky sitting on the roof of the building you pass. The sound is enticing, causing him to look over the edge at your figure.
Somehow, he knows that he should just stay where he is, it’s really something he doesn’t need to get involved with.
But…he finds himself hopping over to the next roof, following you. It’s like he’s enticed to do it. Part of him - the small part that’s still sane- recognizes how crazy and creepy he’s being.
The much larger part of him doesn’t give a fuck.
Rooftop to rooftop, he’s like your shadow, listening to your conversation, watching the surroundings around you to make sure you don’t get hurt. He aches for you, utterly displeased that you are upset. Which is a crazy idea because he knows nothing about you.
Well, not for long.
See, it’s like the universe is on his side. Because though he’s not trying to keep track of you, you’re constantly crossing his path. Over the next week, he quickly learns your schedule. He learns that you leave your apartment building at 8am to go to work at the overpriced coffee shop down the street, you usually get off at 3pm. Then your night plans alternate, one night you go to a college class, the other you go to a friend’s house where you don’t come back until very late.
You grocery shop at a Whole Foods, you don’t shop for yourself, you like music, you play the guitar. He watches you open your apartment window and sit on the sill, smoking a cigarette once in a while and that’s how he knows you’re stressed.
At first, he ran into you purely by chance.
But it became almost too easy to pin you down when you lived the same, boring life.
On the coming Saturday, you go on another date. He doesn’t know this until you and the man come into the bar he’s in.
You look gorgeous, like always. You seemed to have this classic elegance about you, and this guy…well, he’s wearing brown shoes and black trousers so there’s no hope.
He tries not to stare, but you laugh so beautifully and your smile is sparkling, then he’s angry because this fool is making you laugh and smile.
You have much hope for this guy, Noah is his name. He’s sweet, he’s funny, he…is so insanely boring.
But you push past it and claim that everyone is a little off on first dates. He pays for your drinks and offers to call you a cab home. What you don’t expect is for the way he grips you sharply in the alleyway of the bar, kissing you heatedly. You awkwardly laugh and try to tell him this wasn’t really your style, but he’s rather persistent.
You feel stupid. Did you give him the wrong signs? He was so good the entire night and this is how it has to end?
“Noah, wait. Wait, stop.” You say, trying push his hands off of you.
“You’re really gorgeous.” He huffs, pulling the strap of your dress down so he can suck on your shoulder.
“I- thank you but really, I don’t want you to do this.” You struggle again, only to be pushed back harder against the brick. Your head hits it and pain blooms in your skull.
“No, it’s okay.” He claims, holding your hands down.
You begin to panic, frozen in fear as you start begging him to let you go.
“Hey.” A voice suddenly says.
You look over at the man who has a very scary look in his eye.
“I think the lady wants you to stop.” He says.
Noah rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”
Bucky looks at your quivering lip and determines that he can’t do that.
So he sighs, then calmly comes to grip Noah’s shoulder and rips him away from you. He stumbles back, aiming to throw a punch before Bucky stops his fist and punches him in the face, hard enough that he falls to the ground.
You gasp, fixing yourself and quickly wiping your face. The stranger turns to you, eyes searching you.
“Are you hurt?” Bucky asks.
“No. Thank you.”
He nods, then motions to the street. “I’ll get you a cab home.”
You aren’t completely sure what to do, it was all so strange. Looking back to Noah on the ground, you quickly get away from him, trusting this stranger more than anything now.
He does exactly what he says and hails you a cab, watches you get in and shuts the door behind you.
There are no other words spoken.
You drive away and that’s where it’s left.
Or so you think.
In all actuality, that little interaction has been fueling his growing obsession. He’s paying closer attention, in every shadow, you could find him there. But you never do.
From the fire escape, he sometimes- lots of times- he sits when he can’t sleep. He sits on the ledge, concealed in darkness, and silently observes you. Bucky determines that you were strategically placed in his life, you had to be.
The universe was never on his side, so why was he being rewarded now? If he didn’t understand it, it’s because his brain is still trying to connect wires back together. Oh but it does make sense, you’re this shining star, you’re the lark bird with a broken wing and who is he? He’s the man to help.
He recognizes the look in your eye, the gaze that searches for salvation in every person, he knows desperation because it’s been under his mask for years. He could be your savior.
He is.
No, no he won’t force anything. You’ll have to ask, admit that you strive for something other than the cards you have been dealt. But you couldn’t do that if you keep ignoring your ghost.
He’ll pull the sheet off of his head, that’s what he’ll do. He’ll strategically plan the way your paths will cross again, like any good soldier does, and it’s going to open that shut door. He won’t have to look for an open window anymore, physically or metaphorically.
Saturday night. You’re dressed up. You leave your flat in heels and a backless dress. You should really put on a coat, that shall around your shoulders won’t keep the chilly air away.
He watches from the adjacent roof top, he makes sure you get in your cab alright.
He knows you’re going to your best friend’s birthday night out at the city’s newest jazz club, a very elegant place, he’s heard you discussing it with her for weeks.
That’s where he’ll be.
Dressed the part in a suit he’s lifted from the dry cleaners, he’ll lurk around the bar, hide within the crowd, stay far away from the dance floor.
Nostalgia seems to make him feel a little sick, the music, the theme, everything seems to be reconnecting him to the boy he was before.
James Buchanan Barnes. That’s who he needs to be now. Charming and all smiles and smooth talking, he could do, can’t he?
Irritation bites at his nerves when opportunity doesn’t present itself for a while. You seem glued to your star-of-the-show best friend. He admires your loyalty, your blind adoration for a woman who tends to brush you off often for much more interesting people.
How dare she? If you were stitched to his side, he’d never make you feel pushed out, he’d give you his attention, he’d make sure you knew you were the most important thing in the room.
He’s bitter now.
He needs a drink. The idea of it soothes more than the alcohol does, given the fact he could drink three entire bottles before feeling something. That’s a painful disadvantage of the serum in his blood, he couldn’t even effortlessly get drunk to forget his troubles.
At the bar, he orders whiskey neat and pushes his hair back in a huff.
“Hi, could I get another glass of champagne?”
There it was, that voice that’s better than every song being played here.
You stand beside him, smiling at the bartender.
“Actually.” You change your mind. “A Martini, please. No- just a double Tito’s with three olives. Please.”
The barman chuckles at your request and begins to make it for you.
You’re here, all elegant in your green silk dress that compliments your eyes, smelling like your nice perfume, the one you spray on your wrists and behind your ear. Suddenly, Bucky is at a loss of words.
He’s waited around all night and you’re finally here.
You sigh in dissatisfaction, it’s a noise he never ever wants to hear from you ever again.
“Thank you.” You thank the barman again as he slides your drink to you.
Bucky watches you take a sip, he envies the martini glass for the way your lips wrap around the rim. Your eyes shut as you taste the alcohol, dark lashes flutter together and you look just like a doll.
“Rough night?” He questions.
You face him, an excuse on your lips but you pause when you recognize him.
“No, no my evening has been fine. I’m sorry, you look so familiar. Have we met?”
He thinks it’s cute the way you pretend you don’t remember him.
“Briefly, I believe. Outside of the-”
“Outside that bar. Right. You…helped me.” You state, obviously feeling a little embarrassed even though he isn’t sure why you would be.
“That guy was a dick, don’t worry about it.” He says, drawing your eyes back to him.
“Thank you…most people would’ve just kept walking.” You say, genuine tone, vulnerable face.
“Most people suck.”
You laugh, and it’s the best sound he’s known. He smiles, watching you tuck away a strand of hair that has fallen from your updo.
You introduce yourself now, giving him your name to hold, not like a secret.
“I’m James.” He says.
“James.”
His name has belonged on your lips for over a hundred years.
“I like that name.” You determine, sipping on your drink. “What brings you here tonight, James?”
He’s quick to think on his feet.
“A failed double date.”
You give him a questioning look.
“How was it failed? She wasn’t a damsel in distress?” You joke, and he smiles at your smile.
“No, she left with another man. Honestly, it’s fine, I wasn’t interested in her.” He lies, adoring the pout you gain on his behalf.
“That’s a shame, you seem like great company, James.”
He hasn’t been told that for as long as he can remember, well, he can’t remember much, actually. But he does know that he loves getting to know you face to face, not just learning from a distance. There would never be a distance again, he knows this, feels it in the way you accidentally touch his arm as you laugh in conversation.
You feel as if you’ve known him for ages, you haven’t but he sure knows you.
“Why look so drab if you’re celebrating your best friend’s birthday?” He asks, watching you toy with your empty glass before the bartender takes it away.
A sigh leaves your perfect lips. “I’m happy, of course I am…I just, well, sometimes I get looked over. It’s fine, it’s not my night, it’s hers…but somehow it happens very often when her and I go out. I suppose it’s just easy for people to forget I’m around, especially her when she has so many people’s attention.”
He shakes his head, you might as well have confessed to a crime. Those words shouldn’t have left your mouth.
“You’re not easy to forget.” Bucky tells you, his clear, blue, eyes heavy in yours. “In my opinion, you’re much more memorable and-and admirable than her.”
He hasn’t spoken this much in forever, he’s surprised he remembers words as big.
You blush at his compliment. “Really?”
“Really.” He coos. “Girls like her are a dime a dozen, but not you. I could tell from the moment I saw you, you have something far more interesting than her.”
You selfishly let his words flatter you for a moment.
“She’s my best friend since high school, she’s really been there for me so for that I am grateful but…well, she has a tendency to make me a sidekick. I don’t like being Robin.” You laugh.
Bucky pretends he knows who you’re talking about.
“You deserve to be the hero.” He chimes.
You giggle. “I am no Captain America.”
That has him at a loss for words.
You don’t notice though. You look over to the stage, the band plays a slow throwback, a smooth jazz song.
The alcohol bas mostly calmed your nerves, and the way your best friend has yet to notice your absence, has you making an offer you’d never make.
“Are you a fan of Frank Sinatra, James?” You ask.
“Never heard of him.” He jokes, definitely finding it far more amusing than you do.
“Do you dance?” You question now, boldly taking his hand.
You haven’t figured out the deal with the gloves he wears yet, but you don’t ask in fear you’ll offend him.
And though he said he’d stay far from the dance floor, he’s blindly guiding you to the space where the others sway, it’s like he’s enchanted by the low lighting on your skin, or the way you’re so willing to let him in. He’s not even sure he remembers how to dance, but he falls right into the rhythm like it’s always been with him.
Gentle, he’s oh so gentle with you, you have no clue how much he’s thinking about the touch he’s giving you.
It’s you who gets flirty, hand sliding over his shoulder to gently hold the back of his neck, you gently press into his rather broad frame.
You can see the way your best friend’s eyes finally find you, and she’s immediately curious.
You’re immediately frightened.
She’s going to want him, she’s always had the same taste as you.
You let out a shaky breath and look away.
“What’s wrong?” He immediately asks in a protective tone as he feels you go rigid in his hands. His defense is up, he looks around the room for a threat.
“Nothing, sorry. I’m sorry, I’m okay.” You let out a soft laugh, laying your head on his chest.
The action immediately distracts him.
Here you were, falling right into him like you were meant to, his perfect girl.
He tucks that loose hair behind your ear, he lets his fingers gently trace down your spine until he comes back to hold your waist.
“Your heart’s beating pretty fast.” He says close to you, not thinking about the possibility of you asking just how he could tell.
“I’m trying not to step on your shoes.” Is all you say with a fleeting giggle.
As the song closes, you’re in some sort of dream land. It’s not the alcohol, even if it was a strong drink, it’s all him.
That elated feeling continues as he pulls you away from the crowd, and it dissipates right when your best friend finds you.
“There you are!” She smiles at you. “I see you’ve made a friend.”
You should just go home.
“This is James.” You say, watching them greet each other.
“It’s my birthday, James.” She tells him in her tipsy tone.
He looks at her birthday sash and nods. “I can see that. Happy birthday.”
“Thank you. You can give me a gift later if you want.”
You should really just go home and put on your sweats and a movie.
But then you feel his hand on the small of your back.
“We’re actually going for a stroll.” He says, because what else is he to say? That your friend’s actions aren’t attractive? How she comes on far too strong in the worst way? Perhaps he’s only in this mindset because he can see the way your face fell when she posed a threat.
She’s no threat, sweet girl. No one is a threat to you, ever, not now that I’m here.
He says it with his eyes as you look up at him in question. The gentle nod he offers has you easing. A stroll sounds nice.
You find yourself agreeing? How is it so easy to agree and tell your friend good night? It’s as easy as your hand around his- large- bicep as the two of you walk the glimmering night streets of the city.
He makes you feel so…secure. Maybe this is how girls get kidnapped and turn up dead in alleyways, but you feel the need to trust him with your life.
You feel the need to grow obsessive over every word and touch he gives you.
Maybe that’s how you end up showing him your apartment. He acts like he’s never seen it before.
And he has not one intention on things going further- well, maybe just one. But he’s a perfect gentleman, drinking the coffee you make him, complimenting your music collection, asking about the instrument in the corner.
It’s all you who gets closer.
And as your lips touch, you can’t help but think this is insane.
You should pull away, but then he grips your waist and deepens the kiss and you completely lose your mind.
He’s a stranger in your home, on your lips.
But is he really?
“I’m sorry.” You immediately say when he pulls back and turns his head away. “I-I don’t do this, a lot of girls say that, but I really don’t do this.”
He knows you don’t, and the fact that you’re doing it with him has him trying to control himself.
“I’m sorry.”
You apologize too much. He’s going to have to fix that.
“No, no.” He says, looking back down at you. “Don’t. It’s me, not you.”
“I’ve heard that before.” You laugh awkwardly, anxiously.
His hand comes to your cheek. “Hey, no it really is me. You’re perfect, I…am not.”
Your brows droop together. “You seem pretty perfect to me…I’m pretty sure I like you. Is that crazy?”
How sweet, how innocent.
He struggles with his emotion like he always does, too confused to put things into words, and the confusion turns into irritation and soon he’s huffing and drawing both hands to your face, like it will help.
“Not crazy.” He says. “I like you too, I’m certain of it…but I am not perfect, do you understand?”
He’s a magician, or he’s drugged you. James speaks assertively and it’s like you’re in a daze, just nodding along.
He sees that spark in your eye, in that moment his suspicions are confirmed. He’s watched you strike out on dates because you try with men who don’t understand what you need. Only he knows, only he knows you want someone to comfort and lead you. That’s how he gets you to do as he asks, which all just consists of changing out of that damn gorgeous dress and relaxing on your sofa with him. But in the long run, he knows you’ll follow with your blind loyalty and never forsake him.
He doesn’t let you be nervous, thinking he’s expecting something from you. He sits and lets you decide how close you want to be next to him, and that’s because Bucky is confident you’ll be following right along in his plan without his assistance.
You sit about five inches away from him, knees curled to your chest in your flannel pants and you bunch your sweater sleeves around your hands. When it’s supposed to be a two way conversation, you hardly notice how he lets you do all the talking.
That’s because he isn’t sure how to go about explaining things to you yet, he has to wait for the moment he’s confident you’re all in on this.
“It’s weird, I feel so comfortable around you…like I already know your presence.”
You do, you just don’t know that.
Bucky hums, then is immensely pleased with the way you draw yourself closer.
“Sometimes people are just like that. Familiar.” He says, slightly stiff as you turn to lean into his shoulder.
“I’m glad you seem familiar, James.”
That’s a statement echoing in his haunted mind, bouncing off walls as he carries you to bed and tucks you in after you fall asleep against him, it’s with him in the following days when he shows up in your life again after you had the fear you were never going to see him. You woke up and he was gone, no note, no number to call and you cried and felt pathetic and yet, here he is now.
Bucky is waiting outside the coffee shop as you come out after your shift, he looms in such a way you almost don’t see him.
“James.” You say in surprise, heart beating a little faster at the abrupt introduction of him. “Hi, I-I didn’t- were you waiting for me? Meeting someone?”
Bucky smiles at your nervousness. “I was waiting for you.”
Interactions like this become common. Before you realize it, you’re getting to know someone who has you memorized perfectly. There’s no concern on how to reach him, because he always manages to find you, he’s always there when you need him. And weeks pass and Bucky wants to hear you say his name a thousand times over, his obsession grows and you know it.
The best part? You don’t mind it. Sure, it’s an adjustment, your whole life has been a constant fight for attention. So when he’s here, physically ignoring people when you’re near him, your first reaction is to think it won’t last.
He assures you through his actions that he is here to stay, because when he wants something, he takes it.
You could classify this as dating, wouldn’t you? Those nights he takes you away to places where it’s just the two of you, those are dates in your mind. To Bucky? There what life is meant to be like forever.
A month after the meeting in the bar, you’re sitting in your lounge chair, murmuring about how much you hate your job and the fact that you can’t seem to get a better one, it’s a conversation Bucky hears often. And somewhere from the moment you’re draped over his lap and his hand nudges your chin up when you get blue, you sigh.
“You never touch me.” You say, large eyes blinking at him.
Bucky grows confused. “That’s not true.” He states.
Your head rests against his collar bone, face almost nuzzles into his neck and you reach for his hand.
“I don’t know the feeling of your skin.”
It’s in this moment that he knows you’re ready for the truth, as much of it as you can handle.
When you started to fall for James, you knew he was different, had a different energy about him. Never in a million years did you expect him to start explaining a story so dark and horrid, and it’s only the version he alters for you, not having it in him to taint your perfect mind with the entire nightmare.
He talks more than you’ve ever heard him talk, for thirty two minutes you sit in his lap with wide eyes and a pale expression, trying to wrap your head around it. You have about a hundred and one questions and can’t fully form any, you wait until he finishes, then he looks at you with something so humble and vulnerable.
“…What?” You breathe. “What!?”
You’re off of his lap, pushing the sleeves of your shirt up and starting a pace while you try to process the information. He sits there, watching you, letting you get through the shock.
“James- you know that sounds crazy, right? Metal arm, wanted by the government, over a hundred years old- crazy.”
You continue to mutter and work through the sheer fear of ‘oh God what did you just get yourself into?’, then after about eight and a half minutes, you settle.
Just like he knew you would. Because that’s the kind of woman you are, able to think things through from an alternate perspective.
You stand before him, hair tucked behind your ears and you breathe.
“I want to see.” You state, sure of it.
“Why?” He questions.
“I might not believe you otherwise.”
You believe him, of course you do, this is something that could only happen to you. The more you think about it, this story explains things. Like the way he always hold you with his right hand, how he goes rigid at the mention of things that could be triggering for him and you had no clue.
Bucky processes it, then stands.
A glove comes off, a perfectly normal, large, right hand is under it.
Then, the other.
You blink, staring at the metal that has been revealed, shiny and silver.
He swallows hard, then pulls at the hem of the henley shirt he wears. It lands on the floor and you don’t move, just let your eyes explore the new discovery. Up his right arm, toned bicep, broad shouldered, expanding chest, down his stomach and back up and then…
His head turns, he looks away when you see it, the scarred skin of his left shoulder. It’s jarred, metal meets flesh and you can’t look away.
Maybe you should be repulsed, but you aren’t. You step forward, hand raised and he flinches slightly.
“Can I? I-I’ll be gentle.” You whisper.
If you were not made just for him, you would have left already, screamed perhaps, anything but let your fingertips graze his skin with no anger or malice behind it.
He continues to look away while you explore, and even though you’re filled with curiosity, a sour feeling stirs in your stomach at the thought someone did this to him.
“What is it?” You ask, your index running down the metal, watching it flex almost human like.
“Vibranium.” He says, tone bare.
“This is like…Stark technology stuff.” You gasp, watching his fingers flex.
He lets out a shaky breath at the Stark name, you make a mental note to not speak of it again.
Your hand skims the expanse of his chest, firm, tense. Had you truly not realized just how huge he is? Down his flesh arm, fingers follow valleys of muscle until they slip right into his. His hand is warm and entirely engulfing yours.
The other, it holds the back of his neck, lost in his hair, forcing him to look down at you, just in time for you to lean up and kiss him slowly.
You’re okay with it, all of it.
Perhaps you’re secretly just as crazy as he is?
With your hand in his, he has no choice but to grab your waist with the thing he viewed as a weapon. You do not hurt, he does not maim you like he has feared, you draw closer to his body and show him kindness and comfort.
There was no going back now, you couldn’t reject him now. Not when you’re shifting your head to allow him to deepen the kiss. The sky outside could be falling and you’d still be here, barefoot in your living room, tip toed to reach him. His hand leaves yours to cup your jaw, fingers flexed into skin like he could sink claws in.
Your hot. It’s a heat that blooms inside out and you find your hand twisting in hair and the other drawing his hips closer. Perhaps your actions shouldn’t come like this after he explained how tortured he is, but he does not stop you. In fact, it’s Bucky that nips at your lip, drawing you away in shock.
“You bit me.” You state, shocked.
“Sorry.” He says deeply.
Licking your lower lip, you shake your head. “No, it’s fine.”
That had to be it, that connection he felt, it’s because you could handle insanity.
Huffing against his lips, you breathe, open mouthed into his. “Is the serum a real thing?” You question before his tongue slips to yours.
Without a word, he’s gripping your sides and pulling you up, feet dangle before your thighs trap his waist, just one arm holding you there.
Okay. Serum’s real.
It’s hot mouths on each other until you tell him to take you to your bedroom.
“Listen to me.” He says as he sits you on the bed. “Don’t give me this just because you think it’s what I want.”
Immediately you shake your head. “No, no, I want this.”
He strokes your hair. “Think this through, there’s no going back after this, okay? You’ll be tied to me, you’ll be guilty by association, if you have me this once, I’ll want to keep coming back.”
Your heart hammers inside your chest, knees press together and your lips hang apart.
“You won’t have to keep coming back if you stay.” You say, reaching out to grip the top of his jeans. “I want it all.”
Psychotic, absolutely psychotic for speaking the words you speak and mean it so deeply. How could you say such things and still look like an angel? And how could you make him feel the way he does when you do nothing at all?
Bucky’s drunk, he’s gone, he doesn’t even know if it’s him or yet another alter ego that is enjoying all of this. But he’s undressing you and feeling every single valley and curve and soft spot. His lips are everywhere, pressed to your bare skin as you trust him with the most vulnerable parts of yourself. He’s kind to you, bringing you to a point where he knows you’re going to be relaxed enough for it. It’s his fingers that draw it out, they’re warming you up, causing your head to tilt back in ecstasy.
It courses in his blood, the rush he gets from watching you twitch and moan.
There’s stars that dance across your vision, they linger and burn, especially when you start to come down from the high you haven’t felt in awhile and he’s kissing your chest while lined up to your entrance.
“You can tell me no.” He offers one last time, but you shake your head fiercely.
“I want it.” You say, hand in his hair. “Do you?”
Does he? What a silly question for you to ask. He wants your everything, he wants to lay his claim and make you belong to with him. He wants to know you inside and out, wants to feel the way you’ll shudder and cry when he pushes you off the precipice.
“Yes.” He whispers, heavy eye contact as he stares down at you. “I want this. I want you.”
Your free hand comes to gently clutch the dog tags that hang from his neck, and you’re slightly breathless as you drag him down to your lips.
“You have me, you have me.”
Those pesky wires in his brain? The ones that are half connected? Well, they’re short circuiting. Maybe the wrong ones connect, because the level of possession he feels now isn’t one he thinks is normal. As the asset, he wasn’t allowed to possess anything, he was the possession…and before? Before the war and the snowy day in Austria and everything, he was sure he didn’t feel this way.
This is new, this is entirely because of you.
One hand braced at your head, the other grips the underside of your knee, keeping it far from the other and he pushes into you, maybe too fast.
The gasp that escapes your lungs is sharp and long, your eyes squeeze shut and he mirrors your drawn brows.
“I know, I know.” He comforts. “Breathe. There you go, just like that, my girl.”
His girl.
Toes are curled into the sheets. Maybe it’s because you haven’t done this in a while, or maybe because he’s so…big. You hide in his neck, chest heaving, fingers gripping his hair in hopes of relieving the pressure.
“Am I hurting you?” He asks, trying to get you to look at him.
“I just- ah, I need a second. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing for things.” He grunts in your ear. “We could stay like this for an hour, if that’s what you need.”
With the slight adjustment of your hips under him, you breathe out. “I-I’m okay, please, do something.”
Your normally soft voice has gained an octave, it’s bordering a whine, pinched and breathless and oh so desperate. And just like that, he slowly drags out and back in and it’s the best feeling he has ever known, better than the relief that comes after the electric shock stops.
He’s courteous, he’s gentle and slow and it’s soothing to the burn between your legs, all the way up until you get comfortable and needy for more.
Holding his jaw, you kiss him deeper, with no concern for how messy it is.
“More, please.” You say into his open mouth.
“So polite.” He teases, moving a hand up to your hip.
You choke on your inhale as he quickens his pace, driving into you in such a vulgar way, you’re threatening to arch off the mattress. But he holds you down and you take it, you take it as well as he knew you would, with nails digging into his back.
“Oh- like this. Ah, James, it’s so good.” You say, slack jawed and whiney.
You sound perfect, because you sound like this just for him. He has to grunt with a face of contortion.
“It’s because you take it so well, such a good girl.”
You blush violently at the moan that you let out, and from the way you flutter around him, he has a feeling you like the name you don’t get called often.
He might not 100% remember doing things like this, but he figures it out perfectly, encouraging you to tell him what you want and how you want it. But you’re so shy. He’s practically buried in your cervix, and you’re acting shy.
He laughs at you.
“You’re too sweet.” Is what he comments before making it his mission to figure out what it is exactly that you want.
That unserious and unspoken thought that you had to be a little crazy in order for you to be so perfect, it might just be true. Because Bucky sits back on his knees and grabs your hips, pulling them up to match the way he thrusts deeply into you, and you love it.
You love it so much, you curse and he gains a look of surprise.
His angel girl is writhing and cursing.
“Fuck, I think you’re in my stomach.” You laugh, you laugh. He’s fucking you in a way soft lovers would cringe at, and you’re laughing with pleasure.
You’re perfect.
Bucky doesn’t even know if he’s fully conscious anymore, he has to be, right? It’s not guaranteed with the haze in his head and the film over his eyes and the voice that whispers over and over.
Take, take, take. It says.
брать, брать, брать.
It sounds good in both languages.
Almost as good as the sound of you practically shouting praise. Maybe it’s intense for the first time, but nothing about this relationship was going to be subtle and calm.
You don’t want it to be.
That knot forms in your stomach, it shoots heat everywhere, your heart beats so loud you’re convinced he can hear it. Your back will ache from the way it’s arched, but it all feels too good to be a concern.
“I’m getting close.” You cry, legs shaking around him, hand over your mouth.
He leans back over you and takes the hand away, caging it to the pillow, under his.
“I want to hear you. I want to hear the noise you make when you come for me.” He tells you, hot breath mixing with yours.
You nod, wide eyes, aimed to please.
Bucky’s fingers curl with yours and that’s how he keeps your hand while the your other is damaging the skin of his back. He is no stranger to pain, and the fact you don’t mean to inflict it has his lips on your throat. His teeth graze the skin, like he’s the wolf ready to rip it apart. When he does bite the skin and you jolt at the feeling, you can only assume it’s a tic that he comes with.
His tongue presses to ease any discomfort, and hips are heavy into yours as he drives you to the point of breaking apart.
It’s high pitched and sob like, how you cry and tense against him. That hand squeezes his to ground yourself, and your head tips back, pressed into the pillow, and you lose it.
He watches in amazement and that voice is so pleased.
Mine, mine, mine.
It all pushes him overboard.
He does his best to work you through it, then he’s pulling out too fast and fisting himself to finish the job, painting across your stomach and he can’t look away.
You mourn the loss of contact, but far too overwhelmed to do anything about it. You look at him with blurry eyes, hot tears have leaked into your hair and he’s looking at the way his spend lays across your skin.
Then, deep blue eyes flick back up to yours and he’s….proud.
“You with me?” He asks in a husky tone.
You nod with a heavy head.
That’s when he finally lets go of your hand, moving to rub your cheek before he grips your jaw. Not tight, nothing to hurt you, but he grips it and your swollen lips part.
“It’s you and me now. You’re mine, do you understand?”
You shouldn’t love the sound of that but you do. So you nod, eyes heavy, skin aflame. He wipes tears, kissing you sweet and like he’s following orders, he cleans you up wordlessly.
Later, he’ll watch you sleep because you can’t fight it anymore, and he’ll know that feeling in his chest has settled. He’s a ghost with a home now, he’ll stay because you invited him in.
i just finished reading your bucky story and hellooo??? ho is you magical??? i love it so much i cant its sending me back to my marvel/bucky/sebastian stan era
You’re a doll, thank you 🤍
Here’s the big news about the Orphic series!
I am taking a pause to focus more on one shot stories, and then I’ll seriously sit down and reevaluate the chapters posted because I feel they are kind of choppy and messy? Just me? Idk, I am just not happy with the series and I NEVER want to put out anything I am not satisfied with.
BUT, stick around, I have a lot more stories planned!
Thank you to everyone who shows support!
Xo, Eve
On the Run
Civil War! Bucky x Fem! Reader
Non-canon imagine
Warnings: Language, acts of violence, mentions of Winter Soldier Bucky.
Summary: Your domestic life was good with Bucky, that’s because the two of you were skilled in knowing when it was time to move on. Now, Steve Rogers is here to ‘save the day’, and it isn’t what you two needed.
You used lay awake for hours on end at night, staring at the ceiling, listening to any faint noises in the distance.
That was different now.
Your body knew rest, it knew a sense of comfort. Though it took you awhile to achieve it, and though it wasn’t perfect, the peace was all you needed.
Well, peace and him by your side.
The mattress wasn’t necessarily something to rave about, it was small and springy, but it was a bed and it was suitable. The sheets weren’t pillow soft, but none of those small things mattered when you’re twisted together with a man who made you feel secure no matter what.
You wake to the sun shining in from the kitchen window and the sound of the street of Bucharest outside. Eyes opening, you’re face to face with the picture in front of you. He’s painted golden by the sunlight, face relaxed. No night terrors came for neither you nor him so rest was the only thing in the air.
Hair falling across his forehead, you reach to push it back, then trace the bridge of his nose with the tip of your finger. You gently smile, your teeth sink into your bottom lip.
“James.” You whisper, trying to softly stir him. “Bucky, the sun’s up.”
You’ve learned that there has to be a gentle approach to how you wake him, anything too hasty sends him into a panic. So that’s why you whisper to him before pressing your kiss to his face.
It’s a gentle kind of love, one that both of you have never experienced before. And after everything, all the things the two of you endured, it still makes Bucky wonder how it could be so easy for you to be so soft with him, to him. In his corrupted mind, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve to be roused by you nuzzling against him. But you reassure him every single time that he will never know violence from your touch if you never have to know cruelty from his. Maybe that’s why the two of you are so content in the way you are. You spent your life under the thumb of abusers, now the slice of freedom you have feels like cool water.
Refreshing.
Bucky stirs awake, letting out a soft groan as you kiss the corner of his lips before pushing the covers off yourself.
Those blue eyes open to watch you stand from the bed and stretch your arms over your head, causing the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, his shirt, to ride up past your thighs and flash your underwear to him.
He smiles to himself.
“I have a job to get to in thirty minutes.” You tell him, wandering off into the bathroom. “Nothing illegal this time…I think.”
Bucky rolls onto his back and chuckles to himself.
“It’s still illegal even if no one gets hurt doing it” He reminds, voice groggy.
You lean against the door frame as you brush your teeth, the toothpaste is foaming in your mouth as you mutter.
“I’m simply an undercover…intel associate who makes her living off of knowing things.” You say before going back to the sink to wash your mouth.
“You’re a spy for hire.” He states as he sits up, rubbing his eyes.
“So are you.” You argue, washing your face. “Don’t be the pot to my kettle, James.”
He rolls his eyes and comes to join you in the small bathroom, pulling sweatpants on as he does so. “To be fair…it’s not like you could go work at the coffee shop.” He says, grabbing your hips as he slides you out of the way so he can grab his own toothbrush.
You hum and pout as you reach for the hairbrush, the one the two of you share because that’s how life is now, sharing things.
“I did apply for the barista position, they rejected me because of my lack of people skills.” You joke.
Bucky looks at you in the mirror, giving you a shrug. “You win some, you lose some.”
You study his expression, then turn to face him with a small, hopeful smile.
“Good day or bad day?” You ask, making him stop and face you.
Bucky nods. “Good day.”
One thing you’ve come to learn is bad days for Bucky are common, more common than bad days for you. Every day, the two of you ask each other the same question just to gauge each other’s mood.
And if Bucky said it’s a good day for him, then it’s a great day for you.
You kiss his cheek, making him give you a sideways grin before you go search for clothes of your own. Buttoning your dark cargo pants, you tie up your boots and go to the dresser drawer that should be housing socks and underwear.
Instead, multiple weapons look back at you as you open it.
You place a pistol in your concealed holster, then pull a jean jacket on.
“It’ll take an hour, two at most.” You say, coming over to Bucky as he watches you.
Reaching for his watch on the counter, you set a timer for how long the job should take and then hand it to him. It’s something the two of you learned to do when separating from each other, something that eases anxiety.
Bucky takes the watch and fastens it to his wrist, then tilts your chin up to meet his eye.
“Don’t get hurt.” He states.
“I promise.” You say, searching his nervous look.
“Don’t…lose control.” He adds.
You swallow the scared feeling.
“Never again.”
With that, he kisses you meaningfully.
Intimacy was something the two of you took a painfully long time to get used to. The idea of letting someone that close was a nightmare, and it took weeks and months after the two of you got away for you to determine what feelings were what. So nothing was ever casual, not when the only relationship you have was each other. In Bucky’s mind, once he figured out how to function it, you were the only thing in life that mattered. He can’t express fear or worry or love in words properly, but he knows if he locks his fingers with yours or kisses you a certain way, you’ll understand.
You always understand.
It makes things easy, you do the talking when he can’t and he expresses feelings in ways you aren’t too sure how to sometimes.
“Be smart.” He says when you finally pull away.
At that, you scoff. “I’m always smart.”
- - - -
He’s found that people watching is calming, like it helps reconnect wires in his brain by learning strangers habits.
Walking through street vendors, he enjoys the fact that his mind has taken the day off on torturing him.
As he goes through the produce section, he stops at a kind man’s booth and looks at fruit in front of him.
Plums.
Your favorite.
He remembers all the stories you used to tell him to get him to fall asleep, how you grew up on an orchard, how you spent days wandering through the plum trees, picking the fruit and laying in the sun while sucking the juice.
He has a brief conversation with the kind man and purchases four plums, just because he knows you’ll look at him in adoration when he presents them to you.
Today was a good day, he slept dreamlessly, he woke up to you, he’s out in public and doesn’t feel on edge-
There.
Just there.
Across the street at the news stand.
Bucky sees the man running the stand look at him a certain way, a way he shouldn’t be looked at. Crossing the street, Bucky approaches the news stand in confusion, and just as he makes a few moves forward, the man flees.
The headline on the papers instantly ruins the previous good mood.
The Winter Soldier, accused of a major bombing.
As he rereads the paper over and over in disbelief, the watch on his wrist beeps.
You should be arriving home.
He heads for that direction.
- - - -
You shut the door behind you and toss the keys onto the counter, walking into the bathroom with the intention of taking a hot shower to wash away the stressful job you just completed.
It all went okay in the end, and a wad of cash is in your pocket, making you feel successful, but it was a harder job than anticipated.
You pull the shower curtain back and just as you reach to turn the water on, the energy around you shifts.
Immediately, you pause, holding your breath and trying to listen carefully.
There’s the sound of boots in the kitchen, and you would claim them to belong to Bucky but you know the sound of his footstep, you know the way his energy feels, you know the feeling you’d have if he were on the other side of the door, and it’s a feeling you do not have.
Steve Rogers looks around the small space.
It’s minimal, a hideout he’s imagined in his head with newspaper on the windows and a serious lack of personal touch. He looks at the made bed, then reaches to pick up something that confuses him a little.
Once he realizes it’s a woman’s bra, he instantly drops it in shock.
He moves into the kitchen, and picks up a notebook laying on a shelf next to vanilla wafers you eat when you’re overcome with nauseating headaches and can’t seem to eat anything else.
Just another lasting side effect from HYDRA.
He opens the notebook and immediately notices Bucky’s handwriting. Flipping through pages, he finds a photo taped to a page free of journal entries.
It’s of a woman.
You.
It’s from when the two of you first found the apartment, you’re taping news papers to the glass, looking rather unamused as your picture is taken when you’re just in a pair of boxer shorts and a band t shirt that falls off your shoulder.
You’re effortlessly gorgeous.
Your name is inked under the photo with the date, almost like he put it there to ensure he doesn’t forget you.
A common fear of Bucky’s.
Steve shuts the book with the intention of taking it back to Sam so they can look into who you are and why you’re in the journal. Sam warns him through the earpiece that german special forces were soon approaching, and he responds, saying that he understood.
You pull the gun from your belt and take a deep breath, slowly twisting the door knob to peer out of the bathroom.
Steve hears a sort of rustle, though it doesn’t come from the bathroom, it comes from behind him wear Bucky has joined the scene.
Standing silently, he looks at Steve with an unsure eye, then looks to the keys on the counter and knows that you are hiding out somewhere.
Steve turns to face his once best friend and lets out a shaky breath.
“Do you know me?” He asks him.
Bucky’s heart pounds in his ears as he pushes through brain fog and tries to run through plans in his head. If Steve Rogers was standing in his kitchen, and the headlines say The Winter Soldier bombed the UN, that means he had to flee fast.
“You’re Steve.” Bucky says. “I read about you in the museum.”
You listen closely to the conversation, trying to run through your own plan.
“I know you’re nervous. You have every reason to be…but you’re lying.” Steve says, still grasping the journal in his hand.
That’s making Bucky twitch.
“I wasn’t in Vienna, I don’t do that anymore.” He says, and out of his peripheral vision, he sees you open the bathroom door just a crack more.
“Well the people who think you did are coming here, and they aren’t going to take you alive.” Steve says in a serious tone, taking a step closer.
“That’s smart, a good strategy.” Bucky agrees, making Steve roll his eyes.
“Where’s the girl?” He asks.
Bucky’s jaw clenches. “What girl?”
Steve shakes his head at the lie, then rips open the journal and points to your picture. “This girl, Buck. Be smart about this, I can help you.”
Breathe.
He has to remind himself.
“It would be helpful if you left right now before it’s too late.” He says, setting his things down and taking off his gloves, flexing his metal hand.
Above you, you can hear heavy boots and your heart stops. You push the door open wider, sneaking your way behind the soldier that’s telling Bucky it doesn’t have to end in a fight, that he could leave with him right now and everything would be fine.
That’s when Steve hears the defining click of a gun being loaded.
“Did someone fail to tell you that this isn’t a task for Captain fucking America?” You say lowly, aiming the gun right at the man. Your heart pounds in your ears, adrenaline and anxiety make you feel sick.
Steve gives Bucky a look, then sighs.
“You had to pick a crazy one?”
Bucky shrugs.
You circle Steve, coming to his front to let him see the angry look in your eye. “You want to see crazy?”
Bucky hooks a finger around your back belt loop and pulls you to him, muttering something in Russian that Steve doesn’t understand. Whatever is asked of you, you look up at him with a slightly scared look. Bucky just stares back at you, giving you a slight head nod, encouraging you silently. That’s the only reason you turn your back on Steve and rush to the closet, grabbing your back pack.
“Buck, I came here to help.” Steve reasons once he’s recovered his shock.
“Leading special forces here doesn’t seem like helping.” Bucky states.
“It wasn’t me who did that.” Steve reasons.
That’s when agents invade the apartment.
It’s a fight, rough and seemingly never ending, and the entire time that you’re trying to escape, Steve is there, trying to reason with Bucky.
“James.” You shout as you’re struggling to hold your own against the three officers you keep dodging.
Immediately, he finds you, ripping the men away from you. Once free, you’re trying to make it down the stairs of the apartment building, but there’s no escape from the troops that are after you.
Barely processing what’s happening as Bucky breaks the glass of the stairwell window, he’s gripping your hand tightly and coaxing you to jump, falling a very far distance to a rooftop. It probably would hurt a whole lot more if Bucky didn’t break your fall.
Eyes squeezed shut as you roll off of him, you pant with gritted teeth. “This is going to bruise.”
“Walk it off.” He says, helping you up.
As the two of you start running, Bucky suddenly falls behind. You look over at him, only to see him battling a…
Cat?
Panicking, you shoot just above the figure, startling it enough to refrain from clawing Bucky’s throat out.
Jaguar hero? Panther man?
“Here kitty kitty.” You call, gaining the enemy’s attention, drawing it to you instead.
“Jesus, who is this chick?” Sam asks Steve as they start to join the scene.
Steve jumps from the window you did moments before. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out!”
Adrenaline is pumping through you, blocking out the crippling fear that this could end badly. There’s a sliver of hope that this would be like the times before on the run, where you find some place new to be from. You and Bucky dodge all the threats, having a shared mindset on just keeping the other alive.
You’ve been in bad situations, but as the two of you end up surrounded by agents and police on the freeway, you think this is far by the worst ending to come of things.
So much for a good day.
And now everyone is being handcuffed, including Steve and the man-bird he has as a sidekick.
Why are all the jungle animals after you today?
Your knees are kicked out from behind you, a man grips your hair and shoves you to the ground, causing you to yell out.
“Let her go!” Bucky shouts from beside you as he himself gets detained. “She had nothing to do with this.” He argues, desperately trying to get them away from you.
“James, what did you do?” You grunt, cheek pressed to the ground, looking at him in the same position.
“Nothing!” He argues. “Just do what they say, it’ll be okay, baby.”
“He bombed the UN.” An officer says, tone angry.
“He can’t even make toast without burning it- ow! I’m really not into hair pulling.” You seethe.
The adrenaline that was once keeping you going has worn down and you’re shaking on the inside as you’re shoved into the back of a military truck.
Your leg bounces up and down, and if his hands were free, he’d stop the motion.
It’s silent, the two officers sitting in front of the two of you stare.
“You still having a good day?” You ask Bucky.
He looks over at you with an irritated look, not irritated with you of course, just in general. “No. This is a very bad day.”
“Don’t speak to the prisoner, ma’am. He’s a threat.” The younger officer says to you.
“This guy’s a threat? He puts spiders outside instead of killing them.” You say with a tone of disbelief.
Bucky says your name as if to tell you to not waste your breath.
You don’t listen of course.
“Hey, why am I not a threat?” You ask.
“You didn’t bomb the UN.” The man reasons.
They’re still stuck on that.
“Maybe I did. You’re not an expert, you weren’t there. Now, I’m not gonna admit it because I know how you narcs work, but I’m going to make you wonder.”
Bucky starts to laugh before the second officer orders the both of you to be quiet.
- - - -
Of course they separate you.
Of course they lock Bucky in some kind of inhuman looking box to make sure he can’t escape and of course they throw you into a room with nothing but a table, two chairs and a surveillance camera.
You try to get out of a good twenty minutes, then scream at the camera for answers, shouting questions.
Steve stands in the office and watches the monitor, eyes flickering back between your live meltdown to Bucky who sits still in his confinement and doesn’t do anything.
“Who’s she?” Stark asks, curious at the scene.
“That would be the side kick.” Sam answers, chuckling as you lunge one of the chairs at the camera.
Natasha joins the men with a file in her hand.
“This is all I could find on her.” She says, handing the folder to Steve.
He reads the information, then gets some sort of clarity.
“I want to talk to her.” He says.
“Absolutely not.” Shannon immediately says.
“She’s how we get through to him.” He argues.
There’s a moment of uncertainty, because the last thing they need is to get into more trouble.
But they do it anyway.
You’re sat in the corner, head in your hands, trying to keep your thoughts straight.
You weren’t a huge fan of being locked in small rooms, probably because a life of confinement is pretty much all you knew.
There’s a sound of the doors electronic lock being opened, and in comes the man you’d rather not see.
Immediately, you stand with your guard up.
“You going to try and shoot me?” Steve asks.
“You took my guns.” You simply say.
Shanon stands guard as Steve comes closer.
“I know we got off on the wrong foot, but believe me when I say I just want to help.”
You laugh, looking at the floor as he continues to talk.
“Is there anything you can tell us that will help his case? Where was he today? Yesterday?” Steve asks, and you glare.
“You want the play by play? Seriously?” You scoff. “Fine. I woke up at eight o’clock, I went to work and left him in the apartment that your guys ruined-”
“They aren’t my guys.” He clarifies.
“-and my guess is he went into the city. I came home and found you rudely invaded my home.” You say sharply, taking a step away when he comes another foot forward.
“I came to warn you that they were after him. To be fair, I didn’t know you existed.” Steve tries to reason, but you just laugh.
“He must’ve forgot to include it in his letters to you, sorry, he’s been a little busy trying to piece his mind back together.” You spit. “The entire point of laying low, is to not let people know you exist, and we were doing a pretty good job at it.” Your anger rises, and your eyes keep flickering back to the woman at the door and wondering if it’s locked.
You could take her, she’d be easy.
Steve grunts in frustration. “Clearly not well enough that special forces found you.”
You lash out. “Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been found, but we could’ve had a plan if you didn’t butt in. We could’ve already been on a train in the time it took you to try and reason with him.”
Steve huffs and rubs his temples. “If you would’ve come with me, you wouldn’t have had to run. I could’ve helped you.”
“That’s what you don’t get!” You shout. “We have been fine for two years, we had a life, we had a plan for every situation and we didn’t need you. Now look what you’ve done! He’s getting psychologically evaluated, when everyone knows he’s not going to pass whatever test they have for him.”
Your chest heaves as you try to not let your voice crack.
You’re deathly afraid. All the images of lazy mornings and creative dinners flash before you and there’s that overwhelming thought that you’ll never know that peace again.
“I know you’re scared.” Steve says a little softer now. “But if you cooperate-"
The power goes out.
Just like that.
Emergency lighting flickers on lowly, and there’s a moment of silence before the walkie Shanon wears goes off.
“Everybody, get eyes on Barnes, now!”
Wordlessly, Shanon turns out of the room, causing Steve to follow. Though they shut the door behind them, they fail to realize the lock mechanism isn’t going to work now that everything’s fried.
“Idiots.” You huff, flinging the door open.
You run down the halls until you come across the office where they took any belongings you and Bucky had.
You were going to find him and the two of you were going to find a way to get out of this hell. Grabbing both back packs, you try to go towards the direction everyone is fleeing from, knowing that’s where he’ll be.
Maybe that’s the same agenda Bucky has, or more like the agenda the winter soldier has as he’s triggered to take over. He should have known better, that man claiming to be good knew all the right words to get his brain to switch over into some kind of kill mode. He fights his way past everyone who tries to stop him, overwhelmed by a feeling of loss, like he’s supposed to be searching and finding someone. You. That’s it, that’s what he needs to do next.
He stops anyone who comes after him, on a mission to retrieve you.
You burst out of a door, looking around for any signs of him.
There’s many bruised people on the ground, trying to get up and recover.
He had to be close.
Your heart beats loudly in your ears, backing up, you go to turn and run, but his large figure stops you.
“Bucky.” You gasp in relief, immediately handing him his pack. “We have to go, I think we can-”
He grips your wrist, not tight enough to harm, but tighter than he would ever grab you.
You meet his dark eyes and your face pales.
No.
This can’t be happening.
“James.” You speak, though he doesn’t answer, just stares right back at you.
The word is hot on your tongue and it tastes like anguish as you say it. “солдат?”
Soldat.
That, he answers to. With a tug of your arm, he tells you to follow, giving you no time to process anything. Though Bucky has told you many times that he isn’t to be trusted like this, you can’t help but feel like he isn’t going to harm you, not when he’s shoving anyone out of the way and guides you to the roof top helicopter pad.
He sits you in the passenger seat of the air craft.
“пребывание.” He orders, then goes to the other side and somehow manages to get the helicopter roaring up.
You watch Steve rush onto the pad just as the two of you pull away, he runs after you, trying and failing to stop you.
You look down as you get higher and higher, and no time is wasted, you’re being flown far far away.
He doesn’t utter one word, and you aren’t sure if you should either. Trusting him is all you can do.
About an hour later, when you’re far enough away from city limits, the helicopter is being landed in a clearing.
Even as you’re being pulled out of your seat and he grabs his backpack, he doesn’t talk. Walking fast to keep up with him, you follow him for a mile until you stumble upon a bus stop.
He sits you down, then tells you to stay.
He stands and sweeps over the surroundings.
“Soldat.” You say, clenching your hands at the odd place you are put in.
You didn’t think you’d have to experience this version of Bucky again.
Now you have to figure out how to make it go away.
He turns to look at you, blankly.
With a calming breath, you command him to sit. When he does, you try to ignore the ill feeling it gives you, a cruel remembrance of how perfectly trained they had him.
“You have to go away.” You say and it confuses him.
“I will stay with you.” He says.
“You don’t need to.” You reassure.
His brows furrow. “You are my mission.”
“Your mission is complete, well done.” You encourage, grabbing his hand in yours.
He looks at the contact like it’s so foreign, and your heart aches.
“Do you understand? Your mission is complete, your service is no longer needed.” You say, searching his eyes for the light that slowly returns as this soldier sinks back into hiding.
He takes a large breath and shudders.
Then his eyes are frantic and a little confused.
“James.” You speak, reaching to hold his face in your palms. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“What- what happened? Did I- what?” He frantically says, trying to process everything.
“You didn’t do anything extreme.”
He tries to manage his breathing, then examines you fully, making sure there are no cuts or bruises on your skin.
“Hey.” You coo softly, hand on his cheek. “I’m alright, you didn’t hurt me.”
There’s a sense of relief in his eyes, that’s when he pushes his forehead to yours in a painfully human embrace. You push his hair behind his ears, breathing in when he breathes out.
“I’m sorry.” You say, meaning it. “I shouldn’t have let that happen.”
He tucks his hand under your hair, bracing on the base of your skull.
“This isn’t on you…we just have really bad luck.”
You laugh, nuzzling your nose against his. “I guess we really aren’t done with being on the run.”
The two of you sit just like this until the bus pulls up beside you. Then you find a seat in the back and lean against the window while Bucky leans against you and keeps a watchful eye of the bus.
“What about the Netherlands?” You offer into the silence, twisting your fingers into his.
“You’re wanted all over the country.” He reminds.
Sometimes the world just wasn’t big enough when your face is on ‘be on the lookout’ posters.
“Norway?” He suggests.
“You really want to go back there?” You raise a brow at him.
“…Scotland?”
You think for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, Scotland will do.”
Hey it's been a while since you posted anything just checking in to make sure you're alright 🫶
Hi!!!!
First off, thank you for checking in, whoever you may be 🫶.
Unfortunately, I have been locked out of my account! I just was able to get back in today, I apologize to everyone! Thanks for the support even while I was away!
Now that I am here, I will be posting!
Thanks for the patience, lovely.
Xoxo, Eve
Almost Kisses
Summary : Bucky's kisses have become a daily part of your life together, but it wasn’t always that way.
Paring : Bucky Barnes x Reader (she/her)
Warnings : very slight mention of food and mild cursing
Requested by : @buckys-wintersoldier
Word count : 1.8k
Note : This one was very fun! I was listening to Work Song By Hozier while writing this, so it's safe to say the song served as a bit of inspiration, too. I did say it would be >1k word blurb but I have once again got over the limit.
Requests are open!
Kissing you had become second nature to Bucky. Every morning when he woke up, every night before bed. It was part of his routine, it felt as natural as breathing. He kissed you when he passed you in the kitchen, when you laughed at something ridiculous, when you weren’t paying attention. He kissed you just because he could.
It was hard for him to remember a time before that, but once, kissing you had seemed impossible.
The first time the thought even crossed his mind, you were standing outside his apartment door, trying to get his attention. Sam had called you, worried about him after days of radio silence, days of ignoring texts and phone calls from both him and his therapist.
Sam could get through to Bucky on most days, but on the really hard ones, when the weight of his past pulled him under the covers and refused to let him go, there was only one person who could reach him. You.
Somehow, Bucky had imprinted on you in a way he never had with anyone else. Sam wasn’t stupid— he knew that Bucky was down hard for you. Hell, everyone who ever saw the two of you interact knew that Bucky was in love with you. Everyone except you.
Because love had to keep you blind like that, at least for a while.
"Bucky?" Your voice was soft that day, muffled by the door separating you from him. You knocked again, gentler this time. "I brought you pizza. Just cheese, no toppings—your favorite." You paused, like you were waiting for signs of life, anything, but the silence was deafening. You lowered your voice, a whisper now. "I cut off the burnt bits, the way you like it."
The door creaked open, just a sliver of light pouring in from the apartment. Bucky's figure stood in the shadow, his frame filling the doorway, but his voice was small and frail. "Extra cheese?"
"Of course, Buck." Your lips curved up knowing you’ve essentially made it in. You slipped inside the moment he stepped back.
That night, you didn’t leave his side. You pulled him out of the dark waters he had drowned himself in. He told you about his nightmares, the memories that wouldn’t let him breathe. You listened, laughed when he cracked the odd dark joke, and cried while exchanging stories. Minutes blurred into hours, and eventually, you fell asleep beside him on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder.
That was the night he realized what you did to him. You didn’t just pull him out of his pit of despair— you made him feel alive. Electric.
The next morning, you took a shower, borrowing one of his shirts since yours were dirty. Seeing you in his oversized clothes twisted something inside him, drove him insane with wild thoughts— he almost said something, but bit his tongue to stop the flow of words that would have been unstoppable. When you hugged him goodbye, he held on just a second too long, his arms tightened around you, hesitating to let go and wishing he could stay in the safety of your embrace forever. And for just a heartbeat, he stared at your lips. He almost gave in, almost kissed you right then and there, but he shoved the thought away at the last second. Why would you ever want to kiss someone like him?
The second time he almost kissed you was at the ice rink in Central Park. It was the holiday season, and this year Bucky realised that he didn’t need to spend it alone anymore. He invited you out, convincing himself it wasn’t a date— just two friends hanging out, doing friend things.
You were hesitant, admitting you couldn’t skate and that the ice never seemed to agree with you, but he insisted.
"You can hold onto me," he teased, though he left out telling you how much he wanted you to. Just to feel you close. Just for you to embrace him again.
"Buck!" you squealed when he picked up speed, your hands clutching his jacket tight around your fist in a death grip. "You’re going way too fast!"
He laughed, slowing to a stop in the middle of the rink. The moonlight between trees shrouded the two of you. You stumbled into his chest, your fingers curling into his coat. For a second, you didn’t move. You stayed there, taking in his scent. "What would I do without you?" you murmured into his chest, voice barely above a whisper.
In that moment, he realised that you weren’t just his friend out of pity— You made him feel wanted. Needed.
His hands found your cheeks, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. He could almost taste how your lips would feel— soft, warm, perfect. His breath hitched, his body taking control. But then, just as quickly, he put his logical mind back in the pilot seat. He pulled away. Why would you want to kiss someone who’d been broken as many times as him?
The third time he thought about kissing you, he could’ve sworn you wanted it, too. You were on one of your usual runs and morning coffee— your ritual together. It happened once or twice a week when he wasn’t whisked away to some strange land for a mission.
Bucky always slowed his pace to match yours. He didn’t mind since he could spend those extra moments near you.
After the runs, you’d get coffee together. He talked about everything—his life in the 40s, his family, Steve, his friends from school.
You gave him pieces of his humanity back with every conversation. With you, he felt more than a soldier— you made him feel more organic. Human.
He felt that, for once, he was more interesting than the winter soldier.
He then talked about wanting a small pet, maybe a dog, or a white cat.
"What, am I not companion enough?" you had teased.
His ears burned, and the super soldier found himself stammering. "That’s not what I meant."
You laughed as you brushed coffee foam off his facial hair. The briefest touch and his heart started racing out of control.
He could've sworn you leaned in just slightly, almost instinctively. He wanted to kiss you. He needed to. But again, he pushed it down, convincing himself that the two of you were just friends.
The day after, he found himself lying on the couch, thoughts spiraling. He couldn’t stop thinking about you— your lips, your laugh, your touch. He didn’t know what to make of it. The feelings ate away at his sanity, and they wouldn’t go away. For the first time, he asked himself the question he was too afraid to ask: was this how it felt to be truly, deeply, and desperately in love?
Then came the knock.
He opened the door, and there you were, looking as tired as he felt. Your hair was a mess, your clothes crumpled, and you looked like you haven’t slept since he saw you yesterday, but you were still so goddamn beautiful. You had this infectious wild energy, like you were on the edge of discovering the secret to world peace.
"I’ve been thinking all night," you said, stepping inside the gap he had open. That was how welcome you felt in his space, how comfortable he was with you. "If I’m wrong, this is going to be so embarrassing, but— three times. You almost kissed me three times."
Bucky blinked, caught off-guard.
"That night with the pizza, when I said goodbye," you continued, pacing around the room in deep thought. "The ice rink. And yesterday at the coffee shop." You held up three fingers at his face, your hands trembling slightly. "Three times is too much to be a coincidence. Three times is too much to just accidentally lean in. Please, tell me you’ve thought about it. Tell me you’ve wanted to kiss me because—" You stopped, looking into his beautiful eyes. "Because I’ve thought about it too."
Your voice was shaky. Bucky had never seen you so vulnerable, so uncertain. So hopeful.
"This is so embarrassing," you muttered, your voice now barely a whisper. But before you could say anything else, Bucky closed the distance between you. He grabbed you by the waist and kissed you, his lips capturing yours in a desperate rush. All the hesitations melted away from the tension in his muscles, and it was better than he’d imagined a thousand times. He didn’t know how it was possible, but you tasted even sweeter than he had dreamed. His hands tangled in your hair as you stood on tiptoes, clutching him as if he might slip away.
When you finally pulled back, breathless, you whispered in disbelief, "So I was right."
Bucky smiled, finger running along your skin, in a sensory attempt to remind him the was all real and not just one of his fantasies. "Only took you half a year to notice."
You laughed softly, melting into his touch. "I could say the same for you."
He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you again. "Shush," he whispered between kisses. He was addicted now. He needed his fix. He needed your touch, your warmth, your lips on his. Again, and again, and again.
And that was more than a year ago. Now, Bucky still couldn’t stop kissing you. If anything, it had only gotten worse, not that you were complaining.
He kissed you every chance he got. When you rolled over in bed, still half asleep, he kissed your forehead. When you stretched in the kitchen, reaching for a mug for your afternoon tea, he kissed the back of your neck. When you came home late from work, tired but smiling, he pulled you into his arms and kissed you breathless, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded.
"Buck," you laughed, stopping his train of thought, playfully trying to squirm away as he pulled you onto his lap. "We’re supposed to be watching a movie."
His lips found the sensitive spot behind your ear. "But I’d rather kiss you."
You were powerless against him, as you always are. Laughing softly, you said, "You know, you kiss me every day. Aren’t you tired of me yet?"
He pulled back just enough to look at you, reminding himself of how lucky he was that he had you here. That if it wasn’t for you storming into his apartment in a frenzy with a theory, you wouldn’t be here in his arms. "Never." His voice was so soft, making your breath hitch.
You were about to say something smart, but Bucky stopped you with another kiss, his lips gentle and loving, yet there was such a fiery passion beneath. You curled into him, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, the movie long forgotten.
He stared at you, thumb brushing the side of your face, as if memorizing every detail. "I’m never gonna stop kissing you," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. His voice was a little rough, his throat dry from the taste of you. "I don’t think I could, even if I tried."
And you believed him.
-end
WAIT!!!!!!!!✋🛑
They don’t love you like I love you😔…….
Orphic ~ File 8
Alexthymia (n.) ; The inability to express your feelings
Bucky!Barnes x Fem!Reader
Warnings: TW! Blood, trauma, sad stuff, angst, guns, Blue needs a hug.
Previous part here
You hum a simple song to yourself as you make your way to the ladies washroom, yawning at the lack of sleep you got.
You push the door open, greeted by the white tile and pleasant lighting. You hang a fresh towel on the hook and retrieve your shower things from the shelf they sat on, next to Wanda and Nat’s stuff.
Back at The Unit, you didn’t have things that were unique to you.
Every girl used the same things, the scentless bar soap that would be supplied to each girl every month, nameless shampoo and conditioner. Now, you had products that smelled pleasant, things that bubbled and body wash you didn’t need to conserve.
Pulling back one of the shower curtains, you turn on the water to get it hot, then get your pajamas off.
But to your surprise, another curtain is pulled back. As you turn to see if it was Nat (who usually beats you to the showers), you’re completely caught off guard.
There stands a rather alarmed looking boy, a towel wrapped around him, tucked under his armpits.
“Oh…this is awkward.” He stutters, trying not to look at your half dressed body, clearly not used to a woman in her bra and underwear. “I-I’m Peter.”
The Avengers who were awake could hear your ear piercing scream.
Steve is immediately on his feet, followed by Natasha and Sam. As they run to the direction it comes from, Bucky steps out of his room just as they pass. Looking around, he calls out.
“Why are you running?”
They don’t answer.
He yawns and walks after them.
Peter is backed into the corner as you scramble to tie a robe around yourself. He looks at the growing mass of energy in your hands and how they’re pointed at him.
“You’re the bug boy? Why are you here?” You shout.
“I can explain! It’s not creepy, I promise!” Then he pauses. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
Steve busts through the door, searching the first section of the room, then turns the corner to where the showers are and sees you threatening to harm the boy.
“Oh now this is funny.” Sam exclaims.
“What the hell is going on?” Steve asks.
“Cap! Tell the crazy lady you know me.” Peter rushes, begging for help.
“I am not crazy.” You warn violently.
“Blue, let the kid go so he can explain himself before you kill him.” Nat says, and slowly you lower your hands and rush to Steve’s side as he motions for you.
“Queens, start explaining.” He barks.
Peter stammers. “Nat said I could use these showers when her and Wanda aren’t! They have better water pressure and I don’t have to deal with the guys…it’s like the high school locker room in there.” He grimaces. “And sometimes when Thor comes to stay, he doesn’t put a towel on! And the room has a funky smell-”
“It’s true, I told him he could use our showers because he means no harm.” Nat defends. “I just…forgot to mention that to Blue since the kid isn’t here too often.”
Sam shakes his head, then looks at Peter. “You really gotta get over your fear of getting jumped in the shower.”
“Some of you guys are a little scary.” Peter says in a quiet tone.
“Like who?” Steve asks dramatically.
Bucky joins the scene. He looks from Peter in a towel to you holding a robe around yourself.
“What the hell is going on?” He asks angrily.
“Like him.” Peter admits.
- - - -
Bucky grunts as he punches the hanging bag next to Steve who is doing the same.
“You want to tell me what’s going on with you?” Steve asks, hair hanging on his forehead as it grows sweaty.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Bucky says.
“You’ve been weirder than normal. Distant, on edge.”
He huffs at Steve’s words, getting a little more aggressive with his punches and kicks. He doesn’t answer him though, so Steve continues.
“…Does it have something to do with Blue?”
Bucky’s punching bag flies off the chain and across the room a ways before it hits the ground with a thud. He stands there, breathing heavily for a moment.
“No, of course not.” He lies.
Steve takes a break like Buck does and gets some water.
He’s known his friend long enough to have learned his habits. Bucky always gives himself up, so all Steve has to do is wait.
“Okay…maybe she has something to do with it.”
“Ha! I knew it!” Steve laughs. “Everyone can see it, you aren’t being sly.”
Bucky shakes his head, looking at the ground for a moment. “Steve, I don’t know what’s going on with me. I was really good at the girl thing, you know that, but she looks at me and I’m just completely out of it. She terrorizes me in the best way, it’s like I can’t sleep without her whispering in my head.”
Steve looks at him with arched brows. “Jeez, sounds like she’s making you remember you have feelings.” He teases.
Bucky shoves his shoulder. “I’m serious, Steve…maybe I have some screwed up complex now because I think I saved her or something.”
Steve sets his water bottle down. “You did save her…and I think part of her is drawn to you because you’re the only one who doesn’t watch her like she’s an alien.”
Bucky scoffs and goes to the sparing ring, putting on gloves. “I show her decency, that’s what does it?”
Steve follows suit. “You know it’s more than that. You want to know what I think?”
Bucky puts his hands up, getting into his stance. “You’re gonna tell me anyway.”
Steve throws the first punch, Bucky blocks it. “I think she’s the only thing that’s gonna get through to you. She scares you because she’s the only thing that feels real. And that’s probably the case for her. Sure, Nat’s lived the runaway assassin life but she can’t offer the comfort Blue craves.”
The two dodge each other’s hits, circling each other.
Bucky tries to process his words. “I don’t think I’m what she needs. She’s still trying to figure out how to function, she needs someone who’s steady enough to show her how. Like you.”
Steve laughs. “I knew you’d say that.”
“You have things figured out, Steve!” Bucky reasons. “And she’s already attached to you.”
“She’s attached to everyone! That’s why it’s called attachment issues. If you were around more, you’d see that she will stitch herself to who she knows is going to be gentle with her. The kid has only known kindness as a reward, you know what that’s like, Buck.”
Of course he knows what that’s like. He knows the starved feeling for a gentle hand.
Steve continues. “You need to trust yourself, I know you think you might make her worse- that you might make yourself worse, but you won’t.”
Bucky blocks a punch. “I never said that.”
Steve throws another. “You didn’t have to. Look, all I’m saying is maybe trying to kill the urge off isn’t the solution, just give into it.”
Silence passes as they continue to work on fighting techniques, then Steve speaks.
“You might be too old for her.” He jokes.
“Shut up.” Bucky grumbles.
- - - -
Sitting in the corner of the common room, you scroll through online tutorials.
It’s a discovery that you enjoy. You could watch them for hours, enjoying the idea of knowing how to do things other than kill.
How to make chicken noodle soup!
Tutorial on how to change car oil!
Fifteen minute tutorial- how to wash, dry and fold laundry perfectly!
How to achieve Hollywood curls!
By the time Bucky walks by, you’re learning how to position a curling iron for flawless hair. He looks around, seeing if anyone else is around.
It’s just you and him.
He watches you for a moment, wondering silently how you can be so content with sitting alone, being alone.
Though your eyes are still cast at the phone screen, you know he’s there. Pulling your headphones off, you look over at him.
“You’re lurking.” You claim, watching him not move an inch.
“Says the girl who hides in large rooms.” He rebuttals.
You smile and look away.
He wants to ask about it, wants to get it out of the way. But in all honesty, he’s afraid of what you’ll say. He’s been out of the game for a while but he knows that a girl running away after a kiss isn’t the best sign.
You stand from the corner, now avoiding his eyes as if it will ease the awkward tension.
“Blue…” He starts to say. “About the other night-”
Oh no.
You’ve ruined it all. He’s going to tell you that you were out of place, that he doesn’t see you in that way.
Your mind spirals, but your saving grace comes for you.
“Blue.” Nat comes into the room. “Come on, we need to get you briefed for tonight.”
You nod and come to her side immediately.
Bucky’s left standing there, cursing himself.
- - - -
You finish your glamorous makeup and hair, then turn to the dress hanging in your closet, the one Natasha let you borrow.
Breathing deeply, you prepare. You’ve done undercover work many times before, but it’s different. You aren’t seeking violence, you’re seeking answers and trying to stop a deal from going down.
If all went well, you’d find The Ring boss who has a client ready to meet the hit woman best suitable for the job. They’ll drink scotch while she aims to carry out her duty.
You can’t let that happen.
The little black dress fit snug in all the right places, a deep v neck line, elegant enough to not raise any suspicion on if you belonged in the establishment or not.
Kicking off your red sneakers, you roll the lace top stockings up your legs and put heels on.
This was a weird feeling.
You hadn’t been this put together in weeks.
Making sure your thigh holster is secure, you leave your bedroom and meet the others.
Tony runs over the plan once more with Steve, Nat adjusts her updo, Bruce goes to get the van ready for the computer crew.
You linger off to the side, legs crossed, silent until Tony looks over to you.
“Wow.” He nods with an impressed look.
Everyone turns, eyes widening.
“Is-is it okay?” You ask, smoothing the dress fabric.
“Woahhh.” Peter exclaims. “You look hot- beautiful- pretty?”
Tony smacks the side of his head.
Nat smiles. “It’s more than okay, Blue.”
As they compliment you, Bucky is standing there with his eyes trained on you, thinking a million thoughts. And sure, everyone is dressed for the occasion, but you’re the best looking one in his eyes.
“Let’s roll out.” Tony says, dragging Peter whose eyes are as wide as saucers, away to the van.
Nat takes your hand and leads you to the first blacked out suv.
Bucky’s feet falter in their step, just so he can watch you get into the back seat with Steve and Nat. Then he’s nudged into the second car by Sam.
“Come on, lover boy.”
“Don’t talk to me.” Bucky huffs.
You’re amazed at the lights of the city, you hadn’t left the compound since you got there so it was all unreal.
“Here, put this in your ear.” Nat says, handing you the ear piece.
After a moment of silence, you speak.
The sound of your voice in his ear makes Bucky jump slightly as you talk to Steve and Nat.
Sam gives him a side eye look.
“Do you guys trust me?” You ask the two that’s with you.
“Of course.” They answer.
You nod. “Good, because you’re going to have to.”
- - - -
“What is this music?” Steve frowns.
“Nobody plays jazz in clubs anymore.” Tony says through the ear piece. “Alright, Peter and Bruce have visuals, the club cameras are on the screens in front of us.” He states.
You look around at the populated club. “We need to split up.”
Nat nods, then takes off in one direction while you go another. Steve is left to try and act like he belongs there.
“Maybe sending Cap in here wasn’t the best choice.” Sam chuckles as he sees him stick out like a thumb.
“Yeah, relax Steve, you look like someone’s dad.” Nat says, searching the crowd for the suspect.
“More like someone’s grandpa.” Bucky smirks.
“You have no room to talk, Pal.” Steve defends.
You find the bar and lounge on a chair, watching the crowd carefully.
“What can I get you?” The bartender asks.
You slide him a large bill. “Assistance. You think you can do that for me?” You ask with smile.
He smirks and takes the money. “Your wish is my command.”
No mind altering needed, guys were easy.
“Perfect. Get me water in a martini glass, make it look fancy.” You state, then go back to watching.
“How are we supposed to know what the hitman looks like? Hit-woman? Hit-person? Sorry, what are we calling this girl?” Sam asks from the upstairs balcony.
“Look for a woman who’s with an older man. He’ll be wearing the best suit, she’ll be wearing something easy to hide a weapon.” You answer, bringing your faux cocktail to your lips.
“Blue, there’s a body guard to your right, I believe.” Bruce speaks, and you slowly look over your shoulder.
“You’re very correct.” You nod, then turn to the bartender. “You see that guy over there with the buzz cut? Give him a free drink when he comes over.”
The man nods and doesn’t ask any questions.
You eye the body guard that’s posted by an exit, silently luring him in. And everything goes to plan, he gets a free drink, he sits beside you, he’s impressed by your Russian dialect.
Then you invite him to follow you to a storage closet where you send his body straight back into the wall. He folds onto the ground, letting you search him.
“The south exit is free now, there should be a guard posted at each one.” You huff as you toss his gun to the side and search his pockets.
No information.
Bucky looks around, seeing the man standing at the exit he’s walking past. Making sure no one is paying attention, he makes his move, dragging the man out the back door and making sure he stays there.
“West exit is free.” He says.
“Are we just going to ignore the fact that Blue lured that bad guy into a closet?” Peter asks Tony.
Tony sighs. “Everybody has their ways.”
“I have eyes on the suspect, Adolf is in the upstairs vip lounge.” Nat says.
“That’s a horrible name.” Steve comments.
“It’s a little fitting in my opinion.” Bucky hums, moving in closer to the crowd.
If the client was here, that means the target is lurking around somewhere.
And The Ring members would be here soon.
“I thought Adolf Hitler was a saint?” You say, combing some curls back.
“Blue, we’re gonna need to have a serious history lesson.” Steve cringes.
“I guess I shouldn’t say what The Ring told me about Stalin.” You mumble.
“North exit is clear.” Sam says, grunting as he kicks the body guards body into the music equipment room.
The main doors open, and in comes a man. On his arm is a young girl, behind them are two more guards.
“I think the boss is here.” You say.
Tony starts barking out orders, making sure you’re all positioned correctly.
“Make sure SHIELD is on standby.” Steve states. “I don’t plan on hanging out here.”
“I need eyes in the vip section. Blue and Barnes, you’re up.” Tony instructs.
“What?” You squeak out.
“Move your asses.” Is your only response.
You look back at the bartender. “How many people are behind the bar in the vip lounge?” You ask.
“Two.” He answers in confusion at your urgency.
“Is there any other separate rooms attached to the lounge?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“How many guests are allowed in?”
He takes your glass. “Only four parties are, but the room is booked out completely by one party.”
You quickly run through a plan in your head. “Thanks, you’ve been really helpful.”
Swiftly moving through the crowd, Bucky appears at your side. Starting up the stares to the vip room, you turn to him.
“Room upstairs is clear, two civilians, I guess maybe four or five guards.” You say to the team, then turn to Bucky.
“Let me handle this, okay?” You ask.
He holds your eye. “No promises.”
At the top of the stairs, you button his suit jacket for him and grip onto his bicep.
He looks at you questionably, but you have a serious look about you as you approach the bouncer guarding the entrance.
“This room is booked.” He says.
“Not anymore.” You grin.
Bucky watches as the mans eyes glow an alluring blue color, and as you speak in an almost seductive tone, the man steps away and lets the two of you inside.
“What did you do?” Bucky asks in your ear as he guides you to the booth across from the one where the deal is going on.
“Are you really asking that question?” You state, subtly looking over at the meeting.
You make a quick scan of the room. Adolf has an additional two guards, making this situation outnumbered.
“I need Steve and Nat close by.” You say.
“You wanna let me know this plan you have?” Bucky asks, trying to act naturally but you’re sitting beside him, almost too perfectly close.
“If we let that girl out of our sight, it’s game over.” You mutter to him. “The guards have to go down first, Adolf isn’t going to be armed, the boss is. You leave the girl to me.”
“No.” Bucky immediately says.
“James.” You plead. “You have to trust this.”
“I don’t. It seems too easy.” He argues.
“Trust me, it’s not.” You breathe, looking away to the man staring at the two of you.
He motions for his guard to go talk to the bouncer, surely to complain that they paid good money for the room and he let strangers in.
“A guard is heading your way.” You warn the ones outside the door.
“SHIELD is outside, we need to get this wrapped up.” Bruce says.
“The guard’s dealt with, say the word and we’ll come in.” Nat says.
You look up at Bucky. “Stick to the plan.”
The girl stands after she’s given an instruction.
You follow the action, calmly coming up on her side.
“Count of five.” Bucky signals to everyone.
1…
The men take notice of you following their assassin.
2…
She looks at you with a dangerous look.
3…
You grab her by the back of the neck, sweep her legs out from under her and put her on the ground.
4…
Bucky rushes from the booth and to the guards who draw their guns.
5
The rest of the team bursts in.
It’s a dog fight, shots are being fired, and the girl quickly gains control of the situation. One moment, you have her pinned, the other she’s teleported behind you.
“I can help you.” You try to reason, your power gathered in your palms. “Позвольте мне помочь.”
She looks at you strangely before she attacks.
Downstairs, SHIELD agents are busting, causing a commotion. Adolf tries to escape, only for Nat to hold him at gun point.
The three remaining guards put up a fight, much like this girl you truly don’t want to hurt.
“я могу освободить тебя!” You reason, blocking her attacks, trying to wrangle the knife from her hands.
The guards are down, agents are coming into the room.
And what no one expects is for the boss to pull his gun from his jacket. With one single command from him, the girl moves away from you and drops the knife.
Before Bucky can even react and disarm the man, he fires the shot and the girl falls to the floor.
“No!” You scream, scrambling to her. Her shaky hands can barely cover the wound to her chest, it bleeds violently.
“No, no, no.” You panic, pulling her into your lap. Applying pressure to the wound, she gurgles and sputters, looking up at you. “Someone get a medic right now!” You scream.
You don’t know what’s happening around you, but everything slows as agents haul off the two guilty men.
“You’re okay. С тобой все будет в порядке.” You promise her, blood coating your hands and dress.
She looks up at you with fear, but eventually a weak smile pulls on her lips. She coughs up crimson, then puts her hand over yours and goes still.
“Blue…” Bucky approaches.
Tears fall from your eyes, hot with anger.
“Blue.” He says again, crouching to touch your shoulder.
You swallow harshly. “She’s gonna be fine, right? Right, James? SHIELD can save her like they saved me? Right, James?” You plead.
Everyone looks away, two agents come to pull the strangers body from you.
“Blue…let’s go home.” Is all he says, pulling you back as the girl is taken.
He helps you stand, all you can do is stare at your red hands and the stained dress.
You are no stranger to being covered in blood, but for once, this isn’t a life you took.
Why does it still feel like your fault?
You’re not sure who wipes your hands clean, or how you manage to make it out of the building. There’s news outlets waiting, there’s cameras flashing and people yelling questions or people yelling at the reporters to get back.
You’re getting wrapped in Bucky’s jacket and put into the back of a car.
The city lights don’t matter to you anymore, everyone’s mood is solemn.
“Sorry that your dress is ruined, Nat.” You speak almost ghostly.
“I was going to let you keep it anyway.” She responds.
- - - -
It’s 3 am.
You’re at the kitchen island with a pen and paper, trying to rewrite the events, trying to come up with a different outcome like it’s a math solution.
You don’t look up when you feel his presence. “Hello, James.” You mumble.
“It’s really late.” He states. “Maybe you should go to bed?”
Your hair is damp from a shower, makeup long gone, you’re wearing boxer shorts and a long sleeve shirt to keep the chill off.
“I’ve written out five different scenarios.” You state. “And they all show one thing. We should have disarmed him sooner. Of course he was going to kill her, it made sense, that’s what they do. One wrong move, they have to cut their losses. They’ll never let anyone have their creations.”
Bucky frowns and comes forward. “You need to stop thinking about this.”
You shake your head. “304. That was her number. They’ll have to replace her. We should be on the lookout for that.”
“Blue…will you please let this rest until tomorrow?”
You ignore him and shuffle your note pad to a blank page, starting to right down a potential plan. “This will be reported to Head Father, that the boss of the bosses, he oversees all four divisions.”
“I thought there was five divisions.”
You stop writing.
“There was, I am the last of the fifth division.” You say simply.
Bucky leans on the island beside you.
As you write, you take a shaky breath. “When the scientist messed up, he was executed. We were transported to the warehouse in Vermont and the others were shot one by one until the man came to me…and I made him turn the gun on himself like I made that bouncer let us pass. I ran like hell, somehow ended up in the city and well, you know the rest.”
Bucky doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t look at you in horror, just…looks at you.
“That is what The Ring does. We are only important if we are doing our labor correctly, otherwise we are just abominations.” You finally look at him, your throat bobs. “I forgot that, and that girl died…so I won’t forget it again.”
He breathes out and nods. You’re standing there with a determined look, broken in a way he isn’t, and he’s never been more clear of his feelings for you. He’d fight whatever battle you asked him to, he knows that for certain. He’d do it if it was his hand you were holding.
“There’s a word, alexthymia, it means you can’t express how you feel.” You say. “It might just be the thing I suffer from because I am so angry and sad, and here I am, trying to rewrite history.” You dryly laugh, shoulders shaking until it turns into a sob.
It’s a silent one that stops your breathing.
Bucky feels like a fool, standing there, watching you break down. It occurs to him that this entire time, he hasn’t seen you cry.
Slowly, cautiously, he pulls you into him. Your face buries in his chest, his hand on the back of your head as you take in broken breaths. At first, your hands are balled into fists, but as you slowly fall into that warm feeling of him, they relax and your arms twist around him.
He’s not sure how long the two of you stand like this, but Bucky is the most comfortable he’s ever been.
Eventually, you pull back and wipe your eyes.
His hand gently strokes down your hair as he looks down at you with care.
There it is, another feeling you’re not sure how to express.
Slowly, your hand raises, the tips of your fingers gently pressing to his lips, imitating the action he did the night before.
Bucky smiles, letting out a small breath. “Please don’t run away this time.” He whispers, gently grabbing your hand and leaning down to you.
Your eyes widen as he kisses you, but after a short moment, your body softly hums in delight and your eyes drift closed. One arm around his neck, you breathe him in deeply, utterly lost in the feeling as you kiss him back meaningfully. It’s not hungry, not lustrous, it caring and slow and something so kind, full of emotion the two of you can’t figure out what to do with.
He pulls you in closer, his hands have never held anything the way they hold you. Even as he pulls away, he keeps you right where you are, watching as you chase his lips for a moment.
“Your heart’s beating really fast.” You tell him and he nods.
“Yours is too.”
There’s not many words spoken as he takes you to your room, making you promise you’ll get some sleep.
You don’t let go of his hand though as he drops you off.
“Can you…stay? Please?” You whisper, afraid of disappointment.
He should say no. What is something happens? What if he has a nightmare and hurts you?
Bucky takes a second, then nods.
Your room is bare, blank walls, a few things on your desk, a grey comforter on the bed.
Nervously, you pull the blanket back and lay on your side of the bed. Bucky watches you roll onto your side, facing the window. He pulls his shirt off, drops it to the floor and comes to the vacant side.
Staring at the ceiling, he determines that he’ll stay until you’re asleep, then go back to his bed on the floor.
He won’t, though, that’s just the nervous side of his brain talking.
You roll over, wordlessly curling into his side, tucking your head against his shoulder, face buried into his neck.
He processes this choice, and though he’s afraid, he smiles and wraps an arm around you.
- - - -
He’s never slept so peacefully.
When daylight comes and he’s finally woken, you’re still sleeping softly, hand gripping his dog tags.
He doesn’t want to move you, but he really should get up and go back to his room, go take a shower.
Carefully, he untangles you from him and waits to make sure you don’t stir awake before he slips from the room.
Rubbing his eyes as he opens the door, Bucky steps out into the hall, only to be met with Peter.
“Bugboy.” He grunts.
Peter, obviously surprised, holds a flower in his hand.
“Oh h-hey, Bucky.” He awkwardly said, then clears his throat and makes his voice deeper. “I was just seeing if Blue was alright.”
Bucky looks the kid up and down. “She’s alright.”
“Well I’ll just…leave this note for her.” He says, putting the note and flower at the door.
“You do know that she’s too old for you, right?” Bucky asks, amused by the pining.
“Some could argue you’re too old for her.” He chuckles.
Bucky glares.
Peter walks off.
GIRL I AM IN-LOVE WITH YOUR ORPHIC SERIES I CANT STOP RE-READING IT I NEEDD MMOORREE I BEG OF YOU
Ahhhh! Tysm🤍 I try to put out chapters as fast as possible, but your love for it is very encouraging, thank you 🫶
Orphic ~ File 7
Selcouth (adj.) ; Unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet marvelous
Bucky!Barnes x Fem!Reader
Warnings: tw for mentions of past trauma, Bucky being obsessive hehe
Previous part here
Masterlist pinned on my blog
Bucky stayed away.
Far away.
He hopes that it might help the fever growing inside of him, that he could sleep soundly if he forgot the way you sound while breathing. It worked in his favor, he hadn’t been needed at the compound for a week, so it was just him and his melancholy apartment.
The distance didn’t cut the thought of you out entirely.
That was the hard part.
And while he walked down the street and thought about how you were handling the colder weather coming, you were in some sort of agony.
It had the same buzz as when you were going through the horrid withdrawal, just felt a little different. You grew more comfortable in your home, you grew closer with your new family, and the days moved by without your James.
It’s the end of the week without him and you sit in the spiny chair in the meeting room with the team, listening to the new plan for the mission. You’ve slowly been understanding and remembering things, helpful things that lead to a potential deal happening in the city.
They decide who would best suit this mission, who will go undercover, who will wait in the get away van.
Your knees are curled to your chest, nails picking at the rips in your jeans and you suddenly have the urge to speak.
“I want to go.”
The room comes to a halt.
“Holy shit, she can speak.” Sam says with bewilderment.
“Of course I can speak, I just didn’t like to…I’m fine now.” You explain.
They all have a peculiar look, but they go with it.
“Blue…are you sure it’s smart for you to go?” Tony asks, mind ridden with concern.
You look over at him. “I’m in control of my power, I won’t hurt anyone.”
Steve adds in. “Are you sure you can jump into action if something happens?”
You giggle. “I was a huntress for over a decade, I think I can handle business.”
You sit straight, then continue. “Besides, I want to do more to bring this whole shindig down.”
Maybe it’s the fact they are still so stunned that you’re speaking, or something else, but they seem to comply easily.
“Alright…Blue will go with the Cap and Romanoff undercover.” Tony declares. “We need to get you in the training room…just to make sure you know what you’re doing.”
You gave him a look, knowing well that he just wanted to throw things and watch you deflect them.
And it seems that was the case for the rest of the Avengers.
“Anyone else scared?” Sam asks, standing behind the protective glass with the rest as you pull your hair up and shrug your ugly sweater off.
“Five bucks says Cap throws in the towel.” Nat bets with Clint.
“Oh you are so on.” He whispers back. “Let’s hope she doesn’t get too hurt.”
Wide eyed, they watch you hold your own in hand to hand combat with Steve, but one leg sweep and your one the ground.
The team cringes.
Then mutter to each other as you jump right back up and get a serious look in your eye.
“She’s pissed now.” Sam laughs, cheering you on.
Steve may be an advanced fighter, he’s twice your size, but he gets tossed like a rag doll with the move of your hand. A line of glowing blue strikes him, he falls backwards.
“Very impressive.” Wanda compliments.
Steve continues to come at you, and Tony laughs hysterically as he gets bashed around.
“Beautiful!” Tony claps, making you proudly smile at the praise. “What else can you do?”
“Uh…I don’t want to hurt him…” You say, unsure.
“What? He’s fine. You’re fine, right?” He turns to Steve.
Steve rolls his aching shoulder, panting slightly as he nods. “I can do this all day, hit me.”
You look at him, making sure he’s okay before you twitch your fingers, sending a bolt of electricity straight to him.
“Oh shit!” Sam exclaims, laughing in amusement as Steve stands there, twitching with bared teeth. “I know that doesn’t feel good.”
Steve falls to his knees, you immediately stop and come before him. Hand on his cheek, you ease the pain you just caused him. He breathes with relief.
“How do you do that?” He asks, getting the strength to stand.
“I can make you do anything I want you to.” You confess.
“Make him do something!” Tony urges, way too excited about this.
“Take mercy on me.” Steve whispers, a half goofy smile.
You rub his cheek, returning the smile. Looking him in the eye, your eyes glow an entrancing blue. Immediately, Steve stops any movement, completely still as you whisper to him.
“Steve…are you listening?” You ask softly.
He nods mechanically.
“Go hug Tony.” You instruct.
Like an obedient soldier, he turns and marches straight for Tony.
“No, stay the hell away from me.” Tony steps away.
Steve just follows, causing the man to panic. The team watching laughs as Tony shouts for you to reel him back in.
“Steve. Stop.” You call.
His feet halt.
“Okay…that’s scary.” Banner agrees, watching as you brake the trance.
Steve shakes his head, almost like he’s clearing the brain fog. Then, he looks to Tony. “Yeah, she’s all yours, I give up.”
“Ha!” Nat laughs in Clints face, holding her palm out for the cash.
Clint pouts as he gives her the money.
You’re shooting at the practice targets as Steve joins the rest of them. They look to him in anticipation for his words.
“Yeah.” Steve nods. “She’ll do just fine.”
Then he nurses his hurt ribs.
- - - -
A deep breath in, he steps through the first doors of the living quarters.
It was after dinner, maybe you were already asleep?
That’s a wishful thought that he doesn’t fully like.
If you were asleep, he couldn’t watch you from a distance, he couldn’t get that faint scent of vanilla and cherry that followed you.
But if you were locked in your room, he could keep his dignity.
But he’s never been a lucky man, that’s why when he makes it to the common space, he sees you very much so awake, sitting in front of the tv, watching what looked like The Breakfast Club.
Now if it were just you, he’d linger for a second, watch you, maybe sit beside you. But it’s much worse, you’re leaned into Steve with his arm around your shoulders, and Wanda is on your other side, head leaned onto Vision’s shoulder.
Bucky’s jaw sets, he glares at the scene that looks too much like a double date.
Nat comes in with a bowl of popcorn, settles on the carpet right under you. And Bruce comes to swap a few jokes with her, then joins her.
And Tony of all people, is sat in the sectional, actually enjoying the movie. Pepper, who the team hardly sees because she’s super woman and runs a business while mothering a daughter she just put to bed, comes in and the team rejoices, all smiles as she sits with her husband.
What the hell was this? A love affair?
Sam approaches behind the soldier who is glaring daggers.
“Aw, a little love fest, how cute.” He snickers, trying to rile Bucky up. “Even Clint went home to his wife, everyone has someone, huh? Oh, except you.”
“You’re one to talk.” Bucky argues.
“Well I’m a little less pathetic about it.”
He turns to look at the grinning man. “Trust me, you’re plenty pathetic.”
Then he turns back to you, how you laugh at a scene and lay more comfortably on Steve.
Like a devil on his shoulder, Sam is there, whispering.
“Aren’t they just cozy? You think Steve’s gonna make a move?”
Bucky’s metal fist clenches.
“I bet you, the next time he laughs, he’s gonna pull her a little closer…surprised she isn’t nuzzling into his neck now.”
“Sam.” Bucky warns. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’m going to dismember your limbs.”
“Nah uh, you’re not supposed to hurt people, Doctor’s orders.” Sam states, laughing for a moment before he gets serious.
“If you want to be in Steve’s spot, then you need to man up and make a move.” He says.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bucky shakes his head.
“Oh really? So it’s not killing you that she’s close with him? You don’t want to rip your best friend off the couch right now?”
He hates that Sam’s right.
Bucky sighs, then relaxes his body. “Wouldn’t make a difference if I make a move, she doesn’t need me, she’s got enough problems to deal with. I got enough problems to deal with. Besides, she has Steve.”
Sam chuckles again. “Very poetic, man, but that was a dumb reason. And have you read her file? The girl has attachment issues, she’s close with everyone she feels safe with, doesn’t mean she has a thing for them.”
“No.” Bucky corrects. “I haven’t read her file, but apparently everyone else has.”
You lean down to ask Nat a question about the movie, and your hand rests on Steve’s knee as you do so.
Bucky’s had enough.
He leaves, walks off in the direction of his room quickly, making him a shadow.
But you feel his energy move past and you turn your head quickly, trying to find him. You only see his retreating form.
Your mood immediately deflates.
Wanda looks over at you as you slump back into the couch, questioning you silently. You just put on a smile and nod, showing her you were fine.
You weren’t fine, you had an ache that festered and festered inside of you.
Bucky wasn’t much better, sitting alone in his room for hours while he listened to the movie end and everyone settle in, going off to bed.
What catches his attention is the folder that slides under his door, a note from Sam on it that reads ‘Try to understand her the way we do’.
He crumbles it up and tosses it.
Sitting at his desk, Bucky holds the file in his hand and it’s heavy, weighted.
Slowly, he opens it.
And the air gets kicked from his lungs.
Evidence photos, countless marks and bruises, scars. There’s countless pages from your therapist, write ups from agents who you spoke with, words from Nick Fury himself who is fond of you.
Attachment issues, abandonment issues
…self destructive tendencies…
…unstable signs… night terrors…relapse of memory
Follows orders well…very intelligent…
Can be triggered by mentions of her past traumas.
Subject to panic attacks.
He feels sick, reading all of it.
And much like your actions to his file, he rereads yours multiple times until he doesn’t feel like he’s going to pass out.
It keeps him up, he lays on the floor next to his bed and thinks over everything.
When he thinks he’s exhausted enough, he shuts his eyes, only for a migraine to hit.
Yet another lasting effect from his past.
He lays there miserable for a moment too long before pulling sweatpants on and going to the kitchen, searching for something simple as Ibuprofen…that he’ll take five of them just so it will make a dent in his system.
He chugs a glass of water, then goes to sit on the couch in front of the large window in the common room. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he almost doesn’t notice the figure going into the kitchen.
Your steps are extremely light, but a blue orb follows you, illuminating your path, so he knows it’s you.
In the darkness, he sits completely still. The cloud cover moves away and the moonlight seeps in to paint him a shade of light blue.
You startle as you see him, water sloshing in your glass.
He doesn’t say a word, just watches you pause and read him.
A shirt swallows your frame, he can barely see the plaid boxers you wear.
“Hello, James.” You greet.
“It’s really ominous when you say that.” He states back, rubbing his temple now.
“Are you sick?” You ask, fiddling with the orb above you, letting it fade out.
“Just a migraine, I’ll live.” He says in a tone that gives way to his discomfort.
You come forward, setting your glass on the coffee table and stand before him.
He looks up in question. “Not any less ominous, doll.” He sighs, looking away and missing the way his nickname affects you.
“I can help.” You say. “…Won’t you let me?”
His head pounds further at the deja vu, because even though you’ve never asked him that, he’s heard those words before in his dreams.
His lips part, but no words come out.
Cautiously, you sit beside him, your touch gentle as you turn his face to you.
He watches you with those round blue eyes, feeling his heart beat wonky.
You hold your fingers an inch from the center of his forehead, and he’s further illuminated by the glow of blue. You hum, feeling the pain he feels.
“What…what are you doing?” He asks in a tone that comes out softer than intended.
“I’m just…feeling you, and trying to make it better.”
“You aren’t permanently damaged, you have feelings, James.” Dr Raynor had told him. “It’s a possibility that you are enamored by this woman.”
He isn’t sure if that’s the word. But he feels something rising in him, it’s heavy on his lungs, it makes him feel warm. Perhaps because no one has done a caring act for him in a long time, or maybe it’s because he can feel his soul reaching out and tangling itself in yours. It’s obsessive and caring and entirely strange, but it’s not wrong.
“And what do you feel?” He asks, his throat bobbing.
Your eyebrows drawn, you look into his eyes. “Just you.”
“Is it terrible?” He asks, not any hint of sarcasm.
You shake your head, pulling the pain from him, soothing his head. “You could never be terrible, I don’t think.”
Fuck. You are entirely strange and rare and marvelous.
He breathes clearer as the pain is gone. He reaches out, softly grasping your wrist and it earns a small gasp from you.
Then his palm is meeting yours like he needs to see if you’re one in the same. His touch is warm, you watch the way his hand is considerably more larger than yours.
You slow his heart out of fear that it might burst.
“Tell me why you’re always in my head.” He asks in a husky and breathless tone.
“You first.” You whisper.
He takes your hand, pressing his lips to your palm and you stop breathing entirely.
The feeling in you is new, one you’ve never felt. But he’s sitting too close, looking too good, being so gentle, you have an urge to…cry?
You watch him carefully, dissecting every move.
In truth, Bucky isn’t sure what he’s doing but he knows he wants to. He pressed the tips of your fingers to his lips, trying to understand what’s happening behind your eyes. As he pulls your hand away, it’s like your body moves on its own. You lean forward, rushing your lips to his before you can process what’s happening. You’ve kissed men in your career, all out of business, never for pleasure. This is different, this is an invisible force that wants you to latch onto him and not let go.
Bucky’s eyes widen as you kiss him almost harshly, it short circuits his brain. He can’t even process what to do before you’re ripping yourself away, completely spooked.
Not knowing exactly what to say, you just mutter an apology and rush away, back to your room.
Bucky’s left in the darkness, skin tingling.
Next part
Post another fucking chapter girl I NEED TO KNOW WHAT'S NEXT GOD DAMN IT
Is this how you guys feel with me ?💀😭
Orphic ~ File 6
Kalon (adj.) ; Possessing a beauty that is more than skin deep
Bucky!Barnes x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Mentions of violence, trauma, Bucky slowly growing crazy, obsession, alcohol, tw
Previous Part
Masterlist
It’s a slight twitch, one that contorts your sleeping face. You spiral into a dream.
“Head Father won’t be happy.”
“He’s never happy.”
Fifteen is a strange age to be covered in blood, but here you are in the shower room, getting your hands scrubbed by 502. A deal gone wrong, that’s going to earn you three days in the pen.
You talk in hush whispers, if anyone finds you talking in English, you’ll be in bigger trouble.
“I’ll be in trouble when he returns from Siberia.” You exclaim, pulling the gun from the holster tucked into the back of your pants.
“We’ll be in our way to Miami before he returns, it’ll buy you some time. Listen to what Mikhaylov tells you, be obedient and maybe Father will go easy on you.”
She pulls your hair from the braid it was in, then points to one of the showers.
“I’ll stand guard.” She promises.
That was a moment of peace before agents were taking you to the lab.
“Hello, 505.”
You sit in the metal chair, completely silent, just staring at the badge on his dirty white coat.
Jon Petrov.
Your eyes open, staring at the window. Quickly before you forget, you throw the covers off of you and rush to your desk in the corner, pulling out a notepad and writing down every detail. Still in your pajamas, you rush out of your room, down the halls, searching for someone to show.
Your mouth opens, one single noise comes out as if you were to call upon someone, but then you remember they’re all gone.
They left for Vermont early in the morning.
They couldn’t have left you alone, could they?
You shut your eyes, seeing if you can locate an energy close by.
Dr. Banner is in the lab.
“Jesus, kid.” He states in shock as you stand in the doorway, completely silent. “It’s crazy weird how soft you walk.”
You give a sorry smile and hold your notes out. He takes them with a curious look, then looks them over.
“Did you just remember this?” He asks.
You nod your head.
“Good, I’ll send it over to the team, maybe it can help.”
You don’t stick around, you go back to wandering aimlessly, trying to decide if you actually want to get dressed.
Most would argue that today was a day that you make the rules.
Because today is your birthday, and you are alone.
You do get dressed, knee socks, skirt, top, nothing extremely interesting, but you glide around the halls effortlessly, entertaining yourself while the entire floor is empty for once. Pushing random buttons on the stereo until music plays, you recognize the song.
You and 503 were in a Los Angeles strip club for a mission three years ago, dancing to this song. She looked over at you with a grin, enjoying the exotic dancer life a little too much.
You shake your head, trying to get rid of the memory. Into the kitchen you go, and decide you could easily figure out how to make a birthday cake.
As awful as that place was, if you were good, those in charge of your division would bake you a cake and reward you with gifts- gifts they’d take away as soon as you slipped up.
And even though you have directions pulled up on your phone, the mixing of ingredients doesn’t exactly go smoothly. It takes probably double the time it would normally take to pour the batter into a cake tin and put it into the oven.
Then it occurs to you that you’ve never used an oven so it takes a moment to understand the entirely too high tech thing.
All these simple things, and yet you have no clue. You’re a trained assassin with altered abilities, you will not be defeated by things of a 1950’s housewife.
Now you aren’t exactly sure how you get here, licking a spoonful of frosting while standing on top of the grand island. Like a trance, you dance to the loud music, nursing the power coming from your finger tips, letting it mist around the room.
How free you feel.
The timer goes off and you pull the perfectly round cake from the oven, frosting it. There’s no candles laying around, so you use matches.
You smile to yourself, then blow out the flames. You eat a slice, then put it in the fridge with a note that says ‘Not poisoned, enjoy’, making sure the others know it’s trustworthy.
That might not be normal, but it’s always been a concern of yours when eating things.
Dancing into the living room, you lose yourself in the beat, not really concerned about anything else.
The team returns from the leads in Vermont with not much success, only a few things they can work with.
“Is that music?” Steve asks as they enter the living quarters. The doors open upon their arrival, letting them follow the beats in the air.
“Aren’t you supposed to have enhanced hearing? Yeah, it’s music.” Tony rolls his eyes.
It gets louder and louder, a trail that leads them to the show.
A bottle of champagne in one hand, you twirl around, hips swaying, good footwork, hair falling messy in your face. You look a little messy, eyeliner smudged, lips red from sucking straight from the bottle.
Bucky’s heart stops in his chest.
You’re gorgeous.
The team just stops and stares, frozen in shock.
You choke and sputter on your next drink, finally seeing the group watching you.
You immediately halt in your movement, then flick your hand in the direction of the stereo to turn it off.
They have no words, of course you don’t either.
Nat bites her amused laugh back, taking pleasure in seeing you so care free.
“This might not be the right terminology…” Steve starts. “But why are you…busting a move?”
Everyone groans.
They exclaim things like ‘Steve, really?’, ‘That’s so dumb to ask’, and ‘Okay, Grandpa’.
Mood deflated, you just turn and walk away.
“You pissed her off, good job, Steve.” Sam says, monotonously.
“Was that not what people say?” He asks in genuine confusion.
As the group argues, Bucky watches your retreating frame until you disappear entirely.
“She’s not needed for the debrief, let’s get a move on that.” Tony finally says, ending previous conversation. But as Wanda returns from the kitchen, holding your cake, she wears a frown.
“It’s her birthday…”
Everyone’s expressions fall.
- - - -
The water’s cold as you sit at the dock, feet in the lake, bottle in your lap.
The wind blows, sending a shiver through you. Your body temperature might drop significantly, but you choose to stay seated. Your lips make a pop noise as they come off the bottle, and behind you comes footsteps. You’ve learned how everyone’s feet sound as they strike the ground.
You also know his boots sound different than the others.
“Hello, James.” You say, not turning to look at him.
He smirks slightly to himself, feeling extremely special. He is still the only one you talk to, and that possessive part of him wants it to stay that way.
You didn’t need to speak to anyone, anything you needed, he’d do for you. He’d want you to save that pretty voice of yours for him and him only-
Stop.
No.
He shakes his head free of those thoughts.
“You don’t want to know how the mission went?” He asks, looking down at you.
“How did it go?”
“Dead end.”
You hum, then take another drink.
He sighs at your defeated face, then decides he has enough self control to sit by your side.
“Why didn’t you let anyone know it was your birthday?” He asks, feeling relieved when you don’t move away from him.
You shrug. “There are far more important things than my birthday.”
Bucky scoffs. “Well that’s a depressing attitude.”
No smile, he feels defeated.
“Happy birthday.” He says next. “What, you nineteen now?”
There it is, that smile.
“Twenty five.” You correct, lifting the bottle back to your lips, though some of it spills down your chin.
His eyes watch it, how the champagne slips down the skin of neck.
He swallows hard.
Quickly, he tries to come up with something clever to say so he can distract himself from the urge to lean forward and taste it on your skin.
Christ, Sam might be right, he might be obsessed with you.
“Twenty five…I don’t remember being twenty five.” He says, and he watches as you turn to him.
“You were still a sergeant.” You say. “…I guess you’ll always be a soldier though, right?”
His head cocks in question.
“I read your file.” You admit. “I’ve read it a few times.”
He stares at you, trying to read your expression. What did you mean you’ve read it? Did that mean you knew everything? …What do you think of him now?
You can feel his anxiety, that’s why you are quick to continue.
“You’ve been Steve’s best friend since day one, they declared you an expert sniper, they scratched out the label of potential threat and wrote in ‘handy to have’.”
The champagne was really getting to you now, or was it because he is looking at you so intensely?
“Did you study everyone or am I just special?” He says with sarcasm.
“I’ve read everyone’s file, figured I should since everyone’s read mine.”
“I haven’t.”
He’s quick to say it, but you know he means it.
His blue eyes are soft for a man so adapt to killing.
Your breath comes out of your parted lips. Suddenly, the bottle is pulled from your weak grasp.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be getting drunk.” He says, taking a drink for himself before setting it down away from you.
“I have free will now, more than I know what to do with.” You state, gazing deeply.
He feels like he’s been drugged, but really it’s just that you’re right beside him, shivering, smelling like vanilla and cherries. It makes him a little woozy.
You blame your forwardness on the sugar and alcohol in your system. Your fingers reach to run against the cool metal of his dog tags that have fallen over his shirt.
“I like these.” You say softly, like you don’t even know you’re saying it.
“Why?” He asks, hoping you can’t feel the way his heart is pumping way too hard.
“I like the idea of having a name.”
Fuck. That’s heartbreaking.
Bucky furrows his brows. “You had a name once…didn’t you?”
Your finger twists around the chain of the tags, completely absentmindedly. “I had a lot of things once…a name, a home, a mother…they were all erased from my brain when they chemically altered me.” You explain, pulling your hand back. “They took it all from me…all I got out of it was murderous talents and a brand in my skin like I’m cattle.”
Bucky stays silent for a moment, watching as you think back. A dry chuckle leaves your throat.
“убийца. That’s what they used to call me with a smile on their face, like it was a compliment. God, I want to end them so bad.” You say, nose sniffling as you look away from him.
“Killer.” He translates. “Yeah, I know something about that.”
The two of you sit there, staring out at the water that falling leaves are slowly landing on top of. Bucky can’t stand to watch you shiver anymore, and the fact you’re just enduring it honestly makes him annoyed, annoyed at you lack of self preservation.
“You’re freezing, maybe you should go find Steve, get warm?” He says, trying not to sound bitter or worse, jealous.
Without one single word, you shift closer in one fluid motion and lean your head on his shoulder.
“Steve isn’t the only one with blood that runs hot.” You say softly.
Pressed right into his side, you continue to look out into the distance. He doesn’t know about this ability, but you can feel how his heart beats hard, and you know that if you concentrate, you can slow it down. Not lethally, not in the way you always dis, not to kill. Just to ease.
- - - -
“Your 11 o’clock is already here for you.”
Dr. Raynor thanks the front desk assistant and lets confusion over take her.
What was he doing here early? He always puts the sessions off to the very last second.
“James-” She hardly makes it into the office before he’s urgently standing from the couch.
“I need drugs.”
“What? James-”
“I know I said no to whatever you offered me before- what was it? Zo- something? PhantomZo or something? It doesn’t matter what it is, a damn horse tranquilizer would do, but I need something.”
Raynor calmly sits behind her desk. “Let’s slow down, yeah? Sit down.”
Bucky obeys.
“Now, why do you want the prescription? Why now?” She asks, not realizing she’s just opened a can of worms.
“I need my mind to go blank, I’m tempted to chew on a power cord to make it happen. Shock therapy did the trick before.” He says in a dead serious tone, making the woman look at him unamused.
“Humor helps you cope, so I’m not gonna tell you why that statement is severely wrong, but how about you tell me why you need your mind blank?”
He groans, running his hands through his hair. “The damn thing won’t stop. It just goes lightening speed all the time, so I need to shoot the hamster up there that won’t stop running on the wheel.”
Raynor looks at him, puzzled and worried that he’s regressing. She pulls out her notes from their first sessions.
“What thoughts are you having? Violent ones? About harming yourself or others?” She asks.
“No, no.” He grunts. “It’s this- it’s not violent. But they’re so annoying, I can’t even sleep. Blue, she’s-she’s there, all the damn time! I shut my eyes and she’s- and I can’t even speak sometimes- am I having a stroke? The age is really catching up to me, huh?”
She could dissect all of that and spend an hour talking about each thing.
But her first question, the biggest question, is the one she persists with.
“Who’s Blue?”
Next part
Y/N: Hey, Bucky, wanna play 20 questions?
Bucky: ...
Bucky: What's your favorite color?
Y/N, staring deeply at Bucky's eyes: Blue, do you love me?
postscript. [bucky barnes x reader]
part two
ao3 | ko-fi
rating: g
words: 3k
warnings: none that i know of
The picture you choose for Bucky isn’t anything special, in your opinion. One of your friends captured it on a Sunday afternoon: just you leaning up on the railing on the pier and only half-looking at the camera, enraptured by the hazel shine of the water as you were. Still, you enclose it in the envelope and compose your letter.
19 September 1943
Dear Bucky,
Who is this Captain Sobel person? I’ll write a strongly-worded letter just for him, just say the word. What are you supposed to do on a weekend without a pass, anyway? Sounds worse than detention, believe it or not. Now, to be fair, I only got detention that one time. If memory serves, you were in there a little more frequently than I was. I won’t forget the time we spent there together, though. Happy memories, in the end, since it won me a good friend like yourself.
I don’t think I ever apologized for that, by the way. Now’s as good a time as any since I don’t know when I’ll see you in person next. I wish I’d known how difficult that year was for you. I wish a lot of things had been different, actually. It wasn’t fair to you that you had to work so hard and go without, and meanwhile I was oblivious to all of that and just made things even harder than they had to be. Now, there’s this war on that sort of makes all those wishes for different circumstances seem small and unimportant. I still look at them from time to time though sort of through the looking glass, and I imagine a world where there isn’t a war at all and things have been dandy between us our whole lives. That way I can better enjoy it when you call me your best friend even if it’s only a running gag.
And, on that note, what’s a picture between friends? I hope the one I’ve enclosed is sufficient for bragging rights. That one was taken by John Hall. Do you remember him? He’s a few years younger than us, and I think he knows Steve better. Anyway, he’s getting ready to ship out with the rest of you… I think he’s trying to become the next Eisenhower. I hope by the time the punk reaches that level of seniority, the war is long over. If you see him sometime, say hi for me. I did manage to get a hold of Steve, and he laughed at you making me “Buck’s messenger girl.” He told me to tell you that he gets your letters and he knows you’re getting his, so stop bothering me. (Don’t quit bothering me, I’ll never forgive you.)
I truly don’t know how my mother would feel about being your division’s patron saint, but it sure gets a laugh out of me. I say go for it, but don’t tell her I said so and don’t let anyone make a pin-up of her. I mean it! I’ll know if you do.
She doesn’t know yet that I’m writing to you. I think, honestly, I just want to see first if we keep it up. I’m sure you’ll get so busy after a while that it will be hard to think of writing letters, and I want you to know that I won’t be angry if they start to peter out. Until then, I’m happy to give you any news of New York that you would like, short of sending you the Times. Just be a dear and let me know what about me you’d most like to hear about.
For the time being, I’ll let you know that the rubber business is booming and keeps a poor old maid secretary like myself from finding a good husband. This breaking headline I’ve heard from the women at church. I credit it more to a love of being mostly ALONE. I’d have to really love somebody to want their presence all the time.
I remain affectionately,
Your Friend and maybe even your best one.
P.S. Sorry to hear you don’t get Jack Benny! But in that case, I hope you don’t mind if I repurpose some of his gags. I’ll be your one-woman USO show.
-... -...
27 September 1943
Best Friend (the absolute truth, not a gag),
Well, well, well, I was minding my business a couple of mornings ago as I was working the mess (nevermind why), and who should show up for their chow but the entirety of the 506th? Guarnere was the first to pay me the time of day, and I guess it’s because he’s a rough character who really has it out for me. Not that I don’t get it. I might have accidentally remarked to one of the guys that his name sounds awful close to “gonorrhea” and they sort of took that and ran with it. All the same, I was genuinely happy to see him, and he didn’t seem as brash as he usually is.
Then, knowing he was around, I was able to track down Joe Liebgott, Babe Heffron, and Don Malarkey. So, here they are! Paratroopers by the dozens. With them here, I’m guessing that it will only be [REDACTED] before we ship out to the mainland of Europe, now. [REDACTED]. [REDACTED]. From what I understand at the moment, we’re not headfirst into combat, but it’s not far off. Can’t tell you where we’re going exactly—loose lips sink ships and all. Besides, I hardly know, myself. They don’t tell me much, but needless to say, it’s gonna be a rough one. (Hello to the Second Lieutenant reading this letter to censor all of the information he considers sensitive. Why don’t you just trust that I don’t know anything worth telling and stop being such a creep? Haven’t you got your own girl to write to?)
That in mind, don’t you dare get all sappy on me about what all happened a decade ago. I didn’t want folks to know, so I didn’t tell them. No matter what I was going through, it didn’t give me an excuse to be a jerk. I don’t think I ever apologized to you for that, either. So there. We’re even. Besides, it’s like you said: happy memories in the end. What a swell friend you’ve been to me thus far, and lucky me if we keep it up.
Don’t go writing to John Hall, now, either. I do remember him plenty and I’m sure there were girls aplenty clamoring to write to him. As for me, I’ve only got the one. (Poor me! Take pity, Second Lieutenant.) To discourage you from running off with handsome Mr. Hall, I’ve sent you a picture of myself to remind you how very handsome I also am.
No pin-ups of your saintly mother! Yes, ma’am! I hope she approves of me enough to not be bothered if/when you decide to let her know that we’re writing. I, personally, don’t see myself giving up writing to you, but that promise of no-anger goes in both directions. You girls back home have got to stay busy and keep morale up over there. Though, I can confess to selfishly enjoying my one-woman USO show.
Old maid? You’re how old? Twenty-four/five? I guess that makes me an old confirmed bachelor at twenty-six. I joke, but some of the guys here are so young it darn well feels like it. When we win this thing, it’s gonna be from the efforts of teenagers and twenty-somethings. At this rate, they’re gonna have to start letting eighteen-year-olds vote in elections.
That’s all from me for the time being, though I figure with the 506th in town, things will start to get interesting. Who is Captain Sobel? Well, he’s the guy who just showed up to make my life a living [REDACTED] heck.
Your faithful friend,
Bucky Barnes
P.S. I understand wanting to be alone. If there’s one thing this town is missing, it’s PRIVACY.
-.-- -.
4 October 1943
Dear Bucky,
Thank you for your picture. My mother found a frame for it so I could put it on my desk and try to remember that I am writing to Bucky Barnes and NOT John Hall. It’s so hard to keep track, sometimes. Although I might have to start writing to him if you insist on being so secretive. What do you mean nevermind about you working the mess? Is there something about mess work that I don’t know?
Mother was glad to hear that we’ve been writing and even happier when she saw your picture come through. Not to inflate your ego, but handsome was just one of the words she used to describe you. She couldn’t stop saying how grown-up you look from the last time she saw you. I think the Class A’s help: they do shine you up some, soldier! (You’re in need of some polish, too. Poor Mr. Guarnere.)
Well, tell all the boys I say hello. I feel like I know them already. Would you believe I was thrilled to hear that the 506th had made it to you safely? Well, I was. Although, maybe it’s just the patriotism that the war has instilled in me over the past couple of years. Hoo-rah for our boys coming to the rescue of those poor Brits. Even if one of our heroes is really named Malarkey. Is that a fact or a nickname?
Speaking of those poor Brits, I haven’t forgotten about the cup of tea you owe me or my chat with Winston Churchill. Do you think you’ll get a pass to come home for Christmas? I know that’s some time out, but I can’t help but wonder. If it really is nice to be missed, you must be living the nicest of anybody. Me and Steve go to the movies on Saturdays to see the newsreels (haven’t yet caught a glimpse of you) and wonder about what you’re doing at that very instant.
Oh, swell, my mother’s just come for a visit and is asking about you. I’ll have to pick this up later.
Much later! We ended up taking the car to go to a bond rally in Manhattan and take a casserole to a family in her neighborhood who just put up a gold star. I’m starting to hate the look of those things.
Well, I have no desire to sour the tone. My boss is giving me Friday off this week for no other reason than to be nice. His wife had her baby this weekend, and he was in a happy mood/intends to take a long weekend himself. I think I’ll call up my girlfriends and see if we can’t see the Jack Benny show taped live. If not, then we’ll see that new Red Skelton picture. Geez, I can’t imagine only getting Bob Hope! I hope the English comedians are funny enough to make you snort, at least.
Sorry for another short letter! Running around like a chicken with my head cut off until Friday. I’ll try for a longer one next time. Maybe when I’ve got a little more time to write, I can bore you to death with my crochet projects. Or maybe I’ll become a WAVE so at least my boring stories will have a little more action. Whatever I do in the next couple of weeks, I will remain,
Your BEST friend.
P.S. My mother wanted me to tell you that you look just like John Wayne. I do not see it.
-... -...
9 October 1943
Heya,
I thought I said don’t worry about my working the mess. Well, I meant it, and you’d better get used to taking me seriously, missy. You are now writing to a gentleman who has crawled his way out of said mess hall, and is well on his way to being promoted to a Lieutenant any day now. How do I know this? Well, easy. I’ve got the blessing of your saintly mother. It’s enough to lift any man’s spirits and make him feel loaded down with good luck charms. (Although, I’ll admit, your pretty picture is still my favorite).
What am I doing on a Saturday? After duties, probably lounging around with whatever guys from the 506th that can get out from under Sobel’s thumb. They’re all swell guys, don’t get me wrong. All the same, the idea of going to the movies with you and Steve makes me homesick in a way I’ve never known. (I just remembered the time difference between you and me. When you go to the movies, I’m probably washing up for bed.)
There now, remember what I said about home morale? You’re doing your part, kid. Just don’t become a WAVE if you can help it. It’s enough to keep selling bonds. Who will crochet for us if not you? Tell me all about your projects, if you like, and I’ll be an avid listener. It’s a better hobby than what the guys get up to which is mostly just getting drunk and smashing up whatever glass they can find. (I once again thank Lt. Winters for staying sober as a judge and keeping some semblance of peace). Who are you that can make even the rough corners of NYC seem like a gentle place to land?
Yes, Don Malarkey’s name is really Malarkey. You’ll love this, too. Winston Churchill did, in fact, come to inspect our troops with Gen. Eisenhower. Malarkey himself had a decently long conversation with the Prime Minister and now won’t shut up about it. He told me to give you this bag of tea (enclosed) since he can’t stand the stuff and he’s reached the height of the English experience anyway.
All of us are getting a little antsy here, I think. Some more than others. There have been plenty of guys who have run around and snatched up all the pretty local girls. Then, when I think all of them must be taken, they all break up with each other and go rounds. Sounds awful tiresome to me. I keep myself busy after duties by writing to you and Rebecca then helping out on the sheep farm I’m billeted at. These folks have a couple of little refugee kids here from London that crack me up the way they stare at me all wide-eyed when I’m in uniform. When I’m out in the roads, though, they’ll chase me on their bikes and ask, “Got any gum, yank?” I like to surprise them with it, if I can.
I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything about Christmas. I did have a home pass last year, so I wouldn’t count on it twice. If it works out, though, your door will be the first I knock on when I go caroling. Give your mother my love and kisses.
Your favorite Englishman,
Bucky “John Wayne” Barnes
P.S. I won’t tell all the boys you said hello. They’re a bunch of opportunistic scumbags, and they don’t deserve it from you. Dum Dum says hello back.
-.. -..
From the esteemed desk of Timothy Dugan
9 October 1943
Dear Madam,
I am writing regarding information that you requested approximately a week ago regarding the work of one Mr. James Buchanan Barnes in the fine Mess Hall of our base here in sunny Aldbourne, England. I regret to inform you, ma’am, that the mess hall is where a soldier of Mr. Barnes’s rank is sent after engaging in what a lady like yourself might call a “rear-end” kicking with his fellow enlisted men. What drove our Mr. Barnes to such drastic and violent action, you may ask? Well, madam, it is a joy to relate it to you!
I remember it well: a simple game of football on a misty day like you must be accustomed to in New York. Mr. Barnes, having been goaded into playing by myself and several compatriots and having also finished a letter to his sister Rebecca, put down his writing equipment and joined us in a riotous good time. When he returned to his property, you can imagine his shock at finding it pinched by a couple of enlisted men who had seen your picture and wanted it for a pin-up. I don’t mean to shock you, madam, but these are the facts of the case.
Dear sweet mother, but I have never seen Bucky Barnes so darn riled up before. Those enlisted men quickly found out how funny their little joke was. He socked both of them across the jaw before either of them knew what was happening. It was a blow that, from what I understand of how you befriended our Mr. Barnes, would’ve made you proud.
Sincerely,
Tim “Dum Dum” Dugan
P.S. I’ve since been privileged enough to see the picture that sent Mr. Barnes to the mess hall. I’d say it’s worth fighting over. You look like—if you’ll excuse me—a real peach. Bucky’s a lucky fella.
.--- ….
9 October 1943
Hello to you from Aldbourne!
I realize it may be strange to hear from me so all of a sudden, but I’ve run into Bucky Barnes and he’s having a real cow over a letter that I guess Dum Dum means to send to you. All the same, they’ve reminded me that I saw the picture that Bucky got pinned for fighting over. That’s the one that I took, isn’t it? Boy, that was a swell day.
Speaking of that day, I think I also gave you some pictures that I took of your cousin who was with us, if you’ll remember. If you gave her those pictures, do you know if she would mind sending me one along with her address? I’d really owe you one if you’d ask for me.
I’ll let Bucky handle all of the riveting descriptions of life in England, but I hope you and yours are getting along. Write to me if you ever get a mind to! You and Steve both.
Your friend in Able Company,
John Hall
P.S. I hope you know what you’re getting into with Bucky. I think he’s twitterpated on you.
I’m reading this like a school girl, my lord 😭 anyways, I love love love
Orphic~ File 5
Taciturn (adj.); Silent; not talkative
Warnings: mentions of abuse, drugs, withdrawal, violence, language.
Bucky!Barnes x Fem!Reader
Previous part here
Masterlist
“James.”
“It’s alright, James.”
He stirs, letting out a soft breath as you come into his vision. He’s not afraid of the hands that run through his hair, how your fingers gently stroke his jaw, showing him the softest comfort he’s ever known. He finds himself reaching for you, his hand twisting in your hair as his forehead presses to yours.
“Shh, I’m here now.” You soothe. “It’s okay.”
He shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut before they open, seeing you smile gently, laid beside him on the floor.
“No.” He mumbles, a hint of a whine trailing after the word.
“You’re a good man.” You promise him, nuzzling your nose to his.
“My hands are red.” He tells you, heart beat in his ears as your soft hand slips down his check to rest of the side of his neck.
“And yet, I trust them completely.” You whisper into his ear. “I could be good to you if you let me. Won’t you let me?”
As you slot your lips to his, you gasp in his air.
Bucky wakes up with a start, chest heaving. His eyes look around the bare apartment. It’s empty as always.
Hands pressed to his eyes, he mutters to himself, his teeth grit.
“Get out of my head.”
“Get out of my head!”
- - - -
You suddenly understand why people can’t stop addiction.
This feeling is comparable to physical abuse, something you know much about.
By some miracle, you’ve managed to get out of bed and shower. You put on your own clothes, the things you yourself picked out. It’s a good feeling, but as you walk to the kitchen, you think your teeth might just crack.
Coffee might help.
“Hello, Blue.”
You jump, turning to see Vision behind you.
You give a simple smile, then wave your hand up for a coffee mug to come into your grasp from the cabinet.
“Your abilities are very fascinating.” He states. “Have you tried to use them on yourself? To get rid of that feeling you have?”
You toss him a look over your shoulder.
Of course you tried. Unfortunately, the people who cursed you with these powers made sure you couldn’t inflict them on yourself, almost like a safety precaution so you wouldn’t end yourself when they weren’t looking.
You lean on the kitchen island and sip the coffee, cringing at the bitterness. The sugar jar drifts over, you scoop two spoonfuls in. You drink the coffee quickly, hoping it’ll settle you.
“I understand your urge to remain silent.” Vision says. “The others might find it odd but rest assured, I do not criticize you.”
You muster up the best smile you can, then pat his hand. In your opinion, if anyone was odd, it would be the one that is a large computer chip who looks like a dignified gentleman with blonde hair.
You respect his kindness.
Taking bland tasting wafers with you, you wander the halls, take the elevator to different parts of the compound. To your surprise, you don’t run into many people, the agents and workers that you do come across, they don’t speak to you.
After about twenty minutes of taking in your surroundings, you come across a file room on the third floor, meaning it was restricted access.
You jab your finger against the key pad, it blinks at you angrily.
With one simple flick of your hand, the door creaks open.
You laugh.
Wasn’t this supposed to be a high security facility?
You shut the door behind you and curiously look over the filing cabinets. They’re labeled all differently, separated into mission reports and previous alliances or enemies. You open the one that’s labeled ‘Tony’s Cult’, assuming that meant the information on the Avengers.
You bring a stack out and sit comfortably on the floor. Like a good book, you dive in, getting lost in abilities, missions, back stories.
It might be an invasion of privacy, but they all read your file so you assume you can read theirs. You learn birthday’s, quirks that are noted in, who has confirmed kills and who doesn’t. You laugh at the file of Peter Parker, because there’s not much there besides everything that screams ‘child with odd ability’.
You enjoy Steve’s, because it reminds you of the children’s books you read hundreds of times while in The Ring. He’s the hero, the one that saves the day. He is everything you were told you were going to be if you killed a man you didn’t know. He was given a gun for the good of America, you were given powers for the good of a rich family.
James Buchanan Barnes
‘The Winter Soldier’
Your fingers pause before they open the dusty folder.
This felt more like the stories they told you to scare you into behaving. This was your story.
Confirmed kills…
Hydra…
…war…
…Bucky and Steve…
…prisoner…
…brain washed…
…Deadly, be advised…
…assassin…
Your brows furrow, all these words spin in your mind. Holding up his military id photo, you smile at his charming face in a sergeant uniform. You compare it to the stone cold expression of The Winter Soldier, and determine it’s two different people you’re looking at.
There’s a rather awful photo of his left shoulder, how the skin is scarred and mangled as it meets silver metal.
You reach to feel the brand on the back of your neck, your nails scrape it.
- - - -
Natasha knocked on your bedroom door, only to be met with silence. Figuring you’re eating breakfast, she searches for you in the kitchen, only to find Steve and Sam play fighting with wooden spoons.
“Where’s Blue?” She asks the two boys who quickly drop their pretend weapons.
Steve clears his throat. “Asleep still, maybe.”
Nat shakes her head. “I was just at her room.”
“You try the MedBay? Doesn’t she get poked around this time?” Sam asks.
“Her infusions are done, that’s why I’m concerned. Last thing we need is an important asset to be passed out somewhere.” She stresses just as Wanda joins them.
“What’s wrong?” She asks.
“Have you seen Blue?” Steve asks.
Wanda shakes her head.
They split up, searching every room.
You put the files back the best you could after the shaky feeling became too much. You wrap your arms around your cramping sides, somehow making it back to the living space where you collapse on the couch.
“Jesus, where have you been?” Nat asks as she comes in to find you, but her concern grows as she takes in your pale expression.
“What’s wrong?” She comes to your side, soon joined by Steve and Wanda. “How do you feel?”
I’ve never been better.
You refrain from rolling your eyes, you continue to shiver.
“Bruce said she has to let the shakes run its course, they can’t keep giving her that stuff.” Nat states to the two that join as you roll onto your side.
“Here, let me.” Wanda comes forward, you see the red glow at her fingers and shuffle away in uncertainty.
“Blue, this won’t hurt.” She promises, placing here fingers an inch from your forehead as she tries to figure out what you need.
“She’s cold.”
Steve is quick to sit beside you, pulling you to lay on his lap.
Wanda’s face twists in the agony you feel. “There’s nothing we can give her?”
“Uh…baby aspirin?” Steve offers.
You try to think of something that has felt worse, maybe the first injection of the serum, how it burned in your veins. That felt pretty bad. But though you’ve experienced multiple parts of hell, this was certainly new.
“They’ve lowered the dosage for a month, should it be effecting her this bad?” Steve asks, his hand on your shaky shoulder.
Nat comes back with a wet rag, wiping your clammy forehead. “This isn’t a drug you buy from a dealer in his mom’s basement, Steve, this stuff could kill somebody with a normal system. They’ve been giving it to her like candy for fifteen years, she’s become dependent on it and now her body is trying to figure out how to function.”
Steve takes the rag and keeps it to your skin as he grumbles. “You could’ve just said yes.”
Your head lolls, a sort of hallucination wiping over your vision. You groan with discomfort.
“I can put her to sleep, maybe she’ll sleep it off?” Wanda offers.
Sure, sleep off the deadliest withdrawal known to man.
Despite your doubt, you feel a relief wash over you as Wanda shuts your eyes.
Oh…this is nice.
- - - -
At some point, Steve left you when he was sure you wouldn’t wake. Covered in a blanket, you lay peacefully on the sofa.
That’s how Bucky finds you.
He wasn’t expecting to come across you, but his feet are now planted as he stares down at you. It’s a bitter feeling in him, you sleeping soundly, having no idea of the anguish you’ve caused him. He could hate you for it, he probably should.
…but…
He just wants to see, just wants to answer one of the many questions he has. Carefully, he reaches for the hand that rest on your chest.
It doesn’t shock him like before.
It just makes him angry, actually. It felt the same as in that terror from the night, that oddly soothing touch that will never be meant for him.
He drops your hand, huffing to himself.
Somehow, he feels worse now.
“Dude.”
He snaps his head up at the voice, seeing Sam stand there with raised brows.
Fuck.
“How long have you been there?” Bucky asks, swallowing nervously.
“Uh, long enough to see you go all creepy stalker mode.” Sam responds, coming closer. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Bucky answers quickly and defensively.
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
He glares, then moves away from you and closer to Sam. “Drop it, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” He bites.
Sam’s eyes widen. “Do you even know what you’re talking about?”
“…No. I don’t know.”
As Bucky storms off, Sam is hot on his heels.
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“I feel like you want to talk about it.”
Bucky turns around swiftly. “You’re gonna be feeling something else if you don’t lay off.”
Sam raises his hands in defense. “Fine, suffer in silence, you damn cyborg.”
Bucky desperately tries to remember the rules his therapist gave him, more specifically rule number two.
Nobody gets hurt.
He has the urge to break that one.
Despite his pace, Sam keeps up with him.
“You know what, I get it. I get it. She’s mysterious, a little weird, like you, and she’s gorgeous. Of course you’d be obsessed with her.”
Bucky’s metal hand clenches in irritation. “I am not obsessed with her.”
Sam laughs over dramatically, clapping a hand onto Bucky’s shoulder. “That’s funny, that’s really good, you should be a comedian.”
Bucky zeros in on the contact he makes. “Remove your hand before I do it for you.”
Sam snatches it away. “You’re a little aggressive, you need to have an emergency session with your Doc?”
He manages to make it to his room without putting Sam through a wall. He thinks that’s improvement.
Leaning against the window, he rubs his head and tries to get those words out of his mind.
He wasn’t obsessed with you, just mildly interested in how you’re stitching yourself into his already fried brain. Of course you weren’t doing it on purpose, but you were doing it and it made him feel like he was slowly going crazy.
He does those stupid breathing exercises Raynor told him to do, cracks his neck, then leaves for the training room where Steve was expecting him.
Next part
Orphic~ File 4
Indelible (adj) ; Impossible to erase or forget
Warnings: Extreme triggers! Talks of kidnapping, abuse, murder, labs, powers
Bucky!Barnes x Fem!Reader
Find previous part here
Masterlist
Sleeping alone is still a strange thought.
You only were in a room by yourself when you were being observed…or living through a punishment.
The empty and quiet walls of your new room have you missing the sleeping quarters of that damn place…wherever it is. You close your eyes, grunting as you desperately try and remember all the important things, names, locations, anything that would be more helpful.
There’s nothing but white spaces in your memory.
You huff and bury your face in your pillow. If you soften your breathing just enough, you could hear the overlapping huffs of the girls you once had a bed next to. They’re long gone now, all you know of them is how they look lying still and lifeless.
To say the least, you struggled through the night.
In the morning, you twitch and itch slightly as your body pulses for that fix it’s gotten so used to. If it were up to you, you wouldn’t take the infusion, but your body threatens to give up if it doesn’t have a taste, so Dr. Banner is your saving grace, administering a low dose that continues to get lower until you don’t need it anymore.
It feels like hell.
There’s clothes in your closet that you aren’t a fan of, shades of white and beige, pastel colors of blue and pink.
The things you would do for a pair of pants.
You throw yet another dress on, a different pair of knee socks and those red high tops…the only thing of yours they let you keep. You get lost on your way to the communal women’s bathroom, but you turn back around and find it.
“Good morning.” Wanda greets you as you enter. She’s in front of one of the mirrors, applying makeup.
You smile at the normality of it.
Brushing through your ragged hair, you can’t help but let out a frustrated sigh when it gets knotted again.
“You know, Natasha could help you with a hair cut if you’d like. Maybe a trim? Get rid of those dead ends?”
You look over at her and nod.
Like she was summoned, Natasha appears and is more than happy to assist.
You head to the meeting, free of a few inches.
“Haircut?” Tony asks as you sit down besides Nat.
You nod.
“Looks good.” He approves.
“Good morning, Blue.” Steve greets, causing question from the few Avengers that are in the conference room.
“Blue?” Sam questions.
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Because her powers…are blue…look, she doesn’t remember her name and I’m not calling her by a number, Blue will have to work.”
You giggle to yourself, and Steve grins in victory.
“Ha! I was the first to make her laugh.” He calls out in victory as he sits down across from you.
“She’s probably laughing because you’re an idiot.” Sam claims, taking his own seat.
One by one, the rest of the team joins.
Headphones on your ears, you aren’t necessarily paying attention to the things around you. Not when Nat argues with the Captain, saying she’s taking you to get clothes and Steve claims you needed to stay here.
“She’s wearing borrowed clothes, looking like the girl from Buffalo 66. She’s a grown woman, and she needs pants.” Nat defends with a glare.
“What’s Buffalo 66?” Steve questions, now side tracked.
“Alright, enough.” Tony calls. “Nat, take the kid shopping, don’t let her you know…do anything crazy.”
That ends the conversation.
Bucky comes into the mix, black coffee in hand as he sits next to Steve…across from you.
“Haircut?” Tony asks, having deja vu.
Bucky just gives him a blank expression, then looks to you.
“What’s her deal?” He asks Steve, questioning the way you don’t bother to look up from your phone.
“Uh…we think it’s best if she doesn’t listen to this first part of the meeting.” Is all Steve says, then passes out files.
“Alright, thanks to our guest here.” He says, motioning to you. “We have a new case.”
Everyone opens their folders, then sorts through the few papers inside.
“The Ring?” Clint questions.
Tony brings up the projection of the information already obtained. “When Fury took E.T. over there, she told agents about this underground organization known as ‘The Ring’. It’s made up of the bosses who run it, their little henchmen, the scientists, and the subjects. It’s grown rapidly into communities all over.”
Everyone shifts their eyes to you, then quickly look away.
“How do they get the subjects?” Bruce asks, brows creased as he looks at the paperwork.
“They kidnap five girls at a time when they’re needed. Doesn’t matter who or where from. Then, they’re brought into labs, turned into guinea pigs for five years while they are conditioned. Their rules are strict, no talking in English, wait for permission to do anything. It takes a whole army for this, there’s teachers and doctors and head agents that are assigned to one of them.” Steve explains, then expands a picture of the brand that sits on the back your neck. “Each division has a symbol, each girl has a number. Blue was 505, she was the fifth of the five in her division.”
You can feel their devastation, it radiates off of them and seeps into your skin. You have the urge to tell them that pity won’t do you any favors, but your tongue stays still.
Natasha leans back in her chair. “What’s the goal? Create super humans for the hell of it?” She asks.
Cap continues. “Once they prove themselves to be exactly what they made them to be, they become hitmen for hire. Some gang leader needs an opponent out of the game? Well they go to one of The Ring leaders, pay them big money, then sit back and wait for the job to be done.”
The team shakes their heads, and Bucky feels his stomach twist. This feels all too familiar, like he’s watching a version of his story play out in front of him.
“What can she tell us?” He speaks, motioning to you then looks to the hologram in front of him.
Tony brings up a few faces of unfamiliar men, newspaper articles of missing children. “She was kidnapped when she was ten, pulled from her bedroom at night. The more she’s adapting, the more she remembers but as of right now, she can only tell us what’s in the files.”
They look further at the notes.
“They develop a relationship with these girls, they give them education, train them to use their powers properly. Each girl has a different ability, they’re all kept together and available for what ever hit they need to do.” Tony explains, his tone almost amazed and confused. “They don’t try to hide these girls, they carefully put them out in society when it’s sure they are rewired properly. They-they give them different aliases, have them play roles perfectly until they can take out their target.”
“If they’re trained so flawlessly…then why’d I find her in the street?” Bucky asks.
Steve brings up the photo of a man named Lawrence Antonov.
“This man was the scientist in charge of Blue’s division, by some accident, he injected them with a serum that essentially cleared their brains. It over powered the previous conditioning, the previous serums given so they would go along with what they were told to do. All of it, wiped clean. Unfortunately, important names and locations were also wiped clean from their minds.”
Sam groans. “It’s never easy, is it?”
Tony glares. “Yeah, tell that to the kid who was a lab rat for almost 15 years of her life.”
Sam sinks a little in his chair.
“Moving on.” Steve says, trying to defuse the situation. “Blue fought her way out, she remembers leaving a warehouse in Vermont, making it as far as she could before her body gave up. Bucky found her, here she is.”
You’re playing a game on your phone, making Nat look over and hum approvingly. “She’s winning.”
They all watch you with a strange look, then shift their attention back to Tony.
“So, Vermont is where we start?” Clint asks.
- - - -
It’s sometime after the meeting ends that you run into him.
Bucky curses to himself as you stop in your tracks, looking him over. He just gives a tight lipped smile and tries to walk past you. Though, as he goes, he can’t help but turn back.
“You’re cooperative, that’s good.” He says, then realizes how off putting that sounds. “I just mean with the case, you’re actually being helpful.”
You just blankly stare at him.
“Not trying to sound like a dick, that’s supposed to be a compliment.” He clarifies, then decides it’s a lost cause anyway. So he huffs. “You get the idea.”
A pleasant smile plays on your lips as he turns his back and walks off.
“Your hair looked nice before.”
Bucky stumbles in his step, then pauses, trying to see if he’s imagining it. As he slowly turns, you’re still standing there, headphones in hand, round soft blue eyes. He doesn’t miss the way you have some sort of twitch about you.
“Did you…did you just talk?” He asks, brows furrowed.
Instantly, your smile drops, afraid you’ve upset him. He sees the expression and panics.
“No, no, I didn’t mean- you just…don’t talk.” He sighs.
“You gave me a compliment, right? So I give you one back.” You smile once more. “Your hair looked nice before, but it looks good now.”
This is happening?
“Thanks…” He says, adapting to the odd situation. “Nothing major…I fixed it this morning.”
You nod.
The two of you stand there in complete silence for an uncomfortable amount of time before Bucky walks away again.
“James.” You call out one last time.
His ears ring.
Was he supposed to feel dizzy when you call his name?
“Yeah?” He looks back at you.
Your fingers curl into the sleeve of your sweater. “Don’t tell the others I spoke…I’m not ready for the floods of questions they’ll ask me.”
He lets out a little huff.
You thought about speaking to him before you did it, you could’ve stayed silent as always, but you trusted him to not be overbearing.
“It’ll be our little secret.” He says, nodding.
Next Part
Orphic ~ File 3
Abience (n) ; the strong urge to avoid someone or something
Bucky!Barnes x Fem!Reader
Find previous part here
Masterlist
An entire month passes since the strange incident. A complete month fades before you’re even mentioned again amongst the Avengers, and that’s only because Nick Fury turns back up with a thick looking file.
It’s all hushed whispers, and he and Tony spend an hour and thirty minutes in a conference room, discussing just what was in the file.
“I still can’t believe I missed something as big as this.” Nat says, trying to listen in on the conversation. Her ear pressed to the locked door, Steve, Wanda, and Sam wait behind her, all curious too.
“Yeah, it was certainly interesting.” Steve adds, arms crossed over his chest. His morals say not to eavesdrop, but he’s only human after all and he’s completely curious.
Inside the room, Tony rubs his head, trying to process the information.
“It’s a brand new case that opened up, all because Barnes pulled her from the street. I wouldn’t be here if I thought she couldn’t be trusted.” Fury states in a serious manner, watching Tony pick up a few more photos.
He aches, knowing how bad he treated you. Now, your life is spread out in front of him, showing him exactly why you acted the way you did.
“You really want us to take this on? To take her on?” He asks, pushing the evidence photos out of his sight, not baring to look at your marks and the brand on the back of your neck any longer.
Fury gathers the multitude of papers and sorts them back into the correct places. “She’s smart, really smart.” He says. “She was monitored, observed, we learned her habits, her behavior. She’s perfectly in control of her power, we made immense progress…”
Tony cocks his head. “But?”
“But, she’s just a little odd. She told us everything she knew, then went completely silent. Her therapist said it’s normal, it’s how she copes. If you ask her to do a task, she’ll do it, she knows the importance of her cooperation…she just needs to work on her people skills. That’s why I want her here.”
His jaw sets, then he groans at Fury’s request. “Fine. We’ll put her here.”
Fury smirks, closing his brief case up. “Good, she’ll be moved here in an hour.”
Tony glares. “How did you know I’d agree?”
Fury simple chuckles. “Because you never turn away strays anymore, even if it makes you grumpy.”
What the group waiting outside doesn’t expect is for the door to open so suddenly, making them earn a displeased look from Fury as he walks past them.
“Oh, good, some of you are already here.” Tony states, motioning them in. “Team meeting.”
- - - -
“How are the nightmares?”
Bucky stays silent, then looks at the clock to see if his mandatory hour is up yet.
It isn’t.
“I don’t have them.” He half lies, looking back to Dr. Raynor.
She gives him a look. “I don’t believe that.”
He fights his urge to groan. “Well, maybe you should, Doc.”
She sighs, then clicks her pen and pulls her notebook to her.
“Oh, don’t start with the damn notebook.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m talking, aren’t I? That was the deal? I talk, you don’t write.”
The woman shakes her head. “You’re talking but giving no real answers.”
“I told you I’m not having the same nightmares.” He reasons, not realizing he just lead on to more questions.
“So you’re having different ones?” She asks, putting her pen down and giving him her full attention.
“I guess, yeah.” He shrugs, grinding his back molars.
“Are they better or worse?”
He wanted to storm out of the room, and he would if he wouldn’t get arrested. She had a way of poking and prodding at him, it made him twitch. Or maybe he was still feeling the side effects of the strange girl that shocked his nervous system.
“I don’t know…they’re different.” He states, a curt tone.
“What’s different about them?”
He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I’m not…killing people. Guess that’s progress, huh?” He attempts to joke, but she doesn’t smile, she just urges him to continue. So he looks down at his knee bouncing up and down.
“There’s someone else in them…this person.”
She’s interested in this. “A different person? Do you know them?”
I pulled her from the rain.
“No, not really.”
Raynor nods. “This is good, this is change. What is this person doing in the dreams?”
His fists clench, he bites his tongue for a moment too long. “She’s not doing anything except for just being there-”
“She?”
Crap. Now he’s said too much.
“Can we just talk about something else?” He grumbles, blinking hard in hopes of pushing the vision of your grey eyes out of his mind.
“You want to talk about something else?” She sighs. “Okay, how about other small changes you’re making? Have you been talking to your friends? Steve, Sam?”
Bucky sneers. “Sam isn’t my friend.”
Raynor rolls her eyes. “You get my point. Have you been talking to them?”
“Yeah, we chat over tea.” He says in a dry sarcastic tone.
The woman shakes her head. “We talked about this, you can’t push people completely away. When I suggested the apartment, I told you it was to heal on your own time, with no negative influences. That didn’t mean stop talking to the people who care about you.”
She had no clue what she was talking about, it made him agitated. When Raynor determined that he wasn’t going to discuss this either, she lets out a long sigh, then looks at him in question.
“You gonna get a haircut?” She asks.
He throws his hands up. “Now my hair’s the problem? You’re extra passive aggressive today, Doc.”
“You say that every session, James. I’m just asking a question because it’s getting a little long.”
He rubs his temple where he feels a headache coming on. “If I get a haircut, will you stop being so harsh?”
“No.”
What is he doing with his life?
- - - -
The team would have been more welcoming to you if they could find you.
Simply, you find a very quiet corner and sit there, listening and observing. Not necessarily hiding, but people tend to pass by without even noticing.
“Where is she?” Nat asks the guys who stand in the dining room, waiting for the meal to be done.
They all sort of shrug, it’s Steve that motions in a direction.
“I think she’s in the west hallway, by the ficus plant.” He says.
Natasha scoffs. “Did anyone tell her we are going to eat dinner?” She asks, looking between the group of them.
They all share a look of ‘did we?’
The answer is no.
“Maybe you guys should work on your people skills.” She says before walking off to retrieve you.
It even takes her a second to find you, but when she does, she smiles softly. Crouching to your level, she reaches for the phone in your hands that has about ten contacts and a music app. You search the music library, clicking on songs you’ve never heard before. They play through your headphones, a gift from Fury himself when your therapist expressed your love for music.
As Natasha lowers the phone from your face, you gently jump in surprise, then take the headphones off.
“Hi.” She says. “We’re going to be eating dinner, I’m sorry if people ignored you.”
You don’t respond, just nod.
“I’m Natasha.” She introduces as you stand from your corner, and she looks you over.
Your shoes were not laced up, you had knee high socks on that the hem of your dress dusted. A much too large sweater hung over your frame to help keep your body temperature warm, though it doesn’t help too much.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to sneak you out and we’re going to the mall. Okay?” She tells you, feeling bad that you’re wearing clothes S.H.E.I.L.D pieced together from a donation bin.
You look at your outfit and then nod, enjoying the idea of wearing pants.
You trail behind this sudden new friend, still intimidated by the large size of the facility. Soon, you enter the more comforting area of the compound and the full table of faces greet you with unsure smiles.
“Sit here.” Natasha says, pointing to the empty chair between her and Steve.
You do just that, but what you don’t expect is for the face across from you to be so…tense.
Bucky came to dinner after Raynor said all the right words to piss him off. He needed to prove her wrong, needed to prove that he could socialize…he just chose not to…and he had to be here for the new project plan in the morning. But what he didn’t think was going to happen was the girl that’s been tormenting him for a month to come and sit across from him. Your outfit was strange and pieced together, your long hair was in a braid that laid on your shoulder, you sat there with confusion and unsureness as everyone began to eat and talk.
You stayed completely silent.
“You don’t need permission to eat.” Steve softly whispers as a reminder as he sees your hesitation.
Right.
Free will.
You had that now.
Utensils scraped on plates, people joked and laughed, you just ate in the most polite way possible.
Bucky stared.
And most get uncomfortable by it, but you just stare back. It’s not a glare, there’s no meaning of anger behind it, it’s just a shared expression that catches the attention of the ones around you.
“Oh great, we got another one that stares.” Sam exclaims.
Steve clears his throat. “That’s James, or Bucky, whatever you want to call him.” He tells you, and of course you don’t respond, just hold the strange eye contact.
Bucky’s the first to break, he talks a gulp of water and looks away.
Tony breaks up the awkwardness. “Alright, Five? Is that what they’re calling you? Your room is next to Nat’s, remember? So that’s where you go after your infusion.”
You nod, and it raised confusion.
“Infusion?” Steve asks as you stare at your spoonful of mashed potatoes before taking the bite.
Tony looks at you, almost expecting you to answer the Captains question. You’re distracted though with finishing your meal to show you are appreciative of their kindness.
So Tony continues. “There’s just some things she needs until we can ween her off of it.”
You hate the way he says it, with pity like you’re a sick animal. A junky.
Your plate is clean now, you put your dirty utensils on it and then finish your water.
No one notices this habit except for Bucky.
Because he remembers doing that. He remembers completing tasks so carefully and waiting for either approval or a slap in the face. It makes him feel odd, makes him want to reach across the table and knock your neat work over.
You pull the sleeves of the chunky sweater over your hands, feeling a wave of tiredness sweep through you as well as that almost violent shiver of coldness. Everyone is lost in conversation about what the plan was for tomorrow, but you feel that teasing heat source radiate beside you and can’t help the way you lull towards it.
“Is this normal?” Steve asks as he feels the way you lean into his side, like a reptile to a heat lamp.
You’re asleep in an instance.
Bruce frowns. “The place she came from had her on a lot of bad stuff…the doctors who were assigned to her at SHEILD say her nerves are kind of shot. That’s why she’s always cold. As far as the falling asleep thing…well, she’s kind of traumatized so that tends to make people exhausted.”
Everyone gets very quiet, and Bucky knows that look on his best friend’s face. His brows are creased, eyes a little sad as he looks down at you. That means one thing only, that he was going to go full Captain America mode and try and save you.
“Is that what the team meeting is about in the morning?” Natasha asks. “Her situation?”
Tony nods. “Looks like you and Sleepy the dwarf have some things in common.”
- - - -
Everyone left the dining room, but Bucky lingered momentarily.
He stared at that damn plate.
Steve had woken you up and sent you to the MedBay, you made sure things looked perfect before you went.
Now, he reaches out and messes the whole thing up before Wanda - who’s on dish duty because she could clean everything up in two seconds- catches him.
“Buck, hey.” Steve says as he finds his friend heading to his spare room that he stays in when there’s things to do early in the morning.
The two super soldiers walk in silence for a moment before Steve speaks up.
“She scares you, doesn’t she?” He asks.
Bucky lies. “Why would she scare me?”
“Because she’s in the same position you were in.”
Bucky clenches his teeth, cursing his friend’s intuition.
What was he supposed to say? That he wanted to stay far away from you for some unknown reason? That part of him wishes he wasn’t the one to rescue you? Or that he wants to ask you every question he has and try to figure out the way your brain works?
He can’t say any of that.
So he just avoids the statement all together. “Yeah, well you’re gonna tuck her under your wing just because she’s needy, so you shouldn’t be asking me about her, Pal.” He jokes with a smile.
Steve laughs and shakes his head. “Oh come on, give me a break, alright?”
As they stop in front of Bucky’s room, Sam happens to pass them.
“You gonna get a haircut?” He asks Bucky.
The soldier glares. “Does my hair just offend everyone now?”
File 4
