Reader is Bucky’s girlfriend during TFATWS era and she bails him out of jail (and gives Dr. Raynor a piece of her mind) and when they walk out of the jail and Walker is waiting on them (can’t stand him) he and Bucky get into a fight. When Walker swings at Bucky, reader jumps in front of him protectively, Walker punches her (immediately knows he fucked up) and Bucky goes *feral* 😈
oh does he go feral....
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The fluorescent lights hum overhead, the steady buzz only adding to your irritation as you lean against the counter of the precinct. You’ve been here for almost an hour, jaw clenched, waiting for someone to stop giving you the bureaucratic runaround and hand over your boyfriend.
Bucky Barnes—your boyfriend, apparently deemed too much of a threat to walk the streets without “authorization.”
“Miss,” the clerk says, “Dr. Raynor is processing his release—”
“I don’t give a damn if Dr. Raynor is processing his taxes,” you cut in sharply. “He shouldn’t have been arrested in the first place.”
The woman’s eyes dart toward the hallway as the door finally creaks open. Bucky steps out in handcuffs, flanked by two officers and the infamous Dr. Raynor herself.
You push off the counter, anger boiling low and hot. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Raynor doesn’t even look fazed. “He missed his mandatory session.”
“He missed it because you scheduled it at the same time as his mission debrief,” you snap. “What was he supposed to do, leave Sam in the middle of—what do you call it—government-sanctioned chaos?”
Raynor gives you the patronizing look of someone who has read too many psychology textbooks and forgotten how to be human. “He’s a flight risk—”
You step closer, voice low and firm. “He’s a person, not a parole case. You don’t get to humiliate him because it makes you feel in control.”
Bucky’s eyes flicker up to you. There’s gratitude there—shy, quiet—but behind it, exhaustion. You soften, just for him, reaching out to brush your fingers over his metal wrist before glaring back at Raynor.
“Uncuff him,” you demand.
The guard looks hesitant, but one glance from Bucky’s glacial expression has the cuffs clicking loose. You take his hand immediately, flesh meeting cool vibranium, and tilt your chin up.
“Let’s go, soldier.”
Outside, the late afternoon air feels too sharp, like the city itself knows how close you are to snapping. Bucky’s still silent beside you, shoulders drawn tight beneath his leather jacket, jaw grinding.
“Y’know,” you mutter, “I get that you’re trying to ‘make amends,’ but next time someone slaps cuffs on you for breathing wrong, maybe call me first before I have to threaten a federal therapist.”
His lips twitch. “Didn’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Bucky,” you deadpan, “you are my trouble.”
He smirks faintly, the first sign of life since you saw him dragged out of the precinct. You squeeze his hand, about to tease him again—
—and then you see him.
John Walker.
Standing near a parked black SUV, smug grin plastered across his face, shield strapped to his arm like it’s part of his damn ego.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you hiss under your breath.
Bucky immediately tenses, a low growl working its way out of his throat. “Don’t,” he mutters.
You arch a brow. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t engage.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m not the one who engages, baby. I’m the one who finishes.”
Walker spots you both and saunters over like he owns the sidewalk. “Barnes! There you are. Was just about to check if you needed a ride back to your babysitter.”
You step forward before Bucky can answer. “He’s got one, thanks. And unless your job description includes harassing civilians, you can go crawl back to whatever PR department’s trying to make you likeable.”
Walker’s grin falters, and Bucky’s lip twitches in quiet amusement. But then Walker looks between you and Bucky, eyes narrowing.
“Girlfriend, huh?” he says, tone just a shade too condescending. “Guess even ex-assassins can land a date these days.”
Bucky’s hand tightens in yours. “You need to walk away,” he warns, voice low, controlled.
But Walker’s the kind of man who doesn’t understand warnings until they come with consequences.
He steps closer. “Relax, pal. You’re on thin ice already. Don’t make it worse—”
“Thin ice?” you echo, incredulous. “You threw him in jail for missing a therapy session. Meanwhile, your entire personality is built on stealing another man’s shield. You’re lucky you’re not in cuffs.”
Walker’s smile turns sharp. “Careful, sweetheart. You don’t want to—”
“Finish that sentence,” you cut in, eyes flashing. “I dare you.”
That’s when it happens.
Bucky moves first, stepping between you and Walker with a hard shove. “Back. Off.”
Walker, never the bigger man, shoves back. It’s childish, testosterone and pride in full display, but before Bucky can retort—Walker swings.
You don’t think. You just move.
Instinct, pure and fast—you jump in front of Bucky, arms up, voice halfway through shouting his name when Walker’s fist connects.
The world tilts. Pain blooms across your cheek, sharp and immediate. You stumble back, hand flying to your face, eyes wide.
Everything goes quiet after that.
Walker’s face drains of color, realization slamming into him too late. “Oh—shit—I didn’t—”
Bucky’s already gone.
One heartbeat, two—and then he’s on Walker like a storm breaking open. The metallic ring of his arm echoes as it catches the light mid-swing.
“You hit her?” Bucky snarls, grabbing Walker by the vest and slamming him into the side of the SUV. “You hit her?”
Walker tries to speak, but Bucky’s metal hand is already wrapped around his throat, not enough to crush—but enough to remind him he could.
“I didn’t—Barnes, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t you dare say my name.”
His voice drops an octave, dark and dangerous. “You think wearing that shield makes you a hero? You don’t even understand what it means. Steve would’ve dropped you on your ass for breathing wrong—let alone laying a hand on her.”
Walker chokes, eyes darting toward you. “Call him off—”
You step closer, still holding your cheek, voice shaking but furious. “If I do, you’re lucky he only breaks your pride.”
Bucky looks at you then, eyes blazing, breath coming hard. But the second he sees your face—the swelling, the forming bruise—something in him snaps back.
He releases Walker like he’s touching something filthy. Walker coughs, stumbling to the pavement, and Bucky’s already at your side.
“Hey, hey, doll,” he murmurs, hands cupping your face with heartbreaking gentleness. “You okay? Did he—?”
“I’m fine,” you say, though your voice cracks. “You didn’t have to—”
“Yes, I did.” His tone leaves no room for argument.
Sirens wail faintly down the street—someone must’ve called it in—and Walker staggers upright, rubbing his throat, glaring but smart enough not to open his mouth again.
Bucky turns just enough to snarl, “You come near her again, and that shield won’t protect you.”
Then his hand finds yours again, guiding you away from the mess, from the flashing lights, from the man who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air.
By the time you’re back at Sam’s safehouse, your cheek is throbbing, and Bucky’s pacing like a caged animal.
“Buck,” you whisper, touching his arm.
He stops. Turns. His eyes are still wild. “He hit you.”
“He hit me because I jumped in front of you,” you remind softly. “And you scared him enough that he won’t ever try that again.”
He swallows hard, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Should’ve seen it coming.”
You step closer, sliding your fingers up his chest, grounding him. “What matters is that you didn’t lose control. You chose to stop. That’s what makes you different, baby.”
Bucky exhales slowly, the tension finally bleeding from his shoulders. His forehead drops against yours.
“Still gonna break his nose next time,” he mutters.
You smile faintly. “I won’t stop you.”
His lips find your bruised cheek in a featherlight kiss, reverent, remorseful. “Nobody touches what’s mine.”
Your pulse stutters, heart tumbling in your chest. “Then you better keep me close, Barnes.”
“Oh, doll,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, “you’re not going anywhere.”
