Pairing: Winter Solider! Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Female Reader
Summary: You life has been stolen from you now held captive by HYDRA for breeding purposes, paired with the Winter Soldier. You dreamed of freedom.
Word Count: 4.2k
Warnings: ::Explicit Content:: 18+, Minors DNI, Dub-con/Sexual contact initiated under coercion, programming, and captivity, Sexual Assault/Breeding Context (themes of being used as a vessel), Depictions of Violence and Blood, Brainwashing chair, memory erasure, Imprisonment/Captivity, Psychological Trauma, Mind Control/Programming, Sedation/Physical Helplessness, Dehumanization, Dark Sexual Content, blurring trauma and craving, Smut, Unprotected Sex (DONT DO THIS) ...angst..
A/N: fic inspired by Bo Burnham's "The Chicken." – In honor of April fools day... well I had the idea I'd post it than.. BUT THIS ISN’T A JOKE FIC.. so to be safe its getting posted now (Yes, technically its April 1st where I am.. But yeah..just.. DONT JUDGE)
You always heard him first. It was the sound that woke you up. A jagged scream, animalistic and raw, that tore through the sterile silence of the compound.
The screams were muffled through the walls, but they still split through you like wire dragged over raw skin. Wet, strangled, inhuman. They had him in the chair again. You knew it by the rhythm- shouts cut off mid-breath, followed by silence. Then the electric hum. Then the screaming again. Over and over. Mechanical. Precise. Cruel.
You flinched every time. Not because it was him. Because you remembered.
The same chair. The same straps. The same cold leather biting into your spine. The sting of the restraints as they tightened around your wrists. The stench of melted wires. The taste of your own blood from where you bit your tongue just to keep from screaming like that.
The same blank faces leaning over you, muttering notes while they pulled you apart neuron by neuron. Probing. Recording. Smiling.
You used to fight it. Kick. Spit. Bite.
That was before.
Then, you began mumbling names into the dark; yours? Someone else’s? A place with sun? The owner of the voice that laughed? The notes of a song you couldn’t quite remember? They were shadows now. Fragments. Ash in your mouth.
Your cage was damp. The walls sweat in summer, froze in winter. Mold crept along the ceiling. You slept curled, knees to chest, like a bird with clipped wings. Sometimes, your shoulder blades ached like phantom wings were trying to burst free.
They called you that sometimes.
“Back in your cage, little bird.”
Sometimes, you thought if you stared long enough at the rusted metal grate in the ceiling, it might dissolve. That maybe you'd float right up through it like smoke, disappearing into some unreachable sky. You used to imagine what that would feel like weightless, free. As if your body would just melt away, and your soul could slip between the bars like vapor. But you never did.
There was no sky. No smoke. Just the walls. Just the dark. Just the screams.
And him.
You would’ve clawed their eyes out if you had the strength. Some days, you tried. Weak swipes, trembling fists. They laughed. Sometimes they hit back. Sometimes they didn’t need to. Just dragging you down the corridor was enough to remind you what you were.
Your life was hell: invasive tests, sterile rooms, long needles that never seemed to stop. You were monitored constantly. Recorded. Measured. Bled. Injected. Re-injected. Burned. Frozen. Made to run until your legs buckled. Made to scream until your throat bled. They treated your body like a blueprint and a battlefield all at once.
Then they’d toss you into his cell when it was time nothing was said. Just the click of the door. The shove between your shoulder blades. The sound of it locking behind you.
And him. Already there. Still. Watching. Waiting.
The Winter Soldier didn’t beat you. Didn’t growl or leer or curse. He didn’t speak unless instructed. He mounted you like they told him to, like it was a drill, like your body was just another mission to complete. Another task in the protocol. Like you were a sheath. A target. A breeding container.
And still you preferred him to them.
You had a warped affection for the Winter Soldier. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was that he didn’t make it worse. Maybe it was the way, just once, he touched your face after. Or the way he sometimes hesitated at the door.
You didn’t know what it was. You only knew it was the closest thing to gentleness left in your world.
You could still taste the metal in your mouth from the bit they used to hold your jaw still. It haunted you; cold and tangy, sharp as betrayal. The phantom pressure of it still made your teeth ache, your jaw clench in your sleep. You had bitten down on it so hard once, a molar cracked.
Your cell smelled of bleach and old blood, the kind of stench that lived in your skin even after they hosed you down. The floor was always damp, the kind of damp that seeped into your bones and never left. Mold crept in the corners like it knew no one would care to clean it. The walls whispered in the dark, a constant hum of pain soaked into the concrete, voices of other girls who didn’t last long enough to be named.
You dreamed of green places, warm hugs, kind smiles. Sometimes, a soft bed. A blanket that smelled like flowers. A kitchen table. Your fingers curled around a mug of tea. A dog barking in the distance. Sometimes, you thought those dreams were real, like they weren’t just fragments of a life someone else lived. Maybe a life you had once. Before.
HYDRA guards mocked you constantly. Their voices were oil-slick and cruel, rehearsed jokes to entertain themselves while you wilted behind bars.
“Back in your cage, little bird.” “Don’t break her- we’ll need her eggs soon.”
Sometimes they laughed when they said it. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they said it softly, like they meant it as comfort. Like you were a thing, not a person. A vessel. A hen.
You were underfed. Frail. Your ribs showed when you breathed. But their mistake was thinking that made you weak. They saw hollow cheeks and shaky legs and thought you’d given up.
But inside you, something still burned.
Because one day, when they came for you, you fought.
~#~#~#~#~
When the moment came you didn’t think. You just moved.
The second the cell door creaked open, something ancient and wild ignited in your blood. You exploded forward, driven by instinct, by rage, by a raw, primal need to live. A scream- feral and guttural- ripped from your throat as you slammed your elbow into the nearest guard’s neck with a satisfying crack. He dropped like a stone, choking.
Another guard lunged, but you caught him mid-motion, grabbing a fistful of his uniform and smashing his face into the concrete wall so hard the sound echoed like a gunshot. A third grabbed your arm, but you twisted under it with a snarl, your fingernails gouging deep furrows into his cheek, hot blood spraying across your face.
There were shouts. Alarms. The buzz of static in radios. Boots thundered behind you, but you were already gone, barefoot, bloodied, sprinting down the corridor like a bullet let loose. The red emergency lights strobed across the walls as your shadow leapt and flickered with every step.
You Ran, You flew.
The thing they put in your veins, the one they’d whispered about while jabbing you full of needles and watching you writhe. It surged now. It made your muscles coil and spring, made you faster, harder to catch. Not like the others, maybe. But enough.
You hurled your body into a security door, shoulder-first, and it gave way with a scream of twisted hinges. It slammed against the far wall, denting metal. You stumbled, caught yourself, kept going.
You took the corner too fast and your bloodied feet slipped on the polished floor. You crashed into the wall, pain flaring down your spine. But you didn’t stop.
Another door. Locked. You threw yourself at it. Again. Again.
It buckled. You screamed, the sound inhuman, your throat raw.
You weren’t running anymore. You were escaping. You were breaking through.
And still, behind you, they came.
The world outside was warmer than you remembered- oppressively so, like it was pressing down on you, trying to smother the panic clawing through your ribs. Pine needles slashed at your legs, carving sharp little welts into your skin. Branches whipped across your face, drawing blood, blinding you in bursts of green.
The trees blurred past you, but your vision pulsed with black spots at the edges. The air seared down your throat, each breath like swallowing knives. Your lungs burned. Your knees screamed. Your bare, bloodied feet hit roots and rocks, tearing skin, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
Somewhere behind you- closer than before- voices shouted. Dozens of them. Radio static barked out garbled commands. Dogs barked. Boots thundered. Gunfire cracked so close it popped your ears. Bark exploded from a tree to your left. The trunk shattered near your ribs. A bullet.
You pushed harder.
You were being hunted.
Your legs were shaking. You weren’t sure if it was pain or adrenaline keeping you upright. Something hot was dripping down your shin. Your vision swam.
But you didn’t stop.
Couldn’t stop.
And then
The trees broke.
A road.
Blacktop. Screeching tires. You stumbled forward, half-falling onto the guardrail. Horns blared. The scent of exhaust and heat and rubber filled your nose.
Across the road, you saw it.
A meadow. Vast and wild, stretching endlessly beneath a sky smeared with lavender and gold. The grass was green and thick, heavy with dew that sparkled like glass in the fading light. Wildflowers swayed- violets, daisies, yellow bursts of something unnamed. The breeze danced through them, carrying the soft hush of the earth breathing.
Above, birds wheeled through the sky, dipping and soaring, their wings catching the sun like flashes of silver. Everything here was alive. Unashamedly, impossibly alive.
You remembered green places, warm hugs, kind smiles. Fingers threaded through your hair while someone hummed a lullaby. The feel of warm earth between your toes. Laughter carried on the wind. Someone calling your name, not the one they gave you here, but the one that belonged to you before.
For a moment, the world tilted. Something inside you ached so sharply it stole the air from your lungs.
This meadow wasn't a fantasy. It was a memory.
You moved, climbing over the low barrier, the rough tarmac biting into your feet, still wet and blood-slick from the forest floor. Each breath in your chest came sharp and ragged, like your lungs were tearing with every inhale. The roar of engines filled your ears, deafening, and the scent of rubber and oil churned your stomach.
“Kuritsa.”
You froze.
His voice. Low. Steady. From behind you. From the tree line.
“Come back.”
You turned.
The Winter Soldier stood there, framed by shadows and pine. Expression unreadable. Gun lowered but not discarded. His eyes locked on you like he was tethered- like if you moved too far, something in him would snap.
“Don’t fly, little bird,” he said, quieter this time. Almost… pleading. Even at this distance you could hear him. “They’ll clip you again.”
A choice..
You looked back.
The meadow. The other side. Golden, glowing. Wind stirring the wildflowers like hands reaching out to welcome you home.
Your head jerked back and forth, heart pounding so hard it hurt. Left. Right. Left. Right. The cars flew past like metal beasts, one after another, their horns screaming. Your ears rang. Your knees shook.
There- a gap. A breath. A beat of silence in the thunder.
You lunged.
Rubber screeched behind you. A side mirror clipped your arm and spun you halfway around, but you caught yourself, pushed forward, legs burning.
You ran.
You ran like you never had before.
Like your soul depended on it.
You barely heard the gunfire anymore.
You dodged between honking cars, the wind of a speeding van nearly toppling you sideways. Someone screamed from a vehicle, a horn blared, a voice cursed- but none of it registered. Your focus tunnelled to the other side.
You leapt the last guardrail and your feet hit the soft earth of the field- mud, grass, roots all giving beneath your weight. The ground didn’t hurt. It welcomed you. Your knees buckled, but you caught yourself, palms scraping the soil, fingers sinking into it like you'd been starved of its touch your whole life.
The sun hit your face.
Warm.
Golden.
It wrapped around you like a second skin. You stumbled forward, breathless, and the sharp roar of the road fell behind you like a door slamming shut. The farther you went, the quieter it all became. The birds circled overhead. The sky opened up above you. Wind moved through your hair.
The grass brushed your legs like fingers. Wildflowers bent toward you. Every step you took felt lighter, like gravity had loosened its grip. Your chest still burned, your legs still trembled- but it didn’t matter.
You were free.
For a moment, you were free.
~#~#~#~#~
You woke up.
Your body hurt. Aches radiated deep in your joints, muscles stiff and sluggish as the sedative wore off. Your skin prickled like it had been dipped in ice water, and there was a heavy, smothering pressure in your chest that made it hard to breathe. It was always like this- the return. The slow drag back into a body that felt more like a cage than a home. The familiar fog of waking, like surfacing from a nightmare only to realize the nightmare is where you live.
Your cell. Concrete. Cold. The old mattress on the floor, the spring dug into your spine like punishment, its stuffing long since thinned to nothing. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead like insects chewing through your skull.
The contrast made it worse.
You had just been in the sun. You had felt the warmth on your face, tasted freedom, heard birdsong. And now- this. Gray. Sterile. The walls loomed like tombstones. The air was sour with bleach and mold. Your blanket was gone. The cot felt harder than usual, like it was punishing you for dreaming.
You started to cry.
It hadn’t been real.
You bit your knuckles to keep from sobbing loud enough for the cameras. But it was no use. The pressure in your chest cracked open like a fault line, and the whimpers slipped free, shaking, hopeless. Your body curled tighter, trying to fold in on itself, to disappear into the cold concrete floor.
You pressed your forehead to the ground. Tears smeared across the filth. Your shoulders heaved.
You had felt it. The wind. The sun. The way the earth gave under your feet instead of fighting you. You’d tasted freedom- and now it was gone. Ripped from your ribs like something delicate torn apart by teeth.
You were breaking.
Just the soft scuff of a boot on concrete. A shift in the silence.
You froze.
Your breath hitched.
Slowly, you lifted your head.
He was already inside the cell, standing just feet away, still and silent. Watching.
The Winter Soldier. Motionless. Built like a monolith. Cold light caught on the metal of his arm.
His eyes found you- and they were blue. Flat. Empty. As emotionless as frost.
He said nothing.
He just looked.
He stepped forward slowly, like you were a wounded animal, like he was afraid you’d break. His boots barely made a sound against the floor, each one placed with deliberate care- as if you might vanish if he moved too quickly.
"You had to be good, Kuritsa," he murmured, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "They wouldn’t tell me to hurt you if you were good."
There was something in the way he said it- like he wanted it to be true. Like he needed to believe it more than you did.
He reached for you. Not like a soldier following orders, but like someone trying not to scare the ghost in front of him. His hand hesitated in the air between you. Waiting. Wanting.
And you let him.
Because no one else reached for you. Because even this broken, programmed shell of a man was gentler than the rest. Because his touch- hesitant, calloused, human- was the only thing anchoring you to the world in that moment.
He stripped you gently. Despite the cold, he was warm. You both were. His body radiated heat, and when your skin touched, it felt like something real- something grounding in a world where everything else had become unrecognizable. Your body, your mind, your freedom- all had been twisted, burned, broken. But this? This was contact. Connection. A fragile thread back to something human.
He murmured "umnitsa" when you trembled instead of fought. The word fell like a feather against your cheek- foreign, yet almost soft, almost kind. You hadn’t heard kindness in so long that it carved through you like a blade.
His hands were rough, but careful. The callouses rasped across your hips as he steadied you. He traced the bones of your ribs, your stomach, like he was trying to memorize something forbidden. Like you were fragile and holy. His touch made you shiver, not from fear, but from the aching ache of being touched at all.
He waited for your nod. And when you gave it, small and tear-soaked, something in him relaxed. Like permission mattered. Like you mattered.
You were still weeping. You didn’t know why you needed this so badly. Maybe to kill the aching weight in your chest. Maybe to drown in sensation, to burn out the cold that lived in your marrow. Maybe to feel like anything other than a thing in a cage.
You gripped him- not out of lust, but because you needed something. Something alive. Something solid. A warmth to hold onto while the world around you blurred and cracked. But the longer you held him, the more that need twisted, deepened, darkened into something else. Something desperate.
His body pressed closer, the weight of him grounding you, overwhelming you. And when he aligned himself against your entrance, his thick, hard cock nudging at your core, you gasped. The heat of him seared through the cold in your bones, and for a moment, all you could do was hold your breath.
Then he pushed in.
Slow, steady, unrelenting.
The stretch burned- sharp and aching- as he filled you inch by inch, your walls fluttering around the thick length of him, your breath shattering with every heartbeat. You whimpered as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, buried to the hilt. The sting of the invasion was real, raw, but it wasn’t unwelcome.
It was the only invasion you ever craved.
He stayed there a beat, chest heaving against yours, his breath ragged. You felt the tension trembling in his muscles as he tried to hold back, as if even now he was waiting for you to break. But you didn’t. You pulled him closer.
Because the ache of being filled by him was the only thing that ever made you feel whole.
You both needed this, even if neither of you fully understood why. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was programming. Or maybe it was the only act left that made you feel like you had a body at all.
He moved inside you with no rush, no violence.
At first.
Just heat. Flesh. Friction. But you felt him grow bolder with every thrust, felt the rhythm change from tentative to possessive, like your body was something he was rediscovering and claiming in the same breath. You whimpered as his hips snapped forward, rougher now, grinding against the deepest parts of you. You gasped- your head thrown back, legs trembling from the effort of taking him, from the pleasure spearing up your spine.
"Soldate..." you whispered, shocked at the sound of your own voice, he only grunted in reply.
The slap of skin against skin filled the room. Your nails dug into his back, clawing for purchase. He braced himself over you with his metal arm, the cold of it ghosting across your ribcage while his other hand gripped your thigh and hitched it higher. He fucked you like he was trying to bury himself inside you, deeper, deeper, until you didn’t know where he ended and you began.
You moaned for him and that seemed to break something open in him. His teeth grazed your neck, just a scrape, just a warning. You shuddered. His hand slipped between your legs, and when his thumb circled your clit, it was almost too much. You bucked against him, your orgasm cresting like a wave you couldn't stop.
"Cum." he growled, and you did. Your whole body arched, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open on a sob. You clenched around him, and he followed, rutting into you with a strangled groan before freezing, twitching inside you, his release hot and thick and undeniable.
For a moment, all you could do was pant beneath him, your body boneless and trembling. His forehead rested against yours, and his breath warmed your face. His fingers still moved against your thigh, slow now, almost reverent.
He didn’t speak. Just held you. Just stayed.
And for one terrible, perfect moment, you could pretend you weren’t in a cell at all.
He stayed inside you after. Heavy. Warm. You didn’t move, neither did he. Instead keeping himself pressed deep within you, like he could hold back the world by just staying there. Like if he stayed inside, the moment might stretch, safe and untouched.
You felt every twitch of him, the slow pulse of his cock still buried in your heat. He didn’t pull out, didn’t shift away. He just stayed. Ensuring nothing would spill. A painful reminder of your true purpose here.
The weight of him inside you was grounding and cruel all at once- comfort and control, tenderness and protocol.
His hand cupped your cheek. The same hand that had killed without pause.
“Good, little bird,” he whispered. “They won’t hurt you now.”
For a moment you believed him.
~#~#~#~#~
You were still sore. Still warm from him when they came after removing him from your cell.
You didn’t fight. He had made you promise. Whispered it against your skin while he was still inside you
“Be good Kuritsa. Be good for them like you were for me.”
So you didn’t fight. You just stared at the ceiling, empty and aching, when the guards returned.
“Not supposed to cross roads, little bird,” one of them sneered, voice dripping with smug cruelty. You barely blinked before the needle slid into your arm, sharp and fast. The sedative burned as it entered your vein, and within seconds, your limbs began to go heavy.
Still, you felt it all.
Their rough hands grabbed you by the arms and legs. One of them lifted you by the underarms while another gripped your thighs, dragging your limp body out of the cell like a broken doll. Your toes scraped along the concrete floor, leaving faint streaks as you tried- and failed- to move against them.
The corridor was a blur of fluorescent light and iron stench. You tried to twist away, but your limbs wouldn’t obey. Sluggish. Leaden. You whimpered, barely audible.
You recognized the hallway. The turns. The shape of the door at the end.
No. Not again.
When the door opened, you sobbed. That awful room. That awful chair. Waiting.
They hauled you inside like trash, flipping your body onto the leather seat. Cold restraints snapped over your wrists and ankles. Your head lolled to the side as you tried to resist, tried to pull your arms back, but they might as well have been made of stone.
You didn’t want this. You wanted the sun. The flowers. The breath of wind across your face.
But you weren’t in the meadow anymore.
You were back in the chair.
You wanted to plead. To beg. You were sorry, you wouldn’t do it again. You just wanted to hold on to something, to keep even a shred of that warmth inside you. But your lips were too heavy to form the words.
But he had said they wouldn’t do this. Not if you were good.
And you’d been good.
One tech hesitated, glancing down at you with something almost like pity. You tried to lock eyes with him, to will him to stop, to see you. But it was too late.
Another tech snapped, “Erase it. She’s dangerous now.”
Rough hands held you down tighter as you struggled weakly. A guard’s fingers pinched your jaw open. You whimpered. The bit forced into your mouth was hard and rubbery, pressing down against your tongue and teeth. The pressure made your cracked molar throb.
Then the seat began to tilt.
Slow. Mechanical. Inevitable.
You felt the world shift with it, the room pitching as gravity settled you deeper into the chair. The jaws of the machine descended- cold metal bracing your skull, clamping over your head like a vice. Your heart thundered. One side of your vision darkened as the rig covered your left eye.
Your panic rose, sharp and feral, tearing through the fog of sedation. You tried to twist, tried to scream around the bit, but your limbs barely moved. You could only writhe in slow, pathetic motions as the restraints cut into your skin.
You weren’t in a meadow. You weren’t running. You were here.
This time, it was your memory they erased.
Your escape.
They couldn’t let you know you could fly.
You screamed the words in your head, over and over, desperate and wild:
Birds fly. Meadow. Other side.
And then it came.
The pain.
White hot. Blinding.
Your back arched.
All you could hear was your own screams now, louder than the hum of the machine, louder than your racing heart. There was no world outside of that sound. Just your pain, ripped from your throat and thrown into the void.
What about Bucky comforting and grounding a touch starved reader?Like he can see it.He knows the signs.He knows where the reader is struggling and needs the help they never ask for.He hugs,makes them feel safe by holding them against his chest and whispers sweet words because he knows they need it🥺
ill be there for you ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
Bucky’s starting to get concerned. You’ve been a frantic little mess, more than usual at least. He’s observant, surely you know this by now…right? He refills your mug with water, he’s been weening you off caffeine for today—another coffee and he’s worried your heart’ll give out. “Honey, how ‘bout a little break.” He hums patting your back, gently scraping his fingers down your spine. “What? Oh, not right now Buck, ‘m busy” You murmur, flipping the page on your study guide, finals are no joke.
Bucky wishes he could shrink down and wriggle inside your ear, yank out your nervous system and untangle it till it’s not all frayed. But alas, he comes up behind you, pulling your shoulders back so you straighten up a little, lightly rubbing your shoulder blades, digging his thumbs into the tense muscle. Buck glances over your shoulder and blinks like a puppy, complicated stuff by the looks of it, his poor baby. “‘s still early honey, a little break won’t hurt.” He says trying to coax you into it. Alpine mews, coming across to rub herself against your leg, laying on your foot, you can feel her purring, “See babe? Even she agrees.” He says pressing a kiss into the back of your neck, you can feel his smile. “Bucky, seriously, i’m busy—I still have this entire packet to do!” You say frustratedly, cupping your face in your hands. “Well it’s not goin’ anywhere.” He says dryly, which makes you frown. “This is serious, this is worth almost half my grade!” You hiccup in that high pitched tone that grates on his heart. “tch.” He chides.
He gets that it’s important, truly, he understands. But you come first, you’re not just some grade. He scoops you up out of the chair, ignoring the way you shriek. He lets you flop down onto your fluffy duvet, “Bucky!—” You begin, ready to scold him “Ah ah ah.” He interrupts, cozying you up, rolling you into the blanket. He scoops you up, smooching the apples of your cheeks. “Just a little break okay?” He says rather than asks, giving you a squeeze. “Fine.” You grumble, “No longer than thirty minutes.” You say in a strict way that makes him want to laugh, “Yes dear” he hums, rubbing your sides. He’s proud of you, how hard of a worker you are. Bucky is thankful he gets to be the one to remind you of your breaks, he loves you, so if need be that he has to remind you to to take care of yourself, then he doesn’t mind—in fact he’s happy to do it.
Hii my name is Jen and this blog is for my actor and character obsessions, Sebastian Stan, Bucky Barnes, Lewis Pullman, Bob Floyd and Bob Reynolds.
click here to be added to my taglist.
please note all my fics are with female readers only.
Bucky Barnes
Nicknames
“Bucky has so many nicknames for you that the rest of the team just can’t keep up with them”
Satellite
“Bucky continuously pushes reader away, and all she wants if for him to notice she’s right here, no matter what”
Phantom Pains
“When the pain gets too much you’re always there, along with some lotion and peppermint oil.”
Room for Three
“a morning spent with the Barnes family”
Bucky Barnes core
“bucky barnes who…”
One of Those Days
“Bucky is there when you have a bad day”
The Arm Bandit
“As your daughter grows, her fascination with Bucky’s metal arm gives you a run for your money.”
For Better, For Worse, For Labor
“Moments between you and Bucky during the birth of your first child”
Uninvited Commentary
“While Bucky trains, you’re right there supporting him with loud cheers and flirty commentary that gives you the title of his ‘personal cheerleader’.”
Tears
“"I get wet at the thought of you, being a responsible guy", or reader can't help but get turned on by Bucky taking care of her.”
Bob Floyd
Secrets, Surprises and Sunburn
“Nobody but Maverick and Phoenix knew Bob was married, so when you got the message from Maverick to join them on the beach, how could you say no to surprising your husband and his coworkers”
Clingy Drunk
“After a night out after work, Bob is returned to you in one piece yet extremely drunk and clingy”
Beers, Bars and…Babies? pt. 2 of Secrets, Surprises and Sunburn
“The dagger squad finds out Bob has a baby on board”
Best Part
“You're the best part about coming home.”
Secret Santa
“reader tells Bob she’s pregnant in the form of secret santa.”
Right Under His Palm
“Bob constantly touching your belly actually pays off one night.”
Love Poured Gently
“one night you accidentally spill your glass of milk and immediately burst into tears. Bob doesn’t laugh or get frustrated, he just pulls you into his arms, rubbing your back and warms you another glass for you but adds cookies this time.”
Twitching for a lifetime
“After a whole day of Bob being on edge, you decide to ask him what had him so twitchy all of a sudden.”
Bob Reynolds
coming soon
Series:
Picture perfect: Lewis pullman x photographer!reader
Alexei tried cooking everyone Russian food once, broke the stove and set at least 3 towels on fire
he swears it still tastes good tho
Bob cleaned everyone’s room as a surprise after a mission, and even though things were not where they’re supposed to be, everyone still hugged him as thank you
Bob also makes really good mac and cheese (much to Yelena’s excitement)
i don’t even know why he just gives very much the vibes of someone who loves cheese
the boys like to go out and drink at the bar on sundays
with fries, beers, football and all that jazz
when Bob doesn’t feel like going out he’ll stay in and do skincare with the girls
imagine all of them with sheet masks and cucumber eyepatches gossiping
Bob : but are the cucumbers even supposed to do anything-
Yelena : shhhhh relax bob
John does a really good dad sigh
he also does the newspaper crossword puzzles, and Bucky helps (alexei tries to help)
Yelena nails the sudoku puzzle tho
despite the whole “growing up in a lab prison thing” Ava totally becomes a skincare girlie
she buys products for everyone that’s suited for their skin type
she had to beg Bucky to use the retinol moisturizer she got him
pfffff he’s 110 and looks great 💪💪
thursday afternoon is their team therapy session
they all dread it and complain but they all still show up
sometimes Bucky and Yelena go feed stray dogs and cats :))
i don’t think Yelena’s guinea pig and alpine would get along tho :(
Alexei can knit really well
he made everyone Christmas sweaters with their initial and a Christmas cliche
forced everyone to take a photo with it on too
(he was dressed as Santa)
the photos framed in their living area 🥰
they may or may not be forcing Valentina to order them takeout
ALL THE TIME
they invite Mel tho :)
⋆.˚☕︎ thunderbolts COFFEE PREFRENCES
BUCKY : black coffee, no milk no sugar
JOHN : likes lattes but hides it cuz he wants to seem manly, so he drinks americanos
AVA : americano with vanillla bean syrup
ALEXEI : he adds vodka to his coffee
YELENA : black coffee with two packs of sugar and lil bit of milk
Bucky Barnes……. if they dare erase your growth in thunderbolts I will avenge you. I will avenge you Bucky Barnes. And your cat. That they better give you. May Alpine be with us 🙏
The reader has been tasked with the mission to take care of a misunderstood, confused and wanted Bucky barnes.
• Steve asked you to hide him somehwere while they were all on the run so now your stuck baby sitting Bucky. But it’s not all that bad
•He’s quiet when you two first set off on your journey, but he stares alot.
Reader: “do you want something?”
Bucky: *blank stare before he shakes his head and continues to stare*
Reader: “ookayyy…”
•When you two arrive at a mobile that Natasha managed to find for you he INSISTS to sleep on the ground and won’t have it any other way.
•Never takes off his dog tags and sleeps really close to his cap and all his belongings
•You’ll gain a bit of trust over the couple days but after a few weeks you’ll wake up one morning and he’s gone. At first your like shit he’s don’t a runner on me but when you walk out side he’ll just be there with cans of food and a CD in his hand
Bucky: I bought supplies. And I thought we could put this in the- the uh- the thing.
Reader: The CD player ?
Bucky: yeah that.
•Always finishes every single part of his meal no matter what it is. My boy was raised good.
•back to the whole staring thing but he HATES small talk with a passion. Hell have non of that ‘how are you’ or ‘the weathers nice today’ it’s either a full conversation or just blank stares.
• when you two finally got the stations to work on the busted TV in the mobile you always caught him watching kids cartoons like looney toons, scooby doo mystery inc and others. He finds them entertaining like a child since he didn’t have them when he was a kid.
• He doesn’t know how to cook. Nu-uh not at all
• he has a guilt-fueled morning routine. He wakes up and immediately checks his hands and surroundings to make sure there’s no blood or weapons he might have accidentally drawn or used when he was asleep. Every morning he peeks into your bed just for a moment to make sure he didn’t go winter soilder and kill you. You’ve caught him peeking once or twice.
• when he gets more talkative he will tell you things he found out from newspapers that are outdated by like decades.
Bucky: “hey uh did you hear that that music group called the Beatles split up? It says it here on the papers”
Reader: “I-…no, no Bucky I didn’t know that”
• you tried introducing him to music from the 21st century like lady gaga, 1D, Britney, and others but he kinda just sat there confused until you turned it off
• From his years as the winter soilder he’s learned to nap ANYWHERE. You could find this man in the backyard, on top of the mobile you name it.
#the amazing digital circus
#lana del rey
#bloodymary
#photography
#love and deepspace
