Bucky X Reader - Blog Posts

Updated: 03/31/2021

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This blog is 18+ ONLY!!! Because I’m an old lady, I love to use bad words, and there’s just a ton of porn here. There will be an occasional dub-con or very dark fic. I do like writing fight scenes so there are going to be mentions of pretty graphic violence. I do my best to tag accordingly, and put content warnings on each of my fics but if you notice I’ve missed a warning anywhere, please DM me and I’ll fix it ASAP!!

I write reader insert fics for whatever I feel like, but it’s mostly Chris Evans, Henry Cavill, and Sebastian Stan characters. I will also probably have more wlw fics as well, so look forward to those! I’m up for anything! I do my best to keep descriptions of the reader as vague as possible to keep things inclusive, but will sometimes add descriptors of easily changed aesthetic things (i.e. tattoos, piercings, etc.). Again, if you have trouble fully immersing yourself in one of my fics due to a reader description, please let me know! I welcome constructive criticism.

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Timeless

The timeless love that Bucky had

I found it in a dusty shoe box today. 

The photograph. 

Folded corners, a little torn on the edges, and yellowed with age. Still, the image was clear enough to see your grin. boyish and crooked, the same one that made my heart skip in 1941. 

He was standing in front of the corner diner in Brooklyn, arm slung around me, your military uniform still crisp from training. my dress was too long, my hair and soft curls. You say I looked like the dames in the movies, though I never believed you. 

I sat on the floor of our apartment- our apartment, the one SHIELD helped me find after they confirmed you were alive and time folded and on itself. Because just like that, I was 19 again. Just like that, I could smell the leather of your bomber jacket and hear the way you'd say my name, like a prayer and a promise all wrapped in one. 

The war stole everything. You, Steve, entire lifetimes. 

I cried the day they said you'd fallen off the train. Not the soft, cinematic tears they show in films, but the ugly, just even kind -  the kind where grief grabs you by the throat and doesn't let go. For decades, you were a ghost I couldn't touch. A heartbeat I thought I imagined. The man I loved turned myth. 

But now you're back. 

Not the same, not entirely. There are cracks in you, deep ones, and shadows behind your eyes that weren't there before. Sometimes you flinch when I touch you. Sometimes you look at me like you are remembering, and other times like you wish you could forget. 

But then there are the other times. 

Like when we walk through Central Park and you still reach for my hand, like instinct. Or when you find old swing records and the antique shops and your face softens-  because you know that's our music. The Andrews sisters, Ella Fitzgerald, Glenn miller. You dance with me in the kitchen sometimes, when the memories aren't too loud. 

And in those moments, I know what we are. 

We’re timeless. 

We always were.  from the second I locked eyes at the USO dance and you offered me a Coca-Cola with that charming little smart. from the letters you sent me, ink smudged and pages worn, telling me you'd be home soon. From the nights I kept the porch light on, hoping. 

Even now, with silver in your hair and the world completely changed, I look at you and I know. You're always meant to come back to me. Somehow, some way. Even when time tried to erase us. 

And when we're old, if we're lucky enough to grow old, I hope someone finds that photo of us. I hope they ask about the girl with stars in her eyes and the soldier who came back from the dead. I hope they feel what I feel when I look at it: 

That this love, the story, was always something out of time.

Something not of this world. 

Something timeless. 

Last Kiss

Bucky Barnes leaves for war from her perspective.

I still remember the way the air felt that night. 

Heavy, like it knew. Like the sky itself was holding its breath. 

You didn’t say it, not really. You didn’t need to. I knew you were leaving. I knew this was the last night. And I knew the second  I saw you in that uniform, stiff, and crisp, and not you, that everything was about to change. 

You tried to act like it was fine. Like we had time. You smiled that crooked smile, the one that always made me forget how to breathe. And I laughed. I laughed at your dumb jokes, because if I didn’t, I’d cry. And I wanted- God, I wanted to be strong for you. 

We sat in our booth, like always. The waitress called you “soldier,” and you smiled at her, but I saw the flicker in your eyes, you were scared. I was too. 

When we left, you walked me home even though it was out of your way. You always did that. I think you liked pretending we lived in the same world, like you could stay in it just a little longer. 

We stood outside my building for a long time, neither of us saying anything. The city faded around us - cars, people, lights - they'll just.. disappeared. It's just you and me.

And then you kissed me. 

Slow. Careful. Like you were memorizing me. 

Like if you kissed me soft enough, maybe the war would forget your name. 

That was the last kiss. 

I didn't know what to say when you pulled away. I didn't want to cry, so I just nodded. I wanted to say "I love you,” but I didn't. I was afraid that if I did, you wouldn't leave -  and part of me was selfish enough to want that. But the rest of me knew... you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t go. 

So I let you walk away. 

You didn’t look back. 

But I did. 

I watched you turn the corner, and I whispered it then, “I love you.” Quiet. Just for me. Maybe the wind carried it to you. Maybe not. 

You came back eventually after so many decades, but I’m no longer here. 

After so many years, I would lay awake sometimes thinking about that night. About that night. About that kiss. About the boy who held my hand like it was a lifeline and kissed me like he was already gone. 

I never kissed anyone the same after that. 

But with me now gone, I wish you could with someone new. 

Love Language - Bucky Barnes

Acts of Service

He’s not good at saying what he’s feeling but he will show you with the little things. 

He randomly fixes things around your house because he saw it was broken. 

“It was bothering you, wasn’t it?” 

He would get a head start on your morning routine for you, fixing her coffee, getting coat, and bag together. 

“Here, I didn’t want you running all around in the morning.” 

Does the chores that you forgot about the day before and doesn’t even mention it. 

When he’s not on missions, he will always cook you breakfast, no matter what. 

It doesn’t matter that he had no sleep from a mission he got back on, he will be in that kitchen flipping pancakes, scrambling eggs, making coffee, or whatever he makes. 

He always makes sure your flower vase is full, always replacing them before they die. 

If you fall asleep somewhere, he will pick you up and tuck you into bed. 

When he goes on morning runs, he takes your dog with him. 

He takes responsibility for taking care of your dog.

He's a gentleman to you.

He opens your doors, holds your bags, walks on the outside of the sidewalk.

Bucky x Witch Practitioner

Learns that she’s a love witch and learns what that includes. 

He doesn’t understand the things she needs sometimes. 

“What is licorice root and why do you need it?” 

“Why do you need my birth time again?” 

“What’s that crystal next to my side of the bed?” 

He notices that she takes her time with her makeup and hair because beauty magic is important to her. 

Her whole home smells like roses. 

She always has roses in her home. 

She makes him custom herbal teas. 

She makes him a sleep sachet to place under his pillow to help with his nightmares. 

She hides little sigils on him or in his gear for protection and safety on missions. 

After he comes back from missions, she will do bath rituals for him to relax. 

He always gets her roses and pretty flowers for her “pink altar” (love altar). 

He nieces that she spray Florida water in the sheets and blankets after waking up and then spray his side with lavender spray and hers with rose. 

She tells him the lavender or chamomile will help with keeping him calm and help with sleep. 

Crystals everywhere (especially rose quartz & clear quartz the most). 

He thinks it’s really cute that you do spell work for him. 

Bucky Barnes x Latina Woman

He just sits back and observes. He doesn’t question things, he just watches because even though he has never seen or heard what you're doing, he doesn’t want to make you feel weird for what’s normal for you. 

Secretly starts learning Spanish. 

When you get pissed you start cursing in Spanish, no one understands it but him. 

You yell out a curse word in Spanish at Steve for eating your last orange, which leaves Steve confused and scared but Bucky just starts laughing so hard. 

After that, you learn he learned Spanish fluently and start having conversations together in Spanish. 

It’s funny now because he now shit talks Sam in Spanish and no one understands but you. 

Starts gossiping in Spanish with each other. 

Loves eating the food she makes. 

His new comfort food is sopita de fideo, especially on cold days. 

He can kill a whole tray of tacos by himself. 

He thinks it’s funny when she calls everyone random nicknames in Spanish.  (Wanda - mamas, Sam - pendejo, Tony - menso, Thor - cabron, Loki - nopalito, Bruce - salsa verde, Clint - pajaro, Natasha - linda, Vision - tomate) 

Loves when you call him cute nicknames in Spanish. (“mi vida” is your go to)

The Ones You Save [1]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 4,735

Warnings: Mentions of murder, death, and blood.

Summary: The one where you are given a new mission and you follow through with the orders you have found.

prologue | part 1 | part 2

“You can find your mission.”

You don’t flinch as you easily allow the barrier in your mind to fall down, immediately reaching out past yourself to delve into the mind of Alexander Pierce. It’s slightly difficult for your muddled mind to recall just exactly who he is - but the name had popped in almost without hesitation when you gave yourself the brief reminder that forgetting could result in something worse than the dreaded machine, something worse than the highly praised cryogenic chamber.

You don’t have to search far into his psychotic, masochist brain to find what you need. The man has learned by now to keep the mission on the forefront of his mind after you have been prodded to find your mission. If he doesn’t think of it while you’re searching, you’re forced to burrow deeper into his mind - and there’s no telling what disturbing things you’d find if you did that. Not that any of it would have much effect on your broken encephalon.

As you’re discovering details about your new targets, the scientists in the room move to suit you up. You weren’t wearing much when you had come in - just the pants to your suit and the sports bra that they have you wear underneath your suit. Your suit itself is a complex mess of zippers and buttons; a design purposely created with the lightweight tactical suit to remind you how much control you lack. The uniform is constructed from Kevlar fiber and Nomex thread; produced for advanced flexibility and resistance to small bullets. It’s incredibly close to the apparel that the Winter Soldier once wore - but the design has been updated to restrict you from removing the clothing yourself. There is a tight muzzle wrapped around your nose and mouth, but they have abandoned the goggles you were once forced to wear. You don’t have to worry about your hair; the ratty, rough fibers are constantly pulled back into double dutch braids that stretch down to your middle back.

You barely recognize at this point when your brain kicks in to autopilot. With all the damage that’s been inflicted on the organ, you hardly remember telling yourself to walk to the hangar. All you comprehend is that you are suddenly in a different room, that you are strikingly alone. The silence is almost welcoming to a small, quiet part of your mind - but you shove that down. You don’t like the lack of loud voices, lack of chaos - the void of screaming, crying. You are so used to screeching HYDRA agents and sobbing victims; the silence distracts you from your complete-your-mission-and-get-it-over-with attitude. It comforts you, even; it allows you to take a break from the life that you know ( incredibly deep down ) you hate.

You make your way to your designated plane. You go through the motions of buckling yourself in, placing a comm into your ear before you pull on the noise cancelling headphones. With the powers you have, the decibels given off by the plane are too much. Even the small carrier plane you are allowed to pilot is too much. You hate loud noises, but your powers make it easier for you to cancel everything out - to focus on small details that rest inside the minds of others.

If your memories hadn’t been so toyed with, you would’ve been able to reminisce over how your old partner never got the privilege of learning to fly the passenger plane. You would’ve remembered that the scientists trusted you more than him, that you always were allowed more freedoms than him. But he only comes in fragmented bits. He only shows up in your mind at random instances, bringing a mix of strong emotions that have no reason. You can’t conjure up a full mental picture of him most of the time - but you might be able to recognize him if you saw him. You two were the best duo that HYDRA had ever seen; you always had the others back, never left the other to fight alone. But, he had managed to escape without you. You would be able to understand if you could just think about how hard he tried to get you out too.

But you don’t remember any of that. You don’t even think about it. When you do, it’s not by choice - and Alexander Pierce makes sure that you forget as soon as it happens.

You’re barely off the ground before your comm ignites with static. There’s a wince that you hold back as your hands keep the plane steady. This is something that comes naturally to you, the one thing that makes you feel weightless when the blood stained on your hands gets to be too much. It’s almost like an extension of yourself; as easy to control as your actions in hand-to-hand combat.

“You have the directions and the target. Make sure that the target is dead. Don’t worry about any other casualties; you know what will happen if your compassion suddenly rears its head.” The shrieking voice of Pierce fills your ear.

You don’t answer. And you never do. That’s one of the things that they seem to like most about you. You’re obedient; you’re easy to control, you listen without complaint. They’re at the point where they no longer have to toy with your fears to make you carry out their commands, they’ve already made you believe that you cannot survive on your own. They’ve taken care of you for so long, even though it hasn’t been anywhere near what living should be like. Deep down, the person who you used to be knows that you could take care of yourself if you were given the chance. You could treat yourself better, kinder, than any of those people you work for. If you cared for yourself, if you were given the chance to disappear from HYDRA - maybe you could stop spilling so much innocent crimson.

The plane touches down with precision and shuts off a moment after. You don’t need to take time to compose yourself before you’re pulling off the headphones. There’s a multitude of weapons that you move to strap onto your body; it seems that there’s a weapon for every occasion. HYDRA wants you to be prepared. Even with your abilities.

You shut the door behind you, but make no immediate move to walk away. Now is when you need to compose yourself. You force yourself to relax and close your eyes. You envision yourself standing near the edge of the forest; you look at your surroundings through your mind, see yourself slowly fade from view. And it works. When you open your eyes, you know your body is invisible to any prying eyes.

You were created with this in mind, to be an agent of stealth - to be able to control things with your mind. When Arnim Zola found Bucky, found you - he had the perfect duo in mind. He had two different serums; one that was previously made for the highly regarded hero dubbed as Captain America, the other that he had carefully and intricately made just for you. He had it planned; the body and the mind. Bucky was the body; he had the super strength, the undeniable agility, the striking silver arm. And you, you were the brilliant mind. You had the ability to infiltrate minds, the disappearing act, the genius plans. You also had the unexpected onyx arm and the metal parts replacing the fragmented bones in your legs. Zola’s beautiful, entrancing duo had both taken falls from high distances - but it was the perfect way to take you both into their custody.

And now, decades after your personal fall, you are standing at the edge of the forest. Your Glock 17 is now loosely resting in your left hand. It’s not the perfect time to use it and you have left the safety on. In a few mere seconds, you could have the safety off and the gun positioned perfectly. Your constant, extreme training has allowed you to perfect such motions. The guns aren’t your favorite weapon; those were always reserved for the partner you can’t remember. Your favorites are the knives - the ones your brain so easily calculates the trajectory for. Knives are like another extension of yourself, the perfect weapon for the perfect brain. But knives can’t penetrate through tinted windows of armored vehicles. You know that the bullets in your gun can’t either, which is why it’s your job to get into the car and execute your target.

The comm once again ignites with an irritating voice. “The car has been spotted heading your way. Get in position.”

Your eyes dart through the dense traffic that lies a few feet in front of you. The cars are so close together, so crowded that they can’t move. You know that it’s typical of this area during this time of day to be so packed. That makes it perfect for your job. It creates less casualties, makes it easier for you to spot the right target and take care of them without hassle.

You carefully begin to weave through the mess of stopped cars. It’s not the hardest thing that you have to do, but sometimes it’s difficult to squeeze between the vehicles and avoid hitting them. You like to stay invisible and it’s hard when the people in the cars can feel you bump into them. It destroys your stealth, confuses the people in the cars, and makes you want to panic. You don’t want to mess up; HYDRA could come up with extreme consequences for any slight error in your plans.

They want you to cause chaos in the process of your mission. That’s the reason why you aren’t using a knife, why your hand is slowly tightening its grip on your gun. They want the people around you to panic, to cause a commotion. They want you to cause as much chaos as you can with your missions so they can one day introduce you as the savior the world needs; the one person alone who can stop all these random killings, who has all the means to save the world without destroying cities upon cities in the process.

And you hate the idea. You know that it is stupid, that it’s useless - but the people who control you don’t care about your opinion. They haven’t cared since they locked Arnim Zola’s mind in a bunker far below the surface of the Earth. Zola was the one person who always wanted your opinion in missions, the one person who always knew how clever you really were. You wish that you had just messed around a bit more in Pierce’s mind and convinced him to let you use a knife. Your mission would run a lot more smoothly if you had done that.

“Your tracker is nearly on top of the car. Make sure you’re paying attention.” His voice is scolding this time, trying to find fault in your actions. You know exactly where the car is; you can see it plain as day. You’re not stupid and you know that you haven’t passed it yet. “Keep it simple, yet create chaos.”

You finally let your eyes roll in response. They can’t see your eyes roll when you’re hidden, and you’re far enough away from them that you aren’t absolutely terrified to react in that manner. You swear that they get on your nerves, though you’d never admit it out loud. Their instructions are always ingrained in your brain from how much they tell you them.

You let your bionic arm bang against the passenger window of the armored vehicle. There’s a quick pause and then you hit the window again - but this time you have moved closer to the front windshield. It goes on like that as you slowly begin to circle the car; all you are doing is luring out the driver of the car. You barely make it around to the back of the car before the guy is scrambling out of the car, moving to where you are. It’s easy for you to sidestep the man and slip into the car. You slam the door shut before you press down on the lock button. You can nearly feel the panic radiating off of the passengers in the car, A small smile tugs on your lips because you know for a fact that Pierce would be proud of you. When he’s proud, no one’s allowed to punish you for small mistakes.

You feel the urge to flip the car into drive and slam on the gas, but you brush it off. You’re not looking to get hurt in the process of giving Pierce the chaos that he craves. All you want is to invoke panic and fear, which you can do by firing the gun more than once. But you wait a beat. You allow your hammering heart a moment to calm down, allow yourself to keep your cover as you move to roll down the back window.

The driver is moving towards the window as soon as he sees that it is being lowered. You can see the panic and terror written across his face. You wonder, for a split second, how long the man must have been working for SHIELD. You know that if he was HYDRA he wouldn’t have let his emotions play out across his face. SHIELD has never properly trained their agents.

You watch as the driver attempts to pull your target out of the car. You don’t act out of panic, nor do you jump at the chance to fire the gun. He tries to pull the woman out, but the seat belt proves to be an issue. You move your gun into the proper position as he pleads with her to unbuckle and let him get her out alive; which makes you want to scoff. There’s no possible way that this could go that would have her getting out alive.

But you still wait. Your eyes follow the woman as she unbuckles herself, watch as the man tries once more to pull her out of the window. You busy yourself with rolling down the other windows, making the two of them pause for a moment in their efforts. It’s almost humorous to you, to watch as they finally realize they can open the door and safely pull her out.

Then you move. You’re pulling yourself out of the window, curling your body through the small surface. Instead of hopping onto the ground, you lift your body on top of the car. It doesn’t dent under your weight and your feet don’t leave any prints, for which you’re thankful for. You squat down and watch as the driver begins to look around frantically. It’s also humorous to watch him try to see you.

The driver is telling the woman to move, to stick close to him. You let one of your fingers move to click the safety off and you raise the gun, carefully pointing it at the two of them. But you don’t shoot. Not yet. You know exactly how you want to cause a little bit of chaos.

They start moving away from the car, leaving the other two passengers to scramble out after them. You quietly drop onto the ground, taking a quick moment to observe that traffic has begun to move a bit. It’s not hard for you to begin to follow behind the four SHIELD agents; your footsteps are too light to reveal your location to them. You want to move to tap into their minds, but your comm quietly comes to life before you can.

“Now’s the time, Ghost.”

You move your gun up, easily pointing it to your main target - the woman. You take a moment to breathe before you fire, watching as the bullet lodges itself into the back of her right knee. She almost falls to the ground in slow motion. The driver moves to bend down in front of her. You take another breath before you fire again, focusing on the bullet as it passes through the woman’s neck and lodges itself in the man’s torso. It is with swift ease that you take out the other two SHIELD agents who followed them, not sparing a second to watch as their bodies collapse onto the ground.

You put the safety on before you tuck the gun into the holster around your thigh. Though you do not watch the life leave the woman’s body, you do watch as people begin to jump out of their cars - running over to the four people. You make a face as you see some of them pulling out their phones, taking pictures and videos. You have to think about how stupid the human race has gotten, how eager they are to show everything that happens to the rest of the world. Their ignorance is bliss, in your situation, and you know that it will one day be the death of them. Just like it was to those four SHIELD agents whose blood is now crawling along the blazing hot asphalt.

Your feet begin to move you away from the area, trying to get back to the small passenger plane you had been permitted to take. You know that the scene isn’t as bloody as Pierce would have liked, but you know that he will be satisfied with the end results. Four SHIELD agents dead, with more on the list for your future endeavors.

As you finally disappear into the trees, you drop your invisibility facade. You can feel the blood begin to trickle down from your noise as you suddenly cease using your powers. You easily wipe it off with your gloves. It was always a side effect that you had after using them; Zola would always chalk it up to happening because of where they originated from. You were using your brain in a way that no other human could and this was always the way that you had reacted.

You pause mid-step as you pick up on the crunching of leaves underneath someone’s boot. Your mind immediately kicks into action and you disappear from sight, quietly turning around to see if you can find the source of the noise. Unlike the stranger, you tread carefully - your boots making barely any noise as you move amidst the fallen leaves and sticks. Your hand automatically moves to turn your comm off; eliminating all chances of Pierce revealing your location to the possible enemy. You have no clue who it could be or how many of them there are, but you know how you can find out.

You lean your body against a tree, letting your head relax against the rough bark as you close your eyes. You wish for a second that you had your headphones with you, but know that the noises of the nearby traffic will have to do as your distraction. You focus on the soft hum of the cars and the sound of tires on the road, not allowing the occasional horn honk to scare you.

You travel out of your mind - your powers quietly reaching out amidst the gentle sound of the wind pulling through the trees. You act as though you are flying through the forest, spotting out any possible threat. And it doesn’t take you long to see what has made the noise. On the outer edge of the forest, you spot three people. There are two men and one woman; you easily recognize Captain America and Black Widow, two ‘high-held’ SHIELD agents. The other man, though, isn’t as easily recognizable. You know that his face and build is familiar, that you have seen him before - but you cannot place him. All you know is that this man, the one with long brown hair and matching facial hair, looks concerned. And you decide to allow your brain to connect with his, to see out of his own eyes and to hear out of his ears.

“Buck, I don’t think she’s here. Not anymore, at least.” Captain America speaks up, sending the man a frown.

“I know she’s here, Steve. I can feel her.” The deep vibrations that left ‘Buck’ seemed to send a shock of pain through your system, and you automatically fight to shove the memories down.

“I don’t necessarily think that you can feel when a person is around, Barnes.” Black Widow pitches in - you watch as Steve nods in agreement.

“It’s a long story, Romanoff. Her and I have always been connected. That’s how Zola wanted it to be. I know she’s here. She’s watching us right now.”

You quickly let go of your hold on his brain and push yourself away from the tree with a jolt, putting your comms back on.

“Take off your mask and tell us what’s going on, Ghost.” The growl that escapes Pierce’s side of the comm makes your eyes narrow. “You won’t get in trouble.”

You quietly and hesitantly peel the muzzle off of your face, pressing your flesh hand down on the comm. “Captain America and Black Widow are here with a man they called ‘Buck’ and ‘Barnes’.”

You can’t help but wince at the rough, scratchy voice that falls out of your lips.You haven’t talked in so long and it’s easy to tell that it’s been months. The thought of them punishing you for doing what you’re told sends a shock of fear through your system, but you’re more concerned with the memories that are threatening to push past your mental barrier. A part of you wants to remember who that man is, but the rest of you knows that you need to forget about him. He’s not important. The important thing is finding a way to get back to your base undetected.

Without being told to, you quickly place the mask back around your face. You know that they can’t see you, but the fear of being punished for having it off overrides that fact. You want that punishment as much as you want the memories that are fighting against your brain. You have scars across your body from the last time it was taken off, which was when you had fought to get out - and the thought of disobeying by trying to get away sets your whole body aflame. The memory that coincides with the scars is red hot; it’s setting fire to that mental barrier as it fights to get past.

You can feel it start to crumble and you’re forced to lean down, to cradle your head between your hands.The pain that comes with the memories is overwhelming, overbearing. It’s hard for you to fight through it. But you know that you have to get away from where you are, you know that you have to evacuate to a safe place - somewhere HYDRA can rescue you. The sooner that they rescue you, the sooner they can fix your crumbling mental state.

But the pain is agonizing. It’s worse than anything you’ve ever felt and you aren’t sure how you can quiet the blazing white pain pounding throughout your brain. HYDRA should have known better than sending you out in the field when you were previously so unstable, but you know that no one thought that there would be a trigger out here. None of them had planned for this man called Buck to show up, to be here. And no one would have been able to tell how big of a trigger the unkempt male would be.

You can hardly feel your knees hit the hard ground, but you can feel the dry grass pressing into your arms. The dirt is cool against your burning forehead. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze and you are fighting the urge to cry out. Everything around you sounds muffled, like you have been plunged into a giant pool of water. You strain to hear the three agents, strain to find their location in relation to you. But it’s overloading your brain - you can feel the blood begin to seep out of your nose. You know immediately that you have lost your hold on your invisibility.

“Get out of there!” You hardly manage to hear Pierce scream into the ear piece, but the panic in his voice makes your head hurt even more.

Your force yourself to get up to your feet, staggering as you take a few steps to catch your balance. The world around you is spinning relentlessly; it feels like you are stuck in a snow globe that is continuously being rolled across the floor. It’s difficult for you to stay on your feet as you move forwards. You think that you’re moving away from the three people, but your sense of direction is incredibly messed up. You feel like up is down and right is left. You aren’t sure how you can fix the mixed up directions.

You stumble forward and your stomach seems to twist more with every step. The pounding in your head only seems to get worse as memories begin to pile on top of each other. You’re seeing bits and pieces of a past that you don’t remember; you’re being overloaded with unknown events and it’s hard to keep the little bit of food you had today in your stomach. You barely make it to a tree before you’re leaning against it. Your body is bending over and you’re losing what feels like the entire contents of your stomach. The acid from your belly has scorched the entire length of your esophagus and you are left dry heaving.

You can’t keep up with your mind. There’s flashes of a man, the same man you just saw, and he’s fighting alongside you. You see bursts of doctors injecting you with serums and you see bits of agents torturing you. Then there was a man - one who you didn’t recognize, in so many different moments that you couldn’t comprehend. There he was, placing a ring gently on your finger. There’s a big smile after, then you’re sitting under the stars on a blanket. But then it seems to turn sour and suddenly he’s lying on the ground - his lifeless eyes staring up at the stars. You feel a hand grab onto your arm and you think you’re being dragged back to that cliff, the cliff that that man died on and then you’re screaming.

You’re screaming with all your might, and you feel like you’re falling. You feel like you’re tumbling towards the bottom of the cliff; you see that it’s getting closer and you don’t seem to be slowing down. You’re panicking because you know that you’re going to die, you know that this isn’t going to end well. And you wish, you wish with everything in you that you could have been better, that you could have hurt less people - that you could have caused less casualties.

And you’re closing your eyes tightly - so tight, waiting for the impact. Then you hit the ground. But you don’t hit hard. You don’t feel any bones break and you don’t feel the agony of your body bending in ways it never should have. You don’t feel flesh and muscle being torn away from your shoulder, you don’t feel your legs being shattered beyond repair.

Even though you’re terrified, though you feel like you’re frozen from shock - you slowly start to test out your appendages. You keep your eyes closed because you’re scared to see the damage, you’re afraid to see where you are. For a split second, you wonder if you have died. You lay and hope that maybe, finally, you’re free from HYDRA.

You decide, no matter what you’ll find, that you have the courage to open your eyes. You slowly pry your eyes open and the sky above you is bright blue. There’s barely any clouds littering the big expanse of cerulean. The sun is shining brightly, warming the body that you thought would be cold from the shallow lake that was sitting at the bottom of the cliff.

And there is a pair of shining blue eyes staring down at you.

tag list: @verygraphicink

The Ones You Save [Prologue]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 1,759

Summary: The one where your chaotic mind is reset.

prologue | part 1 | part 2

There is a part of you that believes you used to know what life was like before you were stuck; stuck in whatever chaotic mess this was. A mess of what you could barely recognize as an endless cycle  ― one that Alexander Pierce constantly thought of; one that involved strange, sickly liquids being pumped into your system; one that had parts of your brain constantly being erased. The endless cycle of you searching for orders in the brains of agents who were deemed superior to you, completing the orders  ― going through with horrendous actions that would leave your hands more blood-stained than before.

Your superiors don’t care about that, though. They don’t care about the amount of blood that tarnishes your hands. They don’t care about the screams and pleas that echo in your head. They don’t care about how unclean you feel; how wrong, how disgusting, how tainted. They only care that you can complete your missions, that you can pave their way in the messy world. As long as you’re a determined, dangerous tool  ― they don’t need to look into your mental state.

There’s an urge in your brain  ― an urge to dig through the mess of barriers and fragments that the electricity from the machine has left behind. But you shove the urge down; trying to hide it deep among the broken, shattered parts of what you once were able to recognize as a person with free will. There’s another urge right alongside that one. It’s telling you to escape from this room, the compound. It’s telling you to get out before the doctor can bother to mess with your mind again. It’s the again part that catches you off guard. You can’t remember another time that you were in this room  ― a cloth shoved between your clenched jaw, metal bonds holding down your arms and legs. You can’t remember anything, actually. Except in uncontrollable spurts. But the thought of trying to conjure up a past memory sends a shockwave of pain through your frontal lobes.

Your eyes focus around the room and you let go of the guard that you had yanked up on your mind. Your eyes are quick to close as every single thought in the room hits you at once. You can tell that your mind and your control have become unstable  ― everything is so loud and you can’t concentrate on a single thought. You’re only able to catch a few keywords, ones that add up to a splintered sentence: seventh time in, looming cryogenic chamber, a mess. The fragmented sentence seems to match your mind and your emotions, making you feel like you have been tossed into a never-ending vortex that happily holds you captive. It seems dead-set on tearing you down.

An extreme pain explodes throughout your head and you immediately realize that your brain is trying to push back your mental barriers. You know that a memory is trying to be brought up, one that you don’t want to recall. You thrust it back down. You thrust it as far down as you can, pretending that you are locking it away in a hidden chamber  ― chucking the key to the opposing side of a very long, very deep ocean. The memory disappears and your eyes lock with a man who is kneeling in front of you. The cold, empty look in his bright green eyes throw you off. You instantly recognize him as your primary doctor.

"Ghost, if you don't get your shit together soon ― we're tossing you in the chamber."

You know that already. You gathered that much from the mess of a sentence that your mind inherited. You’re thinking, though, that you wouldn’t mind the chamber. Your body yearns for a break. You don’t sleep much outside of it. Maybe being chucked into the cryogenic chamber would fix you, maybe it would soothe your aching mind. Maybe you could get some answers for why your mind is so mangled. But you know that it wouldn’t work in the long run. You’d be thrown back into the dreaded chair and your mind would be wrecked even further.

"We're using a different drug today." The doctor speaks again, easily catching your attention. You hadn’t noticed before but the protective barrier in your mind has been pulled back down, everything has become increasingly quiet. You barely acknowledge that you enjoy the silence.

The doctor moves and you’re focusing on his face again; observing the concentration that has sprung up on his facial features. Your eyes flicker over to the IV and you watch as the substance begins to flow down from the bag. Your gaze is forced away from the substance as your head is moved forward. You try not to tense as your head is secured with the headpieces of the chair, the pressure mainly on your frontal lobes. You settle with curling your hands into fists ― your eyes closing as the chair is slammed back. You’re not ready for the procedure to begin, but they don't care that you’re not ready.

You can almost feel the liquid moving through your body ― a freezing cold sensation taking over every inch of your being. There's a quick, fleeting memory that whirls around in your brain; reminding you of the month that you were stuck out in the Russian wilderness, a strange man accompanying you. The machine you are hooked to gives a soft whirl and pain erupts throughout your brain, yanking the memory out of your grasp.

The pain itself is unbearable. It is searing and bright; spreading quickly throughout every inch of your body. It seems to fill every nook and cranny within a split second. In response, you shove yourself up ― your body beginning to convulse against the bonds that chain you down. Your jaw is incredibly tense, tenser than it has been in a while, and you want to scream. You want to scream and cry and thrash, but you fight the urge. It will give the sick minds around here some sort of satisfaction and you refuse to give it to them.

The pain is suddenly disappearing, but it leaves behind an electric feeling. It's a muddled type of electric, though. The pain is still slightly buzzing about your body, lessened by the murky black medicine that's still sluggishly crawling around in your veins. The freezing effect of the strange drug has worn off. In your mind, it's probably due to the electricity that has just bombarded every single cell in your body. You don’t yearn for the cold, though, because the medicine has made you feel numb ― like you’re unreachable to the world around you.

You don’t feel when the needle is pulled from your skin, barely registering what is happening as you are being pulled to your feel. The numbness you feel is intoxicating and, in a way, you yearn for more of it. Your dangerously trained mind would recognize it as a danger if you were fully functioning  ― you’re too apathetic to really care.

Your instincts have kicked in to give you a helping hand. Your back is as straight as it can go and your eyes are void of emotion; like a robot waiting patiently to be programmed. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the doctor's eyes, but you are more confused by the look on his face. It is filled with humor. You are puzzled by it; if you were sobered up, you could take his tall build down without effort.

"Longing." Your eyes blankly focus on a man standing behind the doctor. His eyes seemed so dark that they were nearly back. His voice seemed to penetrate through the numbness; your skull exploding with a dull ache. You want to curl into a tight ball and press your hands tightly against your ears. You want to do whatever you could do block out his voice, to preserve the sweet numbness ― you don’t want to know what the punishment would be.

"Rusted. Furnace."

The second and third words seemed to roll off his tongue effortlessly. Your conscious mind begins to slip out of your grasp. It was becoming increasingly difficult for you to fight to hold on to your self-control. Usually, it was easier for you to cling to what broken bits of free will that you had. The drugs in your system were making it easier for them to brainwash you. Clinging to control would be an extremely hard predicament for anyone in your situation, though. It didn't matter how many cc's of the drugs were in your system when the words officially took hold. You would become dangerous.

"Daybreak. Seventeen. Benign. "

The ache in your skull seemed to be getting worse with every word that slipped out of his mouth. Your whole being seemed to be screaming at you to resist the words ― to block him out, to run far away from this place. But you couldn't. There was no way for you to resist the words.

"Nine. Homecoming."

The words had begun to echo around in your brain. It didn't matter what anyone else was saying or thinking at this point. All that mattered to you was the right words that had already been spewed out of his lips. They seemed to be booming among your skull, reverberating among the soft tissue and harsh bone. They began to take away every thought you had about the drugs in your system; instead shattering the identity that you once thought that you still had a tight hold on.

"One."

You let your eyes flutter close. The darkness you were met with was almost welcoming. It was far more easy to deal with than the agents that were in the room ― entranced by the process that the lead doctor was in the process of completing. Many of them had seen the process before, had watched the transformation that took place after your mind was scrambled like eggs. But they were repeatedly astounded by the process, almost like it was a strange fetish of theirs. Your muscles relaxed against your will, losing all the tension you had been holding on to.

"Freight car."

Your eyelids snapped open, eyes focusing on the black orbs in front of you. You recognized the glint in them, but you didn't acknowledge it. You had no reason to question the malice that the dark orbs held. 

You instead spoke, your tone matching his cold heart, "I am ready to comply."

The Ones You Save

Summary:

Your story begins in 1940; a beautiful baby born to two loving parents. 17 years later, your father’s involvement in the Howling Commandos comes back to bite you in the ass and you find yourself getting shoved off a cliff. When you wake up, you are in a strange facility with a man who wants to make you the second half of a volatile duo. You have no choice and become known as Ghost. Decades down the road, you help Winter Soldier escape and the consequences are horrendous. Can the newly rehabilitated Winter Soldier save you? Or is it your fate to stay in HYDRA’s clutches?

Chapters:

Prologue

Chapter One

Extra Scenes:

Inspired Works:

Between The Perennial Bloom

Summary:

Bleeding and broken, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes has finally escaped from the horrific grasp of HYDRA. While on the run, he finds himself stumbling into a small Canadian town - barely alive. He ends up stumbling on to your doorstep, going against everything he has been trained by begging you to help him. You barely accept before he passes out on your front porch. With a dangerous assassin in your house and a chaotic agency on the hunt for him, what will you do?

Chapters:

Prologue (coming soon)

Extra Scenes:

Inspired Works:

Cynophobia (Bucky x M!Reader)

Trigger warning: Mentions of blood, implied dog attacks.

It wasn't supposed to be much of anything. Just get in, get it done, get out, nothing more. But the moment the 'winter solider' walked in, things seemed to get out of hand instantly.

Suddenly, he was running as fast as he could down a hall, his heart pounding in his ears. Blood poured from a new open wound on his leg, but he was so hyped up on adrenaline that he didn't even notice.

He could hear them, the growling, the roar-like barking, the sounds of their paws hitting the ground as they rushed after him. He stole a glance for only a moment, seeing the blood-shot beady eyes, the saliva, and sharp fangs still coated in red. It was like he was being pursued by demons!

Finally, his leg caved in under him. As his head hit the ground, blood started to seep from his nose. He looked up just in time to see the four monsters leap for him and-.

Bucky awoke with a start, jerking himself up into a sitting position as his mind reeled and his heart raced. It took him a moment to register where he was as he realized the mattress was drenched in sweat.

He took in a deep breath, the following exhale trembled as a shiver ran through his body. He could practically feel their hot breath on his skin again as he reflexively gripped his leg. The bite was gone, nothing but a slight mark left behind that was barely visible. Though knowing that didn't make it any easier to swallow with the lump in his throat.

He got up from his bed and left the room, wandering down the halls of the tower until he found himself in the kitchen. He took a glass, but as he went to get some water, he paused. God, how much better he'd feel if he had a strong shot right now.

It wasn't good to do it, he knew that, but waking up in a cold sweat after being reminded of one of the most terrifying moments of his life? It made the taste of Tony's stash of liquor seem so sweet.

He turned, convincing himself that he wasn't actually going to take any; he was just going to look. 

"What are you doing up so late?" (Y/N) was suddenly standing in the doorway. It never ceased to amaze him how easily this guy could just appear without being detected; Almost like he had some kind of silent teleportation.

"Nothing." Bucky muttered. "Just getting a drink." The man leaning against the doorway raised an eyebrow.

"...Then get one." He nodded towards the sink, clearly very aware of what Bucky was about to do. Bucky sighed, turning to do just that as (Y/N) continued. "What's wrong? You look like you were running from the grim reaper."

"Nightmare." Bucky's voice was hoarse, his body was covered in sweat, and he had deep bags under his eyes. All of that came from a nightmare? Definitely not what (Y/N) expected. (Y/N) uncrossed his arms and walked a bit closer, letting his steps sound as not to spook him when he reached out.

Bucky felt (Y/N)'s hand gently touch his shoulder as he practically inhaled the water. "It was about your time as the soldier, wasn't it?" An exasperated sigh left Bucky's lips, putting the glass on the counter.

"What else would it be about?"

"Maybe your fear of dogs?"

"I don-" Before Bucky could get the words out of his mouth, he paused. He looked back at (Y/N), who gave him a little smile back. "How did you-?"

"I make it a point to learn all I can about my co-workers. Especially the good-looking ones." Bucky rolled his eyes. "You're pretty secretive about that in particular, though; It kinda makes me wonder why." Bucky turned, attempting to pass (Y/N), only to be blocked with an arm to the opposite shoulder. Bucky looked to find a surprisingly empathetic expression on his usually sarcastic and childish face. "Y'know, this type of thing just proves something." Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Monsters can't feel fear, neither can weapons. So, since you're afraid of something, that just proves you're more than that."

Bucky's expression morphed a few times but settled on a subtle smile. "Besides." (Y/N) added with a chuckle, "It's nice to know that all we have to do to snap you out of it is throw a pomeranian at your ass." As bad-taste as that joke might've been, Bucky couldn't help but chuckle under his breath. Bucky and (Y/N) split in opposite directions as they entered the hallway. "G'night, tin man!"

"Goodnight." Suddenly, the nightmare was far from his mind. The joke about Bucky's fear forcing away the panic and the comment about it proving his humanity made him feel... better. ----------------------------------------------------------

Author’s note: My very first time writing for Bucky, how’d I do?

I am Writing a fanfiction

I have written a fanfiction on Quotev and I'm trying to decide if I post it here heres the link

I thought a depressing thought.

Because of Sebastion Stan's cat allergy, does that mean that we can't have Alpine in upcoming MCU movies? I know CGI exists, but I want a real white cat. Our Bucky Barnes needs his emotional support animal like in the comics.

⛧ ABOUT THE MASTERLIST & REQS

Mainly writing for Tony Stark.

Minors, please do not interact!

Add detail to your requests! Refrain from sending vague, one-liners, please try and be descriptive.

I only write reader-pairings.

I also write real person fiction, such as actors.

Requests and asks are currently OPEN, feel free to send one in!

⛧ FANDOMS

. . marvel . . american horror story . . hannibal

. . and more!

last updated: 01/09/2024

imagine bucky breaking up with you

The room fell silent as the words spilled out of Bucky's mouth. Jumbled up breaths of excuses of how things were just getting a little too serious for him. How he thought things were casual and suddenly he was feeling pressured. His voice ringed in your ears, heat burning on your skin as you stared at him.

Bewildered.

Casual?

This was never casual. Sure it might have started that way, friends seeing where things could go but never was it just casual.

You allowed him to continue, listening to apologetically enthused words that meant nothing to you.

Let him finish...

Let him finish...

"....I really just need some time. I don't want anything serious right now."

Bucky studied your face, looking for signs of distress. Your face was so stone cold, Austin could have been your first name. He held onto the chair he was standing in front of, waiting and waiting until you nodded.

"Fine. I really have nothing to say. I have work in an hour, but I can come by and if you could have all my things ready..."

He looked perplexed as you listed off all your possessions around his apartment. The whole two bottom drawers needed to be cleaned out, books on the shelf, coats in the closet. There was at least two pair of shoes under his bed, he could keep the pots and pans.

"Except, I really would like my stainless pan. I'm very attached to it but other than the clothes, books, whatever else you can keep."

Bucky Barnes was dumbfounded and plain dumb. He was self sabotaging as he always did and you weren't going to play this game - he needed to figure it out all his own and if he never did, well...a person could only wait around for so long.

but, fuck, he might be worth the wait if he could get his shit together.

can't wait too long...

"Also, you have a doctor's appointment next Tuesday. Don't forget they moved buildings, you won't have to take the extra train ride. So yay..."

The half hearted 'yay' made Bucky grimace and he wanted to take it all back but you were already at the front door. He moved toward you and you met him half way, staring lovingly in his eyes. A hand brushed strands of hair from his handsome face and you smiled.

"Get your shit together, Barnes. A catch like me isn't going to wait for too long. Especially when her casual boyfriend has a really hot best friend...."

There was a hint of deviousness in your eyes, the mere thought of Steve and you nearly sent Bucky into a rage but then you gave him a peck on the cheek and walked out of his apartment.

He stood there, like a perfect idiot.

Buckyxmer!reader

Fluff

Warnings: none

-

Swimming around the ocean are one of your favorite things to do especially with your mate Bucky but since he’s human he can’t swim as much as you can. You always meet up at your rock which is where you are swimming to right now. You get to the rock and pull yourself onto it waiting for him to show up. Upon hearing footsteps you turn your head seeing him walk up to you with a smile on his face.

“Hey beautiful” Bucky says kissing you softly sitting on top of the rock holding you close to him. “Hey” you reply laying your head on his shoulder.

“I wish we didn’t have to meet up like this, I just want to be with you”

“I know doll...We will figure it out soon and you know I don’t want you to leave the ocean it’s your home”

“But what about you..? I don’t want you to leave your home either” you say back

“Well...I don’t have any family that’s left alive so I was thinking if we can find something that can turn me into a Merman..if that’s alright with you?”

“I’d love that..but you have to wait for the full moon which is tonight, I’ll have to take you to mako island..are you sure about leaving land for me?” You question not wanting him to leave everything and everyone for you.

“I’m sure doll,let’s do it”

-hours later-

You swim to mako island having Bucky hold onto from above the water. You swim into the moon pool showing Bucky what he needs to do before going into the moon pool. You watch as the pool starts to glow seeing Bucky fall into the water as he transforms for the first time

“You did it!” You smile swimming over to him hugging him tightly

*From then on you and bucky lived your lives in the ocean and having a family of your own*



How I think 40s Bucky would fuck you

He loves watching you scrunch up your face in pleasure while fucking you slow and sweet

Will always give you time to get used to his size and praise you

Sometimes will fuck you hard and rough especially if he is about to go to war

After care is important to him he will always clean you up taking great care of you

Giving you soft kisses after

Definitely loves to choke you

Loves to be called Sergeant

Would get turned on from you wearing his shirts

Find it adorable when you take his sergeant hat and put it on yourself but end up fucking you while you still wear it

Would send you sweet letters but also send you ones where you end up aching for him to come home and fuck you

(Comment what I should do next)

Bucky Barnes

Masterlist

Monster March masterlist

Plot: After a nightmare that seems too real you turn to Bucky for help, signing a contract with him doesn’t look like a bad idea at the time.

For All Eternity

cecaelia!Bucky x mermaid!Reader (x prince!Tony)

moodboard by @brdom

note: reader is Steve and Peggy’s daughter so I guess there’s that implied physical appearance but feel free to ignore that part if it doesn’t suit you

Plot: They came from the stars and offered salvation, but nothing comes without a price…

The Chase

alien!Billy Russo x Reader

moodboard by@brdom

Plot: You've been betrayed and are about to die when a dark angel comes to your rescue...

Fallen

fallen angel!Darkling x angel!Reader

moodborad by @brdom

Plot: Steve, the leader of the centaurs has plans for you...

My Sweet Princess

centaur!Steve x amazon princess!Reader

(some Wanda x reader and Wanda x Steve)

moodborad by @brdom

⊹ ₊˚꒷꒦︶⊹ Apricity ₊︶꒷꒦︶

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader [This chapter], Steve Rogers X Bucky Barnes and Bucky Barnes X Reader [Later chapters].

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Summary: Steve hated you simply because of your past as a HYDRA agent. But now that you have joined the Avengers, will things start to change? Especially after his dear friend, Bucky, seems to only recognise you clearly and you are the only one who can control the Winter soldier.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Warnings: Gore, PTSD, reader is out-casted, Mean Steve, reader got drugged, torture, brainwashing, anxiety, background character death in detail, electrocution, and just usual trauma that comes with HYDRA.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Word count: 6.2k

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, Grumpy x Sunshine, found family, friends to lovers.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

[ Master list ] / [ Next ]

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Being the enemy of Captain America was not easy.

And being in the same team as him while being on his radar was definitely not easy.

You sighed, staring at your cereal bowl before finally looking up to make eye contact with Steve Rogers, who was already staring you down. It's been months since you joined the Avengers, Fury's and Tony's decision, and yet Steve's scrutiny has only increased. Whenever you go, whatever you do, he is always keeping an watchful eye on you.

You both stare at each other, his gaze burning into yours with nothing but hatred and suspicion while you were just blinking awkwardly at him.

Steve averted his gaze when Natasha cleared her throat as she walked by him as she glared at him, an unspoken warning. You returned her smile as she made her away towards the kitchen.

"Did you wake up late again, Lil Owl?" She inquired, her gaze filled with amusement as she watched you nod.

"My sleep schedule is fucked beyond repair." You chuckled as you stirred your strawberry flavoured cereal.

"You might wanna work on that cause we have an important mission coming up on Monday," Tony's voice made you turn around as you titled your head in slight confusion before he continued, "It's... HYDRA related."

Everyone became tensed at the mention of HYDRA, the air in the kitchen seemed to thicken with a subtle hint of suffocation filling the room. You could feel everyone's gaze falling on you, making you stop your mindless stirring as your mind started to race with the memories of your past.

You were an HYDRA agent since the second World War, some records even speculating that you were in HYDRA well before the war even begin. A killer, a bioweapon that surpassed human capacity. A human turned machine. That's what they used to describe you.

Belladonna.

That's what they called you.

For years you were nothing but a brainwashed machine.

Nothing but a mindless killer.

"We cannot trust her to go on such an important mission. She might sabotage it." Steve's cold voice brought you out of your chain of thoughts as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat under his burning gaze.

The way he looked at you... It lacked any warmth. His gaze told you more than he ever needed to. Hatred and mistrust. And worst of all, lack of respect. You knew that he didn't even respect you, thinking of you as nothing but a human who has no care for the bloodshed you have unleashed, for the pain and suffering you have subjected innocent people to. You knew that he doesn't consider you as a part of the team.

As a part of his team.

You were nothing more than an intruder, a venomous snake waiting for an opportunity to strike and kill. A betrayal in formation.

"Rogers. Cut her some slack, she has been a loyal agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. for three years now. She has guided and led all HYDRA based missions for a year now." You glanced up at Tony, thankful to have him by your side.

Since you have joined the team, it has been Tony and Thor who have stood by your side no matter what. Because of them, others started to warm up to you and slowly accept you as a part of the team.

"And? She has been a loyal agent of HYDRA for 70 years. If anything-"

"Come on, Rogers. Don't tell me you are still salty about the fact that she kicked your ass in World War II." Tony's word immediately made both you and Steve tense up.

During a HYDRA mission, well after a year the war ended, Captain America had the misfortune of going against Belladonna. It left him injured and his men killed.

He was made to protect whereas she was made to kill.

"Stark, you better-"

"Enough, both of you!" Before things could get any more heated, Natasha intruppted them while you continued to chew on your cereal. Both of them continued to stare each other down before Steve finally averted his gaze to glare at you, who was staring back at him with a mouthful of cereal.

"I have my eyes on you, don't forget that." You watched him storm off, being used to seeing him annoyed around you.

"Without context, someone might think that Steve is flirting with you." Tony's comment made you chuckle as your gaze landed on him.

"Oh yeah? And what's your definition of flirting? Death threats?" You shot back, shaking your head at his behaviour while Natasha simply smiled. You both were known to engage in playful banter, a reason why Steve banned you from pairing up after a mission where both you spent more timing being sarcastic than actually working.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

You stared at the layout of the HYDRA building while listening to Tony and Steve explain the plan. It was a simple plan; Get in, Kick asses and Get out, as Tony has put it.

Seemed simple.

A little too simple for your liking.

You glanced up at Steve as he called out your name, "Pay attention. Stop staring at the layout, you can memorize it later."

"There is something weird about the layout." You mumbled, making his eyebrows furrow as he walked to where you were standing to glance at the map.

"HYDRA does not store all of their new weapons in one facility, they are usually scattered across the country so if one base is ambushed, others still have access to the weapons. But according to this layout, this whole area," You gestured towards the array of rooms lined together, "Is for weapons, which is extremely unusual because why would they need such a big room for weapons when the other part of the facility is half its size?"

You could see everyone exchanging glances as they pondered over your words, realizing that it did seem odd.

"What are you implying here?" Steve's voice broke the thoughtful silence from beside you, his body brushing against yours as he stared at you with an unreadable expression.

You bit the inside of your cheek before clearing your throat to explain, "Well... What I am implying is that are we certain that the weapons are not... Bio-weapons?"

"Bio-weapons? What do you mean?" You glanced at Tony, taking in his confused expression, "HYDRA is making a virus or something of that sort?"

"HYDRA refers to their biologically enhanced soldiers as bio-weapons." Steve mumbled, staring at the layout as he considered your words.

Despite his hatred towards you and your past, he always took your words into serious consideration whenever it came to plan formation. It is a quality of his that you respect and look up to. Qualities like this is what makes him the Captain America.

"When I was still in HYDRA a few years back, they were... Trying to replicate their formula, the one they used on me. If I recall correctly, they were successful at creating a prototype but... She died after a few months due to the intensity of the training and the... Brainwashing." You trailed off, biting your lips as your mind flashed with the images.

A woman was laying limply on the cold metal chair, the electrical collar that was attached to her head was lifted up.

She was dead.

Her body couldn't take it anymore.

There were gashes all over her body, small cuts littered all over her chest as her collarbone gushed with blood. You could almost see her bone amongst the onpour of blood rushing out of her collarbone. A metal wire was attached to her collarbone, going deep inside her. They not only brainwashed her but for some sick reason, they pushed the electric wire inside of her flesh, electrocuting her from the inside.

Everything around you felt like a blur, the only thing you could focus on was her eyes.

They were wide open.

Her pupils were dilated to the point it felt like staring at an abyss, at something with was not human. Something that was stripped off of it's humanity and was considered an object.

She was not human.

No, she was a mere prototype.

Her fate was fixed the moment you kidnapped her. She was always meant to die. She fulfilled her purpose and hence the only thing left to do was to kill her.

But... Did she really have to die like this?

Even in death, she seemed to be in agony. Blood trailed down her cheeks, even in death, her corpse was crying blood. Even in the afterlife, the scars of her suffering stayed with her. It seemed like she was suffering even after dying. Forever making her a symbol of HYDRA's cruelty.

And whose fault was that? Was it really HYDRA's fault? Or was it yours? You were the one who kidnapped her, you were the one who dragged her to the facility, you were one the one who gathered all those candidates for the possible prototype. You were just following orders but... If you did not do all those things, she wouldn't have met such a cruel end. She had a beautiful smile and a mother who was waiting for her to return for Christmas. If only you-

You took a deep breath as someone called out your name, making you tear your eyes from the map as you stared at Tony.

"Yeah?" You asked breathlessly, a feeling of suffocating almost overwhelming you as you blinked furiously to clear out your vision as it was hard to see because your vision was blurry.

"Are you okay?" Bruce's worried tone made you wave your hand in front of your face to dismiss his worry, chuckling awkwardly as you avoided eye contact.

"Yeah, I just... I am allergic to dust. Yeah." You lied, staring at the table as your eye scanned for a tissue to wipe your eyes and nose.

You glanced up at Steve in surprise as he silently handed you a handkerchief, his initials written on it with blue thread. He stared back in your wide eyes as it reminded him of a frightened deer. His chest was burning again. An odd feeling of sadness, a sadness that he felt not for himself but for you, took over him as he felt a lump form in his throat.

He hated this feeling.

He hated that look on your face.

He cleared his throat as he saw you hesitantly taking his handkerchief, your hands brushing against each other's as you muttered a small thank you before you wiped your eyes with it.

"So... What you are saying is that there could be more people like... How you were back in HYDRA? Is that were you are getting at?" Tony's voice broke the silence, making you nod as you took a sip of water.

"I cannot be entirely correct as it has been five years since I have escaped but it never hurts to be on a look out." Steve nodded at your words, his expressions hardening at the possibility of HYDRA experimenting on innocent people and turning them into ruthless killers. He hated them. They were the reason for countless deaths, for the death of his comrades. They stole his youth and his dearest friend, Bucky.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

The cold wind blew past you, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. You glanced behind you, your eyes lingering at a dark corner in the corridor before you turned your gaze forward. You can't seem to shake the feeling that there was someone following you. That someone was keeping an eye on you.

You followed closely behind Steve as your hand seemed to be turning white from the grip you had on your gun. In all honesty, you have a bad feeling about today's mission. There is something just not quite right with this facility. By now, you would've encountered at least two HYDRA agents but it seemed like there was no soul around.

"Stark, have you found anyone yet?" It seemed like Steve and others have noticed the lack of activity within the facility as well, judging from the weary expression on Steve's face and the confusion in Tony's voice.

"No, not even a fly so far. It's like they have finally stolen Harry's invisibility cloak."

You almost let out a giggle at Tony's comment, making Steve shoot you a disapproving glare as you covered it up with a cough. You always appreciated Tony's humour, it was well needed in tense times like this. You switched to personal comms as you heard Tony call out your name, "Don't forget you still have to watch the second Harry Potter with Pepper and I."

"Yes, yes." You mumbled back, smiling to yourself before straightening up.

You felt it again.

That weird presence and the feeling that someone was behind you.

A crawling feeling overcame your body and you felt a heaviness behind you, it almost felt like someone was behind you as you quickly turned your head around to check. A long corridor stared back at you, the dim lightening gave it a sickening look. It was like a void, it lacked the touch of humanity. It made you feel cold, extremely cold as a subtle anxiousness settled in your chest.

Steve glanced at you, noticing how tensed you look as you stared back at the corridor.

"Captain... Was that... Was that door always there?"

His eyebrows furrowed at your question as he moved closer to where you were standing, his hand accidentally brushing against yours as he followed your gaze and strangely, there was indeed a door that seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

"It was always there, what do you mean?" You stared at him in confusion and bewilderment.

No, you were certain that the door was not there when you first passed by it.

"Then... Then why did we not check it? We are supposed to check every room." Steve smiled at your words, shaking his head as he stepped closer to you.

You blinked in surprise as he gently pat your head, "Because we need to hurry back home, if we check every room, we will be loosing our precious time. Plus, aren't you looking forward to our movie night? It's friday."

You stared at him for a while before nodding slowly with a small smile. It is true that checking every room will only drag out the mission, what you were looking for is not even inside of that room.

Steve started to move forward, glancing back at you as he gestured you to stay close to him. You followed him, your steps lighter and faster as you felt a rush of warmth through your chest, an excitement for finally being included in the Avengers' weekly movie nights.

It seemed like Steve was finally warming up to you.

Your smile faded as a strange noise reached your ears. A muffled whisper that was far away but at the same time it was near. It sounded like someone was whispering something in your ear but they were being choked and waterboard so the only sound they could make was a muffled groan.

Your feet came to a halt as you closed your eyes to focus on the noise. Your breath hitched as a piercing pain shot through your head.

"He..lp....m...e..."

"Help... Me..."

"HELP ME!"

You stumbled as an ear piercing scream reached your ear. Turning around quickly, you let out a gasp as you saw blood pooling out of the open space underneath the door. Flinching as the doorknob started to rattle, screaming filled the corridor as someone kept banging against the door, seemingly trying to open it.

Steve's hand suddenly grabbed your upper arm, stopping you from rushing towards the door.

Something is not right.

Steve would never ask you to join the move night with the Avengers. He was the one who excluded you from all the team bonding activities that the Avengers held, insisting that if you were present, he would not join.

It was not even Friday.

"What happened?"

You struggled against his grip as the realization hit you, "Let me go!"

"Why wouldn't you help me?!"

"Huh?-", Letting out a scream as you fell backwards, your eyes widened in shock.

No, it can't be...

Blood dripping down her cheeks as her eyes were wide open, her mouth agape as she stared back at you with the same haunting look. The cuts on her body slowly started to bleed as her knees buckled underneath her. You crawled backwards as she fell on the ground, her arms reaching out for you as she dragged her body towards where you were.

You stumbled to get back on your feet as you rushed towards the door, trying to open it as someone kept banging on it from inside.

You froze in fear as you felt the girl grab your arm, her body pressed against yours as she leaned against your head to whisper, "Wake up... Save yourself..."

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Your whole body shook as you opened your eyes, groaning in pain as the bright light shined directly in your eyes. Your arms were tied down to the bed as you heard someone curse loudly.

"Bound her legs quickly!" Your gaze immediately fell on someone approaching you with a rope before you glanced around the room. Panic settled in your chest as you realised where you were and what was happening as your eyes landed on a glass flask that was filled with blood, your upperarm aching as you felt the room spinning.

The guy groaned in pain as your kick landed on his chest, his body hitting the ground. You struggled against the restraints on your hands, screaming as you ripped the handle off the bed, freeing yourself.

You turned towards the guy that was trying to sneak up on you, his footsteps alerting you. You kicked him in the chest before slamming the handles into the face of another person who tried to punch you. Your eyes were burning as everything around you seemed too bright, every sound too loud as you felt a pulsing pain in your head. The smell of blood was overwhelming and you could feel the ropes in your hands rubbing against your skin, the cold sweat dropping down your forehead. You could taste the mixture of your blood and saliva in your mouth as you spit on the ground.

All of your senses were heightened, the adrenaline in your system was overwhelming you as your fight or die instinct kicked in. Your fingers landed on your ribs, pressing an emergency button in your suit to send your location to the Avengers as well as S.H.I.E.L.D. with an emergency message.

A sudden blow to your back made you stumble to the ground as your breathing hitched in pain. A harsh pain shot through your skull as they slammed a nearby metal tray on your head.

You groaned in pain before you body slammed them but to no avail as other HYDRA agents quickly grabbed both of your arms, one grabbing your waist as they tried to grab you away. Your eyes landed on the glass flask filled with your blood.

The guy you body slammed let out a curse as the flask landed on the ground after you kicked it, making the blood spill everywhere.

He looked at you, his eyes burning with rage as he got up. He towered over you, the muscles in his arms flexing under his clothes as he slapped you.

You coughed up blood as the room around you started to spin once again. A realization hit you.

He was a bio-weapon.

The sheer strength he possessed was different from the other agents but it seemed like he was a defected bio-weapon as your eyes landed on his code.

D-04.

Defected experiment number 4.

You felt weak as you gazed at an agent walking towards you with a syringe.

No... You cannot let them have your blood.

You glanced at the bio-weapon in front of you before you mustered up all your strength to kick him in the balls. Pulling your arms in front of you, you slammed the agents that were holding your arms into the bio-weapon while stomping your foot on the foot of the agent who had his arms around your waist to restrain you.

The agent with the syringe froze as your gaze landed on him, the murderous glint in your eyes not going unnoticed by him as he subconsciously took a step back when you started walking towards him.

A sudden breeze flew against your face as you saw a glimpse of something blue passing besides your face before you turned your head to see Captain America's shield hitting D-04. You saw him rush towards you as you stumbled on the ground, his arms stopping you from falling face first on the ground.

The others rushed inside as well, their eyes immediately falling on your weakened state in Steve's arm and the blood surrounding you.

Your gaze landed on Natasha, her lips moving but she sounded far, like a distant wave crashing over at the beach. You sniffled as you felt something drip down your nose, the metallic smell confirming your suspicion of a nose bleed. You felt everything and nothing all at once. You could feel every touch, smell every drop of blood, hear every sound, see the brightened light that loomed over you and taste the blood in your mouth. It was all too much.

Steve stared down at you worriedly, your discomfort on only growing as the second passed by awfully slow. His gaze landed on your eyes, the light and the tears in your eyes made them look extremely glossy as they shined like diamond. Despite their beauty, he couldn't help but feel unnerved by how dazed they look. It was as if you were looking right through him and not at him. He has never seen you so distressed and out of it. His gaze shifted towards the crimson floor before travelling up to your arm. Your sleeves were torn off and your arm has started to swell. He had a feeling that the blood was yours. A pang of anxiousness hit him as he thought about you getting critically hurt.

"Hey, hey, look at me. I am going to get you out of here, okay? Hold tight." You nodded slightly at Steve's words. His hands gently clasped around yours, making you wince as he wrapped your swollen arm around his neck.

He paused before standing up as he glanced at your face, noticing the nose bleed you had. His hand reached towards your face, hesitation clear in the way his hand stopped right before grabbing your face. You blinked slowly as you titled your head in slight confusion before nodding slowly as he asked, "May I?"

His gloved hand slowly cupped your face, the rubbery texture of his glove rubbing against your skin made you cringe a bit as even the slightest touch seemed too overwhelming for you. His thumb slowly wiped the blood away, his touch gentle as if he was scared that you will get hurt further.

For a moment, it seemed like everything around you had gotten silent. All you could focus on was the way he was staring in your eyes. The way his blue eyes looked like the sky before the storm. Calm, collected yet stirred up with an onset of complex emotions ranging from rage to concern. Your eyes trailed down to his neck, the way his Adams apple moved slightly when he noticed your gaze shifting as he swallowed.

Steve was the first one to break the eye contact as Tony's voice broke you both out of trance, "Move it, upcoming lovebirds who have just gone through an emeies to lovers trope! She needs medical assistant, she lacks the plot armour!"

Steve shot Tony an annoyed glare but started to hurry outside of the facility. He passed through the door of the lab you were in, halting when he felt your hand on his neck.

"W-wait... My blood... You have to wipe it... Don't let them get any..." You mumbled, struggling to find the words as your brain seemed to have given up on you.

"What do you mean?"

"It's..." You trailed off, struggling to find the proper words to explain as you stuttered. Steve stared at you patiently, something he always does whenever you have to say something that appears to be important. Finally , you found the words to explain, "Like... My blood has the DNA segment of the serum, right? The only version that, despite not being the serum that you had and not being as good as it, worked efficiently. They didn't realise it until a few months before I escaped. I think..."

"They are trying to replicate the serum that is in your system." You nodded as Steve finished your sentence, his jaw clenched as he realised that the whole mission was a hoax to lure you in and if Tony did not insist of making your mission suit and installing multiple security and emergency measures in it, who knows what would've happened to you. For all he knows, they would've captured you again, turning you into the mindless machine you were all those years ago.

For some reason, his heart clenched at the possibility of HYDRA turning you into Belladonna again, triggering your alter ego and using you as the mindless killing machine. He cannot fathom the cruelty of stealing away someone's humanity from them, someone consciousness from them and using them for their own selfish agenda. Someone who was as bright as you, someone whose as lively as you being turned into a heartless machine once again arose an empty feeling in his chest, one that made it hard to breath and the lump forming in his throat made it harder for him to speak.

Clearly his throat, he started to walk towards the exit of the facility, "Don't worry, S.H.I.E.L.D. is on their way. They'll ensure that not even a single drop of your blood can be stolen."

He glanced at you nodding slowly, your eyes fluttering shut as you leans your head against his shoulder.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

You watched an S.H.I.E.L.D. agent make his way towards you with a cheerful smile on his face. You returned his smile, sitting on the bed at the compound's medbay. You had just woken up a couple hours prior and after a quick glance at the clock, it appears like you were out for a day. It was not unusual for you to sleep for extended period of time when you needed to recover as HYDRA would often put you in cryo induced sleep, which has now become a habit of your body. To sleep the pain away, both physical and mental.

Your attention was pulled towards the agent again as you saw him pull out a syringe, an unsettling feeling taking over your body as you saw him prepare it to draw blood.

"Um... What are you doing?" He paused in his tracks, his smile going a bit lip tight as he stared at you in silence for a minute.

"We need to draw your blood to send it to get tested to identify what drug they induced you with. It's a safety precaution." Something about his words rubbed you wrong as red bells rang in your head. You have often gotten hurt in past missions and are no stranger to getting druged once or twice during those missions as well but S.H.I.E.L.D. has never done this safety precaution before so why would they do it all of a sudden?

Your luck seems to finally shine through the dark clouds like sunshine peaking through after a dark storm as Bruce made his way towards you after noticing your discomfort.

"What's the matter here?"

The agent seem to froze at Bruce's question but you noticed the grip he had on the syringe seemed to have gotten stronger. After a moment of silence, Bruce glanced at you for answers.

"He wants to draw my blood to test it. Apparently it's a safety precaution by Director Fury." Bruce's eyebrow furrowed at your words as he casted a quick glance at the agent. Bruce seemed to have noticed that something was off about the agent as well as he walked in between you and the agent, purposefully shielding your body with his own.

"Yeah, no, I will have to ask you to leave as she has already lost a significant amount of blood and we cannot let anyone draw more from her until a few days. You can come back within a few days to draw her blood after we have confirmed this 'safety precaution' of yours with Nick Fury." The agent seemed to have frozen in place as he stared at Bruce with a hard expression.

"We cannot do that, we need the blood today-"

"What blood?" All of you turned around to stare at Steve as he walked towards the bed you were sitting on, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the agent, "Who are you?"

The agent's body became tensed as Steve stared him down, "I am from S.H.I.E.L.D., there is a safety precaution that we need to-"

Bruce cut him off as he turned to face Steve, his expressions giving away his weariness and annoyance, "He is trying to draw some blood from her."

Steve's eyes immediately fell on you peaking from behind Bruce, his eyebrows raising as he made eye contact with you. You stared back at him before nodding silently to show that what Bruce said is true. Steve's face hardened as he stepped towards the agent who took a step back as he nervously looked at him.

"I am going to ask you to leave and you will without any complaints."

"But-"

"I said, and I repeat, leave."

The agent stared at Steve before his gaze fell on your face, an unreadable expression on his face before it slowly turned into one of anger and desperation. Something about him was off and everyone in the medbay could identify that. None of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that were assigned to you acted like this because they were always high ranking agents. Fury always assigned the trusted agents with the task of interacting with the team and completing any safety precautions to ensure confidentiality.

The agent nodded slightly before reaching inside his pocket. You could see Steve's body immediately tensing up, subconsciously preparing to attack at any given moment if needed. Even Bruce seemed to have picked up on Steve's alert body language as he stepped away from him slightly and shot a worried glance at you. You titled your head, slightly confused as to why he seemed so worried about you because you are well capable of taking care of yourself but then you remembered his tendency to get worried about all the members whenever they are injured. Biting your lips, you tried to stop a smile from growing on your face at the possibility of Bruce thinking of you as a member and being worried about your well-being.

You were pulled out of your cheesy chain of thoughts as you heard Steve's fist coming in contact with the agent's face as he landed on the ground. You cringed slightly as Steve stepped on the agent's wrist before bending down to force the knife out of his hand.

"We need to be on a lookout- Woah there, seems like HYDRA needs to give their spies better training. How low is their budget to train their double agent this poorly? Do you need funds?" You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped you despite the seriousness of the situation as you saw Tony walk up to the HYDRA agent on the ground. "We just got alerted that there is a HYDRA spy cosplaying as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Thought it would be a tad bit harder and fun to find him but alas, HYDRA sure knows how to kill joy."

Steve shot Tony a disapproving glare as he continued to make sassy comments on the situation before sighing as he shook his head, knowing that nothing can stop Tony from being the diva that he is.

"Let's get you to the cell now, shall we?"

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

It's been a few hours since they have taken the HYDRA spy down to the interrogation room. A few agents from S.H.I.E.L.D. have also arrived to interrogate and gather information from the spy. You have finally been discharged from the med-bay after strict guidelines from Bruce on how to take care of yourself for a speedy recovery despite the fact that you already recover faster than a normal human due to the super soilder serum. You were smiling the whole time he was explaining the importance of taking proper care of your body to ensure a speedy recovery. He seemed taken aback when you explain the reason why you were smiling so much was because this was probably the first time in 70 years that someone was so worried about your well-being and that it kind of reminded you of your friends and mom back in the days who always treated even minor injuries and illness as the end of the world and scolded you while simultaneously taking care of you.

The cold breeze felt like heaven against your sweaty body, making you paddle your bycycle harder to increase the speed. Closing your eyes, you imagined that yourself as a pirate who was on a quest to sail the seven seas as she stood proudly on her ship as the cold breeze hit her face. Your imagination was cut short as you bumped against a speed breaker. You felt your body lunch forward as you lost control of your bycycle before a sharp stinging sensation on your knee made you hiss in pain. The gravel underneath your body dug harshly against your body, the tiny rocks digging against your skin uncomfortably.

Someone called out your name before all your friends circled around you in worry before the redhead pulled your body in a sitting position, wrapping his arms around your shoulder as he ended your dramatic display of laying on the ground as a dead body, "Oh my god! Star, are you okay?!"

"Of course she is not, you Dumbo! Her knee is bleeding!" Another friend of yours sassed, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you both with a expression that mirrored a single mom who is extremely done with her children after working a 12 hour shift for minimum wage.

"Aye, who you calling a Dumbo?"

"Are you that much of a Dumbo that you cannot even figure out the fact that I am calling you a Dumbo?"

"Aye-"

"Guys! Cut it out!" A third voice intervened their bickering as the Venus rolled her eyes at their behaviour. The boy holding you, Mars, pouted as he looked away for a second before glancing at your bleeding knee. Juno huffed as he crossed his arm, his muscles flexing under his shirt, decided not to say anything to save himself from the earful he would receive otherwise.

"Can you walk?" Venus asked as Mars slide his arms under yours as he slowly pulled you up into a standing position. A stinging pain shot through your knee, making them buckle as Juno quickly caught you in his arms. Venus sighed as she looked at you before shifting her gaze to Juno.

"Carry her home, Mars and I will take care of the bicycles."

Before you could protest, Juno slid his arms under your legs and carried you home bridal style as a surprised squeak left your mouth as he stared at you with a shit eating grin. You recognised that expression immediately as your eyes widened, he is gonna do something. You heard Mars and Venus yell at him as he started to run towards your home while laughing. You may not remember a lot of things but you do remember one thing clearly; His laugh was contagious and precious. You ended up laughing all the way home, forgetting about the stinging pain in your knee.

You don't clearly remember what happened next but you if you remember correctly, until your knee was fully healed, Juno carried you everywhere while Mars and Venus tended to your every need. Thankfully it was summer vacation so you didn't have to bear the embarrassment of Juno carrying you from one class to another.

A warm feeling filled your chest at the fond memory. It was something you thought about a lot. You cannot recall their names so you made them up. You remember your nickname being Star, hence why you named them after the planets.

You smiled to yourself, thinking about the memory. JARVIS voice quickly pulled you out of your thoughts as he rang an emergency message throughout the compound.

"Intruder alert, I repeat, Intruder alert! Please stay calm and stay where you are."

A realization hit you.

The Bio-weapon and the spy are in the interrogation rooms.

HYDRA is here to take back their Bio-weapon.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Author's note: Guess who's back? Back again? And now with a series! Anyways, if you would like to be added in a taglist, please let me know in the comments!

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

I love Bucky 🥰

The Soldier and His Mission

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Bucky went still.

One second, the mission was wrapping up—just another Hydra facility wiped off the map, just another set of goons taken down. The next, something triggered him. A phrase muttered in Russian over a radio, the faintest crackle of a long-dead handler’s voice. You saw the shift in his posture before he even turned around, the telltale tightening of his jaw, the blankness overtaking those usually warm blue eyes.

Bucky Barnes was gone.

The Winter Soldier stood in his place.

And yet—he didn’t hurt you.

Not when he turned to face the team, his body language bristling with danger. Not when Steve hesitated before stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And certainly not when you cautiously called his name, your voice softer than the others.

Instead, the Soldier moved between you and everyone else.

A shield.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Tower, you thought the episode would pass. That maybe, after a few hours, after enough familiar sights and sounds, Bucky would shake it off like he always did.

But the Soldier wasn’t leaving. And he had decided you were his mission.

Not to eliminate.

To protect.

At first, it was just hovering. You moved—he followed. You sat—he stood at your back, ever watchful. The others gave him space, exchanging worried glances when they thought you weren’t looking. Steve was tense, obviously trying to figure out how to break through, while Tony was less patient about it.

“This is a problem,” Stark declared after the first few hours, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, I hate to be the one to say it, but we have a fully armed, brainwashed assassin in the Tower again, and we all know how that went last time.”

“He’s not attacking anyone,” Natasha pointed out.

“Yet,” Tony shot back.

You ignored the argument as best you could, focusing instead on cooking something for Bucky—something normal, something familiar, something that might ground him. His eyes tracked you the entire time.

Then you miscalculated the heat on the stove.

The oil in the pan hissed and spat, and a second later, you hissed too as a sharp sting bloomed across your palm. You barely had time to react before there was a sudden blur of motion.

Bucky was on you instantly.

His flesh hand gripped your wrist, his metal one hovering protectively over the stove, as if it had personally attacked you. His face was unreadable, but his grip was firm, his hold gentle as he examined the burn.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, but he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he took the cold pack you hadn’t even reached for yet and pressed it carefully to your palm, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in focus. You exchanged a look with Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, and the Captain exhaled, something like relief flashing in his eyes.

He was still in there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Soldier continued shadowing you for the next two days, much to Tony’s frustration. But as Natasha had pointed out—he wasn’t hurting anyone.

Unless they posed a threat to you.

That was something Steve learned firsthand during a sparring session. You had barely landed a hit before Bucky, watching from the sidelines, had moved. The next thing you knew, Steve was on his ass, blinking up at the ceiling, while Bucky stood between you like a human wall, eyes cold and calculating.

“For the record,” Steve grunted as he sat up, rubbing his ribs, “I was letting her win.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t until you needed a medical checkup that things really came to a head.

“Barnes, I have to actually examine her,” Dr. Cho said patiently, eyeing where Bucky stood between you and the med bay’s equipment.

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky—” you tried.

“The room is secure.”

“That’s not the—”

“She does not require assistance.”

“I do require assistance,” you corrected. “Because I burned my hand and twisted my shoulder thanks to a certain super soldier overreacting in the gym.”

Bucky didn’t move.

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” you said, shifting tactics. “Then stay.”

That got his attention.

“If you want to make sure nothing happens to me,” you reasoned, “then you can stay here. But you have to let the doctor check me out.”

His expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity—

“…Understood.”

Progress.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When it finally broke, it wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand trigger, no huge revelation.

Just a moment of quiet.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion finally winning after two days of Bucky’s overprotective hovering. When you woke up, it was to warm hands gently brushing over your wrist—both flesh and metal, but softer this time, as if relearning the feeling of touching you.

And then you heard it—his breath hitching.

A tiny, barely-there sound, but one filled with something raw.

You blinked sleepily, looking up.

Bucky was staring at you. Not the Soldier. Bucky.

His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wide—his real eyes.

“…Doll?” His voice cracked over the word, like it had been caught in his throat.

You smiled sleepily, shifting so your fingers curled around his. “Hey, Buck.”

His exhale was shaky. His shoulders sagged. And when you tugged him down to you, he didn’t resist.

He just buried his face in your neck and held on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you murmured later, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as he rested against you.

“I know,” he admitted, voice rough.

“You threw Steve like a ragdoll.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

A laugh. Quiet, but real.

And just like that, Bucky Barnes was back.

Fucking Perfection.

Jackass

Summary : Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why. 

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x florist!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Secret wife trope. Cursing, Injury. Featuring the Thunderbolts*. Bucky kinda gaslights the entire team. Fluff!!!!

Word count : 3k

Note : The next chapter of spoils of war is almost here, but I just need to go over a couple of paragraphs! In the meantime, enjoy!

The Thunderbolts knew a few undeniable truths about Bucky Barnes.

One: He was grumpy.

Two: He was a private person.

Three: He never, ever let anyone see where he lived.

That last one bothered them the most. They’d pieced together the general area; a quiet neighborhood with old brick buildings, modern cafés, and just enough charm to make it feel… vintage. But no one had ever set foot inside his home, no one had even seen him unlock the door to his sanctuary, since he dodged every casual suggestion to hang out at his place with a variation of “I got plans” or another. And, curiously, every time they stopped for coffee in this part of town, Bucky would mysteriously slip into the tiny flower shop beneath a brick apartment building.

That was odd. No one would’ve guessed that Bucky Barnes even liked flowers.

What was even odder was that this infinitely grumpy, emotionally constipated, “I hate people” supersoldier — would be capable of flirting.

With the florist.

With you.

“Are we seeing this right?” Yelena whispered, elbowing Alexei as they peered through the shop window after Bucky made them wait outside. 

They watched as Bucky stood by the counter, leaning in ever so slightly, a charming grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you wrap a bouquet.

“He’s smiling,” Alexei muttered, horrified.

Inside, Bucky reached for the bouquet you were tying up, his gloved fingers brushing against yours. You playfully smacked his hand away, laughing. He laughed, too, and that was enough to send Yelena spiraling into an existential crisis.

Yelena squinted. “He’s flirting.”

Alexei frowned. “Bucky does not flirt.”

“I know. That’s why I’m freaking out.”

They watched as you handed him the bouquet, and in return, Bucky gave you a wink. And then he turned, walking out like he hadn’t just transformed into a different person.

That was when Yelena, utterly horrified Yelena, caught a flash of gold on your ring finger. She squinted her eyes. It was unmistakable. “Wait a second—”

As soon as he got back to them, Alexei folded his arms. “You were flirting.”

Bucky scoffed. “I was not.”

“She’s married!” Yelena accused, pointing dramatically. “She had a ring! You flirted with a married woman!”

Bucky didn’t even blink. He simply shrugged, tucking the bouquet carefully under his arm. “I didn’t see a ring.”

“She was literally wearing it—”

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky insisted, tugging absentmindedly at the chain around his neck— the one that held his dog tags, hidden under his shirt.

Yelena and Alexei exchanged a deeply disturbed look.

Bucky Barnes was flirting with a married florist.

What was the world coming to?

—

Bucky knew he’d fucked up the second he stepped back into Thunderbolts HQ. 

Alexie had just looked confused, while Yelena had been simmering the entire walk back, her arms crossed so tightly over her chest it was a miracle she hadn’t snapped a rib. 

She lasted exactly two seconds before she exploded. “You are jackass, Barnes!”

Bucky barely had time to sigh before she stomped closer.

“What’s so wrong with what I did?” he muttered, placing the bouquet of flowers in an empty vase

Yelena let out an incredulous laugh, pacing in front of him like a caged tiger ready to strike. “What’s wrong?” she echoed, her accent thickening with rage. “You flirted with a married woman! I should punch you in the face on principle!”

From the lounge, John Walker looked up from whatever government-issued nonsense he was pretending to read. His brows immediately furrowed, his eyes twisting into the signature disapproving dad look he’d perfected. “Wait, what?”

Ava, who had been drinking tea in the corner, raised an eyebrow. “This is scandalous,” she murmured, eyes brightening with intrigue.

Alexei, who was now plopped on the couch like some washed-up, Soviet-era king, said, “If a man had flirted with my wife like that, I would have hunt him down and mount his head on wall.” He crossed his arms, nodding to himself in approval. “As is tradition.”

Bucky scowled. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“Oh?” Yelena snorted, “So you were just undressing her with your eyes for fun, then?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s just how I look at people.”

Alexie shook his head. “So you look at us like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth. Then immediately shut it.

Yelena’s hands curled into fists. “Yeah. Thought so.”

John’s arms crossed over his chest in that holier-than-thou stance that he was so famous for. “Look, man, I’m married. And if someone flirted with my wife, we’d have a problem.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys are making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Nothing?” Yelena threw up her hands. “She’s married, Bucky!”

“Okay, even if I was flirting,” Bucky turned to her, exasperated— “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s hands flew to her head, fingers digging into her scalp like she was resisting the urge to rip out her own hair. “You probably chose to look away!”

John sighed like a disappointed youth pastor. “This is unbelievable.”

“No,” Bucky still insisted, “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped. “It was a thick gold band, Barnes. How could you not see it?”

Ava, who was clearly enjoying the drama more than anyone, sighed. “That is inappropriate behaviour, Barnes.”

Alexei shook his head again, “You should apologise.”

“I’m not apologising,” Bucky scoffed, “Because I did nothing wrong.”

His fingers toyed absentmindedly with the chain that led to his dog tags, and Yelena immediately locked onto the movement. Every person has a tell, a habit they did when they were nervous. And being a super spy, Yelena knew this was his.

She narrowed her eyes. “You are gaslighting us,” she muttered, pacing again like she was mentally weighing the pros and cons of strangling a super soldier.

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky repeated, his voice steady.

“You’re lying,” she snapped.

He shrugged, maddeningly casual in all of this chaos. “Guess we’ll never know.”

Ava laughed cynically. “I can’t tell if you’re a complete scumbag or if this is just really fun for you.”

Bucky just popped a beer from the fridge, flicking the cap off with his metal hand. “Why not both?”

He took a long sip of his beer, completely unbothered.

And maybe, he looked a little bit too smug.

—

Three weeks later, Bucky led Yelena and John on a mission to take down a high-scale arms dealer.

And, as always, the mission had gone sideways.

It was too late for any shops to be open, too late for anyone with a shred of common sense to be out on the streets. 

Yelena was bleeding, pressing a torn scrap of fabric against a deep gash on her arm. John had a busted lip and a slight limp. Bucky was sporting a few cuts and bruises himself, but nothing he hadn’t shaken off a thousand times before.

“Guys,” Yelena managed a grunt, shifting her grip on her makeshift bandage, “we need to get ourselves patched up before one of us drops dead.”

“We ran out of antiseptics back at HQ,” John reminded them.

Yelena groaned, throwing her head back in despair. “So what are we supposed to do?” She gritted out, “Just bleed out in the street like sad little orphans?”

John scowled. “That’s a little dramatic.”

Yelena turned and glared at him. “Your face is dramatic.”

Bucky let out a deep breath through his nose, running a hand along his damp hair. He glanced around the street, making sure they weren’t being followed before whispering to himself, “Guess we’re doing this now.”

Yelena tilted her head. “Doing what?”

Instead of answering, Bucky turned on his heel and started walking.

John and Yelena gave each other a wary look.

“I don’t like when he does that,” John said.

“No one does,” Yelena agreed, but they both followed anyway. 

It didn’t take long for them to recognise the route— ​​It was the neighbourhood where the team usually got coffee.

But Bucky wasn’t heading to the café.

They rounded the corner, and suddenly John stopped dead in his tracks.

It was a closed florist—the very one where Bucky had, allegedly, been trying to charm his way into a married woman’s bed.

To John’s absolute horror, Bucky walked right up to the door and knocked.

“Bucky.” He said, voice strangled. “What the hell is this?”

Yelena blinked. “I don’t think we need to seduce a married florist to get medical supplies.”

Bucky sighed, rubbing his temples like he was already regretting this decision. He turned to them, leveling them both with a look. “Alright, listen up,” he said through gritted teeth. "The secret’s out now, so you two gotta keep your mouths shut.”

John’s brows furrowed. “What secret?”

Before Bucky could answer, the door to the flower shop clicked open.

And there you were, standing in the doorway, wrapped in one of Bucky’s hoodies, looking exactly how he’d expected: exasperated but unsurprised. He knew you’d still be up, cataloguing the latest floral shipment for tomorrow’s arrangements.

The second your eyes landed on a bruised and bloodied Bucky, and flanked by two wounded Thunderbolts, no less—you let out a sigh.

“James,” you said knowingly, your voice laced with fond irritation. “What did you do?”

Yelena and John froze in their tracks.

James?

James?

No one called Bucky by his first name. No one. Not unless they had a death wish.

Bucky, unfazed, just stepped inside. “We ran out of antiseptics, honey.”

Yelena and John exchanged a wide-eyed look.

Honey?

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Again?”

Bucky shrugged like this was a perfectly normal Thursday night occurrence.

You muttered under your breath, “I should’ve known this would happen when I married an ex-assassin.”

Oh.

Yelena’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Married.” she repeated

John blinked rapidly. “This is why we can never go to your place?”

Bucky could only shrug. Of course it was— they would have seen the evidence of how much love in his home was carved out for just you.

John let out a wheeze.

Yelena pointed between you and Bucky, motioning erratically. “Wait. WAIT. So—so she’s your wife? She married you?”

Bucky nodded. “Yup.”

“Like—actually married?”

“Mhm.”

Yelena gasped, clutching her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. In a way, she had. “And no one knows?”

Bucky thought for a second. “Sam does.”

“And Joaquin,” you added, trying to be helpful.

Bucky nodded. “Right. Joaquin.”

“Oh, and Isaiah and Elijah Bradley.”

“Yeah, they were at the wedding.”

“A teenager knew about this,” John’s eye twitched, “—and we didn’t?”

Bucky could only nod again.

Yelena rubbed a hand down her face, “You gaslit us,” she accused, jabbing a finger at Bucky. “You let us believe you were a homewrecker for weeks—when you were married the whole time?!”

You snorted, glancing at Bucky, who had the audacity to look smug. “Yeah, that sounds like my husband.”

Yelena let out a string of very creative Russian curses.

John looked like he was about to have a stroke. 

“All secrets aside,” you said, welcoming the two disoriented Thunderbolts in and locking the door behind you, “It’s good to finally meet you both.”

John still looked like he was buffering. Yelena, on the other hand, was vibrating with adrenaline, looking like she was trying to solve a conspiracy theory in real time.

“This is—this is insane,” she muttered, pointing aggressively at Bucky, then at you, then back at Bucky. “You’re—you’re so normal.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d like to think so.”

Bucky just hummed. “She’s perfect.”

Yelena actually sputtered like an old car engine.

John made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh. This was all too much.

But there wasn’t time to let them spiral further. Bucky, gently nudged you toward the others. “Take care of them first, darling. They’ve got worse injuries.”

You frowned, wanting to protest—because, really, Bucky should always be your first priority—but your husband was nothing if not stubborn. You knew better than to argue when he had that look in his eyes— you knew that fighting him on this would only drag things out longer, and right now, time was precious.

You turned your attention to Yelena and John, motioning for them to follow you deeper into the shop. The scent of lavender, roses, and freshly cut stems—clung to the air as you led them toward the back, where your little work table stood tucked in the corner.

Years of practice had made you quick. You moved with quiet efficiency, gathering supplies from neat shelves: you cut and split an aloe vera plant for burns, grabbed bandages, and a mix of balms you’d perfected over your time tending to Bucky. It wasn’t the kind of sterile, military-grade first aid they were used to, but it would have to do for now.

You started tending to Yelena’s arm, gently dabbing the wound with fresh aloe. She hissed through her teeth before narrowing her eyes at you.

“So how long has this been a thing?” she demanded. Bucky, now leaning lazily against the counter with his arms crossed, barely spared her a glance. “A while.”

John scoffed, “A while?”

You bit back a grin as you smoothed a bandage over Yelena’s arm, “Three years.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped.

“Three—” She turned to Bucky so fast it was a miracle she didn’t give herself whiplash. “You’ve been married for three years?!”

John let out a long, defeated groan,This was simply too much to process. “Fuck’s sake.”

Yelena shook her head. “I thought you were a loner who hated people."

Bucky only shrugged, unbothered. 

You chuckled as you pressed the last piece of medical tape into place on Yelena’s arm. “Alright, you’re done.” Then, glancing at John, you motioned for him to sit. “Your turn.”

John sighed but still plopped down. You took his hand gently, turning it over to examine his bruised knuckles before moving to his busted lip.

Meanwhile, they kept peppering you with questions, barely giving you room to breathe.

“How did you meet?”

“How do you put up with Bucky’s brooding?”

“Does he ever actually smile?”

At that last one, you paused, dabbing at John’s lip carefully. “He smiles all the time.”

John let out a scoff. “No, he doesn’t.”

You glanced over at Bucky, knowing he showed that part of him to you and no one else. “Oh, he does.”

And then, finally, it was Bucky’s turn.

You turned to him, your brows knitting together as you studied the little cuts on his cheek, the dried blood near his brows. He looked a little tired, a little worn around the edges. 

Your fingers found his chin, tilting his face toward you as you inspected the damage. Your touch was so featherlight, so incredibly careful. There was no missing the way your thumb brushed over his cheekbone— how incredibly gentle it was.

“You should’ve let me do you first,” you murmured, half-scolding, half-concerned.

Bucky’s lips curved into a small smile, a flicker of mischief lighting his tired blue eyes. “That’s exactly what you said last night, sweetheart.”

John choked.

Yelena groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow from the nearest chair and hurling it at Bucky’s head. “You two are disgusting.”

Bucky caught the pillow effortlessly, giving her a smug grin before setting it aside. When his eyes found yours again, his shit-eating grin turned… lovely. The tension in his brows eased as you dabbed gently at his cut. 

For all the blood, for all the bruises, you handled him like he was glass.

And then, without thinking, you leaned in.

It was meant to be a brief kiss— a quick reassurance, a way of saying I’ve got you. But the moment your lips brushed his, you couldn’t help but linger.

Your fingers curled instinctively against his chin. His hand found your waist without hesitation, as if he needed you closer. As if the world shrank down to just the two of you. 

John and Yelena exchanged a look, the previous horror of their teammate hiding a secret wife momentarily forgotten because this was… weirdly cute.

You giggled as you pulled away, seeing Bucky looking at you like you hung the moon for him. 

“Anywhere else?” you asked, brushing your thumb over his lips.

Bucky hesitated just for a second. Then, a little sheepishly, he said, “Got a cut on my ribs.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. Of course he did. Before he could argue, you reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged.

“Off,” you said simply.

Bucky huffed but didn’t fight you. He lifted his arms, letting you strip the fabric from his skin, and goddamn.

Bucky, half-naked, was unfairly, ridiculously beautiful. Even now, even after all this time, seeing him like this still knocked the breath from your lungs. His body was a roadmap of battles fought and survived, scars carved into the expanse of his chest and ribs that told stories only he could say. 

John made a strangled sound, somewhere between “Jesus Christ” and “I need to leave the room,” but you ignored him completely. Yelena let out a dramatic sigh and whispered “they are one second away from sucking each other’s face off,” to herself.

You tuned them both out, fingers dragging carefully over Bucky’s ribs, searching for the wound. When you found a thin jagged cut just below his ribs— you sighed softer this time and reached for the aloe.

“You need to stop getting hurt, my love,” you said, smoothing the cool gel over his skin.

Bucky’s voice came quieter. “Lucky I have someone to take care of me, then.”

And that’s when Yelena finally noticed it.

The thin chain around Bucky’s neck—one she’d always assumed was just for his dog tags—held something else, too.

A ring.

A simple wedding band that matched yours, worn from years of resting against his skin.

She blinked, realisation hitting her like a freight train. Oh.

That’s why he always played with it.

Every time Bucky was nervous, every time he was uncertain, his fingers would move to that chain—not just to fiddle with his tags, but to remind himself of you.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete jackass after all.

-end.

Note: Hope this doesn't bite me in the ass when the movie comes out.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

I'm in love with this fic

this is (not) fine [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x personal assistant!reader

personal assistant rules: don’t crush on bucky barnes. definitely don’t misinterpret a flower purchase and spiral into silent heartbreak, and absolutely never ever get stuck alone with him in an elevator.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, oral (f receiving), public (ish) sex?, wall sex (?), okay they fuck in an elevator guys, kissing, angst, miscommunication (not badly), hurt/comfort, there's some plot if you squint, insecure/self-conscious reader undertones, reader is an overthinker, reader is horny lol, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 9.1k

A/N: hi, hopefully this will keep you all fed while i work on part five to lessons in lovemaking. finally getting around to some of these requests in my inbox. this one is based off this request, but i changed it up so the reader is a PA instead of an avenger. lmk your thoughts thanx for reading <3 sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

You’d never pegged Natasha as the type who enjoyed flowers.

No, she struck you more as the encrypted-flash-drive-on-a-park-bench type, the kind of woman who appreciated mysteries with teeth. A custom leather jacket, stitched with the same precision she used to dismantle a glock. One of those sleek, low motorcycles. Not daisies. Not peonies. And definitely not whatever soft, pastel nonsense Bucky was currently handing over cash for.

You stood a few feet away, halfway hidden behind a sidewalk sign advertising oat milk lattes and gluten-free muffins, clutching a cardboard drink tray and a bag full of vegan pastries in a death grip. The barista had spelt ‘Bruce’ as ‘Broose’ again, and under any other circumstance, that would've made you laugh, but now it felt like the most irrelevant thing in the world.

You liked Natasha. You respected her. You just didn’t think she had it in her to giggle over roses like the girls in those sappy rom-coms Clint insisted he hated (right before he would watch three in a row, a beer in each hand). But there Bucky was, brushing pollen off a bouquet of pale pink ranunculus, face soft in a way you’d never seen during mission briefings or sparring sessions.

And suddenly, you were building a list in your head of all the things you were sure Natasha Romanoff would rather receive as a romantic gesture: a knife, balanced perfectly for throwing, an expensive bottle of vodka, a vintage chess set with hand-carved pieces, a bottle of expensive ink and a fountain pen with a sharp nib, cookies—messy ones—overloaded with chocolate chips, or simply just black coffee, straight from the pot, no sugar, no cream. Yet, as Bucky handed it over to the redhead, she smiled. Smiled. And suddenly you felt like you were witnessing a scene you were not welcome to. 

Truthfully, it stung. Maybe it stung a little more than what was appropriate. You’d been harbouring a quiet crush on the dark-haired, sullen supersoldier from the moment he joined the team. Fresh out of Wakanda, new vibranium arm in tow, and god, he was handsome. Not in the polished, television commercial way Steve was, but in a way that made your pulse skip and your thoughts stall mid-sentence. He had the kind of face you didn’t know how to look at for too long, sharpened jaw, stormy-blue eyes, and a mouth that always looked on the verge of saying something he’d regret.

There was something electric about his stillness. Like if you leaned in close enough, you’d hear the hum of danger beneath his skin. He walked like a man who never quite trusted, drifting through the tower like he expected a fight around every corner. He barely spoke, but when he did, his voice was low and gravel-worn, something that settled right in your gut and made its home there.

He never smiled. Not really. But sometimes—sometimes—you’d catch a flicker of it when Sam teased him, or when Steve nudged him just right, and it was devastating.

And yeah, maybe you had a soft spot for broken things trying to heal.

As the Avengers’ personal assistant, it was your job to keep everyone comfortable, informed, and running like clockwork. You were a one-person organisational machine, constantly juggling the chaos that came with managing a tower full of enhanced individuals with the emotional range of a brick wall to a nuclear reactor. Your days were a blur of colour-coded schedules, back-to-back briefings, and the never-ending group chats.

You coordinated mission debriefs, booked international flights with military clearance, and handled press requests that would make most people cry. You endured complaints when Thor overloaded the power grid again, trying to make toast, and even replaced the mugs he shattered before anyone noticed. You wrangled Clint’s kids when they came to visit, sourced obscure snacks from remote parts of the world because Sam liked those protein bars, not the other ones, and Steve wouldn’t touch anything processed. You replaced a record number of coffee machines, hunted down whatever special detergent could get oil out of Tony’s designer shirts. You knew which brand of muscle balm Banner preferred and how to order it without triggering a random Homeland Security check.

And then there was Bucky.

With him, it was always a little extra, whether he noticed or not. His schedule came first in your Monday morning rounds. You made sure the pantry was stocked with the Eastern European tea he liked but never asked for, and remembered the exact setting he preferred on the tower’s training room temperature controls. You adjusted group plans so he’d be paired with Steve or Sam, just in case the crowds and questions became overwhelming. When he disappeared for a few hours, you didn’t ask questions, but you made sure no one came looking. You even swapped out the scratchy tags in his mission gear with soft ones, because he never complained, but you noticed the way he fidgeted with them.

Every day, you’d beam at him like some hopelessly love-struck idiot when you handed over his usual coffee—black, two brown sugars, just the way he liked it—and in return, he’d offer little more than a grunt. A low, barely-there sound that most people wouldn’t even register as a greeting. But you did. Somehow, that grunt became the highlight of your day.

So yeah, maybe seeing him hand over flowers to Natasha broke something in you. Not just a hairline fracture, but a quiet, splintering break that left your chest aching in places you didn’t know could hurt. Still, you understood. Natasha belonged to his world, effortlessly cool, all smoke, shadows and secrets. Yet she was kind. Not cold or unapproachable, just… carved from something rarer than you. The kind of woman who didn’t need to try to be extraordinary, she just was.

And you? You were the sweet, well-meaning assistant who made people laugh in the kitchen, who fetched dry cleaning and remembered everyone’s birthdays. You were the one who labelled tupperware and chased down Clint’s kids with bandaids. You were an afterthought, the background noise in the buzzing hive which was the Avengers Tower. 

So maybe you could justify feeling jealous, but angry? No. Not really. They didn’t know. They couldn’t know. And it wasn’t their fault that you’d let yourself hope.

—

Two weeks later, and you timed it perfectly, like you always did.

Just as the door to Bucky’s apartment clicked open, you rounded the corner—folder in hand, clipboard tucked tight to your side. The hallway was quiet, save for the low hum of ventilation and the soft thud of your heels against the carpet. Bucky stepped out, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, hair tied back, and his hoodie sleeves shoved up just enough to show the gleam of vibranium. Predictable. It was routine, every morning just before six he would meet with Steve in the gym. On Mondays, you’d catch him just as he exited his apartment, unload the details for the week, a freshly printed schedule and all. 

“Morning,” you said lightly, handing him the week’s itinerary. His reply was his usual, a grunt. Not annoyed. Not grateful. Just Bucky. That gruff, barely-there sound that once felt like a small victory. The kind of grunt that used to warm your chest when he followed it with a question, even if you knew the answer was printed in the folder you’d triple-checked. You always answered anyway. You liked having his attention, even just for a few seconds.

You used to dress the folders up with care, multicoloured sticky notes marking key tasks (blue for meetings, yellow for reminders, red for anything urgent and green for personal events). You’d highlight sections like traffic lights, add stickers you thought might make him smile, sometimes even scribble little crooked cartoons in the margins with cheesy encouragements—seize the day! 

The folder looked rather sad today, just a plain manila folder packed with stapled papers. No colours. No stickers. No effort. Just the essentials. You didn’t let your fingers dawdle when he took it. Didn’t smile like you used to. Just handed it over and kept your gaze somewhere past his shoulder.

Bucky took it slowly, eyes flicking down at the cover like he was trying to spot something that wasn’t there. His brow pinched, barely, but enough for you to notice. His fingers lingered on the edge of the folder, like he thought maybe he’d missed a note tucked inside.

You nodded and turned to leave, forcing yourself to shift your mind to your next chore mentally, restocking med supplies in the Quinjet, cross-checking Clint’s revised travel forms, hunting down the coffee machine Tony had threatened to ‘repurpose as target practice’. You’d have to order a replacement before the morning debrief. Double-check everyone’s dietary preferences. Update Steve on the tech room schedule. Get maintenance to repaint the lines in the training room because someone (probably Thor) had scuffed them again.

You stayed busy. It helped. Kind of.

But the guilt still trailed you like a shadow.

It was probably obvious how abruptly you changed. The way your voice had lost its warmth. The way your gaze dodged his like it might burn you. You wondered if he noticed, if he thought you'd simply grown tired of him. Maybe he had. That was better than the truth that you couldn’t stand to be near him, not when every glance felt like pressing fingers to a bruise you’d caused yourself. 

You had made your choice, professionalism. The kind of cool, curated detachment you admired in Natasha, only it felt all wrong on you, like an ill-fitting coat. You knew it was for the better, not mixing up work and matters of the heart. You’d already let your little crush spiral too far, thinking maybe—just maybe—if you tried hard enough, you’d earn more than a grunt. That he might see you as something more than the charming assistant with her clipboard and her stupid stickers. But he didn’t. And he wouldn’t. And that was fine. It had to be.

You couldn’t afford to fall apart over a man who had no idea he’d broken your heart.

But it was Bucky’s voice, soft and unsure, that startled you from your thoughts. “Hey.”

You paused mid-step and turned, forcing a tight smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes as your fingers curled against the clipboard. “What’s up?”

He shifted his weight, clearly caught off guard by the fact that you stopped walking at all. He was rather devastating to look at when he grew all shy and unsure, fingers fidgeting against the edge of the folder like he didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t quite meet your eye as his weight shifted nervously, like he hadn’t thought before he called out. 

“Uh. Nothin’. Just—” He raised the folder slightly, an awkward gesture. “You usually give me the rundown. Y’know… what everyone’s doing. Who’s where. Who I’m stuck with.”

You swallowed. Of course, he’d noticed. Of course, he’d grown used to your chatter about meetings and mission rosters, about who was off-world and who was due back, like it was the weather. The casual, effortless way you used to tell him what movie was playing, who cheated at Monopoly the night before, or which team member had stolen the last protein bar. You’d always done it to help, keep him grounded, and make him feel like part of the team, like he belonged. 

But after what you’d seen two weeks ago, you were sure he didn’t need that from you anymore. Natasha would look out for him now. She’d keep him balanced, keep him fed, keep him from slipping through the cracks.

“Nothing interesting’s happening,” you shrugged. “Just the usual.”

He didn’t move. “Well… there’s that dinner. On Friday.”

You gave a curt nod, tone clipped. “Yes.”

“Wanda’s dinner,” he added, as if you hadn’t already acknowledged it.

“Correct.”

He hesitated again, brows drawing together in a faint crease of worry. You could see him floundering, stuck in some internal scramble. It made your chest ache because you knew that look. You’d helped talk him down from that look more times than anyone else in the tower probably realised.

You sighed quietly through your nose, against your better judgment, against every wall you’d tried to build in the past week, you caved. He looked five seconds away from spiralling.

“It’s in there,” you offered gently, nodding toward the folder. “On your schedule.”

“Right. It’s just… for me, you usually…” His voice trailed off, frustration and uncertainty knotting in his brow. “Sorry. You’re probably busy—”

That felt like a punch to the gut. 

You shook your head and, before your pride could stop you, your feet were already moving back toward him. His eyes dropped as you reached into your pocket for a pen, scribbling ‘Wanda’s Dinner – Friday’ on a green sticky note. Green for personal events, always. You hesitated, then added a smiley face underneath. You peeled it off and stuck it neatly onto the folder in Bucky’s hands. 

His eyes dropped to it, finger brushing over the paper like he didn’t quite understand why it mattered so much. “Thanks.”

You just nodded, already stepping back, spine straight, pretending your heart wasn’t hammering in your throat.

“She said…” Bucky cleared his throat, clearly not done with the conversation. “Wanda said she’s going to do curry.”

You paused, unsure what to do with the information. Why was he telling you that? Why was he still talking?

“That’s nice,” you said carefully, not sure what to do with this strange, lingering version of him.

“Are you going?” he asked suddenly, and you frowned.

“I wasn’t invited—” You began, already covering from the invasive thoughts, already working to mask the sting. You didn’t want to imagine them next to each other over curry, leaning close, whispering in the way people did when they thought no one else was watching. It would only make the crack in your chest worse.

“You should go,” Bucky said quickly, cutting across your thoughts. “I’ll tell Wanda you’re coming.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be busy that night anyway…” You lied through your teeth, heart thumping hard against your breastbone as Bucky’s face crumpled a bit. You cut in before he could argue any further.  “You’re going to be late. For the gym. It’s nearly six.”

“Right, shit, yeah. Sorry, I just…” He trailed off again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll see you around.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if you were more confused or stunned by his sudden jitters.

—

Before the whole flowers incident, you made it your unofficial mission to ‘accidentally’ bump into Bucky as many times as humanly possible in a day. Now? It was the opposite. Every hallway was a trap to avoid, every room a potential ambush. Navigating the Tower had turned into something between a tactical stealth op and a personal game of hide-and-seek.

Unfortunately, your strategy for quiet withdrawal hadn’t gone unnoticed.

In fact, Bucky had picked up on your sudden cold shoulder almost immediately. The folder debacle had only been the first of many increasingly awkward run-ins.

There was the time you’d practically sprinted away from the elevator when the doors slid open to reveal him standing inside, a brow raised and coffee in hand. Or when you turned a corner too fast and walked straight into him, muttering a rushed apology before disappearing again like you were being hunted. Then there was the silent, painful breakfast you’d shared at the communal kitchen counter, where you busied yourself with peeling an orange for ten minutes straight while he sat beside you, occasionally glancing over like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin.

You’d even pretended to be asleep on the common room couch when he walked in one evening, piles of paperwork scattered, laptop still open, only for him to drape a throw blanket over you before quietly leaving again.

And yet, instead of giving you space like you’d expected and hoped for, he seemed to find any excuse to be around you. He trailed after you like some misplaced puppy whenever he wasn’t buried in a mission or holed up in a meeting.

You’d assumed that the moment you stepped back, he’d naturally gravitate toward spending more time with Natasha. It made sense. Why wouldn’t he want to be around her? They were obviously dating, even if they hadn’t made it official yet. Maybe it was one of those quiet, close things kept just between friends, like Steve and Sam. Who were you to come barreling in and expose their secret entanglement? You expected Bucky to be relieved to no longer be on the receiving end of your babbling, your perfectly-timed coffee deliveries, or the not-so-subtle gifts you littered around. 

But if anything, Bucky seemed determined to figure you out. Like your sudden shift had become his new pet project, and he was personally committed to cracking the case.

You’d taken the back hallway, the long, winding route that steered well clear of the gym on your way to the shared office. High-traffic areas were too risky now—too many chances to run into him. But clearly, Bucky had caught onto your little detours, because as you turned the corner, there he was, headed straight toward you.

You froze for half a second, pulse quickening. Turning around would be too obvious. Suspicious. He’d know exactly what you were doing, and then your carefully-constructed avoidance strategy would unravel entirely. If he suspected anything now, you were one panicked backpedal away from confirming it.

It was a nightmare. And a daydream.

A part of you, some soft, hopelessly romantic piece, ached at the sight of him, at the quiet way he seemed to look for you, worry always etched into his brow like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. But the rational part of your mind, the part that had dragged you into this self-imposed emotional lockdown, screamed that letting him get closer again would only undo all the fragile healing you’d managed to piece together.

So you steeled yourself.

Shoulders squared. Laptop and paperwork clutched like a lifeline. Eyes locked on an imaginary point just past his shoulder. If you kept walking and moved quickly, calmly, maybe he’d let you go. Perhaps he’d pretend not to notice how your pace picked up and your gaze carefully avoided his.

You nearly made it.

But of course, he noticed.

“Hey, wait—”

His voice was hesitant, just enough pressure to pull you to a stop. Your footsteps faded into the hush of the corridor, your spine straightening instinctively as you turned. Bucky stood a few paces behind, one hand lifted halfway between reaching and retreating, like he’d almost grabbed your arm but lost the nerve. 

He looked sheepish. Timid, even. It killed you.

You swallowed. “Yeah?”

He scratched the back of his neck, boots scuffing lightly against the floor. “Did I… forget to grab my coffee this morning? Or… did you not bring it?”

A pause. Too long. You could feel the beat of your pulse behind your sternum as you forced a casual shake of your head.

“No, sorry. That’s on me. Slipped my mind.”

The lie didn’t sit well in your mouth.

It hadn’t slipped your mind, in fact, it was still sitting on the corner of your desk, cooling beside a stack of unfinished paperwork. You’d brewed it, as always. Even used the brown sugar he liked. But then you’d walked away from it, deliberately, like some idiotic breadcrumb trail you hoped he might follow.

God, you were pathetic.

Your stupid fucking brain couldn’t even decide what it wanted anymore. One half of you was charting escape routes through the tower to avoid him, the other was fantasising about him pinning you to the nearest wall. From the way your thighs pressed together now, breath catching as his voice brushed over you, maybe the answer wasn’t distance at all. Perhaps you just wanted to taste him—

He didn’t move. Just stood there, one brow lifted, faint worry creasing the edge of his expression.

“You’re usually down by the gym by nine,” he said, his voice low. “It’s eleven.”

“I’m running a bit behind today.”

“You usually text me if you’re running behind.”

“Well,” you said, shrugging like it didn’t matter, “I didn’t this time.”

He paused, the silence between you laced with something dangerously close to concern. “Is everything alright?”

You forced a small laugh, trying to shake off how his low, worried voice made heat pool in your gut. “Yeah. Why?”

“You seem off.”

There it was. Soft, plain and far too knowing. He said it in that maddeningly sincere way that only he could manage. Like he actually gave a damn. Like this wasn’t unravelling you by the day.

Your shoulders tensed. “Off?”

“Yeah,” he said gently. “Just… I dunno. You’ve been quiet lately.”

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know about the hours you spent spinning in your head like a lunatic, trying to compartmentalise this crush until it shrank into something survivable. About the way you’d stared blankly at Tinder profiles, your phone clutched in your hand, wondering why no one else ever came close, why none of them were him.

Why you couldn’t stop thinking that if you’d just told him—confessed that stupid crush before Natasha did—maybe you wouldn’t be standing here now like some stray mutt, sniffing around for scraps of attention.

Maybe then he’d be yours.

Maybe then you wouldn’t be fantasising about quitting just to put yourself out of your own misery like some lame racehorse.

“I’ve just got a lot on my plate,” you finally mustered, tone strained. “Tony’s soirée. The fittings. Admin crap. Didn’t even have breakfast today.”

His brows furrowed further. “That’s not good.”

“I’ll survive.”

Would you, though?

Would you survive the heat that flared low in your stomach every time he got too close? Would you survive the ache that gnawed behind your ribs every time he glanced over at Natasha like you didn’t exist? Would you survive the constant, desperate craving to be touched by him? To be looked at like she was looked at?

He didn’t speak for a second, and for a moment, you were sure he could smell the reek of desperation on you.

“The oranges in the fridge are gone.”

You blinked. “What?”

“And the tea. The fancy one,” he added. “The one with the dried raspberries in it. You’re the one who always restocks them, aren’t you?”

You looked down, fingers clenching around your folder. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, stepping forward a half-inch, enough to make your breath hitch. “I just… I didn’t realise it was you. Doing all of that.”

Of course, he hadn’t because you’d made it invisible. Seamless. That was the kind of care you practised—silent, anticipatory, never asked for, never returned. You had cared for him with a thousand tiny efforts, but he never noticed until you stopped.

You looked up, and the hallway felt suddenly too narrow. His face was open in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time. Gentle, confused, like he was trying to work you out and couldn’t quite bear not knowing.

You dropped your gaze. “I said I’ll do it.”

He paused. You could feel him thinking again.

Then, to your disappointment, he slowly nodded. “Okay.”

But he didn’t move. Not right away. He lingered like someone who hadn’t yet decided if leaving was the right call, like he was caught between concern and curiosity. 

“I’ll leave you to it, I guess.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You just nodded and turned, walking away quickly before he could see your face fall, before he could catch the naked want in your expression, the way your heart was clawing against your ribs, screaming for you to turn around and ruin everything.

—

If time travel were an option, you'd gladly launch yourself into a wormhole and strangle your past self for being stupid—no, lovesick—enough to organise this little errand. You deserve it, really. A swift kick to the gut from future-you for being this hopeless.

It had all started a month ago, when you, like a fool, volunteered to collect the tailored suits and dresses for some little soirée Tony Stark had decided to throw. Of course, in true Tony fashion, what was pitched as a ‘casual get-together’ had evolved into a full-blown, black-tie spectacle. The first warning sign? Tony footing the bill for everyone to have custom outfits made to their specifications. Translation…this was going to be a thing.

You’d spent weeks wrangling Avengers into fitting appointments, helping them choose fabrics and cuts, managing last-minute alterations and tracking shipments. It was exhausting but under control…until the catch. The aggravating, absurdly attractive, brooding catch currently sitting across from you in the tailor’s waiting room, his knee bounced like it was transmitting a detailed morse code manifesto on every possible way he planned to ruin your day.

The plan had been simple: grab an Uber, pick up the garments, pressed, stitched, and boxed to perfection and head back to the tower. But then you got the call. The one that told you Bucky Barnes had missed his final fitting, and that his suit needed some last-minute adjustments...

Of course he did.

Of all your perfectly laid plans, it only took one missed appointment to bring it all crashing down. Now here you were, stuck waiting beside the man who occupied far too much of your brain lately, silently praying the tailor would finish quickly so you could escape before your sanity, or your dignity, completely unravelled.

“I really am sorry,” Bucky said for what felt like the fiftieth time.

Between the brooding and the nervous leg tapping, he’d spent the last five minutes watching the side of your face with an expression so guilty it was practically carved into him.

“Like I said, it’s fine.” You replied, though it came out a little too tight, a little too forced, like you were speaking through clenched teeth. Which, maybe you were. Not that it mattered. Not when you could smell his cologne from how damn close he was sitting. God, you wanted to lean over and bury your face in his chest and just inhale—

You straightened abruptly, shoulders stiffening as the tailor entered the room, and mentally reacquainted yourself with the concept of boundaries.

It had been an hour—sixty minutes of waiting while Bucky’s suit got its final adjustments. An hour of you trying to distract yourself with work emails and unanswered texts, pretending the man beside you wasn’t single-handedly causing your emotional stability to nosedive. At least when he’d stepped away to get re-measured, you could breathe without risking spontaneous emotional combustion.

This wasn’t like you. You weren’t usually this wound up. Maybe it was the exhaustion, days of juggling your regular duties with Tony’s ever-growing list of soirée demands. Perhaps it was the heartbreak. Or the missed meals. Or the fact that you genuinely had no idea what day it was anymore.

“Would you like to try it on before we package it up for travel?” the tailor asked, her voice gentle. A measuring tape hung loosely around her neck, her pinned bun fraying slightly at the edges.

Bucky looked at you again, eyes flicking toward yours like he needed permission. You swallowed what was left of your pride and gave him a slight, strained nod.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry—again—this is probably eating into your whole afternoon, I know how busy you are—”

“It’s fine. Really. Just go.”

He offered a sheepish smile before disappearing behind the velvet curtain, tugging it closed with a rustle. You pressed your fingers to your temples, let your head drop into your hands, and exhaled through your nose like it might stop your heart from trying to break out of your chest.

Across the counter, the tailor glanced up at you with a sympathetic look as she readied the boxes for the other garments. “Long day?” she asked gently.

You lifted your head, managing a tight smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Only going to get longer.”

You were still nursing the tail end of your sigh when the velvet curtain swished open again.

And then your brain stopped working.

Bucky stepped out in full formal attire, sharp navy suit, tailored within an inch of its life. The cut of it hugged his frame perfectly. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, long legs. A deep navy waistcoat peeked out beneath the jacket, the subtle sheen of the fabric catching the light just enough to look expensive without being flashy. His tie was already perfectly knotted, like he’d done this a hundred times, and the sleeves of his shirt revealed just enough of the polished metal edge of his vibranium arm to make your mouth dry.

He cleared his throat softly, tugging at one cuff. “How’s it look?”

You blinked. Opened your mouth. Closed it again.

Words? No. Words were gone. Your vocabulary had packed up and left the building.

Bucky shifted his weight, clearly mistaking your slack-jawed silence for disapproval. “It’s weird, right? The waistcoat maybe doesn’t work, I told her I wasn’t sure about it—”

“No,” you said quickly—too quickly. “No, it’s… It’s perfect. You look… great. Seriously.”

His brows lifted slightly, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his face. Relief, maybe? 

“Yeah?” he said, glancing down at himself, tugging slightly at the jacket hem. “I feel better about it now. The sleeves fit properly this time. Thanks for waiting.”

The tailor beamed from behind the counter, clearly proud of her work. “Wonderful. I’ll box it up immediately once you’re out of it.”

Bucky nodded, but the tailor turned to you with a friendly smile before he could disappear again.

“And for you, would you like to try your gown on as well before I pack it away?”

You blinked, suddenly snapped out of your holy-shit-Bucky-hot-hot-hot haze. “My what?”

She gestured toward the row of garment bags. “Mr. Stark sent over your measurements earlier this month. There’s a gown here for you.”

You frowned. “That must be a mistake. I’m just the assistant. None of those are for me.”

The tailor hesitated. “I don’t think so… He was very clear. Your name was attached to the order.”

Before you could argue, Bucky cut in smoothly, like he’d seen this train coming and stepped in to redirect it.

“Tony probably just wanted you to look the part, too,” he said, voice low and casual. “You’ve done all the work, he probably figured you deserved to enjoy the night a little. Might as well try it on, just in case.”

You glanced at him, but he didn’t look smug or teasing. Just… earnest. Calm. Like he meant it. Which made it all the harder to protest.

“Fine.” You sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face. “Just to check it fits.”

The tailor clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. It’s a beautiful gown, I promise.”

You gave Bucky one last side-eye before following her toward the changing rooms, the fabric bag already in her hands.

From behind, you could hear him chuckle under his breath.

“Just wait 'til you see her,” the tailor murmured to herself, and you weren’t sure whether to be flattered or deeply, deeply nervous.

The gown was heavier than you expected. Luxurious fabric slipped off the hanger like water, pooling in your arms as she handed it over with the kind of reverence usually reserved for wedding dresses.

“I’ll give you a minute,” she smiled, disappearing to finish boxing up the suits.

Left alone in the changing room, you peeled out of your clothes, letting the gown slide on over your hips, your waist, up past your ribs. It clung like it had been sewn directly onto your body, the bodice snug, the neckline just daring enough to make you blush. 

You twisted to try to reach the zipper at the back, fingers fumbling and straining, but the angle was impossible. You spent the better part of five minutes twisting in the mirror like a lunatic, trying to reach the zipper that refused to budge. Your arms ached. The corset bodice was half-fastened. You were flushed, annoyed, and far too aware of the sliver of bare spine still exposed.

You were about to peek your head out and ask the tailor for help when a low voice cut in behind the curtain.

“Need a hand?”

You flinched, fabric clutched to your chest. “Jesus, Bucky! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was rougher than usual, like he’d just cleared his throat. “Heard you cursing. Tailor said she’d be a minute out back.”

You hesitated, and your voice came out thin. “Yeah. I—I can’t get it up.”

“Okay,” he replied, oddly determined. “Turn around.”

You cracked the curtain open a pinch. He ducked inside, too broad for the narrow space, his frame practically filling it. He was careful not to look at you directly, at least at first.

You turned slowly, presenting your back. “Just the zipper,” you murmured, barely trusting your own voice.

“Sure,”

A single fingertip, cold metal, dragged up from the base of your spine to the dip between your shoulder blades. It barely touched the skin, but you shuddered from the sensation. Bucky wasn’t even fastening yet, just tracing the line the zipper would follow. The sound you made was too soft to catch. 

The zipper came up slowly. Agonisingly. His knuckles brushed your skin every inch of the way, not by accident. No, this was too slow, too precise, to be innocent.

He was savouring it.

His other hand steadied you, palm ghosting just over your hip. His breath fanned warm against your shoulder.

“You’re trembling,” he commented.

You swallowed hard, unable to muster a response. 

When he reached the top, his hand didn’t fall away. Instead, he swept your hair off your shoulder completely, fingertips grazing the line of your throat as he let it fall over one side.

He leaned in. Not touching, but close. Mouth just behind your ear. The heat of his breath against your neck. 

“Should’ve let me help sooner,” he whispered, voice like a purr. “Would’ve had you dressed in seconds.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your lips parted slightly, breath caught somewhere halfway as your lungs deflated in shock. And maybe it was the gown. Or the silence. Or the way your thighs pressed together of their own accord, but you didn’t move. You didn’t step away.

You leaned in.

Only a fraction. Just enough.

He noticed.

You could feel it in the slight shift of his stance. The faint sound of him exhaling a chuckle through his nose. The way his hand brushed ever-so-slightly along the small of your back before falling away.

And then he was gone.

He stepped back like nothing had happened. Like the tension wasn’t choking the air between you. You turned toward the mirror in a daze.

The dress shimmered in the soft light. Deep, elegant, form-fitting. The neckline exposed the curve of your breasts, the slit at your thigh scandalous enough to make you self-conscious.

You caught his reflection in the mirror. He was watching you, but not with the restrained professionalism you were used to. It was only the sudden reentrance of the tailor that made him hesitate in whatever words were forming on his tongue. He stepped aside, finally giving you space to exit. And you did—legs shaky, palms sweating—like a deer walking straight back into the forest fire, pretending it wasn’t about to burn.

—

Your plan to avoid Bucky after the tailor incident had gone off without a hitch, maybe a little too well. You'd buried yourself in helping Tony pull together the final touches for his ‘soirée’ (which, if you were honest, was less soirée and more ‘black tie circus in a penthouse’).

You'd been so laser-focused on your tasks that you'd almost managed not to think about Bucky in that goddamn changing room. His fingers ghosting up your bare spine like a spark setting fire to dry kindling. You’d folded instantly. Your body betrayed you instantly while your brain screamed to keep it together. Pathetic.

The moral implications of whatever that moment had been were filed away for another day. Were you the other woman? Was Natasha going to slit your throat in your sleep? What was Bucky doing, touching you like that—in a public changing room, no less—when he had a bombshell redhead waiting for him back at the Tower?

No time for that now. Not when Tony’s precious ‘soirée’ was already in full swing upstairs and the caterers had somehow forgotten an entire section of the food. You’d scrambled together an emergency order from some overpriced restaurant Tony swore he was ‘basically family’ with, and by some miracle, they came through in the nick of time.

Now you were in damage control mode, hauling three boxes of overpriced canapés up to the penthouse. Your heels bit into your feet with every step, your dress clung too tightly to bend properly without your tits spilling out, and your patience was hanging on by a single goddamn thread.

You pressed the elevator button with your elbow and exhaled as the doors slid open.

Drop off the food. Grab a free drink. Drown your Bucky-related sorrows. Maybe, just maybe, keep the beast between your legs from waking at the mere sight of him.

The doors began to close. You shifted your weight, careful with the boxes balanced in your arms—

Then someone slipped through at the last second.

Him.

Bucky fucking Barnes.

Tall and devastating as usual in his dark navy suit, his tie loosened just enough to suggest mischief, or maybe carelessness. You weren’t sure which one made you feel worse.

Your breath hitched. Instinctively, your gaze dropped to the floor, feigning sudden, all-consuming interest in the stability of your precarious tower of hors d'oeuvres. But teetering stacks of overpriced finger food or not, Bucky didn’t seem inclined to play along with your avoidance act. Not now. Not when the elevator doors had sealed you in together, finally, and you were without escape.

You winced at the sound of his sharp inhale, the question already pressing past his lips before the elevator even jolted into motion.

“Did I do something to piss you off?”

You didn’t look up. Eyes fixed firmly on the floor, you muttered, “What?”

“I just…” His voice was rough. Tired. “It feels like you’ve been avoiding me.”

Shit.

He stepped forward slightly. Not enough to be invasive. Just enough to make your stomach flip.

“You hardly talk to me anymore,” he continued. “Won’t even look at me unless it’s about work. And even then, it’s like you’re somewhere else. Did I do something to offend you? Hurt you? Just tell me what I did so I can fix it.”

The elevator hummed to life beneath your feet, gliding upward smoothly. You shifted your weight, bracing against the cool metal rail, eyes stubbornly fixed on the buttons, anywhere but his maddeningly perfect face.

“You haven’t done anything,” you said quietly, the words tasting sour the second they left your mouth.

“Then why are you doing it now?” he asked, eyes searching yours. “Why won’t you even look at me?”

“Bucky…”

“Please. Just tell me.”

You hesitated. His hand twitched like he meant to reach for your arm, then faltered, falling back to his side. Your grip tightened on the containers, your fingers slick with sweat. “It’s not you,” you murmured. “It’s me… I just…”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“Please,” he said again, quieter now. “Tell me the truth.”

And that was what did it. The tremor in his voice. The way his brow creased like he couldn’t stand not knowing. Something broke open inside your chest, raw and unhealed. The dam cracked, split, then gave way completely, and the truth came spilling out before you had the chance to swallow it back down. You were exhausted. Wound tight. Running on fumes and nerves and far too many feelings. You’d tell him, you decided. Then drop off the canapés, quit on the spot, and flee the country if necessary. Stark would write you a killer reference. You’d survive.

“Okay,” you said, breath hitching as a nervous laugh bubbled out, half-bitter, half-resigned. “You want the truth? Fine. You’re going to think I’ve completely lost it.”

He stayed quiet, letting you spiral.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered. “I like you, Bucky. There. I said it. I like you. And it was fine—manageable—until it wasn’t. Until I started imagining things. Thinking maybe… maybe you liked me too.”

His eyebrows lifted, surprised but unreadable.

“I’ve had this massive, embarrassing crush on you since the moment I met you. And I know it’s weird, and probably unprofessional because you’re kinda my boss, but not. Technically, Tony’s my boss, but I basically manage everything around here, and—ugh, I’m rambling.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I like you. And I’ve been avoiding you because it was getting out of hand. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And it felt wrong. Especially since you’re dating Natasha, which just made everything worse—”

“What?” he interrupted, voice sharp. “I’m not dating Natasha.”

Your eyes snapped open. “That’s what you took from all of that?”

“No, I—wait. You think I’m dating Natasha?”

“Yes!” you burst out, cheeks flaming. “I saw you! At the Sunday market about a month ago with the flowers—”

His brow furrowed. “What flowers?”

“The bouquet you gave her.”

“I didn’t give Natasha flowers.”

You let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. “I saw you. It was that dumb little market Tony makes me go to for those overpriced vegan pastries Pepper loves—”

Bucky stared at you, confused. And then, slowly, understanding clicked into place. His face contorted like he’d just remembered he’d left his stove on.

“Oh my god,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “The flowers. Those weren’t for Natasha. They were for Wanda.”

Your heart stuttered. “What?”

“Vision,” Bucky groaned. “It was their anniversary. He was stuck on the phone trying to get a fancy reservation and begged me to pick them up. Natasha tagged along because she was hunting for jewellery for Maria’s birthday. That’s all it was.”

You blinked at him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Bucky replied earnestly. “I didn’t know you thought that. I swear, I’m not with Natasha. I never was.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh god.”

“Hey—”

“No. No-no-no.” You squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to sink straight through the floor. “This is mortifying. I literally thought you were in a secret relationship. I’ve been avoiding you like the plague. I’ve been thinking about moving cities. I googled how hard it is to change your name legally.”

He snorted. “You’re not serious.”

You opened your eyes, and the horror must have been plain on your face because Bucky’s expression melted into something far too amused. “Oh, you are.”

“I might never recover from this,” you mumbled. 

“Hey, c’mon. It’s not that bad.”

“I confessed my undying crush and accused you of being in love with someone else in the span of like, sixty seconds.”

His mouth twitched, lips threatening a smile. “You’re kind of adorable when you’re spiralling.”

“I’m going to chuck these hors d'oeuvres at your head.”

As if mocking your attempt at dignity, the elevator gave a slight mechanical whirr, nearly at the top floor. The distant hum of the party pulsed just beyond those sleek doors.

You straightened suddenly, panic creeping into your chest. “Okay, I’m going to deliver these and then I’m leaving. Possibly forever. Please never speak to me again.”

But Bucky, ever faster than you, stepped in.

And before you could react, he pressed the emergency stop button.

The elevator jolted to a halt. The tower of overpriced hors d'oeuvres wobbled dangerously in your arms. “Oh my god,” you gasped, teetering.

Bucky was already moving, steady hands catching the top box before it could topple, plucking the rest from your shaking grasp. He crouched to stack them on the floor carefully, then rose slowly, smirking as you stood frozen, mouth agape in pure horrified disbelief.

“Bucky, what the hell are you doing?”

“No more running,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

You could barely breathe. “You stopped the elevator?”

“Didn’t want to risk the doors opening and you disappearing into the night,” he said, a little too pleased with himself.

“I hate you,” you whispered, eyes wide.

He leaned in, just close enough for you to feel his breath. “No, you don’t.”

You were going to die right here in a metal box. With your dignity in ruins and the man of your dumb, desperate daydreams giving you that look.

And somehow, somehow, you didn’t even want to stop him.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “Don’t shut down. Please.”

You glanced up at him, finally meeting his eyes and immediately wished you hadn’t. They were dark. Hungry. That gaze alone could melt you to the floor.

He stepped closer again. And again. Until his frame caged in you, his arms braced on either side of your head, the heat of his body swallowing you whole.

“I like you too,” he said, low, rough, like it was pulled from deep inside. “Christ, I was so blind. I didn’t see it. It didn’t click until that day at the tailor, until I saw you in this damn dress.”

Your breath hitched.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured. “I’ve been looking for excuses just to be near you. I keep the notes you leave me with the stupid little drawings. I like looking at them. Thinking about you.”

Your heart felt like it might crack your ribs.

“I smelled every shampoo at the store one day,” he confessed, almost sheepish, almost proud. “Hoped I’d find the one you use. Because you smell so fucking good. It’s been driving me crazy.”

“Bucky…”

“I don’t know. You make me feel special. Seen. Like I’m not some monster, like I’m normal. And then one day you were just… gone. I didn’t realise all the little things you did for me that I never noticed.” He groaned, somehow pressing closer. “I missed the sound of your voice… and it made it hurt even more… I lie awake at night, every night, thinking about you and how much I want to kiss you—”

“Bucky.” You interrupted, and he looked back at you with a barely contained hunger. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

And then his mouth was on yours.

Hot. Messy. Desperate.

You gasped into it, and he swallowed it whole, groaning as he pressed harder, deeper, hands sliding down to your thighs as he grabbed one and hitched it up around his waist. You clung to his shoulders, lips parted as he slotted himself between your legs, guiding you up until your ass was perched on the elevator’s handrail bar.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth. “Tell me that you want this, tell me that you want me.”

Your head fell back against the wall, lips swollen, breath shaking. His mouth travelled to your jaw, your throat, hands digging into your hips.

It was dizzying. Chaotic. Perfect. 

“I want you, Bucky.” You panted.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered again, but this time it was different, lower. Hungrier.

His hand slid along your thigh, fingertips brushing beneath the hem of your dress. You panted as he kissed across your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. His hands settled on your knees, then slowly, deliberately, he spread them apart.

“Bucky—” your voice was barely more than a whisper, a tremble of anticipation and disbelief.

But he didn’t answer. He dropped to his knees.

Right there. In the goddamn elevator.

You almost came on the spot at the sight, lips swollen and slick with saliva, pupils blown, the slight smudge of your lipstick on his chin. His hands slid up the back of your calves, kneading into the flesh like he was savouring the shape of you. Your dress inched upwards, his mouth suddenly pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.

Your breath hitched. Your hands shot to the railing behind you, clutching tight.

“You have no idea,” he said, voice wrecked with want, “how long I’ve thought about this.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark with something dangerous. Devotion, desire, something molten and drowning. Then his mouth moved higher.

Another kiss. Inner thigh this time. Then another, and another, slow, lingering, like he was memorising you. He disappeared until the fabric of your skirt, only the back of his head, dark locks messy peaking out from between the slit. 

You moaned, soft and involuntary, your hips twitching at the heat of his breath through the thin fabric of your panties. He nuzzled in close, his nose brushing against you, and his hands pressed firmly to your thighs to keep you spread.

“I’ve thought about how you’d taste,” he muttered, lips grazing the soaked lace. “How you’d sound.”

You whimpered.

And then, he peeled your panties to the side.

The groan that tore from him was obscene.

“Jesus,” he hissed, voice muffled. “You’re fucking perfect.”

And then, his mouth was on you.

Hot. Wet. Relentless. You cried out, one hand flying to his hair, tangling in it as his tongue licked into you with precision, with hunger, with something close to worship. He devoured you like he was starving. Slow circles, then quick flicks, his mouth dragging across your clit with maddening rhythm. You writhed against the rail, your leg still wrapped around his shoulder, the other trembling against the elevator wall.

“Oh my god—Bucky—fuck—”

Your words slurred together, breath coming in ragged gasps as he groaned into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. One of his arms snaked around your thigh, pinning you in place, as if he thought you might try to escape. As if he’d let you.

His tongue slid down, dipping into you, then back up, his mouth latching onto your clit with a filthy, wet sound that made your spine arch. You were unravelling, fast, dizzy, overwhelmed.

He pulled back just enough to pant. “I could stay here all night.”

His mouth was merciless. His grip was unrelenting on your thighs, mouth working you over like a man possessed—

Bzzzzt.

A shrill, sudden buzz sounded from the elevator’s emergency panel, followed by a crackling voice.

“Hello? This is Tower Maintenance. We’re registering an emergency stop on lift three. Is there an issue?”

You froze. Every muscle in your body went rigid, as if someone had cracked open your spine and poured ice water down it. Dread spread like frost through your veins. Your heart thudded painfully in your throat, threatening to climb up and out entirely.

You could barely breathe. Could barely think.

This was it. This was how you died—legs spread, Bucky between them, and Tower Maintenance on the fucking line.

Bucky, in sharp contrast, did not freeze.

He groaned softly with wicked glee, his mouth still very much between your legs. The sound vibrated against the most sinful part of you, and then he doubled down. Mouth and hands working with infuriating, diabolical precision, like he’d just taken the intercom as a challenge.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, the other shaking as you reached blindly for the emergency call button, trying not to sound like you were seconds away from being ruined.

Your voice came out like a panicked squeak. “Hi! Uh—h-hi, yes, sorry! Must’ve been a—a small electrical fault. I’m fine! Everything’s… fine!”

Bucky nipped at your thigh in response.

There was a pause. You could feel the suspicion through the line.

“Ma’am, we’re not showing any electrical inconsistencies in that shaft. Did you press the stop button?”

You shot a wide-eyed glare down at the man currently devouring you.

Another wave of pleasure threatened to knock the air from your lungs. You were barely holding it together, every nerve ending aflame, skin flushed, thighs shaking. The cool metal of the elevator wall against your spine did little to ground you.

You cleared your throat, struggling to piece together something—anything—resembling human speech. “Oh. Oh, that—um, I must’ve bumped it. With my elbow. While holding a tray. It’s, uh—crowded. In here.”

Bucky chose that exact moment to suck hard, and you slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the helpless sound that nearly escaped.

A longer pause. You could practically hear them frowning.

“…Right. Well, we’re releasing the stop now. Please remain calm.”

The line disconnected.

The elevator jolted slightly as it roared back to life.

Bucky gave a dark chuckle. “Crowded, huh?” Then—with zero mercy—he sped up.

“Bucky,” you gasped, head falling back against the wall, “I’m—I’m gonna—”

You shattered.

It hit hard, hot and blinding. You cried out, thighs clamping tight around his head as he groaned against you, mouth not stopping for a second, drawing it out, milking every twitch, every whimper. You barely had time to breathe, let alone moan, your hands flying to steady yourself just as the elevator dinged cheerily and the doors slid open.

Right into the penthouse. Packed full of people, who by some miracle, were utterly oblivious to your predicament. 

You staggered slightly as Bucky stood smoothly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, one arm slipping around your waist to steady you while the other casually reached down and grabbed the stack of forgotten canapés off the floor like he hadn’t just—

“Evening,” he greeted a passing staff member, utterly unbothered.

You were glowing crimson, pupils blown, lips parted, trying hard to fix your face. Bucky guided you forward, his hand warm on your back, keeping you between him and the crowd as your legs trembled. You barely managed to set the tray on the nearest table before someone whistled.

“Well, damn,” came Sam’s voice from the drinks bar. He gave you both a once-over, a wicked grin spreading. “Buck, next time you’re gonna eat face in the elevator, maybe wipe the lipstick off your chin first.”

Bucky only smirked and licked his bottom lip slow, on purpose, you were sure of it.

You nearly combusted on the spot.

“Bathroom?” he murmured into your ear, low and gravelly.

You nodded quickly and wordlessly.

He guided you with all the smugness of a man who had no regrets, his hand just a little too low on your back to be innocent.

---

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NOT THE RASIN WEETABIX LAUREN 😭😭

Mystery man

This is a female reader x bucky barnes story

This is my first time writing a one shot please enjoy

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The sun is shining through my baby pink cotton curtains as jarvis announces the time "6:30 Miss y/n, you have breakfast scheduled for 7:00 accompanied with Mr Hogan, followed by training at 8:00 with your new instructor mr barnes".

Ah yes the Mystery man that all the shield agents seem to be obsessed by Mr Barnes the fearless soldier. Guess today we can put a name to a face.

I rolled out of bed slowly dragging myself to the joint bathroom i share with tessa shes also an agent but also the closest thing i have to family. We enrolled into the academy together and since then we have been as close as ever. I pick up my tooth brush take off its protective cap and put some toothpaste on. While brushing my teeth tessa makes an appearance brushes her hair.

" whats your schedule?" I ask her while spitting out toothpaste

"Ive got a meeting with Hill at 7:00 and then me and a few other agents have a mission with Rogers at noon, what about you?" she answers

"Breakfast with Hogan and training with Barnes"

"Omg u get to train with Barnes im so jealous, however ive heard hes ruthless so good luck"

I leave her in the bathroom closing my door behind me. I walk over to my vanity and pick up my hair brush and put my hair into double dutch braids while applying some sun cream and day cream on to my face. Gotta keep my young looking face i think then i smile at my self in the mirror and say you can do this.

I walk to breakfast and was automatically greeted by happy who was waiting for me in the kitchen. He talked me through security details while we had some lovely raisin weetabix.

I stand up from the table and place my dish and spoon in the sink and turned to face happy.

"Ive got to go now i need to meet Barnes" he nodds and i walk down the corridor and took a left.

I walked into the gymnasium there was a sparing place in the middle of the floor which was surrounded by multiple various different gym equipment.  In the middle of the floor stood a man around 6ft tall, dark slick back hair, muscular and one strange noticeable feature... a metal arm.  Oh and one other thing hes incredibly gorgeous no wonder everyone was so obsessed.

"You are y/n i assume" he questioned

"Thats correct sir"

"Dont call me sir i feel old, call me barnes... now lets see what u got"

He made me run lap around the hall, lift weights and occasionally fight each other. It felt like hours had passed.

"Im fed up, im not doing anymore" i refuse and drop to the floor.

He looks down at me in amusement

"You have only been training for an hour u still have another hour left. Now get up" he says that last part more stern than pervious.

"No i cant move, you cant make me do something if i cant move"

Tension starts to pick up

" get up off your lazy arse right now and give me another 10 laps" he said fury burning within his eyes

"Make me"

We stared deeply in one anothers eyes both with hatred flowing through us. He walks closer towards me causing him to tower over more. I stan up so the height difference wasnt so great but he still seemed to tower over me. We stared intently into each others souls both of us not wanting to break away first to give the other the delight of winning.

A slight smirk forms across his face and he reaches out for my arm while im stille distracted by his ocean blue eyes. He flips me on the floor and pins me down. Still not breaking eye contact. 

"20 laps now"

I can tell that me and metal man are going to have lots of fun...