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tumblr in october
“The perfect video doesn’t exi-” Credits to Voordeel on YouTube for creating this amazing and perfectly timed video you can follow @voordeel-ts the original creator of this video and check out their other awesome videos as well
opening the door triggers the boss fight
I know a lot of people on this website are just getting their period or will be getting it soon so please share these tips that i wish I’d known when i was 14
- If you get blood on your panties, scrub it out with soap immediately before putting it in the wash to loosen the stain.
- wear your pad farther back when you are going to bed
- wear your pad farther forward if you are going to be walking around a lot
- DO NOT wear a tampon for more than 6-8 hours (wear pads to bed)
- don’t wear a tampon if you have no flow
- staying super hydrated helps with cramps
- other foods that help with cramps and soreness is bananas, kale, broccoli, pineapple, whole grains, and dark chocolate
- excess sugar can negatively effect your mood while PMSing
- use your period cramps as an excuse for being incapable of doing a task if that is the case (it is often too touchy of a topic to question further)
- Just remember that this happens to every girl and if you need pads or tampons, you can openly ask any female.
vi struggling to open cait’s belt was SO FUCKING CUTE AAAAAA
Beautiful work
ribbons & rage | b.barnes
[warnings] dark!gray!congressman!bucky barnes x feral!hybrid!reader, daddy!bucky, power imbalance, possessive bucky, pet play elements, dollification, political manipulation, age regression tones (dd/lg dynamics), dom/sub dynamic, stockholm syndrome, forced domestication, DUBCON
summary: After a diplomatic mission turns into an extraction, Congressman James Buchanan Barnes brings home a prize no one knows about. She’s impulsive. Dirty. Disobedient. But under his eye, with enough ribbons, praise, and correction, he’ll turn the wild thing into something beautiful. Something his.
word count: 5.8k
bucky barnes masterlist
Sam warned him not to get involved in Project LUPUS. He was only a year into his congressional term and he’d managed to fully rid the public of the image of the Winter Soldier. For the first time in the century he’d been alive, he was just James “Bucky” Barnes. Some of his colleagues had even begun to take him seriously. Despite this, Bucky knew Sam didn’t fully understand. He’d never fully understand the destruction that Hydra had caused to his mind. Bucky was the only one who could understand the minds behind the deep-state project. Modern American scientists influenced by Hydra’s science.
Project LUPUS was Hydra’s legacy. The experimentations, the genetic manipulations, the violence. They hadn’t been erased. They were buried, waiting for someone to dig them up. It was his responsibility to make sure everything tied to it was destroyed.
The classified file came across his desk because one of his colleagues recognized he would be the best person for the job. He was granted limited access under the purpose of an oversight audit and a bioethics violation review.
According to the document, everyone involved had been terminated and all the experiment subjects had been exeterminated. His colleague believed otherwise. Bucky read the documents even closer during his private flight to Outpost-25 A, and undisclosed location in Alaskan territory. A snowstorm had grounded most flights but he’d been given “special clearance”.
The scientists, under the direction of a network embedded within the Department of Defense, were intending to create self-healing, biologically engineered hybrids with enhanced aggression, sharp senses, and fast reflexes. They’d be able to detect and eliminate threats, control public unrest, recover key asessets, and could even be deployed during warfare operations.
They’d learned nothing from the past.
The very last document in the pile of fifty pages peaked Bucky’s interest the most. It was a scanned intake form, faded, stained and partially redacted. This one had many notes written in the margins. A different tone than the documents describing the purpose of the project, the different subjects and how they’d been exterminated.
Subject 109. LUPUS-F. Status: Unconfirmed termination. Last seen on Sublevel 3.
Ah, the real reason he was here. You were nineteen at the time that the project had been terminated. Many of the notes were similar to the other subjects. Rapid healing. Strong territorial response. Pre-verbal communication. A few others, including you, had been listed as non-compliant.
He stared at the paper longer than he should have, becoming unsettled as he read further.
There were so many incident reports related to you. Reports on the use of deadly force. Gunshot wound to the abdomen. The accidental death of a Lt. Carney. Another accidental death of a Lt. Wynn. Destruction of two containment doors during transport. The standard dose of sedation being ineffective due to rapid metabolism.
Avoid eye contact.
Will only accept food from [REDACTED]
Your termination order was prior to the termination of the project. The justification included unmanageable behavorial volatility and emotional instability. It stated your body had been incinerated but there were no autopsy photos included.
Double dose required for sedation.
Rejection of mating partner 103-M.
Rejection of mating partner 98-M.
Rejection of mating partner 115-M.
Bucky searched for anything that gone right during your captivity and didn’t find anything. Bucky finally tore his eyes away when the plane dipped from turbulence. The storm was building. As the jet began its descent into a snow-covered valley, Bucky caught sight of the outpost. It was buried under permafrost in a decommissioned missile silo.
The pilot warned him not to stay long before he finally stepped off the transport. It was a thirty-foot walk through snow, reaching up to his mid-calf, to the entrance. The tall steel doors of the entrance had been sealed off. He used his clearance code, courtesy of his colleague on the oversight committe, and the steel doors groaned open.
Lights flickered weakly above. He passed through long corridors and security checkpoints until he reached the main lab. It didn’t look abandoned. Only frozen in time. Notes were still scrawled across whiteboards, papers stacked on desks, and metal trays with half-used syringes. A shattered, glass, containment chamber sat nearby, clawmarks across the glass.
But there were no bodies, or bones, or even any bullet casing.
Carefully and methodically, Bucky cleared the first two floors of the outpost. He found each cage door open and and empty. When he finally reached Sublevel 3, he noticed something in the air had shifted. The air cooled even further and lights dimmed. That’s where he found the bones. Animal bones.
He checked each cage for a sign of life. Though there was a pistol on his hip and a shotgun strapped to his back, he didn’t ever reach for them. He paused at cell 12-C and stepped inside. There was bedding, sheets created from lab coats, chair cushions and even shredded documents. Muddy foot prints. Small and barefoot.
You weren’t in a cell. You were loose. Surviving.
He stepped back into the hallway. And then he saw you. No chains. Just … standing at the end of the hall. Watching him.
Despite the the lack of sunlight and coldness of your home, your skin was rich and radiant. Your curls, though some were matted, defied gravity. Your frame was slender, most likely from being trapped here with dwindling resources, but the curves of your body remained. Gunshot to the abdomen. He saw the scar above your hip bone. He also saw another one on your right thigh and an even larger one on your collarbone.
It wasn’t just the scars or the angles of your body that made you unlike anything Bucky had ever seen. Unnaturaly wide pupils that he could see even in the dim light. Slightly pointed ears. You looked him over, scanned him, and Bucky noted the faint twitch of your nostrils – scenting him. Though you were physically much smaller than him, you did not cower. You were not prey.
Your lips parted and Bucky could see your canines, just slightly too long.
He remembered your file.
Hybrid Type: Homo sapiens/Canis lupus (Genome Series III)
Ancestral Donor: [REDACTED]
You were made this way. Selfishly, inappropriately, Bucky wondered how something made by evil minds could be so … beautiful. Something switched in his mind then. He couldn’t ensure the full termination of Project LUPUS.
You were like him. A monster of another’s creation. He had to save you. Someone decided to give him a second chance, he could do that from you.
Perhaps they had evolved. Maybe he was here to get rid of you like the others. He was armed. There was no reason to trust him.
You didn’t speak. Just stared. Assessed.
Until you did move.
Part of you expected to easily pierce his skin. To be so much faster and stronger that the shear force of pushing your body against his would easily knock him down. You hadn’t met a worthy opponent yet. Until now.
He caught you.
He moved but barely. You let out a scream of anguish as his arms wrapped around your torso, pulling your body against his. You thrashed wildly, trying to pull your knees into his groin, before you decided to go for his throat. Bearing your teeth, you lunged for him, but the wind was almost knocked out of you when you suddenly found yourself slammed against the concrete wall.
Now you were mad. Blindingly furious.
What was he? He didn’t smell like a hybrid. He smelled chemical, metallic, and synthetic. His arm, across your chest, pinned you against the wall. You looked up at his face now, long dark hair shielding half his face.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” His first words to you weren’t a threat. You knew that much although you couldn’t decipher the full meaning. He was surprised. Not scared of you. Not the least bit scared of his own safety. It made you even more furious, “You’ll hurt yourself if you don’t stop.”
Dead. Hurt. You knew those words. Those were bad words. But he almost seemed worried. He looked … conflicted.
You couldn’t breathe, your chest was tightening under the pressure, and it felt like your bones might crack at any minute. Your eyes burned from the rage and frustration. No one had ever made you feel like this. You wanted his heart in your hands. You wanted his head off his shoulders. But you forced your body to still. Not in submission but to allow yourself time to think.
A growling whine left your throat, the pain finally fully registering. His grip loosened and something changed in his face. He managed to keep you pinned but the pressure lessened, “I don’t want to hurt you,” He spoke and you hung onto every word. You needed to think. To try to understand him, “You won’t be able to hurt me. Not in the way you want to.”
Your nostrils flared. You didn’t believe him. You also didn’t move. Clearly, you would have to take a different approach.
He talked like a human. Carried weapons like the humans. You weren’t sure why. It wasn’t like he needed them. You could take another bullet, you’d done it before. You wished that the food hadn’t started running out a few weeks ago. You would be stronger. But there was still fight left in you.
He didn’t notice the switch flip in your mind. He was already pulling away, giving you space, but you quickly struck again. Dropped your weight, slammed your forehead against his jaw as hard as possible. Nails slashed against his throat when you successfully caught him off guard. You drew blood and smiled.
“Fuck,” He growled, actually growled, and your smile grew bigger.
So he bleeds. What was he?
A metal arm wrapped around your throat before he shoved you to the ground. You scrambled and kicked as he got on top of you, straddling your torso. When he reached into his pocket, you thought he was reaching for his gun.
“You don’t get it,” He said. You screamed as best as you could. Your chest heaved, “I’m not your enemy.”
You didn’t see the syringe until it was already pressed against your arm. The sting was nothing. You’d felt much worse. You didn’t flinch. Despite the way his face softened, you showed him your rage. You pushed at him until you couldn’t feel anything anymore.
Bucky didn’t realize he’d taken on too much responsibility until it was too late.
“You’re safe here,” He’d say over and over, “This isn’t a cage.”
Now you were here in his Brooklyn home, barefoot, feral, and you were close to destroying every valuable item in his home. His first mistake was trying to make sure you didn’t feel caged. He realized quickly that he couldn’t be nice with you. The only things you responded to were pain and control.
This would be a journey. A long one. It would be a slow, brutal fight to drag you out of whatever darkness they left you in.
And Bucky wasn’t sure yet who would survive it.
For the first two weeks, he kept a bit gag in your mouth to stop you from biting, and padded gloves on your hands, leather on the outside, soft inside, to keep you from scratching him. He had to sedate you everytime he deemed you needed a bath or your teeth brushed because you’d fight him until your body went limp from exhaustion. You completely refused any clothing, leaving Bucky to draw every curtain in the home.
He hadn’t found a way to make a click. To help you understand. Until he’d prepared you a breakfast one morning and you’d thanked him by flipping the table. He lifted you by your waist and dragged you kicking and screaming to the living room. He bent you over the couch, vibranium arm pressed against your upper back, and spanked you until your growling turned to whimpers.
He hadn’t seen you cry yet. Not until then. His heart panged, realizing he’d let his anger make him lose control. He hand’t wanted to hurt you. Not really. But the spanking had done more then bruise your ass. It embarassed you. Made you truly realize how much stronger he was. You were deadly but Bucky had an extra eighty years to perfect his craft.
Bucky could tell in the way your posture softened. How you leaned into the fabric of the couch for comfort. You weren’t broken but you were beginning to understand. He was the one in control. He could keep you here no matter how much you fought it.
You allowed him to lift you, to place you softly on the material of the expensive sofa. As he rounded the piece of furniture and sat close to you, he watched how you pulled your knees into your chest. And then quickly sat up and tucked your knees under yourself instead, bottom sore. Hesitantly, he rested a hand on your thigh. You looked up at him, eyes sad and confused.
“I know,” He said quietly, voice rough but steady, “But there are rules to follow. You were being a bad girl–”
You pointed to your chest and spoke to him for the first time, “B-ad girl.”
Bucky was taken aback by your tone of voice. Gritty from misuse but he heard so much softness underneath. A delicateness he had not expected. Bucky nodded after a long pause, “Yes, you were being a bad girl. But I know you can be a good girl.”
Your brows furrowed and Bucky saw the way that you momentarily grew frustrated before you pushed it away. For the first time, you pushed away your gut instinct to fight him. You pointed to him next, “Good girl?” You asked, confused. It didn’t sound right and Bucky could see your mind working.
Bucky grinned, “No, I’m Bucky.”
“Boy,” You corrected yourself, “Good boy?”
Bucky’s lips parted. He honestly hadn’t thought he’d get to this point with you so he hadn’t spent enough time considering how he would explain all of this you, “No,” He said after clearing his throat, “That one’s for you. You get to be the good girl.”
You tilted your head again, “You … Alpha?”
Bucky shook his head, “No, not exactly. I want to be your …” He thought carefully about his next words. He pointed to you, “You … good girl. Baby. Doll. Pet.”
He pointed to himself next, “Me …. I’m Daddy.”
“Hmm,” You made a noise as you looked him over. You reached out next, your fingers wandering curiously over the fabric of his white button up. You felt his chest, hard and thick before you gripped the metal wrist of his left arm, “Daddy arm … this … you?”
“Yes, it’s me. Still me,” Bucky spoke a little breathlessly, not realizing how much that word on your lips would make his heart race. You studied his face and then subsequently his heart rate. You placed a hand over his heart and felt the beating. It fascinated you. Your heart rate was so much slower, so much more controlled.
You made another noise and your hands wandered back to your own lap. It would be a strange sight to anyone looking in. You were completely naked and Bucky had, somewhat, grown used to looking at your figure. Sometimes his eyes lingered a little too long on the perks of your nipples or the plumpness of your bottom. And your legs were slightly parted, he could clearly see your slit. You didn’t mind it. It bothered you more when he wanted you to wear clothes.
“No baby,” You interrupted his thoughts and Bucky realized his hand was traveling closer to the gap between your thighs.
You were so soft.
“What?” he asked, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“No … not baby,” You pointed to yourself then and gestured to a lower height, palm facing downward, emphasizing how small an actual baby would be, “This baby.”
You wanted to be understood, “Not a real baby, no,” Bucky said, “But I want you to be my baby,” When you went quiet, he continued, “I want to take care of you. I will take care of you.”
You shook your head, “No need.”
“I know,” Bucky agreed, “You’re right. You’re strong. But I know you don’t want to be alone again. All by yourself. No family. No friends. No love. It’s bad for you.”
“Bad for me. No love,” You said after awhile, mimicking him. Trying to understand.
Bucky nodded, “It’s good to have someone. Stay with me. I won’t hurt–”
“You hit,” You retorted, some of that fury returning. Your palm touched the skin of your bruised bottom, “See, you hit! No like. I … don’t like.”
You raised a hand and Bucky quickly caught it. His eyes grew sharper and he sent you a warning.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to like it. I hit, yes. But it’s different than this,” Bucky emphasized the scars on your skin, the bullet wounds, the scars from where knives had sliced you open, “Sometimes it hurts more here.” He pointed to you heart.
“I don’t like,” You said again, softer this time.
Slowly, Bucky’s tight grip turned gently and he took your hand into his. One hand on your thigh, his metal hand on your soft one.
“Then you won’t be a bad girl, okay? No fighting. No hurting Daddy. If you want something, you have to tell me. You can’t just throw a tantrum. There are rules to follow.”
You sighed, considering. Your lips parted again, uncertain. That was good enough for Bucky.
Bucky leaned in, his voice gentle, “Do you know your name? I’m Bucky. You are …”
“109-F,” You answered easily and flashed him a look of boredom, like your name didn’t matter.
“That was your name. We’ll think of something better, okay?”
Another week passed and Bucky found he had little use for the bit gag and leather gloves. The tantrums remained but Bucky noticed your intentions had changed. You didn’t get riled up and try to hurt him anymore. You pushed at him and knocked things over but mostly only when you wanted to communicate something and Bucky couldn’t understand you.
As the spankings increased, the good behavior increased as well. He started new routines with you.
Your room was currently only a twin bed and soft carpet despite the size of the room. It allowed for less things to be destroyed. You didn’t sleep in the bed anyways. Bucky started to notice that his couch cushions, blankets, old newspapers, and even clothes from his closet were starting to go missing. He found them later in the small closet connected to your room.
A nest.
You had created a soft, safe space for yourself inside. At first, you bared your teeth at him when he tried to step inside. Instead, Bucky sat right by the entrance of the closet door. He brought you breakfast, a simple bowl of oatmeal. He’d take a spoonful into his mouth and exaggerate an, “Mmmm,” as he ate. Then he would hold the spoon out to you and wait for you to take it, “Your turn, baby.”
You refused the first few times. Then eventually you took the spoon in your hand and catapulted it at the wall. Not out of anger, mostly out of curiosity. And then you clumsily dipped the spoon inside the oatmeal, brought it to your nose, smearing some on your nose. “See, it’s not so bad. Try it.”
You looked at him like he was from another planet.
Eventually, you took the spoon into your mouth and had a few bites, “Good girl, baby.” That’s how he knew you were warming to him.
His work in Washington continued even as he continued to help you settle into a routine. There were still meetings and late-night calls. Stacks of policy briefs piled high on the living room table and his phone buzzed constantly. Soon, he would have to return but he hoped by then you would be more house broken. Easier to manage. Easier to leave on your own.
You responded well to the corporal punishments. To make even bigger changes, Bucky tried to workout a system of rewards for you. It started with the stuffed animals. Soft and cute. He knew you’d never seen or held one before. He sat outside the closet, further than he usually did, one evening holding a stuffed, brown bear, “Look, he’s soft. Do you want to hold him?”
“ … hold him?” You made you way to the edge of door and reached for it.
Bucky pulled back, “You may hold him. You’ve been such a good girl, eating your food, and not throwing things. Come here,” He patted his lap.
For a long moment, you mentally debated whether or not you would leave the closet. When you finally decided the risk was worth it, you hesitantly crawled forward, sitting your bare bottom on the worn fabric of his jeans. Bucky let you take the bear into your hands and he saw something your face soften immediately. You brushed your hands over the fur methodically, over and over. Bucky counted fifty brushes of your hand over it’s head.
“You can hug him,” Bucky demonstrated for you, realizing then that you wouldn’t know what a hug was. He pressed the bear to your chest and then guided your arms around the plush toy, “See, sweet girl. Do you like him?”
“I like bear,” Your voice came out muffled as you pressed the bear against your face, “Soft.”
You were mesmerized for a solid fourty-five minutes. You didn’t mind when Bucky shifted you in his lap so that you were fully straddling him, the bear between the two of you. His hands caressed your back, the sides of your waist and eventually he fully grasped your bottom in his hands, “Fuck,” He cursed under his breath.
“Hurt?” You asked though it was clear your mind was elsewhere.
“No, baby,” Bucky said although he was painfully hard.
“I keep bear?”
Bucky placed a soft kiss against your shoulder blade and was surprised when your face remained soft, almost happy, “It’s yours. For you, my good girl.”
“I’m good girl,” You smiled a real smile. It was the first time he fully saw your teeth and you weren’t thirty seconds from trying to rip out his jugular, “Good bear for me.”
He nodded, brushing your curls back with his metal fingers. He’d have to tackle another deep detangling another night, “That’s right. But when someone gives you something special, there’s something else you say, too.” He touched your cheek. “Can you say thank you, baby?”
You blinked at him.
“Thannnk—” he started, slow and patient.
You studied his mouth. “Than...”
“Good,” he coaxed, smiling now. “Now say thank you, Daddy.”
You continued, “Thank you… Daddy.”
“There you go. So polite. So sweet.”
You just stayed there, safe in his lap, hugging the bear a little tighter.
You followed Mr. Bear around the house. Wherever Bucky placed him, you were there. The kitchen table at breakfast, the space beneath Bucky’s desk while he was working, beside the bathtub when Bucky decided you couldn’t go any longer without a bath, your bed that you had initially abandoned. You’d even spent a full night in Bucky’s large bed, letting Bucky hold your waist as you slept using Mr. Bear as your pillow. It wasn’t conscious at first. You fell in love with the small toy quickly. You looked in his eyes and squished his belly to help calm yourself, to even help yourself sleep. It was an attachment that was foreign to you. You liked that Mr. Bear was yours and that Bucky had given him to you.
It was comfort and regulation. It was all new.
You spent a full two weeks with that sense of peace. Until you woke from a long nap on the living room couch and Mr. Bear was missing. You’d learn to breathe, to slow down and to not let your anger rise to point of seeing red. You breathed deeply as you turned over every cushion and looked threw drawers. You couldn’t even smell him anymore.
He was gone. Forever. Stolen from you. Had you been a bad girl? You’d grown attached and now you’d been abandoned. You started looking under any item you could find, letting items fall to the ground with a thud. You emptied an entire bookshelf of all it’s books and spread the contents of one of Bucky’s manila folders all over the floor.
Cold, dense paper. Nothing soft. You didn’t register the sound of Bucky’s voice in the other room. You fell to your knees, cheeks wet with tears, and started to shred the papers with your nails.
“....Then tell them to hold off until I’m back D.C. I won’t sign off on anything blind …. Yeah, he knows this. Email him again. Then call. Whatever you have to do. That’s your job …”
A second later, the footsteps came. Fast, heavy but controlled.
“Give me a second,” Bucky said. Then louder, “Just pause the call.”
Your eyes found his when he finally walked into the living room from his office. He looked over everything quickly. You couldn’t control your breathing.
Before he could ask you what was wrong, you yelled, “You took bear! Not here! Where?!”
“He’s not gone,” Bucky crouched next to you, eyes dark and fixed sharply on you, “I was in the other room. You need to ask when you have a question. You can’t do … this.”
“Need bear, Daddy,” You crawled closer on your knees, “Need. Baby is sad.”
“Thank you for telling Daddy how you feel but this is not what you do when you’re sad. You didn’t ask Daddy for help,” Before he continued his lecture, he realized you weren’t the least bit sorry. Your focus was on your toy, “Daddy put Mr. Bear in the washing machine. He was dirty. He’s in the dryer now.”
“You took bear,” You croaked and Bucky sighed, “Not dirty. Give back.”
“I’ll give him back after you clean up your mess.”
“No, Daddy!”
“Do you want a spanking too?” You blinked, eyes wide. You shook your head slowly. It had been so long since Bucky had bent you over and done that to you, “Clean, all this needs to go in the trash. The books go back on the bookshelf. And you can put the couch back together. I will wait.”
You scowled then. You had to clean when all of this was his fault. He took Mr. Bear.
He kept his word. He waited. You put the couch cushions back where they belonged before you stacked the books back on the shelf. He stepped in to show you exactly where the books needed to go and held a trash bag open for you to place all the destroyed papers in.
“Good girl,” He said though the way his jaw clicked made you believe he might be just as mad as you.
He took your hand a moment later and led you into the small room with two white machines. One was loud, rumbling and as Bucky opened it’s door, the shaking came to a cease. And then Mr. Bear appeared. Before you could lunge for him, Bucky’s metal arm shot out, holding you at a distance, “My bear,” Your voice trailed off as you eyed the toy. He looked cleaner but he’d lost the smell you’d grown to like, “Bucky no more clean. Not dirty.”
“Mr. Bear does get dirty just like Baby does. He has to have a bath sometimes. Do you understand?”
You were reluctant but you nodded. “Yes,” As soon as the plus toy was in your arms, you curled up on the ground, and held him tightly. As Bucky turned to return to his call in the other room, you let out a small, “.... Sorry, Bucky.”
He paused in the doorway, glanced back.
“I know, baby,” he said gently.
Bucky decided the perfect gateway into you finally wearing clothes around the house was yet another toy. This one was a soft rag doll that looked just slightly like you. The same skin tone and dark curly hair pinned up by two lavender colored bows. She also wore a lavender dress and matching ballet flats. She looked sweet, safe, familiar.
His usual spiel had failed. He explained that clothes were a good thing. They were soft and kept you warm. He also teased the possibility of one day going outside with him, “The people outside always wear clothes,” He’d say, “You want to go on a trip with Daddy one day, don’t you?”
You just ignored him and let your eyes wander towards the window, “This is Mr. Bear’s good friend,” He presented the doll to you, placing her on your bed, next to the loose-fitting, pink t-shirt dress that was laid out on the bed. He chose something completely unrestrictive on purpose. You perked up then. You gave him a hungry look, as if he was presenting you with a medium-rare steak instead of a doll, “She’s a ballerina. Uh, like a dancer. To music. Her name is … Rina.”
“Rina,” You tried, your eyes locked on her, “Soft?”
“She’s very soft,” Bucky assured you, “She loves hugs too.”
“Rina mine?” You asked next, face soft, looking up expectantly, “Like Bear?”
“She could be. She wants a new friend. But she has a rule.”
Your arms crossed at that. You leaned forward to study the doll, brows furrowed, “She has rule?”
“She doesn’t want to be held unless you’re dressed, like people are supposed to be. Even cute hybrid girls have to wear clothes. She feels the most comfortable that way.”
You pouted adorably, “Bad rule.”
“Maybe,” Bucky said, “That’s what she told me. Rina’s rules. She might let you hold her if you’re a good girl.”
“Don’t like,” You started to whine, pressing your body against Bucky’s body, forehead pressing against his chest, “Please … don’t like.”
Bucky placed gentle on your shoulders, lifting your body from him. He pressed a finger under your chin, lifting it until you were looking at him, “I’m sorry, I would help you but it’s not my rule.”
He turned away from you. Not far, only a few steps. He gave you space. Pretended to check his email on his phone. He heard you stomp your feet. Once. Twice. Then a whine. Then there was silence. The tiniest ruffle of fabric. When Bucky turned around, you were wearing the dress. He smiled wide, impressed.
He doubted he could get you in pair of underwear or a bra today but there was time for that.
He came closer again, running his fingers over your hair before he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “Did it. See, Bucky.” You declared, eyes wide and expecting, “Mine now?”
“She’s yours.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” You bounced on your toes excitedly before you happily scooped up the doll. Bucky picked you up next, and you wrapped your legs around his torso. You let out a soft laugh, a real one, and it was music to Bucky’s ears. One arm looping around his neck, the other squeezing Rina to your body, you looked Bucky in his eyes deeply. Like he’d placed gentle kisses on your forehead, your shoulder, and cheeks, you placed a soft peck on his lips.
He stilled for a second. Then smiled, full and proud, “Thank you, babygirl.”
There was one week left until Bucky had to return to Washington. He was more than happy with the progress you’d made. You’d started wearing underwear and you’d even been open to trying different kinds of clothes. Pants were still a nonstarter. You didn’t mind the skirts. You didn’t love the tight-fitting t-shirts but Bucky often left you no options. You tugged at them and pouted. Selfishly, he liked the way they looked on you.
There were still many gaps in your social etiquette. It took him a full three days to explain that you couldn’t lift up your skirt whenever you wanted. You had a habit of wanting to stare at the different patterns on your underwear and often would flip up your skirt in the middle of a conversation or activity or anything to look. He corrected gently, not because he didn’t like the view but because ideally one day you’d accompany him to dinners and go on outings with him. He didn’t need you putting your body on display.
He convinced you Rina liked it when wore different hairstyles. Ribbons and bows were her absolute favorite. He’d started getting really good at braiding it into neat rows, and tying bows to the ends. During his morning meetings, you often sat between his legs at his desk, Rina in your lap, as he fixed your hairstyle for the day.
Bucky was settling into a sense of peacefulness. A feeling he had longed for. Therapy helped. His new job fulfilled him in some aspects but also made him realize how slow change really happened at the same time. This life, the pocket of innocence he was building around you, was starting to help most of all. This life was the opposite of everything he and you were ever used to.
He didn’t want you exposed to the real world. He would shield you from reality for as long as possible. He would give you something he never had for himself. He’d also had enough of following orders for ten lifetimes. With you, in his own house, he made the rules.
He had to address his mission. Debrief the committee on all of his findings. He had to give his colleagues enough information to satisfy them but couldn’t risk them getting their hands on you. You were the survivicing data to a program that never should’ve been created. He decided to lie. The site was clear of any sources of life. The facility was sealed, records wiped away, and he submitted a report that suggested Project LUPUS be permanently blacklisted from funding due to “gross ethical violations”.
He’d have to spin another story eventually. Explain your presence in his life. Mel, his assistant, was already working on using the story for political advantage. You were a rescued civilian during a humanitarian negotiation. You’d suffered severe trauma and Congressman Barnes, recognizing the complexity of the situation and understanding the importance of mental rehabilitation, he’s personally arranged for you to receive trauma-informed rehabilitative care under his sponsorship. He’d be even more of the hero than the public saw him as.
Colleagues would raise questions but no one would push to hard. He was a war hero. His word was gospel.
Pls reblog w/ your thoughts if you enjoyed! This will be a 2 part series with the second chapter focused on Bucky + Baby’s time in Washington! Hope you enjoyed :)
toxic ghost x fem reader [smut]
cw: unprotected p in v sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), fem reader fem anatomy, name-calling, degrading, praising, toxic ghost, angst(ish) idk! idk how i feel about this one, i haven't wrote in a minute.
You've been seeing Ghost on and off for months now. Answering his every beck and call, dealing with being shouted at, disciplined for every mistake the rookies made as if it were your fault, you allowed him to take his anger out on you, resulting in this... chase. This... game. You wanted to stop, you knew this was never going to go anywhere. Why did you still try? You begged for him to let you in, show him that you could be, were more than just a plaything. He blew you off, swiftly shrugging your hand off his shoulder as he would walk away without looking back.
You lay on your bed, your hands between your thighs as your head tilted back as you sighed out in pleasure. You couldn't stop thinking about him. He's ruined you, and you were falling into it willingly.
You felt guilty, knowing he was breaking your heart. You didn't answer his text, he'd show up at your barrack, and you would allow him in. You always do. It was that time. He just wanted to relieve some stress, and you knew that's all it was. Falling into every sweet nothing he'd spill, just to get in your pants and leave you high and dry after he was done, chasing after him. He liked the game, he was looking back to make sure you were still running after him. He had you wrapped around his finger, in such the wrong way. You gasp, slowly lifting your head as you heard the doorknob twist and open, the dark silhouette of his body looming over you. You didn't stop rubbing yourself. It is so perverse, so wrong. You should stop, you know you should. You should stop right now. Turn him away. Don't give in.
"What are you doin', luv?" he whispered, walking to sit on the edge of the bed. His sweet pet names got your stomach fluttering, but as you meet his dark eyes, emotionless except holding desire for your body and nothing more, you remember, these pet names meant nothing, were nothing.
"Nothin'," you lied, defeated as you looked over his body before focusing on his eyes.
"Stop thinkin' so loud, luv," he rasped, his hand groping the bulge in his pants which were tightening. "'M followin' your eyes, doll, like what you see, yeah?"
Finally your hand movements stop, pulling your hand out of your underwear, you sit back on your elbows, giving him access to crawl closer to you. His waist opens your legs as he settled between them, hovering over you. He groans deeply as he grinds against you.
"Getting right to it, I see," you muttered. His hand cupped your jaw as he tilted your face to his.
"That's right," his eyes squinted, looking over the features of your face. "You're so fuckin' pretty, baby. I can't help it."
He lifted his mask above his lips, leaning down. His lips crash against yours roughly, sloppily, hungrily as he then traced his hand down your chest. For a split second, you forgot about all of your woes, all of your negative thoughts about him. For now, you'd drown in this fire. Let him consume you, let him win you over for what you told yourself would be the last time. You moaned into his mouth as he held a tight grip onto your breasts, moving down to grasp your waist, massaging slow circles into it. Your hips knowingly buck into his, earning any friction you could find.
He knew every weak spot, every sensitive spot, using it against you. He made quick work of kissing down your jawline, sucking on your neck while he pulled your pants down along with your panties. He groaned against your skin as he slipped a hand in between your thighs, his fingers exploring your wet folds before he slid your shirt over your breasts.
"So wet already, yeah? Easy access," he chuckled lowly. He unbuckled his pants, removing them enough to free his cock. He spat in his hand and rubbed the spit along the thick head of his cock, slapping it against your cunt. "Ready for me?"
You do nothing but look up at him as you bit your lip. You nodded as your mouth fell agape at the tip prodding against your entrance. You both sigh in unison at the feeling before he slides all the way in.
"That's it, fuck, that's it," he praised you. "Good girl, good fuckin' girl..."
This is what made you weak to him. You knew you couldn't be pleased like this elsewhere, yet you craved the emotional intimacy that you would never get from him. He thrusted deep into you, his tip hitting your cervix with each push, your moans were music to his ears. He grabbed your wrist into one fist and held them over your head as his thrusts got longer and deeper.
"Such a good cunt taking all of me," he moaned. "Feels good, right, doll?"
"Y-yeah, feels so good," you mewled. His movements went to a slow pace as his eyes flickered between your own.
He sighed. "Luv... talk to me." As if he actually cared.
You moaned at him slowing down, but as you met his eyes, obviously frustrated, you hesitated in speaking your mind.
He leaned down, his other hand wrapped around your head as he caressed it, his other hand still holding your above your head. "Tell me, come on..."
"Simon..." you sighed. "I want... more than just sex."
He grunted as he slammed his hips into yours, earning a louder moan from you. He leaned back, letting go of your hands as he held a vice grip onto your hips, needily chasing his high, and you couldn't stop the knot from tightening in your stomach as he was hitting that one spot so deliciously.
"Simon!" you wailed, covering your mouth as your pussy clenched his cock as your orgasm sent waves of electricity through you.
His jaw clenched as he finally made eye contact with you again, leaning down once more as he breathed heavily into your face. His nose brushed against yours, as he chuckled softly.
"Fuck... you brainless little thing... how many times..." he paused as he watched his cock slide in and out of you, hearing the schlick as your juices wept over his cock. "... do I have to tell you..."
He flipped you over on top of him, his hand grazes your lower back, guiding your hips up and down at an agonizingly slow pace. "That you... you are just a warm body. A nice hole to fill. To use. A good little fucktoy. And I know, luv, I know. I know you like it just as much as I do, yeah?"
His hips buck up into you roughly, the pleasure being too immense for you to handle as you cried out, your nails scratch against his chest. "See, look at you, you fuckin' slut, you love it."
You can't deny that you love it, but god you longed for more.
"Simon..." you moaned as tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. "Please..."
He ignored your pleas as he kept bullying his cock into you, his thrusts becoming sloppier as you could barely hold yourself up. One hand caressed your neck as the other gripped the fat of your hips, using you as his cock sleeve.
"Take it, take it, fuck," he gritted his teeth, slowing his thrusts as he pulled you off of him, his cum shooting over your ass. "What a good slut."
You lay there awkwardly on his chest as he soothingly rubbed your back for a moment, coming off of his high. You then flopped on your side next to him, waiting for him to get up. This time it wasn't as instant as it usually is.
"I don't want you to leave me," you whispered. "I'm so tired... tired of begging for it, Simon."
He laid there emotionless, his eyes staring up at the ceiling as his breath calmed. How can he be calm? How can he do this to you? To his subordinate... someone he was supposed to protect and care for?
He sighed as he sat up, pulling his pants up as he buckled them. He stood there with his back turned towards you. "And I'll keep coming back. As long as you let me. We can quit this little game... you're the one who keeps letting me in, yeah?"
Your mouth opens and closes trying to find the words. "You know what, Simon? You're right. Don't come crawling back here or even fucking text me when you want to get your dick wet. Go get it from some other bitch, I am not a barracks bunny... Get the fuck out of here." Your words held venom within them, but if you were being honest... you don't know for sure that you wouldn't let him come back. This was the whole point of the game, right?
He chuckled as he nodded his head. Almost as if he somehow knew you weren't serious. He knew just how to get into your head, surely it wouldn't be long before you let him come crawling right back. "A'right, then, soldier. Until next time..."
He walked out the door, leaving you alone to cry yourself to sleep in your pillow, not caring to shower, not caring about setting an alarm. You want to mean what you said so badly, but there's still part of you deep down that thinks there's a sliver of a chance to creep inside his cold fucking heart.
.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued...? (maybe)
Me when I saw people bullying Peter Parker in this deleted scene of Spiderman Homecoming
My chemistry teacher just saw this and laughed
Everyone going on about Hipcup and how his hips don’t lie…
Omg this is sooo good
Character: Bucky Barnes
Requested: No
Type: Angst/ Fluff
Summary: You're Valentina's assistant, and somehow, you manage to fall in love with a certain Congressman.
A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!! I have seen Thunderbolts* on Thursday (amazing btw) and have been craving Thunderbolts!Bucky. Also reader is like 25.
Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC
3...2..1...
You worked your whole life to get here. Straight A’s, a top-tier college, a string of impressive jobs that made your parents brag to their friends.
But that wasn’t the point. You didn’t do all of that just to climb a ladder. You wanted to help people. To actually do good. To give the voiceless a voice, to step in where others wouldn’t. You wanted to make the world better, even if it was just piece by piece.
That’s what led you to OXE. And eventually, to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.
Or, more accurately, to being her assistant. Though calling it that feels like selling it short.
You’ve been working with her for a few years now. From the very beginning, she seemed to like you. Said you reminded her of herself. You’re still not sure if that was a compliment or a warning.
Valentina can be cold. She’s sharp, calculated, sarcastic to the point of painful. Some of her decisions don’t exactly land on the moral high ground. But she took you in, brought you closer, taught you how to survive in a world most people don't even know exists. And you’ve done things others your age only dream about. You were actually making a difference.
But now everything’s falling apart.
She’s under investigation. Impeachment is on the table. And you’re left trying to put out fires.
You’d been tense the entire hearing. And not the kind of tension that goes away with a few deep breaths. This was chest-tightening, eye-twitching, every-decision-matters tension.
Your job was on the line. Everything you’d worked for — or convinced yourself was worth it — was balancing on Valentina’s ability to lie with a smile.
She was performing. You were managing the fallout.
Your eyes kept drifting — trying to find some kind of anchor. And that’s when you caught a pair of them.
Blue. Cold but curious. Watching.
Congressman Bucky Barnes.
You met his stare, held it a second longer than you should’ve, then forced yourself to look away. Whatever that was — whatever he was trying to read — you didn’t have time to entertain it.
Then Valentina dropped the line you’d been dreading: “By all means, dig as deep as you like. I promise—there’s nothing to find.”
You knew that tone. It meant you had twenty minutes to erase every breadcrumb.
By the time the hearing adjourned, you were already outside, typing fast, juggling secure files and decoy trails on your tablet. You barely noticed the footsteps until—
“Y/N?”
You looked up, and there he was. Again.
That same cool stare, now paired with a too-casual smile.
“Congressman Barnes,” you said smoothly, tucking the tablet under your arm. “Nice to officially meet you. I’ve heard...great things.”
“I doubt it. Also, please just Bucky,” he said, offering a hand. “Unless you want to start talking tax policy — then I’ll put the tie back on.”
You cracked a smile and shook his hand. Firm. Warm. Too steady.
“You okay?” he asked, glancing back toward the hearing room. “I mean, what happened in there was... honestly? Kind of worrying. Extremely worrying. Kind of concerning if you ask me...in like a worrying way.”
You tilted your head. “You mean ‘concerning,’ or ‘I’m building a case against your boss’ worrying?”
He blinked. Didn’t expect you to hit back that fast.
You smiled politely. “No need to dance around it. I’m sure you’ve got a folder somewhere with Valentina's name on it.”
His grin crooked slightly. “Maybe. It’s a very organized folder. Color-coded tabs.”
“She always did love being underestimated,” you said with a shrug. “O.X.E. has nothing to hide, of course.”
He didn’t argue, but the look he gave you said he wasn’t buying it.
There was a beat of silence, and then he glanced over your shoulder — where Valentina was watching the two of you, pretending she wasn’t.
“She always stare like that?” he asked casually.
“Only when she thinks someone’s wasting my time.”
“And am I?”
“Depends on why you’re really here.”
He smiled. “Okay, fine. I’m new to D.C. First term, still finding my way. Thought maybe... you could give me a tour. Show me the non-corrupt parts.”
You laughed softly. “That’s a short list.”
“Still. Monuments, museums, a little fresh air — maybe a conversation?”
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Right. A conversation. Just two people talking. No ulterior motives, no recording devices, no traps.”
He held up his hands. “I left the wire at home.”
You smirked, but you didn’t let it reach your eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying,” he said. “Just... improvising.”
You leaned in just enough for him to know you were done playing. “You’re fishing, Congressman. I’m just not the one you’ll catch.”
He opened his mouth — maybe to protest, maybe to flirt again — but you stepped back as Valentina waved you over.
“You're a very good-looking man,” you added, softer now. “And I appreciate the effort. But whatever you’re hoping to dig up from me? You won’t get it over coffee and small talk.”
A beat passed between you.
Then you gave him one last smirk, turned, and walked back toward Valentina — leaving him standing there, watching.
And even though you didn’t look back, you knew those blue eyes hadn’t moved.
*******
You had three things on your mind.
Shut down headquarters.
Erase every trace of Project Sentry.
Clean up Valentina’s reputation before the whole thing implodes.
And somehow, you're doing all of that in a dress and heels at a fundraiser.
“Honestly, Y/N, you have such an amazing brain,” Valentina says, her smile more calculated than warm. “Putting this fundraiser together? Brilliant move. This has to sway at least some of the votes.”
“Thanks,” you reply, quickly scrolling through your tablet. “I’ve categorized the guest list: influencers, allies, and the undecideds. Left off the hard no’s. No point wasting time. I just sent the files to you.”
“Perfect. Do I need you for anything else?”
“No, you should be good. I’ll stay close though. Just in case.”
“Smart. Stay where I can see you. And hear you. Actually, just don’t go far,” she says, already turning to work the room. “Time to network.”
As soon as she walks away, you exhale, realizing you hadn’t even noticed you were holding your breath.
This job is not for the weak. Especially not under someone like her.
You glance around the room, taking in the glittering lights, expensive suits, and fake smiles. Your eyes find Valentina again, instinctively keeping track of her. Then they drift to the large Avengers logo on display at the front of the gala.
You were still a kid the first time you saw the Avengers on screen. They were larger than life. Heroes. They saved people. They made things right.
Now? You’ve seen the world fall apart more times than you can count. And more often than not, no one shows up to fix it.
That’s why you’ve stuck by Valentina. Why you’ve been willing to blur the lines. The world still needs saving. People still need heroes.
They just don’t always look the way you imagined.
“You know,” a voice says beside you, calm but unmistakably familiar, “this whole gala is impressive. The Avengers memorabilia is a nice touch.”
You turn and see him. Congressman Bucky Barnes, standing just a few feet away, his gaze locked on the towering Avengers "A" on display like it still meant something.
“Valentina thought it would help raise awareness,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral, polite. “Tie the past to the present. Nostalgia works.”
You’re careful with your words. You know why he’s here, what game he’s playing. And more importantly, you know where your loyalty lies.
He glances at you now, the full weight of those ice-blue eyes meeting yours. “Awareness for what, exactly?”
You offer a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “The mission has always been simple. Help the people. The world’s been falling apart, and heroes… they’ve disappeared. People need someone to believe in again.”
He nods slowly, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “Again, call me Bucky. Also, that was good. Very rehearsed. Very polished. Bet Valentina was proud of that one.”
You narrow your eyes slightly. “I know what you’re doing.”
“I’m just here for the hors d'oeuvres,” he says, voice smooth, but you catch the edge underneath it.
You take a step closer. “Look, Congressman Barnes. I know your history. And we both know what happens when evil comes and no one is there to stop it. OXE is trying to prevent that. Everything we do is for the people. Valentina’s impeachment? It won’t go anywhere.”
Even as you say it, there's a flicker of doubt. Small, but there.
He studies you for a moment before pulling a card from inside his jacket and holding it out.
“What’s this?” you ask, accepting it cautiously.
“My direct line. In case you remember something useful.”
You blink at him, caught slightly off guard by how calm he is. How sure.
You move closer, slow and deliberate, then reach up and tuck the card neatly into his chest pocket. “I don’t know what you think you’re implying, but I don’t appreciate it."
The two of you lock eyes, silence stretching between you. Not hostile, exactly. But charged. Neither of you blinks.
Then your phone buzzes.
You glance at your phone. Valentina. Of course.
You slip it back into your pocket and look up at him one more time.
“I have to go,” you say, steady. “Enjoy the rest of the gala, Bucky.”
Your smile is polite, but your eyes stay sharp. You turn and walk off without waiting for a response, the sound of your heels swallowed by the noise of the event.
Behind you, he watches you disappear into the crowd, quiet and thoughtful. Then, without a word, he finds himself slipping the card into your bag later in the night. Not for pressure. Not even for leverage.
Just in case.
And whether you used the card or not—that was your choice. Bucky just hoped he’d planted the seed.
Later that night, you sat beside Valentina in the back of a sleek black car, the city lights flickering across her face as she debriefed the night with a grin.
“I think that went incredibly well,” she said, proud and pleased with herself. “Honestly, I’m so proud of us. Oh—hand me my tablet. I gave it to you earlier when Gary started sniffing around asking too many questions.”
Your fingers found something thin. Smooth edges. Not the tablet.
The card.
Bucky’s card.
Your stomach tightened, just for a second.
He’d slipped it in without you noticing. Of course he had.
You stared at it between your fingers. You should’ve tossed it the second you felt it. Should’ve never looked at it again. But something kept your hand still.
“Y/N?” Valentina’s voice cuts in, sharp and expectant. “Tablet. Me. Now.”
You snap out of it, quickly pushing the card deeper into your bag before pulling out the tablet and handing it over.
She doesn’t notice. She’s already scrolling.
You tried to focus on the night’s success, the way people clapped when Valentina spoke, the headlines you knew would be glowing by morning. But that card was still in your bag. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about it.
About the look in his eyes.
About the weight of what he said.
Maybe—just maybe—he really did get in your head. And maybe that seed he planted was already starting to grow.
*********
You’d made a mistake. A big one.
And you knew it.
Your heart raced as you paced the cramped hallway, mind spiraling. You'd believed you were making a difference—helping Valentina clean up her reputation felt like part of that. She said she needed you. That this was how things got done. So you listened.
Then she told you to burn the loose ends. Literally burn them.
Human beings.
And still, you followed orders. You rationalized. You looked the other way.
But the plan didn’t go as expected. They didn’t go quietly.
They were fighting back.
And Valentina didn’t like that.
Now a SWAT team is going to finish the job.
You couldn't let them die. You knew their names. Their stories. You didn’t believe they deserved this—not like this. Maybe it was too late to save them all, but maybe you could help save others.
Maybe there was still a chance.
So you did the only thing you could think of.
You dug into your bag, searching through the chaos until your fingers found it. That damn card.
You stared at it for a beat. Then you called.
It rang once. Then again. And then he picked up.
“This is Y/N,” you said before he could get a word in, your voice low, rushed, almost breathless. “I’ve, uh... been thinking. Remember that tour you wanted? You were right. Since you’re new to D.C., I figured—why not? Let’s hit the monuments. Maybe a museum. Or... I don’t know. Just talk. Just you and me.”
There was a beat of silence.
“A chat?” Bucky’s voice came through, teasingly. You started biting your nails, heart pounding. “Yeah. I’m down for a chat. When and where?”
Before you could answer, Valentina’s voice sliced through the hallway outside.
“I swear to god, Y/N, do I have to spell it out for you? You're coming with us. Get your ass in the car. Who else is going to make my coffee right? I swear, you Gen Zers make me want to throw myself off this damn building.”
You went silent, your jaw clenched. Bucky didn’t say anything either, but you knew he heard it.
Everything inside you was pulling in different directions. Guilt. Fear. Fury. Shame.
You swallowed hard.
“Look…” you whispered, voice shaking a little. “I’m sorry about the last few times. You were right. You were always right. I was so stupid. She doesn’t care about the world. She just wants the glory.”
You were rambling now. You always did when your anxiety started creeping up your throat.
“Whoa, hey—slow down, sweetheart,” he said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just tell me what I need to know.”
But before you could speak again, Valentina shouted your name, louder this time.
You turned slightly, lowered your voice again.
“Do you have an iPhone?”
“No. Samsung.”
You rolled your eyes. Of course. “Do you know how to track a phone?”
“I mean, yeah. But I don’t really do that anymore.”
“Well... start doing it again.”
You paused, then added quietly, “I have to go. Track my location. You'll get your answer.”
Then you hung up.
You let out a long breath, pushed the card deep back into your bag, and ran toward Valentina’s voice.
Hoping Bucky understood.
**********
You were pacing again. Nerves buzzing. Mind racing. You were worried about the others. They escaped when Bob distracted them. Then they couldn't find them. But something told you Bucky had gotten to them first. You could feel it in your gut.
He pulled through. Of course he did.
But now… there was a new problem.
Bob.
The new guy. The unstable one.
He wasn’t like the others. Something about him was off from the start. Too volatile. Too quick to react. And now he had powers — real powers — thanks to Valentina.
She said he was the future. Said he was the key.
But all you saw was a ticking bomb with a name tag.
He didn’t need power or exposure. He needed help. And if no one stepped in soon, he was going to destroy everything — maybe even himself.
You ducked into a quiet hallway, slipped into an empty supply closet, and dialed Bucky’s number with shaking hands.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Y/N,” he said, breathless like he’d been mid-action. “We’re good. I got them. Everyone’s safe. I’m keeping them under wraps as witnesses, so we’re covered. You did the right thing calling me. Thank you.”
You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall.
“No,” you said softly. “Bucky, there’s more. A lot more.”
There was a pause.
“Talk to me.”
“She did it,” you whispered. “She actually made one. A super soldier. His name’s Bob.”
“Bob?” he repeated, half in disbelief, half already bracing for what was coming next.
You could hear background chatter on his end — voices muttering “Yeah, Bob,”
“Yes. Bob the super soldier. He’s... not stable, Bucky. He’s got powers, strength, speed — but his head isn’t right. He’s spiraling, and Valentina’s using him like he’s a tool.
You were rambling now, the anxiety bubbling up in your chest.
“She’s restarting the entire program, and this guy — he’s the prototype. And if she gets away with this, there will be more. Stronger. You have to stop it before it turns into something we can’t come back from.”
There was silence on the line. Then you heard him moving, footsteps pacing across concrete.
“Alright,” he said. “I’m coming. I’ll handle it.”
You let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”
“Hey,” his voice softened, “are you okay?”
“I... I don’t know,” you admitted, voice cracking just slightly. “Everything I worked for is going to be for nothing. I'm freaking out.”
“You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”
“I can't tell my friends or family.” you said, quieter now. “I already feel guilty and shameful enough. They would just make me feel worse.”
Another pause. Then softer, “Y/N... I meant what I said. You did the right thing. And I’m proud of you. Really.”
You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Thanks. That means more than you probably realize.”
“I realize it,” he said. And it was quiet, but it hit you harder than it should’ve.
You hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Are they okay? The others?”
“They’re safe. A little roughed up, but they’re going to be fine.”
“Good. That’s good,” you said, exhaling. “I should go. I’ll keep feeding you updates when I can. Just… get here fast, alright?”
“Okay,” He finally whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”
You hung up and slipped the phone back into your pocket before walking out the door. You immediately froze when your boss stared at you with raised eyebrows.
“Well,” she said coolly, “out of everyone, I never thought you would be the one second-guessing your work.”
You didn’t flinch. Not this time. “Giving Bob those powers? It’s reckless. And you know it.”
She clicked her tongue, shaking her head like you were some disappointing intern instead of her right hand. “I’m not going to argue with you, kid. I like you. I really do. You’ve done exceptional work—with me. For us. That’s why I’m giving you a little time to get your head on straight.”
Your jaw clenched. You said nothing.
“But,” she added, stepping a little closer, lowering her voice, “don’t let Barnes cloud that beautiful brain of yours. He’s a distraction. A loud, inconvenient one. And he’s getting in the way.”
You met her gaze evenly, letting the silence stretch.
Then, without a word, you grabbed your purse and walked past her—heels clicking, spine straight.
You needed to find Bucky.
*********
"Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers."
After countless photos and a barrage of questions, you kept your smile steady, doing your job one last time.
“Thank you all for coming,” you said with calm finality. “Photos and questions will stop here. I’ll be in touch about the next press briefing soon. Seriously—thank you again.”
You gave a polite nod as Valentina waved beside you, her signature smirk in place.
As the crowd began to disperse, you turned your attention to the Thunderbolts. With a gentle but firm push, you guided them out of view, away from the cameras. And then—without thinking—you grabbed Bucky and pulled him into a hug.
You couldn’t stop yourself.
You’d been searching for him. Panicking. Lost. The last image you had was of him stepping into the Void. The moment his silhouette became just that—a shadow—you screamed his name. And then… nothing.
You thought you’d lost him.
But now, here he was. Alive. Solid. Real. And all the emotions you’d buried came rushing back.
You knew there was something between you—something electric, something raw and waiting. It had barely started, but it already meant something. And for a bit, you'd been mourning the future that never got a chance to begin.
Now, you didn’t have to mourn anymore.
The moment stretched. Everyone around you went quiet. You barely registered your boss muttering an uneasy, “Oh dear.”
Bucky froze, stiff in your arms. He glanced around, uncertain. John gave him a look before mimicking hugging someone. Alexei flashed a thumbs-up. The girls? They just smirked.
“I saw you,” you whispered, pulling back just slightly. “I saw you walk into the Void. You became a shadow. I—I was trying to find you, and then you pulled that crap. What the hell, Barnes?”
He opened his mouth, but you beat him to it—stepping back before he could even return the embrace.
“I’m okay,” he said gently. “I swear, I’m fine.” He just wanted you back into his arms.
“You still scared the hell out of me,” you said, your voice breaking just a little. “I thought you were gone for good.”
Bucky's expression softened. “I’m not going anywhere. You still owe me that tour, remember?”
You laughed—half out of relief, half because it suddenly felt so easy to breathe again. You stepped closer, pulled him into a kiss, and he kissed you back without hesitation. Sparks. Heat. Home.
When you finally pulled away, smiling, you whispered, “Looks like you caught me.”
He grinned. “Looks like I have.”
Then you kissed again.
A loud groan broke the moment. “I feel like I’m gonna barf,” Val muttered.
“Shut up, Val,” the entire team replied in unison.