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I'd like to clarify that this is the Winter Soldier. Not Bucky. Obviously, he'll have remnants of him, but they're two different people. Again, this isn't a dark fic. I don't do those. Could be seen as a spinoff to "POST 13".
He never had anything. His weapons weren't his, his gear wasn't his. He never had anything belonging to solely him. Until her.
She was his, they had said so. She fixed his arm a lot, a mechanic and medic of sorts. They always wanted them separate, however.
He didn't understand. She was his, after all. Not theirs. So, every time they'd yell at her to go to her corner, he'd draw her closer.
He could. She was his, not theirs.
Today, he was silent as she worked on his arm, babbling on about something along the lines of manners. He had manners, just not normal ones.
"You didn't even greet me! After all of that time away. Don't you even care?"
"Yes. I do."
"I know you do, snowglobe. I'm teasing you, my darling."
"Hm."
"You know, gentlemen greet their ladies with kisses on the back of their hands. Not brooding."
"Lady?"
"Yes, lady. I'm supposed to be yours, yes? And I'm a lady, so-"
She paused her words as his metal hand gently took hold of his. It was unlike what he was used to, his instincts giving him ways to hurt her.
But he didn't. He refused to.
Without looking away from her, his eyes piercing, he brings her knuckles to his lips. His lips were chapped and cold, but they didn't care.
When he pulls away, he keeps her gaze on her. Her lips twitch, but not in the normal teasing way. It was a smile he'd seen before.
A smile she wore when she talked about her old home. One without him. She chuckles softly, making him tilt his head in confusion.
She leans down.
"I was just teasing, darling."
Before he could comment, or question, or pull her close, she rushes to her designated corner as the door slams open.
One of the guards stand there, glaring darkly at the woman, a long taser in his hand. He didn't like that, standing slowly.
The guard's gaze turn towards him momentarily before turning to the woman. Her face was pressed against the corner, expression hidden.
"Stay in your corner! You know the rules."
"I don't want her in the corner."
The guard looks up at the soldier, surprised. It wasn't often that he spoke if he wasn't spoken to. If he did, it was mostly questions.
Not commands.
"It doesn't matter what you want."
"She's mine."
"Yeah, I get that. But she has her side of the room, and you have yours."
The man shuts the door behind him with a slam, walking off. Silence filled the room. His ears pick up a soft sound, making him turn.
She's snickering under her breath, amused at something. That confused him even more. She did that often. Confuse him.
She turns with a grin.
"Well... that's no way to treat a lady, is it?"
He eyes her expression. It was more complex than what she lead on. But, he let her, not wanting to break his thing so soon.
But still, he wasn't fond of it.
"... no."
"Good. At least you know."
"Mm."
The room was filled with silence after that, but a comfortable one. He sat there, staring into nothing as she was in the corner fiddling.
She did that often, and he never knew what for. But, he did know that she always wanted him to keep it a secret.
"You can keep one, right?"
"... why?"
"Well, of they find out, I couldn't be yours anymore."
That convinced him quickly, keeping her fiddling within the realm of his twisted, injured, but emptied mind.
He looks over to her, calling out to her. She stops her fiddling, turning to him. He stares, got a while, before stretching out a hand. Waiting.
She raised a brow, but walked over to him, standing right at the edge of her side of the room. Her hands were on her hips.
"What is it?"
He said nothing, gently tugging her closer until she stood in between his legs. She raised a brow, trying to figure out what he was doing.
Then, he tugs at her waist, making her yelp. She blinks rapidly at him, her expression making him feel funny... amused, he thinks.
That's what she called it.
"... my lady."
She falters, stuttering, brows furrowed. She goes on a rant, something along the lines of consent and not tugging her around.
It amused him, again, his forehead resting on her shoulder blade. She goes quiet, turning to turn to see what he was doing.
"My lady."
She sighs at his repeated words, running a hand down her face in frustration. She was really regretting teaching him that.
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
____
Bonus:
"Where'd you learn that ladies sit in your lap? Where did that even come from?"
A part 2 will follow after this, labeled "I DO." Idk when, however.
"Baby?"
"Hm?"
"Do you need me?"
They laid together, the night was warm and humid, causing their blankets to be scattered. He doesn't open his eyes, sighing contently.
"I do. With every fiber of my being."
"Do you think that I'm strong?"
He buried his face in her neck despite how flush and sweaty they both seemed to be. One of his hands rest on her stomach, feeling her breathe.
"With those weak arms?"
"Honey-"
"Yes. I do,"
He brings her closer despite her weak complaint, placing a kiss to her sweaty temple. He didn't care about the salty taste.
"Do you appreciate it when I'm around?"
"I do, even when you drive me crazy."
He gently rubs at her stomach before placing another kiss to her warm skin, this time it being on her cheek.
Before she could complain too much, the cool air thankfully kicked in. For a while, the questions stop to take in the different temp.
The room cooled tremendously, their flush bodies now seeking warmth in each other compared to earlier.
They slip under the sheets, shivering a bit. She chuckle, laugh, and giggle at each others face expressions and reactions.
They hold each other, moreso him than her, ignoring how their skin now felt dirty and off from their previous sweating.
"Baby,"
"Yes?"
"Do you really think of me so much?"
"I do. You're the only thing that keeps me wide awake as well as makes me sleep soundly. You worry and comfort me. I love things that remind me of you because I love you. You're my everything. I'd give everything up for you."
He sighs fondly at her many questions, but took them in stride. At least she was asking him instead of bottling it up.
At least she had him to open up with.
"Do you really want to marry me?"
He hums, closing his eyes as he breathes her in. He kisses wherever he could reach, grabbing her hand. He smiles, kissing her knuckles.
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Italic bold will hint towards Russian. Anything else is just for emphasis. This IS NOT meant to be a dark fic, just the Soldier being confused at being gifted something (or someone), a glimmer of someone else showing through.
"Soldier, this is your new mission. They are to be you're to watch until we decide what to do with them."
The soldier sits in his chair, face blank. His brows twitch downward subtly as he takes in the person in front of him.
First, he training was evident. Weak, smaller easy to break. But then, another thought crossed his mind.
One where he didn't know if he was allowed to think of.
"... mine?"
The man raised a brow at that, looking back at the cowering figure in the corner of the room then back to the soldier.
"Yes. Yours."
The man left it at that, leaving them alone. The soldier looks to the small figure in the corner, standing. He stares as they flinch.
He ignores their shaking as he gets closer. He towers over them, staring a bit more. Examining them closer.
They were hurt. No major injuries, but hurt nonetheless. If he were to have something, he'd want it neat.
Not scraped and bruised.
He reached out towards them, pausing when they flinch. They freeze, before looking up when he didn't do anything else.
He stares, tilting his head.
"How did you get hurt?"
They didn't respond, brows furrowed as they hugged themselves tightly. When they gulp, his eyes darting towards their lips.
Cracked and pale, which meant they were dehydrated. Not something he wanted in something that would be his.
"... how did you get hurt?"
They falter when he speaks English. Did they not expect him to? He knows many languages. It was important for his missions.
Important for saving the world, for serving HYDRA. He needed to know how to communicate, to stop an enemy-
"They... threw me a lot."
This makes him pause, staring a bit more. Searching for deception. They wouldn't do that. Sure, he was hit and thrown a lot.
But that was because he was a weapon to he used for good. He needed to be sharpened and broken to be used.
But them? No, they weren't a weapon. Just look at them. They sound have to right muscle training, or proper nourishment.
No, that was...
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm no-not. I haven't really... been able to walk on my own, or go anywhere by myself. They just... make me go wherever they want."
He stares again, his dilated eyes from the constant drugging suddenly dry as he started to get... angry? He supposed.
His handlers got angry a lot, especially when he failed or didn't comply. He'd know about the face of anger... and the face of liars.
They weren't lying to him. And that made him all the more conflicted. He began to reason with himself.
They were only treated that way because they weren't his yet. Yes, that was the only reasonable explanation.
Why take care of something you don't know if you're going to keep? That had to be it. It was, he had decided.
He crouched suddenly, causing them to flinch back, eyes squeezing shut. After a bit, they opened their eyes.
They stare into his icy ones, making him reach out. Ignoring another flinch, he tilts their head away. He didn't like it.
Them staring so intently into his eyes. No one ever did that unless they were begging for mercy. He wasn't going to make them beg.
Ever.
"... you are to be mine. You will listen to what I say... you will be perfect. Taken care of. You will not fail me or HYDRA-"
"Taken care of?"
The repeat in confusion, making him stop his speech and stare. Were they stupid? Why wouldn't he take care of his things?
His weapons were all clean and sharpened, always ready for use. His shoes were the same, one of the few things he'd like to clean.
Now, he had them.
"Yes. You are mine. And you're to be taken care of. Right?"
"... um, su-sure."
And for a second, a split second, he was someone else. He felt strange when his lips twitch upwards.
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I don't know where I saw it or on what social media platform, but I love the fact that people realize that Bucky would know more about technology than people realize.
Like, the man was in Wakanda for how long? Don't play with the man, lol.
Based off of the songs, "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy" by Queen and "Easy To Fall In Love" by Olivia Dean since it's stuck in my head.
Bucky had a staring problem. Everyone knew this. He'd glare, search for dishonesty, stare in disgust or annoyance at people.
He was a starer. And ignoring the traumatic reasons for it, it was starting to get on her nerves. She loved the man, but... geez.
Currently, he's laying on top of her as they were supposed to be watching a movie. Instead, his eyes never wavering as they dart across her face.
She huffs, pausing the TV and looking down at him with a raised brow. Instead of stopping, he grins widely, eyes dilated. This makes her snort.
"Yes, James?"
"Marry me."
"You marry me. Maybe then you'll stop staring so much."
His ears and nose turn red before the entirety of his face and neck follows. His nose twitches, his arms tightening around her.
"Woman, that would never get me to stop."
She groans in irritation, making him laugh. His arms tighten around her as she started to squirm with complaints.
"James get- git! Get off of me!"
"No thanks, darlin'."
"You are so-!"
"I know."
He watches as she continues to squirm and fuss at him, his grin soft. If Sam could see him now, he'd never hear the end of it.
"You, my friend, are a cyborg puppy. It's kinda sad as it is funny."
He always rolled his eyes at it, but now? He didn't care. He held her close, his forehead resting on the nape of her neck.
She pauses, feeling how his body tensed suddenly. Especially when her neck was suddenly damp.
A hand meets one of his forearms, her touch gentle. Gently calling out his name, he only responded with a sniffle.
"James, hun-?"
"I'm okay... 'm okay, jus',"
He laughs through his sobs, parting just enough to where he could peck at her face and neck. He squeezes her once more, bringing her impossibly closer.
This one's a short one. Leave you to your imagination (aka, I got lazy but didn't want to leave it incomplete).
Bucky had his moments.
The moments where he laughed like an old man. Moments where he walked like an old man. Moments where he talked like a soldier.
But then there was the other side of that token, where he wasn't just himself. But a shell of his memories and forced experiences.
He jumped at the tiniest of sudden sounds. He'd stare, as if he was bracing himself for something or to look for deception.
It hurt, but they two of them along with their friends were working on it. Helping him finding himself as a person, not a fighter or weapon.
He was in the kitchen, cooking. He was doing pretty well, in his opinion. Not chef level cooking, but pretty good.
He didn't know what happened, or how, but he went to reach for the spatula behind him when he nudged somethi-
*CRASH!*
"James!?"
He mistook her worry for rage, freezing. Immediately, his heart started to punch at his chest, his knees threatening to weaken.
And when they did, he gasps for air as his vision blurred. Gulping thickly, he shakily reaches for the broken glass.
A bowl, apparently. Her footsteps stop behind him, causing him to flinch and sob. Without giving her the opportunity to speak, he does.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, baby-"
"... James."
"I didn't mean to! I... I do-don't know wh-a-what happened. I promise I didn't see it,"
As he rants and talks through his sobs and his trembling bottom lip, she cleans up. She wipes the counter, turns off the stove momentarily, grabbing the broom.
She gently kisses his temple, ignoring how his whole body flinched. She didn't take it personally.
"Don't do that, you'll cut yourself, J."
Gently and carefully, she takes the glass from his hands and plops them onto the dustpan. After a while, the glass was clean.
He continues to sit on the floor, tears falling and body still shaking. She doesn't touch him, sitting beside him on the floor.
"... what were you making? It smells good."
It took him a while to answer. He didn't know how to even speak, the panic seemingly taking over his body.
But, eventually,
"Meatball subs."
"Ooh, fancy."
She left it at that, not wanting to overwhelm him any further. 10 minutes pass, then 20, then maybe even 30-
He leans on her shoulder, curling up his body, hugging her arm. A position they seemed to share back and forth.
"... thank you."
"You're welcome. I didn't do anything, though."
Silence falls onto the kitchen, but it was a content silence. She rests her cheek on his head after pecking his hairline.
"It was just a mistake, okay?"
His mind took in her words and her tone, closing his eyes and taking a deep, slow breath. He squeezes her arm gently.
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He was never good at hiding things. From her, anyway. The way that him, Sam, and Steve (who was watching from the backseat) were quiet.
It was too suspicious. She stares at his side profile, trying to figure out what was going on. He squirmed, eyes on the road.
Steve speaks up from the back.
"Thanks for letting us crash your date. I know it wasn't, uh... warranted."
"Mhm."
She doesn't look away from Bucky, brows twitching downward as he flinches as they hit a pothole. His arm twitches, tugging his jacket closer to his body.
She immediately caught the motion, causing him to curse under his breath, knowing that he was caught.
"What was that?"
"Huh?"
"Huh? What was that?"
"A pothole."
She stares at him, unamused. Steve tries to speak up from the backseat, quieting down at her stern stare.
"Yes, ma'am."
She turns back to Bucky, undoing her seat belt. He tenses, eyes darting from the road and towards her.
"What are you-?"
"Open it."
"Woman, what are you- hey!"
All three men tense as the car swerved a bit as she tugged at his jacket. They all talk over each other, Sam plopping her back in her seat.
"Girl, is you crazy-?"
"What did you three do?"
"Nothing!"
She glares at Steve, his higher voice giving them away. That's when they started to talk over each other. Again.
"We technically didn't do anything-!"
"I told them that you'd be pissed, but they didn't listen-!"
"Baby, I didn't even want to-"
"Hey, hey, enough!"
They all shut up, eyes darting away from her. She sighs, scratching at her hairline.
"What is it?"
"Promise not to get mad."
"... sure."
"Baby-"
"Okay."
"... it's a kitten."
"A kit-!?"
Bucky jumps, swerving a bit. Thankfully, the road was empty. Sam curses at Bucky with a glare, fussing.
"Do I need to drive?!"
He ignores the man, his eyes darting between the road and his woman. He didn't know what her emotion was, face blank as she stared.
"You said you wouldn't be mad."
"James."
"That's a mad face."
"We have no more room!"
He had a habit of doing this. Rescuing animals he'd find on the street and adopt them. They literally had 3 dogs, a bird, and a ferret.
A ferret-!
"Baby, she's so tiny-!"
"So were the dogs."
"Woman, please."
She realizes something, head jerking to the backseat. Sam and Steve flinch, turning away and squirming at her gaze.
"Did you two set him up to this?"
"What!? No-!"
"I wanted to take her to the vet."
"Oh, shut up! You were the main one egging him on!"
The two started to argue, causing her to sigh and message her head. Bucky gives her a sheepish grin.
She huffs, wordlessly opening her arms. He unzips his jacket, a tiny white fur ball obvious. The little kitten looks up at her, mewing.
She stares at it, before faltering. She grumbles when she breaks so easily, taking the small kitten from him.
"And Tin Can over here-!"
"Hey, don't drag me into this! Steve was the one-!"
She scoffs as the three heroes started to argue like children. Grown men, mind you. She gently pets the kitten's back, holding her close.
Based on the endgame quote, "Let me do something right. Something good."
He always insisted on doing something for her after the battle.
"Thor?"
"Yes, darling?"
"Could you get the plates out of the boxes in the closet? We're having guests."
"Sure,"
Whether it was small as washing dishes or as big as bringing all of the groceries inside at one time (not wanting her to make more than one trip), he was present.
Not like he wasn't before, but now? She could barely lift a finger or twitch a brow before he jumped at the opportunities.
Today, she was baking, the sweet scent taking over the scent of alcohol from the living room. She hated that he resorted to it, but understood.
And while it hadn't become a crutch (yet), she was so tempted to throw every case in the fridge away.
"Do you need help, darling?"
She hears and smells him before she sees him. Jumping a bit, her shoulders relax when his hands rest on her arms.
He grins a bit at the startle, kissing her temple (a bit too hard, as always). It grows as she grumbles at the rough but loving contact.
However, when she shook her head and turned back to her task, the grin twitches downward in surprise.
"... are you sure?"
"I am. If you want, you can pick up your mess from your earlier drinks."
He slowly nods, gazing down at her face. It was hard to read, even though it was relaxed and content. Hesitantly, he steps away from her.
The air slowly grew tense as he cleaned, spotting something on the coffee table. 3 mugs sat.
His, which was a solid sapphire blue with a white streak. Hers, which was a glossy and speckled white. But then, the third...
His eyes turn glossy, his breath caught in his throat. His hands were gentle as he cups it in his hands.
It was unused, which it would always be. It was green, blue and yellow speckled on the outside. Loki's. She insisted on getting him a cup.
Even after everything.
"... darling?"
"Yes?"
"Why are the cups full?"
"We're having tea. I just need to wait for these to finish baking."
He took a deep breath, swallowing his emotions before continuing. By the time he was done, the smell of ale was no more.
He stares down at the cups, heart racing, stuck in memory. Suddenly, he yells, throwing one of his empty bottles at the wall.
He heaves, staring at the new mess before screaming. He was frustrated, and overwhelmed, and embarrassed.
None of this was fair. Every time he gained something, it wasn't even taken. It was ripped away from him.
What had he done wrong to deserve all of this? Was his past pride that great? His family, his home, his friends.
Fallen apart of gone completely. The only thing he had left that gave him meaning, that kept him alive was-
"Thor, honey,"
"D-Don't-"
He realized that he was crying, wiping his face. He doesn't look at her when he crouched down, picking up the glass shards of the bottle.
"I've got it, darling. Stay over there,"
"I'll go get a broom."
She rushes off before he could respond. He picked up most of it, the retrieved broom helping with the tiny and stubborn bits.
She doesn't ask if he was okay. She knew that he wasn't. And so, she continued like normal. By the time she's back, he's on the couch.
He stares at the lone cup with a blank expression. Only looking up when she calls for him. And even then, it took a while.
"Yes, darling? What is it?"
"I made poptarts... thought it would be a good challenge."
He hums a bit, giving her a brief, small, but genuine twitch of his lips. He offers his hand, pulling her down once she was close enough.
Once she was in his lap and kisses were placed on her shoulder, he speaks.
"And was it?"
"Hm?"
"A good challenge."
"It's always a good challenge when you're involved. I made them for you, after all."
He said nothing, arms wrapped around her waist as she began to feed him. He was quiet, his eyes never leaving her face.
He took her in, as if it would be the last time he would. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he died in battle, and this was his happy ending.
But it wasn't.
He chews, the flavor catching up to him finally. They were... sweet, but not too sweet. It was good.
She gently swipes at the corner of his mouth. There, crumbs and icing got caught. And without holding himself back, he trapped her fingers in between his teeth playfully.
She snorts, flicking his forehead in retaliation. A hearty laugh escapes him, shoulders shaking. He chomped on another (poptart).
And he didn't know when or how, but his burdens felt less than. Yes, he was mourning. And yes, he lost a lot.
But here, with her in his arms, belly full of love and tea, he couldn't help but to cling to what he had left.
Her. And that was good enough for him.
____
Bonus:
"Thor, honey,"
"Yes?"
"You don't have to redeem yourself with me. You don't have to prove your worth or that you're good enough."
"I know... sometimes. I'll work on it."
"Good... that's good."
"You're the one that's good."
"You are, too."
____
Bonus bonus:
"... I hope you do know that I won't be making these often."
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