Bucky Barnes Imagine - Blog Posts

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Bucky Barnes -> @hellonheels-x @writesleah

Marvel Masterlist

✭ - smut

♡ - fluff

➳ - angst

۵ - hurt/comfort

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Bucky Barnes

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

Young Romanoff - Natasha's sister has to train with none other than the Hydra's most precious soldier as a part of the Black Widow Program. [➳]

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

So go ahead and request whatever you'd like with whoever you'd like (writers block really is killing me). Btw, I'm working on one request, but it might take a little while (school is kicking my ass).

Younger Romanoff | Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x widow!Romanoff!reader

Summary: Natasha's sister has to train with none other than the Hydra's most precious soldier as a part of the Black Widow Program.

Warning/s: fighting, blood, wounds, death, maybe a curse word?? I guess? Think that's it?

Author's note: Hii! :) This is my first Tumblr post (new to this). So please go easy on me. Enjoy!

You could literally feel the sweat running down your back underneath your suit as you took the seat next to your older sister Natasha. You knew that you should have no reason to be nervous at all, but you couldn't stop the bad feeling creeping in since the moment you opened your eyes that very morning.

Today was the day when the Windows were supposed to have a rather brutal training. But that wasn't the worst or unusual part. That training was supposed to be held not only by the Red Room, but by Hydra, too. The trainers in the Red Room had gathered all of the Widows to train with the Hydra's strongest soldier. The Winter Soldier. Just the thought of his name made you shiver.

You had a very bad feeling that even your status as the Widow couldn't push away. You were proven right the moment that the door of the training room slammed open, and your sister, the rest of the Widows in the waiting room and you looked up. One of the trainers was walking out of the room. But she wasn't alone. Behind her, she was dragging a poor beaten up Widow. She seemed like she was barely breathing. All of the Widows watched in silence as the first Widow of this training was dragged away God knows where. Natasha and you shared a look. You didn't say anything, but you both agreed that this was going to be a long day.

It was already dark outside as you watched the Widows go inside the training room. Some of them coming out of it alive, but badly beaten. Some of them weren't so lucky. Pretty soon you watched as Natasha got out of the training room, took her towel, pressed it into her bruised face, exchanged a few words with you and leave to go to her room. A few second passed and you heard your name being called out with a sharp, but clear voice.

"Y/N Romanoff!"

You stood up like a robot, wiped your hands with your training suit and started to walk over towards the training room door. This was it. Either you come out alive or you die trying. One or the other. As you walked into the room and the door closed behind you, you took in your surroundings. In front of you was placed a boxing ring, only you knew the two of you wouldn't be boxing. That one was for sure. You looked to your right and saw a bunch of your trainers and Hydra agents murmuring among themselves.

"Y/N, step in the middle of the ring." Anastassia, your own trainer said as she handed you a small pocket knife. As you did so you heard them talk behind you.

"Y/N Romanoff. Her sister is Natasha Romanoff. A girl that was here before her. The two of them have the highest score in the Black Widow Program."

"We shall see in a moment."

You felt a shiver going down your spine as one of the Hydra's agents uttered those words.

"Y/N Romanoff. Meet The Winter Soldier."

You looked to your left and that's when you saw him. His piercing black eyes full of hatred were looking at the Hydra's agent as he sat on a chair in the dark corner of the room. He suddenly stood up as the agent ordered him to do so. He started to walk up to you towards the ring, however, he still didn't look you in the eyes. That's why you still couldn't really see his eyes properly. Your hard gaze followed him around the room as he got closer to you. When he finally stepped over the wire and into the ring, you noticed that he was given the same little pocket knife as you were.

"Y/N Romanoff. Winter Soldier. Fight."

That's when he looked you back in the eyes. For a moment you were frozen in shock, you could tell that he was, too. Your knees buckled as you watched soldier's eyes soften a little as a small frown was placed on his oddly perfect face without the mask this time. You somehow were charmed by him. You couldn't help but feel like your breath was stolen away from you as his piercing eyes were looking at you with some kind of interest. Interest in what? You could easily tell that he was, too, shocked by his sudden capability to experience any sort of emotion other than emptiness and hatred whatsoever. But you knew that you had to snap out of it before he got into his normal self. So you did.

You landed the first punch and that's when he came to. He started to throw punches back as the Red Room trainers and the Hydra's agents were watching your every single move closely. Just as you were about to throw the next hit, the Winter Soldier, cut your cheek with the knife. You hissed a little and glared angrily at him. If he wanted to play dirty, so could you.

At the end of the training you got your ticket out of the training room, that much was clear. You had to admit, he was a rough opponent. He was quick, clever and very strong. This fight was a big challenge and you just know fully understood why some of the Widows didn't make it. As you gave the pocket knife back to your trainer you could truly feel the soreness in your whole body. You had a few bruises and a big cut on your cheek ashoulderder, but you feltsensence of accomplishment as you knew that you got the Hydra's soldier pretty good, too.

He was hissing angrily as he took the towel from some Hydra's agent. He had a giant slush over his chest, a bruised jaw and a little cut on his chin. You turned around, away from his gaze, as you continued to speak to the Hydra's agents and The Red Room trainers that were asking you all sorts of questions. You felt piercing eyes on the back of your head the entire time. You knew were well to whom they belonged to. But you couldn't make yourself turn around. After you were dismissed you turned around and practically ran out of the training room. You just couldn't wait to escape the torture you just went through. But not only physical torture, but emotional torture, too.

You found yourself all alone as you walked out of the room whose door was slammed shut behind you. You looked out of the small window of the waiting room and you saw that it was pure dark outside. You quietly sighed to yourself as you made your way to the showers. As you relaxed in the shower, put on some fresh clothes and took care of the bruises and cuts you made your way over to your dorm room.

But what you didn't expect was to be showed in the dark corner of the hallway. You couldn't even let out a quiet gasp as your mouth was suddenly covered by a cold metal arm. You felt yourself freeze in shock as you realized who it was.

"Успокойся, вдова." (Calm down, Widow.) He hissed at you quietly, his breath hot on your face.

You nodded, not saying a word because you knew that there was no way out of this one. You didn't know why you were acting like this. You were a Widow for crying out loud. You are strong, intelligent and full of undying fire in your heart. You couldn't understand why you were letting yourself be ordered around by the Winter Soldier like some rag doll. But at the same time you had to admit that he was very intimidating at the moment since his other arm was placed on the wall next to your head.

This position made him look twice taller than you. He slowly put his metal hand away from your mouth as you took s breath in. You leaned yourself against the wall, one foot placed on the wall behind you, crossing your arms as you looked at the soldier's a little bit soft and confused eyes. You looked him straight in the eyes, your gaze, trying to be strong and full of confidence.

"Чего ты хочешь, Солдат?" (What do you want, Soldier?)

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TAGLIST:

@hellonheels-x

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Ominous mists || POV Bucky Barnes

Summary: Former Winter Soldier isn’t sure who he really is. Struggling with the dark past and the metallic voice in his head, he tries to recoup what he had lost.

Warnings: None at this point.

Words: 548

Authors: Beast

A/N: I’ve decided to create my first Bucky’s POV story, hope y'all enjoy it.

“Who do you think you are?” Asks the voice deep inside his head.

I don’t know who am I anymore, he thinks, grinning sadly. He looks down at his metal fingers and how they’re glistening in the setting sun as he stretches them slowly.

The wind blows him straight in the face but he doesn’t mind it at all. Practically, he likes it.

He spent another day by lurking along city streets, without any particular reason. He enjoyed getting lost in the street buzz. And Bucharest was an adorable place to be lost in. The streets were saturated with the remains of communism, although the renewed parts of the city were pulsating with modernized life.

Now, he was sitting at Dâmbovița River, leaning his back against an old linden. Unexpectedly, man shivers when the same voice as before says something loudly inside his mind.

“You’re nothing, just a piece of trash that nobody has ever needed,” voice is getting louder and louder with every second.

SHUT UP!, he shakes his head. You’re not real.

This time, however, the voice doesn’t seem to disappear. “Murderer. You’ve killed so many innocent people. Who do you think you are?

He gets up from the ground and hits the tree’s trunk with metal fist several times. I am not a FUCKING MURDERER!, he screams, he doesn’t pay any attention to few people that stare at him in disbelief.

But the voice gets only louder, spreading through his mind and reaching every single part of his body. "You’re nothing but Winter Soldier, serial killer, piece of trash, the unnecessary system bug which should be removed as soon as possible. But don’t ya worry, they’re coming for ya.”

He turns head around, his hood falls almost on his eyes. He’s afraid, like an animal that got into the hunter’s trap. Are THEY really coming after him???

“Are you okay, sir?” An old woman comes to him, tilting head aside a bit. “Do you need help?”

He struggles with a will to ran. He gently pushes the woman and goes ahead but sinks onto his knees after few steps.

“MURDERER.” The voice keeps humming. “MURDERER, MURDERER, MURDERER!”

He catches his head and with the corner of the eye, he can see how people take steps back as his metal limb is revealed. But he doesn’t care of them. Man only cares to get rid of that awful voice that is pounded somewhere to his brain. He wants to be deaf at all the screams he can hear in his mind and soul, the screams of people he has killed. And these metal clang of that fucking bionic arm! It tears his personality apart. He doesn’t know anymore if he’s a human being whether a machine without emotions.

But there’s a silver lining somewhere in his heart. A familiar male voice, he doesn’t recognize it but somehow it makes that nice warmth spreads across his flesh.

“… till the end of the line…”

At the same second, the metallic voice in his head tries to be louder to deafen the male voice. But he knows the male voice either way…

Man opens his steel blue eyes widely, the last rays of setting sun make them glisten with a comprehension. He screams.

MY NAME IS BUCKY BARNES!!!

Pandies🐼: @blue-dragon-ice @calkingwood @imidarogerson @grossograsso @thewildgardensstuff @irai-lauri @leven-and-ashley @la-verdura @bearded-steve-rogers @sebbystan-plantlover @atuckyismylife @krispyjellyfishzombie @personality-within @haseki-huricihan @choppedgardenwhispers @vroobelek @lattimelka @chris-beamz @hidden-secrets69 @side-blog-of-me @purepearls @i-am-margerita @volcanoxxx @kastrup-sofie  @mikkal-akasaki  @withoutashadowofhope  @radbluebirdeagle @marvel-fan-site  @smutloversblog  @buquete  @super-psycho-love69 @tanglesss @baysidewest @vegemania @philip-stan @chodiusmmm @subwaystunnel @tykorclint @dagger-dragger @kurant @nothing-can-least-forever @oxfordkipem @deliciousbouquet90  @tuptuptup @hellenna80  @karina-marina9 @latimeriaaa  @bratko @wurld89  @scott-evans  @kiss-me-rouge @ovonel-espaniol @dancing-tacco @ratugadhi @white-tiger-shangrila @peter-sommer @axn69  @eternal-life-awaits @mrs-laura-harmon @artsy-inside @gleeeeees @darkllaama @jatut @agawux @fuzzy-tigrrr @jrjohnsson2 @cassandbeast @maaargoshaaa @dontgetmewrongman @einexx @totorosbooty @whatever-thingswillgetbetta @humifiler @nwmtagsb @secretlygrantaire @kyloren-supreme-ben @yessy2012 @infinity-stones-seeker @thehappyspider

Hi, hi, hi! I missed U! What a story, need more!

I'm Into You || Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky is so in love with you. The problem is that you don’t know about this fact yet…

Warnings: none expect a lot of fluffiness and Bucky being a sweet dork

Words: 2516

Authors: Cass & Beast

Bucky was looking at his metal arm that was glistening with raindrops.

He was sitting at the balcony of his room at the Avengers Tower.

It was raining but he didn’t care about getting wet. It was one of these days when he was completely lost in the thoughts that were running through his head.

“Y/N… Ah, Y/N.” Bucky mumbled under his breath and ran hand through his already wet bangs.

Truth was that Bucky, the former Winter Soldier, was so in love with you. Yet, he had never found a courage to speak his mind aloud.

“Y/N, hi. I was thinking that… No.. It doesn’t sound good…” He rubbed his beard. “Y/N. Would you mind me asking you to a…. Fuck.” He sighed deeply, hiding face in palms.

When he heard a knocking on his door, he went to open them.

Keep reading

THE MISTAKE || BUCKY BARNES X READER

SUMMARY: Bucky was hurt by you. You’ve cheated on him with his best friend. Will he prevail his anger and forgive you?

A/N: Hi. This story is written for @thepaperpanda and their writing challenge. My prompt was white. Thank you for allowing me to take part in this challenge ♥ 

WORD COUNT: 1117

You saw that disbelief in Bucky’s eyes when he was standing on the threshold of your bedroom glancing at you on Steve’s laps.

He was deeply hurt, you could easily feel it. Being his girlfriend has taught you a lot, most that when you’ll mess with him, he won’t forget and you’ll pay, sooner or later for what you’ve done against him.

Keep reading

Jealous Bucky! ❤

FORGIVE ME, I LOVE YOU || Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky got into an argument with you. But good thing is he realized his mistake rather quickly.

Words: 813 (it’s short, sorry guys!)

A\N: I made this little drabble for the best squad I’ve ever met. @thepaperpanda ~ guys, I ❤ you and thank you for the opportunity you had given me by your writing challenge. All the love to ya!

Bucky was at the office on the one of important team meetings. You were there also, taking you were working for Tony Stark as his personal assistant.

Tony dispensed some folders to each of team members. “Take a look at our new guidelines. I’ve decided to introduce a few changes into our previous regulations.”

Bucky exchanged surprised looks with Captain. “Wait, wait, wait. What?” Rogers asked frowning and shaking hia head angrily. “Why you didn’t consult this with us before?” Steve growled.

“To be honest I thought it won’t be a problem to you all,” Stark shrugged rolling his eyes. “But as I can see, Mr Rogers has an issue, as always.”

Bucky clenched his metal hand into a fist.

“Oh! Barnes, are you okay?” Stark contorted his lips in a wry grimace.

“Yeah. I am,” Bucky looked briefly at you.

You were sitting next to Tony making a notes from the meeting.

The truth was you and Bucky were meeting since few months. But you had to be very secret about it. You knew how Tony would react if he would find out. Besides, Bucky didn’t want to make himself any additional problems.

You threw him a mean look and Bucky turned his eyes away. This moment didn’t run of Tony’s attention, however he said nothing.

“Next time, consult such things with rest of the team before you will make them official, is that clear?” Steve asked firmly. He also looked at you. You ran your glace away.

Tony was silent for a bit, then he nodded insensibly. “Yes,” he agreed.

After the meeting, while you were walking along the corridor in the Tower, Bucky caught you up. “What the hell was that, doll?” He questioned out loudly. “Who does he think he is!?”

“Buck…” You started quietly, “don’t ask me. He’s my boss. I don’t have any influence at his decisions,” you explained shortly. “But that doesn’t mean I agree with him.”

“You cold make a statement, but you rather wanted to stay silent about things, huh, Y/N?” He lowered his strong voice while speaking to avoid others to hear your argument.

You cocked brews and took a step back. “What’s that? Why are you accusing me?” You whispered. “You know I would do everything for you.. For us..”

“He again made a fool from Steve,” Bucky crossed arms over his chest.

“Hah, so that’s the reason?! Steve. Great Captain. Friendship before love, huh?!” This time it was way too much for you to handle. You raised your voice, almost yelling.

Bucky growled deeply, turned around, and rushed back toward staircase. He stopped after few steps, and looked at you above his shoulder. “Maybe you like him more than you like me? But like you wish, go to him! Go ahead! If you want to be his puppy on the leash and obey his every word, no problem. It’s your shitty decision, Y/N!” He went away leaving you in a shock in the middle of the corridor.

So this was the real problem between you two. Bucky was jealous.

After the work you came back home, and got changed in some casual clothes. You decided to go out for a little jogging. You were living in the nice district at the suburbs. It was a calm and great place to live in, and you were enjoying that fact.

When you were running through near park, you heard your phone ringing. You ait on the bench and pull your phone out of the pocket, and answered the incoming call.

“Hallo?”

“Hi, Y/N.” It was no one else but Bucky.

“Sup?” You weren’t in mood for a conversations.

“Listen, doll, I wanna apologize.” Ok. It was something new and completely unexpected. “I judged you wrong, I should know how does it work.”

“Yes. Indeed.” You rolled your eyes but little smile appeared on your face. You were proud of him. It was a very first time when Bucky admitted that he made a mistake.

“Please, forgive me, I love you,” he muttered softly. “Don’t be mad at me any longer..”

For few seconds you remained silent, but then giggled and agreed.

“Yes. I forgive you.”

“Thank you, Y/N.” You heard a happiness in his voice. “And.. By the way. I really do admire your pretty butt in that tight leggings.”

You blinked and quickly got up from the bench looking around. How huge was your astonishment when you saw Bucky sitting few benches away from you.

You lauged and walked to him. Man got up also and wrapped his arms around your waist. His smile etched its way back into his face. His body was warm and toned as he hugged you, comforting to the touch. His voice was deep, with an serious tone. His lips brushed your ear as he spoke.

“I really do love you, Y/N.”

The ending was precious 💙

"My dog ate your christmas present”  || Bucky Barnes x reader drabble

Words: 774

Warnings: none

SUMMARY: Bucky’s dog ate the present for reader. Bucky had to invent something ad hoc.

Author: Beast.

A/N: Drabble written for @caplansteverogers writing challenge. I hope you don’t mind me changing the character I was supposed to write about.

Shit, shit, shit!” Bucky was running over his room looking for something, when Steve stepped in.

„Hey, pal, what’s up?” Captain asked.

Bucky only waved his hand slightly.  “I have a problem here…” James laughed nervously. “I mean, just look at this mess”  he pointed at the corner.

Keep reading

Drawn to Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,282

Summary: Bucky catches you swooning over the animated version of him in ‘What If?’ and at first he’s grumpy about it..

Author’s Note: So this idea just came to me after seeing the clips from What If? and how cute animated Bucky is. I mean I may have swooned myself…hehe Thank you all so very much for reading! Much love always ❤❤❤ Divider by the lovely @imerdwarf 

Warnings: lots of fun fluff, teases, grumpy Bucky, Steve cameo and then it ends with dirty talk and implied smut (18+ ONLY PLEASE!!!)

Gif not mine: Credit goes to @unearthlydust thank you so very much :) 

“What’s that smile about?”

You whip your head up at the sound of Bucky’s voice next to your ear.

“NOTHING!” you nearly shout and slam close the iPad.

“Baby doll…you have that lovey-dovey look on your face again.”

He narrows his eyes before plopping down next to you on the couch. You give him a dazzling smile that looks far too guilty and repeat your answer from earlier.

“Nothing Buck.”

He tilts his head suspiciously before distracting you with a soft kiss and grabbing the iPad away. He rushes into the kitchen and opens it, keeping you away with his metal arm.

“BUCKY! OH MY GOD. GIVE IT BACK!” you scream, trying your best to get at him.

“That’s me,” he deadpans. “You’re watching the ‘What If?’ clips?”

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i could cry bc this is so beautiful and SO accurate

bucky barnes who doesn’t trust unless it comes to you. whose eyes soften at the sight of you, because his heart knows that it’s okay to let his guard down. he believed the world always had its claws out to get him, until he fell straight into your gentle arms. he tells you the word love meant nothing to him until you came along.

bucky barnes who would live for you. the winter soldier would kill for anyone, the white wolf would die for anyone, but bucky would live for you. he’s never believed in fate, but if it wasn't destiny that brought you to him, he doesn’t know what it was. he thinks maybe it was all worth it, the trauma and the scars and the pain, if it all lead up to the moment when you told him i love you.

bucky barnes who searches for you even in nightmares, screams your name till his lungs burn with self-hatred. you’re his safe space, his home. he’s drawn back to wakefulness as soon as he feels your touch, the gentleness of your breath on his skin like an aching balm to his wounds. he’ll never stop apologising for the burden that comes with his affection, yet he won’t ever stop loving you.

bucky barnes who thinks of hurting you as no less than a sin. who believes even pulling out a single strand of your hair is a hundred times worse than every murder committed as the winter soldier. because what’s a few dozen people in comparison to his whole universe?

bucky barnes who wakes up a little earlier in the morning; not to see the sun rise, but to watch the soft rays dapple your face. he thinks you look angelic, the golden hue painting you in so much beauty that he feels blessed; wonders if he oughts to start praying to gods he never once believed in.

bucky barnes who tells you he loves you more times than he can count. whose voice is hardened from years of tortured, ragged cries; but the word doll tumbles out of his lips like soft petals when he looks at you. he knows seven different tongues, and is fluent in every single one. he claims that none of them have the words to describe how you make him feel.

bucky barnes who kisses like a hungry dog, like there’s an ache in his soul that can only be filled by the feeling of your lips on his, skin to skin. he believes the sole purpose of his metal arm is to pin you to the wall. roughness is the only form of love he’s ever known.

bucky barnes who buys you everything you talk about in passing, who takes you out wherever your heart yearns to go, who kisses your knuckles with the softest touch of his lips. he inhales when you exhale at night to make space for the rise of your chest. he only ever holds your hand with his non-metal one so as to not hurt you. he traces your features while you sleep. he loves you with the full force of the word, because you’re his girl.

bucky barnes who could never unlove you, would never want to. even if the strings of his soul were tied to another, he would cut them off and run straight to you.

i just love love @earth2bucky’s writing 😭😭

it’s so beautiful and i was always find myself binge reading her masterlist.

angel - bucky x reader

a/n: lisTEN im working on three requests rn and i needed a break so this is the result

word count: <1k

summary: bucky coming to terms with just how much he loves needs you (also ur first kiss aw !!!)

Keep reading

SILVER ➳ BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST

➳ summary: When your best friends Peter, MJ, and Ned drag you along to a concert, you never expected to fall head over heels with the band, more so the drummer. Wild and erotic, Bucky Barnes is a rich rock star who gets everything handed to him. Between the money, fame, and platinum records, he has a nasty reputation. But when an innocent girl like you comes along, he can't stay away.

➳ pairing: rockstar!Bucky Barnes x College!Reader

➳ warnings: will feature smut, suggestive themes, angst, age gap; Reader is 20, Bucky is 30

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

C H A P T E R S

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➳ three

➳ four

➳ five

➳ six

➳ seven

➳ eight

➳ nine

➳ ten

➳ eleven

➳ twelve

➳ thirteen

➳ fourteen

➳ fifteen

➳ sixteen

L I N K S

➳ spotify playlist

➳ the color collection masterlist

➳ If you love SILVER, check out my original fic on Wattpad; MY SWEETEST ADDICTION

As much I love Bucky, Shang-Chi ALWAYS steals something from me and that’s my ♥️

Old Habits Die Hard || Shang-Chi, Bucky Barnes

pairings: xu shang-chi x avenger!reader, ex!bucky barnes x avenger!reader

summary: when an unknown group of people go after what’s left of the avengers, you and your boyfriend shang-chi must flee to the avengers’ safe house leading to confessions about your past relationship with a certain super soldier

a/n: replies and reblogs are super appreciated!

word count: 3.2k

warnings: angst, mentions of getting attacked, starting a family, break ups

masterlist || request || taglist

“Shang-Chi?”

“Yeah?” Your boyfriend called from the passenger seat as he slipped the ten rings onto his arms.

You gripped the backs of his and Katy’s seat as a blast sent from the car chasing you shook the vehicle.

“I have something I need to tell you.”

Keep reading

Bucky *screeching*: YOU MEAN A LOT TO ME!

Y/N: wh-

Bucky: YOU’RE ESSENTIAL TO MY EXISTENCE!

Y/N:why are you screaming??

Bucky: BECAUSE I HAVE TROUBLE EXPRESSING MYSELF! IT HELPS TO YELL SENTIMENTAL THINGS IN AN AGRESSIVE TONE!

Y/N: I-

Bucky: I FUCKING LOVE YOU!

YES THE FUCK IT IS BABY!!!!!!

get ready for me to be insufferable again. i’d say and for me to be back in my bucky phase, but i never left 😄

paranormal love

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x fem!reader

a/n: Bucky is going to be very OOC for the first half of this. Just trust the author on this one, it will all make sense in time. (Toxic relationships, paranormal happenings - you have been warned)

Summary: Moving into this house was supposed to be the blessing your marriage needed. Instead you only seem to be twisted against each other. Something lurks within these walls, something angry, something lonely. Someone wants you gone, and he’ll do whatever it takes to have his revenge on the woman who left him behind. (Part of my Halloween Palooza)

“Okay,” you say, balancing the camera in your palm, zooming in on James’ back while he unpacks the kitchen boxes. “Wanna smile for the camera?”

He gives you a glance over his shoulder before turning and waving to the camera. He chuckles a little, glancing down at the lens and then back at you. “What are you doing?”

You sigh, placing the camera on the counter and letting it record. “Well, you know how the lady said this place was haunted?”

He rolls his eyes and glares at you. “I told you not to listen to her, that chick was off her meds.” You swat at his arm but he bounces away from you playfully. 

“Shut up,” you mutter, holding back a small laugh. “I just thought that if there were any supernatural happenings,” you nod towards the camera, “we’ll need proof if we’re going to make this a tourist trap.”

James smiles, leaning over to press a brief kiss to your forehead. “Good call, babe.” You smile after him as he heads back out to the truck to bring in more boxes. Your eyes briefly dart to the camera before you shake your head with a disbelieving chuckle. 

Do you believe in the supernatural? Yes. The metaphysical? Depends on who’s trying to sell you their tarot cards. But you do know that when that woman handed you the keys after you bought the place, you’d never seen such stark relief. 

That poor old woman was terrified of living in this house alone. Of course, the old bitch didn’t tell you about all the horrific things that happened here until after you signed the deed. If you had known this place was haunted, even if it’s not, you never would have bought it. 

Sadly, all your money and savings are now tied into this home. James says not to worry, that there’s nothing wrong with the place. But he’s always been a cynic and he’s never really believed in anything so miraculous as ghosts. Besides, he’s the type of guy to argue with you until he’s purple in the face that the sky is red when he’s in a mood. 

There’s no talking him out of this. And you can’t begin your newlywed life arguing with your husband about the place you just made your forever home. Anyways, it’s not like you’ve noticed anything bad yet. 

The camera is mainly a joke to mess with James and make yourself feel better about the whole thing. You’ll turn it off tonight, be done with it, and hopefully get over this irrational fear of yours. 

12 AM

You spit the toothpaste into the sink and rinse your mouth with water. You’ve noticed a strange metallic taste with all the unfiltered sinks. You're worried you might have to call a plumber or someone to check it out. You don’t want to get lead poisoning your first night here. 

You freeze, still bent over the sink, and your jaw snaps shut. Eyes are boring into the back of your head, hateful and angry. It’s not James, you would know if it was. This is something different, the hair on the back of your neck is standing up, goosebumps rolling up and down your arms. There’s a rush of cool air, like something running past you, and your head shoots up in surprise. 

You scream when you see James in the mirror’s reflection. He jumps back in shock, lowering the camera and giving you an exasperated look. A second ago you’d been completely alone and he’d been downstairs, where the fuck did he come from?

“What the hell, James?” You wipe your mouth off with the back of your hand and whirl around on him. He glares at you, eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction. 

“Talk about an overreaction. What the hell is your problem?” He snaps, taking that tone with you that you know means you have to be careful. You don’t feel like getting into another fight with him. Especially not tonight. 

“You scared me,” you trail off into an awkward laugh, hoping to ease up the mood a little. He slams the camera down on the counter. Your shoulders jump and you flinch back from him slightly. “What’re you doing with the camera?” You ask, glancing down at the lens and frowning. You spot the red blinking light and realize he’s still recording, your brows furrow in confusion. 

“It was your idea, wasn’t it?” His tone is short and you huff in disappointment. You hadn’t realized something as small as a little scare would piss him off. You used to be good at reading his moods. Since the wedding, though, he seems to have just gotten more and more unpredictable. 

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, your feet dangling over the floor as you kick your legs. You hate how tall the damn bed frame is, you have a horrible paranoia that something’s going to grab you one day and yank you under. James, of course, had just laughed when you told him this and then bought it. He thought it was funny, that it would help you overcome your fears. 

You still have goosebumps from earlier, the same breeze from before tickles the pads of your feet. You glance down with wide eyes, yanking your legs into your chest and scooting back from the edge. James flips the lights off in the bathroom and walks to the end of the bed. He’s dragged out the tripod and has got it pointed at the bed. 

You tilt your head with a coy smile, “Planning on having some fun tonight?”

He glances between you and the camera, a confused furrow between his brows. You scoff out a laugh as the realization dawns over him. “If you’re up for it, I wouldn’t mind some after-dark fun.” You roll your eyes and tug the covers over your legs. He leaves the camera and crawls on the bed towards you. “But that’s not what it's for.”

“Oh yeah?” You glance over his shoulder and then turn back to him with an odd look. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into the supernatural junk?” You tuck your head into his chest, letting him pull you closer as he flips the lamp off. “You’re supposed to keep me tethered to reality, remember?” You tease, looking up at him. 

He glances down at you and shrugs. “The lady did say the master bedroom is the worst, I’m just curious if we’ll catch anything.” 

You shoot the camera a concerned look and shake your head. “I hope not,” you mutter. You snuggle in closer to him, trying to dismiss the feeling of someone watching you. You’re sure it’s just from the camera being on you. Besides, you always get too deep in your head about this stuff.

3 AM

You shoot up in bed, chest heaving as you stare down at your feet. James shifts behind you, grumbling as he flips over and steals the rest of the blankets. 

Your heart is pounding loudly in your chest as you simply sit there, staring at the end of the bed. You pause, holding your breath like the room might tell you its secrets. 

You’re normally a heavy sleeper, not even a fire would get you up. But something just did, you were ripped violently from your slumber. You almost want to dismiss it as an incredibly vivid nightmare. Yet, you can’t ignore the throbbing, almost freezing pain, that’s shooting up and down your left calf. 

The muscle is spasming sporadically and you can still feel the phantom touch of someone squeezing your leg. Your hip is sore from where you’d been dragged down. You’ve had pretty vivid dreams before. You’ve woken up with your feet sore like you’d been running, or your muscles cramped from twitching around so much. But this is a lot. 

You take in a deep breath, slowly pulling your legs into your chest. You slump over your bent knees, hoping to catch your breath and settle your racing mind. It’s impossible to ignore how cold your leg feels, you feel like you’re losing blood circulation. You can’t just go back to sleep with it like this, you’re gonna have to go downstairs and get James’ heat pack. 

You’re seriously starting to lose feeling in it now. You’re wondering if something didn’t drag you and maybe you’ve got a blood clot screwing your circulation up somehow. Hundreds of different possibilities race through your mind, each more worrying than the last. You can't sit up all night scaring yourself, you’re just gonna have to suck it up. 

You briefly consider waking James up so you don’t have to go downstairs alone. You hate how those stairs look in the dark, you feel like something is standing at the end, waiting to reach through the banister and drag you down. A ghost, however, sounds more inviting than making James grumpy before he has to go in for work tomorrow morning. 

With a heavy sigh, you force yourself off the bed and blindly grope through the dark for the wall. Your left leg is practically dead weight as you drag it behind you. Your hands skate along the dusty walls and you grimace, making a mental note to dust tomorrow. 

You’re trying to take it slow, to squint out as many shapes in the dark as you can. It’s nearly impossible to tell when you’re going to hit the stairs. You can only pray that you don’t go toppling headfirst down them. 

Slowly, you inch your toes forward and curl them around the edge of the step. From there it’s a long, arduous process of just trying to get down the stairs. It feels as though with each step you take, the house only grows darker. 

You wished you had taken the risk and turned the lights on. The feeling of eyes following you only gets worse as you finally reach the kitchen. The further you get from the bedroom, the worse your leg begins to throb. You can only be happy that you still feel it at all. 

Your hand skates along the wall until you feel the cool plastic of the light switch. As harsh as it is against the linoleum, it’s a stark relief from being all alone in the dark. You dig around in the moving boxes until you find James' heating pad. You toss it in the microwave and pull yourself on the counter, drumming your fingers while you wait for it to warm up. 

He hates you. He hates that you live in his house. He hates that she’s gone. Bette, he’ll miss her, the way the old woman’s face would screw up in terror always brought a sick satisfaction to him. 

You press the warm pad to your leg and hiss through your teeth as feeling begins returning to your calf. He has to admit, he hadn’t meant to grab you quite so hard. He just wanted one good scare, to either get you out of here or show you who's in charge. Your leg has turned an odd color in the shape of his handprint and it makes his lips curl up. 

There’s a loud ringing from upstairs. It grates on his already frayed nerves and makes anger roll off of him in violent, tangible waves. Your nose twitches, your face screwing up as you look around. There’s a suspicious glint in your eye, one your little husband doesn’t share with you. 

He has to admit, you’re smart enough to realize the truth of your situation, at least. Your husband doesn’t share the same characteristic. He seems alarmingly self-assured, not that he minds, those are his favorite types to break. 

He can hear upstairs, better than you would ever hope to. He listens as your husband picks up the phone, quietly yelling at someone on the other end. A woman, if the timbre is anything to go by. They both sound incredibly angry. He’s not interested in listening to something as trivial as this. 

He turns away from you and moves towards the stairs. He pauses at the base of them, glancing over his shoulder and really taking you in. You look so small, curled up on the counter with the look of a frightened child. 

You scream as the lightbulb above you explodes, plunging you into complete darkness. He smiles to himself, drifting up the stairs and lingering at the end of your bed. Your husband’s head shoots up in alarm and he pulls the phone away from his ear. 

The name Martha lingers on the small screen before he quickly flips it off and rushes out of bed. He blows right through the man at the end of his bed, flipping on the lights and racing down the stairs. He calls out your name, voice frantic and bordering on paranoia. 

He hadn’t thought you two would get scared quite so quickly. He’d been hoping to enjoy this a bit more. Perhaps he should slow down, and savor the long fall into madness before he claims you both. He hovers at the top of the stairs, watching as your husband comforts you. 

He’s got his arms wrapped around you, trying to keep you quiet and get you to calm down. From a distance, he could almost be the perfect husband. But that look is all too familiar, he’s seen it a hundred times before. It’s only now that he recognizes it for what it is. There is no love in your husband’s gaze, only the fear that you’ll find out his little secret. 

He goes back into the bedroom, swipes the phone off the nightstand, and retreats into the shadows. 

“Don’t,” you slap James’ hands away from you, glaring at him. He purses his lips, huffing out a sharp breath and taking a step back. Anger brews under your skin, warms you up, and makes your jaw ache from how hard you’re clenching down. 

“How can you say I made it up?” You shout, no longer caring how loud you are. Your voice cracks at the end as you take on a shrill pitch. You yank up the leg of your yoga pants, shoving your leg towards him. 

Not only has the skin dipped in the perfect shape of a hand, but it’s also turned into an unnatural shade of green and purple. It’s like no bruise or injury you’ve ever had before. James looks down at the mark like it’s a bug to be squashed or a pile of dog shit he just stepped in. 

He fixes you with a sneer and shoves it away from him. You let out a harsh breath and stumble slightly into the counter. “Would you quit fucking showing me that? It’s freaking me out.”

You throw your hands up in the air, giving him an eat-shit look. “How do you think I feel? It happened to me.”

He shakes his head and turns towards the coffee pot, pouring himself another mug. You can’t believe how dismissive he’s being about this whole thing. You have indisputable proof burned into your flesh, and he’s completely ignoring your worries. 

“We need to get you to the doctor, okay?” He shakes his head, giving you the look of a disapproving parent, rather than the supportive husband he’s supposed to be. He hadn’t even been worried for you last night, just mad that you’d woken him up for nothing. 

“It’s probably a blood clot, not a damn poltergeist.”

“James-” His phone ringing cuts you off, and your eyes narrow in disbelief as he reaches for it. It’s closer to you on the counter so you snatch it up before he can grab it. 

“What are you doing?” He demands, taking on a concerningly low tone. 

“We’re going to talk about this, you’re not getting out of this one, James!” 

He whispers your name in a voice you haven’t heard before. His face is dark, brows set in determination as he slowly extends his hand. “Give me my phone.”

You glance at the Nokia and then back at him. The fear that’s been ever-present since last night turns into something else. Anxiety and suspicion make a wicked and nauseating brew in your stomach. “Why?” You whisper, eyes narrowing on him as he takes a step closer. You stumble a step back, holding the phone out of his reach. 

You feel your hand tremble with its vibrations before it begins to ring again. You look towards it just as James lunges forward. His shoulder nearly barrels into you as he grabs your wrist. His grip is so tight you almost feel the bones creaking together. “James!” You gasp, the phone tumbling from your palm and into his hand. He shoves you back, tucking it in his pocket and glaring at you. 

“Don’t touch my phone,” you open your mouth to argue and he takes a large step forward. His foot slams against the ground and you flinch back from him, eyes wide in surprise. “Do you understand me,” he demands, slowly and his voice low. 

You nod, your jaw gaping as you stare at him. He runs a hand through his hair, refusing to meet your eye now. Dark strands fall onto his forehead and he looks more disheveled than you’ve seen him in a long while. 

He looks at his watch and clenches his eyes shut. He pauses, taking in a deep breath as he straightens his tie and rounds the kitchen island. “What are you doing?” You ask, your voice so quiet you’re surprised he even hears it. 

“Going to work,” he snaps. You can’t look at him, you just keep your eyes glued to the floor as the door slams shut. You hold your breath until you hear the car going down the driveway. Ever so slowly, you peel yourself away from the counter. 

Your hand drifts, without thinking, to the imprints on your wrist. “What the fuck,” you mutter, a stunned sort of silence taking over. You can’t help but just stand there, completely dumbfounded by how quickly a simple argument escalated. 

He’s always had a shorter temper than most, but that was extreme. A door slams upstairs and you scream, leaping forward and whirling towards the noise.  “What the fuck!” You shout again, stumbling towards the knife block behind you. You can hear footsteps running upstairs and swallow around a ball of fear sinking in your throat. 

You almost call out ‘whos there,’ but that’s a little too stupid for you. You’re not planning on being the bimbo who dies first in every horror movie. As much as James likes to tease you for being a little simple sometimes, you are equipped with basic survival skills. 

You look towards the coffee maker, the port where your home phone should be is empty. You rush towards the windows, glancing out the driveway and cursing when you find it empty. You were hoping that James might still be in his car, steaming before he comes back in to apologize. But, no, he’s really gone. 

Another door slams and it feels a little petty. Despite the way your heart races and you’re struggling to catch your breath, you don’t feel like you’re in any immediate danger. The looming presence that hung over you last night is gone. James had dismissed the lightbulb exploding as an old house and bad lighting. 

You know better, despite the claims otherwise, and you sincerely doubt that there’s an actual person upstairs. And whatever it is, was smart enough to steal your phone. You slink towards the end of the stairs, just barely craning your neck so you can see into your bedroom. Except the door isn’t open like you left it. 

Light comes through the crack of the closed door. You take a tentative step up, eyes squinting as you try and get a glimpse under the door. A shadow darts past, like rushing footsteps. You gasp, leaping back and covering your mouth with trembling hands. 

The hair on the back of your neck stands, and the loose hairs from your braids blow across your cheeks, tickling your sensitive skin. Old vents, that’s what James told you. His attempt to explain the inexplicable breeze that seems to be following you everywhere you go. You’re bundled head to toe in fuzzy socks, warm pants, and a too-big sweatshirt. And still, you feel your fingers nearly go numb and you can barely feel your nose anymore. 

That’s not a poor AC system. And those aren’t feet under your door. You’re so focused on simply watching the movements under the door that you completely forget anything else. You’re blind and deaf as you watch whatever is moving about in your room. A loud clank breaks through the silence and you nearly scream. 

Your bones almost jump out of your skin as the ice machine starts going and rattles up the old fridge. You clench your eyes shut, taking in a deep breath and glaring at the white machine. “Fuck me,” you mutter, holding your chest and just barely calming yourself down. 

You’ve only been here a night, you shouldn’t be so fucking terrified. You’re ready to just go out into the backyard and wait the rest of the day for James to come back. If you could drive off, you would. But you’ve only got one working car right now and he’s taken it to work. You move to grab your laptop off the couch when something creaks behind you. 

Old hinges cry out as they’re slowly forced to work. The sound of steps going down the stairs occupies the space behind you. You can’t find the bravery to turn around, too scared to see what might be there. Something ice cold passes through you. It nearly feels like a violation, as though something was rooting through your insides like it belonged there. It couldn’t have lasted more than two seconds but it was more than enough to have you nearly vomiting up your scarce breakfast. 

The moment it’s over you feel yourself calming down. As though an instinctual intuition has been activated, you know the danger’s passed. Whatever it had been trying to accomplish with that little show, it did it. 

You turn back to your room, the lights off and the door open, looking just as you left it. You glance over your shoulder, looking into the kitchen before starting up the stairs. You give a hesitant peek into the room like you expect it to be a wreck. But it looks spotless, the camera is in the same place James left it, still recording. 

You file that away in the back of your mind. Maybe the camera picked up what happened last night, or maybe James is right. You really are just getting too far into your head. A shrill ringing goes off near James nightstand and you frown. Your phone buzzes on his side of the bed, MOM lighting up the square screen. 

You let out a short huff, quickly snatching your phone and answering. Maybe she can talk some sense into you, or, more preferably, come over to keep you company. “Hey mom,” you answer, smiling slightly to yourself. It’s been a little while since you’ve been able to talk to her. James had banned phones after the honeymoon and then you’d gotten caught up in house stuff, jobs, and the aftermath of the wedding ‘incident.’

An older voice than you’d been expecting answers on the other end, saying your name in a confused tone. Your brows furrow and you frown, “Mrs. Barnes?”

“Honey,” she sounds strained, like she really hadn’t been expecting you to answer. James must have taken your phone by accident. It makes sense, they’re both the same model, but you put a little pink charm on your Nokia so you’d stop making this mistake. Yet, when you look to your left, you see your charm lying on your nightstand. When had you taken that off?

“Where’s James?”

“Um,” you’re still a little thrown off by her voice and take a second to answer. “Work, I think he took the wrong phone,” you laugh a little, disconcerted that it’s not your mother’s comforting voice. 

“Must have,” she answers, she sounds like she’s a million miles away, her tone distant. “Well, um, just tell him to call me back.”

“Alright,” you hesitate, concerned by how off she sounds. “Is everything alright?” You know things have been tough for her since her husband passed on. James’ sisters have been helping her adjust, but the wedding had taken him away from his family for a little while. He hasn’t actually shown any signs of wanting to reach out and it makes you feel guilty, like you’re keeping him away from her. 

Mrs. Barnes, a living saint you swear, has been nothing but kind as she welcomes you into her family. This is the first time she’s ever been so distant to you. You act more like her family than James does nowadays. 

“Has, uh,” she coughs, clearing her throat. You can almost hear what sounds like Francesca on the other end, hollering at her. The sound of James’ older sister’s voice makes you smile a little wider. “Has James said anything to you?”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head in confusion, even if she can’t see you. “About what?”

“Oh, crumbs,” she huffs and you have a feeling whatever she was about to say was important, but someone is snatching the phone away before you can hear the rest of it. You’d been so focused on her voice that you hadn’t even heard James come back in. 

He glares down at the phone, face pale and eyes wide like he’s expecting something horrific. When he places it to his ear and hears his mom’s voice, his shoulders slump in relief. You narrow your eyes at him, disoriented by the strange behavior. 

“Mom,” he interrupts her rudely, “I’ll call you later. Okay?” He hangs up before she can answer. He tugs your phone out of his pocket and tosses it next to you on the bed. “Answering my phone now? What are you, my secretary?”

You slip your phone into your back pocket, not looking at him as you get off the bed. “I thought it was mine. I think my charm broke off.” You put some distance between the two of you, glancing down at his phone and then back at him. “Why are you being so weird about it?”

He flinches like you’ve just accused him of something far worse than being overly protective of his phone. “I don’t like you digging around in my phone. That’s a problem now?” You open your mouth to argue, but he just keeps going, cutting you off, “You’re so goddamn paranoid. First the ghost, now this,” he gestures vaguely at you and you scoff, crossing your arms and glaring at him. 

You two are devolving far quicker than he had anticipated. It must have been a fragile relationship, to begin with. James slams the door and you slump down on the bed, you almost look like you want to cry. 

He goes down the stairs, watching through the window as your husband lingers on the front porch. He calls someone, his mom, and starts yelling at her as he gets to his car. Looking away from the window, he sighs. 

He’d been close, if James hadn’t come home he probably could have pushed you over the edge immediately. He doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or happy that his game gets to go on a little longer.

You come back down the stairs, eyes rimmed red and shoulders slumped in defeat. You brush through him, not even noticing the chill he leaves behind in you. You have the camera in your hand and a cord in the other. He grins, excited to finally have you see the truth of what happened last night. 

You plug the camera into your laptop, scrubbing through the footage of last night. He leans over your shoulder and watches as goosebumps rise along your skin. You sigh, tugging a blanket over your shoulders, but he knows that won’t do anything to help you. 

Nothing will unless you leave. But your husband has made it clear that you’re not getting out of here until he has actual proof anything supernatural lurks inside these haunted walls. Right here, in your lap, you have your proof. A phantom wind blows up the sheets of the bed, an unexplainable tug of your leg that drags you halfway down the bed. It’s violent and he almost feels sorry, he really hadn’t meant to hurt you, only scare you. 

His fingers drift over your leg and you jump, whirling around, wide eyes looking right through him. He can’t help but admire the way fear makes them shine. You’re quite pretty when you’re terrified, he couldn’t say the same for the hag that used to live here. 

You’re slow to turn back to the computer, but when you do, there’s a slight curve to your lips that he appreciates. “I fucking knew it,” you whisper, slamming the screen closed and getting to your feet. 

You’re giddy, he can taste the satisfaction overpowering the fear. You round the couch, taking in a deep breath and shaking out your arms. Your face sets in determination and you start working on clearing out the moving boxes. 

He doesn’t feel the urge to mess with you any further. He leaves you in peace, lounging in your armchair and watching you work. He’s got a nice surprise worked up for you tonight, no need to take today’s playtime any further. 

You’re efficient, only occasionally getting distracted as you smile at pictures of your wedding day. You put those up on the mantle, beside some family photos. It’s clear how much you value your familial bonds, even your husbands. You put it front and center in the home, reminding him of how it once looked. 

There’s a stark sense of deja vu as he watches you work, a nauseating feeling of what could have been. He can practically taste the newlywed bliss you’re going through. Even with your husband being a piece of work, you still value him, love him. He’d once known that love, hell, he’d reveled in it. 

But the curtain always has to come down. The magic’s never real. He’s doing you a favor by showing you the truth of it all. His gaze drifts away from you cooking dinner and he looks towards the pictures on the mantle. 

James’ mother reminds him of his own. He always wondered what happened to her, what her life was like after he was gone. Neither of them ever got what they wanted. She died wondering what happened to her only son, and he died without getting to say goodbye. 

He thinks of Bette, and feels that familiar white-hot rush of anger, your scream comes a moment later. He glances towards you, confused, before he follows your eyes and sees that he’s accidentally shattered the frames of the pictures. 

You gasp, sucking in shallow breaths as you stumble into the counter, brows furrowed in terror. He clenches his eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath, and tamps down on the anger overwhelming him. 

The door opens and your socked feet go rushing towards it, you nearly slip on the hardwoods, arms spinning wildly as you right yourself. James flinches away from your frantic hands as you grab his jacket and drag him inside. “The fucking pictures,” you stutter out your words and point frantically towards the mantle. 

James grimaces, tugging at your hands and looking towards him. He doesn’t see him, of course he doesn’t. But he does see his little accident. James scoffs, face screwing up in anger, he turns towards you. His face is set like a disappointed parent. “You broke them? Our wedding pictures, seriously. All because of a stupid fight?”

He jerks away from you, storming towards the glass and kicking at it. “You didn’t even clean it up,” he says your name, tone increasing in anger. You stare at him, disbelieving and open-mouthed. 

He sits back on the armchair, thoroughly amused. He hadn’t even had to do anything to turn him against you. Your sweet James has just been waiting for a reason to get mad. “This is fucking petty, even for you.”

“What, James,” you stumble over your words, taking a hesitant step towards him. He thinks you’re pretty when you’re scared, but not like this. He doesn’t appreciate the way you approach your husband like he’s a rabid dog. You shouldn’t be scared of him, not yet at least. He hasn’t even had his fun with him yet. 

“It wasn’t me, I swear-”

“Not this ghost shit again, seriously-”

“I have proof!” You shout, your voice is desperate as you try and make yourself louder than him. You run towards your laptop, and ignore the burning smell coming from the oven. He gets up, drifting towards it and turning it off before either of you can notice. No point in having the house burn down. Where would that leave him?

You plug the camera in, turning the screen towards him. James doesn’t make a move yet, simply glaring at you like you’re a bug to be swatted. “Please,” you beg, pathetic and needy. He huffs, rolling his eyes as he watches you both. It’s all so familiar to him, he feels like he’s watching his unfortunate disaster of a marriage play out through you. 

You scrub through the times, cussing as you pass over the clip of you getting dragged. There’s a frantic look in your eye as you hit play. It almost makes him feel bad for what’s about to happen. 

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” James snaps. 

Your face falls and you move the mouse forward and back, looking like a madwoman as you try to find the right moment. You won’t, he made sure of that. Nothing but static plays when you get to the parts that would prove your innocence. 

James tugs at his tie, shaking his head in disappointment. “Not only did you fuck up all our pictures, you didn’t even have dinner ready.” He shoves past you, heading up the stairs and muttering to himself. He pulls out his phone, lingering on a contact he shouldn’t before pressing call. 

You stay still in the living room, looking at the shattered glass and then the oven. “I made your favorite,” you whisper. You suck in a shaky breath, swallowing hard as you kneel down to try and pick up the remnants of your wedding photos. 

3 AM

He sits on the bed, glancing towards the blinking red light of the camera. There’s a clear wall between you and your husband, even if neither of you wants to acknowledge it. You lay curled up in yourself, like a child afraid to seek comfort. He pities you, truly. 

He remembers the happiness of youth, the rush of being married to the person you believe is the love of your life. He will never forget the pain of realizing the person you’ve given everything to turning into someone you don’t recognize. 

His hand drifts over the swell of your cheek. Your lashes flutter, nose wrinkling at the cold brush of his touch. But you don’t flinch away from him, instead leaning into him and looking almost happy by his touch. 

He looks to your husband, eyes narrowing on his relaxed form. He sees the phone lying near him and his face sets in determination. He’s not going to let you fall into the same trap he did. And he certainly isn’t about to let another soul cramp the already stuffy walls of his home. 

It’s been quiet around the house. Less strange events and more strained dinners between you and your husband. You’ve taken to bringing the camera everywhere with you. But anytime a light bulb explodes or a frame topples over, the video goes static. 

You should have given up the hunt for evidence but you can’t give it up. You just need James to see, you need him to believe you. Or, at the very least, you need some assurance that you’re not going crazy. You’ve begun to consider the possibility. 

The bruise on your leg is gone, the constant chills that rack you are still very much present, but there’s nothing else. Everything that happens can be explained by the age of the house. You’ve only briefly discussed it with James’ sisters. Elizabeth gave you the number of a medium she knows. 

James had gotten angry when he found the business card after her visit. He didn’t like her filling your head with more nonsense and indulging you. You didn’t like how dismissive he was. It’s been a few days since the fight and you still have no desire to reconcile with him. 

It’s becoming easier to simply ignore his presence around the house. You know it’s not healthy. You’ve only just begun the marriage, you don’t need to have communication issues tainting it before it’s even on its legs. 

Still, it’s as though something’s keeping you from him. Every attempt at speaking with him is interrupted, thoughts of apologizing just to placate him are struck from your head quicker than they come. 

You stand up from the kitchen table, placing your pictures to the side. You’ve finally gotten new frames for them all, you only need to put them back up. You have no problems putting up the family pictures. Yet, the moment you make to grab the wedding picture of you and James, you grow inexplicably tired. 

Your eyelids flutter shut and you sway on your feet. Your bones grow heavy like you’ve been working all day. But you’ve only been up a few hours, and you had so much more to do today. You try and fight forward, leaning on the table and reaching for the portrait again. You almost feel like you’re nudged back, moved towards the couch. 

A short nap, you promise yourself. Just long enough to get your energy back. 

He followed him to work. That’s never happened before. He’s never been able to follow someone out of the house. He tried, with Steve, he tried to make every aspect of his life hell. But he couldn’t. 

Yet, with this one, he has no problem following him. Maybe it’s the odd resemblance they have. A haircut and a shave, they could be identical twins. But then again, he hasn’t seen his face in a long while, perhaps he’s misremembering it. 

It’s difficult to maintain this control. Half of him lingers in the house, with you, the other half is here. He’s being drawn closer to James and further from you. He doesn’t know if that’s conducive or an interruption to his plans. 

He only vaguely sees you, in his mind’s eye. He leads you to the couch, lays you down, and keeps you away from the reminders of James. He’s gotten good at keeping you both separated. It was easy to begin with, all he’s doing is showing you the truth of the man you married. If only he could really show you. 

James phone rings and he focuses on him once more. It’s Martha again. He hasn’t figured out the truth of their relationship, he’s sure he already knows it. He’s lived this life once, knows the truth of why a husband would act like this. The late-night calls, the constant misdirection of anger. 

He’s paranoid, terrified you’ll find out the truth. He wants to have his cake and eat it too. The perfect housewife at home, and the mistress who fulfills his every desire. At least, that’s his theory. He still needs to be completely sure. 

He ignores James, focusing once more on his connection to the house. He finds you right where he left you, deep in your sleep and completely oblivious to the world around you. He kneels before you, sweeping some hair off your cheeks and tilting his head as he takes in your restful face. 

You look so peaceful when you’re like this, a slight curl to your lips as you wander through dreamland. He wished he could keep you like this, wished he could completely get rid of James. But without him, you wouldn’t be able to keep the house. You’d leave it, leave him. He can’t have that. He’s been lonely for so long, he needs you, craves you. 

6 PM

“How was work?”

“Fine.”

Chewing fills the cavernous silence of your dining room. Forks scrape across porcelain, shallow breaths as you both dance around the tension that threatens to tie a noose around your marriage. You reach for your wine, hoping for another heady swallow. Just like before, you’re dissuaded from it. 

You grow tired at the thought of drowning your sorrows in the alcohol for another night. You clench your eyes shut and take a deep breath, moving the glass away from you and turning back to the roast you made. 

James’ brows furrow as he watches you. “Everything alright?”

You hum, “Tired.” He scoffs and your face falls flat. He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he cuts more aggressively into the meat. "Something wrong?” You demand, sucking on your teeth as you anticipate his answer. You’re sure it’s going to be the same broken record he’s been playing since the honeymoon. 

“Nothing,” he shrugs, tone dismissive. He pauses, taking a deep breath before laughing sardonically. “It’s just funny.” You hate how he does this, drags out his answers, and forces you to take the bait. 

You’re not playing this game of his tonight. You won’t do it again. You can’t keep going in circles with him, can’t keep indulging him in these childish tantrums. He waits, eyebrows raised and pretty blue eyes boring into yours, demanding attention. 

Those damn eyes. You wish he was just a little uglier, maybe then you wouldn’t have been so blind to how fucking awful he really is. You almost resent his mother and sisters for this. They could have warned you off, told you the horror stories of his past before the wedding. Instead, they’d warned you after it was too late and your entire life was entangled in his. 

“I work all day, come home, want a peaceful meal. What do I get?”

He falls silent again and you let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, James,” you drawl, bored of this already. Your patience for him is practically nonexistent nowadays. You used to be able to endure these conversations with him, or at the very least soothe him. But you’re tired of feeling like a babysitter and not the wife you’re supposed to be. “What do you get? A homecooked meal, a clean house, someone to come home to. Tell me,” you demand, slamming your hand on the table and surprising him. “What the fuck do you get?”

“A nagging fucking wife who does jack shit all day and complains about being tired! I work for us, so you can stay home and live out your little housewife fantasies!”

Your jaw drops and you suck in a sharp breath. You can’t even form words, nearly laughing at the audacity and ridiculousness of what he’s saying. “Oh my god,” you can only scoff, shaking your head and leaning back in your chair. You smile and roll your eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.” He stands, leaning on the table and trying to make himself bigger than he is. It only paints him in a more pathetic light. 

You cut him off before he can say anything else, scooping up your plate and storming into the kitchen. “You’re the one who insisted I quit my job. You,” you turn and gesture towards him, a disgusted sneer on your face, “wanted a fucking housewife. I was just the dumbass that listened to you. You have no right to throw that in my face. You wanted this, James!”

“Yeah, well,” for a moment you think he’s speechless. His jaw opens and closes, nothing but air leaving his parted lips. You should know better by now, he’s always got some bullshit to spew. “I didn’t think you’d be so incompetent at this.”

You drop the plate in the sink, leaning on it for support and closing your eyes. You take in deep breaths, trying to cool down the heat racing under your skin. Your blood’s pumping so hard you’re surprised a vein hasn’t burst yet. 

“Fuck this,” you push off the sink, shoving past him and moving towards the front door. 

“What are you doing?” He demands, watching as you grab your coat and your keys. 

“Going for a walk,” you tell him shortly, slamming the door behind you. You just need some time away from him, away from the suffocating shadow that seems to linger behind him all the time now. 

You pull the business card Elizabeth had given you and dial the number. You don’t know if this anger is coming from whatever the hell lives in that house or if this was always coming. But you’re not going to just roll over and let this thing ruin your marriage. 

7 PM

You’re out for an hour. He’s upset the entire time. He wants to drive James’ head into the corner of the counter over and over again until there’s nothing left but unidentifiable mush. It’s the same fight he used to have. It always started over something so stupid, he could never say anything right. 

No matter how many times he thought he finally figured Bette out. Every time he thought he had avoided some trigger for her, a new one formed. It didn’t matter how perfect of a husband he was, he would never be enough because he wasn't him. He wasn’t Steve, the man who could do no wrong in her eyes. 

He stands in the corner and watches as James paces for a while before he finally leaves, taking his keys and his phone. He takes the car and leaves you stranded here at the house. 

He knows that James could fix the car sitting idle in the garage. He could fix the car. It’s just another way of keeping you under control. James gets to decide when and where you get to go out, you don’t get a say. 

You seem relieved, though, when you come back and see James gone. You’re happier without your husband, it’s both good and bad. He needs you to resent James, needs you to hate him. But that could prove tricky for him in the future. 

“Thank you so much,” you’re on the phone, you’ve got something lumpy in your jacket. One hand lays under the buttons of your coat, stroking idly. “Yeah, Thursday sounds great. Thank you, again, for coming on such late notice.”

You hang up, placing your keys and phone in the bowl by the door. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up.” You open your jacket, revealing a bundle of matted, dirty fur underneath. Somewhere in all that mess is the scrunched face of a pissed-off cat. 

You coo to it, stroking its head and ignoring the fact it looks like it wants to rip your hand off. You bring it to the kitchen sink and he watches as you take the next few hours to wash its wounds and properly groom it. 

He never cared much for cats, or any animals, really. He never had the time or the energy to try and take care of something other than Bette. She was practically a full-time job to cater to. But he enjoys how peaceful you look being able to take care of the cat. He enjoys how much sympathy you display, even as the little bastard rips and tears at your pretty skin. 

He looms over your shoulder, stroking his phantom fingers over the cat's wet fur. It’s enough to scare it into submission. Its claws release your skin and it shrinks back into your hold. He grins, backing away and leaving you to it. 

You frown down at the cat, murmuring soothing words to it as you look around the kitchen. Sometimes he thinks you see him, thinks you can truly see through all the walls and witness what’s left of the man he was. He knows it's foolish, a ridiculous hope. 

You’ll never be able to see him. Even if you could, you would only think of him as a tormentor. He was a blight on your home and marriage, why would you ever care about him?

3 AM

You feel eyes on you. Not the unfamiliar eyes you’ve been feeling, you know these. Intimately. You stir from your light sleep, squinting through the dark. Minimal light comes in through the blinds, but it's just enough for you to see the figure standing beside you. 

You gasp, flinching away from James. He just stands over you, glaring down at where you slept. Eyes devoid of anything. “James?” You whisper. Alpine, the cat you snagged from a neighbor’s dumpster, leaps off the bed. 

She hisses at James, skirting around him and running out of the room. Your brows furrow in confusion. You look back to James, muttering his name again. He gasps like he was dragged out of a coma. 

He stumbles on his feet, tripping over them and nearly nosediving into the bed. You instinctively steady him, guiding him onto the bed beside you. “What are you doing?” You hiss at him, holding his face in your hands and looking him over for any explanation of what was just happening. 

You’ve never even heard him talk in his sleep. Let alone, sleep with his eyes wide open and staring at you. It was beyond disturbing. There’s something unfamiliar in his eyes, they’re soft as he looks at you. Soft in a way they haven’t been for a long time. 

His hand comes up to cup yours, the other almost hesitantly running across your cheek. “James?” You ask again, caught off guard by the odd display of affection.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. You’re ninety percent sure you’re still dreaming, he’s never apologized first before. It’s always been you to broker the peace. You’ll sacrifice being right if it means he’ll stop giving you the cold shoulder, he’s never done the same. 

You try to ask him what he’s talking about, but he’s surging forward before you can speak. His lips are chapped, dryer than you’re used to. He doesn’t give you much time to process anything. His hands drift to your waist, dragging you into his lap as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. You’re taken aback by the taste of metal on his tongue. It’s coppery and bitter, not at all like the mint toothpaste you both use. 

He’s not kissing you like you’re used to. He’s not trying to devour you or suffocate you by shoving his tongue as far as it goes down your throat. This is gentle, sweet. It feels like you’re being savored, not claimed. You don’t mind it, in fact, it would be nice if you weren’t so disturbed. 

He’s not acting like himself, he barely looks like he should, and he tastes wrong. This isn’t your husband kissing you. You want to pull away, you try to. But his fingers are digging into your waist and your lips are firmly locked. You can feel the chill of his hands through your pajamas. They’re like icicles, you’re sure there’s going to be a mark from them in the morning. 

“James,” you manage to mutter, pulling away from him just enough to catch your breath. “What’s,” you trail off, tongue growing too heavy to speak. Your words slur together, become one nonsensical jumble stuck in your throat. 

He shakes his head, biting his lip and slowly lowering you back onto the bed. “I’m sorry. I thought this would work.” You narrow your eyes, you have barely enough energy to shake your head in confusion. Your lips part to ask another question. He leans down, pressing one last gentle kiss to you before your eyes roll back and you’re asleep again. 

“I told you I have it handled,” James practically pouts as he sits in your armchair. You used to use it to crochet, it’s got the best view of the backyard and you like to watch the bunnies that live under the porch. But more and more, he stays there. Every second he’s home, he seems to live in that chair. 

Bette had given it to you with the house. You hadn’t really thought anything of it, but with how he’s been acting lately, you can’t help but wonder if its’ connected to whatever secrets live in these walls. Most people would be haunted and their husbands would get worse, you seem to be experiencing the opposite. 

He’s kinder, he’s bringing you flowers and cooking you breakfast. You’re woken up with praise and gentle kisses. Then he’s back to normal by lunchtime. He’s miserable at dinner, only to wake you up in the middle of the night with saccharine apologies. You’re so sick and tired of living in this whirlwind of love and misery. You just want some goddamn answers. 

You need to know the truth of what’s happening to you. Is this just how James is? Is this the house? Is there even anything wrong with the house?

You’re hoping the medium will be able to answer that for you today. Mystic Wanda, the name doesn’t give you much hope but Elizabeth told you she’s one of the best. 

Alpine runs against your legs and James glowers at her. “I told you I wanted her out of here.”

“Tough,” you respond bluntly, eyes trained on the front door. He’d thrown a hissy fit when he saw her the morning after your weird make-out session. You hadn’t bent, though, and you know he’s still upset you’re no longer blindly giving into his whims. 

The doorbell rings and you leap off the couch, rushing towards the door and throwing it open. Wanda’s eyes widen in amusement and she smiles at your eagerness. “Please, come in, and thank you again for coming on such short notice.”

You usher her inside, offering to take her jacket. She passes it to you, eyeing the interior of your home and giving you an appeasing smile. “Well, Elizabeth is a good friend of mine, she told me you were having an emergency and I wanted to help.”

James scoffs from the armchair and she glances over at him with a bemused look. You glare at him over her shoulder. “James, I presume?”

“Oh,” his eyes widen in faux amazement, “did you divine that?”

Her eyebrows raise and you know she’s unimpressed. “I could tell from the attitude. Your sister warned me you were a cynic.”

He mutters a bitter, “Whatever,” under his breath and goes back to ignoring her. 

“I’m sorry about him,” you take her by the elbow, guiding her into the kitchen and away from him. You peer over into the living room, ensuring he can’t hear you. Wanda waits expectantly for you to begin speaking. 

“He’s why I wanted you to come.” You tell her, fiddling idly with your wedding band. “He’s not himself lately.”

“More volatile?” She guesses and you shake your head, laughing bitterly to yourself.

“Less, actually. But he’s unpredictable. I never know when he’s going to be this sweet stranger or the miserable man I’ve grown used to.”

Her brows twitch and a confused smile graces her lips. “Most people aren’t upset when their husband gets better.”

“I know it’s odd,” you admit, sighing and looking down at the countertop. “But, I just need to know I’m not going crazy. I’ve been dragging this around everywhere,” you push your camera towards her. “Every time something happens, the feed cuts out. I’ve been dragged down my bed, harassed, made to think I’m losing my mind.”

You run a rough hand over your face, feeling the aches of this whole experience settle wearily along your bones. “I just need some clarity. That’s all.”

“Well,” she reaches for your hand, squeezing it in hers and giving you a comforting smile. “I can certainly help with that.”

Wanda sits in the armchair, having booted James out of it. He seems a little bit more cognizant as he sits beside you, a little more scared. You keep a wary eye on him while Wanda closes her eyes and “connects” with the house, as she put it. 

She breaks the silence abruptly and it makes you jump. “This chair came with the house?” You nod silently but you have a feeling she already knew the answer. She hums, running her hand along the arm of it. 

“It was his before it was stolen by the man he called friend. He lives in it, watches you from it.” You feel your heart racing, panic steadily rising within you. It’s like a physical caress, the fear trailing down your spine. “He wants something, too many things,” she sighs and shakes her head, frustration playing along her fine features. “It’s hard to discern the truth of it all.”

“But he’s real?” You cut in, imploring her to tell you what you’re desperate to hear.

She gives you a resigned smile, but there’s no happiness in it. “I’m afraid so.” She shouldn’t be so apologetic, this is all you wanted. To know you weren’t crazy, to have James hear it too. But when you look to him for some satisfactory celebration, his face is slack. 

“James?” 

Wanda leaps up from the chair, taking a step towards him. Your husband is gone, any sign of awareness or thought is completely gone. He looks devoid of life, like he’s been a living corpse for weeks. “James?” You call again, voice threatening to break. 

His jaw snaps shut and you jump back, rushing off the couch and stumbling towards Wanda. She grabs you, tugging you behind her, and takes in a deep inhale. “It’s him,” she whispers, eyes wide with fear. “I’ve never encountered one so strong before.”

You glance at her and then back at James. There’s fury playing on his features, and again, those eyes you don’t recognize yet somehow feel familiar. “I think you should leave,” he demands, his voice low. 

It isn’t the normal way he commands you. This is a threat, a complete assurance of power. James stands up in one fluid motion, stalking toward Wanda. She goes stiff before you and you worry she’s going to go slack the same way James did. 

“Now,” he tells her, eyebrows raised with impatience. 

“James, she can help,” you try. His head whips toward yours and you flinch away from the intense look he gives you. 

“We don’t need her help,” he whispers your name and it almost sounds like he’s pleading with you. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, you glance between Wanda and James, unsure which to follow. 

Wanda shakes her head as you take a step back from her. James’ shoulders slump with relief. “Don’t do this,” Wanda warns. “I won’t be able to come back here again. He’s growing stronger, you’ll be beyond anyone’s help soon-”

She's cut off as the light bulb above you explodes. You scream, moving instinctively towards your husband. His arms eagerly wrap around you, drawing you into his gentle hold. He runs a hand over your back and you almost miss the quiet apology he mutters into your hair. 

“Leave,” James doesn’t have to tell her again. She practically runs to the door, nearly forgetting her coat as she rushes out. You slump against him, somehow feeling defeated even after getting what you wanted. 

“Doll?” He peers down at you, pulling back slightly to get a better look. “Are you okay?”

You stare into eyes you know don’t belong to your husband and force yourself to nod. You let this stranger hold you close and ignore the sinking weight of guilt. He feels so much better than James ever did and you hate yourself for thinking that. 

Your husband is in there somewhere, being tormented by some malevolent spirit, and you’re letting him do what he wants to you. Playing house with him like everything’s normal. “Come on, let's go outside.”

You can’t do anything except listen to him. In the back of your mind, you think about how odd it is that he’s showing himself now. He usually waits until later in the day. 

How sick is it, you have a schedule for when your husband will be possessed?

He leads you to the back porch, to the rocking chairs that were there when you moved in. but he doesn’t let you sit in one. No, he guides you down onto his lap, keeping you close as you get yourself comfortable. 

James isn’t like this. He doesn’t let you love him like this. Your touch practically repulses him nowadays. But he can’t seem to get enough of you now. Holding onto you like he might not get to again. 

“Wanda said he was growing stronger,” you mutter absentmindly. He goes tense under you, but he doesn’t yell at you or get mad. He just squeezes your hand in his, idly tracing shapes over your palm. 

“I was thinking of planting some rosebushes,” he tells you, completely brushing over what you said. 

“I thought you wanted to rip the garden out and build a pool,” you tell him bitterly. The neighborhood has its own pool. You’ve been begging James to keep the old lady’s flowers in the back but he won’t have it. 

Now, miraculously, he’s giving in to your whims. You don’t know if you should be happy or disgusted. You’re sitting on the lap of something that isn’t your husband anymore. You don’t feel like you can trust your mind anymore. You struggle to differentiate between your dreams and reality. 

He laughs a little, brushing some hair out of your face and smiling at you. It’s not the smile you fell in love with, or the eyes you fell in love with, but you can feel yourself falling. Or, maybe, you’re just desperate for someone to be kind to you. For someone to love you the way a husband should love his wife. 

“I want you to be happy, Doll.” James doesn’t call you Doll.

“Maybe some gardenias too,” you lean back into his chest, letting yourself get more comfortable. 

You feel his smile against your skin, he turns his nose to nuzzle against your cheek, planting a kiss there. “I’ll buy the seeds tomorrow.” You nod absentmindedly, trying to settle the way your stomach flips. 

3 AM

“James!” You scream his name, leaping onto his side of the bed and holding onto him as tight as you can. He shoots up, grabbing you and turning you to face him. 

“What?” He demands, face pale with worry. 

You frown, glaring at him, “You didn’t hear that?” The bedroom door slams closed and you scream again, curling into his hold. 

“Holy shit!” He shouts, he tries to hold onto you but something grabs his leg. The same way you’d been dragged the first night, he’s pulled out of bed. You scream his name, the bedroom door flies open, and watch as he’s dragged into the hall. 

You leap over the bed, feet tangled in the sheets as you lunge towards the door. He’s screaming, primal sounds of nothing but pure terror ripping through the house. You pound on the locked door, tearing at the knob until you think you might rip it off. 

“James! Please!” You sob against the wood, slamming your shoulder into it until it cracks. Pain shoots down to your elbow and you flinch back, “Fuck,” the screams go quiet on the other side of the door and your eyes widen. 

“James!” You screech, your fists pound against the door until you feel the skin crack and blood dribble down your arms. Something cool brushes against your neck, like a breath. “Stop,” you plead, “stop it, give him back.”

The door swings outward, the wrong way, and you wonder how the hinges don’t break. The only light on is the linen closet. The same closest that you know has a scuttlehole. You don’t think, just run towards it. Your bare feet pound against the hardwood, shaking the whole house in your race for the door. 

You burst through, nearly stumbling facefirst into the ladder. You clench your eyes shut, nails digging into your palms as you look up to see the scuttle hole already open and beckoning you forward. 

Blood trails up the ladder and you could almost cry seeing it. You can’t waste time, can’t dawdle. You don’t know what happened to James but you know it’s not good that he’s quiet. You force yourself up the rickety ladder, pulling yourself into the attic and looking around for any signs of life. 

You didn’t realize how much junk the old lady had left behind in the house. But the attic is chock full of her past. Dusty and browned filing boxes litter old antique tables. Wardrobes, trunks of clothes from the fifties. A mannequin with an unfinished dress. There’s an entire life up here, one she seemed to have just willingly left behind. 

You frown down at something that really draws your eye, a box with a scrawled B.B. on the side. The light’s on, but it's dim and only illuminates the box. Still, you try and squint through the dark to find James. There’s no sign of him anywhere, you can’t help but wonder what the trail of blood on the ladder was. 

You lean down and pick up the box. “What’re you doing?”

You scream, your throat going sore from how much you seem to be doing that tonight. James is on the ladder behind you, a dazed look on his face as he waits for your answer. You tilt your head in confusion, trying to calm your heart from the adrenaline rush that was ten minutes earlier. 

These are different eyes. This isn’t him. Your gaze darts back to the box and you pass it to him. “Take that,” you demand. He doesn’t question you, if anything it seems to make him happy. He drops it down the ladder and holds his hand out to help you down. 

You take it, hissing at how cold his hands are. He only gives you another eerie smirk. Once you’re steady and on the ground, you back slowly out into the hallway. “What happened earlier?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know. I must have been sleepwalking.”

Your face drops and you scoff, “You were fucking dragged down the hall and I got locked in the bedroom. You weren’t sleepwaking, James.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and flips the lights off. You’re plunged into darkness, a slight whimper ripping its way out of your throat. You’re forced to rely on his guidance as he leads you down the hall. “You’re tired, Doll, we should just go to bed.”

You think back to the box, waiting for you in the closet. There’s no arguing with him, though. You’ll have to deal with it tomorrow morning. You can only pray that you’re not awoken so violently again. 

“Sweetheart,” you mumble tiredly, swatting blindly at the voice. There’s a low chuckle, and then the familiar press of lips against your forehead. “Wake up, I’ve gotta go soon.”

You’re slow to open your eyes, just barely making out James’ blurry shape. “James,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes to try and force them to focus on his form. “What’re you doing?” You asked, words slurring together. 

He places a tray down on the nightstand and the smells of coffee and pancakes break your dazed trance. You sit up straighter in bed, giving him a confused look. Two years of dating, and a few months of marriage, not once has he greeted you with breakfast in bed. 

“James?” you question, he only shakes his head, darting forward to kiss you. Your eyes flutter shut and you find yourself leaning into the touch. It doesn’t take long for it to grow heated, his chilled hands drifting under your shirt and tugging you towards him. 

You’re finding it easier and easier to simply give in to his whims. Your legs spread over his and you melt into his hold like you were made to fit against him. “Shit, Doll,” he huffs against your parted lips, pupils blown wide as he stares up at you. His lips are a pretty pink, swollen, and glistening from your kisses. You almost want to bite them. 

You hold back the urge, leaning back and giving him a small smile. It’s enough to make his whole face light up. “You know how badly I want to stay in bed with you today?” You almost invite him to, but the foggy cloud of an abrupt wake-up finally parts. 

You remember the box from last night, what you need to do today. So, you pull back from him, his arms releasing you reluctantly. It’s so peculiar, how his metal hand is warmer than the flesh one. “Going to work?”

He hums, eyes narrowing in on you suspiciously. You reach for the coffee and take a sip, exactly how you like it. It’s pathetic that your suspicion grows because you know your husband doesn’t know how you take your coffee. 

“I’ll miss you,” you tell him, and it’s the first time you haven’t had to force the words out to appease him. It almost feels genuine this time. He gives you a resigned smile, kissing your cheek and leaning back. 

He pets Alpine, stroking down her smooth white fur and smiling at her too. “I’ll see you both later,” he tells you, a promise. You bite your lip and nod. His footsteps echo down the stairs and you leap off the bed, the abrupt move scaring the life out of Alpine. She growls in discontent and stalks off. The door closes and you run to the window, watching the driveway to make sure he’s gone for sure. 

You race into the hall, throwing the closet door open and dragging the dusty box out. Mildew and mold cling to it, but you don’t have time to be concerned with germs. You need answers. You take it downstairs, toss it on the kitchen table, and forget all about your breakfast upstairs. 

It’s odd, how much cozier the house has become. Sunlight streams through the windows and warms your seats and couches. You no longer feel eyes in the shadows. A creak is just a creak. It’s like your fear has just been snatched from you. 

The thought is enough to unsettle you, but you ignore it for now. You’ll worry about that another day. You toss the lid of the file box inside and what greets you only further irritates you. Piles of unorganized papers and pictures, each of the more faded by time than the other. 

You pluck out the first one you see and nearly gasp. It’s James, but not James. A picture of a WWII soldier, in his uniform and posing in front of an army vehicle. He looks just like your husband, but his eyes crinkle a little more when he smiles, his happiness palpable through the picture. He’s even got a prosthetic arm. 

You flip the picture over, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, is written out in pretty cursive. Directly under it is 1942. You drop the picture, taking a few steps back and shaking your head. “No, no, nope,” you shake your head, simply ignoring the truth that lay in front of you. 

Somewhere out there, there’s an alternative version of your husband who was a WWII veteran and apparently lived in this house. Same fucking name and everything. “Oh, fuck me, this is insane.” You glare at the box, not wanting to believe anything you’re seeing. 

How could your life have devolved into this shitfest, just because you moved into one fucking house? How could one crappy ad in the newspaper have completely turned your life upside down and thrown you into the twilight zone?

You throw yourself into a chair, slumping over the wooden table and taking in grounding breaths. You wanted the truth, you’re going to get it. Even if none of it makes any sense. The next few pictures you grab are all in the same sepia tint. One of him standing in front of the garden, another before a truck, even one in the goddamn armchair currently sitting in your living room. And in each one, he looks as happy as can be. But there’s something nearly artificial in his smile. 

You look at the pictures on your mantle and frown. You can’t exactly judge him. You’ve got the same smile in all your pictures too. Just slightly off, something about it slightly forced for the sake of the person beside you.

You find one of him with a very unhappy-looking woman. She’s pretty, even if she does look a little wicked, and she also looks remarkably like you. What bizzaro world is this? She’s nearly identical to you, but she looks goddamn miserable. A hulking blond man has his arm slung around Bucky, fingers just barely grazing the woman’s shoulder. 

You flip it over and find, Bette, Bucky & Steve at the new house, 1950. Bette, the woman who sold you the house. Who told you what nursing home her kids were sticking her in. You leap up from the table, running to grab your coat and racing out of the house. 

Bucky glances down at James' phone and grins. He pulls the car into the apartment complex and picks up the call, “Hello?”

“Where are you?” The woman on the other end demands sharply. 

Bucky sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and fighting back the spirit surging within him. His left hand twitches without his permission and his eyes narrow in frustration. James was easy enough to subdue last night. He was caught off guard, terrified. 

Now, he’s pissed off and fighting. Bucky doesn’t appreciate the efforts to take control. “I just pulled in. I’ll be up in a minute.” He shuts the phone off and jerks the rearview mirror to face him. The eyes that stare back at him are not his own. 

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” James demands, spitting the words out like he has any sort of power over Bucky. 

Bucky grins, “Wasn’t planning on it.”

James’ face falls and his eyes widen with worry. “What does that mean?” Bucky flips the mirror back in place, glancing up to the third-story apartment where Martha waits for him. He turns the engine off, slowly exits the car, and makes his way up the stairs. 

He’s sure to take his time, enjoying how James grows more and more terrified. It only feeds him, makes him stronger, and grants him more control over him. He’s getting better at controlling him, finally had enough strength to fully take over last night. 

Before, he only had the energy to take over the body for a few hours, at most. But the longer he held influence over James, the further his influence spread. Soon, he could leave the house, without having to use James’ body as an anchor. He’s evolved past anchors and the brick walls that once contained him. He only had one last loose end before he could be with you fully. 

He knocked on the red door, waiting for Martha to answer. It didn’t take long. She threw the door open, face screwed up with rage. “Look who came back. I told you that little bitch of yours wouldn’t be good enough for you.”

Bucky kept the look on his face serene. He tried not to show the rage that raced through him at her grating tone. He wanted to rip her tongue out and choke her with it. He wished he could pluck out her eyeballs and serve them to her on a silver platter. A million different ways came to him as he stepped into her apartment. 

“Hello, Martha.”

“Thanks for seeing me, Bette.”

Bette kept her hands in her lap, picking at the wrinkles of her skin. “It’s grown so thin,” she looked at you, seeing straight through you. “I used to be like you, so pretty, so young.”

Your face screws up in discomfort and you nod dismissively. “You know why I want to talk.”

Bette sighs and clicks her tongue. “Oh, Bucky,” she says his name forlornly, playing the perfect mourning lover. But you know better, she doesn’t mean a damn bit of her grief. 

“Drop it,” you snap, looking around to make sure no nurses are watching. The white sterile walls of the nursing home loom over you. Bette’s eyes snap towards you, the thin film of dementia disappears and she slumps into her chair. 

“Fine. Dammit, what the hell do you want? You already took my house.”

“Yeah, and your damn ghost. I want some fucking answers, Bette.”

She chuckles, the noise bitter and her expression cruel. “You know, you remind me a lot of Bucky. Got that same kicked puppy look to you that makes me want to smack you around.” Despite your best intentions of remaining passive, you feel your heart twinge in sympathy for Bucky. 

Bette’s got the same bitter look in her eye that James used to. You don’t see much of it anymore. Strange how much your life has changed in just over two weeks. “I thought he’d see you and finally move on. He’d finally get his damn revenge on me, I mean you look just like me.”

You can’t help but agree with her. You slip the picture out of your purse and put it on the table before you. “I saw,” you mutter, glancing down at the uncanny resemblance between you both. “I want to know what happened, Bette. I want to know why he’s stuck in my walls, why he’s stuck in my husband,” you add.

Her eyes widen and her jaw gapes. “He’s got your husband?” You nod and you’re caught off guard when she begins to cackle. “God, even dead he’s still the same pathetic, snivelling bastard he used to be.”

You can’t help but get angry, you almost want to defend him. Sure, he’s tormented you, but clearly, he had a reason to be bitter about having to look at your face all the damn time. You’d go crazy too if this was the bitch you were married to. 

“Bette,” you warn, voice low. 

She huffs and snatches the picture. “No harm in telling you, I suppose.” She gives you a wicked grin, “No one will believe you anyway.”

“I met Bucky when I was young, too young. We got married because he was getting shipped off to war. He wanted someone to write letters to, to come home to, and I figured he’d die before I ever saw him again. I could cash in on widow’s benefits. Then the son of a bitch had to go and get honorably discharged for getting his arm blown off.”

Your brows furrow in disgust. You’ve never seen such an evil old woman before. You pray you don’t turn into a wicked old hag like her when you get older. “Steve, his best friend, was discharged around the same time as him. Came to live with us for a while so he could get his life in order.”

Bette glares at you and tosses the picture back to you. You catch it before it slides off the table and she keeps going. “See, some women weren’t as loyal as I was. His lady moved on real fast, left him lonely and looking for a warm place to sleep at night. Bucky, well, he just wasn’t a man. He obeyed me like a little bitch and took every hit I gave him because he thought he deserved it. Steve never did that, always put me in my place. He was a man,” she hisses out the word and you have the sudden urge to slap her. 

“One thing led to another, we were in love and Bucky was in the way. We got rid of him, what else do you want me to say?”

You can’t even figure out where to begin. She’s fucking despicable. Not only did she not love him, he was utterly devoted to her and she fucked his best friend. Killed him to be with him. Despite this overload of information, only one question comes to you. 

“Where did you bury him?”

5 PM

You let out a loud grunt, sweat pouring down your back as you bring the sledgehammer into the brick wall. There’s a loud crack and you pause, taking a step back. A moment later a brick slips out of its place. It doesn’t take much longer for the others to follow. 

There’s a loud crash as it all comes tumbling down, decades of dust and debris float into the air. It drifts down your nose and creeps into your lungs. You drop the sledgehammer to the cement of the basement with a clatter. You kneel over, waving the dust away and trying to cough it out. 

Something rolls against the floor, something hollow that clatters against your shoe. You glance down, stunned into silence as a gaping skull stares back up at you. You stumble away from it, nearly kicking it back, and trip right into the warm chest of your husband. 

Bucky stares down at you, his face blank and devoid of anything you might be able to read. “You talked to Bette?”

You nod mutely, taking a step back from him. You wince as your heel comes down on something that cracks under your weight. You try to look down, to see what bone you’ve just broken, but he stops you. He grabs your chin, tilting your face towards him and forcing you to meet his eyes. “What are you going to do?” He demands, he tries to sound strong, but you can hear the fear that trembles under the cool tone. 

Rest In Peace

Husband, Brother, Friend

James Buchanan Barnes

“It’s a bit morbid isn’t it?” You peer up at him and shake your head. 

“No, he deserves a proper burial.” You place the flowers on top of the fresh grave and stand. You take a few steps back and Bucky pulls you into his chest. “You, I mean. I just feel like your memory deserves its rightful resting place.”

He lets out a heavy sigh and you squeeze his hand. “You think Steve’s in here somewhere?”

You scoff and feel yourself growing angry on his behalf. “He deserves to rot under a bridge somewhere, along with that bitch.”

Bucky laughs pulling back from you and giving you a wide smile. It’s genuine, the first genuine smile you’ve seen on his face in a long time. “Thank you,” he mutters. You shrug, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“I’m your wife, I’m supposed to have your back.” You reach up, pushing a wave back behind his ear. He’s finally let his hair grow out again. He complains it gets in his eyes when he tries to garden, but you love how it looks on him so he keeps it. 

His face lights up, the same way it always does when you say you’re his wife. You interlace your fingers together, pulling him away from his grave and back towards the car. You’re supposed to meet Mrs. Barnes soon, you’re having Thanksgiving dinner at your house tomorrow so the whole family can finally see it. 

Since the discovery of Bucky’s bones and the literal skeleton in the house's closet, you’ve kept family members away from you both for a while. It was a long adjustment period, getting used to the truth and each other. Accepting the fact that James was gone for good wasn’t as hard a pill to swallow as it should have been.  

You have a theory that you both were meant to be with each other, either in the forties or today. Something got messed up in the universe’s timeline and instead, you got James and he got Bette. This paranormal experience must have just been fate’s way of cleaning up what it had ruined so horribly. 

You look up at Bucky, the way his eyes crinkle even when he’s not smiling, and feel something warm spreading through your chest. You don't mind the cold fingers and chilling touch at night when it’s him you’re sharing it with. 

You place the turkey down in front of Bucky and he sends you a blissful smile. You can’t help but lean over the back of his chair and plant a loud kiss on his cheek. Janey gags, tossing a roll at her older brother. “Quit it, would you, I’d like to have an appetite.”

You chuckle, taking your seat beside him. Bucky can’t help but want to cry. This is what he’s wanted for so long. His family back, the woman he loves to love him back. It’s what he begged for. The loss of it all had turned him into this bitter, malevolent spirit. 

As much as he’d like to say he regrets or feels guilt for what he did to Bette, Steve, Martha, and James, he can’t. He tormented Steve until he died of a terror-induced heart attack at fifty. He’d driven poor Bette into the nursing home where her children would let her rot for the rest of her miserable life. Martha won’t be heard from again. 

And James, poor James. He must have had the worst fate of them all. It’s been a while since he’s heard anything from James. He searches for him now, his tiny presence lingering somewhere in the back of his mind. 

Bucky takes your hand, looks at his sisters and mother, and smiles at them. He raises his glass for a toast, slapping at James until he’s forced out of his slumber. Look, he thinks, speaking of all he’s grateful for to you and the other women. They know, he feels James looking through his eyes. 

He sees the way his family smiles at Bucky, and how much happier they look with him. They know, he tells James, they know I’m not you. James pounds futilely against Bucky’s walls. He screams and sobs, begging for you to help him. 

They don’t want you, James. They know that the world is better without you. He lets James linger in his misery, he savors his despair, lets it energize him, and then tosses him back to the abyss. James goes quietly, he gave up fighting a while ago. 

It wouldn’t matter anyway. His brief period of rebellion has fed Bucky enough to keep him subdued for the rest of his life. You squeeze his hand, “I love you,” you whisper, passing him the sweet potatoes. 

He smiles back at you and repeats the same words he’s already said a hundred times to you. This is at it always should have been. Steve, Bette, and James were all stepping stones to get him to you. He wasn’t going to let you go now. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Marvel (Winter Soldier), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

fantasizing about a fictional guy who would probably be a horrible boyfriend but being delusional and thinking he’d have a soft spot for me

40s bucky headcanons (lwky kinda suggestive)

40s!bucky who begs for you too send spicy polaroids with your mail when he’s away

40s!bucky who obviously sends ones of him back

40s!bucky who in his time in london got ridiculed for being so protective of his letters

40s!bucky who the second steve snatched one away from him and ripped it he yelled

40s!bucky who carefully went through photo surgery with tape

40s!bucky whose mail got lost and opened and then reported

40s!bucky who got called into his base commander’s office for outer personal misconduct

40s!bucky who could care less

I DONT ALLOW MY WORK TO BE TRANSLATED REPOSTED OR PLAGIARIZED WITHOUT CREDIT OR PERMISSION

Bucky Barnes/James Barnes/The Winter Soldier imagines

Hi all! This is a pretty long list of possible situations for you and our darlin' Plum. Feel free to use them however, and if possible, tag me! I love reading Bucky x Reader (or Bucky x Tony, ikik..) and there's just never enough of it around.

I'm thinking about doing some of these so let me know if you're interested in reading one!

You are a consultant on cultural behavior, which means you detail the best appearance, attitude, and quirks for an undercover agent to have. Given your indepth knowledge, Fury assigns you the arduous task of bringing Steve Rogers and James Barnes up to speed on history post-1949.

You have known Tony for 15 years. You were born on August 1st, 1980, and attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After the war, you found yourself numb and detached from life, with your only surviving close friends and family being Harry James Potter and Ron Weasley. After suffering through apathy and depression for five years, at the age of 23, you throw yourself through the Veil. Unsure if you will encounter a blissful void, screeching hellfire and your righteous maker, or some other world, you put all your belongings in an extended bag and welcome the final step. Funnily enough, you fell face-forward into a gutter. 15 years later, Tony calls on you to consult on the portals opening at random. Unsure what to expect, seeing as you are the last magical being on this earthly realm, you agree. What you find brings back memories of parseltongue, bloodquils, and man with 7 lives. Bucky x Reader.

Born into an impoverished family, Y/N Y/L/N is the last in a long line of witch-hunters. Your father was already well into his 60s when you were born, so when he passed, it was just your mother left to instill the family doctrine in you. Despite this all, you eventually turn to a life of normalcy, and become a historian specializing in occult artifacts (that's normal, right?). Stephen Strange is a close friend, and eventually asks you to help him in his research kickstarted by Jane Foster. You come into contact with all of the Avengers although you've barely held a conversation past "Hi, how ya doin'?". With Darcy as your new best friend, and her ridiculous affair with the God of Lies, you find yourself reciting the words your father had carved into his flesh. "For our King, our God, and the Righteousness of Divinity, may God have Mercy upon your Filthy Soul." Would be very interesting with a fictional twist on a religion or faith of your choosing. Bucky x Reader where eventually Reader is the only person in the tower/compound who can successfully defend herself against attacks by the supernatural without heavy firepower- Bucky being the exception of course. Horror!theme?

It had been a nice sunny day in Manhattan. You thought to yourself, "You know what, this is gelato weather. I deserve gelato." And instead you get shot by some asshole with a red star on his shirt, kidnapped by a blonde man with a shield, and then told it was your fault for telling the red star asshole to leave your landlord alone.

Peter thinks he's sly- that you don't know about his spandex-wearing cobwebby bullshit. Ha! You'd lived next door all your life. Your WINDOW faces his. Who does he think he's fooling? Doesn't matter, he got you into a Stark Expo VIP tour. But hey, that tall brooding dude looks like he needs a laugh. Wait, what do you mean you can't say "Who pissed in your cornflakes?" to the Winter Soldier? He's not the Winter Soldier, he- oh. Shit. Haaa..haha.. "PETER!!"

As Tony Stark's assistant, you've seen a lot of stuff. You've seen him butt naked, you've seen him so drunk he thought you were Rhodey (somehow), and you've even had your heart in his chest. You and he trust each other completely. One day, you get a call and it's a hospital in Y/Home/Town. They say your grandpa had a heart attack. And so you're on leave for 2 months making sure he's okay. Ol' Dirty Dugan doesn't go down easy. When you return, there is a strange split in the team. Tony spends even more time in his lab, he smells awful, and there's bags under his eyes. The team doesn't mention him and you notice they don't call him out for missions anymore. Wtf? After some digging you find out that Clint, Natasha, Steve, Sam, and Wanda are convinced Tony is a piece of shit. They think he's selfish, a coward, and a pervert, all because of misinformation and his public image. Hell fucking no. Thank god they thawed Barnes out, at least he isn't partaking in Bully-Tony-Tuesday. In fact.. he seems to be just as distant and despondent as Tony. You have a lot of work to do.

Bucky is your best friend. In the sense that, you don't have any real friends, and he doesn't let people close. But you bring him coffee, he shares his protein bars, and sometimes you two watch youtube together. Then one day an office clerk slaps your ass. What does Bucky do? He fractures the guys jaw.

"Happy Birthday to me. Happy birthday to me.. Happy Birthday, dear (Y/N), happy..birthday..to me.." Nobody remembered. Again. Your parents didn't call. Your sister didn't call. Your old friends didn't call. Nobody on the team said anything, but then again, they probably didn't know.. you are just a lab assistant anyway. Oh, well, Jarvis 2.0 did say Happy Birthday. That was nice. Bucky overheard Jarvis, though. So he goes out and buys some flowers, a bottle of sake, and a cheesecake. And then you cry and doesn't know why. Happy birthday to me. Oneshot. Fluffy angst.

They didn't know you were sick. None of them. You were conveniently out of town when the medical check ups took place, and never allowed the pain to show on your face. But one day at work you collapse, and they can't wake you up. Cho discovers you have kidney disease. You're dying and have been for a while. Tony pays top dollar for an immediate transplant, but it will still take a month or two. You used to have morning chats with Barnes after his run. You always were an early bird. But now he's on assignment somewhere secret, and you feel even more numb. Bucky couldn't handle the thought that you'd die (you won't but he doesn't know that), so he runs. He runs and immerses himself in a mission, believing you'd never feel the same way.

You came home and discovered your boyfriend of eight years in bed with a woman you'd never seen before. Turns out they'd been having a secret affair for nearly 5 years. You are arrested for punching him in the face- not that you remember, you blacked out in rage- and humourously enough, Barnes is the one who collects you from the station. It's okay, you hadn't been in love with Jerry for a long time, but it still hurt. So when you see Jerry with his 'side chick' three months later, you also discover Bucky had a sense of humour. Apparently you're now married to James Barnes, have been for a while, and are pregnant. Of course you're not but somehow Bucky knew just what to say and do to piss Jerry right off.

What Phone Sex Is Like With…

Bucky Barnes

———————————————————————————

Bucky had been away on a mission for a few weeks, and it took some adjusting for the both of you as it had been a long time since you two had been separated for even more than a few days.

It was lonely not having Bucky around the house, it was too quiet and too void of his comforting smell. You had gotten used to your sort of routine and you missed him dearly.

Somewhere thousands of miles away from his home, Bucky was thinking the exact same thing. He missed you, he missed waking up in the morning and getting to admire you for a little bit before you woke up and started your day. He even missed the cute little line of drool you would sometimes have on your face.

As Bucky thought about all the things he missed about you, he started to think about the way your skin felt on his, the way your hands felt roaming his body while your nails scratched down his back as he rutted against you.

Bucky readjusted himself in his bed as his pajama pants got increasingly tighter. He tried to ignore the feeling of the sudden arousal and will himself to go to sleep as there was a time difference and he didn’t want to disturb the deep sleep you were most likely in.

After about half an hour of tossing and turning Bucky sat up rubbing his face, while he was trying to sleep all the images his mind could conjure up were of you, writhing underneath him softly moaning his name as he touched you.

Which unfortunately for him, didn’t help at all.

The brunette threw the covers off of him, glancing at the clock as he made his way to the bathroom in the hotel he was staying at.

2:30 am. Goddamn it Barnes.

He splashed some cold water on his face trying to cool himself down and snap out of it, but he couldn’t help it. He missed his girl. Sighing after taking in his appearance in the mirror he turned the bathroom light off and returned to bed.

As he slid under the covers he thought about calling you, maybe hearing your voice would help him sleep, maybe not. But then again you were probably sleeping and he would feel terrible for interrupting that just because his dick was hard.

Deciding against it, Bucky slid his hands down into his boxers gently palming his erection. He could feel more blood rush into his cock so he rubbed harder, finally pushing his boxers down and letting his cock spring free. His right hand wrapped around his shaft and began to slowly move up and down not wanting to rush the feeling.

Bucky's lips parted slightly as he focused his mind on memories of you, he could still hear the way you begged him to let you cum as he edged you for the third time one night.

Remembering the sight of the tears of frustration in your eyes made Bucky let out a low groan. The more he thought about you, the faster he pumped until he just couldn’t take anymore, he had to hear your voice.

Bucky grabbed his phone off of the nightstand before finding your name in his contacts, pressing the call button he held the phone up to his ear, his hand still going as he listened to the ringing waiting for you to pick up.

After a few rings you finally answered “Bucky?” your sleep ridden voice came through the phone. “Hey sweetheart” Bucky grunted into the phone, the sound of your voice sending a shockwave through his body.

You could hear Bucky panting through the phone, still half asleep you thought something was wrong “Is everything okay? It’s like 3 in the morning, are you alright?” a soft gasp came through the phone “m’fine doll, I just, just need you so bad right now”

The sleep faded out of your system and was replaced by the tingling feeling of butterflies in your stomach when you finally heard the familiar rhythmic sounds in the background as Bucky moaned and gasped into the phone.

“Are you touching yourself Buck” You knew he was and it wasn’t even a question really, you just wanted to hear his whines as he said it. “Yes” His voice came out cracked “Yes fuck, I am. I couldn’t help it I’ve missed you so much y/n” he breathed. You let out a soft whimper at the way he said your name.

You laid back down in your shared bed, slipping a hand into your underwear as you listened to Bucky pleasure himself on the other end.

“What’s gotten you all worked up like this baby?” you moaned out. Bucky's hips bucked into his hand at the sounds of your moans “You did angel, couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you. Miss that wet little pussy begging for my cock”

Oh God how you loved it when Bucky talked dirty like this. Your hand started to spread the wetness that had pooled in your panties around your pussy just like Bucky's would do.

“Fuck Bucky” you groaned circling your clit with your wet fingers. As you started to pump your fingers inside of your pussy, Bucky could hear the squelching sounds and his mind conjured up a picture of what you had looked like in that moment.

A deep guttural groan came from the soldier and his hand came up to rub his thumb over the tip of his cock, spreading the precum over his shaft.

“Bet you look so fucking good right now doll, can just hear how wet that little cunt is for me. Tell me how wet it is baby” Bucky’s words went straight to your core and your back slightly arched off of your bed “So so wet Buck, need you so bad”

You managed to choke out through your gasps. “Fuck” He groaned “Love how needy and desperate you always sound, like a dirty little slut who’s just begging to be fucked”

Bucky chuckled at the way your breath hitched in your throat at the name he gave you “You like that don’t you, fucking whore” you could practically see the grin on his face as he exploited your desires. “Buck please I’m so close, I can’t-” your voice trailed off into a moan as the knot in your stomach tightened. “You wanna cum?” Bucky grunted out.

You could tell he was getting closer to his own orgasm by the way his voice was slightly strained. “Yes!” you blurted out “Yes please let me cum just-” you grunted, not really sure what you were saying but wanting Bucky to help you to sweet release.

Though you weren’t sure how it was possible, the skin on skin sounds of Bucky's hand on his cock got even faster and his groans turned into whimpers.

“Hang on just a little longer sweetheart. Wanna cum with you” You threw your head back in frustration “Almost there, be my good girl and keep rubbing that clit for me” You moved your fingers in tight circles over your slightly sensitive clit, juices coating your fingers.

By now you had put your phone on speaker, the sounds of Bucky’s and your frequent moans filled the room as you fought to keep yourself from succumbing to an orgasm.

“I can’t hold on any longer James,” you whimpered. Bucky let out a choked gasp “I’m gonna- shit” he breathed “Cum with me y/n” Bucky’s voice cracked as he moaned out your name, thick ropes of cum spilling over his hand and stomach. Listening to Bucky only made another wave of euphoria wash over you as you rode out your orgasm, back arching as your eyes squeezed shut.

As you came down from your high you could faintly hear Bucky praising you “Such a good girl for me sweetheart” and “Always do so well for me” reached your ears over now slight panting and you smiled. Even thousands of miles away and over the phone, Bucky was still providing the sweetest form of aftercare to you.

“Thank you doll” Bucky’s voice rang out. “I really needed that” You heard rustling as he cleaned himself and settled back into bed. As you did the same you asked “Stressed?” A quiet hum came through the phone that was now off speaker “Something like that”

You softly chuckled “Do you wanna talk about it now that you’ve destressed a little bit” Bucky let out his own laugh “Maybe later when I’m home doll”

You yawned tired from the late night activities “I’ll hold you to that” “Get some sleep y/n, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” You hummed in agreement, eyes starting to feel heavy. “I love you” Bucky's voice became deeper as sleep started creeping in “I love you too James”

Pressing the end call button and setting your phone on your nightstand to charge, you pulled your blankets over your shoulders as your eyes slid shut, ready to be another day closer to Bucky coming home.

How Civil War Started...

Steve: Tony! You want to hear a joke?

Tony: N-

Steve: How much did it cost to kill your parents?

Tony: ...

Steve: A Buck...

Everyone: 👁👄👁

Steve & Bucky:

INFINITY WAR: Theory of CAPTAIN AMERICA

To all the members of the marvel fandom... this may break some of your hearts but it’s probably 42% false, hopefully.

Everyone knows that Chris Evans is done his 6 movie marvel contract and that he would have to be signed back later... well, infinity war part 1 is his last marvel movie as Captain America😭

And on the other hand, Sebastian Stan has a 9 movie marvel contract and has only done 4, including infinity war part 1. What I’m getting at is...

BUCKY BARNES MIGHT BE THE NEXT CAPTAIN AMERICA😱

ARGHHH I’ve probably just broken some of your hearts but it’s probably the truth. This is most likely affecting EVERYONE AND IT IS NOT OKAY. I SWEAR TO GOD IF ANYONE DIES IN INFINITY WAR,(R.I.P Vision) I WILL TACKLE STAN LEE! It’s either Steve Rogers dies or Bucky becomes Captain America...

What do y’all think??? Anyone thought the same thing???🤔

Loving how they used the comic design for the new red star ⭐

HE NAKEYYY🤺

Spicy Brownies

18+ 

High Bucky x reader 

Remember Spicy Plants ? Here’s spicy brownies. Welcome to another crack fic. 

Imagine the first time Bucky tries edibles. He knew they would hit differently than smoking but he didn’t think much would happen so he had another. Then another. He was a super solider so he’d be fine. So he had one more. 

He was fine.

He was totally and completely fine. 

“Y/N!”

“Y/N Y/N Y/N!!”

“Oh my GOD!”

You and Steve sat in the living room, giving each other panicked looks hearing Bucky yelling from your shared bedroom. You both sprinted to the elevator and ran down the hall, bursting through the door, unsure of what was going on. 

“What is it Buck- oh my god” 

“What the hell…” Steve blinked, slowly backing away while you cocked your head to the side, observing a very naked Bucky looking at the mirror. 

“He nakeyyyy” Bucky whispered, staring at himself in the mirror wide eyed, cupping his own cheeks in utter shock. “Y/n, there’s a naked man in our room” 

Keep reading

I need to be his controversialy young girlfriend 🏌🏻

babydoll ⋆.𐙚 ̊

cw: age gap

He feels like a creep. Plain and simple. Bucky knows that any woman would be considered “younger”, but you just take the cake. He momentarily feels how hot hell is when you delicately push his hair to the side, clipping in into place with pastel beret. The rest of it gathered into a cutesy scrunchie. “Okay, this one is for wrinkles.” You say, clambering onto his lap. His girl isn’t the most graceful.

The bottle makes him grimace, but the feel of your cute butt in his lap makes it tolerable. He has wrinkles older than you—yikes. “It smells.” He grumbles as he feels you rub skincare product into his skin. “It’s supposed to be lilies!” You say lightly patting his cheek. “This is stupid.” He deadpans, he wraps his arms around your middle when you loop your arms around his shoulders. “It’s not stupid, you’ll thank me someday mister.” You chide very seriously, yelping when he smacks your side. It’s not fair, when you pout like that he wants to kiss you senseless. “Don’t call me mister, ‘m not some stranger you little brat.” He grumbles, being particularly gentle as he slides his cool metal arm under your shirt, just over your tummy. “Sorry baby.” You croon, taking the moment to steal a kiss.

His mental crisis is not helped by the pet name. Baby? If anything you’re the baby here, he gives you a look, it makes you laugh. He finds you to be soothing. You’re a modern woman sure, but those little pj’s you have on with your hair all done up in rollers make him remember a simpler time. He’ll deal with the weird glances whenever you two walk down the street together. He’s not embarrassed anymore to pad over and ask you whatever slang word he’s picked up while people watching. Best of all, he’s finally stopped being stubborn about using his reading glasses to read your texts and see all the cute little selfies you send him.

You pat lotion into his skin, and smile at him. He kisses you, scratching you with stubble. It’s a welcomed itch. When you pull away and kiss the tip of his nose he can’t help but squeeze you. You make him want to smother you. It’s the same when you hear a kitten mew or a baby coo. He likes the feeling. He likes you.

a/n: its almost been an entire month LOL anyways… i think dating a woman under the age of 35 would send bucky into crisis mode and make him feel like a total scumbag (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)

credit to @aquazero for dividers

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

---

Y/N sat on the rooftop, knees drawn up to her chest, a thick hoodie wrapped around her. The stars were faint, blurred by the city lights in the distance, but still visible if you looked hard enough. She liked it here—above everything, where the air was just a little colder and a little clearer. Where she could breathe.

She didn’t expect to hear footsteps. But she knew whose they were and her heart began to beat faster, her cheeks turning a slight shade of pink. 

“I figured I’d find you up here,” Bucky said, his voice low, carrying just enough to reach her without shattering the quiet.

She didn’t turn around right away. “Can’t sleep either?”

He chuckled, sitting beside her. “Do I ever?”

She glanced at him. He was in a black Henley, sleeves pushed up, metal arm glinting faintly under the moonlight. He looked tired—but softer. Like maybe he found a kind of peace in the stillness too.

“I like the quiet,” she said after a while. “When everything slows down.”

“Yeah.” His gaze followed hers, out toward the faint skyline. “Me too. It's easier to think.”

“To feel?” she asked, careful with the question.

Bucky looked at her then. Really looked. “Yeah,” he said, quieter. “That too.”

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t empty. It was warm. Safe.

“You don’t have to talk,” Y/N said, resting her head on her knees. “Not if it hurts. But if you ever do... I’ll be here.”

A breath left him—soft, like it took weight with it. Then, after a beat, he reached out and wrapped his metal hand gently around hers.

It was cool, careful, but steady.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”

“The news?” Y/N questioned. 

“Yea…I just can’t believe that Sam would give up Steve’s shield like that.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment. “Do you think maybe he’s just not ready?”

Bucky didn’t say anything, just continued to stare ahead. “I just- it makes me think that if Steve was wrong about Sam then maybe he was wrong about me.” 

Y/N turned her body towards Bucky. She reached out and grabbed ahold of his hand-the flesh one- and squeezed it. “Please don’t say that. I didn’t know Steve and don’t know Sam but I’m sure Steve knew what he was doing when he gave Sam that shield. He also was not wrong about you, Bucky. I’ve known you for a few months and you’ve been nothing but kind to me. I mean sure maybe you can be a little grumpy but you’ve never made me feel threatened or uncomfortable.” 

Bucky looked at Y/N. “Grumpy?”

Y/N chuckled and gave him a playful smack on his arm. “Only a little and only sometimes.” 

Bucky’s hand brushed gently against Y/N’s, the faintest touch sparking something quiet and familiar between them. Neither moved away. Instead, their hands lingered, fingertips grazing in a silent understanding—an unspoken comfort that had settled between them like second nature.

----

The last of the customers trickled out of the bar, their laughter fading into the night as the door clicked shut behind them. Y/N made her way to the front, fingers brushing against the slightly smudged glass as she flipped the sign to Closed, the quiet of the empty room settling around her like a soft exhale. It had been a long shift—steady, a little chaotic at times—but now all that remained was the comforting rhythm of cleanup before she could head home, curl up on the couch, lose herself in a feel-good movie, and dig into some well-earned takeout.

But just as she turned to grab a rag from behind the bar, the front door creaked open again. The bell gave a soft chime as it swung closed, and Y/N instinctively pivoted, ready to let the late straggler know they were done for the night.

The words caught in her throat.

A slow, surprised smile bloomed across her face when she saw who stood in the doorway.

Bucky stood just inside the doorway, his frame slightly hunched like he wasn’t sure he should be there, hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie. There was something uncertain in his eyes, the kind of vulnerability that made Y/N’s heart squeeze just a little.

“Hey,” she greeted softly, drying her hands on a towel. “How did you know where I worked?”

He gave a small shrug, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that almost resembled a smirk. “I have my ways.”

That earned a quiet laugh from her, but the silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was weighted, familiar. He made his way over to the bar, pulled out a stool, and sat down with a quiet sigh, resting his arms on the counter. His fingers traced absent patterns on the worn wood, eyes downcast.

Y/N turned back to her cleaning, though her movements had slowed. She kept stealing glances at him, watching the way he sat so still, like he was trying to sort through a storm in his head. She wanted to ask if he was okay, the words right on the edge of her lips. But instead, she waited—giving him space, hoping he’d let her in on his own terms.

“I know that look,” Y/N said gently, glancing over at him as she wiped down the last bit of the counter. “Something’s bothering you. I can tell.”

Bucky shook his head almost too quickly, eyes darting away. “Nope. Nothing’s wrong.”

She didn’t push, just gave him a quiet, knowing look. “Alright. I’m almost done here, then we can head out.”

He gave a small nod, the kind that said he was grateful she wasn’t pressing him. Y/N tucked the last few bottles back into place, the clinking of glass the only sound between them. Then she bent to grab her bag from beneath the bar, slinging it over her shoulder with a tired but content sigh.

As they stepped outside, the night air wrapped around them—cool, crisp, and a little biting. She grinned, nudging him playfully. “So… did you really come all the way down here just to walk me home from work?”

Bucky’s lips twitched with a trace of a smile. “Maybe.”

A chill danced up her spine, and she shivered without meaning to. Bucky noticed immediately. Without a word, he tugged off his hoodie and held it out to her. She blinked in surprise, hesitated for a second, then took it. As she pulled it on, the sleeves hanging long over her hands, she caught the scent of him—clean soap, leather, and something warm that was just him. It made her chest ache in the sweetest way.

“I was thinking we could grab something to eat,” he said casually, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to play it cool. “Or… whatever you want.”

She looked up at him, eyes soft. “I was planning on takeout and a movie.”

He tilted his head. “Unless that sounds boring to you,” she added quickly.

His smile came easy this time—gentle, genuine, the kind that lit up his whole face. “That sounds perfect.”

-------

Y/N led the way down the quiet street to her favorite little pizza place, the one she always ended up craving after a long shift. The familiar scent of garlic and melted cheese hit her the second they stepped inside, instantly lifting her mood. She placed an order for her go-to pizza, the one she could eat a thousand times and never get tired of.

“Are you sure you don’t want your own?” she asked, glancing up at Bucky with a raised brow.

He just shook his head with a faint smile. “I’m good. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

When the total popped up on the register, Y/N instinctively reached for her wallet—but Bucky was quicker. He slid his card across the counter without missing a beat.

“Hey—come on, I’ve got this,” she protested, nudging his arm.

He just gave her a look. Steady. “Next time.”

With the warm box of pizza in hand, Bucky carried it like it was something precious as they walked the short distance to their apartment building. Inside the elevator, the hum of machinery filled the space as he hit the button for her floor. The moment was quiet, but not awkward—just a soft kind of stillness that felt easy between them.

Once inside her apartment, Y/N headed to the kitchen, pulling out two mismatched plates from the cabinet and handing one to Bucky.

“I’ll be right back,” she said with a smile, before slipping down the hallway to her bedroom.

She changed quickly, trading her work clothes for a pair of well-worn leggings and her favorite oversized t-shirt. After a moment’s pause, she grabbed Bucky’s hoodie from where she’d left it earlier and slipped it back on—it still smelled like him, and the extra weight of it around her shoulders was oddly comforting.

When she padded back into the living room, Bucky was already seated on the couch, the pizza box resting on the coffee table in front of him. He sat back with his arms crossed, muscles stretching beneath the tight fabric of his t-shirt in a way that made Y/N pause in the doorway a second longer than she meant to.

She shook herself out of it and moved to the couch, settling a safe-but-not-too-far distance from him.

Grabbing the remote, she pulled up her favorite comfort show—one she’d seen a hundred times but never got tired of—and hit play. She reached for a slice, the warmth of the food matching the growing ease between them.

Bucky grabbed a piece too, and for a while, they sat side by side, the glow of the TV flickering across their faces, saying nothing at all.

But the silence was anything but empty—it was filled with the kind of quiet comfort that only comes from being with someone who feels like home.

As the night wore on and a few more episodes passed, Y/N realized—somehow, without even noticing when it happened—that she was sitting much closer to Bucky than she had been at the start. The gap between them had gradually disappeared, replaced by the easy lean of shared warmth. She knew he usually shied away from touch—but he hadn’t moved. He hadn’t flinched or pulled back. If anything, he seemed… settled.

The credits of the latest episode began to roll, the soft background music filling the quiet room.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, his voice low and almost hesitant.

Y/N turned her head to look at him, her brows drawn together gently. “For what?”

He gave a small shrug, blue eyes fixed on the screen like he couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “For letting me crash your night. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn’t,” she said softly, her lips lifting into a smile. “I like hanging out with you, Bucky.”

And before she could overthink it, she reached down and slid her hand into his—his flesh one—her fingers curling gently around his. She gave a soft squeeze, grounding and sincere.

“You’re always welcome here,” she said. “Even if you don’t want to talk. We can just sit. Be. I’m okay with that.”

For a beat, he didn’t say anything. Then she felt his hand tighten around hers, not possessively, just… steady. Reassuring. And he didn’t let go.

The next episode began to play, the familiar theme music rising again, but neither of them really paid attention. They stayed just like that, fingers laced together, hearts quietly aligned in the shared silence—trying, and failing, to focus on the screen when all they could really feel was the presence of the other.

---

Y/N stirred slowly, her eyes fluttering open as the early morning light filtered softly through the curtains. For a moment, she blinked against the haze of sleep, her brain sluggishly trying to piece together where she was. The couch. Her living room. The remnants of the night before flickered back into focus like a warm dream.

What she hadn’t expected was the weight wrapped around her—the steady rise and fall of a chest beneath her cheek, the warmth of two strong arms encircling her.

Bucky.

Her head rested against his chest, where his heartbeat thudded in a calm, even rhythm. His breath was slow and steady, lips slightly parted in sleep, completely at peace in a way she rarely got to see. And somehow, over the course of the night, they’d both melted into one another, tangled up on her small couch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She should’ve been surprised. But she wasn’t. Not really.

Y/N shifted slightly, her body stiff from sleeping in one position for too long. Carefully, she reached out, fingers brushing against his arm as she tried to slip out of his hold without waking him.

But before she could move more than an inch, Bucky’s arm tightened around her waist—gentle but firm. His other hand came up sleepily to rest at the small of her back, and without opening his eyes, he pulled her right back against him with a quiet, content sigh.

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, caught between amusement and something far softer, deeper. Her lips curled into a sleepy smile as she relaxed into him again, letting her eyes drift closed once more.

If this was how mornings with Bucky felt—quiet, safe, wrapped in warmth—she wouldn’t mind waking up like this a lot more often.

“Don’t move. I’m comfortable,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. 

Y/N let herself relax against him again, her cheek resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The world outside didn’t exist—not the mission reports, not the news, not the ghosts that sometimes lingered in both their silences.

Just the two of them.

She felt Bucky shift slightly, just enough to rest his chin lightly on the top of her head. His hand—flesh and warm—brushed slow, absentminded strokes along her arm. It sent a tingle down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

“You’re warm,” he murmured sleepily.

She smiled against his shirt. “That’s because I’m wearing your hoodie.”

“Keep it,” he said, without hesitation.

Y/N tilted her head back slightly so she could look up at him. “You sure?”

His eyes met hers, blue and unguarded, still heavy with sleep but clear in a way that made her breath catch. “Yeah,” he said, softer. “Looks better on you anyway.”

That made her cheeks flush, and she quickly looked down to hide the smile pulling at her lips. His fingers brushed her jaw gently, coaxing her gaze back to his.

“You always do that,” he said, voice quiet.

“Do what?”

“Look away when I’m staring at you.”

“That’s because you stare,” she teased, her voice a little too breathless for her liking.

“I do,” he admitted. “And you never seem to notice how much I like it.”

She blinked. The teasing vanished from his voice—replaced by something quieter, deeper.

Her heartbeat stumbled.

“Bucky…” she started, unsure of what to say. But he was already leaning in, his hand moving up to cup her face with infinite care—like he was afraid she might flinch or vanish if he wasn’t gentle enough.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he murmured, eyes flicking from hers to her lips and back. “Unless you tell me not to.”

She didn’t say a word.

She couldn’t.

Instead, she nodded, just once—barely a breath of movement—and then he was kissing her.

Soft. Slow. Deliberate.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss that demanded or rushed. It was the kind that lingered, like he had all the time in the world. His lips moved against hers with a careful sort of reverence, like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, and she kissed him back just as softly, pouring into it every quiet moment they’d shared—every time he’d sat beside her in silence, every word he hadn’t needed to say.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling.

“Well,” she whispered, her lips still tingling, “that was... worth staying up for.”

Bucky gave a small huff of laughter. “Yeah?” he said, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Because I’ve been thinking about doing that for a long time.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“I think I just did,” he said, and this time, the smile that curved his lips was real—and a little smug.

Y/N shook her head, grinning as she nudged his chest playfully. “You’re lucky I like you, Barnes.”

“Yeah,” he said, pressing another feather-light kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I’m starting to figure that out.”

Loving how they used the comic design for the new red star ⭐

Super Soldier Domesticated | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Domestic scenes with Bucky Barnes, because Bucky Barnes deserves to be HAPPY.

A/N: I have returned to pray at the altar of James Buchanan Barnes. Thunderbolts dropped and flooded my insta feed. Oh, how past me would have rejoiced in all of this Bucky content.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: fluff, implications of smut, language, possible misinformation about various contraceptive devices (please inform yourselves lol)

-

Bucky Barnes was the fist of Hydra. 

He’d spent decades being shaped into the perfect asset—ruthless, detached, the ultimate killing machine. He was cruel. He was dangerous. He was violent.

He’d been tortured. He’d been torn apart and stitched back together, and only when barely an inkling of the man he used to be remained, they’d set him loose on the world.

It was almost funny, Bucky thought now as he looked down at his working hands. To think what this arm—this near indestructible artificial limb—had been created for. It had squeezed the life from many a target, had pulled the triggers of guns and survived explosions. It had brought unspeakable pain upon his victims.

And yet …

“Not too tight, Bucky.”

Her voice had come quietly, softly, and from where he sat on the edge of the bed, Bucky could tell that her eyes had slipped closed a while ago. She sat on the floor between his legs, with her own legs crossed and her back straight.

Bucky loosened his grip at once, the strands of her hair now looser in his palms.

“Like this?” he asked, only taking his eyes off her face once an approving hum resonated through her chest.

“Perfect.”

A smile tugged on the corners of his lips as he went back to work. Right strand over, pull the middle to the right, then repeat with the left. It was tough to keep each of the three strands separated—nimble work, delicate. This was his second attempt after the first had ended in a merging of the left and the middle strand. It had been chaos.

“I can’t believe you manage to do this behind your head,” he spoke quietly, fingers moving a little faster with every inch he managed to braid successfully.

“Years of practice.” There was a smile in her voice. It warmed Bucky’s chest. “Hey, Buck?”

He hummed to signal that he was listening, concentrating on getting the bottom of the braid right. She’d warned him that it could get tricky to avoid shorter strands of hair from sticking out at the side.

“Would you mind running to the store later?”

“’Course not, doll,” he mumbled, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he pinched the end of her braid between his fingers to carefully slip on the hair tie he kept on his wrist. It was one of his, but ever since he’d cut his hair, he didn’t need them anymore, and so they’d long been adopted by Y/N, merging with her own hair accessories in the small bathroom they shared.

When he finished, he carefully draped the braid over her shoulder, succumbing to the urge to touch her with a single finger brushing along her neck.

“What do you think?”

Delicate fingers found the braid, and Y/N turned her head far enough to peek down at his work. Bucky found himself holding his breath in anticipation of her verdict.

When she looked up at him, she offered a smile. It was the wide kind—the beaming kind. It was the kind to touch the corners of her eyes and have Bucky’s heart stutter in a way that would be worrying if it wasn’t for the serum in his veins that pretty much prevented cardiac arrest.

“Perfect job, baby,” she said, craning her neck towards him. Bucky smiled when he leaned forward to meet her in a kiss.

-

Left hand clutching the handle of the shopping basket, Bucky stuck to an empty aisle to study the yellow post-it note she’d written him.

Granola

Eggs (2 dozen)

Apples

Tomatoes

Grated cheese (Gouda or Cheddar)

Toothpaste (2x)

Tampons

Ice cream (!!!)

He smirked at the three exclamation marks behind ice cream, carved deep enough into the paper to leave grooves on the other side. There was exactly one type of ice cream she loved, and ever since he’d bought the wrong one once, she’d taken to reminding him on every note she wrote.

By now, he knew the layout of the supermarket well enough that he could find his way in the dark. They were good for him, these mundane tasks. He needed routine, needed something to do. It gave him peace to do something that was important but did not include guns, or bombs, or mission reports. It gave him peace to function in this little bubble he inhabited with Y/N.

He stood before the shelf with the period products now, two cartons with a dozen eggs each already secured in his basket. They were mainly for him. He ate four each morning.

Bucky could not recall a time when he didn’t know everything there was to know about the absorbency of Tampons. He knew the brands, knew the sizes, knew that Y/N preferred the ones without the applicator because she thought the extra piece of plastic was an unnecessary waste.

Two purple boxes fell into his basket before he moved on to the ice box.

-

The headboard pressed into Bucky’s back as he held out the tub of ice cream for Y/N to dig her spoon in. They’d agreed it was best he hold it, as his was the only hand that would not eventually freeze.

He loved these moments with her. He lived for them.

She lay next to him, one leg stretched before her, the other bend at the knee. She was wearing one of his shirts and a thick pair of socks, leaning most of her weight against his shoulder. Bucky found it soothing.

“It’s one of the only options without hormones,” she explained before her spoon vanished into her mouth, then adding with her mouth full, “But it’s supposed to hurt like a bitch when they put it in.”

Bucky gave a grunt, scraping some off the top of the ice cream with his own spoon. “I read that it increases bleeding. Makes your cramps worse, too.”

“Well, that only leaves hormonal birth control then.”

Bucky frowned.

It had taken some explaining for Bucky to fully understand the intricacies of new age contraception, but he found that he didn’t like the idea of something messing with her hormones—with her health.

“There’s nothing I could take?”

She thought about it for a moment, lips clasped tightly around her spoon. The sight almost took Bucky’s mind off the topic at hand. Almost.

“Afraid not,” she finally said with a small sigh through her nose. “Unless you want to get snipped,” she added with a pained smile.

Bucky offered her the tub and watched as she dug a large spoonful from the centre.

“I might be sterile anyway, darlin’,” he finally said quietly.

They’d spoken about it—the possibility that the serum had done some irreversible damage to Bucky’s system. He’d already gotten tested before he’d met her, but it had been hard for the doctors to tell. No one was accustomed to a super soldier organism. The best they’d been able to tell him was that it was likely either one extreme or the other.

“Sterile or super-soldier-fertile,” Y/N repeated what he’d told her. “And your body would likely just heal you if you got a vasectomy.”

Bucky tilted his head as he looked at her. “I don’t actually mind us using condoms.”

It had been Y/N who’d brought up the possibility for her to start taking birth control, but Bucky could not quite shake the feeling that she’d mentioned it mainly for his sake.

Y/N hummed in thought, lifting her free hand to push her fingers through his hair, tugging gently at the ends. Bucky’s eyes slipped close for just a second.

“Forever?” she asked pensively, pursing her lips. “It seems easier for me to just get something permanent. An implant, or an IUD.” A thought crossed her mind then, and she narrowed her eyes at him with interest. “What did you do in the 40s?”

Bucky pulled a face. “Ah, couldn’t tell ya. Pulled out and hoped for the best.”

Truth be told, Bucky had never really bothered with it back in his youth. He’d known that they were experimenting with jellies and creams—he’d heard it from a girl he’d been going out with. There’d been condoms of course, but they weren’t nearly as common as they were nowadays, and frankly Bucky wouldn’t have been able to afford them even if they had been.

Y/N snorted. It was a delightful sound.

“So what you’re telling me is you might have some unknown descendants scattered around the world?”

Bucky smirked down at the ice cream, a cold drop of water trickling in between the vibranium tiles of his hand.

“I would’ve heard,” he said. “Wasn’t like I was sleeping with the whole neighbourhood.”

She hummed, grinning when she pressed her nose into his cheek. “I don’t believe you for one second. Not with that charm of yours.”

“I don’t want you taking hormones,” Bucky said suddenly, turning to meet Y/N’s gaze. “Not for me. I read some horror stories online, doll. About blood clots, embolisms, heart attacks. I know they’re rare, but I would never forgive myself if something happened.”

She considered him for a moment, smiling when she lifted a hand to squeeze his chin between her thumb and index finger.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Condoms it is then.”

-

“I can’t believe this!”

There was anger in her voice, a deep crease between her brows when she turned to look at Bucky, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

“You are one hundred years old,” she snapped. “How are you this fucking good at Mario Kart?!”

Bucky felt his lip twist at the corners, smirking as he flicked through the different racetracks on screen. They’d been playing for a little over an hour, and so far, Bucky had managed to beat her in every single round, scoring first place with a substantial lead each time.

“How about this snowy one next?”

At her silence, he turned to find a deadpan expression adorning her features.

“Yes, Bucky,” she said, words dripping with sarcasm. “Let’s do the fucking snow track.”

Bucky couldn’t stop his grin from widening, reaching out his human hand to pinch her cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re competitive.”

Swatting after his hand, Y/N harrumphed and turned back towards the TV. She sat straight-backed as a soldier with her legs crossed beneath her, while Bucky lay back against the couch with his legs stretched out on the plush ottoman before him.

“I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense,” she muttered to herself. “You pause Netflix movies by clicking the pause button with your cursor. You shouldn’t be this good at a video game.”

Bucky snorted, pushing at her shoulder with the back of his wrist, to which her cheeks lifted, betraying her grin despite her attempts to hide it.

“Today’s youth is rude,” Bucky muttered.

He thought he heard her giggle, which had warmth seep through his chest. But of course, it felt nothing as good as the rush of triumph he experienced at the large golden 1 appearing on his side of the screen after a few minutes spent racing in concentrated silence.

“Unbelievable,” Y/N half-yelled at the TV, waving her hands so much, Bucky feared for a moment that her controller would go flying into the screen. “Un. Fucking. Believable.”

While Bucky’s little green dinosaur celebrated by waving from his motorcycle, Bucky lifted a shoulder. “I’m a good driver.”

“This game in no way reflects real life driving skills.”

“Sure, it does.”

Y/N opened her mouth, and Bucky could tell that she was readying herself to argue. Before she could, however, he discarded his controller and wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her down towards him.

At once, she began to laugh, struggling against his grip as he attempted to wrestle the controller from her hands.

“You need a time out,” Bucky announced, dodging her elbows as she attempted to keep the controller out of his reach.

“One more!” she gasped, twisting and turning in Bucky’s hold, giggling as she did so. “I need to beat you at least once.”

“You’re gonna have a heart attack with that road rage of yours.”

She scoffed in mock outrage, but Bucky lowered his lips to hers before she could continue. She was laughing against him, wiggling when he finally got hold of her controller without looking, pushing at his shoulder when he began to scatter small kisses across her face.

But with every second, her resistance lessened, her body melting into his hold, her laughter softening into amused hums, until finally, her fingers curled into the hair on the back of Bucky’s head, and she met his lips with enthusiasm. Her controller—finally acquired, but already long forgotten—slipped from Bucky’s grip to clatter to the ground.

-

Bucky’s fingers pressed into the flesh of her hips, jaw tight and head tilted back into a pillow as the tension in his body slowly ebbed away to make room for a comfortable, cushy daze that warmed his body from head to toe.

She shook in his hands, the last of her breath rushing from her lungs in a hitched gasp. She tensed, thighs pressing firmly on the sides of his hips, and then it seemed her bones turned into something soft, pliable, as her body sank to his for her lips to rest in the crook of his neck.

For a moment, there was just their shared breathing to be heard—fast, choppy, warm. Bucky lifted his head only far enough to peer over her shoulder, watching the black metal of his hand detach itself from her skin without a mark left behind. Ever since those first times, those first bruises when he hadn’t yet gotten used to the strength of his arm in a context such as this, he paid extra attention.

With a soft groan, she pushed to her hands to look down at him with a glint in her eye. Bucky pushed the hair from her face, running his thumb along a swollen bottom lip, along the bridge of her nose, and the arch of her cheekbone.

Y/N pushed her face deeper into his palm, eyes slipping shut.

“I won’t ever get tired of this,” she breathed, to which Bucky smirked.

“I sure hope you won’t, dollface.”

Her nose scrunched at the drawled pet name. She’d always found it corny, but the corners of her lips curled higher nonetheless.

“I’m—”

“Hungry,” Bucky finished, sitting up with a groan of his own, one arm curled behind her back. “Comin’ right up.”

Y/N gasped in mock offence. “That’s not what I was going to say!”

Bucky rose a single brow, one arm pushing into the mattress behind him to keep him upright. She was always hungry after. Sometimes more, sometimes less. But most times ended in a late night snack shared on the couch, in the kitchen, in their bed.

“What were you going to say, then?”

She pursed her lips, letting a few seconds tick by silently, and Bucky knew then and there that she had nothing.

“I wanted to say,” she declared importantly, lifting her hands to hold his face between her palms. “That I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you too, darlin’.” Bucky couldn’t help his rising cheeks. “I’m just gonna lay back down then—”

“And also,” she interrupted, pausing by kissing him deep enough for his mind to buzz when she pulled back with a satisfied smirk. “That I might just be a teensy bit hungry.”

A husky laugh slipped from Bucky’s throat, and with his arms wrapping around her tightly, he stood in a swift move, taking her with him as he went.

-

“So what I’m saying is,” Y/N said, swinging her legs as she lifted another piece of orange to her lips, chewing as she continued. “While I do agree that a beach vacation would be nice, I think going to Scotland would be a lot more interesting.”

Bucky kept his attention on the board before him, chopping tomatoes into somewhat uniform little cubes as he listened. She sat not far to his left on the countertop. The smell of citrus crawled up his nose.

“It rains a lot in Scotland.”

“Yes, but think of the castles. The highlands. The cows.”

“If we go to Portugal, we could lay in the sun all day. Swim. Fool around.”

An amused sound left her throat, her thumb pushing into the orange to break off another piece. She held it out to him, and Bucky leaned over to take it with his teeth.

“Fool around?” she giggled. “What are we, teenagers? Besides, we can do that anywhere. And it would be a lot cozier in a little hut in the highlands when it’s raining.”

Bucky weighed his head from side to side, considering her words.

“Think about it,” she added. “One is sweaty, sticky, and hot; the other is cozy and cuddly.”

“I honestly can’t tell which of those you think is the less desirable option.”

She laughed at that, chewing while Bucky scattered the tomatoes into the pan already holding a still liquid layer of egg, followed by shredded cheese, salt and pepper.

“I thought you didn’t like heat.”

“What made you think that?”

There was a moment of silence.

“Well, you always kick away the blankets, and you never notice when it’s too cold in a room. I thought it was part of the whole supersoldier shebang.”

Bucky rose a shoulder. “I don’t mind heat. Especially not when a pretty dame is involved.”

She burst out laughing at that, and Bucky smiled as he watched from the corner of his eye.

“Fine, fine. You win, Barnes,” she chuckled, offering him another piece of orange that he took with a quick kiss to the back of her hand. “I will fool around with you at the beach. But if we get kicked out of Portugal for public indecency, we’re going to the highlands.”

“Deal.”

After flipping the omelette with a skilled flick of the pan, Bucky folded it in half and placed it carefully on a nearby plate. Y/N beamed as he handed it to her.

“You’re the bestest,” she said, craning her neck for a kiss. “Thank you.”

Bucky stepped between her legs, opening his mouth when she offered him a forkful of omelette, already chewing herself. His palms found her thighs, her skin covered by a plush bathrobe to match his own in both colour and pattern.

The fist of Hydra, standing in a dimly lit kitchen with his love and an omelette. He could get used to this—he already had gotten used to this—and as he looked down at the black metal thumb he ran along the smooth skin of a thigh, he wondered how this limb had ever been used for something other than making omelettes for his love.

-

A/N: Can you believe it's been three whole years since I wrote a Bucky fic????? TF

Just give Buck his baby