Archive of Our Own

He warned you against leaving the house without your bodyguard, but it would be a five-minute errand. You’d been craving your favorite drink from the coffee shop down the street for practically the entire day.

Your bodyguard, Natasha, was on the phone having a very loud discussion, and you didn’t want to interrupt.

You shut the front door as quietly as possible and started walking down the street. You’d barely made it two blocks before you were pulled into an alley, and a scratchy bag was shoved over your head.

Having the east side’s most notorious mobster as your boyfriend meant that he’d taught you what to do if this ever happened, but that training went straight out the window the second you felt those hands on you.

You tried to reach for your panic button disguised as a necklace, but firm hands roughly grabbed your wrists and wrenched them behind your back, securing them with a zip tie. You were tossed into a car, and it sped away. You tried to keep track of the turns, but after a few blocks, you lost track.

The car suddenly braked, and you heard muffled voices before the doors opened. You were pulled to your feet and shoved out of the car. The ground was farther than you thought it was. You lost your balance, slamming into the concrete.

There were a few snickers before someone grabbed the back of your neck and yanked you to your feet.

“Walk,” they ordered, keeping their hand on your neck to guide you. You stumbled forward, tears welling in your eyes from the smack of the pavement.

You were brought to a metal framed folding chair and pushed onto it. Your hands were retied behind the chair, and your feet bound to the chair legs.

The bag was pulled off your head, and you blinked at the sudden light. As your eyes adjusted, you saw a man standing in front of you. He was tall and skinny, with a holster at his side, and wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Well, hello there, gorgeous,” he drawled, his southern accent thick.

You kept your eyes down, staying silent.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to have a chance to talk with you?” he asked.

You made no move to respond.

“Aw, come on now, take a guess.”

You shrugged the best you could in the uncomfortable position they had you in.

“It’s been a year. That pretty little boyfriend of yours sure does keep you hidden away, doesn’t he?”

You kept your head down, but he reached out a hand and pinched your chin with his thumb and forefinger, bringing it up so he could see your face.

“Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you,” he demanded.

“What do you want?” you asked.

“She talks!” the man exclaimed, glancing at the other men in the room proudly like you were a toddler that just took their first steps. He turned back to look at you, grinning wildly.

“Gorgeous, I want you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Well, not exactly, I s’pose. I want your boyfriend. You know, the big one with the metal arm? The one that killed my brother? But, you are most certainly a benefit,” he added, slowly looking you up and down.

“He’s going to kill you,” you said quietly.

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s what he thinks he’s going to do,” the man said, leaning so close to you that you could smell his foul breath.

You spat in his face.

He quickly pulled away, wiping the saliva from his cheek.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” he snarled, bringing his hand sharply across your face. Your head snapped to the side with the force of it, and a metallic taste filled your mouth.

You spat the blood onto the floor and looked back at the man.

“Try that again, why don’t you? Because the more you mess up my face, the longer he’ll take to kill you.”

He jabbed an angry finger into your sternum. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Why? Does my pretty voice remind you how little attention you get from women?”

He reached around your head to grab a fistful of your hair. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll have learned to do as you’re told,” he hissed. “But for now, I guess I’ll just have to make you shut up.”

He reached out to grab the front of your t-shirt, ripping it down the middle twice. He took the strip of fabric and brought it between your teeth, tying it tightly behind your head.

“Much better,” he said, surveying his work. “I like you much better bound and gagged.”

You were seething behind the gag, blood pounding through your ears.

One of the men to the side of the room held a finger to his ear before stepping towards the man in front of you. He whispered something in his ear, and the man grinned.

“Looks like your precious boyfriend has shown up. Fuck, this is going to be fun!”

You jumped at the sound of rapid gunfire.

“Uh, boss?” came a hesitant voice from the other side of the room. You glanced at a man sitting behind a computer screen, looking utterly terrified.

The boss walked over to the man and glanced at the screen, rattling off a trail of profanity. He looked up at the rest of the men and quickly gave orders.

“Barricade the door. Give me your knife.”

Your head spun at the whirlwind of activity. You were suddenly ripped back into your body at the cold sting of metal against your neck. You froze.

The rest of the men stood facing the door; their guns pointed directly at it.

You heard a loud crunch followed by a blood-curdling scream that abruptly ceased with a gunshot.

Despite the barricaded door, it was quickly ripped off its hinges.

Bucky stood in the doorway, holding the door before him to block the bullets. The men finally used up their mags and rushed at the super soldier.

It looked like a performance. The way Bucky moved was like choreography being perfectly executed. His body moved like clockwork, punching faces, kicking stomachs, smashing heads together, breaking necks, and then there was the knife.

After he had taken down the first few men with just his hands, he drew a knife. He moved it expertly. One second, it was buried in someone’s chest; the next, it was slicing someone’s throat.

You watched as the final person dropped at Bucky’s feet, clutching at the blood pouring from their stomach.

“Not one more step,” came the drawling voice behind you, this time tainted with fear. “Drop the knife, or she’s dead.”

He pushed the knife harder against your throat, and you felt a drop of blood trickle down from the spot.

You heard the clatter of metal as Bucky dropped his weapon.

“What do you want?” he said calmly.

“I want you to watch me kill her. Slowly and painfully. Just like you did to my brother,” the man behind you snarled.

Suddenly, you felt the knife fall from your skin. You looked back to see the man clutching his hand. One of Bucky’s knives had gone straight through it.

In an instant, Bucky grabbed the man by his collar and effortlessly tossed him across the room. He strode to where the man lay on the ground and wrenched the knife out of his hand.

He screamed in agony. Bucky carefully wiped the blood off the knife onto the man’s shirt before pulling him to his feet.

“Now, I am going to kill you. Slowly and painfully. Just like I did to your brother,” Bucky said calmly.

“No, no, please,” the man begged desperately. “I’ll do anything; just please, don’t hurt me.”

“It’s too late for that. You already hurt my girl. So now, I’m going to hurt you,” Bucky replied.

He plunged the knife into the man’s side, purposefully missing any major organs. He paused briefly before twisting the knife roughly in the man’s gut. He screamed, and Bucky let go of his collar, letting the man fall to the ground from the blade.

He rolled on the ground in pain, but Bucky stopped him by pressing the heel of his foot on the wound. He slowly started to put his weight on it.

You could hear the crunching of bones and the squelching of blood and guts.

You should have been horrified. To watch someone hurt someone else like that should have been traumatizing. However, the only thing you felt was an uncomfortable ache between your legs.

With every scream the man released, a wave of arousal was sent to your core. You watched your boyfriend in awe as he tortured the man who’d hurt you.

You noticed a flash of motion out of the corner of your eye, but you were too distracted watching Bucky that you didn’t care to look.

“Barnes!” came a shout from the doorway. Natasha, your bodyguard, rushed to his side and grabbed his wrist. “Not with her here,” she muttered, tilting her head toward you.

“Help her,” he ordered. “I’m finishing this.”

Natasha sighed but hurried to where you were sitting. She tugged the gag over your head before slicing through your bonds. She pulled her jacket over your shoulders and was still scanning your body for injuries, but all you could see was Bucky.

He stood over the man, knife in hand.

“It’s your lucky day,” he growled. “You get to die early.” He brought the knife to the man’s neck and swiftly brought it across. You watched as blood pooled around Bucky’s feet. He wiped the blade on the kidnapper’s shirt before sheathing it.

It was then that he finally looked at you. Natasha took a step back to let him to you. He rushed over and knelt between your knees. A gentle finger brushed over your split lip before he inspected the minor cut on your neck. He carefully ran his hands up and down your body, checking for other wounds.

After he’d deemed you reasonably well, he cupped your face in his hands, one warm and the other cool.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“I’m ok,” you reassured, giving him a small smile. You raised a hand to brush a drop of blood from his cheek, and he leaned into your touch.

“Let’s go home,” he said. He started to pick you up, but you stopped him.

“I’m ok, baby. I can walk.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded as he pulled you to your feet. His hand clasped in yours, tight and unyielding. As he led you out of the building, your eyes caught on each body. It was easy to tell which ones had been handled by Bucky.

“Don’t look, sugar. Close your eyes,” he instructed softly. “I’ve got you.”

You followed him out of the building, although you didn’t close your eyes. Each body you saw sent a new wave of arousal to your already soaked core.

He opened the car door for you, and you ducked in. Natasha got in the driver’s seat, and Bucky climbed opposite you.

It was only a short drive to the house, and silent the whole time. Bucky tried to apologize multiple times, but each time you held up a hand and said, “Wait.”

He was entirely confused but did as you asked.

When you arrived at the house, he led you upstairs to your bedroom, sitting you down on the bed and taking a seat beside you as you pulled Nat’s jacket off and tossed it to the floor.

“Sugar, I’m so sor—” he started, but you stopped him again.

“Fuck me.”

He paused mid-apology. “What?”

“I said, fuck me,” you repeated.

“Uh, sugar, maybe we should talk about this?”

“No,” you said firmly.

“Ok,” he said hesitantly, “well, let me shower first. I’m covered in blood, and none of it’s mine.”

He tried to stand up, but you grabbed his wrist.

“Hold on, just wait a second,” you said, and he sat back down. “Look, I know it’s really fucked up, and I should probably see a shrink, but fuck, baby, I’m so turned on right now,” you blurted. “Seeing you like that just…I don’t know. Please, just fuck me already.”

Bucky’s face slowly morphed into his signature lopsided smirk.

“Hm. So you like it when I’m covered in blood from the people that hurt you?”

Your eyes clouded with lust, and a tiny whimper fell from your lips as you nodded fervently.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please, James, fuck me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, tossing you to the middle of the bed and climbing on top of you, only to pin your hands above your head with his flesh hand, careful not to grip the raw skin where the zip tie had been.

“Tell me, what part did you like the most? Was it when I stabbed him? Or maybe it was when I slit his throat? I’m pretty sure this is his blood,” he said casually, holding his glistening metal arm so you could see the crimson splatters.

You whined and squirmed under him. Bucky chuckled.

“So? Which one was it?” he prompted.

“The stabbing,” you stammered. “And the bodies. I could tell which ones were yours.”

“Do you want to know something, sugar?” he smirked.

You nodded.

“I liked it. I liked feeling their bones break by my hand and seeing their blood pooling at my feet. I liked watching the fight leave their bodies. I liked hurting them because they hurt you. It felt so good, babygirl.”

“Please, baby, I need you. Now,” you begged, your pride diminished to a speck of dirt on the floor.

“And how do you want it?” he asked, slowly kissing down your neck. Your head tilted back to allow him access as you tried to speak coherently.

“I want it rough. I want it to...to hurt,” you breathed.

“You want to be my fucktoy, is that it?” he asked gravelly, pulling away from your neck to hover above your face.

You quickly nodded your agreement.

“What’s our system?” he asked gently.

“Stoplight,” you replied breathlessly.

“Which means...” he prompted.

You rolled your eyes. “Green means good, yellow means slow down and check-in, red means stop and check-in.”

“Much better,” he said. “I need you to promise to use them if you need to.”

“I promise,” you said, wiggling under his body impatiently.

He lowered his hips to sit on yours, putting his metal hand on your chest to hold you still.

“You’ll take what I give you. No more, no less,” he growled.

“I want more,” you grumbled. He raised his eyebrows before releasing your hands. He lifted himself off of you and knelt next to you.

“Strip,” he commanded.

You propped yourself up on your elbows and grinned. “I don’t feel like it. You can, though, if you’d like.”

“But you do feel like racking up a ledger, yes?” Bucky asked coolly.

“What?”

“Well, you obviously feel like being a brat, which means that you feel like a punishment or two. You’ve already earned two strikes in less than five minutes.”

“Wh-what’s the punishment?” you asked hesitantly.

“That, babygirl, is a surprise. So what will it be? Bratty, or not?”

You sat up and maneuvered yourself onto Bucky’s lap. Your fingers traced the splattered blood down his cheek before pinching his cheek and moving close to his face.

“I still don’t mind if you strip,” you commented, scrunching your nose condescendingly.

“I guess you’ve made your choice, then,” he said, moving so quickly you could barely register it.

You were suddenly on your back in the middle of the bed, the remains of your torn shirt being thrown to the floor. Your pants were next. The sound of ripping fabric was unmistakable, and you felt the cool rush of air hit your legs. Before you could even take a breath, your bra and panties had been hastily disposed of.

Bucky reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out two strips of fabric. “This ok?” he asked gently. You nodded excitedly.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized that he’d chosen the bondage that would be gentlest against the sore skin on your wrists.

He took one of your hands and carefully tied the fabric around it, fastening it to the bedpost before doing the same to the other hand. You tugged against the bonds, testing them.

He looked at you questioningly, silently checking to ensure they were ok. You gave him a reassuring smile.

“What’s our rule?” he asked, sitting back on his heels, satisfied with his work.

You narrowed your eyes in thought. “No clue,” you said brattily.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to try that again?”

“Hmm. I seem to have forgotten,” you snarked.

He grinned. “That makes four. You sure you want to keep going?”

A little bit of your sass dimmed at the warning, but you ignored it. “Obviously. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“Five.”

“Wow, you can count! Congratulations!” you said sarcastically.

“Six.”

“I know you know the next one. Come on, you’ve got it,” you teased.

This time, he didn’t speak. Instead, he crossed his arms and cocked his head, raising his eyebrows.

“Aw, did you forget? Here, I’ll help you out. It’s seven.”

“Fuck, tonight’s going to be fun,” he chuckled. “You’re already at eight, and it’s only been ten minutes.”

Your defiant smile faded, but you quickly recovered.

“Are we just going to do this all night, or…”

“I’m just waitin’ for you to tell me our rule, sugar. I’m happy to sit here for as long as you’d like, just watchin’ you get all desperate.”

You rolled your eyes, “No cumming until you say so.”

“Looks like someone remembered,” he taunted, crawling over you. He placed his middle finger and ring finger against your lips. You immediately parted them, and he slipped them inside.

“Clean,” he ordered.

You dutifully swirled your tongue around his fingers, cleaning the drying blood off the metal. After a moment, he pulled them out of your mouth with a pop.

He moved his lips to yours. God, this man knew how to kiss. It was as if his lips were a whirlwind, ripping through yours in a haze of lips, tongue, and teeth. Despite not doing a single thing to control the kiss, you found yourself time and time again matching his movements and following his lead.

There was something about the way he slid into dominance. It was indescribably powerful, even with the lack of tangible control shown.

You squirmed against the body pressed against you, and he pulled away from the kiss. He sat back between your legs and pushed your knees open with his hands, raising an eyebrow at the sight of your exposed cunt.

“Fuck, babygirl, you weren’t kidding; you’re dripping,” he groaned, swiping a finger through your folds.

“Buck, baby, please,” you whined.

He dove between your thighs, lapping at the collected fluids like a starved man while his hands kept your thighs spread.

You yelped at the sudden sensation and thrust your hips against his face, your hands straining against the bonds.

He pulled away, wiping the slick off his chin with the back of his metal hand.

You tried to control the frustration that flew to the front of your mind. “Hey,” you protested.

“You remember when I said you’ll take what I give you, no more, no less?”

You nodded.

“Right. So shoving your cunt in my face isn’t exactly following that directive, is it?”

You slowly shook your head.

“Are you able to control yourself, or do I need to do it for you?”

“I can,” you muttered.

“Good. If it happens again, it’ll be another strike, understand?”

You looked away from his hungry gaze. “Yeah.”

“Ok. Now, where was I?” He moved in a blur; his lips suddenly suctioned around your swollen clit. You choked out a moan, desperately fighting the urge to arch your back into his face.

His metal fingers lightly explored the inside of your thigh, resting just outside your folds. He lessened the attention to your clit momentarily, using the opportunity to plunge the fingers you sucked clean into your waiting hole.

“Oh, fuck!” you screamed. He groaned in approval, the vibrations reverberating through your body, jumpstarting your orgasm. He curled his fingers inside you, instantly finding that oh-so-sensitive spot that sent your nerves into ecstasy.

He’d learned each spot that sent you keeling over the edge by the first few times he’d fucked you. By now, he could get a degree on the most erogenous places on your body.

The cold metal pads of his fingers stroked the sensitive flesh inside you, and his lips suctioned around your clit once again.

You were fighting the bonds with every ounce of strength in your body, desperate to touch him. With every curl of the fingers or every lick of the tongue, you felt your orgasm hurtling faster toward you.

“Fuck, baby, I-I need to c-cum, please, ah,” you gasped between moans.

He hummed, keeping his mouth on you. Shit. That was it. You were going to cum without his permission.

Just before the pleasure took over, he pulled back, his mouth and fingers instantly leaving your skin. You gasped at the sudden change.

He lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking the remaining juices clean. He crawled on top of you, smirking in your face.

“That’s one,” he smiled. “Seven more to go. Unless, of course, you aren’t good for me. I suppose we’ll have to see about that.”

Your mouth was slightly agape, stunned by the realization of your punishment. “No,” you breathed. “Please.”

Bucky usually went with for overstimulation or spanking for your punishments. You’d take either of those over this. This was pure and utter torture.

“I did warn you,” he said coolly.

“James, please, anything else,” you begged quietly.

He hissed softly at the sound of his birthname but otherwise gave no sign of a reply.

He slotted a knee between your legs and pressed the hard muscle of his thigh against your aching core.

“Be a good girl for me and grind your cunt on the blood of the people I killed for you,” he growled.

You whimpered softly and immediately started thrusting your hips against the mass that was his thigh. You didn’t bother building up to it; you just began brutally slamming against the fabric of his pants.

You knew you were creating a wet patch, your arousal mixing with the crimson blood already staining the fabric.

“Shit, babygirl, just like that. Fuck yourself with the blood I spilled for you,” he rasped. You gasped a moan at the filth dripping from his lips.

With every movement you made, you could feel the strain of his hard cock hit your stomach. He reached a hand to knead your breast in his hand, roughly pinching at the perked nipple.

You felt the tightly wound ball in your gut continue winding, growing, and growing.

“Please, please, I n-need…” you choked out, “please, let me cum,” you whimpered desperately, feeling your orgasm reach the edge of the cliff.

“No,” he hissed, looking directly into your eyes, silently daring you to disobey his direct order.

“I c-can’t,” you stammered.

He scanned your face, determining that you truly couldn’t hold it off any longer. He pulled away, all contact with your skin broken.

A dry sob tore from your lungs as you felt the pleasure subside yet again.

“Count it,” he commanded.

“Two,” you whimpered, chest heaving.

“What’s your color?” he asked gently.

“G-green,” you breathed.

“Good girl,” he praised, kissing your forehead softly. He gave you a moment to catch your breath before brutally shoving his fingers back into you.

He moved slowly, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t rough. It was, in fact, the opposite. His fingers curled inside you, pressing against the sore nerves almost painfully hard.

He moved at a torturous pace, slowly dragging the pads of his fingers over your g-spot. You felt your orgasm build quickly as he pressed his palm against your clit, grinding against it with every movement.

He attacked your chest with his mouth, leaving his mark all over the skin. You arched into his touch desperately.

He pulled his lips from your breast and growled, “Don’t you fuckin’ cum, sugar. I can feel you clenching around my fingers. God damn, you’re tight.”

A pathetic cross between a moan and a whimper flew from your throat. You were beyond making coherent words, your body reacting wholly on its behalf.

Just as you were about to slip over the edge, his fingers wrenched out of your pussy, slamming you back into your body.

“No, no, no,” you sobbed, despite the lack of tears.

“Count it,” Bucky demanded.

“Buck, p-please, I need it. Let me cum; I’ll be good, please,” you babbled, unaware of the words you were saying.

The sudden sting of a slap to your thigh jolted you back to the present.

“Count it,” he repeated harshly.

“Th-three,” you whispered.

Next, it was his tongue plunging into your aching core.

“F-f-four.”

Then, it was the sharp bite of cold metal twisting your nipples, coupled with the occasional pinch of your clit.

“Five, fi-five.”

Followed by three of his fingers brutally slamming against your painfully sore cunt.

“Six.”

After that, it was lips sucking every ounce of sensation from the swollen bundle of nerves.

“Se-seven,” you breathed, every part of your body on fire in the best and worst ways possible.

“What’s your color?” he prompted gently.

It took you a moment to understand his question well enough to answer.

“Green,” you answered dazedly.

He moved from between your legs to better see your face.

“Hey, babygirl, you with me?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from where it had been plastered against your cheek.

You nodded.

“Talk to me. Use your words,” he instructed.

“I’m good,” you whispered.

“Ok. You’ve got one more. Can you do that for me?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” you replied.

“Good girl.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

You felt your knees being pushed apart and Bucky’s warm, now naked body pressed against you.

You jolted, your nerves on high alert, as you felt the length of his warm, thick, hard cock press against your folds. He slowly started moving his hips, softly groaning at the friction.

You whimpered at the sensation, feeling your orgasm build at even the tiniest of movements.

“Fuck,” he moaned, and you could tell he was probably desperate for even a taste of the pleasure he’d been giving you.

His hands clenched in the sheets by your head as he tried to control himself.

As he rocked his hips into you a bit harder, you tugged against your restraints, already on the brink of your orgasm.

You whimpered, trying to tell him that you were close without using words.

“I know, sugar, you’re doing so good. Almost done.”

He rocked into you two more times before pulling away. You collapsed into the sheets, every muscle that had been tensed the second before now completely useless.

He reached a hand down to leisurely stroke his cock as he kissed you. It was full of desperation and lust but just as full of care and feeling.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and you nodded vigorously.

His forehead fell against yours, and you felt the head of his cock slide between your slick folds. He slowly pushed into you, inch by inch, groaning as he went.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he panted.

You were lightyears beyond words, the feeling of him filling you up so utterly overwhelming in the best way.

You whined and pulled at the restraints, needing more.

He pushed himself into you all the way, and you whimpered your approval. He slowly pulled out, almost all the way, before roughly shoving himself into you once again.

A hoarse scream erupted from your throat as you clenched around him.

“You can cum whenever you’d like, babygirl,” he said.

It only took one more thrust before you shattered. Your body shook with the force of your orgasm, every muscle screaming with pleasure and a little bit of pain. The nerves in your core had exploded, leaving nothing but fragments of pleasure in their wake.

The second after you hurtled through your orgasm, you felt Bucky follow, his hot cum spilling out of you from around his cock.

You were shaking uncontrollably and gasping for breath as you tried to recover from the earth-shattering orgasm you’d just experienced.

Bucky slowly pulled out of you, and you whined at the loss, struggling against your restraints. He noticed and instantly untied you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to his body.

You curled into his embrace, letting the day’s emotions wash over you.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. “You did so well for me.”

It was a few minutes before he spoke again.

“I’m going to get a rag to clean you up.”

He tried to move your arms from their place wrapped around him, but you wouldn’t release him from your hold.

You buried your face in his chest and brought your knees to rest on his thighs, trying to make yourself as small as possible while still holding onto him.

“Babygirl, I need you to look at me,” he coaxed, using two fingers to guide your chin up. You let his hand move you. “Hi. I’m going to need you to come back to me. I’m here. Can you follow my voice? You’re alright. I’m so proud of you. You did such a good job for me. Such a good girl,” he praised, watching your mind return to your body.

“Bucky,” you said, blinking.

“There you are,” he smiled sweetly, brushing his thumbs over your cheekbones.

“Hi,” you returned his smile. “Did I go away?”

He nodded. “Just for a minute, but you’re back now. How are you feeling? Does anywhere hurt?”

You paused, assessing your physical state. “I’m ok.”

“Lemme see your wrists.”

You showed him. “I’m ok, I promise.”

He ran a gentle finger over the red marks.

“That wasn’t you,” you reassured, needing him to know he didn’t hurt you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It wasn’t you.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, that I couldn’t protect you. I’m so sorry, babygirl.”

“This is not your fault, Buck.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Ok. Can I have a bath?”

“Of course. Would you like me to fill the tub for you?”

“No, it’s alright, I can.” You swung your legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. The second you put weight on your legs, they buckled.

“Woah,” Bucky said, rushing to your side to help you sit back down. “Stay. I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, embarrassed you couldn’t even stand, let alone run a bath.

You heard the sound of running water, and a minute or two after, Bucky returned. He didn’t even offer to help you stand. He slid one arm under your knees while the other supported your back.

He effortlessly carried you to the bathroom, lowering you into the warm water. You quietly sighed as the water consumed you, your eyes fluttering shut.

You felt the warmth of his body slide behind you as he wrapped his arms around you, allowing your muscles to go limp.

Your head fell back against his chest while his fingers traced little figure-8s on your arm and stomach.

You opened your eyes and tilted your head back to look up at him. Your hand went absently to his chin, swiping at the dried blood.

“You’re still dirty,” you remarked.

He chuckled. “I haven’t gotten a chance to clean myself. Not that you’re one to talk, sugar,” he countered, running a hand over the dirt and grime covering your hair.

You smiled.

He helped you wash your hair and body, but he adamantly refused when you tried to do the same for him.

You usually would have insisted, but you were running out of energy, so you let it slide. After the two of you were clean, you sat there for a while, bodies entangled in the warm water, not saying a thing, simply enjoying each other’s presence.

You tried to hide a yawn, but of course, Bucky noticed.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” he suggested.

“I wanna stay here with you,” you protested quietly.

“Babygirl, I’m not going anywhere, but the water’s getting cold, and I want you to sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

You hummed noncommittally.

“I need you to sit up for me so I can get you a towel.”

You did as instructed, shivering involuntarily as his body moved away from you. He quickly wrapped a towel around his waist before helping you out of the tub into a towel of your own.

He towel-dried your hair and quickly twisted it into a braid for the night.

“I grabbed some clothes for you earlier if you want them,” he offered, and you nodded, pulling the towel tighter around your shoulders.

He helped you dry off, supporting your weight as you were still a bit shaky on your legs. You pulled on his t-shirt, ignoring the pair of boxers he’d brought for you. He shrugged, pulling the boxers on himself before running the towel through his hair.

You were leaning against the wall, exhaustion starting to creep through your bones. Once he’d finished, he gently picked you up and carried you to the bed, flipping off the bathroom lights.

Setting you on a nearby chair, he quickly pulled the top layer of sheets off the bed, tossing them aside to be washed later. He put the restraints back into the drawer and pulled back the covers before returning to you.

“Ready?” he asked, and you nodded.

He moved you to the bed and paused.

“I’m going to get you some water. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“No, please, don’t go,” you whimpered, clutching his arm.

His gaze softened. “Alright. I’ll have Nat bring it, but you still need to drink it. Deal?”

You nodded your agreement, smiling softly.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and sent a quick text before climbing into bed beside you. You tried to cuddle into him, but he stopped you.

“Stay sitting until you drink your water. Then we can cuddle all you want.”

You huffed but sat back up.

There was a quiet knock on the door.

“Come in,” Bucky called.

The door opened, and Nat walked in, holding a glass of ice water. She tossed something to Bucky before walking to the side of the bed and handing you the glass, giving you a kind smile.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m ok. And thank you. I know it’s your job and all, but still…” you trailed off.

“Of course. Just so you know, I’d still do it even if it wasn’t my job,” she said sweetly. “I’m glad you’re ok. You had me worried there for a minute.”

You looked down at your lap. “I’m sorry for leaving. I know it made your job all the much harder.”

“Hey, don’t go there. The only people whose fault it really is are those who took you. Now, drink your water,” she smiled teasingly.

You chuckled, taking a sip. “Good night, Nat.”

“Good night,” she replied, walking to the door.

“Thanks, Romanoff,” Bucky called. She nodded in acknowledgment before gently shutting the door behind her.

“Drink some more, babygirl,” he instructed.

You drank about half the glass and set it on the nightstand.

“Good girl. Can I see your hands?” he asked.

You frowned in confusion but held them out to him. He carefully started spreading a white cream over the raw skin on your wrists. You pulled away instinctively.

“What is that?” you asked hesitantly.

“It’s a pain-relieving antibiotic. I’m going to put it on the cut on your neck too.”

That was what Nat had tossed him.

“Oh. Sorry.” You held your hands back out to him.

“Don’t apologize. I should have told you what I was doing.”

He finished applying the ointment to your wrists, and you tilted your head to allow him access to the cut across your neck.

“There we go. We’ll see my doctor tomorrow to ensure you’re alright.”

“Buck, it’s just a little cut.”

“I don’t care. They hurt you, and I will do everything I can to get you better,” he said sternly.

You sighed, fully aware that nothing you said would change his mind.

“I need you to be ok with doing it my way this time,” he said quietly.

“I know. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Thank you, babygirl. Now get some sleep, alright? I love you.”

Bucky switched off the lights, and you snuggled into him. You draped an arm over his stomach, head resting on his chest, and a leg thrown over his leg.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to him. It was almost like he was scared of losing you again. The feeling of being in his embrace was almost beyond words.

It was comfort, trust, security, and peace.

It was love.