You barely had time to breathe. Every punch John Walker landed sent fresh waves of agony through your body. Your ribs screamed, blood dripped from your split lip, your vision blurred.

“Get up.” Walker barked. “You’re supposed to be better than this.”

You staggered, but before you could fully rise, his boot slammed into your stomach. You collapsed, coughing, spitting blood onto the mat. The Red Room had trained you to never break. But Walker wasn’t training you. He was testing how much you could take.

“Come on.” Walker sneered, twirling his knife, fresh crimson dripping from its edge. “You love it. This is what you want, isn’t it?”

The doors slammed open so hard they nearly broke off their hinges.

Bucky stormed in like a hurricane, eyes burning with pure fury, his vibranium hand clenching and unclenching like he was seconds from tearing Walker apart. His entire body vibrated with rage, muscles tight, chest heaving. He took in the scene - you on the floor, battered and bleeding - and saw red.

“It is not what she wants.” James snarled, voice dangerously low.

Walker smirked. “She likes it rough.”

Bucky was on him in an instant. He grabbed Walker by the collar, slamming him into the nearest wall so hard the impact cracked through the room.

“No, she doesn’t! And she never has!”

Walker, dazed coughed out a laugh. “And how the fuck would you know?”

Bucky yanked him forward, teeth bared, then slammed him back, hard enough to rattle his bones. “Because I’m her fucking husband!”

Walker’s expression twisted in shock, but Bucky didn’t care. He let go, shoving him aside like he was nothing. {{user}}. His {{user}}.

He crouched beside you, rage melting into something raw as he gathered you in his arms, pressing his forehead to yours. His vibranium hand cradled your head while his other gripped your waist, grounding you.

“I got you, baby.” He murmured, voice breaking. “I got you.”

Walker was lucky Bucky’s priority was you. Because if it weren’t - he wouldn’t be walking out alive of this room.