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[h2obased]

Another Word For Surveillance - Part 12

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You asked Bucky out. He said no. Cool. How do you move on? You don’t.

Notes & Warnings:

DNI if under 18 | Fluff, swearing, canon typical violence, some angst, lotsa pining, sexual content I don’t give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere. I only post stories here and on AO3. Series Chapters || Masterlist Another Word For Surveillance - Part Twelve

BUCKY

Sometimes Bucky had terrible luck. There’s a permanent exhibit at the Smithsonian and a handful of documentaries elaborating on this deplorable fact.

When Steve told Bucky about having to leave the same day for a mission, only six minutes after you made him a very happy man in that cramped office room, all Bucky could do was repeatedly curse until Steve ended the call. 

Of course he has to leave again. Of course.

He can’t do anything about that but there was one thing he could change now - he made you his first call. And that made all the difference. 

You took the news well, in that you did not start spouting expletives unlike Bucky, but you were worried nonetheless. 

“Allentown? Wasn’t that a dead end?”

“Can’t say where.” Bucky slipped into another office room at the hangar, which was very similar to where he first kissed you, and the memory filled him with the warmth of assurance. “Sorry Sweets.”

“It’s Allentown.”

“No.” Lie. Bucky didn’t wait for you to catch on. “It’s three days tops.”

“Is it though?”

That made him laugh. A belly-warming, head-clearing, eye-crinkling laugh.

Nobody ever fussed about where Bucky went. Except you. Over a year ago, he was off to steal alien tech in Atlantic City and transport it to a facility in Colorado. He disappeared for two days. Nobody even asked where he had been. But when he skipped a morning meeting to run down a lead, even the groundskeepers told him you popped by to inquire if Bucky had taken one of the mowers again for a joy ride.

It was nice to know you cared enough to be bummed out by the spontaneous nature of his job.

You took a breath, like you wanted to say something.

“Yeah Sweets?” He held his breath.

But you didn’t say much after that. Just a goodbye, with a smile in your voice. “Nothing, just… be careful out there.” A microwave dinged. “In Allentown.”

He pictured you walking around the apartment barefoot, wearing his shirt. The one you never returned. He chuckled, knowing there wasn’t much he could say to make you think you got the location wrong. 

“See you in three days ok?” He sounded a little bit too eager, but this was critical. In three days, he’ll get time with you, away from the office, away from screens, paperwork and case files. Just you and him. 

“Ok Bucky. Three days.” 

You sounded so sweet, even if you didn’t know what he had in mind.

It’s never just three days. Not when Bucky’s on the passenger manifest. Of course. 

His frustration peaked when three days became five and even when the Quinjet hit cruising altitude mere minutes after taking off from an abandoned complex in Allentown on Day Six, he continued to simmer and refused to speak. 

He couldn’t even reply to your messages without rambling. There was much to tell you about the most routine activities - he discovered the best way to roll a hoodie and turn it into a pillow -  but he couldn’t string words together. Instead, he sent you a short text letting you know he’ll be home soon. Bucky tossed his phone into his bag half-heartedly, knowing he would have been better off scrolling through your messages: cat memes and photos of overgrown grass at the compound.

Mild annoyance took up all his energy that moment. He wanted to blame Steve, somebody, anybody, but deep down Bucky knew there was no one to blame for this delay, except maybe the asshole trafficking a bad batch of the super soldier serum that nearly caused a gang turf war to erupt in the east coast.

He closed his eyes and exhaled, feeling his stomach contract and gradually expand as he followed with slow deep breaths. 

Bucky placed his palms flat against his legs and focused on you. He planned on making dinner. One of the three dishes he learned how to do really well. He’d bribe the bozos to stay out of the apartment. So that you can relax and forget about everything else. And if you wanted more than that, well Bucky was prepared for whatever you felt like doing. 

Yeah, he could see himself doing all these things with you. 

Now that he could admit that to himself, a slight panic rose because he really should be spending more time delivering on The Plan. 

To convince you that The Incident back at the bar all those months ago was a fluke. 

That he was prepared to go to great lengths to make you happy. 

That all he wanted to be was yours. 

It wasn’t just a one-night plan - it was a lifetime plan. He was prepared to shoot for the fucking stars.

The potency of his conviction made him feel dizzy at times. It was definitely unusual, this sense of knowing where he belonged. And to whom. For someone who has bounced from one decade to another without a clear sense of why the hell he’s still around, the certainty that he was meant to be here brought him agency. There’s power in that. 

Getting delayed by work wasn’t just inconvenient, it was not acceptable. He wasted enough time sitting on his ass.

Bucky peeked at the screen overhead and grunted. How can it only be two minutes since take off? 

“Breathe man,” Sam intoned from across the aisle.

Bucky exhaled again, expelling nerves from his system, allowing himself to sink into visions of you. The inquisitive smile you wore when he talked about keeping himself entertained during missions. The way your scent cut through and Bucky could never get enough. 

Your hand on his.

The next time he opened his eyes, the jet dipped under the clouds set against the skyline of upstate New York. The pilot announced landing instructions. Bucky was first to disembark and he didn’t stop walking until he reached the secure grid leading to their residence. 

A third of the walk to the apartments was all the time it took to figure out where you were that evening. It had little to do with his tracking skills. 

It was Romanoff who sent him your location. A peace offering of sorts, Bucky supposed.

“Well played,” he muttered as he picked up his pace. He had time to shower - that was it - and then Bucky was making his way to you.

The First Resort was named after Last Resort, the bar in Total Recall. 

Sam said Total Recall was a movie that came out in the nineties. And the 2000s. He was quick to launch into a monologue about a bodybuilder from Austria, but all Bucky cared about was what the name implied about people at the compound resorting to a drink at the end of a long work day.

No judgment there. If Bucky could get drunk, he’d probably be a regular. 

He parked that thought as he arrived at the bar. It didn’t take him long to spot you in the crowd; it’s a skill Bucky was proud to master. 

His eyes zeroed in on you but he was mindful about keeping a neutral expression. He promptly registered your immediate surroundings - assholes abounded, but it's the lethal ones he needed to weed out as a priority - out of habit and smiled politely at the people at your table. It’s the usual crowd from your team with a few engineers, but Bucky wasn’t one to crash a table like he was the guest of honor. 

A guy telling a story about camping in Nevada paused mid-sentence to glance at Bucky standing awkwardly behind your seat.

You turned your head up, your kilowatt smile stunning the soldier. “Hi.”

Bucky couldn’t even remember what he was so angry about on the flight back home anymore.

“Someone’s been drinking to pass the time until your return Barnes,” Claire teased. 

Bucky’s cheeks reddened and he turned to you helplessly. 

You tilted your head toward the bar. “Let’s get you a drink?”

He eyed the half-empty bottle of beer sitting on rings of water by your arm. While everyone else was on their third or fourth beer, you’d been nursing your drink.

“I’ll have another one too please, thanks Bucky!” Claire called out as Bucky followed you to the bar. 

“It’s been a long day for everyone assigned to Stark’s project,” you explained before glancing at the bartender.

“I don’t really want a beer,” he admitted. Bucky knew what he needed to tell you. He just wasn’t sure how to get there. He took a deep breath, feeling the knots in his shoulder relax as your scent filled his head. He swallowed and focused on that. This was a good start.

He caught your  reflection watching him on the metal panel above the shelf of liquor bottles. The two of you stood elbow to elbow on the bar. Close enough to suggest familiarity but not close enough for Claire to whistle and yell inappropriate jokes from her seat. 

It sure as hell wasn’t close enough for him. 

“Bucky Barnes says no to getting a drink with me? Totally unheard of, I am in shock.” Your mouth dropped, a perfect O, and Bucky almost lost his mind. “I’m in shock!”

He bit his lip. It would have to be one of those things he’s going to have to live with. 

“Relax. I’ll get over it.” Your elbow jabbed him. “I think.”

He exhaled with relief, the color returning to his cheeks. 

You ordered a bottle for Claire and a “lemonade on the rocks” for Bucky. 

He stood next to you, back straight, metal arm resting on the wooden surface. The bar was noisy, and he generally refused to subject himself to places like this. As long as you were next to him though, Bucky can forgive the unbearable world. He could switch off everything in the background. You were the only thing that existed.

He caught you eyeing him again, searching for a bruise maybe or a telltale plaster bandage creeping under a hemline.

“I’m fine.” A few cuts on his arm, the one that had functioning pain receptors at that, but Bucky was going to live. “How’s work?” He asked to deflect your attention off his injury.

“What work, someone kicked me out of a case, remember?” Your amused smile taunted him.

“Can’t be kicked out of an op that didn’t exist,” he retorted with a raised brow. 

You shot him a dirty look. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. The bartender saved him by sliding drinks before the two of you.

The lemonade cooled his hand. Bucky sipped as you recounted your work week. 

“At least I’m not on Stark’s latest pet project thank God.” A shadow fell over his drink when you shifted toward him. Bucky tilted his head to hear you over the music. “I’m not supposed to know it involves selling fake Stark tech on the dark web.”

Bucky glanced back at the table. Claire waved at him, presumably asking for her beer. 

You followed his gaze and sighed. “Has she been waving for beer this entire time?”

It’s very bad for a field agent like him to be this unaware about everything that was not you. 

Bucky smiled. He’d give his good arm to get rid of the hypervigilance drilled into his brain. 

“Is it going to be one of those times where you do all the smiling and listening?”

He shook his head and found his opening. Bucky turned to you. “I’m making ribs tonight.” That didn’t sound like an invitation. “At home.” Bucky groaned inwardly. What’s up with the declarations? Ask the question, dumbass.

“Sounds nice.”

“You hungry?” He finally blurted out. “I mean-“

“Yeah.”

He grinned, partly relieved, but mainly just happy to be right where you were now. “I walked here.”

You didn’t need to consider it. “Guess I’m going to be famished by the time we reach the south grid.”

On the way out, you passed Claire’s beer to him. Bucky promptly delivered it to her seat. 

Claire accepted the bottle with a wink.

“We’re going for a walk,” he explained, like he needed Claire’s permission.

“Yeah sure.” Claire waved him off with a lazy hand and another sly wink.

It took ages to return to the apartment. He couldn’t very well hoist you over his shoulder and start sprinting. Bucky eyed you carefully, amused that half of his brain already considered the mechanics it would entail. 

The noises dulled the farther you walked. A soft wind blew south. Grass muffled carefree footsteps. 

Bucky smiled. It would be so easy; he wouldn’t even break a sweat.

You questioned his chuckles with narrowed eyes. 

“Hmmm?” His round eyes countered yours. 

Not that he minded the slow hike. It gave you time to ask him in three different ways if he was indeed fine and not hiding any other injuries. You only moved on to Kit The Tractor when his reply satisfied you. 

There wasn’t much he could say by way of lawnmower updates because he’d been away and while he did his best thinking while repairing machines, Bucky had been spending his free time hunting down special flavored KitKats or hanging around in the office to see you instead. 

The apartments loomed ahead, finally, and he noticed your sudden hesitation, footsteps slowing, like you haven’t been to the area before.

“So I got this interesting email from the security office this week…” Your eyes focused on the path ahead. “It said - come down to Happy Hogan’s office ASAP. I was not allowed to reschedule the appointment. When I get there, Happy wants to know if I consent to my biometric information being kept on file.”

“Ah,” was all Bucky could offer. It appeared he wasn’t the only one with ulterior motives for this walk. 

You looked at him curiously. “And because I’m not an idiot I asked for what purpose my personal data was being stored and processed. Guess what he said.”

“Uh-“ Bucky stalled. 

“Unrestricted access to Grid 5 common areas and the private quarters of Mr. James Barnes.” 

By then, you reached the steps to the lobby, where the doors promptly slid open. You entered the building and waited for Bucky to follow before turning toward him with crossed arms. 

“So all those times we were barely speaking, I could have - we could have been…“ You gestured to both of you before slowly dropping your hands to your sides. Your eyes stayed on him but Bucky knew you were speeding through different scenarios in your mind, calculating the likelihood of getting hurt again.

Bucky swallowed. He knew things weren’t going to be perfect everyday. But together, the two of you can string the happy days one after the next, until a terrible day comes but the thing is - he’ll love you through all those days too. And maybe, you’d put your faith in that promise and trust Bucky too.

“Were you ever going to tell me about it?” 

Bucky opened his mouth to defend his lack of judgment but your expression stopped him. One look at your understanding eyes, arched brows waiting patiently for him, and flushed cheeks, not from walking but from knowing exactly what it means for Bucky to fill out five darned forms so you could come and go to the apartments as you pleased - he could only smile back sheepishly. 

He scratched his head and offered you an apologetic grin. This wasn’t how he wanted you to find out about having access to his house all this time.

He also remembered that the lobby was dotted with security cameras broadcasting a live feed to other residents.

Bucky gestured to the elevators quickly and wordlessly, relieved you didn’t demand an explanation right then, when half the team could be watching from their own monitors. 

You entered the lift and Bucky slipped in just before the doors closed. Before small talk could be attempted, the doors reopened on the floor he shared with his best friends.

You stepped out and Bucky walked behind you the entire time, listening to your theories on how the security system worked. 

“Where’s everyone?” 

Steve was in Malta, sticking his nose into something best left alone. Sam, proving he understood Bucky more than either of them wanted to admit, said he was flying to New Orleans right before the jet landed earlier.

“Gone,” Bucky replied. He cared about his friends - one could even say he loved those clowns - but right now, he did not give a rat’s ass. With all due respect.

“Ah.” You leaned against the kitchen island, hip caressing tile, and Bucky swore you did these things on purpose. 

He followed your idle gaze skimming the shiny Italian coffee machine on the counter (Sam’s) and the bananas (Bucky’s) two days away from being officially inedible. 

The simmering pot caught your eye. “You left the stove on?”

He almost forgot about that. Bucky glanced at his watch. Half an hour or so left on the ribs. He nodded once.

“What if I wasn’t at the bar?”

He shrugged again because it didn’t matter. “You’d be in the office. Or home.” It could have been a dive bar in Chinatown. He would find you. 

The happy smile sucker punched him again. Bucky held on to the counter - to his wits - with a Vibranium grip.

With a deep breath, he turned to you. “I was gonna tell you about the security list.” A line of sweat formed above his brows.

There were so many things he wanted to tell you. Ever since that night at the bar. 

When he begins to feel overwhelmed, he finds it best to focus on you. The center of his world. Bucky followed the magnetic pull with stumbling feet and he’s relieved when you giggled at the contact.

“You have a very unusual way of telling people you like them.” Your fingers brushed his chest, right over his ancient heart, the one he believed was beyond fixing.

He was so wrong, thank God.

Bucky had to clear his throat. “I don’t like people.” You, on the other hand… “But you can come here whenever you want. I have cookies. And books. I have good books you’d like. And uh… I have a photo of my family somewhere… and guns- ” from the 1940s, he meant to add but he was scrambling for points of interest in the apartment that were more Sweets-aligned and less old man vibes.

“Come run surveillance here. On me.” His voice felt hoarse. He took a deep breath. “Although technically running surveillance means-.”

“I know.” Your lips quickly brushed his, effectively halting his panic. “I like you too, Bucky Barnes. A lot.”

After you pulled back with a triumphant smile, he was momentarily confused but mostly giddy. Too giddy even to be disappointed by the fleeting kiss. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t fix anyway. “How about you ask your building super to give me a break then?” He lifted your chin with a trembling hand, gazing at your mouth with undisguised hunger. 

Fucking hell he’d turn the world upside down if you asked him to.

Bucky kissed you and took his sweet time about it. He tasted the smile on your lips; they were heavenly, just as he remembered. He would never get enough of it. 

He savored your warmth and the way your curves and edges seemed to be a perfect fit with his. Eager hands squeezed the exposed skin above your waist, and when you gasped, he swooped in to take your breath with another kiss.

His searching tongue coaxed yours into tasting his. With every passing second, Bucky lost himself. He couldn’t hang on to a single thought so he followed his instincts instead. 

A surge of hunger overtook him, testing his self-control. He held your face as gently as his needy hands could, and kissed you like a man making up for lost time. 

His hands kneaded your back, moving slowly until they settled on your waist again.

You sighed, your breath fanning Bucky’s feverish neck. He whispered your name as you trailed kisses from his jaw to his neck, his hands never leaving your lower back. He couldn’t let you go. Not again. 

“Do you-“

“Yeah-“

Bucky nearly kicked his bedroom door off its hinges. He cupped your cheek and backed you onto his bed. 

While crossing the threshold to his room didn’t dull the intensity in him, it heightened the intimacy to the point where Bucky’s heart stilled. He took your hand and kissed your wrist, almost reverently. He was so lost in you and yet he could see everything so clearly too. 

The strands of messy hair, his own doing. The soft line framing your mouth when you smiled at him. The light in your eyes. 

The slowed pace confused you for a moment, but before you could say a word, Bucky pressed his nose into your flushed neck. His hands itched to rip your clothes off, but he slipped a finger under your hoodie instead, sliding it off one shoulder slowly before moving to the other.

He wanted to remember all of this. 

“I miss you.” He confessed as you left a delicious path of kisses over his jaw. “Miss you everyday. When you’re not in the office. When they make me go - ah oh fuck,” Bucky gasped when your hand trailed below his navel.

With careful hands he pulled your shirt up. Soft, warm skin beckoned. Bucky practically tore the fabric apart trying to get it off you. 

“Let me - Buck - whoa, Bucky!” You giggled at his impatience. 

His eyes went wide with awe. You were the most beautiful thing he’s laid eyes on. And you were on his bed. 

He climbed over you within seconds, determined to kiss every surface area that was just unveiled to him. 

“Bucky.“ Your outstretched hand only found air. 

He made quick work of your boots and jeans. His breathing picked up with every inch of leg revealed. He was already delirious and it’s only from watching you writhe on his sheet, undeniable want etched on your face.

“Bucky.” A little more stern this time, but he really liked how his name sounded coming from you.

“Yeah Sweets?” He discarded his own clothes with ease. He watched you rake his body up and down in admiration with your eyes and dropped jaw.

“I didn’t come here to stare at you… come here…” Your voice trailed as your gaze finally settled on his eyes.

He smirked. Bucky was obedient when the right orders were given. Within a second he straddled your hips, the tip of his nose brushing yours. Your lips parted but he didn’t give you a chance to breathe. Bucky kissed you with determined lips, his fingers brushing the hair off your face. 

All he knew for decades was loneliness. The program wiped his memories, but the hollow ache remained, not even after the crew picked him up from Wakanda. 

Yet right now, he couldn’t even tell where he ended and you began. 

And neither of you seemed to be in such a hurry to figure that one out. 

He chuckled against your chest. 

“What’s so funny?” Your idle hand caressed his tingling skin.

Bucky felt your body arching to him. He quietly marveled at how good this feels - and how the intimacy feels familiar, similar to exchanging secret looks from across a conference room, like things were always meant to be like this. He crawled up to you, whispering “Nothing.”

Just that sometimes he was also one lucky bastard.

Thank you for reading. I hope you liked this.

If you need more Bucky in your life, I have other stories here: Masterlist.

[h2obased]

Another Word For Surveillance - Part 11

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You asked Bucky out. He said no. Cool. How do you move on? You don’t.

Notes & Warnings:

DNI if under 18 | Fluff, swearing, canon typical violence, some angst, lotsa pining, sexual content

I don’t give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere.

Series Chapters || Masterlist

Another Word For Surveillance - Part Eleven

SWEETS

There’s an open invitation from Steve to run every morning with him around the compound. The most athletic employees, typically ex-military, SHIELD-type individuals joined him a few days a week but never more than an hour per day. The only person who could keep up with Steve’s pace and grueling exercise schedule was Bucky, but even he refused to run everyday. He wouldn’t tell Steve why either. 

You knew better than to bug him - it’s his time after all.

Still, when you wanted to know if Bucky was in the compound, you’d keep an eye on the intersection of Grids 2 and 3, wait for a golden flash to zoom through the path in the morning, and see if that’s followed by dark hair waving wildly in the wind.

And that’s exactly what you did the morning after getting pizza with Bucky. 

You stood by the window next to his old work desk. Coffee in one hand and banana in the other, mentally going through what happened - or because of your overthinking, what did not happen - last night.

You regretted not trying harder to promote your apartment facilities to Bucky last night. You had a functioning coffee maker. A clean shower. A drawer dedicated to KitKats. And if all those things failed, you could have appealed to the gentleman in him and brought up the wobbly shelf - would he be so kind and take a look at it please?

Not that you expected him to make the first move.

And it’s not like you subscribed to a timeline of when you would be ready to try again with him.

You didn’t even need a grand gesture from him.

You just wanted Bucky Barnes in your life.

How could something that was so clear also seem so confusing at the same time?

Sam caught your attention as he sprinted across the field leading to the back of the compound, his shadow crossing with the lines formed by posts that lined the path. If the security manual was to be believed, a 360-degree camera mounted on each post monitored all visitors - official and unwelcome - from the moment they stepped into Grid Five.

Seconds later, Steve, probably finishing his third lap, caught up with Sam. You stood with your back straight, breathing temporarily halted, finger impatiently tapping the cup and willed a third runner to whiz by.

A full minute passed without any sign of Bucky. 

He wasn’t at the hangar either, and the grounds-keeping crew told you it’s unlikely that he’s whacking weeds into submission today because he accomplished all that last week.

“Have you tried texting him?” someone asked pointedly, to which you replied, “No, it’s not urgent,” with what you hoped was a carefree wave. 

As you walked back to your building, you tried to shake off the embarrassment. Of course you could’ve told him you’ve been up all night thinking, and ask him to drop by your floor. Today, if he had time. No big deal.

That text remained in the drafts folder in your head.

Over lunch, you contemplated marching over to the Avenger residence grid and just keep walking until one of Tony’s tiny drones shot you down. You were a little hazy on the security features of the compound’s private area. It’s not like you had a lot of reasons to trespass before.

Your phone dinged and Claire snorted when you practically dived to check who sent you a message.

“Sam says you’ve been stalking me.”

You huffed because Bucky would be correct about that.

“Busy? Need to ask you something.” He didn’t wait for a response. He forwarded a meeting invitation titled “Hangar” - no punctuation, no explanation in the email body.

You huffed again. Were you supposed to guess which hangar in this acre upon acre of a compound he was referring to?

It’s not like you didn’t know what he meant. And you weren’t going to pretend having that knowledge didn’t make you smile ear-to-ear. But if it’s a last-minute invite to a session with R&D or aircraft maintenance, couldn’t he at least add a salutation or something?

Sometimes these 30-minute meetings turned out to be two-hour operational reviews so you wanted to come prepared. Armed with a bag of mini-chocolate bars, you trooped to the hangar section, looking forward to a new project and a Bucky-sighting.  

But it was Steve you found pacing in the room. His sleeves were pushed - not rolled - pushed up his arms, which probably meant he’d been in meetings today. Judging by the starched shirt and tired smile he flashed upon seeing you, it wasn’t just some meeting with four-star generals or state officials who had Nick Fury’s number on speed dial.

“Come in,” he waved you to the only seat with a cushioned back.

“Uh, hi.” You glanced around the empty room. It felt smaller somehow. “How are you?”

He thought about the question. “Old.”

“Mentally or like the arthritis flares up-”

“Bucky and Sam are planning something for my birthday.” His eyes lit up. “Help me find out what they’re up to.”  

“Oh uh-”

“Surely you have strings you can pull around here.” His brows furrowed. “Seriously. They refuse to acknowledge that no fuss means no fuss.”

Before you could reply, the door burst open, revealing Bucky. His eyes met yours for a fleeting second before moving on to Steve. “Good. We can start.” 

The men grabbed the remaining wooden chairs. On your right, Bucky offered a tight smile, which turned into a wince upon taking a seat. That’s when you also noticed the pink cheeks and messy bun.

“Thanks for joining us pal,” Steve drily said, though he eyed Bucky with mild curiosity too.

Bucky shifted his weight slowly. He gestured to the bag of chocolate in the middle of the table. “It’s not an R&D meeting,” he said as if that helped clarify why you’ve been summoned to a tiny windowless room with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. “May I?”

You nodded idly and watched as Bucky fished a bar for himself before tossing one to his best friend.

Steve caught the foil-wrapped candy before it hit him between the forehead. “I take it Natasha took the news well.” 

Bucky grunted as he stretched his neck.

Steve chuckled. “As well as we can hope for at least.”

“Do you know how high the voltage on those things go?” Bucky flicked a mini-bar, hitting Steve’s chin.

The chocolate missile was ignored. “Everybody knows the bracelets have been upgraded.”

Bucky replied in rapid-fire Russian and his frustration, the narrowed eyes, and stubborn tendril on his jaw, it was all sorts of hot but you weren’t sure if it was ok to laugh about Natasha Romanoff setting electroshock charges on Bucky’s plums. 

Your failed attempt at muffling a snicker shifted the focus back to the meeting agenda.

With a rather authoritative sigh, Steve flipped his laptop to show you a blurry image. “You’re familiar?”

It was a rhetorical question. You didn’t even have to lean for a closer look at the 640px by 400px image.

It’s a crime scene photo from a 2017 assassination in Tbilisi, Georgia - the case Natasha asked you to look into. Off the books because the US government didn’t believe it was relevant to its interests in the region. Natasha saved the case files in an air-gapped computer off-base. You didn’t even dare keep back-up copies with you.

It was nearly impossible not to start blabbing when the two looked at you with kind eyes, respecting your loyalty to Natasha.

Steve tilted his head. “We already know you and Nat were looking into these four attacks.” 

“Three,” you muttered without thinking.

“New confirmed attack. Two days ago, we believe,” he showed you another graphic photo.

The hairs on your arm rose but you didn’t look away from the image. “US soil?” You’d bet that’s enough to scare the government into asking Steve Rogers for yet another favor. 

No one spoke. Nobody moved. One could say both men pretended in unison you weren’t asking for classified information.

“Who’s ‘we’?” You tried again, turning toward the string you could pull.

The sound of metal gears humming gave Bucky away. His crossed arms didn’t do much to mask his distress. His signature “anywhere but here” expression appeared. Like he’d rather be at a black tie event shaking hands with strangers who stared at his arm a little too long than be having this conversation with you right now.

Steve began circling the room. “You were on the right track, you know. About looking at the victims’ profiles instead of the cause of death. If we had you on the field-” 

“Steve.”

The soldiers glared at each other. Their twin telepathy always amazed you, although today there were more pressing matters to focus on.

“What does this have to do with Bucky getting the special treatment from Nat?” 

Five more seconds of staring determined who would finally take your question.

“This became an official mission yesterday. Locate and detain. Ideally.” Bucky spoke calmly, as if the alternative involved sending a person to a spa in the alps.

It felt like you were still missing something. “But she supercharged the shockers. For you.”

“Doesn’t matter-“

“Buck’s taking the case from Nat,” Steve clarified, clicking on another icon to show you the mission report.

“Why?” Did that come off a little pitchy? Nat has been working the case on her own time for at least two years before she brought you in months ago. “No offense,” you added with an apologetic shrug. 

Bucky sat up, placing his palms on the table to balance himself. “For the record, I didn’t take anything. The government, who was glad to remind me about being pardoned, assigned the case to me,” he added pointedly.

With broad, squared shoulders, he addressed you the way a tired school principal reasons with a first-time delinquent. “You’ve been working this with Romanoff for months and I completely understand if you prefer to be assigned to her missions.” He maintained a steady tone but it’s always the mechanical twitch - subtle, but you caught the squeak - that gave him away. 

Your jaw dropped. “You’re kicking me out too.” The realization sent your heart pounding, and the disbelief that followed did nothing to calm you down.

Before either man had a chance to reply, you looked at the ceiling and tried to take a deep breath. “Why? Did I miss something in the intel - which isn’t that great to begin with, just wanted to point it out. Did I set off any alarms?”

You were careful. Natasha drilled that into your unconscious.

“No,” Bucky frowned. “What sort of alarms would you even be setting off anyway?” He asked after a beat, the concern saturating the blue in his eyes, thereby weakening your indignation.

“None.” It’s an oversimplification, but you were trying to keep your spot in the project. “So your first decision after taking over was to take me off the op?” You turned to his friend as if to say “Can you believe this BS?”

Steve completed another slow lap around the table. “For the record, I wanted you to stay.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Four professional hits in a span of five years. More violent. Higher up the food chain. Closer to home. You drafted the brief. You know how sticky this is going to get.”

You sat up. “Then don’t put me on a different assignment.”

Steve gave you a helpless shrug. It wasn’t his call. 

Bucky remained quiet. 

You glanced at the door. You could take the candy and walk out. It’s not like staying in the room to glower at Bucky would change his mind. 

Something clicked as you fumed in silence. Was this why he took you out to dinner? Was this why he didn’t want to step inside your apartment?

“Sweets.” His voice remained steady, compared to your escalating mood. “You know why,” Bucky insisted. He craned his neck, imploring eyes trained on you. 

Avoiding his eyes in this small room - which was really more of a large supply closet - was next to impossible. 

You frowned. You may not be able to ignore that look but that didn’t mean you had to say everything was peachy.

He waited for a few more seconds. “I’m politely kicking you out of the room Steve.” Bucky spoke without taking his eyes off you. 

With only three feet separating you, the intensity transmitted clearly. 

Steve was about to protest but Bucky added a “Thank you!” and that was that. He waited for the telltale metallic click of the door shutting before speaking again. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice dropped, even if you already had privacy. He placed an open hand next to your fist. “Are you mad at me?”

Pretending to be late for another meeting would be the easy way out of this. 

Or you could stay and talk to him. Stay - you wondered if it was possible to choke on your own feelings - and just be in the moment. Weren’t you looking forward to one-on-one time with Bucky the entire day?

Bucky seemed worried but also relieved you hadn’t stormed off yet or confiscated all the candy.

“I don’t like this,” you clarified. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Please stop saying sorry.” You knew he meant it, but letting you work on the case was an entirely different issue.

He nodded and took a deep breath. “I understand.”

Against your better judgment, you glanced at those round blue-gray eyes again. 

Bucky took that as a sign to proceed. “You just turned down an asshole dangling a cushy senior role in D.C. over your head yesterday. Today some better-looking asshole got you reassigned-”

“Hmmm - ‘kicked out’ is more accurate.”

“Reassigned to another op.” He bit his lip to hide a grin because you were letting him get away with the compliment about his looks. 

Being able to make him smile like that was probably the closest thing you’ll have that could count as an enhanced ability. The idea made you giddy as fuck.

Bucky waited for your counter. When you remained silent, he gently prodded your foot with his. “Thought I’m supposed to be the quiet and mysterious one.”

“You think I’m mysterious?”

He laughed. “Sometimes I wish I knew what you were thinking,” he confessed with a shake of his head. A lock of hair landed on the high point of his cheek. Bucky finished three pieces of chocolate before you spoke again. 

“I’m not used to this. And I don’t want to be difficult Bucky. But part of me doesn’t want to let go. Part of me wants to fake having another meeting to go to so I can run away.”

You hoped honesty would change his mind. With a deep breath, you looked him in the eye. “I’d like to stay in this. See this through for Nat.”

He didn’t even blink. “Can’t do that.”

You crossed your arms. “Can’t or won’t?”

When he gave you a measured look, your heart sank. He wasn’t budging. 

“Won’t.” He didn’t look pleased but he wasn’t exactly dripping with remorse either.

Why the hell did Steve think you had a string to pull here again?

“Is it a safety issue or… we share a pizza that I didn’t have to nuke ten times and suddenly we’re not supposed to work together?” Your neck felt warm. “Are you worried about HR policy or - I don’t know. You couldn’t even wait to leave my building last night.”

Realization flashed through his eyes but Bucky didn’t immediately respond. He let you simmer for a few seconds.

“Whoever we are looking for - this asset is a highly-skilled, very unstable maniac. You know this. You wrote the profile.” Bucky retracted his arms when he leaned back on his chair. It squeaked under the weight of the tall super soldier. “I’m not often in a position to make these kinds of calls, but if kicking you out of the op keeps you away from this psychopath, I’m making the same choice every time.”

When a former prisoner of war who was tortured and subjected to mind control for years brings up his ability to choose, there’s no arguing against that. Despite the obvious appeal to your emotion, you couldn’t deny he made a valid point.

“I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to.” 

“Now I understand why Sam whines when he has to take orders from you.”

He smiled. “Because I make the right calls.”

“But Buck-“

In one fluid motion, Bucky crouched next to you. With his face only inches from yours, you could see the fine lines on an otherwise youthful face, a reminder of all the history Bucky carried on his shoulders. His stubble carved a tense jaw. But his eyes were kind. Even when you were giving him quite the headache right now. 

He took your hand. “I promised you I’ll make things right. I swear to God that’s all I’ve been up to. And if you tell me you don’t know what the fuck I’ve been doing, Sweets, that’s going to end me.”

He stroked your tingling skin with a thumb. “And I need you to let me keep doing that. Because…” He exhaled, his warm hand cradling yours. “I hope one day you’ll believe me when I say you’re all I think about.”

It’s definitely possible to choke on your emotions. 

“And looking out for you is a pretty big part of that,” he added.

Bucky watched you closely and he was generous enough not to gloat when your resolve to be stubborn, to make this difficult as payback for being sidelined, to have the last word, crumbled.

When you reached for his cheek, Bucky leaned into your palm immediately like a man under a spell. “I think-“

“Yeah-“ Your lips grazed his forehead and that caring gesture gave way to the hunger you were both suffering from. 

His eyes bored into yours just as Bucky’s lips pressed into yours firmly, seeking to be as close as possible to you. Bucky pulled you up, backing against the table. His weight pushed the slim desk against the wall, dragging a chair with it as it slammed into concrete. 

Bucky’s eyes dazzled below furrowed brows. “Is this - I mean, I thought-“

You were drunk from his kiss. “I’m ok. Are you ok?”

He nodded frantically. 

You let gravity do the work, leaning into Bucky’s space. He didn’t just meet you halfway - his lips crashed into yours this time. 

When you ran your fingers through his hair and dragged your nails gently down his nape, Bucky responded with a groan and nipped at your collarbone before soothing your skin with his tongue. 

A hand warmed the small of your back. Bucky mumbled feverishly onto your temple. You couldn’t make out any of the words but you understood him.

With his arms wrapped around your body, Bucky held you steady. His kisses lingered, like he needed to keep tasting your lips. You barely had time to catch your breath before Bucky’s mouth claimed yours again. 

He brushed the hair off your face as his eyes took you in, mapping your features with care. 

“Is now a good time for an appeal?” You joked before kissing his throat.

Bucky bared his neck with a low moan. “Sweets,” he begged. 

You couldn’t get enough of his scent. It reminded you of riding his bike with your arms curled around him, his steady breathing bringing you so much comfort.

“Maybe?” You teased right before trailing kisses along his jaw. 

He kneaded your skin, hands locking your hips into him. “I think you should ah, you know, keep trying,” Bucky whispered thickly.

“Ok, I think-“ 

He stole the rest of your words, your stream of thought, with another hungry kiss. 

Part Twelve

Find the other parts here.

Masterlist

[h2obased]

bedside manner

Seven of Thirty-One

Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Prompt: “you brought me flowers?”

Summary: after sam calls you to say bucky has been hurt on a mission, you panic and rush to the hospital… only to find out that he’s fine thanks to the super soldier serum.

Warnings: fluff, slight injuries

Word Count: 1,512

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[h2obased]

Into the Flames

The Slutty Bucky Birthday Bash - Day 17 ☘︎

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers (yhhmsgm universe)

Summary: 

The whole thing was a little strange, he knew. Not the most orthodox way of going about it. Bucky wanted Steve to fuck him. Needed it, at this point. But he needed you there, too.

The culmination of For Old Time's Sake and Muscle Memory.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Minors DNI. MMF threesome. Bisexual Bucky & Steve. Anal sex (m receiving). Bottom Bucky, Top Steve. Vaginal sex. Use of safe word. Bucky gets a lil too emotional, but he finds a solution. Light angst & feelings in the middle of the porn, and I'm not sorry. The first half of this is very explicitly Bucky x Steve. Don't read this and get mad at me if you don't like that.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: One delicious Bucky sandwich, coming right up.

slutty bucky birthday bash masterlist

Jumping into the deep end, you called it later, but you were wrong. The deep end brought to mind calm, rippling waters. Cool relief and encapsulating silence, if only Bucky would let himself be swept under.

No, this felt like fucking fire. Scorching flames licking up his spine, igniting his crackling nerves, roaring past his ears. On his hands and knees on the bed, Bucky was blazing hot; his arms were shaking, and it took everything he had to not collapse forward when Steve nudged the blunt tip of his cock against Bucky’s entrance. 

The night was moving unbearably, excruciatingly slowly. Steve had been warming Bucky up for well over an hour now— kissing him first, then stroking him just enough to tease, and now kneeling behind him to finger him— and Bucky was ready to beg. His cock was so hard that it hurt, drooling strings of precum onto the duvet below, and he couldn’t even do anything about it. When he tried to wrap his fist around himself, take some of the edge off, Steve had gently smacked his hand away. 

If he got off now, that would defeat the purpose of foreplay. He knew that. He knew. Steve tried his damndest to avoid Bucky’s prostate as he fingered him open, because every accidental brush, every small moment of pressure, sent Bucky reeling. And he wanted to hold out, but it didn’t help that Steve was naked, too. His thick cock resting against the back of Bucky’s thigh, Bucky could hear each of Steve’s forced-steady breaths, and how his heart was jackhammering away despite his efforts. Could smell the humid, earthen scent of his sweat, and the salty precum that beaded at his tip before smearing across Bucky’s skin. 

But the worst part— the part that made Bucky’s cock jerk painfully when he thought about it, made his arousal coil tight in his gut— was how you were watching them both. 

Because you were there, too. Of course you were. 

“Still okay, Buck?” you asked softly, bringing Bucky’s attention back to earth. Back to where you lounged beside him on the bed, your head casually propped up by your hand. Observing, but not participating. 

The whole thing was a little strange, he knew. Not the most orthodox way of going about it. Bucky nodded and exhaled, releasing the tension from his shoulders with his breath. His jaw was clenched, and he opened his mouth to stretch it for a moment before leaning down to kiss you. You kissed him back, all tenderness; and that was exactly why he wanted you there, watching them like a hawk as you soaked through those pretty panties you were wearing. 

Because Bucky wanted Steve to fuck him. Needed it, at this point. And you would’ve been fine with letting the two of them experiment on their own, because you trusted Bucky— but when Bucky considered it, he felt that small spore of worry take root in his chest. Because his wires were uncrossed now, but what if something changed? 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Steve. Actually, it was the opposite: he trusted that Steve was going to be so gentle, so caring, that Bucky might not be able to handle it. What if being alone and so vulnerable with Steve was enough to undo the progress he had made? He didn’t want to find out. 

Bucky needed this. But he needed you here, too. 

Behind him, Steve let out a strained sigh as he spread more lube over his length. “Ready?” Only one word, but it said so much: Steve’s voice was gravelly with desire and laced up tight with his splintering restraint. Steve was thrilled with the whole situation; he wanted Bucky more than words could express, and if you being here made Bucky more comfortable, then he had no objections. 

Bucky nodded, but Steve didn’t move right away; he just rubbed the tip of his cock over Bucky’s asshole, back and forth. Teasing little swipes that caught on the rim, because Steve was playing a game with himself; the paragon of self control, challenging temptation and proving he could win. Bucky let out an involuntary whine and pushed back against him, and he didn’t need to see Steve’s face to know he was smiling.

With one hand at the base of his cock and the other on Bucky’s hip to hold him still, Steve lined himself up and gently pushed forward. Bucky dropped his head and bore down, trying to breathe deeply through the burn, because he remembered that, at least, remembered that it made things easier. He shuddered, and— 

Steve gasped and went still when Bucky’s body made room for him. Barely an inch had slipped inside, just the tip, but enough to feel like wildfire under Bucky’s skin. “Ah,” he panted through gritted teeth, but it didn’t hurt as much as he had expected it to; better lube these days, he noted disjointedly. He breathed slowly, trying to acclimate to the stretch, the heat— Steve was always so goddamn hot, and now Bucky felt it everywhere— 

With his eyes squeezed shut, Bucky didn’t see the worried look you shot Steve over his shoulder, but he felt Steve take a slow, controlled breath. “Should I st—?”

“Keep going,” Bucky choked out before he could finish. He lifted his head, though he still couldn’t open his eyes. “Hurts. Feels good. Don’t stop.” 

It wasn’t like this was Bucky’s first time getting fucked. First time in seven decades, though, and he figured that put him as close to rookie status as he could get. But he knew what he was doing, he reminded himself. He could handle this.

“Oh, Christ,” Steve groaned when he slipped another inch inside of him, and Bucky let out a broken moan. He had forgotten how intense this was; each nudge deeper felt like lightning shooting up his spine. Shock after shock left him quaking, but Steve talked him through it: “So good, Buck,” he murmured as he massaged Bucky’s hips. “Takin’ it so good.” Warm, rough hands stroked up Bucky’s back, leaving cool relief in their wake. “Damn, you’re perfect.” 

When Steve finally bottomed out, he wrapped an arm around Bucky’s waist and folded forward, covering him completely. Trying so hard to wait, to stay collected and controlled, but Bucky could feel Steve shaking, could hear his bitten-back moans right against his neck. “In you,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. “In you, holy shit. Got my cock all the way in you.” 

If Bucky had any brain capacity left, he would’ve teased Steve. But he was so goddamn full— he could feel Steve in his lungs with every breath he took, in his heart with every pounding beat. Felt Steve’s dewy skin pressed against the expanse of his back, and his capable hands as they held him. Steve was everywhere; inside him and surrounding him, he was the first and the last, the beginning and end. Bucky’s whole body was trembling with it.

He wanted more.

“Well?” Bucky said before sinking his hips back in a way that made Steve’s breath catch. “You gonna fuck me or not?”

Steve was gentle with him, just like he had been their first time together. Back then Steve was just getting used to his new body, his new strength, and he was so careful to not hurt Bucky. Almost too careful— his loving caresses and tender touches made Bucky melt, but that wasn’t enough— he wanted to burn. Then and now, Bucky urged Steve on, pushing his hips back to meet his motions.

A little harder, a little rougher, then, and that was more normal. More reminiscent of their stolen moments, their nights spent in derelict inns and seedy hotels across Europe. As often as they could, but never often enough— they were no strangers to sneaking blowjobs in an alley, or a quickie in Steve’s tent when they had a moment of privacy. 

But in Steve’s tent, they had to be silent. Steve had rutted into him just like this, slow and deep, at countless camps and outposts during the war. Like the camp they made that night before the mission in the Alps. The night Bucky thought he could convince Steve to come home if he just acted sweet enough. If he just begged enough. But Steve refused, and Bucky hated him for it— one last mission, he said, and then he was done— with the Army, with Steve, with all of it—

The memories rose like bile in his throat. “Stop,” Bucky gasped, his body rigid. “Stop, stop.”

Steve froze instantly. Hands still, hips still, but he knew better than to pull out— knew better than to add any more stimulus to Bucky’s already overwhelmed system. “Stopping,” he confirmed, disciplined even though his voice wavered. “You okay?” But Bucky couldn’t answer; he shook his head and tried to quell his building panic.

The bed shifted as you moved closer to him. “Buck, what do you need?” Your hand settled on top of his, protective and possessive, and that was it, he realized. There you were. Your voice tethered him back to reality; back to the present. Back to the bed he shared with you, and the months he had spent healing and growing. Accepting and forgiving. He opened his eyes to find you just inches away, your love for him written all over your flushed face. 

Your eyebrows were pinched with worry, but your pupils were still blown with desire. Lying there watching him, wearing that delicate bra that hid nothing and those impractically silky panties, he could smell the sweet arousal that had pooled between your legs.

Bucky let out a deep breath, because he was safe. He was loved. He was… so, so fucking hard.

“Get over here,” he murmured, lifting his arm to make room for you. “Come here. Yeah, right here.” You were hesitant to move over, but he insisted. He needed you, too. 

He needed you and Steve at the same time.

You slid over so you were flat on your back underneath Bucky, and he dropped to his elbows to cage you in and press a kiss to your neck. With Steve still hard inside him, waiting patiently, he reached between your legs. “Panties off,” he ordered— that was unusual for him, giving orders, and you watched him with wide eyes as you did what you were told. 

“Buck,” Steve said cautiously. “Are you…?”

“Both,” was all Bucky managed to say. “Need both.”

Your hummingbird heart took off when you realized what Bucky was after, and you couldn’t hide the thrilled gleam in your eye. “For the record,” you said as you kicked your panties free from your ankle, “this is a terrible idea.”

“He’s had worse,” Steve said with an indulgent shrug. He eased out of Bucky gently, and Bucky whined at the loss of contact— that wasn’t what he wanted, was the opposite of what he wanted, he needed Steve in him still— but Steve just reached over to grab some pillows. You yelped when he lifted your hips with one hand and stuffed the pillows under them. “There,” he said, eyeing the angle of your body as Bucky lowered himself on top of you. “That’ll work.”

With your hips tilted up like that, Bucky slipped into you easily. He sighed against your collarbone; his dick had been neglected for far too long, and you were so wet and warm that he couldn’t help but give a couple of practice thrusts. Oh, that was good— too good, and when his cock pulsed threateningly, you immediately clenched around it. 

Bucky jolted, pleasure coursing through him like a current. He gave you a wide-eyed, exasperated look. “Don’t,” he scolded. You couldn’t do that, at least not yet— if you did, this would be over before it began.

“Sorry, sorry,” you giggled sheepishly. He kissed your cheek in response, then let his face rest against yours. “You’re doing so good, baby,” you said, and hiked your knees up over his hips to wait.

The pillows kept Bucky at a good angle, too— not quite as exposed as before, but still plenty accessible for Steve. With a bit more lube and an insolent squeeze of Bucky’s asscheek, Steve pushed back inside of him easily. And if Bucky had thought that you simply clenching around him had been overwhelming, he was woefully unprepared for this. 

“This okay?” Steve asked as he nudged a bit deeper, a bit further. And no, it absolutely wasn’t okay— it was better than Bucky could have ever imagined. Consuming and being consumed, he couldn’t keep still. He jerked forward into you without meaning to, then corrected himself and pulled back, only to be met with the resistance of Steve’s cock spearing him open. 

Bucky gasped, writhing between you and Steve, his feet slipping against the sheets. Steve paused, presumably to let Bucky sort himself out, but— “Keep going,” Bucky pleaded, a mix between a rasp and a whine.

Steve didn’t need to be told twice.

He found a steady, driving rhythm, each of his powerful thrusts pushing Bucky forward and into you. But Bucky couldn’t have gotten any deeper if he tried; his pelvis was just grinding against yours relentlessly, and soon enough he had to cover your lips with his own to muffle your whimpers. And you weren’t the only one falling apart. Steve’s cock pressed right over that spot inside of Bucky with every movement, and soon his mind was empty of everything except that all-encompassing static. He could only pant into your mouth, all attempts at kissing abandoned.

Bucky was trying to let Steve be in control, he really was. But he just couldn’t stop the desperate half-jerking motions that wracked through him as the pleasure built; nothing he did could make this feel any better, but it was difficult to rein in instinct. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he sobbed out a gasp against your neck.

“Easy, there,” Steve murmured, slowing his pace but not relenting. “Easy, easy. Feel good?”

“I can’t…” Bucky said, though he couldn’t remember what he was going to say. “I can’t…” Be coherent, apparently. He tried to take a deep breath, but he didn’t get more than a quick gulp of air. “Feels too… much.”

That was the truth; it felt amazing, and overwhelming, and everything all at once. The fullness in his ass, your wet cunt squeezing his cock. Each infinitesimal movement was amplified by feedback from all of his nerves, natural and artificial alike.

“Okay, okay,” Steve soothed as he stopped. “We can wait. Take a break—”

“No.” Bucky backed his hips to take more of Steve, groaning at the pressure over his prostate and the grip of your pussy on his dick, and something clicked. 

“Go ahead and move,” Steve said softly. “I’ll stay still.” He kept his hands on Bucky’s hips, not forcing him one way or the other, but guiding him.

Bucky found a shaky, unsteady rhythm— shallow thrusts forward into you, then back onto Steve’s cock. He chose the depth, the speed, and he quickly found a combination that had him moaning. “Ah— ah—” Bucky panted, right on the cusp of bliss. “Oh, god.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” you said hurriedly, and that was enough to distract Bucky, slow him down, because he didn’t understand. Why would you apologize? You weren’t doing anyth— “Can’t stop it,” you whined. “Can’t stop. Gonna—” 

Oh. Oh, shit.

You shook when your orgasm hit. Clutching at Bucky’s arms and shoulders, you pulled him flush against you while your chest heaved with your brokens sobs, and that was it.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bucky groaned, instantly hysterical. His hips pistoned, rapid-fire, between you and Steve as the pleasure rose like a tidal wave inside him. “M’sorry, I’m sorry, I’m— I’m gonna come—” Bucky’s entire body shuddered, and you and Steve moaned in response.

“C’mon, baby, let me have it,” you whimpered. 

Bucky had never felt anything like it. Molten heat coursing through his veins, his heart pounding so frantically it was sure to burst. He shouted against your neck as he spilled inside you, his body jerking and shaking like it didn’t know how to process the fullness he felt as he clenched around Steve’s cock. 

He was still coming, still trembling, when Steve groaned behind him. “So good,” Steve mumbled. “Squeezin’ me… fuck.” Steve straightened up and ran a hand through his own sweaty hair. “Buck,” he said, and there was something about the timbre of his voice that called Bucky back from his blissful haze. Something he remembered. Something he wanted to pay attention to. “Ah, shit. Oh—” And suddenly Bucky was empty, that pleasurable pressure gone as Steve jacked himself furiously before coming all over Bucky’s back.

All three of you collapsed on the bed, and it was a long while before anyone spoke.

“I take it back,” you finally panted. “Not terrible. Not a terrible idea at all.”

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[h2obased]

Bucky Barnes in TFATWS - The Whole World Is Watching

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Bucky Barnes in TFATWS - The Whole World Is Watching

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Ladies and Gentlemen,

Him

[h2obased]

Sebastian Stan in ‘Captain America: Civil War’ (2016). 

Dir. by Anthony and Joe Russo.

[h2obased]

Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER (2021) - 1.03 • “Power Broker”

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— Angel Flying Too Close To the Ground, Willie Nelson | @musette22 request

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[h2obased]

Another Word For Surveillance - Part 10

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You asked Bucky out. He said no. Cool. How do you move on? You don't.

Notes & Warnings:

DNI if under 18 | Fluff, swearing, canon typical violence, some angst, lotsa pining, sexual content

I don’t give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere.

Word Count: 3,599

Series Chapters || Masterlist

Another Word For Surveillance - Part Ten

All pizzerias were the same to Bucky. Not that the opinion of a guy who was on a strict boiled root crop diet for decades bore much weight.

He parked his bike right in front of a corner restaurant. A green canopy hung over the tall window pane. You caught your reflection - perched behind Bucky on the motorcycle, arms still wrapped around his waist.

“I look at the sign and go, ‘Who’s Sally?’ and he says ‘the lovely missus’ and he’s got a picture of her by the counter and all,” Bucky said. He punctuated the statement with a half smile and a shrug, and that concluded the tale of Why This Pizza Joint Is Unlike The Rest. 

He glanced at your hands. “Ready?”

You released him and blood rushed into your palms. You might have been hugging him a little too hard on the way here. He didn’t say anything about it though. 

Bucky tucked stray hair behind his ears and pointed to the door. Through the narrow entry hall, with his hushed voice bouncing off the tiled walls, Vibranium hand not quite touching your elbow, he escorted you. 

This was nice , you thought to yourself. The search for a tomato-based meal with a doe-eyed man and his contagious smirk. The dreamy haze vanished as the hall led to the empty main dining area, but the fluttering inside you persisted. Probably your stomach reminding you it was past dinner time. 

Bucky pointed to a table by the window. “Only table that doesn’t wobble in this place.”

“Right, and you’ve tried all the tables - oh you have,” you replied, seeing Bucky’s indignation. Of course the man’s tested all the seating options here. “That’s a lot of bread sticks, Bucky.”

You rubbed your mid-section nonchalantly as the two of you sat across each other. It’s only hunger pangs. You should have had chicken wings when you were knocking back those beer bottles at the bar earlier.

When you looked up, curious round eyes peered at you over the menu. Bucky said something about pizzas, to which you agreed without much consideration. You were a little preoccupied with keeping your leg still and your wits with you.

A door from the back swung open, prompting Bucky to set the menu aside. A lean gentleman with slicked back white hair and an immaculate apron appeared behind the counter. He didn’t waste a second before accusing Bucky of cruelty and unfaithfulness.

“Haven’t been here in a while. What with being shot and well, you know the rest,” Bucky muttered as the man bemoaned Bucky’s broken promises. “I’ll be right back.” With quick, long strides, Bucky approached the proprietor, prepared to win back the elderly man’s favor. They spoke in hushed voices and with bluesy jazz coming through the speakers, you couldn’t follow the conversation. 

After a couple of minutes, the man stepped aside and promptly introduced himself. Armand - French by lineage and Italian by way of New Jersey -  apologized for his outburst and said you and Bucky were welcome to stay as long as you wanted. He offered you a bottle of wine, on the house. 

“Oh, um, thank you, that’s so generous but I have to work in the morning.” You spoke quickly, keeping your eyes on Armand. The beer from this afternoon barely registered, so a couple of glasses of wine should be manageable. 

It’s just that the image of a candle-lit dinner and wine glasses made the butterflies in your stomach even more restless.

Fine. You were more than a little nervous.   

Did Armand think you guys were on a date?

Sweet holy Skittles.

Was this a date?

You and Bucky only sat together for working lunches and a handful of group dinners - these were the only activities to compare this evening to. The data felt lacking, to put it mildly. You acknowledged the stretch of imagination it took to come up with the theory that maybe, going on a date with him would be like this. 

Not perfect or well-planned or devoid of butterflies. Just Bucky squinting when he’s trying not to laugh at your unauthorized “Tony Stark doing house chores” impressions. Bucky bumping into you on the sidewalk one too many times for a human with exceedingly excellent litheness. Bucky’s voice swinging deliciously low when he sought your attention. Sweets . 

After Armand returned into the kitchen, Bucky ignored your amused brows and launched into a tale about the time he worked at a kitchen in Bucharest for a few months. He hauled crates of produce delivered at the crack of dawn and washed dishes until closing. Staff liked him because he was a quick learner. Bucky never complained about the hours or took a sick day.

This wasn’t the first time he mentioned the odd jobs he held when he was hiding from his captors, from multiple governments, from Steve. You had a feeling he might have actually liked working in the kitchen from the laughter in his eyes or his exaggerated groan when he described crawling into bed at the end of a long shift smelling like fish. Someone in the kitchen eventually discovered how proficient he was with a knife. That also explained how Bucky learned to debone a tuna roughly the size of a small farm animal in seconds.

“It was owned by the mob too.” He was practically beaming.

“Aren’t you a fascinating guy?” 

His ears turned pink, like the soft flush on his cheeks. 

The pizza arrived and Bucky immediately fixed a plate for you. He nudged the dish toward you with a knuckle, not meeting your eyes. There was no way he did not see you watching him and wondering what exactly was going on, but he pretended not to notice. 

“This is good. This is good,” he said with a boyish, eager grin. He folded a slice in half, firm fingers cradling delicate pizza, and he bit off a generous portion with gusto. Bucky’s eyes widened as he chewed, nodding in appreciation. 

There has to be a way to bottle this moment. 

His satisfied humming interrupted your thoughts. Without saying a word, he gestured for you to keep eating, to match him bite for bite. Bucky chuckled at your attempt to chomp through a mouthful.

You never worked for the mafia, not to your knowledge anyway, but you told Bucky about the string of jobs you had as a student, focusing on the HR-friendly roles no one really cared to hear about. 

Bucky, special little bean, wanted to know what a retail associate did, and he wasn’t even mocking when he asked why you had that job for three consecutive summers if you didn’t think it was any fun.

You worked fun gigs. Lucrative jobs. During your last two years in college, you charged a fortune writing school reports and essays. You just opted to skip that story this evening. It’s not that you were embarrassed by your university hustle. It’s more because you actually enjoyed going to the library for research. Willingly. During your free time. When people attended social events, you sneaked into the east wing, where you could snack on generic cheese puffs while drafting an argument for increasing healthcare coverage subsidized by the private sector or looking up Brazilian top exports for the last 20 years for someone’s Econ midterm paper. It’s the kind of thing Sam Wilson would hold over your head in perpetuity if he ever found out.

“And college? Let me guess.” He narrowed his eyes. “Retail associate,” Bucky smirked as if he knew anything about customer service in the retail industry. 

You confessed to having a wildly successful career making money off lazy rich students. It was easy. They didn’t need top marks. They just didn’t want to be caught.

“You’re the mafia.” He looked at you with admiration.

“We need to talk about this fascination with criminal organizations.”

“That’s not what fascinates me,” Bucky corrected you before taking another hungry bite.

That quip had your ears burning.

After finishing the meal, you cleared the table while Bucky helped the owner close up. He stacked seats and flipped a series of switches like he’s done it a million times.

“Try the rigatoni next time,” Armand told you. He turned to Bucky before you could reply. “Pizza’s ok, Mr. Barnes but Armand’s rigatoni, remember, it is the key.” The man waved a finger at Bucky with a conspiratorial smile.

Bucky thanked him with a handshake, which the chef converted into a hearty hug in one swift motion. As the men stood by the door, Bucky gave you a helpless grin, nodding at you to stand by the bike. 

You assumed it was Steve’s at one point. Bucky was already in a committed relationship with a shiny red lawn mower, but maybe things have changed. 

Seconds later, Bucky appeared next to you, producing a helmet he insisted you wear, while he’d go gearless. Like clockwork, you started the same argument from the bar. 

“This is not safe. And I don’t want to hear about super serums please.”

He exhaled. “I heal fast. You know that.”

“When you say it like that it sounds very obnoxious.” You frowned because he’d won the debate. “At least keep an extra one in the back.”

He scoffed. “Why would - you think I offer rides to people?”

“Well, you asked me.”

“Yes. Only you.” The earnestness - sprinkled with exasperation - stopped your smart mouth.

Bucky shook a stray lock off his cheek. As you were ruminating on the list of people he might have invited to get on the bike with him at one point, he took the opportunity to plop the helmet over your head. It muffled the noise of the city but amplified the sound of your pulse in your ear. 

After giving you a once over, Bucky nodded without saying anything else. It was barely a nod really, and more of a jut of his chin. Curt, to the point of impatient. Abrupt. Too quick. In fact, the only reason you noticed the nod was because it came with the most intense nano-second stare, gone before you could even process that Bucky just locked eyes with you.

Everyone knew Bucky didn’t speak often. Steve got eye rolls and crude hand gestures from his childhood best friend. Sam received Bucky’s dramatic tired looks. 

That nod was all yours.

You clung to that thought a little harder than you did to Bucky’s sturdy frame as his motorcycle weaved in and out of traffic effortlessly. 

It’s impossible to carry a conversation during the drive but you didn’t mind the shared silence. You watched the city lights from a distance, gripping Bucky’s waist when he took a sharp corner, and Bucky made a lot of those. You didn’t say a word about the number of wrong turns either. The 15-minute drive turned into a 25-minute tour of the surrounding neighborhood. If Bucky wanted to take the scenic route, you went along with it.

When Bucky finally pulled up into your street, it almost felt like stirring from a meditative state. You slowed to a still. Bucky steadied the bike using his legs. 

You shook your head out of the helmet, certain of hat hair but there was nothing to be done about that now. “Thanks.” You handed the matte black head gear to him before disembarking. “For everything.”

You remembered being upset earlier today, livid enough to slap a person, and for someone who worked behind a screen for a living that was saying something. You felt embarrassed for wanting to physically hurt someone, because that wasn’t you. Point was - you were past anger now. You knew why you should be furious but you just didn’t feel so vengeful anymore.

“Pizza’s hardly everything,” he replied quietly. 

You braved a direct look at his eyes. Bucky had no clue about the paper napkin with Sally’s logo stashed in your back pocket. You took a clean one as you returned plates and cutlery to the kitchen earlier. Maybe you’ll tack it next to the coffee-stained map of Bucharest in your room. Maybe you’ll keep it folded in your wallet. Maybe you’ll keep it between the pages of a hardbound copy of Isaac Asimov short stories you promised to return to Bucky over five months ago.

“I meant - for keeping an eye on me today.”

He killed the engine and turned to you with cautious eyes. His lips parted but no words came out. He did that sometimes. 

With another sigh, his brows furrowed. He looked like he wanted to kick himself for stepping out of the house today. Like he’d rather be somewhere else. Anywhere but here, on the receiving end of your gratitude.

You decided not to push and glanced at your building instead. Before you could take a step however, he reached out, his hand grabbing yours quickly. He got off the bike in one fluid motion, moving so fast you thought the bike would fall over, but it didn’t.

It was surprising, not because it was unwanted but because his fingers were featherlight on your skin. With equal gentleness and intention, Bucky turned your arm, exposing your wrist to him. Part of you wanted to offset the intimacy with a remark about the spring chill - Can you believe the weather we’re having? - but when his thumb grazed your pulse, all your words melted.

Your pulse raced. Far too fast to deny how much Bucky affected you in the most fundamental way. 

He surprised you again when he moved your palm to rest over his bare wrist. Your eyes widened when the rapid beat registered through your thumb. Far too fast, like yours. 

When he finally spoke, there was a faint crack in his voice. “You’re right. About being under surveillance.” He cleared his throat. “By me,” he added with a nervous chuckle.

Now would be a terrific time to launch into clever commentary about how you were right all along. You weren’t just fantasizing that a sweet, smoking hot man with a bit of a temper had been keeping tabs on you, the same way you had been keeping track of his habits and these little factoids about him. Ones you couldn’t forget, even if you tried.

All you could manage was a stunned look at Bucky as your tongue failed to catch up with the multitude of thoughts and emotions washing over you.

He shook his head, knowing he couldn’t take those words back. So he doubled down. “You heard me Sweets.” 

Both of you stood in silence, Bucky’s pulse keeping a steady albeit inhumanly fast beat under your finger, you letting his roundabout admission sink in.

“So to be clear, uh, it’s not just about getting in your pants,” he spoke slowly, nose wrinkling because he 100% knew how that sounded.

If there was anything more paralyzing than his angry stare or the sharp grind of metal when he swung it too quickly, it was a bashful smile from a guy who just admitted he cared about you so much that he didn’t know what to do about it.

It’s the universal key to all your mental and emotional locks.

“Gardner offered me a job today,” you blurted. How you went from being swept by Bucky’s declaration to thinking of your former colleague and current nemesis was unclear. 

Apparently you were just as terrible as Bucky when it came to talking about feelings. 

Then you charged ahead for some reason.

“The offer was good. Really good. Obscene, actually, god and I said no thanks, because fuck him, it’s Gardner right, I’m not getting stabbed in the back twice. No sir.” The hair on your arms rose at the memory of Gardner’s self-assured voice. “And then he’s like ‘I hope your brother’s well.’ I didn’t think much about it until he said ‘recovery is tough’ and then… I realized there’s no way he could have known. He was flexing. Guess he can hack medical records now because he’s working for the Agency.”

You didn’t want to be angry, but Gardner was a little shit, and bringing up your brother was a low blow. You felt exposed and vulnerable when he mentioned your family. 

Bucky released your hands, depositing them by your sides. The laser focused stare he fixed upon you next made you hold your breath. There would be no hiding from him.

Ordinarily, you’d look away but Bucky’s grave expression, the etched frown between his eyes, the way his lips tensed as he listened to your story, held your absolute attention. Bucky seemed bigger or maybe Gardner’s antics made you feel small, even when you didn’t want to admit it.

“You ok?” When he finally spoke, his voice was as gentle as his glare was consuming. 

You nodded.

He continued to stare at you. After a beat, Bucky sighed. “I know you wouldn’t hack his emails and ruin his life.” He struggled to contain a grin after insinuating that you could do worse to Gardner than Bucky could. “So don’t.”

“I would never.” You feigned resentment and began to blink rapidly, like you were… trying not to cry?

Oh boy.

If he’d just look elsewhere for a moment, maybe you could take a breath and get a grip because you just realized Bucky understood you weren’t looking for his protection. Not from that low life anyway. You just needed him to know what happened. That’s it.

Bucky knew you. 

Bucky saw you. 

“You ok?” He asked a second time, recognizing you were seconds away from bursting into tears.

You looked at your feet and took a long, deep breath, counting to five before looking at him again. “I’m fine Bucky.”

Just falling apart because you get me.

He studied you for a few more seconds and then checked his watch. “Ok.” He nodded to himself. “Good.”

If he came up to the apartment, you’d invite him in and you’d want him to stay. Tonight and all other nights in the foreseeable future. 

The hammering in your chest intensified and it was not because his feelings scared you. Rather, it was the clarity of yours and its resolute nature that gave you pause. 

The street light that accentuated his cheekbones flickered, momentarily taking you back to that night at the bar. This time though, Bucky beat you to the punch, speaking up before you gathered confidence to ask him to stay.

He squared his shoulders. “Let me walk you up.” Bucky led the way to your building, moving through the entry door and hallways like he’s been there dozens of times before. He knew to punch the elevator button twice because the first one never takes and he held the door with his metal arm because it has been known to catch leashes and coats, or the occasional slow foot or dangling arm

He stepped aside as you opened the door to your apartment. You tossed your bag inside and turned to him.

“Did you…” He crossed his arms. “Did you have a nice evening?”

“I had a great evening.”

He was pleased to hear that. “Me too.” He shoved his hands to his pockets. When he cleared his throat, he sounded casual, like you had this conversation daily. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work right?”

“Of course,” you replied slowly.

The night ended here - Bucky made that decision for both of you - but to be honest you were more intrigued than disappointed. Your operations analyst mind kicked into high gear as you pored through observations from that evening. You and Bucky had drinks, followed by dinner, and then a very roundabout way back home. He essentially just admitted to liking you - granted it was in Bucky-speak but the margin of error couldn’t be that high. His beautiful palm remained steady in your hands yet his pulse raced, and he wanted you to feel it. 

You already knew the answer, but for the sake of character development, you’d ask anyway. “Can I offer you a drink? Bowl of M&Ms?”

He scratched the back of his head. “No, I’m good.” Bucky looked at you carefully, begging with his eyes for you to not hate him. “Thank you.”

“Good night Bucky Barnes.” You stole one more glance right before you closed the door. As expected, his gaze remained on you the entire time. 

He’d wait outside your door until he heard the lock and bolt. 

Your cheeks instantly warmed as you made your way inside and it was quick to spread throughout your body. You’ve come to associate this feeling with Bucky, the tiny fire in you that becomes a blaze when he left you feeling worried and anxious about his safety, and it’s the same flames that danced in your core when he stood within three feet of you and suddenly he’s all you can sense - his breathing, the low chuckle, the creases around his eyes that meant he smiled and laughed more than he let on. It’s the same warmth when he crosses the three foot margin to serve as your personal space heater.

There was an extra bounce in your step as you reached your bedroom, a lightness in your feet, not because you were in a rush to get to bed, but because you were weightless. Not from the lack of problems, God knows Gardner was due an ass kicking, and even with a mountain of case work waiting for you tomorrow morning and Bucky being characteristically a man of mystery, you were happy. 

Now that you thought about it, you’ve been quite happy for a while actually.

Part Eleven

Find the other parts here.

Masterlist

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THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER｜New World Order (1.01)

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Some things dont change

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You can’t tell me this isn’t Bucky Barnes.

How is he real?!😮‍💨

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Uh, miss ma'am: the amount of times I've read and reread Another World for Surveilance is astonishing. Excited for the update when it comes! (Please make sure you are taking care of you before doing so) Kisses to you!

My hope is that the chapters are worth reading again and again. It means a lot to get this feedback. I am working on it, I swear! 😊 and yes also looking after dear old me. Thank you for this message! ❤️

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I have binged Another Word for Surveillance like 3 times now. Excited for the next part! Bucky needs to get himself together!!

Thank you! For binging it. For taking time to message. For getting me excited. The next chapter is in the works - just trying to get it to that place. ❤️