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honest to god, HAND ON THE BIBLE, what do i have to do to meet sebastian stan!? like where are all these people meeting him?? who’s dick do i have to suck? cause like wtf

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inspo: prompt three from this post

“Fuck, you turn me on so much.” Bucky groans and throws his head back, breathing ragged.

Your hands stop their work, fingers bloody as you hold the gauze up to the wound to his ribs. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you?" you screech, quickly refocusing your thoughts and press harder against the bleeding gash.

"You just, fuck. It's just you." Bucky whines, and you don't know if it is pain or some weird, sick pleasure he is feeling. "You were so hot screamin' at me."

"Jesus Christ, James." you huff, no longer thinking of berating him further for his ridiculous actions in battle. "You... I can't even tell you off now."

Bucky smirks and shifts, grimacing at the pain radiating through his side. "Come here." he holds up his arm and beckons you with two bloody fingers.

"No, I'm not playing into your weird shit, Barnes." You glare at your partner. "You're bleeding, I need to secure the wound."

"I'm gonna be fine. Just come 'ere, baby." the name has your scowl softening.

You hold one hand to his abdomen, keeping pressure as the blood slows, and lean towards him, weight braced on your free arm. "that's my girl." he praises, words breathy.

Bucky slides his hand to the nape of your neck, securing his fingers in your hair. Your faces now inches apart, he lets his eyes slip shut. "I'm gonna to be fine, sweetheart. You worry too much."

"You don't worry enough."

"That's why I've got you. You stress enough for the both of us."

Bucky leans forward and presses his mouth to yours, the kiss slow and sloppy as tries not to move unnecessarily while his body stitches itself back up. His lips move languidly against yours, tongue brushing against your bottom lip in a way that is too casual for the impending doom you have just escaped from. You pull away, the taste of blood on your tongue, and frown at Bucky, his grin lazy and stupid.

"I'm serious. You turn me on so much."

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I done took the whole dick and blew my back out-bucky barnes

The whole team is hyper-aware of the current state of your relationship with the ex-assassin, but when you come down to breakfast the next morning, your gait is slower and more careful than usual; the team is worried and thinks the worst.

"Was it the training yesterday?" Steve fusses as he reaches for the painkillers in the first aid kit above the fridge

"This was because of the run, wasn't it?" Sam narrows his eyes at you.

"What did I say about you pushing yourself?" Tony sighs and taps on his watch, ordering Friday to begin a complete body exam.

Wanda is next to fret, her fingers trailing down your arm with red whorls of magic that make your skin feel staticky. There is no way to answer the team's concerns, nothing you can say to dissuade their worries, so you nod and smile, feeling the ache in your body, but it is not because of any of them. The reason for your pain was still in his room, showering the evidence away after working you to the bone throughout the night. Bucky had been lazy last night, opting to let you take control, and it's not as though you had complained at all; in fact, you were over the moon that your partner had decided to let go of the reigns and lie back, let you on top to fuck yourself silly on his cock while he watched. He loved nothing more than getting to witness his gorgeous and smart girl be reduced to nothing but a crying mess of his name and pleas as you begged to cum, to have him cum, to have something happen because your thighs were beginning to hurt. You didn't think about the after, how you would be unable to walk in the morning, how your lower back would pinch and ache with each stretch; there were no other thoughts in your head aside from Bucky.

You catch Natasha's smirk from across the island. Her face is hidden by the coffee cup as she clocks you, the way you had waddled in and the stupid dumb grin you wore. You shake your head at her, silently begging the assassin to stay quiet as Steve hands you a sheet of paracetamol. The redhead shrugs and returns to sipping her coffee, soundlessly promising to keep your secret.

"Hey sweetheart, next time could you take it easy cause my legs-" Bucky's voice floats into the kitchen before he rounds the corner but as he does, his mouth snaps shut upon acknowledging the rest of the team. "Hey."

You crinkle your face in embarrassment, dropping your head as the shame washes over you. There is a moment of silence before the kitchen erupts in a chorus of disgusted cries.

"Aww, come on! I was actually worried about you!"

"You two are disgusting, you know that."

"I'm putting a lock on both your doors; no more nighttime shenanigans."

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you offering?- bucky barnes unhinged!avenger reader x bucky

a/n: this was the first draft of smash (in a loving way) which is why some lines are the same.

Moving day swiftly degenerated into chaos as more and more boxes were unloaded from the truck. Theoretically, Steve and Bucky should not have that many possessions, seeing as neither of them had lived very long lives in the new century; however, as box after box is carried in, you realise you couldn't be further off base.

Steve shouts down the hall, alerting you of their arrival (having smacked headfirst into you with a box full of record hours earlier, you had developed the system of very loudly announcing yourselves before walking into narrow spaces). You turn to the hallway, ready to semi-jokingly tell Steve off for all the free labour he had managed to squeeze of you, but your brain short circuits as Bucky walks in. The long-sleeved shirt had turned up in has long since been discarded. Instead, he is sporting a black tank top showcasing a stunning display of his muscled arms and shoulders. Unable to look away, you follow the veins along muscled forearms, sweat glistening in the afternoon sun, vibranium fingers humming as they glide over the tops of the box, his hair pulled back in a bun sitting low at the nape of his neck and those godforsaken strands that hang over his eyes leave you thinking about the way they would feel brushing over your thighs.

"You're drooling." You jump, startled by Steve's amused whisper, as he stands behind you, cast iron pot in his hands.

"Ha.Ha." The retort is weak, mind too preoccupied with thoughts of your friend to conjure a coherent sentence.

"Seriously. You gotta bit'a...." Steve wipes the side of his mouth with his thumb, smirk growing as he continues to tease.

"You need to get outta here before I punch you in the face." you whirl on him, warning through clenched teeth. "I will fight you, old man."

He backs away, raising his hands in defeat. "Kids these days, can't take a joke."

-----

An Ikea flatpack sits on the floor of the living room. The name and instructions unreadable as the three of your stare a the unbuilt couch frame.

"You bought a box?" Bucky turns to Steve, brows raised as he gestures to the floor.

"It's a sofa, Buck. We just need to build it." the former sighs, crouching down to examine the slip of paper it came with. "We just need to learn Swedish."

Bucky follows suit and squats, grumbling something about knowing 30 languages but unable to put together a stupid piece of furniture.

You debate joining them, adding a new brain to the equation, but as if it were your turn to take that single cell passed between the three of you, you reach for your laptop and begin your search.

30 minutes later, the frame is complete. The cushions, however, are nowhere to be found.

"Did you not order them?" you ask, eyes still trained on the screen as the two super soldiers stare at the incomplete project.

"I didn't know I was meant to!" Steve is quick to defend his mistake. "If you buy the couch, it comes with it."

It's not a completely irrational thought. It's common sense really. You buy a couch it must come with cushions, so why didn't this one?

Bucky sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So we have one bed and couch frame? Where am I meant to sleep, Steve?"

"You can sleep with me." You mumble as you scroll through ikea website, searching for the accompanying pillows.

"Is that you offering?" Bucky asks, and for a second, you are confused by the question, but as you look up from the screen, you find both men staring at you. Ah, the super hearing caused by the super serum. Super.

"Offering what?" you play dumb, biting down on the tip of your thumb, hoping he can't hear your heart slamming in your chest.

"Just thought you were offerin' to have me sleep with you but I guess I heard wrong." Bucky smirks and shrugs. "Guess ill have to take all this " he begins to flex, making an obvious show of his muscles. "and sleep on the floor."

You bite down on your finger in a futile attempt to hide the smile that is forming. "Guess so."

Bucky frowns, sad, wide puppy eyes staring at you. "Come on, doll. Don't make me beg."

Heat flashes through you and your heart picks up speed again. "You can beg for it, Barnes, doesn't mean I'll let ya' " your voice shakes a little, but you can hide it behind a smug chuckle.

Bucky's tongue darts out to wet his lips as he begins to retort but Steve's cough stops you both. The Captain's face is crinkled in disgust as he stares.

"Could you save this till I'm not in the room?"

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Hi, I found your fic on ao3 (It will come back) and I tell you one thing-love the idea of a Slavic reader!

-we’ll probably because I’m from Poland ;)

omg heeeyyy (slay that you came from ao3) fellow slavic girlies unite! feel free to send me some polish customs and traditions cause I only really know my own (macedonian) but I would love to be able to incorporate more cultures ily xx

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girl ur bucky shit is so fucking adorable and the little innuendos! i’m obsessed!

eeee thank you angel !!! ahh im so happy people also love my bucky ramblings!! xx

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“Oooh, What are we watchin' tonight?” Bucky asks excitedly as he slides into bed beside you.

The bed dips beneath his weight, and you feel the cold breeze of the apartment air as the sheets lift before it is replaced by the furnace that is your boyfriend.

“it’s G-“ you begin, adusting the screen of your laptop so Bucky can watch as he lays behind you.

“Wait! Don’t tell me, I wanna guess”, he exclaims, snuggling into you, his arms winding around your waist to pull you against his chest. “hmmm, Golden Girls!”

“Close! Gilmore Girls! " You snuggle into him, nesting further back against his bare chest, the heat soothing you.

"Shoulda guessed." his comment is murmured into your clothes as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "You're always playing this show."

Bucky swings his leg over your hip, locking you in place beside him as he begins to hum along with the opening theme. His fingers slip under your shirt, splaying against your stomach. It's not sensual or suggestive; he just likes being able to feel you, the heat of your skin on his. His lips move against you skin, softly singing the lyrics.

'Where you lead, I will follow, Anywhere that you tell me to'

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Bucky is high-key appalled by the lack of chivalry and politeness exhibited by the men of the twenty first century. Can't fathom that men ignore women on the train or bus who need seats, that doors aren't being opened for women, seats aren't being pulled out, space isn't made for women as they pass packs of men on the sidewalk. There are many things in this new age world that Bucky can't wrap his head around, but the disregard for women is something he'll never understand, so he opens doors for ladies if they are both going in the same building, vacates seats when there is a woman around in need of space. He can't help it, having grown up in a world entirely different to the one he is now. It is second nature and comes as quickly as breathing, but it stuns you a little the first time you get treated like that. You swoon at the fact Bucky holds the door for you, lets you pass before him, makes sure you walk on the safer side of the pavement, holds your hand when you cross the road, makes sure you get the food and drinks first, offers to drive and pay for date nights, the list is endless. Still, for once in your adult dating life, you don't question the sincerity of his words as they are backed up by actions.

"Did something happen to men while I was gone?" Bucky's confused voice floats down the hall of your apartment as he strides in, kicking his shoes off and placing them neatly on the rack by the bathroom door.

"What do you mean?" You look up from your spot on the couch, laptop sitting on your raised legs. "Like, did they go extinct and come back?"

Bucky reaches the living room and shucks off his jacket and gloves to hang over the chair before coming to the couch and plopping beside you. A soft kiss is pressed to your cheek, stubble grazing your skin as he mumbles a greeting before settling into the plush sofa.

"I mean, did they lose all manners?" he shakes his head in disbelief, hands splaying out in frustrated emphasis. "Do men not open doors for women? Or move out of the way for them on the side walk?"

You close the laptop and stow it away on the small shelf of the coffee table, no longer focusing on the information packets Tony had sent you early this morning.

"What happened?" You ask, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair, enjoying how he melts into your touch.

"I just watched a bucnh'a men in suits practically push a woman out of the way to get through the door." he sighs, clearly exasperated at the lack of respect for other humans. "And then they didn't even hold the door for her! They just let it swing closed. How do they act on dates? I doubt they pay."

You hum, letting his rant continue.

"And I was on the line."

"Online." you correct gently, spiking his hair up with your fingers, the shorter strands finally obeying you.

"I was online," he rectifies. "and I saw this video of a woman talking about a man getting angry that she wasn't gonna go home with him after the first date."

"Please tell me that never happened to you." His attention shifts to you now, genuine distress simmering in his blue eyes, and when you don't answer, he becomes distraught.

"Doll, no," Bucky shakes his head as if you confessed to the murder of his beloved stuffed animal. "Come on, you gotta be joking."

"It was years ago! I was young and stupid and didn't know my worth." You shrug, obviously not as upset as your counterpart. “I've learnt my lesson. I know I am worth at least two dinners now." The joke falls flat as Bucky stares, not amused.

"It's a joke, Buck."

"I know, but I don't like it." He grumbles, folding his arms across his chest like a child. "Don't like that you were treated like that."

"Well, good thing I've got you now, huh?" you abandon his hair, stroking the back of your fingers over his stubbly cheek.

Bucky pouts. "Still don't like it. You deserved better."

You kiss his cheek, feeling his cheeks round as he smiles. "You're too good to me, Mr. Barnes." another kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Even if we did sleep together on the first date."

"Hey! That wasn't the same. We knew each other before that." Bucky protests as you stand from the couch, walking to the kitchen to start on dinner. "At least I paid!"

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honey, you're familiar- bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: lil angst, establlished relationship, seperation, post cw (not endgame canon cause fuck endgame) bestie steve, me being sad cause I kinda fell out of the avengers fandom and coming back kinda felt like coming home and this is me pretending I'm coming back to bucky, no use of y/n, honey is a replacement for y/n ~ wc: 2.k ~ not proofread

"Honey?" your name is sweetness on a tongue you once knew. 

Long ago, perhaps too long, a distant memory you thought you had left behind, yet here you are, those two syllables falling from his mouth as if no time had passed. 

You turn slowly, your head already spinning at the surprise. He is behind you. You know he is because who else croons your name like that, has that flirty lilt in his words, and you can hear the smirk without even looking at him? You know his voice, know his presence, know him. 

"Bucky?" with closed eyes, you turn, afraid that maybe this isn't happening and that you would be faced with a coworker or friend, that you had imagined the entire thing, the very real love of your life is not behind you. Maybe this is a dream?

You want to open your eyes, to have the truth revealed to you, but you can't. The fear of reality holds you in an ice-cold grip, spindly frozen fingers holding your eyes shut. The familiar scent of leather and bergamot engulfs you before you feel the warmth of his body, the heat thawing fear's vice grip on your body. 

"James, is that you?" His use of his government name makes him chuckle as he steps closer, hands reaching out to grab yours. Cold metal slips against your fingers just as naturally as his hand of flesh and bone.

A whimper leaves you. 

"Sweetheart, you need to open your eyes to see if it's me." Warm fingers brush over your cheek, pushing your hair behind your ears as he cups your cheek. 

"If I open my eyes, you promise you'll still be there?" there is no hiding the desperation in your voice. 

Bucky chuckles again, his fingers winding with yours in a silent oath.  "I promise." 

You inhale, deep and fulfilling and open your eyes. 

Before you stands the man you have not seen in five years.

The last time you had been near Bucky was at the airport, surrounded by suitcases that contained nearly every earthly possession of yours; your fingers gripped the boarding pass that you desperately did not want to use but had to. It was necessary to create space between your hearts, too afraid of being bonded by trauma and circumstance. There had been too much guilt surrounding you both regarding the other. There was too much self-sabotage in a relationship that involved nothing more than two hearts desperately beating for one another. No titles or official labels were given to your union, so it was easier to let go, to wedge that gap of a few thousand miles between your bodies, to create distance and hopefully smother whatever had been blazing. You couldn't take advantage of him, his mind too raw from being brought back a final time, thawed out into a life of permanent peace, so what gave you the right to swoop in and demand his attention, his heart? 

However, Bucky thought of you the same. Why should you give up your entire life for a war criminal? A weapon no more than the blood on his hands? It wasn't fair, and the distance, the break was the right move, so why was it so hard to say goodbye? 

Bucky hadn't let go of your hand since you left your shared apartment earlier this morning. His right hand in yours, squeezing tightly as if he could commit the lines of your palm to memory. Throughout the ride with Steve, as you walked through the large airport, customs, baggage check, and security, he was holding you, but it's not as if you wanted him to let go. You never acted upon pulling your hand from his, never wanted to be more than two feet from him. 

"Can you ask me to stay?" you whispered tearfully as your boarding call was announced over the PA. 

Bucky turned to you, jaw clenched to hold back his tears as he brought your entwined hands to his mouth. A ghost of a kiss pressed to your knuckles as he whispered back. "Can you ask me to go with you?" 

A tear-filled giggle filled the space between you but disappeared as another call for boarding was announced. 

You stood, hands still together, and turned to gather your carry-on. Silence filled your little bubble, awkward and tense, as you both calculated once again if this was right. Your heart was making so much noise that it was hard to hear rational thoughts, and the urge to rip up the ticket and fall into the arms of your love had your fingers twitching. As if Bucky could read your thoughts, he slips the small piece of paper from your fingers and tucks it between the pages of the journal Steve had gifted you just moments before as a parting gift. 

"You're not allowed to come back until you fill every page," Steve instructed while handing over the small green book. Its cover, with gold fairies etched into it, was the deciding factor for Steve in choosing the appropriate gift for you. 

"And if I fill it up in a week?" you asked, tears already pricking at your eyes. 

"Then I guess we'll be here to get you in a week." You didn't miss the small sniff from Steve as he offered you a soft smile before wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "Thank you for everything you've done, and I'm gonna miss you, kid." 

You hugged him tightly, heart aching at the thought of leaving your friend. You weren't just leaving Bucky; you were leaving your whole life. Years of memories left in a city that would no longer be your home. Steve pulled back, tears glistening in his blue eyes, but he wiped them before any could fall, squaring his shoulders like you had seen him do a million times before a mission or press conference. It was a habit you had picked up on, following in his footsteps since day one, and now it was a part of you, an instinctive habit that you can't seem to shake. Maybe you'll find new habits in your new life, find new friends, and steal mannerisms, and when you get home, you'll be an entirely new person. 

"I'm gonna go back. There was a book I want to get another look at." Steve smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He gives your shoulders one final squeeze. 

Metal fingers brushed against yours, twining together as he pulled you closer.

"If I miss home, will you be here to pick me up?" you asked, suddenly fearful of being forgotten by someone you never wanted to forget. 

"I'll get on a plane and come and get you," Bucky assured,  gliding soft fingers over your cheeks. 

Your skin burned, suddenly very thankful for the coolness of his vibranium arm against your blazing face. You tried so hard to keep the tears at bay, distracting yourself at every point where you felt the lump in your throat and the burn in your eyes, but there was no distraction now. There was nothing but you and him, and the weight of reality crashed down upon you. 

"Stay with me." Bucky begged in a whisper. 

Your heart lurched. 

"Come with me." 

Tears began to line his eyes, falling despite his best efforts, and a fresh wave of guilt pummelled you. 

"Buck," you started, your voice cracking, but you had to say it. It was now or never; you needed him to know to get it off your chest before everything changed. "James Buchanan Barnes," you attempted again, your voice still breaking, but you continued, knowing there was going to be no stop to the tears. 

"I love yo-"you started, heartbreaking with each syllable.

Bucky shook his head, well and truly on the way to sobbing, as he exhaled a shuddering breath. "Please don't say that. Don't say it because I won't stop thinking about you, and I need you to go out and live your life." 

You grip his shirt tighter. 

"Please, I can't just let you go if you say that. Please, darlin', " Bucky whispered, his bottom lip quivering as he hopelessly tried to stop the tears. 

His name was a soft sigh as you broke down. The sobs couldn't be stopped, your breathing ragged as you cried fat, heavy tears that had your chest aching. Bucky let go of your face to wrap his arms around you, holding you close and tight to shield you from the world around you. He whispered words of comfort into your neck, voice shaky and breathing just as uneasy as he desperately tried to console you while he broke just as hard. 

"I love you so much. Fuck, I love you." he grits out, fingers digging into your sides.

A huffed laugh escaped you. "How come you're allowed to say it, but I'm not?" 

You pulled back to grip his face, stubble rough under your palms. 

"Because I'm old." was his only retort before leaning in to kiss you. 

His mouth moved soft against yours, savouring the feel of your mouth on his, but as you sniffed, trying to stop the tears that still fell, his turned into something more. Years of unwritten memories and unlived lives were seared into your lips. Moments that either of you never thought would happen are kissed into the other: Christmas mornings, birthdays, and anniversaries. An entire future the two of you had envisioned for yourself was no longer attainable, and as far as either of you knew, this would be the last kiss that would be shared. There was no need for anything else apart from one another; if you were to die from lack of oxygen right then, your entire body breaking down under the sheer force of the love you felt for him, you would die a happy death. Never had to know anything but his touch, his kiss, his love, but that wasn't going to happen. 

Your final boarding call boomed through the speakers, breaking your perfect bubble. You pulled back, panting from both the kiss and the tears, Bucky just as breathless.

"I love you, Bucky Barnes." you whispered, thumbs collecting the tears marring his cheeks. You promised you would never forget the feeling of his face in your hands; even if you lived for a thousand years, you would remember how it felt. 

And you never did.

"Hi, sweetheart." Bucky grins as your tears begin to fall. 

You launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck as you crush your body against his, clinging to the man who had been your home for so many years. Strong hands grab your waist before his arms snake around you, squeezing you tightly. The smell of leather and pine and something so distinctly Bucky curls around you, wrapping its fingers around your throat and squeezing the air from your lungs until there is only the scent of Bucky. A sob claws its way out of your chest, the cries following it primal and broken. The years apart had done nothing to dull the heartache for him, had done nothing to ease the pain in your soul at the very sight of him, and now that he is here again, in your arms, you never want him to let go. Your fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck, tangling in the tresses and anchoring yourself to him. The way tree roots dig into the dirt, securing their position in the earth no matter the wind or rain, that is how you are going to secure yourself to the man in your arms; you are not letting him get away again, not after everything you had just gone through. 

"I missed you so much." you sob into his chest.

Bucky's chest rumbles as he chuckles. "Fuck, you have no idea." 

You take a second to pull away, turning your face towards his and lean into the kiss. His mouth slots against yours as if no time has passed. Your lips part under his, the taste of salt and mint mix on your tongue. Bucky's hands cup your cheeks, thumbs stroking over tear-slick skin, and you feel him smile into the kiss. 

"What?" you whisper, words muffled by his mouth. 

Bucky doesn't want to stop kissing you, unable to pull his lip from yours as he replies into the kiss. "You taste the same."  

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smash (in a loving way)-bucky barnes

more avenger!reader x bucky barnes

it's been a while since you've seen Bucky, a few months give or take, but enough time to warrant a massive, massive change in your mission partner. He's always been a big man, towering over you with an intensity you once feared but now only found it mildly perturbing and very attractive, but you digress; your once huge man had only gotten bigger, bulkier, beefier.

"Jesus, Buck." You breathe, hands gripping his biceps, fingers digging in ever so slightly as you marvel at the sheer sight of the god before you.

"What?" His breathy chuckle is adorable as red dusts his cheeks at your blatant worship of his arms.

"I leave you for a few months and come back to..." You give him another squeeze. "this."

Your tone is almost reverent as you continue to ogle your friend, hands still gripping the muscles. You could have stayed there for hours had Steve not interrupted with a cough.

"Are you two ready to go? We've got the car." He nods his head toward the idling car on the curb.

Snapping out of the trance, you wrench your hands from Bucky and begin to fiddle with the handle of your suitcase for a moment before it is pulled from your hands.

"I've got it." Bucky announces, picking up the trunk and your carry-on to load into the car.

You watch speechless as Bucky carries your luggage with ease. His movements are still just as fluid, undisturbed by the extra muscle, but he seemed stronger and sturdier, the tight t-shirt straining as he lifted the thirty-kilo bag from the floor as though it weighed nothing more than a pillow. His hair had gotten longer, too. Long enough to be pulled back in a bun sitting low at the nape of his neck, and those godforsaken strands that hang over his eyes leave you thinking about the way they would feel brushing over your thighs.

A hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you jump.

"You're drooling." Steve does nothing to hide the smirk and shake in his shoulders as he chuckles.

"Ha.Ha." The retort is weak, mind too preoccupied with thoughts of your friend to conjure a coherent sentence.

"Seriously. You gotta bit'a...." Steve wipes the side of his mouth with his thumb.

You bypass the teasing and lean into your friend. "When did that happen?" that meaning Bucky.

"What?"

Using your hands, you shape the air in front of you into the imaginary silhouette of Bucky's shoulders. "That."

"Ah." Steve snorts and rolls his eyes. "Well, you haven't been here for him to moon over, so he's been training."

You open your mouth to quip back, but Bucky's shouting causes your attention to shift.

"Sam says he's driving, so one of you is gonna have to sit in the back with me."

Before anyone can answer, you raise your hand with an terrifying eagerness. "Me!"

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"you need a seat? I’ll volunteer" -bucky barnes

more unhinged avenger!reader x bucky barnes honey is a replacement for y/n

"Can you move your seat up?" Bucky asks Sam as he closes the door behind him.

Sam sighs and turns back to look. "Why do you always sit behind me and then ask me to move it up? Move over!"

"I can't!" Bucky gestures over to you sitting on the other side of the backseat. "She's over there. What do you want me to do? Where do you want me to sit?"

"You can sit on my face."

The words tumble from you before you have the opportunity to stop them. You slap your hand over your mouth the second the last syllable leaves, your face heating to a thousand degrees as silence falls over the small car.

"I'm sorry, what?" Bucky demands and looks at you, shifting his entire body towards yours.

"You did not just say what I think you said." Sam throws his hands in the air in disbelief. "Say it again. What did you just say?"

You shake your head, unable to repeat the sentiment you had thought a million times out loud again.

"What...what do you mean by that?" Bucky stares at you, completely confused, but you are unable to meet his gaze. "How...what?" there is a desperation in his voice as he begins to ponder the answer to whatever situation you were thinking of.

"How would that even work?" Sam begins to twist his arms and body around as if acting out the positioning, the silence beginning to suffocate you as Sam continues trying figurations.

"You just get on top and-" You bury your face in your hands, cheeks burning hotter than the sun.

"On top of what?!" Bucky exclaims.

"Her face, man!" Sam yells, shoulders beginning to shake in laughter.

"But why would I be on top? Shouldn't she be sitting on my face?" Bucky clarifies, now looking at Sam as though he should have the answers.

"You want her to sit on your face? Are we confessing to things now?" Sam pins Bucky with a look, shaking his head as to garner some sense of direction the conversations is going in.

"Well," Bucky begins and shrugs his shoulders. "If one of us is gonna sit on the other's face, id rather it be her on mine."

"Oh my god, Bucky!" you groan, desperately trying to sink into the leather of the seat. "Can we stop talking about this, please."

"You brought it up!" he blurts out, attention now on you as you hide in your arms.

"It just came out!" you shriek, unable to stop the embarrassment flowing over you.

Suddenly, the car door opens, and Steve slides in, blissfully unware as to what just transpired.

"So what did i miss?" He asks, gunning the car to life.

"Nothing." You and Bucky answer in unison, a little too suspicious for Steve's liking.

The Captain looks in the mirror at you, then at Bucky, and back at you. A hum leaves him as he shifts gears.

"Bucky asked Honey sit on his face" Sam announces unprompted as Steve starts to reverse.

The car slams on the brakes before Bucky yells.

"She asked me!"

----

a/n: vvvvv dialogue heavy but this was fun! i hope y'all like unhinged reader hehehe ^^

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kinda obsessed with the idea of Bucky having an unhinged attack dog mission partner (as well as friends but they're always paired together on missions) when I say unhinged attack dog, I mean like that meme "he said no pickles!" and its just bucky hiding behind you as you scream at whoever makes you upset on his behalf. I can totally see this happening when you're confronting john walker after he killed someone in tfatws

youre standing between Sam and Bucky, dagger held between your fingers as you let the guys do the talking. It's not that they don't let you talk; you just don't find it worth the time or effort to try and reason with someone as unhinged as Walker. you're silent the whole conversation, even as he begins to spout of bullshit.

"Don't go down that road. Believe me, it doesn't end well." Bucky warns him, trying to create an ending that isn't a fight.

"I'm not like you." Walker seethes.

You take a step forward the second the syllables leach from his mouth. "Say that again, Walker."

Sam holds a hand out in an effort to deter you, but it goes unnoticed.

"What do you mean by that, huh?" you take another step forward, slipping the knife back into the holster on your hip. "Speak up Mr. America."

"It's Captain America, and he knows what I mean. The whole world does."

That causes you to see red. You're so fed up with everyone holding that over Bucky's head that you lunge forward, bare fists ready to make contact with Walker's face, but two arms wrapped around your waist pull you back.

"What are you doing?" Bucky hisses, pulling you back into ranks. "We're trying to avoid a fight."

"I can take him." you mutter, glaring at your opponent.

"You're in time out. Go outside." Bucky lets you go, pushing on your shoulders to shove you outside. "Walk it off."

"I'm an adult, you cant-"

"Outside. Now." he barks. "Take a lap."

-----

a/n: its like 3 am, idk what this is but I was watching tfatws and thought about how I wanted to smack everyone in the face who was mean to bucky (is this a bit pick me of a fic? i don't want it to be a 'im not like other girls' I just want it to be tiny angry dog protecting big calm dog

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unhinged avenger!reader x bucky barnes (theyre partners on missions as well as friends)

The glint of Bucky’s vibranium arm catches your attention and you’re speaking before you can stop the words.

“Can you slap me on the face?”

The question has Bucky choking on his coffee. He drops the cup back to the table, head tucked into his elbow as he sputters and coughs.

“Whaddya just say?” he demands between breaths

You wait until his fit subsides before continuing on.

“Can you slap me on the face. I want to know what it’ll be like.”

Bucky stares at your for a moment, slow blinks and furrowed brows he scans your face for any indication that you’re joking.

“You’ve been slapped in the face before. remember? last month? Was your concussion that bad?”

“I meant with the metal arm.”

“No! What’s wrong with you?”

“i just wanna know what it’s be like?”

Bucky stands from the kitchen table, cradling his arm in his chest. “It would hurt a lot.”

A sigh leaves you. “I know that, asshole. I just want to know how much.”

His top lip curls up in disgust at your weird and frankly terrifying desire.

“Fine, not a full on slap but a little tap!” you begin to bargain.

“No!”

“A flick?”

Bucky begins to back away, clearly horrified. “You’re insane.”

“Buck, come onnnn” the elongated syllable reminds him of a child begging for a piece of candy.

“You need to get your head checked. Something ain’t right.”

——-

a/n: i’d let bucky slap me in the face (i’d let steve and bucky beat me up like they did to tony in civil war)

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my coffee?- bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: fluff, established friendships/budding romance, set in CA:CW timeline where Bucky is in Romania trying to piece back together his life, mixed POV, divination (coffee reading) slight sexual themes, reader is helping bucky try to find some sense of normalcy within his life, human reader, bucky is a lil lovesick loser, lil old world slavic witchy magic, ~ wc: 1.3k ~ not proofread "Do you want me to read your coffee?" Bucky tilts his head. "My coffee?" 

Rain pelts the window as a summer storm rolls over the city.

It had come in quick, the thunder starting only ten minutes before the sky opened and unleashed chaos upon the unprepared populous. You had been halfway home, plastic bags swinging at your side full of groceries as the sky groaned, flashes of lighting backlighting the mountains as you took in the darkness of the clouds building. Your steps hurried, smelling rain on the warm breeze, knowing you only had minutes to reach home.

The heaviness of the bags slows you down, plastic digging into your fingers painfully enough to warrant a reshuffle of the load. Water begins to splatter the cobblestones around you, hitting the earth with soft plinks, and you start to rush, moving items from one bag to another in an effort to distribute the weight evenly, but just as quickly as the rain began, the cold drops sliding down your exposed back stop. You look up from your work, feeling a presence hover above you and are greeted by a smiling Bucky. He stands over you, your pink umbrella held high over your head, and you stare up at him, dumbfounded. 

"What are you- How did you…?" the question comes out in jumbled words as he bends to lift the bags.

His smile is one of ease, mischief lurking behind blue eyes at your blatant surprise. 

"I heard the thunder and realised you didn't take your umbrella, so I came looking for you," he shrugs as though it were the most casual explanation in the world. 

"You came looking for me?" 

"I know the route you take, and you were either walking home or still shopping." The plastic bags are strung over his left arm, and he extends the right one, holding a space for you to loop yours through his.

"You came looking for me." you can't help the smile that spreads across your face as you link limbs. 

"Of course." the way he smiles has your heart stuttering in your chest. 

Bucky begins to walk, setting the pace as you hurry to reach proper shelter. The rain gets heavier with each passing second. You try to suppress the grin, your teeth digging into your bottom lip, but it remains, cheeks aching and burning at his thoughtfulness. 

—-

"Do you want me to read your coffee?" you ask excitedly as he drinks the last of the brewed drink, setting the small cup back into the saucer. 

Bucky tilts his head. "My coffee?" 

You nod, a wordless answer as you scooch closer to him, hands reaching for the porcelain. His watchful gaze follows you, eyes following the lines of your body as you bend forward, dressed in only your pyjama shorts and oversized t-shirt, and he in a black shirt and sweatpants. There is a comfortability between the two of you, the knowledge of who he is, and it has been long established that he no longer has to hide his mental appendage. His heart aches at that. How you had accepted him for all he had done, knowing who and what he was.

Your bare leg brushing against his left arm has his thoughts deviating from the warmth that fills his chest at your kindness to a different kind of warmth blooming deeper. The rain had been both a blessing and a curse as it soaked you both through regardless of the umbrella he had bought. It had started coming down at an angle, and there was no way he could fight against it as you ran. By the time you crossed the threshold into the lobby, your entire body was drenched, clothes sticking to you in a way that held nothing for the imagination, and Bucky had to look away, turning his attention to the bags full of rain splattered groceries. That familiar heat returned to his stomach and only intensified as you began to climb the stairs, taking them two at a time before him, reaching the apartment in record time. He had kept his gaze averted as you tried to unpack the shopping, water dripping from your fingers while you dug through bags, but Bucky pushed you away. His hands gripping your shoulders, he steered you towards the bathroom, instructing you to get out of the wet clothes in fear of catching a cold, something he had heard you mutter to him a thousand times over the first time he had turned up at your door soaking wet from the rain. With the door slammed shut, he had a moment to breathe. To try and address the feeling in his stomach that had begun to pool into a sea of fire. To fix the issues that had started growing. Shame filled his cheeks, unable to think of you like that first and foremost, but secondly, how had such a simple and innocent image of you been enough to have his mind spiralling like that?  He shakes the thought away again as he focuses back on the present. 

You're holding the chipped tea cup, upturned on the plate. 

"My grandma taught me this when I was younger." You explain, eyes trained on the crockery. "Apparently, she had the gift." 

"The gift?" Bucky queries. 

"Yeah, the gift. Sight. Knowledge, you know?" you wiggle the fingers of your free hand as though casting a spell. 

"So, like a witch?" 

"Basically."

Bucky hums, watching as you flip the cup over and smile, whispering words as though they were an incantation.  His attention is rapt as you twist and turn the mug, eyes narrowing at shapes he cannot see. 

"Oh, ova e odličen znak." the foreign words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. 

"It's a good sign?" Bucky is quick to answer in english, suddenly very eager in his fortune regardless of how silly he thinks this is.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "How did you-"

"I speak Russian, remember?" he leans in and flicks your forehead with his right hand.

"But that wasn't Russian." you rub at the spot is fingers had just hit but it doesn’t hurt.

"Close enough." he shrugs, inching closer to get a look into the cup. Your shampoo fills his nose, the lavender scent soothing something within him. 

"Okay, okay." you brush off the questions that begin to rise within you. "Let's see." 

You examine the cup further, turning it over to Bucky, and you point out shapes and figures made in the rivers of coffee. He sees nothing but blobs of brown but nods along anyway, enjoying how you feel as you lean further into him. His heart begins to race, his ribs not used to the pace it sets. 

"You are going to live a good, long life, Mr. Barnes." you finally announce, handing the cup to him. 

"Anything else?" fingers brush over yours, sending shivers across his skin. 

"There was a cat and a house." You think for a moment, and he worries that the following words from your mouth won't be so happy. "Something about a girl and a kid." 

"A girl?" his mouth quirks up. "Like a wife?"

The answer is a nod and a soft smile. 

"You're lying!" the accusation comes out a little louder than he intended but is followed by a laugh as he shoves the cup back in your hands.

"I am not!" you shriek back, turning the mug back around, finger-pointing to the most prominent smudge at the bottom. "See, a pregnant woman!" 

Utter bullshit. It is a clump of coffee grounds. 

But he doesn't say that, doesn't dismiss the happy future you had almost entirely made up. Instead, he looks at you, his lip worried between his teeth. "Nothing about…before?" 

"Nope." With a shake of your head, you put his mind at ease. "As far as the cup is concerned, there was never a before." Soft fingers push his hair back behind his ear, curling around the edge of his jaw. Bucky leans into your touch, his body relaxing as your thumb begins to stroke soothing lines across his cheek.

Bucky knows you're lying. There will always be a before with him, and until you, he rarely thought there would be an after, but right now, with your strange and probably very untrue predictions, he cannot stop himself from wishing it would come true.

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Bucky and Sam watch as a guy tries to hit on you at the bar.

“Shouldn’t you do something?” Sam asks, curious as to why bucky hasn't moved.

“Nah, she’s got it” he croons, eyes trained on the unfolding situation.

And you do, in fact, have it. You can handle yourself, have gotten out of much tougher spots without the help of anyone and you enjoy that feeling. Now, you can protect yourself despite having no powers nor superhero training, but when you flash Bucky a look, he walks over without a second thought. The glass shoved into Sam's unexpecting hands, metal whirring and soft clinks as plates click against each other. He isn't going to use the prosthetic; there's no need to cause a bigger scene, but he might flash the metal to give the creep a bit of a scare. he claps the guy on the shoulder, enjoying the way he jumps.

"Alright, bud. Pack it up." But the guy shrugs him off, looks at the ex- assassin over his shoulder, and then turns back to you, leaning closer despite your very obvious rejection.

The muscles in Bucky's jaw clench as he leans forward, hand now wrapping around the back of the creep's neck. "You've got two seconds to get the fuck away from her, or I'll rip your throat out."

The guy turns, face contorted in rage and itching for a fight, but as he takes in the face of the Winter Soldier, he balks. There are no apologies thrown your way as he scrambles away, head ducked in order to disappear from his sight.

Bucky turns to you, a soft smile replacing the grimace he had not two seconds ago and leans in for a soft kiss.

"Bucky Barnes, my hero." you swoon and wrap your arms around his neck. "Where would I be without you?" he returns the gesture, holding you fast against his body.

"I don't ever wanna find out."

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it will come back- bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: angst, childhood memories, bucky as the winter soldier, eastern european/slavic heritage reader, does not follow the canonical timeline after bucky is arrested in romania, deviates from canon, childhood memories, child reader meets the winter soldier ~ wc: 2.5k ~ not proofread ~ a/n: this one is for all my fellow slavic girlies (I see yoouuu) basically just a self indulgent bucky self insert because who cares, right. ily thanks for reading (everything in a foreign language is immediately translated by another character)

There is a man, a monster who lives in the shadows. An abomination of science and human cruelty, an embodiment of the evil of humanity's desire for power. He waits in the dark, feeding off rats and mice as he sits and waits, waiting for his target to come home. He has no rules, no laws of man; there are no survivors. No women, no children, all those who enter his gaze do not leave, for they are trapped, frozen beneath the glare of the winter soldier. 

1996 Nizepole, FYROM

Kolku pati trebam da ti kažam da ne ta ostavaviš hranata za kučinjata?

Sakaš volcite da dojdat?

Your father's voice reverberates through your brain as a sharp slap collides with the back of your skull. The pain thrums through your bones as you yelp and run towards the house, hands covering the back of your head to suppress the thump of the smack. Of all the places he hit you, it had to be in the same spot you had bumped earlier in the day.

"Don't leave food out! They're animals! They can find their own!"

 Your mother's voice echoes from the kitchen. 

"People have started seeing wolf prints in the snow. Soon enough, we'll have a whole pack on our door."

Your footsteps slow as you reach the small white-painted cottage. The terracotta tiles are stark against the blackness of the storm clouds gathering in the distance.

Thunder begins to rumble as you cross the threshold, your fingers trailing along the chipping red paint of the doorway. The house seems smaller than usual; the once great space had been taken up by your pullout bed by the window, the door to your parent's room left ajar, closing in the space further. Your skull throbs again, a lump undoubtedly forming from the double assault. A warm shower might help; the heat would soothe the ache spreading to your neck.

You kick off your shoes, tucking them neatly under the rack just behind the door, and follow the smell of freshly baked bread that begins to wrap around you like a hug. Your mother is in the kitchen, once white apron flecked with orange fleck from the ajvar you had made earlier, your hands a similar shade of apricot. She stirs the familiar-smelling stew, never taking her eyes off the copper pot as dinner boils and roils over the flames. You eye the burnt ends of bread on the counter, and while your mother is distracted, you reach up and snatch the ends, pocketing them before she can turn around. On tiptoes, you turn, praying that the floorboards don't creak beneath and begin stalking to the door, each step meticulous.

"What are you doing?" your mother asks without turning an inch towards her. 

How did she do that?! 

You quickly stuff your hands into the pockets of the skirt. "Nothing." 

"What have you got in your pockets?" Mama's stern as she continues to stir, but there is no doubt that she has eyes in the back of her head. You frown and clench tiny fists, bread crumbling between them.

"It's just bread; wolves don't eat bread." your voice small, dejected. "It's just for the cats down the road, Mama, please." 

Mama sighs and stops cooking, turning to face you with a sour expression that suggests either disappointment or deliberation. You hope it's the latter. 

"They're so little, please." Tears begin to well in your eyes, hot and prickly, as they threaten to spill over your round cheeks. 

The bread in your pockets feels heavy, as though it has turned into rocks, as her mother stares. It is just the end bits, burnt to a crisp that no human would eat, so why let it go to waste when it can feed a few cats and dogs? 

Your mother sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

You're going to lose this battle.

You know it.

Why would she let you waste precious food on strays? Another sigh, tsking at both you and her decision as she nods towards the door. 

"Put it somewhere your father will never find it," she says, heavy with resignation. "This is the last time you hear me?" But you don't. You're too busy running out to the shed, skirt pockets full of bread. 

"You better be listening to me! I said no more!" her voice is nothing but a whisper in the wind. 

—------ 

"I think the cats are leaving me presents." you marvel at the bottle cap between your fingers, the way it glints in the afternoon light. The words inscribed are not ones you have seen before, a brand you know is not in your home. "I keep finding little presents wherever I leave the food. Do cats do that?" 

Your mother turns to you, brows furrowed as she examines the trinket in your palm. Her eyes flit over the company logo, noting the way scratch marks across the faded gold and shrugs. 

"Cats don't do that, but crows do. Maybe you're feeding crows." She turns back to the TV, invested in the program as it broadcasts the nightly news. The words are too fast and jumbled for you to keep up, so you tune it out, focusing on the gift left for you. 

You've heard that crows are smart, like shiny things, and can be friendly to humans, but you've never seen one. If you haven't seen something with your eyes, it can't exist, right? 

A heavy sigh leaves your mother as the TV cuts to a commercial. She shakes her head and mutters something just too quiet for your ears to hear, but from how she scowls, you can tell it is not good. She only wears that look when you've done something wrong or your father comes home too late. 

"I'm going to start dinner. Start washing up; we need to leave hot water for your father." She jerks her chin towards the bathroom door. "And throw that away; I don't want rubbish in my house." 

You clench your fingers around the gift. The ridges dig cold spikes into your warm skin. 

—----

More and more offerings began to appear. 

Ranging from smooth, shiny rocks to dried and crumbled-up flowers arranged neatly on the chipped plate reserved for the animal scraps. All laid upon the small stool in wait for your arrival. It was not an everyday occurrence, for all the times you left food out within the past five months, there had been three rounds of gifts. Each morning, you scrambled out of bed, eager to see if your bird friends had left you anything behind, adding it to the collection on your window sill. So far, you have two bottle caps, three small river stones rounded into perfect pearls of tiger eyes and cornflower blue. A crushed daisy that had not been so bent out of shape when you found it; only after almost being caught by your mother did you clamp your small fist around it, smooshing the petals into broken lines. The last gift had been a shell. A swirl of cream-coloured wonder you had not seen in person, only on television and in books. There is no beach near you, your landlocked country only offers lakes, and there were no shells like this the last time you visited. It was gorgeous and perfect, and you really could hear the ocean if you held it up to your ear.

—-

"If you keep feeding them, they'll just keep coming back." your mother's words echo in your mind as you arrange your latest offering. A handful of roasted peppers, a piece of bread and tiny morsels of meat you had managed to sneak into your napkin at dinner. You shouldn't be pretending to eat food, especially meat, as the winter rages around you, but you were full, and crows eat meat more than grains and vegetables, so why shouldn't you share the protein? You sit back on your haunches, skirt pockets damp with extra sauce that had leaked from the napkin and smile at the design. Hopefully, they will like the latest offering of a well-rounded meal.

—--------

It is well past your bedtime. 

The clock on the wall chimes past two am with a soft ping, but you can't sleep. Not knowing if the crows had accepted your small gift or if they had sated their hungry bellies for just one more night. You turn towards the window, curtains pulled tight to avoid any light from the street flooding in, but you have to look. Want to look? So you do.

With a quick glance at your parent's bedroom door, you wait with bated breath for any sound to indicate they are awake. The seconds tick by with heavy strokes, and you count the seconds between snores before deciding they are both firmly asleep. You can indeed open the blind and check. 

Peeling back the heavy cotton drapes, your heart hammers as you peer into the night, expecting to see nothing but darkness engulfing your front yard. But as you peek out from behind the material, a warm glow from the barn catches your attention. 

The oven! 

A shaky breath fills your lungs as you push back the drapes; birds and meat are long forgotten as you squint into the night at the ember of flames emanating from within the shed. You swear you put it out. Poked at the embers until they dulled and cooled, yet it still glows well into the night. Despite the freezing temperature, the fire risk is high, and too many flammable items are tucked away to risk letting the fire burn itself out. You scramble out of bed, slipping into thick winter boots and haul on the heavy coat draped over the end of your bed to keep your feet warm. It will not be pleasant stepping out into the building snowstorm, but this is your mistake; you must fix it before the barn burns down or your father finds out; each outcome is just as terrifying. 

With tentative steps, you sneak into the hallway, avoiding the creaking floorboards with expert precision, but the floor will not be the challenge. The lock on the front door is old and heavy, often having to be tugged roughly to even unlatch, and your small arms do not have the strength of either of your parents. Freezing metal warms quickly beneath your fingers as you twist the bolt, your heart pounding so loudly that you almost don't hear the deafening click that echoes through the hall. 

You wait, eyes trained on your parent's door for any sign of movement. One. Two. Three. Not a sound. No sigh, no creak of mattress springs, not even a snore in reaction to the metal ping. Perfect. 

The door swings open quickly. 

Wind whips around you in a flurry of snowflakes, frigid air biting at your exposed skin as you hastily reach back for your hood. The thick fur does little to soften the assault on your face, but it'll have to do so as you step into the night. On quick feet, you scurry out into the yard. You must look like a thief had you been seen by someone, head darting around to the house as you sprint to the barn. The boots are thick and heavy, catching on rock and pocks in the earth, but you don't fall; they only slow down a fraction. 

With two hands, you slam on the door. The old hinges creak as they swing open, the wood biting into your soft, frozen palms. A warm glow catches your attention, the fire in the oven still burning, brighter than you had initially had it. Your stomach sinks, terrified that you had almost been the reason for a house fire, that you could have been the culprit to the end of your life, but as you step in, the dirt crunching beneath your padded feet, your stomach sinks for an entirely different reason. Crouch before the fire in a man. 

Shadows wrap his body like a cloak of night, shielding him from possible identifiers. You step back, scream caught in your throat, chest aching to make a noise, but there is no air left in your lungs. 

The creature rises, his height taller than anyone, anything you had met before, and takes a step towards you. Ice-cold heat rushes through your veins, pumping through your heart, and it begins to thump harder than it ever had. Paralysed with fear, you watch as he moves closer, each step sluggish as though he were wading through mud. He stops a few feet from you, crouching back down to your level and holds out a hand. In the low light, you see the glint of a bottle cap. 

“Is it you leaving the food?” His voice is muffled, and what you thought were shadows is a mask. 

You nod. Too afraid to speak. 

"Do you know who I am?" another question.

This time, you shake your head. The man nods and stands to his full height again. 

"Go back home, I'll put out the fire." he instructs, turning away from you and stalking back to the oven. "Go!" the instruction is firmer, and hostility fills his words as he crouches again and pulls open the small door. 

Silver flashes in the dim light like he was made of metal, and you're sent running. You want to scream for your mother as you run, but your lungs are too busy gulping down air to push your frozen legs faster. You smack against the front door, bursting through the entry and slam it closed. Frigid fingers work quickly with the lock before you turn and book it for your parent's bedroom. The screams escape you then. Shrieking about the man in the night, the creature who sat before the fire cloaked in darkness. Your parents try to calm you down, your mother's hands stroking soothing circles down your face as you bawl, trying to convince you that you had had a nightmare and it was nothing but a dream within sleepwalking. Even after your father goes out to the barn and finds nothing, not a single ember in the oven warm, does your heart stop beating out of your chest? Despite their protests to your stories and their adamant refusal of what you had seen, they let you sleep between them for the night, promising to recheck the barn in the morning despite finding nothing upon first inspection. This does something to soothe you. That your parents were not scared of the possibility of a man living in your barn that if they were not horrified, it could possibly have been a genuine, horrifying night terror.  It was nothing more than a dream. Nothing more.

---- 

The morning reveals the truth. 

Left behind on the empty plate is a bottle cap. The very same one the man had held out to you earlier that night. You scream and run out of the barn, confusing your parents further as you demand to move away, to leave the house in fear he might return. 

But he never did. 

There was never another gift left waiting for you. 

--------------- ~ a/n: this one is for all my fellow Slavic girlies (I see you). It's basically just a self-indulgent bucky self-insert because who cares, right. ily thanks for reading find me on ao3!

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a/n: idk what this is, im just in a writing rut and need to write something without thinking about it too much.

“How’s your head?’ Bucky worries as his fingers trail over your temple, caressing the bruise blooming over your cheekbone. 

You smile up at him, eyes closed and slightly dizzy from the impact. “No complaints yet, but we can go try it out.” 

“Geez, sweetheart.” Bucky chides with a shake of his head as he lifts you in his arms, the med wing a few too many steps away for you to get there on your own feet. “You’re going to see the doctor, have him look at your actual head.”

Your training team watches wordlessly as you’re carried out, too stunned to say anything until the doors to the gym woosh close. 

“Did she mean what I think she did?” Steve turns to Natasha in search of answers he isn’t entirely sure she has.

“She’s your friend, Rogers.” She shakes her head and begins to pack down. “But I’m pretty sure that means she and Barnes are getting it on.”