#( out of control | answered | bucky )

[billionairebratenergy]

Only You, Doll

 Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: There’s something beautiful about the way Bucky loves you—fierce, unrelenting, like you’re the only thing anchoring him to a world he never belonged to. But when harmless smiles from other men threaten to shatter his fragile control, you learn that even a super soldier’s heart isn’t indestructible after all.

Bucky Barnes is not a jealous man. Or at least, that’s the lie he tells himself.

He’s been a lot of things in his unnaturally long life—a soldier, a weapon, a ghost—but jealousy? That’s a weakness for men who have something to lose.

And for most of his life, Bucky’s had nothing.

Until you.

The first time it happens, he doesn’t even notice at first. You’re at Sam’s backyard barbecue, the sun painting your skin gold, and Bucky’s only half-listening to Steve. His eyes keep drifting to you—how you move through the crowd with that easy grace, how you smile like the world’s still worth it, how every time you laugh, his chest aches like a bruise pressed too hard.

Then he sees it. Some guy—one of Sam’s buddies from god-knows-where—gravitating toward you, beer in hand, smile a little too bright.

Bucky watches the whole thing unfold, jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt. The guy leans in, closer than necessary, and you tilt your head back to laugh at something he says. Bucky doesn’t even realize he’s crossed the yard until Steve calls after him, confused.

You’re mid-sentence when Bucky’s arm slides around your waist, pulling you effortlessly into his side, his touch possessive in a way that makes your pulse skip. His smile is polite when he says, "Hey, doll. Miss me?" but his grip on your hip is anything but.

The guy’s smile falters. You catch it immediately—and so does Bucky. Bucky doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to. The man makes a quick excuse and disappears into the crowd.

Only then does Bucky relax, just a fraction, his hand smoothing over the fabric of your dress like it’s some kind of grounding ritual.

"James," you say softly, eyes glittering. "Was that really necessary?"

He kisses your temple instead of answering, but the warmth of his body against yours says everything his words won’t.

You think it’s a one-time thing. It’s not.

At first, it’s almost subtle—his hand finding yours whenever you’re out, his body positioning itself between you and strangers. But soon it becomes a pattern, a choreography of quiet possessiveness.

A waiter calls you "sweetheart"? Bucky tips him 5% less. A man offers to help you carry something? Bucky’s already got it in his vibranium hand. Even at the grocery store, when some poor guy accidentally brushes against you in the aisle, Bucky’s gaze sharpens to a knife’s edge.

The kicker is, he denies it every single time.

Every.

Single.

Time.

The breaking point comes at Tony’s party—glamorous and over-the-top as always.

You’re on the balcony, enjoying the breeze, when a tall blonde drifts over. He’s harmless, you can tell—probably someone’s brother or date. The conversation is light, harmless, until Bucky steps outside.

The moment Bucky spots you—laughing at something the guy said—something dark flickers behind his eyes. His smile vanishes, shoulders squaring like he’s preparing for battle.

You feel him before you see him, the heat of his presence curling over your skin. His hand settles on your lower back, gentle but unmistakable: mine.

The guy catches the signal loud and clear, mumbling something before practically running inside. You watch him go, then glance up at Bucky. "Really?"

Bucky shrugs, but his jaw is tight, tension coiled through his muscles.

"James," you sigh, turning to face him fully. "Are you gonna tell me what that was about?"

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just stares past you, at the glittering city lights, like they hold a truth he can’t bring himself to say aloud.

"I didn’t like the way he was looking at you." His voice is low, almost embarrassed.

"Buck," you step closer, fingers brushing his, "he was harmless."

"So was the last one," Bucky mutters. "And the one before that. And the one before—"

You press a hand to his chest, right over his heart, feeling the rapid beat beneath your palm. "Do you really think I’d ever—"

"No." His answer comes quick, fierce. "It’s not you I don’t trust, doll. It’s men. Men like me."

Your brow furrows. "What does that mean?"

He exhales sharply, like the confession physically hurts. "I know what they’re thinking when they look at you. Because once upon a time, that was me. Before you, before I knew better."

It hits you all at once.

This isn’t about jealousy. Not really. It’s about fear—the kind born from a lifetime of loss and war, from learning the hard way that good things slip through your fingers like smoke.

"Bucky," you whisper, fingers curling into his shirt. "I’m not going anywhere."

His throat bobs with a hard swallow. "I know." But he says it like he doesn’t believe it. Like the universe has never let him keep anything this good before.

Later, curled up on his couch, you poke at him again—because you love him, and because teasing him feels like stitching soft threads through his battle-scarred edges.

"So," you murmur, tracing patterns on his chest, "jealous?"

Bucky groans into the pillow behind his head. "I’m not jealous."

You grin, propping yourself up on one elbow. "Really? Because if I remember correctly, someone nearly growled at a waiter last week."

His arm slides around your waist, tugging you back down until you’re sprawled across him. "I just know men, doll. That’s all."

"Because you are one?"

"Damn right."

"And you don’t trust yourself?"

Bucky’s smile is small, a little crooked. "Not even a little."

You laugh, burying your face in his neck. "James Buchanan Barnes, you are a menace."

He presses a kiss to your temple, voice a soft rumble. "I’m your menace."

And there it is—the truth he can’t always say aloud. That he’s yours. That you’re his.

And maybe, just maybe, if he holds you tight enough, the universe won’t take you away too.

The next morning, you catch him sneaking one of his shirts into your bag before you leave for work.

"Because," he says when you raise a brow, "if men are gonna look at you, they can at least know you belong to someone."

"Possessive much?"

"Absolutely."

You laugh, looping your arms around his neck. "Good. Because you’re mine too, Barnes."

And for the first time, Bucky doesn’t argue.

─────────────

It starts with his shirt.

The one he snuck into your bag this morning. The one you wore to bed tonight, just to tease him.

You’re curled up under the sheets, the worn Henley draping over your thighs, and Bucky’s standing at the edge of the bed—blue eyes darker than the sky outside, jaw tight, hands flexing at his sides like he’s fighting himself.

You know that look. It’s the one he gets when he’s teetering between lover and soldier, between tender and ruthless.

"Something wrong, Sergeant?" you ask, voice soft and playful, but the way his gaze drags over your body—the outline of your bare legs under his shirt, the curve of your hips shifting under the sheets—makes your pulse trip.

Bucky exhales hard, dragging his vibranium hand over his face. "Doll."

Just your name. Just that voice—low and gravel-rough, thick with something hungry.

You sit up slowly, the sheets pooling around your hips, and his Henley slips off one shoulder. Bucky’s eyes track the movement like a predator stalking prey.

"You’ve been pushing me all day," he mutters, stepping toward the bed, his weight sinking into the mattress like a warning. "Talking back. Calling me jealous."

"Because you are," you smile, all innocent and wicked.

Bucky’s weight is over you in a heartbeat, caging you beneath him. The cool press of metal fingers against your jaw makes you shiver.

"You think it’s funny," he says, voice dark silk, "how crazy you make me."

"Maybe a little," you whisper, eyes sparkling with defiance.

He leans in, his nose brushing yours, lips barely an inch away. "Do you know how hard it is," he murmurs, "to watch men look at you like they could ever deserve you?"

Your breath hitches.

"I don’t trust them," he continues, mouth ghosting down your throat, voice fraying at the edges. "But you? I trust you with every fucked-up, broken piece of me."

Your hands slide into his hair, tugging him down until your lips meet his, and the moment they do, the tether snaps.

Bucky kisses you like a man starved—deep and hungry, all teeth and tongue and desperation. His flesh hand fists in the fabric of his own shirt on your body, tugging it up until your bare skin meets the rough drag of his calloused fingers.

"Mine," he growls against your mouth, and you don’t argue.

Because you are. You always have been.

He strips you of his shirt like it’s offended him, tossing it aside carelessly. His lips map a path down your neck, your chest, his metal hand pinning your hips as his mouth closes around your nipple, sucking just hard enough to make you arch.

"Bucky—"

The sound of his name from your lips makes him groan, the sound vibrating against your skin. He kisses lower, trailing down your stomach, his stubble leaving pink paths in his wake, until his shoulders are wedged between your thighs.

"You want me to stop being jealous, doll?" he asks, voice rough silk against your inner thigh. "Fine."

His tongue slides through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world to ruin you.

"I’ll just remind you," he murmurs between kisses, "why you don’t need anyone else."

Your hands tangle in his hair, thighs trembling against his cheeks, and Bucky loves it—loves the way you come undone for him, no barriers, no pretense. Just you, open and wrecked and his.

He works you like a man who knows your body better than his own—tongue circling, fingers curling inside you, teasing and relentless until you’re begging his name like a prayer.

"You’re so fucking perfect," he rasps, eyes flicking up to watch you fall apart. "Every inch of you—mine."

The moment you break, his name on your lips like a confession, Bucky’s already crawling back up your body, mouth crashing into yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"Need you," you whisper, nails digging into his back. "Need you inside me."

"Fuck," he groans, forehead pressing against yours. "You’ll kill me one day, doll."

He’s already bare—somehow you didn’t even notice him stripping—and when he slides inside you, it’s slow and deep, a claiming and a promise all at once.

You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist, and Bucky moves like a man who has nowhere else to be. Just here, in this bed, with the only thing he’s ever truly wanted.

Every thrust pushes your bodies closer—skin to skin, heart to heart. His hands never stop touching you, like he’s memorizing you all over again, metal and flesh branding every inch of you his.

"You feel so good," he breathes, voice unraveling. "Like you were made for me."

You pull him down into a kiss, soft this time, your hands cradling his face. "I was."

That undoes him completely.

Bucky fucks you harder after that, like he’s trying to pour every unspoken word into your skin—you’re mine, you’re safe, I love you, I love you, I love you.

When you come again, it’s with his name on your tongue, and Bucky follows you over the edge, spilling inside you with a guttural moan.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Just tangled limbs and breathless silence, hearts beating in sync.

Bucky finally collapses beside you, pulling you into his chest, and you trace lazy circles over his sternum.

"So," you murmur sleepily, "jealous?"

He groans, burying his face in your hair. "I’m not jealous."

"You just spent twenty minutes reminding me why no one else could ever have me," you point out, grinning against his skin.

Bucky sighs, but there’s no bite to it. "Okay, fine. Maybe a little."

You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah." You nuzzle closer, fingers tracing the edges of his dog tags where they rest against his skin. "Means you’re mine too."

Bucky’s arm tightens around you, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.

"Doll," he whispers, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, "I’ve been yours since the first smile."

You fall asleep like that, safe in the arms of a man who would burn the world down to keep you.

[flowersforbucky]

moth to a flame

bucky barnes x reader / winter soldier x reader

"I know you. even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

word count: 4.9k

summary: bucky is triggered into the winter soldier during a mission and then goes MIA, until he seeks you out in the middle of the night.

warnings/tags: SMUT, canon divergence (bucky hasn't been successfully deprogrammed in this), kind of dub-con, language, some violence, reader is afab, no use of y/n, friends with benefits situation, angst with a happy ending, 18+ only

“You've reached Bucky. I can't answer the phone right now but leave me a mess–”

You hang up before the voicemail recording finishes. You already knew he wasn't going to answer, just as he hasn't answered any of the other thirty-something times you've dialed his number over the course of the last few days. Or read any of the two dozen text messages.

The messages had stopped delivering and the calls had started going straight to voicemail almost two days ago at this point. And yet you still got your hopes up every time you checked your phone, only to be met with gut-wrenching, nauseating disappointment.

It had now been three days of this - not to mention picking your cuticles until they bleed, flipping back and forth between every news station on your TV in hopes (and fear) of seeing his name, a few collective hours of sleep each night, and too much Red Bull.

Just when you were thinking about trying to kick your caffeine addiction, too.

Three days of feeling completely and utterly helpless.

You place the phone back down on your coffee table, staring down at the thick, white cast encasing your left leg from your foot to just under your knee.

Useless.

You knew you were doing what you physically could - the spread of laptops and tablets on the table in front of you continuously supplying data from facial recognition programs across the United States.

Realistically, you knew he could be on the other side of the world by now, but that didn't stop you from checking. It was the only thing that you felt you had any control over right now.

But it wasn't enough. Not when Steve, Sam, Natasha, Sharon, and every other currently able-bodied team member are out scouring every safehouse and known former HYDRA base in the tri-state area while you're holed up in your apartment with a fractured fibula and a brain that won't let you stop reliving the moments before he went missing.

“This is as straightforward as it gets,” Steve re-assures you both for what felt like the dozenth time that day. “You'll be in and out in no time.”

“So straight-forward that you're going to hang back here while we do all the dirty work?” You joke as you make the final adjustments to your parachute.

“We've been monitoring this base for months,” he reminds you. “This place is as abandoned as they come. Get in, get the intel from the database, and get back to the jet.”

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Bucky adds with a devious grin.

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Steve agrees.

If only things had been as simple as he had expected.

You had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach from the moment that you and Bucky landed on the ground outside of the HYDRA base. You told yourself that you were being irrational - but you couldn't shake the looming feeling that something was going to go wrong.

“See?” Bucky says after removing the USB drive from the computer. He sticks the device in the breast pocket of his tactical vest before edging you towards the desk. “Easy-peasy. You've been worried for nothing.”

“I have not been worried,” you deny, leaning against the edge of the desk. “This place is just old, and smelly, and creepy.”

Bucky takes a step closer to you so that there's no space left between you. He places his hands on the desk on either side of you, enclosing you.

“You think that I can't tell when you're nervous?” He says quietly, studying your face. You can smell a lingering hint of cool mint from his mouthwash. “That I haven't spent enough time learning your body to read you like an open book?”

Your thighs clench together and your nipples pebble at his words. You're almost embarrassed at how easily his voice, his scent, his closeness elicits a physical response from your body. Almost.

“What I think,” you murmur against his mouth. His hands come to grip your hips as he nudges your thighs open, standing between your legs. “Is you're crazy if you're thinking about trying to fuck me in an abandoned HYDRA warehouse.”

He exhales a dramatic sigh. “You can't blame me for trying.”

“I am relieved to know that you'd even want to do that here,” you say, hopping down from where you're perched on the desk. “I really think that shows you've processed your trauma–”

You're cut off by the room going completely dark. Every light, every computer, turns to black.

Bucky's flesh hand instinctively reaches to grab your wrist in the dark, tugging you to him.

“What the fuck,” he groans under his breath.

“We need to get out of–” you start to state the obvious but close your mouth when the computer that you and Bucky had retrieved the data from turns back on.

And then a computer to the right - and then across the room - and another to the right - and one to left - until every computer is on and showing the exact same screen. Bucky's hand grips yours so tightly that it borders on being painful.

Displayed on dozens of screens throughout the room is the face of a man. A man who you've never met, but recognize immediately.

“Zola,” Bucky whispers almost inaudibly.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola addresses him with a perverted smile. “Welcome home,” his voice pours from every computer speaker throughout the room and echoes off the walls.

“Steve?” You whisper urgently, clicking on the communication device hidden in your ear. “Steve, we've got a prob–”

“There's no use in that,” Zola interrupts you. “It's too late. They're almost here.”

The following sixty seconds were a jumbled blur that you were still trying to piece together in your mind.

You remember hearing the stream of words spoken in Russian.

Longing. Rusted. Seventeen.

You remember Bucky screaming at you to run, the sound of Steve's voice in your ear telling you that back-up was on the way and asking a dozen questions that you were too overwhelmed to respond to.

Daybreak. Furnace. Nine.

You remember begging Steve to hurry. You remember pleading with Bucky to come with you to try to get away; pleading with him to just look at you, just stay with you, help is coming -

Benign. Homecoming. One.

You remember the moment that Bucky went completely still as the room was infiltrated by HYDRA agents.

Freight car.

You knew that Bucky wasn't there anymore. You could sense it in his stance, in the way he wouldn't meet your eyes, in his silence.

Before you could say anything else to him, close to a dozen HYDRA agents came barreling towards you both. He charged through them, taking down one after the next with ease, until there were just a few left standing.

It was a side of Bucky you'd never seen. You thought that you had witnessed his strength, his agility, his determination, his ruthlessness working beside him in this field - but you then saw just how much he had been holding back.

He fled past the remaining few, out the door and down the hallway of the warehouse. The agents turned to follow him, forgetting about you - until you threw a knife directly into one's neck from behind.

Another agent shot at you, the blow hitting your bulletproof vest and sending you flying backwards onto hard cement.

Before you could catch your breath, there was a sharp cracking noise and a blinding pain radiating from your lower leg - but it was short lived.

The last thing you recall is the man's boot swinging towards your face.

You woke up some number of hours later, in a hospital bed with your temple throbbing and leg elevated in a cast.

“Hey,” a soft voice calls from your right. Natasha stands up from the singular chair in the room, both concern and relief evident across her features. “You're okay,” she begins to assure you. “You have a concussion and a fractured–”

“Where's Bucky?” You interrupt her, your voice scratchy. You clear your throat. “Is he okay? Did Steve find him? Did HYDRA get–”

“HYDRA didn't get him. Steve took care of the last of the agents after him,” she stops you from rambling. There's an immediate sense of relief wash over you.

“But we haven't found him yet,” she adds carefully. “Everyone is out searching for him now. You know we won't stop until–”

A gentle knock on your apartment door snaps you back to reality.

You freeze, your heart jumping to your throat. You stand as quickly as you can manage, grabbing your crutches propped up next to you on the couch.

“It's just me,” a feminine voice calls from the other side of the door. Your heart goes from your throat to your stomach. Not him.

“I'm sorry, I should have text you first,” Natasha continues. “But I brought you food. Street tacos from–”

You turn the deadbolt and unhook the chain lock before swinging the door open.

“You look–”

“Like hammered shit?” You finish for her, nodding your head towards the inside of the apartment as indication for her to come in.

“I was going to say exhausted,” she says, walking past you with a large paper sack of take-out food. Your stomach growls at the aroma - when was the last time you ate something more than a bowl of cereal or granola bar?

“Your favorite,” she tells you, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. “Extra salsa verde and lime wedges. Have you gotten any sleep recently?” Her eyes skim across the empty energy drink cans littered around the kitchen.

You maneuver yourself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen's small island, leaning your crutches on the edge of the counter.

“Yes,” you mumble. “For forty-five minutes from 2:30 to 3:15 today.”

She lets out a long groan, rolling her eyes at you.

“You're supposed to be healing from a concussion,” she reminds you, taking a seat for herself. “Which generally doesn't include sleep deprivation and excessive use of computer screens.” She stares in the direction of the array of laptops that overcrowd the limited space of your coffee table.

“Did you find anything in Connecticut? What about Sam, is he back from New Jersey?” You ask, ignoring her concerns as you unbox your food.

“Connecticut was a dead-end,” she sighs. “We're still waiting to hear back from Sam. There's a safehouse up in Vermont that Steve wants to head to tomorrow–”

“You don't think there's a chance of him letting me tag along for that, do you?” You tap the edge of your cast against the base of the island with your foot.

Her eyes soften as she looks at you. You already knew the answer.

“I know this is really hard for you,” she says delicately. “I may not know exactly what has been going on between you and Barnes these last few months, but it's obvious you care a lot for him. We all do. We are going to find him and bring him home,” she assures you.

You nod at her in agreement, not quite trusting your voice enough to speak.

Your eyes sting as you attempt to blink away the tears that threaten to spill over. You had yet to allow yourself to spend any time crying these last few days and you didn't wish to start now.

Her words remind you that no one knows exactly why you are taking Bucky's disappearance so harshly. You assume that your friends have their suspicions about your and Bucky's arrangement but the two of you had agreed to keep it between yourselves.

They didn't know it had started off being a weekly occurrence - late Sunday evenings, your apartment. Or how it had quickly escalated from once a week to twice, and then from two times a week to three - and instead of just your apartment, it would happen anywhere the two of you had a private (and sometimes public) moment - up against the wall of the communal showers at the compound's gym, in the back of the Quinjet after missions while everyone else would be sleeping on the flight back home, even during team meetings with his hand creeping between your thighs while you try to stay quiet enough to not draw any attention to yourselves.

They didn't know you were supposed to be friends with benefits but that at some point during the days and nights spent underneath one another, the line between friends and something more became blurry for you.

You had just been too chickenshit to tell him.

Natasha sits across from you as you inhale the Mexican food that she brought you. She doesn't say anything else, just keeps you company in a comfortable silence as you eat your first legitimate meal in days.

“Thank you,” you tell her as you're finishing your food. “I appreciate you. I've been going a little crazy here by myself,” you add meekly.

“Of course.” She stands back up. “I would stay longer, but I've got to prepare for Vermont. We're leaving early in the morning.”

“Be safe. All of you,” you remind her. “Let me know if you guys find anything. Just tell me if there's anything at all I can do. And please let me know when you hear from Sam–”

“You'll be the first to know when there's anything to know,” she assures you gently.

“Thanks, Nat.”

“You just try to get some rest, okay?” She requests as she walks toward the door. “Maybe drink some water, possibly consider taking a nice, long shower…”

“Goodbye, Natasha.”

She's chuckling as she closes the door behind her.

You lower your nose to your armpit as soon as the door clicks shut, inhaling.

Maybe she makes a valid point about showering.

Half an hour later, there's a heavy rain beating against the windows of your apartment when you finish bathing. You secure a towel around your chest before yanking off the garbage bag that you had wrapped around your cast well enough for you to rinse off.

Belly full and body clean, you felt somewhat better; at least physically.

You listen to the rain pound down as you sit on the edge of the bathtub, massaging lotion into your skin, and wonder where Bucky is right now - if he's safe, if it's raining wherever he's at, if he's somewhere dry -

You come to a sudden halt in the middle of brushing your teeth. It's hard to tell over the deafening roar of the rain and your bathroom fan, but you could have sworn you heard the creaking of a door or window from your living room.

I double checked the door locks after Nat left, you rationalize to yourself. This apartment is on the fourth floor, no one is going to climb the fire escapes to–

There's an unmistakable shadow visible through the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. It's gone as quickly as it appears.

Shit. You start to panic as you realize you left your cell phone in the kitchen. As quietly as you can, you look around the small room for something to defend yourself with. A hair dryer, dental floss, a few week’s worth of dirty laundry..

You hear the creaking of floorboards as footsteps seem to creep closer and closer to the bathroom door.

Crutches. You have two crutches. You can clobber them with your crutches.

“I can hear you,” you call to whoever is just beyond the door. “I know you’re out there.”

Silence. No hint of any further movement.

You place one crutch under your left armpit for support, keeping the other one ready to wield as a weapon. “You have ten seconds to get out of my apartment,” you say a bit louder, willing your voice not to waver. “I have a weapon.”

Yeah, a weapon. If you can call it that.

Ten seconds come and go, followed by another ten seconds.

You weren’t going to let someone play this game with you in your own home.

Taking one last deep breath and tightening your grip on the defense crutch, you sling the bathroom door open quickly.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim, immediately relaxing your weight against the crutches, releasing the death grip that you had on your uninjured side.

It’s dark in your bedroom save for a few pale orange string lights hung around your bed frame and the light that spills in from the bathroom, but you would recognize his broad frame anywhere.

“Thank fuck you’re okay,” you exhale, swinging yourself over to where he stands at the foot of your bed. When you’re a little over a foot away from him, you realize he’s sopping wet - his hair dripping water droplets and his skin dewy. His clothing, the same clothing that you last saw him in three days ago, clings to his body like a second skin.

He remains still as a statue, and as silent as one.

“Are you okay?” You ask him apprehensively. You give him a once over, from head to toe. You don't see any noticeable injuries, but he is trembling.

“Bucky?” You ask in a small voice.

His lips are set in a hard line. He doesn't answer, just stares at you. Stares at you like he’s trying to figure out why he’s here.

Stares at you like he’s trying to decide if he knows you or not.

The immense relief that you had felt at knowing he's alive is washed away by a sinking feeling.

His eyes trail from your face and slowly down your towel-clad body. He pauses when he gets to your foot, glancing back and forth from your cast to the crutches on either side. His brows furrow together - almost like he's in pain.

“I'm okay,” you assure him in a shaky voice. “It's just a fracture,” you explain. “I'll be healed in no time.”

You notice that his features relax a bit at your words - just enough to give you hope that Bucky, your Bucky, is in there and he's listening to you.

Do whatever you have to do to keep him here. Don't let him out of your sight. Help him remember who he is, your inner monologue screams at you. Just don't let him run away again.

“Are you cold?” You ask him. You're not necessarily expecting him to answer, you're just trying to put him at ease. “How about we get you some dry clothes?” You add, nodding towards his drenched henley.

You retreat into the bathroom, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he'd left over the last time he had stayed the night - the night before he went missing. They were at the top of the laundry basket - maybe not the cleanest, but better that the wet, dirty clothing he's in currently.

You limp your way back over to where he stands at your bed, leaning against the mattress for support. You set your crutches down and hand him the shirt and pants, which he hesitantly accepts. He makes no move to remove the wet clothes from his body, instead gently places the dry clothes onto the mattress beside him.

“Would you like some help?” you offer cautiously, terrified of doing anything that could cause him to run. You slowly reach towards the clothing that he had just placed on the bed, but he stops you before you can pick the t-shirt back up - grasping your wrist in his vibranium hand.

You can’t stop the small gasp that escapes past your lips. His hold on you is firm, but not painful. You could rip your hand from him if you wanted to - but you don’t.

Instead, you let him hold your hand as he begins to rub his metal thumb in a circular motion next to yours. You’re frozen; watching him carefully as he examines the movements his metal digit makes on your skin.

The goosebumps that appear in the wake of his touch don’t go unnoticed by him. His eyes trail from where his hand holds yours and up the expanse of your arm, until they land on your exposed neck. The towel covering your midsection has started to come loose, hanging low enough to reveal the top of your breasts.

He drops your hand, taking a step closer to you. You have to remind yourself to breathe - your Bucky is in there. Your Bucky, who is gentle, and soft, and would never do anything to cause you harm.

You have to trust that.

He brings his vibranium fingers up to the edge of the towel, trailing them across the mounds of your breasts. Your nipples harden right away, visible through the thin material of the towel.

You would let this play out however he wants it to. However he needs it to.

When his index finger stops where the towel is tucked into itself at your side, you forget how to breathe. He pauses for a split-second before unhooking the cloth and letting it fall to your feet.

He drinks in the sight of you bare before him, his jaw clenched and pupils dilated.

Dozens of times he has seen you like this, and never have you felt so completely vulnerable under his gaze.

And still there's a slickness gathering at the apex of your thighs.

He brings his flesh hand to your waist, putting the faintest bit of pressure against your skin. You close your eyes at the sensation - he's barely fucking touching you and you could melt into him.

Your name falls off of his lips - it's barely even a whisper, nearly inaudible but unmistakable. Your name. He remembers your name.

“Bucky,” your voice cracks when you whisper his own name back to him. His eyes snap up to yours, a mix of realization and hesitation brewing in them.

You bring both of your hands to the tail of his wet shirt, giving him time to pull away before you start to tug the shirt upwards. He doesn't stop you - in fact, he raises his own arms to help you tug the soaked fabric off of him. You toss the shirt in the general direction of your bathroom.

You didn't think there would ever come a time that the sight of him getting naked for you wouldn't make you want to drool.

You unsnap the button of his tactical pants, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time, hyper-analyzing his expression for any sign of reluctance.

You dip your fingers past the waistband of his boxers, his eyes fluttering closed as your hand travels lower.

He's already fully hard as you hold him, stroking him as best you can from inside the confines of his underwear and pants. You pump him in your hand and his head rolls back so that he's looking up at your ceiling.

Fuck, it takes all the restraint you possess to resist leaning forward and sucking on his neck.

Another time, you tell yourself, anxious about overwhelming him.

He curses under his breath - something in Russian that you don't recognize but the expression on his face indicates it to be a praise. There's a shift in his initially reserved, unsure demeanor when you begin to pump him faster.

His head snaps back down, his eyes raking up and down your body once more before he brings his hands to your lower back, maneuvering you against the bed.

You scoot until your back comes in contact with the cool satin of your pillows, relaxing into the bedding. At last Bucky begins to shed the layers of wet clothing covering his lower half, not taking his eyes off of your body as he removes his boots, followed by his pants and boxers.

He kneels on the mattress, crawling above where you lay. You want nothing more than to grab him by the shoulders and pull his mouth to yours, but you are going to let him call the shots.

He nudges your thighs apart with his knee, nestling himself between your legs. He grasps your breast in his vibranium hand, giving it a firm squeeze before rolling your nipple between his icy fingers.

He lowers himself so that he's belly down on your mattress, his face inches away from your pussy. He removes his hand from your breast and you let out a small whimper of disappointment at the abrupt lack of sensation. He uses that same hand to hike your uninjured leg over his shoulder, securing his head between the soft interior of your thighs.

He kisses you, starting at your belly button and working his way to your center. His lips feel like fire against your skin. You keep your hips planted firmly on the bed, fighting the urge to thrust your pussy up to his face.

“Please,” you whine. “Bucky, please.” You swear you can see the faintest trace of a smirk that looks so undeniably Bucky.

You clench your thighs around his face and he lets out a low, guttural groan as his mouth makes contact with you.

Normally, Bucky closes his eyes while he's going down on you - gets completely lost in it. Right now, his eyes are wide open - making sure he doesn't miss the way your mouth gapes when he rolls his tongue around your clit and the way your chest heaves when he nudges his tongue inside you.

You don't know which you find hotter.

You can already feel the tightening of a coil in your lower belly, making it impossible to resist rolling your hips to meet the torturous pace he's set with his tongue. You grind against his face, the thin layer of stubble that's grown across his jaw since you last saw him scratching against the sensitive flesh around your cunt.

You're approaching your climax when he pulls away, making you mewl at the loss of contact. His face glistens with your slick.

He flips you onto your side, placing you on your left side so that your injured leg rests against the mattress. You prop your head up with your hand as he slides in behind you.

His chest presses against your back, the heat of his body warming you all over. His flesh hand juts between your thighs, raising your right leg high enough for him to slap his cock against your pussy.

He strokes himself in his hand while he teases your folds - lubricating himself with your juices.

You turn your head to look at him right as he sheaths himself inside you, filling you entirely in one swift motion.

Fuck, you have to taste yourself on him. You can't handle not having his mouth on yours for another second.

You tilt your head back enough to connect your mouth to his - every worry you once had about coming on too strong and overwhelming him melts away as he opens his mouth for you, moving his lips against yours in an effortless rhythm.

He starts slow, quickly working up to a rapid pace as he repeatedly slams into your cervix from the sweetest angle. The sounds that you're making for him are pornographic - moaning into his mouth as his flesh hand comes around your front, landing on your engorged clitoris. He rubs languid circles while he continues to pound into you from behind.

You pull your lips away from his when you feel your orgasm building. “You always make me feel so good, you know that?” You ask him breathily, your mouth now right next to his ear.

“Every time you fuck me, I'm more sure that no one could ever compare to you. You've ruined me for everyone else. There’s only you for me.”

“Fuck,” he curses and groans your name again - it's the closest he's sounded to his normal self, which only spurs you on.

“I’ve become so fucking addicted to you in such a short amount of time,” you say in between moans as the head of his cock hits your sweet spot just right. “Think about you anytime you're not near me, drives me fucking crazy.”

He flips you - doesn't pull out - so that you're now underneath him. He goes right back to the same brutal pace, bringing his flesh hand to cradle your face as he stares down at you.

Clarity - you recognize it plain as day on his features.

He gives you a few more fast, hard thrusts before you're milking his cock through your orgasm. You crash your lips to his and he's coming - filling you up with his warm seed as he kisses you senseless.

He gradually stills inside you, his body going limp on top of yours as he rests his face in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around him, peppering kisses across his scarred shoulder, where flesh meets metal.

“I'm so sorry if I scared you,” he murmurs against the sweat-slicked skin of your throat after a moment. “I wasn't myself. Not even entirely sure how I ended up here - it's like I was pulled in this direction - to you,” he sighs.

You're overcome with such an immense relief at hearing him speak that you could cry. You tighten your hold around him, rubbing your hands up and down his back.

“You could never scare me, Bucky,” you assure him. He pulls out of you, rolling off of you onto the bed beside you and tugging you to his chest. Your cheek rests just over his heart.

"I know you. Even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks for reading! as always comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated!

[navybrat817]

Okay, lovelies. Power went out and I can't do my work. 😭 So indulge with me if you will and Happy Moanday.

Good Vibrations

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 650

Warnings: Established relationship, fingering, dirty talk, inappropriate use of Bucky's arm (or is it?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

Banner by the talented @cafekitsune

Just imagine that you're in the mood, but Bucky still has some work he has to finish up. The man wants nothing more than to spread your thighs apart and indulge. And he will. He’s hard just thinking about wrecking pretty hole, but he really does need to get one more thing done before he can.

So he gives you his arm to warm yourself up.

“You want me to use your arm?” you ask.

He doesn't always use his prosthetic, but offering it to you to get yourself off?

“Think of it like a personalized vibrator,” is all he says before he gets back to work.

“Then give me a mold of your cock,” you tease, hearing him laugh before you leave him be.

Propping yourself up on the bed once you’re naked it feels strange to put the metal hand between your thighs. The rest of the arm rests on your torso, the weight pleasant and not heavy. It’s easy to imagine Bucky is right there beside you, encouraging you.

“Play with your clit and open your pretty pussy up for me. Get it nice and wet.”

And you do. You rub the thumb along your bundle of nerves the same way he would. You're careful when you slip a finger through your wet folds before you push it into your soaked channel. It feels good because it's his finger. And…

It starts vibrating.

You jolt with a surprised moan when a second finger joins the first, the vibrations making your walls clench. The thumb on your clit increases in pressure, making you moan again. It dawns on you through your rising pleasure that you aren't controlling the fingers.

Bucky is.

“Neat trick, isn't it, baby?” you hear from the other room, your body quivering. “All I have to do is think about what I want my hand to do to you and it does it. You’re so wet, aren't you? Fucking yourself on my fingers.”

You cry out when the fingers thrust and curl, searching for that spongy sweet spot that only he can find. “Bucky, please,” you beg.

Your heart pounds in your chest and you can't grip his hair since he isn't between your legs, so you play with your tits instead. Pinching your nipples, groping the soft flesh. His hands and mouth always feel incredible and you can't help but push your hips down as the fingers move faster.

“Take a picture and send it to me,” he calls out with a groan and you know the not-so-subtle beautiful bastard is likely done working and jerking off. “Wanna see my fingers in that sweet pussy.”

It isn't easy to grab your phone with your ragged breathing and trembling form, but you somehow manage. Spreading your legs wider, you do your best to capture the best image. You almost drop your phone when he adds a third finger, the vibrations increasing more. Fuck, you were going to spiral in the best way.

“I… I got it…” you whine, biting your lip when you see the picture and press send. The sight of his metal fingers opening you up is so dirty, so filthy, so hot. Now you want to take more photos for him to jerk off to layer. “Please. I’m close.”

“Come all over them, baby,” he grunts. He sounds as close as you feel. “Make me proud.”

You snap, coming apart at the seams and calling out Bucky’s name as the fingers fuck you through it. You soak them and the sheets beneath you and the vibrations don't stop. The fog is still in your mind when you turn your head and see Bucky naked in the doorway, his cock thick and heavy in his hand and a smirk on his handsome face.

“Ready for round two?”

Clenching around the metal inside you and letting out a sultry moan is the only answer he needs.

Nothing to see here, lovelies. Go about your business. ❤️ And I hope my power comes back on soon. Love and thanks! ❤️

[http-shield]

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."

[inkedbybarnes]

unclear

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: everyone thinks you're dating bucky, except yourself.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: 18+ minors dni. miscommunication (i love this trope, sue me), angst with a happy fluffy ending, quite stubborn reader, implied smut if you squint, usage of petnames such as baby and doll. lowercase for basically everything.

i haven't finished anything in decades, but i suddenly had an idea just now and decided to write it down. surprisingly, i finished it? might have a lot of mistakes and such since i haven't proofread it yet. also, sorry for using lowercase for this, i kinda like how it looks. hope you enjoy this one!

dividers by @cafekitsune!

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“you're confusing me. so... you're not dating bucky?”

wanda tilted her head, confusion etched on her face as you spent your weekly girl's night with natasha. it usually consisted of eating food you all desired, drinking until you got wasted, and spilling secrets to one another.

although tonight, you weren't sure if you had any secrets to spill.

"as far as i know, no. we're just friends, teammates. nothing else," you answered with a heavy sigh. "can we talk about something else?"

"hold your horses, young lady! we are not skipping this topic again. you obviously want a label but he isn't giving you one!" wanda protested. she has been constantly asking about you and bucky's relationship for the past weeks, and you always had the same answer. you don't know.

"have you never talked about it with bucky? he looks at you like you'd get lost if he looks away for a second. not a single soul in the tower would think that you're just friends," natasha interjected, taking another sip from the bottle of beer she held. she had a point, as always. "if he's just playing with you, which i highly doubt for barnes, then just end whatever that is. you deserve better than having doubts and confusion, babe."

you've tried asking him multiple times, but every attempt felt like you were stepping on his boundaries. after years of being controlled by hydra, you knew it was possible that he'd hate the feeling of being rushed and entering a relationship that could potentially feel like a cage to him.

but natasha was right. your "relationship" was no longer anything friendly. he sleeps in your bed, claiming he slept better in it, and wakes up beside you to shower you with kisses. none of you even tried to hide it after some time. you always cooked your meals and ate them together, casually feeding one another and stealing kisses in between. you even stopped going on dates and you had no idea if you were exclusive. you deserved to know what your relationship with bucky was, but you were too scared to lose everything once you asked.

"we're not dating. i only see him as a friend, so you can both stop worrying about me." you lied through your teeth, your chest aching as you realised how stupid this was. you sighed and faked a smile, shifting the attention to natasha. "so, tell me about your date with steve! how was the first ever date of captain america since the 40s?"

wanda was distracted by the question, immediately bombarding the now blushing widow with questions. on the other hand, your mind flew away for a minute, finally deciding to get an answer from bucky.

the annual ball that tony stark held for, well, nearly anyone, was nearing. you only had two weeks left, and you haven't even gone out to find something to wear. it was hard to find any motivation to do all that effort when the person you've been waiting to ask you as his date hasn't asked you yet.

although, bucky had a tendency to get shy and hold back. you knew that. so here you were, standing behind the doors to the gym, knowing that bucky would be training at this hour. you still haven't asked him the question you were supposed to ask him, so you decided to do it all at once.

after you've finished your small pep talk, you opened the door to enter the room and your first instinct was to search for bucky.

considering that he was a huge chunk of a man, he was easy to find. however, the sight of him standing in front of a woman that was too close for your comfort wasn't delightful.

he didn't see you entering the room since he was facing the opposite direction, conversing with the agent that happened to be training as well. she had the sweetest and flirtiest smile on her face, bringing her hand up to his arm, slowly caressing it. you didn't mean to easily hear their conversation as you walked closer.

"so, do you happen to have someone for me to have as a date for the ball? i don't want to be lonely on that night, sergeant," the agent said with an extra pout, swaying her hips side to side like a child asking for candy.

"oh, yeah? i think i have someone for you," bucky replied, breaking your heart into pieces with how enthusiastic he was with his answer. "i'm sure you'll—"

you sniffed. unconsciously. not knowing that your tears were already falling, causing your nose to get stuffy. how pathetic, you thought.

your little sniff caught the attention of both the agent and bucky, looking at you in shock. although, the girl was more pleasantly surprised than the opposite. thankfully, you already had your tears wiped before they could see them.

"oh, we didn't see you there!" she greeted you with your name. "we were just talking about our date for this year's ball. who are you bringing?"

"i haven't decided yet, no one's worth it even if i try," you answered bitterly. "so you're going together?"

before bucky could answer, the agent already had her arm wrapped around his, happily smiling at your question. "yeah! amazing, right? i actually thought you two had a thing, but i guess not. glad things worked out in the end."

and that was your last straw. "well, enjoy yourselves. i have to go and find natasha."

you turned to leave, ignoring the loud calls of bucky. you were glad that you never asked him about your relationship and the ball. you were going to be hurt either way.

you spent the next hours stuck in your room, body covered with a thick sheet as you ranted about your frustrations to friday.

it was silly, you knew that, but you refused to call natasha and wanda to remind you of your stupidity and decided to let an ai robot listen to your problems instead.

"and he even flirted back! answering coyly like a teenager. he's 107 years old, fri!" you whined, not noticing the new nickname you've given the alternative intelligence. "ugh, now i have a broken heart and no date in sight. how did it get to this?"

"perhaps you must discuss this matter with sergeant barnes first. your conversation ended quite abruptly with no clear conclusion."

"no, i don't want the truth rubbed on my face," you said, grabbing another piece of tissue to sneeze in. "you restricted him from entering my room, right?"

friday answered with a yes, then you thanked her for listening and decided to get some sleep after tirelessly crying for hours. you knew you had a team meeting with the avengers in a bit, but you couldn't bring yourself to even walk a few steps.

your sleep ended and you were woken up with friday's reminder that it was time for dinner with the team.

with a groan, you pushed yourself off your bed. bucky would be there, but you were too hungry to care. it would be awkward, of course, but you had to face him at some point anyway.

your feet padded towards the door, opening it after trying your hair in a bun.

"ah, fuck."

you jumped at the voice and the body falling to the floor as you opened the door.

"bucky?" you asked, still in shock. "were you sleeping outside of my room?"

you watched bucky stand up, his hand massaging his aching nape as he looked for your eyes. "friday won't let me in. i waited outside instead. i guess i fell asleep during that," he explained, a frown forming on his face. "did you restrict me from entering our room?"

your eyes widened at his choice of words. our room. he considered your room to be his room as well. while that would've made you melt in an instant, you were still hurt to entertain that possibility.

"this is my room, barnes. not yours, not ours. and yes, i had you restricted because i couldn't face you yet. what do you need anyway?"

"i wanted to see you, talk to you." a flash of pain crossed his eyes. "whatever happened at the gym, it's—"

"bucky, you don't have to explain anything to me. we're just friends. it's my fault i assumed we were something. i just need some time to get over it."

"but i thought we were something as well..." he replied, his voice was almost as quiet as a whisper. "i thought we were dating."

"were we?" you asked, genuinely curious. "we never.. you never said anything. i mean, yeah, i wished it meant something, but i thought you wouldn't want to be trapped in a relationship with me, so i just waited. apparently, i was right and i can't blame you for that."

"right about what? the thing that happened in the gym this morning?" he asked. you nodded in response. "i know it sounds like i was flirting back, well i didn't know at the moment, until i asked steve who was clueless but he called nat to help me out and explained that it looked like i was flirting back. i wasn't. i was just going to suggest sam as a date for her. i would never agree to anyone."

oh. so he just wasn't interested in anyone at all.

"besides this one girl who's constantly been in my head. that's if she'd even give me a chance and say yes. i fucked it up badly before i could even ask her properly."

you knew what hoping got you, but you couldn't help but think that he was talking about you. he'd have to be clueless to say all those things in front of you only for it to be someone else.

"i love you, baby. i should've told you that, i should've made it clear sooner. i'm so sorry i let you have doubts when i could've been reassuring you about what i feel for you."

"bucky..."

"i would never feel trapped with you, doll. only you made me feel so much love and freedom. i'd be a fool to let go of that. i'm sorry it took a few hits and harsh words from natasha to make me realise that i wasn't giving you enough when you deserve everything." he held your face in his hands, bringing you closer to him. you felt breathless, tears threatening to fall but this time it was out of joy. "hydra made sure i had no voice to express myself. now, i'll use it to let you know that i love you so fucking much that it hurts when you're not around. i promise to work on it. if anything like this happens again, ask me, baby. demand things from me. i'll give you everything in a heartbeat."

"even if i ask for your arm?"

he laughed, a sound that was music to your ears. "it's yours baby. although, i do like fucking you with my metal—"

"bucky!" you scolded him, hitting him lightly on the chest.

"sorry, baby. couldn't help it. missed my girl so much."

his girl. you loved hearing that.

"it's only been a few hours. don't be silly," you reminded him, but you knew you also felt the same.

"i miss you even when i don't see you for a second." you couldn't help but laugh at his words. "something funny, doll?"

"sorry, natasha said something similar about you a few days ago," you answered. "i'm sorry for assuming so quickly, bucky. you deserved the chance to explain."

"and you did let me explain. i can't blame you for assuming and getting hurt when i never gave you the confirmation to believe otherwise. don't apologise for it, baby."

"i love you," you said, causing him to grin widely.

"yeah? you love me too?" he asked, a hint of pink tinting his cheeks. "this is official now, right? we're dating?"

you nodded happily, giggling as he landed a kiss to your mouth. "so, you wanna go to the ball with me?"

he kissed you again. "don't. i'm supposed to be asking you that. i had an entire thing prepared for you, i even dragged half of the team to help me out days ago. besides wanda and natasha, of course. couldn't let them tell you about it."

your heart swelled, he was already planning to ask you before all of this misunderstanding happened, and it could've been solved with communication. lesson learned, indeed.

"well hurry because i can't wait to say yes," you playfully threatened him, kissing the tip of his nose until the loud rumble of your stomach interrupted your sweet moment. "ah, right. i was on my way to eat dinner when i opened the door."

bucky laughed, his eyes twinkling witth adoration as he kept his eyes on you. "we can't have you starving, that's for sure. come, let's get you something." he held your hand, and dragged you to the kitchen. he turned to look at you with a playful smile. "wanna cook together like the old times?"

you smiled. "like the old times."

in the middle of your cooking session, you heard whistles and claps along with the footsteps that entered the kitchen. you both turned to find the rest of the team with shit eating grins.

"finally! so is this real or do we need to smack your heads?" tony asked, his hand placed on his hip.

"it's always been real, stark," bucky answered, wrapping his arm around your waist. "except this time, i'm making sure my entire world knows it."

"i think everybody knows you have a thing for each other, barnes." clint added.

"i meant my entire world, not everybody." bucky looked at you with awe. "she's my world."

bucky's answer gained various loud reactions from the team, mostly calling him a cheesy old man and fake gags, but there you were, cheeks heating up as you looked back at him with the same amount of love, if not more.

and he did ask you to be his date to the ball the day after, surprising you with his so-called secret plan.

a year later, he surprised you with a ring as he knelt on one knee.

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

[thebarneschronicles]

The Edge of Patience

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: You’re no stranger to the overprotective nature of your boyfriend, Bucky Barnes. After a heated argument about wanting to join him and Sam on their missions, you knowingly push his buttons until his patience snaps. What starts as a battle of wills turns into a raw, unrestrained encounter—punishing, heated, and entirely irresistible.

Word Count: 1.8k

Author’s note: This is my first Bucky Barnes fanfic, so bear with me. If you have any requests or ideas, please send them my way - I’d be happy to get my Bucky obsession out into more fics! B xx

The argument was still fresh, the tension lingering in the room like static electricity. I could feel it in the way Bucky was moving—too stiff, too deliberate—as he paced back and forth. His shoulders were squared, his jaw set, and his hands, one flesh and one metal, flexed and curled at his sides.

“You’re not doing this, doll,” he said, voice low and clipped.

“Why not?” I crossed my arms and met his glare head-on. “I’m not fragile, Bucky. I can handle myself.”

“You don’t understand what you’re asking for,” he snapped, stopping mid-stride to pin me with his icy stare. “You think this is some kind of game? You want to be in the middle of a firefight with me? With Sam? You think that’s a good idea?”

“I think you’re underestimating me.” I knew I was pushing him, testing the limits of his patience. But part of me wanted this, craved this. The way he tensed, the way his control slipped just a little when I got under his skin—it was intoxicating.

His nostrils flared, his teeth grinding audibly as he stepped closer. “You don’t listen. You never fucking listen.”

“Maybe if you actually talked to me like a partner instead of some porcelain doll, I’d have a reason to.”

His glare sharpened, and for a moment, I thought he might lose it completely. But instead, he took a deep breath, his jaw working furiously as he fought to reel himself back in.

“I’m done arguing about this,” he said finally, his voice dangerously calm. “Drop it.”

But I didn’t. Not until I saw that last thread of his control snap.

It happened fast after that.

We didn’t even make it to the bed. Bucky had me against the wall, one hand curled around my neck, the other tearing at the waistband of my pants. His grip was firm, just shy of too tight, and his metal fingers pressed cool and unyielding against my skin.

“This what you wanted, doll?” His voice was a low growl, and his breath was hot against my ear. “Is this why you were being a little brat?”

I gasped as he pushed my legs apart, his knee driving between my thighs to hold me steady.

“Bucky—”

“No,” he bit out, his hand tightening around my neck just enough to make my words falter. “You don’t get to play innocent now.”

He thrust into me hard and fast, no warning, no hesitation. My head fell back against the wall, a cry spilling from my lips as he set a punishing rhythm.

“This what you wanted?” he snarled, his metal hand sliding down to grip my hip, holding me in place as he drove into me again and again. “Wanted me to lose my patience, huh? Wanted to see how far you could push me?”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Every thrust knocked the air from my lungs, the sheer force of him overwhelming in the best, most torturous way.

“Look at you,” he growled, his hand leaving my hip to grip the back of my thigh, pulling my leg higher to angle me even closer. “You’re so fucking needy. You piss me off, and now you’re begging for it.”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His grip on my throat tightened just enough to cut me off, his lips curling into a wicked smirk as he watched my eyes flutter shut. “You like this. Don’t you, doll?”

I whimpered, my nails digging into his shoulders as I struggled to find any sort of control. But he wasn’t giving me an inch.

“Answer me,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding.

“Yes,” I gasped, the word barely audible.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I like it.”

He rewarded me with a particularly brutal thrust, a sharp cry tearing from my throat. “That’s my girl,” he muttered darkly, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

The edge of his control was razor-thin, and I could feel it in every rough touch, every growled word. He wasn’t holding back, wasn’t pretending to be gentle. And God, it was perfect.

He fucked me like he was trying to prove a point, like he needed me to understand the consequences of pushing him too far. And maybe I did. But I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t do it again in a heartbeat.

“Next time,” he said, his voice tight and low as he buried himself deep inside me, “think twice before you try to test me.”

I could only nod, my body trembling as he finally slowed, his forehead dropping to rest against mine.

But I knew better than to make promises I couldn’t keep.

[fawniswriting]

After I Was Too Late

This fic can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to Before I Could Say It.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: The three times Bucky saved your life, and the one time you save each other.

Word Count: 10.1k (I got carried away)

Warning(s): gn!reader (pls advise me if there's any gender-specific detail in the fic), canon typical violence, angst, fluff, near death experience(s), hurt/comfort, alcohol consumption, physical injuries, it's a kinder ending this time I promise 🥺❤️ (lmk if I missed anything!!)

Author's Note: PT 2 IS FINALLY HERE Y'ALL!! I'm so sorryy for the delay, my work has been out of control lately (I legit had to go home at 9.30 PM last week 😭🙏🏼). But I've finally finished this piece, and I hope you guys like it!! I'm tagging everyone who left a comment/reblog-comment on the first part but if you prefer to keep the ending to the fic as it was, then you can just skip reading this. And if any of you want to be removed from the taglist, please just let me know!! As always, don't forget to comment, like, and reblog 💖

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

If someone were to ask you about the beginning, your mind would immediately go straight to that day.

Six years ago, your thread of fate wove into his, placing the two of you on polar ends in the middle of a highway shoot-out that revealed the face beneath the infamous Winter Soldier's mask. You recognized him from the sketches littered across Steve Roger's desk: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky, as Steve had called him. A shadow of the past, long presumed gone to the clutches of war and time. 

Yet, there he was.

Alive and breathing.

And he was trying to kill you.

After the events in D.C., you helped the Captain search for the man who had risen from the dead. You saw Bucky's apartment in Bucharest—a depressing little hole in the wall that was barely suitable for a human being to live in. It nicked at your chest, wrestled with a docile side of your heart that you hadn't entertained since they had dubbed you one of earth's mightiest heroes. And when you finally stood in front of the man—not the Soldat, not the merciless assassin who had sliced a dagger to your side two years prior—your chest tapered at the quiet war waging behind his eyes.

“I wasn't in Vienna,” Bucky told Steve. His eyes flickered briefly towards you as he said it, willing, perhaps, for at least one person in that room to put their trust in him; the man standing vulnerably in that apartment, not the weapon he was forced to become. 

“I don't do that anymore,” he added.

You believed him.

Steve did, too.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of chasing and being chased. After Zemo broke the Winter Soldier out of the facility in Berlin, you took Steve and Sam to an abandoned site you once neutralized where the three of you could keep Bucky safe from the authorities. You watched from the sideline as Steve interrogated Bucky for answers, listening intently while the Captain and the Falcon began rummaging their heads for a viable plan of action. 

Once Sam left to reach out to his contacts, Steve also excused himself from the room, muttering something about needing to make a phone call and leaving you alone with the burly man who was trying miserably to hide behind his curtain of hair.

Wordlessly, you walked towards the paper bag you kept on a rusty oil barrel, grabbing one of its contents before cautiously approaching the brooding man in the center of the room. Bucky looked up the moment you shoved the packaged croissant in his face, confusion shining with blue under the taut crease of dark eyebrows.

“Take it,” you said simply.

Bucky's frown deepened as he stared at your hand. 

You masked the sinking feeling in your stomach with a sigh, putting the package next to the makeshift chair Bucky was sitting on. 

“You haven't eaten since yesterday.” Your hands were buried in the pocket of your jeans as you spoke, hiding the tremble in them so the man in front of you wouldn't see just how much your heart was breaking for him. “We have a long journey ahead of us. And if Steve is anything to go by when it comes to a super soldier's calorie intake, you must be running on extreme deficit by now.”

Bucky stayed silent. 

You scraped the ground with the toe of your shoes, trying to fill in the quietness as you rambled, “I would've loved to prepare you a nice three-course meal, but considering half of the world is on our asses, I didn't think you'd mind a small downgrade. Believe me, I'd kill for a real croissant right now. There's a bakery near the Avengers’ old tower whose owner makes the best chocolate and butter croissants. They're fantastic. This one tastes like a foam board compared to them.”

Bucky continued to stay silent, only perusing you under his intense gaze. You rubbed the back of your neck and managed an awkward chuckle. “You know what? You don't have to eat that. It tastes terrible anyway. I'll just throw it out. Let me see if the pigeons would like some.”

You reached out to grab the plastic packaging, but Bucky stopped you in tracks, grabbing the croissant with a hesitant drag of his hand.

“Thank you,” he muttered curtly.

The sight in front of your eyes would have made you chortle under any other circumstances—the ludicrousness of seeing a Herculean with a metal arm grappling with the flimsy packaging of a factory-made pastry. The croissant was ridiculously small in Bucky’s hand, and you felt foolish for thinking it could offer anything close to sufficient sustenance for a man his size. He could probably devour the whole thing in a single bite and still be starving.

And yet, before he even savored a taste, Bucky tilted the croissant towards you in a silent proposition. An offer to share. To tear the pastry in two as if he didn't barely have enough for himself in the first place. The gesture lurched at something in your chest, winding down your ribs like overgrown vines.

You feigned a smile, feeling it crack around the sorrow you were desperately trying to quell. “That’s for you, Bucky,” you told him softly. “I have mine.”

The man nodded, hesitantly, as if the thought of having something to himself was stranger than fiction. He took a tentative bite, his forehead creasing as he chewed on the sad excuse of a pastry.

“Bad, huh?” You cringed sheepishly. “Told you. It's borderline inedible. You don't have to finish it if you don't want to.”

“I've had worse.”

You clenched your teeth. 

There was no room for doubt in your mind that he probably did have worse than an additive-laden confectionery.

“Yeah?” You didn't know why you were asking. “Like what?”

The metal fingers on Bucky's thigh whirred, like he was flexing, removing the stiffness in his joints if there had been flesh instead of vibranium. You waited with bated breath as he stared at a suspicious puddle on the ground.

“I was stuck in an underground cave system once,” Bucky began, pausing to take a tiny bite of the croissant. He looked defenseless that way. Almost like a child. “Spent a few days there. The only thing around me were bats.”

Your nose wrinkled. “You ate bats?”

Bucky didn't attempt to correct your assumption, just kept on munching on the artificial croissant as if he were a kid snacking on candy.

“Were they… good?”

Stupid.

What an incredibly, unbelievably stupid question.

“They were good enough to keep me alive.”

You didn't know what to say to that.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “just tell me if you change your mind on that croissant. I can get you something else. Remember those pigeons I mentioned? They're not bats, but they've got, you know… protein.”

Then, upon some kind of miracle, it happened.

Bucky smiled.

It was brief, an ephemeral thing that evaporated by the next time you blinked, but it was there. As clear as day, as real as the foul smell of rotten carcasses that surrounded you in that dismal place.

You willed for the excitement in your belly to die down—the last thing Bucky needed was for you to go deranged over a mere smile, probably one of the firsts he allowed himself to have after decades of drought—giving Bucky a short nod before turning around to reward him some privacy, but you didn't go far before a rough voice halted your footsteps.

When your gaze landed on him again, Bucky was tense. His shoulders curled inward as if struggling desperately to keep himself small, his fingers twitched where they were curled around the half-eaten pastry.

“Are you okay?” he eventually asked.

“Me?” Your eyebrows knitted in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “Uh, I'm fine? Well, as fine as one can be after becoming a fugitive of the law, but otherwise—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His scrutiny roved over your figure from the distance, as though his stare could penetrate through the deepest layer of skin, lighting up a flame that licked through every inch of your bloodstream. Blue irises jerked towards the side of your abdomen, a fleeting tic, but it was enough to force the realization to dawn on you.

Bucky was talking about your wound.

The laceration wound that he—no, that the Soldat—had administered during your altercation in D.C.

Instinctively, your hand lifted, brushing against the jagged scar that you knew was seething under the cover of your shirt. The simple movement didn't escape Bucky's notice, and you chastised yourself for your lack of consideration when you saw his body fold lower towards his knees.

“Bucky—”

“I'm sorry,” he said heavily, shakily. A striking fragility from a man who was supposed to be carved out of steel.

You shook your head in urgency, crossing the distance between you and him before stopping a good six feet away from the defeated man. He didn’t even look up at your proximity, keeping his head angled to the ground, shrinking more and more with every passing second as if he wanted to disintegrate into oblivion.

With careful strides, you removed the remaining space separating you and Bucky, sinking to your knee right in front of him. You called his name softly, begging him to glance up, coaxing him out of the shell of condemnation that he had crawled himself into.

When he finally peered at you, the blue of his eyes had dimmed into a stormy gray. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to lean forward and gather this broken man into your arms.

“Bucky,” you called his name again, resolutely this time. Firm and steady, offering no room for even an ounce of doubt or a breath of protest. “It wasn't your fault.”

Bucky fleered.

“I mean it.” You searched his gaze, commanding him to stay there, to not run away from your eyes because you needed him to hear this. You needed him to believe. “I'm not gonna hold you accountable for what happened on that highway, or for anything else you might have done in the past few decades. None of that is your fault. They used you. You couldn't even remember your own name, let alone understand what HYDRA was forcing you to do. You're also a victim here, Bucky.”

He shook his head.

Your heart shattered into tiny little pieces all over the ground.

You shifted on the ball of your knee, sighing as you felt exhaustion pulling at your limbs. 

“Steve would agree,” you said quietly.

Those three words managed to snatch Bucky's attention.

“Actually, Steve does agree.” You glimpsed towards the entrance where the Captain had disappeared through earlier, swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in your throat. “It's the reason why he's here. The reason why we all are. He is the literal embodiment of everything good in this world, Bucky. And if Steve Rogers—Captain America himself—looks at you and sees someone worth saving, someone who deserves a second chance despite all that happened, then that says everything I need to know about the kind of man you truly are.”

You waited for something to shift, for the contempt in his eyes to dissipate, for the strain in his shoulders to melt, but nothing happened. He continued to drown, making no moves to get himself out of the murky waters that were pulling him under.

“Everything that happened while you were under HYDRA’s control—the missions, the casualties—none of it is on you, Buck,” you pressed on. “The wound on my side? That wasn't your fault either. Hell, I was shooting at you, too! I didn't know who you were back then. You didn’t know me. You didn’t even know yourself. They made sure of that.”

You took a shuddering breath, physically readying yourself to voice the next conviction out loud.

“If someone has to carry the blame, it should be HYDRA,” you determined. “Not you, Bucky. Never you.”

The silence that followed was strangulating. You watched Bucky with heart in your throat, waiting for him to react, to do something or say something. Perhaps if he had cried, it would've been better. Because then, you might have been able to help, to offer him the solace of your arms, to teach him how he could peel back the guilt that was clinging to him like a second skin. 

Yet, Bucky just sat, still as a tombstone and quiet as a graveyard. 

The eerie calm before a catastrophic storm.

When he finally looked up, Bucky's eyes were a tempest—dark and turbulent, thundering with the repercussions of a hundred lifetimes he never asked to live.

“Maybe—” Bucky's voice quivered. He ran his flesh hand across his face and started over, “Maybe you're right.

Your chest staggered.

Before you could respond, Bucky's gaze dropped, teetering towards your side, as though he could see the ridges of skin underneath the cotton fabric of your shirt. The place where flesh had once split under a blade he hadn't even known he was holding.

On his knee, Bucky's fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out, to inspect the remnant of the wound with his own flesh and skin but didn't know how to trust himself enough to do so.

His jaw tightened.

“But it was still me, wasn't it?” Bucky's breathing stammered. The words came out choked, as though the truth tasted like rust on his tongue. “I was still the one holding the knife, Sugar.”

The nickname maimed you more than one could expect. Had Bucky said it with enough cynicism, maybe you would have chalked it up to bitterness and moved on. But he hadn't said it like that—he had said it with a devastating frailness, a frayed piece of another life bleeding through the cracks. It came from a version of him that had smiled at strangers and walked dates home in the rain, a boy from Brooklyn who probably said it with a charming grin and a flirtatious warmth.

Your heart broke for him all over again.

You ransacked your brain for something to say, to convince Bucky that he was wrong, but the sound of incoming footsteps stripped you of the chance, forcing you to quickly rise to your feet just in time for Sam and Steve to enter the room. Your conversation with Bucky was shoved to the backburner as the other two apprised you of your next step, both unaware of the tension stretching taut in the air, suspended between you and Bucky like a ghost no one else could see.

The next thing you knew, your life was unraveling like a house of cards in the span of one night. It felt like you blinked, and suddenly you were standing in the middle of a tarmac, staring down faces you used to sit with during breakfast and mission briefings, others who carried the weight of loyalty you could no longer afford.

The spider-like kid who loved to crawl on things was the first one you faced. He was nimble, all limbs and chatter, a fleck of innocence to testify to his lack of experience. You tuned out his nervous jokes and wide-eyed commentary as you focused on blocking each of his strikes, breathing through the ache in your ribs, willing your body to stay sharp.

But then, your instincts faltered.

The agonized sound wasn't loud, especially compared to the surrounding chaos that had befallen the airport. Your eyes flitted towards the man anyway, as if having a mind of their own, making you lose your footing for a fraction of second as your gaze landed on him from the distance.

Bucky.

The sight of him staggering back—blood blooming across his skin like a crimson tear—rustled an unknown weight within your chest. Natasha stood just a few paces away, her favorite knife in hand, the blade gleaming in the same shade of red running in rivulets down Bucky's cheek.

The moment of distraction was fleeting. Short. But it was the only opening your opponent needed to yank you off balance and send your back straight to the ground. 

“Sorry,” the Spidey kid huffed, straddling your legs, his grip surprisingly strong for someone built like a string bean in spandex. “Big fan, though. Seriously. Hey, crazy idea. Maybe after all of this, you can sign my—”

He never got the chance to finish his sentence.

With a drive of your elbow to his side, coupled with a shove of your knee to his chest, Spidey was now the one pinned to the ground—winded limbs and spayed webbing as he stared up at the clouds. You rose to your feet with a heaving chest, the ground trembling beneath your boots as you stole a moment to breathe.

You didn't even notice the light shifting in the sky.

Your reflexes awakened a second too late, stirring only when a dark shadow swept over your head. There was no time to run. Whatever protective measure you could whip up, whatever direction your feet could carry you in a matter of seconds, the end result was clear—you wouldn't be able to make it out of there unscathed.

Or at least, you should not have been able to make it out of there unscathed—but you did.

Because Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man whose name was whispered between cautions of death and terror—had saved you.

He lunged from somewhere behind the smoke, arms wrapping around your frame before shoving you forward and down. The force of the blast rocked the ground as a small aircraft detonated a few yards away, radiating a heat so raging it licked at your back. Debris rained down all around you as Bucky’s body remained curled over yours, shielding you from the worst of it, lying like a fortress between you and the explosion's aftermath.

For a moment, all you could hear was your own ragged breathing. Your ears were still ringing when Bucky finally stood up, pulling you by your elbow to your slightly unsteady feet. He examined you from head to toe, his grounding touch remaining steadfast around your forearm, eliciting goosebumps.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, still in shock. Still breathless.

“Bucky.” Your fingers convulsed, moving up to clutch his jacket and stopping once you thought better of it. “You saved me.” 

He didn't answer at first, and when he did, his eyes evaded yours, jaw clenching as his gaze meandered somewhere distant. “It's the least I could do.”

Then, that same gaze moved, lowering until it settled on your side. You didn’t need him to spell it out to know exactly what he was thinking. The wound had been his doing once, delivered by a man with the same face but none of the same mercy. The shadow of a life that felt like his own but one he gravely wished to relinquish.

You felt the phantom sting of it then, not from the wound, but from the way Bucky was assessing it—like he was measuring his worth by the depth of that scar. Like saving you had been a down payment for a debt he could never repay.

Your mouth parted, already halfway to saying something, anything, that might severe the penance he had inflicted upon himself.

But before you could say a word, the world raged again, sending ripples of a faraway explosion that rattled the earth.

You swallowed hard, grounding yourself as you imparted, “We need to get to the jet.”

Bucky nodded once, his stature straightening as if his resolve had always been intact. The two of you broke into a sprint immediately, side by side, boots striking the tarmac in tandem as the smoke closed in all around you.

That was the first time Bucky Barnes saved your life.

And you knew, as you dashed across the airport grounds, that it wouldn't be the last.

After two years in Wakanda—two years since the disastrous battle on that infamous airport—you were finally bringing Bucky back home to New York.

Tony was not happy when he greeted the two of you at the compound, and you were even less thrilled to see him after everything that went down following his support for the Sokovia Accords—which, to your delight, had officially been nullified. Tony had promised he would play nice, and that included absolving Bucky—or at least, trying to—for all of the crimes that HYDRA forced him to do. It wasn't ideal, but it was a start; a show of good faith as Tony pledged to assist Bucky's recovery in every (financial) way possible.

Still, that didn't stop you from making sure that you walked in front of Bucky while the two of you were approaching the front gate, offering yourself as a human barrier should the philanthropist do anything untoward.

The first few weeks at the compound were dedicated towards ensuring a seamless transition for Bucky. From creating his daily schedule, vouching for a potential therapist, to showing him the nooks and crannies of his new home—you tackled every single task with purpose; convincing yourself that it was about structure, routine, and reintegration, but deep down, you knew better.

It was about keeping him close. Keeping him safe.

And maybe, that was exactly why you found yourself lashing out at Steve when he told you, a few weeks later, that Bucky would be sent on his first mission as an Avenger.

“This is bullshit,” you seethed, your fingers curling around the edge of the conference table in a death grip. “It's barely been two months and already they wanna send him back out there? After everything he's been through?”

The Captain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don't like this anymore than you do—”

“Then stop it.”

“I tried!” Steve's eyebrows creased, his mouth pressed into a thin line. It was a rare sight to see Captain America this upset. “The higher-ups were asking questions, and his therapist already told them that Buck is ready. I tried talking to him about it, but he's adamant to go. There's nothing else I can do.”

“There's always something,” you retorted. “Maybe you just haven't tried hard enough.”

Despite how much your words stung, Steve forced himself to move past it. He knew they hadn't come from a place of malice. Instead, it had come from a place of affection—perhaps even love—a protectiveness he also shared towards a certain super soldier with a metal arm.

“Look,” Steve began, shifting in his seat, “have you ever thought that maybe this is what Bucky needs?”

Your head snapped up.

Steve took your silence as a cue to continue, “We know he hasn't forgiven himself yet. Not fully. And that's understandable, isn't it? Maybe what he needs, right now, is the chance to make it right. Maybe going on a mission—one he actually chooses to partake in, where he knows something good will come out of it—could be Bucky's way of making his amends.”

The Captain trailed off, letting his words linger above the tense atmosphere of the conference room.

You hated how much it made sense.

With a drop of your shoulders, you pinned your stare on the faraway wall, biting the inside of your cheek before mumbling, “Fine.”

Steve smiled, ready to wrap up the conversation once and for all when your voice interrupted him, “But I'm going.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” You got up from your own chair and sauntered towards the door, flicking a firm glance towards Steve that left no room for objection. “I'm not gonna stop you from assigning Bucky to that mission. But if he's coming, then I'm coming, too. And there's nothing you can do to stop me.”

In the end, Steve had relented, and what was once supposed to be a three-person crew's mission became four as you, Bucky, Sam, and Maria Hill took off towards Panama City.

Interference hailed the four of you upon arrival, running you into more hostiles than the initial intel had suggested. Despite your time away in Wakanda, your instincts didn’t waver. The rhythm came back effortlessly, muscle memory filling in the gaps left by your mind without a sliver of hesitation. 

However, between every swift kick and  precise strike, your focus frayed. Not from fear, but from a certain super soldier who was never out of your sight for long. Your gaze strayed to his silhouette again and again, making you stumble more times than you cared to admit, trying desperately to stand your ground in your own fight while keeping an eye on him all at once.

It was reckless.

And it was precisely why, as you realized too late, you ended up failing to notice the grenade.

“Watch out!”

Two strong arms—one flesh and one vibranium—shoved you out of the explosion's radius, a flying shrapnel missing your head by inches as your shoulder crashed against the ground. Bucky got thrown immediately on impact, sent over the edge of the skyscraper as the ground started to crack, fragment, and disintegrate into nothing.

“No!”

Horror erupted in your stomach at the building's cession to gravity. You scampered forward, dropping to your hands and knees to lean over the skirt where floor was supposed to be. Your relief escaped in a stammered breath when you spotted Bucky a couple of stories down, still alive, dangling by his flesh arm around the corner of a deteriorating girder.

A window pane launched into the air.

Bucky's agonized scream ripped through the chaos the moment it rammed against his left shoulder.

Something in your guts twisted at the sight of artificial axons peeking out of the ripped seams of his tactical jacket. Blood soaked through the torn fabric, staining the silver beneath in unforgiving red. 

“Bucky!” Your pulse hammered. “Don't move, I'm coming to get you!”

“Don't.” Bucky's voice was stern. Final. “You gotta get outta here before the whole thing collapse.”

“I'm not leaving here without you!”

Inside your earpiece, noises began to crackle. 

“Guys?” Maria's voice emerged. The sound of punches and clatter reverberated from her end of the line. “I think I need some help over here.”

“Go help Maria,” Bucky commanded.

“But you—”

“Sugar.” 

The nickname halted you in place. Bucky was smiling as he looked up at you, although you knew that it was nothing more than a facade. Any other person would have been fooled by his performance, but you could easily pinpoint the shadow of a grimace he was trying to conceal, the exhaustion crippling his body as he struggled to hold himself up at an angle that wouldn't put additional strain to the already splintering steel beam.

Blue eyes softened. “I'm gonna be fine. You should go.”

Your throat constricted.

You crouched frozen on the ledge, the roar of distant gunfire echoing through the shattered high-rise. Fifty stories below, parts of the building's skeleton scattered on the ground. Your hand twitched towards Bucky, wanting to reach out, desperate to haul him back into your arms, but the chasm between you felt impossibly wide.

Meanwhile, Maria's grunts and struggle continued to echo in your ears as she seemed to wrestle a few assailants at once. You knew you should go to her aid. You knew this wasn’t the time for hesitation.

And yet… Bucky.

His lips were still curled into that easy smile—the same one he shared with you during clandestine moments around the compound, because this side of Bucky Barnes was one he reserved specifically for you. His knuckles had gone white from supporting his entire weight, the beam creaking under the slightest sway of his body, jerking slightly. 

“I don’t—” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” he said gently, as if he weren't hanging by one arm over nothing but air. “You save her.”

You could barely breathe. 

The seconds were ticking—Maria was calling for help, and Bucky was slipping.

You weren’t enough to save both of them.

“Sam,” you gasped, pressing your hand to the comms. Static was the only response, and you prayed to the heavens above that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he could listen to your plea. “You’ve gotta get to Bucky. Now. He’s gonna—I can’t—just… please.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched longer than a lifetime.

Just when you began to think he wasn't going to answer, Sam's voice fizzled in, “On my way.” 

The comms fell silent again.

A violent wind tore through the air, hitting like a freight train.

The steel girder—the one remaining lifeline fastening Bucky to this world—buckled with a piercing screech.

In the blink of an eye, the girder snapped.

“BUCKY!”

A blur of silver and red swooped below him in the same breath, and before you could lunge forward to follow Bucky as he fell, Sam was there—arms locked securely around Bucky’s torso, wings flaring wide to steady the sudden addition of weight. Bucky’s head dropped against Sam’s shoulder, dazed but alive. Your whole limbs teetered towards the verge of liquefying as your lungs finally released the air you didn’t know you were holding.

“You okay, man?” Sam’s voice chirped through your earpiece. “Christ, what did they feed you in Wakanda?”

A sound escaped your chest—something between a strangled sob and a wry laugh.

Gathering yourself, you pressed another hand to the comms, rising to your feet and sprinting towards the server room as you announced, “Hang on tight, Maria. I'm on my way.”

By the time you and Maria went back to the safehouse over an hour later, Sam and Bucky were already there. Bucky was lying on the couch the moment you strode in, his metal arm detached and thrown almost haphazardly on the coffee table while Sam tinkered with Redwing on the kitchen counter.

From the bandage wrapped around Bucky's shoulder, you knew that the on-site medical android had taken a look at him already, but the anxiety in your mind still wasn't pacified. It dribbled all over the floor as you marched towards him, your body shaking partly from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but also from the anger and dread boiling in your blood.

“Why the hell did you do that?!”

Venom leaked from your voice the moment you approached the couch. Behind you, Sam and Maria fell silent, readying themselves for the imminent confrontation ahead. Bucky's face remained impassive as he rose to a seating position, a faint tug at the corner of his lips.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Don't fucking sweetheart me.”

Your chest rose and fell in a dizzying rythm, daggers flying from your eyes towards the man in front of you. The same one who had nearly, stupidly welcomed death into his arms due to some kind of foolish heroism embedded in his principles. The one who was currently looking at you with cerulean eyes so tender it almost made you forget that he was close to slipping from your fingers a mere hour earlier.

Bucky let out a sigh. “I'm okay.”

“Quit talking to me like I'm stupid, Bucky. We all can see your ripped metal arm on the table. Your bandaged shoulder.”

 “It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing!”

“It's nothing compared to what I've suffered before.”

An incredulous laugh tore from your larynx, sharp and sardonic. It was the only thing keeping the lump inside from choking you whole. “Just because you've survived worse doesn't mean you're fucking invincible, Buck! You could've died. You almost died. If Sam hadn't got there in time, you would've—”

The words wedged in your throat.

Your eyes fell shut as you expelled the images of Bucky dangling between life and death out of your mind. 

Gentle fingers encircled your wrist. You gasped at the sudden warmth surrounding you, opening your eyes to find that Bucky had tugged you closer to stand between his parted knees. Your palms automatically landed on the column of his neck, chest pounding at the unbearable softness shining out of Bucky’s eyes. 

This was new territory—Bucky had always treated closeness like something fleeting, something borrowed. His touches, his embraces, were often hesitant, as though affection was a luxury he couldn’t afford. But now, he held you like he had done it a thousand times before, like your body against his was the very thing chaining him to reality. His hand curled firmly around your waist, anchoring himself, grounding his entire existence to the certainty of your presence.

“Hey,” Bucky said, squeezing your side lightly. “I'm right here, Sugar. I'm alright.”

Your chest burned. “We almost lost you.”

“But you didn't.”

“But what if we had?!”

“Then you should take solace in the knowledge that I haven't gone in vain.”

Your fingers clenched around the edge of Bucky's shoulders, nails branding crescent moons into the skin. He didn't even flinch.

“You don't need to sacrifice your life for me, Bucky. I don't need that kind of thing on my conscience,” you spat.

“I wouldn't call it a sacrifice, sweetheart,” Bucky said firmly, resolutely. “If that's what it takes to keep you safe, then I'd gladly take the fall.”

Bucky's declaration propelled the tears you had been desperately trying to contain to the forefront. A strangled whimper shredded from your lips. You quickly tried to mask it with a scowl.

“That's the very definition of a ‘sacrifice’, you idiot.”

“Not in my book.” Bucky smiled. “Not when it's you.”

Before he could say another word, you removed the distance between you and threw yourself in his arms. The dam within you finally caved in, freeing the ragged sobs you had been trying to keep at bay. Your tears stained the collar of his undershirt, your arms locking around him tightly as though sheer willpower might fetter him to you, to life itself.

He staggered slightly under your weight, grunting from the pull on his wounded shoulder, but his hand—his only hand—immediately rose to your back, fingers splayed as they began tracing slow, calming patterns across your spine. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” you whispered hoarsely. “Don’t throw yourself in front of danger for me. I don't ever want to watch you fall like that again. I can’t—”

“I know,” Bucky murmured, pressing his cheek to your temple. “I know, Sugar.”

“Promise me,” you croaked out.

He stilled for a second. “I can't,” Bucky said breathlessly. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat, sweetheart. I’ll always choose to save you.”

A fresh wave of tears surged behind your eyes. Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his undershirt. You hated him for that. 

And you loved him even more because of it.

From behind you, someone cleared their throat. 

“I hate to interrupt the Notting Hill shit we’ve got going on here,” Sam said, “but is anyone else starving or is it only the guy who just saved Barnes’ ass?”

The evening wind bit your cheeks the moment you stepped out of the bar. In a chorus of jovial shrieks and mischievous laughter, your friends from the Academy all bid each other goodbye—some heading straight home, some scuttering after the next round of drinks and fun, but all equally giddy and tipsy—stumbling on the curb and crashing against unassuming lamp posts.

“Sure you're not coming?” one of your friends asked.

“No, told you I've got an early morning tomorrow,” you slurred slightly, shaking your head twice when the face in front of you began to blur around the edges.

“Okay. Text me when you get home!”

You waved them off with a lopsided smile, turning on your heel and starting the slow trek back to the station. The pavement felt oddly slanted under your feet, and you blamed the tequila for the fifth time that night. The wind swept down the empty street, nipping at your exposed skin, sending discarded wrappers tumbling aimlessly along the sidewalk.

“Hey, Gorgeous! You need a ride?” a voice called out.

You didn’t bother looking. The city was full of idiots, and you weren’t in the mood for petty confrontations when your balance already wavered like a tightrope walker with a death wish.

You were in the midst of stifling a yawn when your foot unexpectedly hit a shallow crack in the pavement, pitching your body forward, arms flailing wildly before you caught yourself mid-fall.

The voice spoke again, this time laced with a grin that lit a match in the back of your mind, “Careful, sweetheart. Steve's gonna be pissed if you break an ankle before the mission tomorrow.”

Your eyes snapped up.

Leaning against a dark motorcycle across the street, like some kind of B-list actor playing a bad boy in a trashy movie franchise, was none other than Bucky Barnes. He looked way too good for someone who just watched you nearly eat concrete—leather jacket unzipped, gloved hand resting on the handlebar, and an easy smile tugging at his lips. 

Your face broke into an instantaneous grin.

“Bucky, what are you doing here?”

You skipped across the street without looking. The squeal of tires resonated in the air, blaring horns and flashing headlights as you registered too late the oncoming car speeding your way. You stumbled in your haste to escape the street, to save yourself before your crushed skull and its content became the next headline for tomorrow's 6 A.M. news.

But before gravity could make a fool out of yourself, Bucky’s arms were already around you. He caught your body with ease, keeping your face from planting onto the curb, his broad frame shielding you from the splash of puddle as the honking car zipped past. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, his metal fingers squeezing your hip, “you lookin’ to give an old man a heart attack?”

“Sorry,” you offered sheepishly, willing the percussion in your chest to assuage. “Thanks for saving me.”

“I'd save you anytime and anywhere, Sugar.” Bucky smiled, his gaze soft and genuine despite the flirtatious nature of his words. “But it'd be nice if I didn't have to do it all the time.”

You feigned a gasp. “And here I thought you were my personal hero on call, Buck.”

The man in front of you laughed—a carefree thing with his head thrown back, ocean blue glinting under the paltry luminance of streetlights. You stepped out of his embrace with great reluctance, shivering slightly in the absence of Bucky's warmth.

The motion didn't escape Bucky's notice. “Did you not bring a jacket?”

“I did.” You wrapped yourself with your own arms, stroking the goosebumps away with your palms. “I lent it to my friend and I guess… well, I forgot to ask for it back.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because everyone knows how kind, selfless, and generous I am?” You grinned.

Bucky didn't say anything in return. Instead, he made quick work shedding the jacket off his back, revealing the outline of muscles under the gorgeous cover of dusty blue henley. Your throat went dry, every nerve ending lighting up in fireworks when Bucky stepped forward, draping the leather garment around your shoulders.

“There you go. That would have to do for now,” he muttered.

His fingertips brushed your neck as he tugged the leather collar closer around you. The scent of coffee, mint, and something indistinguishably Bucky attacked your senses, stealing your breath and leaving the taste of longing on your tongue. He looked at you in that same infuriating tenderness that made your insides spume, reduced to tiny bubbles filled with hope and yearning.

“Thanks,” you breathed out once he withdrew. “By the way, how come you're here? I thought you had that mission with Nat today.”

“I did,” Bucky replied, burying his hands in his jeans’ pockets. 

Your forehead creased. “No way. Did you bail?”

“Are you crazy? Steve would have my ass.”

“Then…” 

“Came straight from the jet,” he said casually, the impish quirk of his lips giving him away before his words even landed.

“You what?” You gawked. “Are you serious? Did you even debrief with Steve before you went here?  Did you even go to the medbay? At all?”

“It was just recon.” He shrugged, far too nonchalant for your liking. “Nat can handle the debrief. She did all the sneaking around anyway, I barely lifted a finger.”

“That’s not the point.” You groaned, massaging the headache that had started gnawing at your temple. “Who cares if it was just recon, Bucky? The procedure says you're to go to the medbay after every mission. The rule is there for a reason. What if you were injured but you didn't even notice? What if you were exposed to a dangerous substance while you were on the field? It's incredibly reckless, stupid, and—”

Your words dissolved the moment his hands cupped your cheeks.

Bucky studied your countenance in silence, his eyes delicate, his thumbs gentle as they skimmed along your jaw. He smiled at you as if your soul was scribbled in a script only he could decipher. An intimate secret shared between the meager spaces the two of you occupied in this infinite universe.

Your breath hitched.

Everything around you tilted on its axis, the world dulling into a distant hum to make room for the cosmic threads tethering you both to each other. His eyes were tired as they locked onto yours, but behind the muted blue, something else shone through—something steadfast and searing, like an eternal flame trapped in the most secluded heights of the Himalayan range.

“I’m okay,” he said at last, voice low but certain. “I’m right here, and I’m okay.”

You didn't blink—you couldn't.

Your chest deflated in the aftermath of worry, the relief sweeping through you like a tide pulling back after a storm. Bucky withdrew, his hands leaving your face in a parting goodbye, and you had to fight the urge to yank him back in, to stay in the fragile moment that had cracked open between the two of you.

“‘Sides,” he drawled, a teasing glint replacing the ferocity in his eyes, “if I didn't pick you up, you'd probably end up passed out in a dumpster somewhere. Can't have you jeopardizing the mission like that, can I?”

You groaned and shoved his shoulder. “Ass.”

Bucky chuckled, rounding the bike before handing you a helmet. “C'mon, lightweight.”

You rolled your eyes, although the blooming smile on your face betrayed the faux irritation as you climbed onto the motorcycle. Bucky was warm in front of you, your arms finding purchase around his waist the second the engine roared to life, buildings and trees alike blurring past as the two of you sped through the streets of New York.

This time, you held Bucky a little tighter than usual, just in case he forgot how much it mattered that he made it home safely.

The pain was the first thing your brain registered.

Lights spilled through the all-encompassing darkness, rousing you awake, filling the gaps in your mind with an awareness of life. The ache traveled through your body in an unimaginable speed, a ravenous beast as it ate away your soul, and you could barely contain the pained whimper before it tumbled free out of your lips.

Something engulfed your hand.

Warmth.

“Sugar?”

You whimpered louder.

“Shit." There was a rustling by your side before the same voice sprouted again, “Hang on, sweetheart. I'll get the doctor.”

Time stumbled in and out of your grasp. You thought you could hear several voices conversing in the room not long after. One of them, unrecognizable in your ears but settled deeply within your chest, rose above all of them. It sounded desperate, broken, as if the person had attempted to barter with God using merely a mangled heart and a splintered spine.

“...please,” you caught him say, the end of a sentence blown by the breeze before you could curl your fingers around it.

“I understand, Barnes,” another voice spoke. “We'll take care of it. Just wait outside, will you?”

A pair of hands proceeded to roam over your body. You felt the pull of consciousness behind your eyelids, heaving you out of the void, an aimless ghost slipping violently back into flesh.

You gasped.

The world returned in a fragmented mosaic—white ceiling, antiseptic air, and a beeping monitor that echoed stubbornly beside your ear. Inside your body, a burning agony erupted. It sank into the deepest corners of your being, clutching around your lungs, turning you into nothing more than a wailing heap of muscles and bones.

“Hey, hey, easy now,” came a calm voice. 

The words arrived in the company of gentle hands, too cold for your liking, but they were a reprieve nonetheless. The face in front of you zoomed in and out of focus like moonlight dancing across shattered glass, the contours merging and sundering as they finally morphed into the features of a familiar friend. 

Dr. Helen Cho.

She pressed the back of her hand to your forehead before shining a penlight into your eyes. “Pupils reactive. That’s good. Welcome back.”

You blinked away the harsh light from your vision, wincing when the effort sent a jolt of pain through your neck and shoulder. Your lips parted in an attempt to speak, but your throat felt like it had been shoved with hot coals, shredding your voice into nothing more than a torn, fragile snivel.

“W-what… what happened?” you croaked out.

“You were shot,” Helen answered. “Do you remember?”

Just like that, the memory barreled into you like a sucker punch to the face.

Images of drab walls and ceilings, the sight of mold and moss co-existing with dead rodents’ remains filled your mind. The abandoned building once posed as the warehouse of an illegal bio-weaponry enterprise that had long ceased to operate. The Avengers’ presence on site was supposed to be a straightforward recon—gather the intel on the culpable syndicate, perhaps scour for names complicit in supplying the deadly goods in the first place—and it was implied as such on the case files given to the entire team.

No one could have predicted that the simple job would turn into an ambush.

Your mind began flipping through the pages of memory, recalling how it took you no time at all to neutralize the four agents sent your way. Under different circumstances, you might have felt offended by the measly number of hostiles assigned to you—had your thoughts, of course, not already been preoccupied with a certain super soldier. Still, any insolent disparagement your opponent once hurled at your combat abilities was indefinitely put on ice as you dashed across the site's west wing.

By the time you arrived, Bucky was already cornered.

Instinct, and something else akin to protectiveness, fueled your movements as you thundered into the room. Most of the assailants were already lying in stacks on the floor, the rest following suit with every deliberate strike you threw their way. Your chest rose and fell in erratic bursts, each breath scraping your throat as the last body hit the ground.

Across the room, Bucky rose from behind the makeshift fortress, aiming his gun before stopping dead in tracks. The corner of your mouth lifted when your gazes found each other.

“Hi, handsome. Miss me?”

Bucky let out a rough breath, his grip around the gun loosening. “Was wondering when you'd show up, sweetheart.”

He stood up and approached you in merely four strides, smiling so sweetly as though your presence in front of him had been God's own gift to mankind. You fought off a shudder and attempted nonchalance as your palm brushed the dust off his shoulder.

“Sorry, Sarge. You know I like to keep people on their toes.”

The grin on Bucky's face expanded. He bumped his shoulder to yours, the two of you heading for the exit as Bucky started requesting for extraction through his comms.

A split second was all it took for everything to go sideways.

You didn't know what compelled you to turn around for one last glance. Had you heard something? Felt something? Had the hairs on the back of your neck sensed the imminent danger before your brain could even begin processing it? 

It was impossible to say, but something dragged your gaze over your shoulder, an invisible hook yanking you back just in time to catch the glint of metal under the scanty light. One of the bodies on the ground, presumed dead, had begun to stir. His arm trembled as he lifted his gun from the blood-slick floor, the barrel rising with all of the inevitability of a verdict carved in stone.

Your breathing caught.

Everything in your body told you to run. To take shelter behind the wooden crate in the corner of the room, call out a warning, anything. But you knew exactly where that gun was aimed, where that bullet would go if you dared to move even an inch.

Straight into Bucky.

The whole world narrowed. What happened next wasn't a choice—it was a decision your body made under direct instructions of your heart, born not from years of training but from the gentle fondness you harbored for the man beside you. It commanded you to hold your ground, freezing your limbs, your chest pounding as though wishing to somehow intercept the bullet before it could write the ending you weren’t ready to read.

Then, the shot rang out.

Everything else had transpired in a blur. You remembered certain bits and pieces through the fog in your mind—the pain on your neck, the retaliation shot Bucky had fired from his gun, the look of pure terror you saw on his face as he held your crumbling body before it could shatter against the concrete ground.

The confession.

“Bucky.” His name fled your lips before you could even think about it.

Helen's gaze softened. “He's outside. He's been here the whole time. Never left your side since the surgery.”

You swallowed, throat thick with the weight of half-formed questions. “H-How long…?”

“Thirty-eight hours,” she replied. “The bullet missed your artery by millimeters. We almost lost you a couple of times. You were extremely lucky this time, Agent.”

Your eyes closed momentarily. When they opened again, your gaze found Helen with an unshakable purpose. “Could you please send him in?”

The doctor gave you a single nod, landing a reassuring pat on your knee before leaving the room silently.

Not long after, the door opened with a quiet hiss.

The sight of Bucky standing in the doorway smashed your heart into a million little pieces.

His hair was unkempt, sticking to different directions as if his fingers had run through them too many times to count. Even from the distance, you could still see how bloodshot his eyes were, how hollow and agonized they were under the harsh lighting of the room. He looked like a man who had outrun hell only to realize that it had made a home right inside his chest.

“Bucky,” you called out, slowly, gently.

His shoulders tensed at the sound of your voice.

Bucky's movement was tedious, as though it was painful for him to move, as though lifting his head required more strength than Atlas needed to carry the world on his shoulders. The moment his eyes met yours, something inside him cracked and splintered. 

“You're awake,” he said hoarsely.

“I am,” you replied, offering a soft, shaky smile. “I'm okay.”

Bucky didn't move.

He looked like he didn't even breathe.

It was as if an intangible weight had shackled itself around his ankles, stopping him in place. Bucky didn't try to fight it, to break himself out of the phantom hold he had been cast under. He just kept standing there, motionless, like he was afraid that if he came any closer, the fragile image of you in front of him—alive, breathing, and speaking—would vanish.

Your throat tightened.

“Buck,” you tried again, a tremor in your voice now, too. “Come here.”

His fingers twitched.

“Please.”

It was that single word that finally did it—the plea that fell onto him like a torrent on scorched earth.

He took one step, then another, erasing the distance between him and the bed with a slowness that might convince someone he was walking barefoot on shards of glass. You watched every inch of him draw nearer, his pain thick in the atmosphere of the room, heavier than the oxygen nesting in your lungs.

The hesitation returned when he reached your bedside, keeping him a good six inches away from you. He hovered in the space around the bed, uncertain, both of his hands clenching and unclenching like they wanted to hold you but were afraid you would completely dissipate like vapor under his touch.

You lifted your hand and reached out, tentatively, with the precision of someone trying to pet an easily-spooked cat. Eternity must have passed at least once or twice when your fingers finally brushed the inside of his wrist.

That was all it took.

The singular touch was all it took for Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man with the power of a collapsing star, who had faced death and catastrophe greater than anybody else on earth could ever imagine—to entirely crumble under your palms.

A sound escaped him—something torn and guttural and not meant for human ears to hear. He fell to his knees beside the bed, clutching your hand like it was the only echo of mercy in a world that had offered him none. His head bowed against your stomach, shoulders shaking violently with the aggressive sobs he could no longer contain in his chest.

Your own tears spilled out of you in a tide stronger than the Pacific current, staining your cheeks as you brought your other hand to cradle the back of Bucky's head, threading your fingers through the short tendrils.

“I’m okay. I'm okay, Bucky, I'm fine,” you whispered, over and over, each word a balm against the searing agony inside his bloodstream. “I’m right here, darling. I'm okay now.”

“But you weren’t,” he choked, the sound of his anguish slicing your nerves deeper than the sharpest dagger ever could. “You weren’t, a-and God, I thought I lost you, sweetheart. I was holding you, tried to stop the blood—there was so much blood—and you just… you just went still. Was so cold and still and I couldn't—I didn't know what to do.”

“Bucky.” Your voice quivered. “I'm here, baby. You didn’t lose me.”

“I almost did.” 

His head rose, and your breath halted in your throat at the sight or red in Bucky’s eyes. He was not someone who cried often—perhaps it was the archaic 40s’ notion of masculinity that was still embedded in his system—and the only time you had seen him cry was back in Wakanda, when you and Ayo stood by him in the vulnerable moment that confirmed the severance of HYDRA's control over his soul.

Somehow, this Bucky—the one kneeling in front of you—looked even more shattered than the one in your memory.

“Your heart stopped, Sugar,” Bucky continued, the weight of his words pressing and twisting your ribs until you were nothing but a mire. “You weren’t breathing. So cold and stiff, and I… Shit—I didn't know if you'd make it. Had to do CPR the whole flight. Everyone told me to stop. They said y-you were gone. But I couldn't, Sugar. I just—I couldn't.”

“Bucky,” you whimpered. “Darling.”

“I thought I was too late,” he rasped, voice fracturing under the weight of a requiem still resonating in his chest. “I kept thinking if I'd been faster—if I’d stood closer—if I had just noticed sooner, then you… you would've…”

You cupped his face, forcing him to stop his self-torment and look up at you. To remind him that whatever horror still clawing at his being was no longer real, because you were fine, you were alive, and you were here with him. His cheeks were wet, flushed with the remnants of grief and an exhaustion that had been postponed for far too long. The pain in his eyes had dimmed the blue in his irises to gray.

“I'm fine now, Bucky,” you murmured, misty eyes and traces of salt on the tip of your tongue. “You did it. You saved me.”

“I shouldn't have had to,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to reject the truth. “You shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place. You should've been safe. I was supposed to protect you.”

“You did, Bucky. You did protect me.”

“Not enough.”

“Baby, look at me.” Your voice is firm, a lighthouse cutting through a war-born fog. Bucky's forehead furrowed as his eyes locked with yours, as if he still struggled to believe that the you in front of him weren't simply a mirage. “You brought me back, Buck. You didn’t lose me. I'm here because of you.”

His breath hitched.

His lips quivered.

You leaned down, pressing your forehead gently to his, ignoring the strain it caused to your wound because this—the man you held inside your palms, this tender moment you shared after everything the universe had put you through—was far more important than any pain you could ever feel.

“You didn't lose me,” you repeated.

There was silence in the next breath, a sacred one commonly heard in the space between lightning and thunder. You could feel his every exhale, shallow and staggered, like a beast coaxed out of fight but still bristling with a proliferate instinct.

After a stuttered heartbeat, his metal arm slithered around your waist, his flesh one wrapping around your hand again, tighter this time.

“Say it again,” he begged, barely audible. “Please.”

“You didn't lose me,” you uttered. “I'm here, I’m alive, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He crushed you against him then—still careful, still gentle—but underneath the heedfulness, his desperation bled through. Gripping you like you were the only thing that mattered in this vast universe, like he wanted to fold you into himself and keep you some place where danger and death could never lurk over you again.

You felt Bucky's lips on your skin, grazing along your shoulder, moving up the curve of your neck, your jaw, and your cheek. Worshipping you with prayers shaped as a thousand reverent kisses, moving like he was searching for the evidence that you were real, like he was memorizing a miracle while time was still ticking.

And when his mouth finally found yours, the press of his lips wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy.

It was trembling.

He kissed you as if you were the divine being who granted him life, respiring your moans and gasps as if they were the instruments needed to mend his ruptured soul. Bucky tasted like every future you were always too scared to envision for yourself—the promise of companionship, affection, and happiness that had once been too surreal for your heart to believe in. But now, in this moment with him, they all suddenly became inevitable.

You kissed him back, slowly, cradling his face between your hands to hold together all of the fractured pieces that forged his being. Time slipped away in the hush where sorrow once lived, getting you lost in everything Bucky, until eventually, your lungs had to force you to part and come up for air.

“I love you,” Bucky confessed, holding onto your wrists to keep you tethered to him. To this moment. And to life itself.

Your thumb brushed the apple of his cheek, catching a silent tear, leaning in to steal another kiss from the corner of his mouth.

“I love you, too,” you whispered.

A sound between a sob and relief escaped him, and Bucky buried his face in the unwounded crook of your neck, breathing you in like he had been suffocating for days and had finally resurfaced for air. His arms stayed enveloped around you as he murmured praises against your skin—thanking the Gods for listening to his prayers, thanking the universe, thanking you. Paying reverence for the mercy that fate had bestowed over a mangled man such as himself.

You stayed like that for a long time. His weight against your side, his heartbeats slowly steadying beneath your touch. The monitors beeped gently beside you, grounding the two of you to reality, an anchor in the otherwise stagnant room. But in that moment, the only sound that mattered—the only one you cared about—was the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths, a proof of life, shared within the modest spaces that felt more freeing than a hummingbird flying over an open field.

Gradually, the room began to fade into silence.

And in the safety of Bucky's embrace, you had never appreciated the quiet more.

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[mandoalorian]

classified desire [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: In Tokyo for an international conference, you watch Bucky command the stage with effortless confidence—until a question about his love life throws you off balance. His public denial of looking for love stings more than it should, leaving you questioning everything between you. But back at the hotel, tension boils over into heated confessions and even hotter passion, forcing you both to confront the truth you’ve been running from: this was never just a distraction.

Word Count: 1800

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, p in v, bit of bdsm vibes/slapping, rough sex, intimacy, miscommunications, slow burn with sex

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The conference hall was buzzing with flashing cameras and murmuring reporters, the air thick with anticipation. You stood off to the side, clipboard in hand, watching as Bucky Barnes took the stage with the effortless confidence of a seasoned politician. Dressed in a crisp navy suit, his tie perfectly knotted, he was the picture of control—composed, articulate, and undeniably commanding.

The panel began smoothly, with Bucky fielding questions about foreign policy, trade relations, and security initiatives. His answers were precise, measured, and laced with just the right amount of charisma. You knew he was good at this—of course, you did. But seeing him like this, holding an entire room captive with nothing but his presence and his words, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost unfair how attractive he was when he was in his element.

Then, the inevitable happened.

"Congressman Barnes," a journalist called out. "You’ve been in the public eye for quite some time now, and naturally, people are curious. Is there anyone special in your life? Any plans to settle down?"

The question sent a jolt through you, your grip tightening on your clipboard. You kept your expression neutral, but your heart pounded as you waited for his answer.

Bucky gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. "I appreciate the curiosity, but no, I’m not looking for love. My focus is on my work. There’s a lot to be done, and right now, that’s where all my attention is."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to remain composed. It was the answer he had to give, the one that made sense. But it still stung. You knew what last night had been—what all of this was. Just a distraction. You had told yourself the same thing, hadn’t you? So why did it feel like a punch to the gut?

The conference continued, but you barely registered the rest of it. Your eyes remained on Bucky, on the way he commanded the room, but your mind was elsewhere. You couldn’t afford to let your feelings get in the way. You were here to do a job, and that was all this had ever been.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The car ride back to the hotel was silent. Bucky sat beside you, his fingers tapping idly against his thigh, but he didn’t say a word. You didn’t either. It was better that way.

By the time you arrived, exhaustion had settled deep in your bones. You should have gone straight to your room, should have put as much distance as possible between you and the man who had just reminded the entire world that love was the last thing on his mind.

But instead, you found yourself outside his door.

He opened it without a word, stepping aside to let you in. The tension was immediate—thick, suffocating. You turned to face him, arms crossed over your chest, trying to keep your emotions in check.

"Nice answer today," you said, your voice clipped. "Really convincing."

Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. The conference had fallen over an hour long, and yet Bucky knew exactly which question you were referring to. ”What did you want me to say?"

Your breath caught at the suddenness in his voice, but you recovered quickly. "I wanted you to be honest.” You said plainly. 

"I was honest," he shot back, stepping closer. "I can’t afford to be looking for love, remember? Isn’t that what you said? That this—whatever this is—needs to wait?"

You hated the way your stomach twisted at his words, hated the way you had set this boundary and were now resenting him for respecting it. "I don’t know what you want from me, Bucky."

He exhaled sharply, eyes darkening. "I want you. Fuck, I always want you. But I’m not going to beg for something you’re not ready to give."

The room felt too small, the air too hot. Every muscle in your body was tense, fighting against the pull, against the overwhelming desire that had never gone away.

Then Bucky moved. One second, there was space between you. The next, he had you against the wall, his hands framing your face, his mouth crashing into yours.

The kiss was searing—deep, desperate, full of all the things neither of you had been able to say. You whimpered against his lips, fingers fisting his shirt as he pressed his body against yours, erasing every inch of space.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your skin, just like he had on the plane.

You didn’t.

When he kissed you, it was like the world stopped spinning, and nothing else mattered. Your job didn’t matter, his job didn’t matter, it was like you were the only two people and in this very moment you made up one whole. That was it — that was his superpower. 

Instead, you pulled him closer, capturing his lips again in a kiss that stole your breath. That was all the confirmation he needed. He lifted you easily, damn Super Soldier, carrying you across the room before lowering you onto the plush hotel bed. You sighed in contentment as you hit the warm sheets, enveloping into the softness of them.

Within seconds, your blouse and bra were off and discarded haphazardly on the floor. 

Bucky’s hands roamed, mapping every curve and every inch of skin he could reach. His mouth followed, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. When he reached the waistband of your skirt, he paused, his blue eyes locking onto yours.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he murmured, voice thick with need.

“Well, it’s been about ten hours since the plane…” you retorted smartly, but he was quick to wipe the smirk off your face when he pinched at your nipple.

You shivered as he peeled away the rest of your clothes, his hands reverent, his touch almost worshipful. He took his time, savoring every reaction, every gasp and moan that spilled from your lips as he explored your body with his fingers, his mouth, his tongue.

Bucky wasted no time, getting onto his knees and pulling your legs up so they rested on his shoulders. He towered over you, his metal hand reaching to cup at your face. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you.” He growled, pushing his cock between your folds teasingly. “Eye contact, doll.”

Just like the plane, by the time he finally slid inside you, you were already unraveling. He moved slowly at first, dragging out every sensation, making sure you felt every inch of him. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered your name like a prayer.

"You feel so fucking perfect," he groaned, his pace quickening, his grip on your hips tightening. "Like you were made for me."

Your nails raked down his back, pulling him impossibly closer. “Bucky—"

You closed your eyes briefly, and you felt a sharp sting come to your face. Bucky slapped you, and his thumb grazed your cheekbone as he kept you pinned down. “I told you, eyes open. On me at all times.”

“Eyes on you,” you repeated breathlessly, focusing extra hard. His eyes were so beautiful, blue like the ocean yet dark with lust. The eye contact made it feel even more intimate than it had before. It was like Bucky was reading your mind, staring into your soul. Often, you struggled to read Bucky’s expression, but he always knew exactly what was going on in your head. 108 years of experience on this planet would do that to someone, you guessed.

“Mhm, I’m close.” Bucky groaned, his dark brown hair sticking to his skin as he picked up his pace, faster and deeper.

“Fill me up,” you mumbled, pulling his face down to your lips for another messy kiss. “I want to feel you inside of me for the rest of the day, leaking out…”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky cursed before spilling his seed into you. You cried and arched your back into him, your walls clamping down on his cock, milking him for all he had. “You’re perfect.”

The words made you feel warm inside.

Or maybe it wasn’t just the words. 

As your bodies cooled and your breathing evened out, silence settled over the room once more. Bucky lay beside you, one arm draped over your waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin.

"Say something," he murmured after a while.

You stared at the ceiling, your heart still racing. "I don’t know what to say."

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. "Then just listen. Because I need you to understand something."

You swallowed hard, nodding.

Bucky exhaled slowly, as if steadying himself. "I meant what I said today. I wasn’t lying—I can’t afford to look for love. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I don’t want you."

Your throat tightened. "Bucky—"

"No," he cut you off gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You keep saying this has to wait, that it can’t happen now. But you’re the only one putting those rules in place. Not me. I’m not afraid of what this means. I’m not afraid of loving you. So if you are, just tell me. But don’t pretend like this doesn’t matter."

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. You had spent so long convincing yourself that this couldn’t happen, that it would ruin everything. But lying here, wrapped up in him, listening to him say the things you had been too afraid to admit…

You realised you had already lost the fight.

You reached for him, cupping his face, pulling him into a kiss that was soft, lingering. When you pulled back, his expression was unreadable, but his grip on you tightened, as if afraid you would disappear.

"I don’t want to be afraid anymore," you whispered. “Bucky… I—“

A loud knock at the door startled both you and the Congressman. You flinched at the noise, and Bucky’s grip on you tightened. 

“Mr. Barnes, dinner reservation has been set for 7pm.” A soft voice called out. The voice belonged to Tara, Bucky’s campaign manager. She had flew out to Tokyo earlier in the day to organise the press conference. 

You lay there, frozen in his arms. “You were saying…?” Bucky coughed awkwardly.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “We have dinner reservations?”

“I guess so.” Bucky sighed, rolling onto his back.

“I don’t have anything to wear.” You thought out loud.

“Well then, we best go shopping.” Bucky smiled before pulling both himself and you out of the bed.

You came so close. So close to admitting your feelings to yourself but maybe now wasn’t the right time. This felt so new and fresh, and the startling of Tara banging on the door just reminded you that your job had to come first. Without this job, you had nothing.

You just hoped that Bucky would understand. 

---------------------- <3

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @mybuckynotyours @sunday-bug @bunnyfella

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just What I Needed 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, control, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: In an effort to evade a creep, you walk head first into Bucky Barnes. (short!reader)

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: based on this

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You keep to yourself. You mind your business. It can be hard in the city where there's always a horn honking or a voice hollering. You know how to get by. How to get through.

Head down, feet moving, just don't stop. The rush of the city tunnels around you, you among the masses unnoticed, forgotten. The way you like it. It's better to be invisible.

The subway is crowded, as it always is. There's a busker playing their guitar out of tune at the other end, an argument across from you, and the ceaseless chatter of a man on his Bluetooth side-eyeing his neighbors. You keep your hands on your crossbody bag and stare at the floor. There's dirty and gum and something wet you don't want to wonder about.

Another stop comes, the rail squealing below, and another horde gets on as only a few bodies leave. The passenger next to you swaps for another. You make yourself smaller. One more stop.

The man smells like body odour and weed. You try not to make a face. You only tuck your chin down and take deliberate breaths.

His arm presses against yours. He leans in and you feel him looking you over. You clasp tightly to your bag and bite down. Is he eyeing you up to rob you? You lift your eyes a scan around quickly. Would anyone bother to stop him?

He startles you as he rubs his knuckle against your skirt. The plaid wool in shades of brown, tan, and a dusty pink. Your brown stockings perfect complement the piece. He continues to move his finger, slowly crawling to your hem. You shift and stand as your stop is called out by the automated voice. Thank god.

You rush over to join the rabble forming for escape. You don't dare look back. You're nearly crushed between the passengers and as good as carried out onto the platform. You get your footing and quickly spin in the right direction.

You pass through the turnstile and your bag catches on the bar. You turn back to untangle it. There's a man coming up. You recognise his tattered cuff. It's the same guy who say next to you. Is he following you?

You unhook the bag and twirl, hurrying away before you can get the answer. You try not to run, not wanting to antagonize him. Or draw any other unwanted attention. Your soles hit the pavement and slip on the first step. You grab onto the railing and take the stairs in a flurry of steps. You're breathless as you reach the top. A whistle comes behind you and a laugh.

"Hey, honey, why don't you wait up. That's a nice skirt," he calls after you in a grizzly voice.

Oh no! You can't stop, but you can't lead him to your work. That's a recipe for disaster. Never let them know where you live or where you frequent. That's what you read online. For all your efforts, it's never happened to you before. Maybe some wandering shadows in the dark steeped in paranoia, but never this.

Your throat burns dryly as your heart hammers. You pass by a couple, a man and woman in business attire. They're entirely blind to you. You give another woman a desperate look but she's tapping her Bluetooth and sighing. Please, someone help. The whistling continues.

"Kitty, kitty," the man taunts.

The smell of exhaust and street meat mingle in a sickening lure. You search around. You think of stopping at the new stand and signalling to the vendor for help. He's clutching a dollar bill and ranting at a customer. No help.

Why do you spend your time reading all those LetsNotMeet stories online? This is horrifying. No cops. The one day you need them and they're just not there.

A man steps up to the hot dog cart ahead of you and checks his watch. You notice the odd metallic glove he wears on only one hand. He might not be better than the one following you but you're out of options.

"Oh, hi," you as good as run into him. He grunts and looks down at you. "Sorry, I'm late," you stutter out the words and send him a wide-eyed pout. "You didn't order without me, did you?"

His brows furrow as you grasp onto his sleeve. You lower your voice as you stand on your toes, "please, pretend you know me."

The wobble in your throat nearly draws tears to the surface. His expression softens. He dips his chin subtly and brings his hand up behind you, ushering you closer to the hot dog cart.

"Two, Mikey," he holds up as many fingers. "Usual for me, and uh, what are you getting, doll?"

You glance over at the man as he stops by the news stand, squinting over at you as he fidgets endlessly. You turn your attention to the man behind the cart. "Um, just relish and... ketchup, thank you. Oh, and please."

The man beside you steps closer, "I see the guy, don't worry, doll. I got you."

You tremble, "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do."

"All good," he presses his hand to your back as he keeps you close.

The vendor, Mikey, hands you your hot dog first. "You didn't say you were on the market, pal. My sister's looking." He kids.

"Ha, funny, Mikey." The man beside you says and takes his own order. "Come on, there's a bench."

He guides you further down the street to the bench near the pole. He sits first, then you do. He's calm as you're ready to combust.

"I'm so so sorry," you murmur. "I saw... I don't know."

"It's alright," he drawls and he pulls back the wrapper, "Bucky. You, doll?"

You look between him and the man who wanders closer to the hot dog cart. You swallow and look to your saviour. Well, so far. You give your name.

He nods and bites into his hot dog. You do the same if only to stave off the awkwardness. What were you thinking? You've gone and ruined his life too.

You wince as you sense the creep lurking nearer and nearer. Why won't he stop?

Bucky takes the napkin away from the bottom of the wrapper and wipes his mouth. He curls the wrapper over his hot dog and offers it to you. "Hold this for a sec, alright, doll?"

You take it in confusion. He stands and cracks his knuckles. That shiny glove isn't a glove. It's his hand.

As the creep get closer to the bin a few feet from the bench, Bucky grabs him by his jacket. He shakes him and snarls, lifting him to his toes. He growls but you can't make out his words. The man who followed you goes pale and wriggles. Bucky lets him go. The errant passenger staggers off, nearly stepping into the path of a taxi.

Bucky returns and sits down casually. He holds his hand out and you give him back his hot dog. You stare at your own.

"Thank you. You didn't... have to..."

"That guy was a really cretin." He shrugs. "Can't complain for buying a cute girl a dog."

"Oh, uh, yes, thanks. Again. That's... I have change."

You reach for your purse and he clucks, "don't go and do that. My mom didn't raise me like that."

"Uh, yes, sorry. I wasn't meaning to be... ungrateful."

"Don't gotta be sorry," he sits back.

You bite into your hot dog and silently chew. You were hungry before but it isn't bad. Especially for street meat. Your eyes fall to his hand. He wiggles his fingers.

"It's an upgrade, really," he extends his metal digits to show you.

"I... wasn't meaning to stare."

"It is what it is," he crumples up his wrapper. "Just gotta deal with people hounding me."

"Hounding you?" You tilt your head.

His cheek dimples, "you don't... don't know who I am?"

You think and shake your head. "Sorry, sir."

"Sir? Please," he waves you off. "It's fine."

"Bucky... that's your name." You remember what the vendor called him.

"Sure is," he replies.

"I never heard... no, I don't know," you push your lower lip out.

"Kinda refreshing," he drawls. "Well, doll, thanks for the lunch date," he stands and rolls his shoulders, "want me to walk you to wherever you're headed?"

"Oh, no, I can't ask for that. It's just a block down."

"I don't mind," he says.

You stand and nibble on the last of the bun. You swallow. "Please, I... I'm okay." You look down and up again, "thanks to you."

His mouth curves, just a little, "if.... you really feel like you owe me, which I'm not saying you do, but... maybe I could get your number."

You flutter your lashes. He's asking for your number. Wow. You don't think anyone's ever done that.

"Yeah uh," you press your hand full of bun to your purse and pull open the zipper. You slip out your phone and unlock it. You hold it out to him, "sorry, I can't... type."

"No problem, doll," he accepts it and keys in his number. "Bit of advice, though," he reaches to slide the cell back into your bag, "don't be handing this out to just anyone." He zips up the bag. "I could've been down the block by now."

You make and O with your lips, "oh, I'm..."

"Don't be sorry," he insists. "I'll call you."

"Sure."

"And you'll answer?"

"Of course," you make a face.

"Just wanna make sure," he says. "You have a good day. Oh, and the next time you got some creep on your heels, call me."

You nod and try to smile. You're still a bit shaky but you feel better. You think you can trust him. He saved you after all.

💘

The water spits at you and you back away from the stove. You adjust the dial as you squeak. That burner is crooked and the flames lick ravenously at the small pot. As you try to keep the fire under control, your phone buzzes. Usually there's a short vibe but this is incessant.

You scramble to grab it before the call times out. You tap answer before you can check the ID. You huff breathlessly, "hello?"

"Doll? Everything okay?" The familiar voice greets with concern. It takes a moment to click. It's been a few days since your run-in.

"Yeah, I'm... cooking dinner," you put him on speaker as you go back to the stove.

"Ah, I'm interrupting," he intones.

"It's... okay," you place the phone carefully against the toaster and let it stand. You grab the bag of noodles and pour them into the water. It splashes you and you cheep again.

"Doll?" He rasps.

"I'm fine. Just... clumsy," you affirm. You don't know what to say.

"How are you doing?" He asks. You're happy for his guidance.

"Okay. Tired. How about you?"

"Better now I'm talking to you. Sorry, I couldn't call sooner. I was out of town. Work." He explains.

"Oh, it's... it's fine. Everyone's busy."

He snorts softly, "you are too much, doll. Just too... too much."

"I am?" You wonder. 

The line scuffs as he moves around, "you're not afraid of me, are ya?" He asks. "Did you look me up then?"

"Afraid? Uh, no. No, I didn't..." To be honest, you tried to forget running from that guy from the subway.

"No? Most girls... not that I know many, they do. Don't stick around long."

"Um, right, er, I didn't... look you up. I just... I've been working."

"Course, doll. I know. You're a good girl. It's why you found me. To keep the bad guys away," he cooes.

You stir the noodles with a wooden spoon. You stare at the phone, trying to unravel his words.

"So, I was thinking, tomorrow, Friday, you busy?"

"Not after five," you shrug.

"Perfect. I was thinking something fancy for the first date."

You're quiet as you scrunch up your brow. "Date?"

He laughs, "why'd you think I asked for your number?"

You sniff, "mm, I thought maybe you were being nice."

He thinks that's funny too as he chuckles once more.

"Oh, I can't wait to be nice to you, doll. And more," he purrs. "I'm sure you'll pick out something real special to wear too."

"I... I'll find something," you eke out as your heart flutters. 

A date? You're really not prepared for that; just like that guy on the train.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you, doll," he promises. "Just like I did before."

[ofstarsandvibranium]

The Protege and The Apprentice

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Summary: When he’s not busy with politics, Bucky helps train you, a former Flagsmasher that took the super serum. Inevitably, your paths cross with Sam Wilson and his own trainee, Joaquin. And it seems Joaquin has taken an immediate liking to you.

Your newfound strength was an incredible yet dangerous thing. After everything that went down with Karli, you surrendered to Sam and Bucky. He visited you at The Raft and after talking, he saw some potential in you.

Fast forward, you're on probation, now under the watchful eye and apprenticeship of Bucky Barnes. When he's not dealing with the political climate of the country, he trains you. Helping you hone in on your newfound strength and how to better control it.

Currently, he's helping you with sparring.

You fall onto your back with a resounding thud against the mats. You groan as Bucky stares down at you with amusement.

"It's one thing to have strength, it's another thing to know how to use it." Bucky stretches out his metal hand and you take it.

"I know, I know," you grumble as you come to a stand.

You roll your shoulders and neck, loosening out your limbs. You then get into a fighter stance, "Okay. I'm ready."

Bucky looks at you with raised brows, "We can take a break."

You shake your head, "Nope. I'm good. Let's go."

He then gets into a stance that mirrors yours, "Alright then. Let's do this."

He strikes first, throwing his metal fist towards you, which you dodge. You throw your own punch and Bucky catches it in his fist. With your other free hand, you punch his side.

You grin at the victorious hit, but it didn't last long because Bucky took a shot at you as well.

"Don't get cocky," he retorts with a smirk.

You two continue to skirmish, completely unaware of the new pair that walked into the training room.

______________________________

Joaquin follows Sam into the training room. He hears some grunts and looks over Sam's shoulder to see Bucky sparring with someone.

"Who's that?" he watches in fascination. You move swiftly, dodging hits. You're still a little sloppy, but it seems like you have an idea of what you're doing.

"Y/N, she was one of the Flagsmashers. She surrendered herself to us and after discussing, they let her serve her probation under Bucky's care and guidance."

"She have any fighting experience before the serum?"

Sam answers with a shake of his head, "None, but she's a quick learner." Both men continue to observe while you and Bucky spar.

Eventually, you manage to take Bucky down, his cheek pressed against the mat and your knee on his neck.

He taps the mat and you let go. You're giddy on your feet as the super soldier rolls onto his back and sits up, "You've improved a lot," he holds his hand out and you help him to his feet.

"Thanks!"

Sam takes this moment to step forward, "That was quite a show, Y/N," he says with a smirk.

You shrug, "The old man puts up quite the fight," you then notice the younger man behind Sam, "Hi. I'm Y/N," you hold your hand out.

"Joaquin," he takes your hand in his, "That was quite some-ah!" His words are interrupted as he's thrown onto the mat.

Bucky and Sam cackle in amusement.

You sheepishly stare down at him, "Sorry. I was told to do that when you came in." Joaquin practically flies to his feet as he's pulled up with your super strength.

He clears his throat, "Yeah, no. That's-I'm good. I'm fine. I can get behind a little prank every now and then," he dusts off his clothes.

You chuckle, "Hey, when Captain America gives you an order, you kinda have to obey it," you give a shrug.

"Yeah, I hear ya," he nervously scratches the back of your head, "So, um, you-you fight pretty good."

"Thanks. This is, well," you clench your fists and look at them, "it's still so new to me. I need to keep remembering how strong I am so I don't hurt anyone."

"Understandable, but it seems like you learn quick. Is it okay if I give you a few pointers?"

"Sure!" You follow Joaquin into the middle of the mat and listen intently.

Meanwhile, Bucky and Sam stand off to the side.

Sam chuckles, leans in and whispers to Bucky "The kid's got a crush."

Bucky's brows furrow, "On who?" he asks as he still keeps his eyes on you and Joaquin.

He rolls his eyes, "Y/N, clearly. Open your eyes, man!" He gestures to the both of you and Joaquin blushes when you look at him.

Bucky watches the two of you intently and his eyes narrow, "Absolutely not." He steps forward to interject, but Sam holds him back.

"Woah, woah, why not?" Sam looks at his friend confused.

"Y/N is here to improve herself and understand her strength, not go on dates with guys like Joaquin." Bucky now glares at the young man with you.

Sam sighs and shakes his head, pulling Bucky back, "Buck, I know you're protective of Y/N, but Joaquin's a good guy. You know he won't hurt Y/N."

The corner of Bucky's lips twitch upward, "Honestly, she's more likely to hurt him."

Sam rolls his eyes, "Sure, but listen, this could be good for the both of them. Don't go all scary big brother on the guy."

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, going back to observing you and Joaquin, "Okay...but what if I threaten to demote him if he hurts her instead?"

"...that'd be an abuse of your power, Buck."

Bucky scoffs, "Other politicians have done much worse than that."

________________________________

After that first meeting with Joaquin, you've been seeing him a lot more, to Bucky's dismay.

You two exchanged numbers and would text all the time, sending each other funny memes and videos you found.

He'd find ways to visit you at Bucky's home, train with you at the compound. He's also managed to bring you out on supervised trips around the city.

You really like Joaquin. He was a breath of fresh air after everything you've gone through with Karli, the Flag Smashers, and being held on the Raft.

Joaquin saw you as a person, not as some monster or criminal. It felt...nice.

You found yourself falling for Captain America's Falcon apprentice quickly and it kind of scared you.

Did you really deserve someone as joyful and caring as Joaquin? Sure, you hurt people, but it was to help others. He's done the same thing right?

But what if you hurt him? Sometimes you have nightmares about you accidentally hurting Bucky or Sam because of your strength and it scared you.

You couldn't hurt Joaquin. You refused.

So you did the only logical thing to do: ghost him.

His calls and texts went unanswered. You asked Bucky to schedule your trainings earlier in the day or later in the night. Bucky wasn't sure why the sudden change, but he was happy to oblige when his own schedule allowed it.

But then Joaquin came up to him one day and asked if you were okay, then Bucky understood what was going on.

_____________________________

After some meetings, Bucky came home to find you lounging in the living room, scrolling through your phone (that was being monitored, of course).

"So your phone works," he states as he places a bag of takeout on the coffee table.

You sit up, digging through the bag, "Of course it does," you look at him confused as you stuff some fries in your mouth.

"'Cause Joaquin said you're not answering any of his texts or calls. He thought I confiscated your phone or something."

You shoulders sag, "Oh, um, yeah I'm not talking to him anymore."

"That so?" Bucky should be jumping for joy right now, but he can't seem to since he's taking in your downtrodden look, "Did something happen?"

You shrug, "Just don't think we really click," you avoid looking at him, finding more interest in the food he brought home. Anxiety creeping into you, making your heart rate increase.

Sensing your nervousness, Bucky lays off, but puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder, "You can talk to me, you know that right? I know we got off to a rocky start, but I care about you, Y/N. You're my friend and if anything is bothering you, you can talk to me. I may not give the best advice, but I'll listen."

You slump back into the couch and hide behind your hands as you say, "I like Joaquin and he likes me back."

"...isn't that a good thing?"

Your hands fall onto the couch, "Usually but, I don't know," you pick with your shirt, "Do you think I deserve to be with a guy like him? Someone so nice, passionate, caring? Shit, Bucky, I was ready to kill hundreds of people just for Karli's cause. I'm a bad person!"

Bucky immediately shakes your head, "No, you're not. You did bad things, but for the sake of helping others. That doesn't make you bad person."

He sighs, "Listen, I know a thing or two about thinking that you don't deserve good things because of your past. But it's not true. You do deserve good things, because you're putting in the work to make up for what you've done. I wouldn't have taken you on as my protege if I didn't see potential in you, if I didn't see good in you.

"And I may not have liked the idea of you and Joaquin before, but I've seen how happy he made you. Y/N, you've worked really hard all these months to better yourself and to prove that you're good. And you are. Like Joaquin, you're also compassionate, strong, and caring. If Joaquin makes you happy, then you should be with him."

You nod, "Thanks, Bucky," you give the man that became a big brother figure to you, a hug, "I'll-I'll talk to him. Not tonight but soon."

"Good. Now eat up," he pushes the food closer to you and you're happy to oblige.

_______________________

"I think Y/N hates me," Joaquin says as he jabs at the punching bag.

Sam pauses at his own bag, "What makes you say that?"

Joaquin continues to punch while he explains, "She hasn't replied back to any of my calls or texts. Bucky says she has her phone and it works just fine. She's ghosting me and I don't even know why."

"What happened the last time you saw her?"

Joaquin's cheeks suddenly heat up and he's hoping that he can blame his workout for the red appearing on his face, "I, um, I told her I like her and kissed her."

Sam's brows shot up, "Oh. Wow."

Joaquin lets his arms fall to his side with a sigh, "Did I fuck up?"

"Dunno. Did it seem like she liked you back?"

"I mean, yeah. She'd always be down to hang out with me, we're constantly talking. We've bantered and flirted here and there. Fuck, was I reading this all wrong?" his eyes widen in panic, "I fucked up, didn't I?"

Sam holds his hands out, "Hey, wait. That might not be the case. I've seen you two together and it seemed like she liked you, but also who knows. She's been through a lot. Maybe she's not ready for all of that yet. She might be scared."

"Shit," Joaquin groans, "I fucked up big time. What should I do? I mean, she won't even answer me and she's switched her schedule so I don't see her around anymore."

"Just give her some time. She might be trying to figure out how to navigate all of this. A lot has been going on."

Joaquin gulps down the urge to finding more solutions, but he, instead, follows his mentor's advice. He'll give you time and, hopefully, all answers will be given to him soon.

_________________________

Saying you were nervous was an understatement. Honestly, you didn't even know a word to describe how you were feeling right now. All you knew was that you wanted to throw up, your heart was probably ready to beat out of your chest, and that you want to run for the hills.

But you're not going to do that. Nope.

You deserve good things. You deserve happiness....You deserve Joaquin.

You kept repeating those three sentences in your head while you head to the floor where Sam and Joaquin made their headquarters.

The elevator stops and opens the door. A part of you wants to turn around and head right back down, but the other part of you makes your legs walk out and towards the common area of the floor.

Sam is on the couch looking over paperwork and Joaquin's at his desk.

You clear your throat and both men whip their heads to you.

"Y/N," Joaquin abruptly stands.

Sam looks at Joaquin, then you, then back at Joaquin. He closes his file and stands, "I'm gonna grab a drink in the kitchen. You guys want anything?"

"I'm good. Thanks, Sam," you give him a nod as he walks out.

Joaquin slowly walks towards you, "Um, hi. What's up?"

You're nervously wringing your hands together, "I wanted to apologize for ghosting you this week."

"I-"

"Please don't make excuses for me. I'm an adult, I shouldn't have done that. I should've talked things out with you instead of just ghosting." You pause to let out a deep breath, "When you told me that you like me and you kissed me, I-I got scared. Not because of you but because of me. I'm-I don't think I'm good enough for you, Joaquin. You're everything I'm not.

"And I like you, Joaquin. I really, really do. You make me feel normal again but it's just...yeah."

Joaquin takes your hands in his, "Y/N, you are good enough for me. You being here proves that. You want to make a difference, a good difference, with your new powers. You coming here to apologize and talk things out shows how good you are."

"I wanna try things out with you, Joaquin, if you'd still like that too."

"I do, but we'll go at your pace. Anything that makes you uncomfortable or makes you think we're going to fast, bring it up to me. I'll slow down. Don't want you running for the hills again." he grabs you by the waist and pulls you closer.

You can't help but laugh in embarrassment, hiding your face in his chest, "I'll be more communicative. I promise."

He then lifts your chin so you can look at him, "Can I kiss you?"

You nod, leaning in until Joaquin's lips press to yours. You smile into the kiss because you know you deserve this. You deserve good things. You deserve Joaquin.

[therapyandprozac]

Title: Lollipop

Rating: Explicit

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: consent king, edging, ruined orgasams, oral f! and m!receiving, fingering, super soldier stamina, brief face fucking(he looses control), arm is vibrator hehe, honorifics, so much cum talk, cream pie, lil breeding kink

Description: Upon rereading and editing all I can say in my defense is ovulation got me down bad. Oh and I kept the TSwift references to a minimum but ya know not zero, whoops 😏

You toyed with his business card between your dexterous fingers, debating the morality of calling your tutor at 11:37pm. Reflecting on the one and only session you had with him, just a few hours ago his eyes laid on yours for the first time. Piercing blue eyes undressing you slowly in his head through the lesson, you did the same to be fair. Imagining pulling that long scarf down, revealing his neck. The sound his coat would make falling gently to the floor, as your hands would explore his crisp white button down…

Shaking your head back to reality, to the ten digits printed in silver lettering on the sturdy cardstock dancing within your hand. The day dream just solidified your conviction, holding the card firmly in your hand now. You call the number, expecting an answering machine given the time.

“Bit late don’t you think?” He answers the phone with a question.

“Y-yeah sorry,” You stutter out before introducing yourself being cut off halfway.

“You think I didn’t save your number in my phone?” Sassy is the only word you can think to associate his voice with.

“I made that good of an impression, huh?” with a smile you respond.

“Doll, you’re the sexiest person to ever step foot in my classroom, I’d be remiss if I didn’t remember you.” Your eyes widen as you blush, you’re so happy he’s not here to see that.

“So if I said that I called because I couldn’t get you out of my head,” A dark chuckle comes from the other line. “What would you say to that?” You finish your suggestively open question.

“1719 Alpine Street, come to me.”

“Oh gods yes sir.” He hangs up the phone and you race for your keys before seeing yourself in your doorway mirror. ‘Oh hell no.’ You think to yourself before running upstairs to change. Stripping your comfy clothes fully before getting to your closet. You pick a long sleeved black lace dress, sure you’re only wearing it for him to take it off of you, but as you look back into the mirror, it’s definitely worth it. A long drive filled with anticipation and shifting thighs, as you imagine his intoxicating eyes and all of the times his tongue swiped across his lips during your lesson. As you pull into his dark driveway you can’t wait to be wrapped up in his arms.

Sauntering up to his front door, you knock once before the door opens with a whoosh, his metal hand grasping the knob. A Henley dark blue almost black, sleeves rolled up just above his elbows, it hugs his incredibly well toned form. Dark grey sweatpants hang loosely, doing nothing to hide the fact he's been anticipating your arrival as well. He invites you in like he’s not bulging right before your eyes.

“So happy you called.” He whispers once the door is closed, grabbing your wrist and pulls you into this incredible kiss, chaste and simple but unforgettable. Having a look around as he steps to the nearby bar grabbing two glasses and a full bottle he leads you to a den type living room with a roaring fire in the fireplace.

“Your house is beautiful, professor.” You look at the fine detailing around the room you’re in.

“It’s Bucky,” he hands you the bottle of wine. “Check the seal.” You inspect the bottle, it's brand new.

“Thank you.” You whisper hesitantly at his wordless understanding of your fears.

“Always check.” He nods with you while he opens the bottle with a corkscrew. Filling both glasses nearly all the way full you chuckle.

“You trying to get be drunk sir?”

“Without question, yes.” He winks “But firsts,” pulling the drink away when you reach for it, placing them on the coffee table he turns back to you. “What do you want from tonight?” He isn’t touching you, though you can see in his eyes that he wants to cling to your flesh like his life depended on it.

“What do you mean?” You ask genuinely.

“You called me, I invited you over and kissed you, that’s all that’s happened so far. So I repeat, what do you want from tonight?” His face remains unreadable giving you full choice in this situation. He looks in his mid 40’s, very well put together and you are loving how consent driven he is. Stepping into his personal space not touching him but close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body.

“When I met you I knew you were different, fuck am I glad I was right.” Your right hand grabs his large bicep. “I want you Bucky, your fingers,” Lacing your left hand in between his fingers. “your mouth,” your lips place gentle kisses up his neck. “your cock.” You whisper against the skin of his ear. A chuckle escapes him but his hands remain by his side, what more do you have to say to get him to touch you. “Fuck! Fuck me please!” You shouted.

“When I saw you I wanted to taste you, your sweet cunt taunting me under your skirt.” Licking his lips he hums a distant look in his eyes. He pushes you onto the couch before dropping to his knees, he places the glass in your hand.

Before kissing up your legs, once you’re about halfway done your glass he starts gently parting your legs. Peppering kisses up your thighs as he groans smelling you with a deep inhale he closes his eyes and savors the time between your legs, you see a smile on his lips before his tongue slips past them and up your dripping slit.

A hum from deep within his chest as he dives in, his nose stimulating your clit in an odd but very welcome way. Your hand reaches down and grips his thick fluffy hair, rolling your hips against his face. He gets the message and wraps his large hands around your hips and pulls you in tight. Gasping and groaning you grind against him, his licking and lapping make you pant and moan.

Your orgasam is barely held at bay when one of his hands leaves your hip and his fingertip traces your entrance teasing you. His eyes lock to yours, crows feet grow around his intense eyes as he smiles, he plunges two long fingers deep inside you.

“Gods yes, Bucky fuck!” You shout as you cum, your fingers twisting in his hair. His fingers do not stop as he stands up and licks his lips, you move to take off his pants needing him.

“No, no sweet thing, one more.” He smiles patiently though you're pawing at him.

“Want to touch you sir.” Gasps sweet gasps escape your lips desperate for air or release.

“Patience doll, all in good time. If tonight is all I get, I want to savor you.”

“Why do you think this is the only time?” You say between pants and gasps.

“I don’t, but just in case my kitten.” He purrs before adding another finger into your hungry cunt. Your back arches as he curls his fingers, there’s a slightly blank expression on his face. As if he is memorizing every movement of your body and sound that slips across your lips.

“Kiss me?” You pant sounding more desperate than you intended too.

“With pleasure.” He speeds up his pace as he leans forward with a gentle smile on his face. After leaving a breathtaking kiss he takes off his Henley, you intake his bulky and perfectly toned form. A hum from deep within your chest as your eyes wander over his scars and rippling muscles. He continues stripping, moving to his slacks and boxer briefs. The “V” of flesh that leads your eyes down and between his thick thighs, saliva swells as you imagine how heavy and full he’d feel in your mouth. Sitting on the bed across from you, you speak up.

“Can I eat you please.” You stare eagerly at his throbbing erection.

“Gently.” He chuckles.

“Only want to lick and swallow you sir.” You can see in his eyes that it's been a while and you smirk. “I have a question, professor.” Crawling up the bed on your hands and knees, licking up his thighs. “If I suck two from you,” Up on your knees resting against his chest by now, looking down at him with your fingers gripped in his hair. “Could you still fuck the absolute devil out of me?”

“Doll, I could fuck you through tomorrow.” His lip where it meets his nose twitches as he holds the dominance over the situation, despite this potentially submissive position you’ve put him in.

You smile and purr before wordlessly adjusting to be on your knees bent over his cock, fluttering your lips up his shaft licking occasionally. Teasing is the point, you wanted to make him wait, make him shake and beg for mercy. The image in your head drives you to lick a long wet stipe from his balls to the tip. Irregular breathing from above drives you to take his aching cock into your hot mouth. Taking your time sucking and toying with the tip, feeling him shift impatiently you reach one of your hands to hold his balls gently only playing with them when he would get antsy and want for more. You work his shaft slowly down your throat, soft pulses up and down just agonizingly slow he is a groaning mess.

“Please please kitten.” Hips jolting as the words fall whimpering past his lips, loving the way he squirms under you. “Don’t stop, fuck please, doll yes!” You suck him hard and deep throat him, how could you not he’s begging so beautifully. Humming and lapping around him, balls fondle between your fingers, as he wraps his hands into your hair finally taking control as he fucks into your throat. Choking around him as he cums, so far down your throat you don’t even taste him until he pulls out. “Fuck, are you okay? I got carried away.” You look up at him, nodding with glassy eyes, a wide smile and saliva running down your chin.

His thumb wipes your chin with a cocked smile, his hand traces up your thighs to your pussy. Two fingers run from the bottom of your hole up to your clit, using your slick as lube he violently shakes his metal hand.

“Ahh woah Bucky fuck.” His hand feels like a vibrator, you lift your head and bite his neck. His right hand finds your nipple, squeezing and rolling the swollen bud between his fingertips. “No why, just fuck me Buck please!” You beg as he ruins your orgasam, whining and being shut up by lips on yours.

“We,” He starts between violent kisses, getting on his knees to match your stance. “Like to edge each other, we should,” He grunts as he pushes you onto your back, feeling where your legs are bent together, up to your pussy. “do something with that one day.”

“Stop planning for the future and put your cock in me Buck please.” Wrapping your long legs around his waist.

“Like learning things about you.” he pants against your lips. “So demanding,” pushing himself inside you, your head falls back as your spine arches. “Didn’t know you before today,” Soft hip rolls he uses to punctuate his words. “But I’ve been waiting for this, for you.” He whispers against the shell of your ear, while his cock is deep inside you. You roll your hips desperately, foggy headed all you can think about is the feeling of him filling you in a way no one ever has and his lips glued to your neck.

“Professor Barnes, you fit perfectly li- like you were made for my cunt.” He huffs his head rolling, light headed as all the blood in his body rushes to his cock.

“You’re so tight and warm, shit,” He pants. “Don't know, think you were made for me.” You’re loving the way his well put together speech pattern is falling apart as he gets closer and closer.

“Just for you sir.” You gasp as he speeds up his thrusts. “Bucky,” your voice just a whisper. “Can I cum please?” A whimper slips his lip.

“You asked so nice, doll. Please cum around me, let me feel how tight you can grip me love.” He whispers into your ear, repositioning himself into a deeper angle just right. You shout as your orgasam rips through your body.

“Fuck Bucky, how are you so,” A moan rips “so deep? Can feel all of you Buck, your veins pulse against me, torcherously hot, I feel everything, I want more. Do you know what the matepress is, sir?” You whisper just barely audible, he hums and moves your body with great ease into position. “I could see it in your eyes, something deep and dark, let it loose please.” You look up into his icey eyes. “That need within you, fuck me like you’ll find it in me sir.” His hips follow your command.

“Don’t say shit like that, I’ll never let you go.”

“I hadn’t finished.” You blush between moans and gasps as he perfectly satisfies what you asked for. “Fill me, cum deep inside me please.” Tears sting at your eyes as a fantasy and a dream of a man collide in this moment.

“As you wish.” He says before biting a large chunk of your flesh definitely enough pressure to leave a bruise. You gasp and moan. “Cum for me princess, you’re so desperate for it, pull what you want from me baby.” He whispers and licks over his bite mark. Still thrusting into you with great strength, your legs start to shake as your last orgasam drags out of you, but pulls him deeper into you.

“Take what’s yours doll.” He bottoms out, breaking the crest of your cervix finally as he cums, holding himself in place deep inside you.

“It’s so warm, sir you fill me, fuck me, so good Bucky. Mine!” You shouted, glad he didn’t have neighbors who would’ve most definitely heard. Your brain stops working as you black out. When you come to you are clean and tucked in tightly next to your large tutor.

“Mine.” He echos your last coherent thought with his metal arm grasping around your throat in a way that should be threatening, but just makes you melt into his body.

“Yours sir, all yours if you’ll have me.”

“When we wake up do you want to go on our first date?” Placing soft kisses up your neck, you laugh and nod sleepily, excited for what life has in store with the one wrapped around you.

[cowboybeepboop]

Brawl

"That's it, doll. Take what you need from me." 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 3.8k

Summary: You’ve been tasked with watching over Bucky, or at least attempting to keep him under control. But something about that metal arm sends your mind reeling. 

You’ve been given a new assignment. Watching over the infamous Bucky Barnes. Aka punishment because you’ve kept screwing up every little thing for your partner. Obviously not purposefully, but either way he somehow got you on babysitting duty for one of the most frustrating of the Avengers. 

You enter the room where he’s standing with Captain America, Steve gives you a small nod, earning a sweet smile from you. “Buck, this is Y/N. She'll be keeping an eye on you for a while.” 

Bucky glances between you and Steve with a slight frown. He seems less than thrilled with the arrangement. For a moment, he remains silent, sizing you up with his piercing blue eyes.

"You're my babysitter, huh?" he finally says, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

You shrug in response, “Looks like it.” Steve presses a reassuring hand to your back, knowing how difficult his friend can be. Bucky watches as Steve touches your back, a hint of something possessive in his friend's gaze. He shifts his weight slightly, the metal plates of his arm shifting with a slight whir.

"And what exactly are you supposed to do, watch me take a shower?" he quips, his attempt at humor laced with a hint of irritation.

Your cheeks flush brightly as you wave your hands in disagreement. “N-no of course not.” your eyes are wide, body tense as Steve chuckles at your side. 

“Buck, come on. Leave her alone.” he gives you a soft hug before heading to the door. “Don’t let him get to you Y/N. I’ll be back in the evening, just give me a call if you need anything.” Steve gives you a sly smile paired with a wink as he exits. 

Bucky watches as Steve leaves, a mix of annoyance and relief on his face. Once the door clicks shut, he turns his attention back to you, his eyes roaming over your flushed cheeks.

He takes a step closer, his gaze challenging as he towers over you. "Looks like it's just us now, doll," he says, the pet name rolling off his tongue effortlessly.

“Right,” you nod, turning away from him and wandering the room. “So what do you usually do at this time?” Bucky watches as you wander the room, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

"Usually, I'm not being babysat by a pretty little thing like you," he teases, crossing his arms over his chest. He leans against the wall, his eyes never leaving you as he responds. 

“Pretty?” you question, turning to face him. “But that doesn't quite answer my question Mr. Barnes.” your arms cross over your chest. 

Bucky's smirk widens at your question, his eyes roaming over your form. "Oh, doll," he purrs, his voice low and rough. "I can't deny it. You're quite a sight for sore eyes.” He pushes off the wall, taking a few slow strides towards you. "You want to know what I do in my free time, right? Well, let's just say I like to blow off some steam."

“So where do you train?” your head cocks to the side, “I can help you, rather than just watching.” 

Bucky's eyebrow arches at your suggestion, surprised by your eagerness to help him train. "You think you can keep up with me, doll?" he challenges. 

He studies you for a moment, considering your offer. "The training room's down by the locker room. I could use a sparring partner."

“Perfect, I’d like to be useful.” you grin at him, following as he leads you out of the room. 

Bucky leads the way down the hall to the training room, his steps slow and steady. As you walk beside him, he occasionally glances over at you, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You sure you can handle me? I won't go easy on you just because you look good in those tight little clothes."

“My clothes aren’t that tight.” you protest, eyes narrowing at him. “Bring it on, I’m only a little rusty.” 

Bucky's smile turns into a cocky grin, his eyes roving over your body. "Oh, they're tight enough," he retorts, his gaze lingering for a moment too long before shifting back to your face. "Rust just means you'll get all the more practice when I knock you on your ass, babydoll."

“Let’s just get started already.” you groan, rolling your eyes at the overuse of the nickname.

Bucky grins at your groan, clearly enjoying getting under your skin. "Fine then, doll," he says, stepping into the training room. "You want a show? I'll give you a show."

He shrugs off his jacket, leaving him in a form-fitting black tank top that reveals his impressive physique. His metal arm glitters in the dim light as he moves, his movements fluid and precise. "Ready?" he smirks, eyeing you expectantly.

“Anytime you are, princess.” you tease him with a soft grin. The training room is filled with the sound of squeaking shoes and heavy breaths as you and Bucky circle each other, your eyes locked in a silent battle of wits. 

Despite his challenging words, you're holding your own, each of his lightning-fast strikes met with a swift dodge or block. Your movements are graceful and calculated, a dance of anticipation and reaction as you stay in sync with the rhythm of his combat. 

His punches are powerful, aimed with precision, but you anticipate each one, slipping away like a ghost. The smirk on his face never wavers as he watches you, impressed by your skill yet determined to push you further.

"You're good," he concedes, his voice a mix of admiration and amusement. "But you're not fighting to win, are you?"

You grin back, your eyes never leaving his. "Just making sure I don't get hurt," you reply cheekily, still not throwing a punch.

Bucky's eyes narrow slightly, his grin turning into a predatory smile. "Is that all?" He feints left, then lunges right, his metal arm flashing in the air.

You pivot on your heel, barely evading the blow. "So far," you add your voice light and airy, a stark contrast to the tension in the air.

The dance continues, your reflexes keeping you just out of reach of his attacks. His frustration grows, but so does his respect. 

You're not just a pretty face; you're a skilled operative capable of holding your own. The challenge in his eyes ignites a fire within you, and you know this is only the beginning of a very interesting assignment.

Before you know it, the playful sparring turns into a heated wrestling match, your bodies entangled as you both fight for dominance. In a sudden twist, Bucky's strength overpowers you, and you find yourself pinned to the mat with his metal-covered hand hovering just above your face. 

His grip tightens, and for a brief moment, you catch a glimpse of the ruthless soldier he once was. But then, using a clever move you learned in your training, you leverage your hips and twist your body, reversing the situation so that you're the one with the upper hand.

Bucky's smile turns into a chuckle, the tension between you morphing into a thrilling mix of competition and playfulness. "Impressive, doll," he concedes, his eyes shimmering with newfound respect. 

"But don't think this means you've won just yet." He winks, and you know the real battle is just about to begin.

The weight of your hips pressing into his sends a jolt of electricity through your body, making you aware of every inch of him beneath you. You sit on top of Bucky, both of you breathing heavily from the intense sparring session. 

Your eyes lock onto his, and you can see the playful challenge in his gaze. The air around you crackles with energy, a silent conversation playing out between the two of you. Bucky's chest rises and falls rapidly beneath you, the muscles of his arms flexing as he supports your weight. 

The smell of sweat and the faint scent of metal fills the space around you, a testament to the exertion of your bodies. 

With surprising agility, Bucky flips you both over, his metal arm gently pressing into the crook of your neck, sending a shiver of cold and pressure that makes you gasp. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, trying to regain dominance, but his strength is unyielding. 

His eyes gleam with the thrill of the challenge, and his smirk widens as he feels your pulse race under his touch. "Looks like you're the one who's caught now, doll," he murmurs, his breath warm against your cheek. 

The pressure of his body against yours, the heat of his skin against yours, and the unmistakable tension in the air have you fighting both the urge to continue the playful battle and the sudden, intense attraction that's taken you by surprise.

You moan involuntarily as the cool metal of Bucky's arm presses into the warm, sensitive skin of your neck, the sensation sending a shockwave of heat through your body. Your eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, the playful banter between you fades into something much more intimate. 

Bucky's smirk widens as he presses his metal arm a little harder against the sensitive skin of your neck. The feel of his arm against your neck causes another moan to leave your lips, your eyes fluttering shut with the sensation. 

Bucky revels in the sound of your moan as it fills the air, the metal of his arm cold against your flushed skin. 

He looks down at your closed eyes, a primal sense of satisfaction coursing through him as he pins you against the mats, his breath hot in your ear. "You like that, doll?" he whispers, his voice a low growl.

“Bucky,” you practically whine his name, body arching up to meet his. Bucky's smirk widens into a devilish grin as he feels your body arch up towards him. The sound of his name on your lips, coupled with your neediness, sends a wave of desire through him. 

He applies a little more pressure with his arm, his metal digits digging just slightly into the soft flesh of your neck, pinning you beneath him. 

"You're needy, doll. Desperate for more, aren't you?" he purrs, his eyes darkening with lust.

“Quit teasing me.” You gasp, hands wrapping around his metal wrist, eyes wide as you gaze up at him.

He looks down at you, his gaze intense and ravenous. "Teasing?" he mocks, "This is just the start, doll. You ain't seen nothing yet."

He leans down, his face just a breath away from yours, his lips hovering just out of reaching distance. "Say please," he whispers, his voice a low, commanding purr.

“Please Bucky.” You moan, legs pulling his hips to meet yours. “More, I need more.” 

Bucky's eyes darken at the sound of your needy plea, his grip tightening on your neck just a fraction. He leans down, his weight pressing firmly against your body as he whispers in your ear, "More, huh? You want more?"

He slowly rolls his hips against yours, his movements deliberate and agonizingly slow, the feel of his obvious arousal against your hip eliciting a low, needy moan from you.

"You sure you can handle it, doll?" he teases, his lips just millimeters from your ear. "I can be rough." Your face contorts in pure pleasure as his hardness presses against your warmth. 

“Fuck, I need you.” Bucky's breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pants as his self-control slips further and further away. 

You flip your position once again so you’re straddling his hips and press a hungry kiss to his lips. Bucky lets out a surprised gasp when you flip the position and find yourself straddling him, his hands gripping your hips like a vice. 

The kiss takes him by surprise, his eyes widening for a moment before a low, throaty moan escapes him. His tongue darts out, seeking entry into your mouth, while his hands begin to wander over your body with a possessive touch.

As you deepen the kiss, Bucky's metal hand roams down your body with surprising gentleness, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. The sudden coolness of the metal against your heated flesh sends an intense shiver down your spine. 

His touch is deliberate, his thumb pressing and circling the sensitive area, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You gasp into his mouth, your hips moving instinctively against the pressure he applies. 

The sensation is alien yet exhilarating, a blend of cold vibranium and the warmth of his desire. His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer, as he expertly teases and caresses you, setting a rhythm that matches the erratic beating of your heart. 

The world around you fades into a haze of pleasure and need, leaving only the sound of your muffled gasps and the heavy thud of your pulse in your ears.

Breaking away from the kiss, you throw your head back, a guttural moan escaping your throat as you rock your hips into the foreign sensation of his metal finger. Your eyes roll back in ecstasy, the coldness of the metal contrasting with your feverish skin. 

Bucky watches you with hooded eyes, his thumb circling your clit with unerring precision, as he pushes his finger deeper, stretching and filling you. Each movement of his hand sends shivers through your body, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, your arousal coating his metal digit. 

The room spins around you as pleasure builds, your breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. "Bucky," you whine, the sound a mix of pleasure and desperation as you ride his hand, his touch sending you spiraling towards an edge you hadn't known existed.

Bucky's smirk widens as he watches you take over the rhythm, using his hand to seek your pleasure. The sight of your passionate face, contorted in ecstasy, is almost too much for him to handle. He can feel the wetness of your arousal coating his metal finger, and the way you're grinding down on it is driving him wild. 

His thumb continues to circle your clit, pressing harder with each moan you emit, while his other hand tightens in your hair, tilting your head back even further. He leans in to kiss along your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, "That's it, doll. Take what you need from me." 

The power dynamic shifts as you dictate the pace, using his hand to chase after your release, and the knowledge that he's the one providing it only fuels his own desire. His cock is straining against his sweatpants, desperate for the same sweet agony he's inflicting on you, and the control it takes not to rip off your clothes and take you right there on the training mats is immense. 

As the climax hits you like a tidal wave, your body convulses, and a loud moan, filled with satisfaction, echoes through the training room. You feel the warmth of your release coat Bucky's metal hand, which he pulls away with a grin, watching the way your eyes glaze over with pleasure. 

He brings his glistening, slickened finger to his mouth and tastes you, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent declaration of his claim over your body. His smirk turns into a full-blown smile as he licks his lips clean, the metallic taste of his fingers mixing with your arousal creating a heady aphrodisiac. 

After a moment, to let you come back down from the intense climax, Bucky chuckles lowly, his hands moving to rest on your hips. The smile on his face is a combination of smug satisfaction and pure need.

"Feeling good, doll?" he asks, his voice roughened with desire. He slowly sits up, his eyes roaming over your body. "I think it's my turn now." His meaning is clear.

“Think so?” You question, sliding off of him and onto the mats beneath you both. You slide out of your shirt, a small smirk on your lips as Bucky intently watches your every move. 

Bucky's eyes fix on your every move, the way your body twists and moves as you slide out of your shirt, his gaze like a heated caress. His eyes roam over the exposed flesh, drinking in every inch of you.

"Oh doll," he says, his voice hoarse with desire, "I know so." He reaches out, his touch a mix of gentle and possessiveness as he runs his fingers along your side, trailing from your hip to your ribcage, tracing the curves of your body.

You slide your hands underneath his shirt, fingertips brushing over his muscles. Leaning forward you press a soft kiss to his neck, one hand moving to his waistband. 

Bucky shivers under the light touch, his body already responding to your every move. His muscles flex slightly beneath your fingers as he groans, the sound a low rumble in his chest.

The feel of your hands playing with the strings of his sweatpants sends a jolt of desire through him, and he can't help but lean into your touch, his hand finding purchase on your waist. 

"Y/N," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, "You're gonna drive me mad." You pull away the strings, eyes flashing with desire as you free his length from his pants. 

His eyes are dark, filled with a mix of need and possessiveness, his gaze locked on your face, watching for every reaction. 

"Y/N," he groans, his voice ragged, "This ain't playing fair. I'm supposed to be the one in control here." You press a kiss to his lips, teeth digging into his bottom lip as you pull back. 

Bucky moans as you bite his lip, the small twinge of pain only adding to the fire already burning through him. His hand instinctively grabs your hip, pulling you closer to him, as his tongue darts out to soothe the spot where your teeth just were. 

You push his chest, letting his back fall against the mats. Straddling his hips once again and kissing his lips hungrily.

Bucky lets himself be pushed down onto his back, a look of pleasant surprise on his face as you take control. His eyes darken as you claim his mouth in a hungry kiss, a low growl rumbling in his chest as you straddle him. 

His hands find your hips again, his grip firm as he pulls you down, grinding your hips against his arousal, the feel of your body against his driving him wild.

You reach between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his hardness. Slowly moving your hand up and down jerking him off. 

As you take control, Bucky's eyes flash with surprise and excitement. He groans into your kiss, his hips bucking upward to meet your hand. His breathing becomes ragged as you stroke him with increasing pressure, and his grip on your hips tightens, urging you to move in sync with his movements. 

The sensation of his metal arm beneath you is a constant reminder of the powerful being you're with, and it only fuels the fire building between your legs. You can feel his need for you, the pulse of his cock in your hand, and the way his body responds to your touch sends thrills of power and desire through your veins. 

You break the kiss, panting, and lean back slightly, watching the passion play out on his face as you continue to pleasure him. 

With a groan that's half-pleasure, half-frustration, Bucky breaks the kiss and sits up, his hands moving to the waistband of your pants. In one swift movement, he pulls them down, revealing your bare, wet sex to the cool training room air. 

His eyes are dark with need as he positions himself between your legs, his metal arm a stark contrast against the softness of your skin. His cock nudges at your entrance, and the anticipation is almost too much to bear.

With a final, desperate look into your eyes, Bucky leans back and slams into you, his hips moving with a fierce, primal rhythm. You cry out, arching back as he fills you completely, the feel of his length stretching and claiming you sending waves of pleasure through your body. 

His movements are strong and unrelenting, each thrust punctuating the air with the sound of your bodies colliding.

The coldness of his metal arm against your fevered skin sends a thrilling shiver up your spine, and you find yourself grinding down onto him, meeting his rhythm with your own need. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders as he takes you, his breath hot against your neck as he whispers sweet nothings and dirty promises into your ear. The room spins around you, the only constant is the feel of Bucky's body inside yours, the delicious pressure building.

As he moves, the metal of his arm slides against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The mix of pleasure and pain sends you spiraling closer to the edge, your moans growing louder, more desperate with each passing second. 

Bucky's eyes are locked onto yours, his gaze intense and focused as he watches the ecstasy play out on your features, his own pleasure etched deep in the lines of his face.

The tension builds, the air thickens with it, and suddenly, you're there, falling over the precipice as an explosive orgasm rocks through you. Your body convulses around him, tightening in a vice-like grip that makes him groan deeply. 

Bucky's eyes widen, and with a final, powerful thrust, he releases his climax, his body shuddering with the force of it. For a moment, you're lost in the sensation, your bodies joined in a dance of passion that leaves you both breathless and panting.

As the aftershocks of pleasure slowly fade, Bucky's arms wrap around you, his head dropping to your chest as he catches his breath. The metal of his arm is warm now, a testament to the heat of your shared passion. 

You lean into his embrace, the reality of what just happened settling in as your heart slows to a steady beat. The silence is broken only by the sound of your breathing, a soft symphony of satisfaction that echoes through the training room.

You both lay there, tangled in a mess of limbs and discarded clothing, the scent of sex hanging heavy in the air. Bucky's metal hand runs gently over your skin, tracing patterns against your sensitive flesh.

[wintersoldiersoul]

Happy Accident

A/N: This is kind of short and I also don't love it but I really really just wanted to get something up so I hope you enjoy this quick fluff moment

Warnings: super light smut, throwing up

It was the third morning this week that you had to run to the toilet. You made it just in time before leaning over and emptying the contents of your stomach. Exhausted, you leaned against the bathroom wall catching your breath. 

As you brushed your teeth, your phone lit up with a call from Bucky saying he was on his way back from his early morning run and would be home soon. But it wasn’t the text that caught your attention. It was the date at the top of the screen. You were late. You had never been late before in your life. But right now, you were. 

Panic quickly arose within you. You couldn’t be pregnant. There was no way. You always took your birth control on time. But then you remembered that one night when you and Bucky had drunkenly fucked after a night out. You had missed your pill that night. 

“Baby,” you recalled Bucky’s moans as he pounded into you relentlessly. “Gonna cum so hard for you, gonna fill up this tight little pussy. Gonna fill you up so good you’ll be leaking and then I’ll fuck it all back into you with my tongue.”

You had wanted to protest, to tell him to pull out. But it felt too good. And the thought of his hot cum spilling into you was too much to resist. You had fully intended on taking a morning after pill the next day, but the two of you were called off to a mission at the crack of dawn. And now here you were. Throwing up, and late for your period. 

The two of you had never talked about if you wanted to have children. Despite the seriousness of your relationship, it wasn’t something that you had discussed. Your lives were just too busy with constantly having to save the world. You barely got time to sit down and watch a movie together, let alone dissect the nuances of your future. Deep down, you knew that you wanted to have kids at some point. But what if Bucky didn’t? What if this was the final straw and he abandoned you? 

With shaking hands, you hunted through your closet for a pregnancy test. You always had a few on hand, just in case. And then you waited for those excruciating two minutes. Two minutes had never felt so damn long. Pregnant, it said. This isn’t happening, you thought, your mind immediately going to the worst case scenarios. What if Bucky left you? What if all of those times that he talked about having children with you it was all just a lie? What if you didn’t know how to be a good mother? 

You stood staring at the test for what felt like hours. “Y/N?” Bucky called, appearing in the doorway. Quickly, you hid the test behind your back. “What’s that?” He raised an eyebrow. “You feeling alright? You look a little pale.” 

You opened your mouth to answer, but words failed you. You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t. You just held out your hand and showed him the test. 

“Y/N this isn’t a funny joke,” he remarked. His expression was serious. He’s going to leave me, you thought. 

“I-,” you stuttered. “It’s not a joke, Bucky. I’m pregnant.” 

“Are you serious? This isn’t a joke? You’re pregnant?” His emotions were impossible to read. You braced yourself for an oncoming outburst of anger as you nodded. “Oh my god,” his eyes lit up. “We’re having a baby?” His words were full of wonder and disbelief, his stoic demeanor falling away. 

“Well we don’t have to keep it, we can discuss options and-” 

He cut off your rambling. “Honey, are you not happy about this?” 

“I am but you don’t have to be.”

He looked at you with shock. “Are you kidding me? Y/N, of course I’m happy about this! I’m fucking thrilled! Look, if you don’t want to keep this baby, then I will respect your decision and whatever you want to do with your body. But if your hesitation is at all due to me, get that out of your head. I want nothing more than to have a baby with you.”

Slowly, the worries started to leave your body. The butterflies that had represented your nerves shifted to excitement. “Really?”

The way he was looking at you right now was too much. His eyes were so full of love, of passion, of protection. “Yes, really. You’re my entire world. And I’ve always wanted to be a father, I just… I gave up on that dream, you know? I never thought it would happen for me. But this…” he took a deep breath, steadying his own emotions. “Having a baby with you? With the love of my life? Oh honey, I’m so happy I don’t even know what to do with myself.” 

The raw honesty and love in his voice was enough to set you off. You started to cry, overwhelmed with the heat of the moment. You were pregnant. You were having his baby. Your little creation, half Bucky, half you was growing inside of your body. 

Bucky enveloped you into a tight hug before pulling away and looking in your eyes. “Are these happy tears?”

You laughed. “Yes. The happiest.”

[navybrat817]

I am warm and full and cozy and thinking about Bucky who has gotten a few pounds on his stomach, not bc he has to bulk for a mission or anything but bc he's save and get three square meals and a snack every day. Lots of love and a pie on Sunday. The dream honestly

Answering this on a Monday but I feel very cozy about it!

Just Right

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky learns to love food again, and his body.

Word Count: Over 750

Warnings: Mentions of HYDRA, recovery, body positivity, reference to oral sex, bit of humor, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I may need to do more of this, and much appreciated for the inspiration @v-wie-was. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky who was now able to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with snacks in between each meal and dessert after dinner, which took some getting used to.

Bucky who didn’t get to overindulge in foods he enjoyed while he was under HYDRA’s control. He was given enough to maintain his strength and nothing more and he never decided on what they provided. 

Bucky who, when he thought about it, didn’t get to enjoy food since before he went off to war. He ate to sustain and survive and nothing more.

Bucky who had to learn all over again what he liked and disliked once he was free. Being able to choose was overwhelming and he almost broke down the first time he bought plums simply because he wanted them.

Bucky who with his heightened senses learned to appreciate certain smells and tastes and learned which places to avoid so it didn’t feel like sensory overload. He also learned which flavors he could never get enough of and which ones he could only handle in small doses.

Bucky who had to figure out how much he could eat to feel full and not stop because of his old programming. He also told himself not to feel guilty if he had a few more bites because it was more than allowed.

Bucky who met you at the store one day when you both reached for the same plum. That day changed his life. 

Bucky who, like a gentleman, let you have the plum and couldn't stop staring at you since you were so beautiful. 

Bucky who couldn't think of a witty reply when you boldly offered him your phone number in return, so he gave you an awkward smile that you found endearing.

Bucky who was happy you took a chance since you were easy to talk to. You also taught him that food emojis could be… taken a certain way, which he learned when he sent an eggplant and peach together.

Bucky who couldn’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed because he was talking about food, and he wanted you.

Bucky who enjoyed cooking with you and smiled wistfully when he thought about his family. How his mom always put so much love into her cooking. 

Bucky who made a mess of his shirt one day because he was trying to eat something messy and read at the same time. And you groaned because you had just finished laundry earlier.

Bucky who grew to appreciate messes like that because they felt normal.

Bucky who noticed almost immediately when his clothes began to fit differently, eventually to the point where they were too snug.

Bucky who felt slightly worried when he told you his clothes were too tight and had to go shopping. He wanted to be attractive to you.

Bucky who felt his heart swell when you not only told him he looked good no matter what but offered to go shopping with him. 

Bucky who felt handsome trying on new clothes since they fit properly and just right. The confidence grew when he saw your pupils dilate more and more with each outfit he tried on.

Bucky who also heard your heart race faster and smelled your arousal.

Bucky who didn’t get to make it home before you dropped to your knees to worship him. You made sure to place extra kisses on his stomach on your way down.

Bucky who hardly let people touch him, but welcomed your touch and let you paint him like a canvas with your love and desire. 

Bucky who had a huge smile on his face after the mind-blowing orgasm you gave him along with a promise of pie for dessert. He wanted you for dessert, too.

Bucky who associated certain foods with you because, like you, they brought him joy, comfort, and were downright delicious. 

 Bucky who stood in the kitchen while he waited for dinner to cool off and looked down at his stomach with a smile, reminding himself that any extra pound was just more of him to love and you’d love him no matter what. 

Bucky who thought about how comfortable he was in his skin because he was healthy and able to make his own choices. 

Bucky who gazed at you from across the room and couldn’t believe this was his life, that he found peace, happiness, and love. 

Bucky who was crazy about you and couldn't imagine a meal without you. Or his life.

And Bucky who finally felt safe and free. 

Okay, lovelies, what do we think his favorite dessert is? Besides you. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[buckyalpine]

Reader that always cries/tries not to cry. As someone who has been yelled at for crying and who is extra sensitive, I live for the angst where the reader struggles to hold their emotions followed by all the fluff, comfort and reassurance.

-

"But-it feels like you don't care Bucky!"

"I told you I was busy y/n!" Bucky sighed out of frustration, running his fingers through his short locks, "You know how stressful this job is, it's not like I cancel our dates on purpose"

You couldn't help but feel a tinge of neglect as you stood in front of your boyfriend, fully dressed for your date only for him to text you that it would have to happen another night.

Again.

"I haven't seen you in weeks. You go for days without answering your phone. I only call you because I care about you, I love you" You could already feel the warning signs making their way throughout your body. Your throat felt tight making it difficult to swallow. Your eyes stung with fresh tears. Your nose felt warm, threatening to sniffle.

"Yeah I get that," He scoffed, shaking his head in annoyance. "I just don't know if you understand how much I have to do in a day"

"I'm not stupid Bucky" Your voice started to crack, feeling worse for adding to his stress as your own emotions started to crumble. You wanted to hold it together, to have one conversation where you didn't break but-

"But you don't get it- c'mon y/n, don't cry" Bucky bit out, the words coming out harsher than he intended, not realizing how much it would upset you. You bit your lip harder to keep your chin from trembling, fat tears threatening to slip out the more you tried to blink them back. Your throat ached, constricting your neck more and more.

"I-I'm s-sorry" You choked out, hating yourself even more for getting emotional, the frustration evident in your voice. You harshly wiped your face between hiccups, letting out a frustrated groan. Bucky blinked, his previous annoyance replaced with regret seeing how upset you were with yourself.

"I-I don't mean t-to cry" You dug your nails into your palms to try and get yourself together, your body betraying you wish a fresh wave of tears only making you feel worse, "I don't want to!"

Your body trembled, your arms moving to hug yourself in an attempt to hide away, squeezing yourself together to gain some semblance of control. Bucky cursed internally, now pissed at himself for losing his patience when you were only upset for not being able to see him. You never asked for much; the only thing you wanted was to spend time with him and recently he hadn't been doing that either.

"Hey-no-baby shhh, c'mere" Bucky pulled you to his chest, pressing his lips to the top of your head, rubbing your back up and down to calm your labored breaths. "Its not you angel, its me. I'm the one whose sorry, I shouldn't have spoken like that to you or said that, I'm sorry sweet girl"

"I-c-cry for-for everything" Your voice cracked into a defeated sob, embarrassed over how easily you broke down to tears, a new wave streaming down your face, wetting the front of his Henley. Bucky picked you up in his arms, carrying you over to bed where he could place you in his lap, cradling you to his body. "I h-hate it"

"My sweet, sensitive baby" Bucky cooed as he continued to cuddle you, rocking you in his arms while you got your breathing under control. "I'm sorry babygirl"

"I just missed you" You sniffled, clutching onto his dogtags while he kissed your temple repeatedly, stroking your hair.

"You have every right to be upset. I should be lucky my girl loves me so much, you don't even ask for a lot. I'm sorry I've been neglecting and cancelling on you so much, m'gonna take some time off so I can love on you properly"

You smiled into his chest, your body finally starting to relax, following the rise and fall of his chest.

"I'm sorry I cry so much- Bucky tipped your face up, pressing his lips against yours to stop your rambling.

"No, you cry as much as you want with me, I love that about you, okay?" He looked at your sincerely, meaning every word.

"But-

"You cry because you care. I love that you care so much. I love that cute little animal videos make you emotional. I love how deeply you feel for others. Fuck, I love how much you love me. I'll never meet anyone else who loves and cares for others the way you do. Don't ever change baby, you cry all you want"

You let out a small sniffle at his words making him chuckle, swiping his thumb across your cheek to wipe the tear the slipped out.

"What if it annoys you" you pouted while Bucky playfully pondered your question, pecking your lips again.

"Hmm, then you send Steve to beat me up. I promise he'll run at the chance at any given moment. Call Sam in too and get comfy with those fuzzy peaches you love so much"

"You sure?"

"I'm sure, doll" Bucky whispered, settling you under the covers with your head on his chest, planning to spend the rest of the day cuddling in bed. "Very sure"

[notafunkiller]

out of style

Summary: A year after your divorce, you and Bucky come face to face at your closest friends' wedding. Emotions run high, leading to a fiery confrontation that takes a detour to Bucky's hotel room, where the old flame might just reignite.

Pairing: ex-husband!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: 18+, teasing, dirty talk, pet names, daddy kink, fingering, oral séx, no condom (but f is on birth control), language, a little alcohol, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 7.2K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I really hope you'll enjoy it!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

What an ass... He has no shame at all. And the worst part? You’re still somehow surprised by it. As if you haven’t known him for years.

You look away, making sure to take a sip from your wine before focusing on the conversation again. It’s Nat’s big day, and you’re so happy for her, but listening to this story for the seventh time is exhausting. Same reactions, too: “Wow, he’s so well trained.” or “The wedding bands didn’t fall even once. Enzo is fantastic.” He’s a trained dog, you don’t get why they’re so fucking impressed.

You give Nat a smile before you excuse yourself to go to the bar. Maybe you should get a cocktail, the wine tastes terrible. On the way, you notice Steve talking to Miss Sunshine in the right corner, and you just nod toward him politely, trying to look unbothered. It’s his best friend’s girlfriend after all. What did you expect? Plus, maybe it’s just a polite conversation.

“A Sex on the Beach, please,” you murmur to the bartender.

“Vodka so early?”

You turn your head with a sigh just to see a guy you recognize from Nat’s engagement party. A fresh haircut, a simple suit and wandering eyes.

“Is there a time limit for a cocktail?” you respond, rolling your eyes when you notice he is still fixated on your chest.

He immediately raises his hands in defense as he takes a seat next to you.

God, if you hate one thing about being single besides the lack of sex is this… needing to deal with those men. It was perfect when Bucky used to take care of them.

“I didn't mean it like that, sweetheart.” You scrunch your nose instantly. God no!

“Here you go!” The bartender places the glass gently in front of you, and you’ve never been more grateful to see her.

“Thank you!” You smile before taking a huge sip, hoping it will turn him off and make him get away.

“A vodka tonic for me.” His tone is commanding, and you try not to roll your eyes again as he leans in closer. “We’re matching.”

“Huh?” You choke.

“Vodka lovers.”

Alright, time to get out of here!

You quickly grab your glass and stand up, making sure to fix your dress just in case, but his eyes are already on your breasts again. For fuck’s sake! How is he Steve’s cousin?

And talking about Steve, you almost jump when you hear him saying your name.

“Hey.” You’ve never been happier to see him.

You can’t say the same thing about his friend, who’s right next to him, looking the creepy blondie up and down.

“Is everything alright?” Steve asks with obvious concern.  “Do you feel okay?”

“Hey, man! The food is great and the company even better. Look at her, such an eye candy, am I right?” He chuckles at his own disgusting comment. “I mean, you’re married. Don’t answer that, I don’t want Romanoff on my back.” And after all of this, he has the audacity to wink at Steve. But before you can throw your cocktail over his shirt and make a scene, Bucky’s already getting in front of you, blocking your view with his huge back.

“If you want to keep your teeth, get the fuck out of here and never, ever get even within three feet of my wife. Am I fucking clear?”

His tone is so cold, harsh, and arrogant at the same time, but also so possessive. It surprises both: you and Steve, because he immediately looks at you confused before dropping his eyes on your hand.

He must be looking for a ring.

God, you never hated Bucky more than when you see blondie standing up and going straight outside just like that. It makes you even angrier because it’s always a man who has to explain the obvious signs to these assholes so they leave. You say no? You are playing hard to get. You are with a man? Then it’s all off-limits.

You sip your cocktail with frustration, the taste of vodka lingering on your tongue.

Then, you take a step toward Bucky, grabbing his arm and turning him so he can face you. “Listen and listen good, I’m not your wife and I don’t need you to play the macho hero! I can handle myself, so back off!” You wanted to leave after saying this, but the way he looks at you makes you change your mind. His eyes softened, showing a trace of your old Bucky, and it only pisses you off more. He labeled you just like that... “I divorced you for a reason, I’m not your property or responsibility. Stay out of my fucking business or I’ll show you exactly how well I can take care of myself!”

You hand him your half-full glass and storm out, seeing red. Or well, blue.

You anticipated that he’d come after you, of course you did. You know him, as much as you hate to admit. You still know him well. Too well.

And when you hear his sigh behind you, you don’t jump.

“You can handle yourself, but he was all over you. Sorry for being a gentleman.” He apologizes sarcastically. “I guess old habits die hard.”

“Too bad, Barnes! I am not your little wife. I am not your girlfriend. I am not even your friend.” You turn your head to look at him as he’s standing on the other side of the balcony. “And I am not that flavor of the month of yours, you have to kill these habits.”

He raises his head. “Flavor of the month?”

“Yeah, your plus one. You know, you should take care of her instead of trying to play hero and calling me your wife.”

“Keeping an eye on me? He smirks. “Thought you divorced me for a reason.”

Fuck him! He thinks he got you... “I did! You couldn’t open your mouth to say what bothers you, remember?”

“Well, I opened my mouth to do something else, far more exciting.”

You gasp, incredulous at his audacity.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You scream, walking toward him. “Seriously!”

“What is wrong with me? You tell me! You divorced me for a reason.”

“Don’t you have someone else to bother? Fuck off already, Bucky!”

“You got angrier with me now than back there with him. Unbelievable!” He shakes his head.

You take a deep breath, trying not to have a crisis. You are not gonna let him get to you. “Look, can you just pretend this didn’t happen?”

He instantly looks at you shocked as he leans in. “This as in,” he waves between you two. “Our marriage? You think I can pretend our marriage never happened?” His voice grew louder, his words punctuated by sharp, angry inflections. “You think just because we divorced, you get to ask me that? How can you...”

You’re taken completely aback by his whole attitude, and it’s like you’re back in time at your wedding as he made you sneak out so he can make you come on his tongue after saying all sorts of things.

You don’t know why you suddenly remembered that, but you need to snap out of it.

“I meant the whole interaction, you annoying man!”

“How was I supposed to know?” He looks much more relaxed now, though, and before you can think about it, you’re poking his chest.

“Why would I tell you to forget about our marriage, Bucky?” You smile. “You are more than free to think about me as you fuck your little flavor of the month. I am not gonna stop that.”

You see his eyebrows raise instantly as his gaze drops to your finger. “My little flavor of the month? How many times did you think about me fucking her?” His hand finds your wrist. “Did you wonder if I’m fucking her from behind as I choke her? Did you imagine me coming all over her tits? Did you-”

You grab his cheeks, just the way he likes it, to stop him.

“You think I have nothing better to think about? I have my own dicks that occupy my thoughts,” you lie through your teeth, and he knows it. God, he knows it as he chuckles right away.

“What’s so funny, Barnes?” You let go, expecting him to do the same, but he’s still holding your other wrist.

“You have no dick to think about. I know you broke up with your last flavor of the month, honey.”

He knows how much you hate being mocked with the word honey, but you bite the inside of your cheeks. “It’s funny really,” you fake giggle, looking up at him. “You assume I don’t have someone already. Maybe I’m just enjoying my life after our divorce... new dick every month since I am a free woman. I don’t even need something serious. You know how much I love sex.”

His smile immediately drops, his face reddening.

“You are absolutely infuriating!” Even his tone carries a sense of irritation.

“Aww, what happened?”

It’s his turn to grab your face, making you gasp. You don’t remember the last time he touched you, and you’re shivering.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, and you know it!”

“I don’t play games, Bucky, that is your specialty.” You smile, trying to maintain your composure. “Now let me go and get back to your little girlfriend. You can be mad about how many dicks she thinks about.”

“You can’t do the whole non-attachment shit. I know you well, don’t forget that. You’re my...” He talks so fast you’re surprised he stopped. You know what he was gonna say, of course you know. The audacity!

“I am not your wife, Bucky. You literally have a woman with you here tonight. We divorced, we live in separate places, and we fuck different people.”

“Who are you fucking, huh?” He almost spits the last words. “Tell me! Nat said you’re single.”

“You’ve been asking Nat about my personal life?” And she is spilling to him? No way.

“Fuck...” he frowns, dropping his hand from your face. “No.”

“Steve!” You realize. “God, this is pathetic! Why do you keep tabs on me, huh? Can’t you just mind your own business? Is your life goal to piss me off?”

“I’m not the one calling Jessica the flavor of the month.”

“Ha!” You laugh in his face. “Well, you have no success in getting a girlfriend. And they all look pretty familiar.” You can’t hide the venom in your voice. “The differences are they’re just taller and with less in the chest department. Quite interesting, don’t you think?”

“So you’re keeping tabs on me too!”

“You flatter yourself. It’s quite obvious, look at Jessica. Does she know you were married to me? Does she beg you to fuck her mouth? Does she...” You take a deep breath. “Does she call you daddy, James? Does she ride you until you lose control and turn her on her back so you can pound her?” You don’t care anymore. Right or wrong, you’re gonna let it all out. “Do you praise her? Tell her how wet she is for you? How your cock is made for her? Do you... do you tell her you love her while she’s coming? Do you fucking call her your good girl?”

“Jesus-” You don’t let him continue his sentence, interrupting him.

“Does she take you like I did? Does she beg for you because she feels empty, James? Does she? Did any of them?”

“Stop. It.”

“Why? You didn’t stop!”

He sighs, reaching out to grab your cheeks gently. “No one does, are you happy? I don’t even fucking try. I don’t let anyone call me daddy, I don’t choke anyone and I definitely don’t fuck anyone like I fucked you. Are you happy? Seeing me miserable and pathetic? Are you enjoying it?”

You can’t deny the satisfaction and relief you feel when you hear that. Dating post-him was a very bad experience overall, so him not upgrading, indeed, in any way, makes you feel victorious. At least, you’re both suffering.

“Yeah, I actually enjoy that.”

“What about you?” He snaps. “Do you do all of that?”

“I don’t want to be called daddy, James.”

“You know exactly what I meant! You call those losers daddy? You choke around their cocks? Do you beg for their small dicks to go deeper and finish yourself off after it?”

“Like I begged for your small dick?” You ask annoyed, knowing how dumb this lie is, but what else can you say? No one compares to him and never will.

His response shocks you as he reaches down to the zipper of his worn jeans and pulls it down.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“Wanted to, you know… give you more mocking material in case you forgot how small it is.”

You have to think twice about what to say because the first thought was: I have enough videos, thanks. But you can’t. You can’t expose yourself like that.

“James, what the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to hurt me?”

“With my small dick?”

You look away for a few seconds, not wanting him to read you. “Why are you doing this? We divorced, you’re seeing someone, I’m good by myself... just let it go.”

He smiles at that, and you realize you indirectly told him you are indeed not fucking anyone.

“Why would I let go of my wife?”

You’re slapping his chest before you realize what you’re doing. “Stop this, Bucky! Just fucking stop.”

He’s hurting you, how can he not see that?

“You said you divorced me for a reason. You said...” he pauses. “You ordered me to leave you alone. Well, what if I don’t want to?”

“What are you, a fucking stalker?”

“No!” He almost screams. “I am fucking in love with you, you infuriating woman!”

“W-what?”

He can’t be joking about this, can he? He is not cruel. He is not vile. This isn’t a game.

“I’m in love with you. I love you. You own me... you fucking control me.”

“How?”

He laughs hysterically, running his hands through his hair before pulling. “I am fucking obsessed with you: how you are, if you’re doing well, if you miss me, if you’re fucking someone else, if your date went great, if you regret being with me, if someone else makes you smile wider. I dream about you, I am so miserable I couldn’t be with anyone. With Mia it lasted a month. I wasn’t... I wasn’t okay. I am not okay.”

You look at him, waiting for more. “Go on and zip your jeans, we’re in public.” You  watch him quickly do what you demand before you continue. “And what about Jessica tonight? Or Alexa a month ago? Why are you lying to me?”

“It’s not real. Jessica... I was just trying to make you jealous, okay? I was sneaking looks all night, have you not noticed at all?”

You don’t smile, despite your huge instinct to. Instead, you cross your arms, watching him drop his gaze straight to your boobs.

“Why would I notice, James?”

“Well, how did you notice Jessica looking a little like you, that she’s with me here?”

Fair point...

“Just...” You’re suddenly gripped by this crazy urge to just fuck him right here. You even regret telling him to zip back up. You could have just lifted your dress as he lowered his briefs and took out his cock. And just like that, you could have just fucked against the wall or something. You would have let him rip off your panties too. You just need his cock so badly! “Shut the fuck up!” You snap, grabbing him by his neck so he can lean in enough for you to be able to kiss him. And oh, you kiss him!

You don’t have to fight to dominate the kiss, surprisingly, because he lets you. He lets you bite his lip and almost draw blood, he lets you unzip his pants again and push down his unfit-for-a-wedding jacket, and most importantly, he lets you be his again, as pathetic as that might sound. You feel him emotionally, not just physically.

Without wasting more time, you drop to your knees, making sure only your dress and shoes touch the floor directly. You drag down his pants and briefs at the same time from your position, and he looks at you surprised.

“I thought we’re in public and you were fucking some-” his words die as you bring your tongue to the head of his cock, tasting the precum, but not sucking even a little bit.

“Weren’t you saying something?” You tuck your hair strands behind your ears as you mock him. You love being on your knees for Bucky. He has this dominant energy, but he always makes you feel in power even when he fuck your mouth. And you enjoy it, you feed on it. One of the reasons you missed him so much. And he can take mocking. “Please go on. I am all ears.” You breathe out on his dick. “And tongue.”

“Oh god,” Bucky’s voice is a moan at this point, and you laugh. So easy...

“I’m your god now? Aww! Come on, do I have to do everything tonight?”

He looks down at you confused. His blue eyes are almost grey, and you know he’s on cloud nine already just because you’re there.

“What?”

“Oh, you need translation. Well,” it’s all you say before wrapping your lips around his dick and using both of your hands to push him as deep as he can go inside your mouth. He moans at the same time you gag, and his balls slap you in the face. He instinctively looks at you to ask if you’re okay, but you are more than okay. You are fucking alive. You encourage him to fuck your throat at this point by squeezing his ass cheeks and touching his balls.

“God, look at you! That pretty black dress…” He pulls out and back in not as forcefully as he can, but enough to make you start tearing up quickly. “On your knees for your man. That mouth!”

You find yourself moaning at the feel of his fingers grasping and tugging at your hair. Jesus, how you missed this...

“You have the sweetest mouth.” Does he even realize what he’s mumbling? “I could die right here. Right now,” he says and thrusts harder, which makes you close your eyes. You can barely see anything because of the tears, and he’s already close. “My pretty baby, my fucking girl.”

You’re getting wetter and wetter the more he talks, and it’s crazy. You’re cold and your jaw is hurting, yet you love this.

“Not caring if someone can catch us, just making sure you mark me again. God, I'm gonna come, baby. Gonna... should I p-pull-”

You don’t let him finish his sentence as you grab his ass to make sure you keep him there, in your throat, as he comes while moaning your name.

When he finishes, he immediately helps you stand up, before he kisses you desperately, his tongue immediately licking your bottom lip to get access. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist tightly. You moan in the middle of the kiss because his semi-hard cock is right where you need it, and it’s like torture...

“Need to taste you, okay, baby?” He asks with so much need in his voice. He sounds so whipped. “Need my pussy. Can I take you to my room?”

That is perfect, a dream at this point. But you need to make him a little more desperate.

“But the wedding… They would kill us.”

“I am sure you care sooooo much about this wedding and Nat’s stories. More than about getting my tongue on that pretty clit of yours and making you come all over my face.”

You can’t hold back your laughter.

“Fair point, Mr. Barnes. I deserve my orgasms, especially after listening to you pathetically trying to seduce me by admitting how desperate you are.”

“You dropped to your knees on this balcony just to mark my cock as yours.”

You pull his hair a little. “You said it yourself, it's already mine. Now get that ugly jacket and carry me.”

Bucky snorts, kissing your cheek. “You bought me that ugly jacket.”

“I know.”

*

You don’t know where you left your phone and even though you should feel panicked, you don’t. All you can focus on is Bucky taking off your dress and groaning at the sight of your cups. You couldn’t wear a full bra, so you improvised. They could barely hold your breasts, but no nipples showing? Win.

“Hurry up!”

“Jesus,” he moans and reaches for your cups. Desperate man... you roll your eyes, but let him uncover your breasts and grab them into his hands eagerly. He’s not just holding them, he looks and touches them as if he’s never seen boobs in his entire life, let alone yours.

“James...” You sigh, throwing your head back in pleasure when he finally gets your nipple into his mouth. Your hand finds his hair instantly, and you watch him suck happily while playing with your other nipple.

“You’re quite hungry,” you say with a smile, stroking his hair. You missed this so much. His need to always touch or sleep on your boobs, the way he grabs them while he’s pounding you... You shiver in anticipation when he switches to the other tit.

“Fucking shit, I missed them so much.”

You snort. “My boobs?”

“Mine.” He’s not sucking anymore, he’s eating them, shocking you.

“H-hold on a second, Bucky. They’re breasts, not my clit.”

“It’s been a year, love. Let me get my fill. I died without them. Died!”

As much as you wanted to think only about the part he missed your boobs, you can’t help the jealousy that clouds your mind. You were divorced, yet the image of him sucking someone else’s tits makes you want to hit a wall. Mia all over him... You pull his hair angrily. “You surely had other tits in your mouth, Bucky, for the past year. Don’t pretend this is any different.”

He immediately stops sucking. “You... you can’t believe this. Tell me you don’t believe this.”

You look away, too proud to face him. “What am I supposed to believe, huh? It’s been one fucking year.”

“I’ve been yours this whole year. I’ve been thinking about you, fucking my fist while watching... our videos, as fucked up as it might be. I tried to date, but I failed, and trust me, it has nothing to do with the size of my dick and my age. No one is you. No one smells like you or talks like you. No one is my brat with the god complex.”

“God complex?” You raise your eyebrow, keeping your face straight. “Fuck you.”

“I will fuck it out of you as I usually do, don’t worry.”

“Then why does it keep coming back?”

He chuckles. “Because you want to get fucked all the goddamn time.”

“Like you don’t!” You puff. “Come on, I breathe in your direction and you get hard, Bucky.”

“Did you see yourself? Did you have sex with yourself? You cannot judge me!” He grabs your breasts again. “There is no comparison, okay? You have no rival. Never did, never will.”

“That’s all?” You puff, amused. “My looks?”

“Do I even have to say… Your god complex exists for a fucking reason. You’re the smartest, most sarcastic, and feistiest person I’ll ever meet. One mocking comment, and you know how I get.”

“Pathetic?” You mock him on purpose just to get the reaction he is talking about. You love it when he compliments you.

“Is this why you divorced me? Cause I am a pathetic son of a bitch?”

You  take a deep breath. “I divorced you because you refused to communicate properly with me anymore, and you know it.”

“So not because of my small dick, either,” he remarks, making you roll your eyes.

“No, your small dick is one of the reasons I am here.”

Bucky dramatically touches his heart. “So you’re using me for my sex skills!”

“As if you don’t beg me to use you. Come on, put that mouth to good use before Nat comes after us.”

He doesn’t disappoint as he finally rips your underwear off, just like you fantasized about, and you use this as the perfect opportunity to fish for more.

“What happened, Jamie? So eager. Aren’t you a little good-”

The word boy comes out as a moan when you feel his index finger curled up inside you suddenly.

“What happened, honey? Too big for you?”

“Dick!”

“You’ll get that. I just need to erase the memories of having little pencils in here. That must have been traumatic.”

“You’re such a jerk!” You snort, but he’s right. It was really bad.

Bucky shrugs, finally kneeling properly between your legs before lifting them on his shoulders. God, yes!

“Gonna give my pussy some loving.”

“D-didn’t know you have a pussy, James.”

He smiles against your inner thigh. “I certainly keep what I lick.”

“Eww, what the fuck.”

He snorts, kissing your slit. “I am joking, baby. Tried to imitate one of those dicks you thought you could replace me with.”

Petty fucking bitch! You grab him by his hair and push him closer to your pussy.

“Shut the fuck up and eat!”

His tongue feels like heaven, indeed, on your clit. You’ve lost count of how many times you remembered him eating you out so you can come this year. He's just so good at eating your pussy.

You let out a satisfied sigh when he adds a second finger. You start to feel like before… like you and Bucky are still married and with no problem. Like you're happy. He makes you so happy. Made.

So you stare at his hair and stroke it as he sucks on your clit, completely squashed between your thighs, and try to hold back your tears.

When he adds his third finger and starts tracing eight figures on your clit with his tongue before he flattens it, you know you’re about to come.

There is something about the way he always manages to make you vulnerable even if it’s not intentional, to cut you open and get in... and you don’t want it to be over. You can’t let him go again after tonight. You’d suffocate.

Your efforts to delay your orgasm and not tear up are futile because when he sucks a little harder, you come and start sobbing somehow. The orgasm is strong and even though you’d want to watch Bucky, you close your eyes, letting yourself go, and shut your mind down for a second. Everything feels so overwhelming. So amplified…

You’re grateful he doesn’t stop fucking you with his fingers, either, even though you felt him hesitating when he heard you crying. You really needed this.

As soon as you finish, you drop your legs, furiously trying to wipe your face. He knows the difference between crying because of a crazy orgasm and you being emotional. He instantly gets back on the bed next to you and pulls you into the tightest hug you’ve had in two years.

“God, I’m...” You don’t know how to continue this phrase. You should not feel sorry for crying and you’re not pathetic for it. “I m-missed you so much, Bucky. Why did you give up?”

You feel his warm breath on your forehead. “I never gave up, baby, I swear.”

“B-but you did. You didn’t even try for more than six months. When I told you...” You take a deep breath. “That I want a divorce, you didn’t even look at me. Once, Bucky! Not even once…” You show him your index finger. “You simply agreed. You gave up on us. I was waiting for you to say: no, let’s try. No, I’ll communicate. Your words...” You sob. “Your words would have been enough for me. You should know that.”

“Oh my god, baby, please, breathe!” He kisses your forehead over and over again. “I never gave up, I swear. I wanted to say no, I wanted to tell you all of that, but you asked me for divorce. It felt like you wanted out. You were tired of fighting... you were tired of me. And I didn’t want to tell you to stay just so you could either stay with me out of pity or reject me. I would have died... To look at you and beg, and to see you detached.”

You shake your head into the crook of his neck. He cannot...

“How would I be detached if I tried for six months? How would I get tired of you?”

“Exactly. You tried for six months. I thought you snapped out of it...”

“Out of what?” You whisper, scared to say it louder, but he hears you anyway.

“Out of love.”

You immediately lift your head to look at him. He’s crying, too. “Bucky...” You bring your fingers to his cheeks and start to caress them.

“I just couldn’t remember us like this. I couldn’t look into your eyes and see you staring at me like I’m a stranger.”

“Jesus Christ, when did we fail to communicate this much?”

He knows you don’t expect an actual answer, so instead of speaking, he holds you, and kisses you, and makes you giggle.

The more you move into his lap, the better you feel his erection pressing against your pussy. So close, yet so far.

He groans, placing his hands on your hips. “Careful.”

“Well, I don’t want you to be careful. I want you to fuck me raw right now.”

“Right now? He snorts, using his position to his advantage and moving. And just like that, you’re suddenly pressed with your back against the bed, and his mouth covers the valley between your breasts. That didn’t take a lot of convincing.

“Did you fuck anyone else without protection?” You ask unsure how to formulate it without it sounding a little weird. You’re not even sure you want to know the answer if it’s positive, but still.

“No. Only condoms and well... to be honest more my fist,” he chuckles, helping you get on your back again by bringing a pillow under your head. “I tested myself, of course.”

You nod, trying to hide your happiness. You selfishly wanted this: no one but you to feel him without any barrier.

“Good.”

“What about you?”

“No one for me, either.”

You would laugh at his proud face if you didn’t know he might use it to tease you later. You can use it too, though.

��Come on, baby, spread your legs for me. Daddy’s home.”

You laugh surprised, but you do what he says. You really missed having him between your legs.

Needy, you reach for his T-shirt, that for some reason is still on, and you tug it down, showing him you want it off.

He hesitates for a couple of seconds too long before grabbing his T-shirt by the neck.

“Come on, what did you do? Got a tattoo?”

You get your answer as soon as he’s finally naked.

“Oh, God!” You instantly lift your hand so you can grab his necklace. “What the fuck, James...”

“I told you I never gave up on us.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve been keeping it on since we divorced?”

He blushes, looking away. “Yeah.”

“Even when you were with other girls?”

Your heart is racing.

“Never took it off.”

You giggle, touching the surface of the ring over and over again.

“No wonder why nothing worked.”

“I had no intention to make it work.”

You say nothing, just looking into his eyes and letting him see how fucking much you love him, how he could never be a stranger, and you kiss him, wrapping your legs around his ass to show him what you need.

“I want you to pound me, okay? I want to feel you for days, do you hear me? I am so wet and ready. Please, just fuck me!”

You shiver a little when you feel the back of his hand brushing against your clit while he brings his cock to your entrance.

“Gonna make you mine again, alright? Gonna make you forget this year and everyone who,” He finally thrusts inside you. “Tried to get you.”

He’s thick. Really thick, and you can’t believe how you managed to survive without this stretched-out feeling for a whole fucking year.

“I hate you so much!’

He snorts. “I am pretty sure you love me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have my cock inside you after one year.”

“This is the problem!” You hiss when he pulls almost completely out. “One year, Bucky!”

“Aww!” He says a bit mockingly before thrusting all the way in again. Oh my God... you close your eyes. “Is this your bratty way of telling me you missed my small dick?”

“Bratty? You think this is bratty?” You ask him sarcastically before bringing a hand to his ass. “Harder!”

“Harder, huh?” He quickly unwraps your legs and turns you on your belly before you can react.

You gasp, shocked by how fast he is and hating the emptiness, but he ignores it, bringing a pillow under your pussy.

“Ass in the air, come on.”

You comply immediately, staring at his face from the side. He looks like he’s on a mission, with his hair already in all directions and the wedding band hanging around his neck.

The first thing you feel is his mouth on your ass cheek, licking on a spot before biting.

You hiss. “James!” It hurts, not more than a spanking, but you weren’t ready for that.

“Mine.”

You snort, wiggling your ass. “Yeah, yeah. Now gimme my cock.”

And he does. He so does, he’s not slowly entering you, no. He pushes in almost fully with only one thrust, making you bite into your pillow.

“You missed that, didn’t you? The way I fill you up is so good. The way...” He slaps your ass. “No one can make you feel so good. No one can fuck you like the desperate whore you are for my cock.”

You moan loudly into the pillow. You love being called a whore like this. Because he is right and he is obsessed with it, anyway. “B-Bucky...”

“Tell me whose cock you love? Tell me.”

He’s thrusting so fast at this point that you can barely even hear him.

“Bucky.”

“No, no, no. That is not what you call me like this.”

“James...”

He suddenly stops thrusting, and you whine, lifting your spinning head to look at him over your shoulder. No matter how much you try to tilt your hips to make him move, you fail.

“If you want to get fucked, baby, you gotta call me the right-”

“Daddy. Daddy, daddy. Happy now?”

He rolls his eyes, obviously not that happy with your tone.

You smirk.

“I see you need a lot of battiness fucked out of you.”

“Then why are you not fucking me, daddy?”

“Oh, goddamn it!” He’s not holding back now, moving like he used to. “Tell me, baby. Tell me you love me... that no one, fuck- no one is like me!”

His voice tinges with a hint of neediness... maybe even urge. His vulnerability takes you a little aback because it’s stronger than his mocking. He’s genuinely seeking for reassurance as he gazes at you with a mixture of desire, desperation and longing. He’s searching for validation in your eyes the way you were earlier, so you give it to him.

“You’re the only one for me, J-James. I love you forever. I never... I n-never stopped!” You can’t keep your head up a second longer as you drop it on your pillow, moaning.

“We’re getting married tomorrow.”

You half-snort, half-moan. “W-we can’t.”

“We can.” The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy almost covers the sound of his voice.

“We... we have to apply first.”

He spanks your ass again, and you scream, the sudden pain making you feel so good.

“So wet for me. They stood no chance. T-they don’t know how hard you want it.”

“Daddy, please... Please!” You’re a moaning mess. You just need a little harder. Just a little.

You’re not sure if you’re gonna have a voice after this. He’s pounding you so hard.

“My good, good girl.” He’s squeezing your hips, and the sound of your skin slapping is echoing. “God, gonna come for me? Jesus, wanna fill you up with my come too. Please, baby.”

You don’t know when or how he manages to do it, but he sneaks one of his hands under your body and pinches your nipple. You gasp, the wave of pleasure hitting you as he keeps fucking you. You feel your body weakening when he says your name over andl over again, but you don’t open your eyes for a while, letting him fuck you desperately while playing with your breast.

“Gonna- fuck, take my come, wife! Take me!”

He’s coming so much... surprisingly much even for him. You can feel him dripping down your thighs even when he slows down, then stops his movements before he falls on top of you as soon as he finishes.

“James...” You groan. “You’re heavy.”

He places a small kiss on your back, and you giggle.

“I love you.”

You melt, but he moves to the side before you can reach for his cheeks.

“I love you, too.” You kiss him. “So much that I let you drag me out of my best friend’s wedding reception.”

Bucky snorts, brushing his nose against your face. “Pretend all you want, I know you were bored as fuck.” You feel him slowly pulling out of you, and you whine. It’s a little uncomfortable. “Sorry, wifey.”

“I’m not your wife yet.”

“Yet, but you were and you will be again this week.” He takes your ring finger into his mouth.

“Bucky!”

“What? We need new rings.”

You try to pull out your finger. “No, we don’t. I have mine.”

“We need...”

“How about we use all that money for a vacation instead?”

“Neah, honeymoon is honeymoon.”

He finally lets your finger go. “We are not buying other wedding bands.”

“I am not debating a new engagement ring, though.”

You roll your eyes, but you know it’s the best deal you can get.

“Fine, a new engagement ring,” you agree while rolling ro his side and placing your head on his chest. “I don’t wanna move.”

“Don’t want to or can’t?”

You decide to surprise him by biting a spot right above his nipple. He groans while you simply laugh.

“You just can’t be subtle, can you?”

“If you’d wanted subtle you’d have gone for someone like Steve.”

“Eww, Bucky. I have your come dripping out of me and you bring up Steve?”

“You literally talked about Nat a sec ago.”

Then, as if a switch was flipped, your eyes widen. “Oh shit, my phone!”

“Where did you forget it?” Bucky asks casually, so used to gathering your things for you. You really missed that, too.

“Table. God... Do you think they know?”

“Know what?” He giggles, raising both of you until your backs touch the headboard. “That you dropped on your knees in the middle of the wedding to suck my cock? Or how I fucked you raw until you cried.” A sudden realization crosses his face. “You asked me to fuck you raw. Are you... still on the pill?”

You roll your eyes. “You think I’d let you fuck me like this for the first time we talked to each other properly since we divorced if there was a big chance to get pregnant?”

“I assume you are still on the pill, don’t be patronizing!” He kisses your nose, which he knows tickles you.

Ass...

“You are asking a dumb question instead of getting your ass downstairs to bring me my phone.”

“How is that dumb? I wanted to know if I should get you a pill or something.”

“So you don’t want babies with me!” You try not to laugh as you say it, biting your lip to keep your face serious.

“Why do you act as if I told you I don’t want a baby with you?” He chuckles when he sees you pouting. “We’re just getting back together and no way you’d want a baby now. But if I am wrong, let’s go for it. I can give you a baby, just get off the pills.”

“You don’t give me a baby, James. We have a baby together!”

He sighs, getting off the bed to get his clothes back on. “Obviously, but I am the one coming inside you. This is what I meant. I am all in. But we need some adapting time at least.”

You should stop this whole teasing-testing thing. You both have the same opinion after all. You might have a baby, and you know he’d be involved one hundred percent, but not now. Absolutely not.

“I know. Thanks for asking.”

“You’re such a tease.” He snorts, putting on his pants. “Before I go, do you want me to run you a bath or should I bring you a towel?”

“Do you plan on staying there?”

He turns his head to you instantly. “Yeah, sure. I am gonna eat some steak and brag about fucking my wife.”

“Alright, alright. Bring me a snack and we can take a bath together. Actually,” you think about it better. “I’m gonna clean up and wait for you.”

“You want me to fuck you again, don’t you?” He asks as he fixes his jacket.

“Why? Is this all you could give me?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Sure.” You spread your legs at the same time you grab your own breasts, making him groan. It’s so easy to get to him. And it’s hilarious.

“Jesus, you’re planning to kill me.”

“Not you acting as if it’s the first time this happened.”

“It is the first time in over a year, baby.”

You feel yourself softening again. “True. Now, please, please, please, don’t give them any details and bring me a snack.”

“What snack?”

“Anything, make me a plate, I don’t care.” He nods before reaching for the keys. “Oh, and Bucky? Tell your flavor of the month you don’t need her anymore.”

“I told you she is not-”

“And tell Nat I’ll make it up to her!” You interrupt him before he can finish his sentence. You don’t need him to defend a random girl’s honor.

“You’re so jealous.”

“Lock the door!”

You giggle satisfied when he closes the door and let yourself scream out of happiness while staring at the bite he left on your ring finger. Mrs. Barnes never got out of style.