#bad boy bucky will never fail to make me melt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

earlgreydream · 4 years ago

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exams.

| stucky x reader | fluff |

this was so self indulgent. I need Steve and Bucky to help me with my exams

You hit submit on your online exam, holding your breath. You’d been sitting in Steve’s office for hours, notes spread all over the desk in front you. Steve was on the couch on the other side of the room, reading from a book, and Bucky was out on a mission with Stark.

“Fuck!” you gasped, seeing the 62% grade. Steve looked up, and your head dropped into your hands, tears sliding down your cheeks. You broke into sobs, seeing all of your time and effort wasted.

“Y/N!” Steve walked over and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, coming to stand behind you. You choked on your cries, tears soaking your hands that were pressed to your face. Steve sighed when he looked at the screen, his lips pressing against the back of your head.

“It’s okay, it’s one grade.”

“It’s not! It’s everything! I’m working so hard and I just keep failing!” you wept, and Steve spun your chair around and turned you into his body. His hand went to the back of your head, cradling you gently as you sobbed into his chest.

“Y/N, take a deep breath. There will be other exams. I know how hard you’ve been working. You need a break to recharge.”

“I can’t, I have a history exam at the end of this week-”

“Bucky and I will help you. Come on, you’ve been bent over the desk all day.”

“Steve, no-” you argued, trying to reopen your laptop as Steve closed it. He caught your wrists and pulled you away from the desk.

“You’re done.” Steve didn’t care that you were fighting him, you needed a break from your university work and you were getting it one way or another. You fought him but your strength was nothing compared to the super soldier serum, and you finally gave up and let him drag you out.

“What are we doing?” you asked through weak sobs as you followed him through the Stark Tower penthouse. Loki looked up, and his brow knitted in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, not wanting to tell the mischievous god that you were crying over a failed exam.

“You’re not-”

“Leave her be, Loki,” Steve scolded.

You were sat down on the couch, and Loki and the others cleared out so you could be alone with your boyfriend. Steve set a generous bowl of ice cream in your hands, and you couldn’t stop the small laugh when you saw rainbow sprinkles on it. His blue eyes were wide and concerned, and he brushed tears from your face.

Steve did his best to cheer you up and help you relax, but he was never able to comfort you like Bucky could. Steve would’ve given anything to have your boyfriend home, helping him comfort you.

You’d spent nearly every waking hour working on your university work for months. When you weren’t bent over your computer in Steve’s office, you were doing research at the library, or you were in classrooms, trying to take notes on everything your professors said. You loved school, but you were exhausted and it was wearing on you. The workload was like a beating, and you were just ready to be finished.

Steve and Bucky were always being sent on missions, and most of the time it was just you and Loki at the tower. He was no help to your studies, usually trying to convince you to just drop out-- you’d never really need a degree with the connections and money you had.

You weren’t an avenger, but you lived comfortably in Stark Tower with the others. When you weren’t occupied with schools or spending time with your boyfriends when they were home, you were babysitting Loki or helping run intelligence with Stark. You’d decided to go back to school, but now, with exams and papers piling up, you were miserable.

“Hey, honey,” Steve pulled you onto his lap as you cried over your ice cream.

“Sorry, I just... I just feel like I spend all this effort and energy and time only to fall short.”

“I know it feels that way, but you’re doing well. You have good grades and you are so smart. It’s always hardest at the end of the semester. You can do this Y/N, you’re almost there.”

You tried to smile at Steve, but you couldn’t. He set the bowl aside and held you against his chest. Your arms went around his neck and you squeezed the soldier tightly. Tears soaked through his shirt, and he rubbed your back gently. He kissed your head and smoothed his hands up under your shirt.

“I’m sorry Bucky isn’t here-”

“Steve,” you sat up and held his face.

“I love you. Thank you for taking care of me.”

You kissed him, before laughing softly and apologized for your tears soaking everything. He shook his head and kissed you again, relieved to see you show some amusement.

“Your ice cream is getting all melty,” he laughed, spooning some into your mouth and kissing it off of your lips.

The two of you shared the half-melted ice cream, and you started to ache from the position you were in, straddling his lap. You climbed off of him, and started walking back toward the office.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I should study-”

“Not a chance. No more working today.”

“Steve,” you sighed, sticking your lower lip out. You huffed and walked back to him, letting Steve pick you up like a bride. You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him carry you to your bedroom.

Steve talked you into a hot shower with steamers that Bucky had brought back from some artisan soap shop in Russia where he’d gone on a mission and brought things back for you. He picked up your bedroom while he waited, putting in a takeout order from a place you liked uptown.

You returned in spandex shorts and one of Steve’s flannels, rubbing your eyes. His hands went to your waist and he kissed your cheek, making you smile sleepily. You’d finally given in to how tired you were, the steam of the shower helping significantly. You were exhausted from stress and crying, and now you just wanted to curl up with Steve.

He walked back in with a bag of food, and you smiled, moving over in bed. He handed you a box of fried rice and you curled up against his side.

“What are we watching?”

“Star Wars.”

Steve groaned and you gave him an offended look. He rolled his eyes, suggesting that maybe you could find something more entertaining.

“If Bucky was here, he’d watch it with me...” you whispered, knowing it was a low blow. You didn’t mean it seriously, and Steve knew that, but he still felt a pang of guilt.

“Good thing I love Star Wars,” Steve hummed, moving you to lay back on his chest instead of under his arm.

“I knew you’d come around,” you smiled.

You were asleep before the movie was even over, and Steve slid out of bed carefully. He made sure the blankets were pulled over you, and you were curled up safely in the middle of the bed, not in danger of rolling off the edge without the usual boys on either side of you.

He left the movie on softly in case you woke up, but grabbed your empty takeout boxes and took them to toss away. He was headed back when the door opened, Bucky and Tony walking inside.

“Steve!” Bucky gasped, running to the blond. Steve hugged Bucky, kissing him for the first time in over a week.

“How was the mission?”

Steve listened to Bucky recount the details, explaining it was an overall success but he was exhausted and drained. Steel eyes searched the kitchen for you, but found nothing.

“Where’s Y/N?”

“Asleep. She failed her exam, and cried for hours. Y/N spends so much time with school and studying, and to see her so stress really worries me. And I’m not near as good as you at calming her down. She all but begged for you,” Steve explained, and Bucky’s eyes saddened.

“I hate that. It’s a lot for her, the stress. It shouldn’t be so hard. And don’t do that, Stevie. She adores you, and you know it.”

Bucky kissed him again briefly before going to find you. He smiled slightly at the familiar sight of The Last Jedi playing on the television in your room, knowing it was your favorite when you were anxious. He didn’t quite understand, but something about its familiarity soothed you.

Bucky sat down on the edge of the bed, causing you to stir out of your nap.

“Bucky?” You gasped when your eyes opened.

You lunged forward and threw your arms around his neck, wrapping yourself around his body tightly. He squeezed you and kissed your hair until you drew back. You grabbed his scruffy face and kissed your boyfriend, melting into him.

“Steve said you had a bad day,” Bucky finally spoke when you drew back for air. He brushed some hair from your face, and your eyes flitted to the blond behind him. You knew Steve would express his worry to Bucky, and you felt small under their concerned gazes.

“I failed one of my exams,” you admitted, your head hanging down. His lips pressed to your forehead, and he cradled you in his arms.

“It’s okay, my love. I know how hard you worked. So does Steve, and your professor knows too. We’re going to help you study so the next time it goes better, okay?” He tilted your chin up, making you look at him.

You nodded, consoled by the soldier.

“And I’ll help with your history exam. I know a lot about World War Two. I practically lived it,” Bucky joked, and you shook your head.

“Bucky, that’s not funny,” you bit back a laugh, and even Steve smiled.

“Thank you,” you relented, accepting a soft kiss. His hands rested on your waist under Steve’s massive flannel, rubbing small circles on your skin, the action soothing you.

“Did you manage to convince Steve to watch Star Wars with you?”

“Yes, but he whined.”

“Hey,” Steve began to defend himself, ready with the excuse that he did give in to watching the film with you.

“I’m just happy you’re home,” your voice was soft, and Bucky pulled you back into a hug.

“I’m so happy to be home with you.”

Bucky spent hours leaned over your notes with you, showing you flash cards and helping you study for your history final.

You kept apologizing, but he insisted that you were more than fine, and he was happy to help. Steve contributed when he could, though Bucky was much more patient with your academics.

However, Steve was the one who set a cup of coffee next to you as you sat to take your exam. With a reassuring kiss to your head, they left you alone to focus. You answered questions, referring to your notes when the answer didn’t come to mind immediately.

An hour and a half later, you breathed a huge sigh of relief when you saw the 97% flash across the screen. You closed your computer and went to find your boyfriends, to tell them about your success, and thank Bucky for the hours of tutoring he’d given you.

You found them reading in the library, and they both set their books down as soon as they heard your footsteps.

“How’d it go, doll?”

“I got a ninety-seven!” You shrieked excitedly, running to them and giggling and they wrapped their arms around you. Your cheeks were smothered with kisses and your delighted laughter healed the ache in their hearts caused by your stressed crying over your grades.

“So proud of our girl,” Steve praised you, and you squeezed them.

“Thank you! Thank you for helping me.”

“Always. And now, we get to have fun celebrating!”

“I’m a little bit exhausted. Can we celebrate in bed?” You asked hopefully, and a deviant smirk crossed Bucky’s face.

“Not like that, you pervert,” you giggled, swatting his hands away as he groped your butt through your thin shorts.

Steve wasn’t thrilled about your choice of celebration, but he would never deny you the simple happiness that binging the Star Wars prequels brought you. Bucky was more than excited to watch you get heated with Anakin, passionately declaring your love and loyalty to him, as you did every time you watched them.

“I don’t understand. He is the bad guy!” Steve complained.

“Shut up. He’s gorgeous. And he’s not even evil, he just wanted to save Padmé!”

“I could break him in half with my fingers,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Probably not. Anakin has the force,” Bucky pointed out, and Steve shot him a glare.

You just laughed between them, eating from the large bowl of popcorn that was nestled in your lap. Steve didn’t mind half as much as he complained, and you knew that. Bucky engaged in all of your pro-dark side propaganda, enjoying the happy chatter that came along with watching your comfort movies.

They took care of you, thankful no more tears were being shed today over your classes.

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filmmies-writing · 4 years ago

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Just Another Night

pairing : Helmut Zemo x reader

word counts : 1.3k

warning : slightly sexual tension

summary : you’re at Zemo’s house in Riga, you couldn’t sleep but keep thinking about those moments between you and him in Madripoor and unexpectedly, Zemo invited himself into your room in the middle of the night

a/n : omggg This is my first time writing imagine/fanfiction in English since it’s not my first language and also my first time publishing my work here. I’ve been reading imagines/fanfiction on tumblr for a very long time but always too shy to talk to anyone. I still don’t know much about how things work here but I’ll try my best! I hope you guys enjoy it and I'm sorry if there’s any mistakes. Feel free to talk to me and give me suggestion or idea for my future work :)

(pic from : here)

You were scrolling through your phone to distract yourself since you couldn’t sleep but only kept thinking of the time you had to play a role as Zemo’s sugar baby in Madripoor.

The touch of his hand on your bare thigh. The sweet nothing he whispered into your ears as you sat on his lap. His beautiful brown eyes watching every move of yours like a lion eying on its bate. His eyes widen and followed by a little head-tilt that almost ruins the current characters you all were in when you called him “Daddy”, which leads to a much more plausible action to reassure the suspicions, a kiss that you’ll never forget. This incandescent kiss between you and Zemo happened in front of everyone including Sam and Bucky. Back in that time, your head almost exploded as millions of thoughts ran through your mind and of course the resistance you tried to feel but failed and ended up kissing him back and melting in his arms. The kiss lasted only for a while but it affects your feeling so much longer and it leaves you wanting more. To be fair, you both did put on quite a show back there. Well, he did put on quite a show. Cause maybe for you it’s not a show at all.

“How did you get in here?” you said, frightened as the Baron opened the door and simply walked in like it’s his own room.

He’s wearing a navy blue bathrobe with his hair a little messy from the water. He must have just finished his bath you presumed. And it just makes him look even hotter than ever.

“It’s my house, darling” he said arrogantly like always but with a slight smile from his lips this time

“Why are you here then?” you started with a simple question, eyes sticking on the ground as you didn’t want him to read your mind. As if that’s going to help.

“I just finished my bath and I can’t help but notice the light in your room is still on, is everything alright, darling?”

“I just don’t wanna sleep yet, that’s all, thanks for your concern but you can go now” you said as you continued to avoid the eye contact and tried to play it cool.

“I have to make sure all my guests are comfortable on my watch, but since you’re already up, could you please help me dress this wound?” the Baron asked, opened the drawer and brought out the first aid kit then handed it to you, he then allowed himself to sit on the other side of the bed.

The wound was from the fight in Madripoor. It was just a little scratch on his right cheek. You can confidently say that it’s not like him at all, asking for your help to dress such a small cut on his face.

Of course, he knows you’re trying to avoid him, which is why he is messing with you right now.

Plus for a man like Baron Helmut Zemo, it’s definitely not easy to love again, but after spending years after years in prison, he wants to have some fun manipulating you, you assumed.

“Fine” you exhale, annoyed by his actions but still not brave enough to look him in the eyes.

You set your phone down on the bed, standing up from where you seat and making your way to his side.

You grab one clean gauze pad from the box and gently place it on his soft cheek. He tried to hold back his groans as you started to circle the pad around his wound. While you were focusing on cleaning his cut, his eyes fixed up on you but you kept pretending to continue cleaning his wound.

Your heart was pounding from the very first moment your skin touched his soft ones. It reminded you of many memories you both shared back in Madripoor. And the staring from his gaze only makes it worse for you. It keeps you feeling things that you shouldn’t feel.

You gather all the conscious and courage you had left in your body and asked

“So tell me, what happened to the guy that tore the Avengers apart? He’s incapable of taking care of his own tiny cut now?”

A small chuckle left his mouth. He moved his hand up to grab yours, stopping you from cleaning the lesion.

“I’m capable of a lot of things, but this, I just prefer your assistance”

“So what if I refused to help?” You asked, eyes focused on him for the first time.

“The real question is, do you really think you can resist me, darling?” he said, continuing not to break eye contact.

“To do things against your desire” he finished his line, moving his face closer to yours, in order to have a better view on your face.

Little did you know he’s been observing you since he first saw you. The way you looked at him when you saw him standing right in front of you for the first time after breaking out of the prison, the way you keep looking at him on the plane but abruptly look away when he catches your eyes, the way you slowly fall for him but also begging yourself to stop having feeling for him at the same time. He found himself addicted to all those movements of yours.

The purpose of the observation was first to use you to bargain with the boys if something unexpected happens, but lately his plan has gone wrong and he’s not sure if the reason for his plan is still the same or he just can’t stop looking at you.

“...” Words fail to come out of your mouth but he still doesn’t stop

“Tell me you didn’t crave to touch me and tell me you don’t crave my touch”

You take advantage of the second he loses his focus on grabbing your hand to shake his hand off then put the gauze pad down and start to open your mouth to fuss with him.

But he’s faster.

He wraps both of his arms around your back and pulls you down to him, so now you’re sitting on his lap, just like that time in Madripoor. He looks right in your eyes for a moment to find any rebellion sign from you and your body but only to see you want this to continue as much as he does. He starts to press his soft lips on yours. The kiss is different from the last time. It is full of passion and every move is so delicate. You close your eyes and take in the atmosphere. A peaceful night when you and the Baron seem to be sick and full of pride and finally give in to your true feelings through a kiss.

You know you shouldn’t have done it but why does it feel so good to do something bad?

As you two catch your breath. One of his hands travels up to your neck and his lip starts making marks on your collarbone, another hand still holding your back. Your hand resting on his head, playing with his hair, a slight moan escapes your mouth as his hand starts to explore more parts of your body. Your legs make their way up to wrap around him tighter as he continues to work on his way around you.

“Hey, I think I figured out what Kali is --- Oh my god” Bucky walks into your room, accidently witnessing the current situation and being shocked by it. You quickly hop out of Zemo’s lap and sit next to him.

“Is knocking the door a hard thing to do?” you say as you array the hem of your dress while walking up to Bucky to see the information he’s got in his hand.

“Do you people ever think about sleeping?” Zemo sighs and starts walking to your direction, quietly putting his hand around your waist.

#zemo fanfic #zemo x reader #zemo x you #helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #zemo imagine #zemo x y/n #helmut zemo imagine #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo x you #daniel bruhl imagine #daniel bruhl zemo #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl x you #zemo #tfatws

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years ago

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Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

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mrwinterr · 4 years ago

Text

Kissletoe

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader

Summary: You’re not a fan of mistletoes. You think it’s an outdated Holiday tradition and an excuse for lovesick fools to steal a kiss. Unlucky for you, college parties are riddled with them this year and someone’s been trying to meet you under one all night.

Warnings: College shenanigans (no one cares in the real world). Smut 18+ (unprotected sex, vaginal penetration & fingering, oral [female receiving], handjob & attempted dirty talk/goofy sex?). Language. Mentions of drugs and alcohol. & bad Christmas pickup lines.

Title Inspiration: “Kissletoe” by 3OH!3

A/N: I’ve never been kissed under the mistletoe let alone attended a legit college party because I’ve been lame my whole life. 🔔 ‘Tis that season! 🎄 Happy Holidays, ya filthy, lovely readers! 🙋🏻‍♀️ Raise your hand if you’re on the naughty list this year! ❤️ Enjoy!

It’s the end of the college fall semester and for the majority of students, the only way to celebrate surviving finals week is to let loose and party, especially right before you’re all forced to go back home to visit family for the Holidays.

“Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?” You hear your friend and roommate Natasha ask.

You stop stuffing your belongings in a box and pause at her question to look down at your current attire - black leggings paired off with an oversized University college-style sweatshirt. You had your hair pulled up in a messy bun, your face clear of any make-up, and lastly your feet were clad in funky, fuzzy socks. This is what you normally wore inside the dorm around her, and you certainly didn’t need to dress to impress just to go home. What was she on about?

“Uh, home? Where else would I be going at the end of the semester?” You reply, an obvious answer.

“Don’t be a smartass,” she retorts, and is quick to follow up when she sees the knowing look on your face and mouth open to retaliate with an even sassy response, “and don’t even start!”

She knew you’d say something like you were exactly that, smart. You in fact had amazing grades and excelled in every course you’d enrolled in. You were confident that you’d aced your exams, so you’re not checking the portal every chance you could get to see if the professor had uploaded your grades yet.

“You’re not supposed to be leaving until Monday,” she reminded you.

“I know, but I mean, there’s no rule saying I had to stay here until then,” you clarify, continuing to pack up more of your things, “I’d rather much get a head start.”

“You’re that eager to get away from me, huh?” She says, feigning sadness.

“You’re the only thing I’m going to miss about college,” you assure her.

College was a different experience for everyone. It was an introduction to the real world. Some used it to start anew, to buckle down and make something of themselves, others used it as an extension to repeat four more years of high school.

You took your studies very seriously, especially if you wanted to maintain your scholarship. It was a known fact college wasn’t cheap and you were fortunate to be here on one. With all that aside, you still knew when to have some fun. After all, all work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy, right? You didn’t want to be that kind of person, you wanted to enjoy your college years, and luckily you had almost a polar opposite friend in Natasha to level you out.

“We just survived another week of finals,” she states, and grabbing your arms to stop you for just one second, “what better way to celebrate than partying?”

She sees the conflicted look in your eyes, and can tell you’re weighing out the pros and cons. There were a lot of cons: you’d be surrounded by tons of people, most of which were going to be drunk as fuck or high out of their minds on whatever substance was passed around and the threat of getting taken advantage of by some stranger. The pros? You had some steam to let off and this was a chance to gather and see some of your other friends before the Holiday break. ‘Tis the season, right?

“I guess you’re right,” you start, beginning to compromise, “why not? It’ll be like a little send off,” you decide, throwing in a shrug, and that was it.

“We’re college kids, it’s our right,” Natasha shrugs, before digging into one of your boxes and pulling out one of your cute dresses. You could always count on her to help look good too.

When you both take the short walk to the house, where tonight’s party would be taking place, you abruptly halt at the end of the front porch steps, breaking your locked arms with Natasha.

“Jesus, what’s wrong?” She curses lightly as she almost trips backwards.

“This house…” you start, taking a step back and look up to inspect it, squinting, as if that would do you any good in the dark.

“Yeah?” She asks, a little too impatient, obviously hiding something.

“It’s familiar,” you continue, still trying to find out why it was so. Usually, that wasn’t a good thing...

“Come on. What are you talking about? It’s just a house. Don’t think too much and have fun tonight!” She says, stomping back down the steps and grabbing your arm to drag you up towards the front door.

“I guess you’re right,” you say, giving up again. What were you so worried about?

“Aren’t I always?” She comments, and is, again, quick to shut you down when she sees you open your mouth. She presses her finger to the doorbell just as your mouth closes, and you both await the host.

You look off to the side and stare at the Greek letters tacked onto the wall. You knew you weren’t going to let it go on trying to find out why this house looked so familiar. Then, just when you’ve figured it out, your eyes widen in realization, the grip around your arm intertwined with Natasha’s tightens, feeling your attempt to slip away. The door swings open and the voice that booms out of the person, verifies your answer.

“Well, well, well...the weather outside sure is frightful, but this,” Bucky Barnes starts out singing before looking only in your direction, “oh, seeing you, is so delightful,” ending in a somewhat serious note.

“God, I hate winter,” you comment off to the side. It earns you a jab from Natasha, silently asking you to play nice.

He greets Natasha and easily lets her slip past him into the house. You call out her name, appalled that she left you alone with Bucky. Wasn’t that some rule? Never leave your friends alone at a Frat party.

“You look beautiful,” Bucky says sincerely when it’s just the two of you, to which you don’t respond, but roll your eyes. You didn’t come here to get seduced or hit on, but nonetheless shiver, and logically you could blame it on the cold weather and not the way that comment from him made you feel, then attempt to get inside the warm house.

"Excuse me,” he says, holding out his arms on either side of the door frames, blocking your entrance both ways, “where is my Christmas kiss?“ he asks, leaning in close to you.

“What the hell are you talking about?” You ask incredulously and back away. You owed him no such thing, but when you see the sly smirk on his lips, and his head signal for you to look up, you discover a traditional mistletoe hanging right above your heads.

Bringing your head back to its regular position, you look him dead in the eyes, “I’m not going to kiss you under the mistletoe, Barnes,” you scoff at his attempt to smooch you.

“Why not?” He presses, shuffling his weight from one leg onto the other, and before you can even give him an answer, you both hear your name being shouted from behind him. Bucky whips his head back and you do your best to look over his shoulder.

It came from your friend Wanda, who was excitedly waving you over to her. You smile and wave back at her, internally grateful that luck was on your side at this moment. Bucky turns back around and stares at you, wondering how to pick back up on your conversation, but when he doesn’t come up with anything, he sighs defeatedly, drops his arms and finally lets you in.

You make your way over to Wanda engulfing her with a huge hug. Natasha was close by, sipping on her drink. You’ll grill her later for leaving you alone with Bucky. She knew not to do that, but she did it at every chance she got. Now, you knew why she brought you to this specific house party.

“You weren’t planning on leaving without a proper farewell, were you?” Wanda asked worriedly. You immediately pieced together that Natasha had ratted you out on your attempt to leave campus and head back home early.

“It’s not forever, Wan,” you assure her. It was literally only for a few weeks, but while everyone would probably only be a few hours away from each other or a few states apart different, Wanda would be flying back to her home country to spend the Holidays with her family. You’ll admit, you could’ve been a little more considerate and sensitive.

“I’ll still miss you,” she says, the admission melting your heart, not even thinking about how the separation would be on others.

“She’s right, it’s not forever,” Natasha interjects, not allowing for any sad vibes on your last few hours of the semester together, “let’s make some memories tonight,” she says before handing you a drink.

Bucky, as hard as he tried to cover it up, rejoins his group of friends, Steve and Sam, sulking. He’d gotten you alone again, but failed, and he vowed to never give up. He had a crush on you, simple as that, but you were playing hard to get, and all this time spent on playing cat and mouse when you could be doing other things.

“Man, just save yourself from any further embarrassment and give up,” Sam tells him while also handing him a drink of his own, which Bucky accepts and quickly takes a swig from.

“Never,” he said, determined and slightly winces at the burn in his throat, his body almost warming in an instant, “I’m gonna get my Holiday kiss.”

“Why do you even care? You’re usually not one behind this Holiday shit,” he asks, looking around the crowded room.

“I’m not, but it gives me a reason to get close to her,” Bucky admits pathetically, staring into the red solo cup before taking the last swig, crushing it in his hand and air balling it to the trash.

“Dude!” Steve chastises him about adding onto the mess they’d have to clean afterwards, to which Bucky shrugs at.

“You can’t expect her to just kiss anyone under the mistletoe,” Steve reminds him. He knew it wasn't an easy conquest for any guy to gain your affection.

“I’ve been a good boy this year, alright, I’m gonna get her to see what she’s been looking for has been in front of her this whole time,” Bucky says trying not to sound or look as predatory as he watched you disappear into the kitchen with your friends.

You suppose the saying rules were meant to be broken, were taken a bit too literal by your friends, even college party rules because you’re left alone again. Wanda had abandoned the trio for some alone time with her boyfriend, who everyone dubbed Vision or Vis for short due to how outrageously innovative he was. Natasha decided to partake in a classic game of beer pong, something you incredibly sucked at, so there was no way she was going to recruit you as her partner nor were you interested in standing there awkwardly watching the game go on.

Surprisingly, the only place that seemed to be of a quiet enough spot to think was the backyard patio. You could see there was a fire lit and some other students scattered or sprawled on the grass. Quickening your pace, you manage to claim a vacant lawn chair next to the fire and hope you’d stay warm and at peace.

There you start to think that being in attendance tonight would’ve made no difference. Natasha was just good at persuading you into things. Call it peer pressure or whatever, but you put your faith and trust in her to not believe she’d ever steer you in the wrong direction, so why were you so bothered being here?

“You know, refusing to kiss someone under the mistletoe is bad luck,” you hear the voice of the reason why.

“I don’t believe in that bullshit,” you respond, watching as he plops down on the empty seat next to you.

“Really? Then why haven’t you been out on a date in so long?” he asks tauntingly.

“How would you know?” You ask a bit offended.

Why was he so concerned about your love life? You were never close with Bucky growing up and if anyone was of an impression you were, it was only because of Steve, who welcomed everyone, and that included you when you moved into the neighborhood when you were a little girl.

All throughout elementary school, until things started developing, puberty probably, it further separated you from Bucky. Steve blossomed a little later in life, so it helped solidify a good friendship with him, the same couldn’t be said for Bucky. You didn’t hate him, just got annoyed by his harmless teasing.

“I’ll have you know I have other priorities,” your attempt at an excuse was subtle, but you didn’t owe him an explanation anyways.

“Sure,” he says in a tone that suggests he didn’t believe you.

You watch as he lights up a cigarette, takes a small drag, and the cloud of smoke puffing out from his lips. He notices your stare and digs into his coat pocket, fishing out the pack before offering you one. You accept and pluck one out of the carton, he follows up with sticking out his lighter and you lean in closer to him to place the end of your stick against the flame.

You weren’t going to deny the relieving effect the nicotine had running through your body. College was stressful and while you weren’t one to abuse substances, a hit every now and then helped calm your nerves.

“So why is it you won’t kiss anyone under the mistletoe?” He asks, leaning back on the plastic chair, his head turning to the side, full attention on you.

He was enchanted by the girl, who grew up into a beautiful young woman, sitting next to him, slowly killing herself with every inhale and exhale of the cigarette between her lips, but you weren’t just attractive to Bucky, you were every bit incredible to him. You were smart, helpful, loyal to your friends and he was just misguided sometimes in life that led you to astray from him.

“It’s just an excuse for guys to steal a kiss from some poor girl...for lonely people to fake love,” you said almost bitterly.

Truth was, you had a bitter experience with a guy who’d led you on in high school after accidentally hearing that he could bet his friends he could get you to make out with him and he’d do so by using a mistletoe as a ruse.

Bucky detected some distaste in your response but decides not to interrogate you on it any further. There’d been a lot of growing up between the two of you since you’d both been estranged during your teenage years, and certain life events were missed on either party. So, where did you both stand in each other's lives now? You weren’t sure if you could call each other friends. It wasn’t easy to avoid Bucky, what with all the mutual friends and classes you shared, including the same street back home.

“I didn’t throw this party just to see everyone before they leave or to celebrate the end of finals,” he reveals, after several, somber minutes of silence, the cigarettes in your hands quickly burning out.

“Then why did you?” You ask curiously, meeting his gaze.

“To see you,” he simply admits. It was vague.

“How’d you even know I’d show up?” You quiz him.

“Because I begged Natasha to convince you,” he freely says, exposing his plan.

You were a smart person, but you couldn’t figure Bucky out. Why would he do that? Or for that matter, say something like that. What was his endgame here?

“Tis the fuckin’ season,” you comment offhand, getting up from the seat to leave. You stomp out your cigarette and prepare to head back inside and bid your farewells.

You’re just about to step through the threshold, when you feel a large hand wrap around your arm, halting you in place in the middle of the sliding screen door.

“Am I really that bad?” He inquires, and you know he’s not asking about just kissing him under the mistletoe anymore. Bucky always wore his heart on his sleeve, no matter how tough he appeared to be. It fooled a lot of people, sometimes you included, but in this moment, he seemed to genuinely be concerned about your perspective about him.

You were too grown to blame how the course of your relationship with Bucky had gone south on silly teenage phases. You knew it was much deeper than that, it was how sad it made you feel.

You’d harbored a small crush on him back then and it was cruel to see him grow into a handsome, charming guy and go out with other girls. He never showed an interest in you in the past and it was getting exhausting trying to get his attention, it was proving to be a distraction in your life, so it was then you’d vowed to focus on yourself and the life ahead of you, a life that didn’t revolve or involve Bucky.

However, a part of you, the risky and impulsive part of you, said you had less than a handful of months left before you were set to walk the stage and graduate. If you did what you were about to do, you could avoid Bucky for just one more semester, then you’d move far, far away and most likely never see him again. With a quick glance up, you give in to the idea of this side of you, lean in and plant your lips on Bucky’s soft ones.

Bucky is left dumbfounded, eyes still half closed when you pull away. He was shocked, caught off guard, and you by a totally different notion. You like him, you’ve always liked him.

It was a decent kiss if anyone would’ve caught it, at least you hoped it appeared it was, and that Bucky could convince you of it being so…

“You said kissing under the mistletoe is for lonely people to fake love...so then why do I feel so alive?” he asks you in a daze.

He doesn't succeed in convincing you.

How you’d both managed to move past that scene at the doorway without raising suspicion was beyond you two. The fact you both found a vacant room was an even more impressive feat at the moment.

“You better have locked that door,” you say, attempting to make it sound like a threat, but with you underneath him, you were anything but.

Shoes scattered along the pathway to the bed, his thick jacket following in suit. You’d managed to pull your lips back from his, but he couldn’t keep his off of yours as they trailed from the corner of your lips, along your jawline and down your neck. You feel his tongue drag just along your pulse, causing your hips to thrust up. You let out a moan at what you felt through his jeans and how he started sucking and nibbling over the spot he’d licked.

“Why? Don’t want everyone finding out how naughty you actually are?” He questions back teasingly with a cocky grin, and as he tugs at the sleeves of his unbuttoned shirt.

You don’t have a comeback for him, but instead you lightly shove him back and try to escape from underneath, hoping to get through to him and show you’re in fact serious. The last thing you wanted was for any of your friends to walk in on you two in the act.

“Relax!” He says, also sitting up and reaching out and pulling you back to him, “I locked it,” he assures, leaning in closer, “not even Santa will know what we’re doing,” then his lips reclaim yours, his tongue delving in your mouth. You’re once more on your back, lips locked and heavy. Had you known kissing Bucky was this good, you’d have kissed him earlier.

Bucky’s hands run up your thighs, snake their way underneath, you feel his fingers ghost over your scantily clad pussy. The tingling sensation causes the feeling in the pit of your stomach to brew.

“You want me to touch you?” He asks huskily while still pecking your lips.

“Yes,” you almost immediately answer, desperate for his touch.

“How bad?” Oh, he knows how bad, but he had so much fun watching you crumble.

“Bucky,” you start to whine.

“Tell me...how bad do you want me to touch you,” he repeats slowly.

“Fuck you,” you bite back. He was really going to make you say it, “I want you to touch me so bad...please, Bucky,” you quickly give in.

Bucky rewards you with a deep kiss as you feel him hook a finger on the thin slit of your panties and pull them to the side. He runs a long finger between your folds, and he pulls his lips away to inhale sharply.

“You’re so wet,” he states the obvious, bringing that same hand up to his lips to lick the pad of his thumb so he could start rubbing circles on your clit. You bite your lip and stare at him, he’s watching you carefully, loving how hard you’re trying to hold back.

“You want to be a good girl?” He asks, and you nod, “then don’t hold back. Stop fighting me, and I’ll make you come hard with just my fingers,” he bargains. You want to call him on his bluff, but he’s the one with the upper hand - literally. “But first…,” he starts, sitting up on his knees, hands back at his sides so he could scoot down lower on the bed, “...I want to taste this pussy,” his voice deep, and almost dangerous.

He pushes the end of your dress up, bunching it at the waist, to reveal your cute underwear. He pauses for a split second, “Holiyay indeed” he says to himself, reading the embezzled design on the front of your thong. You don’t even roll your eyes in annoyance anymore, because maybe if you kept quiet and submissive enough, you’ll finally get to come.

When he rids you of the garment, Bucky uses his fingers to spread your wet lips before running his tongue flat against it, only narrowing out when it reaches your clit. He spends a little more time at your there, circling it with his tongue, lightly kissing and sucking at it. His fingers start rubbing you, tracing the rim of the opening, while his mouth was still busy at work.

You're all but writhing from the buildup, your chest heaving up and down, stomach clenching tight from his doing, not prepared for when he inserts a finger inside your wet hole. You audibly gasped and reached a hand towards him, but he swats it away. You dare pick your head up to watch, and you’re met with his eyes, full of lust, looking up at you, but his mouth still latched onto your pussy. You can feel his finger slide in and out of you slowly, your mouth open displaying how good he’s making you feel.

In fact, it’s too good you’re not in control of your legs anymore as they kick and squirm at the feeling he’s bestowing on you, so he removes his finger away from you only to maneuver into a position where he could hook his arms under legs and basically slam your back down on the bed. You unconsciously start chanting his name, like a silent prayer for him to touch you down there again.

Your head is a little fuzzy, body on fire; you want to burst. Unable to pick up your head, you cast your eyes down on him just in time to see him spit on your already soaking cunt. You watch as he uses his fingers to spread the wetness all over before slipping two fingers inside of you.

The intrusion causes you to groan and back to arch, and you can’t help but grab at any part of the arm that his hand going to work on you, just making sure it doesn't go away until it gets the job done. He chuckles lightly at your eagerness with your hips bucking up at his palm.

“I promised I’d let you come, right?” He points out, which you nod fervently, loosen your grip and attempt to keep your hips at bay, so he could fulfill his promise. You feel his finger push in about knuckle-deep and curl inside, causing you to choke out a dry sob. You begin to bite your lip, hard, when he does it again and again.

Your hands are on autopilot, trying to heighten the pleasure your body was being coursed with, and they grab handfuls of your breasts, still confined in your dress. You squeeze and squish them together, anything to help you find that release sooner. Bucky’s gaze catches onto your moves and licks at his lips, the sight of your breasts threatening to spill out offers him a taste of what’s still yet to be unwrapped.

He speeds up his efforts, they’re proven efficient as you start clenching tight around his fingers, your arousal also coating the palm of his hand. He whispers tiny praises as you try to recover from the first orgasm. You swallow the lump in your throat and run your hands over your face, almost dazed and bewildered that Bucky was capable of pulling something like that out of you.

Your legs fall limp on the bed, the silence broken by Bucky, “such a sweet pussy,” he compliments, and you take a peek between your fingers to see his fingers pop out of his mouth from sucking his digits clean.

“Do you want to unwrap your gift?” He asks, crawling over to you. You manage to sit up, your body supported by your propped elbows, so Bucky is slightly hovering over you. You nod at his question and he brings one hand behind your head to swoop you in for a sweet kiss. You use both hands to hold his face in place to make the kiss last just a little longer.

Bucky reluctantly pulls away though so he could grab at the bunched fabric of your dress and pull it over your head, leaving you completely bare in front of him. He swears, eyes running over every part of you before sitting upright on his knees again.

You lean in and reach with both hands to unbuckle his belt, the clinking of metal sounding loud, button popping off in haste, and dragging the zipper down. You yank down at his fitted jeans to reveal the imprint of his hard cock under his boxer briefs. Fuck, he was big, that much you could see. You couldn’t keep your grabby hands away as you palm him through the fabric, his cock twitching at the indirect contact.

“Take it out,” he instructs, and you look up perilously at him, eyes begging him to confirm, “...it’s yours, baby girl,” and it was all the assurance you needed to peel his boxers down.

You wrap your hands around his length and start pumping him languidly. He was already hard and no doubt fully erect, but you immediately found how good it felt in your hands. With every pump, his pre-cum pools at the head, and with each trip your hands make up to the tip, they travel back down with the substance, effectively lathering him up and making him slick enough for an easy entry.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” he admits when you give his member an experimental squeeze, your fingers curl around him, the tips grazing along his balls.

Leaning in to place light kisses to his pecs, you look up at him, “well, you’ve been a good boy, so do it,” you say, hands retreating as you lie back down, “...fuck me, Bucky.”

Bucky lets out a low growl, kicks his bottoms away, and climbs back on top of you. He reaches down to grab his cock and starts running it up and down the length of your sex, causing your body to shudder. You could feel the ridges and just how hard he got before he slowly slid his cock inside. There’s a tiny sting on his entrance as his thick cock stretches your walls.

“Mmm, baby, it’s cold outside,” he starts playfully singing, “...but you, you’re so warm,” kissing your cheek, getting you to relax; not realizing you had held your breath trying to bear through the initial pain, “...and so wet,” he says pulling out with a lewd noise, before thrusting all the way back in, bottoming out.

He starts off sweet and slow, and while you liked that on some occasion, now wasn’t one of them. Bucky’s cock probed at your spot almost instantly and you found out you didn’t want to prolong the euphoric ending. His hands slip around your smaller frame, pulling your body up, closer to his, while his hips moved in waves crashing harder and harder into yours.

His face buried into the mattress next to your face, you hear his breathy moans, and you love that he doesn’t hold them back the slightest. Who didn’t like to hear how good the other person was making them feel, right? You grip and pull at his hair, while the other gabs at his buttocks, feeling it flex with each snap of his hips, and your legs tangled with his. Sweat that had built up on your bodies make the movements sloppy, muscles beginning to ache, both of you were about to peak.

“God, you feel so good,” he says, picking his head up, his hair matted and messy, he still looked sexy, “...you gonna come all over my cock now?” His words fuel you and your hips start driving into his, making him eat his own words, “fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me cum!”

“Yes, Bucky,” you coo, your hands gripping his sides, loving the feeling of his hard body, slick and warm to the touch, “...come,” you try coaxing him, but one particular thrust rips right through you and your walls start clenching him tighter than the fit.

You only finish the command when you’re riding the waves of the aftershock, “come on, Bucky, I want it...inside, please.” You definitely picked up on the fact that he liked to hear you beg and be specific with your wants.

Bucky soon stills, spurts of his hot cum splatter your walls that continue to flutter around his cock. His climax spreads warmth all over your lower body. Your limbs, both arms and legs, wrap around his exhausted body. He carefully drops his bodyweight on you, mindful of not suffocating you in the process.

When he’s regained regular breathing, using one of his hands, he reaches behind him in search of yours before interlocking your fingers and just holding it, you hold onto each other. Bucky picks up his head and stares at your hand in his, you follow his gaze and join him. They fit with one another perfectly, and even so, the light squeeze he gives it, lets you know it also felt right.

“Well, where have you two been?” Sam says loudly, announcing you and Bucky’s arrival, rejoining your group of friends. Wanda and Vision close to each other, his arm around her frame, Natasha standing in between Sam and Steve, a refilled cup in each of their hands.

“I have been trying to escape this crazed man all night,” you playfully exaggerate.

“And yet you’ve managed to keep failing,” Bucky chimes in smugly, a cute smirk running across his features. This unearthed feeling testing your willpower to keep up with appearance and show resistance.

“Yeah, no thanks to my so-called friends,” pinning the blame on the two females in the room. Wanda turns red, guilty and slightly awful for abandoning you, but Natasha has a different reaction. She’s got that knowing smile on her face. It’s small, but very strong.

You watch as her eyes divert to the ceiling, you follow her gaze and then when you both look back at each other, the smile on her face turns into a full-blown smirk. There’s a collective sound of “oh’s” from everyone, noting the mistletoe above you and Bucky.

Turning to Bucky, who looks like he doesn’t know what to do, just stands there staring at you, not knowing what to expect. You’re supposed to act like nothing happened or reveal anything to your friends just yet, so he mentally prepares for a rebuttal to your impending rejection or insult to kiss him. Nothing could’ve prepared him for what you do instead.

You place a hand on the back of his neck and pull him down to you and smash your lips together. Bucky’s hands immediately grab a hold of your hips, he’d have to get used to the lightheaded feeling when he’s close to you.

The kiss is slow and probably not appropriate to be deemed as a simple traditional mistletoe kiss, but you both can’t help it and continue to allow your lips to slide against one another’s before there’s a rise of cheers, whistling and howls around you, shattering the bubble.

When you pull apart, you reluctantly walk away from Bucky and head to where Natasha stood, steal the cup from her hand and finish off the remainder of her drink, all while staring straight at her. She knew. Only when you’re done with the last sip, you give her the same small, sly smile. There are no words exchanged, and none needed.

“Guess, you have been a good boy this year, Barnes,” Sam jokes, but regardless is proud of his friend.

“Third time's the charm,” Bucky says casually, shrugging like it was no big deal, as if he hadn’t been desperately chasing you all night. You shake your head at his silliness, but nonetheless smile at him, your heart skipping a bit.

Who knew what you’d been looking for was hanging underneath the doorway staring at you face-to-face this whole time?

A/N: I can confidently say, I used one of these Christmas puns as a pickup line on a guy recently and it worked in my favor! Shoot your shot but stay safe in more than one way; these are them trying times. Also, the underwear thing is a real design I saw while looking through Victoria’s Secret sales…lol.

🎁 Gift me a like, reblog, comment - anything, please! 🥺💖

#mrwinterr writes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan fanfic #college!bucky barnes #college!bucky #college!au

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years ago

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Secret Door: the one where there's a dinner date and some innuendo

President James Buchanan Barnes is the first president to occupy the White House without a first lady ever since… well, President James Buchanan Barnes. But he’s not too worried about it, since he got his best friend from college acting as his VP, supporting him just like only someone who knew everything about him could do. What happens when feelings from the past start to resurface?

Or the one where you and Bucky used to date but now you got a country to run.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Thank you so much for having dinner with me tonight, doll.” I rested my fork on the plate to reach for his hand, squeezing it tightly as I finished chewing.

“You know you can always count on me, Buck.” The way he looked up at me from under his eyelashes made me feel conflicted - because that’s what he looked like too. Stuck between pain and gratitude, I didn’t want to tap into what could be causing both of those emotions because I knew I’d be able to identify it, and he deserved at least a little bit of privacy.

If he wanted to let me know, he’d tell me.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re the only one I can truly count on.” The way he said it, almost defeated, pulled at my heartstrings until I couldn’t take it anymore. Smiling softly, I rubbed my thumbs on the inside of the wrist I held.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Immediately, his head was shaking.

“Not at all. It’s good to know I can count on you. It makes me happy.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just kept smiling and rubbing his wrist, waiting for more because I knew that wasn’t the end of it.

“Tell me what is really bothering you,” I pressed, anxious to know so I could make him feel better. Even after all this time, all I wanted was to make him feel better, make him smile like the twenty-something boy I used to know him as.

Bucky sighed, fingers running through his hair as he avoided my eyes, but kept his hand in mine. He was finding the courage to speak, I knew that. Eventually, he stopped looking to the side and met my gaze again.

“What if I’m not enough?” It was a question I’d heard multiple times, and that I knew prompted different answers every time. Tonight, I had an inkling as to what he was referring to, but I needed to be sure of it so I could be of any help. “I knew it was going to be hard, now that I’m here I fear I’m going to fail at every turn.”

His beautiful blue eyes sparkled as he confessed what was on his mind, “I don’t want to be a failure.”

“James, pay attention to what I’m going to say.” I didn’t leave any time for him to stew in the difficult words he admitted, wanting to cut the seed of doubt right as it began to flourish. “James, you are not your job.”

He let out a breath that clearly indicated just how much he was keeping inside until that moment, relief finally within his reach at my reminder, so I continued, “The next three years are going to be hard, but if there’s anyone who can do this, that person is you.”

I allowed those words to settle over him like a thick warm blanket of comfort. I liked to think of myself as that blanket for him, and nothing ever made me happier than when I was able to make him feel better.

But it was late, and dinner was over already. So, with one last smile, I squeezed his arm and started to push my chair back so I could get up. James, however, didn’t seem to catch on to my intention (or agree with it) because he took advantage of the connection between out limbs to keep me close.

“Hey, remember how we always wanted to go to Italy?” My eyebrows were furrowed in confusion at his random question, but I smiled at the memory. It was our last year in college, so many plans were made then - plans that disappeared as graduation day approached and I was holding another man’s hand by the end of it.

“Yes, I do.” I’m sure my smile denounced my guilt, even though I knew I’d done nothing wrong. Bucky had been the one to break up with me. I was free to date whomever I wanted, and that’s what I did - even if no one had ever gotten anywhere near the space the man in front of me occupied in my heart.

“We should do that again, once this is all over.” I didn’t remind him that we’d probably be visiting Italy together very soon, in one of our formal encounters with the president of the foreign country. I didn’t remind him because I understood what he meant.

There was something fundamentally different between a work trip as heads of state and a road trip with your best friend.

“Sure.” I smiled, squeezing his hand in the hopes that he’d let me go now. “Let’s do that.” It’s not that I didn’t appreciate his company - he was my favorite person in the entire world - but being alone with him in the dead of night roused some dangerous feelings within me, feelings that I was only really able to keep at bay when the sun high in the sky.

“I should really go now,” I insisted, giggling softly at how he was still trying to keep me close while I slowly made my way to the door. Behind me, he huffed, prompting me to turn around and meet his eyes once more.

“Fine,” he relented, but when he crossed his arms over his chest, I already knew there was a catch. “Will you come and work out with me tomorrow morning?” I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me at his invitation.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

I’d been trying to get her to train with me for ages now. Back in college we used to go on runs together, and well… on the evenings, we used to have other ways to burn off some calories.

But she wasn’t big on lifting weights, I knew that. Still, I kept insisting, hoping one day I’d have the pleasure of waking up and feel eager to leave the bed because I knew she’d be waiting for me at the gym.

“You know how much I hate exercising.” She shook her head, giggling, and the wine had gotten to my head, I knew. But it only messed with what was already there - intensifying it, deepening it.

“I remember some physical exercises you liked to do with me.” My voice had dropped a few tones. It had been ages since I used it on her and I was excited to see that it still affected her greatly.

I knew it in my soul. I knew - she still belonged to me. And I think she knew it too, but we were both too scared to take that next step, considering everything that had changed since we were last together.

We weren’t college students anymore. We were in charge of a nation. But I was tired of being scared and most of all - I was tired of being without her.

My eyes were heavy-lidded as I took in the way she was breathing through her mouth. I anticipated her frustration coming through at any second, and sure enough, “You can’t just say stuff like that!”, she complained. But I only chuckled, pressing her against the wall of the dining room, nuzzling her cheek so I could breathe her in.

“Anything to get you to stay a little longer.” I loved the way her skin became covered in goosebumps when my thigh settled between her legs, pressing against her cunt. “You’re the only thing that makes me truly happy these days,” I sighed.

I think it justified the way I craved her so deeply. She was the one sense of normalcy I had in my life, and even when she tried to hold herself back from me, it all took me right back to our college days and how long it took her to cave and go out on a date with me in the first place.

“Do you know how lonely it gets? Waking up every morning without someone to share this burden with?” I confided, rubbing circles on her hips while I tried to get her to look me in the eye again. “I can understand why most presidents had a first lady by their side. I envy them.”

Brushing her hair away from her face, I took in the sight of her with her lips parted, eyelids heavy with desire. How long had it been since I’d seen her like this? Just staring at her made me hot.

“Don’t look at me like that!” She admonished, having realized how I was undressing her with my eyes. A chuckle was all I could offer as a response, as she adjusted herself on my leg to offer, “You know you can share it with me. I’m your vice-president, that’s what I’m here for.”

But I shook my head almost immediately. “It’s not the same,” I whispered, caressing her cheek, eyes never leaving hers for even a second. “You know it’s not the same. If I could have you with me all the time…”

I couldn’t even deal with the possibility, so I just shoved it aside to favor my reality, leaning down to connect our lips for the first time in decades.

“James…” She sighed when we parted, while I rubbed my chapped lips against the soft skin of her shoulder. I knew this was dangerous territory. I knew it.

“Shh…” Tucking my hands beneath her skirt, I rubbed the outside of her thighs, relishing in the feeling of her muscles melting at my pawing. I wanted to distract her from the rational so she could focus on the instinctive calling there was between us, from the day we met.

She’d enchanted me right then, with a single smile, and whatever spell she put on me was nowhere near fading. I, on the other hand, was tired of fighting it.

“Having a hard time controlling your hands, huh?” She teased when I finally reached her ass, massaging it excitedly, using my grip to rub her against my thigh.

“You know they have a mind of their own when it comes to you,” I smirked, kissing her shoulder as I left it to connect our lips again. “One more time, darling,” I begged just as soon as we were forced to part to catch our breaths. “We were so good at it, remember?”

The laugh she let escape brought hope to my heart because it sounded far breathier than her usual chuckles of amusement.

“We have to keep practicing,” I insisted, kissing along her jaw as I kept proposing, “so we won’t forget how to bring each other pleasure… should we ever need it again.”

My muscles were straining in the effort to hold back from her, but I could see my gentle advances were paying out. She was the one rocking her hips along my thigh to get some friction, the hand clasping my shoulder seeming to want to both push me away and pull me closer.

“One more time,” I repeated, right over her ear, running my hands up her body, hoping to see her cave. “Just let me fuck you one more time…”

#my series #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #fluff #politician au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes reader inserts #bucky barnes fanfiction

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heli0s-writes · 4 years ago

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It Is Knowing*

HI THANKS FOR EVERYTHING. It’s been a wonderful ride. Here’s the last part of Bag of Tricks. It’s tender and smutty and stupid. All mistakes are my own.

Please stop reading if you are not over 18!

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

He’s terrified.

Suddenly he’s looking at you one way, and then in a flash, the same dumb grin you always give him— the crooked one on the cusp of an ill joke— turns bright white.

It goes brilliant like star fire and during a storm inside a standard-issued cabin hideout, Bucky thinks he must be losing his mind.

And maybe he’s been losing it for a few weeks now, but he’s done a great job dodging the reality of your confession so far. Doesn’t matter what you mumbled—cracked out on exhaustion and sleep-talking—because in the end, you’re his friend and you love him the same way you love everyone else: annoyingly. Nothing’s changed about that.

He hazards another glimpse.

“Help?” You ask from the table, angrily scratching out blocks of an attempted crossword puzzle.

Do it in pencil, he tried to warn earlier, but you only called him chickenshit because you’re—yep—annoying.

“Foudre,” Bucky says carefully and you perk up at the sound of his voice. “It’s a… six-letter French word for thunder.” He clears his throat, gesturing toward the window splattered with rain.

“Oh-ho-ho,” you snort, “Smart boy, aren’t ya? FOO-DRUH.” An incredible bastardization of the term, and you sing around a chewed-up pen cap between your teeth. “My name’s Smart-Boy-Bucky and I know French, Russian, and Updog.”

“What the hell is Updog?”

Your face steels.

“Nothing much, how ‘bout you?”

And instead of going over there to kick your ass, all he can do is stare wordlessly as you break into a laugh—his entire body electric like a live wire.

He keeps telling himself there are only a few days before someone drops in to collect. He just needs a little bit of distance, some time alone to clear his head and get over this—thing.

But his brain feels like it’s melting while he waits, his stomach is probably developing an ulcer, and his heart is so fast and fierce that he can almost see the pulse in his sternum throbbing errantly.

Too many things are wrong. You’re his friend— and Bucky wants to throttle himself a little bit for ever letting you be his friend. You’re an unfiltered, oblivious dumbass and he doesn’t like that at all. You cry over animals and when he gets hurt because you’re an insufferable drama queen, too. He hates that. He does.

The sound of something enormous slamming on the ground makes him dash into the shared bedroom and—oh god, Bucky thinks he’s going to throw up.

First, the mattresses are on the floor.

Second, you’re. wearing. that. stupid. shirt.

The blue one. The one he used to love, hated for a bit, came back around to wearing, and now—yep, he officially hates it again.

“I think you’re too tall for the bunk.” You’re pushing the beds together, unaware of his clenched fists. “So if we sleep diagonally your feet won’t hang off—and can you believe it—” you point to the hem of cerulean brushing against your skin, “I packed three raincoats and no pajamas.”

At the sight of your creeping smile, Bucky loses it.

“Why are you going through my stuff?!” He shouts, gripping the doorframe with enough force to take the molding clear off. “Why are you touching my shit!?” And he probably sounds insane, flying off the handle like this, but he’s got a million grievances against you and this is just the tip of the iceberg.

“Mind your own fucking business!” He’s still unloading, unreasonably frantic at the sight of that terrible color hanging from your shoulders.

Bewildered, you plop down clumsily on your knees, gawking like a deer in the headlights.

Your bare legs, your fingertips on your thighs, the thin sleeves oversized and loose on your forearms, that smear of toothpaste on the collar, the hollow of your throat taut from holding your breath—it makes him want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you dizzy.

It makes him want to touch you. It makes him want you.

He’s sick. He’s dying. He’s so, so fucked.

“What…” Bucky quietly trails off, gasping helplessly as realization sinks in, “…what the hell is wrong with you...”

“Me?!” You shriek back, “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m over here worried about your crusty feet hanging off at night and you just swing in and take a dump on me?”

Bucky groans, miserable and guilty. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “Shit. I’m—I don’t know.”

“Eat my ass, dude!” you sneer, already tucked under the blankets. “I’m going to sleep. Turn off the fucking light you’re going to stand there looking like a dumbass.”

A feeble sigh as Bucky pushes his hands into his face, gripping his hair, pulling his own head back until he’s glaring at the ceiling, listening to the patter on the roof.

“You’re the dumbass,” he whispers.

You’re the dumbass with the emotional regulation problem. The idiot with the temper. The head full of sawdust. But, if it only took three careless words from your blundering mouth to make Bucky fall entirely apart, you must be right after all. He is the dumbass.

He feels split open like the sky—torn up completely, unable to make out anything in his own turbulence.

Fuck.

The sheets shift until he hears them slide off. Then, a pattern of bare feet across hardwood. He must look disastrous in the doorway, bent out of shape in uncharacteristic disarray.

“What is going on with you?” You find his arm, fingers wrapping around his wrists, tugging until they peel off his wretched face. “Why are you so upset? I wear your clothes all the time; I’m always in your stuff.”

He chuckles defeatedly because you really are always in his space. Throwing yourself into in his room. Eating chips in his bed. Squirreling away in his brain. Everywhere. Always.

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line, grimacing as he looks at you. Wordless and vulnerable, he can feel his brow sinking lower, throat narrowing around a swallow as he attempts to fix himself. A stutter falls out, then another, crackling syllables like surfacing thunder but never quite forming a sentence.

The earth groans, shaking the cabin and his precarious soul.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like—”

And then, under a streak of lightning, recognition splits across your face.

“Don’t,” he pleads to the silence, “Don’t say it.”

The seconds stretch into horrible eons of slow passing time. You tilt your head this way and that, eyes going from his face to his hands, limp at his side with your own fingers still grasping on.

“Jesus, Bucky,” you say gently, “You’re—my best friend.”

Bucky shuts his eyes. “I know. I’m not trying—"

“Bucky,” you interrupt, faster now. “Bucky,” suddenly elated and laughing. “Bucky—shut up.”

And then the entire room bursts into flames. Your lips are searing hot against his— plump and eager, leaving scorching trails everywhere they touch, and Bucky burns up like a solar flare trying to catch his breath.

“You’re an idiot,” you laugh, kissing him again. His cheeks, his jaw, his chin. “A real idiot.”

He’s terrified and dizzy, fumbling with a million possible outcomes and failing painfully each time. Relationships never quite work out for him; he’s dated a few girls and liked them a lot, too, but they’ve never turned out how he wanted them to. And this one—this one, he really can’t fuck up.

He’s got a bad track record, and with you, never knowing is much better than losing.

“Hey, you’re going crazy in there. I can hear it.” A sweet smile as your lips hover over his. The sweetest your face as ever looked. “Stop thinking, Bucky. Kiss me.”

Your lashes are so long and pretty. The dip of your cupid’s bow, a shape he adores. Even the tiny scar on your neck and the way your hair moves— wispy strands framing your face. Sounds of happiness tumbling out, hand firmly inside of his.

“It’s just me.” Joyful. Comfortable. “You know me.”

Your eyes glimmer—a familiar color calling him home.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, “Yeah, I do.”

Steve was the more competent linguist in their old days. Rolling French r’s, dropping ending consonants, silky smooth in pronunciation. Bucky’s tongue had always been more supplant to the Eastern European languages but, he knows enough of French—remembers enough from the war to recognize this:

Coup de foudre.

It’s the thing romantics exalt, the thing that half-strikes him now. The thunderbolt.

Love at first sight, even though it’s not quite first sight at all.

It’s not infatuated or starry-eyed. Not blind. Not feeling.

It is knowing.

And yeah, Bucky watches the way you pull him to the floor, euphoric and aglow, Jesus H. Christ, he knows.

This is it for him: your chaos, your entropy, your impulse. Your lack of personal space and foresight and good fucking sense. But—your kindness, too. Your care. Your heart.

Calm and patient as you settle down into his lap, the warm weight of you seems to be the only thing keeping him on earth.

“Can I touch you?” You ask shyly.

His voice is barely audible, hands unsure of where to rest, heart swollen in his throat.

Bucky flushes, and in the split second of your tongue sweeping over your bottom lip, he tells himself do it, you coward, just fucking do it—and god help him, he does.

He presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collar and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs and instinctively pulling everything off.

You’re both surprised and excited, blinking at his urgency, and then you start scrambling, too.

His shirt gets flung behind your back. Both pants disappear somewhere else. One hand goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

Bucky stutters breathlessly like he might go into shock. “You’re all fucking— oh fuckin’ hell.”

You only arch into it, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger, kissing the bristles of his jaw. You’re soft and warm and he’s utterly overcome. Little noises fall from one mouth to another. An awkward shift and your thighs slip off his, head knocking into him, but neither of you are bothered.

He feels perfect in your hands. A silly grin blooms on your lips before you tip forward and glide yourself over his length, rubbing back and forth, hips moving easily.

His abs clench in time with his fists, wet fingers digging into his palms, bit-back groans barely contained. You keep going, marveling at the way he’s sensitive, kissing his neck, letting him feel good. Bucky begins to protest, embarrassed at the way you’re moving, at how he’s unquestionably powerless.

“S-slow—hold on—“

“Let me do it, Buck.” He’s so hard it hurts. “I wanna learn everything you like.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Bucky holds himself to calm down, other hand steadying your teasing. Nothing’s happened yet and he might already blow his whole fucking load.

“Okay—just—will you give me a second--"

Using the position you’re already in, he lifts you up and brings you back down, a bit at a time until you’re landing on his hand with a gasp. He uses his fist as a stopper, letting you have it slow, feeling you shudder from inside your goddamn bones with every further inch until he takes it away and you shimmy down to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back. And you look perfect.

“Was it good?” He blurts, “With Thor?”

He doesn’t know why it slips out; he never thinks about it, honest. It was a hook up. One time—and he’s not jealous like that because you’re all adults, and it’s not like he’s a virgin or an ascetic, either. You freeze, but he really is an idiot because instead of apologizing or rectifying that outburst, he cuts you off.

“I can give it to you better.”

Because Bucky wants to. He really does.

He presses onward before you can respond, taking hold of what little courage he has, making you whimper, feeling prouder as he goes. Another one and you’re meeting him with a roll of your own hips. Another one, harder now, and you’re shaking on top, tipping him backward into the cushions, grinding recklessly with that exhilaration he adores.

“Bucky, you feel amazing.” Tongue-tied like a schoolboy, he’s keening after your words. “Can I have you all the time?” And Jesus wept who knew you could talk so sweet and filthy.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky promises, his jaw hanging open in awe, “I’m yours. You can have me as much as you want— anytime.”

You bite your lip, skin of it pulled taut and snapping back bruised, light-headed and reeling. Glistening across your collarbones with his spit, body trembling like a high note. He feels it— just a little more— god, you look incredible— he’s gotta hold out for this— and then—fuck.

It’s wet and divine when you come. Slick and tight, dragging him under as you ride out your orgasm, pulling him in like he belongs in you forever.

And he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Bucky could die happy seeing your face like this every day.

It’s rougher in the morning. In the shower, soaking together. Faster.

On the couch, next. With him asking you to put your hand here, move your leg there.

He wants to learn everything you like, too.

You eagerly change positions, giggling when your knee slips and you pitch forward onto his chest. The two of you take a moment to compose yourselves, pinching each other, kissing in-between. He commits to memory the way your lids flutter when he touches you. The way everything moves easy and wonderful, sometimes lazy, sometimes harried, but always fun.

Yelping when you bite too hard. Biting you back even harder. Positions neither of you have surprisingly tried before, but why not start?

Cursing. So much cursing. A lot of it good—fuck me, yes, more, don’t stop—but truthfully, most of it stays about the same.

Barnes, you got a juicy ass.

Will you shut up!

And he never thought a person was supposed to laugh so hard during sex, or if maybe that’s just your own brand of love, but he doesn’t want to find out with anyone else.

It’s the fifth time, and Bucky’s dick is about to fall off—how are you still doing this—just a few thrusts in when the banging on the front door frightens the both of you into your clothes.

Sam swings it open and Bucky is desperately tucking himself into his pants before—please, no.

“It smells like ass in here!” Sam hollers, “The hell have you two been—oh my god.”

“Shut up, Sam!” You respond from the corner of the room, head ripping through the neck hole of a sweater, legs wiggling into a pair shorts. Bucky is still shirtless, hoping he might spontaneously combust.

“Oh my god,” Sam whispers again, “Oh… my god.” He sputters on the verge of either eruption or death.

“You freaky little—” he hisses, before screaming, “Oh hell no! I’m here picking y’all asses up. Landed the damn jet like two miles away, walked my happy ass through the rain— you butt-ass-naked in here—” He stands ram-rod straight, hands on his hips angrily. “I’m tellin’ on y’all.”

“Telling on?! What are you, five!? You’re so annoying, Sam!”

“Annoying? What’s annoying is—I’m wet! And well— you wet too, huh?”

“I hate you.”

Sam snickers, high-fiving himself before crossing his arms, “Really though, believe me when I say this for everybody who’s ever met you two: finally. Now get y’all freaky asses outside so I can go home and drink myself into forgetting I ever saw Barnes’ dick.”

You pat him on the shoulder, “It’s nice, huh?”

Sam dry-heaves, “Uh-uh. That’s enough. Go wash your damn hands.”

A few minutes later, Bucky locks the door to a now silent cabin, damp with sweat and the smell of earth. It’s torrential still, two days bucketing and the ground is so wet mud goes up to his ankles. Luckily, and he wants to laugh at that, you packed two extra raincoats.

Thunderclaps shake the very ground he stands on. Bucky turns to look at you, marveling when electricity bounces off your eyes, lighting up your face. He reaches over.

A squeeze to your hand that says I’m yours.

One more, tighter. I love you.

You slot your fingers between his. I know.

You smile at the next streak in the sky. Me too.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #reader insert #fanfiction #mcu

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navegandoaciegas · 4 years ago

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Devotion

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader [Priest AU]

Warnings: priest!Bucky, explicit language, smut, loss of virginity (Bucky), sex in a church, altar sex, desecrating and blasphemous thoughts and actions, oral sex (M receiving), unprotected sex. Both parties are consenting adults.

Summary: Father James wants you to be his first, and hopefully his one and only.

The white collar around his neck brands his soft skin like scorching iron when you pull it down to you, your cotton candy lips as sweet as sin as they melt into his, your body pliant and warm. He’s never known that doing wrong would feel so good.

There’s fire burning within him, his skin feverish, his breath ragged, as he gives into the temptation of the flesh. He’s tried resisting at first, back when he still thought of himself as Father James.

The lord is my shepherd, and I lack nothing.

But he’s strayed from the herd the day you’ve shown up at the confessional, your soul so light, and bright, your sins not weighing you down, and there’s no way for him to find his path back to salvation, not when nothing’s ever felt as right as his hands on your body and your sweet moans in his ears.

“Wait.”, he stutters when your hands reach his belt, eyes downcast and chest heaving. The cross around his neck has never felt heavier. “I- I’ve never done this before.”

He’s embarrassed. It’s always been right, the way it’s supposed to be, but not now, not when all he wants to do is get on his knees and worship every inch of your body, not when all he wants to do is please you until you are as devoted to him as he is to you.

He’s expecting you to laugh at his face for being a virgin in his late 20s, but you don’t; there’s a small smile on your lips as understanding dawns in your eyes.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, or feel comfortable with.” you whisper in a soft voice, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so caring, “We can just sit here and hold hands. I won’t force you to do anything, ever. And I don’t want you to feel like we have to do this.”

He ponders your words for a second, his hands still hesitant on your hips. He’s never touched a woman before, but he wants to touch you, he wants all of you, only you, more than he’s ever wanted anything before.

“I want to-, I want you, I want you to be the one.”

He wonders if you understand how much, and if the fire in your eyes is only lust, or love.

“Are you sure?” you ask one more time, and when he reassures you he’s never been more sure about anything in his life, you slant your mouth against his again. Teeth clattering, tongues intertwining, he doesn’t know where to put his hands, so he draws circles on your waist until you take pity on him, and you move his arms so he can graze the flesh of your breasts, revelling in the way your nipples stiffen under his caresses. His back hits the marble top of the altar, and his breath hitches when you palm him through his pants.

When he raises his gaze he sees Jesus on the cross, and he’s almost ashamed of himself, until you reach inside his briefs and stroke his cock, and a strangled moan escapes him, the cross forgotten by now.

You're intrigued by his shyness, your desire to ruin him, tarnish his soul with the same stains on yours, growing with each soft caress. He has no clue how to touch a woman, but you feel the coil in your core build rapidly anyways.

He’s so pretty under the candlelight, his flushed cheeks, the speckles on his nose, the blue of his eyes completely swallowed by darkness. You wonder how a man so innocent could be so intoxicating.

“I want you, James.”

Four words are all it takes for something primal, something animalistic to snap inside him, his hands relying on instinct as they roam all over your body, his mouth sucking bruises on the tender flesh of your neck, the whimpers that escape you like music in his ears.

A sweep of your arms, the golden cups hit the ground, the clattering reverberating in the empty church.

It’s exhilarating the way he’ll preach tomorrow morning at 10 and you’ll be there, on the first bench.

“Please.”, he whines, “Do something.”

A wicked glint crosses your eyes. “Beg me. Beg for me like you pray for your Lord.”

Frustration does things to the body that make you forget the shame and humiliation that burn your cheeks. “Please angel, please touch me, I need it so bad, I’ll do anything for you.”

Your chuckle is pure evil against the tears pooling in his eyes and his hips grinding on you in a weak attempt to soothe his aching cock.

You don’t need to be told twice before you get on your knees, ready to worship him.

“What are you doing?” he stammers, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as you free his cock and it springs up, his girth almost intimidating.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you deadpan, before you lick the tip, your hand stroking his shaft slowly enough to torture him.

“I didn’t- I didn’t know you could-” he inhales sharply when you take him in your mouth, and his eyes roll to the back of his head, all thoughts forgotten as you bob your head like a woman on a mission. Dark thick hair rub against your nose as you fight against the ache in your jaw, swallowing him whole.

It doesn’t last long however, and you hear him curse when you fondle with his balls, a choked groan and some incoherent words escaping him before he cums deep in your throat, his heady taste reaching your tongue when your choke on his release, cum dripping down on your chin.

He tries to speak, justify himself, embarrassed by his admittedly short performance, and he doesn’t need experience to understand that it’s bad, very bad, but words fail him, his mind focused on the electricity that shakes his body as the tight knot in his belly unravels, and he sees stars for a second. You don’t let him sulk long before you sit on the altar and beckon him to join you.

“On the altar?” he asks, hesitancy clear in his voice, some remnants of his pure soul lingering somewhere inside him.

“Yes, sweet boy, I want you to fuck me on the altar.”

He blushes deeper, a small smile finding its way on his face despite the embarrassment.

You straddle him, your need to have him buried balls deep inside you growing the more you taste him on your tongue. You wish to ruin him and be ruined by him.

You grind your hips on his, feeling him grow hard again. You walls throb, and you’re desperate to release the ache in your cunt.

In a blur all your clothes and his cassock are on the ground. He marvels at your curves, your soft skin, your glistening folds.

It can’t be wrong when it feels so right. Love can never be wrong, he hopes.

Hungry kisses, heated touches, you grab him in your hand, your gaze boring into one another’s as you sink onto his cock. He grunts and wills his pleasure back this time, hoping he won’t embarrass himself again.

It feels so good, therefore it can’t be wrong, your walls accommodating him, clenching on him, his girth stretching you just right, your clit brushing against his pubic bones.

It’s wrong, but it feels so right to fuck him on the holy countertops he breaks the bread and pours the wine on, under the watchful eyes of saints and cherubs. Some are disappointed, some smirk, you think.

You grind your hips, feeling your core get hotter, his cock brushing against all the right places. “God, you feel so good, you’re doing so good, sweet boy.” you moan, the tip of his thick cock hitting the spongy spot inside you.

“I can’t last much longer.” he groans, his strong arms around you. He grabs you, and moves you, desperately trying to hold himself back and please you.

More sloppy thrusts before his hot load shoots inside you again, painting your walls and filling you so nicely that it tips you over the edge, your orgasm shaking you from the core to every limb, your cunt clenching down on his cock and milking every last drop he has to offer.

There’s no words as you pant against one another, the air heavy with incense and sex. When his cock goes soft inside you, his cum drips onto the altar cloth where he’ll preach Sunday mass tomorrow morning.

“I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” you mumble in his ear, “And watch you squirm as you preach and remember how good it felt to be in my pussy, on this same altar.”

God, he’s so fucked.

This oneshot can be read on its own, or as a part of no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin. It takes place before the second confession… the one where they masturbate in the confessional. Maybe send in some priest!Bucky hc or ideas if you want to read more of these two?

A/N: If you liked this, please consider reblogging and leaving some feedback. You don’t have to, but it helps me immensely. Thank you for reading, love you all.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #priest!bucky #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #marvel smut #james barnes x reader #bucky barnes

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st4rlabsforever · 4 years ago

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Based on this post by @fenny2613 re: the sambucky hug in the finale: “Another theory though is that this was the first time they ever hugged and Bucky just goes for it at a time when Sam would least expect it and Sam just goes with it and definitely will be talking with Bucky about it later”

part 1 of a 5+1 fic (WIP)

“Where is everyone?” Sam hears Bucky ask, even as Bucky makes eye contact with him where he’s busy taking photos with the locals.

It’s probably bad form for Sam to break away from the not insignificant line of eager children and adults both, but Bucky’s already heading towards him like Sam knew he would. What happens next, though, is wholly unexpected: Sam reaches a hand out to pull Bucky in close, Bucky reaches out to grasp it even as Sam turns his head to greet Mr. Arceneaux, and the next thing Sam knows he’s being reeled in towards Bucky for an honest-to-God hug, and is that his chin resting on Sam’s shoulder?

It’s…a good hug, Sam admits to himself. He can say that much even with half of his attention focused on Mr. Arceneaux. And it’s not like he hadn’t already known Bucky was a dispenser of fantastic hugs, seen him dole them out on exactly two occasions – to Wanda after Stark’s funeral, to Shuri after being de-iced in Wakanda, and they’d both looked like they’d melted right into Bucky’s arm(s). It’s just that it’s not something Sam and Bucky ever do. Hugging. Even with the past month now behind them, they’re more inclined to claps on the back, shoulders, arms, even a firm handshake.

The moment is over nearly as soon as it’s begun, though, and Sam means to say something or at least give Bucky shit for it, but when Sam looks over at him, he’s gazing round at the partygoers with such awe and wonder – like he’s just so damn happy to be a part of this moment – that Sam really doesn’t have it in him to even tease the guy. Tonight is technically an ode to Delacroix’s hometown hero, and yet in a small way, it’s also a celebration for Bucky even if none of these people know of the demons he’s had to overcome to make it here today.

And then the townspeople are dragging Sam off for more photos, Sarah’s hugging him, AJ and Cass demand to see the shield again. Getting to revel in this moment with his family – his community – is really the best celebration he could’ve asked for.

By the time he’s walking off the pier with Bucky by his side, the hug is long forgotten. Or at least, it is until they’re back on Sarah’s porch away from prying eyes and Bucky’s arms engulf him when he least expects it. Metal and flesh both squeeze so tightly around his back that Sam exhales in surprise. Five seconds pass, and Sam wraps his arms around Bucky, too. Ten, twenty, and Bucky still won’t let go. The feeling of a warm body against his own is...nice. Bucky smells of pine and citrus, and Sam knows it’s because he’d used Sam’s body wash that morning. Thirty. Bucky buries his face in the crook of Sam’s shoulder and sighs like this is the only thing he’s ever wanted – like he might die without the contact.

A startling thought occurs to Sam: this is probably the most physical contact Bucky’s had since breaking free from HYDRA, which means it’s the most physical contact he’s probably had since the goddamn forties. That thought in itself is depressing enough, but then Sam starts to think about how long it’s been for himself. Definitely nothing after the Blip. The quick friendly hugs from Steve before then didn’t count. Natasha wasn’t the sort to do hugs, and neither was he particularly close with any of the other Avengers. Then the last time someone truly held him the way Bucky’s doing now would have been…

The weight of it hits him like a freight train.

It would have been Riley, fifteen goddamn years ago. Twenty, if he includes blipped years. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans further into Bucky’s hold. Bucky, who hasn’t a clue as to the kaleidoscope of thoughts currently assaulting Sam, but still holds on tight. And maybe this hug right here and now is enough. It has to be because Sam’s in no state to let his thoughts wander into such thoroughly lonely territory tonight.

“Thanks for everything,” Bucky says softly, finally pulling away.

“No problem,” Sam says. He just barely manages to keep his voice from shaking.

After that, the hugs become their “thing.” It’s always Bucky who initiates them, and unlike the first two times, he doesn’t bother waiting for Sam to let his guard down anymore, just goes right in. They hug after missions – success or failure – a quick embrace before news crews, paparazzi, and bystanders can gather and ogle. They hug after particularly close calls, tight and harried like Bucky needs to make sure Sam is still with him in the flesh. And – Sam thinks he likes these the most – they hug when Bucky comes down to Delacroix on the weekends and Sam meets him at the airport, every weekend without fail. These ones are all-encompassing, much more like their hug on Sarah’s porch than any of the others. Like Bucky physically aches from the distance and time apart and Sam is the balm for his weary soul.

And if Bucky doesn’t know that Sam needs this just as much as he does, well, Sam isn’t going to tell him. Why ruin a good thing when the comfortable silence is enough for them both? So they don’t really ever talk about the hugs, the same way they never talk about Steve or getting dusted – and it’s fine. Really. Just two broken people with too much responsibility on their shoulders trying to make it through the day-to-day of this mostly broken world.

Of course, Bucky has to almost ruin it when one muggy summer evening he says, “I’m not gonna walk out on you again,” more into the crook of Sam’s shoulder than to Sam himself.

“Huh?” Sam’s brain is mostly still loopy from the shot of serotonin that comes with the hugs.

“After Thanos,” Bucky says. “All you tried to do was reach out and I couldn’t even be fucked to send a text.”

“Jesus, Barnes.” The last name is meant to put some distance between them, but Sam doesn’t think it works. He wants to play it off – act like it was no big deal, except that’s not really the truth. It had hurt more than Sam cared to admit that his only living connection to the shield and Steve’s legacy had blown him off like it was nothing. Not that the kind of guidance Sam had needed at the time could have been found with Bucky, but having someone by his side would’ve undeniably eased the burden just a little bit.

He settles on: “That’s all in the past.”

Bucky shakes his head, misty-eyed. “I want you to know it’s not like that anymore,” he says emphatically. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Sam’s heart goes aflutter and he resolutely ignores it.

“No need to get all sappy on me,” Sam says and slings an arm around Bucky’s shoulder. So not working. Bucky leans in to the touch. “Let’s head inside. The boys are gonna be mad if you keep them waiting much longer.”

Bucky grins, more genuine than not. They don’t talk about it, but everything is fine.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #tfatws #my writing

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theweirdymcweirderson · 4 years ago

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Some you win and some, well, you win. - James B. Barnes

Author: theweirdymcweirderson

Characters: Reader, James B. Barnes

Relationships: Bucky Barnes×Reader

Word count: 1206 (these are getting longer and longer, sorry)

Summary: Bucky and the reader engage in some teasing games.

Warnings: 18+, Pet names, Boyfriend!Bucky, explicit words, lead up to smut, teasing, Bucky Barnes’ fucking arm, light chocking I guess, kinda Dom!Bucky. That’s it I think, let me know if you fiind more.

Notes: You may wonder what this is, the answer to that is I don’t know :)

It’s written in a third person’s point of view, but it’s still reader insert, I guess. ‘*Name’ stand for (Y/n), sorry, I’m lazy :)

••••••••••••••••••

She watches as he moves from the counter to the fridge, entranced by the way his sweats shift following his movements, loving the way they cling to his thighs. She’s in absolute love with those thighs of betrayal of his.

She can’t help herself; she’s fucking starving and James Buchanan Barnes is a whole damn meal.

His metal arm pulls the fridge open, and she’s certain her cheeks are flushing red courtesy of the thoughts swirling in her head about that beautiful arm in general, and those thick fingers of his in particular. His hand resurfaces from behind the door with a water bottle and the panties she’s wearing dampen before he even brings it up to his lips.

Her eyes are glued to him as his pink tongue darts out for a quick swipe over those full lips of his before the neck of the bottle makes contact with them. She groans her appreciation and his cloudy blues find her; a small, smug smile spreading on his face as he purposefully lets a drop escape to trail down his chin and along his neck.

She envisions her tongue slowly licking up that trail and in doing so, she clenches her thighs together, anything to get some friction and alleviate the ache. Bucky is full on grinning now as he lowers the bottle, there’s a teasing laugh that lights up his eyes and she wants nothing more than to walk over to him and kiss the smugness off his beautiful face. She doesn’t, though, because she already knows how this dance ends, and it’s a very happy ending.

James Buchanan Barnes is a fucking tease and she’s a sucker for the anticipation.

“Something you want, dollface?”

She shakes her head, smiles seductively at him and slides down in the armchair she’s sitting on, spreading her legs as she gets in a more comfortable position for their little game. His eyes dart down, and they darken, pupils dilating to leave a barely visible ring of the steely blue she loves so much. Bucky lets his eyes linger and then slowly brings them up, taking his sweet ass time in mapping her body.

There’s a filthy promise in Bucky’s eyes when they meet hers once more, and her heart skips a beat when he leans back against the counter. He’s not going to make the first move. Teasing, however, he’s going to do plenty of that.

His hand reaches for the fruit basket and he has the guts of winking her way as he grabs a banana. She chuckles with a shake of her head, he might be sexy as hell, but he is just as childish.

Bucky takes his time as he peels the fruit, eyes locked on hers, watching as her gaze follows his fingers; he knows her weaknesses and he plans on using each one of them to his advantage. As he brings the banana up to take his first bite, he makes it so that his movements deliberately pull his t-shirt up in the process, blessing her with a glimpse of his well-defined lower abdomen. That’s the only reason behind his sweats always hanging low on his hips.

She loves the glimpses and he loves how much she loves them.

The happy trail she hardly has a chance to see, is like a neon sign directing her to the jackpot. If she wasn’t so competitive, she’d already be sliding to her knees. Her tongue pokes out, wetting her parted lips before it settles against the corner of mouth, teasing him as much as it’s teasing her as their minds wander.

His right hand finds his cock and he readjusts himself, the way his nostrils flare and his bicep flexes with the twitch of his fingers, informs her of the effect her simple actions are having on him. She feels forever in debt to whoever invented muscle tees.

Bucky undresses her with his eyes, and his next bite is far more frustration ridden than the first.

When he switches hands, brings the metal one down to cup himself, she crumbles, breaks and melts right there under his gaze and he grins wolfishly. She gets up, sways her way to him and he licks his lips, traps the lower one under his teeth when she comes to stand in front of him.

The half-eaten banana is discarded on the counter behind him as he leans back on his hands, waiting for her next move. He fucking loves winning.

Her hand reaches up, thumb tracing his bottom lip, releasing it from his teeth while she cups his jaw. She stares until she gets her fill and then leans up to ghost her lips on his.

“Such a pretty fucking face. Just made to be sat on.”

He ducks down, feathers his lips along her cheekbones as he walks her back until he has her trapped against the island. Thigh slotting between hers, he brings his hands low on her hips, drags them tortuously up until they borrow under the t-shirt she has on; the shiver that runs through her is nothing compared to things he's going to do to her and yet, it does things to him.

Oh yeah, he really fucking loves winning.

“Too bad, dollface, 's already taken.”

She pouts briefly, and damn if he doesn’t love the little jut of her bottom lip, always begging to be sucked on. Then her hands are moving from where they have found their place around his midriff, gliding down his sides, until they reach his Adonis belt and pull on the elastic band of the stupid grey sweatpants she adores on him. She may complain about what a tease he is, but she’s just as bad.

“Anything I can do to convince you to make an exception, sarge?”

“Getting desperate for it, aren’t we?”

He nudges her nose with his, whispers the words against her lips; hands pulling her down to press on his thigh as he flexes his quad just to get that sharp intake of breath out of her.

“Don’t get cocky, Barnes, you may have won this round, but I’m gonna have you fucking begging next time.”

A chuckle rumbles up his chest, husky and deep, and she feels it reverberating against her chest as his eyes bore into hers, flames lighting his calming blues with dark intent. He pulls her sharply up until their hips connect and she can feel how hard his cock is for her; he smells the arousal pooling in her panties, hears the gush of wetness.

“Bold of you to threaten when you know who’s gonna be making the rules, *Name.”

“Bold of you to assume I can’t take your worst, big boy.”

The sentence finishes in a rush of breath out of her parted lips as he easily hoists her up, metal arm around her waist as his flesh hand wraps around her throat. She loves his blatant displays of brute force, they tap in some primitive part of her brain and never fail to render her a speechless, needy mess for him.

“Gonna fuck that attitude right out of you, dollface.”

James Buchanan Barnes loves winning, and sometimes, when he gets like this, she really loves losing.

Find more stuff here

#Bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #theweirdymcweirderson's fics #marvel drabble #marvel smut #marvel fanfiction #Bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james barnes smut

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donutloverxo · 4 years ago

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These other asks about mobster Steve got me dreaminnn!! Steve actin all tough to his men but u have him wrapped around his finger and it never fails to make everyone else shook can u imagine

OwO that's the dream girl. A bad boy all soft for his girl🥺🥺

Read part two here

Torture, dark themes, hostages

"Come on man.... just let me go..I told you I don't know anything." The man said despondently. Knowing that it didn't really matter. He was dead as soon as he was caught.

"This can all end. It's up to you. Give up your boss." Steve demanded. His jaw clenched and brows furrowed. Unlike his pal Bucky, he never took any kind of pleasure in killing or hurting anyone. But in this world no one can afford to be soft.

"I can't." He sobbed "If I do he'll kill me. Better you than him." He shook his head accepting his fate.

"As you wish then." Bucky smirked pulling his knife closer to his neck. Ready to slice it open and watch it taint with crimson.

"No Buck." Steve stopped him. "I have to do this." He stood up one of his guys handing him a gun. He cocked it and pointed it "Let this be a message..."

"What do you mean I can't see him!" He almost jumped when he vaguely heard your voice.

"Boss is busy right now." Peter begged trying to get you as far away as he could. If you found out what Steve really does...

"Pete come on! He's in there! Just let me go." You tried to open the door but the teens arms stopped you. "I want to see him!" You stomped your foot. "Steve! I know you're in there!" You yelled and resorted to threats when no reply came "If you don't come out right now, this will be the last you hear from me." Silence "Fine have a nice life! I'll go pack my bags and spend the night with my ex!"

You were about to leave when you heard the door open. Your anger melted away at the sight of him. His tie loosely hanging around his neck, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled upto his elbows, his forhead glistening.

"I'm in the middle of something sweetheart. Can we talk later?" He asked as he came out into the hallway and locked his cabin behind him.

"No! We can't. You haven't been home in three days! Three days Steve!" He winced as you screamed.

"I know. But I've been busy with work. Where I make money. So can buy you pretty things. Treat you how you deserve to be treated." Yeah he was just buttering you up now but he wasn't lieing. He never lied to you. Ommisson if information doesn't count as lying to him.

"Steven" You growled and he knew he was in trouble "I don't give a shit about those stupid shiny rocks or bags or dresses! Fuck!" You tried to breathe to calm yourself "You missed my cousins wedding you asshole!"

Steve clenched his jaw again at that. God he loved you more than anything else in the world but it really did hurt when you called him such names. Names that he does deserve. "I'm sorry doll I'll make it up to you." He tried to coax you.

"Don't you doll me! My aunt tried to set me up at the wedding! She thought I was making you up." You huffed.

"I know doll. I'm sorry. I - how about I take you to Paris for a week?" He offered.

"Not just Paris but the whole of Europe. And make it one month."

"Honey you're not being reasonable..."

"Steve they kept saying I'll die a spinster. Which doesn't sound that bad right now. Or maybe I should take my aunt up on her offer."

"Alright." He finally relented. Knowing how headstrong and vindictive you can be you might actually go through with your empty threats. "Europe. One month. You have the platinum card right?" You nodded still pouting at him "Go use it and start packing. I need a few days to take care of things here." He kissed your cheek.

"Fine. But I'm not forgiving you till my feet touch those amazing beaches in Italy." You said as Peter escorted out to drive you home.

Steve finally took a deep breath and went back inside. To finish what he started. He picked up the again and looked up to see Sam and Bucky staring at him.

"Man you're so whipped." Sam snickered shaking his head.

"I can see why you like her. She's an excellent negotiator." Bucky gave him a small smile as he pulled out another nail from their hostages hand.

"Enough" Steve said cocking the gun again to finish the job before Bucky does it for him.

#berrys drabbles #steve rogers x reader #mob!steve rogers x reader #dark bucky #chris evans x reader

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imaginesofharrypotter · 4 years ago

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Asgardian ale

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Thor brought some Asgardian booze to the party. Surely, nothing can go wrong.

Warnings: a little bit of angst I guess, but mostly fluffy Bucky

Last night, it was one of Tony Stark's notorious parties but only including the Avengers. Everyone was dragged there as it was mandatory, "team-building fun" as Tony liked to put it. Surprisingly enough Thor showed up and brought something with him that made the party all the more exciting: Asgardian ale.

You see, the two super soldiers were so enhanced that they could never get drunk and let loose, with human alcohol that is. It was truly a sight to behold. Pre-serum Steve had so many ill conditions that alcohol was off-limit and boy, did he enjoy the calm feeling of the booze. The always polite Captain America ran around the tower shouting nonsense, swearing while he tried to lift Thor's hammer and cutely but miserably flirting with Natasha (but given the unlikely situation, it made the assassin blush nonetheless)

You were laughing your ass off on the couch with Wanda when two strong arms draped around your shoulder making you look up.

"Hi Soldier" - you greeted your boyfriend who had an adorable cheeky grin on his face

"Hi, Beautiful" - he planted a sloppy kiss on your mouth that made all eyes wander from Steve towards the two of you

You see, Bucky never was a fan of PDA, rarely showing affection when the others were around. That was fine with you, you understood that he was a private person, and it made his love for you even more precious, knowing he would make it up when in your shared room alone. He was a big, sentimental, clingy, and handsy person and you wouldn't have it any other way. It was so sweet that you were the only one seeing this affectionate side of him... Up until last night.

"I miss youuuu" he purred in your ear, tone slightly slurred by the alcohol

"But I'm right here, Buck" - you cocked an eyebrow and smiled sweetly at him

"I miss your warmth" - he cornered the couch and sat down next to you, instantly wrapping his arms around you in a side hug, nuzzling your neck.

"Better?" - you asked in a whisper as you started stroking his hair, just the way he likes it

"Soooo much" - he purred again, closing his eyes and inhaling your scent - "You smell so gooood"

You chuckled lightly and yelped as you felt yourself being lifted. You landed on Bucky's lap, him pulling you flesh to him and tightly wrapping his arms around you, resting his head on one of your shoulders. You laid back and let yourself relax in your boyfriend's embrace, closing your eyes, and feeling utterly content. That is until a flash went off.

"Hey" - you exclaimed as you saw Sam holding his phone and showing the photo that he just took to everyone

"Oh, calm down Snowflake, it's not every day that we get to see Mr. Grumpy so kind and calm." - he shrugged his shoulders

"At least send it to me then." - you asked him, already knowing what your new phone wallpaper will be

You lightly turned your head to see Bucky's reaction, only to find him still in the same position, contently sitting with closed eyes and a little smile plastered on his face.

The rest of the night mostly contained talking and laughing as everyone gathered around you. During the late hours, slowly, everyone went back to their rooms. You haven't failed to see Steve following Nat out and to her room. You smiled to yourself then you tried to think about a way to get you and Bucky into a comfortable position to sleep. You assumed that he had fallen asleep a long time ago as he never said a word all night, nor did he move after snuggling up with you. You slowly loosened his arms around you.

"Wanna go to sleep, doll?" - he asked and you jumped a little bit on his lap - "Sorry to startle you" - he chuckled lightly and hugged you tightly again

"It's okay, I just thought you were asleep" - you turned halfway and smiled down lovingly at him

"Nope" - he popped the p in it - "Was just too comfortable to move or say anything" - Bucky smiled goofily up at you while your heart melted

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself" - you caressed one of his cheeks, basking in the feeling as he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch - "Are you feeling sleepy yet?"

"I could sleep" - he mumbled tiredly while picking you up bridal style and carrying you to your shared bedroom

He put you on the floor and kissed you sweetly. It was a gentle and loved filled kiss, not hungry, nor rushing, just full of passion. He pulled away and undressed you slowly, trailing little wet kisses on your skin as he exposed it. After you were only standing in your panties he walked to the closet, picked out one of his T-shirts, and pulled it over you. Bucky loved it when you wore his clothes, it was a sense of pride that you were his and his alone. You started to undress him too, focusing on his clothing but you knew his gaze never left you as he followed your every movement with an expression filled with adoration. You pulled out a drawer and picked out a fresh boxer for him and panties for you. You both changed and got under the covers, Bucky instantly nuzzling your stomach and wrapping his arms around you the best he could. You reflexively started to card your fingers through his luscious brown locks and felt him hum against your skin while planting a soft kiss on it.

"I love it so much when you are this affectionate" - you laid your head on the soft pillow

"I can't help it, you are so soft and warm, the best feeling ever" - he mumbled softly and you heard his breath even out

"Sweet dreams, my love" - you kissed the crown of his head gently and drifted to sleep yourself

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A loud crash woke you up from your slumber. You turned around, wanting nothing more than to nuzzle into your boyfriend's warm body, but you found his spot empty and cold.

You yawned and walked to the kitchen to get some breakfast for yourself. Steve was already there, making coffee for himself, his back to you.

"Well, well, I didn't know purple was on the new Captain America color palette" - you commented with an obvious smirk as you saw the not so little love bites around his neck"

"Thor should definitely not bring that ale on a party again" - he laughed nervously while turning around and sipping his coffee

"Ohhh, on the contrary, Stevie. I will personally ask him to do so if it makes you finally admit your feelings" - your smiled turned more soft - "How much do you remember?"

"Everything" - he face-palmed himself - "The strength of the alcohol was enough to set me loose but not enough to make me forget things or even to have a hangover"

With that, you took out your phone to check social media. The first pic that came up nearly made you drop the device. Before you could ask Steve about it, Sam came running into the room, screaming, while a very angry looking Bucky followed him with heavy steps.

"Take it down" - your boyfriend demanded with a growl, the authority in his voice making your legs week

"No way man, where is the fun in it, there are already thousands of view on it" - Sam retorted while trying to hide behind you, knowing Bucky would never hurt you

"Oh, no, you are not getting me into this" - you stepped away, but towards your love - "Sweatheart, what got you this mad?"

"Oh, why not ask Birdie here?" - he still threw daggers with his eyes towards Sam

You thought about the post with the caption "The big bad Winter Soldier is actually a big softie #BuckyBear" that Wilson made and uploaded.

"Is this about the picture from last night? Do you not like it?" - you asked softly

"Of course I do, you are on it" - he smiled lovingly at you, his voice softened - "But other people aren't supposed to see and like it" - he mumbled and pouted like an adorable child

"Oh, honey, but we look so good. We've been together for almost two years, it's only natural that we love being affectionate towards each other" - you put your hands on his cheeks, lightly caressing them

"So it wouldn't bother you if I hold your hand or kiss you in front of others?" - he asked shyly, avoiding eye contact

"Of course not. I would really love that. But I respect your choice of privacy if it's not okay with you." - you reassured him

He didn't answer verbally, just bent down and captured your lips in a passionate, deep kiss.

"Ewww, get a room" - Sam exclaimed loudly, making you break the kiss

"You cooked yourself a meal, now you're gonna eat it" - and with that, you went back kissing Bucky

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From that moment on, Bucky always kept an arm around you and was never afraid to show his love for you. It turned out that he was a real sucker for PDA, knowing you loved his attention. You were also able to finally shower him with love anytime you wanted, to cuddle up to him and relax, and to go to long walks, holding hands. You two were never overdoing it though, but the team never minded it anyway. Everyone knew how happy and calm moments are so rare in the field of work you were doing, they were truly happy for you. Maybe Sam not so much, especially when Bucky randomly grabbed you and kissed you deeply whenever he walked in, pissing him off and reminding him that he never should invade your privacy again. Oh, and Bucky never admitted it, but he actually was grateful for Sam to take the photo that now served as his wallpaper too.

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Author's note: I have a bunch of ideas of Bucky, so most probably I'm gonna post about him for a while. But also really wanna write something sweet for Tj Hammond. What are your thoughts? Have a lovely day ^^

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mmimagine-40 · 4 years ago

Text

An Omega’s feelings

Alpha!Sam and Bucky x Omega!Reader

Friendship Omega!Peter Parker x Omega!reader

Sam , Bucky, and Y/n are mated. But this doesn’t going into much detail about it. This is more about a blooming friendship between Peter and the Reader.

Peter sighs quietly as he reads over the article on the tablet. ‘Omega trying to play hero’, an article about a fight Peter was in. During the fight Peter was to slow get a little boy fully out of harm's way. The little boy ended up hurt badly. Thanks to Peter being quick to get him to the hospital the boy lived. Peter , or actually Spider man , went and saw the little boy a few days later. He remembers the family crying and thanking him over and over. Even the little boy smiling so big in the hospital bed thanking him and saying how he was his hero. But still the article hit something deep within him. Even after knowing the boy is okay and after everyone telling him it’s not his fault, he had no control over what happened, it still bugged him. And seeing the things people are saying about it hurt worse. The number one thing , ‘If he was an Alpha that boy wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place’. The stigma that omegas are weak. They shouldn’t be heroes. Peter knows he shouldn’t let it bug him. It’s just Alpha’s who want to keep the idea that they have control and power over omegas. That omegas should be kept weak and only to please their alphas. In today's world that’s not how it goes anymore. Omegas are stepping up showing they can be strong. But there are still those few who try to hold them back and talk down about them. Peter keeps trying to tell himself that they are wrong and that what happened had nothing to with him being an omega. But a small part of him still thinks how much easier it would be to be an Alpha or a Beta. Especially as a hero. He’s the only one he knows who’s an omega avenger or works with shield. There were few but those ones that worked for shield didn’t really do much field work if at all. “Hey Kid, What are you looking at?”, tony asks, snapping Peter out of his thoughts. Peter quickly closes and turns off the tablet, “Nothing. “. He turns back to the papers in front of him. Even though he was quick , Tony still saw the article. The same one he read this morning. As Pepper had to calm him down from tracking the person who wrote it and destroying their life. Although he already has FRIDAY looking into everything about the article as soon as he stepped into the building. Tony started thinking what to do. When a light bulb went off. “Come on kid , let's take a break. There’s someone I want you to meet.”. Peter looked up at him curiously. He thought he had met everyone. He followed Tony to the elevator. “Friday, locate miss L/n please.”, Tony says. “Miss L/n is in the gym with Mr. Wilson and sergeant Barnes. Would you like me to notice them?”. “No , thank you. Just take us to the gym.”. The elevator then started moving down to the gym area. Peter was trying to wrap his mind around where he has heard that name before. L/n...L/n…..Y/n L/n? “Y/n l/n?”, peter asked out loud. Tony nodded, “I was going to introduce you to her tomorrow at the team dinner. But I think now is a good time.”. Peter stands there thinking over her fiel he read a few times. Y/n l/n was raised by her aunt from the age of 7. When seeking a place to stay when they left the home where her aunt's boyfriend kicked them out of, they went to what they thought was a women's shelter. But it was a cover up. Not much else is known about the aunt or what happened. All that is known is they were separated and sold. Y/n along with a bunch of other children were bought by Hydra. From what they can tell Hydra was collecting young omegas for something they were planning. But not much is known about what they were creating only that it failed and was abandoned. Y/n was trained and put through experiments. Not much is known about what they were doing with her either. After years y/n was able to escape. She stayed hidden, till Bucky went searching for her for help. She helps take down some of the biggest hydra bases. Other then that all Peter knows , from what Mr. Stark told him, as she was recovering from some trauma she was still going through. Between that and Peter’s schooling he wasn’t able to meet her yet. But he wonders why Mr. Stark wants him to meet her now. He is going to see/meet her tomorrow. By the time Peter snapped out of his thoughts, he and Tony were already walking into the gym. He could pick up noises of two people fighting before they walked in. And sure enough there was. Sam and Y/n , he made out from her pictures, sparing on the mats. Bucky stood to the side cheering Y/n on. As they get closer they watch Y/n thigh wipe Sam down to the ground. Bucky starts laughing as he claps. “That’s my girl.”, Bucky says handing her a water bottle as he pulls her into him. She blushes as she takes a drink. “I just went easy on her is all.”, Sam says still laying on the ground. Y/n rolled her eyes handing the bottle back to Bucky. She made her way to him holding her hand out for him. “Yeah, Sure. Whatever helps you sleep, babe.”. Sam huffs as he takes her hand getting up. He throws his arm around her shoulders. “I want a rematch.” , he says. Y/n rolls her eyes at him. Tony clears his throat getting their attention. “Tony, what’s up?”, Sam says. “Well me and the kid here were just taking a break and I thought this was a great time to introduce Y/n to Pet-.”. “Peter Parker?”, Y/n asked smiling as she looked at y/n. As he looked up at her that’s when it really hit him. The smell. She was an omega too! “You're an omega?!” Peter couldn’t stop himself from saying. His eyes widen as he realizes what he just said. Y/n just laughed nodding, “Yes , I am. “. “I'm so sorry. I’m peter par-....wait you know who I am?”, he looks at her confused. Y/n smiled and nodded , “Bucky and Sam talk very highly of you. Actually everyone around here does. The way they talked about you I was shocked to find out you were an omega too. I never heard so many Alpha’s talk so highly of an omega before. “. Peter's whole face reddened as he looked at Bucky and Sam. He never knew they talked about him like that or any of the others did too. “Pff ..I..we wouldn’t talk nicely about the spider.” Sam says . Peter and y/n laugh knowing he’s lying. “Mmhmm..That’s why when you two found out Peter was being bullied you two tried to go after the bullies with the rest of the team. “, y/n sasses them. “Only cause only me and Sam can pick on the bug.” , Bucky says. Y/n rolls her eyes at them. “Okay, Okay . Why don’t we leave the two to talk. Pulse I have something to disclose with you two.”, Tony says pulling the two away from the omegas. Y/n laughs shaking her head. “Ignore that. Those two care so much about you. They are just like older siblings.” ,Y/n turns back to Peter. Peter laughs at this. But he couldn’t help still think about her being an omega. “By that look I’m guessing you are still puzzled by the fact that I’m an omega.”, Y/n asked. “ Peter nods. “I’m sorry it’s just I’ve never met another omega hero before. And your files said you are a beta.”. y/n’s heart melts at him calling her a hero. She never felt that way before and thought that everyone still saw her as a threat. Even though her two mates try to convince her otherwise, it’s still hard by the looks she gets from some people. “When Hydra was using me as an assassin they made me take supplements to change my smell. I guess those files never got up dated from when I got here and went off of them. Which is surprising since now I’m mated with Sam and Bucky.”. “Mated?”Peter looks over her neck and sees two bite marks on either side of her neck. Y/n just nodded smiling at him. Peter felt like his face was getting even redder, “sorry I've been so in my head that i guess i’m not noticing things.”. “It’s okay. I’m guessing what’s bugging you is why Tony wanted you to meet me now. Do you want to talk about it?”, Y/n asked. Peter doesn’t say anything just looks up to the three alphas talking some ways away. Y/n turned to see what he was looking at , understanding . Sometimes Omega things can be hard to talk about in front of Alphas. “Are you hungry? Want to go get some lunch?”, Y/n asked him to turn around. Peter looked back to her nodding. Y/n smiled at him nodding her head to follow her. They make their way to the alphas. “ Hey , Me and Peter are going to go out to lunch. “ . Bucky was about to say they would join but Sam grabbed his arm shaking his head. The two need some time alone. “Okay , have fun.” Tony says.

Peter and Y/n head to a little sandwich cafe. They order and then sit down. They talk about some other things while waiting for their food. Peter was really enjoying his time with Y/n. They bonded over Star Wars. Y/n just started watching them and enjoyed them. Peter explained the things she didn’t get. After a bit their food finally comes out. As they start eating Y/n gets serious. “Okay now that I got you opening up, tell me what's bugging you.”. Peter sighs looking down at his food. Not sure what to say. “Is it that stupid article that came out this morning?”, She asked. Peter’s head snapped up. ‘She read that? “It’s okay Peter. I know how it feels to people judging you just because you're an omega. That article was wrong in everything they said. You being an omega had nothing to do with that boy being hurt. No one would have been able to stop what happened. In fact I don’t think any one , alpha beta or even another omega, would have been as fast thinking as you were to get that boy help.”, y/n says reaching out to take his hand. “Thank you, Y/n. Now I see why Mr. Stark wanted me to meet you. It’s nice to talk about the things that bug me as an omega with someone who understands. “.. Y/n nods, “I know how you feel. Alphas are quick to judge. But not all. For example everyone at the tower. They never talk bad about you or down about you. And like I said the way everyone talked about you , I really had no idea or even thought you could be an omega. “. They both let out small laughs. “Sounds like you have been through some bad alphas in your life.” , Peter says. “Yeah, I was an omega born into a family of Alpha’s and Beta’s. No omegas. They believed omegas were weak and useless. They didn’t want me. But not my aunt. She knew I could be something so much more. She was the first person to show not all Alpha’s see us as weak. And that we aren't weak. “, Y/n tries to smile but Peter could see it was broken. “You must miss her. “. Y/n nodded as she thought over the last time she saw her. “I think you should meet my aunt May. She sounds a lot like your aunt. She raised me after my parents death. She also taught me that omegas can be strong. She was why , once I got my powers I decided to use them for good. I don’t regret it. It just sometimes gets hard.”, Peter says. Y/n smiles at him nodding in agree. “I would love to meet her one day.”, Y/n says. They enjoy the rest of their meal talking about random things.

After they were done they made their way back to the headquarters. “Mr. Parker , Tony requested you back to the lab as soon as you got back. He said he needed to discuss something with you” Friday says as soon as they get in the elevator. They spent the ride in silence. Once they got to the lab , Peter turned to Y/n as the doors opened. He pulled her into a hug, “Thank you.”. “Anytime Peter.” , Y/n says as they pull away.

I really like this character I wrote. So look out for more pieces about her and her past. Maybe how she became mated to Sam and Bucky. -MM

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dameronology · 5 years ago

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the one where you finally talk about it (s.r x reader)

summary: when a mission goes wrong, you end up in a cell with your ex-boyfriend. what a better way to pass the time than to discuss where things went wrong?

i was listening to why we ever by hayley williams and it was a vibe and reminded me of something i went through a few months ago so i’m really throwing my own experiences out into the void here big yikes

- jazz

warnings: angst, language

You curled up in the corner of the cell, feet splayed out in front of you. You were wiggling one of your boots side-to-side, knocking into the metal bars with a rhythmic tap, tap, tap. You could feel the cold concrete against your torso - it was a welcome contrast to the stuffy air of the cell. The fact you could smell your ex-boyfriend’s aftershave from where you were sat didn’t help.

‘Can you stop that?’ Speak of the devil - or perhaps, the devil was speaking.

‘Stop what?’ You innocently asked, lifting your head from the wall to look at him.

Steve Rogers was on the other side of the cell, pacing back and forth. You hadn’t meant for the mission to go wrong - but it had happened. It was a risk that came with the job, and usually one you could deal with. Being locked in a cell with your former lover, however, was not. You hadn’t spoken in almost six months. Maybe it was SHIELD’s fault for thinking you two could possibly work together.

‘Tapping.’ He grunted. ‘You always tap on things. It’s annoying.’

‘And you pacing back and forth like a six foot, caffeinated toddler isn’t?’

‘You are so childish sometimes.’ Steve commented. But, he stopped pacing, instead sliding down the wall to imitate your position.

‘Yeah, that was a point you covered very well when we broke up.’ You snapped.

You weren’t even entirely sure why you’d broken up. You’d been wildly in love one minute and fuming the next. You’d gone from 0 to 100 - stolen kisses turned into yelling, seething fights. Long, sweet nights together turned into I think I hate you sex. At one point, you didn’t think it was possible to hate him - but Steve Rogers always had a way of proving people wrong, after all.

You’d both pretended that you were fine in the months afterwards. In truth, it had taken a lot of wine and and many late-night talks with the ever-wise Natasha Romanoff to even begin to get over it. You didn’t know where you stood now, or how you felt. It wasn’t a can of worms you wanted to open in such close proximity to him.

‘We’re smart,’ you murmured to yourself. ‘I’m sure we can find a way out.’

‘Did you just say something nice about me?’

You let out a groan. ‘Not everything has to be about what happened, Rogers. Get over it - get over yourself.’

‘I am over it.’ Steve raised his hands in surrender.

He stood up, hands wrapping around the metal bars. He glanced at the lock for a minute - he’d been able to pick them at one point. Then, technology advanced past his Boy Scout training and became electronic. People were creating new inventions out of things that didn’t need fixing.

‘Let me guess - it’s still locked?’ You offered, glancing up at him. ‘You might as well just sit your ass down and wait for Bucky to get here with the back-up.’

‘That could be hours.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have somewhere to be?’ You held your hand out in front of you, motioning to the concrete walls and tiny window.

Steve let out a grumble and sat back down. The air between you was thick with tension - you both had too much to say, but neither of you were getting to the point. What even was the point? That you both felt the need to remind the other of what had happened, to take pointless jabs at something that happened months ago?

In truth, you didn’t hate Steve - not even a tiny bit. You hated what had happened between you but it’s not like he was single-handedly responsible for it. Failed relationships were part of being an adult. Above all, you were just hurt by the fact you couldn’t make it work with the person you loved most in the world.

‘How’ve you been?’ You tried not to laugh at your half-arsed attempt to break the silence.

‘The usual. I’ve been doing missions, going to the gym, getting stuck in a cell with my ex.’

You pulled a face at him, rolling your eyes. ‘If it’s any comfort to you, I had plans as well. I had a date.’

‘With who?’

‘Two people actually. Men. Very rich, very famous.’

‘C’mon.’

‘Ben and Jerry,’ you winked at him, and Steve simply snorted.

‘Your jokes are still terrible.’

‘Is that why we broke up? Because of my jokes?’ You quipped, but stopped when you saw his face fall. ‘Sorry. Was that too soon?’

‘No,’ Steve shook his head. ‘I just - why did we break up?’

‘I don’t actually know.’ You smiled sadly at him. ‘You said I picked fights too much.’

‘And you said I worked too much.’

The ice between you had melted slightly with the circumstances. The fact you were even having a conversation was a big step.

You stood up, grumbling at the pins and needles in your legs. You walked to the other side of the cell, leaning against the wall and staring out the tiny window. The mountains went on forever; grey skies, grey water, grey clouds, grey everything. Pathetic fallacy, much?

You remembered now - quite clearly. Steve was working on four or five missions a week; way more than his contract required. He was away six nights a week. He was barely talking to you, barely touching you. And, when you did see him, you were so hurt by it that you turned everything he did say into an out-of-proportion fight.

‘You did work a lot,’ you murmured under your breath. ‘And I did pick fights.’

There were footsteps - not pacing, but coming closer to you. Steve appeared in your line of sight, his large shoulder resting on the wall a few feet away from you. He remembered too, just as vividly as you. You’d both pretended to forget - that way you didn’t have to talk about it.

‘Maybe if we’d spoken more.’

‘I did try to talk to you - all the time, but you were never home.’ You tried to hide the hurt in your voice, but it wasn’t working.

‘When I was home, you always fought with me-’

‘- because you hurt me, Steve!’ Your voice broke, and you sharply turned your back to him. ‘I thought you didn’t want to be with me.’

‘Of course I wanted to be with you.’ His voice was soft.

Steve put a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to turn around and face him. For the first time in six months, he was looking at you with something that wasn’t contempt. He was still every bit as attractive, even when he was furious, but the soft look on his features brought you back to a better time - a happier time, when it had been you and him against the world and not you and him against each other.

‘You had a funny way of showing it.’ You said.

‘I was scared,’ Steve murmured. ‘I hadn’t been in love like that before. I was worried you were going to leave me, that you were going to hurt me.’

‘Maybe I was doing the same.’ you countered, voice small.

A silence fell between you again. It wasn’t tense this time - just sad. Break-ups were always hard but this one especially. What you’d had was rare; it was proper love. Perhaps not the kind you see in the rom-com, but the boring, ever-lasting kind of love. Only, it wasn’t everlasting. It was a very temporary love; fleeting, over before it had even properly started.

You returned to your place against the wall, watching as Steve quietly moved over and took the seat beside you.

‘It’s a shame, really.’ You gave him a pained smile, ‘because we were a hot-ass couple.’

‘We were,’ Steve chuckled.

‘I’m sorry things didn’t go the way we wanted.’ You replied. ‘I guess we’re both wiser for it now.’

He thinned his eyes, deep in thought for a moment. You were talking about it in a way that seemed so final - but why? If one of you was about to die or marry another person, he’d understand. But, neither of you had even tried to talk about it - you’d never discussed the things that broke you up, not until now.

Part of you still wanted to go running back to him - to forget the hurt and the pain and the sorrow. You wanted to feel his lips on yours again, to feel his arms around you. You missed the butterflies you used to get when he called you his, and the kick you got from telling people that Captain America was yours. For every bad part, there were ten good ones.

You pushed the thought from your mind. It was tempting - he was tempting. But, the hurt had been too much. You were still quintessentially the same people; if you couldn’t have a healthy relationship then, who’s to say that you could now?

‘You’re thinking about it too, aren’t you?’ Steve’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

‘If you mean briefly considering suggesting that we try again before realising it’s the worst idea ever - then yeah.’

For what it was worth, at least you were always on the same wavelength.

He laughed knowingly. ‘And I’m guessing that one very intense conversation in a cell isn’t enough to convince you?’

‘Not even close,’ you took his hands in yours, squeezing them. ‘We’d need intense therapy before we even started to deal with the things that broke us up.’

He grimaced, nudging his head to the side as if to say fair enough. He released his grip on your hands, sticking out his pinky.

‘So...friends?’

You smiled back at him, wrapping your finger around his. ‘Friends.’

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treasureswordsgirl55 · 3 years ago

Text

What I Gotta Do

Character: Sam Wilson

Pairing: Sam Wilson / Fem!Reader (OC)

Inspired by (song): What a man gotta do? - Jonas Brothers.

Warnings: Nop. Fluff. First meetings. Mentions of COVID-19. Flirting. Post!TFATWS.

Author’s Note: Hello! Hello! I hope everyone’s well 😃

Ok, this is the first fic that I write with our new Captain America, Sam Wilson.

Short story: I heard that Jonas Brothers song and think in Sam in the moment. And I thought: Why not?

That moment I realized that I love write with Sam. It's a lovely character that deserved the world.

This is the first part of the fic, so at night maybe post the other part.

I hope you like it and thanks you for your replies! Always are appreciated!!! XOXO 😘😘

bbb-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Part 1

You ain’t tryna be wasting time on stupid people in cheap lines, I’m sure, I’m sure…

I’m not tryin’ to be your part-time lover. Sign me up for that full-time, I’m yours.

I’m yours.

- Excuse me, My friend sent me on a commission - I hear that voice in the distance and I feel that deja vu as if I had heard it before. I even have the feeling of knowing it.

- Name?

- James Barnes. The girl who always serve him knows him as Bucky.

Jenny laughs and mutters something I can’t hear. Wasn’t the sad-eyed boy outside? I focus on the cake in front of me, trying not to make mistakes in the new colors that identify Captain America, who was now the new obsession of all the children of the country.

- Charm, they are looking for you - Jenny enters my field of vision and I just raise my hands showing her that I have the shield in them and I was not going to leave it to deliver an order - It’s no excuse. You must go.

- Would you do me the favor of delivering it yourself?

- Nope. Go and then you’ll thank me.

She gently takes the sugar shield from my hands and hands me the package with Bucky’s order.

I shake my head as I leave the kitchen and look around for the avenger’s possible delivery, but none of them fit the guy. Most of the men were keeping an eye on the people they were chatting with, and there were none waiting on the other side of the bar for the order.

- Tam? - My best friend turns around and as soon as I show her the package, she is simply pointing to the door with a “happy birthday” smile.

What the hell is wrong with her?

The sound of the door bell makes me look and as I put the green package on the table, I feel my cheeks start to heat up. The object of my deepest desires was there.

Captain America was at the bakery looking for a damn cake for his friend.

Oh my god … I think as I try to remove my blue apron, which is full of traces of cream of white and red colors, but I feel that the knot in my back becomes impossible to remove and I give up with a sigh.

“Ok, Charm. You have to calm down. He is the man you dreamed of the last few months, so you must behave like a decent woman since he will not respond as he usually does in your dreams”

- This is mine? - I lift my head quickly as Sam sees me with a smile and nodded at my apron - Nice color combination. I like it.

God save me from that. Why do I feel like the world is reeling?

- Sure, if you’re here to pick up Bucky’s order - I push the two small boxes towards him while he puts the cell phone in the pocket of the brown leather jacket he wears and walks a little closer to the bar. Hell, he was even more attractive in person, and I wished for a second that the image of him in his suit didn’t invade my thoughts.

That was my damn weakness.

People knew who he was but we all knew that he was too private a person to bother him on the street. That’s why they only came over to pat him on the shoulder or simply bowed their heads to him.

- Yes, I’m babysitting.

We both laugh and I bite my lip, hesitating whether to ask. It was customary for Bucky to spend his mornings here, and that he didn’t come is very strange to me.

- Is James okay?

Sam laughs as he leans calmly and confidently on the bar and lets out a heavy sigh, as if something about that question bothers him.

- I could say yes. He has the “cold” - I nod when I notice that he refers to the Covid, that disease that kept us on edge for so long and that today was considered just another cold - He asked me to come for his order on my way home.

- Shouldn’t you be isolated?

That question comes off my lips like I’m talking to Jenny, and I shrug at that rush of confidence.

- No, because contrary to what many people believe, I do not live with Buck.

I laugh as I feel Sam’s gaze on me and that attention makes me even more nervous, in a way that I find charming.

- It’s not exactly what he says. If you are that friend that he talks about so much, he says that you are not one of those who share things.

I hear him curse as he looks away and waves to those watching him at a table in the distance. The four young women who see him smile at him as if it were a trophy they want to get, something that I notice makes him feel uncomfortable.

- I’ll rip off that bastard’s arm.

I barely pushed me away with my hands up and he tries to get closer, perhaps preventing me from walking away if he could get past the bar. Which wouldn’t be difficult for him if he’s used to jumping off a building.

- That does not sound good at all - I approach while I extend my hand towards him, who takes it without even hesitating and a spark seems to jump in the place where our hands are joined - I’m Charm, by the way.

- Sam, Bucky’s “tight-fisted” partner.

- It’s hard not to recognize you.

I wanted to let go of his hand but he wouldn’t let me apart.

- So you know who I am?

That dazzling and shy smile made me realize that Sam Wilson is not one of the men to be good for popularity. Rather, they escape from it.

- It’s hard not to know when a man with a bionic arm comes to breakfast every day and talks proudly that his partner is Captain America - Sam drops his head while smiling and I feel my heart melt like butter in contact with fire. That gesture seemed to me the most adorable - Besides that you are the new obsession of everyone around here. Children love you.

- Just the kids? - The tone of his voice changes and I feel that he becomes softer when pronouncing those words. Was that some kind of flirtation? - You’ll make me feel really bad if it’s just childish fanaticism.

- That’s what the cakes I decorate every day say. Your admirers range from 2 years to 15 - I admit while trying not to laugh at the expression of feigned disappointment that appears on his face, I even maintain the image would be regarding my childish analysis and in a moment, I push my hand away for more than wish the warm contact - My nephew Katriel loves you. And he’s only 3.

He nods as he looks around.

- Buck always talks to me about this place, especially how well they treat him … And sometimes, he only talks about you sometimes - He approaches over the bar, as if he wants to keep that between us - I think he wants to have you alone for him.

I blush at his words and shake my head.

If you knew ….

- If that were the case, it would be a shame if he is getting his hopes up, since I’m interested in someone else.

I play with a small envelope of green tea in my hands and if I even doubt it, Sam takes it from me, he approaches to ask Tam for a pen, who sees him as if he were a delicious sweet as he hands it to her, and write something on it before putting it back in front of me.

- I would like to continue with this but I feel in my pocket Bucky’s insistence on why I’m not in his department with the blessed cake.

I looked down for a moment the paper and I see a number. His number.

- Actually, they’re cupcakes.

I see him roll his eyes as he smiles at me and indicates the tea bag between us as he takes the two boxes in one of his hands.

- In fact, tomorrow maybe I’ll try again these delicacies that have enchanted a certain white wolf.

- They will be waiting for you.

I respond by trying not to get my hopes up about seeing him here tomorrow and even try to appear indifferent, but something gives me away because he gives me a mischievous smile as he walks away from the bar.

- I’ll only come if you are here, darling.

- And why are you so sure I’ll be waiting for you?

- Instinct. I think there may be something important between us.

- That’s how they all begin … - He frowns at my words and I shrug as he remains still.

- I’m not like the others.

- I don’t know you.

- But you will.

- Whatever you say, Mr. Trust. Or should I say, Mr. America.

Tam, who is pouring coffee next to me, lets out a laugh and mutters under her breath “America’s Ass” that makes me choke on my own laugh.

- I heard that, girl - We both blush at that proposal he makes to Tam and after pointing her out to her, he indicates to me as if I were guilty of something - You remain as a witness, Charm will marry me.

I gasp for words to rebut that, but my brain fails for a second and I just shake my head. I sure look like an idiot.

- Whatever you say, Captain.

- You will do it. You’ll see - Something in his words makes me shiver and I don’t doubt that. It seemed like a promise he was willing to keep.

And worst of all, instead of freaking out, I liked the idea.

- Didn’t you have to go, Sam?

- I’ll come for you, darling. As many times as it takes - he walks to the door after saying goodbye to Tam and just gives me a smile that could melt any woman on the road - And one more thing, don’t make plans after work. You already have them with me.

His scream is heard all the way to the kitchen, which makes Jenny come out of it with some pieces of candy tangled in her hair that I don’t even want to ask how they got there and for the first time in a long time I feel the stares of everyone present about me.

- Is that what I think it was? Did Sam Wilson just ask you out?

- I never said yes - I try to avoid looking Jenny in the eye because unfortunately she knew of my infatuation with Sam and she would see that the idea of a possible date was very tempting for my mind and my heart - Besides, he will give up easy .

- I don’t believe that him is the type of men who give up the first time. It seems one of those who insist until he get what he want.

- I don’t see it that way. Maybe it won’t even get anywhere. Besides, he doesn’t know that tomorrow is my day off.

Jenny rolls her eyes as she hands me another sugar shield she just entered the kitchen and indicates the shield as if it were a spellbound object.

- Don’t forget you’re talking about the new Captain America. Giving up, we both know, is not an option for him.

And time would prove her right.

#marvel cinematic universe #avengers fanfiction #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x oc #tfatws #tfatws fanfiction #the falcon and the winter soldier #fanfic writer #marvel #sam wilson #i write for myself but you can read it too

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