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agere-fics · 1 year ago

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Doctor Papa

dni: k!nk, anti-agere, agepl4y, or ddlg-esque blogs 🍄 this blog is a safe space for age regressors and age dreamers 🍄

pairing: caregiver!papa!bruce banner x regressor!little!reader

characters: uncle thor, bruce banner, reader, mentions of: steve, bucky, sam, and tony stark.

summary: you have to get MRIs done but you're nervous. thank goodness, papa knows how to cheer you up.

word count: 1,751

content warnings: MRIs, hospital gown, reader is written like they're a child's height, no mention of a particular chronic illness, please tell me if i'm missing anything

author's note: tadaa!! all done! this is the most i've written for a one shot! very proud of myself. also, this is inspired by me having to get MRIs done recently ajfhs

♡

Sometimes stuff we've done lots of times can still seem scary; which is annoying because who wants to feel anxious about the same exact thing over and over again?

You have to get these scans done by tomorrow. With every heart of your being, you wished that wasn't true but your previous scans were too old.

UGH!

Luckily, your papa had a trick up his sleeve.

He told you to stay here, in this gigantic, empty, white walled room. It was utterly boring, there were no paintings or statues or anything. Not even toys! Well, okay, you had your Mr. Rainy Day Bear but still... At least there were floor to ceiling windows- OH, and a skylight, too. Those were always nice.

While you waited for Bruce to come back, you watched what went on outside. There was Tony using his latest invention to attempt to lift Uncle Thor’s hammer. Tony still had no idea that it couldn't possibly work! How silly of him.

Bucky, Sam, and Steve stood in a far apart triangle. They were tossing around the Captain America shield like a Frisbee, guffawing, and yelling things that were joyously incomprehensible. It looked like lots of fun. Definitely more fun than MRIs. Maybe, they would let you join in later.

The double doors of the empty room swung open and papa’s humongous green form entered.

“Okayyy, love bug, I've grabbed all the cardboard pieces from recycling that weren't gross.” He grimaced thinking about the black, moldy gunk that spoiled some previously useful parts. He shrunk back down to Bruce Banner size after dumping the cardboard into a large pile. “We should have enough for our little art project.”

“Art project?” You looked at him expectantly. Your eyes were lit up with stars of joy this time, instead of meteor shower anxiety.

The idea was to make a cardboard MRI machine. Having an art project to focus on would comfort and reassure you about the process you would go through tomorrow. If he could make it fun, your anxiety wouldn't be so bad.

“I’ve seen the machine before, papa, I can make the bestest one yet!” You hopped on your toes, giddy with tight, flapping fists.

“I grabbed your sticker books and some paint, too-”

“OH YAY, THANK YOU PAPA, THIS IS SO EXCITING!!”

Mission accomplished. Anxiety gone, replaced with magical cure Art Project™. Bruce smirked to himself.

You laid down on a tall, square cardboard piece. Bruce traced your form with a sharpie as you giggled. Once you had the correct length, you both began cutting a rectangular piece and put that piece on a metal cart with wheels.

Then, you cut out half circle pieces and hot glued them all together until it made one large 4D sphere with a hole in the middle like a donut.

At one point, the glue burned you but Papa Bruce fixed it right up and stopped the booboo pain with a cure-all kiss.

Your cardboard MRI machine may look done to outsiders but it wasn't even close. It was missing the most important part of all: the stickers! There were heart stickers, stickers with dolphins, rainbow stickers, puppy stickers, stickers that had Mr. Hulk and Papa on them, too! There were even stickers of Stevey, Bucky, Iron Man, and Uncle Thor! Papa said for your birthday he'd make stickers with you on them, too.

You also painted squiggles, polka dots, lines, circles, triangles, kitty cats, and zig zags. All of them in your most favoritest color.

“There!” You stood proudly, hands on your hips. “Now, it's very, very pretty, papa.”

Papa gave you a minute and then asked, “Are you ready to practice?”

You blinked and sighed. Defeat warping your mood. “Yeah...”

Papa spun away, put a doctor's coat on, and then turned back, holding a clipboard. “Alright, are you the caregiver for Mr. Rainy Day Bear?”

“Yeah, papa.” You lightened up a little bit.

“Papa? No, I'm Doctor Doctor. Who's papa?”

“You're papaaa!” You pointed at him.

“Okay, okay I'm Doctor Papa.” He repeated, “Are you the caregiver of Mr. Rainy Day Bear?”

You tilted your chin up and did a faux British accent. “Why, yes, sir. He's feeling very, very bad and needs a scan.”

“Ah, yes, I see that on his chart, Caregiver.” He flipped through the scribbled pages on the clipboard. “Let's have. Mr. Bear lay down on the table with his head on the pillow.” Bruce gestured with his hand.

You laid your stuffie down on the pretend bed, placing Mr. Bear’s head gently on the pillow. You patted his hand for good measure.

Doctor Papa put ear plugs into the bear's ears and placed cushy pink headphones on him. The headphones had cat ears on them. Papa raised his voice a little, “Mr. Rainy Day Bear, what kind of music do you like to listen to?”

“Doctor Papa, Mr. Bear is nonverbal.” you said matter of factly. You raised your pointer finger to the sky. “I’ll answer for him. He likes The Wiggles, Papa- I mean Doctor Papa.”

“Alrighty then, The Wiggles album coming right up.” Bruce pulled out his phone, scrolling until he found the right music. “Wiggles rave?”

You nodded, then kissed the tippity top of Rainy Day’s head. “You'll be okay, Mr. Bear.”

Bruce began to push the cardboard bed into the donut sphere. You took a big, big deep breath in.

“BRRRR BEEEP AGHHHH RRRRR DNNNN-”

That breath was immediately released back into the atmosphere. “PAPAAA!” You clutched your chest, laughing so hard your legs felt weak.

Doctor Papa continued, “DRRRRR EEEEEE EHHHHHH MRRRRRR!”

You were rolling on the floor, tears leaving your eyes. How silly of your papa!

“BRRRRRrrrrrr….” Papa rolled the cardboard bed out of the donut. “How are you feeling Mr. Bear?”

“Papa, he can't hear you!”

Bruce laughed. “Oh, yeah, right.” He removed the headphones and then the earplugs. “How is the fantastic Mr. Bear?”

You lifted Mr. Bear’s paws and had him sign to Bruce, ‘I am okay.’

“Perfect! Let's take a look at your scans here…” Papa turned around and scribbled quickly on the paper. When he faced you again, he showed you the scan. It was a poorly constructed scribble of Mr. Rainy Day Bear with a big, biiiiiiiig, heart right in the middle. “I knew it, Lots-Of-Love-itis.”

You unburied the British accent. “Quite good, sir. Well done, Mr. Bear.” You placed a hulk sticker on his paw and hugged him tightly.

Papa kneeled down and asked, “Do you want to practice with you this time?”

You gave it a thought, looking this way and that. “Hmmm, will you make the funny noises again?”

“BEEEEP BRRR-”

“Not right now, Papa!” You shouted with a smile.

“Oh, during the practice?” He waited for you to finish rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Okay…” You breathed in, out, in, and out slowly. “Let's practice, Doctor Papa.”

♡

“Big day, lille venn.” Uncle Thor said as he helped tie the back of your hospital gown. He double knotted the strings behind your neck and then the ones by your hip. “There you are. All set.”

You frowned at that, looking at Thor with big, watery eyes. “Not all set.”

“It'll be okay.” His hands (placed on your shoulders) turned you to face him. “Remember your breathing?”

“Mhm.”

“Let's do it together.” He raised his left hand as you did the same. “Climb Yggdrasil, breathe in.”

You traced up your pointer finger.

“Let's sit at the very top, hold your breath.”

You paused at the tip of your finger.

“Slide down the Yggdrasil branches, breathe out.”

You traced down your pointer finger.

Uncle Thor had you repeat that four more times, until the tears dried and the anxiety flowed further away.

“Very good, great job. Let's go see Papa.” He held your hand as he walked you towards the scary room. Worse than the boring room from yesterday.

You turned the corner and there was Papa at the computer. “Hey there! The computer’s prepped and waiting for you, little one.”

You looked at Papa, then Uncle Thor, and then Papa again. “Okay… I'm ready.”

Papa led you to the metal bed. It was rectangular and thin. A sheet was laid out on it so you wouldn't get super cold. There was a thick pillow on the end that had your favorite kitty cat pillowcase on it, which made the corners of your lips turn upwards.

Papa pressed an arrow down bottom next to the donut sphere that brought the bed down to your level. He held your hand as you hopped on and then helped position you onto the center. He guided you through a big, deep breath so that your body was as comfortable on the table as can be instead of tense.

Next came pink headphones with cutesy kitty ears on them and plain boring ear plugs so that your hearing wasn't hurt from the loud noises. Papa already set up your favorite kind of music so when the headphones were placed on you, it was already playing. Bruce furrowed his brow in question, moving his thumb up and down. You replied with a thumbs up. You were ready.

Bruce handed you a panic button to hold just in case and laid a blanket over you to keep you warm. Papa kissed the top of your head and left the room.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in and out.

BBRRRRRRR

‘It's okay. I'm okay.’

BEEEEEEPPP

‘Woohoo, I'm doing awesome!’

REEEEHHHHHH

‘This is boring, it's got to have been a bajillion minutes by now.’

After ten years (minutes), the machine stopped and Papa walked back into the room. He gave you a high five and bunches of praises that you only heard some of because of all the ear protectors. But you could tell by his facial expressions that he was so very proud of you.

He pressed the arrow down button again and the bed began moving to an easier height. You removed the headphones and earplugs yourself, you felt like such a big kid (in the best way)!

You stretched this way and that while making funny noises which made you abrupt into hearty giggles.

Bruce held your hand as you jumped down. Next thing you knew, he was hugging you tightly, picking you up, and spinning you around and around!

“I'm so very, very proud of you, bumble bee!”

You kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Papa!”

♡

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bethsvrse · 1 year ago

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please PLEASE learn how to tag your fanfics. Don’t tag fluff when it’s angst, don’t tag smut when it’s fluff and please don’t tag characters that ARENT EVEN MENTIONED IN THE FIC!!!!

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iloveslasher · 1 year ago

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Attention

Avengers

I need help with finding a wattpad book on avengers x little!reader.

So I once read this fan fic of the avengers team which included: steve rogers, bucky barnes, Tony stark, pepper potts, Bruce banner,Thor odinson, natasha romanoff, wanda maximoff, vision, Clint barton and sam Wilson as the reader (who's named violet) caregivers.

Because Violet was used and abused so the avengers saved her and she at first felt nothing of her physical wounds but then the avengers told her that's not normal and got her looked at by bruce. And got her off the painkillers that her captor put her on.

One chapter has a protocol that she can't use the bathroom bc she is hurting her self by not being little so they kind of have to pressure her into being little.

Then loki and stephen stranger baby sit in one chapter. Which reveal that loki is also a little. Then there is carol as a little.

And another chapter where wanda and vision give violet schoollessons (bc she was capture really young and doesn't know hoe to write or read). Then they discover that Violet has dyslexia by telling her to go right and she takes a left, off of visions suspicions.

Also Steve and bucky are a pair and later violet starts dating Natasha and Natasha helps violet through her first period.

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natashaslesbian · 1 year ago

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Babysitter

From the ‘Tiny Dancer’ series

Natasha had no choice but to leave you with Uncle Bruce when she goes away for an overnight mission. It turns out, Bruce isn’t the best babysitter

Word Count: 1.2k

Pairings (Mom!Natasha x Daughter!Reader) (Bruce Banner x Kid!Reader) (Wanda Maximoff x Kid!Reader)

Warnings: none I think :)

————

“Ok tiny dancer” Natasha said as she left a gentle kiss on your cheek “you be good for uncle Bruce ok?” You nodded your little head and gave your mama a sad smile “I’ll be good. I promise” your mommy gave you a tight hug and made a quick exit. Trial and error had discovered that a short goodbye left you much calmer than a long buildup causing you to breakdown when Natasha closed the door. You turned away from the elevator and headed back towards the avengers private living room “Natasha will um- mommy will be back soon y/n” Bruce tried his best to console you, he was still pretty new at this. Until now, Dr Banner had never looked after you alone, he had always shared the babysitting responsibility with Clint or Tony or whoever was at the compound while Natasha was away for a mission. “You wanna…watch tv?” Bruce said “yes please” you replied as you took his hand, much to his surprise.

You spent 3 hours in front of the tv, you usually did right after Natasha had left for a mission. It took a little while to bring out your bubbly personality. “heeeyy y/n” Bruce said as he returned with your dinner “I’ve made your favourite!” Beckoning you towards the dinner table “Dino nuggs?” You asked “yes. Dino nuggets indeed” your uncle said as he helped you up onto the chair. Natasha had left strict instructions on how you liked your dinosaur nuggets to be made and what you would eat them with, you were horrified when you looked over the plate of burnt nuggets and cabbage as a side “ew!” You exclaimed “what’s this?” Bruce had tried his best, he couldn’t find the sweetcorn you usually had with this meal so he settled for cabbage in the hopes you would at least try it “it’s some yummy cabbage y/n, with your dino nuggets” he handed you your little plastic pink fork which was instantly thrown across the kitchen and clattered on the floor. “Don’t want caby thingy!” You yelled “what about the nuggets?” Bruce tried to deflate the situation “they’re b-burnt!” You started to cry “don’t lik-like them burnt!” You climbed down from your chair and made a fast exit back to your bedroom. “Great” Bruce huffed.

Uncle Bruce tried to tempt you with every other option he could think of for dinner, even takeout. You, however, were having non of it, you wanted your dino nuggets. Dr Banner accepted defeat and returned to the kitchen where he spent 3 hours perfecting your dinner to your high standers. It was almost your bedtime when you finally sat down for your second attempt at dinner, you had long ago stopped complaining about your rumbly tummy and could barely keep your eyes open while you ate the last few bites. There were still more mountains to climb before bed, but luckily you were exhausted so you didn’t put up much of fight during bath time. You fell asleep way after your usual bed time and Bruce near enough collapsed into his bed down the hall.

The scientist felt a small breeze against his hand in the early hours of the morning. He shot awake when his handed was tightly tugged. His minor scream as he awoke had you backing into a corner immediately “sowry uncle Bruce” you whispered “oh y/n” he panted “it’s alright, um- are you okay?” He asked as he pulled back the covers “I had a bad dweam” you whispered “oh- ugh” Bruce was baffled, having no idea how to help you “do you wanna- um - have some milk and then um go back to bed?” He offered “well, mommy usually lets me stay in her bed” you sadly said, missing your mama so much. “Right, well” your uncle scanned his brain for any ideas, sharing his bed with you wasn’t exactly his first choice “would you like me to read to you?” He offered again. You drew your gaze down to the floor and sighed “no, it’s ok” you said as you turned on your heels and went back to your bedroom. Bruce gave you a sympathetic smile and rolled back into bed.

It wasn’t until a little while later that he realised the problem hadn’t quite been solved. He could hear your small whines out in the corridor and prepared himself for your re-entry. “Shh y/n, it’s alright” a familiar voice said. Bruce tumbled out of bed to investigate further. Upon opening the door he found an exhausted looking Wanda holding you snug in her arms pattering up and down the corridor. “Wanda?” Dr Banner asked. The brunette must’ve just returned from her solo mission. She shot her crimson eyes at the scientist and he immediately cowered away “why did you send her back to bed crying?” Wanda managed to whisper but also shout “she-she just walked away, I didn’t know what to do!” Bruce stammered, scratching the stubble on his chin. “She just needs some love and cuddles Bruce, just go back to bed I’ll look after her. Properly” the witch didn’t spare a second glance as she took you down the hall to the living area. Bruce excused himself to head back to bed, feeling very defeated. It wasn’t all his fault, he had zero experience with caring for kids and he did try his best.

Natasha wasted no time in heading straight to your bedroom when she returned in the early hours of the morning. She came to a halt in the living area when she saw you fast asleep on top of a dishevelled looking Wanda, who was also fast asleep. The widow was confused but before she could find Bruce a small whimper caught her attention “mama?” You whispered “hey baby girl” your mommy said as she came and scooped you up into her arms. Finally she was home and you were back in the safest place on earth “where is uncle Bruce?” She asked “uncle Bruce is a bad babysitter” you crossly said as you rubbed your eyes, Natasha couldn’t help but giggle slightly. “It’s okay sweethearts, mommy’s here now” she said as she kissed your hairline. You let out a big yawn and another pair of hands came to hold you “hey Nat” Wanda said “Bruce is in his room, I’ll take her to bed” she said, knowing that deep down Natasha was probably quite angry with Bruce. You willingly let Wanda carry you back to bed and fell straight back into dreamland, knowing your mommy was home again.

You woke up an hour later to a commotion outside your bedroom. “I gave you the easiest job Bruce!” Your mom said “how do you burn nuggets? I mean seriously!” You giggled slightly and crawled out of bed towards the door to listen closely “I’m so sorry Natasha I just didn’t know what to do” Bruce pleaded “if Wanda hadn’t had come home she would’ve been left scared and afraid because of you! I am never leaving my daughter with you again Bruce!” Your bedroom door clicked open and both avengers turned to you “hey baby, did you have a good sleep?” Natasha said as she came to give you a cuddle, you hummed contently and lifted your arms up signalling that you wanted your mama to lift you up “let’s go get some breakfast yeah y/n?” Your mom asked “yes pwease” you tiredly said as Natasha headed for the kitchen. You pulled back from her shoulder and looked back Bruce, he smiled. You on the other hand stuck your little tongue out and have a cheeky look at your uncle.

It was safe to say that Natasha wouldn’t be leaving you with Bruce anytime soon.

————

This is crap I know I’m sorry :/

-Astara

#marvel #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel fic #nat x reader #avengers #natasha x little!reader #natasha x daughter!reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #bruce banner #bruce x natasha #bruce x reader #wanda x natasha

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thinkingaboutlifefornow · 1 year ago

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The brave little ghost

Bucky x reader

Chapter 8

Warnings - swearing, mention of violence

(( I know this may feel slow for those waiting for the Bucky parts, but I feel like I need to build certain things up first. If you’re enjoying this please give the post some love 😊 ))

…….

You did eventually leave the shower. You got yourself dressed, your go to clothes at the moment was an over sized jumper of any kind, leggings and some mid calf length socks pulled up over the leggings. You’d been at the compound for around a month now. You felt more comfortable around the people there now, but sometimes you felt out of touch with the conversations going on around you. They would bring up old stories that you should remember, but your brain had been scrambled so often it was hard to piece the puzzles together.

You walked out of your room, down the hall to the main living area and through to the open plan kitchen. You were met with Tony sat at the table drinking coffee and reading articles on the holograms in front of him. He suddenly clicked it off, but not before you caught a glimpse of a masked man and long brown hair. You recognise him anywhere, it’s Winter.

“Morning Sweetie” He quickly greeted you, you smiled at him. You knew he was your dad but your brain still wouldn’t let you relax totally into the father daughter ways. It still felt like you had only just met a stranger.

“Hey Tony, what cha reading?” You asked with a smiley tone, while walking over to counter to pour yourself some coffee.

“Just some files work sent me” he tried to hide his flustered tone.

“Uh hu” you nodded, you didn’t take the conversation any further. Your feelings about Winter were rocky, on one hand he would protect you sometimes and the closest thing you had to a friend while in HYDRA. On the other hand he was as much a killer as you were.

“So therapy starts for you today” he said pointing at you with a click from his fingers at the same time.

“Ah yes, therapy… fixing everyone except for Tony Stark” you rolled your eyes at him.

“I’m sure there are things you went through in there that you need to talk about, and I’m not getting doctor therapy for dead parents… that’s what retail therapy is for” he smiled at you like only a billionaire could.

“I’ll remind myself of that one day.” You said walking off back to your room.

……

A knock at the door made you get up from your sofa, walking cautiously to the door.

“Who is it?” You said with a tone of warning.

“It’s Bruce, can you let me in?” He asked softly

You opened the door, he stood there in a button up shirt and brown pants. You were confused for a moment before realising you must have been late for your first therapy session.

“Oh shit therapy!” You went to run out of your room to make your way to the hospital part of the building. “Thank you for coming to get me, JARVIS can you let the therapist know I’m running a little late” but Bruce didn’t move out of the way.

“Y/n, I thought we could do our therapy sessions in your own room. Maybe you’d feel more comfortable opening up” he said calmly

“Oh you’re having therapy too? In my room? That’s a little weird but um…” you were so confused, but he cut you off with a small laugh.

“No, Tony thought you might be more comfortable speaking to someone you know. I’m not a real therapist, but I guess the main thing of therapy is getting it all out of your head” he held his hand out back towards you room, inviting you to turn around and go back inside.

You turned round, walking back to sit down on the couch and bringing your legs up to sit criss cross. Bruce shut the door behind himself and came to sit on the opposite end.

“So, what’s the first thing in your mind right now?” He asked.

……

“So that’s when I stabbed him in the head” you spoke quietly.

“And how did you feel in that moment?” Bruce asked, he’d been so calm through the whole session. You really started to trust him. You were telling him about your first mission.

“I felt like a robot, but that’s when the emotions started to slip in,” You confessed “I was proud for completing my mission, but I’d just killed someone.” You took a breathe. “I guess now I feel guilty, I shouldn’t have felt pride. My god I knew nothing about these people and I took away their future” tears started to build in your eyes.

He took your hand, which took you a little by surprise.

“You felt pride because that’s how they programmed you.” He was sincere with his words “but you feel guilty now because of who you actually are”

“I was a killing machine” the tears spilled over the edge, running down your cheeks.

“Machine is the key word there, that’s not who you are. That’s the brain washing” he squeezed you hands and something clicked in your brain.

…..

You were crying, you had just broken up with your latest partner. You didn’t want to tell your dad just yet, he would have flown out in one of his suits and blasted the poor boy dead. You went to find Bruce, and he held you as you cried before squeezing your hands and asking “so what flavour ice cream are we getting” with a small smile.

“You’re the best, Uncle Bruce” you smiled at him.

…..

“Thanks Uncle Bruce” the words slipped out of your mouth so easily before you even thought about them, you looked up at him through your tear soaked lashes.

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urdreamydoodles · 5 months ago

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MCU Characters x Reader (Part.1)

How they react when you are angry with them (Part.1)

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange & Thor Odinson

I'm back in my MCU era, thanks to Agatha All Along, so expect a lot of MCU headcanons, feel free to request those!

Tony Stark

- When you’re angry with Tony, he’s a little stunned. He’s used to being able to charm his way through things or brush issues off with a joke, but the moment he realizes you’re genuinely upset, he feels the ground shift a little. Tony’s mind races, calculating what he did wrong, and for a second, he considers ignoring the problem—but not with you. You mean too much to him, and he can’t stand the idea of pushing you further away.

- He doesn’t immediately know how to apologize, so he leans into his classic defense mechanism: humor. He’ll try to make you laugh, throwing out quips, hoping you’ll crack a smile. When that doesn’t work, he gets a little awkward, mumbling things like, “This is why I avoid real feelings, you know?” as he fumbles through an apology. He’s not used to admitting fault, but with you, he’s learning to swallow his pride.

- Tony goes all out when he realizes he needs to make it up to you. He’ll throw himself into making amends, maybe even a little too extravagantly. Expect some grand, over-the-top gesture—a private jet to Paris, a limited-edition piece of tech he’s been tinkering on, or a fancy dinner in some exclusive place with an outfit he’s bought just for the occasion. He’s not subtle, and he knows it, but he’ll do anything if it means a smile from you.

- When the big gestures don’t work, he takes a different approach. He shows up at your door, looking strangely vulnerable, with something small and meaningful. Maybe it’s a handwritten letter he’s scribbled out, confessing how much he hates it when things aren’t okay between you two. It’s raw, real, and completely unlike Tony, but he means every word. This time, he wants to show that he’s willing to put the ego aside for you.

- Once you finally let him back in, Tony wraps you in his arms and doesn’t let go. He’ll joke that he’s not letting you get mad at him again, and maybe throw in a flirty quip about “testing his limits,” but there’s something deeper there too. Being loved by you has changed him, and he’s willing to work on himself for the first time in a long time. With you, Tony’s found a softness he didn’t know he had, and he’s not going to risk losing it.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers doesn’t like conflict, especially not with you. When he realizes you’re angry, he immediately wants to address it and resolve it, hoping it won’t escalate. He tries to have a calm, level-headed conversation, but he can see that maybe it’s too soon. Steve’s patient, though; he’ll give you space if you need it, even if it pains him to let go for a while.

- While you’re cooling off, Steve takes time to reflect, replaying the situation in his mind, wondering where he went wrong. He’s his own worst critic and can be hard on himself, especially when it comes to you. He’ll try to see things from your perspective, understanding that sometimes his old-fashioned sense of right and wrong can be rigid. He’s willing to bend if it’s what’s needed to bridge the gap between you.

- When he approaches you again, he’s soft-spoken and earnest, offering a sincere apology. There are no excuses, no justifications—just him, owning up to whatever hurt you. His gaze doesn’t leave yours; he wants you to know he truly means it. And as he speaks, he promises he’ll do better, vowing to always listen to you and consider your feelings.

- To make it up to you, Steve chooses something simple but thoughtful, probably something he knows you love. It could be as quiet as a walk through your favorite park or as gentle as a handwritten note tucked into a book you’re reading. Steve understands that sometimes, it’s the little things that mean the most. He’ll give you the space to talk, letting you vent if you need to, always steady, always attentive.

- Once the air clears, Steve is more affectionate than usual, holding your hand, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, grateful to be back in your good graces. He values trust deeply and doesn’t take your forgiveness for granted. Steve knows relationships take work, and he’s fully committed to making it work with you, one respectful conversation at a time.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha doesn’t like it when things are off between you two, but she’s used to people being mad at her. Initially, she tries to shrug it off, acting like she doesn’t care, maybe even trying to ignore it. But you’re different. You’re not just anyone; you’re someone she actually trusts, and seeing you upset with her hits her hard.

- Natasha is far more comfortable dealing with enemies than emotional confrontations, so when she finally comes to you, she does it in a roundabout way. She might casually ask, “Are we good?” as if it’s not a big deal, but the nervous tension in her voice betrays her. She’s not great at apologies, so her attempt is awkward but sincere. It’s clear she’s trying, even if she doesn’t always have the words.

- To make it up to you, Natasha doesn’t go for big gestures but rather something deeply personal. She’ll take you to a place she loves—a quiet spot on a rooftop, a hidden café she discovered, somewhere she can let her guard down. She’s careful, almost shy, as she opens up a little about herself, sharing stories she rarely tells. In her own way, she’s letting you know how much she values you.

- Natasha doesn’t usually do comfort, but she’ll go out of her way to make you feel loved and safe. Maybe she’ll surprise you with breakfast or bring you something she knows you’ve been wanting. She pays attention, after all, even if she doesn’t always show it. Little by little, she’ll find ways to let you know that she’s there, committed to making things right.

- When you finally forgive her, Natasha breathes a sigh of relief, leaning in for a hug that lasts a beat longer than usual. She’s not big on words, but she’ll whisper something soft and sincere, just for you. Natasha’s fiercely protective, and after a falling-out, she’s even more attuned to making sure you feel cared for. She’ll stay close, a steady presence at your side, her quiet way of showing just how much she values you.

Bruce Banner

- When you’re angry with Bruce, he’s instantly anxious, worried he’s done something terribly wrong. Conflict isn’t his strong suit, and he’s painfully aware of his capacity for anger. He’s cautious, almost timid, when he realizes you’re upset, giving you space and time. He doesn’t want to make things worse or risk saying the wrong thing.

- Bruce spends time overthinking the situation, dissecting every detail. He questions himself, often getting caught in a loop of self-blame, wondering if he’s ever really been suited for a relationship. But even though he’s scared of confrontation, he values you too much to leave things unresolved. He wants to show you that he’s willing to work through whatever the issue is.

- When he finally comes to you, Bruce’s apology is soft, heartfelt, and a little self-deprecating. He’ll stumble through his words, not wanting to sound defensive, and there’s an earnestness in his gaze as he tries to convey just how much he wants to make things right. He’s not perfect, but he’s open to listening and doing better.

- To make it up to you, Bruce goes for something intimate and personal. He knows you appreciate small gestures, so he’ll show up with something that reflects his feelings for you—maybe a small book he thinks you’d love, or a little experiment from the lab that made him think of you. He’s shy about it, maybe a little embarrassed, but it’s his way of showing he cares.

- When you finally forgive him, Bruce visibly relaxes, wrapping you in a hug as if he never wants to let go. He’s careful, soft, and almost tentative, savoring the warmth of your embrace. Bruce cherishes the trust you give him and is deeply grateful to have someone willing to weather his insecurities. He might even joke, “You’re way too patient with me,” but the gratitude in his voice is genuine.

Clint Barton

- When Clint realizes you’re angry with him, his first reaction is a mix of regret and a slight laugh. He can’t believe he’s managed to mess things up this badly with you, of all people. He knows he tends to joke around a bit too much, so he tries to laugh it off at first, but when he sees how serious you are, his grin fades. He’ll look a bit awkward, rubbing the back of his neck, knowing he’s got some work to do.

- Clint’s never been one to give big, elaborate apologies. Instead, he’ll pull you aside, speaking quietly and genuinely. He’ll admit that he messed up, explaining that sometimes he forgets to take things seriously or considers others’ feelings the way he should. It’s a simple, heartfelt apology, showing his honest side that not many people get to see.

- Once he’s apologized, Clint is all about making you laugh. He’ll start cracking jokes, doing his best impressions, and even pull some ridiculous faces just to get a reaction out of you. Clint knows humor is his best weapon, and he’s shameless about using it if it means making things right. He’s determined not to let you stay mad at him for long, no matter what it takes.

- When his jokes don’t quite cut it, Clint switches gears and puts effort into something he knows will mean a lot to you. He’s a guy who pays attention to the little things, so he’ll show up with your favorite takeout, a warm blanket, or maybe even a funny book he picked up just for you. He knows that it’s the small gestures that can speak volumes.

- After things settle down, Clint wraps you in a warm, comfortable hug, one arm wrapped around your shoulder, making you feel like everything’s back to normal. He’ll joke about how lucky he is that you put up with him, throwing in a wink, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind his words. Clint doesn’t take his relationships for granted, and he’s grateful you’re in his life, even when he messes up.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky’s heart sinks when he sees that you’re angry. He’s used to pushing people away, and now that he’s got you, he’s terrified of losing you over a misunderstanding. Bucky’s first instinct is to retreat, his mind already whispering that maybe he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve you. He’ll avoid confrontation if he can, hoping things might smooth over on their own.

- But when he realizes he needs to talk to you, he’s hesitant, nervous, almost as if he’s bracing himself for rejection. Bucky approaches you carefully, speaking in a low, almost shy voice. He struggles with apologies, but he looks you in the eyes, opening up about how hard he finds it to express his feelings. He’s used to running, and being with you is the first time he’s tried not to.

- Bucky tries to make it up to you in the most low-key, thoughtful way possible. He’s not one for grand gestures, but he’ll do something meaningful and heartfelt, like leaving you a note explaining how much you mean to him or bringing you something that he knows you love. He’s nervous about whether it’ll be enough, hoping you can see the sincerity in his actions.

- When he feels things softening between you, Bucky relaxes just a little, offering his support in any way you need. He’ll stay close, maybe cooking a meal for you or sitting quietly with you, sharing a comfortable silence. He wants you to know that he’s there, without needing to say much, because he’s always believed that actions speak louder than words.

- When you finally forgive him, Bucky is beyond relieved. He’s more open with his affection, drawing you into a tight embrace, his touch lingering as if he’s afraid to let go. He knows he doesn’t have many people he can count on, but he’s grateful that he can count on you. Bucky’s still working on believing he deserves happiness, but having you in his life makes him want to try.

Sam Wilson

- Sam immediately notices when you’re angry, and his first instinct is to find out what’s going on. He’s straightforward and doesn’t like tension hanging in the air, so he’ll ask, “Alright, what did I do?” in his calm, genuine way, hoping you’ll be willing to talk it out. He’s good at reading people, but he wants to hear it from you directly.

- Sam listens intently when you explain what’s bothering you, nodding and giving you his full attention. He’s respectful and thoughtful, making sure you know he understands where you’re coming from. He’s not the type to dodge blame; if he’s at fault, he’ll own up to it right away. There’s no defensiveness, no excuses—just an honest desire to make things right.

- To make it up to you, Sam takes you on a simple, meaningful outing—something where the two of you can connect and have fun. He’s all about shared experiences, so maybe it’s a long walk, a favorite food spot, or even a small adventure he’s planned just for you. He’s careful, attentive, making sure the focus is on you and helping you feel valued.

- When things calm down, Sam offers a mix of humor and reassurance, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and promising to do better. He’ll look you in the eyes and say something like, “I don’t like seeing you mad. Tell me if I mess up again.” He’s genuine and open, showing you he wants to grow from this experience and be a better partner.

- Once everything’s back to normal, Sam goes the extra mile, making sure you’re laughing and relaxed. He’s always there to lift you up, pulling you in for a warm, affectionate hug and giving you his full, unwavering attention. Sam’s presence is solid, reassuring, and he’ll make sure you know just how much he values having you in his life.

Peter Parker (Tom H.)

- Peter’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re angry with him. He’s young, a little clumsy with emotions, and absolutely hates the idea of upsetting you. His mind starts racing, thinking of everything he could have done wrong. He gets a little panicked, maybe even rambling apologies before he knows what’s going on, hoping you’ll give him a chance to explain.

- When you tell him what’s bothering you, Peter listens carefully, nodding along with wide, earnest eyes. He’s genuinely sorry, his voice soft as he stumbles through an apology. He’s never been great at handling relationship tension, but he’ll try his best to make sure you know how much he cares and how sorry he is for letting you down.

- To make it up to you, Peter goes for something heartfelt, maybe even a bit awkward, but completely sincere. He’ll show up at your window with a little homemade gift, something quirky and thoughtful—perhaps a playlist he made just for you or a funny little gadget he put together in the lab. He’s earnest, a little shy about it, hoping you’ll see how much effort he’s putting in.

- Peter spends extra time trying to lift your spirits, using every ounce of his playful personality to make you laugh. He’ll crack jokes, do silly impressions, or even attempt a bad dance routine just to get you smiling again. He knows he’s a bit of a dork, but he doesn’t mind if it means cheering you up. Peter’s all about making you feel comfortable and loved.

- When you finally forgive him, Peter’s face lights up with relief. He’ll pull you into a warm, enthusiastic hug, holding you close and babbling about how he’s “the luckiest person in the world” to have someone like you. He’s young, optimistic, and just incredibly happy that you’re not mad anymore. To Peter, you’re his world, and he’ll always do whatever it takes to make you feel special.

Stephen Strange

- When Stephen realizes you’re angry with him, he’s a bit taken aback. He’s used to being right and doesn’t often see things from others’ perspectives, so it takes him a moment to understand the weight of the situation. His initial reaction might even be a little defensive, but he quickly catches himself, knowing that with you, he has to try harder to listen and understand.

- Stephen struggles with apologies, often trying to explain away his actions or getting caught up in technicalities. He’s intelligent and analytical, but that doesn’t always work when emotions are involved. Eventually, though, he manages to offer a genuine apology, admitting that he’s not always the easiest person to be with and that he respects you enough to take responsibility.

- To make things right, Stephen will probably use a bit of magic to create something special just for you. It might be a small charm to keep you safe, a little illusion to make you smile, or even a glimpse into some place you’ve always wanted to see. It’s his way of saying he cares, using the one skill he knows best to bring you a little joy.

- As he tries to smooth things over, Stephen is careful, more attentive than usual, and visibly trying to understand your emotions. He may not be great at expressing his own feelings, but he’s willing to try if it means keeping you close. He’ll listen to you, nodding thoughtfully, and maybe even opening up a bit about his past mistakes and how much he values you.

- Once you forgive him, Stephen is visibly relieved, though he keeps it subtle. He gives you a small smile and pulls you close, brushing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he wraps his arms around you. He might even joke, “Guess I need to work on my bedside manner,” but there’s genuine affection behind his words. Stephen knows he’s lucky to have you, and he’s determined to keep learning how to love you better.

Thor Odinson

- Thor is visibly surprised when he realizes you’re angry with him. He’s naturally cheerful and doesn’t take most things too seriously, so the idea that he’s done something to upset you takes him off guard. At first, he tries to brush it off with a booming laugh, but when he sees the seriousness in your eyes, his smile fades. He immediately wants to fix things, willing to do whatever it takes to get you to smile again.

- Thor is quick to apologize, his voice earnest as he promises he didn’t mean to hurt you. He’s not one to overthink things, but he’s deeply sincere, and his apologies come straight from the heart. He’ll look you in the eyes and tell you he values you and never meant to cause any harm, his words laced with the kind of honesty that only Thor can deliver.

- To make it up to you, Thor goes all out. He’ll sweep you off on a grand adventure, maybe a spontaneous trip to Asgard (or at least what remains of it), or he’ll bring you somewhere beautiful and awe-inspiring. Thor loves to celebrate life and wants to remind you of all the incredible experiences the two of you can share. His enthusiasm is infectious, and he hopes that a bit of excitement will make things right.

- As you spend time together, Thor is extra affectionate, showering you with praise and hugs. He’s genuinely sorry and makes sure you feel loved and appreciated, maybe even telling you tales of his own mistakes and what he’s learned from them. He might tease himself a bit, but it’s all to make you laugh and remind you of his dedication to you.

- When you finally forgive him, Thor’s smile lights up the room. He laughs, pulling you into a bear hug, lifting you off your feet, and spinning you around. There’s nothing subtle about his relief and joy, and he’s not afraid to show it. Thor values you immensely and will do everything he can to make sure you know how much you mean to him, promising that he’ll try to be a little more mindful in the future.

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 8 months ago

Text

pop that cherry

a/n: woop woop! here's the little slutty story that you guys voted for when i asked what you wanted to see happen next in this au ৎ୭

summary: “hey, I get it,” he flashed you a comforting smile, “I’m a complete stranger. You just shook my hand two seconds ago and now we’re expected to bang in front of a bunch of other people you also don’t know,” his broad thumb swept over your knuckles, “you just have to decide if you wanna pack up your things, go home and chalk this up to just a fun experience, a lesson learned about what corners your sexuality and such does and does not stretch to,” he uttered with sincerity, “or you can come back inside and we can make some magic happen. It’s up to you.”

warnings: camgirl!reader x various, pornstar!ari levinson, roommate!bucky barnes, porn director!bruce banner, smut, porn au, college au, reader’s porn name is cherry blossom (UrLittleCherry), filming pornography, reader's first time doing professional porn, kissing, masturbation, toys, oral, fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, dirty talk, size kink (pornstar!ari is famous for his monster cock, you're welcome), belly bulge, manhandling, multiple orgasms, squirting, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, facial

word count: 3832

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

sugar & spice au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist

Curled up and melted on your mattress, you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone. Your puffy pussy, hidden between your still trembling thighs, clenched in dull soreness from the fuck machine frozen by your feet and still glistening from the show you’d put on only moments earlier.

“Hey, pretty girl,” a familiar voice emanated from your doorway, “I didn’t know you were done streaming.”

Lazily blinking up at Bucky as he leaned against the frame, “yeah, just signed off a few minutes ago,” you exhaled, “did you just get home?” the question flowed from your lips and he swiftly nodded in confirmation, “how was class?”

“Oh my god, don’t get me started,” your roommate let out a groan and pushed himself off the wall, his stride swiftly carrying him the short distance to where you laid and plopped himself down beside you.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you felt him press a slow peck to your exposed shoulder.

“Do you need help lifting the toy back in the closet or–,” Bucky’s kind offer was then cut short by the shuttering gasp that suddenly crawled out of your lungs.

“Oh my god,” your eyes grew to the size of saucers as you stared down at the message you’d opened on your phone, “oh my god!”

“What? What is it?” he propped himself up on a forearm to peek over your shoulder.

“I–…” your eyes scanned the email wildly, “this can’t be real, right?” you cast a glance back at your friend.

“Let me have a look,” and you swiftly handed him your phone before hearing him skim through it, “dear miss Cherry Blossom, bla, bla, bla… we here at Smash Studios really love your vibe and were wondering if you would ever consider doing professional pornography, because if so, then we would love to work with you,” his blue eyes flickered a moment longer over the screen before they fluttered up to meet yours, “no, I think it’s legit.”

“Holy shit…” you breathed, an airy giggle then bubbled out of you as this was quite the news to take in, even when one wasn’t still hazy from haven fucked one silly in front of hundreds of people.

“You think you wanna do it?”

“Beautiful, gorgeous! And look right here, up there, yeah, that’s it…”

Sharp clicks shuttered the camera and shot throughout the massive house as a photographer snapped the last of the stills for the shoot. You were posed perched and kneeling on a bed with your right hand buried in the already tiny crop top, you’d brought as one of the outfit options, and held up high to reveal your tits.

The groan of floorboards creaking then found your ears and your gaze swiftly fluttered towards the door where the salt-and-pepper-haired man, who you’d come to learn was the head of the little porn studio, crossed over the threshold.

“How are we doing in here?” Bruce adjusted his glasses before stepping further into the room.

“I think we’re about done,” the photographer lowered the camera from his eye and cast a glance to his boss, “think we got the shot.”

“Great,” Bruce clapped his shoulder as the other man passed by and exited the room. As you tugged the short t-shirt back down into place, you met Bruce’s gaze before he asked you, “how are you doing? You ready?”

Though your mind was way too preoccupied to offer him an answer and instead blurted, “has he arrived?” as you scooted off the bed and felt the tiny shorts you wore ride up enough for your grasp to float down to adjust.

“Not yet, I’m sorry,” he tilted his head, “trust me when I say that he isn’t usually this late. He wouldn’t have the stellar reputation he does if he was. But we can still begin without him and just fix it in post if you’re–”

Someone then poked their head and announced, “hey Banner? He’s here. I just spotted his bike roll up the driveway.”

Feeling your heart thump in your chest, you heard Bruce clap his palms together, “great!” before you followed him out of the bedroom and through the pristine halls of the rented modern mansion.

Just before your bare feet began to conquer the long staircase, your absentminded grip tightened on the glass railing as you looked down at the open living room, clearly visible from the wide balcony, and spotted the figure that then sauntered in.

“So sorry I’m late, traffic was literal hell.”

Ari Levinson.

With sun-kissed brunette locks flowing from his head and a motorcycle helmet nuzzled under his burly arm, the infamous pornstar was not only blessed with a smile that could make anyone swoon, but also a dick so huge that any sane person would be downright terrified by the idea of having it split them apart.

Though that wasn’t what had stopped you in your tracks, what had made your palms embarrassingly clammy when he soon shook one of them once you’d somehow made your way down the stairs.

Why did your very first partner have to be someone you’d obsessively been getting off to for years?

You were barely listening to what the people around you were saying as you couldn’t rip yourself out of the trance you’d snapped into.

“I’m sorry, what?” you soon blinked, trying to avert your gaze.

“I asked if you were ready,” Bruce patiently repeated.

“…for?” you breathed, feeling as if you were inside of a giant ethereal cheese bell, making the entire world around you seem blurry.

“For the shoot,” Bruce’s words still flew straight over your head, “I said that I was thinking that I’d do the filming myself, if that could make you more comfortable since you’ve already met me. That way it’ll just be me, the two of you and then Sam in the corner doing audio.”

“O-okay…” you said quietly, feeling your cheeks heat up as Ari let his gaze linger over you, an observant brow soon twitching as he spoke up.

“Wait, actually,” he placed a palm on Bruce’s forearm, halting him as he reached for the bulky camera resting on the white couch, “do you mind if I grab a quick smoke break first?”

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded, “let’s just all take five before we begin.”

It caught you completely off guard when the object of your distraction walked by you and paused to murmur in your ear, “come with me outside for a second, will you?”

Shadowing him all the way out of the tall glass door and onto the terrace, you watched him lean his frame against the fence and tilt his body for you to slot in beside him.

“I don’t actually smoke,” you uttered softly as you let your fingers ghost over the railing.

“Oh, neither do I–, or well, that’s not completely true, I do, just didn’t need one right now.”

“So then why did you ask for a smoke break?” you cocked a brow.

Blowing out a swift breath, Ari then twisted to face you more and gazed directly down at you.

“You mind if I hold your hand?” he held out his own palm.

“Oh, uhm,” your glance flickered down to his upturned hand before you carefully placed your own atop of it, “okay.”

His warm fingers swiftly engulfed your own as his stare stayed fast upon you.

“So, this is your first time, huh?”

“Oh, no, I'm not a virgin, I–”

“I meant porn, sweetheart,” he tilted his head to be more at your level.

“Right,” you averted your gaze as butterflies soared in your stomach, “yeah, I haven’t really done this before… I mean, I’ve some stuff, I’ve cammed for a pretty long time now and even recorded custom videos for some people, but no, I haven’t really taken this step before…”

You were staring down at his large hand engulfing yours as he then said, “you know, it’s okay if you don’t wanna go through with it. This field isn’t for everyone, in fact, only very few thrive in this environment, and if it’s not for you, then it’s okay.”

“Oh, no,” your eyes flickered up to find his as you urged, “I wanna do this, I really do. I’m sorry, I guess I just kinda got a bit more nervous than I expected.”

“Hey, I get it,” he flashed you a comforting smile, “I’m a complete stranger. You just shook my hand two seconds ago and now we’re expected to bang in front of a bunch of other people you also don’t know,” his broad thumb swept over your knuckles, “you just have to decide if you wanna pack up your things, go home and chalk this up to just a fun experience, a lesson learned about what corners your sexuality and such does and does not stretch to,” he uttered with sincerity, “or you can come back inside and we can make some magic happen. It’s up to you.”

“So, Cherry,” Bruce purred behind the camera as he knelt on the floor beside where you sat at the foot of the bed, “I can’t believe we finally convinced you to come have some fun with us. I gotta tell you, you are just a fucking dream come true…”

“Oh, thank you,” you smiled, kicking your feet slightly as they dangled over the edge.

“But you must get that all the time, I mean, look at you.”

“It has been known to happen on occasion,” you chuckled, thinking back to all of the lewd compliments the viewers of your streams generously tossed at you.

“So, a little birdy told me that this is your very first time fucking on camera. Is that true?”

“Yeah, it is,” you bit down on your bottom lip, “I’m so ready to pop that cherry.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” he smirked, panning the bulky camera over your frame as you tilted your head in a nod, “you’re just ready to show the whole world what a perfect slut you are?”

“Think it’s about time,” you giggled in response.

“Well, then why don’t you do something for me and stand up?” he shifted back a bit as you got up from the bed, “and now, I’ve already seen it, but can you please turn around and show everyone how fucking perfect your ass is?” a grin stayed fast on your face as you slowly spun around. Your butt was barely covered in the tiny shorts that clung around your hips, so when you twisted and let the camera catch that part of you, Bruce quietly groaned, “wow…” and he shifted his grip to let one of his hands float up towards you, “can I touch you?”

“Sure,” you arched your back a bit to make his palm’s journey that much shorter.

“Damn… this has got to be one of the greatest booties I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” he offered your softness a brief squeeze. His fingers first dented one cheek, then the next, before his grip caught your waistband and tugged your shorts up just a tad bit more, making the fabric momentarily rub against your covered pussy.

His flat palm then scooped around your hips and guided you back to face the camera.

“Do you wanna see my boobs?” you smiled as you blinked down at him with big doe eyes, your hands gently grazing over the hem of your crop top.

“Oh, yes, please,” he virtually begged as he let his warm palm stay glued to your waist.

Peeking down, you slowly lifted the shirt up and let your tits quite literally spill out as they jiggled slightly from the release of how fiercely you let the cotton graze over your skin.

“Jesus christ…” you heard him utter as your palms fluttered down to play with them, squeezing the soft peaks gently before Bruce’s fingers sneaked up to pinch one of your nipples.

Once you’d put on a show and pushed the tiny shorts down your legs, the crotch of which had been slightly soaked since you weren’t wearing any panties underneath, you rested back down on the bed and spread your legs wide for the camera, grinning as the older man asked you to play with yourself.

“Oh my god… I gotta tell you, I am so hard right now,” you watched how intently he stared at the small monitor, getting a closeup of how your fingers rubbed your little clit, “you have no idea how tough it is not to just fuck you right now, it’s crazy…”

“Oh yeah?” you giggled, the melody of your want echoing throughout the room at every teasing touch you offered yourself, “how bad do you wanna fuck me?”

“So fucking bad…” he uttered in a nearly hypnotise tone.

Continuing to circle your puffy pearl, your fingers briefly dipped down to tease your entrance, only shyly slipping inside before you swept back up.

“You know what?” Bruce said as he then began to twist a bit to get the open door to the room into frame, “I have a little surprise for you,” and perfectly on queue, Ari appeared at the threshold, burly chest on show with just a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips.

His stride was slow as he only stayed in the doorway a moment before sauntering over to where you sat, melted back and resting against the one forearm that propped you up.

“Hey,” he smiled and plucked up your face as soon as it was within reach.

“Hi,” you managed to utter just before he bent down and pressed his lips to yours in an unhurried and gentle kiss.

He kissed you as if he had all the time in the world, like some dude wasn’t pressing a bulky camera closer to the intimate act, but like he was the lead in a PG romcom.

When Ari withdrew, he let himself linger in your warmth, ever so slightly nuzzling his nose against your own as your fingers kept up the dizzying pattern you drew between your parted thighs. Tilting his head, his touch traced the length of your arm till his reach came down to aid your efforts, making you gasp from the way he caressed you.

“You,” he nudged his nose gently against your own, “look like you’re in need of some cock in that little mouth of yours.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, you said, “you read my mind,” before popping the button of his jeans and tugging the zipper down. Even though you’d seen his famed cock numerous times on screen before, it truly was something else to witness it in person. A breathy, “holy shit,” left your lips as you tried to wrap your fingers around his girth, though he only let out a soft laugh at the way your eyes grew wide.

Ceasing the caress he drew between your thighs, he instead grabbed the base of his heavy length with his fingers still glossy from your arousal. As you stuck out your flat tongue, he tapped the weight against you for a second before you tilted your chin and wrapped your lips around the bulbous head.

As you disappeared into the meditative motion of slobbering all over his cock, gradually taking more and more of his intimidating length, your frame twisted to lay on your side and face him more.

Blinking up into his hooded eyes as the corners of your lips burned from the severe stretch, you felt his hips begin to move, rolling to meet your every bob, till his fingers tangled in your hair and he got to take over completely, fucking your face till slobber dribbled down your chest and rained down on your crop top, still tugged up and framing your tits.

His free hand then snaked its way back down your body and cracked your legs open wide for the camera to see as he plugged your pussy up with two of his fingers, making you moan around his girth as the tip of him bruised your throat.

When he yanked your mouth off of his cock, he did so with a gravelly growl, like he could have lived in your silky warmth and it pained him to say goodbye so soon.

“Come here,” he grabbed you and flipped you around for your frame to face him as his feet stayed planted on the side of the bed. Kicking his jeans the rest of the way off, you panted up at him as you scooted even closer, nearly letting your butt hang off the mattress’ edge as you laid already crumbled and folded before him, utterly bewitched by the anticipation of what his legendary size must feel like stretching your poor pussy out.

Shimmery spiderwebs of your nectar clung to him as he then let you feel the weight of him tap against your puffy pearl, briefly skimming through your folds before he found your eyes and tipped down, nudging to catch your weeping entrance.

“Oh my g-god…” you gasped, all of the air escaping your body to accommodate as he slowly pressed just the tip inside. Your cunt clung around his dick as he gave you a second to catch your breath. Your pulse throbbed in your pussy as your silky walls moulded around him and your thighs gently trembled from the intensity of it all.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he gave you another inch, “you feel so good,” gently stuffing more of his length inside.

His grip dented your trembling thighs as he held you open for the camera to see how you struggled to take his cock. Even when the tip of him kissed your cervix and made you feel as if he was all the way up in your fucking throat, when you hazily gazed down to see where he split you apart, there was still a generous inch of him that your little pussy just couldn’t take.

As your eyes lingered a little longer, you too caught sight of how a dull bulge formed in the lower part of your belly, perfectly timed with each of his mind-numbing thrusts.

When you then tumbled over the edge, nearly blind from the overwhelming pleasure, your pussy couldn’t help but accidentally gush around Ari’s girth, simply because of how mind-boggling he felt.

“Oh, shit,” you panted. Still in your orgasmic daze, you swiftly cast a worried glance up at Bruce steady behind the camera, “I’m sorry,” you briefly broke the scene as Ari too paused his movements as you breathlessly spoke, “I really tried not to squirt, I know that wasn’t part of today’s plan, but–, fuck…” your eyes fluttered up to find Ari’s, “your dick’s just so goddamn big,” you hazily giggled.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Bruce’s voice washed over you as you watched a smile tug at Ari’s lips, “that was just an unplanned bonus.”

“Wait, so you’re not mad?” your neck twisted to cast a glance at the director.

“No,” he swiftly shook his head and flashed you a reassuring smile to calm the obvious anxiety that had bubbled up inside of you.

“Oh, good,” you let out a sigh, “sorry, I just got nervous for a second. Okay, alright, we can keep going.”

“You good?” Ari checked before he cracked out of his frozen form.

“Yep, yep, I’m okay, I’m wonderful,” you chuckled and let the last bit of nerves wash away.

“Alright,” he dipped down to press a soft kiss to your lips, before his hands guided your arms around his neck, slinking them around him.

His grasp then scooped down under you and he effortlessly plucked you up off the bed, a shy yelp bubbling up from your lungs as he picked your frame up to cradle you in his arms, his massive cock still lodged inside of you, though when he settled you in his strong hold, it felt as if he found a mystical way to slide even deeper.

Moans flowed from your lips and vibrated against his skin as your neck soon gave up and lent your cheek to smoosh against his fuzzy chest.

“There you go,” he stood up tall and bounced you in his arms like you were a toy, just a cocksleeve for him to get off with, “there you fucking go…”

As he picked up the pace and truly gave you a taste of how a real pornstar pounded a pussy for the camera, your eyes screwed shut tight and you felt yourself float away on a cloud, curled up in Ari’s burly arms and surrounded in a storm of your collective moans. The existence of the video camera even faded from your reality as you peeled your eyes open and peeked up at Ari from the pillow of his pec, knowing full well that he too could feel how you began to clench around his cock once more.

“You gonna cum again?” he repeatedly lifted you up and down on his fat girth, “you gonna be a good girl and cream all over my cock, huh?”

Blinking up at him, your brows crinkled in pleasure as you nodded, “uh-huh.”

“You think you can squirt again for me?” his grip dug into the plush of your ass hard enough for it to leave marks.

“I-I don’t know–”

“Oh, I think you can,” he switched up his pattern, slowing down slightly and dragging you all the way up till his cock nearly slipped out of you, only to sink you back down in such a rough, yet intensely slow manner, that it made your eyes roll in your skull, “just listen to that,” he smirked at the soft sloshing sound that sinfully echoed as his fat girth repeatedly slid against your g-spot, virtually bullying it till you surrendered, “it’s like she’s begging me to just spend the rest of the day making her gush over and over again until you fucking pass out…”

A shrill cry escaped your form as you let go once more, shaking in Ari’s grasp as Bruce knelt down to capture your sinful drizzle.

You nearly felt drunk, like you were hours into the best party of your life, when you eventually found yourself planted on the floor, quaking legs unsteady beneath you as you blinked up at Ari, looming above you and furiously fucking his fist.

“You want me to cum all over that pretty little face?” he grunted as you hazily stuck out your tongue.

“Yes,” the corners of your lips blissfully curled up into a grin, “please–”

Even though your bones had turned into jelly and your pussy clenched in soreness, the drawn-out moan that rumbled in Ari’s chest as hot ropes of his cum then shot out and painted your features sent tingles throughout your body and filled you with a desire to just wrestle him back down onto the mattress, hit rewind and do it all over again.

#lea’s writing #sugar and spice au #ari levinson smut #bucky barnes smut #ari levinson x reader #chris evans smut #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series #chris evans x reader #bruce banner smut #ari levinson au #ari levinson x you #ari levinson series #sebastian stan x reader #marvel smut #mcu smut

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artficlly · 23 days ago

Text

lessons in lovemaking [part two]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, blindfolding, grinding, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, clothed ejaculation, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, very consensual, safe words, kissing, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, bickering, reader is lowkey depressed, mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: hey guys, i'm literally so nervous posting this... it's been sitting in my drafts for like a month now and i finally worked up the courage to post after spending a couple hours editing :( i'm literally scheduling this to post at like 3am my time so i'm not awake when it goes live i'm so anxious bahaha. the start of this part is a bit slow, pls hold on because theres some light smut and angst at the end. i have plans for further parts that'll look more into the other avengers finding out and the development between bucky and readers relationship and their shared healing. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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It was only on rare occasions that the full team of Avengers (and co.) were in the same room. A momentous historical moment, in fact, normally reserved for two particular occasions:

The world was ending (in some gloriously diabolical way that usually involved aliens, interdimensional warlords, or some ancient, forgotten god with a vendetta) or

Tony Stark was throwing another one of his famously exclusive penthouse parties (which, despite being ‘exclusive,’ still managed to include half of New York—most of whom showed up just to gawk at the Avengers like a travelling circus act sent to entertain them personally.)

Today, it seemed, was neither of those occasions. Thor and the rest of the Asgardians—Bruce Banner included, oddly enough—were busy rebuilding after the destruction of Asgard. Wanda and Vision were off playing happy family elsewhere, and Clint was busy with his own quickly expanding family. The others, agents, specialists, the people whose names you never bothered to remember, were preoccupied with their own missions. Which left you here, filed neatly into the elusive extra category. Not quite an Avenger. Too valuable to be let loose, too unpredictable to be fully trusted.

You leant back in your chair, only half-listening to the conversation beside you. The skin around your thumbnail was raw. You picked at it absentmindedly, peeling back the edge where it had already started to flake, a sting flaring along the nail. You were thinking—too much, maybe—so you let them talk, let yourself disappear as they debated which bar had the strongest drinks and the least pathetic men.

The three of you were early. By some miracle, morning training had ended ahead of schedule. Natasha had wiped the floor with you, to the point where it probably would’ve been more productive to stay on the mat rather than waste your energy hauling yourself back up.

“What do you think?” It took you a second to realise Yelena was talking to you, elbows propped on the table, chin resting in her hand. She was watching you expectantly, sharp eyes narrowed.

You didn’t look up. “I’m not coming.”

She sighed dramatically. “You never hang out with us.” She leant back in her chair with an exaggerated huff, muttering under her breath, “So mysterious and cool. You think you’re better than us?”

Natasha watched on amused, the redhead poised as always. “She doesn’t want to drink in front of us in case she spills her secrets.”

You scoffed. “What secrets?”

“I don’t know.” Natasha leant forward, watching you a little too closely now, like she was gauging your reaction. “How about how that mission went with Barnes?”

Ever since the gala mission, the two had been trying to get you alone, a few drinks in, hoping for something—a slip, an offhanded remark, anything that would confirm whatever hunches they had. You knew what they were fishing for. They weren’t subtle.

You just weren’t playing.

Neither you nor Bucky had said a word about it.

That, apparently, was suspicious.

“She is right, you know. Neither of you will say a word about it. I’m beginning to think something happened—” Yelena cut over her sister with a grin.

“Nothing happened,” you interrupted smoothly, finally lifting your eyes from the wreckage of your thumbnail. “You keep asking, but you’re not going to uncover some dirty secret. Sorry to disappoint."

“Then why the silence? No one would care if you fucked him, you could just plead innocence, overcome by playing the perfect, doting wife—”

You shot her a look, one withering enough to turn bone to dust and ego to rubble.

“I mean… maybe people would care, but I wouldn’t judge you! Super soldier, metal arm… so hot, or whatever.” Yelena prattled on, and you ignored her, exhaling through your nose.

"I think he’s just mortified that people assume something did happen. He’s got enough brooding energy as it is." You muttered.

“I just don’t believe nothing happened, trapped in that hotel room together for a week. Apparently, you were convincing enough to keep the targets off your scent, and we all know Barnes’ acting is as stiff as a cadaver on ice—”

Your face twisted into a look of exasperation before you could control yourself, straightening in your seat. “God, you two really are like vultures, picking around for the slightest bit of gossip—”

“Wow, defensive—”

“Isn’t that the joy in life? Digging for gossip?” Natasha cut back in with a sharp smirk.

“You two are insufferable!” You interrupted, slapping your palms onto your thighs. "I think I’ll keep my secrets. I’ll leave the both of you to continue plotting this fantastical mystery you’ve created in your minds—”

“It’s only fun because you get so worked up about it,” Natasha cut back with a grin you could only describe as predatory. “Plus, I do love watching Rogers squirm listening to all the theories."

“You know,” Yelena mused, swirling the thought around before letting it slip, “I don’t think Steve is as innocent as we think he is. I’m pretty sure I heard him and Sharon—”

She cut herself off just as the door swung open, and the rest of the team filtered in.

You schooled your reaction, easily slipping back into the picture of nonchalance. Bucky’s blue eyes flickered towards yours for a split second before darting away. It had been two weeks since your first ‘lesson’. Two weeks of carefully measured distance, of subtle glances that never lasted too long, of conversations that stayed just professional enough to not raise questions.

Bucky had been doing well—shockingly well, actually. He was receptive to your touch, followed your guidance with careful precision, and was beginning to trust you, bit by bit. You hadn’t gone much further than heated make-out sessions that usually ended with him finishing in his pants, but you weren’t in a rush. You were still feeling out his comfort zones, making sure he never felt cornered or overwhelmed. There wasn’t exactly a handbook for this kind of arrangement.

You slumped in your seat even further, shaking off the feeling. It was fine. No one knew.

Still, the way Bucky avoided looking in your direction made something prickle under your skin.

You were certain the super soldier would combust on the spot if any of his coworkers caught wind of what the two of you had been up to. Hell, he turned red enough just having you perched in his lap during lessons, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. And yet, during meetings, training, or any moment the two of you were forced into the same orbit, you couldn’t help but wonder—did he think about those moments? Did his mind drift back to the ghost of your touch the same way yours did?

You weren’t usually the sentimental type. Nostalgia was a luxury, a foolish indulgence you had long since trained yourself out of. But there was something about him—his quiet hesitance, his wary but willing surrender—that stuck with you. It was a service, nothing more. A transaction in which you gained no tangible benefit, so why did you linger on it? Why did the thought of his gaze meeting yours send a sharp thrill through your chest? Was it because he treated you like a person instead of a tool? Because he understood pieces of you no one else even tried to?

He wasn’t like the others. Never cruel, never greedy. He never reached for more than you offered, never treated you like something to be taken. Maybe that was why you kept coming back. Maybe, for once, you liked the control. Liked the feeling of choosing, of being wanted on your own terms. Of knowing that, for once, you weren’t a marionette dancing on someone else’s strings.

You swallowed the thought down and let your gaze flicker to him. Bucky sat curled in on himself, as if trying to shrink into nothing despite the broadness of his frame. He looked like a wounded animal—no, worse. He looked exhausted. The dark circles beneath his eyes had deepened, his hair unwashed and slightly greasy at the roots. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t taking care of himself. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure that out.

He stared blankly at the grain of the wooden table, shoulders hunched between Steve and Sam, who were deep in conversation about something you didn’t care enough to eavesdrop on. And for reasons you weren’t ready to name, that quiet, hollow stillness of his sat uneasily in your chest.

You had… concerns for Bucky after what he had confessed to you. But you weren’t sure what to do with those concerns. Or those confessions. You held them close to your chest, unwilling to betray his trust, but understanding instead. You knew it was probably irresponsible of you to sit on them, but you didn’t want to overstep. Besides, Steve and Sam didn’t know you. You’d had maybe three conversations with each of them, most of them mission-related. To them, you were just Natasha and Yelena’s friend—Red Room collateral. You weren’t social, you weren’t a part of their circle, and you sure as hell weren’t someone they trusted.

And if they knew about your arrangement with Bucky… well, you didn’t want to think about what conclusions they’d draw—

“Hi!”

The sudden, chirpy voice nearly startled you out of your seat.

Kate Bishop had arrived—loud, bright, and effortlessly excitable, like a golden retriever in human form. She had that kind of energy that made you suspicious. No one was that happy all the time. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, messy strands framing her face. She was dressed in casual, slightly dishevelled layers, looking like she had just come from sparring but didn’t have the same dead-in-the-eyes exhaustion you did after a training session.

“I’m Kate!” she announced, beaming at you like you were about to be best friends. She pushed her hand out. “Kate Bishop.”

You blinked at her, ignoring her outstretched offer. “I know.”

Her grin didn’t waver, and she coolly withdrew her hand.

“You’re Clint and Yelena’s pet project.” You spoke again, your tone perhaps a little more hostile than necessary.

“It’s apprentice, actually.” Yelena cut in before Kate could argue. “You know, you’re starting to hurt my feelings. Stark has an apprentice, so why are you always giving me shit—”

“Oh yes, Stark’s pet project.” You gave an exaggerated sigh. “What was his name? Paxton, Peyton, or was it Parker?”

“Did I ask for your opinion, K.G.B. Barbie?” Tony Stark’s voice cut in lazily as he walked past, sitting at the head of the table like he owned the place—which, unfortunately for you, he did. As usual, he didn’t look pleased to see you, and the scent of entitlement wafted off of him in waves.

You met his gaze evenly. "No, but I was under the impression that unsolicited opinions were your love language, considering the amount your hand out.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Remind me why we let you sit at the big kids’ table again?”

"You don’t." You glanced at Stark, unimpressed. "But I was invited, shockingly enough. Or are you reckless enough to ignore Fury’s instructions now?"

There it was. That smirk. He smirked at you, and you knew in your heart he had the foulest, most cutting rebuke to lay upon you. He hadn’t even opened his mouth, and you were already grinding your teeth in frustration as you stared back at him, eyes locked onto his smug face—

Kate cleared her throat, stepping in before you and Stark could escalate any further. “So, what do you do?”

Stark held his tongue, so in return, you slid your gaze back over to a nervous Kate. And in that moment, you knew you couldn’t help yourself. Natasha had already shot you a warning look, but the redhead's trained patience for the playboy Stark had unfortunately never extended to you.

"Infiltration, espionage, recon." You shrugged, expression carefully neutral. "I gather information, and then the big boys get to swoop in, throw a few punches, and take all the credit. Isn’t that right, Stark?"

Maybe you had woken up grouchier than usual—not that you could even call the few hours of restless tossing and turning sleep. Or perhaps it was the fact that you’d spent the morning eating the training mat, then had to suffer through Natasha and Yelena’s constant interrogations that had soured your mood. Either way, you weren’t exactly in the best headspace to deal with him.

Truthfully, you thought Stark was a prick, and unfortunately, you had never been exactly shy about that opinion. You and Stark had just never really clicked. Not in the way he had with the others, not in the way Natasha had seamlessly folded herself into the team, or the way Yelena had bulldozed her way in, loud and brash. You existed somewhere in between, tolerated but always lingering on the outside. It wasn’t that you didn’t get along with them. You could banter with Sam, hold an easy conversation with Steve when necessary and trade dry humour with Clint in a way that made you feel almost at home. Even Stark, for all his grating personality, wasn’t always intolerable. But there was always something between you and them—an unspoken distance, a careful line you never crossed. They didn’t entirely trust you yet, and you never gave them a reason to try.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because trust had never been a luxury you could afford.

Your job was reading people—analysing, dissecting, and manipulating. You understood them better than they understood themselves, saw the cracks in their foundations and knew precisely where to apply pressure. It made you valuable. Indispensable even, but it also made people wary. The team knew what you were, even if they didn’t know the full extent of what you had been. But deep down, you knew they were smart enough to assemble the pieces.

So you kept yourself at arm’s length. You wanted to believe you could have that feeling—belonging. But wanting and trusting were two very different things that you did not dare confuse.

Kate’s eyes lit up. “That’s so cool.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it,” Stark interjected, leaning against the desk. “She’s just a pretty face we send in to distract while the rest of us do the actual work.”

There it was.

Your jaw clenched, but you didn’t rise to the bait. This was your hubris. You could already hear Natasha’s scolding—You really shouldn’t egg him on like that. The two of you are as bad as each other, always trying to get under each other's skin. A bunch of alleycats fighting it’s ridiculous—

Somewhere across the table, Bucky’s eyes had shot up. The movement startled you, and your eyes met briefly. It was milliseconds, maybe not even that, but as soon as you registered your brief exchange, Bucky shied away like a spooked animal.

And when you looked back at Kate, Natasha and Yelena, you found that Natasha had been watching the whole thing. She didn’t speak, didn’t even react. There wasn’t the slightest twitch in her brow or twinge in her lips. She stared like some kind of omnipotent god, and deep down, you knew. You knew she knew.

Maybe she didn’t know the full extent, but the way she stared… it made you shudder.

Fuck.

Kate, however, frowned, turning back to you. “That’s not true, right?”

“Of course not,” you deadpanned, not letting the dread pooling in your stomach let you miss a beat. “I do much more than look pretty. Sometimes I get to torture people—”

Kate’s face pale, then through several stages of grief, trying to figure out if you were joking.

You weren’t about to help her.

“Relax, Kate Bishop, she is messing with you,” Yelena said with an amused grin, though it was tight. A silent warning behind her eyes told you to keep your mouth shut.

Kate still looked mildly concerned, but she shook it off quickly. “Okay, but—so you can fight?”

“Of course.”

“Not as well as me,” Yelena cut in before you could elaborate, grinning smugly. “Don’t worry, Kate. You’re being trained by the best of the best. Me? I am the best. You know this.”

You rolled your eyes, and Kate beamed. That girl was too fucking cute for her own good.

The door swung open before anyone could respond to Yelena. Fury stepped inside, long coat sweeping behind him, his boots heavy against the floor. His usual expression—somewhere between perpetually pissed off and quietly judgmental—was firmly in place beneath the shadow of his eyepatch.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Fury said, his voice edged with dry amusement, though his gaze flicked between you all with razor-sharp scrutiny.

"No, sir," Steve said, back straightening. Natasha, ever composed, merely leaned back in her chair. Stark didn’t even spare a glance.

“First off, I’d like to extend my deepest, most heartfelt gratitude for your attendance,” Fury began, spreading his arms in a broad, insincere gesture, his tone so dry it could have turned the room to dust. “I know how much of a hardship it is, taking an hour out of your busy lives to sit in a comfortable chair and listen to me talk.”

Sam snorted. Yelena smirked. Bucky, as usual, remained unreadable.

Fury’s eye landed on you and Bucky before he tossed a slim tablet onto the table, the display already flashing with the text of a mission report you hardly cared to examine in detail.

“Congratulations are in order. The gala infiltration went exceptionally well despite the odds stacked against you.”

You dipped your head in acknowledgement, catching movement out of the corner of your eye—Sam begrudgingly sliding Fury what seemed to be a twenty-dollar bill. Asshole.

Fury tapped the screen embedded in the table, replacing the mission debrief with a new set of images. An aerial view of a club, snippets of surveillance footage, a grainy close-up of a man slipping out of a side entrance, bodyguards in tow.

“And thanks to that intel recovered,” Fury continued, “we now have a location on our next target. Dmitry Karpin. Friend to H.Y.D.R.A. Dealt in smuggling high-profile weapons in and out of Soviet countries for a time, but now he’s taken to smuggling drugs. Serums, to be specific.”

Across the table, Bucky had gone still. Tension coiled in his shoulders, his hands resting stiffly on the surface, knuckles taut. H.Y.D.R.A. Serum. The words alone were enough to suffocate the room when Bucky or Steve were around. You didn’t let your eyes linger on him long nor allow your frown to deepen.

Fury didn’t acknowledge the shift—maybe he was used to it by now, or perhaps he just didn’t care. His voice remained steady, rolling over the tension in the room as if he were reciting lines from a well-rehearsed script. Karpin’s security detail. The club’s weak points. Entry and exit strategies. The words blurred together, dissolving into background noise beneath the low hum of static in your head. It was hard to focus when you could feel Bucky sitting across from you, motionless, barely even breathing, his whole body locked up like a loaded fucking gun. And the worst part? He probably thought he was doing a good job hiding it.

You didn’t stare, didn’t let your concern show. Instead, you leant back in your chair, tilting your head just enough to feign disinterest. “So, just another fun-filled evening of chatting up sweaty old men for me? Sounds like a dream.” Your voice came out dry, with just enough sarcasm to mask any wobbles.

Fury didn’t spare you a glance. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” he said, tapping the screen again. More grainy footage. More blueprints. The details kept coming, but you barely registered them.

You picked at your thumbnail hard enough that the cuticle began to bleed.

Eventually, the meeting drew to a close. Chairs scraped against the floor as the team rose, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out. You stood, ready to follow, but—

“You two, stick around,” Fury instructed.

You hesitated, glancing at him, then at Bucky, who had also stalled mid-step. Natasha and Yelena exchanged a knowing look, their amusement not at all subtle. You ignored their barely concealed grins as they disappeared through the door.

Fury exhaled, hands bracing against the table as he surveyed the two of you.

“I’ll be honest,” he said finally. “I wasn’t convinced it would work when I paired you two. Thought maybe you’d kill each other before you got anything done.”

Bucky scoffed quietly, gaze flicking away.

“But you proved me wrong.” His good eye narrowed as he continued. “The mission was a success. You handled yourselves well.”

A beat of silence. Then, just as flatly, “I want to know if you’d be open to working together again. Similar style of operation.”

Your eyes slid over to Bucky, gauging his reaction. You didn’t want to appear too eager or give any more credence to the stories Yelena and Natasha were spinning, but most of all, you didn’t want to put words into Bucky’s mouth. You weren’t in the business of pressuring him in or out of the bedroom.

Bucky was quiet as if silently working through some thoughts before deciding. Finally, he offered a dismissive “Sure.”

You nodded slowly, offering Fury a nonchalant shrug. “I’m fine with that.”

Fury’s lips twitched. Not quite a smirk.

“Well, that’s the most enthusiasm I’ve heard all day,” he deadpanned before shaking his head. “Damn, you two are depressing. Sitting there all broody, staring at me like I shot your goddamn dog.”

Neither you nor Bucky reacted, which was met by a low chuckle from Fury. “Regardless, I appreciate the hard work. You made me a nice chunk of money winning some bets.”

Your brow furrowed. “You bet on us?”

Fury raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Course I did. Had to make it interesting. Half the team thought you’d get caught or kill each other before the first day was up.”

You blinked. “...Who bet against us?”

“Stark.” Fury’s lips twitched again. “He didn’t think you’d make it past security.”

Of course he did. Prick.

—

"Alright, I’m in position."

You blinked. Bucky sat there like he was awaiting orders, his posture rigid as if he were about to breach enemy lines. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure where to put them like touching you required the same level of strategic planning as a high-stakes extraction mission.

You stared, straddling his hips, your fingers ghosting over his collarbone, feeling the tension thrumming beneath his skin. He didn’t quite meet your eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere just past your shoulder as if making direct contact might detonate something neither of you were ready for. For a split second, you half expected him to press a finger to an earpiece and murmur something about securing the perimeter.

In the dim glow of his bedroom, he looked every bit like a man being held hostage rather than one about to receive a very generous favour.

Lately… something felt off. The signs had been subtle at first, the way he always seemed a beat too calculated, his hands found the same places every time, and he would grow still like he was waiting for a command.

And now, looking at him, so wound-up he might actually vibrate, it finally clicked.

Every touch and kiss was executed with the precision of a soldier running a drill rather than a man lost in the moment. It was methodical. He was analysing a strategy rather than experiencing pleasure. You half expected to glance down and see him taking notes—touch here, kiss there, don’t forget to do this. The thought horrified you, but if you were honest… it also amused you.

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“…Bucky, are you seriously treating this like a mission?”

He stiffened beneath you, his reaction just a fraction too quick, too defensive.

“What’d you mean?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge. He was already on guard, bracing for imaginary discipline.

“The way you’re…” You trailed off, head inclining as you studied him. His jaw was clenched, brows drawn tight, the creased skin between them betraying him entirely. One could mistake him for a soldier behind enemy lines, waiting for the crack of a rifle. There were dark smudges under his eyes, no worse than usual. You knew he didn’t sleep well. Nightmares haunted him and left him running on fumes more often than not. You recognised the signs, and it was like you were looking into a mirror.

“It’s like you have a mental checklist,” you murmured, watching for his reaction. “Like every move you make is planned like you’re running through a strategy in your head instead of just… feeling it.”

Bucky remained silent, his lips pressing into a firm line.

Gently, you squeezed his shoulder, fingertips pressing into hard muscle. He was tense—too tense. “You’re not clearing a building, Bucky. You’re not scanning for threats. You’re here with me. Just relax a little, won’t you?”

“I am relaxed.” He bit the words out, though neither his voice nor expression were even remotely convincing.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I appreciate the attempt to lie, but when I can feel the fucking tension in your body, it’s a little, well, very obvious.” Your hands traced along his shoulders, fingers kneading into the tight knots beneath the fabric of his shirt. His muscles were rock-solid, never fully uncoiled. His body had forgotten how to rest.

“See?” You gave a pointed squeeze. “This is not ‘relaxed,’ Bucky. This is as solid as a goddamn steel beam.”

Bucky scoffed a tiny huff of air through his nose. “Those are my muscles. I work out. Don’t you?”

You gasped in mock delight, lips parting in exaggerated shock. “Oh my God. Did you just make a joke? Bucky, was that a joke?”

Something flickered in his expression for the first time, a sliver of amusement breaking through the ever-present brooding. He finally met your gaze, eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners, and the sight sent a flicker of warmth through your chest.

You grinned. “Well, isn’t that a first? Guess I should mark the calendar.”

His smirk was brief, fleeting—but it was there.

You softened, your voice dropping just a little. “But seriously, you need to loosen up.” Your hands smoothed over his shoulders, slow and deliberate.“Attraction, desire… sex. It’s messy, it’s unplanned. It’s not a mission. This isn’t the army.”

You didn’t dare say the following words in your mind aloud.

This isn’t H.Y.D.R.A.

But you knew that was where his thoughts drifted, that unspoken trouble that plagued you both. Your fingers ghosted along the silver chain at his throat, the faint jingle of his dog tags barely audible under the fabric of his shirt. “You don’t have to follow orders. You can just be.”

“I know.” The words came low, rough, frayed at the edges. You could feel yourself losing him, his eyes growing foggy as if pulled away to a place you couldn’t quite reach to drag him out from.

“I just…” Another breath, deeper this time, as though steadying himself. “They used me. For so long, they used me as a weapon. I don’t know if I can ever be anything different than that. I don’t want to lose control—what happens if I lose—”

“Hey.” Your hands framed his face now, thumbs brushing against the sharp angles of his cheekbones, anchoring him. “Hey, look at me.”

His eyes lifted, hesitant, guarded.

“You are more than that.” The words were gentle but unwavering, as steady as your hands on him. “We are more than that, okay? You’re Bucky. Just Bucky. And you are in control. Say it.”

His fingers curled against your thighs, knuckles pressing into the cotton fabric of your shorts. He was quiet momentarily as though testing the words in his mind before speaking them aloud. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“I’m in control.”

“You’re in control.” You echoed, smoothing your thumb over the faint stubble on his cheek. “And you still want to do this?”

His breath was slow, deliberate. “Yes.”

Your fingers had drifted higher, threading into his hair, the strands silky and cool beneath your touch. You swept a loose lock from his forehead, letting your fingertips linger against his temple. “And if you don’t want this at any point, what do you say?”

“Stop.”

“And what will happen if you say that?”

“You’ll stop. We’ll stop.”

“Good.” You praised him, your smile widening as you felt him squirm beneath you. There was a subtle hitch in his breath as your hands began to trail lower, palms smoothing down to his chest. The pulse at his throat fluttered beneath your fingertips, quick and uneven, betraying the calm he was trying to hold onto. You leant closer, your breath warm against his skin as you pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his temple. Then lower—to the sharp line of his cheekbone, the edge of his jaw, and finally to the hollow of his throat. A shudder ran through him, his grip on your hips tightening just a fraction. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” He uttered after a thick, audible swallow.

You pulled back just enough to study him, to see how his lips parted slightly as though chasing the warmth of your touch. A quiet, almost reluctant noise rumbled in his chest, just shy of a whine. You traced your fingers along his jaw before tilting your head, considering him. “I want to try something.” You hummed to him. “You can say no if it’s too much, but I think it might help you.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah?”

“I want to blindfold you—”

“You want to what?” He went rigid beneath you, every muscle tightening again as if you’d flipped a switch and snapped him back into defence mode.

“Hold on, just let me finish.” You held up your hand, hoping to counteract his immediate, instinctive reaction.

He huffed, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the response, but said nothing.

“I want to blindfold you,” you repeated, slower this time, words deliberate. “And I want to kiss you. And touch you. I want you to focus on feeling good rather than anticipating something bad. I want you to just… be here with me. Not thinking about what comes next, not waiting for an attack. Just focusing on feeling. That’s all.”

His expression was cautious before turning to contemplation—as though weighing the idea against everything instinct told him.

“You can say no,” you reminded him gently.

“No, I—” He hesitated, his fingers twitching against your hips.

You shifted back just a little, offering him the space to decide. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do it.”

“No, I—shit—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I mean—no, I want to. Yes. I want to try that.”

Your gaze searched his. “You’re sure?”

His lips pressed together, and then he nodded once, firmly. “Yes.”

You grinned, pressing a sloppy, lingering kiss to his temple before slipping off his lap with ease and rolling onto the bed beside him. “Do you have something we could use?”

“Uh, I don’t—”

“Like a tie, maybe? You wear suits, right? Or does Stark demand them back the second you step foot in the compound?”

Bucky let out a huff, eyes narrowing. “I don’t want to talk about Stark right now.”

You shot him a knowing look, but before you could tease him further, your gaze flickered downward—and you smirked. Even through the soft material of his sweatpants, you could see he was already half-hard. “Sure.”

A faint flush crept up his neck, staining his ears and cheeks pink. He cleared his throat, voice rough. “Top drawer. In the wardrobe.”

You were on your feet before he could finish, slipping into his walk-in wardrobe. Every apartment in the compound had one, though Bucky’s was noticeably bare. His clothes were monochrome, muted shades of grey, navy, and black. No bursts of colour. No sign of impulse. It was not a lack of wealth. You knew that for sure. No, this was intentional—a desire to blend in, to disappear.

You’d always known he was the type who preferred the shadows, slipping between crowds unnoticed. No wonder he hated the tailored suits Stark and Fury forced him into—arm issues aside. For some reason, S.H.I.E.L.D. were determined to parade him around. Look, the Winter Soldier. He’s a good boy now. He plays nice. Nothing to fear anymore. You were unsure how he felt about such displays, but you were sure it wasn’t too far off from how you felt about it. You had once been in his shoes, though more in the eye candy territory. A doll to dress up and play with, to smile and play the part.

Powerful men enjoyed degrading that which they knew to be dangerous, enjoyed playing with fire, and enjoyed the illusion of control.

Shaking off the thought, you pulled open the top drawer, sifting through a few neatly folded ties. You selected a smooth black silk, running the cool fabric over your palm before returning to the bedroom.

Bucky was still seated at the edge of the bed, stiff as a board. His hands curled into fists atop his thighs, knuckles taut. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

You slowed, holding the tie between your fingers like approaching a spooked animal. Visible to inspect and assess. No threat.

“Yes?” you asked, giving him another chance to change his mind.

His jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod. “Yes.”

You smiled softly. “Just breathe, yeah? Like we always do.” You inhaled deeply through your nose, then exhaled slowly and steadily through your mouth.

After a beat, Bucky mirrored you, chest rising and falling with measured breaths.

You moved behind him, settling onto the bed. He sat still, poised for an attack. Carefully, you draped the silk tie over his eyes, looping it around his head and securing it with a loose knot. It wasn’t tight—one purposeful tug and it would slip free.

You could feel the tension radiating from him. Even blindfolded, he was hyper-aware, attuned to every rustle of the sheets, every shift of your weight. His breathing had turned shallower, the serum sharpening every sound, every sensation.

“If you need to stop for any reason, just say so.”

He jolted slightly at your voice, caught off guard in the quiet. “O-okay.” His voice wavered, and then he cursed low under his breath in Russian.

You grinned. Some habits died hard.

“I’m going to touch you now.” You crept closer, lifting onto your knees behind him. “Just focus on me and how it feels. Nothing else. Can you do that?”

He gave a slow, hesitant nod.

You started at his shoulders, palms skimming over firm muscle, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Every dip and ridge, every knot of tension. Your hands slid to his collarbone, then across the joint where flesh met metal, mapping out the contrast between warm skin and the smooth, cold vibranium.

He was solid beneath your touch, every muscle taut and solid as it stretched across the bone.

You had noticed the way his shoulders gave him grief. The slight tilt of his frame and the way his left arm always sat heavier. It was incorrect weight distribution; the metal limb was too heavy compared to its flesh counterpart. S.H.I.E.L.D had surely offered him physical therapy—massages, treatment plans—but you doubted he had ever taken them up on it. He didn’t like to be touched by strangers. Too wary. Too untrusting.

“Can I take off your shirt?” you asked softly.

He stilled.

“I don’t—” His voice was lower now, rougher. “My scars. They’re not—”

“I don’t care about that.”

He swallowed hard. “You don’t?”

“No,” you said firmly. “Why would I?”

Without a word, his hand reached behind his head, gripping the collar of his shirt. He yanked it over his head in one fluid motion, tossing the fabric to the floor. You adjusted the blindfold where it had shifted, then let your gaze drift over the broad expanse of his back.

His shoulders were massive, sculpted with muscle. The scars on his left shoulder were brutal—jagged lines of gnarled tissue where the vibranium met flesh. It might have been seamless after the amputation. Painless even. But it had been H.Y.D.R.A who had ruined him, left scars so deep even the Wakandans couldn’t erase.

And H.Y.D.R.A didn’t care for comfort. They cared for necessity. Likely, you suspected, they had wanted him to suffer.

An endless reminder of their ownership.

You swallowed, then placed your hands on his shoulders again, thumbs pressing gently into the base of his neck. You started slow, careful, massaging along the muscle, working your way down. His skin was warm beneath your palms, the mass taut and unyielding at first, like stone beneath your fingers. But you took your time, applying gradual pressure, thumbs circling into the knots built over time.

Beneath your hands, Bucky let out a low, guttural sound—a half-growl, half-sigh of approval. His head dipped forward slightly, chin brushing his chest, an unspoken invitation to continue.

You kept going, kneading deep into the knots in his shoulders, feeling the tension resist before you coaxed it loose. With each press and roll of your fingers, the stiffness unravelled like a cord being undone, thread by thread. You worked methodically, digging your thumbs along the curve where his neck met his shoulders, pressing firmly enough to elicit another low, unconscious groan from him.

You bit back a smile as you felt him lean into you just a little.

Trailing downward, you traced the slope of his shoulder blades, following the ridges of tendons and old wounds. The scars on his left side were tougher, the tissue uneven where flesh met metal, but you didn’t hesitate. Your fingers brushed the seam between the vibranium and skin, then continued downward, thumbs pressing slow, firm circles along the fuse.

Bucky shuddered.

His breath hitched as you dug into the deep-seated strain along his spine. A sharp inhale, a low exhale—he was losing himself to the sensation, surrendering to your touch. You didn’t rush. You worked him slowly, thoroughly, feeling him yield with each measured stroke. When you reached the dip of his lower back, you flattened your hands, smoothing over the tightness that lingered. He was warm now, his skin melting like wax beneath your fingers.

Satisfied, you finally pulled back, smoothing your hands along his spine one last time before shifting your position.

Rising onto your knees, you moved around him, hands trailing over his shoulders as you slid into his lap. His breath stuttered, but he didn’t pull away. You settled against him, straddling his lap, your arms draping lazily over his shoulders. The blindfold was still secure, and he looked… calmer now. Less wound up, his jaw no longer locked so tightly.

“You okay?” You murmured.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you hummed, tilting your head, lips just inches from his ear. “I think you needed that.”

Bucky exhaled a breathy, almost disbelieving laugh, but he didn’t deny it.

Your fingers trailed up the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly against the short hairs, and you felt him shiver beneath you. You leaned in, lips brushing over his cheekbone, just at the edge of the blindfold, before trailing downward. You kissed along his jaw, soft and teasing, pressing your lips into the warm skin beneath his ear, down the column of his throat.

His hands fidgeted at his sides, tightening around the sheets. Then, as if giving in to some internal battle, they rose—hesitant but desperate. His fingers found your waist, sliding over the curve of your hips before gripping tight.

You grinned against his skin.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice a breath of silk against his throat.

A sharp exhale left him, his fingers tightening, pressing you closer, holding you in place. You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up before pressing your lips to his.

Bucky groaned into the kiss.

It was soft at first, your mouth moving against his, teasing, coaxing him deeper. But it wasn’t long before he cracked. The tension he had held onto for so long—his control, his restraint—it frayed at the edges with every pass of your lips against his. You pressed closer, shifting in his lap, and the moment your hips rolled against him, his breath stuttered.

A broken sound escaped him, part groan, part whimper.

You did it again just to hear it.

His hands flexed against your sides, his hold firm, frantic, but he didn’t stop you. He only breathed harder, his forehead falling against yours as you peppered kisses along his lips, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Then you moved again, grinding against him slowly, carefully, and Bucky outright whimpered.

He made no effort to stop you—no attempt to control the rhythm, no resistance left in him. His mind was no longer caught in the tangle of right and wrong, of what he should or shouldn’t do.

He only felt.

Only responded.

You kissed him again, deeper, fiercer this time, and he met you with equal hunger.

Bucky’s hands roamed, sliding up your back. Then, his vibranium hand found your face, cradling it between cool, unyielding metal, and you shivered at the contrast—the bite of cold against your flushed skin, the sheer strength in his hold, barely restrained.

He kissed you like he was starving.

You sighed into his mouth, rolling your hips down to meet his, and he groaned—deep and guttural as his body jerked beneath you. He was fully hard now, the evidence pressing against you through his sweatpants, and you couldn't help the soft, breathy giggle that escaped between kisses.

Bucky growled, his grip tightening, his body chasing yours as you rocked against him.

Your hand trailed down, slipping between your bodies, fingers teasing along the waistband of his sweatpants. You could feel the heat of him, the way his breath hitched as your fingertips ghosted lower—

Then he flinched, catching your wrist in a shaky grip.

“Too much,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but the strain was evident.

Immediately, you withdrew, pulling your hand away without hesitation. “I’m sorry. Do you want to stop—”

“No.” he replied quickly, breathlessly.

You cupped his jaw, kissing him slowly, tenderly, as he shuddered beneath you. His hands flexed where they held you, his body still trembling with need, but he didn’t pull away. You kept your movements soft and gentle, pressing your forehead against his, letting him breathe as you kissed him repeatedly.

“Is this better?” you checked in between kisses, voice warm, reassuring.

“Yes.” He muttered against your lips.

You kissed him deeper, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip and into his mouth.

His body convulsed beneath you, hips twitching up to meet yours, his breath turning shallow and erratic. You could feel the tremors coursing through him, his muscles tensed, his restraint crumbling with every slow, dragging roll of your hips.

Then, with a choked groan, he stiffened.

A broken moan tore from his throat as he came, his body shuddering beneath you. His breath hitched, then stilled, his head falling back onto the bed as he panted heavily, completely spent.

You smiled, watching his chest rise and fall, his body finally wholly relaxed.

You let him catch his breath, your hands smoothing over his chest in slow, soothing strokes. His eyes were still covered, the black silk of the tie snug against his skin, and for a moment, you just watched him—his expression relaxed in a way it so rarely was, his lips parted as he inhaled deep, steadying himself.

Reaching up, you brushed your fingers over his jaw before carefully undoing the knot at the back of his head. The tie slipped away with ease, and his eyes fluttered open, blinking as he adjusted to the room's dim light. His pupils were blown, irises hazy, but there was something else. Softness. An openness you didn’t often see.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “Hey.”

You leant down, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple before shifting off of him, allowing him to breathe. He hesitated momentarily before sitting up, his movements slow, almost reluctant. His sweatpants were clinging damply to his skin, and he grimaced slightly before rubbing a hand over his face.

“I should, uh—” He cleared his throat. “I��ll be right back.”

You nodded, watching as he climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. The soft sound of running water followed soon after. You stayed where you were, fingers idly playing with the silk tie as you listened, giving him the space to clean up and gather himself.

When he returned, his sweatpants had been swapped for a fresh pair, the fabric hanging loose around his hips. His hair was damp in uneven patches where he’d raked wet fingers through it, a lazy attempt at tidying up. He lingered in the doorway, weight shifting from one foot to the other, eyes flickering over you like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

You patted the empty space beside you. “Come here.”

His shoulders loosened just a fraction before he climbed back onto the bed, settling beside you with a quiet sigh. He was warm—solid and steady. Without thinking, you nestled closer, resting your head against his chest. His arm came around you automatically, like muscle memory, pulling you in and holding you there.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then, barely above a whisper, you asked, “Did you like it?”

Bucky exhaled a deep, slow breath. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice lower than usual, like he wasn’t used to saying it. “I did.”

You smiled, tracing absentminded circles against his chest. “What did you like about it?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful.

“It made it easier,” he murmured. “Not seeing. I could just… feel. Focus on what was happening instead of everything else.” His thumb brushed lightly against your side. “Didn’t have to worry about if I was doing something wrong.”

You frowned slightly, tilting your head up to look at him. “Bucky, you’ve never done anything wrong.”

“I know,” he said, but his voice was tight, a shadow crossing his expression. “It’s just—” He stopped, mouth pressing into a thin line.

You reached up, smoothing a hand over his cheek. “Talk to me.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Then, so quietly you almost missed it, he said, “I’m scared of it sometimes.”

Your brows furrowed. “Scared of what?”

“Pleasure.”

His fingers tightened slightly against your side like he was bracing himself, but he didn’t look away from you.

“I was taught…” He inhaled sharply. “That it could only be taken. Taken from me. That it was never given freely.” His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “That it wasn’t mine to have.”

Slowly, carefully, you sat up, shifting so you were fully facing him. He looked at you, expression guarded, but there was something vulnerable beneath it, something fragile in the way he held himself.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Those people, the ones who taught you that, they were trying to hurt you, degrade you,” you told him firmly. “Pleasure is to be shared equally. It’s something you deserve.” You squeezed his hand, your voice softening.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

“I want you to know that you don’t have to do anything to earn it,” you whispered.

He swallowed hard, his grip on your hand tightening. His voice was barely above a breath when he said, “I don’t know if I know how.”

You smiled softly. “That’s okay. We have time.”

You lifted his hand again, pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles before settling back down beside him. His warmth seeped into you, but the ache in your chest remained—persistent, lingering. It had nothing to do with exhaustion, the tension in your muscles, or even the way your body still hummed with remnants of touch. No, this ache came from somewhere deeper, from the thoughts unravelling in your mind like a loose thread tugged too far, too fast as you contemplated his confession.

You had always been a giver. That was your role, your purpose. You gave and gave until there was nothing left. Until you were hollow inside. And yet, the world kept asking for more. You wondered if, over time, it had chipped away at your soul, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

The words left your lips before you could stop them, before you had the chance to weigh whether you truly wanted to say them aloud.

“Do you ever feel like you’re not… whole?”

Bucky turned his head slightly, his brows furrowing in the low light, lids heavy as he blinked his dark lashes. He didn’t press or demand, didn’t look at you as if he needed clarification. He just waited, silently, like he knew you weren’t finished.

So you kept going.

“Like with every mission, every fight, every demand, you lose something? A tiny piece of yourself, given away without even realising it?” Your voice dropped lower. Bucky was still beside you, completely still, only his breath tickling your cheek with each slow rise and fall of his chest.

“I don’t even know if I’m still the person I was when I was born or if I’ve just been rebuilt from borrowed parts. Pieces given to me, made for me, shaped to fit what I was supposed to become.” You exhaled a sharp breath. “Or maybe… what they wanted me to become.”

The words were bitter on your tongue, and yet they kept coming.

“And I think… maybe I’m afraid that if I ever showed the real me, the world would reject me. That they’d be disgusted by my soul. By everything I have done.”

A shaky breath left your lips, your voice barely more than a whisper now.

“Because sometimes… sometimes I think the only way people will keep me around is if I give them something in return.”

Silence.

You turned your head toward him, searching his face, waiting for something—anything—that would tell you what he was thinking. You hoped for a look, a breath, a word to ground you. But as your gaze swept over him, you realised his breathing had evened out, his lashes fluttering softly against his cheeks. The sharp furrow of his brow had smoothed, his lips slightly parted in a way that spoke of exhaustion finally pulling him under.

Asleep.

Your words had been lost to him.

You weren’t sure if that was a relief or a disappointment.

Maybe it was for the best. He needed the rest, the peace of slumber more than you did. Even now, in the soft glow of the room, dark circles remained etched beneath his eyes.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling momentarily before carefully slipping out of bed. You moved with quiet precision, gathering your things without making a sound. When you reached the door, you hesitated, glancing back.

For a second, a small, selfish part of you wished he had—wished he had heard you, had held you, had given you something, anything, to quiet the storm inside your chest. But he hadn’t.

And maybe that meant you could take the words back.

Tuck them away for another time.

Or hold onto them forever, maybe all you had needed was to say them aloud, even if only silence itself was listening.

Bucky didn’t stir from his slumber, not even when the door clicked shut behind you.

PART THREE

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taglist: @civilbucky @buckysbbydoll @rosegarbage @fleurenoir @oikarma @blackstabbath6 @kcbug1128 @ellesbellswrites @thaynarajejheje @wunder-blunder @oceanaroma @dyscalculiaaa @murdocklvrr @pursuedbyamemoryy @fantasyheroine @chronicallybubbly @nikkinss @maryevm @doilooklikeagiveafrack (sorry if it didn't tag anyone properly)

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic #beefy bucky #bucky smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #winter soldier #marvel fic #marvel au #marvel #lessons in lovemaking

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witchywithwhiskey · 4 months ago

Text

if the fates allow

pairing: avenger!captain america!steve rogers x tall!shield agent!female reader

summary: steve rogers accidentally got drunk at the avengers tower christmas party, and you're the one tasked with helping him get to bed. it's a good thing you have plenty of practice keeping your crush on him a secret.

warnings: sexual tension, steve is drunk, reader is conflicted (nothing happens while steve's drunk), feelings are expressed, kissing, sleepy cuddling, i think that's pretty much it!

word count: 2.9k

a/n: here's my december 13 fic for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: "I didn't know the egg nog was spiked!" tried to keep this one short and sweet so that i can catch up, so if something doesn't make sense, just ignore it i guess! also this is my first time writing a specifically tall!reader and that was nice since i'm on the taller side 😅 hope y'all enjoy!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

“I didn't know the egg nog was spiked!”

Steve Rogers’ voice was louder than it needed to be, and so close to your ear that you winced a little. You kept walking, a massive arm looped around your shoulders while you half-carried the ungodly large body of Captain America and tried not to think about how good he smelled.

Why exactly you had been tasked with helping the very drunk Steve Rogers to his quarters after the Avengers Tower Christmas party was still a bit of a mystery to you. You’d seen Natasha Romanoff and Tony Stark with their heads bent close, like they were conspiring about something, and the next thing you knew, Bruce Banner was asking you to help Steve get to bed.

The phrasing of the request had sent your heart skittering in your chest, even under the less-than-ideal circumstances of its reality. You’d had a crush on Steve Rogers since you’d met him as part of your SHIELD assignment to Avengers Tower, and you liked to think you’d kept it secret from everyone.

But, well, you did work with spies for a living, and you had a feeling Natasha and Tony’s conspiring had something to do with your predicament.

You’d tried to protest Bruce’s request. Sure, you were one of the taller female SHIELD agents, but you were by no means the strongest person on your team, especially when it included Brock Rumlow. But apparently everyone else had gone home or they were helping someone else, and you were the only one who could do it.

Frank Sinatra’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” had been playing from the sound system of the Avengers Tower lounge as you’d made your way over to where Steve lay sprawled across the entire length of a sofa. He was singing along to the Christmas song—loudly and off-key—and nerves and excitement had fluttered through your belly like snowflakes on a winter wind.

You’d shoved your emotions away and put on the professional mask you always wore around Steve, pasting a polite smile on your face as you leaned over him and told him, in a not unkind voice, that you were going to help him get to bed.

He’d given you a dreamy smile and did his best to help you lift his large body from the sofa while you’d ignored the way the snowflakes in your tummy had swooped at his happy expression and close proximity.

With one arm wrapped around Steve’s waist and the other holding onto his wrist so his arm wouldn’t fall from your shoulders, you lifted a leg and kicked the elevator call button with your foot, only remembering to check to make sure no one was around after you’d done so.

Oh well. If you’d flashed someone with the move, the most they’d see under the short skirt of your cocktail dress was the gun strapped to your thigh and the shapewear the tight, clingy garment had required you to wear. Thankfully, no one was around except the super-soldier draped across your shoulders, his head propped sleepily against yours.

“Of course it was spiked, captain,” you said, picking up the thread of the conversation he’d started. Your voice was patient and professional, if a little cold. “It was Stark’s Christmas party—he spiked all the egg nog with Asgardian liquor.”

The doors of the elevator slid open soundlessly and you huffed a sigh of relief as you dragged Steve in. You made sure he was propped up against the corner of the elevator, then stepped away to hit the button for his floor. As discreetly as you could, you wiped some sweat from your brow before turning back to Captain America.

The expression on Steve’s face drew you up short. He was…not frowning exactly. Was that a…pout?

You tilted your head to the side, your eyes poring carefully over Steve Rogers’ familiar features—the little pinched line between his brows, the dimmed sparkle of his blue eyes, the protrusion of his lush lower lip. You forced yourself not to linger on his mouth, even though it looked particularly inviting…

Yes, that was definitely a pout, you decided.

Before you could wonder about what you’d said to garner such a reaction from Steve, he was talking. Or, rather, muttering.

“I don’t like it when you call me captain,” he grumbled.

The elevator was nearing Steve’s floor so you moved closer to him again, ignoring the way your body warmed when you pressed into his side and lifted his arm over your shoulder. The fresh scent of him wrapped around you like the most delicious blanket, and you wanted more than anything to be able to breathe it in until it lived permanently in your lungs.

“What should I call you then?” you asked, mostly to distract yourself from your body’s reaction to Steve. He was drunk, and you needed to get yourself under control.

You tried to pull him out of the corner, but you didn’t have enough leverage and instead of budging the big super-soldier, you bounced back into him, landing against his hard chest with a surprised little “oomph.”

Before that moment, you’d known, in theory, that you were only a couple inches shorter than Steve Rogers. But it was easy to forget because he had such a large presence, and he could very easily toss you around that mats of the Avengers Tower gym with his super-strength.

However, in that moment you learned that the minimal height difference between you and Steve Rogers had a consequence you hadn’t considered. When you fell against his chest, your face was almost perfectly level with his—specifically, your mouth was almost perfectly level with his.

You could taste the Asgardian rum on Steve’s breath and the thought of closing the distance and licking it from his lips was far more tempting than it should’ve been.

“Steve,” he rumbled, his arm tightening around your shoulders and hauling you even closer. “You should call me Steve.”

Your soft curves molded to the hard planes of his body and your breath caught in your throat as your mind raced, trying to figure out what he was doing. His blue eyes were dark, even under the bright lights of the elevator, and they were fixed very firmly on your lips—but they were still glazed from all he’d had to drink.

“Steve,” you said, his name soft and tortured as it fell from your lips, your eyes dropping to his mouth.

You knew you couldn’t kiss Captain America while he was drunk, and you knew that if he tried to pull you any closer, you’d have to push him away. But you wanted so desperately to close the distance between your lips, the desire felt like it might incinerate you from the inside out.

The ding of the elevator arriving at Steve’s floor brought you back to reality and you jumped away from the super-soldier, shaking your head at yourself as you grabbed his arm and heaved his weight onto your shoulders. You dragged him out of the elevator on stumbling feet, your mind spinning with what you’d almost done—what Steve actually had done.

For all the time you’d crushed on Steve Rogers, he’d never shown any indication of reciprocating your feelings. He’d always been just as professional and aloof as you’d been, and you’d taken that to mean he didn’t have any interest in you outside of work. But you were beginning to rethink your assessment…

Thankfully, Steve remained quiet and well-behaved for the trip down the hall to his quarters, and getting him inside seemed a bit easier after your practice with the elevator. You half-carried him to his bed and it took only a little push to have him sit down on the soft mattress.

Somehow, the movement left you standing between Steve’s spread legs, his arm curled around your waist from where it had fallen off your shoulder. His face was close again—closer than it should’ve been as he looked up at you from where he sat.

“Pretty…” he murmured, the fingertips of his free hand reaching for you but hovering just a hair’s breadth away from touching you. “You’re so…pretty.”

Heat suffused your cheeks and you ducked your head. “Steve,” you whined softly, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, trying to extricate yourself from his hold. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he said softly, your name falling sweetly from his lips. He brushed his thumb over your cheek so gently, it made your knees wobble.

You’d managed to get some distance from him, but the sound of your name made you stop. You looked at Steve, and his eyes were still slightly glazed from all the spiked egg nog he’d drank.

You huffed a laugh that was sad and humorless. Of course the only time Steve had shown any interest in you, he was drunk.

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk and maybe I’ll believe you, Steve,” you said, a little forlornly, and pulled his hand away from your face, dropping it in his lap.

Stepping backward, you broke out of his hold, ignoring the way he was pouting again.

“Stay with me,” Steve said, his fingers catching the tips of yours as you turned away.

The desperation in his tone halted your retreat. When you looked at Steve again, his eyes were a little clearer, and his expression was pleading. You didn’t know if it was the best idea to crawl into bed with Captain America while he was drunk.

You were pretty sure he’d fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, so nothing would happen, but you worried about your heart. If you spent a whole night sleeping in Steve’s bed, breathing in Steve’s scent, it would be that much harder to pretend you didn’t have feelings for him. And you couldn’t seem to imagine he had feelings for you, despite what he’d said.

“Please,” Steve said, his voice cracking slightly. His face was washed in the dim light of the New York City skyline filtering in through the windows, and he looked like a work of art come to life, flawlessly gorgeous features and perfectly expressive eyes.

Your heart thumped in your chest, and were helpless to resist his request.

“OK,” you whispered, twining your fingers with his and giving his hand a small squeeze while you smiled shyly.

Steve beamed happily at you and then flopped back on the bed. A grin was still fixed on his face while he kicked off his shoes and fought to pull down the blankets so he could slide under them.

You bit back a laugh at his gleeful reaction, shaking your head as you went to the bathroom to clean off your makeup and strip out of your gun holster and shapewear. Thankfully, your dress was comfortable enough to sleep in for one night.

When you returned, you found Steve passed out under the covers still wearing all of his clothes. You took a moment to appreciate his handsome features, softened in sleep, and then slipped into bed beside him, leaving plenty of space between your bodies.

It took you a little while to fall asleep, but the quiet, steady snores coming from Steve helped lull you, and eventually you drifted off.

The soft wintry light of the morning sunrise was just beginning to peak over the Manhattan skyline when you roused, your body bathed in a nearly overwhelming heat that came from something pressed against your back and banded around your waist.

It took you a long, groggy moment to realize the source of that heat was Steve Rogers.

At some point in the night, he must’ve moved closer and wrapped himself around you because one of his arms was curled around your waist while his broad chest was pressed flush against your back. You were so close together, you could feel his steady heartbeat against your spine.

You must’ve shifted even to wake him because you heard the tenor of Steve’s breathing change. He buried his face in the back of your head and took a deep breath before letting out a contented sigh.

“Pretty girl,” he mumbled, the words muffled and barely discernable. His arm squeezed tighter around your waist, dragging you even further into the wondrously warm cage of his body.

The sound of you sucking in a sharp breath was loud in the silent bedroom and Steve suddenly tensed. Quick as a flash, he removed his arm from around your waist and shuffled back a few inches, giving you space.

Cold flooded in, even while you were still buried under the blankets, and you had to fight off a shiver. You missed his warmth, but you also needed to understand what was going on. You took a deep, steadying breath and then rolled over, looking at Steve warily.

He was propped up on one arm, his blond hair mussed from sleep and his cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment. But his blue eyes were clear and curious, watching your reaction with interest.

“What did you call me?” you asked in a trembling, hesitant voice. It probably wasn’t the first question you should’ve asked, but you had to know if you’d heard him correctly, and if he’d known he was talking about you when he’d said it.

Steve must’ve recognized the uncertainty in your voice or on your face because his expression softened and he lifted his hand, his fingers tracing the air next to your cheek. He was deliberately not touching you, and you had the urge to close the distance and feel his warm contact.

“You said to tell you you’re pretty when I wasn’t drunk anymore,” he said, his voice low and rough with sleep. His eyes had been wandering over your features, like he was trying to memorize the way they looked in the wintry morning light, but his gaze caught yours before he went on. “Well, I’m not drunk and you’re still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Steve.” His name was a soft, desperate sound, your heart racing into a gallop as you tried to process the fact that Steve Rogers thought you were pretty.

Before your mind had caught up, your hands were moving, reaching for Steve, eager to drag him closer. Your fingers were curling around the lapels of his dress shirt and you caught a glimpse of his crooked smile before you were both closing the distance between your bodies, his mouth slanting to yours for a kiss.

Heat and pleasure filled your body and soul, and you kissed Steve Rogers for the first time, your lips pressed together ungracefully in your excitement. After a few moments of blissful fumbling, you settled into a rhythm that was as delicious as it was delightful, made all the more breathtaking by the way you could feel Steve’s reverence for you in the way he held you.

It was a long time before you came up for air, and when you did, you laughed giddily when you saw the way Steve’s eyes were glazed over, a dreamy smile curling his lips, and you knew your expression matched his. He was drunk on kissing you, just as you were drunk on kissing him.

Steve dropped one last sweet kiss to your mouth and then he rolled you onto your side, tucking you into the warmth of his body while you both faced the windows, watching the sun rise over Manhattan. You were for a moment quiet as you enjoyed being with him, but something still bugged you.

“I still don’t understand why Bruce asked me to help you to bed,” you said, your fingers playing with Steve’s hand that was clasped in yours. “But I’m glad he did, since it led us to this.” You pressed a kiss to his palm, marveling at how even that part of him smelled fresh and wonderful.

At your comment, Steve made a rough sound in his throat, something halfway between a cough and a laugh. It piqued your curiosity and you turned your head, catching his eye over your shoulder.

“That might be my fault,” he admitted, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I may have confessed to Nat that I think you’re pretty—and she’s been trying to set me up for ages.”

Suddenly, everything from the night before clicked into place. Natasha and Tony’s conspiring, the way your SHIELD teammates were all otherwise occupied, the fact that Bruce—the least devious, and therefore, least suspicious of all the Avengers—had been the one to ask you to help Steve.

It was all a very elaborate setup, and you had to feel a little impressed with Natasha, even as you rolled your eyes because it didn’t need to be so complicated. She could’ve just asked if you were interested, and then set you two up on a normal date. Instead, she’d concocted an elaborate scheme, just to get you and Steve alone.

But you had to admit, it did work…

“You Avengers can never do anything the easy way, can you?” you teased, grinning at Steve over your shoulder. You reached back, fingers twining in his hair and pulling him close enough to brush a kiss to his lips.

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” Steve murmured playfully against your mouth, kissing you more deeply before settling back down on the bed.

For the next little while, you watched the December sunrise with Steve Rogers, basking in the feeling of being in his arms while he idly hummed “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” in between brushing delicious kisses to your neck.

You did have yourself a very merry Christmas indeed.

december daze challenge masterlist

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #captain america steve rogers #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #chris evans fluff #christmas fanfiction #december daze #witchywithwhiskeywork #tall reader

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beah388love · 1 year ago

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Marvel Masterlist

🧡= Little!Reader Fics

💛= My Fav Fics

* = Smut/Nsfw

Bucky Barnes

< Emotional >

- summary: Your emotional because of your period and Bucky comforts you

< Night hallucinations > 💛

- Summary: Bucky’s little wakes up alone and has a night hallucination whilst buckys in a meeting

< Hide and seek >

- Summary: Bucky has a mission so Tony looks after you and he loses you…

< Silent Treatment >

- Summary: You give Bucky the Silent Treatment…

< So soft… >

- Summary: your thighs are buckys weakness

< No More Pain? >

- summary: you have healing powers…

< Insecurities >

- summary: you’re insecure and Bucky reminds you how beautiful you are.

< Beach day took a turn >

- summary: Beach day took a turn and you got hurt…

Steve Rogers

< Language! >

- summary: Sam and buck accidentally teach you some new words…

< Promise? >

- summary: Steve accidentally scares you

< Never scare me like that again >

- summary: Steve’s been accidentally ignoring you

Tony Stark

< Meanie >

- Summary: One of Tony’s men is mean to you

Thor Odinson

< Too quiet…? >

- summary: someone says you’re too quiet for Thor and too different to be together

< Concussion >

- summary:

Loki Laufeyson

< Bad Daddy… >

- Summary: you have a bad nightmare about loki…

< You get Lost… >

- summary: you get lost…

< Night Terrors >

- summary:

Peter Parker

< Arachnophobia >

- summary: you have arachnophobia…

Sam Wilson

Natasha Romanoff

Clint Barton

Bruce Banner

< Green Daddy? >

- summary: Bruce turns into hulk….

Peter Quill

< Teething >

- summary: you are teething…

< I don’t feel good… >

- summary: you get stung by an unknown plant

Stucky

Avengers

< Bird-Fairy! >

- summary: you make Sam fairy wings!

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agere-fics · 1 year ago

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caregiver!bruce banner x little!reader coming right up! will be served by april 29th!

also have a loki fic drafted but it's not close to posting yet.

in the mean time, feel free to send in more asks for caregiver!bucky!! you can also send asks for caregiver!loki or caregiver!steve. mention a name so i know which one or i'll pick one myself ajchsh

🍄 sfw agere only, not k!nk 🍄

#age regression #agere #sfw agere #age regressor #agere blog #agere sfw #agere fanfic #agere little #little reader #bruce banner x little!reader #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner #caregiver!bruce banner

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mandoalorian · 18 days ago

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trending for you [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: Bucky’s appearance on The Late Late Show changes everything, with the truth coming to light and his feelings laid bare for the world to see. As the public forms their opinions, Bucky focuses on what matters most—his future with you. But with new dangers ahead, you must navigate a path filled with uncertainty and growing tensions.

Word Count: 7200

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content, employer x employee, male recieving oral, handjobs, sub!Bucky, you love taking care of your Congressman, man has a praise kink too, political discourse, canon-typical tensions and love confessions.

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

Bucky stood in the dimly lit warehouse, arms crossed over his chest as he listened to Sam pace back and forth. Joaquin Torres, the ever-eager and slightly starstruck Falcon, sat at the table between them, eyes darting between the two men as he took in everything they had just laid out. Coffee rings stained the table, thanks to Sam, and the three men’s eyes raked over the intel, piecing it all together one by one.

“So, let me get this straight,” Joaquin finally said, leaning forward. “Ross is only siding with Hydra because they’re blackmailing him with this… super soldier serum that prevents him from going full Red Hulk mode?”

“Bingo,” Sam muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “And if we can get him a different treatment, something that doesn’t make him their little puppet, then we cut off Hydra’s leverage.”

Joaquin whistled, shaking his head. “Man. I knew politics were shady, but this is some next-level villainy.”

Bucky huffed, still silent, his jaw tense. He was staring at the blueprint of their next steps, but his mind wasn’t all there. Not after everything that had happened, and revisiting it like that proved to be just as challenging. However, it was nothing he had never done before.

“You good, cyborg?” Joaquin teased, trying to lighten the mood. “You look like you’ve been through hell and back.”

Bucky finally exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Yeah. I have.” His voice was gravelly, exhausted, but there was a glint in his eye—determination. “But I’m still here.”

“Damn right you are,” Sam clapped him on the back, grounding him for a second. “And you’re about to go live on national television to expose this whole operation. You ready for that?”

Bucky rolled his shoulders, shrugging. “Yeah. I’ve done worse.”

Joaquin smirked. “Man, you really are old-school cool, huh? Just gonna stroll up in there like, ‘Hey America, guess what? There’s a secret underground Hydra operation happening under your noses and I’m gonna fix it.’”

Sam laughed at that. “That’s exactly what he’s gonna do.”

“Bold move,” Joaquin huffed, grinning.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, it gets bolder. We’re gonna need you to reach out to someone for us.”

Joaquin raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

Sam slid a tablet across the table. The screen displayed a series of medical reports, all linked to a certain Dr. Bruce Banner.

Joaquin let out a low whistle. “You want me to call the Hulk?”

“We don’t need the Hulk,” Bucky said, adjusting the cuffs of his black button-up shirt. “We need Banner’s brain.”

Sam tapped the screen. “Ross is taking some kind of suppressant to keep his Red Hulk side under control. If Banner can decode it, we might be able to cut Ross loose from HYDRA. No more blackmail, no more leverage.”

Silence settled for a moment. The weight of what they were about to do loomed heavy in the air.

Joaquin exhaled, then clapped his hands together. “Alright. Let’s do this. I’ll reach out to Banner, see if he can get us something to counteract Ross’s condition.”

“Good,” Sam nodded. “Meanwhile, Barnes here needs to get suited up for his big debut.”

Joaquin grinned at Bucky. “You gonna wear a tie?”

Bucky scoffed. “I’ll wear a goddamn suit. That’s enough.”

Sam chuckled. “Man, you really don’t do this whole media thing, do you?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No. I don’t.”

Joaquin smirked. “Well, you’re about to go viral. Again.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand down his face. He didn’t really understand what it meant to be viral but it certainly didn’t sound good. Viral. Like a disease. “Great.”

Sam patted his shoulder, his expression shifting to something softer. “You got this, man. We’ll be watching.”

Bucky met his eyes, nodding once. He knew they had his back. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t doing this alone. He had you, Yelena, Sam, Joaquin, and maybe even Bruce Banner if Sam could make contact. And that was one hell of a team.

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The safehouse was quiet—too quiet. You sat curled up on the couch, one leg bouncing anxiously as you stared at the blank television screen, waiting for the Late Late Show to start.

Bucky didn’t leave until Yelena had arrived, and promised him she’d keep you safe. He was practically pushed out of the door, not wanting to leave your side. You offered a nervous smile to Yelena. She was beautiful, on the shorter side with ragged blonde hair and electric blue eyeliner. She looked unbelievably cool, and you briefly wondered how Bucky had become so close with someone like her. Yelena immediately made you feel safe and at ease, talking to you like she had known you forever. She said something like ‘if Bucky trusts you, then so do I’, and that was enough.

“Relax, котёнок,” Yelena’s voice drawled as she strolled into the room, arms full of snacks. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You turned to her, blinking. “I— I’m just nervous.”

“For the show?” She plopped down next to you, dumping the snacks onto the coffee table. “Or for your boyfriend?”

Your face heated instantly. “He’s not my—”

Yelena snorted, cutting you off with a dramatic sigh. “Oh please, do not even start. You are so down bad for Barnes. It’s adorable.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” She nudged you with her elbow. “You love me because I bring snacks and wisdom.” She skillfully threw a sourpatch kid into her mouth, squirming at the taste when it landed on her tongue.

You peeked at the snacks—chips, candy, and two bottles of beer. You raised a brow. “Beer?”

She shrugged, popping one open. “Bucky is on TV. We drink.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. Yelena beamed, taking a swig before settling back against the couch.

“Okay, tell me,” she said, kicking her feet up. “How did this whole thing start? You and Barnes?”

You hesitated, chewing your lip. “I met him in Brooklyn… he helped me move into my apartment.”

Yelena’s brows lifted comically. “He helped you?”

You smiled a little. “Yeah. I was struggling, and he just showed up out of nowhere.”

Yelena smirked. “Classic Bucky. That man is helpless when it comes to a damsel in distress.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was not a damsel in distress.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, sure.” She waved a hand. “Go on.”

You sighed. “I thought he looked familiar. I asked him about it, and he just shrugged it off. He was so vague about everything—where he was from, what he did. It amused me.”

Yelena grinned. “Let me guess. You were charmed.”

You hesitated, but your small smile gave you away.

“I knew it.” Yelena cackled. “You’re so soft for him.”

You groaned again, sinking into the couch. “Can you not?”

She patted your knee. “Sorry, sorry. Please continue. I love a good love story.”

You huffed. “The next day, I went to an interview for a job… and he was the one hiring.”

Yelena’s mouth fell open. “Shut up.”

You grinned. “Nope.”

“That’s so corny,” she said, laughing. “Like a rom-com.”

“I know.” You exhaled, shaking your head. “It just… happened. One thing led to another.”

“And now you’re in love with him.”

Your breath hitched. You opened your mouth, but Yelena just gave you a knowing look.

“Admit it,” she teased, wiggling her brows. “Say it out loud.”

You swallowed. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought it. You had felt it for a long time. But saying it out loud…

Your voice was quiet. “I love him.”

Yelena smiled. “Yeah. I know. I have sixth sense for these things,” she said proudly, examining a Twizzler between her fingers.

A comfortable silence settled. You anxiously bit at your nails as you watched the commercials on TV. The interview would be starting any minute now.

“I’m scared, though,” you admitted. “I’m scared of what’s going to happen after tonight. What if—”

“Hey,” Yelena cut you off, her voice softer now. “Barnes will be fine. He’s got Sam, Joaquin, he’s got me, and most importantly—he’s got you.”

You exhaled slowly, nodding.

“Besides,” Yelena smirked. “I need to see how this romance plays out. I’m invested now.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” She took another sip of beer before tilting her head. “You know, I actually met Bucky in a very similar way.”

That caught your attention. “Wait, really?”

Yelena smirked, leaning back against the couch. “Mhm. Back when I was still running around, doing my Black Widow thing, I was sent after him once. Some HYDRA remnants put a hit on him.”

Your stomach twisted. “A hit?”

She waved a hand. “Pfft. Nothing serious. They wanted me to take care of it because I was the best.” She shot you a cocky grin. “Obviously.”

You blinked. “Wait—so they sent you to kill Bucky?”

“Technically.” She eventually took a bite of the Twizzler. “But I was mostly just curious. Everyone said he was the most dangerous assassin ever. So I found him, tracked him down, and tried to fight him.”

Your jaw dropped. “Tried?”

Yelena snorted. “Tried. He won, obviously. But I got a few good hits in.”

You stared at her. “You fought Bucky?”

“Mhm.” She grinned. “And when he realized I wasn’t actually trying to kill him, he took me out for a drink instead.”

Your eyes widened. “He what?”

She nodded. “Yup. Sat me down at some dingy little bar and bought me a beer.” She shrugged. “I guess we bonded over being screwed over by the people who raised us.”

You exhaled. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” Yelena smiled. “He’s a good guy. You know that, right?”

Your chest tightened. “I do.”

“Good.” She nudged you. “Because he really likes you, too.”

A small, shy smile tugged at your lips.

“Now,” Yelena clapped her hands together. “Shut up. The show is starting.”

Both of you turned to the screen, your heart pounding as the Late Late Show’s theme music began.

Bucky was about to go live.

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The Late Late Show theme music blared through the speakers as the camera panned across the roaring crowd. Bright lights flashed, illuminating the sleek, modern set where Jimmy Coors, the ever-charismatic host, stood in his navy pinstripe suit, grinning at the camera.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jimmy said, spreading his arms wide. “Tonight, we have a very special guest. You know him. You love him. Some of you are terrified of him.” A playful chuckle rippled through the audience. “He’s a war hero, a former Avenger, and the most talked-about man in America right now—please welcome Congressman James Buchanan Barnes!”

The crowd erupted. Cheers, whistles, and excited applause filled the room as Bucky strode onto the stage.

You sucked in a breath.

Seeing him on the screen, looking so composed, was surreal.

Bucky wore a sharp, all-black suit, tailored perfectly to his frame. His dark hair was neatly combed back, but a few strands still fell stubbornly over his forehead. His beard was trimmed, and his blue eyes were piercing, even through the screen. He looked so handsome — so Hollywood.

Yelena let out a low whistle. “Damn. No wonder you’re in love with him.”

You shoved her shoulder, but your eyes never left the screen.

Bucky shook Jimmy’s hand before settling into the plush armchair across from him. Despite his usual brooding nature, there was a quiet confidence in his posture.

“So,” Jimmy said, leaning forward with an easy grin. “You’ve been off the grid for a few days now.”

Bucky smirked slightly. “Yeah, needed a break from all the conspiracy theories.”

The crowd laughed.

Jimmy chuckled. “Well, let’s address the elephant in the room, then. You’ve been vocal about your suspicions regarding HYDRA’s resurgence. And now, suddenly, you disappear for almost a week? A lot of people have been speculating about what happened.” He tapped the desk. “Care to clear things up?”

Bucky exhaled. His fingers drummed against his knee—a nervous tick. You recognized it instantly.

Then, he lifted his gaze. “I was attacked.”

The audience fell silent.

Jimmy blinked. “Attacked?” Jimmy glanced over to the cameras, and then the producers, and then back to Bucky.

Bucky nodded, his expression hardening. “HYDRA is not just a ghost from the past. They’re still out there. And they don’t just operate in the shadows anymore. They are inside our government, inside our military, inside everything.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Jimmy’s brows furrowed. “That’s… a bold accusation.”

Bucky tilted his head. “It’s the truth.”

The studio fell dead quiet.

Jimmy hesitated before nodding. “And you have proof?”

Bucky reached into his jacket, pulling out a small USB drive. He placed it on the desk between them.

“This,” Bucky said, voice firm, “contains classified documents, video footage, and intelligence reports—evidence that proves HYDRA is still alive and operating under the protection of certain high-ranking officials. Including President Thaddeus Ross.”

Gasps rang out.

You gripped the couch cushion so hard your knuckles ached.

Jimmy, for once, looked stunned. He picked up the USB drive, turning it over between his fingers. “And you’re showing this now, live on television?”

Bucky’s lips twitched. “Figured it’d be harder for them to cover it up this way.”

The audience cheered.

Jimmy chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, I have never seen a politician with balls this big.”

The crowd roared with laughter, and even Bucky cracked a small grin.

Then, Jimmy leaned in. “But listen, Bucky, I gotta ask…” He waved a hand at the screen behind them, where footage from news reports played—clips of Bucky pulling you from the facility, carrying you in his arms, his face twisted with raw desperation.

Your stomach flipped.

Jimmy’s voice softened. “There’s been a lot of speculation about the woman in these videos. You saved her, but no one knows who she is. Some reports claim she’s just your assistant. Some say she’s an informant. Some think she’s a political pawn.” He paused. “But that look on your face?” He pointed at the screen. “That doesn’t look like politics. That looks personal.”

Your breath caught.

Yelena leaned in, eyes wide. “Oh, this is about to get good.”

Bucky’s expression shifted.

The audience hushed.

For the first time since the interview started, he looked almost vulnerable. His fingers flexed against his knee, and he exhaled slowly.

Then, he spoke.

“She’s not my informant,” Bucky said quietly.

Jimmy waited.

“She’s not a political pawn.”

Bucky lifted his head, eyes burning with intensity.

“She’s the woman I love.”

The room exploded.

The audience lost it—cheers, screams, whistles.

Yelena smacked your leg. “Holy shit!”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Jimmy, laughing, threw his hands up. “There it is! I knew it!” He grinned, looking out at the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a romance!”

Bucky huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head.

Jimmy turned back to him. “No, but seriously—tell me about her.”

Bucky hesitated, as if he didn’t know how to put it into words. Then, he simply said—

“She’s everything.”

You swore your heart stopped.

The crowd awed.

Yelena groaned, clutching her chest dramatically. “Ugh. You’re so lucky. Where do I get one?”

Your eyes burned. You covered your mouth, overwhelmed.

Jimmy shook his head, grinning. “Well, you do realize you just sent the internet into a meltdown, right?”

Bucky smirked slightly. “Yeah, I figured.”

Jimmy sighed. “Man, I gotta say… between this and your little crusade against HYDRA, you might as well run for president.”

The crowd cheered again.

Bucky blinked. “Wait, what?”

Jimmy laughed. “No, I’m serious! People love you! You stand up for what’s right, you’re taking down corrupt politicians, you fight for the little guy—and now you’re out here confessing your love like some tragic war hero? You’re America’s golden boy!”

More applause.

Bucky looked bewildered.

You were, too.

Yelena? She just grinned, shaking her head. “Oh, he’s so screwed.”

Jimmy turned back to the camera. “Folks, give it up for Congressman James Buchanan Barnes!”

The audience roared as the camera panned out.

And as the Late Late Show cut to commercial, you let out a shaky breath—because everything had just changed.

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The Late Late Show was a whirlwind, a huge success, and yet, despite the triumph, Bucky felt that gnawing unease in his gut. The world was starting to notice him, sure, but he knew his fight wasn’t over. There was still so much at stake—HYDRA, Ross, and the promises he’d made.

Now, in a sleek, high-rise building on the outskirts of Washington, Bucky stood in front of President Thaddeus Ross, who, despite his imposing figure, looked somehow smaller in the private, dimly lit room. The tall windows framed the night sky, casting long shadows over the two men.

Sam and Joaquin stood nearby, their postures relaxed but tense—watchful, just in case things went south.

Ross was sitting at a large desk, hands clasped together in front of him, his face hard. His normally strict demeanor had softened just a touch, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as Bucky approached.

“You’ve got guts,” Ross said, his voice low and gravelly. “I’ll give you that.”

Bucky didn’t sit. He wasn’t here for small talk. “I’m here to make sure you understand something,” he said, his tone even but laced with warning. “You stay the hell away from HYDRA. I’m done watching you play the puppet. You’re gonna stop working with them, and if you want to live—if you want to stop your gamma problem from getting worse—I’ll help you. But only if you cut all ties.”

Ross’ jaw tightened. He sat back in his chair. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“No,” Bucky said, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t. You’ve been a pawn for too long, but there’s still a chance for you to do the right thing. You need help, Ross. I know a few people who can help.”

Ross leaned forward, voice shaking with anger and desperation. “HYDRA won’t let me go so easily. They’ve got eyes on me. They’ve been threatening me for years, and this… this is my life now. You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything with some easy solution?”

“I didn’t say it’d be easy,” Bucky replied, his voice colder than before. “But it’s the only way to get you out from under their thumb. You don’t have to be their puppet anymore. And if you want to get control of your condition, I can help you—Bruce Banner can help you decode the anti-red Hulk pills. The cure is out there, Ross, and you don’t have to keep hiding behind their lies.”

Ross stood up suddenly, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think I want this? You think I want to be stuck in this?” He let out a harsh laugh, bitterness spilling from his words. “I’m stuck. Stuck in this cycle of trying to control something I can’t. And HYDRA? They hold the leash. They made sure of that.”

Bucky stepped closer, a grim resolve in his eyes. “I know you’re a victim here, Ross. I know that better than anyone. But you don’t have to let them win. You can fight back. You can get out. We can do this together. But only if you stop playing their game.”

Ross met his eyes. For a moment, the anger in his gaze softened, replaced by something more human—vulnerability, regret, fear. He finally exhaled sharply.

“Do you have any idea how much this will cost me?” Ross asked, voice quieter now. “HYDRA won’t let me walk away without consequences. They have control of so much—my research, my career, my life. If I betray them, they’ll make sure I don’t live to regret it.”

“Then don’t betray them. Just stop working for them.” Bucky’s voice was firm, unyielding. “If you don’t, I’ll make sure everyone knows the truth. No more hiding behind the government or the press. You can start making your own choices, Ross. This is your last chance to do something right.”

Ross stared at him for a long time, and in that moment, Bucky saw it—the small crack in the wall Ross had built around himself. Maybe he wasn’t the villain after all.

Finally, Ross spoke, his voice a low rasp. “I can’t promise it’ll be easy. But I’ll try. I’ll try to get out. For you.”

“No Ross, for you,” Bucky said, his tone softer now. “You’re the Goddman President, you do this for you and the people of America. And when it’s over, you owe them an apology,” Ross swallowed. “We’ll help you get the medication, the real treatment you need. You don’t have to keep going down this path.”

As the two men exchanged one last look, Sam stepped forward, a silent acknowledgment passing between him and Ross. “We’ll be in touch,” Sam said quietly.

With that, Bucky turned, walking towards the door. Joaquin followed closely behind, glancing at Ross one last time.

Before they left the room, Bucky turned to look over his shoulder. “And Ross? Don’t make me regret this.”

Ross gave a stiff nod, and Bucky and the team stepped out of the room, the weight of what was to come settling on their shoulders.

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Back at the safehouse, Yelena had made herself right at home. She’d already raided the fridge for snacks, pulling out a bag of chips, some cheese, and a bottle of soda as she plopped down beside you on the couch.

“So,” Yelena started, winking at you, “how down bad are you for him?”

You choked on your soda, turning to look at her. “What?”

Yelena shrugged innocently, though her grin was anything but. “What? Don’t look at me like I don’t see the way you look at him. The way you always look at him.”

You felt your face flush. “I… It’s not like that.”

“Oh, it’s definitely like that,” Yelena teased, munching on a Cheez-It. “You’re just lucky he’s head over heels for you too. Can’t imagine what it’s like to have that level of devotion.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch, feeling both embarrassed and warm inside. “I don’t even know how it happened. But it did. And now I…” You trailed off, your voice quieter. “I just want to be there for him. All of this—this war against HYDRA—it feels like it’s mine too. I want to help.”

Yelena’s teasing expression softened slightly, but she didn’t lose her mischievous glint. “You want to help?”

You nodded, looking at her. “I need to learn how to fight. I don’t want to be the person sitting on the sidelines while Bucky risks his life every day. This is our fight now, not just his.”

Yelena studied you for a long moment. Then, she smiled widely. “Alright. I’ll train you. Since you asked so nicely. But just so you know… It’s not gonna be pretty. You might end up on the floor a lot.”

“I literally did not ask you to train me.” You scoffed.

“You didn’t have to,” Yelena winked, bouncing up and stretching her arms. “It makes sense. You want the best in the business to train you. And that would be me. The best,” She thrusted her thumb into her chest. “So I’ll do it. Out of the goodness of my own heart. Because I am good. Sometimes. Most of the time. Hey, do you have any more Cheez-Its?”

“You’re something else Yelena,” you laughed. “But maybe we keep this between you and I? Bucky would just worry.”

“Yeah yeah,” she said with a wink. “Let’s start in the morning.”

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The limo’s leather seats creaked slightly as Bucky and Sam sat in silence, the only noise coming from the faint hum of the city as they drove toward the safehouse. The flashing lights of the streets outside felt distant, like the world was a little bit quieter now that the chaos of the day was behind them. Bucky was leaning against the window, his gaze lost somewhere in the dark night, while Sam sat across from him, his arms folded, his brow furrowed in thought.

Sam glanced at Bucky, noticing how quiet he had been since the press conference. It wasn’t like him to withdraw like this, even after everything that had happened. Sam could tell something was weighing on him.

“What’s up, man?” Sam asked, breaking the silence. “You’ve been out of it.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted slightly, but he didn’t look fully at Sam, his eyes still distant. “Just... thinking.”

“Yeah?” Sam leaned forward a little. “Thinking about what?”

Bucky took a long breath, his fingers tapping absently on the armrest. “I miss him, man.”

Sam blinked, caught off guard by the sudden vulnerability in Bucky’s voice. “Steve?”

Bucky nodded, his voice quiet as he continued. “Coors called me America’s Golden Boy and I just… I don’t know. I guess I thought about him. I know it’s been years, but it still feels... wrong. I should’ve been there. He was always there for me, and now... he’s not. I can’t help but feel like I let him down.”

Sam softened, understanding what Bucky was feeling. He had seen how much Steve had meant to him, how deeply their bond went, even after all the pain and time that had passed. “You didn’t let him down, Buck,” Sam said gently. “You did what you could. It’s not your fault that things went the way they did.”

Bucky looked out the window again, his expression unreadable. “I keep wondering if he’d be proud of me now. He always believed in me, but I don’t know if I believe in myself.”

Sam gave him a look, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. “Bucky, man... you don’t have to be Steve. You’re not meant to be Steve. You’re your own person. What you’ve done, what you’re doing now—it’s bigger than anything we ever thought possible. And Steve would be damn proud of you. You’re not the guy you were when you were under HYDRA’s control. You’re a different man now.”

Bucky let out a breath, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know, Sam. Sometimes I feel like I’m still that same guy in a way. Like I’m still fighting the same battles, just in a different place.”

Sam shook his head, a smile forming on his lips as he leaned forward slightly. “You’ve fought more than your share of battles, Bucky. You’ve earned this. Steve would tell you the same thing. Hell, if he was here, he’d be giving you one of those damn pep talks he was so good at.”

Bucky chuckled softly, the sound just a bit shaky. “Yeah, he probably would.”

Sam leaned back in his seat, his voice growing softer. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone anymore. You’ve done the work. You’re your own person now, Buck. You’ve got your team here with you. We’ve got your back. Always.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered to Sam, his gratitude evident. “Thanks, Sam. For always being here.”

Sam gave him a nod, a warm smile on his face. “That’s what brothers are for.”

They both sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling between them but also bringing a sense of calm. Bucky let the words sink in, allowing himself to feel a little lighter, a little more at peace with where he was. He wasn’t the man Steve had been, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still carry on in his own way.

Eventually, Bucky broke the silence again, his voice low but with a hint of a smile. “I hope he’s watching... wherever he is.”

Sam grinned. “Oh, he’s definitely watching. And probably yelling at you to get your act together.”

Bucky laughed, a genuine sound that warmed the space between them. “Yeah, probably.”

The limo continued its journey through the quiet streets, but for the first time in a while, Bucky felt like maybe, just maybe, he was starting to find his own way—one step at a time.

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The door clicked open softly as Bucky stepped into the safehouse, his posture relaxed but his eyes still holding the weight of the day. He was tired, but the overwhelming feeling of relief flooded him as he stepped inside. The familiar warmth of the space greeted him, and the quiet atmosphere felt like a breath of fresh air after the storm of the last few days.

Yelena was already lounging on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table, a bag of chips in one hand. As soon as she saw Bucky walk in, she grinned and gave him a thumbs up, the phone in her other hand still glued to her face.

“You’re trending, big guy,” she announced, her voice filled with a playful edge. “You’ve got the internet wrapped around your finger. Everyone loves you.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. “What are you talking about?”

Yelena turned the phone toward him, showing him the glowing screen. The latest trending hashtags flashed across the screen, including #BuckyForPresident and #BuckyBarnesIsOurHero. The comments were pouring in, from people calling him a hero to those who were moved by his bravery during the interview.

“I think the world is in love with you, Bucky,” Yelena teased, looking up at him with a grin. “You’re making waves, for real.”

Bucky stood there for a moment, processing the words, the notifications flooding the screen. His chest tightened, but in a way that was soft, almost emotional. It was overwhelming—more than anything, it was humbling. But it wasn’t the kind of recognition he had ever sought. He had done all of this for the right reasons, to protect those he loved, and to stop HYDRA once and for all. But seeing the world, his world, reacting this way—it felt different. Like he was finally seen for who he really was.

“Guess I didn’t expect this,” Bucky said, his voice low as he ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think people would actually... care about me this way.”

Yelena snorted, her smile widening. “Oh, please. The world’s been waiting for you to come out of hiding. They just needed someone to stand up, and you did. And you did it with style.” She pointed to the screen again, where a fan account had posted a fan art of Bucky holding the world on his shoulders with the words #OurHero written across it. “And it doesn’t hurt that you’re hot.”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t do this for the attention, Yelena.”

“I know, I know,” she replied, tossing a chip in her mouth, still amused. “But hey, you got it. And they’re loving it. You’re not the only one trending. Look who else is,” she added, scrolling to another post.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly as Yelena showed him a comment from you. “I’ve always known he was a good man. I’m so proud of him. #MyBucky.”

Bucky swallowed hard, feeling a lump in his throat. His chest swelled with affection for you, mixed with a tenderness he hadn’t expected. His voice softened as he spoke. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

Yelena shot him a knowing look, the playful teasing fading for a moment. “She is. You’re lucky, Bucky. Don’t mess it up.”

Bucky took a deep breath and nodded. “I know.” His heart thudded heavily in his chest. “I don’t think I could. I... I’ve never been sure of anything more in my life.”

Yelena’s eyes softened, her usual teasing tone replaced by something warmer. “I’m glad you’re figuring it out. You deserve some happiness.”

The words sat with Bucky for a moment, before he nodded again. He had come so far. He had spent years fighting his own demons, trying to prove he could be good, and now, with you by his side, it felt like everything had finally aligned.

“Where is she?” he asked, his voice quiet, filled with longing.

Yelena smiled knowingly and pointed toward the hallway. “She’s in the bedroom, waiting for you. She’s been so anxious, watching the interview, wondering how it went. But...” Yelena’s voice lowered with a teasing edge again. “You know, she might be more nervous about the kiss you gave the world than anything else.”

Bucky chuckled, his heart pounding in his chest at the thought of you waiting for him. “I don’t know what came over me,” he said quietly, shaking his head as he walked toward the bedroom. “I just had to say it. Had to make it clear.”

“You did good,” Yelena called after him, her voice light and playful. “She’s definitely gonna love hearing that.”

Bucky stepped into the bedroom, his eyes finding you almost instantly. You were sitting up on the bed, the soft glow of the lamp illuminating your face, your eyes flickering with uncertainty as you watched him approach. The tension in the room was palpable, but it wasn’t the kind of tension that felt forced or strained. It was the kind of nervous energy that only comes when two people who’ve been through so much finally come together, knowing there’s something real between them.

“Hey,” Bucky said softly, his voice low and filled with affection as he leaned against the doorframe.

You looked up at him, your face lighting up with a soft smile, but there was a nervousness behind your gaze. “So... how’d it go?” Your voice was a little shaky, but there was so much pride in it, too.

Bucky’s gaze softened as he walked toward you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. “It went... better than I could’ve imagined,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I made it clear, I think.”

He paused for a moment, studying your face, seeing the way your eyes glistened with emotion. He felt that familiar pull toward you, like he couldn’t be away from you for even a second longer.

You bit your lip, your heart thumping in your chest as you asked, “What you said on the show… Bucky… I couldn’t believe it.”

“I said...” Bucky’s voice caught in his throat for a moment, before he continued, “What I said was the truth.” He let out a breath, his words raw, vulnerable. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life.”

You felt the tears welling up in your eyes, and without thinking, you reached up, pulling him toward you. “You’re really going to make me cry, huh?”

Bucky chuckled softly, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. “I’m just telling the truth.”

You pulled him down into a kiss, a slow, tender kiss that was full of everything unspoken between you. It wasn’t just passion. It was the love that had been building between you two since the moment you met. It was everything.

As you kissed, you pulled him down onto the bed with you, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. When you pulled away, you looked up at him with a smile.

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. “Was it okay?” he asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice. His blue eyes searched yours, looking for reassurance. “Did I do okay?”

Without answering, you leaned in, kissing his lips again—this time, with a new urgency. Slowly, you kissed down his neck, your lips moving along his skin, igniting the sparks between you. You could feel him tense, his breathing shallow, and it only made you smile more.

You cupped his face and pulled yourself on top of him, straddling his suit clad lap. You started tugging at his tie, slowly undoing it before discarding it haphazardly. You began unbuttoning his shirt but as your fingers fumbled, Bucky helped, popping each button off in one swift motion. The shirt, along the rest of his clothes, formed a pile on the floor by the bed.

"Let me take care of you," you murmured against his lips, your hands sliding down his torso.

Bucky let out a breathless laugh, his grip on your hips tightening. "Sweetheart, I think you already are."

Your lips found his neck, tracing the strong column of his throat. He shuddered when your teeth grazed his skin, his fingers flexing against your waist.

"You looked so good on that stage," you teased, your voice hushed. "So confident, so strong. And the way you spoke about me—" You kissed down his jaw. "You have no idea what that did to me."

"You drive me insane, you know that?" Bucky rasped, tilting his head back as you pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his pulse point.

You grinned against his skin. "Good."

Bucky’s breath came heavier as your fingers traced the hard planes of his stomach. His muscles twitched under your touch. His skin was warm, littered with scars and stories you had yet to hear in full. But right now, he wasn’t the Winter Soldier. He wasn’t a politician or a man burdened by the past. He was just Bucky. Your Bucky.

And he was looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

"You're staring," you murmured, hands splaying over his chest.

Bucky swallowed thickly, his fingers brushing up your sides. "I still can't believe you're real."

You smiled, brushing your lips over his, teasing, light. "Then maybe I should remind you."

You kissed him again—deeper this time, slow and teasing, tasting him, drinking him in. His hands were everywhere, skimming over your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

"You take such good care of me," he murmured, trailing kisses down your jaw, along the column of your throat. His hands roamed, reverent and careful, as if memorizing every inch of you. "Let me take care of you, too."

His lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and a soft sigh escaped your lips.

"You already do," you breathed.

Bucky’s eyes darkened. "Not enough."

His metal fingers dragged along your skin, cool against your warmth, as he worshipped you with his mouth, his touch, his everything.

“Bucky…” you moaned, closing your eyes as a wave of pleasure washed over you. “You’re too good, let me—“ your hands found his manhood, already hard and pressing against his boxers. You gave it a squeeze and Bucky tensed up, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck and biting at the skin. You placed your free hand in his hair, tugging at it and running your fingers through it, and with your other hand, you pulled down his shorts letting his cock spring free.

A string of curses left Bucky’s mouth as you pumped him, your eyes not leaving his. They were so beautiful; ocean blue with very small traces of teal, and his pupils were blown dark and wide with lust. You felt your insides coil with the intensity of the eye contact. “You like that, pretty boy?” You coaxed, your voice laced with feigned innocence.

Bucky swallowed, nodding his head speechless.

“Nuh-uh, use your words baby.” You rolled your finger over his tip, gathering the precum on the digit. You brought it up to his lips. “Tell me.”

“I like it— don’t stop— please,” Bucky choked out. When his lips parted, you gently pushed your finger in his mouth.

Bucky sucked on your finger and pulled off with a pop, cleaning up his mess. You flashed him a wild smile. “Good boy,” you praised, feeling Bucky twitch in your hand with the words. “You’re my favourite taste.”

You kneeled down, lying on your front and crawled between his legs, starting by licking a line up the curve of the Congressman’s cock.

“You’re teasing,” he mumbled, his head falling back as you sucked on his head, gathering his salty precum on your tongue, revelling in the way a groan vibrated through his chest. “I won’t last.” He warned, his metal hand grabbing you by your hair.

“That’s okay,” you giggled. “I can take my time with this some more if you like?”

You cupped his balls and without warning, pushed yourself down his whole length, choking around his size. You blinked away the tears that stung at your eyes as his cock hit the back of your throat.

“I want— fuck— I can’t—“

You pulled off him and looked up with wide doe eyes. “What?”

“I wanna— ngnhh—,” Bucky gasped as you took him again, messy, wet slurping sounds filled your makeshift bedroom. ‘Wanna fuck you.” He gasped out.

“Fuck my mouth then,” you offered breathlessly. “Told you Bucky, tonight I just wanna look after you.”

Bucky looked at you, concern lilting in his wide eyes. “Don’t wanna hurt you baby, don’t wanna be too rough.”

“Shut up and fuck my mouth,” you sighed impatiently, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out.

“Oh, now who’s being bratty,” Bucky exhaled, shaking his head with a small chuckle. With both of his hands, he placed them on the back of your skull, holding your head in place. Bucky thrusted into your mouth without warning. Immediately you gagged around him, his manhood taking your breath away. You splayed your hands out against his hips as he fucked you like you was his toy, his doll.

He didn’t last long, to no surprise to either of you. Without warning, Bucky spilled his load into your mouth, painting your tongue and the back of your throat. You were totally and completely obsessed with him, the taste of him and every single inch of him. You were so deeply and madly in love with your boss and now, you didn’t care if the whole world knew. You swallowed his cum with a big gulp and flashed him your tongue to prove that you’d done so.

Bucky leaned over and pressed his pink lips to yours, bringing his hands up to your breasts and giving them a tender squeeze. “My girl, my girl, my girl…” he whispered, licking a stripe over your lower lip. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too Bucky.”

And as you both surrendered to each other once again, the world outside faded away. All that mattered was the love you had found, the love that was growing stronger by the day.

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