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flowersforbucky · 6 months ago

Text

delirium

bucky barnes x reader (sex pollen trope)

word count: 4.1k

summary: stranded in the middle of the alaskan wilderness with no means of communication after being exposed to a foreign drug, you're reluctant to accept help from the one person who has a shot at saving you.

warnings/tags: sex pollen, dub con, unprotected sex, oral, masturbation, angst, descriptions of physical pain, language, friends to lovers, avenger!reader, no use of y/n, reader is afab, 18+ only

flashbacks are in italics

Sometime in the near future, there would be a case study conducted on how long a human being could burn from the inside without dying.

They would refer to you as exhibit a.

Doctors and scientists would lay your cold corpse on a colder table and use a scalpel to cut you from your thorax to your belly button. They would scribble notes about how your lungs had turned to ash and your esophagus to molten lava.

They wouldn't say it, but they would think it's a shame, because your driver's license states that you were an organ donor.

A harsh gust of wind snaps you out of the twisted fantasy and back to your reality - standing barefoot on the rickety front porch steps of a small cabin in Sitka, Alaska. You've only been outside for a few minutes but the snow is pouring down at a brutal pace, already covering the tops of your exposed feet.

The razor sharp chill of the ground below you and the air that surrounds you are the only things tethering you to what little remains of your sanity.

You never thought that you would be so thankful for your feet to be going numb, but after feeling like every fiber of your being is getting melted with a hot branding iron for - what? Ten? Twelve hours now? You had to resist the temptation to submerge your entire body in the multiple feet of snow that had accumulated since nightfall.

You hear the front door of the cabin creak open from behind you. You don't have to turn around to know that he's standing in the doorway with the same look of pleading desperation that he's been giving you since the two of you had realized what was happening.

“You need to come back inside,” he says delicately. His voice is muffled by the roar of the snowstorm, but right now with heightened senses, you hear him just fine. “You're going to get hypothermia.”

You don't respond. The mere sound of his voice makes you grit your teeth together so hard that you're surprised the tiny bones don't shatter.

He keeps to the doorway, scared that if he takes one step closer, you'll flee into the miles of thick woods that surrounds you in only a pair of old sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. He murmurs your name in a tone that begs you to come in from the below freezing temperatures.

“What time is it now?” You barely recognize your own voice - low and strained, it sounds like you haven't had anything to drink in days.

You clear your throat, though you doubt it'll make any difference.

“Just after four o'clock.”

Eleven hours into this hell, then. Best case scenario, another half a day of this. Worst case scenario, close to two.

Either way, you knew that these symptoms had yet to hit their peak. This would undoubtedly get worse before it gets better.

You stare out into the endless thicket of snow covered hemlocks and spruces. The illumination from the full moon makes the white powder on the branches glisten in the darkness.

Daylight was still hours away, and with it, hope for some means of communication with the rest of your team back in New York. The snowstorm had brought a widespread power outage across the city. Cell phone signal was nonexistent right now.

“Go on back to your room,” you tell him. “I'll come back inside in just a moment.” You continue to watch the blizzard before you, knowing that he's still just a few feet away from you. “I promise,” you add, hoping that he’ll believe you and return to the bedroom you'd been forcing him to keep to.

The drug coursing through your veins had amplified every one of your five senses. Even with him behind the closed door of the bedroom, you could still smell faint traces of the earthy musk of his deodorant and something warm that is uniquely him.

You wouldn't chance coming back into the house until his scent has dissipated from the entrance - not unless you want to feel as though all air is being stripped from your lungs.

Even simply standing here, with him behind you and the wind blowing his scent in the opposite direction, is nearly intolerable.

You hear footsteps retreat into the house, growing quieter and quieter as he makes his way back down the hallway, until you finally hear the click of his bedroom door. You exhale a breath that you weren't aware you had been holding in.

You have no doubt that he'll try to drag you back inside by the ankles if he has to, so you make good on your promise and return to the sweltering interior of the six hundred square foot log cabin.

A sharp, stabbing pain radiates from the center of your body at that thought - the exact kind of thoughts you were actively trying to avoid having. Thoughts of his hands digging into your thighs, his wet mouth on your throat, his bare chest pressed against yours as he fucks you into the likely thirty-something year old couch - those thoughts. Dangerous territory thoughts - the kind you didn't trust yourself not to act on if dwelled upon for too long.

Apparently, the thought of him putting his hands around your ankles and dragging you kicking and screaming falls into that category.

You settle onto the couch, pulling your knees up to your chest in an effort to alleviate the ache in your lower belly. You notice that Bucky has crammed more wood into the fireplace, which currently serves as the main source of light for the cabin, save for a few candles that have been placed sporadically throughout the small space.

Sweat begins to bead across your skin within seconds of sitting down in front of the fire. You know that Bucky is just trying to keep the temperature of the house from dropping below zero while also providing enough light to see during the middle of the night while you are in too much discomfort to sleep, but you feel like you are locked in a sauna after running five miles.

You think back to all of the times that you've given Sam shit for taking ice baths after his workouts. Now nothing sounds better than an ice bath.

Almost nothing, anyway. The only thing that could possibly feel even better is laying down behind a closed door less than twenty feet away.

And he'd offered - begged, actually, to take this pain away from you.

“Please,” he whispers, kneeling on the ground next to the couch, where you sit hunched over in pain. He's so close to you and it's fucking suffocating. He places his hand on your knee and you have to dig your nails into the suede upholstery to keep from whimpering. He notices the reaction and retracts his touch.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he says louder, the pet name finally getting you to meet his gaze for the first time since you dropped the glass jar of the firetruck red powder in the former HYDRA warehouse two hours ago.

Big mistake. Looking at him is a big fucking mistake. From the way his blue eyes bore into yours with sincere concern to the way that his plump, pink lips are slightly chapped from the cold weather -

“No,” you say firmly, shaking your head into your hands. “I can't ask that of you. I can't make you do that. I would never forgive my–”

“You wouldn't be asking or making me do anything,” he tries to reason with you. There's sincerity in his voice but you're too delirius to hear the truth of his words. “I'm offering. Because I care about you. Because I don't want to see you in any kind of pain if there's anything I can do about it. Because I think you'd do the same for me if the situation were–”

“Bucky,” you cut him off in a strained gasp. “Your voice is making this so much worse right now.”

“Then let me help you. Let me make you feel good.”

His words alone are enough to have you clenching your thighs around nothing but the thick material of your sweatpants. You can feel your cotton panties becoming more drenched with each word he speaks.

“Not like this.” You're on the verge of tears - from pain, from anger at the entire situation, from how goddamn badly you need to feel him inside you. “It can't happen like this. I never wanted it to happen like this.”

His features soften, a look of understanding spreading across his face.

“When we fuck, I want it to be because we want to fuck,” you say as you jump up from your position on the couch, desperately needing to distance yourself from him before you do something you can't take back. “I don't want it to be because we feel like neither of us have a choice in the matter.”

“But we do have a choice,” he murmurs from where he's still kneeling on the floor next to the couch. “And I'd choose to go back to that HYDRA facility and infect myself with this shit, too, if it means you'd feel a little less guilty about saying yes.”

Your answer to that was, of course, a big, giant absolutely fucking not. The snow started pouring down shortly after, making his irrational proclamation an impossibility, anyway.

Almost half a day later, here you are. Surrounded by miles and miles of snow and ice in a town with no power or semi-functioning cell phone towers, just trying to endure the fire coursing through your veins until the effects of the HYDRA made drug have worked through your system.

You're coming up on the twelve hour mark now, and there's no denying that you're desperate for relief in one way or another.

Worth a fucking shot, you think.

You prop your feet up on the glass coffee table in front where you sit on the couch, spreading your thighs apart by a few inches.

You hesitate for a moment, listening for any kind of indication that Bucky's no longer in the confines of the cabin’s singular bedroom.

Dead silent, except for the crackling of the wood burning in the fireplace.

You snake your hand down the front of your pants, past the waistband of your underwear and to your center that's been aching for hours now.

You stroke your fingers up and down your folds, stopping at the apex of your core to massage your clit in circular motions.

Your head rolls back on the couch at the sensation, immediately feeling the slightest sense of relief. You dig your teeth into your lower lip to keep from moaning - hard enough to draw blood, the taste of iron flooding your mouth.

You slip two fingers past your entrance, not requiring any foreplay to plunge them to the hilt. It feels good - the way you're working yourself with rapid scissoring motions. Really fucking good, actually. Better than fingering yourself has ever felt.

But only a mere minute into the ministrations, you fear that it won't be enough to satiate you in the way that the drug requires.

Still, you try. You yank your t-shirt above your tits, bringing your free hand to paw at your breast as you continue working your pussy with your fingers, the heel of your palm putting pressure against your clit.

“That's not going to work, you know.”

You yank your hand out of your pants, snapping your head to the side to see him leaning against the frame of the small hallway. You had been so immersed in attempting to find some amount of relief that you hadn't heard him exit the bedroom. He's looking at you with sympathy and concern, not judgment - you don't think you'd be able to find it within yourself to feel embarrassed even if he were. Not in your current state of discomfort.

“How do you know that?” Frustration is evident in your voice. You look away from him, back to the fire in front of you as you pull your shirt back down. The floor creaks as he steps out of the hallway and makes his way over to the opposite end of the small couch. He sits a foot away from you, close enough so that his scent and warmth invades your senses, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core.

“Because I've been through what you're going through right now.”

Your eyes break away from the ember that you've been staring at, your gaze snapping to him. You don't know why this comes as a surprise to you. It shouldn't, not with every other form of torment that HYDRA had inflicted upon him for over half a century.

“Why didn't you tell me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I was embarrassed,” he answers with a small half-shrug, breaking your stare. “I didn't.. handle it as well as you are,” he continues, shame in his voice and cheeks rosy. “You’re doing everything you can to fight something that you didn't ask for. That's more than I can say for myself.”

“You were brainwashed, Bucky,” you remind him delicately. It's a risky move that makes your skin burn and belly clench, but you scoot closer to him on the couch - your outermost thigh brushing against his knee. If the two of you weren't both wearing sweatpants, the minimal touch might even aid in bringing you some relief. Instead, you’re left feeling desperate for more of him.

But you push the feeling down, wanting to do what little you can to comfort him - wanting him to know that you don't think poorly of him for what was forced onto him, and what is now being forced onto you, too.

“I would never judge you for anything they made you do,” you assure him.

“I know you wouldn't,” he murmurs, turning to face you again. His blue eyes glow in the low lighting of the fire. The closeness between the two of you is dizzying, and electrifying, and -

“And I want you to know that I would never judge you for giving into this torture,” he adds.

You snort a laugh. “I'm starting to think you want me to give into this.” You mean for the statement to sound light-hearted, but a sharp pang in your gut makes you wince in pain and your voice goes shrill. You clutch your lower belly, hunching over at the pain.

He leans in closer, putting one hand on your lower back and one on your thigh. You whimper at the pressure of his fingers against your spine and inner thigh. Even through your clothes, the contact feels like heaven compared to hell you've been enduring for the last twelve hours.

You lean into his touch - you don't even think about it, you just do it. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, your forehead nuzzling the warm skin of his throat.

You take a deep inhale, attempting to steady your breathing, and you realize quickly that is a mistake - his scent is so euphoric, it feels like inhaling flames.

“Would it make it easier for you if I said that I do want you to give in?” His voice is low, his breath fanning across your face from his position above you.

“Fuck, Bucky, you can't say that to me right now,” you whine. You fist your hands into the fabric of his t-shirt, your eyes squint shut.

“Look at me,” he commands. You force your eyes open, pulling your head back enough to look up at him through your eyelashes.

“I want it to be your choice.” He brings a hand up to cup your jawline. His thumb skims the outline of your bottom lip. “But I would be lying if I said that I'm not relieved that I'm the one here with you, or that I wouldn't enjoy every second of helping you feel better.”

He brings his hands to yours, pulling them away from where they still clutch his shirt. You release your grip, allowing him to hold you by your wrists. He pulls your right hand up to his face, stopping just under his nose. Your brows furrow in confusion, until it dawns on you what it is he's doing.

He inhales deeply, then lowers your hand to his parted mouth. He slips the tips of your index and middle fingers past his lips, and then swirls his tongue around the two digits.

The exact two that had been inside your pussy not even five minutes ago.

Right now, you think you could come from him sucking on your fingers and nothing else.

You don't even try to stop the groan that slips past your lips as you shove your fingers deeper into his mouth. He moans around them as he finishes cleaning them off, the sound sending vibrations up your arm and throughout your body.

You pull your fingers from between his lips and immediately crush your own lips to his in their place. You feel the drug surging through your veins, but this time it's less excruciating - it now feels like pure adrenaline bubbling under your skin, spurring you on.

He opens his mouth to you, your lips and tongue moving with his in synchronicity. It's hurried and messy, and maybe not as romantic as you had imagined it in your head before this night - but it's exactly what you need right now.

He maneuvers you so that you're laying down on the couch, and nestles himself between your thighs. You can feel the hard outline of his erection through the thin material of his sweatpants. He ruts against you, dragging the bulge across your clothed center as he yanks your t-shirt up and over your head. He tosses it somewhere behind the couch before attaching his mouth to one of your nipples and palming the other with the cool metal of his left hand.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling the full weight of his body down against you. You stick your hands up the back of his t-shirt, scratching your nails down the skin of his back.

“I need more,” you gasp out as he pinches your nipple between his teeth, rolling it in his lips. The clothing that separates the two of you feels like a prison. “I need to feel you.”

He pulls away, leaning back to perch on his knees between your legs. Your eyes roam down the chiseled planes of his chest until they land on the defined “V” shape that disappears into the waistband of his low-hanging pants.

He hooks his fingers into your sweatpants and underwear and tugging them both down past your ankles, then throwing them somewhere across the room with both of your long-forgotten shirts.

His eyes trail your body from your breasts to your thighs, his pupils dilating in the firelight. He splays his hands across the meat of your inner thighs, pinning your legs open wide for him. He lowers himself back down on the couch, belly down so his face hovers just above your pussy.

“Bucky, I swear if you don't put your mouth–”

He laughs, a deep, throaty chuckle before his tongue slips between his lips. It darts to your hole, licking a soft strip up to your clit. You exhale a sharp hiss of pleasure, your hands shooting to lace your fingers through tendrils of his hair. You arch into his touch, meeting the thrusts of his tongue with thrusts of your hips. He eats like you're the best thing he's ever tasted - like he's wanted this for way longer than this drug has been in your system.

You're coming on his face in an embarrassing amount of time, really. Thanks to the influence of the pollen, you currently have the stamina and endurance of a teenager losing their virginity. Your thighs are clenched around either side of his head, writhing above him as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

The relief that you feel as you come down from your high feels like years of pent up frustration leaving your body all at once.

You don't quite feel entirely like yourself - there's still a dull ache in your core, and your skin’s still feverish - though that could be due to the fire that the two of you are just feet away from. But you're now able to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Come here,” you whisper, your voice low and honeyed. He crawls over you, his chest brushing against yours as he centers himself above you. His skin shines with a thin layer of sweat that mingles with your own. You reach a hand between your two bodies, palming his erection through the sweatpants that he has yet to shed. You keep your eyes locked on his face, watching as his eyes roll back into his head and his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip as you massage him through the fabric. Your other hand juts down to the waistband of his pants and you tug them downwards, far enough to help him shimmy them down to his knees.

His cock springs forward and he takes himself in his flesh hand, pumping his length several times before teasing your folds with his tip. He collects your slick along his length, lubricating himself before nudging his head just past your entrance.

You're more than ready for him - hours of desperation in addition to already having come on his face leaves you needing no further preparation before he's filling you up with his impressive length and girth. There's a slight burn at the sheer fullness of it, but there's also a wave of relief that your body has been craving for hours.

He pulls out halfway, then rocks back into you. He starts slow - trying to hold back for his own sake or for yours, you're unsure. Gradually, he increases his speed, hitting your cervix at that sweet angle that not everyone knows how to work. You lean forward, raising your head enough to capture his lips in yours once more.

You taste yourself on him - a dichotomy of sweet and salty mixed with something entirely unique. He brings his flesh hand in between your bodies, lowering his fingers to your clit where he begins rubbing pressured circles. You moan his name into his mouth and he responds by biting your lip between his teeth, his movements becoming messier.

“You gonna come on my cock?” he asks in a low growl when he feels your pussy clenching around him. “Gonna fill you up and make you feel all better.”

His words send you tumbling over the edge for the second time - that telltale warm coil in your belly bursting at the same time that he begins spilling his warmth into you.

He collapses, pinning you between his body and the couch beneath you. Starting at your shoulder, he peppers kisses along your collarbones and up your neck until he’s finally eye-level with you.

“We can do that again,” he says in a breathy voice, still inside you. “If you need to, that is. Or if you just want you.” There's a mischievous grin spread across his face and a twinkle in his eyes. It's the most carefree you've seen him since the two of you left New York to come here for this mission. You put your hands on his chest, jokingly attempting to shove him away from you.

“Oh, I don't think I need to,” you jab at him. “I'm feeling pretty great now, but thank you for your services.” He laughs, pulling out of you and sitting back against the couch. He pulls you up with him, wrapping his flesh arm around your waist and tucking you into his side. “But I think I might want to again. You know, now that I'm no longer in excruciating pain.” He hums in agreement, stroking his flesh fingers across the side of your stomach.

“I'm glad you were the one here with me too, Bucky."

thank you for reading! i know sooo many people have done this trope, especially for bucky, but it's truly one of my all time favorites and i just needed to get this out of my system so i hope you all enjoyed

comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!

other works by me: oil & water • down bad • acquainted •

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one-shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction

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jaggedamethyst · 1 month ago

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easy (bucky barnes x gn!reader)

content: life with bucky is amazing…but it’s easy to feel like you’re not enough when your relationship is a secret.

secret relationship, miscommunication/misunderstanding, angst, self doubt, alpine!!!!! not proofread

notes: fawk tik tok but welcome everyone who is bored and here getting their bucky content now. real as fuck. (no sharon carter slander allowed around me ever btw.)

there will be a part two (possibly more but idk)

main masterlist

part two

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

“I never really understood the appeal of a secret relationship until now,” You glanced over to Bucky, “It’s kinda invigorating.”

He smirked, his lazy smile matching his relaxed figure—sprawled on the bed next to you. “Invigorating, huh?”

He had rushed over the night before, getting back to the compound and waiting for a good time to slyly step out. It became habit; he would say that he was coming back from a run in the mornings. If he ever was caught in the evening, he’d simply went on one of many errand trips.

The truth was, that people didn’t really notice him. Bucky Barnes could sneak out and back in relatively unchecked save for Steve. Even then, Bucky’s elusive nature made it easy for people to stop asking after a while. He knew the underlying issue was that they would never truly separate who he was with who he is now. It was okay, though, because he had you. Thats all that mattered.

Peoples’ concern for Bucky’s wellbeing and whereabouts dwindled—figuring he could handle himself. He loved that when everyone else could simply shut their minds off to the thought of a rehabilitated solider—you accepted him with warmth. That affection would never truly be lost on him.

You turned over in your bed, observing Bucky’s features. You couldn’t help the way your entire face upturned—truly invigorated by the sight.

He noticed your stare in his peripheral, “Like what you see?”

“Oh, please.” A pillow found its way in your grip, playfully smacking Bucky in his face. You quickly moved to leap off of the bed, but the attempt was futile, of course. The man had been able to lean over and grab you before you could even process the movement—pushing you firmly into the mattress. Without missing a beat, he leaned in to kiss you—smiling into it. His metal hand found a grip on your neck, just under your chin, and pulled you up into him. The pressure was delicate—the inherent weight of him using this arm not lost on either of you. The coolness spurred you on. Your arms snaked around his back and tightened at the feeling of his skin on yours; you’d never truly gotten used to the feeling.

It was an honor, truly, to be loved by James Barnes. It was even more so to love him. When you were able to bask in the morning sun like this, to kiss him like he could disappear, you never took it for granted.

The kiss quickly became overwhelming. Thoughts of the man filled your mind—mostly of how lucky you felt. Even more common at times like these was to feel as if you weren’t deserving…despite him constantly saying otherwise. He made sure to tell you daily, if not more often, that being a secret was to keep you safe. He couldn’t chance losing you, he’d say. He couldn’t live without you.

But something else clawed at your skull, telling you that maybe you just weren’t enough—that you didn’t look the way you should.

You pulled away, looking between his eyes. He was completely in a daze—lips reddened and swollen so quickly. A blush feathered its way over his cheeks, then, watching you look at him so intensely.

He swallowed, “What?” He pecked your lips quickly. “Am I just that good at kissing that you’re mesmerized by my talents?”

An involuntary huff escaped you and you quickly forgot that fleeting thought of inadequacy. You mirrored his smile before playfully pushing him off of you, finally moving off of the bed and toward the kitchen.

Bucky had a charismatic way about him that could be mistaken for immature. You knew better, though. In his new life he adopted optimism—a way to combat the thoughts he had. Feelings of his still being a horrible man. That he would never escape being an assassin. So when he looked at you and saw a growing somber look on your face, he didn’t expect the worst. He should’ve.

After some time passed, Bucky emerged from your bedroom. You gave him a quick look over the brim of your cup, sipping on your tea. You made a show of observing how he’d freshened up and changed into his signature dark clothing. The sight of Alpine snuggling up to his boot had you cheesing then.

He stalked over to you, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Gonna go stop by my place and get a few things…figured she would like the trip.” He leaned down to scoop up his cat. “Should probably also grab more of her food.” He motioned toward the now empty tupperware he had made into a makeshift transport for when the both of them would stay at your place.

“No worries. I should be tidying up around here anyways.” You reached up to hug him, leaving space for Alpine between you.

“I’ll be seeing ya, doll.”

You pushed into his shoulder at his silly remark, but decided to play along. “Be seeing ya, too, Sarge.”

With that he turned to leave—the white cat perched comfortably on his shoulder now.

The sound of the door closing immediately made you turn to survey your apartment. It wasn’t too bad—but could easily take a few hours to freshen up if you made a day of it. With a nod, you began tidying and cleaning to pass the time—occasionally checking your phone for a text or call from Bucky.

It was only way into the night that you began to get anxious. You knew about his job; at one moment there could be nothing and the next a universal threat they had to combat. You tried not to jump to worry, but it was so unlike him. There’d been times like this, where he would disappear. You would take the time, giving him space he probably needed—only to find him holed up in his apartment in the worst condition he’d ever been in. Images of him contracted in on himself and shoved into a dark corner played in your mind. You had to go check, to be sure.

Throwing on a matching sweat set, you shoved your phone and keys into your pocket, quickly making the trek to his place. It wasn’t far, but it wasn’t exactly close. For some reason you made the decision to walk there—the franticness and burn in your legs making the distance seem even larger.

Your chest burned, heaving as you turned the corner. The building came into view, finally. You quickly swiped the extra card he’d given you to enter the building. Every step felt like a march toward complete devastation. Your hands opened and shut, grasping at your hoodie. The elevator ride was torturous. You weren’t sure how you’d find him—the thought alone was driving you up a wall.

As you approached his door, your pace slowed. You dug into your pocket again, reaching for his key on your keychain. Just above the gasps of your breath you heard shuffling in his place—causing you to still. You were sure the expression on your face was one of confusion, wondering why he’d not let you know he got here at least. Just as you went to call his name, a voice spoke, muffled by the closed door. Without a thought, you leaned in at the sound—growing more cautious and remembering just how much Bucky told you to stay aware of your surroundings. With a tilt, you steadied your breathing. None of the words were coming clear to you. It was certain, though, that there was a woman in his place.

You took a long and drawn inhale before swiftly pushing in and turning the key to Bucky’s apartment.

The woman paused the call she’d been on, now looking at you. “I’ll call you back.” She pushed the phone into her pocket, looking at you expectantly. “Hi.”

“Hi?” You gave her a quizzical look, “Who are you?” You hadn’t meant to ask so bluntly.

The woman across from you didn’t move, clearly aware of the fact that you didn’t let the door close. Either you were really dumb…or someone taught you that. She stepped toward you, then, a hand outstretched. “I’m Sharon.” She observed your lack of motion except for a brow that arched at the introduction. “You must know Barnes, he sent me here to check on Alpine…can’t seem to find him.”

“Her.”

“Sorry?”

“Her…Alpine’s…a her.”

Sharon lowered her hand. “Didn’t know, sorry.”

Your grip on the door’s knob loosened a bit at the mention of Bucky and Alpine. Finally, you let the door swing closed behind you—stepping into his living room but keeping a distance.

You cleared your throat, “So where is he? That he couldn’t check on Alpine himself, I mean…”

“I um…” She paused, teetering on her feet. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to say-“

“I’m his friend,” you interrupted. You groaned internally at the attempt to make your presence at his place seem legitimate. “We’ve been friends for a while. Haven’t heard from him and wanted to see if he was okay.”

“So you just walked in?”

“Isn’t that what you did?”

The woman smiled, chuckling to herself. “Got a point there.” Silence filled the room again before she spoke again, “So…you’re a friend…with a key?”

“I watch Alpine when he’s out of town…he figured I should have one just in case he’s ever gone longer than expected.”

You surveyed the woman, looking for any questioning of your rehearsed reply. It was somewhat true…not entirely, though.

You chose to repeat your question, concern still sitting within you. “Where’s Bucky?”

The woman reached in her pocket, causing you to step away from her. She raised her arm—motioning for you to wait. Reflected back at you was her ID and badge. She worked with him.

“You should come with me.”

Just then, Alpine strolled around the corner, approaching you in recognition. You scooped her up the same as Bucky had, watching Sharon move toward the door. You inched back, allowing her the space to exit and for you to follow.

The car ride was uncomfortably silent. No words were exchanged between you and the only sound that resonated between the both of you being Alpines sweet purrs into your lap. Eventually you approached the compound. Bucky had never bought you here—thinking better of it. You followed Sharons swift motions, keeping a somewhat close distance on her trail. Looking around as you walked, you were overwhelmed. There were so many people, all of which Bucky didn’t want to know about you. There were so many weapons, so casually strewn about and waved around.

A shake of your head was inadvertent. You pulled Alpine in closer to you, sniffing in the lingering scent of Bucky on her.

The two of you rounded a corner, a few sectioned off rooms coming into view. Sharon quickly stepped into one, ushering you in.

She leaned down and clicked on a keyboard, speaking while looking at the computer screen. “Barnes was called up.” She clicked away, “We needed some undercover done and they had to be able to speak Russian…possibly other languages.” She side eyed you, making sure you were looking. “We have feeds on them at all times.”

She stood then, backing up to stand in line with you. You surveyed the screen, confused by the atmosphere, “Where is this?”

“Some arts gala…few hours away. We got word of illegal dealings happening a few weeks out so they’re doing recon.”

You nodded, watching the zoomed out view of the ballroom. A quick scan came up empty—no signs of Bucky at all. You saw Sharon in your side view, watching the various emotions littering your face.

She crossed her arms, “Barnes isn’t your friend.”

“No.” It wasn’t a question. You figured this would happen, Bucky said as much, that anyone he worked with would see right through you. You kicked yourself for how obvious you’d been, even when trying to be subtle.

“There they are.”

You looked over to her suddenly, “They?”

She moved to zoom in on the screen. “Yup, Barnes and Romanoff.” Sharon resumed her stance next to you. “See? He’s alright…figured this would ease your mind. I know how he can get.”

There was nothing out of the ordinary and you reasoned that you were just being overly cautious. Admittedly, you jumped to so many conclusions in such a small time.

The sound of Sharon’s phone going off filled the room. “I have to take this, but feel free to stay. I can take you back in a sec, okay?”

“Thank you, Sharon.”

She nodded before stepping out to take the call.

You sat down, allowing Alpine to observe the screen as well. “He’s doing just fine. That’s good, right?”

You looked down at Alpine for a second, amused by your own love for the cat—seeing as you weren’t fond of them as a whole. Generally, you were more of a dog person, but you compromised because Bucky loved her. You smiled at the thought of them, your own little family.

The absentminded circling on Alpine’s back stopped abruptly as you looked up at the screen again. You whispered to yourself, “What the fuck…”

In what seemed to be an average recon mission, seemed to linger a hint of something you didn’t quite like. The distance between Bucky and the woman was closing. His grip found her back, a secure hand there while the other held hers firmly. They were talking. You turned to look for Sharon, hoping there were mics on them. The smiles exchanged back and forth had your chest in pain—the same lazy smile he’d shown you just hours ago. Your body started to shake, pulsing at a frequency that left you feeling unstable. A hand secured you in the chair; you urged yourself to keep watching, even if to your own detriment.

He leaned in, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle. They moved apart, then, searching in one another’s gaze. In a split second, the pair’s lips met one another’s. You felt your eyes blink away a sting that approached you quickly. An immediate pain welled up in you. You couldn’t believe it. Clenching down on your teeth, you stood up quickly, moving closer to the monitor. Your finger trailed his face, looking for any sign that this was just an act—an elaborate ruse for the task at hand. Yet, there was nothing.

You couldn’t help but let the feelings of inadequacy cloud your judgement. You couldn’t help but doubt everything he’d ever said. You couldn’t help but cower away from yourself—scared of your own reflection now. It had to be true…you just simply weren’t enough. Someone else was better.

Feeling Alpine in your hands, you pressed a firm hug and kiss into her fur. You rubbed her reassuringly before setting her down in the chair. “I’ll see you later…okay?”

The cat seemed to look at you longingly—but you couldn’t let that stop your path. You had to get out of here. Swinging the door open, you stepped out into the hall and looked around for Sharon. She seemed to have disappear—of course. You took a few steps, unsure of which direction to go. To anyone watching, you seemed to stutter step. You’d move in one direction and question the next. Suddenly, a man came into view, towering over you.

He leaned down to meet your eyeline, “Hey.” He waved a hand in an attempt to break you from your trance. “You okay? You seem lost.”

“I just need to get out of here.” You move to step around him, “Excuse me.”

Your quick footsteps carried you toward the outside—the familiar burn of your legs reminding you of the feeling just an hour ago. How concerned you’d been, you thought, only for him to be hours away having the time of his life…without you.

Within a few minutes, you were able to find a ride and head home. Opening your apartment door hit you in a way you didn’t expect. You had cleaned everything, yes, but you had accidentally removed all traces of Bucky in your attempt to straighten up. The lack of him felt too real—hitting your chest with a force you couldn’t take.

In all your time together you hadn’t felt more connected to Bucky than right now. You empathized with him—sinking to the floor came easy. Letting yourself waste away in an effort to not acknowledge the pain was… easy. Sitting in the dark, ignoring calls, letting your mind run rampant.

I can do this, you thought. Reveling in the feeling of sadness was much easier than facing Bucky. So you simply…wouldn’t.

part two

#jaggedamethyst #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 23 days ago

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thinking about BUCKY BARNES playing with you from behind.. 18+ fem!reader, mdni. 345 words

he’d sit behind you casually, slumped against the headboard with you between his open thighs, your back lounging into his chest. your knees are bent, fluffy-socked-feet planted either side of his straightened knees. it’s lazy, it’s comfortable, it’s low effort.

his left, metal hand rests somewhere around the top of your abdomen, vibranium palm holding onto you under your oversized tee. one of your bare tits sits on his lower arm, the other held by his hand that grabs and cups and paws. an action so antsy.

his free hand hovers over the waistband of your underwear, fleshed fingers grazing across the thin thread of elastic. bucky slips a finger underneath, pad faintly skimming along your skin — the sensitivity of his touch making your thighs jitter and tremble.

he itches the rest of his hand underneath, his slightly balled fist protruding through the thin albeit dampened fabric. the tiny bow of your underwear sits atop his wrist, the contrasting sight of something so delicate against something so rugged and manly sends your mind into a tizzy. every micromovement being watched keenly by your fervid eyes.

you move a hand from its placement on his arm around your middle to his other one that’s slotted in the crease where thigh meets cunt. your grip is desperate, fingers struggling to envelope the meat of his upper wrist. you nudge his hand lower, the hold you have on him like that of a guide — directing him to what you want and where you want it.

his neck peers around you, lips finding themself placed perfectly in the dip of your right temple. a repeated, almost forceful iteration of kisses pushes your head to the side in a gentle sway, your neck exposing and growing slack, strength dissipating until it rests against the scarring on his left shoulder.

bucky’s head ducks down, lowering into the crook of your neck where he continues the kisses — trailing them ever so faintly in lines up and down the side of your throat.

“not yet,” he whispers to you from behind. “not yet.”

⎯ ☆ ⎯

#thot #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky smut #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut

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mugglebornmarvelite · 2 months ago

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New Year, Still His Sunshine

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: As the Avengers ring in the New Year, Bucky Barnes struggles with jealousy and admiration for you, the team’s resident ray of sunshine. Amid the chaos, Bucky's protective instincts kick in when someone makes you uncomfortable. But as the night unfolds, Bucky discovers that he might not be as immune to your light as he once thought.

Word Count: Roughly 1.4k

Warnings: Fluff, protective Bucky, suggestive content, one curse word (at least I think so)

Author’s Note: Happy New Year! I hope this brings a little warmth to your day. If it’s still New Year’s Eve for you, have another drink. Even if it’s not, have another drink, you totally deserve it 🥂

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics

The party was in full swing at the Avengers Tower, the New Year’s Eve atmosphere buzzing with excitement as music thumped and laughter echoed through the Tower. Ever the extravagant host, Tony Stark had outdone himself yet again, turning the space into a sparkling wonderland of lights and glamour.

Everyone was dressed to the nines, including you, wearing a purple dress that flowed around you like water, the delicate fabric catching the light with every twirl.

Wanda had insisted on taking you dress shopping, and Natasha came too, not entirely trusting Wanda's creative judgment. The last time, she bought you a bright orange dress you couldn’t even sit in.

You were radiant, your purple dress catching the light as you moved with effortless grace. Its daring cut turned heads, but your sunshine-like presence and your infectious laughter truly stole the spotlight.

At least for him.

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he watched you, his sharp blue eyes narrowing when a cocky junior agent approached.

Steve and Sam caught the way Bucky’s gaze darkened.

“You’re staring,” Steve teased, nudging his best friend.

“Go talk to your girl,” Sam chimed in, grinning. “It won’t kill you, Barnes.”

Bucky grunted in response, forcing himself to look away.

“She’s fine,” he muttered, though his clenched fists betrayed him.

But then the junior agent got too close. The kid leaned in, his smirk too smug, his tone too slick. You smiled politely, but Bucky could see the shift in your demeanor. The way your bubbly confidence dimmed slightly as you stepped back, you were uncomfortable but too sweet to be harsh.

That was his last straw.

Bucky pushed off the wall and strode over, his imposing presence making the agent step back instinctively. “You got something to say; you say it to me,” Bucky growled, his voice low and menacing.

The agent stammered, backing away under Bucky’s glare. “N-no, sir, I was just-”

“Leaving,” Bucky finished for him. The kid didn’t need to be told twice.

“Bucky, I was fine,” you said softly once the agent scurried off, but your voice wavered.

Bucky turned to face you fully, his hard expression softening the moment he saw the unshed tears in your eyes.

“Hey, none of that,” he murmured, his voice dropping so only you could hear. “You cry; I might actually have to hurt someone, yeah?”

You blinked up at him, surprised by the rare gentleness in his tone. “I wasn’t going to cry,” you sniffled, though your voice betrayed you.

“Sure you weren’t,” he said, raising a brow as he reached out and brushed a gloved hand against your cheek, drying the corner of your eye.

Your lips twitched into a weak smile. “You don’t have to be so mean on my behalf. I could have told him off.”

“Yes, I do,” he said bluntly. “You’re too nice to people.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” you replied, your smile softening.

“It is when they don’t deserve it,” he countered, his voice gruff but protective.

You let out a small laugh, the sound warming something cold and guarded inside him.

His heart.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said.

“And you’re fucking annoying and you drive me mad, sunshine,” he retorted, though there was no real bite to his words. He paused, his eyes meeting yours. “But I like you better when you’re smiling. So go back to that, will you?”

You grinned up at him, your sunshine fully restored. You leaned in and wrapped your arms around him in a quick hug. “Thanks, Bucky.”

He stiffened for half a second before awkwardly patting your back. “Yeah, yeah. Go on before I change my mind.”

You laughed and skipped off to rejoin Natasha and Wanda, leaving Bucky standing there, watching you with a look that was equal parts exasperation and fondness.

Steve walked up to him, a knowing smirk on his face. “So, you’re not interested, huh?”

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky muttered, but his gaze remained on you, a quiet thought slipping through his mind.

Yeah, I’m definitely a goner.

Not long after, you escaped to the rooftop to see the fireworks. You leaned against the cold metal railing, your purple dress rippling behind you. The hum of the party inside felt miles away as you stared up at the sky. Your thoughts drifted, the quiet of the night offering you a moment of solitude to reflect.

Your year full of chaos, obstacles and laughter. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You sighed, a small smile gracing your lips.

The faint thud of boots echoed and a shadow fell over you. You didn’t need to turn to know it was Bucky. He had that presence about him that was strong and unwavering.

“Thought I might have found you here,” he said, his voice warm as he stood beside you. His eyes swept over the horizon, almost as if he were scared to meet your eyes.

You glanced up at him with a playful smile. "You coming out to watch the fireworks, or did you just need some space?"

Bucky didn’t answer right away.

Instead, the night's first fireworks erupted above you, lighting the sky in a dazzling cascade of colors.

Without a word, Bucky pulled off his leather jacket and draped it around your shoulders. The warmth of it was immediate, cocooning you in its familiar scent of worn leather and his cologne, something uniquely him.

"You looked cold," he muttered, his voice softer than usual.

He didn’t meet your gaze; his eyes still trained on the fireworks display. But you could feel his gaze on you.

A soft smile tugged at your lips. "Thanks, Bucky."

As the fireworks continued, bursting overhead in bright, colorful explosions, you stood a little closer to him.

"You're not going to drag me back inside, are you?" you asked softly.

You turned slightly to face him, feeling bolder than you normally would. Bucky’s gaze flicked to you. But after a beat, his lips twitched into the smallest of smiles.

"Not yet," he said, his voice rough and kind. "But don’t get used to it."

You grinned, a fluttering excitement making your pulse quicken. Turning fully toward him, your heart raced as the fireworks painted the sky. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes for just a second before you leaned up on your tiptoes and pressed a soft, quick kiss to his lips.

Bucky froze, his body stiffening in surprise. But he didn’t push you off. Instead, his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His lips met yours, deepening the kiss just for a moment before he pulled back a fraction.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, “looks like you’ve finally lost your mind. Congratulations.”

You grinned against his lips, cheeks flushed with heat. "Maybe I just like the way you look at me."

Bucky’s gaze softened, the harsh edges of his usual guarded demeanor momentarily cracking. He reached up, his thumb grazing your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart skip.

“I’m gonna have to kill the guy who ever hurts you, sunshine,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, tilting your head back to watch the final round of fireworks exploding in the sky. "Good thing that guy’s not around."

Bucky’s arm instinctively tightened around your shoulders, pulling you close as he tucked you into his side.

"Happy New Year, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice soft against your ear.

"Happy New Year, Bucky," you whispered back, your heart fluttering.

Bucky leaned in and kissed you again, this time slower, deeper, as if savoring the quiet intimacy between you. When he pulled away, his eyes were darker as he cursed.

His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "You’ve got me all twisted up, sunshine," he muttered.

You smiled, your cheeks warm despite the chill. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Not even close," he said, a rare, genuine smile softening his features.

You shivered and he noted how you were still cold, even with his jacket.

"Inside. You’re not going to freeze that cute little ass of yours off tonight," he said, his voice gruff but caring as he stepped back.

"But-"

"No, buts," Bucky cut you off, his tone final. His hand shot out, gently but firmly, wrapping around your wrist. "Come on. I’m not letting you stand out here like this any longer."

You grinned up at him. “Fine, but can we at least go to your room?”

Bucky shot you a glare that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His lips curled into an amused smile.

"You’re lucky I like you, kid," he muttered, pulling you along as he steered you away from the rooftop and back into the warmth of the building.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Happy New Year!

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

#james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #winter feels #new year #fanfic #fanfiction #grumpy x sunshine #comehomebucky #the kids miss you #overprotective bucky #menace reader

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astro-rain · 2 years ago

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delicate; b.barnes

delicate masterlist

chapter twenty-eight - “remnants of the past”

word count: 2.3k

synopsis: remnants of the reader’s past both hurt her and help her, but it opens a new door for her and bucky.

pairings: fem!reader x bucky barnes

It was quiet in her apartment, the kind of middle-of-the-night quiet that makes the air feel pleasant and calm because you can feel that the rest of the world is asleep.

Light from the city shown softly on the floor in front of the window. But it didn't make it to the couch, providing the comfort of darkness to the two sleeping there.

They had fallen asleep while talking — somehow having moved past the thing with the vodka and then the thing with her head. She would've stayed there taking all night if sleep hadn't taken them both.

Bucky fell asleep sitting up, his head leaned back and resting on the cushion behind him. She had been sitting to the side of him but on the other end of the couch. However, once both of their eyes were droopy and their voices slowed, she ended up leaning forward and laying down, with her head just a couple inches from Bucky's outer thigh.

In his sleep, (or maybe not) his hand ended up resting on her head, right past her forehead. And perhaps he woke up once or twice and allowed himself, ever so gently, to stroke the hair that lay under his palm.

But he did then fall back asleep. He wasn't aware of when she started to stir in her sleep. He didn't notice when her face began to distort into pain, anger, sadness, or some mix of the three. He didn't see her breathing pick up or her skin become clammy.

He did, however, wake the hell up when he heard the guttural gasp accompanied by the mini convulsion of the couch cushion. He turned to the sight beside him. Even though she was sitting up and facing away from him, he could see the turbulent movements of her chest that by her ragged breathing provoked.

Immediately he was scared. Not of her, of course, but for her. He's seen her upset before, but never anything like this. Never anything... like he used to do. But he needed to be calm. He needed to be solid. Just as she used to be for him.

He called out her name, making sure his voice didn't waver.

Her shoulders tensed up, startled. Her head whipped towards him. She jerked back but her erratic movements caused her to slip off the couch. Knees and shins struck the hardwood.

In a flash, Bucky stood up, but then crouched down once he saw the look on her face.

"Don't! Don't-"

"I'm sorry!" he put his hands up in front of him. Then hushed his voice. "I'm sorry. You're safe. It's safe, I swear on my life."

She looked at him with wide eyes and tear stained cheeks. He felt awful, and he wondered how she felt when she took care of him after night terrors.

"I have nothing to do with this," her voice shook, weak.

"Honey, please," he implored. "Look around. Look where you are. This is your home.”

Her eyes dared to move to the side. Then the other side. She held her arm to her chest, rubbing her wrists like they were sore, but there were no marks or bruises or anything.

"You had a nightmare," he said in the gentlest tone he could, "and you're not in any danger."

No response.

"We fell asleep on the couch," he inched closer. "That's why you didn't wake up in your room. But you're safe."

He held out his hand. "I'd never in a million years hurt you or let anything else hurt you."

She remained still but the tears kept coming. She was just staring at him, heaving and trying not to rock back and fourth.

He retracted his hand, his offer not accepted. He let it rest on the floor.

"The floor is cold. Feel it?"

It took a second but then - wordlessly, she brought her arm down and let her hand sit on the floor, mirroring his.

"It's because the heat from your skin goes into it and flows through it That's the coolness you're feeling."

He wasn't sure if that was right but he continued all the same.

"There's a reason behind everything," Bucky said. "Even what you're feeling right now."

"Your somethin'... nervous system is..." he tried his best to recall, "...really riled up because you had a nightmare. You're afraid, and your body is overreacting to that fear when it shouldn't be. That's why you're... breathin' heavy and really stressed right now."

"Sympathetic," she mumbled.

"What?"

"Sympathetic nervous system."

He smiled. "Yes! Yeah, your body is trying to fight for your life even though you're just sitting here with me. But that's the thing. You're just sittin' here. You're not in any danger. Promise. It's called the... fright... response or something."

"Fight or flight."

"Right," he smiled once more.

She stared down at the floor, at her hand, and her gaze softened. He finally let himself exhale. She seemed to be calming down.

Then she looked up to meet his gaze. He was hopeful, but let down.

As soon as her line of sight was on his face, focused, her eyes grew wide. She looked so confused but still so scared.

"I've seen you before," her voice was laced with alarm.

He froze. What do I do?

"I..." her expression distorted as the realization dawned upon her. "I know you."

She stood suddenly and took a step back.

He stood up as well. He must remain calm. "You do."

She looked bewildered. He couldn't help but feel guilty even though he knew it wasn't his fault.

"It's okay," he tried. "You're right, you do know me. So you must know that I pose no threat to you?"

She stared at him, then looked down, thinking to herself for a moment.

"Yes..."

Her eyes switched back up to him, breath still heavy, but shoulders less tense.

"I know you're confused," he stepped forward. She didn't move. "I know there's a lot that you don't know or don't remember. So, what do you remember?"

She tried to start a sentence but it dissipated into a sigh, like she couldn't find the words.

Slowly, she walked over to him. She held her arms out, palms facing up and parallel to the floor, signaling him to extend his own.

He held his hands over hers, but didn't make contact, afraid of frightening her.

Lightly, she grabbed onto his forearms and squeezed. Her hands then slid down to his hands and pinched the material of the gloves. He stood still, letting her pull the gloves off. Both of them. They dropped onto the floor with a felt plop. The two of them just stared down at this hands, one flesh, one metal. It was quiet for a moment. He didn't dare make a move. He didn't dare say a word.

She felt validated, like something was confirmed to her. Of what, she didn't know. However, she felt like all the strong feelings - the trust, the speed of her likeness of him - made sense. Like he was the right person for it. The person this affinity was supposed to go to. The person who her fondness belonged to. She didn't know where or why she knew him, but she knew he fit into the space her mind didn't seem to know how to fill. He was it.

She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him, letting her head rest on his chest. Quickly, he reciprocated, but remined quiet. It felt right. It felt good. It felt... missed.

Cautiously he brought his hand up to hold the back of her head. She only hugged him tighter.

"Bucky," she said into the air, more so declaring it to be true than asking a question.

Everything else still evaded her memory but that collection of letters in that order is him. That much she knew to be true.

"Yeah?" he said, half-confirming and half answering.

"You're it."

"I'm what?"

"My... person. Aren't you?"

His breath faltered. "Yes."

"I missed you. I don't know why, but... that's what I'm feeling."

"I missed you, too." So much. He still wasn't sure how much of her he had back.

"Did something happen to me?"

She wasn't of the answer, but she was sure she trusted whatever he was going to say.

"Yes. But I don't know exactly what it was."

"Me neither."

There was so much uncertainty, but not for him.

"I'm not sure, but I think someone may have hurt you," he said tentatively.

"Yeah..."

"Your nightmares... they seem really intense. Like flashbacks. I used to have the same thing... I sometimes still do."

Something about what he said struck a nerve deep in her brain, but it was so dulled she couldn't make out what it meant. It felt sort of like worry, like a need to protect. Then it left.

"I was... strapped down... or something. In this last one."

He felt sick thinking about that happening to her. But the thing her wrists earlier -- that explained it.

"Before, you said that you 'had nothing to do with this.' Do you know what that means?"

"I'm not sure exactly, it's not as clear in my head once I wake up. But... It was like I was being... hurt or something- like punished? I don't know. But... I wasn't the one who was supposed to... be hurt. If that makes sense."

A hundred different possibilities crossed his mind, many of which made him feel guilty (again).

"Do you think that was something that actually happened to you? At some point in the past."

"I'm really not sure. It felt real, though. Like I was... really in trouble."

He hated picturing what might have happened, but he couldn't stop his mind from going to the worst possibilities. Whatever did happen, he prayed that it wasn't painful. Although he supposed even if it wasn't painful then, it's painful now. For both of them.

"What do we- What do I do?" She stuttered a bit.

"How do you mean?"

"If theres all this stuff I dont remember. What do I do? Like, how do I get it back? Should I even want to get it back? What if there's trauma I'm better off without?"

"Well, I can't speak for the last five years. But, I know a good amount of things that happened before, and I think there's a lot that you would wanna remember."

A beat passes.

"How long had I known you?"

"I met you in 2016, and we knew each other for about a year and a half."

Confusion again. "I don't remember meeting you."

"I know. It's alright."

Personally, it was seared into his mind; he figured he remembered it well enough for the both of them. He reckoned he could describe it to her if she wanted him to.

"So I'm just missing a year and a half of my life and was foggy for some part of the last five years..."

He looked at her somberly. "It seems so. I'm really sorry."

She sighed. "Fuck."

He shared the sentiment.

"You know, a while ago, my memory was pretty scattered - a lot worse than yours - and the rest of my mind, too. But I was able to recover. You... actually, are the one who helped me put it all back together. You helped me with a lot of things."

She looked at him, in awe.

"I did?"

"You did. You were probably the best thing that could've happened to me."

Her expression softened. She was surprised, and almost honored, that she meant so much to someone. That someone thought so highly of her.

"Really?"

"Definitely. So maybe I might be able to help you put some of it back together. I know I'm not as smart as you, but I think I can help some. A-and I can do some of the things you did for me to help me remember."

Her brows raised just slightly, hope briefly flickering across her eyes.

"You helped me find my way back to myself, so... I guess it's only fair that I help you find your way back to yourself."

Her eyes began to well up. How could someone care so much about her? Five years of being mostly alone — it takes a toll on you.

"You'd be willing to— stick with me? To help me?"

"I couldn't not."

"You seem really sure?"

"I am," he said like it was the most basic truth. Since it was. "I don't know if you remember it or if you might feel it, but I love you. And it's unconditional. I love you and I lost you once, so I don't care if things are different now. You may not remember all of me but I know all of you. I want to stay. If you'll allow me."

"Bucky..." she said fondly. "Even when you first came here? When you were at my door?"

"Yes."

"We have this whole history and you just stay. Even though my part of the history is gone..."

"It's you," he shrugged. "You're it for me. You'll always be it. You're everything."

His words made her want to burst into tears and scream. In a good way. But also in a way that felt like something was trying to push through her chest. To make itself seen. She wanted to burst at the seams and let every secret, unknown feeling crawl out of her.

Maybe she understood what he said. Working on it. Finding her way back to herself. Maybe she could feel something within her that she wanted to discover, wanted to uncover. She found him, but thought maybe she could find her way back to him. Like she once had but didn't remember.

She stepped forward and yanked him into her arms.

"I want you to stay. I want you."

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brunchable · 4 months ago

Text

How To Impress a 21st Century Girl.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Themes: Rom-Com, Fluff, Mutual Pining(Heavy?), First Date, Flirtation and Playfulness.

Summary: Sam had forced Bucky to use Tinder to solve his abysmal love life. Bucky tells himself that if third time isn't a charm, he will officially give up trying to find a partner.

A/N: I'm a sucker for rom-coms, I hope you guys enjoyed this because I enjoyed writing it.

tags: @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917

It had all been Sam’s idea. "Come on, man. You need to get back out there!" Sam had said, way too enthusiastically, while setting up a Tinder profile for him without even asking. Bucky had resisted at first, arguing that dating apps probably weren't his thing. But Sam was persistent, reminding him that it was 2024, not 1944, and that "no one meets in grocery stores anymore."

Reluctantly, Bucky had gone along with it, figuring it couldn’t hurt to try. What was the worst that could happen?

Well, now he knew.

Bucky was starting to think Tinder was out to get him. His first two dates had been disasters—and not just normal awkwardness, but spectacularly bad. The first girl, Jenny, had brought her ex-boyfriend to the date. Apparently, he was her ride, and they were still "good friends." Bucky had spent two hours third-wheeling a reunion he hadn’t signed up for. The second girl, Alicia, had a collection of ceramic frogs. And when Bucky said “collection,” he meant obsession. The girl spent an entire dinner showing him photos of different frog figurines. It was ribbiting. Literally. One of them even made croaking sounds.

So, now here he was, on date number three, standing outside some trendy café, wondering what fresh nightmare awaited him. This time, though, he’d let you plan the date. Maybe handing over control would be better than having to smile through another amphibian-themed dinner.

You showed up right on time, and Bucky was genuinely relieved to see no ex-boyfriend hovering in the background. You were wearing a paneled knit dress with spaghetti straps that hugged you just right, and your short hair was perfectly tousled. You smiled at him, but the look on your face told him you were just as unsure as he was.

“Hi,” you greeted, and Bucky instantly forgot every single normal response. Holy shit he is TALL.

“Hey, I’m Bucky.” he mumbled back. He was really nailing this whole dating thing.

You walked inside, and the café had that minimalist vibe. A lot of plants. A lot of exposed brick. The kind of place where you’re not sure if you’re supposed to sit or admire the interior design.

As you both sat down, Bucky tried to channel his inner suave. He could do this. He had faced way worse than an awkward date. Like alien invasions. Like that one time he lost his arm again. This was nothing.

Except... why was talking to an attractive woman harder than fighting off super soldiers?

“I, uh, like your dress,” Bucky said, already feeling the heat creep up his neck. Nice, Barnes, real original.

“Thanks,” you replied, with an amused smile playing on your lips. “I like your... jacket.”

Bucky nodded, looking down at his worn leather jacket. “Yeah. It’s... warm.”

Warm? That’s what you’re going with? He mentally slapped himself. This was going well. So well. He tried to change the subject and scanned the menu. “Uh... so, what’s good here?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been,” you said, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “The internet said they have good coffee, though.”

“Internet reviews, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s always a gamble. Could be great... could be a disaster.”

Cue the awkward silence.

The waiter had barely placed the food in front of you both before the quiet tension stretched between you like you were sitting in a library, not a café. Bucky poked at his bagel as if it might come to life at any moment, while you took a delicate sip of your coffee, your eyes darting between him and the wall behind him.

You both chewed in the most nonchalant way possible, each of you hyper-aware of the silence that was growing louder by the second. You were mentally cursing every decision that led to this exact moment, and Bucky, for his part, was questioning whether retiring from the whole Avenger thing had been a mistake.

Say something. Anything, Bucky thought, taking another bite of his bagel, which suddenly felt like chewing rubber. Ask about herr favorite food? No, that’s boring. Comment on the weather? Oh, yeah, nothing like ‘Hey, it’s been cold lately,’ to really sweep her off her feet. Real smooth.

Meanwhile, you were trying to figure out how you managed to forget how to make normal conversation. Maybe ask him about his hobbies? No, that’s basic. Compliment his hair? What are you, in fifth grade? Pull yourself together!

Bucky, still chewing the world’s driest bagel, caught your eye for a split second, and you both did that polite half-smile thing that happens when you’re not sure whether you should talk or continue pretending to enjoy the food.

Did she just smile at me because I’m being awkward, or am I overthinking this? Bucky wondered, immediately breaking eye contact and pretending his coffee was the most fascinating thing on the table.

You, on the other hand, were screaming internally. Oh God, did I smile too weird? Was it the kind of smile that says, ‘I like you,’ or the one that says, ‘I’m trapped in this date and don’t know how to escape’?

You both took another sip of your drinks at the exact same time.

Alright, Barnes, get it together. Say something smart, Bucky told himself, putting his mug down carefully.

“So, uh... how’s your coffee?”

You blinked, your brain scrambling for a response. How’s my coffee? It’s coffee. Just say it’s good. Don’t overthink it.

“It’s... good. How’s your bagel?”

Bucky looked down at the circular piece of bread like it had personally betrayed him. “It’s... round.”

Round? Really? You went with ‘round’? Smooth, real smooth, he chastised himself, nodding like he had just made the most profound statement about bagels ever.

Your lips twitched. Did he just describe his food as ‘round’? Okay, maybe I’m not the only one struggling here.

You took another sip of your coffee, trying to hide your smile. God, this is like watching two middle schoolers on a first date.

You both glanced at each other again. Smile. Look away. Silence.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. Alright, clearly, she thinks I’m a complete idiot. But it’s fine. I can recover. Just... find a topic. Literally any topic.

You picked at your napkin. Okay, maybe I should mention the escape room next. But what if he hates escape rooms? What if he thinks they’re boring? You cleared your throat slightly, ready to speak, but then—

Bucky cleared his throat at the same time. You both froze, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

“You go first,” Bucky said quickly.

“No, no, you first,” you insisted, waving your hand.

Bucky’s brain blanked. He blinked, searching for anything to say. “Uh... did you... park nearby?”

You stared at him, and then a smile slowly spread across your face. Did he really just ask me about parking? You nodded. “No I–um took public transport. Did you?”

Bucky gave a stiff nod. “Yeah. Close. Very close. Super convenient.”

You both stared at each other for a beat, and then, in a miraculous moment, you both cracked up at the exact same time.

“Parking?” you laughed, shaking your head. “That’s the best we’ve got?”

Bucky held up his hands. “Hey, I panicked, okay? The bagel threw me off.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, your shoulders shaking with laughter. “And I thought the frogs were bad.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh harder. “Okay, in my defense, this date is way better than ceramic frogs.”

“Glad to be the non-frog date.” You raised your cup in mock salute.

You both chuckled, and for the first time, the awkward tension seemed to melt away. Sure, you were a bit of a mess, but at least you were a mess together.

As you calmed down, you leaned forward, a playful grin on your face. “So, what’s next? You ready for the escape room?”

“I dunno. Should I be worried?” Bucky smirked, feeling a lot lighter.

“Only if you’re bad at puzzles,” you teased.

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning back with a smirk. “Oh, trust me, I think I’ll manage.”

And with that, you both finally stood up to head for the next part of your date, the awkwardness left behind with the round bagel and the overly complicated coffee.

× × × ×

As soon as you stepped into the Asylum escape room, the mood shifted from "awkward first date" to "this might be how I die."

Oh, great. Creepy hospital décor. Perfect first-date vibes. You eyed the flickering lights and eerie medical tools scattered around the room, trying not to let on how much it was creeping you out. At least it’s better than ceramic frogs, you thought, glancing at Bucky.

“This is supposed to be the hardest escape room they have,” you said, glancing at Bucky. “Takes most people at least an hour. You ready for this?”

“Yeah, sure. I mean... it’s puzzles, right? How hard can it be?” Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to appear calm. I’ve literally fought aliens. How bad could a few puzzles be?

“You’ve never done one of these before, right?” You looked at him, a bit skeptical.

He shook his head. “First time. But, uh... I’m good under pressure.” Under pressure? What am I saying? I sound like I’m about to defuse a bomb, not solve a riddle. Get a grip, Barnes.

“Alright. Let’s do this.” You smiled, trying to hide your own nerves.

The clock started ticking, and immediately, you were plunged into darkness. A loud creak echoed through the room, followed by a voice over the intercom: “Welcome to the Asylum. You have 60 minutes to escape. Good luck... you’ll need it.”

Perfect. Creepy voice? Check. Flickering lights? Check. Yep, I'm doomed. You moved toward a stack of papers, squinting at the dim lighting. “Okay, first thing’s first... we need to find the clues hidden in this room to unlock the door.”

Before you could even start, Bucky was already inspecting a random pipe on the wall. He tugged at it, and it came loose, revealing a hidden key taped to the back. Oh, that was... lucky? Or did I just break something?

You froze mid-step. “Wait. How did you—”

“I... uh... just pulled on it.” Bucky looked just as surprised as you. Did I just accidentally solve this?

“Okay. Lucky guess.” You stared at him.

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe.” Play it cool, Barnes. Don't look like you’re clueless here.

You both moved into the next room, which had even creepier décor. Faint writing on the walls, jars filled with unidentifiable things, and a mannequin in the corner that Bucky immediately side-eyed like it was going to jump out at you. Okay, I don’t trust that mannequin. Why’s it looking at me like that?

You picked up a piece of paper with some cryptic writing on it. “This says something about finding the light within the dark. I think it’s a clue. We need to—”

“Found it,” Bucky called out.

You turned to see him holding up a blacklight. How does he keep doing this?!

“They always hide something with a blacklight, right?” He grinned, flashing the light on the wall, revealing a series of glowing numbers. That’s a thing, right? People hide stuff with these lights all the time... right?

“Oh, you’re just full of ideas now, huh?” You crossed your arms, smirking.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “Just... using my instincts.” Yep. Totally knew that.

You worked through the next few puzzles, but by "worked," what you really meant was Bucky accidentally stumbling into the solutions. Every time you tried to figure out a clue, Bucky would casually touch something, pull a lever, or press a random button that—surprise—opened the next door or revealed the next key. At first, you thought he was joking. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear: Bucky was somehow solving the escape room by sheer dumb luck—or so you thought.

This is starting to freak me out... Am I secretly a genius? Bucky thought.

At one point, you were trying to decipher a complicated code etched into the wall, mumbling to yourself about numerology and patterns, when Bucky—completely oblivious—pulled a book off the shelf, and a hidden door creaked open in the floor.

No. No way. “Are you—” You blinked. “Did you just—”

Bucky glanced at the open trapdoor, confused. “What? Was that not supposed to happen?”

You slapped your forehead. “No! I mean, yes, but—oh my God, Bucky, you’re breaking the game.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose!” Seriously, I just touched a book. How is that a thing?

You looked down at the trapdoor, then back at him. “What are you? A puzzle savant? Did you plan this?”

Bucky laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Nah, I just thought the book looked weird.” Great, now she thinks I’m some kind of escape room wizard.

You gaped at him. “The book looked weird?” Weird? Dude, I’m starting to think you have X-ray vision.

“I mean... yeah. It was dusty.” It wasn’t even that weird... or was it?

You squinted at him, hands on your hips. “You’re telling me you spotted a dusty book and thought, ‘Aha! Hidden door.’?”

“Isn’t that... what you’re supposed to do in these rooms?” Bucky shrugged, looking genuinely sorry. Please tell me that's how this works.

This man is unbelievable. You stared at him for a long moment before bursting out laughing. “Oh my God. You’re accidentally good at this. You’re just walking around solving stuff like you do this every weekend!”

Bucky chuckled, his shoulders relaxing a little. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m glad she’s laughing. “I swear I’ve never done this before.” This isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s happened to me this week.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified,” you teased, stepping closer to him. “You’re like a walking cheat code.” Sure, Sherlock. Whatever you say.

“Hey, I’m just here to help.” He smiled, clearly enjoying your reaction. At least she’s impressed. That’s something.

I think you might secretly be a robot. You shook your head, grinning. “Alright, escape room prodigy, let’s see if you can crack the last one.”

You entered the final room—a dimly lit chamber with a creepy-looking mannequin in the corner and random medical equipment scattered around. You narrowed your eyes.

“Okay, this is the hardest part. No way you’re going to just... guess your way out of this one.”

“Yeah, this one’s. . . tricky.” Bucky glanced around, clearly trying to look casual. Please don’t let me stumble into the solution again...

Please don’t let him find the solution immediately. Just this once.

You pointed at the mannequin. “We need to find a code hidden somewhere in this room. The clue says it’s ‘locked in the mind.’ So it has to be something mental, right? Like a puzzle?”

Bucky stared at the mannequin for a second, then slowly reached out and twisted its head off. Inside, there was a slip of paper with the code on it. Oh, come on. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Are you KIDDING me?!” Your jaw dropped.

“I just thought... you know... maybe the head comes off?” Bucky held up the paper, looking sheepish.

Why am I even here?! You threw your hands up in the air. “Of COURSE the head comes off! Because that makes total sense! Sure!”

Bucky bit back a laugh. “Well, it did say ‘locked in the mind.’” Technically, I was right.

You glared at him, then shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “Okay, that’s it. You’re banned from escape rooms. You ruin them.”

“Ruined it?” Bucky asked, grinning. “We escaped, didn’t we?” She’s totally impressed, even if she won’t admit it.

“We escaped in twelve minutes, Bucky! Twelve!” You slapped his arm playfully. “That’s not normal!”

He laughed, ducking his head. “Sorry?” Guess I’m not so bad at this ‘fun date’ thing.

As you both stepped out of the escape room, the staff was standing there, looking like they’d just witnessed the impossible.

“You’re... done?” Pink-haired Girl asked, your eyes wide with disbelief.

Wow. They look like I just told them Santa isn’t real, Bucky thought.

You, just as confused, looked over at Bucky. “Uh. . .yeah, I guess?”

“Looks like it.” Bucky gave a casual shrug. No big deal. Just casually shattering dreams.

Clipboard Guy checked his stopwatch again, his mouth hanging open. “Twelve minutes. No. That’s not possible. People are supposed to break down in there. We’ve had people cry!”

Cry? What is this, an escape room or emotional boot camp? “You want me to go back in and tear up a little? You know, for the full experience?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“People have left that room emotionally damaged. You just... strolled out.” Pink-haired Girl blinked.

You stared at Bucky, still wrapping your head around it. “I didn’t even get through the first clue, and you were already unlocking half the room.”

“You were working hard. I just sped things up a bit.” Bucky chuckled softly, glancing at you with a playful smile. I mean, you were giving it a solid effort...

The Master of Puzzles guy appeared, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Did you... have the answers beforehand? Because that’s the hardest room we’ve got. We’ve had people rage-quit in there.”

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, looking amused. “Nah, just good at finding my way out of things.”

“I didn’t even do anything. You solved the whole thing!” You shook your head, still half-laughing, half in disbelief.

“Hey, you were a great moral support.” Bucky smiled at you, nudging you lightly. Seriously, though, it’s good to have someone to watch while I dismantle a room’s dignity.

Clipboard Guy muttered, “We’re gonna have to ban him. He’s banned.”

Oh no, I’ve ruined their sacred puzzle temple.

“He broke the hardest room we’ve got. Who even does that?” Pink-haired Girl nodded, still dumbfounded.

“Well, I’d offer to go back and struggle a bit, but... I don’t think it’d be convincing.” Bucky smirked, leaning casually against the counter. Trust me, I can’t fake being bad at something. Even if I tried.

As you headed for the exit, Bucky held the door open for you, giving the staff one last glance before he leaned over to you, voice low.

“What? You wanted to be stuck in there all night?”

“Honestly? It would’ve been nice to solve at least one puzzle.” You groaned, though you were smiling.

“Next time, I’ll let you have the first clue. Promise.” Bucky chuckled softly. And by let you, I mean I’ll stand far away from everything and try not to accidentally win.

“You better.” You laughed, shaking your head as you both stepped out into the night.

× × × ×

The arcade was buzzing with lights, sounds, and the faint scent of popcorn. It was a complete shift from the eerie asylum escape room, and you were already eyeing the rows of flashing machines and claw games with glee.

Alright, this is more like it. No creepy mannequins here, just good old-fashioned fun.

Bucky, on the other hand, looked around like he had just entered a foreign world. The last time he’d been in an arcade, they didn’t have all this flashing neon or half the games that were here now. What happened to the simple stuff? Pinball machines and jukeboxes. Now I’ve got ten-foot robots staring at me while kids slap buttons like their lives depend on it.

Still, he couldn’t help but smile at how excited you looked. Okay, if she’s this excited, maybe this won’t be so bad.

“Okay, so... how does this place work again?” he asked, watching a kid furiously slap buttons at a nearby game.

You laughed, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s simple! We just play a bunch of games, earn tickets, and then trade them in for really weird prizes. Easy.”

Bucky nodded, though he still looked a little confused. “So, you win tickets by—?”

“By being amazing at games, obviously,” you said, your eyes already darting toward a nearby basketball shooting game. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Bucky followed you, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, I’ll keep up.” Alright, let’s see if I remember how to be competitive at... basketball?

You started with basketball, and while you had a decent shot, Bucky quickly became the Michael Jordan of arcade basketball. He tossed shot after shot into the hoop with ridiculous ease, barely even looking like he was trying.

Oh, come on. Seriously? Why is he good at everything? You shook your head in disbelief. “Oh, come on. Are you serious right now? Are you even aiming?”

“I dunno. I just... throw.” Bucky shrugged, not missing a single shot.

“This is what I get for going on a date with someone who’s literally built for accuracy.” You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. Why am I pretending like I’m mad? It’s honestly impressive.

He flashed a boyish grin. “You wanted to see if I could keep up.” Oh, I’m keeping up, doll.

You crossed your arms, pretending to pout. “I wasn’t trying to lose in record time.”

When the game ended, Bucky had a ridiculous amount of points, and you had... well, significantly fewer. He collected your combined tickets from the machine, glancing down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Should I carry these, or do you want to hold on to the three tickets you earned?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

How is he still charming even while teasing me? This is unfair. You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you snatched a couple of tickets from his hand with a grin. “You know what? Fuck you.”

“Careful, doll. You keep talking like that, and I might just take you up on it.” Bucky’s smirk widened, and he leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice just enough to make your pulse quicken.

Okay, that was a little too good. I should not be blushing right now. Your eyes widened for a second, a flush creeping up your neck before you shot him a playful glare. “You wish.”

“You know I don’t have to wish for anything.” He chuckled, stepping back with a wink.

Well, that escalated quickly. You tried to bite back your smile, but it was impossible with the way he was looking at you. “I’m starting to regret bringing you here.”

Bucky held up the stack of tickets, grinning like a kid who just won the lottery. “You’re only regretting it because I’m walking away with all the prizes.” Did I just turn an arcade into a battlefield?

“Yeah, yeah, keep rubbing it in.” You huffed, shaking your head, though the smile on your face said otherwise.

Bucky shot you another wink. “Oh, I plan to.”

This guy is dangerous with that smile. You smirked, leaning in a little. “So... what happened to the awkward guy who pointed out that bagels are round? Because this,” you waved at the arcade tickets, “does not feel like the same guy.”

“What? You weren’t impressed by my bagel observations?” Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. I was doing my best back then, okay?

You laughed, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, I was very impressed. I just didn’t know you were hiding this arcade legend behind all that bagel wisdom.”

He grinned, eyes glinting. “I’m full of surprises, doll.” You have no idea.

“Clearly,” you said, still teasing him as you walked toward the next game. “Let’s see how many more surprises you’ve got.”

You dragged him over to the shooting gallery game, where you were met with an array of plastic rifles and paper targets.

“I’m kinda good at this,” you declared, grabbing one of the rifles with renewed determination. “You can’t have a crazy aim for everything.” Finally, something I can win.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused. “Okay. Let’s see what you got.”

You aimed and fired... missing every single target. You winced as the targets flipped back and forth, mocking you with their tiny, evil faces. Are you kidding me?

“You’re holding it too tight.” Bucky stepped up beside you, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh, great. Here we go. The expert.” You groaned. Of course, I’m holding it too tight. Leave it to Bucky to know everything.

Bucky smiled, but instead of saying anything, he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you, his hands gently guiding yours on the plastic gun. You froze, your heart skipping a beat as you felt the warmth of him so close. His breath was soft against your ear as he leaned in to guide your aim, his voice low and steady.

Why does he have to be so good at this? I can barely think straight.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands adjusting yours gently. “Don’t grip it so hard. Just like this.”

How am I supposed to relax when he’s practically wrapped around me?

Your pulse quickened, your senses suddenly overwhelmed by how close he was. His cologne—woodsy and warm—filled your lungs, making you a little dizzy. You swallowed hard, focusing on anything but the way your back pressed against his chest. “Okay... relax. Right. Got it.”

“You’re not relaxing.” Bucky’s voice was low, almost teasing.

Yeah, no kidding. Not exactly easy when you smell like a lumberjack dream.

“I am relaxed!” you shot back, though your heart was racing so fast you were sure he could hear it.

Bucky chuckled, and the soft rumble of his laugh vibrated against your back. “If you were relaxed, you wouldn’t be holding your breath.”

If she’s holding her breath, I must be doing something right.

You blinked, realizing that yes, you were in fact holding your breath. You exhaled slowly, trying to focus on the targets instead of the fact that Bucky was basically wrapped around you.

“Good,” he said quietly, his hands still steadying yours. “Now, pull the trigger. Nice and easy.”

Yeah, this is totally normal. Just shooting targets, totally not thinking about how close we are.

You followed his lead, squeezing the trigger gently. The shot rang out, and the sound of a hit echoed through the machine. The target flipped backward, signaling a perfect hit.

“I did it!” you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over as you turned your head to look at him.

Your faces were just inches apart. Bucky’s eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with tension, the good kind—the kind that makes your heart race and your stomach flip.

God, she’s close. Just a little closer...

Your gaze flickered down to his lips, and Bucky swallowed hard, momentarily forgetting where you were or what you were doing. All he could think about was how easy it would be to lean in just a little more, to—

“Uh, sorry!” A kid nearby bumped into the machine, jolting you both out of the moment.

Of course. Great timing, kid.

You quickly stepped out of Bucky’s embrace, your face flushed. “Well, um... thanks for the lesson, Barnes.”

Bucky cleared his throat, his ears a little pink. “Yeah. Anytime.” Anytime? Seriously, Barnes? That’s all you’ve got?

You moved on to a few more games, but the tension between you still lingered, electric and unspoken. After a particularly intense game of air hockey (where you almost won, thanks to Bucky being a little too distracted by you), you found yourselves at the prize counter.

Your eyes scanned the shelves, but one prize in particular caught your attention: an absolutely massive goose plush sitting at the top of the prize display. It was ridiculous, almost comically large, but it made you smile instantly.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, pointing. “That goose is so cute.”

Bucky followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow. A goose? Really? She could pick anything, and it’s that giant bird?

“You like that thing?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“I mean, look at it. It’s the size of a couch,” you said, laughing. “No one’s ever gonna win enough tickets for that.”

Bucky looked thoughtful for a second. Then, without saying a word, he handed all of your tickets to the guy at the counter. Challenge accepted, doll.

The kid behind the counter stared at him. “Uh, you know this isn’t enough for the goose, right?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, but... what’s it take to win that thing?”

Because clearly, winning giant plush birds is my new priority in life.

The kid blinked. “Like... a thousand tickets.”

Bucky smirked, then turned to you. “Wait here.”

“What are you doing?” You frowned, confused.

Please don’t say you’re going to try and win a thousand tickets... oh my God, he’s going to try and win a thousand tickets.

Bucky said nothing and disappeared into the crowd. A few minutes later, you saw him at one of those old-school, rigged basketball games. His face was calm, determined—like he was about to go to war.

One after the other, Bucky sank shot after shot, racking up points so fast that you had to rub your eyes to believe it. Within minutes, he had earned a mountain of tickets. He moved on to another game, this time skee-ball, and then to another. Every single game, he dominated, earning enough tickets to make the counter kid’s jaw drop when he returned with what looked like a roll of tickets big enough to use as a belt.

“Holy crap,” you muttered, watching as Bucky handed the tickets over, a satisfied smirk on his face. The kid counted them, eyes wide, then slowly reached for the giant goose plush.

The oversized goose was practically half Bucky’s height as he carried it back over to you, grinning.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you with a proud look. “You said you liked it, right?”

Who just... casually wins a giant goose plush? How did he do that?

You stared at the giant, fluffy creature, then at him, your heart flipping over itself. “Bucky... this is insane. It’s huge.”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave without winning you something.” He shrugged, his grin boyish and a little shy. Yeah, Barnes, act like you’re not insanely proud of yourself right now.

He’s... adorable. Stop. Focus. “You really didn’t have to... but I love it.” You laughed, hugging the goose to your chest.

“Good.” Bucky’s eyes softened as he watched you smile. Worth every single ticket.

Your heart raced, your face heating up as you looked at him over the massive plush. “You’re full of surprises, Barnes. Who knew you’d be this good at arcades?”

Just trying to impress the girl, no big deal.

“Maybe I just wanted to impress you.” He smiled, a little more reserved this time.

Well, mission accomplished, buddy. You blushed, the air between you crackling again with that familiar tension. “Well, mission accomplished.”

You stood there for a moment, just smiling at each other, the absurdly large goose between you, until you laughed and nudged him with your elbow.

“You know, this might be the best date I’ve ever been on,” you said, your tone light but sincere. Was that too much? Did I just over-share?

Bucky’s smile grew, his eyes softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, holding the goose a little tighter. “Definitely the best.” Okay, that was smooth. Not awkward at all.

You left the arcade with the giant goose plush between you, its goofy face almost mocking the awkwardness that had suddenly crept back into your steps. Bucky walked beside you, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, trying to figure out what to say.

Do I say something? Or just... keep walking?

The sounds of the city filled the silence around you, but neither of you spoke. The playful energy from the arcade had faded into something quieter, more uncertain.

Why am I so bad at this? Just say something, Barnes.

After a long stretch of quiet, Bucky cleared his throat. “So... is this the end?” Smooth, real smooth.

You blinked and glanced over at him, trying to keep your heart from doing a flip at his words. “Well, that’s all I had planned. Why?”

Bucky hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly as he looked ahead, his mind clearly weighing something. Okay, don’t screw this up. Don’t sound too eager.

For a moment, you thought maybe he was going to say goodbye, that maybe this was the end of your date after all. But then, he spoke quietly, almost as if he was embarrassed to admit it.

“I kind of don’t want to go home yet.” Well, there it is. Now she knows.

You felt a flutter in your chest, your face heating up as a small, shy smile tugged at your lips. You ducked your head, looking down at the sidewalk to hide the blush creeping across your cheeks. The way he said it—so simple but sincere—made your heart skip.

Why does that sound so much cuter than it should? You bit your lip, an idea suddenly coming to you.

“Well...” you started, glancing up at him. “There’s a new building by the riverside with a sky deck. It just opened recently, and it’s supposed to have the best view of the city.”

“Sky deck, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, intrigued. A sky deck? Yeah, that sounds better than awkwardly walking home.

You nodded, a little more excited now. “Yeah. It’s pretty high up, and overlooks the whole city. I haven’t been yet, but I heard it’s amazing at night.”

“Sounds better than going home.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a soft smile. Thank God. I’m not ready for this to be over yet.

“Then let’s go.” You grinned, feeling your heart race just a little faster.

You shared a quick, almost nervous glance at each other before walking in the direction of the riverside. The awkwardness wasn’t completely gone, but now, it was laced with anticipation, a kind of giddy energy that made your stomach flutter. You hugged the plush goose a little tighter, trying not to let your excitement show too much, but inside, you were buzzing.

× × × ×

The city lights shimmered below you as you lounged on the comfy chairs, drinks in hand. The night air was cool, but it didn’t come close to breaking the warmth buzzing between you and Bucky.

She’s... something else, Bucky thought, leaning back slightly. His gaze kept shifting between the breathtaking skyline and you, but he found himself more captivated by you. How am I supposed to focus on the view when she looks like that?

Noticing the quiet, you smirked. “So, you were really gonna end the night without showing off more of your endless talents?”

Oh, she’s teasing now. Alright, two can play this game. Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused. “What, beating you at arcade games wasn’t enough?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re a walking cheat code, Bucky. But I feel like there’s more you’re holding back.”

His eyes flickered over your face, lingering on your lips for just a little too long. More than you know, doll. “Maybe I am.”

Your breath caught for a second, but you quickly recovered, tilting your head and flashing him a grin. “Oh yeah? Like what? Some secret talent I should know about?”

Keep your cool, Barnes. Don't blow it now.

Bucky leaned in just a fraction, his voice lowering, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. But I only show them to people who ask nicely.”

God, does he have to sound that smooth? Your heart flipped at the way he was looking at you, intense, as if he was seeing through every joke and teasing comment. How am I supposed to keep this casual?

“Nicely, huh? And what do I have to do for you to show me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the playful banter fading into something more charged.

“Keep hanging around,” he said softly.

I’m in deep now. Bucky's eyes dropped to your lips again, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into nothing. Should I kiss her? Maybe I’m reading this wrong...

His eyes dropped to your lips again, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into nothing. It was just him—his voice, his presence, the way he was looking at you like he wanted to kiss you but was holding back.

You swallowed, feeling the tension build like a slow fire. You sipped your drink, trying to cool yourself down, but it did little to shake the feeling that something between you had shifted. Stop overthinking, just go with it.

“I could do that,” you murmured, a small smile playing on your lips. You felt his eyes on you, and the air between you felt electric. You glanced at him, catching him staring at your lips again. Your pulse jumped. He’s really staring... isn’t he?

“You’re staring,” you said, teasing, though your voice had a soft edge to it, your heart thudding in your chest.

Bucky blinked, caught, but instead of pulling away, he smirked. “Am I?”

Yeah, Bucky, play it cool. Like you haven’t been staring for the past five minutes.

“Mhm,” you teased, though your voice was barely steady. Why does that smirk make my heart race? “I mean, I get it. The view’s great and all.”

Bucky’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping lower. “You could say that.”

I can’t believe this is actually happening. You felt your face heat up at the way he was looking at you. The intensity of his gaze made your stomach do wild flips. Why is this so... intense?

“You’re not just talking about the city, are you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, sending shivers down your spine. Just kiss her already. “Maybe not.”

Your breath hitched. “And what are you looking at?”

He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked on yours. “What do you think?”

She knows exactly what I’m looking at.

Your heart raced, the pull between you growing stronger with every passing second. His eyes kept flicking down to your lips, making you wonder if he was going to kiss you. I really shouldn’t wait any longer...

Bucky cleared his throat suddenly, as if shaking off the trance he’d been in, and leaned back into his seat, looking almost embarrassed. Okay, maybe I’m rushing this.

“Sorry... I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you interrupted quickly, your voice softer, gentler now. God, why did he stop? “Don’t be. I didn’t mind.”

His gaze snapped back to yours, the tension flaring again. She didn’t mind? Well, maybe I didn’t screw up, after all—or I did because you didn’t kiss her you idiot. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, a soft smile tugged at his lips, and his expression softened.

“So... orthopedic ward, huh?” he said, shifting the conversation, though his eyes were still locked on you. “How do you handle that? All those broken bones?”

Smooth, Barnes. Talk about bones to distract yourself from the fact you were just about to kiss her.

You took a deep breath, relieved for the break in intensity but missing it instantly. Great, now I’m thinking about how close he was... “Well, it’s mostly convincing people not to do dumb things. Like skateboarding down staircases. You wouldn’t believe what people put themselves through.”

Bucky chuckled. Yeah, I believe it. Considering I’ve done dumber things in my time. “I can believe it. I’ve been there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve skateboarded down staircases?”

“No, but I’ve done some pretty stupid things in my time,” he admitted, leaning in again. Pretty sure falling for you might top the list. “But if I did something dumb, you’d patch me up, right?”

You smirked, your eyes twinkling. He’s flirting again. I can’t take this seriously. “Oh, I’d patch you up. But I’d make sure to remind you how dumb you were the entire time.”

“Fair,” Bucky said, the distance between you shrinking again. Patch me up, lecture me—just keep talking, I don’t care. “But I think I’d be a good patient.”

You shook your head with a grin. Good patient? Doubtful. “I doubt that. You’d probably complain the whole time.”

“I wouldn’t,” he replied, his tone teasing but soft. I’d let her take care of me, no problem. “If you were the one taking care of me, I’d be on my best behavior.”

He’s definitely not just talking about broken bones... Your heart skipped at the way he was looking at you again, his voice dropping to something more intimate. The banter was light, but underneath it all, there was that same intensity. Okay, now I’m thinking about kissing him again...

“You don’t strike me as someone who’s ever on their best behavior,” you teased softly, though your breath caught in your throat.

Bucky smirked, his eyes flicking to your lips again. “Maybe you bring it out in me.”

God, I hope so.

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning. Your pulse raced, and you leaned into the moment, letting the tension simmer between you, unspoken but undeniable. He’s close again…

“I’ll have to see that for myself,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat.

She’s close, too. Just lean in, Barnes. Bucky’s gaze darkened, his voice low and rough. “You just might.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as the tension between you crackled, thick and electric. You shifted slightly, leaning in with a playful smirk. “So... tell me, you got any other dates lined up after this one?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered with amusement as he leaned back, crossing his arms. Dates? I can barely keep up with this one. “Why? You worried I’ve got someone else lined up?”

You grinned, holding his gaze. “Maybe. Should I be?”

Not a chance. He leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking as his voice dropped lower. “I don’t know... do you have any other dates lined up?”

He’s really turning this on me, huh? You blinked, your heart racing, but you quickly shot back, “Well, maybe... maybe not. Depends on how this one ends.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his eyes dropping to your lips again, the intensity rising. Alright, Barnes, time to end this date right. “Guess I better make sure it ends right, then.”

Before you could respond, Bucky reached out, his fingers gently tilting your chin up. His other hand slid to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek as he leaned in, your lips so close you could feel his breath.

Your heart was pounding, your breath shallow, as his parted lips brushed against yours, soft and slow, his head tilting just slightly. The kiss was gentle at first, his lips locking against yours in a way that made everything around you fade to nothing. He could taste the faint sweetness of your daiquiri on your lips, and with a soft groan, his tongue did a slow, savoring lick against your bottom lip before slipping past, deepening the kiss.

Your hands instinctively moved up, cupping his face as you kissed him back, your fingers sliding along the scruff of his jaw. The warmth of his touch, the way his thumb stroked your cheek, the way his lips moved against yours —everything about it was intoxicating, pulling you under.

Then Bucky pulled back for a quick gasp, his breath mingling with yours , before diving back in, capturing your lips with even more intensity. The kiss deepened, more urgent this time, as though neither of you wanted the moment to end. His hand on your nape tightened slightly, pulling you closer as the kiss intensified, his lips pressing more firmly against yours.

They didn’t stop until they couldn’t breathe anymore, finally pulling apart when the need for air overtook you, both of you breathless and flushed. Their foreheads rested together, the cool night air doing little to cool the heat between you. Bucky’s thumb gently stroked your cheek as he whispered, his voice rough, “Definitely no other dates lined up after this.”

You smiled, your hands still cradling his face, your heart pounding. “Good. Neither do I.”

× × × ×

As Bucky’s motorcycle came to a slow stop outside your house, and glanced up at your front porch. You hopped off the bike, shaking out your hair with a satisfied grin.

That ride was way too short... you thought, glancing at him as you handed Bucky his helmet, which he stubbornly told you to wear instead of him.

Bucky, being the gentleman, didn’t just let you off with a wave. He slid off the bike and stood up straight, dusting his hands like he was about to help carry your groceries.

Alright, Barnes. Play it cool.

"I’ll walk you up," he said casually, like it wasn’t 2024 and people usually just waved from their cars.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking into a smirk. "You’re walking me to my porch?"

Bucky nodded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She thinks it’s weird? Hell, I thought that’s what you’re supposed to do.

“Of course. What kind of guy lets a lady walk to her door alone?” he replied, shrugging like this was completely normal.

You tried not to laugh, biting your lip to hold back a smile. He’s serious. Oh my God, he’s really serious. "Wow, okay, Mr. 1940s. What’s next, you gonna tip your hat and call me ‘ma’am’?"

Bucky smirked, taking a step closer. Alright, go with it, Barnes. “I could, if that’s what you’re into.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes but smiling as you walked together toward your porch. He’s ridiculous... and kinda sweet. You couldn’t help but notice how he slowed his pace just a little, like he was savoring the moment, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, casual yet somehow... considerate.

When you reached your porch, Bucky stopped, glancing at your door as if making sure it was safe territory. This is it. Play it smooth.

You turned to him, unable to hold back a laugh this time. "So, do I get a secret code to get into my own house, or...?"

Bucky grinned, leaning casually against the porch railing. “Just making sure you get home safe.”

Alright, Barnes, she’s not buying it. But hey, it worked.

“You know, they invented porch lights for a reason.” You shook your head, amused. He’s seriously acting like my personal bodyguard right now.

“What can I say? Old habits die hard.” Bucky shrugged, leaning in just a little closer, that playful glint in his eye. Please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh.

You looked up at him, crossing your arms with a smirk. “You know, there’s a fine line between being a gentleman and babysitting.”

Bucky chuckled. She’s killing me with that smirk. “Hey, you never know. There could be a rogue bagel out here, just waiting to trip you up.”

Oh, not the bagels again. “Oh my God, not the bagels again!” you burst out laughing, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You know they’re round, right?”

This man is unbelievable. You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I think we’ve officially come full circle.”

“Just like a bagel.” Bucky gave a slow, dramatic nod.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, but you shook your head, standing on your porch with your hands on your hips. Why do I like this guy so much?

“Alright, alright, you’ve escorted me safely to my door. Anything else, or are you going to salute me goodbye?”

Bucky’s grin softened, and with a playful twinkle in his eye, he gave a small, mock salute. She’s gotta be messing with me right now, right? “Goodnight, ma’am.”

“Goodnight, soldier.” You couldn’t stop smiling as you opened your door, turning back to look at him. Don’t walk away, don’t walk away yet...

As you slipped inside, you peeked out one last time, watching as Bucky lingered for a second, that charming smirk still on his face before he finally turned and headed back to his bike. Say something, Barnes. Don’t just leave like a dork.

But then he stopped, halfway to his bike, and turned back around, something flickering in his eyes.

No, I’m not leaving yet. Not without...

Before you could ask what he was doing, Bucky closed the distance between you with a few long strides. Without hesitating, he gently tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing your cheek as he leaned in and kissed you—soft, quick, but just enough to make your heart race. His lips parted against yours, and for a split second, you tasted the warmth of him before he pulled back, just enough to meet your eyes.

That... was... wow.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart doing a somersault. Did that just happen? You were still processing when Bucky grinned, his voice a little more hushed. “I guess I couldn’t leave without a proper goodbye.”

Smooth, Barnes. Real smooth.

You blinked, trying to find your voice, but all that came out was a soft, “No complaints here.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his hand still lingering at your neck for a moment longer. Then, he cleared his throat, stepping back a bit. “Hey, uh... you got a number I could call sometime?”

He’s asking for my number after that?

You smiled, feeling your heart flutter as you reached into your pocket, grabbing your phone. “Yeah, here—let me put it in.”

As you typed in your number, Bucky watched you, that familiar twinkle back in his eyes. Best decision I’ve made all night.

When you handed his phone back, your fingers brushed his, sending a small jolt up your arm. Yep, I’m done for.

Bucky pocketed the phone, flashing that boyish grin again. “Alright. I’ll call you.”

Yeah, you better. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He took a slow step down from the porch, but not without glancing over his shoulder one more time. “Goodnight... again.”

You stood there, grinning like an idiot. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way back to his bike, you slipped inside your house, leaning against the door as your heart raced. Did he really just kiss me? Again? Oh, this is definitely not over.

You peeked out one last time through the crack in the door, watching him as he swung his leg over his bike. Even from your doorway, you could hear him muttering with a smirk, “Just trying to keep the rogue bagels at bay.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you finally closed the door behind you, your heart racing a little more than you expected. I’m never going to forget this night...

2K notes · View notes

thebarneschronicles · 1 month ago

Text

Closer To Home II

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: Somewhere between stolen glances, late-night conversations, and the careful way he protects your space, Bucky Barnes has quietly claimed a part of your heart. His brooding silence gives way to tender moments in the warmth of your apartment on a snowy night, where shared vulnerabilities reveal the man behind the soldier. Slowly, you navigate the spaces between his old-fashioned values and your modern perspective, learning each other one touch, one laugh, and one unspoken promise at a time. As trust deepens and emotions stir, the fragile connection you’ve built feels both delicate and undeniable—something neither of you is ready to let slip away.

Word Count: 12.4k

Closer To Home Masterlist

A/N: Took me long enough and 3 different tries, but here it is - part 2 of 'Closer to Home'. These babies have been my favourite to write and I truly hope you guys enjoy reading them. Let me know if there's anything else from their growing relationship you might want to see... I might have a few tricks up my sleeve as well. B xx

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your knock on the office door echoes in the quiet space, instantly drawing both Sam’s and Bucky’s heads toward you. Sam is leaning against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest, but it’s Bucky’s steel-blue gaze that settles on you, pinning you in place. His expression is guarded as always, though the faintest flicker of curiosity softens the edges.

Across the room, Bucky sits hunched over a stack of papers—your papers. They contain the latest intel on a Hydra facility buried somewhere in the European countryside. You know every word, every detail in those documents because you wrote them. You also know the information will keep him tethered to the desk for far longer than he deserves. A twist of guilt knots in your chest, but you push it down as you step inside.

“You guys hate me yet?” Your attempt at humor comes out tentative, your eyes flicking between Sam and Bucky.

“We might,” Sam quips, his shoulders rising and falling in a mock shrug.

“Will coffee make you hate me less?” You bite your bottom lip, stepping further into the room. In your hands, two mugs of freshly poured coffee send thin streams of steam curling upward. You extend them as if they’re offerings of penance.

Sam’s grin widens, but your focus is on Bucky.

He doesn’t say anything at first, but his lips twitch in amusement. You’ve come to recognize this look ever since that night at your apartment—the night everything shifted between you. He’s still Bucky: quiet, brooding, and wrapped in layers of steel, but you’ve managed to find a way through. A small, vulnerable crack he seems to leave open just for you.

“Wilson,” you say, stepping toward Sam and setting the mug down in front of him.

“Thanks, agent,” Sam teases, the title rolling off his tongue with exaggerated weight.

You shake your head but let out a soft laugh. Then, heart thumping just a little harder, you turn toward Bucky. His gaze hasn’t left you, and the air between you suddenly feels heavier.

Taking a steadying breath, you move closer and place the second mug on the table in front of him. You lean in slightly, cheeks warming under his steady gaze. “Mr. Barnes,” you say softly, your voice carrying a hint of teasing formality.

Bucky’s lips curve into a barely-there smile, but it reaches his eyes. “Thanks, doll,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough like gravel, but there’s a warmth in it that makes your chest tighten.

Sam clears his throat dramatically, leaning back in his chair with a playful smirk. “Mr. Barnes?” he teases, his tone dripping with mock offense. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

You roll your eyes but resist the urge to exchange a look with Bucky. Neither of you had told anyone what had happened between you—not even Sam, who seemed to live for knowing everyone’s business. Quite frankly, you weren’t even sure Bucky wanted to acknowledge it outside the safe confines of your apartment.

That apartment had become your sanctuary. The kisses, the quiet conversations that stretched long into the night, and the comforting weight of his hand on yours had transformed the last six weeks into something you couldn’t quite define but didn’t dare let go of.

He’d been at your place in some capacity every day since that night. At first, it was under the guise of walking you home. Then, he’d talked you into getting on the back of his bike, wrapping your arms around his waist as he drove you to your doorstep. From there, it grew into more.

He’d brought you coffee and bagels in the mornings, like the good Brooklyn boy he is, sometimes adding a slightly awkward compliment about how you "looked nice today". He’d introduced you to his favorite diner, ordering for you with an easy confidence that made your chest ache with affection. He even showed up one Sunday night with pizza, claiming it was your turn to suffer through a baseball game with him because he couldn’t sleep.

And when the nightmares were too much, and he’d knocked on your door at an ungodly hour, you’d let him in without hesitation. You’d made tea, or sat in comfortable silence, or talked until dawn. Whatever he needed.

It was good. It was comfortable.

It was fragile and new, yes, but it was special in a way you didn’t want to jeopardize. You’d let Bucky lead the way, trusting him to set the pace even when your insecurities gnawed at the edges of your resolve.

Sometimes it was hard not to second-guess yourself, though. The difference in your ages—or as Bucky had once awkwardly phrased it, “your … modern way of thinking”—lingered in the back of your mind. You worried over every good morning text you sent him after that first kiss, wondering if it felt too forward or too casual for someone from his time.

But it wasn’t just that. It was the way his past and his present seemed to clash. Bucky was a man out of time, still anchored to the rules and habits ingrained in him from decades ago. You saw it in the way he always brought something with him—flowers, a bottle of wine, even a book he thought you might like. You felt it in the way his touches stayed respectful and measured, his hand resting on the small of your back or brushing lightly against yours but never lingering too long.

You admired it, even loved it in a way, but it left you unsure of how far you could go—what you could ask for without overstepping some invisible boundary he might not have fully explained.

Would he think you were too bold if you asked him to stay the night? Would he be scandalized if you finally tried to take things further after weeks of holding back?

The doubts circled in your mind, but you said nothing, afraid of shattering the delicate balance you had built together. Instead, you let the moment linger.

Your silence stretched too long, and Bucky remained still, seemingly content to let you stand there, which only made Sam groan dramatically. He let out an exaggerated sigh, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. “Alright, fine, ignore me. What’s this about?” He gestured to the coffee mugs.

“Just a peace offering,” you said with a casual shrug, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed your nerves. You were hyper-aware of your position, standing close to Bucky’s chair, his knee lightly pressing into your thigh as he shifted. “...in the hopes you’ll give me a moment with Bucky?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as his voice boomed, filling the room. “Oh no. No, no, no.” He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I’m stuck here till all hours working on this Hydra mess, cyborg brain isn’t moving an inch.”

“But Sam—”

“Nope!” He cut you off, raising a hand as if to physically block the idea. “I’m not doing all this alone while you two sneak off for… whatever.” His grin turned mischievous, and his eyebrows waggled. “Unless you’re finally ready to spill whatever is going on between you two?”

You stiffened, and Bucky’s knee shifted ever so slightly against you. You couldn’t tell if the movement was meant to calm you or if it was his subtle way of tensing.

“Wilson.” Bucky’s voice was calm but firm, cutting through the air like a blade.

Sam rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered by the warning tone. “Oh, come on. You’ve got this poor girl standing there looking all guilty, and you’re just sitting there like a statue. This is practically torture for me. Torture, Barnes.”

You couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped your lips. “Sam, please,” you tried again, your voice pleading this time.

Sam looked between the two of you, his smirk softening just enough to make it clear he wasn’t entirely unreasonable. “Fine,” he relented with a dramatic sigh, pushing himself away from the desk. “You’ve got ten minutes. But if I’m still stuck here after that, Barnes, you owe me big time.”

“Noted,” Bucky replied evenly, though his tone held a hint of relief.

Sam grabbed his mug and sauntered toward the door, turning back just as he opened it. “Ten minutes. And no funny business.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Sam was already gone, leaving you alone with Bucky.

The silence that followed was heavier than you expected. You glanced down at him, and he looked up at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky said finally, his voice low, almost hesitant. "You could've just said you need to talk to me."

You shrugged, forcing a smile. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you. Just us two.”

That made him smile—just a little, but enough to make your heart flutter.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he said, lifting the mug and taking a slow sip.

You shifted on your feet, nerves bubbling in your chest. “Bucky…” you started, unsure how to approach the growing weight of what you wanted to say.

His gaze never left yours, and after a moment, he set the mug down carefully, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve got something on your mind,” he said, his voice steady. “What is it?”

Your heart pounded as you considered your next words. “I just… I wanted to ask if…” You hesitated, biting your lip before taking a deep breath. “If maybe you’d want to stay tonight? At my place?”

The words were out before you could second-guess them, and your stomach twisted as the silence stretched between you.

Bucky blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment, which sent you spiraling into a rambling mess. “It's supposed to be a snowstorm tonight, and I’ve stocked up on everything. I’ve got food, beer, and… I even bought that whisky you like.”

His lips twitched, just barely, but he started to shake his head. “I wouldn’t want to impose—”

His words were soft, hesitant, and his flesh hand reached out instinctively, brushing against yours. Without thinking, you twisted your fingers into his, holding on.

��You wouldn’t be imposing,” you said quickly, the heat rushing to your cheeks. “I want you to. Come over, I mean. You never impose.” Your voice softened, your eyes searching his. “And it’d make me feel better knowing you’re somewhere warm instead of that cold, empty apartment of yours.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his steel-blue eyes scanning your face like he was trying to make sense of your words. His hand tightened slightly around yours, the warmth of his palm grounding you.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place—hope, maybe, or caution. You both understood what an evening alone might lead to, yet neither of you was certain of how the other felt about it.

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, a small, nervous smile tugging at your lips. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

His gaze lingered on you, and then, slowly, his shoulders relaxed. The faintest smile curved his lips as he nodded. “Alright,” he said, his voice as steady as the snowfall outside. “If you’re sure, then… yeah. I’ll come over.”

The relief that washed over you was immediate, and your grip on his hand tightened briefly before you let go, your fingers brushing against his in a lingering motion.

“Should we go?” you asked, your stomach doing flips as Bucky pushed up from his chair. He stood tall, his presence magnetic as he stepped into your space. His arm sliding around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Before Sam comes back—”

“Time’s up, lovebirds,” Sam’s voice rings out from the doorway, cutting through the moment like a blade.

Your head snapped toward him, heat rising rapidly from your chest to your face as you caught Sam’s amused expression. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, one brow raised in playful judgment.

“It’s not—” you start quickly, your hand pressing against Bucky’s firm chest in an attempt to put some distance between you. But Bucky doesn’t budge; he’s an immovable wall, steady and unrelenting. His arm tightens slightly around your waist, anchoring you to him.

“Not what you think, Sam,” you say, your voice tinged with panic as the words rush out.

“Sure it’s not.” Sam’s grin widens, his eyebrow quirking higher. “Should I just ignore the fact that there’s an entire vibe happening here?”

You groan audibly, closing your eyes in mortification as you drop your forehead against Bucky’s chest. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing do little to ease your embarrassment, yet the circle of his arms feels undeniably safe, comfortable, and intimate in a way you hadn't experienced before.

“Wilson,” Bucky warns, his tone sharp and commanding. The sound rumbles through his chest, and you don’t need to look to know he’s glaring daggers at Sam.

Sam raises his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “Just saying, man. You two are about as subtle as a brick wall.”

Your cheeks burn hotter, and you busy yourself with straightening the papers on the desk, refusing to meet Sam’s knowing gaze.

Bucky sighs, the sound low and exasperated, his fingers curling around your waist in a protective way, maybe even possessive. You can feel the tension in his body, the subtle shift as he tries to rein in his own frustration.

“So,” Sam drawls, clearly enjoying every second of this, “are you telling me what’s going on, or should I just assume the worst?”

Your head jerks up, incredulous. “The worst?”

Sam crosses his arms, his smirk widening further. “Yeah. Like, I don’t know… that cyborg brain over there took advantage of this poor girl. That you swooped in here all broody and mysterious, and now she’s trapped under your metal arm spell or whatever.”

You can feel your face flush, your stomach twisting in discomfort. You groan loudly, throwing your head back in disbelief. Your fingers tighten in the fabric of Bucky’s jacket as you prepare a scathing retort, but before you can, Bucky beats you to it.

He huffs, a sharp sound that carries both frustration and amusement. His tone drips with sarcasm. “Yeah, that’s exactly it, Wilson. She’s helpless, clearly.”

Your patience snaps. “I am a consenting adult!” you shriek, the words coming out in a rush. The urge to throw the nearest stapler at Sam’s head is almost too much to contain, but you force yourself to stay composed. “Anything he’s done to me or with me was discussed and agreed upon. Not that he has… done anything, that is. We haven't, he--”

You immediately regret those last words, the heat in your cheeks flaring up even more as your stomach flips with embarrassment. You want to sink into the floor and disappear, but Sam’s grinning face makes it impossible to hide.

Bucky’s arm around your waist tightens slightly, as though sensing your discomfort. “Sam,” he says with a low growl, warning in his tone. “You can stop anytime.”

“Relax, man,” Sam replies with a wink. “I’m just messing with you. Though, seriously, you two need to quit acting like you're the only ones in the room.” He pats his stomach with exaggerated flair. “It’s a bit much, yeah?”

You groan again, but this time, it’s a mix of frustration and amusement. “We’re not doing anything!” you insist, hands held out defensively.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Sam says, his voice teasing but not unkind. “Just remember, I’m not as oblivious as you think.”

Bucky’s hand slips from your waist as he steps toward Sam, eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. “You need to go before I let her loose on you, Wilson.”

Sam laughs and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you two to… whatever you’re not doing. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He gives a dramatic wink before backing toward the door. “Remember—I know. I’ve seen the vibe.”

Once he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him, you exhale, your shoulders finally relaxing. You turn to look at Bucky, who’s still watching you closely.

“I swear, if he says anything to anyone…” You trail off, the rest of your thoughts hanging in the air.

Bucky just shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “If he does, I’ll make sure he regrets it. I have a vibranium arm.”

You laugh, feeling the last of the tension melt away. “You really know how to make a girl feel protected,” you tease.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his eyes are soft. “Just doing my job.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Your job?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s hand brushes your shoulder lightly, his voice lowering. “To make sure no one messes with you. Not even Wilson.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sincerity in his tone, and you can’t help but smile. “Well, I appreciate it,” you say, your voice soft. “Really.”

Bucky just nods, his hand slipping into yours as he gives you a warm, steady smile. “Let’s get out of here before he comes back with more jokes.”

“Agreed,” you reply, the warmth of his hand in yours calming you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

–

The wind whipped outside the car, but inside, it was warm, the heater humming steadily, and the radio playing soft background music. Bucky’s hand was steady on the wheel, his presence somehow grounding you even as the world around you seemed to fade into the night. He’d convinced Sam to switch with him - his motorcycle for Sam’s car, and that was enough to shock you into silence for nearly the whole ride.

Even when you stopped at the fancy supermarket, it felt surreal. The aisles were empty, save for you two, which gave Bucky the freedom to drag you through the store with his hand tightly wrapped around yours. The shopping cart squeaked softly as it rolled, and you couldn’t help but notice how domestic it all felt—how comfortable.

“We don’t have to do this, Buck. I’ve got plenty of food for both of us,” you tried, watching him toss your favorite wine into the cart—how he knew that, you still had no idea—along with chocolate and even a bundle of flowers that had you laughing under your breath.

“Wrong,” he said with a grin, shaking his head as he held up two boxes of pasta. “We don’t know how long we could be stuck there. Could be days, weeks…” He paused, his eyes softening, then added with a teasing smile, “Gotta keep you fed and warm.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress your amusement, pointing to the noodles you liked best. He added four boxes, his expression never faltering as he gave you another quick look, one that sent your heart into a flutter.

The cart was full of the oddest assortment of essentials, and it was clear to you by now that Bucky wasn’t just picking things at random. Everything he grabbed seemed like something he knew you’d enjoy—or at least, he thought you would.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he squeezed your hand, and you were sure he could hear it. “Buck,” you began, voice quiet but steady as you tugged him back toward you, pulling him into your space until his front was pressed against yours. The moment hung between you, thick with anticipation, and you took a breath, unsure but resolute. “I’m going to kiss you, and some people might see, so I need you to stop me if you’re not comfortable, okay?”

Bucky’s gaze softened, and his smile was shy but kind. He nodded, the slight tension in his shoulders easing as he stepped closer to you. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.

With a nervous sigh, you rose on your tiptoes, tilting your head just enough to fit the shape of your mouth to his. Your hand found the back of his neck, fingers gently curling into his hair as you leaned in. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, a soft exploration, but it deepened when you let your arms wrap around his neck, pulling yourself even closer.

The air around you seemed to disappear, the world becoming small, fading into the background as you buried your face into his shoulder, your chest pressed to his in a way that felt more intimate than anything you had known.

Bucky’s hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips as his lips brushed against your hair, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

“I’m so bad at this,” he murmured, and the words had a weight to them that made your chest tighten.

“At what?” You frowned, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your brows furrowed in concern.

“Dating,” he laughed softly, the sound a bit strained. “I used to be good at it. In the '40s… Steve used to hate me ‘cause I’d get all the girls, and he couldn’t even get someone to dance with him,” he added with a rueful grin, though he winced when you pinched his waist playfully.

“Hey,” you scolded lightly, “I don’t need to hear about other girls.”

His laugh softened, but his expression faltered just slightly, as if he regretted even bringing it up. “I know. I’m sorry. But now… now it’s like I’m Steve. I don’t know what to do, or how to… move forward.” His eyes darkened a little with uncertainty, something raw flickering beneath the surface.

You studied him, your heart aching with the vulnerability he was showing you, and for a moment, it was like everything else faded away. The only thing that mattered was this moment, this connection between the two of you.

You reached up to gently touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble there. “You were doing a pretty great job before you mentioned other girls,” you said, a teasing note in your voice, though you couldn’t quite stop the slight pout that formed at the corners of your mouth.

Bucky’s gaze softened, and he chuckled under his breath, clearly amused by your reaction. “Sorry.” His hands moved up to cup your cheeks, his thumbs gently tracing the curve of your jaw as he tilted your head back slightly, forcing you to look up at him.

You were so close now, your breath mingling with his, the space between you charged with unspoken words.

“What I’m saying is…” His voice dropped, and you could hear the sincerity in every word. “Things are different now. You think and do things so differently nowadays. So, you might have to boss me around a bit.” He smiled, though there was a slight nervousness in the way his lips curled. “Tell me what you want, how fast or slow I should take things… I just wanna make you happy, doll.”

You blinked at him, the weight of his words sinking in. You could feel the sincerity in his touch, in the way his eyes locked onto yours, as if waiting for you to guide him, to tell him what you needed. The idea that he was willing to be led, to be patient with you in this way, made your chest tighten with an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

“Bucky,” you whispered, voice soft but sure, “I just want you to be you.” Your hand slid up to his chest, resting over his heart. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be honest… with me, with yourself.”

You could see the tension in his shoulders slowly ease as he took in your words. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and you felt your heart flutter at the way he looked at you—like you were everything.

“Honest, huh?” he muttered, a playful glint in his eye now. “Alright, doll. I can do that.”

His hands slid down to your waist, his grip firm but tender, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, like every movement was an exploration, a promise that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. It was the kind of kiss that wrapped itself around your heart, making everything outside of this moment feel miles away.

Bucky’s lips hovered near yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, his gaze soft but intense. “In the spirit of honesty…” you murmured, scratching lightly at the hair at the back of his neck, your fingers curling into the soft strands. “I really, really want you to take me home.”

His breath hitched for just a second before his brow quirked, and a playful glint flickered in his eyes. “Hungry?” He tilted his head slightly, a teasing smile pulling at his lips as his nose brushed against yours.

You smirked, eyes glinting with mischief as you leaned in just enough to brush a teasing kiss across his lips. “Starving,” you whispered, the word hanging between you like a promise, an invitation, and Bucky’s grip on you tightened, pulling you just a fraction closer.

“Yeah?” His voice was low and thick, full of something you couldn’t quite place—teasing, but also a little desperate. His fingers dug into your waist, the touch possessive and tender at once. “God, you really are out for my virtue, aren’t you?” His smile was crooked, that playful smirk you adored, but there was a burn behind it that spoke to the heat building between you.

You laughed softly, the sound breathless as you wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him even closer. “I might be…” you said shyly, your hands tracing the firm muscles beneath his shirt. “But only if you’re okay with that. I mean it, Buck,” you continued, your voice soft but full of sincerity, “I just want you to be comfortable. And if taking things slow works for you, then I’m okay with that. But,” you added, your voice dropping an octave, the hint of something daring slipping in, “I’m ready for whatever you want to give me. Virtue and all.” You couldn’t suppress the playful, sultry edge that took over, but deep down, you meant every word.

Bucky’s gaze darkened at your words, the storm brewing in his eyes almost tangible as he stared at you. His breath caught, and something heavy settled low in your belly, your pulse racing as the air between you thickened. The bravado you’d carried, the playful energy you’d thrown his way, melted beneath the intensity of his stare, leaving you feeling like you were on the edge of something you couldn’t quite understand, yet couldn’t resist either. Just one look from him, and you were already lost.

Without warning, Bucky leaned in again, his lips crashing against yours with more urgency this time. His kiss was deep, demanding, but still careful—like he wanted to savor this moment, but couldn’t help the fire inside him. His hands slid lower, skimming the hem of your shirt, bunching it up as his fingers brushed against the soft skin of your back. The heat between you intensified, your body responding to him with an eagerness you didn’t even know you had. When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little harder, hearts racing in sync. His voice was thick with desire, the playful smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips, but there was something else now—something deeper, something real. “Let’s get you home, doll.”

You nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face, pulling him down into one more kiss—a slow, lingering connection that sealed the words between you both. Whatever happened next, it was clear neither of you were backing down. Not now. Not when you’d both found something too good to let go.

–

The ride back to your place felt like something out of a dream—the snow gently falling, coating everything in a soft, white blanket as the streets remained eerily quiet, save for the hum of the car’s engine. The city seemed to have slowed down, as if giving you both the gift of time, allowing you to exist in a bubble, disconnected from the rest of the world. The soft glow of the streetlights cast long shadows on the empty sidewalks, making everything feel surreal, like it was just you and Bucky, in your own little universe.

Bucky carried the bags with ease, his muscles straining slightly under the weight, but he shot you a look when you reached for them, a silent command for you to stay put. You gave in with a small sigh, letting him lead the way up to your apartment. The silence of the evening was comforting, and the last thing you wanted was a nosy neighbor making an appearance to witness the soldier who had, over the past few weeks, seemed to become a fixture of your life. To your relief, the hallway was empty, and you made it to your door without interruption.

Inside, the atmosphere was cozy, the warmth of the apartment a stark contrast to the biting cold of the storm outside. You both settled into an easy rhythm, unpacking the groceries in comfortable silence, the quiet broken only by the soft thuds of the fridge and cabinet doors opening and closing.

“So,” Bucky asked casually, leaning against the counter as he looked out at the storm gathering beyond your window, “do you have a record player or something?” He turned to face you, a slight frown of curiosity crossing his features.

You paused, glancing over at the small Alexa device sitting innocently on your counter. “I have an Alexa,” you replied, giving a small nod towards it. “You know, it plays music and does other things.”

Bucky frowned, his brows furrowing as he scratched his chin. “What’s an Alexa?” His confusion was genuine, the years between him and modern technology starkly evident.

You chuckled, your lips curving into a smile at his bemused expression. “It’s a smart speaker,” you explained, walking over to the counter to give him a quick demonstration. “You can ask it to play music, set alarms, tell you the weather... all that stuff. It’s like having a little assistant, I guess.”

He blinked at it for a moment, eyes narrowing as if trying to understand the concept. “So… it listens to you? All the time?” he asked, his voice laced with an understandable wariness. The idea of technology that could constantly listen was something far removed from his 1940s mindset.

“Only when you ask it to,” you assured him with a soft laugh. “It’s not always listening. Just when you say ‘Alexa.’”

His frown deepened, but his curiosity was winning out. “Seems weird,” he muttered, as if processing this new information, then shook his head. “You kids and your gadgets.”

You smiled at his bemusement, the way his voice softened, betraying his playful frustration. "Well, if you want, we can ask her to play you something. Music from the '40s, maybe. Would be fitting for the snowstorm," you offered casually.

He stood in front of the Alexa as if it were an unfamiliar adversary—his posture straight, shoulders squared, eyes locked on it with the same intensity he used to assess a potential threat. It was endearing, even a little adorable, and it made something flutter in your chest.

"You just call her by her name–"

"It’s a she?" His expression shifted to surprise, and you couldn't help but laugh softly, moving to stand beside him, tucking yourself against his side.

"It is," you confirmed, smiling up at him. "You call her by her name and tell her what you want to hear."

Bucky eyed the device warily for a moment before taking a deep breath, as if bracing himself for something monumental. "Alexa," he started cautiously, the uncertainty in his tone making you grin. You watched as his posture tensed, like he was preparing for some kind of response. When the Alexa lit up, he glanced at you. You nodded, urging him on.

"Play ‘I’ll Be Seeing You,’” he said, the words coming out a little less sure but with more of the quiet confidence you adored.

The Alexa responded with a cheerful chime, followed by the soft crackle of an old jazz band filling the room, the familiar strains of “I’ll Be Seeing You” floating through the air. The song instantly enveloped the space, its soothing, nostalgic melody bringing a warmth that matched the coziness of your apartment.

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed almost immediately, and he let out a quiet, appreciative hum as he closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the music. You watched him, a little mesmerized by the way he seemed to let go, the weight of his past momentarily lifting with each note. It was as if the song had unlocked something deep within him—something soft and vulnerable—and you couldn’t help but smile.

He looked over at you, his gaze thoughtful, almost distant. "I used to hear this song everywhere," he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet nostalgia. "It was... everywhere during the war. The way it made people feel... like they were holding onto something, you know?"

You nodded, your heart aching with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. “I get it. It’s a song full of memories.”

His eyes flickered to you then, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I didn't think... I'd hear it again like this," he admitted, a little stunned.

You shifted closer, your arm brushing his as you leaned into him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. “I think that’s the magic of music,” you said softly. “It makes things feel familiar, even when everything around you is different.”

His hand found yours, the warmth of his fingers sending a jolt of comfort through you as he intertwined them. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice rough with something deeper. “You’re right.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the music wrapping around you both like a shared secret. The storm raged on outside, but inside, it felt like time had slowed. All that mattered was the here and now—the feeling of Bucky’s hand in yours, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, and the quiet comfort of being in each other's presence.

"Want to dance?" you asked softly, the idea slipping out before you could fully process it. Your cheeks warmed slightly at the thought, but you couldn't help the way your heart picked up pace, the romance of the moment beckoning you.

Bucky blinked, looking down at you with an almost surprised expression before that familiar smirk tugged at his lips. "Shouldn’t I be the one asking you?”

You grinned, looking up at him. “I did it this time, you can take the next one…Remember, you asked me to boss you around.”

His gaze softened, and after a beat, he stood up from where he had been leaning against the counter. His hand reached for yours, tugging you closer gently. “Alright, doll. Let’s see if I still know how to do this,” he said with a quiet chuckle, pulling you close.

You melted into his embrace, the two of you swaying slowly to the music. The world outside seemed to vanish, leaving just the two of you in the warmth of the room. There was no need for words as you moved together, the silence between you only deepening the connection. Every brush of his fingers, every shift of his body against yours, seemed to speak volumes. It wasn’t about the past, or what might come—it was about right now, about this moment, and about the way you both fit together so perfectly.

As the song faded into the next, Bucky’s lips found yours again, unhurried and deliberate, as if the world outside had slowed just for the two of you. His kiss was a mix of tenderness and restrained fervor, like he wanted to savor every second, every detail. The slow burn between you deepened, the heat simmering just beneath the surface as his hand found the small of your back, drawing you closer.

You melted into him, your arms looping around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair with a confidence that belied the nervous flutter in your chest. When you parted your lips, letting your tongue tease against his, the quiet gasp that escaped you was met by a low, rumbling sound from him that made your knees weak.

The tension grew, thick and heady, until he finally pulled back just enough to look at you. His blue eyes searched yours, concern flickering as they trailed over the goosebumps on your arms. “Cold?” he asked softly, his voice low and gentle, as though the mere thought of your discomfort was unacceptable.

“The opposite, actually,” you managed, your voice quiet but steady, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Bucky’s brow furrowed faintly, his gaze flicking to your chest, where your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might leap out of your ribcage. “I can hear your heart,” he murmured, the words almost apologetic, as though he didn’t mean to notice but couldn’t help himself. His flesh hand moved to your waist, loosening slightly as he stepped back. “Doll, what’s going on?”

You swallowed hard, the nerves clawing at you. Panic flared when he pulled away even a fraction, and before you could second-guess yourself, you reached out, gripping his dog tags and the front of his shirt to stop him.

“Don’t go,” you said, your voice firmer than you expected, though it still carried the edge of vulnerability.

His eyes softened immediately, concern giving way to patience as he stayed perfectly still. “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured you quietly. “But tell me what’s wrong.”

The warmth of his presence, the way he was so grounded, so attentive, gave you the courage to take a shaky breath and press forward. “You know… you know how we said we had to be honest with each other?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent reassurance that he was fully present, ready for whatever you had to say.

You took a steadying breath, trying to push past the nervous tightness in your chest. “I have to tell you, I–” You faltered, but the heat in your veins burned brighter, urging you to move forward. “I really, really… want you.”

You watched him swallow harshly, one hand abandoning your body to scratch against the stubble on his cheek and your hands loosened their grip on him.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured,” you added quickly, rushing to fill the silence, afraid of misinterpretation. “But… God, you’re really gonna make me say this, aren’t you?” You laughed nervously, the sound trembling under the weight of your vulnerability. “I want… I’d like to have sex. If that’s… something you’re interested in.”

The confession felt both freeing and terrifying, like stepping off the edge of a cliff and trusting the landing would be soft. Your heart thundered, your hands slowly releasing his shirt as if giving him space to process.

Bucky blinked, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t quite find the words. He took a deep breath, his expression shifting into something you couldn’t quite place—somewhere between careful consideration and overwhelming tenderness.

“We shouldn’t rush this,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate, each word carefully chosen, like he was afraid saying the wrong thing would fracture the trust between you.

His hand came up to cup your face, the pad of his thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, and the gentleness of the gesture made your chest ache in the best way. You nodded, already understanding what he wasn’t saying out loud: that he wasn’t rejecting you, that he would, if you asked, but there was no pressure.

Your heart, traitorous and loud, picked up speed again. His eyes flicked down to your chest, where the rapid thudding might as well have been a drum solo, and then back to your face, a slight frown knitting his brow.

“Your heart,” he muttered, almost like it was something he could scold into quieting down.

You huffed a laugh, grabbing his hand and kissing the center of his palm to redirect his attention. “Stop listening to it,” you whispered, your voice warm but teasing as you nipped lightly, teasingly, at the heel of his hand. “I’m nervous, okay?”

“There’s no reason to be,” he replied earnestly, his frown deepening as though he was genuinely baffled by the idea that he could make you nervous.

“Bucky, I just told you I want to have sex with you,” you said, your words tumbling out in a quick, exasperated laugh as heat rushed to your cheeks. “It’s a pretty big moment, you know? That doesn’t just roll off the tongue.”

That made him pause, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, though he fought to suppress it. “It sounded like it rolled out just fine to me,” he teased, his tone lighter now, the faintest hint of playfulness creeping into his voice.

“Oh, shut up,” you grumbled, smacking his shoulder lightly, though you couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “I mean it, though. This isn’t rushing—not for me. I want this. I want you.”

Bucky searched your eyes for a moment longer, as if trying to decipher some hidden truth, but there was nothing hidden. Only warmth, trust, and the quiet understanding that you were both on the same page.

“Okay,” he finally said, his voice low and steady.

Your stomach flipped, your pulse racing so wildly you half-wondered if you were on the verge of cardiac arrest. But before you could spiral any further, Bucky leaned in, his lips finding yours with a quiet intensity that made your knees buckle. There was something definitive about it and you practically melted into him.

Thank God for his arms wrapped firmly around your waist because you weren’t entirely sure your legs could hold you up. He smiled against your lips as he pulled back, a smug little quirk of his mouth that made your breath hitch.

“If your heart beats any faster, doll, I might think I need to call a doctor,” he teased, his voice low and rough with amusement.

You groaned, heat flushing your cheeks as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, though a reluctant laugh bubbled out of you. “Quit making fun of me and take me to bed..”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

The walk to your bedroom was wordless, every step thick with tension that hung in the air like a live wire. His hand gripped yours, his vibranium fingers cool but steady against your clammy palm as you led him through the quiet space of your apartment.

The door clicked shut behind you, the sound impossibly loud in the stillness, and the finality of it sent a twist of nerves through your stomach. You paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and turned to face him, your back pressed to the door.

Bucky stood there, his gaze locked on yours with a heat that made your skin prickle. It was the kind of look that felt like he was peeling back every layer of you, uncovering truths you hadn’t even admitted to yourself yet. The air between you was charged, thick with unspoken tension, and you swore if neither of you broke the silence, you might actually combust.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” you asked softly, your voice barely cutting through the stillness of the room. Seeing him here, in your bedroom for the first time, surrounded by the intimate details of your life, made the moment feel weightier somehow.

This wasn’t just Bucky stepping into your space; it was him letting you into his. It hit you like a tidal wave—this wasn’t just about tonight. This was trust, raw and real, and it sent your thoughts spiraling. Was this his first time being with someone since the 1940s? Had he been with anyone before you, and if so, had it been because he wanted to or because he felt he had to? Was he doing this now because he truly wanted to, or was he trying to make you happy?

You couldn’t bear the idea of pushing him into something he wasn’t ready for. Bucky had endured enough of that in his lifetime, and the thought of being another source of pressure made your chest tighten.

“Buck,” you said again, your voice steady despite the knot of nerves coiling in your stomach. “You know we don’t have to do this, right? If you’re not ready, or you don’t want to…” You swallowed hard, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “I’ll wait. As long as you need. No pressure.”

“Doll—” His voice was closer than you expected, and when you looked up, you realized he’d stepped into your space, the broad expanse of his chest now just inches away. His lips quirked into a soft, amused smile. “We joke about you stealing my virtue, but you’re really starting to make it sound like you think I’m some blushing virgin.”

Your cheeks burned as you stammered, “I know you’re no Steve Rogers!”

That drew a genuine laugh from him, low and warm, the sound reverberating through your chest. The corners of your lips tugged upward despite yourself, his laughter disarming you in the best way.

“He’d hate that, you know?” he said, shaking his head slightly, the teasing glint in his eyes softened by the affection in his voice.

You couldn’t help but lean into him, your body moving of its own accord as your lips brushed his in a tentative kiss. “I’m serious, though,” you murmured against him. “I just needed to make sure.”

Bucky’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone in a tender caress that made your heart stutter. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to,” he said, his voice low and steady, his gaze locked on yours.

“Good, that’s good,” you whispered, feeling the possessive press of his hand on your waist. Your voice dropped, trembling slightly as you asked, “Can I touch you now?”

His breath caught, and a low chuckle escaped him, the sound rumbling through your chest. “Go on, doll,” he said, his tone a mix of awe and hunger. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a maddeningly light kiss.

Your hand slid into his hair as you chassi his lips, your fingers tangling in the soft, dark strands as you tugged him closer. “Thank God,” you breathed, the words barely audible before your lips crashed into his.

This kiss was different—deeper, fiercer. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a claim, a declaration, and he met it with a raw intensity that left you breathless. His body pressed you firmly against the door, his broad frame caging you in. His hands roamed over you, heat and cold mixing as his metal arm skimmed your side while his flesh hand gripped your waist.

The contrast made you shiver, your body arching into him instinctively. His thigh pressed between your legs, the pressure slow and deliberate, creating a friction that made your breath hitch and your eyes flutter closed. A soft gasp escaped your lips as his mouth found your neck, his kisses trailing fire along your skin. He moved with a purposeful intensity, his lips and teeth teasing your sensitive flesh until you felt your entire body alight.

You couldn’t stop the soft, needy sounds spilling from your throat, each one seemingly spurring him on. Your hands gripped his shoulders desperately, like you were anchoring yourself to him.

When his hands gripped your hips, pulling you tighter against his thigh, your gasp turned into a sharp inhale, the delicious friction pushing you closer to the edge of reason. The strength in his touch, the heat radiating from his body—it was all too much and yet not enough. You shifted against him, seeking more, your body moving of its own accord.

Your fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel him, and your touch grazed the warm, firm muscles of his back. He froze for a moment, a quiet hitch in his breath that you barely caught over your own heartbeat. Then, in a deliberate move, he caught your wrists and guided your hands down his chest, sliding under the fabric of his henley and pressing them firmly to his abdomen.

Your fingers splayed against his skin, exploring every ridge and contour of muscle beneath your palms. The heat of his body seemed to burn through you, and with an urgency you couldn’t suppress, you tugged his shirt up and over his head.

You took a moment, your lips brushing down the side of his neck and shoulder to where vibranium met flesh, kissing the junction reverently. His hand slid into your hair, his grip firm but careful, as though he wasn’t sure whether to pull you closer or let you explore at your own pace.

Your lips followed the path down his torso, pressing kisses over his chest, across his abdomen, and lower still until you found yourself on your knees before him. His breath hitched audibly, the sound loud in the quiet intimacy of your room.

You reached for the buckle of his belt, fingers fumbling slightly as you undid it, followed by the button and zipper of his jeans. The anticipation was electric, every movement deliberate yet tinged with a nervous excitement.

“Can you kick your shoes off for me?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

A soft laugh rumbled from him, low and indulgent, as he complied, toeing off his boots and kicking them aside. The quiet thuds they made against the floor only heightened the tension, your heart pounding as you pressed a kiss to his hip, just above the waistband of his jeans—a silent thank-you that made his fingers tighten on the back your hair.

You tugged his jeans down his legs, your hands brushing against his strong thighs as the fabric pooled at his feet. His fingers smoothed your hair, pulling only a bit to tilt your head back until your eyes met his. His gaze burned with a desire you felt in every fiber of your being.

“Come up here,” he ordered, his voice low and rough, igniting a fresh wave of heat through you. You glanced down his body, your gaze lingering shamelessly on the obvious outline beneath his pants. A teasing smile played on your lips as your fingers flirted with the waistband of his underwear.

His grip on your hair tightened in response, not painful but firm, and you let out a soft, protesting whine, surrendering as he pulled you back up. The motion was effortless for him, his strength a constant reminder of the power he held but never used without care. He gathered you against his chest, both hands slipping beneath your shirt to press against the bare skin of your back. His touch was searing, grounding you as his breath tickled your temple.

“Can I take this off?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the clasp of your bra, the request making your stomach flip.

“You can do anything you want to me,” you whispered, the words carrying more weight than you anticipated. You swayed against him as he lifted your shirt halfway, exposing your stomach to the cool air. His lips were on you immediately, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the newly revealed skin, the contrast of heat and cold making you shiver.

“There’s a lot…” he began, his voice trailing off as his mouth moved lower, nuzzling and kissing the curve of your waist. Each touch felt worshipful, like he was committing every part of you to memory. He kissed up, his lips finding the edge of your bra, a faint smile ghosting over his face as he took in the delicate lace and mesh of your chosen set.

“Thank God for small mercies,” you thought, silently praising your past self for the decision.

Bucky seemed to share the sentiment, his nose brushing over the swell of your breasts as he let out a low, appreciative hum. “There’s a lot I want to do…” His voice was raspier now, tinged with a raw hunger that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You can do it,” you urged, your voice trembling slightly with anticipation. When his hands finished pulling your shirt over your head, discarding it onto the growing pile of clothes, you finally gave in, letting your fingers brush against the front of his underwear, earning a grunt in response.

“Anything you want,” you repeated, your breath hitching as his lips trailed over the lace, closing around a hardened nipple. His hands roamed your back, steady and sure, and the fire in your veins threatened to consume you when he popped open the clasp, letting the garment fall down your shoulders before he pulled it away. “Careful what you promise,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin. His words were playful, but his touch was anything but as he laved a tongue across the swell of your breasts, teeth dragging over the nubs eagerly.

By the time you were both on the bed, his underpants were the only thing separating you, and you were certain you had become an addict to the feeling of Bucky’s lips on your bare skin. He kissed you like he waited all his life to learn every curve, every sound, every texture and every taste, tongue dragging over every new inch of skin like he couldn’t decide whether he’d had enough or wanted more, just a bit more of certain parts of you.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but admire the strength of his body. The scars—each one a story of battles fought, of time passed—marked his skin like a map, telling tales of pain, survival, and resilience. You were pretty sure your need for him could rival his own - you couldn’t tire of watching the way he explored you, of looking and touching and tasting every line of muscle and stretch of smooth and scarred skin.

Bucky exhaled sharply when your fingers traced the jagged line where vibranium met flesh, his eyes closing for a moment. His flesh hand was warm around your thigh as he spread your legs to fit between them, while the cold of his other arm supported his weight above you.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” You whispered, emotion clogging your throat as you gently traced the scar on his shoulder. Tears threatened to well up, but you blinked them away, offering him a soft smile when you met his gaze. “I always thought you’d never even look at me. You’re so... I guess I’m lucky,” you added with a soft laugh, leaning up to place a delicate kiss on his scarred shoulder.

He froze for a moment, a look of quiet admiration crossing his features. “Lucky,” he murmured, his hand dragging up your leg, your stomach and your torso to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. “I’m the lucky one.”

You couldn’t find your words as the heat of his tongue found your ribcage, the skin beneath your belly button and the inside of your thigh. You were dripping, shaking from head to toe when his fingers abandoned your thigh to drag between your parted legs.

Bucky eyes followed the drag of his middle finger over your slit and you gulped loudly, breathing picking up right against his ear. He held his own as he stroked you, feeling you out, learning you, and he groaned when he dipped a digit in, feeling you flutter around his finger.

“That’s good,” he praised, taking a deep breath. “Really good, doll. Doing good for me. You’re so–“ wet. You were so wet you could hear yourself as he circled against your entrance and up, dragging over your clit in a teasing motion that made you dig your teeth into your bottom lip. Bucky’s focus was razor-sharp, every touch deliberate and careful, testing the waters before he fully dived in. The way his fingers teased your entrance—pressing just enough before gliding inside and pulling back out—drew a gasp from your lips, a sound that made his eyes darken. He gripped the headboard with his free hand, steadying himself, the gears of the vibranium shifting to adjust, and the sheer sight of him above you sent a fresh wave of heat through your body.

Your mind was a haze, swimming in the sensation of his rough fingers curling just so, finding every nerve that made you shiver and gasp. His movements were maddeningly precise—spreading you open, circling your clit in featherlight touches before plunging back inside. You couldn’t keep still, your hips moving instinctively to meet him, chasing the edge you were desperate to find.

“I can’t—” you gasped, your breath hitching as his thumb added pressure over your clit while his fingers pressed deeper, to the knuckle. You turned your face toward him, seeking his lips, but all you could manage was a stuttering breath that burned in your chest. “Fuck, Bucky, please don’t stop—”

His weight was grounding, but his hand between your thighs was all-consuming, working you open with the kind of slow, purposeful rhythm that made it impossible to think. When he added a third finger, the stretch was enough to make you cry out, your back arching off the mattress as his palm pressed against your most sensitive spot.

For a second, you thought you lost him—his gaze was transfixed on where his fingers disappeared in and out of you, his jaw slacking as if he couldn’t quite believe it. He licked his lips, and his chest heaved with shallow breaths, his pupils blown wide in a hungry gaze as his thumb brushed tighter slick circles against you.

And then it clicked. You saw it in the way his expression shifted—his eyes darkening further, his throat working as he swallowed hard. He was feeling it too: how warm and wet you were around his fingers, how tight you’d be when it was finally his cock stretching you instead.

“Fuck—” The word fell from his lips, rough and wrecked, his voice full of disbelief and want. He shifted slightly, the volume of his cock brushing against your thigh, hot and heavy even through the thin barrier of his boxers. The contact sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for him.

“Bucky…” you pleaded, your voice breaking as you tugged him closer by the back of his neck. “Please, please, baby, don’t stop—it feels so good—”

The groan that tore from his throat was primal, vibrating against your lips as he kissed you, messy and desperate. The sound of your voice—of your need—only spurred him on. His fingers shifted angle, finding the spot inside you that made your vision blur, and the sharp moan that left your lips was loud enough to make you blush. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you worried about your neighbors, but the thought was fleeting as his movements pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your lips, the words sending a jolt through you. His pace quickened, his palm grinding against you, and you clenched around his fingers, your body tightening as pleasure coiled low in your belly and you reached down to wrap a hand around his wrist. “Good girl, that’s it… you’re close, aren’t you?”

His name fell from your lips like a prayer as you tipped over the edge, the tension inside you snapping as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he groaned again, his forehead pressing to yours as he worked you through it, every stroke deliberate, savoring the way you fell apart beneath him.

Your head spun, a dizzying haze of pleasure still clinging to you like a second skin. Your body trembled, every nerve alight, as Bucky’s weight pressed into you, grounding you back to reality. His flesh hand—warm, calloused—dragged down your side, leaving a trail of sticky wetness in its wake. He squeezed your ass, his grip firm, possessive, and you shuddered, your breath hitching as his voice cut through the fog.

“Doll—” His voice was low, rough, and you blinked up at him, lips parted, chest heaving. His eyes were dark, hungry, and you could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, demanding attention.

Your hands, still trembling, fumbled with the waistband of his underwear, eager to feel him, to touch him. He groaned and helped you push the fabric down, kneeling between your spread legs to rid himself of the last barrier between you. You sat up, your hands roaming over his torso, tracing the ridges of his muscles, your lips following the same path, leaving a scorching trail down his side.

You licked the crease of his hipbone, your tongue teasing, and your hand wrapped around his cock, feeling him twitch in your grip. He was big, bigger than you had estimated, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think he was beautiful, a vein running down the underside of him that made you want to lean in and follow its path with your tongue. Pre-cum leaked from his tip and his breath hitched, shaky and uneven, as you stroked him once, twice, the fluid slicking your movements, your thumb pressing to the sensitive head and making him shudder in response.

“N-no, c’mon, doll—” Bucky’s voice was strained, his hips jerking involuntarily as you tightened your grip. “Don’t—”

“You just touched me,” you argued, your voice breathless, defiant. You looked up at him, your eyes locking, and he tipped your head back by your chin, his hands tangling in your hair. His kiss was desperate, hungry, his tongue claiming your mouth as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

The difference between his human hand and the vibranium one sent shivers down your spine, the contrast in their grip making you clench around nothing, your body craving him.

“I won’t last,” Bucky confessed, his voice rough. He bit your bottom lip, thensting making you gasp, before he dragged his mouth down your jaw, your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. “I won’t last if you keep going, and I’d really—” He paused, his teeth grazing your collarbone, his hands tightening in your hair. “...really like to get inside you.”

His words sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you whimpered, your body arching toward him. “Do we need a condom? Do you have one?” you asked breathlessly, allowing him to push you back against the soft sheets. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as he hovered above you, his warm breath ghosting over your skin.

He hesitated, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he shook his head. “No,” he murmured, his forehead dropping to rest against your bare shoulder. You could feel the weight of his frustration, and it made your heart ache just a little for him.

Gently, you traced your fingers along the back of his neck, offering comfort. “Didn’t really think we’d–” he began, but you interrupted him.

“I don’t have any either,” you admitted softly, turning your face to press a kiss to his cheekbone, then to the bridge of his nose, before finally capturing his lips in a tender kiss. “But I’m on the pill. Birth control,” you clarified, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze, even as both of you lay exposed to one another, unguarded and vulnerable. “And I wouldn’t mind… having you bare.”

“Sometimes I think you are trying to kill me,” Bucky breathed out, his voice thick with a mix of desire and exasperation. He pressed his pelvis between your legs, eliciting a soft whine from deep within you as you felt his length drag tantalizingly against your slick folds.

“I’m just trying to find a solution,” you argued playfully, rolling your hips against him, your eyes fluttering shut as pleasure coursed through you. “Imagine how good it’d feel…”

He groaned softly, the sound reverberating in the quiet of the room, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t have to… I can already feel it,” he whispered, sending shivers down your spine.

“Please, Buck… stop teasing me,” you begged, the sound light and teasing, and it quickly melted into a moan as he pressed closer, his warmth enveloping you completely, his length gliding between your folds, the head of his cock bumping your sensitive clit. “Please… I just asked you to fuck me without a condom,” you shook your head at yourself, a hint of disbelief in your voice. “I’ve never done that.”

Bucky pulled back slightly, his intense gaze searching yours, admiration flashing across his features. “Really?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe the words himself. There was an unspoken question in his eyes, one that had lingered between you both since that first night: Do you really trust me that much?

The question wasn’t just in his words; it was in the way his fingers trembled against your skin, in the way he tried to pace the both of you, as if afraid to make a mistake and ruin everything between you. The vulnerability in his posture was unmistakable—this man, who had lived through so much, was now allowing himself to be here, with you, in this moment of pure intimacy, and he wanted to be sure you wouldn’t regret it.

You swallowed hard, the weight of it all settling over you like a heavy blanket. Your heart beat so loudly in your chest that it felt like it was echoing in the room. Your gaze softened, fingers brushing over the rough edges of his jaw, feeling the tension there.

“You know I trust you, Buck,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. “Right?”

The space between you closed and with renewed urgency, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him to you, feeling the heat radiating from him. “Get in me,” you breathed, your voice a mix of determination and reassurance. “I want you in me.”

Bucky nodded, his breath quickening. You hadn’t quite finished this conversation - there was still so much you both needed to say - but you let your hand glide between your bodies, fingers gently wrapping around his cock to line him up to your entrance. You gave an encouraging and experimental roll of your hips, making both of you moan at the sensation, and he replaced your hand with his own, pressing forward until you could feel the pressure of him splitting you open.

“We’ll have to take it slow,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “I’m not sure how much I can– holy fuck.”

His cock slipped in, inch by inch, into your welcoming heat and your eyes couldn’t decide where to focus - on where you were connected, his length and girth stretching you little by little as he fucked in and pulled back just to press in deeper, or on his face. You saw seventeen different emotions rearrange his features, from awe, to torture, to delight and back to awe again as he watched himself sink in.

“Look at you,” Bucky breathed out, thumb reaching to circle your clit. “Taking me so well…” he praised, eyes fleeting up to yours. “Think you can spread your legs a little further for me, doll? Come on, just so I ca— fuck me, there it is, good girl,” he sounded delirious and you were pretty sure you’d too, if you could speak. He’d bottomed out inside of you, his eyes fluttering shut seconds later, the vein on his neck strained as he took in deep, steadying breaths.

The burn was maddening. You could feel every inch of his against your pulsing walls, the sensation of fullness now overwhelming to the point of tears. You felt him in your stomach, and you could hear the wetness of your heat when he shifted, letting out a guttural moan.

“J-James—“ you breathed out and he shuddered, pressing him hips tighter against yours, as if he could meld your bodies together even though there was nowhere else to go, no more of him to bury inside you. “Shit, you’re gonna split me open,” you gasped, a bewildered laugh slipping out of you.

You watched as he pulled himself together, eyes squeezing shut to try and focus and find his own voice again. “Does it hurt? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, pressing a kiss and then another to his lips and you nodded when his hips rolled involuntarily. “Yes, yes, please… that’s what I want,” you nodded eagerly.

There was no hesitation then, no careful restraint. Bucky Barnes, the man who so often kept himself in check, was utterly and completely unleashed. The realization sent a thrill racing through you, leaving you breathless, aching, and yearning for more.

His hips snapped and your head rolled back, hands tightening around his torso as he picked up a rhythm that had yours toes curling in no time. In and out, he stroked your walls, his free hand gripping your body possessively until you were sure he’d leave bruises, which only made you wetter and more desperate.

“You’re so deep,” you cried out when he pressed in to hilt and took a moment to breathe in, no space between your bodies. “I can feel you in my s-stomach.”

“Would get deeper if I could,” he’s a man possessed and when you look up at him, he looks as pussy drunk as he sounds. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, doll…”

“Oh my g—“ You choke, head falling back onto the pillow, eyes on the ceiling and lips parted around a shaky breath. “James—“

His reaction was instant, as if each letter of his name was a strand of the thread you tugged, unraveling him completely. He pressed his face to your neck then, snapping his hips with bruising force, making your breath stutter.

“Say it again,” he pleads, his voice a raw, desperate melody you wish you could capture—something to cling to in his absence. It resonates deep within you, tugging at the very core of your being, as if he’s not just claiming your body but binding your soul to his. “Please, doll…”

“James,” you offer willingly, rolling your hips to meet his. “I need you to cum, baby,” you beg, pressing your lips to his sweaty forehead. Your bodies are slick with it as well, your hand slipping down his broad back and you close your mouth around his shoulder, tasting the salt of his skin on your tongue.

Bucky shakes his head then and he’s silent for a few moments, lost to the feeling of your slick walls. “You first,” he urges, pressing needy kisses down your neck and chest. “I wanna feel it… feel you cum around my cock.”

“Buck—-“

“It’s James,” he commands, pulling back enough so he can glide a hand between your bodies, his thumb pressing to your clit. “You’ll call me James when I’m inside you. You understand, doll?”

“Y-yes,” you nod and your face contorts with pleasure, a desperate gasp for air sounding between you as you try to fill your burning lungs.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, James."

His touch is sending you barreling down the edge and no matter how hard you try, there is no holding back. You feel it, white hot pleasure burning hotter and tighter low in your belly, your walls clenching around his member until you’re shaking and unable to meet his movements.

“I’m gonna c-cum—“ you warned, grateful for the way he’s pressing you down, grinding and adding more pressure to your clit. “Shit, J-James, baby, please!”

He never stops. Not until you’re shaking and he can feel you unraveling around him, your orgasm taking over with a violent force that takes you both by surprise. It makes you louder, your back arching off of the mattress and into his chest, your thighs snapping shut against his sides as you unravel.

“Shit!” Bucky gasps, dropping on top of you, pinning you down until you don’t know where he ends and you begin, your thighs shaking and toes curling.

Your sight is dotted with stars and you can barely speak to urge him on when he crosses the finish line, ecstasy taking over with no warning. His blue eyes roll back and you feel and hear him thrusting once, twice, three times, until his cock is twitching and pressed in to the hilt, his warm cum coating your walls. It oozes out of you in it's intensity and it makes you shiver at the primal feeling of ownership it sends through your body.“Shit, shit, I’m s-sorry—“

“I wanted it,” you confess, your arms and legs wrapping around him like a human cage. Not that it could hold him—one tug, one flick of his wrist, and you’d be undone. But he stays put, sinking into your embrace like he belongs there, his weight pressing into you, heavy and grounding. He’s your personal weighted blanket, if weighted blankets were also devastatingly handsome and extremely good in bed. Not that you could ever say that to him out loud.

The room is still buzzing with the aftermath—your mingled breaths, the faint hum of your heartbeats syncing. He presses soft, almost worshipful kisses wherever his lips can reach: your shoulder, your collarbone, that tender spot just below your jaw that makes you shiver.

The silence stretches, comfortable and lazy, until you finally break it. “What a mouth you’ve got on you, Mr. Barnes,” you tease, your nails tracing idle patterns along the muscled expanse of his back. “I had no idea.”

He snorts, the sound low and gravelly in your ear, getting more and more common the longer you spend time together. There’s a glint in his eye when he pulls back just enough to look at you. “What can I say?” he drawls. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Oh, I bet you are,” you retort, your grin matching his.

His hand moves lightning-quick, pinching your waist with pinpoint accuracy. You squeal, swatting at him, but he’s already laughing, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest, crinkles by his eyes making the blue sparkle brighter.

“Careful,” he warns playfully, his lips quirking up into a dangerous smile. “Keep that up, and I might have to show you a few tricks up my sleeve.”

You narrow your eyes, biting back a laugh. “Big talk for someone who’s currently trapped in my hold.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Trapped? Doll, you’ve got this all wrong… I’m exactly where I want to be.”

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #james buchanan barnes #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fiction

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vunblr · 27 days ago

Text

The Price of Silence (Blue-collar Bucky #1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex. Dirty talk.

Summary: Porn with a little plot, what can I say.

Word Count: 9k.

notes: None. Just filth.

The world had shifted after the Blip, mutated into something unrecognizable. Bucky had learned to survive in chaos, but survival wasn’t the same as living. His government-mandated therapy sessions had been a performance. A carefully crafted facade to prove he was “reformed,” that the Winter Soldier was no longer a threat. It worked. The government gave him the pardon he’d been promised and promptly forgot about him.

Finding a job had been the first hurdle. The Blip had flooded the workforce, and employers weren’t keen on hiring a man with his history, no matter how clean his record now appeared on paper. The rejection became a pattern, confirming what he already suspected, there was no place for him here.

But the construction site didn’t care who he was. They didn’t ask questions when he showed up looking for work. His enhanced strength made him an asset. Moving steel beams, hauling concrete, cutting down hours of labor with what he could do in minutes. He worked silently, head down, invisible among the noise of drills and heavy machinery. On Fridays, he got his paycheck and a little extra for the tasks only he could do.

The city still treated him like a ghost. People stared, whispered, or crossed the street when they recognized him. He didn’t hide his arm anymore; he let the matte black vibranium gleam under the sun. Let them look, let them flinch. It didn’t matter anymore.

The tattoos had started as a cruel inner joke. The red star below his clavicle had been his first, an ironic reminder of the weight he carried. It hurt like hell, his serum-enhanced skin required tebori, the old Japanese hand-poking technique, to get the ink to stick. The pain didn’t bother him. If anything, it made him feel alive, comforting him in ways the therapy never had. Over time, more tattoos joined the collection, sprawling over his arms, chest, and back. A physical map of what he’d endured, what he wanted to forget, and what he knew he never could.

The nose piercing came on a whim. A flicker of rebellion against expectations, though no one had any for him anymore.

The monotony of construction work became his new routine. It was predictable. Safe, in a way. Until one Monday, the foreman sent him to pick up the crew’s lunch order, a task usually assigned to Stephen, who was out sick. A small errand, a minor inconvenience.

He didn’t expect it to change anything. But then again, nothing ever went as planned.

----

The bell above the door jingled softly as Bucky stepped inside. The smell hit him first: fresh bread, sugar, and butter mingling in the warm air. It was... comforting. He blinked, adjusting his eyes to the dimmer light of the bakery after the bright glare of the sun outside.

The place was small but welcoming, with neatly arranged baskets of bread on shelves and a glass display case showcasing pastries that looked too delicate for his rough hands. He pulled off the working gloves he’d forgotten he was still wearing, shoving them into the back pocket of his worn jeans. His vibranium fingers glinted faintly in the soft light, but he didn’t care who noticed.

Behind the counter, she looked up from where she was restocking some pastries, offering a bright smile the moment she saw him. “Hi there! What can I get for you?”

He froze for half a second. People didn’t usually smile at him like that. Don’t usually smile at him at all. Period. He cleared his throat and glanced around, suddenly unsure of how to navigate this. “I’m here for the construction crew’s order.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded. “Right, the sandwiches,” she said, moving behind the counter to grab the large paper bag already packed and ready. “Stephen’s usual pick-up, huh? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“No,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on the countertop. “He’s out sick. They sent me instead.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, sliding the bag onto the counter. “You’re working on that new apartment building, right?” Her tone was bright and conversational. “Big project”

He nodded, unsure of how to respond. People avoided small talk with him, and he was usually glad. His appearance purposely did much of the trick but she was treating him like a normal customer, with no hesitation, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

“Do you want anything for yourself?” she asked suddenly, leaning her hands on the counter. “Coffee, maybe a juice? It’s on the house for you guys, you are spiking out incomes.” She winked.

He blinked, caught off guard. “No. I’m fine.”

Her smile didn’t waver. If anything, it softened, like she could sense his discomfort but didn’t want to make a big deal of it. “You sure? You look like you’ve been out in the sun all day. Hydration’s important, you know.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile, though he didn’t let it form. “I’m fine,” he repeated, less harsh this time.

“Alright,” she said, stepping back with a small shrug. “If you change your mind, let me know. No rush.”

That threw him even more. No rush. No expectation for him to hurry up and leave. He picked up the bag, mumbling a gruff, “Thanks,” before turning to go.

But something made him glance back before stepping outside.

Fuck it. He wanted juice, and she offered. Also, she was nice to look at. “Actually, yeah. I could drink some juice before heading back if the offer’s still on,” he half-smiled.

Her head tilted slightly, and a playful look flashed in her eyes. “Of course! What kind of juice do you like? Orange, apple, maybe something else?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck with his metal hand. The hoop in his nose glinted under the bakery’s light as he shifted slightly. “Uh… orange?”

She set the bottle in front of him. “There you go.

He nodded, twisting the cap off and taking a sip. The cold, tangy juice was a welcomed sharp contrast to the sweltering heat outside, and he found himself relaxing just a fraction.

“You guys must be working like crazy out there in this heat,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning casually on the counter. “I mean, you’re probably used to it, but still, it can’t be fun.”

“It’s work,” Bucky replied simply, glancing at her. He expected her to press and ask more questions, but instead, she nodded like she understood.

“Well, here’s hoping Stephen feels better soon,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “But if they send you back, I wouldn’t mind. You’re a lot less grumpy than him.”

That caught him off guard, and his lips twitched into the faintest ghost of a grin. “I’ll let him know you said that.”

Her eyes widened in mock horror, and she let out a warm, easy laugh. “Oh, no, don’t you dare! I can’t handle more of his attitude. He’s bad enough already.”

Bucky tilted his head, leaning one elbow on the counter, the edge of a smirk ghosting across his face. “Maybe you could persuade me to stay silent,” he said, dropping his voice slightly.

She froze for half a second, her brows shooting up as the teasing in her expression turned to something a bit more curious. Then she leaned forward, resting her hands on the counter, playfully. “Oh, really? And what exactly would that take?”

Shit. His brain stalled. He could feel the weight of her gaze, the way she was waiting for him to respond. His mouth opened, then closed again, his thoughts scrambling for something -anything- that wouldn’t sound like the mess of half-baked flirting swirling in his head. Finally, he muttered, “Uh… garlic bread. That might do the trick.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, and for a second, she just stared at him like she was trying to decide if he was serious. Then, she burst into laughter again, her head tilting back slightly as the sound filled the space between them. “Garlic bread, huh? That’s the bribe of choice?”

He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck as the tips of his ears burned, pretending to fuss with the juice bottle. Yeah, maybe he really did need to work on his social skills.

The thing was, he usually didn’t have problems getting laid. A bold woman with a venturous streak might approach him at a bar or whatever dimly lit hole-in-the-wall he happened to be in, probably looking for an anecdote to share later: I hooked up with the Winter Soldier. And he didn’t care. He wasn’t a monk. If a touch on the arm, a whispered suggestion, or a couple of drinks got him laid, he went with it. The bar’s bathroom, a dark alley, it didn’t matter. It was impersonal, and mechanical.

Was he a manwhore? Probably. But after everything they did to him, every time his body had been used for someone else’s agenda, he couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. Sex, when it happened, was more transaction than connection. An itch scratched, and nothing more.

This was different. This wasn’t the haze of dim lights and alcohol. It wasn’t the brazen touch of someone who wanted something from him in a questionable pub. It was broad daylight, with no pretense, and she wasn’t throwing herself at him or giving him a shortcut to the finish line. She was throwing the ball back in his court, expecting him to make an effort, to do the work.

And his brain? It shut down. Completely.

He stared at her, watching the way her laughter softened into a teasing smile, and her hands rested lightly on the counter as if she didn’t realize she’d just short-circuited every social skill he thought he had left. She wasn’t avoiding his gaze or putting on a mask of bravery. If anything, she was waiting. Waiting for him to say something, to do something.

Instead, he just stood there like an idiot, gripping the juice bottle like a lifeline. Luckily -or not- the bell above the door jingled, cutting through the charged silence as another customer entered.

Her eyes flicked to the door, and her expression shifted quickly. “Duty calls,” she said lightly, tilting her head toward the counter as if to excuse herself. And just like that, she was gone, leaving him standing there like a misplaced piece of furniture near the small counter where the juice bottles were displayed.

The man who walked in looked like he belonged somewhere with air conditioning and private elevators. His tailored suit practically screamed money, and the glossy sheen of his expensive shoes didn’t have so much as a speck of dust on them. He pivoted past Bucky without sparing him a second glance, as if he didn’t even register the scruffy guy in worn jeans and a tank top standing there.

“Muffin,” the man greeted her with a tone that was just a hair too familiar.

Bucky noticed the subtle shift in her body language instantly. The confidence she’d carried moments ago was gone, replaced by stiffness in her shoulders and a forced smile on her face. “Good afternoon, Matt,” she replied, politely but devoid of warmth. “The usual?”

‘Matt’ smiled -a smarmy, self-satisfied smirk that made Bucky’s fingers tighten on the juice. “I’d add your delicious buns, but usually…”

Wait. Was this asshole actually implying-?

Her response was immediate, cutting him off before he could finish. “Yeah, as per usual, they’re not for sale,” she said, deflecting with a practiced ease. “Anything else, Matt?”

“I’ve been thinking, Muffin,” he drawled, leaning casually on the counter like he owned the place. “Maybe one of these days, you and I could share a coffee. I’m sure there’s more to you than just your delicious baking skills.” He smirked, trailing his eyes just a little too long to be anything but suggestive.

Something in Bucky snapped. Maybe it was the fact that she was uncomfortable, or perhaps because he was -horrendously- flirting with her first, maybe it was his stupid confidence, the heat, or just his crappy week. So he stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “Hey,” he said in a low tone, looking directly at the man in a suit. “You holding up the line or something?”

Matt blinked, caught off guard by the interruption. His eyes flicked to Bucky, narrowing slightly as he took in the scruffy man standing there, all broad shoulders and quiet menace. “Excuse me?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, and his gaze became cold and unwavering. “Just saying, some of us have places to be. Thought maybe you’d want to keep it moving.”

Matt scoffed, straightening his tie like it would help him regain some sense of control. “Maybe you should mind your own business, pal,”

Bucky didn’t even blink. His tone didn’t rise, didn’t waver, but the edge on it sharpened. “See, that’s the thing. You embarrassing yourself in front of the clerk here is my business since I’ve got an order to pick up, and you’re wasting my time.”

The room felt smaller somehow, the tension thickened the air as Matt stared at him, clearly debating whether or not to push his luck.

Bucky just stood there, unflinching, with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was daring him to try.

“Fine,” Matt muttered, grabbing his order from the counter with a sharp motion. He threw a glance at her, his tone clipped. “I’ll see you around, Muffin.”

“Sure thing, Matt.”

The bell jingled sharply as he stormed out, leaving the tension lingering in the air like a bad aftertaste.

Bucky turned his gaze to her, and his expression softened slightly. “Sorry if I overstepped,” he said gruffly, holding her gaze for a moment longer than he intended.

She exhaled, easing the tightness in her shoulders as she offered him a small smile. “Don’t apologize. He’s been like that for years; he is the owner’s cousin.” Then, with a hint of humor, she added, “Thank you. That was... satisfying to watch.”

“Glad to be of service,” he said, dryly but with the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Now I can brag I’ve been saved by the Winter Soldier,” she teased, playfully.

He froze, and the smirk vanished instantly as his eyes darted to hers, startled. “What?”.

She shrugged, utterly unbothered by his reaction. “It’s hard not to notice. You’re not exactly hiding it.” She said, looking towards his vibranium arm. Then she nodded toward his shoulder, where the red star tattoo was starkly visible against his skin. “Nice touch, by the way.”

He blinked, caught off guard. Well, yes, he’d never intended to hide it. Hell, he wanted people to see it. But hearing her point it out so openly about that, caught him off guard. “Thanks,” he muttered, in almost a grumble, absently brushing his hand over his foreshoulder.

He shifted the bag of sandwiches in his grip, glancing toward the door. “I should probably get back,” he commented gruffly, as the air suddenly felt too tight for him.

“Of course,” she said, stepping back to give him room. “Wouldn’t want you getting stuck saving anyone else today.”

That earned her a faint twitch of his lips, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “See you around,” he muttered, already heading for the door.

-----

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. She served the usual customers, greeted the familiar faces, and kept herself busy with the daily rush. But in the quiet moments when she was restocking shelves or wiping down the counter, her thoughts drifted to him. He was barely recognizable under the layers of tattoos, the nose piercing, and the rough, scruffy demeanor. Nothing like the man she vaguely remembered seeing on TV years ago. Yet, the arm was unmistakable.

She found herself daydreaming about their brief encounter more than once, imagining the sharp blue of his eyes focused on her, like a storm always brewing just beneath the surface.

---

By Thursday, Bucky couldn’t resist the pull. He’d spent most of his life denying himself anything remotely indulgent, always practical, always keeping his head down. But this time, he decided he could allow himself a little something, a treat from the bakery.

Well, if he was being honest, it wasn’t really about the pastries. The thought of seeing her again crossed his mind more than he cared to admit. There was something about the way she spoke to him, the way she smiled like he was just another guy standing at her counter, not a former assassin with blood on his hands. It unnerved him, but it also intrigued him.

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside. She was at the counter, chatting with a customer who was just leaving. When she glanced up and saw him, her expression brightened.

He felt his chest tighten slightly at the sight. Damn it, what the hell was he even doing here?

“Hi! Already coming to collect your bribe?” she teased, her tone laced with playful mischief, a brow arched as she leaned her elbows on the counter.

For a moment, Bucky just stared, caught off guard. Right. The garlic bread. His pathetic excuse at flirting. He shifted his weight while his mind scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot. Manning up, he found his voice.

“Yeah,” he said in a lower, rougher tone. “Came to collect what’s mine.” He let the words hung in the air, deliberately, with unmistakable implication.

Her eyes widened slightly, but not with hesitation. No, she didn’t back down. Instead, she quirked a brow, twitching her lips like she was fighting back a smirk. “Well,” she began, “I was just about to take my break. Perhaps…” She leaned forward just slightly, resting her forearms on the counter, “we can discuss the terms of your payment in the back? You know, the bread and... whatever you have in mind to assure your cooperation.”

For a moment, he froze, caught completely off guard. There was no way he was reading this wrong. Was there?

She tilted her head, waiting, the amusement flickered in her eyes as if daring him to make the next move.

Bucky cleared his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of himself and his surroundings. The way his fingers gripped the edge of the counter, how his tanktop clung to his sweated skin, the hum of the refrigerator behind him, even the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the bakery air. “That so?” he managed, trying to sound unfazed, though he wasn’t sure he pulled it off entirely.

Her half smile widened, and she straightened, grabbing a small set of keys from behind the counter. “It is,” she replied simply. “Back door’s that way.” She gestured toward the far end of the shop, where a narrow hallway led to what he assumed was the staff area.

He hesitated, trying to gauge if this was really happening or if she was just messing with him. But there was no sign of mockery, no indication she was about to laugh at his expense. Instead, she turned and walked toward the back, throwing him a glance over her shoulder that felt like a challenge.

His legs moved before his brain could catch up, following her lead. Whatever was about to happen, he figured he’d see it through.

After the door closed behind him with a soft click, Bucky became painfully aware of the contrast between them. She stood there in her neat uniform, the pale beige fabric brushing just above her knees, paired with the frilly brown apron tied snugly around her waist. Her scent hit him, something warm and sweet, like vanilla and sugar, mingling faintly with a subtle hint of floral perfume.

And then there was him. Sweaty from the day’s work, his tank top clinging in spots, jeans dusty from the site, boots worn and scuffed. His hair was slightly damp from the heat, sticking to his neck in unruly strands, and the only thing remotely clean were his hands. He always made a point of washing them before leaving work, some ingrained habit of not wanting to spread the grime of his life any more than necessary.

He stood there, awkwardly shifting his weight as she set the keys on a small table by the wall, looking entirely at ease, like this wasn’t strange at all. Meanwhile, his heart was thudding against his ribs, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t fazed by the walking disaster in front of her.

“So,” she began, leaning against the edge of a small table, crossing her arms over her chest. Her tone was light and playful. “Shall we discuss the terms of your so-called payment?”

He cleared his throat. “You sure about this?” he muttered, gesturing vaguely to himself. She tilted her head, and a spark of amusement flashed across her face. “You mean to tell me you braved the heat, the dust, and possibly your dignity to come in here, and now you’re getting shy?”

His lips twitched despite himself, and the ghost of a smirk formed on his lips. “Not shy. Just... considerate.”

Her laugh was soft but genuine. “Well, aren’t you a gentleman,” she teased. “But if I had a problem with the way you look, I wouldn’t have let you back here, now would I?”

That threw him for a loop, and he found himself momentarily speechless, a rare occurrence. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing to the side as if searching for something to say. “Guess not,” he finally muttered.

“Good,” she said, pushing off the table and stepping closer. “Because I don’t mind sweaty construction workers who like garlic bread.”

He blinked, caught somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “That right?”

She nodded. “That’s right. Now, tell me. What’s the real reason you came back here?”

Her boldness disarmed him, but in a way that made him want to keep going, to see where this would lead. “Figured I’d try my luck,” he admitted, meeting her gaze.

“Well,” she said, softening her tone “seems like your luck might not be so bad after all.”

The way she looked at him then, confident, like she saw right through him and wasn’t the least bit fazed left Bucky feeling more exposed than any of his tattoos or scars ever could. He wasn’t used to this, to someone holding his gaze without hesitation, without fear or judgment. It stirred something deep in his chest, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

“Guess not,” he muttered, rougher than he intended, and he stepped closer without even realizing it. She didn’t back away.

She tilted her head, a playful quirk to her brow. “So, does this mean we’re negotiating now? Or are you just going to keep brooding at me until I hand over the garlic bread?”

That pulled a chuckle out of him, low and brief, but genuine. “You don’t quit, do you?”

“Not when it comes to getting what I want,” she said simply.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to her mouth for half a second before he caught himself and looked away, focusing on a random spot on the wall instead. “You’re bold,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Hmmm I’d say you like that,” she countered, her tone light but her eyes sharp, like she was testing him.

And she wasn’t wrong. He did like it. Maybe too much. It was the kind of boldness he wasn’t used to anymore, the kind that didn’t come with an ulterior motive or veiled fear. It was just... her, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, it had him drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward. She didn’t look away, didn’t fidget or try to fill the gap with empty chatter. She just waited, giving him space to make the next move.

“I’m not good at this,” he finally said.

“At what?” she asked like she could sense he wasn’t just talking about their little back-and-forth.

“Any of it,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Talking. People. This.”

Her lips curved into a small, understanding smile. “Lucky for you, I don’t need you to be good at anything. Just honest.”

His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous habit he hadn’t quite shaken.

“Well,” she said after a beat, stepping just a little closer, “if it helps, I think you’re doing fine so far.”

Bucky's gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there a little longer than he should have. The temptation to lean in, to close the distance was maddening and he swallowed hard.

Her voice cut through his thoughts, teasing and sharp. “Deciding your price?”

His eyes snapped back to hers. For a moment, he was thrown, like she’d read his mind and decided to call him out for it. Her expression wasn’t mocking, though. “Maybe I am.” the words left his mouth before he could overthink them.

She leaned a little closer, just enough to shrink the space between them. “And? What’s the verdict?”

For a second, all he could do was stare at her, at the way the corner of her mouth tilted up, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. His brain scrambled for something to say, anything that didn’t make him sound like an idiot.

“You’re making it hard to think,” he admitted finally, a dry edge to his tone that made her laugh softly.

“Good,” she shot back, tilting her head. “Means I’m doing my part in this negotiation. And you still haven’t named your price,” she said, dropping her voice just a fraction.

That did something to him, something that made his chest tighten and his palms itch. She was bold, fearless, not afraid to meet him where he was. Hell, maybe even a step ahead of him.

“Maybe it’s not something I can name,” he muttered, almost testing the waters as he took a slow step closer to her.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the playful glint in them softened. She didn’t move back, didn’t shy away. Instead, she held her ground. “Oh?” she murmured, her gaze never leaving his. “Then how are we supposed to settle this… negotiation?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, “I guess that depends on what you’re willing to offer.” he said, noting neither of them was willing to break the tension first.

Her answer came in the form of a step forward, closing the remaining gap between them. She tilted her up, and her voice dropped as she said, “I think you’re the one who needs to make the offer. After all, you’re the one collecting a bribe.”

That knocked him off balance for a fraction of a second, and he just stared at her.

Her laugh was soft, almost a hum, as she leaned back slightly, one hand coming to rest on her hip. “You don’t seem like the type to play coy,” she teased.

He felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck, though he forced himself to hold her gaze. “I’m not.”

"So?" she asked, flicking her gaze to his lips, her tone was challenging but soft, like she already knew the answer and just wanted to hear him say it.

That did it. His resolve snapped like a taut wire. Slowly, deliberately, he cradled the side of her neck with his vibranium hand, firm but careful, while his other hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

"So," he murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough, "I think I'll just take the rest of my payment. And then... maybe some more."

He closed the remaining distance, capturing her lips in a kiss that was neither tentative nor tender. It was demanding and unapologetic. Everything he couldn’t say in words poured into the connection.

She let out a small gasp, and her hands instinctively found their way to his chest clutching his tanktop. He took that as permission, deepening the kiss. The faint scent of flour and sugar mixed with something distinctly hers, made him a little dizzy, a little reckless. And for once, he let himself take what he wanted.

When he finally pulled back, resting his forehead lightly against hers, he caught the sight of her lips, slightly swollen, and her uneven breathing as she looked up at him. He wondered if he should stop there.

Then she did it. Her hand slid upward, fingers threading through his hair before fisting it lightly, pulling him closer with a confidence that sent a spark down his spine. She pressed herself against him, soft curves meeting the unyielding hardness of his chest, and that was it, he lost it.

A low, guttural sound escaped him as he claimed her lips again, this time with less restraint. The backroom faded away. No shelves, no counter, no lingering scent of baked goods. Just her. Her body, her warmth, her lips moving against his like she was just as lost in this as he was.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, her eyes were half-lidded as she stared up at him. She wetted her bottom lip. “Not bad.” she managed to breath.

“Still think I’m underpaid,” he shot back.

"Oh, I don’t take advantage of hard workers, sir," she said, low and teasing as her lips skimmed along his stubbled cheek. Her teeth nipped at the rough skin there, sending a sharp jolt through his body that went straight to his cock.

Her hands moved to the buckle of his belt, working the leather with an almost infuriating slowness, like she was daring him to stop her, or daring him not to. “By no means are you going to be left underpaid,” she murmured with mock formality as her gaze flicked up to meet his.

He couldn’t help the low chuckle that rumbled from deep in his chest. “That so?” he rasped as he let his hands slide from her waist to her hips, gripping just tight enough to feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her uniform. “You always this generous?”

Her fingers hovered just above the waistband of his lowering jeans, brushing the bare skin with a maddening lightness. Then she smiled at him, slow and deliberate. “Only with hot sergeants who gave a lot to this country.”

Something snapped. His hand darted down, grabbing hers where they lingered teasing his skin. His fingers closed over hers. Not harsh, but firm, the rough calluses of his palm contrasting with her softness. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” he growled low in her ear, rougher now, deeper, his restraint fraying with every word.

“Why not?” she whispered, with a tone laced with defiance, though her breath hitched ever so slightly as he stepped closer.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he dipped his head, trailing slow kisses on the curve of her neck. Her breath shuddered as he worked his mouth thoroughly, and his stubble scraped along her sensitive skin. His free hand slid lower, gliding over the fabric of her uniform until it reached the curve of her ass. Without hesitation, he squeezed, digging his fingers just enough to pull her flush against him.

Her hands, now pinned between her body and his waistband, flexed slightly, testing like she was still daring him to see how far he’d go.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured against her neck, as he pressed her harder against him.

She tilted her head slightly, giving him more access, curling her fingers into the hem of his tank top. “Good thing I don’t scare easy,” she replied breathlessly, and his grip on her tightened, molding his vibranium hand to the curve of her ass as he pressed her harder against him.

Without breaking their connection, he moved with fluid determination, gripping her hips and spinning her so that she faced an old counter. The sudden shift elicited a breathy laugh from her, laced with surprise and excitement.

He leaned in, brushing his chest on her back as his lips found her neck again, suckling and nipping her skin. She arched instinctively pressing herself against him, bracing her hands on the surface counter. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

His flesh hand slid down her side, curving over her hip before venturing beneath the fabric of her uniform. His fingers splayed against her bare thigh, pushing the hem up inch by inch, grazing her skin with agonizing slowness.

Her breathing hitched as his hand roamed further, the metal of his fingers creating a stark contrast against her heated skin. He squeezed her again, this time directly over her bare flesh, eliciting a sharp, involuntary intake of breath.

As his hand traveled upward from her hip along her spine, her dress bunched around her waist, exposing her to him. He relished the sensation of her bare skin beneath his fingertips, trailing higher to the small of her back. Her shiver told him everything he needed to know.

Her head tilted back, her breath coming in soft, shallow gasps. “James” she whispered, half warning, half plea.

His lips curved into a smirk as he bent closer. “Bucky” he rasped, his stubble brushing her ear. “What’s it gonna be, doll? Should I stop?”

Her answer came in the way she pushed herself back against him, reaching behind to tangle her hands on his hair. He grinned darkly against her skin, sliding his hand along her back as his lips continued their descent, tasting every inch of her exposed neck and shoulder.

Bucky’s hands continued their ascent, his fingers trailing over her heated skin until they slid under the fabric of her bra. He cupped her breasts, his palms rough and warm, squeezing with a pressure that made her gasp: firm enough to send a thrill through her body, but not enough to hurt. She arched into his touch, responding instinctively, and a soft sound escaped her lips spurring him on.

“Like that, huh?” he muttered, as he pressed himself harder against her back. Her hands gripped his hair tighter for balance as he shifted closer and his solid, muscled frame blanketed hers. Then, with deliberate intent, he slid one thick thigh between her legs, pressing it firmly against her pussy. The friction made her knees weaken, and she let out a breathy moan, rolling her hips against him instinctively.

He growled low in his throat. “You’re making it real hard to keep this...civil,” he rasped, though the way his hands kneaded her and his thigh pressed against her left little room for civility.

She turned her head slightly to meet his gaze, eyes dark with need and amusement. “You know, if you keep things civil like this, I might... stain your pants. How are you going to present yourself tomorrow to work, all messy?”

Bucky froze for half a second at her words, tightening his grip on her hips as her teasing tone penetrated his brain. His gaze darkened, and the corner of his mouth quirked in a smirk that was anything but innocent.

“You think I care about that?” he murmured, roughly, sending shivers down her spine.

Her head tilted slightly, exposing the curve of her neck to him. “Mhm,” she hummed, her breath hitching when he shifted his stance, pressing her harder against him. “Just trying to save you the trouble of explaining… why your responsible worker pants are a mess.”

Bucky let out a low growl, dipping his head to her neck. His stubble scrapped deliciously against her skin as he nipped at her pulse point, making her gasp. "Luckily for you, muffin, it's been a long time since I give a fuck about other people's opinions, let alone explaining myself. So you can get my damn pants wet like the naughty girl you are to your pussy's content.

The brazen bluntness of his words sent a pang directly to her needy clit. “Oh,” she exhaled, with a trembling voice. “Is that so, Sergeant?”

He leaned in closer, as his vibranium hand tightened on her hip, grinding her harder against his thigh. “Damn right, it is,” he growled, and the deep rasp of his voice vibrated against her skin. “Now stop stalling and show me how messy you can get me.”

She let out a soft moan as she pressed harder against him, and her movements became more erratic, more needy. “You mister-” she gasped, her words catching in her throat as a wave of pleasure made her pussy clench deliciously, “are a fucking tease.”

“And yet,” he muttered, curving his lips into a wicked grin against her skin, “here you are, soaking my damn pants just like I told you to.”

Her laugh came out breathless and broken, “Cocky bastard,” she managed to say before nearing the precipice. "F-fuck, Sarge," she mewled, as her voice broke on a high, desperate pitch while her hands gripped at the counter for dear life. "I’m gonna-"

Bucky’s grip on her tightened, and his vibranium hand slid up to press flat against her tummy, anchoring her firmly against him. “Do it,” he growled into her ear, in a hot and ragged breath. “Let go for me, muffin. Make a mess, cream my fucking pants.”

Her body tensed, and her thighs trembled as she ground herself harder against his thigh, chasing that final push over the edge. “God, Bucky,” she whimpered, her head falling back against his shoulder.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his lips brushing against her ear as he coaxed her along, keeping her steady with his hands as she fell apart. "Good girl."

The sound she made was half a sob, half a moan as the tension inside her snapped, pleasure crashing through her in waves that left her gasping and shaking in his arms. She clung to the counter as her body jerked uncontrollably, and her breath came in short, desperate bursts.

He didn’t let go, keeping her firmly against him, grounding her body as she rode out every last second of her orgasm. When her movements slowed, and her body went slack against him, he pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss to the back of her neck.

“You okay?” he murmured, with a mix of roughness and softness as his hands remained firm on her hips.

She turned her head slightly, glancing at him over her shoulder with a dazed, dopey smile that made something inside him twist. “Mmm-hmm,” she hummed, languid and satisfied. “That was such a nice ride, Sarge.”

A soft squeeze at her hips reminded her where his hands still were, and she placed hers over them, giving them a light, playful press. Then, with an ease that made his pulse quicken, she turned around to face him.

Her fingers grasped the hem of his tank top, deliberate but unhurried as she tugged it upward. “But,” she said, her voice taking on a teasing lilt, “I still owe you the price of your silence.”

As she pulled his tank top up and over his head, her eyes immediately fell to his chest, and her gaze widened for a beat. The light from the room caught the silver gleam of the bars piercing through his nipples, hard to miss against the expanse of ink and scars that marked his skin.

Her lips parted slightly, and a playful grin broke across her face. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” she murmured teasingly. She reached out without hesitation, grazing her fingers over one of the piercings. “Naughty, Sarge. Very naughty.”

He let out a short huff of laughter. “Don’t act so shocked,” he muttered. “Thought you’d figured out by now I’m not exactly by-the-book.”

She tilted her head as she thumbed over the cool metal, sending a shiver through his body that he didn’t bother to hide. “Guess I have a lot to learn about you,” she mused, tracing her fingers over the lines of his chest, pausing now and then to admire the ink and scars.

His smirk deepened, and he tugged her closer “Plenty of time for that, Muffin.” He conceded.

Her hands roamed freely now, mapping the hard planes of his chest, alternating her touch between featherlight and deliberate. She flicked the tip of one of the piercings with her thumb, earning a sharp inhale from his lips.

“Sensitive?” she teased, glancing up to meet his gaze.

His jaw tightened, and the way his hands gripped her hips told her she’d struck a nerve. “You tell me,” he rumbled, edged with a warning that didn’t quite mask the rough undertone of arousal.

She laughed softly, a low, breathy sound that made his cock twitch. “You’re full of contradictions, Sarge. All gruff and serious, but with these…” she said, lightly tugging on one bar with a wicked grin.

“Careful,” he warned, tightening his grip as his eyes darkened.

“Or what?,” she quipped, with a sultry voice, her confidence growing with every reaction she pulled from him.

His patience snapped. In one smooth motion, he shifted, lifting her effortlessly onto the counter behind her. She gasped, bracing her hands against his shoulders as he stepped between her thighs, crowding her.

The edge of the counter bit into her legs, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was the heat between them, the way his hands gripped her.

His fingers moved to the buttons of her dress, deliberate but unhurried, each undone clasp exposing more of her soft, skin. She shivered beneath his touch, and a quiet hum escaped her lips as her hands slid down his sides, tracing the lines of his ribs before settling at his hips.

The dress slipped further down her body, pooling at her waist, leaving her exposed to his piercing gaze. His eyes darkened as they swept over the rise and fall of her chest, and the slight tremble in her thighs.

"Damn," he murmured, roughly, almost reverent.

Her cheeks heated, but she held his gaze with a playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "What, you don't see this every day?"

"Not like this," he growled back, deftly unhooking her bra with a kind of precision that made her blink in surprise. The garment slid down her arms, and he caught it in one hand, tossing it over his shoulder without so much as a glance. It landed somewhere behind him with a soft thud, but he didn’t care. His gaze flicked down, lingering on her newly exposed skin.

He leaned down and trailed his lips through the curve of her neck, gifting heated kisses downward her skin until his lips latched one of her nipples. His tongue flicked, quick and teasing, as his hands roamed lower, slipping beneath the hem of her uniform skirt and gripping her bare thighs.

Her hands flew to his shoulders for balance before sliding up to tangle them in his hair. Her body was already pliant, sensitive from her release, but he wasn’t slowing down. His teeth scraped lightly, sending a shock through her system, and she arched instinctively against his mouth.

"Turn around," he murmured against her skin, almost a growling. His hands gripped her hips, spinning her gently but firmly until she was braced against the counter. She barely had time to catch her breath before she felt his fingers hook into the waistband of her drenched panties, tugging them down and letting them pool at her feet.

His jeans had already been shoved low enough to free his aching cock, and she could feel it, hard and insistent, pressing against her rear. “This okay?” he rasped against her ear, as his length drenching her buttocks with precum spoke volumes about his intent.

She nodded quickly, breathlessly.

Bucky didn’t waste time and his vibranium hand gripped her hip, as his flesh one guided himself inside her in one smooth, deliberate thrust. A low, guttural groan tore from his chest as her tight heat clenched around him, and her gasp of pleasure sounded like music to his ears.

“Fuck, Muffin,” he muttered, leaning over her, breathing hot against her ear. “So tight. Feels like you’re made for my cock.”

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the counter, instinctively pushing her body back to meet his thrusts. He set a slow, grinding pace at first, making her feel every inch of his thick cock, savoring how she trembled beneath him at every drag. One of his hands slid from her hip, trailing down her thigh before slipping between her legs.

“You’re dripping for me,” he observed roughly as his fingers found her clit. He rubbed slow, lazy circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. “Such a greedy pussy, doll. Pulling me in like you can’t get enough.”

She let out a breathless moan, her body arching against him as his words sent a rush of heat through her system. “Bucky-”

“That’s right,” he cut her off, almost mockingly as his fingers pressed harder against her swollen clit. “Say my name. Let me hear how much you love being fucked like this.”

Her response was a broken cry, her hips bucking against his hand as he picked up his pace. He grinned, sharp and wolfish, sliding his free hand up her back to fist her hair, pulling her head back so he could press his lips to her ear.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he rasped, as his thrusts turned harder, sharper. “I can feel it. This pussy’s squeezing me so tight. You gonna come all over my cock, Muffin? You gonna soak me, cream my dick like the good girl you are?”

She could barely think, the pressure building inside her reaching a fever pitch as his filthy words and relentless touch unraveled her completely. Her moans grew louder, and her body trembled as her release washed over her, clenching her walls around his throbbing cock.

“Fuck,” he growled, as the sensation tipped him over the edge. His hand tightened on her hip, and his thrusts turned erratic as he followed her into bliss, spilling inside her with a low, drawn-out groan.

He stayed buried inside her for a moment, resting his forehead against her shoulder as they both caught their breath. His fingers gave her clit one last, gentle stroke, making her shudder before he finally pulled back, steadying her with his hands as her legs wobbled.

“You okay?” he asked, rough but laced with an unmistakable note of satisfaction.

She nodded, glancing at him over her shoulder with a blissed-out smile. “More than okay.”

He smirked, brushing his hand over her lower back as he stepped away. “Good. ‘Cause we’re not done yet, little Muffin.”

She turned slightly, lifting her brows in surprise as a sly grin curled her lips. “Not done yet?” she asked, breathless but laced with intrigue.

Bucky’s smirk deepened as he took her hand, gently turning her around to face him. His eyes roamed over her glistening skin, mussed hair, and the marks his lips and teeth had left trailing down her neck. He loved how wrecked she looked, and knowing it was all because of him, sent a thrill coursing through his veins.

“Not even close,” he murmured, sliding his hands to her thighs and effortlessly lifting her onto the counter.

She gasped as the cold surface met her bare skin, but it was quickly replaced by a soft moan when he stepped between her legs, spreading them wide. His cock, still hard and wet, pressed against her slick heat, teasing her entrance.

“You’ve been so good for me,” he muttered, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. “But I think you’ve got one more in you, Muffin. Don’t you?”

Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding against him, desperate for more. “You really think I can take it?” she asked, playfully.

Bucky chuckled darkly, ghosting his lips over her jawline as he pressed the head of his cock against her pussy, not pushing in just yet. “Oh, you’ll take it,” he purred, gripping her hips firmly to hold her in place. “And you’re gonna love every second of it.”

He surged forward without waiting for a reply, parting her inner wallsin one deep thrust. Her back arched, and a loud moan spilled from her lips as he set a brutal pace right from the start, holding nothing back this time.

His hands roamed over her body, one sliding up to knead a breast while the other dipped down to find her clit again. “Feel that, doll?” he growled, his voice barely more than a rasp. “Feel how perfectly you take me?”

She nodded frantically, digging her nails into his shoulders as her body rocked against him, the counter beneath her creaking slightly with the force of his movements. “F-fuck, Sarge, I-”

“You gonna come for me again?” he interrupted as he worked her clit with expert precision. “Gonna soak me like the naughty little thing you are?”

Her answer came in the form of a choked cry as her body tensed, her third climax hitting her harder than the previous ones. She tightened around him, pulling him deeper, and deeper, and he groaned low in his throat, thrusting erratically as he chased his own release.

“Goddamn, you feel so fucking good,” he growled, gripping the back of her thighs and spreading them wider as he buried himself one last time to the root, erupting in long spurts of hot cum that filled her up and overflowed between them, pooling on the floor.

For a moment, neither of them moved, their ragged breaths being the only sound in the room. Slowly, he pulled back, steadying on her hips as he helped her sit upright, locking his eyes on the mess between her legs. His jaw tensed as he drank in the sight of her pussy, utterly wrecked and glistening from everything they’d done. He reached out, parting her swollen, slick folds with his thumbs with a deliberate, almost reverent care.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, thick with desire. “Look at you.”

Her cheeks heated, and the burn rose fast as she felt his gaze fixed on her. Her instinct was to press her thighs together, but his firm grip on her leg stopped her before she could move.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, brushing his vibranium thumb against her inner thigh as his other hand traced the outline of her puffy, sensitive lips. “Let me see you.”

She whimpered softly, gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself as his fingers continued to explore, brushing over her clit just enough to make her hips jerk.

“Fuck, this pretty little pussy of yours, completely ruined… because of me.”

She inhaled deeply, with embarrassment and lingering arousal. “Bucky,” she managed, her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in his name.

He glanced up at her, quirking his lips into a cocky smirk. “What? Embarrassed?” His thumbs teased her again, pressing lightly on either side of her clit, enough to make her tremble. “Don’t be. You’re perfect. And you’re mine to mess up like this.”

His? Her thighs shook at his words, the low growl in his voice sparking something deep inside her chest.

Bucky leaned in, and his stubble grazed her inner thigh as he pressed a kiss there, lingering his lips as he muttered, “Maybe I should take a picture, so you know how fucking incredible you look right now.”

Her head fell back with a strangled, embarrassed moan. “Don’t you dare,” She protested, without much conviction.

He chuckled, finally easing up on her overstimulated nerves. Then, he pulled back, standing tall as he licked his bottom lip. “Good thing I’ve got a photographic memory. I’ll be thinking about how fucking incredible you look dripping my cum on the floor when I’m at home later, getting all needy.”

The heat on her cheeks spread down her neck and chest. “My god, Sarge, you say your prayers with that mouth?” she asked, her tone trembling with exhaustion and disbelief.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest as he pulled back to meet her gaze. “It’s been a long time since I stopped doing that,” he admitted, carrying an edge of cynicism that matched the wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

He couldn’t help but admire the sight before his eyes. Her disheveled state, the pristine uniform now wrinkled, pushed up and open, her lips swollen and glossy from everything they’d just done. For almost a second, a pang of guilt flared in his chest. Almost.

The notion of her going back to work in this state, dripping with his cum while she smiled and served customers, stirred something deliciously darker in him. The guilt was quickly overtaken by the way his cock twitched again, the lingering pull of need frustrating him as much as it excited him. He muttered a low curse under his breath.

“Here,” he said after a moment, offering his hand for her to stand up. “Let me help you look all pretty so you can carry on with your day.”

He grabbed her crumpled uniform and smoothed it down over her thighs, brushing his fingers on the soft skin under it as he worked to put her back together. When he reached her collar, he buttoned the top slowly, deliberately taking his time.

“You’re gonna walk out there,” he said, adjusting her apron with a hum of satisfaction, “looking just like you did before I got my hands on you.”

Her lips parted as if to respond, but the words didn’t come out. He leaned close, brushing his pierced nose against hers, mingling his minty breath with hers, before stepping back with a low chuckle. “So much better than the garlic bread.”

He stepped back, bending to retrieve his tank top from the floor. Without hesitation, he slipped the shirt over his head, dragging it down on the hard lines of his inked chest. When the fabric caught over his pierced nipples, he hissed through his teeth. He adjusted it with a slight tug, smoothing it over his abs, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t in any rush to leave the moment behind.

His gaze flicked to her form and a dark glint sparked in his eyes. His tone dropped into something deeper, more dangerous, as he added, “If anyone gives you trouble...”

He paused, letting the weight of his words linger between them. “You know where to find me.” It wasn’t just a statement; it was a subtle reminder of where he worked, down at the construction site.

Before she could gather herself enough to respond, he turned on his heel and made his way to the door. As his hand rested on the handle, he glanced over his shoulder one last time, his blue eyes filled with a hint of satisfaction.

“Enjoy the rest of your shift, Muffin,” he drawled, before disappearing out the door leaving her breathless and utterly wrecked.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

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