#bucky barnes x m reader

[ironboyxs]

Let me take care of you

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Male Reader

Word count: 912

p.s. this was a request from the lovely @megamonstermuffin, I'm sorry it took so long, I'm in a bit of a creative block, but I plan to write a lot next month! in fact, I want to post a list of which fandons I write for, so stay tuned. and always remembering REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

They were tired, but Y/N particularly was exhausted. Being an Avenger was definitely not an easy task, especially when you're not a super soldier with enormous stamina and strength greater than most people.

Y/N knew how to handle himself of course, Doctor Strange didn't take him in as his apprentice just because the boy was kind, he took him in because he was very skilled with magic. But magic can be tiring, and very tiring.

Y/N and James opened the door to their newly rented apartment, they had been living together for a month. And almost two years they were together as a couple.

Him and Bucky together was something no one predicted, not even themselves, but it was one of the best things that could have happened to both of them. Y/N was lonely, he had already learned to fend for himself on the streets of New York for some time when Stephen Strange found him, Bucky was a man out of his time, and the recent “loss” of his best friend, Steve Rogers, it made him feel even more out of place.

The two were people who didn't fit into society very well, but they found the perfect fit in each other.

"Are you okay magic boy?" - Bucky asked as soon as they arrived home.

"You know I hate that nickname" - Y/N said.

"But you're really magical" - Bucky said giving his boyfriend a kiss

Y/N liked that side of Bucky, the side of him that flirted with the boy, that was romantic, flirtatious and playful, Bucky didn't show that side to everyone.

'But seriously, you look very tired, I know today was difficult for all of us." - Bucky said again.

"Well, I may be magical but I don't have the physical resistance of a super soldier, my love."

"Come, I'll draw a bath and make our dinner."

"Bucky, there's no need, I know you're tired too".

Bucky looked seriously at his boyfriend and placed his hands on his face.

"Let me take care of you, please?"

"How can I resist those big blue eyes? Alright, let's go."

Y/N was still getting used to having someone take care of him, he had forgotten what that was like, he spent so much time taking care of himself that sometimes when people offered to help him, he felt like he was bothering them.

Bucky smiled as he looked at his boyfriend, recognizing Y/N's reluctance to accept help. He knew that his boyfriend was used to taking care of himself, but he also wanted to show that he was there to share the burden of the difficulties.

While preparing a relaxing bath, Bucky took out his phone and connected a device to the speaker, his playlist of relaxing music started playing. Soft music began to fill the apartment, creating a serene atmosphere. After a while Bucky called for his boyfriend.

"Y/N, I know it's hard to accept help sometimes, but you're not bothering me. I want to do this for you. Let me take care of you today." - He asked once again with his big, asking blue eyes.

Y/N sighed, feeling the warmth of Bucky's words. He allowed himself to accept that affectionate gesture, something that was still new to him, even after so long of the relationship.

The bath was prepared with scented salts, creating an aromatic cloud that hovered in the air. Bucky helped Y/N undress and gently led him into the hot water. He sat next to his boyfriend, gently massaging his shoulders as the water washed over them.

"Relax, my love. I'll take care of everything tonight" - Bucky said, kissing the back of his boyfriend's head.

There was another thing that Y/N couldn't get used to, in the best way possible. Whenever he felt Bucky's touches it was like he was being transported directly to paradise. His boyfriend's lips were perfect against his skin, and the mixed sensation of a flesh arm and a metal arm was incredible.

Y/N allowed himself to close his eyes, leaning against Bucky's chest. The soft music and gentle touches helped soothe his tired mind and body.

After the shower, Bucky prepared a comforting meal, something simple and delicious that they both loved. They sat at the table, sharing laughter and conversation, enjoying each other's company.

After dinner, Bucky took Y/N in his arms and carried him to the couch. He covered them with a soft blanket as they watched a movie, cuddling and exchanging subtle touches.

As the night came to an end, Y/N snuggled into Bucky's arms, feeling loved and cared for. He fell asleep with a smile on his lips, silently thankful for having someone like Bucky by his side.

That night, Bucky took care of Y/N not just with gestures, but with all the love and affection he could offer, promising to be there for his beloved, no matter the circumstances.

[espinosaurusrexex]

Bucky who starts a purely platonic physical touch giving friendship with reader… until it turns into more

･ﾟ✫* 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡  ｡✭･ﾟ

It starts off so innocently. Bucky just sat really close to you one day and noticed how the touch of your shoulder on his made him tingly all over.

The same happened when your hand brushed his, or you passed close by, and he caught a whiff of your hair - something that reminds him of the feeling he now seeks out when you’re around.

It’s no secret that either of you have been single a long time with basically no prospects for a future relationship, so no one questions when you and him suddenly hang out more.

He invites you over when you ask him if he was okay, and he realized that his day was in fact crappy and that if you offered to talk to him, he’d tell you all about it.

And when you sit on the sofa listening to Bucky talk, your hand instinctively found his and before Bucky knew it, his head was pressed into your shoulder, your nails raking over his scalp releasing a feeling within him, he can only describe as heavenly.

He loves it when you comfort him, and he loves comforting you, somehow knowing that you need this part of your friendship just as much as he does.

So it becomes a regular thing: when the rest of the team returns home to their spouses after a tiring mission, you and Bucky retreat to either one of your apartments under the pretense of not wanting to be alone.

Of course, neither of you planned for it to become so touchy and intimate... no, that would be insane, right?

It’s a normal afternoon for the two of you, hanging out at your place, a movie playing on TV, Bucky’s head buried in your chest as he lays half on top of you and you with your back against the sofa. Your hand rakes over his hair as his are halfway tugged beneath your body, seeking all the warmth he can get.

The physical touch aspect of your relationship has somehow crossed the lines between friends, but neither of you care. It feels too good to be held and protected to stop.

Bucky hasn't felt the caring touch of a partner in decades and you... well, let's just say that all men before Bucky didn't feel the need to express their love through aftercare - not that Bucky is in any way shape or form about to give said aftercare... no, you are just friends. Just. Friends.

Friends who frequently hide their hands in the other's jacket when the cold catches up to them.

Friends who bury their faces in each other's chest and lap like it is the most normal thing a person can do to another.

Friends who somehow always wonder if the other feels that spark ignite whenever they hold each other close.

Bucky feels the sensation when he's practically caging you beneath his upper body of the sofa. He lifts his head as he usually does to see if maybe this time he could magically hear your thoughts.

"What's up?"

He shakes his head. "I just really enjoy this." he mumbles and blushes, and your hand suddenly stops its path along his scalp.

"Me too." you smile and look into his eyes.

normally he'd put his head back, and you'd resume watching the movie, but something is different today.

maybe it's the way his hair looks perfectly tousled by your constant motions, or maybe it's the way he slowly blinks at you like a very comfortable pet.

but you finally find the courage to kiss him.

Follow my library blog for fic updates! @espinosaurusrexex-library

[angrythingstarlight]

would malyshka ever ask bucky to make someone disappear for her

Bucky would do anything for you. Simply ask and it's yours. There's not a line he's not willing to cross for you. He will go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe. Do anything, give anything to keep you happy.

He may be the most powerful man on the East Coast but you, his beautiful Malyskha, are the only one who has him in the palm of your head.

"What did he do to you?" Bucky quietly asks, his heated gaze skims across your face. He leans in when you hesitate, pain flashing across your face so quickly that anyone else would have missed it. Bucky never misses a thing when it involves you. A tsunami of emotions rises up within him, and at the center of it is unadulterated rage. His voice is calm, a stark contrast to the dark glint in his eyes. "It's alright I don't need an explanation. You want me to get rid of him, he's gone."

Bucky's going to take his time with the scum who hurt you. Make him beg for the mercy Bucky doesn't have. Show him what it's like to feel weak and helpless. Make him choke on his fear until it's all he can taste. Only when he's a broken shell will he know why this is happening, why he deserves every moment of this. Then Bucky will eliminate every trace of him so thoroughly that no one will remember he existed.

Bucky will do anything for you. You don't even have to ask. Just tell him and it's done.

[cokoladasljesnjakom]

Underneath the Armor

a/n: hey! so i had this idea for a long time and it itched my brain so much that i had to get it awfff and yeah ITS HERE! 😝😝 im happy with her and i love her. theres no max in here tho. just to be clear. my man deserves all the attention in the world it makes me sick.

warnings: blood (a lot of blood bit not to the point that it will scare u off), guns, knives, bucky being a menace and same goes for y/n and sam being sam

word count: 2.1k

Bucky leaned against the cold concrete wall, chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. He’d never wanted out of a mission so badly—until today.

Paired up with her. Sam’s cousin. God, how annoying she was. The way she carried herself, the teasing, the smug little smirks—it all made his blood boil. He hated her smile. Hated how her eyebrows scrunched when she was deep in thought. Hated how her ears turned red when someone complimented her. It was like someone had taken a fist to his gut, over and over again. And worst of all? He hated how her presence lit up every damn room she walked into.

In short, he hated her.

A figure plopped down beside him, and Bucky didn't need to look to know who it was. He exhaled sharply, already bracing for whatever smartass comment she was about to make. “What’s wrong, soldier? You tired, or is old age finally catching up to you?”

Bucky clenched his jaw as she grinned up at him, clearly enjoying his irritation.

Never in his life had he wanted to punch a woman so badly. His heart was still racing, though he told himself it was from the mission. Yeah. Definitely the running. Not her. Not the way her presence made something tighten in his chest. No, absolutely not.

He pushed off the wall and rolled his metal shoulder, ignoring the way she was still smiling at him like she had all the patience in the world.

"Can you be quiet for five seconds? Thanks," he muttered, adjusting his arm back into place. "And no, you can’t just bust in and kill them. We need the data, not bodies. Capiche?”

She clicked her tongue, stepping closer—too close. “Where’s the fun in that? It’s way more exciting to be reckless.”

Bucky shot her a glare, shaking his head.

But she just smirked, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “Look, Winter, you do your job, and I’ll do mine. I’ll take care of those guys, and you—” her gaze dipped, scanning him from head to toe before she bit her lip. “You get that pretty ass in there and grab the data.”

Bucky stiffened.

Wait. Pretty? No. She meant annoying. Yeah, definitely annoying.

Before he could snap back, she added in a low whisper, “Plus, I can give you something to think about while you’re in there—listening to me take these guys down while you talk me through how to get to you.” And with that, she spun on her heel, sauntering off like she hadn't just set his brain on fire.

Bucky swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the mission. Not on her. Not on the way her hair swayed with every step. Not on how effortlessly she moved, dangerous yet beautiful.

…Beautiful?

No. Nope. He meant insufferable. Absolutely insufferable. She turned to him with a wink, tapping her comm. “You hear me, handsome?”

Bucky scoffed, clicking his own comm on. “Wish I didn’t. It’d be peaceful not having to listen to your annoying voice.”

Her laughter crackled through the earpiece. “Thought my voice was charming.”

“Yeah. Charming enough to make me wanna jump off a building.”

“Now you’re just lying. Admit it, you love listening to me.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand down his face. “Yeah. Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, I will.”

He rolled his eyes just as he heard the telltale thwip! of a knife slicing through flesh, followed by a grunt and a body hitting the floor. He could already picture the way she wiped the blood off on her own suit, her nose scrunching up like it always did when she got a little too messy.

Damn it. He liked when she did that.

“Really thought you liked me, handsome,” she taunted over the comm, her voice dripping with amusement.

Bucky said nothing, moving silently through the shadows, dodging a group of guards near the secured door. He was almost in position when—

“Hey, fellas!”

He gritted his teeth. Of course. Guns instantly turned toward her as she stood in plain view, hands on her hips like she had all the time in the world. “You trying to make it out alive tonight? Or dead in the next forty seconds?”

Before they could react, she pulled out her pistols and started firing.

Bucky didn’t waste the opportunity. While the guards were distracted, he slipped behind one and slammed him into the wall. The man crumpled instantly.

Meanwhile, she was handling the rest with almost infuriating ease. One guard lunged at her, and she cracked the butt of her gun against his skull before driving a knee into his groin. He barely had time to recover before she fired a clean shot through his head.

The last guy barely had a chance to blink before Bucky put four bullets in him—one to the knee, one to the gut, one to the groin, and one final shot between the eyes.

Smoke curled from the barrel of his gun as he stepped over the body.

She stared at him, jaw slack. “Didn’t know you had that in you, soldier.”

Bucky allowed himself the smallest smirk before flicking his gaze to her open mouth. “Close it. Unless you wanna catch a fly.”

And before he could stop himself, his hand was under her chin, gently pushing her mouth shut. His fingers lingered a second too long.

She felt warm. Soft. His gaze dropped to her lips before he caught himself. Jaw tightening, he quickly stepped back, snatching the keycard off one of the bodies.

Sliding the card through the scanner, the door beeped and unlocked.

He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “You coming, or are you just gonna stand there looking stupid?”

Her face heated instantly.

Butterflies erupted in her stomach, and her brain short-circuited between the two strongest urges she had—to punch him or to kiss him senseless. She clenched her fists, biting her lip before following him inside.

The sight of him hunched over the computer made her mind spiral in a whole different direction. The way the tactical suit clung to his frame, his muscles flexing with each small movements.

She couldn’t help but fall for the little things, the way his nose would scrunch when he smiled, like a secret only he knew—soft and sincere, yet full of a quiet strength. It made her heart race every time. She adored the way he would lose himself in thought, his eyes narrowing, his jaw tightening as if the world around him disappeared, leaving only the focus of his mind. She found herself lost in him during those moments, wishing she could be the thing that consumed his thoughts.

But it was the smaller, quieter moments that truly captivated her. The way he ran a hand through his hair when he was troubled or frustrated, as if trying to calm some storm inside him, and in that gesture, she saw vulnerability. She loved the way he cherished his peace before the world got loud—waking up early to enjoy silence before Sam, before the chaos of the day, before she came in with her teasing and laughter. Those moments, when he was alone with himself, felt sacred.

And then there were the stray cats. Every time he paused on the street, his eyes softening as he spotted one, something inside her melted. He’d reach into his jacket, pulling out treats and offering them without a second thought, showing kindness in its purest form. It was those little gestures—those flashes of tenderness—that made her heart ache in the best way. He wasn’t just a soldier, a man who could fight and endure. He was gentle, caring, and real in a way she hadn’t expected, and with each passing day, it became harder and harder to ignore how deeply she was falling for him.

With every glance, every shared moment, she was falling more in love with him, in a way that was slow, overwhelming, and utterly all-consuming. She never thought someone could make her feel like this—like she was falling, over and over again, into something more beautiful than she ever imagined.

Yeah. Thats enough, she need to stay focused.

Leaning in close, she peered over his shoulder. “Sooo, what’s so important in that data? Is it… your childhood diary? Maybe an old love letter? Oh! What if there’s a—”

His hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her instantly. “No,” he deadpanned. “It’s Hydra intel. Stuff they’ve been hoarding for years. Y’know, important things.” He narrowed his eyes. “Have you not been listening to a single thing Steve and I said?”

She shook her head. “You think I have time to listen to two grandpas rambling about old files? No offense, but it’s boring as hell. Sometimes I wanna slam my head against a—”

Bucky covered her mouth again.

“For a 25-year-old, you talk too damn much.” She grinned beneath his hand.

He sighed, slowly pulling away—only for her to step closer, practically draping herself over him.

“I try,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the scruff along his jaw. Her breath ghosted over his skin as she grinned up at him. “And don’t act like you hate it.”

Bucky swallowed hard. She leaned in just a little more. “Admit it,” she whispered. “You liiike meee.”

He exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching at his sides.

This woman was going to be the death of him.

She could feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest—just as fast as hers. Neither of them moved, trapped in the heat of the moment, their gazes locked, breaths mingling in the space between them. Neither willing to pull away. Neither daring to make the first move.

Then, the moment shattered.

"You guys are disgusting to listen to, y’know that?" Sam's voice crackled through their comms, laced with exaggerated disgust. "I swear, this is the last time you two are getting paired for a mission."

Bucky clenched his jaw, but before he could respond, Steve’s voice followed, far more amused. "Leave them be, Sam. At least they got the job done without killing each other."

Now properly irritated, Bucky pressed his earpiece. "And your voice is disturbing to listen to, birdbrain."

Sam shot something back, but Y/N wasn’t listening anymore.

She was too focused on Bucky’s lips.

The way they moved, the way they parted slightly as he breathed—soft, inviting, and, God help her, all she could think about was what they’d feel like against hers.

Would he be rough? Would his hands roam, gripping, pulling, desperate to have her closer? Or would he take his time, savoring every second? Either way, she knew she wouldn’t be any better. She’d pull him in so close that there’d be no space left between them, fingers buried in his hair, feeling every muscle beneath her touch. She wanted to feel him. All of him.

And when she dared to meet his eyes again, she realized—he was looking at her the exact same way. His breath hitched. His chest rose and fell faster. His fingers twitched like he was fighting every urge in his body to reach for her.

And then she whispered, voice barely above a breath, "Is it just me, or is it getting hotter in here? Because I can see the way you’re looking at me, and it’s not helping. So… are you gonna kiss me, or should I make the first move?"

What happened next shocked them both.

Bucky didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

"Sam—fuck off," he growled into his comm, then ripped the earpiece out, letting it drop to the floor.

Before she could react, his hands were on her—gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him. And then, finally, his lips crashed onto hers.

God.

It was everything.

It was rushed, desperate, months—maybe even years—of tension snapping all at once. It was hands gripping, pulling, molding against each other like they’d been waiting for this moment forever.

They broke apart for a single breath, just long enough for Bucky to rest his forehead against hers, chest heaving.

And then she grabbed him again.

This time, the kiss was slower but deeper—hotter, like they had all the time in the world. Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging him closer, and when his tongue traced along her bottom lip, she let him in without hesitation.

The sound she made when he deepened the kiss—soft, breathy, absolutely wrecked—shot straight through his spine, making him groan as he wrapped his arms around her even tighter.

Meanwhile, Sam was still talking. "And another thing, Barnes, you—wait. What the hell is that noise?" There was a pause. Then a long, horrified groan.

"Oh, HELL no. Nope. NOPE. I am never pairing with you two again. I swear, I—"

Click.

Sam turned his earpiece off.

Steve, still sifting through documents at a desk across the room, smirked to himself and flipped a page.

His earpiece had been turned off a long time ago.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky

Word Count: 2366

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains background/minor themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

1. Lemon Cream Tart (with Pistachio Streusel)

“Oh, baby, yes.”

Mary grunts, annoyed that this is still going on.

Her pleasure waned a while ago, nowhere close to orgasm, and she can’t seem to get it back when she’s being fucked this hard. She’s getting too dry now, just wants him to come and have it be over with. 

“Yeah,” she says breathily, canting her hips up against where the guy—Dennis, she thinks it is—is fucking into her. He’s going too fast, pulling out too far,and hardly connecting with her body at all before thrusting again. “Jackrabbit sex,” she calls it in her head.

“Shit, Ugh. M’gonna cum,” MaybeDennis grunts. 

It’s nice to finally hear him talk. He’s been virtually silent this entire time and Mary’s whined and squirmed and panted, wishing that the sex was better and that he’d just fucking say something to her—something low and quiet in her ear, something confident and knowing, maybe putting a hand on her neck at the same time as he��

“Fuck!” he shouts, close to her ear. His thrusts start to stutter, losing their rhythm as he gets close. Mary grips him harder, and moans loudly like she’s getting close too. It makes him come, and she tenses her body and matches his sounds of relief with some of her own. It’s performative and easy to fake, she doesn’t overdo it, and she sounds convincing.

MaybeDennis groans and collapses against her, resting his sweaty forehead on her shoulder for a moment before pulling out. He flops over onto his back, chuckling tiredly and removing the condom. Mary watches him get up from the bed and pad into the bathroom. He’s a good looking guy, with just a little too much fat in the midsection for her taste. But then, she knows she’s overly picky, especially considering the state of her own body.

Beyond the open bathroom door, the toilet flushes, and MaybeDennis peeks his head out from the bathroom. “Hey, you mind if I grab a shower before heading out?”

Mary resists the urge to grimace and smiles tightly instead. “Nope. Go ahead.” She’s just grateful he isn’t asking to spend the night. “Towels are in the closet.”

MaybeDennis smiles. “Thanks.”

After he leaves, Mary gets her vibrator out of the bedside drawer and shoves the extra pillow between her legs, arranging the toy so that it sits against her just so. She doesn’t think of MaybeDennis as she gets herself off. The orgasm feels good but leaves her feeling bereft afterwards. She scowls and wipes the tears from her eyes, feeling just a little pathetic.

Like most other nights, she gets up and goes to her apartment’s little kitchen, grabs the vodka from the freezer and pours herself a glass mixed with diet soda. She winces in relief as the first sip goes down. It’s eight o’clock now. She doesn’t have to be up for work until seven, so that leaves at least another six hours to get drunk and have a nice relaxing evening in. 

It’s her favorite part of the day.

Bucky’s just left the gym after a really intense workout and is feeling pleasantly worn out and relaxed when he decides to try the new coffee shop on a whim. He’s passed it by for months, and when he finally walks through the front doors he’s pleasantly surprised by the atmosphere. There’s a small dessert case next to the register, which he examines while he waits his turn in line. It’s filled with colorful, glossy, artful little pastries that look almost too pretty to eat—almost. He grins as he thinks about what Steve might want.

“Welcome to Angie’s, what can I get for you?”

The greeting sounds mechanical and anything but chipper, and Bucky’s attention shifts to the woman behind the register. He eyes her up and down, noticing both how pretty she is … and how worn down she looks. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and her eyes look red-rimmed. They have faint circles under them. Bucky offers her a sympathetic wince. “Late night?”

She blinks at him, unamused. “Yeah, I guess. Do you know what you want?”

“These pastries all look so good,” he says, trying again for friendly. “What would you recommend?”

“Any of ‘em. They’re all good.”

“Are you sure?” he teases.

“Pretty sure, yeah,” she deadpans. “Since I make ‘em.”

Bucky looks back to her, impressed. “Yeah?” He regards her nametag, sees the little handwritten “Mary,” and thinks, aw, that’s cute. He reins in his reaction. Leaning against the counter, he praises, “Well you’re very talented. They all look like little works of art.” 

(They’re priced that way, too. $8.99 for a shiny little dome thing? Jesus.)

Mary blushes and smiles a little, not seeming to know what to say to that. But she leans towards Bucky too, receptive to his compliments. She’s not making eye contact, which automatically gets Bucky’s instincts perking up. Not that he has any intention of taking this anywhere. It’s just a little friendly banter, a woman reacting to him in a way that’s naturally satisfying for Bucky. “Thanks,” she says shyly.

“I’m still waiting on that recommendation, Mary,” he says, inserting a bit of flirtation into his tone. She makes eye contact at his use of her name, her lips parting just the barest bit and her pupils expanding. Bucky grins, leaning closer. “Hm?”

“Uh, the … the lemon tart is very good,” she says. “If you like lemon. Not too strong. I balance it out with cream and some pistachio streusel, and the meringue on top of course …”

Now that she’s closer and is talking more readily, Bucky catches the faintest whiff of alcohol coming off of her. He raises an eyebrow and looks at her more closely, noticing how there’s a sheen to her eyes, how she doesn’t look just tired, but unsteady; not just unkempt, but disheveled. He frowns. Is she … is she drunk? “Um,” he hedges, pulling back to stand straighter. “Are you okay, Mary?”

She looks surprised at the question. She glances down to her nametag, then back up at him. “I’m … fine,” she says. “Just tired.”

“You kinda smell like booze,” he whispers, not wanting anyone else to hear. He gives her a searching look. “Are you hung over?” Her eyes widen in alarm and Bucky frowns, concerned. “Are you drunk?��

 “I told you that I had a late night,” she hisses. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Bucky gives her a warning look for her tone, and the girl is immediately lowering her eyes. Hmm. Not many people are dominant or submissive the way that Bucky is. It’s considered disordered, so he doesn’t usually play around with testing people this way. But this girl has raised some of his telltale red flags, and he’s curious. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, Honey,” he says gently. Then, inserting a careful amount of authority into his voice and watching how she reacts, he says, “Now: I’d like an almond venti chai latté with stevia and cream, double-frothed, to-go. And why don’t you be a good girl and grab me two of those lemon tarts as well? They look too tempting to resist.” Her eyes flick up to his, some strange mixture of outrage and obedience in them, and Bucky feels like he knows, then. She looks the way a woman looks when you’ve just whispered something filthy in their ear. Bucky raises his eyebrow. “Did you get that, Mary?”

“... Yes,” she breathes, making something deeply innate in Bucky stir. She shakes herself out of her stupor and gets to work with a sharpie and venti-sized paper cup.

“Bucky,” he tells her, as he taps his card to the terminal to pay. “That’s the name you can write down.” Mary looks inordinately pleased at having been given his name (another clue). Bucky nods over to the other end of the counter. “I’ll be waiting over there.”

“Okay,” she says, once again back to not meeting his eyes. She seems embarrassed at having been found out for being drunk at work. Maybe she expects Bucky to scold her. He wishes he could. Instead he goes down to where he said he’d wait, and makes up his mind to ask her about whether she’s on the spectrum.

“Here you go,” she says as she hands over the cup several minutes later. “Bucky” is written in neat, sharp letters on the paper sleeve. She pushes a little white box across the counter at him too. “And the tarts.”

Bucky takes them without comment, eyeing her up and down instead. “Mary?” he says, because subs love hearing their names said aloud. Predictably, her eyes snap right up, alert and bright, like Bucky’s just dangled catnip in front of her nose. He offers her a kind look and delicately ventures, “Have you ever been assessed on the D/s spectrum, Honey?”

“What?”

“The D/s spectrum?” he repeats, keeping his voice low because he’s still not trying to upset her. He can see the moment that her brain clicks over in recognition, because her irises flare and her face slackens in shock. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky reassures gently. “I don’t mean any of this in a negative way. I just think you might be on the spectrum. I’m familiar with the signs. And if you’ve gone undiagnosed all this time … well that’d explain it if you’re struggling, you know.”

“I’m not … I’m not struggling,” she stammers.

Bucky gives her a look. “You don’t think so? When here you are, sleep deprived, drunk at work?” 

Embarrassment stains her cheeks within seconds. “How dare you? I am not.”

“Not drunk? Or not submissive?” 

She blushes even harder, jaw working. “I’m not,” she repeats stubbornly.

“Oh, Honey,” Bucky says, and he reaches for her hand before she can pull it back. He circles her wrist with his fingers, marveling at how tiny it is in his hand. He squeezes—and proceeds to watch her eyelids flutter like he’s touched someplace far more erogenous than her wrist. “I think you are,” he murmurs sadly. 

It takes her a minute, but she gets angry again and yanks her hand away, scowling at him. “You’re very rude,” she says. “You can’t just say stuff like that to people.”

“Can’t I?”

Her lip quivers. She pushes the box further across the counter at him. “Take your stuff and leave.”

“You don’t have to be so defensive,” Bucky says. “It’s okay. I’m diagnosed dominant, you know. I understand what it’s like.”

“What?”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying: I’m not going to judge you. I think you should probably get some help, though. It’s pretty progressive if you don’t address it.”

“You don’t even know me!” she hisses, then looks around the shop nervously when she realizes she’s gotten louder. Nobody seems to be paying attention to them, but she still looks back at Bucky with a furiously embarrassed expression. “You're wrong. I’m normal.”

Bucky knows that arguing with her isn’t going to get him anywhere. Instead, he slips the paper sleeve off of his coffee cup and plucks the sharpie from the edge of Mary’s apron. She gasps at the boldness of it and he shoots her a wink. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he says, as he jots down a number. He hands the sleeve back to her. “You can call that number any time, if you wind up needing help.”

“Oh my god, is this some sort of come-on?” She sneers. “Newsflash: I’m not interested in you.”

Bucky nods placidly while imagining putting her over his knee. “No, it’s not my number. It’s a hotline you can call. To talk about this stuff. It’s free and confidential, and it’s manned by people like you and me.”

She regards the cardboard sleeve like it might suddenly have more information written on it. “I don’t—”

“Here.” On a whim, he jots down his cell number as well, this time on the back of his receipt. He slides it over the counter at her but she doesn’t take it. “That’s my number,” he says. “If you want it.”

“I don’t need these. I’m not some friggin’—”

He cuts her off from whatever undoubtedly prejudiced thing she’s about to say. “I’ll be back to give a thorough review of the tarts,” he tells her, taking the box and his coffee cup and stepping away. He heads for the door, satisfied that he’s done the right thing by this woman, even if his dominance is still urging him to do more. “You should have a coffee, yourself,” he calls back over his shoulder. “Have two, even—Strong ones.”

“I hate coffee.”

He hears her scoffing at him as he goes out the door. She’s right, he thinks: he doesn’t know her. It was ballsy to talk to her the way that he did. To presume her situation from just a few reactions. He could’ve been wrong about her … 

Glancing back through the café’s window from outside, he sees her making a drink at the espresso machine. There are no other customers waiting in line. Bucky watches as she takes a sip from it, winces in distaste, and takes another sip anyway. She’s obeying his command. She took it as a command. Bucky smiles sadly from out on the sidewalk. He wasn’t wrong about her. Hopefully she’ll call the hotline, get started on the right path to fix whatever’s going wrong in her life. But even though Bucky’s a dom and thus a natural “fixer,” he can’t solve every sad case he comes across. Especially when the person doesn’t want to be helped. He’s done all he can do, and that’s going to have to be enough.

Shaking his head, he turns away and starts off for home, sipping at his—excellently made—latté, and feeling grateful that he got help when he needed it, back when he was young. He’s one of the lucky ones. 

He puts Mary the drunk barista from his mind, thinking instead about how he needs to get home to shower and change into something nice. He’s got a date with Steve, after all.

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[the-iceni-bitch]

𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖂𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 𝕳𝖊'𝖘 𝕭𝖔𝖗𝖓

𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚞𝚛 𝙱𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜

𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚙𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝.

𝙰𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏 𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢

𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝙰 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜

Words: 1.3k

Relationship: minotaur!Bucky Barnes x chubby!prince male reader

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (m/m sex, fellatio, rimming), soft reassuring Bucky, fatphobia, self-loathing language, hurt/comfort, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!

A/N: Who knows, maybe I’ll actually get all of these churned out before February. Wouldn’t that be neat?

You told yourself you were not going to cry. Not in front of your brothers, and definitely not in front of your father.

Your little mental pep talk did nothing to stop the stinging in your eyes, though. It was hard to stay strong when they were being so cruel. The flat of one of their tourney swords smacked against your stomach when you missed your chance to shield it and all of them laughed. All of them except your father, who just looked angry and disappointed in you. Just like he always did.

The hours in the training yard were always torturous, but they had become especially unbearable ever since your mother had announced her intention to begin the process of finding you a wife. For some reason their taunts about your soft belly and questioning of your manhood began to sting all the more. Not even your haven in the library was safe, you could hear their japes and laughter following you through the corridors of your family’s castle. You hated it, and you hated them, the prospect of finally running away becoming more and more tempting as their unkindness grew to be too much.

Today you didn’t think you could take it. As soon as training was complete and you were out of your leathers you made your way to the castle gate, trying your best not to run and give them further cause to torment you. You couldn’t be around them anymore. There was only one place where you felt truly safe, truly yourself.

The ruins at the edge of the city took less than half an hour to reach, and as soon as you saw them you felt a sense of peace. The broken fountains still flowed with clear, sweet water that you could drink or bathe in, fragrant flowers bloomed in the shade of the shattered rocky walls, and soft grass covered the ground that wind through a labyrinth of stones and statues.

But the thing that made this place feel truly like your refuge was hidden, known only to you and yours alone. You heard the deep rumble of his voice before you even saw him, the tears you had been struggling to hold back beginning to fall as you let yourself collapse on a bed of hyacinths.

“Little prince?” You could feel his massive hooves making the earth tremble as he rounded the corner to find you, trying to smile in spite of yourself and failing miserably. “What is wrong, my love? Why do you cry?”

“The same reason I always cry.” As soon as Bucky knelt next to you you rested your head in his lap, letting out a pathetic sob but unable to care when he stroked your head with a massive hand. “I hate my father and my brothers, they make me so miserable. Maybe I really will just live here with you and survive off honey and wine.”

“It is not a bad way to live, little prince.” Bucky smiled warmly at you when you turned your body so you could peer at his face. “But you deserve all the riches and spoils of castle life. My little prince should be pampered.”

“I’m too pampered.” Your little huff of frustration made Bucky chuckle. “I am! I’m soft and weak. Even though I hate hearing it from them I know they’re right.”

“That’s enough.” The deep growl of Bucky’s voice let you know he was not pleased with you speaking about yourself in such a way, and you swallowed the rest of your self-loathing when you saw his brow furrow. He was suddenly pinning you to the ground and blowing out heavy breaths that warmed your face, and you were reminded just how enormous the minotaur you had taken for a love was. “You are not weak, and your softness is beautiful. Would a weak man let a monster love him? Would a weak man be able to show such vulnerability? I will not listen to you say such things about yourself, not when you are the man I am in love with. I do not know how many times I will have to show you just how much you are worth, but I will do it over and over again.”

Your attempt to argue was quickly muffled by his lips, every thought in your head suddenly disappearing when his thick, warm tongue lapped at yours and his hands tugged at your tunic. Before you knew it you were bare beneath him, gazing up at him with widened eyes when he pulled back from your kiss then whimpering as he began to nuzzle his way down your torso.

“Buck…”

“Hush.” He stopped at the soft bulge of your stomach, kissing every inch of skin reverently as your cock started to twitch and grow hard. “Just let me love you, little prince.”

All you could do was sigh and let your eyes drift closed as he kept kissing and licking your stomach, relishing the feeling of his strong hands gripping your fleshy thighs and spreading them wide while he worshiped his favorite part of you. He adored how soft and bountiful your body was, how sensitive you were to his ministrations and the noises that escaped from you when you finally relax and let him love you like you deserved. When you giggled at the ring in his nose tickling your navel you could feel him grinning against your skin, a soft chuff of his breath warming your stomach before his tongue flicked out to tease the head of your cock.

His mouth on you was like elysium, your body rolling under him and your breath leaving you in a whine as he began to drag his broad, heavy tongue along the length of you. Bucky always did his best to take his time and appreciate every inch of you, but you couldn’t help but get worked up so quickly it was almost embarrassing. You never really could be embarrassed around your minotaur, though. He knew every inch of you and loved you just the same. He was the only truly comforting thing in your life. And by the gods, he made you feel incredible.

Hours or merely seconds may have passed since he started licking your cock. Time lost all meaning when you were with him like this, but you would never complain about it. When his lips wrapped around you it was impossible to keep yourself from moaning obscenely, your back arching as he began to take you deeper and deeper into his hot, wet mouth.

Then his tongue slithered lower, dragging over your balls then even further even as he kept his lips wrapped tightly around your cock. Your body arched and you cried out beneath him when he started to lap at your sensitive rim, barely holding yourself back from erupting in his mouth. But then Bucky hummed around you and you couldn’t contain yourself any longer, digging your fingers into the soft grass beneath you as you filled Bucky’s mouth with your seed.

“Mmmm,” Bucky grinned and licked his lips as he pulled away from you, winking when you could only whimper in response to the sight of your cum dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “My little prince is so sweet. Was that enough or do you still need to be convinced you are worthy of being cherished?”

“It… it was more than enough.” You sighed when he kissed you, laughing softly when he wrapped you in his arms and rolled onto his back so you were laying on top of him. “I can never stay sad when I know you love me, Bucky.”

[boyswillbebuggsorsomething]

I Love You More Than Words Can Say (chapter 1)

Bucky Barnes x M!Reader

Summary: Having recently returned from the war, Bucky finds himself struggling to readjust to civilian life while coping with the trauma he was left with. So, when it all becomes too much, he ends up attempting to find solace in the bottom of the bottle, that is until he meets a strange man who just might make everything hurt a little bit less. 

Warnings/Content: No Avengers/they’re all regular people AU?, 1940s era typical homophobia (internal & external), heavily inspired by the Joshua & Jericho album by The Reverent Marigold (more specifically Johnny Turn Away, where I stole the name for this from, and Good Protestant Values), religious themes/imagery, unhealthy coping mechanisms, possibly out of character (I’ve never written for any Marvel character before, definitely not Bucky, and definitely not in any AU), reader has hair that would be considered long for a man in the 40s, historical stuff written by someone who hasn’t taken anything beyond a tenth grade history course, survivors guilt, PTSD, drinking as a one off way to forget, Steve is mentioned, switches between third person (Bucky) and second person (reader) perspectives, reader is from a family of some Christian denomination, possibly incorrectly used 40s slang

A/N: So I’ve been on a bit of a Marvel kick right now, and so now we get to witness the lovely thing of me writing incredibly self indulgent fics based on music I feel in my bones. Anyways, this is my first ever time writing Bucky, and since it is an AU without all the Winter Soldier stuff, I took some creative liberties with his personality & demeanor I guess, but idk, I adore the idea for this so I had to write it. This is also crossposted on AO3, so if you see it there it is not stolen.

Word Count: 1261

…

War changed people. 

As sure as the sun would rise and the wind would blow, war would change even the best of men. Bucky was no different. Of course, there was no expectation for the horrors of war to have no effect on him, he knew what he was signing up for, but there always is that lovely cognitive dissonance between enlisting and going into active combat that painted a sheer wash of courage and glimmering hope across even the most dire situations the mind could conjure. And so when the war was won and Bucky had found himself back in New York, he was left with a mind in shambles and the title of war hero, one that at times felt like it was mocking him for all the lives he could never save. He didn’t regret all he did, of course not, he’d done a great deal of good in the grand scheme of things, but that reminder didn’t make him feel any less like his hands were permanently stained red with gore. He was no longer the man he was before he had gone off to fight, and a horrible guilt settled beneath his ribs for that fact, especially when he saw that Steve had remained so entirely good, still the same man he had always been, while Bucky was left with a gaping void where his heart had once held that true innocence and purity. 

So, he found himself seeking solace in the only thing that was ensured to stop the memories from resurfacing, for at least a little while. The whiskey clutched in his hand had long since begun to warm, leaving it watered down and room temperature. Each burning gulp turned his stomach and left his head spinning in a foul way, not in any way reminiscent of the loving embrace of oblivion he so craved, which paired with the horrible musty stench of alcohol and despair filling the dingy old bar, an establishment he had only chosen as to ensure he would not be recognized, left him feeling separate from his body, yet simultaneously horribly nauseous. The soft sound of metal brushing metal filled his ears as he ran his fingers absently over his dog tags. With each breath he took, the rickety barstool he had made his perch upon creaked and whined obnoxiously, though he had nothing left in him to care. 

Bucky sat in that horrible creaky seat, unmoving and wholly disinterested in the world around him until his glazed over eyes caught sight of a strange man making his way up to the bar. His hair was wild, left to grow long and untamed, framing his sickly face like the portraits you’d find in an art museum, Ophelia born again in the form of a perfectly, beautifully tragic young man. Peaking out beneath his raggedy button up was a crucifix, perfect gilded purity glinting in the dim lights of the bar. It seemed to be the only well cared for aspect of the man’s appearance. As the stranger slumped onto the stool beside him, Bucky turned his gaze away so as to not be caught staring like some sort of judgemental creep. Through the corner of his eye though, he watched, entranced by this strange young man. 

“Just get me whatever’s strongest,” the stranger spoke softly as he placed some crumpled up bills on the surface of the bar, voice melodic despite its strained hoarseness, “please.” The word was a roughly tacked on addition, spoken quieter than the man’s other words. 

The sentiment was something Bucky had to come to know well in his time since the war. Not in the intimate way one who is dependent on drink to get through the day is, more like friends who come together only in times of dire need who otherwise do not speak. He wondered for a moment if it was the same for the stranger, or if he frequented these establishments as though they were a second home.

When the bartender slid over a glass of amber coloured liquid, Bucky watched as the man sipped it gingerly before downing it all, exhaling sharply when he had drunk it down. The stranger caught his gaze, and despite his efforts to seem like he wasn’t just staring, he knew it was fruitless when the man spoke.

“Y’know, it’s rude to stare,” the stranger murmured, tensing his fingers slightly around his cup.

“I wasn’t staring, per say,” Bucky attempted the kind of confident smile that had once made its home on his face each day, “I was just taking note of the only interesting person here.”

“I ain’t interesting,” he scoffed

“Sure you are. Especially compared to anyone else in this damned place,” Bucky gestured at the bar, filled with few other patrons, most slumped over and barely conscious in their drunken stupor.

“Still doesn’t make me interesting,” Despite his words, a small smile tugged at the man’s lips.

“Well, I couldn’t possibly know that without getting to know you.”

 It was strange, the way Bucky found himself slipping so easily into this bantering attitude with the man. Perhaps it was the whiskey lowering his inhibitions and peeling away the stress that had clung to him like a second skin, though there was something more reminiscent of the attitude he had used on girls before the war in the way he found himself acting with the stranger.

A grin broke out on the strange man’s face, “Okay, casanova.”

“Let me introduce myself properly, so you don’t think I’m just some creeper who spends his days staring at strangers,” Bucky held his hand out casually as he turned to face the man in a more one on one fashion, “James Buchanan Barnes, pleasure to meet you. And you are?”

The stranger introduced himself, delicately shaking Bucky’s hand before speaking once more, “So, James, what’s got you in a place like this? You seem quite a bit too respectable to be spendin’ your time here.”

It was then that the man’s eyes caught on the glinting metal of Bucky’s dog tags hanging out of his shirt, and he simply nodded in understanding, “Tryna forget?”

“Something like that.”

“Makes sense. Seems to be just about the only option to deal with anything now.”

“Were you enlisted?”

“Briefly.” The way his posture tensed and eyes darkened made Bucky choke back any further questions.

“Alright then, what are you doing here?” 

“Just trying to get my mind to stop running in circles. And what better way to do that than drinking yourself half to death?” The man huffed a small laugh at his own self deprecating joke.

“Well I could definitely drink to that,” Bucky chuckled, halfheartedly lifting up his glass before taking a long sip.

A silence, not entirely uncomfortable but a silence nonetheless fell over the two as they drank together in a newfound state of solidarity one can only find with a stranger in the depths of night. Bucky, rather surprisingly, found himself becoming relaxed far more than the alcohol alone could ever achieve, simply by being in the presence of this strange, rumpled man. Something about his presence, despite his tear-reddened eyes or the stench of whiskey clinging strongly to his form, provided a sense of comfort, of warmth and understanding that Bucky found himself lacking even with Steve or his own family. The shared tragedy of two men warped and torn apart by an unkind world, molded into an unnatural form by hands cruel enough to not even consider the repercussions of their actions.

[eekshade]

I’m very for angst right now- Bucky in his Winter Soldier ‘mode’ in some way hurt his boyfriend who then was sent to the hospital. Later on when Bucky’s back to normal he realized what he did and feels very sad about it and visits his partner

sorry this took so long, i know it's not really what you were looking for, more of a hurt/comfort than angst.

Sorry, Sweet Home.

Bucky Barnes x m!reader

Word Count: 644

Warnings/Info: made this on my phone, this isn't really angsty, more fluff than anything, just a hospital scene; no actual violence, not proofread, no real warnings

Bucky sat in the pure white and blue hospital waiting room, speckles of color pop out in the minimalist paintings of nothing in particular. Tears pricked in his eyes as the guilt of harming you caused him to shudder deeply. How could he do this? How could he let himself slip like that? How could he hurt you when all you wanted to do was help? He felt numb as he shifted uncomfortably in the stiff seat.

The doctor came to him, Bucky didn't fully know what was said to him. The sound of his heart and nondescript buzzing flooded his ears. His body moved by itself as he made his way through the spotless hallway to your cleansed, pale room.

His eyes land on your somnolent body, he blinks to clear his eyes of the warm tears. His mind races a mile a minute, his self hate and shame boils in his heart. His body feels like it's going to give out underneath the weight of it all. His thoughts come to an abrupt end at the sight of your warm, shaky smile.

“Buck…? You okay?” You whispered, voice soft as a small kit.

“Am I okay?” His voice cracked deeply, taking a breath before continuing, “Are you?” He made no effort to move closer to you - the guilt stopping him.

“Of course I am, I can take you any day.” You jested, he let out a soft whimper at that.

“Honey, can you please come over here?” You pleaded with a warm smile.

He nodded hesitantly, pulling up a chair to the side of your bed. Knees pressed against the soft plush of the mattress, the contrast of the cool metal bringing him no comfort.

“I am so sorry.” He apologized, voice barley audible out of fear that if he spoke too loud, he wouldn't be able to get the sentence out. Tears running down his soft cheeks, the salty taste enters through the corner of his lips.

“Hey, no no no, don't do that. It's not your fault.” The pads of your thumbs gently wipe the tears off of his pretty face.

“-But I put you here? How could this not be my fault? I let myself go, and I let myself hurt you.” He croaked, “ I'm a monster.” He avoided eye contact like the plague, opted to look at his hands tangled with yours.

You broke into laughter, warm and bubbly, he looked up at your face, confusion gracing his angelic features.

“Sorry, I just, I love you so very much. Do you know that?” You snickered.

“Callin’ yourself a monster, but - god, I mean, look at you.” You say with a harsh snort.

“What does that mean?” He smiles at you, guilt seeping out of his system at your antics.

“Well, for starters you have an entire bookshelf of only fantasy, you organize your clothes by color, you're insanely good with kids, you love carnivals, you fold your socks, you are a cat whisperer, do you need more?”

He looks at you sweetly, opening his mouth to respond, but he closes it when he can't find the right words to choose. He looks down at his lap, a lovely smirk on his lips. He's trying to hide it almost like he's embarrassed of himself for being so easily swayed.

“Look at me.” You responded curtly. His blue eyes swiftly look up at you, shaken by your icy tone.

You lean in and leave a quick tender kiss on his slightly chapped lips, he chases your lips as you pull away. He whines as you stop him from continuing. You rest your forehead on his, your breath mixing together, “I love you, Buck, so so much.” You mumble into the small space between you two.

“I love you more.” He kisses your cheek.

“Sure sure.” You scoff, catching his lips once more.

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[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Round 4 Vote

[foreverrandomwritings]

these jealous prompts with my babygirl bucky pls 🦾🤍 romantic relationship

“hey—  look at me.  why are you all upset?”

“i promise there’s no one else.  you have my heart completely.”

Blind Dates

Summary: Loving each other had been difficult since neither of you were aware of the feelings the other harbored. What happens when it gets too much for you to handle?

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x afab!Reader

Warnings: Alcohol and fluff.

Word count: 1105

Masterlist M's Hundred Celly Masterlist

You had a crazy road leading you to becoming friends with Bucky. It had started out as you being friends with Clint, then Natasha, eventually Steve, then Sam and now Bucky. Even though everyone around you could see the love you had for each other, the two of you couldn’t see it. Thinking the other strictly wanted a platonic relationship. 

That had worked out decently for you up until Sam started setting Bucky up on blind dates. He had seemed a little reluctant to go on them but you figured that was probably because it had been a while since he had dated. You knew from Steve what a ladies man he used to be. Which you understood completely, even after everything he’s been through he still had charm. 

But the more dates he went on the more you pulled away from him. It hurt to see him constantly going out with other women while you pined for him from the sidelines. He had noticed the distance growing between you. When he asked about it you would make up an excuse and tell him it was okay. 

The final straw though was when you saw him on one of the dates. You had decided to have a drink and dinner by yourself at a local restaurant. Your dinner had just arrived when you heard a familiar voice. You paused mid bite looking around until your eyes landed on him. He had on your favorite red Henley, nice form fitting jeans and a pair of dressy casual shoes. 

From where you were sitting you could see the women he was on a date with. She looked nothing like you. Different hair color, different face shape, she dressed more provocative than you did, her eyes were even a different color from yours. You felt nauseous as she reached across the table to stroke his flesh arm. 

Flagging down the waiter you asked for a box and the check. He brought it out hastily packing your food away as you put cash with the check. You told him to keep the change as you slipped from the table and towards the door. You smelled his aftershave as you passed their table. Which was conveniently on the way to the door. 

You heard him call your name as you slipped into the busy streets of the city. Quickly you blended into the crowd and made your way home. You thought about taking the subway or hailing a taxi as you walked. But you decided you needed to clear your head some and the walk back to your apartment would give you the time to. 

You regretted that decision though as an unexpected storm came pouring down from the sky. Huffing you pulled the jacket you had on tighter around your body. The bag of leftovers hanging lazily from your fingers. Your teeth started to chatter the closer you got to your block. But you hadn’t been paying attention enough to notice.

Once you rounded the corner that would take you to the tall brick building you noticed a figure sitting on the stoop. You were on high alert instantly scanning the area around you for any possible threats. Seeing none you cautiously made your way to the steps. As you got closer you could make out the person drenched in rain. 

“Buck?” You called out towards him. His head shot up as he heard your voice. 

“Doll, did you walk here?” He was out of his seat now striding over to you in a few steps. 

“Uh yea. Have you been waiting here for long?” You asked him, eyes shooting towards where he was sitting before looking towards the ground. 

“About an hour. I saw you while you were leaving the restaurant. I called out to you but you didn’t answer me. I followed you outside and you were gone. I thought you got a cab but once I got here you weren’t here so I decided to wait for you.” You shrugged your shoulders at the end of his sentence trying to remain emotionless. 

“Hey—  look at me. Why are you all upset?” He brought a finger to your chin lifting your face up to see you. He had always been able to see through your facades. The rain had started coming down heavier. His hair was sticking to his forehead and his eyelashes were littered with rain drops. 

“I’m not upset Buck.” You searched his eyes for a hint of the love you felt for him. You were surprised to see exactly that in his blue eyes. 

“I know you’re upset, please just talk to me.” His rough fingers slipped from your chin to your cheek. You took a deep shaking breath at the contact. 

“I don’t like seeing you or hearing about you going on dates. I don’t like that you are with someone that isn’t me.” You told him shakily, not trusting yourself to not cry. 

“Doll, I promise there’s no one else. You have my heart completely.” His eyes darted towards your lips as you slipped your tongue between them, licking some of the rain off them. 

“Then why have you been going on dates?” You asked him skeptically, he looked ashamed as he spoke. 

“I just needed to get my mind off you. But it never worked. You’re all I can think about. Day and night my thoughts are filled with you.” Your eyes were now on his lips as he spoke. Imagining them melded to yours. The knowledge that you ran through his mind as much as he did yours, warmed something deep inside you. 

“Kiss me Buck.” You looked at him as the rain continued to pour around you. 

“Are you sure, doll?” His voice was hesitant as he looked at your face. Studying it closely for any signs of hesitation from you. When he saw none he was slowly moving forwards. 

The kiss was soft and slow. His hands remained on your face as yours came up to cup his own. The bag of leftovers falling from your grasp. You continued to kiss out on the sidewalk covered in rain for what felt like hours until he pulled away. 

“You're shivering, let’s get inside.” You nodded, as you led him up your steps into your apartment. Once you entered you went into your room giving him an extra set of clothes before slipping into some of your own. 

You grabbed a blanket and got settled on the couch as he changed. When he slipped into the room you gestured for him to join you and he did. You fell asleep that night laying on top of him, his arms wrapped around you securely. He had his first nightmare less sleep in years as your scent and warmth surrounded him. You would talk about what this meant for the both of you in the morning. For now you would enjoy the embrace of the other.

A/N: A surprise out of schedule post today in honor of it being my besties birthday! Happy Birthday Love @theeleggymeggy! Plus a bonus gif as an extra present!❣️❣️

Tags(open): @wkndwlff @sylviebell

[espinosaurusrexex]

You try to find Bucky a date but he only has eyes for you

a/n: playful Bucky and "clueless" reader are my new fave

word count: ~800

warnings: fun fluff, teeny bit angst

･ﾟ✫* 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ｡✭･ﾟ

“Do you have any preferences for a partner?” You sat next to Bucky on the sofa in the common room, determined to find the perfect date for him upon request from Sam.

“Well, I’m very particular when it comes to my type.” Bucky clasped his hands in his lap as he eyed you opening your notes app. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of dating anyone. Well, anyone that wasn’t you to be clear. There was a reason he’d yet to ask anyone out since working here. The same reason he chose to entertain your attempt to set him up. He liked spending time with you. 

“Particular is good. More details mean I can find the perfect person for you.” You beamed at him and Bucky cursed under his breath when his heart did the somersault thing. 

Then he decided to shrug it off. “If you think so.”

Seemingly nonchalant, he watched you prepare some bullet points on your phone, itching to reach out and smack the thing from your grasp so you could hold his hand instead. 

“I am the perfect matchmaker, Bucky. You should be glad I’m helping you. The amount of feedback I’m given for my relationship expertise is unmatched.”

“Think I should check your references, doll,” Bucky smirked. “Cause you never once went on a date since I’ve been here.”

You stared at him blankly and Bucky took the opportunity to look at your lips. And just as he suspected, they looked perfectly kissable today.

“Coaches don’t play, Bucky.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, making Bucky chuckle. 

“Okay now, favorite hair color?”

“I do enjoy a nice y/h/c,” Bucky answered immediately. He knew you’d not let this go, so he might as well play into it. He knew exactly who his type was, so the questions shouldn’t be too hard. 

“Preferred height?” You typed away and Bucky stood and held up his hand to the spot he knew your head ended when you stood next to him. “Abooooout this tall.” 

You glanced at him swiftly, nodding and typing the info like a machine. Bucky chuckled again. You were so invested, he could probably say your name as his preferred one in a partner and you’d write it down without question. 

“Perfect eye color?” 

“Y/e/c.” You froze in your tracks for a second and then you proceeded to type. 

“Wait,” Bucky said, grabbing your face with his metal hand and looking into your eyes with furrowed brows. “Y/e/c with those beautiful speck in ‘em. That’s what I like...”

He watched as your pupils switched between his and Bucky wondered if you’d finally caught on. He wasn’t trying to hide it, after all. However, all he got was another moment of intimate eye contact before your jaw slightly pressed against his hand with the next question tumbling out of you.

“Preferred occupation?” There was the hint of a smile on your lips, and Bucky couldn’t have missed it. Maybe you were even wittier than he thought you to be. 

“Hmmm....” He tabbed his chin now embracing the game you’d invited him into. “I’d die for a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.” He let go of your face. “Maybe an avenger even - I think that would be perfect for me.”

Bucky turned back slightly, now watching you out of the corner of his eye, heart hammering in his chest yet again. Your fingers typed furiously on that phone of yours and his hand began to sweat. It was fun while it lasted, now he’d have to go back to serious. 

“Bucky-“ his heart dropped when you whispered his name as you watched your notes. But then you put your phone down and grabbed his hands. God, this was worse. You’d let him down easy - somehow he wanted you to be clueless again. “I think I may have the perfect candidate for you.” 

That’s when he finally found the courage to look at you again. Firstly at your hands which were gently wrapped around his and then your face, where big eyes were watching him from below. 

His chest deflated when he saw the unreadable expression in your eyes. “You don’t have to-“

Bucky didn’t get to finish his sentence because warm pillowy lips were pressed to his and catapulted him into a state of utter shock and disbelief. After a few seconds of freeze mode, your fingers squeezed his gently, as a reminder that this was truly happening. And before any more time could have gone to waste, Bucky’s arms wrapped around you with an urgency that had settled deep in his bones. Maybe you weren’t so clueless after all...

Follow my library blog for fic updates! @espinosaurusrexex-library

[cokoladasljesnjakom]

tag you're it

shes a ruthless killer. she does not care if someone dies on her watch. her moves are like shadow. she is a shadow. once you see her, its too late. its not her problem. she cant complain, but what she can do is to complie. thats what is she made for. thats what they made her do. but once she escapes from their grasp, she searches for him. for her brother. but of course what goes around, comes around. and thats is when she meets him. the winter solider. and oh yeah the rest of the avengers.

authors note: hello. this is my first time EVER writing something so yeah. i hope some of you guys will enjoy this story as much as i do because this has been on my mind for MONTHS. n e ways. this is just a begining and buckle up. also the updates will be here but because im bussy they will be slow.

bucky barnes x female! reader

word count : 1.9k or even more idk man just read

the translation is down there like down so yeah enjoy 🫶

masterlist prologue part i

flashback

"but honey you need to eat veggies. you too max. its good for your health and maybe who knows you can get a hot cocoa." the voice ringed out, but she couldnt remeber whos. she really did. she tried with her blood, sweat and tears to remeber anything from her previous life. but no use.

present

"тень?" the man asked. and then it happened. he slapped her. one. two. three. four? shit she forgot how to count. too many times, until she could feel the blood coming out from her nose and lip.

"25 декабря 2006? отчет о миссии прямо сейчас!" 25 december 2006? oh. that. god, she didnt even wanted to think about that.

"миссия выполнена." that was everything she could say. nothing more, nothing less. she says a word more? boom. theres a fist coming up in her face. she says a word less? same shit. but worse consequences.

and there is it. the smile on his face. she watches him moving his mouth, but her mind is elsewhere. trying to remeber the dream. its been haunting her, trying to get up to the surface and to see if she can solve it out. but everytime shes close to a clue ... she looses it.

"you did a good job. you can rest now." the russian accent was hard on his tongue. she hated how his smile didnt bring any comfort but only fear. "but next time i want you to be ready for this тень. that mission is going to be the mission of your life." he laughed? she didnt know, but all she felt was discust.

"вытри ее и уложи спать." he said with discust in his voice, then he added "и убедись, что она замерзнет в этой чертовой комнате." she hated that room. she hated this. she hated herself. she hated everything. and yet, she cant complain, but only complie only.

she felt their hands all over her. she wanted to tell them to stop. to scream and get out. but she cant. she couldnt.

so they wiped her and picked her up to put her in the cyro, strap her down so she could stay straight. she felt cold. and then she felt nothing.

translation!

тень - shadow

25 декабря 2006? отчет о миссии прямо сейчас! - 25th december 2006? mission report right now!

миссия выполнена - mission acomplishment

вытри ее и уложи спать - wipe her and put her to bed

и убедись, что она замерзнет в этой чертовой комнате - and make sure she freezes in that damn room

i hope you enjoyed and if you didnt ... thats okay anyways BYE 😝

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4861

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

11. Palmiers

Bucky

Because he’s on the far end of the spectrum, Bucky’s sex drive is affected by his condition. He wakes up hard almost every morning of his life, and Steve doesn’t need much encouragement to get himself worked up into the same state very quickly. Mutual morning jerk offs were always bound to become part of their routine.

They take a shower and stand toe to toe, hands sliding and groping all over each others’ slick bodies, pulling on their cocks until both of them are shooting off against each other’s bellies. The water washes it away, and Steve gives him a deep, happy kiss. “Mmm. Mornin’.”

“Blegch. Go brush your teeth, you heathen.”

Steve laughs and gets out of the shower. Bucky stays in for a few minutes longer, adjusting the spray to its hardest setting and letting the hot water beat down on his back and shoulders. He sighs and stretches his neck this way and that, trying to get his vertebrae to pop, but his muscles are all too tight, and the stretching just seems to make it worse. Bucky drops his head in defeat. In all honesty, his shoulders and neck and back are all pretty fucked after months of near-constant use of his prosthetic.

Steve’s right: he doesn’t usually wear it this much. And he’s also right that Bucky’s been wearing it all day every day because he wants to feel powerful and able bodied in front of Mary. As per usual, Steve is the first one to have noticed what maladaptive behavior pattern he’s doing and why, and pointed it out to him. It really is for the best, Bucky knows. Because he can’t sustain wearing the arm all the time anymore. The thing is just too damn heavy.

The engineers who designed it have made tweaks and adjustments over the years. They’ve done all they can to lighten the load as much as possible, but the thing still weighs over twenty pounds. Twenty pounds doesn’t sound like much, but when it’s pulling on the same muscle groups day in and day out, everything in Bucky’s body winds up getting strained and unbalanced. He understands better now, how women fuck up their necks so badly from shouldering their purses (or their tits) around. A little bit of weight makes a big difference.

As a Dom, Bucky may have a tiny problem admitting when he needs help. He has to be in quite a bit of pain, trouble, or both, before he’ll ever speak up and allow himself to be vulnerable like that. It’s an inherent behavior that shrinks have been trying to therapize and medicate out of him since he was a kid, but nothing ever changed it much. Falling in love with Steve helped; Bucky can let himself be more vulnerable around him. But even still, it’s no small thing that he regularly approaches his husband to ask for help in getting his arm back on correctly (Bucky can do it, but it’s a pain in the ass, getting the mechanism lined up just right before it’ll take). 

He gets out of the shower and dries off, then approaches Steve with the prosthesis. “Gimme a hand?” 

Steve makes a cheerful noise of acknowledgement around his mouthful of toothpaste, spits and rinses, then takes the arm from Bucky. He lines it up just so, and then Bucky feels the deep shudder of the arm’s inner workings coming to life as they recognize their mate. The arm attaches and Steve lets go. 

“Thanks babe.”

“Uh huh.” 

It’s as Bucky’s bending over and pulling up his underwear and joggers that a spasm runs through his back and he cries out in a pained, “Ah!”

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

Gritting his teeth, Bucky slowly stands back up. He’s able to get his pants up, but when he tests the movement of his neck and shoulders, the pain flares again. It feels like everything between the base of his skull and his mid back is seizing up. “Fuck,” he hisses, frustrated. It’s his day off. He’d been planning to go to the gym for his long workout. 

Steve steps up and puts a worried hand on his left shoulder. “Babe? Do you need it off?” 

“No. I need some painkillers and a magnesium tablet,” he grunts, already turning around (full body, because turning his head is a bad idea right now). “Fuck.” He starts off for the kitchen. 

Steve follows along with worried protests, telling him to lay his “stubborn ass” down and he’ll get it for him. Bucky ignores him and goes to the kitchen cabinet where they keep their supplement stuff. He winds up yelling again when he tries to reach up and grab the ibuprofen. “Fuck!” he says angrily.

“Babe, I said to let me do it,” Steve scolds, his hand back on Bucky’s shoulder. “And let me take this off. It’s hurting you.”

“Steve, back off,” he snaps, angry and waspish from being in pain, and from being frustrated with his own goddamn body. 

“What’s going on?” 

Bucky turns his head without thinking, hisses in pain, and then turns himself full-body to face in Mary’s direction. She’s standing there looking at the two of them in concern, one hand holding one of those swirly, flaky, crack-cookies that she makes, and the other holding a cup of tea. Her eyes widen at the sight of Bucky’s arm and body, reminding him that this is the first time she’s seen him without a shirt on. “Nothin’,” Bucky grunts.

“Shit,” she says. “Are you guys fighting? Is this a couples’ fight? I’ll just …” She turns to leave back towards her room.

“We’re not fighting,” Steve says. “Buck’s just being an ass. He gets that way when he’s in pain.”

Bucky would turn his head to glare at him, but it isn’t worth another flair of agony in his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he says, when Mary comes back over. “It’s fine,” he stresses. He opens the pill bottle and dumps three capsules into his palm. “Jeez, will everybody stop babying me? I just need a glass of water.” 

“I’ll get it,” Steve says, causing Bucky to huff once again. “Don’t be a jerk, babe.”

“Why are you in pain?” Mary asks, her eyes tracing all over the left side of Bucky’s scarred up body. “Is it … does your arm hurt?” 

“No. It just fucks up my muscles, sometimes.”

“Your muscles?”

Bucky sighs impatiently. “Steve, do you know where the heating pad is?”

“I’ll have to look.” Steve has returned with a glass of water, and Bucky tosses back the handful of pills, wincing at how even the slight motion of raising his arm up makes his trap twinge in protest. “Ugh.” 

“You should get a massage,” Mary suggests, and Bucky fights not to lash out at her. She doesn’t know that one of his biggest pet peeves in life is having other people tell him what he “should” do.

“My PT maxed out back in October,” he tells her. “Doesn’t renew again till January.”

Steve takes the water glass from him once he’s done. “Go lie face down on the bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll find the heating pad.”

“Well I could do it,” Mary blurts out. Both Bucky and Steve pause and look at her. She looks surprised, too, as though she hadn’t been planning to say the words until they were out of her mouth, and now doesn’t know how to continue  “Um, that is ..." she gestures weakly with her cookie. “I just meant I know how to, if you wanted.” Eventually her cheeks color and she looks away. “Erm, Nevermind.”

“Wait,” Steve says. When Mary turns back, he’s looking at her earnestly, and Bucky thinks, Oh no. “You know how to give a back massage? Like a real one?”

“Yeah. My, ah, my ex always had neck problems, so.” She shrugs, looking embarrassed. “I took a class at the community college, learned the basics.”

Bucky blinks. That’s the subbiest fucking thing he’s ever heard. “You did this for the husband that beat you?” he drawls, immediately regretting it because it comes out sounding way more derogatory than he intends it to. “Sorry. I just … actually would pay good money for a massage right now. If you know how to do it.” 

Mary bites her lip, looking deliciously shy and sweet. Bucky’s mood sours as he realizes that she doesn’t really want to. He’s about to let her off the hook, but then some unconscious movement he makes without meaning to has him flinching in pain again. “Sheezus,” he complains. 

“It’s not usually this bad,” Steve worries.

“I must’a slept on it wrong.”

Mary nods, as if this settles it. “Okay. Well, go in the bedroom and tie your hair up so it's out of the way.” She turns to Steve, all but dismissing Bucky now that she’s got a task to complete. Bucky fights back an amused smirk as he heads towards the bedroom, and he hears Mary bossing Steve around, telling him she needs dry oil, the heating pad, towels, and all the seat cushions off the couch. 

The fuck does she need those for? Bucky thinks as he pads back into his and Steve’s room.

He finds out a moment later, when Mary and Steve come in with a couch cushion each, and Steve goes back out to get another. They lay them in a line on the bed, and Mary directs Bucky to lie on top of them, with his body placed just so and his face down just there, and … Oh. He gets it.

She’s left space between the cushion under Bucky’s chest, and the next cushion up, which supports his forehead. The gap creates a drop through for his face—like a massage table. And when she shapes the towel into a donut shape and sticks it there, it's pretty much perfect.

“Oh,” Bucky says, as he’s settling into place. “Oh, that’s actually really smart.” He can’t see Mary from his position, but somehow he senses her preening over the praise anyway. Steve returns from the bathroom with the heating pad and oil. “Found this stuffed in the back of the linen closet. I don’t know what ‘jojoba’ is, but, um … it’s either that or the virgin olive out in the pantry.”

“Do not use that,” Bucky grumbles. “Shit’s expensive, and I don’t wanna smell like garlic truffle for the next three days.”

“That’ll work fine.” Mary is totally task focused, ignoring Bucky’s surliness and telling Steve to apply the heating pad across Bucky’s shoulders and neck for thirty minutes before they get started.

“Thirty minutes?!” Bucky complains, unable to see anything but the top of the bedcovers as the two of them go out into the hallway. 

“Just relax, Babe,” Steve says (and if Bucky isn’t mistaken, he sounds amused). “Take a nap.”

“I just woke up!” He scoffs at the bedspread when the door quietly ‘snicks’ shut and he realizes that he’s been abandoned. “Well okay then,” he mutters petulantly. Steve is right: he does turn into an ass when he’s in pain. Hmm. Maybe he should work on that.

Steve

Steve turns the tv onto a low volume so they can talk without Bucky hearing. “Sorry about him,” he says. “He’s a humongous jerk whenever he’s feeling crummy.”

“You mean it’s not just all the time?” Mary drawls.

“He’s … just one of those people you have to learn to love before you like them.” Mary raises an eyebrow, and Steve winces. “Er, that sounded harsh. Don’t tell him I said that.”

She twists her lips and looks down. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“Thanks, Hon. You want more tea?” 

“Yes please. There’s more of the palmiers in a baggie next to the coffee pot, if you want any.” 

“Heck yeah, I love those things.” Steve had thought the prepackaged ones at Starbucks were good, hadn’t even realized that they weren’t supposed to be all stale and hard like that. Just another commercialized pastry that Mary’s gone and ruined him for. He goes into the kitchen and makes himself coffee and Mary tea, knowing by now how she takes it.

She thanks him silently as he returns and joins her on the couch, both of them sitting close to one another on the chaise, since it’s the only part of the couch that still has its cushion.

"Palmier is French. Know what else they call these?" Mary asks.

Steve's lips quirk. Mary's always got these little facts she knows about the origins of this pastry or that. It's cute. Endearing. "No," he plays along. "What?"

"Elephant ears, because of the shape, see?"

"Oh yeah. Huh. That's neat."

She goes back to eating and sipping at her teacup, and after a moment of unrequited, affectionate staring, Steve looks away. "Elephant ears," he murmurs, trying not to be mopey. "That's funny."

They split the palmiers between them, and aside from the sounds of them munching cookies and sipping their drinks, it’s quiet for a long time. Steve made both the tea and the coffee very hot, so they at least have the excuse of cradling and blowing on their steaming mugs to keep the silence from being too awkward. Mary keeps her eyes trained forward, but Steve gets the sense that she isn’t really paying attention to the home renovation program that’s playing on the tv. His suspicions are confirmed when she eventually asks,

“So: His arm.”

Steve inhales slowly. “Yeah. His arm.”

“What happened?”

Steve frowns. He can tell by her inflection that she’s asking not just about the arm, but about the state of Bucky’s entire left side from shoulder to hip. “We were in the army,” he confides. “Deployed overseas. I made captain young, but he was a specialist in the field: a sniper. So I wasn’t put into the same types of situations as he was. His convoy got blown up by an IED. And when the dust settled …” He shrugs. “No more arm.”

“Oh.” Mary sits there and absorbs that information. “I guess I kind of figured it was something like that. I mean what else is there, besides like, a shark attack or something?”

Steve’s mouth twitches. Shark attack, ha. He’ll have to suggest that one to Buck. Might be fun to lie about, the next time a stranger asks. “Naw, just a boring old bomb. And afterwards, well. It was a long road for him, after. He didn’t have the arm when I met him.”

Mary turns her head, surprised. “Oh. You two didn’t meet in the army?”

“No, after. I met him at the V.A., when he was already angry, hurt, and didn’t want to be where he was.” Steve looks over and gives her a meaningful look. “Kind of like when I first met you.” 

Her eyes widen, and then her face colors and she looks away again, pulling her knees up and hunkering over her mug. “Was I really that bad?” she mumbles.

“... You were pretty bad, Honey.”

She frowns and doesn’t say anything, and Steve decides to leave it alone. “So yeah, his arm. He got into a program for experimental cybernetics. It was a big gamble. Back then, he still had his arm down to nearly the elbow, which meant he could use a lot of the different types of prostheses they had on the market. The less arm you have, the less they can do for you. The surgeries for the implant required removal all the way up to and including his left shoulder blade. So if he went through with it and the procedures didn’t work out, he’d be left with less function than he started with.”

“Jeez.”

“Hm, yeah. It was a risk.” Steve stares across the living room as he remembers all of the hospital stays and surgeries and revisions and therapy appointments. “Luckily it worked out. They replaced some bones with metal supports, some of his natural muscle with enhanced synthetic tissue. His body didn’t reject any of the junk they were putting in him, which was the biggest worry. All in all, it took five surgeries over the course of three years, and then a shit ton of physiotherapy. Buck says it was worth it, now, but it wasn’t a walk in the park when it was happening, I’ll tell you that.”

Beside him, Mary makes a sad little noise in her throat. “But … all that and it still gives him pain?”

“Yeah. He gets PT for it, but like he said; it never winds up lasting the full year. I force him to my veterans' support group when I can, but he’s gotta be in a really charitable mood for that.” Steve snorts humorlessly. “He’s always hated being disabled. It doesn’t jive with his DPD. You know that stereotype about men: never wanting to stop and ask for directions?” 

“Yeah.”

"Well it's true. And then you take a guy who’s as far on the spectrum as Bucky is, and it’s ten times worse.” He widens his eyes in emphasis and gets a little giggle out of Mary for it, which makes him warm with pride. He pulls his feet up onto the couch next to Mary’s and nudges her knee with his. “Just fair warning: He’s the worst patient I’ve ever seen. So don’t take it personally if he’s grumpy at you in there.”

Mary frowns and looks away. “Well, I mean I don’t have to do this. If he doesn’t want to.”

“Pretty sure he wants to. And he needs help with it, whether his stubborn ass wants to admit it or not.”

She nods, though she still doesn’t look confident. “It’s been over a year since I worked on anybody …”

“Well then this’ll be good practice for you, won’t it?” Steve nudges her again in encouragement and tells her to finish up her tea: He doesn’t expect Bucky’ll lie around patiently for much longer.

(“Oh, and Hon, maybe don’t tell him we were out here talking about him this whole time.”)

(“Duh.”)

In the bedroom, Mary climbs onto the bed next to where Bucky is laid out on the couch cushions. She takes the heating pad off his neck and puts it aside, looking nervously over the broad expanse of his back. “Um …” She reaches for the oil bottle and pumps some into her hands. She spends a long, long time just spreading it between her hands and staring at Bucky, until finally he snaps,

“What’s the holdup?” 

“Babe, be nice,” Steve warns. “Mary? You need anything?”

“Um, no. It’s just … usually I'd ..." She makes an aborted move, like she's thinking about repositioning herself, but winds up staying where she is. "Right," she mutters to herself. "This'll work fine." She reaches forward like she’ll start rubbing Bucky’s back, hesitates, shuffles closer to his side, then sets her hands on his shoulders.

Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch, but he’s not used to new people touching him, and Steve would bet money that his eyes are clenched shut right now.

“Okay,” Mary warns. “I haven’t done this in awhile, so don’t get your hopes up for a miracle or anything.”

“Anything’ll be better than what I can do myself,” Bucky says gruffly, voice somewhat muffled by the cushions. “Just go to town. You can’t hurt me any worse.”

Steve can see Mary’s face, and he knows by now what she looks like when she’s flustered. Awkwardly, he steps to the side, heading for the door. “I’ll just go watch some—”

“No!” Mary squeaks, and when Steve turns back around she’s looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t leave,” she says, like being left alone touching Bucky is the worst possible thing that could happen. Steve doesn’t miss how the muscles in Bucky’s arms do tense at hearing her plead for Steve to stay. 

“Uhm, okay. I’ll just … be over here.” He leans back against the dresser, feeling almost painfully awkward. Once again, he’s reminded how Mary has shown absolutely no desire to engage in sexual contact with them. He hopes she doesn’t think this is a ploy to force physical contact. She was the one who suggested it, after all.

She starts at the base of Bucky’s skull, rubbing her thumbs in small circles. “As I go along, try to tell me which areas feel the worst,” she murmurs, and Bucky hums in acknowledgement. Steve watches as she pushes and circles and kneads Bucky’s neck, working down on into his shoulders. He’s struck by how feminine and tiny her hands look against Bucky’s body … and then has to steer his mind away from the thought of how tiny they might look in other places.

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky gasps, when she reaches a certain spot on the left side of his neck.

She freezes. “Bad?” 

“Nngh. Good,” he slurs. “That whole area from there goin’ down into my back ‘n all around my shoulder blade is where it’s worst.”

“Okay.” She tentatively presses around in and around the left side of his neck and shoulder. “Oh, yeah. It starts right here and goes down.” She slides her hand down the muscle and hums. “Oh, I can feel it.”

(Steve tries really hard not to think sexual thoughts.)

“Riiight here? and … here?"

Between the cushions, Bucky’s voice comes out in a series of garbled moans.

“That’d be a yes,” Steve interprets, and Mary actually shoots him a grin at that. Glad to have cut the tension a bit, he dares to take a few steps closer to the bed. He peers down at what Mary’s doing, the way her fingers dig in at sharp, focused points in some places and rub more gently in others. “It’s your trap that’s the worst,” she mutters distractedly, feeling around with her hands and staring off into space with the tip of her tongue poking out at the corner of her mouth. It’s cute. “Mmm, but probably your levator scapulae, too. Those tend to get fucked up hand in hand.”

“Mmrr.”

“And here: your rhomboid.”

“Ooh!”

“Tender?” 

“Shuyeahhh,” Bucky grunts, then his breath hitches when she digs into another spot. “Oh, yep yep right there. Was’that?”

Steve can’t help but grin. Bucky sounds like he’s drooling at this point.

“Your trapezius muscle. It's big. Does a lot of work, covers a large area. Probably the main offender.” Mary hums and feels around a little more. “Oof, yeah. You’ve got a whole bunch of tension right here.”

“You can feel it?” Steve asks, fascinated. He can't see anything.

“Yeah. Here, gimme your hand.” Steve is taken aback when she grabs his hand and guides his fingers into place, her own smaller hand pressing down. “Riiight there. You feel it?”

Steve swallows thickly. “Ah, yeah.” His eyes flick from her hand on his hand on Bucky’s back, up to her face, and back again before she can catch him looking. “Y-yeah it’s hard.” He grimaces at his choice of words (If he's not careful, "it" soon will be).

“I’m gonna focus on this one for a few minutes,” Mary tells Bucky. Then you can guide me around to the other bad spots.”

“Sounds good,” he slurs. Steve is about to take a step back again, but then Bucky calls out, “Hey Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Pay attention to what she’s doin’. It feels really fuckin’ good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhm. You can learn n' do it next time,” he says dreamily. On his back, Mary’s hands still for the briefest of seconds. “S’goood.”

Steve nods and comes back to sit on the bed. “Okay,” he agrees, scooting in close and glancing at Mary. Her face looks pinched all of a sudden, her expression stiffened as if in annoyance. “I promise I’m not as dumb as I look,” he jokes, and watches as her face smooths out and she smiles a little.

“Oh! Oh no it’s … it’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ll teach you how.”

“Don’t mind me, m’just a teaching tool,” Bucky drawls, and Steve laughs and pats his shoulder. 

“Yeah you are. So shut up and let her teach.”

Bucky grunts and shuts up. Steve looks to Mary for instruction. He can tell she’s uncomfortable, but she manages to hide it well and keep herself on track. The more he pays attention, the sooner she can get herself out of this and never have to do it again. “Ready to learn,” he tells her.

“Now when you’re doing this, you can get more leverage if you straddle his waist.” She says this like it’s a foregone assumption that she would never dare to sit on Bucky’s waist, and Steve is sure she doesn’t notice the grumpy huff of breath Bucky gives.

“Right,” Steve says, pained. “Okay, so where are the bad spots again?”

“Put your hand here.” She takes his hand again and places it just to the left of Bucky’s spine at the level of his shoulder blade. “Slide your fingers out. There. Feel that difference? Feel how it changes when you move out to just … there?” She guides his fingers, and Steve nods. 

“Y-yeah.” Mostly, he’s just thinking about how nice Mary’s warm, oiled, tiny hand feels guiding his hand around. “Yeah.”

“The trap’s on top, but there are other muscles underneath of this one, and that differentiation you feel is where the rhomboid is ending and the—”

She keeps talking, and Steve tries to pay attention and learn, he really does. But his mind is a veritable sieve, for how well he retains the information. It’s all in one ear and out the other, ninety percent of his attention stuck on Mary’s hands on him, guiding him, pressing on his fingers and gliding his touch over Bucky’s skin. Fuck, how did they wind up here? 

Eventually, having taught Steve the basics, Mary lets him go and works on Bucky’s shoulders for a little while more. For the most part it’s quiet, with Bucky making soft grunts of pain whenever she finds a new cluster of knotted muscle, and sighs of relief once she works them out. 

Her hands linger on Bucky’s mid back when she’s done. She doesn’t seem to know what to do. “Erm. Okay. I think … I think that’s it.”

When neither Bucky nor Steve says anything, she retreats on her own, getting off the bed and looking between Bucky’s prone form and Steve’s sorrowful expression. “So, kay. You can get up, if you want. Just move slowly.”

Bucky’s right hand gives her the thumbs up symbol, but the entire rest of his body doesn’t move. “Thanks Mare. Just give us a second. That was really good. Thank you. Thanks for teaching Steve.”

It’s the “Thanks for teaching Steve” that seems to do it. Mary’s expression firms up and she nods curtly, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. Steve stays sitting on the bed next to Bucky in silence for a long minute, then says knowingly, “Got a boner?”

“Yep.”

*To anyone who's only ever had store bought, pre-packaged palmiers: I'm so sorry. Along with Madeleines, those should never be eaten more than a few hours max after they've been baked.

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[the-iceni-bitch]

𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖂𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 𝕳𝖊'𝖘 𝕭𝖔𝖗𝖓

𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚞𝚛 𝙱𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜

𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚙𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝.

𝙰𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏 𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢

𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝙰 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜

Relationship: Minotaur!Bucky Barnes x chubby!prince male reader

Words: ~1.3k

A/N: who knows, maybe I’ll actually get the rest of these churned out before February, wouldn’t that be neat?

[eekshade]

Hello Eli.

I love your Bucky stories.

Could you write something about Bucky and his boyfriend?

After Bucky returns from a long mission, Y/N surprises him with a romantic dinner.

Surprise!

Bucky Barnes x m!reader

Word Count: 1101

Warnings/info: use of y/n, reader is playfully cocky, Bucky and reader live together in an apartment, reader drinks wine, fluff hopefully, not proofread

Y/n frantically raced from counter to counter putting away the ingredients that were no longer needed. His phone buzzed harshly against the counter catching his attention, “Just parked, see you soon.” The message sends his heart into a frenzy. He glances around the warm, dimly lit room, a smile growing on his s/c face as the feeling of pride bubbles in his chest. He takes a small spoonful of the simmering, soft orange sauce, bringing it to his lips; his smile grows as the tangy, slightly thick substance melts on his taste buds.

With a final nod he sets the spoon back onto the counter. He grabs two wine glasses, white napkins (that thankfully arrived on time), and two white candle sticks. The items are neatly placed in their respective places, the wax from the candles rubs off onto his shaky fingers causing an uncomfortable sensation to run through his veins and up his spine.

The loud sound of the door unlocking broke through the quiet apartment, causing the male to jump and swiftly walk to the nearest mirror checking out his appearance, straightening out the suit that draped across his torso. He hears Bucky take a few steps into the main entrance before stopping.

The smell of spices fill the brunet man’s nose, partnered by the soft jasmine and neroli candle lit in the corner of the room, bring a strong sense of comfort to the older man. A confused smirk dances on his chapped lips, he drops his bags next to the front door. Walking farther into the apartment, curiosity turns to amusement when he realizes what his boyfriend has done.

“Darling…?” he calls out, slight anxiety naws on his brain thinking he has forgotten something important “What’s this all for?” He glances around in search of his lover.

The younger man comes out from around the corner, his nervous smile brightens at the sight of Bucky’s lovesick eyes, “Surprise!”

“I -” Bucky searches the other’s face for something, anything, “I’m sorry but I don’t understand.” He says defeated.

“Well, I know how hard you’ve been working and I wanted you to know how proud I am.” As y/n says this he slowly makes his way to Bucky like a fox stalking a brittle, white bunny.

“Thank you doll.” Bucky says feeling unable to comprehend how someone could love him this much.

Y/n takes Bucky’s hand in his own, leading him to the small table adorned in a white table cloth, a dark red overlay and a black runner layered on top. A bundle of roses and baby’s breath sit in a darkly colored vase, candle sticks and all one could think of sat across the placements on each side of the vase.

Y/n pulls out Bucky’s chair for him, laying a quick kiss on the elder's temple as he sits. “And after I can draw you a nice warm bath,” y/n says, dragging out the first word, “even bought you some bath salts and such.” He mumbles onto Bucky’s forehead before leaving another kiss.

Y/n goes to move but Bucky grabs his wrist gently tugging him down to his level, “I love you.” Bucky quietly gushed before planting a suave kiss on y/n’s lips.

“I love you,” y/n echoed, “now can I get the dinner I have just so lovingly prepared?” He jested, Bucky grinned back as he let go of y/n’s wrist.

Y/n walks into the kitchen for a few moments fixing up two plates with the orange pasta gently grating parmesan cheese on top of the dressed up noodles, elegantly walking back to the table and setting them down while softly spinning to go retrieve the deep, dark red wine, before pouring it into the two glasses, finally he pulls a lighter out of his pocket lighting the candles.

“Thank you, y/n.” The use of his first name caused him to glance up only to be met with a teary eyed Bucky.

Choosing to not embarrass the other y/n decides to go the humor route, “Thank me after you’ve tried it, lemme tell you I may or may not be the best cook to ever grace this lovely planet.” Bucky rolls his eyes lovingly at the e/c man.

Bucky is unable to hide his smile as he takes a bite, y/n’s eyebrow quirked up and hummed at the other man, “Oh yeah, I think you might just be.” He grins up at y/n.

“‘Course I am” y/n scoffs.

…

After a slow dinner Bucky feels the tiredness of the day, hell the last few weeks, start to overtake him. Y/n stands and takes the plates to the sink quickly rinsing them before placing them in the dishwasher, Bucky comes up to the other with the empty wine glasses going to wash them. Y/n grabs the glasses out of Bucky’s hand and puts them in the sink while softly scolding him.

“Let me take care of that.” Y/n uttered, “Your night isn’t over yet, come on.” Y/n leads him to the bedroom and connecting bathroom, he follows - content.

“Go to the bathroom and undress, I’ll be quick.” Y/n softly ordered, opening the closet to take out pajamas for the two of them.

“Well, I would say take me to dinner first but…” Bucky snickers.

Y/n rolls his eyes, “Just go.” Bucky puts his hands up and backs into the bathroom.

Bucky whistles eyeing what y/n put together earlier. He sits on the edge of the tub taking off his shoes, he then stands and grips the hem of his shirt pulling it over his head. Y/n walks into the bathroom immediately going to the tub turning on the water letting it run until it turns warm, on the hotter side. He slips the plug into the drain, gathering the supplies, sprinkling the salts into the water.

Once the water is all nice and ready y/n helps Bucky into the water. He steps away to turn on some slow jazz (particularly one album that Bucky listened to all the time when he was much younger), y/n kisses Bucky again right above the eyebrow, he stands to make his exit, both men laughing when his knees pop.

Y/n closes the door and makes his way back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up, and unpacking Bucky’s bags. He smiles widely at the thought of the man in the other room, listening to the very quiet music that drifted out through the home.

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