#bucky barnes x you

[marvelstoriesepic]

Weakness

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You use Bucky’s only weakness to your advantage until it bites you in the ass.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: feigning injuries; a sprained ankle; bruises; hiding injuries; combat fighting training; sparring sessions; mutual pining; Bucky being a doting sweetheart; Bucky being smug; Bucky being worried

Author’s Notes: This idea has been sitting in my drafts as a rough outline for months lol and I finally got the inspiration to make something out of it. I hope you will enjoy this! ♡

Masterlist

You love sparring with Bucky.

Maybe because you love the man.

But there is so much more to that, honestly.

You have basically sparred with anyone out of the team.

Steve is methodical. Always a teacher, always Captain. He calls out corrections in a way he does orders, his patience long-practiced. His strikes are accurate, economical, as if he calculates the exact amount of force necessary to bring you down and delivers it precisely, nothing wasted. But you always know he is holding back. He does not say it but you feel it in the way he controls every movement, never quite giving you the full weight of his strength. You learn from him, but there is always a ceiling to what he will allow you to take from the fight.

Natasha is sharp. She doesn’t coach you, doesn’t slow down, doesn’t hold back. She fights you like she fights anyone. You feel the sting of a bruise blooming before you even realize she struck you. And yet, when you get a hit in, when you shift fast enough to slip past her guard, her smirk is quicksilver - pleased, challenging, like she has just discovered something worth sinking her teeth into.

Wanda fights like she plays. Some days, she keeps her powers at bay, working only with what her body allows, light on her feet, swaying rather than striking. But she is not used to this. Not using her powers in a fight. So most of the time, she teases, powers tugging at your wrist mid-swing, a flicker of scarlett at the edge of your vision before she is suddenly behind you.

Sam is solid. He fights with his whole body, never wasting energy on anything that doesn’t serve his goal. He takes up space, keeps you on the defenses, his moves seamless. But he is generous too, throwing you a verbal lifeline mid-fight - “too slow, come on,” - challenging you in encouraging you. And when you get him down, he grins, bright and wide, like he wants you to win.

Clint fights like someone who doesn’t need to win, just needs to keep moving. He is slippery, dodging rather than blocking, grinning rather than growling. He makes a game of it, laughing at your frustration, forcing you to loosen up, to adapt, to try something unorthodox. He doesn’t spar to overpower. He spars to frustrate, to outlast, to make you think three steps ahead.

But Bucky.

Bucky watches you. Always. Even when he isn’t facing you directly, even when he’s standing in the shadows at the edge of the gym, you have his attention. It is something you have learned to steady yourself beneath. Because it never really seems to waver.

He is mindful. Of your form. Of your tells. Of how far he can push you. He does not go easy on you. Despite the obvious differences in height and weight and him being a super soldier. But he fights you like an opponent worth fighting. He fights you like himself. Precise. Controlled. Thoughtful. When he corrects you, it is not instruction, just a simple adjustment with the brush of his metal fingers nudging your wrist into a better angle, a small nod when you adapt.

And when you take him down - when you surprise him, when you shift your weight at the last moment and send him to the mat - there is that laugh breaking out. He is not stunned at the way you overpowered him. Not disbelieving. He merely laughs. A short burst of warmth, rare and genuine, something boyish in the way it escapes.

You live for that laugh.

Because Bucky knows your competence. He does not gift you victories because he knows you don’t need them in the first place. He expects you to win. He knows you can. And will. He does not say it outright, but you learned to read the subtle body language in the years of knowing him - the glimmer of something pleased in his eyes, the upturn at the corner of his mouth.

And when he helps you up - fingers gently curling around your wrist to pull you to your feet - he lingers just a little too long.

So yes, you love sparring with Bucky.

Basically, on the first day as an Avenger it was drilled into you that knowing your enemy is everything - know what you are up against, who you are fighting, how they move, what makes them weak.

You are good at this. At observing. You know how to study people, how to pick out patterns, how to find the smallest crack in an otherwise impenetrable wall and press until it splits wide open.

Still, Bucky Barnes is not an easy person to read.

But perhaps it was just a little too much fun figuring out what exactly his weaknesses are.

He doesn’t have many. His body is conditioned for war, his mind sharpened, his instincts too honed to give much away. If he has vulnerabilities, they are subtle. Nearly imperceptible to anyone who isn’t looking closely enough.

But you have been looking closely. For the better part of a year.

And then, about five months ago, something clicked.

Bucky Barnes does have a weakness.

A glaring one, in fact.

One so obvious you nearly laughed out loud when you finally pieced it together.

It’s you.

You are his weakness.

Bucky is a creature of routines.

The kind that keep him grounded in a world that still feels like shifting sand beneath his feet. And somehow, you have become part of them.

You don’t remember when it started, exactly. But you know that when you stumble into the kitchen in the morning, still half-asleep, Bucky is already there. Always. Sometimes with coffee already poured for you, sometimes just sitting at the counter like he’s lost, waiting like he’s been expecting something. You.

You tested it, once. You woke up later than usual, wanting to see if he still lingered. And sure enough, when you finally stepped into the kitchen, he was there, nursing a long-gone cup of coffee that was somehow still halfway filled, gaze fixed on the entryway even before you entered. Like he hadn’t been planning on leaving until he saw you. It’s when he loosened his grip on the poor mug. Flexing his fingers, as if he was close to shattering it.

Bucky is not a fan of crowded spaces.

He likes corners, walls at his back, exits in view. He keeps a respectable distance from most people, moving on silent feet, always aware of what’s around him.

Except when it comes to you.

You began to notice that in the common room. How he lets you sit closer than he does with anyone else, how he doesn’t shift away when his knee bumps his. How, when you walk side by side, he moves to make space for you without thinking. How he stops standing near the door when you are in a room, like some unconscious part of him doesn’t feel the need to watch his six when you are there.

And then there are the small things.

The way his arm comes up instinctively when you reach past him for something, like he is preparing to steady you or get it down for you if it is something you can’t reach. The way he steps in front of you if something startled him, body moving before anything else.

Little things. Automatic things.

And the most endearing part is, that he genuinely does not seem like he knows he is doing all that.

Bucky is strategic on missions.

He follows the plan without a hitch, keeps his cool and executes flawlessly.

Until you are in danger.

Then he gets frantic. He even tends to snap at Steve. He gets tighter, sharper, more lethal. It seems like instinct.

Just last month, you got cut along your thigh that you managed to patch up before the mission was even completely over. But Bucky was stoic and brooding. Frown on his face the whole time. He saw the blood, saw the way you had a limp in your step and something utterly cold settled in his eyes.

Sam later mentioned to you with a weird wiggle of his eyebrow that the man whose knife slashed you never had the chance to land another hit on anyone.

You started testing him in small ways. Seeing if he moves when you move. If he adjusts his strategy to keep you in his line of sight. If he listens to your voice above all others in a debriefing, even when Steve is talking.

And he does. Every time.

Bucky got mad at Clint once because he ate the last donut that was meant for you. Clint was genuinely terrified. He even went out to get you new ones.

Bucky picks up stuff from the common room he knows belong to you and takes it to your room.

Just yesterday, there was a book on your nightstand. One you had mentioned offhand in conversation weeks ago, something you said you wanted to read someday. And you know for a fact that Bucky got dragged into the city by Sam and Steve the day before.

After years as an Avenger, you learn to fool people.

You know how to smile when you need to, how to shake things off, how to deal with missions gone wrong or people unsaved.

But you can’t fool Bucky.

He just knows when something is off. He notices the way your voice shifts, the way your shoulders carry tension differently. You don’t have to say anything. He just knows.

And he never pushes. He lingers. He makes himself available. He sits beside you in silence when you don’t feel like talking. He glares at everyone who wants something unnecessary from you in times like those.

And then he would just go, come on, let’s go do something.

It is basically just watching a movie or cooking a dinner or baking cookies, but everything is more fun with him, and soon enough your smile touches your eyes again.

Bucky does not share.

He does not share his food. He does not share his belongings.

But he does with you.

When you are out and freezing, he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over your shoulders without a word.

He lets you take fries off his plate and lets you drink from his cup, much to Sam’s surprise and disgruntlement.

Bucky does not talk about his nightmares.

Not to anyone.

But on certain nights, when sleep refuses to hold him and his mind is drowning in things long past but never gone, he finds you.

You were in the common room when it first started. Months ago. Nursing a mug of tea, when he wandered in, looking lost and exhausted.

With a single glance at him, you nodded to the couch, shifting over to make space, and he came sitting down without a word.

He let you talk. He even seemed to relish it. Intertwining his hands at his front and laying his head back against the backside of the couch, closing his eyes and listening to your mocked aggravation at the fact that Sam left a half-eaten sandwich on the counter again.

He stayed until the sun crept in through the windows, slight snoring making you smile.

It happened again. And then again.

After a while, you started recognizing the signs when his nightmares are getting worse again. The way he drifts into whatever room you are in and stays locked in his own when you are gone on a mission or out with the girls. How he leans against the doorway for a second longer than necessary before stepping inside, like he is debating whether he has the right to be there.

Sometimes, he’d pretend he’s just passing through. He would linger in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee he doesn’t drink while you are having your conversation with Wanda and Natasha.

One night, he even came to your room. Knocking and standing there with his hands fidgeting at his sides, eyes shamefully lowered, looking so much like a puppy in search of some love.

He didn’t pretend. He didn’t offer excuses. He just stood there and you saw it in his eyes.

You took him in your arms and then you took him in.

First, he sat down on the floor beside your bed, back against the wall, knees drawn up like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. He didn’t say anything for a long time. You just sat beside him on the ground, laying your head on his shoulder.

Eventually, his breathing evened out, head falling onto yours.

He would fall asleep like that. Until you managed to get him to lie down in your bed beside you. He usually sleeps like a baby when he’s with you.

You are not stupid. Neither are you naive. You have always been good at reading people, at knowing them, at watching them, and deciphering the things they do not say.

And you know what this might mean.

You certainly know what it means to you.

The way your pulse picks up when Bucky walks into a room so casually because you are there. The way your stomach flutters when his gaze lingers on you. The way your chest gets so unbearably full when he does all those smallest things for you.

But you think you also might know what it means to him. He seeks you out for everything, on instinct or not. Smiling seems to come so easily to him when he is with you. You are the only person he lets into his personal space - the only person he doesn’t startle away from when it comes to accidentally touching.

But Bucky Barnes is not a man who allows himself to want things easily.

So, you will not force yourself upon him. You will not push. You will not demand. You will not take what he does not freely offer.

Because you understand that he does not fear pain, or war, or perhaps even death.

But he fears something real, something good, something that cannot be fought off with fists or buried beneath old ghosts.

Because he does not think it is something he deserves yet.

But you are willing to wait. Until he is ready. Until he is sure. Until he knows that this is what he wants.

And if he never is, if he never comes to you with certainty in his hands, if he never crosses the space between you - then you will wait anyway.

Because for him, you would wait forever.

****

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

There’s a smug grin on his face as he’s circling you.

And you know why it is there.

Because you are currently three losses deep into a losing streak against Bucky. And that just won’t do. You need a win.

You move first, closing the distance fast, testing his defenses. He blocks. A quick jab - he dodges. A feint - he doesn’t bite.

He knows your patterns, how you move, how you think. But you know him, too.

You go low, aiming for his legs, but he anticipates and shifts out of reach. “Getting predictable there, doll,” he drawls, smirking.

Yeah, you’re gonna wipe that off.

Rolling your eyes, you adjust. A punch goes up that isn’t meant to land, just to see how he reacts. He blocks high, but his balance shifts and there is a brief opening. A second and you are too late.

You strike fast, sweeping low again, and this time, you actually catch him. Not enough to take him down, but a start.

Bucky huffs, rolling his neck. “Not good enough, but better,” he teases, smirk still in place.

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, lunging again.

He meets you halfway, and for a moment, it’s just movement - sharp and fast and fluid, but you keep your balance. You duck, weave, block.

You land a hit, but it barely fazes him. He grabs your wrist, twisting - flipping you, but you are prepared, rolling and springing back up.

“That all you got?”

“Come find out.”

He laughs brightly before going in for attack. You block his strike, twisting out of reach.

It’s definitely not all you got.

He is not expecting you to cheat.

Not that you call it cheating anyway.

You decide that it’s time to take advantage of that weakness of his.

After all, it has worked before. And it will work again.

Bucky feints left. You dodge, pivot, but let your foot catch just so against the mat to send you off balance. The stumble isn’t exaggerated - it doesn’t need to be. You land on your side, letting out a sharp breath as if this is not exactly what you were expecting, and grab your ankle, wincing.

Bucky stops immediately. Just like always. It’s the first time you feign your ankle getting hurt but he reacts all the same.

His shift is instant. His whole body tenses. Taking a step toward you with his brows furrowed tightly, he scans you like he’s already running through every possible way to help you. Carrying you to the medical wing, for example.

“Shit, doll. You okay?” His voice is softer now. Concerned. So genuinely worried, you might actually feel bad.

He crouches without hesitation, without a thought, eyes so intensely fixed on you. And that smug grin is as predicted wiped cleanly off his face.

“Lemme see-”

He reaches out to you but that is when you strike.

You twist up, leg sweeping out and knocking his feet from under him. His surprised noise is so satisfying as he goes down, flat on his back, sprawled across the mat.

Silence.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Bucky groans loudly.

You are kneeling beside him, grinning, chest heaving. “Kinda needed that win, Barnes. No bad feelings, yeah?”

Bucky just stares at the ceiling for a long moment, one hand scrubbing down his face. He exhales sharply, muttering something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like every goddam time.

The last time you used your little trick on him, you had sold a jab against your side, staggering back and exhaling sharply as if he hit some sensitive point. He froze instantly, eyes wide. And you spun him into a flawless takedown.

The time before that it was your shoulder. All you needed was a slight grimace in fake pain and his whole demeanor changed in an instant. His hands went up slightly, a step in your direction and that was your opening to duck under his arm, and bring him down with a precise twist.

Yeah, alright, people might believe that that technique is a little mean and it certainly wouldn’t help you at all in the open field, but Clint did tell you to try something unorthodox.

You stretch, still smirking, and tilt your head at him. “You know, you’d think after falling for this multiple times, you’d have learned by now.”

Bucky’s head rolls to the side and he glares at you. Not in anger, not even close. Just that specific kind of exasperation that you have come to learn is something only you get to see from him.

He huffs. “Should’ve known you’d pull this shit again.”

“Should have. And here I thought I am predictable.”

He gives you a flat, unimpressed look.

“Can’t believe I was worried.”

“Aww, you were?” you say sarcastically, lightly. Almost in a sly sing-song voice, because is is always worried. That’s the whole point of this.

Another hand drags down his face, but there is a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

****

You exhale deeply, rolling your shoulders, as you make your way down to the gym.

Your muscles are stiff. Everything aches in that dull, stubborn way that promises it will get worse before it gets better.

The bruises that paint your ribs throb with your pulse. You remember the sharp, biting crack when you hit the ground.

It was a mission for Steve, Nat, and you, though you definitely could have used some backup.

You feel terrible.

And you hadn’t told Bucky any of that when you came home yesterday, sometime late.

Instead, you sent him a quick I’m fine. Training tomorrow? and buried yourself in sleep before he could pry. You know how he gets, after all. How his worry manifests, his eyes linger and his mouth tightens when you brush him off. You did not have the energy for it last night. And you don’t have it now. He does not have to know what hits you have taken due to your own recklessness. You already got a lecture from Cap. Don’t need it from his best friend.

So you show up. Because, if you don’t, he will know something is wrong.

Bucky is already waiting for you, standing loose and ready on the mat. His eyes snap up the moment you enter, scanning you the way he always does. Checking.

You ignore his gaze.

“Ready to get your ass kicked?” you say, tossing your water bottle onto the bench, forcing something light into your voice.

He smirks, arms crossed. “That what’s gonna happen?”

You step onto the mat, careful not to wince, careful to keep your breath even despite the sharpness pulling at your ribs. “Don’t sound so doubtful, Barnes. I’ll let you eat the mat.”

He snorts, tilting his head. “I sure like to see you try.”

He raises his hands, shifting into a stance, watching you closely. Too closely. There is something probing in his gaze today.

“How’d the mission go? Steve mentioned you guys ran into some-”

You don’t give him time to finish - time to think.

You move, fast, hoping to catch him off guard.

He sidesteps, but you strike again.

And immediately regret it.

Your ribs scream. Punishing. Your breath stutters, but you grit your teeth and keep going, keep pushing forward and attacking because if you pause, he will most definitely notice.

It goes on for perhaps a minute and you think you might actually be able to bite away the pain your whole body is consumed with, but then you stumble.

It’s a half-second of hesitation, a misstep that normally wouldn’t happen. But it causes you to trip away a few steps. Sharp pain courses through your ribs and a hand instinctively shoots up to your side. A hiss slips past your lips. Loud enough for him to hear.

But instead of reacting the way he always does - immediately stopping, immediately reaching - he just huffs amused, shaking his head.

“Bad time for trying that trick again, sweetheart. Shoulda known better.” There is that smugness in his tone.

His voice is light, teasing. His eyes are sharp, watching.

You grit your teeth, saying nothing.

He thinks you’re faking.

Which - fine. You have done this a few times. But now, with every movement grinding against the ache in your ribs, you wish he would just stop you.

Because it’s getting harder to hide.

It’s getting harder to see.

Bucky seems confused for a second when you don’t react to him at all, but doesn’t have time to act on it as you are going in for the next hit.

And Bucky dodges you too easily like he doesn’t even need to try. You swing again, slower than you should be, weaker than you should be - and he sidesteps, frowning.

“Tryin’ a new strategy?” he asks, but his voice is careful. His eyes are assessing.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just go again, ignoring the way your body protests, ignoring the way you are moving wrong like you are just a second behind yourself. You hope maybe muscle memory will carry you through.

It doesn’t seem like it.

Bucky stopped throwing punches himself, only staying in defense mode and he won’t stop fucking looking at you.

And then you pivot too fast - twist wrong.

White-hot pain flares through your side so fiercely, it rips the breath from your lungs. A harsh, unsteady sound falls out. You can’t catch it. You stagger, grip tightening into fists, trying to push through.

But Bucky’s expression now definitely shifted. Amusement gone. Smugness gone. His face is hard.

You ignore that and try to go in for the next hit, but Bucky steps in fast, too fast for you to counter in your state, hooking an arm around you, pressing your back against his chest. He doesn’t throw you - he could, easily, he would - but he just halts your movement, stopping you clean in your tracks.

The pain spikes again and you gasp sharply. Your knees nearly buckle and Bucky’s grip on you tightens.

His hands are firm around you. Steady. But his breathing is not. It’s fast, strained, the muscles in his arms locking as he keeps you upright.

“What the hell happened?” His voice is so low, so serious. There is an edge to it, teetering on loosing control.

“It’s not a big deal,” you grit out.

“Bullshit.” Now he sounds harsh.

But his fingers still press so gently into your side, checking you out.

You whimper, flinching.

And Bucky freezes.

“Shit.” He shifts his grip, an arm around your waist, moving you to face him and still trying to support you without making it worse. His heartbeat is fast. You can feel it. Even in his hands on you.

He grabs the hem of your shirt and lifts it enough to see your torso. A breath hitches. It’s not yours.

The bruises are bad. Worse than they were yesterday. Dark and sprawling across your ribs, blooming in ugly purples and reds. You feel the shift in him, the way his whole body goes still.

You watch his tense features in discomfort. His eyes are turbulent, filled with a wildness stemming from something dark that writhes beneath his skin and causes his hands to shake against you. A tremor passes his jaw.

He curses under his breath.

“You didn’t tell me.” His voice drags low.

“I didn’t think it was that bad.”

He lets out a deep and rumbling sigh. Trying to compose himself. “It is bad, Y/n! How come you thought it’s a good idea to train like this, huh?”

He meets your eyes. There is a sternness in his expression. His eyes are heavy.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

Bucky lets out a humorless breath. Closes his eyes for a moment until he takes a breath in again.

“I was already worried, doll. I always am. You know that, no?” he speaks solemnly. “You think not telling me makes this better?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

He shakes his head, exhaling profoundly through his nose. His grip tightens, but not enough to hurt you. He holds you carefully.

You take in a deep breath. “I- I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t wanna talk about it. I’m sorry, Bucky.”

His jaw is clenched and he bites his bottom lip, staring at the bruises littering your skin for a moment with eyes so dark they make you shiver.

“How did that happen? Who did this?”

You scoff half-heartedly. “Got a little messy. Pretty sure that guy’s not doing that well either.” You aim to get even the tiniest bits of amusement out of him but he might have gotten even more grim.

His touch is slow, a careful sweep of his finger across your skin, studying you for reactions.

He opens his mouth. Something on his tongue he wants to get out, but he hesitates. He swallows. Waits a few seconds. His voice is a rasp. “Don’t do that again.”

“Getting hurt on missions is kind of a normal occurrence, Buck. Not much I can do about that-”

“No, I mean-” he interrupts, voice quieter. “Don’t hide it again. Not from me. I- Just please.”

There is something in his tone that makes you stare for a while longer.

Then, you nod. Just once. But you mean it.

****

It took weeks for you to properly heal.

But finally, earlier today, you got the clearance of Dr. Cho - and Bucky, because he somehow told himself he has a say in that kind of thing - to step onto the mat again and resume training.

There is still a phantom pain in your ribs but it’s locked somewhere in the back of your mind.

But Bucky still would not stop fucking looking at you.

And it never is in a casual way. Bucky always watches you like he is waiting for something. Like his body is ready to move before his mind even has to tell it to. Like he is memorizing you, making sure nothing slips past him.

He is currently standing in front of you on the mat, rolling his shoulders, the stretch of muscle under his shirt shifting with the movement. The tension in his frame hasn’t faded, no matter how much you’ve reassured him. His fingers flex, then curl into loose fists.

Then his eyes find yours.

“Alright,” he says, voice low and edged with something firm, something not up for debate. “Don’t ever pull that shit on me again. You’re good enough as it is. No need for all that, yeah?” There is something heavy in his tone. “I'll even let you win this time if you need it so badly, doll,” he adds with a hint of humor that his voice lacked earlier, bouncing right back into your easy friendship.

You huff out a laugh and stretch your arms over your head, feeling the pull of muscles that have gone a little too long without use. “Trust me Bucky, I’ve learned my lesson.” Your voice is rather light, but it carries an edge as well.

Bucky’s jaw ticks.

There is something like guilt crossing his eyes for a second. Gone as fast as it came but you catch it. His lips are pressed together tightly and he seems to hold back an uncomfortable cough.

You’ve talked about this already. Plenty, in the weeks of your recovery. You told him you wouldn’t have believed him either after the many times you feigned injury during matches. That if anything, it was your own stubbornness that got you hurt and not him.

He only agreed with the stubborn part but he stopped bringing it up.

Still, you see he hasn’t let it go.

He carries too much guilt as it is. You don’t want him to carry more. So, you definitely won’t question his weakness during fights again. It was kind of funny, though, at least you’ll hold onto that.

You roll out your shoulders, shaking off the stiffness, then take your stance. “C’mon Barnes. You gonna fight me or just stand there looking pretty?”

His mouth twitches, a ghost of a smirk, maybe even a ghost of pink at the tip of his ears, but his eyes stay sharp.

He steps in, closing the space, moving with the same impossible control he always does.

You block his first strike, but it shakes through you. The force of it reminds you just how much power he’s holding back.

His eyes snap to your face. He doesn’t stop watching.

Studying.

Testing how you move, how much strain you can handle.

You feel yourself get into it again. The movement, the impact, the swiftness. The gym is filled with the sounds of breaths and footwork against the mat.

Bucky tests you, pushes you.

And you give as good as you get.

Your body remembers even if it’s been weeks. Your muscles adjust, wake up in a way they haven’t in too long. You move on instinct, dodging, striking, thinking, even pulling a move that you copied from Nat. One that Bucky didn’t see coming.

And it honestly looks pretty good for you, until your foot catches.

It’s nothing at first, a simple shift in weight, an uneven pivot that causes your balance to tip slightly off center. But a dizziness suddenly overcomes you and it’s too late to catch you. Your ankle twists, your knees buckle and the floor comes rushing up to you.

You hit the mat hard, landing awkwardly on your side, the jolt of pain snapping through your ankle up your whole leg, sharp enough for you to wince.

Shit.

You suck in a breath, already dreading what this looks like, what Bucky must be thinking. The timing couldn’t be worse. After everything - after the fights weeks ago, after the conversations, after the promise you just made to never feign getting hurt again - what else would he think?

But before you can lift your head, before you can force out some half-hearted quip, Bucky is already there.

Not hesitating. Not wary.

Rushing. Fast and frantic.

He’s at your side, crouching so fast his knees nearly hit the mat.

And you find yourself blinking at him stunned.

You expected him to pause. To hesitate. Maybe even get angry - to assume, even for a second, that you are feigning again, that you had just promised him not to pull that anymore but here you are.

But there is none of that.

Only the same panic from every other time you’ve dropped yourself to the ground on purpose. But this time it is real. There just was no way for him to know that. He still reacts the same.

“Where does it hurt, doll? Talk to me.”

His voice is calm, but his face is tight. His brows are drawn together, tension lining his mouth. The breaths he lets out are just a little too measured.

You blink at him, still baffled at the way with how fast he was there, how fast his reaction was.

“Just my leg,” you say, exhaling slowly. “It’s nothing. I just got dizzy and fell.”

That makes him frown, deeper than before. His hand moves so gently as he lifts the fabric of your training pants to get a look, taking your calve into his other hand. The touch sends a pulse of pain through you but you manage not to let it show on your face. You’ve had worse. You’re an Avenger, after all.

But Bucky’s jaw clenches so tightly at the sight of the swollen bone and the deepening flush of color on your ankle as if it is serious.

“Might have sprained it,” he mutters gruffly, and the displeasure in his voice is so clear.

“Think I’ll live, Buck,” you quip lightly and shift, trying to stand up but his hand doesn’t let up on your leg and he presses just lightly against your shoulders to make you sit back down.

“You still feelin’ dizzy?” he asks, basically ignoring what you said, voice dipping lower. His gaze locks onto yours. Intense.

You shake your head, trying to show him how casual this whole thing is but his eyes won’t stop searching you and it makes your stomach churn.

“I’m fine, Buck.”

His eyes don’t move. He doesn’t let go.

“Why did you even believe me?” You voice it light, but there is something cautious underlining it, you can’t shake. “Could’ve faked again.”

Bucky rakes a hand through his hair with a long breath. He averts his eyes.

“Saw you go down,” he says with a shrug that seems just a little too exaggeratedly indifferent. “S’ enough for my head to go straight to hell.”

That’s certainly not something you expected him to say and you are stunned once again. But you can’t help the way your belly does some delightful flips.

“And you promised me you wouldn’t,” he adds, shoulders straightening, like he is trying to shift your attention from the words he said before. From the admission he made.

“I’m really not going to do it again,” you promise again. But you won’t forget his words.

“I know, sweetheart,” he says sweetly, certainly, but the tension of your current situation lingers.

His touch on you is so damn careful, checking and rechecking, making you tell him what and how something hurts and you almost laugh out loud at his fussing.

“Buck, it’s not like I broke it,” you point out, a laugh in your voice. “I can still-”

“You’re not gonna walk around on that.”

You lift your brow at him, at his tone, an amused smile on your face but he just stares back. Without the smiling part.

Then he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face before standing to his full height, adjusting his stance before crouching slightly again.

“Alright, come on.”

You blink but his hands already settle, one beneath your legs, the other bracing your back, and you barely have time to react before he is lifting you, arms locking as he pulls you against his chest with an ease you could only dream of.

“Bucky-”

“Not a word,” he warns with a grunt.

You sigh, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Don’t care.”

****

A sprained ankle takes anywhere from two to six weeks to heal properly, depending on the severity. You’ve had a few sprained ankles in your career already, so you would know.

But yours sits on the longer end of that spectrum and it frustrates you to no end because what the fuck. You were just done healing and now you got to do it all again.

The first week, Bucky barely lets you breathe without hovering close. He is always there, catching you if you wobble because you are too damn stubborn and rather hop around the compound than use a clutch. Because that would make it too easy, wouldn’t it?

The second week you get snappish. Tony makes sure to leave the room when you enter, Sam gets defensive, Natasha just smirks what frustrates you even more, Vision is a fucking robot only answering in a robotic voice way that drives you up the wall when he gives you a list of stores around New York that sell kettle fries but you only wanted to know where they are in the compounds kitchen. And Bucky endures every tiny bit of it, only that he is entirely unmoved by your attitude. At one point you just taped your ankle and tried to go down to the gym but Bucky stopped you before you could reach the elevator. He already stood there, brow quirked, arms crossed, unimpressed but amused.

By the third week, he sat next to you during team training, watching, studying. You criticized movements, talked about strategies, and laughed at Sam when Nat made him faceplant onto the mat.

Then the fourth week rolled in and you could finally put weight on your foot without wincing. For you, that meant you were good to go train again. But not for Bucky. So that meant another week of waiting.

But now you are back on the mat. Fucking again.

And you promise yourself, you will not fall this time. Not on purpose, not by accident.

Bucky stands across from you, arms loose at his sides, weight balanced, watching as you roll your shoulders and move through your warm-up.

“Got any last words before I kick your ass, Barnes?”

His mouth twitches. That half-smirk, something smug but fond, something that flies through his blue eyes like a spark.

“I dunno, sweetheart. Wouldn’t wanna land you on the sidelines again.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Bite me, Barnes.”

The moment you move, he matches it.

His reflexes are quicker than yours - always have been, always will be - but your advantage is that you know that. You know him. His patterns, the way he shifts his weight, the way his left shoulder always tenses a fraction of a second before he throws a punch. You don’t need to match his strength to win. You just need to read him.

The first strike comes low, an attempt to test your footing, but you pivot fast, avoiding the sweep of his leg with a practiced step-back. You counter with a jab - not meant to hit, just to distract - but he reads it immediately, catches your wrist, yanks you forward.

You twist, using the momentum, your free hand shooting up - Bucky dodges, barely, but you are already adjusting, using your own imbalance to push into him.

His hands are always steady, whether he’s attacking or defending. He uses his strength not to hurt you, but to push you, to remind you that you can take it.

And you do.

Blow for blow, counter for counter.

You refrain from looking at his face because he looks distractingly hot with his hair falling into his eyes and all, whipping around with his movements.

The moment his weight shifts forward, you are already countering. Stepping out of reach just as his arm sweeps for your waist. Your breath comes sharp as you turn and aim a well-placed jab that he sidesteps.

Bucky’s eyes gleam. Thrilled.

“Not bad,” he calls, already throwing another feint.

“Not trying to be”, you fire back, ducking, moving with him like it’s a dance. Like your bodies know this better than your minds do.

You push - he counters. You feint - he laughs, quick and breathy. You strike - he blocks.

Fuck, you missed this.

But then, he shifts.

And something changes.

It’s in his stance. The way he adjusts - not a mistake, but a decision. And in the half-second, before you react, before you catch on, you realize you don’t know what he is planning.

Your body is moving, a reaction before thought, but he is quicker - and you only feel him wind his arm around your waist, spin you around, and crash his lips against yours.

You stagger, letting out a surprised grunt against his mouth, caught completely fucking blindsided, because - what?

His mouth is firm, demanding - and it sears straight through your skin, your ribs, right into your bones, into your pulse, because Bucky Barnes is kissing you.

It’s not soft.

Not hesitant.

Not careful.

It’s everything it shouldn’t be in the middle of a fight.

It’s so unexpected that you don’t even notice the moment your back hits the mat. Don’t notice the way he takes you down like it’s nothing, like it’s unpredictable, because you weren’t ready.

You didn’t see it coming.

By the time you blink, by the time your brain catches up, he is already above you. Hovering.

His weight is balanced, both arms braced on either side of your head, and he is looking at you like he just won the fucking lottery.

Smirking. So damn smug.

Because Bucky finally found out your weakness. And he used it to his advantage.

Because what else could it be than him?

“You cheated,” you breathe out. Where has all the air gone?

“You kinda started it, sweetheart.” Bucky grins so wide, so proud, so happy. He pants above you. His eyes are shining.

And then he ducks down again.

He kisses you once more.

Slower, this time. Deeper. With something that lingers, something that presses into you as his hand slides along your jaw, something that feels like it has been waiting far too long for this exact moment.

And you don’t fight it.

Because it seems, you no longer have to wait for Bucky Barnes.

“You’ll know… not just in the way they look at you, but in how they’re not looking anywhere else.”

- butterflies rising

[malum-forev]

More Than Casual?

Summary: After breaking up with Bucky, you thought you'd never see him again. That is, until you're required to make an appearance at one of the future congressman's events.

Part 1: Casual

CAABNW!Bucky x Agent!ExWidow!Reader

“You ready for the event?” Joaquin asks you as he throws a punch. 

“What event?” You huff, dodging the right hook. 

“Everyone on Cap’s team gets an invite to the White House.” He covers his guard. 

“Less talking, more punching!” Isaiah yells from the other side of his training room. 

You’d heard about the event being held at the White House but you decided to turn off the TV the second those familiar blue eyes were displayed. It was too early to see the man who still made you shiver. 

“Not going.” Is all you say, throwing him a rogue kick with more force than necessary. 

“You’re missing out on the event of the year for what? Ordering in pizza?” He laughs, but you take the opportunity to kick the center of his chest, making Joaquin fly across the room. 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Isaiah hollers. 

You help your partner up. “What if I have plans?”

“Plans?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Are you finally opening your heart to love?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart sinks a little. You’d successfully gone weeks without thinking of him and now, with just a couple of words, he’s back in your mind. Pulling at your heartstrings so tightly it makes your chest cave in.

It wasn’t Joaquin’s fault, he had no idea that the man who’s being honored at the event is the same person who tore your heart to shreds. 

“I just don’t feel like going,” you manage to get out. “I much prefer to fight and protect, rather than prance and drink.”

——

“What’s this I hear about you not going to the gala?” Sam casually says a few days later. 

You choke on the water you’re drinking. 

“That serious, huh?” Sam jokes. 

You shake your head. “Doesn’t sound like something that I’d be interested in.”

Your words are careful and strategic. But trying to think of the perfect excuse while your team leader looks at you so inquisitively is almost impossible. 

“I’d be nice,” he shrugs. “To go out and support Buck.”

The nickname sends a chill down your spine. 

You called him that same name for years, especially when you wanted to tease him. In front of others you’d always referred to him as Sergeant. But in close encounters, especially when you wanted him to plead for something, you’d call him just that. Buck. 

It never failed to make you think back to when he was a kid. You’d beg him to see pictures, you knew he had a couple printed out after the rediscovery of the Howling Commandos files. 

“You’re looking at the best version of me there is, doll.” He’d always say. “No need to dwell on the past.”

But you knew it was because part of him was always scared to look back. It made him remember he had a life before all of this happened. 

“I’m busy that day.” You mutter, picking up the report on the desk. 

Sam crosses his arms. “I haven’t even told you when it is.”

You stop in your tracks. 

“Is there something else that’s bothering you?” Sam asks carefully. He knows perfectly how to deal with guarded agents. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

You hum.

“So, I hope to see you there, Agent.” Sam narrows his eyes. He doesn’t need to use the words for you to know it’s an order. 

You nod your head without another word, leaving the conference room before your anxiety rises more through your body.

——

“You’re pretty amped up for someone who didn’t even want to come!” Sam yells over the loud music playing inside the limo sent for you. 

You don’t look back at him as you tip the vodka bottle, letting the clear liquid coat your throat.

On any other day, vodka wouldn’t be your liquor or choice but today, you need all the courage I can get. And in terms of fucking you up the fastest, vodka is the way to go. 

You can barely feel your heel poking your foot by the time you step out. 

Your eyes inadvertently scan every square inch of the room, not looking for anything suspicious but looking for the man who you’ve been dreading seeing. 

It’s bad enough his posters are up on every lamp post.

You make a beeline towards the free bar cart, Joaquin hot on your heels. 

“Sam sent me over to babysit you,” he leans on the edge of the cart. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say sarcastically, sipping on the martini the bartender set for you. “I’m having a blast.”

Both your eyes travel down to the napkin the bartender passes you, his ten-digit phone number neatly scribbled on the paper. 

You turn it over without looking at him.

“What happened to opening up your heart to love?” Joaquin whispers, looking back at the bartender. 

“I don’t have time for love.” You mutter, swirling the olives in your drink. 

He twists the cap on a water bottle before passing it to you. “You’ll never have time for love, if you don’t make time for love.”

“Who died and made you the team’s hopeless romantic?” You eye him. 

“Steve.” He shrugs. 

Joaquin goes on and on about love but you can’t hear him anymore. Because the second you look over to the other side of the room, there he is. 

Time stands still, and your legs threaten to give out.

Bucky’s changed so much since the day you said goodbye forever. His eyes have dulled, turning into a muted blue like the sky on a rainy day. His hair looks polished, but you know better than anyone else he hates how it feels. “I love it when you run your hands through it,” he used to murmur against your lips. “Makes me feel free.” But most importantly, his expression lacks that liveliness it used to have. The wrinkles near his eyes would deepen the second his lips would stretch into a smile. And it almost always came with a: “You have no idea how much I missed you, Doll.” 

Unsaid words stretch between you two. Your eyes say all the talking needed. 

Bucky’s eyes travel from yours, down to your left hand, where you’d always wear a vibranium bracelet that he’d gifted you. It had pieces of his old arm in it. Bucky used to say that after The Winter Soldier, he wanted nothing to do with him. Until he met you. He liked when you wore it because it reminded him that even with his past, he could still deserve someone as loving as you. 

You rub the spot where the bracelet used to lay. 

“You don’t deserve me anymore,” you whisper. 

“D’you say something?” Joaquin looks up at you.

You shake your head, ripping your eyes away from the man who caused you unspeakable hurt. But not before noticing how his expression hardened as he looked at the man standing next to you. 

You recognized it immediately. It’s Bucky’s signature: I want to rip your head off look.

And it had everything to do with the way Joaquin was rubbing your shoulder. 

“Torres, we’re friends, right?” Your eyes bounce from Bucky’s azure to your partner’s brown. 

“Yeah,” he eyes you suspiciously. 

“Could you pretend to be my boyfriend?” You get out before you can regret the words. 

Was it immature? Yes. 

Did you want Bucky to feel at least one ounce of the hurt you felt? Also yes. 

“Why?” Joaquin’s eyebrows furrow. 

“I hate these events because, as you can see,” you flip over the napkin with the bartender’s number on it. “Men always get the wrong idea. So, can you just act like you’re my boyfriend?”

“Is this some kind of test Sam put you up to?”

You pinch your lips together. “Sure.”

“Man! I’ve been waiting for an undercover mission,” he shimmies happily. 

“But you have to pretend with everyone, okay?” You look back at the future congressman who’s making his way towards the two of you. “And make it believable.”

Joaquin smooths down his lapels. “You got it.”

Not even ten seconds later, Bucky stands between you and Joaquin with a scowl on his face.

"Agents." He looks at both of you like he's done so many times. But now, his gaze holds Joaquin's for a second longer.

"Congratulations." You raise your glass to him.

"I haven't won, yet." He doesn't look away from the brunet to your side.

"By the looks of it, you're going to sweep the floor with all the other old bozos around here." Joaquin smiles, playfully shoving the super soldier's shoulder but he doesn't budge. Not one bit.

"Could I take her away from you, it'll only be a second." Bucky asks like you're Joaquin's property.

You roll your eyes. "You don't have to ask him."

"As your boyfriend," Joaquin not-so-subtly raises his eyebrows at you. "I approve of your parting."

"We're not in the regency era you doofus." You whisper as Bucky leads the way.

"I haven't been anyone's boyfriend in a long time! I don't know how to act!" He whispers back, throwing his hands up.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky asks the second you're away from everybody else.

"Trust me, I didn't want to be here." You let out a dry laugh, pulling a cigarette from your bag and lighting it up.

"I mean, what are you doing here with him?" Bucky narrows his eyes toward your partner. "What's this? A debutant ball for your new relationship?"

"Why would you care, anyways?" You take a drag, liking the way the smoke coats your mouth.

"I don't care-I-I just-" Bucky runs a hand down his face.

"Look James," You watch as his PR guy paces around the ballroom, looking for the man who is standing in front of you. "It's best if you go back inside."

"I can't." He looks down at the floor. "I can't just leave you out here smoking alone."

A genuine laugh rips through you.

"That's the promise you're keeping up?" You raise your brows, laughing harder as his expression tightens. "Out of all the promises you made me, that's the one you're going with."

"This isn't-" He tries but you interrupt him.

"Tell me what this is?" You push for him to spill what you know is on the tip of his tongue. "What? Was this summon a friendly one? Or did you want to bring me out here just so you could see if you still had it? That power you had over me."

"N-no." He stutters over his words.

"I'm happy now, James." You let out more smoke. "And it's killing you to know that."

"I just don't know how you did it!" He finally snaps. "You come here, looking amazing like always, with another man next to you. Acting like what we had was-"

"What we had was casual." You repeat the words he said. "Nothing more."

"Was it?" His blue eyes lock into yours, tumultuous like the sea.

"Yes." You lie.

"Then why do I feel like this?" He runs a hand through his hair, messing up his perfectly combed hair.

"I don't care, Barnes." You drop the end of your cigarette on the floor. Bucky lifts his foot to step on it, just like he'd done a million times before, only for you to do it first.

You turn on your heel but Bucky stops you.

"Whatever we had is in the past, and I intend on keeping it that way." You look at him over your shoulder, hating the way his gaze still makes your heart squeeze and his touch makes your skin heat.

"I should leave, Congressman." You say through gritted teeth. "Wouldn't want to give the wrong impression to all the voters around here. "

Authors Note: Hiiiihi! Thank you so much for the love on pt. 1! As always make sure to like and comment. Alsoooo I posted the first chapter of my book, it's on my page. I'd love it if you guys could give it a read. And if you'd like to support me, make sure to give me a follow on my ig and tiktok: @sophiabazar_author, I'll be posting all book related content on there! I'll be posting chapter 2 soon! If you'd like a part 3 to casual make sure to comment!

Tagged: @erinallene @the-bucky-one @unaxv @kodzukenie333 @g1g1l @hanacheryl @ironwinnerwonderland

[buckyalpine]

I LOVE what you wrote for the other ideas!!

This is kind of a dialogue prompt

Reader says something like, "do you know how many times I've imagined you fucking me on this desk?"

Maybe she's sitting on Bucky's lap while she works on a mission report or something for the team. Since Bucky hasn't seen reader in a bit, he is being needy and handsy trying to distract her. (Cue cockwarming?)

Eventually, reader slams the laptop shut and puts it away before she says that line. Bucky just like

Sweeps EVERYTHING off desk

(I'm so sorry for the long ask) much love❤️❤️

Not me answering this 2 years later but I'm weaaaak for the lip bite and this idea, immediate yes (and by immediate I mean I know I took forever, I'm so sorry, also I love you)

-

"I missed you so much baby" Bucky purred in your ear, hoisting you up by your hips to wrap your legs around his waist as soon as you stepped off the jet. You'd been gone for over a month in those 4 weeks, Bucky had been nothing but a pouty puppy, waiting for you to come back. None of the missions he went on were enough of a distraction, all he wanted was his perfect angel back in his arms and he finally had you.

"Missed you too, bub" You giggled at his scruffy beard tickling your neck as he nuzzled into your skin, carrying you off for some much needed cuddles. "I already showered and changed but I just have to finish my mission report and then I'm all yours"

You pecked the frown that made its way to his face, your thumb brushing over the crease between his brows.

"But I haven't seen you in so long" Bucky mumbled, reluctantly detouring away from your shared bedroom, taking you to the conference room instead.

"I promise I'll be quick-Bucky what are you-" You squeaked as you felt his cool arm effortlessly wrap around your waist, lifting you up so he could sit in the chair instead, plopping you onto his lap.

"I'll be patient" Bucky gave you an innocent shrug, not willing to wait for you to finish so he could spend time with you. You giggled at his clinginess, opening your laptop and pulling up the file you had to fill out; of course his patience lasts all of 10 seconds before his hands slowly slip under your shirt.

"Bucky, what are you doing"

"Nooothin'" he ignored the pointed look you gave him over your shoulder while he started to needily paw at your hips, slowly making his way up to your waist, caressing your skin. "Just feelin' you"

"I can see that" you shook your head, returning to your report, trying desperately to recall various details while your boyfriends hands continued to wander around. You could barely type out a sentence, squeaking when his cool metal fingers brushed near the top of your breast, tracing along the outline of your bra.

"Bucky"

"Y/n"

"You're distracting me"

"No, You're distracting me" He countered with another shrug, adjusting his hips, the movement causing you to shift right onto his-

"Bucky!"

"What" He gave you an innocent pout as if his thick erection wasn't about to pop out of his jeans.

"Your not so little friend there is about to stab my ass" You snoted, ignoring the way his hard length pressed against you made your stomach flip.

"Help him out then" Bucky smirked with a raise of his brow, "C'mon, it'll help me keep my hands to myself if he gets some attention"

"Bucky-

"Please baby, I promise I'll behave, just let me put it in you, I won't move, no more distractions, scouts honor"

"You're a little shit" You rolled your eyes, biting back a smirk as you got up to pull down your sweats while Bucky unbuttoned his jeans, pulling his cock out. He groaned as he swiped his thick cockhead through your folds, your slick already making a mess between your thighs.

"Looks like I wasn't the only distracted on, huh" He whispered against the shell of your head as he pressed inside, the both of you gasping at the feeling of him stretching you. He was careful to lower you slowly, inching his way until you were perfectly seated on his lap and entirely full of him. "Mpph, fuck you feel good baby, keep me nice and warm, that's it" He nipped on your earlobe while you took a moment to recompose, your tight walls fluttering against his shaft.

"I-have to finish this-" Your voice melted off into a moan, how were you going to get anything done, it had been so long since you'd felt your boyfriends fat cock absolutely rail you, making you cum and squirt till you nearly passed out, his length fucking your brains out until he was ready to fill you, his moans and grunts all just for you while his cock exploded with thick streams of cum that would drip out-

"You won't get anything done if you keep grinding on me princess" Bucky's strained, teasing voice broke you from your train of thought, not even realizing you'd been pushing your hips further back on him, trying to feel more. "You sure you gotta finish this right now?"

"Y-yes" You tried to fill out the next section, your eyes rolling back instead when Bucky adjusted himself, pushing himself till his tip kissed your cervix.

"You sure baby, I can make you feel really good"

"I-

"It's been so long angel, I need you, fuck, need you so bad" The neediness of his voice only set you off further, a gush of your arousal pooling out of you, getting the patch of curls at the base of his cock messy. It certainly wasn't missed by Bucky, his hands holding onto your hips so he could gently thrust his hips up just enough for you to feel the slightest movement. "Please baby, m'so hard, balls are fuckin' full, swear my cock's ready to burst there's so much cum for you-

All it took was you shutting your laptop for Bucky to swipe his arm and clear the table of its contents, bending you over the table while he was still deep inside you.

"Fuck, I needed this!" He growled, grabbing you hips and setting a brutal pace without warning, his head thrown back, the sounds of skin slapping on skin mixing with your moans.

"OH-FUCK-J-AMIE" You squealed feeling Bucky angle his hips to hit a spot that made a mess everywhere, your juices dripping onto his jeans, the material turning darker making him fuck you harder.

"That's it baby, make a mess on me, make a mess on my cock, give me what I've been missing so fuckin' bad"

You were nothing more than a babbling mess letting Bucky take what he needed, your legs nearly buckling from pleasure.

"Wanna see you" He pulled out and handled you with ease as he picked you up and placed you onto the table, throwing your pants off and tossing your legs over his shoulders. He didn't waste any time as he slipped in again, the both of you moaning and he started to move again, your tummy bulging each time he fucked into you. "Missed you so much angel, fuck you have no idea"

"Missed you-t-too" You hiccuped from a mixture of emotion and your building orgasm, a mix of everything making your vision blur with white spots and tears. "Missed you so much, Bucky"

"Cum for me angel, I want it, wanna feel my angel cum on my cock, please-" Bucky's pace stuttered as his cock squirted precum, his balls growing heavy, struggling to hold on, "m'gonna cum, can't hold it baby, give it to me"

"I-I-OH FUCK" You let out a silent scream as Bucky slipped his hand between your bodies, his thumb pressed onto your clit rubbing gentle circles. He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, his own ready to shoot from the base of his cock, the tip already dribbling-

"Good girl, good fuckin' girl, so pretty when you cum for me baby, fuck me I won't last, shit-I-FUCKK" The first burst of cum flooded and painted your walls, his cock throbbing so hard it nearly sent you into a second climax, "Hng, it's so much, mmph"

Bucky clung onto you with his face buried into your neck, shuddering as his body shook from the waves of his orgasm. He held onto you, keeping you wrapped up as he sat back on the chair, his lips pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I love you"

"I love you too but I need to finish" You sleepily mumbled while Bucky shook his head, carrying you off for some much needed proper cuddles.

"You can finish later after we get some dinner in you and two more orgasms and a nice long shower, maybe a massage and THEN you can-"

"You filthy animals" Tony's voice cut through Bucky's list as he stood at the conference door with an amused smirk on his face.

"Oh my god" You kept your face buried in Bucky's neck, the oversized shirt you were wearing covering up what was going on but there was no mistaking what happened with Bucky's jeans around his ankles.

"Couldn't wait 10 minutes, huh"

"Would you?" Bucky didn't even bother arguing back, raising his brow with a smug smile.

"Can't argue with that" Tony nodded with approval, walking off while Bucky cackled without an ounce of shame.

"You little shit" You stayed pressed against his neck, while Bucky carried you off to your shared bedroom, plopping you onto the bed.

"Now about those two orgasms-"

[buckysm]

2:15 am (and i miss you)

ᯓ★ part one, part two

ᯓ★ Bucky Barnes x fem ex hydra AVENGER reader

ᯓ★ word count 8.4k+ (this was going to be 5k but then i ended up writing about 2.5k worth of smut... so!! beware)

ᯓ★a/n: this is weeks late, life happens, shit happens we get back up to write bucky barnes faniction. {para @dove4444 te amo, perdon por la espera <33333}

ᯓ★ summary: Tensions rise when a ‘friendship’ builds that leave both of you wanting more. Everyone can see how his eyes never leave you. If only you could get your head out of your ass and see for yourself.

ᯓ★ series warnings/ tags/ tropes: canon? what canon?, haters to lovers -- except you never hated him and he just resented you-- midnight rendezvous, friends to lovers, separation, Anxiety, angst and fluff and smut,  Bucky Needs a Hug, Protective Bucky Barnes Bucky Barnes issues related to past trauma, not so platonic cuddling, slow burn, jealous Bucky Barnes Miscommunication  Soft Bucky Barnes, Mentions of torture off screen ------[PART TWO WARNINGS: unhealthy coping strategies, miscommunication, smut, dry humping, cursing in other languages (Spanish and Russian), dacryphilia, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, p in v unprotected sex]

You needed time to heal after— two days of bed rest, stitches, and recovery for a heavily sprained ankle. And unfortunately for Bucky, that meant no clandestine meetings at quarter past two in the morning. 

He tried his best to keep away. After the initial reunion, he handed you into the infirmary and avoided everyone like the plague. They avoided him right back; he couldn’t blame them. He felt as if a storm cloud enveloped him without you, knew he had murder in his eyes. It cost him to hand you up to the doctors, a pang in his heart at having you taken from him once again. He told himself it wasn’t like that, and you would be back in his line of sight before he knew it. His subconscious disagreed, so he trained for hours until he passed out in a mat, warring voices in his head quieting down with exhaustion that pulled at his body, made gravity stronger. Phantom hands yanking him down into oblivion mid-workout. He toed the line of danger training without a spotter, but once the black started to spot his vision and his dry throat burned with rage, —he was a super soldier, neglecting hydration helped him pass out faster— he knew to go to the mat so when he did pass out, at least he wouldn’t injure himself.

One of those days he came to the Black Widow frowning from above him.

He grumbled an intentional incoherent sentence, not feeling like interacting. The redhead’s brows furrowed further. Unimpressed with his antics.

“Get a grip, Barnes, this self-pity schtick has to go. Here.” 

He felt more than saw the weight of a water bottle against his stomach. Almost snarled before remembering himself. This was a bit embarrassing. He sat up and grabbed at the water with resentment in what was meant to be one fluid movement, but came out clumsy and sluggish. His head pounded, his vision clouded. Embarrassing. Begrudgingly, he unscrewed the water bottle and finished it in slow, measured drinks under Black Widow’s judging gaze.

Said redhead dropped to a crouch, eye level with him, frown unfurling, and even he could see the concern in her eyes and the unpleased twist of her lips.

“Barnes, look. I long ago forgave you for the scar you gave me, and I know that you hold yourself guilty for— don’t give me that look, you know you do. Anyway, the others wanted to stage an intervention— No, before you start, let me finish! They care about you. —No. I know that face, I’m going to ignore all your passive-aggressive expressions now, you petulant child— I know you don’t like to think much about what happened during— well, yes, I know you remember. Haven’t you ever stopped to think why the fifty-sixth floor stayed destroyed? Huh? Yeah! Thought you didn’t. I know you pay close attention to Tony, so I know you know he is prideful and a perfectionist. He wouldn’t leave a floor wrecked just because. And before you get angry. No, he didn’t tell anyone why he let it be. And I know for a fact that he turned off the cameras. I couldn’t find any trace of the feed for the floor, and I am Black Widow — it didn’t take me long to figure out he had forgiven you no matter how much he teases you. Yes, he was hurt, but he ultimately understood that it wasn’t a choice, and he cares, in his own asshole way. He— We care about you, Barnes. And I know things have been awkward with Steve— since you tried to kill him and all--, but if you don’t see that he cherishes you then you have been lying to yourself. And she cares too! Did you know she has been accepting visitor? She’s about to be discharged to her own room tomorrow morning. She didn’t need to stay in the infirmary but Tony worries, and I know you do too. So there is no reason to stay away from your friend— no rational reason. And it pains me to see hope bloom in her eyes once the door opens and the way she tries to cover up it’s shatter when it’s not you. You two understand each other. You are best friends. Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. We live together. She wears her heart on her sleeve. You just have to learn to read her tells. She will never outright say what she means to say. She will veil her true feelings with insults and sarcasm. Now take a shower and go to her, you big fucking idiot. You reek.” She sprang up in one smooth motion, leaving him with a fond stern look and scolded, all of reminded him of his sister.

That was the longest she had spoken in front of him ever, even putting every interaction together. He didn’t have time to unpack everything, though. Bucky was left reeling, jaw clenched to prevent it from slacking open in shock. His breaths came in faster and faster. He missed you so much. He couldn’t stop thinking about having you in his arms, wanting you back there forever. But Black Widow was right. He reeked. 

His thoughts ran a mile a second, his body going through the motions without needing instruction. Made his way to his bathroom and showered, and did his night routine on autopilot. 

 It was late… you were most definitely sleeping. His every thought hyper-focused on you. On the fact that you weren’t there, your absence a heavy and loud presence in his heart.

  Bucky stared at his bed, bones weary and freshly showered. He would lie to himself if he said he contemplated sleeping there, visiting you tomorrow. He needed you now— needed you always—But his need for you felt more pronounced at that moment. His body was tired, but it yearned to hold you more than it did sleep. He needed his nightly dose of you. And even then that wouldn’t be enough, needed you close needed you in ways that had him blushing and running himself a cold shower. He shook his head, trying to lose memories of him jerking himself off at breakneck speed, to find some sort of release of the lust full torture he found himself in just by thinking about you— never mind breathing in your scent.

He threw himself on his bed. Trying to keep away, truly he did. But between the lands of consciousness and unconsciousness, he saw you. Screaming for him, crying out as you were tortured. He couldn’t take it. His heart pounded as he ran his fingers aggressively through his hair. 

He knew you deserved all that was good in the world, and that excluded him — but that didn’t calm down the tension in his body palpable through his teeth. Bucky tried to breathe in, tried to think rationally, but his limbs moved on their own accord as if deciding for him. 

His mind a passenger to his body as he was pulled by an invisible string holding his heart hostage, tethered to you, throughout the building to your door.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You couldn’t sleep, or rather you had been knocked out for a while, sleeping on and off, drifting between the blurred line of realistic nightmare and nonsensical reality, dozed in a wide array of medicine, and found yourself squirming at two a.m. in the morning. 

You were unable to move much. Your leg was elevated to aid your heavy sprain.

Your eyes were heavy, blinking slowly in the darkness. You were so uncomfortable, and you had to sit with one big fact. Squirmed with it. You wanted to see him. You distracted yourself from any other thoughts, from processing whatever the fuck happened in the warehouse, the new drops in the bucket of blood and death, with memories of his arms around yours. You had relished in life giving away beneath your hands, just as they had relished in breaking your bones. You glared at your palms as if they would give you an answer to why you didn’t feel guilty. You had to kill your way out, no one was coming to save you. He would’ve. You could see it in his eyes, he was about to fight Captain America to get to you. You shivered not knowing how to take it. He had been so relieved, and so had you.

Your inhale was shaky. You tried to think of him, but— your greatest fears had come true those long hours before you got to escape. Half unconscious with pain you thought you were back in Hydra. When you screamed in pain from the torture, you thought those nights with him had all been a nice dream. That the beautiful man with the sad blue eyes had been a hallucination. The cruel eyes from not too long ago blurred into those of  your past, of older memories from Hydra. A variety of eyes: twin flames, mirrored each other with sadistic pleasure and glee. There was a twist in your gut that didn’t let you give up, told you there was a man with soulful eyes and a gorgeous smile waiting for you. Pure grit brought you back online, moving your body in ways you hadn’t since your hydra days. Killed so many. You were scared that you didn’t care. Bucky was real, had hugged you so tight—

But an anxious, paranoid part of you still thought so.  You hadn’t seen him in days, and the rational part of you knew he was real, but a dark and needy side of you needed him here to believe it. A heavy sensation of being trapped grew in your body, your limbs heavy and achy impeded you from moving much. Frustration built in your chest, rising and rising. Your breaths came out fast and shallow. You didn’t know how to manage it, needed to move, needed him. 

A knock at the door dragged you from your haze. Hope failed to bloom in your chest, too many times had it grown only for someone that wasn’t Jamie to come into the hospital room.

You couldn’t see through your distress. It was late, and you didn’t want to be bothered— not by anyone who wasn’t him. You slid a hand under your pillow, fingers curling around the grip of your knife. 

You knew those soft footsteps, familiar with them even in their uncertainty— you were dreaming. “Doll?” Oh, how you missed him.

You placed the knife on the bedside. “Jamie?” You weren’t able to keep the excitement and relief from your voice.

“I had a nightmare. I had to check for myself. I’ll let you sleep.” His voice was gruff, worried. Worried.

Yes, you were in fact dreaming, a pain medication-induced nice dream. Your Jamie was proud, he would never— this was your dream, you could do whatever you wanted and you wanted him around you. “Come here. There’s enough room for the both of us.”

Dream Jamie didn’t hesitate. The bed shifted with his weight. You flinched when you felt cold metal against you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I can move—”

You giggled softly.  The dark haze dissipating from your mind by his presence. “It’s alright, Jamie. You’re so cold. Get under the covers with me.” You yawned. Now that you weren’t in distress, your subconscious pulled you towards sleep—deeper sleep, since you were already in the sandman’s territory.

There was an awkward shuffle as he got inside the covers.

You curled around the cold metal arm as best as you could with restricted movement. You yawned again. “G��night, Jamie. Try to get some sleep. We’re safe here; nothing can hurt us in my dream. I’m so glad to have you in my arms I missed you so much. So happy you’re real and here, even if it is a dream Jamie.” Your words murmured. You rubbed your face into his cotton shirt. The pounding of his heart lulled you to sleep.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You thought you were dreaming! Did you dream of him often? It didn’t matter. He would ponder about this new revelation later; now he would focus on your soft, pliant body against him, and tiredness overtaking him.

Bucky’s consciousness came to him in phases, each one more forceful than the last, crashing into him in waves. The first sensation he became aware of was warmth. His body relaxed against it. It was familiar, as he had dreamt of it. The next thing he noticed was that the warmth was tangible, had soft give to it— he could feel it. He rolled his neck against foreign pillows… His eyes flew open, muscles tensing slightly with alarm. 

Your soft sleeping body cocooned his left side and enveloped his usually cold metal arm— which was at that moment the same temperature as your body. He so badly wanted to give in again. Burrow into your warm, soft skin. He barely had time to overthink it. His groggy mind almost reached consciousness before a soft murmur from your lips brought his thoughts to heel.

“Shhh, go back to sleep, s’early Jamie, sleep.” You didn’t seem to care about him not being a product of REM. You curled up tighter around him. Your smile bigger than last night, cheek pressed against his metal arm. And never had he felt any semblance of gratefulness toward Stark. But the new arm sent feedback to his brain. A weapon of destruction cradled and enveloped softly by your body. Somehow you trusted him, he felt less a weapon with no agency and more a person. He liked touching you with his metal arm. He knew that it was tainted but your touch made it pure. Bucky acknowledged that he would’ve never gotten you here with him if it weren’t for that still-wrecked floor. Unwanted tears prickled in his eyes. Would he ever live up to this forgiveness?

He didn’t want to think anymore so he followed the laced command in your sweet, sleepy voice urging him back to dream land and succumbed to his dreams.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The air around the two of you shifted after the one-person intervention. And yes, of course, the team noticed, but they chose to say nothing. They were glad that Natasha had gone in to talk to him by herself. Although she never did retell what happened, but it seemed to work. And while they liked to tease Bucky— some billionaire philanthropists more than others— they were happy for him; he seemed a little more calmer than before. Settled into himself. 

While he never directly came out and touched you in front of them. He started orbiting you blatantly. Taking a seat next to you during the rare shared meals. Glaring at anyone who dared take his spot next to you on the couch. Walking into a room and making his way to you. 

Two particular instances engraved themselves into the minds of the team members who were lucky enough to behold it. 

The first event took place in the morning. It started like any other. You chit-chatted with Steve and Nat as you made two of your breakfast bagels. They might’ve thought you had woken up hungry that day were it not for the two cups of coffee you set in front of the plate holding the two halved bagels.

Tony tinkered with a toaster in the background, his eyes looking up slowly when Bucky walked in fingers not stopping their ministrations on the machinery. 

And the team had been so wrong. Yes, Bucky had a strong disposition, but the way he had always stared at you, so intently. It should have been obvious. It was like their eyes opened after the mission had gone wrong.  The man was so obviously besotted with you. 

It couldn’t be more clear as the usual dark storm cloud that hung over him dissolved when his eyes found you. He strode toward you with one track mind. 

You spoke to him before your gaze found his, as if sensing his presence.“Hey there, I just made you my favorite breakfast. Grab our plate, here’s your coffee. Dark and joyless like you.” You turned to look at him with barely veiled glee.

Steve’s brows furrowed slightly, concerned. He used to make those kinds of jokes with his Bucky, but he didn’t know how this Bucky would react.

Tony’s eyes furrowed with concern—

Bucky huffed and pursed his lips. But his eyes, they were accustomed to his eyes being perpetually set in a glare. 

His gaze was soft, voice softer, “Doll… You know me so well.”

Your grin was dazzling and you were the only one that missed the way his stare lingered a bit too long on your lips.

DOLL??? Oh, you guys were clearly fucking. Natasha smiled, amused, and raised an eyebrow at Steve. 

Steve gaped at Bucky, lost and forlorn. He had spent so long tiptoeing around the man who used to be his best friend. 

Bucky didn’t seem to care that there were other people in the kitchen, long gone was the man who didn’t show up for breakfast. You curled your fingers around the handle of the two coffee cups, concluding the chit-chat. He grabbed the plate with his metal fingers. Then, so slyly as if with half a mind, he reached out his right arm toward you, near your hips. His fingers slid inside the loop of your jeans and yanked you toward him.

You let out a surprised yelp and laughed. “Jamie! Careful. The coffee will spill!” You didn’t seem the least put off by his actions. 

They had no clue when it started, but somehow, in a few months you had gotten through the broken and hurting Winter Soldier and got to Jamie. 

Jamie. Bucky never let Steve call him that. It was bittersweet. Your chattering voice faded as he dragged you out of the kitchen. It was then that he came to a conclusion. Bucky was a different man, and he wanted to get to know this version of him.

And they felt guilty, they had given a half ass try to get through to him, put off by his glower, you weren’t perturbed by his grumpiness nor his mood swings. Letting him be silent whenever he got too in his head. Chatting to him about whatever until you eventually drew out a small smile perceptible in his usually clouded expression.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You had found yourself in the proud position of Bucky’s friend, closest and best — you did sleep in the same bed—, yet you still felt like screaming in frustration. It wasn’t enough. You weren’t unhappy per se. You had him in your arms every night…Your cheek pressed against his warm, sturdy chest. The only thing between keeping your skin from his was a thin, flimsy shirt. And maybe it was wrong for you to, but you longed for more, to touch without restraint. Had feelings with more-than-friends connotations. Not that you had many— any— real friends before you were recruited here. So while you knew there was a difference between platonic and romantic love. You tried fooling yourself into thinking it was platonic. But you wouldn’t go and kill around 15 people for just about anyone, and it hurt. You wanted him to see you the same way you did him. Rare nights where it was you holding him instead of the more common inverse. 

You’d scrape your fingernails softly through his scalp. Hope would make your heart full, inflating it with every hum of pleasure he let out in his sleep. But then he’d wake up shy and closed off, cheeks red with what you perceived as embarrassment and your heart would collapse once again, hope seeping out and leaving acid in its wake.

But he’d do certain things that would make your heart race, exhilarated and frustrated, leaving you reeling and confused.

Your feelings grew despite your protests, so you kept them locked in nice and tight, hidden even from yourself, for as long as possible. 

You were full to the brim with tension, and one particular instance made you lose it, the container breaking with pressure and spilling all over the place. 

It went like so. It was early afternoon, and sunlight spilled from the high windows of the tower, casting a warm glow on the room. 

Natasha was telling you all about these two guys; they were inviting her and you to a double date. You were certain in your decision not to go. The man you’d be paired up with was the same one that frequented the bar with the team; he had brown eyes and a sleazy smile. Nothing like your Jamie.

You were doubling down on your decision when he walked in.

“Hello, Doll, Nat.” His greeting was gruff, but a few months ago, you would’ve thought him possessed.

Natasha’s eyes glinted with mischief and calculation. She gave you a feral grin before turning around, her expression slipping easily into neutrality. “Bucky, it’s so good that you’re here. You can help me convince her to go out with me.”

Jamie cocked his head, expression unreadable. “Sounds fun, Doll; you need a girl’s night.”

This was it! The perfect opportunity to gauge his reaction to you going out with someone else! “It’s a double date with the guys from communication.” You deliberately left out the part where you didn’t want to go, wanting to push a grand reaction. —It never came.

You saw his full body tense for a moment, and for a second, your heart soared… only to crash instantly when he gave you a terse smile. His voice was disappointingly steady, “Why don’t you want to go?”

You knew your body was overreacting, knew you were blowing it out of proportion, but your heart shrivelled nonetheless. You tried still, couldn’t swallow down the frustration try as you did.“I like my men a little bit older…” Your mouth answered for you, giving him a cheeky grin. 

He turned his full attention toward you, and your body viscerally recoiled from the look in his eyes. An angry and resentful glint in his eyes. So familiar—the way he used to stare at you before the first meeting at two a.m.

“You should go.” His words were final, a command. 

You didn’t understand, and you almost sobbed then. You prided yourself in being able to count the number of times you had cried on one hand. A chasm was growing between you, distance expanding with every word. He didn’t want you that way. Pinche ilusa! How could he ever want you that way? You snarled instead of crying, “Alright, I will, but don’t expect me here at two in the morning.”

His smile was bitter, mean. “I won’t.” 

Your returning smile was filled with spite. Anger bubbling in your throat, you saw red. “Pinche pendejo, deveras.”  (Such a fucking prick), it hurt to smile. You didn’t even want to think about the last time you used your Spanish. But his hardened eyes and clenched jaw brought out the most impulsive sides of you. 

Beside you, Nat and Bucky tensed. You lifted your downward gaze toward them. Their heads were cocked to the side, assessing… You’d never slipped into your native tongue.

You took a deep breath before speaking, “I’m going to get ready, Nat! See you at eight!” Smiled at them both before prancing to the elevator, assuming a mask of joy, heart sunken in.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The elevator doors closed in front of you, taking you from him. The Winter Soldier's gaze lingered on the spot where you'd disappeared, his eyes burning with a mix of longing and frustration before snapping toward his adversary.

The soldier was full of rage. Flowers had bloomed through the cracks in his stone heart only to wilt because of her.

The redheaded sensed the obvious danger, and spoke in a language the soldier didn’t understand. He understood her disappointment with him, which displeased the soldier.

“говорить демон.” The soldier growled, beckoning the demon to speak, try and save herself. 

She had been a friend…The redheaded demon responded in his language. “You were taking too long, and I couldn’t take any more of her sulking… So speak up or forever hold your peace, soldier. You don’t get to wallow in self-pity and watch life passing you by, cursing time for moving on and not standing still, you can’t unwind the clock, soldier, you can only go forward… So decide carefully before it’s too late.”

Bucky couldn’t breathe, bereft of oxygen. What had he done? Had the soldier really come back because of you? The threat of losing you?

He somehow found himself in his room. He didn’t quite remember how he got there. His brain a haze of frustration and defeat.

His room felt wrong, empty, and cold. He didn’t even approach his bed, knowing how that whole schtick would go. So Bucky paced and paced, his mind running around in circles. 

And what was that whole thing about liking older men? How was he supposed to take it? 

He knew he had fucked up. But he wasn’t about to go crash your date… So he went to his training room. Came back to the land of the living hours later, an unknown familiar face framed by gold hair staring down at him. Warmth pressed against his mouth and he drank greedily.

“…can’t keep hurting yourself like this, Buck.”

Bucky groaned in response and in acknowledgment. Looked at his friend’s concerned eyes. His chest ached with nostalgia, love, regret… everything. “That’s my line, punk.” His voice came out unsteady.

The ground moved underneath him, yanked by his metal arm toward Steve into a tight hug. For a moment Bucky’s arms hovered uncertainly and he could feel a Steve’s large body shake against him. So he hugged his friend back. He had been neglecting Steve.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, Stevie, it’s alright.” His voice was fond. He was yanked once again. Twin grips on his shoulders shook him with more force than merited. 

“No, you stupid idiot! It’s not alright…” For a moment Steve looked like he wanted to say more, but he knew how Bucky was, so he kept in his spiel and sighed dramatically. “Come on, let’s get some food in your poor body.”

Steve tried to help Bucky walk, which ended up with Captain America being whacked upside the head. The blonde turned to Bucky with fake offence, instead deciding to drag him to the kitchen by force. Oh, how things changed…

Steve had changed…he managed to beat Bucky in a stare-down. Even in his forties after the serum   that only happened once in a blue moon. So Bucky found himself eating a sandwich and a big glass of electrolytes with resentment. His leg bounced with vigor. 

He kept his eyes on his plate, avoiding Steve’s too observant eyes, eyes that knew him since childhood.

As soon as the last bite had been swallowed, Bucky looked up. Only to regret it instantly. Steve had a resolved expression. A glint in his eyes that told him to run. So he did. Not ready for whatever conversation he wanted to have.

“Where’s Banner?” He pushed off the table in a harsh, sudden movement.

Steve’s face fell, confused and hurt. “Huh?”

“I need a cigarette.”

He got furrowed brows and a cocked head in response.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

A few blocks away, your leg bounced anxiously. Unbeknownst to you mirroring the person who caused your stress, .

You sat across from Nat, your date an uncomfortable breath away.  The tension between you palpable as you struggled to make small talk with him. Thigh pressed to bouncing thigh. You wanted to turn pleading eyes to Nat. And for what? You had come here out of your own volition. Fuck. You needed a smoke. You tried to convince yourself you wanted to be here. If he didn’t want you, you deserved someone who did.

A meaty hand slid against your bare skin. Ala mierda… Yeah, no… Abort.

“Calm down, baby… you are all… amped up… how about we go outside and—”

“That’s a good idea.” 

You got a sleazy grin and a flash of eerily perfect teeth. His were a charmingly imperfect; he wouldn’t call you baby. He would call you doll….

“I am going outside by myself. I need a smoke. Besides— I left my lighter at home.”

“I-”

“No, thank you. Sorry, Nat.” You flashed your not-so-sorry gaze toward her. 

She was amused. “Go! by all means. I’ll get the check.” She moved her hand, shooing you off.

A grip on your arm stopped you. “Don’t tell me it’s because of that creepy guy with murder in his eyes.”

You shivered, giddy with pleasure. It was too obvious of a response for it to fly over your date’s head.

“It is! He stares at you like you hurt him. Like he wants to tie you up in his bed and never let you leave!”

Your wicked grin was enough for him to let you go with a huff of disgust. You didn’t care, kissing Nat’s cheek. “Goodbye, you evil woman.” 

She spanked your ass, sending you off. You turned one last time toward her, grinning. Your smiles reflecting glee and mirth.

You walked around the city for a while. Savoring being able to do so without recrimination. 

You weren’t delusional; you should’ve known better. Yet you were so blinded by self-doubt that you closed your eyes.

Bucky wasn’t loud with his emotions, ever. He swallowed them whole, drowned in them. Even if he wanted you, he was too prideful and scared of being hurt. Countless sleepless nights and nights where it was avoided deliberately to see each other told of a man who was interested in you in some capacity.

You weren’t dumb, you just chose to ignore the evidence. Turning a blind eye to the staggering difference in the way he spoke to you versus literally anyone else. He gave you preferential treatment. You cuddled every night for fucks sake! And you doubted that he cared for you? He couldn’t sleep without you, and vice versa! 

You checked your phone. 2:03 a.m. What were you stalling for? 

You smiled all the way back to the tower.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The third time the elevator doors pinged, Bucky’s hope had worn out. Expecting Steve or Natasha. The latter had come from the double date alone. “I told you to leave me alone to— what had you called it?— wallow in self-pity and the consequences of my own actions or whatever.” He raised a shaking hand, knuckles cracked and bleeding— he was embarassed to admit he had succumed to his baser needs and punched a wall out of frustration— taking a drag of a cigarette. It tasted radioactive… but it smelled like you. He coughed softly.

An achingly familiar laugh startled him from his stupor. He swerved around with wide eyes. A kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar… “What are you doing here? If you’re here to tell me about — I don’t want to hear it.” He grumbled. Yes, you were friends, but he really, really didn’t want to hear about you sleeping or even breathing in near another man. He took another drag of your cigarette. Filled his lungs with smoke, his blood with chemicals. Okay, yes. He got it now.

“You big, stupid man.” The candor of your voice dripped with irritation. You stomped toward him, heels clacking against the floor, and snatched the smoke from him in harsh movements.

He grunted in response, out of his depth, and turned his gaze toward the skyline. He was aware of your every movement. You took two drags and stomped a perfectly good half of a cigarette with your heel.

He turned to glare at you, giving you a once-over. Fucking helllll….. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Bucky needed to dump cold water on himself ASAP. He was reminded of the many, many long showers he had jerked off in before joining you in bed. They were always futile, super soldier refractory period, and your soft skin, and— you were wearing a mini skirt and a top that accentuated your tits. Bucky mentally clutched his 100-year-old pearls. His breath hitching. Eyes catching on thighs— THIGHS. And boobsp—BOOBS!Before meeting your pleased predatory gaze. 

You took one step toward him, he took one step back.

“I’m going to ask you something, please answer me honestly— Why don’t you want to hear about my date?”

“Why are you here and not with your date?” he ground out his non-answer.

“Why are your knuckles bleeding? Why are you smoking my cigarette?”

“Why are you here and not with your date?” He repeated, body tense, ready to pounce, touch, taste. You looked so beautiful. The soft night lights illuminating your tinted lips, your glittery eyelids, bringing the color out of your iris.

“Well, I found myself seated next to him and thinking: Jamie wouldn’t say that— but you weren’t there. And he wasn’t you.”

This time when you advanced toward him, his feet stayed planted in place. Your took your time advancing toward him. And you were taller now, easier to reach with those long heels. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed up against him.

His arousal grew to unavoidable levels. Pushing against your hip. “Fuck, doll. You can’t— I’m wrong for you, all messed up and angry. And from the forties…” His fingers clenched and unclenched on his sides. He was lacking in excuses to touch you. His limbs itched to hold you. Dig into you.

“Well, I hate to repeat myself, but I see I have to. I’ve told you I like my men a little bit older… And maybe I’m a bit messed up too. Because seeing you all fucked up and angry…. Well, I wasn’t upset.”

“I can’t sleep without you. I dream of you, I—”

You smiled with glee, “I know, Natasha was all too pleased to explain to me the mechanics of ‘morning wood’”

Bucky groaned in response. Letting his hands, metal and otherwise, slide against your hips. It was nothing like cuddling; his intentions were impure. They had always been, but he had not felt any past guilt over his arousal, unashemed in his guilt, he felt no need to neglect his urges no— unless you told him otherwise.

He could tell you had some snarky response in the makings. He wanted nothing more than to wipe that cocky grin off your face. If you thought he would be taking the subservient route, you were gravely mistaken. At least right now he needed to be in control, needed you to trust him. Needed you. 

Your eyes glinted with snark, your mouth opening to tease. His hand coasted up your back, to your nape, his fingers gliding into your hair to pull you toward him. Your eyes widened in surprise, pupils blown out. Good, you thought too much; he needed to make your brain shut up for a bit.

He held his breath as he leaned in, hummed with satisfaction once your lips pressed against his. Your lips, so soft against his. He needed more. He gripped your hip, conscious of the strength in his metal arm, the last thing he wanted was to hurt you, but he did want to leave a mark. You gasped in pleasure. Your hands yanked on his hair, and he groaned against your lips.

He set his sights on a wall three paces away, pushing against you. So malleable under him, succumbing so easily to his ministrations, like putty under his hands. His blood sang with the escalating volume of your noises. With each step he took forward, you met with a step back. You gasped as your back met the wall.

“Jamie... please," your voice was so whiny, so desperate it made his cock hurt with arousal. Blood rushed in his ears; he needed more, needed you begging. Undone.

He yanked on the base of your hair with one hand, exposing your neck for him. He was oh so happy to kiss and lick your skin. You whined and shifted against him... sensitive. His other hand slid down your skirt until it met skin. Groaning against your neck, he slid his hand up, up, finally reaching your perfect ass. He couldn't feel any underwear... Fuck... he might've been from the forties, but he had internet access, and he could call a spade a spade, or in this case, a thong a thong. He yanked on the flimsy thing, so it snapped back against your skin.

You whimpered and panted, eyes closed in bliss. He could feel your hips shift, as if chasing after stimulation. And who was he to deny you?

He placed both hands just below your ass, lifting you up and pulling them apart, a silent command you gladly followed with a whine and a curse word in Spanish.

You locked your legs around his waist; his erection pressed against your warmth, and his soft cotton pants were doing nothing to help his desperation. He gave up on holding himself back when your lips met his once again, your hips jerking against him.

It was the best thing he had ever felt since... ever. His fingers spread on either side of your ass, your back supported by the wall. He was beyond words, and so were you.

His cotton pants were soaked with your arousal, hiding nothing. He could feel everything: your pussy open for his cock to grind on, your underwear had twisted to the side. He lost all ability to think, his conscious motor skills deciding to go offline, the only movement he could do was jerking his hips. His lips opened to pant like a dog. It was your turn to kiss him, sloppy and uncoordinated, as he ground against you.

He had half a mind to be aware of his strength, but each time he tested the waters, pressing harder against you, you moaned louder. So it wasn't long before he realized you could take it, take all of him.

His body trembled with built-up tension. It felt like nothing he had ever experienced. His hands flexed and tightened on your ass, pressing you harder against him, making the friction so much sweeter. He chased the pleasure with a one-track mind, couldn't think of anything but your scent, skin, taste – for years, he had felt numb, and you brought him back to life. He hadn't thought he'd be able to feel such exquisite pleasure; it was you who had his hips jerking, dry humping like teenagers. He didn't care.

Your fingers clawed at his back, nails scratching his skin; you had long ago stopped kissing him, opting instead for panting against his neck.

Pleasure built and built, mind-numbing. You were saying something... begging for him... He threw his head back and groaned as his pleasure crested, stars exploding behind his eyes; he couldn't see...

His hips jerked with aftershocks, breaths harsh against your neck; his pants were soiled with his come and your arousal. Your legs slackened, dropping to the floor. Most of your body weight rested on the wall, the rest supported by his hands. He had two functioning brain cells, both reminding him of his selfishness.

You didn't look displeased with him, though; your skirt was bunched up at the hips, top in disarray. Your eye makeup was a mess, and he loved that. Your panties were slid to the far side, showing off your glistening cunt.

His knees hit the floor before he even realized what he was doing. He felt your thighs shake against his skin as he leaned in to look closer. Your clit was swollen and dark. He leaned in to kiss, to suck. Fingers pressed against his face, pushing him away.

“S’ too sensitive," your voice wavered.

Bucky furrowed his brows, looking up inquisitively at you.

“Came. Twice," you clarified, tone shaky with satisfaction.  your gaze followed his movements as he stood up to cradle your face, tilting your head to kiss you softly. He sucked on your teeth before stopping the kiss.

“Huh, didn't notice. You felt too good I went crazy. Too bad though, I want to feel you come on my face and on my cock."

You smiled, satisfied, a cat who finally got the cream “Sure, later," you muttered against him.

“Whenever you want, doll face," he smiled down on you. You looked fucked all the way to next week, and he hadn't even dicked you down yet. “Come on, let's get cleaned up."

You hummed, wrapping your arms around him in a silent request; he obliged happily, carrying you bridal-style all the way to his room.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Jamie was so soft, so careful with you. Your head was hazy with the aftermath of pleasure. No orgasm in your past could hold a flame to the explosive bliss from the earlier encounter.

Your head was hazy as he led you to his bathroom, your mind too fucked out for processing his room. You complied with whichever way he tugged your limbs, sliding off your rumpled clothes, until the only thing on your body were your high heels.

He knelt in front of you, his touch tender, as if apologizing for moments ago when he ground on you without thought. His cool metal fingers skated up your calf, reaching up to support your knee, as his other hand worked on the latch of your heels. He pressed a kiss to each ankle before standing up in front of you.

You blinked slowly, your eyes trained on him. He was still clothed. Why was he still clothed? Your gaze caught on the wet patch on his pants, outlining his half hard dick. Praise super-soldier metabolism.

You planted your feet on the white marble floor, your arms stretching out toward him, fingers curling into his shirt and yanking. “Off."

He grinned softly – you would never, ever get enough of his smiles – before sliding his shirt off in one swift movement.

Your breath caught in your throat—fuck, he was beautiful.

“Beautiful Jamie," you said, taking a step closer. You slid one hand up his chest, using the other to trace fingers along scar tissue. He was so… captivating, so utterly himself, that you felt like you were the only person in the world who got to see him like this “Only for me, only I get to see you like this." You turned to throw him a challenging glare.

“Doll, I wouldn't have it any other way, and I don't share either. Call me old-fashioned –"

“If I see you with another woman, James, I swear to God, I will break my killing streak. And all three of us will end up in a –" Rage had barely simmered from the image before he had yanked on your hips to pull you into another kiss.

“Easy there, Doll, there's no one else," his voice was so satisfied, an assured tinge to his candor, in a way you knew it only got for you. You were so fucking stupid for not noticing.

“Good," you yanked on his pants. “So... super-soldier dick... how long can you go? I bet we can get Jamie junior tired."

He laughed loudly, the sound enough for you to shiver with pleasure. “Doll, I don't think you could keep up with me; you'd pass out. You don’t understand how many times I can go if it's with you."

“Well, surely you can keep count if I'm passed out... set a record."

His laugh was disbelieving. “I don't want to fuck you when you're unconscious; I want you awake and making those sweet, delicious sounds."

“Another time, then – take off your pants."

“As you wish."

You tried, you really did, to focus on cleaning yourself once you'd gotten inside the shower. But you didn't fight the urge to slide your fingers into his scalp and help him clean his hair. Forcing him into a crouch to aid your reach, resting his face on your shoulder.

His touch was gentle, a silent decision to wash each other. He went first. You pressed your fingers, massaging the soap against his skin, fingers traveling lower, your eyes fixed on his cock. He was beautiful. Your fingers reached his hips; he was fully hard at that point, leaking. You couldn't stop yourself; you had planned on teasing him, but his cock was too pretty, red and wet with pre-come. Your soap-slicked hands circled his cock... and damn the groan that fell from his lips was unlike anything – the groans before had been rough, taking. This one was desperate, needing.

You took him in both hands, dragging your thumb against his leaking tip. He threw his head back and groaned, fingers digging into the skating over your waist.

You dragged your touch up and down his length, your eyes studying his every movement: his clenched jaw, and tightened face. He was holding his sounds back; that wouldn't do. You tightened your grip, fastened your pace – only to have your movements halted by his tight grip on your wrist. His gaze was heavy on yours. “The next time I'm coming, I'm doing it inside you."

Tension filled the air as he had his turn, took his time cleaning you. He was so clinical it was driving you insane. But you could tell he was restraining himself, his movements rushed; he had an end goal in mind.

You dried off quickly, not mentioning the fact that showering would prove futile with what you had in mind. The night was young; it was barely 3 am.

The anticipation was thick in each deep breath you took. As soon as you had crossed the doorway to his bedroom, you couldn't restrain yourself. You turned toward him, but he beat you to the first move, yanking on your arm and throwing you over his shoulder; you laughed as he spanked your ass.

The next moment, your body was airborne before your back bounced softly on his bed.

You leaned on your shoulders, breasts heaving with each breath, thighs open.

“Do you know how much I've wanted you, how long... I thought I was going to go crazy with how much I needed you," he said, crawling on top of you. Kissing you once chastely, your breath hitching. You were out of your depth; this was a completely new situation, and you were loving every second of it. He featherlight kisses peppered over your jaw, below your ear, along your neck – your body twisted and turned – over your collarbone, down... “You're so beautiful, Doll— I had to restrain myself back there. You deserve worship." His gruff voice was all the warning you got before he latched on to a nipple and sucked, cool metal fingers rolling your neglected nipple between his fingers, awakening erogenous zones that made their debut with a bang.

“Ala puta, mierda..." This bliss was unlike anything. Your hips jerked, your cunt pounded with need. Warm fingers slid your pussy open, circling your clit. You could feel every nerve sing with pleasure. Your toes curled, the balls of your feet pressing down against the bed.

He slid one finger into your cunt, and your whole body jerked in response. “Ala madre – ala madreeee!" Your head lolled, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You couldn't form coherent thought; your brain deciding to go offline.

Pleasure built and built, still sensitive from the past two orgasms. Just when you found yourself at the precipice, you were left bereft of pleasure, cut off from his touch. You looked at him with betrayal.

“No need for that, Dollface— you'll come soon. I want it to be on my cock— give me a second I’m going to get a condo –"

“NO!" You wanted to feel him and you wanted him inside you now .

“All right, Doll, and while I would love to put a baby inside you, I'm not sure I'm ready to share you yet –"

“I’m on birth control! I'm clean; I haven't – in years." Your voice was desperate, he smiled slowly at the neediness in your tone.

He shut you up with a kiss, fingers digging into the soft of your thighs, holding you open for him.

You felt yourself lose clarity, tears streaming down your face.You needed his cock inside you now.

You didn't have to wait long; soon enough he pressed his tip inside you. He was big... You babbled and pleaded for more to no avail. His fingers traced your skin, grounding you, as he slid in inch by delicious inch, until he was fully sheathed. Your body writhed under him with pleasure. It was a tight fit, bordering on a little bit painful. The slight pinch only made the feelings more heightened as your cunt pulsed around him.

You tried to beg him to “move," but none of the languages in your repertoire seemed to be available. So you were left a whining mess. He got the message. Felt his cock slide out of you only to slam into you so hard you saw stars. You could feel the exact moment he lost control, went feral and pussy-drunk. His thrusts were severe and hard, thrusting himself until your pelvises slammed together, the sound of your skin meeting his echoing through the room.

You were crying out, nails searching for pleasure on his back.

It didn't take long for your pleasure to peak; it ebbed and rose in waves. You weren't sure where your orgasm ended and another one began. Had started to come down only to have him pinch your clit and –

It was so good; you took everything he gave you greedily, you had been fulfilled a while ago your needs met ages ago. You were there for him to fuck however many times he wanted—  drenched with your arousal and his come. His hips would stutter, and you'd feel a rush of his come, warm and drenching you. He'd slow down for a few moments, making you think it was over, hips sputtering softly inside you. He'd kiss your skin softly in apology and harden inside you again.

He made good on his promise. Once you were close to passing out, he stopped.

Your full body shook as he cleaned you with warm towels, your mind unresponsive as he moved your limbs softly to slide on one of his hoodies and boxer briefs.

You were halfway to dreamland when he wrapped his arms around you, the room reeking of sex.

“…Doll... Mine... Love... Love you..." His voice was soft, and it barely processed as you fell asleep in his arms.

Did process enough for you to reply a sleepy, “Love you more."

Please remember to leave your kind thoughts in the comments (they fuel me), and if you enjoyed support with reblogs, ok thanks for reading love ya hope you enjoyed 🫶🏻!!!!

[mournthebird]

Knots.

summary: You help the soldier with some self care.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD symptoms & behavior | Flashbacks of HTP | Past dehumanization | Flashbacks of SA | Intimate handlers

a/n: Bit of a short one, but I thought helping him shave would be nice <3 And maybe trim his long hair a bit too. Two more chapters to go and I think that will be it for this series. I wrote this quick so please don't mind any errors. ;; wc: 3.1k

"Your hair has grown a bit."

Your voice cut through the air, startling him out of his previously zoned out mindset where his thoughts had been drifting aimlessly through memories and half-formed ideas. He blinked several times, slowly turning to look over at you with slightly unfocused eyes that gradually sharpened with awareness. It was then that he truly noticed his hair, for the first time in what felt like forever - the weight of it, the way it fell across his vision, the unkempt state it had fallen into. He hadn't really paid any attention to how he looked since he...well, he couldn't remember when. The days and months had blurred together into an indistinct haze.

"...sorry." He mumbled, the word coming out soft and uncertain, not exactly sure what else to say in response. You didn't sound like you were upset or berating him, which was a small comfort, but old habits died hard. He never got to tend to himself before, he wasn't allowed to - personal care had been a luxury far beyond his reach. You never asked him to look after himself either, so he wasn't sure what he could've done to avoid your comment, leaving him adrift in unfamiliar waters of self-care and personal autonomy.

"It's alright, don't apologize," your reassurance was nice, washing over him like a warm blanket and helping to ease some of the tension from his shoulders.

You gently reached out, your fingers carefully threading through his dark, unkempt hair. Over time, he had grown increasingly comfortable with your gentle touches, no longer tensing or pulling away when he knew your hands were approaching. The progress had been slow but steady - though he would still occasionally flinch if caught unaware by sudden contact, the reflexive response born from years of conditioning never failed to go away completely. In those moments, you would always take extra care to reassure him with soft words, reminding him that he was safe.

"I can trim it for you, if you want." You offered softly, studying the way his hair had grown past his collar. Your hand drifted downward, fingers ghosting along his jawline where several days' worth of stubble had accumulated. "And shave some of this," you added, feeling the rough, prickly texture beneath your fingertips. The soldier's own hand rose hesitantly to mirror your gesture, touching his jaw as he swallowed thickly, considering the offer.

"...if you want to." His voice was quiet, uncertain, still struggling with expressing his own desires.

"Do you want to?" You emphasized gently, wanting him to make the choice for himself.

"...yes." The word came out barely above a whisper, but it was decisive.

The ceramic sink gradually filled with warm, gently bubbling water as the fragrant soap and rich shaving cream created a luxurious foam inside it. You swished the gleaming razor through the water, the metal catching the bathroom light as you turned back to face the patient soldier. He sat perfectly poised on the wooden stool in the bathroom, his big blue eyes gazing up at you without much of an expression.

"Keep still alright?" You spoke in gentle, soothing tones, bringing the well-honed blades up to his stubbled cheek and carefully drawing them down to his defined jaw in smooth, measured strokes. Of course, Soldat remained absolutely motionless, like a masterfully carved statue perched on that little wooden stool, his posture relaxed yet perfectly controlled. He allowed you to delicately adjust his head to whatever angle was needed as you continued shaving his face, your movements precise and unhurried to make sure every swipe was perfect.

"Doing okay?" You asked gently, pausing to check in with him about halfway through the intimate ritual. The soldier lifted his gaze to meet yours, his expression almost innocently vulnerable, making your stomach suddenly flip with unexpected emotion. In all your time together, he had never looked at you quite like that before - with such openness and implicit trust.

You took a moment to admire his features in quiet appreciation - the strong, defined angle of his jawline that spoke of nobility, the soft pink hue of his perfectly shaped lips that almost held a permanent, precious pout, and those remarkable eyes that drew you in. Those eyes, windows to his soul, held such warmth and vitality that it made your heart ache. Despite all the pain and suffering he endured, despite every obstacle that could have dimmed their light...his eyes remained steadfastly, beautifully bright.

"Almost...done." The words left your lips in barely more than a whisper, gentle and soothing as you finished your careful ministrations. You took a warm, soft cloth and delicately dabbed his face dry, making sure every spot was attended to. You reached for the aftershave, applying it with gentle strokes across his smooth skin.

As your hand came to rest on his cheek, you found yourself lingering there longer than strictly necessary - drawn in by the warmth of his skin, unable and unwilling to break this moment of connection.

Your heart fluttered as you observed how he responded to your touch - the way he ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, pressed his cheek further into your palm, seeking more of that tender contact. It was a small gesture, but one that screamed at you in the quiet of the bathroom.

Focus, focus.

"Now let's see what we can do about that hair." You reluctantly pulled your hand away from his cheek, watching as his expression shifted - his brow furrowing deeply and lips turning downward in a small, almost imperceptible frown that tugged at something deep within your chest. The warmth of his skin lingered on your fingertips, a sensation you tried desperately to ignore.

No, you couldn't feel like this. It was wrong.

Moving behind him, you took to brushing out his hair first. Your hands worked with practice having to do this with your own hair, gently running the brush from the ends and gradually moving higher to ensure the least amount of discomfort when working through the stubborn knots. The methodical strokes seemed to calm you both. He sat perfectly still for you, but you could sense there was more he yearned for in your touch - an unspoken desire that radiated from him in waves.

He wanted you to hold him, to continue the gentle ministrations with his hair just as you were doing now, to show him that tenderness wasn't just a distant memory. Every careful stroke of the brush seemed to remind him of a truth he had long forgotten: that touch doesn't have to hurt, that it could be soft, nurturing, healing instead of harmful.

The man yanked its hair with savage force, causing sharp pain to radiate across its scalp. "I told you not to miss," the handler spoke with a familiar malice that it became familiar with. The spot where its hair was continuously yanked developed that persistent, throbbing ache that it desperately tried to push from its consciousness, knowing any reaction would only make things worse.

It couldn't flinch, wouldn't dare to show even the slightest reaction. HYDRA had made it clear what happened to assets that showed weakness, that dared to respond to discomfort. Even the smallest involuntary movement could result in severe consequences.

A gentle tug of the brush running through his hair pulled him abruptly from the dark memory, your soft and immediate apology working to ground him in the present moment, reminding him he was safe now. "Sorry, just found a stubborn one in here..." your caring voice helped chase away the lingering shadows of the past.

As he sat in the silence of the bathroom, his mind began to wander yet again, drifting through the corridors of his fractured memories like a lost ghost. His thoughts scattered like broken glass, shards between gentler memories with you - moments of peace and quiet understanding - against the more vicious ones that lurked in the shadows of his consciousness. Their dark tendrils constantly tried to wrap around and forcefully pull away all the lighter, precious memories he desperately held onto, attempting to corrupt them in classic HYDRA fashion.

Even still, it held onto him, refusing to let him go.

The soft, ambient light illuminating the bathroom in a gentle, warm glow caught his metal arm at just the right angle, creating a mesmerizing play of shadows across the surface. He found himself caught in an almost trance-like state, meticulously tracing the intricate grooves and carefully engineered plates with his eyes, his gaze tiredly half-lidded as he tried to focus his scattered thoughts by counting how many precise lines were drawn against his titanium forearm.

This handler was different from the others it had in the past.

He was unpredictable in his actions and reactions, displaying a volatility that made every interaction an exercise in cautious observation. It found this characteristic particularly distressing, as it undermined any attempt to establish reliable behavioral patterns.

The man exhibited a jarring duality in his demeanor - he could be loud and openly sadistic one moment, taking visible pleasure in displays of unnecessary cruelty, while in the next breath he would transform into something completely inverted.

His manipulation took on an almost hypnotic quality, reminiscent of a serpent's mesmerizing sway, as he would speak in soothing, honeyed tones while orchestrating harm with calculated precision. Like a constrictor coiling around its prey with deceptive gentleness, he would wrap his victims in a façade of care and comfort, all while administering his particular brand of venom - a poison that worked through words and actions rather than fangs, but was no less deadly for its subtlety.

A snake. That is how it described this man.

Sometimes beautiful to look at, but knowing the true nature of his scales, it knew better.

Then why did it fall for his sweet tone, why did it fall for the gentle touch?

Soldat blinked slowly, struggling to maintain focus on your gentle hands as you carefully brushed through his tangled hair, but he found his troubled mind inevitably wandering back to darker memories.

He ran his calloused fingers through its matted hair, feeling his way until he discovered the painful knot hidden at the base of its skull. His fingertips were uncomfortably warm and sticky with blood, but he purposefully ignored that sensation. He quite liked it, but held his tongue. As he roughly prodded at its injured head, examining the wound, the slight involuntary flinch it gave in response only caused his cruel smirk to grow wider with satisfaction.

He struck without warning or mercy. Like a perfectly trained rattlesnake that had been patiently coiled and waiting for precisely the right moment to unleash its deadly strike.

The handler's iron grip suddenly seized its hair, violently yanking backward with such unexpected force that it actually cried out in genuine pain this time, unable to maintain its usual stoic silence.

Why did it feel so much more vulnerable and powerless with this particular handler?? How did he possess such an uncanny ability to draw out its voice when others could not?

"Goddamn, babe. You're bleeding quite profusely now, aren't you? What did we discuss earlier about this situation, hm? No crying whatsoever. We simply cannot afford to keep weak assets in our organization - you understand that, don't you?" He maintained that eerily gentle tone he typically used when offering comfort to the thing, a purposeful torture that only intensified its mental confusion and emotional distress.

The asset writhed in discomfort, experiencing an excruciating burning sensation across its entire scalp that made it desperately yearn for solitude and rest. Sleep called to it like a siren song, but given its handler's current temperamental state, it knew that such relief would likely remain frustratingly out of reach.

The night before, it had been tasked with cleaning the entire arsenal belonging to the agents - a task that consumed countless hours just to achieve the required gleaming finish on each weapon. Even after completing such an exhaustive task, the asset wasn't granted even the briefest moment of respite, ordered to remain awake as punishment for a small misdemeanor it couldn’t even recall.

It harbored an overwhelming desire to beg for mercy. Every fiber of its being wanted to plead desperately with its handler for some small measure of compassion. However, such displays of weakness were strictly forbidden and promised a horrible punishment.

The soft, rhythmic snip of the scissors cutting through his hair acted as an anchor, helping to ground him in the present moment. You moved with care and gentleness, working to trim his hair back to that familiar length - the same as when you met, falling just shy of his shoulders. Your hands moved with a focused steadiness, fingers carefully carding through the strands while the comb followed in their wake, creating a gentle, repetitive pattern before the precise, delicate snip of the scissors would break through the quiet once more.

He made a conscious effort to focus on the floor tiles now, trying to count the individual squares, to trace their patterns with his mind. But there was only so long he could maintain that fragile concentration before the memory's dark tentacles began to wrap around him, inevitably dragging him back down into those depths he fought so hard to escape.

The comforting rhythm of the snipping gradually faded away, growing distant and muffled, as the harsh, commanding voice of his last handler in HYDRA took over, flooding his consciousness with unwanted recollections.

Hand after hand, yank after yank, a relentless rhythm of violation and control.

A different flavor of foul tasting fluid spread along its taste buds as the asset was kept down on its knees, forced into submission. The men surrounding it formed an impenetrable wall of bodies, barely giving it any room to move or breathe, pressing closer and closer until the weight of their presence crushed against its consciousness. It felt - wait…no. It quickly corrected itself - it didn't feel.

It didn't feel.

It didn't feel.

Bad asset. Disobedient asset. Failure of an asset.

It deserved this. This was necessary for its conditioning and punishment for ever developing feelings. It wasn't supposed to feel humiliation or be opposed to anything they do.

Assets don't have preferences.

Assets don't have desires.

Assets simply obey.

It licked their boots, it let them insert themselves without resistance, no matter how painful it was, no matter how much its body tried to reject the intrusion...it didn't feel. It couldn't feel. Assets don't have the luxury of feelings.

It did feel.

Somewhere deep inside, buried beneath layers of conditioning and denial…it did feel.

The soft shudder that rippled through his broad shoulders suddenly broke your careful concentration, the final decisive snip of the scissors having just been completed moments ago. Your attention immediately shifted from the scattered clumps of dark hair on the floor to his hunched form, noting with concern how he seemed to physically withdraw into himself while perched uncertainly on the weathered wooden stool beneath him.

Despite his imposing physical presence and considerable stature that normally towered over your own frame, he had a peculiar way of carrying himself - shoulders drawn inward, head slightly bowed - as if he were trying to occupy as little space as possible.

"Soldat?" You asked softly, carefully making your way around to face him, your heart clenching at the sight that greeted you. His nose was red and running, skin mottled and blotchy, fresh tears carving glistening tracks down his trembling face. He remained frozen in that tense, hunched position on the stool, head bowed so low his chin nearly touched his chest, eyes squeezed firmly shut as if to block out the world around him.

"Hey, hey...what's the matter? Did you not want me to cut your hair?" You asked with gentle concern in your voice, reaching out with to brush aside the newly shortened bangs that had fallen forward to hide his eyes from your worried gaze. The dark strands were still slightly damp from the earlier wash, sliding easily between your fingers as you tried to establish some sort of connection with him.

You remained in patient silence, giving him the space and time to express himself naturally without any sense of obligation or hurry. Your fingers moved with gentle, soothing motions through his hair in a repetitive pattern, while your other hand occasionally lifted to tenderly dab away the moisture from his flushed cheeks and reddened nose with your sleeve. To your surprise, he accepted these gentle touches without any resistance or signs of discomfort, allowing himself to be comforted by your presence.

"...Н-Нет [N-No]," he finally managed to vocalize after several long moments, his voice emerging fragile and unsteady, trembling with each syllable. Though he had slipped back into his native Russian tongue, you found comfort in recognizing the simple word.

"Can you tell me what it is?" You inquired carefully, your hands moving to cradle his face between them. You made no attempt to direct his gaze upward, instead letting your palms rest against his skin with gentle reassurance, offering silent support through your touch.

He kept his eyes tightly closed, focusing intently on your hands as they rested on his face while your thumbs gently stroked back and forth across his cheekbones. They felt so different from what he had grown accustomed to - gentler, warmer, filled with an unfamiliar tenderness that made his breath catch slightly in his throat.

He remained silent, something you had come to expect from these sessions, though you couldn't help but wish he had grown comfortable enough to open up by now. Still, you quickly pushed aside these thoughts, knowing it was not your place to feel these selfish things when he was still so deeply hurting. No matter how well and gentle you were with your ministrations, you knew this kind of deep-seated pain and suffering wouldn't simply vanish overnight. These wounds needed time to heal, perhaps more time than either of you initially realized.

Your attention was suddenly drawn back up as his trembling hands wrapped around your smaller wrists, the contact unexpected but not unwelcome. The soldier finally opened those glistening eyes - pretty, baby blue eyes that seemed to hold a sea of unspoken emotions within their depths...

"I...I just...want to feel you." He whispered, the soft admission tumbling from his lips like a secret, making your heart equally speed up and ache all at once. His gaze was pleading and gentle, vulnerable in a way you rarely saw, as several strands of his disheveled hair fell into his face when he raised his head to look at you better. "...Пожалуйста [Please]."

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover image from Pinterest. I do not claim as my own.

Taglist: @millercontracting | @teafangirl | @questionableratatouille00 | @buckybarneswife125 | @hazydespair | @leighta | @knoxic | @ghostlyfleur | @beckies000 | @seventeen-x | @freyjhasdesiredreality | @curlycow01 | @blackstabbath6 | @devilslittlehelper | @regics | @honeybee-hayes | @buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger | @gabriella-aesthetic | @sapphirebarnes | @animechick555 | @chimchoom | @regics | @frombkjar | @tummyyellin

Let me know if you'd like to be added/unadded anytime.

[fablehaven-rulez]

Awww

Giggling and kicking my feet rn

/pos

The Soldier and His Mission

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Bucky went still.

One second, the mission was wrapping up—just another Hydra facility wiped off the map, just another set of goons taken down. The next, something triggered him. A phrase muttered in Russian over a radio, the faintest crackle of a long-dead handler’s voice. You saw the shift in his posture before he even turned around, the telltale tightening of his jaw, the blankness overtaking those usually warm blue eyes.

Bucky Barnes was gone.

The Winter Soldier stood in his place.

And yet—he didn’t hurt you.

Not when he turned to face the team, his body language bristling with danger. Not when Steve hesitated before stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And certainly not when you cautiously called his name, your voice softer than the others.

Instead, the Soldier moved between you and everyone else.

A shield.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Tower, you thought the episode would pass. That maybe, after a few hours, after enough familiar sights and sounds, Bucky would shake it off like he always did.

But the Soldier wasn’t leaving. And he had decided you were his mission.

Not to eliminate.

To protect.

At first, it was just hovering. You moved—he followed. You sat—he stood at your back, ever watchful. The others gave him space, exchanging worried glances when they thought you weren’t looking. Steve was tense, obviously trying to figure out how to break through, while Tony was less patient about it.

“This is a problem,” Stark declared after the first few hours, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, I hate to be the one to say it, but we have a fully armed, brainwashed assassin in the Tower again, and we all know how that went last time.”

“He’s not attacking anyone,” Natasha pointed out.

“Yet,” Tony shot back.

You ignored the argument as best you could, focusing instead on cooking something for Bucky—something normal, something familiar, something that might ground him. His eyes tracked you the entire time.

Then you miscalculated the heat on the stove.

The oil in the pan hissed and spat, and a second later, you hissed too as a sharp sting bloomed across your palm. You barely had time to react before there was a sudden blur of motion.

Bucky was on you instantly.

His flesh hand gripped your wrist, his metal one hovering protectively over the stove, as if it had personally attacked you. His face was unreadable, but his grip was firm, his hold gentle as he examined the burn.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, but he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he took the cold pack you hadn’t even reached for yet and pressed it carefully to your palm, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in focus. You exchanged a look with Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, and the Captain exhaled, something like relief flashing in his eyes.

He was still in there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Soldier continued shadowing you for the next two days, much to Tony’s frustration. But as Natasha had pointed out—he wasn’t hurting anyone.

Unless they posed a threat to you.

That was something Steve learned firsthand during a sparring session. You had barely landed a hit before Bucky, watching from the sidelines, had moved. The next thing you knew, Steve was on his ass, blinking up at the ceiling, while Bucky stood between you like a human wall, eyes cold and calculating.

“For the record,” Steve grunted as he sat up, rubbing his ribs, “I was letting her win.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t until you needed a medical checkup that things really came to a head.

“Barnes, I have to actually examine her,” Dr. Cho said patiently, eyeing where Bucky stood between you and the med bay’s equipment.

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky—” you tried.

“The room is secure.”

“That’s not the—”

“She does not require assistance.”

“I do require assistance,” you corrected. “Because I burned my hand and twisted my shoulder thanks to a certain super soldier overreacting in the gym.”

Bucky didn’t move.

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” you said, shifting tactics. “Then stay.”

That got his attention.

“If you want to make sure nothing happens to me,” you reasoned, “then you can stay here. But you have to let the doctor check me out.”

His expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity—

“…Understood.”

Progress.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When it finally broke, it wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand trigger, no huge revelation.

Just a moment of quiet.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion finally winning after two days of Bucky’s overprotective hovering. When you woke up, it was to warm hands gently brushing over your wrist—both flesh and metal, but softer this time, as if relearning the feeling of touching you.

And then you heard it—his breath hitching.

A tiny, barely-there sound, but one filled with something raw.

You blinked sleepily, looking up.

Bucky was staring at you. Not the Soldier. Bucky.

His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wide—his real eyes.

“…Doll?” His voice cracked over the word, like it had been caught in his throat.

You smiled sleepily, shifting so your fingers curled around his. “Hey, Buck.”

His exhale was shaky. His shoulders sagged. And when you tugged him down to you, he didn’t resist.

He just buried his face in your neck and held on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you murmured later, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as he rested against you.

“I know,” he admitted, voice rough.

“You threw Steve like a ragdoll.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

A laugh. Quiet, but real.

And just like that, Bucky Barnes was back.

[shamrockqueen]

Strong and gentle

Pairing : Warrior prince Bucky x Timid Princess Reader

Warnings : R18, Teasing, Clit stimulation, Virgin reader, Orgasm denial

Word count : 2459

Bucky masterlist

He proved to be a warm light, drawing you in like the tiny moth to be burned by his flame. Yet, he never let you get burned by his fire, keeping your soft, velvety wings intact while showing you a new tantalizing dance with danger.

What an innocent little moth you were at first. So surprised, wrought with vapors at the sight of someone so much taller and older, with a personality and confidence that befitted a well-traveled and well-aged Man. He was no prince you had ever seen, a warrior that was cut and marred with aging scars along his skin. His eyes held no innocence while still gazing upon you with warmth and gentleness. You were so soft and plush compared with the deep callouses he carried both on his skin and in his weighted heart.

You shied away from him almost immediately. If your mother had accompanied you here, surely you would have been hiding behind her skirts.

You felt so terribly out of place at his side. So small, like a tawdry bauble. To be an opulent pearl, pinned to his collar with all the others. But, he never treated you as such, taking care to soothe your anxieties instead.

The many extra years he had over you was what made him so different. It was years of experience both in the political torment within his kingdom and the expansive world that sat far beyond its reaches.

But, he found it cute, endearing, soft, and especially delicate. He wanted to crack you, only a little, make you just the smallest amount sharp so as to be the edge that could cut him without losing your admirable shape.

He’d tend to your garden, watching with earnest as your flowers finally bloomed before him. Your beautiful hidden rose unfolding before his very eyes as you finally opened up to him. Slowly, but tantalizing without pushing your last boundary down just yet.

It would be his own fault, for it was he that made an awful monster out of you, coaxed it with his fingers and his tongue without having to break you open and ravage the rest of your innocence. He made you dirty, sullied by lust and yet still so pure.

You lifted the soft lace of your nightdress, pressing your knees and thighs apart and spreading yourself along the bed, nearly kneeling as you pulled the fabric up to show the soft skin of your legs to him in the dim candlelight. This is what you’ve been reduced to, tempting him, using your body as sweet succulent bait so as to seduce that feral side of your darling betrothed.

He stepped along the cold stone tile of your shared facilities, each large and hard muscle of his legs pinching with every slow stride, and you watched as the taut muscle of his buttock dimpled with a quick flex.

He was hard marble turned to flesh, a statuesque warrior brought to life before your young eyes.

Could he crack you with the simple twist of his wrist? Possibly. But, he’d never be so callous with you. He knew you to be delicate and pushed you only as far as you allowed so as to keep your clean porcelain from cracking. He knew his strength and knew even better how it was best controlled.

His skin was marred and scarred, years of pain littering a man you know to be so gentle and equally devilish.

He turned back through the open door to see you, baring more of his body to your hungry gaze. Soft but still long, growing as you engulfed his view.

“What are you doing, little one?” He asked as if he didn’t have a very good idea as to what you were playing at.

You pushed your round, soft, and still covered ass back and arched your spine, making your supple breasts more prominent through the nightdress. “Tempting you.”

“Tempting me?” He chuckled, a blissful smile pulling along his darkened pink lips shadowed by the stubble of his beard. “You needn’t do anything more than exist to be a temptation.”

“Is that so?” You giggled, letting the bottom of the lace gown fall back against the bed, blanketing your legs once more.

“You weren’t serving yourself like this to me when I was first inveigled by your charm. You had even tried to hide that beautiful skin from me our first night.”

“I still am, in most ways, quite tame. Aren’t I?” You spoke with the smile pull of a pout at your lips.

“You seek to be tame, and yet you tempt. What a curious creature you are.” He folded his previous sentiments, like a note creased and tucked away for a later rebuttal, choosing instead to counter with his previous musings. He already missed the sight of your bare thighs, smoothed by the drag of a pun ice stone over your now silky skin and doused with sweetly scented oils.

“Is this your way of begging?” He asked, smiling with something akin to both joy at your flowering devotion with the drip of thick honeyed desire at the mynx he’d made you to be.

“Pleading, more like.” You said back, lip wobbling with a needy lilt to your voice.

It sent small jolts of something hot, burning even, along the ridges of his back. It made his skin vibrate as it rushed with blood, filling and stiffening his already long member. It was like the buzzing feeling in the air after a crack of light preceded by the roar of booming thunder on a dry night. You made something tempered, like melting stone, glow within him more and more with each dalliance.

“And how is it that I deny your pleas?” His voice rumbled with a soft purr of any predatory animal.

“You must have far more self-control than I, my love.” Your voice was like the tired mewl of a spoiled cat, something soft and easily overindulged.

“I don’t agree.” He mused back, anchoring his knee to the top of the plush bedding before leaning in towards your wicked smile. He nipped up at your roseate lips, playfully prying them apart to wet his little bites with the tip of his warm tongue.

You giggled, turning your head only a fraction at the tickle of his pink muscle. He’d chase you back even at a fraction of an inch to devour your sweet cherubic laughter. You were such a sweet, innocent rabbit, not seductive but still incredibly desirable, and he wanted only to ravish all of it.

Once he can lock the two of you together, lips pressed tightly and tangled with the dip of his head, he steals from you a kiss, slow and delicious.

Like lapping up fine honey from your tongue, he tasted every inch of you that you’d lend to him.

He was intoxicating, stealing the very breath from your lungs to lighten your mind and making your sway and limpen to his hold, still keeping you aloft. Your nimble little fingers danced drunkenly along his neck, tangling upward into his thick dark hair until they were tied into very roots. As your pearly teeth clashed with his, the knocking crystal with the tapping of nerve endings, you curled your fingers against his scalp.

Your nails dug inwards, and he felt the small sting at the back of his head as the hair was pulled into your building fist.

He was only amused, wincing slightly as he continued to take your quivering tongue between his teeth to suckle at the pink muscle before lapping at it with his own.

You were heavy, hanging ivy in his arms, begging for light to peel your limp leaves. Begging for air before you could feel faint and fall from his fingers. He pulled his lips with a long drag, nearly pulling you back with him. Your hands fall from his thick locks to catch the crook of his elbows so as not to fall against the sides of your night dress.

“Bucky. Please.” The pet name rolled along your little tongue so sweetly, tipping back and falling into the soft bedding. He followed, blanketing your body with his, cradling you against the hard plains of his stomach as it pressed to your soft belly.

His large hands met the little bit of your leg that peeked from beneath your night clothes, dragging his fingers further along your skin and slipping underneath the fabric. The dress was bundled, balled into his fist

before being pulled upwards to slip away from your arms and past your head.

You laughed, both nervously and amused, as he brought out more of your bare body to lighten the room.

A little hook of his fingernail catching the seam along your small cotton undergarments. Your nimble digits caught his own to stop his insistent tug at the only barrier left to your chastity. He had coaxed them off of you before, stripping you bare so as to taste you. He can still remember the last time you allowed him to lap at you, lick up your sweet nectar, and even tease your entrance with the tip of his thick tongue.

He had lavished at your soft petals and even teased at your little hidden seed. Pearly, round, and sensitive when provoked into swelling just a small amount. True to his word, he never breached your supple opening, nearly dipping but never breaking through.

His previous kiss has left you lightheaded, but this was something sobering enough to brush his fingers away. “No, Bucky.”

It was your only request. No matter how far you let him wander, you’d always stop him short of taking you fully. You were still a good princess, and even though your betrothed would pull you closer and closer to the edge, you knew the final leap would have to wait until the night you are both finally wed. You strived to stay pure both for and against James.

Your hands had flown towards him in a frenzy and flutter of worried fingers, stopping him from tearing the cloth away while the throbbing pink tip of his member bobbed so close.

But, James was a man of his word. He respected your vow while bending its boundaries all the same.

“I won’t, darling. I promise.” He chuckled, always amused by your acts of modesty.

“What I have in mind will feel wonderful, my doll. Trust me.” His rosy lips bloomed with a gentle smile, not devilish intentions to push you any further than he knew you’d be willing to go in the end.

He will please you, leaving you damp and needy after meeting a shattering end. You lay back, skin flushed with warmth as you let him pull your dainty white undergarments away, sopping and soaked with the thick drip of slick that pooled from the opening of your succulent flower. This time he was determined to play too, pressing his bare member so that the tip rested on the wet channel, spreading the dew along your dampened petals.

“You promised,” you pleaded again, blubbering to not have your flower plucked just yet. It would be the last boundary you could keep after he tempted you into breaking all others.

Your whine was needy, deliciously pathetic, and he had to stifle his next bout of soft laughter. “And I intend to keep my promises. Patience, my love.”

No, this time he slid himself along your folds, bumping the head of his furious member against a small hidden node at the top of your folds.

That little bundle of nerves nestled above your cunt, semi-hooded and yet swollen with your pent-up desire. That would be his object of torture; he’d glided his cock over your dampened pool of a pussy, coating himself in slippery slick as the head of his longer member slid over that little pearl until you burst and bubbled with the sharp squeaks of pleasure.

You simply melted, your voice humming that beautiful tune as your legs began to tremble with each stroke of his cock over your tender pearl. To send a tickle of pleasure over your core and along your belly with each push through. It made your flower shiver at its center, being teased with something it had to be denied. It begged all the same, as it was only ghosted with the press of his member, only to slide further and knock your perked bud. Working your flower to slowly bloom along his shaft.

“You sound so sweet. For my ears only.” His voice rumbled with a low pur, arms tightening around your bending body as his hips continued to drag himself along your soft folds. It was a true homage to his self control to not break his vow when presented with something so soft and beautiful. Even as he pressed himself so closely, with the singing of praise by the crack of your weakened voice ringing through the air of his room, he did not break his vow.

It is a fight well fought to keep his own composure, but you are completely overtaken by his movements, already overwhelmed by being so close to breaking that barrier.

Quickly, you came undone, gushing sweet sticky sap all over his cock, dripping into the thatch of a thorny brush at the base of his twitching shaft.

He could laugh, finding pure joy at how little you could take before you were screaming to your sputtering end at his own hands.

He dribbled with his own nectar as he fought not to burst and pepper your soft tummy with a spattering of thick white seed. He would not lower himself to paint you with ropes of his warm semen like a common tavern whore meant to lick it up from your own skin as a cat would lap at spilled cream.

He loved you far too much to let you sink further into such depravity, so he let his moment to finish pass, watching you catch your breath instead.

He held the base of himself with a strong, tightly coiled fist to stop the blood from swelling and bursting. The better to will his own ending away so as not to scare you with an unnecessary mess. Only then did his heartbeat become steady, and he was able to breathe in relief before lying beside you.

Taking in the soft rise of your glistening, sweat-stained belly and the blissful pull of your sweet pink lips as they curled into a devious and yet tired smile.

‘What a wonderful wife you’ll make.’ It was a sentiment that would echo through his mind like a prayer each and every night he spent with you tangled in his arms.

[vunblr]

Foundations (#2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future.

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 7.7.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok.

Previous Chapter

From Monday to Wednesday, Bucky didn’t take Thomas to kindergarten. He had been away on a mission with Clint, retrieving classified data from a transnational drug dealer organization in Canada before it could disappear for good. It had been a tense operation that required more patience than Bucky liked to admit, but they got the job done.

By Thursday, despite the pounding migraine drilling into his skull, he took Thomas to school. He was exhausted, but after three days away, he wasn’t about to keep the kid out of his routine any longer, and he didn’t want to burden Sam and Steve any longer.

As they approached the entrance, his gaze landed on her. She was holding several small gift bags, and just as he got closer, he saw another parent handing her a neatly wrapped package.

“…Really, thank you so much for taking such good care of Flore. We’re going to miss you,” the man said warmly.

Bucky blinked.

Oh.

Goodbye gifts.

It made sense. That was the polite thing to do, a simple gesture of appreciation. Good manners, acknowledgment of familiarity.

And yet, he had neither thought of it nor had the time to get her anything.

When he finally reached the door with Thomas, she greeted him with the same smile as always, showing no sign of expecting anything from him.

“Well aren’t you popular” he tried to joke.

“Being popular doesn’t pay the rent, but is nice.” She high-fived Thomas, ruffling his hair slightly before he ran off to join the other kids. Bucky watched him go, blinking a couple of times as he watched the child merge with the others.

When he turned back to her, she was shifting her weight slightly, grazing the strap of her bag with her fingers as if debating something.

Then, with a quick breath, she asked, “Are you alright?”

His brow furrowed slightly.

“Mr. Rog- Steve mentioned you were working when he dropped Thomas off these past few days, and-” she hesitated, scanning his face. “No offense, but you look a little… drained.”

His lips parted slightly, and something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. For a moment, he just looked at her, and she felt the creeping sense that maybe she’d overstepped.

“I’m sorry if-”

“Um, no.” He ran a gloved hand over his jaw, exhaling slowly. “It’s alright. I just have a migraine and I just…” He trailed off, as if even speaking was an effort.

Her expression softened, and before she could think twice, she was already rummaging through her jacket pockets. “Oh, that’s the worst. Here-“

She pulled out a pair of sunglasses and held them out to him.

Bucky squinted slightly at her, blinking like he wasn’t sure if she was serious.

“Do you have photophobia right now?” she asked, tilting her head as she studied him.

His mouth opened, then closed. “…What?”

“The light,” she clarified, nudging the glasses toward him. “Is it making it worse?”

A beat. Then, reluctantly, “Yeah.”

She stepped just a little closer, enough that he caught the faintest trace of something floral on her scarf. “Take them,” she said. “I won’t be using them until later, and you can give them back when you pick up Thomas.”

Bucky glanced down at the sunglasses hesitatingly.

“They’re unisex,” she added, a small teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You won’t look weird.”

His fingers brushed against hers as he finally took them, and neither of them moved away for a second too long.

“…Thanks,” he murmured, slipping them on.

----

Bucky lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the pills to kick in. A blister and a half. He needed his damn metabolism to cooperate for once. Just this once.

He shifted to his side, his landing his gaze on the sunglasses resting on the nightstand.

You look a little drained, she had said.

And he was.

Years ago, he wouldn’t have fought it. He would’ve just rotted in his apartment, letting time blur, barely moving, barely breathing until the serum forced his body to reset. He wouldn’t have eaten, wouldn’t have showered, wouldn’t have cared. Just waited it out in silence, in the dark, until the worst of it passed.

But that wasn’t an option anymore.

Not with Thomas in the house.

He didn’t want the kid worrying about things he shouldn’t have to. He’d already seen how distressed Thomas got when Bucky was too hurt, how his small hands would clutch at his sleeves, how his big blue eyes would fill with silent fear when he witnessed one of Bucky’s episodes.

So, he sucked it up.

He couldn’t rely on Steve or Sam every time. If he was here, he was the only one responsible for Thomas’s care. That was the job. That was what mattered.

Which meant that in the few hours Thomas was at kindergarten, Bucky would do the only thing he could, lie here, breathe through the pain, and hope that by the time pickup rolled around, he’d be functional.

----

By the time pickup rolled around, Bucky had already forced himself out of the apartment. The migraine had dulled into something manageable, not gone, but tolerable. He could function. That was enough.

Still, instead of walking straight up to the gate, he lingered nearby, half-hidden as he watched the other parents pick up their kids, exchanging smiles and small talk. He let the minutes slip by, waiting until only a handful of them remained before finally making his way forward.

He lifted a hand in a small wave, keeping his distance. Thomas spotted him instantly, and his little face lighted up as he ran toward him.

She, however, hesitated. Her brows pulled together slightly as she noticed Bucky wasn’t approaching fully, like he was deliberately keeping himself at the edge of things. But, instead thinking too much into it, she turned back to say goodbye to the remaining children.

Eventually, she moved toward the entrance, ready to grab her things and head out, until Thomas’s voice rang out behind her.

She barely had time to turn before the kid came bounding up to her, gripping a slightly wild but lovely bouquet of daisies.

“These are for you!” he announced, a little breathless from the run.

Blinking in surprise, she knelt down. “For me?”

Thomas nodded eagerly, holding the flowers out with both hands. “We’ll miss you!” Then, with great importance, he added, “Daddy says that if you put an aspirnin-  aspren- aspirine in the water, they’ll stay fresher for longer.”

She let out a soft, surprised laugh before her gaze caught on something tucked between the stems. A small card, slightly crumpled from Thomas’s grip.

Thank you for everything. Barnes Family

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, pulling Thomas into a warm hug. The boy giggled, squeezing her back before darting off toward his dad.

She swallowed, glancing past Thomas toward the gate.

Bucky was still standing back, his gaze unreadable behind the sunglasses she had lent him that morning. When he noticed her looking, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

She smiled, tightening her fingers gently around the bouquet. Then she watched them go, and turned to walk inside, with slower steps.

The flowers had moved her more than they should have.

Almost every parent had given her a small farewell gift: a box of chocolates, a scented candle, a handwritten note. All sweet gestures, all appreciated. But somehow, this felt different. More personal. More thoughtful.

Maybe it was because Thomas had delivered them with such excitement, his little hands gripping the stems like they were something important. Maybe it was that it’s been ages since someone gave her flowers.

Or maybe… it was because he was the one who bought them. And, she liked the idea more than she was willing to admit.

----

Friday morning, it was Steve who arrived at the kindergarten gate with Thomas.

The boy clung to his uncle’s hand, his usual energy was dimmed, and when he saw her, he only offered a small wave instead of his usual eager greeting.

She crouched slightly, offering him a gentle smile. “Good morning, Thomas.”

He mumbled a quiet “Morning” back, shifting on his feet.

Steve exhaled, giving her an apologetic look as he handed over the sunglasses she had lent Bucky the day before. “He wanted to stay home with his dad,” he explained. “Bucky’s… indisposed. If he seems a little off today, that’s probably why.”

She took the sunglasses, brushing her fingers briefly against the frame before slipping them into her pocket. “Oh, is he sick?”

Steve hesitated, a fraction of a second too long. Then, with an tight smile, he nodded. “Still dealing with that migraine.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. But it wasn’t the full truth, either.

The truth was more complicated.

Since coming back from the mission with Clint, Bucky had suffered a couple of seizures, probably triggered by stress and fatigue. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Just another mark Hydra had left on his body, a collateral damage from years of forced resets in the chair.

The migraines, the memory lapses, the muscle spasms, Bucky had learned to live with those. But the seizures were the worst. They left him wrecked afterward, his body aching like he’d been through a fight he didn’t remember.

So no, he wasn’t just indisposed.

But Steve wasn’t going to tell her that.

Not when Bucky would rather chew glass than let people see him vulnerable.

----

Thomas was quieter than usual that day. He followed the routine, sat in his usual spot during storytime, and played alongside his classmates, but there was a certain way in his movements, like his mind was elsewhere.

During free play, as she helped a group of kids build a tower with wooden blocks, Thomas suddenly looked up at her, furrowing his little brows in thought.

“Um Miss…?”

She smiled. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Do adults get more hurt than kids when they fall?” he asked, tilting his head. “Because they’re sooo tall?”

She chuckled at the logic. “It’s about the same for everyone,” she explained gently. “Sometimes kids bounce back quickly, and sometimes adults do, too. It just depends on how they fall.”

Thomas pursed his lips, considering that. Then, after a pause, he murmured, “Oh. That’s good. I was afraid Daddy was hurt.”

Something in her chest tightened.

She kept her voice even. “Why’s that, honey?”

Thomas didn’t seem to think much of the question, busy stacking blocks on top of each other. “’Cause sometimes Daddy falls a lot.” The words were so casual, so absentminded, that it took her a second to process them.

Her grip on the wooden block in her hand tightened slightly. “He does?”

Thomas nodded, completely unaware of the weight his words carried. “Not all the time,” he added quickly, as if to reassure her. “Just sometimes. And then he gets really tired after.”

She swallowed, keeping her expression neutral. “I see.”

Thomas hummed in response, satisfied with her answer, and went back to his building, already distracted by something else.

But she wasn’t.

She watched him for a moment longer, as her mind quietly turned over what he’d just said. Something about Thomas’s words unsettled her, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t really her business.

It would be weird to ask Steve, and even if she did, what could she say? Hey, Thomas mentioned his dad falls a lot, should I be worried? No. That wasn’t her place.

So she let it be.

But the thought kept occupying her mind. Especially because today was her last full class with the kids. The festival was over the weekend, and then that was it. Monday would come, and Jane would take over.

Maybe that was why, glancing around to make sure the other kids weren’t watching, she pulled two lollipops from her pocket. With a little wink, she placed them in his small hands. “Make sure your dady gets one, okay? And… I hope he feels better soon,” she said gently.

Thomas nodded, tucking the candies into his pocket. “Thank you, me too.”

----

Steve arrived to pick up Thomas just in time, jogging to the gate to greet the boy and ruffle his hair. Then he turned toward her. “How’d he do today?”

She smiled, though there was something… sad in it. “Pretty good, considering he was feeling a little down. I uh- hope James is recovering well.” she stuttered a little. Then, with a small smile, she added, “It’d be wonderful to have you both at the festival. Steve smiled. “But in case you can’t make it, and we don’t see each other again…” she fidgeted lightly with the strap of her bag before she continued, “I just wanted to thank you for helping us with the booths.”

Steve quirked a brow, puzzled.

That’s when she realized, he didn’t know.

Of course, why would he? It’s not like Thomas’s father would go out of his way to mention her to his friend.

“Oh, um… I’m just the substitute teacher,” she explained, suddenly feeling awkward. “The titular returns on Monday.”

Steve’s jaw ticked slightly. “Oh. Bucky didn’t- that’s a shame. After all these months, the kids must be super attached.”

She exhaled a little, nodding. “Yeah, it’s tough to leave them.”

He tilted his head. “Do you… have another school lined up?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m still looking for openings. In the meantime, I mostly fill the idle time nannying.”

Steve’s brows lifted slightly like he was filing that information away. “Makes sense.” Then, with an easy smile, he clapped Thomas on the back and said, “Well, ma’am, I’ll definitely be coming tomorrow for those pies, Bucky or no Bucky. And who knows? Maybe I’ll bring some people along.”

There was something in his tone that made her blink, like he was already planning something she wasn’t in on.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Should I be worried?”

Steve just grinned. “Nah. Just keep an eye out.”

-----

Bucky shifted on the couch when Steve and Thomas entered the apartment,  resting his elbows on his thighs as he leaned forward. He offered the kid a tired smile. “Hey, bud. Go wash your hands and I’ll make you some cocoa.”

Thomas nodded obediently, padding toward the bathroom.

The second he was out of earshot, Steve dropped onto the couch next to Bucky. “So… Tommy’s teacher told me she’s leaving.” He stated casually.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and then grunted. A non-answer.

Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You going to the event this weekend?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. “I should take Thomas, yeah.”

The blonde continued to watch him with intent, almost without blinking.

Bucky looked up, tensing his shoulders. “What?”

“Are we going to pretend it’s not the last chance to see her?”

Bucky’s expression hardened and his posture turned rigid as he looked at his friend. “You don’t give up, do you?”

Steve didn’t even blink. “You know it's not my forte.”

Bucky exhaled sharply. “Look, I appreciate this… need you have to push me forward, but I don’t need it, Stevie. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.” there was an edge in his voice, a weight that made Steve’s shoulders drop just slightly.

“I know you do,” he said, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. “But maybe that’s why-”

“Don’t.” Bucky’s voice was firm and final. “Just… don’t.”

Steve sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the couch. “Man, you are stubborn.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed, and his voice snapped low and controlled, careful not to carry to the bathroom where Thomas was washing his hands. “You’re overthinking something that isn’t even a thing.”

Steve’s calm expression didn’t change, which only made Bucky’s jaw clench tighter. “You know damn well my few attempts at dating were a disaster,” he continued, sharply. “And I only did it because you kept pestering me about it.”

Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky didn’t let him get a word in.

“You don’t get it.” His voice dipped lower, rougher.

His shoulders hunched just slightly, his gaze dropping. “No sane person would look at me and think… and she’s not into me. I’d know.”

Steve’s face softened, as he took in the slumped set of Bucky’s shoulders, the way his hand stayed fisted at his side like he was holding himself together by only force of will.

“Bucky…”

But he just shook his head, standing up abruptly. “Just drop it, Steve.”

And with that, he walked off stiffly as he moved toward the hallway.

-----

Saturday arrived, and the festival was bursting with people.

The courtyard buzzed with laughter, music, and the scent of baked goods wafting through the air. Families crowded the booths, with hands full of cupcakes, crafts, and raffle tickets. The children dashed between the stalls, their little faces painted with colorful designs, excited.

And, of course, a noticeable crowd gathered around three particular men.

Steve had shown up with Sam and Clint in tow, and Sam -being Sam- had tweeted about it. That was all it took to draw in curious onlookers and eager fans who wanted to catch a glimpse of the Avengers in civilian mode. Some were bold enough to ask for selfies, which Sam graciously agreed to with his signature charm. Steve kept it low-key, smiling politely while Clint grumbled but still posed when cornered by particularly persistent fans.

The buzz from their appearance did wonders for sales. The bake sale sold out twice, and the raffle tickets were gone in record time.

She watched it all from the distance, with a pleased smile on her face. It was turning out even better than she’d hoped.

Then, she caught sight of Steve talking with the director, shaking her hand as he discreetly handed her an envelope. Even from afar, she saw the way the woman’s eyes widened before her hand flew to her mouth, clearly struggling to keep her composure. It didn’t take a genius to guess whose name was on that check. Things were going well, better than well, and that was good. The festival was a success, the kids were having a blast, and the school would benefit enormously from the donations.

She was happy. Truly.

But… she also couldn’t ignore the twinge of disappointment she felt as the day passed by. She’d hoped to see him there. Maybe standing in a corner, lurking on the periphery with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, and shoulders slightly hunched as if trying to take up less space.

But as the afternoon wore on and the sun began to dip lower, she had to admit to herself that it wasn’t going to happen.

She wouldn’t see him again.

Oh well. It was just an innocent crush, after all.

Nothing serious. Nothing life-altering. Just a harmless infatuation from observing and interacting with him on a daily basis, the same way she did with any other parent.

With the little difference that she didn’t go to work every morning wondering if any other parent would be wearing that blue henley that suited him so well. Or if his hair would be left loose, or pulled back in that short, neat ponytail that made his sharp features even more striking.

Or if maybe she might find an excuse to have some trivial physical contact. A casual brush of fingers when giving him a paper, a brief touch on her arm to get her attention.

Stupid, she chided herself, shaking her head as she moved to straighten the crafts table. It wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be like that.

----

Eventually, she found herself chatting with Steve and company before they took their leave.

They were… surprisingly normal.

Mr. Wilson -Sam- had a warm, easygoing demeanor. He complimented the cinnamon rolls with genuine enthusiasm and asked questions about the neighborhood, curious about the local community.

Clint, on the other hand, was… well. He made a big show of browsing the crafts table, holding up a knitted cat plushie with a serious expression. “So, if I get this for my dog… how long before he tears its head off?”

She stifled a laugh. “Depends on the dog, I suppose.”

He nodded solemnly, turning the plushie this way and that. “Yeah… Lucky’s got a soft spot for cat toys. Rips ‘em to shreds out of love, y’know?”

Steve rolled his eyes, muttering, “Pretty sure he eats them out of spite.”

Clint gasped in mock outrage. “How dare you accuse him of malice!”

They were good people. Easy people. And for a second, she understood how Thomas could be so fond of his father’s companions.

As they said their goodbyes, she almost asked Steve about him. The words were right there, hovering on the tip of her tongue. How’s James? Is he… alright?

But she swallowed them back.

----

After the Avengers trio left, the festival slowly quieted down. Without the crowd magnet that was Sam’s tweet, the streets grew calmer, and the noise of conversation softened as people trickled out. The streetlights flickered on, casting warm glows along the sidewalks.

She was absentmindedly rearranging a set of crocheted coasters on the table when a familiar voice sounded behind her.

Low, a little rough.

“How much for the coasters?”

Her heart gave a startled jolt as she turned around.

There he was, hands in his jacket pockets, hair pulled back neatly, the streetlight casting a soft glow over his tired features.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “I- uh…” She cleared her throat, her smile slipping out before she could stop it. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Where’s Thomas?”

“He’s already playing with that girl… Fiona, or Flora,” Bucky replied, glancing toward the playground. “Apparently, she just got here. Same as us.”

She followed his gaze, watching the children chase each other, laughter echoing through the yard. “They get along well.”

“Yeah.” His eyes softened, lingering on the kids before he looked back at her. “Thank you for the sunglasses, by the way.”

Right. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said quickly, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “I get migraines, too, so I know how it can be sometimes.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “Yeah. They helped.”

She rocked back on her heels, brushing the edge of the table behind her with her fingers. “I’m glad.” He nodded, dropping his gaze for a moment. “And-” She couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across her face, “thank you for the flowers.”

His lips twitched, just enough to soften his expression as he lifted his gaze toward her. “Not too old-fashioned, I hope.”

Her eyes widened. “No, I… loved them,” she declared, almost too earnestly. She felt a little silly, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “The last time I got flowers was… well, a friend brought them when I was in the hospital for appendicitis… like five years ago.” She chuckled lightly, brushing the edge of the table again, a nervous habit she didn’t even realize she had.

There it was. The opening he should have ignored.

But he didn’t.

“And… what presents do your boyfriend give you on special occasions then?”

The question came out more casual than he felt. He kept his posture relaxed, like he didn’t really care about the answer. But his eyes were locked on her, sharp and unwavering.

Her mouth parted, and her eyes widened as heat flooded her cheeks. She looked down, fidgeting with the table’s edge again. “Oh, um… I’m not… I’m not seeing anybody right now.”

Bucky’s jaw shifted, and his teeth clenched before he relaxed them. His body unconsciously leaned just a fraction closer. “Oh.”

She looked up then, and their gazes met. His were piercing, framed by dark circles that spoke of exhaustion, but seemed to intensify the blue.

So, not seeing anybody. His throat bobbed, and his shoulders stiffened. He hadn’t expected to get this far. He exhaled, slowly and measured. “Right.”

Her gaze flickered down, suddenly finding the space between their feet very interesting. A strand of hair slipped from behind her ear, falling across her cheek, and she pushed it back again.

Before either of them could say another word, Thomas came running, voice loud and cheerful as he yelled. “Miss Y/n! Look!”

They both turned, and the spell broke as the child waved a giant cookie with excitement. “Flora’s mom gave me this!”

She forced herself to laugh. “Wow, that’s huge! You better save some for your dad.”

Thomas grinned, already taking a big bite. “No way!”

Bucky huffed, as a reluctant smile pulled at his lips. “Figures.”

The kid then scampered off, cookie half gone before he even made it back to the playground.

The moment gone, Bucky shifted, and his body tensed when he realized how close he was standing. He took a step back, squaring his shoulders. “I, uh… better keep an eye on him.”

She nodded, finally letting go of the table. “Yeah… of course.”

Before he walked away, she hesitated but found her voice. “I’m glad you came.”

His posture stilled and he straightened himself before slowly turning to face her. His gaze softened, his always-present guarded look slipping just for a moment.

“…Yeah. Me too.”

----

After their conversation, Bucky found himself hovering on the edges while keeping an eye on Thomas, his gaze instinctively drifting back to her as she moved between the booths, helping kids pick out treats, chatting easily with parents, her laughter blending into the warm evening air.

He lingered longer than he meant to, always just a few steps away but never quite close enough. Every time he tried to approach her again, something got in the way.

A parent pulled her aside to thank her. A kid called out her name, needing help. Another teacher waved her over, asking her opinion on where to store the leftover banners.

Bucky’s mouth would open, half-formed words on his tongue, but then he’d shut it again, stepping back, tensing his shoulders as the opportunity slipped away. Time slipped by, and the evening grew cooler as the crowd began to thin. Booths were closing up, the parents gathered their kids, and the buzz of excitement slowly winded down.

Eventually, Thomas tugged at his sleeve, his small voice pulling Bucky from his thoughts. “Daddy… I’m bored.”

Bucky blinked, looking down at him.

The kid’s eyes were drooping, since the day’s excitement clearly caught up to him. “Can we go home now?”

Bucky exhaled, resigned. “Yeah, kiddo. Let’s go.”

Thomas nodded, and then looked back toward the crafts booth, scrunching up his face. “Wait… I wanna say goodbye to Miss Y/n.”

His throat felt dry. But he swallowed it down, nodding as he squeezed his son’s fingers back. “Alright.”

He straightened his posture, forcing his shoulders to relax, willing himself to push past the stupid, adolescent feeling twisting in his gut. This wasn’t about him. It was for Thomas. Just for Thomas.

So he took a breath and walked toward her.

She was at the crafts booth, boxing up leftover yarn and packing away the crocheted coasters. When they approached, she looked up, and her eyes widened before a warm smile softened her face. “Hey, Thomas.” Then her gaze flicked to Bucky, lingering for a second too long on him before she looked back at the boy. “And James.”

Bucky’s chest tightened again, but he gave a curt nod, unconsciously squeezing Thomas’s hand just a bit tighter.

Thomas stepped forward, and tilted back his head to look up at her. “You’re really leaving?”

Her smile faltered, and she crouched down, “Yeah, buddy. I am.”

Thomas’s face fell, and his lips curled into a sad frown. “But… who’s gonna read the stories now?”

Her eyes shimmered, but her smile stayed firm. “Miss Jane will. And she’s really good at funny voices, too.”

Thomas’s nose wrinkled. “But I like your voices better.”

A laugh broke through her lips, soft and warm. “You’re gonna be just fine, kiddo. And hey, maybe I’ll come visit sometime, okay?”

Thomas’s eyes brightened. “Promise?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

Thomas beamed, stepping forward and wrapping his little arms around her neck. She stiffened, just for a moment, before hugging him back, closing her eyes as she held him close.

Bucky’s chest ached. He looked away, trying to ignore the sting of it all. This was just for Thomas.

When she finally pulled back, she ruffled his hair. “Take care of yourself, okay? And be good for your dad.”

Thomas nodded, his smile wide and sincere. “I will!”

She stood up, drifting her gaze back to Bucky. “Well, again, I’m glad you two could make it.”

His shoulders tensed, and he flicked his gaze to the side. “Yeah. Figured Thomas would want to… y’know.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together, a shadow crossing her face. “Of course.”

For a second, the words were right there. The things he wanted to say, the things he knew he should say.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just gave a stiff nod. “Take care.”

Her smile faltered, and her hands fidgeted with the edge of the box. “You too, James.”

Thomas tugged at his hand, his little voice breaking through the moment. “Come on, Papa. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Bucky murmured. “Let’s go.”

He turned around, guiding his son away.

He didn’t look back.

Not even when he wanted to.

-----

A couple of weeks passed, and their daily life settled into a certain rhythm. Thomas adjusted well enough to the new teacher. According to him, she was “nice” and “funny,” but then he’d always add, with a little pout, “But Miss Y/n was better.”

Bucky didn’t have much to say to that. He just ruffled his son’s hair and changed the subject, pretending like the kid’s words didn’t affect him.

He felt drained again. It was getting harder to balance parenthood, missions, and the neurological bullshit that seemed determined to make his life a living hell. The migraines were more frequent, and the muscle spasms in his shoulder were more stubborn. And there were days when the exhaustion sank so deep into his bones, that he felt like he was drowning.

His temper was shorter. His mood was broodier, and that was saying a lot.

Not in front of Thomas, of course. He forced himself to keep it together around the kid, to push down the irritability and the tension coiling under his skin. But that meant the rest of his social circle got the brunt of it.

Steve noticed. They all did.

And Steve -being Steve- decided to stage an intervention ambushing in his living room.

“You need to find a nanny,” he said one evening, firmly.

“No,” Bucky snapped, not even looking up from his coffee. “I’m not letting a stranger into my house.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Buck, you can’t keep this up. Eventually, you’re going to have to do something about it.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened, tightening his grip around his mug.

Steve’s voice softened, but his resolve didn’t waver. “We’re all here for you. But we’ve got our own responsibilities, too. Our own missions, our own lives.” He paused. “You’re not a burden. You’re not in this alone, but you’ve got to figure out a way to make things work, not only for Thomas, for you too.”

The words settled like stones in Bucky’s gut.

He knew Steve was right. He knew he was leaning on the team too much, burdening them with his fucked-up life and his chaotic mind. But hearing it out loud stung in a way that made him feel like a failure all over again.

----

That week, he had to travel with Clint to Canada for a mission. He had made arrangements with Steve for Thomas to stay at his place. It felt like another burden to drop on his best friend, but he didn’t feel he had another choice.

Things ended a day earlier than expected, and Bucky didn’t bother going back to his apartment first. He was bone-tired, dirty, and stiff from travel, but he just wanted to see his kid. Make sure he was okay.

He called Steve, but there was no answer. Not unusual, but still irritating.

Grumbling under his breath, he made his way to his place and rang the doorbell twice before he heard footsteps approaching.

The snarky remark he’d been ready to throw died in his throat the second the door swung open.

Because it wasn’t Steve standing there.

It was her.

Wearing a floral apron, hands dusted with flour, and a faint streak of it on her cheek as she blinked up at him in shock. Her mouth opened, then closed, her eyes wide.

Bucky’s brain shut down. His body locked up, as he looked at her, so familiar and yet so impossibly out of place. He barely managed a croaked, “What… what are you doing here?”

She blinked again, then straightened her pose, wiping her hands on the apron. “Oh- um… Hi, James.”

Hearing his name on her lips again made him feel things, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

She cleared her throat, glancing over her shoulder. “Steve had to run an errand, and he asked me to watch Thomas for a while.” Her eyes flicked back to his, “I… didn’t know you’d be back today.”

Bucky stood there, frozen in the doorway, his tired mind struggling to catch up. His voice was rough, edged with something he didn’t understand. “Yeah. Came back early.”

She shifted her weight, playing nervously with the edge of her apron. “Right… well, Thomas is inside. We… we were making cookies.” She hesitated, then added, “He said they were your favorite.”

Bucky’s heart did something stupid, something he didn’t like, and he had to clear his throat to shake it off.

“Yeah. He’s… he’s right.”

She smiled then, soft and warm, relaxing her posture. “Well… come in, then.”

He stood there for half a second longer than he should have, as his brain still struggled to process the fact that she was here, in Steve’s house, baking cookies with his kid.

“Where’s Thomas?” His voice came out rougher than intended, low and gravelly as he moved past her, already unfastening the straps on his tactical vest.

She blinked, momentarily stunned before she managed to answer, “In… in the bathroom.”

Bucky grunted, not even looking at her as he pulled a knife from his thigh holster, the blade catching the light before he tucked it into an old cupboard by the hallway. Then came another knife, a handgun, and an extra clip, all disappearing behind the tiny wooden doors.

She knew it was rude to stare. She knew it.

But it was the first time she’d seen him like this.

The tactical suit made his broad shoulders seem impossibly solid, and the black fabric hugged his body, emphasizing the lines of his arms, as the curve of his biceps strained under the worn seams. The vest molded against his chest, doing nothing to hide the muscular expanse beneath it, or concealing just how strong he was.

His thick thighs were framed by those dark cargo pants that clung to him as he moved. Even weighed down by holsters and utility belts, he moved with a lethal grace. And his hair -God, his hair- disheveled and muddy, framing his face and somehow softening the hard cut of his jaw.

There was dirt smudged across his cheekbone, and a faint bruise along his jaw, evidence of whatever fight he’d been in. His lips were pressed in a thin line giving him an edge of danger.

Danger.

That was the word. He looked dangerous. And damn, if that wasn’t… hot.

He ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?” He turned to her, his blue eyes sharp and piercing. “Where’s Steve?”

She straightened, nervously brushing her fingers against the fabric of her apron before she crossed her arms, tightening her posture. “I don’t know, sincerely. He said he had things to do and asked me to babysit for a couple of hours.” Her chin lifted just slightly. “I told him the last time we saw each other that I’d be doing this until I found a spot in another kindergarten.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed.

“He said he asked you for my number,” she added, just a touch defensive.

He shifted his posture, narrowing his eyes. “Did he now?”

She tilted her head, pulling her brows together. “Didn’t he?”

He didn’t answer and flicked his gaze to the side, jaw working as he realized what happened. That punk.

Steve must’ve swiped her number from his phone at some point since he hadn’t deleted the contact yet.

His teeth clenched, and his body went rigid. Of course, he had planned this. He could practically hear that self-satisfied voice in his head, calling him out for being stubborn.

“Um… is everything alright?”

Her voice broke softly through his thoughts. Her arms were still crossed, and there was a crease of concern on her brow, as she pressed her lips together while she watched him.

Bucky exhaled slowly, relaxing his stance just a fraction. “…Yeah. Everything’s fine.” For a second, he didn’t know what to do. How to stand. What to say.

Silence.

Awkward, heavy silence.

She shifted her weight from one foot to another, nervously twisting the apron’s hem. “Well, I’m… I’m going to check on the cookies.”

He gave her a stiff nod.

The moment she rounded the corner and got out of sight, he let out a slow, shuddering breath. His shoulders sagged, and his head dipped forward as he pressed his fingers to his temples.

Fuck.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t fantasized about the possibility of seeing her again. Hell, the way his chest stuttered when she opened the door was proof of that. But the fact that Steve had the nerve to call her without letting him know bothered him.

He knew this wasn’t accidental. Not by a long shot. Steve didn’t do accidental when it came to him. The punk knew very well about the nightmares. About the shitty migraines and the episodes that left Bucky feeling like his body was betraying him. About the way he was falling behind, failing to balance it all.

He had been on his case for weeks about getting a nanny, and now… this? Her of all people?

His fingers curled into fists.

Damn it, Steve knew. He knew, and he’d gone behind his back, meddling in things he had no right to touch. He’d give the punk a piece of his mind for this.

Just as soon as he could breathe normally again.

“Daddy!”

Bucky’s head snapped up just in time to catch Thomas barreling toward him, flinging his little arms around his waist with all the force his tiny body could muster.

The impact made Bucky stumble back half a step before kneeling and wrapping his arms securely around his son.

He let himself sink into the moment, holding Thomas close, shutting his eyes for a second longer than necessary. The kid’s head was buried against his chest, warm and solid, real.

He stayed like that, resting his chin on the child’s messy hair until the boy started chattering excitedly.

“Daddy, we made cookies! Y/n let me mix the dough and everything!” Thomas pulled back just enough to look up at him, with bright eyes. “Uncle Steve was busy, but she came, and it was so much fun!”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to smile, nodding along as Thomas continued to recount his afternoon. His little voice was so cheerful, that Bucky couldn’t help but soften, brushing his fingers through the boy’s hair.

“I’m glad you had fun, buddy.” His voice was calm, even if his thoughts were anything but.

Meanwhile, she was still in the kitchen, apron in hand, tracing absentmindedly the floral pattern with her fingers as she leaned against the counter.

She didn’t know how to face him. Not after that awkward, clipped conversation. Not after the way his body had stiffened, and his eyes had narrowed as he realized she was there.

There was definitely something going on.

When Steve called, his voice had been chirpy and casual. He’d said he remembered her mentioning she was open to babysitting, and he asked if she was available for a few hours.

She’d said yes without a second thought.

They set a day and time, and she showed up expecting to watch Steve’s kid, or maybe a relative’s. She never imagined that Steve lived alone in his apartment and she’d walk in and find Thomas there.

He had been vague -really vague- when she asked who she’d be watching. He hadn’t lied, exactly. But he’d definitely led her to believe it would be his responsibility she was taking on.

When she arrived, Steve explained to her that Bucky was away, and he was in charge of the kid for some days. But then, some important things came up -again, he’d been vague about the details- and he couldn’t leave Thomas with just anyone.

“So I remembered what you told me,” he’d said with a disarming smile. “and asked Bucky for your number. He instantly agreed to it, he was so thrilled when I told him you were the one watching after the little guy.”

It had made sense at the time. He’d seemed so sure, so confident when he’d explained it all. And of course, it felt good to see Thomas again.

But then Bucky showed up at the door, tactical suit half undone, weapons dropping from his holsters, and she realized he didn’t look thrilled.

His expression had been guarded, his body was totally tense and his words clipped and cold. Not exactly the reaction of someone who had agreed to this arrangement. But then again… why would she suspect anything when Captain America himself had stood there, looking her straight in the eye with that earnest, honest gaze of his, and told her everything was fine?

And now here she was, hiding in the kitchen, debating whether she should leave or stay until Steve came back, since, technically, he was her employer for the day.

And, well… she needed the money.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.

Perfect. Just perfect.

How the hell did she get herself into this?

She looked toward the hallway, hearing Thomas’s cheerful voice as he babbled to his father. She could just make out the low, rumbling sound of Bucky’s replies, his tone softer and calmer than when he spoke to her.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she started to transfer the cookies from the cooling rack to a tray, arranging them with a precision that bordered on obsessive. Anything to keep her hands busy. Anything to avoid thinking about the man who was currently standing just a few feet away.

Bucky heard her curse under her breath, quiet but unmistakable, and something twisted uncomfortably in his chest.

None of this was her fault.

He exhaled through his nose, raking a hand through his grimy hair, wincing as his fingers caught on a tangle. He needed a shower. He needed sleep. He needed to not be in this position, trying to smooth over a situation Steve had thrown them both into.

But here they were.

Steeling himself, he walked toward the kitchen, feeling ridiculously out of place in his tactical gear against the warm, homey scent of cinnamon and sugar.

She was still standing by the counter, transferring the cookies onto a tray, tense. So tense. He hesitated for a second before clearing his throat.

“Hey.”

She startled slightly but didn’t turn around.

He stood in the doorway, blocking some of the fading daylight, with his broad body.

“I, um…” He scratched at the back of his neck, brushing his fingers through tangled hair, already regretting how awkward this was. “Can you pass me a glass?”

Finally, she looked at him and nodded, moving to the cupboard and reaching up on her toes, grabbing one and handing it over without a word. Her fingers brushed his, soft and warm, and his grip tightened on the glass just a little too hard.

He filled it from the tap, taking a slow sip, using the seconds to gather his thoughts.

“I forgot…” He sighed, rolling the glass between his fingers. “Steve asked me for your number when I was out of the country. My mind was… elsewhere.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed, and the tension in her expression eased just a bit. Were her eyes a little glassy?

Oh, he was definitely going to strangle Captain Jerk the minute he saw him.

“Yeah… so, sorry if I was rude back there.” He exhaled heavily, setting the glass down on the counter. “I know it’s by no means an excuse, but I’m tired-”

“Don’t worry,” she cut in softly, with a gentle voice as she shook her head. “Really. It’s fine.”

His lips parted slightly, surprised at how easily she let him off the hook.

“I can’t even imagine…” She waved her hand up and down, gesturing at his disheveled state. The dirty tactical suit, the bruises blooming under his jaw, and his wild, tangled hair.

Her gaze lingered a little too long on the way the fabric stretched over his chest. Luckily, he didn’t notice since his gaze drifted toward the tray of cookies.

Her lips curved into a smile. “Want one?”

He looked up, his gaze met hers, and for just a second, she forgot how to breathe. His blue eyes were softer now, warmer.

“…Yeah.” His lips twitched, just slightly. “Yeah, I do.”

Her heart skipped, and her fingers trembled just a little as she tilted the tray toward him.

He hesitated just for a second like deciding which one to choose, then his eyes flicked again to her face. And there, sensing the warmth of his body standing so close to her, and his scent -sweat and leather, dust and something distinctively him- filling the small kitchen, she realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was in so much trouble.

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[brunchable]

𝙄 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 [ 2 ]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Friends to Lovers. SMUT: Touch Hungry Bucky, Kiss Hungry Bucky, Bucky just not getting enough of you, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral [M&F], unprotected piv, creampie. Just PURE making love, no kinks. Summary: It's only been a few hours since you've become official and Bucky want to show you just how much you mean to him. A/N: 2 of 2. And I must say. . . JAYSUS. BON APETITIDDIES.

Part One

You were stiff. You were sore. Your arm was asleep. And you felt fucking fantastic.

Maybe in the movies people woke up entwined in each other's arms after a night of spirited lovemaking, but for you, reality was much more awkward. Your head had somehow become wedged behind Bucky’s shoulder, and both his legs were about to slide off the couch altogether. You untangled yourself as best you could, looking down at him as you moved his limbs out of the way.

Bucky was sleeping peacefully, his dark lashes lying flat against the skin beneath his eyes. They fluttered slightly as you pulled free of him, and he stirred.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled, and turned over so he was facing the back of the couch, still caught in mid-slide towards the floor.

You tried not to laugh. God, he was adorable.

You sat up, arching your back to stretch out the sore muscles. Then your breath caught. What time was it? Holy hell, I’m going to be late.

You stood up quickly, and was seized by an ache between your legs so unfamiliar that you nearly sat back down again. Holy crap. It had been way too long. You almost felt like a virgin again. You rose again shakily, noticing that your whole groin felt sore, and so did your hips—probably from throwing your legs up around his waist. God, what a wanton hussy you were, you thought happily.

You went quietly towards the bathroom, checking the clock on the stove as you walked by. It was nearly eight-thirty. Crap. You were supposed to be at work by nine, or nine-thirty at the latest. you'd  have to make the shower a quick one.

You stood under the hot water, letting it pour over your sore muscles. You washed out your hair, lathered up your body and massaged your sore hips as random images from last night invaded your thoughts. Even now you weren't entirely convinced it hadn't all been a dream. Has it really happened? The soreness was real enough. And so were the images flashing through your mind.

Bucky’s body on yours, looming over you, holding your wrists, kissing you with abandon. Taking each breast in his mouth, teasing you with his fingers. Sliding into you, tilting your back and thrusting deeper, faster, harder.

Suddenly a blurry figure appeared on the other side of the glass door. The door slid open and he stood there, looking disheveled from sleep but adorably sexy. And naked, too.

"Hi," he said, a seductive smile curving his lips. His eyes traveled down your naked body, pausing at your breasts and then sliding down to the between your legs where rivulets of water coursed and ran together.

You flushed at the frank inspection but willed yourself not to try to hide from him. You shifted your weight, jutting your hip out provocatively and smiled.

His eyes returned to yours, desire glinting in them. "May I join you?"

You pushed the door back and invited him in. Bucky stepped in and crowded you, not unpleasantly, until your back was up against the tiles. He braced his hands on the wall behind you, and let the water flow over him as he leaned down and kissed you.

You opened to him and kissed him back, winding your hands around his waist and sliding them down his ass, squeezing appreciatively. He smiled into the kiss, enjoying your wandering hands, then pushed forward so your bodies were pressed together, the water slick and warm between you.

"So," he murmured in your ear, his voice barely a whisper above the sound of the water. "So much for that idea."

"What idea was that?" you whispered back, kissing his ear.

"The idea that we could ever be just friends," he said, catching your jaw with his lips as you turned your head. He covered your neck with slow, lingering kisses, trailing his mouth down your and cupping your breast with his hand.

"Oh, I don't know, I think it's a great idea so far," you said coquettishly. "Besides," you joked. "I do this with all my male friends."

He mocked a scowl at you, and gave you  that smile that had always melted you. "Well, that's going to have to stop. You're mine now."

He kissed you slowly, his tongue tangling with yours as he teased and tasted, enjoying your mouth.

You kissed him back, licking and tasting and enjoying him until you felt rather than heard a hum of desire, of pure carnal lust, vibrating through him. He was growing hard against your belly, his cock pressing against you urgently.

He lowered his head further and took your  nipple into his mouth, licking the soft nub until it grew hard beneath his tongue. Pleasure shot through you, and he turned to lavish the same attention on your other breast. You writhed against the cold tiles at your back, arching into him and sinking your fingers into his hair to hold him to you. He smiled as you moaned with pleasure, and laughed softly when he took your nipple between his teeth and made you suck in a sharp breath.

His cock was as hard as it had been a few hours ago, and it surged in your hand as he took your breasts. You gathered some suds into your palm and grasped him again, feeling the iron-hardness of him beneath the silky skin. You began to stroke, gliding fast and smooth, and he groaned from the pleasure of it, collapsing against you and kissing you between his soft, low sounds of pleasure and need.

You kept stroking and teasing, gliding over him in a steady rhythm, and felt yourself growing warm and slick at how hard he was beneath your fingers. You loved that you were doing that to him, making him want you so much. He groaned, his breath jagged and shallow. He tried to kiss you through his mounting pleasure but he had to break off to breathe, to lose himself in the sensation.

"God, baby," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "So good."

You tried not to focus on him calling you baby, knowing it was only his arousal talking. You focused instead on the intense pleasure that was making him say it. You continued stroking him, changing your hand position so that you pulled up with each stroke, teasingly pulling his skin up over the head each time and sinking down to the base, pleasuring every inch of him. Your other hand cupped his balls and caressed him, gently rolling him around in your fingers as he tensed and surged and seemed to fight against you, against the unbearable pleasure you were causing him.

After a few torturous moments he stopped your hand, his breathing so fast and ragged that he could hardly speak. 

“You—don't want—this to end too soon, do you?” he warned, kissing you in between breaths. “Because, my God, you could make me come in seconds if you wanted to.”

“That might be fun,” you said, kissing the edges of his mouth, licking at his lips and his tongue when he opened his mouth to you again.

“For me, yes,” he breathed, breaking away from you. “But I'm not nearly finished with you yet.”

He slipped his hand into your hair and held your head, kissing you with such raw passion, such naked need that you felt a surge of warmth flood between your legs in spite of the cooling effects of the water. He had wrung a soul-shattering orgasm out of you just a few hours ago and yet here you were again, eager for him again. Wanton hussy indeed.

"Do you remember that night, two years ago?" he asked, his voice low and deep. "At the party, when I played that song on the guitar for you, and you asked whether it hurt my fingers to play the steel strings?"

He was watching his own fingers trail over your breasts, over your tightened nipple, down past your navel, as the water trickled over you both.

"Mmm hmmm," you murmured, your eyes closed, lost in the sensation of the water coursing down your body and his hand moving over you.

“And you touched my fingertips…”

Of course you remembered; you'd run your  fingers over the roughened pads of his fingertips, and had watched in delight as he'd twitched a little, and then trembled, just a little, at your touch. You'd kept your touch feather-light and soft, drifting over his fingertips and down his fingers a little, feeling the shiver of heightened awareness in your  own hands.

Maybe you'd been a little too suggestive, a little too lingering, whispering-touching those parts of him that were supposedly hardened against such sensations—but you'd been unable to stop yourself. His hands had been warm and strong and eminently male, and when he'd stiffened and held his breath, as if willing himself not to react to your seductive touch, you'd felt that shiver of awareness deepen into an intense desire.

Such a seemingly innocent touch, just a friend examining the time-worn calluses of a guitar player's fingertips. . .and yet in that moment, even amongst their friends, even with the music playing loud and the laughter soaring above it, you'd felt like it had been just the two of you in that room, touching each other intentionally for the very first time, your hand tentatively reaching out for his, and his reaching to meet your half way.

“You drove me wild.” he said, leaning to kiss your neck. “I got so hard, I was afraid to move. And after that, I kept thinking of all the things I wanted to do to you with these fingers.” He slipped his hand between your  legs and caressed your folds, parting them gently and sliding inside you. “Like this, for instance.”

You moaned and leaned your head against his shoulder, letting him touch you wherever he wanted. His fingers explored you, caressed you, possessed you, expertly as though they, too, knew you were his.

“I just had to touch you,” you breathed against him. “And believe me, this is what I was thinking about too.”

“You stopped me last night,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your neck. “I wanted to feel you come for me. To finish what you started that night.”

You groaned at the sound of his voice, so low and sexual, so heated with his own desire.

“Let me feel you come for me, baby,” he whispered into your ear, licking your  earlobe. “Please.”

He gripped your hip and lifted you up against the wall slightly, positioning you so he could slide his fingers deep inside you. He held you firmly around the waist, bracing you against the wall, and thrust into you gently, with first one finger, then two, sliding deeper and deeper each time, stretching you, mimicking the size and power of his cock. His thumb played over your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you as he pressed his forehead to yours and gazed down into your  eyes. You gasped and cried out from the overwhelming pleasure of it even as you squirmed beneath his fingers and ached for more.

He braced you against his thigh and pressed against you while his arm steadied you from behind, holding you completely in his grasp. Bucky had such a way of holding you, letting you know that you were going nowhere, making sure you had no desire to be anywhere but in his arms. You felt safe, and secure, and above all, worshiped.

Bucky bent down and kissed you, sliding his fingers into your with a wild, sensuous rhythm that matched the increasing speed of his thumb as it stroked and rubbed and swirled around your aching clit. His hand was so strong, his fingers curving inside you to caress you, to find that super-sensitive inner spot even as he plunged and drove and took. With his thumb circling your clit in a relentless rhythm and his fingers deep inside you, stretching you, claiming you, you felt completely owned by him, by the hand that possessed every inch of you.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, matching the rhythm of his fingers, swirling, tasting, mutely revealing that he had had another  fantasy, too. The thought of his mouth on you, his tongue tasting you, torturing you, swirling over your clit as you writhed beneath it made you go weak in the knees.

Bucky broke away from the kiss and began trailing kisses down your neck, your breasts, lowering himself to his knees in front of you  while bracing your hips against the tiles with his strong hands.

"Did I mention what it did to me the first time your tongue touched mine?" he whispered devilishly.

He looked up at you so intently, his beautiful blue eyes blazing as the water streamed over his shoulder and down the contours of his chest. You gazed down at him, and for the second time this morning questioned whether  all this could actually be happening. This gorgeous, virile man gripping you, kneeling before you, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It couldn't be real, could it?

Then he lowered his lips to your and you knew it was.

Sensation tore through your touch, so delicately gentle at first, and you arched against the wall with a startled cry. You reached down and gripped his shoulder, steadying yourself on one foot as he brought you to your leg up slowly, gently and eased it over his shoulder. The sight of it alone nearly made you come. He moved so languidly, so sensuously, positioning you better so he could enjoy your all the more.

He closed his mouth over your clit and kissed it luxuriously, his lips moving as though he were kissing your mouth. His tongue swirled over you in large, sensuous circles and he groaned against you, tightening his grip on your hip as you moaned against the sudden overwhelming pleasure of it. The tip of his tongue darted out to flick against your  rapidly as he looked up at you again, watching your pleasure, his eyes smiling at you as if he knew precisely how good he was making you feel. Then he fell on you again, his tongue roaming over you, tasting you, luxuriating in your folds and dipping to lap at your entrance.

“Oh my, g-god. Bucky—”

You bucked against him and cried out as his tongue slipped into your and pulsed there, gently, savouring you. Your hand sank into his wet hair and as you gripped his head, you were rewarded with a muted chuckle and a more intense forward surge of his tongue inside you. He liked the moans he wrought from you. He liked being able to make your  cry out and seize him, your head thrown back in agonizing pleasure.

And fuck did you like it, too.

"Oh God," you breathed, your heart thundering in your chest. "My God, that feels so good..."

He withdrew from your and slid his tongue up to torture your aching clit, and just when you began to miss the feel of him inside your he gently pushed his fingers into your again and began to thrust.

Pleasure soared through you and you cried out even louder, and the leg draped over his shoulder began to tremble. His tongue circled your clit again, deliciously slowly, as his fingers slid into you over and over again, a sensual, primitive rhythm that made you  want to grind your hips against the pleasure.

“I'm coming,” you whispered urgently. “You're going to make me come…”

His fingers thrust deeper and faster and he began to lick you so quickly, with such a throaty groan of pleasure that you felt your  orgasm rise, terrifyingly fast and sharp, making you cry out in increasing, panting breaths until you shattered, coming violently around his fingers and that sensuous, irresistible tongue. You shuddered with an aching cry and trembled from the spasms he sent rippling through you. Your body curled forward as you gripped him tighter, your  fingers pulling on his hair from the pressure.

He removed your leg from his shoulder gently as you continued to shudder, feeling aftershocks of pleasure shiver through you. He got to his feet and helped you stand, pressing himself against your  and nuzzling your neck.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, your voice shaking. your  whole body shaking. “That was incredible.”

“That...was just the prelude,” he whispered, kissing you. “I haven't even started pleasuring you yet.”

God, he was going to kill you. Death by orgasm, you thought happily. What a way to go.

He leaned to turn off the water, but he stilled his hand. He looked back at you with a questioning expression, and then understood. You pulled him back towards yourself and he went willingly, stepping back under the stream of water, kissing you deeply, his hands roaming greedily over your  body.

You weren't done with him. He had made you feel like a goddess, worshiped, cherished, adored.

You broke off the kiss and began trailing your  lips down his neck, his collarbone and chest, enjoying the warmth of the water trickling past your mouth. His chest muscles tensed as you kissed them, and as you moved your  lips slowly down his abdomen you felt his whole body go rigid with anticipation. You sank to your knees in the tub and brushed kisses along his navel, his hip bones, and he put his hands on your shoulders to steady himself. Water coursed over both of you, and you delighted in it, closing your eyes against the spray.

“Baby,” Bucky said softly, barely audible above the water.

You opened your eyes and looked up at him. He was about to say something but you smiled and glanced away, focusing instead on the head of his cock, hard and urgent in front of you. He was thick and beautiful, and still as hard, maybe even harder, than he had been when you'd teased him with your  hands.

“I want to taste you,” you said playfully. “All of you.”

You leaned forward and gently licked the swollen tip of his cock. He inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing, and you smiled up at him, letting him know this was for your  pleasure as much as for his. You swirl your  tongue around the head, taking it into your  mouth and suckling gently, teasing it. The skin was soft and smooth, stretched deliciously tight from the hardness of his erection.

You let your tongue play over it, dipping into the opening, making him moan. You drifted your tongue along the ridge, and down to the sensitive skin just beneath the head, licking and tasting, nipping and kissing.

You looked up at him, and his dark eyes were wild with desire. You smiled, and ran your  tongue up and down the length of him, ending at the head and flicking at it delicately, teasingly. He moaned softly, his breathing starting to grow rapid. You rose up slightly to take the whole length of him into your mouth and sucked him, long and hard.

He let out a gasp and braced himself against the wall with one hand, his other  hand gripping your  shoulder.

“Oh fuck—Baby...”

You slid your mouth over his shaft, deeper, deeper, and slid back up the length of him. Your hands came around and gripped his ass, pulling him towards you. He staggered forward slightly as you took him into your  mouth again, luxuriously taking in his entire length, sucking, licking, tasting as you went. The sensation of him in your mouth was almost as overwhelming as his first entrance into your body had been, so unfamiliar but so right at the same time.

You caressed his balls with one hand as you played your tongue over his cock. He groaned, his breathing jagged now, his cock harder than ever. His hand moved from your  shoulder to sink into your wet hair, and he gripped your head with barely restrained urgency. Gently he guided your head closer to him as you sucked. You lowered yourself onto him and slowly sucked your way back up, your mouth gripping him, your cheeks hollowing, as your tongue slid over him with each pass.

His hips began to move as he started to match your rhythm, thrusting into you, meeting your mouth. Bucky gripped your head more firmly and held your head still, driving into you gently.

You let your hand fall and you sat back on your haunches, enjoying the feeling of him sliding in and out of your mouth, controlling his own pleasure, taking what he wanted, and what you were so willing to give. Yet you could tell he was holding back, wanting to thrust harder and faster but restraining himself and settling for a smoother, slower pace.

For you. Bucky was holding back for your sake. This passionate, soulful, virile man was holding back his own pleasure because he wanted to be gentle with you.

The very thought of it excited you, and you increased your own rhythm, encouraging him, moaning with pleasure as he drove into you. You sucked harder, faster, turning your  gaze up to him with an urgent plea in your  eyes. Faster. Deeper. Now, my love.

And he understood.

Bucky groaned, and stepped forward. His hand clenched in your hair and he began to move, faster and harder, plunging deeper, holding your head as he thrust into your  mouth with urgent, rhythmic strokes. He slid in and out of your mouth as if through warm honey, and you felt and heard his pleasure mounting with every ratcheted breath and every desperate moan that escaped his lips.

His eyes watched your with rapt adoration and abject lust, and you could tell that the sight of your taking him fully into your mouth, of your sucking him with pure, greedy abandon and complete acceptance, was pushing him closer to the edge as much as the intense pleasure of your tongue on his cock was. Or more.

He tensed as his rhythm grew faster, his breathing harder, until you felt him tighten and strain so much that you felt certain he was going to spill himself into your mouth. But at the last moment he cried out and pulled back, his cock slipping out of your  mouth quickly. He stood still, breathless, his eyes closed as if willing his orgasm to retreat. Water sliced down his neck and chest, and finally he let out a slow, jagged moan of a breath and opened his eyes. He looked down at you wildly, and reached for you,helping you to your feet.

“Jesus,” he said breathlessly, staring at you as he tried to catch his breath. “I can't...I can't believe how goddamn good that felt. You brought me so close, so fast, I almost couldn't stop it.”

“Why did you?” you asked, running your  finger along his jaw. “I wanted to feel you come for me.”

He groaned against you, his hands roaming over your  body. “I told you, I'm not nearly done with you yet.”

He kissed you hungrily, his cock surging against your violently as your bodies met. you could feel him moving against you, his cock rubbing against you,and you knew how badly he wanted to be inside you again.

As badly as you wanted him inside you again.

He stepped back, his breath still ragged, and pressed his forehead to yours as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

“You're not done yet, huh?” you teased gently, letting your fingers sink into his wet hair as you kissed his neck.

“Not nearly.”

“But I have to go to work. Maybe if I'm lucky you'll be here when I get home?”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

He reached to turn off the water and stepped out of the shower, turning to help your step over the wall of the tub. You threw your robe on and cinched the belt as he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. You caught him grinning at you, and it was so clear what he was thinking that it made your  laugh.

“What?” you demanded, squeezing the excess water out of your hair with a hand towel. “What are you smiling at?”

Bucky wetted his lips with his tongue, “Fuck it. You're just going to have to be late for work. Come here…”

“Hey!” your eyes widened playfully, jumping away from him. “Are you trying to kill me? Stop!”

Bucky untied your robe and you yelped, trying to slap his hands away. He just kept advancing on you, grinning devilishly. You turned and scampered away from him with a squeal of delight.

He followed behind, still grasping for the robe. You shrieked and laughed and ran towards the bedroom, and he followed, catching up to you and pushing you onto the bed with a resounding crack of the bed frame.

You laughed as he tumbled on top of you, but he silenced you with his mouth, kissing you hungrily as he impatiently pushed your robe aside. His breath was ragged as he nudged your legs apart with his knee, his need too great for the slow, sensual lovemaking of last night. He held his cock against your entrance and smoothly thrusts into you and moaned against your mouth, and you wrapped your legs around him to draw him deeper.

He plunged into you, covering your body and your mouth with the same hungry possession. You were still so warm and wet, so exquisitely ready for him that he filled you easily, driving you relentlessly as he tasted your tongue, your lips, your neck, and groaned from the pleasure your body was giving him.

You tensed around him and he moaned breathlessly, a throaty, male sound of pure ecstasy. He pounded into you, falling into a steady rhythm born of raw, primitive need. Your body tightened around him with every thrust, and waves of pleasure rippled through you, building in intensity up to an almost unbearable pressure, a delicious heat that made you moan into his mouth as he kissed you.

He rose up, his arms braced beside you, to look down as he stroked and withdrew and breathed out his pleasure while his eyes glowed pure heat. He grabbed your rear, tilting one hip up towards him, entering you  on such an angle that a new kaleidoscope of pleasure bloomed throughout you. He gripped you possessively, driving you deeper and faster and harder. His eyes burned, glowing like obsidian, hot and wild and almost frenzied with desire.

“Baby,” he groaned, his eyes pinning you, claiming you, as though he were branding you with your heat.

You're mine...

You're mine...

Your first time together had only been hours ago, but it was as if you had been lovers for years...every fluid flexing of his hips against you hit just the right spot, every deep, powerful thrust of his cock stretched your pussy with a familiar, almost expected surge of pleasure.

“Yes—oh god yes, Bucky—fuck me,” you breathed.

Two simple words and suddenly he was on the edge...buried so deep inside you, thrusting, plunging, your breasts pressed against his chest, the pleasure roaring through his body.

Suddenly he wanted to take you, hard. He wanted to fuck you with abandon, the eyes-closed, head-back, moaning-out-loud kind of sexual abandon that he had so rarely experienced in his life, but which was crashing through his body and mind right now.

He wanted this woman...he wanted to own you, to take you, to claim your body as his....he wanted to fuck you until he'd emptied his balls into you, feeling your pussy clenching and spasming in orgasm around his cock as he came, as you came, as you came together.

He withdrew from you quickly, barely able to catch his breath, and, as if you could read his thoughts, you turned onto your stomach just as his trembling hands guided your hips over. Your hair spilled over your bare back and your ass curved out so seductively it was all he could do not to cum right there, all over your smooth skin. But his cock knew what it wanted, and he pulled you forward to slide into the heaven of your pussy, so wet and tight and swollen for him.

He cried out when he took your again, his cock parting your folds and filling you so completely. The feel of him stretching you, the crest of his head pressing against your  from this new angle...you felt a tremor of pleasure ripple through you and knew you were close, as close as he was. When he leaned over you and began to kiss your  shoulders you shuddered, and when he began to thrust you buried your face in the pillow and moaned.

Your moans of pleasure filled the room and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to last, begging his aching cock not to explode just yet. . .this pace, these quick short strokes as his hips slapped against your ass, your body moving with his every thrust. . .It was almost too much to bear. Bucky buried his faced in your sweet-smelling hair and let his cock plunge as it would, faster and faster, making him shake, making him breathless, making him feel like nothing but a desperate cock as he fucked you.

And fucked you. And fucked you, as you had begged him to...

You could only whimper now, lost to the pleasure of his man taking you like this, fucking you so wildly, almost savagely. The pleasure he was taking from your body, his moans and groans and the growls of pleasure you could feel against your back and in the warm breath at your ear. . . it was pure, primal lust.

You felt worshiped beneath him, as if every thrust of his hungry cock was a tribute to you, every growl and sharp breath an oath. He was fucking you, mindlessly, and yet every part of him was attuned to you, touching you, adoring you.

As his pace grew even faster, his thrusts shallower, you could sense he was about to come, and you felt your muscles tighten around him to heighten his pleasure and hers. His thrusts were so powerful that you felt the orgasm rising in you and you closed your eyes, lifting your head back so he could slide his hand into your hair, gently holding your neck and kissing your jaw with breathy, open-mouthed kisses.

“Oh, God Bucky...I'm coming,” you moaned. “I'm coming.”

“Yes...cum for me baby....cum on my cock.”

“Cum with me....please....I want you to cum inside me, please....please....”

And he could withstand it no more.

Pleasure detonated through him as his orgasm spasmed throughout his body, wracking him with wave after wave of euphoric release. He cried out your name as he thrust and bucked against your flesh, driving his cock deeper and deeper as he came and came and came. It felt like he would never stop cumming, and when he felt your orgasm tear through your pussy and clench his cock in waves, he thought he might black out from the sheer ecstasy of it.

You slammed back against him as the first spurts of cum began to fill you, and felt your  ravaged pussy begin to spasm again and again, milking his cock, pulling his cum deeper into you, flooding you with ripples of pleasure. You moaned and writhed, riding the crest of one orgasm only to feel a second one begin to climb and then crash over you. Breathless, almost sobbing from the pleasure, you let him hold you as he continued to pound into you, draining his balls into you at his will, lost in the utter bliss of a man taking a woman in the most primal way.

When he could bear it no longer, when his exquisitely sensitive cock throbbed within you and the pleasure bordered on pain, he stilled, finally, and shuddered. Sharp spasms of pleasure shot through him as his cock surged one last time within you, his aching balls emptying every last ounce of come. Bucky was almost lightheaded, his chest heaving, sweat glazing his skin as he withdrew his hand from your hair and ran it down the center of your back, needing to touch you, needing to feel your heated skin. You were breathless too, your back moving beneath his hand as you lay your head down and tried to catch your breath.

You felt him withdraw from you, and your  pussy rebelled, clenching to keep him there, as if pleading with him not to go. Bucky groaned softly against your ear as he pulled out and fell on the bed beside you, his arms surrounding you and pulling your back against him. You fit perfectly together, and every muscle in your body relaxed as you snuggled into him and breathed out a contented sigh. You felt his lips on the shell of your ear, kissing softly, felt his slowing breath against your skin as his soft sounds of contentment and pleasure hummed in his throat.

This is heaven, you thought. Pure heaven. your pussy twitched and tingled as you felt his warm come beginning to slip down your  inner thighs. His strong arms surrounded you, his soft lips murmured and whispered and kissed, his spent cock nestled against the curve of your ass.

“There was something I wanted to tell you, remember?” he murmurs, his words brushing warmly against your skin as he kisses a path down to your shoulder. “Last night… something I wanted to say to you. Something I wanted you to know.”

You shift slightly, turning to look at him, your heart pounding as you search his eyes, barely able to breathe. 

“Tell me,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea.

His gaze softens, an unmistakable warmth filling his expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. 

“I love you.”

The words settle between you, simple but perfect, like they were always meant to be there. Your heart feels like it’s soaring, every nerve in your body alive with the thrill of it, of finally hearing what you’d been aching to hear.

You break into a smile, biting your lip, feeling giddy and light, and without a second thought, you lean forward, kissing him softly, your hand finding his as you whisper back, “I love you too.”

And as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that feels like home, you realize that, for the first time, everything feels right.

tags: @cereal6666 @thatesqcrush @cl7ire @bighappypiels @mostlymarvelgirl

@winchestert101 @winterslove1917 @hzdhrtss @mcira @elvenrin

@xunquish-blog @meetmeattheapt

[fablehaven-rulez]

Oh my fucking gods

This is literally making my heart race

And my pussy clench around nothing but shshhhshshhshsh

Shut Up

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (fem intended)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, oral (f receiving), fingering, smut, I wrote this on my phone so minimal layout and editing

A/N: hi hello I know I haven’t posted in forever I’m sorry, please take this as a peace offering ����

Bucky couldn't even remember what you were fighting about earlier. He knew it was stupid, childish even. You two bickered all the time, you always had ever since he met you. He liked to rile you up, see how angry and frustrated he could make you - the kind, polite, quiet one. Something about how you scrunched your brows, bared your teeth, and let the sweet girl facade fade. It made him feel alive. 

But the second those words left your mouth, his mind had gone blank, and the argument ready on his tongue fizzled away. 

"Maybe if I sit on your face, that'll shut you up." 

You'd threatened him with bodily harm and spewed hate-filled words at him. But this kind of retaliation was a first. And, oh did he like it. 

He more than liked it.

You'd followed him to his room earlier in the heat of your argument so there was no need for pause, or hesitation, or secrecy, before his lips landed on yours, silencing you. Your body slumped against his, all the tension and anger fizzling out into nothing as your hands gripped the front of his jacket. His feet guided you to the edge of his bed where he turned and sat, finally releasing you. 

"Then do it." He'd countered, daring you to follow through with your threat for the first time. And when your eyes locked with his, your pupils blown wide and a hesitant look on your face, he smirked, "C'mon, you know you want to." And when you still didn't move, "unless you're all talk." 

That'd done it. You hiked up the skirt of your sundress as you crawled on top of him, his smirk growing as you hovered over him, the damp spot on your panties on display for him. He instantly wrapped his flesh hand around your waist to pull the fabric to the side, using his metal one to guide you to his mouth. 

He let out a low groan as soon as the taste of you hit his tongue. He never realized how badly he'd wanted you. He was still navigating being normal again, not being The Winter Soldier, that oftentimes the way his body reacted or his heart thudded against his chest went unnoticed, or left him in a stupor. But with you now grinding down on his tongue, it all clicked for him. 

But he'd tuck that little secret away for now. 

He could tell you were hovering, not letting him have the full weight of you and he pulled his mouth off you, chuckling at the pathetic whine that slipped past your lips as you looked down at him. 

"Don't hover," He ordered, "I want all of you." 

Your brows pinched and you only replied with, "And I want you to shut up," Before fully taking your new seat. The authority in your tone and the true weight of you on his mouth had his pants growing tight but he didn't want to take his hands off of you. Not as he reached up with his vibranium hand and gripped one of your breasts, massaging it as he pulled it over the fabric of your dress, lightly tugging at the nipple once it was free. 

The moan that left your mouth at the coldness of his hand on your skin was pornographic with your head tipped back and your hands laying over his own, guiding them to how you liked to be touched, tightening his grip over your skin.

He decided then and there as you looked down at him, your jaw slack and the most beautiful sounds falling from your mouth, that he could do this forever. You were so beautiful like this, on the edge of release with him being the one to get you there. 

He was never letting you go after this.

He slipped his hands out of yours, reaching his flesh one up to grip what he could reach of your neck, the other sliding under your ass to slip a finger in your soaked core. Your hands dove to tangle and tug at his hair as your moans pitched higher and louder, his name a chant on your tongue as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, tongue circling and lips closing around your clit while you practically fucked yourself on his fingers. 

He wanted you to cum - needed it. So when his fingers curled and your moans turned to begging, he copied that same motion over and over and over until a gasp tore your breath from you. 

As quickly as he could, he pulled his fingers from you, replacing them with his tongue just as you fell over the edge, all but screaming his name, your legs clamping around his head as he swallowed your release, groaning into your skin. 

Your hands left his hair and wrapped around his arms that were holding you up, holding on like he was your life line. He traced a few lazy circles around you with his tongue as your body relaxed before lifting you and sliding you down to sit on his chest. 

When you looked at him, your confidence started to slip away, a sheepish, “sorry,” falling on his ears. He sighed with what he knew was the dopiest smile he’d ever let you see as his hands reached up to cradle your cheeks. 

“Babygirl,” he’d laughed, “you can shut me up like that any time you please.” 

If you'd like to be notified when I post a new story, follow my library blog @remis-library and turn on notifications.

[buck-star]

For your drabbles! "You're so excited all the time... it's kind of adorable." With Bucky and his wife? He is so in love with his bubbly wife!

Bucky’s bubbly wife

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Warnings/Tags: established relationship, Bucky being the sweetheart he is, get some tissues because he’s adorable

Authors Note: Thank you for the sweet idea. It’s a pretty short Drabble, but hope you enjoy it anyway. Divider made by me.

Events: Beginnings Bingo [Alts 1 | First Choice | @sweetspicybingo]

“This is adorable! Bucky you’re the best, the best of the best. The most amazing—“ you giggle, taking the bouquet of roses he’s holding out for you. “—Man one can only imagine, and you’re all mine.”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head with a soft smile on his plump lips. And fuck, he adores the way you smile and giggle when you get the smallest thing he considers a normal thing. He, as you husband, is supposed to make you happy, to show you how much he loves you, in return he receives the same from you, too.

“You’re so excited all the time, doll. It’s kinda cute,” he laughs softly, watching you intensely when you pull out the small little card that’s sitting between the roses. Your eyes widen, it’s a little, handmade card, a card Bucky made himself, just for you.

“You made a card too!” You squeal, placing the roses on the table next to you before you open the small card.

While the front shows a picture of the two of you when you shared your first kiss, the inside shows a wedding photo of the two of you.

Baby doll,

today — six years back — you stepped into my life. It was the darkest time for me, but you brought the warmth and light back.

It’s been six years, that I fell in love with your smile for the first time when I ordered the same ice cream you love so much — the first time I heard you giggle and my heart skipped a beat.

It’s been six years and I keep falling in love with your smile, with your sweetness, with you giggle, with you.

Thank you for turning the darkness into the light and let me feel what true love really means.

I love you, precious.

“B-Bucky—“ you whisper, tears in your eyes. Bucky smiles softly at you, the same soft expression he’s always having written all over his face when he’s around you. The same softness, he shows you ever single day, the one he will show you for eternity.

“It’s true. I thought, I know… we haven’t really celebrated that day but when I walked past that ice cream shop a few days back—“ Bucky interrupts himself, wrapping both of his arms around you. “I wanted to make sure that we cherish the day we met just as much as our wedding anniversary. Because without you, I don’t know where I would be now. But one thing I know, I wouldn’t be here, in our house, with my wife in my arms.”

“I love you, I love you,” you whisper, pulling Bucky down by his neck. Your lips only inches away from his that you can feel his warm breath. “I love you so much, and I wouldn’t have done anything differently. You’re and you will always be my first choice.”

Bucky smiles, leaning closer to press his lips softly against yours. “I wouldn’t have want it any other way either, you were the missing piece of my puzzle. But now it’s complete, I’m complete with you, my precious, baby doll.” And damn, he loves it. It loves you. How sweet and excited you can be, but also how you can always find words to make him speechless, to make him fall in love with you just like he did the first date he met you.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @irisk12 @lilyalone @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @bamitzzsam @feynightlight @kandis-mom @peachy-satan00 @armystay89 @queen-honeybee-stories @princesscore-angel

[elixirfromthestars]

By The Warmth Of The Oven

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You are baking cookies for the Avengers holiday party when a certain super solider comes into the kitchen tipsy for the first time...

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff. tipsy bucky.

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> is it those cookies that smell delicious or is it you?

a/n: This fluffy drabble is my holiday gift to you my dear Bella @nickfowlerrr ♡ In honor of Can You Feel It? being the first of many beautiful fics I read of yours 🥹🩷 Thank you everyone for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

bucky masterlist ♡ || fluffy winter drabbles masterlist ❆

“Smells good…” Bucky’s voice comes out of nowhere from behind you as you grab another tray of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. You glance over your shoulder to find him sauntering into the kitchen, making his way over to you. 

“Freshly baked cookies always do,” you reply with a gratified grin, placing the tray on top of the stove so the cookies have some time to cool off before you plate them. Your friends had already gone through three batches of them and they practically begged you to make more. It was a nice feeling, almost rewarding in a way, knowing something you made was so loved by your friends. 

“‘m not talking about the cookies, doll,” there’s a bit of a slur in his cadence that catches your attention at the same time that your heart skips a beat at his words. You turn to him to see he’s staring at you with a dreamy smile and a twinkle in his eyes, propped up against the counter by his elbow. You frown at his unusual nonchalant demeanor. You’ve never seen him act this way before. 

Your head tilts slightly as you examine him a little closer. There’s a bit of a sway to his stance and his cheeks are tinted pink. “Bucky, are you drunk?” Almost immediately he shakes his head at your question, “No. I can't get drunk,” he replies with an obvious tone, and yet the pouty frown on his face tells a different story. 

“Right, you can’t…” you affirm, mulling it over for a moment,“Unless…did Thor give you some of his special Asgardian liquor?” You ask, stepping slightly closer to him, the apples of his cheeks getting rosier in response. 

“I took a shot. I started feeling funny and came here—felt safe,” he mutters that last part reluctantly, sharing something with you he wouldn’t if it weren’t for the alcohol in his system.

“In the kitchen?”

“With you.” 

Your amusement is replaced with a soft expression at his response. He most likely hasn’t felt the effects of alcohol in decades and a part of him doesn’t know how to cope with the resurfaced inhibitions. The fact that while feeling unwell his first instinct was to come looking for you—it made a warmth spread throughout you that could easily rival the heat of the oven.

You reach out to cup his cheek, soothing the flushed skin with your thumb. He instinctively leans into your touch, his eyes shining with a gentle vulnerability that causes your heart to squeeze in your chest. You and Bucky have always had a flirtatious friendship for as long as you can remember, but it's never gone past that. Seeing him so openly affectionate with you stirs emotions deep within you that you aren’t sure you’re ready to bring to the surface.

“I don’t think the alcohol is going to stay in your system for long, Buck. How about we do this…you wait for me here while I go out and serve the cookies I baked,” his eyes widen slightly and you can tell he wants to protest until you add, “I’ll bring back some hot chocolate for us to share and we can enjoy it along with some cookies while we wait for that liquor in your system to wear off. How does that sound?” You suggest softly and you can see the way he thinks it through before he agrees with a nod.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as you plate a few dozen cookies on decorative plates, leaving a handful behind for you and Bucky to share. You make sure to quickly take them out to your friends and serve up two piping hot mugs of hot chocolate before making it back to the kitchen in no time. 

When you meet back with Bucky you find him sitting on the counter where he watches his legs as he swings them lazily to and fro. You observe him fondly for a moment longer than necessary. Trying to commit to memory how carefree and unguarded he is at this moment. When he notices you his face lights up in a way that makes you feel like the most precious person on earth. 

“Here, as promised,” you hand him a mug of hot chocolate which he takes eagerly—too eagerly—as he immediately goes for a sip of it. Before he can, however, you stop him, placing your hand as a barrier between his lips and the mug. His mouth ends up pressed into your palm, and you ignore the heat that finds its way to your face at the softness of his lips brushing against your skin.

“Bucky, it's scalding hot! You’ll burn yourself! Wait until it cools down a bit, please.”

“It’s not gonna burn me, doll. I’m a super soldier. Watch—”

“Bucky!” 

You use the cookies as leverage to coax Bucky into waiting for the hot chocolate to cool down before he drinks any of it. For the next hour or so, you enjoy each other's company. Between the sweet treats and the lighthearted conversations, time flies by in a heartbeat. 

Then, while in the middle of a discussion over your last mission, Bucky does something that completely takes you by surprise in the best way possible—he kisses you. It’s short, but profound in the way he pours everything into it. Every flirtation you ever questioned could mean something more was proven here with this kiss, that it had meant so much more for more than just you. 

You’re speechless when he pulls away beaming as if his heart might burst.

“Looks like I was right.” 

“Huh?”

“I asked myself what was sweeter. You or the cookies. I knew it'd be you,” he states as a matter of fact, drinking up the way his words affect you as much as the kiss had. There’s a part of you that doesn’t believe him, but it's not because of him, but more so because you think you must be dreaming. 

“That's the liquor talking.”

“I've sobered up a while ago, doll.”

You search his eyes for the truth of it all and you find it. This is real. This isn’t a dream. And the yearning that burns bright in his eyes is one you know all too well. It’s the same one reflecting in your eyes as your gazes lock on one another.

“I still think the cookies are sweeter,” you whisper, your eyes shining with a playful challenge despite the way your heart races in your chest with anticipation. He catches on, licking his lips as his flesh hand snakes its way to the back of your head to cradle it gently.

“‘m gonna prove you wrong, doll,” he declares in a huskier tone as he pulls you in for another kiss. And that night, by the warmth of the oven, Bucky continues to kiss you until he successfully proves you wrong. 

[sun-kissy]

bucky barnes who doesn’t trust unless it comes to you. whose eyes soften at the sight of you, because his heart knows that it’s okay to let his guard down. he believed the world always had its claws out to get him, until he fell straight into your gentle arms. he tells you the word love meant nothing to him until you came along.

bucky barnes who would live for you. the winter soldier would kill for anyone, the white wolf would die for anyone, but bucky would live for you. he’s never believed in fate, but if it wasn't destiny that brought you to him, he doesn’t know what it was. he thinks maybe it was all worth it, the trauma and the scars and the pain, if it all lead up to the moment when you told him i love you.

bucky barnes who searches for you even in nightmares, screams your name till his lungs burn with self-hatred. you’re his safe space, his home. he’s drawn back to wakefulness as soon as he feels your touch, the gentleness of your breath on his skin like an aching balm to his wounds. he’ll never stop apologising for the burden that comes with his affection, yet he won’t ever stop loving you.

bucky barnes who thinks of hurting you as no less than a sin. who believes even pulling out a single strand of your hair is a hundred times worse than every murder committed as the winter soldier. because what’s a few dozen people in comparison to his whole universe?

bucky barnes who wakes up a little earlier in the morning; not to see the sun rise, but to watch the soft rays dapple your face. he thinks you look angelic, the golden hue painting you in so much beauty that he feels blessed; wonders if he ought to start praying to gods he never once believed in.

bucky barnes who tells you he loves you more times than he can count. whose voice is hardened from years of tortured, ragged cries; but the word doll tumbles out of his lips like soft petals when he looks at you. he knows seven different tongues, and is fluent in every single one. he claims that none of them have the words to describe how you make him feel.

bucky barnes who kisses like a hungry dog, like there’s an ache in his soul that can only be filled by the feeling of your lips on his, skin to skin. he believes the sole purpose of his metal arm is to pin you to the wall. roughness is the only form of love he’s ever known.

bucky barnes who buys you everything you talk about in passing, who takes you out wherever your heart yearns to go, who kisses your knuckles with the softest touch of his lips. he inhales when you exhale at night to make space for the rise of your chest. he only ever holds your hand with his non-metal one so as to not hurt you. he traces your features while you sleep. he loves you with the full force of the word, because you’re his girl.

bucky barnes who could never unlove you, would never want to. even if the strings of his soul were tied to another, he would cut them off and run straight to you.

[peaches1958]

For later

I'll be yours for a thousand lives

— mob! bucky barnes x wife! reader

summary || when you get kidnapped, you realise your husband isn’t the good man you thought he was.

warnings || dom!bucky. dom/sub dynamics. daddy kink. unprotected sex. spanking. degradation. dumbification. oral sex. praise kink. punishments. subspace. pain kink. corruption kink. filthy bucky. protective bucky. possessive bucky. needy bucky. a lot of dirty talk. petnames (puppy [no pet play]). horny thots. little angst. kidnapping. PWP — MINORS DNI 🔞 if any of this makes you uncomfortable then please do not read!

I have decided to not do taglists anymore, so if you wished to be notified of my newest updates please follow @bonky-n-steeb-lib and turn on the notifications!

ahsjhdnsjjsy…. I hope you like this lol ;)

“You had one job!”

You winced when you heard someone scream just as you blinked open your eyes slowly. You didn’t make any sudden movements, so as to not alert your captors and instead just lay still on the ground. You were still drowsy, but you willed yourself to stay awake.

You noticed there were three of them, the two guys who abducted you and the third, a middle aged man. They weren’t paying any attention to you and you would’ve crawled if your limbs weren’t tied together by a zip tie which was painfully digging into your skin.

You cursed yourself for being so stupid and landing up in this situation. Bucky had warned you, and yet you didn’t listen; and look where it landed you. You were more worried about how Bucky would feel if he knew of your stupidity.

The school where you were a teacher was close by to the farmer’s market. This evening, after you were done with your work, you decided to walk over to the market and buy some fresh produce. The road was known for robberies but you didn’t think much about it.

And just as you were walking, these two crooks had cornered you and pressed a sickly sweet napkin to your nose and the next thing you remembered was waking up here, in a warehouse. Bucky had told you, not once, twice, but many times, to not use that road and still you hadn’t listened.

“You had to go and choose the literal one person who is out of limits!” The older man was screaming at the two boys. “Okay fine! We did a mistake! But why did you have to inform him? We could’ve just let her go. I mean look at her, she’s not even awake yet!” One of the two guys chimed in.

“Are you out of your mind? If we would’ve just left her on the road he would’ve been even more furious and trust me, he would’ve found out that it’s us. And then not just yours, but my life would’ve been on the line too! And I have no interest in dying so soon.” The older man retorted back.

“You are supposed to protect us! You’re our boss.” The other guy complained. “Boss, my ass. If he knows that I’m responsible for this, he’ll literally rain hell on me. You two are the reason behind this mess, not me. I’ve called him and he’ll be here in some time and then it’s you and him.”

You wondered who were they so afraid of. And even more importantly what that man had to do with you. You were a school teacher with absolutely no connections. So then why did these people refer to you as off limits? Had they mistaken you for someone else?

“You’re a son of a bitch! We work so hard for you and now you’re literally sending us to our grave. This is not fair!” The boy cried out. “Yeah. This world is not fair. You should’ve known better.” The man just scoffed.

“But how were we supposed to know that she’s Barnes’ wife? We were just going to steal her belongings. But then we saw the lock screen of her phone and we knew who she was, so we got her to you and you’re only turning your back on us.” The boys were on the verge of crying.

Barnes’ wife? Did these people know Bucky? And was Bucky the one they were so afraid of? But why? Bucky was a reputed businessman and nothing more, as far as you knew.

“I have to be loyal to Barnes, he literally rules this place. You two can fight for yourself.” You gasped at the man’s words. What was even happening? What were these people saying? You wanted to ask them but you stayed quiet.

You waited with bated breath when you heard tires screech outside. The boys looked as if they were about to piss their pants and you had no clue what was happening. But then instant relief washed over you when you saw none other than your husband.

“Bucky!” You couldn’t resist crying out Bucky’s name the instant he stepped inside. You saw the change in his look when he saw you lying on the floor in your condition. He passed a murderous glare to the three of them as he rushed over to you.

You noticed that Bucky wasn’t alone, he had Sam, Steve and some other people you didn’t know of. Sam and Steve were his business associates, but after whatever had happened tonight, you weren’t so sure anymore.

“Are you hurt?” Bucky asked worriedly as he set on opening up your ties. Your hands were stinging, but still you denied. “No.” Bucky gave you a look meaning he knew you were hurt, and yet you were lying. You gasped when he produced a sharp knife from his expensive suit and cut off the zips.

Once you were free, Bucky did a once over to check if there were any major injuries. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you bathed in comfort and safety the familiar embrace brought along. When you parted from the embrace, Bucky still kept his hand on your waist and kept you close.

“These two are the ones responsible for this! When I knew of it I instantly called you. I…” Bucky gave the babbling man a look that instant shut him up. “These are your boys, aren’t they?” Bucky’s voice was purely menacing. “Ye.. yes.” The man stuttered.

That was all Bucky needed. With a single flick of his head, his men surrounded the three but before you could see what happened further, Bucky pulled you out of the warehouse. Once you were inside his car, he locked your seat belt as if you were now incapable of keeping yourself safe.

“What was that?” You asked when Bucky sat besides you and started the car. He didn’t say a word and instead focused on the road. You knew those eyes, you knew what they meant. He was angry, and you were worried the anger was directed at you.

“Bucky, you have to answer me! Why were those men so afraid of you? Why are you carrying around knives? Why am I off limit to goons? Who are you? What are you?” You were nearly screaming and Bucky’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. “We’ll talk when we reach home.” That was all he said.

The entire ride home, you were squirming in your seat, dying to know the truth. You were curious by nature, and the fact that Bucky was hiding a secret, a rather huge one, didn’t sit right with you. Gladly, it didn’t take much time for you to be in the comfort of your bedroom.

“How many time have I told you?” Bucky’s voice was stern and you gulped. “No, we aren’t doing this! You answer me first!” Unlike Bucky’s controlled anger, you were bursting with rage. “No. I’ll speak first! I have told you not be reckless and yet look what you did. You could’ve used your car and taken the longer route. But no. You just don’t want to listen!” You gasped at Bucky’s reaction.

“Stop diverting the topic! The most important part right now is that you’ve probably lied to me all this time. Tell me the truth now Bucky, are you a criminal?” Your throat constricted as you uttered those words. You noticed the way Bucky’s jaw clenched.

“I’m a businessman, and you know that. But that’s not important. You risked your life, and for what? Fresh tomatoes?!” He quipped. “Shut up! Stop acting as if I can’t take care of myself. I don’t need you to baby sit me!” Bucky’s eyes hardened at your words.

“You don’t need me?”

He raised his eyebrow just like he usually did and you shook your head defeatedly. “That is not what I said. I want to know what kind of business do you do, Bucky? Because you sure ain’t doing export import.” You sucked in a breath before continuing, “Don’t lie to me Bucky. Are you a gangster?”

“Yes.”

You gasped when Bucky answered truthfully. You felt a weird mix of betrayal and anger. But you were probably more angry at yourself for being so stupid to not realise who he actually was. You had lived with him for years and loved him for even more, and yet you failed to realise that he was involved in such activities.

“I… I need some time.” You muttered as you clutched your head. Your head was aching at this point with all the emotions that were running haywire in your mind. You needed to call yourself down to think clearly and for that you needed to be alone. But before Bucky could stop you, you were gone from the room.

Bucky frustratedly ran his hand through his hair as he sagged down into the bed. He knew he had kept you in the dark and that wasn’t right of him; but he did it for your own good. He had been worried sick for you when you hadn’t come home on time and then when that idiot called him to inform you were him, he lost his shit.

He loved you more than anything in his life, and he couldn’t lose you. He knew you were everything he wasn’t — you were virtuous, kind and sweet. But that’s why you were perfect for each other. You provided him the comfort he so badly craved and he gave you the protection from this dark world.

He didn’t know how much time passed as he sat with his head in his hands. He looked at the clock to see it had been more than an hour since you’d arrived home. He agreed that you needed time to think, but he thought this much was enough. He knew exactly where you’d be — library.

He smiled to himself when he saw you curled up on the couch in the library. You must’ve been too tired as you were dozing on the couch. He cursed himself for getting mad instead of looking after you when you came home. Your face was a bit swollen from crying, but you were sleeping very calmly.

Not wanting to disturb you, he gently picked you up in his arms and began carrying you back into your bedroom. The couch definitely wasn’t as comfortable as the bed. He breathed in your scent as he held you close. Despite being careful while placing you on the bed, you still woke up.

You softly blinked your eyes as you stirred awake from your nap. Your lips curled in a small smile as Bucky effortlessly carrying you around always made you giddy with joy. You slowly got up from your sleeping position and sat on the edge of the bed as you finally asked the question that was worrying you for so long.

“Why? Why did you lie to me all this time?”

“Because I didn’t want to lose you!” Bucky exclaimed as he fell to his knees in front of you. It was a poetic moment, Bucky, a man everyone feared, falling on his knees in front of you. “I knew you won’t love me if you knew who I truly was. So I tried my best to hide it from you. I even made sure that no one else was able to tell you the truth…. I… I’m sorry.”

His voice broke as he apologised and buried his face in your lap. You couldn’t stop your hands from running through his soft hair; a habit you’d picked up years ago. The gesture made him look up at you, with eyes full of hope and a little smile on his face.

“I’m still your Bucky.”

You ran your hands from his hair to his cheeks and he nuzzled into the warmth. “Do you have many enemies?” Your question took Bucky by surprise. He stood up from between your knees and sat besides you on the bed. “I mean I do have some, but you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll always protect you.”

“I’m not worried about me… it’s just that,.. this is a dangerous field and… and I don’t want you getting hurt.” Bucky couldn’t believe his ears. “You know this is why I fell in love with you.” He said fondly. “Means?” You asked. “You’re always putting everyone else ahead of you, but you forget to take care of yourself.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.” You retorted. “Have you ever seen me hurt or in trouble? No, right. So don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” You just hummed and Bucky knew you weren’t satisfied. “What is it?” He asked as he kept your eyes low on the carpet. You opened your mouth to ask something but closed it again.

“Is there anything else I don’t know about?” You finally asked. “No. You know I don’t hide things from you…” you gave Bucky a teasing glare and he corrected himself, “I mean except this, there’s nothing else that I’ve lied about.”

“You don’t have any… umm,.. anyone else in your life, right? I mean I won’t be mad. But just, don’t lie to me anymore.” Both of you were aware that you’d be super mad if Bucky ever cheated, but this question had been eating you for so long now. You had a general conception of how people in Bucky’s field were, and you could just hope that your husband wasn’t like that.

“Of course there’s no one else except you. You’re my wife, the literal love of my life. You’re my one and only. But it’s my fault that I made you feel this way. And I need you to know that you’re the most important person to me in this whole world. You mean everything to me and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

You finally cracked a smile when you heard his heartfelt words. Without thinking twice, you pressed your lips against Bucky in a sweet kiss. Circling your hands around his neck, you straddled him without breaking the kiss. He settled his hands on your waist and being surrounded by the man you loved so much have you a unique sense of satisfaction after all that had happened this evening.

“So you only love me?” You asked as you buried your face in his neck. “Yeah. I only love you.” Bucky smiled as he realised what was happening. He could feel your warm breaths on his neck before you started sucking and nibbling on his skin. You were getting all sweet for him.

“I am your puppy.”

There was a sense of pride in your statement, though it was muffled as you kept on marking his skin. “You are my puppy. Only mine. But you’ve been a bad puppy, haven’t you? Not following daddy’s orders and getting yourself in trouble. Tell me what happens to puppies who misbehave.”

“They get punished. But I’m sorry daddy!” You tried looking innocent, Bucky wasn’t buying any. It was just an accident in the beginning of your relation when you’d called Bucky your daddy. But it turned out that Bucky was just as into it as you were.

After that you’d both discussed what you wanted and settled on this dynamic. You were comfortable with Bucky and most importantly you trusted him. You had a safe word and Bucky always respected that. And the fact that you had control in any situation always made everything more exciting.

“Your pretty please isn’t getting you out of this puppy. Do you know how worried I was? Don’t you care for your daddy?” You quickly shook your head. “No daddy. I care for you, a lot.” Bucky hummed. “I know that puppy. But you gotta care for yourself too. And I gotta make you understand how important that is.”

You knew exactly what was going to happen, and it was exciting you even more. You pulled back to look into Bucky’s eyes and they were dark with lust and hunger and it awakened something inside you. A man this powerful, was so completely in love with you, yeah, it made you feel as if you were on the top of the world.

“You know what to do puppy.” Bucky’s voice was thick as he spoke. He leaned back on the bed and supported himself up with his hands. You nodded as you got down from his lap and started slowly undressing. You weren’t really sensuous, but Bucky liked how shy you were and that’s why he always told you to undress yourself so that it would be even more humiliating.

You slowly dragged clothes down your body and Bucky licked his lips as he took in every inch of your skin revealed to his eyes. Bucky crooked his finger towards him once you were naked and you went back on Bucky’s lap. Bucky was still fully dressed, and this power difference was making you squirm.

“How many rules did you break puppy?” His tone was a little condescending as he asked you. You chewed on your lip as you thought of it. “Umm,.. two? I was reckless and put myself in danger and… I screamed at you.” Bucky was still leaning back as you made yourself comfortable on his lap. “You’re missing one more.”

You tried thinking as hard as you could, but you couldn’t think of any other broken rule. You shook your head as you pouted. “Puppy, I haven’t even touched you yet and you’ve already gone silly for me?” Bucky said giving a devilish smirk.

When you still didn’t answer, Bucky have a purposeful sigh. “You don’t remember what you said?” He mocked when you shook your head dumbly. “You said you don’t need me. Is that true? Don’t you need your daddy?”

“Bucky, I didn’t say it like that. What I meant is that I can look after myself…” you couldn’t complete the rest of your sentence as Bucky grabbed your face in his hands and squeezed your cheeks. “Did I say that you could argue with me? I want a simple yes or no. Do you need your daddy, or not?”

“Yes daddy. I need you.” Your voice was needy and you batted your eyelashes for greater effect. Bucky loosened his hood on your cheeks a little before pressing a sweet kiss to your nose, but it was a deceiving move as his next words took you by surprise, “Then prove it to me.”

He let go of your face and once again leaned back. Your head was already hazy and you couldn’t comprehend the meaning of his words. “Huh?” He cooed at your reaction and you wanted to hide your face with shame. “Dumb puppy.” He again kissed your nose and cheeks just as deceivingly sweet.

“You can take care of yourself, can’t you? Go on then. Touch this pretty pussy for me and make yourself cum. If you can do that, you don’t get punished, and if you can’t….” The threat was eminent in his voice and you gulped, not with fear but with anticipation.

Bucky placed you on the centre of the bed while he sat leisurely in the corner, watching you. “Put a show for me puppy.” You nodded shyly as you spread your legs apart and started playing with your wet folds.

You sucked in a breath when your fingers touched your throbbing clit and began pressing tight circles over it. You took your time and you could see Bucky’s pants tenting as his eyes were focused on your fingers stroking your sensitive flesh.

A moan left your lips when you thrusted two fingers in as you rubbed your clit with your palm. Your fingers were much shorter than Bucky and they weren’t reaching all the spots he stimulated. But that was where the fun was, you both knew you couldn’t make yourself cum like this and the punishment was inevitable.

But seeing you writhe on the bed as you desperately tried to make yourself cum to bypass your punishment; that’s what Bucky liked to see. Your fingers were working fast and you felt a knot form in your belly. It felt like you were hanging by a thread, but the thread was too durable to let you fall into the abyss of pleasure.

“Please…” the plea felt unbidden from your lips and you realised what you’d said once the word was out of your mouth. By now, Bucky had started rubbing the tent in his pants as he saw the way your fingers stretched your hole. “Please what?”

“Please daddy, I need you!” You exclaimed with frustration as you couldn’t make yourself cum. “Hmm. Have you finally learnt your lesson?” He asked like a teacher reprimanding his students. “Ye… yes! Please. I need you. I can’t… I can’t!” You we’re nearly on the verge of sobbing.

Bucky was quick to hold your hand and stop you. You felt reluctant to pull your hand away, but you didn’t want to upset him further. Bucky changed your position such that you were lying face down on his lap. His pants were smooth against your skin, but you knew they’d feel irritating once the punishment began.

“What’s the safe word?” Bucky’s voice was serious as he asked you. You licked your dry lips before replying, “Brooklyn.” Bucky fondly patted your ass, as if giving you a compliment. “Good girl.” Your insides always fluttered whenever Bucky praised you.

“Tell me how many spanks you’ll get?” You were literally a teacher but currently you couldn’t think. Your head was floaty and on top of that desperate after not being able to cum. It was impossible for you to think straight.

You knew that for every rule you broke, you got five spanks, but you couldn’t really process the math in your head. Feeling shameful, you buried your head in the mattress. “Awww… it’s okay puppy. Daddy will do all the work for you. You broke three rules, and that means you’ll get fifteen spanks. Now count for me.”

Bucky didn’t give you any further warning as his flesh hand came down on your ass. You didn’t disobey him, and couldn’t every single slap you received. You were steady by the first five counts, by the next five, you were sweaty and panting. And when the last five were remaining, you were barely able to process words.

You were slipping and stuttering and Bucky cooed condescendingly everytime making your body burn with heat and shame. Once the last strike was done, your body was hypersensitive to everything around you, from the fine texture of Bucky’s slacks to his hands gently soothing your body.

“You did so well for me. You’re such a good puppy.” He murmured praises as he kissed your back. His hands kneaded your already sore butt and let out a broken moan. “Do you need me to make it feel better?” You nodded blindly with your face still buried in the covers.

You shivered as Bucky let you down on the bed and began trailing kisses from your back to your ass. He spread your legs and you let him do it without any resistance. You felt his hot breath on your heated folds and the sensation was making your dizzy.

Your moans were muffled by the bed as he began eating you out from behind. His hands held your ass cheeks apart as he lapped at your pussy while you shamelessly grinded on his face. If Bucky loved doing something, it was having your taste.

He was keeping you on your toes by shifting between flicking your clit, lapping up your slick, sucking your nub or fucking you with his tongue. After getting edged, it didn’t take much for your to be on the edge again. You clutched the sheets tightly in your hand as you grew closer to your orgasm.

But right before you could cum, Bucky stopped. You whined but Bucky shushed you. “I need to take my clothes off puppy.” You grumbled frustratedly as you knew this was all his plan. Bucky loved meticulous planning, and it was now that you realised that it must be because of the work he did.

You kept your face on your hand and didn’t move as you drank in the sight of Bucky undressing. You saw his body every night, and yet every single time, you found him sexier than before. The hard ridges of his body and the bulging muscles always made you drool at the sight.

“Look at you shamelessly drooling.” Bucky teased as he got up on the bed. You wanted to say something sharp back, but you were too floaty to do anything and so you just giggled instead. He nibbled and kissed your shoulder as he settled himself over you.

You felt his cock pressing over your slick folds and Bucky rubbed it along to get it wet before lining it up with your hole. Bucky entered you in a single long stroke. It wasn’t sudden, but rather slow enough to make you feel every inch of him.

Your eyes rolled back into your head when he pressed all the way in. You loved the way his thick cock stretched you out and his length rubbed all the right spots which you weren’t even previously aware of. It felt as if all the thoughts in your head were pushed out when his cock entered you.

He held your hips tightly as he began thrusting into you like an animal in a rut. You were letting out a string of moans and curses, that even you weren’t aware of, as he rammed into you like a man with a mission. You could hear his grunts of pleasure and that was like your favourite song to listen to.

One of his hands travelled to your head to press it down into the bed while his other hand was still clutching your hips tight enough to bruise. Bucky was wild in bed, but today he was set on making you understand how much you needed him; not that you really needed it.

“Are you liking this puppy?” His voice was strained and you loved that you were the reason behind him losing his composure. You nodded your head and he lightly swatted your stinging ass. “I need words puppy.”

“Ye.. yes daddy!” Your words were muffled by the bed as he held you down. You were getting off on how he was making you take it. The way he was holding you down was sending your brain into a overdrive. At this point, you’d lost all your coherent thinking and all that truly mattered in this world was Bucky’s cock.

“Are you close puppy?” Bucky could feel you clenching down on him. You wanted to reply, but the movement of his cock carving himself inside you was just too much to concentrate on anything else. Bucky knew you were floating, but he needed a little more.

“Did my fat cock fuck you dumb, puppy? See, you say you don’t need daddy but you go dumb the moment I slip my cock inside you.” His mocking words were taking you even higher. But when you still didn’t answer, Bucky weaved his hand in your hair and pulled back. You moaned out like a whore when he pulled your hair.

“Say you need me!” Bucky’s voice was demanding and yet desperate when he groaned in your ear. It was as if he needed to hear you say it more than he needed oxygen, and knowing the man Bucky was, you were sure that was actually the case.

“I need you Bucky!” You cried out. You felt Bucky let out a loud satisfied grunt in your ear as his thrusts grew erratic. “Fuck!… Cum for me. now!” As if on command, you trembled beneath him as you came. Both of you twitched and shook as you explored the fall of pleasure together.

You didn’t know when or how, but Bucky’s hand slipped into yours and you both interlocked your fingers as you orgasmed. Somehow, the locked hands felt more intimate than his cock buried deep within you.

The orgasm vibrated your core and curled your toes as stars burst behind your eyelids. Your orgasm was prolonged as you felt Bucky’s hot cum fill you up and slip out from around Bucky’s cock. You could feel the slick and cum tricking out of your pussy despite Bucky’s cock plugging you up and that act felt more filthy than anything else.

When your head cleared a little, Bucky was murmuring little praises in your ear as he usually did when you calmed down. Bucky was already holding you close, but you nuzzled closer into his warmth. “How are you feeling now?” Not just Bucky’s voice, but his eyes were radiating with care for you.

And at that instant, you knew deep down that he was still your Bucky.

[embbarnes]

Sugar Plums. | W.S

summary: The soldier has an attachment to you.

warnings: Suggestive 18+ MDNI & Fluff | Fem!reader | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Brief mentions of PTSD | Brief talk of HYDRA | Heavy petting | Love biting/hickeys

a/n: This came to me randomly but thought it was cute and somewhat spicy. I added some fluff to balance it all out and tried to keep the sexy scenes sweet too. I see so many fics of him being super aggressive in bed and those are great, but for me I think he'd be a little more like this. Takes place after the events of CA:TWS. Contains roughly translated Russian, native speakers can correct me if anything was translated wrong. Ty. ;; wc: 5.5k

It was so awkward.

Everyone sat frozen in place, their eyes locked on the imposing figure of the Winter Soldier as he towered behind you, his piercing blue eyes methodically scanning the room and studying each occupant with an intensity that made them shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"Absolutely not!" Tony was the first to break the suffocating silence, his voice sharp and decisive as he beat Steve to speaking by a mere second. There was absolutely no way he would even consider allowing the fist of HYDRA to take up residence in his tower, treating him like he was nothing more than some lost stray that needed sheltering. "He's not staying here, no way in hell - this isn't a halfway house for reformed assassins."

"Tony, come on. HYDRA is gone, their control over him is broken," you reasoned desperately, your voice taking on a pleading tone as you gestured toward the silent figure behind you, "He's been surviving on his own for weeks, barely getting by. Just look at him...he's exhausted, malnourished, and clearly needs somewhere safe to stay and recover."

"Uh, how about no?" Tony fired back, staring at you like you had grown a second head...or like you had a towering sleeper soldier looming behind you.

Tony wasn't your favorite person in the world, but he was usually somewhat reasonable.

"There's absolutely no way that he's staying here. Have you completely lost your mind? What if he suddenly snaps or loses control and goes completely berserk, hm? What if one night those sleeper triggers buried in his brain suddenly activate and he systematically takes us out one by one in our sleep?" Tony added emphatically, his hands gesturing wildly in the air as he attempted to visualize the gruesome scenarios playing out in his mind.

"Your state-of-the-art security cameras can't give us a heads up before that happens?" You asked with dry sarcasm, your tone deliberately flat and unimpressed, clearly making a joke while you tried to find some kind of middle ground that would get the agitated, self-proclaimed playboy to calm down and think rationally.

"No chance in hell, sweet cheeks," he folded his arms and glared at you with sternness that etched across his features. "Too dangerous."

"He's staying, whether you like it or not," you replied in the same unwavering tone, standing your ground with resolute conviction. "He's hurt, weak, completely vulnerable. There's absolutely nothing he could possibly do in this state. He needs somewhere warm and safe to stay, especially since he's been struggling to survive out on the streets for weeks now. Besides, winter is coming fast and there’s no way he won’t get hypothermia or something." You added with concern, knowing full well that while the soldier hadn't been entirely helpless during his ordeal, he certainly hadn't managed to secure any kind of stable shelter.

His temporary refuges consisted only of cold spaces beneath bridges, dark corners tucked away in forgotten alleys, or the remains of abandoned buildings - not a single place where he could truly let his guard down or feel protected from the harsh elements. With winter's rapid approach and already light dustings of snow, the temperatures would only get more brutal as the nights went on.

You continued to argue with Tony, Steve butting in every so often, luckily siding with you, desperate to have his old friend somewhere safe. It was a long, frustrating argument that lasted much longer than need be.

Earlier that day, while you had been making your way down the frost-covered street of New York's downtown district, his eyes had caught sight of your familiar form. Something deep within him told him to follow you, a magnetic pull that he couldn't explain. He obeyed the instinct, trailing silently behind you all the way back to the tower. When you finally became aware of his presence, he was thoroughly drenched from the steadily falling snow, his cheeks and nose having turned a bright, rosy color from the biting cold as he tried to suppress his constant shivering.

The moment you made your sudden turn to approach him, he visibly startled, immediately taking a defensive step backward as his mind raced through all the possible scenarios and potential threats. His eyes darted across your face with obvious wariness as you fully turned to face him, his entire body subtly shifting its weight from foot to foot, muscles tensed and ready to bolt away.

"It's okay...you look cold..." You spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper, trying not to startle him as you took in his disheveled appearance. The soldier, the one whose face had practically been plastered across every news channel, the same one Steve had spoken about with such raw emotion in his voice.

You remembered how Steve had mourned his best friend, utterly confused and devastated about why he had saved from the river, while Bucky fell to what should have been his death. Steve held onto that grief, that guilt, like a lifeline. He held onto it so desperately, clinging to the faintest hope that a sliver of Bucky was still somewhere deep inside the persona of the Winter Soldier.

Looking at him now, you couldn't see any trace of the man from Steve's stories - the soldier's eyes were too wild and wide, filled with fear and confusion.

But despite everything you'd heard, despite the destruction you'd witnessed on the news, despite the intense warnings from everyone in the tower, there was something about his presence that didn't trigger your fight or flight response.

He didn't make you feel unsafe.

He looked absolutely beat down, exhausted to his very core, his shoulders slumped in a way that made you wonder when he'd last had a moment's rest. You weren't even sure he could take you down if he tried in this state, though you knew his reputation suggested otherwise. He was shaking from the cold air as it blew in a stinging breeze, his metal arm gleaming dully in what little light remained, while the incoming winter storm brought with it a thick haze and countless tiny pinpricks of needle-like snowflakes that seemed to cut through the air.

"Come inside with me, I'll take care of you." You offered quietly, your voice gentle and reassuring as you extended your hand towards him. Your body language remained open and non-threatening, shoulders relaxed and posture deliberately casual to help put him at ease and to show him you felt no fear.

After a few silent moments where his piercing blue eyes studied you through the thick haze, he finally shifted his weight forward and took a step in your direction.

The water in the shower had set a steady steam in the bathroom, the mirror had fogged and the tiles sweat below your bare feet.

You could hear the gentle splashing of water against the bathtub as he cleaned himself. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm caught your attention, hopefully that thing was waterproof, but it must be, right?

After setting out a fresh towel and clean clothes for his use, you quietly excused yourself to provide him with privacy. The state of his current attire was awful, every piece was thoroughly saturated and carried an unmistakable stench that made you wrinkle your nose. The clothes were in such poor condition that you couldn't help but wonder if they had been scavenged from someone who no longer needed them.

You wouldn’t put it past the soldier to steal from a cadaver.

His shower routine was notably brief, years of conditioning taught him to minimize the time spent on his personal care. Upon finishing, he emerged from behind the curtain and efficiently dried himself with the provided towel. His gaze fell upon the fresh clothes you had thoughtfully placed by the sink, while his previous garments had been discreetly removed.

The soldier hesitated momentarily before donning the clean outfit. It wasn’t anything fancy, a pair of grey sweatpants emblazoned with the Avenger's logo along the side and a simple yet comfortable black tank top. When he finally emerged from the bathroom to face you, his body language betrayed his uncertainty as he stood there, not sure what to do now. Comfort was completely foreign to him, and care was a dream away.

"Tony finally gave in," you replied softly, your voice sounded in the quiet stillness of the bedroom. "He said you could stay here with us."

He remained motionless, his expression blank and unreadable as he stood there, offering neither response nor the slightest hint of acknowledgement to your words. You weren’t sure what to expect but that seemed pretty in character for him at the moment.

"You'll be staying in my quarters since no one else is comfortable having you in their space just yet...but don't worry too much about that," you reassured gently, though you could tell from his demeanor that others' opinions held little weight in his mind. "They'll come around after some time, I'm sure of it."

His gaze fixed upon you then, his brow creasing ever so slightly with an unspoken question as he began to move. Each step was deliberate and measured as he crossed the room, closing the distance between you until he stood directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the water droplets from his freshly washed hair beading at the ends and falling onto the fabric of your top, leaving dark spots where they landed.

"Everything's going to be fine," you said with gentle reassurance, trying to ease the tension in the air. "Why don't we head to the kitchen and get you something to eat? You must be hungry." You offered, hoping to bring some normalcy to the situation.

The soldier shadowed your every movement, following closely behind like a faithful companion who refused to stray from their master's side.

Upon entering the expansive kitchen, you immediately made your way to the industrial-sized refrigerator, searching through its contents for something suitable to offer him. The kitchen was perpetually stocked to the brim with an array of foods, snacks, and ingredients, practically anything one could imagine or desire. It was like having a private, fully-stocked grocery store.

Though with a the ravenous super soldier with enhanced metabolism, the mighty Asgardian god whose appetite matched his status, and Banner's surprisingly hulk-ish consumption…the team still depleted their food with an efficiency that would put a pack of famished wolves to shame.

"Hm...what should you have...do you want anything specific?" You turned over your shoulder to address him, but he maintained his characteristic silence. Unmoving, and completely stoic, like a statue carved from marble.

"Нет [No]," came his quiet response, the Russian word rolling off his tongue deeply. He remained perfectly still, observing with careful attention as you continued your search through the refrigerator's contents, trying to determine what would be most appropriate for him to eat. Your mind was working quickly, knowing you wanted to avoid anything too time-consuming to prepare. You wanted to get some food into him sooner rather than later.

"How about...I could make some soup real quick? Tomato and grilled cheese might be a safe option for you. Shouldn't upset your stomach too much if you haven’t been eating a lot, and it will warm you up if you're still feeling cold." You turned back toward him once more, studying his features carefully for any hint of reaction or preference to your suggestion, any subtle change in his expression.

But, he didn't provide even the slightest indication of his feelings.

You decided on tomato soup and a grilled cheese anyway, you figured it was best and immediately set to work in the kitchen.

Although you typically prided yourself on preparing meals completely from scratch, this particular circumstance called for something different. You assembled the sandwich, buttering the bread before placing it in a heated pan to get a golden-brown crust while keeping a watchful eye on the pot of soup simmering beside it, occasionally stirring for even heating.

Once everything reached the perfect temperature and consistency, you transferred the meal onto clean dishes, relieved it didn’t take too long. You presented him with the steaming bowl of soup and perfectly grilled sandwich, watching as the soldier deliberately took his place at the counter, his eyes fixed intently on the rising steam from the bowl before him.

You watched him, noting how his entire body remained unnaturally rigid and motionless, as though every muscle was locked in place and braced for something. His lips bore a slight sheen of moisture, like he had licked them at some point when you weren't watching. Yet despite his obvious hunger, he hadn't made even the slightest attempt to reach for the food. His eyes held intense longing and hesitation, briefly meeting yours before quickly darting away, as if making eye contact was somehow forbidden.

"What's wrong?" You asked with growing concern etched across your features, "You're hungry aren't you? I can tell you haven't eaten in a while. Especially not anything warm, at least. I know it can be hard out there, all by yourself…"

His response came in the form of an almost imperceptible nod, his gaze remaining firmly fixed on the bowl and sandwich before him, as though they were the most important and most dangerous objects in the room.

"So why aren't you eating? The food's getting cold, it won’t be as good if it cools too much."

"Я не могу совершить действие без приказа. [I cannot perform an action without an order]," the soldier responded in barely more than a whisper, his voice carrying the weight of years of conditioning.

You stood there, completely lost in the language barrier between you. Your limited knowledge of Russian extended only to the most basic words - 'да' and 'нет' - leaving you clueless by his response and worried about the implications of his behavior.

You didn't want to wake Natasha, even though she would certainly understand what he was saying in Russian, but disturbing her sleep for something as simple as a quick translation seemed unnecessary and might put her in a bad mood. Instead, an idea popped into your head that would avoid an angry widow. You reached for your phone and placed it on the smooth counter surface, navigating to a translator app before looking up at him again. "Can you repeat that?"

The soldier's eyes flickered briefly to the phone screen, taking in the sight of the translation app with what seemed like recognition, before his gaze deliberately returned to the untouched food laid out before him. "I cannot perform an action without an order," he stated in perfect, albeit mechanical English this time.

You blinked in surprise, thoroughly caught off guard by the sudden switch to English when he had been persistently speaking Russian up until this point. "Okay...well...eat then, you can eat freely here, you don't need an order to do that." You slowly tucked your phone away into your pocket as his right hand gradually lifted from where it had been resting in his lap, reaching out to pick up the sandwich.

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but he wolfed down his food within a minute, that sandwich was gone within maybe three bites. The soup swallowed just as fast.

God, he was starving, and the realization made your heart ache.

"Better?" You asked gently, to which he only nodded, swallowing the last of the food in his mouth.

This became routine, the soldier stuck by your side like a duckling imprinting on its mother.

He followed you diligently around every corner of the tower, his protective instincts activated as he positioned himself like an ever-vigilant guardian. His eyes constantly scanned the surroundings, noting how others would cast uncertain and sometimes suspicious glances in his direction.

These looks made him increasingly self-conscious and anxious, as though he were some exotic creature put on display at a zoo for others to gawk at. But in your presence, he seemed a bit more at ease. He genuinely liked being around you.

Gradually, the rigid tension that had defined his existence began to melt away, and he started allowing more intimate gestures of care. He let you gently brush his unruly hair into place, carefully wash his face with warm water, or trim his growing stubble for him.

He accepted these tender ministrations without the slightest resistance or complaint, though a nagging worry lingered in your mind that his compliance stemmed from years of conditioning to submit to others' wishes. Each time you worried about that, you’d see a genuine warmth and contentment in his gaze rather than submission, showing you that he truly found comfort and pleasure in your gentle touch.

It was evening, the room reflected the warm glow of festive holiday lights emanating from a miniature Christmas tree nestled in the corner. The soldier found himself transfixed by the small decorated tree, his eyes lingering on each twinkling light as their vibrant colors danced and shimmered. The sterile, monotonous walls he had grown accustomed to during his confinement were nothing compared to the colorful lights. The gentle play of red, green, and gold seemed to awaken something long dormant within him, he almost wanted to plant himself in front of the tree and just stare at it.

Tony may have allowed his stay, but that didn’t mean there weren’t restrictions. He was stern about where and when the soldier could go anywhere with you, and he demanded that he not leave your room afterhours. It wasn’t hard to follow, the solider showed reluctance to leave your room at all, having been so accustomed to being kept in one room. You didn’t push him, but you felt bad for him because he was missing how the tower had been decorated for the holidays. So, you got a smaller tree for the bedroom to provide some kind of festive look for him to take in.

You emerged from the bathroom, wisps of steam following in your wake, your damp hair leaving little droplets on your shoulders as you continued to towel it dry with scrunches. He remained motionless on the edge of your bed, his attention immediately shifting as he turned and blinked up at your approaching figure.

His icy eyes traced a deliberate path across your form, which was barely concealed beneath the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the hem teasingly brushing against your mid-thigh with each movement. "I am beat," you sighed heavily, your voice carrying the weight of the day's festivities. The marathon of holiday activities had clearly taken its toll, leaving you thoroughly drained. The tower often held an array of things to do because Tony loved to show off what he could afford, and it wasn’t like anyone else would object.

He observed with rapt attention as you made your way onto the bed and settled back against the pillows, releasing a deep exhale that seemed to melt away the day's tension. His unwavering gaze remained fixed on the rhythmic, hypnotic motion of your chest rising and falling with each breath.

You felt the bed shift beneath you as he moved, his weight causing the mattress to dip and creak softly. He crawled over to where you lay, his arms positioning themselves on either side of your body, caging you in. Your eyes fluttered open to find him hovering directly above you, his presence overwhelming in its proximity. This was something new…he had always maintained somewhat of a distance before, never daring to position himself so intimately over top of you.

"Я скомпрометирован. [I'm compromised]," the soldier spoke in a hushed tone, his voice carrying that distinctive gravelly pitch that made you feel tingly. The tension between you had become damned near impossible to ignore. What had started as a subtle pull had grown into an overwhelming force of attraction that seemed to draw you both together like magnets.

Still, you forced yourself to hold back, maintaining that last thread of restraint. You had no way of knowing the depth of his emotional capacity, if he was even capable of genuine feelings, or wanted to experience them at all after everything he endured.

"Soldat...?" The whispered word escaped your lips as you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his muscles tensed as he remained suspended above you, perfectly still. "You know I don't understand-"

"I am compromised," he repeated, switching to English this time. His voice had dropped even lower, carrying an edge of frustration that vibrated through the minimal space between your bodies.

"Comprom..." You sat up slowly on your elbows and shook your head in confusion, your brow furrowed as you tried to process his words. That’s what you’d say about a machine or computer, not a man. "What are you talking about?" Your eyes wandered downward, suddenly drawn to an unmistakable tent in his fitted briefs that became obvious from your new viewing angle, causing you to freeze in place as your breath caught in your throat.

So, he could feel things.

"Oh..." You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you as you remained frozen in place, your cheeks growing warm. "I think I understand now...you're feeling a bit pent up, aren't you?"

His metal arm whirred softly, the sophisticated machinery humming as he moved to adjust his hand placement. "Да. [Yes]," he responded in a low voice, his gleaming titanium fingertips delicately ghosted across the bare skin of your thigh, just barely grazing beneath the hem of your thin sleep shirt. Goosebumps erupted along your body in response to the contact, the cool metal sudden against your flushed skin.

"Мне не нравится делиться вашим вниманием. [I don't like sharing your attention]," he muttered with an undertone of possession, his lips curling into a slight frown as he gradually leaned closer to you. His silken hair delicately tickled your face as he slowly lowered himself, the tips of your noses barely grazing against each other in an intimate gesture. His lips parted ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of anticipation before he dipped his head down, warm lips pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your jawline.

You swallowed reflexively, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his warm, steady breath caress your sensitive skin, sending a visible shudder of growing excitement through your body.

He continued his gentle exploration, encouraged by your acceptance and the absence of any resistance. He pressed a trail of soft, purposeful kisses along the curve of your jaw, each one more intimate than the last, before gradually working his way down to your neck. His lips carefully followed the rhythmic flutter of your pulse beneath your skin, his tongue peeking out shyly to touch against you.

"Ah-" You voiced softly, feeling him settle on a particularly sensitive spot, right against the delicate side of your neck. It was nestled perfectly between the graceful junction where your neck connected to your collarbone, the skin there warm and inviting, holding a faint trace of blood flow from the intricate network of smaller veins positioned just beneath the surface.

He kissed many times with increasing intensity, clearly finding this spot ideal for his attentions. The soft, tentative pecks gradually became more passionate, open-mouthed kisses as each one was placed. His tongue began gently pressing against your skin with each lingering kiss, the pressure slowly growing in need. You felt your cheeks flush with warmth when he finally latched on, your eyes widening in surprise as the soldier's strong arms held you a little tighter.

Soldat began to suckle a mark, his ministrations gentle and teasing at first, but quickly growing in force and intensity as his skilled tongue swirled expertly around the trapped skin between his lips and teeth. The sensation drew a breathy moan from deep within you, making your entire body feel as though it were engulfed in flames of desire. Though you were completely helpless beneath the assassin, you had absolutely no intention or desire to push him away.

This felt too damned good.

Without thinking, your leg came up and hooked around his hips, drawing him closer until your bodies were flush against each other. The heat between you grew and you felt his painful erection trapped in his briefs, straining against the fabric as his arousal was staining them. Soldat exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening possessively, but he did not let go.

His suckling grew increasingly intense, the sensitive skin tingling and starting to sting and burn with each passing moment. Still, he didn't release the bruised skin just yet.

Instead, he just bit down harder, ensuring the mark he left would last for days. You moaned loudly, your fingers gently tangling in his thick hair as your pleasured sounds encouraged his attention. He became more attentive when your little sounds of pleasure turned into sharp, quiet hisses - clearly indicating that the sensation had crossed from pleasure into discomfort, silently telling him to ease off.

When he did finally relent, he pulled back to admire his handiwork, looking down at the deep purple mark blooming on your neck. His breath came in heavy pants through his parted lips as he stayed quiet, watching intently as you struggled to catch your own breath too. The sight of you beneath him, disheveled and vulnerable, with flushed skin and labored breathing, was enough to draw him right back in.

He dipped back down with renewed hunger, his metal hand slowly threading through your hair before gently fisting it at the base of your skull, though his careful control ensured it wasn’t painful, just firm. He tugged just enough to guide your movement, encouraging you to expose more of your neck to his hungry gaze.

"E-easy..." You whispered, a note of anxious anticipation in your voice. You wanted more, god you wanted more, but his sudden change of behavior was a bit surprising for you.

"Понял. [Understood]," he whispered against your skin, pressing a soft kiss of reassurance to your jaw before returning his attention to your neck. Those soft kisses began again, trailing along your skin, but his restraint didn't last long as he quickly sought a new canvas for another mark. He latched onto a spot just a little bit higher on your neck, alternating between sucking and carefully controlled bites to gradually darken and bruise the sensitive flesh.

You felt bite after delicious bite, hickey after possessive hickey.

He marked the tender flesh of your neck in several deep, purple marks that bloomed like violent flowers across your skin...each one throbbing with a sweet ache when he pulled away. His tongue always swirled over the mark with care to soothe the sting of it, making you arch into his touch as you fell into a complete daze.

"S-Soldat," you muttered breathlessly, cheeks flushed crimson and eyelids heavy with desire. Your pupils matched his own - completely blown with hunger and desperate need. Those bermuda swirls meeting yours as he continued a torturously slow trail of hot kisses down your chest, nipping your collarbone with just enough pressure to make you gasp before following the gentle dip of your sternum.

He paused deliberately, pulling up so he could lift the thin sleep shirt over you and expose more of your bare chest to his hungry gaze, giving him better access for his heated kisses and teasing nips. Once your top was discarded somewhere on the floor, his hands gently but firmly held your sides, trailing up with reverent touches until settling against your ribcage. His larger hands completely encompassed your torso, making you feel small but protected.

The soldier was absolutely transfixed at the sight of your breasts, eyeing the soft mounds and peaked nipples as they hardened in the cool air, growing increasingly sensitive and rosy with your mounting arousal. It was like he was completely mesmerized by the sight before him, the fucking Winter Soldier, the most dangerous assassin in history, stopped dead in his tracks at the mere sight of your bare breasts.

You felt in charge now.

"What is it? Do you like them?" you purred softly to the soldier, your body swaying in a deliberately teasing motion that made them gently move. His eyes remained fixed, drinking in the sight before him as his lips parted ever so slightly. Slowly, his head tilted down again, surrendering to the moment. He let his face nestle against your chest, his lips trailing a constellation of unhurried kisses across your skin.

He began to nip and suckle the tender skin of your breasts, his mouth working to create deep, purple love bites on that delicate flesh. The bruising blossomed easily beneath his ministrations, almost like they were eager to show themselves.

His lips would find a promising spot, then he would begin lapping at the skin with gentle strokes of his tongue until he felt you squirming. The soldier took the sensitized flesh carefully between his teeth, rolling the captured skin while his talented muscle swirled and sucked.

Your chest displayed his passionate handiwork when he finally drew back to admire his creation. The plum-colored bruises created an intimate pattern across your skin, their rich hues made even more striking by the soft glow of the holiday lights that danced through the room, highlighting each carefully placed love bite until they seemed to shimmer like twilight stars against your flesh.

"Soldat...I think you covered enough surface area," you breathed, feeling overwhelmed by the intense throbbing that radiated from each mark he'd left. The sensation pulsed in waves across your skin, making it difficult to focus. Your neck was thoroughly covered in the passionate marks, and now your chest bore an equally impressive collection.

The soldier gazed down at you with intensely, his eyes taking in each little sugar plum bruise that decorated your skin like a masterpiece. Though they were scattered without any deliberate pattern, the overall effect clearly pleased him. You lay there looking thoroughly affected by his attention, hair mussed and breathing uneven, cheeks beautifully darkened with a dust of blush, just from his careful application of bites alone. The sight of you in such a state, marked so thoroughly, brought deep set satisfaction in his gut.

"Моя теперь. [Mine now]," he muttered softly, his warm breath ghosting across your skin as his lips hovered mere millimeters from your own. The almost-kiss was delicate, just the faintest brush of contact that sent electricity dancing through your nerves. He almost seemed nervous to close that final distance, his confidence faltering despite the passionate trail of marks he had already left scattered across your skin.

He drew back slightly, seemingly snapping out of a trance, and you could see the vulnerability written plainly across his features as that nervousness flickered in his eyes. Shifting his weight, he settled back onto the bed, his right hand finding your knee and tracing gentle, soothing circles there with his thumb. The tender gesture matched his hushed voice as he spoke, "Я не хочу идти дальше. [I don't want to go any further]," the words carrying both certainty and a hint of apology.

Your brow furrowed deeply as you struggled to understand what he was trying to stay, the confusion evident in the slight crease between your eyebrows and the questioning tilt of your head. You really needed to study Russian. "Do you not want to continue?" you asked slowly and carefully, focusing more on interpreting the subtle nuances in his tone rather than trying to parse the exact words he was using.

His facial expression held hesitance and uncertainty, the slight downturn of his lips and the way his eyes wouldn't quite meet yours telling you what you needed to know. Body language was his primary mode of genuine communication, and you had become very good at reading these silent signals he unconsciously broadcast.

"It's okay, we can stop," you replied with a reassuring tone, making sure to keep your voice soft to help dissipate any lingering tension he might be feeling. "Let's just lay here, okay? We can cuddle without any kind of pressure to do anything else, if you want." You offered with a warm smile, wanting him to feel that his comfort and boundaries were completely respected and that there was no expectation or obligation to continue.

This was a lot of good progress with him, you typically just cuddled or he kept to his side of the bed but he had shown you a lot of sweet affection tonight, and you loved it, it meant he was growing more confident in himself and your relationship. The evidence of his passionate yet tender attention remained visible in the form of gentle, plum-colored marks that decorated your neck and chest as you lay beside him, watching as his silent form trembled slightly beneath the heavy warmth of the thick blankets that enveloped you both.

You opened your arms, offering him a warmer space, and he quickly scooted forward, tucking himself against you. Prone to being cold, he liked being under many layers of blankets, so you made sure to provide plenty for him to not only feel warm but secure. Plus...having you to hold him always helped.

Without the worry of being a soldier, he could rest easy like this.

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.